#I’ve accepted that she’s British and gone full send

[pebblezone]

Girlypop…2‼️‼️‼️

[theoddcatlady]

Nicky

It happened ten years ago. I was only eight years old. I woke up that morning to the smell of frying eggs and bacon.

Stumbling down the hallway, I was greeted by the sight of a dark haired woman at the stove, humming some friendly tune as she filled a cup to the near brim with orange juice. She turned to me and I nearly jumped out of my skin. In a sense she was pretty, but she had a vicious scar running down the left side of her face.

“Andy! You’re up!” She beamed as she picked up the plate stacked with a delicious smelling breakfast. “I had to run to the store, but I hope you like breakfast!”

Too shocked to say anything else, I replied, “I don’t have breakfast. Where’s my mom?”

The woman laughed and set the plate on the table, now cleared off of shredded bill envelopes and clutter. “She’s gone, so I’m here to make sure you’re all right. You can call me Aunt Nicole, or Nicky, whatever you prefer, I don’t mind! And while I’m here, you have breakfast!” She said in a chipper tone.

Feeling like this all might be a dream, I sat down at the table and took a bite of bacon. It was perfectly crisp, not burnt as it would’ve been if my mom had cooked it. She was always so tired, I normally had to fetch my dinner off the stove myself.

“Is she going to be back soon? My mom?” I asked after I swallowed, it was impolite to talk with your mouth full.

Nicky shrugged. “She didn’t say. Clean your plate, then you can show me your favorite cartoons, okay? Only until ten though- that’s when we’re going to the zoo!” She laughed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

The zoo? I remembered my mom telling me that our zoo trip wouldn’t happen this year, she was just too busy with work, but if Nicky was going to take me… I suppose it wouldn’t be too bad to let her stay, I figured, as I chowed down on breakfast.

Maybe you think I was a dumb kid, and I’ll understand that. Maybe I was. But you have to understand, my mom was a single parent working as many shifts as she could pick up. It wasn’t uncommon for her to send a babysitter my way when she couldn’t get home in time, although typically they were younger teens that spent all their time on the phone and maybe threw a frozen pizza in the oven for dinner.

Nicky was different in every way for the week she took care of me.

The house was cleaned top to bottom, I helped in the bathroom while Nicky handled mom’s bedroom. Every night meals were freshly cooked and done to perfection. I remember on Tuesday we had a pizza that she made from scratch. I watched her toss the dough in the air like a real chef and asked how she did that.

“I learned from a real chef,” Nicky winked and tossed the dough again, “in Italy.”

“Have you traveled a lot?” Nicky did have a slight accent, I believe it was British.

She nodded as she set the dough down onto the pan and started adding the toppings. “All over the world. Would you believe that I’ve met the queen?” She winked and I realized she was joking.

“No.”

“Good. You’re a smart kid, Andy. Don’t just believe things people tell you.” Nicky bit her bottom lip as she cracked open the oven to test the heat. “I never believe what the oven tells me. But this time it’s about right for the perfect pizza.”

It was the perfect pizza too.

Nicky was almost too good of a babysitter. It was like she wanted to be my mom. To be honest, I think she did want to be. She was… bizarre, in small ways. Ways I didn’t think about until much later. She was never home at night, and she always did her laundry in the morning, I could hear the machine banging around when I woke up. Whenever we went out, she slathered her arms and face in sunscreen, almost a ridiculous amount. I asked her about it once.

“I just have delicate skin.”

That was all she’d say about it before she’d change the subject. It was late summer so I accepted the excuse. She made sure I had sunscreen on at all times as well, but even if she was popping out to check the mailbox she’d grab the tube and start slathering it on. I found over a dozen bottles in the towel cabinet, stashed with the ibuprofen and cough medicine.

Nicky loved to read, we went to the library twice when she was there and would stock up on all sorts of books. Typically horror, but she made sure I picked out at least two books for myself the second time we went. I chose two books of the Boxcar Kids series, my mom had given me a few of her old ones and I couldn’t put them down. I still have those books, after everything went down I just never returned them.

It was one of the best weeks of my life, but every night I asked the same thing when Nicky tucked me into bed.

“Did you hear from mom yet?”

Every night, she’d just kiss my forehead and tell me to chase the dream butterflies. I never knew what she meant by that, but I always slept soundly.

The last night I woke up to quiet sobbing. I glanced at my alarm clock, the numbers 1:32 blared back in bright red. I slipped out of bed and into the hall, following the sound to my mother’s bedroom.

Nicky was curled up on my mother’s perfectly made bed, a photo album open next to her. I slowly walked up to Nicky and set a hand on her shoulder. “You should chase the dream butterflies too, Nicky,” I said. Nicky flinched and sat up. The room was dark but I could tell her mouth was covered in… something. I turned on the lamp.

Her mouth was soaked in bright red, along with her hands and shirt. Blood.

“Oh… Andy.” Her voice cracked as she picked me up and set me on the bed next to her, wrapping her arms around me. “I’m something horrible. I’ve done horrible things.”

I remained still in her arms, my eyes flicking open to the page in the album. It was a picture of the day I was born and my birth certificate, my mother proudly showed it to me every birthday and told me how she went through twelve hours of labor before I came into the world. And she’d go through those twelve hours again if she had to, she loved me so much. I might’ve not quite understood what ‘labor’ was about, but I knew she loved me very much.

“… Are you hurt?” I asked, reaching up to brush some of the blood of her mouth.

Nicky shook her head. “No, sweetheart. This isn’t my…” She trailed off and shook, shaking her head. “I thought… maybe, just maybe, I could make things better by taking care of you. I think I’m just making them worse. So much worse. Andy, I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what?” I asked.

“… Do you forgive me for the horrible things I’ve done to you?”

I frowned. “What horrible things?” I asked.

“The worst thing possible…. No, it’s not fair,” Nicky sighed and released me from her hold, “It’s not fair to ask you to forgive me.” She got up. “I have to leave, Andy… can I do anything else for you?”

I had one more question.

“Why do you have a scar, Nicky?”

Nicky reached up and brushed the side of her face. “… Horrible things happened to me too, Andy. The worst things. I suppose that’s why I can only do horrible things too.” She took the quilt and tucked it over me, smiling softly. “Go to sleep now, Andy, and chase those butterflies to the end of the world and back.”

I woke up the next morning to a police officer shaking my shoulder.

“Hey… Holy shit- guys, the kid’s here!”

Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I sat up and slipped out of bed. The police officer stumbled for words for a moment, whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. “Andy? Are you okay?” He asked.

I looked around. “… Where’s Nicky?” I asked.

“We’ll find Nicky. We need to get you to the hospital.”

I think I baffled all the doctors and police with my case. When they broke into the apartment to find me, they expected to find this half starved kid, scared out of his wits and desperate to find his mother. But instead they found me dressed and clean, with the house taken care of and with a full stomach.

I think you can guess by now that my mother was dead. I was taken in by my dad, who had no idea I even existed, but he did okay with that. He’d remarried after he and my mom split and I had three half-siblings that I didn’t know existed. It was fun being the big brother and my stepmom Mika was super sweet.

She wasn’t my mom though. And she wasn’t Nicky.

I had to pry the rest of the story out of my dad when I was older. The reason there wasn’t police hammering down my door sooner was that my mom was a Jane Doe in the morgue. She’d been found practically shredded to pieces. The cause of death was bleeding out from an artery in her neck. Her body had been discovered a few blocks from her work, all forms of ID was missing, including her wallet.

My mom always had a picture of me and her in there. And they found that wallet, with bloody fingerprints, in my mom’s nightstand. Right next to where I was sleeping.

My dad still wonders why my mother’s murderer returned to her house only to care for her son, but I don’t need to wonder. I know.

I know this is a long shot, Nicky, but I remember you liked horror so maybe you’ll find this story. I know you killed my mom.

But I forgive you.

[gucciwins]

Frosty the Snowman

Harry and Y/N love the holiday season but Harry takes the teasing a bit to far and well Y/N decides to give it right back. 

Word Count: 5126

A/N: hello! thank you so much to @goldenbluesuit for organizing this wonderful christmas fic challenge. thank you for allowing me to participate, kate. i’m so happy i got to be a part of it. merry christmas and happy holidays to you all. sending you all a big hug and lots of love. 

_____

Christmas has never been much of importance in your life.

That was until you began dating Harry.

 Harry and his family loved celebrating in particular because Harry was gone for so many months of the year. They loved giving gifts, and Harry loved spoiling his family. He was a true family man who loved to be doted on by his mother and teased relentlessly by his older sister. His smile never leaves his face when he's with them.  

Ever since Harry found out how you spent the holidays alone drinking wine and hot chocolate on and off and binging all the best holiday movies. He declared that was not acceptable and that furthermore and until the end of time you would be spending it with him and his family. 

The first year was something out of a storybook, a house full of kids and adults, Christmas music all day, and a big festive dinner. Gifts passed around, photos being taken to be added to the end of year scrapbooks. Lots of stories being told; honestly, it overwhelmed you. 

Anne found you outside wrapped up in Harry's coat that you swiped before slipping out unseen. She stood next to you, overlooking her garden with you. "My son loves you; he's brought you here not to overwhelm you but to let you know that you have a family here, and you always will." You let your tears run free, feeling comforted, and loved. "I've never seen him shine as bright as he does when he's with you and when he's speaking of you. We all want you here as much as he does." Anne then pulled you into a long hug, the motherly hug you never got growing up.  Reminded you not to stay out too long. 

Three Christmases later, you now take part in family traditions, helping Anne cook dinner and staying in sweats and playing family games all of Boxing Day. 

It's what makes your move to London with your boyfriend of four years easy. Knowing they want you there, knowing that the love Harry has for you won't fade, you've gone through many hurdles together, and it only strengthened your bond to one another. 

Four years together, and you're still learning new things about each other, like Harry having to have coffee first thing in the morning, bread was a must-have always in the house, and that he owned more mugs than he needed. He picked up that you adored your shoes, meaning you wouldn't throw them out until they were ripped and beat up enough for a new pair. Also learned that you rather eat lots of fruit during the day than making food in the kitchen because it meant more dishes that would be needed to wash. You loved doing the laundry, Harry knew it was to steal his shirts, but he didn't mind. He always knew where to find them. 

The one thing that really surprised him was your love for Christmas music; you knew every song, maybe couldn't remember the name, but you would be able to sing it. It never failed to make him smile; you even knew ‘Feliz Navidad’ and didn't butcher it as he did. 

Your love for Christmas music was signified because you never celebrated the holiday, and music was easy to access. It was what you immersed yourself in. 

This is why Harry is confused when he hears you begin to sing ‘Frosty the Snowman’ under your breath, then switching to a soft hum in the tune of the song as you start to place your freshly washed sweats in their drawers. 

Harry was not sure why you did that; you loved singing out loud. You had a decent voice, as you liked to say, but why switch. 

You're clueless to Harry watching you, deep in thought, trying his best to analyze you. 

Then Harry gasps; it all clicks, making sense. 

You raise your head to look at him, shutting the drawer with your hip. "What?"

"You don't know the lyrics." Harry accuses. 

"To what?" You step towards the bed, wanting to finish the rest of this to finally go down and each lunch. 

"Frosty the Snowman."

"I do." You defend.

Harry smirks, crossing his arms. "Prove it."

"No." 

"Why not?"

You frown before taking a deep breath and begin to hum the song correctly to Harry. 

"Okay, you know the tune, now the lyrics." He gestures for you to go on.

"Frosty the snowman..." Your voice dies down, you rake your brain for the correct lyrics, sending a smaller prayer you're right. "had a shiny nose?" 

"Oh, this is golden, love." He's laughing now. It's filling up the room. 

"Harry," You whine. 

"You call yourself the Christmas Queen." Harry is holding his stomach, his laughter getting to be too much. "Next, you're going to tell me you don't know the lyrics to 'All I Want For Christmas Is You.'"

"How dare you, that came out in our birth year." You're over making fun of you. 

"Okay fine, but really so many years, and you never learned. You said you love all Christmas music, and well, that's a classic, dove."  

You run a hand through your hair, your fingers getting caught on the tips for not brushing it out. "I never actually got to make a snowman, so I never listened to the lyrics."

"Are you secretly a Grinch as well?" Harry teases.

You throw a balled-up shirt of his and hit him square in the face; it quiets him down. "Conversation over." 

You walk out of the room, leaving him alone, to his chuckling. 

_____

In your home, something was always baking. 

It was either Harry trying to better his last bread or you baking a new vegan cake that Gemma sent you. 

It's something you both loved to do.

For you, though, it was your own form of meditation. No matter the time of day, if you felt your head spinning, you'd just head to the kitchen and begin to take out ingredients letting that be your only focus. The Great British Baking Show also brings a lot of comfort to you, Harry happily laying his head on your lap, your hand running through his hair as you just let the show play on and on. 

Now, you're in the kitchen for a whole other reason; you're baking gingerbread cookies, from snowflakes to snowman and even little reindeer. Harry has invited friends over for a fun holiday decorating party. It sounded like a good idea until he left you to do it all yourself as he ran errands that he pushed off for a week. 

Thankfully, there were no distractions during the time it took you to make one hundred cookies because there would be casualties during the decorating. Just as you were putting the last dozen on the cooling rack, does your phone ring causing it to cut off Paul McCartney's singing of 'Wonderful Christmastime.'

As you pick it up to answer, you check the caller id and see that it's Gemma calling. 

Gemma forgoes a greeting and goes straight to the reason for her call. 

"You don't know 'Frosty the Snowman!'" She exclaims more than asks. 

"I'm going to kill him." You groan into the phone. 

Gemma laughs, "No, no, please don't. Mum likes you too much to see you behind bars."

"Gem, he's been relentless." Thinking back to the past few days and how he'd randomly come up to you and just begin to sing the lyrics to you, not shutting up until you tickled him too much to continue. "Please don't let it come up later." 

"I've got you," Gemma assures you. 

"Thank you."

"As long," Gemma begins, but you groan jokingly into the phone. 

"Go on," You sigh, knowing this is how the eldest Styles sibling acts.  

"As long as you tell me what Harry bought mum for Christmas."

"Alright, fair." Very well, Harry would most likely spoil this himself the closer the holiday arrives. 

Just as you were about to spoil Harry's gift, he walks through the kitchen, saved by the devil himself. "I'll tell you later when you get here." You tell Gemma, smiling at Harry as you bid his sister goodbye.  

"Who was it, love?" Harry asks, kissing you lightly on your lips, being able to taste the gingerbread on your lips that makes him beeline to the cooled cookies. 

"Gems, a huge birdie told her I don't know the lyrics to a popular song." You lean against the counter, smiling as he has a cookie in hand already; he is also a big reason you made so many. 

"Hey," He says, offended, a cookie half shoved in his mouth. "I'm not huge." 

"Never said it was you, hun." You smirk. "Thanks for fessing up."

He pouts, not liking that you outsmarted him. 

"Might want to watch the cookies." You pinch his love handles, snatching what was left of the cookie from his hand and heading upstairs. 

Harry watches you walk away, upset that you stole his cookie; also, he knows you love his winter gains. 

_____

You and Harry are up fairly early, he likes to go on a run around the neighborhood, but you like going to the park. This morning you skipped your run because Harry was meeting up with a friend for breakfast. 

Sure, you got up at your usual time at 7am and began to prepare yourself breakfast. You usually drank coffee with Harry and seeing as he wasn't here, you decided to skip it, instead going straight to the fridge to get the fruits and orange juice to make a smoothie. Something simple, not wanting to clean much after. 

As you finally settled on the couch, getting ready to read Educated by Tara Westover, a book Gemma recommended to her then gifted to her. Tara's memoir is her story of how she comes from a Mormon background and recounts how she educated herself to go to college and learn about the world. It's a Friday, and what better way to spend it lost in a book. 

You had just flipped it open when your phone rang, alerting you to a message. As much as you didn't want to check because you were finally in a comfortable position, you knew it could easily be Harry checking in who gets worried about not getting a reply even five minutes after. He's a worrier at heart. 

As you retrieve it and settle yourself back down, not at all comfortable anymore, you see it's a message from Iz. She was the first friend you made on your own that Harry didn't introduce you to. Iz saw you at a coffee shop you began to frequent and complimented your tote bag that had wildflowers embroidered on it. You thanked her and shared you made it. Iz was shocked, just throwing compliment after compliment. You offered to make her one, but she said you had better teach her instead. Thus, a friendship began. 

Her message read: 

Radio 1 Breakfast Show. Listen in! 

It was definitely a strange message coming from Iz, but you did as told. 

Greg James was saying goodbye to his special guest, no idea who it was. "Before he signs off, he's going to play you one of his favorite Christmas songs," Greg says, then silences, allowing his guest a moment before speaking. 

"This week's Christmas song is in honor of my girlfriend who loves singing Frosty the Snowman... without knowing the lyrics. Happy Holidays."  

Your jaw drops. 

That your boyfriend's voice. You are the girlfriend. 

He went on record. 

Harry really went on live radio to tell thousands that you don't know the lyrics to a Christmas classic. 

You want to laugh because you never expected this from him and are annoyed that something personal now the whole world will know by the end of the day. 

You can't wait until he arrives home.

"Harry Edward Styles!" You yell as you hear Harry open the front door. 

He looks sheepish. "Yes, my darling angel."

"You told me you were having breakfast with Greg James, not that you were going to be on the Breakfast show."

"I took muffins, and they provided coffee, therefore, breakfast." Harry defends

"You exposed me to all of the UK to not knowing 'Frosty the Snowman.'"

"No one knows you're my girlfriend." Harry tries to brush it off.

"We've been dating four years; I'm not that much of a secret. Anne posts me on her story from time to time, and your friends follow my Instagram, fuck; you've introduced me to Greg." You're not angry, more annoyed than anything because he won't let this go.

"It's just to give everyone a good laugh; no one is going to hold it against you." 

"No, just my boyfriend and everyone who listens to the Breakfast Show." You cross your arms before storming up the stairs away from Harry. 

"Love? You're not actually mad, right?" Harry asks, pushing the bedroom door open. 

"You even got Iz on it!" Your turn around with a pout on your face. 

Harry laughs. "I honestly thought she wouldn't go through with it."

"Well, I see where her loyalty lies." 

Harry steps close and pulls you into his chest. You sigh, wrapping your arms around him. He knows how much you love his hugs.

"I promise this is the last I mention of it." 

You frown into his chest, not at all believing him. Harry pats your bum, and you take that as the queue to look up at him. He's smiling down at you, leaning in to give you a quick peck. "I promise." 

"Okay, then." You lean in and kiss him, firmer this time and much longer. Harry sneaks his tongue in, instantly getting a moan out of you. 

"I know how you can make it up to me." You gasp, pulling away, 

Harry raises an eyebrow at you. "Do tell." 

A smirk on both your faces as you guide him to the bed, very much hungry for something that wasn't breakfast. 

_____

Harry has the Christmas playlist running; it's a Sunday, meaning they spend it at home doing absolutely nothing. To be truthful, they rolled out of bed past ten and still have their pj's on. Not at all bothering to change, why waste more clothes if no one will see them like this in the comfort of their own home.

You cooked grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and now are playing a game of scrabble.

Harry puts down the word 'light,' then reaching his hand into the black pouch to pick five letters to have seven once again. You are looking back and forth between the board and your letters, thinking of the best place to place your word. 

"I've got a question," Harry says, looking at you, wanting all your attention as well. 

"What is it?" You're focused on your letters. Rearranging them, not putting down the 'q' in your hand. It's currently useless but will eventually give you a word to win the game. Not that you both ever keep points, oh no, that stopped after you beat harry 120 to 66, and he flipped the board, causing letters to fly everyone. You still claim that there are missing letters. 

"Frosty is a cute name."

"Reminds me of that Wendy's dessert. I'm still not sure what made it so good." You say, maybe you should get up and eat some. Harry did just pick up new flavors that he had been wanting to try something about them being richer in flavor. 

"You're getting off track." 

"Sorry, Frosty is cute for what?" You don't let him answer before you're speaking again. "A dog, did you get a dog?" You pause, looking up at him, "a cat, did Anne find a stray and wants to give them to us?" You wait, but Harry is about to crush all your excitement. 

"None of that." He shakes his head at you, and disappointment fills you immediately. 

"Well, can this conversation end then? I'm disappointed." 

"Darling," Harry chastises you for not letting him go on.

"Go on then, mate." You gesture him to continue. Shifting your attention away from the game in front of you.

Harry frowns, his eyebrows pinching together in the sweet way that makes you want to rub them out until he's relaxed. "Why'd you call me, mate?"

"Oh, I've called you this before." You brush off Harry's reactions; he's always dramatic. 

"I'm not your friend." He states.

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head and really look at Harry. "Well, of course, you are boyfriend," You emphasize, dragging out the word. "You're my best friend." 

"You can't say boyfriend anymore. I'm your fiancé now." Harry states proudly, but you feel a little dumbfounded, not knowing why he is saying that.

Your eyes widen when you look down at your left hand, and no ring rests on your left ring finger.

"Fuck, I missed your proposal, and the ring got lost." You pout, trying your best to stop the smirk from coming out.  

"Darling, I'm sorry." Harry quickly apologizes. "I'm still your boyfriend, but I will be proposing soon." He promises. "Shit, you were supposed to not even know. I really am bad at hiding things."

"Fuck, you really are." You laugh, "but boyfriend sounds cute. Can't I still say boyfriend when you do?" 

"Doesn't fiancé sound nicer?" Harry tries. 

You shrug. "Not as fun, husband is nice."

"You're rejecting my future proposal, then." Harry is teasing, and you can tell by the sparkle in his forest eyes. 

"Of course not, you dummy. You can be my fiancé and my boyfriend." You tell him like it was the most obvious answer.

"Seems like a lot of work."

"Rude." You stick your tongue at him. 

"Right, love, well try to remember I'm your husband once we're married, no more boyfriend."

"I will, hubby. You're going to be my hubby."

You both go silent.

You burst out laughing, "That's awful, I hate it."

Harry chuckles, nodding his head. "Yeah, I do as well."

"This is why I'm the brains in the relationship." 

"Right," Harry rolls his eyes at you, not at all agreeing.

"Uh, darling, I went to uni and got two degrees while you only finished school at sixteen before going off to steal millions of hearts around the world." 

"Including yours." He teases.

"I was always more a Zayn girl." You correct him.

Harry throws his arms up, "Can never let me win, can you?" 

"Nope"

"We're off-topic." Harry realizing how far they strayed from their starting point. 

"Where did we start?"

"Frosty." 

You sit back, resting against the couch; you take him in and smile at how cuddly he looks in the purple robe that he stopped letting you use. "Well, go on."

"Seeing as-" He pauses, hearing the familiar opening notes to the song he was thinking of. 'Frosty, the Snowman' is now his favorite song. "Perfectly timed, as you don't know the lyrics to Frosty the snowman."

"Gosh, you're never going to let this go," You grumble. 

"Nope. I figured we will have a little fun with this."

"More fun than the breakfast show." 

He gives you a pointed look.

You let out a long sigh, "Let's hear it." 

"You learn all the lyrics and sing it for me, and I'll let you get us a dog or cat." Harry's grinning at his idea, knowing you'll agree without a fight. 

"Can we go to the shelter?" You look like a kid on Christmas morning who had just received their presents from Santa, and in a way, you have.

"Yes, we can. Only if you can learn the entire song." Harry tells you again, wanting to emphasize the singing.

"Done deal." 

"Great, I'm giving you a week." 

You smile wide, nodding, looking, finally focusing back down at your words and the ones Harry has placed. You put down the word 'queen,' and this wins you the non-official game. Harry looks down at his poorly hidden score sheet and curses under his breath. 

"I win." 

Safe to say you lost more letters that day.

_____

It's been a week, and Harry is patiently waiting on their bed as you get ready in your shared closet. Your shared closet is large and mainly holds all of Harry's clothing. You definitely have a nice share of clothes filled with gifts from friends as well as Harry's friends and your treasured thrifted pieces. You smile at yourself in the full-length mirror. 

Harry really can't begin to imagine what you have in store for him. 

The speaker is set out and ready, and all that is needed is for you to make your entrance.

You shake out your hands in hopes of ridding yourself of the nerves. You look yourself over one last time before taking a deep breath and pushing the door open. 

"Close your eyes." You call out. 

Harry rolls his eyes but does as he is told.

You walk over to the speaker and press play, letting the music fill the room, making your way to stand in front of Harry, who slowly opens his eyes.

He gasps; he feels himself start to get hard. His eyes can't seem to take everything in fast enough. You smirk, loving the reaction you got out of him. It gives you the extra boost of confidence you were needing. 

You stand there, hand on your hip in a sexy snowman outfit to go with the performance you are about to give.

The dress, if you can consider it with how short it is, has three black buttons in the center. The material hugs your chest nicely, giving Harry a nice view of your breasts that are close to popping out. The dress hugs your waist and begins to flow out right past your butt. You wore your favorite black heels that Harry sometimes begs you not to take off. You had on a plaid scarf and a black hat that matched it perfectly. 

You were the human version of the snowman except for a more rated r version.

Harry is sitting his mouth wide open at a loss for words. You blow him a kiss before letting the song lyrics flow out of you.

Frosty the snowman

Was a jolly happy soul

With a corncob pipe and a button nose

And two eyes made out of coal

You sway your hips side to side, singing, enjoying the ravenous stare he was giving you. You throw the hat, letting it fall at his feet, but not even that breaks the gaze he has on you, not wanting to miss a single movement of yours. 

Frosty the snowman is a fairy tale they say

He was made of snow

But the children know

How he came to life one day

You take a few steps forward, but never enough to allow him to touch you, and he's craving it; you know he is. His hands are gripping his thighs, his knuckles turning whiter by the seconds. 

He still hasn't said a word. You have him mesmerized. 

You sing the lyrics proudly, knowing you practiced all week for this moment. The moment Harry will never forget all the teasing he had been doing, always forgetting you win these battles. 

There must have been some magic in that

Old silk hat they found

For when they placed it on his head

He began to dance around

"Baby," Harry breathes out, putting a hand out to touch you, but you take a step back before he can do so. 

You smirk, shaking your head no at him. You were having a lot more fun than you expected. 

You bend over, slipping off your heels, never breaking eye contact with Harry; he could very easily see up the dress that you had nothing underneath. His green eyes turned dark, and you swore your heart stopped, and you were sure he was about to attack. You were the prey, taunting him until he had enough, but surprisingly enough, he took a deep breath, and his composure was back well, just a bit of it.  

O Frosty the snowman

Was alive as he could be

And the children say he could laugh and play

Just the same as you and me

You stopped right in front of him. Harry's eyes trained on your red lips, hanging out to every word you were singing. You reached a hand back and began to unzip the dress. The grin on your face excited for the next reaction you were about to receive. 

Once you reached the bottom of your back, the dress fell to the floor. Harry let out a loud gasp. Your breasts on display, the small owl tattoo on your hip staring at him, he could see how wet you were, and all he wanted was his head between your thighs as you screamed his name. 

You were a dream. You missed Harry's touch. It was the reason you stepped close enough for him to finally pull you in. 

He led them down the streets of town

Right to the traffic cop

And he only paused a moment when

He heard them holler "Stop!"

Harry has no expression on his face as he sits you on his lap. He lets his head fall into your next, feeling how wet you are through his thin sweats. You move to stand up, but he grips your hips tightly, thrusting his hips against yours, searching for some kind of relief or a reaction from you because you still haven't stopped singing. 

"Baby, stop singing." His hand is cradling your cheek as his lust-filled eyes stare at you. 

You shake your head, not letting him distract you. The only piece of clothing left was the scarf, and Harry lets out a growl before ripping your scarf off your neck, throwing it off to the side.

Now you truly sit there naked in his lap, and you feel all the control you have over him. The song is coming to an end, meaning you've got to remove yourself from your favorite place to sit but knowing you'll be back there soon enough. 

Frosty the snowman

Had to hurry on his way

But he waved goodbye, saying

"Don't you cry I'll be back again someday"

You sing the final lyrics in his ear before walking away to turn off the speaker, an extra sway to your hips, knowing Harry is very well still watching your every move. You stand a delighted look on your face as you wait for his praise. 

"Those were the longest two minutes of my life," Harry says; he puts a hand over his heart, feeling like it might just burst out. "I'm never going to be able to listen to this song in public or around anyone that isn't you." 

You smirk, thrilled to hear that.

"What did I do to end up with someone as beautiful and perfect as you in my life." He confesses. 

"Probably stopped a war in a past life." You throw out jokingly. 

Harry puckers his lips and makes grabby hands at you. "Kissy, please?"

And who are you to say no? He spreads his legs, letting you step in between. You slip your fingers into his hair, pulling back with enough force to have him let out a moan. You lean down and connect your lips in a hot kiss, one that has Harry gripping you tightly wherever he can get his hands on. You moan as he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you happily give up the control to him. 

You pull back and rest a hand on his chest, preventing him from pulling you back for you. You wipe your thumb over his bottom lip that now has some of your red lipstick. "Seems like I won, sweets."

"I feel like the real winner here," Harry tells you cheekily, sneaking a kiss to both your boobs. You giggle, not at all surprised by his action. 

"Well," You fiddle with the collar of his shirt. "Why don't you show me how winners celebrate?" 

"With pleasure." Harry groans standing up quickly and pushing you back against the best. He strips as fast as he can, not without a small stumble; you're sure to keep your giggle quiet, knowing very well how easily he gets embarrassed. 

He is quick to get on top and kisses you hard. His kisses are always soft, but it seems the teasing seemed to flip a switch, one that you will happily remember to look to turn on again on a later date. Tonight, you are ready for an endless night of pleasure and love. 

Harry connects their lips, ready for an endless night of pleasure and love. 

_____

Christmas cards were a lovely tradition. Harry insisted they started because he wanted to show off his beautiful girlfriend to his friends and family. He also liked them handwritten because it added a nice personal touch. Who were you to argue about it?

This year you were the one excited to send them out. 

It read: Merry Christmas from our beautiful family to yours

You and Harry sat in front of the fireplace, four stockings hanging behind you. Harry made you sit in his lap, wanting to show off your matching two-piece buffalo plaid pajamas. You both had the biggest grins on your face, eyes shining bright. Next to you, laying on top of a box that was wrapped with blue sloth wrapping paper, was a one-year-old Australian shepherd that had spent the better of six months in the shelter because the small pup was quiet who didn't do well with people, but that changed instantly the minute he met you. You decided on the name Frosty for him. Not only did Harry get you the dog of your dreams but a small kitten as well. You brought home Snow, a six-month white Birman kitten who was the rut of his siblings, and how could you just not bring him home with you with his big blue eyes staring at you begging to add to your family because he had lots of love to give. At least that's what you told Harry what the look he was giving you meant. The two siblings laid next to each other, both surprisingly staring right at the camera, making it their best Christmas photo yet. 

A photo can honestly speak a thousand words because one glance at this photo tells you how much love there is in that home and their relationship. 

Christmas was all about spreading joy and love, and well, Harry accomplished just that for you.

_____

thank you so much for reading! i honestly hoped you loved it and would love to hear what you thought so send me a message if you like. 

i love you!

[redinkrain]

Say something.

2.

True to her words, Abigael Jameson-Caine arrived on the porch of the Vera-Vaughn-Greenwood Manor an hour later in a dark cloud. Being here seemed so estranged and yet familiar and safe to the British Lady; an opposite feeling to the one she had when she had to go back to that awful place in Sussex she was once obliged to call home when she was a little girl.

She took a deep breath and exhaled, a tiny bit apprehensive of how things might turn out with the Charmed Ones of course but especially with Mel. Closing her eyes to regain composure, she knocked three times at the hardwood door. When the door opened, the sister behind it wasn’t the one Abigael expected. There, stood Perky Princess -apologies-Maggie with exhaustion marking her features like the half-demon half-witch never saw on the Charmed One before. But when Maggie registered who had knocked on their door, her eyes lightened up just long enough for Abigael to catch it.

“Abby? What are you doing here? Is there a situation? Please tell me it’s not about demons! We’ve got our hands full in it already. Is this about some sort of demon overthrowing another one?” the younger sister asked in a straw of panic.

The ex-Demon Overlord frowned at that, but then thought that Macy’s phone-call was an hour ago and that in this short period maybe she had not found the time to warn her sister.

“Good evening to you too Miss Babbler. I am here because I’ve got a call from your sister silently asking for my help. So breathe.” The older woman let out a little bit annoyed.

“Mel called you?” Maggie questioned suspiciously.

“Your other sister actually.” Abby corrected.

“What? Macy? Really?” the witch seemed skeptic.

And like magic Macy appeared behind her sister.

“Yes, I called her. It’s an emergency at this point.” The eldest sister said. “Hi Abby! Please, come in! Thanks for coming.”

“Well of course! Anything I can do to help, even though I am not quite sure of how I can provide any sort of assistance in this matter.” Neither if Mel wanted to see her.

“Look, like I said on the phone, Mel’s not herself since she had to send Eva back to her time. It’s like she put her pain in demons hunting and declare an open season on them. Not that we’re not okay with vanquishing evil demons, but she keeps going after them and her reckless behavior puts her in danger constantly. So can you please try to talk some sense into her?” Macy desperate tone had said enough.

“Are we serious about asking her that?” Maggie tried to murmur to her sister, but Abigael heard it anyway. She felt a bit hurt that after everything the witch still had doubts about her intentions regarding Mel.

Macy observed their guest a few seconds before saying loud enough for the two women with her to hear.

“We are serious about it Mags. Abby only has Mel’s best interests at heart.” She then look the British Lady with that same expression Waverly had just after saying to her you do love her, Abigael.

Quite honestly Abby never thought she would witness this kind of acceptance from one of Mel’s sisters, especially not Macy. At a lost of words, she didn’t said anything to confirm what the eldest sister just affirmed. She didn’t needed to anyway.

“Speaking of Melanie, where is she?” Abby asked.

“At the Command Center.” Maggie stated.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride!” Macy told Abigael while taking her jacket.

The drive to Safe Space went alright, there wasn’t any hurtful comment nor judgment from both parties. Macy parked the car and guided Abby to the entrance then gave her an encouraging smile before leaving.

The ex-Demon Overlord might always have been a step ahead in a lot of matters but here? Right now? With Mel? She was clueless. All of this went on so suddenly, she hadn’t had time to think in what kind of state of mind exactly the Charmed One was neither had she time to think of what she could possibly say to her. And who was she to try to talk some sense into her anyway?

She observed from the upper level, Mel was reading an old book from the armchair. Ever the perfect picture. She reminded her of that painting by Karen Whitworth except the witch looked devastated and her sobs didn’t helped. Abigael gathered her thoughts and went for the stairs.

Her steps were quiet as if she hoped that her friend wouldn’t even notice she was there. She stopped a few steps from the Vera sister who had her back to her and was crying in silence while wiping her tears as best as she could.

“Mel.” Abby simply pronounced with nothing but softness.

No response from the witch. The half-demon half-witch took the few remaining steps and reached the armchair where Mel sat. Carefully, like she was afraid of breaking a piece of glass, Abigael put her hand on one of Mel’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. The witch froze then turned around slowly. Her expression was soft but her eyes, oh God, they reflected so much pain, so much sadness to witness. But Abby didn’t missed the little spark that found its way in those desperate eyes.

“Abby.” Mel murmured eyes filled with tears kept at bay before adding with the same intonation “Are you really here?”

Her heart broke at those words.

“Would you dream of me?” She asked back with so much tenderness that she didn’t even recognized her own voice. In any other circumstances she would have said something entirely different, a snarky remarks, a naughty comment even, but right now all she wanted to do was eased Mel’s wounds and turned them into scars.

Mel studied her friend’s features and with that same broken voice she answered Abby’s question.

“I do, sometimes.” she paused briefly “You always come to visit me at night when I have no tears left to cry. You just- you just lay down next to me on my bed and hold me. Always whispering to my hear that it’s okay not to be okay. But then in the morning you’re gone, like you were never there.” She played with her hands and Abby never saw the Vera sister so broken. “It’s the first time you come to visit me here. I must have fall asleep while reading.” Mel frowned thinking.

“You are not dreaming, Love. I do am here.” The ex-Demon Overlord murmured while placing her other hand on Mel’s face, caressing her cheek and wiping away a new tear that escaped on its own accord.

“You say that too sometimes, but then I close my eyes and when I open them... you vanished.” She swallowed down a sob.

“Close your eyes, Melanie.” Abigael said softly with that damn accent Mel missed so much. So she did closed her eyes. “Hear my voice.” the half-demon half-witch pursued “Just feel my touch on your skin.” stroking the witch jaw. “I won’t disappear. I promise.”

Mel stayed still, refusing to open her eyes and to have to let go of her friend.

“Open your eyes, Love. I will be here with you.” Murmuring into the witch’s left ear.

The Vera sister opened her eyes and was surprised to see Abigael still standing in front of her.

“You’re really here?” Mel asked anyway.

“I did promised you I would, didn’t I?” The British Lady simply stated.

“You sure? I’m not dreaming?” the witch seemed still a little unconvinced.

“Certainly not, Love.”

And with that simple answer, Mel rose and put her arms around Abby’s neck and breathed for the first time since Eva’s departure.

[phis-corner]

demon’s daughter

Uh- this is my first time attempting a multi-chaptered fic, so bear with me. There is no canon. Just saying.

Masterlist [Chapter 1] Chapter 2

Marinette Al Ghul was very, very angry.

Half the League had staged a coup, killing many of the members still loyal to the Demon’s Head. Her mother, Talia, was in a watchtower, rapidly shooting down the helicopters assaulting the compound.

And Ra’s Al Ghul, the Demon’s Head, lay on the floor in front of her, his body horrifically burnt. He was alive, but just. The work of Slade, his trusted right hand man. 

Marinette hurries to Ra’s’ side as her twin draws his sword and attacks the traitor, anger fueling every one of Damian’s attacks.

“I am sorry that I was never good enough, Ra’s, but I am not sorry that you will be dead soon.” She murmurs. Marinette stands up, the rage of the Pit burning inside her. These people want to kill her. Kill her brother. She refuses to let that happen.

She flips open her two steel fans and bares her teeth in a snarl as Slade swings at Damian, who blocks the blow, but the force of it sends him crashing into the building.

Marinette charges the man, fans glinting dangerously in the light. She dodges the first swing and delivers a swift kick to Slade’s stomach, one fan slicing a cut across his right cheek. The second blow is intercepted by her fans. She is pushed back, her slim eleven year old body no match for a full-grown, very well-trained assassin.

Damian joins her and the onslaught of attacks from both of them sends Slade flying across the courtyard.

“So you’re Talia’s little bastards.” He sneers. “Not bad for children, but no match for me.”

“We shall see about that.” Marinette hisses. The Pit rage inside her grows even larger, and she lets the madness control her movements. The steel fans whirl through the air as she flicks her wrists, spinning and kicking, pushing the man back under a balcony.

Damian understands her motive and slices through the support beams with his katana, sending a large amount of wood crashing down on Slade. When the traitor bursts upwards, Marinette feels satisfaction as Damian thrusts his blade into Slade’s right eye.

“And now, your heart.” He snarls. Slade parries Damian’s blow and intercepts Marinette’s swing with his armor, eliciting sparks. 

Three spheres roll to a stop at Marinette’s feet. They spew out black smoke, and the twins reflexively cover their noses with their sleeves as Slade makes his escape.

“I’ll make you two suffer for this. Next time.” Slade’s voice rings all around them as they search blindly through the haze.

The smoke clears in time for them to see Slade being lifted out of the compound by a helicopter, with a man they recognize crouching in it, smirking.

“Ubu.” Damian growls. Marinette puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Do not worry, akhi. We will make him pay.” The helicopter sails away and they follow it out of the building.

Her brother raises his sword. “Come back and finish it, cowards!”

The remaining traitors also throw smoke bombs as they are picked up by the helicopters, leaving the twins in front of a burning building, surrounded by smoke, corpses, and blood.

“Grandfather.” Damian remembers, running back into the burning building. Marinette follows, not about to let her brother go alone anywhere. Not after what just happened.

“Damian!” She hears Talia call. “Marinette! Wait!”

She ignores her mother and charges down the stairs that lead to the Lazarus Pit, then freezes at the bottom. Damian releases a shaky breath by her side as Talia stops behind them.

Ra’s’ burnt corpse lay in front of them, outstretched hand just mere centimeters away from the green water.

Damian walks towards the body, sword falling to the ground.

“Damian.” Talia says. Her brother tries to pick up the corpse, heaving with the strain.

“We have to get him into the Lazarus Pit.” He says desperately. Damian picks up the body, but Marinette runs in front of him, blocking his path, stuffing down the tiny spark of elation at seeing her oldest, and largest tormentor dead.

“Akhi, you know the Pit cannot heal bodies this damaged. Ra’s is gone for good.” Damian sets the corpse back down and bows his head, tears glimmering in his eyes but refusing to fall.

Talia puts a hand on each of their shoulders. “You did your best.”

“I failed.” Her brother says. Marinette lets her hand rest on top of his, offering him silent comfort. We both did.

“We can’t think about that now. We must move.” Talia says. “Damian. Marinette. Come.” 

Marinette stands obediently, but Damian stays a moment longer. “Damian. Now!”

Marinette gently grasps her brother’s wrist and pulls him to his feet, following her mother out of the room.

“...Where are we going?” Damian asks.

“Gotham City.” Talia replies. “It’s time you meet your father.”

.o0o.

The ride to Gotham City is tense. Damian repeatedly polishes his katana, while Marinette continuously opens and closes her fans.

Their father is Bruce Wayne. World’s richest man, known for his work in many charities and for his ‘playboy’ reputation. At night, known as Gotham’s Dark Knight. In other words, their father is Batman.

Talia leaves them on the boat, choosing to track down their father and bring him back herself.

Marinette turns to Damian once she’s sure her mother is gone. “I would like to spar you, akhi. It would be a good outlet for both our feelings right now.”

Damian scans at the space around them. “As much as I want to agree, this space isn’t nearly large enough for a productive spar.”

Marinette huffs. “You are right. I shall meditate instead. The Pit rage has not completely receded yet from the fight.”

“Remind me why Mother wants us to stay behind this curtain again?”

“Officially, it is because she wants to keep us hidden until she is sure he will accept us. Unofficially, I think it is because she would like to seduce him first.” Marinette replies.

Their mother comes back not long after, with the footsteps of a tall man trying to be as silent as possible. Batman.

“Would you like a drink?” Talia asks.

“Last time that didn’t go so well.” A deep voice responds.

“Oh, you’re right. If I remember correctly, I put a little something in your beverage.”

“Same way I remember it.”

Damian and Marinette exchange a look. So this is how they were born.

“It made you romantic.”

“It made me do what you wanted.”

“Was it all bad, Beloved?”

A pause. “...No. It wasn’t.”

Marinette tunes out after that until Talia says “And now this man wants to kill us.” Her heels click closer to the curtain.

“Us?” Batman asks.

“Not you.” Talia replies. “Me.” She draws back the curtain, letting Damian and Marinette step out of the shadows.

“And your children.”

“Children?” Batman says, only the slightest change in tone indicating his surprise. “You expect me to believe this?”

“I assure you, they’re yours.” Talia says easily.

Damian, always the more confident of the two, walks up to their father and eyes him up and down. “Don’t look so stunned, Father. I thought you’d be taller.”

Marinette raises an eyebrow at her twin. “Akhi, he is six feet and four inches tall already. Any taller, and he would be a tree.”

Batman stays silent, choosing to glare? Stare? Do something that Marinette didn’t know because the white lenses hid his eyes and his facial expression doesn’t change.

.o0o.

The boat drives away, leaving Marinette and Damian with their father.

“You didn’t know about us.” Marinette states. 

“No.” Batman is not known for his eloquence.

“So Mother has made us your responsibility.” Damian snarks, but there is an air of seriousness to it.

“Something like that.”

Marinette squeezes her brother’s hand for reassurance. “This isn’t necessary. We can both do fine by ourselves.” 

“So do I. But things have changed. Your mother thinks that the two of you are better off with me for the time being.”

Damian raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“Better than with the League of Assassins.” Their father replies.

“They taught us how to fight.” Damian says hotly.

“And I take it, not much else.”

“Actually, Father, that is not true.” Marinette jumps in. “In addition to learning many forms of martial arts and how to wield plenty of weapons, Damian and I are years ahead of a normal curriculum and we are both fluent in twenty languages. We can also play multiple instruments. My brother prefers piano and violin, while I tend to favor woodwinds such as the flute and oboe.”

Batman grunts and presses a button on his belt. The Batmobile opens, and the twins follow their father towards it.

“I’ll drive.” Damian says.

“No.” Their father grumbles.

“I know how.”

“No.”

“Can I drive then?” Marinette asks.

“No!”

Once they’re settled in the car, Batman hits the ‘Call’ button for someone named Alfred.

“Alfred.”

“Yes sir?” The butler has an impeccable British accent, much like Marinette and Damian’s. She can put on an American accent at will, but she preferred the sound of the British one. It was more structurally elegant.

“We’re going to have company. Prepare two rooms.”

“A sleepover? Oh, goody.”

“Actually, we would like to share a room.” Marinette says. “It would make us feel more comfortable.”

“I shall prepare a bunk bed then.”

“We don’t have a bunk bed. Alfred, where-” The call hangs up.

The Batcave is everything Marinette has ever imagined. Dark, yes, but full of state-of-the-art technology, vigilante costumes, and a medbay off to the side. Plus, a lot of bats.

An elderly man greets them when they exit the Batmobile. “Welcome back sir. I presume this is the young man and lady of whom you spoke?”

Damian strides up to the man and tries to stare him down. “Hello, Pennyworth. I’ve heard about you.”

Alfred bows. “At your service, Master Damian and Miss Marinette.”

“Would you prefer it if we called you Alfred, Mister Pennyworth?” Marinette asks.

“If you are comfortable calling me Alfred, then yes, I would prefer it.”

Damian looks around the cave. “Where are the rest of the servants?”

Alred raises an eyebrow. “I am the sum total.”

“You have only one servant?” Her brother says condescendingly to Batman, who looks a little awkward.

Marinette squeezes his hand. “Akhi, do not be rude. Our father was gracious enough to let us stay, although he did not have to. It would be counterproductive to his nightly activities if there were too many people who knew about it.”

“He’s not a servant.” Batman says. “He’s a friend.”

Marinette smiles at Alfred. “Pleasure to meet you, Alfred, friend of the Dark Knight.” She curtsies with perfect posture, the way she was taught, eliciting a smile from the man.

Damian sniffs and walks over to the Batcomputer. “So this is the fabled Batcave. Grandfather told me all about it.” Her brother sits down in the chair, inspecting the computer, then turns around and folds his hands, looking every bit like their grandfather.

“I, too, have heard about this place, but never from Ra’s or Mother. It was Lady Shiva who informed me instead.”

Damian frowns. “It is not your fault that Grandfather was always disappointed in you. He was… biased against women.”

“Ra’s has been disappointed in me since the day I was born. I do not care for his opinion.” Marinette says easily.

She walks up the stairs to the loft with the vigilante costumes and grimaces. “Father, what is the meaning of these atrocities?”

Batman is nonplussed. “What?”

Marinette gestures to the Robin costumes. “This. Why are they colored like a traffic light? What happened to Gotham’s Dark Knight, the epitome of stealth? Why were your proteges such eyesores? What exactly is the function of a bright yellow cape in the city of darkness?”

“This one does not even have pants.” Damian says tiredly. “Why would one fight criminals without pants?”

“Master Dick was a boy when he wore that.” Alfred says. “As for Master Jason and Master Tim, the Robin colors are now tradition. It is a legacy, the mantle being passed from boy to boy.”

“Never very peacefully though.” Damian comments. “The first Robin became Nightwing after a falling out with you, father. The second one took on the mantle not long after, and when he died, the third one, who found out your identity, essentially blackmailed you into taking him on. When the second Robin came back as Red Hood, he attempted to kill the third Robin on multiple occasions, did he not?”

“Akhi! Do you not have any tact? The death of family members is always a sensitive subject!” Marinette hisses, in Icelandic. It is highly unlikely that they will understand it.

“You don’t seem too sad about Grandfather’s death, ukhti.” Damian retorts. 

“Ra’s holds no special place in my heart. He sent me to train with Shiva from birth. You and I may have both grown up fighting, but you were treated like a prince, akhi. I was the lowest of the low. You endured hardships, yes, but you have never died. Nobody dared to kill you in training. I did not have such luxuries.”

“Would you like to see where you’ll be sleeping?” Alfred asks. “It is getting late.”

They follow him out of the Batcave and into the Manor.

“Are the others sleeping?” Marinette inquires.

“Hopefully. Master Dick is returning from Bludhaven tomorrow night. Master Jason currently at the Manor, recovering from some fractured ribs, and Master Timothy will likely be out for another six hours after Master Jason sedated him so he could get a full night’s sleep. Miss Cassandra should be asleep as well, though I think she will now be awake from the sound of our voices and our footsteps.”

“Cassandra Cain, correct?” Marinette says thoughtfully. “Daughter of Lady Shiva, Batgirl. A master at reading body language, capable of beating just about anybody in a fight. I was trained to match her, but my skills are nowhere as precise as hers.”

“Yes. Miss Cassandra is very proficient in reading body language. She knows a lot more than she lets on.” Alfred stops in front of a door.

“This will be your room. You will obviously have free run of the Manor, although I would suggest not going into any of the other bedrooms without the occupant’s permission. The door on your left leads to a bathroom, and the door on the right leads to a game room.”

“Thank you, Alfred.” Marinette says, when it is clear that Damian will not be saying anything polite. “If it is alright with you, we would like to be alone now.”

“Of course, Miss Marinette. Goodnight, Miss Marinette, Master Damian.” The door shuts behind him.

Damian immediately gets to work, searching the room for any bugs and finding none. Marinette opens the closet and pulls out two sets of pajamas: one in green and one in lavender. She grabs the lavender ones and lays the green ones out on the bottom bunk for Damian.

“Akhi, I am going to take a quick shower. It has been far too long since the last one.” 

 “I am claiming the bottom bunk, ukhti. I will investigate Ubu’s location while you are gone.”

Marinette heads into the massive bathroom and turns on the shower. Hot water comes streaming down immediately, and she marvels at the sight. Damian, being the heir to the Demon’s Head, would be used to it, of course, but as a female, she was seen as far below his status and was treated as such. She didn’t even know she was an al Ghul until after her first death.

Marinette knows that her twin brother was always treated with much more reverence, resulting in much more confidence and arrogance on his part. Damian has been exposed to the Pit, but he has never been killed. When she returned to Nanda Parbat at age nine, Damian was condescending at best. He did not believe her to be worthy of his time, no matter the blood bond between them. Just like Ra’s al Ghul, the man he was trying to grow up to be.

She changed that when Talia ordered them to spar, with Ra’s as a witness. They traded blows for hours, evenly matched, and it became evident that neither would lose unless the other collapsed from exhaustion. Ra’s decided to end the spar, and Marinette left the room tired and sweaty, but satisfied.

Damian was a lot more willing to talk to her after that, and she finally got to bond with her brother, even if he was rude at times.

Ra’s was not so easy to please. Marinette spent the rest of her time at the compound trying, but he would not acknowledge her no matter what she did. She would never be good enough anyway, so Marinette stopped trying. It wasn’t like she couldn’t take on any assassins he tried to send her way. (She killed six in the year she spent at Nanda Parbat.)

She and Damian bonded fairly easily after that. They never slept in the same quarter, but Marinette requested that they be put in the same room at the Manor for a couple reasons. One, so they could have some familiarity in this new city, and two, so they could plan Ubu’s demise without arousing suspicion.

Marinette stares at the mirror as she dries her hair. Tan skin, littered with lighter scars of all shapes and sizes, not noticeable unless one looked for long. Her eyes are the same shade of blue as her father’s, unlike Damian’s piercing green. Her midnight black hair was chopped short for practicality in combat. She slips on the pajamas and heads out of the bathroom.

Damian is sitting on the bottom bunk, clad in the green pajamas with a laptop on his lap. “I found Ubu’s location. He’s also in Gotham.”

“Good.” Marinette says coldly. “That means we can get him ourselves.”

“I shall make sure he dies a painful death.” 

“Only after we get the information, akhi.” 

That was another difference between them. Damian had no qualms about killing. He saw it as the only way to defeat someone in a fight, unless it was a spar. Marinette, while fully capable of ending a life, hated it. She did not kill unless absolutely necessary, or when the rage of the Pit overtook her, which did not happen almost at all. She had gotten a lot better at controlling the madness.

“Ubu does not plan on moving for quite a while. He is certain that he is safe here. We do not have to make a move tonight.” Damian shuts the laptop. “You should sleep, ukhti. It has been quite a long day.”

Marinette gives him a small smile. “It has been a long day for you too, akhi. We both have to sleep.”

She flips off the lights and climbs up to the top bunk. “Goodnight Damian.”

“Goodnight, Marinette.”

Marinette closes her eyes in the unfamiliar bed and lets the darkness overcome her.

Next

Update: the tag list for this fic is now closed. Everyone who either asked or commented has been put on the list! Thanks for your support! 😊

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

A Story in the Life of Killian Jones and Emma Swan by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 1/2

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Part 1:

Killian Jones was sitting in the darkened room of Hall D, a video playing on the screen in front of him as he tried to scrawl notes and designs in his notebook. It had been a grueling four days in Las Vegas soaking up everything there was to learn at the Architecture and Design Expo his brother had sent him from England to attend.

Normally it would be his brother Liam who would attend these events, but a freak biking accident had taken Liam off his feet for a few weeks, leaving Killian to attend at the last minute.

Killian disliked boring events, content to stay back running the business in his brother’s absence. He would have preferred that Liam send Neal or Robin to this convention, he saw no need to pretend to be interested in the glitz and glamor of rubbing elbows with others in the business under the lights of Las Vegas. If there was one thing he was certain of after visiting the city, it was that American’s sure did enjoy taking things over the top.

Everything was bigger in Vegas. He found no reason or need for such lavish adornment, and yet he had spent his evening having dinner underneath a replica of the Eiffel tower while watching a water show across the street at the Bellagio. He supposed he should be impressed; someone had spent time designing every corner of the large buildings around him. Yet he couldn’t imagine the millions of dollars that had been spent and paid to create such large attractions for no other reason except to drawn in visitors to spend their hard earned cash for a few hours of entertainment.

As the lights came up in the hall, he shoved his notepad into his bag and slung it over his shoulder, following the crowd into the convention center. He was exhausted and ready to fly back to England in the morning.

He pulled out the stool in front of the bar and tossed his bag on the counter. “Dark and Stormy, please.”

The bartender nodded at him and began making his drink. Killian unlocked his phone sending off a text.

Killian: I’m home in the afternoon, lets meet on the Chamberlin deal. Need to talk money before you fly back.

Killian tapped his fingers against the bar as he reviewed his emails from earlier in the day. Robin had sent him some docs to review, and Liam had set up a few meetings for him in the evening once he landed back in England.

His phone buzzed with a response to his earlier text.

Neal: I think you’re going to like the proposal. See you when you get here buddy.

Killian closed his messages and accepted the drink from the man in front of him. Taking a long sip, he closed his eyes and let the liquid warm him.

“Vodka martini.” A voice sounded beside him. From the corner of his eye, he saw a woman take the seat next to him.

His phone buzzed again, and he looked down to see the text from his brother.

Liam: Need you in some meetings tomorrow when you get back, so don’t get drunk tonight.

Killian grunted as he finished his drink. Shaking his head, he ordered another from the bartender. He tossed his phone into his bag and pounded out a tune with his knuckles as he waited.

“I’ll have a beer and another for the lady.” A voice boomed to his right.

“The lady can order her own drink. Thanks.” The woman beside him growled.

“Come now beautiful, I’m just trying to buy you a drink.” The man insisted.

“I’m not interested.”

“Let me guess, you’re a lesbian.” The man said with a sarcastic tone that caused Killian to pound his fist on the bar.

“I believe the lady said she wasn’t interested.” He said forcefully without looking at the woman beside him. He didn’t need to turn his head to know that the man had skulked away with an angry huff. He didn’t honestly care, he just wanted to enjoy what was left of his evening in peace.

His drink was set on the counter in front of him and he took the glass, quickly tipping it back against his mouth. Exhaling loudly, he stared at the television above the bar.

“I had it handled.” The woman stated a few minutes later.

“I don’t doubt that.” He said simply, keeping his eyes on the television.

He sat in silence for a few minutes, not really paying attention to the news that was flashing across the screen. “You here for the convention?” The woman asked and he finally turned his head toward her, the sarcastic comment about to roll off his tongue died in his mouth the moment their eyes met.

“Aye.” Was all he could muster, his entire mouth suddenly felt like it was full of cotton. The woman beside him was beautiful. Not beautiful like a model or those women you see on television that you know are in no way born with the body they are displaying. This woman was gorgeous in a natural yet mystifying manner. He could barely keep himself from getting lost in the deep green of her eyes.

The bartender handed her a drink and she raised it toward him. “Well, here’s to four days you’ll never get back.”

He smiled, lifting his glass toward her. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, I’m just not really into this shit. I mean, we’re in Vegas, the city that never sleeps and we’re stuck in a room all day. If they wanted us to do that, maybe they should have hosted it in Ohio or somewhere else completely boring.”

“I’m offended, love. I’m from Ohio.”

The woman laughed. “Bullshit, not with that accent.”

“I have an accent?” He feigned shock, grabbing his heart. “I had no idea.”

“Very funny.” She rolled her eyes, and he took the moments distraction to scan his own down the rest of her body. She was wearing a dark blue suit jacket with a matching skirt, with a white button-down shirt under her jacket. She had gorgeous legs and he could see just the tip of her heels peeking out from the tall bar stool. Turning back toward the bar, he took another sip of his drink.

“Are you an architect?” He asked.

“Designer.” She said with a smile. “You must be an architect though.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“You were staring at my legs. Architects are always looking at how things are built.”

His mouth turned up in a smirk. “Aye, I do admire a well-built structure.”

“Of course you do.” She returned the playful banter with a smile of her own.

He swallowed his drink, slamming the glass down on the counter. “I’m not going to apologize for admiring the view.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” She shrugged. “As long as you don’t mind if I do the same.”

His mouth sat open for a moment. “Are you checking me out?”

“Maybe.” She responded, sipping her drink. “There’s always been something a bit sexy about British men.”

“I’m not British, I mean, I live in England, but I’m from Ireland. Just haven’t lived there in a long time.”

Her eyebrow rose playfully. “British and Irish, should I take my panties off now or wait til we leave the bar?”

He turned in his stool so that he was facing her. “That depends, love.”

“On what?” She asked quietly, titling her body toward his.

“Your room or mine?”

“That’s mighty presumptuous of you.”

“Perhaps.” He smirked, turning back toward the bar. “However, you’ve already admitted the accent is a turn on, and I’ve caught you staring more than once, I think you might be quite taken by my devilishly handsome features.” He grinned into his drink before taking a sip. God he had missed this. He hadn’t flirted with a woman in ages. She snorted as she sat her drink back on the bar, the ice clinking around in the glass at the bottom. “Can I buy you another?”

He caught her eye, and she shook her head with a sly smile. “Think I’ve had enough alcohol for one evening.”

“Why, love? You a bit worried you'll find me even more irresistible after a few libations?” He teased.

Her laugh was loud and raucous, but it was like music to his ears. He watched as her head tilted back, a smile widening on her face.

One moment they were sitting in the bar, staring into each other’s eyes and the next they were in the elevator, his mouth on her neck, her hands pressed against his crotch. They barely made it to his room before he had her out of her clothes, her body pressed against his, long legs wrapped around his waist as he fumbled in his wallet for the condom he had kept in his pocket for a year, wasting away from his lack of dating.

He devoured her well into the night, memorizing every exquisite part of her body, down to the freckles on the inside of her thigh.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t been with a woman before, back in university he and Neal spent their evenings at the local bar looking for the next woman to warm their bed, but that had been years ago and as he had aged he grew tired of bedding a woman simply to prove he could.

He hadn’t intended to have relations with anyone on his trip to Vegas until he laid eyes on the woman who shared his bed that evening. She enchanted him, brought every one of his senses to life simply by looking at him. Sex with her had awakened something in him that had laid dormant inside him for years.

Burning need and desire.

He couldn’t get enough of her, the sound he elicited when his tongue slipped between her folds, the way she moaned when he entered her, or the way she leaned against his chest once they were both sated and physically exhausted.

He held her in his arms until his body finally gave way to sleep, content and relaxed.

When his alarm went off on his bedside table the next morning, he groaned as he turned it off, rolling over to find the bed empty beside him.

She was gone. It was in that moment that he realized he never asked her name. Another chapter in the sad story of the life of Killian Jones.

~*~

3 years later

“I hate flying.” Robin squirmed in the seat beside him.

“Would you stop acting like a pussy.” Liam groused as he poured a small bottle of rum into his diet coke.

“I’m just saying it’s not natural to fly, we aren’t birds.” Robin countered.

“Would you prefer we swam here, brother?” Liam teased and Robin grabbed the drink sitting in front of him and downed the entire thing.

“Bloody hell, that was mine.”

Killian stared out the tiny window as the world got smaller below him. It would be another seven hours before they landed in New York. Neal Cassidy, his childhood friend, and co-worker was getting married. Neal had been located at the same branch as Killian in London since they began working for Liam. But after traveling every few months to New York to run the accounting portion of the business, Liam allowed him to relocate to New York four years ago. It had been a year since Killian had last seen his friend and now he was getting hitched.

Neal had been unusually quiet about his personal life, no one at the firm had even met this mysterious woman that he had been seeing for the last 3 and a half years. When she gave birth to their son a couple of years back, no one was more shocked than Killian to get a photo of a newborn with the caption, “Look what I made” underneath it. Neal had always been a ladies’ man, children were never a priority for him, so seeing him on the screen with a child in his arms was something he could hardly believe.

Killian had called Neal that evening, demanding to know why they had been kept in the dark for so long only for Neal to act his usual self, promising to provide more details when they all could meet in person.

Six months ago, he received a photo of a woman’s hand with a large diamond ring on it, captioned “she said yes.” He was happy for his friend, and anxious to meet the woman who had stolen him away from them for so long.

“Maybe she only has one eye.” Killian snapped his attention to the conversation going on beside him. “Or she’s unusually grotesque.” Robin was stating.

“Are you talking about the last woman you bedded, mate?” He teased.

“This Emma woman that Neal is marrying, we were just saying that Neal has never sent a photo of her.” Liam answered. “Seems odd.”

“Seems like something Neal would do. Most likely she’s bloody gorgeous and he was afraid one of us would steal her away if he showed us her photo.” Killian shrugged.

“Well, you do have a history of…” Robin began.

“Bugger off, Shelia doesn’t count. Neal wasn’t even interested in her.” Killian countered.

“But he was in love with Susan, and I seem to recall he found you in bed with her the morning after she spent the night with him.”

“Is it my fault that she was roaming our flat at 3am in nothing but lacy panties and a smile?” He joked.

“You’re impossible.” Liam snorted.

“I’m happy for Neal. Honestly, I never saw him settling down, he was always a selfish bastard, I’m shocked he had time to make an honest woman out of this lass.” Killian shrugged.

“Love is magic, mate.” Robin winked.

“Makes many a man falter and give up his selfish ways.” He brother sighed.

“And that’s why I avoid love at all costs.” He mumbled.

“He’ll never get laid again, the stupid git.” Robin laughed.

“A toast to the poor bastard.” Liam raised his glass. “May his drinks be as plentiful as his balls will be blue.”

“To Neal…” They all cheered.

~*~

Emma ran around the apartment picking up dishes and clothing that had been left strewn throughout the rooms. There were toys littering the floor of every corner in the apartment. Henry was barely a few months older than two and he had more toys than he could even play with in a full day.

She needed the apartment to look clean, or perhaps clean enough so she didn’t look like a failure as a mother and future wife. But the house was a wreck, and she had no time to keep up with it.

Today she was finally going to meet Neal’s co-workers, who were practically the only family he had growing up. She had heard so much about them, or as much as Neal would share with her, and they were finally coming to New York for the wedding on Sunday.

She was so anxious that the men Neal had grown up with would find her to be lacking as a match for their friend. In particular, she was most interested in the opinion of Killian Jones, he was Neal’s closest friend and the one who knew best what Neal was like when he was younger. She couldn’t wait to hear stories about him. Neal was a private person and kept much of his past life hidden from her, but Emma was naturally curious what he had been like before she met him.

“Are you wearing that?” Emma looked up as Neal entered the living room, standing in front of her in a blue button-down shirt and jeans. She looked down at her yoga pants and stained t-shirt.

“Yes Neal, after I cleaned the toilet, I thought I would just stay in these clothes to meet your closest friends.” She said with a snort. “I’m changing after I finish the living room.”

“Oh, ok good. Not that I don’t appreciate the yoga pants, but I’d prefer you not have your ass on display when you meet Killian.” He walked up, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Just Killian? Not Robin or Liam?” She narrowed her eyes. “Interesting, is there a story you aren’t telling me?” She teased.

He fidgeted for a moment and then smiled. “Just a little brotherly rivalry.” He bent his head to her neck, pecking lightly at her skin.

“Ah, well, don’t forget, you’re the one I’m marrying.” She reassured him.

“Wanna prove that to me right now.” He growled against her ear as their son bobbled into the room.

“Mama…”

Neal sighed and she felt his weight against her shoulder as he deflated against her. She stepped out of his embrace and picked up her son. “Hey bud, you ready for a bath?” She asked excitedly.

“Bubbas.”

“Yes with bubbles.” She said, offering an apologetic glance in Neal’s direction. “Rain check, babe.”

“One of these days I’m gonna need the sun to shine…” She heard him shout playfully as she took Henry to the bathtub.

Emma ran the water, setting her son into the tub. She knew Neal was frustrated, their lack of sex lately had been noticeable to her as well, but she could rarely help how tired she was after a long day in the office and then taking care of Henry once she got him home from daycare. Neal was ok at parenting, but he wasn’t the most attentive parent, so Emma spent a lot of time keeping a watchful eye on Henry as he became more curious around the apartment.

Emma did love her life. She loved her son. And she loved Neal.

She wasn’t always sure that she wanted to settle down with him, she had struggled when he asked her to move in with him. Emma did what she always did the night he asked her, she ran. She had a convention in Vegas that week and she used it as the perfect excuse to postpone her answer.

Of course, that excuse turned into an entirely different problem in Vegas. A sexual encounter with a stranger she met at a bar, something she had never done in her entire life, ultimately made her realize that she needed to stop running and settle down. She was getting too old to begin having one-night stands, it was time to grow up. So, she did what every responsibleadult should do when they reached a certain age, she did the walk of shame back to her hotel room, got on a plane, moved in with Neal, and acted like a grown up.

And then she found out she was pregnant and well, here she was now…a two-year-old son, a busy life, and finally giving in to the M word. Marriage. She shivered as she thought about the approaching date. She was going to be someone’s wife soon.

It was all part of the plan, she reminded herself.

Neal had a 5-year plan, get married, have another kid, buy a house, and retire to Florida. Emma had resisted getting on board with the plan, she didn’t understand why they needed to map out every aspect of their life. She was used to just doing what felt natural to her.

Though she supposed that’s what got her into this whole mess to begin with.

Had she walked away from the bar that night, had she not gotten into an elevator with a man who’s name she still didn’t know…perhaps things would be different. Maybe her life would have taken her somewhere else.

Lately she spent a lot of time thinking about the what ifs of Emma Swan’s life. What if she had left the bar alone that night, would she still be marrying Neal? What if she stayed until the man woke up that morning, would she have asked his name? What if she got his number? Would he still be in her life?

She brushed her son’s dark hair out of his face and smiled down at him, his blue eyes shining back at her. She knew she wouldn’t change anything in her life, without the decisions she had made, good or bad, she wouldn’t have her son. Henry was the most important thing in her life. She would do anything for him.

She supposed if the man in the hotel room had taught her anything, it was how to love something so fierce that you would do anything to hold on to it. Even if she never knew his name, he had given her the most important thing in the world. Henry.

Neal never questioned her; never took into account that she became pregnant almost immediately after moving in with him. There was always the chance that the child could be Neal’s, and she couldn’t bear to tell him the truth about the man in the hotel, the man she was with before she had settled on Neal. It was selfish on her part, but she didn’t know the man’s name she had spent the evening with, so he could never be a father to Henry, but Neal could. She was always determined that she would make that be enough for Henry.

~*~

Killian grabbed his bags from the turnstile, heaving the strap onto his shoulder. He watched as Robin struggled with another woman over his own bag, arguing over who the bag belonged to.

“I beg your pardon, are you telling me that your name is Robin Locksley as well?” He pointed to the name on the bag with an indignant stare. “Of course you aren’t.” The woman removed her hand and Robin dragged the bag away from her with a triumphant raise of his chin.

“Did you want to take her outside?” Killian joked. “Perhaps a lashing is in order.”

“Bugger off.”

“He gets very cranky when he travels.” Liam whispered as Robin flashed his middle finger in their direction. Killian laughed and followed his brother through the halls of the airport. They were to meet Neal outside the terminal where he was going to pick them up.

The moment they stepped into the sunlight of New York City he recognized Neal stepping out of his car. “Jones.” He greeted him with a hug.

“Cassidy. Where’s the ball and chain? I’m starting to think she’s not real.” He joked.

“Trust me, she’s real. She’s back at the apartment, Henry gets cranky in the evening, so we thought it best he take a nap before we go to dinner. I’ll drop you at your hotel and we can all meet back up at the restaurant.”

“Who the hell are you? You sound so domesticated.” Robin wrinkled his nose as he reached them, embracing Neal in a hug.

“You know me, I’ll never be fully domesticated, but I suppose it can’t all be helped.” He laughed. “Shall we?”

Killian climbed into the back of the car, watching the city fly by as they drove to their hotel. He had been to the city before, they had done business in New York a multitude of time in the past, but he hadn’t been back to the states since his trip to Las Vegas. Since her.

Many nights, he found himself imagining what her name could be. He would sometimes dream about her, she would introduce herself, her name on the tip of her tongue and then he would wake up in a cold sweat, still wondering what it was, or if he would ever find out.

He scanned the faces of the pedestrians walking by, always hoping that one day, he would see her face. He knew that was ridiculous, she was one in millions, he had no idea where she even lived.

“What does one even say to a baby?” Robin asked as he stepped into the hall from his room. “Do two-year old’s talk?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine; just pretend you’re talking to Killian.” Liam scoffed as they entered the elevator.

“You’re hilarious brother.”

“But I’m not wrong.” He winked, climbing into the cab as they headed out that evening.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Killian could feel the anticipation of finally meeting the woman of Neal’s dreams. Would she be short, tall, maybe a red head, or perhaps dark hair, Neal had always been attracted to dark haired women?

When they entered the restaurant they were led to a back room where Neal was waiting for them, he approached them immediately, hugging him with a giant smile. “I’m so glad you guys made it. I hope you were able to get a short rest at the hotel.” Killian smiled as Neal turned toward the back of the room. “I want you to meet, Emma.”

A woman approached them, blonde hair bobbing at her shoulders, she stepped next to Neal and his heart stopped the moment their eyes met. It was impossible. This couldn’t be happening.

“Emma, this is Killian.” The woman swallowed, extending her hand without a word. He blinked, trying to stop his chest from heaving, needing to catch his breath. He looked at Neal, waiting for the cameras to jump out from behind him and announce that he had just been pranked on one of those ridiculous comedy shows American’s loved so much.

Robin elbowed him and he flinched back to reality, lifting his hand to take hers, he smiled nervously. “Nice to finally meet you Emma.” He barely recognized his own voice, and he was sure she had paled when his eyes met hers again, certain that she was suddenly having the same panic attack as he was.

“I can hardly believe we’re meeting like this.” She said with a shaky breath and a nervous laugh.

“You’re telling me.” He laughed uncomfortably. Robin glanced at him with narrowed eyes and Killian dropped the woman’s hand.

“This is…” Emma started. “Just wow. I mean…wow.”

“I’m Robin.” He interrupted the trance that was held over Emma and Killian’s stare, pressing his hand between them to shake hers.

“And this is the big man, Liam.” Neal smiled largely. “He’s the entire reason we met.” He said proudly. “If he hadn’t sent me to New York for that negation, I never would have met you at all.”

Killian cursed under his breath as he glared angrily at his brother.

“Mama…” A child with dark brown hair, nestled his way between them, reaching up to pull on his mother’s skirt. Emma reached down and lifted the boy against her chest. Her hand instinctively brushing his hair back from his face.

“Um, this is Henry.” She said timidly. “My…our son.” She added as she looked at Neal. The boy turned his attention toward Killian, the brightest blue eyes staring back at him. He bit his lip, a strange sensation overtaking him as he felt sweat start to bead on his brow. Something about the child clearly affected him, something he couldn’t explain.

“He’s adorable.” Robin mused, making a face at the boy.

“I’m two.” The child said, holding up his fingers.

“Two years old, I’m surprised he’s survived that long with Neal around.” Liam joked.

“We just had his birthday party a few months back and he was just so amused by everything at the party.”

Killian was counting on his fingers, adding numbers in his head. It was ridiculous and yet staring at the boy, seeing his face, his blue eyes, the fact that he looked nothing at all like Neal and so much like…

No. It wasn’t possible.

“When’s his birthday?” Killian interrupted and Emma jerked her head in his direction.

“August 15th, right in the middle of the hot summer, it was rough on Emma.” Neal laughed.

Not possible. He stepped away from the table, mumbling to himself. “9 months…that’s November…convention was on the 11th…”

“Have a drink.” Robin pressed a beer into his hand.

“I need rum.” He grumbled, looking over at the woman currently at the crux of all his anxiety.

“What’s your problem?”

“Nothing, I just…I need air.” He pushed his way out of the room, stumbling toward the bar at the front of the restaurant. “Rum, ice. Make it a double.” He said in a haze.

“We’ve really got to stop meeting like this.”

Killian glared at the woman who stepped up to the bar next to him. “Were you already with him…” He asked, refusing to make with the niceties any longer. “The night we met?”

She sighed. “It was complicated.”

He laughed loudly. “Apparently so.” Grabbing his drink he sank the shot, swallowing the liquid with a gulp. “Does he know?”

“About us?”

“No not about us. Of course he doesn’t know about us, if he knew that, he never would have invited me here. I’m talking about your son. Does he know the lad isn’t his?”

She paled, blinking a few times as she looked around the bar nervously. “What are…” He laughed again as she feigned some sort of ignorance at the topic, gesturing for the bartender to bring him another round.

“I know how math works.” He remarked softly, staring at her hands. “He was born in August, that’s nine months after the conference.”

“I was already dating Neal before the conference, even if it wasn’t exclusive, sex was involved.”

“So you’ve said, but I never did think that boy looked much like Cassidy. I chalked it up to grainy photos over the internet, but seeing him in person, well that just smacks you right in the face doesn’t it, love.”

“I couldn’t tell him. And I didn’t know who you are. I didn’t know what to do so I…”

Killian couldn’t stop his laughter, grabbing his drink and downing the liquid again in one shot. “So, you lied to my best friend, trapped him into having your kid, my kid?”

“It wasn’t like that.” She shot back. “You weren’t there, you don’t know what it was like being faced with raising him on my own.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t disappeared in the middle of the bloody night.” People were beginning to look at them and Killian lowered his head and turned back to the bar.

“What did you want me to do? Drop my life? Beg you not to go back to London because of one night together? We had sex, that’s all it was.”

“And you didn’t think it pertinent information to try and let me know I had a son?”

“I didn’t know your fucking name.” She screamed, tears dripping from her eyes before she reached out and laid her hand on his arm. “I did what I had to do; I’m not going to apologize to you for that. I’m just asking you not to destroy my life.” He met her eyes and found fear behind her green irises. He realized she was terrified that he could take everything she had away from her by telling Neal her truth.

He sighed. “I’m not going to ruin your life, love.”

“You’re not going to tell Neal.”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “I’ve never lied to him before, but I have fucked shit up for him in the past. I don’t want to be responsible for doing that now. But be careful love, because eventually, the truth always comes out.”

“I really am sorry.”

“For which part, cheating on Cassidy, having sex with me, disappearing without a trace, or giving birth to a child I knew nothing about?"

“I didn’t cheat on him. We weren’t exclusive yet.”

“Aye love, that will help me sleep better at night.” He stood from his seat, leaving her standing at the bar alone wiping her eyes.

~*~

Emma stared at herself in the mirror of the restroom. She had streaks of mascara on her cheeks and her eyes were red. She knew she needed to clean herself up and get back to the dinner table. Neal would start to wonder where she had gone. She was sure that Henry had probably gotten into something he shouldn’t have by now.

She reapplied her lipstick, cleaned her face and took a deep breath. She had no idea how she was going to get through this night, much less the weekend.

When she saw Killian standing there, still the most gorgeous man she had ever laid eyes on, she almost vomited on the floor. At first she thought she must have died and was stuck in some sort of purgatory where you are forced to face your worst fears, in the same room, all at the same time, and then he took her hand, and everything stopped.

He was there right in front of her, the man she had wondered so often about, the father of her child. Standing right there in front of her, and of course he would be Neal’s best friend.

Fuck. Life really did have it out for her.

She knew the moment he laid eyes on her son, their son, that he had known the truth she desperately wanted to remain hidden. She could see the wheels turning in his head. Everything she had worked so hard to build would be ruined, destroyed.

It was selfish, she knew that. He had a right to know his son, but after all these years, she had thought that wasn’t possible. She had moved on, accepting Neal as Henry’s father. She had convinced herself that she had done the right thing by Henry. And now she couldn’t ignore the screaming in her head that one day soon she was going to have to face the consequences for her deception.

But she couldn’t deal with that now, not days before the wedding. She would tell him later. Once the wedding was over, once Killian had returned home, once she was ready…who was she kidding? She was never going to be ready for this.

She returned to the back room, taking her place next to the man she was going to marry.

“You alright?” He asked as she sat down.

“Yes, I haven’t eaten all day, just feeling sick to my stomach.”

“As long as you aren’t pregnant again.” He laughed loudly and Emma felt Killian’s eyes staring into her. “Last time was hell. Never seen a woman vomit like that, except for maybe on the Exorcist.”

“Neal…” She glared. “I’m sure your friends don’t want to hear horror pregnancy stories.”

“I find them quite fascinating.” She heard Killian lament across from her. “Do tell Neal, how did the two of you find out that Emma was pregnant.”

She glared at him from her spot at the table, but Neal carried on. “Honestly, she’d been gone so much during that time we thought she was just tired from all her traveling or perhaps that she had caught some sort of illness from being around all sorts of people.”

“One never can be too careful with travel.” He said, lifting his glass and taking another sip of his drink. Emma wanted to smack the glass out of his hand.

“Exactly, did you know that you had the chance to meet Emma back then?” Emma choked on her water.

“Do tell?” Killian smirked.

“I didn’t know it at the time, but she attended that convention, the one in Vegas that you had to attend because Liam forgot how to ride a bike.” Liam gestured inappropriately at Neal.

“Did she now?” Their eyes met and she narrowed hers. “How unfortunate that our paths never crossed.”

“Small world right?” Neal laughed. “But fortunate for me.”

“Why is that Cassidy?”

“Well, if she had met you, she might have never come home to me. I know how well that Jones charm works on women. It’s that fucking accent, man. I could never compete.”

“You did quite well for yourself as I can recall.”

“Except for the ones you stole right out from under my nose.” He winked. “Bastard always took the best ones out from under me.”

Killian blinked, finishing his drink as if he was contemplating how to respond. “Well, looks like the best man won this time. Seems you’ve bested me.” Emma swallowed hard as his eyes met hers. She felt Neal’s arm wrap around her shoulder.

“I won the lottery with this one.” He beamed and Emma felt the sharp knife dig a little further into her chest.

“Aye, you certainly have, Mate.” Killian responded softly and Emma forced herself to look away, avoiding the sincere gaze of regret across the man’s face.

~*~

“You were in rare form tonight, brother.” Liam lectured in the cab. “It wasn’t a bachelor party; you know that right?”

“Aye, but we were celebrating.” He countered with an angry slur.

“Not with the entire liquor cabinet.” He responded in disgust.

“Apologizes for not living up to your expectations.” He pouted.

He avoided the disapproving glare from the front seat, focusing only on the blur outside the window of the cab. When he got to his hotel room, Robin stayed back as Liam bid them goodnight.

“What got into you tonight?”

“Can’t a man be excited for his best friend to marry the love of his life?”

Robin chuckled. “He can, but I didn’t sense that you were there to congratulate him. Do you not approve of Emma?”

“What’s to approve of, he’s in love with her, she has a child…”

“Well yes, and they are getting married.”

“How wonderful for them.” Killian opened the door to his room, groaning as Robin entered behind him.

“I’ve never known to you be so sour when meeting someone, it was like you wanted to stab the woman in the eye all night.”

“Oh, to be so blunt.” He groaned, reaching for the tiny bottle of rum in his mini bar.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough alcohol tonight?”

“There isn’t enough alcohol in all the world to cure what ails me.” He shot back.

“Henry was cute wasn’t he, it’s hard to believe that of all the people we know, Neal would be the first to procreate.”

He snorted a laugh, taking a large gulp of his drink. “Find it hard to believe myself. Odd that he looks nothing like him, don’t you think.”

“Killian.” The man said with a warning tone.

“Is it a crime to point out the obvious.” He said loudly.

“Can you try just being happy for your best friend for once, without there being some reason to doubt it. I swear, I have no idea what made you such a cynic, but sometimes good things just happen to good people.”

He scoffed. “But not to me. I just get fucked up the arse, don’t I?”

“What is your problem, mate?”

“That could have been me.” He shouted. “I could be getting married, a child in my lap, staring at the woman who made me happier than I’ve ever been, but of course that goes to Neal.”

“Killian, you don’t even date, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Why should he have everything!” He shouted. “He gets to live my life. With my child. With her.”

“You’re not even making sense, you’re drunk, go to bed.” Robin spat as Killian reached out for the wall, feeling the room spin around him. He turned and slid down the wall of his room.

“I met her in Vegas.” He said through tears. “I didn’t even know her name.”

Robin turned around and faced him, hands on his hips. “Bloody hell, tell me you’re fucking around right now!”

“I wish I was. I swear I never knew she was with Neal. Not until tonight. Not until I saw that boy.”

“Oh my God.” Robin paced the room until realization washed over him, he walked over to the mini bar and poured himself a drink before draining all the liquid in the glass. “How is this possible?”

“Someone hates me up there.” He laughed.

“You’re serious aren’t you.” His friend exclaimed as he sat down on the floor next to him.

“Aye. I met her at that bloody conference. We had the most amazing sex I’ve ever had in my life; it’s haunted me ever since. I never got her name; I had no idea she was with Neal. But tonight, the moment I saw that boy, those damn blue eyes, I knew.”

“Are you sure?”

“She all but confirmed it when I spoke to her, she’s worried I’ll ruin the ruse with Neal by telling him the truth.”

“You can’t tell him.” Robin insisted suddenly.

“I have a child.” He stated angrily.

“I know, but…” Robin sighed. “He’s Neal’s. He has been for over 2 years. What are you going to do, walk in there and tell him you took yet another thing from him?”

“That’s not my fault. I didn’t know.”

“I know that, and honestly I’m sorry, this sucks. But Killian, he’s getting married in two days.”

“I’ve thought about her for over two years.”

“Thinking and doing something about it are two different things. While you’ve been having wet dreams, Neal’s been raising this child, living with Emma, he’s getting married to Emma.”

Killian hit his head against the wall behind him. “If I had known, I would have destroyed heaven and earth to find her.”

“You have to let it go.” Robin said softly.

“I’m supposed to just pretend like I never saw that boy?”

“Yes.” He said matter-of-factly. “Move on, go home, continue on with your life.”

“How is that fair?” He asked sadly.

“It’s not. Look I don’t know what to say here. You met her once…”

“She’s haunted me every day since she left.” He responded honestly. “I haven’t been with a woman since.”

“Ok, so I don’t know what to unpack there. The fact that a woman you slept with once is that good in bed that you can’t stop thinking about her, or the fact that you haven’t slept with someone for over two years.”

“Either way, I’m in hell.” He grumbled.

“The fact still stands; Neal is marrying her in two days. He’s your best friend.”

“I hate him. He doesn’t deserve her.”

“You don’t hate him. He took care of her; he took care of her child. No matter who made the boy, Neal has been his father. Has she said anything that has given you cause to think that she doesn’t want to go through with marrying Neal?”

He turned toward Robin and glared. “I hate you too.”

“I am sorry. I’m sure this was not how you expected this trip to go. I wish you would have shared this torment with me earlier.”

He hung his head against his chest. “How do I just walk away?”

The man beside him sighed. “You hold your head high, be there for your best friend, and go back to your life. It won’t be easy, but it’s the right thing to do.”

Killian cried softly, feeling the arms of his friend wrap around his back. Just this once, he didn’t want to do the right thing. He wanted everything. But alas, he knew his friend was right.

~*~

Emma woke the next morning with a heavy weight sitting on her chest. The evening prior had gone worse than she could have ever imagined. She rolled over and reached for the man beside her, only to find an empty pillow.

The door opened and Neal walked in with a tray. “Good morning, future wife.”

Emma sat up on her elbows. “What’s this?”

“I figured since I wasn’t going to see you until the wedding, I’d feed you before I go.”

“You’re leaving already?” He leaned over and kissed her on the head.

“Yeah, gonna go out with the boys tonight, I’m staying at the hotel.”

She frowned. “I thought you were coming home tonight?”

“I can’t come home drunk the night before the wedding.” He laughed. “You’ll be good though, you’ve got Henry.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ll just see you at the ceremony.” She frowned.

“Come on Ems, it’s just one day. We’ll have the rest of our lives to see each other.” He patted her on the head before picking up his keys and leaving the apartment.

Emma spent the rest of the morning wandering nervously around the apartment, she needed to get out of the house, to clear her mind. She dressed Henry and put him in his stroller, heading toward the park.

Emma wished she had a mother or even a girlfriend to share all her problems with. Right now, she just needed someone to talk to. Henry cooed in his stroller and Emma absentmindedly shook the toy in front of his face. “Mama sad.”

Emma looked down at her son and smiled. “I’m not sad, baby.”

“Mama sad.” He babbled again.

“I’m not sad, I just…” She watched as her son grinned at her. She envied the innocence of a small child. “I never thought I’d see your dad again.” She realized how ridiculous it was that she was talking to her two-year-old child about her problems. “I only met him once.” She continued, knowing she had no one else to talk to about this. “He was beautiful.” She mused. “You have his eyes, you know. Those bright baby blues that have me completely at your will.” The boy laughed and Emma lifted him into her arms.

“I don’t know what to do.” She gulped as a tear slid down her cheek. “Neal’s been good to us. But I can’t help but wonder…” She sighed. “Is it fair to you, not knowing who your father is?” The boy pressed his palm against her cheek.

“Mama sad.”

She laughed. “Ok yes, Mama’s sad.”

~*~

Killian threw his empty beer bottle onto the ground, reaching over to grab another one from the cooler. “Yeah but didn’t you have sex with Kayla anyway?”

Killian watched Neal and Robin sitting in the lounge chairs across from him. “I had to get to her before Killian did.”

He rolled his eyes, “You act like I fucked everyone you’ve ever laid eyes on, Mate.” He said with an icy tone and Robin shook his head warily.

“Someone’s cranky.” Neal teased.

“I’m not bloody cranky, I’m just tired of you making everything that ever went wrong in your life somehow my bleeding fault.”

“It’s just jet lag.” Robin interjected before Neal could respond. “Perhaps you need a nap.”

Killian titled his beer back and swallowed. “Perhaps.” He knew he was behaving poorly; he just couldn’t control himself.

“We got a few hours before we head out tonight, why don’t you go lie down. I need my best man in the right frame of mind.” Standing up, Neal walked over and held out his hand to Killian, pulling him up from his chair. “Brothers for life, man.”

Killian patted the man on the back. “Brothers for life.” He repeated.

He walked slowly back to his room but stopped short as he turned the corner. Emma was standing in front of his door, a stroller next to her, and a screaming child in her arms.

“Emma?”

[peeterparkr]

The Holiday.|Tom Holland

chapter two: Pride and Prejudice (Jane Austen)

↳ read Sophia’s version here and Tom’s phone call. (Tim fic) BY @jambrosemc​

There’s two sides to the story, the Tom fic written by me and the Tim fic by @jambrosemc​ for thw full experience (though you don’t need to) be sure to check out both! 

STORY SUMMARY:  Two women troubled with guy-problems, one who’s in love with love and one who doesn’t believe in it are both suffering from a broken heart, with little reasoning and nothing left to lose, they swap homes in each other’s countries for the holidays, where they’ll meet a local guy who will probably change their destiny.

chapter summary: new beginnings and first impressions pairing: tom holland x y/n | warnings: Chad word count: 7.8k

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You had gone through every single stage of a broken heart before, every single one of them. Haircuts. Wine. Clubbing. Reading. New life. Sobbing on the floor. Denial. Sort of acceptance. Working out. Eating your feelings. Coffee shops.Bars. Sleeping all day. Not sleeping at all.   But this? Exchanging homes with a complete strange and travelling to the other side of the world? This was crazy. Completely crazy, and yet, you didn’t want to back off. This was the one thing that, if it didn’t work, you were screwed. 

This was certainly not what you had imagined you’d end up doing for the Holidays, yet it was better than any other idea you’d come up with, because maybe, though you tried to avoid the thought of knowing damn well you’d feel lonelier in a foregin place, it’d help you get out of your suffering. 

“So, okay, we went through dog food already right?” You asked, as you were on the back of the Uber on your way to the airport, your dog was still your number one concern. 

You were on the phone with Sophia, the british woman who had her life sorted up. “We did, yep.” She paused, thoughtfully. “And I told you everything about the shop and it’s hours?” 

You were getting cold feet, honestly. “Yes, right, but… I don’t have to worry about opening right?” You asked her. “That guy…. what was his name?” You couldn’t remember. “Ted? Opens up right?” 

“Tom,” she cleared up. Of course, how could you forget his name, his name was the same as your damned dog. “And no you don’t. He’ll take care of it all, or should. She got off the phone for a bit but then turned back to you. “If you don’t mind, keep me updated about him though?” 

“Oh, of course, I wouldn’t trust a man either, “ you laughed. “I’ll check on him.” If you had the time, you were going to make yourself explore the city. 

“Thanks.” She sounded relieved. “And I’ll of course update you on Tommy.” 

You were so nervous of leaving your dog to a stranger, maybe you could tell your brother to go and check on him, too. Yeah, you needed to give Tim a call. “Please, I’ve never been away from my baby… “ You pleaded and then went through the basics on your head. “Uh, so the keys are under the porch thing I told you.” 

“Right, and I put mine on that book,” she recalled. 

“Right, right…. “ And then suddenly you were arriving at the airport. It had turned real. “Okay so we are doing this.”

“Apparently so… This is a good idea, right?” Sophia asked you. 

In all honesty, it wasn’t. This was one of the-if not the craziest idea you’ve ever had, but at the same time it was thrilling. Exciting and inviting and it gave you the opportunity for a story, or time to write one, if you could. 

“Having second thoughts now?” You asked, amused. “When we’re both on our way to the airport?” 

That was a lie, you were already arriving. 

“No, no. I just… I guess I’m just a bit nervous is all,” Sophia admitted. 

You chuckled, nervously. “I’m kidding, I’m terrified, too.” 

Because who wouldn’t be? This was the one thing that was incredibly terrifying. 

“Well, I’m nearly there. I guess there is no going back at this point,” she said. 

Because there wasn’t. You were having second thoughts, honestly. Wanting to give up and go back to your boring life. But then again, this was your chance to escape your boring life and this was your chance to actually make something interesting for once in your life. 

You finally looked up, the driver was waiting for you as you got out of the car. 

“I’m… actually here, so I’ll…” You paused, you couldn’t breathe, your nerves were tickling as you picked your bags and then faced the small airport standing in front of you. “I was gonna say see you on the other side but that’s stupid so… I guess this is a sort of goodbye?” You gulped. 

This was it. 

“Guess so… I’ll talk to you later?” She suggested. 

You wondered if she was losing her shit as much as you were, honestly you wanted to jump and scream. You were excited, but excitement can often be confused with being scared, and you weren’t sure how thin this line was. 

You took a deep breath. “Right, and please send me a picture of Danny so I can personally slap him,” you were only half-joking. 

“Oh of course, and you’ll have to send one of Chad so I can slap him as well,” she answered with a sort of relief. 

“Well, this is…” You were shaking, you closed your eyes. “I…”You paused again. Good luck, here’s to a well deserved break.” 

“Good luck to you too.” Sophia on the other side sounded just as scared as you were. “I hope you’re able to clear your mind.” 

You hoped so, too. You hope your mind could finally get out of the trance that having Chad was. 

“You too, well here goes,” you said before heading to the airport.

“Goodbye then.”

“...Bye.” 

You hung up, and suddenly the small airport had never looked any bigger. You were so close to changing your life. Big opportunities, big, big chances. You couldn’t possibly dare. But you were there, at the airport, so hugely standing in front of you. You felt very small, that was nothing new. You always did feel small, The world was waiting for you.

But you were not ready for it. You were going to back away, you felt fear invading your stomach, you stepped back, but then you saw a couple, kissing in the distance, you felt sorry for yourself. You couldn’t keep longing for that if you never risked anything. You couldn’t continue saying you were tired of being a secondary character if you didn’t risk doing main character things. This was just halfway to it. 

You finally stepped in and made your way across it. 

Because this was the first time you ever did anything, this was the first time you were getting lost in a dream, and letting yourself slip into time and actually going through with things. The day had been sunny. This was supposed to be your day. You wondered if people even turned to see you, you were nothing important, not really standing out from the crowds. But they didn’t know you were having the biggest adventure of a lifetime. Silly to think. 

As soon as you were sitting on the plane, you knew you couldn't back away now and this was it. This was it, a new beginning, tarnishing every single fear upon you, you tried to mingle your feelings and calm down your nerves. You knew it was the right choice, otherwise  you’d end up curled up on your sofa, digging your nose into each and every one of the books you’ve read already and staring at the ones waiting to be read, but never did for a reason or another. You couldn’t have another Christmas like that, this was it, not another one with you trying to avoid the question of why you were lonely again on Christmas and giving an excuse for each year. Sure, you’d be lonely but at least you didn’t need to answer questions about it. Besides, who knows, this was your chance, and you were already in the place so you couldn’t do much. You had an open window for freedom, for lessons to be learned and—Probably not that much, honestly. It was just a trip, how much can a trip change your life? 

A handsome man had walked in, and smiled at you. He was around your age, gentle smile and blue eyes. This was your first sign, because you did believe in them, mo matter how stupid you believed life found a way to tell us we were doing the right choices, only you’d always avoided them. Yes, it had been the right choice. Who knows? Maybe you’d end up finding love in a plane. Oh who were you kidding, you probably had no chance, and you were proven you wouldn’t right away as you saw the man’s beautiful girlfriend sitting right beside him. 

You wouldn’t find a chance like that, you were not a main character. You’d always known you were a plot device. There were main characters, secondary characters and plot devices. You were the last one. 

Your phone dinged. And the sound made you shiver. A friend of yours had once advised to give a specific notification sound for Chad, so therefore you’d avoid it. Needless to say, it had been counterproductive since you would dream with that sound and hope you’d end up hearing it every day. 

But this was different. This wasn’t him answering to another one of your lame attempts to start up a conversation. Chad had been the one who reached out to you. 

“Hey, y/n! Couldn’t see you after the party, are you up for tonight?”

You only stared at the text. This was the reason why you needed to get out. Him reaching out and your heart jumping a little. You needed some willpower. You couldn’t let yourself fall again for the lie his lips were, you couldn’t let yourself be tangled against the sheets with a man who didn’t love you as he should, who didn’t love you for that matter. 

“I’m going on vacation. London. “ you answered. 

He texted back, quickly. That was a first.  “First vacation in three years is turning point. 

It was, for sure. “Yeah.”

He didn’t answer. 

“Congrats on your engagement.” Though you did not mean it. 

“Thanks xx. So, when can we facetime?” He asked. 

With all the pain in your heart, but with the same courage you’d taken to finally go away you said: “We both know I need to fall out of love with you. Would be great if you would let me try.” 

You sent it and then turned your phone off. 

You didn’t need any more Chad. This was it, the one time you needed to escape and this was your chance. 

A chance to finally get away from him for real, a chance to forget it. And to not feel deplorable on Christmas. You needed to forget him, you couldn’t stay with someone who didn’t celebrate your love. You needed to be loved and though you knew you wouldn’t find love in London, maybe you could learn to love yourself. It was the main reason why you knew you loved Chad, because you didn’t stand up for your own. 

You slept for most of the flight, then connected to the other one and then it was real. You had left the US, and off to the other side of the water. Maybe it hit you until that point, the last person you’d ever gone on vacation with had been Chad and this--- No, this was the reason why you were leaving, your mind had to stop going back and forth with him. 

Before you knew it, you were in London, the dawn welcoming you in all your esplendor. And it felt… different, and it hit you. For the first time you’d gotten out of your little cage and this was big. This probably had been the best idea, though crazy, the best idea you’d ever had. You were out, you were in a city that was giving you endless possibilities to wander, and to explore and endless possibilities to find yourself. 

Someone had once told you that to find yourself, you’d have to be lost first, you had never felt more lost in your life, so this was your chance, to get even more lost in a city, and this was your chance, to get out there.

 It was raining as you’d arrived, and as you’d ran out of the airport, small droplets had fallen on you. You could go straight to the house, but something about trying new things had gotten on to you. 

It felt like Christmas, in a way. Everyone walked with their coats and umbrellas and scarfs around their necks, people who were busy, people who weren’t. People walking into shops, and people walking to their jobs, and drunken people walking out of the pubs, welcoming the sun. 

The city lights felt magical, and you had always loved the feeling of being away from the ocean on Christmas. But now, this was a city, full of possibilities. This was exciting. 

You’d seen places you’d seen in movies before, there was a nearby park, you thought about going there later, and exploring a nearby market. You’d be walking all day. Kensington, this place was absolutely gorgeous. And just 6 minutes away from Notting Hill, you still had the thought of the fantasy in your mind. But then… suddenly you were there, standing in front of the bookstore that would be your home for two weeks. Sophia had warned you there was a way in from the shop, and another one from the other place, but the key would be in the bookshop, inside this specific book. 

You had walked into the bookstore, a bell had rang as soon as you’d opened the door, you had looked up, it was decorated, elegantly, christmas lights hanging on the shelves, the place was small and comfortable, topped with books here and there, taken out of your dreams, it was small, but it gave a sort of feeling that it was eternal. Infinite place where you could read books over and over. You’d seen the guy-Tom, you assumed, look up and hint a smile as he was talking to an old lady about a book, he was carefully listening to her, so attentive. 

“Oh, eh, uh, morning,” he managed to say.  He had turned to give you a second glance, you locked eyes with him for a brief second, he had smiled again and then turned away.  

“Morning,” you answered. 

You’d barely looked at him, but you couldn’t help but notice he was attractive. Very attractive. Had you… blushed? You quickly shook the thought away, this was no time to crush on an english boy, besides this was the guy who probably was in love with Sophia, and you were the plot device, you knew that, you couldn’t even bother to look at him. No, you couldn’t. 

Besides, were you that desperate? So incredibly drawn to something you knew would lead nowhere. And how quick were you to jump to conclusions from barely a glance. A smile, a very pretty smile, that crinkled his eyes. No, you couldn’t keep staring 

He kept talking to the lady, you could barrel and overhear the conversation as you, still with your luggage, strolled through the places, touching the books, books you’ve read, books you hadn't. 

“Yes, I want to give this to my granddaughter, I love this book, Momo,” the old woman explained.

“Incredible read,” the british man answered with a grin. “Michael Ende is-” 

Michael, he said Michael, not ‘Michael’, he knew how to pronounce it. Like it was supposed to be pronounced. In german, not like you’d pronounce your friend’s Michael name. Mi- cha- el. Not sure why that had made him even more appealing—No, you couldn’t do this to yourself. This was old y/n kind of thinking, to get out of  a broken heart. You always did this, try to fixate on someone else to get over Chad. It never worked. But you were in London, but—No. He was Sophia’s coworker, Sophia’s friend and he was most likely in love with her. Someone like him had to love someone like her. 

However, it didn’t hurt if you looked again. Or—did it?

You decided you could look at the guy once again, his eyes brightened up as he watched the woman ramble. He was so delicate, yet bold. Handsome, very. Under his sweater he probably was hiding some well defined muscles, you could tell, not that it mattered, but it did grow something more appealing to him. He was very handsome. Not in a conventional way for your taste, so different from the guys back home. He carried a certain sensuality, but was also heavy on being adorable. A very dangerous combination. His lips were small, his jawline defined, but his sight… As if that pair of eyes could paralyze you, tender eyes with a hint of joy and innocence. He wasn’t innocent, though, he could look, but he wasn’t. He was tapping his fingers, anxiously and he took deep breaths as he listened and gave the lady wider smiles and melodious chuckles. He had blushed at the old lady’s remark that he was handsome, you agreed. His lips were dry, probably from the cold, and he licked them too much while he was speaking to the lovely lady in front of him. His eyes were surrounded by some-not so heavy dark circles, but you could tell he hadn’t probably slept. You wondered why. 

 You liked to observe people, you were a writer so you liked those little details that people didn’t stop to look at, like the way he would bite his inner cheeks while listening, or raise his eyebrows with surprise every now and then. You liked those details, thinking one day you’d have enough to build up a person, made completely out of details. 

You looked away once again, fearing he’d notice your staring and strolled through the books, the arrangement was impeccable, of course Sophia would have the place perfectly ordered. But there were some books here and there that didn’t—make sense for your taste. Or didn’t make sense at all, like an autobiography in a section that was definitely for fairytales. 

You heard the bell ring again, an old man. Early 80’s, you guessed, he used a clutch. He wore a vest, a cardigan on top, and a very nice green beret on top of his head, a grey scarf around his neck, he had a coat, still covered from the rain. He seemed adorable. 

“Good morning, Thomas!” He greeted him. 

Tom smiled. Felt weird knowing his name without having met him yet.“Henry, good morning, I’ll be there with you in a second, I’m here with lovely Doris,” he announced, still listening to the lady.

The old man, Henry gave him a smile  and then  looked at you. “Good morning, young lady, it’s pouring isn’t it?” 

“Morning,” you answered, shyly. “Seems to be.” 

“Ah, american, interesting,” he pointed out, his voice was cheerful, old but you could tell he was a lovely human being. “What brings you here to a lovely bookshop in London?” 

You smiled. “An adventure,” you said without thinking about it. It sounded better in your head. 

He smiled, “I love that answer,” he pointed out. “What kind of adventure?” 

You looked around the shop, “Don’t know yet,” you admitted. “I’m trying to find a good story.” 

He grinned, “Hm what kind of story?” 

“Don’t know,” you admitted again. “I’ll keep looking through the books.” 

“Oh,” he nodded slowly. “I thought you wanted a story for yourself.” 

“Myself?” you chuckled. “No, I’m good at reading someone else’s. Not good enough to be one myself.” 

He stared at you, kindly. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he declared, and then looked at the shelves. “What to read now.” It amazed you how big of a main character he was, too, you’d probably love to write about him. He turned to you. “You seem… Like a reader.” 

“I am,” you said. Though, lately you’d been stuck reading the same ones, never wanting a new story. 

“Do you have any suggestions?” He asked. 

You grinned, “Well, I guess it depends,” you said. “What do you feel like reading?” 

He shrugged and gave you a tender smile, his eyes were shining. “Romance, perhaps?” 

“What kind of romance?” You asked, following the same path he had when asking you questions. 

“Classic.” 

You gave it a thought, he probably had read Shakespeare already, he seemed like a connoisseur.  But, somehow,  you looked him in the eye and knew your answer. “Love in the time of Cholera, have you read it?” you asked. 

“Surprisingly, I have not,” the man seemed perplexed. 

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez, it’s… about true love that endures and overcomes adversity for a lifetime, it is a tribute to love, adventure, time, old age and death, ” you said. “It’s an ode to true love.” 

“Sounds lovely,” he said. “Well, can you help me find it, please? I’d ask young Thomas but he’s there talking to lovely Doris there.” 

“Of course,” you grinned. You proceeded to walk through the store trying to find the book, hoping they would have it. 

“What’s your name young lady?” Henry asked. 

“Y/N y/l/n” you answered simply. 

“Hm, a main character name,” he pointed out. 

You shook your head. “You’re wrong about that,” your eyes kept looking through the shelves. 

“I’m Henry, Henry Abbot,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet Miss y/l/n.” 

“Pleasure is mine.” 

You needed that book and... It was not in the poetry section, which had you perplexed, they had to have it. “Oh.” 

“Is it not here?” Henry asked. 

“It’s not,” you frowned. “It’s-” 

“Hello, Henry, hi, hello, is there anything I can help you with?” Tom had asked as he had snuck behind, you accidentally stepped back and bumped into him, causing him to knock down two books. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you said. You were an idiot. 

“No, don’t be, it’s alright, it’s my fault, I should’ve announced myself,” Tom answered with a smile, that you knew was probably a fake customer service smile, as he picked up the books. 

You then saw the old woman, Doris walk out with not only the book you’d initially seen her with, but other four, Tom was good at selling, you saw Henry had his eyes on her but proceeded to turn back at you. 

You were definitely not expecting Tom, right in front of you, you could smell his cologne, it smelled good. Why the hell had you noticed that? You shook your head, before he could notice any sign of your stupidity. 

“Oh, er-” 

He only raised his eyebrows with a smile. 

It was no secret that you were stupid around men, especially around men who were attractive. 

“The young lady, miss y/l/n here is helping me,” Henry intruded quickly. “She recommended a book.” 

“Oh,” Tom grinned. “Thanks for helping me out with Henry, did you not have trouble giving him a recommendation?” He turned to you again. “He’s read everything,” he said with complicity. 

You only smiled and shook your head. 

“She didn’t,” Henry pointed out. “Gave me an option right away, perhaps she should have your job instead,” Henry joked. 

Tom brought his hand to his chest, hurt. “Henry; now why would you say that to me? Thought we were friends.” 

You chuckled and turned to Tom, “Love in The Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez,” you said. “That’s the book—I thought it would be here.” 

Tom turned to you, his eyes were even prettier than you thought they were. No, you had to stop. You couldn’t be attracted to him. 

“Oh,” Tom was surprised by your statement. “Yeah, yeah, he’s… mexican, right?” 

“Colombian,” you corrected. 

“Yeah, yeah, it should be--” Tom recalled and then walked to the other side, he searched through the titles and then finally found it in the language section.  “There, this one?” 

“This is not in the right section,” you said. 

“Why not I put it there myself this morning—“Tom chuckled, handing over the book to Henry. “Another one, or shall I help you check out, Henry?” 

Henry smirked. “No, I want to know why she believes is in the wrong section.” 

“This is romance,” you cleared up, as if it was obvious already. 

“Oh?” Tom raised his brows. 

“It’s in the Spanish section,” you continued. 

“He… speaks spanish,” Tom said. 

You only stared at him, in shock. Any kind of sign of attractiveness had been completely erased. 

“Besides,” Tom smirked. “You were looking for it at the poetry section, not romance novels,” he pointed out. 

“I…” You blinked. You had said that particular book for another reason. It was the book where Sophia had told you she��d hidden the key. She told you she’d moved the book from the romance novels to the poetry section. 

Tom reached the counter, holding the book himself. You tried to reach for him, 

“Ah, er, can I see it for a second?” 

Tom furrowed his eyebrows, and grimaced. “Hm?” 

“Yeah, let me see if it’s… The one I meant,” you lied. 

He watched you skeptically. “Umm… why wouldn’t it be?” 

Henry watched between you both, humored. 

“I….please?” You begged. 

“Oh, don’t be rude to the pretty lady,” Henry pushed. “Let her see the book.” 

Tom opened his mouth but defeatedly handed you the book. You mouthed a quiet thanks and then skimmed through it, trying to find the keys. They were not there. 

Weird. There was no key. You blinked with surprise and looked up at Tom, who seemed pleased. 

“Is it?” Tom asked. 

“Yeah—It is,” you handed it over. Tom had a mischievous look on his face, he was humored by this situation. 

“She’s American, and looking for a story of adventure,” Henry said to Tom. 

“We all are, aren’t we?” Tom mentioned. 

Henry looked between the both of you. “Are you here for the holidays, ma’am?” 

So formal. “I am.” 

“Traveling with your significant other, I presume,” Henry said while Tom was checking the book out. 

“I—Well,” suddenly you felt lonely. “That position hasn’t been filled at the moment.”

Henry smirked, and then looked at Tom quickly then back at you. “With family, then?” 

“I—No, I came here alone,” you explained. “

“So, it’ll be £11.03, Henry,” Tom interrupted as he put the book in a bag. 

Henry looked at Tom, “where’s lovely Sophia?” 

“I’d like to know, too,” Tom answered. “It’s not like her not showing up. She hasn’t called me back.” 

Henry nodded. 

You were confused. Had Sophia not told Tom she’d left? It  felt like it was your time to intrude, but before you could explain, Henry looked at you and said. “Go give this young lady a story, Thomas.” 

The man left. 

“I—“you coughed. “Sorry, uh—“

Tom had a wide smile. “So… what can I actually help you with? Miss y/l/n, Any book in—“

“I well, I—“ you couldn’t speak. 

Tom chuckled. “Yeah? Or are you going to complain about another book arrangement.” 

“I wasn’t complaining, I'm just… very observant, alright?” 

He grinned. “Well, did you observe anything misplaced?” 

“Well, I did see a fairytale on the autobiographies sections,” you admitted. 

Tom blinked, perplexed. “Huh we did that yesterday,” he was surprised. “Oh right but--” He coughed. “So, well, you’re seeking for an adventure book-” 

“Not exactly,” you answered. 

“What then, romance?” 

You blinked. What did he mean by that? 

“You seem like you read romance,” he pointed out. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” You questioned him, chuckling lightly. 

He grinned. “Nothing, you just--suggested a romance book easily to Henry,” he pointed out. “It’s a good one, it broke my heart, in a good way.” 

“You’ve read it?” You asked. He didn’t seem like someone who’d read romance. He… honestly didn’t look like someone who read, at all. Of course, you should never judge a book by its cover but of course the cover always tells us a lot, a name and an author at least. You knew his name, who was the author? 

He smirked. “It’s ugly, and it’s sad-” 

“But it’s love,” you finished his sentence, quoting the book. “Yeah,” you smiled, not believing he had actually read it. “Great book. You don’t seem like someone who’d read that.” 

“I’m a sucker for those kinds of stories,” he admitted. “Don’t look like it, but I love that, soulmates and everything.” 

You chuckled. “Me too,” you said. 

“To think that two people are destined to find each other even when life pulls them apart,” he said. “And I mean he… waited 50 years.” 

“Yes, he did, even when she’d made the mistake to reject him.” 

“Sometimes that’s how love is,” he shrugged. And it was, you knew that. 

“It is,” you said. “It’s complicated.” 

“The book? Or love?” He looked into you, with a certain mischief. 

“Both, I guess,” you said,calmly. “But I mean that’s the magic of that book, love is complicated and so is the book.” 

“But also, it’s not-I mean, I loved it, don’t get me wrong but I couldn’t… I understood their love but I’ve-I mean it’s old love.” 

You laughed. “Old love?” 

He laughed softly to himself, “I mean, it’s not-Something I could relate to.” 

“Well, no, because although love is something universal, not one love can be duplicated, love is unique.” 

He watched you perplexed. You wondered if you had said something wrong, or if your way of talking about love with a stranger had bothered him. It bothered most people, most people were afraid of love and were confused by the way you saw it, and confused because you’d lost it so many times. Everyone wondered how you kept believing in it after so much pain, but that’s the thing about love, though there is one love, you can truly feel love for. 

“I’ve never heard someone putting it that way,” he chuckled. “Love being something we all feel but at the same time… it’s different, yeah.” 

Why were you talking about love with this man? 

“That’s what I’ve gathered from all the romance novels you assumed I read,” you chuckled. “Love is universal but it’s personal.” 

He chuckled and nodded in agreement. “No, I guess… You’re… right, huh, I’ve never seen it that way,” he said. “So do you want another romance novel?” 

Was he flirting? 

You shook your head. “No,” you smiled. “I’m actually-that book.” 

“No, wait, actually…” He interrupted, as he shook his head, probably backing away from flirting. “Sorry...This is bothering me, care showing me where the misplaced book was?” He asked. 

You had just told him, was he flirting? You’d never known how to flirt so you wouldn’t know. But you guessed it harmed nobody showing him, you lead the way, still carrying your whole luggage. 

But why the hell had you talked about that with a stranger. It felt weird, but he didn’t feel like one. Probably because you’d already known his name. There was something so incredibly familiar to him. So easily had you blurted out the whole love thing, and he probably was scared of it. Most people were, you would understand if he was, too. 

“So--here,” you headed and tried to reach for the misplaced book on top of the shelf, as you had some stray sticker had flown and landed directly on your eyes, for your own luck. “Ow!” You tried to get it out but you couldn't. 

“Oh, wait, wait, let me help,” he said before. “May I?” 

“Yes, please,” you said, You only looked up, he held your chin, which definitely made you nervous, but he stared into your eyes and finally got the sticker out of your eye. 

“I’m so sorry, sometimes they get stuck and we don’t see them-“ He said quickly getting his touch out of you.

“No, you’re good, don’t worry,” you said. “So, here’s the lost book.” 

He watched you with curiosity and for a brief moment your eyes were locked into one but you quickly looked away. You were not doing this. This was so stupidly cliché, the love conversation with him, having to directly look into your eyes, it was so stupidly cliché and obviously not as romantic as you thought it was going in your head.. You hated it. Because you were not a stupid main character, this was so stupid. This things, in novels, would lead to some kind of romance, but you were not the main character and this was just stupid. 

“Yeah, right,” he coughed. “But uh, wait, so for Love in The--eh, the book, yeah, how did- Why were you looking for it in the poetry section? I mean it is… very poetic but,” Tom was confused as he watched you. Felt weird he was looking at you, his eyes had this charm that made you feel like he only was fixated on you. 

“I—Well, there were supposed to be some keys in that book,” you explained. 

“Hm? Were there?” He asked with fake surprise, but he actually seemed confused. 

You frowned. “They were, in that book and it’d be on that section—“

“Hm, doesn’t ring a bell,” he shrugged with a smirk.

“Yeah, in that book, Love in The Times of Cholera,” you pushed. “So—“

“Yeah, I do remember some keys,” he coughed, shaking his head. “But I’m not giving them to you,” he mumbled. 

“Sophia told me—wait you’re not—?”You blinked. 

“Sophia?” he seemed doubtious. 

“Yeah, Sophia, your friend, right she is—in America, at my place, we—switched homes and so she left me the key there—“

“She did now?” He wasn't buying it. 

“Yeah,” you continued. “She left, we exchanged homes for the holidays.”

“I--” He chuckled. “What?” 

“Didn’t she tell you?” 

“Tell me what, exactly?” 

“She went on vacation, to my place in America, we switched homes for two weeks.” 

He laughed. “I don’t believe you, Sophia doesn’t go anywhere.” 

“Yeah, we have that in common,” you pointed out. “But—But—okay, so she’s in America, in Oregon.” 

“Why would she go to Oregon?” Tom asked. “Of all places—“

“Yeah, look,” you cleared your throat. Did seem suspicious. “I—we both needed to get away so we switched places, and well—Why don’t you give me the key?” 

“So, tell me, miss y/l/n, sorry I’m calling you that it’s what dear old Henry called you, but you’re expecting me to give you the key, to you, a stranger, to my best friend’s home?” 

“Yeah...” you heard how it sounded. 

“You’re expecting me to believe that?” 

Well, he did have a point.  “Well, yeah—I— thought she’d told you.“ 

“Sophia would never do that,” Tom said. You’d learned he was also annoying. 

“Yeah, and neither would I, but here I am in London in a bookshop talking to you while holding my luggage, you really think I’m lying?” 

He stared at you. “Yeah.” 

And there it went, the fantasy had ended. Because you were not a main character in a stupid romance novel. 

“You—Look, I know she—But look, she broke up with Danny, and she needed to get away and we—“

“Yeah but this is mental,” Tom said. 

“It is,” you admitted. “And I might regret it, alright but I’m already here, thousand miles away and please, can I just have the key? I need a break, I need to-” 

“I’m not, I can’t… I’m sorry I just can’t give it to you.” 

“Well—Why—Look, we can call her? I don’t know if she’s there yet? But she can prove we actually did this?”  

“Still I… Look, I would… recommend you a hotel, I mean-Look. There’s this hotel right beside--It’s on Notting Hill,” 

“Please, let’s just… I’ll call her,” you said, taking out your phone. This was stressful enough. 

“Oh, no, no, I’ll call her, how do I know it’s not a crazy friend of yours-” 

“Crazy?” You frowned. If you had been attracted to the man in front of you, you definitely weren’t now. 

“I’m-” He knew he had screwed up. “This is mental,” he whispered. He took out his phone, “She hasn’t answered all day- so-” 

“She was on a plane.” 

“Uh, huh, for all I know you could be a criminal,” Tom pointed out. 

Criminal, he had just been flirting with you second before. “Ah, yeah, I am a criminal,” you snapped. You didn’t like him anymore.

He seemed angry, you didn’t know why. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said before walking away from you to hear. Of course. You technically didn’t blame  him. Still he was rude. 

You felt like crying. Again, this wasn’t right. This was the one thing why you’d left. Was this a mistake? It probably was, why else would you feel so small. He was right, this was.. A stranger, you were a stranger. And not in the way one would think, you were a stranger to yourself. Why were you there? 

Honestly, you wanted to leave. It… was weird. You wondered why he didn’t believe it. Of course, he wouldn’t believe someone like Sophia would do this, Sophia seemed to be very calculated. Like someone who always knew what she was doing. You guessed you understood that. 

But he seemed worried about her. Really Sophia had everything, at least someone was asking her what she was doing. No one questioned you. You watched him, he was angry, or worried or upset, or everything at once. 

You could overhear him, just a few lines, you didn’t want to seem like you were intruding. 

“The—Well, y/n? I don’t know her name—” He said and turned to you, he watched you from agair and you just nervously looked away. This was unbelievably awkward. “Henry called her—Whatever, no, she doesn’t have them, I have them, who is she?”

Henry had called you ‘Miss Y/L/n”, yes. But now  he knew your name. He didn’t know you knew his. 

You overheard again. “She is a stranger.” 

And then it crossed your mind, Sophia was a stranger. Why the hell had you done this? How had you done this? And you felt it in your stomach, this wasn’t like you. You never did anything. This was risking everything. This was getting out of your shell. 

“I… I don’t trust her. I’m… tell her to get a hotel,” you heard him. 

This was just not it. You felt dizzy, and anxious and this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This was supposed to be your fairytale and it felt like the worst nightmare. How was Sophia doing? 

At least she didn’t have to deal with anyone closing the door to your place, she’d have Tommy and you were sure the pup received her well. 

Tom watched you and turned to his phone and then you knew he was speaking at a lower volume, he probably knew you had overheard him. 

Tom was not happy, you could tell. Maybe this was his nightmare, after all, you assumed, he was in love with Sophia. 

He walked back to you, still staring at his phone. 

“Well, she’s gonna kill me if I don’t give you the keys,” he said, not still sure of it. “Look, I’m-” 

“I know you don’t trust me, I get it, but-Look, I am already here, I’m tired, I honestly feel like crap and I’m on a foreign country trying to remain as calm as I coul, look, I get it, I’m doubting it myself, but I trust her, she’s on my place, with Tommy-” 

“Who-?” 

“My dog, and I’m trusting her with that, so I know, I know, it is...mental or whatever fancy british ass word you used, and I myself can’t quite put my head as to why I did this, I don’t do this kind of stuff, I never do anything like this, and I know, it’s-Weird, and crazy but-You don’t have to be rude, alright? I’m not a criminal, I’m not- I’m just a girl whose heart was broken and needed to escape, and I-and Sophia was, too, okay? So maybe we just-I don’t know, I need to...” You knew your voice had broken a litte, and it surely pissed you off. “And Sophia, if she’s your friend, you’d understand why she’s doing this, she got her heartbroken, she was destroyed, someone made her believe it was her fault she was cheated on,” you pushed. “You know, when I talked to her-” 

“You don’t know-” 

“Maybe I just met her but I seem to understand her better than you,” you said. “And-and and before you say anything,” he had opened his mouth to complain. “I know, she is calculated, and I know she makes the right decision, but you don’t…Do you know how she feels with the breakup?” 

He didn’t answer. 

“Look, I don’t… That’s between you and her, alright-I-” 

You’d been saved by the bell, literally. A customer had walked in and Tom had to help them out. 

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and then dug in his pocket. He hesitantly handed them to you, but he didn’t let go as you had your hand reaching for them. 

“It—uh, the red one is—“

“From inside the bookshop and the blue one outside,” you nodded. “Yeah, she told me.” 

Tom sighed before finally letting the keys fall on your hand. His fingers had brushed lightly, something you would’ve noticed and dreamed about 10 minutes ago, but you weren’t so fond of him now. 

“Thank you,” you said and headed to the door where Sophia had told you it would be. At that point you realized, you hadn’t even properly introduced yourself to him. 

You didn’t want to, honestly. 

You had trouble opening the door but as soon as Tom had turned to you, you managed to open it. You walked in, and as soon as you’d closed the door, you wanted to cry, because it seemed like it was your only talent. 

But you went upstairs and found the place, it was so neat, and organized and perfect and… Very office-like. Everything was where it was meant to be, so perfectly organized. Everything had a place. It was so clean. Nothing, nothing out of place. With plants, she’d told you about her houseplants. Elegantly and modernly decorated. 

Perfect. So elegant, with a dining table that had stationery on top. Dining table that was used to work? Sophia really didn’t know how to separate her job from her life. You’d known it since she’d told you she lived above her bookshop. Which honestly, you couldn’t blame, your job was writing and you were sure all your writings were scattered around your house. Your place was a mess, really, compared to Sophia’s squared house. 

Everything was so in place. The order you needed after the mess you had of a life. Just a glance and you felt… great. You’d even forgotten the whole issue with that random british dude, who, you’d avoid. 

This was incredible. You dropped the bags in the middle of the place and ran around her house to discover every little detail, because you knew you’d get to know who Sophia was better by her place. 

Her kitchen was impeccable, and her fridge was filled not with any comfort food that you’d been having since Chad, but everything was perfect. You loved to cook, and you’d end up using this kitchen, but you saw it was barely used, you could tell. She probably didn’t cook much. 

There was another room, another office, you presumed, though the whole place seemed like an office, too formal and ordered,  so organized again, with a small bookshelf, classic books and new ones, never opened. You wondered if she was like you, that couldn’t get to read them. She was a fan of stationery it seemed, and organizers, and post it here and there, color coded. Like everything was there for a reason. 

Three pictures, one of her and her family, one with Danny and another one with Tom. He definitely was in love with her. 

You explored a bit more. You even feared to be stepping on the floor, fearing you’d ruin it. The place seemed incredibly arranged. You didn’t belong there, but at the same time it was soothing. It was bright, and it helped. As if seeing so much order would help put some order in your own life. The place felt like it was cleaning your mind. 

You headed upstairs to the bedroom, and a big bed welcomed you, with a perfect white duvet and plush pillows. You, excitedly ran and jumped to lay down on it. 

This was just what you needed. 

However, you’d noticed that even though she’d told you you lived with Danny, there was no sight of anyone else living here. It didn’t feel like a couple’s place. It felt… Lonely. There was no sign of someone else who lived there. No home. 

But her bed was comfortable. And you were so, so tired. And then again… the bed was so, so comfy. Besides if the math was right, it was 2am back at home, so a nap wouldn’t be so bad. You stared at the ceiling, waiting for an answer. This was it. No, whatever doubt you'd had before, it was erased. This was your chance, sure it was completely crazy, but this… You needed to escape, and you were in a nice place, in Kensington, London. Not in boring Oregon anymore.  What was Sophia doing? Was she going through the big mess you were going through? 

She probably didn’t feel small. But you decided this was no time to feel small. Though, you were tired, this was no time to pity yourself. So you took a shower, put in some nice clothes and decided to enjoy the day. You were away, you didn’t have to feel sorry for yourself. You’d have time for that later, you were in London, you didn’t need to cry on the other side of the world. You’d done enough crying already. Over a guy named Chad. 

You needed to explore London, for God’s sake, you were in Notting Hill, you were no Julia Roberts but who was to say you wouldn’t find your Hugh Grant? 

You were sure to bring the keys and made sure to walk out over the exit that was not inside the bookshop. You didn’t want to face Tom. But when you’d walked out, you’d seen him, not as cheerful as the first time you’d seen him. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, and running a hand through his face. He did look out when he’d seen you, you decided, once again, to ignore him. Even though you were sure he had tried to reach for you. But no, you ignored him. 

And you would keep ignoring him, this was not time to deal with a british man who was not Hugh Grant.

Timmy fic (Phonecall Tom has) 

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[goldenmazzello]

Never should have let you go.

Warning: Full of angst, swearing?, and more angst. 

Word count: 2.5k

As the door opened, the loudest of noises Joe could hear was silence. The sound of silence wasn't the lack of noise but the lack of your pressence. It was an unnerving silence, a constant companion of his thoughts. His thoughts were destroying him. He tried not to think but the silence was a killer.

His head was spinning on the memories the two of you had. The day you met, the day you kissed for the first time, the day you moved together and of course, the day you left. All the things he took for granted now became moments gone, forever wasted. He had to accept the damaged was done and it was obvious that you could never go back to the way it used to be. At least not now.

Even though that you were gone for weeks, coming home to an empty room was just as hard as the first day. The days feet like years now that he was alone. He felt that another day without you was like a blade cutting right through him. Joe hasn't been the same since you've been gone. Everytime he came back home from work he hoped everything was just a bad dream and that he would wake up and see your face again. He remembered those times in which you waited for him with his favorite supper. Or when you picked him up at the airport. Those little details meant the world to him. 

You were always there with a big bright smile, you were like a shining light that made him forget all of his problems. You were there to guide him on his darkest days. You were always there and he took it for granted. And now you were gone.

At night, after a long day at work, Joe lay in bed thinking about you and would burst into tears. The bed was made up on your side, as if you were about to enter the room.

The thing he missed the most was waking up next to you and looking into your eyes, those beautiful eyes he loved and he would give everything he had in the world to see them again. After all these wasted nights he couldn't pretend he was doing fine because that feeling was getting stronger everyday. He just couldn't take it anymore. He wondered if you thought about him when you couldn't fall asleep just like he did. You were always on his mind.

He has played your words back in his head a thousand times. I'm leaving. And there wasn't anything else that he could do. He felt helpless. He had to face the fact that he couldn't walk away from this, but it was hard when every little thing in the world reminded him of you.

Life was far different when you both decided it was time to live together. And things seemed to get better and better. You got a job promotion and as soon as he directed his first movie, Joe had an amazing opportinity that was life changing: another promising movie. But of course for every plus there is a minus, Joe was going to be away from you for a long time since he had to work in London. It was a challenge you had to face.

And that wasn't an easy time. You didn't tell him because you didn't want to worry him while he was working, but you couldn't stop crying. You would come back from work and cry because you missed him so much, but you knew it was going to happen, you knew it from the very beginning. And you were willing to tolerate it, he was the love of your life.

You tried to visit Joe once a month and he tried flying home during vacation. But in one of the most special days, Joe wasn't there. You spent your birthday alone and even though you told him it was okay, it really wasn't. You really wished he was there, but he was away. It was his job and you understood.

When Joe came back after being in London for six months, it felt like time didn't pass. He was back and all yours. You felt on cloud nine. After a few months, Bohemian Rhapsody was released and you were Joe's date for the premiere. And then, press tour began and everything started to feel like a mess. Joe had to fly around the world and wasn't going to spend much time at home.

Award season arrived and he had to fly from New York to Los Angeles, from Los Angeles to London and again, you were alone at home. You wished you could go with him but it was impossible, you weren't famous like him and after all, it was his job, again.

 And there wasn’t anything wrong about it, since day one you knew his life was like this and you accepted. The problem was that Joe was absolutely focused on his job and started to care less about you. The small notes with "I love you" or even his messages during breakfast or at night became scarce, almost non-existent. He didn't have time to FaceTime like he did before. He didn't even ask you to pick him up at the airport anymore. Everything was different now.

You could sense your relationship was falling apart but you didn’t want to give up on it. Just because you were in hot water it didn't necessarily mean you needed to throw in the towel, at least not now.

You decided to talk to Joe about this. This was making you feel totally miserable and you really wanted to fix it. After all, communication is the key in every relationship.

At first, he said he was sorry about it and he felt absolutely terrible for hurting you. He promised he was going to change and he said he was going to spend more time with you like before. You were in this together. And you felt relieved, as if you took a great weight off your shoulders. You really loved Joe and you would do everything in the world for him.

As weeks passed by, you felt you were trying to fix your relationship all by yourself. Lack of daily communication with him was something you were getting used to. Movie nights, dinner dates or even intimate moments were all distant memories. There were much less moments of cuddling, sweet kisses, hand holding, and walking arm-in-arm, they all had been replaced by distance. You thought it was maybe a temporary reaction to stress, but it's been going on for some time now. It was getting worse. Even the words "sweetheart,” “honey,” and “love" were gone. And your self-esteem was already affected. You felt heartbroken and hurt every day.

It was time.

It was time to leave.

You had an escape plan in your head for months. Your subconscious was sending you strong messages that it was time to get out. You tried not to think about it but every day you considered putting your plan into action. And the day finally came.

You got up in the morning and started packing your belongings. As you were taking your things out of your wardrobe, you felt a shiver down your spine. It felt odd, but you couldn't take it anymore. It was absolutely painful.

Three hours passed and Joe entered home. He let the door fall to with a thud that made you jump. You gulped and closed your eyes as you heard his steps were becoming closer. When Joe finally set foot in your shared room, his eyes were as big as plates. His face expression changed.

"W-What are you doing?" He was shoocked.

You grabbed your things quickly and got out of the room and he followed you. "I'm leaving, I can't put up with your fucking job anymore." You said as you tried to walk downstairs with your heavy suitcase. You had decided to leave since it was Joe's house and there was no way you would stay.

"Please, I'm begging you." Joe grabbed your hands while crying. Your words cut deeper than a knife.

"Joe, I'm being serious, don't make it even harder." You told him with a broken voice while trying to walk.

"You don't have to leave, th-th-this is your house too." He put himself in your way.

"This is your house, you paid for it with your work. Now please, move." You tried to move him but you couldn't since he was taller and bigger than you. "I'm gonna fall and get hurt, move!" At this point, you were already annoyed.

"No, I'm gonna protect you. You aren't gonna get hurt." He said while resting his hands on your waist.

You rolled your eyes. "Guess what? I'm already hurt and it's because of you! I tried to get things better but it seems you don't want to. I feel we've been living as roomates!" You left out a frustrated sigh. He moved his gaze to the floor.

"I promise I'll do my best this time. Let's go on a road trip." He suggested, trying to smile.

"There is not going to be any road trip or whatever. I'm leaving and there is nothing you can do about it. I feel like we're as close as strangers, you don't care about me anymore!" You screamed those words to Joe.

He didn't say anything but cried. He knew it was his fault. "Please, think about it. Don't take spur-of-the-moment decisions."

"It isn't a spur-of-the-moment decision, I've been thinking about it for months."

You don't know why, but he finally moved and helped you with your suitcase. "Where are you going?" He asked, looking into your eyes.

"It's none of your business." You looked for your coat, took out your keys and opened the door. "Here you have." You gave him the keys and got out of the house.

Joe couldn't stop the tears running down his face. "Sorry, sorry sorry sorry." He covered his eyes with his hands.

It's been a week that you were gone and Joe didn't know what to do. You blocked him from social media and he didn’t have a way of communicating with you. 

As he turned on his computer, he noticed you left your e-mail opened. He hesitated but then decided to open it.

You had an e-mail from an airline. Everything indicated you were in London now. "What is she doing in London?" He thought. "What about her job?"

As soon as he read that, he called Rami. He had moved to London with Lucy and maybe knew something about your whereabouts.

Rami told Joe that Lucy visited you in London but she wasn't going to give him your adress because she knew Rami would tell Joe about it. Joe promised not to visit you, he knew you didn't want to see him. After a few days of asking about you, Lucy finally spoke. You were living in an apartment -a flat, as British people call it-. Joe asked her how were you and Lucy said you were completely heartbroken.

"Can you please tell me her adress?" Joe asked her while they were on a FaceTime call. Lucy was drinking a tea and almost choke as she heard his words. 

"What?" Lucy asked confused. "Joe, she needs to be own her own, she needs time."

"I know, I'm not flying to London. I wanna send her a letter."

"A letter? Well, maybe I can write it and give it to her." She offered.

"Thank you but...it's private. I'd rather send it to her."

"Promise me you're not going to show up at her apartment or she'll never speak to me again and you'll never hear from her."

"I promise."

You were trying to get used to living in London. It wasn't like New York but you knew that eventually you were going to feel like you were home.

As you opened the door, there was a letter on the floor. You bend over and pick it up. Your heart stopped as you read Joseph Mazzello, New York, United States of America.

"How did he kno...Lucy!"

She must have told him, you were almost sure about it.

You sat on the couch and stared the letter for like 5 minutes, thinking if you should open it or not. You sighed and decided to open it and read it.

“Dear (Y/N)

First of all, don’t be mad at Lucy for giving me your adress, I promised her I won’t show up at your apartment. 

Since I don’t have any way of talking with you, I thought writing this letter was a good idea. If you are reading this, I wanna let you know that everything was my fault. I took everything for granted and I wish things would be different now. This time away from you felt like forever, I guess it’s the price I gotta pay for being such a stupid boyfriend. 

You have no idea how much I miss you. Every night I think and dream about you. I love you so much honey, I really do. I don’t know why I was so stupid and ruined everything, but I’m really sorry, I mean it. I wish that I could find a way to turn back time because my life hasn’t been the same since you’ve been gone. I can’t stop thinking about you and all the memories we have together. Getting through the night is the hardest thing to do, I miss feeling your body next to mine, I miss your touching and kissing, I miss everything about you. I try to get a grip but I just can’t put my life back into place, I feel so unprotected without you. I can’t stand the pain, I can’t make it go away. It hurts so much. I know I can’t erase the things that I’ve done, but from the buttom of my heart, I want you to give me a second chance. I know I’ve made more mistakes than I can even count and deep inside I know I don’t deserve another chance to make it work, but I’ll try my best, I’ll try for you. I promise this time I won’t make up excuses, I don’t wanna lose you. 

If you can give me half a chance I’ll show how much I can fix myself for you. One thing I know for sure, is that I never should have let you go.” 

MASTERLIST

[ragingbookdragon]

They Should Learn To Say Your Name

A Connor Kenway x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1,701 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence

Author’s Note: Honestly, I have nothing to make a note about lol. Well, I take it back, I do. This is the first meeting of Connor and the reader I’ve been writing about who is the seamstress. Enjoy! -Thorne

With the war in full swing, the streets of Boston and New York were full of angry people. It certainly wasn’t uncommon for Connor to involve himself in disputes, especially if they involved the redcoats or tax-collectors enforcing rule over the townspeople. Boston seemed to be the target city for today, and he weaved in between the townsfolk, listening for any signs of trouble. Of course, he found it without having to listen; the enemy became bolder, starting fights in the middle of the street, and he frowned as he watched a couple of redcoats shove an older gentleman to the ground, laughing as he cried out in pain. Something akin to rage bubbled deep inside him and he started over when a woman ran to the man, shielding him from them.

Her eyes were aflame with anger as she hissed, “How dare you!” Their laughter faded at her shout and she fumed, “Have you no shame! Assaulting innocent people! These are not rebel soldiers or militiamen!” She took a step towards them, pointing a finger in their faces. “You redcoats are nothing but abusers and thieves! You and your good for nothing king!” Connor silently moved closer, but a flash of metal caught his eye and he paused, instantly realizing what she was doing; she was making herself the target to save the man. “Well you know what I think?” Her hand shot forward, and all the sudden, a howl of pain echoed through the street. The redcoat dropped his musket, screaming as he reached up to grab at the iron knitting needle she’d embedded in his arm. She took a step sideways and hissed, “Down with the bloody red king!” The second redcoat barely had a moment to gape at her before she picked up her skirt and took off as fast as she could, knowing they’d give chase.

           Sure enough they did, and Connor sprinted after them. Evidently, this was something she’d done before because she knew which streets to take, weaving in and out of alleys to lose them. However, he knew they weren’t going to give up the chase until they’d caught her, and when a packed street forced her into a dead end, he realized she wasn’t going to make it out unless he helped her.

           The redcoats stalked towards her and she brandished her second knitting needle as one would a knife. One raised his musket to keep her from running and the one she’d stabbed stepped forward, an evil grin crossing his lips as he quipped, “Assaulting a member of His Majesty’s army is a serious offense.” Though her eyes bore fear, a bolt of hatred flashed within them and she spat,

           “Then I guess I should’ve aimed for your heart. Might’ve gotten a reward from the patriots.” He scoffed and took a step towards her, noting how she flipped the needle in her grip.

           “So you’re a member of the rebel army as well?” He shot a glance over his shoulder at the second soldier. “I don’t think the captain would mind if we administered justice right here.” He looked back at her, snickering, “No need to waste good money on an execution.” He stopped in front of her and for a split second, neither of them moved, then she jerked, raising the needle into the air. He caught her arm with an effortless ease and curled his other hand into a fist, sending it into her stomach. A pained gasp tore through her and she went to her knees, gagging as the air seemed to fade from her lungs. She felt him kneel down beside her and when she looked over, the back of his hand came across her cheek with enough force to send her back against the wall. Their laughter echoed in her ears, but the pain spreading up her spine and head from the impact held dominion over it. Tears welled in her vision from the pain and a hand clutched her jaw, yanking her head up to look at him. His breath sent a revolting feeling through her stomach as he hissed, “I’m going to enjoy this.” Before he could reach for her bodice, someone’s hand curled around his jaw and yanked it to the side. With a sickening snap, his neck was broken, and she was freed from his grasp. She went to the ground again, reaching up to hold her jaw when a hand appeared in her vision, the same one that had saved her. She recoiled slightly when their voice calmed,

           “It is okay…I am not going to hurt you.” She looked up at her savior and he wore a solemn expression as he lowered the white hood. He wore a small smile that reached his honeyed eyes and he introduced himself. “My name is Connor.” He gestured to the dead soldiers, and she glanced over to see the second redcoat face down in the dirt, a pool of blood growing around him; she hadn’t even heard him go down. “I saw what you did in the market. It was very brave.” She scoffed, reaching up to wipe her lip, pulling her hand away to see the blood on her fingertips.

           “Foolish is more like it.” Something soft touched her face and she registered that he was wiping the blood away with a handkerchief.

           “Perhaps…but it takes a courageous heart to stand up to injustice.” Her lips pulled into a grin and she said,

           “You tell this to all the woman you save?” His dark brows furrowed, and he asked,

           “What do you mean?” She blinked, suddenly embarrassed at her words and she shook her head, offering,

           “Nothing.” Clearing her throat, she said, “Thank you for saving my life. I’m (Y/N).” He smiled at her and stood, holding out his hand. She took it and he helped her to her feet, watching as she glared at the dead soldiers. “Bastards…all of ‘em. They do this to people every day, forcing them from their homes, mocking them in the streets, abusing them.” (Y/N) frowned. “They forced me from my home a few weeks ago…I’ve been bouncing from the homes of friends ever since. I try to stop them when I can.” Her head lowered and she muttered, “But it seems I made a bigger mess than I did help.” Connor clasped his hands in front of him, affirming,

           “That is not true.” Her head shot up at the firmness in his statement and he added, “You have protected an innocent elder and shown the people that even townspeople can stand up to the British.” She felt the corner of her lips rise and she murmured,

           “Thank you, Connor.” She fell silent then he questioned,

           “You said they forced you from your home?” She nodded, sighing,

           “Took all my tailoring supplies too.”

           “Then you have nowhere to go?” Again, she nodded, and he suggested, “Why not come live with my village?” (Y/N) stared at him in shock and Connor smiled, “It is called the Davenport Homestead.” She simply gaped at him and blurted,

           “You’re offering me a home in yours?” He nodded. “Why?” He gestured for them to walk and he explained,

           “Our village is growing, and we have need of men and women who can bring trade and growth. I would be willing to accompany you in case you were afraid of another run in with the redcoats?” (Y/N) stopped and before she could help it, she had one of his hand in both of hers, cheerfully accepting,

           “Yes, I would be more than happy to go!” He smiled and she pulled her hand away, following as he led her.

           The journey to the homestead would’ve gone into the night had Connor not suggested they set up a small camp and rest. She watched him poke at the fire with a stick before sitting back against a log, at least an arm’s length away from her. There hadn’t been much conversation between them as they traveled, and she soon understood that he wasn’t much for talking, but something had been eating at her since he’d rescued her, and against her better judgement of prying, she asked, “Connor? May I ask you something?” He nodded and she inquired, “What’s your name?” His brows furrowed and he turned his head, looking at her.

           “Excuse me?” (Y/N) giggled, propping her elbow on the log as she repeated,

           “Your name? What is it?” Connor seemed puzzled because he shook his head, stating,

           “My name is Connor.” She let out a huff and quipped,

           “I might’ve been born at night, but it wasn’t last night.” Her words only confused him more and she clarified, “It means I’m not a fool. I don’t think it’s wrong for me to assume your name isn’t Connor.” She observed him a moment, then she surmised, “You took a colonial name to blend in with the people, didn’t you?” He didn’t respond at first, dropping her gaze, obviously thinking about how he was going answer her question, but he knew it was rhetorical, and he knew that she knew ‘Connor’ wasn’t his name. He raised his eyes, meeting hers and said,

           “My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton.” (Y/N) cocked an eyebrow and requested,

           “Say that again.” Connor looked away as he sighed,

           “Just use Connor. It is easier.”

           “Easier, yes. But not right.” He whipped his head back around to see her gazing at him firmly. “I wouldn’t like someone to call me another name if they couldn’t bother to learn my real one.” She pointed at him. “It is your name and people should learn to say it properly and respectfully. So, will you repeat it please? A little slower?” He pursed his lips, then murmured,

           “Ratonhnhaké:ton.” (Y/N) mouthed the name and he enunciated, “Rah-doon-ha-gay-doon.” She nodded, repeating cautiously,

           “Ratonhnhaké:ton?” Shaking his head a bit, he corrected rather firmly,

           “Ratonhnhaké:ton.” She swallowed and tried,

           “Ratonhnhaké:ton.” He nodded and she smiled, satisfied with herself. Sticking out her hand, she greeted, “It’s nice to meet you Ratonhnhaké:ton.” Connor looked at her hand, then her face and a small smile crossed his lips as he reached over and shook her hand.

           “It is nice to meet you as well.”

[iwillhaveamoonbase]

Replay ch. 4

Callum gulped as he sent the text to Rayla.  She was fully in her rights to reject a drawing session in the woods.  Not only that, but he was asking her to bring her own clothes because he didn’t know her exact measurements.  Was he asking too much?  He read the text again.  ‘If it’s not too much trouble, I was really imagining drawing you among the trees, like a faerie or an elf.  If you have any flowy clothes that you are alright with getting dirty, please wear those. I’ll send you the location if you’re comfortable.  If not, we can do the beach or my backyard.  I just can’t imagine drawing you in a confined space like my studio. I don’t think it would fit your spirit.’

Callum internally screamed. Did he really send that?  She was going to rescind her acceptance of his request to draw her, wasn’t she?  ‘Her spirit’? He had met her once!  What was wrong with him?  It was true, though.  That was something about her that, despite the suit and the situation that they met in, made him feel like she would be more at home running barefoot through the forest or relaxing by the sea.

Either way, now all he had to do was wait for her to reply back.  If she rejected the offer, well, he didn’t want to think about that, because that meant he probably was never going to see her again.  Meeting her once was enough to make her haunt his every thought for the past three days.  While he and his friends had finally ironed out how they were going to go full-time with YouTube, she had been right in the back of his mind.  

He had looked up her name and ran across a few things.  She really was the daughter of two bodyguards of the British royal family and her adoptive fathers ran a famous Celtic jewelry shop in Aberdeen, the designs being a mix of traditional shapes and styles and new materials.  She did dance for years as a way to channel her energy. There was even a video online of her at sixteen doing a ballet routine to a Kylie Minogue and Madonna compilation. She had inserted traditional Irish step dance in a way Callum never would have thought worked but it did. Maybe that was because of the sheer joy on her face as she moved.  That made her departure from dance all the stranger and it’s also where information about her basically stopped.  The most recent thing he found was that she worked for Patel and Associates Anti-Fraud Law Office.  

A lawyer…his faerie was a lawyer.  It certainly explained the suit but it was almost absurd.  Here he was imagining her running through the trees and she was surrounded by paperwork in her daily life.  Did she enjoy it?  Did she like spicy food?  What was her type?

Callum hit his head against his desk.  He needed to stop letting his mind drift to her and whether or not she could ever be interested in him.  There was no way someone like him was her type.  She couldn’t hide just how toned her long legs her in her suit.  She probably worked out often while he was a lazy twig that indulged in sleeping in too much.  Also, she was a lawyer.  A lawyer falling for a YouTuber/artist?  Yeah, right.

A stray chip hit his forehead.  Callum looked up to glare at Soren.  “What?”

“You thinking about that hot girl at the cheese shop again?”

“What?  No!”  Callum could feel the blush creepy up on his cheeks and all the way to his ears.

“It’s fine if you were. She was smoking hot.  I never thought I would find white hair hot, but DAMN.”

Claudia hummed in acknowledgement.  “I’m calling it now; she’s Bi or Pan.”

“What makes you say that?” Soren mumbled around a bunch of chips.

Claudia winked.  “Gaydar.”

“Wishful thinking?”

“Maybe some of that, too,” Claudia shrugged.  

“She’s got two dads,” Callum mumbled.

Soren, Claudia, and Ezran all turned to him.  “Does she now?” Claudia asked.

“Yeah.  She told me at the shop.  It was the painting of Aunt Amaya and Aunt Janai that made her accept my offer.  She was raised by her parents’ friends, hence, two dads.  They run Gael Jewelers in Aberdeen.”  

Claudia immediately pulled out her phone, probably to look them up.  Shortly after, she whistled.  “Wow. She comes from a really good-looking family.  Her mom is a totally MILF.”

Soren rolled his eyes. “Claudia, you can’t just-” Claudia shoved the picture in his face. “MILF alert.”

“Mm-hmm.”  Claudia scrolled through.  “Ethari and Runaan and are also incredibly attractive.  Damn.  What is in the water in Scotland?”

Callum rolled his eyes. “Guys.  Let’s focus.  Do we need a production manager?”

Claudia shrugged.  “My vote is you’re in charge of creative for group projects, we run our own channels, and we hire an editing assistant.”

“We also need a social media manager.  Ez can’t do it all on his own while he’s in school.”

Ezran nodded.  “It’s nice that you guys do your own channel stuff, but, sometimes, it would be nice to have some help.”

“Do we need a strong social media presence?  We have YouTube and Twitter.  Isn’t that enough?”

Ezran scratched the back of his neck.  “Maybe? Claudia’s got a large following on Tumblr ever since she came out during one of her make-up tutorials.  Her super casual ‘my ex-girlfriend taught me how to do this and this is the first time I’ve done this eyeliner look since we broke-up’ just made her blow-up and our channel gained thousands of followers over-night.”

Callum nodded.  “We gained a lot of followers after I did that art tutorial with Janai, too.  A lot of people just went gaga over her and I see a lot of requests for her to come back on the channel.”

“Which is where a social media manager could come in handy.  Maybe they could track requests so we don’t have to?”

Soren sighed, taking another handful of his chips.  “We also need someone to help us with events.  Getting us into them, working booths…being famous is hard work.”

“We aren’t famous, Soren.”

“Beg to differ.  I get stopped all the time.”  Soren flexed his arm.  “And it’s not just because of these guns.”  The other three in the room rolled their eyes.  

“Himbo,” Claudia coughed, no-so-subtly.  

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?! Stop using words I don’t know!”

“Stop being a himbo.”

“CLAUDS!”  

Ezran and Callum shared a look, snorting at their childhood friends’ teasing.  Soren and Claudia couldn’t go five minutes without teasing each other or making a serious situation humorous.  “Can’t take them anywhere,” Callum whispered.

Ezran nodded.  “Bait is better behaved.”

Callum eyed the frog in the glass bowl Ezran took with him wherever he could.  “He’s glaring at me again.”

“Because you won’t stop thinking about that girl.”

“It’s not my fault she won’t leave my head.  You saw her, Ez.”

“Yeah, she’s beautiful, but she’s not running through my head like she is your’s.  Are you even ready for another relationship?  After Melissa-”

“Melissa was a nightmare. She constantly asked to be introduced in our videos.  I didn’t know at the time, but you were right, she approached me because she wanted to piggyback off our growing fame.”  Callum ran a hand through his hair.  “I was an idiot.”

Ezran put a hand on his shoulder.  “I wasn’t going to say that.  I was going to say that Melissa really hurt you and I want you to be careful.  You didn’t even like her that much, if I remember correctly.”

“She was nice, pretty, liked some of the same things I did.  But she didn’t really inspire me to be better or push my art.  She only encouraged the YouTube thing, not what I actually like.”

“She is why we got almost fifty thousand subscribers in one week, though.  That story broke and you had to give that little video and it really stuck with people.”

Callum remembered that video.  As a way to quiet down any questions, he had made a short video detailing how they had met (in a coffee shop), why they had never gone public (he had wanted to keep his private life and his YouTube life separate), that she had met his family but they kept it hush-hush (impossible not to meet Ezran after knowing Callum for a week), and that the break-up had not been mutual.  Callum had broken-up with her because he had felt that it wasn’t working because they wanted different things.  Melissa pushed the YouTube thing, and there was nothing wrong with that, but, if Callum was going to be known for social media and videos, he wanted to be proud of what he put out into the universe.  He loved his art more, and, if he could, that would be all he did.  Melissa had wanted to do sponsorships and Callum hadn’t.  They just had different values and desires and no one else was owed this knowledge, but Callum had been forced to do damage control because people would not stop asking.  “Yeah. I was really surprised that that happened.”

“People value honesty. I think it comes across in our videos and your art tutorials that you are not in this for the fame.  We’ve done meet and greets and you are just awkward as anything.  Melissa showed her true colors on her own with posts afterwards.”  Callum didn’t even want to think about how Melissa had tried to monetize their break-up.  It had been bizarre to see her sponsored by a make-up wipe company to tell her side of the story, which basically confirmed everything in Callum’s video, but with the caveat that she had wanted him to reach new heights and that YouTube and not his ‘lame art’, as she had put it, was the way to do that.  Their fans had not taken kindly to that and Melissa had lost thousands of followers she had gained overnight in even less time.

“Social media is weird, Ez. No matter what, we have got to stay away from the drama.  We do not want to be involved in any of that.”

“Yep.  That’s why I think a social media manager could help.  A good one.”

“I’m all for it if that’s what keeps our noses clean.”  Callum straightened when his phone alerted him to a text.  

He opened it to see it was from Rayla ‘The woods?  OK.  I’m still bringing my friend.  When’s good for you?  It would have to be on a weekend for me because of work.  Sorry about that.’

“Holy shit,” Callum whispered.

“What?” Ezran looked over his shoulder to read the text.  “That text sounds weird.  Callum-”

“I know, Ez, but she didn’t say ‘no’.  She didn’t reject me.”  Ezran raised a brow.  “You know what I mean.”

“You’ve got it bad.”

“I just need to draw her to get her out of my system.”

“Either that or she is your muse.  Poor Aunt Janai.  She was having so much fun being your muse.  So was Khessa.”  Callum chuckled.  Khessa, Janai’s older sister, did enjoy modeling for Callum.  His exhibit on women of color had been a smash hit in part because of her always accepting when he asked.  She had once modeled with a crown while sitting on a throne and that particular piece now hung in her house in her living room, showed off to everyone who came over.  Callum smiled as he remembered that exhibit.  His crowing achievement, to this day, was the portrait of his mother, eyes softened, and an easy, loving smile on her lips.  People thought of her as this rough former military general and tactician who once taught at military academies.  They didn’t know that she had a sweet tooth or that her relationship with Callum’s father had led her to leaving the military because she saw that the push for peace was more important.  

She was now known for her discussions on US-South Korean and US-Thai relations because both her parents were immigrants and her own history in South Korea.  Sarai and Amaya had both spent half their childhoods in South Korea in Korean schools, helping Sarai learn how the rest of the world saw the States. She and Amaya and joined the military because it helped pay for university, but both found they were really good at it. So good at it, they extended their contracts before finally leaving to focus on family and peaceful negotiations. Callum was proud of his mother’s work and was proud of the picture showing the softer side of her so many people didn’t see.  

He shook his head and sent a quick text to Rayla that next Saturday worked for him if it worked for her.  This Saturday was in a few days and, if things went how Ezran wanted, they were probably going to be doing interviews all weekend for a social media manager.  “Let’s get a social media manager, Ez.”

“YES!”

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

Rayla smiled at the text. The woods was a bit of a strange option, but she was excited.  She hadn’t had a chance to go running through the trees barefoot in years.  She was going to have to ask Corvus if he was willing to head out early so she could do so.  She mentally thought of her wardrobe and realized she didn’t have anything flowing that she was willing to get dirty.  She was going to have to go thrift store shopping.  

Was she really going to go buy a dress so a random artist that she had met one time could draw her surrounded by trees?  Yeah, she was and she was going to look so good she was going to haunt his mind like he haunted her’s.  His voice followed her and she had watched all of his videos in three days.  She barely slept because she wanted to hear him more or see him smile or laugh.  She felt like one of those stalkers who was convinced a famous person was in love with them, but she had met him in real life.  He had approached her, he had asked to draw her.  Either way, she wanted him to be tongue-tied when he saw her and, hopefully, she was going to quell some of the fire that refused to leave her belly since they had shaken hands.

[cassnottiel]

I HOPE THIS DOESNT SOUND TOO WEIRD but maybe a deke prompt where he had been dating Trevor instead of Sequoia? And like, the betrayal Deke feels that his fucking boyfriend was a SHIELD operative and it's totally up to u if trevor's feelings are real or not!! and maybe the team's reaction to it, and all of that gknhknh

He didn't know when it happened.  It could have happened slowly, or faster than the blink of an eye and he wouldn't have noticed.  All Deke Shaw knew was that he loves Trevor Kahn.

Trevor had been around since before the company was, longer than almost anyone else in Dekes life. 

Deke noticed he was in love late at night, typing out the beginning of the code for a game he didn't even have a name for yet.  Trevor was asleep on the couch, and Deke glanced back and noticed how cute he was.  That's when it hit him.

And he didn't question it, just started noticing more things to love about Trevor.  And he started vocalizing some of the things he loved. 

"I love your hair like that."  Deke said in passing one day, like it was completely natural.

"I love the way you did that whole-" Deke used his hands to gesture what he couldn't say with words, excited after a beta test of their game.

"You're amazing, and I love you."  Deke smiled as he accepted a hot mug of tea that was practically half sugar.

"Why don't you drink coffee?"  Trevor asked as he sat down in his chair with his own drink.

Deke shrugged and started typing his code out again.  "My grandparents got me hooked on it.  And tea tastes infinitely better than coffee."

Trevor scoffed, bringing his coffee up to drink.  "Your grandparents are crazy."

"They're from the UK."

"If anything, that makes it worse."  They both laughed, and Deke finally looked away from his screen.  "Now I'm picturing you going to a British prep school, and it's horrible."

"Okay, that's not fair."  Deke spun in his chair to fully face his friend.  "I've never been to a prep school.  And don't disrespect tea."

"Sorry to offend you, sir."  Trevor put on a horrible fake British accent.  "Innit?"

Deke rolled his eyes and hit Trevor's arm lightly.  They were both laughing again, and they were sitting so close in the empty room.

"I love your laugh."  Deke blurted out.  He drank some more tea to hide his face when Trevor went silent.  He set the mug down and they stared at each other.

Trevor looked like he was thinking about something, something important.  Deke sighed and went to turn back to the screen.

But before he could, a pair of hands was pulling him forward into a kiss.  Trevor was kissing him.  Deke couldn't believe it, he could burst with happiness.

Everything in his life was finally going right.

---

"What happened here?"  Trevor's voice was soft in the dead of night.  He was playing with the fingers on Dekes right hand, where there was still a scar on his wrist that would never heal.  Dekes hand was gone as soon as he comprehended the question.

"It's a really long story."  He said quietly, as if he was scared to disturb the universe.  "I don't think you'll believe me if I told you."

Trevor shifted to look into those bright green eyes, almost radiant in the darkness.  "I'd believe anything you tell me."

And Deke could see something in his boyfriends eyes, hear it in his voice; truth.  Deke had always been able to tell when someone was lying to him, and Trevor wasn't lying. 

So he told his story.  It was the first time he'd talked about it since he left the Lighthouse.  It felt so freeing to reveal all the baggage and trauma to the night, that he didn't care if Trevor thought he was crazy and left.

But Trevor just listened.  He listened and didn't interrupt.  When Deke finished talking, they both stayed silent. 

It was that night, that night would haunt his future.

Deke started opening up to Trevor more, about things that reminded him of the future, about how much he missed his grandparents, how much he missed most of the people in SHIELD.

Deke trusted Trevor more than anyone in his life.  But trust is a fickle, delicate, fragile thing.

His friend Sequoia came to get boba tea with him, and commented on her model in the game when she brought him out of the simulation.

"I'm still so honored that you chose me to be the sexy damsel, I love it."  She was smiling at the monitors before looking down at her phone.

"Sweet raid, babe!"  Trevor got up from his chair and grabbed Dekes hand.  "And the rendering on that blue guy was awesome!"

"Your boy's a visionary."  Sequoia told Trevor.  Deke said something modest and the three of them started walking.

She started recording part of Dekes inspirational speech, and the three of them were almost at the exit for their tea.

But then Kaya had him test something and Lindsay was telling them that a meeting was starting two hours early.  So Deke had to send Sequoia for the boba and got ready to bullshit his way through a meeting.

And the meeting was with Coulson, but that man wasn't Coulson and he was pulling a knife.  Deke stabbed the Not-Coulson and ran, and then Ray got shot and chaos erupted. 

Deke was crouched behind a table in the main computer lab, saying something to Not-Coulson, trying to come up with a plan, when a hand clamped over his mouth.  He would have fought, but it was Trevor.  He relaxed.

"On my signal, make for the northwest exit."  Trevor's voice was completely calm.  "Keep moving forward, don't look back.  I called for extract.  I got your six."  He removed his hand.

It clicked in Dekes head.  "Who are you?"

Something clicked and a high pitch whine sounded.  "Trevor Kahn, agent of SHIELD."

That wasn't the answer he was looking for, but before Deke could say that, the flash bang went off and he was being shoved and they were running.

They slowed down when they got out of the building, and Deke could finally piece together a sentence:  "You were SHIELD this entire time?"

"Did you really think we were gonna let you rip off all our tech?"  That answer, and the implications behind it, hurt.  Deke couldn't say anything to that.

When they got on the jet, May's words cut even deeper.  "Trouble with your babysitting assignment?"

Everything made sense.  Looking back on their entire relationship, Deke scolded himself for not realizing it sooner.  So much for knowing when someone is lying to him.

He would have sat silently in the Quint-Jet and thought about all the small moments in his relationship forever, but then Sequoia called him to ask where he was. She was inside that building with the crazy people and SHIELD team.

Deke grabbed a bulletproof vest and an ICER gun. He'd already lost one person today, he wouldnt lose another.

"You should get that checked out." Trevor told him, after Deke unloaded his whole clip to quell the anger in his chest. He didn't respond, only told Mack that he had a plan and started off down the hallway.

The flight back to the Lighthouse was full of small conversation, but Deke was silent. He was still trying to figure out which parts of the last year were real and which were a result of SHIELD. Our date to the escape room, was added to that list.

The jet landed in the hanger, and Deke stayed where he was. Even when everyone else walked off, he stayed in that seat, still thinking over the last year of his life.

When he finally stood up, an eternity later, he wanted to go to his room and sleep for an even longer eternity. He started walking down the ramp. A hand grabbed his arm.

Instinct kicked in and Deke spun around, grabbed the offending wrist and wrenched it away from his arm. But the other person was a trained SHIELD agent.

The other person had Deke flat on his back and seeing stars in seconds. He finally saw the face looming above and-

It's Trevor.

"Get off of me."

"I want to talk to you." Trevor didn't move. This was a position they had been in countless times in the past, but it was so different this time.

"Get off." Deke repeated, a request that fell on deaf ears.

"I want to explain myself." Trevor said. "I-"

Deke kicked out one of Trevor's legs and pushed him away. "You don't have to explain anything to me, Agent Kahn." The title was split out like it was a poison. "I understand."

"No, you don't-"

"You pretended to like me for a year for an assignment." Deke scoffed and stood up. "And you pretended to love me. You listened to me for a year, you learned everything there is to know about me for a report." As he said the words, he finally started to believe them. The betrayal was finally sinking in. "Am I close?"

Trevor didn't say anything. He looked almost desperate and sad.

Deke scoffed again, turning away to hide damp eyes.

"Well, you don't have to pretend anymore."

Read on ao3

[trashmouth-tozier89]

Welcome to the Loser’s Club, Asshole! - Ch.1 | T W O

Warnings: swearing, a very mild sexual innuendo - everything you’d expect with Richie

Word Count: 3,740

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Reader, Platonic!Stan Uris x Reader

A/N - second chapter of my first series! i’m really liking the way this is turning out, considering i’ve never written a rewrite of a pre-existing movie/book! i’ve not planned what each chapter is going to contain, so i’m praying this works out in the long run. if you haven’t noticed, i don’t particularly have a schedule for publishing these chapters, but i am just trying to get them all out as soon as possible so it can be more of a binge read than having to wait :/

If you wish to be added to the taglist, send in an ask or pop it in the comments! :)

Welcome to the Loser’s Club Asshole Masterlist 

“Take everything but the Delicious Deals, guys. My mom loves ‘em” Eddie instructed as Richie swung the kitchen cabinet doors open with full force, taking out whatever food he could find. “Hey! First you said the Barrens and now you’re saying the sewer. I mean, what if we get caught?”

Eddies seemed hesitant, his words coming out in whispers towards the end of his sentence. Eddie was rather obedient when it came to authority; he didn’t like standing up to people he thought were right. But Bill had insisted the sewers were the perfect place to search for the missing 7 year old, so he tried his best to convince Eddie; “We won’t Eds, the sewers are p-p-public works. We’re the public, aren’t we?”

“Hey, Eddie, these your birth control pills?” Richie pitched in, pointing to the bottles of pills which filled a whole cabinet; he smirked at the joke, proud like he always was.

“Yeah, and I’m saving it for your sister. This is private stuff” Eddie retorted, Bill sniggering in the background. The boys went to leave the house, and head to the Barrens, before being stopped in their tracks by Eddie’s mother.

“Eddie bear, where you boys off to in such a rush?” She spoke, in such a sickeningly sweet tone; anyone could tell she was disguising ill intentions. Sonia Kaspbrak was the kind of mother who was very protective over her child; Eddie could never go anywhere without some kind of interrogation. That’s just the way it was in the Kaspbrak house. They boys stood silent for what felt like minutes, but thankfully was only a few seconds, trying to piece together an excuse. There was no way they could tell her they were going to the Sewers, she’d have gone berserk.

“Um… j-j-just my backyard Mrs K” Bill stuttered out, thinking up something on the spot, “I got a new-“

“A new croquet set. Jeez, spit it out b-b-b-Bill” Richie chimed in when Bill was unable to finish his sentence; Bill wasn’t always the best at lying to peoples face, but that was practically Richie’s talent.

“Okay” Sonia wasn’t sure if she believed them or not, specifically whether she believed Richie or not, but she accepted it anyway because surely her son wouldn’t lie to her. “Oh, and sweetie, don’t go rolling around on the grass. Especially if it’s just been cut. You know how bad your allergies can get”

“Yes Mom – let’s go” Eddie practically whispered, wanting to leave as soon as possible; he didn’t exactly like his mother like most children should. It was a complicated relationship.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Eddie knew exactly what his mother meant by this, and so huffed loudly while approaching the woman who was slumped down in her armchair, planting a small kiss on her cheek. He knew he was going to be the pit of Richie’s jokes for the next hour or so, especially considering Richie was now sniggering rather loudly from the hallway.

“Do you want one from me too Mrs K?” Richie chuckled, but before he could even look in Sonia’s direction, Eddie was shoving him out the door chanting “No, no, no”. Thankfully, Richie was out the door in seconds, so Eddie quickly apologised and shut the door behind him.

***

“Mom, are you in here?” Y/N shouted as she walked into the backyard shed, hoping to find her mother in there considering she was nowhere else to be found. With the house all furnished and looking like a real home now, Y/N was starting to feel a lot more settled in and like Derry was where she had lived her whole life. Her mother had even agreed to let Y/N turn the backyard shed into a birdwatching hut that she and Stanley could spend their time birdwatching in; it thankfully had a window at the back which looked straight into the forestry behind the house, so all it would need was a little makeover and it would be perfect.

“Just here, love. What do you need?” she shouted back, watching Y/N’s face light up as she entered. Y/N’s mother had spent the last hour or two painting the walls of the shed green so that no bird would be afraid to fly near it. It wasn’t the way she wanted to spend her first day in Derry, but when she heard how excited Y/N was when she got home and exclaimed she had made her first friend and that they had bonded over birdwatching, she was more than happy to help her daughter make friends.

“Can I spend the day with Stan and his other friends?” Y/N questioned, a spring in her step at the idea of spending the day with her newly found friends; though she had realised she only actually knew Stan’s name. She just referred to the other 3 as ‘the short one’, ‘the one with the stutter’ and ‘the cute one’. She wasn’t really sure why, but she really hoped that the cute one would be there when she met up with them. There was something about him that made her want to get to know him.

“Of course love, but be home by 5 at the latest” she answered, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s cheek and sending her on her way. Y/N rushed out to the front of her house, waiting patiently for Stan and the rest to arrive after agreeing on the phone the night before that he would meet her at her house. Only after a few minutes of waiting around, she heard the skidding of bike wheels against the tarmac road before looking up to see the boy with the stutter slamming down his brakes.

“H-h-hey” he smiled, looking your way and then behind him to see the three other boys speeding down the road at a speed nowhere near as fast as he’d been going. Y/N giggled at the sight of the boy’s faces of annoyance.

“Slow down Bill, we can’t keep up!” Stan yelled, slowing down once he got in front of you.

“Don’t blame me, blame Silver!”

“Yeah Stan, it’s not Bills fault he finishes fast” the boy with glasses shouted as he too pulled up, shortly followed by the short one. Y/N let out a small snigger at the boys joke, and he looked to her with a smirk on his face, while the others looked at her like she had just committed a crime. Not many people laughed at his jokes, and when they did it was usually out of pity, so it was nice for him to receive some admiration. “I don’t think I ever properly introduced myself; Richie Toziers the name, and doing voices is my game”

The boys all rolled their eyes at Richie’s poor attempt of a British accent, but Y/N chuckled rather loudly at his introduction. She liked his humour, it was unlike any she’d heard before, but that was in a good way; it was funnier than she’d heard before. She shook his hand, but instead he went to kiss it gently as if she were a princess.

“A-and I’m Eddie.” The small one chimed in from the background, a wide grin on his face as he looked at her. She smiled back, sending a small wave over to the boy who instantly sent one back, blushing a little. Eddie seemed quite shy, she realised, but that wasn’t to say that was a bad thing; she’d just have to let him warm up her a little.

“It’s lovely to meet you Eddie. And you’re Bill” she grinned; looking towards the boy she’d heard the name of a few times already. He nodded, smiling back. Bill always loved making new friends; in fact all the boys did, so she was more than welcome to join the Loser’s club. “I’m Y/N L/N; I moved to Derry a few days ago.”

“A-are we ready to go?” Stan urged, finding it a little awkward that he had just been standing here for the past 5 minutes while the other 3 boys practically drooled over Y/N; he understood, she was pretty, very pretty indeed, but at least he was able to control himself. He did find it rather amusing how hung Richie was; he would normally have been spurring out vulgar comments and pickup lines by this point, but he hadn’t said a crude joke at all, well not to Y/N. The thing was, he didn’t want to scare her away; Richie had a tendency of being too loud and vulgar most of the times, and this tended to earn him eye rolls and scoffs instead of laughs. His jokes were purely his humour, and most people didn’t have the same humour as Richie.

“Bill decided the Sewers would be better to look” Eddie mentioned, considering both Stan and Y/N hadn’t been there that morning to hear the conversation. Stan was fine with it, he didn’t really want to be searching for Georgie in the first place and either way they were splashing around in shitty water. Y/N, however, responded with a look of disappointment and… worry?

“Is that okay, Y/N?” Richie asked rather quickly once he noticed the look on her face; admittedly it was a little embarrassing for him but he didn’t want Y/N to feel uncomfortable- seriously, what was happening to Richie?

“O-oh, yeah it’s fine. I just, I wouldn’t have worn once of my nice dresses if I knew we were going to the sewers…” she muttered, playing with the hem of the skirt adorned on her body. She wanted to impress the boys, specifically Richie, so she wore one of her cuter dresses that she thought made her look nice. Why was she trying to impress the boys?

“You could go ch-ch-change if you want, we have all day” Bill offered, but she could tell his face was desperate to get going and searching for whatever it was they were looking for.

“No, that’s okay.” She grinned, not wanting to hold the boys up. They all mounted their bikes, while Y/N stood awkwardly, until they noticed she didn’t have her own bike. She had never been much of a bike rider in her childhood, so she never saw the need to waste her pocket money on one.

“You can ride on the back of mine, if you want?” Richie offered, cheeks blushing as he noticed the boys were sniggering; it wasn’t loud enough for Y/N to hear, but Richie had. He couldn’t comprehend why this girl made him feel so nervous, when usually he was what he liked to a ladies man. After watching the boys mock him, he tried his best to make them shut up by adding a Richie quirk to his question; “That is, if you can manage to keep your hands to yourself, sweetcheeks”

“I think I’ll manage that just fine, thank you” she smirked back, climbing onto the back of the bike and wrapping her arms around the boy’s waist, watching as the other boys laughed at Richie’s expense. She felt him clench slightly as she touched him, but she thought nothing of it; however, she had begun to feel a little guilty for what she said. As Richie and the others started cycling to the destination, Y/N felt it needed to apologise; “I’m sorry if that was rude”

“It’s all good, sweetcheeks. Maybe you could make it up to me later” he quirked up, his confidence suddenly skyrocketing when she giggled softly into the crook of his neck. He was glad she found his jokes funny; it meant he wouldn’t have to hold back from being himself to impress her, even if he didn’t know why he wanted to. Probably just because she’s knew to the group, he thought to himself, yeah that’s why.

“Oh yeah, and what would that entail?”

“Well, you’d come around to my house, because my parents won’t be in. I’ll take you up to my room and-“

“Beep beep Richie” Stan shouted from his bike in front, stopping Richie from finishing the awful sentence considering he knew Richie would happily have gone into full detail of their sexual escapades, and Stan didn’t want to hear that. Thankfully for the rest of the ride, the group were silent, and it only really took them 5 minutes to arrive at the sewer entrance.

***

“That’s poison ivy, and that’s poison ivy. And that’s poison ivy” Stan stated, pointing at almost every plant and tree they passed walking down the riverbank.

“Where? Where’s the poison ivy?” Eddie hesitated, being the germaphobe he was. He searched every plant, inspecting them to ensure he was in no danger. There was no way Eddie was going to let himself get a rash from poison ivy; he could probably catch one just from standing near it.

“Nowhere, not every fucking plant is poison ivy Stanley!” Richie complained, rolling his eyes in the direction of the two boys who he knew were panicking over nothing. Stanley looked over to Y/N for some backup, and after inspecting the bigger plant closely, she easily confirmed it was, in fact, not poison ivy. One thing Stanley had learned about Y/N so far was that along with birdwatching, she was an avid nature lover; she could name a plant just by its leaf or a butterfly just by its wing.

“Okay, well I’m starting to get itchy now and I’m pretty sure this is not good for my-“ Eddie started complaining, before Richie cut in again; “Do you use the same bathroom as your mother?”

“Sometimes, yeah”

“Then you probably have crabs” Richie retorted, stepping further into the sewage pipe with Bill far in front of him. Y/N had followed suit, forgetting all about the dress debacle she encountered earlier; she’d have never got to do something like this back in her hometown, she wanted to seize the moment.

“That’s so not funny”

“Aren’t you guys coming in?” Richie turned around and asked, seeing Stan and Eddie still lurching at the entrance of the sewer. They were hesitant, extremely hesitant, to go any further than they already were.

“Uh-uh, it’s greywater” Eddie shook his head, gulping in disgust from even the sight of what Bill, Richie and Y/N were treading through.

“What’s greywater?” Y/N questioned from next to Bill, looking worried that this may have been a mistake after all. And Eddie’s answer proved her correct.

“It’s basically piss and shit, so I’m just telling you; you guys are splashing around in millions of gallons of Derry pee. So…” Eddie pointed out, and watched as your face contorted into one similar to his; disgust. Richie on the other hand, had waded the end of his stick in the sewer water and lifted it up to his nose to sniff; “Are you serious? What are you—“

“Doesn’t smell like caca to me, senor” Richie retorted in a poor Spanish accent, if you could even call it that.

“Okay, I can smell it from here”

“It’s probably just your breath wafting back into your face.” Richie responded, making Eddie huff in annoyance.

Eddie took a deep inhale, trying his hardest not to freak out at Richie’s utter stupidity; not being very successful in his attempts. “Have you ever heard of a staph infection?”

“Oh, I’ll show you a staph infection” the boy in glasses retorted quickly, still messing around in the water with the stick he was holding. Eddie was not giving up on shaming Richie at all; “This is so unsanitary. You’re literally; this is literally like swimming inside of a toilet bowl right now. I mean, have you ever heard of Listeria?”

Richie chucks an old plastic bag on the end of his stick which had been floating in the shitty water towards the smaller boy, eliciting a loud scream and a very harsh response: “A-Are you retarded, you’re the reason why we’re in this position right now-“

“Guys!” Bill shouted over, interrupting the smaller boy and earning the attention of all 4. When they all looks over, they saw Bill holding up a shoe; Richie, Stan and Eddie were able to understand exactly what this may have meant, but Y/N was no clearer.

“What, what is that?” Y/N questioned, searching the boys faces for answers; Eddie looked disgusted that Bill was holding it with his bare hands, Richie looked sad as he readjusted his glasses, and Stan looked scared. But none of them were answering her question, and it was getting on her nerves.

“Shit. Don’t tell me that’s…” Stan trailed off, not wanting to say the name, but Bill caught on quickly.

“No, G-Georgie wore galoshes.” Bill spoke sadly, thankful it hadn’t been his brother’s shoe. Y/N was still searching for some answers, and when no one spoke for a second or two, she took the opportunity to try and find some; for all she knew, ‘Georgie’ had simply lost his shoes recently while playing in the sewers, and Bill was trying to find them. That was the only reasonable explanation.

“Okay, guys, can someone please explain what’s going on? What exactly are we looking for down here, and who’s Georgie?” She asked, trying not to show her slight anger at being ignored, but her tone implied very obviously that she was impatient for an answer. However, the boys were left speechless; none of them wanted to tell Y/N about Georgie in case Bill wasn’t ready for her to know, but they knew Bill would struggle to talk openly about it. He hadn’t even been able to admit verbally that the boy was obviously dead.

“G-g-g-Georgie wa-is, is my brother. H-he went missing a few months ago, but I know he’s down here somewhere.” Bill answered quietly, watching as the girls face dropped from anger to sadness within a second of hearing the word missing spill from the boy’s mouth. Oh, she thought, that’s why we’re down here. We’re searching for Bill’s missing brother. Dead brother – there was no way he could’ve survived down here for months. As she looked at Stan’s face, she could tell they knew Georgie was dead too, but she couldn’t say that to Bill.  

“I-I’m so sorry Bill, I, I didn’t know. We’ll try our best to find him, okay” she assured, making her way over to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He nodded slightly, sending her a sad but grateful smile. The tension was as awkward as it could’ve been, until Eddie brought the attention back to the shoe.

“Whose sneaker is it?” Richie and Y/N both leant over to inspect the inside of the shoe that Bill was shining his torch light on. It read very clearly, written in a black marker, B.RIPSOM. Y/N’s mind was cast back to the school day, where she heard another girl murmuring about someone named Betty Ripsom who had gone missing weeks before; they talked about it as if it was normal, something that didn’t even matter. At the time, she thought it was just a myth or a story she had made up, but now Y/N understood it was real. She peeked to watch Richie’s breath hitch in his throat before announcing to Stan and Eddie; “It’s Betty Ripsom’s”

“Oh, shit. Oh, God. Oh, fuck! I don’t like this” Eddie swore, feeling himself beginning to panic.

“How do you think Betty feels? Running around these tunnels with only one frickin’ shoe” Richie joked, hopping to mimic the action described. Y/N slapped his arm harshly, sending him a look which clearly said that’s not funny, dude. When he noticed he was in fact the only one laughing at the joke, his face dropped immediately.

“What if she’s still here?” Stan proposed the idea, watching as the 4 considered the suggestion. After a second, Bill and Richie carried on down the tunnel, flashlight in hand. Y/N was much more hesitant now, not wanting to go any further in the case of ending up like Betty. Or Georgie.

“Y/N, Eddie, come on!” Richie shouted without even looking back.

“My mom will have an aneurysm, okay, if she finds out we’re playing down here, I’m serious. Bill?” Eddie complained, waiting for some voice of reason for Bill considering he usually had the good ideas. Although, Eddie was beginning to think that today, he didn’t have the good ideas.

“If…If I was Betty Ripsom, I would want us to find me. G-g-georgie too.” Bill answered back, trying to convince the other boys and girl that this was important for him, and Betty and Georgie. He wasn’t doing this for fun, or to splash around and play, he wanted to find these people and restore them justice. And to prove that Georgie was alive.

“What if I don’t want to find them?” Eddie spoke up, earning the attention of the others. Y/N was rather shocked, but she agreed; she hated to say it but finding them would most likely end up with them going missing, and she didn’t want that. “I mean, no offense, Bill, but I don’t want to end up like G… I don’t want to go missing either”

“He has a point” Both Y/N and Stan spoke at the same time.

“Y-y-you too?” Bill stuttered out, and she could tell his heart was breaking at their words.

“It’s summer. We’re supposed to be having fun. This isn’t fun. This is scary and disgusting” Stan complained, his voice cracking on almost every word. Before anyone could say anything more, the sound of a splash behind them caught the attention of all 5, turning to see the source of the commotion. Y/N was out the sewer in an instant, stopping by Eddie and Stan’s sides to try and catch a glimpse of what may have been making such a large splash.

Their eyes landed on a boy, around their age, thrashing around in the water. He had attempted to stand up, before falling again.

“Holy shit, what happened to you?” Richie shouted, and it was at that point Y/N realised what was wrong. The boy turned his head to face the crowd, and Y/N saw he was bleeding from his nose and stomach. Y/N sprinted over to the boy, Stan and Eddie following suit, to help him up. He had some serious injuries, and she could not figure out how we had a ‘H’ carved into his stomach. That was, however, when it clicked in her head.

Henry Bowers.

[mysweetestcreature]

Tomorrow Never Knows (President!Harry) Chapter 11: Kiss Me

(Banner by the wonderful noblewomankat!)

***

Thursday November 27, 2008

“One more.”

“They’re probably wondering where we’ve gone!”

“Just one more, please.”

“We’ve already been here for more than half an hour.”

Harry tightens his hold around her waist, stroking her sides in soothing reciprocating motions as the pads of his fingers trace along the creases in her shirt. “Kiss me again,” he begs, burying his nose into the curve of her neck. For the first time in his life, he feels completely content. Words to describe it are beyond inconceivable, not a single phrase can do justice to sum it all up. He had tried to imagine what this would be like in the early hours of the morning before even the sun sets its alarm. And yet, none could have even come close to this feeling of bliss, a paradise of their own where everything around them is nearly nonexistent. 

The movement of his lips against her skin as they form into a cheeky smile is enough to send goosebumps up her spine. She runs her palms up his chest and lets her hands curl around his shoulders until her middle fingers hook together as they tangle through his brown curls. Her cheek presses up against the side of his head, and she can’t help that sense of relief that makes it feel like she’s floating. Having experienced such a burden of uncertainty from the very onset of their relationship (and yes, she means relationship in a romantic sense –– how could she not after tonight?) she would have never expected the accumulation of all those heartbreaks –– both big and small –– to transform into something as wonderful as this.  “Just one,” she giggles into his ear. “But then we really have to move it because I can’t imagine Mason being very happy that I’ve stolen his best friend away.” 

“It’s all I’m asking,” and he lifts his head up, dimples dressing his cheeks as he wriggles his eyebrows. “Now, c’mere.” 

Pulling her closer between his legs, he starts with small pecks along the underside of her chin. They become slower, more concentrated in certain areas as they move up and linger at the side of her mouth. His lips hover over hers, and he stares at them with half-hooded eyes. The way her lips part as they make subtle contact with each small movement of their heaving chests only makes this all the more enticing. 

Unable to dawdle at such a teasing phase for much longer, Harry closes the gap that separates them. It’s unhurried, nearly sensual. Two longing persons finding exhilaration as their lips move fluidly together as though it were second nature. The temperate flavoring of strawberry or cherry or something just as fruitful and sweet once again finds its way to coat the tip of his tongue and cause the ends of his mouth to curve up as he finds fulfillment in ravishing her like this.

She’s the first to pull away, pushing lightly against his chest just to catch a breath. He’s quick, however, to entertain her once more with one last suckle of her bottom lip. He isn’t sure when he’ll be able to kiss her again once they’ve joined the others downstairs, nor does he want to envision a time when they won’t be locked together and surprisingly uninterrupted by a chaotic world full of mountains and treacherous seas. 

“That was two!” she gasps, but the premature stages of a simper rebel against her, and she fails to display any mask of displeasure. “Don’t be greedy.”

“We can be as greedy as we want. We’ve waited an eternity for this to happen,” he counters before settling for a tight embrace as he stands from his sitting position on the bed. With his height now towering over her, he looks down and chuckles when she rolls her eyes at him. 

Y/n scoffs playfully and shakes her head. “I would barely consider two and a half months an eternity.”

“No?” he ponders thoughtfully, pressing another kiss to her temples. “Sure felt like it, though.”

***

Every moment thereafter is been filled with forcefully reserved and pining looks from across the room whilst Harry is doing his best to get back in a football state of mind (he’s only now realizing just how difficult this will all be once the season starts back up again), and Y/n attempts to answer questions about various piping techniques and flavor combinations.

“Where’d you run off to earlier?” Jeremy asks during a commercial break. He dips a hand into a snack bowl filled with Party Mix and tosses each cheesy piece into his mouth one by one. “For a second I thought you were going to miss the entire second quarter.”

Harry coughs as he tries to scratch the tickle in his throat. Before coming back down, they had agreed to keep it subdued in front of their families, especially when it’s all so new for the both of them. Besides, they’ve done what they had set out to do, there’s no wrong in wanting to keep it to themselves for a short while.

“Uh...” he drones, scratching the pointed part of his jaw. “We were just talking about organizing a study guide for finals.” 

Well, it isn’t a complete lie! He had quickly glanced down at a set of her study notes on her desk just as they were exiting the room, and he might have –– he can’t remember since he was too busy covering her shoulder in sweet, seemingly innocent little kisses –– suggested they collaborate on ones for the classes they share. (Come to think of it, he doesn’t recall an actual answer to the question either, the only thing his ears had heard were the sounds of her stifled giggles as he tickled her neck.) 

Thankfully, Jeremy seems to accept it without further question. The older man nods before taking a long gulp of iced tie from his officially licensed Packers tumbler. “That’s studious of you two. Good job!”

“Mhmm.” Harry bites his lips inward to hold in a snigger. Imagining the look on Jeremy’s face if he were to find out what they had actually been doing would probably regress everything in his eyes (but that’s just speculation for the time being). 

“Your turn, Harry!” Mason chirps, having just dropped his second red piece into the suspended grid. As Harry prepares to release his own yellow disc in the far-right column, the little boy is quick to stop him. “Don’t go there! Or you’ll lose again,” he pouts, and takes it upon himself to move Harry’s hand and hover it over the middle.

A soft coo sounds from Harry as he ruffles Mason’s hair. “Taking pity on me, eh?” he teases. 

“At least he lets you win,” Jeremy interjects, slumping forward with his knuckles pressed firmly into his cheek. He squints at his son with pursed lips. “Whenever I play with him, he sabotages my every move.”

“But Harry’s my best friend, Daddy! And friends always help each other.”

“I’m your father. I quite literally mad–”

“Honey, he’s six” from across the room, Olivia scolds her husband. “Save it for puberty.” She turns back in her chair, the three women around her unable to hide their amusement as she slaps her forehead at Mason’s hushed “What’s poo-berty?” behind her. 

“I remember when Harry was that age,” Anne gushes, a warm mug of cocoa sat in her lap as she recalls the past fondly. “He once poured out the entire fish tank into a river that flowed out back.”

“Be free fishies! I love you! Bye-bye!” Gemma mimics a young six-year-old Harry. 

Y/n giggles into her hands. She turns to the side hoping to catch his eye, only to find him blushing profusely into one of the decorative pillows. 

Falling for him could not have been easier.

***

Monday December 1, 2008

For the eighth time today, Harry feels more than grateful to have her locker only two down from his. It’s a convenience, really! He doesn’t have to search far for her in the mornings when he wants to give her a quick peck before they start the day, or just hug her because now he can without any looming doubts that he’s sorely pressed his luck. 

So, here he is, watching with soft eyes as she reorganizes all her textbooks and notebooks and folders alike. 

“Will you quit it?” she pokes his tummy. “I literally can’t concentrate when you’re looking at me like that all cute and British.” 

The last part makes him laugh, and he curls a finger along her chin. Taking a moment to examine their surrounds to make sure no one is being too intrusive (he thought he saw a junior raise an eyebrow at them earlier today), he tilts her head up and nudges his nose to hers. “I can’t just look at my gir–” but he cuts himself short when he realizes something. 

Now, there’s no questioning that this thing between them exceeds any form of platonic friendship. The real question is what the appropriate label for them would be right now without being too presumptuous or just moving too fast. 

“So, I’m your girl?” she smiles. 

“I guess that really depends if you want to be because if you ask me...” he starts, stepping forward, “I’m pretty much already your–”

“Y/n!” 

Both let out an annoyed sigh (Harry more so) as they hear his footsteps approaching from down the hall. She’d almost forgotten about this one little impediment with her mind having been preoccupied over the long weekend. But as Jasper moves waves to her, she’s suddenly reminded of everything she probably should have taken care of by now. She retreats so that her back is up against the cool metal surface. Harry starts to grumble a few colorful choice of words under his breath as he begrudgingly goes back to his locker. 

“Hey!” he greets and looks behind her to nod at Harry. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

“It was, um...” She darts her eyes towards Harry. “It was really eventful, really great” she chuckles nervously, and intrinsically slaps herself for making this more awkward than it needs to be. 

“I’m happy to hear that then.” She watches as he rummages through his bag. “Here, I got this for you,” and he pulls out a plush figurine. From behind, Harry glares menacingly at it, not finding any of this to be an ounce amusing. “My family and I went into the city this weekend, and I saw this and thought you’d like it.” 

“That’s so nice of you,” she says, taking the plush toy. “What-what is it exactly?” She looks up at him. 

“It’s a tarsier! They’re pretty popular in the Philippines.”

“Right! I can’t believe I didn’t catch that,” Y/n muses, staring into its big piercing eyes. “You know whose favorite animal this is?” He shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders. “Cici’s, she like obsessed.” 

“Cool, cool,” he replies enthusiastically, and she can tell he has more to say. “So, my mom was actually wondering what color your dress is gonna be so we can coordinate with my tie.” 

She glances over her shoulder to check on Harry, whose face is practically stuffed inside the alcove. “Formal...yeah, that’s a thing...isn’t it...uh...” she trails off, the body of the tarsier in her hands suffocating as she tries to find the right words. There’s no way she can go with him now, and she hates that she has to do this to him. After all, Jasper is a genuinely nice guy, and any girl would be lucky to be his date. It’s just she’s not that girl. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that, actually.” 

“Really? What about?” 

“This is really hard for me to say but I can’t–”

“Can’t decide whether to take photos at your place or hers.” 

Her mouth falls open when Harry appears at her side. Their eyes meet, his filled with something she’s unable to put her finger on. She doesn’t understand this, but as he places a hand on her back, giving her the opportunity to study his expression, she can practically hear his thoughts, believe me.

Jasper looks between the two of them. “Is that true?” he asks, and it seems open for either one to answer.

She gulps before snapping back. “Yeah, you know...we need a good background and everything.”

“Oh, uh...” he checks the time on his phone, “I’ll text you about it? I’m actually a little late for a meeting with Dr. De Angelo about my essay, but I’ll definitely get back to you!” 

He runs back down the way he came. 

It leaves Harry and Y/n to endure a painful silence. Neither opt to move. Feet stay glued to the floor as more and more students start to occupy the halls. She can’t help but feel a little betrayed, having honestly thought that they would be going to the formal together now that they’d cleared everything up. “Harry...” it’s barely above a whisper.

His hand slides around her hip before he carefully turns her around. “I should explain.”

“Please do.”

He sighs, his forehead falling unto hers. “Follow me.” And he takes her hand and hurriedly guides them up the far-right stairwell to the second floor. She wonders where this might lead, especially when they duck into one of the less used corridors that hold the building’s teacher’s lounge and stockroom. 

The last door on the left just beside an open window. He jiggles the knob before pushing against it with his shoulder. She squeezes his hand and her fingers curl around his bicep as she takes a peek at what he’s doing. Suddenly, the door creaks open to reveal an empty room. “In here,” he tells her, and pulls her in. 

It’s more or less what she expects from an unused room, a moderately large open space with school posters covering all four walls, a few long tables and a couch positioned diagonally in a corner.

“I did something stupid.”

***

“I’m sorry, but you what? I swear it never ends with you two!” Cici groans, head banging against the table. “How’re you gonna spend all of Thanksgiving making out and still go to this godforsaken dance with different people? It’s anti-intuitive! Literally insane!”

“Usually I’m not one to agree with Cici, but you guys really have exhausted my last functioning brain cell,” Maxxie joins in. “And I have a Geometry test in an hour, so if I fail that’s on your consciences.”

Mrs. Comey, the librarian, emerges from behind a shelf, a stern expression coating her pointed features as she gives the four of them a warning glare. 

Harry and Y/n sit opposite of their friends, her leaning into his side as he strokes along her arm. “It’s not like that was intentional,” she complains. “I was already going with Jasper and Harry had just asked...you know what? I don’t even want to say her name right now.” And she covers her face with her sleeve to hide her contempt. After a long talk –– so long, in fact, that they had missed homeroom and the entirety of first period US History –– they had come to a bittersweet agreement that they would stick to any prior commitment plans to avoid any (overly) ill-feelings with their respective dates.

“Hey,” he whines, trying to get her to look at him, “you said you weren’t mad!”

“Honestly, if you were my boyfriend and you asked the girl that had continuously tried to steal you from me to a major school function –– even before we officially got together –– I’d be pretty pissed too.”

“Thank you, Cici,” huffing, Harry shoots her daggers with his eyes, “for that wonderful assessment.”

Cici massages her temples. “Just tell me why –– out of all the girls at this school –– would you choose Zoey as a rebound? The actual devil incarnate!”

“Don’t harass him,” Y/n pleads, playing with his fingers. There’s no use dwelling on something they seemingly have no command over. “Yeah, it sucks that we won’t be going together, but at least after it we can move on from this.” At least they’d resolved the most significant issue, making this little bump in the road to be almost trivial, right?

“Y/n’s right,” Maxxie agrees, falling back in his chair. “It could be worse. He could be taking Zoey to prom.”

***

They take Harry’s bike to Ruben’s right after dismissal. He enjoys this even more now that the faint restrictiveness from the first time is delightfully gone, and instead it just feels so completely natural to have her so close, and now with an added bonus of being able to kiss her fully. 

Because now that he thinks about it, not a whole lot has actually changed besides that. Sure, they’re probably thrice as affectionate now than they were a  month ago, or even at the beginning of last week. It really only was a matter of time! 

“Halfsies on the roast beef and swiss, and a strawberry milkshake?” It’s their usual order starting from the first time they’d eaten here all the way back in September. They order it every time without fail as though tradition. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” she sings, “but can we get mozzarella sticks too? Maxxie ate like half my lunch when we told them, so I’m a lot hungrier than usual.” She snorts out loud, closing her menu and placing it on the table.

Harry looks up at their waiter. “... and add some mozzarella sticks. Thanks, man.”

Comfortably, they sit and enjoy the song playing from the jukebox. Someone with excellent taste had just chosen Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, and Harry wraps his arm around her shoulders as he hums along to the chorus. “...built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, children get older...”

“You should sing more,” she encourages, pecking his cheek, “you have a really nice voice.”

He lets out an airy chuckle. “I guess you have to say that now.”

“Shut up, that’s not it!” she gasps, lightly smacking his chest. “I mean it.” She raises her hand to cup his cheek and uses her thumb to wipe away a fallen lash. Peering back at him, she smiles shyly. It’s almost strange, being able to do something like that so freely and without having to think twice. The way they’ve already managed to fall into this with such ease will never fail to astonish her.  

Overcome with the sound of his heart’s tune, he surges forward to press his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. “I really, really like you,” he breathes as they pull apart just as their order arrives. “And I’m so happy this is finally happening.”

“Me too,” she says, pulling him back for one more.

For a moment she’s completely distracted by a basket of decadent fried mozzarella. She takes her favorite of the bunch –– the one that has the most cheese oozing from the tips –– and takes a bite, pulling it away to test the stretch. He takes the opportunity to ask a burning question.

“So, earlier at the library,” he starts, sounding as ambiguous as possible as he picks up a fry from the side of their plate. “Do you remember what Cici said?”  

Her eyes narrow on him as she tries to think. Could he be referring to before or after she’d scolded them for stressing her out more than any upcoming exam? Or maybe when she’d called them lunatics for formal? “Cici said a lot of things today, Harry.”

“Well, there was this one thing that I’ve been thinking about all day” And he dips that fry into a pool of ketchup and layers it in his mouth. He muses to himself as he savors the crispy yet fluffy texture. “And I feel like it’s kind of urgent.” He shoots her a wink.

“Don’t leave me guessing then,” she pouts, swatting his hand away when he goes for another fry.

“It’s just that she called me your boyfriend,” he smirks, sitting back and waiting for it to fully marinate between her ears. 

Her lips quirk to the side as she lies back and rests her head on his shoulder, then cranes her neck to gaze up at him. “She did say that, didn’t she?” 

“She did.”

***

[charissekenion]

What systemic racism in the British beauty industry looks like

Remember when Black Lives Matter content filled up the feeds of your preferred social platform? While the message still burdens many within the black community — as well as some allies — on a daily basis, for many it is business as usual; even one of my regular online beauty go-to’s has that in their homepage banner. I’m sure it’s more about things being back to ‘some kind’ of normal post-Covid, but who knows? To me, it seems like everyone is tired and weary of the triggering message of BLM and I believe that’s a sign that, if systems are not changed, things are likely to return to what they used to be, the word diversitybecoming one of those words people say out loud while using air quotes. I’ve already written about my own personal experience as a mixed/black woman in the beauty world, but I wanted to try and tackle the systems within the beauty industry. If I’ve missed anything, let me know!

Brands/Agencies Throughout the early days of BLM, brands and agencies around the globe paid close attention to where their ads were appearing. It wasn’t a moral stance however; brands had learned that ads placed near George Floyd or protest-related content, monetized at 57%* lower than other news content. The investment simply wasn’t worth it and words/phrases such as Black Lives Matter, George Floyd, Minneapolis and Black people were put on industry blocklists. While blocklists surely began as a way for the industry to ensure it wasn’t placing insensitive ads, in 2020 brands are using them purely because of the bottom line; revenue.

For me, the brands that have stood out during BLM are the ones that are more thoughtful in how they can help, long-term. Praise was given to Emily Weiss of Glossier for starting a grant for black-owned beauty businesses. Another stand-out show of support came from Caroline Hirons, a brand in her own right.

Hirons is known as the queen of skincare amongst the UK press — and she knows that is a very white press. She took a few days to get her ‘ducks in a row’, early on when BLM was being heavily supported, ensuring her donations were able to have Gift Aid applied (more of the cash actually going to the organisation), before announcing that she would be giving 100 percent of the 2020 proceeds from her best-selling Double Cleanse with Pixi to Black Lives Matter. Pixi duly matched her donation.

But for every positive there were several embarrassing examples of how notto do it. I don’t have the time or energy to give a comprehensive list of just how many brands got it so wrong during the days that followed #blackouttuesday for instance.

I’m not about forcing anyone to do anything, because if you don’t care, why would I want your help? For me the blame lays with brands who have the means to send out the right messages on the daily via social and in the media. It wasn’t just about calling out RMS Beauty on their Instagram for hiring such an insensitive social media manager. It was more about checking out the feeds of Maybelline, Chanel Beauty, etc, etc, and seeing if they had ever shown diversity in their campaigns. The results were lacklustre to say the least, but, if there was one truly classic example of what not to do, the medal would go to Marcia Kilgore (founder of Beauty Pie, Fit Flop, Bliss). I’ve been a diehard fan of Kilgore and her work ethic for years and I’ve lost count of how many interviews I’ve listened to of Kilgore sharing her business journey.

But throughout BLM I’ve seen some shockers coming from (seemingly) Kilgore’s own hand. I’ve been sent screenshots of comments on Instagram (later deleted) including one that shows Kilgore using the shrugs emoji. One of Beauty Pie’s diehard (white) fans just didn’t get why Beauty Pie was receiving negative feedback after not standing up soon enough or strongly enough for BLM. Kilgore replied to her fan with the shrug — she might as well have said: ‘gee, we just can’t seem to please these people.’

The Influencer Whether you love influencer culture or not, it’s clear that, for now, it’s here to stay. Mostly dominated by (white) women, with some being worth over £4million here in the UK, whatever their chosen area of specialisation, there seems to be a very cookie-cutter approach as to what and who’s adored and accepted. Look at wellness, look at fashion, and of course, beauty, and you’ll find that the popular accounts are usually owned by very blonde, very slim women. Life is just one long Instagram Story compiled of working out in Lululemon, wearing makeup from an expensive brand that’s never looked past 10 shades, sipping an iced green tea and getting your wedding paid for by your clever agency rep who’s reached out to countless companies that are guaranteed to find you so palatable and on-brand.

Now, I am not coming for these women; these women can exist alongside the women that I choose to follow — the women that can and do in fact influence me and how I purchase, whether they get paid or not. And there’s the rub. Brands have been making tons of excess profits from women of colour who just love that brand — essentially unpaid micro influencers.

As a self-confessed beauty addict, I know the allure of the ‘next big thing’. I know how it is when you feel, or felt, that that brand actually understood you. When that new shiny purchase arrives from the likes of Glossier, you’re like, ‘hey friend’, and off you go, sharing your unboxing for your fellow beauty enthusiasts to swoon over in the comments.

Like I said, many true beauty influencers are micro influencers, doing their thing purely for the love, and not a pay check, but that’s in sharp contrast to those who are actually paid to do so. These paid influencers put in the work, styling their stories to appeal to their audience and also the audience of the brand that’s paying them.

One such influencer, someone I’ve been following a while as I enjoyed her fresh aesthetic, is also a PR. To be fair to her, I’d become so used to seeing her bounce across fields of tulips and daisies, that I wasn’t expecting anything from her when it came to ‘real life’. However, I did happen to see her Instagram Stories late one night, where she ‘appeared’ to be crying about BLM. I say appeared because honestly, I’ve seen better performances at my nephew’s nativity play. I even recorded the crying just to check I wasn’t being too dismissive.

The next day I saw that she’d finally posted an image she’d found elsewhere (i.e. not spent time creating) and given information on how to donate and research. It all seemed very rushed and frankly, I imagine that zero attention was given to the words. I wondered if she’d been pressured to post, and apparently she had been, after being tagged in a post that prompted people to call out influencers and brands who weren’t stepping up.

She dutifully posted a black square when it was ‘expected’ of her on #blackouttuesday — which she has since deleted.

On top of that, behind the scenes she was contacting various bloggers — I can’t confirm race ratios. She sent DMs that did not address the individual, did not ask the person how they were doing at this truly tiring and stressful time. Instead she asked if they were supporting black-owned brands (she asked this of a mixed-race woman who identified as black and had been posting tons of information on her Stories…) Clueless, lazy — or worse?

She mentions in the DM that one of her clients is a black-owned business and asks if the blogger might be interested in talking about it. The following day I kept wondering, ‘okay, if you’re so supportive, why not post about this black-owned brand on your own feed?’ Or, how about you offer your services to black-owned businesses at a reduced rate? Not because you should, but because, after all, you are performing as if you care.

**Dominique, a black, London-based PR shared her thoughts on how her frequent social media support of a beauty brand (self-created and not paid for, purely because she wanted to), soon started to feel as if she was being treated as a token when she was shown as the only black face in the company’s newsletter. She also tells me of a black influencer in the UK who had been promised payment for several pieces of promo work and yet had gone unpaid and ignored. It wasn’t until her loyal followers bombarded the brand’s social media platforms that the brand paid her, in full, with no argument, or apology.

“It’s so intrinsic, and so embedded,” says Dominique. “Whether it’s content creation or Instagram — which is the first port of call for every business — it’s also the tech, it’s the algorithms used. It’s the influencers, it’s the appropriation, it’s the fact that black influencers aren’t on PR lists, and aren’t being paid the same rates.”

Dominique also talks of the pressure of ‘black guilt’ that black influencers and creators can feel: “You kind of hope and root for the brands that you spend your money on, that you will see a change. And then also, you kind of assimilate in your feed to try and see if that’s gonna help you build a following. I’ve done it. Black people have learned to compartmentalise to survive and it comes down to assimilating and trying not to broadcast your blackness.”

The PR I think, in some ways, the power of the beauty industry PRs often goes unnoticed. These are people who are in the business of carving out a niche for a brand, making it the ‘next big thing’; they advise clients on everything, from tone of voice to the right faces to use in an ad campaign to which influencers to send product to, and which influencers to offer lucrative ambassadorships to.

As most UK PR firms are owned by white men and women, it’s easy to see why inclusivity might not even enter their heads. Why would it? Let’s not forget, for decades the ideal beauty has been that of a very Eurocentric look. PR firms, alongside the rest of the industry, play their part in affirming this beauty standard — it isn’t their job to actually change it. But with more and more voices calling for change, and in the era of cancel culture, PRs are likely to be forced into taking a more active role.

For example, the labeling of BLM being a political rather than human issue by the head of CrossFit was clearly a PR nightmare of huge proportions, and no-one in the multi-billion dollar beauty industry wants that to happen to them. As a recent article on the Business of Fashion stated; too often public relations execs go along with what their client wants, and if ever they do try to steer the client in another direction they are often left unsupported or removed from the account completely.

The Magazines As someone who’s been a hair and beauty editor and writer for 15 years, I’ve seen a lot of trends come and go. But one trend that remains the same is that of the ‘spot the black journo in the room’. While things may be slightly more progressive in the US, here in the UK I can say that I have never seen more than three black or non-white journalists at a press event at the same time. And don’t get me started on the staff within the publications themselves.

I remember when former British Vogue editor-in-chief Alexandra Shulman shared an image of her team in celebration of her last issue in 2017 — with not one black or brown face. I had long stopped my subscription to British Vogue, but when her replacement, Edward Enninful arrived, the man who had inspired me for years during his time at i-D magazine, I bought each issue with renewed excitement; oh how things would change!

But Enninful is one black man. And when Enninful himself is racially profiled while entering the doors of Conde Nast, you know that the problem goes way deeper. Add to that the fact that Vogue is still going to have to bow to its advertisers — the brands that keep it in print. It’s not us with our £2 ‘special price’ purchases that are keeping Vogue and others like it alive.

Elsewhere on Instagram, former Glamour editor Jo Elvin was bemoaning the fact that it wasn’t always the editor’s fault that there were no black models on the cover. Elvin said that black models often declined being on the cover (am guessing maybe it was because it was a pretty crap magazine back then?) because they ‘thought it would hurt their chances of getting covers with the high-end mags’.

And what is wrong with that? It’s far tougher for a black woman to get a Vogue cover, so if that’s that model’s goal, what’s it to Elvin and her crew? Perhaps they could seek out an unknown, rather than relying on the top three black faces over and over? Thankfully, Elvin was prompted to elaborate on her flippant comments, by none other than the aforementioned Caroline Hirons. Hirons ended by telling Elvin that the numbers don’t add up, and that bias is ‘systemic in Conde.’

I remember once going for a meeting with an online brand I avidly read. Naturally I was excited and flattered to be told: ‘you look so [insert brand name here]!’ as if I had just earned a special badge. Aside from the flattery, it really meant a lot to me and I was genuinely excited at the opportunity to write and shoot for them. I left the building buzzing, but over the coming weeks, my numerous pitches seemed to fall on deaf ears. ‘Hmm, she’s probably really, really, busy,’ I told myself.

Weeks later I noticed a new name on their writer roster and wondered if the fact that she was also mixed race was something to do with it; perhaps two was one too many? I think this is something we see and fear in many industries, but especially within fashion and beauty. While a non-black editor might enjoy being seen as the progressive one, he or she might also be nervous of ‘opening the gates’ and only employing non-white people! I’ve heard this from several black and brown people in the industry also. Once you get that role, you want to keep it both for career and financial reasons.

It’s clear that, across the board, work needs to be done, and we also need the work that is supposedly being done, to continue. It makes me nervous to see brands jumping on the Diversity Officer job role, while only offering six-month contracts. Does this mean that they hope BLM will just go away and people will just stop expecting their voices to be heard and their rights acknowledged? Are we all just so nostalgic over what normal used to be that we’d rather enter another year with blinders on?

It’s okay to admit that you’re completely unprepared for this fight. If you’ve never had to care about this fight, I get that. But whether you chose to use #blackouttuesday to gain some new fans, or you actually wanted to begin making lasting change, it’s clear, it’s going to take a lot more than a black square followed by vague epithets. Show the work; talk to your audience. Literally no-one can claim to be perfect right now, but if you want to build an anti-racist brand, take the steps, because we are all watching.

*Statistic taken from this NPR article: https://www.npr.org/2020/06/27/884213471/why-advertisers-wont-run-ads-on-black-lives-matter-content?t=1597134345822

** Name has been changed

Image: Photo by Hazel Olayres on Unsplash

This article also appears on Medium

[survivingthejungle]

Little Lies ii— tommy shelby

this is my fifth attempt to post without either losing it or accidentally deleting it and if it doesnt work i’ll kill myself THANKS

@namelesslosers

The next morning your parents had gone off to the market to buy some groceries; your pantry was running low. They had asked you if you’d like to join them, but you declined. You didn’t want to be going anywhere anytime soon—not after what had happened yesterday. You were sitting downstairs at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee and looking through the window at the little meadow out past the garden in your backyard. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. You were startled a bit; you weren’t expecting visitors and you knew it couldn’t be your parents because they’d left not ten minutes prior. You almost didn’t answer the door, fearing it to be one of the men from yesterday, until— “(Y/N)? It’s just me, sweetheart, you’re safe.” Oh, thank God, you thought, just Tommy.

You opened the door for him and let him inside, shutting and bolting it after it had closed again. “I didn’t know you were coming by,” you admitted.

“I told you I’d check up on you, little bird,” he reminded you, taking his coat off. It seemed he was planning on staying for a while. You offered to take it from him and hung it up in the front closet, then led him to the kitchen.

“Do you want any coffee? My family isn’t big on tea; I know that’s a super British thing so if you want I can make some—”

“Coffee’s fine, sweetheart. Thank you.” He seated himself down at the table and kept his focus on you as you moved about. “How ‘ave you been holding up? Since yesterday?” he asked, voice low and nearly monotonous.

Your back was facing him while you pour the coffee and you stood still a moment before responding. You turned back around with a courteous smile. “I’m fine,” you pushed. “I didn’t get hurt or anything; I’m alright.” He knew you were only being polite and not speaking with honesty.

“No, you’re not. And after yesterday, you deserve to know what’s going on.” You set the mug down and sat a few seats away from him, your own mug still full enough. You raised your eyebrows so slightly it was barely noticeable; he continued. “You’ll remember I said my family pissed some people off.”

“Yes.”

“It’s a bit more than that. You’ve never been to Birmingham, am I correct?”

“Yeah, we haven’t been there yet.”

“In Birmingham, there is a prominent gang known as the Peaky Blinders. It’s run by the Shelby family.” He looked at you to try to find any semblance of panic in your expression. All he found was a look of confusion; like you were about to realize something you didn’t want to. “That’s my family. That’s the business I run.”

“But I thought…” you trailed off. Didn’t he once say he owned something called Shelby Company Limited?

“The company’s a front. It’s real, of course, but it’s through the Blinders we make all of our real deals. We’re sending alcohol to your country right now, in fact.” You nodded, accepting all of this new information as best you could. “And now we’ve gone and pissed off that family of Italians; the ones from America.”

“Yeah, I remember that part.”

“Another gang family. They’re the mafia type.” At this your eyes widened, and it wasn’t subtle like the eyebrow raised.

“Hold on! Are you telling me I was being shot at by the mafia yesterday?” You were beginning to spiral into a panicking fit. “I move to a new country and the first goddamn thing that happens is someone tries to murder me!”

“(Y/N), (Y/N),” Tommy interrupted, grabbing your hand in his. “Listen to me, little bird. No one’s going to hurt you. I’ll keep an eye on you, alright? I promise. No one’s gonna think to come after you; but I’ll make sure that you’re looked after, alright?” Your eyes were slightly glassy as you were still understanding the weight of what had just been thrown at you. You nodded anyways, just wishing that things had gone differently yesterday and that there was no need for this. Even if you did really like the nicknames he gave to you, or how he held you close when you got freaked out. He stood up and stood beside your chair. “Look at me. C’mere.” He gestured for you to stand up and you did, your hand still held by his own. He wrapped his arms around you and brought a hand to your hair, smoothing it down gently. “Calm down, yeah? No one’s gonna come after you. I’ll make sure of it. You’ll be okay. Shh,” he whispered as your breathing became uneven and a few tears slipped out.

“God, I’m sorry,” you told him as you pulled away after a moment. You wiped your face with the back of you hand. “You must think I’m such a crybaby.”

“You’re upset, and you’re scared, and you’re young. Too young for this,” he muttered to himself, “I’m used to it. Been used to it my whole life.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It is what it is, love,” he responded, looking down at you. He smiled softly and put a palm on your cheek, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m going to have one of my boys bring you into Birmingham tomorrow. There’s something there I think you might like. And you deserve to go ‘ave fun after yesterday. Alright?”

“Oh; yeah, sure. Sounds good,” you smiled, really trying to seem like you were fine again. You suspected he knew you were faking it, but he took the bait regardless. With a goodbye and a promise of return, he grabbed his coat and was out the door once again.

—

“Mama can I go into town tomorrow?”

“What for, honey?”

“Just to check it out. I don’t really know where anything is yet, I should probably learn my way around.”

“Is anyone going with you?”

“No; I can handle it by myself. If I get super lost I can always call.”

Your mother hesitated. She finished drying the last of the dishes before turning around to face you, leaning on the kitchen counter. You were seated at the dining room table again, this time with a half-eaten plate of fried potatoes. “You’d better be careful.”

“I will, Mama. Promise,” you grinned, thanking her for letting you go. You almost felt terrible for not telling her the truth, but you convinced yourself that you weren’t really lying, either. You never specified which town you were going into, and it was true that no one was going with you—only bringing you there.

“What time are you gonna go?”

“Uh… I don’t know.” Did Tommy ever say when he’d send someone for you? “Probably the afternoon.”

“Your father and I will be gone by then, I think. Going to see about getting some new livestock.” Your face lit up.

“Can we get some more chickens?”

—

A very shiny, very expensive looking Bentley pulled up to the front of your house at about eleven. Is this the kind of car that gangsters drive? Very inconspicuous, you mused. The driver shut the engine off and made his way on the little path in your front pard toward the door. You’d been watching from the upstairs window in your bedroom. You slipped your shoes on and grabbed a jacket before running down the steps, just as the doorbell rang. You opened it up to greet the boy who’d been assigned to pick you up. “Hi. My name’s Finn. ‘M Tommy’s brother,” he introduced himself, extending his hand to shake your own.

“Nice to meet you, Finn.”

“You too. (Y/N), Right?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” You grabbed a spare house key and locked the door, shutting it as you two made your way down the path to to car.

“You’re American?”

“Born and raised,” you confirmed.

“Think I might be going to New York soon. You ever been?”

“No; but I’ve always wanted to. My family’s from Virginia. It’s pretty boring, nothing but farms.” Finn smiled at that.

“And now that you’re all the way across the pond, you’re…”

“Back on another farm,” you laughed. He opened the passenger door for you and helped you step inside. “It’s weird that you guys drive on the left side of the road.”

“Not for me, it’s not,” he responded, getting into his side and starting the car up again. “I think you Yanks are weird for drivin’ on the right.”

“Good point.”

“You excited?” he asked, glancing over at you. “For today.”

“I might be, if Tommy’d ever told me where I was going.” Finn looked at you with a surprised expression.

“He didn’t say?”

“No, only that it was ‘fun’. Do you know?”

“Yeah, yeah; we’re going to the races today. Tommy’s got a horse running. It’s gonna win.”

“You that sure?”

“Tommy’s horses always win,” he deadpanned, but still with the hint of a smirk on his face. “He’s always been good with ‘em.”

“Really? Me too. Before we moved I had a horse. ‘Big Brown’; I named him when I was five,” you giggled. He did too. “When we left we let our neighbors have him. He’s a good horse,” you recalled, looking out at the vast pastures you were speeding by.

“I bet Tommy’ll let you meet the horses, if you want.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, why not? He’s bringin’ you all the way out there, might as well.”

—

Finn guided you into a room at the racetrack complex where Tommy was waiting. “We’re here, Tommy,” He called, knocking on the door before pushing it open.

“Come on in,” Tommy called. You couldn’t see where he was but you heard his voice clear as day. You waited for Finn to come in with you, but he just stood at the door gesturing for you to enter.

“You’re not coming?” you whispered to him.

He shook his head. “No. Tommy’s got me on another job. You’ll be fine,” he promised, before gently pushing the small of your back with his hand, forcing you inside. You tried to stop him, suddenly very nervous without your new friend; but he was gone and now it was just you and Tommy. And, you supposed, whoever else was in the viewing box.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, coming around the corner and into the bar area next to the door.

“Uh.. no, no thanks.”

“Very well,” he assented, talking time to concoct something for himself. “Go on, sit down, love. Race’s about to start. You’ll like it.” You obeyed and sat down on the little couch area facing the track; the only barrier was a little wall that stood about thigh-high and an awning to stop the sun from shining too intensely. He sat down beside you shortly after, taking a sip of his drink. You guessed it to be whiskey. “Y’see that horse, right there? The black one?” You nodded. “That’s mine.”

“Really? It’s so pretty,” you noted, admiring the sleek black coat and muscular stance.

“His names’s ‘Nighttime’. Charlie named him,” he chuckled, taking another sip of his drink. “Kids don’t think too much into it.”

“Hey, it’s better than the name I gave to my horse,” you joked. “When I was four I named mine ‘Big Brown’. Tommy laughed again at this; so did you.

“You had horses? Back in America?”

“Yeah. He was really great. Sweet horse,” you remembered, reminiscing on all your years with him. “He lives with our old neighbors now.”

“How’d you like to meet some of my horses?” he offered.

“Really? You’d let me?” you asked, eyes wide and sparkling. He admired your expression for a moment.

“‘Course, little bird. Anything for you. It’s the least I can do.”

“No… This is a lot of you. I wouldn’t say it’s the least.”

“Well, maybe I just think you deserve it.”

You looked at him, head slightly tilted, unreadable looks on either of your faces. You were afraid a blush rose to your cheeks, but you couldn’t tell; you hoped one wasn’t there. “I’d really like that,” you admitted, finally.

After a few moments of silence: “How old are you?” Ah, here it is. The dealbreaker. It’s been nice flirting with you, Tommy Shelby.

“I’m nineteen.”

“You’re nearly an adult,” he noted, trying to come off as blasé as possible.

“Some people would say I already am,” you retorted, trying to lighten the heavy weight you felt in the room. He smirked at this.

“Would you say you are?”

You hesitated. “I… I don’t know.”

He gave his opinion next. “You’re young, but you’re a smart girl. More mature than most people I know. Much more mature than Finn, at least, and he’s about your age.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, yes,” he emphasized. “Just look at what happened the other day. You got right back up and kept on with your day. Never let it seem to bother you, even if it did. You don’t act like a nineteen year old girl, that’s for sure.”

The races were about to start, but you were too distracted, preoccupied, and confused by what Tommy had said. “Is that… bad? Or…”

His head was fully turned toward you now. “No. No, it’s not,” he assured you.

—

Tommy’s horse won— big surprise. After the races, like promised, the both of you went down to look at him and a few others. He was a beautiful, majestic black mare with a strikingly clean coat and an intense gaze. As soon as you were within petting distance you walked up to him. “Hi, pretty boy,” you cooed, stroking the side of his face. “Did you win today? Oh, good job!” The horse was apparently revelling in the attention and praise, whipping his tail and pressing his face toward your hand more.

Tommy was entertained by the sight. He knew it wasn’t what he needed to be worrying about right now, what with the New York Mafia after him and his family, but he couldn’t shake the thought of you from his mind. Clearly. It shouldn’t have been a prevalent issue for him, being interested in a woman—a nineteen year old, at that— but yet there was something about you that kept him constantly at bay. Maybe it was the fact that you were an expatriate that made you particularly exciting, or that you were clearly so well-versed with horses, or that you were so young that made him want you; whatever the reason was, the result was the same—he wanted you. And as Tommy Shelby was never one to follow the rules, he was going to have you, as well.

—

The moment you asked if you would be allowed up on the horse, he immediately gave you permission, actually really wanting to see how well you were able to handle one. You didn’t disappoint; having grown up on a farm and riding horses all your life, it came as second nature to you. Tommy was enamored, there was no denying it. “Looks like he likes you,” he noted. “Usually doesn’t like strangers.”

You smiled from up on his back. “Guess I’m just special, then.”

“That you are, bird. You’re something else,” he murmured.

—

Tommy took the liberty of driving you back home. He could see you were almost considering not getting into the same car as him, considering what happened last time, but he assured you that the events of three days ago would never happen again. “Promise you no one’s going to start shooting,” he spoke lowly into your ear, gently grabbing your elbow and guiding you to the car. “We’re on Blinder’s turf. Got men at every turn watching out for us.” You felt a breath leave your chest.

“You’re sure?” you questioned.

”Absolutely.” Once he helped you up and you got settled in the front seat, he walked around to the other side of the car and got in. Starting it up, he looked at you again. “D’your parents know you’re here?” he asked you.

“Uh… sort of?” you offered, a small nervous smile on your face. “I asked them if I could go out… I just never said where.”

He chuckled. “Clever girl,” he praised. Your heart fluttered like it had been all day. You returned home soon enough, the conversation flowing naturally throughout the whole car ride— what it was like living in America, who your friends were, silly family stories; you never once worried about the car falling silent. And then you pulled up to the front gate of your family’s cottage. You were just reaching for the door handle when: “(Y/N)?”

“Yes?” you responded, almost afraid that you’d sounded too eager and willing. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Charlie’s needing a babysitter. Would you be interested?” There was more to the question that Tommy was letting on, of course; but if you had any idea, you did a damn good job not showing it.

“Oh, I’d love to!” you gushed. From the stories you’d heard of him, you’d been eager to meet the kid. Tommy smiled. “I’ll be writing to you soon; going out of town for a bit. Take care of yourself, love.”

“You too. Thanks, Tommy.” With that you exited the car and unlocked the front gate, walked down the garden path, and entered your house. Only when the front door was closed did Tommy begin to drive away.

—

You had taken the liberty of bringing in the mail for the past few days. Your reasoning, of course, was purely out of the goodness of your heart; you had absolutely no ulterior motives. You reminded yourself this when finally, one day, a letter arrived addressed to you, in the same flowing handwriting as the dinner invitation.

Dearest little bird,

I hope my letter finds you in good health. I am caught up in London on business for a while and can not get back to you as soon as I would like to. I want to give you a warning— if any other Americans approach you and happen to be Italian, don’t speak a word to them. They are not above harming civilians, especially not ones under my protection. Do yourself and your family a favor and trust no one, at least not until I return. When I come back I’ll call for you to come and help take care of Charlie.

See you soon.

Yours,T

Your heart raced with every line. You flipped to the next letter in the pile—it was all the way from America. Charlotte, you thought, and ripped the envelope open, diving right into the contents of the paper inside.

(Y/N), my best friend in the whole world,

I can’t stand living in this town without you! I can barely stand living in this country without you. Why did you have to go and leave me? I can’t very well find another best friend who knows me as well as you do.

When I read your letter I think I nearly died. Do you have a picture of this mystery man? He must be gorgeous if you’re making such a fuss. The only advice I can give you is— go for it! I bet he likes you as well. Lucky for you you live so close! Is he very rich? Maybe the two of you will get married and have two houses: one in England and the other one here, back in Virginia, right next to me!

Missing you bunches. Nothing exciting has happened recently except for my cousin eloping with some boy she met at school. I’m not surprised it happened; I only wish you would’ve been there when we found out. My parents were mortified! It was hilarious. Maybe you and your new man should consider it?

Write back soon and don’t forget about me, Lottie

Reading Charlotte’s letter you nearly laughed out loud a handful of times. You very seriously considered going on the hunt for a picture—any picture, really— of Tommy to send to her. You didn’t want to seem like one of those desperate, obsessive girls that you sometimes heard about in the news, however, so you reeled yourself back in. You weren’t surprised by the news of her cousin, either; you were almost positive she had been talking about Winnie, who had been a rebel and a troublemaker since the very beginning. You only wished you had as much courage as she did.

Dearest Lottie,

If I had the gall, maybe I might try to take a picture. I don’t think I’ll ever be brave enough to do it, so let me describe him for you instead.

Mr. Thomas Shelby is one of the taller men I’ve encountered so far, maybe even ever. He has thick black hair that stays cleanly trimmed on the sides and neat on top. I think he must get his hair cut very regularly. His eyes remind me of the sky, or the ocean; I can’t decide which, but believe me when I say they’re the most strikingly blue eyes you’ve ever seen. He’s never looked at me with anything but a kind expression and it makes my heart flutter.

His cheekbones are to die for. He looks like a perfect roman marble statue; I don’t think God could’ve made them better if he tried. He has a perfect nose. I don’t know what exactly makes it perfect, but it is. And his lips— Charlotte, his lips— I know they’re soft. I can feel it instinctually, they look like satin and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about kissing him. I don’t think I ever could. I’m afraid I’m reading the situation all wrong and if I ever made a move and he didn’t reciprocate, I think I’d have to swim back to Virginia.

Please, please pray for me… if I let this go on any longer I’ll lose my mind. What do I do?

Love you forever, (Y/N)

Again you sealed the letter up and addressed it to her, ready to take it into town someday soon. It was around five o’clock, so you decided to make dinner for yourself, not knowing if your parents would be back home before it got cold.

Then it was six o’clock and you were still home alone, and now it was time to feed the chickens their supper. You took the grains from next to the back door and strolled around in the fenced in field around the coop, throwing handfuls here and there before getting yourself back inside.

At around half past six the sun began to set and still, there was no sign of your parents. You wondered what could be holding them up. Maybe a road got closed off so they had to figure out a new route? Rather than let your mind dwell too long on an issue that very well may not have been serious, you retired upstairs to take a bath, brush your hair, and get dressed in your night clothes. Once your skin and scalp were thoroughly scrubbed and smelled nice and fresh, you exited the tub and dried yourself off. You grabbed your favorite nightgown, a white slip with short sleeves that tended to end up hanging just off of your shoulders and a square neckline exposing your chest just enough to keep it comfortable. You left from the bathroom to your own room and sat down at the vanity in your room to comb through and detangle your long hair.

It had reached about seven o’clock. When your nighttime checklist was all marked off, you looked out the window to try and catch a glimpse of any sign of your parents, until you looked down the road, and—a car was driving up the hill from the direction of town; it could only be your mother and father back from their negotiations. The car pulled in to your driveway and the headlights flashed off, and you could hear a door shut from your third floor attic bedroom. A figure, one you could recognize neither as your mother nor your father could be seen making its way to your front door. Then it knocked, loud and strong, and it made you jump nearly twenty feet in the air.

You were hesitant to answer. The figure didn’t look anything like your parents and you were expecting no visitors; they hadn’t called from anywhere to let you know that they’d be late or that anyone would be coming to the house. The knock came once more. Suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ‘Tis a visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door— only this, and nothing more’. Your recollection of the chilling Poe poem and its similarity to your current predicament did naught to calm your nerves; but at the third bout of knocking, you figured that the person was not going to leave without seeing someone at the house.

You creaked carefully down the steps, trying desperately to be silent, hoping that if the visitor didn’t hear you that he would leave and you could continue the rest of your evening in peace. But you got to the first floor hallway that led directly to the front door and there was no indication that he had left. A muffled voice then came from outside. “(Y/N)? C’mon bird, open the door. I know you’re in there.” Tommy! With that, you rushed the last few steps over to unlock the bolts and swing the door wide open.

“Hi! What brings you here?” you wondered aloud.

Tommy looked at you with a strikingly serious expression. “We need to leave. Now.” With that he grabbed you by the hand and damn near dragged you out of the house, only barely giving you time to shut the door behind you. You didn’t even have a chance to put on any shoes or slippers or even grab a jacket to keep you warm from the night air. Without any other explanation he led you to the car, unceremoniously made you get on the passenger side, and then got in himself and started the car up, a determined look on his face.

[vampiremonday]

TV series ask meme: Doctor Who

send me a tv series and I’ll tell you:

my all-time ultimate fave character: I’m not sure I have a favorite, but I have clung to Clara harder than any of the others. I like all the companions I’ve seen much of, some more than others, but she was the one who makes me think the most. I also really love Martha and Rose. I guess those three are my favorites, but it depends on what we’re talking about.

a character I didn’t used to like but now do: River Song. I understand some of the criticisms of her, but she grew on me to the point that I would say I like her.

a character I used to like but now don’t: I never liked her to begin with, but the original portrayal of Cassandra in 1x02 makes my skin crawl a bit because of the transphobia involved now that I understand it, which I probably didn’t in my early years as a fan. I appreciate that the second and final portrayal of her involved showing her some empathy, which I guess was a slight rebound on that, but still. Bad taste in my mouth.

a character I’m indifferent about: Thirteen, so far, because I haven’t seen her or her companions??? And I guess that I was just kind of put off by the very hamfisted pop-feminist marketing angle they went for. Like, the fact that the Doctor wouldn’t be opposed to regenerating as a woman had been foreshadowed since Eleven, so I don’t really think that we needed Simm!Master being made even more arbitrarily sexist than he already was (which was enough and made some kind of sense character-wise) and Twelve and co being all ~the future is female~ in the text of the show. I mean, I guess hedging your bets against idiot dudebros who can’t read the writing on the wall. But yeah, I hope to… one day enjoy some Thirteen but for various reasons including the way the marketing just made me feel blank about something I thought I would otherwise be intrigued by, I haven’t gotten around to it.

a character who deserved better: Martha Jones the mostest. Also, Danny Pink. Ianto Jones (Torchwood). Also Owen and Tosh but especially Tosh. Probably a bunch of other episodic characters, including that Family of Blood whom the Doctor went full wrathful-Eldritch-god on. Oh, and Donna Noble.

a ship I’ve never been able to get into: Doctor/Donna as a romantic thing. There are others I’ve seen that I’m indifferent to or put off by, but that one is one that I can sympathize with the urge to ship but just… can’t.

a ship I’ve never been able to get over: Honestly since I’ve liked Doctor Who for over a decade, this is a hard question to answer. Doctor/Rose was one of my first ships as a teenager that I really understood in a fannish way, but over time the fire about it has cooled somewhat for me. I like it still, but I feel like over time I stopped being as OTP~ about it. So Doctor/Rose is a mainstream ship that I really like when presented in certain ways. Clara/Danny broke my heart. I liked Amy/Rory as they matured, and “together or not at all” made me really happy even if I was iffy about the early execution. I still tear up a little at the musical piece from that scene. And… uh… I am forever transfixed by Doctor/Master | Missy and Doctor (especially Twelve) & Clara and might be persuaded to ship it under certain circumstances. See, I can’t choose, but I guess if I had to it would be one of the last two. Oh, and it’s pretty much bits and pieces except on the Torchwood side, but one of my favorite rarepairs in the world is Jack Harkness/Martha Jones and I would’ve endgamed it so hard had Torchwood S3 ever existed.

a cute, low-key ship: Jenny/Vastra? I’m mostly pretty “oooh I can’t decide” about choosing ships and favorites, but in this case I was pretty, like, on-board with it. I wrote a fic one time which is more than I can say for even ships I’ve been more into. Doctor/River wavers between “I accept it” and being low-key to very occasional bursts of Strong Feelings that would put it in the above-category.

an unpopular ship but I still enjoyed it: Jack Harkness/Martha Jones.

a ship that was totally wrong and never should have happened: The sexist, dehumanizing elements of the episodic romance in Love and Monsters have aged really badly. At first, I didn’t really fully understand why so many people hated it so much, but I get it now, even though I liked the underlying concept for that episode a lot. I also have a lot of discourse-y opinions about why, while I enjoyed some of it and rooted for Ianto and Jack both to be happier, together or apart, that I really don’t like Jack/Ianto endgame and/or it being treated like this Epic Romance when it really only became Epic because Ianto died horribly. I would just prefer to ignore CoE (I have never watched it) and endgame ship them with other people. But this is a sin to people who are major Janto shippers, and I support you! I just… don’t personally… jive with it. It felt like Ianto settling for me and then getting killed for it.

my favourite storyline/moment: The whole narrative throughline involving the Doctor, Clara, and Missy in S8 and S9. It really played with the whole “the bad guy is right” and “who is the bad guy” in a way that never became so nihilistic I couldn’t stomach it, and in fact led to Missy’s redemption, which is hitting all of my happy buttons.

a storyline that never should have been written: The ending of Love & Monsters (the stupid kids-show-write-in-monster resulting in a woman being a tile that performs oral sex for the rest of her lifespan is bad but didn’t have to be like that). I’m really bitter about The Girl in the Fireplace even though there are parts of it that I have grown to be at peace with. I still would probably be happier if the episode mysteriously vanished from memory. That bizarre thing with the Daleks in business suits and something about pigs? I hate The God Complex, like, a lot. I only ever watched it once and am afraid to try and stomach it again. And there are others I’m just indifferent about or have mixed feelings about, but those are my axes to grind. Interesting how, at this point, most of my gripes happened in the RTD era, though The Girl in the Fireplace was entirely the result of then-Moffat’s textual criticism on how stupid it would be for the Doctor to fall in love with a common girl. Probably my favorite episodes in S1 are actually the ones that involve the Slitheen, but I hate the fatphobia and fart-joke-heavy aspects of those as aliens. Would tweak the actual threat, though the writing of the overall story feels like some of the best in early Doctor Who revival to me?

my first thoughts on the show: The first episode I ever saw was The Idiot’s Lantern, and I really understood nothing about it except that it was science fiction, a revival, and something a British friend watched every Saturday. I was perplexed, but intrigued. Then I caught random smatterings of episodes over the rest of my Christmas break, and by the time I saw The Christmas Invasion on Christmas, I was in love and given a new lease on hope. I had just gone through a personal trauma, and it really helped me to feel something about anything again, and S3 and Simm!Master’s role really helped me grapple with what I’d been through and feel empowered enough to survive.

my thoughts now: I always tell people that I’m kind of indebted to Doctor Who for my life. And I feel like that’s true. My emotional involvement with it varies a lot, depending on when you’re talking to me, but it’s a comfort-attachment for sure. There are certain lines or scenes from it that form some of the foundation of my personality, when I manage to have one. I think it is at its best when it is showing love for what it is: healing, restorative, and revolutionary, but on the other side of the coin, cruel, dangerous, and destructive. I think its engagement with questions about the nature of love and responsibility toward one’s fellow-living-things is when it is the most fun. I haven’t really interacted with it as much since Clara left. I have seen about half of Bill’s episodes, the missing chunk being the middle of S10, and I’ve seen nothing after that. I will one day, probably.