#rough winds do shake the darling buds of may

[hairmetal666]

The note shows up in Eddie's mailbox cubby on Valentine's Day.

It's nothing fancy, loopy cursive handwriting on lined paper:

"I know this is probably silly but I can't go another day without saying it, and today seems appropriate for this kind of confession. Seeing you in the morning is the best part of my day. You're so gorgeous it leaves me breathless. I hope you don't mind if I don't leave my name. Just wanted you to know that you're beautiful."

His eyes fill with tears that he blinks back, a goofy smile stretching his mouth wide.

"You good there, Munson?" Robin Buckley asks.

"Oh, yup, yeah, all good." He laughs. "Just got one of those 'you're my favorite teacher Mr. Munson!' notes."

He squeezes the letter to his chest before slipping it in his pocket.

---

The worst thing about Eddie's new job is that someway, somehow, Steve-fucking-Harrington works here too. PE teacher, JV basketball coach, of-fucking-course. Once a douchebag jock, always a douchebag jock. What makes it all worse is that he's still the prettiest guy Eddie's ever seen.

---

The first week of March, there's a commotion in the hallway that has him rushing out of his room, ready to breakup a fight. He finds Harrington already there, holding Dustin Henderson and Will Byers by their shoulders. Troy Walsh and James Dante stand across from them, wearing matching snarls.

Of course Harrington is picking on little nerd kids; he knew it. But before he steps forwards to break it up, Steve speaks, voice low and angry. "You want to tell me what happened here, Troy?"

"Byers tripped. He really should watch where he's going," Troy says. James laughs.

Steve's glare goes even more icy, more disdainful (it's so fucking hot, Eddie hates it). "You want to take that again? And try being honest this time, or you're suspend from the team."

Troy splutters for long enough that Eddie finally notices Will's stricken face, the sketchpad and snapped colored pencils littering the linoleum.

"I saw you take those things from Will, and unfortunately, I'll have to call your parents and you will be responsible for purchasing a new sketchbook and pencils. You're also benched for the next four games."

The boys shout, but when Steve raises a hand they quiet immediately. "You want to complain more, or do you want it to be five games?"

"No, sir," they answer before scampering off.

Harrington faces Dustin and Will. "You boys okay?" he asks them.

"We're good, Mr. H," Dustin answers.

"Glad to hear it." Steve begins collecting Will's ruined belongings, stops to study one of the drawings.

"This is really good, Will."

Will flushes. "Thanks. It's my character for dnd,"

"Dnd? That's that game that El and Max are always talking about? With the character sheets and the dice?"

"Yeah!" says Dustin. "You know it?"

Steve's smile is a little bashful, and it tugs at Eddie's heart in a way he has to ignore. "Not much. Just from what the girls have said. You want to tell me about it?"

"Really?" Their eyes light up.

"Really. You can stop by the gym during lunch. Only if you want to, though."

"Cool," says Dustin.

He pats them both on the shoulder, and they hurry away, leaving Steve and Eddie suddenly alone.

Eddie should head back to his class, hasn't been needed in this situation at all, really, but before he can disappear, Steve spots him and his eyes widen.

"You need something, Munson?" Steve's cheeks go a faint pink.

He shakes his head, feels wrong-footed. "Uh, that was really cool what you did just there."

"They're really good kids," Steve says. "I know them a little. Used to babysit El Hopper." He slides his hands into the pockets of his khakis and, seriously, fuck Harrington for looking like that in a pair of Dockers.

"Babysitter, Harrington? Never thought I'd see the day. Or that you'd be the one defending a bunch of nerds," Eddie says. He means it teasing, but Steve's face warps into a frown.

"Y--yeah, I guess. I mean. I'm trying not to be that guy anymore, and Robin's really helped--"

"Shit, man, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant, at all--"

"--I feel terrible about all that shit I pulled back in school. That King Steve stuff? I was awful and you didn't deserve--"

"Steve!" Eddie cuts him off. "I forgive you. For everything." He looks down at his shoes. "For all I didn't want to believe it, you really have changed."

They're both pink faced now, avoiding each other's eyes. "Thanks," Steve says. "I should get going, but--for the future-- I really wouldn't mind--um--trying to be friends."

The grin that passes across Eddie's face is huge. "Yeah, Harrington, I'd like that."

Eddie has to run to make it to his classroom on time. He passes Dustin and Will and the rest of their gaggle of friends, rushing them along, but forgets all about it as he steps in front of his third period juniors.

---

He and Steve are...friendly now. They chat, they joke, they share smiles that have Eddie's heart beating too fast even though it's not like that. Turns out Steve is kind and funny (a little bit of a bitch too, but in a way that ties Eddie's stomach in knots), and a hell of a teacher.

---

His freshman are in small groups, peer-reviewing an essays, when Max Mayfield catches his eye. She's one of his favorite students and absolute trouble.

"What's up, Mayfield." He asks.

"Are you friends with Mr. Harrington?" She asks.

He chuckles. "Sure, Max, we're friendly enough. Why?"

She narrows her eyes, like she knows he's not being totally honest. "Oh, nothing. He just talks about you all the time."

He's blushing horribly and Max, and all of her friends, smirk up at him. "He does?" He chokes out.

"Mmhmm," Lucas Sinclair says. "Says he thinks you're really cool."

"Definitely one of the best teachers here," Mike Wheeler adds.

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Okay, very funny, guys. How're your essays going?"

They answer, but before Eddie goes to help another group, Will says, "he really does like you, Mr. Munson. A lot."

El nods earnestly up at him. "It is true," she says. "I know him."

"Thanks, kids. I'll keep that in mind." He gives them a smile, tries not to let their words get to him. When he reaches the next group, though, he notices his hands are shaking.

---

Gifts start turning up in Eddie's cubby. It starts with a bag of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies from his favorite bakery. There's a small note that says "from your secret admirer," on the packaging. Every two weeks or so, something new shows up in his little mailbox; a woven friendship bracelet, a yellow rose, Hershey kisses, a delicately painted dnd figure that gives Eddie a small crisis because it's his own bard character, an Iron Maiden cassette, a bag of dice that almost brings him to genuine tears.

Eventually, he gets another note. This one is typed and reads: "I would love to have coffee with you 11am this Saturday at the Cafe on Main Street."

---

He walks into the cafe at 10:50am, wearing his favorite pair of ripped black jeans and a burgundy button-down, his hair pulled into a loose bun. He doesn't recognize anyone there.

Eddie gets in line, studies the menu, and the little bell above the door rings. He whips towards the sound to find none other than Steve Harrington in little wire rim glasses, a butter colored sweater, and jeans the man must have painted on, Jesus Christ. Honestly, the whole thing is enough to give Eddie a coronary (and to, embarrassingly, chub up in his own tight jeans).

"Steve?" He asks. He's overwhelmed with the (stupid, stupid) hope that it's been Harrington all along. "What are you doing here?"

"Henderson asked me to meet him. He around?"

"Uh, no?" Eddie feels heat creeping up his throat.

Steve shakes his head, as though he expected as much. "You alone? We could grab drink."

"I can't believe this." Eddie hides his face in his hands, knows it's gone horrifyingly crimson.

"What's wrong?"

"My secret admirer told me to be here now, so we could meet," Eddie's misery slices through his words. "I'm such an idiot."

"I--your--what?" Steve stammers.

He gathers himself enough to look Steve in his hazel eyes and ask, "I'm assuming it wasn't you leaving notes and gifts for me at work?"

And he expects Steve to say no. To laugh and ask why he'd ever do something like that, but instead, instead he flushes a deep red. "O-only one note."

"What?"

"I, uh," Steve clears his throat. "I left you a note. On Valentine's Day. I--we weren't friends yet, and I wanted you to know how much I liked you. It's --uh--it's pretty silly, huh? Robin's--"

"Steve," Eddie interrupts. He's going to tell Steve that he reads the note often enough that he has parts memorized; that it's the kindest thing anyone has done for him, but what he says instead is, "Dustin Henderson told you to meet him here at 11?"

"Yeah. Said he had something to show me."

Eddie remembers running into Will and Dustin and their friends that day in the hall, the weird conversation in class, the dice and the miniature. Something must click for Steve at the same time because his mouth drops, blush getting somehow deeper.

"Oh my god. Henderson! I'm gonna kill him. They figured out I had a crush on you."

"They WHAT?" Eddie says, loud enough that several looks are aimed their way.

"I'm so, so sorry, Eddie. Holy shit, this is so humiliating. You have to believe me, I had no idea they were doing this. God, I'm really starting to think it is possible to die from embarrassment."

"You have a crush on me," Eddie says instead of any of the dozens of helpful things he could say.

"Um. Yes?"

Eddie takes a deep breath, straightens his spine, and asks, "You wanna have coffee with me?"

"I'd really like that." Steve's return smile is so beautiful, it makes Eddie weak.

---

Eddie Munson is making out with Steve Harrington in the backseat of Steve's BMW. He and Steve spent the day together. They've kissed for so long that the sun has set, both of their lips are swollen, their skin red from stubble, and Eddie is nowhere near ready for the night to end.

Steve breaks away, gently pulling their mouths apart, but arms still tight around Eddie. "Hey, what kind of gifts were they giving you anyway? The kids?"

"Oh," Eddie blushes. "Uh, cookies, a dnd mini, lots of candy, a set of dice."

"Oh my god," Steve says, he pulls a little more away. "Oh my god, I'm going to kill her, Jesus Christ."

"Who are are you killing, sweetheart?"

Steve groans. "Robin. She was helping them. We found a set of dice at this little bookstore and she told me to get them for you, and--" he breaks off with a helpless, frustrated noise.

Eddie doesn't mean to, but he starts to giggle.

"It's not funny!" Steve says.

That only makes Eddie laugh harder. "Your best friend," he squeaks. "And a group of literal children set us up. That's hilarious, Harrington."

Steve's mouth drops and for a second Eddie thinks he'll be upset, but then he's giggling too, his whole face crumpling into it.

Steve pulls Eddie close once the laughter subsides, his eyes trained on Eddie's lips.

"We could pretend we didn't get together," Eddie manages to say.

"What, like, make them think they failed?"

"Yeah. We could tell them I got stood up, but you and I hung out. Had a bro day."

Steve giggles again, and it's the best sound Eddie's ever heard. "I'm absolutely on board with this plan, but you should definitely kiss me some more."

"Oh, yeah?" Eddie asks, his voice low. "And what'll I get out of it?"

"Why don't you get over here and see."

As if Eddie could turn down an invite that enticing. He slides a hand behind Steve's head, drawing him in, and they're kissing like they never stopped. It only been a few hours, but Eddie knows--without a doubt--he's already head over heels.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Random Number Generator Drabble: Eddie Munson + #137

Prompt: "Do you know how beautiful you are? It's truly distracting."

Prompt List

You and Eddie were supposed to be studying. You both were getting ready for finals. You for college and Eddie for his, hopefully, last year in high school.

It was a nice day so you two decided to study out on the picnic tables in the trailer park.

You're writing down the parts of a cell when you feel eyes on you. You look up, catching Eddie's dark brown eyes, "You're supposed to be studying, Eds."

"I can't," he replies.

You snort, "Can't or won't?"

He licks his lips and grins, "Listen, sweets, you're distracting."

You chuckle, "I'm distracting?!"

He nods, "Do you know how beautiful you are? It's truly distracting. How can I focus on the wise words of Shakespeare when I'd rather just stare at you instead?" he props his elbows on the table and rests his head in his hands.

You roll your eyes, "Eddie, come on."

Your boyfriend proceeds to stand on the picnic bench, setting one foot onto the table top, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate.," he bends down and boops your nose, "Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date."

He hops down with a proud grin as you slowly clap, "Well done. But as I recall, you need to memorize Romeo's soliloquy. Not Sonnet 18."

He pouts at you, "Sweets, I'm trying to be romantic!"

"You can be romantic after you pass your English final."

He groans, "We've been studying for hours!"

"It's been half an hour."

"Close enough!"

He crawls over the table to sit next to you, "Take a break. Let's makeout for a little bit..." he kisses your shoulder and wraps his arms around you.

You sigh, "Fine. We'll take a break."

"Yes!" he cheers as he practically picks you up to sit you on his lap, his lips immediately on yours.

[jawnscoffee]

Summer’s day

okay so *claps* this is a superduper random poem i wrote AGES ago and i just thought imma share it lol (i imagine it from sherlocks pov as a teenager (so teenlock au) after he met john aaaand yeah)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They say I shall compare thee to a summer’s day

-

I think I’d rather not.

“Why?” they ask,

I can’t reply,

Too many words in my throat are stuck.

Thou art more lovely and temperate,

But not in the way a summer’s day is.

I spent so many of those alone,

Yet never felt such bliss.

I never thought I could see the sun from close quarters,

Until you looked at me,

And when I saw you smile and your dimples showed,

My heart caused greater ripples than the sea.

Rough winds may shake the darling buds of may,

But your eyes make me shake more than any storm I’ve ever sensed.

Yet most of all -

I gulp and whisper -

“Day’s are finite,

And I do not ever want you to end.“

tag list (tell me if you want to be removed/added!! especially bc i haven’t posted something in AGES): @a-victorian-girl @topsyturvy-turtely @helloliriels @lisbeth-kk @jobooksncoffee @paulineholmes02 @totallysilvergirl @sunshineinyourmind @calaisreno @sher-lock221b-st @ilovejohnlocksblog @iamjustreading @whodwantmeasaflatmate @snonkerdoodlefizzy221b @nottheweasley @jawnn-watson @keirgreeneyes @sherlockisbored221 @13monkton @catlock-holmes @221beloved @jameshavinganxiety @consultingtribble @meohmycroft @mary-johnlocked @kat987 @macgyvershe @johnlockifconvenient @blogstandbygo @7-percent @writingloud @dw91165 @just-a-fixed-point-in-time @peanitbear @unusuallysubtext @bs2sjh @missdeliadilisblog @grace-in-the-wilderness

[cavarage]

“ Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; (...) ” – Sonnet 18: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? by William Shakespeare

[s-eeunis]

*̑ ③ *̑

බ  🥧 ⠖  ⏝    Shall  I  compare  thee  to  a  Տuɱɱer's  day? Thou  art  m᥆rᥱ  lovelᥡ  and  more  temperate: Rough  winds  do  shake the darling buds of May, And  summer’s  lease  hath  all  too  short  a date    ⏝   ৵░ྀི   ❤︎ 

[jayden-killer]

SHALL I COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMER'S DAY?

previous part here.

summary: That's it. That's the moment when you decide to open the famous letter Loki wrote to you before sacrificing himself into becoming the God of Stories.

warnings: lots of angst, heheheh.

author's note: my biggest apologies!! I didn't mean to procrastinate this one, but I also had 0 ideas on how to write it (((￣へ￣井). I tried my best. Also, bonus point, as an english literature student, i had to add Shakespeare's Sonnet 18. >:)

taglist (people who wanted the letter, its hereee!!): @eviebuggg @tea-kovsky-pot @sititran

☆

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

***

My dear,

Putting what I’m feeling on paper now is complicated for me.

Certain emotions have no explanation.

The TVA will collapse. I have seen into the future, and have gone back in time indecipherable times to put a point to this story, however my attempts have always been in vain. Only when hope was about to leave my body, I understood.

I understood my glorious purpose, I understood that there would be no other solution but one: sacrifice.

It will lead to the birth of a new, better timeline, however, not everything is pink and flowers. I already know there will be consequences for what we’ve built hard, you and I. Breaking a love pact that we promised to honor in spite of everything.

Which I will break.

The bitterness in my mouth assails me. The pen trembles in the palm of my hand; my eyes are swollen with tears...

To me, you are like an early morning sun ray on what is to be a sunny summer morning.

To me, you are like sea waves, crashing on rocks with determination, yet delicate in their touch.

To me, you are like the melody of a harp, melodious, cordial.

You are what still feeds the beating of my heart at such a difficult time as this.

You are what I call "Love of my life".

What a wonder, love itself. Before you, I never knew love. You, my other half, enchanted me with your magic. You gave me all of you.

It wouldn’t be fair of me not to return the favor.

I shall never forget your angelic voice, your shining eyes, the sweetness of your lips, your kind touches, the brightest smile in the Nine Realms, making the major gods invidious.

Do not shed more tears than you have already shed.

I will not be physically with you, sleeping in your arms on your comfortable sofa, enjoying the warmth of your body.

I shall watch over you every single day of my existence. Time won't separate us, not even in the slightest.

I'll always look up to you,

I'll always protect you.

Our souls are connected even beyond time itself.

My beautiful wife.

With much love,

𝐿𝑜𝓀𝒾.

[a-ramblinrose]

JOMP BPC || August 3 || Summer:

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

[souslesetoilesavectoi]

Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm’d; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d; But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this and this gives life to thee.

Shakespeare - Sonnet 18

Reblogs help way more than likes!

Lighting free version under cut

Now I’m going to sleep because it’s 9 am—

[petaltexturedskies]

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18

[headcanonsandmore]

'Stand and Deliver!', Chapter Seven

Summary: In the aftermath of Tegan kissing the phantom (Nyssa) on the cheek, the parsons daughter struggles to hold back her feelings for Tegan. However, Tegan's visit to the parsons house the very next morning may just make things more difficult. And when will Tegan realise that the woman she loves and the mysterious masked figure are one and the same? Read on, dear readers, and find out…

~~~~~~~~~

My apologies for the delay with this chapter, everyone. Things have still been pretty busy IRL, but I hope you enjoy this chapter despite the wait.

~~~~~~~~~

Read on AO3.

~~~~~~~~~

‘Nyssa?’

Nyssa Traken heard a knocking at her bedroom door. Dimly, she opened her eyes.

The dim light of the winter sun was peaking gently through the curtains. With a yawn, she sat up in bed, shivering slightly at the sudden cool air against her hands, neck and face. She was glad of the hair covering that she wore to bed.

‘Good mo-or-rning, father,’ she said, stifling another yawn. ‘I must have overslept.’

‘No matter,’ said Tremas, through the door. ‘It is barely eight in the morning. I’m surprised; you went to bed fairly early.’

‘Oh,’ Nyssa started. ‘Yes, I suppose I must have worn myself out yesterday.’

Well, that was true, in a way. Although not in the way her father thought.

Tremas suggested she get dressed and come downstairs for breakfast, and Nyssa agreed. As she heard the sounds of her fathers’ footsteps grow quieter down the corridor, Nyssa gave another yawn and climbed out of bed.

She crossed the room to a small table, on which was placed a large bowl and a jug filled with water. She emptied the contents of the jug into the bowl, and duly washed her face, taking care not to press the soap too closely against her skin. Her father, being a clergyman, could not rationalise the buying of gentle soaps. Nyssa didn’t mind.

Besides, the coldness of the water helped to ignore the beating of her heart as she remembered the events of the previous evening.

She pressed a hand gently against the spot of her cheek where Tegan Jovanka’s lips had touched, and felt her entire face flush. Her heart beat frantically through her chest, and she was suddenly aware of a warmth sparking gently between her thighs, which she did her best to ignore.

Nyssa raised a hand to her forehead, feeling the rush of heat across her skin, and dearly wishing that her mind would stop revisiting the moment when Tegan Jovanka had kissed her.

Kissed her.

Tegan Jovanka had kissed her.

Good grief. Tegan; an enigma wrapped in a mystery wrapped in a very flattering skirt.

Nyssa’s mind drifted to a sonnet by William Shakespeare that she had once read;

“Shall I compare thee to a summers day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate.

 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summers lease hath all too short a date.”

But perhaps that sonnet did not match? No, she decided, it did not. Nyssa’s mind quickly jumped to one that did;

“Let me confess that we two must be twain,

Although our undivided loves are one,

So shall those lots that do with me remain,

Without thy help, by me be borne alone…”

Nyssa let out a sigh, before removing her nightdress and continuing to wash herself.

About ten minutes later, she had finished washing and had gotten dressed. Pulling a brush gently through her long brown hair, Nyssa sat on her bed, listening inattentively to the sounds of the robins chirping in the bare trees outside her window.

There was another knock at the door.

‘Miss Nyssa?’

‘Good morning, Vicki; please come in, I’m dressed.’

The young girl entered the room, closing the door behind her.

‘I thought it best not to wake you when I left the room earlier. You have slept in quite a long time this morning.’

‘I think I must have been worn out from the events of yesterday.’

‘Well, you wouldn’t believe this; I just popped into the village shop for some things and -would you believe it- apparently Miss Tegan was rescued from a robber by the phantom last night!’

Nyssa froze for a split second, hand curled around her brush, before continuing.

‘Good grief, is Tegan well?’

‘Very much so, but her parents were so glad to have her safely returned home.’

‘I’m not surprised. They must have been worried sick.’

‘The phantom seems to like Tegan a lot, don’t they.’

‘I suppose,’ Nyssa said. ‘Tegan seems to like them a fair amount too.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘O-oh, nothing. I think I ought to head over to the inn later to welcome Tegan home; would you like to accompany me?’

‘Thank you,’ Vicki said. ‘But I think Miss Tegan would appreciate that more from you than from me?’

‘W-what do you mean?’

Vicki smiled.

‘You two are close friends, after all. She would want to hear you are relieved that she is returned to Crofters Lodge safe and sound.’

‘Oh. Yes, I suppose she would be.’

Vicki smiled, and left the room, the door closing gently behind her.

Nyssa thought to herself. Yes, she and Tegan were close friends, weren’t they. They had been close since they were children and, while Tegan had been away, Nyssa had missed her dearly. She knew that Tegan had missed her too although… she feared that it was not in the same way. Not to the same extent that Nyssa had missed her. And, while she hoped that maybe Tegan’s feelings to her were not simply that of a platonic nature, she also feared that she was simply over-thinking. Over-analysing. Like she always seemed to.

She hoped that Tegan would be glad Nyssa was relieved for her being safe. In fact, she knew that Tegan would be. Tegan -kind, sweet, wonderful Tegan- would absolutely be glad.

And yet… and yet…

She’d prefer the phantom, though, wouldn’t she? Nyssa thought, sadly, as she tied her hair-covering under her chin and picked up her pinafore to wrap around the front of her dress.

*

The door opened.

‘Good morn-Tegan!’

Nyssa’s face flushed a deep shade of scarlet. The parsons daughter put a hand up to cover her mouth in astonished embarrassment. She was wearing a pinafore around her dress. Around her head was neatly tied a scarf, out of which a few strands of her curly brown hair were dangling. Her forehead was covered in perspiration. She had clearly been in the middle of cleaning.

Standing a couple of feet away from the door, Tegan stared at her in confusion.

‘Good morning, Nyssa,’ she said, inclining her head to one side. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’

‘U-unwell?’

‘Your face… it’s bright red.’

‘O-oh, no; I’m fine, thank you!’ Nyssa exclaimed, with a nervous laugh. ‘Just a little warm from my chores. H-how can I help you, Tegan?’

‘Er….’ Tegan said, momentarily bewildered. A flustered Nyssa was not something she was used to dealing with, although she had to admit the effect was not unpleasant. ‘My mother thought Vicki could do with some home-cooked baked goods; bit of a comfort for her, you see.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely!’ Nyssa said, with a smile that brought the dimples to her cheeks. ‘Er, please come in.’

Tegan stepped inside, and Nyssa closed the front door. Following the younger woman along the short corridor to the kitchen, Tegan reflected that, while the pastors home was not especially large, it was certainly comfortable nonetheless, with well-made curtains covering the windows and a pleasant sort of smell.

The two young women entered the kitchen, and Tegan placed the large basket she was carrying onto the decently-sized kitchen table. She then opened the top of the basket, and duly began to unpack the wares that her mother had placed inside.

‘Oh, let me help you…’

Nyssa came to stand beside her, and reached towards the top of the basket at the same moment Tegan did.

Their hands bumped softly together, and Nyssa seemed to freeze. Tegan stared at her, in amazement, as the parsons daughter began to flush once again. With a sudden start, Nyssa pulled away, blinking quickly.

‘M-my apologies,’ Nyssa stammered, seemingly unable to meet Tegan’s eyes.

Tegan set the pastries down on the table, and turned to Nyssa, taking a step towards her. She reached over and placed a hand on Nyssa’s forehead.

‘Nyssa, you’re burning up!’

‘N-no, I’m perfectly fine,’ Nyssa stammered, pulling away again.

‘I didn’t think you’d be this flustered just remembering our dancing!’

‘O-oh, well I suppose I don’t dance very often,’ Nyssa said, rather quickly. ‘I’ll be fine in a moment. Anyway… Vicki told me that the phantom rescued you from a robber last night.’

‘Er… something like that,’ Tegan said, with a shrug. ‘They were a gentleman about it.’

‘I’m sure they were, Tegan. Besides,’ Nyssa said, with a smirk. ‘I doubt the phantom would be able to stand up to your temper if they tried to push their luck.’

‘Cheeky but accurate,’ Tegan chuckled.

‘Are you… well, Tegan?’

‘I am,’ Tegan said, smiling. ‘But I appreciate your concern, Nyssa. You’re too good for this world.’

Nyssa’s face seemed to flush again. Once again, Tegan was struck not only by how beautiful Nyssa looked when flustered, but also by the delight she felt that she was responsible for it. She could get used to this, all too easily.

‘I bet you’d rather be with the phantom right now,’ Nyssa said, with a little sigh that seemed to escape her lips without her realising it.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Tegan said, with a sudden fierceness. ‘You think I’d rather be in danger on a rainy night instead of here with you? Come off it, Nys…’

Tegan leaned over and wrapped her arm around the younger woman’s shoulders. Nyssa seemed to freeze for a second, before relaxing and leaning into Tegan’s touch, head resting slightly against Tegan’s head. Her eyes fluttered shut.

‘I know,’ Nyssa said, softly. ‘But still; it’s more exciting with the phantom than with the pastors daughter, isn’t it.’

‘Dangerous, yes. I don’t know if I’d want to make a habit of it. Whereas I do like making a habit of being around you, Nys. You… you know that, right?’

Nyssa smiled, dimples showing in her cheeks.

‘That means the world to me, Tegan. Even if…’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Just… thank you.’

Tegan couldn’t help but wonder if Nyssa wasn’t telling her something. Almost as if…

But, no, Nyssa wouldn’t know that. She certainly wouldn’t have known that Tegan had kissed the phantom on the cheek.

Tegan felt a wave of guilt erupt in her stomach. What had she been thinking? Was she really so miserable pining after Nyssa that she had decided to randomly kiss a highway… person of questionable gender?

But it wasn’t as if she could ever kiss Nyssa, after all. What did she have to lose?

Tegan rested her head against the side of Nyssa’s. Moments like this were probably the closest she would ever get to… well, she knew exactly what. Soon enough, Nyssa would be married to some man and Tegan would be stuck having to bury her feelings completely for the rest of their lives. It wasn’t fair.

Oh, damn it to hell!

Tegan turned her head and, before she could talk herself out of it, pressed a kiss to Nyssa’s cheek.

It was barely more than a touch, but Tegan felt that -for all its brief second of lips on skin- she could happily live in that moment for the rest of her life.

Nyssa seemed to freeze slightly but did not otherwise react.

‘Any… particular reason for that?’

‘Er… do I need one?’

Nyssa’s mouth widened into a large smile that showed off her dimples.

‘No,’ she said, softly. ‘I suppose you don’t. But… thank you, anyway.’

 ‘You’re most welcome,’ Tegan said, returned the smile in kind.

The two of them stood companionably for a moment before Tegan realised that it was maybe a little too long to be stood like this. With regret, she removed her arm from around Nyssa, and looked around the room, searching for something to converse about.

There was a small portrait hanging on the wall. It was a charcoal piece, displaying a young man. He had Pastor Tremas’s eyes. Tegan recognised him dimly from their childhood.

‘I thought I knew that face,’ she said, gesturing to the portrait with a tilt of her head. ‘He moved away a few years before I did, didn’t he?’

‘My brother, Turlough,’ Nyssa replied, with a nod. ‘Yes; he currently lives in York.’

‘Is he still as annoying as ever?’

‘Tegan!’ Nyssa exclaimed, but with a laugh that removed any sort of reproach. ‘Well, I never found him especially annoying.’

‘You’re lucky, then; most siblings continue it their first duty to be a source of irritation for each other.’

Nyssa gave a giggle, cheeks dimpling. Tegan smiled in return, enjoying the merriment on the other young woman’s features. Rather nice features, as she well knew. Yes, she definitely felt happier with the world when Nyssa Traken was laughing at a remark she had offered.

‘Works in the clergy, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ Nyssa said. ‘Father wrote him a letter of recommendation. I believe he is hoping to be given his first parish soon.’

‘I still can’t believe you two are siblings,’ Tegan said. ‘He’s got your fathers eyes but you barely look alike.’

‘Well, father has always told us that I take after our late mother.’

Nyssa gestured to another portrait that was hanging on the wall. Again in charcoal, but this time of a woman in her thirties. Like Nyssa, she had a rounded face, curly hair and kind eyes. The portrait was dated from roughly ten years before.

Tegan ignored the spasm of guilt that beset her stomach. She knew that Nyssa’s mother had died some years back, and that Nyssa would feel no ache that the subject had been brought up. But she couldn’t help it.

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have-’

‘Oh, please don’t apologise,’ Nyssa said, with a smile. ‘Her memory is a blessing.’

‘I think she’d be so proud of the woman you’ve become.’

The words were out of Tegan’s mouth before she could stop herself, and froze as Nyssa’s eyes widened. A slight blush appeared on Nyssa’s delicate features, and she raised a hand to cover her mouth.

‘I…’ she started, before pausing again. ‘Thank you, Tegan. I… I like to believe she would too.’

There was a very dense pause as the two young women stared at each other.

‘Y-you’re welcome,’ Tegan said, words tumbling over her tongue. ‘Most welcome.’

Nyssa smiled, before turning her attention to the large hamper.

‘Your mother had outdone herself once again.’

‘And she knows it,’ Tegan chortled. ‘But I will pass on the compliment. I hope Vicki enjoys them.’

‘I’m sure she will. I think she’s settling in nicely.’

‘Let’s hope so. Lethbridge-Stewart seems to be making rather a lot of hubbub in the village,’ Tegan said. ‘It can’t be easy for Vicki, hearing so much talk of highwaymen.’

‘Yes, I have heard that he’s ruffled a few feathers.’

‘I’d have thought that you’d be supporting him, Nyssa,’ Tegan said, with a smirk as she nudged the younger woman playfully with her elbow. ‘You weren’t exactly fond of the phantom a while ago.’

‘Well…’ Nyssa said, with a smile that brought out her dimples again. ‘The phantom has saved your life a few times since then, so I suppose I’m a little more forgiving now.’

‘Rather fond of me, then?’

Nyssa’s cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink.

‘You could say that, yes.’

Tegan ignored the happy jump of her heart.

‘Hello, Miss Tegan.’

The two women jumped apart, as Vicki entered the room. The young girl didn’t seem to notice this response, and instead craned her neck to look into the basket.

‘Oh, are these from your mother, Miss Tegan?’

‘Yes,’ Tegan replied, feeling a little out-of-sorts. ‘How are you settling in, Vicki?’

‘Very well, thank you, Miss Tegan,’ Vicki said, with a short curtsey. ‘And my thanks to your mother for the wonderful cakes.’

‘Speaking of which,’ Nyssa said, picking up the basket. ‘I best put these in the pantry before they go dry.’

She then quickly left the room. Tegan found herself staring after the parsons daughter, her mind full of Nyssa saying that she was fond of Tegan.

‘How is Dan the donkey?’

Startled, Tegan turned to stare at Vicki.

‘I- sorry?’

‘Dan the donkey. You introduced Miss Nyssa to him on the night of the dancing, yes? He seems a very sweet creature.’

‘Nyssa told you about that?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Really?’

‘Of course. Well, Miss Nyssa mentions you a lot, you see.’

‘Er… does she?’

‘Yes,’ Vicki said, with an emphatic nod. ‘She often mentions your kindness, your compassion, your generosity, and the like.’

‘I… I see. Well, that’s very kind of her. She is a wonderful woman herself.’

‘The two of you are very close, it seems.’

Tegan froze slightly. But Vicki’s tone was one of cheerful frankness; she did not seem to mean anything subtextual with her words.

‘Yes,’ Tegan said. ‘We’re very close friends. I did miss her so when I was living in London.’

‘By the sounds of it, she missed you a lot too. I heard her the other day talking about how beautiful you were-’

‘Yes, thank you, Vicki,’ Nyssa said, bustling back into the room. Her cheeks were flushed again.

‘Thank you, Nyssa,’ Tegan said, looking at her with a soft smile. ‘I think you’re very beautiful too, but you already knew that.’

‘I… yes, I did know that you see me as such,’ Nyssa said, giving a very shy smile in return. ‘Thank you, Tegan.’

Vicki’s eyes flicked between the two older women, and her mouth hung open slightly.

‘Oh,’ the young girl said, softly. ‘I… I see.’

‘See what, Vicki?’ Nyssa said, raising an eyebrow as she turned to look at her.

‘Er… just that yourself and Miss Tegan are very close.’

Nyssa’s eyes met Tegan’s, and a small blush appeared on her cheeks.

‘I like to think so, yes,’ she said, with a smile.

‘I best… get on with my chores, in that case.’ Vicki said, quickly.

‘Chores? Vicki, I’ve already said that you don’t need to worry about that. I’ve already taken care of the-’

‘Nice to see you again, Miss Tegan,’ Vicki said, with a smile, before hurrying away.

Nyssa stared after the young girl in bewilderment.

‘Why do you think she did that?’

‘Er…’ Tegan mumbled. She had a distinct impression as to exactly why Vicki had just hurried away, leaving the two of them alone. And it terrified her; was she that obvious?

Yes, she probably was, given that Benton knew as well.

‘P-probably just nerves,’ she said, with a shrug. ‘She is still settling in, isn’t she.’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Nyssa said. ‘Well, she is approaching womanhood; I remember being that age.’

Tegan also remembered Nyssa at that age. It had been roughly the same time she knew that she herself would never fall for a man. Funnily enough, the two realisations had happened at the same time. Not that Nyssa needed to know that.

There was a knock at the door, and Tegan could hear the sounds of Vicki hurrying along the corridor to answer it. With a chuckle, Nyssa turned and headed out of the kitchen. Tegan took a deep breath and followed her.

*

Lethbridge-Stewart stepped through the doorway. He was followed by Benton, who grinned cheerfully at the three women.

‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Thank you, Miss Traken,’ said the older military man, with a curt nod. ‘I’ve come to speak with your father; top secret, I’m afraid.’

‘It’s about the highwayman activity, isn’t it?’ Tegan said, folding her arms and giving a chuckle.

Benton stifled a chortle as Lethbridge-Stewart frowned.

‘Miss Jovanka, I really think you ought to wait with Miss Traken while myself and Benton discuss the matter with the pastor.’

‘And do my needlework?’ Tegan said, raising an eyebrow. ‘You don’t know much about women, do you?’

‘She does have a point, sir,’ Benton added, cheerfully. ‘Tegan and Miss Nyssa are residents of the area, after all.’

‘It’s not open to discussion, Benton,’ Lethbridge-Stewart replied. ‘I can’t very well be revealing my plans to anyone who wants to- ah, Pastor Traken, just the man I wanted to see.’

Nyssa’s father had appeared, looking curious.

‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘How may I be of help?’

‘I wish to discuss certain confidential matters with you, concerning my plans in the area-’

‘It’s about the highwayman activity, father,’ Nyssa interrupted.

Lethbridge-Stewart’s moustache quivered with irritation as both Tegan and Benton smothered their giggles. Nyssa, keeping her face calm, met Lethbridge-Stewart’s eye.

‘Oh, very well,’ said Pastor Traken. ‘Please, come through to my study.’

Benton sent an apologetic look over his shoulder at Tegan and Nyssa as he followed the other two men along the corridor.

‘I want to find out what’s happening,’ Tegan said, quietly. ‘Nyssa, is there a way of being able to eavesdrop?’

‘Eavesdrop over my father’s study, while he is discussing things with guests?’ Nyssa smiled knowingly. ‘Well, that would be a violation of their privacy, wouldn’t it?’

‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have-’

‘We best climb up into the attic; there’s a small gap between the study roof and the rafters.’

Tegan grinned.

‘You’re brilliant, you are.’

Nyssa giggled.

*

It was only when climbing under the rafters that Tegan realised the inherent danger of the situation.

In a dark, constricted area with Nyssa, where the only sounds were their own belaboured breathing.

The tiny gap inbetween the thatched roof and the room below was barely big enough for the two women to fit. Both of them had needed to kneel down on the spot, their faces now barely a few inches apart, their legs bent out at awkward angles on the ground. Tegan’s heart stammered as the warmth of Nyssa’s thigh pressed against her own.

Tegan’s shoulder was pressed against Nyssa’s, and she could have sworn that the younger woman seemed to melt into her slightly at their increased proximity. It was too dark to properly see, but a delicate blush seemed to have enveloped Nyssa’s features again. Her eyes fluttered slightly, long lashes batting. Tegan swallowed, thickly.

‘Nyssa?’

‘Fine,’ Nyssa whispered back, both of them careful not to speak loudly for fear of being discovered. The sudden deepness of her voice caused… certain thoughts to flash momentarily through Tegan’s mind. Thoughts that normally appeared during half-consciousness in the depths of night.

Tegan blinked quickly, ignoring the tremble of her inner thighs as a flash of heat surged through.

‘Well, Pastor,’ Lethbridge-Stewart was saying, in the study below. ‘I’m sure that my movements in the village are something of a mystery to you.’

‘No,’ replied the Pastor. ‘You’re investigating whether the phantom could be a villager, yes?’

There was a pause, and Tegan could have sworn that she heard Benton suppress a giggle.

‘Might I enquire,’ continued Lethbridge-Stewart. ‘How you came to know this?’

‘I’m afraid you have underestimated the power of gossip in a small, isolated village,’ chuckled Pastor Traken. ‘You are perhaps forgetting that my daughter is close friends with the daughter of the local innkeeper?’

Lethbridge-Stewart let out a harumph of irritation.

‘Nevermind, sir,’ said Benton, cheerfully. ‘You’re new to the area; Crofters Lodge is very different to London, after all.’

‘Yes, thank you, Benton,’ replied the military man. ‘Honestly, I didn’t think I’d need to worry about my movements being tracked by a bunch of-’

‘Very intelligent and capable young women,’ Benton finished. ‘We’re all very proud of them, aren’t we, Pastor?’

‘Oh, very much so,’ Nyssa’s father added. ‘My Nyssa is a wonderful young woman, as is Tegan.’

‘Yes, well…’ Lethbridge-Stewart mumbled. ‘Be that as it may, if we can return to the topic at hand…’

Nyssa giggled into Tegan’s ear.

‘This… phantom,’ Lethbridge-Stewart was saying. ‘When did he begin to appear?’

‘A while ago,’ Pastor Traken answered, slowly. ‘At first, we mainly heard rumours of a masked man protecting the local villagers from highwayman on the common. That would have been about… oh, a year and a half ago? But who knows how long the Phantom has been “operating” on the common, so to speak.’

‘Hmm,’ -Lethbridge-Stewart seemed to be writing this all down- ‘And the phantom only targets those of a certain social class?’

‘From what we can gather, yes. They are… something of a Robin Hood figure, I believe. Only the very wealthy are robbed by the phantom.’

‘Strange.’

‘Not that strange, sir,’ Benton added. ‘The Phantom does seem to have something of a code of honour. They avoid killing and seem to be… something of a gentleman with how they interact with the villagers.’

‘A gentleman highwayman?’ -Lethbridge-Stewart let out a derisive snort. ‘Benton, when you’ve seen as much of life as I have, you’ll come to see that a criminal is a criminal, no matter what… pretensions they may have. This phantom will be prosecuted to the full extent of the life, for armed robbery and theft.’

‘The phantom did save the life of my ward,’ Pastor Traken said, with something of a hurt tone of voice. ‘Surely that can be taken into account.’

‘Perhaps,’ Lethbridge-Stewart replied. ‘I will grant you, that is unusual for a highwayman; to do so with no thought of reward.’

There was the sound of the men getting to their feet.

‘If I may say so,’ said Lethbridge Stewart, ‘Miss Jovanka seems to be something of a bad influence on your daughter.’

‘I say so too,’ Nyssa whispered, into Tegan’s ear. ‘You do get me into mischief, do you not, Tegan?’

A shiver went up Tegan’s spine, and she bit her lip to stop herself from giggling, both from merriment and from nerves.

‘I think you’re being rather harsh, my good man,’ Pastor Traken replied, genially, from the room below. ‘Miss Jovanka has been a good friend to Nyssa for many years. Do you know that she invited Nyssa to the last dance at the inn? My Nyssa is something of a shy girl, so I was glad to see that she has such a good, warm friend to call her own.’

Tegan ignored the well of her heart at the pastors praise.

‘Very true, pastor,’ Benton added. ‘Tegan has always held Nyssa in great regard, and I am positive that regard is returned in kind.’

Tegan gritted her teeth. That settled it, she was going to murder Benton.

Nyssa’s enormous smile, despite the darkness of the passageway, was pretty evident to see.

Well, on reflection, maybe she should postpone Benton’s imminent demise.

‘Good day to you, sirs.’

‘And to you, Pastor.’

‘Benton, my boy,’ Pastor Traken continued. ‘Mrs Jovanka is not still trying to have you and Tegan engaged, is she?’

Benton gave an amiable laugh.

‘Thankfully not, sir; I wager Tegan would sooner marry Nyssa than marry me.’

‘Well, if the church was able to, I would certainly not object to performing the ceremony for Tegan to wed my Nyssa…’

The door closed as Benton and Pastor Traken left the study.

Tegan felt her pulse rate rise. Why had Benton mentioned her marrying Nyssa? And to Nyssa’s father, no less?

‘Marrying me, eh?’ Nyssa whispered. ‘What a thought, isn’t it, Tegan?’

‘Y-yes…’

Calm down, calm down, Tegan told herself, frantically, this doesn’t mean anything. Nyssa is just being merry, that is all. A merry joke, between two friends! Two friends who… have admitted that they both find the other beautiful and wonderful…

Rabbits!

‘Tegan…’ -Nyssa spoke, close to Tegan’s ear. ‘I… I need to…’

The innkeepers daughter froze, her blood pounding in her ears. Goosebumps erupted up the back of her neck, and her thighs shivered. The small space between them seemed to shrink, and Tegan was suddenly aware of how much of Nyssa was pressing against her in the small confines. Her heart hammering against her chest, Tegan’s mind reeled.

‘N-Nyssa?’

Indecision seemed to flash across Nyssa’s face, and Tegan was struck suddenly with a desire to wrap her arms around the younger woman, holding her close and tenderly. But before she had time to act on this sudden impulse, there was a cough from nearby.

‘Er… is this a bad time?’

Both Tegan and Nyssa startled, heads turning sharply to the source of the intruding voice.

Vicki was staring at them, with an apologetic grimace.

‘Sorry,’ the young girl said, looking between the two older women. ‘I didn’t mean to break up an intimate moment but-’

I-intimate moment? Tegan knew that her cheeks had flushed bright red, but she could do little else but stand, agape. Luckily, Nyssa didn’t seem to have noticed.

‘No need to apologise, Vicki,’ Nyssa said, climbing to her feet. ‘What is it?’

‘I thought I best let you know before Pastor Traken came back upstairs.’

Nyssa nodded, and reached out a hand to help Tegan to her feet, the two women walking -hunch over- towards the door where Vicki stood.

‘I’ll just make sure my father doesn’t notice our presence,’ Nyssa said, gently easing past Vicki and heading out of the passage, with barely a backwards glance at Tegan. The innkeepers daughter could have sworn, however, that a slight tremble shook Nyssa’s hand as she hurried away.

‘Are you well, Miss Tegan?’

Blinking quickly, Tegan turned to answer Vicki’s question.

‘Er, yes; thank you, Vicki.’

‘Think nothing of it, Miss Tegan,’ Vicki said, with a kind smile. ‘Besides, I know how much you and Miss Nyssa care for each other. I thought you might like some time to yourselves.’

‘W-what?’ Tegan stammered, eyes widening. ‘What are you-’

Vicki leaned forward and clasped Tegan’s hands in her, in something of a sisterly fashion.

‘I’m hoping for the best for you both,’ she said, grinning. ‘And wish you both all the happiness in the world.’

Tegan stared at her, agape, as the young girl squeezed her hands once more before dropping them and darting away with a parting grin.

Nyssa’s head reappeared through the door a moment later, looking at Tegan with a quizzical look after she noticed Tegan’s expression.

‘Tegan?’ Nyssa said. ‘Whatever is the matter?’

‘Nothing,’ Tegan replied, with a small smile. ‘Has your father noticed we were gone?’

‘I don’t believe so, no,’ Nyssa said, with a giggle. ‘Let’s hope he never suspects I had a young lady squished in with me inside such a small space; he’ll be rather surprised.’

‘Given that he seemed to have no qualms about me marrying you, I doubt he’d been that surprised.’

Nyssa’s face turned a beautiful shade of pink, and she giggled again, nudging Tegan with her shoulder as they headed back downstairs.

‘T-Tegan,’ Nyssa said, voice catching slightly as she -tentatively- looked under her eyelashes at the innkeepers daughter ,‘would you like to stay for lunch? We’d be most pleased to have you…’

*

Tegan climbed into bed that evening, tired but happy with the days events, her mind cheerfully recounting the emotions of being stuck inside that cramped space with Nyssa.

She ignored the heat prickling between her thighs, and turned over. It was no good thinking about that sort of thing, especially when it came to Nyssa. No matter that Tegan had been pressed up against her in all sorts of way that her mind refused to forget. No matter that Tegan’s unconscious mind would surely keep reliving those memories in her sleep. No matter that Tegan’s heart pounded as she remembered the huskiness of Nyssa’s breath against her skin.

No, instead she would focus on Nyssa without the physicality. There was surely nothing wrong with that. She tried to focus on having lunch with Nyssa, and the happy hours they had spent afterwards, discussing Ben and Polly’s engagement. It had been a wonderful afternoon, filled with many laughs. A few times, Tegan had found herself just gazing happily at Nyssa as the younger woman laughed at a remark Tegan had made, hand pressing softly against Tegan’s palm.

Nyssa, and her wonderful, kind smile.

Nyssa, and the soft dimples in her cheeks as she laughed.

Nyssa, and the delicate softness of her skin against Tegan’s.

Nyssa, and her gorgeous grey-green eyes.

Grey-green eyes… eyes…

Grey-green eyes?

Tegan turned and sat up in bed, her mind suddenly stumbling over itself. No… wait… hang on…

Grey-green eyes. Where had she seen such a pair of grey-green eyes before?

Her mind reeled, playing up the times where her own eyes had met that same shade. It had happened so often since she had arrived back on Sutton Common.  With the first being a pair of those grey-green eyes staring at her from behind a black mask.

The phantom.

The phantom had grey-green eyes. Very special grey-green eyes. The same exact shade of grey-green eyes.

The phantom, whose cheek had been of the same softness as the next person that Tegan had kissed on the cheek, the very next day.

Tegan fell back against her pillow, mouth hanging open as the pieces snapped together in her head. Her heart hammered against her chest, and her eyes widened in shock, in a horror mixed with a strange kind of giddy exhilaration. Her hands raised up to her mouth, covering the squeal that threatened to erupt.

Nyssa.

The phantom was Nyssa.

~~~~~~~~~

Dun-dun-dun! And Tegan finally twigs!

You have no idea how nice it is to finally write Tegan discovering the identity of the phantom; at one point, I did seriously consider having her not realise until later on, but I just couldn't bare it. Hope you enjoyed the chapter; rest assured that things will begin to progress from here! Stay tuned!

[cvlutos]

“To You”

| Repost: 03.06.2022 | 0.5K | PG |

Riddle Rosehearts X GN!Reader

| Characters 18+ | Fluff | Poems | Confessions | Etc | Proceed with Caution, Dearest.

My Dearest Rose,

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:”

The beginning of a poem that we learned in my English studies class, by the poet Shakespeare. I am familiar with his genius, yet I do fully not understand the purpose of poems or any literature that forms from creativity. My mother believes that they’re useless, irrelevant, for those who have not the knowledge to form more important works. Who lacks the ability to write articles, journals, facts over feelings? And I, for the longest, agreed with her. What do fictional stories, poems, haikus, and what purpose do they serve? They’re not like math, nor science. They’re fake, turn those away from a better and more important career and future.

“Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:”

Yet, when you feel something so strong. Something that takes the air from your lungs, that leaves your mind jumbled and confused. That has you second guessing every thought and feeling. That feels you with something that rivals the sun. Something that articles, journals, and facts over feelings can’t explain. Until you read a poem--

“Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his golden complexion dimm’d;”

That explains everything. That understands the shaking of my limbs when I am around you. That explains the cause of my beating heart, that seems to squeeze and constrict upon seeing you. Every nerve feels a lit, as if I was within the burning fireplace, and not gazing upon it with a cup of tea. As if every book, every word, spells out every letter of your name, everything that I could possibly love.

“And every fair and fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;”

They are life. They explain the human mind, the feelings, emotions, wants and desires, the haves and have-nots. They make this burning love understandable. As if I am losing my mind, going mad from wanting you and not having you. (As ill-intentioned as that sounds, I mean that in not a harmful nor forceful way.)

“But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;”

As if stand lost within an ever-changing rose maze, as if my world seems to be within constant rotation, you make the world still, your hands even if nonexistent pull me—guide me towards the exit. You plant my feet to the solid ground, yet my mind seems alive with daydreams.

“Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:”

With hope. Words that explain my longing, my frustrations, my desire to be perfect within your eyes, my everything—it forms poems. Elegantly written stories that no matter how long I deny it, it shall not leave me. It cannot leave me. For as long as you exist, you bring life to me.

“So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Sincerely,

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

ⓒ 2023 love-thanatopsis — all rights reserved. Any sort of plagiarizing, copying, modifying, translating, editing of my works are strictly prohibited

[asherloki]

7 and 15 for Sherlock and reader. From the grumpy sunshine affectionate list pretty please 🥺

His summer girl

Sherlock x reader

Word count:- 1261

Fluff

Prompt list, and many others I find endearing!

"Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.." So on I read as I held my book of Shakespeare's sonnets in front of me. Sonnet 18 is indeed my most favourite. The first time I read it when I was in school, then I read it again for college and then to my delight, there's nothing brighter than a soothing summer's day and if your lover brings such brightness to you, you're indeed lucky. As for my dearest lover, the detective, rather the cold detective as people say sat with me. He held me closer to him with an arm, and as soon as I started reading he put his phone down, shifting his full attention towards me and my reading.

"and summer.." I continued reading until his heavy, beautiful voice continued with me,

"And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines.."

We read the lines together.

"you're prettier than a summer's day" interrupted Mr Sherlock Holmes, wrapping another arm around my waist as we both sat in his chair. Snuggling closer.

"someone's not paying attention to my reading, isnt my voice appealing anymore?" I replied. He, having such a voice himself has often loved poems when I read them even more.

"ofcourse. it's still beautiful, your voice will never cease to be amusing to me, at the least your reading." He answered. Our flat is calm at the moment, no client, no shouting at Mrs Hudson and all. Perfect for a poetry session. Sherlock placed his chin on my shoulder from behind, his breathing touching my skin. Just like the sunrays hitting directly at us from the window.

"you're cute, you know that Mr grumpy?" I said booping his nose lightly, when we first met he was this cold distant man, never quite came to talk to me on his own. However, he listened everytime I read or talked, to be more specific talked in metaphors.

"no, not me, you're cute" he said snuggling more. And I didn't object.

"do you remember, four years ago, when Christopher and I broke up? I was talking to my friends and family on my phone when I quoted, "The more I know of the world, the more I am convinced that I shall never see a man whom I can really love. I require so much!" you stood outside my door and listened and when I turned to you, you were startled, yet you gave a nod and went away".

He chuckled softly, uff his voice, so close to my ear,

"I do, from Jane Austen's sense and sensibility it was, also because I wondered what love actually is as you talked of it in phone" he replied, "I've often stopped playing violin to listen to you, reading loudly, like that one time when inspector Johnson called me a fool, you were sitting in the kitchen. I felt bad for taking long to solve the case, and I muttered, "perhaps I am" you came quickly and quoted, "The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool" from as you like it by Shakespeare and glanced at him. That ... that motivated me, and in two days I solved it."

I nodded, ofcourse I remember it clearly. I smiled at all the memories of us, from quote talking to trust, trust to friendship, and then here, now as lovers. He doesn't ask for much, isn't like other men who are clingy and... may I dare say like some who are lusty too. He's just him. How come I found him?

"how come I found you?" he asked out aloud, "my summer day? my Sunshine? you filled my world with light. Everyone else seemed to have liked me getting hurt emotionally but you..."

I paused realising he's opening up? he doesn't do it much, so I listened without interrupting,

"you... having you, I feel... I." he stuttered, "I love you, walking by you makes life easier and happier" he finally said, holding me tighter. How come I not love this man? I caressed the back of his hand. However after a few seconds I let go off his grip on me, baffling him slightly, just to face him. To look at him, the vulnerable Sherlock Holmes, which is pretty rare. I leaned on my hand, resting my elbow on the top back of his chair.

"See how she leans her cheek upon her hand.

O, that I were a glove upon that hand

That I might touch that cheek!" he quoted shakespeare, caressing my cheek.

"oh" I said, "well hello Romeo". It made him giggle and me as well.

"If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more." I replied.

He thought for a moment, perhaps this time I gave him a good move, "and it's from?" he asked.

"oops, was it a bouncer detective?" I teased and got to see him pout, he's adorable at home, "Emma by Austen ".

He hummed and nodded, point one goes to me. He didn't stop, rather started reciting, "And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;"

He continued Shakespeare's sonnet 18. So I, too looked at my book and began reading,

"Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:"

Sherlock held me even closer as he recited next lines looking at me,

"So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this,"

Then I continued with him, reciting my favourite line, "and this gives life to thee".

And we sat in silence, looking into eachother's eyes. The closeness and silence never bothered us. His green eyes gazing at me made me blush and I looked down, smiling softly. Remembering some time has passed perhaps, since we sat like this, so to break the silence I said, "You know what Sherlock" I got up, "I wanna read something casual" saying so I went to look for a contemporary romance novel in our bookshelf when my dearest lover rolled his eyes and said,

"you mean those smutty books, that gives you weird fantasies and you ask me to imitate that in bed?"

I giggled, because that's what I do, I read smuts, get an idea and ask him to do it, "well" I said looking at him, "you don't wanna do it?"

He smiled, shaking his head he replied, "I can't say no to you, can I?"

He too knows how much he likes to have control in bed, and I give him all of that. Was that too private to share? I turned around to choose a book when

I heard his soft footsteps, walking towards me, I turned to him and raised my brows,

"what now detective?"

He said nothing instead came closer and cupped my face, I love it, his big strong hands cupping my cheeks, he leaned to me then said,

"Make me immortal with a kiss"

And his lips met mine. Here, in this flat, the winter man kissed his summer girl. My detective, considered to the cold one met me, the sun girl they say. And the spring that blossomed in our hearts, hope it never fades away.

[izzylovesyou2022]

That Is Called Poetry~ Luke Hughes (pt 1)

Maeve paced around the living room, fingers digging into her hair. Luke should have been home by now, he never liked staying out late.

To calm herself, she walked to the old coffee table and picked up the huge book laying there. This book was called 150 Most Famous Poems, gotten for Christmas from Luke.

She flipped to the end of the book and started scanning the words to William Shakespeare's "Sonnet 18."

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day," she whispered, taking up her walk around the coffee table, "Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

She read over the whole thing once, then closed the book back on the table and said the words out loud once more.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day," she said, louder than the first time, "Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May!"

She continued quoting it until a booming laugh echoed through the living room.

"Memorizing Shakespeare again, are we, flower?"

Maeve didn't blush but her cheeks grew warm with pleasure at Luke's words.

"I didn't think you knew who Shakespeare was, Lukey," she admitted, taking slow steps towards him.

Again, Luke let out a booming laugh and wrapped her up in a tight hug.

"Flower, I've been your best friend since the age of seven and have lived with you for several years. No kidding that I know who he is."

A pleased grin etched over Maeve's face as she followed Luke into the kitchen.

"I'm glad you paid attention enough to--HEY!!"

A small squeak excited Maeve's mouth as Luke grabbed her and set her up on the counter, which was followed by quiet giggles.

Luke opened the fridge door and grabbed himself a water with one hand and bopped Maeve's nose with the other, causing it to scrunch.

"Oops, sorry, flower," he smirked, keeping his eyes on Maeve as he took a big swing of water, "I couldn't help myself."

Maeve bit down on her lip as Luke busied himself with the fridge once more and wondered if he was flirting with her or if he was just teasing her as usual. Not that she'd actually mind flirting with him, although he didn't know it yet.

"I'm just happy you pay attention to the poems I read," she breathed out, lips twitching as Luke pulled himself from the fridge.

Luke leaned against the counter near Maeve and arched his eyebrows.

"Flower," he began, reaching out to rest his hand on Maeve's shoulder, "I pay attention to the poems you write, too."

[elysians-adventures]

My Muse

Chapter 4: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡

➺ Two unexpected visits.

Elliott has met the new farmer, and quickly becomes infatuated. He attempts to keep his focus on his writing-- and fails, over and over, rather becoming a lovesick poet.

Pairing: Elliott x Farmer!Fem!Reader

➺ previous chapter masterpost next chapter

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

 

There were three sharp rasps at the door when he awoke, lifting his head off the desk he had fallen asleep on. Waking up so early took a toll on him, and he found himself sprawled over his writing desk after he came back. It took a few seconds for Elliott to readjust himself to the sudden banging on his mahogany door, brushing his hair off from his face and dusting non-existent particles off himself. He stood up, first looking out the window before opening the door.

 

It was Leah, who seemed to be holding some sort of wet, crumpled sheet in her hand. Her expression was nothing less than frustrated, perhaps because he was taking so long to open when it was still raining outside. Slowly, the man switched his focus onto the rusted handle of the door. Were there crystals of salt on it? He lived next to a beach, but he didn’t expect the salty humidity to infiltrate his home. He took a deep breath, smelling the morning sea air that had permeated his house. It was besides the point: he opened the door, before Leah could forcefully let herself in.

 

It was odd, the woman never seemed so– distraught to let herself in before being invited. But the reason was soon understood when she held up the incriminating evidence. The letter stared at him accusingly, and a creeping dark blush adorned his face. 

“What’s the meaning of this Elliott? I know this is yours– with all the drafts you give me, how could I not? Y/N was scared out of her mind–”

 

He held up his hands, palms facing the woman. It was an attempt to calm her down, to make her see he was innocent ; yet she continued to corner him with the letter still in hand, shoving it in his face. 

“Calm down–”

“Calm?” Her violet eyes narrowed, and brows furrowed: “How can I be calm? Elliott, this isn’t like you. I mean–” she glanced back at the paper, the rustle of the sheet echoing in his ear, repeating a line: “ ‘Sweetheart’ ? Elliotttt, you barely know her.”

 

A feeling of irritation swelled in the depths of his heart. ‘ She can’t understand, she can’t understand me. My want. My need. Doesn’t she even get it? ’ The revelation replayed in his mind, as he tried to explain himself to his friend. His closest friend, yet all he could hold towards her now was an unexplainable hatred. He himself didn’t know why– or how– these feelings revealed themselves. Elliott knew it wasn’t like him, yet he took comfort in acting like this. It was a newfound sense of normality, invading his senses much like you did. If this obsession led him to have such a warm heart as if it were dipped in honey, or cheeks flushing with adoration: then this hatred against these deniers would be equally welcomed if it meant loving you.

 

“Leah, I don’t know what came over me,” this was the truth, yet also worded in a manipulative way. He didn’t know what came over him, but he gladly embraced it. “I’m sorry if I scared her, but please don’t tell her.”

 

There was a pregnant silence as the two looked at each, each knowing of Elliott’s pitiful apology. Leah stood there for a second, a look of confusion creeping on her face as she decided what to do. Eventually, she crumpled the sheet once more in her hand, throwing it towards him. Elliott caught it, green eyes glancing at her in hope. 

The girl had no clue on how to handle this situation. After all, what could someone do if your friend started sending love letters to the newcomer in town? Leah stood there, and crossed her arms.

 

“Just… don’t, no more. Alright? I won’t tell her, El. But it’s odd– do you like… like her?”

 

Once again, silence filled the room. Instead of responding, Elliott turned to his desk he was once sleeping on, starting to collect the papers that littered it. He glanced over the lovesick words, his honeyed tone in these were nothing akin to his serious and melancholic narration of the novel. Was this… right? Truly, was this a noble hearted endeavour? Was his crippling loneliness the sole factor for this behaviour? There were a flurry of emotions in his heart. One side wanted him to continue pursuing this ‘sick’ want of you. Another was seeing the truth and honesty of Leah’s behaviour.

She repeated her statement: “No more of the letters, Elliott. I’m being serious. You don’t want her to leave– right?”

 

Only then, did he realise the gravity of the situation.

 

Meanwhile whilst the two were conversing, you remembered what you had to do when Leah left. Right, Pear’s. You mean– Pierre’s. A few more seeds would do good for your farm, after all diversity is needed in crops. You had read that bees were more likely to pollinate if there was biodiversity, and your field definitely lacked it. You needed to earn an income somehow, and parsnips weren’t going to cut it. However, you were still completely clueless on what actually grew in spring. Strawberries? Wheat? Radishes? Potatoes? You were at a loss. But you still marched on, going to the shop unknowing of what your profession even consisted of.

 

You slowly pushed open the oak door, the rain from this morning still fresh on the handle. Ding. The quiet jingle of a bell ran through the shop. At the sound, a man with glasses peered up at your face, his own first confused, then shocked, finally a smile adorning his wrinkled features. You had barely time to wipe the water off your hands on your denim jeans, before his loud voice boomed:

 

“Welcome to Pierre’s, dear farmer! You must be new, right? Good job you came here and not JojaMart!” He laughed at his own statement, holding his chest as if it hurt. Suddenly, he cleared his throat– ending the laughter abruptly, and in your opinion quite awkwardly, and waved toward the various commodities that lined the shelves.

“Feel free to take a look at anything you need. Of course, if you need help, you can talk to me.”

 

You promptly take him up on his offer, swallowing any embarrassment you may have had at being put in the spotlight by the store owner in the middle of the establishment, and stride towards him with a gaze filled with conviction. He watched you with an ever present smile on his face, and when you were near enough, he began to speak once more;

“So you need help with something? Seeds, perhaps? Or wallpaper selection? Or–”

You cut him off, with an immediate ‘yes!’ at the mention of seeds. 

 

You elaborated, “Yes, sorry. I need help with seeds that are suitable for, um… spring time. You see, I’m running my granddad’s old farm and…” 

Your words begin to trail off, hoping that the explanation will be sufficient for him to start recommending you seeds. He nods, thankfully, taking out a small wooden basket from the underside of his counter. The basket seems to be packed full of different types of packets, some labelled ‘Kale’, ‘Apricot’, and various other things.

 

The shopkeeper waved his hand over the seeds, “These are all spring-time seeds, so don’t worry about picking anything out of season. Not like JojaMart would help you like this…” he huffed. You began to pick out the cheapest seeds you could– taking your time to survey the options and prices, deciding potato and kale seemed like a safe option. Reading the gardening books you had picked up in a rush before leaving the city, you learnt that potatoes were unusually sturdy and survived through most weather. You couldn’t go wrong with a plant like this… surely?

 

Dropping the coins on the counter, the shopkeeper smiled, “Pleasure doing business with you! By the way, do call me Pierr–”

 

BANG !

 

The doorbell rang violently, the sheer force of the door being shot open reverberated throughout the shop. Flinching at the loud sound, both you and the shopkeeper swung your heads towards the noise– and there stood Elliott, with a dishevelled appearance. His beautiful set of ginger hair was tussled, and even from a few metres away you could see the beads of sweat running down his pale face. His heavy breathing implied that he had been running, but you couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would run to shop in midday. It was still… 12PM?

 

“Elliott?” You called for him, your tone almost in a whisper at the shock of the sudden arrival. His jade eyes glanced up at you, drinking you in. There was a brief moment of silence, where neither party moved, before he smiled and straightened his posture. 

 

“Sorry Pierre, I was looking for Y/N here and it’s pretty urgent…” The man first addressed the shopkeeper, who seemed slightly worried that there had been damage to the door. Though Elliott seemed to alleviate Pierre’s fears with his smile, waving his worries away. The bachelor walked towards you, his expression unreadable. 

 

‘ My muse, you look as gorgeous as ever. Oh, how I wish I was a painter to draw you, though no stroke would be able to replicate your beauty. ’

Elliott’s whirring of mad thoughts that you would leave, simply because of his foolish mistake, had driven him to every place he thought you could be before arriving here. You didn’t leave, and you wouldn’t know how much that relieved him. He felt as if the two of you were already attached by the hip. He would love it if you two were attached by the hip, perhaps he could see more of your beauty if he was closer… closer to you. If he could taste you, feel you…

 

“Elliott?”

 

If only he could whisper sweet nothings in your ear as he pushed himself inside you, the lullaby of the sea singing quietly as you two loved each other. If only he could kiss you until his mouth hurt, then it would be alright. Everything would be fine. He could twist and pull your hair, kiss your nape and cheeks. His body would be hot against yours, pressing and holding you with everything he had– he could trail down his kisses too, to chest, stomach, thighs. If you wanted, he could go deeper. He would only need to graze you for him to be hit with a bout of inspiration– perhaps he should write a romance instead? It would certainly help him express some of these beautiful feelings. If only, if only, if only…

 

“Elliott?!” You repeated, louder and cocking your head slightly to the side. He was staring at you with a blank expression, the sweat drying from his face. This time calling his name seemed to have worked, the man blinking in recognition.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Apologies, de– Y/N. Yes, right…” he seemed to be in some sort of trance before, remembering what he had to do now. Taking out a crumpled piece of paper, he held it in his hand– close to his chest. You couldn’t take it from him if you tried, it was only for viewing. And Elliott did this on purpose.

 

“Y/N, Leah told me of someone sending distressing letters to your residence. Is everything alright? Do I need to tell someone about this?” Elliott spoke with the utmost sincerity that all your doubts had been cast away. Elliott could never do this. He seems so kind, so caring.

 

“Um, I’m sure it’ll be fine! I knew some pretty odd people in Zuzu, it could just be a prank! Please, don’t worry yourself– I’ve only just got here as well, I doubt it’d be anyone in this town.” You pocketed the seeds in your jeans, as Elliott tried to neaten his appearance; particularly his hair. The light aroma of petrichor filled your senses as he arranged his clothing.

 

“Even then, if there’s anything you need me to do, please tell me. Otherwise, go to the Mayor. I cannot stand seeing you like this, are you sure you’re alright?” he asked worriedly, bringing the hand that was holding the paper closer to his heart. 

You waved at Pierre, indicating that you were leaving. You waited for Elliott to respond to the cue to begin walking with you, exiting the store. Ahh, finally, all those eyes off you. It seemed that Elliott hadn’t even noticed.

 

“If you feel unsafe, Y/N, you can stay over at Leah’s or my place . Of course, I would give you as much privacy as you need…” There was a slight intonation when mentioning his house, wanting you to focus on that option more.

“Oh, Elliott, you’re too kind. Really, it won’t be necessary. I mean, I don’t think anything could really hurt me, you know? This seems like such a– quaint town. I’m finee, really. Look at me, do I look like a damsel in distress?” 

 

You stopped in your tracks, facing the bachelor with a mischievous smile. You leant towards him slightly, so he could get a better look. Though, the ginger haired man only glanced away, a blush dusting his cheeks; unnoticed by you. 

“Yes, I suppose you do look fine. Forgive my entrance at the shop, I thought you would be in some sort of danger…” trailing off, this was the end of your conversation. You would thank him and leave now. He didn’t want it to end. He just wanted to be near you for a few minutes longer. Please, Yoba, let him stay a minute longer.

 

“Hey! I’ve got an idea, why don’t you help me plant these seeds at my house? Then I’ll whip you up some tea or something as a thank you! You like tea, right?”

 

He liked coffee better, “I love tea. Thank you.”

 

Thank Yoba.

[minisugakoobies]

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st; Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,    So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

-William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18

[onenakedfarmer]

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE "Sonnet 18"

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date. Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimmed; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimmed; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st, Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade, When in eternal lines to Time thou grow'st. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.