#flat is a tip as usual and supposed to have a guest next week

[laurelindebear]

Oh good I've hit the 'I hate my characters, I hate my story, I have to change the entire plot because otherwise I'm forcing my character to accept the Christian god, there's no way these people would fall in love, the timelines make no sense, this character can't be French because their worldview is fundamentally different, and the family situation falls apart unless you add a much bigger conflict or rift than you currently have or want' stage of proceedings.

If anyone wants a few garbage paragraphs to try build something even vaguely worthwhile out of, just check my recycling bin before I delete it all.

[bopbopstyles]

Best friend y/n taking pictures of H in a field of sunflowers 🧐😇

i made this a theyre in love with each other but no one wants to talk about it/quarantine situation and it kind of spiraled quickly

Harry had signed on to do the cover of GQ long before quarantine started, the cover supposed to coincide with the beginning of the tour and a bit of press. Quite honestly, he was excited to be doing it--the excitement from doing a big magazine cover never quite faded no matter how many he did. 

But now that quarantine had happened, he couldn’t go into the studio to do the photos, the original photographer having an immunocompromised family member, so the team had asked if he had someone he was quarantining with who could do them. They’d send out some gear, give some directions, but he’d have more creative control. 

Which brought him to you. The two of you were best friends, and so the minute he crossed back onto British soil you had decided to quarantine together. You were tired of being in your cramped London flat all alone and Harry hated being in his big house in Hampstead all alone. So naturally, you ended up at his in the guest bedroom. (Most nights. Sometimes you had sleepovers, all tame of course.)

You had been a photography student in college, and since then you worked at a couple of local London papers and magazines freelance, sometimes covering concerts, other times doing portraits, building a portfolio for when you could get a full-time gig somewhere. You weren’t 100% sure what you wanted to focus on yet, so the breadth of experience was to your liking. 

Harry had always been your favorite model, ever since you met him when you had ended up covering his London show. You’d become friends, despite your expectations, and he ended up liking you enough to continually reach out, and other the few years you two had become best friends. 

So when he had to get someone to take photos, you were the natural choice. He was comfortable with you and you were insanely talented, something he told you all the time. 

The only problem was, he was also head over heels in love with you and every time you took photos of him his crush got deeper and more intense. After spending weeks with you constantly, he didn’t know if he could take the intensity of a photo shoot with you.

But he didn’t really have a choice. 

When Harry asked you, you beamed at him, excited to not only be able to add Harry Styles, GQ to your portfolio, but also to have the opportunity to shoot again. You had missed it during quarantine. 

Which was how you ended up in a field of sunflowers a little ways out of town, your camera slung around your neck, the one GQ had sent as back up looped across your back. It was dusk, your favorite time to shoot, and you had abandoned all hope of using and additional props to capture the light. It was impossible with just you, and frankly Harry was so gorgeous he didn’t need it. 

You’d helped him get dressed, and he was in a simple soft pink button up, unbuttoned low, his chest exposed, and a pair of linen trousers that were tight around his strong thighs stretching down the length of his legs. His necklaces, the cross and his signature pearls, adorned his neck, filling the space the shirt exposed, and his tattoos littered his arms, the sleeves pushed up to expose his forearms. His hair was tousled and soft, a bit of product you had worked into it before you left the house helping hold the curls. Rings littered his fingers, glinting in the setting sun. 

You were trying to work, directing him on how to pose and trying to find the right lighting, but he was staring at you. His gaze trained on your face, eyebrows scrunched as you messed with some settings on your camera. It was moments like these when he nearly burst out his feelings for you, the shreds of self-awareness falling away. 

“H, shift your right leg slightly more towards me.” He blinked, refocusing, and followed your direction. He was leaning back on his hands, one leg bent, the other straight, you straight in front of him. “Now don’t more, squirmy.”

He wouldn’t dare. Music was playing from your phone, which was tucked into your back pocket, and he tried to focus on the lyrics. But instead he ended up watching you again. Watching as you shifted, getting different angles, shutter clicking. Usually he felt nervous in front of a camera lens like this, but with you, he was at ease. He could just watch you and his anxiety settled. 

“Laugh for me?”

“Didn’t say anything funny.”

You rolled your eyes at him, and he just smirked. “Just pretend?”

He did his best fake laugh, and you gave him a terse glare. “H.”

“‘m tryin’! Hard to laugh when there’s nothing to laugh at.”

You huffed. “Try laughing at me then. How sweaty I am out in this field, laboring away to make you look good, while I look like a mess.”

“You don’t look like a mess,” he mumbled. 

“Liar.”

“You look beautiful,” he said, the words falling from his lips with ease. “Always do.”

It was moments like these when being in love with Harry was really fucking frustrating, because he’d say things like that and how could you not fall for him immediately? “Shut up,” you told him, trying to disguise the blush rising to your cheeks. “Now laugh for me, you idiot.”

Harry followed your directions, dropping the act. You shifted closer, coming to your knees so you were at even height with him. “Pretty close, love.”

“I’m trying to get some close-ups. Now shut it and let me do my job.”

You could tell he was getting bored and antsy--he always did. Only took him like fifteen minutes of sitting in one place before he would be itching to move, moaning about his bum going to asleep. His head fell to the side, and you sighed. It was hopeless when he was like this. 

“H, please, just a few more and then we’ll take a break.”

He nodded, picking his head back up to resume his former position. You moved a few inches closer, knees landing on either side of his, your body hovering over him. The camera was tilted down, getting an angle from able and he adjusted, eyes following the lens. 

He could smell your perfume mixed in with his laundry detergent, the hint of the cantaloupe you had both snacked on before you left on your breath. Sweet. He absentmindedly wondered, and not for the first time, what it would be like to kiss you, to run his tongue across your lip. What your gasps would sound like. 

Wrong idea. Fuck. Harry could feel his dick plumping at the thought of kissing you, the prospect making his blood race. He tried to think of anything else, tried to get it to go away, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want his fucking dick up in the photos, for Pete’s sake. 

“Y/N,” he mumbled, sitting up. You leaned back, your bum falling to his shins, which didn’t help one bit. “Can we stop for a sec?”

“Why? Just need a few more, H, please. Don’t want to miss this lighting.”

“I--fuck,” he fumbled with his words. 

“What is it?” Your voice was soft and gentle with an edge of frustration, a hand reaching up to brush a stray hair from his forehead. The sensation made his eye flutter shut, trying to keep his emotions in check. 

“i’vegotahardonandIdon’twantitinthephotos,” he rushed out, his words falling between you two, landing with impact. 

You blinked at him. “Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Um...what happened?”

Good lord, you were going to make him die of embarrassment. You two usually danced around conversations like these, both uncomfortable talking about the topic for the same reason but not knowing. The idea of talking about sex with the person you were in love with wasn’t exactly at the top of your list. Did he tell you?

You were watching him, a. blush on your cheeks. You looked so fucking gorgeous, sitting there with the sunset behind you, your hair blowing softly in the wind, your camera in one hand. 

“....you.” He didn’t mean to say it. But then he did. 

And he couldn’t take it back. 

Your mouth opened, then closed. “Oh,” you said for the second time, the word hushed. 

“YN, I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, fuck I’m so sorry--”

“H, it’s fine.”

This time, he was the one blinking at you, eyes wide. “What?”

Your head bent, eyes falling to his dick. He could tell thoughts were swirling in your head, your hand reaching up to brush a hair behind your ear, teeth gnawing on your bottom lip like you did when you were thinking hard. “I--I could help you.”

“What?” He sputtered, brain unable to process the concept. 

But you just shrugged, as if it was no big deal. In reality, your blood was racing at the prospect of having him in your mouth, at tasting him finally. And for him, he couldn’t quite keep his thoughts in a coherent string. “If you want,” you said.

“You sure?” You nodded, and Harry cursed under his breath. “Then, um, yeah.” 

You placed both the cameras on the ground next to him, clasping the lens caps over the lenses, before looking back up to him. Then, your hands were coming up to his waist and Harry thought he was going to melt into the ground at the feeling of your fingertips on his lower stomach as you brushed over the button of his pants. You were narrowly avoiding his dick and he couldn’t bear it. 

Your hands tucked into the fabric once the button was popped, and pulled, the zipper moving down smoothly. You pulled off his pants and underwear at the same time and Harry groaned hotly at the fresh air on his sensitive skin. 

As he panted, you studied him. Red, weepy tip, desperate and hard. You had caused this? You chewed on your cheek, the thought crossing into your brain that maybe you had the same effect on him as he had on you. 

You decided to give him all you had. You shifted on his body, moving so your knees were pressed to the ground in between his legs. Then, you leaned in and as ladylike as possible, let spit fall from your lips and onto his dick. 

Harry moaned wantonly above you, one of his hands moving to your hair and pulling it together, making a tie of sorts to keep it out of your face. Then, your hand moved from his hip to his dick, your fingers wrapping around his wide girth, and tugging softly, the slick of your spit making it smooth. 

You watched in rapture as Harry’s head fell back, his hips bucking slightly at your touch. He was more sensitive than you had thought. You pumped a few more times, taking immense joy in the pants and whimpers falling from his lips as you worked him. When you decided you had teased him enough, you shifted your head back down, and wrapped your lips around his tip. 

The groan that ripped from Harry’s throat had you moaning onto his skin, the vibrations just making more sounds echo between you. Harry’s voice was low and heavy and you loved the sound as you bobbed your head once, your spit and his pre-cum mixing in your mouth as you moved your lips down the length of him. 

It was sin, he thought as he watched you. Having you on him like this, letting himself feel you like this. It was pure, unabashed sin. He was going straight to hell for the thoughts of you that were floating through his head. Of you on your back, of you moaning his name, of your hands on his skin as he pushed in and out of you. 

He was definitely going to hell. 

Then you pulled off of him and licked a hot stripe up the underside of him and rolled his balls in his hand, the combination making him buck his hips again, unable to control himself. But you didn’t seem to mind. You just smiled softly--he could see your face slightly from the angle--and then took him all the way into your mouth. 

When he hit the back of your throat, he thought he might die there and then. Or perhaps he was already dead and this was heaven. Or hell. He didn’t really care, as long as you were there with him. 

You loved the feeling of him inside your mouth, the taste of him salty and perfect on your tongue. You loved the sounds you caused him to make, the ripple of his abs, the soft hold he had on your hair. You loved when he pushed into you and then apologized under his breath. You loved him. 

You added your hand back to his shaft and in quick motions, moved your hand and head together, meeting in the middle and working his length in perfect rhythm. When Harry moaned your name you knew he was close, his grip in your hair tightening and his fingernails scratching at your scalp. 

“’m close,” he mumbled above you. 

You kept going, not wanting to let up for a second, and Harry thought he was going to lose it. Were you going to let him come in your mouth? The thought had him nearly letting go immediately, but he wanted to check. 

“You can pull off,” he said, voice rough.

But you didn’t move. You just stayed stayed, taking him as deep as you could and tonguing at his tip with soft licks that had his eyes squeezing shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

And then he was coming, in long ropes in your mouth, coating your tongue. Your only movement was your hand moving from his base to his thigh, gripping the exposed skin to encourage him. 

“Fuck, Y/N, holy shit,” he breathed out, mind whirling at the feeling of you warm and wet around him. 

When you pulled off, there was a small smile on your face, and a hint of his cum at the corner of your lips. He let your hair go and swiped at it, taking it and pressing it back to your lips, watching in awe as they parted and accepted his finger. 

“You,” he murmured, “are incredible.”

You giggled and Harry couldn’t stop the next three words from falling from his mouth, no matter the fact this wasn’t the time. 

“I love you.”

Your eyes widened again, his finger still inside your mouth. Your jaw dropped, releasing it, and he watched your expression absorb his words. “You--what?”

“I love you.” He was more emphatic this time, showing you he was serious.

The words settled in your mind, rolling backwards and forwards in your thoughts. Could it be true? Could he actually feel the same way about you? Maybe so, you realized. Maybe he was telling you the truth. You searched his face for any sign that he was lying, but couldn’t find one. He looked like Harry, the one you knew well, the one you trusted with your whole heart. 

So you said the words back. “I love you too.”

The grin that ripped across his face rivalled any other in existence. “Yeah?”

A giggle escaped your lips and you nodded. “Yeah.”

Then his lips were on yours, and you leaned into him, hands moving to the back of his neck. He was delicious--tasted like minty toothpaste and the grass he had been lying in, the edge of a watermelon popsicle he’d eaten on the drive over. 

You shifted closer, but something stopped you. You glanced down and chuckled--his dick was pushed between you. 

Then he looked and he groaned. “Fuck--lemme--love can you move so I can pull up my pants?”

“Don’t want it in the way?”

He huffed, tugging at his pants once you shifted. “God, it really does have the worst fucking timing.”

Then he pulled you back in, re-claiming your lips. He never wanted to let you go. 

~~~

WELL THIS BECAME LONG SUDDENLY! ENJOY!

[solarmorrigan]

In the Details - James Bond - 00Q

Fill for the Classic Prompt Table: “Bond’s Housekeeper”. Outsider perspective on Bond/Q, no warnings.

-

It starts with little things, as these things often do.

It’s not that Mara is particularly interested in Mr. Bond’s personal life – not any more so than any of her other clients. It’s just that she doesn’t have many clients these days, between competing with actual maid services and her advancing age. Besides that, she’s cleaned for Mr. Bond for years—had mourned to hear he’d died and had nearly smacked him over the head when he had turned up some months later asking if she still offered housekeeping services, but had otherwise been with him for a good few years uninterrupted—and really couldn’t help but notice his habits.

So she notices when there are a few extra sets of dishes in the sink—supper and breakfast—and when the bed is made the morning she comes in to clean.

Mr. Bond does not make the bed.

(Neither do his occasional nightly guests, for that matter.)

She notices a few weeks later when an extra toothbrush appears by the bathroom sink, and when there are a few pieces of clothing on the floor that are definitely not Mr. Bond’s usual colors.

Either Mr. Bond has a lady friend who gives him off-target gifts, or Mr. Bond has a gentleman friend who makes the bed but forgets to pick up his shirts.

A few weeks after that, Mr. Bond goes on one of his business trips (that Mara really thought he’d stop taking after the “death” incident, but she supposes that’s really none of her business) and things go back to normal. No extra visitors to the flat, no extra dishes, no unmade-remade bed.

Mara expects that to be the end of it; Mr. Bond has never kept the same visitor for so long, but even if they’d weather his sporadic work hours, his weeks-long disappearance now is likely to put the kibosh on this prospect.

Except when Mr. Bond comes back, so does his visitor.

His visitor adds a razor to the bathroom sink and a few small bottles of soap to the shower.

(A gentleman friend, then, Mara nods to herself.)

As months go by, more clothes appear in the bedroom (not always in the hamper, but at least not usually on the floor), a new mug appears in the kitchen (distinguished from Mr. Bond’s mugs by the Starfleet symbol emblazoned on it; at least the gentleman friend has good taste in television), and a small forest of charging cords appears on the previously unused nightstand by the bed.

The cords make it difficult to dust, and Mara sighs and demonstratively wraps them all up and puts them in the drawer. She finds them in exactly that state the next week she comes to clean, along with a short thank-you note tucked in by the tip Mr. Bond usually leaves for her.

The note is not in Mr. Bond’s handwriting.

Mara supposes this gentleman is alright.

She hasn’t seen him yet, of course, and Mr. Bond makes no mention of him when she sees him; Mara wonders if he’s even noticed his gentleman friend is slowly moving in.

Things still proceed as usual with Mr. Bond’s business trips—steady payment, empty flat, Mr. Bond usually returning home without warning and a bit worse for wear—until a few months down the line, when they suddenly don’t.

There is a man in Mr. Bond’s bed.

Mr. Bond has been gone for a few weeks now and does not appear to have returned, but there is a man in his bed – sleeping very hard by the looks of it.

Mara clears her throat.

The man stirs slightly but doesn’t wake.

Mara tries again, louder, and again after that until she’s just standing in the doorway practically shouting “AHEM.”

The man wakes with a start and a bitten-off “what” as he looks around the room and scrabbles for the glasses sitting on the nightstand.

“Oh,” he says as soon as he can see her clearly. “You’re– you must be Mrs. Blythe.”

“Suppose I must be,” Mara nods, taking the man in.

He’s younger than Mara expected, though not all that young. Dark-haired and handsome enough, if a bit haggard-looking at the moment. Entirely too skinny.

“I, um,” the man stops to clear his throat, half shifting out of the bed; the pajamas he’s wearing are a hair too large and look like a set of Mr. Bond’s, “what time is it?”

“Just past 10.”

“Damn. I’d meant to be out of your way by now,” the man says sheepishly. “If you’ll just give me 10 minutes, I can–”

“I can clean around you just as well as I can clean around Mr. Bond,” Mara cuts in, taking pity; the man doesn’t really look ready to face the world just yet. “Don’t suppose he’s home yet?”

“Ah, no.” The man frowns that pensive and empty frown Mara remembers seeing on her own face any time her Henry had been deployed. “He did give me a key. And the code. I don’t normally come by when he’s away, though, I just…”

The man has extracted himself from the sheets and is now standing uncertainly by the bed. He looks young and lost and old and tired at once.

“Long night?” Mara offers.

“Long week,” the man sighs.

“Hm,” Mara hums. “Well, I’m not guard dog. If you have a key, then he wants you here, Mr.…?”

The man blinks at her. “Q,” he answers after a moment.

“Mr. Q,” Mara repeats dryly, one brow raised.

Mr. Q laughs a little. “Better make it just Q.”

“We’ll see. Now, would you mind?” Mara gestures to the bedding.

“Oh. Sorry.” Mr.-Just-Q steps away from the bed, taking the phone on the nightstand with him. “Would you, ah – like a cup of tea?”

“Wouldn’t mind one, if you’re having it,” Mara allows, and gets to work on the bed as soon as Mr. Q is out of her way.

Bit of an awkward fellow, but nice enough. Good for Mr. Bond, she thinks.

Mara, therefore, isn’t terribly surprised when Mr. Bond asks her, the next time they both happen to be in the flat at the same time, what she thinks about cats. Mr. Q seems like a cat person.

“I don’t do cat pans,” she warns him promptly.

Mr. Bond smiles. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

Mara hums, tucking dishes away in the cupboards. “Mr. Q come with cats, then?”

Mr. Bond snorting int his cup of coffee with surprised laughter is a new reaction; not one he’d have had just a few months ago, Mara fancies. She likes it.

Q, she thinks, will do just fine.

[giftwrappingpaper]

wangxian vampire au

featuring vampire hunter lwj and shitty vampire wwx

-----

It was supposed to be an ordinary, by-the-numbers hunt. With an illustrious monster hunting career under his belt, Lan Wangji hadn’t thought much of it when his guild forwarded him the typical rumors of a small village recently plagued with vampire attacks. There was even a potential location for its den in the form of a nearby manor, long abandoned since its last inhabitants were murdered a century ago.

His subsequent investigation into the rumors proved to be more concerning; not for fear of great violence, but rather the lack of it. An air of levity permeated the village and its inhabitants, as if it hadn’t been recently targeted by a dangerous beast. As if there weren’t villagers and cattle alike with telltale signs of a vampire bite who curiously, after closer inspection, only lost enough to fill a thimble.

And then there were the village folk themselves.

“You mean Wei Wuxian?” Nie Huaisang, a local artist, said in one of Lan Wangji’s cursory village interviews. “I’d ask if you didn’t hunt one of my most generous patrons, Hunter Lan. Just last week he’d paid my rent five times over!”

“Unfortunately,” Jiang Wanyin, the local sheriff, said when Lan Wangji asked if he was aware of the regional vampiric patronage going around. “His habit of throwing money around has been a pillar of this village’s economy for decades now. So we put up with the guy, despite him being both a vampire and annoying as all hell.”

“He hates blood,” Wen Qing, the village doctor, stated during Lan Wangji’s visit to the local clinic; he had been searching for the vampire’s victims in hopes of an interview, but found that none had even visited the clinic after being bitten. “Well, most types of blood. There are certain types he tolerates, but he’s picky enough that the vials I sometimes bring him are the only sustenance I know of that he can stomach.”

At that, an unconvinced Lan Wangji asked, “Why would a vampire so repulsed by blood —“ already a ludicrous concept “— bite two villagers and a cow in a single night?”

At this point, despite consistent testimony throughout each interview, he was still unwaveringly skeptical about the supposed character of this “Wei Wuxian.” For even though he made it a habit to see the best in people, the claims spouted by these villagers conflicted with every teaching Lan Wangji had stood for since leaving his mother’s womb.

Wen Qing rolled her eyes and supplied him with a fairly useless answer: “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” 

Miffed at what was turning out to be a rather unconventional hunt, Lan Wangji set out to do just that. He’d already been here for nearly a couple of days, and the traps he’d laid around the village border weren’t enough to entice the vampire to bite (ha). 

Blood bait, this time. Collecting blood samples from a few villagers as well as himself, he set up another set of traps, more sophisticated than the last, around the forest that surrounded the vampire’s manor instead of the village itself. Hopefully its close proximity would be enough to lure out the beast. No matter how blase the villagers — who were reacting to Lan Wangji’s preparations the way a mother would react to her child’s first piano recital — were in regards to a vampire in their vicinity, he knew he needed to dispose of it quickly before it began a killing spree.

A week passed. No success.

No matter. Unspoiled bait was the logical next course of action — so he called for the aid of local volunteers, and waited with the ensuing party of virgins at the village square throughout the night. 

A few hours in without a single vampire sighting, he began doubting the validity of the volunteers’ virginal status, but decided to nonetheless wait it out. The rising sun made Lan Wangji blink away the inherent fatigue of staying up all night, and the vampire still didn’t come.

Lan Wangji had never been met with such failure before. Fed up with standing idle, he decided that now was the time for action. Diving head-first into a possible vampire den was a risky move, but judging by the villagers’ tales of the vampire’s ineptitude, it lived alone and wouldn’t put much of a fight when faced head on. So when the sun was at its highest point in the sky, he barged into the manor with Bichen and his silver-tipped crossbow at the ready, expecting the worst.

He was met with nothing. As he crept around the manor, he deduced that it seemed more like the home of an eccentric than a mythical bloodsucking beast. Mountains of stuff lined the manor’s interior, ranging from artistically ambitious portraits to antique candelabras. Strewn across any available flat surface were schematics of half thought-out contraptions Lan Wangji could only imagine what their functions were. The parlour was the most uncluttered of the rooms, with a homely lounge area and a stocked liquor cabinet, its setup optimized to entertain at least a dozen guests.

What sort of vampire entertained guests?

Best not to dwell too much into it until the creature was dead. The lower floor was empty, so he made his way upstairs. As unoccupied as the floor below. Maybe he overlooked something outside? He could scout around the manor’s expansive gardens, of which there was a curiously thriving radish garden. But just as he was about to start another outside search, he heard a soft shuffle over his head and through the ceiling. 

Ah. There was an attic.

His patience long since fizzled out, Lan Wangji yet again forgoed a stealthy entrance. Once he spotted the ceiling attic door, he stomped his way up the pull-out staircase to face the target of by far the most frustrating hunts of his career.

As soon as he entered the attic and registered the scene before him, he took a moment for himself to stare.

Unlike the rest of the manor, the attic was in fact occupied; only, the man who occupied it stood stockstill against its darkest corner with a look of utter terror on his face. His body was awkwardly contorted in such a way that he was cast in shadow — in some places only a hair's breadth away from the thin beams of light that streamed through the uneven paneling of the attic’s outer wall, as well as its fully open window, effectively pinning him where he stood.

“Oh, thank everything that is holy,” the man, who is definitely a vampire, said with relief. “Please, good sir, could you please do me a favor and draw that curtain and plug those holes?”

Lan Wangji opened his mouth. Closed it. Then said, “You’re Wei Wuxian?” when really he should have dragged the beast out of the shadows and into the damning sunlight, because of course it was.

“How — oh, you’re the hunter everyone’s been warning me about!” was the vampire’s reply. The stiffness of its absurd posture slackened in surprise, but immediately straightened when its arm grazed the edge of sunlight. The barest hint of smoke sizzled from the contact.

Damn those villagers; really, Lan Wangji should’ve seen the betrayal coming. But before he could take further action, the vampire had the audacity to smile, fangs and all, at him, and say, “I was warned beforehand of your intentions, though I must say how surprised I am no one had thought to mention just how handsome you are.”

This was not the first time a target had tried flattery as a way to escape Lan Wangji’s sword. It was, however, the first time one had done so when in such a predicament: trapped into a corner of its own home by poor woodwork and an open window. 

Lan Wangji couldn’t help but feel a drop of pity at such a surprisingly human but nonetheless pathetic display.

He said to the beast, “I am not sure you should be commenting on my appearance right now, considering your…current predicament.”

The beast’s — Wei Wuxian — face fell. “I lost track of time!” he bemoaned. “I somehow fell asleep while cleaning my attic, and when I woke up...well.”

Suddenly, all the tales the villagers spun about the vampire’s ineptitude began to make sense.

“You attacked two people at the neighboring village,” Lan Wangji recounted, taking a step forward. “And a cow.”

“I was hungry.” Wei Wuxian wrinkled his nose; a far too human quirk. “Wen Qing hadn’t come by in a while so I decided to…but I barely even hurt them! They’re blood tasted way too gross, so I left after only having a sip.” He frowned, a guilty expression on his face. “I tried to get rid of the taste with cow’s blood, but then it looked at me with its huge cow eyes and started mooing really sadly, so I let the poor guy go.”

Never, throughout the entirety of Lan Wangji’s career, had he seen a more pitiful sight. It almost made him feel bad about killing him. However, strangely pathetic target aside, Lan Wangji had a job to do. 

He took another step. Even cast in shadow, he was close enough to see the telltale signs of Wei Wuxian’s vampiric nature: his pale pallor, his clawed hands, his red eyes. He could see Wei Wuxian’s face, too; which, a moment before, had been smiling at him. Protruding fangs aside, his smile was nice. As was his general appearance. If Wei Wuxian had been human, Lan Wangji would consider him handsome.

Wait. What?

Misinterpreting Lan Wangji’s approach, Wei Wuxian perked up — as much one could when frozen in a pose reminiscent of a ballerina mid-pirouette  — and said, his smile returning, “Ah, good. My muscles were just about to start to cramp.”

Maybe he was too distracted. Of course this bizarre interaction was preventing Lan Wangji from continuing his hunt, filling his mind with enough wayward thoughts to distract him. Did vampire arms usually bend that way? Did vampires usually have the capacity to be stupid enough to lose track of time and fall asleep next to an open window? Did vampires usually have smiles that seemed so kind?

Okay. No. Slow down.

Lan Wangji shook his head, as if that would help with much. “You seem convinced that I will help you,” he said, “despite knowing who I am, and why I am here.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him. Vampires did not blink. Why the hell was he blinking. 

“You seem like a nice guy, if a bit intense,” he said. “At least, that’s what Wen Qing told me. And I already explained this whole misunderstanding. I’m certain you won’t find anyone in the village that’s actually mad at me for what happened.”

He was right — Lan Wangji hadn’t. “That doesn’t change the fact that my job is to kill beasts like you.”

“But I didn’t do anything?”

“That doesn’t —” Lan Wangji exhaled heavily through his nose. He shouldn’t be entertaining the thought of casting aside his duty for — what? An admittedly attractive vampire who was already entirely at his mercy? All vampires were considered, by human standards, attractive. This one was no different.

Belatedly, he realized that, at one point during what was turning out to be one of the strangest conversations of his life, Lan Wangji had strapped his crossbow to his back holster and unsheathed Bichen, his hand already off its hilt.

“Look,” Wei Wuxian said, voice frustratingly placating, “you seem a bit tense. Why don’t we go downstairs? Sit down and have a chat. Healthy discussion, moral debate, all that shit. Then you can decide if you still want to kill me based solely on preconceived notions of my species. I had some friends over last night and I still have food left if you’re hungry.”

Lan Wangji frowned.

“People food. Like, food that isn’t people, but for people to eat. Uh.” There was a nervous edge to his laugh. “Usually I’m more smooth than this? But I’m currently pinned to a wall, so. Help? Please?” 

All vampires had an innate ability to hypnotize; Lan Wangji’s last hunt was so good at it, he’d had to plug his ears with wool to escape its pull. He knew the heavy, paralyzing feel of a vampire exerting its will onto its prey.

Wei Wuxian was not doing that. Lan Wangji wasn’t even sure if he even could, given his current track record of vampiric competency. It just seemed like he was, in a clumsy, almost endearing way…

Asking Lan Wangji out to dinner?

With no small sense of how incomprehensibly inane this hunt has become, Lan Wangji walked to the window and drew the curtains closed.

-----

originally posted on twitter

[buckys-little-hoe]

Insecure | Peter Parker x Reader

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Sam and Bucky make both of you insecure. You decide to prove them wrong. 

Warnings: Fluff, no warning I think. 

A/N: Heyaw! I just wanted to tell you that Peter is 21 in this Oneshot and the world knows that he is Spiderman. Thank you!

--

You silently sit on the couch and listen to the men. In the meantime you sip your beer. This would be men's night actually, but for some reason your friends see you as one of the boys. Is it because you only wear comfortable clothes and don't show curves? Is it because of your talent in video games? Perhaps. It's not fair. But thank god you're not the subject right now. Instead, poor Peter Parker is under attack.

“What do you mean, Parker? You just can't be bad at dancing. ” Sam says and you roll your eyes. Poor Peter. He constantly becomes a kicker for the men. You look down. A few strands of hair come loose from your bun and fall into your face. Annoyed, you blow it off your face, missing Steve’s gaze.

“It's a shame to not be able to dance. How are you ever going to take a girl out?” Bucky intervenes and you sigh in sync with Peter. What is that stupid statement supposed to mean? You like to dance, but that doesn't mean that all girls like to do it. After all, you are no longer in the 40s.

“He's right, Queens. How do you want to appear at the gala?” Steve agrees with his best friend. It was clear that he would agree. He also has no idea. With effort to stay calm, you put your beer on the glass table. Next to it is the card game that you played. You pulled the guys over the table with it. Another reason for your friends to not consider you girl.

“Don't listen to these idiots, Parker. Not many girls like to dance these days.” Your voice is encouraging, but Peter only shakes his head. Of course, he'd rather believe the boys than you. Why does your opinion never count?

"And how do you know that?" Sam asks and you take a deep breath. That hurt more than you thought. You pull your lower lip between your teeth and stand up. "You're an asshole, Wilson." you insult him and take your jacket.

“Wait, Y/N. He didn't mean that! ” Steve calls after you, but you just keep walking. In the middle of the hallway you get your cell phone out. The bright screen makes you pause for a few seconds. Biting your lip, you tap on it.

Y/N: Meet me in the gym tonight, alone. Don't tell anyone.

Spiderling: What? Why?

Y/N: Just do what I say.

Y/N: And put on something comfortable!

Spiderling: Okay, Miss Y/L/N

Grinning, you roll your eyes. He'll never understand that he should just call you by your first name. You are about a few years older than Peter, but you are not that old. - Bored, you tie the buttons on your black body. Your long legs are in see-through tights and your hair is tied up in a tight bun. Your eyes slide to the door, which is still locked. It takes him longer than expected. You relax on the floor and hum softly to the music that is playing in the background.

The door opens and you startle easily. The fear that someone would see you like this is big. However, it is already four in the morning, so the chance of meeting uninvited guests is very slim. You press your lips together and then force yourself to look as calm as possible. It's okay for you to show yourself in front of Peter, but you're still insecure. You'll have to get this under control until the gala.

"Oh! Sorry Miss Y/L/N! Uh ... I meant Y/N. ” Peter stutters and you turn around. His cheeks are flushed with shame. With a gentle smile, you ask him in. “It's okay, Parker. If you agree to my deal, you have to endure me more often. ” You point to your body and he shakes his head violently. "No! You look really pretty!” he says honestly. The corners of your mouth twist into an even bigger smile, if that's even possible.

Together you sit on a bench and you take a few seconds to look at his outfit. He is wearing gray sweatpants and a white tank top with a pair of white sports shoes. That should actually be comfortable enough.

“So, Parker. Would you like to amaze the boys?” you want to know curious. Your eyes flash with excitement. "With pleasure! But how?" the young man asks you. You lick your lips and grin. "I will teach you how to dance." you explain and try to read from his face whether he likes the idea.

"How would you benefit from that?" His confused expression makes you giggle. To be honest, Parker looks confused 90% of the day. “The boys don't see me as a woman. I want to change that.” you answer. At the last galas, you always wore big blouses and wide trousers that showed nothing and covered your body. This time you would put on a short dress, one with a generous view of your cleavage.

"I do see you as a woman!" he replies. "Now just a little bit more ..." he whispers and his cheeks turn red again. You give him a little laugh. He is just too cute. You clap your hands excitedly and stand up.

"It's time to practice, Parker!"

--

You stand tired in the kitchen and wait for the coffee to be ready. You have been practicing daily for two weeks. Sometimes at night in the training room, sometimes during the day on a meadow. It turns out that Peter has music in his blood. During your training, you two got closer and built up a friendship, but in the compound you still have this we-are-only-colleagues-relationship. You don't want anyone to find out anything. The gala is already in three weeks, but as hard-working as you are, you should soon be able to do it blind.

The lamp finally glows green and you don't waste time. Instead, you put the hot pot on your lips and drink. Your skills don't let you feel cold or heat. Accordingly, you cannot burn yourself or get any other injuries that heat and cold bring. You hear Clint groan in annoyance.

"You are so selfish, Y/N." he says (like as if you would care) and turns to the other coffee machine. You put the empty jug down and shrug your shoulders. "The whole world is about me, Clint." you reply and notice how a few drops of coffee run down the corners of your mouth. Peter hands you a few napkins as he walks past. "Thank you, Peter." you thank him with a slight smile and wipe the coffee away. "No problem, Y/N."

Bucky and Steve look up in surprise from their newspapers. Sam stops eating. "What?" you ask and raise a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Since when do you call him by his first name?" Bucky wants to know in surprise. Hmm. Maybe since Peter lifted you up for a while? Maybe since Peter sees you half-naked. You shrug your shoulders as calmly as possible.

"I call you Bucky too, don’t I?" you say and flutter your eyelashes. "But you don't call me Sam!" Sam replies and you roll your eyes. “I have no reason to call you by your first name. That's just for the people I actually like.” you defend yourself “It's okay, Y/N. You don't have to defend yourself in front of us. ” Steve intervenes. "Thanks, Steve." you say and look at Sam when you say his name.

Clint leans against the kitchen counter and looks first at you and then at Peter, who hides his face behind a cereal box. "Interesting." the archer whispers and sips his coffee with relish. "Idiot." you mumble under your breath and leave the kitchen. - You hiss quietly when he stands on your foot. He looks at you apologetically and immediately breaks away from you. You shake your head briefly and then wave it off. He didn't break your foot.

“It's okay, Peter! We'll try again.” you say encouragingly and take a few steps back. He rolls his shoulders to relieve the tension and nods. "OK." he replies and comes closer to you. His right hand rests on your back and the other is knotted with your right. Your left hand is on his shoulder blade.

He guides you and you proudly follow him. Your hips move in time. You can take a quick look at yourself in the mirror. The black sweatpants sit low on your hips and the black sports bra fits like a glove. Your hair is tied up in a loose ponytail. Peter is again wearing the gray sweatpants but this time a white t-shirt.

The music in the background is a bit quiet, but still audible. You roll your head backwards appropriately. The sunlight shines directly on the tip of your nose. Your head is back up when he looks at you. He lets go off you immediately and points to his goose bumps.

You understand of course and quickly slip into your sweater. Peter stops the music and then picks up a few dumbbells. You stand on the treadmill and start running just in time. The heavy doors open and Sam is laughing at a joke Bucky made. Bucky looks crispy, especially his thighs. Even Sam in his sports clothes looks exceptionally juicy. Still, you would never admit that. Their conversation falls silent when they see Peter. "Are you going to pick a few girls up, Spiderboy?" Sam asks and stands behind him.

Bucky grunts loudly and you roll your eyes as usual. The boys can be real idiots. You keep running and ignore their presence. Sam gives you a funny look because he will never understand why you wear a sweater while training. You don't feel any heat anyway, so that's not a problem for you. Instead, you focus on the race. - "How you do that?" Peter asks, pointing to your high heels. You smile proudly. You two are taking a break. The gala is in a week, so you've already decided to try high heels. These are very high because you weren't sure which ones to wear. “Years of practice.” you answer seriously and smile. It is actually true. Back in high school, you started secretly wearing heels. However, you always carried these at home because you hated attention at the time.

Together you get up again and he walks away. Even with your high shoes, he’s still a few centimeters taller because you are very short. "Let's try the lifting figure again?" he asks you and you nod. The lifting figure is not a problem for Peter, after all, he can also lift cars. You have curves in the right places, but you still have a flat stomach. This mainly comes from training and from all the missions.

The sun is beating down on you and the birds are chirping happily. You are standing in a meadow, very far away from the headquarters. You walk about ten steps back and crack your fingers. The lifting figure is a problem for you. Not that you don't trust Peter! You don't trust yourself. You are afraid that you will screw up everything, or that you’ll hit the ground, or that you are too heavy after all. The lifting figure is still part of the choreography and it is important.

He nods to you and you take a deep breath. Your heart is pounding quickly. You swallow hard for a moment and start running. Just before you stand in front of Peter, you stretch out your arms and he lifts you up at the waist. You almost hover over his head and stretch out your body. The wind blows through your hair and you smile happily. After about ten seconds, he carefully lets you down. Overwhelmed by the happiness, you hug the boy exuberantly. Laughing, he wraps his arms around your body.

"We did it, Peter!" you call cheerfully and both of you fall into the soft grass laughing. - You look nervously at yourself in the mirror and tug at your dress. It is light pink and has a few silver and white details on the upper body. The neckline is deep, but not too deep. It just gives a generous view of your breasts. The fabric is tight up to your waist, but then there is a lot of tulle underneath. The dress goes down to the middle of your thighs. You combined it with a pair of silver high heels.

Your hair falls over your shoulders in gentle curls. Only when you put your hair back you can see the expensive diamond earrings. Your make-up is simple. You redraw your pink lips and then nod satisfied. You can show yourself like that. 

The gala started a long time ago. You hurry down the few steps and quickly pull Peter into a corner. He is wearing a black suit and looks very attractive. As you look around to see if anyone has noticed you, Peter lets his eyes wander over your body.

"Wow ... you look amazing, Y/N." he says with his mouth open. Your cheeks turn red and you smile shyly. "You don't look bad either, Peter." you reply and bite your lower lip. "Get ready, okay?" you remind the boy with a serious expression and he nods.

The donation gala is structured as follows: Every male Avenger gets a dance to convince the crowd to donate. Most of the time, it's more of a competition among the boys to see which man makes more money. Only the boys actually have to dance, so you've never had to dance. For example, Vision dances with Wanda, Bruce with Natasha, Clint with Laura, Thor with Jane, Tony with Pepper and Steve with Sharon. Sam and Bucky choose a woman during the gala who can have the pleasure of dancing with one of them. This is Peter's first donation gala.

"Have you spoken to the DJ yet?" you ask your dance partner. He shakes his head and you nod. It is time to overcome your insecurities. "I'll do it quickly." He smiles encouragingly at you. You smile back and set off.

You arrive at the DJ unseen. You quickly hand in your choice of music and understanding he shows you a thumb up. You say thank you and he starts to engage in a conversation. You raise an eyebrow in surprise and just want to give him a no, but another voice interrupts you.

"Hello Beautiful Woman. Unaccompanied here?” the deep voice asks and your heart starts racing. Slowly you turn around and his charming grin turns into a shocked expression. "Y/N?" he says surprised and you smile innocently. "What's up, Wilson?" you reply and suppress a smile.

"You ... you, um. Wow. You ... hello ... you just look ... wow. ” your work colleague stutters and you laugh gently. “Thank you, Wilson. You too. ”, You answer and point at his dark blue suit.

Bucky approaches Sam from the side and ignores you. You quickly turn to the DJ and smile apologetically at him. He just waves the whole thing off and smiles wryly. "Have you seen Parker yet, Sam?" Bucky asks his friend and nudges him. But he doesn't even look at him. Confused, he follows Sam's gaze and sees your back. His lips curl up in a grin. "Hello, you have a dance partner already?" Bucky wants to know and taps your shoulder.

You roll your eyes briefly and then turn around. He sees you, startled. “Uh! Y/N?” he asked hesitantly and you nod with a smile. "You look ... indescribably beautiful!" Bucky says as if he couldn't believe it himself. You lick your lips amused and wink at him.

"I wish you a nice evening, gentlemen." Your voice is so tender and loving that sweet honey drips from your lips. You wave to them and disappear to go to the bar. Both men stand there in confusion.

"Did you see her too?" Sam asks incredulously and Bucky nods. “Yes, buddy. That was Y/N. ” Bucky replies and looks after you. Peter is still standing in the corner and watching you grinning. - Bucky and his dance partner leave the dance floor with raging applause. Now it's Peter’s turn. You two are the last. The applause ceases and Peter stands on the dance floor. The music plays loud and slowly you walk towards him. You start with your choreography. You forget the people around you.

As practiced, you go through the steps and diligently swing your hips. Natasha is the first to whistle you. You can hear the cameras and the talking press. You will definetly occupy the front page of tomorrow's newspaper. The two youngest Avengers are a couple?

But you don't care. Not tonight and not tomorrow either. Now only his eyes count for you. Slowly you loosen up and he takes a few steps back. You also take a few steps back and wait a moment. Then you run towards him and spread your arms. With ease he lifts you up and you stretch your body. The audience applauds.

With a fat smile he lets you down and you two are very close. You can feel his breath on your lips. You look smiling at his lips and slowly he approaches your lips. You quickly close the gap and put your lips on his. The applause gets louder, but you don't hear that. You put your arms around his neck and gently bite his lower lip.

You have clearly proven that Peter can dance and that you are a woman.

[mnthpprt]

Chapter 26: Buongiorno Principessa

I wake up to Lumière scratching the window. I glance at Leonardo. He is still asleep. I carefully untangle my body from his and tip toe across the room to let the cat in. He meows at me and bumps his head against my arm from the table, asking for attention, so I pick him up and carry him to the bed.

The second I let go of him, he starts purring and curls up next to Leonardo’s face. I watch, amused, as Lumière begins to lick the man’s hair, which gets caught in his rough tongue, causing him to jolt back and try to push it away with his paws.

My laughter wakes up Leonardo, whose eyes flutter open, and he sleepily pulls me onto the bed and holds me tight against him. Displeased, the cat jumps down and lays on the pile of my clothes on the floor, earning another chuckle from me.

“Buongiorno, cara mia,” Leonardo purrs, kissing my neck. I turn my head for my lips to meet his.

“Good morning,” I smile. “I wish I could stay, but I’m late for work.”

“Nooo,” he frowns. “But you feel so good, principessa. Please don’t go.”

I softly pry his arms from my body and pull away before giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Sebastian won’t be happy. Besides, I’ll see you later. You never seem to have any trouble finding me.” I turn to my clothes on the floor, which Lumière has turned into his new bed. “Sorry, little guy, but I need to take that. Go find another bed.” The cat stares at me for a few seconds, as if assessing if I am being serious, but eventually gives in, leaping away with a annoyed meow. “Thank you.”

While the clothes on the top have dried overnight, the bottom of the pile is still damp. And now they are covered in cat hair, too. I remember it’s laundry day, so I better take these to Sebastian before he starts.

Leonardo gets up and pulls me into a kiss before I reach the door. He’s making it harder for me to leave, but my will pulls through. I step out onto the hallway wearing nothing but his large shirt and my shoes from last night, carrying the rest of my clothes in my arms.

“You’re late,” Sebastian states when I walk into the kitchen, not looking up from the coffee he’s pouring. “I went to wake you up, but you weren’t in your... Oh.”

He raises his eyebrows when he finally sees me. I casually throw the clothes into a basket and take the coffee from his hands, sniffing the steam that rises from the cup. Sweet caffeinated ambrosia.

“Is that... Is that Leonardo’s?” he stammers. My gaze falls to the tiled floor as I blush. “Oh my god! Tell me everything!” He scrambles to pull a small notebook from his back pocket, along with a ballpoint pen, getting ready to write.

“I’m not telling you shit about my sex life, you weirdo!” I scoff, mockingly offended, but then a smile creeps onto my lips. I take a cautious sip of the hot drink and twirl away from him, giggling. “It was great. That’s it, Seb. That’s all you’re getting.”

“How long have you two been a thing?” he asks. I climb onto the counter, innocently dangling my legs in the air.

“About a week. But we didn’t... you know... until last night.”

“I can’t believe I missed that,” Sebastian mutters. To be fair, I don’t know how he didn’t notice earlier, either. He knows everything that goes on here. He scribbles something in his notebook before putting it away and handing me a muffin. “Here, try this.”

I bite into it without question, and let out a little pleasured noise. It’s blueberry, my favorite.

“This is bomb,” I announce with my mouth full, pointing at the muffin. I wash it down with some coffee before I continue. “Sebastian, I fucking love you. This is officially the best thing I have ever eaten.”

“You’re welcome,” he chuckles smugly.

I keep eating as he returns to his task. After I finish, I jump down from the counter and set the empty cup by the sink.

“I need a bath. Gotta go,” I say, blowing him a kiss from the door.

Later that day, Dazai comes to find me in the garden. When I see him approach, I stop trimming the hedge and climb off the step ladder, leaving the large shears on top of it.

“Good afternoon, Akari-san!” he greets me cheerfully. As usual, he calls me by a completely random name. I have given up on trying to correct him.

“Dazai,” I smile. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I can’t seem to finish this poem, but that’s not why I came. Perhaps some other time.”

“Oh? Then what is it?”

“Le Comte is waiting for you in his study,” he says. Weird, I can’t think of what he might want to talk about. Maybe he found out about me and Leonardo.

I thank Dazai and head inside. Before I knock on the door, I hear le Comte humming a melody inside. I feel bad for interrupting. His voice is angelical.

“You wanted to see me?” I say when he invites me in, gesturing for me to sit. There is a tray with two empty cups and a tea pot on the small table by the hourglass. I get comfortable on one of the armchairs, crossing my legs.

“Tea?” he offers, and I accept. He pours some in a cup and hands it to me. “I realized we haven’t spent much time together during your stay. I would be a terrible host, were I not to spend some time with my guest, don’t you think, ma chérie?”

“I guess,” I shrug, still unsure of where this is going. He definitely knows. “Is there anything in particular you’d like to talk about?”

“Well, I am aware of your and Leonardo’s relationship.” There it goes, straight to the point. “I am happy for you two. My dear friend certainly seems brighter.”

Oh, thank God.

“I am glad to hear that, Comte,” I smile. “I must admit I was nervous about you finding out. It’s a bit of a... complicated situation, and I don’t really know how to go about it, to be honest.”

He thoughtfully sips his tea before speaking again.

“Anaïs, do you wish to stay here?” I don’t answer. Instead, I bite my lip, pondering my options. “I would like you to know that you are welcome to stay at the mansion for as long as you like. However, once you go through that door, it will disappear from your time, and you will never be able to access it again.”

“I don’t know,” I finally sigh. “That means I don’t necessarily have to go back in a week, right? It will open again?” He nods. “I do want to stay longer, but... Forever is a big commitment. There are people that I care about in 2020, but I have come to care about you all, too. I know I would miss you if I left.”

Le Comte sighs, a sad smile on his lips.

“I dread the day that you do,” he says softly, “but the choice is yours and yours only.”

There is something in his voice that I can’t quite place. It sounds like regret, but there is more to it, somehow. Damn these pureblood vampires, always so hard to read.

“I guess... I’ll have to wait and see,” I conclude.

“There is no rush for you to decide, ma chérie. How was the exhibition yesterday?” he changes the topic, his charming smile returning to his face. “It is a shame that I could not attend.”

“It was great. Theo has so much talent for these things, all the pieces displayed were amazing. And Vincent’s paintings were beautiful, as always,” I recall, thinking of the portrait he made of me. “Oh, and I met Émile Zola! He was there too, and he loved it. We even talked for a bit, but I feel a little bad. The poor man doesn’t know what’s coming.”

Le Comte tilts his head, a curious expression on his face.

“What do you man, ma chérie?”

“J’Accuse,” I simply answer. He nods, understanding exactly what I am referring to. Four years from now, Zola will publish an open letter in a newspaper, denouncing the antisemitism and injustice of those involved in the Dreyfus affair. He will be brought to trial and sentenced for libel after a long and messy judicial process.

We discuss that for a while, during which I finish my tea. He serves me more, and I thank him, before he asks me about my life in the 21st century.

“I would like to know more about you,” he says. “I saw you roller skate. Competitively?”

“I used to, but I quit when I began working.”

“You are a chemist specialized in antiques conservation, correct?” I nod. He chuckles. “Ah, I was wondering what you spend so much time researching in the library. Leonardo told me.”

“Yeah, he’s been helping me with it,” I smile. “I like to borrow his genius every once in a while.”

“What about your family?” he asks, and immediately apologizes when he sees my face change. “Forgive me, I do not mean to pry.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” I reassure him. “My family is complicated, at best. My sister is the only one I keep in contact with, but we don’t talk much. She just started university this year, in Milan. She would swoon if she saw the dresses you’ve given me,” I chuckle. “She studies fashion design.”

Though our relationship is strained, I am as proud of her as an older sister can be. Despite the fallout with our parents taking its toll, I will always care deeply about her, and I must admit that seeing Vincent and Theo be so close makes me a bit jealous. 

“My friends are a different story, though,” I continue, unprompted. “I guess you could call them my chosen family.” Le Comte listens attentively, clearly wanting to know more. “There’s Jack and Carlos back in London. I shared a flat with them as a student, and we are still very close. Then there’s Mila.” I look up at le Comte, suddenly remembering something. “I’ve been meaning to ask, if I go through the door would I return to the same time that I left? Or will it be a month later?”

“It’s hard to tell,” he answers thoughtfully. “When I use it, time passes on the other side, too. But as a pureblood vampire, I can come and go as I please, within the door’s rules, of course. A human going through it is something unprecedented, so I truly do not know what would happen.”

“Damnit,” I mutter. When he gives me a questioning look, I explain. “You know, when I came here? I was supposed to pick up Mila at the airport the day after. She’s going to be furious when I get back.”

“Pick her up?” he asks. “I was under the impression that you were just visiting Paris.”

“Well, yeah, but I come so often I practically live here,” I laugh before sipping my tea. Le Comte mimics me, waiting for me to keep talking. “Mila is my oldest friend. She’s French, but I met her in my hometown when her father worked there for a few years. She lives in Montparnasse now. She had to travel somewhere right before I got here, so she left me her car and the keys to her apartment, which I was going to stay in anyway. Hence, well, me picking her up when she came back from... New Zealand, I think it was? I have no clue,” I conclude with a chuckle.

“She sounds like an interesting person,” le Comte chimes in. I laugh.

“She is. I think you would like her.” 

[greekcookingmadeeasy]

Chocolate Salami or Mosaic without Eggs

🍪

Chocolate Salami or Mosaic without eggs – Sokolatenio Salami I Mwsaiko hwris avga BY: Greek Cooking Made Easy https://www.youtube.com/greekcookingmadeeasy

Check my similar YouTube Video: HERE

Κοιτάξτε επίσης την παρόμοια συνταγή μου σε YouTube βίντεο, το λίνκ είναι: ΕΔΩ

Makes 14-15 pieces This delicious chocolate dessert is the most classic Greek “Fridge Sweet”. It is however an alternative to the usual Salami recipe. I experimented a bit trying to make a new recipe without using raw eggs, because a lot of you asked me for it. Instead I used apple sauce, plus I used leftovers from our Easter chocolate bunny, being a firm believer that nothing should go to waste. You could even use leftover Easter cookies, if you have them. Worth to note that this is a favourite sweet to kids, because they like helping with its preparations but also eating it. It’s easy and quick to make and doesn’t involve any baking! Suitable for lacto vegetarians.

INGREDIENTS: 250 gr / 9 oz / 1.1 cup Margarine or Butter, soft 350 gr / 12 oz plain Cookies (Petit-beurre, Cream crackers, graham crackers or tea biscuits) 180 gr / 6.3 oz / 0.8 cup Icing Sugar (powder) 230 gr / 8.1 oz dark Chocolate, melted (altern: milk chocolate) 200 gr / 7 oz Apple Sauce (Mousse to substitute eggs) 1 tsp. Vanilla powder (extract) 1 shot Brandy Optional: 60 gr / 2 oz / a bit more than 1/3 cup finely Chopped Walnuts

METHOD: A. Prepare the ingredients: 1. Break the chocolate in smaller pieces. 2. Tip: You can use leftovers from the Easter chocolate eggs or bunnies!!

3. Melt it in the microwave @90W for 3' at first. 4. Check it and add 3' extra or more i.e. until it melts completely. 5. When ready, remove from the microwave and reserve.

6. Melt butter in the microwave for 1.5' @600W.

7. Roughly chop all the cookies in a large bowl.

  8. Tip: You can use leftovers from your Easter Butter Cookies aka Koulourakia! 9. You can have your children help you with crushing the cookies.

B. Make the chocolate cream: 10. Using a (hand) mixer, whisk the soft butter for 1-2 min. or until smooth. 11. Gradually, beat in the apple sauce.

  12. Next, add the melted chocolate and beat some more for a smooth chocolate mixture result.

13. Then add the icing sugar and beat the mixture for an extra 1-2 min, to make sure it is light and soft with no lumps. Beat in also the vanilla extract and brandy.

14. Add in half of the crushed cookies (and optionally walnuts). 15. Fold them in the mix gradually but firmly. The mixer will crush them even further. 16. Then add the other half of crushed cookies and fold them in.

  17. At the end, make sure all cookies are smeared with the chocolate mix!

C. Make the Salami: 18. Unroll a piece of baking paper (parchment paper) on a flat surface. 19. Using a large spoon, mix the chocolate mixture once more, before starting to tip it out in the middle of the paper. 20. Slowly with your spoon and hands try to mold a long thick shape (approx. 30 cm/12 in).

21. Fold the paper around the mixture to cover it completely and use it to squeeze the mixture into shape, to create a rounded thick log. Wrap its ends tightly.

  22. Transfer it to a board to ensure a flat surface in the freezer or fridge. D. Storing Info: Store Salami in the freezer for up to 1 month. Alternatively, store it in the fridge for at least 6 hours to set before serving. It can be kept in the fridge for up to a week. E. Serving suggestions: There are 2 ways to serve this beautiful dessert: Salami can be served directly from the freezer as ice-cream cake. 

Cut it with a sharp knife in portions and serve it with afternoon tea.

Or you can thaw it at room temperature for 1/2 hour before serving.

An easy, low-cost dessert that can be served all year and can be prepared quickly ahead of time.

AND super delicious!! Enjoy!

F. Info about this dessert and Fridge Sweets in general: This Fridge sweet has some distinctive names derived from its texture: "Salami" for its long shape and the cookies that imitate fat. Or "Mosaic" because when you serve it, you get an 'art piece' made from assembling small colored pieces. Sometimes it is also referred to as Chocolate Roll because of its shape. G. Childhood Memories: I have beautiful memories of my childhood in the 60’s and 70’s, when my Mom’s cookbook was filled with recipes of all these delicious Fridge Sweets. Salami was my most favorite, because I could also help her prepare it and in the process I could steal a couple of the crushed cookies!! Fridge sweets were very much in fashion those days and there was a great variety of them to choose from. Easily prepared with ingredients that we usually had at home, and most didn’t require oven baking. My Mom would usually prepare a fridge sweet for a guest coming for coffee. I was not supposed to touch it until the guest was gone, because it wasn’t polite! Imagine the anticipation, on those long, Summer evenings! I was in agony until the time our guest left. Then the whole family would grab our spoons and dive into the delicious and cool dessert! Sweet memories of innocent times! Some of these recipes I have already posted and I make often for my own family, giving them a little tweak here and there, like in these photos!

Check my separate Category with all my Fridge Sweets HERE

Check my similar YouTube Video: HERE

Σοκολατένιο Σαλάμι ή Μωσαϊκό χωρίς αυγά BY: Greek Cooking Made Easy https://www.youtube.com/greekcookingmadeeasy Φτιάχνει 14-15 κομμάτια Αυτό το νόστιμο σοκολατένιο γλυκό είναι από τα πιο κλασικά Γλυκά Ψυγείου! Είναι όμως μια εναλλακτική λύση της συνηθισμένης συνταγής για σαλάμι. Πειραματίστηκα λίγο προσπαθώντας να φτιάξω μια νέα συνταγή χωρίς να χρησιμοποιήσω ωμά αυγά, γιατί πολλοί από εσάς μου το ζητήσατε. Αντ' αυτού, χρησιμοποίησα σάλτσα-μους από μήλο, και επίσης υπολείμματα από το Πασχαλινό σοκολατένιο λαγουδάκι μας, καθώς πιστεύω ότι τίποτα δεν πρέπει να πετιέται. Θα μπορούσατε ακόμη και να χρησιμοποιήσετε υπόλοιπα από Πασχαλινά Κουλουράκια, αν έχετε. Αξίζει να σημειωθεί ότι αυτό είναι ένα αγαπημένο γλυκό για παιδιά, γιατί τους αρέσει να βοηθούν με την ετοιμασία του αλλά και να το τρώνε. Είναι εύκολο και γρήγορο να φτιαχτεί και δεν περιλαμβάνει ψήσιμο! Κατάλληλο για χορτοφάγους.

ΥΛΙΚΑ: 250 γρ / 9 oz / 1,1 φλ. Μαργαρίνη ή Βούτυρο, μαλακό 350 γρ / 12 oz απλά Μπισκότα Petit-beurre ή μπισκότα τσαγιού ή Μιράντα 180 γρ / 6,3 oz / 0,8 φλ. Ζάχαρη άχνη 230 γρ / 8,1 oz Σοκολάτα σκούρα, λιωμένη (ενναλ: σοκολάτα γάλακτος) 200 γρ / 7 oz σάλτσα Μήλου (μους, για αντικατάσταση αυγών) 1 κ.γ. Βανίλια σκόνη (εκχύλισμα) 1 δόση Κονιάκ- Μπράντι Προαιρετικά: 60 γρ / 2 oz / λίγο περισσότερο από 1/3 φλ. ψιλοκομμένα Καρύδια

ΜΕΘΟΔΟΣ: Α. Ετοιμάστε τα υλικά: 1. Σπάστε τη σοκολάτα σε μικρότερα κομμάτια. 2. Συμβουλή: Μπορείτε να χρησιμοποιήσετε τα υπολείμματα από Πασχαλινά σοκολατένια αυγά ή λαγουδάκια!!

3. Λιώστε τα κομμάτια σοκολάτα στο φούρνο μικροκυμάτων @ 90W για 3' στην αρχή. 4. Ελέγξτε και προσθέστε 3' επιπλέον ή και περισσότερα, έως ότου λιώσει η σοκολάτα τελείως. 5. Όταν είναι έτοιμη, αφαιρέστε από το φούρνο μικροκυμάτων και βάλτε τη στην άκρη.

6. Λιώστε το βούτυρο στο φούρνο μικροκυμάτων για 1,5' @ 600W.

7. Χοντροκόψτε (σπάστε) όλα τα μπισκότα μέσα σε ένα μεγάλο μπολ.

8. Συμβουλή: Μπορείτε να χρησιμοποιήσετε και υπολείμματα από τα Πασχαλινά Κουλουράκια Βουτύρου! 9. Μπορούν τα παιδιά σας να σας βοηθήσουν με το σπάσιμο των μπισκότων.

Β. Φτιάξτε την κρέμα σοκολάτα: 10. Χρησιμοποιώντας μίξερ (χειρός), χτυπήστε ελαφρά το μαλακό βούτυρο για 1-2 λεπτά ή μέχρι να γίνει λείο. 11. Σταδιακά, ρίξτε μέσα τη σάλτσα μήλου.

12. Στη συνέχεια, προσθέστε τη λιωμένη σοκολάτα και χτυπήστε λίγο περισσότερο για να γίνει ένα ομογενοποιημένο μίγμα σοκολάτας.

13. Στη συνέχεια προσθέστε τη ζάχαρη άχνη και χτυπήστε το μείγμα για επιπλέον 1-2 λεπτά, για να βεβαιωθείτε ότι είναι αφράτο και μαλακό, χωρίς σβώλους. Προσθέστε επίσης το εκχύλισμα βανίλιας και το μπράντυ.

14. Προσθέστε τώρα το μισό από τα θρυμματισμένα μπισκότα (και προαιρετικά τα καρύδια). 15. Διπλώστε τα μέσα στο μείγμα σοκολάτας σταδιακά. Το μίξερ θα φροντίσει να συνθλιβούν ακόμη περισσότερο. 16. Στη συνέχεια, προσθέστε το άλλο μισό των μπισκότων και ανακατέψτε καλά.

17. Στο τέλος, θα πρέπει όλα τα μπισκότα να είναι καλά αλειμμένα με το μείγμα σοκολάτας!

Γ. Φτιάξτε το σαλάμι: 18. Ξετυλίξτε ένα κομμάτι αντικολλητικό χαρτί σε μια επίπεδη επιφάνεια. 19. Χρησιμοποιώντας ένα μεγάλο κουτάλι, ανακατέψτε το μείγμα σοκολάτας για άλλη μια φορά, πριν αρχίσετε να το αδειάζετε στη μέση του χαρτιού. 20. Αργά με το κουτάλι και τα χέρια σας προσπαθήστε να διαμορφώσετε ένα μακρύ παχύ σχήμα (περίπου 30 cm / 12 in).

21. Διπλώστε κατόπιν το χαρτί γύρω από το μείγμα για να το καλύψετε πλήρως και χρησιμοποιήστε το για να συμπιέσετε το μείγμα, ώστε να δημιουργήσετε ένα παχύ κορμό. Τυλίξτε καλά τις άκρες του χαρτιού.

22. Μεταφέρετέ το σε μια σανίδα για να εξασφαλίσετε επίπεδη επιφάνεια στη κατάψυξη ή στο ψυγείο. Δ. Πληροφορίες φύλαξης: Φυλάξτε το σαλάμι στη κατάψυξη για έως και 1 μήνα. Εναλλακτικά, φυλάξτε το στο ψυγείο για τουλάχιστον 6 ώρες πριν το σερβίρετε. Μπορεί να διατηρηθεί στο ψυγείο για έως και μία εβδομάδα. Ε. Προτάσεις σερβιρίσματος: Υπάρχουν 2 τρόποι για να σερβίρετε αυτό το πολυαγαπημένο γλυκό ψυγείου: Το Σαλάμι μπορεί να σερβιριστεί απευθείας από τη κατάψυξη σαν κέικ παγωτό.

Κόψτε το με ένα κοφτερό μαχαίρι σε μερίδες και σερβίρετε το με απογευματινό τσάι.

Ή μπορείτε να το ξεπαγώσετε σε θερμοκρασία δωματίου για 1/2 ώρα πριν το σερβίρετε.

Ένα εύκολο, χαμηλού κόστους γλυκό που μπορεί να σερβιριστεί όλο το χρόνο και μπορεί να ετοιμαστεί γρήγορα και από πιο πριν.

ΚΑΙ εξαιρετικά λαχταριστό!! Καλή απόλαυση!

Ζ. Πληροφορίες για αυτό το επιδόρπιο και γενικά για τα γλυκά ψυγείου: Αυτό το γλυκό ψυγείου έχει διάφορα ονόματα που προέρχονται από την υφή του: "Σαλάμι" για το μακρύ σχήμα του και τα μπισκότα που μοιάζουν με λίπος. Ή "Μωσαϊκό" γιατί όταν το σερβίρετε, παίρνετε ένα "κομμάτι τέχνης" φτιαγμένο από τη συναρμολόγηση μικρών χρωματιστών κομματιών. Μερικές φορές αναφέρεται επίσης ως Κορμός ή Ρολό λόγω του σχήματος του. Η. Αναμνήσεις παιδικής ηλικίας: Έχω όμορφες αναμνήσεις από την παιδική μου ηλικία στη δεκαετία του '60 και του '70, όταν το βιβλίο μαγειρικής της μαμάς μου ήταν γεμάτο με συνταγές όλων αυτών των υπέροχων γλυκών ψυγείου με το Σαλάμι να είναι το πιο αγαπημένο μου επειδή μπορούσα να τη βοηθήσω να το φτιάξει και έκλεβα κομματάκια από μπισκότα στο μεταξύ! Τα γλυκά ψυγείου ήταν πολύ της μόδας εκείνα τα χρόνια και βέβαια υπήρχε μια μεγάλη ποικιλία για να διαλέξετε. Ετοιμάζονταν εύκολα με υλικά που συνήθως είχαμε στο σπίτι και τα περισσότερα δεν χρειάζο��ταν ψήσιμο στο φούρνο. Η μαμά μου συνήθως ετοίμαζε ένα γλυκό ψυγείου για κάποιον επισκέπτη που θα ερχόταν για καφέ. Δεν έπρεπε να το αγγίξω μέχρι να φύγει ο επισκέπτης, γιατί δεν ήταν ευγενικό! Φανταστείτε την αναμονή μου, εκείνα τα ζεστά, καλοκαιρινά βράδια! Ήμουν σε αγωνία μέχρι που έφευγε ο επισκέπτης μας. Τότε όλη η οικογένεια αρπάζαμε τα κουτάλια μας και βουτούσαμε στο νόστιμο και δροσερό επιδόρπιο! Γλυκές αναμνήσεις αθώων χρόνων! Μερικές από αυτές τις συνταγές τις έχω ήδη δημοσιεύσει, όπως βλέπετε σε αυτές τις φωτογραφίες, και τις φτιάχνω συχνά για τη δική μου οικογένεια, με κάποιες μικρές παραλλαγές εδώ και εκεί.

Κοιτάξτε όλες τις συνταγές μου για Γλυκά Ψυγείου ΕΔΩ

Κοιτάξτε επίσης την παρόμοια συνταγή μου σε YouTube βίντεο, το λίνκ είναι: ΕΔΩ

[oliver-do-the-twist]

Screw it, I know this short story won't get much attention cause Tumblr hates original content but I want to post it anyway

Mentions of prostitution, minor swearing. around 3800 words

Its a western, but different. Enjoy

The Streets of Midpoint

I believe the town of Midpoint is aptly named. 

It is truly in the middle of nowhere. 

I had gotten stranded here four awful months ago. And I would rather be anywhere than this backwater hick-hole.

I hail from New York, a stark contrast to where I find myself now. The search of furthering my education had forced me to attempt the journey to San Francisco. However, some bandits had other plans for me along the way. 

They left me, horseless, penniless, and without food and water four miles from Midpoint. I was lucky to have found the town before dark. 

I would not, however, call Midpoint a town. There are but three buildings, one store/post office, a small church, and a saloon catering to each of man's deadly sins.

There is nothing but Mexicans and white trash bandits here, just yesterday there was a shootout where one young man lost his life. Once I heard the shooting, I immediately went to my room above the saloon and waited it all out.

I only heard of the young man's misfortune from the bartender. He, in my educated opinion, is the least insufferable person in town. He came from one of the bigger towns, and still held onto some bit of culture that I could hold some kind of enlightening conversation with that didn't involve killing, stolen cattle, poker, or the whore that resided in the room next to mine named Anna.

Luckily for me, the piano classes I took in New York were not for nothing. The kind bartender offered me a job to play his old Baldwin, and in return I got to sleep in the spare room upstairs and get a reduced pay for it. I do not plan to stay here forever, but at least I can bring some real culture to the murders and thieves that live here while I save enough money to take the stagecoach out of here.

The whore is perhaps the most insufferable person in this town. Not because of her occupation, or even the fact of her gender. She is just simply the opposite of me. She is on all day about superstitions, ghosts, and tall tales. I suppose living in a desert of red sand and tumbleweeds one's entire life would do that to a person. Without proper analysis of the world through a rational perspective I can't really blame her for believing in such nonsense. 

Perhaps it is a coping mechanism. Everyone here seems to be on the verge of blowing up either with anger or grief at any moment. I do see it in her at times. It's the wistful look out the window or the small apprehension in her eyes when confronted by certain customers. 

I see that look right now as she turns upstairs with one such man. I noticed he was a weekly guest of hers, always coming on Sundays at around 6:30.  The saloon was mostly empty on Sunday evenings, that must be why he is so punctual. 

Tonight, there wasn't anyone here but me. The bartender had decided to close up early, as he usually does on slow evenings. The saloon had the uncharacteristic aura of serenity as the glasses lay untouched and the card deck at the poker table unshuffled. The only companion I had for the night were the ivory keys at my fingertips as I played my choice in song. 

"Is that a nocturne?" A voice said, startling me from my playing. I had not noticed anyone walk through the squeaky double doors. 

I looked up behind me from my music to see a man in his late twenties. He wore a long dark coat and worn hat. His eyes were clear blue, but clouded with confusion.

Something struck me as odd, no, out of place about him. Even through He wore much the same clothes that every cow hand or bandit that strolled through those doors, there was something about him, maybe the way he held himself, or his walk, that told me he didn't belong in this town. 

"Why yes it is," I said as I stood to greet him.  “I believe you are the first to identify any of the music I've played on that thing that isn't 'Camp Town Races'."

"I have a fondness for Chopin," the man said as he hung his hat on the rack. "I think I've always liked classical music."

That last comment of his struck me as odd, "you think?" 

The man became slightly embarrassed, "well sir, I uh, can't seem to remember much about myself lately."

My eyes widened in curiosity, "ah, you mean amnesia?"

"It must be, I can't seem to recall much of anything."

I leaned back and eyed him, "well, have a drink," I offered as I made my way to the bar, "the barkeep has closed up for the night but that doesn't mean we can't try to jog your memory over a glass or two.”

“That's better than any plan I have,” the man said as he took a stool next to me.

I reached over the bar and rummaged through the bottles of what I considered to be pure acid until I found one of the few bottles of wine. I then poured a glass for each of us.

I told him my name, and how I came to Midpoint. 

“You were on your way to San Francisco?” he asked.

I nodded. 

“That sounds familiar.” He began to rub his head, “I believe I was headed that way as well.”

“Well, maybe we can pool our money and try to get there together, and get away from this awful town.”

The man shook his head and frowned in confusion. “No,” he said quietly, “ I can't leave. I know that. I have to stay here.”

I frowned. Having someone to travel with would have been a lot easier, and this man looks like he could handle a few bandits, unlike myself. “Do you know why you have to stay here?”

The man brought his hand to his mouth and frowned. “No.”

The saloon was quiet for a few moments as the dying sunlight caught the bends and curves in our glasses. I took out my pocket watch and checked the time, 7:07.

Sudden loud footsteps came from the stairs, and it seemed Anna’s customer was finished. Both my companion and I turned around and looked at the abrupt noise. 

The brute looked at me and frowned. He cleared his throat and turned out the door with nothing more than a ugly look and a foul lingering smell.

I scrunched my nose in disgust and turned back to my new friend. “You can see why I want to leave so soon.”

The man chuckled.

“Do you know your name? Or any other name?”

He shook his head again. “I do not. The only thing I can recall is this saloon. I know I have to be here.”

“Well, you're here now,” I said as I took a sip from my glass.

The man looked wistfully into his own glass. 

“You said you liked Chopin. Do you know why?”

“I- I think it has something to do with my childhood. The music you were playing seemed old to me, like from a memory.”

“That sounds promising, would you like me to play more?”

“I wouldn't want to disturb no one. It's nice to just talk to someone who doesn't want to kill me.”

“Well then, let me see,” I said as I leaned my elbow on the bar, “you don't talk like everyone else here, I might even venture a guess you're from somewhere near New York based on your slight accent. But you definitely dress just like the next dusty cattle driver that comes through here. Not to mention that gun you wear.”

“That's another mystery,” he said as he pulled it out and examined it, “I checked it and it's completely empty of bullets.”

“Heh, maybe that's why you have amnesia in the first place.”

He smiled sarcastically, “that could very well be it.”

There was no longer any sunlight outside, only a faint glow on the flat horizon. I finished the last sip of my drink and set the glass down. 

The man turned around at the darkened sky. “I think it's time for me to leave,” he said as he stood up abruptly. He turned around and reached out his hand.

I stood and shook it, his hand was cold from the drink. “oh, are you sure? You don't have to leave so soon...”

“No, no, I have to go. Thank you for the evening.”

“Come back anytime,” I said, still a little confused at his suddenness.

He tipped his hat and turned out the doors, leaving me alone in the dark saloon.

The following week I neither saw or heard of the man with amnesia. I asked a few of the tolerable patrons about him, but no one seemed to know anything. I hoped to see him again, if only to make sure he was doing well, or to find out about the mysteries of his past. But I feared the worst. Anything could happen to a man out here. 

Throughout the week, I had noticed Anna had not been herself. I had barely heard a word out of her mouth, not that I usually tried to initiate any conversation with her. But I noticed every chance she got she retreated into herself. She was unhappy, even more so than usual. Before, she always seemed to be holding onto some kind of hope, and for whatever reason now, that hope had fallen from her fingers.    

Honestly, I didn't want to know about her misfortune, I had enough of my own. I know that's insensitive, but I had to focus on getting out of here with the meager pay I get before I lose my mind to the oppressive heat and the endless desert.

It is now Sunday again, and I just bid ado to the bartender as the clock on the wall struck 6:30. Ever punctual, the selfish brute barged through the double doors and stomped his way upstairs. The thought crossed my mind that he could break into my room and steal my belongings, but I dismissed it. Anyone who saw my room saw I had nothing to steal. 

The only valuables I had were inside my head. Equations, literature, philosophical texts, and most important for the time, pages and pages of music.

I put my memory to good use as I performed my evening show for myself.  During the days, people only wanted the crude drinking songs; the ones with no feeling or soul. Once everyone went home on Sunday evenings, I had the song choice to myself. I kept myself sane by playing compositions from the greats.

I chose Chopin again, maybe out of a small hope the man would come back. 

My hopes were answered as the clock struck seven. Again, I heard no double doors open, but rather the voice of my mysterious friend;

“I think I know why I like Chopin.”

I turned around, and sure enough he was standing there, dark coat and dark hat.

“You're back,” I said with some surprise as I stood up and made my way to the bar. “You left so soon last time.” I began to pour the wine into two glasses and took my same spot as before. “Sit and tell me about Chopin.”

The man sat down on the bar stool across from me and took the glass of wine. “I think I remember my mother used to play his work.” 

“That's a tremendous discovery! How did you find out?”

“It was your playing. It brought me back.”

I smiled, I was glad my music actually helped someone. “Did it bring anything else back?” 

“I’m getting flashes of high buildings, and a few of my mother's words. She, if I can remember correctly, was a deeply God-fearin’ woman.”

“God-fearing eh?” I said with some disapproval. 

The man frowned, the first I saw with real displeasure. “What's wrong with loving God?” he asked.

I put my hands up in surrender, “To each his own I guess, I just don't believe in any of that stuff.”

 “You don't believe in anything beyond this world?”

“It doesn't make any rational sense to me.”

“Well, can you fully disprove its existence?”

I was silent, of course the answer was no, if I knew the answer to everything that would make me God.

“Maybe you should keep an open mind about things you don't know, all I’m sayin’.”

I took another sip of wine. “Do you remember anything else?”

At that moment the brute came thudding down the stairs. He eyed me and adjusted his coat collar before leaving out the double doors.

“What's his business here?” the man asked.

“Y-you didn't guess?”

“I feel like it's on the tip of my tongue.”

“He- was here for the company upstairs if you get my meaning.”

“A workin’ girl…” he said, his hand moved to his breast pocket, and his eyes were on the ceiling. But they held no lust or selfish desire; only a soft ache.

The last of the light of the sun sunk below the horizon. At that moment, the man turned and looked at the changing sky outside. He stood up quickly, “It's time for me to be on my way,” he said.

I frowned, “again?”

He nodded, and I stood to shake his chilly hand, “I’m afraid so, it's been a great evening. Thank you again.”

I barely had time to respond to his thanks before he left through the swinging doors.

I couldn't really tell you what happened the following week. I was too lost in my thoughts for most of it. The days blended together. I played the songs, ate my food, and slept when it got dark, but all my tasks were done with the man's words in my mind. Usually if I came across a spiritual fanatic, I would dismiss them just as soon as I would a fairy tale. The man didn't say anything I hadn't heard before, but those words coming from him for whatever reason stuck with me. I felt like my whole world view was turning over on itself. 

Anna, in the meantime, had changed from hopeless to downright angry with the world. She was almost comparable to a trapped animal at times. Her temper had gotten so bad to the point that the bartender had to threaten to kick her out, as she was driving all the patrons away. She had cooled off a bit at the prospect of having nowhere to sleep at night. But it didn't change her general mood toward people. It just made me want to stay away from her even more.

It's Sunday again and I sit on my bench, playing Chopin. The brute had come through the doors and up the stairs. I can't help every few seconds my eyes flash to the clock on the wall. 6:50, 6:55, 6:57… my fingers continue their rhythm until I hear the seven chimes.

“Have you ever been in love?”

There he is. 

I close the lid to the piano softly and stand to greet him.

“Isn't that a little personal?” I ask, “couldn't you tell me how your week was, or maybe ask about mine? You know, the normal small talk that friends go on about. Or maybe you could tell me why you only show up on Sundays at seven?”

“I’m glad you consider me a friend.”

“Hmm,” I grumbled, “Well come on then, lets sit.”

I fill the glasses and slide one his way as he takes his seat.

“I’m serious,” he said, “Have you ever been in love?”

I sigh, “Maybe, once. I don't really want to get into it. Why do you ask?”

“I think I’m in love. I think I know why I’m here.”

My eyes widened and I leaned forward, “So? What is it?”

The man opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by sudden angry shouts from above us. We both looked to the ceiling, and I realized the voice was Anna’s mixed with the rough brute’s. The voices became louder as they moved to the edge of the stairs, and became clear enough to understand.

“I’m not doing this for you anymore!” Anna yelled, “you can't make me!”

“You bitch! You ain't no woman!” the brute yelled back.

We could see up to Anna’s knees as she stood above him on the stairs, and by the looks of it she was pushing him down one by one. 

“You get out! You never come back!” she said with each push. We watched as she forced him down. Until the only thing we couldn't see of her was her head.

“You shoot my Jake dead! And you expect me to lay on my back for you? You're lucky I don't kill you! Get out! Get out!”

The brute was finally pushed off the stairs and landed on his backside. “He deserved it!” he yelled, “The thief! You're no better than him! Takin’ my money like that! I’ll be back!”

With that, the brute stood up and stomped away without a word. Anna collapsed into a sob on the final stair, her long red hair cascading over her face and back.

I looked over to the man, who's eyes were as wide as saucers. His hand absentmindedly made its way to his chest, he looked down at his fingertips, which to my astonishment, were now covered with blood. 

I exclaimed at his sudden unexplained injury, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes went back to Anna, and he stood up and made his way silently over to her as if in a trance. 

He crouched down in front of her shaking figure. For the slightest moment he hesitated. But nevertheless he reached out in the most tender way possible and held her shaking hands.

She looked up at the hands that were holding hers. Then, in almost disbelief, she looked at the man's face. Her tearful eyes studied him for a long moment. She brought her hand up to his cheek and just felt his skin as she tried to believe what was crouched in front her. “Jake?” she whispered.

The man leaned into her touch like it was life giving. He looked into her eyes, and cradled his hands around her chin. They leaned in for a kiss, the most tender and passionate and mournful kiss I have witnessed in all my years. 

The man then reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a small fortune of bills wrapped in twine, and a ring. He gave the money to her and she clutched it to her chest. He then reached out for her trembling hand and slid the ring on her finger.

She looked at it with tears in her eyes. But she then focused on the growing red stain on his chest, and a panic began to reach her. Her hand reached out and gingerly touched the red, but the man held her hand against his chest, and with ever patience and serenity, shook his head no.

He wrapped her in a hug, and it was the most at ease I've ever seen her be. Her head found the utmost comfort in the crook of his neck, for a moment I thought maybe they had fallen asleep in each other's embrace. 

The glasses around me began to light up in the dying daylight, and only then did the man look up behind him out the window.

“I have to go…” he breathed.

Anna’s grip tightened around him. He leaned into her and whispered something into her ear. She looked up at him, sorrowful understanding now crossed her features. 

They stood up together, and leaned in for one last kiss. She said something to him as well, but only he could hear it.

He turned and looked at the sunset again, there was barely a sliver left on the horizon, and it was retreating quickly. He looked back at her with yearning in his eyes. But she nodded, “I know,” she said softly, “go, I’ll see you again.”

He took a deep breath and brought her hands up and kissed them before turning away. He held her hands for as long as he could as he walked to the doors, but eventually they fell from each other's grip.

He paused right in front of the swinging doors, his hand resting on the top of one. He looked to the dying light again.

Anna suddenly rushed over to him and hugged him from behind, “don't worry,” she whispered, “I’ll be right behind you.”

The man took a deep breath, and Anna let him go. 

He stepped through the doors just as the last of the sun sunk below the horizon. 

Anna stood there watching the street outside for a long time, and I sat frozen on my bar stool watching her. 

When the last glow from the day turned to darkness, Anna turned around and rushed upstairs. A few moments later, she came down with a small trunk stuffed with her few belongings. She pulled a few of the bills from the money she had been given, and stuffed the rest in her bag before heading toward the doors.

“Wait!” I called, “Where are you going?”

She stopped in the same place the man had in front of the double doors. “The coach to San Francisco,” she said, “Like we were going to a long time ago.”

With that, she left. I watched her walk down the street to where I knew the stage was parked, waiting for a good paying traveler.

I was alone in the saloon once again, trying to make sense of what just happened. I reached out and felt the man's glass. It was just as warm as the rest of my surroundings. There was no rational way to explain his cold hands.

I think that's what stuck with me the most that night. I could explain away almost everything except for his frigid hands. I laid on my uncomfortable bed, but no sleep would come. My mind raced until the early morning hours.

It has been a month or so since my strange encounter with the man and Anna, and I am happy to say I am writing this as I sit in a stagecoach on my way to San Francisco. I had finally saved enough money with my meager pay as a pianist to be on my way to real civilization. 

But as I look back at the shrinking town I cannot help but feel a certain sense of spiritual tie to the pathetic little place. What I witnessed here has changed me forever.

Maybe, I think, the town of Midpoint is more aptly named than I first believed.  

[make-it-mavis]

Too Young to Notice, Too Dumb to Care (part 1)

WiR fic (main timeline, ~1984) 5643 words Characters: Turbo, Make-it Mavis, Pyro and Nitro (the Turbo Twins) Content warnings: N/A Premise: It’s 1984, and Mavis and Turbo are young, stupid, and inexperienced -- especially Mavis, who is still working hard to overcome her touch aversion. But there’s a sort of touch she has not attempted, one she barely even understands. When she asks Turbo about it, however, she finds that he’s not exactly an expert on it either. So, with all of two brain cells at their disposal, they tackle the question... What the hell is kissing??

______________________________________________________________

To any ignorant outsider, it would have seemed like Make-it Mavis and Turbo were friends. All the signs were there -- the way they joked and played, the way they spent more time together than apart, and the way their biting insults seemed to bite just a tad gentler when directed at each other. Many ignorant outsiders did, in fact, make note of their bond. The two sprites were hard enough to ignore on their own, but put together? Their supposed friendship was explosively loud. Over time, it rang out through the very boundaries of the arcade, until there was not a sprite alive who was not at least aware of the gossip they inspired.

Mavis herself was fully aware, too, of course. The arcade’s assumptions were frustrating to her, what with ‘friend’ carrying so many connotations. Connotations she did not sign up for. No, she and Turbo were not friends, and of this fact, she was quite certain. Turbo was a source of fun, one she had been fixated on for some time, but that was all he was. She liked him more than she liked anyone else. She made the decision to trust him with things no other sprite could be cut out for, even touching her, over time. But if things went south, if he became a drag, she would walk away guilt-free.

Friends did not have that kind of freedom.

Even still, even after over a year of knowing him closely and hanging out almost every night, Mavis was excited to spend the evening with Turbo. It had been another boring day of waiting out gameplay, and at last, it was time to go goof off and raise hell with the only other sprite in the arcade who seemed to know how to do it. She trotted casually down the gravely road flanked by trees, absolutely soaked in the relentless Turbo Time sunshine. Every few steps, she took a carefree leap and sailed smoothly through the air on her feathered feet. The boys’ sort of trailer park would be just down the way, but before she quite made it there, she spied a figure up ahead, clad in blue, with an arm around another humanoid sprite. 

Had to have been one of the twins, and… somebody.

Knowing Turbo’s brother would not be pleased to see her, and delighting in that fact, Mavis let out a sharp whistle. The two stopped and turned back to look at her as she flew in for a closer look. The guest looked like he must have been from Front Line, with the camo and dog tags and muscles. His cropped black hair was oily, his skin was dirty, and he smelled awful.

The twin just looked like a twin. Mavis was not sure why she expected to recognize him if she got closer.

“Hi cat,” she said anyway, “what’s this you’re draggin’ in?”

“Hey,” the twin said sharply. “That’s my guest you’re talkin’ about. Watch it.”

“Hi Mavis,” the guest said plainly, as if he had been expecting her to be trouble, and accepted it.

“Hiya,” she nodded. Of course the guy knew who she was. She was only the most notorious trickster in the arcade. This particular guest, however… not important enough for Mavis to remember, anyway.

“My name’s McKenzie,” he said, sending that name through Mavis’ ear and out the other. “If you care to know.”

“I don’t, really,” she shrugged. “But now that I’m here, I’m hopin’ Blueballs here brought you in to hose you down like a dog, ‘cause you sure smell like one.”

The twin actually smirked at that, and nudged his hip against McKenzie’s. “Y’really could use a shower.”

“Oh, really, now?” His guest replied, giving the twin a look that Mavis did not quite understand, but still found repulsive.

“O-kay,” she said loudly, “well, it’s been fun. Always quality conversation with you, Pluto.”

“Pyro,” the twin corrected her.

“Yeah, yeah,” she whined dismissively, twirling off into the air, electing to fly directly to the trailer park. It was a short flight, barely a few seconds at her speed, before she came upon the rough-looking, rectangular mobile homes, arranged in a modestly spaced triangle. Mavis knew all three racers wished they could separate their living spaces even farther, but ironically enough, there was nowhere else in the game to move their movable homes to. Not off-screen anyway, and they could not very well air out their wet laundry right where the gamers could see.

She landed and approached Turbo’s trailer -- perhaps the dirtiest of the three, with discarded bottles and cigarette butts littering the sparse grass. She could even smell a fresh cigarette, but following her nose over her shoulder, she found that it was the other twin leaning out of his window and calmly smoking. By process of elimination, that one was Nitro.

Mavis tipped up her chin at him, and he just exhaled a smoky plume in reply, serving her a look of casual distaste. It was on the friendlier end of their spectrum of interaction.

Wasting no more time, she turned back around and knocked hard on Turbo’s door in a musical rhythm. 

“Who is it?” Turbo’s gruff voice called.

“It’s Litwak,” Mavis replied impatiently. “Better clear outta here before I unplug your game.”

“As if you could live without me, old man,” she heard him say, among footsteps and keys jangling. Promptly, the door opened, and there was the demon boy himself, clad in the usual white-and-red jumpsuit zipped down and tied at his hips. His overgrown mullet was as fluffy as ever, but Mavis smiled a bit at the thought of the flat dome of helmet hair she knew it had been right after quitting time. He must have spent the whole time since then fixing it.

“What’s that look?” he asked casually as he turned to close the door and lock it.

“Hm?”

“You’re givin’ me a look.”

“Am not,” she said.

“I’m gettin’ real good at readin’ your nasty lil’ mind, Make-it,” he said as he stepped off the tiny stairs to his door and turned to head towards the gravel path back to Game Central. “And y’know what your face is sayin’ to me, right now? It’s sayin’-- Oh, gag me with a spoon.”

“Wow. Not even close.”

“No,” he rolled his eyes. “Pyro’s brought a friend home.”

Sure enough, Pyro and McWhatever had arrived on the scene, and the twin was unlocking his door with a self-satisfied smile. Mavis got the distinct impression that he knew Turbo was hating what he saw, and relishing it.

“Yeah, so?” she asked Turbo, a bit perplexed.

“So, let’s get outta here before they get a chance to get into it,” he said, taking off with a swift pace. Mavis hovered along next to him.

“Get into what?”

As the two of them passed his trailer, Pyro called out with devilish glee, “Seeya in the mornin’, little brother!”

Without looking, Turbo called back coldly, “Yeah-huh. Have fun swappin’ your spit for the hundredth time this week.”

“‘Least I’m gettin’ any!”

“‘Least I ain't a sleazebag!”

The exchange seemed to be over as she and Turbo put more distance between themselves and the trailer park, but Mavis was confused to the point of irritation. No one seemed to be saying what they meant, at least not to her ears. Like it was all some kind of code that she had not been taught. Some weird brother-code.

“What’s swappin’ spit?” she demanded, craning over Turbo’s head like a vulture as he walked.

“Nothing,” he grumbled dismissively, fishing a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and patting for a lighter.

“What’s Pyro getting?!” she asked more sharply.

“Nothing-- who cares, okay? I don’t wanna think about what my brother’s gettin’. Let’s just forget it and cut right to the hell-raising, aye?”

Mavis did not like giving up, but she did not want Turbo to be in a bad mood for what was supposed to be a fun night. He could get so annoying when he was grumpy. But she would find out the truth later, that much she decided right then and there.

Turbo lit up a cigarette, and the two left the subject behind entirely.

The rest of the evening carried on in the usual sort of erratic way, with the pair doing whatever happened to come into their heads with no regard for others. Some time was spent in Frogger, setting fire to items pulled from Mavis’ hoard, and watching the flames float down the river like funeral pyres. Another little while was spent in Ghosts ‘n Goblins causing general unrest, finding particular joy in knocking on gravestones and hiding while the confused rotting dead rose to find no one there. When a group of angry ghosts chased them out, Mavis and Turbo found themselves hungry, and swung by Burger Time to pick up some take out to bring into Rampage.

Rampage was a favorite of Mavis’, even just to relax in. It was neither dark nor bright, neither day or night, with the sky a vibrant but deep blue just dark enough to paint the tall figures of distant buildings in shadow. It was also both loud and quiet, with tanks below, helicopters above, and three beastly titans, well, rampaging freely through the fully destructible city, but a big enough map that there was always somewhere far enough to sit out of the proper cacophony. 

It was in one of those far reaches that Mavis and Turbo found themselves around 3 AM, perched at the very top of a building with their feet hanging off the edge. They ate their food and chatted, casually watching a huge ape and werewolf roughhouse some ways away, deeper into the city. 

“See, why can’t my game be this cool?” Mavis complained through a mouthful of burger. “It’s the same basic idea. Big gorilla wrecks buildings ‘n crap.”

Turbo snorted. “Your gorilla just ain’t big enough.”

“And we only got one building,” she grumbled. “And, hey, that werewolf out there? His name is Ralph.”

“What? No way,” Turbo disputed with a smile, “What kinda name is that for a big, badass werewolf?”

Mavis shrugged, smiling back, “Ask the Devs. I guess he wasn’t always a werewolf. That’s how werewolves work, right? He was just some guy named Ralph. Lucky him, now he’s interesting. My game would be way more interesting if our Ralph got turned into a werewolf. But fat chance of that ever happening.”

“Y’know what,” he said matter-of-factly as he popped a fry in his mouth, “the Ralphs should switch places for a day.”

Mavis half-guffawed.

Turbo continued, “Yeah, I mean, big Ralph would be real good at little Ralph’s job. He’d probably decimate Niceland with a single kick.”

“Take more than a few whacks from a hammer to fix that,” Mavis commented.

“We’d call it ‘hard mode.’ It’d be a hit.”

Mavis looked around, considering her surroundings. “Y’know, the gamers do the wrecking in this one, right? So Ralph would be the Good Guy here. I wonder how he’d feel about that. Maybe he wouldn’t be such a stick in the mud anymore.”

“Daresay that Fix-it would have less time to bug you with an entire city to fix,” Turbo pointed out. “Though he’d have to be the Bad Guy, ‘n man, there ain’t a bad bone in that choir boy’s body.”

“Hell, give him a shot,” Mavis shrugged dramatically. “Not like he’s all that good at bein’ a Good Guy either.”

Turbo chuckled a bit, but otherwise fell silent, and she did as well. Then the silence became awkward. Mavis chastised herself quietly for letting any bit of her emotional baggage with her cousin slip into her tone. Turbo knew how she felt. He even knew why she felt that way, what had happened, what Fix-it had done. And, blessedly, he was on her side for all of it. But, still, it was an emotional subject to just throw into casual conversation, and Mavis knew it. She was still getting used to having another sprite in the know on her… family issues.

Topic change. Topic change. Topic change.

Bingo.

“Ready to tell me why Pyro havin’ friends is so horrifying?” she asked suddenly.

Turbo sighed gruffly, smacking his tongue. “They’re not his friends, okay, that’s just-- y’know-- and it ain’t horrifyin’, it’s just gross. Nasty. I don’t need to know every time my brother makes out with someone. I don’t need that image.”

“Uh huh,” she tapped her heel back against the brick wall below, “and ‘makes out’ means…?”

Turbo paused before giving her a very peculiar look, as if she were the one not making sense. “Are you asking me what ‘making out’ is?”

“Yes,” she snapped a bit. “I’m asking you what ‘making out’ is. Will ya just tell me?”

“Well, it’s--” he shrugged sharply, shaking his head. “I mean-- it’s kissing and junk. How could you not know that?”

Mavis paused. “...Kissing?”

“Don’t tell me y’don’t know what that is.”

“I know what kissing is, ya dick. I just mean… kissing? Really? Like-- well, on the mouth, right?”

“Obviously. Where else?” Turbo regretted asking, by the look on his face. He grimaced at whatever thought just came up.

“Oh,” Mavis lifted her finger, “oh. Oh, okay. Yeah. They’re not his friends. They’re his boyfriends.”

Turbo groaned a bit. “Not exactly.”

“But… kissing’s all romantic-whatever, right? Only sprites who are in love kiss on the mouth.”

At that, Turbo outright cackled. It startled Mavis so bad, she quite nearly fell off the ledge. Turbo set his food down behind him and stood, waving her off as he walked to the middle of the roof and laughed it out. Mavis felt her face heating up, just knowing she had said something stupid and now had to somehow recover from it. She stood as well, crossing over to the chortling demon boy. 

“If you’re gonna laugh in my face, at least say why before you saunter off,” she told him, annoyed.

“Look, dollface, if you hit me with another joke like that, I was gonna go tumbling right down to my death, arright?” he told her, straightening up and grinning. “I mean-- I mean, you don’t really believe that, do you?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“Oh, oh my Devs.”

“I said ‘no!’”

“Okay, okay,” Turbo said, placing steady hands on her shoulders, but still sporting that delighted smile. He touched his chest, “I ain’t being fair, okay? I’ll admit that. ‘Cause I’m gonna take a wild leap ‘n say all the education you’ve had on the subject has been what your cousin’s told ya.”

“Well--” she frowned. “Ugh. Yeah. But why would he lie to me about-- about kissing rules, or--?”

“Dunno if ‘lie’ is the right word. It’s probably what he personally believes, babe,” he nodded. “The guy’s about as traditional as they come. He probably told ya that because he wants you to be just as traditional as he is. And to keep ya from kissin’ anybody. To protect you from sprites like-- Well, like my brother.”

Mavis backed off from him, rolling her eyes. “I don’t need protection--” she paused. “Wait, like your brother? What’s he doin’, exactly?”

“Mmm,” Turbo put his hands on his hips. “How can I put this? All the boys-- and sometimes girls-- that Pyro brings home? Not boyfriends, not girlfriends. Just conquests. Pyro goes for numbers. And-- well, he doesn’t care about any of ‘em. Not even to the point of bein’ decent. He can get pretty manipulative about it, s’far as I’ve heard. And no matter what, after he’s had his fill a’ makin’ out, he gives ‘em the boot. Seen a fair share of cryin’ sprites leavin’ the game before.”

“Wow…”

Mavis considered all that. Suddenly, Turbo’s disgust made more sense. That really was a reprehensible way to treat other sprites, and that was saying a lot, coming from her. A strange thought crept into her head, one that questioned whether the way she used sprites for fun while refusing friendship was any similar to what Pyro did. Whether it was any similar to what she was doing to Turbo. Was she manipulating him without even realizing?

No. No, it was different. It had to be. Mavis only ever protected herself. Pyro was taking whatever he wanted. She would never do what he did.

A humorless half-smirk appeared on Mavis’ face. “So Fix-it’s afraid I’ll fall victim to some kinda romantic manipulation, then? Doesn’t he know I’ve got a cold, spiky heart?”

“He must,” Turbo shrugged, “if he wanted you to think that makin’ out is just a lovers’ thing. If you believe that, you’ll never so much as kiss anybody, and he’s never gotta picture his sweet baby cousin doin’ grown-up touching.”

Mavis twitched. She could feel her hard-wired defiant nature bristling up. “That’s it, isn’t it? He thinks I'm his responsibility. Like I can't make good choices for-- for my touch life.”

Turbo scoffed. “‘Touch life?’ Y'really wanna go with that?"

"What else should I call it?"

"I'unno Mav, don'tcha think that's a bit generous for the amount a touchin’ you do? I mean, I'm flattered that bein' able to touch me is worth a whole life to ya--"

“Hey,” Mavis growled, pointing, “hey, are you kiddin’ me right now?”

“Okay, okay,” Turbo sighed and put his hands up, “don’t make a thing of it.”

Mavis fumed, stomping over to him as she rolled up her sleeves. There was the slightest twinge of confusion and alarm in Turbo’s eyes, almost as if he expected her to take a swing at him, but she only seized his arm. With a harsh yank, she pulled him closer, and she rubbed the bare skin of her forearm against his. She could feel her code prickling a bit under her skin, but she had worked so hard to become accustomed to the feeling, it barely mattered anymore.

“See that?" she said firmly, “You've seen what'd happen if I tried this six months ago. This here's a big deal. Don't make fun of it, dickweed."

“Yeah, I know-- I take your point,” Turbo said through a rueful smile, pulling his arm away. “Sheesh, I was just buggin’ you.”

“You’re good at that.”

“I’m good at everything,” he rolled his eyes, “and you’re pretty good at being touched now, okay? And I’m sure that if you keep workin’ on it, one day you’ll even be able to handle kissing somebody, or makin’ out, or whatever sorta things would horrify your cousin. I’m sure that’ll be good motivation for you.”

“Y’don’t think I could handle it right now?” Mavis asked, brow cocked.

Turbo gave a short laugh. “Uh, yeah. It’s a bit different from rubbin’ arms.”

Mavis’ eyes narrowed. A challenge was standing directly in front of her, and that defiant instinct of hers grabbed onto it with both hands. He would be proven wrong. He would be proven so wrong.

“Show me.”

Still smiling, Turbo blinked and paused. “What?”

“Kiss me,” she said boldly, stepping closer. “I dare you.”

While Turbo’s smile did not disappear, it shifted into a more nervous shade. His eyes darted around just once, looking for an audience that was not there. “Right now?” he asked, his voice high.

“Right now,” Mavis agreed, straightening up and grinning. “Kiss me right here. Prove to me that I can’t handle it.”

“Well…” he breathed, pausing for a while to stare at her. “Alright, then, weirdo. I’ll give ya one freebie. Hope y’know how lucky you are.”

“Shut up and make with the kiss.”

A bit of an indignant scoff rolled from Turbo’s throat and out of his nose, but he obliged her request. That is, he began to oblige her request. Slowly, he began to bring his face closer, pausing and letting his eyes fall to her mouth, as if making sure he was still on course. Mavis merely watched, intrigued and perplexed by his process. Once he was close enough for her to practically taste the salt on his lips, he cleared his throat.

“What?” Mavis asked plainly.

Meeting her stare point-blank, he mumbled, “You’re supposed to close your eyes.”

“Oh,” Mavis promptly closed her eyes. It seemed strange to her, but it was all strange to her. She had figured Turbo would have been done already, but it was almost like he had stage fright, what with how slow he took it and how he did not want her to watch. But it was just a kiss, something that took literally no skill. No one could be bad at kissing.

Or so she believed, right up until something warm and slimy dragged across her mouth. 

“What th--”

Tearing her head away from the tentacle onslaught that just assaulted her lips, she spat and sputtered, shoving Turbo back and stumbling in a direction steered only by her disgust. She wiped aggressively at her mouth, smearing off a horrifying amount of saliva. “What-- pfft-- the hell-- pbbt-- was that?!”

“A kiss, dumbass! Or it would’ve been if y’didn’t bail half a second in! But I told ya! Didn’t I tell ya?! You’re not up to it!”

He was offended. He was very deeply offended. 

“That,” she said, finally turning to face him again, “was not a kiss! You licked my mouth! Who have you been makin’ out with, the Duck Hunt dog?!”

Indignantly, he said, “I ain’t been makin’ out with anybody.”

Despite his obvious lack of experience, Mavis still found that surprising, if only because she had not thought to question it before. “Why not? You’re one of them touchy-types.”

“Yeah, don’t call me that,” he said flatly. “Just ‘cause I can stand bein’ touched doesn’t mean I want everyone to touch me. This here--” he gestured a circle around his face, “--this ain’t free parking. I ain’t my sleaze-bag of a brother.”

“So,” Mavis lowered her volume just a bit, “y’don’t wanna be kissed, then? Y’could’a just said no when I asked.”

The demon boy blew through his lips and turned his gaze out to the city, running a rough hand through his messy hair. “No, it’s whatever. It’s kinda different with you.”

At that, Mavis’ heart hit an unsteady beat, and she felt a bit of warmth rush to her face, but not in the most pleasant way. She was almost afraid that she had steered her dynamic with Turbo in the wrong direction, and that she would have to bail for good at any second.

“Wh-What’s that mean?” she stammered a bit.

He seemed to pick up on her vibe. “Well, I know you, is what I mean. You ain’t some rando. Doesn’t hurt that you’re a cute girl.”

His physical attraction to her was never really a secret, and for that reason, it did not bother her for him to say that. Mavis may not have entirely understood what physical attraction entailed as far as one’s feelings towards the object of attraction went, but so far, it had not gotten in the way of them having fun together. So, she figured there was no sense worrying about it.

“That’s fair,” she nodded.

“And, y’know, whatever. It’s just for getting over your no-touchiness. It’s not even real.”

Mavis pondered that, tapping her hip lightly. “Yeah,” she agreed, “exactly. We don’t even gotta think of it like our first times… y’know, respectively. It’s just a practice run.”

“Well, whatever y’call it, y’better be grateful,” Turbo looked at his nails, “‘cause I got droves of adorin’ fans who’d kill to have a practice round with me.”

Mavis scoffed wetly. “After what you just did to me? No, they really wouldn’t.”

“Look,” he rolled his eyes, throwing a hand up,“there’s tongue in kissing! That’s a real thing!”

“Wh-- No, there’s not! What the hell do you think kissing is?!”

Turbo paused, suddenly squinting at her. Suspiciously, he said, “What do you think kissing is?”

Mavis swallowed, but quickly strode over. “I can’t believe I have to show you this,” she said, before leaning in… and craning her head around to plant a quick, sheepish kiss on his cheek, immediately chastising herself for avoiding his mouth. Once she pulled back, she could not quite pinpoint the emotion on Turbo’s face. He was just stunned.

“Did… I just blow your mind, or…?” she mumbled.

“That-- That wasn’t--” he pointed to his mouth, “we’re talkin’ about this kinda kiss.”

“‘Kay, well, excuse me for bein’ cautious a’ you trying to swallow my entire head again,” she said begrudgingly, “but, fine.”

Quick as a mouse, she took the very same kiss and planted it right on his lips before pulling away. It did not feel all that different to her, she noted thankfully. His lips were just a bit softer than his cheek, but that felt like an inconsequential thing to notice. 

All the same, she noticed it.

“There,” she said. “See? I told you I could do it.”

Turbo closed his eyes and took a moment to scratch the back of his neck. “...Yeah, see,” he groaned a bit, “that’s not… at all… what I’ve been talkin’ about. Ain’t you ever seen anyone kiss on the lips?”

“I don’t exactly go lookin’ for couples-- or whatever-- to watch ‘em kiss, Turbo.” Mavis could feel herself about to regret her words, “I see cheek kissin’ all the time, and how much different can it be on the mouth?”

Turbo just stared at her, this disbelieving humor sitting behind his eyes. “You’re precious, y’know that? You’re just a peach.”

“Am not,” she huffed. “Don’t say that. It’s weird.”

“You’re a grown-ass woman and still somehow think that a kiss on the lips lasts about point-five seconds. That’s adorable. So unlike a trash-eatin’ gremlin to be so innocent.”

“Oh, I’ll show you innocent,” Mavis growled, stepping right into his space again, practically nose-to-nose. “I’m gonna get this right, and it’s gonna rock your world, hotshot, no matter how long it takes.”

Turbo only had time to load a chuckle in his mouth before Mavis’ lips snuffed it out. This time, she would do better. Maybe not quite right, but better. If time was the issue, she would keep her lips against his just as long as it took for him to stop laughing at her. It was easy enough -- she merely replicated her small peck from before, but held it there, motionless, waiting.

It did not take long for Turbo to make a small, uncertain grunt in his throat.

“Don’t lick me,” she told him, muffled against his lips.

“I’m not gonna lick you,” he said right back. 

“Am I doin’ this right, yet?”

“Does it feel right to you?”

“How’s it supposed to feel?”

He shrugged. “Awesome?”

Mavis took the time to consider that before answering. She counted the things she felt physically. From the neck down, she felt completely normal, but her face… was full of Turbo. He was just right there, literally face-to-face, right against her mouth. She could smell the burger grease left over, and even with her lips closed, she could sort of taste it, which, while it was not a bad taste, felt weird to get second-hand… or second-mouth. The breath from his nose was leaving a sort of wetness against her cheek. Her pursed lips were kind of falling asleep. It was weird. All of it was weird.

But did she feel awesome emotionally? ...No. No, she just felt frustrated.

At last, she pulled away, avoiding his gaze to glare at his collar. “Not awesome,” she grumbled.

“Ee-yeah, didn’t think so,” Turbo muttered.

“I don’t get it,” she said, meeting his eyes again. “How’s kissing supposed to be so great that sprites wanna do it all the time, just for fun?”

“Well,” he half-laughed, “they don’t do it like that, that’s for sure. Supposedly, it is pretty damn awesome if you do it right.”

“But--” 

Mavis was quickly cut off as the deafening thudding of helicopter blades drew near. Turbo stepped away, attempting to hold his hair out of his suddenly outraged face, but Mavis just let hers whip around wildly. From the direction of the city proper, one of the game’s helicopters had hovered over. Its pilot did not seem too alarmed by them, given its lazy speed, but it was always in the best interest of game characters to keep an eye on her and Turbo. Mavis supposed they were just checking in to make sure no bombs were being made or anything -- something Mavis suddenly wished they had been doing instead of fruitlessly trying to kiss. Bombs would have been way more fun.

After Turbo put an arm out by his side, giving the pilot a silent gesture of, “What,” they seemed to decide all was well, and the aircraft carried on its way, flying back to the city to monitor the beasts.

“Can’t a gal just sit on a roof eatin’ burgers anymore?” Mavis asked no one in particular.

Turbo was growling, too busy trying to put his hair back in the very specific mess he liked to answer her. “Stupid-- freakin’-- helicopters-- freakin’ bird-brain piece a’ scrap metal--”

Mavis’ heart jumped as another roaring sound rudely interrupted them, only this time, it was an actual roar. It came right from the center of the city, right where the rampaging monsters had been playing around. Gazing out, Mavis could see that both creatures were looking right at her, even waving. She grinned a bit. Just like with any other sprite, Mavis did not really consider the monsters from Rampage her friends, per se, but they sure were a lot of fun to play around with. The big, lumbering oafs loved to chase her around and try to knock her out of the air -- something they tried to do gently, but still ended up sending Mavis back to Fix-it with her share of broken bones on more than one occasion. But that was just how Mavis liked her fun.

She withdrew her brush, painted feathers on her heels, and rose a bit into the air to wave back at them. With another flick of her brush, she painted a megaphone and called out to them, “HI, YA BIG UGLY BEASTIES! WHAT’S UP?!”

From below, Turbo groaned loudly, and she looked down to see him covering his ears and glaring sharply. “Really?” he hissed.

George, the gorilla, hooted and bellowed again. He and big Ralph were making beckoning arm motions, even picking up chunks of debris and swinging them around in a playful display. Mavis’ sense of fun perked up like a pair of ears.

“DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE,” she shouted with a grin. 

Big Ralph let out a howl that ripped through the atmosphere like it was nothing at all. The boys were so nonsensically loud, and she loved it.

“OH, WHAT,” she called, “YA THINK Y’CAN CATCH ME THIS TIME?!”

At that, Turbo cleared his throat in protest. Looking down, she found him folding his arms and tapping his foot, clearly displeased with her. The megaphone in her hand despawned, and she lowered back to the roof to face Turbo.

“Hi,” she said, just prompting him to be out with it.

“You’re gonna just ditch me for those guys?” he hissed. 

Mavis sighed. Whether she was actually too flippant or Turbo was too sensitive, she was not sure, but it was not the first time he got snippy over her hanging out with other sprites. It was not as if she was actually abandoning him -- she was just naturally wired to go where the fun was. He would have to understand that, she thought, if he ever wanted to really understand her.

But, then again, she still could not have been sure just what level of understanding she wanted between her and her… frequent playmate.

“I’m not ditching you,” she groaned. “Look, I’ll be right back, okay? Stay here ‘n finish your food. I’ll just goof off with these guys for a couple games of tag, or something.”

Turbo scoffed. “Thanks. It’s real cozy here on the backburner.”

“Don’t be such a killjoy, okay,” she snapped. “I gotta go shake off how weird it was tryin’ to lock lips with you.”

He was quiet for just a moment, holding her in a narrow-eyed glare.

“Fine. Whatever,” he threw an arm up a bit. “Go pretend like you didn’t love it. I’ll just sit back here ‘n quietly eat all your fries.”

As she rose back into the air, she pointed at him and warned, “I’ll cut you open ‘n eat ‘em outta your guts if ya so much as think about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved her off, dismissing her completely as he walked back to the ledge of the building where their food sat. She waited only a few seconds before whistling through the air, quickly passing over broken buildings that reached up like outstretched arms. There was an itch in the back of her neck, a sort of fix for fun that needed to be sated after all that awkwardness. What she said was true -- she did have to break out of the frustrated funk that all the failed kissing had put her in.

Strangely, though, she sort of wished that she had been less of a jerk about it.

Because despite the awkwardness, she really did want to figure out how to get it just right. If other sprites could kiss and find a way to enjoy it, then she could, too. And Turbo? Maybe he deserved a bit more credit for helping her. Devs knew there was no one else in the arcade she could try it with. No one else she would have wanted to.

But that still did not mean they were friends. So long as she did not say so.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Queen of Hearts - Chapter 13

Thirty-year-old Rose Tyler’s matchmaking business is doing very well indeed, bringing her clients such as celebrities, athletes, and the now-happily-married son of the mayor.  All of which brings her to her newest client - one whose royal rank is a far cry above her own title as Queen of Hearts.

Ian, King of Gallifrey, calls off his wedding four weeks before the happy day as he realizes he can’t spend another minute of his life with his betrothed.  The catch - he must take a wife before his Coronation, only a month away.  In desperation, his sister and aunt conspire to find him is happy ever after - and it’s going to take a master matchmaker to do it.

-

Based on the Hallmark Movie ‘Royal Matchmaker’.  Chapters will be posted every Sunday.

As always, beta’d by the wonderful @stupidsatsuma​!  @doctorroseprompts

Masterlist  |  AO3

Apologies for the delay; I was away, and as soon as I got back came down with a cold :(

---

Tuesday, April 23rd

Tuesday found Rose antsy and miserable.  They’d gotten confirmation from Sarah Jane the previous evening that Reinette had accepted the proposal, leaving Rose slightly nauseous and depressed.  She kept trying to remind herself that this meant she’d succeeded, she’d pulled off the greatest match of her career, that she could keep her business and her flat and her reputation and not have to live with her Mum.

It didn’t help.

With nothing to do, she and Mel were entertaining themselves in the main room of their suite, Mel on the couch with her laptop as Rose sat near the roaring fireplace, watching the normally-amusing expressions her friend was making at the screen.

“What’re you doing?”

“Words with Friends.  Bloody Ace just played ‘oxyphenbutazone’.  How does she even know what that is?!”

“Beats the hell out of me.  What is it?”

Mel scowled at her screen, muttering under her breath for a moment before replying, “A medication- an NSAID.  I’m telling you, she’s cheating!”

“Then stop playing with her,” Rose offered for at least the dozenth time, shaking her head at her friends’ stubbornness.  “That’s why I did- she’s impossible to win against.”

“Nothing is impossible.  Ugh.  How can I possibly use Q, J, K, M, or G?  Argh!”

Feeling restless and unsettled, Rose unfolded herself from the chair and moved towards the door.  “I’m going to go into town- do you want anything?”

“Vowels!”

Sighing and shaking her head at Mel’s focus, she grabbed her jacket and purse from beside the door and stepped out into the hall, almost running into the Princess.  “Oh!  Your Highness, I’m sorry,” Rose yelped, dipping into a wobbly curtsey.  “I didn’t see you.”

“It’s fine,” the redhead smiled wanly, glancing her over.  “Going out?”

“Um, yes, I was going into town- unless there’s something I can do for you?”  Please say no, please say no.

The Princess grimaced, but only said, “If you stop by the Bakery, I recommend you try the shortbread – it’s like your Millionaire’s shortbread, only it’s peanut butter instead of caramel.  Tastes like shortbread wrapped in a Reece’s cup.  It’s to die for.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Rose chirped, making a mental note to bring some back for her.  “Thank you for the suggestion!”

With a nod the Princess swept off, and bundling her jacket tighter around her, Rose started down the stairs.

“Oh!  D’you need something, Miss?”

Bill, their designated driver-slash-gopher hurried forward to meet her just before she made it out the doors.  She was a helpful, bubbly young woman whose company and chatter Rose enjoyed – usually.

“I was just going to walk into town.  D’you think it’s too far?” Rose asked, biting her lip.  It hadn’t seemed so driving in, but she also didn’t want to get stuck halfway down.  That would probably be enough to set her off into a total meltdown.

The younger girl tilted her head in thought, then shrugged.  “No.  But if you want me to pick you up when you’re finished just give me a call.”

“Will do, thanks.”

Rose stepped out into the cool spring morning, biting wind whipping at her hair and clothes.

It made it easy to pretend the tears were from her eyes watering.

-

Rose huddled inside her coat, wandering up and down the main street staring into shop windows.  For being the capital, Arcadia still had that small-town feel – all charming cafes and shops, no obvious chain brands.  Even after three weeks she couldn’t get over how friendly everyone was, greeting her with bright good morning!s as they opened their doors and displayed their wares.

I could get used to this.  Rose had always considered herself a city girl, growing up in London, but something about the peacefulness of a place where everyone knew everyone tugged at her heartstrings.  God, maybe I am getting old.  Heaven help me if I turn into my mother.

The most delicious and mouthwatering aroma she’d ever smelled hit her like a ton of bricks, and she stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk to close her eyes and inhale.  She followed her nose into the bakery, hungry eyes taking in row upon row of incredible-looking treats in the case.

“Hello, love,” the woman behind the counter laughed, as Rose nearly flattened herself against the glass.  “See something you like?”

“All of it,” Rose answered breathlessly, bending down to see better.  “Oh, these are lovely.”

“Thank you, dear.”

The woman let her drool in peace for a few minutes as she carefully examined each item, before finally prompting, “Did you want to try something?”

“Um…”  The Princess’s words from earlier flashed through Rose’s mind, and she wrinkled her nose.  “I was told to try something that was shortbread and peanut butter, maybe?”

“Ah, I thought you were from the Palace,” she laughed.  “Donna send you round?”

Rose shrugged, cheeks pinkening.  “That obvious?”

Susan, or so her name tag said, pulled out a bag and started to fill it with the dark squares.  “I’ve seen you around with Ian,” she shrugged, “and their love of these is legendary.  I swear they buy half of every batch I make, between the two of them.”

Fumbling with her money, Rose could only nod, though she wondered at the casual use of the royal’s names while trying to ignore the ache in her chest.

“We’re cousins,” Susan said, as if reading her mind.  “Sarah, their mum, and mine were all sisters.  I moved here when Sarah did, opened the bakery.  Not a drop of royal blood in me, but still family.”

“D’you see each other a lot?”

“Few times a month.  One or the other’ll stop in – too often and it gets to be a madhouse in here.  I go to dinner at Donna’s once a month, that’s enough for me.  I’m perfectly happy to be anonymous, though it never hurts when their photo is taken eating one of my treats,” Susan winked, handing over a bag stuffed with the treat.  “Your money’s no good here, the Palace has a tab.  Better scarf’em down before you get back, those two’ll eat them all given a chance.  It’s a good way to bribe either, if you ever need it.”

Rose accepted the bag, sticking a tenner in the tip jar with a smile.  “Thanks, but I’ll be gone after the Coronation, so don’t overbake,” she said, trying for amused.  Don’t cry, don’t cry, Do. Not. Cry.

“What?  I don’t- aren’t you going to be queen?”

She nearly dropped the bag in surprise, inhaling sharply at the stab the shopkeeper’s words sent through her heart.  “What?  No!  No, I- I’m… I’m a matchmaker, they hired me to find the queen.  I’m not- I mean- I’m hardly queen material!”  Which was half the problem.

“Oh.”  Susan’s brow furrowed for a moment before smoothing over, an apologetic smile on her face.  “Sorry, I must have misunderstood.  I thought you were- well, never mind.”

“It’s okay.”  Rose checked her watch, and gave a smile too bright to be true.  “Sorry, I’m running a bit behind schedule, but it was lovely to meet you!”

“You too,” Susan called, but she was already hurrying out the door, tears pricking at her eyes once again.

Stop it, she told herself firmly, starting back towards the road to the palace.  You’re a matchmaker.  He’s a king.  Just because they call you Queen of Hearts doesn’t make you suitable for actual royalty.

-

Ian wandered through the palace, hands buried in his pockets.  He hadn’t seen Rose in days, mostly by design, in the vain hope that the old adage out of sight, out of mind would hold true.

So far, it hadn’t worked.  It just made him want to see her more.

The sound of activity coming from the guest wing made him pause, frowning as he searched his memory.  The next occupants of the wing would be visiting dignitaries and royals who were coming for the wedding/coronation, but the earliest scheduled arrival was Thursday afternoon – so why was anyone back there two days before that?

Easing the door to the wing open, he crept along the hall, feeling ridiculous sneaking through his own palace.  The door to the first suite was open, and seemed to be the source of the noise.  Poking his head in, he found two women and several servants – one of the women was Sarah, directing the servants with the luggage, and the other was a fifty-something blonde dressed in blue jeans, a pink top, and a denim jacket in a slightly different shade from the jeans.

“Thank you for coming early,” his aunt was saying, “and I hope you don’t mind we’d like to keep you secret until tomorrow.  There are so many moving parts, and if we play our cards right, Ian will-”

The door creaked, making Ian wince and catching the women’s attention.

“Your Majesty!” Sarah’s eyes went wide, dropping into a curtsey at the same time as the servants, the unknown blonde following suit a few seconds later.

Something about the woman was familiar, as if they had met once upon a time, and he wracked his brain trying to remember.

“Hello,” he stepped into the room, glaring at the door for giving him away and costing him the chance to hear what he was supposed to do.

“Sir, this is… an old friend of mine from London,” Sarah said brightly, eyes darting between him and the woman.  “Jackie.  Jackie, this is His Majesty King Ian.”

“Pleasure,” the woman, Jackie, dipped into another wobbly curtsey.

Ian nodded, distracted, as he tried to figure out how he might know her.  “Yes, of course.  Are you here for the festivities?”

The two women exchanged glances.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, though the upwards lilt of her voice made it sound like a question.

Gazing between the two, he distinctly felt as if he was missing something.  “What’s going on?  Why is she a secret?”

Sarah’s blank expression for the two seconds it took her to come up with a lie were telling.  “Oh!  She… is a reporter as well, here to cover the wedding, coronation, et cetera, but since no one else is here yet I thought it best to keep her under wraps!”

Jackie nodded eagerly in agreement, and though Ian arched an eyebrow, he decided to let them keep their secret.

Not like it changes anything.

“All right.  I’d best be off,” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder, leaving the room possibly more confused than he entered it.

Sarah, what the hell are you up to?

­-

He decided to try down by the lake, opening the door to the patio and running right into the object of his distraction.

“Oh!” They both yelped, Ian grabbing her by instinct in an effort to keep her upright.  They both managed to stay on their feet, Rose’s shocked gaze staring up at his own openmouthed expression.

His eyes dropped to her lips, going slightly wide when she instinctively licked them, and when he returned to her own eyes, she was staring at his lips.

Hope flared in his chest, brilliant and wondrous, and he couldn’t have stopped himself for anything in the world as his head dipped, moving closer to her own to give her a chance to pull away.

Her hands were still fisted in his shirt where she had grabbed to keep from falling, and his treacherous brain tried to convince him she was pulling him closer.

Heart hammering in his throat, close enough for her breath to puff against his lips, he brushed his lips over hers once, twice, and when she didn’t pull away, instead almost seemed to move closer, he surged forward to press them together in truth – only to feel air, and a moment later, he landed on his ass on the polished floor.

“What?”  Dazed, he found himself sprawled over Rose, who was blushing and giggling.

“My shoe slipped,” she said, apology and explanation, her tongue peeking out from between her teeth and wiping every thought from his mind.  “Sorry.”

“Are you all right?”  Belated realizing he was still pressed against her, and that he never wanted to move except closer, he reluctantly pushed himself up, offering her a hand and pulling her into his arms when she accepted.

“Hello,” she whispered, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes, and his breath caught at her beauty.  Windswept, and dressed more casually than he had ever seen her, she was stunning.  He wanted to kiss her.  He wanted to sweep her in his arms and take her to bed.  He wanted to find the Archbishop and have him marry them as they were.  He wanted- her.

Marry me.  Be mine.  Let’s run away together.  All hovered on the tip of his tongue, but then he remembered that she was engaged, that she had to go home and plan a wedding to someone else.  Even if an attraction existed, he had no right to tear her away from a man she loved.

It’s just an infatuation.  It will fade with time, he tried to convince himself, regretfully letting her go and stepping back.

“Are you hurt?”

Physically she appeared fine, though her falling expression suggested her feelings were not.  I’m sorry, sweetheart.

"No, thank you,” she said stiffly, crossing her arms and causing the bag she held to crinkle.  “Oh!”  Opening it up, she held the bag out to him.  “I met your cousin,” she said, somewhat unnecessarily as the scent of shortbread, peanut butter, and chocolate wafted up.  “Would you like one?”

I’d like you.  “Yes, thank you.”  Unable to have what he really wanted, he accepted a square.  “I hope she made you put it on the Palace tab.”

“She did,” Rose confirmed, closing the bag again and keeping her head down.  “I heard… that Reinette accepted,” she continued quietly. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”  The treat, one of his favorites, turned to ash in his mouth.

After a moment of awkward silence, Rose curtseyed slightly.  “If you’ll excuse me, I need to…”  Not bothering to finish the thought she fled, ducking her head and hurrying away as he tried to process what had just happened.

Was she crying?

[1dffexchange]

Snowflake

To: Vanessa @halfwaygones​

From: Steph @harrysmeadow​

Summary: It’s the most wonderful time of the year, but not when your parents leave you on your own for the holidays and the best thing you’ve got is a ready meal from M&S to see you through the big day. So when Elsie  travels to a different home for Christmas, will the day be as magical as she hoped it would be?

“We’ve always been a good team haven’t we?” Elsie mused, as she put the final touches on the work she and her closest friend had spent the past few hours on.

“We have,” Harry agreed with a grin, going to stand by her. “This just proves it.”

Stood in the corner of the Styles’ living room was the newly decorated Christmas tree. With beads instead of tinsel, and an absolute mis-mash of baubles that didn’t at all match, it was slightly different than usual, but a different that Harry liked, a different he could get used to. Elsie had always had a unique way of doing things, she was different in her own way, but still always fit in.

And stood next to the twinkling tree, propped up on her tiptoes, trying to make sure the angel on the highest branch was secure, was the most beautiful angel Harry had ever seen. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her with him at Christmas, even if it wasn’t in the exact way that he wished for. He felt guilty though, the circumstances weren’t great for her, but she’d ended up with him, and for that he had to be thankful.

“Oh wow!” Another voice called out from behind them. “The tree looks great guys!”

“Thanks Mum,” Harry replied happily.

“Elsie, do you want to come round and decorate for us every year? The Styles household could do with a bit of Elsie Christmas magic,” Anne winked in Harry’s direction. He shuffled away quickly pretending to fix something on the tree, and tried desperately hard not to blush.

“Thank you so much again for having me Anne,” Elsie said. “It’s so lovely getting to spend Christmas with you all. Although I’m sure Harry is sick of me following him around everywhere, he can’t get rid of me at work and now I’m here too!”

“You’re more than welcome my love, couldn’t have you all on your own at Christmas now could we? She replied.

“Well I really appreciate it, it was very kind of Harry to offer.”

***

It was a cold winter’s morning when Harry had put the plans for a new project they’d just signed on to on Elsie’s desk and she’d thanked him with a grin and a promise to buy him a cinnamon swirl from the bakery across the road at lunch time. A little while later when he decided it was time for a brew, he headed to the breakroom. He popped the kettle on, and grabbed his ‘Mr Work-a-holic” mug Elsie had bought him for his birthday last year, which reminded him to ask her if she wanted a drink too. He turned in the direction of her office, but remained at the kitchen counter watching her instead when he saw her through the glass.

She was on the phone, to who Harry didn’t know, but he could tell, even from the distance that she was upset. She was slumped back in her chair and the corner of her mouth was twitching slightly, her free hand was continuously raking through her long blonde hair and tugging at the knots caused by the winter winds at the end.

He hoped it wasn’t a client she was talking to. He knew how hard she worked on every project that landed on her desk, and if someone was telling her that what she created wasn’t good enough, it would crush her.

Abandoning his tea Harry rushed back to his own office and rummaged around his drawers until he found what he was looking for. Elsie’s emergency hot chocolate. He didn’t even know if this was a true hot chocolate worthy emergency yet, but he felt like it would be appreciated nonetheless.

When he went back to the break room to make her drink he saw her hang up the phone and drop her head to her chest, and in doing so Harry’s heart dropped too. He didn’t know whether she was feeling sadness, anger or pain, but he did know that he didn’t ever want her to feel those things.

Elsie spun around in her chair and a small but thankful smile appeared on her lips, when she saw Harry appear at her doorway holding out the mug towards her. “How did you know?” She asked, sounding slightly dejected as she reached out to take the hot drink from his hands.

“Was in the breakroom and saw you on the phone, it didn’t look good so I brought in the big guns,” he joked, and she huffed a small chuckle before taking a sip.

“You’re an angel,” she smiled, and Harry resisted the urge to tell her the same.

“You ok Els?” He asked.

She drew a deep breath and placed the mug on the desk, immediately she began twisting the rings on her fingers, turning them so the jewels on each one sat perfectly in the middle.

Elsie was a perfectionist, she always had been. Everything she did was carefully planned and prepared for, whether it was the next week’s dinner she was making in advance or the final design for a client at work. She didn’t like surprises. She wasn’t a control freak, she knew when to step back and let others have a turn, but when she did have the chance to do things her way she’d try her best to make sure everyone was happy.

“Yeah I’m fine. I just got off the phone with my Mum. She said her and Dad are going on a cruise for Christmas. She got some deal on an over 50’s couples package. So looks like I’ll be having a ready meal from M&S at dinner time on the big day,” she huffed, before taking a big swig of the hot chocolate.

“You’re joking right?” Harry replied confused. Why would anyone not want to be with Elsie at Christmas he thought.

“Nope. First time ever I’m not gonna see my parents on Christmas day.”

“Could you not go to Immie’s? Surely your sister would take you in?” he puzzled, trying to think of some ideas that might help.

“I’m not homeless Harry!” she laughed.

“Right, yeah sorry,” he chuckled with a shake of his head.

“Well I love a good spinach and ricotta ravioli from M&S anyway, so who’s the real winner?” she joked, but Harry could see through her bright exterior.

“Els, you can’t be serious. You’re not sitting at home on your own on Christmas day,” he stressed. Harry knew how much she loved Christmas and the holiday season, he only had to look around the room the were in to find an abundance of decorations that she brought out every year in the office. As soon as bonfire night was over, the next day she’d show up to work with a festive jumper and a big box of tinsel to hang up and around the cupboards in the break room. ‘It makes people happy!’ she would reply to Harry when every year he asked her why she was so excited to put them up.

“Well what am I supposed to do instead?” she replied exasperated, because it was true, she didn’t want to be alone on Christmas day. Elsie had always believed the holidays were about spending time with family, friends and loved ones. She adored the traditions her own family had come to make over the years, like how every year they’d each get a new bauble and they all put them on the tree before they started opening presents. She loved the afternoon walk around the fields that surrounded the village she lived in after she’d stuffed herself full of Christmas dinner and seeing the smiling faces of her younger family members fully enchanted by the Christmas spirit made her heart so warm.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, his subconscious egging him on to ask the question, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to do it.

“Come to mine!” he wanted to exclaim! Because Harry wanted nothing more than to welcome her into his home that would be full of love and joy at Christmas. He didn’t think he’d be able to sit through his family Christmas dinner knowing that Elsie was sat alone in her flat with a TV dinner.

There were other reasons why he wanted her there too, reasons that were fighting to jump out of the box he’d had them stored them away in for so long because of fear and doubt, but now wasn’t a time he was prepared to let them out.

The invitation never came, and instead he mumbled a generic ‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out’ as the thoughts in his brain started eating away at him, and he left her alone in the room.

***

“Did you finish drawing up the plans for Mrs Dean’s guest bedroom today?” Elsie asked as she locked the office door behind them for the night.

“Yeah I did, remind me to give them to you in the morning,” Harry replied, waiting by the door and rocking back on his heels with his hand in his pockets trying to keep them warm.

“Oh brilliant,” she said turning around adjusting her scarf to try and keep out the cold. “I had some ideas for the wallpaper and carpet but I didn’t want to start on a mood board until you’d finished them,” she shrugged.

“Elsie, you’re not supposed to base your design around how I’ve done the plan,” he laughed. “How many times have we had this conversation?”

“We’re a team Harry! We’re meant to work around each other, that’s all I was doing,” she grinned cheekily, knowing he wouldn’t argue with her any more.

As they started the familiar route home the fallen autumn leaves whirring around Harry’s feet reminded him of the thoughts that wouldn’t settle in his mind.

Christmas, family, Elsie, work, secret santa, Elsie, Elsie, Elsie.

As the hours ticked by after he’d left her office, Harry had only grown more and more frustrated with himself. Was he truly so selfish as to leave her alone at Christmas to protect his own feelings?

He could already hear the nagging words of his Mum when she would inevitably find out that Elsie spent the holidays by herself. “I did not raise you to be so ignorant and rude, you know she’s always welcome here, why would you not invite her? I have half a mind to make you drive to her house and bring her here now!’ she would probably say, and Harry would agree with her, that he wasn’t raised that way, but he couldn’t tell her the reasons why he never asked.

Every time he’d walked past her office door and he saw the dull look on her face, that didn’t at all match the tinsel and lights that surrounded her, he wanted to kick himself. He’d had a chance to make her happy, and he didn’t take it.

He looked down to where his trusty winter boots trampled across the crumbling leaves and a small smile crept onto his lips at the sight of the pair that walked beside him. It was a familiar sight, but one he still loved. After all this time she was still there, right by him when he needed her most. He couldn’t help but smile, it was just an automatic reaction when it came to Elsie and it had been that way for years. Harry decided that he had to be brave. He couldn’t let her down.

The bitter chill in the air had made her cheeks and the tip of her nose a rosy pink, and as much as the chunky grey scarf that was wrapped around her tried to keep her toasty and warm, it didn’t hide the shivers that made her hands and shoulders shake. Well not from Harry at least.

Harry noticed a lot of things about Elsie. When they met at university some of the first things he noticed were how her nose would always twitch twice before she sneezed, and that she almost never wore matching socks. As they got to know one another it was her kind and gentle nature that Harry was so drawn to. After a few months she’d memorised his lecture timetable and whenever she could, she’d have a cup of tea and a chocolate digestive waiting for him when he got back to the flat.

Harry supposed it was the way they noticed so much about each other that cemented their friendship so quickly into something long lasting.

When they lived together in second and third year he realised quickly how fiercely loyal she was. Never one to leave a friend behind on a group night out, she was always the one to make sure everyone got home safely. When his Grandma Rose passed away and he couldn’t make it back home to be with his family, Elsie was the one quietly slipped out of the house giving him some alone time. When she returned though, she had with her the most beautiful rose he’d ever seen. It hadn’t yet fully bloomed, but she fed it, watered it and loved it right up until they had move out when they graduated. She was the one who kept it alive.

After they got their degree and the idea of setting up their own business together was still just that, an idea, it was her determined spirit that got them off the ground. They’d both refined the skills they were taught at university and their strengths worked perfectly together. All the years of hard work and studying that they’d spent together only made her more confident that they could do it.

If it wasn’t for Elsie, Harry had no idea how his life could have turned out.

And just like the leaves that remained on the tree’s branches, hanging on while the wind blew around them, Harry was running out of time before his idea would tumble to the ground. ‘Come on Harry, be brave,’ he thought.

“Would you wanna spend Christmas with me?” he blurted out quickly before the sudden burst of confidence disappeared.

Her wide eyes told him nothing of what she was thinking, and he tried desperately not to immediately retract the offer in an attempt to save his pride. He could feel a sudden heat in his cheeks despite the icy weather, and he didn’t know what to do to save himself from the embarrassment of being rejected.

Why this had become such a big deal in his mind, Harry couldn’t quite figure out. It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t ever see her again if she said no, they’d be back at work together in the new year. He supposed it was just something about this time of the year. Christmas always makes everyone so happy. And Harry was happy, he couldn’t be more grateful for everything that he had, but when it seemed to him that everyone around him was spending the holidays with a significant other, it was hard for him to ignore the feelings he’d been holding back for so long.

The gentle touch of a hand grabbing his own pulled him from his never-ending thoughts. Elsie stood with her eyes on him and a smile that Harry knew he’d never forget.

“Harry that’s so kind, I’d love to,” she gleamed.

“Are you sure?” he replied, without thinking.

“Yes, Harry! Of course I am, thank you so much. I promise you won’t even notice I’m there.”

***

Harry was sure she was otherworldly by design. Like a snowflake never the same, because every day he saw something new and different in her, that he thought only made her more beautiful.

The way that the twinkle in her eye was like a glint of sunlight bouncing off of a precious crystal, had him entranced. He thought they should name a crystal after the colour of her eyes.

“Harry!?”

“Huh?” He replied, slightly startled. Looking up quickly from the comfort of his Grandad’s old armchair to where Elsie stood in front of him looking concerned.

“You’re away with the fairies! Are you ok? You seemed miles away,” she asked.

“Sorry, yeah I’m fine. Just thinking about work,” he lied, easily. Over the years Harry had become quite good at thinking up quick excuses after he’d been caught daydreaming about Elsie. It happened more than he’d like to admit.

“Harry, come on now, you need to stop stressing. It’s Christmas Eve, not time for work,” she lightly scalded. “Anyway, I’ve got something to get you in the festive spirit, come on!” She reached for him, and he gladly took her hand as he stood from the chair. He didn’t know where she was taking him, but he was sure he’d follow her anywhere.

***

Wrapped in layers of jumpers and scarves they headed out into the cold. The air was bitter and the ground had a sheen of frost, there hadn’t been snow yet, but thick grey clouds hung low in the sky giving an early warning of the weather to come.

Only the addition of snow would have made the back streets of Harry’s hometown look like one from the front of a christmas card. The towering Victorian town houses already had bushy wreaths full of hops and holly, hanging from different coloured painted wooden doors, and the big bay windows were filled with decorated trees of all sizes, and framed with twinkling lights.

Harry loved his home at Christmas time. Being away from the city he found happiness in the small things, like watching the Robin’s and Chaffinches in the garden while he sipped on his morning tea, rather than having to wait in line at the cafe opposite the office. Being able to spend time with his family at home, was something he never took for granted.

He looked over to his side at Elsie as they rounded the corner onto the main street in town, she seemed happy, content at least. And that was all he could ask for. All the while they’d been at Harry’s Mum’s house he’d taken to paying more attention to Elsie than usual. If that was even possible. He was so worried about her getting down because she wasn’t with her own family he was constantly checking up on her, asking if she was ok.

Having a shower in the morning had become the most stressful part of the day for him. A million questions circled his brain while he was trying to focus on just having a wash. Was she ok without him? Did she need a drink? Had she realised she’d forgotten to pack something and was too shy to ask his Mum to borrow it? Was his sister asking intrusive questions? Was she too cold and needed a blanket? But he couldn’t help her if she needed it or not, he was in the shower. He thought maybe he should change his schedule, to shower when she slept so he wouldn’t stress as much.

Instead he’d rush downstairs as quick as he could, his hair not even dry, the ringlets dropping tiny droplets of water onto the carpet as he went. As he reached the bottom of the stairs he spotted her in the kitchen, she was sitting alone.

“Are you ok?” he fretted, as soon as he walked into the room.

Elsie jumped at the sound of his voice, startled by his entrance that she hadn’t seen. “Bloody hell Harry be careful, I’ve got a boiling tea in my hand, almost made me drop it!” she exclaimed.

“Elsie dear I don’t mean to speak for you,” another voice said, which in turn startled Harry. He’d been so preoccupied with Elsie he hadn’t even noticed his Mum sitting across at the other side if the table. “But Harry love, I get that you’re trying to make our guest comfortable, but stop being so intense, she’s fine,” Anne stressed with a roll of her eyes, and Harry didn’t miss the giggle that escaped from Elsie that she tried to hide behind her mug of tea.

“Right, yeah sorry,” he mumbled.

He made a conscious effort to cool off after that, but he was struggling a bit. What if she was cold now and needed another scarf? Or what if the cold air was giving her a sniffly nose and she needed a tissue?

Elsie turned her head, obviously able to sense his stare, and met his eyes.

“Harry, stop worrying!” she begged. “I can see you getting in your own head, I’m fine!” she laughed from beside him, gripping at his arm and pulling herself closer to him.

When they reached the market square at the end of the main street in the town they wandered through the stalls. Their arms unlinked at some point as their interests took them in different directions, Elsie chatted away to the little old ladies selling charity Christmas cards and Harry stopped by the floristry stall to get a bouquet for his Mum.

“Harry, come look at these!” she called over to him, from where he was now looking at what was left of the seasonal veggies that everyone had clearly bought in time for their Christmas dinner. Only a few rogue sprouts remained.

He joined her at another market stall, one that was a lot more exciting than the vegetables. The table was covered in hand decorated Christmas tree baubles, of all different colours and textures. As they turned and swung gently in the breeze, the winter sun reflected and twinkled from the glittering surfaces.

“Wow they’re so pretty.” he commented, picking one up and inspecting it closely.

“I know, if I was going home for Christmas I would have bought one for Mum to put on the tree like I usually do,” Elsie replied.

It was only in that moment that Harry was reminded of his reality. He’d become so wrapped up in the time he was getting to spend with Elsie, that he’d forgotten that it probably wouldn’t ever happen again. They weren’t supposed to spend Christmas with each other. In the end she’d go back to her own family.

“It’s ok to miss them,” Harry told her.

“I know! But they’ve only gone on a bloody cruise, they’re not dead! I’ll see them next week! Don’t know why I’m moping around so much.” She exclaimed, turning away from Harry and walking back into the bustling market.

***

Out in the hallway, rocking back and forth on his heels and looking down to the small parcel in his hands, Harry’s mind was running over and over. The creaking sound of the floorboards were doing nothing to calm his nerves as he went back and forth deciding whether what he was about to do was a good idea or not.

It was still dark outside, but no stars were out, they’d had their time through the night to come out and shine and watchover the world while it slept, but they’d begun to retreat back behind the clouds to make way for the brightest giant that appeared in the morning.

And Harry thought it best to do what he wanted to do before the sun woke everyone else up.

With a steady hand he lightly pushed open the door beside him, and crept quietly into the room. He could see the stocking, hanging onto the end of the bed frame where his Mum had placed it before Elsie had arrived in the hopes of making her feel more welcome.

“Santa?” a sleepy voice sounded.

He hadn’t noticed in his quest to dodge the cushions that were scattered on the floor on his way to the stocking that Elsie had risen from her sleep.

“Uhhh yeah, sure. It’s me Santa. Go back to sleep,” he tried, not wanting to look up.

“Wait. Harry.. Are you Santa?” she replied excitedly.

He couldn’t help but laugh at that one and he looked up to where she was attempting to crawl across the messed up duvet on the bed to try and see what he was doing.

Her hair looked to Harry like one giant knot, with ends poking out in all different directions, and the remnants of a bit of mascara she’d missed when washing her face the night before were smeared underneath her eyes. The festive Christmas pj’s she had on were bunched up above the fluffy socks that were keeping her feet warm in the cold winter nights, and even though she’d just woken up Harry was sure her eyes were shining as bright as the stars that had just hidden themselves away.

“Well I mean, I do have a gift with me so maybe I am,” he joked.

“For me?” she asked as she reached the edge of the bed closest to where Harry was still stood with the box in his hands.

“Yeah, I was trying to sneak in and put it in your stocking, but I should have remembered from uni how much of light sleeper you are,” he grinned and she giggled.

“This is probably the first time I’ve seen you in your pj’s since then,” she commented.

“Yeah you’re probably right,” Harry replied a little awkwardly, as he definitely hadn’t planned on having Elsie see his Grinch pajamas his Mum had bought him.

“I miss our movie and pj days,” she mused, looking up to him through her lashes.

Harry did too. Any one on one time he got to spend with Elsie he missed. University to Harry now seemed like a distant memory he wasn’t even one hundred percent sure happened, it seemed more like a dream.

He spent pretty much every waking hour with Elsie, having breakfast together before going to lectures and seminars, coming home and cooking tea for each other, sharing a blanket on the sofa in an evening watching the latest ITV drama. It was the simple things.

Sure they worked together now, but it was different. He didn’t get to have his arm draped over her shoulder when they went for lunch at the deli across the street, like he used to be able to when she’d get scared by the film they were watching and wanted somewhere to hide. He couldn’t knock on her office door and complain about all the work they had to do, and then just not do the work and instead spend the rest of the day drinking tea and talking and laughing together.

“Yeah me too, anyway do you want me to leave this in the stocking or take it downstairs and put it under the tree?” he asked, quickly trying to brush over the sensitive topic.

“Can I maybe open it now while you’re here?” she asked tentatively, biting the corner of her bottom lip.

Harry knew he couldn’t say no, even though this was what he’d desperately tried to avoid. “Uh yeah, here you go,” he mumbled, passing over the somewhat neatly wrapped parcel to her.

“Why are you being weird?” she puzzled, slowly taking the package from him.

“I’m not!” he countered quickly.

“Yes you are,” she claimed. “You haven’t moved from that one spot this whole time and you’re just acting funny.”

“Well I don’t know if you even want me in here or not, I wasn’t supposed to be!”

Elsie rolled her eyes. “Harry of course I do, why wouldn’t I?” she huffed as she threw back the covers from where she’d made her way back to the top of the bed and made room for him beside her. “Come on, in you get.”

He shuffled in beside her, quitely relishing in her warmth, but trying not to overstep the boundaries.

He watched her intently as she began to rip the paper from the present, “Merry Christmas Elsie,” he smiled as the last piece of paper fell away to revealing what was inside.

As she held the bauble up in her hands by the loop at the top it began to turn. The teal and gold colours weren’t traditionally ‘christmassy’, but Elsie had never liked to go with the crowd. The light from the rising sun which was barely peeking through the curtains in thin little streams began to bounce and reflect off of the glitter and sparkle which covered the bauble in all different patterns and shapes. Harry watched as the walls became scattered with twinkling light, it looked like the stars had reappeared.

Elsie watched the bauble, and as it spun in her hands, she thought. Thought about Christmas, her family, her home, and Harry. Harry who, throughout all the years they’d known each other had done nothing but care for her and support her. Harry who had brought her into his family home at Christmas and done everything possible to try and make her happy and comfortable. Harry who was timid and shy, but listened intently to everything she had to say. Harry who knew she was missing home, and still found a way to bring home to her.

“Do you like it?” he asked timidly.

Harry saw first a tear that was threatening to escape the corner of her eye when she turned to look at him, and it sparked an instant feeling of worry in his gut.

“No! No it was supposed to make you happy! Not make you cry!” He fretted, reaching out to her and gently wiping away the tear that was rolling down her cheek.

As soon as he’d had the chance to sneak away at the market the day before, he knew he wanted to get her one of the decorations that they’d both been enchanted by. If she couldn’t give one to someone else and hang it on her tree at home as part of her tradition, then he’d give her one to put anywhere she wanted.

Elsie carefully put down the decoration in between them on the bed, and placed her hand on Harry’s that was still settled gently on her cheek. He could feel her beginning to form a smile underneath his hand before he saw it, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Harry I’m so happy you have no idea,” she said. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Just like you,” he whispered, almost to himself.

He wasn’t sure where the confidence came from for him to say that, but he thought it might have had something to do with the way Elsie had intertwined her fingers with his and was gently leaning into his hand. It was only something small, but with Elsie, Harry always noticed.

“I just didn’t want you to have to miss out on your tradition just because you’re here,” he added.

“Thank you Harry you’re an angel,” she gushed, giving his hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go.

He suddenly became aware of how long he’d been touching her for, he pulled his hand away from her cheek and quickly began picking at the rough edges of his fingers, subconsciously hoping the pain there would distract him from how he noticed that he instantly missed the warmth of her skin.

He could feel her shuffling around next to him, and he took that as a sign for him to move. He’d overstayed his welcome. But as he made his way across her room, she dropped her feet to the floor over the side of the bed and eagerly followed him to the door.

“Where do you think I should put it?” Elsie pondered, holding the decoration up in front of her as she reached him.

“You don’t have to put it anywhere if you don’t want to,” Harry spluttered, backing himself again the door and grabbing hold of the handle getting ready to leave. “I know it’s not your house so you may not feel the same about it and it’s fine, I want you to do what you like with it, but youare allowed to put it up here if you want to, it’s ok mum won’t mind, there’s room on the tree downst-”

Suddenly her hand was on his again pushing the door behind them closed, but her lips were on his too.

It was a new and foreign feeling for Harry but one that he’d dreamt of a thousand times over or more. And if he thought his head was spinning when he was only thinking about it, to actually experience it felt like he’d been turned upside-down and thrown into a different dimension.

Her lips were soft and sweet but she was holding herself against him like she was about to be pulled away. Her fingers had slotted themselves between his own that remained balanced on the door handle and her other arm was trapped between them, her fist gripping onto his t-shirt tightly.

Even though his own hands were resting lightly on her waist, all he wanted to do was throw his arms around her and pull her even closer, hold on to her as tight as he could hoping that she could somehow feel all the love he’d had locked away for her that he was finally letting free.

Their lips moved like a dance that had been rehearsed a hundred times, in sync and working perfectly together. Just like Harry had always hoped they would.

When their lips parted, their foreheads met and the smile that Harry saw on Elsie’s face was the best Christmas present he could have asked for. They spent a minute just feeling the moment, processing what it meant for them and their future. Neither of them pulled away.

Elsie had always known the way Harry looked at her was different, but she wondered if he’d known the way she looked at him was different too. It hadn’t always been that way for her, but her feelings had grown and changed over time. With the way he was with her, how could she not fall for him? He’d always been timid and shy, and Elsie knew it was only right to give him the time he needed to make a decision about her. She knew that Harry was struggling, but she never wanted to push. She could wait.

Harry on the other hand was wondering why he ever waited at all. If he’d known the possibility of rejection would seem so small and feeble compared to the pure bliss of just being able to hold her close he wouldn’t have even waited a day to tell her how he felt.

Looking down at her now, the closest they’d ever been, he was already seeing so much more than he had before. He’d always been mesmerized by her eyes, but seeing up close all the colours that made them what they were, he was sure they must have missed some out of the rainbow. He brought his hand up to her face, his thumb lightly tracing over her soft skin, he still had to make sure this was real.

Biting down on her bottom lip Elsie couldn’t hide the level of pure delight she was feeling being in Harry’s hands, and in her moment of glee she peered up at him through her lashes and placed another short and sweet kiss on his lips.

“Angel,” she giggled.

“My Snowflake,” he whispered.

[ibelieveinahappilyeverafter]

To Land On Your Feet - Chapter 05

Wow, wow, wow, we're already on Chapter 5! Sorry for the day's delay, everyone, but my body just gave out on me yesterday after my 11-hour school day. Tuesdays and Thursdays are always vicious on me! No worries, though, for I am here!

I would have had this uploaded a few hours ago, but, um... Well, I got distracted reading Falling Head-First Where Mystery Lives by Glue_the_Grue. I read it all in one go and oh, my gosh, it is just so good! I highly recommend checking it out and giving it a read! With all that out of the way, though, on to the good stuff!

Remember that this story tries to have scheduled updates Tuesdays and Fridays with the possibility of extra chapters in between.

Also, consider donating $3 a month to my Patreon and getting access to unpublished drabbles and the Google Doc where I write this story; meaning you could see chapters and notes days or even weeks in advance.

Enjoy!

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Summary: Aizawa Shouta had a good life. He was a happily married pro-hero teacher, had two cats that loved to make his life difficult, and soon, if things went well, he would have Shinsou Hitoshi as a son. Thanks to an unexpected attack by a man with the League of Villains, though, Shouta is turned into a cat. While he had a fondness for cats, that never meant he wanted to be one, especially when no one seems to recognize him and his friends and family are trying to find him when he’s right there.

He had been planning to find a way to change back, but instead he ends up following Shinsou Hitoshi to the foster home he lives in after hearing some worrying information from the teen himself. Shouta himself was guilty of venting his frustrations to cats, but hearing that Hitoshi would be locked outside in the cold if he was late getting home was just another clue among countless that something was wrong. He has to get back to normal, but he’d be a poor hero and a shit father-to-be if he didn’t follow the kid and make sure he was okay.

Besides, quirks like this usually had a time limit. Right?

            <<First Chapter>><<Previous Chapter>><<Next Chapter>>

                                            Chapter Five

“This is such a bad idea… Like, I really could get in a lot of trouble letting you into my room.” It had taken almost an hour of Shouta lying in the grass and drifting off into a few short naps, but Hitoshi had finally appeared at the window and was now leaning out and looking down at him. “Have you just been sitting there this whole time?”

‘Not like I can go anywhere else. I don’t think the trains even run this late,’ Shouta grumbled to no one but himself, yawning wide and stretching out as he stood up. It was oddly natural to be in a completely different body.

“Okay, think this out,” Hitoshi muttered to himself, biting at his lip. “On one hand you have a giant feral wild cat that followed you home.” That did sound rather bad when he phrased it like that. “On the other hand, you have a cat that followed you home through three trains. That has to be fate, don’t you think?”

Shouta wasn’t sure if he laughed or not, but it really was amusing to watch Hitoshi waver back and forth on such a simple matter as to letting a cat in his room. Well, maybe it wasn’t simple, considering all the factors, but it was still reassuring, in a way, to see Hitoshi act his age.

“Can you even get through this window? I mean, I could try to help you inside or something, but you’re pretty big and I don’t know if I can even nudge you, let alone pick you up.”

‘Good point, kid. Let’s find out.’ Crouching down, Shouta thought about what he wanted to do before deciding that would probably only screw up his jump even more. Deciding to rely on instinct or muscle memory or whatever the hell it was, Shouta jumped neatly through the window, landing on wooden floorboards with enough force to make a loud thump.

Hitoshi burst into stifled giggles and Shouta rolled his eyes as he took stock of himself to make sure he was alright, grumbling inaudibly yet again. ‘At least you’re having fun with all of this.’ Still, he supposed it was kind of nice to see HItoshi smiling and laughing. Shouta usually only ever saw him when he was tired, sarcastic, or nervous beyond all reason.

“Okay- Okay, okay, okay. I’ll try to sneak you some actual food later, and I’ll leave my window cracked so you can get back outside if you need to, you know, go, or anything.” Fuck. That was a thing he had to worry about now, wasn’t it? This was turning into a bigger pain than he thought it would be. “And I promise I’ll get you some water once they’re all asleep, but right now I need to start on some homework, okay?”

Shouta stepped forward to bump his head against Hitoshi’s leg lightly, pleased when Hitoshi grinned down at him before moving to his desk and starting in on the papers and books that were already scattered across it. At least Hitoshi had a good sense of when to set time aside to do his homework. He really needed to get Nedzu to hurry with that transfer paperwork.

‘Right. Might as well as make use of this.’ It was possible there would be clues to Hitoshi’s state of living within the room, after all, so it was as good a place as any to start. While the caseworker they were working with agreed that Hitoshi would be a good fit with them, they would need probable cause to remove him if the current foster family protested enough.

Shouta had already heard enough just by the yelling he had heard earlier, but it never hurt to have more evidence. The problem with that plan, though, was that any evidence he could find seemed to just not be there.

Hitoshi’s room was small, but it was also sparse with barely anything in it. The bed and desk were the only real pieces of furniture, the desk looking like it had seen too many children and a western style bed that looked ready to collapse at one wrong look. There wasn’t much in the way of pillows or blankets, either, but at least Shouta knew Hizashi was already packing their no-longer-really-a-guest room full of anything that looked soft.

Poking his head under the bed, Shouta saw a few mothballs and a wooden box with a lock on it. Shouta was willing to wager that was where Hitoshi kept the few items he had that were important to him. Making a mental note to remember to make sure the kid took it when he finally left, Shouta went over to inspect the closet, nosing it open with a bit of a struggle.

The clothing looked a couple years old, and oh, Hizashi was not going to be happy with that. Shouta still remembered Hizashi’s growth spurts in high school and how many times he had to get new clothes. Hitoshi, with his own height, was going to be much the same way. No doubt the kid would end up taller than both of them the way he was growing, but he looked to still have a bit longer.

Right. New furniture, a few more blankets and pillows, new clothes… Actually, Shouta should have the school replace his uniform, too. He was starting to outgrow it in the arms and legs, especially. The clothes he brought to their training sessions were in good enough condition, but the way Hitoshi kept pushing himself meant they would be tattered and threadbare before long.

“What kind of hero school even requires Art History?” Glancing back at Hitoshi’s mumbles, Shouta almost laughed at seeing Hitoshi was staring down at his work with utter bafflement. “Why do I even have to learn about Western art?”

‘Don’t let Nemuri catch you saying that. She’s weirdly passionate about art.’ It was still strange to see Nemuri teaching, and teaching children at that, but Shouta was glad she had found something good to do with her life; even if she had sold him out and submitted an application to U.A. for him.

“What do you think, kitty? Do you know anything about art?” Hitoshi turned to look at him and Shouta gave him a flat look in return. Instead of looking put off, Hitoshi only laughed. “Jeez, you glare just like my teacher.”

‘There’s a reason for that, you know.’ Maybe he could find a way to let Hitoshi know who he was while he was there. Then again, the teen would probably be too embarrassed to ever speak to him again. ‘If it’s multiple choice just go with whatever sounds the most pretentious.’

Leaving Hitoshi to his grumbling about art, Shouta took one more glance at the closet, pausing as something on the door caught his attention. It took a bit of squinting and staring considering his odd new eyesight, but he eventually managed to make out a scattering of posters of pro heroes.

That wasn’t all that surprising considering their culture and Hitoshi’s desire to be a hero, but there were only two heroes in the several posters and the two of them were Present Mic and Eraserhead. The thing that was causing Shouta to stare the most, however, was that one of the posters that was his was only a couple months old, his agency, and Hizashi, pushing him to try and get some positive media attention.

This meant that Hitoshi had to have purchased this poster and placed it on his closet door either shortly before or shortly after Shouta had started training him. He… honestly wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or touched by that; maybe a mixture of the two.

His thoughts were broken up by the crisp, clear sound of footsteps approaching Hitoshi’s door, Shouta quickly and quietly moving to push himself under the bed. He wasn’t sure if it was the father, the mother, or one of the foster siblings, but the last thing he wanted was to get Hitoshi in trouble when following the kid was Shouta’s idea.

“Whoa, hey, are you okay? What’s wrong, kitty-” Hitoshi’s words stopped before the last syllable was fully out. He must have heard the footsteps now that they were closer.

The door opened without even a knock, the invasion of privacy causing Shouta’s hair - fur - to raise. It may have been a small thing, but it spoke plenty of having no respect for Hitoshi or his space.

“I thought I told you that I only don’t care if you sit in here and hide away in your room if you do what you’re supposed to.” The words were crisp and sharp, an edge of bite to them even though they were said in a soft tone. “Hitoshi… you’re one of the oldest in this house. It makes sense that you’re meant to take care of the younger ones and keep the house clean, doesn’t it?”

Hitoshi gave no response, but Shouta could barely focus on that over the intense rage he felt. It was one thing to hear that yelling from before, loud and harsh and sounding slurred in the way that spoke of slight inebriation, but this? This was so much worse.

“I know you’re busy with your studies, but if you’re struggling this much in school then there are other paths in life. It’s best to accept that now, you know, before you get your hopes up.” Hearing a voice speak such poisonous words with kindness was so much worse than just yelling. “I still have those connections available if you choose to take that path. You’ll be aged out of the system in only three or so years after all, right? It’s unlikely you’re going to find a permanent family in that amount of time, especially with your quirk.”

‘Proof of emotional and verbal abuse,’ Shouta mentally noted to himself, burning the words in his mind to relay to Hitoshi’s caseworker once this was over. ‘Implying Hitoshi is mentally incompetent, pushing him to quit his studies and do unknown offered work, and showing clear quirk discrimination.’ Shouta would destroy this man.

There was a heavy sigh from the man, his voice softer. It would have been kind if not for the words, “It’s best to give up now, you know, instead of possibly endangering a nice family. Besides, even if someone took a liking to you, your quirk would ensure that they wouldn’t want you.”

Shouta felt his body shaking, new claws digging down into the wooden floors because that was his kid that this man was being so cruel to and he wanted him. 

“Make sure you do your chores tonight, alright, Hitoshi?” An answer wasn’t expected, the door closing with a soft click that seemed to echo too loudly in the silent room. It stayed that way for a long minute before Shouta saw movement, Hitoshi standing up from his desk and then crawling into his bed.

Taking a minute or two himself to calm down and work his claws out of the wood, Shouta crawled out from under the bed, wiggling a little at points and frowning at how tight a fit it was. Somehow being a bigger cat was more inconvenient than it might be to be smaller.

Jumping up onto the bed that was shoved against the wall Hitoshi was curled up against, Shouta carefully walked over to the head of the bed, heart breaking at seeing Hitoshi looking as lifeless and detached as he had before Shouta had managed to get him to open up.

‘Oh, Hitoshi…’ Shouta hesitated for only a moment before moving to lay down, working his way under Hitoshi’s hand and letting it rest on his back as he did so. It was a move his cats often did to him when he was overwhelmed and, just as it helped him, it seemed to help Hitoshi, the teen slowly burying his fingers in Shouta’s fur and looking just a touch less lifeless.

‘Don’t worry, kid,’ Shouta thought, watching Hitoshi work his way out of the state he was in. ‘I’ll get you out of here if it’s the last thing I do.’

Jeez… He had been planning on heading back to the school since it was a weekend, but there was no way in hell he could leave Hitoshi’s side after hearing something like that. He would have to wait until Monday and follow Hitoshi to school.

Hizashi was going to worry himself sick when Shouta didn’t turn up over the next few days, but there was no way Shouta could abandon Hitoshi now that he knew what was happening. If he was lucky then the quirk he was under had a time limit and would wear off after another day or two.

Shouta still needed to decide whether or not to tell Hitoshi who he was, too; or find a way to tell him, at least. While the kid would be embarrassed at first, it might be better in the long run considering everything that was happening. Then again, he might just think Shouta pitied him since Shouta couldn’t exactly have a conversation and tell him that none of this would ever be pity.

Ah, well, that was something to worry about tomorrow. For now, at least, he could comfort Hitoshi in some small way, sitting with him and letting him know that he wasn’t alone. If Shouta had his way, his kid would never feel like this again.

[descentintobandom]

Oh Anna Chapter 4

Title: Oh Anna Chapter 4 Chapter: 4/? Pairing: Harry/OC Rating: T Fic Summary: Harry finds out his childhood friend, Anna Chamberlain, is pregnant and decides to take care of her and the baby. Author’s Notes: Anna is just short of being 16 weeks in this part. Just in case you were wondering. I’m using a pregnancy site to get an accurate portrayal (since I have never been pregnant or around pregnant women and I don’t plan on having children).

“Do you have to go?” Anna asked Harry as he slipped on his suit pants.

“Yes darling. I do. I promised Grimmy”, he told her, “You can go back to sleep. You need your rest”.

“I’m pregnant. Not dying Harry Styles”, she told him.

Harry chuckled. “Duly noted”.

She had gotten more irritable in the past few weeks, but he chalked it up to her body adjusting to the progressing pregnancy and all the extra hormones.

He went into the bathroom to fix his hair. In about an hour, he had be on the air with Nick.

Anna was still apprehensive about leaving the flat, so she was staying home in bed.

“I’ll be back soon. You can listen on your phone or stream it on the website”, he told her. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips.

Anna grabbed the back of his neck, trying to pull him down to her.

“Anna, sweetheart. I’ve gotta go”, he told her between kisses, “Later, love”.

She pouted and Harry chuckled, kissing her temple.

Harry hurried down to where his driver was waiting to take him to the radio station. When they arrived, he walked in and met Nick.

“Hey, mate!” Nick said, “No Anna?”

Harry shook his head.

“I was looking forward to meeting the mummy-to-be”, he said, “Guess I’ll just have to invite myself ‘round for dinner”.

They went into the sound booth and Grimmy started the show with his usual things.

“Now, we’ve got a special guest in today. Please welcome the awesome, wonderful, and always handsome, Harry Styles!”

Harry chuckled and the tips of his ears turned red.

“Now Harry, you and I have been friends for a while, haven’t we?”

“Yes we have, Grimmy”.

“Then why didn’t you tell me that you’re expecting?”

“Anna’s expecting, not me”, Harry quipped.

“And for the listeners back home, why don’t you explain who Anna is?”

“Anna’s my best friend in the entire world. She’s been with me since day one and I’m hoping will be here for years to come”.

“And she’s going to make you a daddy”.

Harry smiled and said, “Yeah. Couldn’t be more happy or proud of her”.

“And the baby’s not yours?”

“No, the father fucked off to who knows where and I didn’t want her to be alone through it all. When I found out, I went ‘round to hers and told her I loved her and she told me she loved me too”.

Everyone in the studio “awed”.

“It’s very honorable and sweet what you’re doing, but tell me, does it ever get you down that the baby isn’t yours?”

“See that’s the thing Nick. I don’t think about it. As far as I’m concerned, that baby is mine. I’ll love it like my own”.

“Do you want any of your own?”

“’Course I do. As long as Anna’s the mum”.

“You’re killing me here!” Grimmy whined, “What do you hope to have?”

“I’ll be happy as long as the baby’s healthy, but Anna wants a little girl”.

“Any names picked out yet? Maybe godparents?”

Harry laughed and said, “When I know, you’ll know Nick”.

The next few days were paradise as far as Harry was concerned. He loved waking up next to Anna every morning and going to sleep beside her every night.

“Harry”, Anna whimpered from beside him.

“Anna? What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asked.

“My stomach hurts”.

“How does it hurt?”

“I don’t know. It just does”, she told him, rubbing her stomach.

Harry, who had been reading every baby book he could, was pretty sure he knew what was happening. He got up and went into the bathroom, coming out with a bottle of lotion. “Picked this up the other day. It’s supposed to help”, he told her. Harry had read that as the baby grew, sometimes the mother’s skin could become itchy as it adjusted.

Anna pulled her night shirt up and Harry gently rubbed the lotion into her skin. She sighed and leaned her head back.

Harry thought she looked like a beautiful goddess. A beautiful goddess that was carrying his baby. “Does that feel better?” he asked her.

Anna only nodded.

Harry leaned down and kissed her bump. He couldn’t wait to be a father.

[psychospeak-blog]

Keep Your Shirt On (or take it off)

This is the cutest smut I’ve ever written, and I’m not mad about it.  

Warnings: Smut (obviously) but pretty vanilla, swearing.

It was time to face facts.

You were ridiculously and hopelessly lost.

You were supposed to be heading to Nolan's new place. He was apparently having people over for a movie night and had invited you, which you were thankful for, considering you barely knew anyone else in Philly aside from your mutual friend from high school, Justin and your roommate, Sarah, who had opted not to come as as she was going out with her boyfriend.  She'd invited you along, but you were determined not to third wheel again.

If you could ever get there, of course.  

It really didn't help that it was dark out.  And his new place was in a part of town that was being newly developed, making it hard to see street signs - if there even were any at all.  

Pulling off to the side of the road, you looked around once more, and then reached for your phone, pulling up Nolan's number.

"Please don't tell me you're bailing on me, too" he answered on the second ring.

"What? No one's coming?"

"Well, Justin said he might stop by later, but I really doubt It," he said, " but, I mean, it's fine.  I'll just sit here by myself. Without any friends."

You laughed, feeling kind of bad that you were only planning to stay for an hour or two because you were pretty tired.

"It's okay," he said sincerely this time, the sarcasm left from his voice.  "I'm sure we'll all figure something out for another time."

"No, I was on my way over," you said, and then paused, rethinking it.  You'd always hung out in a group before, and maybe he'd just rather do that. "I mean, if you still want me to? Or we can just..."

"Yes!" he interjected, his voice way too high pitched.  He cleared his throat, "No, c'mon over whenever you're ready.  I'm just hanging out."

"Well, I'm," you placed your hand on your chin, "Yeah, I'm kind of a bit lost." He laughed loudly this time.  "Did Justin not give you directions?"

"I mean, no, not really.  Just an address."

"Idiot," he mumbled, "Yeah, it's, like, super confusing.  And the roads aren't updated on GPS with the construction so it's really not helpful at all. Where are you at?"

"That's kind of the problem.  I have no idea."

He laughed again, "Do you see anything around you? Like landmarks?"

You looked around again, trying to take in what was around you.  "This is probably not helpful at all, but, like, there's a big pile of dirt?"

"Oh, yeah, okay, I know exactly where you're at.  So you're gonna want to go straight."

"Hang on, let me put you on speaker," you said, doing just that and setting the phone down in your cup holder, following his directions as you drove.  Turns out you were just right there, but kept overlooking the turn.

"So then you should see the building right up ahead," he was saying.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," you responded, pulling into a parking spot. 

"Great, I'll come down and meet you."

By the time you were at the door you could already see him walking towards it through the glass.  He smiled when he saw you, putting down the phone where he was holding it to his ear.  He pushed open the door, holding it open for you, and then pulled you into a hug.

"Hey, how are ya?" "Good, how are you?" you asked as you both pulled away from the hug. "Good," he answered. "C'mon up."

You followed him through the hallway, taking in the shiny hardwood floor and bright yet natural-seeming light. "Wow, this is really nice."

He turned to you, a mocking look on his face but the corners of his lips turned slightly up into a smile, "Why do you sound so surprised? Weren't expecting me to choose something nice?"

"No, no, I just meant everything out there seemed so...unfinished."

"Yeah, I know," he laughed, "Should be super nice once it's done, though."

You'd reached his apartment and he pushed the door open, and you were a little surprised that he hadn't even locked the door. There was a line of shoes next to the door, and you looked down to notice Nolan was just wearing socks. Had he seriously just walked down to the door with nothing more than socks on?  Then again, you guessed it was a lot better than the dorm room you were used to. 

 You bent down to slip your flats off.

"You can leave your shoes on, if you want." Nolan said.

"I'm kind of comfier like this," you said, standing back up only to be met with him. "Yeah, so, ummm..." he awkwardly, running a hand through his hair.

"Are you gonna show me around?"

"Oh, yeah, I mean there's not much to see, but..."

"Nolan, you should see the size of my dorm room," you interjected. "It could literally fit inside your entranceway."

He blushed and kind of tipped his head down, as if it was his whole idea to make dorm rooms just that small.

"I mean, it's all part of the 'college experience' I guess," you said, smiling. "Yeah," he laughed, and then cleared his throat, "Yeah, so, I mean, this is the living room..."

You tried not to frown and instead looked around the room, taking in the fact that it looked oddly...unlived in.  He was being super awkward.  And it had been awhile since you'd seen him, sure, but you didn't remember him ever being quite this awkward. 

"I don't really spend a lot of time in here," he said, and you laughed.

"I can kind of tell." There was a blanket draped perfectly over the back of the sofa and the whole scene looked like it could be photographed for Pottery Barn right then and there.

"Yeah, my mom and my sisters went shopping and my Mom set it all up," he gestured around the room, " I kind of don't want to mess it up."

You choked out a laugh," You know you do have to live here, right?"

"Yeah.  But, I mean, it's only been two days.  Figured I'd at least try to keep it nice for a week."

"So you use this room at all?" you asked as he led you into the kitchen.

"Honestly?" Nolan said, "Not really. But that's more just because I haven't had a chance to. I can cook."

You must have given him a doubtful look because the next thing you knew he had opened the refrigerator door "Look, I even just got groceries today and everything," he said, as if that proved he could operate a stove.

"So yeah, bedrooms, and the bathroom," he said, "Actually, I'll show you the guest room.  That's nice."

He showed you another impeccable room and a perfectly made bed with beautifully arranged fluffy pillows. 

"Your Mom again?" "Yeah," he smiled, and then froze in his place, tilting his head back slightly, as if he'd just remembered something, "I should have invited you when everyone was in town.  We could have gotten dinner or something. Oh well, next time." "Yeah, sure," you said.

"Oh, I almost forgot to show you the best part!"  

He led you outside to a balcony, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around yourself, stepping just one foot outside. It was cold, but you couldn't deny that the city lights were pretty. "Obviously I still need to get patio furniture," he said, shutting the sliding glass door behind the two of you, once you were back inside, "So, what do you want to watch?" You shrugged and said that you didn't really care.  And now you were sitting delicately on the edge of that couch in the living room. After fiddling with the remote for several minutes, he was now down on his hands and knees, fiddling with the television and swearing under his breath. To be honest, it was a little awkward, especially because you were really trying not to stare at his ass, but it was literally right there.  You were also becoming more and more aware of how you were just sitting there not doing anything.

"Have you not used your television before?" you asked.

"Uh, not this one, I usually watch the one in my room," he answered, standing up and blowing his hair out of his face, "Actually, I guess we can just go in there." You stood up to follow him but he stopped, turning around, "Actually, can you just stay out here for a sec?"

You tried not to laugh as you could hear stuff being thrown around the room.  Was he just literally throwing everything in the closet or something? Eventually, the door opened and he stepped back so you could move into the room, brushing a hand across the comforter on his mattress to smooth down the blanket.

You bit your lip to keep the smirk from spreading over your entire face.  "Did you just...make your bed?" "Uh...maybe?" His eyebrows scrunched inwards but the sides of his lips tilted up into an amused grin. 

He threw his body onto to mattress and you followed suit, but sat down like a normal person, swinging your legs onto the bed.

"This is actually way more comfortable than the couch, anyways," he commented as he started the movie.  You had to agree. It was surprisingly...comfortable. You'd thought for a moment that it might be a little weird to be on his bed.  And it wasn't like you hadn't been on a bed with him before - in high school, it was pretty common for your group of friends to all sit on someone's bed rather than sit in a common area where a parent might overhear your conversation.  But this felt different - even more different than sitting in a guy's dorm room. It somehow seemed more grown-up. But his bed was big enough that there was a decent amount of space between you and it wasn't like you were had to be squished together. And you were barely even talking - just commenting about the movie or laughing at something that had said, but it felt normal and...almost domestic?  As this thought came in your head, you turned to slowly look at him.

You'd barely had time to try and unpack what you were thinking when he suddenly jumped out of the bed, and you frowned, a curious look on your face. "I forgot the movie snacks!" he said suddenly. And you were about to tell him it was fine but he was already gone. You reached over to grab the remote, pausing the movie.

"You paused it?" he asked, when he returned with a bowl of popcorn in his hands. "Awe, that's so nice."

He said it in a teasing tone, so you started up the movie again as he sat down back on the bed with the bowl of popcorn.  He shifted, pulling something out of his pocket, and tossing it towards you. You smiled as you saw what it was.  A pack of peanut M & M's.

"Oh, I love these!" you exclaimed excitedly. "Yeah, I know," he said, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth, "And you hate popcorn.  That's why I got 'em."

How did he know that? "I don't...remember ever telling you that," you mentioned. "Yeah, you didn't.  I just noticed that you never ate popcorn when we went to the movies.  And I put two and two together."

"Wow, I didn't know you were so observant," you said mockingly, slipping your finger under the cardboard closure to open the box of M & M's.

"Yeah, funny story, I had the biggest crush on you in high school," from your peripheral vision, you could see him reach up a hand to scratch the back on his neck, "I could have probably written a whole report about you."

He turned to you hurriedly, a look of horror on his face at the words that just tumbled out of his mouth, "Sorry, sorry, that sounded way creepier than I meant.  I promise I wasn't a crazy stalker or anything."

You turned to your side to face him, a small smile on your face, "You liked me?" "Well....yeah," he responded, a small blush on his cheeks.

"Why didn't you say anything?" "Because you're way out of my league." You laughed at that, "Nolan, you're in the National Hockey League."

"So?" he asked, turning onto his side to face you, but still not really looking into your eyes, " You're funny, and really nice, and smart, and super pretty." With those words, he lifted your and up and raising in towards his mouth as if to kiss your hand, but he really just ended up brushing his lips against your knuckles, and you practically melted into the bed.

"Did you?" he asked softly. "No," you replied honestly . You'd seen him as nothing more than a friend in high school.  And maybe if he'd said something or let on in any other way, you might have considered it.  "But...do you still?"

"Like you?" he asked, you had both shifted so you were lying on your sides, facing each other. "Yeah," you breathed.

You watched as his eyes danced around as if trying to find the right words or response.  And then he was someone so close to you without even you noticing him moving. You could feel his breath over yours, and his lips were moving closer to and closer to yours and your eyes were sliding shut and....

Both of your eyes shot open when a loud knock on the door sounded.  It made you jump, spilling the M &M's all over the bed.

"Fuck," he muttered, but then he was moving back towards you and....

Three more knocks, louder this time. "Hang on!" Nolan yelled, sighing loudly and pushing himself up on his elbow, "That must be Justin."

He leaned over, pressing a kiss to your cheek before he stood up and left the room. You laid there, trying to take in the feeling left on your cheek where his lips had touched your skin. It had felt soft, and wet, but you also couldn't deny that there was a heat developing at the same time. 

You sat up suddenly when you heard more than two male voices, then noticing the candy scattered all over the bed. You hurriedly started picking the up and putting them back into the container, finally standing up and adjusting your shirt before baking your way back out into the entranceway.

"Is this her?" A guy you'd never seen before was whispering to Nolan, jerking his head towards you. "Yeah, uh, Y/N, this is TK, er, Travis." "Either's fine," the guy said, extending his hand for you to shake, "It's nice to meet you.  Nolan's told me a lot about you."

Justin caught your eye from across the room, raising an eyebrow at you. "Anyways," Nolan said pointedly, "we're going to move a couple of chairs into the bedroom so we can all watch a movie."  He looked at you and frowned, "You have chocolate on your shirt."

You looked down to see that, indeed, you had a smudge of chocolate on the side of your shirt, near your hip. "C'mon," he said, and you followed him into the kitchen, where he handed you a wet washcloth and you began swiping at your shirt.

"Yeah," you said, glancing at the men in the living room who were currently picking up a chair, "So, I think I'm going to head out..."

"Why? There's plenty of room," Nolan said, "And we were just going to start a new movie..." "Yeah, but...." you started.

"Stay," he said softly, his knuckles brushing against yours gently and you felt that spark again.  He was looking at you with the sweetest eyes ever, too, "Please." "Okay.  I'll stay."

**************************

Nolan shifted on the bed, vaguely aware that it was morning but not wanting to open his eyes yet. He stretched an arm out, his fingers coming in contact with skin.  Wait, what?!

His eyes shot open to see Y/N's sleeping form next to him in his bed, her hair trailing over her face as she laid on her stomach. His calmed, realizing where he was and that they must have fallen asleep watching the movie.  But this was short-lived as he noticed that Y/N's back was bare and he felt his heart rate speed up for an entirely different reason.  He sat up abruptly, looking around the room.  What the hell had happened to her shirt?! His movements must have startled her, because, the next thing he knew she was rolling onto her back, her breasts swinging free.  And, oh god, they were spectacular - round, perky, her nipples perfectly pink and...suckable.

...and he should definately not be staring.   Somehow his reaction to this was reach out and touch her arm. It was only when she started to open her eyes that he realized that he should have found her shirt or grabbed a blanket or....something other than waking her up.

"Wh..." you started, and then your eyes bolted open and you backed up in bed, crossing an arm over your chest, "What are you doing?!" "Nothing," he said, realizing his hand was still on her and jerking it away, "I don't know what happened."

"What did you do with my shirt?" you asked sleepily, your eyes scrunched up with sleep.

"N-nothing," he repeated, looking around the room, "I don't know, you must have..." Unless he had literally started undressing her in his sleep. He'd certainly had those types of dreams about her before but he typically never moved in his sleep or anything.

"Nolan, Nolan," you said clearly, reaching out to touch his arm, now that you had woken up and had figured things out. "It's okay. I take my bra off in my sleep every time I fall sleep with it on."

You must have gotten tangled up in your shirt and just tossed that too.  The poor thing looked so terrified, so you kept your eyes locked on his, the connected with yours bounced down to your chest, and then connected with yours again and darted away as you slowly reached down for a blanket and pulled it up your body.  "Yeah, yeah, so I'm just gonna....be out here," he said, literally disappearing out the room where he nearly ran straight into TK. "Everything alright?" he asked.

"No," he said hurriedly, speaking in a harsh whisper as he ran his hand through his hair and headed towards the kitchen, "she took her shirt off in her sleep." Which meant she usually slept without a shirt.   His head...or something...was going to explode.

"So?" Travis asked, leaning back against the counter. "So, all of her," He cupped his hands chest as if to stimulate breasts, "is just hanging out!" "Well, I mean, I do," Nolan said again, "But..." "Calm down, kid," Travis said, "Did you give her a shirt?" "Shit," he mumbled, taking back off towards the bedroom again but a hand caught his wrist.

"Don't go in there right now," Travis explained, "she's probably getting changed." "Right," Nolan sighed, leaning back against the counter, "What are you still doing here, anyways?"

He shrugged, "You guys KO'ed, so I crashed in the guest room." Meanwhile, you were staring at yourself in the bathroom mirror, trying to gather your hair into a ponytail. You'd put your shirt and bra back on and then, at the last minute, took your bra off. You wanted to be comfortable for this conversation, and he'd literally just seen it all anyways.

Yet, as you went into the kitchen, you realized that Travis was still there, and crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a small smile of acknowledgment. "So, you guys want breakfast?" Nolan asked, glancing at you quickly and then his gaze darting away again. He looked...completely frazzled, his cheeks red, and his hair sticking up in all directions like he'd been running his hands nervously through it.

"Yeah, sure," you said. "Okay, so I could make pancakes or French tits," Nolan's head darted out of the cabinet he was looking in, "Toast! French toast."

You moved your hand over your mouth to try and hide the smile that had crept onto your face.

"Y'know, I think I'm gonna head home.  I want to grab a shower before I go to the rink.  I'll see you later, man," Travis said, resting a hand on your shoulder and giving you a wink as he left, "Nice to meet you, Y/N.  I'll see you around."

And finally you were alone again.

"So, what did you want?" Nolan asked, still crouched down and looking in a cabinet. "For you to finsh," you said clearly, keeping your arms crossed as you backed up to lean against the kitchen counter. "What?" he asked, turning his head towards you but still staying crouched down. "Weren't you going to kiss me?" He stood up then, taking a tentative step towards you, "You - you want me to kiss you?"

"I mean, that's kind of why I'm asking," you said, cocking your head to the side but standing there determinedly. 

Before you even had time to decipher the expression on his face he had closed the distance between you, pressing his lips solidly against yours.  You made a little noise of surprise at the quickness of his action, but then sunk into it, your arms dropping to your size. He wasn't rushing, just pressing closed mouth kisses against your lips, your bodies still separated, but you couldn't deny that it was making you hot.

When you were both breathless, he pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours, a gesture which felt decidedly intimate. "I can't believe this is actually happening," he whispered, his large hands moving to your upper back.

"Yeah," you just breathed, because at this point you couldn't think.

"No," he said, and he pulled away just to press a kiss on your forehead and cheek, and then his hands wrapped around each other, pulling your closer into a huge, "You don't understand.  Like the fact that we both ended up in Philly?"

You pulled away from him just enough so you could look into his eyes, which you hadn't even realized until now looked so comforting. "Yeah, it's..." you trailed off. It was like this moment was happening that you didn't even know you were waiting for. 

And you couldn't even think because then he was kissing you again, just starting to open his mouth with yours, yet not slipping his tongue inside, pieces of his hair brushing against your face.  You smiled against his mouth, your hand going to the back of his neck to pull him closer, while one of his large hands was spread across your upper back, the other curved against your lower back. It felt like you were just making out forever, your chests and hips still separated but your hands connected to each other's bodies and your lips moving together.  But it also felt like no time had passed at all. 

"Mmmph," you mumbled as you shifted against the counter, his knuckled pressing sharply into your low back. Before you knew it, he had lifted you up onto the counter and you were separating your legs so he could step between them.  He pulled your lower lip between his and you made a small little noise, almost a whine.

"Jesus," he whispered against your face, "That noise..." His hand which was on your lower back swept it's way around you to the front, where his fingers just began to tuck up under the hem of your shirt to rest against your belly, him looking up at you with his eyes dark, panting slightly. Your hands came to rest on his shoulders, your legs curving inwards not yet pulling him closer, but keeping him there so he couldn't back up as you looking down at him mockingly, "You didn't really seem like you wanted my shirt to be off earlier."

"Yeah, I did," he placed a kiss on your shoulder and then just brushed his fingertips up and down your side, sending tingles down your spine, "I just wanted it to be because you wanted me to see."

You pulled back from him, grasping the bottom of your shirt and pulling it over your head, letting your breasts bounce free.  Judging from his wide eyes, the no bra was definitely a good idea.

"Fuck," he mumbled, hands on your sides, you watching as his eyes darted from right to left, as if he couldn't decide where to focus.  "Can I...?"

"Mhhm," you made an affirmative noise and nodded.  You were expecting him to touch you but you gasped as his mouth latched on a nipple, and your hand immediately went to tangle in his hand, your legs tensing.

"Mmm, you are so, so...beautiful" he was now kissing his way across the tops of your breasts to the other side, pausing just to speak.

A moan left your lips as he applied the same treatment to your other nipple, a hand coming to cup the breast he had just had his mouth all over.  Your leg wrapped around his, pulling his hips into you, so his hard length was rocking against your core just where you needed it.  He groaned as your hips connected, and then mumbled an apology about how hard he was.

You laughed against him, "That's kind of what's supposed to happen," your lips brushed against his cheek, trailing to his ear, "and if it's any consolation, I'm really, really wet right now."

"Fuck," he shot out immediately, his hips rocking into yours to let you know that he liked that response very much. "I think," you said, your fingers toying with the hem of his shirt, "that it's only fair..."

"Yeah, yeah, fair," he whispered, and you grinned, pulling the shirt up and over his head.  You didn't even have time to appreciate his body because he was immediately pressed against you again, kissing you, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. Although, you could feel the hard angles of his body pressed against your soft bits and you figured that that would totally be alright for now. A thought briefly went through your head just crazy it was that you were getting this far this fast, because this wasn't like you.  But it felt so different, so comfortable, and so reassuringly familiar yet exciting and new at the same time. His hips rocked against yours once more and both of your legs gripped around him hard.  It was like you couldn't get close enough, like you wanted to go inside him.

Scratch that.  Nope, you wanted him inside you.

Luckily he seemed to appreciate what you were doing because he was then pulling you off the counter, hands going under your thighs, his face pressed against your neck and a rush of heat when through you when you realized you were heading towards the bedroom.  Yes, being horizontal would be a very good idea.

So he was cute AND smart.

He set you down on the side of the bed, pulling back, his eyes moving slowly down your body, "This was a bad idea," he muttered. "What? Why?" you asked pulling back, concerned.

"Because," he slowly crawled up your body, punctuating each word with a kiss, "it's going to be very, very, very hard to stop." You breathed out a sigh," I think I might die if you stop."

"Well," he said, using his lower body to kick your legs up onto the bed, lying down over top of you, "I really don't want you to die."

You let out a pleased sound as you pulled him back to you, chest heaving as you grasped his back.  He was a really, really good kisser, but you wanted more.  You grasped his hand in yourself, pushing it heavily down towards the top of your jeans.  He smirked and looked up and you, and then started moving down your body, leaving kisses as he went.  

"I had a whole plan," he said short of breath, his fingers going to unbutton your jeans and start pulling them down your body. "Hmm?"

"I was going to - shit," he broke off suddenly as your bare legs started to appear, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee and sending electricity up your leg, "It was supposed to be a group thing.  And then I was going to invite you to another group thing.  And then I was going to ask you to do something with me, as friends.  And THEN I was going to ask you out."

"Well, you can ask me out after," you said, grinning, "I might say yes." He looked up from your legs, smiling softly at you, and then pulled your jeans the rest of the way up your body.  He then hooked his fingers into the side of your panties, and you shivered at the sensation of his warm fingers against your hip.

"I can't...god, I can't wait," he said, pushing your panties aside, and sliding his fingers up and down your slit, and your breathing picked up even more, "Shit, you weren't kidding." he said when he felt just how wet you were.

"Nolan," you said helplessly, your hips thrusting towards him of their own accord. "What?" he asked, thrusting a finger up suddenly into you, and you let out a high pitched "oh," your walls clenching all him. You swore it was like a mini orgasm right there, and you couldn't imagine what the rest would be like if you got that much pleasure from one finger.

He made a heavy noise of appreciation, adding another finger, his wrist turning. 

"God, I need," he mumbled frustratingly and, the next thing you knew, you heard a ripping noise.   Your eyes widened as he pulled the lace of your panties away from your body.  You definitely did not expect that, but, god, it was hot. He was also so breathless, just like you, which was completely intoxicating.

All thoughts left your mind as his thumb started rubbing on your clit, which felt so good, but it wasn't enough.  He was kissing up your thighs and you realized his destination, sitting up suddenly and pushing his hands away, reaching for his shorts.

"But..." he started, gesturing in between your legs. 

"I can't," you said, hurriedly trying to grasp at his shorts. You had never been so desperate for anything before in your life. "I need to feel you inside me." He grasped your wrists and looked up at you, "But...I want to make sure you get off."

"I...I'm already so close," you said unabashedly, legs moving restlessly.

"Yeah, yeah, me too."

Oh thank god.  He finally let your hands go and you started to pull down his shorts, "I already had a little one."

"Yeah?" he asked, smiling up at you.  You were distracted for a moment until you got your eyes on his cock, swollen and pink.

Holy shit.  You took him into your hand, pumping him lightly as you contemplated this, realizing just how long it had been since you had sex.  It wasn't like he was huge, but he was definitely ample sized.  

But then he groaned and buried his lips in your neck and you really didn't care about anything else anymore than getting him inside you.

"Do you...have a condom?" you asked, your heart sinking as you watched the expression take over his face.

"Fuck," he said, running his hand through his hair, "I definitely would have if I had known this was going to happen."

"I think I might," you sprung up off the bed, your breasts bouncing as you ran naked towards the front door where you'd left your purse.  Please, please, please, you prayed, unzipping that pouch inside your purse, a wide smile breaking over your face as your fingers touched the foil packets.  You walked back into the bedroom, two between your fingers, raising your eyebrows as your gaze met.

"Oh, thank god," he sighed, as you passed one to him, setting the other on his nightstand and settling back onto the bed, your eyes watching as he rolled it on, breathing in anticipation.

He laid back over you, kissing you deeply once again, and you let out another moan, feeling him at your entrance.

"You ready?" he asked, blowing his hair out of his face to look up at you. "Yeah," you said simply, feeling in this moment like everything was changing. He slowly pushed inside you, continuing to press kisses on your lips, forehead, shoulders, and collarbone as you adjusted to him.  

"Oh," you moaned once he was deeply seated inside, you clutching at his arms at back.  You felt so full.  In the best way possible, "Don't move." He didn't, instead continuing to kiss you in the way he had before, "Okay?" he questioned after a moment.

"Yeah, really, really okay" you said, looking up at him, "Never been better." He smiled down at you but your hands went to his hips, pulling him to you. "Fuck, don't..." he said, sounding pained, "Baby, don't do that unless you're ready."

You body instantly reacted to him calling you 'baby', and  you just smirked, repeating the movement and letting your internal muscles spasm around him. "God," he muttered, pulling in and out of you smoothly, "Shit, you feel so good." He was going so slow, and you could tell he was trying to hold himself back, his face scrunched up in concentration, hair swinging around you, a steady blush on both of your bodies.  

Your back arched and his hand scooped under it, like neither of you could get close enough to each other. And he was so close, but not quite right there.  You shifted, bending your knee and trying to hook it around his hip.  He caught the message, grasping your leg and continuing to thrust into you more evenly, braced on his other arm and you let out a low moan as he kept hitting that spot over and over again.

"God, don't...don't stop," the words flew out of your mouth. "Close?" he asked. You nodded because you didn't think you were capable of words at that moment, tiny moans and whines escaping you with every thrust.

"What...fuck...what do you need?" You wrapped your leg hard around him, keeping that position, and taking that hand that was holding that leg and guiding in between your legs, applying pressure to your clit.

"Oh god," you moaned, him shifting down closer to you, burying his nose in your neck, his heat all around you. pushing into you with renewed force, each movement hitting you just the right way.

Finally, your body erupted, your back arching as he pulled your body to him, continuing to move within you and letting out a groan of his own, slowly collapsing on you and stilling inside you, you could still feel your muscles moving around him as you came down, his lips smiling against yours.  

Slowly, he pulled out of you, rolling onto his side to face you.

"That was good," you whispered, once you had breath.

"Amazing," he clarified, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"Amazing," you agreed, staring into his eyes.  Yep, you were definately lost.  And you were pretty happy about it.

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires Pt.7

Title & Song: Making A Fool Of You

Characters: Alfie Solomons x OFC

Word Count: 2000+

Summary: Genevieve Durand is a force to be reckoned with. An intelligent, independent and brutal businesswoman. When she moves to London for a new chapter in her life, she finds herself very interested in the friends the father of her godson has found himself in business with. But where does the line go between personal and professional?

A/N: Every chapter of this story will have a song to work as the title and as a soundtrack. Chapter song is Making A Fool Of You by Homeshake. All text in italics is spoken in French.

Part 1: Thieves & Kings.- Pt. 2 Conquest - Pt. 3 Nail In My Coffin - Pt. 4 - 60 Feet Tall Pt. 5 I Bet You Look Good On The Dance Floor Pt. 6 Stop The World Pt. 8 l’amour et la violence

My Masterlist.

Warnings: Language.

Tags! Let me know if you’d like to be added or dropped! Thanks!

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer​ @cosettewinchester​ @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog​ @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix

You sit perched in the middle of your sunlight flooded painting room. Your red silk robe barely tied around your waist, the only thing protecting your naked skin from the colder air of the room.

"Still sitting in the sun like a cat I see?" Agatha, your head maid, who had worked in your family's summer home in France since you were a child enters the room.

"Yes. I find myself to be so disconsolate today, Aggie." you sigh. Your hand pushes the brush into a mixed pile of paint on your palette.

"And what's the cause of this, dear?" she pats your back as she crosses the room.

"I am inclined to say I do not know but I feel that isn't exactly true." you sigh, feeling entirely too clouded, your eyes wide with annoyance at your worry for your possibly prophetic dreams.

"Another vision then?" she says this like she already knows the answer.

"Oui." you nod and groan, looking out the window dramatically, feeling sorry for yourself for a moment. "Was this one you sought out or one that came to you?" she grabs a teacup off the low table in front of your fainting couch.

You let out a heavy sigh. "A man at the ball I feel means to harm Mr. Solomons and I do not know if he takes my advice as seriously as I feel he should."

"Much like a man." Aggie says with a chuckle, you frown, your eyes following her round form around the room as she stacked teacups up on top of the other as they'd accumulated over the past few days.

"Yes." you sigh again. "I suppose I was incorrect to expect more from a man like him. Blame that one on my mother." you pout, plopping your brush into a paint covered teacup with murky water in it. Aggie nods, holding your chin. "That is your mother's voice you hear in your head on that account dear. Listen to her." she releases your chin with a nod. "No matter the religion, they are still only men, aren't they?" she says with a smile and a shrug.

"Are we finally back to complaining about men instead of sitting around like we're back in the war? Worrying, staring out the windows all day waiting for something bad to happen?" she says exasperated, nodding to Agatha as she rolls her eyes at your moping.

"I won't apologize for being concerned over clear visions of death surrounding someone that I care about." you say flatly, straightening your back and narrowing your eyes at her.

"Oh, do we CARE about him now? I shall write that down in the diary." she says with a shake of her head.

"Now Claire, she may be a killer, but she is not a monster." Agatha says in a teasing tone. "She can't help if she was born under a sun and moon full of emotion." she adds factually as she heads out of the room.

"Aggie empathizes." you say your voice and face full of attitude. "And Besides! Apart from my boys, he's the only man to not be disrespectful to me based on my being a woman in this business since I've moved here." you state, your muscles tensing in frustration. "So yes, I do care if he lives or dies." he say loudly, your arms slapping your bare thighs to punctuate your point. "I'd like it if you didn't act like I've got some fucking schoolgirl crush." you cross your arms and pout menacingly.

"No need to raise your voice, Gen." she says scoldingly, patronizing you as she's rolling her eyes.

"If you would stop trying to make my emotions not valid they wouldn't be forced to overcompensate and overflow in these sorts of ways!" you shout your arms falling to your sides. "I also can't help how the full moon is fucking with my emotions and giving me these damned dreams that make me feel like a mad woman." you rush out, groaning in annoyance. "I find myself consumed by frustration at this entire situation." you say quietly, the anger starting to be replaced by melancholy.

"You're consumed by frustration because you've stopped all your vices for it since moving here." Claire state obviously in her frustration at you self-pity, turning to leave the room, giving you an observation she knew you needed to be reminded of. "In the past if you acted like this I'd tell you to go get fucked, but mean it literally." This is the longest she'd seen you go without sex in the over a decade of years she'd known you. You hadn't done much drinking or partying since you'd moved. You stuck to wine in liquors usual place. Business meetings got you out of the house instead of all-nighters in clubs in the city. She knew you were trying to calm your life down a bit from your wilder days in Berlin and Paris but she also knew those parts of you ran so deep that you pretending like they didn't exist was just going to backfire and she didn't want to be around when you burned the estate to the ground in a fit of frustration.

"Oh, fuck off." you groan loudly after her, you hear her laughing as she heads down the hallway, knowing she's right. You slouch and your anger fades quickly as look over to the nude male statue in the corner of the room, opposite the female one, the corner of your mouth pulled back as your eyes look it up and down. "UGH!" you groan loudly as you take a paint-splattered sheet off a chair and throw it over the statue. ---------------- It'd been a week since the ball and you hadn't heard anything. You'd sent Joseph to town for your favorite little pastries so he could give you any news he heard. You heard nothing for days. You assumed this was both a good and bad thing. No news was not bad news, after all. But it was the good news you were after.

"Genevieve." Claire says already annoyed with your low mood today. "No man is worth this worry. Should I just call him to end this suffering you're putting us all through along with you?" she walks next to you, perched in a random room in the guest wing, sitting on a tufted velvet cushion on a bench that sat beneath a large window, looking out onto the forest and hills. You turn your head to her, you move your eyes up slowly and she exhales noisily at your tired face. "Hmmm?" you ask quietly, your face fallen completely.

"Have you even slept?" Claire asked, moving her hands to your shoulders.

"No. I tried and the dreams became more and more disturbing." your voice is soft and flat. "I don't want to deal with them anymore." you mumble. You do as Claire physically directs, moving you out of the room towards your own.

"You are going to go take one of your little night vials and you're going to sleep this off." she says slowly, hoisting you around to move quicker.

"No, Claire." you whine, your feet dragging, your brow furrowed.

"Then what do you want to do, huh? Do you want to never sleep again? Is that your plan?" she says exasperatedly. It'd been a week of this moody blues funk you'd fell into out of nowhere. "Because it's a shit plan," she says obviously, grabbing your arm and you move reluctantly but willingly. You groan as she shoves you into your room. "You're good to no one without your rest." she says, her voice less harsh.

"Don't treat me like a child. You don't know what they're like, Claire, I don't want to be stuck in those dreams." you say loudly, your hands falling to your sides heavily, your shoulders slumping.

"Then stop your crying and fix this problem or I will have Aggie hold you down and give you something to make you sleep." you says, fixing her shirt hastily.

You glare at her and plop onto the bed. "I'm not crying. Which is honestly surprising at what hour of consciousness I am on at this point." you let out a yawn as you sink into the bed.

She scolds, pulling the curtains of the canopy down and around your bed. "Like a little bird." Claire tsks, "Put the sheet over your gilded cage and you'll shut up." she says in a more playful and less hateful way as you frown as the last light from the daylit room disappears. You cuddle into your breast and chirp in the comfort or the bed and fall asleep.

----------------- You awake and it's dark. Your eyes snap open. You had exhausted yourself and your sleep had shown you dreams of him but with nothing bad attached. Just him, floating about in dark water alone. You groan and stretch, rolling about the bed. You peak your head out of the curtains before pulling one to the side and tieing it back.

The full moon's light comes in from your window, the curtains not being touched since you fell asleep. You stand in the middle of the towering window, letting the moonlight seep into your pores, you let out a long sigh and move to an armoire in your room. You open it to find your oils. You change your silk robe for one more substantial. You pile things into your pockets, your robe untied, your maribou tipped, soft-soled shoes carry you, almost mindlessly through the rows of raspberries, your labyrinth to get to your sanctuary in the middle.

"I saw her going into the garden, practically naked with a bottle of rum in her hand, ma'am." the newest maid softly says, reporting to Claire that you'd woken up.

"I expected as much." Claire says, chewing on her thumbnail, her feet kicked up on the dining room table as she reads by the fire.

"This isn't concerning at all?" the young maid says, uncertainty in her voice and Claire lets out a loud laugh and pats the girl's arm to comfort her.

"None of us have anything to fear from Genevieve, dear. She may have habits you've been raised to be frightened by but her heart is always in the right place." she grins, it'd been awhile since you'd hired any new house workers and she'd forgotten how eccentric you appear to others who didn't know you as well. "Speak to her at the next kitchen meeting, you'll find her very warm to you, I'm certain."

"She has been, very much so. I'm afraid I'll be full of stupid questions until I can accustom myself with the home and those who live in it. But may I inquire as to what she's doing out there in the rows?" she says meekly, not wanting to step out of her bounds.

"Going out to her secret garden to do some of her grandmother's old world medicine to get rid of those dreams she finds herself imprisoned by, I imagine." she says casually, her eye returning back to her book.

"And this is good?" the girl responds with wide eager eyes.

"Yes, dear, it means she's finally stopped letting it happen to her and is now getting back her control of the situation." she nods, chewing her bottom lip, relieved you were finally snapping out of it and getting back to being the reasonable, logical, power source she preferred you as. You were out in the outskirts of your rows of berries, among the iris's in your spherical space of hanging flowers and willows, your stone bench and small viewing pool the only other pieces taking up the space besides you. You drink a good few big swigs of his rum, connecting yourself to him.

"You better be worth all this fucking trouble, Solomons." you grumble quietly, sighing with a furrowed brow at how you'd gotten yourself into this mess, now to try to get yourself, and him, out of it. You light your candle and begin what Claire had assumed, but you try to focus specifically on protecting Alfie as you begin to rub the oils into your skin and try to center your mind.

Pt. 8 L’amour et la violence

[the-sapphiresky]

The Upstairs Neighbor

Sherlock Holmes hated cats. Well, to be specific, he hated one specific cat. Namely the beast that lived in the flat above him. The monstrous creature had moved in several weeks before and begun its reign of terror immediately. For hours, Sherlock laid awake that first night as the cat raced from one end of the flat to the other, its claws playing a spine-tingling symphony on the wood floors. It cried endlessly between the hours of 4am and 6am until its owner, who somehow managed to sleep through the racket, woke up and fed the demanding creature. And if that wasn't bad enough, the beast had taken it upon itself to taunt Blackbeard, Sherlock's basset hound. On more than one occasion, Sherlock had had to manhandle an over-excited Blackbeard down the stairs for his walk while the cat, having escaped its confines, followed them while remaining just out of snout-reach. Sherlock's curses and threats of finding a nice experiment on its front left paw, didn't faze the haughty beast. Yes, Sherlock Holmes hated cats. And today, he was ready to commit felinicide. oOo He supposed he could be partly to blame. After all, he had left his door open, anticipating Mrs Hudson's daily tray of tea and gingernuts. Blackbeard had been laying in the patch of sunlight by the window, worn out from chasing down an attempted murderer the day before. In Sherlock's opinion, the old boy had earned a day off. And Sherlock had been looking forward to a quiet day of experimenting on some appendages he had finagled from Stamford, who was more than happy to send him away with the parts, instead of having Sherlock underfoot as he struggled to keep up with the ever-increasing work at Bart's. Yes, it was going to be a good day. That is, until Sherlock discovered they were not alone. Above him, a floorboard creaked. He paused in the process of removing a fleck of skin from a 45-year-old man's middle finger. Another creak. Sherlock straightened. Too heavy for that cat. And his owner had gone out early in the day, he recalled the outer door slamming shut. He waited, but when nothing else sounded from upstairs, he promptly forgot about it and returned to his experiment. It was at this point, looking back, that Sherlock knew he should have gotten up and investigated. If he had, he might have noticed Mrs Hudson's coat missing from the hall pegs and realised it was her that had left earlier. And he might have noticed the open door at the top of the stairs, where that demonic black cat sat staring down at him, waiting for the right moment to creep down and send everything to Hell in a handbasket. But he didn't, so it did. oOo Like the calm before the storm, the seconds of blissful silence in the flat should have raised the red flags in his Mind Palace, sending alarms blaring and readying him for battle. But they didn't. So caught up in his experiment, he did not hear Blackbeard snort awake and growl a friendly warning. The uninvited guest ignored it and sauntered inside. Blackbeard rose to his haunches and watched as the cat rubbed up against the nearest chair. Sherlock's chair. Leaving its fur and scent on it. A possessive growl ripped out of Blackbeard's throat and he pounced. But the cat was quicker. Around the room they ran, knocking over piles of books and Sherlock's music stand, before the cat made a quick right and dashed into the kitchen and, in one graceful leap, jumped onto the table and scampered across. Sherlock drew back in surprise as dismembered fingers went flying in every direction. His stool tipped back and he tried to grab hold of the table, but it was too late and he fell over backwards with a shout. 'Whooooaaaa!' His breath was knocked out of him and he lay there, dazed. Blackbeard, unable to make the same leap, tried to go under and managed to knock loose the one bad table leg and only just made it out the other side before the table buckled and sent everything that remained on it to the floor. Silence fell like a thick blanket over the room. Laying there, his legs akimbo over the stool and suffering a bruised bum, Sherlock coughed and sucked in deep breaths as he tried to understand what had happened. He turned his head and glared at the culprits. Blackbeard had the decency to look guilty and whined softly, padding over to Sherlock and nudging his leg. Behind him, the beast was perched atop the microwave, triumphant. With a forefinger in its jaws. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his nemesis. 'Oh my god! Oh, oh are you okay?' A soft, feminine voice called out from the doorway. Sherlock turned his head back and looked straight up into the face of an angel. Or, his upstairs neighbor. But with the overhead light casting a glow around her elfish face, he gave himself a little grace for the misunderstanding. She was petite, but strong, as Sherlock discovered when she practically hauled him to his feet after ascertaining he had not injured himself too badly. 'I am so sorry, I didn't realise I had left the door open and Toby got out.' She continued to apologise profusely as she bent down and almost absentmindedly gathered up the stray fingers. Sherlock watched in bemusement as she laid them out on the counter, correctly in order, before gently but firmly taking the one from the demon beast, er, Toby. '-not usually such a maniac. I think it's been the move and he is upset about having left Manchester.' Sherlock eyed the beast in question. He didn't believe for one second that this was too out of character. 'I will replace your table and if there's any damage to the microscope, I'll pay for the repairs. I really am truly sorry! This is not at all how I wanted to introduce myself. I've just been so busy settling in and going through mounds of paperwork for my new job, I just kept putting it off.' She was wringing her hands and gnawing her lip, showing more guilt than Blackbeard. The faithful dog must have sensed her distress and he sat beside her and leaned against her leg to offer her comfort. With two sets of big brown eyes staring at him so sadly, Sherlock knew he was in trouble. Looking between the cat, who twitched its nose and tail as if to say 'you'll do' (whether as a begrudging friend or its next meal, Sherlock couldn't say' after all, the cat apparently had a taste for human flesh) to his faithful hound who had tilted his head back to gaze adoringly at the woman who was petting him in the perfect spot behind his right ear, he had a feeling things were going to change. And when he looked back at his neighbor, took in the faint blush on her cheeks, her cherry print cardigan and long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, with glasses perched on her nose, and combined that with how she had not batted an eye at his experiment or gathering dismembered body parts from the floor of his flat... Oh yes. He knew was most definitely in trouble.