#Also by now I nearly always stop myself from buying things because of the bitter feeling which comes with spending a lot of money

[kunikidas-lost-glasses]

Doing something which is supposed to make you feel happy or which you thought would make you happy and feel all giddy but instead you slowly start to feel nothing and start to become utterly overwhelmed until you're left with the pain which comes with the thought "but this was supposed to make me happy. I was looking so forward to it."

[talesofstyles]

Reconcile II

Ok so I know that I wrote the first part with reader insert, but after many, many attempts to keep it that way, it just didn’t work with this one. So I’d like for you to meet Emma. This is my first time writing with OC and wow game changer. I love her and I hope you do too!

Also, I honestly can’t thank my beta queens enough @oh-honey-styles @for-fucks-sake-h 🥺💛 thanks for allll the comments and suggestions and nice words!!! ily both xx

Read part I here

Harry

“So… are we okay now?”

We’re sitting here on the sofa, finally having that very much needed father-daughter date. Granted, a movie night in was not what I had in mind. I wasn’t too thrilled when she said she wanted to just go back home after we dropped George at his classmate’s house for a birthday sleepover. I thought she would hole up in her room instead and ignore me. But she didn’t. I got us pizza for tea, and we’ve got Shrek 2 on the telly. Her animosity towards me disappeared just like that after she asked for a puppy the other day. Of course, I’m glad to have my happy-go-lucky daughter back, but deep down I know that we need to have a proper chat. The change in her behaviour is so abrupt that I know there’s a chance that my daughter is still bitter with me deep down. And that won’t do. I can take a lot of things, but my daughter’s resentment is not one of them.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” she nods as she takes a bite of her pizza. “You’re still getting me a puppy right?”

“I still need to talk to your mum about it, poppet,” I tell her. “Puppies need a lot of attention. It’s going to be hard work and that puppy is going to be a permanent member of our family. We’ve really got to think about it before we decide.”

I expect a little excitement knowing that her mum and I are really considering getting a puppy. But what I get is quite the opposite. My little girl’s gaze drops, her face slackening. Her voice cracks a little when she mumbles, “except… we’re not a family.”

I wince, realising how serious the effect our split has on my daughter. Despite Emma and I putting on a friendly, united front for our children, Minnie is still sad that her parents are not together. 

“Of course we’re still a family,” I assure her, pulling her to me for a comforting side hug. “I’m still your dad, mummy is still your mum, and you and George are still the lights of our lives.” 

“But you and mummy aren’t together anymore,” she points out bitterly. “And you live so far away from us now. I miss having you at home.”

“I know, my love,” I murmur gently, and turn sideways so she can see my face. “It’s killing me too. But you never know what the future holds, right?”

“I guess,” she says glumly.

I wish I can tell her that I’m trying to win her mum back so we can be together again, but I know I can’t do that. This is far too early. I don’t want to get her hopes up in case I’m not successful in convincing my wife to give me another shot. That’ll only break her heart all over again.

Thinking back, I realised that this is the first time we have a proper chat about our split. I fled to LA the next morning after my wife asked me to leave our marital home back in London, leaving her to sit down with our children to tell them that I was not going to live there anymore. I was shocked and angry because I had no idea what I’d done. I thought we were fine. There were no fights leading up to that. I still remember exactly what I told her. ‘You’re the one who wanted to end it, you tell them.’ And then I left.

Just like that. Without a fight.

I swear to God, it’s something that I would never be able to forgive myself. 

“How’s your mum?” 

“She’s sad,” Minnie sighs. “She cries a lot. She thinks we can’t hear her in the shower, but we can.”

Knowing I caused that physically hurts. I rub at the throb of pain behind my breastbone and I think about all those private tears I shed through it. The ones you hope are hidden and silent.

“Can I ask you something, daddy?”

“Anything, poppet.”

“Do you still get sad too?”

I’m not sure how much to divulge here. Does my daughter need to hear that I stopped eating? That I once cried in the loo at Cafe Habana, and once had to be fished out of a bath by Jeff after I turned into a human prune? I was sad. I still wear that hat. 

“I do. It’s the end of something, that’s always sad.”

“I think mum is dating someone,” she says and my eyes widen. “She told us Luke is her friend, but I think he’s her boyfriend. They’re on a date now, aren’t they?”

I can try and deny it, but I know my daughter is smart and won’t buy anything I tell her.

“What do you know about boyfriends?” I tease, my attempt to lighten up the mood. 

“I’ve just turned nine, I’m not stupid,” Minnie rolls her eyes. “‘Sides I’m thinking about getting one of those boyfriend thingies.”

I sit there slack-jawed, and my daughter roars with laughter.

“Minnie Alexandra, you’re going to drive me to an early grave, you know that?”

“Hey, what are you middle naming me for? I was joking!” She says, still laughing as she picks a piece of pepperoni off her pizza.

“How do you feel about your mum dating again?” I ask her.

She pauses. “I don’t know yet. As long as he’s nice and doesn’t put me under the stairs…”

“I’m sure he won’t. In the attic maybe,” I joke.

She laughs again. I’m thinking about keeping that bloke in the attic so my wife won’t date him anymore. Or even better, six feet under my patio. That’ll do.

“It’s gonna be okay, right, dad?”

Honestly, I’m not sure. But I don’t have the heart to tell her that.

“Yeah, Min. It’s gonna be okay.”

***

I see the headlight shining into the front windows as I walk down the stairs from tucking my daughter into her bed. That must be Emma and her date. I pull back the curtain a little to peek outside, and I’m right as I see that bollockface’s car in front of the house. 

You know that saying; curiosity killed the cat? Well, in my case, curiosity fucked me with a chainsaw. 

I’m a bloody idiot. I should have just closed the curtain back as soon as I recognised the car. I mean… it’s the end of a date. What did I expect to see? A high five? I knew I was so sure when they left that he would not be getting anything more than a friendly kiss, but that date must have gone really well, because right now, my eyes may as well fall out of their sockets as I see that bastard’s tongue down my wife’s throat. 

I’m frozen. I’m gripping the curtain so tight that my knuckles are turning white. I stand there—stunned. Watching. I’m not even sure for how long. It does feel like forever. Like an eternity. 

In hell.

And then Emma pulls back, and everything seems like a blur. I have to remind myself that my daughter is sleeping upstairs so I won’t go apeshit and knock that wanker square on his arse. 

I’m still glued to the floor by the door. I’m too shocked to move. I hear the sound of keys rattling before the door swings open, and she looks surprised when she sees me.

And all hell breaks loose.

“What the fuck, Emma?!” She jolts at hearing me shout. I rarely did it. In fact, I’m not even sure if I’d ever yell at my wife before throughout our marriage. “You told me last night you’d never even kissed him. You told me you weren’t ready.”

“I- I don’t know. He caught me off guard. That was-”

“I told you I wanted to make this work,” I remind her, trying to lower my voice so I won’t wake my daughter up. She doesn’t need to see this. “Us. Our marriage. I told you I wanted to fight for you. But I can’t do that with someone shoving their tongue down my wife’s throat, can I?”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I see her tear up and I immediately feel regret. That was harsh. But before I can apologise, I can see her lip curls up and I know she’s about to get nasty. It’s a rarity with her when we’ve fought in the past, but I feel it coming.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” She sneers. “You think that if you put a toy down, it’ll still be sitting there when you want to play with it again.”

“That’s-”

“You have no right to be upset at me. We’ve split up for nearly a year now. What I do and what I don’t do on my dates is none of your business.” 

“I want us to give our marriage another shot,” I say in exasperation. “I want to try to win you back, but fuck’s sake you’re not even giving me the time of day.”

“Oh, look how the tables turned,” she taunts. “Sucks, innit? Being the one struggling to find the time when it seems like the other doesn’t give a crap?”

“Cheap shot, Ems,” I retort.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it, H?” 

Emma averts her eyes, her lower lip quivering. I can’t tell if she regrets her harsh words or not, but she doesn’t look back my way, and she seems to have said her piece.

I knew sooner or later this was bound to happen. We never had our big fight, not even that night when she decided that enough was enough.

“I cannot possibly go through that again. It physically hurts,” she says softly. “I know I was the one who ended it, but when you just left like that the next morning without so much of a fight as if ten years means nothing to you… that really did hurt. You left me alone to talk to the kids about what happened. And sure, you did call every day. But it took you nearly nine months to finally come and see your children?”

“I needed some time. Some space,” I tell her. “Do you think it’s easy for me being there? Away from my wife and kids?”

“You chose to be there.”

“You know I couldn’t stay in London,” I murmur. “It’s too hard. At least in LA sometimes I can just pretend that everything’s okay. That we’re okay. That my wife and kids will be there waiting for me when I get home. I can’t do that in London.”

“That’s a shit excuse and you know it,” she mutters.

“I still love you, Em,” I say with a sigh. I know trying to defend myself further for what I did will get me nowhere. “We can fix this. We can be a family again.”

“Harry, it’s too late.”

“Is it him?” I can’t help but go there, because that’s a possibility. “Do you love him already?”

“Luke is a fresh start for me, H. I may not love him now but at least it doesn’t hurt looking at him. It took me months to be able to get back up again, to get to where I am right now. To finally find a little bit of peace.”

Emma’s head hangs low, and she rubs at her temple with her fingers. I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms. But by how stiff her spine is, I can tell she wouldn’t come willingly. 

“I’m sorry, Emma,” I whisper, resigned. Tears well up in our eyes. There’s nothing I can say that will change her mind because we’re not seeing eye to eye. She’s still focused on the past, not that I blame her because I did hurt her badly, but I know that there is no way we can go anywhere if she can’t see past the harms I’ve caused in the past.  “I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” she says, her expression softens. Her thumb runs at a part of her finger where a ring used to be. “Now, I just want us to try and make this separation work. Focus on the kids. Let’s do the right thing by them.”

I nod.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah.”

“When did it all start?” I ask, my voice cracks a little. “When did you start feeling like you’re invisible to me?”

“I’m not sure I can point down to one exact moment,” she takes a shaky breath and pauses. “The change was gradual that by the time I realised it, I didn’t even recognise us anymore. I spent days and nights wondering what happened to us. That wasn’t us.”

I wipe that one tear running halfway down her cheek, and as soon as my thumb touches her skin, I lose it. I can’t help it by this point. Tears flow as much as I try to hold them back. She’s crying too. This is painful. 

“And it’d be too easy to say that I felt invisible,” she continues. “Because the truth is, I felt painfully visible. You ignored me on purpose. I wasn’t even sure what I was to you anymore, because the only chance for me to get your attention was by getting you in bed. And that was wrong. It hurts, because it felt like you only needed me to warm your bed.”

I want to deny that statement. I want to yell it’s not true. That I never intended to take her for granted. That she still makes my heart skip a beat like a bloody teenager seeing his first crush. 

But I don’t.

Because she’s right. I’m not sure what happened either, but we’d changed. Maybe it’s our jobs, maybe it’s the endless responsibilities. Domesticity, children, they wore us down. Kisses became perfunctory. Hugs became less frequent. Hell, I couldn’t even remember the last time I took my wife for a date night other than for social obligations.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again. I’ll spend the rest of my life apologising to her if I have to, she deserves it. “I hurt you badly. I really am sorry, Emma.”

“It wasn’t all you though,” she mumbles. “I never called you out on it.”

“You didn’t,” I reply. “I never worked out why?”

“I swept it under the carpet because it was embarrassing. It felt silly having to ask for your attention. And I don’t know… pride, maybe? And the kids. I didn’t want them to know something was wrong. So I played along and carried on like nothing was happening.”

“When really…”

“It was like a punch to the guts each time. You were an excellent father. You still are, the kids adore you. This may sound insane and it’s embarrassing and painful for me to admit this, but there were times when I saw you with the kids and I couldn’t help but feel jealous. When you couldn’t even be bothered to look at me… it felt like you took a dump over all my love for you.”

“Emma…”

“I wish I could get past that. I wish I could just forget what happened and trust you again.” 

I bring her in for a hug and say nothing. She needs to get this all out. This is part of the process, and I’m here to listen. 

But where do we go from there?

Reconciling a broken marriage is tricky. I am not a violent person but I have never wanted to strangle people as much as I want to strangle those who wrote articles with countless advice regarding this subject, making it seem like it’s easy. Talk it out, get your point across, and you’re out of the dog house. Well, you know what, bollockface? It turns out that listening is not enough. Sod you and your dumb articles. 

All I know is that I can’t rush this. She’s not ready, and that’s okay. Right now, we both have things to work on. She needs to learn to let go of her resentment, and I have to learn not to take anything and anyone for granted ever again. This is killing me, but there is no one to blame but myself. I take solace in knowing the fact that I don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. Maybe one day we’ll be back together. Maybe we won’t. 

“Thank you for telling me all that,” I mumble against her hair. 

“Thank you for listening,” she looks up and gives me a sad smile.

***

Emma comes from a big family. 

There’s Jamie, her eldest brother and the only guy. I think the fact that he grew up surrounded by sisters was what made us the closest in the first place. He hates wine, even though he makes a career out of managing his own vineyard. I know, the irony. The next is Suze, sister number one who lives in Sheffield with her husband and three girls. Suze and her husband are both orthopaedic surgeons. Then my wife, the middle child. Then Meg, sister number two who just had a baby. It’s another girl so my George is still the only grandson in the family. And then Lucy, the youngest of the clan who’s still in university. 

They all live nearby, and I knew that all my in-laws hated me a tiny bit for taking their daughter and sister away. They were a hard outfit to infiltrate. You don’t enter into a relationship with one of them, you get a whole gaggle of them. It was hard to get in, but once you’re in, you’re in for life. 

After we’d split, I called my parents-in-law the next morning just before my flight to LA. I wasn’t sure whether or not Emma had told them about what happened, but I felt like it was the right thing to do. After all, they’d become my parents too for a decade. So I explained and apologised. Of course, I didn’t tell them the details because I knew they were between Emma and me, and they respected us enough not to ask. They were upset, but they also understood that these things happen in life. All they wanted was just for their grandbabies to come out of this unscathed. 

Now here I am, walking behind Emma and our children as we step over the threshold into her parents’ home for their monthly roast. Her parents invited me and I accepted. I don’t want to turn down any extra time I have with my kids as I’ve decided to leave today and head back to London. I was prepared to stay longer, take some time off work and fight for my marriage, but since it all has gone to pot, I figured I should leave. The world doesn’t stop even when you’re struggling with marital woes. I’ve got work to do, and I also know that it is best to give Emma space. 

I hear voices as we walk inside.

“If littl’uns are going in highchairs then what’s that extra space for?” I hear Meg’s husband say.

Meg tells him. “Count again, addition was never your strong point.”

“Oh.”

The house is suddenly quiet when they see me. This is my first time seeing the whole family again after we split, and even though my parents-in-law and I are on good terms, and Jamie too, I know the sisters would be a different story. All four of them are beyond close and they’re now looking at me as if they should’ve chucked me in the oven instead of the chicken.

You don’t do that to our sister. You hurt one, you hurt all of us. 

“Uncle Harry!” Freya shouts in excitement. She is one of Suze’s daughters. She and her twin sister Tessa are only a few months older than my George.

Suze, who is sitting on the sofa, looks a bit sullen, not knowing what the right call is to make. Meg and her husband freeze. 

“Alright there, mate?” Jamie greets me, trying to ease the tension. Suze glares at him.

“Are you here to do magic then, Uncle Harry?” Tessa asks. 

I bend down to her level. “Not sure I know any magic, Tessie.”

“Yeah you do!” Freya pipes up. “Because when we were driving here, daddy said you did a disappearing act on Aunty Ems. Show us what you did!”

“FREYA!” Her dad barks.

Meg can barely contain her giggles.

“But we like magic. You’re rubbish at magic,” she says to her dad. He widens his eyes. 

The sisters are now all smiling smugly, knowing a couple of six-year-olds just shamed me on their behalf. Extra roast potatoes for those two.

Lucy, the littlest sister, suddenly enters. That’s definitely not a happy face. “Oh, it’s you. Is that why everyone went so quiet? What are you doing here?”

“Luce,” Emma mutters.

“Because I invited him,” says a voice emerging from the kitchen. My father-in-law. “Harry, glad you could make it.”

“Of course,” I reply. “Thanks for the invitation.”

Lucy stares daggers at her dad, knowing she can’t unleash her trademark rapier wit as she’s surrounded by her little nieces and nephews. That one may be the youngest but she’s the scariest out of all the sisters, my wife included.

“Look, if it’s weird, I can just leave?” I offer.

“Nonsense, you must stay for supper,” Emma’s mum replies.

“Yeah, Harry, stay,” says Emma’s dad, staring at his daughters. “I want you lot to be nice. Otherwise, I’m putting you on the kids table. You hear me?”

The three of them nod in unison. 

“You two look well,” I say, my attempt to make small talk. 

“You know, dad’s been singing this morning,” Emma’s mum chirps, tilting her head towards her husband. “He joined a male choir. They think they’re Westlife.”

We all can’t help but laugh. This is classic mum. The tension seems to ease away. 

Let’s just hope it stays that way.

***

There’s a strange feeling of déjà vu as I take a seat on the steps in front of the cottage. 

I’m all packed up and ready to go. My weekender bag is in the boot of my car. Nothing left to do but say goodbye to my wife and kids, but I don’t go straight inside. 

Not yet. I need a moment.

These steps witnessed a lot of our marriage even though we’d never stayed here for longer than a couple of weeks at a time. We loved to sit out here in the summer. I remember when I first brought my stuff here shortly after we got married, we sat out here with beers, sleeves rolled up, boxes stacked into Jenga-style columns. 

I also remember sitting here last year on Christmas morning. Emma and I were both in our pyjamas and slippers, sipping coffees out of our matching Christmas mugs. We watched the kids ride their new scooters up and down the street. Everything was perfect. I had no idea that my marriage would end in just two months after that.

“Harry?”

I look over my shoulder and I urge her to sit beside me. She comes over and does just that. There is silence. We don’t say a word to each other. A quiet hum of traffic in the distance, puffs of breath cloud the air making me think we should both be wearing coats. Christmas is nearly here again. My heart aches at the thought of this being our first Christmas since everything fell apart.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly.

“I should be the one apologising, Em.”

“I know you wanted to work things out,” I hear the sadness in her voice. “I really loved you, you know that, right?”

“I do,” I nod. “Our marriage, all those years… it wasn’t all bad, though, right?”

“Of course,” she quickly replies. “We had our moments. We have Minnie and George.”

We pause, letting that sink in. In all this mess, those two were and remain everything, some symbol of our marriage not being a complete disaster. 

“There were also times when you were a good husband,” she adds.

“Why do I feel like you’re going to pat me on the head?”

Emma laughs under her breath.

“Your new bloke seemed a nice sort,” I tell her, because it’s true. I may hate the guy with a burning passion, but that’s only because he’s dating my wife. 

“He is.”

“That got legs?” I ask her.

“Possibly.”

“I want you to be happy, Ems,” I tell her. “With or without me.”

“Harry…”

“But I also want you to know that I’ll be waiting for you. No rush, no timeline. I’ll wait for as long as it takes. Because for me, it’s either you or no one else.”

The front door opens and two little faces pop out from behind it.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing!” Shouts Minnie.

“Well then come here and give me cuddles to warm me up,” I tell her.

Emma and I take a kid each. She takes George and lets him entangle his legs in hers, cradling himself into the hook of his mummy’s arm. Minnie uses me like a climbing frame. I bop her on the nose as I’ve done since she was a baby, and I like that it never stops being hilarious to her. The sky starts to dim, trees casting shadows onto the pavement. A house down the road has some festive lights that switch on and flicker on and off in strange syncopated patterns.

“This is nice,” Minnie mumbles. “I miss the awesome foursome.”

“The awesome foursome, huh?” I ask.

“That’s what you used to call us,” I hear the sadness in her voice and my heart aches. I know she feels this all a lot more than her little brother. “I still remember.”

“Do you really have to go again, daddy?” George looks at me with sad puppy dog eyes. 

“Yeah, do you?” Minnie asks. “I love having you here.”

“I do, my loves,” I reply sadly. “Be good for mummy, alright? I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“I don’t like seeing you go,” George mumbles.

The emotion is a little unbearable and I see a tear trail down my wife’s cheek. George looks petrified seeing his mum cry. 

“Don’t be sad, mummy.”

“I’m not sad,” she shakes her head, quickly wiping the tear off her cheek. “I’m just sorry daddy and I couldn’t make it work.”

“Did we do something wrong?” George asks, looking at his mum and then me.

“Oh, mate,” I reach out to cup his face, Emma pulls him into a hug. “Of course not. You didn’t do anything wrong. You two are perfect, you hear me?”

“Do you still love each other?” Minnie asks.

Emma looks at me in the eye as she answers our daughter. “I’ll always love your dad, because he gave me both of you.”

“And I’ll always love your mum,” I say, my eyes pinned on my wife. “No matter what.”

Emma

“So… tell me, he a good lay? He looks the sort to have some girth.”

I probably should have warned you beforehand about this sister of mine.

Lucy is my entertainer sister who has done every job going alongside studying. She went to dance school, spent six months on a cruise ship, has been an extra and once did a two-month stint in Les Misérables. On weekends she dresses up as Disney characters and does kids’ parties which means she owns a lot of wigs and always has glitter in her bra. She’s the fun one. I keep her close because as much as I love my other siblings, this one has been a good entertainment through my separation. Mum suggested for her to live with me for a couple of weeks when I first moved back to the Peak, and I’m so glad she did. It was around the time I lost a stone and would spend most of the time napping, crying and staring at the wall, surviving on cups of tea and Rich Tea fingers. She couldn’t cook or clean and she used all my shampoo but she brought some light into the house when grey clouds threatened to consume it. She was also a great distraction because I could live vicariously through her tales of going to gigs and clubs and hear how she’s not slept and got her boobs out for reasons of fun and frivolity.

However, when you talk to her, she always goes there. She’s brash and has no conversational limit. She thinks her purpose is to not only feed me but also revive a pretty dead sex life too. Actually, it’s not just her. After my husband and I split, my sisters think it’s their job to pique my interest in men again. Luke happened after a boozy Chinese takeaway about two months ago when I joked that a spring roll was the most phallic thing I’d had in my mouth for over half a year. I remember a dumpling rolled out of Meg’s mouth in shock, so Suze decided to play the matchmaker and introduced me to Luke who worked at the same hospital with her.

Tonight, we’re having another takeaway night since my parents have all the grandchildren for the weekend. Bless them for entertaining that crew of children we seem to have acquired over the past nine years. We have seven between Suze, myself and Meg, and I just hope that my parents are well stocked with wine. They will need it. 

We all sit around my dining room table with the remnants of a KFC bargain bucket, a selection of Thai food, a giant bag of chips and some battered sausages. I’d admit that we were already a little drunk to buy food sanely. Luke is also here, I thought it’d be nice to give my sisters the chance to get to know him. And it doesn’t take Lucy more than thirty seconds after Luke gets up to take a phone call before asking such questions. 

“I don’t know? I haven’t slept with him yet.”

Lucy looks at me in confusion. “But you’ve been on dates and stuff?”

“We did have a cheeky snog last week but we’re taking it slow.”

“What are you waiting for? Just go shag him. Erase the memory of that wanker?” 

“Hey, he’s your niece and nephew’s father,” I chastise her for calling Harry names. “Don’t call him that.”

“Why don’t you want to sleep with Luke?” Meg, my other sister asks me. “Lucy is right though. He’s really tall, I bet he’s VWE.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Very well-endowed.”

I chuckle. “Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

Meg giggles and places her head on my shoulder. 

“Last time I had sex was on Valentine’s Day, girls. Do your maths. The next day, my marriage collapsed.”

Both of them huddle into me like penguins. 

“Which is why you just need to get over yourself,” Lucy remarks. “You need to remember what sex is like. It’ll be fun and make you feel good. If you don’t want to do it with Luke, you can have some taster session? I’ve got a uni mate who’d shag you.”

“Lovely. No.”

Lucy huffs. “You’re so boring.”

“Honestly, Em, Luke is fit. Seems like a nice fella, and he genuinely likes you. I’d have a go on him if I weren’t married. You should just do it,” says Meg.

“Yeah, you could shag him tonight,” Lucy adds. “Meg and I can piss off out and then…” 

Then she does a strange rave-style dance as she thinks of her plan coming together. Luke returns from his phone call and Lucy jiggles in her seat. Don’t you bloody dare. 

“Luke, we need more wine,” says Lucy. “There is not enough and we thought you could walk down to the shop and get some?”

Meg and I look at each other for a second, wondering what our sister is up to. 

“Sure, yeah, I could get wine,” Luke replies. “Any other requests?”

If she tells him to get condoms in then I will skewer her with a chopstick.

“Anything you might fancy or need?”

She’s walking an incredibly thin, thin line. 

Luke gets up to retrieve his coat and grazes my hand as he does. This move doesn’t go unnoticed by Meg and she gives me a sly wink. I hand him my keys and he heads for the front door. Meg stares Lucy out.

“Seriously?” She says.

“We need to prepare you if you’re going to sleep with him.”

“Like mentally?” I ask.

“Like have you had a tidy? This will be your first time. You’ll need to at least tidy up the flaps and do a bit of topiary.”

“LUCY!” I gasp and laugh at the same time, holding my hand to my face. Who is this woman? How can you raise five children in the same house and come up with such a random entity?

She stands up and heads for my kitchen drawers, rifling around until she pulls out a pair of scissors.

“Show me your bush,” she orders.

“Lucy! I prepare food with those scissors.”

“And we’ll wash them?”

Meg is in hysterics as she sees this scene unfolding in front of us.

“I’m not getting my bush out in my kitchen.”

“You’re so dull,” Lucy complains. “I’m trying to help here. What are your pits like? Shame there’s no time to tackle your upper lip.”

I put my hand over it instinctively. “I’ve got a moustache?”

“Well, you’re not Tom Selleck but it could do with a bleach.”

“You’re being cruel now, Luce,” Meg giggles. “But I think we do need the comedy of seeing Lucy trimming your bush in the kitchen.”

I stand up reluctantly and unbutton my jeans.

“Ha!” Exclaims Lucy. “You’re wearing nice knickers, you knew this was going to happen. Just peel them back a little and let me have a look.”

“Be quick for fuck’s sake. This is something that no one needs to see.”

“Do you want a shape?”

“What?”

“Yeah, like a heart? It’d be cute.”

“No!”

Meg roars with laughter.

“I’ll just trim the length then,” says Lucy. “Meg, put your hand out.”

“Do I have to?”

“Don’t you love your sister enough to at least hold her pubes?”

I’m not even sure what’s happening here. One sister is very close to my private regions with a sharp object and I hear the creak of metal as she shears away. The other collects the trimmings in a napkin in her palm. This feels like an opportune moment to ring Suze, our other sister, and start a FaceTime chat. That time we all took one for the team so Emma could reclaim her sex life.

“Thanks, Luce.”

“You don’t say this enough I feel.”

“We really don’t,” says Meg.

“Want me to look at yours, Meg?”

“I’m good.”

“What if he’s into weird stuff?” I ask.

“Like?”

“I don’t know… maybe like choking? Stuff like that.”

“Well, no one breaks out all the moves on their first time,” says Meg but Lucy gives us a look like she begs to differ.

“And I’m not on anything. I stopped the pills months ago. What if I get pregnant?”

“That’s what condoms are for?” 

They both give me a look that says I am not fourteen and that I should have an inkling about how reproduction works and the preventative measures that I can put in place to stop myself from getting pregnant. 

“How do I initiate it?”

“Maybe you could dance for him?” says Luce mockingly. “You’ve both had a drink, let it just happen. Planned sex is the worst kind of sex.”

“I planned nothing. You’re the one who’s got the kitchen scissors.”

“I’m done, anyway. Not my finest work but then at least he’ll be able to find it?”

Meg laughs again as she goes to the bin with her napkin of pubes. I do my jeans up and sit at the table, downing what’s left in my glass. What if he can’t get it up? Or worse, what if he doesn’t like my boobs? I have modest boobs. They wouldn’t win any competitions. What if he wants better boobs?

“You’re overthinking,” says Meg.

“I haven’t got any condoms.”

Lucy reaches inside her handbag, pulls out two packets of johnnies and hands them to me. How far ahead has she planned this?

“Any other excuse?” Lucy asks.

“Look, tonight, just get naked with the fella, have some bloody fun. Enjoy yourself.”

I hear the key go in the latch of the front door. That was quick. Crap. Luke enters the kitchen with two bottles of red that I immediately feel guilty about as I’ve got a rack of it in the utility room. He also carries a few packs of crisps and takes the kitchen scissors that were on my table.

“No!” I stop him. “Those need to be washed.”

He looks at me in confusion and I love that he puts them in the sink without any further questions asked. He rips opens the packet of crisps with his hands instead.

“Crisps?”

Lucy grabs a handful of crisps before she grabs her phone, pretending to read some texts. “Bollocks! Meg, we forgot about the party.”

Meg quickly plays along. “Oh yeah, crap. It’s that birthday party, innit?”

I feel awful. I’m sending the sisters back out into the cold so Luke and I can have the house to ourselves. They both keep winking at me which is more down to the fact that they’ve had at least a bottle of wine each for themselves tonight. Luke stands at the kitchen door while I wave everyone off. This feels weird. 

“Have fun, kids!” Chants Lucy as she shepherds Meg away from the house. I shut the door.

And then there were two. I turn around and Luke is no longer at the doorway. I tiptoe into the kitchen to find him stacking plates. 

“Shall we tidy up now?” He asks.

“It can wait.”

My phone on the table lights up with an incoming text. It’s Lucy. Don’t forget to adjust your tits. Make sure they’re facing forwards. Show a bit of bra. 

Does this mean my boobs are not always facing forward? Where are they looking? This isn’t helping at all. I ignore it.

“Alright,” Luke says with a smile that makes me feel relaxed but also on the faint side of nauseated. It’s probably first time nerves. Is it weird that I’m thinking about the cleanliness of my bedroom? Did I pick up yesterday’s bra from the corner of my room? Do I remember how to go down on a man? What if he doesn’t fancy me?

Sometimes I can’t help but wonder whether my marriage ended with Harry because I was terrible in bed. Maybe I wasn’t attractive enough. I’ve had kids, parts of me are stretched and doughy. Maybe I didn’t provide what he needed. 

In the last year of our marriage, I think it’s safe to say that I was mainly the one to initiate things between us and my success rate wasn’t 100%. There’s this nagging thought in my head that maybe even on those nights I succeeded, those were just pity shags.

You know what, sod it. 

I grab him by the collar and kiss him. He stumbles a little but then lets his body fold into mine. I can do this. Crap. He’s lifting me up. He sits me on the counter and I’d like to say the moment overtakes but there’s red wine inches from my arse so I move the glass with my hand whilst still kissing him. We’re kissing. This is weird. It’s different. It’s not my husband’s lips. Why am I thinking about my husband’s lips? 

I shake my head, banishing that image. Harry doesn’t belong in this room with me right now. 

I feel his hands in the small of my back and then he lifts my jumper over my head. I’m in my bra. Don’t overthink it. Oh, the bra is off. My nipples are out in the kitchen. I run my fingers through his hair as he trails kisses down my neck. Is it weird that right now, at this very moment, all I can think about is that his blond, floppy hair looks like a golden retriever?

I gasp and push him away involuntarily when his mouth wraps on my nipple. This is wrong. This feels wrong. I thought it was just first time jitters but now I think this is deeper than that. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, looking concerned.

I grab my jumper and quickly put it back on. “I… I’m sorry, Luke. I can’t. I have to go.”

“Emma, I’m sorry,” his face reads panic. “Did I read the signals wrong? I thought you wanted this. I feel terrible. I’m so sorry.”

“No, please don’t apologise,” I say hastily. “You didn’t. I did want this. Or so I thought. It’s just… I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll be ready any time soon. Or ever.”

“What do you mean? Are you breaking up with me?”

I have to be straight with him. I take a deep breath. “I want to give you the opportunity to walk away. You’re a good guy, Luke. I just don’t think it’s fair for me to string you along if we can never progress.”

“Is it your ex-husband?”

He’s still my husband. But I don’t say this out loud. 

“He told me that he wanted to give our marriage another shot about two weeks ago when he was here,” I tell him. “I did say no right away. I didn’t think it was a good idea. But…”

“Is it really?” He asks. “You two have a lot of history. Two kids. Why wouldn’t you give him a chance?”

“I’m worried.”

“And what are you worried about?”

“My heart?” I say quietly. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

Luke smiles at me through sympathetic eyes. “Listen to me, Emma. I’m not a cardiologist, but I know that the hearts are the strongest organs in the human body. They can go through anything.”

What happens next feels like a blur. All I know is that by midnight, I’m already halfway down the M1, on my way to London. 

Harry

It was a knock on the door that woke me up.

When I first open my eyes, I’m disoriented. I don’t know what time it is, or how long I’ve been asleep. Then I realise I’m on the sofa, and it’s still dark outside. It’s also raining. I walk towards the door and open it, just in time to catch a figure going down the steps, which doesn’t take me more than a second to recognise. I am in complete shock. Is this real? Is that really my wife, standing in front of my door in the middle of the night? Or are my eyes deceiving me?

“Emma?”

She stops on the pavement and slowly turns to face me. She’s spooked through—her jeans moulded to the curves of her legs, the sleeves of her jumper dripping, her hair flat, lips slightly tinged with blue.

“I don’t know why I’m here,” she says. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”

I open the door wider, and my voice is drowsy and deep when I say, “Come on, let’s talk inside.”

She takes a step back instead.

“I just… I wasn’t thinking. I’m here. I don’t know why,” she sounds genuinely bewildered—even a little panicked.

“Are the kids in the car?” I ask her and she shakes her head. The wind blows, spraying ice-cold drops across my bare skin where my shirt hangs open. “You’re shivering, honey, come inside.” 

She stares at me, so many emotions swirling in her expression. She’s like a skittish kitten who can’t decide if she should let the stranger pat her head or haul up the nearest tree. It breaks my heart.

“I don’t think I can.”

So I go to her. 

The rain is cold and hard, soaking my shirt. Her eyes dart from the pavement, to my chest, up to my eyes and back again, like she’s ready to bolt—but her feet stay glued.

I lean in so she can hear me through the rain. “Do you remember the first time we went to Paris together? When we were young and crazy enough to only rent one electric scooter for both of us, and we rode around the city at night?”

The corners of her mouth tug up a little. “I remember.”

“But then I was going way too fast and we hit a rock, and both of us went flying. I didn’t want to ride anymore the next day, because I was afraid you’d get hurt. Do you remember what you told me?”

“I said…” she begins, her eyes meet mine. “I said we had to keep riding. Because it’s the only thing that made falling worth it.”

I nod tenderly and hold out my hand. “I’m not going to let us fall this time, Emma.”

Her eyes are back on the pavement. “I’m not sure-”

I know she still doesn’t trust me. I know that sadness on her face and how it penetrates so deeply. I know she’s probably better off without me, the bastard who crushed her heart and soul and took her for granted for years. 

We shy away from the things that hurt us. But that’s what scars are for. They protect the wounds. They cover them with thick, numb tissue so we’ll never have to feel that same pain again. The scars that my wife has inside? They’re tough. 

I beg when she continues to stare at my hand, “Please, just come inside.”

Slowly, tentatively, her hand slides into mine. 

And we go in out of the rain.

I take her upstairs to the bedroom that used to be ours. Her teeth chatter as she sits on the edge of the bed. I throw a blanket over her shoulders, rubbing her arms, sliding down to cup her hands. 

“Shit, you’re freezing. How long were you out there?”

“A while. I was walking… thinking.”

“Just some friendly advice. Next time you go a-wandering, stop and buy an umbrella.”

Emma shivers as she laughs. I pull the blanket closer around her and rub her back. 

“So… you gonna tell me what’s this midnight adventure about?” 

Her voice comes out soft and wavering in the dark room. “I was with Luke.”

“Did he do something to you? I’ve watched enough crime documentaries to pull a perfect murder.”

She shakes her head and chuckles. “We were having a takeaway night. Meg and Lucy were there too, but then they left and there were just the two of us and-”

“Please spare me the details,” I beg.

“Nothing happened. I just… I couldn’t get through it. Your face kept popping out in my head and I knew that if I went all the way through, we’d lose our chance. And I didn’t want us to lose our chance. I know this is completely the opposite of what I said to you two weeks ago but it’s true. I wasn’t ready then and maybe I’m still not ready now, but I don’t know about the future and you said you’d wait for me and…”

Her words trail off and my chest clenches with that sublime mix of excitement and trepidation. Of wanting something so much it’s like every cell in your body is stretching, reaching for it, yet there’s a grey shadow of worry that you might never get to touch it.

“Oh, Ems…”

I cup my hands around hers and blow into them. Another shiver vibrates through her. 

For a moment we sit there in silence. Memories of us in this bed come flooding back. Of the kids piling in here bright and early, and us having cuddles and catch ups over the week just gone. Of the two of us and that sacred half an hour we had together before we go to sleep. Where we could have a proper chat without little voices interrupting us every few seconds. Sometimes we’d read together too, and other times when we just couldn’t be arsed, we’d simply spend that half an hour scrolling through memes and having a laugh together.

“You’ve got to get out of these wet clothes,” I say gently, with absolutely no teasing suggestion. We’re right on the precipice. I can feel it. And I have to tread so carefully, because one wrong move could send her away, truly lost to me.

I peel my soaked shirt off and let it drop to the floor. Her eyes move, trailing over my shoulders. I stand and slowly unbutton my jeans, leaving me in black boxer briefs. 

Her eyes follow my every move, looking at me.

I push the blanket off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. I grasp her jumper at the bottom and lift slowly. I wait for her to push me away but she doesn’t. She raises her arms instead. I pull the jumper over her head and it lands with a plop on the floor. I remind myself not to enjoy the view. I’m trying hard not to look.

My chest rises and falls as rapidly as hers. I sink to my knees in front of her and reach out for the button of her jeans. She lifts her hips and my fingertips graze her skin as I slide them down her thighs, leaving the white lace knickers in place. 

“Get under the sheets,” I whisper and she does just that.

She scoots to her side of the bed, and I slide beside her. Without a word, she snuggles into my side. The cool feel of her flesh is a shock at first, but in just a few moments, my heat chases away her chill. Except for her feet. I practically jump when she runs one up my calf.

“Yer a bloody ice cube!”

She laughs kind of evilly. 

We face each other, almost nose to nose. Her hair still drips at the ends and a drop trickles over her collarbone, down her chest, and I’ve got to take a deep breath—because I want to lick it off her so badly.

“Talk to me,” she says softly.

“I’m taking time off work.”

“But you never take time off work?” 

“I’ve got a lot to make up to the kids,” I tell her. “So I told Jeff to bugger off for at least until after New Year.”

I see her smile in the dim light.

“I’m gonna stay up with my mum,” I add. “I’ll only be an hour away from you lot.”

This is something that I’ve been mulling about. If I really do want a chance with Emma, I need to move up there because absence does not make the heart grow fonder. That may be true in secondary school when you went away for the summer. But in marriage, especially in a broken marriage, absence separates people. It creates distance. That’s the opposite of what you’re trying to achieve. You want the closeness back.

My wife’s palm runs over my bicep—tentatively at first—then with a surer touch. “They’d love that.”

“Also, you remember my old mate Stu?” She nods. “We got in touch just earlier today. He’s got a litter of puppies and he offered one for us. I told him I need to talk to you first. So what do you think?”

“A puppy, huh?”

“A puppy.” 

“I think that’s a good idea,” she says. “But I’ve never had a dog though.”

“I can train it first at my mum’s?” I offer. “I’ll get it all settled. Then when it starts sleeping through the night, I’ll bring it over.”

“Does it make me a terrible mum for wishing we had that kind of service when the kids were newborns?” 

“We had that service. It’s called sending them to the grandparents.”

We both laugh, and when the laughter dies down, we’re silent for a few minutes. The thrum of my heartbeat jacks up as her hand continues to stroke my arm. 

“Harry?” Her voice is the barest whisper, like she’s checking to see if I’m asleep. 

“Hmm?”

“I… I’ve missed you. So much.”

And I’m done.

The need to kiss her, to touch her, has been pulling at me like a raging current ever since I saw her on the front step, and with those few words, I let the current take me. 

***

Numerous studies have shown that having sex extends the human life span. At this rate, Emma and I are going to live forever. We probably slept twenty minutes max throughout the night and I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve done it. I’m pretty sure the last time we did something like that was ten years ago on our honeymoon. 

We’re sitting at the breakfast nook. Her hair mussy and she’s wearing one of my T-shirts. She looks freshly fucked, which I know to be true, and I reckon she’d be ready to crawl back into bed with me if I just crook my finger. But I don’t do that. Because this, us, sitting here in the morning sunlight, playing footsies under the table while we talk over coffee is all I’ve been dreaming about every morning.

“What are you thinking about?” She asks when she catches me looking.

“You,” I smile. “You look perfect.”

“No, no more,” she shakes her head frantically. “I won’t be able to walk.”

“You dirty lass, I was trying to be romantic and all that,” I can’t help but snort in laughter. “And you always do that… rebuff any type of compliment I try to give you.”

It’s true. If I tell her she looks beautiful, she waves a dismissive hand at me. If I compliment her mind, she blushes. Even an appreciative look from me has her turning shy like a schoolgirl.

When she doesn’t respond to me, I continue to poke at her. “Why is that? Why does it embarrass you when I tell you that you’re smokin’ hot?”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “Because it’s weird. I feel like you just have to say that.” 

She pretends to go through one of her old magazines from when she still lived here. I reach across the table and bat at it, causing one side to pull out of her hands and reveal her entire face to me. Now she’s glaring. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

And I grin when I see red stain her cheeks.

“And you’ve got the most gorgeous body. I take one look at you naked and I can’t help but get rock hard.”

“Stop it,” she blusters, now blushing all the way down her neck.

I change tactics, but I know this will embarrass her just as much. “You are the most amazing woman. Kindest, genuine and grounded. Funniest too. And you’re the best mother for our babies.”

“Okay,” she snaps at me as she closes the magazine and slams it down onto the table. “You’ve made your point.”

Chuckling, I stretch back in my chair and nudge her foot with mine under the table. “You’re adorable.”

She rolls her eyes, which I find to be beyond adorable. 

Standing up from my chair, I walk around the table and hold my hand out to her. She willingly takes it and stands when I give her a tug. It’s a natural move for her, to walk straight into my embrace and press herself against me. I tilt my head and kiss her on her jaw. “It’s something you need to get used to… compliments from me. It’s never going to stop.”

She moans softly in my ear.

“Want to know what else you’re going to have to get used to?” I whisper as I kiss my way down her neck.

Her fingers come up, tangle in my hair, and fist tightly. “What’s that?”

“My face between your legs.”

***

Some people might not put Quaglino’s into the romantic restaurant bracket, but they’d be wrong, very wrong. In actual fact, it’s quite hard to top. The interior has this 1930’s romance charm with candlelit tables, dark-panelled walls and an adjoining room for dancing to the soft tunes of the piano man singing bluesy versions of classic songs. 

Tonight, I managed to convince Emma to go out to dinner with me before she goes back to our babies. I insist on driving her since I don’t want her to drive alone at night again, which she initially refused but finally agreed.

We finish our dinner and split a slice of cheesecake for dessert. Probably not my brightest idea since I keep having to readjust myself because seeing her slowly swallow a mouthful of white, creamy concoction is a pure kind of torture. But I try to kick those dirty thoughts out of my mind and focus. 

Since last night, we’ve successfully managed to avoid the talk. It feels like we’re in a bubble where everything is perfect and we’re just scared to burst it, but I know this can’t go on. Emma and I need to have a proper chat if we want this to work.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“You and I need to talk, don’t you think?” I begin. 

“You’re right,” she nods. “So…”

“What is this?” I gesture between us. “Are you ready to give us another shot?”

“I think so,” she nods. “But I want us to take it slow.”

“You set the pace,” I assure her. “I want this to work more than I want anything else in my life. So I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“We’ll see this as a new dalliance,” she adds.

I know this is supposed to be serious so I try hard not to break into laughter. “Okay. I will court you but I won’t ask you to move to an estate in the country. Not right away at least.”

“I’m serious.”

“You sound like Austen.”

She rolls her eyes. “And we can’t tell anyone either.”

“I agree,” I tell her. “And from now on, we talk to each other, alright? I’ll try to make you happy the best way I know how. But if it’s not enough for you, then you need to tell me.”

She nods, but then her graze drops before she asks. “You really do want this right?”

“I told you I want this to work more than anything else in my life.”

“It’s just… when you first told me you wanted to fight for our marriage, I was overwhelmed because it was all so sudden. You told me everything I wanted to hear. Even at that moment, everything in me screamed for us to just fall back into it all the way. But there was also a part of me that thought you were just lonely, and maybe you thought that us getting back together was the answer to it.”

“Not true-”

Emma holds up her hand. “Maybe not true, but it’s my fear. That’s why I kissed Luke that night, because I was desperate. I wanted to push things with him because I knew I’d never love him the way I love you. I knew that if things went to pot, I wouldn’t be half as devastated. But with you? I don’t think I can survive that type of heartbreak again, H. You don’t know how much it killed me to end our marriage. I can’t afford to fall back into something that’s not going to last.”

“Emma,” I reach across the table to take her hand. “I can’t even imagine how hard it was for you. I know for sure it was not a decision you made lightly, nor on a whim. I wish I had fought you on it then… had fought for you then. There was a time when I thought our marriage was over, and I was going to let you go. But I’m not going to do that now. If it takes you weeks, months, hell, Emma… if it takes you years to fully trust my devotion to you, I’m in this for however long it takes.”

Emma nods, biting into her lower lip. I can see her eyes starting to water because every bit of this is overwhelming. She turns her head towards the music floating in from the other room. It’s a Van Morrison cover, Crazy Love.

“Wanna dance?”

The request takes me by surprise since this isn’t like her. But I toss my napkin on the table and move to stand next to her, holding out my hand. The simple delight on her face when her hand slides into mine is everything.

We step out onto the edge of the dance floor. I wrap my arm around her lower back, holding her tight and flush against me. One of her hands rests on my shoulder, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. The other is clasped in mine just over my heart. We sway, eyes pinned at each other for a few moments.

“Thought you hate dancing?” I smirk.

“Still hate it,” she answers. “I’m just using it as an excuse to be closer to you.”

She sighs, practically sinks into my arms. Emma’s head fits against my chest like she was made to be there. My chin rests against her hair.

“Emma?”

She lifts her head from my chest. “Yeah?”

“You don’t need an excuse.”

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

***

“What the-”

“Oi!” I yell, quickly pulling the duvet over my wife and I. “Heard of knocking?”

“Heard of a bedroom lock?” Lucy challenges.

Last night, we drove up the M1 straight from the restaurant. We took breaks in deserted services with shiny floors and bad lighting where we had coffees and wandered around WHSmith bulk buying sweets even though it’s really not that far. But you can never have too many travel sweets, can you?

And now, here we are, back at the cottage. The kids are still at their grandparents until this afternoon so Emma and I are enjoying the benefit of having the house all to ourselves by having a morning shag. That is until one of her sisters walks in on us. I’m very aware that I’m still inside Emma.

I pull out, roll over to lay down next to my wife, and we both stare at Lucy who is dressed from head to toe like Princess Jasmine from Aladdin.

“Party?” Emma asks her sister. We both try not to giggle as she sashays in to look at herself in the mirror then perches on the bed in her harem pants. Today, she’s gone heavy on the winged eyeliner and shows off a flat midriff. I quite like the pointy silver shoes though.

“No, Tesco,” she says dryly. “Obviously a party.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask her. 

Lucy glares at me. “What are you doing here? Besides rearranging my sister’s guts, of course.”

I don’t even flinch. I’ve been married to Emma for ten years, I’m used to this sister of hers.

“I’m trying to win your sister back,” I say earnestly. I know that Emma and I talked about keeping this a secret, but she literally walked on us shagging. There’s no point in denying it. It’s best that she knows my true intention rather than thinking we’re divorced with benefits.

“Eh, about time,” she replies nonchalantly.

“Luce, please keep this to yourself for now,” Emma begs her. “This is still new.”

“I will,” she nods. “Just a friendly reminder, though, Styles. If you hurt my sister again, I won’t even think twice before starting a business selling voodoo dolls of you. Bet I could make a fortune of that.”

In their girl gang, Lucy is the wildcard, the likeliest to carry a shank. I don’t even laugh because she could be serious. 

“Duly noted.”

“What are you doing here this early?” Emma asks her sister.

“I wanted to ask if I can borrow that giant tiger in George’s room?”

“Feel free to borrow the rug in the front room as well,” I cackle.

“Ooh yeah,” Emma chirps. “Are you going to find a whole new world?”

“Have you got your Aladdin?”

She pulls a face at our mocking. “My mate who’s supposed to be Aladdin is sick so I asked Jamie to fill in and he agreed because he owed me a big favour. But this lot changed their mind and wanted a genie so now I have to go to Jamie’s and convince him to let me do a full blue body paint on him.”

Emma and I roar with laughter. “Please, please, please, take some piccies.” 

***

A month later…

I can only imagine the joy on my children’s faces when they open the door. I’ll be standing there with the pup in hand, but I know I’m practically vibrating with excitement myself. I glance over at the little dog crate that we’d prepared to transport him in. It’s a sweet, nine-week-old Bernese mountain dog. He’s pretty chill, curled into a round ball, but he’s not sleeping. His eyes are open and alert, as if he’s just waiting to find out what’s around the next corner.

The back of my Range Rover is loaded with two boxes of food, dog toys, bowls, a leash, and appropriate treats. Since I’m still crashing at my mum’s, that will go to her place for when the kids and this puppy come to stay. Emma has an identical list at her home, already purchased and hiding until we hand the puppy off to the kids.

I’ve got a feeling that today is going to be a good day. All morning, Emma and I texted back and forth. Some of it was practical, like making sure we agreed on all the dog rules we’d lay down with the kids tonight. Some of it was lighthearted teasing. Some of it was dirty.

I can’t remember the last time I texted my wife throughout the day just for the hell of it. I had fun with it, and I know without a doubt she had fun with it too. Which made me realise what a twat I’d been for never doing something as simple as letting her know she was on my mind in just such a way. 

Pulling into the drive, I cut my headlights so the kids wouldn’t see me approach. I shut the engine off, quietly get out of my side, and press the door closed quietly. On the other side, I open the passenger door, then spring the latch on the dog crate, and this tiny little puppy totters straight at me with tail wagging.

I lift him in my arms. I shut the door and then move over to the patch of grass. I put the puppy down so he will go potty before I bring him in. When I was a kid, we had a dog called Max, but I sort of grew up with him so I didn’t remember when he was a puppy. And Emma never had a dog before, so we’re sort of winging it with this puppy training thing. But I don’t fret about it. I mean, we’ve had babies, they’re harder than this, surely? 

I patiently wait for this little fella to do his business, which includes a few minutes where he attacks my shoelaces and tugs. Shite, he’s cute. 

Eventually, he sniffs around, tail high and then abruptly squats to pee. I thought boy dogs lift their legs when they pee but maybe not at this age. I immediately bend and give him praise with an upbeat, positive tone that makes him excited. Who’s daddy’s clever little fella? You are! Yes, you are! You did well, mate. That was brilliant! He puts his paws up on my shin, accepting my stretches with tail wagging and tongue lolling out the side of his head. My kids are going to fall in love with this little guy. 

I scoop him up in my arms when he’s done and make my way inside. But instead of entering from the front door, I circle the house so I can enter from the back, knowing they must be all in the kitchen as this is usually the time when the kids would do their homework for next week. Walking past the window, I see that I’m right. Emma is at the kitchen island with George next to her and Minnie on the opposite side. My heart starts beating faster at the thought of spending the day with my family—and apparently our new third child in my arms—and I find it almost shameful I have such excitement over it. Shouldn’t I have always been this excited? Or is it normal for things to just settle, and we take them for granted?

I shake that thought off of my mind. I had this important talk with my wife a couple of weeks ago about how we shouldn’t focus on the past. We’re both committed to repairing our marriage, and for it to work, we both know we must commit to living in the present. Because at the end of the day, the present is all we have.

I knock on the door and as planned, Emma will tell the kids to answer it.

In moments, it’s swinging open. I get a flash of Emma walking up behind our kids, but my eyes are pinned on them. They’re both in complete shock, eyes wide open staring at the puppy squirming in my arms.

Both stare at me mutely, frozen, as if they can’t believe that this is real.

Finally, I say, “surprise!”

Minnie’s gaze rises up to meet mine. “Is that ours?”

“This is ours,” I nod, laughing. But still, neither of them move forwards, so I goad them. “Come and get him?”

That’s all it takes for Minnie to scoop this little fella into her arms, pressing her nose into his head and murmuring little endearments. George scratches him and he reacts to their greetings by wiggling frantically and trying to lick both of my kids’ faces. They both laugh in a delighted way I’ve never quite heard before.

I look at my wife and see her tender smile as she watches our littles. I can tell she’s as charmed by it as I am. 

I walk inside because it’s colder than a witch’s tit outside and shut the door. “He just peed outside, but we need to keep a close eye on him. If he starts sniffing around or circling, that probably means he needs a wee. Scoop him up and take him out to the back. After he’s done with his thing, give him lots of praise and affirmation.”

“Got it,” Minnie says as she plops down on the living room floor with the pup. The puppy jumps around, and all three of them start to play.

“Now, what should we name him?” Emma asks.

“Droolius Caesar?” I joke.

Emma laughs. “Jimmy Chew?”

“Sarah Jessica Barker?” I continue. “Wait, no, it’s a boy. Franz Fur-dinand?”

“Sir Barks-a-Lot?”

“Deputy Dawg?”

“Bark Twain?”

We both laugh. We’re shite at this. The kids are too busy with the puppy to comment on our suggestions.

SpongeBob SquarePants is on the telly playing in the background. None of them are watching, but I see SpongeBob scratching his snail pet under the chin before he picks up said pet and says, “I love you Gary. Gary, Gary, Gary, Gary…”

“Gary,” I say. The kids look at me and I point at the telly.

“That’s a ridiculous name for a dog,” Emma cackles. “But I like it.”

“That’s a human name?” Minnie’s brows knit slightly.

“I like it!” George exclaims, then proceeds to baby talk the pup who’s chewing on the end of Minnie’s braid. “I love you Gary. Gary, Gary, Gary, Gary…”

We laugh.

“H,” Emma calls, and my gaze moves to her. She jerks her chin to the kitchen. “Help me set up the table? I’ve got a cold beer for you.”

Minnie and George still completely ignore us as we move into the kitchen. 

It would be natural for me to sit at the kitchen island while Emma gets the beer and checks on the supper, but the kids can see me from where they sit in the living room. So I follow my wife behind the island instead.

Before she can make it two steps, I move right into the back of her. Hands at her hips, I push her all the way forward until the counter catches her hips, then I dip to put my lips to her neck. 

Emma’s head falls back and she utters the tiniest of sighs, one arm looping back to go around the side of my head so she can thread her fingers in my hair. It’s an intimate embrace, but not one to provoke lust. Just a message that I missed her even though I saw her two days ago, and I love touching her in this gentle, loving way.

“The kids,” she murmurs. “They might see us.”

“Oh, the tragedy,” I whisper dryly. “Our children seeing  their parents hugging.”

Emma snickers and pulls away, glancing over her shoulder. “It would be shocking to them. And until we know for sure what we are and where we’re going, we need to keep them in the dark, remember? I don’t want them to get their hopes up.”

“You’re right,” I mumble in a low voice before moving to the island. I glance back at the living room and see the puppy on George’s back, trying to climb up. “No touching around the kids.”

She smiles and hands me a beer. She’s got one in her hand, and we tap bottles. She then moves to the oven, where she bends to take a peek through the window. Obviously, I stare at her arse as she does.

“It’s done,” she announces, opening the oven to pull the pan of shepherd’s pie.

“Need help with that?’ I ask, noting it looks like it probably weighs fifty pounds.

Twisting, she grins. “Sure. I made a double batch to send you home with some leftovers.”

That gets me. Not only she made one of my favourite meals, but she’s also sending me home with leftovers. I pop off the stool, round the island and take the two potholders she’s holding out to me.

After I carefully lift the pan from the oven, she shuts the oven door. I set it down on the two trivets she’s placed on the counter.

Bending over, I inhale the scent deeply. “Smells fantastic.”

Emma bumps her hip against me. “Well… you’ve been pretty amazing these last few weeks, so…”

I bump her hip back before sliding my hand around her waist. Bending my head, I murmur. “Admit it… it’s for the orgasms I gave you after the school run the other day.”

She chuckles with a sly smile. “Possibly.”

Leaning in closer, I touch my temple on the top of her head, lowering to a complete whisper. “You do know that I can give you that any day you want, right, Em? All you’ve got to do is ask.”

“Oh, I will,” she teases.

“What’s going on here?” Minnie says from behind us.

Emma and I jump apart as if we’d been electrocuted by each other. We spin to see Minnie standing there, with George next to her holding Gary in his arms. These two must have worn that pup out as he is still, watching us curiously.

Minnie’s expression, on the other hand, is condemning and suspicious.

“Nothing’s going on, poppet,” Emma says, her voice a little squeaky in panic. It’s adorable.

“Your mum and I were just talking,” I calmly explain.

“With your arm around her waist and whispering,” Minnie challenges. “Looks more like flirting to me.”

“Are you upset about it?” I challenge back. I knew she was upset when we separated and she struggled with it for a long time. 

Her brows knit together. “I’m just confused.”

Emma’s expression indicates she has no clue what to say. I can’t say I’m any more well equipped, but I’m going to take this one. I give my wife a subtle chin tilt, silently telling her I’ll handle this and relief evident in her eyes.

“Come on, you lot. Help me sort Gary’s stuff,” I say, herding them towards the garage. 

All three of them follow me into the garage, Gary still cosy in George’s arms. 

I immediately spot the stack of supplies, which includes a dog crate similar to mine, as well as bowls, a soft dog bed, food and toys. I pick up the soft bed towards the door that leads back into the house. Minnie turns to precede me, but I stop her. “Hang on there a second, poppet.”

When she pivots to face me her expression is guarded. “You asked about your mum and me. What do you want to know?”

“Were you two flirting with each other just now?” She demands. Crap. She’s nine. She’s not supposed to know that stuff. 

I can’t believe I get a little warm in the face at such a question, but I nod. I know it’s probably too soon to tell them but there’s no point in denying this. Both of my children are smart, and they deserve to know what’s going on. 

Her eyes narrow. “So are you… what… getting back together?”

“Does it mean you’re gonna live with us again, daddy?” George chirps.

“Not yet, nuggets. It’s not that simple.”

“It kind of is,” she replies. “You left for months. You didn’t even come during the summer. Then once she started dating Luke-”

“What’s dating?” George turns to his sister.

“It’s when you like someone and they like you back and you become boyfriend and girlfriend then you go out to eat together and do other stuff,” Minnie explains, then she continues. “Then once she started dating Luke, you’re suddenly coming around more often. And then she told me that Luke wouldn’t come over anymore and now you two are making googly eyes at each other.”

We lapse into silence for a moment. I need to think carefully about what to say next. George beats me. “I think I’m dating someone.”

“You what?” My eyes widen.

“Yeah. I asked Poppy in the playground to be my girlfriend the other day and she said yes. Then after we were done playing on the slides we got hungry so she shared her raisins with me. I also let her take a sip of my Ribena.”

I try hard not to break into laughter but Minnie doesn’t even crack a smile. 

“Okay… so here’s the thing. I was very upset. I know that was wrong of me to just leave without saying goodbye, and it was wrong of me for not visiting sooner. I needed time to let it go, and to accept what your mum wanted. But not once during that time did I not want to come back home. I’ve always wanted my family back.”

“Then what changed?” Minnie asks.

“Your mum and I spent some time apart because we both thought that was the best decision. But we were wrong. Because we realised that we didn’t want to be without each other. So now I’m trying to prove that I’ve changed. That I’m a better man, and I’m ready to be a better husband. The one your mum deserves.”

“See,” Minnie murmurs, her expression filled with confusion. George dips his head and rubs his cheek against Gary’s head, who seems to be on the verge of falling asleep. “I don’t get it. You and mum always seemed to get along great. You never argued. I never understood why you left.”

I move in close to my daughter and brush a lock of hair behind her ear. “A lot of that stuff is private between your mum and I, poppet.”

George asks. “But why can’t you just move in now, daddy?”

“It takes time, mate. Your mum and I need more time to sort ourselves out. But I promise you two that we’re trying our hardest here, okay? We need you both to be patient. Can you do that for us?”

They both nod in unison. Gary blinks twice.

“I can’t wait for us to be family again,” says Minnie.

Grinning, I bend to kiss her head. “Me too, poppet…”

***

Emma

“Gary! This way, Gary!”

Harry and I look at each other across this rather windy hilltop. The kids and Gary are exploring the neighbouring bushes and pathways as we perch ourselves on a rock nearby. We take in the view, the breeze biting at my cheeks.

My husband turns to me. “Tea? I put some whisky in it.”

“Hell, why not.”

Harry pours the tea out and we clink mugs. He brushes his thumb across my nose for no absolute reason. I was born and raised here, but this is something I’ll never tire of: these swooping hills and valleys, infinite skies and bracing breezes. As much as I loved London, I’m glad we’ve traded that life with this simpler one. There is no taxi nor Tube in sight but our kids are somehow a little bouncier and carefree. They’re happy here, and that’s all that matters. 

 “Ey up,” greets Harry at a group of people walking past us. They are obviously tourists as they have no way to respond and one of them is wearing bog standard Reebok Classics.

We hear the kids squeal in the distance and we both smile at each other. Getting that pup was probably one of our best decisions.  

“Do you remember when we first dated?” Asks my husband. “You brought me up here.”

I nod. “I do.”

“The view was decent,” he grins. 

“I know you’re not thinking about the view.”

“I was thinking about what happened when we got to the top of the meadow…”

“That was some decent shag,” I chuckle. “Nowadays, I’d worry about getting ticks on my unmentionables.”

We laugh.

I stare over at my husband taking in the view and sipping tea noisily. He always pauses for a moment on any walk to drink it all in. He rustles in his bag and gets a packet of biscuit out, opening the packaging awkwardly and offering it to me. 

“Did you know that you’re supposed to call it ‘niece’ and not ‘nice’? Apparently, they’re named after the French town.”

“That’s proper pub quiz trivia knowledge right there, Styles,” I tease.

We stay up here for a little while, but since it’ll get dark soon, we start our walk back to the car. The one thing you forget about taking kids up mountains (small hills) is that for all that experience of green space and fresh air, eventually, you will have to bring them down. Despite having an entire packet of biscuit (with a whole lot of why did you bring this one? This is rubbish. You could’ve brought hobnobs), we failed to remember to pack enough snacks and a fine drizzle is now scratching at our faces. It takes George much persuading to keep walking and by the time we return to the car, the sun is dipping behind the clouds and the twilight sits in the air. 

Harry decided it was fine to park in a deserted car park in the middle of nowhere to escape the throngs of regular walkers and tourists but strangely enough, when we get back there, we are one of six parked up.

“Come on, mate. Literally, just to the car. Like twenty more steps,” Harry begs our son to keep on walking. 

“You lied!” He complains. “You said that twenty steps ago.”

“I’ve got Haribo in the car.”

He progresses to a light canter. 

“Where did all these cars come from?” Harry asks as he approaches our motor cautiously.

“Maybe you’re not the only smart one here and people are following your lead.”

A car flashes us. 

I look around at all the cars. People are sat in them. What are they waiting for? You see this sometimes when waiting for the rain to pass or when people decide to eat their lunch in the car. 

Suddenly, I hear a car door open and a gentleman approaches us. His footsteps are low.

I know him. It’s Patrick. He’s our postman, so, yes, we have our very own Postman Pat. It was the first thing that tickled Harry when he found out years ago. And even better, the joke is not lost on Pat. His wife even got him a stuffed black and white cat for his cherry-red van window. I smile at recognising him, as do all of the occupants in our car.

“Emma, Harry, kids. Fancy seeing you here, of all places.”

“We’ve got a new dog and we were just taking him for a walk,” I inform him.

“Oh, lovely. What’s his name?”

“Gary,” the kids say in unison.

“Have you got a dog, Pat?” George asks him.

“No, my wife’s a cat lady. But funny you should mention dogs. This place here, people like to come here for that reason.”

“Gary seemed to like it,” pipes in Harry. “I think it’ll be his favourite.”

“That it is. People come here all the time for walking and with their dogs and other such endeavours.” His face looks slightly ashen at this point, his eyes darting towards the other cars. “And the other sense of the word… I just thought I would mention it as you have the littl’uns and it’s getting darker. I think someone just flashed his lights to warn you.”

Harry and I realise what he means exactly at the same time. “OH!” we say at the same gobsmacked volume. 

“Dogg…ing…” Harry mumbles. “We should-”

“Leave, like definitely leave, like now,” I say finishing his sentence.

The kids appear confused. I look around and shield my eyes. I should shield the children’s eyes. Pat’s wife waves from the passenger seat.

“Give our regards to June,” I say.

“Will do.”

He salutes us and returns to his car. The kids have all the questions. “People come here to look at dogs?” George asks. “Where are the dogs?”

“Get. In. The. Car.” Harry mouths very deliberately.

I slink into the passenger seat. Our eyes dart in different directions trying to divert focus from any of the cars ahead. We’ll be good if Harry doesn’t drive us off a cliff face. He turns on the wipers, the engine roars to a start and he pulls away slowly.

“We could have stayed and seen the dogs,” says George, a little despondently. “Gary would’ve loved to see his mates. Wouldn’t you, Gary?”

I throw a packet of Haribo at him. Harry and I are silent. We’ve just strolled our children and our very young dog into an outdoor sex hotspot. We are terrible parents. 

“Who fancies chips?” Harry says as he changes gear. He finds our littles in the rear-view mirror and studies their faces. “There’s a decent chippy down road.”

There’s a chorus of approval from the back seat. My husband smiles. He then moves his hand over from the gearstick to find mine, fingers interlocked, the sky glowing a thousand different colours.

***

“Are you calling my turkey dry?”

I look over at my older sister Suze in the corner of our family kitchen wondering where on earth she had the courage to come out with a comment like that. Even her husband stops washing up to absorb what his wife just said to our mother. I mean, you think it, but you just douse it in gravy and make do. Such is the joy of white chalky meat like turkey. Why do this now? Now she’ll harp on about the bacon she puts on the breasts and all the goose fat. But it’s Suze. She likes the challenge. I secretly think the only way she believes she can have a relationship with our mother is to spar with her regularly so they at least have one line of communication.

“It was a lovely dinner, Mum. Did you make the mince pies?” Suze winks at me.

I shake my head at her and bring the plate of mince pies through to the living room. Amidst my mother’s wreaths and tinsel wrapped around the lampshades, it’s a familiar tableau: Pop, my grandfather, asleep in the armchair in the corner, a holy green paper hat covering his eyes. Small children crawl on the floor and make angel shapes with their bodies amidst remnants of old glittery wrapping paper.  I hope Mum’s made a trifle. My other sister Meg and her husband snooze on a neighbouring sofa, catching on much needed sleep since they just had a baby four months ago and I still remember four months sleep regression is hell. I like this part of Christmas where bits of old crackers litter the floor and twilight takes over.

I take a mince pie and escape to the last vacant spot on the sofa. George rests his head on my knees. “What are you eating, mummy?” I look down at his bright green eyes and wonder how he can still be hungry as he must be ninety per cent roast potato at this point.

“A mince pie.”

“With cow mince?”

“No, like fruity bits,” I pick out said fruity bits and drop them into his mouth like a baby bird. He pulls a face, tasting it, and then walks away.

Harry smiles at me from the bottom of the Christmas tree. He’s laying down on the floor with one of my nieces. He’s always been great with kids, long even before we have our own. My niece has her palm out, and Harry runs circles in it as he sings, “round and round the garden, like a teddy bear…”

She smiles and laughs, poising her fingers, ready to bounce. 

“One step, two-step, tickle me under there,” he pretends to collapse into giggles and my niece’s little face broadens into laughter before she rolls over and walks away to play with her cousins.

Finishing my last bite of the tiny pie, I roll under the tree to join my husband. He looks at me as I cosy up next to him, the lights reflect off his eyes.

My mother likes a real tree for Christmas. It’s the smell, you can’t beat the smell. I like to think you can get that real pine smell from a good supermarket brand toilet cleaner but I don’t say that out loud for fear of incurring her festive wrath. And so there’s always a real tree and like we endured when my siblings and I were teens, there’s still a daily rota of vacuuming up the needles as we watch that bastard go crusty and brown as it’s shoved up against the radiator. 

We lay there in silence, looking up at the branches and my mother’s multicoloured lights twinkling in some erratic fashion that my eyes can’t quite handle. I’ve been to raves that were less of an assault on the senses. It’s an overwhelming memory of our childhood, lying in silence wigging out on mum’s trippy disco lights, absorbing the magic of the season. 

“You’re drunk aren’t you, tipsy-tits?”

“You were the one who poured double shots of Baileys in our coffees this morning,” I cackle.

“That’s called Christmas milk.” 

“What are you doing here?” Minnie asks, her head nestling into my shoulder. I rake pine needles from her head.

“Nothing…” Harry replies. “Where’s yer brother?”

“Here,” George suddenly appears, rolling under the tree next to his dad to join us.

“Looks like the awesome foursome is back, huh?” Harry grins.

Minnie and George hum in agreement. I can see my babies smiling. 

It’s time.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” 

I take a deep breath. “Will you come back home with us?”

-

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[suicidalslasher]

forever & always. ➤ tom. h.

Happy Valentine’s Day~!!! I couldn’t contain myself and or stop myself from writing about my favorite Valentine’s day killer. So, here you go :)

WARNING: descriptions of gore and blood. in this one-shot, the reader’s pronouns are she&her.  i might make a part two of this, depending on how well it does. maybe not. i like how it ends, regardless. either way. enjoy.

The news spread like wildfire. No matter which way you went, there was always a flame, reaching out towards those to burn. Try as you may, you can't get away. The words that littered the air was nothing more than burnt ashes fluttering around, burning each object as it flies above said thing or said person. In this case, the people of a small town called Valentine Bluffs were the ones burning from the inside and out. They felt trapped within the smoke, unable to seek out which way to escape the dangers that had followed.   The terror; the trauma; the panic and anxiety attacks; All of it - they thought it was long gone.... they were finally going back to being normal, how things used to be. 

They were going back to a life that wasn't full of fear, having to look behind your shoulder constantly and being careful of who you trust. It was all going to be okay, happy once more. They'd finally be able to celebrate their favorite day once again.  But... as you may have guessed, it's not quite  easy to put out a rapid wildfire. All it takes is a small fire to expand out into something bigger, bolder, and scarier. You can't escape the flames. No matter how big or small. You cannot ignore the overwhelming burning sensation that  glazes across your skin as the fire around you grows larger, making you feel smaller and smaller by the second.  The words, however, the statement that was fluttering around like specks of ash,  wasn't at all a sentence (nor an actual fire)  but a name - Harry Warden.  1997. Valentine's day. Everybody, in & out of town, knows what happened.  For a brief period of time there, nobody celebrated Valentine's day, having thought it out to be cursed.  Yet, as time went on, there was no sign of Harry Warden. No copy cat killer version of him, neither. So, the people went back to celebrating. Writing hand written love letters,  buying cheaply made cards at the local supermarket, buying and or receiving overly priced chocolates. Anything, everything, people did it with  love in their hearts and a smile on their face.  Today was Valentine's Day, once more. Expect it wasn't the way it had been for the past 9 years. It was exactly like the day in 1997. History was repeating itself.  Instead of love, presents, and reserved dinner dates being celebrated and shared, the town of Valentine Bluffs  got decomposed, rotting corpses,  instead. Blood scattered outside and inside of buildings. 

  It was worse than before, more bodies were showing up without their hearts and the missing body piece would be found neatly placed in between a plastic heart shaped box. All of which would be sent to the police station as a joke, as  a threat.  Even a card would be taped on top or under the container, though the sentences were far from cheerful and loveable.  A few of them had been thrown aside, only having been read once. Those who opened it and read it aloud usually found themselves cringing in dismay  as they read the paragraph out loud all while  shifting around in their seat, uncomfortably.  

Once they read it, they shook their heads as tears welled up in their eyes before they threw it into the trash bin or ripped it into hundreds of tiny pieces, not daring to open another letter that's brought in. Evidence or not, the workers couldn't keep their breakfast or lunch down when they'd read the cards.  The recent two cards had said;  From the heart comes a warning, filled with bloody good cheer, remember what happened as the 14th draws near!  And the last victim, a girl named Maryanne Anderson, had gotten a card right before she was found dead, her body laying in a ditch to rot.  Her card had read; Roses are red, violets are blue, one is dead, and so are you.  Nobody knew who the new killer was, or if it even was a new killer, copying Harry's schemes and following in his footsteps.  It could have very well been  the same man all those years ago. That's what they were saying.   (Y/N) (L/N) was in her car, driving back home from work when her favorite song had been replaced with an alarm, cutting off her favorite part. "Oh, c'mon!" She groaned, hands hitting the steering wheel in annoyance  before she goes to turn up the volume anyways, wondering what's so important that the town and the police station had to turn off her favorite song. 

She knew about the murders, she knew there was a serial killer around, she already knew this already. And yes, she was petrified, as most people were. When the first body showed up, the mayor of town announced there'd be a curfew until they found out who is doing all of this. Whether it was one person or more, they'd find a way to capture the killer. No matter what. There was not going to be another murder.

 (Of course, there was more.) 

 (The original curfew was getting home at 9:30. Now, it had gone down and you'd have to be indoors, at your house, by 6:30 PM.)  Students in school would get out earlier, as well as the adults in town. The only ones who didn't get to go home so early in the day were those who were trying to protect the people of Valentine Bluffs.  "We are sorry to interrupt that song there," came the  radio host's deep and groggy voice. "However, this is more important than your favorite throwback jams. I've gotten an officer here with me, he had just shown up not even a second ago to tell us more news on the situation we are currently in. So, please, listen carefully."  "Yeah, whatever. I already know what's going on. Tell me something I don't know." (Y/N)  turns off the radio as she pulls up in her driveway, feeling a sense of comfort clouding over her, another day, she's okay; safe and sound, unlike a few of her old high school friends that were gutted like fish and butchered like pigs. 

She shivers at both the bitter and harsh wind brushing against her  as she steps out of her vehicle and the obvious visual of whatever masked man (or men) that's around, killing innocent people for whatever given reason.  Hurrying along the steps to her porch, she digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, finding them within seconds before she's pushing them into the door as quickly as she could. She didn't show it, tried not to show it, but she was as anxious and paranoid as everyone else was. 

(Y/N) was  trying to hold back her fear but the moment she gets home, locking all the doors and windows, the uneasy feelings creep up on her and every negative emotion takes charge.     With a sigh, she falls down onto the couch with a plop, reaching for the remote, she turns on the TV, attempting to try and get her mind off of things.  Of course, every station wasn't what she wanted to watch, the news replacing every channel.  She skipped and skipped but it all remained the exact same. With a groan, she decides to listen to what they were saying, even though she really didn't want to hear it as it'd only make her anxiety worse.  "I am Jonathan Godfrey. We're sorry to interrupt your daily scheduled programs, however, a man you may know as Tom Hanniger has escaped from his stay from a mental hospital."  (Y/N)'s eyes nearly budge out of her head at the mention of the man's name,  the remote she had in the palm of her hand goes flying, falling down onto the ground by her feet. Tom? Mental hospital? It didn't make any sense! Everyone... including her, thought he was dead! She, with shaky fingers, grabs the remote to turn the volume up.   Jonathan's own eyes were wide as he read the teleprompter, his voice now grew shaky as he spoke. Fear was written across both his and his co-worker’s face. "Unfortunately, we don't have any more information or news as to where he's escaped off to. Or where he may be as of the moment. All the reports, every last piece of information we have been received  has said he's been missing since two days ago.  He can be anywhere.  More importantly, he can be here, hiding out." His voice trembled as he spoke, it was also very faint - almost ghostly. Quiet as a mouse. His skin was pale, making it appear as if he was a ghost rather than a living person that sat in the chair there.  

 Jonathan couldn't continue, this much was obvious, therefore his co-host, Abigail Miller, continued where he had left off.    "This being said, please, lock the doors and windows of your home. If you have a weapon to guard your own life and protect your ground, get it out now. Please, protect yourself the very best you can. And do not, I repeat, do not answer the door. Do not leave your home whatsoever. Whatever is outside of your house is surely not more important than your life.  

“Whether it is Tom that has been doing this or not, we're not exactly sure. All we tell you is to be careful and remain indoors until we can find Tom and or find the Valentine's killer. This has been Jonathan Godfrey and Abigail Miller, with the news. Stay safe and God bless." The program that was previously playing showed up finally, the neon colors swirling together to form the title of the show, along with a fairly way too cheerful theme song playing faintly in the distance as the introduction played out. (Y/N) had never heard of it before, but from a quick glance, it appeared to be a sitcom from the late 70's.  The only source of light was coming from the television screen, casting colorful shadows across (Y/N)'s face. She had felt too tired to have turned on the lights upon entering her house. Work was short, the hours having grown thinner because of the curfew, however, it was still tiring all the same.  She instantly regretted not doing so now, however. 

She sat in the dark, her heart thumping loudly against her chest as she pulled a near by blanket around her shoulders as if the thick fabric would comfort her and protect her. The room had gotten colder ever since the report was announced. Goosebumps ran up and down (Y/N)'s body, the baby hairs on her neck stood on end as a shiver slid up and down her spine. Despite the blanket being around her body, she felt nothing but cold, numb. Suddenly, the TV went out with a soft 'ping'.    (Y/N) gasped and her heart stopped beating all together.  She felt like she couldn't breathe, she couldn't tell if she was going crazy either when she heard what sounded like  footsteps coming down from the hallway. She sat, frozen, on her couch, unable to move, unable to breathe.  Then.... a knock. Followed by another and another. It was right outside, coming from not the front entrance but the back yard. "(Y/N)? (Y/N), please..." came the voice.  ​​​​​​​And (Y/N) recognized that voice anywhere.  She knows she shouldn't.... everybody said not to but... she couldn't help herself.  Getting up as quickly as she could, she runs down the hallway, the sounds of her feet echoing against the thin walls as she reaches the door, tugging it open.   There, on the other half of the door, stood nobody other than Tom Hanniger himself.   He looked up, surprised she had answered the door.  Giving her a weak, lopsided smile,  Tom's pulling her into a tight hug, his head falling down in the crook between her shoulder and neck, tears flooding his eyes as he soaks her shirt, silently weeping. "(Y/N).... fuck, I've missed you so much, missed you so bad." Tom confesses with a sniffle.  "Tom... I- what're you doing here? They're looking for you, you know this, right? Everybody's looking for you. And.... and I- fuck, Tom! I thought you were dead. Everybody in town thought you died the day your father did." (Y/N) didn't hesitate to hide her true feelings. She was a mixture of emotions. Angry, happy, sad, scared - she was feeling every single emotion there possibly was. "I know... I know. I-I have a lot to explain and a lot to tell you but please, right now, can we just- can we just play pretend?" He asked, moving away from her shoulder as he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater, his eyes remained watery and his skin was flushed as he looked up at (Y/N).  (Y/N) guessed it was a mixture of three things - running away from the mental hospital to where her house was to  the bitter and harsh February air. Plus, the crying he had just done, too. His face was red and blotchy from all three. Despite it being so cold, sweat trickled his face, a few drips of it falling along side his cheeks. "Play pretend?" (Y/N) echoed, tilting her head to the side, unsure of what he meant.  "Let's play pretend." He repeated, licking his lips. "Let's play pretend and imagine none of this horrid, crazed shit is going on right now. Let's pretend it's only me and you. It's Valentine's day, isn't it? Let's celebrate. After all, it was one of our favorite days to spend together."  Heat rose to (Y/N)'s cheeks and she bit on her bottom lip, rocking back and forth on the bottom of her feet.  "Tom.... I-I'm...You want-" She couldn't from sentences, her thoughts were mushing together and it was all too much for her to handle. She felt like she was going to pass out. "I want you, (Y/N). I want you as bad as I did then and I want you just as badly right  now. There has never been a day where I wasn't thinking about you. You were the love of my life. I still love you, maybe even more, now. Let's celebrate, please. We can talk about everything tomorrow morning. I promise I'll tell you everything.  Right now, let's play pretend, let's act like it's just us again, like when we were teens.... I've missed you. And.... and I know you've missed me too or else you wouldn't have opened the door." And, yeah, okay, he was right.  "Tom..."  "(Y/N)." He stepped closer to her, closer than he had done before, as he rests his hand against her cheek, fingers brushing against her skin as he looked into her (E/C) eyes.  "I love you. I never stopped. And I know you love me, too.... so, please, baby girl.... can I just show you how much I love you?" (Y/N) shouldn't have answered the door. She should have called the cops when she heard his voice. Everything was too much of a  coincidence. 

Her power was working perfectly fine until Tom had shown up. 

Now that she was thinking about it.... 

There was also no victims until she had heard the news Tom had left the asylum. Three days ago.... 

Three days ago, there was the first victim; Maryanne.  If she thought too much about it, got too deep into the rabbit hole, she would have assumed Tom Hanniger was the Valentine's killer - The Miner.  Yet... looking at Tom, she knew he wasn't - couldn't - be the killer. If he was, he would've killed her too, right? Tom Hanniger's been through too much, and just like she was there before, she was going to be there for him now. Through Hell and back.  

She would stay by his side, no matter what. She still kept the old promise ring he had given her in high school, along with the note in which he confessed his feelings. In which, he told her - one day - he'd marry her. She was the perfect girl for him, as he was the perfect man for her.  A promise is a promise. When she said 'forever and always', she meant that. (Y/N) knew Tom meant it, too.  "I love you too."   Tom's quick to place his lips on (Y/N)'s and (Y/N) is quick to kiss him back just as hungry, just as fierce. She tangles  her fingers through her hair and pulls on it, earning a groan from Tom. Satisfied with the result, she tugs him into her house by the sleeve of his shirt, slamming the door shut with her foot. 

"I've missed you, baby." He says, not daring to pull away from the kiss.

"Show me how much you've missed me then, baby." She mumbles against his lips. "Oh, I'm going to."  "Let's go celebrate Valentine's day the right way then. Come on, let's go upstairs."   Tom grins and  (Y/N) smiles back before she's pulling him up the stairs and into her bedroom. 

Forever and Always. It was them until the end. Nobody would ever separate the two of them, again.... not even Harry Warden was going to destroy Tom’s happiness... not this time.

[tryingmyves]

Sober

DENKI KAMINARI x Y/N

part two

A/N: A fic inspired by Wish You Were Sober by Conan Gray (I swear they put crack in this song). You’ve been in love with Denki Kaminari for as long as you can remember and he only seems to think of you as more than a friend when he’s inebriated. Simple, right?

sorry this chapter got a bit long but things are getting ~spicy~

c/w: alcohol mention, smut (soon)

chapter 1

[FOUR MONTHS AGO]

Technically, classes wouldn’t start for three more days, so you weren’t quite a college student. But you and Kaminari came to the city early because the lease on his apartment was starting and you needed to meet someone from Craig’s List about the car you plan to buy. To be honest, the car was what you expected: a piece of shit. But it would get you to your part time job and back to campus, so what more could you ask for? You couldn’t move into your dorm until tomorrow, but Kaminari said you could stay with him for the night. His roommate Kirishima hadn't moved in yet, so he had extra space.

Aside from the brief meeting with the stranger you bought your car from, you and Kaminari spent the day hauling cheap furniture up four flights of stairs into his apartment. Both of you were utterly exhausted. You were both covered in the grime of your own sweat; countless trips up and down the stairs had left your legs burning and heavy. When you agreed to help Kaminari move in you didn’t expect that he'd have so much shit, or that his apartment would be on the top floor of a building with no elevator. But at the current juncture you were too fatigued to complain. The two of you are laying on your backs, sprawled out on the cold wooden floor of the living room, unpacked boxes surrounding you.

“I feel disgusting,” you complain, raising your head slightly off the ground and unsticking the mat of sweaty hair from the back of your neck. You push it upwards so it fans out above your head.

“Yeah, you smell kind of disgusting too,” Kaminari replies with a laugh that becomes a cough when your arm swings down to connect with his stomach.

“I think you mean, “gee Y/N, thanks so much for helping me move into my apartment! I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Kaminari raises himself up on his elbows, still recovering from your blow. “Hey - I have your thank you, it’s just in one of these boxes. Alcohol tends to be the universal thank you for helping a friend move - plus I don’t have wifi until tomorrow, so tonight we’re getting drunk and celebrating as college students!” he smiles.

You let out a sigh, “Well I hope you have ice. Find my thank you gift - I’m going to go break in your shower,” you say rising from the floor, “but not because you said I smell. Only because I want to!”

Kaminari laughs as you make your way to the bathroom, pulling himself off the floor as well to start rooting through the cardboard boxes full of his belongings. You lock the bathroom door behind you and spend a few moments deciphering how to use the unfamiliar shower. You start the water, a bit cooler than usual, still feeling balmy from all of today’s physical activity. After moving all of Denki’s belongings into the apartment you didn’t remember to grab anything of your own, so you would be using his toiletries to wash up. You throw a thin towel on the back of the toilet before stepping into the refreshing stream of water. The water cascades down your face, snaking down the curves of your body before disappearing down the drain. A sigh escapes your lips, thankful for a small moment of relaxation after a long day. You get to work washing your hair and scrubbing the day's sweat off of yourself, wrapped in the scent of cedarwood and lemon, something you’ve long associated with Kaminari. After roughly fifteen minutes you feel sufficiently clean and turn off the shower, stepping out to towel yourself off.

Not wanting to put your dirty clothes back on, you sneak out of the bathroom with your towel wrapped around you and down the hall to Kaminari’s room. You snatch a t-shirt and pair of sweats out of an opened box and creep back to the bathroom to get dressed and brush out your hair. You pull the over-sized shirt on, relishing the traces of Denki’s cologne that linger on the fabric and step into the sweats. You rake a comb through your wet tresses before re-emerging from the bathroom. You find Kaminari in his kitchen, haphazardly unpacking a box of cutlery with a mixed drink in his hand.

“Did you break into my thank you present without me, Denki?”

He turns at the sound of your voice, “Well maybe if you hadn’t taken so long -” He stops, registering you’re now in his clothes instead of your own. “Hah, nice threads,” he laughs.

You grab the hem of the shirt, holding it out from you a bit as if you're presenting it. “Yeah, well my shower wasn’t going to do much good if I got back into my sweaty clothes, so I helped myself.”

“Seems to be a recurring theme tonight. I don’t mind, you look cuter in it than I do anyway,” he winks at you. “Now,” he slides a second cup across the counter towards you, “thanks for helping me move in. Let’s get drunk!”`

You smile as you place the cup to your lips for a drink, your mind buzzing even without the alcohol. You’ve been friends with Denki long enough to know that he is always flirting, even if he doesn’t mean anything by it. Usually you just brush off his comments or turn the tables with a line of your own, hoping to get him flustered. But lately you haven’t been able to ignore the flutters in your chest at his words. The pair of you have been friends since middle school and you’ve grown accustomed to people assuming you’re more than that. But in reality, things between you and Denki have always been platonic, despite the incessant flirting. However, you want there to be more. His golden eyes draw you into him and he can so effortlessly make you laugh. For you, home isn’t a static location but wherever Denki happens to be.

“Woah Y/N, I didn’t mean you had to chug it!”

Denki’s comment snaps you out of your thoughts and you realize you’ve drunk nearly half of your drink while lost in silent longing. You lower the cup, “Well you have a headstart on me!” you reason, not wanting to tell Denki he’s the reason you got lost in your cups.

“Fair enough, but head start or not, I’m drinking you under the table tonight,” he challenges. “Let’s play some Mario Kart! I set up the switch while you were in the shower.”

“Fine, but if you’re wanting to get drunk we’re playing Beer-i-o Kart.”

Kaminari huffs, “well, obviously.” He grabs a bottle of whiskey in addition to his own cup and heads to the couch, you following close behind.

The rules of the game are simple: you win if you’re the first person to cross the finish line but you have to finish your drink before the end of the race. Even in the world of Mario Kart, drinking and driving is a no go, so there’s a few different options on how to play. You can either chug your drink at the start, put your controller down mid race to slam your drink, or stop just before the finish line on lap three to empty your cup. You can also drink while you’re put back on the track if you somehow manage to drive off the course. Both you and Denki are highly competitive, and while he might think he has the monopoly on video games, your skills rival his.

Unsurprisingly, Denki picks the Lightning Cup as it’s both a nod to his quirk and he’s a sadist who actually enjoys rainbow road. He beats you handily in the first two races, able to finish his drink slightly quicker than you, but you manage to win the Grumble Volcano race. He hits pause before the final race can start so he can mix two more drinks. You laugh as he nearly drops his own cup, his cheeks pink from all the liquor.

“Oh shut it, Y/N, or you can make your own drink.”

“Aw, don’t be bitter just because you lost that one Denki!” you tease.

He hands your now full cup back to you, “Yeah well this next one’s all mine. You’re going down!”

You just stick your tongue out in response and ready yourself for the last race. Once you’ve both situated yourself, Denki unpauses the game and the countdown begins. He immediately starts chugging his drink but you peel out from the starting line. You know you’ll fall off the map several times, so you might as well use that time effectively by drinking then. Denki finishes the freshly poured drink in under 30 seconds and is already in hot pursuit. He manages to pass you on the first lap and despite the multiple red shells you send his way, you can’t catch up. You’re not sure if it’s your competitive nature or the copious amounts of alcohol that influence your next move, but you shift from your seat on the couch and plant yourself directly in Denki's lap, blocking his view of the screen and making him drive off the road.

“Y/N, you cheater!!” Denki squirms beneath you, trying to dislodge you from your new position.

You laugh, “We never said this was against the rules!”

You zip past his character as he’s being lowered back onto the track, a triumphant hah! announcing you’ve overtaken him.

“Well in that case, neither is this!” Denki’s hands grip at your sides, his fingers poking at all your most ticklish spots. You shriek in surprise and jump from his lap, desperate to get away from the sudden assault. You land on the couch, laying on your back, but Denki doesn’t relent. He crawls between your legs and bares over you with a wicked grin on his face before bringing his hands to your sides once more.

Now you’re squirming beneath him, a breathless ball of laughter, your game forgotten in the background. When Denki finally stops tickling you his face is no more than a foot from your own. Your better judgement goes out the window, forced out by the haze of your laughter and half a bottle of alcohol. You wrap an arm around the back of Denki’s neck and pull his lips to yours. You can feel the smile on his face as he opens his mouth, tracing at your lips with the tip of his tongue. You part your lips, allowing him inside. His lips are soft and you're not sure whether or not he activated his quirk but you’re feeling sparks.

He separates from you, nipping at your bottom lip as he does. His forehead resting on your own he whispers, “I’ve always wondered what that would be like. It’s better than I thought.”

The low hush in his voice makes your breath catch. “What else have you wondered about?”

“Well if kissing you is this good, I can only wonder what you’re like in bed.”

You press your lips to his again, “one way to find out,” you say through the kiss.

At that, Kaminari grabs your thighs and stands from the couch, hoisting you to his waist. He carries you down the hallway towards his bedroom, kissing you the whole way. As you cross the threshold of his room he separates from you, “say less.”

[nitewrighter]

I just finished reading the pre-fall Gency argument fic that you made in response to an ask/prompt about another fic, and it’s amazing! Do Genji and Mercy make up after their argument, though? Does Genji tell Mercy more about what really happened with Moira in the Pining/Flight fic, and does he manage to explain to her why he felt he should still be stopping the Shimada clan (the part where he started to trip over his words during the pre-fall argument)? I’m so sorry for all the questions, but I loved this fic so much and would love to see them resolve their argument!

Yeah they make up, but more importantly have you ever gone, “OH FUCK I FIGURED OUT HOW TO WORK THIS FIC INTO A MAJOR CANON PLOT POINT?” Anyone?

Continuing off of this ficlet.

----

Genji lay on his narrow bed, staring at the too-high ceiling of his quarters and replaying the argument between himself and Mercy in his head as he had done so for the past few days.

I messed up.

A part of him felt like he should be used to it, after years of Hanzo telling him he was an embarrassment, but this stung differently and deeper. It wasn’t not meeting the draconian standards of the clan, it was realizing he had a perspective on death that was fundamentally incompatible with the morals of someone he cared for deeply. He glared at the ceiling as he remembered Moira’s words.

You’re finally understanding the difference between those up there, and those of us down here.

But McCree had spoken up against what Reyes had done. He wouldn’t shut up about it the whole mission. 

Well he and Angela were close so... Genji’s thoughts trailed off then, wondering if Ziegler and McCree would talk about how he and Reyes were monsters.

Even after having his body destroyed and reconstructed to this patchwork of flesh and metal, it had at least given him focus and purpose: vengeance. It was a relief from all the pain to commit himself to the destruction of the Shimada clan, to killing Hanzo, and he could have done that through Blackwatch, but now one death of someone who definitely had it coming had blocked the path. He had no way of knowing what was ahead, and he had just alienated one of the few people at the Watchpoint he actually liked talking to. But she didn’t get it, the Shimada clan had to be stopped. Hanzo had to die. What kind of world did she think she was living in? He raised his prosthetic hand and ran the thumb of his organic hand along the lines of its plates.

You’re not a weapon. I can’t let everything Overwatch touches become a weapon...  he remembered her words from the garden on a night that felt so long ago.

So what am I? Shimada Ninja? Blackwatch Agent? Assassin by another name?  Machine? his eyes trailed to his organic hand, Man?

He let his hands drop, hanging over the sides of the bed, I guess I’ve managed to screw up as every single one of those.

His morning alarm started beeping and he sighed. Cybernetics always woke him up a little too early.

After freshening up in the dormitory washrooms and dressing , Genji stepped out of his quarters and walked down the hall to the main body of the Blackwatch facilities. There were fewer bodies moving between the offices today. A significant number of office workers and agents had been either suspended or relocated to other Overwatch operations, and the remaining faces looked exhausted and grim.

It’s not just Angela dealing with the fallout of Venice... thought Genji as he walked through. He needed to talk to McCree, he decided. He wasn’t quite ready to talk to Angela yet. A part of him knew he needed to apologize, but another part of him knew an apology was worthless without a clear adjustment in behavior and perspective--and with the path before him so obscured now, he wasn’t sure what that shift would entail. Plus if anyone knew how to smooth things over between people, especially someone also from Blackwatch...

Genji’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard muffled shouting from Reyes’s office.  He looked around and saw what few agents were down in the Blackwatch offices had all chosen to give Reyes’s office a massively wide berth. One intern lingered close to the glass with wide eyes before being quickly escorted away by a more seasoned-looking clerk. The glass walls around Reyes’s office had been tinted opaque, but he made out Morrison’s muffled voice.

“---can assure you our agents and local law enforcement are doing everything they can, Gérard--”

“Don’t give me that!” Gérard was the shouter, something that sounded unnatural to Genji given how polite Gérard had always been in his previous brushes with the UN Attaché. “None of this would have happened if you had kept Reyes and his team where they needed to be!”

“We don’t have enough intel on Talon movements to know the timeframe on---”

“We have even less intel because of the shit you pulled in Rialto! Do you know how many active files I had to surrender to the UN Inquiry to keep Blackwatch from being completely gutted?!” Gérard snapped, “Talon took my wife and thanks to you I have to deal with that with both hands tied behind my back!”

“You’re not dealing with it alone--” Morrison was trying to reassure him.

“Morrison I cannot tell you how sick I am of covering for you covering for Reyes--And the fact that covering for Reyes is largely my job speaks to how much control you’ve ceded--” Gérard snarled.

“Chewing us out won’t get her back,” Reyes’s voice cut in bitterly.

“No, but you should both understand it’s one more product of your mistakes,” Gérard’s voice was thick.

Genji hadn’t realized how close he was leaning to the tinted glass of the office and started briskly walking down the hall, trying to put as much distance between himself and whatever was going down between Reyes, Morrison and LaCroix.  He heard the door slide open and shut and picked up the pace of his walk. He heard bitter muttering in French a ways behind him before hearing, “Agent Shimada?”

Genji pretended not to hear and started walking a bit faster down the hall.

“Agent Shimada!” there was a rapid clacking slap of expensive oxfords on the cement floor and Gerard suddenly caught up with him. Fast, was all Genji thought at first, I guess he was a field agent at some point-- But that trail of thought cut off as Genji took in the disheveled appearance of the usually suave and stylish Gérard Lacroix. Licks of dark hair were shrouding one side of his forehead, broken free of their usual glossy black coif. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket or tie, his sleeves rolled and rumpled up to his elbows and his usually paper-crisp collar rumpled and wilting, his suspenders emphasizing all the wrinkles of his usually immaculate shirts. He smelled like cigarettes. Genji didn’t even know he smoked. 

“I need to talk to you--it’s paramount importance--Your dossier said Talon tried to recruit Sojiro once--Yes?”

“Um... yes?” said Genji.

“Do you remember any names from that time?” Gérard gripped Genji’s shoulders and Genji’s arms tightened at his sides at the touch, Gérard’s eyes were wide, pleading.

“Er...” Genji hesitated.

“Anything. Any name at all. Even aliases are a lead. Code names are a cypher. I can figure this out. We can get her back--we have to--there should have been demands--there have to be demands--we can’t negotiate but we can buy time--isolate the signal--” Gérard’s fingers were drumming on Genji’s prosthetic shoulder as if punching out sums on an invisible calculator. He wasn’t even looking at Genji.

“I... wish I could help,” Genji’s words came slowly to him. They felt strange, soft, helpless. He really couldn’t remember any names from that time, at least none that he could be sure he actually remembered and hadn’t just pulled out of nowhere that would only lead Gérard on a wild goose chase. For Genji, the only really memorable part of that meeting had been Hanzo had taken a shine to some Talon lieutenant and refused to tell Genji about it when he asked.  

So much for specialized Shimada intel... Genji thought a little bitterly. But Gérard stared straight into Genji’s eyes and Genji saw a flicker of heartbreaking realization in Gérard’s expression.

“....listen to me,” Gérard’s voice dropped slightly as his hands dropped from Genji’s shoulders, “I....I’m talking to a suspended agent hoping for nearly decade-old leads...” Gérard made a sound that was between a chuckle and stuffing down a sob as he pushed those dark licks of hair from his face, “I’m a mess without her.”

Genji’s stomach stung a little at the words ‘suspended agent.’ It had felt so temporary but hearing it from Gérard made it sink in as a reality with no visible end, but just as affecting was Gérard’s distress, the fact that the charming, if a little litigious, agent was suddenly up to his neck in paralyzing fear and helplessness when he wasn’t the one in danger. Genji studied Gérard for a few seconds.  

“Without.... who?” said Genji. He knew it was Gérard’s wife but wasn’t about to let Gérard know he had heard the whole exchange between him, Reyes, and Morrison.

“Amélie,” Gérard seemed to be looking through Genji then, his brow crinkled, “Talon they--I mean we’re not positive yet but--well you aren’t cleared for this yet. I shouldn’t...”

“Suspended,” Genji shrugged, “And... looking like this, I can’t exactly get off-site to talk about it.”

Gérard huffed “And... I’ve heard you’re not exactly the talkative type,” Gérard smiled a little.

“Ninja,” Genji shrugged.

“I-I think she’d like you...” His shoulders sagged, “Practical... steady... if she were here she’d probably tell me I’m making a fool of myself.”

You are and I have no idea how to help you so please let me go, thought Genji, but the smile on Gérard’s face eased him a bit. Genji wasn’t sure what to do with this feeling--helping and yet not helping. He remembered certain looks in Mercy’s face when he would talk about the Shimada clan, those hints of wanting to do something but feeling the ability to do so just beyond his reach. How often did she feel that with all of his fury? With all his grief?

“I wish I understood what was going through Reyes’s mind in Rialto...” Gérard spoke and startled Genji from his own thoughts. 

“...Antonio told him his associates would get him out within the week, Reyes... responded... practically,” said Genji.

“Practically,” a huff fell out of Gérard, “Just like in the debriefs.”

Genji’s brow crinkled. “The point of Blackwatch is to operate from the shadows. It was never about how it would be seen because it... wasn’t meant to be seen.”

“But it still has effects,” Gérard murmured, “And you still have to live with yourself afterwards.”

You still have to live with yourself.

The image of Zhihong Peh gurgling on his own blood on the end of Genji’s sword flashed to his mind. The thwack of his father hitting a fish on a rock in Shirakami-sanchi.

Make it clean. Make it quick.

“Would Amélie still have been taken if...?” Gérard’s voice pulled Genji from his memories again, but Gérard just lowered his head and furrowed his brow. “It doesn’t matter now.  have to find a new angle. I have to... she...” he lifted his chin slightly, “Monsieur Shimada. I appreciate you putting up with the ravings of a madman. I must go. Thank you.”

“....you’re welcome?”  said Genji, but Gérard was already walking past him.

Genji stood there in the hallway a few minutes longer. Amélie LaCroix had been taken. Whether or not that had happened in response to killing Antonio remained to be seen... but it was clear that the fallout from Rialto had not helped. He looked at his hands. For so long ‘practical’ had been a straight line, but now it seemed that the path he had been carving out was caving in on him. What was practical now?

Whatever you can do to help.

And where do you start?

With the people who you know always help.

----

It was late at night in the lab and Mercy was nodding off slightly, her chin in her hand at her monitor when a coffee mug gently clacked down on the desk beside her. She flinched awake and her head swung around to see Genji slowly withdrawing one hand, holding his own coffee cup in the other.

“Peace offering,” said Genji, “...if you don’t want to deal with me right now, you don’t have to. Say the word and I’ll leave you alone.”

Mercy tentatively picked up the mug and sipped at it, glaring at Genji slightly through her eyebrows before lowering the cup into her lap.

“What do you want?” she said, her voice clipped. 

“I wanted to say... I’m sorry for storming off like that and...You were right,” Genji said quietly, “Killing Antonio creates far more problems than it solves.”

There was some hope in Mercy’s eyes, but she also gave him a sort of uneasy, puzzled look.

“And...” Genji’s voice was a bit more tight, “On a... lawful and ethical level, it... was wrong.” He dropped his voice to a low mutter, “Even if he would have wormed his way out of the law.”

Mercy huffed and smiled a little. “I... I know the law also needs reforms so that doesn’t happen, so that justice can be done... but in the meantime...”

“In the meantime we shouldn’t shoot people in the face,” Genji conceded with a shrug.

“Right,” said Mercy. Her smile was a little crooked. There was a long silence then, tentative, and a little anxious. Genji leaned against the desk, wrapping his organic hand around the mug, taking some comfort in its warmth.

“Angela—I need you to understand something about me,” Genji said, not looking at her.

“Please don’t—“ Mercy started.

“Just listen. The first time the clan made me kill someone, I was 14 years old,” Mercy’s eyes widened and Genji’s knuckles rolled tight on the coffee mug, “And that wasn’t the only person I killed for them.

Mercy’s shoulders shrank inward, her eyes not meeting his.

“The clan,” Genji paused and took a steadying breath before continuing, “Worked to make me into something… no one should be. It…cultivated a way for me to see the world that very much affected my concepts of what is acceptable. What is good.” He gave a short huff. “But I don’t… I don’t want to be them. I don’t want to cause the same hurts they have caused.”

She looked at him then. That same searching look. That same ‘I want to help but I don’t know how’ look, and Genji’s stomach stung with the strange helplessness he felt when Gérard was gripping his shoulders earlier that day.

“But Blackwatch never asked me to question what the clan taught me. It just… saw I was angry, saw I was hurt, and pointed me in a certain direction,”  he huffed, “And now I’m stuck here. And I can’t do anything. And... ” he took a steadying breath, “I care about you. I care about our friendship. And I care about what you think of me. I don’t know... if I will ever be fully rid of what the Shimada clan cultivated in me... it... it feels like it only got sharper after what Hanzo did to me. It feels rooted in my very survival instincts. But I know I don’t want to be Reyes, and I don’t want to lose you, and... if what Blackwatch did caused all this hurt to all these people who had nothing to do with what happened in Rialto.. it’s true that it should be suspended.”

Mercy blinked a few times. “Do you really mean that?”

“Well... to an extent...” said Genji, “If Blackwatch still had its intel networks up...”

“Maybe we could help Gérard find Amélie,” Mercy said quietly.

“You know about Gérard?” Genji looked over at her.

“I only got the briefing a few hours ago,” said Mercy. She was quiet for a few seconds. “Genji... I... I don’t think you’re a bad person for what the Shimada clan conditioned you to do. You do scare me sometimes, but I genuinely believe, deep down, you want to do good.” 

“I scare you?” Genji lifted his prosthetic hand and looked down at it.

“Not because of that...” Mercy touched the metal of his knuckles and he let his hand drop as his eyes raised to hers, “I--I’m scared for you. I don’t want you to think you’re alone. And--and I want you to be able to have a life outside of Overwatch.” She huffed. “That’s what it does. It takes in people who have nowhere else to go and who just want to help and it takes everything they can give and you never know if it’s being used to help or to...” her voice trailed off and she was staring forward. Genji touched her shoulder gently.

“For what it’s worth... without Overwatch I would have never met you,” said Genji.

“I’m glad I’ve met you too,” said Mercy, smiling a little, “Silver linings right?” 

“Right...” said Genji.

A long pause passed between them. 

“...so where do we go from here?” said Genji, quietly.

“Well... I still have my work... I suppose this means we can spend more time together?” Mercy shrugged, “And... with Blackwatch suspended... maybe you can take some time to figure out what you want. Outside of Overwatch. Outside of taking down the Shimada clan.”

I don’t know how ready I am to deal with that, thought Genji, but he just nodded.

“So...” Genji swirled his coffee in its mug, “What are you working on tonight?”

“Well... apparently there’s been this incident at Watchpoint Pembrey,” said Mercy, glancing back to her monitor, “But it’s very confusing on, well... a physics level?”

“Something is confusing the genius Angela Ziegler?” Genji pulled up a chair, “Tell me more.”

Mercy snickered a little. Then started telling him.

[spices-and-cherries]

Being domestic with Benoit Blanc would include...

There’s not nearly enough content for this wonderful man and so here I am, making it myself. I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff

- You! Have! Matching! Mugs! You had seen a nice mug set for couples and had asked Benoit if he’d be okay with it. He said yes! A few months later, he had come home from a trip and surprised you with a new set. He bought them as a souvenir and thought you’d like them. Now, you have four sets. If it weren’t for the fact that you don’t really need an exorbitant amount of mugs, you’d probably have more.

- He’s messy. Not in a bad or gross way, he just tends to be disorganized. He’s one of those people who know exactly where everything is even though the place looks like a train wreck. It’s for that exact reason that you don’t go into his office very often (unless it’s to bring him a snack).

- His closet, on the other hand, is very neat. It’s most because he doesn’t have much there to begin with. He just sticks with what he likes and only gets new clothes when he really needs to. That being said, he has one drawer from your dresser just for his ties. He usually picks them out based on his mood and he takes his time to choose the right one. Pro Tip: Get him one for the holidays or for his birthday. He’ll wear it for a week straight.

- He doesn’t tend to take cases that are out of the region. He likes being in the comfort of his home and you - it helps him think better than some hotel room. He always asks if he can talk his thoughts out loud and you almost always say yes. It didn’t take long for him to start bouncing ideas off of you.

- He loves helping you out with your job just as much as you helping him. He’ll listen to you with all of his attention when you feel you need to go through your presentation just one more time. He likes to learn and likes to hear your voice. It makes him feel better about him always talking about cases - he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s taking and not giving. Of course, you’ve never thought that because you love to hear him talk and to see him get excited.

- You’ve split the chores and do as much of it as possible on Saturday. The both of you try to make it as fun as possible with music playing or having jeopardy in the background (the winner gets a forehead kiss). There is no laundry machine in your apartment, so you have to go downstairs. Folding and hanging it when it’s done, while a bit tedious, is the best part. You get to rest a little and talk about the week or anything new that’s caught your interest.

- At some point, you get a cat. He has short hair and is a sand color. His name is Sleuth. You and Benoit took almost a week to find the perfect name. You take turns feeding him and taking care of the litterbox. Sleuth is pretty affectionate and will most definitely sit on you as you cuddle on the couch. You may or may not have a folder of Sleuth and Benoit napping together saved on your phone. When you need to take five at work, it’s usually the first thing you go to. They make you feel fuzzy inside.

- You really want to have at least one plant, but Benoit doesn’t have the attention span and you’ve always had bad luck with them. You settle on a nice arrangement of cacti instead. They sit along the windowsill in the living room.

- He always let you use the bathroom first. You never really understood it so one day you dragged him in with you so you could brush your teeth together. Now, it’s a daily routine. Maybe you’ll shave at the same time or do your make-up next to him. This is also how you got him into skincare. He has very delicate skin, but he always stuck with moisturizer. You offer some of your foam cleanser and he accepts out of curiosity. He ends up liking it, so you buy another bottle. He was very touched.

- After getting sleuth, he brushes the hair off his favorite coat every morning. You end up getting him a lint roller because it was getting a little ridiculous.

- You now have an affinity for cigars. He usually smokes them outside out of concern for your shared space - not to mention Sleuth. You find that the smell of cigar smoke and his aftershave becomes very comforting. Maybe at some point you’ll give it a try. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it or decide to save it for special occasions. If you are ever curious about cigars, he would be more than happy to tell you anything you want to know.

- Benoit is sober. He finds that alcohol can mess with his brain and he doesn’t like the feeling of not being in complete control of himself or having no awareness of what’s around him. He totally respects it if you do enjoy a glass of wine with dinner or relaxing with a can of beer. For fancy occasions, like an anniversary or a holiday dinner, he may have a glass of wine and actually enjoy it. While he doesn’t have a lot of experience with wine, he does like white over red because it’s not as bitter. Either way, he’s the most content with his cigars.

- Sometimes, when the both of you can afford to stay up late, you put on a movie. While he enjoys mysteries, he has a strong affinity for older comedies and musicals. They remind him of his childhood. Some of his favorites are My Fair Lady (1964), Harvey (1950), and anything Charlie Chaplin. He also enjoys more modern comedies, not just because of the humor, but because you were the one to recommend them. He makes sure that there’s always enough popcorn and blankets and enough space for Sleuth to join you. These little dates are some of your favorites.

- You’re not the biggest fan of shoes in the apartment - you like to keep them by the door. Benoit makes an effort to remember to take his off when he comes home.

- He likes hearing you sing, whether it’s while you work or washing the dishes. He’ll try to keep as quite as possible so you won’t stop. On the rare occasion that you spot him and continue singing (you usually clam up immediately), he’ll sing or hum along.

- He’s really good at listening. If you are crying, he’ll just hold you close to him, rubbing your back or kissing the top of your head. He’ll wait until you want to talk and always knows what to say or when to not say anything at all. It’s not often that he himself will cry. If something happened at work, he won’t talk much. It doesn’t happen a lot, but you can see the tells and will let him have his space. You might have to baby him a little to get him to eat because he will forget. When the two of you go to bed, he becomes the little spoon and will melt into your arms. You’ll rub his back and run your hand comfortingly through his hair.

- He’s not super into PDA, but loves cuddles. He likes to be the little spoon when you’re on the couch taking a nap. He loves having your hands running through his hair. If you two are sitting, you’ll be resting your head on his shoulder and your arms around his. In bed, unless he’s sad, he is the big spoon. He like feeling like he’s protecting you. He will make you wear socks if your toes are cold, but finds it amusing if they end up anywhere but your feet by morning.

- He radiates heat. You end up eating less pasta during summer because for some reason it makes him almost unbearably warm. It makes him sad that you are less willing to cuddle with him as a result. But in winter, it’s a whole other story. It’s the best time to cuddle because he’s almost like a weighted blanket. Hot cocoa, blankets, a movie and Benoit Blanc equal a wonderful winter weekend. It’s also the only time of the year that you demand he holds your hand when you find yourselves outside. At first, bless his heart, he thought it was because you kept forgetting your gloves (which was partly true) and kept reminding you to not forget them - he grabbed them himself at one point. If you just tell him you want to hold his hand, he’ll understand a lot quicker.

- He’s not very good in the kitchen. You try and teach him, but at this point, it’s a lost cause. He makes up for it by cleaning up the mess after. However, if you decide to do something super easy, you like to make him wear your ‘kiss the chef’ apron because it absolutely looks better on him than you.

Please feel free to send me requests or ideas! I really liked making this one, so I might do a Part 2... 

- Simpy

[lupinlongbottom]

Practically a Weasley pt. 2

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Summary: Home for the holidays! Finally, after the end of a bitter war, the Weasleys have some much needed family time to catch up on. The holidays are the perfect time to celebrate family, no? Charlie and (Y/N) seem to agree. 

Word Count: 3.8k+

Warnings: None

A/N: A much anticipated part 2 to my Practically a Weasley fic! I love writing for Charlie. Dragon boy just doesn’t get much love, does he? Also Fred ain’t dead. My heart couldn’t handle that if it were true. 

Part 1 ... Part 1.5  ... Part 3 ... Epilogue

__

The Burrow was fluttering with delight, the holidays had been finally sworn in with the arrival of the entire Weasley clan. How long had it been since most of the redheaded family sat under one roof, let alone one table? With everyone’s various lines of work and hectic schedules, it was a surprise and a holiday miracle even half of them had shown up.

Bill was enchanting the younger children with vast stories of his work as a curse-breaker (with a little exaggeration, of course). Molly and Arthur were bickering about him bringing yet another Muggle artifact home for the holidays. And Charlie? He sat quietly at the end of the table, humming along to Celestina Warbeck’s newest album, gingerly holding (Y/N)’s hand with delight.

Nothing had changed, not really, not ever.

“How do you know all of the words already? She just released these songs like, two days ago?” (Y/N) chuckled, taking a small sip of the hot beverage in front of her.

“I have a perfect memory,” Charlie mused, rubbing his thumb in circles on the back of her hand. “Or, did you forget?”

“I suppose I did, Mr. Weasley.” (Y/N) grinned, eyes flitting across the various freckles under his brown eyes.

“Such a shame, you really ought to know better, Mrs. Weasley.” A soft peck danced across their lips.

Ah. So something had changed.

“Ew.” Fred spat, eyeing his older brother down from across the table.

“Double ew,” George retorted. “Get a room.”

“They’re married, you gits,” said Ginny, bumping Fred in the arm. “Let them be.”

“She’s my best friend!” groaned Fred.

“Wow,” muttered George, a hand rising to his chest. “After all we’ve been through, Freddie? I’m gutted.”

(Y/N) chuckled quietly at the twins, now not-so-playfully fighting each other across the table. “They’ll never grow up, will they?” Whilst the twins began their fight to the death via dull forks, the newlywed couple pulled away from one another for the first time in hours.

“No, I reckon not,” Charlie hummed, rising from his seat. “If they’re going to continue on like this, I might as well pour myself a glass of firewhisky. Did you want one, love?”

Silently, (Y/N) shook her head, allowing Charlie to flee the scene for a few moments. The album had finally reached the end of the track, resulting in Molly starting it right back up. Ron and Ginny groaned gaudily, as this had been the fifth time she had done so this evening. The two shut right up after Bill had sent them both a quick and sharp glance.

“I must say,” Molly began. “I never imagined the lot of us sitting around one table again,” The war had reached its climatic end only a few months prior, wounds starting to finally heal. “I’m truly blessed to have almost my entire family together for the holidays—”

“—minus Perce, Fleur and Harry, of course!” George piped up.

“Right,” Molly cleared her throat. “As I said, almost the entire family.”

“Fleur sends her regards, truly. But with the condition her mother is in right now, she needed to be home,” Bill responded, again apologizing for his wife’s lack of attendance. “And Percy and Harry will be joining us in the coming days, no?”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded, leaving the absence of his brother and best friend at that. “Harry’s got some errands to run, or whatever. I reckon he’s out buying gifts even when we asked him not to.” Ron chuckled.

“Well, regardless of who isn’t here, we still have a large family. A growing family at that!” Arthur rejoiced, causing (Y/N)’s face to drop slightly. “It’s (Y/N)’s first holidays as an official Weasley!”

(Y/N) felt her face flush. A sigh of relief. “Oh Arthur, that’s hardly anything to celebrate…”

“Hogwash,” Charlie retorted, returning with his promised firewhisky, and a glass of water for (Y/N). “You can’t escape now, you’re sorta in it for life, yeah?”

“I feel like it’s already been a lifetime, love.” She chuckled. “Besides, just because we signed some stupid paper and wear these rings—”

“—wonderfully selected by your adoring husband.” Charlie mused, wriggling his left hand. The cool silver shone off his hand, a matching band with (Y/N)’s delicate ring.  

“You know what I mean, Charles.” snickered (Y/N). “I mean, I’ve practically been a Weasley since second year!”

“It’s true,” George paused, setting his fork down. “I mean, we would’ve married her first but—”

“—we were too busy being repulsed by the thought!” Fred finished, poking his tongue out slightly.

(Y/N) returned the gesture.

“You lot will never grow up,” said Molly, shaking her head. “Whatever the case, I’m truly blessed to have another daughter.” 

“Mum, just remember to think about the daughter you’ve always had, yeah?” Ginny laughed, causing the entire table to join in.

__

Hours passed, with it, a final read through of (Y/N)’s latest project. The sequel to The Distracted Dragon. While she had intended to finish the novel earlier, something larger than herself had erupted in their little world that needed attending to. The various fans of the first story were surely gutted, but to be completely fair to all involved, a war seemed like a pretty eminent reason to move the newest addition on the back burner.

“So you’re telling me… Bancroft gets a girlfriend?” Ron asks, looking to (Y/N) for an answer. She hesitantly gave a nod. “That’s the moral of the story? Get yourself a girlfriend and all your problems will be solved?”

“No,” Fred sniffed, moved by the book. “Ronnie, the moral is that sometimes we need help from another person to grow and accept our past!” With a loud honk into a tissue, he continued to weep.

“Nah, I still think that Harriet solved his problems.” Ron shrugged, popping a crisp into his mouth.

As Fred began to argue with Ron louder, chiming in about Hermione, Charlie gave (Y/N) a simple nod, aiming upwards towards the stairs. She got the hint quickly and excused herself.

“Tired of it yet?” asked Charlie, grabbing (Y/N)’s hand gingerly as they walked up the stairs towards his room. Bill had offered to stay in the twins room while (Y/N) was here, letting the newlyweds to have a space to themselves.

“No, not yet,” replied (Y/N). “Though,” She opened the door. “I’m rather pleased at how keenly Fred took to the book.”

“Ah,” He sat on the bed, waving his wand to shut the door once more. “He’s a bit of a romantic, no?”

“Fred? A romantic?” She laughed, pulling on her pajamas. A simple purple nightie, just touching the tops of her knees. “As if. He’s just… more in tune with the details I reckon.”

“Details… sure. Whatever you say, flower.” Charlie began to pull his socks off, eyeing his wife up and down. “You know… I bet the entire lot downstairs is going to be busy for a while.”

“Oh?” (Y/N) mused, flicking the lights off. “Busy, you say?”

Charlie nodded. “With Ron and Fred’s arguing, they sure drown out the sound, no?” He wriggled his eyebrows, climbing under the quilt next to his wife. A gentle hand caressed her thigh lightly.

“Charlie,” (Y/N) sighed, almost annoyed. “As lovely as the thought is,” He began peppering kisses to her neck, slowly down to her collarbone. “We shouldn’t.”

“Love,” more kisses. “It’s not like we’ve never fooled around up here before,” said Charlie, leaving a suckling mark below (Y/N)’s ear. “You love the risk.”

(Y/N) gently pushes Charlie away. “You’ve had too much firewhisky,” said (Y/N), pecking her husband once on the lips. “And I’m not feeling up for it.”

“Flower, I barely had any firewhisky,” he laughed. “Not nearly as much as you drink, well, normally anyhow,” a puzzled look adorned his freckled face. “Why didn’t you drink tonight? It’s Christmas Eve!”

“Are you saying I need to drink to have a good time?” (Y/N) accused, only half offended.

“Of course not! But you do find any and all reasons to have a nice drink at gatherings like these, it's odd, s’all,” He shrugged. “I mean, it’s a holiday! With the family. Our family. What better time to drink?”

“I didn’t feel like it.” (Y/N) mumbled, flopping down under the covers, turning away from her husband.

“I sense that you’re lying, love.” Charlie said, rubbing her arm gently. “You’re my wife…” mewled Charlie, hanging onto the last word longer than usual. “I’m keen to noticing these things.”  

“Oh yeah?”

“Indeed,” he quipped. “You have a rather easy tell, too.” Charlie gave a quick side glance in (Y/N)’s direction, smirking. “You tend to push your hair behind your ears, bite your lip and flick your eyes ever so slightly.”

“I do that all the time.” mumbled (Y/N).

“Does that mean? No…” Charlie gasped. “Could you’ve been lying to me the whole time I’ve known you?”

“Charlie…” (Y/N) groaned.  

“Okay, fine,” He laughed. “But you’ve been acting off these last couple of weeks. Not drinking, barely getting any sleep—”  

“—which I’m trying to do right now, thank you!” (Y/N) quipped, pulling the covers higher.

“Your mood has been real shit lately too. One moment you’re all smiles, the next you want to send me to the dog house just for looking at you.” Charlie sighed. “And I know it’s not,” his voice lowered to a whisper. “‘that time of the month’ yet, because it was last week, right?”

“No, and stop talking about my period like you’re afraid to say it.”

“Huh… It’s normally around the third week of the month, no?” He mumbled. With a gentle shake of his head, he continued. “Flower, all I’m trying to say is that even when you went to the doctor, they didn’t diagnose you with anything, right? I’m just worried something is wrong with you, (Y/N)”

“Nothing is wrong with me, Charlie.”

“Nothing? You run to the loo to empty your lunch like it’s your job,” He laughed. “I’ve never seen you like this. It’s almost as if—”

He stopped.

“Charlie?” (Y/N) turned around to check on her husband. Charlie just sat, staring forward. “Honey?” 

“(Y/N),” He continued to stare forward. “Are you…?”

“Darling,” She sat up, gingerly grabbing his hands. “Look at me.” 

Charlie’s eyes were brimming with tears, begging to be let go.

“I wanted to tell you tomorrow, a Christmas present,” (Y/N)’s eyes were swimming with matching tears. “But I guess one present early couldn’t hurt, no?” 

His eyes flicked back and forth from his wife’s, waiting for any sign of an answer. (Y/N) nodded her head slightly, fighting back the tears. Charlie wrapped his arms around his wife, hugging her tightly, afraid to let her go. “You’re kidding!” A flurry of kisses brimmed (Y/N)’s head, forming a crown upon her temple. “Love! This is a great—no—the best gift you could’ve given me”

“You’re excited?” asked (Y/N), giggling in her husband’s embrace.

“Of course I’m excited,” Charlie pulled away slightly, meeting his brown eyes with (Y/N)’s, darting between the two rapidly. “A baby. Our baby.”

In an instant, their lips met. Softly at first, crescendoing slowly into an intensity as bright as the stars above, burning hot at the sight. The moment was broken only by the parting for air, quickly returning to the fire before. Was it the thrill of their family below? Or the joy of the family growing between the two? Perhaps it was a bit of both.

“How long?” asked Charlie, rubbing (Y/N)’s upper arm gently. “I mean, how far along are you?”

“Remember that Quidditch match your friend Andre invited us to?” (Y/N) giggled.

“I don’t remember much of the match,” Charlie said, scratching his head. “Come to think of it, you pulled me into an empty stall and we—” His cheeks flushed, burning up to the tips of his ears. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) laughed, brushing Charlie’s hair out of his eyes. “Andre’s team won in the end, by the way.” Another laugh.

“Well, I suppose we both scored,” Charlie joined in the laughter. “But that was about two months ago, no?”

“Something like that. I found out last week at the doctor’s office,” said (Y/N). “It was the hardest thing to keep from you! I was so scared that—”    

“—that I’d be upset?”

“Something of that sort, yeah,” (Y/N) mumbled. “Of course I was being a real idiot about the whole thing, I realized that the second you figured it out.” 

“Love, I come from a family of nine,” Charlie held his breath. “Now, that’s not to say I want to rival my parents in the baby-making contest, but I’ve always wanted a little piece of that happiness. Especially with you.” 

“Charlie if you keep saying shit like that I’m going to cry,” (Y/N) warned, choking back tears, a common theme in the past few minutes. “I can’t believe I was even remotely worried.”

“What was there to be worried about?” Charlie asked, stroking (Y/N)’s hair, fingers twisting the ends lightly.  

“I’m not sure. We just got married a little over a year ago, after a bloody war had started no less—”

“—to be fair, we got married during the war.”

“I suppose we technically eloped before the war was over.” (Y/N) mumbled, tracing her hand up Charlie’s chest, resting gently.

“We also got married before Bill,” Charlie laughed. “Not an important detail, but one that I like to rub in his face.”

“Besides your points,” (Y/N) rolled her eyes. “We’re newlyweds! We’re young! I mean, we never even really had the whole ‘baby’ talk before. I was worried we weren’t ready, hardly after a war,” (Y/N) gulped. “I was worried you’d be scared.”

“Love, of course I’m scared. Babies are terrifying,” said Charlie. “With their little hands and tiny feet.” He feigned a grimace, clearly joking. “But you’re right. We are young, but that just means more years of being a family, no?” 

“I guess…”

“Now, you’re also right about the ‘baby’ talk. We haven’t really talked about it,” Charlie looked down at (Y/N). “Let’s have it now.”

“I think it’s a little late for that.” (Y/N) giggled.

“Do you ever want to have kids?” Charlie asked, ignoring his wife’s growing laughter.

“Yes.” 

“Do you ever want to have a child together?”

“Of course.”

“Then that’s all that matters, right?” Charlie said, his brown eyes meeting (Y/N)’s. “Who cares if it’s a little before we might have planned? I know that we’re going to love the shit out of our child.”

“I know you’re right,” (Y/N) mumbled. “But you don’t have any worries about all of this?”  

“Only one,” said Charlie. “I mean, if it’s not a boy to take on the Weasley name, I may consider a divorce.” Charlie hummed, smirking lightly. 

“Charlie!” (Y/N) slapped his chest rather firmly, eliciting a slight groan from the redhead. “If you keep joking like that, I may consider divorce first.”

“Flower, you know I could never divorce you,” Charlie laughed, placing a kiss to his wife’s temple. “Besides, with the amount of brothers I have, the Weasley name is rather safe I reckon,” Another kiss to her temple. “Come on, let's get some sleep.” It took only a few fleeting kisses, happy murmurs and mumblings before the couple finally retired for the night.  

—

“Well, look at the lovebirds!” George sang from the kitchen table, setting his coffee mug down, eyeing up (Y/N) and Charlie descending from the stairs. “Unusually well rested. Obviously not taking advantage of their own room I see.”

“George,” said Molly, sternly shooting a glance at her son. “Happy Christmas you two.”

“Happy Christmas, mum,” said Charlie, placing a peck to his mother’s cheek. “Happy Christmas George.”

“Yeah, yeah. Christmas or whatever,” George sipped from his mug. “You lot slept in a bit, the rest of the family is outside. You know, completing a family tradition and whatnot. So disgraceful.”

“Ah, but the real disgrace, George, is the fact you also are missing out on the snow angels,” (Y/N) chirped, grabbing a plate of hot breakfast from Molly. “Besides, everyone’s coming in for breakfast soon anyway. No one can resist Molly’s cooking.”

“Oh (Y/N), you humor me,” Molly laughed, opening the window. “Breakfast!” She called out to the rest of her family. One by one, the clan filed into the kitchen, sitting in their respective seats.

“Mum, you outdid yourself again! This food looks delicious.” Bill said, piling a load of eggs onto his plate. He handed the skillet over in Ginny’s direction, eliciting a scowl to the yellow mush beneath her nose.

“Kiss-up.” Ginny mumbled, immediately passing the cooked eggs over to Ron.

The rest of the family began eating, enjoying a rare moment of silence in the Burrow. Only sounds of scraping forks and the occasional burp echoed through the walls. Fred and George were the first to finish their plate, diving into another round of home cooking immediately after. Charlie and (Y/N) sat together, gently hold each other’s hands while they ate, Charlie sitting at the end.

“While you’re all sitting down, I suppose now’s the best time for your gifts!” said Molly, cleaning up the table. She quickly exited the kitchen only to reappear with a rather large bag. “Careful not to get any muck on them, I don’t want to do any washing today.” With a flick of her wand, the colorful stack of wool dispersed evenly among the family, a jumper settling in everyone’s lap.

“Jumpers? Oh boy, what a surprise!” George laughed.

“Really shocked our socks off, mum!” Fred added, unfurling his pile of purple.

“Oh hush,” Molly smirked. “Just go put them on and humor your mother, would you? You seem to find every other opportunity to do so.”

The twins groaned and pulled the fabric over their heads, both of the violet jumpers were adorned with their store’s logo on the front. Bill’s had a niffler, Ron’s had a Chudley Cannons print, Ginny’s had two crossing brooms and Charlie’s had (not surprising anyone) a large white dragon.

“What about yours, love?” said Charlie, elbowing (Y/N) slightly, the light blue wool rubbing against her arm. She turned to face him, the green jumper was decorated with a book and quill, the cover oddly resembling her first book. “Wow! That looks amazing!” He exclaimed. “Mum, how do you keep making these year after year?”

“With patience and a whole lot of love.” Molly smiled.

“Her enchanted knitting needles help too,” Arthur added, brushing biscuit crumbs off his new maroon sweater, ignoring the icy glare from his wife. “Besides, it’s a tradition.”

“A tradition getting harder every year,” Molly sighed. “Thankfully none of you are getting married any time soon, no need to worry about adding any other jumpers to my long list!” She laughed.

“Besides for next year, of course.” said Charlie offhandedly. (Y/N) froze.

“Next year? What’s next year?” Bill asked.

“Yeah, I don’t reckon Fred or George are going to meet anyone by next Christmas.” said Ron.

“Hey!” The twins exclaimed.

“Well…” Charlie looked up, all eyes were on him. A quick glance was given to (Y/N), who shared an equally pale face as him. He shrugged, raising his eyebrows. “You never know when people can meet each other, no? I mean, (Y/N) and I met in a coffee shop of all places!”

“Charlie…” (Y/N) began.

“Hell, we even eloped! Do you know how easy it is to do that?” Charlie continued, nervously bumbling longer sentences. “We got married in like, an hour once we set our sights on it!” He chuckled loudly, trying to drown the attention away from his sweat.  

(Y/N) stood up, placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Before Charlie continues to blabber like a right idiot,” she said, shutting her husband up successfully. He sighed loudly. “I’m pregnant.” The entire table sat in stunned silence.

“That’s amazing!” Fred shouted, breaking the silence, jumping from his seat. “My best friend is having a baby!” He wrapped (Y/N) in a large hug, gripping her tightly.  

“Again, am I chopped liver?” George laughed, running over to join the hug. “A baby! Promise that you’ll name him George! Or Fred. Not terribly picky on that.”

“Boys! You shouldn’t hug (Y/N) that hard,” said Arthur. The twins loosened their grip slightly. “Congratulations you two,” He glanced between the happy couple. “Children are a blessing.”

“Is that why you had seven of them?” Ron asked, getting slapped on the shoulder by his mother.

“Oh (Y/N),” Molly cooed, fighting back her tears. "My first grandchild! We couldn’t be more thrilled for you!” She ran over to Charlie, embracing him in the warmest bearhug she could’ve mustered. “I can’t wait to start knitting their jumper! It’ll be so tiny I won’t mind the extra on the list.”        

“How long have you been keeping that secret, Charlie?” Bill asked, smiling at his brother, amused at the kisses their mother was placing on Charlie’s cheek.

“He’s barely known a day,” (Y/N) frowned in Charlie’s direction. He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve only known for a week. It’s still early, but we’re excited.”

“I hope it’s a girl,” Ginny added. “That way we’d finally be on our way to have a boys versus girls Weasley quidditch match!” 

“With my quidditch skills and (Y/N)'s creative mind? I’m sure they’d be an amazing quidditch player!” Charlie bubbled in delight. “Though, how young would be too young to get them on a broom?” 

“Charlie! We’re not putting our baby on a broom!” (Y/N) scolded. “Besides, they could easily get my quidditch skills.” 

“But you don’t have any quidditch skills?” Fred said, cocking his head.

“You can hardly keep yourself up on a broom!” George added.

“Exactly,” (Y/N) hummed, sitting down, a hand resting on her barely existing bump. “I say we stop hypothesizing and projecting onto the baby. Whatever they choose to be and do will be great…” (Y/N) sighed. “Because Charlie and I are the best, so our baby is going to be the best baby ever.”

“Nailed it, darling.” said Charlie, high-fiving his wife.

“You two really deserve each other.” Ron groaned.

“We do,” Charlie hummed, beaming down to his wife. “We really do.”

With the big news out of the way, the Weasley’s enjoyed the rest of their holiday morning, welcoming Percy and Harry home later in the afternoon. Once the two were caught up on gifts and laughter, the family had finally found peace in their holiday. No more big secrets, no more stressing about keeping said secrets. Just a relaxing and calming holiday before the whirlwind of parenthood whisked Charlie and (Y/N) up into a tizzy. But they were ready.

They’re Weasleys, after all.  

__

General Tag List: @maralisa124 , @leighxlover , @hey-its-me-rai , @missihart23 , @biatheintrovert , @luna-xxxxx , @chocolaterumble, @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy

Charlie Weasley Tag List: @sungoddessra , @crescent-ia , @phantom-pheonix , @dccomicnerd-world , @marveltrash99 , @graymountaingal, @storiesbycaroline, @mytinybaguette , @garbdump

want to be added to a tag list? hmu in the replies or ask box with what characters you’d like to be tagged with!

[fishmongeringstudies]

the year i turned twenty i stopped waiting for someone to save my life and started eating more vegetables

in the winter of 2018 i got a root canal done on the molar in the upper left-hand corner of my mouth. it had been on the verge of death for a while now; two years prior to that a visiting government-sponsored school dentist had taken a look at it, frowned, and then spent the next two hours wheedling all the rot out of that tiny black hole with a drill. unfortunately the solution he imposed was both extremely painful and temporary, and so two years after the initial incident i found myself once again at the dentist's (this time at a clinic; school dentists don't like to deal with the extra-gritty stuff and are not paid enough to do so). they stuck a needle in my gum, numbed three-quarters of my mouth, then drilled a hole through the center of my tooth and ripped the withering shred of nerve-tissue right out of it.

my dentist helpfully explained all of the above to me during our consultation session in the same office in which he would rip the top half of my tooth off a week later. he was a balding, smiling man whose speech did not, unlike many medical professionals i had met over the years, have an edge of condescension to it. i liked him. i would have liked him more were he not planning to essentially castrated my tooth.

several weeks later i went to another dentist who specialized in helping people in post-root canal limbo, and she stuck a shiny metal crown on what was left of my molar. we then scheduled a series of check-ups to ensure that the crown had not flown off its liege while i attacked an ice cube or something similarly bad for my teeth and mental health, which stretched on for so long that she became, more or less, my primary dental care physician. at first the check-ups were a month apart. then two. time passed. her hair grew longer and our conversations less awkward; she was beautiful and snarky and looked like she would shoot god without hesitation if he stepped into range of her gun. she wore her hair short, red tinged with gold, in a pixie-cut that fell over half of one eye. for a while i thought i was in love with her.

'do you floss?' she asked me on my second check-up.

'no,' i said.

'well.' she broke off a length of dental floss and began to wind it around her fingers. it looked like a death threat and she looked ready to kill, though her eyes were smiling. 'you should.'

for the first year after having an utterly destroyed tooth brought back from the brink of death via a grisly temporary solution that would, at best, buy me one or two decades of peace, i didn't. i didn't floss because when she did it for me in her tiny examination room my gums bled so much it took hours for me to wash the bitter taste of iron out of my mouth. blood is a nice concept and a nicer motif in writing. but it smells awful, and it's worst on the tongue. so i didn't floss my teeth, and i went through life with the kind of casual detached disinterest with which i had approached most things up until then. at my next check-up she asked once again if i had been flossing and i lied that i had. after poking and prodding around in my mouth for a few minutes and taking a scan for good measure she gave me a look and said dryly, 'you haven't been flossing at all, have you.'

disappointing your parents, your favorite high school english teacher, or even your best friend is nothing compared to the sheer embarrassment that comes from knowing your beautiful dentist asked you to do the bare minimum, and you failed to deliver. her voice was arid but we had known each other for long enough by then for me to detect a thin undercurrent of disappointment. i had done it. i had lost the support of the only person in my life who could be counted on to support me. because i paid her for her services. and she was also very funny in a quiet sarcastic way. and she was beautiful.

having had my ego wounded beyond description i resolved to floss from then on and succeeded in dragging my poor aching gums past the bleeding stage to a point where they were merely post-workout sore. then i lost interest and forgot about the white, sterile-smelling clinic that was a fifteen minutes' drive from my house and the little pack of dental floss on the bathroom counter faded into obscurity. two weeks before my next appointment in 2020, an alarm on my phone went off to inform me of the approaching day of judgment. i panicked.

'have you been flossing?' my dentist asked as i lay back in the faded green chair and she put on a pair of new gloves.

'yeah,' i said.

five minutes later, she removed her army of dentistry equipment from my mouth with a satisfied hum. 'i see that you have.' her eyes were smiling. 'your teeth look fine. i'll just clean them a little for you.'

i celebrated impressing my favorite dentistry professional in singapore by forgetting to floss for the next two months. soon after that i got on a plane to america, and then two more for good measure in case i hadn't grown sick of sitting and burning in my own skin already, and then twelve weeks of insanity ensued, the details of which we are surely all acquainted with by now. late nights, walks in the forest, afternoons spent in the sun. mismatched footsteps and strange acquaintances. an elaborate circus act staffed entirely by misguided but well-meaning teenagers. a ring of fire.

two weeks ago i bought a box of dental floss for ninety-nine cents. i think this might be what the anthropologists call 'adulthood'. i was at target with a friend and we were getting toothpaste, which we had both nearly run out of, when i saw the little flat box of dental floss hanging from a hook on the wall. my teeth weren't particularly disgusting (they haven't been, not since i learned how to brush them properly), but they weren't beautiful. it had been a while since i had been on my own mind. for the last three months, others' pain had been my main priority, and now that we had eliminated most of them from the picture, i found myself with more time in the mornings to stare at myself in the mirror and wonder how, exactly, i was doing.

how are you doing? i asked. and the answer was i felt like shit.

while i've stayed in dormitories before for extended periods of time i always got out of doing laundry by either submitting my dirty clothes to an on-campus service which disappeared them into a hole in the fabric of reality and returned them to you a day later, cleaned and folded outside your room so the first time i did laundry by myself in america, a week after arriving on campus, i felt invincible. buying an iced chai from the cafe on a thursday morning and then settling down to work on my laptop until my first class started at noon, i felt like a character in a career advisory ad, like someone who knew where they were going and how they were going to get there. standing in front of the bathroom mirror of my summer dorm, winding a strand of dental floss around my fingers, i felt like i had aged fifteen years in the span of just one, and that just this once, it was for the better.

according to my adult friends, no one ever fully feels or recognizes that they are an adult. adulthood is an ideal that all grown children strive towards the way body-builders aim for more and more muscle mass until there's nothing left of them but a pair of well-toned biceps. there are several industry-approved ways to be an adult, but there are no suggested ways to feel like one. this is part of the gaping maw of inadequacy our generation has fallen into. this afternoon i melted butter in a pan and beat two eggs, milk, salt, and garlic powder together in a bowl. pouring the egg mixture into the pan i began to scrape the edges frantically towards the center with a spatula. the whole process took no longer than two or three minutes. by the end of it my hand was shaking.

according to my adult friends you just wake up one day and start looking for ways to re-organize your pantry and that's when you realize: i'm getting old, aren't i? and i'm getting old, aren't i? twenty's just the start of what a friend recently told me her parents refer to as 'the decade of pain'. but the beginning of something is included in the timeline of its accomplishments, too, and it takes more blind faith to start something than we give ourselves credit for. i have never used a saucepan up until today. in my younger years i often boiled broccoli or cauliflower in a small pot over an electric stove. but the butter, the eggs, the smell of fat sizzling on a pan- this is new to me. this entire life is new to me.

leaving the familiar warmth of your family home, it suddenly occurs to you how fragile life is. how everything your mother has done for you until now has kept you on the path forward, and now you have been given the keys to the basement you have to remember to buy laundry detergent before you run out. it all comes together like this: the humming laundry machines, the hand towels, the fridge full of fruit and cheese. it keeps you alive.

and it's awful. our generation doesn't know what self-care is because we're too busy trying to care for a world which tries, time and again, to kick us off the carousel of life and move on without its ephemeral teenage charges. we are bad at this 'living' thing because we often forget that we are alive at all. look out the window and the world's burning. look into the kitchen, and- quiet. this past year has done nothing to improve the paintings on the wall. we've all known hopelessness. we've all known what it's like to wake up and feel nothing at all.

and yet my flatmate has a new york times cooking subscription that she says we're welcome to borrow if we want to look up a recipe for something like paella, brownies, whatever. the other day she made shrimp scampi and when she knocked on my door and said 'i made food, if you'd like some' i remember thinking living with other people was worth it if you could sit around a table and twirl pasta noodles around your fork in silence. tomorrow i think i'll go to target again and see if i can find more acai. i miss it. i miss singapore's overpriced acai places and their stupid too-high chairs.

and i am living life clumsily, but who cares? a life is a life; all you have to do is live it. the rest can come later, after the dust has settled on the windowsill.

06.09.21

[urslasherbaby]

Something with a Sugar Daddy Chromeskull, please? 🥺

A Girl and Her Diamonds - Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull x Sugar Baby Reader

Being a college student isn’t the toughest thing in the world, but being a broke college student completely supporting yourself off of in-between shifts at a diner might as well be. You couldn’t keep track of the number of times you’ve had to bail on your friends because you couldn’t afford to go out drinking or to buy a new outfit to go dancing. It sucked for a long time, but everything changed after you met Jesse.

You’d gotten a little drunk one night and made the absolutely brilliant choice to sign up for one of those sugar daddy websites you’d heard your friends joke about. It was about what you’d expect, creepy guys preying on desperate girls and the like. Just as you were done, a new message popped up from a chromeskull09. The name caught your attention, so you decided to message him back, then you were having a conversation... and then suddenly you were talking with him every day and falling for him all the while. He’d been more captivating and more generous than any other guy you’d talk to, tipping you $5,000 after each conversation--certainly worth chatting with a random charismatic stranger.

You could tell Jesse was just looking for someone to take care of and treasure. That... and the other thing. God, you’d never even heard his voice before and his words still managed to soak your panties every time. You could just feel his hot breath on your neck every time he called you princess... which is why you were trying in vain to ignore the vibrations from your phone in your backpack while you were in class. Jesse hated it when you ignored him, but he also knew not to text you in the middle of class. It could be an emergency... but knowing him it was all the more likely he was stuck in some boring meeting and wanted entertainment, a feeling that was very much mutual. Fuck it!

You grabbed your bag and quietly excused yourself before immediately unlocking your phone and rushing towards your dorm room. Seven messages... he really was getting impatient. You couldn’t help biting your lip as you scanned through the texts:

Hey there, (Y/N), guess who misses his princess?

Daddy’s sitting here all alone... keep him company?

Come on, baby, you can’t leave Daddy waiting...

I’m already so hard just thinking about you, princess

I keep imagining feeling your ass as you grind against me

How desperate would you be for Daddy if you were here?

You better answer soon, princess, or else you’re getting punished tonight...

Fucking hell... Jesse loved teasing you to death, and if these texts were any indication of what was waiting for you when you got to your room, he was going to succeed. Hopefully responding to him would calm him down a little.

I already constantly think about you during the day... can’t I get one reprieve in class?

Hell no. You’re mine, remember? That means I get you whenever I please. 

And too late. I already have your punishment in order... Get online.

You’d never run so fast in your life. As much as you know you shouldn’t, you always got so much more turned on when Jesse got possessive and dominant. Finally getting to your room, you stripped off all your clothes and opened your laptop up. The website you and Jesse met on had a special “chatroom” for matches who wanted to have a little fun. It had a webcam feature that let the babies put on a show while the daddies sent them messages on the side.

You settled yourself on the bed, kneeling in front of the camera just how Jesse liked before going live. As soon as the camera turned on, the first message appeared:

Fuck you’re beautiful, princess. 

You could already feel your face flush at the compliment. You’d learned to be a bit less shy around Jesse, a man who could make you whimper with a word, but no man you had ever been with could compare to how he made you feel.

Now then, time to teach you not to leave me waiting... grab that little present I bought you last week

Oh god. You knew what was coming next. That “little present” was a pink vibrator with a bejeweled handle and a remote control... that he had.. Jesse had called it your little princess wand. You reached over to your bedstand and pulled out its box, revealing the toy to Jesse with an eager smile.

Good girl, now spread your legs for me baby

“Yes, Daddy,” you obeyed, widening your legs to give him full view of you.

Your legs were practically quivering from anticipation, but you wanted to be good for Jesse.

Perfect... God, you are absolutely perfect. I’ve already got my cock out just looking at that body of yours. I bet you’re already wet too

“Yes, Daddy, can we please start?” 

So fucking eager. One day I’ll get my hands on you for real... let’s see how you beg then?

You nearly came just at the thought alone.

Put the vibe right on your clit and I’ll turn it on. Don’t move it, just enjoy that sensation, baby

You quickly did as he asked and relished in the pleasure the toy gave you. Every muscle in your body slowly relaxed into the feeling until you were in utter bliss.  You closed your eyes and thought of Jesse holding you close. He’d never sent you any pictures but you could tell he was tall and strong, just on his ability to control every part of you. You imagined his body hovered over you, his yes staring you down and licking his lips watching you writhe.

Does it feel good baby girl? Fuck, I’m stroking my cock just looking at that pretty little face. Put a finger in you little pussy for me

Immediately, you place two fingers in your mouth and suck on them wantonly for Jesse. The first finger went in easy with just how wet you’d become. Slowly you began pumping yourself more and more before you started to whimper.

“Please, daddy, I need more,” you begged.

More baby? Look at how slutty my little princess has become. Not so shy anyone are you? Not when you’re so hungry for me and my cock

You could practically hear the smirk behind his words. As much as you dreamed to see his face for real, it was moments like this that made you wish you could slap it.

Go on, princess. I wanna see you come undone for me

Quickly you added a second finger, absolutely savoring how much it stretched you. You couldn’t help but let out a loud moan as you kept finger-fucking yourself for Jesse’s amusement. Just picturing his cock inside of you was enough to bring you to your limit.

“Oh god, daddy, I’m so close! Please let me cum, please!” you pleaded. 

Oh, you’re ready to burst, baby? Daddy’s close too, he’s ready to cum for you

But you know what... you can’t.

Suddenly toy turned off completely and you left right at the edge with no release. You let out a whine from the loss of sensation. You were so lost in pleasure you forgot this was actually your punishment.

Sorry, princess. You’re gonna learn eventually: you ignore my texts and I ignore your pleas. Now then, clean up those fingers for Daddy

Reluctantly, you licked the slick off your fingers and even made a show for Jesse teasing you. 

Don’t be so bitter, princess. After all, don’t I always make it your while?

On cue, you felt your phone vibrate next to you with a new notification from your bank: $10,000 had just been added to your account. At this point in your relationship with Jesse, the money was more of an afterthought. But you knew pouting about it would only make Jesse feel bad so you learned not to bother.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you gushed at him.

And that’s not all. I got you another present too, baby. Underneath your bed.

“Wait, you came into my room? When?” you asked, slightly freaked out.

More like paid someone else to come into your room. And it doesn’t matter. Open it

You sighed dropping the subject only out of sheer curiosity of what Jesse had gotten you this time. At first, you expected another toy, but lifting the lid, you saw something you would’ve never guessed:

It was an absolutely gorgeous collar necklace covered in diamonds with dangling blood-red rubies attached that sparkled every time it moved. The mere sight of it took your breath away, and the fact Jesse had gotten it for you--spent so much on you--nearly stopped your heart.

“Jesse, it’s stunning... I can’t believe you bought it for me,” you said, not taking your eyes off the piece.

My princess deserves the best. From now on, that’s your collar. I wanna see it on you for myself next time, okay baby girl?

“Yes, daddy... maybe you could even see it on me in person?” you asked, tempting fate. For a moment you thought you'd pushed too far again when he didn’t respond immediately, but you’re heart swelled when his response finally went though:

Yeah... maybe one day princess.

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 21

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20

HI LOVIES. Please enjoy a Friday update on the Frat Boy universe. This one is a bit of a breather after the TUMULTUOUS ANGST of the last chappie. Shorter than my usual, but it’s all the chapter needed. Tons more y/n and Harry interaction on the way in the next! Have a safe and happy day loves xx

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

Things I want:

Live a life that helps others

Financial freedom

Experience a great love

Visit the the Pincio Gardens in Italy

To have more dreams and fewer nightmares

Doodle more

Acquire a first edition book, either because an old  friendly man who owns an antique bookshop decides to give it to me in a bonding moment, or because I have accomplished #2 and I am celebrating being a Boss Bitch

To be happy

Please note: not necessarily in that order

 It was taped above my desk, waiting for me to bring it in to the next session. I hesitated to write number 6. It was a dream I hardly entertained after committing my scholarly life to pursue medicine. I used to love to doodle. All the time. Since elementary school. I doodled so much my mom dedicated a wall in the house to my illustrations. She hung a sign above it that affectionately said “Y/N’s Doodles.” Seriously, you couldn’t get me to stop. Even if it was gross sappy sketches of my crush Billy who I would NEVER show on the playground at recess.   

 My doodling stopped how these things normally do. Because life grew busier than anything else, and the sketchpad and easel my dad had bought for me at a garage sale became ignored, collecting dust in the corner of my room. At some point, it’d become a year since I’d drawn anything, and then it was two, and three, and by this point I’d realized I was the one who’d need to create her own stability in life and medicine was the more logical fit. It wasn’t that I didn’t see the value in drawing anymore, I just had other things take up my time. It became a comfort just knowing I used to draw. Paul had paved his way, and now I was on my way to do the same. At least with medicine, my soul felt fed. It was almost comfort enough. 

  “oH WE GOT A ROGUE ONE.” 

 A flying toenail hit my eye. 

 “WHAT THE-” I flailed my arms, as though there were a thousand more coming. Renny’s mouth opened in shock, her guilty body hunched over her bent leg. Clippers in hand.  

 “Sorry!!” Renny burst up laughing.

 “oH MY GOSH CAN YOU DO THAT OVER A TRASH CAN OR SOMETHING?!” 

 “IT HAD A MIND OF ITS OWN!!” she screamed back. 

 I blinked rapidly, my left eye watering up and spilling painless tears. “Well I’m going to have conjunctivitis at the studio later. Or I’ll be stumbling in blind.” I wiped it away.

 I heard another clip and she put up her hands with another giggle. 

 “All done. And you won’t stumble, I’m going to be there.” Renny extended her leg, her perfectly trimmed foot nearly touching the ceiling.

 “You’re just going to solicit Zayn to be his next subject.” 

 “Maybe,” her grin grew devious. “But also because I want to see if he captured the angelic beauty and complex nymph nuances of my best friend.” 

 I put a hand to my chest, still aching from uncertainty. “Honored.” 

 “Want to watch another episode until it’s time to go?” 

 This whole lazy morning had been an OC Housewives bingefest. She’d seen it on my homepage and had a complete spazz, twitching whilst proclaiming but i’ve been trying to get you to watch this show for YEARS!! When she saw the old season I was on, though, she didn’t have to question why her pestering had miraculously worked. She didn’t mention him aloud besides giving me a pointed look. And so, we watched it, even though I wasn’t really in the mood to see anything about Harry right now. It’d hurt more than I thought to walk away from him last night, and to see how sad he looked when I did. 

 After last night, he hadn’t posted anything to social media. He’d called, twice, but I knew he was drunk, or worse, and I was tired, and whatever he would say he could tell me in the morning. Even though I knew he wouldn’t. 

 And he didn’t. 

 And therein lay the problem. 

 It hurt to see his family on my little box of a computer screen, weird to see his life and get glimpses of his childhood. I felt like a hacker spying on home videos. But then I reminded myself that thousands of people had already done the same. At this point, it was just… morbid curiosity.

 “Nah, I don’t know if I can handle any more of that right now. Dr. Rhinecuff is going to yell at me if I don’t return these scanned copies to him by Monday.” 

 “Ew, he smells like meat.” 

 “RENNY!!” 

 “I’m just saying. That one time I went with you it smelled like pastrami in his office. He has a PhD, but isn’t with-it enough to buy air freshener.”

 “He likes pastrami sandwiches, let him live.” 

 She scrolled on her phone, not bothering to respond, and my gaze turned to the window. 

 “Hey Renny?” 

 “Hm.” 

 A bird flew close to the glass, halting just before it hit it, then zooming off in the opposite direction. “What’d you do when your parents were fighting?” 

 “Ummm…” I knew the question registered in her mind when she stopped scrolling, suddenly concerned. “Are your parents okay?”

 “Yeah. I mean, kind of.” I glossed over it, not caring to get into the bitter details. “I was just curious.” 

 “Uhh..” She plucked at the soft cotton of her cotton candy pajamas that were fraying at the knees. “I lost my virginity to Zach,” she half-laughed.   

 “Zach? Neighbor boy Zach?” 

 Renny nodded. She always sounded a little sad when she talked about him. Zach was the hot college boy who shared a backyard fence with Renny, the girl who may or may not have used her kitchen stool to peak over and see him workout on the grass every summer he came home. I’d known they’d slept together. I just didn’t think he was her first. 

 “I just tried to be out of the house as much as I could,” she said. “Found my true love Mary J.” 

 “Oh.” 

 “It was shitty, but I’m glad I got it over with.”

 “The divorce or your virginity.” 

 “Both,” she chortled. “Why what’s up? Are you sad or something? I have a j in my drawer.” 

 “No, no, I’m fine.” Mostly I was just wondering what it must be like to feel so sexually liberated. In my house sex wasn’t talked about. At all. The inevitable sex scene in every other movie would result in my dad blaring out “WHAT KIND OF MOVIE IS THIS!” in an attempt to make it less awwkard, but having it backfire and only make it horrendously more awkward. I wasn’t saving my virginity for anyone in particular, but after all those romance novels, I wanted it to be… something. I wanted to feel something towards the person where it would justify something I’ve kept to myself for so long. I wanted it to be intense. I wanted it to be like the books. Like a Frank Sinatra song that swept up your heart and transported you back to a time of gentlemen and cigars and women in long evening gowns with fur coats and martinis. 

 “I wish I could just get it over with,” I confessed. One half of me screamed YOU’RE IN YOUR TWENTIES HAVE ALL THE SEX while the other half said YOU’VE WAITED THIS LONG DAMN IT HOLD OUT A LITTLE LONGER. I didn’t know which part of me was compromising more. 

 Renny leaned in, quick. “Would you do it with Harry?” 

 Like the flip of a switch, I remembered the sensuous heat of his body against mine, wrapping me up and pressing me against him where we just fit. And I couldn’t imagine how much better it’d feel to be even more connected to him. 

 “Maybeeee…?” 

 But then there was last night. 

 I cringed. No matter how with me he’d seemed… he couldn’t have been present after mixing whatever the hell he took and a handle of alcohol. Did I really want someone like that? Someone who could only give a shell of themselves? 

 “No, I wouldn’t. Or- ugh, I don’t know. I don’t know if it could ever mean as much to him.” 

 Renny nodded. “I mean, don’t let him pressure you, obviously. If he does, I’ll kick his baby maker smack into his prostate. Prostate. See, anatomy. You taught me that.” 

 “Haha, no, he’s not like that.” My brows stitched. I was confused why he wasn’t more like that, actually. We’d known each other for several months now and he hadn’t even put a finger in me. When I thought about it, it actually frustrated me. Don’t pressure me to do anything, but I wanted to be pushed to do something. I was never the bold one in areas like this. 

 Not that I should be so willing to do anything with him anymore anyways. Something shifted in me when I’d seen him last night. It wasn’t a shift I could easily describe, but it’d set me a foot apart from my heart. A bit of me was shocked that it had happened so suddenly. 

 But this shift was new, and my heart still wanted what it wanted. I knew that if I watched any more OC Housewives with Harry’s toddler curls and surfer tan, I’d be sucked right back into speculating about what our future kids could look like. And if I saw him? 

 You were right, Harry. You are fucked. 

 I cringed again. That was harsh. That was very very harsh. 

 I didn’t know if I’d have the courage to apologize. What if my pheromones went berserk and magnetized me to his side??

 Renny was right.

 I needed therapy. 

 The clippers were tossed back on my desk.

 “Thanks,” she said. “Have you started on your DG Double P yet?” 

 DG Double P = Renny Speak for DG Pretty Please. 

 I groaned. “No. I don’t know how I’m going to do it, honestly. I have to-”

 “NO!!! Don’t tell me. We’re not supposed to tell each other.” Her hand extended in panic.

 “Fine. I can keep a secret.” 

 I was getting a little too good at that lately.

 She moved onto her belly, splaying her arms out in a dramatic fashion, face squished against the comforter. “Isn’t it just killing you inside.” She was dead serious. 

 “Yeah, more than you know.” 

 And I was serious, too. 

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

 I wasn’t expecting people to dress up as much as they did. Donned in my only pair of yoga pants and a chunky white sweater, I walked arm-in-arm with Renny past girls in cocktail dresses and guys in button-downs. 

 Something that sounded like a baby’s cry filled my ears, but it was gone as soon as we walked through the doors to the on-campus gallery.  . 

 “Woah did you hear that?” 

 Renny nodded, tossing her head back. “There’s a baby somewhere.” 

 It reminded me of the bodiless screams in my nightmare. In my chunky sweater, I shivered undetectably.

 The on-campus gallery rotated exhibits throughout the year, but this time, student sculptures were on pedestals, nightmarish portraits hung on the walls, and red and orange tapestries swooped down and across the ceiling in a cirque-du-soleil moment as if to secure us beneath fire. Some students had separate booths, but other pieces of work trailed seamlessly into the next. 

 A tree made from photographs and newspaper took up the center of the space. Zayn had been so adamant about his muse having life, I wondered if that was the focus of this exhibit - to capture natural life. But I suppose all art did. 

 “It’s the circle of life exhibit,” Renny stated, as if reading my thoughts. 

 “How’d you know that?” 

 She held up a pamphlet she must’ve grabbed from the entrance. 

 I quickly scanned the room, hoping to find Zayn quickly so I could skip out just as quick. 

 Several of my professors were here, including Dr. Rhinecuff. When he saw me, I raised my hand, but he raised his cup of red wine awkwardly and looked away. 

 My hand wavered. 

 Odd. 

 Zayn was standing by the tree, speaking with an older woman. Her skin was a rich brown, short hair hidden beneath a chic scarf. The man beside her looked around the same age with graying facial hair, a pocket hanky, and beaded bracelets. Art professors. 

 I caught his gaze, and he gestured me over. 

 “Y/N, these are my instructors. David and Ebony.”   

 Their eyes lit up in recognition. “He did you a great justice,” David said, gray moustache twitching with the words.

 Ebony beamed. “Oh yes, a piece was already sold. He’s going to be the next big wig before he graduates,” she gushed. “Zayn, I’m sure you’ll be splitting the profits with the heart of the piece.”

 She gestured to me and his smile widened, but my stomach sank faster. 

 “I didn’t know these pieces were going to be sold.”

 Ebony sensed my concern. The wine in her glass swirled. “We thought allowing the pieces to be shown and auctioned was a good way to replicate what many of them should be doing once they graduate. The whole department gets involved, and these kids put in a lot of work, and the reputation of starving artists isn’t something we want to buy into here.”

 I nodded. “I mean, that’s great. That’s… really amazing.” 

 Zayn couldn’t meet my eyes. He knew. He could sense my hesitance, too. 

 “Now he can finally afford a nice dinner to take you out!” David proclaimed. 

 We were all quiet for a minute. “You know, for a thank you dinner,” David covered up. Zayn’s brows scrunched and he shook his head a bit, not knowing where David’s comment came from. 

 “Do you do this regularly?” Ebony asked, steering the conversation away from an awkward moment. 

 My ears pricked up when I realized she was looking at me. “Excuse me?” 

 “Well I was just thinking…” a light laugh lifted as if her idea would be outrageous. “Would you mind sitting in for one of my classes on Monday? Our model had a sudden death-” 

 “My God,” David proclaimed. 

 Ebony waved her hand. “-in his family. I haven’t called to replace him yet.”

 It quieted as they looked at me, waiting for a response. “Oh, I don’t… I don’t usually do this. At all. It was a chance thing.” 

 “Luck be the artist.” David raised his glass. 

 Ebony followed suit, looking at my empty hand. “You just going to let her stand there without a drink?”

 “Yeah, Zayn. What kind of treatment is this?” I teased. 

 He did a slight bow. “Apologies. We’ll walk to drinks, immediately.” He pulled us away, leading us further into the showroom as his head dipped low to my ear. “Renny just passed us to meet Felix and them. They’re through here.” 

 We stepped under an archway that led into a darker-lit room, but his hand stopped me beneath the nook. “Did yeh notice anything?”

 Yeah. I was noticing how close we were in this archway. He saw my eyes start to squint in thought and he turned me around to face the room we’d just left. 

 “Look closer.” 

 My eyes roamed the crowd, trying to find some sort of person, or pattern he could be referring to. With a brief seize of my heart, I expected to see somebody from the gang. 

 “Look at the artwork, Y/N.” His breath warmed my skin. 

 The paintings all seemed to be bright, though sticking to red, orange, blacks, and grays. Wait, forget a pallette pattern. The next painting had blue and purple, too. One sculpture looked like a writhing ghost, twisting and reaching for something above. Or maybe it was an unearthed tree root. Despite all the bold colors, there was something off-putting about how bright they all were. It wasn’t a soothing brightness. It was almost violent. The orange and red writhing tapestries warped the ceiling into something hot. 

 “Is it hell?” I chortled, but quickly quieted. I expected him to take offense, but his hand went lightly around my waist with a small smile.

 “Could be. See-” his arm extended out to scan the perimeter “-all this art is supposed to represent death, but challenge the notion of it through color.” 

 “How so?” 

 “Yeh know it’s usually your blacks, and your grays, s’depressing shit. But we’re born from death. Before life, there was nothing, but something. It’s bold and necessary and there, and no one really knows whatever comes before. Or after.” He looked at the room, taking a sip of wine. I watched as he swallowed, and I imagined the wine running down. “What is death but an uncertain existence.” He said the thought almost happily, looking at me with a slight smirk. “Could be anythin’.” 

 He took a deep breath, letting his hand touch the top of the archway. It was then that I noticed it wasn’t just plain drywall. A collage of photographs ran all along the inside. 

 He wasn’t as tall as Harry, but his hand still reached the top, scuffing across a picture of an African landscape taped over a toddler eating fruity pebbles. 

 “They’re pictures. Everyone donated one,” he said. 

 A strand of words were painted over the collage, running from one end of the archway to the other, and I tilted my head back to read it. “Things... that…. make... m..e …...feel alive.” 

 “Everyone was able to design their space in order to control, to some extent, how their art was perceived. Everyone was a part of the transition space.” 

 “Very nice,” I noted, slightly put-off. I hadn’t been expecting this art show to be so… professional. “Zayn, this is amazing. Like, really, truly, professional-grade stuff is happening. The presentation, the pieces, everything.”

 His smile grew wider, putting cool hands over my eyes. I flinched, but let him. 

 I felt him come closer. 

“Listen now,” he urged. 

 I listened, but I wasn’t sure for what. There was the familiar busy rumble of people mingling, parents visiting their kids, and professors droning on about the talent of their students. But it was chatter. I couldn’t make out one conversation over another. I shrugged up against his other hand that was atop my shoulder. 

 “Sometimes you need to change where you’re planted to understand.” 

 I hoped he could see my cross expression because I couldn’t tell if he was bullshitting me right now. It’d been a day. It’d been a night. And I wasn’t in the mood for more philosophical ramblings - especially about death. “I don’t know what you mean,” I sighed. 

 “Meaning I have to move you closer to the speakers.” He let out a breathy laugh. “Jus’ keep your eyes closed, okay?” 

 I nodded. His hand moved, tilting my head to its side. Eyes still closed, I became self-conscious imagining people trying to move past me, and here I was, planted, eyes closed in the middle of the archway. My cheeks heated. It was unnerving knowing people could see me when I couldn’t see them. And anyway, I must’ve looked ridiculous. 

 “What do you hear?” he urged. 

 “I hear a lot of people talking,” I griped. 

But right when I was about to open my eyes-  

 I heard a familiar chirping through the chatter. 

 “Birds?” I opened my eyes. 

 “Observance can be taught, sometimes.” Zayn leant back, looking mighty proud of himself. 

 “Why are there birds?” 

 “We’re entering life,” he smiled, backing into the space. I tipped my wine back, several long gulps lightening my step as I followed him. Immediately, I noticed much more natural, earthier tones. For being a room of life, it was surprisingly darker than the prior room.

 Renny, Felix, and Andre were huddled in the center where a makeshift wall-on-wheels covered in vines divided the room in half. 

 My eyes widened, trying to adjust to the dimness. “It’s a lot darker in here.” 

 “All intentional. They decided to play with light in here. People usually think of life being bright ‘n that, but it’s also when we experience varying degrees of darkness. There’s a balance to things and the trouble is finding it.” Understanding laced his voice as his dark eyes bore into mine, almost completely black. One look from Zayn and I was reminded of all the weight I’d been carrying. I fidgeted, uncomfortable seeing myself in his eyes. 

 “Y/N, get over here!” Renny called. My shoulders visibly relaxed. My saving grace. “You didn’t tell me you did this,” she said lowly as soon as I got close enough, shocked excitement barely contained. Her giddy smile gave it away though. “Miss sexy secret keeper over here.” 

 “What do you mean?” 

 She playfully poked my sides, but Andre and Felix avoided my gaze. Something wasn’t right. And it stirred my stomach, my body already knowing, somehow. 

 I turned in slow motion, the charcoal drawings in my peripherals stopping me in place. Framed amidst the vines, my face was etched onto paper, scrunching and twisting in various expressions. But my body was attached and twisting, too. And it was bare, bent over, spread out, laying down… My eyes scanned over them a dozen times in a second. 

 I was naked. 

 In all of them. 

 One was titled “21st Century Love.” In this one, I faced the viewer, but looked past them, sorrowful eyes, brows furrowed, breasts I’d never shown on full display. A hickey or two on my neck. A painful sting gripped my chest. I looked sad. I looked so sad.  

 Tunnel vision, a blurred Renny rushed down to the floor, and a distant part of me registered something wet splatter on my feet. 

 The wine had dropped.

 I’d dropped it. 

 I was trapped in a shell. My body was numb. 

 “Babes, you okay?” Renny asked, her voice somewhere far away. Somewhere outside the shell, her voice drowned in the busy rumbling, with the birds, with the watchers. People were watching me now. I was being watched. “Felix, grab some towels!” she barked. 

 I looked horrified, towards Zayn, but changed my mind just as fast. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t even breathe. 

 He didn’t know me at all. He could stare at me for a thousand sessions and paint every crevice, sunspot, blemish, and mole and still not see me. How was an artist this blind? How could he not know that this was the last thing I could ever want? How could he picture me so… intimately?

 The paintings seemed to swirl into one before bouncing back out into their separate exposees. 

 Because that’s what it was. 

 An exposure. 

 A stranger could pay to have me in their home. 

 The floor spun, vision spotting. 

 My lungs tightened, tearing me away from Renny, from Felix, from Andre. From Zayn, the artist who painted a confused girl so unashamed. So honestly. Savagely and Unabashedly. 

 “I didn’t want this.” 

 And it was when I was halfway out the door that I realized the voice had come from me, a mantra pushing my shell all the way home. 

part 22

[royalcordelia]

Summary:  Anne and Gilbert embark on their journeys, but stay close to each other at heart. Courting across 1000 miles isn’t easy, but they’re more than willing to step up to the task. (A post s3 story).

Note: Much love to @withlovegilbert and @js589 who gave me their thoughts about this chapter. You guys rock! ♥

*

At first, Gilbert thought he was dreaming of feathers—silky feathers trailing down his nose with effervescent softness in long strokes. Once, twice, three times...He scrunched his nose at the tickling sensation, unwilling to move away from whatever warmth he was encased in. The feather smoothed over his brow, trailing down in deliberate slowness to his upturned lips. 

“Gil,” a familiar voice whispered, breaking into his dreamless slumber. “I’m loath to wake you up, but I have to get ready to go.” 

Gilbert’s eyelashes fluttered on his cheeks as he stirred awake. His dopey grin was sunshine in the dawn-less room when he peered down at the young lady sharing his pillow. For a moment, he could forget that just an hour from now Anne would be gone. Her fingers still caressed the apples of his cheeks, lingering for a long moment. When her touch vanished, she tried to push out of Gilbert’s arms, only to be held against his chest. 

“Anne, it’s four in the morning. Lay with me awhile,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. 

“I have to make the five o’clock train,” Anne replied softly. “Thirty minutes to get dressed. Twenty to walk to the station. Leaves me a few minutes to spare to buy my ticket and board.”

“Take a later train,” suggested Gilbert.

“If I don’t arrive home at a decent time, Mrs. Blackmore will think I’ve been killed, or worse, eloped. Even then, she believes I’m visiting a female cousin on family matters.” 

“It’s not too late to elope,” he teased, his lopsided grin finding its way to her jaw. His breath was warm against the morning chill, nearly enticing enough to convince Anne to throw caution to the wind and slide back into bed. Instead, she pressed a good morning kiss to his waiting lips and moved in search of her luggage. 

“You should rest a bit longer. I’ll wake you before I leave.” 

“If you think you’re walking by yourself to the station, then you are sorely mistaken,” grumbled Gilbert. He dramatically swung his legs out of bed and grimaced at the cold air. 

“I don’t mind going to the station by myself. You’re probably still exhausted from the party,” Anne argued, but Gilbert heard none of it. 

He grabbed some trousers and a fresh shirt from his dresser, then spoke in a gentle voice, “I’ll wait downstairs for you. Take your time.” 

When he was gone, his essence still lingered about the room in the way it smelled and felt. Lovingly, she caressed the soft surface of his quilts, then the smooth wood of his table and dresser. The mirror hanging on the wall had already collected a few month’s worth of dust, but instead of wiping it away, she drew a heart and labeled her initials with her pinky. There might never come another time she could return to the comfort of this room, and as she crossed the threshold, she gave it one last indulgent look. 

By the time she was presentable, Gilbert had cracked open one of his textbooks, reading it with sleepy eyes. When he heard her footsteps creak down the stairs, he gently closed the book and smiled wistfully. Anne fell by his side, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Can’t keep Queen Anne away from the island too long, can we?” 

Gilbert was quiet the entire walk to the station. Any light topics Anne tested out failed miserably to lighten his mood. He met each of her hopeful smiles with unconvincing attempts of his own, every time turning his face away to the street lamps. The sky was still  obsidian in the fresh hours of the morning, unpleasantly starless and cloudy, making Anne glad Gilbert had insisted on accompanying her. 

He waited on the platform as Anne purchased her ticket, shoulders slumped. With the ticket in her purse, she came to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. Anne’s heart dropped when his heavyhearted eyes met hers. His strong facade had finally fallen, leaving a troubled frown unveiled. 

“Gilbert?” Anne asked gently. She couldn’t bring herself to ask what was wrong, unsure if she’d be able to leave if he told her. Gilbert’s gaze fell down to where she was reaching for his fingers. 

“I haven’t been entirely honest with you,” he admitted. Despite the bitter taste in her mouth, Anne schooled her features and nodded in encouragement. 

“That’s okay. You can tell me now.” She meant it. 

Behind him, a high whistle resonated within distance as the train slowly screeched began to screech to a halt. Gilbert caught Anne looking over his shoulder and a flash of panic washed over him. He followed her gaze where a handful of tired passengers boarded the train, but when he felt a soft caress touch his cheek, he whirled back to Anne. 

“Go ahead,” Anne prodded gently.

“I really miss you,” he confessed breathlessly. Anne scrambled for something to say to ease his heart, but he rambled on before she could find the right words. “Bash asked you to come because he figured out how homesick I’ve been. It was never so bad because I’d always traveled to escape the realities of home. But now, with Bash and Delphine in Avonlea, and you in Charlottetown…”

Anne’s stomach twisted.  “I...had no idea.” 

“I tried really hard to hide it in my letters,” Gilbert muttered. “But one of them to Bash was too vague. He made me tell him what was wrong.” 

“I should’ve been able to tell,” Anne lamented. 

“No, Anne, I made sure you wouldn’t be able to tell. I didn’t want to worry you. You’ve got too much going on.”

Anne felt like she was caught in the undertow, floundering desperately for something to say that would take the cracks in his heart and mend them instantly. Yet she knew that nothing she said could change the fact that in a few moments they’d begin another month and a half of painful separation. She wished she had thought to bring a token of home, anything from the island that she could’ve stuffed into her luggage. All she had was a parting embrace, one that she wrapped around him like an old heirloom quilt. As Gilbert’s desperate arms came around her, she hoped that her warmth would linger enough to give him the strength he needed to see his heartsickness through. Anne could feel Gilbert’s breath on her throat as he heaved a sigh of relief, dissolving into her touch and allowing her to hold him up. 

“Remember what I said, alright? You’re intelligent and brave. You’ll get used to life here. If last night was any indication, you already have,” she said, determined and kind. 

He nodded against her shoulder, running his fingers over the softness of her hair with tender reverence. Behind him, the train master gave her the Time’s Up glare. 

“I have to go,” Anne lamented. Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut. 

Instead of asking her to stay, as he so desperately wanted to, he pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded. “Alright.” 

A month and a half suddenly seemed like an insurmountable mountain, the end of which was deathly out of reach. Even though her limbs were weary with lack of sleep, she found the strength to pull away from him to memorize the lines of his cheeks and jaws. She’d never forget the way he looked the day she met him, or the day when he first kissed her, but she wanted to burn today’s Gilbert into her memory and save it for days that were stormy and punishing. Gilbert seemed to be doing the same. 

Ever so slightly he tilted his face to her, and she met him, crashing a month’s worth of kisses to his lips until the feeling of it was unfading. His hands were under her cheeks, holding her to him until he had tasted enough of the sunshine on her lips to hold him together. 

When they broke apart, Anne leaned down to grab her carpet bag and gave Gilbert one last beaming smile. 

“How’s two letters a week sound?” 

Gilbert let out a chuckle that was rough with stifled tears. “That sounds perfect.” 

She took one step away, then two. 

“See you at Christmas.” 

“Safe travels.” 

As she boarded, the door closed behind her blocking away the fresh air for the duration of her day long journey. When she found her seat, though, she found Gilbert was still there, watching and smiling. 

Anne watched her beloved until the sight of him turned into a silhouette of shadow against the train station. Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, but hope sparked in her chest as Gilbert heaved a sigh and stepped off the platform with a renewed strength in his shoulders. She imagined him trailing up the Toronto streets like they were Avonlea hills, sheltered in warm dew and residual moonlight. And then, she fell asleep. 

*

It was the last days of November and several love letters from Anne later when Gilbert began to feel like he could actually imagine a future for himself in Toronto. It could never be a permanent future, but it seemed less daunting to imagine another four years in the city—maybe even seven if he wanted to obtain his licensure here. It also meant that he decided to stop living like each day was a battle to survive until Anne and Bash’s next letters arrived.  He would have to start doing things here that he liked and turn this loud, boisterous city into a home away from home. 

Gilbert went to explain all of this to Dr. Sullivan, who bid him to sit in a stiff leather chair upon seeing the young lad in the doorway. November had brought with it many dreary days of cold and early snow, but today the sun made a much needed reappearance. It filled Dr. Sullivan’s office through two small windows, drowning away the light of a small electric lamp.

“I bet you caught a few perplexed stares on your way here, a medical student wandering the humanities hallway,” Dr. Sullivan teased. He pulled his glasses from his nose and folded them into his breast pocket, peering at Gilbert curiously. 

“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. I was wondering if I might beg your help for something?” Gilbert replied, dropping his leather bag onto the ground beside him.

“No begging will be necessary. Your visits are always welcome. Besides, I’ve been marking freshman essays for nearly two hours and could use fresh company. What has you on the wrong side of school?” 

“When Anne was here in October, you told her about the Women in Literature class you’re offering next semester. I wanted to add it to my class schedule, but the registrar refused. She said the class is already full, and even if I got you to sign me in, she’d refuse to forward the application to the dean of the humanities college.” 

“That’s absurd. Did she give a reason?” 

“Only that with fifteen medicine and biology credits, the last thing I’ll want to do is spend my nights reading George Eliot and Jane Austen.” 

Dr. Sullivan leaned back in his chair. 

“She does make a valid point. The class is a lot of reading—one or two texts a week. Emily tells me you’re already studying more than any other student she’s had. Are you sure you’re prepared for the extra coursework?”  

“Anne is back home taking on two fields of study. What good would I be if I couldn’t handle one extra class? I’m determined to do it. I only came because there’s the matter of the class being full.” 

“And Miss Eaglen in the registrar’s office taking your fate into her own hands.” 

“That too.” 

Pushing himself back from his chair, Dr. Sullivan ambled over to his filing cabinet and pulled open a raggedy drawer. He retrieved a stack of type-written pages and turned them toward the sunlight so that he might see more clearly. 

“The class is indeed full, but half the seats will be free by the time we finish introducing the syllabus. If you come on the first day, you’ll have nothing to worry about. I’ll speak with Miss Eaglen.” 

Gilbert blinked. “Pardon, did you just say that half the class is going to withdraw?”

Dr. Sullivan didn’t look up from his roster. “I did.” 

“People can’t hate reading that much.” 

“No, but they can and will despise a black professor enough to drop the class.” 

Gilbert’s face fell. He couldn’t imagine being accepted into the University of Toronto, only to reject a member of its faculty based on such...asinine prejudice. A faculty member with a PhD, campus wide acclaim, and a kind disposition, at that! How could anyone claim to have gotten the fullest extent of their UofT education if they closed off their minds and only listened to viewpoints of people just like them?

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a student so upset on my behalf,” noted Dr. Sullivan, interrupting Gilbert’s mental tirade. Gilbert looked up, only to feel his cheeks locked in a tight scowl. He straightened his chair, expelling his frustration with a small sigh. 

“It just hits a bit close to home.” 

Dr. Sullivan sat back down at his desk, waiting patiently for Gilbert to elaborate. 

“My entire family is black,” Gilbert clarified softly. “My brother, my niece, his mother, my late sister-in-law, her son. It’s not the same, but it breaks my heart to watch them struggle in my hometown, the home that I shared with them. I had hoped that the cruel behavior they encountered could be blamed on the small-town mindset of our community. I didn’t expect to cross the country and find it here in the city too.” 

“Every corner of the world has its own brand of enmity and unfairness. You won’t be able to escape it. You could take your brother and his family across the Atlantic and you would find this to be true.” 

“I have,” Gilbert chuckled bitterly. “The states, Cuba, Trinidad, Spain. And you’re right, in each country they looked at Sebastian like he was living on the wrong planet.” 

“I know the feeling.”  

Gilbert wasn’t sure what to say next. Part of him wanted to apologize, but for what? What was some fruitless apology supposed to fix after a lifetime of enduring injustice? It wouldn’t make Dr. Sullivan’s students stay, it wouldn’t make it easier for Delly to go to school, it wouldn’t erase a lifetime of service from Bash or Hazel. 

He shook his head. If Anne was here, she’d know what to say. 

He must’ve looked particularly defeated, because Dr. Sullivan only smiled and said, “Alright, Gilbert. How about a proposition?” 

“A proposition, sir?” 

“I propose an independent study. You’ll complete the same assignments as your peers, but will report for class with me in my office twice a week. You’ll have to come prepared with topics for discussion and you won’t be permitted to cut class. And no asking Anne to summarize the books for you. You must complete all the reading yourself.” 

When he was done, he extended a hand across his desk and waited for Gilbert’s approval.

Gilbert only had to ponder his options a moment before a grin blossomed on his face. He shook Dr. Sullivan’s hand more excitedly than was permitted for a gentleman and said, “Yes, I think that arrangement sounds wonderful. Thank you so much!”

“Don’t worry about the registrar. She’ll only change her mind with your advisor’s approval, but I’m sure Emily will be more than happy to give it.”

Hurriedly grabbing his things, Gilbert clutched his bag to his chest. 

“I’m thrilled, sir. Thank you again.” 

Dr. Sullivan chuckled, sliding his glasses back onto his face and leaning forward over the stack of freshman essays before him. As Gilbert rose to leave, he called out, “Gil, one more thing.” 

Gilbert paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Yes?” 

“What’s the real reason you wanted to take the class?” 

The lad shrugged. “You know I love to read.” 

Dr. Sullivan was not wholly convinced. 

“And?” 

“And it’ll give me something to talk to Anne about in my letters,” he confessed. Dr. Sullivan threw his hands in the air and Gilbert let out a loud laugh. “She’s an English major, I have to stay on my toes! But I really do like to read, I promise!” 

“You better. You’ve got a lot of it next semester!”

*

There was no other explanation, except that she was in trouble—so much so, that she was about to be reprimanded by the oldest and sternest professor in the entire English department. Professor Wood was due any second and would no doubt deliver a fierce verbal lashing. Why else would this particular group of schoolmates be summoned into this dim classroom so late in the day? Anne scanned the room, counting three faces that she had...stated an opinion at. Sternly. Perhaps a bit loudly. It had only been a matter of time before her classmates banded against her and the day had finally come. 

But who could blame her? It had long been established that Anne was anything but timid and demure, so certainly if they said obtuse things in class, it had to be someone’s job to correct them. If her professors were planning on merely nodding and humming “Hmm, yes, interesting point,” the task would just have to go to her. 

“Do any of you know what this is about?” murmured Janie Paul, the only person in the group Anne hadn’t corrected in class. Mostly, though, this could be attributed to the fact that Janie Paul rarely said...well, anything

“We all know what this is about. Or who, ” lamented another classmate. 

Four sets of eyes slowly turned to Anne, who leaned against one of the desks with crossed arms.

“It could be about anything!” argued Anne. “Unless you all have been conspiring.” 

“Oh please,” scoffed Anne’s worst nemesis. “Like we’d even need to. I bet right now the entire faculty is gathered in the conference room deciding whether or not they want to allow you to remain enrolled at Queens. We’re only here because they want witnesses.”

“That’s preposterous!” Anne snapped. 

“Why? You’re a disturbance to class and detrimental to the distinguished education we’re supposed to be receiving.”

“Having a bright mind and a quick wit is not a detriment, Georgie Beckham. Nor is having your opinions challenged. In fact, I’d say it’s rather good for you.” 

Anne wondered that there were many things that would do Georgie Beckham some good. A change of heart, a swift kick to the behind, a bath. He was a shortish young man with flat yellow hair that stuck his head with sweat, grease, and dirt. The bottom of his chin was tan from always walking around with his nose pointed up, and he glided about as if he were Queen Victoria herself. Anne had decided with a fury that of all the disagreeable people she’d met, Georgie Beckham was by far the worst. She hated him more than she hated Gilbert the first time she met him, and Georgie wasn’t nearly as handsome or charming. 

Georgie’s snobbish nose crinkled when Anne spoke, as if her very essence smelled too strong, like stale perfume or a full garden. 

“When they kick you out of Queens, you’ll have to get married to escape ruin and there’s no way you’ll find someone who’ll want you,” he sneered.

For the briefest of moments, Anne wondered what would happen to her if Georgie was right. She supposed she wouldn’t have the money or credibility to attend a different school. Instead, she’d just help on the farm until Gilbert graduated college, then they’d get married. For an even briefer moment, Anne pondered what it would mean if Gilbert decided not to marry her. Such imaginings were too painful, and she pushed aside her doubt. 

“I suppose I’m fortunate you’re full of hot air, then,” Anne stated bitterly. 

Just then, the classroom door swung open and in walked Professor Agnes Wood, a creaky woman of ninety who still had the energy to teach British Classics and Senior Shakespeare twice a day.  Upon stepping into the room, she sensed the restive atmosphere and gave Anne a wary look. 

“Stirring trouble already, Miss Shirley?” 

“No ma’am. We were just anxious to uncover why you’ve called us all today.” 

“All will be revealed presently. Take a seat.”

The five wary students did as they were told, Georgie taking the seat furthest from Anne. Professor Wood moved to the front of the class, commanding attention in its rawest form with a domineering scrutinization. 

“Thank you all for arriving in a timely manner. I’m sure receiving this summons has made you curious to the reasoning.” She paused, as if waiting for nods of agreement, but was met with five frightened faces—one especially freckled and pale. To prevent further trepidation, she continued.

“It is my pleasure to inform you of a potential opportunity that has befallen you. You five have been chosen from the entirety of the Education program’s long list of pupils. As you know, Queens is a traditionally education focused college. Many of Canada’s greatest educators have earned their teaching certificates within these walls, though the best of the best were granted this offer. Anne, you look as though you’re a second from keeling over.” 

Anne’s head snapped up. 

“Oh, I’m just full of suspense,” she admitted eagerly. “Please, continue!” 

“Two of you will be granted the opportunity to assist real teachers in their classrooms for the duration of a month. As student teachers, you’ll be expected to aid the instructor in their daily lessons and perhaps lead a few exercises yourself. The assignment is planned for September of next year, however the application process may take some time. The chosen candidates will be announced finals week in May. ”

“If we’d be teaching in the fall, won’t that put us behind in credit hours?” the classmate at Anne’s right asked. Anne rolled her eyes. What were credit hours when there was real actual teaching to be done?

“As a full time hands-on assistant, you would be granted nine credits of your recommended fifteen. Your remaining two classes would be completed via correspondence until you could resume them October 1st. Though only two of you will be chosen, the rest of you needn’t fear. Other opportunities may arise in the coming years and you all are model candidates. I’m sure you have questions, however, and I’ll endeavor to answer them.” 

Questions exploded out of the students the way volcanoes erupt after years of boiling. Yet, of the students bursting at the seams with questions, there were two who remained painfully silent. Anne was one, lost in the whirlpool of her thoughts. But in the madness, she realized with narrow eyes there was one more person who was just as quiet and determined as she was—Georgie. 

*

My dear man, who is here with me in spirit and heart, 

I would like to begin with a disclaimer: Your last letter had me blushing as much, if not more, than you surely intended. I see through your little tricks, Gilbert Blythe, and let me say, I delight at turning to mush upon reading your words. I will acknowledge them in due time, but first, a matter of utmost importance.

I. HATE. GEORGIE. BECKHAM. I can’t recall if his name has snuck its slimy way into one of my letters before, but here it has made a most unwelcome appearance. And yes, I know hate is a term that Marilla would reprimand me for, yet it cannot and will not be denied that he is the worst person I’ve ever met. Gilbert, I cannot emphasize this enough. I know that in the past, I have not been an excellent judge of character of the male sex, but Georgie has done more than tug my braid and call me carrots. He’s bitter towards women, worships himself in class, and once, I heard him say the most atrocious things about the people of the Bog. Billy Andrews has met his match. And worst of all, Gil-est of Gils, we’re competing for the same student teaching position!

 I see I am getting quite ahead of myself. Allow me a moment to compose myself. There. 

I have been chosen along with four other students to compete for an opportunity to assist a teacher in an actual school. Professor Wood even thinks that if our progress is satisfactory enough, that we’ll be permitted to lead exercises all on our own. Think of how much I could learn, how ahead of my classmates I’d be! Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, a bona fide teacher! Or, very nearly one! 

Of course, there is the chance that Georgie could win the other slot if I receive the first. Oh, this troubles me almost as much as if he were to get the position instead of me! I would fail at the assistantship miserably if he were there, always criticizing every little thing I did. It can’t happen, Gilbert! 

It isn’t entirely up to chance. I’ll just have to work very hard to put forth the best application Queens has ever seen. It’s quite involved too—essays, interviews, observations of my character. I’ll have to be on my very best behavior from now until May. Oh, and could I send you my first application essay? I’m writing about integration of community and its positive impact on children. I know you have plenty of reading of your own, so please don’t put yourself out. 

Now! That is quite enough about schoolmate nuisances. How are you, my darling love? I’ve had the most peculiar feeling that you’ve had a very pleasant week since your last letter. Is that because Christmas holiday is very nearly upon us and it’s a mere fortnight until we’ll be reunited? That means we have precisely one week to devise our disguises, and I don’t mean fake mustaches and hats! My brand of deception is the flirtatious sort, involving carriage rides with you and promises to Marilla to not wander from Lover’s Lane. Except! We’ll wander off the road and find a place where even the most wandering eyes cannot amble. The falling snow will cover the evidence and I will have some much needed quality time with my ever-captivating suitor. How many kisses shall I reserve for you?

Oh,  how easy it would be to spend the rest of the evening writing the world’s longest letter to you. Ten pages on the sweetness of your eyes, another twenty on how divine it is to be wrapped in your warmth, tucked tightly into your arms. Instead, I must direct the vigor in my hand to many drafts of this application essay and begin planning on the second. When the application process is over in May, I’ll have all summer to venerate every ounce of you. And remember, sweet one, I don’t do a thing half-way. 

So for now, I’ll sign off.  As always, I miss you dearly. I feel like Mr. Rochester did when he thought Jane was going to leave him. If I tug this cord around my rib, will you feel it in Toronto, tugging on yours? Are we still connected in heart, mind, and spirit? I believe we are. 

Reader, I love you. 

Anne

*

The two weeks until winter holiday passed with surprising ease. The winter sun, which had gained a habit of suspending over the sky for long hours at a time, seemed to make the days pass at a bearable rate. Anne was relieved to find that finals week wasn’t nearly as dreary as the sophomores had cautioned. She studied long hours by her window, and found her concentration honed to perfection under a bright sun. Exams came and passed, and though she was confident she’d championed them all, she couldn’t feel complete freedom until she was home at Green Gables. When the Carmody-bound train screeched off toward home, Anne leaned her head on Diana’s shoulder and let out a soft sigh. 

“Tired, Anne?” asked Diana, leaning her head onto Anne’s hair. 

“A bit. That sigh just now was one of relief. American Literature and Geometry may distract one from the strains of homesickness, but college is nothing compared to being home.” 

“I daresay I could weather any sort of sickness if you were beside me. I’m so glad I’m only taking a forty minute train ride and not a forty day trek across the ocean.” 

Anne hugged Diana’s arm, bringing Diana’s piano-playing fingers to her lips.

“If you had gone to Paris afterall, I’m certain I would have perished. Now we have all month to revisit our old haunts and relive at least some of our youth.” 

The train pulled into the Carmody station, pulling Anne out of her light sleep. The world outside moved by slowly as Anne nearly leapt across Diana’s lap to look out at the train platform. Among the many faces of the waiting and leaving, Anne couldn’t find Matthew or Marilla. For a moment, she wondered if something had gone wrong.

“Is that Sebastian?” asked Diana, pointing to the far left of the platform.

Anne grinned. Sure enough, there was Bash talking to Diana’s father in a casual manner. He wore two scarves wrapped around his face to block out the chill, but his eyes were unmistakable and he was wearing one of Gilbert’s old hats. 

Knocking into some disgruntled passengers, Anne scurried as fast as she could off the train and over to Bash. He caught sight of her fiery hair among the crowd and stopped what he was saying mid-phrase. 

“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes! Hello Anne,” he beamed.

Before she could think better of it, she jumped into his arms and pressed a warm kiss to the scarves over his cheek. 

“My, Anne, you’re still quite public about your displays of affection,” commented Mr. Barry, who glanced nervously around the scowls of nearby travellers. 

Anne pulled back with a chuckle. 

“I do wish you would forget you ever saw that, Mr. Barry. Your family is far too close to Rachel Lynde.” 

“Forget what?” Bash asked, but Anne waved her hand. 

“Nothing! Nothing!” Before he could argue, she picked her bags back up. “Are you here to pick me up?” 

“If you need a ride back home to Green Gables, I’d be happy to drive you, but no, I’m not here for you. I’m here for Gilbert.” 

Anne’s heart jumped into her throat. 

“Gilbert isn’t due back until tomorrow,” she stated, failing miserably at getting her hopes up. 

“No, you weren’t due back until tomorrow. Gilbert was due back today.” 

“But I marked my calendar as soon as I got his letter. I wrote to Matthew and Marilla and told them today.”

“Your calendar can say what it wants,” interrupted Bash. His gaze drifted behind her  shoulder. “But he’s right there.” 

And he was. Marching through the crowd was a young man with snowflakes crowning his curly head and a blush from the chill on his dimples. The sight nearly brought Anne to her knees. She hadn’t realized how desperately she needed to see him, how dull the ache in her heart had grown in their separation. Because she was a woman of very little self-control, she cried out his name above the noise of the chatter with a delighted laugh. His attention snapped to her and he fumbled with his bag. He matched her elated laughter, walking as fast as he could through the web of people. 

Anne shoved her bag into Bash’s arms and rushed to meet Gilbert halfway. When he was within reach, he made no greeting or polite salutations. Instead, he grabbed her face in his hand and kissed her in front of the entire train platform. He must’ve felt Anne’s knees go limp the second he tasted her bottom lip, because he quickly wrapped his arms across her back and held her to him. 

Claiming the last bit of propriety she could, she pushed his chest and forced herself away. Gilbert chased her mouth, but sighed in resignation when she stuck a finger to his lips.

“Sorry, can’t help it,” he murmured. His breath was steam against her lips. “You just grow more beautiful by the day. Takes a lad off guard after a month.”

“Gilbert!” Anne chuckled, blushing. 

“I’m serious! Exponential growth. I may have to start writing my will.”  

“Stop,” reprimanded Anne, but her sweetheart knew she meant quite the opposite. “Where did you come from? You said you were coming tomorrow!” 

“No silly, I said I was coming today . You were the one arriving home tomorrow. I even planned to pick you up tomorrow and surprise you.” 

“Well, you’ve done that.” She froze. “Does that mean we were on the same train the entire time and didn’t know it!?” 

“Probably,” Gilbert smiled, kissing her knuckles and earning a few doey-eyed looks from passing ladies. “We have nearly all month to make up for it. I was promised disguises and secret trysts.”

“So far, you’re getting the secret part all wrong,” a voice chimed in behind her. Gilbert rolled his eyes at Bash’s knowing smirk. “Say Anne, is this what Mr. Barry meant about public displays of affection?” 

Anne tugged his hat clean over his eyes, making Gilbert laugh so loudly, someone beside him jumped. 

“Alright lovebirds. Let’s fly on home to our separate nests.”

*

Christmas was a jubilant affair, the Cuthbert dinner table growing by two members for the third year in a row. When they realized that Hazel and Elijah filled the last available seats, Anne wondered who would stumble into their family this year and if they’d mind sitting at a separate table. With a child, a courting couple, and a spirit of song, the home was filled with endless moments of noise and joy. 

But there were some quiet moments too. Anne and Gilbert particularly tried to find as many as they could together, but often found themselves interrupted by the baby, or by Bash’s halfway-intoxicated teasing. By the end of the night, Marilla had sensed her daughter’s frustration and taken her guests into the parlor where they could sit and converse. Anne stayed behind, tugging on Gilbert’s sleeve before he could walk away. He turned around, a happy smile on his face. 

“Could you give me my Christmas present now?” asked Anne timidly. Gilbert’s face fell. His eyes focused on the cracks of the floorboards, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Anne’s disappointment.

“Love, I uh...I spent all my money on the ticket to come home. I don’t have anything for you, I’m sorry.” 

But Anne shook her head, lifting his chin with a few fingers. 

“I didn’t mean like that. You know I don’t mind if you don’t have anything for me.” 

“Then what—?” 

Anne revealed a small velvet pouch from behind her back. For a split second, Gilbert’s heart stopped, thinking that it was his mother’s ring she had found. For an even shorter moment, he realized if she had asked him to propose to her, he would’ve done it without hesitation and against his logical reasoning. There was a different swell in his heart when he realized that the bag didn’t contain a ring, but several scraps of paper. 

“My letter,” he realized. 

“What’s left of it, at least. Do you suppose you could piece it together?” 

“I think so. I may not remember it verbatim, but the sentiment is impossible to forget.” 

He spilled the torn pieces onto the floor, sorting out the words so he could see them all at once. Anne waited eagerly at his side, her hand finding its way to his hair as he began to piece the fragmented letter together. She tried not to read it as he strung sentences together, but couldn’t help but be drawn to the words affection and desire. 

“You really did a number on this, didn’t you?” teased Gilbert when he found a few pieces with a stray letter or two, detached from its word.  

“Whatever you did to mine must have been worse since it disappeared. ” 

“Hey now,” protested Gilbert, smirking. “I can hardly be held accountable for something I never knew existed.” 

“For all you know, it was on the bottom of your shoe, trekked into the mud and turned to mush.” 

“Good thing it was short enough for you to remember it. I keep the second edition in my bedside drawer and read it before I go to sleep.” 

“ Second edition ,” laughed Anne, leaning her head onto his shoulder. She turned her face to the fire and let her eyes fall close. Beneath her, Gilbert’s arm moved as he worked. 

She didn’t realize she was dozing off until she heard, “Alright, Anne-girl. All finished.”

Rubbing the haze of sleep out of her eye, she peered down at the letter before her. It was pieced together like a puzzle with careful consideration with a few pieces from the sides missing. A quick surveyance of the writing told Anne that she’d still be able to read it, regardless of its inadequacies. With a steadying breath, Anne moved her eyes to the first line. 

Dear Anne…

Gilbert pressed his lips to her cheek and rose to move into the other room. 

“Where are you going?” asked Anne. Gilbert gave a small smile.

“I mean every word of that letter, but I’m still a bit embarrassed to watch you read it.” 

“You write me love letters all the time.” 

“But this is the love letter. The first. The ones I write you now are different because I’m well-practiced at it. But this one...It was my swan song, a last move of desperation.”

Anne bit back a smile at the rosy blush on his cheeks, anxious to finally see what all the fuss was about. Still, she mustered up some patience and reached out her hand to him. 

“You don’t have to watch me read it, but stay by my side, will you?” 

She didn’t have to ask twice. 

“Alright.”

He settled beside her and took her hand in his, running his fingers over her knuckles and palm while she read. Anne, on her part, moved through the letter deliberately, letting every wash of emotion and reaction occur as it would. She’d forgotten that Gilbert had been longing like this, even during his involvement with Winifred. When the words became blurry with her tears, Anne read even slower and squeezed Gilbert’s hand in hers. 

With love, Gilbert. 

She read that line over and over, before glancing briefly at the postscript, then bringing herself back to the top. Gilbert was quiet beside her, letting her take the time she needed. 

Anne’s heart was heavy, saturated with a million feelings she couldn’t quite place. She wanted to say that things would’ve been so different if she had read the letter when she’d found it in the first place, but what-if’s didn’t do her any good now. What mattered in this moment was the person beside her, whose heart seemed to beat in unison with hers. A person who was waiting very patiently for her reaction, even though it left him vulnerable and exposed. 

Her palm found his face, and the second his hesitant eyes found hers, she kissed him slow and purposeful. She hoped that he could feel the years of longing she’d felt for him, the same way her letter had made her feel. She hoped it was electricity from the top of his head down to the soles of his feet, long and warm, unrelenting in its ensnarement. 

When they broke apart, Anne gazed intently down at her hazel-eyed boy and counted the freckles around his nose. His heart was wide open on his sleeve, in his eyes, in his smile—beating and loving on full display without fear. 

“I feel like I could take on the world just now,” Gilbert admitted blissfully. 

“There’s two of us now,” noted Anne lovingly. “Let’s do it together.” 

*

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[margridarnauds]

margrid arnaud das music-i mean marie antoinette das musical for that ask meme

LET’S GO

 Top 5 favourite characters: Margrid, Orléans, Louis, Marie, Fersen

Other characters you like: Lamballe, the kids, Robespierre, Danton, Immortal Marat

Least favourite characters: Hébert, Bertin, Hébert, Leonard, Jacques Réne Hébert, Drouet, Hébert...

Otps: Margrid/Orléans, Marie/Louis....I COULD ship Margrid/Lamballe and Margrid/La Motte but let’s be real I’m not going to, Marie/Orléans in a very specific way (namely Bitter Ex Friends)

Notps: Hébert/Margrid, Fersen/Margrid, Hébert/Orléans

Favourite friendships: Fersen & Margrid, Lamballe & Antoinette, Orléans & Lamballe (not canon to the musical, but was a historical Thing), Orléans & Margrid when I’m not actively shipping them. 

Favourite family: Marie’s family, especially her dynamic with Margrid (LET ! MARGRID ! BE ! THE WEIRD! AUNT!) and Louis’ odd dynamic with Orléans. Really, MA is just the story of one very, very dysfunctional family. 

Favourite season/book/movie: 2018 Toho Production. 

Favourite quotes: .....showing myself for the Orléans Stan I am: “Oh, cowards, tremble and sleep!” Mitsuo Yoshihara’s delivery SELLS it. Honorable mention: “Just the smallest of sparks is sufficient to set dry grass into an inferno - I just need to promise them a new world where they can live in.” 

That and the from the final song, the entire cast: “Can we change the world for ourselves? What can we do to break the chains of violence? What is equality? When will people finally learn from the past? Will revenge ever end? That answer can only be yielded by ourselves!” 

Best musical moment: There are some REALLY good moments in this musical - Margrid calling the wrath of God down on the aristocrats during “Blinded by the Light of a Thousand Candles”, the reprise of “Blinded” when the poor join in with Margrid, the entirety of “I Am The Best”, the key change in the Korean version of “Kill the Snakes”, the part during the March to Versailles when the other women join in for the first time to tell Margrid they aren’t going, Fersen’s low note during his first love song with Antoinette, the bit during “The Only Thing I ever Did Right” when Fersen comes in for the first time and he and Antoinette duet,  the bit during The Jacobin Club when the entire Jacobin Club steps out together and swears to bring down Antoinette, the bit during “Eyes of Hatred” when Margrid and Antoinette’s voices blend PERFECTLY, the bit during the trial when the crowd begins to apply pressure to Antoinette while Margrid realizes how fucked up things have gotten. 

Moment that made you fangirl/boy the hardest: I was trying to not be predictable.....but look. I lose my shit every time we get to “I Am The Best”. Because they really DID give Orléans the single best song in the musical and expected us NOT to stan. That and when he takes his final bow, because he gets a reprise of the song WITH electric guitars because, yes, he’s an extra bitch. 

When it really disappointed you: The 2021 Toho. I could devote an entire post to how that production disappointed me, even outside of my personal ships, but like. It was a disappointment from beginning to end and I’m actually happy that it’s out of Tokyo now. 

Saddest moment: Margrid sobbing after Antoinette’s death and then having to wipe the tears off her face to meet the tribunal. And then the look on her face at the end....

Most well done character death: Marie’s - Literally the entire musical has been leading up to this and the scene itself makes a wonderful use of callbacks and musical cues to give it this sense of TENSION throughout the entire thing, which builds off of that earlier scene where Hébert confronts Margrid. We know that Antoinette is going to die - There’s no way of avoiding it, but we still are wondering what’s going to happen. What’s Margrid going to do? Is she going to risk a life of security for the sake of the woman she’s started to feel sympathy for? Are these two women ever going to come to terms with one another, with the answer being yes as Antoinette by calls Margrid by her name instead of “the girl” and Margrid gives that last, dangerous bow. 

Favourite cast member: I’m not generally big on following individual cast members, but PROBABLY Sonim? 

Character you wish was still alive: I. Might have toyed with a few ways of keeping Marie alive in the past. 

One thing you hope really happens: Really, really hoping the upcoming Korean production is good. Like, that’s the extent of my ambition after the last Toho. 

Most shocking twist: Lamballe’s Death. I have NEVER seen anyone come in prepared for it in over 2 years of streaming. *I* was shocked when I saw it because I literally never expected a Japanese depiction of Marie Antoinette to get into the September Massacres, especially do THAT extent. And it really is the point where, suddenly, you realize that NO ONE is safe. Up until this point, no one’s died. The Royal Family’s imprisoned, but there’s a certain romanticism you can find in the situation, the idea that, hey, now they’re a happy, nuclear family. Then, the show distracts you with that discussion between Marie and Margrid so that they it can SLAM the knife into your back. And, from that point, no one’s safe. Literally anyone in the cast can die, to the point where people do, genuinely fear for Margrid’s safety by the end. It’s probably one of the single best twists I’ve seen in musical theatre, because it sets the stage for the last twenty minutes brilliantly. 

When did you start watching/reading?: You know? It had to have been back in 2013. A subber that I liked had JUST finished Rebecca das Musical and had moved on to Marie Antoinette, and I thought “Well! Kunze and Levay came out with a Mar’ie Antoinette musical? I’ve got to see this, it’s going to be good!” 

Spoiler alert: It was not good. I made it twenty minutes in, got to the brothel scene, and never looked back. Which means that, actually, I only BARELY missed Orléans’ song. 

Favourite location: Antoinette’s bedroom - Those crazy sons of bitches REALLY replicated Antoinette’s ACTUAL BED to use. 

Trope you wish they would stop using: Stop trying to make Fersen/Margrid happen, it’s not going to happen. In general, there’s this idea that Margrid MUST be totally, absolutely loveless, and I don’t really see it. I’ll be the last to say she hasn’t had a hard life, but there’s this need to ISOLATE her that I just don’t really vibe with. I’m not even saying in an inherently romantic sense (in canon...I wouldn’t actually WANT to see, say, her and Orléans making out on-stage), but just in terms of having genuine connections. 

One thing this show/book/film does better than others: It really does a wonderful job as far as developing two separate female characters - Which shouldn’t be THAT HARD, given you have plenty of musicals about multiple guys all the time, and yet SOMEHOW....

Also, Margrid in particular is phenomenal, as a character. It’s definitely not uncommon for people to go in for Marie and end up really, really attached to Margrid and her development. 

Funniest moments: Hébert nearly getting hit with a door, Margrid peaking under her ball gown while it’s on the rack and Orléans dragging her away, the Stars and Stripes Gown....

Couple you would like to see: .....Orléans/Margrid. I know that I say I don’t want them to actually be CANON canon but also I would NOT complain if they did. Especially after the 2021 Toho production, it’s what I deserve. 

Actor/Actress you want to join the cast: Park Hye Na as Korean!Margrid would kill me, I know it. 

Favourite outfit: Besides Orléans’ 2018 coat (4ever in our hearts), special props to Antoinette’s golden gown in the opening. WHAT a character introduction. 

Favourite item: Margrid’s little knapsack she keeps on her. 

Do you own anything related to this show/book/film?: I own a ballpoint pen and a program from the 2021 Toho run - One of these days, I keep meaning to buy the German libretto so that I can translate it. 

Most boring plotline: BERTIN AND LEONARD. (But, in all fairness........look, they’re annoying, but also, when they’re gone, you do miss them, because that’s when shit gets fucked.) 

Most laughably bad moment: The entire 2006 Toho Cast exists just to be one very long laughably bad moment. That and, tbh, the German. Special props to the Brothel Scene. 

Most layered character: Margrid. Marie is ALSO a very layered, complex character, but Margrid gets special props because, off the top of my head, I can’t REALLY think of another female protagonist, in a musical, like her. Not saying they don’t EXIST, but I’m saying I haven’t personally seen them. 

Most one dimensional character: ...2006 Orléans. He Who We Don’t Discuss. 

Scariest moment: See above for Lamballe. 

Grossest moment: Hébert's final confrontation scene with Margrid. 

Best looking male: Kim Jun Hyun’s Orléans. *Wow*. 

Best looking female: Jang Eun Ah’s Margrid. Once again. *Wow.* 

Who you’re crushing on (if any): ...both Orléans and Margrid. Predictably. 

Favourite cast moment: Furukawa Yuta pranking Mitsuo Yoshihara by giving him “poisonous” things for his birthday, because “You are Duke d’Orleans and I am Fersen. You are poisonous and I am passive aggressive.”

Most beautiful scene (scenery/shot wise): The ball at Versailles. One of the most STUNNING scenes I’ve ever seen. Whoever did the lighting deserves all the accolades in the world for creating a scene that’s surreal, seductive, and gorgeous 

Unanswered question/continuity issue/plot error that bugs you: Not an ERROR, but I’m really, really interested in the story of Jeanette Arnaud, because this woman really haunts Margrid’s entire life but there’s so LITTLE we know about her and Margrid’s feelings about her. How long did her affair with the Emperor last? Did she always know he was the emperor during their affair, or did they meet under different circumstances? Fersen was clearly able to figure out that she was a mistress of his, so how public was the affair? And, if it was that public, does it mean that she was a servant, or was she, at the very least, middle class? How did he find out her mother’s identity? Why didn’t Orléans double-check himself? Does Margrid have any living grandparents or uncles/aunts? How old was Margrid when she died? Did she die before or after Margrid was kicked out by the nuns? (In the German, it’s very clearly the former, but who knows?)

I feel like there’s a really, really dark, tragic tale underneath all this about a young woman who ended up paying the ultimate price for falling in love with someone above her station, but it’s one that’s kept to literally only a few sentences. 

At what point did you fall in love with this show/book: Probably about.....five or ten minutes into the Toho, with the Palais Royal scene. I knew, from the time I saw Furukawa Yuta on stage as Fersen, that they’d changed things around, and then seeing the changes that were made, I was able to go “Oh! It’s good now!” I feel like the moment where I REALLY fell in love was “I Am The Best” because that had been a scene I’d been REALLY concerned about from the German and then Mitsuo Yoshihara casually came in there and owned it. 

[dr-passionate-production]

There was something special about looking over the balcony at night. The business of the main road had long died out, leaving just the occasional zoom of a passing car. The sun's blinding light would be hidden away for hours to come. The songs of nocturnal insects filling the ears of those around. There was something.. Special about it all, something serene.

The cat, laying idly at Kei's feet, had found solace in her silence as she did in his. His soft purring vibrating the tips of her toes. The two siblings weren't fond of TV, especially this late at night. So the usual ruckus of the day was no longer present, allowing the ragdoll to sleep soundly if he so choose.

The freedom to choose.. What a liberty, right? To allow oneself decide their own fate, both good and bad. It could be a simple decision, like what color socks you wanted to wear that day or did you want to call your mother or your father, knowing both would be on the end of either of your choices. But, as we intricate creatures continue to walk the long road we call life, we are expected, and sometimes forced, to make some harsh decisions. Ones that are sure to affect you in the long run, if not your entire life. And as Ms. Kei Sato stood there, eyes gazing away into the nightly abyss, she wondered if she chose right. Out of the handful of choices she was given, did she choose the best one for everyone?

Sighing, she looked down, a hand rubbing at her temple in attempts of easing the oncoming headache that was sure to ruin her night and morning. Curses were uttered, and her eyes glanced around dully at the surroundings beneath her. The cat.. Her toes.. The sleeved shirt she wore. When finally, her eyes landed on the glistening ring that hung from her neck.

...

...

...

"... Is the-there something wrong with it?" Hisai asked, taken aback by the way she stared at the gift. It was a golden ring, striped down the center by a lighter shade of gold. The name 'Jeong-joo' was inscribed on the inside, meaning that, yet again, it was a piece of fan merch from the TV show he loved so much. Taehyun, a starry-eyed coworker of Jeong-joo's, had given it to her as one of his many attempts to win her affection. It was an awkward gesture for the both of them, realizing how idiotic it was to give a girl a gift that expensive. It was one of the defining moments of their platonic relationship, one that especially stuck out to the tactician, seeing that he related so heavily to him.

"N-no... I-"

It was too late to reassure. He turned the box to him, worry in his eyes as he buried his face into the case, examining every last detail of the ring. And while it looked stupid in every definition of the word, it did manage to achieve his true goal: to elicit a smile from his troubled girlfriend. He noticed something was off from the get-go. Her usual smile was faded and it looked like his ramblings went through one ear and out the other. She was thinking about something important, he guessed, and while he didn't want to bother her with questions, he was supposed to be there whenever she was upset, like now.

"I- um.. I noticed you're kind of.. Out of it..? I-I guess I-..." He mentally cursed at how his stuttering voice betrayed him. "Are you okay?"

"Hisai.. What do you like about me?"

What did he like about her? What kind of question was that? There was plenty to like about her! Both as a friend and as- .. You know.. A girlfriend..! Where is this all coming from, he wondered. The bothered look on her face was one he hadn't seen before. She was serious about it, so he should as well.

"W-Well..." He stammered, a flower of red starting to blossom on his cheeks. "You're really pretty.. A-and nice... You actually listen to me instead of- you know. Ignoring me like everyone else... And I really like that- um.. That you also give everyone a chance.. Instead of shunning people away because of dumb rumors, you try to befriend them.. And stuff.." The more he spoke, the more confident he sounded in his words. Hisai wasn't good at complimenting someone like this, not like he had experience in it anyway. His mind nearly went blank at the question! Thankfully, though, he managed to pull together a nice coherent answer.

"What if.." Blink and he'd miss the flicker of sadness in her eyes. Her arms folded, as she tried to find a way to voice her insecurities without actually saying them. "What if I was different?"

"Different? Like you had a secret identity?"

"Yes and-... Yes and no.. I'm still myself." She bit her lip, teeth grinding so hard on the delicate piece of flesh that she was on the brink of tearing through. She wanted to say it. She wanted to just pull at her hair and tell him all the things that tore her apart at night. But she couldn't, the fear of rejection and sullying every last moment she had with him and their friends looming over her.

"But a different kind of 'me'.."

"I-I'm confused.. But-! But!.. I.. I'll give 'that kind of you' a chance.. Like you did to me.. Because, in the end, you're still Isa. .. Right?"

His answer was far from understandable. And he couldn't tell if what he said did anything to improve her mood or ease her stress. But the smile he gave her read as if he solved all of her problems. Like he was going to be the sunshine on her rainy day.

Isabella fought back the tears pricking her reddening eyes. He was far too sweet for his or her own good. Just gives her another reason to cherish him more. She pulled him in close, an arm around his shoulders and another to hug his head against her chest, her fingers running through his blonde hair. Isabella was sure he could feel her heart beat against his temple, but she couldn't care any less. Let him hear it.

"Thank you, Sai." She managed to whisper without choking on her tears. They'd have to work on this giving nature of his. She could easily buy him back just as many gifts but it felt as if he was trying to buy her affection. But really-

"And don't worry... I love the ring."

He didn't have to.

...

...

Hisai.. The sky was empty that night, not a single star was to be seen from the comforts of the balcony. No one was there to listen to her pleads, not even the spirits above. Can I still be given another chance..?

She had completely separated herself from the one who once was. From head to toe, from the mannerisms to the deepening of her voice, she was Kei Sato, amateur gardener, Armani family caretaker. She enjoyed long walks along the dock and the smell of a Monday brew. She watched La Ruota Della Fortuna with her mother and played cards with the pretentious prick she called a father. She made herself at home in a future she was satisfied with living. But..

"Are you sure about this one, Kid? You know you can't go back after this?"

"Kei! ... You're in our group chat now. So text us when you can, okay?..."

"...You know we would have been there for you if you told us! I could have sworn you were the one that said that we should protect each other..!"

"Addie.. What do I do..?"

"Talking to the cat is a new low, don't you think?"

Of course, she tsked. The sly bastard had snuck up on her while she was deep in thought, only to flash a chesire grin when he caught her thinking out loud.

"You look terrible."

"You are terrible.." She didn't have the energy to make a witty comeback. Seeing him next to her sapped any and all tolerance within seconds. Einosuke shifted his position, joining her to face the small area around them, his head tilted up towards the stars.

"How does it feel? The creeping sense of doubt and regret."

Her words left her the moment she tried to open her mouth. She tried to scowl but her face kept twisting back to her usual bitter look. The corners of her lips twitched and her hands reached up to wipe away bubbling tears. But the more she swiped at, the more tears that fell to the point where she had given up on delaying the inevitable. The last straw was the hand placed on her back, rubbing awkward circles as a means to comfort her.

"Miss Kei!" Kei turned to the painfully cheerful voice, her hands gripping tightly onto the suitcase she dragged behind her. The airport was packed with people yet the occultist had managed to pick her out from the crowd. The moment the clack of her shoes ceased, Chiyo held up a hand, her chest heaving as she took a moment to catch her breath. How did she fucking run in heels?

"He- Here, my dear!" Chiyo held up her phone, decorated with all types of gothic imagery and a photo of her and her beloved mothers. She displayed the chatting app she and her classmates used. With a few taps, Kei's number was slotted amongst the already long list of members in the group.

"You're in our group chat now. So text us when you can, okay?"

"Thanks.. Um.. Kageyama-san but-"

"Please." The occult took Kei's free hand into hers, the serious look in her eyes stopping her in her tracks. "Your aura.. You are harboring a lot of bottled up emotions that I'm sure you don't want to say."

She squeezed the ravenette's hand. "If you ever need someone to talk to, dearest. You know you can absolutely talk to us! If not them, then definitely me. Because I know how it feels.."

Kei was.. Stunned. What did she-. She couldn't have possibly known that-. The lump in her throat was unrelenting and so was the grip Chiyo was on her.

"I... I'm gonna miss my flight.." Kei slipped from her grasp, backing away as she shook off the thought. Chiyo was always the weird one, she reminded herself.

"Bye.." She muttered, rushing off to, hopefully, disappear into the crowd.

"Remember to text us!!" The occultist yelled, not at all bothered by the bitter looks she was receiving. She waved both of her hands with a smile, sending her off with her final goodbyes. "We're here for you, darling! Because that's what friends are for!"

"I hate it.."

[Event: Ms. Sato (End)]

[mermaidxatxheart]

The Queen of Wishful Thinking

Ok. So, this is the start of a new series that I’ve been working on for a couple years. This is the prelude to my teen wolf story. It’s an OFC. If you’d like to be tagged, let me know. send me an ask. I’m not stopping my other works. I’m still continuing all of my Bucky stories and the requests that I’ve received. I haven’t forgotten about them. But I’m struggling with the toxicity of the Marvel fandom at the moment. I won’t be tagging anyone from my Marvel tag lists specifically because they didn’t sign up for this genre. If you want to be on both, let me know. Here we go. Also, thank you to everyone who read this for me and encouraged me to post it. You guys have been sent by the gods. I love you so much.

Pairing: OFC X Derek Hale (future)

Word Count: 6732

Warnings: abuse, mentions of blood and violence. descriptions of pain and torture.

Summary: Aryanna was a special girl. Her parents got exactly what they wished for. But she’s the one paying the price. 

My birth should have been the best thing that ever happened to my parents. They had prayed to the gods for so long to bless them with a special child.

 Be careful what you wish for.

I tried to be normal.

 I tried desperately to be like everyone else.

 And the reality was that I wasn’t that different. I didn’t have extra arms, or a second belly button or anything weird. What made me special wasn’t visible. I don’t know what made him choose me, all I know was that it made my life miserable. Lord Apollo, the god of music, poetry, prophecies, light and truth, had picked me to bear the gift of foresight. Apparently, he was also the god of stupid decisions.

 Ever since I was a little girl, I knew I was different. It was supposed to be a special gift, craved by many. I was to be the next Seer. It was a popular practice in those days, most every village had one, as long as it was large enough. The one in my village was useless. He was called Aischylos. It should have been an obvious tell to anyone who spoke to him, seeking advice and consul that he’s a liar and a fraud since his name means ‘shame’. But, as usual, people see and believe what they want to.

 The very first vision I had was of my father when I was four years old. I had stayed home with my mother while she prepared her wine to sell. I was playing on the floor next to her and my sight disappeared. I blinked several times, and when it cleared, there was something strange about it. It was in front of me, but I could tell it wasn’t true. If I were to reach out and touch it, my hands would pass through air. It was rounded, and not all together clear, like I was looking at it through water. My father walked through the door with a large sack full of fish, a magnificent catch for the aging fisherman. I shook my head and my father was gone. I looked up at my mother and she smiled down at me.

 “Papa did good today, Mama.” I said simply and went back to playing with my wooden centaur figure. My father returned home soon after just as I had seen it in my mind. My mother looked from my father to the little girl sitting at her feet and she smiled wide, clearly happy but I was too young to understand what it was. 

 I didn’t see anything for a long time after that, I was close to my fifth year, I spoke to my mother of a time of man that was far away. A time when houses and structures soared high into the sky and horses were no longer used for common travel. I had seen it in a dream and it fascinated me. I had made the mistake of telling my mother in the market place and people overheard. Word spread like wildfire through our village about what I said, and the Seer, Aischylos, realized what it meant. That I was to take over his position. He no longer would get the respect and honor and good treatment that came along with his title. It would be handed over to a little girl and he would be cast aside, forgotten and forced to return to the status of everyone else in the village. He had spent countless years forging his ability that he didn’t have to get the status he didn’t deserve. He couldn’t just allow some stupid girl to take that away from him. But he bided his time, knowing I would not be eligible until my twelfth year. He watched me carefully, finding chances to whisper lies about me. He was a master of patience and manipulation.

 Living in a coastal village, there wasn’t much to do. But I was an adventurous girl, always finding places to hide and run off to. The other children would ask me questions to watch me predict the future, but I wasn’t allowed to give too much away. So, I enjoyed playing in the woods with the nymphs and satyrs, they didn’t care about using me to see the future. But they usually avoided the humans unless to tease them, so they were never much help in defending me. He would follow me, see that I was alone and go back to the village, whispering tales about witchcraft and evil. By the time I was nine, no one in my village trusted me. I was all but shunned. My mother and father were having issues at market, no one wanted to buy from them and it turned them bitter, turned them against me.

 My mother raged against me. Always berated me for any task that I did. No matter how well I did it, no matter if it was perfect, she would destroy it and shout at me, hitting me. My father couldn’t stand the sight of me. He would hit me for no reason at all. He encouraged his friends, our neighbors to hit me. They made me believe that I was a mistake, and the only way to make it right, to get them to love me, was to pray to the gods, begging Zeus and Apollo to take away this curse and make me like everyone else.

 Every night I would make the very long trip to Zeus’s temple, light candles and make offerings for the gods. Then I would pray with all my might that they would relieve me of this burden, so that I may be accepted. Every night, praying until I was numb with exhaustion. But I received no answer to my prayers, no matter how hard I muttered them and shouted them. No matter how many years I prayed, or food I sacrificed.

 When it became obvious that the gods weren’t going to answer my prayers, my father blamed me. He would hit me senseless and tell me I wasn't praying hard enough. There was no point in trying to hide the cuts and bruises on my skin, no one cared about me enough to even ask if I was okay. The villagers would even contribute at my father’s encouragement, throwing stones and rotten fruit at me, whatever they could find.

 One day, in the darkness of the early morning during my fifteenth year, I was roused out of a deep sleep. My father demanded I attend him on his boat with my mother. It had been a long time since they've wanted me on the boat, or even anywhere near them.

 I had a terrible feeling as I blundered around on the deck. Nerves racked my body, a heavy pit settling in my stomach. It had been so long since I handled the nets, my fingers had forgotten what to do. My mother was staying up by my father on the helm, speaking so quietly I had no chance of hearing. I stumbled over the ropes and crates littering the deck as we sailed smoothly out further into the vast expanse of Lord Poseidon's realm. Finally, I gave up on trying to move around and sat towards the front, watching the horizon grow lighter with Apollo rising the sun. I had a knot in my stomach-fear that they were going to bring me someplace to leave me, finally to be rid of me. But that seemed to not be the case as my father called across the boat for me to cast the nets.

 A few hours later we were finished, sacks of fish crowded the deck and a bloody spear was propped up against the mast. My father used it to defend the boat from the vicious sharks. We were headed back to land and I was starting to feel the knot in my chest loosen and relax. Maybe they really just needed my help. I was carrying a length of rope across the boat when it jerked suddenly. I lost my balance and fell forward just as the spear tipped towards me. It pierced my skin as easily as a knife through goat cheese and pain flared, burning my side. I cried out, flinging my hand against the mast to keep myself upright. I looked up at my parents for help, but they just stood at the wheel, watching my lifeblood pour out of my side.

 "Mama! Papa! Please!" I called desperately. I tried to pull the spear out of my side, but every time I touched the wooden handle, the pain only got worse. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I watched my parents turn their gazes away from me, pretending I wasn't dying. The boat bumped against the harbor dock and I scrambled away towards the side, frantic to get away before they finished killing me. 

                                                The spear got tangled on a rope and fresh blood ran out. I clamped my jaw shut and yanked it out. The pain nearly made me pass out, I swayed slightly and pressed my chiton against my side, hoping to stop the loss of the precious red liquid. The sight of it was making me dizzy as I struggled up over the side and up the dock. I barely managed to make it to my feet as I wobbled back towards the center of the village.

 I knew by now that it was useless to beg anybody to help me, I would have to do this on my own. I stumbled into my home, crashing into the walls as my vision swam. I gathered my mother's bone needle and linen threads from the loom where she crafted our clothes. I shook my head violently to clear my vision, but I only succeeded in losing my balance and falling against the door. I forced my way outside and headed for the tree line, able only to focus on managing that.

 The forest floor crunched beneath my feet, pine needles breaking and the noise was deafening. Branches whipped at my face as I ran, looking for privacy to stitch myself. I had heard of soldiers doing this in battle from the men at market. I just hoped I knew what I was doing. I found a large tree and slumped against the base, exhausted. My hand was covered in red as I numbly lifted the bone needle and the thread. I tied the thread through the hole and made a knot at the other end. It took me a dozen tries, my hands shaking and my vision blurring. My fingers were losing feeling and the linen kept slipping out of my hand, but I had to do this. I refused to let this be how I die.

 Somehow I managed to get the knot finished and I raised my arm, preparing myself to pierce my skin once more. The needle was thick, and long; and I had no sort of numbing agent to dull the pain.

 This would not be pleasant.

 I stabbed the needle through my skin, just below the wound and my vision clouded over, going black. The scream was unstoppable as burning hot pain spread across my chest. Everything in me begged me to stop, but I knew I couldn't. I needed to keep going, even though everything would be easier if I just let go. But that wasn't who I was. I didn't give up. I didn't quit even though the gods ignored me, I didn't give up on my parents - and I still wouldn't, even though they just tried to kill me. And I refused to give up on this, even though it hurt worse than anything I've ever felt before.

 I dragged the large needle through my skin, pulling tight and closing the wound. My lifeblood was already slowing down, becoming stickier. I pulled the needle through one last time and let it fall against my skin. I was exhausted both mentally and physically and I just wanted to sleep. My eyes fluttered closed and the vision started.

 A little boy of about three was running around a room. I couldn't see the details of the space, they were blurred, but I could hear his laughter, his tiny giggles. He ran around a table, his jet black hair blown back out of his face as he ran, his eyes green and bright. I saw myself chasing after him and I was laughing, looking truly happy. I could feel vision me, her happiness and contentedness flow into me and I felt at peace as I watched that little boy laugh. I didn't recognized the clothes on my body, they were foreign and unfamiliar but they weren't the important part. The little boy, he would be special, I could feel it in my bones.

 "Perseus!" I called to the little boy. He laughed hysterically and dove under the table, hitting his head on the bottom. He began to cry and I picked him up, comforting him as he clung to me. He turned around in my arms and seemed to look right at me.

 "Get up!" He said loudly and my eyes flew open.

 I groaned as I realized that night had fallen. I would have to walk back in the dark. I gingerly finished with the thread and began making my way back to the village. I would not give up, if only for the sake of seeing that little boy. I was determined to be that happy and content one day. I wouldn't stay here and be miserable forever.

 * * *

On the night of my eighteenth year, I was in the temple by myself, crying as I prayed. That day had been an exceptionally difficult one. I should have been Seer by then, but I wasn’t given the position because of people’s continued hatred of me. Aischylos was making a mess of everything. A little girl had gone to him with her mother for consul and he failed to warn them that the little girl would be hurt. A boy driving his father’s chariot had nearly run them down in the street, but I saw it before it happened. I pulled them out of the way and saved them, but my thanks was being screamed at that I was a monster and being pelted with stones. They hit me all over my body, cutting my skin and breaking my chest bones.

 So here I sit, on the temple floor, crying my eyes out, praying for relief. I want no part of this curse anymore.

 The candles had long since melted low, burning at the bitter end of their lives, and the sacrificial fire was all embers now. My head sank low on my chest with exhaustion from crying and shouting at the gods. I had run out of tears hours ago, but I had also run out of energy to make myself get up and go home. My eyes fluttered closed, blocking out the flickering light and the stone floor. The noise of the wind and sea outside dimmed remarkably as I drifted to sleep. I found that I preferred it here lately, no one to hate me here.

 I don’t know how long I slept there before a massive bang woke me. I fell back with a shout of surprise as I stared up at two figures standing twenty feet tall. I screamed and scrambled for the exit, tripping slightly over my chiton. One of the figures moved so quickly that I barely had time to blink my eyes before he was between me and the way out. I slid as I tried to stop, falling to the hard ground and hurting my wrist.

 “Is that any way to greet the Lord of Olympus?” The figure behind me growled. I looked between the two menacing figures and forced my pounding heart to slow.

 “L-Lord Zeus?” I stammered.

 “Obviously, girl. Use those eyes of yours.” He huffed. I quickly stood and bowed low. Zeus was not a figure to make angry.

 “Um, Lord Zeus, what are you doing here?” I asked, glancing at him as the other figure moved back beside Zeus. I recognized him as Apollo. He was very handsome with blond hair and deep blue eyes, tanned skin and a lithe muscular build. Zeus grunted and looked at Apollo, who tilted his head and raised a shoulder.

 “These mortals.” Zeus sighed. “You prayed to me, didn’t you, girl?” He snapped. I flinched back as his voice rumbled around the temple. Thunder clapped loudly outside as his anger flared. I clenched my jaw in annoyance.

 “I’ve prayed to you every night since I was nine!” I snapped back. “What are you doing here now?” He raised a dark eyebrow at me. I sighed and sat down hard, crossing my legs and holding my head in my hands. My forehead still stung where rocks had hit it, reminding me just how much of a horrible day I’ve had.

 “When you live for forever, girl, a few years means nothing to a god. You’ll understand what I mean.” He said, raising his hand. I snapped my head up, having to almost look straight up at him.

 “What?”

 “Your punishment.” Apollo said, looking down at me.

 “M-my punishment?” I shrieked. “For what?”

 “Your punishment.” Zeus said coldly. “You were given a gift and you want to throw it away. You think it’s a curse, well-I’m going to give you lifetimes to learn to appreciate your gift.”

 “No! You don’t understand! They hate me!” I shouted, tears filling my violet eyes once more.

 “They can’t hate their Seer.” Apollo said, frowning down at me.

 “I’m not their Seer! I’m not anything.”

 “What did you just say?” Zeus demanded, thunder clapping loudly outside.

 “They refused to give me the position.” I said, the tears spilling down my flushed cheeks. “They kept the fraud.”

 “That’s not possible.” Apollo said, sharing a look with his father.

 “But it’s the truth. Please don’t do this to me, I’ll never survive. They torment me and abuse me day after day. My parents have already tried to kill me. I won’t make it another year!” I pleaded. Apollo shrank down to regular mortal size and moved in front of me, kneeling down to be on the same level. Not something gods usually do, but I must have looked extra pathetic so he took pity.

 “What did they do?” He asked gently, putting his warm hands on my face.

 “They call me a witch and throw stones at me. My parents told me I was cursed, that I should never exist.” I said, my breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please? I won’t live a day if you do this.” I whispered, choking on tears.

 “My father has already made up his mind. But you’ll have other gifts to help you survive. I promise.” Apollo said softly, pressing a warm kiss to my forehead. It felt like soft sunshine on a warm summer’s day. “Close your eyes. It will be over soon.” He said, helping me stand up and hugging me against him. I hadn’t realized how cold I was until I touched his body. He radiated heat that warmed me from my head to my toes. I shivered slightly and squeezed my eyes shut, just as he said.

 “Is it going to hurt?” I whispered, my face pressed against his robe.

 “I don’t know.” He answered honestly. Even though my eyes were shut tight I saw a blinding flash and an intense, white hot pain racked my body. I screamed in torment, pushing away from Apollo and stumbling backwards. I felt like my skin was peeling off my body, layer by layer. The pain was too much, I was sure that nobody could take this much pain and survive. I could feel my muscles pulling apart the way a rope untwines. I could feel every fiber detaching from my bones and then separating themselves. I felt like I was burning hot, but I couldn’t make it stop. I couldn’t do anything to block the pain.

 Then the worst part came. Every bone in my body was ripped apart, dislocated and shattered into a thousand pieces like broken pottery. I should be dead. There’s no way I could survive this, but here I was, feeling every single second of it. My organs melted and my brain boiled as they destroyed me. I staggered backwards, completely disoriented, my throat raw from screaming. Suddenly my feet weren’t touching the stone floor anymore, there was nothing but air under them and I was falling backwards, fifteen feet to the hard packed earth below. I stretched my hand out, searching blindly for Apollo, the closest thing to me, but came up empty.

 * * *

The first thing I noticed was the sunlight warm on my face. I blinked my eyes open slowly, hoping that I had just had a dream; a really, really bad dream and I could pretend it never happened. I was lying flat on my back, looking straight up and that’s when I first noticed that something wasn’t right. Instead of the thatched roof of my sleeping room, or the cold marble of the temple, I was looking at the green leaves of trees with sunlight streaming through casting a green color on my skin. I looked around me, finally realizing that I wasn’t at my home. I was lying on the floor of a forest, and not one that I recognized. I rolled over to my hands and knees, expecting my whole body to ache. 

 There was no way I could have experienced that amount of pain and not feel any the next day, but I felt completely fine. Even my wrist, which I had hurt when I fell, had no pain. I stood up, brushing the fallen leaves and twigs off me and glanced around. I didn’t recognize these woods at all. It didn’t even smell the same.

 I heard noises in front of me, it sounded like women talking. There must be a road close by. I took a deep breath and headed in that direction. Maybe there’s a sign telling me which way is home. I ran through the trees, tripping over fallen logs before finally reaching an empty pathway, just wide enough for a cart to get through. I saw the ladies just down the road and I hurried after them.

 “Excuse me.” I said, reaching them. The three older ladies turned and looked at me expectantly. “Can you tell me which way it is to Akoluthos?” I asked politely, praying they would have heard of it. The tallest lady pointed behind me and I glanced. “Do you know how far?”

 “Three days by this road.” The woman to her left said. I nodded.

 “Thank you.” I turned and headed back towards my home, not looking forward to the three day walk. I took my time, not rushing my pace, keeping it slow and steady. I knew I was in big trouble for not coming home last night. My father was sure to punish me. Not to mention the fact that I will have been missing for days. This will be the worst punishment I’ve ever had.

 * * *

I crested the top of the ridge that borders my village and looked out over it. I don’t know what I had been expecting, some sort of urgency that I had been missing for three days. But, probably I should have seen this coming, everything was going about as it normally would. The sun was setting low in the sky as I hurried down the slope and headed for my home. It was almost night.

 I glanced around as I walked, feeling a strange sensation on the back of my neck. I saw people I recognized, people I had grown up with, but none of them looked the same. The streets smelled different and I felt like everything had been replaced by duplicates that were the same, but different.

 This wasn't home anymore.

 “Mama? Papa?” I called as I ran inside. My mother was in the kitchen, getting the evening meal ready. It was as if nothing was amiss.

 “Where have you been, you wicked child?” She snapped, turning around with the wooden spoon already in her hand. I flinched back instinctively, but I had to answer.

 “I was at the temple praying, like you told me to. Lord Zeus and Lord Apollo came to me and they said I had to be Seer. They said I was going to live forever.” I rushed, getting my story all jumbled in my anxiousness to explain. “Then,” I heard my father moving behind me and I backed into the wall with a quiet whimper, trying to make myself as small as possible.

 “Girl.” My father said, his hard voice quiet.

 “Papa, the gods said that I was to be Seer. That I had to be Seer. They were so angry that I didn’t want their gift, that you didn’t want me to be Seer. They said that I’m your gift.” I said, looking at him with pleading eyes. I should have known it wouldn’t have done any good. 

 My father’s hand flew before I ever even saw it move. It cracked hard against the side of my face, sending me sprawling into the eating table and wall. I cried out in pain, feeling a crack in my chest. After a few seconds it was gone. I looked up at him, tears filling my eyes.

 “Papa,” I started to plead.

 “This was not a gift, girl. You were not a gift to us. You are a curse on this land, on these good people. And I’ve had enough of it. I won’t have a monster like you terrorizing us anymore.” He growled, reaching down and grabbing a fistful of my hair. Strands ripped out painfully under his rough hand and I cried out in protest, my hand reaching up to grasp his wrist, hoping to lessen the pain. He started dragging me towards the door and kicked it open out of his way.

 “Papa, please don’t! You’ll make them angry and they won’t forgive you!” I cried, kicking my legs out to get caught on anything. “Papa!” 

 He didn’t reply, he just marched towards the center of town, dragging me along.

 “Mama!”

 She was following behind, a torch in her hand. It was unlit, but ready for use. I cried and struggled against my father’s hand, but his grip was too tight. I couldn’t get free. The other townsfolk were starting to gather at the center where the home fire was burning, the hearth fire for Lady Hestia. One of my father’s friends, who greatly enjoyed beating me, was piling a few bundles of sticks and twigs around a large pole just a few feet away from the home fire. My mother’s sister was holding a few lengths of rope as my father jerked me upright and shoved me against the pole.

 They already planned all this.

 I tried to step away as he took the ropes from her, but he grabbed my arm and twisted it at an odd angle, making a loud snapping sound. I screamed as pain rushed through my body. He tied me to the pole, making sure I wasn’t able to escape.

 “Papa, please. I’m your daughter.” I sobbed.

 “My daughter is gone. She died a long time ago.” He snarled, standing back as my mother lit the pitch on the torch, using the flames from the home fire. That was against the rules. You weren’t supposed to use the home fire for anything besides making a new one in a new town and sacrificing food to the gods. My mother looked at her husband lovingly, holding out the torch towards him. I watched in terror as his hand covered hers and they lowered the torch to the pile of sticks at my feet. I struggled to get out of my bonds, but they were tied too tight and soaked with saltwater so they were swollen and unforgiving. The whole village was gathering around as the sticks took the fire, spreading around the base to surround me. I struggled harder against the ropes, but it was no use. The flames licked up the pile, flickering around my feet. I clenched my teeth, determined not to give the satisfaction. If I was going to die, I wasn’t going to die making them happy.

 The base of the pole caught the fire, the heat becoming unbearable now as the flames danced around my feet burning my skin. I closed my eyes, forcing my mind to calm down, to think of something else besides the fire. I focused hard on something else, anything else. I found myself wishing, for the first time ever, to have a vision, something to see other than the faces in the crowd of my family as they watched me die.

 Maybe it was because I was wishing for one to happen, or focusing so hard I made it happen, but I caught the first flicker of a face. It was handsome, tanned and a little narrow, but still square at the same time. Green eyes and dark hair with a neatly trimmed beard. He was muscular and tall. I tried to stay focused on him, trying to see more of his surroundings, more of the vision but the pain of the fire was making everything fade away. The flames were up to my thighs now, melting my skin. I gritted my teeth, but I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I screamed, struggling harder against the ropes, but I was stuck there. The fire started to travel faster up my body. I let out a continuous scream of anguish, wishing I would just die already and get it over with. I wondered how Zeus and Apollo would keep their promise that I would live forever, if my parents had just killed me.

 The flames reached my neck and that was just about all my body could take. I felt myself drifting, only half feeling the pain as I slowly slipped away. The last image I had was of my parents standing in front of me, in the glow of my flames, smiling and kissing each other, so proud of themselves for getting rid of the big scary monster.

 * * *

I gasped loudly as air flooded my lungs. I opened my eyes, staring up at the sky, confused as all Hades as I tried to remember what happened. I slowly sat up, looking around and seeing my village. It was full dark, the middle of the night. I stood up, starting to dust myself off as I turned towards my home, only my hand didn't touch cloth, it touched bare skin.

 I was naked, my clothes were missing. I took a step towards home to get a new chiton, but then my memory came back, and I remembered what my parents did to me. I covered my mouth, feeling like I was going to be sick.

 “No. They wouldn’t do that.” I gasped, falling to my knees. “Mama and Papa, they wouldn’t.” I breathed. I looked around and saw the pyre where I had been tied up when my parents set me on fire. It was burned beyond belief, still smoldering in the night air. The comforting sea breeze blew through the village, lighting some of the faded embers to a slightly brighter glow. Where my body had been was just a pile of ashes now. Nothing resembling a human remains. I covered my face in horror, feeling my hands get wet from tears I didn’t know were falling. My stomach crawled into my throat as I remembered the pain. I retched but nothing came up, my stomach was empty. Lightening flashed and I looked up at the dark sky, noticing the thunder clouds rolling in.

 “What do I do?” I asked quietly. “They still don’t want me.” Thunder rumbled, low and menacing. Lightening flashed brightly across the sky and I got the warning. They were going to be punished, and I shouldn’t be here when it happens. I stood up and forced myself to move. I hurried through the houses, grabbing a chiton that was hanging out to dry. I clumsily tugged it on, fastening it as I ran. Rain started to fall, slow at first and then more heavily as I half ran and half stumbled to the ridge overlooking the village. I managed to make my way up in a reasonable amount of time as the rain became a downright deluge. I paused at the top, turning back to watch the home fire, which was visible from my location, flicker and die out. Also against the rules. The home fire was always supposed to be kept burning. 

 Thunder crashed loudly, angrily and the waves could now be heard crashing against the shore, sending the fishermen’s boats into the docks. I could hear the waves getting larger as they came further inland. I turned my head towards the sea, my eyes widening in horror as a massive tidal wave, taller than the gods themselves, surged up and crashed over the land, covering the entire village.

 Only, it didn’t fade away, like a normal wave. It held over the village, drowning everyone down there, asleep in their homes. They didn't even have time to scream.

 “No!” I cried out, taking a step towards the edge of the ridge. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I had to do something. I couldn't just let them die. Two strong arms caught me around the middle, holding me back. I fought against them, trying to pry them off me; I had to try and save them. This was all my fault. “Let me go! They’re dying!” I cried.

 “So? They killed you first.” The man said. I faltered, looking up at him, seeing Apollo.

 “That doesn’t mean I want them dead!” I protested.

 “It’s not your decision, Aryanna. They made my father angry. This is their punishment.” He said firmly. “I suggest you get over it quickly, because they’re gone. They’re not coming back.” He moved his arms from my waist to my arms. “And honestly, you deserve better.” He said.

 I shook my head. “They’re my family.” I said, my voice breaking as I looked pleadingly at him.

 “I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but your family just murdered you.” He said, his mouth twitching up in an apologetic smile. “I mean, my family is nuts, but yours takes it to a whole new level. I mean, they even asked for a special kid. It doesn’t get a whole lot more special than a Seer.” I hung my head, my shoulders shaking as I cried. This was all so overwhelming. I had so many questions I didn't even know where to start. “Oh, um. Hey, it’s okay.” He said awkwardly, patting my back.

 “How is this okay?” I snapped, looking up at him. He jerked his hand back as if I might bite it off.

 “Oh, well,” He paused, thinking for a minute. “Because now you don’t have to be stuck with them forever. Consider yourself lucky, trust me. I’m stuck with my family forever, literally, and we actually sort of like each other. So, you’re much better off.” He said, smiling brightly and the dark receded ever so slightly.

 “No disrespect, Lord Apollo, but you don't know what you're talking about.” I muttered, turning to look out over the flooded village.

 "Maybe, you humans are strange things to us gods." He shrugged.

 His words rang in my ears and I turned back to him, my temper flaring. "What did you do to me?" I demanded and he took a cautious step back.

 "What?"

 "I was just burned alive. What did you do to me?" I didn't care that he was a god and that I might be offending him.

 "Zeus and Hades, they cursed you. You're forbidden from entering the Underworld when you die." He said softly.

 "Why did it hurt so much?" 

 He flinched slightly. "You had to be unmade."

 "Unmade? What does that mean?”

 "You had to be pulled apart layer by layer to be rewritten the way my father wanted." He explained.

 "So, I'll die but not stay dead?" I asked, feeling my horror rise again.

 "I'm afraid so. And I'm sure you'll find there are some other things you'll be able to do and other things you can't." 

 I blew out a sigh, wiping my face dry. "What about this place? The next people who settle here?" I asked.

 "Nobody will. This place will stay barren for eternity." 

 I glanced back as the water started to recede. "Demeter, I assume?"

 "Yes." 

 I grunted. It seems all the gods had a hand in this. "Terrific."

 “Where will you go?” He asked.

 “Crete, most likely. That's where it's all happening these days. Big city, I can blend in.” I said quietly. He nodded thoughtfully.

 “Good luck.”

 “I’m not supposed to be anyone’s Seer anymore, am I?” I asked. 

 He shook his head. “You’re past the age.” He said apologetically. “That’s not to say you won’t have visions anymore. You need to keep them to yourself. Humanity isn’t supposed to know too much. It’s a punishable crime against the gods.” He said seriously. I snorted and moved to walk past him. “I’m serious, Aryanna.” He warned, grabbing my arm as I passed. I faced him and squared my shoulders, deciding then and there that I was done being afraid. I had just survived being murdered by my parents. If I could come back from that, relatively sane-I had nothing else to fear ever again.

 “What else could the gods possibly do to me? I’m already cursed to live forever.” I said. “What are they going to do? Kill me?” I laughed morosely. “You’re not going to make me stop having visions because that would give me what I wanted in the first place.” I said.

 “There are other things we could do.” He said, trying to sound mysterious. I started laughing even harder.

 “Like take my sight? I would just heal. I was just burned alive, Apollo. I really don’t think there’s much you can do to me.” 

 He was quiet for a long time. “We could make you relive that moment over and over until eternity ends.” He said quietly. I froze, staring at him.

 “You would actually do that to me?” I asked.

 “If you need an incentive to keep what you see quiet, then yes. We would.” 

 I bit my lip and nodded. “Good to know. It’s not like I have anyone to tell anything to, anyways.” I said, backing away from him.

 “Aryanna.” He sighed.

 “You should go. Get back to your family. I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble on my behalf.” I said quietly, turning and walking into the woods.

 “Be careful, Aryanna.” I heard him whisper before there was a pop and he was gone. I stopped, staring straight ahead of me. I didn’t know what to do now. I have never been on my own before, I had never really even been away from home. I felt myself starting to shake from nerves and uncertainty. I took a second to look back at my home, at everything I knew. 

         The last of the water was receding, fading back into the ocean, leaving behind a ruined town, houses washed away. A broken reminder of what happened, to never make the gods angry. This ghost village would remain here, dead and in pain. A reminder of all the bad things, barren for the rest of eternity. It would never sustain life again, the waters would be empty, the soil ashes.

 A cursed land.

 I bit my lip to force back the tears. I was going to be fine. I didn’t need my parents around yelling at me. I could have my own life and be happy. I took a deep, settling breath and turned back towards the road to move on to something better.

 “I can do this.” I said to myself, taking the first step towards freedom and towards my new life.

Tag List:

@everythingisoverrated​ @thiccbinch​ @wkemeup​ @imanuglywombat​ @thewolfsenate

[k-popscenxrios]

Didn’t Ask For This Pt 5 (Roommate!JK x OC)

A/N: You guys are making me so emotional today omg! I’ve never had a story become this popular so fast and I am so eager to give you more of this story! It only gets better and more dramatic from here, and I love me some drama... This chapter and the next were probably my favorite to write so far. It took me like three days to write because of how long my idea ended up being!

Summary: “I didn’t know you hated me so much,” he spoke as he grabbed my wrist and once again turned me around to face him, “and quite honestly, I don’t think I’ve done anything horrible enough for you to hate me to the degree that you do.” “You say that like the hate isn’t mutual,” I remarked as he shook his head. There was a bitter smile on his face as he took a deep breath, “I think you are quite honestly one of the worst human beings I’ve had to come in contact with.”

7.6k words | drama ✞ | fluff ♡ |  mention of mature themes ✗

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | Finale

⇨ Masterlist ⇦

The three of us decided to ride together to the bowling alley. I sat in the back while Taehyung drove and Jungkook sat in the passenger's seat. I was having a nice time sitting in my thoughts as I looked out the window. Jungkook and Taehyung were both singing along to an English song that was playing on the radio, and things seems so peaceful for that little bit. I closed my eyes and smiled as I started to enjoy their voices singing along with the artist.

I always knew that Taehyung was good at singing, but Jungkook’s voice was a surprise. I had no idea that the boy could not just sing, but that his voice was beautiful. Too bad that beautiful voice is attached to his rotten personality.

“Hey Ari,” Taehyung spoke over the radio as I snapped out of thought and looked his way, “we’re here.”

I looked back out the window as I saw we were in the parking lot of the bowling alley. It wasn’t a very long drive, but that drive felt even shorter than I expected.

“Oh,” I said dumbly as Jungkook snickered and opened his door. Taehyung and I followed suit as we all made our way into the building in question.

I noticed that Chaeyoung’s car was in the parking lot, and I spotted her the second we walked through the doors. She seemed to be the only one that was from our group to be here before us.

“Hey Chae,” I smiled as she rushed up to us. She looked over at Taehyung and then leaned in to me to whisper something.

“Taehyung has gotten hotter omg,” she smiled to me as I shook my head and rolled my eyes.

“Jimin is coming, right?” I gave her a look as she took the chance to roll her eyes.

“Yeah. He texted me about three minutes ago saying that he’s on his way, but I think he lives nearly 10 minutes away.” Chaeyoung responded as I nodded. I turned to see that Jungkook and Taehyung were also talking quietly to each other like Chaeyoung and I had been.

I was about to say something to Taehyung when I spotted the doors open. My eyes looked at them expectantly as I felt nerves wash over me. Jung Hoseok was much cuter in person…

He walked up to Jungkook and Taehyung as they did some kind of handshake thing that I don’t remember them ever doing, even on the dance team.

“Jungkook! It’s been a while since I’ve seen this kid around!” I heard Hoseok laugh and wrap an arm around Jungkook’s shoulders. I saw Jungkook’s cheeks flush as a smile appeared on my face.

Hoseok calls Jungkook a kid? I could get used to that… I would enjoy seeing his embarrassment over it.

“Oh, Jung,” Taehyung looked my way as my nerves spiked. I wasn’t ready! “My sister is over there if you wanted to go meet her.”

“Oh, yeah,” Hoseok nodded before walking in my direction. I felt panic written all over my face as I looked from Taehyung to Jungkook. Jungkook’s flustered state had already been recovered, and when I caught his eyes with mine, it caused my nerves to increase even more than before.

Why was Jungkook making me nervous? I’m around him all the time! There was no reason for me to feel nervous because of that jerk.

“Hey RaeAri,” Hoseok smiled and I turned my attention over to him. His smile was so charming and it caused a smile to appear on my face, “You probably don’t remember me from high school since I was a senior when you were a freshman. I’m Jung Hoseok.”

He held his hand out for me to shake as I slightly hesitated grabbing it. He was really cute, and I didn’t want to mess this up.

“I remember you a little,” I smiled softly as we let go of each other, “I’m pretty sure you may have given me a ride home from one of Taehyung’s dance practices.”

Hoseok concentrated for a couple seconds as his eyebrows furrowed. A few seconds went by as his eyes moved to look at my face as if he was trying to figure me out. It took another few seconds before his eyes brightened and a huge smile appeared on his face.

“You’re right,” He nodded and a soft chuckle left his throat. I smiled and tried to swallow my nerves that were trying to ruin how well this seemed to be going so far, “I nearly forgot about that. Now that I’m thinking about it, you have always been this cute.”

My eyes widened at his words, and he didn’t seem phased by the fact that he had just called me cute. Then there’s me who’s a flustered mess at his simple words, and he smiled at me when he noticed how embarrassed I had become.

“Sorry, I was talking to Taehyung about you earlier today, and when he showed me a picture I asked him if you had always been that cute. I forgot that you weren’t there for the first part of the conversation,” he laughed and slipped his hands in his pockets before looking toward the door. I looked that way, too, spotting Jimin walking in.

“W-Well,” I spoke to get his attention back on me, “Thank you for the compliment.”

He smiled and let out a little huff of a laugh before grabbing my arm suddenly, “That’s one of your friends that just walked in, right? I don’t want to keep you all to myself. I’d feel bad.”

“No, you don’t need to feel like that! If I didn’t want to spend time with you, I’d let you know,” I softly laughed as he nodded and looked in Jimin’s direction.

“I actually think I know that guy. I think he’s the same age as me…” Hoseok thought out loud as I raised my eyebrows. I was more surprised by the fact that Jimin was 23 instead of being surprised that he might know Jimin. He looks and acts like he’s my age!

“Who, Jimin? He didn’t go to the same school as us,” I informed as my eyes caught Jimin’s. He smiled and waved my way before spotting Hoseok standing next to me. Judging from the subtle look he gave Hoseok, Jimin seemed to also recognize him. “I think Jimin likes dance. Maybe you saw him somewhere relating to that?”

Hoseok just gave a simple nod, but I could tell that he was still intently thinking about it. It was probably going to bother him until he figured it out.

I trailed my eyes around the room as my eyes locked on to Jungkook’s fairly quickly. He seemed to have been looking my way, and when I caught him, he looked away. I swallowed as I took a deep breath and focused back on Hoseok. So what if Jungkook was looking my way? He was just wondering how our conversation was going…

“Ah! I got it!” Hoseok started laughing and he looked my way, “Sorry, it was really bothering me, but now I figured it out. I took dance classes in middle school with him. We were both always competing for who would be the best dancer in the class. I don’t remember who ended up winning, though.”

I nodded and looked Jimin’s way. I didn’t see him as the competitive type, but I’ve also never seen him dance. Chaeyoung told me that he had videos up on Youtube, but I keep forgetting to look for them.

“Well I’m glad you figured it out,” I smiled while looking back over at him. He was already looking my way and I felt my cheeks flush at that thought.

“Let’s stop talking about Jimin,” he slightly laughed and boldly took my hand in his. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my violently beating heart. “Are you hungry? The food here is pretty expensive, but it’s on me if you want something.”

“Oh, I’m fine! I was actually thinking about inviting everyone to have dinner somewhere after we bowled a few times.” I answered as he nodded.

“Then do you want something to drink? There’s soda and they even serve alcohol if you wanted some.” Hoseok looked my way as I felt my face heat up.

“Er…” I didn’t know how to put this without sounding lame, “I’ve… never had alcohol before…”

Hoseok looked at me with raised eyebrows before a soft smile appeared on his face, “Really? How old are you again?”

“That’s irrelevant,” I laughed and looked away from him, “I just… I have an irrational fear that I’ll do or say something that I’ll regret even if I just take a sip or two.”

“RaeAri, alcohol isn’t truth serum,” he chuckled as he looked back to Jungkook and Taehyung. He let go of my hand and waved the two over toward us.

I watched Jungkook’s mini debate on if he was actually going to walk over or not, but when Taehyung hit him in the arm to gesture for him to follow, he pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against.

“Do you guys want to make this an alcohol free night, or are you okay if I buy some?” Hoseok asked as Taehyung seemed a little worried. He looked at me as if trying to decide if he wanted to see me drinking alcohol, and I could tell that he decided that he did not like that thought.

“I think I’d have a nervous breakdown if I saw Ari drinking, so if you buy some, please keep it to yourself,” Taehyung said as he looked at me.

“Don’t worry about it, Taehyung. I won’t have any,” I reassured him as Jungkook just scoffed. I had to hold my tongue to keep from making a snide remark directed at him. I was not about to let Hoseok see me immaturely bantering with Jungkook like we always do.

Jungkook seemed to notice the fact that I was holding back, and a sadistic smile appeared on his face. I gave him a look to warn him to not start anything, but his mind was made up.

“You never cease to be the party killer, do you?” he spoke as Hoseok raised his eyebrows at Jungkook’s comment.

“I’m not killing any party. You don’t need alcohol in your system for things to be fun,” I snapped back softly, trying my best to not get too worked up. Hoseok is really cute and seems really interested in me. I didn’t want to do anything to scare him away somehow.

“You’re right,” Hoseok agreed with me as he sent me a soft look, “Let’s just have drinking free night. Besides, things can get ugly if someone gets drunk.”

I felt my cheeks heat up as I looked in his eyes. They were the most beautiful shade of brown, way more appealing than Jungkook’s, and I felt my heart beat increase the longer I looked into them.

“Hey, look, Yoongi’s here,” Jungkook spoke as my eyes nearly popped out of my head. I looked at Jungkook as he had the most evil smirk on his face. Talking to Hoseok had made me forget that Yoongi was going to be here.

...This was going to be interesting.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I mumbled to Hoseok as I grabbed on to Jungkook’s shirt and pulled him into the arcade.

“What the hell am I gonna do?” I put a hand to my forehead as Jungkook looked at me dumbfounded.

“You want advice from me?” he was the picture of shock, but I didn’t have time to think about that.

“Well you know both guys. I’d talk to Chaeyoung but she’d just tell me to pick whoever’s hotter.” I whined as Jungkook sighed and rolled his eyes.

“I have no interest in helping you. I’m actually quite excited to see how this plays out,” He smiled as I narrowed my eyes at him.

“This isn’t some drama on TV. Jungkook, I can’t screw this up. I would like to not be single for the rest of my life.” I tried to keep my voice low as I spotted Yoongi walking up to Chaeyoung and Jimin. His eyes caught mine as he waved, eyeing the fact that Jungkook was with me.

“Jungkook,” I spoke in a pleading voice as he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked out into the lobby area and spotted Yoongi, but he stopped cold as his eyes landed on something that seemed to make him visibly upset.

I started to grow concerned, but once I looked back out the doorway, I spotted her.

Jennie.

He took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to shake off whatever feelings he just showed on his face, “Whatever. Just stick with Yoongi. You can’t weird him out like you could Hoseok. Plus, like I’ve mentioned before, he’s too good for you.”

“Well while we’re making low blows,” I felt my cheeks heat up and my blood begin to boil, “I’d much rather Jennie end up with Taehyung rather than you. She’s too good for you.”

I left Jungkook in the arcade as I tried to shake off just how angry I was. I took a deep breath as I spotted Yoongi. I should at least say hi to him considering the fact that I invited him.

“Hey,” I smiled as Yoongi looked from Jimin to me. A smile appeared on his face as he stepped away from our friends to talk to me semi-privately.

“Hey,” he responded before looking toward the arcade, “I know it’s not really my business but… what’d you and Jungkook talk about?”

I turned around to see if Jungkook had left the arcade, and I spotted him walking over to Taehyung, Jennie, and Hoseok. “It wasn’t really important. I just didn’t want to argue with him in front of everyone,” I lied as Yoongi continued to eye Jungkook.

“Looks like you did a number on him,” he said in a low voice, “But we don’t have to keep talking about this. I feel bad for asking something so personal in the first place.”

“I don’t mind,” I lied as I felt my curiosity grow. I just wanted to continue this conversation a little longer to clear up some confusion, “What do you mean ‘did a number on him’?”

“Well,” he cleared his throat and licked his lips, “he just looks shaken up is all. I’ve seen you two bicker and storm off angrily, but he doesn’t look mad.”

I swallowed and resisted the urge to look back at Jungkook. I’d die inside if he caught me looking his way after all the arguing we just did.

“But who are the two people I don’t recognize?” he asked as I just smiled nervously. I was just going to be honest with him about Hoseok. If I tell him what he’s here for, it could either be a really good thing, or a very bad thing.

“Those two are Taehyung’s coworkers. Jennie is a girl he kinda likes, and he invited his friend Hoseok to… er, see if we’d hit it off, I guess.” I spoke as Yoongi just seemed to nod indifferently. I took a deep breath to try and contain my disappointment.

Was all of this one sided this whole time? But I’m not the only person that thinks that Yoongi might like me… Chaeyoung and Jungkook feel that way, don’t they?

“Is it going well?” He asked as I looked over at Hoseok. He was joking and laughing with Jennie and Taehyung as I turned back to Yoongi. I felt a needle poke at my heart as I looked back into the eyes of the man who I thought might feel the same about me.

“I’ve only talked to him for like 5 minutes, but he’s really nice. Jungkook doesn’t like the idea of Hoseok and I, and… that’s kinda what we were arguing about.” I revealed. I felt myself slowly fall into a sulking mood as I thought more and more about how Yoongi probably has no feelings for me past friendship.

I found myself taking my filter off to talk to him the more I thought about it. If I didn’t feel like tiptoeing around him to make sure I don’t say anything wrong, things felt more natural that way. Maybe things were better this way.

“Sounds to me like Jungkook’s just jealous,” Yoongi mentioned as I raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry? Why would he be jealous?” I asked as Yoongi just laughed and shook his head.

“Because he probably doesn’t like thinking about you moving on from him. It either hurts his pride or it’s because he still has feelings for you.”

I was about to wave my hands in front of Yoongi to try and figure out why he was saying all these weird things about Jungkook, but the realization hit me before I opened my mouth. I completely forgot that Jimin and Yoongi were under the impression that Jungkook and I are ex’s…

I found myself tempted to explain the lie to Yoongi right then and there, but I stopped myself when Taehyung called out my name. He motioned for everyone to walk over to him as I motioned for Yoongi to come over with me.

“So are we good for paying for two games? We’ll need two lanes because there can only be 4 people per lane. We just need to split up on who’s going on what lane.”

I felt a frown form on my face as I realized the only way we could split the lanes for it to make sense would be if I was in a group with Jimin, Chaeyoung, and Yoongi.

“I was thinking that it could be Jennie and I, as well as Jimin and Chaeyoung,” Taehyung spoke as I raised my eyebrows. What? What?

Taehyung was putting me in a group with Yoongi, Hoseok, and Jungkook? He was sending me to my death sentence. Hoseok isn’t going to want to even look my way after this night.

Chaeyoung sent me a look, but she wasn’t going to fight anything. I was surprised since I hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her that Hoseok and I were supposed to be on a date of sorts.

“Any objections?” Taehyung asked as he looked my way. It was as if he was expecting me to speak up over Jungkook being in my group, but I wasn’t going to say anything.

“Yeah, why do I have to be stuck with Miss Holier Than Thou?” Jungkook spoke up as I instantly glared at him. I hate it when he uses that nickname!

“It was the best way to split everyone up,” Taehyung raised an eyebrow to his friend, “Unless you want to switch with me?”

Jungkook looked at me and his eyes narrowed intensely. I felt confusion written all over my face as I looked at Taehyung.

“But then I won’t be in the same group as you, Taehyung,” Jennie frowned and gave Jungkook a slightly pleading look, “Please don’t switch with him.”

Chaeyoung sighed and looked my way. She seemed to be seriously contemplating something, and her mind was made up before I had a chance to stop her.

“I’ll switch with you, Jungkook,” she spoke up as Jungkook looked her way. I noticed him also glance at Jimin who was visibly disappointed, but he sent her a look that told her that he would be okay with it.

“Then is everything settled?” Taehyung asked as everyone stayed quiet. I looked around and spotted Hoseok looking my way with a blank expression. When our eyes met, he sent me a soft smile that I returned. “Great! Now, we need to actually get the games started or we’ll end up being here forever.”

…

I entered my name in last since I was the only one out of the group to have never been bowling before. I sat next to Chaeyoung as both Yoongi and Hoseok sat on the opposite side. I took a deep breath as I watched Chaeyoung get up to bowl. I watched her movements as she rolled the ball to end up with hitting 7 of the ten pins.

She was getting ready to go for a second time when I noticed that Jungkook was getting up to take his turn. I felt my eyes practically glued to him as I found myself captivated by how focused he seemed. He took a few breaths before taking a few steps forward, swinging his arm back and then forward letting the ball go. It rushed at the pins as he just watched, his fingers finding his hair.

A satisfied smile made a home on his face as he looked at the strike he had just scored. I swallowed as his eyes met mine, and I felt my face flush as he sent me a breathtaking smile. He mouthed some words, and it took me a few seconds before I figured out what he had said.

‘Beat that.’

…

It wasn’t long before it was my turn to bowl as I felt nerves overcome me. I wasn’t liking the fact that everyone was watching me, but it was something that I’m just going to have to get over.

“I have to be honest,” I spoke as I looked to Hoseok. He was coming back from his turn as he scored a 6 and finished it off with a spare. “I’ve never actually bowled before.”

“Wow,” Hoseok smiled and I stood up to stand next to him, “Do you want me to help you out a little? We can take this game as your practice game and not hold your score against you.”

“Wait, are we doing something with the scores?” I asked as Hoseok looked over to look Taehyung and Jungkook’s way.

“It was Jungkook’s idea. He wanted the person with the lowest score to buy the person with the highest score something,” Hoseok mentioned as we stepped up on the bowling platform.

I looked back at Jungkook with a glare as he just sent me a smirk, seeming to know exactly what that look was for. Now this was personal.

“Well I’m definitely not going to get the lowest score knowing that,” I frowned as I realized that I forgot to bring a bowling ball with me. I rushed back to get the one that Chaeyoung and I both picked out.

“Okay, so you want to stand on this spot right here,” Hoseok pointed as I stook a few steps back and put my feet where he indicated, “And hold the ball up like you’ve seen everyone else do.”

I nodded and held the ball up to my chest. I felt my nerves spike as Hoseok walked behind me and placed a hand on my back, “Now you just need to walk forward and swing the ball back for momentum.”

I thought back to the little Mii’s on the TV screen as I nodded. I knew how I needed to swing it, I just didn’t know when to let go and how to move my wrist to guide the ball.

“Just do a practice run through of it to get a feel for it,” Hoseok nodded and stepped away. I took a deep breath and followed the same motions that I’d seen everyone else do, but when I swung the ball forward again, I almost lost my balance. I stumbled to keep from falling, and I ended up stepping past the line that I wasn’t supposed to cross.

“Don’t worry about that,” Hoseok spoke up with a smile as I looked over at him with an unsure look. “Here, Jungkook is the most experienced here. Just watch him before trying again.”

I turned to see Jungkook getting up to take his turn again. I felt my face heat up at the fact that I had taken so long that Jungkook was already going again, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it.

I took a deep breath as I noticed him glance over at me. I didn’t shy away from watching him because, I hated to admit it but, he looked so... elegant.

He even looks, dare I say… incredibly attractive. The way he moved was so fluid and perfect as I swallowed. I hated having these thoughts about someone as horrible as him, but I couldn’t deny how addicting it was to watch him bowl.

“Okay,” I swallowed when Jungkook finished his turn with a spare, 8 and 2. “I think I’ll try it now…”

I looked over at Hoseok and he just gave me a confident smile and a nod. I tried my hardest to copy how fluid and perfect Jungkook’s moves looked, but I spent too much time perfecting my form that when I let go of the ball, it quickly ended up in the gutter.

“Oh, nice try,” Hoseok was really nice about my complete and utter failure as the ball slowly rolled past the pins to be sent back over to us. I turned around with an embarrassed blush on my cheeks as I grabbed the second ball. Chaeyoung smiled and me and gave me a thumbs up as Yoongi sent me a soft smile.

I tried again, and this time, I paid attention to where I was sending the ball. It left my fingers and actually stayed on the alley, curving slightly to the left. I bit my lip and watched as the ball knocked down… 6 pins!

I smiled and turned to Hoseok with an excited look on my face. He looked equally excited as I let my excitement take over me. I threw my arms around him in a hug he he just softly laughed in my ear.

“Thank you! You’re an awesome teacher!” I bit my lip and pulled away from him to turn around and call out to Taehyung, “Did you see that, Tae?! I hit 6 pins! On my second try!”

Taehyung stood up as I jumped down and rushed over to his side. He gave me thumbs up before patting Jungkook’s back who was sitting down next to him.

“I’m really impressed and proud of you,” he winked before looking down at Jungkook. My eyes followed his as Jungkook moved Taehyung’s hand off of his back. He leaned back in against his seat before looking up at me.

“You still had a gutterball. Don’t forget that,” he almost mumbled as I narrowed my eyes at him.

“I thought it was an awesome first try,” I heard Jennie stick up for me as I smiled and looked her way.

“Thanks,” I replied before I turned to look back Hoseok’s way. I walked back to my group as I sat down next to Yoongi. I looked at him with a smile as he sent one back.

“This is turning out to be more fun than I thought it would be,” I thought out loud as Yoongi nodded.

“I don’t mind bowling. It isn’t my favorite, but I enjoy playing it,” he responded as my eyes caught sight of Hoseok.

“What about you, Hoseok?” I asked as he looked up at the two of us, “Do you like to bowl?”

He just nodded and glanced at Chaeyoung who scored an 8 and 1. “It’s fun. I really like watching people bowl more than I like bowling myself.”

“Really?” I asked as Yoongi got up to take his turn to bowl. Chaeyoung sat down beside me to jump into the conversation. “I guess if you’re watching someone that knows what they’re doing, it’s pretty fun.”

“Are you guys talking about Jungkook?” Chaeyoung jumped in a leaned forward so that the group behind us didn’t hear, “He looked so hot up there when he scored that strike.”

“He’s really good,” Hoseok laughed at the way Chaeyoung worded her sentence, “He and Taehyung are the ones who are mainly in competition when it comes to who’s going to win.”

“Well if I end up being the lowest score, I wouldn’t mind buying him a drink,” she smirked as I smacked her in the arm. I sent her a dirty look as she held up her hands as sigh of surrender, “I’m not being serious! You know that I like Jimin.”

I looked away from her as Yoongi walked back from his turn. Hoseok just laughed as he stood up to grab a bowling ball.

“Yoongi,” Chaeyoung spoke as he sat down in the seats across from ours. He raised an eyebrow to indicate that he heard her, “what do you think of Ari?”

I choked on my own spit at her blunt question as I turned around to pretend to not be there. My eyes caught sight of Jungkook’s as I gave him a questioning look. Was he listening to us?

“What do you mean?” Yoongi asked with an embarrassed look on his face. I refused to look his way, but I did look away from Jungkook as I turned around and stared at the bowling ball contraption in between the seats.

“Do you like RaeAri?” she bluntly asked as I was ready to reach for her neck and lightly strangle her. “And I mean like you would a girlfriend, none of that friend crap.”

I could feel Yoongi’s eyes on me as I watched Hoseok finish up his second frame. He turned around after getting a spare, and a smile appeared on his face.

I sprang up out of my seat and scrambled to get my bowling ball as I passed by Hoseok on my way up.

…

We finished out the first game, and to no one’s surprise, Jungkook won and I had the lowest score. I felt relief wash over me as we weren’t counting this round.

It didn’t take long for us to start the second game, and silence was mostly enveloping Yoongi and I. He and Chaeyoung had finished their conversation before I got back, and I didn’t dare to ask what had been said. I was sure that Chaeyoung would have already told me if things went well.

Jungkook disappeared for a good few minutes to cause his group to have to wait for him while my group continued to play ahead. We started to get a good two frames ahead, and by the time we hit the start of the third frame past theirs, we decided to paused until Jungkook came out of hiding.

Jimin walked over to talk with Chaeyoung and Yoongi as I walked over to sit with Taehyung. Hoseok followed me to Taehyung’s side as we just sat and had some small talk. I watched the interactions between Jennie and Taehyung, but something just felt off. Taehyung seemed to have plenty of interest in Jennie, but her eyes kept wandering off.

I tried to figure out who she was looking at, but I couldn’t figure it out. I started to get a little paranoid that she was looking Hoseok’s way, but that theory fell apart when I spotted Jungkook walking back over to us.

...She was looking at Jungkook?

I felt my stomach drop as I looked at Taehyung who seemed to be having a great time. He was smiling and laughing about something Hoseok said, but both Jennie and I were zoned out.

I saw Jungkook’s eyes meet hers, but his eyes tore away only seconds later. I noticed his walk was unsteady, and it didn’t take me long to realize where he had been.

I stood up and rushed up to him before he fully got to his group. He looked at me with a confused look for a couple seconds before he glanced at Jennie.

“Look Jungkook, I know you’re at least tipsy,” I whispered as he looked at me with a look as if he was about to fight me, but he stayed quiet. “I know I’ve said a lot of things about you and Jennie, but this seriously isn’t funny. Taehyung really likes her.”

“I know that,” Jungkook spat as he grumbled and took a deep breath, “God she’s so damn hot still…”

“I swear, Jungkook” I felt panic rise into my voice as his eyes looked over at Jennie again, “You’ve said all this stuff about not touching her because Taehyung likes her now.”

“But she’s just…” Jungkook took a deep breath, “She still likes me… I didn’t like she would still…”

I tried my hardest to hold back the urge to slap him in the face as he looked back at me. His eyes pierced into mine as I grabbed his arm and started to pull him back to the concessions.

“I’ll take a water,” I spoke as I kept a death grip on Jungkook’s arm. I was not about to let this mess of a person anywhere near Jennie in his current state.

The man behind the counter handed me a bottle as I handed him the money. It cost me an arm and a leg for that bottle, but I’d do anything if it meant that Jungkook wasn’t going to ruin Taehyung’s night.

“Drink this,” I ordered as I forced him to sit down at one of the two person tables they had placed around the concession stand. Jungkook listened to me as he downed almost half the bottle in less than three seconds.

“God, why are you so damn annoying,” he spoke as I grabbed the water from him out of slight anger, “There is a hot girl in there, a girl who I still really like, and she’s interested in me, too! I thought she didn’t ever want anyone like me again!”

“Jungkook, you may be a douchebag, but do you really want to hurt your best friend again?” I scolded as he looked into my eyes, “You promised him you wouldn’t flirt with her.”

“I’m not gonna flirt with her,” Jungkook narrowed his eyes, “I’m going to fuck her.”

I took a deep breath and looked at Jungkook with the most disappointed and hurt look that I could ever display. His words hurt me, even, and I wasn’t the one who liked Jennie.

“Go to hell, Jungkook,” I spat before opening the water bottle and pouring the rest of the water on his head. The look on his face tore me up as I threw the bottle at him for good measure. Maybe spending $5 on a bottle of water was worth it if I got to do that to him.

“Ari,” he called out to me as I started to walk away. I could feel tears building up in my eyes as his hand grabbed my wrist to stop me from walking, “Stop storming away like that.”

I spun around and took a deep breath. I tried my hardest to keep the tears from spilling from my eyes, but it wasn’t long before they were streaming down my face, anyway.

“I don’t have anything to say to the likes of you,” I spat as Jungkook’s eyes widened sadly. He watched the tears roll down my cheeks, and I violently wiped them away. I was dying to spin around and run off into the bathroom, but he wasn’t having that. He grabbed onto my other arm to secure me to him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he spoke as I narrowed my eyes through my tears. He swallowed and reached up to try and wipe a tear that had just left my eye. I shoved his hand away and yanked my other hand out of his hold.

“I want you out of my apartment,” I spoke with a broken voice as he took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling, “If you sleep with Jennie, I’m sure Taehyung would help you pack so that he never has to see you again.”

“I’m not going to sleep with Jennie,” he spoke with a shaky voice as I noticed a tear slip from his eyes. I didn’t know how to feel as he quickly wiped it away and pretended it was never there. “And I’m not moving out.”

“Why the hell not?” I took a step closer to him as he swallowed and reached out to touch my hand. I flinched at the touch, but I didn’t find myself pulling away.

“I’d-”

“Ari?”

I turned and pulled my hand out of Jungkook’s as I spotted Chaeyoung and Taehyung walking in our direction. Chaeyoung rushed up to me as Taehyung swallowed with a wide eyed look.

“Let’s run to the bathroom,” she nodded as I just followed her lead. I didn’t want to talk to Taehyung right now, so I was just going to leave Jungkook to explain everything to him.

Chaeyoung and I were soon standing in the hallway to the bathrooms, but we didn’t actually go in.

“What happened?” Chaeyoung looked incredibly concerned as my tears came to a slow stop. I took a deep breath to try and fully calm down, but it was really hard. I got really worked up back there…

“Jungkook and Jennie used to date when they were in high school. Taehyung currently likes Jennie, but I caught Jennie giving Jungkook more attention than she was Taehyung. Jungkook then ran off and got drunk so that he would have the “confidence” to do something so horrible to Taehyung.”

My voice shook as I paused and violently closed my eyes and shook my head, “I got so mad because he told me he wanted to not just flirt with her despite promising not to, he wanted to have sex with her.”

“Wow,” Chaeyoung sighed and shook her head while scrunching up her nose.

“It infuriated me, upset me even, that he even said that. I poured a water bottle on his head and ran off, but he followed me to try and, I don’t know, I guess apologize? I told him that I wanted him to move out, but he said that he didn’t want to. I don’t understand why…”

Chaeyoung stayed quiet as I looked over at her. It was weird that she wasn’t ranting about him to help me feel better… It made me worry that something had happened to her to make her upset as well.

“This is probably a really bad time to tell you this,” Chaeyoung swallowed and stared at the ground, probably because she was afraid of how I was about to react to her news.

“But I talked to Yoongi, as you already kinda know,” she took a deep breath, “I couldn’t actually talk about it until you ran off just now, but I just want you to know that Yoongi and Jimin now know the truth that you and Jungkook never dated.”

“Okay,” I shrugged and tried to laugh off my nerves, “You were starting to scare me there!”

“I’m not done,” she glanced up at me as I felt my muscles stiffen up at her look, “I talked to Yoongi about it, and keep in mind that Hoseok was also hearing this conversation. I wanted to talk to Yoongi without Hoseok there, but Yoongi insisted that Hoseok hear what he had to say as well.”

“Well? Just tell me already,” I felt my nerves cause my stomach to churn uncomfortably, “You’re killing me.”

“Yoongi doesn’t like you like that,” she said bluntly, but I could tell she was only just starting, “He told me that he did like you at one point, and he was even interested on asking you out on a date before Jungkook showed up in your life. But… once he met Jungkook and saw the two of you together, he decided he didn’t want to make an enemy of you if the two of you didn’t work out.”

She swallowed and looked up at me to see my unchanging expressions. I didn’t even know what to begin thinking learning all this, and she didn’t seem to be done talking.

“When I told him and Jimin that you and Jungkook weren’t actually ex’s, Yoongi looked at Hoseok and told him to stay away from you. At first I thought he was implying that he actually did want to ask you out and didn’t want Hoseok as competition… But when Hoseok asked his reasoning for saying that…”

I leaned in closer to coax Chaeyoung to finish. She looked incredibly uncomfortable while trying to think of how to word her next information.

“But instead, he explained that you already have feelings for Jungkook. He told Hoseok that he’d be wasting his time on you because you already belong to Jungkook.”

“What?” I yelled as my eyes went from nervous to enraged. Yoongi told the guy I was supposed to be having a date with that I belong to another man?

“Wait! He said that the reason he felt that way was because you ditched the two of them to run off with drunk Jungkook.” Chaeyoung continued as I shook my head and rushed out of the hallway. I spotted Hoseok and Yoongi talking with Jimin as my eyes narrowed. I was ready to kill that tiny excuse of a man!

Chaeyoung grabbed my arm to stop me from storming up to them, but nothing was stopping me. Jungkook was ruining my life and I’m sick of it!

I slowed down my pace when I say that I attracted the attention of Yoongi and Jimin. Hoseok soon turned around and caught sight of me as I felt my throat almost close up on me. I didn’t realize that I still looked like I had been crying until all three of them gave me a look of worry.

“I ran off with Jungkook because I love my brother and didn’t want Jungkook to hurt him again,” I spat out as I realized how out of breath I felt. It felt like Jungkook had punched me in the gut as I tried to defend myself.

“Jungkook’s still hung up on Jennie, and he was about to waltz on over here and sweep her away from him and embarrass him. If I hadn’t stopped him then no one would have.” My hands were shaking as Yoongi stood up and walked up to me with a sorry look on his face.

“I don’t understand why you had to say that,” I shook my head at Yoongi as he continued walking up to me.

“Ari, everyone’s looking,” Yoongi softly spoke as I felt frustration build up in my chest, “can we do this outside?”

“No,” I shook my head as Yoongi sighed and grabbed my arm. I didn’t try to protest as Chaeyoung and Hoseok both watched us walk out of the building.

“I don’t understand, Yoongi,” I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down a little bit. I was being pathetic enough, and I did not want to start bawling in front of him.

“I’m sorry, Ari. I crossed a line, I know,” he took a deep breath and grabbed my hand to try and calm me down, “I shouldn’t have said that to Hoseok. It was really selfish of me.”

“Well apologies can’t fix all your problems,” I sniffed as I looked away from him. “I really thought that you liked me at least a little bit… I just…”

Yoongi gave me an apologetic look, “I didn’t want Chaeyoung to say all of that to you…”

“Well she did,” I swallowed and dared myself to look into his eyes, “Jungkook and I have never been together and there are no underlying feelings there. Does me saying that change anything?”

Yoongi didn’t break my stare as his hand tightened around mine. “Let’s try something.”

I looked at him with an expectant look as I waited for him to continue. Did he want to at least try a relationship with me?

I jumped when Yoongi leaned forward, and without warning, his lips were pressed to mine. I felt my nerves spike as I realized that Yoongi swept in and stole my first kiss with no warning.

The feeling was certainly weird and foreign, and my mind didn’t know what to think. He didn’t kiss me for long as I felt him start to pull away from me. I took a deep breath to catch all the breath that he had just knocked out of me.

“Ari,” he whispered as he looked down instead of at me, “I want you to tell me, did you feel anything from that?”

I swallowed and slowly started realizing what he was doing. I wasn’t surprised that this was what his plan was, but I was surprised that he was making me realize that he was right.

“It just felt like you pressed your lips to mine,” I admitted as a sad smile appeared on his face.

“See? We’re just not… meant for each other. I do love you, but you’re like my best friend… not my girlfriend.” Yoongi explained as I just nodded in agreement. He was right. I was so blinded by the idea of having a boyfriend that I was trying to push something that just wasn’t meant to be.

“You’re right,” I nodded and swallowed as I looked behind Yoongi. I noticed Chaeyoung and Jimin looking out one of the doors at us as I sighed and rolled my eyes. Yoongi turned around to spot them as well, and we both laughed.

“Let’s get back inside. I’ll talk to Hoseok for you, okay?” he reassured as I smiled and nodded. It felt good that he was going to fix the mistake that he made, but my mind started to wander to the thoughts that had been bothering me in the dark and forgotten corners of my mind.

If Yoongi was right about me and him, then…

No. He was definitely wrong about Jungkook and I. Definitely.

::

A/N: Having to break the chapter here was so hard for me because I wanted to post the whole bowling alley section at once... It kills me to make you guys wait, but if I don’t allow myself more time to write more content, I’ll have nothing to post!! Dx

⇨ Masterlist ⇦

[bittersweetstorm]

The American (well, probably Texan) public education system nearly killed my love of reading as a child/teen back in the 2000's.

In elementary school and junior high, we had to gain AR points by reading AR books and then taking quizzes. Every six weeks, you had to gain a certain amount of points. Longer books were worth more but the quizzes were harder. I went to a tiny school so we didn't have the biggest library. Once I read all of the books that interested me that counted towards AR, I got stuck reading boring books just to gain points. I was an avid reader, so the teachers created a system that meant that avid readers were expected to gain more points than those who struggled with reading. It's great when you have things to read, but then it's exhausting and frustrating reading things that don't interest you just so you don't fail. There were so many books that looked interesting but I didn't have time to read them because they weren't part of the AR system.

In high school I took pre-AP and AP English courses. All we ever read were classics. Don't get me wrong, classics can be great, but most of the ones the curriculum required didn't catch my interest. Once again, I had to read books I didn't care about. If we ever read anything written after 1900, it was, once again, something that didn't interest me. We rarely got any variety and we definitely never read anything current. No fantasy. No adventure. No sci-fi. No romance. I don't even like romance but I would have killed for it for the sake of having something different to read. We also had to annotate our books for a grade and I found annotating distracting and pointless. I also hate writing in books. I'm a fast reader, but having to annotate slowed me down significantly.

Before AR tests and assigned reading, I was an avid reader. My parents read to me as a small child. I was given a library card at the earliest opportunity. I used to practically live in the library in the summers. My parents always took me to bookstores and encouraged reading.

Once school put pressure on me, I stopped having time to just read for myself. I couldn't explore genres or different authors. I reached a point where I only read for school and it was very depressing. I hardly even got to explore the YA section because I was stuck reading classics.

Once I graduated and got to college, I found my love of reading again. I read all of Harry Potter in less than 2 weeks. I started going to the bookstore and buying random books from different sections. I started reading and collecting manga, something I had never seen before. I got to enjoy YA books for once. Now that I'm approaching 30, I read whatever I want. I married a man who loves reading as well, and we're building quite the collection of books. We also utilize the public library system as much as we can. It's so wonderful to be able to read and escape from reality a bit and explore different worlds. And to think that school nearly killed that for me. It made reading a chore instead of a fun experience. I'm not bitter...