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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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Till Death Do Us Part: Chapter 4

Masterlist

This story would not be possible without @limp-wrist-max who inspired me to write this in the first place and @acollectionofficsandshit who helped me come up with the storyline and is the best beta a girl could ask for, thanks you two!

Word Count: 8.4k

Recommended song: “I Hope you Dance” by Lee Ann Womack

WARNINGS: Mentions of drugs, violence, character death. This is a heavy chapter! If you’re not up for it feel free to send me a message and I can give you the cliff notes!

Pierre Gasly never knew his father. It didn’t often cross his mind to care that there was no man around to raise him because his mother had always been more than enough.

Pascale was a strong-willed saint of a woman. Her golden hair and ability to take any three ingredients out of a bare cupboard and whip up a meal fit for kings made her hand in marriage a coveted prize. Her heart wound up being stolen by a fast talking man a full head taller than her. He had little money and nothing to offer her but his heart, but Pascale was enamored in minutes. Six months of courting later, they were wed in the tiny white chapel in Pascale's hometown of Rouen.

The first few months were bliss and Pascale often recounted to Pierre tales of dipping in starlit lakes and wandering through flowery forests on days they both could sneak off from work. Years later Pierre still recalled the adoration that had coated her words when she spoke about how it had been in the beginning, when her husband was still a decent man.

"One day he just… snapped."

Pierre asked on more than one occasion if she had regretted staying but she shook her head every single time.

She would cradle his face and give him a watery smile. "How could I when my marriage gave me you?"

Her husband laying his hands on her was something she could tolerate but the night he threatened her son she vanished with the wind, protecting her child from the abuse she endured day in and day out. She fled France at the age of twenty two, her blue-eyed newborn boy in tow.

Pascale arrived in England with nothing but the clothes on her back and a suitcase loaded with the bare necessities the family needed to survive.

Growing up, lesson number one had always been love. In all things Pascale did there was love, from the way she tucked toddler Pierre in each night to the way she arranged his eggs into a smiley face on his plate when they were lucky enough to have them.

They didn't have much, but it was enough.

Gas station attendant, hospital janitorial staff and hostess at an 80’s themed diner- Pascale worked her ass off at three minimum wage jobs to provide for her son. Pierre spent plenty of time at each of them when he wasn't at school.

It was in the shoddy, dilapidated apartment above the third establishment that the family of two lived.

Paint peeled off the walls in thick curls, the bathtub was cracked and the water was always cold, but it was a roof over their heads and that was good enough for a sunny-depositioned toddler. Pierre tried to make it feel more like a home by tacking up drawings of forest cottages and brighter days in places where his mother would see them every morning. Everything was drawn in red, yellow and blue- the colors that came in the pack of crayons provided to entertain children that came to dine with their parents downstairs.

Whether it be scraps from the kitchen or the occasional sweet from the corner store, Pascale managed to keep food on the three and a half legged table most days. There were still plenty of nights that Pierre was kept awake by a stomach shouting loudly at him in protest of the meager morstles he had consumed throughout the day.

Where school was a reprieve for most kids in his position, it was hell for Pierre. No one paid a lick of attention to the scrawny, gangly kid that dressed exclusively in hand-me -downs gifted by his mothers coworkers except when they needed a punching bag. Early on he resigned himself to being the odd man out, consistently picked last for games in class and never invited to birthday parties. He grew used to it and was perfectly comfortable sitting alone at lunch and tromping through the playground by himself at recess.

The other kids wanted nothing to do with the kind-hearted boy his mother had nurtured. Kids were cruel to things that made them uncomfortable, that was just a fact of life. When they pushed him down, he got up and dusted off his knees. When they called him names, Pierre laughed right along with them.

Pierre never held it against them. He had been raised better than that.

When his mother was home she would lay with him, run her hands through his hair and sing him a soft lullaby in her native tongue. Words wouldn’t heal the black eyes or bruised shins, but they worked wonders to numb the ache in his chest.

She called him darling and treated him like a prince, albeit one ruling over a crumbling castle, but royalty nonetheless. Pascale loved her son with her whole heart, never once letting a day pass without him knowing it. Smiles and laughter filled the studio apartment in leaps and bounds and the sun was always shining on their little slice of life.

Pierre enjoyed fifteen short years with his mother before she left him, too.

There had been no warning signs, no chance to brace himself for the inevitable and expected fall. It wasn’t like cancer, her cells turning against her, or a heart attack that she had a slim chance of surviving. It was fast and swift, hitting him like a truck.

He had been skating through third period French when the principal had personally come to collect him. Pierre had gathered his things and awkwardly shuffled down the hall after the heavy set woman, heart pounding. He'd refused the candy bar she had slid across her desk before telling him there was someone who wanted to speak to him.

If he thought about it, he could still hear the southern lilt of the charge nurse’s voice attempting to comfort him through the tinny speaker of the principal’s telephone.

"I’m so sorry, honey."

"We tried sweetheart."

He had been the one to identify her at the morgue. At fifteen years young, Pierre pressed back hot tears and waited as the mortician peeled back the white sheet to confirm that it was his dead mother staring back at him. He dreamt about her lifeless face and the blueish tint of her skin as recently as last month.

No one was able to tell him what it was that had caused Pascale to collapse halfway through her overnight shift at the hospital. The mystery enigma that had claimed her had never been identified.

All they assured him was that they did everything they could. The bruising on her chest and the three cracked ribs were evidence enough of how stoically they tried to save the only person that had ever loved Pierre, the sweetest fucking woman on this shitty fucking planet.

Looking back, that had marked the beginning of Pierre's downfall. The spiral his mother's death had sent him into started off manageable, like the curling sweeps of a stunt plane in the sky on a pleasant summer afternoon. It hadn't taken long for it to catch up with him, the spiral tightening into the lifeless rotation of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun, complete with the flash and bang and leaving behind nothing but smoke.

The day he got that call was the last time he ever set foot in a high school. Pierre dropped out to split his time between educating himself at the library- one of the few places that allowed him to sit around for hours on end without buying anything- and hunting for a job. He told himself it was what Pascale would have wanted, to see her son move on, have a life, and find success.

Problem was, no one wanted to illegally employ a fifteen year old child that couldn't even tick the box on the application next to “able to lift fifty pounds.”

Selling all but a select few of his earthly possessions afforded him a few months rent to scrape by. The landlord was a dick that didn’t care that Pierre had no one to provide for him- the moment Pierre couldn’t make a payment he was out on his ass.

The universe was a cruel mistress, compounding misfortune after misfortune on Pierre's ever dwindling resolve.

Will work for dinner, his coveted cardboard-and-sharpie sign read, and on the better days it worked. A few hours spent plucking weeds in a garden or grocery shopping for an elderly widow might earn him a hot bowl of soup or a few bucks for his trouble. But far more often came the bad days, the ones where he curled up and cried himself to sleep.

**********

When Pierre was inches from giving up, his mother sent him a saving grace in the form of a witty brown haired boy a few months younger but years wiser than Pierre. Anthoine was the king of sticky fingers and taught Pierre the right way to pick a pocket, the way that didn't result in spending the night in a damp cell at the police station. The boys spent hours snagging wallets out of coat pockets and gorging themselves on the sweetest candy their stolen money could buy.

Life was good for a while, the two boys leaning on each other to survive. Anthoine was infinitely amused by the way Pierre stumbled over his words, his English unrefined after growing up in a French speaking household and barely uttering a word in school. The more time they spent together the more at ease Pierre became, opening up little by little like a stubborn bud refusing to bloom until he felt the time was right.

Anthoine made it impossible to dwell on the bad. He viewed life through rose-colored glasses that he often shared with Pierre, slowly but surely rubbing off on the shy, quiet boy and encouraging him to branch out. Where Pierre was a winter's night spent cold and snowed in, Anthoine was the promise of a warm and welcoming spring morning.

Infinite curiosity was a trait of Anthoine's that never failed to impress Pierre. The boy craved knowledge, always seeking the answers to things no one thought to ask. He dismantled dumpster-scavenged clocks and read books about quantum theory that Pierre hadn't possessed the patience to try and understand. Everything was up for debate- from the color of the sky to the meaning of life.

Instead of a growling stomach refusing to let Pierre sleep, it was the endless stream of questions from his only friend that more often than not kept him up at night.

Some were light and easy, things Pierre didn’t have to think twice about before blurting an answer.

"Do you think chickens know they came from an egg?"

"Michael Schumacher - now there’s an amazing racer. How much do you know about racing?"

"Is a hotdog a sandwich?"

Others hurt to think about, striking a nerve that set Pierre on edge and caused him to lash out. But Anthoine dug deep, undeterred by barbed words and empty threats.

"What would you do if you knew you'd die in 24 hours?"

"What do you want out of life?"

"What’s your biggest regret?"

Anthoine searched the depths of Pierre’s soul, wading through the mess of lies and misdirections the older boy fed him to forge an unbreakable bond, a tether with strength that rivaled the silk of a spider’s web.

They were brothers in bond instead of blood, but neither of them ever bothered with that distinction.

Naturally, Pierre trusted Anthoine's judgement. So when he had said "There's someone I think you should meet," Pierre hadn't thought twice before following his friend across the city to a dingy dive bar.

**********

Jules Bianchi had no qualms about employing young men that were willing to put in a little elbow grease to get a job done. He valued dedication and hard work above all else. Five minutes in his presence and Pierre knew Jules was everything he wished he could be: wealthy, confident, successful. Someone capable of defending himself against anyone who dared challenge him and didn't let anything rattle him.

Jules' Monogasque nephew was no different. Charles Leclerc was headstrong and independent, the perfect foil to the wild tendencies of the other two boys. Charles was the missing cog in the metaphorical clock, the steel link that connected the best parts of Pierre and Anthoine with Charles' own strengths to form an inseparable, rambunctious trio.

From terrorizing cranky customers to swiping liquor from behind the bar, there wasn't a day that went by without at least one of them being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. They constantly sought ways to make monotonous jobs fun, often times at the expense of others. But with Charles' innocent, dimpled smile and Anthoine's quick tongue, rarely did they get in any sort of serious trouble.

The bar served as a cover for Jules' true purpose: smuggling. "The Boostcreeps are a car club," he insisted every time Pierre asked him about it. Between bussing tables and pulling pranks on the cooks with his brothers, Pierre didn’t have much by the way of free time, but the moments he had were spent shadowing Jules whenever he would allow, searching for any clues about the Boostcreeps hidden agenda.

The plethora of imported vehicles parked in the side lot convinced Pierre that he had been reading into things. Maybe the Boostcreeps were nothing more than a gang of guys that drove souped up cars and raced for pink slips on the weekends.

Still, the implication of something more hung in the air. In the early hours of the morning, Jules hosted men in impeccably tailored suits and offered them the finest whiskey he could buy. He kept his office locked tight, not allowing a soul to enter without his express permission. Charles was the only one of the trio regularly allowed inside, but his lips were sealed, the one thing Charles refused to share with his friends.

Whatever it was Jules and Charles were a part of, Pierre wanted in.

Thanks to Jules’ impressive ability to hide the truth, the ruse lasted a year before it came crashing down around his feet. Pierre caught him stuffing a duffel of plastic wrapped white bricks in the trunk of his RX-7.

Jules had denied Pierre's requests to formally join the Boostcreeps until a week after his 17th birthday. He brings Pierre and Anthoine under his wing, teaching them the ins and outs of the trade.

Pierre's first true test was supposed to be easy, a routine meet up with an established client. Pierre would be in charge, Anthoine there to assist as needed, and Charles would stay home, as he had already participated in plenty of similar deals in the past.

Charles handed a duffel of coke to Anthoine and Jules tossed the keys of his coveted Mazda to Pierre. He remembered feeling lopsided as he slid into the supple suede of the bucket seat and started the engine. The distinct brap of the rotary engine filled the cockpit but it felt off, just the two of them, like a limb was missing and they were expected to carry on without it. Charles provided the balance to even out Pierre's tenacity and Anthoine's diplomacy, providing the needed risk factor to entice action.

"You can still back out," Charles whispered, leaning into the open window. "No one will think any lesser of you."

But Pierre had a point to prove. He wouldn't let some weird sense of wrongness prevent him from doing so. In answer, Pierre had simply strapped himself into the racing harness, tight enough that the yellow straps dug into his shoulders and afforded no give. Charles had offered nothing more than a clap on his shoulder in goodbye, nerves betraying them both.

"I'll be right behind in the Supra in case anything goes wrong." Jules believed in him, Pierre knew that, but the safety net was appreciated when his stomach had been a jangled mess all night.

The boys had ridden in near silence, the only sounds interrupting the quiet were those of the city filtering in through the open windows and the occasional grinding of gears from a botched shift.

The gps led them to a lot lit by a single flickering street light. Pierre recognized it instantly as the lot the trio often played a game of football at during the day. Apparently there had been an ulterior motive in doing so; the three had reinforced Jules' claim to the property with their near constant presence.

The orange glow cast by the ancient sodium halide bulb had done little to illuminate their buyer, casting long, dark shadows on the cracked pavement. The elongated shadow reminded him of the tales of hungry creatures Anthoine had spun during their time on the streets, creeping towards them with pointed fingers and gaping jaws.

Pierre had shaken himself and exited the car, the man opposite pausing, hand flying to his side. Pierre echoed the movement, fingers closing on the grip of his holsters handgun.

"You're not Jules."

"He's not far behind. We were sent ahead to close the deal." Pierre flashed the gold coin embossed with a turbo and the letters BC, the coin that all members of the Creeps carried. The man visibly relaxed and Pierre stumbled through the transaction but made it out the other side unscathed. Pierre handed over the dusty duffel in exchange for an identical one packed with cash. Anthoine and Pierre carried it between them, popping the trunk and stuffing it inside. They shared a fist bump and a raucous grin as Jules' headlights slid over the scene. Pierre flashed a thumbs up at the driver and was awarded with a rev if the engine.

In hindsight, it was amazing how quickly it all went to shit.

A disgruntled shout drew their attention before they’d slid back into the car. Pierre had paused when the client had said something about the product not being what was promised- Pierre insisted Jules didn’t make mistakes.

Pierre puffed up his chest and shot a glance to the car parked behind. "If you have a problem, take it up with him."

As it just so happened, the man did have a problem, only he wasn’t keen on waiting another minute to solve it.

Pierre drew the gun at his hip at the first hint of silver flashing in the man’s hands. Heart in his throat, he shouted something that had the man inching forward.

"We'll give it back, it'll be like nothing happened-" Pierre barely registered Anthoine positioning himself as a human shield between Pierre and their adversary amidst the screams from all sides.

Pierre hadn't even known what he was saying, the adrenaline flooding his system taking control of his brain. Jules joined the fray, Pierre noting his mentor half crouched behind the open door of the Supra like some sort of makeshift barrier, gun drawn and trained on the client.

Everyone was fucking screaming. Anthoine was attempting to de-escalate, Jules was trying to convince people to lower their weapons, and Pierre was possibly shouting something about following through on a threat. He couldn’t sort through any of it; the roar in Pierre’s ears rivaled the decibel level of a jet plane, the sort of noise that rose and rose until it was so deafening it was near silent, nothing more than a high pitched squeal.

What would his mother say if she saw him poised to take a life?

The thought sent him into a panic.

He couldn’t - wouldn't - lose another person he loved. Pierre knew with startling certainty that the death of another person he cared about would break him in the most irreparable way.

So Pierre pulled the trigger before anyone else had the chance.

Bodies fell in a weird way when there was nothing to hold them up. Limbs crumpled beneath boneless sacks of sinew and muscle, contorting in ways that wouldn't have been possible if the person had any feeling left.

The next thing he remembered was the sting of Anthoine’s palm connecting with his cheek and the way he had gingerly cradled Pierre's face. Pierre observed from outside his own body as Jules calmly drew a handkerchief from his pocket and picked up the offending gun between two fingers like it was made of molten metal and tucked it in the inner pocket of his coat. Anthoine had an arm looped under Pierre's, holding him up and was shouting something that got lost in the haze. The world was tilting and shaking his head only made it worse.

Jules stood over the cooling body. Closed the man's wide eyes with sleeve-covered fingers. Methodically began to wipe any trace of the three of them from the scene.

"Get him home." Three words from Jules and Pierre knew he was screwed.

Pierre watched through eyes that weren’t his as Anthoine half carried him to the passenger seat and coaxed him to sit. Curling his hands in his lap, Pierre had marveled at the distinct lack of crimson marring his pale skin.

Anthoine did his best to drag Pierre back to reality, shouting at him and smacking his leg between shifts, but it did nothing to ground him.

Pierre had killed someone. Wasn't there supposed to be blood? Lots of blood, if he gleaned anything from the hundreds of hours he, Charles and Anthoine had spent watching crime documentaries.

"I didn’t mean to," Pierre had mumbled some hours later, the words foriegn and rough. He didn't remember how he had gotten home. "It was self defense."

"You had no choice," Charles assured him before forcing him to sip from a glass. Whatever it had been was bitter and had stung his throat- Pierre may have been spotty on the details from the rest of the night, but he remembered the burn.

It had hit him then, exactly what he had fucking done. Taken a life, heard someone speak their last words, been present for their last breath. Someone who would be grieved by a mother, a brother, maybe a lover.

Pascale would be beside herself. She wouldn’t recognize her own son.

Jules and Charles argued in the hall. Pierre recognized the voices but hadn't been able to drag himself high enough above the water to register the words. Probably tlaking about what to do with him now that he had proven himself useless.

Where he should have felt fear or disgust or anything, he was just… Empty.

**********

In the following weeks weariness had dug its way into his bones. Days were spent migrating like a specter between the downy comfort of his bed and the occasional trip to the kitchen, relenting only at Charles' insistence that he join them for dinner. The only time he truly had a hold over his actions had been when he was assigned to do something downstairs at the bar, giving him some semblance of control over his tattered life. Anthoine, Charles and Jules came and went, doing their best to encourage Pierre to get out and do something.

Nightmares chased him from the sweet embrace of sleep. He marked the passage of time with the frequency of them, waking up more than once each night with wet skin that he struggled to convince himself wasn’t blood.

Facing the music hadn't been something he was prepared to do. God, his own mother would recoil if she had been here to see what he had done. He hated himself for betraying her and setting foot down a path from which he’d never return.

**********

"Come to Vegas with us. It'll be an easy job, nothing more than a basic product pick up. You won't even have to get out of the car, Jules and I can do the heavy lifting."

Anthoine's promise had landed on deaf ears. Distantly, Pierre had registered the words but hadn't found it within himself to answer. The response he offered had been no more than a slow blink, eyes glassy and unfocused as he stared at a spot on the wall over the other boy’s shoulder.

Pierre had shaken his head. Anthoine had sighed. "Charles will stay with you."

Jules and Anthoine had argued in the hall outside Pierre’s room, the hollow oak door doing little to muffle their voices. Anthoine hadn’t wanted to leave him there, afraid there would be nothing left of his closest and oldest friend by the time they returned.

He was right in a way, but not in the way he had expected.

No, the death blow the universe dealt Pierre was far more debilitating.

Two weeks passed and Pierre hadn’t seen or heard from either of them. Charles assured him these things happened sometimes. He had told Pierre that the other two would return, but he struggled to hide the doubt in his voice with each day that passed. Something in Pierre's chest grew tighter and tighter until he could barely breathe for the rubber band constricting his lungs, screaming wrong, wrong, wrong.

Desperation finally drove him out of his self-induced comatose state to prod the other members of the Boostcreeps for answers.

The running theory was that their boss had gone soft and fled to Mexico. Their thought process was that after twenty years of deals gone wrong and brushes with death, Jules had finally snapped and scampered off with his tail between his legs and taken the unfortunate boy with him.

But Pierre had known better. Whatever it was that had connected him to Anthoine from the start had gone cold in a way it never had before. It had taken a few hours of pinching at the sensitive skin of his inner elbow until it was raw for him to put his finger on why.

Anthoine and Jules were dead. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they were victims of their own making, their dance with death cut short in the final act by the unstoppable scythe of the reaper.

Charles had gone mad when Pierre confronted him with the theory. Charles had shouted, screamed, tears streaming down his face as he refuted Pierre again and again. The Monogasque must have believed it though, because the next time Pierre woke, he was the only cog left in the clock.

Charles had fled and left Pierre behind. Like a feather in the wind, Charles had been swept up in his grief and forgotten that he still had family left to count on.

Years later, Pierre still had no idea whether Charles was dead or alive, simply hiding somewhere or rotting in a grave.

Pierre's pseudo brother had once asked him what his biggest regret was.

Among all the atrocious acts he had committed in his 28 years on this earth, letting his brother and mentor walk out of the bar without him was the only one.

Props to the fates for finally managing to carve the last splintered shard of his heart out of his chest.

**********

Three months.

The Creeps survived three months off the fumes of Jules’ departure before the match was struck and the fire ignited. Charles has been poised to inherit the throne but his sudden absence meant the battle for supremacy was long and bloody. Pierre was forced to watch as the last frayed tether holding the gang together went up in flames, members chomping at the bit to turn on their brothers and sisters to save their own skin.

‘Trust no one’ became words to live by. Pierre’d risen up like a phoenix reborn from the ashes of the Creeps, any lingering traces of humanity washed away with the rising tide. He became cold and detached, any and all emotion carefully hidden from the outside world. It takes him four long years to build up a portfolio of blackmail and owed favors to buy his way into the underground world of gun running because fuck drugs- he had seen firsthand what kind of destruction substances brought about and refused to be a part of it.

His first order of business had been purchasing the shuttered diner Pascale had worked at, the apartment above which he harbored his most precious memories. He poured blood, sweat, and the piles of money Jules had squirreled away into the establishment and renamed it the Paragon.

At the tender age of twenty-two Pierre Gasly had earned himself a following and had established himself as a ruthless leader who would do damn near anything to secure a favorable deal. He built his club on the pillars of loyalty and family, all the while reciprocating only the shallowest of bonds with those whose lives he controlled like some twisted puppeteer.

He had succeeded in concealing the scrawny, broken boy he had fought so valiantly to bury, locked carefully away in the deepest parts of hell for a few blissfully numb years. Because getting attached was messy- he had learned that lesson thrice now and he didn’t intend on learning it a fourth time.

And then you came along and knocked over his house of cards with one sweet scented exhale breathed past your pretty little lips.

Upon first glance he thought nothing of you, just another in the laundry list of names of new hires staffing the Paragon, another beautiful face behind the bar. Your tactful smile and sly touches earned you tips faster than the other hostesses; you played the game and played it well. But the more he observed from the office above the club, the more you intrigued him.

You moved like you carried fifty years of burdens on your shoulders, walking on eggshells and yet somehow managing to please everyone you came in contact with.

Something about you draws Pierre in time and time again like a moth to a flame. Objectively he knows that following you home after your late shifts is dangerous for both of you for different reasons but he can't stop himself from getting in the car every time.

The night he saw your boyfriend threatening you, he hadn't stopped to think before throwing the car in park and slipping into the familiar embrace of his cold, emotionless mask. He'd made quick work of the bastard, adrenaline wracking his body as he wiped his bloodied blade across his thigh. Pierre had left him breathing with the intent of not scarring you too much.

There was no remorse associated with dragging a blade across flesh, not after years of slowly growing used to the feel of ending a life.

Against his better judgement, he hadn't simply left you there alone to pick up the pieces. He couldn't make himself walk away, not when he knew you'd doubtlessly fall into that same cyclical abuse his mother had been the victim of for so long until Pierre himself had been the tipping point.

Pierre allowed the barest of his true self shine free, his voice turning buttery soft and smooth when he guided you through the motions of packing what few possessions you owned and leaving that chapter of your life behind.

Taking you to the cabin was an impulse. At that point in time it had been his safe space, used as nothing more than a personal retreat when he needed to clear his head. But you needed somewhere to stay and for obvious reasons the guest room attached to his office above the Paragon was out of the question, so the cabin was the most logical choice.

Not a single word breeched the space of the cockpit in the hours it took to reach the cabin nestled in the pencil thin pines. Pierre had walked you through the security system and taught you how to contact him- since there was no phone line, it required a bit of effort.

He sent someone by to check on you daily, never going himself until a week later. Driving had always been a stress reliever for him so he wasn't at all surprised when he let his subconscious dictate what he did, he wound up staring at the cracked stain of the cabin door.

You answered after the second knock.

"Mind if I stay awhile?"

It sounded awkward then and it sounded awkward now.

You shook your head and stepped aside to let him pass.

So began a routine; Pierre would show up at odd times unannounced and plop in his favorite decapitated armchair with the same old paperback he had read a hundred times. You spent the time staring at him, albeit somewhat sneakily but still obvious.

No expectations to entertain or assert himself. He could just be.

Coincidentally, it's a few moments after he finds himself wondering what your name sounds like on your tongue when you finally utter it to catch his attention.

"Pierre?"

"Yes?"

"Why did you step in that night?"

"Because you needed help."

"You don't seem like the type to care."

"Maybe I don't."

But you'd seen right through his little facade, hadn't you? You'd poked holes in his lie until it was no better than Swiss cheese. You'd used it to your advantage, cracking his shell and wiggling your way inside to curl against him.

During his two week stint in Ireland to close a deal, you occupied every inch of his mind. He'd caved and gotten you a cell phone. You texted him at all hours without care as to what time it was or what he might be doing.

Pierre answered every one of them and that alone scared the shit out of him.

The cabin had been the only place on his mind when he stepped off the plane. He'd driven to see you immediately. You'd greeted him before his knuckles had glanced across the wood, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Thank you for saving me."

Pierre fought loving you for a long, long time. You slotted yourself so effortlessly into his life that it was like you were born for no other purpose than to be the hand that held his.

He had known the moment he stepped in to protect you that he had screwed himself. You moved into his estate a month later, Pierre initially insisting you take up residence in one of the spacious guest rooms. It only took a few weeks of you crawling into his bed unannounced in the middle of the night for him to relent. Your things found their way into his room in record time.

You had never shied away from making your feelings known. You required kisses like they were as vital to your survival as clean water. Pierre attended club meetings with you perched on his lap, your lips attached to his jaw like you were the only two people in the room. He had quickly asserted his claim over you, allowing no man or woman near you without your permission.

Pierre bent to your will like a sapling in a summer thunderstorm. He welcomed the rigid schedule of dates and dinners you set. You became the reason he woke up each morning, no longer simply going through the motions to survive.

No, with you, Pierre was living.

And though he knew it bothered you, never once did you gripe about the fact that he couldn't bring himself to reciprocate your words of love. You gave him what he needed, feasting on the morstles of time he was able to give you in turn. Never once did you shy away from him when he came home covered in blood or reeking of sewers. You took it all in stride and he loved you for it, though he couldn't voice it.

It took a year for him to utter the three little words that one day would end him. It had surprised the both of you, the 'I love you' slipping off his lips before he had the chance to trip over himself. You'd stilled in his arms, simply asking him to say it again.

So he had.

The way you had kissed the insecurity off his face still made his toes curl if he thought about it for too long.

When Pierre had finally admitted it to himself, he wanted to shout it from the summit of Everest. Against all odds you had reached into his chest and closed your fingers around his bleeding, shriveled heart and nursed it back to life, reigniting the fire in his soul.

But no matter what you said or what you did, there was still a beast that lingered in his skull on nights like tonight when the illusion of his picture perfect life came crashing down, poised and ready to feast on any scraps of doubt Pierre fed it.

**********

Pierre had driven to the one place that had afforded him any sort of comfort before you came along, seeking a bit of that old, familiar peace in effort to silence the thoughts that had forced him from your bed.

In the hours since he'd arrived, he had drawn no relief from the three stones he hovered above. His mind plays tricks on him, the memory of his sacred place tarnished by years of death and hatred. It was no longer peaceful or calm.

Instead his nostrils are filled with the stench of rot and decay as he sinks into the lush green grass. The low babble of the thin creek slicing through the dirt becomes the melody of Pascale's song, torturing him with memories of what might've been. It wasn't a revitalizing morning rain that spattered on the leaves above and stained the shoulders of his shirt, but dark spots of crimson blood. The tiny wildflowers straining for the golden rays of sunshine grew faces and turned on him, murmuring failures that cut his skin like knives.

What had once been his solace had become his nightmare.

Pierre hangs his head in his hands. What he wouldn't give for his mother to be there to rattle off some French saying about losing someone. She had poetic shit to say about every occasion, be it a birthday or a failed test. She'd know what to say now.

"I still wake up with things to tell you." His whisper is eaten up by the wind, never to be heard by a soul.

Too many things had been left unsaid, too many lives cut short before he had the chance to properly appreciate their presence.

Pierre knew what he would say if they were here. He'd perfected the monologues dedicated to each of them, rolled the words against the sandy shores contained in his soul over and over until the pointed edges became smooth and rounded.

He would thank Anthoine for being his brother and ask if he finally found that holographic racing driver card he had stolen countless packs from the corner store in search of. He would ask what it felt like to fly above the clouds and soar beneath the stars dotting the blanket of the night sky.

He would sit in silence with Jules, simply thankful for the wisdom he had gleaned from his stand-in father, the man who had recognized the boy that had sought a place in the world and helped him see that it was his for the taking. They had never needed speech anyway.

He would ask Charles why he left Pierre behind. Had he not been good enough, proven himself too weak? Maybe one day he'd know the answer, if he ever found his missing brother.

He would apologize to his mother for not being who she raised him to be. He'd ask how it had been possible for her to possess so much kindness in a world that had stolen everything from her. Was she proud that he had somehow found it within himself to emulate a sliver of that compassion, even if it was reserved for a single person? Was she grateful that he had found his person?

The most pressing question, the one that hurt the most to know he'd never have answered, was if she loved you as much as he did.

The wetness on his cheeks terrifies him. Pierre can't remember the last time he cried.

The last thing Pierre wants is for you to join the list of people he'd failed and become yet another stone set before the babbling brook. Three was enough, the weight of their losses damn near too much to bear. He would collapse under a fourth, he was certain.

Because what had he been before you? He thinks he was drowning, lungs slowly filling with liquid as the fight was sapped out of him.

And now? Now he was simply water, ebbing and flowing to the pull of your moon-induced tides. Without you there to wake him, what purpose did he serve?

He thinks back to the night he swore he'd love you forever if you'd just marry him.

You'd looked at him like he hung the fucking moon and all the stars. The knowledge that you'd become familiar with all the wicked sides of him and hadn't been deterred felt like the equivalent of a broken bone. But not the kind of clean break you get from a sporting injury, instead it was the kind that is born of a terrible accident when a body is flung from a vehicle and hits the pavement with devastating speed.

Because what had he tried so hard for then? Why hadn't he given in earlier instead of wasting his time being an inconsolable, distant prick? Pierre of all people knew his time on earth was limited, so why had he fought so hard to rage against the knowledge that he loved you? He'd known months before he'd ever spoken to you; somewhere deep within him he'd known that he'd wind up ensnared by your siren song.

He hated himself for making you wait so long. For making you question the depth of what he felt for you. For making you feel lesser than, like someone who didn't deserve love.

You'd insist that it was fine, that you knew he'd needed time, that you'd never expected him to reciprocate at all. But he knew it had hurt you on some level, knew that he had been the one to cause you pain.

In a way, Pierre supposes he's already failed you. At least this time he'd been blessed with a second chance to make things right.

Pierre doesn't move from his vigil when gravel crunches under tires and a car door shuts, his fingers resting over the PG carved in the rock he leans against. You- it had to be you, no one else knew this place existed- lay a blanket on the earth behind him and slot in against his hunched form, your chest against his back.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you bury your face in his neck, silently sharing in his grief for people you had never had the chance to meet.

Pierre hadn't counted on you coming to find him when he had slipped out after his near breakdown the night before, but fuck was he glad to have you here now when he was ready to crumble.

"I was worried when I woke up and you were gone." You press a kiss to the nape of his neck. "Then I remembered this place and knew you'd be here."

"I'm sorry." The voice that leaves his lips isn't his own. It's small and strained and his throat hurts when he speaks. "I failed them."

Your hand strokes his cheek to acknowledge his admission. "Do you want to talk?"

Pierre shakes his head, eyes blurring.

"Let it out," you whisper. Pierre's lip wobbles and he wraps a hand around your wrist, a solid reminder that you were real. He wasn't dreaming, this was real- you were here and you were telling him it was okay to be vulnerable and to cry and for once in his fucking miserable life it was safe to be weak.

Because you would be there to catch him.

Pierre falls into you, shaking as fresh, true sobs wrack through his body. It's the first time he's allowed himself to properly acknowledge the pain of losing any of the three people that had shaped him into who he was. The tears come thick and fast with no sign of stopping.

Not a single complaint slips past your lips in the hours you hold him, supporting his weight as he falls deeper and deeper into despair. You whisper gentle indicators of your love accompanied by reminders that those he now grieved loved him too. Sweat trickles down his back under the heat of the noontime sun but he barely notices, wrapped up as he was in his internal battle.

Having grown used to the silence, Pierre starts when you speak. "Will you tell me about them?"

His past is the only part he had never opened up to you about, bottling it up until the glass box had shattered and sent shrapnel barreling straight for you. Really, you deserved to know now, while you still had the chance to change your mind about him.

Forcing himself to meet your eyes is a calculated risk. He holds your careful gaze and his breath until his lungs burn and beg for air and he finally feels like he can get words out.

"I fucked up so many times."

"That's okay," you murmur, cautious and calm like one would speak to a scared, rabid animal. "Everyone does."

"But not everyone's fuck ups lead to killing someone they love." He's blubbering on like a stubborn child convinced it was their fault that their siblings' ice cream fell to the pavement but he can't stop himself. Pierre recognizes the disconnect between his actions and the deaths of his family but how could it not be at least a little bit his fault?

You take his words in stride, not missing a beat as you tug his head back to rest on your shoulder. Mercifully, you grant him a second to calm his racing heart.

"Show me your thorns." The fingers carding through his hair pause, your upturned palms hedging into his view. "My hands are ready to bleed. I'll still love you at the end of it."

Fuck, he didn't deserve this. After all the pain and hurt he had caused, Pierre was the last person that should be granted this sort of unyielding love, and yet here you were, ready and willing to accept the burden that had weighed him down for so many years onto your own shoulders.

"Promise you'll listen all the way through before you decide anything," he begs- begs, because he knows you get impulsive and the thought of you leaving before he's finished is even more unbearable than the thought of keeping it all inside.

"I promise. I won't move until you're done, sweetheart."

Between the sobs, he speaks. Confesses every last blood soaked memory that he had relived hours earlier. The words spew like vomit from his lips, acidic and involuntary.

Once the sun has nearly set and his story has been sung from start to finish, Pierre wipes at his eyes. You kiss his temple and it feels so unbelievably good to have it all out in the open.

The next lungful of air he draws into his lungs is rife with rebirth.

"You came for me."

"I always will."

His thumb rubs circles over the back of your hand. "Thank you."

Deeming him out of the woods you unfurl to your feet, knees popping in protest. Pierre feels empty without the heat of you pressed against him and pulls the blanket around his shoulders.

He watches closely as your delicate fingers- so fucking easily breakable- trace the letters on his mother's stone and begin to speak.

"Hey, Pascale. We haven't had the pleasure of meeting." Your light smile is pure love. "I just felt that you should know how wonderful the son you raised turned out. He's the most respectful man I've ever met. He treats me like a goddess, showers me with gifts and never leaves me wanting. He loves hard and with his whole heart even if sometimes he's too stubborn to admit it. And god, Pascale, he's gorgeous inside and out. I’ll be the first to admit he's got flaws, no different from the rest of us. But he saved me when no one else saw me struggling. He tries his damnedest to be good and I think he does a decent enough job."

If there had been a single tear left in his body, Pierre would have shed it.

You pad across the grassy clearing to the flat stone a few paces from the water. Couching down, you trail your fingers over the veins of snowy granite in the jet black stone. "Anthoine, thank you for being his brother and teaching him how to laugh and have fun. Without you, I'd have a grumpy old man to deal with, and I much prefer this version of Pierre."

Finally, you place your palm on Jules' stone and draw a deep breath. "You taught him what he needed to know to survive. I can't say you and I wouldn't have butted heads over some of your methods, but I have no doubt we would've bonded over our mutual love for a particular charming Frenchman. And Charles-" you turn your face to the sky like you might somehow see the Monegasque wherever he was on this earth, "you'd better get your ass back here. Pierre needs someone who knows what he's gone through."

There's tears in your eyes when you turn, wrapping your sweater tighter around yourself. "I wish I could've known them."

"They would have loved you."

Settling behind him once more, you rest your chin on his shoulder. "You think so?"

"I know so." Pierre's hand engulfs yours, thumb stroking across your knuckles. "I love you, mon amour. You know that right?"

"I do," you say softly, tenderly, like you're afraid anything lacking a blunted edge might tip the scales. "I knew it before you said it the first time."

Just like that, you grant him the serenity he sought. You read him like an open book, one flipped right to the page that contained the information you were after.

Pierre leans against you, exhausted and weary. You don't say anything else as you stroke his hair, the evening cricket chirps lulling him to sleep.

#pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #f1 imagine #f1 #f1 rpf #formula 1 #formula 1 rpf #jac writes

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 3 years

Text

We Were Something, Don’t You Think So? [Chapter 2: The Middle Of Nowhere]

You are a Russian Grand Duchess in a time of revolution. Ben Hardy is a British government official tasked with smuggling you across Europe. You hate each other.

This is a work of fiction loosely inspired by the events of the Russian Revolution (1917-1923) and the downfall of the Romanov family. Many creative liberties were taken. No offense is meant to any actual people. Thank you for reading! :)

Song inspiration: “the 1” by Taylor Swift.

Chapter warnings: Lots of shouting, if you never learned about the Russian Revolution then here's your mini crash course, references to historical stuff like violence and disease, Kroshka the mule emerges as the only emotionally stable character.

Word count: 4.1k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

Taglist: @imtheinvisiblequeen @okilover02 @adrenaline-roulette @youngpastafanmug @m-1234 @tensecondvacation @deacyblues @haileymorelikestupid @rogerfuckintaylor @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @mo-whore

I wake up feeling harder, as if sleeping on the ground with all its stones and cool indifference has taught my spine to straighten, to endure. This is a welcome revelation. I will need to be resilient, for my family and for myself. I also wake determined to set things right with my rescuer. I am a perfectly charming person, Mother and Papa have always said so; I’m not painfully shy like Olga, or aloof like Tati, or rather dull like Maria, and I certainly don’t run around putting frogs in people’s shoes like Anastasia. I make for excellent company. Surely Ben will realize this and we will become inseparable travel companions.

Outside in the overcast brisk morning air, Ben is already busy tacking the mule. He glances over and tosses me an apple. It bounces out of my floundering hands and rolls off into the woods. This is not an auspicious start to the day.

“You’ll still have to eat that,” Ben says. “There’s no extra food. I was only able to ask for as much as I could justify needing myself.”

“Right.” I go fetch the apple—rummaging around in leaves and sticks and shrubs—and take a bite, even though it’s bruised and definitely tastes like dirt. I beam at Ben triumphantly. I am tough! I am daring! I am enchanting! I can pull my own weight on this journey!

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. He pats the mule’s thick brown neck and smiles fondly at her. “How are we feeling this morning, Kroshka? Hmm? Who’s a lovely mule? Who’s going to take us all the way to the Trans-Siberian Railroad without even one measly word of complaint? That’s right, you are! Yes you are!” He lands a smacking kiss on the velvety grey fur of her muzzle.

I attempt polite conversation; more than that, I endeavor to learn about my dashing yet evasive rescuer. “So, tell me Ben, have you worked for Sir Buchanan long?”

“Four years,” Ben replies curtly.

“And you are…” I think of his notebook. “A…writer of some sort for him…?”

“I’m his press attaché.”

“Ah.” I recognize the French word for ‘attach,’ but not its meaning in the context of employment with an ambassador. “I can’t say I know what that entails.”

“I handle Sir Buchanan’s relations with the Russian newspapers. Drafting statements and briefing him on local opinions and the like. And since his health has declined, I find myself delivering some of his particularly confidential correspondence.”

“Oh, I see. And he could spare you for this mission? It seems like a burden that would be better carried by a man with military or exploratory experience.”

“My Russian is passable. And I can tolerate rougher conditions than most.” He points to a pile of clothes he’s laid out on a tree stump. “Those are for you. There’s a stream out that way.” He flicks a thumb towards the east. “Get ready however you need to, but be prepared to leave in fifteen minutes.”

I examine the clothing: plain and practical undergarments, a heavy wool sweater, stockings, boots, and something unexpected. I hold them up with clammy hands. “These are…” I swallow noisily. “Trousers.”

“Yes. They’re travel attire. Comfortable and easy to maneuver in if we need to move quickly.”

“I’ve never worn trousers before.”

“I thought you were amenable to a…a…what did you call it? An adventure. A grand adventure.” He says this melodramatically, like there’s some humor in it. Like he’s mocking me.

“I suppose I am,” I mutter, still scrutinizing the trousers.

“Fifteen minutes,” Ben reminds me sternly. Then he begins to disassemble the tent.

I trudge off through the woods until I find the stream. I clean myself with ice-cold water, drink it down until my teeth ache, change out of my nightgown and into these strange new clothes—Trousers! Mother would lock me in church for a month!—and gaze up into the cloudy, pastel blue sky that peeks between the fingers of the trees. It is very still here, and cold, and deathly quiet. I try to remember the last time I was truly alone, without Mother or Papa or my siblings or servants or guards within shouting distance. There is none that I can remember; perhaps there is none at all. Out here in the Siberian wilderness I feel unmoored from civilization, diminutive, vulnerable, peculiarly inconsequential. I decide I don’t like being alone. By the time I return to our campsite, Ben is ready and waiting beside the loaded cart. His right hand is resting on a clunky metal monster with ‘Olivetti’ written on it.

“I’m a press attaché,” he says with a mischievous grin. “And you’re a typist.”

“A what?”

“You work for Sir Buchanan’s office as a typist. That’s our story, anyway. You came along to assist me during my audience with the former tsar, and now we’re traveling back to Sir Buchanan’s headquarters in Saint Petersburg. So if anyone happens to ask, that’s what you are to tell them. Oh, and you’re British. Your English sounds clean enough.”

“Alright,” I reply, still gaping at the metal monster like a black box with gnashing fangs. “But what is that?”

Ben’s jaw falls open. “You don’t…?” Then he rubs his forehead, sighing deeply. “Jesus Christ. You’ve never used a typewriter. Of course you haven’t. Great. Fantastic.”

“We always write by hand. My penmanship is flawless, Mother saw to that.” She’s still battling with Anastasia, but that’s a war that may go on as long as the one between the sun and the moon.

“Okay. Okay. This works out, actually. Because I’m not going to entertain you all day. So here is your assignment.” Ben slaps the back of what he tells me is a typewriter, and then waves for me to come closer. He reaches into the pocket of his coat and produces a British passport. Every line is filled out except for the name. He slides the paper into the machine and makes some bewildering adjustments. “So, you insert the paper, set the carriage—that’s this roller-type piece here—and type.” He taps forcefully on the keys until two words appear in the blank reserved for the passport holder’s name: Lana Brinkley.

“That’s me?” I ask doubtfully.

Ben smirks, amused. “That’s you.”

“So you could have given me a better name if you wanted to!”

“But then how would you learn humility?” He removes the fraudulent passport, shakes the paper until it dries, folds it into a neat little square, and slips it back into his coat pocket. “If you’re typing a longer message, the typewriter will ding when you’ve reached the end of each line. Then you use the lever to move the paper down, reset the carriage, and resume typing.”

I nod, but without much confidence. This seems complicated.

“You said you wanted a carriage,” Ben teases.

“Yes, one with magnificent draft horses and velvet seats and preferably no less than two servants. Not…whatever that is.”

“Well, if you’re going to pass for a typist, I’m afraid you must learn to type.” He finds me a stack of blank paper in his collection of bags and trunks, and then climbs into the front of the cart as I get into the back. The trousers, I hate to admit to myself, do make it easier to move around, although I’m not sure I approve of how much they accentuate the shape of my body. The thought of Ben looking at me in them gives me a plunging sort of feeling that is half-mortification and half-thrill…not that he has exhibited any interest at all. “Before we go any farther, do you have anything with you that I don’t know about?”

He means things like the heirlooms I have squirreled away in the large steamer trunk: the jewels sewn into my dress, the photograph. I can sense that he wouldn’t want me to have them, although I’m not sure why. In any case, I have no intention of giving them up. The jewels are the only thing of value that I have to trade if we find ourselves in a desperate situation. The photograph is the only string left that connects me back to my family, my home. “No,” I reply primly.

“Good.” He whistles at the mule and she tugs us through the trees and out onto the dirt road that leads, eventually, to the train station. As we ride joltingly along, the creaky cart wheels bumping over every rock and mound and muddy trough, I practice my typing: very slowly at first, and with only my index fingers. I read aloud as I go, gradually picking up speed.

“There once was a German princess born in the Duchy of Hesse. She was very beautiful but very shy. She had a wonderful talent for playing piano, but would run and hide if anyone asked her to perform in public. One day, when she was attending the wedding of her sister, the princess met a prince from a distant kingdom. They were only children, but they instantly knew they had found true love. They snuck off together and carved their names into a window pane. Over the years, each conspired to marry the other. They refused many suitors and wrote each other hundreds of letters. His family did not approve of the princess’s religion and lack of charisma; her family did not approve of the prince’s distant and troubled nation. But at last it became apparent to all that no earthly forces could keep the couple apart. Ten years after their first meeting, the prince and princess were finally married. And they lived joyously and peacefully in each other’s service for the rest of their days.”

Ben lights one of his hand-rolled cigarettes. The smoke doesn’t bother me; on the contrary, it reminds me of Papa smoking his pipe in his study, in the garden, as he read to us by the fireplace, as he danced with Mother in ballrooms back when she could still dance. It reminds me of home. “I’m not sure if you’ll ever give Shakespeare a run for his money, but I’ll admit I’m marginally entertained.”

I smile to myself, sentimental warmth rising in my face. “It’s Papa and Mother’s story.”

“Huh. I didn’t know your people were allowed to marry for love.”

By ‘your people,’ he seems to mean royalty, and there is some derision in his deep voice. “Well, surely duty must come first. But when love can accompany it, that’s a happy coincidence.”

“And what if duty compels you to marry a man who is, say, cruel? Or dreadfully boring? Or in love with another woman? Or who closely resembles a mole-rat?”

I resume my typing with a new exercise. For each letter of the alphabet, I type a French word that begins with it. “I don’t think that sort of thing happens very often.”

“But if it did.”

I shrug, not especially enjoying this topic of discussion. “Then duty comes first, as I said. But I believe most royal couples are perfectly content. At least nine out of every ten.”

“That many!” Ben marvels sarcastically. “Have you ever considered that your own personal experience, as pleasant as it may be, could be coloring your perception of how the world works?”

I ignore him and continue my typing. Attaché for A, bisou for B, croissant for C, doux for D…

After a moment, Ben says: “You aren’t going to regale me with another fairytale? I’m devastated.”

“I’m busy practicing my French now. Please don’t intrude.”

“You speak French as well as Russian and English?” He sounds impressed; for a split second anyway, just long enough for me to catch it like a firefly in my fist.

“And Italian, and Latin. And I’ve just started on Japanese.”

“But no German? That seems like it would be an easier beast to slay.”

“I’ve always purposefully avoided learning it, even though Mother’s family is German. I never envisioned myself marrying a German. I figured Maria could take that bullet. She doesn’t care, she’d marry anyone who could give her a castle and ten babies and a bulldog or two. I would say she was a milkmaid in a past life, but Mother’s heart would stop dead if she thought I subscribed to reincarnation.”

“Not fond of Germans?” Ben asks. “Well, who can blame you. Half the world isn’t fond of them at the moment.”

“I suppose they weren’t so awful before the Great War. But they’re rather boorish, aren’t they? They always sound like they’re angry. Like someone just stole their horse and they’re screaming at them from the front porch to come back or else.” I smile dreamily as I type. “I’ve always fancied the thought of marrying a prince from a glamorous, romantic kingdom. Maybe Italy or Greece. There has even been talk of me marrying Uncle George’s eldest son David. He’s rather beguiling. Tall and slim. Clear blue eyes like a lake. And he’s going to be the king of the British Empire one day, you know. We could holiday together in beautiful, sunny colonies like the Bahamas.”

“You’re still as important as all that? Important enough to make a marriage of that political significance, I mean.” Ben glances back at me and lifts one thick, dark, inquisitive eyebrow. “Seeing as your family doesn’t have a kingdom anymore.”

This is an insensitive thing for him to say. I frown down at the typewriter. “A wife almost always assumes the kingdom of her husband, so why should she require her own? She needs only sound breeding and a suitable temperament. And besides, we might yet return one day.”

Ben twists all the way around to stare at me, the reigns falling out of his hands. Fortunately, the mule seems to know her own way around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It has been a brutal few years. The Great War, the supply shortages, the bad harvests…the people are frustrated, and understandably so. They lashed out blindly, at those who didn’t deserve it, at us. But the dust will clear. And when it does, I think the Russian people will come to their senses and realize that they want us back. That they need us.”

“Are you insane?” Ben snaps. “Are you utterly brainless? What’s floating around in that skull besides fiction and languages you’ll never use once you’re married off to some prince who only sees you as a broodmare?”

“How dare you! You can’t speak to me like this—!”

“For years, for a bloody decade, Sir Buchanan warned your father about what was coming. He tried to get him to moderate his views, to give the people more voice in government, to stop murdering them when they protested. And when none of that worked and the end was apparent, Sir Buchanan tried to convince your father to abdicate long before he did. Don’t you understand?! None of this needed to happen! Your family could have fled to Britain years ago, before the animosity against your father spread like wildfire across the globe, and Russia could have established their own parliament like Britain’s and negotiated a peace treaty to stay out of the war and none of us would be here now if not for your father’s selfish, pointless obstinacy—!”

“My father is a good man,” I choke out as hot, furious tears burn in my eyes.

“And he was a terrible ruler!” Ben shoots back like artillery. “He ordered protesters to be butchered, he sent untrained boys to die in some other country’s war, he clung to the throne for no one’s benefit but his own—”

“And what about my benefit?” I demand, still weeping, feeling monstrously like a child. “What about my mother’s and my sisters’ and Alexei’s? He must have feared for our futures if we were dethroned and left without any resources, any security, anyplace to call home—”

“He did you no favors,” Ben says harshly. “Half the country—the country that you obviously have not even a rudimentary understanding of—are moderates scrambling to secure the Provisional Government and disentangle themselves from the war while still somehow preserving their dignity and that of the millions of dead soldiers Russia has already laid on the altar. The other half are trying to instigate a wholesale communist revolution. There is no one, no one, who wants the tsar back. And you better pray to God that the communists don’t manage to seize power before King George gets your family out, or your father just might be guillotined on the steps of Saint Basil’s Cathedral.”

I bolt to my feet unsteadily, grip the side of the lurching cart, and leap out onto the dirt road.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Ben shouts after me.

I take off sprinting down the road, the wind whipping my face, sobbing as I run beneath the shadows of trees until my lungs are columns of flames and my legs feel wobbly and boneless. I can hear the pounding of the mule’s hooves approaching, the hurtling of wooden wheels, the slapping of leather reins. I am forced to slow to a vigorous march as my body betrays me, wheezing and aching and as ineffectual as a woman is so often assumed to be. The salacious trousers have come in handy once again. Who would have guessed.

Ben pulls up alongside me, reining in the mule to match my pace. “Hey! Get back in the cart!”

“I’ll walk the rest of the way to the railroad station.”

“It’s 200 more kilometers!”

“See you there.”

Now Ben jumps out of the cart. The mule, perplexed but not rattled, comes to a halt and waits in the middle of the road with her long ears angled in opposite directions. Ben rushes in front of me and leans down until we’re at eye-level, breathing heavily. I can smell smoke on him, and something else too: maybe cologne, maybe soap, maybe aftershave, maybe just the scent of a man in his prime. His lips are pink and full and soft-looking, I notice, as if for the first time. His cheeks are irritated and red from the wind; the ruthlessness of the climate here doesn’t agree with him. It is the only way in which I am stronger than he is. His green eyes are wide and blazing. “Get. In. The. Cart.”

“No,” I whisper, tears all over my face.

“You can’t just run off like that,” he pleads, less angry now. “Where are you going to go? There’s nothing out here except trees and…I don’t know…probably bears and wolves and maybe even Siberian tigers. You can’t get ripped apart by wild animals. Don’t you want to make it to London? To argue for your family’s liberation? They could find no fiercer advocate than you, of that I am convinced.”

“How would you possibly protect me from a bear?”

Ben unbuttons his coat and pulls up his white wool sweater to show me a pistol tucked into the holster clipped to his belt. “Just in case,” he says, smirking crookedly, lowering his sweater again. “Now I am keeping no secrets from you, and you are harboring none from me. We’re even.”

I nod, sniffling, thinking of my jewels and photograph hidden in the steamer trunk. My words are so strained I can barely hear them myself, my hands are trembling; hell, I’m trembling all over. The possibility is unimaginable. “Do you really think they’re going to kill Papa?”

Ben sighs, shaking his head. “No, I don’t,” he replies gently. “I think the Provisional Government will be able to keep the communists in check for now. I think they will leap at the opportunity to ship the former tsar off to Britain without the potential controversy of a trial and execution. And I also think we should get back in the cart and keep moving now.”

“I’m sorry your boss gave you this assignment and now you have to risk your life for a family that you evidently hate,” I lash out like a cornered animal, hissing and brandishing its glinting claws. “For a grand duchess that you hate. This must be an awful inconvenience for you.”

“It’s rather more complicated than that,” Ben says. “There’s some opportunity in it as well.”

Of course: his leather-bound notebook full of observations, his scrawled recollections to one day build into a famed article about our journey. An article full of what he truly thinks about me. I feel suddenly, violently nauseous. I feel horrified.

What happened to the grand adventure that I imagined? Where did it go?

And all at once, I can’t even remember how I pictured this journey unfolding; I can’t conjure up some rose-colored vision of me and Ben falling into an effortless friendship, flirting lightly and innocently, discovering new corners of the earth together, parting ways in London as lifelong confidants. Now I can only see Papa as he murmurs folktales older than Christianity with candlelight dancing on his smiling face, as he chases me and my sisters around the gardens with outstretched arms and sparkling eyes, as he carries Alexei from one room to the next when my brother’s joints are inflamed and excruciating and useless, as he never unburdens his mind to his wife or children but spends long afternoons chopping wood as the sun sinks into the west and the lines in his pale face grow deeper.

He couldn’t be responsible for bloodshed, for mercilessness. He’s not that kind of man. He’s never been that kind of man.

“We really should keep moving,” Ben prompts.

“Fine,” I fling back as I shove by him. I mop my tears away with the sleeve of my wool sweater, climb into the back of the wooden cart, and sit as far as I can from Ben with my bent knees hugged to my chest. I stare silently off into the forest as the mule drags us towards the Trans-Siberian Railroad, towards Moscow and Saint Petersburg and the Baltic Sea and London, towards the conclusion of this tenuous partnership and the redemption of my family. I am looking forward to soon never having to see Benjamin Hardy again, and yet I’m also not; and this is a difficult paradox to put into words of any language.

We don’t stop until it’s almost dusk. Ben hops down from the cart, leads the mule off the road by her bridle (and gives her an encouraging scratch on the forelock when she hesitates), and begins to set up camp in a small clearing encircled by heaps of frost grass. Dinner is loaves of bread again—even more tough and dry than yesterday—and metallic-tasting water from canteens. Dessert is a hand-rolled cigarette for Ben and a handful of honeyberries I found in the bushes for me. And when Ben grapples with the tent, I come over to help him with it just to prove I can.

Ben builds a fire, and we sit wordlessly on opposite sides of it with the reflections of flames in our eyes. Ben jots down today’s thoughts in his notebook, every so often glancing off into nowhere and tapping his chin thoughtfully with the end of his pen, biting his full lower lip absentmindedly as he sifts through the ocean of word in his head to fish out the right one. Meanwhile, I read my copy of Tarzan of the Apes. I stumble across a few English terms I don’t know—quixotic, cartography, constellations, ruminate—but I don’t ask Ben about them.

After a long time, when the moon and stars have emerged bright and ancient in the night sky, Ben closes his notebook and watches me. At first I ignore him. And then, eventually, I can’t anymore.

“What?” I ask irritably, keeping my place in Tarzan of the Apes with my pinky finger, which is nearly numb from the cold.

Ben’s words are calm, restrained, painstakingly chosen. Firelight is fierce and bloody on his face. “I had two infant brothers die of pneumonia, a perfectly preventable illness had they had access to good doctors and proper nutrition and a warm dry home, which they did not. I had a sister die in childbirth because there was no midwife available to attend to her. I have had friends come home from the war with limbs or half their faces missing, a fate which I myself am spared only because of my employment with Sir Buchanan. You have no idea what the world has been through while you were off playing board games and reading novels in greenhouses and lounging on lakeshores with your idyllic little family. You have no idea what life is like for the rest of us. And perhaps that’s not your fault, and it is unjust of me to resent you for it, and I must learn to temper this wrath I’ve been carrying around in my chest since childhood. But it’s still true.”

He stands, clutching his notebook with hands that are red from the savage Siberian wind, and vanishes into the tent.

#ben hardy fic #ben hardy x reader #borhap cast fic

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redrisingsun · 3 years

Text

Swedish Holidays for all your Young Royals needs

Due to popular demand (by like five people) here’s a brief description of all the major Swedish holidays and how they’re celebrated because I can’t stand here and pretend as if we really celebrate Christmas the 25th. We have more holidays, I've only written about the ones we celebrate in my family. I come from a working class family and live in Southern Sweden, however I do have family in Stockholm. I'm not religious in any way and as far as I know, most families don't celebrate these holidays because they're religious, but because it's tradition.

yall better appreciate this, it took me literal hours

January

1: Dubbed as one of the collective pizza days in my household. It's the day after New Year, and most people either order in or eat leftovers.

Week 2 or 3: Most people return to their jobs, schools and other daily activities.

February/March

Fettisdagen ("Fat Tuesday"): celebrated 47 days before Easter. The actual date varies, all from early February to early March. It's an old Christian tradition where you'd eat fatty foods before the "before Easter"-fast and is supposedly a thing in other Christian countries as well. These days, most people celebrate by eating semlor with their family, and most don't fast before Easter.

The semla is a sweet bun with whipped cream and almond paste.

Våffeldagen (Waffle Day, 25th of March): I think this day stems from a Christian tradition, but these days the day is mostly to get together with family and eat waffles.

April

Påsk (Easter): Again, the date varies, but Easter is usually in April. Easter stems from Christianity and is celebrated to remember Jesus' death and resurrection. Easter spans over a week, but I personally only celebrate one of those days.

Påskafton (direct translation: Easter Eve, English translation: Holy Saturday) is the Saturday of the Easter week. In my family, the children get to look for Easter eggs (often filled with candy).

Some children also dress up as Påskk��rringar (Easter crones) and I think this tradition has to do with the Witch Trials in Sweden, but I'm not sure. Chances are you won't need to know anything about this for your Young Royal fics, because mostly girls dress up.

Sometimes, we decorate eggs.

Later, we sit down to eat together and spend time with our families. Common things to eat for Easter is potatoes, eggs, herring and meatballs.

Valborgsmässoafton (Walpurgis Night, 30th): We burn a big bonfire in the evening to celebrate that spring is here. I live in a fairly small town, so mostly everyone gathers at one spot and burns the fire together. When the bonfire is burned, most people go home and that's it. It's also seen as a reason to have a party (mostly for teenagers and young adults, I think) and get drunk as fuck.

May/June

Sveriges Nationaldagen (Sweden's National Day, 6th of June): Most people are home from school and work. We hoist the Swedish flag. Idk. However, the Royal Family celebrates by getting dressed up in Swedish costumes. This year, the King held a speech and the family went to Skansen (which is an amusement park/zoo. You can read more about it here). There's music and the military does their weird little thing. You can watch the National Day Celebration on Skansen from 2014 here.

Midsommarafton (Midsummer): date varies, but is celebrated a Friday in late June. I'm sure there's a Christian explanation for this one, but I don't personally know it.

Midsommar (midsummer) means middle of the summer.

Again, this is a day to eat and spend time with your family (or drink, depending on who you are). We eat pretty much the same things for Midsummer as we do for Easter.

For Midsummer we also dance around a Midsommarstång (direct translation: Midsummer Pole, English translation: Maypole) and make flower crowns.

How Midsummer is celebrated depends a lot on your age (most teenagers and young adults again see this as a reason to party), where you're from and a million other things.

My personal favorite Midsummer tradition is probably more common in the country than in the city, for example. You're supposed to pick seven different flowers without saying a word. Then, you sleep with the flowers under your pillow. Supposedly, you'll dream of your future husband (or wife! But I think it's more common that women and girls do this). This tradition also varies. Some people say you need nine flowers and some people say you have to climb over fencing for it to count.

Some teenagers or young adults spend time with their friends to party, instead!

You can watch part of a Midsummer celebration at Skansen here.

The Royal Family usually celebrate Midsummer privately, but I think there's usually new pictures of the entire family around this time.

Day after Midsummer: Collective Pizza Day 2. Everyone either eats takeout or leftovers because no one can be bothered to make anything and like half of the population has the worst hangover they've had since New Year.

Summer Holiday Note: most people in Sweden have four weeks of paid leave each summer.

July/August

Kräftpremiär (Crayfish party) - date varies, normally early August. Basically people get together to eat crayfish and drink. You can usually get paper plates and plastic cups and whatever with ugly crayfish motives (which is fun), but I've never done this.

October

Halloween (30th): Halloween is nowhere near as big in Sweden as it is in the States. We just buy some lösgodis ("loose candy", where you can throw whatever kind of candy you want in a bag. See pictures). Trick or treat is so unusual in the town I grew up I've only ever had one kid ask for candy and when I celebrated Halloween with my grandparents (in a city not far from Stockholm), it was the same. I usually buy some candy and watch a horror movie, but that's about it.

However, Halloween is (again) a reason for teenagers and young adults to drink and party.

November

Alla Helgons Dag (All Saints' Day): Date varies, usually early November. It's a day to remember the dead and we usually light a candle at the grave yard.

December

Första Advent (First Advent): Date varies. Sunday four weeks from Christmas Eve. We mostly just light a candle, honestly. Then, each Sunday for the next four weeks, we light a candle. Here's actually the Crown Princess wishing Happy First Advent with her family! Unfortunately without English subtitles, but here's the translation: "Today is the First Advent. Advent means arrival and hope, something that feels extra important this year. (her husband lights the candle) We want to wish everyone a happy first advent!"

Andra Advent (Second Advent): date varies. We light the second candle.

Tredje Advent (Third Advent): date varies. We light the third candle.

Fjärde Advent (Fourth Advent): date varies. We light the fourth candle. In my family we usually decorate the tree this Sunday.

Julafton (Christmas Eve): Celebrated the 24th. YES, THE 24TH. Christmas Eve obviously varies from family to family, but there's a few things most people have in common. Usually, we get one gift in our sock (which hangs on our bedroom doors in my home, because we don't have a mantle) when we wake up. As kids me and my brother almost always got a movie or something to keep us busy until it was time to leave for our grandparents house.

For lunch we eat the Christmas dinner. It's the same damned food as our other holidays. Herring, meatballs, potatoes, sausages etc, but now, we also have julskinka (Christmas ham). Some people eat ham even for Easter, but we only really eat it for Christmas in my family. Obviously the food varies a little from season to season, but as a picky eater I always just eat potatoes, meatballs and ham.

At 3, Kalle Anka (Donald Duck) is on. Yeah, we watch the same damned stuff every year. It's tradition, alright? Anyway, Donald Duck lasts for an hour or so, and first you get to see Santa work in his workshop, then Disney characters wish you a Merry Christmas with scenes from their movies (original, I know). There's Lady and the Tramp, Donald Duck (obviously) and a million other things. Then there's also one or two trailers for movies Disney will release the coming year. I really couldn't be bothered to find everything on YouTube for you to watch, sorry!

After Donald Duck, we open the Christmas gifts in my family. Normally we just rip out gifts open lmao.

After opening the gifts, we usually eat a second time. This time it's time for porridge. Tomtegröt (Santa porridge) is sweet and often served with cinnamon. Usually, everyone is so stuffed at this point that you only eat because you "have" to eat porridge for Christmas (again, at least in my family).

The last thing we do in my family, is to get a puzzle out. My grandpa almost always gets a new puzzle for Christmas, so we'll put that on the dining table and work on it together until it's getting too late for us to stay.

The Royal Family usually release new pictures of the family for Christmas and wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

Day after Christmas: Not a collective pizza day! There's usually too much Christmas food left to be able to order pizza. Usually, we have Christmas food to eat for four-ish days after Christmas, and by then you're getting really tired of it.

Sometimes we watch something on television, but for the most part we just sit around and spend time together. I think the Crown Princess read something from the Bible this year? I'm not actually sure if the Royal Family go to the Christmas Service, but I don't think so.

Nyårsafton (New Year's Eve): last day of the year. We shoot fireworks, eat food and dessert and spend time with family. This day we normally eat something "fancy" or something you we don't usually eat.

At twelve, we go out to light some fireworks (or just watch fireworks). When that dies down, it's time for the cheese platter. My dad wants it, no one else ever eats from it, we still do it every single year because "it's not New Year's without it". When we've had the cheese platter, everyone go to sleep and that's that.

People obviously celebrate this differently, as well. It's not uncommon to go see your friends or have guests over, and some people party rather than have fancy dinner with their parents. I personally prefer spending time with my parents, because that's what New Year's is for me.

Some people give resolutions, but I think it's more common in the States.

Christmas Holiday Note: It's common for people to not work between Christmas and New Year's Eve where I'm from.

Some things you might want to know about the Swedish Royal Family and Sweden overall:

The Royal Family in Young Royals is not the real Royal Family (obviously).

The Royal Family usually spends time on Öland during the summers.

Chances are Wilhelm and his family live at Drottningholm Slott (Drottningholm Palace) and not Stockholm Slott (Stockholm Palace). Drottningholm is used as a home for the current King and Queen and is located west of Stockholm. However, the scenes where Wilhelm is home is shot at a palace called Stora Sundby Slott. I doubt Wilhelm and his family would live here if they were the actual Royal Family since it's used as a place for people to gather when they want to hunt for sport. However, if they truly live at Stora Sundby, it takes almost two hours to drive from Stockholm to the castle.

Bjärstad is AT LEAST two hours away from Stockholm.

Bjärstad to Stora Sundby Castle takes approximately an hour and a half by car, and between nine and twelve hours by bus. Which means these two boys can't just take a twenty minute bus to see each other.

Bjärstad to Drottningholm takes a little over two hours by car and four-ish hours by bus.

Bjärstad to Stockholm Slott takes over two hours by car and three and a half hours by bus.

Hillerska is shot at Kaggeholms Slott (Kaggeholm Palace), and is a hotel.

The age of consent in Sweden is 15, HOWEVER it's illegal to have sex with someone four or more years younger than you if you're not both over the age of 18. Let me illustrate: -Person A is 15 and Person B is 15. It's legal because both are 15. -Person A is 15 and Person B is 20. It's illegal, because there's a five year old gap between them. -Person A is 15 and Person B is 18. It's legal (but probably frowned upon), because they're both 15 or older and there's not a four year gap between them. -Person A is 18 and Person B is 30. It's legal, because both are 18 or older. Idk if this makes sense or if this is what it looks like anymore, but this is what it was like when I still went to school. Obviously people aren't going to run around and call you names if you happen to date someone four years younger than you (I know a girl who met a guy when she was 14 and he was over 20), but please, be mindful of this. Our age of consent doesn't give you a right to be weird and nasty to teenagers (yes, I'm talking about Edvin).

Also, the Royal Family have their own website, which you can find here. As far as I can see, there's more information on the Swedish page, but there's plenty translated to English. You can also read of the Swedish Royal Family and its history on the palaces's website, here.

All pictures have been taken straight from Google. I haven't used any sources, because this is shit I do every single year with my family. Feel free to correct me or add things you do, but keep it respectful, please!

Friendly reminder that I've simplified some parts of this to make sense, specifically the dates of the Advent celebrations.

If there's anything you don't understand or want more information on, you're welcome to contact me! I take pretty long to reply, but I'll definitely try to get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you!

#young royals #young royals netflix #yr netflix #yr #wilmon #please im begging you love this

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in-my-feels-probably · 3 years

Text

INEFFABLE - Kaz Brekker

Chapter Ten

If you would like to read this on Wattpad, it’s on there as well, my @ is in_my_feels_probably and there’s a few visuals and better descriptions and stuff on there. otherwise, enjoy, let me know what you think, and you can check out my masterlist for updates and more. don’t forget to read the prologue, it’s important to the story!

INEFFABLE – Kaz Brekker

ineffable (adj.) too great to be expressed in words, utterly indescribable; too sacred to speak of.

Chapter Ten

The Crows quickly navigated the palace halls, trying to get to Jesper at the meeting point as quickly as they could. He was supposed to be waiting outside the escape route, standing watch, overlooking the carriages, which was their escape plan, and Elham was praying he was ok and waiting for them so she could get as far away from the Little Palace as possible.

She was cursing herself the whole way, punishing herself for not getting Alina away from the Darkling. She didn't have much time to ponder how colossally they had failed, or how pissed Kaz was going to be for her not telling him that she was an Inferni, although he would have plenty of time to sulk on the way home, because he had finally led them outside, spotting Jesper.

They trudged over to him, Kaz now very obviously limping, and Elham looked even more worried than Jesper did.

"Wow, Elham. I've never seen you in a dress. Interesting."

She sent a glare his way, and he immediately reeled back.

What happened, you ok?"

Inej's face lit up. "She's real, Jesper. She made the light sing."

Kaz grumbled next to Elham. "We lost her."

Jesper chuckled, turning towards the carriage, a smile on his face, his voice full of amusement.

"Did we?"

Kaz squinted his eyes, before speaking. "Well, we don't know where she is."

Jesper was still chuckling. "Don't we?"

Elham froze, before catching up to Jesper, spinning him around by his jacket.

"What can I do for you, love?"

"Jesper, very much not the time for you to be joking. What do you mean?"

"Just ask."

"Jesper!" Elham let a flame pool in her palm, and Jesper immediately gasped, taking a step back.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

Kaz stepped up as they began climbing into the carriage. "We don't have time for this, just get in, and you can give us all a very well deserved explanation."

His tone was menacing, and Elham sunk into her seat she had taken next to Inej.

"Do we have a fix on where the target is?"

Jesper glanced towards the back of the carriage, before smiling, snapping the reigns. The carriage jolted forward, and they began making their way off the palace grounds.

---

It had been a few minutes of riding in silence, and the air was thick with tension. Elham pretended not to notice Inej's glances toward her hands she had clenched in her lap. Jesper kept glancing over his shoulder at her, but she wouldn't meet his eyes.

Kaz hadn't turned around once, eyes set straight ahead.

Jesper finally broke the silence. "So...do you want to tell me what the hell that was?"

Elham took a deep breath, willing herself not to cry. Through clenched teeth, she spoke. "I'm an Inferni."

"Well that's obvious, love. I think we all gathered that. Why the hell didn't any of us know? And why show us now?"

Elham thought back to the orphanage she grew up in, to being tested and taken to the Little Palace. Meeting Nina, training with Baghra, finding out about the Darkling. Escaping and coming to Ketterdam. Going through a year of pain, meeting Kaz and becoming part of the Dregs, then the Crows, part of a family.

Kaz still hadn't turned around, but she knew he was listening. Inej had turned to face her, contently listening.

"Ok, ok, alright. You all know I'm an orphan, I grew up in Karamzin until I was 10 or so. I don't know who my parents are, what happened to them, or why they didn't want me, I just know I was born in Novyi Zem and I was taken to the orphanage, and I lived there till the Grisha came to test the new children. They tested me, and took me to the Little Palace to become part of the Second Army, to start training."

Jesper turned around slightly, eyeing her. "You're telling me you lived here, and didn't wanna tell us any vital information to get us inside?"

"I didn't want you to know, ok! It wasn't exactly the best time of my life here."

"Why not?" Elham felt a tear roll down her cheek, and quickly wiped it away. "I'm an Inferni, but I'm not like the rest of them. They have to use something to create a spark, they can't just summon it like I can. The problem is, it's unpredictable. I never got a hold on it, so they would rarely let me use it in training. I had to learn physical combat skills instead, which did actually come in handy in the Barrel."

Inej had grabbed Elham's hand now, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Kaz had slightly turned in her direction.

"Anyways, everyone thought I was a freak, people were scared of me, they didn't want to be around me. Besides Nina."

Kaz fully turned around towards her at that, and you could almost detect a tone of hurt in his voice. What else hadn't she told him? "Really? You know Nina?"

"Knew. I haven't seen her since I was 13. She was one of my only friends in the Little Palace, and even then, I hardly saw her. Etherealki don't interact much with Corporalki, each type of Grisha generally sticks to their own order. Nina left before me though, she was quite skilled, and the Second Army needed new soldiers. I wasn't anywhere near ready, so I was left alone. Baghra took a liking to me, and made me her personal project."

Inej quipped up. "Who's Baghra?"

Elham's lips turned to a frown. "The Darkling's mother."

"What? Isn't the Darkling like a hundred years old?"

"Yes. And so is she. He just plays her off as an older mentor that had joined when he first came into service for the King. Which wasn't in the past hundred years, by the way."

Jesper sounded exasperated. "What does that mean?"

Elham almost laughed, and she would have if there wasn't a pit in her stomach and she felt like she could burst into tears at any moment.

"The Darkling, and the Black Heretic...they're the same person. He's been faking his death every few hundred years and coming into the service of a new King, now he serves the Lantsov line. I'm sure he was alive when the first Lantsov became King, he's that old, and so is Baghra."

Inej gasped, her face going pale. "The Black Heretic, the one who created the Fold...the Darkling did that?"

"Yes."

Kaz finally spoke up. "How the hell could you possibly know all of this? I find it hard to believe someone decided to tell all of this to a 13 year old girl."

Elham narrowed her eyes at him. "They didn't have a choice. Baghra had to tell me, it was the only way she could get me to leave."

Jesper was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Saints, Elham, alright, I'm gonna need you to explain a little bit better than that."

Elham nodded, sitting up straighter. "As I said earlier, Baghra started watching over me. She didn't like the idea of a Grisha not being able to defend themself. So she made me choose a weapon, and master it. She had me running drills, practicing sun up to sun down. Saints, I've never been as tired as I was training with her."

Elham chuckled, but it was pained, and her smile didn't meet her eyes. "She taught me some ways to try and control my powers, but I would never be as good with them as I was with a sword, and I think she knew that, so she let me master it before she started training me with my powers. We would practice away from the other Grisha, she didn't want me distracted. One day, the Darkling sat in on my training."

She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. "He never told me why he was there, and Baghra lied and said he just liked to check in on the training sessions every once in a while. It's awful to say, but Saints, I would have done anything to have people look at me like he did when he watched me use my powers. He didn't look at me like I was some freak of nature, he saw my potential. I was so naive, I should have known."

Kaz was intently staring at Elham, watching the emotions change in her face. "Know what?"

"That he wanted to use me. My powers are different, I can summon them whenever I want, and the more I used them, the stronger I got. I could blaze down a whole forest if I wanted to and not even break a sweat. He made sure Baghra was teaching me to control them, and then he started taking me to training sessions himself, asking me questions."

Kaz's jaw was clenched. "Like what?"

"Like if I was scared of his powers. Or if I was sick of people looking down on me. When I started getting a grip on my powers, he took me from training out into the forest to practice more. And then...he--"

Elham choked down a cry, rubbing her hand down her face. "He wanted to see if he could use my powers with his. He had me create a flame, and he would twist darkness into it, making the flame grow. He could pull the flame towards him, moving it without me having to. Saints only know what I could have done with an amplifier."

"What's an amplifier?"

"An object that a Grisha can use to enhance their power. The Darkling is one himself, he was by far the best method to me controlling my powers."

Inej squeezed Elham's hand again. "I don't understand, why'd he take such interest in you?"

Elham couldn't stop the tears from falling this time. "He wanted to use my powers and his in the Fold. He wanted to light the whole thing up. It would have been a mountain of fire and darkness. He never wanted to destroy the fold, he wanted to make it a weapon." She chuckled darkly. "I didn't want to believe Baghra when she told me. I was just beginning to feel like I belonged, and it felt like she was ripping that away from me. I'm not completely heartless, though, I never would have let him use me like that. I have no love for Ravka, but I could never add to his incessant need for destruction and power. I escaped, and never thought about coming back."

Jesper laid a hand on her knee. "I'm sorry you had to come back."

She gave him a small smile. "It's alright. I think I needed to. I needed to face this, I needed to face him. Besides, I had to at least try and get Alina out. When you all went into the palace, and I had to try and find another way in, I took the trail I used to escape. It led right to Baghra's hut, she's the one who helped me get inside the palace. I had to see if what everyone was saying was true, if the Sun Summoner was real, so I went to her."

Elham was actually smiling now, and Kaz's shoulders eased at the sight of it. "You know, she was the one who gave me the sword. The one I had all those years in Ketterdam."

The smile faded. "The one Pekka Rollins broke. I had almost forgotten about that."

Kaz watched her face fall, and despite himself, his heart clenched at the sight. She continued.

"Baghra told me that I needed to get Alina out, and I promised her I would. That kind of power in the hands of the Darkling, it would be catastrophic...oh, Saints!"

"What?"

"Baghra! If Alina escaped, the Darkling is going to find out who let her go, who told her about him. He's ruthless, he'd kill his own mother. If anything happens to her..."

Elham trailed off, unable to speak. Despite not knowing the right thing to say, Kaz couldn't bear to watch her in pain, and watch her sit there suffering. He hesitated then spoke.

"You know, she is the Darkling's mother. She's survived all of these years before him, I'm sure she'll long outlive him. If she's anything like how you talk about her, she has nothing to worry about."

Elham sniffed, nodding at him gratefully. "So...now you all know, I guess. About me, and everything. Surprise?"

Inej let out a laugh, and Jesper was grinning. "Hey, El...want to know another surprise?"

She eagerly nodded, directing her attention to him. He glanced around at the Crows, leaning in. "The Sun Summoner? She may or not be in the back of the carriage in the trunk. Allegedly, of course."

There was silence for a few moments, and nobody moved, stunned. Elham just stared at Jesper, who was grinning like a fool. Kaz relaxed against his seat, his lips curled into the smallest grin.

"Well. Maybe there are Saints after all."

---

A/N - hi guys, i'm really excited to get into the stuff i've had planned since before starting this story, i've got a lot of elham and kaz content coming, hope y'all are ready for it all. let me know what you thought, feel free to reach out, and thank you for the support!

#wattpad #shadow and bone #six of crows imagine #six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #grishaverse #in my feels probably #ineffable #x reader #oc

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hot-wiings · 4 years

Text

The One Where Pro-hero!Katsuki Bakugo's Son, Finds Santa Kissing His Mother. Alternatively, The One Where Katsuki's Son Demands His Father Beat Up Santa Claus On Christmas.

Requested By: Wattpad User

Edited: 12-25-2020

Katsuki quietly hummed to himself as he worked inside the kitchen prepping breakfast. He had some pancakes and sausage on the stovetop, whereas he kept the bacon cooking inside the oven. He had one arm on [Daughter Name], keeping her attached to his hip as he bounced her and flipped food with his other hand. She was only two and still being young she clung to her father for attention, with it being one of his rare days off for the holidays he wasn't going to say no, he was going to devote it to her and his son.

"Bud, can you toast the bagels for me?"

Katsuki briefly moved his attention from the stove to pull the bag of bagels out of the bread cabinet and tossed them onto the counter. Usually, he'd had done it himself but with his daughter on his hip, cooking was already proving to be difficult. His son rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"I like it better when mom cooks. She never makes me do stuff."

"Hey! You should gladly offer yourself up to help her when I'm not around. Your mother is a Saint, that's why she's sleeping in and you're stuck with me. Now toast the f– toast the bagels."

[Son Name] untied the bag and pulled the bagels out begrudgingly. He was defiantly a momma's boy and loved to give Katsuki lip, undoubtedly universal karma for Katsuki being such a demon to his own mother. Katsuki had to smile to himself as he put food on platters and placed it on the table as well as placing his daughter in her height chair before leaving to wake you up for breakfast.

Katsuki never thought this would become his life. He never thought he'd have a son, his own carbon copy of himself, nor did he imagine he'd follow up with baby number two attached to his hip whenever he wasn't out heroing. Beyond that, he never imagined he'd find someone like you, someone who put up with his crap, someone perfect. He never imagined such a picture-perfect domestic life for himself, one where he cooked, fed the children and owned a cat. One where he had a scheduled date night every week and brought flowers home every other Sunday. He wouldn't ever dare change it.

"Baby?"

Katsuki quietly closed the door behind him and walked over to the window so he could open up the curtains and let light in. You groaned and pulled the pillow over your head as the light made contact with you. You pulled the blanket closer to your body, and a smile tugged at Katsuki's lips. He loved moments like this.

"Sweetheart, it's time to wake up."

"No, you're mean. A big meanie."

Katsuki climbed into the bed and cuddled up next to you. He pulled the pillow off of your head and threw it onto the ground on his side so you couldn't reach back for it. You had major bedhead, and he loved that. Years ago you would've forbidden him from seeing you like that, now he found it hot.

"It's Christmas Eve, you need to get up."

"No, leave me alone. It's my day off, go wake the kids up."

"Already awake, and breakfast is on the table. We wanted to let you sleep in, give you a break for once."

Katsuki pushed your hair out of your face and tried to pull the blanket out of your grip as you fought back a smile. He thought he was being really smooth.

"For being a pro-hero you're such a liar. You don't want me to have a break, you were trying to butter me up so we can repeat what we did last night."

"You were the one who was all over Santa last night, don't blame me if I try to get the use out of the Santa suit before I have to give it back to the company."

He was referring to the Santa costume he came home wearing last night. Everyone at his hero agency had to dress up as Santa and do some charity work for a variety of different places such as churches and hospitals. He came straight home afterward and you put it to good use.

"Mm, I don't need Santa when I have you, I guess."

"Geez, aren't you romantic."

"Just let me put some clothes on and I will be right down."

You rolled off the bed and scampered off to your laundry basket to see if you could find some pajamas to clothe your naked body. Katsuki ripped his eyes away from your back, ripped his eyes away from the marks he gave you passionately. He climbed off of the bed and made his way back downstairs to the breakfast table but he passed [Son Name] in the kitchen putting bagels in a toaster.

"Dad, can I talk to you? Man to man."

"What's up, little man?"

"Last night... Last night I saw mommy and Santa kissing."

Katsuki tried to laugh it off as he pulled the orange juice from the fridge and placed it on the table, your son following him hot on his tail as he went.

"Santa only comes on Christmas."

"That's what I thought, but mom said Santa comes before Christmas sometimes to make sure our trees are working, like in 'The Grinch' but for real, and mommy would never lie to me."

"I'm sure it's not what it looked like, Alright? Your mother loves us both very much and she wouldn't do that to us."

It was exactly what it looked like but it wasn't Santa, it was himself in the Santa suit. Katsuki was grasping at straws, trying to explains this to his son and make it look innocent, trying to make you look good without exposing the secret.

"I know mommy wouldn't do that to us! What I really wanted to talk about was how Santa was really mean. He took her into her bedroom and said some really mean things. He yelled stuff at her like 'that's my pussy' and 'give me a baby'. If he wants a cat so bad can't the elves just give him one, I like our cat."

This progressively kept getting worse, and Katsuki was glad that you were still upstairs. Had you heard their conversation you surely would've killed Katsuki.

"Daddy, you need to stop Santa before he tries to steal our cat, I love Gigi! What if he tries taking [Daughter Name], he said he wanted a baby. Or worse, what if he tries stealing mommy from you. You-you need to beat him up when he comes tonight. You need to set Santa straight."

There were so many things Katsuki could've said or done to de-escalate this. He could kindly explain he was in a Santa suit for charity work. He could have lied and said he and you were arguing about getting another cat. He could have been honest and said you both were talking about having another child, but he didn't. [Son name] was begging him with forming tears in his eyes. He was crying out and calling him daddy. He was such a momma's boy, Katsuki hadn't had his son need or want him like this in such a long time. It felt nice, it felt good, so all Katsuki did was nod and agree with his son.

"They don't call me DynaMight for nothing. I'll blow him into next week. Santa won't think about stealing anyone of our family members ever again."

[Son Name] wrapped his arms around Katsuki and he smiled. He tightly grabbed his father, and let his tears fall into Katsuki's shirt as he mumbled out thank you's.

"I can't wait to see you beat up Santa."

In hindsight, Katsuki should've expected that one. How was he supposed to beat up Santa when he was Santa in the first place. Suddenly a horrible idea crossed Katsukis head. It is despicable, and mean. You would've frowned upon it and discouraged it. Once his son let go of him and walked off to sit at the breakfast table, Katsuki walked down the hall to make a phone call to his coworker.

"Key, Kaminari– What do you mean I only call you when I need something?! I'm a good friend you du– Look, do you still have your Santa suit? Come to my house tonight at eleven, in your suit. I promise it's for a good cause."

The clock was slowly ticking away. Every second chasing down the hour and Christmas Eve was well on it's way to becoming Christmas. Supper had finished up, Katsuki even cleared the table and helped you do the dishes. He had cooked, and it was a mutual unspoken agreement between you both that whoever cooked dinner did not have to clean it up after. He didn't even try to sprinkle you with water, he was just sweet and soft for the evening.

"Thanks, Katsuki, you're being so sweet today. Let me sleep in, made breakfast and you helped me clean? God, you're such a keeper."

You threw your drying towel onto the now cleared and clean counter before you made your way to the living room to find some Christmas movie on the tv that was age-appropriate for your children. Katsuki was being sweet, too sweet and it made you suspicious. He was pulling out all the cards and tricks he typically pulls out when you get angry that he'd forgotten something, or came home too late.

After you got settled down on the couch with [Son Name] nestled between your legs on the floor and [Daughter name] cuddling into your right side. Katsuki came over and sat a tray of hot cocoa on the coffee table in front of the couch. Katsuki took a seat at your left side and passed you a mug before wrapping his arm around you and pulling you close. You hummed while you sipped from the mug and carefully watched as Katsuki skimmed through the tv channels and put on 'Santa Claus', the one starring Tim Allen, for the kids and you.

He hated that movie. He claimed it was to overwatched. After being put on year after year he wanted a new Christmas movie.

"What did you do?"

"What do you mean?"

Katsuki was taken back by your words. He didn't do anything, at least not yet. He was planning to roast your best friend, but Denki didn't even know it was happening and the only one who could snitch was his son who didn't know it would be Denki.

"You let me sleep in, you made breakfast, you bathed the kids and uhm, me. You cooked and helped clean dinner, now you've brought me cocoa and now you're putting on a movie you hate. So, what did you do?"

To be fair, some of those things Katsuki had planned out into motion before he had even planned to blast Denki into next Tuesday.

"I just wanna cherish you. You're my wife, let me love you."

Katsuki pulled you even closer to his side, nearly making the cocoa in your hands tip over as he placed a tender kiss onto the tip of your head.

"You forgot to get me a present didn't you?"

Your eyes narrowed at Katsuki before he dipped his head own to your ear and whispered hotly.

"I did not forget, you're getting a great present tomorrow morning, and maybe I'll even give you one tonight."

"I'm watching you."

The minutes slid by as you watched the movie together as a family. Everyone once and awhile you give Katsuki a look out of the side of your eye, carefully inspecting him. Soon your son was nodding off at your legs and your daughter was sound asleep in your lap.

"Time for bed."

Your son jumped up, seemingly having excitement from out of nowhere. You carefully picked up your daughter and carried her in your arms as you stood up to carry her to bed. One down, one to go.

"Go brush your teeth and put on your pajamas for mommy, okay? I'll be right there to tuck you in."

Your words were rushed and whispered as to not wake your sleeping daughter, but your son frowned and grabbed Katsuki's hand.

"I want daddy to tuck me in tonight."

"Mm, you sure? I'd love to read you a bedtime story."

"I want dad."

You adjusted your daughter on your arms to help even out the weight as you stared down your son and husband.

"If you're both not in bed within half an hour I will take away a Christmas gift."

You walked off upstairs, still suspicious of the males in your family. No way did your son, the momma's boy, just reject your offer. Now you were positive Katsuki was up to something.

Katsuki waited until you were upstairs to text Denki. He was outside, waiting to make noise under the pretense that his son wanted to meet Santa. Denki could be heard outside, doing goodness knows what.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yeah! I bet it's Santa, are you gonna beat him up dad, are you gonna show him who's boss!?"

Katsuki rolled his sleeves up and looked back at the stairs, just to be sure you were upstairs and not watching them.

"You can bet your butt I am! Your dads the greatest, watch me go kick Santa's butt."

Katsuki marched to the front door and swung it open before making his way to Denki. He walked the way he did on patrol, the way he did when he was on TV, like a man on a mission, a man with a purpose.

"Ho-Ho-Ho!–"

"Ho-Ho-Ho yourself! Heard you wanted to break apart my family, Santa."

Katsuki aimed one of his blasts at Denki. It wasn't large enough to harm him, but it was large enough to hurt.

"Katsuki, what the fuck dude?"

"That was for being mean to my wife and trying to take away our cat."

Katsuki marched closer to Denki and kicked him in the leg, grinning as he heard Denki groan in pain.

"That was for swearing in front of my kid. If I can't do it, neither can you."

"I'm sorry, Jesus Christ."

Katsuki left Denki on the floor as he walked over to the front door and picked his son up. His son clutched on to him tightly, happy his father saved the family. Happy his father wouldn't let Santa take his cat or mother away.

"Thanks, Dad, you're my hero."

"Well, I am the best hero. I'd fight Santa for you any day, just don't tell your mom."

Even though Denki snitched to you the next day, even though you had watched the altercation through the window, you didn't say a word to Katsuki. You didn't reprimand him, or get upset that he hurt Denki. Instead, you watched fondly with a smile from the window. That was the father of your children, your hero, and the guy who held your heart. He was soft and sweet and held the bar for fathers high. He deserved a pass for this one.

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alinastracker · 3 years

Note

If you’re still doing the prompts I have oneeeee hehe

" i mean... i-i'm cool with sharing the bed if you are. "

you got it baby 🥰

but i know something’s starting right now

It’s a sweltering Ravkan summer day, but nothing brings heat to her body like watching Mal in the pool, water droplets racing down his chest. His shaggy hair is a mop on his head, and she realizes this is what he must look like in the shower.

This is exactly why she didn’t want to bring him on the trip.

It’s the first week of July, and for the past three years, that’s meant a trip to the Os Alta Resort with Genya and Zoya. It’s a way for them to relax after exams and catch up now that they all attend different schools. But at the end of May, the two of them had FaceTimed her about a change for this year.

“We were thinking of taking the boys with,” Genya says gently, nervous for her reaction.

Zoya is frank as ever. “It’s cheaper that way. Besides, after all this long distance, I could use a week of uninterrupted fuc—”

“Zoya!”

“Relax, Starkov. We’re all adults here.”

“Anyway,” Genya cuts in. “We’re just telling you in case you wanted to bring someone, too. Maybe Mal?”

“Mal and I aren’t dating.”

Only in her dreams.

“Might as well be,” Zoya mutters.

So in the choice between bringing Mal on what has basically turned into a couple’s retreat and going to said couple’s retreat alone, she’s chosen the former. It would be fine. Mal knows her friends. Him and Nikolai like to talk sports. Maybe it’ll be a little weird, being the only non-couple, but they could deal.

It would have been fine, if it weren’t for this morning’s check in.

"So it looks like we have you booked for three single rooms," the concierge says.

Alina frowns. "One of those should be a double."

The concierge checks again, each click of his mouse making her anxiety rise. He frowns. "Sorry, miss. It's showing me all singles."

"It's fine," Mal says. "Could we just upgrade it to a double, then?"

"Er, I'm afraid we're all booked, sir."

Nikolai claps his hands together, cheerful as ever at Zoya's side. "Well, I'll just switch with Alina, and Mal and I can — shit, Zoy!"

Zoya had stomped on his foot.

"We are not switching shit," she hisses under her breath.

Nikolai sighs. "My deadly dearest, certainly it's no big deal—"

"I bought us a new toy for this trip. We are not switching."

There is a brief moment where everyone freezes, then Genya groans, shaking her head as she murmurs apologies to the concierge, who is trying hard to pretend he hasn’t heard a thing. The tips of Mal's ears go red, and Alina is sure hers match. David, lost in his audiobook, is oblivious to all of it.

Nikolai clears his throat and turns to the two of them with a sheepish grin. "Sorry, mate. You're on your own."

The concierge slowly raises a finger and says, "We might be able to supply a cot?"

Alina can feel everyone's eyes on her, which is the last thing she ever wants. She has the strong desire to curl in on herself, but that only really works in the winter when she dons large coats and sweaters. But it’s summer, and she is in only a mustard yellow crop top and jean shorts, though she suddenly feels as exposed as if she were completely naked.

Mal takes one look at her and gently nudges his foot against hers. "I mean . . . I'm cool with sharing the bed if you are?"

Her brain is looking for anyway out of this whole conversation, so she nods.

So far, they have been in their room once to drop off their things and change into bathing suits, both of them dancing around the bed without ever touching it. The air in the room feels charged even with sunlight still pouring in. What would tonight be like?

More importantly, how was she supposed to handle sleeping beside him when she can’t even handle watching him in the pool?

Genya climbs on Mal’s shoulders for a game of chicken — David is, unsurprisingly, not in the pool, but sitting beside Alina on a lounge chair. She feels a pang of something like jealousy as she watches the game commence, which cannot be more ridiculous.

They can’t avoid the night forever, and it comes much too quickly despite how long they spend mingling at the resort bar. In their room, Mal lets Alina use the bathroom first. A kind offer, she thinks, until she realizes it leaves her to stake out a spot on the bed first. No more dancing.

Left side or right? Does Mal have a preference? Does she? How long until Mal finishes in the bathroom and comes out to see her staring at the bed like a mental person?

Right side, she chooses finally. She curls up on the left side of her body usually, so this way, she doesn’t have to face him as they sleep. Good call. As she untucks the covers from the bed, she secretly hopes to find something horrifying, like blood or bugs, so they can get a refund and leave. Sadly, it is a perfectly fine bed. Alina plops onto it and tucks herself in.

Mal finishes in the bathroom a few minutes later, and if he’s as rattled about their sleeping arrangement as she is, he does not show it. There’s plenty of space between them as he settles into bed. Maybe this won’t be as bad as she feared.

“Well, goodnight,” Mal says through a yawn.

“Goodnight,” Alina replies.

They each turn off their bedside lamps. Mal is softly snoring soon after, but Alina stays awake much too long for her liking, thinking of how close he is.

They fall into a similar routine for the next couple nights. During the day, all is fine. Their little group meshes well. Genya and Nikolai are often off together, both of them on a mission, it seems, to try every flavor of ice cream from Os Alta's ice cream bar. Or sometimes it’s Nikolai and Mal running off, joining a game of pool volleyball, both of them stupidly competitive. When Zoya gets annoyed with the overload of children at the waterpark, she joins David on one of the lounge chairs to read for a while — Zoya a smutty historical romance and David a nonfiction on modern space travel. We just shouldn't let Jeff Bezos come back, he argues to Genya later, while Zoya murmurs to Nikolai something she wants him to do to her that night.

Alina thanks the saints her room isn’t next to Zoya’s.

The trip is going so smoothly that she doesn’t realize what trouble Sunday brings with it. It’s always their favorite part of the trip: bottomless margarita night. They all have absolutely horrific, hilarious pictures and videos of themselves from the past three years thanks to bottomless margarita night at Os Alta. But the thought of being drunk like that while she’s sharing a bed with Mal?

Okay, so she just won’t drink tonight. Problem solved.

“You can’t not drink!” Zoya says, personally offended.

“Come on, it’s tradition!” Genya agrees.

But she’s determined to hold out. Only when she sees the others with their drinks, she decides one sip won’t hurt. One sip becomes one drink, and one drink becomes a couple. Soon enough, she’s drunk enough to sign herself up for karaoke, another Os Alta tradition.

“I dunno what I should siiiing,” she slurs, swaying lightly on her feet.

“I have the perfect song for you!” Genya cheers excitedly.

So that’s how she ends up on stage, drunk off her ass, horridly singing Taylor Swift’s We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. She really gets into it, jumping and nailing the talking parts a little too well. But she can hear Genya and Zoya screaming the lyrics along with her, and it only encourages her.

Genya records a Snapchat of her performance, snickering to Mal and David about how she’s going to accidentally send it to the asshole Alina dated last year who’s still entirely too obsessed with her.

Nikolai is the only one of the boys drunk enough to sign up, taking the stage after Alina to perform a disgustingly off-key version of Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now. They all agree that Freddie Mercury is rolling in his grave.

By the end of the night, the four of them are totally wasted. David, who had spent the night nursing one drink, his focus on getting Genya her drinks and ensuring that she didn’t trip over herself, has to help the aforementioned redhead up to their room. Nikolai and Zoya are a sight, both wickedly drunk, trying to help each other stay upright. Mal had only downed a couple drinks and is mostly sober, which Alina is very thankful for, as she can’t hold herself up to save her life. She nearly trips on absolutely nothing so many times that Mal finally scoops her into his arms, carrying her the rest of the way to the room. Alina giggles the whole way.

There’s no getting ready for bed that night. Mal sets her on the bed, and she resigns to sleeping in her red summer dress. When Mal joins her after having a shower, drunk Alina has no qualms curling up against him and sniffing him.

“Mm, you smell good,” she hums.

Mal chuckles even as he tenses. Alina has her arm around him and her face pressed into his side. He’s not sure he can breathe. She’s too drunk to notice the blush on his face.

“That’s probably just because you smell like alcohol,” he hedges.

Alina giggles and shakes her head. “No, you always smell good.”

He doesn’t know what to do with this information, but he does a lot of thinking instead of sleeping as Alina passes out next to him.

Monday morning brings with it a pounding headache for Alina. She prepares for the bright sunlight streaming through the window, but the room is dark when she opens her eyes. Mal isn’t beside her, but he left aspirin and a glass of water on the nightstand in addition to pulling out the blackout curtains. She falls in love with him a little bit more.

The day is a quiet one. The girls and Nikolai spend their time at the spa, Mal and David off doing saints know what. She gets the best massage of her life, and while her head still aches despite the pain pill, seeing Nikolai get his toenails painted bright red makes every sip she had last night worth it.

When they’re in the room again after dinner, tucking themselves into bed, Mal says, “You told me I smell good last night.”

Alina pauses. “I did?”

The night comes back to her. She totally told him he smelled good, and she had closed the space between them on the bed, curling up right next to him. She remembers all of it, suddenly and painfully.

“Oh, saints. Mal, I’m so sorry. I didn’t . . . I shouldn’t have—”

He cuts her off. “It’s okay, ‘Lina. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I don’t?”

Mal smiles an amused smile and leans over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “No, you don’t. Not you. Never you.”

Alina is almost positive she can hear her heart pounding as Mal reaches for something tucked in the drawer of his nightstand.

“For you,” he says, handing her a long rectangular box. “Saw it today when I was out with David and I just— I thought of you.”

She can’t even process the image of Mal and David out shopping together, needing to open this damn box. With shaky fingers, she lifts the lid. Waiting for her inside is a dainty necklace with a gorgeous gold sun charm.

“Oh,” she says softly.

Mal blushes, and this time, Alina notices. “Do you like it?” he asks. “I just thought of you singing last night when I saw it. You’re so bright, Alina. All the time. Just like the sun.”

She has no idea what this confession means, or how she earned it from drunkenly telling him how good he smells — which his really quite good — but her heart has kicked into overdrive. She isn’t sure what, or how, but she knows something’s starting right now.

“I love it, Mal.” She turns so her back is facing him and hands over the necklace. “Will you help me put it on?”

He wraps the chain around her neck. The sun rests perfectly against her heart. She notices every little brush of his fingers against the back of her neck as Mal works the clasp.

When the necklace is secure, they both lay back down, noticeably closer this time. Not as close as last night, but close enough that their arms occasionally brush, close enough that she’ll end up kicking him during the night. Alina sleeps on her right side.

Their trip might be ending tomorrow, but something better was beginning tonight.

#malina #malina fanfic #fanfic #grishaverse fanfic #writing #my writing #THIS IS DAYS LATE BUT I KEPT STARTING THIS OVER BC I WASNT HAPPY WITH IT #also tried writing in present tense which i rarely write in so excuse if it's a mess lmao #short and sweet and not my best imo but i hope u still like it bb!!#cuddlingwithharry #if u spot the song reference (besides the obvious) u r superior

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oohnoniall · 3 years

Text

The Lantsov Emerald [Kaz Brekker x OC] - Chapter Five (Anastasia)

Warnings: cursing, fantasy violence, family drama

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Escaping the palace had been the easy part. Nikolai had shown her all the secret pathways when they were children. They had played games with them. She'd always wanted to be the fairy while he was a pirate or some sort of scoundrel. She had remembered those childhood days fondly throughout her journey to Kribirsk. If she hadn't, she would have been forced to think about the pain in her feet and the fact that she had been foolish enough to not beg her father's permission.

At least then she would've had a carriage.

Upon reaching the city, she had paid handsomely for fresh clothes and lodging. She had bathed, scrubbing her skin raw, and dressed in a plain sky blue gown. She had attempted to plait her hair by herself, although it appeared messy and uneven. Anastasia had never known just how hopeless she was until she had gone days without a bath or her lady maids.

Nikolai would have been so disappointed in her.

She was fresh-faced when she came into the bar. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes took in every single person in the crowded bar. She had thought enough to keep her traveling cloak. There was no telling what any of the patrons would do if they discovered that the princess of Ravka stood before them.

Years of dancing and lessons in how a princess should behave made her elegant. Even in the dusty, dirty bar, she strode forward as though she was on the dance floor. Each of her movements timed to the waltz of her heartbeat. She knew that her gait alone would be cause for attention. What simple maiden walked as though the ground was a dance floor? What young woman acted as though the world should bow before her?

Anastasia had not been around enough women to know what the answer truly was.

She felt eyes on her the entire time she ordered her drink. Kvas like Nikolai had drank with her before he had gone. She had gagged and refused to ever touch any again. The smell still made her wish to gag, but she had to keep up some appearance. She took the glass from the barkeep, thanking him with a small smile. Anastasia then turned her attention to the rest of the patrons of the bar.

Most of them were her subjects. They looked hardened, as though life had done them no favors. They had lines along their features that she had not seen amongst the nobility. They looked as though dirt had encased them their entire lives. Her heart ached for them. Was there nothing that she could do? She didn't have the power to change things. That power lived with her brothers. She would never be Ravka's queen.

Her eyes landed on a small group in the corner of the bar. A boy with dark hair and a wild grin was playing with a revolver, his fingers fiddling on the hammer as though he was waiting for a reason to use it. A girl in deep, navy blue clothes sat beside him. Her features hidden by a hood and her body was nearly as still as the breath that had caught in Anastasia's throat.

At the head of their table sat the guard from the ball. His eyes scanned the room, landing on her. She wondered how many times those eyes had stopped someone in their place. He seemed sharper than he had that night. The angles of his face were made of glass and were likely to cut her if she touched them. He was far too handsome for his own good.

Without thought of her safety, Anastasia headed over to the three of them. She felt as though she was vibrating, excitement coursing through her veins as she neared the table. The man had lied to her. He had snuck into her home. She would find out why. That would be a good enough reason for the last-ditch effort for freedom.

"Mr. Vanzin," she lowered her hood as she spoke, keeping her back to the other patrons. "I've been looking for you."

An amused smile graced her features as she looked down at him. He played off the idea of being at ease, his spine straight and his eyes glancing at her as though she were nothing more than a mouse. But his hands told a different story. The black gloves he wore could not hide the way he tensed. His fingers clenched in a fist that she was certain he would not use on her. He wouldn't dare to create a scene.

"Your Highness," he sounded bored as he regarded her. Anastasia was uncomfortably reminded of most of the people in the palace. "Had I known you were serious about seeing each other again, I wouldn't have left so quickly."

The Zemeni boy offered her a chair beside him. She did not like the grin that stretched across his lips. It was as though he was one of the big cats her nanny had told her about at bedtime. She took the seat nonetheless. This would not be the first time that she had found herself in a den of lions. She dined with monsters each night. She had danced with several the night she had met Mr. Vanzin.

"I'm afraid that I was curious about you, Mr. Vanzin," she crossed her ankles, every bit the picture of a perfect princess. Rasmus would be getting a beautiful bride. "After all, it's not every day that one manages to break into the Little Palace. Nor when a guard lies directly to my face."

"I assure you," his gaze could have cut through ice, "nothing about that night was personal."

"How could it be?" Anastasia's eyes sparkled with amusement. It was like she was verbally sparring with Niki once more. He danced around the questions he didn't want to answer, made her feel as though she would go mad half the time. "You didn't even tell me your real name."

The air surrounding them seemed to grow thick with tension. The girl's hands had disappeared underneath the table while the boy was rubbing the handles of his revolvers. Anastasia would not allow them to frighten her. She would not be afraid and she would not back down.

"You're clever, Princess," his tone was filled with venom. "You should be careful. That's a good way to get yourself killed."

"Is that a threat, Mr. Vanzin?"

"Only advice," he told her before he drank the glass of kvas that had been in front of him. His eyes were dark as he stared at her. Heat flooded her cheeks but she did not let it phase her.

Anastasia had been around princes and lordlings her entire life. She had been around beautiful men and around men who had assumed they were beautiful. She had never let them phase her. She would not let this conman get underneath her skin. Even if it did feel as though she were drowning when he looked at her like that.

"You'll forgive me if I don't take it," she said, praying to the Saints that the dim of the bar was hiding her heated face. "Now, why don't you tell me who you are?"

"So you can cart us off to a Ravkan prison?" It was a valid thought. Had she been any of the other members of her family, she more than likely would have called for help. But had she been anyone else in her family she wouldn't have had to run away from her future.

Nikolai got to be the scholar, Vasily the king. All Anastasia was good for was a high bride price and to be her father's favorite pawn. Her future had never been her own. It never would be.

"I assure you," she leaned forward, strands of her hair falling into her face. "I would not turn myself in just to give you up."

For a split second, his left eyebrow rose and an expression of confusion crossed his face. It was gone before Anastasia could blink. He wore his mask well. Almost as well as those in her court. Maybe he was like her. A royal running away from a future that did not exist.

"What do you mean?" The Zemeni boy piped up, his expression more confused than the other two. Although it was more amused than anything. "Turning yourself in just means you're in as much trouble as we are."

"It would appear that way, wouldn't it?" She glanced at him, an amused smirk playing on her lips. "My family plans to ship me to Fjerda on the eve of my birthday. I'll be wed to Prince Rasmus the week after," she knew they didn't need an explanation. Nor had they asked for one. However, she needed to say something. Needed to tell someone how angry she was about the entire thing.

Nikolai was gone. This band of criminals seemed to be the next best thing.

"You decided to leave your cushy palace and come after me as a result of your impending wedding?" His face remained impassive, something that she could not read. She hated that he wore the mask of a courtier. "I don't know if I'm impressed or insulted."

"I hope it's impressed," Anastasia kept her eyes on his, not daring to back down from the demon in front of her. "At least enough to allow me to know your name."

"It's Kaz," he did not tell her his surname. She supposed it did not matter in the long run. It wasn't as though she would be spending long with the man. He would more than likely give her up before she had a chance to find Nikolai. Before she had a chance to see the sea and feel the wind in her hair.

Anastasia wished for freedom. A caged bird sang a lonely song. The song in her heart wanted more than that. It wanted to be among the greats, among the waltzes that she had adored from childhood. She wanted to live her life as she chose. If only so she could spend every second of each day surrounded by the notes, feeling the melodies in her heart and the beats in her heart. It was not a dream that any of Ravka's nobility would have understood.

None but Nikolai.

"Kaz," his name felt rough on her tongue. The syllables were brutal and cutting. Just like the man in front of her. "Perhaps we could make a deal."

"What sort of deal would you offer?" His tone was indifferent but the spark in his eyes told her that he was at least intrigued.

"I want passage. My brother is attending university in Kerch. I wish to see him a final time before I leave. I will keep the guards off of your back," she said, keeping any passion or hope from her voice. Vasily had once told her that negotiating meant selling your soul. That having too much enthusiasm would give her opponent the upper hand. Maybe he'd had a point.

"We can avoid the guards without you, Princess," she hated the way he said it. Like it was an insult instead of her honorific.

"I can also offer payment," she said almost lazily. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her cloak, pulling out a ring that should not have been in her possession.

She tossed it onto the table. The emerald sparkled in the light, the face perfect in every way. The Lantsov Emerald had been the stuff of legend when she was younger. As she had grown up, she had realized that it was nothing more than just a pretty gem. One that her parents prized above all others, but a gem nonetheless.

It was supposed to go to Vasily's future bride, but Anastasia had found it unfair. She had stolen it from her mother's chest in the dead of night. Then, she had escaped using those secret passages. She had known the emerald would come in handy. Although she had assumed it would be used to prove she was the Princess of Ravka. Not payment.

Kaz looked at the emerald for a second before he looked back at her. "I'm listening."

"The Lantsov Emerald has been in my family for generations. It's Ravka's greatest treasure. I'm offering it to you for safe passage to and from Kerch. Also, protection while we're there. I'm willing to add three million kruge for you and your crew upon my safe return."

She doubted that her parents had that much money. Or that they would be willing to pay that much for their only daughter's safety. She was ruining their plans. But she didn't care. They would ship her off without her ever seeing Nikolai again. They would sell her before she had the chance to find herself.

Kaz looked at her, his gaze was unyielding and colder than the ice of Fjerda. She wondered if he had learned to be cold or if it had just come naturally to him. Was he a monster of a man? Or a man who had become a monster? There was a story there. Something that was hiding beyond his eyes, beyond the facade he painted on. The facade that she only hoped was a facade. She didn't know what she would have done had he admitted to it all being real.

"Do you expect any of this to be easy, Princess?" He questioned, watching her as though she held a dagger in her hand instead of a valuable emerald.

"No, quite the opposite actually." Anastasia was not an idiot. She knew they would have to cross the Fold, find passage on a ship, and prey to all the Saints that she was not followed by her parent's guards. She doubted they had even noticed her missing. The Sun Summoner disappeared at the perfect tie. She wouldn't have been able to slip away without the distraction.

"We'll have to wait for a skiff," Kaz sat up straighter, almost as if to intimidate her. She matched his posture, not daring to back down for a single second. "No one knows how long that might take. A ship to Kerch will be another question entirely."

"I assure you, Kaz," the name stabbed her throat, "I am prepared to stay as long as necessary. I will not go to Fjerda without seeing my brother."

"Your brother will not be easy to find. Do you know how many rich sons have been sent to university?"

"Nikolai will be quite easy for me to find." He didn't need to know that he would have an angry prince to deal with during all of this. Once Nikolai heard of her disappearance, he would be angry. He would claim she had no idea what she was doing. That she was being reckless and stubborn. That there had been no reason whatsoever for her to leave the safety of the palace. He would have told her that she was stupid for trusting a man who had broken into their home.

She would take every second of his tongue lashing. As long as it kept her from never seeing him again.

"I will have other business in Kerch," Kaz stated as he watched her. He was looking for any sign of weakness. She knew that he would try to betray her. He would see her as another piece on his chessboard. Just as everyone else had.

She was no longer willing to be a game piece.

"I'm quite aware of that," there was no reason for her to be the only job he'd take on. Even if she was offering more money than he'd probably ever see in his life. Money she did not know if she had. "Now, do we have a deal?"

He did not offer her his hand, unlike what she had seen other men do with her brothers. She didn't know if she was supposed to be offended by the slight or not. Surely it had more to do with how he felt about the deal than anything to do with her. That or her nails were in a worse state than she had previously realized.

"The deal is the deal, Princess." She wondered if she would ever hear anything else come from his lips. Would he call her by her honorific the entire time? Or would he loosen up? She didn't think it was important enough to complain about it. No matter how grating it was to hear him use it with nothing but venom in his tone.

Anastasia picked the ring up from the table, giving him a kind smile. "You'll get this once I've been returned to Ravka, safe and sound."

Kaz said nothing, just nodded his head as she stood from the table. At least he knew better than to fight her on when he would get his payment. It was probably for the benefit of her peace of mind. If she trusted him not to slit her throat, then maybe she would be less likely to put up a defense. She didn't know for sure.

"Enjoy your night," she told the three, giving them a curtsey. Her skirts flourished around her, almost making her wistful for a night of dancing underneath the stars. "I expect to see you here tomorrow."

"Of course," he nodded his head once, looking at his crew instead of her. She wondered if they thought she was all talk. Surely a princess would run from danger instead of towards it. She should have been trapped in her golden cage with her jewels and her grand piano that she was not allowed to touch. They would assure she'd change her mind before entering the Fold.

The look on his face told her everything that she needed to know. He may not have expected her to come after him, but he knew now to expect her to back out. To do anything other than what she had said. Surely he should have realized by now that Anastasia was a woman of her word. She'd found him. She'd stolen the greatest heirloom her family had and run away from home. She had done everything that no one would expect from her.

The same things they would expect from Nikolai.

The thought nearly blinded her as she stepped into the sunlight. Had she begun missing her brother so much that she had decided to act as though she were him? He would have told her that it was a waste of her own potential. He would blame himself for making her a mirror of him. It would be bad enough to have one of them roaming the streets of Ravka. They didn't need two.

But she knew that she was not like her brother. She didn't see the world as one big game that she had to win. She just wanted to dance, to feel the music filling her veins and speaking in it's beautiful secret language to her soul. She knew it was a silly wish, one that she would never truly get to experience. She'd have to marry a man she didn't love. She would have to dance only when it was appropriate. Anastasia would lock herself up for her country.

She just needed a chance to dance before she did so.

Kerch may have been known for it's criminal underbelly, but it was the only safe place for her. She would be far from whatever trouble the Sun Summoner was bringing. She would be able to find Nikolai. Anastasia would be able to yell at him for hours at a time for not writing her back as much as he should. She would be free for the first time in her life.

As long as she did not get her throat cut or held for a ransom it should be perfectly safe.

Anastasia headed back to her room. It was not safe to dawdle on street corners. She had no idea if her parents had discovered that she was missing. She had no idea if anyone would be out looking for her. Vasily wouldn't be. He had too much to do, too much to prepare for. The time for him to take the throne was almost upon them.

He had less time for his little sister than normal. She felt as though Nikolai had abandoned her. Perhaps this unwanted isolation had been the truth behind her desperate need to flee. Perhaps knowing that she was alone, and would be for the rest of her miserable life, had been what drove her to running as far as she could from the walls of her gilded cage.

She slipped up the creaky stairs, using the gentle creaks as though they were a melody. She craved music. Craved hearing the waltzes, the symphonies. She needed it as though it was oxygen. She needed to hear every beat, feel every note. Alas, her life would not go in that direction. She would sooner end up hidden behind blocks of ice than in a symphony hall. Especially after what she had done.

As the princess entered the room she had rented, she did not notice a figure standing silently in the corner.

She took off her cloak, tossing it down on a small chair in the corner of the room. Her back was to the silent woman, never once noticing her as she began to freshen up. The day was still long, the sun having only just hit the middle of the sky. She planned on actually doing something besides make shady deals in the back of a pub.

Anastasia lifted her face, water dripping from her eyelashes. She caught sight of the woman in the mirror, her spine instantly stiffening.

"Your Highness," her voice was soft as she stepped out from the shadows. "We've a lot to discuss."

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

A Taste of Perfection

A/N: I wrote Draco angst. It came to me, and I wrote it. There’s a flashback in this, but it’s right at the start - it’s in bold and bordered by asterisks. Anyway, this is angst - I get it if you don't want to read, but if you do, I hope you enjoy!

Title: Katy Perry - Thinking of You

Warnings: angst.

Word count: 1.6k

He watches from a far pew. He watches as the veil is lifted over your face and your new husband smiles as if the sun itself was shining underneath.

It was; the sun itself was you and he knew what it felt like to be looking down on your face.

He thinks back to the day he had let you go:

*******

“We can’t do this anymore,” He whispers, fastening the buttons of his shirt.

“Do what? Draco, I love you. I don’t love him.”

He runs a finger down the length of your face, “You’re engaged to be married. You are getting married, and it isn’t to me.”

Tears line your eyes, “I’ll fight it, Draco. I’ll fight the engagement.”

Sadness fills his eyes, “No, you won’t.” He orders quietly, “You wouldn’t do that to your parents; you wouldn’t risk being disowned.”

You hold the sheet to your body as you sit up, “What does this mean, Draco?”

He presses a long kiss to your forehead, “It means we can’t do this anymore.”

*******

Draco turns away as your husband kisses you. He can’t watch the happiness on your face, or his. Draco focuses his attention on the stained glass windows; on the saints depicted there.

He’s burning from the inside out. He should have fought harder, should have done everything, but he didn’t.

And now he has to live with himself and the consequences.

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

As your new husband trails kisses down the length of your body. As he hitches your leg over his waist. As he presses his face into your neck. As he worships at your feet as if you were Aphrodite herself.

You aren’t thinking of him.

You haven’t thought of him through any of it: the wedding, the reception, and now.

You’re thinking of Draco. Thinking of what he would do if he was the one to be spending the night whispering words of your love into your skin.

You wonder if your husband can hear your heart breaking.

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

The comparisons happen naturally. You don’t mean to; you understand that Draco and your husband are two very different men, but you compare them to each other as your marriage progresses.

In your head, Draco was your taste of perfection. You had tasted the ambrosia of the gods in his kisses; and had experienced the ecstasy of lust in his touches.

You realise the standard which you expect your husband to meet is high, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to. Your husband would kiss you, but you would taste Draco, remembering how his mouth would move on yours.

You’re disgusted with yourself. You lack the love for your husband that he so graciously bestows upon you. Your heart belongs to another, and it probably always will. You know that you don’t deserve your husband, with his kind smiles and tender touches.

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

You’ve come to hate social events. You despise them with every fibre of your being.

You used to love them; used to crave a ball or a party or a dinner for it meant that you could sneak away undetected on Draco’s arm. Run away to dark corners where he would trail open-mouthed kisses along the neckline of your dress; or have you gasping for breath in coat cupboards.

Now, you’re expected to either hang from your husband’s arm, barely listening to the drivel falling from his friend’s mouths or sit with their wives and gossip about the people you were once friends with in school.

You also hate them because you have to see Draco. It’s bittersweet, truly. On one hand, you crave seeing him with your own eyes, needing to see him to feel okay in this too-large room. On the other hand, it reminds you every time of your last conversation where he ended things and your heart was broken for the very last time.

Eyes meet across the room, and time stops. Your eyes meet his grey ones, and you’re taken back to the hours spent in bed – no talking, just staring. Time ceases to continue as you look into his eyes; as every emotion he has felt for the last eight months flicker across his face so quickly you wonder if you imagine it.

Draco breaks the connection; placing his glass on a waiter’s tray before leaving the room. He won’t come back.

Your heart years to follow him; to talk to him; to touch his face as he once did yours. Draco is the apple of temptation, and you’re ready to grab.

But you remember your husband; your patient, kind husband who takes the time to listen to you, to understand you. And you make a promise to yourself – to do better by him, to start putting in the same amount of effort.

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

Your husband is a good man; he is a patient man.

He knew that you were reluctant to accept the proposal given that it was arranged by both sets of parents. He knew that you would have preferred your independence a little while longer, but under pressure, you married him six months after the engagement announcement.

He just didn’t know that you were in love with Draco Malfoy.

It surprised him that you married him; he thought you would have fought the match, but you didn’t.

For a while though, the marriage felt empty, and he floundered with what to do to help you. But as time went on, after you reached the eight-month mark, things started to change, and you started to warm up. You started to seek him out and make an effort; it gave him hope.

He started to feel hope for his marriage after all.

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

A year into the marriage, your parents and in-laws start wondering about children. Dropping their hints at every visit; planting the seed in your husband’s head.

He brings it up one night, “What would you say to having children one day?”

And it’s the catalyst.

You had longed for children, had wanted them for as long as you could remember.

But not with him, never with him.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You state, looking your husband squarely in the eyes.

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t be married to you anymore, I’m leaving you.”

He leans back in his chair; his face the perfect picture of shock, “Can I at least ask why? I thought we were doing better?”

“We were, but I can’t have children with you.”

“Is it because of Malfoy?” He watching and you flinch at the sound of his name.

“He’s part of it, but it’s also because it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“We were doing well,” Your husband mutters in disbelief.

“We were,” You concede.

“What changed?” He asks, mostly to himself – wondering where on this path he took a wrong turn.

Tears of regret overflow onto your cheeks as you shake your head, whispering apology after apology to him. “I never deserved you. You have been nothing but good to me, and I can’t even repay that kindness.”

Your husband begins to cry as well, “I think on some level I always knew this wouldn’t last.”

Your voice breaks as you apologise again.

“I’ll do you this last favour,” Your husband starts, “I’ll tell our parents, say we weren’t compatible, that we were having argument after argument. But in return, I don’t want to see you again. At least, not for a while. I don’t think it would do either of us any good.”

You stand from your seat, walking to his seat where you drop a hand on his shoulder, “I am truly sorry this couldn’t work, and I wish you all the happiness that this world can offer.”

He squeezes your hand just once before shaking it off, “I hope Draco can offer you the same.”

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

You run down the path to the manor; gravel kicking up from your heels.

You barely make it half way before the door is being flung open and Draco is sprinting towards you.

He meets you half way; you crash into his body with the force of a tidal wave. He stands it all; his hands land on your waist where they’ve belonged all this time.

“I saw you from upstairs,” Draco gasps, breathless, “What are you doing here?”

You swallow, inhaling a gulp of breath, “I left him. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

Draco rocks back onto his heels, “You what?”

“I left him,” You repeat, “I couldn’t be married to him any longer, not when I’m so desperately in love with you.”

Draco’s hands clutch your face, pulling you in for a kiss you have craved since the day he left you. It’s messy, it’s hurried – it’s perfect. He’s throwing every emotion into it and you’re responding in earnest.

You pull away breathless. Draco’s arms wrap back around your waist, drawing you flush against him. His eyes search your face, hope shining through them. A slow smile breaks across his face as he begins to realise that he isn’t dreaming; this is happening.

You’ve chosen him. You’ve chosen him over your husband.

You smile widely as you press one, two, three pecks to his mouth, revelling in the way that Draco’s lips chase yours for more.

Happiness spreads through both of your veins as you paw at the other; touching what you couldn’t for a year.

“I didn’t think I would get to do this again,” Draco whispers, his thumb rubbing across your cheekbone.

You lean into his touch, “I didn’t think so either.”

Unable to resist, Draco draws your lips back to his. His mouth moving slow on yours; entirely and completely perfect.

You had tasted perfection in Draco; and now that perfection was yours to keep.

***********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obx-beach @obxmxybxnk

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bluebellwriting · 4 years

Text

Love Me Tender Part 3

(Note: I know Molly hasn’t been confirmed as a demon nor is she in Hell, but for the sake of the story, I’m saying that she is a demon and she is in Hell. There’s not a lot of information on the spider fam so I’m going to be taking some liberties here)

Sunday dinners at your dad’s home have always a tradition, even when you all were alive. It wasn’t religious, Lord knows if it had been you probably wouldn’t have ended up here. But when your family spends every day of their lives and afterlives meeting with mob bosses, disposing of bodies, and doing drugs, it was nice to have a reason to come together and remind each other that you were all still here. It was because of those dinners and the evenings spent cooking with your Nonna that your love of cooking came to fruition.

Oh, your Nonna. You’ve tried looking for her down here, even though you know that there was no way she was deserving of a place like this. She was a saint, the mother you deserved instead of the mother you actually had. Your mother was cold, lazy, vain, couldn’t care for her children to save her life, judgmental -- she always insisted you try whatever insane weight loss trend was popular. Nonna was kind, understanding, taught you to be tough but also how to take care of those you loved, and never tried to pit you and your sister against each other. She’s honestly the only reason yours and Molly’s relationship survived.

But when she died, you took over as the family’s cook as the only person who could actually make something without burning it. Until you yourself died at the ripe age of 23, long before the rest of your family. Your family doesn’t talk about it much, but you can just imagine what the first dinner without you was like. How sad and empty, how burnt the food must have been if there even was any.

But you’re together again and your dinners were able to survive your family’s plunge into the afterlife. Apparently, so did your family home.

As soon as you entered the threshold of the home, you and Angel were smushed into a hug by Molly.

“My darlings!” She cries. Angel and you snuggle into the warm arms of your sister and wrap your arms around her.

“How are ya, Mol?” Angel asks.

“Oh, ya know, same old, same old.”

“Are those creeps giving you trouble at the store?” You take a step back and eye your sister up and down, looking for any physical manifestation that those creepy men crushing on your sister are up to no good.

“Not since you had a little chat with them, (N/N),” she teases.

Molly’s eyes brighten at the sight of your outfit.

“Ooh! You’re wearing the new skirt and blouse! It’s so pretty on you, (Y/N)! And I know I always say this but you have a great rack girl, ya gotta show it off like this more.”

You blush brightly and cross your arms over your torso.

“Gee thanks, Molly,” you mumble.

“I don’t know how you haven’t found a man yet with that bod!” She squeals and pinches your cheeks.

“Well, since ya mentioned it...” Angel smirks.

“Nope!” You shout and storm further into the house to avoid your baby siblings.

Molly looks back at Angel with an arched brow, the question looming in the air.

You make it to the kitchen, where your father and brother are heating up the food you left here last week. You turn your nose up.

“You know, I could have made something fresh. This is all a week old! And here I thought you were going to cook for once.”

“Very funny, (Y/N),” Niss grumbles, stirring the pasta sauce you had brought over last time.

“How are ya, sweetheart?” Henroin gives you a warm hug, one that is snug and warm and reserved for his unofficially favorite child.

“I’m good, dad. Doing just fine.”

“They’re running you ragged at that hotel.”

“Which means I’m left to pick up the slack,” Niss growls. You pull away from the hug and pull your brother into a forceful hug, just to make him uncomfortable. You were the same height as Niss and a year younger, and as grumpy and infuriating he can be, you always felt the closest to him. You’d like to think he felt the same, considering he scolds you the least. Or maybe that’s just because you’re way stronger than him and you have wrestled him to the ground.

“I know, but I’m doing this for Angel--”

“Anthony,” Niss hisses.

“If he tells me he wants to go by Angel, then I’m calling him Angel.” You narrow your eyes, your irises flashing a dangerous red and your teeth grow into vicious fangs in an instant. Niss rolls his eyes but backs down, trying to hide the shiver that went up his spine.

“I still don’t see how they’re supposed to help him.”

“Neither do I but I genuinely believe that that hotel is his only chance.”

“But why do you have to be there, too?” Your father asks.

“Because I’m the only one who knows how to handle him,” you beam.

“And because she’s dating the Radio Demon,” Molly squeals as she bursts in the kitchen, followed closely by a smirking Angel.

“What?!” Your brother and dad yell.

“I am not dating the Radio Demon, right, Angel?” You stalk over to him and stomp on his foot.

“Ah! Fine, fine. But she’s got him wrapped around her little finger, don’t ya, sis?”

“What the hell does that mean, (Y/N)?” Niss growls. Your father just stares at you, his eyes empty of all emotion but his shoulders are tensed.

“It means nothing. We work together and. That’s. It.” Everyone in the kitchen is staring at you. Angel is smirking, Molly is biting her lip as she holds in a squeal, Niss looks as though he’s about to punch a wall, and your dad is still staring at you. Their eyes are like deadly sunbeams and your body is a wilting flower. You wrap your arms around yourself, wishing the ground would just swallow you up and transport you to Second Hell, or whatever lies beyond this reality. A part of you finds yourself longing for arms to hold you, to wrap around you and shield you. Longing for grey arms in a red suit to protect you.

Oh jeez, maybe you do love him.

“The sauce is burning,” you break the silence and move towards the stove. “Is the pasta ready?”

“Yeah,” Henroin says and brings a bowl of noodles to the already set table. You turn the stove off and slip on two oven mitts to bring over the pot of sauce.

“Sit down,” you command. Your siblings scurry to their seats as your dad and you arrange everything on the table.

Once you’ve all sat and filled your plates (and taken away Angel’s phone), you turn to your dad.

“So what was the big announcement?” You ask.

Henroin swallows, “Not so much of an announcement, more of a request of you and Anth-- Angel. I know this hotel has been good for you,” he says to your brother. “And it sounds like it’s been... good for you too, (Y/N). But I need you to start pulling your weight around here, especially you, (Y/N).”

“Why me?” (Y/N) you ask, sending your father an incredulous look. “I thought I told you I wanted out of all of that nasty business.”

“Because some of our partners respond better to you. You have a way with people, in the way that is below my stature and beyond anything your brother can do.”

“Dad!” Niss yells, offended.

“Shut up. Now listen, (Y/N), you can still stay at the hotel, do whatever the hell it is you do there,” he gives you a pointed look, hinting that he hasn’t forgotten the Radio Demon business.

“But when I need you to attend a meeting or negotiation,” he continues. “I expect you to be there. You owe your family that.”

You look down at your barely-picked-at-plate, having suddenly lost your appetite.

“I’m guessing you have a meeting soon that you think I’d be well-suited for,” you mumble.

“There’s an Overlord we need to do some business with and I finally convinced her to have an audience. But word on the street is that she responds better to friends or women. And since we’re not friends and I’m definitely not sending Molly--”

“Daddy, you wound me!”

“--That leaves you, kid. We’re counting on you.”

You nod your head. The conversation continues, your siblings argue, Henroin gives you details for the meeting but you let it all wash over you like a wave. You actually thought you could finally start living for yourself for once, that you could stop taking care of others. You were wrong.

---

The city is alive with the sound of laughing and screaming, but all you can think about is the meeting tomorrow with Rosie, an Overlord and the owner of Rosie’s Emporium. Your eyes are heavy from the chaotic dinner, the three times you had to keep Niss from launching himself across the table at Angel, Molly talking your ear off about some cute man who would be perfect for you, and the new weight that has been added to your shoulders. It takes everything in you not to crash the car on your way home.

When you arrive back at the hotel it’s late at night and somehow Angel has boundless energy. He prances to the door, calling out about some party he’s been invited to by Cherri.

“Angel, it’s a Sunday night,” You scold.

“And? My work doesn’t exactly require me to be up and at em at 8, doll.” He bursts through the doors and immediately goes over to Husk and the bar, probably to pregame. You shuffle your way inside after him, rubbing your temples in an effort to tame the ache developing in your head.

“Oh, darling,” Alastor sings. He dances into the lobby from the kitchen, smile as wide as ever, holding two steaming mugs. Except instead of one of his pristine suits, he is dressed in slacks, suspenders, a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a red apron. He looks completely and utterly adorable, and you’re just loving the view of his lithe forearms.

As soon as he heard Angel’s voice bothering Husk, Alastor came running to the lobby with the hot chocolate he had spent hours perfecting. His first batch was too bitter, the second far too sweet for anyone’s liking, and the third was accidentally consumed by Charlie (who is now hiding somewhere in the hotel to avoid his wrath). Plus, he had to endure Charlie’s relentless teasing. But he was certain this would be the perfect cup of liquid goodness to impress his sweetest darling. And judging by your tense shoulders and the stress in the lines of your face, you would definitely be needing something to lift your spirits.

“Goodness, did the dinner not go well?”

You released a deep, exhausted sigh, and lifted your head slowly to meet his eyes. For a moment, Alastor wonders if this might have been the wrong move. You were clearly worn out. You probably just wanted to shut yourself in your room and go to bed and not have anything to do with him and his boyish attempts to woo you. Hot chocolate, really? What was he thinking? Someone like you deserved something lavish, and you would probably scoff at something so simple as a hot drink.

His shoulders deflate at your lack of smile.

“It went about the same as it always did,” you sigh. “Siblings fighting, me saving dinner, my sister trying to set me up with some man.”

Alastor has to restrain the growl bubbling up in his chest.

Your eyes fall to the two mugs in his hands. You sniff the air and smile at the rich scent.

“Is that hot chocolate?”

“Oh... yes, it is.”

“Mm, is there any left?”

“Well of course! I made this cup especially for you, dearest!” He practically shoves the mug into your hands.

You quickly lift the mug to your lips and hope to all that is good and holy that he chalks your blushing cheeks to the heat of the drink.

“Oh, Alastor, this is wonderful. Thank you. I really needed this after the night I had.” You smile up at him, the lines in your face easing immediately. It’s enough to make the Radio Demon’s knees quake.

“You are absolutely welcome...” He pauses. The original plan was to woo you with the drink, whisk you off to a remote corner of the hotel, and attempt to confess his undying love to you. But the yawn you try to stifle almost causes him to deflate. Almost.

“Would like to talk about it, love? I’m all ears! U-Unless you’re too tired. You absolutely do not have to--”

Love. Love. You grip the mug tighter.

“Actually, Alastor, that would be lovely. If you don’t mind.”

Alastor grins.

“Not at all.”

He places a hand on the small of your back and transports you both to the library. He snaps his fingers and a fire lights up the room for you both. You flop onto the couch and Alastor takes a seat beside you, making a point to sidle up to you as you proceed to detail everything about your day.

At first you were rather restrained, convinced that the last thing this important, powerful, strong, kind, considerate, lovely man wanted was to listen to your problems. But as he asked more and more questions, he opened you up like an oyster, waiting patiently for the pearl inside.

“So now I’m meeting with this Rosie tomorrow. Something about transporting her goods across territories.”

“Rosie, you say?”

“Yes. Oh, do you know her?”

“Why yes! She’s an old and dear friend. But, um, quite ruthless towards strangers. You said you’re going alone?”

“Right.”

“Is that... normal? I mean, for you to go alone to meet such dangerous individuals.”

“Oh, yes. I’ve been doing so since I was 18 and alive.”

Alastor chokes on his drink.

“That young?”

“I grew up in the mafia, Al.” You send him a coy smile. “I’m not as defenseless as I look.”

“Oh, I never doubted that, dearest, but... to not have anyone there for support...”

“When you grow up the way I did, you learn not to trust anyone. Not fully at least, and definitely not until you know them well enough.”

“Is that right... Do... Do you trust me, then? Or have I not earned that honor?” Alastor smiles at you but within he is a mess. This is it. The moment you tell him that he’s far too dangerous, too vicious, too disgusting for you to ever let into your life in the way he craves.

“You’re on your way.” You smirk at him and the light floods back into his body. That’s a start.

“So, would you allow me to accompany you tomorrow then?”

“Oh, no, Alastor I could never impose on you like that--” He’s just being polite, you tell yourself. He doesn’t actually want to spend time with you outside of the hotel, isn’t actually concerned with whether you die at the hands of this Rosie.

“Nonsense, my darling.” He leans down, smelling the chocolate on your breath. His nose is so close to yours, your lips just as near to his. He could lean forward just a bit, feign a fall, just for one chance to kiss you like he’s dreamed.

“I would love nothing more than to be your knight in shining armor.”

You smile, “Just to be clear, if you are going to escort me, Alastor. I am no damsel in distress.” You boop his nose and giggle at the hot blush on his cheeks.

“But,” you continue, “I would love nothing more than to have your company tomorrow.”

“Well, then have it you shall, love.”

#alastor x reader #alastor x chubby!reader #hazbin hotel #x chubby!reader #x chubby reader #they say write the stories you want to see

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lauraluna98 · 3 years

Text

Bernadette's Photograph [Diakko one shot]

Pairing: Diana Cavendish /Akko Kagari, Bernadette Cavendish/ Laura McLaren (OC), Amanda/ Constanze/ Jasminka, Hannah/ Avery, Barbara/ Lotte

Words: 18K

Laura and Bernadette art made by my friend chek out her awesome stuff: https://www.wattpad.com/user/-Diana_Cavendish

Summary \/

Four years have passed since Akko arrived at Luna Nova. In the previous year, the girls she had befriended graduated from the academy and each one went their separate ways, just like Kagari, who had to go through a lot during her studies, including meeting a girl named Diana Cavendish, whom she began to date. When she graduated and was sure she would return to Japan, she received an invitation from the Scottish girl to live in the family's mansion and an affectionate proposal from the beautiful blonde who asked her to marry her.

Akko spent a long time adapting and experiencing many ups and downs, sometimes having to deal with Daryl and her daughters' disrespect, but this the girl got used to, even more so with the fact that Diana was a lesbian, shocking the entire noble class.

One day like any other Akko was rummaging through Bernadette Cavendish's old bedroom until she found something that had been a huge family secret until then.

Upon discovering this secret Akko, decides that she wants to make a surprise involving the photograph she eventually found, but why is a photograph a secret and why does it get to the point of creating so much?

Read this story and find out.

It was a winter morning in Edinburgh, it had been a few months since the girls' graduation from Luna Nova, the year 2021 had started a few days ago. Akko planned to start her career as Shiny Akko, but she still faced conflicts within the mansion, as well as no from many witches who didn't want to have their reputation linked to something comical and funny, even with Kagari saving everyone, the conservatism in society still remained. Diana was the leader of the Cavendish family, after going through Daryl's proposal for a marriage of interest with James Mark II, the girl was getting colder and sadder, after all she remembered something, starting to ignore little by little Kagari, which was quite strange. Diana used to be cold, but not at that point. Akko was waking up next to Diana and soon noticed that the Cavendish had already gotten up.

POV Akko:

Diana has been very cold lately, colder than this place, holy shit, for the nine witches... I thought it would be wonderful to move here, but we can barely get along... What the fuck? Ever since that James Mark II showed up here, she's been like this... More like she's being forced to marry him... But Diana is the head of the family Ahh... I'm getting up from here.

I get up and go to the bathroom of the huge suite, brush my teeth, take off my crimson robe with "Akko" written on it, put it next to my fiancée's cyan robe, open the shower and start to take a bath, the drops of water washed my body as if they were washing my soul, it was really nice to take a bath in that bathroom, the water was always at the ideal temperature. As soon as I get out of the shower I take a towel, dry my body, wrap myself in it and go into the huge closet of our room, I put on a t-shirt, an overcoat, since it was very cold, "New, as if it wasn't cold every day here in Scotland" and a pair of sweatpants, when I finish getting dressed I put on my bunny slippers and walk through the corridors to the dining room, where I find Anna waiting for me outside the door.

- Good morning Miss Kagari, Miss Cavendish told me to stay here waiting for you to wake up, she is waiting for you in the dining room, let me take you there- Anna said always with her softness of speech, "The handmaids and the butlers were the only nice people in the house.

- Ah, yes thank you Anna, I was just leaving, I appreciate you waiting for me so long... I'm sorry if I overslept," I say, being gentle as always with the sweet lady.

POV Diana:

I woke up that morning down, after another week of having that conversation with Daryl, that snake is still the same, I knew she had only let her guard down since Akko and I saved her from that ritual interference, at least she has no authority at all, I can decide on my own who I marry.... Only that James Mark... He was one of the Appleton students who hang out with Louis Blackwell.... Not to mention he has my father's name on him... Although he was no example of a person, he abandoned me and my mother, since I was a little girl... just because the family was starting to have financial problems. That damned conversation with Daryl... I can't leave Akko... But I have to have heirs or heiresses... Ah Saint Beatrix Lesbian... The Cavendish family only allows to succeed children conceived here by both people.... And how am I going to make one with Akko, being that we are two girls.... Ah... What am I going to do... I can't allow Daryl's lineage to be the dominant one...

While I was in my mental monologue, I was approached by my second cousins, Amalie and Alicia, Merrill's daughters.

- Lesbian cousin! Lesbian cousin! Look what Grandma wrote for you," say the two children handing me the envelope.

- Oh thank you - I say, faking a positive reaction.

"Keep on with your scissors, I don't like your girlfriend, but she guarantees me my lineage ahead, besides teaching a pure lineage, without this talk of turning lesbian witches. Remember that fingers do not reproduce. With love and affection your Aunt Daryl".

Really? It was kind of just sending a message, what's the need to write an envelope, I won't argue any further, let her keep these silly little letters.

I take the letter, crumple it with my hands and throw it into a trash can, using my wand to move the crumpled paper into the container, when I finish throwing the trash out, I notice that my girlfriend had just arrived accompanied by Anna.

POV Akko:

- Good morning my love! - I say all radiant and go towards my girlfriend.

We come close to each other, exchange lips with a seal, soon after we both stare at each other, I as usual am faced with that emotionless and cold face of Diana, colder than Scotland itself I would say. I sit down on the chair facing my girlfriend and start to eat, attacking the pancakes as usual.

- Love Harajuku pancakes! How cute, I love it - I say dipping a pancake and dousing it with maple syrup. I end up remembering my first time with Diana and almost burst out laughing, but I held back as much as I could.

- Akko! What's so funny - said Diana trying to force a refined accent, being that I know how she spoke in a totally different way to me.

- Nothing no my love, I just remembered when I held your breasts that day and said they looked like Harajuku pancakes - I say starting to laugh, while Diana let out a slight laugh, seeing my girlfriend laughing makes me even a little happier, it was rare to see the cute cabbage look like that, even more after that guy came here.

- Akko! Don't talk that kind of dirty talk, someone might hear it - she said with the Scottish accent she used to hear a lot, she thought it was quite cute.

- It's pretty cute cabbage - I say trying to get more laughs out of Diana, but I end up making her blush, but right after that my girlfriend starts to laugh and snort a little, it was cute; she looked like a little pig.

- Akko! Akko! Stop it! I'm not in the moment for this - she said again with her Scottish accent, it was really nice to see Diana giggling a little.

POV Diana:

Oh crap, Akko is getting me, she knows how to lighten my mood... But I have to be careful, she has become very attached to me... What do I do...? Is it worth it...? Daryl wants me not to leave any offspring or else I can make this plan of hers turn against her.... I can do what she wanted to do to me.... But the difference is that Amalie and Alicia will have a kinder upbringing.... I don't know, I have to talk to Akko about this, I can see how she is getting upset about all this.

As I was sinking in my thoughts, I end up coming back with two clicks of a finger, it was Akko, as usual, she kept talking my name, so I decided to answer her.

- Huh? Akko. What is it my love? - I say, coming back to reality, I used to sink too deep into my thoughts.

- Again Diana? Every day you are sinking into these thoughts... What's going on in your head so much? - She said worriedly, trying to find out about me? I think I should open my mouth at once, I don't want to stall her until the last minute like Chariot did to her four years ago...

- Eh... Love... I... I try to say, but... Damn I'm not ready, how can I tell her... - I... We need to talk more... I want to talk about something that ails me... Something that made me like this... - I say as Akko looks at me worriedly, but then puts her hands on my cheek.

- Really? It's okay honey, I was getting agony... You are already cold as Scotland, this way it seems like the North Pole - She said as always talking about Scotland being too cold, this girl never gets used to the normal climate here. As always she reacts this way as if she were a child.

I just nod my head and take Akko with me to one of the offices in the house, where I used to work and study, since I became a leader, I stay there day after day, negotiating about how to deal with the riches, but I have to stop running away from the subject, I will get straight to the point with Akko.

- Ah the office - said Akko inflating her cheeks, she hated the place because I spent too much time there, working and barely paying attention to my love, but what can I do? I have responsibilities, I'm an adult, not like my aunt.

- Love... I... A... Reason - I say with much trepidation, damn Diana, come on girl, where is your stature girl - The reason why I was like this was because of that boy, more specifically about a conversation I had with Daryl, she has been pressuring me, or I would marry this James and save the family financially at once, or else continue with you... Of course I decided what was best for me... That would be to stay with you, even if it didn't give me heirs... - I said almost in tears, but soon Akko comes and starts looking at me confused, as if she thought it was a bit silly, as if I was making a drama.

- Are you dying because you can't be a mother? Is that right? Diana, what about Violet and Sarah? Nothing is impossible for magic, we just have to use the fertility stone," she said shrugging, as always believing that children's story, honestly, my mother used to tell me this a lot, but I'm sure it was just a nice way for her to say that it was okay to be a lesbian. Akko never understands things... I will have to be realistic with her, this is not a joke.

- Akko... This is a children's tale, my mother used to say the same thing when she was alive... The difference is that I was 5 years old... The fertility stone is a metaphor for artificial insemination... Chariot and Croix used it to make their twins... Do you happen to know that Croix is Trans? She froze her sperm before starting the treatment, maybe they said that to cheer you up... - I end up saying it in a too cold way, I shouldn't exaggerate too much, but when Akko believes in something she becomes very attached to it.

- Ah... I forgot this detail, but they told me it was the fertility stone, Chariot even said that in her family's residence there is one of the relics to be made and the other one is in yours... - She said until I finished completing it.

- And the stone of love, which is made with a kiss of love in a cave north of here... I know, I know, I know this story very well my love... No need to repeat it... If there really was such a thing, don't you think it would be full of lesbian witch couples? Or that I wouldn't be in this dilemma right now? Sorry for the words, my love... But I don't want to break your hope... Love even if we used artificial insemination, there is still something that gets in my way, here in the Cavendish family residence only children who are manufactured here and born here can take the place of the family, so even if we had a daughter, or adopted one she and the whole lineage would never take my place... It could even cause a death; she would risk her life love.... So sorry - I say almost in tears, I even put my hand on Akko's shoulder, but she just seemed to ignore all that, as if she didn't give a damn, it didn't even seem that this girl with eyes like rubies, would turn 20 years old?

POV Akko:

Ah, what a drag! Diana is still stubborn and closed-minded and doesn't believe in things! Nothing is impossible for magic, if we even managed to turn even other animals temporarily, saved the world from a missile that was going at a speed that could kill us, went to space and the radiation up there didn't kill us and yet she still thinks it's just a legend... Holy shit.

- Nothing is impossible for magic Diana! Believe it! Stop being so annoying and stubborn! - I said, inflating my cheeks and getting angry.

- The only boring and stubborn one here is you! Akko, honestly stop being so stubborn to think that magic changes everything... If it did, I wouldn't be in this situation... Ah... What the hell... Why... Why are you so Akko, why don't you think a little more realistically? - I said to Cavenboring trying to leave my dreams aside, but you know what, I'm not going to fill the patience of the perfect and correct lady.

- Oh you know what? Fuck it, I don't want to argue over nonsense like that, keep up this lack of belief in things, I still think the fertility stone is real, I won't change your Cavenboring thinking and you won't change mine, um! - I say turning my face and leaving the office, until the boring cabbage opens its mouth again.

- Akko, you can't keep turning your face to the problems like that, you're already 19 years old, how will Shiny Akko be if you keep behaving like a child - said Cavenboring being Cavenboring as always, I just ignored and left the office, as soon as I passed by the door I got a fright with the door, I have no doubt that Diana has used a spell to knock with force and got angry, play nice, but gets angry too.

I inflate my cheeks and lean against the doors with my arms crossed, all I could think about was how boring Diana always was, she wanted to be neat and methodical with everything, it didn't even seem like we saved the world together, it didn't even seem like she really believes that with magic she can do anything, she even seemed like boring Finnelan.

POV Diana:

Oh, what the hell! Because I had to fight with Akko... I didn't want to be so hard on her, but it seems that Akko doesn't mature, this way it's hard to help her with this dream of becoming Shiny Akko, I think I'll try to relax a little, then I'll talk to Akko... I'll try to relax, I can't work with my head like this... I still have to see how I'm going to maintain my savings...

I sit down in my armchair, open my laptop, where I start to open on the bank's website, but I was not in the mood to even think of any smart way to get more money, we were only with enough to maintain the huge mansion and pay the employees... I didn't want to rent it because it is a traditional place and it has a lot of things that can break and are precious... Oh fuck, I'm not in the mood to think about that right now.

On an impulse I decide to procrastinate a little, I open the internet and immediately go to the video site, where on the home page there was a video that interested me a lot on the official channel of the World Broom Racing Championship competition... I remember that as a child I dreamed of one day being a broom racer like Laura McLaren... How ironic to see that there is going to be a replay of the 1991 Irish GP, I think I will watch it to cheer up the nerves, Laura McLaren was amazing in that race, she became champion with 5 races to go.... I don't know why, but every time I talk about her I have good memories... As if she was someone familiar... I don't know, maybe it's just me having memories from when I was a kid, I know my mom liked broom races...

POV Akko:

I had been leaning against that door for a long time, I don't have to waste my time... Diana must have gone to relieve her nerves, if she did that I should do it too... I take a deep breath, look at one of the paintings in the corridor, being one of her mother, and start to talk to myself, I don't know why. I felt like I wanted to talk to the painting as if it was going to answer me.

- Ahh... My mother-in-law... Why is your daughter so complicated like this... So much we learned in Luna Nova, so much we learned, but she doesn't want to believe in the fertility stone... What do I do? Give me some sign - At the moment I say this the picture of Diana's mother disassembles the bottom part and the part that was her picture starts to fly.

It could only be a ghost, not surprising since this mansion is full of them, would this be the one of Diana's mother, I don't know... All I know is that I better get this picture right away or someone will notice that if it's lost I could be in trouble, if someone realizes that the picture of Diana's mother has been damaged... I don't want to go two weeks without loving my wife.... Diana always takes her punishment hard...

I go running after that damn picture, but it kept flying and very fast, sure it was a ghost.... I didn't have my wand in hand, I didn't even learn spells without a wand, I still have things to perfect. Fucking fast picture... I have to get there soon or I will be lost.... Come on Akko take it.

I kept following that fucking picture through the halls of the mansion, I even suspected it might be a prank by Amalie or Alicia, but they barely knew how to use a wand and were two years old, maybe it was her mother or her copy sister? Or even the cow of the grandmother of those two wanting to make me look ridiculous. Whatever it is I feel I have to get this damn picture.

Until the picture makes a turn, and a very strong wind hits a door that opens and through it the picture of Diana's mother comes in, I followed what I could, until I jumped on the bed that was in the room and caught the air, only I didn't realize that I was right in front of a closet, this makes me bump into everything in the closet, and right after that a photo album falls on top of my head and along with it one of the pictures comes out of that album, getting right in front of my face.

When I took that picture of the face, I went into shock, it was Diana's mother, with a redhead and a baby, I think it must be little Cavenchata, I'm sure, the two of them had rings on their fingers, they were similar rings from what I noticed, I was just thinking that it was just bullshit, since Diana's mother had to have only one friend, I remember she already showed a picture of her father? By the way, what a scurvy little fellow... Sorry Diana, but he abandoned his mother when she was sick and depressed, just because the Cavendish family was struggling? A shame, but at the same time no... Who died the following year... He had a daughter and a wife and didn't take care of...

I stopped thinking about Diana's family, since I didn't want to waste my time with this kind of nonsense, so I made sure to look at the back of the picture, since it was quite common for this kind of album picture to have some text, since it was in a place it shouldn't be... Why not take advantage of my curiosity to read and go through these things. Let's hope that nobody catches me at least...

"Goodbye Bernadette... I love you so much my love.... Daryl went too far, she shouldn't have done that.... Save this picture at least for the day we are healed, take good care of our daughter Diana... This will be our last photo before my return... This will never be a goodbye, but a goodbye... With all the love in the world L.M 01/09/2001."

I turned white, I turned a stone, I was in shock, I was without reaction.... L.M.... This redhead must be L.M, it can't be Diana's father, since his name is James and so who would this L.M be? What do you mean daughter? Our daughter on top of that! Does that mean that... Ah Diana... She has a lot of explaining to do now... Wait a minute... That makes Diana the fruit of a couple of women... But was L.M. trans? Just like Croix? Or is the fertility stone real? Ahhh! I don't know... I'm going to believe the second one a lot.... May the second one be real.... I really want to be a mother! I want Diana to come to me and tell me that she was right... But is this L.M. alive? Neither of Diana's parents are alive...

I could even make a surprise for Diana.... If L.M. is alive I might actually get a point out of it... Oh, let's go through this photo album some more while I'm here... Ah... Now that I noticed, it is the room of that hideous carpet that Diana loves, it even looks like it was made by a seven year old child, that unicorn, Beatrix looks beautiful, but that unicorn looks like a skinny horse with one horn... Hahahaha... Let's stop fooling around... I want to see if there are more pictures.

I stay for a few minutes looking at each picture, I didn't even have a notion of time, but I knew that at some point I had to stop, that L.M. is very beautiful, very cute, she is even familiar, I remember that Diana has already watched a very boring broomstick racing documentary movie with her... Bleh, now I remembered, it is just a broomstick race around a track, it doesn't have a maneuver or anything, what's the fun of seeing the same thing you have with a car on a broomstick? What was the name of it again? I don't remember... It was something to do with cars, that I am sure, but I have to say that they are very cute together, I never thought that Diana had another mother, I will believe it, but I really need to know who she is, it can help me with my plan.

I close that album and take a picture using my cell phone, of that picture where the two mothers of Diana and the little Cavenboring were, after taking the picture I put the cell phone in my pocket, besides also putting everything in place, I take out a wand that was in that room and use a spell that repairs all the shelves in the closet, besides also taking the picture of the cabbage mother of my little girlfriend so cute, but as soon as I leave the room, I end up unintentionally running into Diana's aunt's cow, she as always with that slutty look of hers.

- What are you doing here? - said the snake that kept looking at me with disgust.

- Nothing, nothing that is of interest to you... Diana just asked me to come... - I said trying to lie, but that damn thing completes me.

- To my sister's room? What would be in Bernadette's room that would interest Diana? And you have no respect for someone who has died, you don't just walk into the room of a person who has died here, have more respect for... - Said Diana's aunt trying to act saintly and correct, but I quickly retorted that snake.

- Just as you had respect for her when she was alive? Or when you wanted to sell the family's things, without even respecting your sister's memory - I retort in the best way, leaving that snake clenching its fists in anger.

- Listen here, you little brat! Who do you think you are to talk to me like that? Just because you have the protection of my niece, that doesn't give you the right to retort like that. If it weren't for her I'd poison you until you regret saying such things. - Said that cow trying to scare me, I just walked away ignoring her, returning from where I had seen the picture of Diana's mother flying away.

POV Diana:

These minutes watching the 1991 Irish GP really made me feel better, even more seeing how Laura McLaren is an amazing racer, she outdoes herself at every turn, it made me have a nostalgic feeling, when I was a kid and watched it with my mom... She would always put on these races that she liked to watch, and I would watch along because it was always nice to see mom smiling and getting out of bed every once in a while, she would rarely crack a smile or two...

Well, I guess I'll go see Akko, she must have eased her nerves, I just really hope she doesn't come out and talk about that fertility stone thing again, but if she does that's fine, I'll just ignore Akko's childishness.

I get up, close my laptop, go to the door and as soon as I open it, I am faced with Akko putting a picture, I think it was of my mother, back into a frame, I would get angry due to my girlfriend being clumsy, breaking a picture, even more so of my mother, but I will leave it aside, Akko being Akko....

- Ah... Diana! I... A ghost, a ghost knocked over your mother's picture and ended up making it fall - She said trying to invent some excuse, but I believed her a little, after all I know there are ghosts around here, I just don't understand why Akko stayed all the time here in front, poor my love.

- Ah yes a ghost, but I appreciate you trying to tidy up this mess, let's have some lunch love.... Sorry for being a bit thick.... - I said trying to make Akko feel better, who smiled at me and hugged me.

I go with my girlfriend to the dining room where we stayed for lunch, there was my aunt, cousins and the two pests, I mean... Amalie and Alicia... They are not pests; they are just influenced by their mother and grandmother... Poor things... Why do you have such an upbringing... It's a sin, really...

The minutes go by, I was eating normally next to my girlfriend Akko, she always being sweet and giving me food in my mouth, sometimes we even exchanged a few kisses, as always, my aunt being a killjoy, or she stopped the kisses telling us not to do it or she kept covering the faces of the two girls so as not to influence them. I don't understand why this is necessary, we are in new times, she was just being retrograde. This made me nervous, those two are children, they have to be influenced to think in a new way, not like this...

POV Akko:

Lunch was like every other lunch at the mansion, I always tried to be affectionate and cute, sometimes exchanging cuddles with Diana, but that snake of Diana's aunt was always a pain in the ass, getting ahead, stalling any kiss from us... I was getting pretty tired of this, it was every lunch and dinner, I just wish I could slap that old woman in the face, make her swallow that awful green lipstick she wears every hour, even at lunchtime.

When lunch was over, I went with Diana through the hallways, taking her to the office again, I gave my girlfriend a kiss and then went to my room, where I started going through my cell phone, I had the picture of that L.M. in hand, all I needed to do was use the image search. I used an editor cropping that photo, where I left only the redhead and then I used the search.

"Laura McLaren"

"Former Broom Racer"

It was the one, I was already suspicious, the initials and the person in the picture really matched, but how would I find this Laura and talk to her, surely she must be an important person in the world of witches? Four feet ten! How short hahaha, this woman is shorter than Constanze, how did such a short woman make Diana, people, Diana is almost a pole...

"Laura McLaren is a former broom racer, known as the flying irish, shortie, designer racer, the queen, raced from 1991 until 2001 in the World Broom Racing Championship, Eight time champion winning titles in the 1991, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999, 2000 and 2001 seasons, she was quite remarkable for how dominant and extremely skilled she was on a broom, she is known to be many times the greatest broom racer in history.... Worldpedia"

"Birth: January 14, 1972 (Age 49), Dublin, Ireland"

"Height: 1.47m"

"Victories: 109"

"Titles: 8 (1991-1995-1996-1997-1998-1999-2000-2001)"

"First race: Brazilian GP 1991"

"Last race: Australian GP 2001"

"See more..."

After a quick read of that information I realized that this was a very important witch, not for nothing that Diana had admiration for her, but how am I going to talk to Laura McLaren if she is such an influential witch? When I was younger I tried to talk to Chariot on the Internet, but I just kept talking to myself. Famous people like that don't use the profile with the most followers to talk to people. Well, let's have a look, maybe this Laura McLaren is not that famous.

I went on Witcher, Laura McLaren's profile had about 4 million followers, and it's still a verified profile, outside that the DM is not open, so you don't even have a chance to get it on the Witcher profile. Let's look at Istagraph... It's also the same thing, she has 800,000 followers on that one and still has the DM blocked... How the fuck am I going to find this woman's personal profile?

Ah! That's it Akko, I'm great! The girls! I'll talk to them and see if they can help me with this! Maybe Constanze will know a way, she is so clever with this kind of thing...

I get my cell phone, go to the Witchsapp application, I keep running my finger through the contact bar, I soon notice that Constanze's contact, was without a profile picture, I assumed it was blocked, I imagine Constanze is not one to talk to me much... Luckily I could talk to one of her girlfriends. I was sure that they would talk to me, especially since they were both closer to me.

"Amanda"

This I will talk to Amanda, she is online as far as I can see, I really hope she will help me, I don't waste any time and immediately take care of sending her a message.

[Akko: Sup].

[Amanda: What’s the matter Akko?]

Akko: Sorry, did I get in the way of something? I need a little help].

[Amanda: Kind of obvious, you wouldn't end up calling me unless it was to ask for a favor. What did you get up to this time?]

[Akko: Gee, you think I call you just to ask for favors?]

[Amanda: Oh fuck, just say what you want].

[Akko: I won't waste time here, but I wanted some help more specifically from Constanze, can you find this woman's personal profile here].

I send the cropped photo of Laura to Amanda, I don't doubt at all that she was in shock, even more so since being a witch, she must have known that woman.

[Amanda: Laura McLaren? Seriously Akko? Hahahahaha! What's so interesting that you want to find the personal profile of a famous witch? I don't know if Cons will make it, but if she blocks you it's not my fault].

[Akko: Ah thank you so much for the strength Amanda].

[Amanda: Ah you're welcome, but tell me, what made you interested in wanting to find Laura McLaren's personal profile?]

[Akko: It's a secret Amanda, a very personal secret].

Amanda: ah so if that's the case I won't ask Cons to help you.

[Akko: Fuck you old man, it's very personal indeed].

[Amanda: Akko, I'm going to ask Cons to invade someone's personal life, it may be a famous person, but it's still a person, did you know that we can even go to jail for giving out someone's personal number? So don't give me that little secret, I promise I'll keep it to myself].

Seeing Amanda's message makes me a little afraid, but I think for a moment, I think I'll trust her this time, I hope she doesn't spread the word to anyone about it.

[Akko: Amanda, that woman is Diana's other mother].

[Amanda: Hahahaha! What? Another mother? What kind of story is this? Where did you get this nonsense from Akko, how ridiculous, do you still believe that fertility stone thing that Professor Chariot said when she had Sarah and Violet? Akko Professor Croix is trans, they used Croix's frozen sperm].

[Akko: This is serious Amanda! Oh fuck you, bitch! I thought I could trust someone with this].

I was bubbling over with anger and all Amanda would answer me was three little dots, but right away she tells me that she will help, no matter how ridiculous I thought this idea was, or what I ended up thinking, I would finally get help for my plan. All that remained was to wait.

After talking to Amanda I decide to start a Live Stream playing Super Mario World, it was a silly challenge to finish the game 100% without dying, but I always failed for one silly thing or another, it was nice to interact with the public, sometimes donations came out and that helped a lot with my project of becoming Shiny Akko, besides guaranteeing a livelihood in case things get tight, it was not because I was dating a noblewoman that I have to be dependent on her money, I do very well on my own.

POV Diana:

The time at work went by, it was a real bore I would say, nothing to do, just trying to find ways to get some extra money, but that Home Office service was spending me a lot, I knew that in the end it would only be enough to pay the salaries of the employees and maybe the food... My aunt doesn't even help, she only lives at the expense of others, thinking that she will still catch a rich man and get money... Her daughters are not much different... Maril already got the rich guy, but for how long? I don't doubt that they will divorce soon, I never really liked that guy...

After an exhausting day of work, it was already eight o'clock in the evening, dinner time arrives, I stop my work for the day as well, I am greeted by two knocks on the door, I soon allow this person to enter.

As usual it was Akko, holding up his cell phone and showing me the time and that it was 8:00 PM.

- I know, Akko, I know, it's time, I have to stop. All that's left is for you to pull me out of this chair. - I say as Akko comes over to me and sits on my lap, it doesn't take long and our lips soon meet, she was all needy and cute, I loved to see my Akko like this, so cute.

- Ah if you stay longer I'll do it anyway, I don't care, you have to pay attention to your little love, if it wasn't for this adult life shit I would want to spend the rest of my days dedicated only to be by your side giving you love - She said giving me affection, I admit I really wanted this, but unfortunately real life is not like that, we have our responsibilities.

- Who wouldn't want love? Obviously we have more important things, if I could stay all day just cuddling next to you, while we watch reruns of Shiny Chariot shows in our pillow fort eating caramel popcorn... - I say, causing Akko to get a gleam in her eye, to think that we actually did that the first few times she visited me, I admit it was pretty cool.

- Love I got nine very large donations today, three of fifty dollars, one of seventy pounds, four of one hundred pounds and one of 250 Euros, today yielded enough, failed well in the world of stars that anger! I even spent the whole Tubular without dying, without blue yoshi, but that damn plant hit right on the edge, I feel like throwing the control to the wall - she said, passing the frustrations of Super Mario, she is still playing this game without dying, it would be funny to get it first time, but I'm not one to lose the whole day playing.

- Oh good baby, soon, you can do it, I believe in you, how about we go to the bedroom, do a little something we haven't done in a long time huh? - I say blushing trying to give an extra mood to Akko.

- Are you going to make a pillow fort and caramelized popcorn? Are we going to watch some cartoons too? Can I choose? - she said, stalling the whole mood and my desire for something more intense. I still wonder how she is 19 and how we did it the other times...

- That's almost it... But it could be too, but let's have dinner before that, Anna must have prepared some delicacy for us - I say trying to make Akko forget that nonsense.

We went to dinner, Anna prepared some macaroni and cheese for us, it was as phenomenal as ever, I love her food... I really hope I can raise enough money to keep her working here, even if it means selling something or other. After dinner I went with Akko to the bedroom, still wanting something more, since I was very much in the mood.

The two of us went into the bathroom together and the next thing really happened, Akko was always very strange, I never knew when she was in the mood for it, but she clearly knew every time she was in the mood for it, after our bath was too hot, we both lay down on the bed and I went to watch some television, luckily there was something that interested me a lot, it was recommended a video about the Top 10 highlights of Laura Mclaren's career, as you can imagine Akko wouldn't want to watch it, so much so that I saw her soon get her cell phone.

Akko POV:

From the looks of it she is going to watch more boring broomstick racing videos, wait a minute.... Laura McLaren... I remember I mentioned her earlier today... Oh yeah! Holy lesbian Beatrix! I can't be that dumb! The fucking plan I made earlier! Did Amanda make it? Well, let's see.

I glance at Diana, she looks back at me and smiles, I return the smile, it looked like she wanted to say she wanted another round of what happened in the shower, I love to use my naivety to make her think I'm silly hehe, she'll never find out. I unlock the cell phone screen, and start to look through the messages.

As usual normal messages, from my mother, Diana... Oh I didn't even do what she asked today, I forgot to get her coffee... It was love... Chariot, Dad, Amanda! That's the one I wanted to know about... Hmmm let's see what she answered me.... It was three hours ago, apparently.

[Amanda: Hey bootleg Shiny Chariot, Constanze got Laura McLaren's personal number, she told me it wasn't that hard, but look, be careful with the messages, she might block you and this idiotic plan of yours go down the drain, I don't know if you know her well, but Laura McLaren was also known for being a little thick, so much so that I used to mirror her a little when I was younger].

[Amanda: +353 01 919 7281]

[Amanda: Remember that it is always good not to risk too much, if she blocks you there is no problem, just ask Cons to give you another chip, I will not charge for this one, since I imagine it is a surprise you have planned for Diana... Enjoy your adventure, then tell me if it worked out. Bye sis].

Fuck, I am even impressed, they got it so fast, if she is that fast to find the number of a famous person, then imagine to get mine, or imagine just to hack our things ... Holy shit, I'll never call Constanze a tampon again, after this I'll think twice even... Well... Come on Akko. The long awaited moment has arrived, Diana is too busy with her boring documentary...

I copy the number and put in Laura McLaren's contact name, as soon as I get this number I notice that there was no picture, but she really did have an account on the app, I take a deep breath, since that would be my moment.

[Akko: Hello]

I have never in my life felt so nervous about sending just a meager "Hello", I don't know why, but it seemed very intimidating, as if I had destroyed the entire Cavendish family mansion and had to explain Diana... I just hope everything works out.... I hope she answers me too, since I'm too far away.... Let's go!

[????? Hello? How the fuck did you get my number? If you are some crazy fan know that I'll give you 2 minutes before I block you, explain if well, surprise me].

Holy lesbian Beatrix, she comes right out with this bucket of cold water on me, I better answer soon if I don't want to throw all this progress in the trash, but what do I do? For the first time in my life I really have to think before I act... I'll explain to her in a quick way.

[Akko: Please, I really need your help Mrs. McLaren, my name is Atsuko Kagari, better known as Akko, I am Diana Cavendish's girlfriend, and I have a very big suspicion about you, I found this picture here and I'm thinking that... You are Diana's mother].

I send the message along with the picture of her next to Diana's mother and also the little cabbage cub, I hope it really works out, because I couldn't think of a better way to respond....

POV Laura:

What the fuck is this? Fuck! I... Fucking hell... For the fucking nine Lesbian Witches... How come a bomb like this comes today? Wait a minute girlfriend? My little girl is a lesbian just like her mother! That's so cute! But wait a minute... How did she find this out? How did she find this picture? By the nine lesbian witches... Does Diana know? Does she come here? Fuck! Now that the house has fallen for me... I've waited years for this moment, but I didn't imagine it would come so fast... I really wanted to keep this secret... Especially since Bernadette died... She would never be accepted in the Cavendish mansion, even with the curse broken and also Diana will never accept a mother who abandoned her for so many years? Better answer this girl soon.

[Laura: I don't know how the fuck you found this picture, I don't know who the fuck you are, I don't know what the fuck you want... But holy shit, you are very smart little girl, yeah... If you are really Diana's girlfriend then send me a picture].

[Akko: Ah you answered me, nice, okay I'll send you a picture, she's on my side now].

The brat takes a picture of her next to Diana, I almost cry when I see my daughter, the girl was big, she was no longer the little baby I used to hold in my arms... Wait a minute... Damn this girl is the same one that was flying with my Diana that day of the missile! I remember it well! It was on TV! Holy shit... She is very cute and cute even, she looks like she is clumsy and silly, I don't know why, I felt that about her.

[Laura: Okay, brat, I'll trust you not to block your number, I just want to know one thing... Are you treating my daughter well, because if not I'm going to come over there and pull your ears. Fuck you if you saved the country with the fucking Claiomh Solais].

[Akko: Hahahah! You are quite funny, but relax; Diana is very well with me, she is very happy by my side.... And I'm honored to see that you know about that].

[Laura: Is quite obvious, how come nobody was seeing two crazy girls on a broomstick flying towards a nuclear missile? Only a fucking person who lives in a fucking cave, which is not my fucking case, so yes, I fucking saw you, I also saw my daughter's psycho beating your fucking ass that day, I already suspected something, but I didn't know you were fucking girlfriends... I am happy for you guys... But answering your theory is... I am Diana's biological mother, just like Bernadette, you want to know how? Simple the fertility stone].

POV Akko:

I started to have a panic of joy, that woman sent right to the can, old cock, I've known this Laura for two minutes and I already consider her my best friend... I love this mother-in-law... Oh shit, I hope Diana hasn't noticed my sudden reaction.

I look to the side and notice that in fact Diana had practically fallen asleep, how cute, I think the day was very exhausting for my love... I cuddle her and, besides making her more comfortable in bed, I give her a little kiss on the forehead, just as I start talking to Laura again. I wanted to know more, who knows also my plan would work out.

[Akko: So the fertility stone is real?]

[Laura: Fucking sure, I know step by step how to do it, I have one now on my necklace, I always treasure it...]

Laura takes a picture and shows me the fertility stone, as well as her face... Holy lesbian Beatrix, she is not 49 years old, she is well preserved... Woah... That's why Diana is so beautiful! The eyes are Laura's... I always knew, Bernadette is the only Cavendish different, she had green eyes... While everyone here has blue eyes... Besides Diana's eyes are the same as hers... They are quite different from the eyes of the others.... I have to say that this Laura and Bernadette made the real divinity... If the fertility stone is real, then it really means that it is not a metaphor for artificial insemination.

[Akko: I don't know what to say Miss McLaren... You killed all my doubts at once, I knew that the fertility stone was real, if Diana is the fruit of the fertility stone and is the current leader of the family... That means that you made her here in the Cavendish family residence].

[Laura: Of course, where do you think I would make out with Bernadette? A girl like you is 19 years old? Forget it, I want to know why you called me, your motivations... And also how you got to this point].

This Laura has a coarse way of being... Like Amanda was mirrored in her, holy shit, she's like Amanda only ten times sharp tongued... She is literally all of Diana's crude side... It makes sense now, but a Diana who cusses ten thousand words a word, I've never seen someone so foul mouthed like that.

[Akko: Miss McLaren... I was this morning arguing with Diana when a wind takes a picture of Diana's mother, so I kind of followed, that picture led to her room, where I bumped into a closet, the picture fell on my face and I was in shock to see that picture, Bernadette, you and Diana together, plus a whole album where the two of you were together.... I also read your entire message that was behind the photo.... It was very cute... But what did Diana's aunt do that was so bad?]

POV Laura:

What a mess... So it was a photo... Bernadette obviously played with this girl, there is no other, but that was not her room, Bern did not keep these things in her room, the room where the tapestry was actually the first room of Diana ... I guess you made those aren't you my love... I have to stop thinking about these things... I'll go crazy, but I'm already crazy... Do I trust to explain to this brat what happened? I don't want to explain this by message... I think I will have to take this measure.

[Laura: Do you want to know what really happened? I'll only tell you if you come here in Ireland, it's something that's better told in person.... Before all this... Does Diana know? Does Daryl know anything?]

[Akko: I haven't told Diana yet, I intended to surprise the lady by revealing myself to you being her mother, plus it would show that the fertility stone was real all along... Daryl only saw me leave Bernadette's room, I managed to disguise it well... No one but a friend of mine knows that you are Diana's mother... And even that friend of mine discredited me, so kind of yes, that secret is safe].

Great! Things will be better this way... So I can really trust this girl... Probably her friend is the person who got my number, I don't doubt it at all, I hope no one expose my number; otherwise I'll be mad as fucking hell...

[Laura: Great, so come to the Mclaren family residence tomorrow morning, don't arrive before 10 o'clock in the morning, otherwise I'll make you swallow your magic, I won't miss my beauty sleep].

[Akko: Okay, I'll come, just send me the address, I'll find a way to go alone, after all I don't want any suspicions to come my way].

I send my address to the little brat, although I don't even need it, all I had to do was look it up on the Internet for the location of my house, since everyone knows where McLaren lives, but I am relieved that the girl is so naïve.

POV Akko:

After this conversation with Laura McLaren I felt relieved, I have to admit that she is very nice and a bit sharp tongued, I could see that a lot, I really hope that everything goes well... Now I'm going to play for a while, maybe sleep... I am one step away from making this surprise real...

I was playing Minecraft until about two o'clock in the morning, I practically lost track of time, playing in a world that I made with Diana, I was kind of mining a little and adventuring, when I least realized I was getting sleepy. So I decided to stop playing, turned off our video game and went to sleep, giving Diana a little kiss on the forehead as usual.

It was nine o'clock in the morning, I got up, this time Diana was beside me, she was getting changed, and I patted her on the butt just to let her know I was awake, hehe.

- A slap on the hotness! Yes baby thank you! - I say after slapping that hottie ass, Diana quickly turns around and puts her hand on her face, a bit flushed.

- Akko! - she said embarrassed.

Soon I stand up and give Diana a hug from behind as she finishes changing, when she finishes changing I get a little kiss on the forehead, after this little kiss I point to my mouth, signaling that she should kiss my lips, which Cavenboring does, after the kiss I go to the closet where I choose an outfit.

A white T-shirt, shorts, an orange overcoat, a scarf and finally a pair of boots, an outfit very similar to the one I wore the day I went to Luna Nova the first time.

- Where are you going so dressed up? - She said, already suspicious that I was going out, while I was thinking of a way to answer Diana, I had to be very spontaneous.

- Ah love I'm going... To Ireland... Yes! I'm going to Ireland to visit someone... - I say, still trying to think of how to wind Diana up, but she stared at me as if I were lying. - I sort of got called to go there, it's a sewing friend of mine from... Luna Nova! - I say this until she completes me.

- Akko, in all those years it doesn't have an Irish student in Luna Nova, if you're going to lie about leaving without me, at least lie properly... Let me see something... Are you going out with your friends to fool around... Or with him? - She said talking as if Andrew was a real criminal, I really don't understand how she has this jealousy of Andrew, he is fucking gay.

- That's it, I'm going out to prepare a surprise for you, but as you always ruin surprises, it's no fun... What a shit - I say inflating my cheeks, fucking Atsuko Kagari, every day you excel in acting, I really deserved an Oscar after this.

- Awwww, don't be like that honey, I know you try these surprises, but you don't have to react like that, try to act better... - She said, caressing me. That's all I needed, Diana believed in my acting, I kind of accidentally made her believe in something else, perfect.

She gives me another little kiss and we go to the kitchen where we go for breakfast, as usual it was pancakes, I love pancakes. We eat for a while until after breakfast I give Diana a kiss and tell her I was leaving, she waved at me and said goodbye.

I take my broom and start to float, saying the spell "Tia Freyre". With the broom floating, I put on the cell phone holder and activate the GPS, setting the destination to the McLaren family's residence, according to the address I entered.

"7h 13 min"

"470 km"

How absurd! This is all by car, but I'm on a broom, so I'd better change the route format here to broom. Yes, the distance has been greatly reduced! Now it's just flying towards Dublin in Ireland.

"350 km"

I think it will take a bit of broom time, I think maybe an hour.... That's the most I can fly going on a broomstick without being scared to death or using up all my magic, so let's go! From Edinburgh to Dublin! Farewell Scotland and hello Ireland!

Diana POV:

Akko left, but said in a very dirty way that she was going to Ireland, I really think she just went to Germany to Constanze's house, maybe to visit Amanda or else she went to visit Lotte in Finland, or maybe she went to Loperèc to visit Chariot and Croix, it's been a while since she visited the two twins... I don't know, I just hope Akko is okay, at least this time she will let me know before she leaves... I have taught this girl well.

Without Akko at least I could work in peace, take advantage of the fact that today is a Friday and I only work until five o'clock, so today is perfect... Well, let's go, today is going to be a day of rest, I really hope Akko doesn't get into any trouble. As soon as I go up to the office I take the opportunity to check my cell phone, to see if anyone has sent me any messages.

[Hannah: Hey Diana, Avery and I are going to Karaoke tonight, do you want to come? Just come down here in England, we'll have some fun, have a cold one, you know... Call Akko, she's funny, even if she doesn't drink, she's a comedian... I have called Barbara and Lotte to come, Amanda, Jasminka and Constanze will also come, even the weird Sucy will come, only you and Akko are missing].

That would be nice, but I'm not really up for it, I want to use this Friday for a more private surprise between me and Akko, you know? I want to do something we haven't done in years, that pillow fort gave me a great idea, it's very childish, but I'm sure my Akko will love it, and I don't know, I won't enjoy it that much. Even more I don't like that Avery girl, I never really did.

[Diana: Ah Hannah, thank you so much, but I don't think it's going to work out, friend, these days are very exhausting for me, also Akko left this morning, I don't know where she went, but it must be some surprise, so I think I'll stay here in Scotland].

[Hannah: Ah Diana, come on stop being such a pain, take advantage that Akko is not here and go out with us, I'll buy drinks for all of us including pizzas as well... So what do you think?].

[Diana: Hannah, you know I don't drink, I will refuse friend, my sincere apologies, but enjoy the day with you guys out there, it's not as if our presence is the most desired thing in the world].

[Hannah: Okay, Diana, okay, but tell me... Do you have the number of that handsome guy, your cousin? It would be interesting to call him here].

[Diana: Hannah, you're engaged to Avery and Andrew is gay, you're not going to get anything out of this, by the way, I don't have his number, you know I don't like that guy, Akko does.]

Hannah after that message just sent me an emote with her thumb sign up, I bet she was a bit mad that I didn't agree to go out with her and the girls, now great, they'll think I'm an asshole because I refused to go out, but I don't care, Hannah has been very annoying lately, she has been since the time she picked on Akko.

After answering Hannah the best way I could think of, I decided to start working for today, I knew I was going to have a full day filling more and more spreadsheets, just thinking about it makes my wrists hurt, but what can I do... This is the way I found to give a little more money to the Cavendish family.

POV Laura:

I was waking up in the morning, got out of bed and looked at myself in the mirror, I was a little bit disheveled, looking at the mirror, my long red hair needed to see a comb, so I tried to really comb it, I imagine I would have a long day, I make sure to check my messages and soon I notice an interesting one.

[Akko: I'm coming to Ireland; I'll be there in an hour].

Oh great, the little brat will be here in half an hour, it seems she didn't obey me much with what I said about not coming here before 10 o'clock in the morning, at least today I woke up a little earlier, but how stubborn this girl is, well come on, I can't go out in a robe with these tits waving around.

I take a T-shirt, pants, and my light blue slippers, as well as my necklace with the fertility stone. If Bernadette hadn't left this would be the stone that would make our second daughter... Hellene... Why... Why did you have to leave my love... I miss you so much... Bern...

I hugged nothing as always, thinking that one day that hug would lead to something... But it always came to nothing... All I wanted most was to be with Bernadette now... But let's keep our posture, after all that girl is going to come, I have to show her that I am strong...

I go downstairs and soon run into my sister Chelsea and my niece Holly, they were both in the kitchen eating waffles, I soon sit down at the table with them...

- Good morning girls! - I say until they both smile at me and answer.

- Good morning sis," Chelsea said.

- Good morning Aunt Laura," Holly said.

- So girls, today we are going to have a visitor - I say while they remain unresponsive - Atsuko Kagari, she is my daughter's girlfriend... Diana... I think you have seen her, that little brunette girl who was on the broom with my daughter with Bernadette." I say until they both stare at me dumbfounded, Holly holding a piece of waffle and Chelsea almost overflowing a cup of coffee, which I had to use magic to keep it from spilling all over the table.

- What is it? What the fuck is this Laura? You're kidding, aren't you? - Said Chelsea as if a truck had run over her. What an honor to finally have the courage to reveal yourself to Diana, I thought I would stay 20 years without doing anything.

- Yes Chelsea, but only Diana's girlfriend is coming.... - I say, answering her.

- Wait a minute, Auntie... You mean the brunette who was on the broom? She is amazing! She's a great friend of mine in Witcher! We always talk about the Shiny Chariot... She's awesome! - Said Holly, as usual that girl was a fan of the little Chariot... Lucky for us we went to her concerts during the beginning of her career, before all those crazy concerts where she was suspected of stealing magic.

- That's her... But yes Chelsea, it is very likely that this girl wants to push me to go to Diana, I don't doubt it at all... - I even say that Chelsea completes me.

- You can't spend your whole life sitting on the couch sucking your tits, Diana will fight with you anyway, your daughter was abandoned for 20 years... There's no use in waiting... What would Bernadette do? Besides, you can save the Cavendish family, I know they are in a bad way financially... That bitch Daryl will have to accept your help or not. Why didn't you have her arrested when she did that nasty shit to you? - She said again, going back to that subject.

- Don't fucking fill me up! I know that, I know I could have done all that.... But I just want to forget it and move on.... - I say trying to make Chelsea stop bringing this up, but she was kind of right, even after 20 years I never stopped thinking about Bernadette for a day... I still have the ring on my finger and always will, my one true love is Bernadette Cavendish...

POV Akko:

I was arriving in Dublin, with only 10 more minutes to go, I was already getting very tired of flying at 350 km/h in a straight line, the icy wind, the pain in my arms... How can a witch who races with brooms stand this, it is much worse to fly a broom when you are at high speed... When I was flying with Diana I always stayed behind and didn't feel all this... Actually this is the first time I have traveled this far alone on a broomstick...

The time went by and I could see the city from far away, after flying so much I was finally close, what a relief... It doesn't take long and soon I am getting closer and closer until I was in Dublin, I follow the GPS to where it was indicating the McLaren family's residence, little by little I get closer and I find myself in a more rural area of the city, also with a wall around it, I pass by it, since my interest was only in the house.

I am even perplexed, the woman was eight times world champion and practically considered a local heroine and lives in a big house, but nothing on the castle level where the Cavendish live, it was a big house with about four or five floors, it looked a lot like big houses in American movies, I soon approach the door and ring the bell, as soon as it rings I wait a little.

Who attends me is a redheaded girl and she was quite short, about Constanze's size I would say, she nods to me smiling, as if she knows me before, so I nod back.

- Hi Akko Kagari! I don't think you know me that way, but you must know me from Witches, I'm Holly Chariot Stan! - she said smiling at me... And wow, she is Holly, I recognize her now, from her profile picture which was a drawing you could tell she drew herself and pretty true to how she is in life I would say.

- Holly? Ah yes! Holly! Girl... Wow! You are amazing Holly, you are one of the few people we can talk about Shiny Chariot without anyone disturbing us, what a coincidence that you live right here. - I say answering her and right after giving her a hug, I wanted so much to hug that girl, I blush a little because I felt her breasts a little, which were not small at all under mine... Wait a second... If Holly is related to Laura McLaren that makes her related to Diana! What a fuck up! Now that I stopped to think about it.

After this hug we looked at each other for a while and soon Holly took me to the kitchen, where when I arrived I found two familiar faces, one was someone I had seen on television before and the other was Laura McLaren... I am in the middle of a family of famous people and I didn't even know it.

- I am Atsuko Kagari, but you can call me Akko - I say, trying to create a good impression.

- Ah hello Akko, I'm Chelsea and this is my sister Laura, I wonder why you came here, I was talking to my sister how she should stop hiding from her daughter and reveal herself, it's been twenty years and this woman is still hiding - Chelsea said.... I have heard that name before... Chelsea McLaren! She is an actress! She plays lesbian characters in all kinds of movies and TV shows! Now that I remembered! I love her performances, especially in Love yourself... How incredible the moments Diana and I were theorizing about how Layla would be with Hannah... Now I am facing Layla herself here. Diana would love to be here.

- Hey there, brat, you finally came. You could have come a little later, couldn't you? Well, let's leave it aside, I'm glad you came, but tell me what are your real intentions? - Laura said with her "gentle" way of being, now I am sure where did Diana's rudeness come from.

- Ah hello Mrs. McLaren... I came here to really talk to you, I want to know what happened to abandon my girlfriend. I am not here to judge you, I am sure you had a reason for that - I tell Laura, I just remembered a little bit about my reaction with Professor Ursula when she revealed all that to me? I really hope that this Laura McLaren has a strong motive, just by talking about Daryl having some involvement makes me more confident, I never liked that snake.

- I will explain everything, but first feel the will brat, do you want to eat some waffles? - Said Laura, as they were waffles I didn't refuse, I found it funny how that house had lower chairs, all of them were so low, I felt like a real pole to be there, I sit in one of the chairs and soon I start to eat.

POV Laura:

Holy shit the brat is here, she could take a little longer, she had to arrive right on time for lunch... Imagine just to explain to her everything that happened... Even more with Chelsea and Holly here... Out of nowhere this little Japanese girl comes and shows up... I am sure that she will make me go to the Cavendish family mansion... I'm sure... I swear that if I go there I don't know what I'm going to do... Whether I'll die of panic or not...

After we eat a little, it doesn't take long and soon my sister decides to open her fucking mouth... I knew that this idiot would want to make me confess, holy shit...

- So Laura, are you going to tell us? Or are you going to stay there without saying anything? - Said my sister as always pressuring me, damn it, here comes the bomb, but also I will not tell anyway, so I will try to show with the best details.

- I will! Come with me to the TV, I think it's something I have to show how everything happened more clearly, using a bit of the crystal balls too - I say, snorting a little already, I get up and go to the living room together with the girls, the day has come apparently? Here we go.

I arrive at the room together with the girls, I begin to use my magic on a crystal ball that soon was showing everything on a television, as I didn't want to show the whole story I decided to summarize it in a clearer way without wrapping it up too much and going straight to the point.

POV Narrator:

Laura begins to show flashbacks of her memories, starting with one from June 1990, just as they were returning from the McLaren family residence after they had both graduated. They first stop by the redhead's house where she passed the family's leadership position to her younger sister Chelsea.

After solving this problem they go to the Cavendish family residence and it was there where things started to get problematic, as soon as they arrive they are welcomed by Clarie Cavendish (Diana's grandmother, Bernadette and Daryl's mother), that is until the time the woman brings up the subject of marriage, telling Bernadette to marry the son of a family friend, this one called Paul Hanbridge.

Bernadette obviously refused, but she could no longer refuse using the age argument, which she had always used with her mother since she was 14 years old, this time the girl was 18 years old, because of even that Cavendish decided to hit the table and assume once and for all. She had been dating Laura McLaren since December 1987 and would never part with that girl for anything in the world.

This causes Clarie to end up slapping the girl and getting disgusted, she even tried to lock her in her room and kick Laura out, but since the authority in the Cavendish family was with Isabella (Diana's great-grandmother, Bernadette and Daryl's maternal grandmother), she did not allow Clarie to do this at all, but in a way Bernadette had to obey her mother's demands, but she did not want to anymore, she needed to do something.

A week later the opportunity arrives, it was the perfect day to perform the ritual to become head of the Cavendish family, Bernadette felt in the mood to perform this ritual, since it had been weeks since she had laid in bed with her girlfriend, it had been days since they could even kiss in peace in the ritual.

POV Laura:

I decide to pause that part, because I had to explain what was going to happen next, as I was not present at the ritual part I would kind of just show myself waiting while listening to some music.

- Why did you stop, sis? And what does something that happened eleven years before Diana was born have to do with her abandonment? - said my sister who still didn't even know that much about what happened.

- So, I don't know very clearly what happened, but according to what Bernadette told me, she was going normally until someone interrupted the ritual in the halls, she was alone and was shot down by Clarie and her grand aunts, Marie and Amelia, after she woke up, she was alone in the middle of all that room. Bern continued on and soon came across three trees, they seemed to be covering the three which was really true, at that time Bern didn't know it was them and just continued on normally, coming to get the title of head of the family - I say until Chelsea again raises her hand.

- Okay, but what does this have to do with what happened 11 years later? - Chelsea says, getting on my nerves, until I answer her.

- Fuck you Chelsea, pay attention to this shit, or I won't explain it to you - I say answering my wonderful sister, wonderful is my ass, fuck you... Laura focus, let's go back to showing what happened.

POV Narrator:

After the ritual Bernadette came back and was realized that she was head of the Cavendish family, but things were not that much better, from the moment they started to miss Clarie, Marie and Amelia, with that disappearance Bernadette called the police two days after she disappeared, in this case the magical police since normal people could end up getting hurt.

When the police arrived where the ritual was being performed, they noticed that there were three lifeless bodies, they were the bodies of Clarie, Maria and Amelia, as soon as Bernadette explained everything she was taken as the main suspect and was almost arrested, when she explained everything that had happened and in the crystal ball it appeared what really happened.

As soon as she returns home, Laura was waiting for her, as was Daryl. Cavendish was cleared and the whole case was closed as a murder, but because of this Daryl ended up placing all the blame for these deaths on Laura.

"It's your fault Laura McLaren! Because of you my mother and my aunts died! You had to show up in my sister's life! You ruined all the family's plans! You damn Irish bitch!"

POV Laura:

- Of course, this was pure falsehood on Daryl Cavendish's part, she had little empathy for her mother and aunts, after all, she herself had told them that Bernadette had gone to perform the ritual to become the leader of the family, she intentionally wanted to make her mother the leader of the family, because then she would manipulate Bernadette into forcing her to marry Paul Hanbridge... Daryl told me this before the fateful day. Clarie's death was not a feeling of daughter losing her mother, but for her it was more because it got in the way of her plans... That woman was never any good - I say until Chelsea answers me again.

- Laura McLaren! You are dumb! Look what you tell me, look what a piece of shit this woman is! Daryl should have been arrested! I will always say that. But instead the big tobacco girl there preferred to keep it quiet! - She said as always insisting on this subject... And fuck, even the other two were agreeing with her.

- That bitch could have killed my girlfriend, she had no qualms about using poison spells on me when I tried to save Diana's life... - Said the brat, causing me to go into shock.

- Wait a minute," I say, pausing the TV, "you mean you tried the ritual and... What part of respecting the traditions, didn't you hear? Anna didn't let me interfere even though I heard some screams and magic shots, and I also felt Bern's magic weakening... - I say until the little brat completes.

- I know, but I kept pushing in every possible way, until I saw Diana on the floor, I tried my best to fight Daryl and their daughters... But there are three of them... When I woke up I found Diana, we were in a laboratory, I tried to make her feel better and encourage her not to give up the ritual, since there was time, we went... Daryl and her clones almost died, but during the ritual, Diana kind of sacrificed being the leader of the family in exchange for being able to save the lives of the three - Akko said, which impressed me, but at the same time I hoped that Daryl had died in this attempt to stop the ritual.

- Daryl doesn't learn his lesson anyway, she lost her mother for that very reason and 27 years later she makes the same mistake, if it wasn't for Diana she could have died... If that's so then it means that Daryl kind of owes one to Diana's side - I say until Chelsea completes me.

- You see Laura, it is your time to move, it is your time to stand up for yourself, Daryl can't do anything, she had her life saved by your daughter, let her dare to touch a finger on you... – Said Chelsea completing me so I just shrug my shoulders and decide to go back to showing what happened, skipping many years on television, since they were the best years of my life next to Bernadette.

POV Narrator:

Laura jumped to the year 2001, more specifically on September 1, 2001, Diana was already 3 months old, she had hair a little bit evident since she was born with hair. On that day Laura is called by Daryl. Where she reveals all her intentions.

"Laura I never blamed you for the fact that killed my mother and made me lose my much loved mother, in fact I hated her, I even appreciate you coming along and making Bernadette's head to continue in this lesbian shit, but I was angry anyway, your person was not supposed to be so influential, Bernadette being a lesbian was fine.... What I didn't want is for her to date someone like you.... An imposing person, a moral person, because of your presence, Bernadette became stronger, she wasn't like that before, she was more submissive... But why am I saying this? I wish my mother had succeeded in becoming the leader, not because I wanted to see her alive? but because I wanted to see Bernadette forced to marry Paul. He is the same one who is my lover today.... Poor little Eleanora who thinks she is in a stable union.... But let's get back to the point... With you ruining my first plan where my mother could possibly trust me more, I had to change the course of things... That's when you made the fertility stone and I discovered a wonderful little book Written by a witch named Margaret Ford, this book was about the curse of the metal spheres.... Do you know it?"

At that moment Laura was just oblivious, but she recognized the name Margaret Ford because of her late great-grandmother's past and how she was a criminal witch accused of killing none other than Diana Cavendish III, the great-great-grandmother of the current Diana Cavendish.

"So, I'll be very direct to the point Laura McLaren, you and Bernadette are under this curse, I put on you yesterday, you have one week to leave this house.... If you don't want you and Bernadette to die... In a week the effect of the metal balls will start to work, if you are close to them... The metal balls will move faster and faster inside your stomach, piercing you both... Look, either you give in, or you and Bernadette die together in a romantic and beautiful way... Poor little Diana who would have to be alone in this cruel world.”

After telling all that Laura had connected the dots, she remembered something her great-grandmother told her years ago, that until then it was a curse with no cure, to the point that Daryl didn't even know the cure either, which causes her to have to change her plans.

Laura and Bernadette talk one last time, take a picture together with little Diana in the middle, using a Polaroid camera, McLaren takes a pen and starts to write a message to leave on the picture, it was not a goodbye, but a goodbye, she believed very much that she could find the cure.

POV Laura:

I started to cry... That moment always broke me... Remembering that I would come back... But that coming back never came.... I paused because I couldn't stand crying, I needed to be trimmed by my sister, niece and Akko, they started to do everything to make me feel as good as possible.

- Mrs. McLaren... It is not your fault... It is that bitch Diana's aunt, now I understand why she did all this... It was not your fault... You don't deserve to be like this... We are going back to the Cavendish family residence and I will make that snake swallow its teeth. Please Mrs. McLaren come to the Cavendish family residence, go back to your daughter, I am sure that there you will make that Cavenboring stay cool - Said the little brat trying to convince me ... But if of one thing, she is right, I think I have to stop staying in the comfort zone.

- You are more than right, brat! I'm going to the Cavendish family mansion! I'll face Daryl head on if I have to and let her hold me back! Because I'm coming back! If she tries anything, I've got what's coming to me. I have the cure for the curse of the metal spheres! I got it at least five years ago... If Bernadette were alive... - I say until Akko trims me again, the little brat is kind of nice, she knows how to motivate someone, now I know why Anna let her go.

- You don't have to worry about whether Diana will accept you or not, because you are my guest and Diana should accept, because I'm sure the Cavenboring will be very angry, since on her side you abandoned her - said the brat, quite rightly, that really was what made me postpone my return year after year.

- Okay Akko, I will go! Wait for me next week! I will come! I'll even come with my car with all my bags! And this time I'm not stalling, I'm really going back to the Cavendish family mansion! - I say with all motivation I'm really going.... No more waiting 20 years for this.

POV Akko:

When I heard Laura saying that I started to jump and celebrate and the other two celebrated together with me, the three of us even lifted the McLaren lady, holy shit she might have been short, but she was a little heavy too, after I let her down, I stayed there a little longer, until the sun was going down. When the sun sets I say goodbye to the McLaren, they are a nice family.

- Bye Laura McLaren, I hope to see you next week - I say hugging my mother-in-law.

- Bye brat, good luck dealing with my girl, let's keep it a surprise shall we? - said Mrs. McLaren.

- Bye Akko - said Mrs. McLaren's sister.

- Bye Akko, take good care of my cousin... Oh and do you have a cousin or sister who is as cute as you? Or does Diana have any single friends? - Holly said, wanting to get some hot chicks. Apparently McLaren is full of lesbian witches.

- Bye girls... Oh and Holly, I don't know, we can talk when I get home, a pretty girl like you can get a girl really fast - I say motivating Diana's cool cousin even more.

After talking to them I take my broom and fly back to Edinburgh, Diana must be waiting for me now...

POV Narrator:

The days went by quickly as Akko went from Dublin to Edinburgh, the Kagari managed to hide very well from Cavendish everything she was planning, no one from the Cavendish family residence suspected, which was great.

After this week passes without much happening, Friday arrives where Laura McLaren and her daughter Diana Cavendish were to meet again after almost 20 years, the long-awaited day has arrived.

It was a Friday morning, Laura had already left Dublin at five o'clock in the morning, possibly arriving at noon in Edinburgh, leaving with the Lotus Carlton 1990 that was one of her cars, this one in particular was McLaren's favorite car. Some of the other cars were bizarrely stored in the Cavendish family residence, so it would also be an opportunity for the redhead to review her old cars.

It was eight o'clock in the morning on a winter Friday, it was -2 degrees Celsius that day, but no snow, just a chilly morning as usual. Akko and Diana were waking up together in the bed of their bedroom.

POV Akko:

You don't have to wake me up together, Diana, just give me five more minutes... Oh yeah... Holy shit today is the day! Diana's mother will be here soon... I really hope Diana doesn't react with anger about finding out the truth.

- Good morning my love... Hmmmm... - I say grumbling as Diana kept moving.

- Good morning love, so... Are you going out today? - she said suspiciously.

- I will, but I have a surprise for you... - I say, already making Diana more suspicious.

- A surprise is, if it's like the surprise you gave me at the pillow fort last week I'd love it, but let's do it after work," she said, already hinting at something else.

- You will know what this is all about," I say in response to her.

I go to change with Diana, we put on matching clothes, she with a cabbage print t-shirt with "I'm her cabbage", and me with a white cabbage print t-shirt with "I have a cabbage girlfriend", I put on a pair of red plaid sweatpants, as Diana also put on a pair of blue plaid sweatpants, I almost go barefoot, but Cavenboring throws me a rabbit slipper that catches my head.

- You can't go out barefoot - said Cavenboring, already starting to get on my nerves.

- All right, all right, Bleh, you Cavenboring - I say holding out my tongue and taking my slippers and putting them on, while the cuddly cabbage put on her kitten slippers and put on a plaid jacket, while I went without a jacket.

- Where are you going without a coat? - Again the Cavenboring implies me, this time throwing an orange coat to me, and it wasn't even cold, inside the room it was even warm.

I put on my coat because I didn't want to see Cavenboring pick on me and as soon as we leave I notice why she gave me the coat, I already feel the icy wind in the halls of the mansion, which were not heated so as not to spend on heating, so only in the bedrooms I leave the heater on.

We went to breakfast, this time I was smiling too much, very excited about the surprise that that cow of Diana's aunt would come across, little does she know what is waiting for her... Since I went to Ireland I have been even more careful that this snake doesn't do anything to Diana and me, because she is not crazy to do anything.

- Why are you smiling so much girl, what's so funny that you would look at me and still find it funny? - said the snake in the creeping way it always used to say... Ew.

- You will know Daryl - I say, leaving a mystery in the air, Diana was also looking at me and was finding my overconfidence strange.

- Why are you so excited about what I'm about to see? May I know? Are you by any chance going to give me some lipstick as a present? Or are you going to get out of this house at once? My niece has been tarnishing the family's reputation for far too long by insisting on this lesbian thing, this is all just a phase. Either she marries James or she remains infertile and unable to have a lineage that will continue the family? Oops, I hesitated, I ended up talking too much,- said the crawling snake, which did not intimidate me a bit, in fact I continued to show confidence, while Diana hit the table and stood up angrily.

POV Diana:

- Atsuko Kagari! Stop picking fights with my aunt! And Aunt Daryl, you're already here with me! If you insist on pushing me around James, I swear I'll make a fuss, I love Akko! I don't care if it makes it impossible for me to be a mother! Love is stronger than any barrier - I say in answer to both of them, "I don't know why Akko invented to create intrigue out of the blue, I was so angry that right away I left the table, I no longer had any appetite.

- Diana! Don't go now! Sorry love! - Said Akko, which I just glanced back signaling that I had forgiven my love, she always understood my body language, so I left there to go towards my office.

Arriving at the office I kept thinking and pondering... What is the surprise that Akko wants to give me so badly? Is it something warmer? Or could it be that the something warm that she gave me last week was actually not the surprise and she has something bigger in store? I don't know... All I know is that this week she asked me several questions about my father... She even came up with an absurd theory about my mother being a lesbian... Not that I think it could be a lie... She clearly felt repulsed by my father... I am sure my mother married just to have me My father James was never a good person Besides saying about a hypothetical situation where the fertility stone is real and I am actually the daughter of two mothers.... I admit I really wish this was all real.... She even made a whole theory involving my aunt casting a curse to stop all this.... I have never seen Akko think this much....

Anyway, let's focus on what to do today... I'm going to have a very full day apparently.

POV Narrator:

The hours went by that morning, Akko was waiting playing some video games, so much so that she opened a live stream, this time playing some Yu Gi Oh Forbidden memories, playing in a challenge she called no Free Duel. Which was much more complicated since she couldn't lose since she was also competing in story mode the whole time.

Laura was arriving in Edinburgh, driving as fast as she could, sometimes slowing down in case there were speed cameras nearby, but that didn't stop her from going as fast as she could to reach the Cavendish family residence.

By the time 11:55 arrived, Laura was already at the door of the Cavendish mansion.

POV Laura:

I arrive at the gate of the Cavendish family residence, press the button of the gate control and soon I notice that they open for me, which already impressed me, it was the same moldy control from 20 years ago... Someone could break into this place if they stole my car. Luckily they didn't try, or they would swallow their teeth. I would go inside, but as soon as I start to drive forward I am interrupted by a security guard. I roll down my window and then lower my glasses.

- Frederich let me through, man! It's impressive that you've been working here since 1995, and please, don't say anything to anyone that I'm here, only to the house staff, I want to surprise them - I say until Frederich recognizes me and then releases me.

- I am sorry Miss Laura McLaren, we have not seen you for 20 years, what happened to your disappearance? I missed you around here, this mansion has a very heavy atmosphere since you and Mrs. Bernadette left this place? - Said Frederich, which I just agree and then climb the car window entering the mansion of the Cavendish family.

I go with my car along the path that led to the garage, surprisingly they still had my other beauties, very well kept and hidden in a cloth, as soon as my car parks I am greeted by Anna, possibly she has been warned of the arrival of a visitor.

- Hello Miss Laura McLaren, what brings you here? - Said Anna accompanied by other maids.

- Hi Anna, I am definitely back this time, I have a few things to take care of here... Have you taken good care of my Diana these years? - I say until Anna nodded her head in agreement.

- Of course, I'll take your things to the former mistress's room... May I? - Anna said.

- Please, Anna - I tell her until she and the maids walk past me, I hand them my car key, just as I take my cell phone.

POV Akko:

Lunchtime was approaching, I took the time to procrastinate a bit on Wticher and have fun with some memes, until I get a message from Mrs. McLaren... She arrived that early? So fast almost at lunch time?

[Laura: Hey brat, I'm home, come here we need to play our plan, I'm in the hallway past the garage, make sure you're not seen by Daryl].

[Akko: Okay Miss McLaren, I'll be right there]

I go quickly through the corridors and come across Miss McLaren, she was taking off her sunglasses and also the jacket that she tied around her waist, that almost made her tits fly, I don't know how that woman doesn't fall down with a thing that size.

- Well, follow my plan, we are going to make a shocking surprise for everyone, but before you make this surprise, take this - Said Laura handing me a bottle.

- What is it? - I say confused.

- This stuff makes you immune to the curse of the metal balls, Daryl can never do anything to you. – Said Laura

- And what is the plan? - I said.

Laura tells me in detail how she would follow the plan and how I should prepare the surprise, with a little bit of magic to make the scenario perfect, then after hearing everything, she pats me on the back and I go towards the dining room, where everyone was there having lunch and waiting for me, apparently.

- You were late love - Cavenboring said only because I had more important things to take care of.

POV Diana:

I wonder if Akko is late because of the "surprise" or if there is another context... What is my girl planning? Well, I don't know, maybe she is just late... I don't know, I only know that she is so cute eating with her full cheeks, my little cheeks, after that discussion earlier Daryl even kept quiet, how nice.

I was eating normally, until a piano song started playing... Oh no I can't believe Akko did that, she made a point of playing the theme song from Jojo's Bizarre Adventure... Why I deserve this woman... Hey smoke, why is there smoke? Shame on me...

Until the music reached its climax, the door opened, but the smoke was still very thick, and the moment the piano started to play again, I came across a person. It was a redhead with long straight hair, a little fat, arms crossed, she had very pale skin, freckles everywhere... Wait a minute, that face is familiar... Laura McLaren? What is she doing here... Eh... A... ghost behind her.... Mom? My mother is appearing behind her...

I was stunned at the time, I looked around and my aunt was in shock, she was a stone, I had never seen her like that... I was also trying to understand why my mother's spirit appeared.

- Hello - Laura said in a way that seemed threatening, but at the same time comforting.

- We got Miss McLaren they are in shock - Akko said... Akko? Who stood up and shake Laura's hand as if they were two friends... What is this thing? What do you mean? They have met before... Akko's surprise was to bring Laura McLaren here? That's why she told me she went to Ireland last week.

- La... Laura... What are you doing here? - Said my aunt who was scared, but soon she changes her expression to a more confident one, why is my aunt reacting like this? - In reality, you arrived late, I would say at least 15 years late, how can you simply arrive here and on top of that have the shamelessness to come here thinking that your Diana is going to come to your arms, that she is going to put her hand on your head? - My aunt kept saying... What? What do you mean "your Diana"? I was startled looking at my aunt - That's right Diana, this girl here is actually - Said Daryl until Laura ended up answering her.

- Nothing more, nothing less than Albert Einstein! - Said Laura as if she didn't care about that situation, while my aunt stared at her in disgust - Look Diana, I am sorry for everything that happened 20 years ago, but I will tell you... Your mother Bernadette was married to me, we used magic and then we had you.... That was long before she married James.... Your aunt may even try to stay on top, but what about Daryl? Why don't you talk about what you did to me? Why don't you confess that you controlled your sister by forcing her to marry James? Why don't you talk about when you left Bernadette to die? Why won't you talk about when you put the curse on the metal balls? - Did you say Laura? Is she my mother? What's going on? It can't be... I'm very confused...

- Wait! What are you saying? What do you mean Laura McLaren is my mother? What do you mean she used magic? What did my Aunt Daryl do? Mom... - I say, starting to get weepy... I had memories of my mother Bernadette and I started to run out of there, it was an impulse I never had in my life.

I ended up doing this trying to get away from that situation, many things were going through my head, Laura McLaren my mother? Curse of the iron balls? That James was not my father I already knew, he already did the DNA test... I just want to be alone... So I ran to the room where my mother was staying, I sat down on the floor and cried, it was the only thing I could think of... Traumatic childhood memories came back... Those days when my mother died... If I could go back in time and heal her.... I would give her all my magic...

POV Laura:

My apologies Diana... I wanted to make a triumphant entrance... But I couldn't, I don't think I should pull this argument the poor thing must be in need of someone to make her feel better.

- Do you see what you have done? You think this is going to be okay? I won't let you come back so easily - said my slutty sister-in-law, while I just walked straight ahead, until the brat tapped me on the shoulder as I was approaching the door.

- Where are you going Mrs. McLaren? Are you going to let Daryl say these things about you? I know the real story, I know what happened, she has to shut up - said the brat, until I took her hand off my shoulder.

- Fuck what is more important is the love and care that I must give my daughter, Daryl of little do I care, I'm shitting and walking to that snake - I say leaving that room while Akko was even quiet to hear me, Daryl kept talking and talking, but only ignored, the brat is very brave to stay in this house with that cow.

POV Diana:

Alone in the room, crying, until I feel something touching my shoulder, I thought it was just Akko, so I just ignored it again, until I hear a voice... I had heard it before... I raise my head and am faced with the ghost of my mother.

- Diana... I understand your pain... It seems that your mother Laura has finally decided to go back to where she should be... Taking care of her daughter... Please... Don't be angry with her. Accept it, Laura. This is my last wish as a mother. Laura has given me so much love and care all these years - Said my mother's spirit.

- Why should I accept her? Laura abandoned her just as I did. She didn't even interfere when you married James - I say until she answers me.

- Your mother Laura had a reason; she would never abandon us... This reason she will explain to you, I'm sure... You have no idea how she waited so many years for this moment. Laura tried to find a cure for what caused her to leave us. But it was too late... Please Diana... If you can't do it for yourself... Do it for your dead mother...- said my mother's spirit, which made me a little touched... This time I really think I should forget about this armagure... I wonder if all that theory Akko told me is true.

I just nod my head and smile at the spirit that starts to disappear, when it disappears completely I see that the door was being opened, as I see the door opening I am faced with my mother Laura.

- Diana - said my mother Laura.

I get up and go running to hug my mother Laura, I was still crying, only this time the crying of sadness was changed to one of comfort, I was kneeling and hugging her, since my mother was a little short, I rest my head on her chest and soon I am caressed.

- I have waited years for this moment, my little Diana," she said as she kept giving me affection, while wiping my tears.

- You called me Mom? - She said, all excited, until I looked at my mother's face and she was crying.

- What else would I be yours? - I say to my mother who starts to hug me tighter to the point of making me sink my face inside her huge breasts... But soon after she lets the hug go lighter.

- Now things will be all right Diana... Your mother Laura is here... I will never leave her... I'll never leave you again I will make up for all the 20 years I spent away - She said until I look at her and start wiping my mother's tears.

- Just in these few seconds the lady is already making up for it... My mother Laura - I say this while Akko was watching everything, she was bursting into tears, my mother immediately looks at her and starts laughing.

- Come here little brat, you're family too - said my mother calling for Akko, who joined in a family hug... Brat? I like that nickname, I guess I'll have to get used to the idea that I have two mothers? It seems that Akko was right all along about the fertility stone... Who knew it would be under my nose all the time.

See you, lesbian witches, someday, somewhere!

#LWA #lwa headcanon #Bernadette Cavendish #LWA Diana #Diakko #Dianakko #Laurette #Laura x Bernadette #Laura McLaren #OC #LWA JP #LWA fic #fanfic #ao3 #Diana has two moms #Irish/Scot Diana #LWA Akko

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nevermindrussia · 4 years

Text

«Шерочка с машерочкой»: girls' love in Russian educational prison of XIXth century

Today's post was meant to be another "Russian idiom of the day", but thinking of it I realized I have a bit more to say about it's origin. So let me speak of the first Russian female high school named «Смольный институт благородных девиц» [smol'ny institut blagorodnykh devits], "The Smolny Institute For Noble Maidens".

It was founded in Saint-Petersburg in the year of 1764 by the order of the Empress Catherine II the Great. Being a great fan of progressive ideas by Michel de Montaigne, John Locke and François Fénelon, she had a dream to bring up "a new sort" of Russian people: more educated, intellegent, refined. So she decided to take girls away from their "rough and primitive" environment at the age of 6, to educate them in a progressive manner and to let them back at the age of 18 in order for them to become mothers of new generation.

The Smolny institute gave birth to female higher education in Russia (before that, no girls were allowed to study at high school), also it was Europe's first state high school for teaching girls. Smolny's girl pupils («смолянки» [smolyanki]) had been learning languages, arts, religion, manners and etiquette, householding, also some arithmetic, physics, geography, history, architecture. A Smolny graduate might become a teacher or a governess for nobility children, or even a lady-in-waiting at the court of their royal Majesty — for those times it was just an amazing start in life.

Sounds great? Yes, it does. But any modern girl wouldn't survive even one month at Smolny! That's because smolyanki's everyday living today looks more like a prisonery, than an education.

First of all, extremely strict rules determined all aspects of girls' life. Reveille at 6:00, a common prayer and a breakfast at 7:00, and so on.

Girls could move from one room to another only in a column of twos and only by a matron's command. The only outdoor place available for pupils was a fenced institute's garden, and they could walk in it only for half an hour a day, at the scheduled time, in columns and under matrons' supervision of course. Any strong emotion or sharp move was prohibited, for a "noble maiden" should always look neatly and behave flawlessly. In particular, girs were ridiculed for missing their home. Due to purpose of "making a new sort of people" girls were not allowed to leave the institute till they are 18, and even their parents couldn't take them back home for any reason. Those whose families lived in Saint-Petersburg might see their relatives for few hours a month (under supervision too); others could only maintain letter conversations, and every letter was censured by matrons.

Meals were meager, dresses (uncomfortable and always unified, as well as hairstyles) and beds were too light to protect from cold (while temperature in common bedrooms never was higher than +16 °C, in winter it might be only +8 °C). Corporal punishment was not in use, but a common practice was humiliating pupils for fails: so, a matron might stich a stockling to a girl's sleeve if she didn't darn it when it got torn, and make her leave it for a whole day or more.

So what about «Шерочка с Машерочкой» [sherochka s masherochkoi] thing? Though today it's a funny idiom, representing in a comical way some pair of female friends or straight lovers of a very gentle, tender kind — the background of it is also very sad.

The phrase itself descends from French "ma chéri" [ma sheri], "my darling" (fem.). That was how Smolny's pupils had been addressing to each other; a common form due to the great popularity of speaking French among Russian nobility of that age. But sweet words were not only a tribute to fashion. Most of Smolny's girls had been forming a really strong emothional attachment to other girls — just because, as you may guess, no guys were allowed to the institute.

In conditions of total repression and distress, girls had found their only consolation in strongest and sweetest friendship, which often stayed then for a lifetime. It might be called a real love and intimacy — even if not including a sexual tension, though we can't say exactly, was it always such or not.

Also there came such a specific institute phenomenon as the "adoration" custom. Due to isolation and lack of social skills it was a very twisted, weird way to express emotions. An "adoratriss" (a girl who practiced adoration) had chosen her idol amongst the institute residents. Mostly it became an elder girl, also it might be a mentor, an institute churchman, a matron or even the members of royal family, who visited the institute sometimes. Then she had started worshiping her or him by writing love notes, running errands (if allowed), keeping every little thing related to her or him as a precious souvenir. Also suffering for the sake of love was required, and that was the weirdest part. For example a girl might have cutted her idol's letters on her wrist with a knife, or eaten the whole piece of soap as a vow to love. Adoration was about a platonic feelings only; so, for example, if an idol man had got married, then "adoratrisses" had started to adore his wife with the same passion.

One may think all of this was not such a great price to pay for a chance to get a real higher education in the times of patriarchy, which had not even a concept of violation women's rights, but a total absence of them. But was this "real" higher education real indeed? At the beginning on Smol'ny's history, under Catherine the Great — yes, it was. But up to the middle of XIX century the educational concept was changed. Natural sciences as geography and physics were excluded from study program, and liberal arts were taught very poorly. The major priority became external appeal of graduates: nice behaviour and good manners, obedience and modesty, also some art skills such as dancing, singing, playing music, needlework. In fact, Smolny had been training girls to be good wives for noblemen, and that's all. Smolny's graduates were mostly described as unsocialized, too sensitive, even mentally unstable young ladies, who were able to perform decorative functions only.

Good news is that since 1860 girls and women could visit lectures at the real, "men's" universities. Though they couldn't get a diploma 'til 1875 (when special female higher educational courses started to appear in Russian cities), they were allowed to study as auditors. In 1907 the Politechnical Institute in St. Petersburg started to accept female students as well as male ones. And in 1920 Soviet government finally removed educational unequality completely.

That's all for today! Enjoy learning and friendship, live and let live!

Follow me to get more facts of Russian culture and langage, both historical and modern.

#long reads #russia #russian language #russian culture #russian history #education #female education #girls #patriarchy #sexism #women #friendship #love

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

Text

Tom x You

Summery: Tom and his brothers have a pub. You, trying to avoid working on your new album, spend most of your time in there. Lots of flirting and bickering ensues.

Themes: Sort of frienemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual attraction but they are both to dumb to realise. General dumbness all around. Idiots in love.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Drinking and swearing. Smut in future chapters.

PART I of IV

***

At 8 years of age your father hands you a worn guitar and with the patience of a saint teaches you how to make it play the holiest of sounds. Every day you practise, until your fingertips has hardened and they move effortlessly over the strings.

At 10 years of age you write your first song. It’s a puerile little tune about a sweet boy with hair like honey and an opportunity lost. It’s repetitive and nonsensical but your mother hums the chorus for weeks after hearing it.

At 14 years of age you meet up with a record label and when signing the dotted line on the contract you feel a chill down your spine and your grandmother’s stories about the crossroad demon comes back to you verbatim. With determination you still put your name on the paper in a signature you’ve spent hours practising. Only days later you hear your voice on the radio for the very first time.

At 17 years of age there are headlines in magazines about you, photos of men they claim you’ve dated and interviews with people who claim to be a ‘close source’ to you, even though you’ve never met them, spilling lies on every page. You find out your closest friend has sold information about you to the tabloids for over a year.

At 19 years of age you go on a world tour, though the only parts of the world you see are airports, hotels and playing venues and then later at night: nightclubs. You travel the world, but you learn nothing about it.

At 22 years of age and your boyfriend breaks up with you for an actress. There isn’t a day that year that tabloids don’t ‘report’ on it. He spends most of the time telling the world how much happier he is in his new relationship, and you spend most of your time staring down into a bottle.

At 24 years of age you feel drained, dog-tired and worn out. On a regular basis there’s photos of you stumbling out of pubs, bars and restaurants all over the internet. Your record label is threatening a lawsuit and you haven’t talked to your manager in weeks. You have no friends and your family doesn’t know what to do with you.

Okay, so maybe being a successful singer isn’t all that it’s cut out to be. Especially not when the entirety of the internet is making fun of you.

And yes, maybe you’re in a flunk and haven’t written anything decent in months. And okay, maybe you haven’t even picked up a guitar in weeks. And maybe throwing away your phone in order not to have to face the record label was a bad idea. And maybe, hand on heart, the right solution to your problems is not to waste your days away in a well-hidden pub in a backstreet in London with the cutest pub owner you’ve ever seen, with biceps that makes you want to drool. A pub owner who has no interest in you and finds you annoying beyond belief.

Yet here you are,

again.

***

“It’s Tuesday” Tom informs you as he hands you cherry coke and a straw.

So, it goes like this. Tom is obsessed with time. He’s always informing you of either what day of the week it is, or the time of day. As if he’s trying to shame you into realising that 10 am on a Tuesday is not an acceptable time to order a dry martini.

“So?” You ask, feigning ignorance as you open the can. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that this is a coke and in fact completely free of alcohol. I mean in the good ol’ day they at least had the cutesy to put cocaine in there.”.

“Don’t worry” he says, scrubbing the surface of the already clean counter-top “there’s a shit load of other stuff that’ll destroy your insides in there”.

You try not to roll your eyes, honestly you do. You fail. “Oh no, is it sugar? Please, doctor say it isn’t sugar!” you wail dramatically.

“No, not just sugar” and you can tell he’s also trying not to roll his eyes at your exaggerated play acting. “You know, I saw this documentary once about what they put in coca cola and –”

“No, nope, no, no. Absolutely not” You shake your head vehemently as if that will stop his words. "I would literally rather hear you talk about goddamn golf for an hour than put me of one of life’s few great pleasures”.

This time he doesn’t manage to stop himself from rolling his eyes at you. “Oh, I think we both know you find more pleasures in life than coca cola”.

Before you can answer him something insanely witty the door to the office behind the bar opens and an anxious looking Harrison step out. “Tom, Sam says the fish delivery didn’t show up again so we’re out of cod and therefore fish ‘n chips.”

Tom rubs his face, looking worried. “Alright, I’ll call him up and see what happened.”

But Harrison still looks tense. “Also…” he trails off, losing courage.

“Also, what?” And Tom too sounds tense now.

“Well, Downey from the bank called, he says the invoice is way over due and he wants a meeting. I told him you’d call today”.

Tom keeps rubbing his forehead, as if to literally fight of a migraine, and his shoulders tense. “Yeah, yeah I’ll call him this afternoon”. Harrison nods and walks back into the kitchen

“You know, I cou –” but you don’t get to finish your sentence before he interrupts you. “Don’t” he says, voice sharp as a whip.

“But, it would just be a loan, honestly I – ”

“No, and I mean it.” And you judging by the tone of voice he uses and the stern look he gives you you’re well aware that he isn’t joking. It’s like his usually warm and kind eyes are nailing you down into your seat. “I’m not gonna borrow money from a customer, as you well know.”

The problem is that really wouldn’t be a big deal for you to offer him a loan or give it as a gift really. You love this pub. You love the people working here and the patrons and coming in for a drink or a meal or simply a chat and a laugh. It’s your safe haven. No one ever hardly ever bothers you here. No one asks you for a selfie or asks you about when more music is coming out. No one tugs at your sleeve or try to sneakily take a photo of you. Here, you are normal. And it would devastate you to see the Holland boys lose it all when you know you can help. You have more money than you know what to do with.

However, you know there’s no arguing with him when he’s got that look on his face so you don’t, just keep sipping on your cherry coke as your foot taps along to the song on the radio. From inside the kitchen you can hear the faint sound of the Holland twin's laughter.

Tom turns away from you to sort out the whiskey glasses on the counter behind him. But when picking up a glass he fumbles, and it falls out of his hand and lands right on his foot, though it fortunately doesn’t break.

“Ah, fucking bastard!” he shouts, grabbing hold of his injured foot.

“You shouldn’t swear in church, you know” ¨you say, as you finish your coke.

He looks at you indignantly, pouting like a child, “well, lucky for me, this is a pub.”

“You say potato, I say tomato, now make me a real drink.”

“For fucks sake, darlin’, you gotta eat something.”

***

So, it’s either late or early, depending how you look on it. On tube stations all across London early worker are already gathering on the platforms to take their commute to work. Not you. Not Tom either.

Now, Tom is an early riser and has been since childhood. His nanna used to say that he had energy enough for three children. Despite regular closing shifts at the pub he likes to be up at dawn. Says he likes to get an hour at the gym and a walk with Tessa in before he heads to the pub to make sure everything is in order. After having checked with Sam that everything is stocked for the day, he has his protein loaded breakfast while ordering supplies or read through whatever paper work he need to be on top off before opening up the pub for the day.

Tom hates having this routine disturbed.

So, it goes like this. Harry had been the bartender most of that night, since Tom had ‘other business to take care of’. Whenever Harry was bartender he’d usually spent more time drinking with you than he did serving up the other costumers. When Tom came back and saw the state of you, he’d sent you home, telling you that you’d had enough for one night and asking Harrison to walk you home. Then he’d giving Harry a proper telling off. You had dutifully walked with Harrison to your apartment, thanked him sweetly, and then as soon as you saw that he had passed the corner walked into another pub just across the street for more. It wasn’t as charming a place as The Hollands and their bartender sure wasn’t as handsome or as fun to annoy as the regular one at Hollands. But in a pinch, anything will do.

Upon closing hour however, as you made your way home, you’d discovered that your keys were missing. Being absolutely wasted this did not worry you in the slightest. You just strolled back on unsteady legs to The Hollands to see if you’d dropped them there. Tom, who had closed the pub for the night, was still in. From the windows you could see him going through stacks of paperwork in front of him, a frown on his face. Upon hearing you knocking on the window at 2 am he’d jumped out his chair to see what was going on. When seeing you three sheets to the wind, dressed in a thin dress on a cold summer’s night the frown on his face had gotten worse.

Now here you are, in his apartment, in the dead of the night, and he’s offering you a plate of tortellini. Tessa had been overjoyed to see you and after having been allowed to greet you she had then been sent to her place and out of the way of your drunk, stumbling feet.

“But I hate tortellini” you whine.

“Christ sake, Popstar, just eat the damn food”

“No, I hate it, Tom, I hate it so much, it makes me think of- of- ” you hiccup.

“Are you actually crying right now?”

“It makes me think of- of - cheese sauce and -”

“Sorry, but what now?”

“And – I – I – I hate cheese sauce”. You’re full on sobbing and he just stares at you in disbelief.

Then, somehow the world seems fall the wrong way around. It takes you a second to realize that you’ve slid down on the floor and that you’re staring up at the ceiling. Tom’s strong arm take a hold of you and he guides you to a sitting position, leaned up against the wall. With your face in his hands he stares at you in indignation but there’s something else there too. You’re drunk enough to dare to call it tenderness.

Suddenly you’re aware that you’re sobbing, but you can’t remember why that is.

“Fuck who knows” he responds and when you give out a sound that’s something halfway between a sob and a laugh he starts laughing too. “If I make you something else to eat, will you eat it then? You’ll feel better in the morning if you do”.

Your head feels heavy, so you lean it against his hand and nod. “No cheese sauce, please”.

He rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing too. “Sure, no cheese sauce for Pop Princess.”

“Oi!” You call out “You promised to never to call me that!” Pop Princess was the title the tabloids had given you early on in your career. He keeps smiling, but it’s a gentle smile, and trace the frown between your eyebrows with his finger, as if he’s trying to erase it.

“Will you please just sit here while I cook?”

You nod again, too tired to say anything. He gets up, and you can hear some pouring water and then he places a glass of water in your hand. “Drink” he orders, then he’s gone again, and you can hear the clattering of pots and pans as he starts cooking. You’re just staring into the wall, trying to make it stop spinning; limbs heavy with sleep and whiskey, a nice buzzing numbness in your head.

Then he’s in front of you again, looking at you with a frown “I thought I told you to drink that” and you look at the full glass clasped in your hands. “Seriously, you’ll feel better if you do”.

You roll your eyes “oh, please, Tommy. Remember who you’re speaking to. I’m the local drunk, there’s no need to lecture me in hangovers”. But you do as you’re told and chug down your drink and hand him the empty glass. “Good girl” he says and gets back to his cooking. Before long the delicious scent of food is spreading through the tiny, cramped kitchen.

You start humming a song you wrote years ago but never released, low enough so you think Tom won’t hear you over the sizzling pan. But he does.

“What’s that?” he asks, curiosity in his voice.

“Oh” you say, leaning your head back against the wall as you close your eyes in the hope that the world will stop spinning. “Just a song.”

Everything goes quiet for a while and you find yourself wondering if you’ve fallen asleep. But then you hear his voice. “Keep singing, please”.

It surprises you, the amount of tenderness in his words; such a gentle bequest. So, you do as you’re told. In a voice raspy from the whiskey but sweet from his kindness you sing.

“I’ve been holding my breath, I’ve been counting to ten,

Over something you said, I’ve been holding back tears

While you’re throwing back beers, I’m alone in bed

You know I, I’m afraid of change, Guess that’s why we stay the same,

So tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags, get on the road,

Find someone that loves you better than I do, darling, I know,

'Cause you remind me every day, I’m not enough, but I still stay”

You trial off and he keeps quiet too and goes silent again. Then he slides down beside you, a plate of pasta carbonara in his hands which he offers you along with a fork. “Eat” he orders gently. You do, and it tastes delicious.

“God, Tom, you could rival Sam in the kitchen”.

He snorts but you persist. “Seriously Tommy, I’d hire you as a private chef if I didn’t know you’d be an insufferable employee”.

He snorts again, but you can tell he’s amused. “Wow, thanks a lot”

“Seriously, you’d always complain about my lack of organization, or the fact that I keep all of my face masks in the refrigerator, or that I never have any food at home or that I don’t eat at regular hours or that I sometimes just forget to eat and just have a Red bull for dinner instead or that I – ”

“Jesus Christ” he interrupts you “who the fuck let you be an adult? What’s wrong with you!?”

You’re wolfing down your food, so it takes you a moment to answer. “Someone said my problem was ‘a mind-boggling lack of general discipline and a staggeringly low ability to organise’” you finally say.

“Who said that? I mean they’re not wrong”.

“You said that” you point out as you finish your plate of carbonara. “Also, this was scrumptious, and also, may I sleep here tonight?”

He looks at you in disbelief “Yeah, duh, I’m not kicking you out? I mean, I thought that was the general idea of this”.

He grabs a hold of your plate and takes your hand in his other as he guides you both up to a standing position. He places the plate among the other dirty pans in the sink and then lead you to his bathroom. Giving you a new toothbrush, he orders you to brush your teeth while he changes his sheets. He hands you a shirt to sleep in and when you’ve changed you argue for a good 10 minutes while about who’s to sleep on the couch before he puts his foot down and say he’ll ban you from his pub unless you take the bed instead of him. So, you do.

His bed soft and comfortable and smell of his detergent. From the living room you can hear Tessa’s deep breaths and the sound of Tom tossing around on the sofa. You wonder how uncomfortable he is.

“Tommy just come in here instead” you call out, voice drowsy.

“No, I told you, you take the bed”

You snort. As if you were going to give this bed up, no chance. Not now that you know how comfortable it is.

“Yeah, duh” you answer. “Wasn’t planning on taking the sofa, but the bed’s big enough for the two of us, innit?”

Dead silence from the living room. Even Tessa seems to have been struck silent.

“You sure?”

You sigh. “Yeah, I'm sure, for fuck’s sake Tommy, just come in here”.

You hear the sound of footsteps slowly making their way across the floor, then he’s in the doorway. Clad in a pair of black boxers and a black t-shirt, awkwardly scratching the back of his head as he avoids looking at you.

You pull down the covers and he lay down beside you, keeping his distance in the bed. You have your backs against each other, staring into separate walls and even through the whiskey you can tell this is awkward. You want to ask him to hold you, but you’re scared he doesn’t want it. Scared he doesn’t even want to lay beside you. You are after all just a costumer in his bar. A costumer you know he can’t afford to lose.

You don’t know how long you lay there in silence, his scent surrounding you, the soft sound of his breath lulling you into further relaxation but eventually you drift off to sleep.

When you wake, he’s gone. A note on his pillow tells you he’s gone to the gym, telling you to take anything you want for breakfast and just leave the keys at the pub later.

When you close the door behind you you can’t help but feel that something tender happened in there, something important; but you know he doesn’t feel the same.

***

It’s Monday night, as Tom has been so kind to remind you off, and you’re plastered.

Earlier the pub had been full to rim of football supporters shouting and singing and sharing pints before a big game, filling the entire place with an excited buzz. Now they’ve all gone off to cheer for their heroes on the field and only the patrons remain.

Harry is bartender tonight, and Tom has placed himself in the back of the pub, a stack of paper in front of him that he keeps leering at. With a drink in your hand and a happy-go-lucky attitude you seat yourself on the opposite side of his table, determent to cheer him up.

“’m gonna write a song about you.” You inform him, voice only somewhat slurry.

“Go on then.” He doesn’t look up at you, just jots something down on the form in front of him. He’s wearing glasses tonight and they make him look so handsome you want to scream in frustration.

“Well, what rhymes with Tom? Rum!”

“Oh, Christ, no. No, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Tom, he serves rum and tequila.” You sing. “Wait, what rhymes with tequila?”

“Please don’t”

“Heliophilia!”

“Okay, ’m literally begging you not to do this.” He’s looking at you now, his caramel eyes filled with both amusement and genuine dread. You don’t listen, no, you sing.

“Tom, he serves Rum and tequila,

he loves the sun, it’s called heliophilia

his pub needs fundin’, he lives in London”

“Wow. That is a hell of a forced rhyme, pop princess.”

“No, no wait!”

“Wait? I will literally pay you to stop”.

But then you start singing for real, in a voice so sultry that it makes him freeze mid motion, hand just about to turn the page over.

“Have you’ve seen my bartender

he’ll serve you whiskey, he’ll pour you rum

so sweet it’ll make you tender

but all the whiskey in Tennessee

couldn’t have that man agree

to ever share a drink with thee

no, all that sweetness’s just for me

cause babe, he’s my bartender

Yes, have you’ve seen my bartender

He’ll hand you wine, he’ll sell you gin

I think it’s a sign when he hands me my wine

When hand’s touching hand, skin touches skin”

Tom seem to be frozen in place when you stop, and over at the bar you hear Harry give a loud whistle. “Fucking hell, popstar” he cheers.

Tom still doesn’t say anything, just observes you, seemingly speechless. And maybe you’re imagining it, but he’s cheeks seem pinker than usual.

"Well, at least I didn’t rhyme rum with cum” you say, trying to get a reaction out of him. And then “I did think about doing it though” and you lift your glass to him as if in a toast before you down it.

He snorts, back to his normal self and stare down at the paper again.

“Now, honestly, Tom. What did that piece of paper ever do to you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring at it like you want to set fire to it. You’d like me to do it for you?”

“No thanks, reckon he’d sue”.

“Who is he?” you lean over the table and closer to him and you swear you can practically see him ordering himself not to look down at your cleavage. “Is he god?” you whisper in mock horror. “Cause, I wouldn’t worry too much, Tommy. You see, God can’t sue. Well, someone in America tried to sue Satan once and they couldn’t cause they couldn’t hand him the papers. Turns out Satan hasn’t got an address. Reckon the same goes with God”

He rolls his eyes “oh, this guy definitely has got an address. He lives in Knightsbridge.” And then, in a voice unusually bitter he adds “posh twat”.

“Oy” you warn, jokingly, “those are my neighbourhoods'”.

A sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh escapes him “Oh please” he laughs “please, you might live in Primrose Hill now, but you’re not Knightsbridge posh. Sorry to disappoint, Pop Princess”.

You glare, but it’s all in good humour. “So, who is this not-God-but-rich-as-God man sending you paper?”

The humour disappears from his face. “Downey, from the bank”. Then he turns to the bar and shouts, “Harry, hand me a pint, ye?”

“And a whiskey for me, please” you request sweetly.

“No way, Harry, she’s cut off for the night. Tell Sam to make her something to eat” he orders his younger brother who rolls his eyes but obediently begin to head into to the kitchen.

“Not tort -” you begin shouting as an instruction.

“Not tortellini” he shouts at the same time. “And no cheese sauce either” he then adds.

You smile at him and this time you swear he’s blushing.

“Who’s Downey? You ask. And you know you’re prying, but you also know that Tom needs help with something and if there’s anything you can do to help, you will.

“A bank man who wants me to pay my loans back”. He answers eventually after a long silence, when he figures you’re not going to give up and talk about something else. Harry comes back and hands Tom a pint and then leaves to take care of a costumer at the bar.

“A bank man, who lives in Knightsbridge?” You ask, bemused.

Tom smiles “oh, believe you me, Downey’s not your average bank clerk.” Then, in a serious tone, “look, I know you want to help, but there’s nothing you can do, ye? So drop it”.

“But I-”

“Drop it. Seriously, pop princess, there’s nothing you can do, I’ll figure something out”. He doesn’t sound harsh and the way he looks at you is positively adoring. Then he does something unexcepted. He reaches over the table and pulls a loose string of hair behind your ear. It’s a soft and sweet gesture and you want to reach over and kiss him but before you can he removes his hand and seconds later Harry places a dish of steaming pasta carbonara in front of you. You smile and thank him and he makes his way back to the bar.

You eat in silence for a while as he continues to read through stashes of papers. You decide to leave the subject, for now at least.

“Yours is better, by the way”. He looks up at you, confused. “Your carbonara” you clarify. “I mean, Sam is an incredible chef and you’re lucky to have him, but yours is my favourite”.

His cheeks heat up, again.

***

R E A D P A R T T W O H E R E

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