#especially with some people who r like a revolving door in my life

[patron-saint-of-emesis]

like i want to be a selfless idiot!! i love it. i love thinking the best of everyone and giving benefit of the doubt and second chances. i love caring about people and believing in the best of humanity. unfortunately, this mentality has gotten me hurt so many times, because it turns out a lot of people aren’t nice actually

[celiastjamesoscar]

19k words AAAH I'M SO EXCITED LET'S GO!!!

How dare you. It's only been a few paragraphs but I'm already emotional. Poor R doesn't deserve all this guilt and trauma!! And Sam!! Already off to a rough start with her blaming R for the attack. Don't make me fight Sam, she better stop this nonsense soon.

Awww R is already smitten with Sammy. Who wouldn't be. She's so hot when she's all grumpy and angry. At least Tara has our back!

Lol why would it fit perfectly for Mindy ti get stuck in a revolving door. OMFG A FUN SIZED LORD FARQUAAD!?!? I choked on my cookie, that's spot on 😂

Oh Sammy. Protectiveness is one thing but I'm also sensing some unresolved feelings here. That's why Sam is being such a bitch because if she keeps on holding that grudge and blame towards R, then she doesn't need to face the reality of her feelings.

Ooh some teasing is going on. It's okay Sam, I won't tell anyone that you actually have a sense of humor. But this scene was a perfect example of Sam's complicated character. Being this grumpy person all the time is hard, especially when you're talking to your crush, so of course she will let her guard down a bit once in a while. But as soon as she notices what she did, she's back to being a bitch. That's Sam's way of protecting herself and staying in control. Being vulnerable is not something that Sam likes, it makes her feel uncomfortable. So, even though she feels bad for how she's treating R, she can't actually apologize or change just yet because she's simply not comfortable enough.

Welp. Okay then. The next paragraph is Sam being completely vulnerable and open so just forget my above mentioned thoughts. Sammy is just a complicated and complex woman. Yes, she may be a bitch to R to protect herself and her feelings but she's still human and needs some comfort.

...the Boygenius callout. But honestly? I really don't understand the hype and what their concept is. Sam truly is my spirit animal!! SAM NO!! DON'T CAVE IN!! STOP LISTENING NOOO!

O.M.F.G. YOU INCLUDED CHANEL OBERLIN?? I HAVE SO MANG QUESTIONS!? GRACE WTF!! 1. CHANEL DOES NOT DESERVE TO BE A TRIBUTE. SHE'S A NATIONAL TREASURE. 2. HAVE YOU WATCHED SCREAM QUEENS?? I DOUBT IT. 3. SO HOW DO YOU KNOW OF CHANEL??

Okay, the banter between R and Tara here is top notch!! Every line is so hilarious. No Sam, we do not throat punch the people we love! AWWW R IS SUCH A CONSIDERATE CUTIE PIE!! Sam needed that encouragement. R basically telling her that she's proud of her is everything Sam never knew she needed. Sam is slowly letting R break down her walls bit by bit. She's slowly starting to care for R and see her in a different light.

OMG A NOT-DATE DATE IS HAPPENING!! People calm down! AND A KISS HAPPENED!! Sam really just needed some more time to figure out her own feelings and to let herself be vulnerable. She's fighting an inner battle between being a strong, independent woman that she's been her entire life and a more unguarded, open person that she's not used to being.

The pineapple slut shirt!!! Don't you own the same one?? Lol, taking inspiration form your own terrible fashion sense 😉

These two idiots are so soft, I love them. They're very obviously dancing around their feelings with neither of them being brave enough to make it official. Sam is just basking in the comfort R brings and R is too scared to lose Sam.

Wtf, Tara smashed a bottle over a guy's head because of Harry Potter??? Damn, she really is a true Gremlin.

AAAAH THEY'RE OFFICIALLY GIRLFRIENDS!! IT ONLY TOOK 84 YEARS! And look at Sam. She's actually the one who made the first step! She asked R! That's some nice character growth.

Fics where Sam is a bitch with a big heart are my favorite. You really perfected writing Sam complex character so well. She's a softie deep down but it takes time and patience for her to not only accept this fact but also to actively live in out. She always needs an extra push and encouragement for her to let her walls down and accept her vulnerability. This was a masterpiece, I love it Grace!

Ps. The paragraphs where they are in the kitchen in the beginning are included twice. They repeat themselves twice.

Ps 2. Reading this story, reacting and writing down my thoughts took me 1 hour. The best hour of my entire week!!

Hey now, we can’t fight Sam, she’s done nothing wrong 🤷🏻‍♀️

Tara will always be a wingman, no matter what! It’s like her sworn oath at this point in any of my fics

Revolving doors are dangerous if you aren’t careful. Lord Farquaad is the goat

I love writing Sam as someone who protects her feelings by being a bitch, it’s her own coping mechanism, if you will

And there can never be enough playful teasing! I wanted to include two moments back to back where it seemed like Sam was just being an asshole, but then she was just trying to open herself up. I think it’s how Sam would be irl

YOU BE NICE TO MY BOYS!!!! THEY ARE VERY DEAR TO ME!

Of course I included Chanel Oberlin in my ideal Hunger Games lineup, why wouldn’t she be in it?? I have not yet seen Scream Queens, but I have seen a few TikToks of her within the ideal hunger games lineup, so I feel like she would fit in. I mean, she’s played by the one and only Emma Roberts…

My favorite part about writing for Sam, is including the banter between Tara and R. R is such a caring person and then there’s Sam, who’s standing with her hands on her hips and saying, “No.”

The date but not really a date was added last minute too!! And we were rewarded with a kiss, which is a win in my book!

…you know what, I do have that same shirt and I love it very much. It’s very comfortable. ITS NOT TERRIBLE FASHION TASTE, LEAVE ME ALONE 😭😭 although I did accidentally wear an embarrassing shirt to school the other day and didn’t notice it until Jon said something about it 😬

I love my two idiots very much, I’m proud of their growth toward the dark side

Tara feels things very deeply and passionately, she is a very angry little guy

84 years omg, you’re so dramatic 🙄 what would you do if I made a 10 part slow burn fic???

Sam is a softie and I will die on that hill, she just needs a little warming up to do. I’m glad that you really loved it!! I feel like at some parts it gets a little repetitive though

I love you so much, I’m going to kiss you. I can’t believe I didn’t even notice that 😭 thank you for telling me about that!

An hour of your time?! I’m glad that my stories mean that much to you, but I hope it wasn’t an inconvenience

[marinerainbow]

Since I'm a Reala simp and crave romance, have some Reala romance headcannons (I hope these dont come off as cringey)

I have general headcannons for him, and specific ones for if his S/O was a nightmaren, a visitor, or even a nightopian to appeal to everyone (I know that last one may sound odd considering the only nightopians we see are those pixie like nightopians, but I have made my own nightopian OC and I'm certain other people have too, so the last part could count for those kind of nightopians).

~General headcannons~

To start things off, a personal headcannon of mine is that Reala is gynosexual (or gynoromantic if the dream folk are asexual in general) meaning he's more attracted to feminine looking people, doesnt matter if the person is a guy, gal, or a nonbinary pal. Of course, these headcanons apply to just Reala in general. I just felt the urge to type this out.

Reala may be the nightmaren general, but he is a gentleman. He'd be the type to hold the door open for his S/O, offer them his arm when out and about, kiss their hand as a greeting, etc. Especially if he hasn't confessed to them yet and is trying to subtly tell them he's interested in them.

However, Reala would definitely be a protective lover. He may be well mannered, but if anyone threatened his S/O who would be stupid enough to do that to the first levels partner, I have no clue he'll definitely step in and handle the issue. How he handles it depends on how the person is bothering them and what his mental state is.

That being said, he has much more patience for his S/O compared to everyone else. Of course, there are times he will get annoyed or angry with them, he would be more calm with them the anyone else. NiGHTS is the only other person who has his extended patience.

He also takes his courting seriously. Any romantic gesture from him is never spontaneous and is perfectly planned out by him. Now later down the line, he'll relax on how much planning he does, but when he's just starting to try and win them over, he's not going to take any chances.

I personally think that deep down, he's a romantic. He would give his S/O all sorts of lovely nicknames ("My darling" "My heart's desire" etc), leave a note for them if he has to leave before they can say goodbye, and would even dedicate some of his songs and poems to them.

CUDDLES! As I stated in my general Reala headcannons post, Reala is fond of the softer things in life, and he would absolutely LOVE to be soft with his S/O. He would love cuddling with them while relaxing, having personal spa days with them, holding them from behind while they were doing something, etc. I also imagine he would treat his S/O as if they were a delicate treasure, treating them as gently as he could and ensuring that they knew everyday just how much he loves and adores them. Also, if his S/O did anything like tending to his wounds or helping him with anything, he would be forever grateful.

With how much he loves music, I'm certain he would love giving his S/O a private show with his violin, and would love dancing with them. Also, since I headcannon he writes music sheets, if his S/O could play music as well, or even sing, then he would love LOVE having music dates, just him and his S/O performing their own concert.

All these fluffy headcannons, now time for something a bit sad. Reala has abandonment issues, especially after NiGHTS left. So him doing all of these things for his S/O is not only because he wants to, but because he's afraid they'll leave him if he doesn't make himself out to be the perfect mate. But, if his S/O helps him with this issue, I'm certain he'll be able to grow out of that fear.

Alright. That's general headcannons, now for specific headcannons!

~Nightmaren S/O headcannons~

This would no doubt be the most likely scenario. Not only because he's a nightmaren, but because of how he views nightopians and visitors, especially after NiGHTS' rebellion (explained in his general headcannon list)

He would still treat them like a delicate treasure, but he also is very much aware that his S/O has experienced their own hardships and no doubt is tougher then they look. But knowing that, his proctectivness would amplify, because now he wants to ensure they dont go through any more badness then they had/would have to.

If they actively served Wizeman, and if they got on his bad side, Reala would take their punishments in a heartbeat. He would be scared yes, but he would still do whatever it takes to keep them safe. The ONLY reason he wouldn't take his S/O's punishments, is if he was physically AND mentally unable to. But he is a pretty tough person, so those instances would be rare.

~Visitor S/O headcannons~

This would be pretty difficult to achieve, considering his entire job revolves around making visitors' time in the night dimension miserable. I think he and his S/O would have met if they somehow weren't afraid of him and wanted to talk instead, and they happened to catch him in a mood where he complied (like @pastiel headcannons for Reala meeting visitors who couldn't feel fear)

It would take a long time for him to develop feelings for them. But when he did, he would do everything in his power to keep it a secret. Do you have any idea what Wizeman would do to him if he ever found out he fell in love with a visitor? He would be considered a traitor instantly, and would more than likely be killed. As such, his love for his S/O wouldn't be as obvious if it were with a nightmaren, and they would probably not understand what he wanted from them unless he actually said he loved them considering he wouldn't be trying to scare them or take their ideya.

Although he would definitely want to, he probably wouldn't protect his S/O from other nightmaren. What if any of them reported what he did back to Wizeman despite his class? So, unless they are taking away their ideya, he will force himself to stay back. He will of course, be there to sooth them and do whatever it took to make it up to them. If he did have to step in however, he would do everything in his power to ensure that nightmaren kept his trap shut.

~Nightopian S/O headcannons~

This one would probably be on the same level of difficulty as the visitor S/O scenario is, maybe even more so. He loves antagonizing the nightopians, so maybe he met his S/O while he was looking for some stress relief? Unless they actually fought him. Either way, they must have caught his attention and gave him a reason to spare them.

He would be so SO much more protective of a nightopian S/O. Nightopians in general are small, delicate, and are often targeted by nightmaren for any reason. So, if it weren't for the fact that he served Wizeman, he would probably choose to live with them to ensure nothing happened to his S/O.

His feelings would both confuse and enrage him at first. The way he sees it, the nightopians are responsible for taking his best friend away, so he would at first see his feelings as a betrayal to his belief's, and would take the most time coming to terms about how he felt compared to the other scenarios. But when he does, he'll try to be gentler and show that he wants them as a partner.

And those were my headcannons! Tell me what you think! Questions and constructive criticism are welcome!

[bopbopstyles]

ROSE COLORED GLASSES: PART TWO

SERIES RATING: R (cursing, smoking, alcohol use, violence, PTSD, and sex)

WORD COUNT: 27k (will likely crash on mobile - use desktop!)

CATEGORIES: boxer!Harry, gang/mob!Harry, 1920s!Harry, Peaky Blinders!Harry (?)

As the daughter of the most powerful man in Birmingham, there were expectations of Cicely King: an advantageous marriage to save her father’s business, for one. But Cicely had never been one to follow orders. So when she woke up after an accident in the home of Harry Styles, the illusive boxer, she took it as an opportunity to escape her life. What she didn’t intend on was falling in love with him.

MASTERLIST | PART ONE | INSPO TAG | TALK TO ME ABOUT RCG 

a/n: and just like that...it’s over! thank you for the love on part one, and for reading part two. i’m so excited for you all to read this one! thank you @hsogolden for making this beautiful banner, and thank you to @bfharry @harrysclementines​ @stellarboystyles and @havethetimeofyourstyles for beta reading this, ilysm!

historical notes: i’ve got a couple of things to alert the public of for this story. 1. this story is set in Balsall Heath, Birmingham, UK in 1920 or so, and i did as much research as possible on the area, but it is by no means all accurate. imagery and descriptions of the neighborhood are largely my own. 2. Church Hulme was the name of Holmes Chapel until 1974, so it is used in this story. 3. Wutherford doesn’t exist and is 100% a figment of my imagination.

pls reblog and share with your friends 💕✨

Cicely practically ran all the way to Josiah’s. She had been there only a handful of times before, usually by accident when she was out with Harry and he told her he had to stop by. The first time she had met Josiah, she was apprehensive, unsure what to make of the man standing behind the oak desk across from her, a cocky smile on his face. He reminded her of men she had met dozens of times before, men too big for their britches, as her father said. But then he spoke to Harry, and she could see how much he cared for him, despite the tension between them. She suspected it was more on Harry’s end than Josiah’s, the result of trustworthy people being few and far between in his life. Josiah might have been brash and rough around the edges, but Cicely didn’t mind that too much. He was nothing but kind to her, polite, told her that if anyone fucked with her they would answer to him, and it was a promise.

A promise she intended on holding him to.

She rapped on the glass of the door in the pattern she had seen Harry do, bouncing up and down on the toes of her boots as she waited for the door to open. When it did, it was Clara, the secretary who had offered to take Cicely shopping if she needed to. “Cicely?” She asked, and then took one looked at the panicked expression on her face and opened the door wider. “Harry’s in with Josiah.”

Cicely pushed past her and took the stairs two at a time, thankful she had spent her life doing unconventional things like riding horses and running around on the estate rather than embroidering in the parlor. When she pushed open the door to Josiah’s office, she was panting from racing through the house, and the conversation in the room immediately cut out. Josiah, Jack, and Harry were sitting there, their faces all turned to her in surprise.

She had taken an especially strong liking to Jack, who she knew was Harry’s closest friend and confidante. He was everything his brother wasn’t in the ways that mattered—soft spoken, a kind smile, warm eyes. But she could tell he had another side to him, one that made people cower in fear when he entered a room. It was a side she was relying on.

Her eyes swept right to Harry’s, one hand resting on the door jamb and the other on her stomach as it rose and fell with her breath. “My father,” she said, breathless. “He found me.”

“Fuck,” Harry responded in an exhale, rising from the chair he sat in and coming to her side. He pressed a palm to her cheek and his eyes criss-crossed her face as if he was checking for damage. Thankfully, there was none. “What happened?”

She gripped his wrist as she told the story, describing the scene on the front steps and the way her hair stood up from the policeman’s gaze. “I just know it,” she told him earnestly. “He figured it out and he’s not going to waste time before he gets here.”

“What do you want us to do?” Josiah asked, leaning over the oak desk and looking her straight in the eye. “I hate William King enough to do just about anything you me to do, all ya have to do is say the word.”

Cicely considered it. She knew he would kill her father if she asked, and while she hated her father with every bone in her body, she didn’t want him murdered in cold blood. That would leave her mother alone on that estate and it would be hard for Cicely to run from everything, since she was the sole heir to the family name, the business, everything. Even though she wouldn’t be in charge—her father had seen to it that she would fall to her husband, and until she married the second in command of the company—it still meant that she couldn’t abandon ship. Her mother would never forgive her, and even though her mother had done countless things that were unforgivable, Cicely still loved her. Far more than she did her father, at least.

“Don’t kill him,” she said, stepping around Harry’s body so she was facing Josiah head on. “But don’t let him make me leave. Threaten him with force and protect Harry at all costs.”

“Don’t need protectin’,” he muttered behind him but she ignored it. To her, he was the one thing worth saving when everything went to hell and no matter how good he was at fighting someone, her father had an affinity for guns. And Harry refused to carry one after the war.

“You will if bullets are involved.” Josiah reached for the telephone, picking up the receiver and dialing for the operator. “Sergeant Petty, Birmingham Police, please Miriam.”

Of course he was on a first name basis with the operator, Cicely thought to herself. She felt a hand on her lower back, and she rotated her head just enough to catch Harry out of the corner of her eye. He was tense, she could see it in his eyes, the way they were partially looking at her but also spacing off, the crease between his brows and the tightness of his jaw. “Harry,” she whispered, quiet enough that no one else in the room could hear. “I’m going to be okay.” She didn’t really know if that was true, but she needed Harry to believe it. When he was like this it was hard for him to think straight, and she needed his mind in order to make sure she stayed out of her father’s clutches.  

“I…” Harry sighed, his gaze shifting to the floor. “Are you sure ya want to stay?”

The thought of letting her father take her home hadn’t even crossed her mind when she saw the policeman in the street. Instead, her thoughts revolved around how to make sure she could stay with Harry, how to keep them safe from her father. The prospect of returning to the hell that was her home, her life, her predetermined future, was enough to make her nod her head. “Positive,” she told him, and his eyes lifted to hers.

She could see his jaw relax, his eyes clear and really look at her. He was better.

“Petty, I need to know if some of your men have been working for William King.” Josiah was speaking into the phone, a hand open on the desk, resting on a collection of papers. “And when is that supposed to take place?” His eyes shifted to Cicely, then Harry, and finally rested on Jack. His brother shifted in his seat and picked up a cigarette from the box on the table, then pulled a lighter from his pocket. “Keep everybody away from the area, ya hear me? Every man that you can keep out of the area, do it. No, I’m not telling you shit.” Josiah slammed down the receiver and downed the rest of the glass of whiskey on his desk.

The fast that it was eleven in the morning hardly seemed relevant.

“Your asshole of a father has the city police out on patrol for ya. Seems someone got a sighting of ya and tipped them off that you were at Harry’s, in Balsall. He’s comin’ to collect ya tomorrow at eight o’clock.”

“That’s in less than 24 hours,” Harry said, the hand on her back forming into a fist that she wished she could unfurl.

Josiah grabbed the bottle of whiskey and refilled his crystal glass, and then two others. He pushed them towards Cicely and Harry before saying, “Just means we got a lot of planning to do.”

Jack dropped Cicely and Harry off at the house at half past six, after the plans had been put in motion and there was no going back. Josiah had told them to let him and Jack handle it, to stay inside and out of sight, and that they’d post a few men outside to keep an eye on the house in case her father decided to surprise them a bit early. With a nod to Harry and a kiss to Cicely’s temple, Jack drove off, leaving Harry and Cicely behind on the street. It was empty, everyone at work or out running errands, just a few children out on their porches up the block.

Harry unlocked the door quietly and Cicely followed him inside. They hadn’t spoken for all of the car ride from Josiah’s, Cicely because she didn’t know what was going through Harry’s head, and Harry because he was too angry to think of words. As he moved through the house, Cicely could tell he was angry. The way he sighed sharply and lit a cigarette, clenched at the table as he studied a wall, before pacing back and forth in the hallway, a hand roughly running through his hair. She stood next to the stairs, watching him, unsure what to say.

These were the moments when Cicely was reminded how much of Harry she still didn’t know. She had never seen him angry, at least, not like this. This was a kind of anger she couldn’t wipe from his body with a wet rag, or push away with a kiss to his forehead. It was anger she was wrapped up in, although not her fault, something she couldn’t fix without hurting them.

It was Harry who spoke first, in a shocking change. He turned to her, chest heaving. “Don’t wanna lose ya,” he said, staring daggers into her soul.

Cicely moved finally, through the distance between them, her boots clicking on the worn floorboards. “I don’t either,” she whispered, pressing a palm to his cheek. She ghosted her fingertips over his eyelids when they fluttered shut at her touch, and tried to memorize his face. The fading bruise on his jaw, the curl of his hair by his ears, the harsh lines of his cheekbones, how soft he looked in moments like this. Her thumb shifted across his face and brushed over his lip, running along the tender skin there.

His eyes fluttered open at the contact, his anger replaced with a desire Cicely had grown used to in recent days. The darkening of his pupils, the way his gaze focused on her lips as he looked at her. “How,” he began, not meeting her eyes, “have I only known ya for a week, but it feels like an eternity?”

“I don’t know,” she replied, voice soft in the house. All she could hear was the sound of their haggard breathing and the tick of the old clock in the sitting room. “It feels like you were made for me. Like I’ve been waiting for you.”

Hands found her hips, his fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt. Cicely took a step towards him, their chests nearly touching, and in a breath, found his lips with hers. Her fingers curled into his hair like she knew he liked and held him close to her, memorizing the way his lips tasted, how it felt to have his nose slotted against hers, the press of his body against hers and the heat of his palms on her hips. It was a dream she never wanted to wake from.

In a moment, Harry took a step towards her, forcing her backwards, and then another, until her back was pressed against the wall underneath the stairs. She arched her back and a sound left Harry’s throat that was somewhere between a laugh and a growl when her breasts pressed against his chest, the fabric of their shirts brushing against each other harshly. Their lips fought one another, Cicely sucking on his bottom lip and Harry biting softly down on hers and making her giggle. When his tongue licked into her mouth, she flicked hers out to meet him, the sensation like nothing she had ever experienced before.

Her hands explored the expanse of Harry’s back, fingers curling into his shirt, his jacket a long forgotten memory. When his lips dipped to her neck and her nails darted into his skin, he gasped by her ear, the muscles in his arm flexing as he formed a fist against the wall. She wanted his skin, his bare skin, to see his tattoos and his piercings and investigate every corner of his body. After his matches she was allowed snippets of time, but it was always pressured, people wanting to talk to him before they left, Harry still recovering from the fight. But now, he was here and hers, no one else waiting for his attention, his body bent over hers as he nipped at the spot just below her earlobe.

“Can you take off your shirt?” Her voice was quiet in the room, and Harry’s head lifted at her words.

He leaned back slightly and Cicely watched in rapture as he pulled the hem of it from his trousers, and then slowly over his head. A necklace she had never seen before—a cross—fell to his chest and she guessed she hadn’t seen it because he couldn’t wear it during fights. So she took this opportunity to investigate, her fingertips running down the silver chain until they reached the pendant.

“I thought you stopped believing,” she said, her forehead resting on his jaw as she surveyed the necklace. She could see his chest rise and fall, the roll of his stomach as he sucked in air sharply when her fingers ghosted over his skin.

“Started wearing it again a few days ago,” he murmured, bending his chin so he could rub it against her temple. The feeling of him nuzzling at her skin made her smile, the softness of Harry never ceasing to surprise her.

He had such a hard facade up and most of it was all lies. A protective mechanism that resulted from years of pain and one big betrayal, one she hoped she could kick to smithereens. Tentatively, she touched his nipples, loving the hiss that filled her ears at her touch. “Why is that?”

She felt his fingers brush through the ends of her hair, the loose curls having fallen from the stress of the day. “Found somethin’ worth believing in again.”

Their lips reconnected with a fervor Cicely had experienced before between them, but something was different this time. And urgency to the way their hands gripped one another, the way Cicely stopped thinking and let her body react in the way it wanted, her hips pressing up against his, the brush of their most intimate places making them gasp into one another’s mouths.

Cicely wanted more. She wanted to see every inch of him laid out below her, to run her fingers over his skin and discover which spots made him gasp. She wanted him to see her and do the same, to tell her all the thoughts bottled up in her head. But more than anything, she wanted a moment to remember forever, so that no matter what happened tomorrow, she could hold onto the memory of this night.

“Harry.” His head lifted, eyes finding hers in the soft glow of the hallway light. “Can you take me upstairs?”

He brushed his thumb across her cheek tenderly. “Ya sure?”

“Yes.”

With that word, Harry’s hands drifted from their home on her hips down her skirt-covered thighs. He tugged at the fabric, pulling it up so that he could touch her skin, and then gripped the back of them. With the flex of his arms, he pulled her up, her legs easily wrapping around his waist so that he was carrying her. In this position, their lips were level and Cicely took full advantage, smothering his face with soft kisses that brought out a rare smile on his face as he maneuvered them up the stairs gracefully. She knew Harry was strong, the sight of his body taught under her hands as he carried her made her understand how truly powerful he was.

He knocked open the bedroom door with his hip and Cicely took in the room they had shared for the past few nights, curled up under the covers together. She had chased away his nightmares in this bed. Even though her bed at home might have been more comfortable, she had never felt so at home between any sheets like she did in Harry’s.

Delicately, he dropped her onto the duvet cover, and Cicely held him to her, forcing his body on top of hers. Their foreheads knocked, but they didn’t mind, Harry’s hands finding the space on either side of her head to support himself, and her fingers dug into the flesh of his stomach. She loved having free range over his body, touching him as she pleased, watching how his features contorted in front of her with every press of her palms. Her skirts were rucked up, trapped under his knees, and she wanted them off, the material heavy on her body.

“Can you help me take this off?” She asked him, squeezing his skin to get his attention. He had been sucking a spot on the base of her neck, which as much as she enjoyed the feeling of, she wanted her warm skin to be free more.

Harry’s gaze scattered over her body before reaching her face. “All of it?” She nodded and he shuddered, hesitant hands pulling at the cotton blouse that was tucked into the waist of the skirt.

Cicely sat up so he could pull it over her head, and when it was gone Harry stared at her for seconds that stretched into a minute. Her brassiere over her breasts, straining from her heavy breaths, her soft skin, unmarred from a life without disease and violence. There wasn’t a mark on her, and Harry marveled at the beauty of her body in front of him, wondering how he could have ever been so lucky to have found her. Then, he reached his hands around her  to where the clasp laid, eyes searching hers to make sure it was okay before he pulled the material away.

When he bent his head, tongue running over the sensitive rises of her breasts, Cicely gasped, her fingers moving from the covers to his hair, holding his head to her skin. It was a sensation she didn’t know how to describe and it sent shockwaves through her body. Then he moved to her other nipple and she moaned, desperation on her vocal chords.

“Skirt?” He murmured into her skin, and Cicely mumbled her approval. Her skin was on fire and she just needed  it all off, to let the cool air rush over her. With deft fingers, he undid the buttons at the back of the skirt, and Cicely laid back so he could slide it down her legs. Every inch of skin that was revealed made Harry’s breathing quicken, the sight of a woman nearly naked in front of him one he hadn’t encountered since before France.

It was almost embarrassing how desperate he was for her in every single way. He wanted to make her moan, to hear his name on her tongue, to make her squirm, to make her cry out in ecstasy. But he started with moving down her body, pulling from his memories what he wanted to do to her, show her. “What are you doing?” She asked, confusion evident in her tone.

“Want to taste ya,” he mumbled, a kiss pressed to her hipbone where the line of her underwear laid. “Make ya feel good. Is that okay?”

Without hesitation, Cicely nodded and Harry ducked his head down, his eyesight level with her center. He decided to keep her underwear on, not wanting to rush her too fast. Tentatively, he brushed his forefinger over her underwear and Cicely gasped, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. She didn’t know what she ached for, but she just knew she didn’t want him to stop. And when he darted out his tongue and swiped it over her clothed center, his name fell from her lips in a prayer.

“Goin’ to pull these to the side,” he told her, not wanting to catch her by surprise. “Stop me at any time if ya want.” He waited for her nod before continuing, pulling the edge to the side to reveal her wet pussy waiting for him. “Fuck,” he exhaled, the sight of her overwhelming him. “Beautiful, every inch of ya, know that?”

The giggle that left her mouth quickly turned to a gasp when he licked over her, the tang of her like a holiday meal, one to be treasured for the rest of the year. He was tender, not wanting to hurt her, brushing circles and lines up and down her sensitive flesh. When her fingers moved from his shoulders to curl through his hair, he smiled into her skin, the signs of her pleasure making him proud. He was hers, and she was his. In this moment, it was as simple as that.

“Harry.” She pulled his roots and Harry couldn’t help the groan that he let out onto her flesh, the vibrations making her thighs clasp around his head. When she went to pull them away, Harry stopped her, holding her thighs close as he licked up and down her again, kitten licks to her bud. “Oh my God,” she said. She went to clasp a hand over her mouth but Harry gripped her wrist, holding it to the bed.

“Wanna hear ya,” he mumbled. “Don’t care about the neighbors.”

Cicely decided she didn’t either, because the prospect of having to think about anything but the tension rising in her belly would have overwhelmed her brain. His tongue felt like heaven on her skin, the warm wetness making her thighs tense. She worried she was hurting him but Harry seemed to like it, so she didn’t stop, just tugged on his head to keep him close and moaned. The sounds leaving her body were ones she had never heard before, but they became her favorite things, wanting to experience Harry drawing them from her for the rest of time.

He pulled away for a second, replacing his mouth with his fingers, and looked to Cicely’s face. The rise and fall of her breasts made him want to rut into the bed but he held back, wanting the moment to be all about her. “How d’ya feel, love?”

“Good,” she said in a rush, her voice raw from panting. “Um, tense? I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Hmm,” he hummed out, returning to her folds, “that’s good, Ci.” The nickname had appeared a few times in the past few days and it fit perfectly in his mouth. He loved how it made her smile, eyelashes flutter as she looked down at him.

He held her eyesight as he licked her skin, wanting to watch her unfurl in front of him. It was like a boxing match in a way, reading his opponent to know the moment he was desperately waiting for, using his instincts to change his actions to draw the reaction he wanted. He darted his tongue to her slit and she bucked into him, so he hesitantly pressed at her slit, wanting to open her up a bit for him. He wasn’t small, he knew that, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. She hummed in appreciation, so he continued, the feeling of licking inside of her making him grip at her skin in an attempt to hold himself to Earth. Her head tilted back, long neck exposed to him and he wished he could be in two places at once—at her neck and in between her legs.

When his tongue got tired, he replaced it with one of his fingers, Cicely moaning at the feeling. She watched him in rapture, the feeling of his digit inside of her alighting every part of her body. It was unusual, but not bad—she wanted more, in fact. She could feel herself reaching a precipice, of what she wasn’t sure, but she knew she needed more. “More.” Harry looked at her, questioning, and she nodded. “Please.”

Harry responded by curling his finger, twirling it inside of her to reach every inch of her and a quick motion over her bud. She could feel herself tightening around him and at first she thought it was bad but he mumbled how good it felt into her skin, so she let herself do it again. She could feel that edge racing towards her like she was flying, and she struggled to keep her eyes open before giving up, eyelids drifting shut and her head tilting back again.

Her hips bucked, the tension rising, and then with a brush to the spongy spot inside of her, she snapped with a cry of his name. Harry didn’t let her go, pushing in and out of her as she fell apart, kissing her inner thighs. Watching her finish was like a movie to him, one he would’ve paid his life’s earnings to see just one more time. Her cheeks glowed, eyes wide, chest rising with quick breaths as she calmed down. Slowly he pulled his finger from her and she hissed at the loss, Harry giving her a small smile as he sucked his finger dry so her juices didn’t get all over the duvet.

“I…” She didn’t have the words but Harry knew. “Come here,” was all she got out, and Harry responded in a flash, his body moving up hers immediately.

Their lips reconnected and the taste of her on his tongue made her crave more. Her legs wound around his waist and Harry grunted when her bare center brushed over his still clothed dick. He pulled back and brushed a hair from her forehead. “Ci,” he said softly, “I need you to tell me what you want.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “You,” she answered, fingers gliding down his back. “All of you.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to—“

She pressed a finger to his lips that silenced him immediately. “I’m sure.”

He kissed every inch of her face, heart cresting at the giggles that spilled from her mouth. Her fingers threaded through his hair and she pulled his lips to hers, Harry sighing into the kiss. Kissing Cicely was a euphoria he had never known before. It made every other thought in his brain fall to the wayside, which was exactly what he needed.

Suddenly, Cicely was tightening her knees at his hips and using them to rotate him. He fell to the side, his back hitting the duvet, and the sight of Cicely hovering over him made him twitch in his pants. “Is this okay?” Cicely asked, her fingers ghosting up his chest.

“Yes,” he replied, breathless from the feeling of her touching him. He could feel her everywhere, smell her, hear nothing but the beat of their hearts in the room.

Cicely gazed down at him, his chest rising and falling below her, the tattoos that littered his body. She wanted to trace each and every one of them, memorize his inked skin so that it filled her dreams. She started with his hands, ghosting over the silver rings that adorned his knuckles with her lips, Harry’s eyes never leaving her face. When she kissed the cross on the skin between his thumb and forefinger, Harry couldn’t help but brush the pad of his thumb over her lips. She parted her lips, a coy smile on her face, and with a tenderness he didn’t know someone could have, captured the tip of his thumb in between her teeth.

She didn’t know where the surge of confidence came from, but with him she didn’t worry about what someone might think. Her thoughts were filled with him, the rest of the world gone for the moment, her mind only focused on what would make his breath catch in his throat. Inching up his forearm and then his bicep, she alternated between open-mouthed and soft pecks to his skin, tracing the outline of the rose with her lips. She scratched delicately at the ship on his bicep, a caress to the sails, and thumbed over what he informed her was Hebrew. Then, she drifted her hands across his shoulders, pulling at his tense muscles before she dipped her head, sponging a kiss across the A, then the 17Black, the two crosses, and then across her favorites—the swallows. His silver cross laid between them, stuck to his skin with sweat, and when she sucked the heavy chain into her mouth, Harry exhaled her name in a moan that made her grin.

“Feel good?” She asked, voice heavy with desire. Harry nodded, not trusting his voice to be able to properly describe the sensations running through his blood. Feeling her lips on his skin was licking a fire through him that rivaled the pits of hell.

And then, Cicely reached her favorite addition to Harry’s body—the barbells tucked through his nipples. Up until then, all she had done was touch them, but remembering how it felt when Harry licked her breasts, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like for her to do the same. So she bent her head and tentatively brushed her tongue over his right nipple.

Harry bucked into her, his grip on her waist tightening to a pressure she hadn’t felt before. “Ci,” he groaned, eyes wide at the sight of her on top of him, mouth suckling on his pierced nipples. It was torture, and one he would happily submit to for hours on end.

She licked at the buds of his nipples, and then in a circle around them, tweaking the barbells under the pressure of her tongue. It was her new preferred method of pleasuring him, she thought as she watched his features contort above her. Watching him squirm and pant her name, begging her for more, had her squeezing her knees around his hips. When she accidentally rolled into him, she dug her nails into his shoulders at the sensation, moans tumbling from both of their mouths.

“I love them,” she mumbled as she licked over his left nipple, the slick of her saliva glistening on his skin.

“Yeah?” Harry didn’t know what else to say, his throat was raw and dry from his being unable to close his mouth.

“Mhm,” she murmured, the vibration sending shockwaves through him.

“Fuck,” he groaned and tugged softly at the strands of her hair. “Ci, I’m not—fuck, love, ya have to stop.”

Her head bounced up at that, eyes meeting his. “What’s wrong?”

Harry could feel a blush creeping across his features, trying to search for the words to tell her he was going to come in his pants if she kept this up. It had been too long and he was sensitive, so sensitive, and the feeling of her hips softly rolling into his by accident and her lips on his nipples and her fingers curling into his skin was sending him into another realm. “I’m not going to last if ya keep going,” he said, trying to explain.

Cicely glanced down where their centers were resting just inches from one another and then back to his face. “Oh.” Then, she moved like a cat down his legs, kneeling between them. Her fingers tucked into the buttons of his trousers, and with Harry’s help, she pulled them down his long legs. Cicely’s eyes widened, taking in the sheer size of him. She had never disrobed a man before, but she was expecting him to wear underwear like she was, only…he wasn’t. So he was exposed to the air, his dick red and throbbing against his stomach.

Harry must have been able to sense her apprehension, because he sat up, drawing her attention to his face. “Can you roll over for me, love?” He wanted it to hurt the least amount possible, and also not to overwhelm her, so he decided her on her back and him over her would be the best position.

She nodded, and crawled up, letting them switch positions on the bed. Fingers brushed across the top of her underwear and she watched as Harry pushed them down slowly, exposing her most intimate areas to his eyes. If it hadn’t been Harry, maybe she would’ve felt uncomfortable, but under his gaze she felt adored. He sat on his knees between her legs, and brushed a finger lightly over her folds, her skin sensitive under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said under his breath, almost as if he was just speaking to himself, awestruck by her.

Using her ankles, she pressed him closer to her, wanting to feel his skin against hers again. “Harry,” she murmured, reaching for him with her hands. “Want you.”

It was if the air had been sucked out of the room when those words fell on Harry’s ears. Cicely laid out on the bed in front of him, her blonde hair fanned out on the pillow, lips red and puffy from their kisses, her breasts rising and falling with every breath. The press of her ankles on his lower back had tugged him closer to her, so her thighs were wrapped around his waist, his dick just centimeters from her. “Okay, love, I’m comin’,” he said, leaning over her body and caging her between his arms. “It might hurt at first, so I’m going to go slow, hmm?” With his words he pressed soft kisses to her cheeks, wanting to help her relax as much as possible. “Stop me if it’s too much, don’t wanna hurt ya.”

“You couldn’t.” Her hands found his cheeks and she pulled him in for a searing kiss, before pressing their foreheads together. “I’m ready.”

Harry reached between them, palming his dick in his hand, tugging a few times, but he didn’t need much. Pleasing her had brought him nearly to the brink, and her touching his body had practically had him melting in her arms. When he brushed his tip over her slit she whimpered, and Harry brought their lips together when he pushed just the tip inside of her.

He barely held back the curses that begged to fall from his mouth, not wanting to make it all about him. He just searched her eyes, their faces so close there was just a hair’s distance between them, waiting for the pinch between her brows to soften. The pain wasn’t as bad as Cicely was expecting, but it wasn’t quite good either—somewhere in the middle ground. She just wanted him to move, to get it over with, almost. She had never been good with prolonging something, pain especially. “Move,” she murmured against his lips.

Harry’s eyes fluttered shut at the thought, but then opened to make sure he could see her face, check in with her as he moved. “Promise me you’ll tell me to stop,” he asked, a hand brushing at the hair on her face.

“Promise.”

With that, Harry pushed the rest of the way inside in one motion, Cicely’s head tipping back as a low moan ripped from her throat. He stayed there, fully inside of her, his arms shaking on either side of her head as he tried to hold it together. Her hands pressed into his sides, fingers digging into his muscular back as she adjusted to him. It was an overwhelming feeling, being filled with him, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. She didn’t know how to describe it, but it felt so right, especially with him.

It was like her body knew what to do, though, because once the initial burning feeling had subsided, her ankle pushed into his lower back, just centimeters from the top of his ass, and he pushed slightly deeper into her. Moans fell between them, Harry gripping the sheets for something to hold onto. “Want me to move, love?”

“Mhm,” she mumbled, her lips surging up to find his.

And so Harry did. He pulled out, the feeling of her walls gripping him like a vice making his eyelids shut, and then back into her, losing himself to the feeling of being this close to her. One of her arms draped across the back of his neck, the other around his chest to keep him close to her as he pushed into her, deeply and slowly. He peppered kisses down her neck and across her collarbones, bathing in the sounds of her pants and breathy moans.

Cicely couldn’t focus on any one particular thing, just the feeling of him filling every inch of her in a way she didn’t know she was missing until this very moment. She had always dreamed of her first time being with someone she loved, and when Harry kissed her eyelids tenderly, she realized her dream had come true. When his hips swiveled into her, the angle changing slightly, Cicely’s head tipped back, her neck bared to Harry.

He didn’t let the opportunity pass him by—he was on her exposed skin in seconds, covering her with kisses and nips. “God, ya feel like heaven,” he mumbled into the crook of her neck when she clamped down around him, knees pressing into the sides of his stomach. “How’d I get so lucky to find ya, hmm?”

“I’m the lucky one,” she said, licking her dry lips and ducking her head down. His ring-clad fingers pushed back her hair and she tried to commit every one of his features to her memory forever. The tender touches of his hands on her skin, the antithesis of who everyone else knew him as. The cracked skin over his knuckles, still healing from a rough training day, the yellowing brush on his ribs from the fight two nights ago, the cut on his lip she had washed and kissed better. The searing gaze of his hazel eyes that felt like they managed to know the depths of her soul, regardless of how long she’d known him for. “H,” she whispered, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

His hips stuttered and his head drew back, his whole body coming to a stop above her. “Ya—what?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she repeated, pulling at the hand that rested in her hair so she could kiss the tips of his fingers. “I know it’s fast, but…”

Harry shook his head at her, and at first she was worried it was too much too quickly, that she’d messed up. But then he lowered his forehead back to hers, and the words he uttered were so quiet she almost missed them. “I love ya,” he uttered, low in her ear. “No thought or falling involved.”

They were words he had never said to anyone else before, other than his family, and even those he hadn’t uttered in years. They were rusty on his lips, his tongue untrained in how to form the sounds. But when they landed between them, they felt right. So, utterly, effortlessly right. Harry couldn’t hide from her—he never could. She swept into his life and in a flash had ripped his strongest defenses to bits, battled her way into his heart. And perhaps it was silly to fall in love with a girl who was the opposite of who he was supposed to, but who gave a fuck anyways? She was meant for him—created for him to love, and he for her.

Cicely swept his lips to hers, tugging him into her in a kiss unrivaled by the ages. And then he pushed back into her, their moans passing between them in the tunnel their open mouths had created. She grappled at his skin, trying to find purchase, and Harry was barely holding on. “Closer,” she whimpered to him, “want to be closer.”

They were already skin to skin, but Harry knew what she meant without her having to spell it out. His hands tucked under her torso and he pulled her up, sitting back on his calves so she was sitting in his lap. His thighs burned, but he didn’t mind, because the way that Cicely keened when he pushed into her had him determined to bring her to an orgasm right there. Her legs draped around his, arms around his neck, their lips meeting and parting, the closeness she had craved successfully found.

“Oh my god.” Cicely gripped the ends of his hair, her head dropping to his shoulder as her body began to shake in his arms. “Harry.”

“Ci,” he mumbled, one of his hands drifting up to brush under her hair and thumbs running across the back of her neck. “Can ya look at me? Wanna see ya.”

Her head lifted and their eyes met, Harry staring deep into her as her legs shook around him. She could feel the knot in her stomach tightening and tightening, her grip on the moment beginning to fray as the euphoria she had experienced earlier bubbled back. All she could do was hold onto Harry and focus on the feeling of him inside her, brushing a soft spot deep inside of her. She could have sworn she could feel him in her fucking stomach, and it was a feeling she never wanted to forget. “H,” she panted out, their noses bumping as he pushed into her. His name was all she could think of, the only words she could conjure.

His hands splayed across her back, holding her torso to his. “Let go for me, love, okay? I’ve got ya.”

Perhaps that was all she needed—permission—because when he said it, the knot in her belly disintegrated, Cicely reaching a high unlike the one from earlier, a scream falling from her throat. More intense, one that had her toes curling and her whole body vibrating in Harry’s arm. Harry couldn’t hold it together anymore, the feeling of her clenching around him too much. With a bit of fumbling he was able to pull out of her, and his eyes fluttered shut as he came, a bit on her stomach, a bit on his. Her name was a prayer on his lips, repeated over and over again in the quiet of the room.

When he opened his eyes, she was looking at the mess he had made. Without hesitating, she reached down and her fingers swiped at his sticky ropes of cum on her skin, and then she lifted her two fingers to her mouth, gently licking. “Fuck,” he panted, the sight sending his body into overdrive. “Gonna kill me, know that?”

Cicely just giggled in his arms, and then surged forward, reconnecting their lips, the taste of his cum on her lips, but Harry didn’t mind. He just wanted her, every bit of her, every ounce of the love she would give him. When they pulled apart, she ran her fingers across his rings before pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. “Wanna have a bath?”

His head bent to her chest and he sighed. “Don’t wanna go to the pump,” he mumbled.

She echoed his sigh, fingers brushing through his hair at the nape of his neck. “I forgot you don’t have running water.”

“Sounds bloody magical right about now,” he said, and she laughed, the sound filling his heart up to the brim, pieces of love falling over the edge. “How about I clean us up and we get some sleep?”

“Hmm,” she murmured. “Perfect. But only if you promise not to hog the pillow again.”

“S’rude,” he said, letting her fall back onto the duvet cover, her legs untangling from around him. He missed their presence immediately. “They are my pillows and all.” Cicely laughed again, and Harry moved from the bed, a rare smile gracing his face, one meant for her and only her. As was every single one of the smiles that had found his face since she came into his life—all for her eyes only.

The air was heavy when Cicely and Harry stepped outside at a quarter to eight the next morning. His fingers were intertwined with hers, the desire to be constantly touching after last night overwhelming both of them. Harry had on his nice jacket and his best pair of trousers, but he still paled in comparison to Cicely, who managed to make Nellie’s clothes look like they were made for her. She had combed her hair and washed up as best as she could, but she still knew her father would comment on her appearance, her being unkempt and dirty, although she didn’t care all that much. She wasn’t planning to go with him anyway.

After last night, she was Harry’s in every meaning of the word. Mind, body, and soul.

Josiah and Jack stood just past Harry’s front step, Josiah smoking a cigarette and Jack looking at them with an intensity that reminded her of Harry. “Mornin’, lovebirds,” Josiah said in an effort to keep the mood light but no one laughed. “Hope we’re feeling feisty this morning.”

Harry squeezed her hand, a reminder that he was there. They’d talked about this morning when they were curled up in bed last night, tracing one another’s naked skin. How nervous she was. This was going to mean she was cutting herself off from her family, for all intents and purposes. Giving up her name, her title, her standing. Even though there wasn’t much money left, her family still had an immense amount of power, power she had grown up knowing she would one day inherit. Now, within a matter of a week, she was prepared to give it all up for a better life. Perhaps her father wouldn’t see it that way, but for Cicely, she would rather live a life filled with love, than one that made her feel like a prisoner in her own home. She refused to become her mother.

“Remember, no killing him,” she told Josiah at the sight of the revolver tucked into his waistband. “I’m going to talk to him.”

“Talk, right,” Josiah mumbled, but she ignored him. Her gaze instead fell to their surroundings. It was eight o’clock in the morning and most days it would be bustling, but today the street was silent. There must have been an order to stay inside, or to vacate the area in case things went sideways. She was thankful for it, she didn’t want children possibly put in harm’s way. But that didn’t mean it felt normal, because the sound of a quiet Balsall Heath was unsettling, the sight of empty streets except for the men who Josiah and Jack and brought with them.

There were probably twenty-or-so men, all with their J pins on their lapels, revolvers in their hands. Their eyes rested on Cicely and Harry, she realized, not on Josiah and Jack. “Is this going to be enough?” Harry asked behind her, reading her mind.

Jack was the one who replied. “Didn’t want to risk bringing out a full brigade and it turning to shit without them gettin’ a word in.”

It made sense. Her father would respond to fear more than anything else, and if he felt cornered or threatened she was screwed. “Cicely,” Harry murmured, and she turned. He was tense, she could see it in the way he held his shoulders and she couldn’t say she felt any different. “What do you want me to do?”

It felt unusual for Cicely to be in charge in a situation like this, and she could tell he felt helpless. Unable to use his fists or his body, giving over all the control to her. “Stay next to me,” she told him. “And please, for the love of God,  don’t get hurt.”

As Harry was about to respond, no doubt with something snarky, Cicely heard the sound of cars on the road. Her head turned and Harry stepped from his spot behind her to next to her, their hands still connected. The black police cars emerged from the fog, out of place on a street that mostly saw horses and the rare car—usually belonging to Josiah. But this time, there were at least ten, and Cicely’s heart began to race in her chest. What if her father wasn’t planning to just talk? What if in an effort to keep Harry, Josiah, Jack, and their men safe, she had put them all in danger? She heard the cock of a pistol and knew the men were anxious, and she didn’t blame them.

The cars stopped in a massive clump, car doors slamming in the quiet morning air as they climbed out. Her eyes scanned for her father, his gray hair and tall stature that put up a strong facade, but was secretly cracked straight through. And when he appeared, her gut twisted.

It was the first time she had seen him in a week, but the feeling of dread at the sight of him hadn’t left her. The memories of the words he had said, the things he threatened still echoed in her brain.

“There he is,” Josiah muttered, before taking another puff of his cigarette and then a swig from his flask, despite the early hour. “C’mon, boys.”

The men moved immediately, creating disordered rows around Cicely and Harry, an aisle of sorts standing in front of them. “Ready?” Harry asked her, his voice soft.

She nodded, and dropped his hand, wanting to appear as strong as possible when she faced her father. The mud of the street squelched under boots as she stepped off the stoop, but after days in it it didn’t bother her anymore. She could tell her father hated it though, his eyes on her as she moved towards him, the fog parting around her figure.

William King commanded a presence. His height and size towered over many, the graying of hair did nothing to disguise the fact that he was a striking man. Many of his features Cicely had inherited, namely his high brows and the set of his mouth, and when they stood next to one another it was plainly obvious she was his daughter. She had always despised it. He wore a simple black suit, as usual, a tie her mother had probably insisted he wear hanging from around his neck, his cufflinks glinting. He looked rich, as usual, even if he wasn’t. Perhaps it was his appearance that drew people into his circle, or the way he had with words, the stories he could spin in seconds to earn approval and trust. Cicely had seen it all her life and it made her sick.

So when he said her name, it drew bile in her mouth. “Cicely,” he said, a fake kindness she saw straight through. “Hello, darling.”

“Father,” she replied tersely, stopping a few yards away from him. “There was no need for the police, you know.”

“Oh?” Her father glanced around at their surroundings. “I’m not so sure about that, considering the ruffians you’ve decided to bring along.”

Cicely heard some muffled noises behind her, and she knew it was Jack keeping Josiah quiet, an outburst doing nothing to help the moment. “I felt the need to protect myself.”

William scoffed. “From who?”

“You,” she replied simply, cocking her head to the side. “So, Father, why are you here?”

He rolled his eyes before looking to the policeman next to him—someone high up, she imagined. “See what insolence I have to put up with?” Then he turned back to her. “To retrieve you from whatever games you’ve gotten yourself into this time.”

“This isn’t a game.” Cicely’s voice cut like glass through the morning fog and Harry watched her in awe. She had known Cicely was strong, but to see her pushing back against her father, one of the most powerful men in Birmingham in addition to welding immense control over her life, was a scene he would always remember. “I left because you were going to force me into a marriage I don’t want, and I ended up here. And I’m staying.”

William stiffened at her words. “Stay? Here? In this slum? With him?” He pointed at Harry, who just stared at him in response. Jack’s hand came to rest on his shoulder, as if to remind him to stay calm, that Cicely wanted him to stay out of it as much as possible.

Cicely could feel a familiar anger boiling inside of her, the same one that had made her run out of her home in the first place, mount her horse, and ride away, despite the coming storm. “It is not a slum,” she said firmly, “and I am far happier here with him than I ever was living with you.” Her father flinched, the prospect of being dressed down in public, in front of people who were supposed to respect him, was the bane of his existence. Which was exactly why Cicely forged on. “I am done being your pawn in a game to recover the wealth that you lost at the gambling table. I don’t care about the business, about my ‘duties’, all I’ve ever wanted is to be happy. But you couldn’t even give me that. You want me to marry Clifford Stevens to save your business, you want to use me as your pawn. And I’m done.”

The air was silent when she finished speaking, her father shocked into silence at her outburst. Although she had spoken back before, never quite like this, and never in public. Her father looked at her with an unparalleled fury, and she could feel the tension rising between them. There were many times in her life when she had been afraid of her father, and this moment specifically might top the list. Then her father spoke, and Cicely’s world dropped out beneath her.

“If you want to give up your life, your name, your title, so badly, then how about I send you away? Lock you up and tell everyone you’ve gone insane?” He waved his hand around at the neighborhood and then continued, “it wouldn’t be much of a lie, either. After this stunt, I am quite concerned for your mental well-being.”

It took every strand of willpower in Harry’s body to hold him back from slamming William King to the ground. The suggestion that Cicely was insane was the farthest thing from the truth. If anyone was destined for the asylum, it was him—the dreams that plagued him and the fears that gripped his body. But Cicely…

She felt arms wrap around her waist, and she immediately knew they belonged to Harry. The feeling of his body against hers, the warmth of his hands on her body, the security they offered, managed to blur the edges of her simmering anger towards her father. Just as she was about to respond, she heard Harry’s voice.

“How dare you?” Harry asked, tone so even that the delivery was chilling.

William King just laughed, a bone chilling one that made Cicely tense in Harry’s arms. But he refused to be afraid of a man who had done nothing but harm to the woman he loved. “How dare I? What about you? What could you possibly have to offer my daughter, other than a life on a shit-covered street and nights spent in dark warehouses where you beat the life out of people?” His words struck a chord in Harry, the insecurity in himself that he had tried to push away for so long, but the moment William said them, they were out in the open. “At least I know what’s best for her.”

“You have no idea what is best for me,” Cicely said, her voice rising. “You have never known!”

“Cicely King, that is enough,” William said, an exhausted sigh echoing in her ears that reminded her of every fight with her father she had ever had. “Either you come home with me, or I send you to the asylum where you can live out the rest of your days wondering if this little rebellion,” he spit the word at her and it made Cicely see red, “was worth it. It’s up to you.”

But Cicely shook her head. “I’m not doing either of those.”

“Fine.” Her father nodded to the policeman closest to him, and suddenly everyone was moving, a blur of black uniforms coming straight for her. “I hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, but you give me no choice.”

Suddenly, Cicely was being wrenched from Harry’s grip, a policeman’s hands on her stomach tugging her away from Harry. A scream left her mouth as Harry was pulled by three different policemen, their hands tugging his arms behind his back. She could see the fear and confusion on his face—Harry hated when people touched him who he didn’t know, it sent him to the memories of France, and she knew this and the prospect of him being in pain because of her made her heart clench.

“No, stop, please—“ Sobs wracked her body as she watched the police, who had more men than Josiah, surrounded his men from all sides, effectively disarming them. It was a disaster of epic proportions. “Harry!”

Harry watched helplessly as Cicely was carried away from him, her legs kicking at the policemen who held her, her beautiful face covered in tears. “Ci, it’ll be okay, love,” he said, trying to stop himself from crying as well. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. It had changed so quickly, the men coming for him faster than he could move, the number of them more than he could manage despite his strength.

But Cicely screamed his name again, wrestling in the arms of the policemen. And then, as she watched Harry get pushed towards a police car, she knew what she had to do. “Daddy, stop!” Her father turned at the sound of the childhood nickname she hadn’t used in years. “Daddy, please, I love him,” she said, words a whimper in the chaos.

But William King wasn’t moved. “No you don’t.”

“Daddy, wait!” She screamed at him, so loudly that anyone inside their homes would know exactly what was happening. “Let him go and I’ll do it. I’ll marry Clifford.”

That hard her father grinning ear to ear. “That’s more like it, sweetheart.” He waved at the policemen, and they immediately dropped Cicely, her feet hitting the muddy ground with a squelch.

She rushed towards Harry, ignoring the onlookers, and swept her hands over his face. His beautiful, loving face, that taught her how to feel like a real person. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her forehead resting on his chest, right above his heart.

Harry’s arms caged around her, holding her close to him, basking in the feeling of her fingers curling into his shirt under his jacket. “Remember what I told you last night?” She nodded. How could she forget? He had told her he was in love with her. “No matter what happens, that won’t change.”

Her lips found his and they could feel the tears on one another’s faces, the memories of their hushed confessions filling their minds. Harry tried to commit to his memory the feeling of her lips on his, the way she fit against him, how she breathed into his mouth. “I love you,” she said so quietly he almost missed it amidst the commotion. “I love you so much, Harry.”

“I know,” he replied, kissing her nose softly. “I’ve always known.”

Cicely felt the arms on her before she heard the words around her. Men telling her it was time to go, her father’s voice reminding her of her promise. In a flash, Harry lifted his cross necklace over his head and slipped it over Cicely’s, the cross hitting the middle of her chest. “I’ll come back,” she said, eyes never leaving his as she was wrenched away from him, policemen holding each of her arms. “I promise.”

Harry watched helplessly as the love of his life was shoved into her father’s car, William King’s triumphant grin making him sick to his stomach. He watched, unmoving, as the car turned around and pulled away, Cicely’s face plastered to the rear window, her hand pressed to the glass.

Watching her drive away was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever experienced.

But once she was gone, the feeling of being alone was worse.

Cicely spent the first week that she was home shut up in her room, refusing to speak to anyone but Polly, her ladies maid who left her meals outside her door and drew her baths. Even then, though, Cicely didn’t say much. She filled her days with books and art and looking outside at the grounds, studying the trees and the sky. When Polly asked her questions, which she did every time she got a good look at Cicely’s red and puffy face, Cicely had no words to give.

How did she put into words what it felt like to have her heart ripped out of her chest?

To say goodbye to the one person who finally understood her?

To have just memories and his necklace, one single physical reminder of him?

To find more joy in sleep than being awake, because in her dreams she saw him?

There weren’t words for that kind of pain. There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe it. So instead of trying, she just sat in the cold metal tub in silence as warm water rushed over her head, her arms wrapped around her knees while her tears were washed away.

Harry couldn’t sleep. Cicely was his key to sleep, her presence and the smell of her hair, her arms around his body, her hushed words when he had a nightmare, pulling him from the depths of his brain. Without her, sleep had become his enemy, just as it was before her.

He saw her everywhere, it felt like. The golden blonde of her hair, blue eyes, the curve of her hips and the straight posture of her body. Every time he saw a woman with the same wave to her hair or a voice that made him like of Cicely, his heart would flip and for a split second he would let himself dream that it was her. But it never was.

Instead of feel, he drank. He drank glass of whiskey after glass of whiskey to dull the pain that flowed through him, sometimes with Josiah or Jack at the pub or in the office, other times on his own. He almost preferred to be alone, because it was in the depths of those moments that he saw her, heard her voice, her laugh in his ears like she was right there. Harry chased those moments, the ones where she was with him, because they brought him some semblance of peace—a peace he had only found once, and that was with her at his side.

Before the drinking started everyday, he boxed. He was training every day without fail, hours on end that left his body exhausted beyond anything else he had experienced before. His trainer, Freddie, kept telling him to stop, that he was going to hurt himself, but Harry didn’t care. In fact, he almost wished he would hurt himself, because it would make him feel something other than the depths of despair that currently consumed him. It was only when he was boxing that he could forget her, forget what her father had made her do, forget the look on her face when she was ripped away from him, forget the way she tasted and felt under his hands, forget the sound of his name on her tongue. Every other time of day, the memories haunted him like a shadow.

Harry had lived with shadows before. The difference was that this time, he didn’t want them to go away.

After a week, her curiosity got the better of her. So she got dressed with the help of Polly, a light blue dress pulled over her head and buttoned up the back, her hair brushed, Harry’s cross necklace tucked under the neck of her dress. When she entered the dining room, her mother and father both looked up from their breakfasts, a look of surprise on both of their faces. Her mother’s spoon hovered above her boiled egg, her father’s eyes darting up from the newspaper he was reading.

“Cicely,” her mother said, voice soft. “It’s nice to see you, dear.”

Cicely didn’t respond, just took her usual seat across from her mother, and took a sip of the tea that one of the maids brought her. When her breakfast was slid in front of her, she tapped her spoon against her egg, the sound of the metal on the shell the only sound in the room except for the crinkle of the newspaper pages. “Father,” she finally said, “may I see the paper?”

Her father lowered the paper slightly, enough to show his interest in his daughter’s request. “What for?”

Secretly, she wished to see if Harry’s matches had been reported on, as they sometimes were. She wanted any mention of him, the chance to see his name written in print and not in her own hand, on newspaper and not in her journal. “I’ve been removed for too long and I’d like to be caught up on what I’ve missed. You know how much Clifford likes to talk about the news and the markets.”

Her father seemed unmoved by her reasoning, lifting the paper back to its former height. “That is nothing to trouble yourself over. Just let him talk, he’s not seeking your opinion.”

Cicely looked to her mother for support, but she found none. Her docile mother just looked back down at her breakfast, the clink of her silver on the plate as she picked up her fork. “Can I see yesterday’s paper, then? Is it in your office?”

William King huffed and set down his newspaper. “When did you find an interest in the news? While you were living in the slums?” Her mother flinched at the word, but Cicely didn’t give him the pleasure of a reaction. “You know you do not enter my office and this is no different. You have no business with the paper, so go back to your breakfast unless you have something decent to say.”

Polly might be able to get a copy for her, she thought to herself as she resigned herself to the rest of her breakfast. There was probably a copy delivered to the servant’s quarters that she could see, even just for a few minutes. In actuality, the news of the world was meaningless to her—she was interested solely in Harry. There was no way for her to contact him, since she had never even thought to learn the telephone number for Josiah’s and there was no way she could manage to sneak a letter out of the house to him. She needed something to know that he was okay, living his life, still out there.

“Clifford is coming over for dinner tomorrow evening,” her father said, closing the paper and letting it rest on the table. “You will be there, Cicely.”

Cicely suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She wished she had never left her room, stayed in there for at least long enough for Clifford to come and go without her having to see him. “Is he going to propose?”

“I’m not sure,” her father replied. “But if he does, you are to accept.”

She looked to her mother for support, for insistence that she needed more time to adjust back, that there wasn’t a rush, but she offered no such support. She just took another sip of tea and looked out the window at the gardens.

“I know,” she told her father, because there was nothing else to say. There was no sense in fighting it—it was the only way she got her father to let Harry go, and she had no doubt that if she didn’t follow through her father would just have him arrested all over again. She set her napkin on the table, suddenly no longer hungry. “May I be excused?”

“Yes,” her father said. “But don’t try anything, Cicely. Just because you’re home doesn’t mean that you can do as you like.”

As if she ever had been able to. “I know,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing up. She needed to get out of the house, needed to be able to breathe again, needed quiet to silence the thoughts swirling in her brain. With a glance to her mother, she left the room, on the hunt for Polly before she went for a walk on the grounds. She found her in the hallway leading to the downstairs where the servants quarters were, a basket of sheets in her arms. “Polly,” she said, her maid turning to her, apron swirling.

“Miss!” Polly’s chest heaved. “You scared me. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Does the staff get a copy of the Birmingham Gazette?” She asked, leaning against the wall, voice hushed so others didn’t hear.

Polly nodded. “Every morning, miss.”

“Could I have this morning’s, possibly? After everyone is done with it, of course.”

Polly’s eyes widened., but then she nodded. “Of course. Should I leave it in your chambers?”

She gave her maid a smile, as she knew how controlling her father was. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Polly.”

“Of course, miss.” Cicely turned away, boots clicking on the floor as she made her way through the grand house to the rear, where the doors to the gardens were. She grabbed her shawl just in case there was a morning breeze, and pushed open the heavy glass doors, the cool dewy air wrapping around her.

Her mother was obsessed with the grounds of their home, the illustrious Wutherford House that had been in the King family for generations. When she had married William King, she took on the role of mistress of the house wholeheartedly, hiring more gardeners and setting them about the task of reshaping the topiaries and cleaning up the old fountain in the middle of the main garden. The old trees hung over the back section of the garden and her mother had put in a small bench for reading, which was Cicely’s favorite spot in the house. There was a wide clearing for games, which was used mostly in the spring and summer whenever they threw garden parties for their wide circle of friends.

As Cicely walked through the garden, her shawl pulled around her to protect against the chill in the air, she knew that perhaps she should care more about the fact that her family would love Wutherford without her marriage to Clifford. The truth was that as much as she loved the gardens and the wooded green space surrounding her home, the hills she spent years learning to ride on, the house itself just held bad memories for her. The prospect of having to return to this house for holidays and birthdays with a family led by Clifford Stevens made her stomach turn.

She had stopped caring about the future of her family the moment she discovered that their impending ruin was the fault of her father, and rather than take any responsibility, he shoved that role onto Cicely. The obvious answer to their problems was for him to stop gambling on every horse race and card game he encountered, to focus on the business, which, if he worked at hard enough, would turn a higher profit. Instead, he drank more, gambled more, and told Cicely she was to marry Clifford Stevens and make them all rich again.  

The leaves rustled from the wind, and Cicely shut her eyes, inhaling the smell of freshly wet grass, the heavy scent of rain in the air. For a moment, she let herself picture walking out of Harry’s home in Balsall Heath, the smell of. manure and coal hanging low in the air, mixed with the sweetness of the bakery at the end of the street. She wiped at the tears that slipped from her eyes at the image, and then opened them, thrusting herself from her imagination and back into reality. A reality she despised.

She made her way to the little bench under the tree, and sat down, her boots crunching over the gravel. Was there any way for her to return to Balsall Heath, to Harry, to the life she had lived there? It was a question that she had turned over in her head for the past week, conjuring up different scenarios and ways to escape, to get to Harry. But the truth of the matter was that she didn’t really know how to get to Balsall Heath. She had been unconscious on her way in, and crying too hard to see much of anything on her way out. Birmingham was a mystery to her outside of the wealthy areas where her friends lived, and those were far from Harry’s home. She didn’t even know his address.

It was moments like these when she was struck by how little she actually knew of him. The surface-level bits, at least, the insignificant information you learn about someone upon first getting to know them. Instead that, she knew his heart, his mind, the things that plagued him at night and kept him going through the day. She knew about his family, about his past, about how he didn’t know what the future held, because thinking of it made him sad. The parts of him that mattered she knew, and she knew intimately, just as he knew hers. She didn’t care all that much about the other bits, if she was honest. Other people might, but she didn’t.

“Miss.”

Cicely’s head bounced up at Polly’s voice, her maid making her way towards where she sat. In her hands was a paper, folded neatly. “Oh, thank you, Polly.”

Polly handed her the paper and did a small curtsy before walking away. Cicely unfolded the inked pages, and turned the pages, ignoring all the major news. She was searching for a very specific name, a specific mention that would give her a bit of hope to hold onto. It was a long shot, she knew that, but it still was something.

And then she saw. it. His name in a headline, a short mention toward the back of the paper. Harry Styles—Knockout Again! She sighed in relief, that he was still winning. Her eyes glanced over the words, reading the story quickly. It wasn’t much, just a short mention of his match, that he had won every round and ended with a knockout. She didn’t know the name of his opponent, but that was no surprise, she usually didn’t. He had told her the names of many of them, but he didn’t usually fight them multiple times over a short period of time—Josiah was pushing him at the moment. Harry had told her that Josiah wanted boxing to be one of his legitimate streams of income, to take it out of the warehouse and into bigger venues, making it posh and civilized rather than for the working man. In order to do that, he was raising the stakes, the caliber of the fighters.

Cicely brushed her fingers over his name, mouthing the word Harry aloud just to remind herself how his name sounded. Then she touched the cross pendant through her dress, the silver sat comfortably against her sternum. She missed him with every bone in her body, but she was powerless to change her situation. She had let him go in order to protect him, she told herself for the millionth time that week, and she just prayed he would stay that way.

Harry, Josiah, and Jack were sitting in Josiah’s office with an open bottle of whiskey and a crystal glass in each of their hands, the radio turned low in the corner. Most of the office had all gone home, and if Cicely had still been with Harry he would be home with her right now, not sitting in a stuffy office with his friends, smoking and getting drunk. In the week that she had been gone from his life, he had found himself spending more time with Josiah and Jack, craving human company to fill the space she left behind. Before, Josiah had gotten on his nerves, his dangerous streak bothering him after his time on the front lines.

But now, for some reason he craved it a bit. Craved the impact of a fist on his body in the ring, liked the idea of teetering on the edge of safety and risk. So when his glass ran out of whiskey and he leaned in to refill, he cleared his throat and Josiah stopped telling a story about some girl he had met at a pub the previous night, a barmaid who caught his eye.

“I want to do more,” Harry said, the amber liquid falling into his glass.

“Do more?” Josiah asked, his feet that had been sitting on the desk kicking off, body moving forwards to lean towards Harry. “D’ya mean doin’ stuff outside of boxing?”

Harry nodded and then snatched a cigarette from the box on the desk, and lit it quickly, a well practiced motion. “Need a bit more than just the ring.”

Josiah shrugged at him, taking a long drag of his cigarette before tapping the ash. “This have anythin’ to do with your girl?”

Jack was silent in the other leather chair, his eyes flickering between his brother and Harry as they spoke. “Just…need a distraction,” Harry explained.

“Well,” Josiah said, opening up a folder on his desk, cigarette dangling from his lips as he looked at the papers. “You could join us at the races on Saturday. Could use some extra muscle in case things go south.”

It was a racing day, a day when many bets would be happen and Josiah would be there, ready to manage them all as well as the crowd. He had gained control of the race course outside of Birmingham just a few months ago and had already made a killing, his love of horses, fine clothes, and gambling finding a perfect home on the course. Usually there wasn’t much trouble—a few rowdy men refusing to pay their debts—but Harry knew it was mostly Josiah finding something for him to do that would take his mind off of things. “Are ya expecting anything?”

“No,” Josiah answered, “but ya can never be too safe. In or out, Harry?”

He looked to Jack. “You gonna be there?” His best friend nodded, and so Harry agreed. “Might need to do some target practice,” he said, taking another sip of his whiskey. “Haven’t used a gun in a while.”

For most people, target practice in the dark in the middle of Balsall Heath might not have been possible, but for Josiah and his associates, it was a normal routine. They went to the docks where extra guns were stocked, and set up targets yards away. Josiah squared up to the target, lifted his gun, and with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he took his shot, the bullet ringing through the air around them.

It wasn’t a fear of the sound of guns that made Harry refuse to carry a gun. That didn’t trigger the memories and the darkness that swirled through his brain. No, it was the feeling of the weapon in his hand. The gun felt like a long forgotten memory in his palm, the cold of the metal unusual against his skin. His rings clinked against it when he gripped it, and his eyes darted over the mechanisms, reminding himself of the steps that had become second nature during the war. Harry did let himself consider if he wanted to fire the gun or not, he just let his whiskey-clouded brain take over, flicking off the safety and stepping up to the target. It was natural to him, the way he lined up the weapon and pulled the trigger, his body absorbing the recoil.

The minute the bullet left his gun, his nostrils filled with the smell of blood and death, the wet earth of the field where he had laid, shaking and struggling to reload. The memories flickered through his brain, quick flashes of his present and past parallel in his brain. Jack’s voice is what roused him from his daze, a muffled, “Har?” that had his mind clearing to the moment at hand.

Maybe it was the whiskey in his veins, dulling his mind to the memories, or perhaps it was the fact that when he had aimed his gun he imagined William King, his smug face staring back at Harry as he ripped Cicely away from him. Either way, the experience of shooting the gun was not as bad as it had been the previous times he had attempted—all of which were in the direct aftermath of the war. Perhaps it was just time that let his brain run normally? Harry didn’t mind it, the numbness that he felt once his mind settled, the smoke clearing so that he could properly focus on the dimly lit docks, tin cans set up yards away. His eyes flickered to his target, curious how he had done, how much he had forgotten in the time he had spent abstaining from guns.

A perfect bullseye.

Cicely’s skin crawled the second her eyes set on Clifford Stevens, his perfect blond hair slick against his scalp, a smirk set into his face and his blue eyes staring up at her as she descended the stairs. She had hoped that seeing him wouldn’t be as bad as before, that she could convince herself he wasn’t the most horrible man, but the minute he leaned in to say something to her father and he laughed, she knew that would be impossible. Any man her father approved of was the devil in her book. She wished that they had invited other guests because perhaps in that situation she could’ve escaped him, even just for a few minutes. Laughed with her friends in the corner about how disgusting he was, the sly look in his eyes that made her want to curl in on herself.

But instead, it was just her, her parents, and Clifford. Her mission for the evening was to avoid being alone with him. If she could do that, then perhaps he wouldn’t propose to her right there and then, perhaps she could put it off for a bit longer.

“Cicely.” His voice was too sweet and she put on a fake smile, trying to act nicely towards him. “You look lovely tonight. I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”

Her eyes flickered to her father, realizing that he had probably told Clifford she was ill for the past few weeks rather than the truth—that she had run away from home and had fallen in love and lived with a man. Unmarried, to top it all off. That fact on its own would’ve caused enough scandal for her to be undesired by nearly every eligible bachelor in their social circle, so of course her father had lied. It just pained Cicely that she would have to lie, too. “Thank you,” she answered finally, before adding, “We missed having you over.” Her mother smiled at her, encouraging her praise of Clifford, and Cicely tried not to gag at the curling grin on his face.

During dinner, she pretended to be interested as Clifford talked about his business and her father peppered him with questions. She spoke only when directly asked a question, which thankfully for her, wasn’t often. She missed the days of quiet conversation with Harry during breakfast or curled up in his bed, his hands running through her hair. She missed everything about her time with Harry, but most of all she missed being touched in the way he did—with kindness and desire, petting her skin and squeezing delicately at her hand when she squirmed in his grip. As Clifford laughed at something her father said, she couldn’t help but wonder what intimacy with Clifford would be like. Would he touch her like Harry had? Would he be so kind and gentle with her?

Something told her he wouldn’t be. When she snuck glances at him, not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing her eyes were on him, she noticed all the things he didn’t have that Harry did. The rings on Harry’s fingers that clinked against the crystal he drank whiskey from, the tattoos that littered his body, the soft smile he would give her when no one else was watching, the stone cold gaze he gave everyone else. His green eyes, soft curls, slightly disheveled shirts because he couldn’t sit still for long. If he had his way, she knew he wouldn’t wear a shirt half the time, but she had a feeling that Clifford loved his posh clothes, the way they told everyone how much money he had. Harry didn’t care about money, as long as he had enough to live comfortably.

“Are you all going to the races on Saturday?” Clifford asked, setting down his glass of wine.

William looked to Cicely’s mother, before back to Clifford. “No, we don’t have tickets for this week.”

“You should come with me then.” His smile is directed straight at Cicely and she tries not to scowl at him. “I have some extra tickets that you could all use.”

If one were to guess if Cicely liked the races, they would probably guess that she did, considering she loved horses. However, the races were her father’s favorite venue to place bets, which meant he was going to get wildly drunk and lose money and be in a terrible mood. A mood that Cicely and her mother would have to deal with at home, which was the last thing she wanted to do that night. But Cicely wasn’t the one who made the decision. It was her father. Who immediately raised his glass and accepted, and then took a long sip of his wine.

After dinner, they all retired to the sitting room, her father pulling two cigars out of the box on the table, handing on to Clifford. Cicely and her mother sat on the couch, nursing glasses of wine and trying to find the painting in the room interesting, despite seeing them every day.

Then, all of a sudden her father stood up from the chair he was reclining in. “Mary,” she said to Cicely’s mother, “would you join me in the other room?”

Her mother took William’s outstretched hand. “Of course.” Cicely looked at her mother in panic, knowing exactly what was happening. They were leaving her alone with Clifford and from the small smile on his face, his intention was to get down on one knee in front of her. She had hoped she would have more time, a few weeks or even days to make her brain forget Harry and accept her fate, but it looked like her father didn’t feel that was necessary. He wanted Clifford’s money and wanted it now.

When the door shut behind her parents, Cicely looked to Clifford, who was sitting opposite her, leaning into the couch with one ankle propped up on his knee, a cigar between his fingers. “So, Cicely,” he said, inhaling from his cigar when he paused, “we’ve been getting to know each other for the past few months.”

She inhaled, holding her breath slightly as she listened to his words, a pressure in her chest building. He sat up, uncrossing his legs and setting his cigar in the ashtray. He reached out for Cicely’s hand, and despite not wanting to, she took it, his soft skin feeling wrong against hers. She wanted Harry’s callused fingers and healing knuckles, marks and scars from a life lived. Instead, she had the hands of a man who only knew how to hold a pen and sign his name.

They stood in the middle of her living room, Cicely’s heart beating rapidly not in excitement, but dread. “In that time, I’ve come to the conclusion that you would make the perfect wife for me.” His words held no fondness of feeling and Cicely noticed it immediately. No mention of love or caring for her, just the perfect wife. When he dropped to one knee and pulled a box out of his pocket, Cicely held back the desire to run from the room and stayed standing, holding in a scream.

“Will you marry me, Cicely King?” He opened the box then, a ring glinting in the low light of the room. The massive diamond that was set into the band would’ve impressed most women, made them excited to show it off, but for Cicely it was just a reminder of what this marriage was: a business transaction.

She didn’t even look at his eyes, because she knew if she did she wouldn’t be able to say yes. And she had to say yes. It was for Harry, for the man she actually loved, for the man she wished was on his knee in front of her. She had no choice, truly.

“Cicely?” He asked again, voice harsh and urgent, demanding of an answer.

“Yes,” she said, letting go of a breath. When he slid the ring onto her finger, she finally looked at him. The smug look on his face, as if he had won a prize. It made her sick. The ring on her finger felt like a rock dragging her to the bottom of the river and she just hoped she would come up for air.

Clifford stood, sliding the box back into his pocket, one hand clasped around Cicely’s. At his full height, he towered over Cicely, but not in the way that Harry did, where it made her want to curl up into his body. Clifford’s height felt intimidating, as if he was trying to make her shrink simply with his existence. When he pressed his hand to her cheek and said her name, she held back the reflex to flinch, and let her eyes close as he leaned in to kiss her.

His lips felt foreign to her in every way. They were rough, and they pushed and prodded at hers in a way that was hurried. It was wet, as if he was trying to swallow her lips and she struggled to figure out how to get out of the kiss, how to pull away without making him angry. But she couldn’t stand it, because she was supposed to be kissing Harry. She was supposed to be smelling his cologne and whiskey and an underlying scent of gunpowder and sweat. Instead, her nostrils were full of cigars and overly sweet cologne and pomade for his hair. Her fingers found his wrist and pulled enough to allow him to release her, and she stepped away slightly, creating some space between them.

He was breathing heavily and she just wanted to escape. “You’ll need to come to my house next week and meet my family again, but this time as my fiancée,” he said. “I think you’ll get along well with mother.”

If she was anything like her son, then she was sure she wouldn’t. “I’m sure I will.”

“Cicely?” The door behind her opened, and her mother and father were standing there, excited looks on each of their faces.

“We’re engaged,” Clifford said quickly and Cicely’s chest tightened at the words. He lifted her hand which was still in his, showing the gaudy ring on her finger.

“Congratulations, son,” her father said, making her way towards them and shaking Clifford’s hand with enthusiasm before turning to Cicely. He kissed her forehead, a demonstration of tenderness she hadn’t experienced since she was a child—if she ever had. Apparently all she had to to get her father’s acceptance was become engaged to one of the wealthiest bachelors in Birmingham.

Her mother was the one who saved her, pulling her into a hug that allowed her to let go of Clifford’s hand finally. She was able to take a breath of fresh air, escaping his dreaded cologne for a moment. “I’m feeling quite tired,” she lied to her mother when she pulled away. “I think all the excitement has gotten to me.”

“You’ve only recently recovered,” Clifford cut in. “Perhaps it’s the illness?”

“Nonsense,” Cicely’s mother said. “She’s perfectly well, just tired from the day. You should go to bed, darling.”

Cicely nodded, taking a few steps away, before realizing she should say goodnight to her fiancé. “Goodnight, Clifford.”

He gave her a terse smile, one she returned with an equivalent lack of tenderness. “Goodnight, Cicely.”

She didn’t wait a second longer before walking out of the room, holding back the tears long enough to reach her rooms. Once the door shut behind her, she collapsed to the ground, pulling the cross out from under her dress, and holding it tightly as she wept for her future.

Harry was supposed to be moving through a couple rooms at the tracks, keeping an eye on the betting and the crowd in general. He had been placed in the more posh area since it was less likely to get violent, and because he was polished enough looking that he fit in—especially with his suit on so his numerous tattoos were hidden from view. He maneuvered through the large ballrooms, music and chatter around him as people drank their glasses of champagne and ate snacks that the staff served. People seemed to disregard him, their eyes not lingering on him longer than a passing glance, and Harry didn’t mind it. It allowed him to blend into the background and focus on his job, which was watch people closely.

He had a gun tucked in a holster under his suit and he tried to ignore it, pretend he couldn’t feel the cool graze of the metal when he moved, but it was a hopeless endeavor. So he distracted himself with a whiskey and looking at people’s clothes, and creating stories in his head for all of the wealthy patrons who he didn’t care enough about to properly learn anything about.

He pulled out his silver pocket watch and checked the time, before shutting it and downing the rest of his drink. Time to move to the other room. He set the glass on the bar, nodded to the bartender, and exited the ballroom, letting the door shut behind him. He moved down the carpeted walkway to the next room, where there was yet another bar and fewer card tables, more space for dancing. This was the room he disliked, because it was louder and more rowdy.

Pushing open the doors, the thrum of the band music surrounded him immediately. He stepped inside and let his eyes sweep the room as he moved to the side, preferring to anchor himself in the space before getting another drink. Josiah had also pointedly told him not to drink too much, so he was trying to pace himself, although he liked the feeling of the glass in his restless hands. Women crossed in front of his path, guided by male dance partners, the swirl of skirts and laughter rolling through the air.

He was two steps away from his target location—an empty space against the dark walls of the structure, void of any patrons—when he saw a flash of blonde hair that had him faltering. It was as if all of the air in his body had been sucked out, the moment his eyes fell on her.

It couldn’t be her, the rational part of his brain screamed. There was no way it was her. He had been seeing her ghost for the past two weeks, a ghost of the woman he loved, and there was no way she was here. Not now. Not like this.

But then she turned and perhaps it was the weight of his gaze that had made her turn, because she immediately found his eyes across the packed room. Blue eyes that made his heart rattle, parted lips that made him want to fall to his knees, the slope of her neck that he wanted to adore with his mouth.

Cicely.

It was her.

Her in a red beaded dress, her hair perfectly curled in a wide brimmed red hat to match, eyes wide as they studied one another. Harry couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. Someone bumped into him but he just mumbled a Sorry under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away from her. How long had he dreamed of this moment, of being in the same room as her, breathing the same air as her, being able to reach out and touch her skin?

Under her gaze, his skin burned. The memories of their last night together, the gasps and moans she let out when he touched her, the curve of her hips and arms wrapped around him as he pushed inside of her—the memories invaded his mind immediately. The need to touch her suddenly was a aching desire inside of him, something he couldn’t ignore or wish away. It was going to eat away at him if he didn’t satisfy it. He needed to hear her voice, to touch her cheek, to kiss her red-painted lips.

He wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between them, push aside every person that stood in his way, and take her into his arms, to let himself be drowned in the smell of her perfume. But he couldn’t, because to Cicely’s right was her father, who thankfully hadn’t noticed Harry, but that was unlikely to last long. To her left was another man, whose hand grazed Cicely’s back in a way that had Harry’s skin prickling and knuckled clenching. A woman was standing next to William King, an older lady with the same shade of hair as Cicely’s—her mother, he presumed.

How was he going to get her alone? He looked around the grand ballroom, which he still couldn’t believe existed. He had never encountered such exaggerated wealth before, but Cicely probably lived in it every day. Towards the back of the room he noticed a red swinging door, which servers were coming in and out of. There would probably be restrooms back there, ones the regular patrons wouldn’t touch. Ones he could speak to her in.

Keeping her eyes on his, he nodded to the red swinging door. She glanced at it, and then back at him, before nodding ever so slightly. That was all Harry needed. He was moving immediately, weaving through the crowd with purpose. He didn’t look back to see if she was following, he knew she would come once she could get away, and until then he would wait for her. Hell, he would wait for her anywhere for however long it took.

He pushed open the doors and moved into the narrow hallway, narrowly missing a collision with a server and a silver tray. “Watch it!” The server said, brushing past him and into the ballroom. Harry sagged against the wall, taking a deep breath before moving slightly farther down the hall and out of the doorway. His eyes searched for a restroom or even a coat closet, some place where they could talk privately. Finally, he saw the small sign for the restroom a few yards down the long hall.

With a shaking hand, he thumbed over his rings, twirling them on his fingers to distract himself from waiting for her. He itched for a cigarette, for something to do with his hands while he waited. Eyes were trained on the swinging door, which trumpets and band music swirled out of, the pop of champagne every once in a while. Where was she?

Then, as if conjured from a dream, the doors swung open and she stepped through them, hands falling to her sides when she saw him. It was as if time stopped—they were just a few feet from one another, a thread pulling them to each other, knotting their hearts together. His mouth was dry, words gone, mind blank. The very presence of her blinded him as if she was the sun in mid-afternoon, so bright that he had to shield his eyes as he stepped outside.

She was in front of him and she was stunning.

But then she spoke, and Harry forgot how to breathe. “Harry,” she said, her words soft and delicate amidst the chaos around them, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

He surged forward, capturing her head in his hands, cares about who was around flying to the wind. His palms cradled her jaw, and before he pressed his lips to hers, he caught a glimpse of her eyes fluttering, a small smile on her face before her kissed her. Her lips tasted like champagne and her and it sent his brain spinning. The tenderness of her fingers on his wrists, holding him close to her as he kissed her, as he remembered what she felt like against him.

She parted her lips slightly and licked at his bottom lip and Harry couldn’t help but quietly moan at the sensation. “Ci,” he mumbled, parting ever so slightly, the nickname he had been wanting to say for so many days finally resting on his tongue.

“Hi,” she said, eyes twinkling as he took a hesitant step back so they could look at each other properly.

Her hand brushed at his jaw and the heat of her skin against his, the prodding of her fingers sent sparks through his body. “There’s a restroom down the hall,” he murmured. “I know it’s horribly improper, but I—I need to talk to ya.”

She just nodded, securing her hand in his, a smile meant just for him on her lips that he desperately wanted to kiss again. He led her down the hall, darting around servers who littered the hall, his fingers slotted between her gloved ones. Her small purse hung from her wrist, swinging between them as they moved.

When they reached the restroom, Harry pushed open the door, pulling her inside and shutting it tightly behind him. It was all levels of improper, but Harry couldn’t find it in him to care. His fingers left hers only to slide the deadbolt on the door, leaving them in a locked room, their chests both heaving as he found her eyes. “Cicely…” He couldn’t even find the words as he brushed his fingers across the rise of her cheekbones, watching in rapture as her eyes fluttered shut at his touch. When she leaned into his touch he knew nothing had changed—that what they felt two weeks ago when she was ripped away from him was real. It was all real.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, hands running up the length of his suit-covered torso, making him inhale sharply. She was so close, pushed against the door, his body towering around her, caging her between his hands that were pressed against the door.

“Josiah runs the betting and security,” he answered. One of his hands pushed a strand of her hair back, the feeling of the soft strands between his fingers making his heart soar. “Been a bit off lately, needin' more action than usual, so he thought this might be a good fit.”

Her eyebrows furrowed at his words, a sharp contrast to the way her fingers curled edged under his suit jacket. “Action? Why do you need more action?”

How did he explain to her that her leaving had destroyed him? Made him want to hurt everyone in his path and fighting wasn’t enough to keep the edge off? “Fightin’ isn’t enough,” he struggled to say as her fingers drew circles over his shirt-covered stomach. “Not since…”

“Since I left,” she finished, glancing up from his body to his eyes. “I understand.”

Harry’s eyes fell to where her fingers laid on his chest, his suit jacket long since pushed open. His gaze caught on something that was new, something he didn’t remember—a large diamond on her ring finger. “What’s that?” He asked, voice rough in his throat as he stumbled over his words, barely able to process what it meant.

Cicely lifted her hands off of his chest immediately, her expression changing from one of joy to frustration. “It’s an engagement ring,” she said softly, avoiding his gaze.

He swallowed slowly, her words ringing in his ears. “Clifford? Already?” She nodded, and Harry took a step back, suddenly needing space from her, space to process what that meant. She was engaged—she belonged to someone else now. “Congratulations, then.” His voice was venomous and he knew it was cruel, but he couldn’t help it. He was jealous, horribly jealous, that the diamond on her finger wasn’t from him.

“That’s not fair,” she said, shaking her head. “You know why I had to accept.”

“Do you love him?”

His words fell heavy in the room, his heart pounding as he waited for her response. He didn’t think she did, but a part of him was begging for an answer, for reassurance that she still loved him. “No,” she said confidently. “I despise him.” Then she pulled at the neck of her dress, her fingertips sliding across a metal chain, and when she pulled his cross free from the confines of her dress, his heart stopped.

The cross he had given her because it was the only thing he had to give. “You—you’re wearin’ it.”

She stepped towards him hesitantly, reaching out her hand, the one without the ring on it, to slide her fingers between his. “Of course I am.” Harry studied her, the rise and fall of her breath, her red lipstick slightly smeared from where his lips had captured hers, the glint in her blue eyes under the soft lighting of the room. “I still love you.” Her voice was barely a whisper in the room, but to Harry it was a deafening roar.

It was all he needed to kiss her. He hauled her against his body, finally feeling the curve of her flush against him as he kissed her. Her hands curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging softly on the strands as their lips slotted together. His fingers dug into her skin through the fabric of her dress, and all Harry could smell was her perfume and soap, the perfect combination that would haunt his dreams for nights to come. Their noses bumped and she let out a soft giggle, which only made Harry want her more. He tugged her bottom lip into his mouth, a whimper filling his ears in reply.

“I’ve missed ya so much,” he said, ducking down his head to leave a string of kisses down her neck. She moaned, a sound that Harry would play on repeat for the rest of time, and pulled at his hair, making an utter mess of it he was sure. He couldn’t find it in himself to care though. He would let her ruin him any day of the week.

When he nipped at the curve of her neck, she let out a slow and breathy, “Harry…” and it had his mind tumbling. He turned her so she was pressed against the countertop, the stability of the counter behind her allowing him to gain some leverage against her.

But she took it a step further. Her hands left his body and pressed against the top of it, lifting her body up onto the counter and letting her legs fall open. The action had Harry searching for restraint, because the sight of her sitting on the countertop, chest heaving as she looked at him, had him aching for her. With a glance for approval, he pulled up the hem of her dress, running his hands along her calves as he moved it. When it reached her knees, he was finally able to slot himself between her legs, and the feeling of her bare calves winding around his waist made his head drop to her shoulder. “Ci,” he murmured, pushing at the sleeve of her dress to expose some of her shoulder. “What do you want, love?”

“Everything,” she answered immediately, brushing the hair back from his eyes tenderly. “Anything. You.”

He kissed her skin softly, a contrast to the exchange they were having, but it was all he wanted—to tenderly touch her body. But, unfortunately they were in a bathroom at a horse race and if she spent too much more time in here, her family would come looking for her. “Not now,” he said, forcing the words out of himself because it took every bit of restraint to say them. “Your family is probably searching you already.”

“I don’t care,” she said, pulling at his chin so she could pepper kisses over his skin.

“But I do,” he told her, thumbing across her cheek. “When I have ya again, I want to take my time and I want ya in my bed, not on a washroom counter at a race track.”

She ducked her head into the crook of her neck, her soft breaths filling his ears. “When will ‘again’ be, though? When will I see you again?”

“Do ya want to see me again?”

She chuckled and the sound made his heart soar, as cheesy as it sounded. “Of course, you pest.”

“Love, you’re engaged.”

In an instant, she pulled the ring off of her finger and let it drop to the counter. “It doesn’t matter—you’re the one that I want. You know I don’t want to marry him.”

He tucked her hair behind her ear and lifted her head enough to be able to meet her eyes. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to, but if ya wanted to come back to Balsall Heath, I’d make ya mine.” Harry hadn’t thought about marriage all that much, but the minute he saw that ring on her finger the only thing he could think of was how he wanted her to be his wife. He wanted her until the end of his days.

Her eyes widened, reaching her hands up to grasp his wrists. “You would?”

“Yes,” he answered, confidently. “Would you like that?”

“Very much.” She pressed her thumb across the inside of his wrist gingerly, a tender trace that had him weak in the knees. “How am I going to get to you? My father won’t let me leave the estate.”

Harry leaned back slightly, the wheels of his mind turning a mile a minute. “Think ya could sneak out at night?” She considered it for a moment and then nodded. “I’ll use one of Josiah’s cars and meet you a few yards away from the house tomorrow night at two in the morning, okay? I’ll need you to get to me, but if you can do that, I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I can do it,” she replied, a blazing fire in her eyes of excitement that he shared. “I’ll try and bring some of my clothes if I can.”

“Bring anything you’ll want.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips softly. “You’ll be with me for the rest of your life if you want to be.”

“Mrs. Styles,” she whispered, and the words had him hauling her into him for a deep kiss that rattled both of their souls. “What if my father comes after me? What if you get arrested?”

Harry just shook his head. “Leave that bit to me. I’ll talk to Josiah and Jack, we’ll figure somethin’ out. You just focus on sneakin' out.”

Cicely nodded. “I love you, Harry.”

He kissed her once more before he answered her. “I love you too, Ci.”

Harry tried not to watch her walk away, but after feeling her skin under his, it was impossible not to. Especially when he thought about how she was going to be his for the rest of time.

The moon hung high in the sky the following night when Cicely rose from bed. She had packed her bag after Polly left her for the evening, a small duffle bag with her favorite dresses—one of which was all white—a collection of undergarments, and some precious family heirlooms her mother had given her. At the bottom of the bag was a photo of her family, just for memory’s sake, and her journal. The last thing she needed was money. Harry hadn’t asked for any, but she didn’t want to be reliant on him. She would need a new wardrobe of clothes and the least she could do was contribute.

She pulled on her dress, a deep blue she hoped would blend into the night and tugged on a light coat to keep out the cool night air. With a last look at her beloved room, the draped canopy and plush rugs, she shut the door behind her, her shoes clasped in one hand and her bag in the other. The house was silent as Cicely crept down the halls, avoiding all of the spots that creaked, and descended the stairs carefully. Her ears were focused on any sound that could suggest she had woken someone up, but so far, she was in the clear.

At the base of the stairs, she turned right, heading into her father’s office. She knew the code to the safe by heart, having learned it at fifteen when she wanted a new dress but her father refused to pay for it and she had watched him flick the combination. Since then, she’d snatched cash from it every once and a while, the code never changing. Tonight, she hoped, would be no different.

Her father’s office smelled of cigars, and she padded across the carpeted floor to his large oak desk. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with books he had never read covered most of the walls, the other space occupied by painting her mother had picked out. The only things that her father had selected for the space was the cigars on his desk and the pens he used to sign his name. She dropped her bag to the ground and knelt next to the black safe, running her fingers across the metal. It was cool to the touch, just as she remembered it. She glanced around the room to ensure she was alone, before flicking the combination of numbers on the dial.

It clicked softly, and she pulled open the door, stacks of cash and a few gold bars sitting inside. She ignored the bars, and instead grabbed two stacks of fifty pound bank notes, and then turned around to slide them into her unzipped bag. When she turned, though, she found her mother standing in the doorway.

“Mother,” she said, chest rattling from the surprise. “I—“

“I know,” her mother replied simply. She pulled her robe tighter around her nightgown, her usually perfectly coiffed hair limp around her face. “I won’t tell him.”

Cicely looked at her mother in disbelief. “You—you won’t?”

Her mother shook her head and leaned against the doorjamb. “I know you don’t want to marry Clifford. You haven’t wanted to marry a single man we’ve introduced you to since you came out in society. But then you go and you meet a man who we would never approve of, and you fall in love.” Cicely made a sound of interruption, but her mother just gave her a sad smile. “It’s okay, darling. I’m not mad. I’m nervous for you, for your future, but I am not mad.”

It had never occurred to her that she was seeking her mother’s approval, but now that she had it, it was as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders. “I love him, Mama.” She used the name for her mother that she had used as a child, and hadn’t since then, and saw her mother immediately soften.

Her mother moved from the doorway and made her way to Cicely, cupping her daughter’s face in her hands. “Fight for him, you hear me? Fight for the love you feel. It doesn’t come around often, but when it does, you have to fight for it, no matter how hard it gets.” Cicely brushed at the tears falling on her mother’s cheeks, and she realized her mother hadn’t touched her like this, with such tenderness, in years.

“I will,” she promised.

Her mother kissed her forehead, shutting her eyes as she did it, and then pulled away. “Will you write? You can address it to Polly and have her give them to me. I just,” she faltered, brushing a hand against her daughter’s hair, “I want to know you’re alright.”

Cicely nodded. “I’ll write as soon as I can.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t a better mother to you.”

The words splintered Cicely in two, because although most times over the past year especially she had been disappointed in her mother, she had been the light of her life before that. She had been the bright spot in a dark house, a kind touch and a lingering kiss on her forehead when she needed it. “I love you,” Cicely told her simply, knowing that was what her mother needed to hear.

Her mother, ever the woman of few words, simply replied, “I love you, too.” Then, she stepped away, giving her daughter a lingering last look before she turned away. She left the room without looking back, her white nightgown curling around her ankles as she moved.

Cicely was left alone in her father’s empty office, tears prickling her eyes.

But she wasn’t done in the office. She had a plan on how to keep her father’s hands off of Harry, because she knew he wouldn’t rest if she just left—he’d come after them both. Her father, though, underestimated her. He always had and it would be his downfall.

Cicely turned back to the still open safe, and lifted the base of the safe—something her father definitely know she knew about—and pulled out his personal ledgers. The ones that had records of his gambling debts, his personal assets, and of the true wealth of their family. She knew that these were the one thing that truly scared her father, that the world would know the truth of his wealth, of his status, that his family was nearly broke and his business about to go bottom up. That he owed money to what seemed like every man in Birmingham and the surrounding area, and he was barely staying afloat.

She folded the ledgers in half, and stuck them into her bag as well, before finally shutting the safe and turning the lock. Then, she grabbed a pen and paper from her father’s desk and began to write.

Dear Mother and Father,

Don’t come looking for me. I don’t want to be found.

If you do, I’ll send a copy of your ledgers to every paper in Birmingham and London, and everyone will know the truth about your family.

Yours,

Mrs. Cicely Styles

She used the name purely to make her father mad, but also because it brought her immense joy to scratch her future name in ink. She would be a King no longer.

After folding up the note, she tugged Clifford’s disgusting ring off of her finger, and placed it on the note, leaving both for her father to find in the morning. With that, she picked up her bag and her boots, and left the office, making her way through the silent halls of her childhood home, pausing only a few times to take her last looks at her favorite paintings or rooms, to memorize the walls she had called home.

Outside, the air was heavy in the early morning hours, and she was thankful she had put on a coat. She bent down and pulled on her boots, lacing them tightly, and then tugged the door shut behind her, the lock clicking softly behind her. With her bag in her hand, she descended the steps of her home, taking the unlit path to the main road, the crunch of the gravel under her shoes keeping her company as she walked.

She only hoped that Harry had kept up his side of the deal, that he was there waiting for her. Deep in her gut, she knew he would be, but a part of her was still nervous as she walked down the drive. But she thought back to the way he had looked at her in that tiny restroom, the shine in his eyes and red puffy lips from kissing her, the way his fingers gripped her hips, how he told her he would make her his. There was no way he wouldn’t be there.

When she made it to the road, the moonlight was her only guide. She turned right, then left, and then she saw the faint outline of a car on the road a few yards away, just as Harry had promised. It was on impulse that she began to run, the muddy road definitely getting her skirts dirty, but she didn’t care. Harry was a few yards away, freedom was barely out of reach. The wind rustled through her hair and her bag banged against her calves as she ran to him.

And then he was there, leaning against the hood of the car and gazing at her in awe. “Ci—“ She cut him off with the impact of her body falling into his, her lips colliding with his. He found her immediately, hands coming up to cup her face as they kissed, a deep yearning in her body finally fulfilled with him. “You did it,” he said when she pulled away, brushing at her cheeks with his knuckles.

“I did,” she answered with a triumphant smile, “and I stole some money and insurance.”

“Insurance?”

“My father’s personal ledgers—records of his debts, of the family and business finances.”

His eyes widened, and then a rare smile peeked out. “My brilliant girl,” he said. “Now come get in the car.” He took her bag from her hands and walked to the boot, placing it securely inside while she slid into the passenger side.

Instead of turning the car around and heading back in the direction of Birmingham, Harry drove forward, north in the direction of Manchester. “Where are we going?” She asked, turning to look at his face, barely visible in the dark blanket of the night.

He reached his hand over to her that wasn’t on the steering wheel, and tucked his fingers between hers. “We’re goin’ to the sea.”

“The sea?”

He nodded. “Josiah told me to get ya and get out of town for a bit. Let it settle down with your father.”

The idea of Harry, a seaside town, and no worries sounded like heaven to Cicely. “How far is it?”

“A few hours,” he replied. “Go to sleep, love. I’ll wake you when we’re there.” She settled into the seat, which wasn’t all that comfortable, but with Harry holding her hand, she fell asleep almost immediately.

They rented a room in a little hotel on the sea, bright blue walls that made Cicely smile when they stepped inside. She stood in front of the window, which faced the water, the waves lapping at the shore as the sun rose. Harry didn’t know if he had ever seen a more breathtaking sight.

He dropped their cases on the floor, and shut the door behind him, flipping the lock. The sound had her turning around to face him and Harry’s chest tightened immediately. They were finally alone, alone in a room with a bed and no one would be interrupting them. For a few moments, they just gazed at each other, taking in one another’s presence. Harry’s eyes trailed down Cicely’s body, memorizing the slope of her nose and the planes of her shoulders, the curve of her waist and length of her legs. Her bare knuckles, void of her old engagement ring. A silver chain peaked out from under her dress, a reminder that she wore his necklace, a symbol of what she had helped him believe in again.

Every cell of his body seemed to scream with desire, after two weeks of being without her. Even though they had had only one night together, it was a night he would never forget. From the way Cicely gazed at him, undressing him with her eyes, he had the suspicion that she had thought about it just as much as he had.

The orange and pink hues of the sunrise fell across the walls, casting her in a glow that likened her to an angel, and Harry decided it was an apt comparison. To him, she was an angel in every sense of the word. “Cicely,” he said, her name falling lightly in the room.

“I need you.” Her words cut through him like glass, sharp and gravelly as she hadn’t been awake for long, and honest. “H, I need you.”

When she repeated the words, Harry was moving in an instant, crossing the distance between them. His hands wound through her hair and pulled her towards him, their lips meeting in a sigh. Without the pressure of time, Harry decided to take his time with her, wanting to savor every moment. So he kept the pace slow, nibbling on her bottom lip and licking into her mouth languidly, inhaling every one of her whimpers and gasps as if he only got air from her. Perhaps he did, though, because when he was touching her it felt like he could finally breathe again.

She tried to speed up the kiss, tugging at his lip with her teeth, but Harry refused. With a hand cradling her jaw, he held her in place as he kissed her gently, a tenderness flowing from him that he only knew with her. Her hands curled into his hair and scratched at his scalp, finally settling into the pace Harry set, and the sensation had his skin puckering with goosebumps. One of his hands fell to her hip, pulling her closer in, so he could feel the bend of her body against his, and it made her let out a breathy gasp.

That was when Harry was done with slow. He wanted her as much as she wanted him, he could tell from the way she clenched the back of his shirt, holding him tightly to her. So he turned them slightly, and stepped towards her, directing her backwards to the bed in the center of the room.

She fell to the feather duvet cover in a puff of air, a soft giggle escaping her that made him suck on her jaw. She scrambled at his back at the feeling, it being her sweet spot, the one that made her crazy. Harry knew and used it to his advantage, wanting to hear every sound he could pull from her. She was like a band all in one person, the combination of every type of instrument and sound to create one, beautiful song. A song he would listen to again and again.

“My boots,” she mumbled, nudging at his nose. Harry glanced down and realized she was right—she still had her boots on. They were hanging off the bed, obviously because she was trying not to get the duvet dirty with mud. He squatted down immediately, fingers deftly untying the bows at the top of her lace-up boots.

Her eyes found his as his fingers pulled at the laces, tugging them free from the holes. Her tongue darted across her lip, taunting him as she wet it, and Harry leaned in and kissed her ankle in response. When she squirmed, he did the same to the other ankle, loving how she shakily exhaled, body craving more. “Better?” He asked, pulling them off fully.

She nodded, eyes watching him lazily. There was a calmness to the moment, a difference from the last time he undressed her. That time they were desperate to discover each other, the culmination of days of tension. Now, they were desperate, but in a different way—to be simply be close again.

His fingers slid up her calves where her stockings covered her skin. Skin he desperately wanted free. “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” she said, her lip tucked between her teeth.

Harry pushed up the hem of her dress, revealing her knees and then the milky white of her thighs, where her garters laid. With deft fingers, he unclasped them, releasing her stockings. He inched them down her legs, kissing each centimeter of exposed skin and basking in the pants that left her mouth. He left her stockings on the floor, and then tugged off her garters, not wanting a single scrap of clothing on her when he made love to her.

“You,” she said, voice ragged with desire.

He cocked his head, cheek resting on her thigh. “Wha’?”

“Your clothes.” Her hands tugged at the neck of his crisp white shirt. “I want them off.”

Her desperation made him kiss her skin, tonguing delicately over it in a circle. “Yeah?” She nodded, digging her fingernails into his fabric-covered shoulders. “Can ya help me, love?”

It was a poor excuse to get her hands on his skin, but he knew she didn’t mind. She sat up, Harry slotted between her legs, and slowly released the buttons on his shirt. With each exposed area of skin, she kissed it just as he had, and the feeling of her lips on his skin had him fisting the duvet cover, the warm hot air sending him spinning. By the time she had all of his buttons undone he was a panting mess, so when she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders and grazed her fingers over his nipples the deep, drawn out groan that ripped from his chest wasn’t far off.

She smiled at his reaction, and then she bent her head, her tongue flicking over the bars though his nipples, his body jerking against her. “Fuck, Ci,” he rasped, digging his fingers into her hips. Her skirts sat around her waist, so he wasn’t holding her bare skin, and he needed it. Needed to be able to run his hands across her, to mark her up as his. But she seemed to have other plans in mind, because when she sucked his nipple into her mouth he lost all ability to think, much less ask her for what he wanted. With her other hand she tweaked his other nipple, not wanting to leave one unattended, and together the combination had him rattling in her hold.

“I love these,” she whispered, releasing his nipple with a pop. She had told him that before, but each time she did he enjoyed hearing the words. It made his heart soar, the praise from her lips filling him up fully. Her eyes peeked up at him, blue irises blown out under her eyelashes. “What if I got some to match?”

He growled, a sound he had never made before, but it was just a natural reaction to the image of her perfect breasts with bars through the nipples. Of her body bending and jerking against him as he suckled on the sensitive skin. “Think I’ll never let ya out of our room,” he replied, looking down at her lips ghosting across his bare chest.

“I wouldn’t mind.”

His eyes widen at her words, and she giggled, the vibrations ricocheting off his body. “C’mere, you.”

She scrambled backwards on the bed as he shifted, rising onto the bed on his knees and crawling after her. Her dress still adorned her body and Harry wanted it off. Wanted to see her, all of her. His hands pushed up her legs, brushing at her skin and watching as her lips dropped open slightly, air puffing through them at the feeling of his hands on her. When he reached her underwear, she simply nodded, an answer to a silent question. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, pulling them down the length of her legs before tossing them to the ground, a forgotten memory. Next, he pulled her chest up and reached around her, blindly finding the buttons on her dress. The position meant she was pressed right up against his bare chest, and he didn’t think either of them minded, based on how her breath caught.

He popped each button with ease, fingers crawling down the freshly revealed expanse of her back as he made his way down. Once he was out of buttons, he pushed at the neck of her dress, exposing her shoulder. He moved without thought, wanting simply to cover her in kisses, and nuzzled her skin with his nose before gingerly brushing it with his lips. As he worked across her skin she shrugged off the bodice and then pulled it over her head.

Her fully revealed body knocked the air right out of him. It took him a moment to be able to think again, the sight of so much bare skin and just her brassiere, her underwear gone and showing him her most intimate parts. Between her breasts laid his cross necklace, the cold silver contrasting against her warm skin. His hands pressed to the chain and then her skin, eyes flickering over her face as her head dropped back in pleasure at his touch. Fingers popped the clasps on her last remaining garment, and once that was dropped, she was completely bare for him. Her blonde hair and bright eyes, soft pink lips swollen from his kisses, her seemingly miles of unmarked skin, except for a few red marks that he knew were from him. The prospect of leaving traces of him behind for her to find tomorrow had him hardening in his trousers. Ever since he had started thinking of her as his, he couldn’t find a more alluring thought.

“Beautiful,” he exhaled, unable to find any other words to describe her. There weren’t enough in the English language to encapsulate her. To explain the way his heart sung for her, how the valley of her breasts made his heart quick, the blush on her cheeks urging him to dust his lips across them. How he craved her hands on his skin, everywhere and anywhere she would put them. It was as if she had been designed for him, to drive him crazy and make him forget anyone or anything else existed. When he looked at her, it was all he could focus on—and he could barely do that, because the sight of her smile had his mind melting.

The air in the room was filled with a mixture of her perfume and remnants of his cologne, a chemically balanced combination that made Harry dizzy. Pants from her delicate lips filled his ears, the soft husky voice that murmured his name when he hadn’t touched her for too long, causing his eyes to flirt up to hers. “Remember what you did last time?”

“Wha’?” His mind was too hazy to think straight, to process what she was asking.

A blush creeped across her features, and suddenly Harry knew what last time she was referring her to. “Our last night,” she explained, rasping as he leaned in and nibbled at the taught skin at the base of her throat, her head bobbing to the side to give him more access. “When you—you touched me.”

How could he forget? It was all he could think about for days after. Her taste on his tongue, the way her fingers curled into his hair and tugged at his scalp. A tangy sweetness meant only for him, something she didn’t show anyone else, a piece of her that was his and his alone. It was intoxicating, the taste of her, and he was desperate for another sip. “I remember,” he answered, brushing his fingers up her neck to turn her head so she faced him. “What about it?”

“I...” She fumbled with her words, pupils darting around his face and then anywhere but them. He wanted her eyes back on him so badly it was embarrassing, begging for her attention, but he knew that she was bashful so he let her gather her courage away from his gaze. “I want to do that to you.”

Harry’s body practically shook at her words. The prospect of her mouth, those plush and warm lips around him, between his legs and her hands on his thighs? The image that his mind conjured forced a series of curses from his chest in a rasp, her name mixed in. “Ya sure? Don’t have to do that.” Of course he wanted it—he wanted whatever shreds of her that she would give him—but he knew that he wouldn’t last long anyways. Just seeing her fall apart would be enough for him to be over the edge right after her.

“I want to,” she said, eyes finally coming back to his face, connecting with his green ones.

“Never done it before, right, love?” She shook her head, ducking down, but he pushed at her chin softly. “Hey, none of that. I’ll show ya, okay?” Knowing she was nervous and embarrassed, he kissed her cupid’s bow tenderly, before connecting their lips for a short peck. “Love that I’ll be the only one who gets to feel your mouth.”

That had her smiling, her bashful expression gone and replaced with one of temptation and desire. When she pushed at his shoulders, forcing them to the side so that he laid on his back, her hovering over him, it had him keening into her. The sight of her naked body above him, his necklace hanging from her neck, her blonde hair creating a curtain around their faces of their world and their world alone, was enough for him to whine, low and desperate. She was the only person who could make him like this—utterly destroyed for her.

Harry decided to see how far she could go on her own, wanting her to build up her confidence before he started to guide her. So he let her fingers creep down his torso, hissing when she scratched over his butterfly tattoo, a coy smile fluttering across her face. She popped the button of his trousers and with a glance to his face for reassurance, pulled down the zipper. He lifted his hips so she could pull them down, her eager hands taking his boxers with them. When she saw him, hard and red against his stomach, her reaction wasn’t quite as surprised as the first time.

This time, she dropped to her stomach between his legs and Harry leaned back, letting his head fall to the pillows and the wrought iron headboard, watching her in rapture. Gingerly, she knelt her head down and licked the underside of his cock, a tentative touch that had Harry grasping at the sheets, breathless. It was so unexpected, the warmth of her tongue and the light touch that sent shivers up his body.

His eyes followed her as she explored, touching him with her index finger, running up the length of him. He hummed in response, pleasure coursing through his veins at the feeling of her hands on him. “So good,” he murmured, lifting his hand from the bed and threading it through her hair, softly pulling at the strands to show her how good it felt. When she paused, he knew that she didn’t know what to do next, so he moved his other hand to cover hers. “Can ya lick your hand for me, Ci?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion at his request. “What?”

“Makes it easier,” he explained.

With her eyes on his, she brought her hand to her mouth, opening her lips enough for her tongue to poke out. The same tongue that had been touching his hard cock just moments ago now licked a broad stroke up her hand, once and then twice. “Like that?”

He swallowed thickly, wondering if she knew what she was doing to him simply by existing. “Perfect. Now, hold me in your hand,” he directed, closing his hand around hers and guiding her to his length, helping her wrap her dainty fingers around him. The touch made him hiss through his teeth and her head bobbed up to make sure he was alright. “Feels good,” he told her, and the words made her soften, tension leaving her. “Now, run it up and down—yeah, just like that, love. Fuck.” The drawn out curse made the corners of her mouth turn up slightly, obviously pleased with herself.

Harry kept a loose hold on her hand, just enough to help her keep a steady pace, but soon he was faltering. Desire was swirling in his belly, and he knew if they kept this up too much longer he wouldn’t be able to last. But he wanted her mouth. He was selfish, and he wanted to feel her mouth wrapped around him, even if just for a moment.

“Wanna take me in your mouth?” He asked, hushed tones that made her nod. His hand on hers moved to her chin, running his thumb across her bottom lip. “Don’t use teeth,” he informed her, keeping his words soft, “and ya don’t have to take it all.”

She nodded, and then she opened her mouth, tugging playfully on the pad of his thumb. A strangled whimper left his mouth, the sight of her mouth on his thumb leaving him breathless for her. Then, she released him and bowed her head, licking softly up his length.

When her lips opened and then closed around his tip, Harry barely held back from bucking into her. She was warm, soft, and wet, a sinful combination that made his head fall back, a hungry groan ripping through his throat. Then she sunk down on him slowly, taking him bit by bit, keeping her teeth sheathed as he had told her. Harry was panting more than he ever had before, struggling to keep his eyes trained on her. He didn’t want to miss a second of this. The sight of her long eyelashes battering against her lids, her pink lips around his cock, watching his reaction, it was enough where he nearly came right then and there.

She seemed to quickly understand that she had to breathe through her nose, and did so as she moved up on his length. At his tip, she licked over it, her deft tongue circling where he was weeping for her. The hand that was holding her hair tightened, and he cursed at the feeling. But then she sunk back down on him, and Harry saw stars as she began to find a pace, moving up and down on him with ease.

He knew he was muttering utter nonsense, some combination of her name and curses and things like God, pet, feel so good, but he didn’t care. He could barely think, let alone censor his words. As she moved up and down, his hand wrapped in her hair so he could watch her, he could feel his abdomen tightening, the tell-tale sign that he was close. He didn’t want to finish her mouth, he wanted to feel her around him first.

“Ci,” he said, her nickname broken in his throat. “Gotta stop, love.”

Her head bounced off of him immediately, eyes studying his. “Why?”

He thumbed at the rise of her cheekbone, then slipped down to her lips, slick from her saliva around him. “Same reason as last time—not gonna last if ya keep goin’.”

“Oh.” She glanced down at him, before moving backwards, falling onto her ankles. “But I…”

His eyebrow quirked at her insinuation. “Did ya like that?”

She blushed, color fanning across her cheeks, and he loved it. “Maybe.”

The chuckle that spilled from his lips had her moving towards him, and he took her gladly, his arms securing around her naked body, eager to have her lie down on top of him. He moved his forearms so that they were under him, pressing up, so he could meet her halfway. They found each other as her legs were moving to either side of his right thigh, finding a perch on his body so that she could balance as they kissed, lips slotting between each other.

Then Harry had a particularly sinful idea, but one he thought she would enjoy. If he entered her now there was no way he would last long enough for her finish—he needed her to catch up to him, and he had just the solution. He moved his hands to her hips, pressing his ring-clad fingers into her skin and ever so slightly, brushed her back and forth across the swell of his thigh.

A sweet, little cry left her lips when her clit brushed across his skin, and Harry soaked in the sound. “How’s that feel?”

Her hands fell to his chest, her thumb brushing across his nipple piercing without meaning so, and it had Harry’s body jolting immediately. When his thigh jumped up, she mewled, curling her fingers into his skin. “You—it—yes,” she rasped. Her hair hung in her face as she leaned onto his chest, using his body to support her weight as he moved her across his thigh. He wondered how his leg hair felt against her skin, if it tickled it the way he imagined.

She was panting above him, and his eyes kept switching between her contorted facial expressions and where her center rubbed over his thigh, unable to decide which one deserved more of his attention. “Want to move on your own, love?” He asked her, squeezing the flesh of her hips.

Slowly, she nodded, and Harry released her hips, letting one of his hands fall to the thigh that was hooked over his own hip, the other pushing her hair out of her face so he could properly see her eyes. They were fluttered shut as she rocked back and forth. The confidence she was exuding was a sharp contrast to other moments they had spent together, but he loved how she was trusting her body, letting it tell her what she needed and how. Watching her take what she needed from him, the slick of her center coating his skin as she moved, it had him tugging his lip into his mouth, teeth biting into the skin.

A breathy, languid moan left her mouth, and Harry rose up, reconnecting their lips so he could absorb her sounds into his lungs. It was give and take, one of his arms around her waist as she moved slightly faster, and she chased the pleasure in her body, pants and moans falling onto his tongue.

“Harry,” she said, words broken as she pulled away, but Harry didn’t let her go. He had her lip caught between her teeth, a mewl from her throat being what finally made him release her. “I need you.”

He pushed at her hair, the feeling of her bending her head into the curve of his palm making his heart thrum. “Ya ready for me, love?”

“Please,” she begged, hands curling into the base of his scalp, her nails prodding at his skin.

He glanced down at their position. Would she want to be on top? He didn’t know. “Do you want to be like this?” She nodded, and so he tugged the knee that was between his legs to the other side of his body. Slowly, she shifted forward and Harry fell back into the pillows, letting her take the lead. He wanted her to take control in whatever ways she wanted, to show him what she desired and pursue it. So he let her hover over him, his fingers drumming on her thighs as she reached between them, her soft hand picking up his cock from where it laid on his stomach, hard and aching for her.

As she moved, her eyes flickered to his and they held one another’s gaze as she sunk down on him, bit by bit just as she had taken him into her mouth, both of their jaws dropping slightly as they reconnected. Cicely was panting above him, one hand anchored on his chest as she adjusted to his size, and Harry’s jaw was clenched, his teeth practically grinding together as he tried to hold himself together.

The feeling of her like this, above him, her hands grappling at his body to gain strength, her knees secured around him, it had him floating and falling at the same time. It was as if he was free-falling through the air and the only thing his mind was able to hold onto was her. The way her neck curved as she threw her head back, the shape of her lips in an O when she moaned at the feeling of him inside her, how her toes curled against his calves.

One of his hands smoothed across her cheek, gripping the spot below her ear, his thumb on her cheek and his fingers pressing into her scalp. The other fell to her waist, his palm cupping the curve of her waist as she sat on him, full and slightly shaking on top of him.

“Ya okay?” He asked, urging her to tell him how she was doing, to check in.

“Yes,” she answered, always a girl for proper words, not his butchered vocabulary from the war and sub-par education, her accent posh and perfect. He loved how it sounded in his ears, like sweet honey on a dessert. “You—you feel so good.”

He knew exactly what she meant, because so did she. And when she rose up on her knees, pressing the tops of her feet down onto his shins for leverage, and then sunk back down, Harry saw stars. The tight grip of her walls around him, sucking him deep into her, filling every nook and cranny. It was as if she was suffocating him, and he didn’t mind in the slightest. “You do too,” he managed to choke out. “Tight—so tight. Fuck, love, you’re too perfect.”

He didn’t realize there were tears falling from the corners of his eyes until she was bending down and licking at them, sopping up his salty tears with her tongue. “Don’t cry,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against his. “I’m here, I’m not leaving, I’m yours.”

The words had his chest constricting, a ball in his throat he couldn’t swallow. The combination of her words and the tenderness of her touch and the way she was surrounding him was a combination he didn’t know if he could manage. He slipped his arm around her chest and pulled her close to him, wanting her flush to him. The pebbles of her nipples brushed against his, and they both moaned as they kissed, their lips a mess of saliva and hushed promises of love. His necklace nudged against both of their chests, the cold metal shocking to their skin. He helped her move, working her hips over his as she tired in his arms, neither of them wanting it to end.

Her fingers brushed his temples and his eyes fluttered shut, her soft skin always shocking him. He had never met someone who was so soft in every way—her skin, her touches, her words. She was like a warm bed on a Sunday morning that you never wanted to rise from, just wanted to stay curled up with your eyes closed. That’s what he wanted to, to curl up inside of her and let her have him, body and soul.

Their noses bumped and a giggle fell from her lips, the sound of it making him smile. “I love ya,” he whispered, the words caught in the tiny space between them. “Didn’t even know I could feel like this about someone.”

She nudged her lips with his, pecking and pulling at them, nibbling on his bottom lip. “I didn’t either,” she told him. As she rocked back on him, his cock hard and weeping inside of her, she scratched at his scalp, curling her fingers through his hair. “I can’t imagine ever loving someone else how I love you.”

For some reason, those words are what made Harry’s heart and abdomen clench, his orgasm moving through his bones. “Need ya closer,” he mumbled, dropping his head to fall into the crook of her neck. She cradled the back of his head there with one of her hands and then she managed to drop her body more into his, letting all of her weight rest on him.

Harry shifted so that his feet were flat on the bed, and bent his knees, using the position to push up into her. He could feel the exhaustion in her body, how she was holding on for him but was rapidly tiring. When he nudged deeper into her from the position, she whined his name, a Harry curling through the room like a wisp of smoke.

She was tightening around him, walls pressing more and more on his length, and he knew she was nearing her release. He pressed a string of open-mouthed kisses to the skin of her neck and shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent and nosing at the strain of her neck. “Let go for me,” he told her, echoing his words from their first time together, knowing she needed the reassurance. “I need it, love.”

He bucked into her once more, and that combined with a bit of harsh suction on her neck was all it took to have her shaking in his arms, gripping him like a vice. Her nails dug into his scalp and he grunted, pushing up into her two more times to push her through her orgasm. His name spilled from her lips, a prayer and a pleading beg all in one, as she scrambled for more, rocking down onto him. She was dropping her weight into him fully, letting him support her as she fell to pieces in his arms. Then, he pulled her hips up and pressed down into the bed, disconnecting their bodies so he could finish in the narrow space between them, his ropes of come landing on both of their stomachs.

The weight of her against his body as both of their breathing patterns slowed, her head resting on his chest, calmed Harry in a way he hadn’t experienced in so long. Exhaustion settling into his bones, a desire to sleep finally running through his veins. Her fingers danced up his arms, pressing softly into his tattoos and drawing circles on his skin. He was still sticky on his lower abdomen, but he didn’t care and she didn’t seem to either. Neither of them wanted to move from their positions.

“I love you,” she said, breath fanning across his warm, sticky skin. “Somehow, I have this feeling that I’ll love you forever.”

He ran his fingers through the strands of her hair that rested on his shoulder, humming softly. “Hope so.” He was going to wait to do this properly, be on his knees in front of her in a nice suit and everything, but with her pressing tender kisses to his skin and hugging him close, he couldn’t wait any longer. “Ci,” he said, forcing her eyes up to his. “Will you marry me?”

Surprise didn’t even cross her face, just joy. Joy in the way she grinned at him, how her hands grabbed at his cheeks tugging his head towards hers so that their foreheads rested on each others. “Yes. A million times yes.”

A rare graced Harry’s features, his heart soaring so high he didn’t know if he would ever come down. “Yeah? Ya will?”

“Already said,” she told him, nuzzling her nose to his cheek. “Need me to say it again?”

“Maybe a couple of times.” This banter between them was new, but Harry loved it. How comfortable they were in one another’s presence, how he was able to let his guard down for her, how no matter what thoughts crossed his mind they were safe in her hands.

Cicely leaned her elbows onto his chest, picking her body up, so she could properly hover over him. “Yes,” she said, pressing a kiss to his brow. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.” She peppered her lips across every bit of his face, covering his features with her lips until he was tugging at her head, a chuckle leaving his chest.

Harry was happy. It was a happiness he hadn’t felt in years, one without end, seemingly stretching into infinity. It felt almost like a dream, and he never wanted to wake up. “I was goin’ to propose to ya properly,” he admitted, pulling her head back down onto his chest. “Couldn’t wait though.”

“Hmm,” she hummed into his skin. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again.”

“Yeah?” He kissed the top of her head as she settled into his skin. “Maybe I will.”

Her fingers brushed across his skin, tracing the bird cage tattoo. “I can’t believe you’re mine.” Her words were a whisper, but in the silence of their room is rang loudly.

“I’m the one who should be shocked,” he informed her, pinching at her hip. “I’m just some scrappy boxer. You’re this beautiful creature with class and poise who decided I could possibly be worthy.”

Cicely picked up her head, resting her chin on his chest. “That’s not true. You’re so much more than that to me.” Her hands ran across his cheeks, pushing at the tendrils of his hair with a tenderness that made Harry want to cry again. “You’re strong, you’re honest, you’re loving. You fight for what you believe in, even when it’s hard. You have fought in battles on every field imaginable, home and abroad, and you haven’t given up on life. You’re still you, even if you hide it from people a bit. How on earth could I not find you worthy?”

Harry ducked his head, and exhaled into her skin. Her words had struck a chord in him one that ripped through the walls he had constructed years ago and laid him bare for all to see. “I’ll always fight for ya,” he told her, voice raw and rough against her ear. “Every single day of my life.”

They looked at each other, the waves crashing against the shore outside their hotel in a tiny town, far from the worries that would one day reach them. For now, though, it was Harry and Cicely, Cicely and Harry, a combination no one expected but worked perfectly all the same.

That night, Harry was roused from his nightmares with soft touches to his cheeks and his name a hushed drawl in his ear, Cicely hovering over him and naked against his skin. His heart hammered in his chest, struggling to breathe as he hovered in that place between the dream and reality, trying to piece together what was happening, where he was, unsure if she was even real. He had dreamt of her for so long, so holding her hips as he inhaled slowly made him consider that perhaps he had never woken up in the first place.

“Harry,” she murmured, brushing a hand over his cheek. “I’m here, baby.”

The name made his heart clench, and his fingers dug into her skin, his breath coming choppy into his lungs. “Remind me,” he begged, voice broken. “Remind me of reality, Ci.”

Without a pause, she began to speak, telling him their story in the darkness of their room, perched on his lap. She told him about the moment when she first saw his face, about how she fell in love with him because of his hesitant touches and loving glances, how she craved him every second that they were apart. In hushed tones, she described their reunion, the first one and now the second one. Told him about how much she loved him, pressing a kiss to his ring finger where she would one day place a ring of her own on the man she adored with her whole being. By the time her story ended, Harry could breathe again, his face pressed to the valley of her breasts as she held his head, cradling him against her heart. They stayed like that until he could sleep again, and when he did, the ghosts of his past were nowhere to be found. Instead, they were filled with bright hues and her, her face in a kaleidoscope of color and emotion that he wouldn’t be able to describe even if he had the entire dictionary at his disposal.

Perhaps they were built for one another, constructed with equal similarities and differences, designed to balance one another’s ebbs and flows like nature did. His roughness matched by her tenderness, her exuberance tempered by his earnestness, their pasts both painful for different reasons, enough to where they understood pain and how to heal each other. Two sides of the same coin.

Or, perhaps, just two people unequivocally and endlessly in love.

THAT’S IT! come into my inbox and tell me your thoughts, feelings, emotions, favorite parts, etc. i love u all xo

TAGLIST: @autumn-sunflowers @afire-hes @harrydobedirectioning @harryinsweatersandbandanas @vapingisntmything @frindgeyy @froggystyles @magical-mischief-makers @heslilac @ursogoldenshan @hhh33-3l @grace-ful-gold @tbslenthusiast @smirkingstyles @taeboonie @samjo1986

[faulty-writes]

Hi there, so I might have binge read all your bnha works in one go... 👉👈 and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind writing some angst to fluff for me? I don’t know if you write multiple characters for one scenario (if you don’t, then just Todoroki? (and if you do, maybe Tamaki, Izuku and Bakugo, take your pick!)). I’m asking for something where the reader (gf) doesn’t like to talk bc her voice is unusually low and gets made fun of? Please don’t feel pressured to write it! Love, from a shy fan💜

[Requests: Open]

[Normally I limit things to three characters per request but since you asked so nicely and you’re such a dedicated fan of my works. I’m happy to grant your request. I hope you enjoy and thank you for liking my writing! I appreciate it <3 I decided the best way to do this was bullet style.] 

Shoto Todoroki 

Shoto had always had an honest personality, which is why when he found you with your head down and a few tears streaming down your face, he had to ask why. But you only shook your head and refused to speak which irritated Shoto somewhat. He cared about you and he wanted you to trust him. But he had an idea of what was bothering you. 

“Is this about your voice?” he questioned as he took a seat next to you and pulled you close, Shoto knew that you didn’t particularly like your voice and he found himself often on the spotlight defending you because others liked to think it was funny to bring you down over something so silly. After all, your voice was a part of who you were and he loved you. 

You sighed and nodded in response to his question, “Hm, I see.” he said before leaning over to kiss your forehead. “This may sound strange to you, but I enjoy your voice. It’s unique and it’s what made me notice you in the first place. I know you have a hard time accepting it and if I’m being honest, I’m getting sick of seeing others make you cry over something that belongs to you.” 

You swallowed and looked at Shoto, confusion in your eyes. “I ...” you closed your mouth before shaking your head. Shoto reached down to grab your hand, gently stroking his thumb across the top of it. “No please, use your voice. Tell me, I want to hear that beautiful sound only you can make.” you frowned before looking away. “I h-hate my voice.” you squeaked, it was too deep and unfeminine.

Part of you wondered how Todoroki could stand it but he only smiled. “I love your voice, regardless of what you think. Your voice is beautiful, your voice is important and I will always choose your voice, your words over even the sweetest of lullabies,” he said as he gently began to rock you and you felt tears prickle in the corner of your eyes. “Thank you, Shoto.” 

Tamaki Amajiki 

“B-Bunny wait!” Tamaki called after you, hearing the laughter continue and it made him angry. His fingers tightened into fists and he turned to face the fellow UA students who had decided to make fun of you. “S-Shut your mouths. A-All of you! S-Shut up r-right now!” he demanded, despite not being that brave when it came to social things. His anger fueled him at the moment. 

“Hah! The anxiety boy and deep voice girl, what a pair! What’s a matter Amajiki couldn’t do better than a girl that sounds like she could voice Darth Vader?” Tamaki growled, tempted to use his quirk even though it would be wasted on such punks. 

“I s-said shut up!��� Tamaki snapped, “You c-call yourselves, heroes, b-but make fun of p-people for the t-things they can’t c-change? I-I’m proud to be w-with someone w-who isn’t a-afraid to be t-themselves!” he growled before taking a step forward, his tentacles at the ready. “So I s-suggest you stop m-making fun of the p-person I love or I-I’ll t-teach you a l-lesson!” despite the fact that he was trembling, he seemed intimidating enough for the group to back away. 

“T-That’s what I t-thought ...” he muttered before running to find you pressed against a wall near the courtyard. He frowned as he approached you and held you close. “P-Please don’t cry B-Bunny, d-don’t listen to them! Y-Your voice, it’s w-what makes you w-who you are and I k-know ...I k-know you have t-trouble talking j-just like me. B-But please d-don’t stop talking t-to me. I-I’ll miss your v-voice, d-deep or not. I-It’s you.” He said as he nuzzled against your hair. 

You sniffled, burying your face into Tamaki’s chest. “Y-You mean it ...” you responded, cringing at the sound of your voice as always. But Tamaki smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of your head. “Y-Yeah I d-do ...y-you’re my Bunny and y-you always will be. W-We can help e-each other f-find the courage to u-use our voices f-for the greater g-good. I p-promise, I-I’ll make sure you l-learn your v-voice is a-amazing and w-wanted and n-needed even.” he said before squeezing you. “I l-love you, Bunny.” 

Izuku Midoriya 

Izuku should have known something was wrong when you texted him that you wanted to be alone. Even though you were only a floor away in the dorm building. He hadn’t wrapped his head around what was wrong until Kirishima informed him that he saw some of the upperclassmen making fun of you. Most of their jokes revolved around your unusual voice. 

He felt like an idiot, it was so simple he should have known better. He groaned before rushing to your dorm room, knocking loudly but he got no response from you. So instead, he began to text you. [Kirishima told me what happened, you’re the most important person to me. Why didn’t you tell me?] he sent it and waited for your reply. [BECAUSE YOU KNOW I HATE MY VOICE.] 

He frowned, sure your voice was unusual but who wasn’t unusual in a world full of quirks? [Your voice is fine! Don’t listen to what other people say, they only make fun of you because they know you’re better than them. I know you’re quiet and reserved but whenever I hear your voice it makes me really happy. I love hearing what you have to say, your opinions, your favorite things. Everything.] 

You sighed as you read his text and shook your head. [My voice is too weird, I wish it was different! Why couldn’t I have had a lighter voice?] you waited a minute before Izuku responded. [Please come out of your room and talk to me. I know that might be asking a lot. But all of us in Class 1-A would never make fun of you and now that we know what other people have been doing, we won’t hesitate to put a stop to it.]

He frowned as he waited for your door to open, almost losing hope after a few minutes but then he heard a click and your head popped out. You looked at him with a frown and he approached you. “I promise, your voice is important here and I would never lie to you,” he said with a smile as he pulled you into a hug. “No matter what, I don’t care who it is. When someone makes fun of you, especially for your voice they are making fun of me too. I won’t stand for it.” he said as he reached up to stroke your hair. “You’re perfect as you are, no matter what anyone says.” 

Bakugo Katsuki 

“Will you just FUCKING speak already!? I know you have this thing about your voice, but come on. Are you really gonna listen to what those shitty EXTRAS have to say?!” he snapped and you looked down, unsure of how to respond. 

“It doesn’t matter what they say, it only matters what you fucking think of yourself, and frankly I’m getting sick of you always putting yourself down,” he said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re better than them! Even without your voice, even when you choose to use your voice. It doesn’t matter and if they disagree they can answer to me.” he said as he lifted his hand, allowing his tiny explosions to come to life. 

 “I’m fucking sick of them making you have a pity party for yourself, so what?! Your voice is ...pretty weird but it’s part of the reason why I LIKE you okay?! You’re pretty awesome and ...well I’m not for mushy stuff but I’ll blow their fucking heads off if I hear them make fun of you again.” he said as he clenched his jaw in anger. He sighed and reached over, pulling you up. Something that made you gasp before you quickly pressed your lips together. 

One arm was wrapped around your waist and the other reached up to cup your cheek. “You mean a lot to me okay!? I don’t like seeing you cry and all that other bullshit those BASTARDS put you through,” he said before leaning down to peck your lips. “Don’t ever let them say your voice isn’t important, that it’s too deep or whatever the fuck they have to say.” he paused before continuing. 

“Babe ...I love your voice and well, it makes me happy when I hear you talk. It’s not a pleasure I get often so ...when you’re around me, could you at least lower your defenses down enough to talk to me?” he questioned and you glanced to the side, “I ...o-okay.” he smiled at you, “Thanks ....and thanks for trusting me. I couldn’t go without hearing your voice at least once a day. It’s one of the things that actually makes me smile.” 

[imaginationofacrazyfangirl]

*jhs / hanahaki! au/ 🌙☆

*4.5k written 

Summary: Hoseok desperately wants to continue your guy’s friendship despite his girlfriend Soo-min hating you. What he doesn’t know though is that even just being friends will kill you.

A/N: After much consideration what started off as a one-shot then two-shot, shall now have three parts. Thank you everyone for your patience. I appreciate all the support given to me.

—————————————————————————————————

White orchids spill from your mouth as you heave into the toilet only to miss. A minute passes before you collapse onto the cold tile floor of your restroom. Your eyes stare blankly at the white mocking flowers splattered with blood. How fitting for the product of your disease to be such a rare exotic flower. Most people who suffered from Hanahaki threw up roses or lilies, but you got orchids. It is as life wants to personally point out that your first and only time falling in love with someone is doomed.

Forcing the remnants of blood and flowers back into your throat, you stood up on shaky legs. It was 9:10 am last time you checked, and time you spent throwing up has  fucked up your morning schedule. If you don’t change soon you’d undoubtedly be late to your morning class. “Come on (Y/N), you can do it. No stupid flowers are going to-”

“(Y/N)! Are you ready?” a familiar jovial voice calls out, causing only more flowers to fall from your lips. 

Quickly you slam the door to the restroom shut, locking it for extra measure. Your mind races trying to figure out why the object of your affection Jung Hoseok was here. Sure he used to walk you to class every morning, but only to make his ex-girlfriend Soo-min jealous. Soo-min hated you with a passion. Which is why when Hoseok and her broke up, he thought fake dating you would be the best way to get her back-and it worked. 

For three months you faked a relationship with Seoul University’s  ‘sunshine boy’. At first you felt awkward not being a people person and Hoseok was under the impression that you were some sort of monster. Eventually though you two passed those hurdles. Hoseok broke through your icy barriers, he became your first friend and through him you began to make other friends. Everything went perfectly except for the fact you began to fall for him. 

 It started slow, but you could feel the symptoms progressing each day. His love began thawing the ice around your heart. Then a seed  planted itself in it sprouting leaves that grew like ivy. Soon after flowers escaped your mouth the sure sign of an unrequited love. Your love for him was real. Probably more real than anything Soo-min could give him. However Hoseok felt oppositely hence the Hanaki disease. 

“(Y/N)? Are you in there? “ Hoseok knocks. “It’s kind of late to be getting ready. Did you oversleep?”

“Yeah.” You croak. “I just got up. What …what are you doing here, Hoseok? Didn’t you and Soo-min get back together?”

It’s a question you already know the answer to, but you can’t help not to ask. You need to know for sure, before you make any decisions regarding your Hanahaki, you need to Hoseok got his wish. “….we did, but that doesn’t we can’t still be friends-”

    His answer both hurts and relieves you at the same time.  

“It means exactly that, Sunshine boy. You can’t be friends with me. You can’t even talk to me unless you want Soo-min to hate you.” You say, hardening your heart.

   Hoseok isn’t the type to abandon a friend for girl. Not even if he’s only known them for a few months. Which is why you need to be the bad guy here…for both your sakes. “(Y/N)…” Hoseok says.

     Taking a deep breath you opened the door coming face to face with the cherry haired boy you loved. His dark eyes gaze at you sadness radiating through them. You have a feeling he knows how right you are, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. “We can’t. Being friends with you will only cause pain and trouble for us. Trust me.” you reaffirm.

    Hoseok shakes his head. “I don’t believe that. Not for one second. You are my friend whether Soo-min or anyone else wants you to be or not.”

       A vine shoots out at his words coiling tightly around your rib. It takes everything within you not to double over in pain as it bruises muscle and bone. You are so far gone, any sort of relationship with Hoseok will kill you. “What about what I want? What if I don’t want to be friends anymore? What if I am tired of dealing with you and everyone else?’ You snap uncontrollably. “I don’t want to do it, Hoseok. I don’t want to be your friend anymore. Alright?! “

   Hoseok doubles back a crushed look on his face. “Alright. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave you alone then.”

   “It is.”  You say looking away . You can’t handle the expression on his face. It hurts more than anything the Hanahaki does to you. A ray of sunshine like him should never be anything less than shining, especially not at the expense of an ice queen like you. 

    Later that night you receive a visit from Yoongi, Hoseok’s best friend/fraternity brother and the only other person who knows about your disease. The blonde haired boy arrives with an assortment of medicines, books, and pamphlets revolving around Hanahaki. It’s a sight that makes you both laugh and cry at the same time. “I heard you broke up with Hobi.” Yoongi says as he enters your dorm.

    You snort, shaking your head. “We weren’t really dating to begin with, so how can we break up?”

    “He looks awful. Almost as if you murdered his whole family in front of him.”  Yoongi mentions. “Seriously I’ve never seen him so upset. Not even when Soo-min broke up with him.”

      You look down ashamed. “I didn’t want to hurt him, but I-”

  “You had to.” Yoongi finishes knowingly. It’s only been a few days since you revealed to him your secret, but already Yoongi could see the damage done to you by this disease. You are paler than normal, skinnier too with dark circles under your eyes.  Your lips are chapped and your hair lost whatever shine used to be there. Overall you look like shit and Yoongi feels so fucking guilty for not noticing sooner. 

     “He’ll kill me.” You whisper sadly. “Just by being around me, this plant will grow and strangle me to death. It’s not fair-especially for Hoseok, who didn’t even ask for my affection.  So I have to stay away for both our sake.”

    It sucks, but you don’t doubt sunshine boy will bounce back. You’re merely another side note in his novel of a life after all. “Have you decided what to do yet?” Yoongi asks, looking over the pamphlets. “They have tablets that are supposed to reduce hanahaki growth, but they aren’t a permanent solution.”

     “There are only two solutions to hanahaki disease: death and surgery.” Tears well up at the thought. Neither option is preferably, especially since you know first hand the consequences behind them.

        “I hope you aren’t seriously thinking about death. I mean I get that you love Hobi, but it’s only a feeling. It’s not worth your life.” Yoongi says, his dark eyes pinning you with a look. “Besides it’s not like you two can’t be friends afterwards.” 

   Your lips curl into a bitter smile at his words. Memories of a vacant stare and careless question of ‘who are you?’ flash before your eyes. Yoongi’s naivety is not his fault. The horrors behind hanahaki surgery are such that even doctors belittle its effects. After all who wants to hear that the person they loved will be forever erased from their memories?

     And  like that night three days ago you confide in Yoongi about your horrible truth. “Hey Yoongi…have you seen someone go through hanahaki surgery?”

      Three hours later Yoongi stumbles home wanting to throw up. Your words play like a never ending loop in his head gripping tightly to his heart. ‘My parents suffered through Hanahaki disease when I was little. My mother died from it and my father forgot everything.”

  His knees buckle as he steps inside the frat house. For once it is silent. No one up playing video games in the living room, no loud music blasting, or groups of people conversing simply silence, something Yoongi can’t tell if he’s grateful for or not. On one hand he could use the distraction-the noise to blare out your tearful story, whereas on the other hand Yoongi’s glad no one is around to see him like this. 

    “Fuck.” he whispers to no one. “Fuck. Fuck..Fuuuuccck.”

He’s haunted by the calm expression on your face as you whispered. ‘Everyone thought my parents had a happy marriage. After all, my father loved my mother and she always smiled but I guess not all smiles equal happiness…my mother loved someone else. Who? No one knows. She never gave any indication of fancy someone other than my father. No one knew until I found her propped up against the toilet, roses sprouting from her lips like some macabre painting.“

  Seven. Seven fucking years old when you found your mother dead, yet you spoke as if she simply gotten a cold. If he didn’t know any better Yoongi would’ve thought you to be soulless. However the orchids clamouring out of your own body only proves  how much of a heart you did have. “Hey, man is everything alright?” Hoseok’s voice comes, as he steps into view.

    He’s dressed in his normal sleepwear, a white t-shirt and boxers cladded in cartoon birds. His hair is disheveled which normally meant he was sleeping, if not for the purple bruises decorating his neck. Anger flashes through Yoongi at the sight. Soo-min must be over, that fucking bitch. “Fine. Sorry for waking you up.” 

     “I wasn’t really sleeping.” Hoseok shrugs.

“I’ve noticed.” Yoongi says dryly. Logically the blonde knows it unfair to be mad at his friend. It isn’t Hobi’s fault you fell in love with him. Nor his fault that he loved Soo-min…but Yoongi can’t help himself-especially since Soo-min  replaced you. (You might’ve gotten over her bullying you, but Yoongi hadn’t.)

     “Ah yeah, Soo-min got a little wild. She’s never been this possessive before.” Hoseok laughed. “If making her jealous is all I got to do for sex like that, I’ll have to do it more often.”

   Yoongi didn’t even bother faking a smile. Hoseok already knew how much he and the rest of the guys hated Soo-min. “Whatever you say, just keep it down okay? I have a math test tomorrow.”

     Hoseok nods. “Of course. Sleep tight Yoongs! Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

 “That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.” Yoongi grumbles, walking away. Hoseok’s laugh echoes down the hall as Yoongi heads to his room. It is not until he falls back onto his soft bed that Yoongi allows the final tidbit of your confession to play.

  ‘Forget. That’s what the surgery makes you do. It doesn’t only erase emotions of love, it erases all memories pertaining to it as well. When my father returned from his surgery the first thing he said to me was, ‘who’s kid is this?”

  Forget or die, two shitty options for someone who already had it shitty. Yoongi closes his eyes thumbing the pair of keys belonging to a certain roommate of his. Slowly he slips the key covered in mickey mouse prints off. There isn’t much he can do to help you make your decision,  but perhaps Yoongi can make life a little easier for you. 

      A week passes from that day and Hoseok can’t ignore the gnawing feeling that something is wrong. He knows your guy’s friendship has ended, but the cherry haired boy can’t keep his distance. Not when every cell in his body screams for him to fix this somehow. 

      After three months of fake dating you somehow became a permanent fixture in his life.  He misses teasing you about your bad breakfast choices, or forcing you to eat an actual meal instead of coffee for lunch. He misses the way you listened to him, barely muttering more than ‘uh huh, ok, yeah’; it always seemed like you weren’t listening until you surprised him with a question or comment. 

   Hoseok just misses you period.

Which is why he decided to give your friendship one more shot. Surely if he misses you this much you feel the same. Memories of your callous words from a week ago come to mind tormenting his fear, suddenly Hoseok feels like he can’t breathe. You said he annoyed you, that you were tired of him, but that was just because you were scared of losing him to Soo-min? Once you see how genuine he is, you two will go back to being friends. 

     "I don’t want your stupid apple. I’ve already eaten. ” Hoseok perks up at the sound of your voice. He’s been sitting on the steps of the language building for the past half hour waiting for you. Your name dances on the tip of his tongue. Eagerly he opens his mouth to call out to you but freezes  at the sight of a familiar blonde walking beside you. 

      "A gogurt and a cup of coffee doesn’t count as lunch, dumb ass. Now eat the apple, it’ll help you from getting sick. “ Yoongi says, shoving the red fruit into your hands.  

     Something within Hoseok twists, he finds himself nearly doubling over in pain. A dark ember burns in his stomach, suddenly Hoseok wants nothing more than to punch Yoongi. "She hates apples. ” Hoseok can’t help but inform. “It’s her least favorite fruit. ”

   Both you and Yoongi jerk surprised by his presence. As if on instinct Yoongi steps forward blocking your view from him,  it causes Hoseok’s blood to boil more. “Hey Hobi, waiting for Soo-min?” Yoongi asks nonchalantly. 

     Hoseok bit his cheek suddenly remembering Soo-min has a class right before yours. The two of you share the same major meaning your schedules often coincided. He walked you to class everyday just to show off your “relationship." 

       "Something like that." 

    "Cool. See you at home I guess.” Yoongi nods, pulling you with him towards the door. You barely even glance up at Hoseok as you’re led away. 

    Again something twists violently in the pit of his stomach and the question, 'are you guys together,’ slips through his teeth before Hoseok can stop. The two of you freeze, Yoongi’s fingers tightening around your wrist. Suddenly Hoseok doesn’t want to know the answer.

     "Something like that. “ Yoongi replies, dragging you into the building. 

    Three weeks go by since your 'break up’ with Hobi, and ironically, you find yourself in another fake relationship this time with Yoongi. Unlike your previous pseudo-relationship this one contains nothing more platonic love. There are no fake dates or pet names. Yoongi doesn’t treat you like some girl he’s in love with. Instead he forces broth and anti-growth pills down your throat only to hold your hair back when white petals flow back up from it. He shields you from Hoseok,  Soo-min and the judgemental glances of the world, protecting you from harm. No, Min Yoongi is a god send, but you aren’t in love with him. 

    Sometimes you wish you were though. Loving Yoongi sounds easier than loving Hoseok, but that could simply be wishful thinking. After all, Yoongi and Hoseok are two different elements. Hoseok is the warm sun melting away all your defenses, while Yooongi is a winter’s breeze offering relief from the sun’s rays while fortifying your protection. "So the date has been set. A week from now I’ll have the surgery and this will all be over. ” you announce, ignoring the painful ache in your chest 

    The idea of forgetting Hoseok scares you. You don’t want to forget him or the way he’s made you feel. As selfish as it sounds Hoseok is the first person to show you affection in years. Your family basically ostracized you after they discovered your father’s amnesia. While he could learn to love you again the possibility of him remembering your mother ran too high. So instead you lived as his niece with an aunt and uncle who despised you, because you looked like your mother. 

     Yoongi nods, glancing over at the calendar. He can’t help but frown at the date circled in red. “I know this is the only viable solution, but I feel like I should ask you if this is what you really want?”

   "No, but I don’t want to die either.“ You say softly. "As much as I want to hold onto these feelings of love, they don’t really belong to me, you know? Hoseok loves Soo-min. They’re her feelings not mine. ”

    Yoongi’s frowns. “Soo-min only loves herself. You know it,  I know it, and deep down Hobi does too.”

  "Maybe but it doesn’t change a thing.“ You murmur, eyeing the date. Your grip tightens around the mug you hold.  You don’t want to admit but you’re scared; scared of waking up the exact person you were before Hoseok: cold, intruding and alone. 

  Yoongi shoots a knowing glance. "Something else bugs you, doesn’t it? ”

   You take a sip of your tea. “ Don’t worry. It’s stupid stuff. " 

    It’s three days before your surgery that you see Hoseok for the first time in a month. Logically you know you should avoid him even if the appointment is less than forty-eight hours away. However you find yourself staying at the coffee shop, eyes unlocking from the cherry haired boy.  'Just one more glance.’ You assure yourself. 'Something to carry with me onto the operating table that’s all I want. ’

     But it’s more than one glance it’s several long stares, watching as the boy talks animatedly amongst his friends. He looks so happy right now practically glows like the sun. The sight is so beautiful it causes your heart to bear faster. This is what you wanted to see. Hoseok happy and carefree even if it is without you. 

   You smile, ignoring the painful pulse your heart gives when the Hanahaki’s vine squeezes around it. This is how things are meant to be. Hoseok deserves a life filled with equally bright people. He deserves happiness in every form. You aren’t.

     A content sigh escapes you. You swore to Yoongi, you accepted the surgery with no regrets, but that was all a lie. Seeing Hoseok like this though, so free and unaffected by your absence, you can finally let go of the little doubt holding you back. 

    "Order for (Y/N)!” The barista calls out sliding your drink across the counter. 

  You cringe at how loud they are; internally hoping that Hoseok hadn’t heard your name.  Seeing him from afar is dangerous enough, if you actually interacted with him…  You push the thought out of your head, quickly exiting the cafe, completely unaware of the eyes following you. 

   "You okay man? You’ve been staring at the barista an awful lot. “ 

    Hoseok blinks, tearing his gaze away from where you stood. The moment you walked into the cafe Hoseok could only focus on  you. It is like everything else disappeared except for you.  "Yeah I’m fine. " 

"You sure? Because if you like the dude that much, I can get you his number. ” Another, Jo Kwon teases. “Though I think Soo-min would kill both of us- wait! Isn’t that (Y/N) up there? Didn’t you two used to date before you and Soo-min got back together?”

     Hoseok nods barely listening. His focus once again on you, this time watching you leave. Neither Dino or Jo Kwon knew about the dumb deal or how sweet Seoul University’s Ice Queen really was.  While they are good friends, they were nowhere near close enough for Hoseok to feel comfortable sharing his secret. 

  "Gotta say you must’ve been really off your rocker, Hoseok. Dating such a scary girl. “ Dino snorts. 

   "Seriously, I heard (Y/N) got arrested for murdering her parents, but since she was a kid no one believed she did it.” Jo Kwon says. “You know someone should warn Yoongi-hyungnim about her. They’re together now aren’t they?”

    "Something like that…" Hoseok mutters. His chest burns at the mention of Yoongi and you.  While you refuse to even look his way, you have no qualms hanging on Yoongi’s every word and move. It is like Yoongi’s the sun and you’re the earth orbiting around him- it pisses Hoseok to no end and he can’t explain why. 

   "Maybe he just figured she’s an easy lay. I mean a girl like her is probably desperate for attention. She’s probably spreading her legs for anyone who looks at her-“ Hoseok’s fist hits Dino’s face before either one can process what is happening.

  The younger boy falls to the ground with a loud crash, causing everyone to stare at them. "What the fuck man!? You just hit me. ” Dino sputters wide eyed. 

    "And I’ll do it again if I ever hear either of you talk about (Y/N) like that again.“  Hoseok threatens. The anger within him is uncontrollable. He can’t explain it. Especially when it is not only Dino and Jo Kwon who pisses him off, but Yoongi too. Just the mere sight of the blonde sickened him nowadays. 

   "You’re crazy man. She’s a freak and she made you one too!” Jo Kwon says.

  Luckily, all it takes is a warning look to have them scrambling out of the coffee shop. “Assholes.” Hoseok mutters, ignoring the still plentiful stares at him. He reaches for his coffee only to pause when his stomach turns suddenly. Annoyed Hoseok pushes the cup away. He must be getting sick.

   Word of the fight spreads across the campus like wildfire. Fury does not explain the anger Soo-min feels when she hears about her boyfriend’s outburst. In all the years she dated Hoseok never once did he get offended for her sake. Boys literally listed off her body count at parties and Hoseok merely shrugged asking Soo-min. 'why does it matter when everyone knows you’re mine?“

    Mine. The claim used to send shivers down Soo-min’s spine. Yes, she was his. Just like how she owned him. They were meant to be no matter how many times they broke up. It didn’t matter if Soo-min decided to date around a little, because Hoseok would wait for her.  

   At least so she thought until one day Hoseok ended up on the arm of her biggest enemy. Originally Soo-min assumed he simply wanted her jealous- a clever ploy really, after all wherever she went you two appeared. Three weeks later though, you started wearing Hoseok’s hoodies. After that Beta-Tau-Sigma invited you to their house, a privilege which took Soo-min months to achieve, but the real straw to the camel’s back happened when Hoseok threatened her. 

   The cherry haired boy who cared little about gossip finally spoke out against it and not for her sake.  In that moment Soo-min realized the relationship between Hoseok and you ran deeper than she assumed. For the first time in her life,  Soo-min felt threatened in Hoseok’s and her relationship. So she ended it.

   With a bat of the eyelashes and the purse of her lips, Soo-min took back what was hers. Once again Hoseok and her were together while you cried your ugly heart out. Everything went back to normal. Except it didn’t. 

     Hoseok refused to leave you alone. He was determined to have some sort of relationship with you, despite now being with her. Not even you dating his own best friend stopped Hoseok’s unsettling obsession with you. 

   "I don’t expect you to understand, but (Y/N) is someone special to me. I can’t just let her go. ” he told her one night. 

  He was right. Soo-min didn’t understand. Nor did she want to. What Soo-min wants is you gone.  “(Y/N) (L/N), you fucking slut! Stay away from my boyfriend!” She hollers, charging after you. 

    You stare at her confused. The sight spurs her rage more so. How dare you act clueless! As if you don’t know what you are doing? She pushes past the throng of students cornering you against a tree. It’s just her no posse unlike last time. Not that Soo-min needs one to kick your ass.

   Since elementary school, she has worked to put you in your place. The only difference now is the strange attachment Min Yoongi has towards you. Last time he stopped her from teaching you a well deserved lesson. Today however he won’t be able to save you.  “I’m not in the mood Soo-min. ” you mutter, walking around her. 

    She grabs onto your hair yanking it. A small gasp escapes you as you tumble onto the ground. “Well I am. So you are going to listen to me and listen real good you got it?”

       "Fucking psycho. “ you spit.

   Her hands twist, tightening the pull on your hair. You reach up trying to pull away, but Soo-min’s stronger.  "Me? Psycho? No no you’re the heartless ice queen here. You might’ve tricked Hoseok and everyone else into thinking you’re some innocent little girl, but you and I know the truth. You are unlovable.”

     You let out a loud laugh surprising her. “Again with that hanahaki shit? You and our family have been holding that over my head for fifteen years.  My father’s disease wasn’t my fault. Nor was it my mother’s. ”

  Taking Soo-min off guard, your right leg sweeps back, knocking her off balance. She loses grip on your hair allowing you to push back. You stand towering over her. “Love is an uncontrollable force. You can’t choose who you love. Just like you can’t choose who loves you back.”

    Soo-min snorts. “What do you know about love? Your mother chose to love over her daughter, and your father chose life over you too. Meanwhile Hoseok only used you to get me back. He never loved you and he never will-”

    A small cough breaks through her rant. One tiny hiccup like cough that normally would go overlooked if not for a single orchid petal escaping your lips. She freezes eyes locked on the white petal. 

     "You…“  She hardly managed to say the word when you turn tails running. 

     Her body moves on its own chasing after you. She doesn’t want to admit it. Doesn’t want to acknowledge it but Soo-min’s scared. As much as she hates you, you are still her cousin. It doesn’t take long for her to catch up to you. Out of the two of you, she’s always been the more athletic one. Moreover thanks to the disease, you hardly make it  a few feet before heaving a basket of flowers up. 

    Soo-min stares at the blood soaked plants in horror. Full stems. You are throwing up whole plants. "You are dying. ”

     The words come out more blatantly then she intends, but you snort nonetheless. “Yeah, I am. Don’t celebrate yet though. I’m getting the surgery.”

       "You. You are in love.“ She continues speechless. 'But how? I mean who? Is it Hoseok?”

    "Yoongi.“ You correct quickly. "I’m in love with Yoongi. He ah he doesn’t love me though. He loves someone else so we broke up.”

   "Oh.“ Her throat tightens around the word. For the first time ever Soo-min does not know how to react. Deep inside she wants to reach out, comfort you, scream at Min Yoongi until she’s blue however she can’t. Not only does Soo-min know you won’t accept it, but there’s still something within that holds onto her parents’ prejudice 

     "Does he know?” Soo-min asks. 

You shake your head. “No. Nor does he need to. In two days this will all be a forgotten memory.” 

     Soo-min frowns. Her heart squeezes pain at the thought. It’s funny she’s always wanted to see you suffer, but not like this. Despite being little during your parents’ illness Soo-min remembers clearly everything that happened. From the hole your mother cut through you and your father’s heart to her uncle’s empty expression after the surgery. More than anything she remembers her warm fun loving cousin falling into herself. The person who was once her best friend suddenly distanced herself from everyone including Soo-min.

    It is a memory that stirs up something within Soo-min, she hasn’t felt in a long time…: guilt.

[lovelylunarwriting]

Soonyoung College!AU

Dance Therapy Major, with a minor in Astronomy (Astronomical Sciences)

He chose dance as a major because it’s his life passion and something he genuinely enjoys, and more specifically dance therapy because he wants to share dancing with people in a way that can positively influence them and strengthen their quality of life through self expression.

If you ask him about it, prepare for a powerpoint presentation and fifteen minute speech because this boy will go off on how important it is to express yourself.

As for astronomy, he thinks stars are the shit. 

At first he registered as an Astronomy minor because he misread it as “Astrology”

He has a tendency to read way too heavily into horoscopes and will explain in extreme detail how your horoscope relates to the stars. 

One time he told he told Seokmin that he was going to “meet an untimely end” because it said so for Aquarius on the horoscope blog he checks daily.

Seokmin spent the rest of that day following Chan “for security reasons”

Also, anytime Minghao says something snarky, Soonyoung is like “Omg you’re such a Scorpio” 

Soonyoung is very heavily involved on campus, especially with organizations revolving around volunteering.

He just wants to help out whenever he can and give back to the community, whether it be assisting the elderly, helping out with food drives, etc.

Although he enjoys volunteering, don't get the wrong idea- he’s no saint. 

He’s the life of the party everywhere he goes, which is mostly,,,, parties tbh.

And that’s how he ends up fracturing his foot.

After a night of drinking with some of the boys, they were making their way back to the dorms when they passed through the main courtyard, resulting in Seungkwan challenging the group to do something pretty stupid.

Seungkwan : “I bet none of you will jump into the fountain”

Chan: “Of course I won’t, I just bought these shoes?? Why would I ruin them”

Seungkwan : “Because it’s a (dare)”

Soonyoung: “A DARE, YOU SAY??”

Seungkwan : “yES it’s most definitely a dare. Unless you're too chicken...”

Seokmin : “Ooooooo Soonyoung’s a chicken!”

Soonyoung: “Oh yeah? Would a chicken do THIS??”

The boys gather around the flowing fountain in the middle of the courtyard, leaving space for Soonyoung to jump in.

But he doesn't jump in. He cartwheels in.

And slams his foot right on the edge of the fountain. 

There’s an unsettling crack and Soonyoung falls backward into the shallow water.

Seokmin and Chan pull him out and set him on the ground while Seungkwan calls an ambulance. 

When the paramedics arrive, they haul Soonyoung into the ambulance, Chan and Seungkwan jumping in after.

One hospital trip and an unfortunate amount of medical bills later, it turns out that Soonyoung fractured a bone in his foot and won't be able to walk on it for at least six weeks. 

Seungkwan feels terrible and literally w i l l  n o t stop apologizing. 

Seungkwan : “I'm so sorry about this. Had I known you would’ve gotten hurt, I never would have said anything-”

Soonyoung: “Dude it’s fine, it's not like you threw me in. I was the one being reckless”

Seungkwan : “So you're not mad? Our friendship is still going on stronger than ever??”

Soonyoung: “I'm not mad, but you do realize since it was your dare that got me in this position, you have to go explain to my dance instructor why I won't be able to participate”

Seungkwan : “...I guess that's fair”

Chan: “Didn't your instructor completely go off on a girl for walking on the dance floor while wearing stilettos?”

Soonyoung: “Yeah, she's terrifying. Which is why good ol’ Kwannie is going to be a dear and break the news to her for me~”

Seungkwan : “Can't you just break my foot instead?? An eye for an eye kind of thing?”

Soonyoung: “Nope. Next time maybe you'll watch your mouth”

Seungkwan: “And next time you'll watch your step”

Soonyoung: “I’m literally crippled dude, leave me alone”

The night ends with the boys taking an uber back to campus, and each person going to their respective dorms. 

Aka Soonyoung hobbling on crutches into the building (somewhat literally, he almost slipped trying to scan his I.D. card) and then to his room.

The next morning he gets a text from Seungkwan being like “I’ll go with you to tell your dance instructor but I'm not going in alone,'' to which Soonyoung is like “okay that's fair”

They meet up outside the Fine Arts building and brave their way through the halls to admit that They Fucked Up.

When Soonyoung hobbles into the dance studio she’s like “YOUNG MAN WHAT DID YOU DO” and Seungkwan is like “uhh he tripped down the stairs yesterday… real sad”

Soonyoung is like “It-takes-six-weeks-to-heal-bYE” and tries to bolt for the door but forgets the whole,,,, crutches thing,,,, and they slip out from under his arms.

Let’s just say that's not the first time Soonyoung has face planted in the dance room and it definitely won't be the last. 

The professor tells him that even though he can't participate, he needs to show up for class to watch and that he can make up whatever assignments he misses after he heals.

She’s surprisingly nice about it??? And is like “you’re dumb for getting hurt but take care of yourself, you’ll make us all worry”

Anyway, let’s move on to you~

You know who Soonyoung is because you've had classes with him before but you've never really talked to him??

He was always "that kid watching Netflix on his laptop in the back of the lecture hall"

Which is tempting but when you're paying to take these classes,,,, you don't wanna waste your money and time by not trying your best

His friends would frequently wait for him outside the building to grab lunch after their classes, since they all had classes in the same cluster of buildings at similar times

They're a difficult group not to notice,,,, such loud and rowdy boys are hard to miss 

This semester you don't have any classes with Soonyoung, and don't think anything of it until you barely hear someone over the roar of your earbuds shout your name and to hold the elevator 

Looking up from your phone, you're shocked to see Soonyoung on crutches furiously shuffling to get to the elevator before it closes 

You wordlessly mash the "open doors" button a few times, and he sighs, slowing his pace and trudging into the small space.

You consider just keeping in your earbuds but curiosity gets the better of you

"So umm.... what happened?", you ask, popping out a single earbud.

Soonyoung's face goes from tired to panicked real quick and at first you regret asking, but then he explains how he fell down a flight of stairs and you're more at ease, but not completely. 

Your dance major friends have dragged you to their showcases, and you've seen Soonyoung dance. it seems weird that someone so balanced and elegant could just fall like that. 

You: "Were you drunk?"

Soonyoung: "I- what? Why would you ask that?"

You: "Ahh, so you're not denying it. That makes a lot more sense, you're much too graceful to slip out of the blue"

Soonyoung: "...you've seen me dance?"

You: "Yeah, I've got friends who dance and I go to their recitals to support them. You're really good, by the way"

With that comment, Soonyoung turns to face away from you and you think you may have said something wrong on accident until you notice the tips of his ears burning bright red. 

"He's shy.... that's pretty cute", you think to yourself.

The elevator dings, signalling your arrival on the second floor. You step out and surprisingly, Soonyoung follows.

Apparently the "nani???" face you're making is a lot more communicative than you’d intended, because Soonyoung is like "I live,,,, across the hall from you...."

Now it's your turn to be embarrassed because,,,, how the hell did you not notice that

He goes on to ask you if you could help him get into his room- something about not being sure about balances crutches and keys, and before he can even finish asking, you’re like “yep! Gimme them keys” to try and move on from the “how could you not know I live right across from you” thing

You open the door and prop it open all the way so that Soonyoung can hobble on in, then you go ahead and help him get settled on the couch so he doesn’t topple over trying to stand.

You: “Okay, is there anything else you need?” you ask, handing him back his key and trying really hard not to blush when your fingers brush against his..

Soonyoung: “I mean,,,,, I don’t need anything, but if you want to stay and hang out for a while, that’d be nice. It’s no fun wallowing in self pity all alone and Seokmin won’t be here for like three hours”

Thinking about what day of the week it is and then checking your watch, you conclude that you don’t have any classes or labs left today and agree to stay for a bit.

You: “Actually, let me head to my dorm to drop off my bag and grab some snacks, alright?”

He nods his head vigorously at the mention of food so you make sure to come back with more than enough snacks for the both of you.

If someone had told you this morning that you’d spend your evening laughing and playing Wii Sports with Soonyoung of all people, you’d tell them they’re crazy, but here the two of you are, acting like old friends would.

After defeating him in tennis more times than he feels comfortable admitting, he checks the time on his phone and sees that it’s like,,, r e a l late.

Soonyoung: “It’s this late and Seokmin hasn’t come home yet?? What if something happened to him?”

Seokmin: “I walked in literal hours ago. I said hello to you. You said hello back. I’ve been in my room ever since???”, he says from the doorway to his room.

Honestly, you hadn’t noticed him either. Soonyoung is such a bright person inside and out that it’s easy to get caught up in him.

You: “Well since it’s getting late I should probably head back to my dorm. Gimme your phone real quick?”

Soonyoung: “You could at least ask me out before putting your number in my phone,'' he says, peering over your shoulder at the glowing TV screen.

You: “I’m putting my number in your phone in case you fall and need someone to help you. Since I’m right across the hall I’d be the closest person other than Seokmin who probably isn’t too pleased with you,,,, since we forgot he was here,,,,,”

Soonyoung: “Oh. Okay that works, too” he says sheepishly, hoping you’ll forget about the whole “ask me out” comment. 

He has to hobble around for the next six weeks so saving any fraction of pride that’s left is his main objective.

That and not dying of boredom. He has a feeling that the two of you will be playing a lot of mario kart.

Maybe next time you’ll let him win?? Odds aren’t for it though.

Seeing his frustrated little pout whenever you pass him and getting to see him get all mad when you blue shell him is just too impossibly adorable to pass up.

And you refuse to lose. But anyway-

The next few days pass by as they normally do, not particularly eventful in any way. 

That is until you get a text from an unknown number that creeps you out before you realize it's just Soonyoung.

Unknown Number: "hey boo are you home? ;)))))"

Your Phone: "I'm just walking in the building, why?", you text back, adding him to your contacts.

The Lovely Kwon Soonyoung: "oh thank goodness pleaSE come over, Seokmin put my laptop on top of the bookshelf as revenge and I have an essay due at midnight!!＼(;´□｀)/"

You Phone: "Okay, I'll be right there!" 

The Lovely Kwon Soonyoung: "THANK YOU MY ANGEL!!!～(^з^)-♡"

Reading that last text jump-starts your heart, and you almost drop your phone.

Stepping out of the elevator, instead of taking a right into your room, you turn to the left and knock on Soonyoung's door.

The door swings open almost instantly and you're met with a very pouty looking Soonyoung.

Laughing to yourself but mostly at him, you step inside and peer around for the bookshelf.

Once you spot it, you drag a chair over and begin to step up on it when Soonyoung interjects.

Soonyoung: "What are you doing??"

You: "I'm getting your laptop! I can't reach it without standing on something"

Soonyoung: "But that's dangerous!"

You: "More dangerous than cartwheeling into a concrete fountain?"

Soonyoung: "..."

You: "Chan told me. He's in my Sociology class"

Soonyoung: "So you knew and yet still agreed to help me?"

You: "Of course! That's what friends are for, right?,” you say as you step up onto the chair once again, missing the falter in Soonyoung's smile.

He doesn't say anything but you can tell that he's hobbling over to you due to the distinct clicking sound of his crutches hitting the hardwood floor.

When his hands find your waist, you forget how to breathe for a moment, looking down to him as he gives you a reassuring nod.

"He's just helping you balance. It's not a big deal", you tell yourself, and yet the warmth of his hands on your hips has your heart racing.

Focusing solely on the task at hand, you reach up, retrieve his laptop, and take the hand he offers as you step down from the chair.

The two of you keep your hands locked together longer than necessary, but don’t say anything about it,,,,

"Is that all you need?,” you ask, dropping his hand and setting his laptop down on what has to be his bed (the Shinee posters are a dead give away) 

You looking anywhere but at him, afraid that you'll accidentally reveal more of how you feel than you want to.

“That’s,,, that’s it. You can stay for a bit if you want, though? I found Seokmin’s snack stash”, he offers and as nice as it sounds, you decline.

“You have an essay to write and I have,,,, something I need to do so i’mgonnagonowbye”, you manage to say, power walking out of his dorm room and even more quickly into yours.

Your roommate takes one look at your wide eyes and obvious blush and is like “,,,,this is about a boy isn’t it”, to which you eloquently reply for them to “mind their own business and yeaH maybe it iS”

The next morning you jolt up in bed, breaking out of your dream somewhat forcefully.

It wasn’t even a bad dream- it was just you and Soonyoung hanging out like you did the other day but instead of being on opposite sides of the couch you were,,,, a lot closer, to say the least.

As soon as Dream Soonyoung leaned in for a kiss, your subconscious dragged you back into reality.

Why is it that dreams always end right before to good part?

Grumbling to yourself, but not too loudly so you don’t wake up your roommate, you grab your bag, swing it over your shoulder, and step into the hall.

So does Soonyoung. Who shoots you a smile and a wink, while you stand there looking like a deer in headlights.

“Something wrong?,” he asks with a confused tilt of the head.

“No no it’s just- those morning classes ya know? Getting up this early is rough, ahaha”, you say trying to play off your initial weirdness, and Soonyoung seems to take the bait, complaining about his early dance class all the way out of the building.

“I normally don’t mind getting up this early if I get my body moving but,,, having to watch everyone else dance instead is kind of torture”, he admits.

“That does seem like it would be tough. If it gets too frustrating and you need someone to vent to, send me a text alright? My next class is three hours long and super boring so I’ll definitely be on my phone anyway”, you say.

He agrees and the two of you go your separate ways, you heading to your class and him heading to his.

Throughout the whole dull lecture you can’t help but check your messages every so often, just hoping that he’s texted you.

1.) Because you enjoy talking to him and 2.) Because the class is really that dull.

Feeling your phone vibrate, you open the messaging app to see about exactly what you expected.

The Lovely Kwon Soonyoung: “It's been thirty minutes and I already wanna die”

Your Phone: “Please don't, who else would I destroy at Mario Kart??”

The Lovely Kwon Soonyoung: “(╥﹏╥)”

Your Phone: “I'm kidding~! And actually I have something that I think might help. When’s your last class of the day end?”

The Lovely Kwon Soonyoung: “Like 5:30 in the Science building. Astronomy lecture”

Your Phone: “I'll meet you there with take out, alright?”

The Lovely Kwon Soonyoung: “my angel leads me through these dark times once again (ToT)”

Your Phone: “stop with the crying emoticons or I'm not buying you dinner”

The Lovely Kwon Soonyoung: “SIR, YES SIR!”

You can’t help but let out a small giggle as you go back to playing solitaire on your phone. 

Soonyoung’s gotta be the most beautifully ridiculous person you’ve ever met, but at least there’s never a dull moment when it comes to him.

A promise is a promise!! Which is why you find yourself sitting criss-cross on one of the benches outside the science building at about 5:30.

“What kind of person signs up for classes so late in the day,,,,,” you mumble to the bag of Chinese food in your lap.

“THIS GUY!!”, an all too familiar voice shouts from behind you.

You turn to glare at Soonyoung but find it difficult once you see his signature cheesy grin.

A brief walk and much too crowded elevator ride later, you and Soonyoung sit on his bed as you explain your idea to him (and break into the lo mein)

"You're frustrated because you can't express yourself, right?,” you ask.

"Exactly. I don't know what to do with myself if I'm not able to dance"

"That's exactly it- dance isn't the only form of self expression. There's singing, art, photography, scrapbooking, instruments, graffiti-"

"I can barely stand on these crutches and you want me spray painting under bridges,,,," Soonyoung complains.

"You know what I mean. There are other things we can do"

"We?,” he says with a playful smile.

"I- I didn't mean like,,,, you can do whatever you want on your own, you don't have to include me-"

"Hey! Hold up, I was just playing around. I want to spend time with you. Who else will make fun of me when my stick figures end up looking like a bunch of random lines?", he says.

"That's true. Alright, I'll be right back", you say, getting up and heading to the door.

"What? Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go get some glitter pens and paper from my desk, geez. Clingy much?"

"I can't help it, I just want to be with you,,,," he says jokingly, but you blush regardless.

That comment sends you flying out of the room before your heart beats out of your chest.

Being around Soonyoung goes from "we're comfortable friends" to "ahahaha yeah but I adore him" way too quickly to be able to cope properly.

Taking a moment to recover, you wander back across the hall with paper and pens in hand, plopping them down on Soonyoung’s bed.

The two of you spend the night doodling poor renditions of each other and drawing whatever comes to mind.

Honestly, you can’t imagine any other way you’d rather spend your time. With Soonyoung, you have the most fun and feel the most comfortable.

Your other friends are great, don’t get the wrong idea, but with Soonyoung there’s just something,,,, different.

Like if the people in your life were cupcakes, he’d be the one with sprinkles and edible glitter on top. He’s that special.

The next few days, and before you know it- weeks- go by with you and Soonyoung exploring new crafts and spending every free moment together.

Your usual table and friends that you eat lunch with have been bombarded with Soonyoung and his gang of hyper boys (Chan, Seokmin, Seungkwan, and the occasional Mingyu)

Luckily they all get along, and are enjoyable to be around. Even if the table is much more cramped and significantly louder than before.

Most of your time is spent with one another though, whether it be trying and hopelessly failing to fold paper cranes or even looking up YouTube videos of “How to Mime Like a Pro”

The more time you spend together, the more difficult it becomes to deny your feelings for him.

Especially because he’s prone to saying flirty things in such a deadpan tone that it’s hard to tell if he’s joking. But he does it so frequently that you’re pretty sure he has feelings with you. He doesn’t flirt with anyone else like that from what you’ve seen.

He may seem like an open book, but a lot of the time it’s hard to tell what he’s really thinking

So you do the Logical Person thing and vow to never talk about your feelings for fear of making it Weird

Which wasn’t too bad at first,,,, but after spending an ungodly amount of time together, you’re so smitten for him it’s all you can think about.

And you need to think about your GPA. Emotions are becoming genuinely distracting.

But alas, your persist out of sheer stubbornness (and fear of rejection)

One day, you’re doing your usual “out and about, creative task” with Soonyoung and it happens to be photography, one of your personal favorites.

The combination of doing things you love with the person you’re crushing hard on has you smiley the entire time, and Soonyoung notices.

“You’re in quite a good mood today? Something I should know about?”, he asks.

“Things seem to be falling into place, ya know? The beginning of the semester was so hectic but now that I’ve gotten into more of a routine, everything seems,,, okay. Better than okay, even”, you answer, snapping a few shots of Soonyoung dramatically posting on a bench.

“Yeah, I mean you didn’t have me at the beginning of the year”, Soonyoung comments nonchalantly as you almost drop your much-to-pricey camera.

“I,,,, I mean yeah,,, there’s other things too though”

“Another man? Hmm… so I’ve got competition, huh?”

Heart feeling like it’s gonna burst out of your throat, instead of amused and flattered with his usual flirty nature, you find yourself frustrated. 

Unable to hide your change in mood, you lower the camera.

Soonyoung stands up off the bench and wobbles on over to you. Usually you’d try and meet him halfway but you’re too lost in thought. Perceptive as he is, of course he notices.

“Hey, are you okay? I’m just messing with you”, he says, probably trying to be comforting but it feels like you can’t breathe.

“Are you though? Just messing with me?”, you begin to snap, unable to keep how you really feel inside even a moment longer.

“What? I would never”

“Okay, then what’s your goal? To endlessly flirt with me but never actually make a move? What’s your end-game, here? To lead me on until you find someone better??”

“...there isn’t someone better. There isn’t anyone better”, he says softly, taking a few slow steps closer to you.

“Then do something about it”, you say quietly, looking up into his eyes with such ferocity it makes his own eyes widen.

“Fine! Maybe I will, then”, he snaps.

Soonyoung drops his crutches (practically throws them, honestly), swings one arm around your waist and pulls you towards him. More gently now, he cups your right cheek and kisses you with such passion that you kind of forget to breathe.

Much too quickly for your liking, he pulls away and lets you go. Neither of you say anything.

It’s the slightest bit awkward and a lot of things have been left unsaid,,,, but after that kiss you mostly get where he’s coming from

So you raise your camera and aim to take a photo of him. To your surprise, he bursts into laughter.

And so you do too.

For the next half hour or so, it becomes a game of camera tag essentially,

Soonyoung’s current state gives you an unfair advantage of catching up to him quite easily to try and snap unflattering photos of him.

At one point, he shuffles out of your sight. As you swing around a tree to continue your search, you end up crashing straight into him, sending both of you crashing to the ground.

If it weren’t for the autumn leaves, it probably would’ve hurt a lot more than it did.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?”, you ask, laying on Soonyoung’s chest.

“Dude forget me- is the camera okay? It’s like 600 bucks!”, he says.

“I don’t care about that! You’re more important than a stupid camera”, you gripe and to your surprise, he starts blushing.

“I,,, didn’t realize I meant that much to you”

“More than 600 dollars?”

“No, I mean,,,,, I thought you were just spending time with me because you felt bad that I got myself injured”, he confesses.

“Wha- Soonyoung. We literally just kissed earlier today. I don’t kiss people out of pity”

Cue more blushing from both parties

“,,,well that’s good,,,, because I like you,,, and stuff”, he mumbles, making every effort to avoid eye contact (even though you’re literally On him).

“Well I like you too and stuff. So I’ll even consider helping you up”, you say, grinning so hard your cheeks muscles begin to ache.

The rest of the day with Soonyoung goes by mostly normally, not including the hand holding and even more blatant cheesy flirting.

You guys make it official a few days later after Soonyoung overthinks everything and texts you at 4 am on a Tuesday to Confirm that you actually wanna be his s/o

To which you reply “yea. now go to sleep loser<3”

Y’all have a very chill and sweet relationship.

You’re super duper comfortable, but like,,,, almost too comfortable in the eyes of your friends.

Soonyoung will let out the most mighty burp and instead of being grossed out, you just give him a score out of ten.

“Five”

“What do you mean five?! Did you hear that??”

“Five and a half. You can do better and you know it”

And after a little while, Soonyoung gets his cast off!!

He goes back to dancing, and every day you text him “be careful you f o o l” right before his classes. Because even though he’s healed, that isn’t gonna stop you from worrying.

You thought that once he got back to dancing, he might not wanna draw and take photos with you anymore, but honestly it’s the opposite.

He’ll barge into your dorm room and say something along the lines of “if I have to do one more pirouette I’m gonna do a stag leap off the roof of the student union” and then doodle various farm animals with you.

This happens more often than he’d like to admit, but you thoroughly enjoy his company regardless.

He also gets to vent while drawing, so that’s a plus, too. He’s the kind of guy that has trouble telling people when he’s feeling down, so you appreciate that he’ll talk to you about it.

Overall, y’all relationship is cute and goals, even if it began in the most unconventional way.

[selkiewife]

Anonymous Asked: 

What do you think Theon's role will be in TWOW? I have seen many say that he's going to get killed or that he's going to make the King's moot null and void but I can't help but feel he has a much bigger purpose. One thing that often gets ignored, maybe because it's pretty much in the background, is the magical/supernatural elements of his character, which i think is going to be important either in terms of defeating Euron or helping with the long night.

Anon I agree with you wholeheartedly! I don’t believe that he will be killed (by Stannis anyway.) Though I do definitely think he will have a role to play with Asha in nullifying the Kingsmoot like Torgon Greyiron, the Latecomer. There is just no way Tris would have dropped that tidbit of highly applicable historical info while trying to seduce Asha if it was going to come to nothing. Then again, stuff like that happened in the TV series all the time but I doubt that will be the case in the books. GRRM is much more likely, I think, to never publish them at all rather than leave loose ends.

I agree with theories that there will be two Kingsmoots in the books and that the show chose to combine them. I think Theon will support his sister or she will support him. I honestly think that perhaps after all they have been through, Theon and Asha can finally experience a close familial relationship (which Theon has always yearned for) but which was never possible since they were separated from each other as children- and then were both competing for their father’s approval and trust as young adults. Now that Balon is dead, I really feel like Theon has the potential to find a true family with Asha as his true self- especially given the emotional reaction Asha had to seeing him again and witnessing what Ramsay did to him.

Now one thing I have always loved about Theon is how incredibly HUMAN his story is. It is intimate and focused on identity. And in the asoiaf world where people are seeking power or raising dragons or trying to save the world, it is refreshing that Theon’s story is focused on trying to discover how to be a person. How to keep one’s humanity in spite of how horrific the world is or the horrific actions one has undertaken themselves. There are beautiful themes of identity, redemption, and survival in his arc, but most notably, it does not revolve around magic the way other character’s plots have up to this point. 

However, I also think that it is undeniable that there is a magical element in Theon’s story as well. And I think the magical element surfaces when Theon is getting closer to his true self or facing the things he has done. When he is more entrenched in denial, the magical element of his story is suppressed. Yet during ACOK when feeling guilt over ordering the death of the boys, he has a green dream. And again, in ADWD, when he is reclaiming his name and his identity, Bran is able to make contact with him through the Heart Tree. And then again, when he is Stannis’ prisoner in the sample chapter of TWOW and he continually is speaking the truth and reclaiming his name- insisting that Stannis calls him Theon- Bran or Bloodraven are speaking on his behalf through the ravens, urging him to be brought to the heart tree. 

Now some people argue that Theon did not actually have a green dream in ACOK but I definitely think it was. I have quoted the entire section from ACOK under the cut, so you can decide for yourself. In it, Theon basically has a vision of the Red Wedding a book before it actually happens- In the dream, Robb and Grey Wind walk into a banquet all, bleeding from “half a hundred savage wounds.” Some have said that Theon’s dream wasn’t prophetic but more tied to his guilt but I disagree because there are the other people in it that Theon would have no reason to know about such as Lyanna. “The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna.” Theon would obviously have known about Lyanna but there is no way that he knew about her dying in a “bed of blood.” That is something that is only revealed in Ned’s memories. And Ned told everyone else that Lyanna died of a fever. So he is dreaming accurately about things that he wouldn’t know, which is why I believe this specific dream is a green dream as opposed to only guilt.

So to answer your question. I believe that Theon has to survive at least being a prisoner to Stannis because there is so much more that has been foreshadowed for him. There is the Ironborn plot and then there is also the fact that Bran is trying to contact Theon. I think that Bran is extremely important when it comes to the fight against the Others and the Long Night, so the fact that he is reaching out to Theon made me feel that Theon is also important to that aim in some way. That being said, the show made me doubt Bran (or Bloodraven’s) intentions with Theon- like is he just going to be offered as some sort of sacrifice? I sincerely hope not. 

Luckily, what gives me hope is Asha’s plan for invalidating the Kingsmoot and the idea that he still needs to defeat Euron... Plus EURON himself, unlike in the show, is an incredible force of potential dark magic to be reckoned with. And there is also the really incredible symbolism of the sea-reek with Theon- which I talked about briefly on my other blog here and which I think shows that he still has much to do with the Ironborn narrative. Invalidating the Kingsmoot seems like it would have to occur after whatever happens once Bran or Bloodraven get Theon to the Heart Tree so hopefully, that means they do not have any nefarious plans for Theon. And perhaps it also points to the fact that he is, for some reason, important in the coming battle against the Others. Perhaps because of how very human his arc has been up to this point? Some Theon fans have said that they think the idea of him becoming a huge hero of the series would almost cheapen his very human journey. And I do get that. But I think that he has already become a hero honestly and that his very humanity that he has worked so hard to find within himself may be a key to help against the long night. Or at least, that is what I would like.

Here is Theon’s Dream from A Clash of Kings:

That night he dreamed of the feast Ned Stark had thrown when King Robert came to Winterfell. The hall rang with music and laughter, though the cold winds were rising outside. At first it was all wine and roast meat, and Theon was making japes and eyeing the serving girls and having himself a fine time... until he noticed that the room was growing darker. The music did not seem so jolly then; he heard discords and strange silences, and notes that hung in the air bleeding. Suddenly the wine turned bitter in his mouth, and when he looked up from his cup he saw that he was dining with the dead.

King Robert sat with his guts spilling out on the table from the great gash in his belly, and Lord Eddard was headless beside him. Corpses lined the benches below, grey-brown flesh sloughing off their bones as they raised their cups to toast, worms crawling in and out of the holes that were their eyes. He knew them, every one; Jory Cassel and Fat Tom, Porther and Cayn and Hullen the master of horse, and all the others who had ridden south to King’s Landing never to return. Mikken and Chayle sat together, one dripping blood and the other water. Benfred Tallhart and his Wild Hares filled most of a table. The miller’s wife was there as well, and Farlen, even the wildling Theon had killed in the wolfswood the day he had saved Bran’s life.

But there were others with faces he had never known in life, faces he had seen only in stone. The slim, sad girl who wore a crown of pale blue roses and a white gown spattered with gore could only be Lyanna. Her brother Brandon stood beside her, and their father Lord Rickard just behind. Along the walls figures halfseen moved through the shadows, pale shades with long grim faces. The sight of them sent fear shivering through Theon sharp as a knife. And then the tall doors opened with a crash, and a freezing gale blew down the hall, and Robb came walking out of the night. Grey Wind stalked beside, eyes burning, and man and wolf alike bled from half a hundred savage wounds.

Theon woke with a scream, startling Wex so badly that the boy ran naked from the room.

~ A Clash of Kings, George R. R. Martin

[xspankinggoodkeeper]

tish & sally || it’s my party & i’ll die if i want to

@stitchedsally

After a rocky start in her search for decorations, the rest of the party had come together smoothly. Addams' manor was decked out in tasteful purple and black, with people spilling out the front and back doors. They'd invited everyone, of course, whether they knew Sally directly or not, and she suspected plenty of people just showed up to have a look at the house and its rather strange occupants. For once, Morticia’s characteristic black dress didn't stand out in a crowd and, for once, she didn't mind. This was Sally's night. Now, if she could only get that wayward skeleton to see things her way. She watched the dancing and mingling from the sidelines, sipping from a cocktail that was smoking faintly. "I hope you're enjoying yourself?" she inquired when someone drifted close enough to talk.

Sally couldn’t help but look around in awe at what her old friends had done for her to celebrate. There were people she knew, and others she didn’t, and she didn’t care either way. She couldn’t help but watch out of the corners of her eyes for glimpses of one particular person, and continued to chastise herself for it. Sipping on a drink similar to her friends, she slid up to her elbow with a small smile. “This is perfect, Morticia,” she smiled easily at her and raised her glass in a small toast.

"Only the best for our friends." Her smile actually touched her eyes, and she raised her glass briefly in reply before she took a sip. "He's here," she added nonchalantly, but there was a thread of something else in it. Jack Skellington could be stubborn and difficult, but he wouldn't dare cross her on something like this. If he missed Sally's birthday, she would feed him to her carnivorous plant.

Sally sputtered lightly on her drink before clearing her throat and draining more of it. To her credit, she didn’t try to prevaricate and simply shrugged. “He’s busy, Tish, and that’s okay.” She was used to her world revolving more around him than his did around her, and was entirely okay with it.

Morticia sipped her drink and pretended she didn't notice. "The only business he has at your birthday party is catering to your every whim," she said coolly. She and Jack didn't see eye to eye on how to treat the woman he loved. That he hadn't yet admitted he loved Sally was totally irrelevant to her.

Sally shook her head slowly and sipped on her drink. “No, Tish, he has other things to do,” she sighed softly, not ever thinking she really deserved his time or attention, especially when he seemed like he would much rather expend his attention in other places.

"We'll see about that," she murmured. She had plans for Jack Skellington tonight, and they didn't involve him skulking on the sidelines. "Are you enjoying yourself so far?"

Sally didn’t even try to protest Tish’s machinations, knowing it wouldn’t do any good and absolutely loving the woman for it. “Of course! Everything is perfect,” she was very quick with the answer. “I’m really excited to see how people handle midnight,” she chuckled.

Few people could stand in the way of Morticia getting what she wanted, but Jack was, apparently, one of those stubborn few. She'd wear him down eventually. "Not long now," she noted with a sly smile and a glance at the clock. "Of course we had to include some mischief in the celebration, or it wouldn't be right. I sent the children to round up any guests who might have wandered." Technically, with one exception, they weren't children anymore, but they were still her children.

Sally let out a happy laugh, “I don’t think it would be a proper party for any of us without some. Hopefully Wednesday doesn’t scare any of the new ones to their death.” She wouldn’t mind, so much, outside of the potential mess and strange attachment people had to the term ‘life’ in Fableton.

"She does have a gift." Morticia let out a happy sigh. Since they were both well aware that death wasn't the end of existence, they tended not to think of it the same way as most people. "Do you have your partner for the scavenger hunt?"

“She does, and normally I wouldn’t mind.” After all, she had two (she wished for three) she tried to wrangle herself, even if they weren’t actually hers. She frowned as she thought about it, “No, I got caught up in meeting people and entirely forgot.”

"Are your trick 'r treaters here to celebrate?" She didn't remember seeing them about, but there were a lot of people and she'd been busy playing hostess. "An easy fix," she hummed, searching the crowd for a familiar skeleton king. As if she hadn’t been planning that from the moment they devised a scavenger hunt.

“I’m sure at least Shock is around here somewhere,” she hoped with a shrug. She hadn’t seen Lock in a while, and Barrel in frighteningly longer yet. Her eyebrow lifted at her, “Is it?” She had a sinking but hopeful feeling about what her dear friend was up to.

"Causing mischief, I hope." She smiled. She'd heard stories. "Bien sûr, ma cherie. I can fix it right now, if you like." Her smile widened as she caught sight of Jack in the crowd.

“Most definitely. I doubt Shock is capable of anything but,” she laughed and nodded in agreement. “Oh! Alright then,” she nodded in agreement, knowing there was no use in arguing with Morticia and whatever scheme she was working on.

"Those are the best people." Tish wasn't used to people resisting her plots, and Sally didn't let her down. Jack, on the other hand, could be difficult. She made her way through the crowd to him. "Jack, I hope you're free to partner Sally for the scavenger hunt. We wouldn't want to disappoint out birthday girl." Her voice was smooth as silk, but her look dared him to defy her.

[decimadragonoid]

* Let's read a story. * Yaaaay! Story time! ======== (EDIT, 12/4: Grammatical fixes to the contract were made.) ======== You've always known the world was a messed up place, especially considering the crime rate had recently skyrocketed in this city. And it surely doesn't help that the police are being overrun with thieves, thugs, and assaulters. You just walked into a nightmare with no hint of escape, almost comparably the same as when Alice stumbled into Wonderland and had no idea what she gotten into. Your life continues to flash before your eyes as you run into a seemingly abandoned apartment complex. No voices can be heard from the inside. Either that, or the heavy rain was somehow muffling any other source of human sounds and cues. You figure you have a second or two to breathe, but as you try to ponder on the idea of what to do next... 'There they are! They're headin' into that building!' a voice could be heard from the alleyway close by. A trio of thugs you barely managed to trick off your tail quickly find you about to run inside the complex. One of the thugs direct a bullet from his pistol at you, but due to the distance between you and the group, the bullet barely makes it to graze you. You run inside the complex and don't bother to pay attention to the condition of the inside; the green-lime wallpapers had seen better days and tore apart at the seams, the cracked lightbulbs continuously flicker on and off, dangling for dear life, some doors are unhinged, rusted, and battered like there were endless streams of commotions occurring in each unit, and yet the supports and insulation are luckily stable despite their terrible condition. From what you're gathering so far, the abandoned complex you ran into consists of three floors, but with the state of the rooms, you can't seem to find a half-decent hiding spot. 'Stop running, you little shit!' one of the thugs angrily yelled across the hall. You made it to the stairs. However, given the condition of the stairs, you feel as though they could break down any minute now. You don't care anyway and take two steps per one lift of your legs without taking into account that one or two steps collapsed behind your back. Although it managed to slow down the thugs for enough time for you to get away to the third floor, you still feel unsafe. It comes to a point where you just take cover in a nearby unit where the door was left slightly ajar. You don't bother to take a look around the room and take cover behind one of the couches. The couch you hid behind was next to a broken window pane where droplets of rain and tempestuous gusts trickled their way past the gaping hole through the glass. Just as the lightbulbs in the preceding floors did, the bulbs above continue to flicker on and off, even to the point of sparks flying. You try to keep quiet for a few minutes until the thugs decide to give up and leave. But unfortunately, their presence lingers behind your back as they split up to search the perimeter. 'Scope the place.' the leader ordered, 'They couldna gone too far.' 'Bitch, lookin' fer one kid in this fucked up place is like friggin' findin' a needle in a haystack.' 'Shut the fuck up and keep lookin' before I beat yo' ass!' The leader was livid, red in the face like someone who was about to blow steam after regretfully taking a bet to eat an entire habanero chili pepper in one bite. 'Fuckin' little shit, thinkin' you could get away with pullin' our fuckin' leg, skippin' y'ur debts...! Can't let 'cha play me no more.' Suddenly, a shot from nowhere could be heard. The acrid scent of a shot bullet permeates the room, particularly in your direction - east corner where the broken window pane is. The boss is down permanently. 'Boss??' one of the thugs look behind him and see his leader drowning in a pool of his own blood. 'BOSS!!!' 'Hey! Who the fuck did that?!' 'Wassup, gentlemen?' a wisecracking voice sounds from the west corner of the room, 'Ya got an appointment with me?' 'No way... That voice!' 'Breakin' into my crib unannounced ain't very nice, y'know, especially since I don't play that shit with burglars like you.' Before the last two thugs can make out who the shooter was, their lives flash for one last time as they fall to the ground, their foreheads transfixed by two bullets. The acrid scent of gunshots still won't go away, but you're slightly relieved that the trio won't bother you anymore. However, there's still that unknown shooter to deal with. You hope he hasn't noticed you yet, and that he'll leave to scope the place out for any stragglers affiliated with the thugs who chased you in here. However, no footsteps can be heard. Even more so, your slight moment of relief has ended. 'That's about 93 confirmed kills.' the voice calls, and then a small silence fills the room. 'And, uh... you?' the voice calls again. You tense up almost immediately and barely make it to utter a sound of confirmation, 'Y-yeah?' 'Yeah, you. Get over here.' the wisecracking voice beckons. You can barely get your legs to move, but somehow you're able to get past your temporary paralysis and stand up from behind the couch next to the broken window pane. You try to slide your left leg in the direction of the door, but the voice apparently quickly takes notice. 'Up-up-up-up-up-up-up. Not left, Jackie Robinson. Straight. This ain't Brooklyn. Y'get me? S-T-R-A-I-G-H-T. Straight.' You don't know whether the voice is trying to beckon or prank you, but you decide to cooperate with the supposed wisecracking individual for now and walk straight to the table. Surprisingly, despite the dim lighting, electric sparks, and torn wallpapers, you can see a firm desk in the west corner of the room, which is ironically nicely kept. Not only that, but the knick-knacks, collectibles and papers are neatly organized. You notice a pencil holder with several mechanical pencils, two broken Ticonderoga pencils and an indigo-colored Gameboy Color with a Pokémon Crystal cartridge inside. The porcelain coffee mug with the crossed-out text '#1 Daddy' replaced with 'Killa' is still mostly full. You also find a Pikachu Nendoroid figure standing on top of a Master Ball, both of which were kept properly and showed no signs of wear or tear. Sitting behind the table on a black leather rolling chair is an interestingly built man wearing a fedora with two small decorative feathers wrapped behind a bow ribbon colored similarly to the German flag. He wears a harness behind his back holding two dual Japanese katanas with black hilts, both of which are carefully wrapped behind his black trenchcoat, charcoal-colored vest, light gray wool sweater, black turtleneck, and cashmere plaid scarf. The wraps from his trenchcoat dangle across the table. Below the thick brown workbench table, you notice a utility belt with a buckle colored like his red spandex mask with the black and white eye meshes, probably wrapped around his coat and vest to keep the bottoms of his sweaters from peeking out and covering his red spandex tights and knee-high motorcycle boots. 'Got an appointment with me or somethin'?' the man asks. 'N-no...' you reply, 'I was just trying to get away from those three men you shot.' 'They got a beef with ya?' 'Just some debt I could never hope to pay off.' 'What, from these lowlives? They always come traipsin' around this place. You just brought along the last of 'em.' You feel like this man isn't as bad as you previously made him out to be, but you decide you really have to go back home now. 'Well, thanks for helping me. But I should really get going now.' you say to the masked man. You stand back up and head out the door, but before you can reach the hallway, the masked man takes on a more serious tone of expression. 'What? So that's it?' he says in a colder tone, 'I come to your rescue, and you're already leaving? You just walked right into the lion's den, thinkin' you could leave just like that?' The air intensifies as you watch the man lift up a Wild West revolver in his right hand, three shots still ready and waiting to protrude through human flesh. And knowing the current situation, you might be next. 'Y'know, people usually piss their pants when they see a man in sexy red tights and a trenchcoat. Once they get a look at me, the guns, and my swords, they know shit's gonna get real, fast.' he continues, 'Matter of fact, I got about 87 reasons to slice you up and fill ya with holes. Who knows? Maybe my kill count will reach 180.' You try to aim for the door, but your body is frozen solid with fear. Now, a sense of dread and hopelessness encompasses you as you finally give up and think of one final thought, 'If it's gonna happen, just do it.' As you finish your thought, you shut your eyes and wait for the man to pull the trigger. A fourth shot echoes throughout the room. But strangely, you don't feel any impact from the revolver. You slightly open your eyes to find that the man didn't shoot the fourth bullet at all, but rather made a realistic gunshot sound similar to how Tarzan pointed a shotgun at Clayton and made a perfect gunshot sound before throwing it away. But why? Why didn't he shoot you for intruding his space? A small chuckle slips from the man's mask as he bursts out laughing. 'Pffffttt...!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! What, didja seriously think I was gonna go all bam-bam on your ass??!' he laughs and snorts, 'Aww, man! You shoulda seen the look on your face!' You get the feeling this wisecracking masked man is a nutcase, but he doesn't bear any ill will toward you. 'But... why? Is this some kinda--' 'Ehh, don't sweat it, kid! Trust me, I know every face on these streets. Danger lurks around every corner and the police doesn't do jackshit to keep things in order. They half-ass it 100% of the time.' 'W-well... Just who are you anyway?' you blurt out in the heat of the moment. 'Hehehe... Well, if ya really wanna know...' he directs his left hand towards the seat you just stood up from to get ready to leave. 'Sit down. Take a load-off.' You decide to stay for a bit longer to hear the masked man's story. Everything continues to happen all at once like a bad acid trip. 'Name's Deadpool. Detective. Deadpool...' he says, 'Or, if you prefer... just Deadpool will do.' The masked man introduces himself as Deadpool and proceeds to give a small introductory speech. 'Like I said, the police half-ass their job dealin' with crime and all that shit, so I'm the one who deals with bad guys who slip under their radar.' 'So wait... You're, like... a mercenary?' you ask Deadpool curiously. 'Part merc, part detective.' Deadpool replies, 'I'm what you call "The Merc with a Mouth."' Suddenly, it hits you. You've heard of this nickname before. A lot of kids at your school often tell stories about how they spotted the 'Merc with a Mouth' on the streets running after criminals and killing them in the shadows. 'So... you mean to say--' you begin your thought, which Deadpool quickly ceases. 'Ah-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de-de.' Deadpool quickly stops you from finishing your next question, 'Lemme stop you right there, kid. I ain't a hero.' The way he shushed you mid-question gives you the impression that he's a good mind reader. You decide to carry on with your next thought. 'But... y-you protected me, didn't you?' 'True. But the bottom line is, I’m a bad guy myself. A vigilante would be the politically correct term. And frankly, you shouldn’t trust a word I say.' Deadpool states realistically. But as much of a realist he was, the next comment he was about to make was about to bathe him in a less dim light than most villains in reality and fiction these days, 'But... let's just say there's a loophole of sorts. I think we can understand each other when I say, I’m just a bad guy who fucks up worse guys.' 'However...' He quickly smacks his lips, hidden inside the red matte texture of his mask, 'We ain’t got time to mince words. It’d be stupid to bore you with a friggin’ long ass backstory. That ain’t the reason you’re here. By that look on your face, you’ve seen a whole lotta shit you can’t un-see. And honestly, to think you of all people just found me by chance... I’m actually kinda flattered.' After finishing his last sentence, Deadpool grabs a shoddily-made paper plaque drawn in crayon, which reads 'The Badass Sexy Motherf#king Private Detective Out for Blood and Guts, P.D. Deadpool.' He also grabs a piece of paper, neatly places it on his desk and turns it towards you to read carefully. It looks to be a contract of sorts, stating the benefits of his services, as well as his boundaries. You read the contract carefully while Deadpool eyes you mischievously. The contract reads... 'Upon feasting your eyes on the sexy and immortal merc with a mouth, you understand that he will not take any responsibility for any vigilante activity he might cause while on the case. Who needs the fuzz anyway when you got swords, guns, and combo moves like Ryu from Street Fighter? And you wonder why the man standing before you didn't make it into Super Smash Bros... He would've ran up to Daddy Sakurai's door pleading with tears flowing down his red spandex mask until he at least made a Mii outfit for him rather than giving him an original moveset.' 'By signing this short and sweet contract, you recognize that this world is f#ked up and needs to be turned the hell upside down. Whatever trouble ails you in this town, the all-seeing eyes of the merc will see to it that the worse guys suffer greatly, for their judgment is nigh.' 

  You can't tell if there was a small grammatical mistake or two in the contract, but overall, it looks professional. You don't know what to think. You've always tried to stay out of trouble ever since leaving home to pursue a better life in the city, but things have obviously gone south long before you set foot on the merc's turf. Although, part of yourself feels like you could use an extra set of eyes. Perhaps a little help from the shadows is exactly what you need. And so, you decide to discuss with Deadpool the dangers that have creeped up on your back. And no one else will know but the two of you. 'So, kid... What can your good ol’ pal Deadpool do for you today?' ======== * Nice! Beautiful. Maximum effort. Seltzer water and lemon for blood. Etc. Etc. Etc. Just. Lovely! This is the potential start of a random skit and/or askbox series! This'll probably the only piece that turns out to be extremely unhinged. Or maybe not. Who knows? But I'd really like to turn these random Deadpool doodles into a skit and/or askbox series. So, if you want to give any questions or comments to the merc, feel free to leave some. I'll also flesh out some skits on occasion. Fun, fun, fun! I'm never gonna get sick of Deadpool now! First cosplay, now this! I'm so excited! ======== Deadpool © Marvel, Fabian Nicieza, Rob Litfield

[distant-rose]

Hey so, care to share any of the mood boards and /or playlists that I'm 99% sure you have your your next gen marvel universe?

Okay, I know you sent this like yesterday morning, but you’re asking for me to share a piece of a universe that @justanotherwannabeclassic​ and I have been developing since…July? Which is insane but I made my first post about our Earth-6828 universe on the 26th July 2019. We have an estimated ninety-three characters for this universe that categorized as a next generation or involved in the next generation narrative. Ninety-three characters. Nine. Three. It’s insane. WE’RE INSANE. We created an entire universe over the course of a half year.

Anyway, with that many characters, I don’t think it’s possible to share everything on the internet involving them. So, I’m gonna focus on the OG team - the Daughters of Liberty. They’re the catalyst for Earth-6828 universe and they’re eleven women from different backgrounds and skill sets. We deliberately made a all-female team that’s diverse and we really have fun playing with them. So I’ll share some mood boards and playlists that I made for them.

NOTE: Please note that when I make playlists, I’m a weirdo with very specific rules. I make playlists made of songs sung by the genre of music I think the character would listen to, in the gender they identify with and I only do one song per artist. So, a character like Bekka who likes old school country and jazz, she’s a big fan of Duke Ellington and Miles Davis and Wendy Nguyen who is folksy really likes the Lumineers and the Mountain Goats but neither of those artists are featured on those lists because both characters are female and I like to think of the songs as being from their perspective. It’s really weird but I feel the need to make the disclosure.

I’m gonna put this under the cut because this is gonna be LOOOOONG. Also, if you’re interested in other characters and nuances of the universe, you’re also welcome to hit up not just me but also Shea because she’s done some amazing work too.

Valeria “Val” Richards

Val Richards is an Earth-616 canon character and the daughter of Reed Richards (Mr. Fantastic) and Susan Storm (Invisible Woman). She’s the smartest woman in the world and holds more degrees than she knows what to do with. She’s constantly working on a new degree and really hates the amount of condescension she gets sometimes from people who don’t believe how smart she is and underestimate her. It’s half the reason she’s involved with the team - she wanted to show that she and the women she works with shouldn’t be underestimated. She’s the team coordinator and is the most tech savvy. She’s known for drinking her weight in coffee, listening to Led Zeppelin on full blast and always having her hands in one project or another. She has a habit of never going to bed because she’s constantly involving herself in a project and because she’s constantly blasting music, her hearing isn’t always the best. She constantly has people repeat things since she often can’t hear them. Though she’s not involved with the family business, she’s got a great relationship with her parents and especially her brother, Franklin, who is without a doubt her hero. She’s a part of the LONGEST slowburn I’ve ever written and it took SIX YEARS for her and the team empath Wendy to get together. 

Val’s Playlist: Classic and Hard Rock, this is the type of music that Val generally listens to when she’s in the lab. It features Lita Ford, Pat Benator, Joan Jett and The Pretty Reckless. I think shows a lot of her attitude and some of her anger.

Eleanor “El” Rogers

El Rogers is an Earth-85826 canon character and the daughter of Steve Rogers (Captain America) and Sharon Carter (Agent 13). She is a professionally trained spy and is a specialist in various forms of combat. Though she offered the mantle of Captain America to Dani Cage, she is very proud of her father’s legacy and sometimes nags Dani on how she should handle things, which sometimes leads to some contention between the two. Prior to the starting the Daughters of Liberty with Val Richards, she was a SHIELD agent and often known as “Espionage Barbie.” Growing up in the spotlight, she’s a gifted and knowledgeable public relations specialist and has more than a few headaches trying to manage this team and the array of personalities she deals with. Despite her PR skills, she’s naturally more introverted and prefers to spend her time with her close friends and working on her art. Though she’s more like her mother, she did inherit Steve’s sense of justice and morals while also keeping questionable company seeing that she often finds herself in some morally grey company, namely a couple of rebellious Southern mutants and three SHIELD trained professional killers. Most people often see El as perfect but she is riddled with anxiety and constantly beats herself up for not living up to people’s expectations. Before her father’s death, she was seen as very upbeat and friendly, but has been much more subdued and even more argumentative. She’s incredibly stubborn, which often gets her into epic fights with Dani and Meredith, as well as the leaders of the Avengers (Sonny Stark) and X-Men (Olivier LeBeau).

El’s Playlist: El is very much a pop music kinda girl, but her playlist comes with a bit of a twist of her anxieties, depression and desires to live up to that expectations that have been put on her. It features Taylor Swift, Elle King, Demi Lovato and Ruelle.

Danielle “Dani” Cage

Dani Cage is an Earth-616 canon character and the daughter of Luke Cage (Power Man) and Jessica Jones (Jewel). She’s the current Captain America and it’s a job she’s very ambivalent about because as much as she is honored by being bestowed the title, it comes with a lot of pressure and criticism which Dani is not great with. Due to her super strength and invulnerability, she rarely uses the iconic Captain America shield which is one of the many things she gets criticized for by El. Like her parents, Dani is tough as nails, a little rough around the edges and swears like it was its her job. Despite her short fuse, Dani has the biggest heart of them all and tends to come from a place of compassion rather than a place of judgment. This doesn’t stop her from being one of the sassiest members of the Daughters of Liberty however. When she’s not shouldering her duties as Captain America, Dani is working out her frustrations in the gym through boxing and acting as a volunteer for the Harlem Boys and Girls’ Club. Dani is a creature of habit. She goes to the same gym that she’s gone to since she was a little girl despite having a gym in HQ, she eats the same thing for breakfast and orders the same thing whenever she goes out for dinner. Her teammates often make fun of her because of this habit, but with all the stress in her life, she clings to these habits as a source of comfort and normalcy. Dani is best friends and incredibly close to Lucy Rand, who is about 85% of her impulse control. Sometimes the only thing keeping Dani from punching out her teammates and the occasional reporter is Lucy.

Dani’s Playlist: Her playlist is the perfect workout playlist because it’s intense and high energy R&B, Hip-Hop and Rap songs. It’s an ode to black excellence and being unapologetically awesome. It features Beyonce, Cardi B, Lizzo and Salt-N-Pepa.

Lucy Rand

Lucy Rand is an Earth-21722 canon character and the daughter of Danny Rand (Iron Fist) and Misty Knight. She’s a highly skilled martial artist and gifted detective. While Val might be the most intelligent person in the world, Lucy is skilled at picking up social and culture nuances quickly and reading people despite not having empathy and psychic abilities. Despite having great tragedy in her life and losing her parents at a young age, she’s a very positive person who tends to do her best to make any difficult situation manageable. Lucy’s anger rarely comes out but when it does, it usually is when people disregard the sacrifice her parents made. Though privately, she’s very upset with them for not being there for the major events in her life and though Luke Cage and Jessica Jones had a big hand in raising her, they are not her parents. She has a permanent job at handling Dani’s short fuse but she wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. Like Dani, Lucy is very involved the community, but she has a lot of other outlets including knitting hats and managing the Instagram of her favorite little gremlin - her hairless cat Dobby. Lucy is the type of person who tends to put the focus on everyone but herself, something that the team does their best to curb. Very rarely is Lucy in any photos, mainly because she’s normally the one taking them. While she’s not field commander like Dani and El, she’s certainly the team negotiator when it comes to arguments. Needless to say with the amount of big personalities on the team, there is a fair share of fights she needs to break up and while Dani might be her best friend, Lucy’s most trusted companion is her jumbo sized bottle of migraine reliever pills. 

Lucy’s Playlist: Like Dani’s playlist, Lucy’s playlist features a lot of black excellence, but completely genre. Like Lucy herself, it’s a playlist with a lot of Soul and with a focus on fluidity rather than high energy. It features Aretha Franklin, Nina Simone, Whitney Houston and Ari Lennox.

Rebecca “Bekka” LeBeau

Bekka LeBeau is an Earth-41001 canon character and the daughter of Remy LeBeau (Gambit) and Anna-Marie LeBeau (Rogue). She inherited her father’s kinetic manipulation and her mother’s enhanced durability and flight. A complete Daddy’s Girl, she’s an incredibly gifted thief and has a penchant for using her abilities to blow shit up. However, instead of using playing cards, Bekka’s weapon of choice is…random objects from the dollar store? Don’t be surprised to see this chick throws weaponized plastic army men or marbles at your face. Despite her charisma, revolving door of men and natural extroversion, Bekka rarely opens up to people nor does she let people get close to her. This is a result of a very traumatic event in her childhood that completely changed both of her and older brother’s lives and caused her mutation to develop early at the age of eight. Due to this, she often suffers from nightmares and can be seen putting her absurdly gifted baking skills to work in the middle of the night. She’s the unofficial chef of the team and has introduced the team to a lot of Cajun cuisine. She’s a proud New Orleans girl and prepared to stomp your Southern stereotypes out of you. A running gag with Bekka is that despite being a very observant person, she is a penchant for refusing to see what’s right in front of her if she doesn’t want to see it such as her brother and best friend hooking up or that a certain ginger SHIELD agent is madly in love with her.

Bekka’s Playlist: Like Bekka herself, her playlist is a mixture of old school, new old and a little bit of subtle darkness. It has a mixture of Old School jazz, Classic Country and Southern Rock. It features Billie Holiday, Delta Rae, Dolly Parton and Gin Wigmore.

May “Mayday” Parker

Mayday Parker is an Earth-982 canon character and the daughter of Peter Parker (Spider-Man) and Mary Jane Watson. She inherited Peter’s enhanced physiology and wall-crawling abilities. While Mayday has her father’s intelligence, smart mouth and penchant for science, she’s more of an athlete than a nerd. She’s an avid lover of basketball and even played two years of Division Three basketball at Empire State University. She is a very frustrated New York Knicks and New York Mets fan and is often antagonized by Dani Cage, who has a tendency to be a very obnoxious Yankees fan. Though Mayday has a spot on the Daughters of Liberty team and often works outside the team as a research chemist, she has struggled with her identity since she stopped playing basketball. While she is currently Spider-Girl, she always views it more as her continuing her father’s work rather it being her own thing. Despite being incredibly bright and formidable fighter, Mayday also struggles with a lack of confidence and anxiety. She is often makes sarcastic jokes and often at her own expense. Mayday is loyal friend and often agonizes over the fact her superhero duties sometimes make her break her promises to her friends and family. However, she’s found a good support system in her girlfriend Nancy Lu, a telekinetic member of the X-Men and in her mentor, Val Richards. Though she is seven years older, Mayday often mothers her younger sister Annie, whom she sees as reckless and impulsive.

Mayday’s Playlist: This playlist is a mixture of Alternative and Rock music. It has a lot of songs that deal with self-esteem and discovering who are you is enough. It features Paramore, Avril Lavigne, Halsey and P!nk.

Anne “Annie” Parker 

Annie Parker is Earth-18119 canon character and the daughter of Peter Parker (Spider-Man) and Mary Jane Watson. Like her sister, she inherited her father’s enhanced physiology and wall-crawling abilities but that’s where their similarities end. Like her mother, Annie is an incredibly outgoing personality. With her love for pink, glitter and partying, most people look at Annie and think of her nothing more than an empty-headed party girl who does stupid shit and has nothing to add to the conversation. Wrong! Annie has one of the world’s highest IQs and is usually the smartest person in the room. She’s gifted in both sciences and mathematics. At the start of the story, she’s a student at Empire State University and is pursuing two degrees in Mathematics and Physics. She’s got an endemic memory which helps her manage her schoolwork, hero work and social life. Annie wasn’t initially invited to be a part of the team, but Mayday convinced Val and El to bring her on in hopes of curbing Annie’s partying. She’s a bit of hedonist and often does things to an excess. Since she was a child, Annie has been known for her bubbly attitude and infectiously positive attitude. This was developed at a young age as she rarely saw her older sister happy (not understanding that her sister suffered from depression and anxiety) and she made it her personal mission to make Mayday smile. Annie is a fearless girl with a big heart who doesn’t often think before putting herself in harm’s way, which unknowing stresses out her older sister more.

Annie’s Playlist: This playlist features a lot of Pop, Hip-Hop and Dance music. It’s high energy, upbeat and makes you just want to have a good time. Honestly, a good chunk of these songs have featured on RuPaul’s Drag Race as Lip Sync for your life songs. (Annie is a massive RuPaul fan). It features Arianna Grande, Britney Spears, Rihanna and Tove Lo.

Meredith “Mere” Pryde

Meredith Pryde is an Earth-41001 canon character and the daughter of Piotr Rasputin (Colossus) and Kitty Pryde (Shadow Cat). She inherited her mother’s phasing power, tech skills and ability to make epic callouts. She inherited almost nothing from her father, whom she doesn’t really remember since he died when she was young. She was raised mainly by her mother and her aunt Illyana Rasputin. Meredith joined the Daughters of Liberty so she didn’t have to deal with her brother Cameron second-guessing all of her choices and telling her to calm down. When Meredith sees injustice, she does her best to correct the situation and she doesn’t care who she has to call out. When she’s not doing work for the Daughters of Liberty, Meredith is active activist who is involved in various projects but especially on mutants’ rights. She attends and supports every march she can and her instagram is full of all her favorite protest and march signs that she sees. Aside from being involved in activism, Meredith’s second favorite activity is trolling her teammates, especially those who tend to be nonplussed about things. She’s notorious for her pranks and for playfully flirting with her teammates’ siblings to make them uncomfortable, namely Bekka. While she’s a notorious flirt, she has no interest in relationships and will punch you in the face if you ask her if she has a boyfriend or girlfriend. Though she is involved with the Daughters of Liberty and various movements, Meredith often suffers from loneliness because she doesn’t have a lot of time for herself and fostering her friendships. She’s every girl’s friend, but no one’s best friend. 

Meredith’s Playlist: This playlist highlights Meredith’s confidence and unapologetic nature. She is who she is, and you can take it or leave it. It’s an eclectic list which has mixture of Pop Rock, Pop, Alternative and R&B music. It features Superchick, Billie Eilish, Lily Allen and Icona Pop.

Wendy Nguyen

Wendy Nguyen is a character Shea and I made up, she is not related to anyone. Shocker. She’s a licensed therapist who often treats other superheroes and was actually assigned to El Rogers after the death of her father. She is an empath who is capable of sensing people’s emotions and when she touches them, she gets not only your emotions but your thoughts and even your memories. Her senses are incredibly strong and she often cannot be in the same room when someone is feeling things a bit too strongly, particularly her teammate Maya Ayala during the team’s first year together. Because she feels people’s emotions so strongly, Wendy is often confused whose emotions she is feeling - hers or someone else’s. This is one of the reasons it took her so long for her to admit her feelings for Val. Wendy is often seen as a quiet and thoughtful person who does her best to make her teammates confront their feelings for both her sake and theirs. She has an affinity for tea and has the world’s most absurd tea cabinet which is filled with tea from all over the world from her many travels. She also as an affinity for butterflies, which she views as being similar to human emotions - intense, sometimes beautiful but fleeting and fragile. Wendy often wears gloves to keep herself from accidentally touching others and taking their thoughts and memories without their permission. The ethics of her ability sometimes is a struggle for her since while they allow her to be good at job, however she feels them without control or consent from others. She rarely goes out with her friends in public areas mainly because being around so many people who are feeling a variety emotions is too much for her and causes her to have splitting headaches.

Wendy’s Playlist: Best described as folksy and acoustic. Wendy prefers most chilled out music because feeling others’ emotions can be very overwhelming. However, there’s a range of emotion here because she feels a lot. It features Of Monsters and Men, Regina Spektor, Jolie Holland and Hannah Connelly.

Yasmin “Yas” Khan

Yasmin Khan is a character Shea and I made up, she’s the niece of Kamala Khan (Miss Marvel). Like her aunt, Yasmin has Inhuman heritage alongside holding Pakistani and African heritages from her parents, Aamir and Tyesha. She was exposed to the Terrigen Mists and gained abilities similar to her father in which she can create psychic force fields, however she also has telekinesis and touch-telepathy. Yasmin is a practicing Muslim and while most of the women don’t wear hijabs nor expect her to wear one, she often feels to try and normalize Muslim practices in a society that is suspicious and often hateful towards her culture. She likes to joke that it covers up her bad hair days. Yasmin loves fashion and color, and though she is often the most modest wearing person in the room, she is definitely the most colorful and enjoys outrageous patterns. She is a big lover of pop culture and can often be seen playing Pokemon Go and watching shows on Crunchy Roll on her phone. She has a massive sweet tooth and can be seen in the kitchens watching Bekka bake in hopes of being allowed to have a bite. Though she doesn’t drink, she is best friends with Annie and often accompanies her on nights out and makes sure her friend doesn’t get into any trouble. Yasmin is one of the few people who isn’t out with her personal identity and this is mainly due to her fear of people hurting her family due to the rampant Muslim prejudice in the United States. As one of the youngest members of the team, her teammates are incredibly protective of her and have actually a designated plan ready to cheer her up if they ever see Yasmin is upset, which is called Operation: Yas Smiles. 

Yas’s Playlist: Like Meredith, Yap’s playlist is very colorful and has a diverse range of generics from R&B to Soul and Rap. It has a range of emotions since while Yas is a very cheerful person and absolute sweetheart, there’s some anger there at how she and other Muslims are treated. It features Mona Haydar, SassyBlack, Daya and Azealia Banks.

Maya Ayala

Maya Ayala is a character Shea and I made up, she’s the daughter of Hector Ayala (White Tiger) and the niece of Ava Ayala (White Tiger). Nothing happy ever happens to the Ayala family and unfortunately that saga continues with Maya, who witnessed her entire family and boyfriend being murdered in front of her during a shoot out in the Bronx. She took up the mantle of White Tiger and has been on a search to find their murderer. Before becoming the current incarnation of the White Tiger, Maya was a former competitive gymnast who was almost on the United States Olympic team and was working as a gymnastics coach. However, since the incident, she’s put all of her energy into getting revenge for her family and joined the Daughters of Liberty to honor her aunt and to use her resources to get justice. While her focus is on revenge, her greatest desire is to see her family and her boyfriend again. At the beginning, she kept herself from her teammates because she didn’t want to get attached, but after awhile, she became very close with Wendy, Val, Dani and Lucy. Maya has a secret love for telenovelas which she tries to keep quiet because she’s afraid of being seen as stereotypical. Despite this, she’s very proud Latina and gets pissed off when people write her off as “Mexican” or “foreign,” especially since her family hails from Puerto Rico and she’s just as American as anyone else. However, occasionally she does share her culture with the others, and occasionally makes arroz con gandules and pollo guisado with Bekka for the team. 

Maya’s Playlist: This is list is a mixture of Latin Pop, Alternative and R&B. It holds a mixture of Maya before the loss of her family and after. A lot of the latin pop are from gymnastic routines she would create. However, there’s also a lot of anger and sadness here, which is understandable. It features Audri Nix, Ciara, Lana Del Rey and Skylar Grey.

[noncomsociety]

Non-community core tags and the meanings behind them ♡

Please do not reblog this! This is a post that will be continuously updating! Sharing the link to this post is fine.

(Some tags are finished yet but I really wanted to post it)

Kidcore - Kidcore is a aesthetic that started in 2010 about primary colors, nostalgia, and childhood. It’s like a memory tag. It is usually filled with bright colors, icons from the 90s, and popular toys such as beanie babies and webkins etc. The aesthetic started as a fashion that involved adults wearing bold primary colors and other childlike aesthetics as children had. Other names of this tag: Kiddiecore and Kidwave

Babycore - Babycore is an aesthetic that was about primary colors, nostalgia, and babyhood. The aesthetic started as a fashion that involved adults wearing bold primary colors and other baby-like aesthetics as babies had. This tags later evolved into its own tag separate from kidcore. Babycore is now a tag that is centered around infantile comfort items, nurseries, toys, and infantile looking wear.

Toddlercore - Toddlercore is an aesthetic that was about primary colors, nostalgia, and being in the toddler stage. The aesthetic started as a fashion that involved adults wearing bold primary colors and other toddler aesthetics as toddlers had. This tag later evolved into its own tag separate from kidcore and babycore. Toddlercore is now a tag that is centered around toddler essentials, comfort items, toys, clothing wear, and activities.

Toycore - Toycore is a tag that started out as a tag for toys seen in the 80’s and 90’s. Most of these toys were brightly colored. An example of popular toys under this tag are furbies and my little pony. Now this tag is for all toys but especially for toys that give the majority of users a feeling of nostalgia. Other names of this tag: Toywave

Rainbowcore - Rainbowcore is a tag for the aesthetic, items, makeup, and fashion that are filled with colors of the rainbow! This tag has nothing to do with being LGBT+ but those that are are welcomed to use the tag!

Primarycore - Primarycore is a tag for the aesthetic, items, makeup, and fashion that are filled with colors red, yellow, and blue!

Clowncore - Clowncore is a tag for the aesthetic, items, makeup, and fashion of clowns! It’s key colors are primary colors and colors of the rainbow. Clowncore is most commonly on the happy side of things rather than it being related to horror clowns it gets its inspiration for kid friendly circus clowns and cute antique figures and dolls and plush clowns. Other names of this tag: Circuscore

Spacecore - Spacecore is an aesthetic based around space! Everything in the universe beyond the top of the Earth’s atmosphere – the Moon, where the GPS satellites orbit, Mars, other stars, the Milky Way, black holes, distant quasars, and what’s between planets, moons, stars, etc. Common things seen in this tag are planets, astronauts, and rockets.

Lovecore - Lovecore is an aesthetic based on the visual culture of manufactured romance & affection. Lovecore is also a tag that corresponds to Valentine’s Day. Popular motifs seen in this tag include hearts, boxes of chocolate, lipstick, lingerie, love letters, vintage/romantic movies, cupid, angels, and the colours red and pink. Other names of this tag: Cupidcore, Heartcore, Crushcore

Medcore -

Animecore - Animecore is an aesthetic revolving around the visual culture of Japanese anime and manga.

Webcore - Webcore is an aesthetic utilising traditional web design elements combined with aspects of poetry and self-expression. This also includes GIFs, video games, and clip-art. This aesthetic mainly exists for the sake of nostalgia for late 1990's and early 2000's internet culture.

Emocore - Emocore is a tag that is based on a style of rock music resembling punk but having more complex arrangements and lyrics that deal with more emotional subjects. Emocore has a culture according to music fanbases and types styles inspired by bands in the 2000s

Scenecore -

Cleancore - Cleancore is an aesthetic based on getting clean and feeling pure. Popular motifs seen in this tag include bathrooms, soap, bathbombs, rubber ducks, clean rooms, etc.

Honeycore - Honeycore is an aesthetic based around the rural production and consumption of honey. It is similar to cottagecore in that agricultural imagery and values are emphasised, but the visuals are streamlined to create a colour palette of mostly yellows and browns.

Farmcore - Farmcore is an aesthetic based around the visual culture of an idealized life on a Western farm. Common things seen in this tag include barns, farm grown food, and farm animals.

Dirtcore - Dirtcore is an aesthetic centered around anything that grows or lives in or above the dirt/ground.

Grandparentcore - Grandparentcore is a tags based on the visual culture of an idealized life a Grandparent or a elderly person. Common things seen in this tag is what a grandparent would stereotypically enjoy such as, baking, cooking, knitting and crocheting, gardening, telling stories, collecting magnets or antique dolls and other items, having vintage clothing, and having fine china etc. A lot of people in this tag involve Farmcorm, Cozycore, and cottagecore in this tag. (See definitions below) Other names of this tag: Grandmacore and Grandpacore and any nonbinary terms for a grandparent.

Cozycore - Cozycore is an aesthetic centered around enjoying staying in doors and cuddling up with a quilt or a blanket, enjoying stuffed animals, wearing sweaters, and drinking warm tea, coffee, or hot cocoa, and baking.

Warmcore - Warmcore is an aesthetic centered around things that make you feel warm or things associated with a warm color palette. Things within the cozycore tag are also usually seen in this tag as well as the autumn season.

Cottagecore - Cottagecore is an aesthetic based on the combination of Grandma and Grandpacore, Cozycore, and Warmcore that is centered around living in a cottage and enjoying the nature and animals around you.

Sleepycore - Sleepycore is a tag based on being tired and going sleep. The aesthetic of this tag is comfort items. Popular things seen in this tag are pajama’s, pillows, blankets, stuffed animals, bedtime stories, nightlights, yellow crescent moons, and lullabies etc. the color palette of this aesthetic is dark and light blue, white, and yellow.

Quietcore - Quietcore is a tag that focuses on peacefulness, silence, and calmness. The outside world and our internal world can be incredibly loud, so this aesthetic is designed to calm people down. This tag is centered around any quiet and calm activities people do to relax and find peace such as meditation, reading, studying, star gazing, bath time, preparing to go to bed, and sleeping, etc.

Teddycore - Teddycore is a tag centered around loving stuffed animals that are specifically teddy bears. The colour palette of this aesthetic is white and dark and pastel shades of browns. Users who feel connected to bears or feel teddy-like also use this tag.

Meadowcore - Meadowcore is a tag based on an open habitat, or field, vegetated by grass and other non-woody plants. Common things seen in this tag are picnics, flowers, and animals of the meadow such as shrews, voles, mice, red fox, white-tailed deer, and birds.

Faeriecore - Faeriecore is a type of mythical being or legendary creature in European folklore, a form of spirit, often described as metaphysical, supernatural, or preternatural.

Hobbitcore - Hobbitcore is a tag based on stories by J. R. R. Tolkien about an imaginary race similar to humans, that are small in size (like fairies) that have big hairy feet.

Goblincore - Gobblincore is a tag about a monstrous creature from European folklore.

[sunshineofyourlove1967]

i was tagged by @flying-overseas to answer these questions, thank you so much!! i love doing this so much lmao 

1. A song you like with a color in the title 

lana del rey - the blackest day (i am o b sessed with this song)

glass animals - black mambo

hippo campus - violet

2. A song you like with a number in the title

lana del rey - 24

one after 909 - the beatles

3. A song that reminds you of summertime

milky chance - flashed junk minds, a lot of their stuff reminds me of summer

basically the entirety of suck it and see by arctic monkeys

from eden - hozier

peach pit - peach pit - they’re such an underrated band, i discovered them before they put out their first album (that is bomb btw), while i was writing an essay one evening and i have loved them ever since!!

4. A song that reminds you of someone you would rather forget about

imagine dragons - bleeding out i guess lol, and take the night away from me by miles kane, but otherwise none

5. A song that needs to be played LOUD

adam lambert - ghost town

oasis - supersonic and the i am the walrus cover

the stone roses - i am the resurrection

fried my little brains and fuck the people by the kills

6. A song that makes you want to dance

when the sun goes down - arctic monkeys

the beatles - twist and shout, i saw her standing there

the contours - do you love me, such a jam from the 50′s and it’s from dirty dancing ❤️❤️

oscar peterson - mas que nada, we got this on old vinyl and i always dance to it when no one is home lol

7. A song that makes you happy

the doors - people are strange

i feel good (i got you) - james brown

should have known better - sufjan stevens

8. A song that you never get tired of

daft punk ft. julian casablancas - instant crush

the stall - warpaint

9. A song that you would be played at your wedding

hmmmmm i don’t know really, i’ve thought about some suitable songs a few times but absolutely nothing comes to my mind now

10. A song that is a cover by another artist

the white stripes - jolene (originally by dolly parton)

the last shadow puppets - wondrous place (originally by billy fury)

arctic monkeys - red right hand (originally by nick cave & the bad seeds)

11. A song that you would sing a duet with on karaoke

nick cave & the bad seeds, pj harvey - henry lee

used to be my girl - last shadow puppets

12. A song that makes you think about life

a lot of voidz and strokes stuff, 11th dimension too

hard to explain - the strokes and permanent high school - the voidz, especially 

by the wall - tomáš dvořák, it’s a soundtrack to a czech videogame called machinarium, and it’s so peaceful and nostalgic and heartwrecking in such a simple, non-demanding way

13. A favourite song with a person’s name in the title

arctic monkeys - arabella

pj harvey - claudine, the inflatable one

pj harvey - angelene, lol a LOT of songs by pj harvey

14. A song that you think everybody should listen to

the stone roses - i wanna be adored

joy division - decades

basically almost everything by the voidz, escpecially human sadness

the entirety of sgt. pepper’s lonely hearts club band by the beatles, also revolver and abbey road, strawberry fields forever, how soon is now by the smiths, where did you sleep last night by nirvana

15. A song by a band you wish were still together 

catching the butterfly - the verve

slide away - oasis - god that song is fucking perfect, i cry every time i listen to it

16. A song by an artist no longer living

john lennon - working class hero, how do you sleep (that song is so mean but i love it)

problems - lil peep

17. A song that makes you want to fall

the memory band - demon days

radiohead - pyramid song

daughter - new ways

m83 - wait

18. A song that breaks your heart

warpaint - stars, i discovered a lot of their songs a few days ago and oh boy do they make me cry, they’re amazing

seafret - oceans

daughter - smother, god it hurts to just remember that song lmao

lana del rey - black beauty, god this song used to w r eck me

19. A song that you remember from your childhood

hana hegerová - lásko prokletá, she is an amazing czech artist and we always listened to her songs with my mom when i was a child, that was awesome

james arthur - impossible

a lot of stuff by lenka dusilová, she’s an another czech artist who also sings in polish sometimes and me and my mom absolutely love her

new radicals - you only get what you give

20. A song that reminds you of yourself

noel gallagher’s high flying birds - while the song remains the same

a lot of strokes stuff, especially from is this it

despair in the departure lounge - arctic monkeys, this song hits too close to home

i tag @crimson-stain, @turneresque , @yufkasaur , @whiskyontherocks , @goodnightsocialist, @thebatphone, @antijulian if y’all wanna, and anyone who wants to do this!!

thank you for tagging me!!

[rhegar]

Ice Dragon (Part 1): Why Jon Snow Will Ride Wight!Viserion

A few things before I start...

1. All credits go to @nobodysuspectsthebutterfly​ and @joannalannister​ for coming up with the theory that Jon will ride Viserion. It’s a really interesting and convincing theory that you can read here. This theory is just a buildup on that theory in light of the recent development in which Viserion turned into a wight.

2. For reasons that I will clarify, I think that this theory doesn’t just go for the show, but for the books as well (in fact, seeing as the books are more likely to follow logic and continuity, I feel like it goes for the books more as it feels more complicated than something the showmakers would think of.)

Obviously, if you continue, you’re in for spoilers of anything and everything that has happened on the books and show so far.

1. The Ice Dragon. (or, how does this theory play out in the books?)

Well, in the books, we have too many references to an ice dragon for it to be a coincidence. For instance, there’s a constellation actually named the Ice Dragon. It is mentioned on many occasions, especially in POVs of northern characters.

"Osha," Bran asked as they crossed the yard. "Do you know the way north? To the Wall and . . . and even past?"

"The way's easy. Look for the Ice Dragon, and chase the blue star in the rider's eye." She backed through a door and started up the winding steps.

"And there are still giants there, and . . . the rest . . . the Others, and the children of the forest too?" - A Clash of Kings, Bran V

An Ice Dragon also plays into the stories of Old Nan (the majority of which we know shed some light on events from the past and foreshadow the possible future.

A sudden gust of wind set Edd's cloak to flapping noisily. "Best go down, m'lord. This wind's like to push us off the Wall, and I never did learn the knack of flying.

"They rode the winch lift back to the ground. The wind was gusting, cold as the breath of the ice dragon in the tales Old Nan had told when Jon was a boy. The heavy cage was swaying. From time to time it scraped against the Wall, starting small crystalline showers of ice that sparkled in the sunlight as they fell, like shards of broken glass. - A Dance with Dragons, Jon VII

Not only that, but some characters also happen to think of ice dragons a lot, making a lot of similes related to ice dragons. In particular, Jon.

Jon nodded weakly. The door swung open. Pyp led them in, followed by Clydas and the lantern. It was all Jon could do to keep up with Maester Aemon. The ice pressed close around them, and he could feel the cold seeping into his bones, the weight of the Wall above his head. It felt like walking down the gullet of an ice dragon. The tunnel took a twist, and then another. Pyp unlocked a second iron gate. They walked farther, turned again, and saw light ahead, faint and pale through the ice. That's bad, Jon knew at once. That's very bad. - A Storm of Swords, Jon VIII

The road beneath the Wall was as dark and cold as the belly of an ice dragon and as twisty as a serpent. Dolorous Edd led them through with a torch in hand. Mully had the keys for the three gates, where bars of black iron as thick as a man's arm closed off the passage. Spearmen at each gate knuckled their foreheads at Jon Snow but stared openly at Val and her garron. - A Dance with Dragons, Jon VIII

Isn’t an ice dragon a strange thing to constantly be in the subconscious of the people like that? That’s like naming a constellation The Swimming Bird, or The Vegetarian Lion. It’s a strange contradiction; a paradox. To me, the phrase “ice dragon” is comparable to a “blue flower grew from a chunk in a wall of ice”... it’s not something that sounds regular in the flow of speech; it’s put there for a purpose. Why would such a thing be constantly suggested if it’s not foreshadowing something in the future?

Some have theorized that said ice dragon is actually the wall itself. Personally, I find that interesting, but logistically challenging and difficult to take place. If the entire wall was a dragon, that thing would be hopeless to defeat. It would be hundreds of times the size of Balerion himself. What I personally think is that it’s inevitable that one of Daenerys’ dragons will meet its demise in the books; it’s just inevitable plot-wise. No one and nothing is unbeatable, and to show us that, George will have to take out some people and creatures that we thought of as higher-than-life, i.e. the dragons.

Yes, this is one of the cases (like R+L=J, or the wall eventually coming down) where I think the showmakers stuck to the scenario that they know will happen in the books. A dragon will eventually be killed in the books, and my money’s on Viserion (for reasons that will become clear later, but even now, I feel like just changing the dragon that dies from Viserion to Rhaegal isn’t a change that the showmakers would make. It doesn’t make that big of a difference for them.)

However, because of the whole “three heads of the dragon” thing, I personally don’t believe that said dragon will stay dead. I believe it will be turned into the “dark side” either by Euron  (who now serves the others) using the Horn of Joramun, or the Night King himself, therefore becoming the Ice Dragon; a dragon that, if not literally made of ice, it fights on the side of ice, thus going against what it inherently is: A dragon; fire-made flesh.

2. Fire-Made Flesh

From the very beginning, the magical aspect of the story revolved around the conflict between two magical forces in the universe: Ice and Fire. One of them is portrayed as inherently bad (ice) and the other is portrayed as potentially good, but also volatile and can be quite destructive depending on who’s in control of it (fire.) And this makes sense; ice brings the cold and death and nothing else (please don’t send me asks about refrigerators) but fire can bring warmth and safety (if you think about it in a more primal sense that makes sense in ASOIAF, you can use fire to scare away predators) but needless to say, fire can also be highly destructive.

When it comes to dragons vs. white walkers, each of them belongs exclusively to one of those two forces. Dragons are described as “fire-made flesh”; they are able, against all laws of physics, to breathe fire. And allegedly, fire cannot kill a dragon.

White walkers bring the cold, frost, death, and they reanimate the dead to do their bidding; however, the only thing that kills them is fire. So, we see that each of the two factors does something exclusive to it and magical; fire magic, and ice magic.

Now; the question is: Can a dragon turn into an undead being animated by ice magic? Wouldn’t that be inherently against its nature?

Again, like previously expressed in the previous point, an “ice dragon” is a paradox. It’s the same thing as an other that breathes fire. And yes, you can kill a dragon and turn it into a wight, technically, and you can’t make an other breathe fire, but because of how that state is contradictory to the dragon’s very existence... would it be a complete state?

The reason why the wights are what they are is because they’re unintelligent. They lose their mind, personality, sense, and become nothing but zombies animated by ice. But a dragon... does it get to keep its intelligence as a wight and serve (whoever) as an independent force that decides what to do? Yes it changes “side”, but does it completely lose its conscious?

AsoIaF dragons are intelligent. - George R. R. Martin (source)

Personally, I believe that a dragon can never fully become what a wight is. It will never only obey the Night King, especially not above its chosen rider. Because before being a wight, it is first and foremost a dragon. So, for the time being, I want you not to think of Viserion as an undead wight that has no control of what it’s doing, but as an Other!dragon; a monster moved by ice that still has a will and intelligence, and that still gets to choose who its rider will be. And I believe that, because Viserion still has his free will, this rider can be a living human.

For the time being, Viserion will do the night king’s bidding, perhaps destroying the wall and killing a bunch of people... until he finds his true rider.

3. The Wolf

So... what would make a person Viserion’s chosen rider?

Let’s ask this question in another way. If being the prince that was promised was simply the matter of being the third child of Rhaegar Targaryen, why would he have it by way of running away with the daughter of a paramount lord who’s also the fiancee of another paramount lord, while he himself is married with two children, plunging the realm into war? He could have had a third child with a washerwoman or servant girl on Dragonstone. Or, if he’s super elitist and picky, he could have had it with a noblewoman from a lesser house who’s not engaged. He’s the crown prince, and noblemen in Westeros had their flings and no one held it against them (even when it became excessive, like in the cases of Brandon or Robert.)

So... why Lyanna? Is there anything special about Stark blood that gives its holder certain power? Why must there always be a Stark in Winterfell? Why don’t we ever hear that there must always be a Lannister in Casterly Rock, or an Arryn in the Eyrie? Is it just family tradition, or the sealing of a protective spell? Old Nan says that the first Night King (a legendary figure that has no relation to the current night king, but we don’t know if it’s truly legendary or if it’s one of *those* legends) was a Stark of Winterfell. We know the wall itself was built by a Stark of Winterfell (and not just any Stark, he founded the house.) Most (if not all) of the current generation of Starks are wargs; warging, skinchanging etc. seem to be magical abilities that come from the children of the forest... the children created the Others and lost control of their creation, and tried to destroy them (something not confirmed in the books yet.) But again... why were those abilities granted mostly to Starks? (they show up in Euron who is Ironborn and Brynden Rivers/Three Eyed Raven whose mother was from the Riverlands though from a house descended from the First Men... but again, most of those who possess those powers happen to be Starks.)

There is definitely a tie between the Starks and the Others. We don’t know the nature of this tie, whether the others were originally Starks/some of them were Starks, whether there was a pact between the Starks and the Others to keep them away from Westeros that was sealed with blood magic (i.e. the magic wardings on the Wall; probably sealed with Bran the Builder’s blood) and though we don’t know what this tie is, it definitely exists. Ice magic (to a lesser degree) has a relation to the Starks. And while I don’t think they can reanimate the dead any more than the Targaryens can breathe fire, having such a relation to a potent type of magic definitely affects you and makes you capable of connecting to it.

So, back to Jon Snow... (or did we ever start talking about him?)

Jon has the magical formula of balance between ice and fire. He has the blood of the kings of winter, of Bran the Builder, of the first men, and the blood of the dragonlords of Valyria. He has the potential to ride a dragon, and the potential to have a link to the others that enables him to make peace with them. And with... an intelligent wight?

But making peace with the others isn’t what we’re discussing here... what we’re discussing is the fact that Jon has ice magic AND fire magic in his blood.

Jon is undead; a “wight animated by fire” as Martin has said recently. And Viserion is undead; a dragon animated by ice. They are both ice dragons; one figurative, the other literal. Add to this all the evidence in the theory by joannalannister and nobodysuspectsthebutterfly that was linked above, and Jon is the perfect rider for Viserion.

4. Conclusion

ِAs much as you can never freeze fire, you can never turn a dragon into a wight and expect it to be completely in service of The Great Other. The two things are as paradoxical as ice and fire themselves. And if a living human being in the ASOIAF universe has the potential to tame an ice dragon and ride it, it can only be Jon Snow; a figurative ice dragon himself, who has magical ties to the others and magical ties to the dragons.

Whew... so, this turned out way longer than I expected. A second part is coming in which I try to further explore the relation between Stark blood and the others, and what Jon’s endgame might be.

[tamboradventure]

Meet the Team: The Many Faces of Nomadic Matt

Posted: 4/30/2020

It takes a village to keep this website going. From tech and coding to design to fixing bugs getting readers books when downloads fail to scheduling social media or running the forums, I have a lot of help. I simply couldn’t run the website, write, travel, eat, sleep, or anything in between if I didn’t have the support and help of an amazing group of people.

It’s not just me writing and posting about my travels. I have a big group of full-time staff helping juggle everything.

I realized a lot of you don’t realize that so, today, I wanted to introduce the team to you.

So, without further ado, here’s they are:  

Erica

Erica has been working for me for almost six and a half years and is the events director of The Nomadic Network, our travel community. She keeps this community thriving. In her own words:

I grew up in Connecticut and went to school in Virginia. During a quarter-life crisis at age 21, I chose to finish my last year of college on an adventure in Qatar! From that moment on, my life revolved around traveling cheaply with the money I earned from waitressing. That budget got me to teach English in Isaan, Thailand, and South Korea; farm on St. Vincent and the Grenadines in the Caribbean and Costa Rica; and volunteer in rural Zambia. At age 26, I returned home to Connecticut, determined to get a job in travel. Soon after, I met Nomadic Matt at a travel meet-up in NYC, and the rest is history.

I whole-heartedly believe that traveling makes friends of strangers, and the more friends there are in the world, the more peace there is in the world.

13 Facts about Me

At 15, I helped build a schoolhouse in Nicaragua.

1. I cooked an American Thanksgiving feast for my Thai co-English teachers in Thailand where barely any of the mashed potatoes, carrots and peas were eaten so my host-grandmother fed in to the monks for the following week unbeknownst to me.

I’ve cut off my hair and donated it to Locks of Love, twice!

I once hunted for possums on the island of St. Vincent with a bunch of Rastafarians. We caught four and made soup. I was a vegetarian at the time.

In Costa Rica, I stayed at in a sustainable living community called Rancho Mastatal, where I learned how to farm yuca, make beer out of turmeric, and build a house out of cob.

I spent 11 days on a coconut water only fast at a yoga retreat in Cambodia, twice

I taught English in South Korea for 14 months and was able to easily save enough money for 21 months of non-stop travel. I also taught the students how to use “boo” colloquially.

This music video I made used to be one of the top hits when you searched for St. Vincent and the Grenadines.

In Zambia, my friend and I were given a live chicken as a present. We were vegetarians, so we traded it for a pair of second-hand jeans in the town’s market.

I got 19 people (the students and teachers on a FLYTE trip) into an airport lounge in Ecuador for free. I think that’s a travel hacking record!

My college education was entirely free. How? I got a ton of tiny scholarships (I applied for everyone I could get my hands on) that added up, being a Residential Assistant in the dorms, and studying in Qatar actually saved me money (in the most expensive country in the world).

In Korea, I dated a guy who spoke no English and we basically communicated through drawing pictures and reciting American rap lyrics.

Last summer, I took a trip to Tunisia with some friends. I wish I could have stayed longer – what a cool country!

  Chris O.

Chris joined the team as the part-time manager of the forums back in 2015. Since then, he’s transitioned to full-time and has branched out into the Superstar Blogging program and helps me with all of our various admin tasks. In his own words:

I grew up in a small town in Ontario, Canada, and spent my formative years listening to punk rock, reading Star Wars novels, and generally getting up to no good. After ditching my lifelong plan to be a lawyer, I decided to give travel a try. I headed to Costa Rica on a whim and have never looked back! It wasn’t long after that trip that I took a break from university (where I was studying history and theatre) to move to a monastery in Japan in 2007. I’ve more or less been wandering around ever since. Some notable adventures include taking the Trans-Siberian Railway across Russia and Mongolia, walking the Camino de Santiago twice, and going on a 10-day road trip around Iceland with complete strangers.

When I’m not traveling, I live in Sweden and can be found reading, writing, or hanging out with my rescue dog, Grimo.

13 Facts about Me

I spent nine months living in Buddhist monasteries.

I lived in a tent for a year.

I was once stalked by a jaguar and chased by a crocodile — on the same trip.

I haven’t had alcohol in 16 years.

I’ve broken all my fingers and toes, and my nose three times, and I’ve fractured both my wrists.

I worked on an organic farm for 11 years.

I co-owned a restaurant in Canada.

I grew up next door to Avril Lavigne.

I wrote a book (and am working on another one)

I played inter-mural Quidditch in high school and was our team’s Seeker.

I have a Star Wars tattoo.

I’ve been vegan for 15 years.

I have a scar from a fight that broke out over which Norse god was “the best.”

  Chris R.

Chris, aka The Aussie Nomad, is a (kinda) former blogger who does all the tech and development work for the website. He keeps it running, fixes any errors you find, and deals with my constantly changing design desires. In his own words:

I’m living the good life in Western Australia by the beach with my amazing family. I got into the world of blogging after quitting my job, backpacking around Europe and, as all Aussies do, undertaking a working holiday in the UK. Like all of us who travel and fall in love with it, nobody wants to go home afterwards.

That adventure got me into creating a travel blog many years ago, which is how I first came to know Matt. I have since repurposed my IT skills from my old life and formed my own business to help out other bloggers with their websites.

13 Facts about Me

I love Belgian beer (and I even married a Belgian).

I’ve worked with Matt the longest out of anyone here. (Take that team!)

I took off to backpack Europe when I was 29.

I’m an advocate for Vegemite and believe all visitors to Australia must try this national treasure.

One of my favorite activities is to take a long road trip, especially with family and friends.

I have no idea how four-way stop signals in the U.S.A. don’t all end up as accidents.

I do not drink Fosters. It’s a terrible beer. No one in Australia actually drinks it.

I like to think of myself as an amateur photographer.

I failed kindergarten as I wouldn’t say goodbye to the teacher.

My first job was working in a supermarket.

I can’t sleep on a plane – no matter how long the flight is.

I can name every Thomas the Tank Engine character thanks to my son.

I don’t drink coffee or get people’s love for it. Tea all the way!

  Raimee

Raimee does all of our social media and content marketing. She schedules posts, tweaks my terrible photos so they look good on Instagram, builds out our content calendar, analyzes data, edits video, creates digital marketing campaigns, and designs our social media graphics! In her own words:

When I was just 14 years old, I took my first international trip to Honduras and Belize with my family. Ever since then, I’ve been hooked on experiencing new cultures, connecting with people from all walks of life, and learning about myself and the world through the power of travel! After graduating with a degree in advertising and marketing from Michigan State University and four years as a digital marketing specialist, I realized that corporate life was not for me. My insatiable need to experience the world beyond a desk led me to search for a job-related to travel. I’ve followed this blog for many years, and now I get to work for it remotely while I strategize, manage, and report on the social media accounts — and I love every second of it!

13 Facts about Me

I’m obsessed with Harry Potter. I’ve read each book at least 10 times. If I told you how many times I’ve watched the movies, you probably wouldn’t believe me.

I once hung out with Daniel Radcliffe (Harry Potter!) at a Red Wings game in Detroit, and actually kept my cool the whole time (side note: He’s a SUPER nice guy!)

Visiting the Harry Potter studio tour in London was one of the best days of my life.

My mom was obsessed with the 80’s horror movie Evil Dead directed by Sam Raimi, so she named me after him.

After having visited about 30 countries, Iceland is still my favorite.

My biggest travel dream is to take a road trip around New Zealand!

I try to read 1-2 book(s) EVERY week!

I used to play the saxophone (and I wish I still did!)

I conquered my fear of heights by jumping off a cliff in Croatia — twice!

I love languages and was close to being fluent in German during college.

I’ve acted in a few independent and short films and as an extra in some network TV shows (I even have an IMDB page!)

In another life, I would have been a film director/producer. Maybe some day!

My favorite number is 13.

  Carmela

Carmela is the Executive Director of our non-profit FLYTE that makes travel accessible to underserved youth from across the country. She handles anything and everything from fundraising, working with our partner schools to plan student trips abroad, connecting with our incredible donor community, and managing our volunteer team.

Born and raised in New Jersey, I had the privilege of taking my first international trip when I was 3 to visit my family in the Philippines where I refused to ride the local jeepneys because they didn’t have seatbelts! Since then, my love for travel has evolved. In 2012, my husband, Raymund, and I took a round the world honeymoon that was supposed to scratch the travel itch (lol). We came back home to NYC for a few years before taking the leap to become full-time remote workers, and have lived all over the world ever since.

When I’m not running FLYTE, I love planning trips (even if they’re not my own), practicing yoga, hiking, rock climbing, reading, eating, and eating cookies (which are their own food group, in my opinion).

I LOVE Math! I have a degree in it, taught statistics to college students, and few things make me happier than a well functioning Excel spreadsheet.

I come from a family of educators. My parents were both teachers before they immigrated to the US from the Philippines in the 70’s. Before I left to travel, I worked for the Chancellor of NYC Public Schools, the largest school district in the country, and now running FLYTE is pretty much my dream job because it combines my love for education with travel.

The Notorious BIG and I share the same birthday. Juicy is one of my favorite songs.

I still don’t fully understand how to use Twitter.

I like suspenseful movies & TV shows, but hate the feeling of being in suspense, so I often read what happens before watching so I can relax and enjoy my viewing experience.

My favorite cartoon is Alvin & the Chipmunks. I still have an Alvin doll that I was gifted on my 1st birthday. It bears no resemblance to the actual Alvin Seville anymore.

I attended an all girls high school and a women’s college – that environment there largely shaped who I am today.

My guilty pleasure is watching Terrace House – the Japanese equivalent to the Real World.

My dad has an identical twin brother and they used to play tricks on me and my cousin when we were younger. It’s equally funny and traumatizing.

I hate raisins, especially in cookies.

I’m an only child, but have over 30 first cousins. I love them as if they were my actual siblings.

Raymund and I met in Hawaii. For that, and many other reasons, it’s my most favorite place in the world.

I know every lyric to every song from the Sound of Music.

  Nomadic Matt

And, finally, there’s me. You probably know a lot about me after twelve years of blogging (sometimes I forget how long it’s been), but here’s a quick refresh:

Growing up in Boston, I was never a big traveler. I didn’t take my first trip overseas until 2004. That trip changed my life and opened me up to the possibilities the world had to offer. One year later, I went to Thailand, where I met five backpackers who inspired me to quit my job and travel the world. In 2006, I left for a yearlong backpacking trip — and have been “nomadic” ever since.

13 Facts about Me

I love politics as much as I love travel and will debate for the joy for it.

I love to cook.

When I was in high school, I was my state’s champ in “Magic: the Gathering.” I know — super nerdy, right? It got me a free trip NYC with my friend (who came in number two!).

I always worry about the future and often use my time back home to develop skills needed for the Zombie Apocalypse. Shout-out to my prepper friend Vanessa for teaching me about seeds!

I once met Paul Giamatti on the streets of NYC and he was as grumpy as I imagined.

I am an unabashed Taylor Swift fan.

I don’t drink coffee.

I believe aliens exist. It’s mathematically impossible they don’t.

I’m terrified of flying.

I learned to swing dance so I could throw myself a Gatsby-themed birthday party.

Both sides of my family came through Ellis Island and you can see their names on the wall where they list all the immigrants.

I used to be the head of a program by the Massachusetts Sierra Club that promoted energy efficiency.

I went to college to be a high school history teacher.

***

So there you have it! The Nomadic Matt team! It’s weird to think this blog I started to simply be online résumé for freelance jobs now requires eleven people to run. I always thought the more systems, automation, products, and passive income I set up, the easier it would be. I could just sit on a beach. But it seems the more we do, the more we create, the more projects I tell the team we’re taking on, the more help we require. I guess that is the nature of the beast but I would have it no other way. I love what we do here. We help a lot of people realize their dreams.

And a guy couldn’t ask for better co-workers to help make that happen.

P.S. – We’ve launched a new Patreon where you can get stories and tips I don’t share on this blog, a private Facebook group, phone calls with me and the team, live Q&As, postcards from the road, signed copies of my books, and much more! Click here to get access!

Book Your Trip: Logistical Tips and Tricks

Book Your Flight Find a cheap flight by using Skyscanner or Momondo. They are my two favorite search engines, because they search websites and airlines around the globe so you always know no stone is being left unturned.

Book Your Accommodation You can book your hostel with Hostelworld as they have the largest inventory. If you want to stay somewhere other than a hostel, use Booking.com, as they consistently return the cheapest rates for guesthouses and hotels. I use them all the time.

Don’t Forget Travel Insurance Travel insurance will protect you against illness, injury, theft, and cancellations. It’s comprehensive protection in case anything goes wrong. I never go on a trip without it, as I’ve had to use it many times in the past. I’ve been using World Nomads for ten years. My favorite companies that offer the best service and value are:

World Nomads (for everyone below 70)

Insure My Trip (for those 70 and over)

Looking for the best companies to save money with? Check out my resource page for the best companies to use when you travel! I list all those I use — and they’ll save you time and money too!

The post Meet the Team: The Many Faces of Nomadic Matt appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

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[xflower-childx]

A New Book

I see myself only really having two books of life, Ohio and Florida. Both having an excessive amount of chapters, A LOT of character development, and a revolving door of supporting roles. Florida's book is slowly coming to an end and it's been rather eventful. While the whole book has been a trip the past year or so I've noticed have been such intense growth and preperation for the next book. I've discovered inner peace and loving myself, speaking up when I deserve better or want something. I've discovered my worth.

I met a lovely lady (D will be her name here) who honestly stirred the start of the new book. After group meditation at the wellness center she owns while we were all just openly sharing about life she spoke of just up and moving out of her small hometown from her ex husband and adult son (Who she asked me to show around when he moves here before I leave 😏🙃). When I spoke up on how I always wanted to move and I've been working on conquering fears and not allowing high anxiety run me she brought up control and how it seemed like I struggled with needing to have it to feel safe. Yeah. That's true. That sat with me HARD. The next day was the work meeting that would change my life. K and A said that BB will be closing in a month. I knew we were struggling but I didn't realize how bad. I also knew all the shit with the partnership. A had looked at me curiously during the meeting and said "You promised me and yourself that this was your last job in Florida. What are you going to do?" I laughed and jokingly said "Looks like I'm moving to North Carolina." But as everyone else started to speak on what's next it settled in my head. Why not? Why not just move? Why not let go of control and start new? All I have is my little Alien and myself so what's stopping me? D did it, why can't I?

On my drive home it weighed in my head so heavily. I didn't feel as much sadness for BB closing as I felt excitement over the thought of moving. I had so many thoughts running through my head in that drive. I had to get them out, I needed to hear that I wasn't crazy for thinking this was possible, that I could do it, that this push off the cliff was to see if everything I've learned was to teach me how to fly and I needed to hear from someone else that I would soar and see all new heights. I knew I wasn't going to hear it from my mom though because she would only put fear and anxiety into me (I swear she is who I've developed a lot of my anxiety from). I knew my sister would encourage it but also add anxiety, and talk about how I would be leaving her and apparently 'Living her dream'. I knew who would give me what I wanted though. He was default for a while and I knew he would say what I wanted to hear because I knew he had faith I could do it. He always did. He always pushed me to. I selfishly messaged him, going against the other part of my brain saying not to open that damn door.

Of course I was right. He said what I needed to hear. He has been one of the only people to see me function outside of family and a family run environment. He knows a side of me that they don't know. The side that I wanted to grow and develop, one that started from him being in my life... And ohhh boy it grew from him leaving.. and I fucking love this side. She's still got some growing of course but I'm proud of her. She's stronger than I ever saw possible and she's beautiful and happy and she's not letting anyone stop her from going for what she wants... In a non-controlling way though. 😂

I look at this new book coming up though and I know it's a fresh start and I don't want anything bad holding me back from living it. I want to shed the old snake skin and start new. I've been shedding some old already, but there is a piece that is still part of this skin that is fraying. I want to take him with me because ultimately he's someone I hold close but he hurts. He hurts a lot. Ever since the start I had always felt like second best even though I played a number one role in his life. Even when he had his other girl a few hours away I was second although I felt like I was going to third. I was able to almost mute that feeling when we were in each other's lives though because we were always around each other and I continued to play the role of number one. I was always a place filler though and I knew that deep down. He was never able to really let go of his ex and I don't know if he ever will. I always tried to become better to get his attention but he would just look through me and remind me that he never had any passion for me and everything between us was in my head. I would just defend him in some way though and continue to try and be there.

I was always there. Even when I'm not. Even now when I push him out because no matter what I will always feel like I'm not enough for him. Not as a partner because I already know that but even as a friend. He's never really spoken otherwise. Anyone can say 'Thanks for being there' but those that really appreciate it will put into words their gratitude. Especially when the other has spoken of needing it because they don't feel love and appreciation.

I understand now why I had such high anxiety in CO. Foreign place plus feeling like R2 showing off being favorite person. God she knew it and rubbed it in. I actually wonder if they realize she has feelings for him? I mean honestly the jealousy and just all around energy of the whole trip was HEAVY and some of the stuff she said... I could be wrong but I've learned to trust my instincts by now 😂. For a minute it crossed my mind if they'd slept together but I know R and his type and I observed their interactions and feel as no they didn't. My ability to read people and having amazing observation skills is such a blessing and a curse 🤦. Also being an empath doesn't help. I felt everyone's mood and energy and it just weighed on me and made me feel like I'm drowning. I lost myself entirely that trip and I felt so scared and raw. I had nothing and no one to hang onto and the pain that I felt by R not giving a fuck hurt even more. He spoke words that made me want to pack up and get on a plane in that moment because I felt so unwanted and broken there. The ability to take love from someone when its needed during life changing experiences but say 'Fuck you grow up and deal with it' when that person is crying asking for love and comfort is beyond me. Especially to allow them to walk away to an Uber by themselves when again you know how much they hurt and how high their anxiety already is. I really don't think he knows how much I've looked back on that exact moment and felt pain in my chest. How it hurts to even write still. How selfish I see him from that and little I feel like I matter to him. Ever mattered to him. I even remember asking him with so much fear to ride with me to the airport because I had hopes we could try and mend something on the way but the fear came into knowing he would say no. I wonder if he thinks he was trying to help teach me to take care of myself and not rely on someone else- which mission accomplished I've learned- but in probably one of the most cruel and unloving ways possible. The wise words of NF 'If you want love you gone have to give some away'. (Funny how that song came on writing that part.)

I wouldn't be me if I didn't say this though as I look at every angle of everything and everyone. I know I relyed on him too much. I know I put to much trust and love into him (Which whooo more trust issues) and I know he was crushing under the weight of it. I know he is a human and I respect that, and I take the blame for relying on him. I take the blame for not being able to pick myself up under the weight of everyone's judgement and energy (Ohhh man the energy after he talked to his friends about me 🤦 90% I was just running on fumes and fake positivity at that point to try and get by) instead of reaching out for a hand to help me. I couldn't find the peace and comfort in myself there and wish I could have. I wish the circumstances were different and I didn't always feel so... Useless next to him. I don't think that's the word I'm really looking for but it will do.

I wish we could have actually talked though after. I wish I heard him apologize at least once sincerely. I wish I HEARD him care. I wish he wanted to care. I wish I mattered more to him than a hand to hold and guide him out of the dark of his unforgotten ex. I guess that's what I get for falling for a man not even months out of a relationship. I wish our friendship wasn't so tainted by the inability to let go of the past on both sides.

If he and I had actually talked though and we both owned up to our faults and reminded each other that we're important to the other and just genuinely thank the other for the love and care we put into our relationship than I think I would be able to take him with me. I could see our friendship mending and growing with sending silly pictures of new adventures we go on and my alien seeing the world and maybe him coming to visit me there even and I him wherever life takes him next. I could see myself starting to trust him again and being able to ask for adivce again. I could see him being able to come to me again and myself giving him pages of messages as I talk my way through the advice to get to a point 😅☹️ But he's too damn stubborn to talk and I don't even know if he sees fault in his actions and words. I love him and if I could openly say anything to him it's that I hope he's happy. I hope he can finally let her go and allow himself to love again because he will always find faults and pain in potential love if he keeps holding onto her and he will only put pain on future love interests. I know he NEVER meant any harm on me and I know he warned me and I know he tried and was doing the best he could with what he had and understood at the time when he lived here. When it comes to after... I have nothing left to say but pain.

I love him but I love myself more. I love myself enough to know that I don't deserve to feel pain from someone I gave nothing but love, care, patience and understanding to. Someone that any moment they needed it I was ready to encourage them and push them forward. Someone I had nothing but faith and belief in. Someone I genuinely cared about. Someone who was ready to drop me when my demons appeared and I was at my worst. I know that it doesn't matter how much I care about him though, I care about myself more. I wish him well, and the best and love but not from me. Not anymore. I can't ask him to give me words when he doesn't want to give them because that's not only unfair to him, its unfair to me because it hurts me. I wish I could share my next journey with him, I wish I could share all my excitement with him and all the crazy things that have happened so far and the things that could possibly happen next. I wish he asked and I believed he really wanted to know... Also I got bit by a dog and I wanted to tell him and show the pictures cause wtf the bruising and bite marks man 🤦 He was my best friend. One of my favorite best friends. One my favorite people and I wish I didn't have to let him go over fucking stubbornness and screwed up pasts.

I have a new book ahead of me and I'm ready for some blank pages. I'm ready for a fresh start, new friends, new adventures, and a new world. I'm ready to continue to grow and expand my knowledge on life, the world around me and myself. I'm really happy right now though. I feel a little lonely while being my own best friend because I don't really have anyone to talk to about my next story or share my ideas with but it's alright I guess. I trust that things will fall into place amongst the confusion in my head.

I haven't shared how scared I am with anyone either. Reality smacked me in the face on my last day last week and I realized how much is about to change and I'm stepping out of my comfort zone. I'm so proud but so so scared. I know I can do it and I know that this is such a great, exciting change but man I'm going completely solo and alone on this besides my alien 🤦

We tough though. We got this. 😊💪