#shes so handsome i want to give her pretty things she’d disdain for their appearance and hoard for their magic ♥️

[pricemarshfield]

since i can’t play the epilogue on tav’s original save file i’ve been replaying her and ohhhh my god. look at her

[jayfrost-designs]

This is also from December of last year.

I've had a new idea in my head for Darkstripe for a while now, and after getting all those other ref sheets that I needed to do done, I decided to run with it.  You may have noticed a change in the name of his father in his bio. Don't worry about that just yet.  I'll get to it after talking about the design.

The reverse side of his design can be seen here.

On his wiki page, Darkstripe is described as a large, lean, sleek, and thin-furred tom. I misread the "thin-furred" part of his description as "thick-furred" when I started designing this, so he ended up with a rather thick pelt. Oops.  My explanation/excuse for this is that the thin-furred description comes from his appearance as a Dark Forest cat, so as a living cat he had sleek, thick fur, but after dying he started going all patchy and ragged and his fur started to get pretty thin in places. So that's my half-baked excuse for that.  I went pretty free-hand with this design, but he's mostly based on Turkish Vans, and is meant to be decent-sized and muscular, with a thick mediumish pelt. He has a smaller version of his mother's ear tufts and a decent amount of scars, since he was always pretty aggresive.

For his pattern, Darkstripe is described as a dark gray tabby tom with black stripes and yellow eyes. I completely changed his design from his old one and went for a smoke tabby look for him this time around. His black stripes don't stand out as much as on his old design since the rest of the pelt is darker now, but they're still there, and he's overall a very dark-looking cat, so Dark- fits him well as a prefix. I played around with his design a lot before I was happy with it, but I'm really happy with the end result. ^^ I came up with a fresh shade of yellow for his eyes as well. ^^

Now for the fun part. Since Tawnyspots is no longer listed as his father on the official family tree, I decided to come up with a new headcanon for who his father is. I considered a few cats from ThunderClan at first, but none of them seemed to fit. But then I had a really interesting idea for his father - and for the reason he's a smoke tabby. I'll explain everything below - starting with Willowpelt's story. Apologies in advance for the length. ^^

~-~-~

As a young cat, Willowpelt gets lonely sometimes. Her sister is busy training to be a medicine cat, and Redtail throws himself into his warrior duties so much that he doesn’t spend as much time with her as either of them would like. She doesn’t begrudge either of them their ambitions - she knows Redtail wants to be the best warrior he possibly can (and later has his eye on the deputyship), and Spottedleaf will make an amazing medicine cat. But she doesn’t share their ambitions. She’s always been a much more relaxed cat, content to do her duties as a warrior, but not pushing beyond that, preferring to spend her time racing through the forest on the wild excitement of the hunt, and spend lazy days sunning in the grass, rather than busying herself with constant patrols and duties.

So while her siblings are busy with their work, Willowpelt seeks out companionship elsewhere. She’d always been curious about twolegplace, hearing stories about how their last leader had left to live there, and decided to check it out one day. She doesn’t find Pinestar - but she does find some friendly kittypets who welcome the visit of a real wild Clan cat. She continued to visit occasionally over the moons, whenever she’s feeling particularly lonely. She’s never swayed by the thought of becoming a kittypet herself - she loves her Clan, and her freedom, too much - but she’s happy to visit her kittypet friends whenever she can.

She grows particularly close with a sleek, handsome smoke tom called Sparky. A few moons later, she finds herself expecting the tom’s kits. The two aren’t in love, and Sparky rejects Willowpelt’s offer to join ThunderClan and help raise the kits, but it’s all very amicable and the two remain on close terms. Willowpelt is perfectly happy to raise her kits alone. She later gives birth to a single tom, Darkkit, who looks remarkably like his father. The Clan gossips a little about who the father could possibly be (Willowpelt covers her tracks visiting Twolegplace better than Featherstorm had), but overall they’re just happy to have another kit after the nursery has been empty so long, since White-eye’s last litter.

Willowpelt plans to tell Darkkit about his parentage when he’s old enough, but the young tom grows bitter after moons of some of the stricter cats whispering about his unknown parentage, and the loneliness of being the only kit in the nursery. Willowpelt always assures him that there’s nothing wrong with him and is a fiercely loving mother, but her laidback attitude about borders and rules bothers him - other warriors take these things seriously, so shouldn’t she? A kernel of doubt begins to weed its way onto Darkkit’s mind - what if Willowpelt won’t tell anyone who his father is because his father doesn’t want him? What if it was because he isn’t good enough to be this mystery tom's son? Willowpelt longs to comfort her son that his father does care and does want to be part of his life, but she’s not sure he’s old enough to understand the truth about his father, so she waits.

With all this doubt and bitterness swirling inside him, it’s no surprise that upon becoming an apprentice, Darkpaw immediately attaches himself to the first cat who seems ready to take him seriously and see some potential in him - his new mentor Tigerclaw. To Darkpaw, Tigerclaw is everything a warrior should be. He has the strength of TigerClan, the courage of LionClan, and  is the wisest, most loyal warrior in the entire Clan in the young tom’s eyes. He can’t believe his luck in snagging such a skilled and brave warrior as his mentor, and quickly learns to worship the ground Tigerclaw walks on. A secret part of his heart wonders whether Tigerclaw is his father. They both have dark tabby pelts and fur that grows darker at the points, and while Darkpaw isn’t nearly as tall and long-furred as the older tom, he’s still broader and taller than his mother, and could have inherited that from Tigerclaw. He works tirelessly to mold himself after Tigerclaw’s image and takes all of his training to heart - including his views on loyalty and cats from outside of the Clan.

Willowpelt had intended to tell Darkpaw about his father a moon or so into his training, but the longer he trained with Tigerclaw, the more disdainful he grew of cats outside of the warrior code, especially kittypets. She worries about how much the tom has changed, but he doesn’t seem willing to listen to her anymore, so there’s little she can do to curb Tigerclaw’s influence on her son. She resolved to continue hiding the truth of his father, as Darkpaw is probably happier not knowing the truth, and resolves to keep an eye on her son. It’s not all bad, she assures herself. Tigerclaw has taken the fatherless tom under his wing just as Thistleclaw had done for him, and he seems genuinely proud of his young apprentice - in his own stoic way - and is molding him into a strong warrior. As long as Darkpaw is happy, that’s what matters - right?

Though Darkpaw, then later Darkstripe definitely grows more scornful of others and more conceited over the moons, Willowpelt tries to stay optimistic. He’s a bit of a jerk, yes, but otherwise he seems like a perfectly loyal and happy warrior. But that illusion starts to chip away little by little after Tigerclaw’s exile as Darkstripe continues to show an unhealthy attachment to such a traitor, and then comes crashing down completely the day that Darkstripe tries to poison his own half sister. Unbeknownst to the rest of the Clan, Willowpelt sneaks out after Darkstripe as he’s departing the territory for his exile.

Rage and heartbreak bubble under her pelt in equal measures as she faces her eldest son. Something inside of her is wailing at the loss of the son that she’d loved, and her failure to protect him from becoming this, but the rest of her feels an icy calm. She faces Darkstripe, coldly informing him that if he’s fool enough to follow Tigerstar on his rampage against “impure” cats, then he’d better hand himself over as well for being impure. He’s the very thing that he’s always hated, the thing that he has been relentless in mocking Firestar for being - he’s half kittypet. Darkstripe flies into a rage, shrieking that it isn’t true, it can’t be true, that Willowpelt never loved him and is just lying to make him doubt himself. He tries to attack his mother, but she dances out of range, still glaring at him with icy calm while her heart continues to wail its pain inside of her. She tells him that she loved him with all of her heart, and that if he’d let go of his bitterness and his unhealthy devotion to an admitted traitor long enough he would’ve seen that, but that now it’s too late. She’ll always love him, but she will never forgive him for what he’s done to her daughter. She leaves him there on the border between ThunderClan and TigerClan. He hesitates, but only for a moment. Then he slips into TigerClan territory.

Unfortunately, Darkstripe’s reception at the TigerClan camp is chillier than expected. It was true that Tigerstar had once felt genuine pride and companionship for Darkstripe as his apprentice and as a fellow warrior. He’d always known that Darkstripe was a bit of a suck-up, but he was still strong and a powerful warrior in his own right, and Tigerstar had been proud of the efforts of his first run as a mentor. However, his opinion of Darkstripe had lessened after the tom refused to follow him into exile, and had dropped even more sharply after one of his Twolegplace allies had told him about a smoke kittypet who’d mentioned being friends with forest cats. Tigerstar had taken the chance to spy on the kittypet from a tree one day, only to be shocked at the sight of a cat nearly identical to Darkstripe.

After that, Tigerstar had put together the pieces and realized that Darkstripe was the son of a kittypet. He tells Darkstripe as much when he arrives in TigerClan, glaring down at the groveling tom with a sneer. That kittypet blood has tainted him with weakness, he claimed, weakness that had kept him from following Tigerstar into exile, that had made him fail again and again at Tigerstar’s commands as his spy, and that had made him fail at the simple task of killing one insignificant little kit. Darkstripe quivers before the tom, protesting that it couldn’t be true, though with Tigerstar’s account of the smoke kittypet, he’s starting to realize that it must be. He wails that he’d never known, that Willowpelt had hidden it from him, that she is the true traitor. He didn’t care who his father was, he whimpers - his loyalty was to Tigerstar, it had always been to Tigerstar, and it always would be.

Tigerstar watched the sniveling display with disdain. The tom was undoubtedly tainted by the weakness of his blood, but he’d always shown devotion to Tigerstar. Perhaps he could be given one last chance - but only one. He tells the tom that if he is ever to be anything but the sniveling son of a kittypet, he must prove himself willing to eradicate any disloyalty in the new Clan and pledge himself entirely loyal. He considers ordering the tom to hunt down his kittypet father and slay him, or to sneak into ThunderClan territory and kill his treacherous mother. But there are more pressing concerns facing his Clan right now, and he can’t have one of his warriors off on some lengthy mission to get one well-guarded cat alone when TigerClan is on the verge of conquering the other Clans. Such tests of his loyalty can come later. For now, perhaps a simpler task will do. He still needs someone to take care of those halfClan prisoners after all...

Of course, Darkstripe fails in that task too, and Tigerstar’s rage at yet another failure from his half-kittypet lackey is fearsome to behold. It is only the need for every fighting warrior available for the battle to come that keeps Tigerstar from punishing Darkstripe more severely. A worse fate may have awaited Darkstripe after the battle’s end, had Tigerstar not fallen under Scourge’s claws. And yet, Darkstripe continues his nearly obsessive devotion to the cat he still thinks of as his true father, even if he isn’t a father by blood, and he ends up dying in his quest to avenge the murderous tom. And yet, even a death in service to Tigerstar isn’t enough to truly raise him in the tom’s eyes, and he spends his seasons in the Dark Forest being overshadowed by a Tigerstar’s true sons, until the end of the Dark Battle leaves him to wander alone in the darkness forever.

~-~-~

Anyway, that’s my mini-essay on Darkstripe’s father and life story. XD Overall, I'm really happy with how his design turned out, and I had a lot of fun coming up with his parents' story and his story in regards to thinking of Tigerstar as his father. I also like how silhouette-wise, he looks a fair bit like Graystripe, but their patterns make them decently distinct from each other.

[tumbledfreckles]

Closer

A Blackinnon Bridgerton AU

Read below or on AO3

"Stare into my eyes."

She looked up in apprehension. Caught on his eyes and held there, like a fly in a web. They were soft now, gentle. Like he was trying to prevent her from spooking. She did her best to block out the noise of the ballroom, the revel makers, the dancers around them.

As if she could forget that everyone was staring at them.

He squeezed the hand he held. A light pressure on her fingers she wouldn't have thought him capable of when they had first met. Only a short number of weeks ago, in the presence of her childhood friend, his now brother. A smile graced his lips, one of encouragement, meant only for her. She followed the motion of his eyes and curtsied as he bowed.

"Closer."

The hand on her waist made her breath catch in her throat. Her hand fell to the crook of his elbow, before sliding up to his shoulder. He pulled her toward him, until she was against him, so close the heat of his body scorched through her dress. She'd never been this close to a man before.

"If this is to work, they must believe that we are madly in love."

His words reminded her that this was a ruse. An act. A game of make believe with the highest of stakes, her future life.

As they started through the moves of the dance, her head was swarmed with the memories of less than an hour before. Memories of fear and revulsion, followed by anger and apprehension, and then, in the unlikeliest of forms, came hope.

He had happened upon her moments after she'd punched Lockhart, straight in the face, for trying to force himself on her. In the dark of the garden she'd only had time to thank her lucky stars her brothers had taught her how to hit someone properly, and that she hadn't broken her thumb.

She hadn't had a chance to even contemplate the precariousness of her situation when he emerged from the darkness.

"Bravo. He had that one coming to him."

Sirius Black. The Duke of Grimmauld.

The handsome rake who hadn't been seen for years. The untimely death and disappearance of his brother, rumoured to be linked to the rise of Lord Voldemort, had seen the Duke, then still a teenager, flee overseas some years ago. The passing of his father, the transfer of the title, had seen his reluctant return. He had begrudgingly taken over management of the estates and land attached to the Dukedom but had yet to be seen in the presence of his family.

Tonight Marlene had found out why.

"Are you alright?"

Marlene was staring down at the unconscious buffoon at her feet, still not processing the events of the last few minutes.

An argument with her childhood friend turned guardian, a misplaced agreement to marry said buffoon, the eyes of the party guests on her had sent Marlene out in the garden. She had wanted a few moments alone. To gather her thoughts, regain her countenance, come up with a plan to quietly extract herself from a less than desirable engagement.

Now she stood, mere moments from the darkest part of the garden, seconds from ruining her reputation with two men.

"I am fine. Just fine. Oh God, what am I going to do?"

"Marry me, Miss McKinnon," the perhaps not quite unconscious Lord Gilderoy Lockhart groaned from the ground.

"Romantic, I am sure," the Duke curled his lip in disgust. "I hope you have not said yes."

"Of course not," Marlene spat the answer, as she rubbed her knuckles.

"Oh good. Can I kick him then?"

"Do whatever you would like. I need to figure out what I am going to do," Marlene paced back and forth, wringing her hands.

"It can not be all that bad," the Duke may have given Lockhart a few nudges with his toe, based on the sounds that came from the ground.

"Says a man who does not need to find a husband."

"Thankfully no, I do not. But I can not imagine that you would have such trouble, a beautiful woman such as yourself."

"I was not having any trouble, at all," Marlene tried to ignore the flush creeping up her neck and into her cheeks at his words. He'd stated it more like a fact than a compliment. She shouldn't let it get to her head. "Until that damn Lady Bettledown started spreading her ridiculous gossip sheet around."

"Ah, yes. I have seen that devil of a woman all but pronouncing you a spinster, taking joy in knocking down the season prize diamond. Chased your suitors away, has she?"

"I beg that you would not jest, Your Grace. At least not about my life. Which is what she trifles with."

"You seem too sensible a woman to care for marriage so much."

"My family is gone, I am the last of the McKinnons. But a woman can not inherit property, nor wealth. Friends, the Potters, as you well know, have taken me in out of the goodness of their heart. But that can not last forever. I can not be a burden to my friends. And so I must marry."

"How practical."

"Indeed," she took a breath. In for a penny, she thought. "But if I must marry, I want the one thing that my parents had."

"A fancy wedding?"

"Love," her sharp reply pulled the laughter from his words, his face. "I want to marry for love. It is my life after all. So I beg that you do not jest with it."

"My apologies, Miss. I do tend to use humour as a reflex. But, regrettably, Bettledown's words have been a damn thorn in my side, as well."

"Surely a Duke such as yourself does not need to bother with what is written about him in the gossip sheets," Marlene's disbelief carried a strong note of sarcasm.

"My dear Miss McKinnon, I despise to tell you that the meddling Bettledown has all but issued a challenge to my family. By announcing my return to polite society, she has all but challenged them to find me a wife. One who is suitable for their needs."

"And what are their needs?"

"Someone who shares their beliefs. Beliefs that I do not adhere to. Beliefs that I am, in fact, disgusted by. They think that if I was wed to someone who follows their way of life, then they would convince me to change my ideals, to theirs."

"Are they right? Could that happen?"

The Duke laughed bitterly, "Definitely not. I have too strong a character to be changed by a woman."

"Of course," though he oozed charm, and was undoubtedly handsome, the cool dismissal of a woman as someone to listen to turned Marlene off him. Or it would have, had she ever even considered him a prospect.

"Well," she took several steps backwards, towards the ballroom and the party that had suffocated her. "I would appreciate it if you could mention this no one, and I will leave you to your… whatever it was that you were doing."

She turned to go, eager to escape, to forget that the man she might yet still have to marry lay prostrate on the floor, yet to rouse fully. It was only as she placed a foot onto the first step up to the manor that his voice stopped her.

"We could use each other, you know," the Dukes's voice was careful. Considered.

Marlene turned back, slow, hesitant. "What do you mean?"

"You need to find a husband. Someone much more agreeable and suited to you than this pathetic sod," he aimed another kick toward the lifeless Lockhart.

"How could you help with that?"

He was on her in three long strides. She stiffened as he stepped into her space. Closer than was proper. Close enough that anyone entering the garden would assume the worst and she would be compromised. Her virtue, her value, diminished.

And yet, she did not step back.

"I could make you seem desirable," the Duke reached out, softly tucking a lock that had come free from her coiffed hair back behind her ear. "If you were on my arm, it would bring you to the attention of other men. You could have your pick of the most eligible bachelors."

Marlene tried not exhale audibly as his hand dropped from where it had caressed her skin, his fingertips trailing across her neck. "And how could I help you?"

"You are from an old family, Miss McKinnon. While you may be the last left of them, and the man my family sees as their leader is most likely responsible for that, you are still from an old family that in many ways represents what they value."

"I would never - I could never," Marlene was stopped by his placating hand on her wrist.

"I know," he stroked gently. "And that is why I know I can trust you in this. Why you can trust me. If I knew nothing else about you, your disdain for the values that my family holds most dear would be enough."

She stared at him for long moments, trying to read his indecipherable gaze. Eventually, she nodded for him to continue.

"By courting you, my family will believe I am bending to their will. By beginning a relationship with you, I will get what I desperately crave."

"And what is that?" Marlene felt her teeth sink into her lip at the end of her words. His eyes followed the movement. She was nervous for his answer. What could a man like the Duke want so badly he would come up with a such a scheme?

"Freedom," the word fell from his lips like honey. He spoke it reverently. Honestly.

She believed him.

"So, your plan is that we will form an attachment? We will pretend to court, in order to give you the space and peace that you so desire, and in doing so, make me desirable enough that I could attract the attentions of a Prince, should one appear?"

"That is my plan. I only have one condition," the Duke's lips curved into a smile. It spoke of mischief, of humour that was kept well hidden under his usually dark, disdainful countenance.

"And what is that?"

"You must not fall in love with me."

He was goading her. Marlene could see it plainly across his face. It made his eyes dance. She fought to maintain her temper. To wipe the smug look off his face.

"I am more concerned that you will fall in love with me. You have already commented on how pretty you find me."

She succeeded in her mission, the smirk was gone, but the darker flare in his eyes left her feeling even less safe than she had before.

"I believe I said you were beautiful," his tone sent a shiver down her spine. "So we have an agreement?"

He held out his hand toward her. She looked at it and then looked back at him.

"Yes," she placed her hand in his. "We have an agreement."

That was how she'd come to re-enter the party on the Duke's arm. How they walked slowly, but purposefully through the throngs of finely dressed attendees to the dance floor, just as the band moved to strike up a new number. Whispers and nudges followed them across the room. Marlene was unused to such attention and would have stumbled if not for the Duke's reassuring presence at her side.

And so they danced. Stepping and skipping perfectly as if this wasn’t their first dance together. Eyes only on each other. Her hand gripped his shoulder, fingers pressing into the firm muscle she found there. His hands, one warm and solid on her waist, the other enclosing hers were her lifeline. Every time she felt overwhelmed and her gaze started to slip, he brought her back with a squeeze, his thumb rubbing back and forth.

The music swelled and then slowed, as did their movements. When they came to a stop, instead of moving back, as protocol dictated and society expected, he moved forward. His lips fell to her ear, so close she could feel his breath as he spoke.

"Well done, Miss McKinnon. Act one complete."

[perfectlyandrogynousbouquetworld]

Gilbert & Anne in Anne of green gables’ book

« That's Gilbert Blythe sitting right across the aisle from you, Anne. Just look at him and see if you don't think he's handsome."      Anne looked accordingly. She had a good chance to do so, for the said Gilbert Blythe was absorbed in stealthily pinning the long yellow braid of Ruby Gillis, who sat in front of him, to the back of her seat. He was a tall boy, with curly brown hair, roguish hazel eyes, and a mouth twisted into a teasing smile. Presently Ruby Gillis started up to take a sum to the master; she fell back into her seat with a little shriek, believing that her hair was pulled out by the roots. Everybody looked at her and Mr. Phillips glared so sternly that Ruby began to cry. Gilbert had whisked the pin out of sight and was studying his history with the soberest face in the world; but when the commotion subsided he looked at Anne and winked with inexpressible drollery.      "I think your Gilbert Blythe IS handsome," confided Anne to Diana, "but I think he's very bold. It isn't good manners to wink at a strange girl."      But it was not until the afternoon that« things really began to happen.      Mr. Phillips was back in the corner explaining a problem in algebra to Prissy Andrews and the rest of the scholars were doing pretty much as they pleased eating green apples, whispering, drawing pictures on their slates, and driving crickets harnessed to strings, up and down aisle. Gilbert Blythe was trying to make Anne Shirley look at him and failing utterly, because Anne was at that moment totally oblivious not only to the very existence of Gilbert Blythe, but of every other scholar in Avonlea school itself. With her chin propped on her hands and her eyes fixed on the blue glimpse of the Lake of Shining Waters that the west window afforded, she was far away in a gorgeous dreamland hearing and seeing nothing save her own wonderful visions. » « Gilbert Blythe wasn't used to putting himself out to make a girl look at him and meeting with failure. She SHOULD look at him, that red-haired Shirley girl with the little pointed chin and the big eyes that weren't like the eyes of any other girl in Avonlea school.      Gilbert reached across the aisle, picked up the end of Anne's long red braid, held it out at arm's length and said in a piercing whisper:      "Carrots! Carrots!"      Then Anne looked at him with a vengeance!      She did more than look. She sprang to her feet, her bright fancies fallen into cureless ruin. She flashed one indignant glance at Gilbert from eyes whose angry sparkle was swiftly quenched in equally angry tears.      "You mean, hateful boy!" she exclaimed passionately. "How dare you!"      And then--thwack! Anne had brought her slate down on Gilbert's head and cracked it--slate not head--clear across.      Avonlea school always enjoyed a scene. This was an especially enjoyable one. Everybody said "Oh" in horrified delight. Diana gasped. Ruby Gillis, who was inclined to be hysterical, began to cry. Tommy Sloane let his team of crickets escape him altogether while he stared open-mouthed at« tableau.      Mr. Phillips stalked down the aisle and laid his hand heavily on Anne's shoulder.      "Anne Shirley, what does this mean?" he said angrily. Anne returned no answer. It was asking too much of flesh and blood to expect her to tell before the whole school that she had been called "carrots." Gilbert it was who spoke up stoutly.      "It was my fault Mr. Phillips. I teased her."      Mr. Phillips paid no heed to Gilbert.      "I am sorry to see a pupil of mine displaying such a temper and such a vindictive spirit," he said in a solemn tone, as if the mere fact of being a pupil  » « When school was dismissed Anne marched out with her red head held high. Gilbert Blythe tried to intercept her at the porch door.      "I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair, Anne," he whispered contritely. "Honest I am. Don't be mad for keeps, now"      Anne swept by disdainfully, without look or sign of hearing. "Oh how could you, Anne?" breathed Diana as they went down the road half reproachfully, half admiringly. Diana felt that SHE could never have resisted Gilbert's plea.      "I shall never forgive Gilbert Blythe," said Anne firmly.  » « Mr. Phillips's brief reforming energy was over; he didn't want the bother of punishing a dozen pupils; but it was necessary to do something to save his word, so he looked about for a scapegoat and found it in Anne, who had dropped into her seat, gasping for breath, with a forgotten lily wreath hanging askew over one ear and giving her a particularly rakish and disheveled appearance.      "Anne Shirley, since you seem to be so fond of the boys' company we shall indulge your taste for it this afternoon," he said sarcastically. "Take those flowers out of your hair and sit with Gilbert Blythe."      The other boys snickered. Diana, turning pale with pity, plucked the wreath from Anne's hair and squeezed her hand. Anne stared at the master as if turned to stone.      "Did you hear what I said, Anne?" queried Mr. Phillips sternly.      "Yes, sir," said Anne slowly "but I didn't suppose you really meant it."      "I assure you I did"--still with the sarcastic inflection which all the children, and Anne especially, hated. It flicked on the raw. "Obey me at once."      For a moment Anne looked as if she meant to disobey. Then, realizing that « there was no help for it, she rose haughtily, stepped across the aisle, sat down beside Gilbert Blythe, and buried her face in her arms on the desk. Ruby Gillis, who got a glimpse of it as it went down, told the others going home from school that she'd "acksually never seen anything like it--it was so white, with awful little red spots in it."      To Anne, this was as the end of all things. It was bad enough to be singled out for punishment from among a dozen equally guilty ones; it was worse still to be sent to sit with a boy, but that that boy should be Gilbert Blythe was heaping insult on injury to a degree utterly unbearable. Anne felt that she could not bear it and it would be of no use to try. Her whole being seethed with shame and anger and humiliation.      At first the other scholars looked and whispered and giggled and nudged. But as Anne never lifted her head and as Gilbert worked fractions as if his whole soul was absorbed in them and them only, they soon returned to their own tasks and Anne was forgotten. When Mr. Phillips called the history class out Anne should have gone, but Anne did not move, and Mr. Phillips, who had been writing some « verses "To Priscilla" before he called the class, was thinking about an obstinate rhyme still and never missed her. Once, when nobody was looking, Gilbert took from his desk a little pink candy heart with a gold motto on it, "You are sweet," and slipped it under the curve of Anne's arm. Whereupon Anne arose, took the pink heart gingerly between the tips of her fingers, dropped it on the floor, ground it to powder beneath her heel, and resumed her position without deigning to bestow a glance on Gilbert. « but when she met Gilbert Blythe on the road or encountered him in Sunday school she passed him by with an icy contempt that was no whit thawed by his evident desire to appease her. Even Diana's efforts as a peacemaker were of no avail. Anne had evidently made up her mind to hate Gilbert Blythe to the end of life. « She flung herself into her studies heart and soul, determined not to be outdone in any class by Gilbert Blythe. The rivalry between them was soon apparent; it was entirely good natured on Gilbert's side; but it is much to be feared that the same thing cannot be said of Anne, who had certainly an unpraiseworthy tenacity for holding grudges. She was as intense in her hatreds as in her loves. She would not stoop to admit that she meant to rival Gilbert in schoolwork, because that would have been to acknowledge his existence which Anne persistently ignored; but the rivalry was there and honors fluctuated between them. Now Gilbert was head of the spelling class; now Anne, with a toss of her long red braids, spelled him down. One morning Gilbert had all his sums done correctly and had his name written on the blackboard on the roll of honor; the next morning Anne, having wrestled wildly with decimals the entire evening before, would be first. One awful day they were ties and their names were written up together. It was almost as bad as a take-notice and Anne's mortification was as evident as Gilbert's satisfaction. When[…] » « When Gilbert Blythe recited "Bingen on the Rhine" Anne picked up Rhoda Murray's library book and read it until he had finished, when she sat rigidly stiff and motionless while Diana clapped her hands until they tingled. » « Then, just as she thought she really could not endure the ache in her arms and wrists another moment, Gilbert Blythe came rowing under the bridge in Harmon Andrews's dory!      Gilbert glanced up and, much to his amazement, beheld a little white scornful face looking down upon him with big, frightened but also scornful gray eyes.      "Anne Shirley! How on earth did you get there?" he exclaimed.      Without waiting for an answer he pulled close to the pile and extended his hand. There was no help for it; Anne, clinging to Gilbert Blythe's hand, scrambled down into the dory, where she sat, drabbled and furious, in the stern with her arms full of dripping shawl and wet crepe. It was certainly extremely difficult to be dignified under the circumstances!      "What has happened, Anne?" asked Gilbert, taking up his oars. "We were playing Elaine" explained Anne frigidly, without even looking at her rescuer, "and I had to drift down to Camelot in the barge--I mean the flat. The flat began to leak and I climbed out on the pile. The girls went for help. Will you be kind enough to row me to the landing?"      Gilbert obligingly rowed to the landing and Anne, disdaining assistance, sprang nimbly on shore.      "I'm very much obliged to you," she said haughtily as she turned away. But Gilbert had also sprung from the boat and now laid a detaining hand on her arm.      "Anne," he said hurriedly, "look here. Can't we be good friends? I'm awfully sorry I made fun of your hair that time. I didn't mean to vex you and I only meant it for a joke. Besides, it's so long ago. I think your hair is awfully pretty now--honest I do.   « Let's be friends."      For a moment Anne hesitated. She had an odd, newly awakened consciousness under all her outraged dignity that the half-shy, half-eager expression in Gilbert's hazel eyes was something that was very good to see. Her heart gave a quick, queer little beat. But the bitterness of her old grievance promptly stiffened up her wavering determination. That scene of two years before flashed back into her recollection as vividly as if it had taken place yesterday. Gilbert had called her "carrots" and had brought about her disgrace before the whole school. Her resentment, which to other and older people might be as laughable as its cause, was in no whit allayed and softened by time seemingly. She hated Gilbert Blythe! She would never forgive him!      "No," she said coldly, "I shall never be friends with you, Gilbert Blythe; and I don't want to be!"      "All right!" Gilbert sprang into his skiff with an angry color in his cheeks. "I'll never ask you to be friends again, Anne Shirley. And I don't care either!"      He pulled away with swift defiant strokes, and Anne went up the steep, ferny little path under the maples. She held her head very high, but she was conscious of an odd feeling of regret. She almost wished she had answered Gilbert differently. Of course, he had insulted her terribly, but still--! Altogether, Anne rather thought it would be a relief to sit down and have a good cry. She was really quite unstrung, for the reaction from her fright and cramped clinging was making itself felt. » « Previously the rivalry had been rather onesided, but there was no longer any doubt that Gilbert was as determined to be first in class as Anne was. He was a foeman worthy of her steel. The other members of the class tacitly acknowledged their superiority, and never dreamed of trying to compete with them.      Since the day by the pond when she had refused to listen to his plea for forgiveness, Gilbert, save for the aforesaid determined rivalry, had evinced no recognition whatever of the existence of Anne Shirley. He talked and jested with the other girls, exchanged books and puzzles with them, discussed lessons and plans, sometimes walked home with one or the other of them from prayer meeting or Debating Club. But Anne Shirley he simply ignored, and Anne found out that it is not pleasant to be ignored. It was in vain that she told herself with a toss of her head that she did not care. Deep down in her wayward, feminine little heart she knew that she did care, and that if she had that chance of the Lake of Shining Waters again she would answer very differently. All at once, as it seemed« and to her secret dismay, she found that the old resentment she had cherished against him was gone--gone just when she most needed its sustaining power. It was in vain that she recalled every incident and emotion of that memorable occasion and tried to feel the old satisfying anger. That day by the pond had witnessed its last spasmodic flicker. Anne realized that she had forgiven and forgotten without knowing it. But it was too late.      And at least neither Gilbert nor anybody else, not even Diana, should ever suspect how sorry she was and how much she wished she hadn't been so proud and horrid! She determined to "shroud her feelings in deepest oblivion," and it may be stated here and now that she did it, so successfully that Gilbert, who possibly was not quite so indifferent as he seemed, could not console himself with any« belief that Anne felt his retaliatory scorn. The only poor comfort he had was that she snubbed Charlie Sloane, unmercifully, continually, and undeservedly. » « They had met and passed each other on the street a dozen times without any sign of recognition and every time Anne had held her head a little higher and wished a little more earnestly that she had made friends with Gilbert when he asked her, and vowed a little more determinedly to surpass him in the examination. « not a word could she utter, and the next moment she would have fled from the platform despite the humiliation which, she felt, must ever after be her portion if she did so.      But suddenly, as her dilated, frightened eyes gazed out over the audience, she saw Gilbert Blythe away at the back of the room, bending forward with a smile on his face--a smile which seemed to Anne at once triumphant and taunting. In reality it was nothing of the kind. Gilbert was merely smiling with appreciation of the whole affair in general and of the effect produced by Anne's slender white form and spiritual face against a background of palms in particular. Josie Pye, whom he had driven over, sat beside him, and her face certainly was both triumphant and taunting. But Anne did not see Josie, and would not have cared if she had. She drew a long breath and flung her head up proudly, courage and determination tingling over her like an electric shock. She WOULD NOT fail before Gilbert Blythe--he should never be able to laugh at her, never, never! Her fright and nervousness vanished; and she began her recitation, her clear« sweet voice reaching to the farthest corner of the room without a tremor or a break. Self-possession was fully restored to her, and in the reaction from that horrible moment of powerlessness she recited as she had never done before. When she finished there were bursts of honest applause. Anne, stepping back to her seat, blushing with shyness and delight, found her hand vigorously clasped and shaken by the stout lady in pink silk. » « I wouldn't feel comfortable without it," she thought. "Gilbert looks awfully determined. I suppose he's making up his mind, here and now, to win« the medal. What a splendid chin he has! I never noticed it before. I do wish Jane and Ruby had gone in for First Class, too. » « Gilbert Blythe nearly always walked with Ruby Gillis and carried her satchel for her. Ruby was a very handsome young lady, now thinking herself quite as grown up as she really was; she wore her skirts as long as her mother would let her and did her hair up in town, though she had to take it down when she went home. She had large, bright-blue eyes, a brilliant complexion, and a plump showy figure. She laughed a great deal, was cheerful and good-tempered, and enjoyed the pleasant things of life frankly.      "But I shouldn't think she was the sort of girl Gilbert would like," whispered Jane to Anne. Anne did not think so either, but she would not have said so for the Avery scholarship. She could not help thinking, too, that it would be very pleasant to have such a friend as Gilbert to jest and chatter with and exchange ideas about books and studies and ambitions. Gilbert had ambitions, she knew, and Ruby Gillis did not seem the sort of person with whom such could be profitably discussed.      There was no silly sentiment in Anne's ideas concerning Gilbert. Boys were to her, when she« when she thought about them at all, merely possible good comrades. If she and Gilbert had been friends she would not have cared how many other friends he had nor with whom he walked. She had a genius for friendship; girl friends she had in plenty; but she had a vague consciousness that masculine friendship might also be a good thing to round out one's conceptions of companionship and furnish broader standpoints of judgment and comparison. Not that Anne could have put her feelings on the matter into just such clear definition. But she thought that if Gilbert had ever walked home with her from the train, over the crisp fields and along the ferny byways, they might have had many and merry and interesting conversations about the new world that was opening around them and their hopes and« ambitions therein. Gilbert was a clever young fellow, with his own thoughts about things and a determination to get the best out of life and put the best into it. Ruby Gillis told Jane Andrews that she didn't understand half the things Gilbert Blythe said; he talked just like Anne Shirley did when she had a thoughtful fit on and for her part she didn't think it any fun to be bothering about books and that sort of thing when you didn't have to. Frank Stockley had lots more dash and go, but then he wasn't half as good-looking as Gilbert and she really couldn't decide which she liked best! » « Anne worked hard and steadily. Her rivalry with Gilbert was as intense as it had ever been in Avonlea school, although it was not known in the class at large, but somehow the bitterness had gone out of it. Anne no longer wished to win for the sake of defeating Gilbert; rather, for the proud consciousness of a well-won victory over a worthy foeman. It would be worth while to win, but she no longer thought life would be insupportable if she did not. » « Jane promised solemnly; but, as it happened, there was no necessity for such a promise. When they went up the entrance steps of Queen's they found the hall full of boys who were carrying Gilbert Blythe around on their shoulders and yelling at the tops of their voices, "Hurrah for Blythe, Medalist!"      For a moment Anne felt one sickening pang of defeat and disappointment. So she had failed and Gilbert had won! Well, Matthew would be sorry--he had been so sure she would win.      And then!      Somebody called out:      "Three cheers for Miss Shirley, winner of the Avery! » « I don't know it. I guess you're going to teach right here in Avonlea. The trustees have decided to give you the school."      "Mrs. Lynde!" cried Anne, springing to her feet in her surprise. "Why, I thought they had promised it to Gilbert Blythe!"      "So they did. But as soon as Gilbert heard that you had applied for it he went to them--they had a business meeting at the school last night, you know--and told them that he withdrew his application, and suggested that they accept yours. He said he was going to teach at White Sands. Of course he knew how much you wanted to stay with Marilla, and I must say I think it was real kind and thoughtful in him, that's what. Real self-sacrificing, too, for he'll have his board to pay at White Sands, and everybody knows he's got to earn his own way through college. So the trustees decided to take you. I was tickled to death when Thomas came home and told me."      "I don't feel that I ought to take it," murmured Anne. "I mean--I don't think I ought to let Gilbert make such a sacrifice for--for me[…] » « I guess you can't prevent him now. He's signed papers with the White Sands trustees. So it wouldn't do him any good now if you were to refuse. Of course you'll take the school. » « The beauty of it all thrilled Anne's heart, and she gratefully opened the gates of her soul to it.      "Dear old world," she murmured, "you are very lovely, and I am glad to be alive in you."      Halfway down the hill a tall lad came whistling out of a gate before the Blythe homestead. It was Gilbert, and the whistle died on his lips as he recognized Anne. He lifted his cap courteously, but he would have passed on in silence, if Anne had not stopped and held out her hand.      "Gilbert," she said, with scarlet cheeks, "I want to thank you for giving up the school for me. It was very good of you--and I want you to know that I appreciate it."      Gilbert took the offered hand eagerly.      "It wasn't particularly good of me at all, Anne. I was pleased to be able to do you some small service. Are we going to be friends after this? Have you really forgiven me my old fault?"      Anne laughed and tried unsuccessfully to withdraw her hand.      "I forgave you that day by the pond landing, although I didn't know it. What a stubborn little goose I was. I’ve« been--I may as well make a complete confession--I've been sorry ever since."      "We are going to be the best of friends," said Gilbert, jubilantly. "We were born to be good friends, Anne. You've thwarted destiny enough. I know we can help each other in many ways. You are going to keep up your studies, aren't you? So am I. Come, I'm going to walk home with you."      Marilla looked curiously at Anne when the latter entered the kitchen.      "Who was that came up the lane with you, Anne?"      "Gilbert Blythe," answered Anne, vexed to find herself blushing. "I met him on Barry's hill."      "I didn't think you and Gilbert Blythe were such good friends that you'd stand for half an hour at the« gate talking to him," said Marilla with a dry smile.      "We haven't been--we've been good enemies. But we have decided that it will be much more sensible to be good friends in the future. Were we really there half an hour? It seemed just a few minutes. But, you see, we have five years' lost conversations to catch up with, Marilla. » « Something about the firm outlines of Anne’s lips told that Mrs. Rachel was not far astray in this estimate. Anne’s heart was bent on forming the Improvement Society. Gilbert Blythe, who was to teach in White Sands but would always be home from Friday night to Monday morning, was enthusiastic about it; and most of the other folks were willing to go in for anything that meant occasional meetings, and consequently some “fun.” As for what the “improvements” were to be, nobody had any very clear idea except Anne and Gilbert. They had talked them over and planned them out until an ideal Avonlea existed in their minds, if nowhere else. » « I could never whip a child,” said Anne with equal decision. “I don’t believe in it at all. Miss Stacy never whipped any of us and she had perfect order; and Mr. Phillips was always whipping and he had no order at all. No, if I can’t get along without whipping I shall not try to teach school. There are better ways of managing. I shall try to win my pupils’ affections and then they will want to do what I tell them.” “But suppose they don’t?” said practical Jane. “I wouldn’t whip them anyhow. I’m sure it wouldn’t do any good. Oh, don’t whip your pupils, Jane, dear, no matter what they do.” “What do you think about it, Gilbert?” demanded Jane. “Don’t you think there are some children who really need a whipping now and then?” “Don’t you think it’s a cruel, barbarous thing to whip a child…any child?” exclaimed Anne, her face flushing with earnestness. “Well,” said Gilbert slowly, torn between his real convictions and his wish to measure up to Anne’s ideal, “there’s something to be said on both sides. I don’t believe in whipping children much. I think, as you say, Anne, that there are better ways of managing as a rule, and that corporal punishment should be a last resort. But on the other hand, as Jane says, I believe there is an occasional child who can’t be influenced in any other way and who, in short, needs a whipping and would be improved by it. Corporal punishment as a last resort is to be my rule.” Gilbert, having tried to please both sides, succeeded, as is usual and eminently right, in pleasing neither. Jane tossed her head. » « Anne gave Gilbert a disappointed glance. “I shall never whip a child,” she repeated firmly. “I feel sure it isn’t either right or necessary.” “Suppose a boy sauced you back when you told him to do something?” said Jane. “I’d keep him in after school and talk kindly and firmly to him,” said Anne. “There is some good in every person if you can find it. It is a teacher’s duty to find and develop it. That is what our School Management professor at Queen’s told us, you know. Do you suppose you could find any good in a child by whipping him? It’s far more important to influence the children aright than it is even to teach them the three R’s, Professor Rennie says.” “But the Inspector examines them in the three R’s, mind you, and he won’t give you a good report if they don’t come up to his standard,” protested Jane. “I’d rather have my pupils love me and look back to me in after years as a real helper than be on the roll of honor,” asserted Anne decidedly. “Wouldn’t you punish children at all, when they misbehaved?” asked Gilbert. “Oh, yes, I suppose I« shall have to, although I know I’ll hate to do it. But you can keep them in at recess or stand them on the floor or give them lines to write.” “I suppose you won’t punish the girls by making them sit with the boys?” said Jane slyly. Gilbert and Anne looked at each other and smiled rather foolishly. Once upon a time, Anne had been made to sit with Gilbert for punishment, and sad and bitter had been the consequences thereof. “Well, time will tell which is the best way,” said Jane philosophically as they parted. » « What is the matter?” asked Gilbert, who had arrived at the open kitchen door just in time to hear the sigh. Anne colored, and thrust her writing out of sight under some school compositions. “Nothing very dreadful. I was just trying to write out some of my thoughts, as Professor Hamilton advised me, but I couldn’t get them to please me. They seem so stiff and foolish directly they’re written down on white paper with black ink. Fancies are like shadows…you can’t cage them, they’re such wayward dancing things. But perhaps I’ll learn the secret some day if I keep on trying. I haven’t a great many spare moments, you know. By the time I finish correcting school exercises and compositions, I don’t always feel like writing any of my own.” “You are getting on splendidly in school, Anne. All the children like you,” said Gilbert, sitting down on the stone step. » « Gilbert had finally made up his mind that he was going to be a doctor. “It’s a splendid profession,” he said enthusiastically. “A fellow has to fight something all through life…didn’t somebody once define man as a fighting animal?…and I want to fight disease and pain and ignorance…which are all members one of another. I want to do my share of honest, real work in the « world, Anne…add a little to the sum of human knowledge that all the good men have been accumulating since it began. The folks who lived before me have done so much for me that I want to show my gratitude by doing something for the folks who will live after me. It seems to me that is the only way a fellow can get square with his obligations to the race.” “I’d like to add some beauty to life,” said Anne dreamily. “I don’t exactly want to make people know more…though I know that is the noblest ambition…but I’d love to make them have a pleasanter time because of me…to have some little joy or happy thought that would never have existed if I hadn’t been born.” “I think you’re fulfilling that ambition every day,” said Gilbert admiringly. And he was right. Anne was one of the children of light by birthright. After she had passed through a life with a smile or a word thrown across it like a gleam of sunshine the owner of that life saw it, for the time being at least, as hopeful and lovely and of good report. Finally« Gilbert rose regretfully. “Well, I must run up to MacPhersons’. Moody Spurgeon came home from Queen’s today for Sunday and he was to bring me out a book Professor Boyd is lending me. » « In the twilight Anne sauntered down to the Dryad’s Bubble and saw Gilbert Blythe coming down through the dusky Haunted Wood. She had a sudden realization that Gilbert was a schoolboy no longer. And how manly he looked—the tall, frank- « faced fellow, with the clear, straightforward eyes and the broad shoulders. Anne thought Gilbert was a very handsome lad, even though he didn’t look at all like her ideal man. She and Diana had long ago decided what kind of a man they admired and their tastes seemed exactly similar. He must be very tall and distinguished-looking, with melancholy, inscrutable eyes, and a melting, sympathetic voice. There was nothing either melancholy or inscrutable in Gilbert’s physiognomy, but of course that didn’t matter in friendship! Gilbert stretched himself out on the ferns beside the Bubble and looked approvingly at Anne. If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman the description would have answered point for point to Anne, even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul. Gilbert was as yet little more than a boy; but a boy has his dreams as have others, and in Gilbert’s future there was always a girl with big, limpid gray eyes, and a face as fine and delicate as a flower. He had made up his mind, also, that his future must be worthy of its goddess. Even in quiet Avonlea there were« temptations to be met and faced. White Sands youth were a rather “fast” set, and Gilbert was popular wherever he went. But he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne’s friendship and perhaps some distant day her love; and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it. She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl whose ideals are high and pure, wields over her friends; an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would as certainly lose if she were ever false to them. In Gilbert’s eyes Anne’s greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to the petty practices of so many of the Avonlea girls—the small jealousies, the little deceits and rivalries, the palpable bids for favor. Anne held herself apart « from all this, not consciously or of design, but simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to her transparent, impulsive nature, crystal clear in its motives and aspirations. But Gilbert did not attempt to put his thoughts into words, for he had already too good reason to know that Anne would mercilessly and frostily nip all attempts at sentiment in the bud—or laugh at him, which was ten times worse. “You look like a real dryad under that birch tree,” he said teasingly. » « Gilbert Blythe was probably the only person to whom the news of Anne’s resignation brought unmixed pleasure. » « But there’ll be so many clever girls at Redmond,” sighed Diana, “and I’m only a stupid little country girl who says ‘I seen’ sometimes…though I really know better when I stop to think. Well, of course these past two years have really been too pleasant to last. I know somebody who is glad you are going to Redmond, anyhow. Anne, I’m going to ask you a question…a serious question. Don’t be vexed and do answer seriously. Do you care anything for Gilbert?” “Ever so much as a friend and not a bit in the way you mean,” said Anne calmly and decidedly; she also thought she was speaking sincerely. » « Then she locked the door and sat down under the silver poplar to wait for Gilbert, feeling very tired but still unweariedly thinking “long, long thoughts.” “What are you thinking of, Anne?” asked Gilbert, coming down the walk. He had left his horse and buggy out at the road. “Of Miss Lavendar and Mr. Irving,” answered Anne dreamily. “Isn’t it beautiful to think how everything has turned out…how they have come together again after all the years of separation and misunderstanding?” “Yes, it’s beautiful,” said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne’s uplifted face, “but wouldn’t it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been no separation or misunderstanding…if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?” For a moment Anne’s heart fluttered queerly and for the first time her eyes faltered under Gilbert’s gaze and a rosy flush stained the paleness of her face. It was as if a veil that had hung before her inner consciousness had been lifted, giving to her view a revelation of unsuspected feelings and realities. « Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it  « revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music, perhaps…perhaps…love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath. Then the veil dropped again; but the Anne who walked up the dark lane was not quite the same Anne who had driven gaily down it the evening before. The page of girlhood had been turned, as by an unseen finger, and the page of womanhood was before her with all its charm and mystery, its pain and gladness. Gilbert wisely said nothing more; but in his silence he read the history of the next four years in the light of Anne’s remembered blush. Four years of earnest, happy work…and then the guerdon of a useful knowledge gained and a sweet heart won. » « They were leaning on the bridge of the old pond, drinking deep of the enchantment of the dusk, just at the spot where Anne had climbed from her sinking Dory on the day Elaine floated down to Camelot. The fine, empurpling dye of sunset still stained the western skies, but the moon was rising and the water lay like a great, silver dream in her light. Remembrance wove a sweet and subtle spell over the two young creatures. "You are very quiet, Anne," said Gilbert at last. "I'm afraid to speak or move for fear all this wonderful beauty will vanish just like a broken silence," breathed Anne. » « Gilbert suddenly laid his hand over the slender white one lying on the rail of the bridge. His hazel eyes deepened into darkness, his still boyish lips opened to say something of the dream and hope that thrilled his soul. But Anne snatched her hand away and turned quickly. The spell of the dusk was broken for her. "I must go home," she exclaimed, with a rather overdone carelessness. "Marilla had a headache this afternoon, and I'm sure the twins will be in some dreadful mischief by this time. I really shouldn't have stayed away so long." She chattered ceaselessly and inconsequently until they reached the Green Gables lane. Poor Gilbert hardly had a chance to get a word in edgewise. Anne felt rather relieved when they parted. There had been a new, secret self-consciousness in her heart with regard to Gilbert, ever since that fleeting moment of revelation in the garden of Echo Lodge. Something alien had intruded into the old, perfect, school-day comradeship -- something that threatened to mar it. "I never felt glad to see Gilbert go before," she thought, half- resentfully, half-sorrowfully, as she walked alone up the lane. "Our friendship will be« spoiled if he goes on with this nonsense. It mustn't be spoiled -- I won't let it. Oh, WHY can't boys be just sensible!" Anne had an uneasy doubt that it was not strictly "sensible" that she should still feel on her hand the warm pressure of Gilbert's, as distinctly as she had felt it for the swift second his had rested there; and still less sensible that the sensation was far from being an unpleasant one -- very different from that which had attended a similar demonstration on Charlie Sloane's part, when she had been sitting out a dance with him at a White Sands party three nights before. Anne shivered over the disagreeable recollection. But all problems connected with infatuated swains vanished from her mind  » « Gilbert Blythe and Charlie Sloane, both trying to keep as near the elusive Anne as possible » « She enjoyed the evening tremendously, but the end of it rather spoiled all. Gilbert again made the mistake of saying something sentimental to her as they ate their supper on the moonlit verandah; and Anne, to punish him, was gracious to Charlie Sloane and allowed the latter to walk home with her. She found, however, that revenge hurts nobody quite so much as the one who tries to inflict it. Gilbert walked airily off with Ruby Gillis, and Anne could hear them laughing and talking gaily as they loitered along in the still, crisp autumn air. They were evidently having the best of good times, while she was horribly bored by Charlie Sloane, who talked unbrokenly on, and never, even by accident, said one thing that was worth listening to. Anne gave an occasional absent "yes" or "no," and thought how beautiful Ruby had looked that night, how very goggly Charlie's eyes were in the moonlight »« worse even than by daylight -- and that the world, somehow, wasn't quite such a nice place as she had believed it to be earlier in the evening. "I'm just tired out -- that is what is the matter with me," she said, when she thankfully found herself alone in her own room. And she honestly believed it was. But a certain little gush of joy, as from some secret, unknown spring, bubbled up in her heart the next evening, when she saw Gilbert striding down through the Haunted Wood and crossing the old log bridge with that firm, quick step of his. So Gilbert was not going to spend this last evening with Ruby Gillis after all! » « They started gaily off. Anne, remembering the unpleasantness of the preceding evening, was very nice to Gilbert; and Gilbert, who was learning wisdom, took care to be nothing save the schoolboy comrade again. Mrs. Lynde and Marilla watched them from the kitchen window. "That'll be a match some day," Mrs. Lynde said approvingly. Marilla winced slightly. In her heart she hoped it would, but it went against her grain to hear the matter spoken of in Mrs. Lynde's gossipy matter-of-fact way. "They're only children yet," she said shortly. Mrs. Lynde laughed good-naturedly. "Anne is eighteen; I was married when I was that age. We old folks, Marilla, are too much given to thinking children never grow up, that's what. Anne is a young woman and Gilbert's a man, and he worships the ground she walks on, as any one can see. He's a fine fellow, and Anne can't do better. I hope she won't get any romantic nonsense into her head at Redmond. I don't approve of them coeducational places and never did, that's what. I don't believe," concluded Mrs. Lynde solemnly, "that the students at such colleges ever do much else than flirt. » « Gilbert and Anne loitered a little behind the others, enjoying the calm, still beauty of the autumn afternoon under the pines of the park, on the road that climbed and twisted round the harbor shore. "The silence here is like a prayer, isn't it?" said Anne, her face upturned to the shining sky. "How I love the pines! They seem to strike their roots deep into the romance of all the ages. It is so comforting to creep away now and then for a good talk with them. I always feel so happy out here." "`And so in mountain solitudes o'ertaken As by some spell divine, Their cares drop from them like the needles shaken From out the gusty pine,'" quoted Gilbert. "They make our little ambitions seem rather petty, don't they, Anne?" "I think, if ever any great sorrow came to me, I would come to the pines for comfort," said Anne dreamily. "I hope no great sorrow ever will come to you, Anne," said Gilbert, who could not connect the idea of sorrow with the vivid, joyous creature beside him, unwitting that those who can soar to the highest heights can also plunge to the deepest depths, and that the natures which enjoy most keenly are those which also suffer most sharply. » « But there must -- sometime," mused Anne. "Life seems like a cup of glory held to my lips just now. But there must be some bitterness in it -- there is in every cup. I shall taste mine some day. Well, I hope I shall be strong and brave to meet it. And I hope it won't be through my own fault that it will come. Do you remember what Dr. Davis said last Sunday evening -- that the sorrows God sent us brought comfort and strength with them, while the sorrows we brought on ourselves, through folly or wickedness, were by far the hardest to bear? But we mustn't talk of sorrow on an afternoon like this. It's meant for the sheer joy of living, isn't it?" "If I had my way I'd shut everything out of your life but happiness and pleasure, Anne," said Gilbert in the tone that meant "danger ahead." "Then you would be very unwise," rejoined Anne hastily. "I'm sure no life can be properly developed and rounded out without some trial and sorrow -- though I suppose it is only when we are pretty comfortable that we admit it. Come -- the others have got to the pavilion[…] » « Gilbert did not love any of them, and he was exceedingly careful to give none of them the advantage over him by any untimely display of his real feelings Anne-ward. To her he had become again the boy-comrade of Avonlea days, and as such could hold his own against any smitten swain who had so far entered the lists against him. As a companion, Anne honestly acknowledged nobody could be so satisfactory as Gilbert; she was very glad, so she told herself, that he had evidently dropped all nonsensical ideas -- though she spent considerable time secretly wondering why. » « Gilbert, to be sure, was still faithful, and waded up to Green Gables every possible evening. But Gilbert's visits were not what they once were. Anne almost dreaded them. It was very disconcerting to look up in the midst of a sudden silence and find Gilbert's hazel eyes fixed upon her with a quite unmistakable expression in their grave depths; and it was still more disconcerting to find herself blushing hotly and uncomfortably under his gaze, just as if -- just as if -- well, it was very embarrassing. Anne wished herself back at Patty's Place, where there was always somebody else about to take the edge off a delicate situation. At Green Gables Marilla went promptly to Mrs. Lynde's domain when Gilbert came and insisted on taking the twins with her. The significance of this was unmistakable and Anne was in a helpless fury over it. » « You mustn't work too HARD," said Anne, without any very clear idea of what she was saying. She wished desperately that Phil would come out. "You've studied very constantly this winter. Isn't this a delightful evening? Do you know, I found a cluster of white violets under that old twisted tree over there today? I felt as if I had discovered a gold mine." "You are always discovering gold mines," said Gilbert -- also absently. "Let us go and see if we can find some more," suggested Anne eagerly. "I'll call Phil and -- " "Never mind Phil and the violets just now, Anne," said Gilbert quietly, taking her hand in a clasp from which she could not free it. "There is something I want to say to you." "Oh, don't say it," cried Anne, pleadingly. "Don't -- PLEASE, Gilbert." "I must. Things can't go on like this any longer. Anne, I love you. You know I do. I -- I can't tell you how much. Will you promise me that some day you'll be my wife?" "I -- I can't," said Anne miserably. "Oh, Gilbert -- you -- you've spoiled everything." "Don't you care for me at all?" Gilbert asked after a very dreadful pause, during« which Anne had not dared to look up. "Not -- not in that way. I do care a great deal for you as a friend. But I don't love you, Gilbert." "But can't you give me some hope that you will -- yet?" "No, I can't," exclaimed Anne desperately. "I never, never can love you -- in that way -- Gilbert. You must never speak of this to me again." There was another pause -- so long and so dreadful that Anne was driven at last to look up. Gilbert's face was white to the lips. And his eyes -- but Anne shuddered and looked away. There was « nothing romantic about this. Must proposals be either grotesque or -- horrible? Could she ever forget Gilbert's face? "Is there anybody else?" he asked at last in a low voice. "No -- no," said Anne eagerly. "I don't care for any one like THAT -- and I LIKE you better than anybody else in the world, Gilbert. And we must -- we must go on being friends, Gilbert." Gilbert gave a bitter little laugh. "Friends! Your friendship can't satisfy me, Anne. I want your love -- and you tell me I can never have that." "I'm sorry. Forgive me, Gilbert," was all Anne could say. Where, oh, where were all the gracious and graceful speeches wherewith, in imagination, she had been wont to dismiss rejected suitors? Gilbert released her hand gently. "There isn't anything to forgive. There have been times when I thought you did care. I've deceived myself, that's all. Goodbye, Anne. » « Phil," pleaded Anne, "please go away and leave me alone for a little while. My world has tumbled into pieces. I want to reconstruct it." "Without any Gilbert in it?" said Phil, going. A world without any Gilbert in it! Anne repeated the words drearily. Would it not be a very lonely, forlorn place? Well, it was all Gilbert's fault. He had spoiled their beautiful comradeship. She must just learn to live without it. » « Life was very pleasant in Avonlea that summer, although Anne, amid all her vacation joys, was haunted by a sense of "something gone which should be there." She would not admit, even in her inmost reflections, that this was caused by Gilbert's absence.  » « Gilbert would never have dreamed of writing a sonnet to her eyebrows. But then, Gilbert could see a joke. She had once told Roy a funny story -- and he had not seen the point of it. She recalled the chummy laugh she and Gilbert had had together over it, and wondered uneasily if life with a man who had no sense of humor might not be somewhat uninteresting in the long run. But who could expect a melancholy, inscrutable hero to see the humorous side of things? It would be flatly unreasonable. » « Fred and Diana drove away through the moonlight to their new home, and Gilbert walked with Anne to Green Gables. Something of their old comradeship had returned during the informal mirth of the evening. Oh, it was nice to be walking over that well-known road with Gilbert again! The night was so very still that one should have been able to hear the whisper of roses in blossom --  « the laughter of daisies -- the piping of grasses -- many sweet sounds, all tangled up together. The beauty of moonlight on familiar fields irradiated the world. "Can't we take a ramble up Lovers' Lane before you go in?" asked Gilbert as they crossed the bridge over the Lake of Shining Waters, in which the moon lay like a great, drowned blossom of gold. Anne assented readily. Lovers' Lane was a veritable path in a fairyland that night -- a shimmering, mysterious place, full of wizardry in the white-woven enchantment of moonlight. There had been a time when such a walk with Gilbert through Lovers' Lane would have been far too dangerous. But Roy and Christine had made it very safe now. Anne found herself thinking a good deal about Christine as she chatted lightly to Gilbert. She had met her several times before leaving Kingsport, and had been charmingly sweet to her. Christine had also been charmingly sweet. Indeed, they were a most cordial pair. But for all that, their acquaintance had not ripened into friendship. Evidently Christine was not a kindred spirit. "Are you going to be in Avonlea all summer?" asked Gilbert. » « It was filled with lilies-of-the-valley, as fresh and fragrant as those which bloomed in the Green Gables yard when June came to Avonlea. Gilbert Blythe's card lay beside it. Anne wondered why Gilbert should have sent her flowers for Convocation. She had seen very little of him during the past winter. » «  On the accompanying card was written, "With all good wishes from your old chum, Gilbert." Anne, laughing over the memory the enamel heart conjured up the fatal day when Gilbert had called her "Carrots" and vainly tried to make his peace with a pink candy heart, had written him a nice little note of thanks. But she had never worn the trinket. Tonight she fastened it about her white throat with a dreamy smile. » « Say, Anne, did you know that Gilbert Blythe is dying?" Anne stood quite silent and motionless, looking at Davy. Her face had gone so white that Marilla thought she was going to faint. "Davy, hold your tongue," said Mrs. Rachel angrily. "Anne, don't look like that -- DON'T LOOK LIKE THAT! We didn't mean to tell you so suddenly." "Is -- it -- true?" asked Anne in a voice that was not hers. "Gilbert is very ill," said Mrs. Lynde gravely. "He took down with typhoid fever just after you left for Echo Lodge. Did you never hear of it?" "No," said that unknown voice. "It was a very bad case from the start. The doctor said he'd been terribly run down. They've a trained nurse and everything's been done. DON'T look like that, Anne. While there's life there's hope." "Mr. Harrison was here this evening and he said they had no hope of him," reiterated Davy. » « Marilla, looking old and worn and tired, got up and marched Davy grimly out of the kitchen. "Oh, DON'T look so, dear," said Mrs. Rachel, putting her kind old arms about the pallid girl. "I haven't given up hope, indeed I haven't. He's got the Blythe constitution in his favor, that's what." Anne gently put Mrs. Lynde's arms away from her, walked blindly across the kitchen, through the hall, up the stairs to her old room. At its window she knelt down, staring out unseeingly. It was very dark. The rain was beating down over the shivering fields. The Haunted Woods was full of the groans of mighty trees wrung in the tempest, and the air throbbed with the thunderous crash of billows on the distant shore. And Gilbert was dying! There is a book of Revelation in every one's life, as there is in the Bible. Anne read hers that bitter night, as she kept her agonized vigil through the hours of storm and darkness. She loved Gilbert -- had always loved him! She knew that now. She knew that she could no more cast him out of her life without agony than she could have cut off her« her right hand and cast it from her. And the knowledge had come too late -- too late even for the bitter solace of being with him at the last. If she had not been so blind -- so foolish -- she would have had the right to go to him now. But he would never know that she loved him -- he would go away from this life thinking that she did not care. Oh, the black years of emptiness stretching before her! She could not live through them -- she could not! She cowered down by her window and wished, for the first time in her gay young life, that she could die, too. If Gilbert went away from her, without one word or sign or message, she could not live. Nothing was of any value without him. She belonged to him and he to her. In her hour of supreme agony she had no doubt of that. He did not love Christine Stuart -- never had loved Christine Stuart. Oh, what a fool she had been not to realize what the bond « was that had held her to Gilbert -- to think that the flattered fancy she had felt for Roy Gardner had been love. And now she must pay for her folly as for a crime. Mrs. Lynde and Marilla crept to her door before they went to bed, shook their heads doubtfully at each other over the silence, and went away. The storm raged all night, but when the dawn came it was spent. Anne saw a fairy fringe of light on the skirts of darkness. Soon the eastern hilltops had a fire-shot ruby rim. The clouds rolled themselves away into great, soft, white masses on the horizon; the sky gleamed blue and silvery. A hush fell over the world. Anne rose from her knees and crept downstairs. The freshness of the rain-wind blew against her white face as she went out into the yard, and cooled her dry, burning eyes. A merry rollicking whistle was lilting up the lane. A moment later Pacifique Buote came in sight. Anne's physical strength suddenly failed her. If she had not clutched at a low willow bough she would have fallen. Pacifique was George Fletcher's hired man, and George Fletcher lived« next door to the Blythes. Mrs. Fletcher was Gilbert's aunt. Pacifique would know if -- if -- Pacifique would know what there was to be known. Pacifique strode sturdily on along the red lane, whistling. He did not see Anne. She made three futile attempts to call him. He was almost past before she succeeded in making her quivering lips call, "Pacifique!" Pacifique turned with a grin and a cheerful good morning. "Pacifique," said Anne faintly, "did you come from George Fletcher's this morning?" "Sure," said Pacifique amiably. "I got de word las' night dat my fader, he was seeck. It was so stormy dat I couldn't go den, so I start vair early dis mornin'. I'm goin' troo de woods for short cut. » « Did you hear how Gilbert Blythe was this morning?" Anne's desperation drove her to the question. Even the worst would be more endurable than this hideous suspense. "He's better," said Pacifique. "He got de turn las' night. De doctor say he'll be all right now dis soon while. Had close shave, dough! Dat boy, he jus' keel himself at college. Well, I mus' hurry. De old man, he'll be in hurry to see me." Pacifique resumed his walk and his whistle. Anne gazed after him with eyes where joy was driving out the strained anguish of the night. He was a very lank, very ragged, very homely youth. But in her sight he was as beautiful as those who bring good tidings on the mountains. Never, as long as she lived, would Anne see Pacifique's brown, round, black-eyed face without a warm remembrance of the moment when he had given to her the oil of joy for mourning. Long after Pacifique's gay whistle had faded into the phantom of music and then into silence far up under the maples of Lover's Lane Anne stood under the willows, tasting the poignant sweetness of life when some great dread has« been removed from it. The morning was a cup filled with mist and glamor. In the corner near her was a rich surprise of new-blown, crystal-dewed roses. The trills and trickles of song from the birds in the big tree above her seemed in perfect accord with her mood. A sentence from a very old, very true, very wonderful Book came to her lips, "Weeping may endure for a night but joy cometh in the morning." XLI Love Takes Up the Glass of Time "I've come up to ask you to go for one of our old-time rambles through September woods and `over hills where spices grow,' this afternoon," said « Gilbert, coming suddenly around the porch corner. "Suppose we visit Hester Gray's garden." Anne, sitting on the stone step with her lap full of a pale, filmy, green stuff, looked up rather blankly. "Oh, I wish I could," she said slowly, "but I really can't, Gilbert. I'm going to Alice Penhallow's wedding this evening, you know. I've got to do something to this dress, and by the time it's finished I'll have to get ready. I'm so sorry. I'd love to go." "Well, can you go tomorrow afternoon, then?" asked Gilbert, apparently not much disappointed. "Yes, I think so. » « Is that the dress you're going to wear tonight?" asked Gilbert, looking down at the fluffs and frills. "Yes. Isn't it pretty? And I shall wear starflowers in my hair. The Haunted Wood is full of them this « summer." Gilbert had a sudden vision of Anne, arrayed in a frilly green gown, with the virginal curves of arms and throat slipping out of it, and white stars shining against the coils of her ruddy hair. The vision made him catch his breath. But he turned lightly away. "Well, I'll be up tomorrow. Hope you'll have a nice time tonight." Anne looked after him as he strode away, and sighed. Gilbert was friendly -- very friendly -- far too friendly. He had come quite often to Green Gables after his recovery, and something of their old comradeship had returned. But Anne no longer found it satisfying. The rose of love made the blossom of friendship pale and scentless by contrast. And Anne had again begun to doubt if Gilbert now felt anything for her but friendship. In the common light of common day her radiant certainty of that rapt morning had faded. She was haunted by a miserable fear that her mistake could never be rectified. It was quite likely that it was Christine whom Gilbert loved after all. Perhaps he was even engaged to her. Anne tried to put all unsettling hopes out of her heart, and reconcile herself« to a future where work and ambition must take the place of love. She could do good, if not noble, work as a teacher; and the success her little sketches were beginning to meet with in certain editorial sanctums augured well for her budding literary dreams. But -- but -- Anne picked up her green dress and sighed again. When Gilbert came the next afternoon he found Anne waiting for him, fresh as the dawn and fair as a star, after all the gaiety of the preceding night. She wore a green dress -- not the one she had worn to the wedding, but an old one which Gilbert had told her at a Redmond reception he liked especially. It was just the shade of green that brought out the rich tints of her hair, and the starry gray of her eyes and the iris-like delicacy of her skin. Gilbert, glanc« ing at her sideways as they walked along a shadowy woodpath, thought she had never looked so lovely. Anne, glancing sideways at Gilbert, now and then, thought how much older he looked since his illness. It was as if he had put boyhood behind him forever. The day was beautiful and the way was beautiful. Anne was almost sorry when they reached Hester Gray's garden, and sat down on the old bench. But it was beautiful there, too -- as beautiful as it had been on the faraway day of the Golden Picnic, when Diana and Jane and Priscilla and she had found it. Then it had been lovely with narcissus and violets; now golden rod had kindled its fairy torches in the corners and asters dotted it bluely. The call of the brook came up through the woods from the valley of birches with all its old allurement; the mellow air was full of the purr of the sea; beyond were fields rimmed by fences bleached silvery gray in the suns of many summers, and long hills scarfed with the shadows of autumnal clouds; with the blowing of the west wind old dreams returned. "I think," said Anne softly« that `the land where dreams come true' is in the blue haze yonder, over that little valley." "Have you any unfulfilled dreams, Anne?" asked Gilbert. Something in his tone -- something she had not heard since that miserable evening in the orchard at Patty's Place -- made Anne's heart beat wildly. But she made answer lightly. "Of course. Everybody has. It wouldn't do for us to have all our dreams fulfilled. We would be as good as dead if we had nothing left to dream about. What a delicious aroma that low-descending sun is extracting from the asters and ferns. I wish we could see perfumes as well as smell them. I'm sure they would be very beautiful." Gilbert was not to be thus sidetracked. « I have a dream," he said slowly. "I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends -- and YOU!" Anne wanted to speak but she could find no words. Happiness was breaking over her like a wave. It almost frightened her. "I asked you a question over two years ago, Anne. If I ask it again today will you give me a different answer?" Still Anne could not speak. But she lifted her eyes, shining with all the love-rapture of countless generations, and looked into his for a moment. He wanted no other answer. They lingered in the old garden until twilight, sweet as dusk in Eden must have been, crept over it. There was so much to talk over and recall -- things said and done and heard and thought and felt and misunderstood. "I thought you loved Christine Stuart," Anne told him, as reproachfully as if she had not given him every reason to suppose that she loved Roy Gardner. Gilbert laughed boyishly. "Christine was engaged to somebody in her« home town. I knew it and she knew I knew it. When her brother graduated he told me his sister was coming to Kingsport the next winter to take music, and asked me if I would look after her a bit, as she knew no one and would be very lonely. So I did. And then I liked Christine for her own sake. She is one of the nicest girls I've ever known. I knew college gossip credited us with being in love with each other. I didn't care. Nothing mattered much to me for a time there, after you told me you could never love me, Anne. There was nobody else -- there never could be anybody else for me but you. I've loved you ever since that day you broke your slate over my head in school. » « I don't see how you could keep on loving me when I was such a little fool," said Anne. "Well, I tried to stop," said Gilbert frankly, "not because I thought you what you call yourself, but because I felt sure there was no chance for me after Gardner came on the scene. But I couldn't -- and I can't tell you, either, what it's meant to me these two years to believe you were going to marry him, and be told every week by some busybody that your engagement was on the point of being announced. I believed it until one blessed day when I was sitting up after the fever. I got a letter from Phil Gordon -- Phil Blake, rather -- in which she told me there was really nothing between you and Roy, and advised me to `try again.' Well, the doctor was amazed at my rapid recovery after that." Anne laughed -- then shivered. "I can never forget the night I thought you were dying, Gilbert. Oh, I knew -- I KNEW then -- and I thought it was too late." "But it wasn't, sweetheart. Oh, Anne, this makes up for everything, doesn't it? Let's resolve to keep this day« sacred to perfect beauty all our lives for the gift it has given us." "It's the birthday of our happiness," said Anne softly. "I've always loved this old garden of Hester Gray's, and now it will be dearer than ever." "But I'll have to ask you to wait a long time, Anne," said Gilbert sadly. "It will be three years before I'll finish my medical course. And even then there will be no diamond sunbursts and marble halls." Anne laughed. "I don't want sunbursts and marble halls. I just want YOU. You see I'm quite as shameless as Phil about it. Sunbursts and marble halls may be all very well, but there is more `scope for imagination' without them. And as for the waiting, that doesn't matter. We'll just be happy, waiting and working for « each other -- and dreaming. Oh, dreams will be very sweet now." Gilbert drew her close to him and kissed her. Then they walked home together in the dusk, crowned king and queen in the bridal realm of love, along winding paths fringed with the sweetest flowers that ever bloomed, and over haunted meadows where winds of hope and memory blew. » « Gilbert lifted Anne from the buggy and led her into the garden, through the little gate between the ruddy-tipped firs, up the trim, red path to the sandstone step. "Welcome home," he whispered, and hand in hand they stepped over the threshold of their house of dreams. » « Anne, this is Captain Boyd. Captain Boyd, my wife." It was the first time Gilbert had said "my wife" to anybody but Anne, and he narrowly escaped bursting with the pride of it. » Extrait de: L. M. Montgomery. « The Complete Anne of Green. » iBooks. 

[spoon-writes]

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 7

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 7 - The Stranger

A shout rendered the air followed by a crash, and Sinead's eyes flew open, her hand curling around the blaster hidden under the bunk. She could hear raised voices from outside of the ship.

It was that time of the night where the desert had had time to cool down, until it almost felt like she was back on Toola. She’d left the ramp down, in case the Mandalorian came back, but as her bare feet hit the metal floor she sorely regretted it.

Sinead crept towards the open cargo door, where eerie pale light streamed in, making the shadows in the ship seem unfathomably deep. Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she peered over the ramp. The hangar was bathed in moonlight, turning the sand grey and making it seem like she’d been transported to a desolate moonscape while she slept.

The only light came from Peli’s workshop, it flickered as someone passed it. There was another crash and a male voice she didn't recognize.

"Where is it? I know you have it!"

Peli’s voice rose, sharp and angry. "It's not here! Now get the hell out of my workshop, you slimy little-"

"I know you have the child! Give it here!"

Something touched Sinead’s ankle, and she whirled around, blaster raised.

The kid looked back at her, his big dark eyes looking unfathomably deep in the darkness and seeming much more alert that he should have been so late in the night. He cooed softly.

Sinead shushed him and glanced at the workshop, where the two shadows seemed to be moving closer. Grabbing him, she snuck down the ramp and ducked down behind a stack of crates just before Peli and a human man appeared from the workshop.

The man was young, and he glanced nervously back at the door as they moved towards the ship. If he hadn’t been pointing a blaster at Peli’s back, he would’ve been handsome.

"That's his ship?" He made a face. "What a dump."

"Well, you're welcome to pick up a wrench and start workin'. I'll even hold your blaster for ya." Peli glared over her shoulder, earning herself a shove with the blaster.

The child clung to her side, and Sinead pressed a clammy hand to his head, trying to soothe without making any noise.

Peli slowed down the closer they got to the ship. "Look, if it's credits you want, I can give you-"

"You really have no idea how valuable it is, do you? When I bring this in I’ll have enough credits to buy this shithole of a port." He shot a disdainful look at the surrounding walls. "Now walk."

They disappeared into the ship, and Sinead could hear them move around, loud thumps whenever something was thrown across the ship. Sinead bit her lips, hoping that they wouldn't check her belongings to see if the child was hiding there.

"Where is it?"

"I told you numbnuts, it isn't here. Do I look like a babysitter to you? I gave it to someone to look after so I could finish the ship. Honestly."

There was a small pocket between two crates, half covered by an old tarp, and Sinead left the child, pulling the tarp over him. “Stay here,” she whispered, hoping beyond hope that he could somehow understand her. She waited a second to make sure he stayed put, and then circled around the ship, scurrying from cover to cover.

There was one final thump from inside the ship, and Peli came out, the stranger right behind her, his eyes wide. He ran a hand through his hair.

"You know, for some strange reason I just don't believe you. I've only been here for, what, a week? And I've never met more dishonest folks in my life."

"Should put that on a sign," Peli hissed, shooting a hateful look over her shoulder.

The stranger whirled her around and pushed her to the ground.

"Okay, here's how we're gonna do it." He shook his blaster at her. "You're gonna tell me where you hid the kid and I won’t feed you to a sarlacc. Got it?"

Peli fought into a sitting position. “C’mon, kid, you ain’t gonna kill me.” She wet her lips. “I’ve seen puffer pigs more ferocious than you. You don’t have it in you.”

“Wanna bet your life on that?”

Sinead swore under her breath as the stranger lifted his blaster, looking Peli dead in the eyes. Her legs moved before her brain had even finished processing what was happening.

Holding her blaster in a tight grip, she stepped into view.

“Wait-“

She ducked as a blaster bolt whizzed over her head and made a crater in the wall behind her. The smell of plasma filled her nose.

The stranger didn’t lower his blaster. “Who the hell are you?” His eyes were wide, and he moved to the side to keep both Peli and Sinead in his sight at the same time.

“An idiot, that’s who,” Peli mumbled.

“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Sinead said, taking a small step toward them.

“Stay back!” The stranger commanded. “And drop your blaster! Drop it, or I’ll blow her head off.” He gestured angrily at Peli with his blaster.

“Don’t do anything stupid, alright? Calm down.” Sinead threw her blaster in the sand. “There. You happy now?”

He snatched the blaster from the ground and threw it out of reach. “Who are you?”

Sinead kept her eyes on the stranger, scared that if she didn’t, she would end up looking at where the child was hidden away. “I’m an apprentice.”

"You don't look like an apprentice." He looked her up and down, and Sinead had to fight the impulse to cross her arms in front of her chest. She felt very exposed in her thin shirt; at least she was wearing pants to ward off the cold.

"I don't make it a habit of sleeping in my overalls. You can always come back tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll look more the part then."

"I don't think so. You see, I know you aren't an apprentice. There're two beds in there, and one of them has been slept in recently."

Well, that was that, then. Sinead bit the inside of her cheek. "So what's the plan, then? Hm? You take the child and then what? You honestly believe the Mandalorian would let you leave this planet alive?"

At the sound of that name the stranger eyes flickered to the entrance to the hangar. "He'll still be stuck out in the desert by the time I reach Navarro."

So, he was scared of the Mandalorian. Understandable.

"I'm guessing this is the first Mandalorian you've worked with."

"And why would you think that?"

"Mandalorians have a habit of always coming out on top, no matter the odds."

"I'm Corellian. I don't believe in odds."

Cocky bastard.

"That's a shame because the odds of you never leaving the planet are getting pretty high. Unless, of course, you just turn and walk away. The galaxy is a big place, I doubt we'll ever see each other again."

"Less talking," he said, obnoxiously waving his blaster, "and more finding the child."

“You still don’t get it, do you? If you try to take the child, the Mandalorian will find you. He’s a bounty hunter, you think there’s anywhere in the galaxy you can hide where he won’t follow?”

“I’m a bounty hunter too, sweetheart.”

She bit her tongue to hold back her scathing reply. Antagonizing him further would only end in death, probably her own.

A soft cooing sound froze her to the ground, her eyes going wide. For one second, her brain reeled, trying to find a way out of it.

The stranger heard it too. “Don’t move,” he said, looking from Sinead to Peli, before moving towards the origin of the sound, towards the kid.

Sinead and Peli’s eyes met.

It was now or never.

Time slowed.

Sinead launched herself at the stranger, shoulder colliding with his back, sending them both sprawling on the sand. She vaguely registered that Peli had gotten up and was sprinting toward the child.

The stranger threw her off him and got to his knees.

She kicked out and caught him in the side, pushing him back to the ground. Sand slid under her hands and knees as she crawled towards the blaster he’d dropped.

A hand closed around her ankle and she looked back.

“You bitch!”

Sinead threw herself back, fingertips brushing the blaster.

The stranger grabbed her other leg and pinned her down, pulling her away from the weapon.

She gasped sharply, her mouth and nose filling with sand. Grabbling around for something, anything, she flung a handful of sand into his face, making him loosen his grip enough so she could roll around.

He threw himself on top of her, bearing down with all his weight. He smelled like sweat and the desert.

A growl tore from her throat, vision flashing red. She struck out with her hand, and it connected with his face with a loud thump.

She fought to her feet and staggered toward the blaster. Her hand closed around it, and she looked up.

The last thing she saw was a wrench swinging for her head.

… … … … …

The first thought that came to Sinead’s head when she came to, was that she’d rather still be unconscious.

Her mouth tasted like blood and sand. It felt like her brain had expanded while she was out cold, pressing on her eyes and trickling out of her ears, pain emanating from the side of her head in waves.

First thing first, she had to find out where she was, preferably without opening her eyes in case her brain really did leak out.

She was lying on something hard and cold, and she tried feeling around with her hands only to discover that they had been bound in front of her. She choked back a panicked sound. This wasn’t the same as the Trandoshian. At least here she’d probably end up dying instead of taken captive.

Taking a chance, she opened her eyes and they nearly rolled back into her head as pain shot through her head.

It was still dark, soft moonlight streamed through the open ramp. An outline of the stranger paced around in front of the ship. He stopped when he saw her moving. “You’re not dead.” He came up the ramp to peer down at her.

She opened her mouth to say something snippy, but her brain refused to cooperate, the only clear though she seemed able to produce was that she had to get out of there.

“Nng,” she managed.

He went back to pacing in front of the ship.

Sinead took a deep breath and tried to sit up, only making it a couple of centimeters before falling back on the hard metal. It felt like her head was exploding. She took a deep breath.

“Didn’t find the kid?” Her words slurred, she could barely get them out.

“Shut up.”

Closing her eyes, she willed the world to stop turning nauseatingly. It felt like the floor was rolling underneath her.

She didn’t know how long she lay on the cold floor before the stranger grabbed her arm, pulling her to her feet.

“Don’t say a word,” he said putting his blaster to her temple, “or I’ll fry your brain.”

Even if she wanted to, opening her mouth would undoubtedly end up with her being sick.

Sinead watched as the Mandalorian stepped out into the moonlight, his blaster raised. He scanned the surroundings as he carefully made his way towards the ship, walking quietly over the sand.

The stranger’s grip on her arm tightened as he pushed her towards the ramp. “Took you long enough, Mando. Was starting to think the Tusken Raider’s got you.”

The Mandalorian stopped in his tracks, his blaster raised.

The stranger was still pushing her down the ramp. The closer they got, the more his grip tightened, and Sinead felt his quick breaths on the back of her head. He was nervous or scared.

“Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.”

Mando looked at Sinead, whose head felt like it was splitting in two. Surprisingly, he let his blaster thump to the ground and put his hands behind his head.

“Where is the child?” Mando’s voice shook with oppressed rage.

“Aw, don’t you worry, he’s fine, and he’ll stay that way if you do what I say.” Sinead could hear the smug grin. “Partner.”

She tried signaling Mando, to show him that the child was gone, but there was little she could do except blink furiously and mouth the word ‘no’ over and over.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando. Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary.”

The stranger let her go long enough to throw a pair of blinders, which landed in the sand in front of Mando. “Put ‘em on.”

Mando bent down slowly, looking directly at Sinead.

Through the fog of pain, she noticed something in his hands.

“I said-“ the stranger pressed his blaster harder to her head- “put it on.”

A bright light exploded from Mando’s hand, filling the world with white and purple spots.

The stranger screamed and his hand fell away. Sinead flung herself to the side, landing on the hard sand.

Blasters fired, and something heavy landed on her, driving the last bit of breath from her lungs.

The world spun and she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Her mouth filled with sand.

Someone called her name.

The weight on top of her was rolled off, and strong hands grabbed her and hoisted her to her feet like she weighed nothing. As the Mandalorian let her go the world tilted and he grabbed her before she hit the sand.

“Where is he?” His voice sounded hollow and far away. She couldn’t focus.

“Sinead?” He moved closer.

 “Peli has him,” she croaked out. “She got away.”

“Are you-“

“I’ll be fine,” she said automatically, even as her stomach rolled. “Just go. Find them.”

"Sinead-"

She placed both hands on his chest and pushed. It was like trying to move a boulder. “Go.”

After he left, she grabbed the rim of the ramp and pulled herself up, collapsing on the floor when she reached the ship. Her eyes were watering, and everything was hazy. With a grunt of effort, she sat up and leaned her head against the cool side of the ship. Her hands were still bound.

She breathed hard through her mouth, pressing her knees to her chest. Looking into the dim light from Peli's workshop hurt her eyes.

The next thing she knew, Peli's face was swimming in front of her. Sinead could just make out the deep frown.

"Chela! Are you okay?"

Chela? Who's-- oh.

"Yeah," Sinead croaked out, pushing off from the wall she was slumped against. "Did the child get hurt?"

"Nah, we got away." Peli carefully prodded her head, withdrawing her hand when Sinead winced. "He got you good, huh?"

"Is fine. Didn't break the skin."

"You're gonna have a helluva bump, though." She looked down at Sinead's still bound hands. "Let's get these off ya."

Peli guided Sinead down the ramp and made her sit on a crate, while Peli cut the bindings away with a small circular saw. Sinead closed her eyes against the sparks that sprang from the metal bindings.

Not opening her eyes, she said in the approximate direction of Mando, "What happened to Shand?"

"Dead."

"Good."

The binders thunked to the sand, and Sinead rubbed her aching wrists, opening her eyes. A dark shape in Mando’s arms waved at her.

Peli looked down at the stranger. "Knew I didn't like him." She poked the corpse with her foot. "I take it you didn't get paid," she said over her shoulder.

Mando wordlessly pulled out a pouch and upended it in her hands, the credits clinking as they fell.

"That cover it?"

Peli looked spellbound at the credits overflowing in her hands. "Yeah, yeah, that about covers it." She carefully put the credits away in a little pouch that swung from her belt.

“Can you travel?” Mando asked, his head turned towards the ship. It took Sinead a second before realizing he was talking to her.

“Yeah, I can. Let’s get out of here.”

"Oh, wait a second!" Peli hurried into her workshop and came out a few seconds later holding a small jar. "Here," she said and pressed it into Sinead's hand. "Consider this a thanks for saving my life, or at least saving me from a concussion."

Sinead peered at the jar, but even in daylight and with undamaged eyes she wouldn't be able to read what it said. "What is it?"

"T'pala paste. Got it when some Twi'leks came through some time ago. It's ain’t bacta but it’ll do in a pinch.”

She closed her hand around the little jar. "Thank you, Peli. Really."

"Don't mention it."

Sinead gritted her teeth and got up, willing the ground to stop rolling under her feet, and walked slowly up the ramp.

"All right, pit droids!" Peli called behind them. "Let's drag this outta here!"

As the Razor Crest at long last left Tatooine, Sinead sat at the edge of her bunk bed applying the thick paste to her head. As soon as the greyish goop hit her scalp, a sort of cold numbness spread across her head. It still hurt, but her head no longer felt like it had been squished in a trash compactor. She decided against pouring it in her eyes, hoping that her eyesight would return to normal by itself.

She'd told the Mandalorian to plot a course towards Celvalara and that she would tell him all about it after she'd slept.

Sleep! She didn't remember the last time she'd been this tired.

The child sat on her lap, reaching up towards her head as she applied the paste, cooing gently as she patted his head.

"You as tired as me?" She asked him, replacing the lid on the jar and putting it away. "You've had an eventful day."

He squeaked and blinked slowly.

She placed the child beside her, letting him curl into her side. Her eyes drooped as the healing paste enveloped her head in cotton. She was out before her head hit the pillow.

<- Previous chapter - Next chapter ->

[mermaidmafia-official]

{PART I: A COLLAR OF SPIKES}

Nessa has organised an underworld street race three towns over in Bay Haven, but an unbidden guest threatens to ruin her fun. @bebemoon​ @interluxetumbra​ @ayzrules @blubbingbeautifully​

[Smash Shit Up - The Dropkick Murphys]

…I wanna be a rebel / I wanna break some bones… The stranger had not expected a party. Her dervish dance bounced the tawny bar lights off her silver jewelry and into the rowdy sea of singers, like spellwork. Bacchanalia for middle-aged punk rockers and genre-savvy millenials. Leaning against a vintage Guinness poster with his arms crossed and a nonchalance wholly at odds with the energy of the room - an energy he had known in the ports of Nassau or the harvest festival in Naples - he watched her black hair fly, and frowned. …Maybe they'll be yours / They might be my own… Husky voices that may, in another decade, have bellowed sea shanties in shabby taverns now chanted celtic punk choruses in downtown bars with sticky floors. Their owners raised glasses to toast the enchantress on the bar counter as they might once have a siren of the sea... Was that why he got faint whiffs of withered oak and moonshine? His nostrils flared. No, there was a memory of salty breezes around her, but also that of blood on asphalt. For a moment, he indulged in imagining her enthroned on a stack of barrels filled with rum, wearing a pinstripe suit and an Al Capone hat… ‘New in town, eh?’, said a jovial voice next to him. A scrawny guy in black wearing a tweed flat cap - true vintage, 1940s perhaps - grinned up at him. Vintage-style sailor tattoos, the stranger noted, and smells of diesel oil on his hands. He said nothing. ‘Round here, we can always tell a fella’s new, ye know - by the way he looks at our Pixie.’ The guy nodded proudly at the girl-shaped creature on the bar counter. ‘Quite something, ain’t she? All kinds of trouble, that one, but never a dull moment.’ Quite something. Yes, the stranger thought. He had expected the damp chill of the grave, or the dry musk of something withered, not this - not warmth and sweat and cold smoke and beer. ‘You here for the race? Look like the type, ye know. Not for the faint-hearted, though, that’s for sure. If you’re going against her, you better have your things in order, my friend…’, his new friend chattered on. ‘Funny’, the stranger said, almost to himself. ‘She looks almost…’ ‘Wait- did you say something?’ ‘… alive.’

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

[Voodoo People - The Prodigy (Pendulum Remix)]

The smell of burning rubber, sharp and sweet, stung in her nostrils, and Nessa huffed. That dirty, shaggy flea-bag! When she had devised an underworld street race, she had not expected to be hounded - ha!- by an actual werewolf. And a fast one, no less. She hunkered down on her bike and took the corner sharper than was probably smart, gritting her teeth as the back tire slithered over the icy asphalt. His bike roared closely behind her. No dice. He was good. Three mortals had crashed in the fist third, defeated by back alleys or night time traffic. Four of the seven vampires who had turned up to race had bitten the dirt - get it? - at the scrap yards, and she, too had almost been catapulted off her ride by an unwieldy chevvy and narrowly escaped being impaled on a 90s’ satellite antenna. Not wood, but not pretty, either. But through the neon-lit city and the downtown alleyways, the wolf had prevailed, silently tracking her. Not once had he tried to overtake her. Not that she’d have let him. Not once had he lifted his mirrored helmet shield, but she had been a vampire long enough to sense a wolf. To hell with politics, she had thought back there at the starting line, high on anticipation and roaring motors, and had reared her head, declaring the race a neutral zone and beckoning her tattooed grand marshals to give the go. Apparently, the wolf had not got the memo. Ignoring a red light, Nessa zipped through between a pickup truck and a taxi, heading for the coast. It had been fun at first, the thrill of racing an enemy of the coven, knowing that Ysa would collapse in a dead faint if she knew, and imagining Yinmei levitating away muttering ancient curses. But here, with the cold, crisp air pushing sharply against her bike and the frozen Bay in view, Nessa started to wonder if she had just been really fucking stupid. Again. Somewhere behind her, shrieking brakes and a thunderous crash hailed the disqualification of yet another racer, but the wolf clung to her like a shadow. Always the same distance. Not pushing, but not relenting, either. Nessa bit her lip and tightened her grip on the brakes. No way she was gonna let politics ruin her race. Or her fun. Bracing for the serpentine road curving down to theBbay, she leaned into each curve, sinews straining as she fought to balance the weight of the bike with the momentum of the curves. Knees scraping gently over the ice. The thrill of being suspended right there, between pure motion and a brutal crash. Left - then right - and left again… But she was starting to get annoyed - at him, and at herself. What if he was here to kill her? And she was just serving herself to him on a silver - well, not quite, but still - platter? Sure, vampires were generally stronger than wolves, or so Ysa had told her. But then again, Nessa wasn’t a great listener, so she couldn’t be sure, and she was still young for a vampire. And a sheep separated form the herd, and all that… Fuck. Okay. Nessa made a decision, in the instantaneous, short-circuit brain-glitch sort of way she made decisions, and crushed the brakes in the last curve of the road. Screaming, her bike drifted over frozen snow and spun her around, drifting. For a split second she grinned manically, delighted to have surprised the pursuing wolf. And then, as he desperately tried to pull his bike around, his machine veered into hers with a booming crunch, catapulting them both off the road. They went flying. The hard ground hit her sharply - once, twice. And again. Pain blossomed through her limbs as they tumbled downward, machines crushing them with weight and piercing skin with shrapnel. She could hear bones break- were they hers? Then her head hit the ice with a wet crunch, and her vision went red as they slid over the smooth ice, seemingly forever. And then, there was silence.

When she came to, blinking and dizzy and tasting blood, they were alone on the ice under a vast black sky, the city noise damp and far away - or was that her head ringing? She pushed herself up and got to her feet, legs trembling softly with the remembrance of a life that may have been lost, if she had been human. The bikes had left a black smudge trailing behind them, like something crushed and crawling away. She grinned. She wanted blood. She felt very alive. ‘That’, said a deep voice behind the second bike, panting, ‘was entirely uncalled for.’ She could hear his broken bones reassemble painfully, and winced at the sounds, the slurping and cracking. But then, he must be used to that, she remembered. The wolf - man, at the moment - towered there, broad shoulders taut beneath a sadly torn leather jacket, and removed his helmet. Oh, fuck. She hadn’t counted on him being that handsome - square features, black hair, piercing, dark eyes... and bloodied. Ruddy wolves. She took her helmet off, and knew her own hair was all over the place. ‘I don’t like dogs yapping and biting at my ankles’ she said, with a shrug, playing it cool. Or trying to. Her adrenalin was through the roof. ‘I’m funny like that.’ ‘You’re an absolute raving lunatic, is what you are’, he countered, but not angrily. There was a soft melody in his speech, well-worn, but distinct. Mediterranean? And had she hit her head that badly or was there just the slightest hint of approval in his voice? ‘I do what I can.’ She grinned. ‘I hear that’s usually your job.’ He ignored the jab. ‘Did you really just do that… to annoy me?’ ‘You started it, you… bloodhound.’ She crossed her arms. Now, down to business. ‘So- are you here to kill me?’ He brushed dirt and snow off his sleeves. ‘I hadn’t quite made up my mind yet.’ Honesty. She could respect that. Nessa gestured at the vast expanse of ice around them. ‘Go ahead. Knock yourself out.’ For a moment, he said nothing, just tilted his head, as if thinking. Or seizing her up. Beneath them, the ice crinkled quietly. ‘What makes you think I won’t?’ he asked, eventually. She shrugged again. ‘Nothing. I mean, you’d think by now you’d have got out your funky werewolf kung fu stuff or-’ she waved her hands - she really should have listened to Ysa more - ‘or whatever you guys are using these days.’ ‘Fire, mostly.’ The corner of his - well-shaped, wow - mouth twitched with amusement or disdain, it was hard to tell. He seemed oddly calm for a mortal enemy. ‘Well, that ain’t gonna fly out here, obviously. Pity. I do enjoy an occasional brush with death. Makes you feel that more…. Well, you know - whatever it is we are.’ ‘Right. And that triple backflip you just pulled there like some crash and burn cirque du soleil shit- that was what?’ ‘That was me telling you not to mess with me. But, like, in a fun way. ‘Cause I’m nice.’ ‘…Nice.’ He picked the word up, perplexed, as if it had suddenly become strange. A sharp cracking sound interrupted them. Oops… ‘So -’ she said, ‘if we’re all done here I’ll be on my way. Race to win and all that.’ She could feel his gaze on her as she picked up her bike. Battered and missing a few parts, but it would carry her well enough. ‘Just like that. You don’t think I won’t follow you again? Or beat you?’ The last bit with the hint of a grin. She mounted her bike and tested the engine. Still good. Phew. ‘Not with that piece of junk you won’t.’ She nodded towards what was clearly a lost cause, at least for now. That soft crackle again. A rift, razor sharp and angry, appeared in the ice. Time to go. ‘Sorry!’ she said, merrily, ignoring his quiet curses in a foreign language. Italian. Of course. And then she was off. With the engines roaring beneath her and a vicious cracking sound just below, she sped across the frozen Bay, elated, heart fluttering with triumph. All that space in front and the dark emptiness above - receding, eternal. Nessa grinned. No time to ponder the meaning of time in a deathless existence- She was free.

[princesweetpea]

I Found | Sweet Pea x Aurora Jones (oc)

All Chapters Here

Chapter: Nine

Warnings: Mentions of violence, mentions of gore, language

READ IT ON AO3

“Aurora.”

“Reginald.” Rory acknowledged the boy plainly as he moved to stand next to her. He offered her a flask that he pulled from beneath his royal blue and gold embroidered velvet cape. He looked like a prince – well, he was dressed like one, at least. She shook her head from side to side before taking a sip of her punch.

“Suit yourself,” he grinned, tipping the open container into his own goblet. “So, who is your escort tonight?” The small talk felt unnatural between the pair.

“You’re looking at her.” She said curtly. Part of her still yearned for her ex-boyfriend’s touch, but she knew she had been down that path too many times before.

“Couldn’t get a date?”

“I didn’t want one,” she rolled her eyes at his mocking tone. “My choice of date, if I wanted one, is accompanying your choice of date tonight.” He nodded slowly, his eyes landing on Veronica and Archie across the gym. They were smiling and laughing as they slow danced in each other’s arms.

“You look beautiful, by the way.” He stated honestly, changing the subject as he ran his fingers gently down her white, gold embellished sleeve. She felt her cheeks heat up.

“Thank you.” She replied quietly. Her eyes scanned the room once more, but she didn’t know what – or who – she was looking for.

“Want to dance?” Reggie asked, wincing after the threw the rest of the drink back. She snorted, shooting him a quizzical glance. “Come on, just one dance. I promise that I won’t try to take you home… this time.” He chuckled as he set her goblet on the table and stretched out his elbow toward her. She felt herself staring at his handsome features a little too long. She blinked her impure thoughts out of her head before taking his arm. He led her to the middle of the dance floor, and she felt Veronica’s eyes on them. She was frowning, and Archie was oblivious, gazing longingly at his dance partner.

“Always have to be the center of attention, don’t you?” Rory sighed, giving him her best fake smile.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want it any other way,” he joked, pulling her into him. He smells heavenly. She frowned as he expertly maneuvered her around the dance floor. “What’s wrong?”

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

“I do.” He pulled her flush against him as he dodged another couple that were not as skilled as they were. He mumbled an apology to her for the sudden movement as he glared at the boy, who instantly moved him and his partner the other direction. Reggie was a gentleman… sometimes.

“Do you ever wish things had worked out between us?” Rory inquired. She didn’t want to be with him – she was pretty sure, at least – but the question had been burning in her mind during the last several months. Does he regret the things he did? Was he sorry for the pain he caused? Did he even care at all?

“I think about it sometimes,” Reggie sighed, spinning her out and then back into him. “But no, I don’t think I do,” Ouch. She raised her eyebrows at him in shock. “I’m like… I’m like a wild horse. I can’t be tied down.”

“Except for Princess Veronica Lodge.” She let out an bitter laugh. He shrugged, his eyes searching the gym to find the raven-haired girl again.

“But listen, no hard feelings, okay? You were a lot of fun,” he smirked. “Maybe we could fool around every once in a while,” Rory’s hand flew up to Reggie’s cheek. A few nearby students gawked at the pair and started whispering to one another. “What the fuck, Rory!?”

“Go disappoint the next girl, Reggie. I’m busy.” Rory managed in a raspy voice as tears stung her eyes. When she whipped around, she could have sworn she saw Sweet Pea staring back at her, but she figured that it was just her blurred vision, for when she blinked away her tears he was nowhere to be seen. Plus, he’d expressed his disdain for the mere idea of prom a few days prior. She walked to grab a new goblet of punch, not trusting her fellow students enough to find her old one that she’d left on a random table earlier. She stood near the punch bowl and made small talk with a few of her classmates, complimenting their medieval costumes and talking about the prom after parties, assuring her that she was invited to all of them, of course. Eventually, they’d walked out to the dance floor, leaving her standing alone.

For the third time since she’d been standing at the refreshment table, she felt a boy behind her slide his hand up the backside of her dress to brush against her ass, and she refused to ignore it any longer. She now knew for sure that it wasn’t an accident. Rory dug her hand into her satchel, wrapping her hand around a cool metal object and pulling it out.

“Touch me again and you’ll lose your hand.” Rory spun around to face him, flicking out the switchblade that Jughead gave her after his recent encounter with the gargoyles. She surprised herself with her own actions, but stood her ground, hoping that the chaperones couldn’t see the weapon in her hand. This will for sure get me expelled, what am I doing!? She recognized the boy from the football team.

“If you didn’t want anyone to touch you, you shouldn’t have worn something so fitted, you Serpent slut. You’ve been hanging around them an awful lot lately.” The boy sniggered. He reeked of alcohol, which made her eye his goblet inquisitively. In truth, Rory’s dress wasn’t revealing in the slightest.

“I’m not a Serpent.” Rory said through gritted teeth.

Suddenly, Sweet Pea had the boy against the brick of the gym with his forearm pressed against the boy’s windpipe, securing him to the wall. So, he was here. Where did he even come from?

“Would you like to lose your tongue as well?” Sweet Pea said lowly, but loud enough for her to hear over the music. “You better get out of here before I make good on my threat, Bulldog.” The boy drunkenly stumbled off, mumbling curses under his breath. Sweet Pea kept his eyes on him as he walked coolly toward Rory.

“Rogue,” She acknowledged him with a raised brow. He was dressed in black from head to toe, the fabrics a mixture of leather and faux furs. He was wearing boots that were slightly ‘dressier’ than his normal, worn pair. “I had that taken care of, Jon Snow.”

“Bard,” He acknowledged her back. “It didn’t look like it.” She rolled her eyes.

“Bard?”

“Yeah, you know… you play music.” He shrugged, absentmindedly scanning the crowd.

“I thought prom was stupid? Especially this one.”

He shrugged again. “Something felt… weird. I had to come, just to keep watch.”

Fangs appeared at their side, and he clapped a hand onto Sweet Pea’s shoulder. “Well, look who showed up to a school function!”

“Well, look who’s not joined at the hip of his new Farmie boyfriend.” Sweet Pea scoffed bitterly, avoiding Fang’s eyes.

“Dude…”

“Don’t ‘dude’ me, dude. I haven’t seen you outside of this school for weeks. What, no time for the Serpents anymore? No time for your best friend? You were supposed to be undercover. Instead, you let yourself be brainwashed by the kooks.” Rory felt incredibly awkward standing there, but didn’t want to leave Sweet Pea alone with Fangs. He seemed really hurt.

“You’d understand if you came by sometime… If you listened what Edgar has to say.” Fangs sighed, but smiled at him hopefully.

“Even if I wanted to, Fangs, I’m not weak-minded enough to fall for that crap.” Sweet Pea spat, finally facing his best friend. He was trying his best to hurt Fangs’ feelings, and it was obvious.

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable if you were more open-minded, brother.” Fangs smiled weakly, patting his counterpart on the back before starting to walk away. After a couple of steps, he looked over his shoulder. “You look amazing, Rory.”

“Thank you, Fangs,” She gave him a small smile, a blush creeping up on her cheeks. He nodded and made his way back to Kevin. Sweet Pea’s body stiffened as his narrowed eyes fixated on the retreating boy. “What the hell was that, Sweet Pea?”

“You look nice.” Sweet Pea rushed in a grumble.

“Thank you – now answer the question.”

“He ditched me, and the rest of the Serpents, for the Farm. End of story.”

“But –”

“I said end of story.” He hissed.

“Good evening, Riverdale Renaissance Revelers! At long last, it’s time to announce this year’s Court. And the winner of prom queen is… Betty Cooper!” The school’s secretary chimed into the microphone. Rory beamed, feeling ecstatic for her friend, as she clapped and scanned the room for the blonde. “Is Betty here?”

Rory’s attention shifted to Jughead, who was suddenly beside them. “Have you seen Betty? I can’t find her anywhere.”

“Maybe she went to the bathroom. I can go check?” He nodded quickly, his eyes darting around the room nervously. “Relax, Jughead, she’s probably getting some air. I’ll go check the ladies’ room.”

The hall was eerily quiet, and Rory was surprised that there weren’t couples groping each other in the shadowed corners. She pushed open the door to the bathroom, and was met with the walls covered in red marker, the same phrase repeated:

Flip For Your Fate.

On one of the sinks sat two goblets of blue liquid and a coin.

“Betty?” Rory’s voice echoed with the acoustics of the bathroom. She saw heels in the gap of the bottom of a stall at the far end of the bathroom. “Betty, it’s Rory. Are you okay?” She leaned against the stall door slightly, and it pushed open. “Betty –”

That’s not Betty.

Who is that?

There’s blood everywhere.

Where is the rest of her face?

Sweet Pea burst into the bathroom. She hadn’t realized that she’d been screaming. He pulled her into him, her tears soaking the front of his cloak. He cradled her head with his large hand.

“Don’t look, Rory, don’t look.”

                        _______________________________________

They didn’t speak the entire ride to Jughead’s house. Rory had texted Mambo to grab some clothes for the both of them and to meet her there. The Black Hood was back, and no one was safe. She couldn’t risk herself or her little brother by being alone in Sunnyside Trailer Park, no matter how tough Mambo insisted that he was. FP was still out doing his sheriff duties when they arrived; Mambo sat in the recliner, staring blankly into the fire. Betty and Jughead were cuddled up on the couch. He whispered sweet nothings and reassurances into her ear as he stroked her hair while she cried into his chest. He met Sweet Pea’s eyes when he and Rory entered, and they simply nodded at each other.

Rory mindlessly made her way to the guest room, exhausted from her wailing. The images kept flashing through her head. Sweet Pea was on her heels, watching her every move carefully. He sat on the bed when she stepped into the en suite and closed the door behind her before starting the shower. She wasn’t sure how long she stayed in the steamy water, but she had to get out when it started running cold. When she exited in only a towel, Sweet Pea was still there, his hands folded on his lap as he stared at the ground. His cloak was on the floor and he was just left in his black dress pants and his undershirt. His eyes met hers, and they were full of concern.

“Do… Would you want to talk about it?” She shook her head rapidly, choking back a sob. He nodded, standing slowly. “I’ll let you rest.” He walked toward the door.

“Sweet Pea…” She choked. He quickly spun on his heel. “Will you please stay with me tonight? I can’t be by myself.”

She dropped the towel to the floor, completely exposing herself to him, but she didn’t care. She didn’t have the energy to shield herself or to put on pajamas. He nodded slowly as he watched her climb under the covers. He pulled his shirt over his head and kicked his pants down his legs before getting under the comforter next to her. He placed a gentle kiss on her lips before pulling her into his side as he traced circles on her bare back with his thumb, and she instantly fell asleep.

[proheromidoriyashouto]

Quirkless Hero!Deku and Artist/Youtuber!Shouto AU expansion

Shouto was expelled from the Hero Course by Aizawa after the Sports Festival for his refusal to use all his might (neglecting half his quirk) when the chips are down. Shouto went to General Studies and after some serious introspection post-Hosu (he was dragged along by Ende*vore to do grunt work as punishment and happened to come across Tenya and an Idaten intern he didn't know facing off against Stain) began to find solace in art and writing classes and decided to take his life into his own hands.

Shouto started a gaming channel because Ochako- while introducing him to Super Smash Bros Ultimate- noted that he has a nice voice and he likes the story-telling capabilities of games, so why not? What does he have to lose? His striking appearance and slight fame will surely garner him a boost in viewership early on, and they do.

He initially has to run the channel from Tenya's home since Ende*vore would never allow it. He starts off playing multiplayer games because those are what his friends introduce him to so they can play together, but he inevitably shifts toward single-player games that devote quite a lot of time into compelling story campaigns and exploration. His first delves are into Horizon: Zero Dawn, God of War, the Fallout series, Portal 1 & 2, the Witcher series, and the Last of Us since these are the most prominent games at the time (remakes of games in 22XX tend to release in the same year and order the originals did to get the most playtime out of fans). He’s not good at it to start. He reads from a script and he’s stiff and uncomfortable in front of the camera. He thought he was desensitized to that given his time in the limelight thanks to his name but there’s something about talking to a small webcam that feels, well, silly, and... intense. Personal. It’s a serious detractor, and the comments he receives about it are almost enough to shut down the channel for good. His friends’ support gets him through though and he starts to develop a considerable following.

Before he realizes, he’s spending all his free time playing games with purpose, creating new videos on a nearly daily basis, brainstorming how to structure  theory and lore episodes, and worrying about how his uploads are perceived. He runs charity live streams, plays fan-picked hero games, scours every last hint of lore from side-quests, get those sweet sweet completionist Platinum trophies that only like 1% of players get for every game.

Ende*vore cuts him off from his money, and inheritance. Shouto tentatively starts support pages and is surprised by the number of people willing to shell out for him. He starts to really feel the burn-out as he struggles to create more video content for awards before Momo suggests making things. Real, physical things for awards that will give him a break for the grind, and that he can use to improve his art skills. He smacks himself when he realizes that he can also use art as a way of re-connecting with his mother.

Visits at the hospital become days spent drawing, painting, sculpting, and knitting. His mother shocks him in a display of lace-making and he feels a pang of grief when he learns that it was a tradition in her family that she hadn’t been able to pass down to him. She’d taught Fuyumi and Touya a bit but Ende*vore found out and put a stop to it, saying that his legacy was the only one they needed to concern themselves with. She was too afraid of the harm her husband would bring upon the children if she tried again with Natsuo and Shouto. After hearing that there’s nothing more Shouto wants to learn (lace-crafts are his awards for months, and then on occasion for years to come).

His channel, SpicyHeathenGaming, steadily grows over the years and once he graduates from U.A., he devotes himself entirely to running it. By the time he has the formal encounter with Deku, he has millions of subscribers and has become quite comfortable in the public persona he’d crafted (it’s easy to slip into given his natural penchant for straight-man-esque dry humor). He’s almost 25, successful in a precarious field, and... happy. Genuinely at peace. There are days when he misses the rush of a fight, the satisfaction of post-rescue, and on bad days, he thinks of all the people he never saved. He schedules an appointment with his therapist and moves on.

Deku is the one to note that the Day They Met wasn’t at the construction site as he thought, but during the battle of Stain vs Team Idaten Round 2 (and U.A. Students) as the media has labelled it. Shouto is shocked but not for long. The similarities to his then-Idaten costume are prevalent in Deku’s short white mask, midnight leg guards, and heavy black soles but the rest is substantially changed. He’s vaguely reminiscent of a teal/aqua All Might- especially with his cowl on- rather than the Ingenium line now.

He’d become infamous for becoming a hero “the old fashioned way“ through interning and shadowing directly with Pros for years, foregoing hero-high school altogether.

While none of the schools outright forbid quirkless students from applying, Deku had said in his debut press conference, despite passing Ketsubutsu, Shiketsu, and U.A.’s entrance exams, I was denied admittance. They all said something to the effect of ‘I had a “weak constitution”’, ‘my “supposed passion” had been deemed insufficient hot air,’ and ‘my “heroic spirit” wouldn’t be enough to match the rigor of a top-rated hero-course’s training.’ A good friend of mine, Tenya Iida, had been at the same U.A. entrance exam as myself and after learning about my struggles put in a word for me with his family. I didn’t ask for a handout, but when the legitimate options are not truly available to you, what choice even is there? I wasn’t going to turn down the one chance I had left. Team Idaten was good to me and I wouldn’t be the man I’ve become if not for them. In all honesty, Deku shrugged, an almost apologetic look on his face, almost. I was starting to fall into a pretty dark place. I might have become a villain.

Deku had faced ire from Pros, alumni and non-alumni from the schools alike for those remarks, and public opinion had been torn between disdain for slandering the institutions of hero education or support for him having become a hero despite all the odds against him- a true, old-school origin story. All Might had surprised many by showing Deku support, and many U.A.-borne Pros had followed in his example. Ketsubutsu and Shiketsu had not been nearly as kind, with few exceptions. Deku’s rivalries with Dynamic Blitz (one-sided feud in reality), Magnitude, Cloudburst, and Sideburn Tress were almost as well-known as All Might and Endeavor back when they were heroes.

Deku was a world-wide icon for the roughly 2 billion quirkless people in existence, only one of a hand-full of quirkless Pros throughout the world since the dawn of quirks, and the first ever in Japan’s history. He was leagues above Shouto. Shouldn’t have paid him any more mind than any other civilian he’d saved. If not for Shouto’s disastrous inability to handle situations like anything resembling a normal person. He’d seen a strong, handsome, trend-setting, status-quo defying, internationally known hero up close in person, who not only recognized him for his channel but his private art blog and shop, reaching toward his evidently panicking self and had activated his right side as though it was the neglected half, and frozen their hands together.

He’d made a fucking fool of himself... but still... wound up with a number in his pocket and a wink emoji. He never got such lascivious flirting sent his way. Curses, that wink emoji. Not with his scar and eye-straining coloration and lack of proper skin and hair care. No way. What if Deku winked at him in real life? In public? Scandalous. What was he going to do?

Fuyumi. Tenya, help me.

Um, sure?

With what?

...kill me.

-Shou-!

W-why would you-!!

Please, just, vaporize me right now, I’m staring at the moon just take me by surprise, I’m begging you. Actually call Aoyama I have money.

Little brother! What’s brought this on?

That’s not an explanation! If you need help-

I... I have a date.

(Shouto is verrrr out of practice with his powers and dating and is a complete disaster gay. Izuku’s kinda suave and you can thank Tensei’s Big Brother Influence for that. Izuku saved Eri and Kouta okay I promise I have an explanation. All Might was a dick and never found Izuku to apologize. Izuku’s kinda bitter about it but he’s living his best life so :///////. OFA? Never met her. Mirio would be OFA’s 9th in this AU after losing Permeation. Will expand into a proper fic and post to AO3 when its done- I already have too many AUs at once going on.

Population estimates put humans stabilizing at about 11 billion in the 2200s - BNHA was already in modern day when quirks came and its been 200 years since then as per canon- and 20% of the population is slightly more than 2 billion. 2 billion quirkless people.

Dynamic Blitz is that motherfucker. You know who Magnitude and Cloudburst are~. Three guess as to Sideburn Tress’ identity. He wasn’t outwardly hostile but something about him set off red-flags for me. Also strikes me as having a lot of school pride.)

[ofbclle-blog]

headcanons and para sample

You got to dig a little deeper, find out who you are!

sometimes the world gets too much. even for belle. even for the resilient force of nature, she is. sometimes everything just gets…too much. she stayed strong for her father when her mother passed; afraid that he would fall apart and she wouldn’t be able to put him back together if she too fell apart. but sometimes, life fell heavy on her shoulders, and like atlas she had the struggle of holding it up. but she never truly rationalized or processed her mother’s death, and instead of doing so; she focused her energies into her father, and her books. but when her books weren’t enough, belle took to the floor. dancing was her only solace. she could spin and twirl and pirouette, and jump and stomp and tap all her energy and worry and frustrations away. dancing still is. now after a particularly difficult argument with adam, or a day where her adventures between the pages can’t quell her worries, when she feels like she is just existing and not actually living her life, she still takes to the floor, on pointe and ready to sweat it out.

you’re pretty for a bookworm. god it’s the most annoying sentence to her. it generally spikes annoyance within her. pretty for a bookworm. what did that even mean? a person was a person, regardless of the way they looked or what they enjoyed doing. why did her love of literature have anything to do with how she looked? and why was she judged a particular way? you’d get more boys attention if you put down the tolstoy. what an insipid thing to say, to think. who gave a rats ass? who cared if she got men? she didn’t. so why did people find it necessary to comment? why did people try to remove the book from her fingers and replace it with lipstick? why were books and beauty, not companions? the quickest way to anger belle; to insight something other than a collected and thoughtful response from her; is to insult her intelligence by bringing up her fair features; to pit those two aspects against one another. she will turn from pristine to provoked faster than you can say jack robinson. with such a sharp mind, belle can have a sharp tongue when needed.

belle loves greek mythology. so much so her guilty pleasure is reading YA novels involving greek mythology as there doesn’t seem to be any adult books addressing the vast possibility. granted she’s read american gods, which was excellent – she loves neil gaiman – and she’s dabbled in other authors who tackle more adult version of mythology in general – but greek mythology seemed to be an adolescent excitement. there are some outliers, margaret attwood’s novel the penelopiad being one; but…still she finds herself drawn, embarrassingly (but why they’re great) to rick riordan’s novels. she has also read a lot of old texts; including the odyssey which although fascinating do not provide the drama she enjoys. belle, somewhat, lives vicariously through the books she reads and the people she meets; and the adventures of percy jackson and his friends are thrilling. fighting against an evil for the good of others. belle often thinks she would do also. she likes annabeth and believes she’d also be a daughter of athena.

she’s not into gossip. she doesn’t like the vicious nature that is associated with it. but she loves to hear about people and their lives. she loves the ins and outs and twists and turns; the nuances of their speech and movement. body language and behavior was all part of the storytelling process. people are fascinating, and the way they live their lives/the decisions they make are also fascinating. and telling. belle will happily sit and listen to someone talk for hours; even about the most mundane things. if it’s told with enough passion or bravado, it’s not boring. it’s why sometimes she finds herself captivated by adam, even in the middle of an argument between the two. his passion rolls over him like a wave, and despite the fact he frustrates her with his stubbornness and provokes her with his temper, sometimes, he is captivating. she doesn’t necessarily enjoy this; that he can still have such a different effect on her. she likes knowing her mind, and around him, she doesn’t. 

madam gaston, his little wife, ugh. gaston legume, belle’s shadow. whenever a moment stretches by and she’s not looking over her shoulder, he appears, hot on her heels. she left her phone sat on a coffee counter for a few minutes once, and he’d managed to put his number in her phone. of course, with a stretch of his grin, he explained away. you may be in trouble one day and need me. perhaps a heavy box needs lifting. perhaps you twist your ankle out in town and need someone to carry you home. blah blah blah blah blah. but he’s harmless. at least she thinks he is. and keeping his number in her phone saves him from nagging or pouring more attention onto her. belle’s not stupid. she knows he’s handsome, very much so. but he’s also dull and vapid and porous and a caveman. and completely not worthy of belle. belle has imagined a world in which she gave into gaston’s constant pining; she’d be bored out of her mind, insulted daily by his misogyny, tired of his vanity, but she’d be financially stable and her father would be looked after because of this. but even still. even as she works tirelessly to support her father and his inventions, she has far too much respect for herself and woman-kind to ever lower herself to that.

Think of a wonderful thought, any merry little thought!

She exhaled, rolling her eyes, keeping up her pace. Footsteps, larger than her own, sounded behind her. She clutched books to her chest, ones she’d decided to return to the local library; ones she’d kept in her person longer than necessary, re-reading them for their crafted words and beautiful escapism. Ones she no longer needed because, the Ashman home had a library in it, and Adam had allowed her to use it. God, that sounded pathetic. That, someone, had allowed her to use a room. Or, a wing– But she didn’t own a single thing in the house she resided in. Only the objects she’d brought with her from home, and those she’d acquired whilst staying there. So, in reality, she did need permission. And she was proper enough to wait for it. Yes, she was curious, and she’d certainly wandered into forbidden areas of the Ashman home before, but with something as precious as a library? She needed permission. She wouldn’t trespass and ruin its integrity, nor any chance to access it. Adam’s mood changed as often as the tide, and he could take his word back at any moment, and Belle’s happiness could often be found between the pages of books. She didn’t want to risk not being to access the vast collection.

Bella snorted. She sounded so dramatic. Footsteps became louder, reminding her why she moved quickly. To scurry away from Gaston as fast as she could. If she let him catch her up, she’d be stuck with his presence for however long he felt the need to annoy her.

“Belle!” his voice boomed. You could hear the charisma in it. She couldn’t deny that Gaston did hold charisma, and she could understand why some women bent over backward to get his attention. She could understand from an entirely vain and carnal point of view. If you ignored all the godawful personality traits he possessed, the neanderthal-like toxicity he irradiated. If you ignored that all. He was a handsome man. But Belle couldn’t ignore that. She couldn’t even side-step it enough to have a simple conversation with him.

“Belle, my love,”

He jogged to catch up with her.

Sweet lord give me strength, she thought.

“Gaston,” she replied tightly, but calmly.

“I was calling for you,” he told her, a brow prominently raised.

She feigned surprise. “You were? I must have been in my own world. I didn’t hear you at all,” she murmured. A likely excuse, as she so easily daydreamed through conversations and situations. Her mind wandered easily, exploring worlds she’d read or dreamed about.

“What am I going to do about you and your little daydreams?” he asked with a chuckle, a grin stretching across his face.

“What indeed,” Belle replied simply. She parted her lips. “Gaston, if you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of something and I–” she was cut off by Gaston.

“Belle, I’d like you to go to dinner with me this evening” he said in a thespian like manner.

Not again.

“I’ve booked an excellent French restaurant in downtown Carthay,” he continued.

She wondered when he’d give up. How many rejections would it take for him to move onto his next victim? No, that wasn’t fair on other women. But when would he give up? She wasn’t sure how long she could go through the motions they often went through.

“I’m busy, Gaston,” she replied finally. “I’m always busy,” she added. “I’m a live-in caretaker,” she reminded him. “I’m always working,” she said.

“You’re allowed time off, Belle. Do you want me to talk to him? I can arrange time off for you. Come to your rescue. I’m your knight in shining armor, babe,” he replied with a grin.

Belle stopped walking, closing her eyes for a moment, trying to gather some patience. “Even if I was free, I wouldn’t be spending my time with you. I’d see my father, or my friends. Or read a book. I wouldn’t be eating at a French restaurant with a man I’ve said no to, one hundred times before,” she finished curtly. “Good day, Gaston.”

With that, Belle continued to walk, happy to hear no footsteps following her. Once out of earshot she exhaled with somewhat of a growl. “God,” she muttered.

“Go on a date with me, babe,” she mimicked him.

“I’m your knight in shining armor, babe,”

“I don’t bite, babe, much,”

“Where does he get off?” she muttered to herself. She cast her gaze upwards, the library coming into sight. She exhaled, trying to dispell the anger and annoyance she felt. He always left her so riled up. And that in itself irked her more. Because she didn’t want to feel anything about it, let alone disdain. She pushed a small smile to her lips. Part of the process was faking it until it became real. The placebo effect. Smile, and sooner or later you’ll be smiling for real. And with the labyrinth of literature a few feet from her; that was cause for a smile. That was always cause for a smile.

[solastia]

Kitten Addition  | 2

Read This Part First: My Puppy [1] [2] [3]

Kitten Addition: [1]

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader, Jimin x Reader, Taehyung x Jimin

Word Count: 3,571

Genre & Warnings: Mentions of cancer, referenced smut. 

Notes: Ok, so this chapter is mostly plot building, so there’s no dirty smut. There is a scene I was thinking about going back and adding some time, so you may have an excuse to reread eventually. I’ll let you guys know when I get around to doing that. There are bits of teasing and hints of smuttish activity, but yeah, this is Y/N going through some shit. Also, it turned out more Jungkook centric than planned, but it’s still good. I just know how much you guys have been wanting to read this so after rewriting it like five times, I’m rushing it out. Don’t worry. The next chapter is all about Jimin and his peach ;)

“Rise and shine, Y/N!”

A deep and overly excited voice rumbled in my ear before I felt him move down to bury his nose in my neck. He places sweet little kisses there, making all thoughts of beating him with a pillow flee my mind. With a groan I manage to crack my eyes open, sunlight from the opened window practically blinding me. The offensive light is thankfully blocked when Taehyung’s shaggy head moves into my view, his boxy smile wide and happy. 

“Fine, I’m rising. I refuse to shine until I’ve had my coffee though.” I manage to croak out, voice still thick from sleep. 

“I bet if I rise I can make you shine,” Taehyung smirked, leaning down to peck me on the lips. 

“Ugh, it’s too early to be a greaseball. Now I need incentive to get up because you may have just ruined my morning entirely.” I tease as I wrap my legs around his waist and suck on the already fading bruise I’d put on his jaw the night before. 

“You make me so happy,” I whisper, nosing his face playfully. 

Taehyung lets out a low growl and nips at my neck, moving down slowly. Both of us freeze in shock as we are disrupted by the doorbell. 

“Who the hell would disturb us at eight in the morning?” I whine, getting off the bed reluctantly to put on my robe. Taehyung rushes to answer the door with me behind him mumbling under my breath. 

“I didn’t think he’d be here until later since he knows our schedules, but it’s Jimin’s move-in day, remember?!” Taehyung reminds me as we travel to the front door. 

“Why is everyone always moving in here? Why don’t you guys buy me a mansion and move me in there for once? And didn’t I give Jimin a key already?” I mutter and Taehyung laughs. 

“Do you want a mansion, my grumpy Princess? We’ll set you up good.”

“No, I don’t actually want a mansion. All of our staff would quit within a week after seeing us naked 90% of the time, and then I would be the one stuck cleaning the place.” 

Taehyung waggles his eyebrows then looks at the camera. He turns to me with confusion in his eyes. 

“It’s a lady.”

“A lady? Like, someone selling something? Let me see.” I peer at the door camera.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Shit.” What the hell is she doing here?

I take a deep breath, double check that Taehyung is wearing pants, then fling the door open violently. 

“What do you want?” I ask coldly, eyeing the elegantly dressed woman before me as she scrutinizes my pajamas with her judgemental gaze. 

“Can’t a Mother visit her daughter without wanting something?” 

I hear the quiet gasp on the side of me as Taehyung learns the mystery woman’s identity. There’s a reason I don’t ever talk about her, even to Taehyung. 

I observe the painted and botoxed woman in disdain. 

“I hear that’s the done thing with normal family members, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t describe you. I repeat, what do you want, Clara?”

“First names, darling? I didn’t realize we were so progressive. If you’ll step aside and let me in, I’m happy to discuss everything. I’d rather not wage war in the hallway, it’s rather tacky.” She pushed past me and stopped in the entryway, observing her surroundings. When her eyes found Taehyung smiling sheepishly to the side of me, her eyebrow cocked as she looked him over. 

“You have a plaything? You picked a handsome one. Hello there, Sweetheart.”  The flirty grin that she no doubt thought was irresistible filled you with disgust. 

“Fine. Mother dear, whatever are you doing here? Did you get dumped again by chance? Need money? Had some sixth sense that I was feeling Happy and decided to come fix that?” I sarcastically drawl, crossing my arms in front of my chest and stepping in front of Taehyung to block him from her view. 

My mother released a loud, exaggerated sigh, flapping her hand in the air. “Yes, Charles and I are getting a divorce. He knocked up his little mistress and decided to marry her. I’m going to stay with you until the house I made him give me is renovated. I always hated all the animal trophies everywhere.” She declares, setting her purse on the counter and setting up on a bar stool like she owned the place. 

“Mother, I really don’t think...” I began, only to be interrupted by the doorbell again. I watch in horror as Taehyung opens the door, as I already know it could just be one other person. 

“Good morning, my Goddess. Morning, Tae! I have some bags here if you wanted to help me with them. Just essential stuff, but the rest of my boxes will be delivered by the movers...oh, hello.” Jimin stops midway through his spiel when he finally set down the bags he was carrying and noticed my Mother. 

Her eagle eyes scoured him from head to toe and back before flicking my way, an almost evil grin appearing on her face. 

“My Goddess? Either you’re very close to your friends, or you have two playthings at once, my darling. I’m impressed.” 

“What I do or don’t do is none of your business. Please leave.” I manage to say as politely as possible, hoping that she would leave before she started a real fight or said something to the boys. 

“Fine, I just think it’s funny that all those years of you treating me like I was trash because I liked playing around, and now here you are with two at once. Hypocrite much, sweetheart?” 

“Get the fuck out of my house.” I grind out, retraining myself from physically throwing her out. 

“I’m going, there’s no need to be a bitch, darling. I can see you have a full house already. I’ll just put myself up in a nice hotel. Just don’t expect any money from what I get from Charles.” She spat as she grabbed her bag and made her way to the front door. 

“I never expect any money. I put myself through college. I paid for my own apartment, car, everything else in my life. I need nothing from you. Quit bothering me every time you get a divorce. Stay out of my life for the last fucking time.” I yelled as I slammed the door behind her. 

I lean my head against the door and listen to the sound of her heels stomping down the hallway and wait until I hear the elevator door open and close before I release my breath. 

A hand starts stroking my back, and I’m suddenly enveloped in Taehyung’s comforting presence as he back hugs me and props his chin on my shoulder. 

“So...that was your Mother.” He says, humor tinting his voice. 

Releasing a bitter laugh, I turn and bury my face in his chest. “Yup. That was Mother.” 

“Lovely woman.” Jimin snorts as he strolls forward and kisses the side of my neck and leans his head on mine. 

“Well, she was about two seconds away from deciding which of you she’d steal from me this time, so if you’re interested, she couldn’t have gotten far,” I mutter as I kiss Jimin and walk towards the kitchen to start my coffee. 

“Wait, this time?” Taehyung asks in disbelief as the boys set up on the counter. 

“Her last ex-husband was my boyfriend, once upon a time. She’d decided to stay with me while her divorce from the other one was getting finalized and managed to seduce him while I was working. I think she liked lording it over me a little too much since she managed to stay married to him for two whole years. A record.” 

“How many times has she been married?” Jimin asks, thanking you when you set some pastries down in front of them. 

“Oh, good question. Let's see, with this last one...six times? I think the only person she’s been with for an extended period of time was Dad. They were married for ten years before he passed away.” 

“How did that happen?” Taehyung asks softly, and I pour all of us coffee in silence for a minute as I reminisce. 

“Cancer. Cliche, right? He was a lawyer too, worked like crazy and still managed to make me feel like a princess, and treated my Mother well. Which is why I still hate her for what she did.” I clear my throat and stir my coffee, ugly memories of screaming matches and tears filling my mind. 

“She was cheating on him the whole time he was in the hospital with one of his firm’s hotshot associates. Worst still, my Father knew because someone else had told him about it. I hated seeing his sad, resigned face whenever she came in to play the loving wife role. I asked him about it once, and he said that while it made him sad, he understood since he wasn’t going to be around anymore. That she was a woman that needs a lot of love. I didn’t care. I thought, and still do, that it was disrespectful and just plain malicious to do that to someone that loved and cared for you for ten years. His last fucking memories on earth are of his wife cheating on him while he was lying there in pain and dying. Fuck her.” I choked back my angry tears, distracting myself with making myself eat. The boys each grabbed a hand and placed a kiss on the backs of them, the pity in their eyes making it hard for me to swallow as I struggled to contain myself. 

“I’m too sober for this,” I mumble, swirling my coffee before I take a sip. 

Jimin wraps himself around me, lips ghosting down my neck as he slides his hands under my shirt. His dick was hard and poking me in the back. Apparently, he thought he’d distract me or cheer me up a certain way, but I felt too guilty to let him touch me right now. 

“Anyway, I think I’m going to head into the office. I need to work on some stuff for next week, and then I’ll be worry free for the rest of the weekend.” I push myself away from the counter and hurry to get ready. I try not to notice the boys watching me flutter around the house with matching worried expressions. I just needed to get my head on straight, that’s all.

I kiss them both on the cheek on my way to the door. “Be sure to call me if you guys need anything. I’ll probably be awhile. Let me know what you guys want for dinner, and I’ll pick something up.” With a wave I shut the door behind me and head out, blocking their confused faces from my memory with the unwelcome thoughts swirling in my head. 

I throw my pen onto my desk and bury my face in my hands, groaning softly. Distracting yourself with work only works when it’s actually distracting. Writing letters and briefs, answering emails, all the dumb busy work that I usually saved until the last minute was not enough to clear my head. 

The same fucking thought kept harassing me ever since Mother left. I was just like her. I was sleeping around with two men at once. The fact that we all had genuine feelings involved felt more like an excuse than validation.

 My thumb caressed the picture the boys had sent me a couple of hours ago. The two of them had taken our dog Winston to the park and posed with him, the sun shining down and making them look like freaking angels with their happy smiles and good looks. They were all so cute and so sweet. What am I doing? She was right. I was a hypocrite. And the boys deserved so much more than the messed up person I am. They deserved the entire fucking world. It would be best for everyone if I let them go. I’m better off alone, really...

“I thought I was depressed, but you are actually in your office during the weekend, crying.” A soft voice interrupts my thoughts, and I look up in surprise to find Jungkook lounging in the chair in front of my desk. 

I reach up and wipe at my cheek, staring at the wet spot on my hand in shock as I see that I was actually crying. I hadn’t even noticed. 

“What’s the matter, Noona?” Jungkook laid his head on his arms, cocking it cutely as he leaned against my desk. The little shit pulled out the Noona card very rarely, usually saving it to get something he wants. He seemed to be using it now to get me to talk to him, which was adorable, I had to admit. 

“I just...” I clear my throat and try to summarize my fears into a tangible sentence, only to blurt out, “Jungkook, am I a whore?”

“What? What the hell would make you say that?” He sits up straight and practically glares at me, his bunny nose wrinkling in a way that usually would have made me laugh.

“What do you think? I’m literally living with two men. I can’t even remember the last time I went even a day without a single sexual act. I feel like I'm selfish and dirty.” I mumble as I push around my pen with a finger. 

“Are you saying I’m a whore then?” Jungkook asked wryly, and he cocked his eyebrow when you glanced up. 

“What? No, of course not.” I exclaimed, not sure why he would ask that. 

“Because you forget I’ve been in an open relationship with Jimin for years. I agreed to it in the first place because Jimin needs lots of love and attention, and frankly, I was exhausted on my own.” Jungkook laughs and ruffles his hair cutely.  

“Jimin, Tae, and I were together quite a lot. Jimin and I even got serious with Min Yoongi a few years back, and all three of us lived together. Yoongi had a girlfriend that would join in on occasion as well. I did the exact same thing as you, and then some. So why are you a whore and not me?” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms as he waited for me to collect my thoughts. I opened and closed my mouth several times, my mind coming up blank on why it was different. 

“There’s no reason to be ashamed for loving someone, Noona. Instead of focusing on what society thinks, focus on how you feel. I know that sex is only half of the equation, and that you all love each other. You’re all very easy to love.” Jungkooks says with a soft smile, a light blush tinting his cheeks. 

He walks around the desk and crouches down next to my chair, grabbing my hand and rubbing circles into the back of it with his thumb. 

“I was like this at first too, you know. I was already struggling with the taboo of just being with a guy in the first place, then one thing led to another, and Tae started getting added into the mix. I mean, you know how he is. He just kinda...makes everything perfect. Pulls everything together. I started out thinking everything was so wrong, and we were a bunch of perverts, but we all genuinely love each other, so how is that actually wrong? Love is love.” 

“If it was so perfect, why was Tae not officially your partner?” I ask, intrigued to hear things from his point of view. Taehyung talked about their past all of the time, but in his head, everything is common sense, and everyone should know, but I didn’t know specifics. 

“Ah, because there was one thing holding us all back. You. Taehyung has been so hung up on you for years, and he wanted to leave himself an open chance. We’ve suggested hinting things to you over the years since he wasn’t the only one attracted to you, but he didn’t want to scare you off. Now though...” His grip on my hand tightened, and I observed with interest as his eyes fell to my lips. 

He dropped my hand and smiled shyly as he stood back up and leaned his back against the desk. “Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself. There’s still this arranged marriage business to take care of. Don’t mind me, I’m just...a little lonely.”

“You could always try to come by. Whoever your father has watching you couldn’t possibly know that Jimin lives with me now.” 

Jungkook shakes his head morosely, his shaggy bangs swaying cutely as he did so. “No. I don’t want to chance it. If we get caught even once, that’s Jimin’s entire future on the line. Besides, that message you sent the other day said you had a plan?” 

“Oh, yes, I do. I won’t go into it too much now but rest assured I will be your Knight in shining skirt suit.” I giggle, glad the mood in the room has lightened a bit. I feel a lot better because Jungkook is right. It’s love, and as long as we’re happy and not hurting anyone, it’s not wrong. 

“Thank you, Noona. Just do me a favor? Next time you feel this way, I want you to try something that helped me. I want you to think about all the things you’d miss if you broke up with them. Like Taehyung’s cuddles or Jimin’s singing in the shower, little things like that.” 

“Or Taehyung making me tea and serving it in a soup bowl.” 

“Yes, or Jimin’s juicy peach ass. God, I miss his ass.” Jungkook groaned dramatically, making me laugh. 

“Fuck, I would too.” I chuckle. I glance at my cell that was suddenly ringing, wiggling my eyebrows at Jungkook when I read the caller ID. Speak of the devil...

I set the phone in the middle of us and press speaker as I grin at Jungkook.

“Jimin honey, what’s up?” I ask, laughing internally as I can practically see him throwing a fit with all the frustrated sighs he’s making. 

“Y/N, when are you coming home? It’s my move-in night; I want to cuddle and watch this anime with you.” He whines, his manipulative little ass using his drunk Diminie aegyo voice. 

“I’m coming home now, baby. What do you want me to pick up for dinner?”

“Tae says junk food, so probably burgers and fries. And a milkshake.” 

“Ok, I’ll pick it up and come right home, alright?”

“Okay! Hurry! I miss you.” He was so fucking cute.

“Jungkook, say hi to Jimin,” I tell him softly, observing him as he clears his throat and nervously leans over the phone. 

“Hi, baby. Noona was sad today, so make sure you guys take good care of her.” 

“...okay, Kookie.” Came the soft reply, and I nodded at Jungkook encouragingly when he quickly looked at me in surprise, obviously not expecting Jimin to still want to use his nickname. I’ve not told Jimin the whole issue yet, but I had told him that Jungkook was trying to protect him from something and not to be sad. 

“I’m going to kiss Noona goodbye, is that alright?” Jungkook asked, smiling at my startled expression. 

“Yeah. She likes more lips than tongue.” He giggles. 

“Alright, love you, I’ll be home soon.” I rush out as I quickly end the call. I stand up and grab my bag and put on my jacket. Jungkook hasn’t moved yet, just watching me with amusement, his stupid bunny smirk wide. 

“Noooonaaa....” He quietly sing songs as he strolls towards me once I’ve reached the door. “This is just to say thank you. Thank you for taking care of Jimin, thank you for helping me. Thank you for being you.” He lays his hand on my shoulder lightly, his fingers stroking like he was trying to comfort me as he leans in. 

His lips softly press against mine, testing my reactions. When I didn’t hit him or freak out, he deepens the kiss, moaning softly into my mouth. When he pulls away, his eyes flutter open, and he smiles down at me. 

“Now go home and take care of our needy kitten.” He mutters as he ushers me out of my own office with a pat on my ass. I glare over my shoulder playfully and send him one last wave before I leave. 

[royal-writer]

Better Together

MMMM Amon would make A+ husband material I can Feel It.

Ammy I’m so sorry I took your badass broken sad little boy and made him a sappy romantic sweet baby of such sentimental qualities

No I’m not it works wonderfully and everyone knows it I ain’t sorry at all.

When they were here, it always produced the fondest sense of reminiscence. The dark wood paneling, the bar-top, and the stools still unchanged. The same fireplace; churning out none of it’s usual warmth at this point in the summer. Every sight and sound and smell unchanged; every taste of the food exquisite and only varying as much as the seasonal options and choices you made but still always delicious.

Essätha could only laugh now, recalling her disdain from that day so long ago. She had been so ready to put up a fight and to bite, claw, and hiss at every misplaced toe and digit in her space. Each time someone raised a voice to speak, she’d had to force herself to swallow venom and roll her eyes.

All that had mattered then was the loot and the rush. Running wild but not carefree. Every shadow an enemy longing to attack her. Every eye trained to her trying to determine a label of worth as people stared at her pretty face only to cringe at the scales upon it.

How life had changed. Weird and fantastical as it was now, to have a permanent place to reside and call home. A strange but amazing existence where she could call the most handsome and endearing man she’d ever met her husband. Every day now spent looking into his eyes and feeling the richest reward she’d ever really wanted in her grasp.

Happiness.

It lived in her wonderful Lord Amon; with him, alongside him and against him and near him. All around them and now inside of her. Watching him with her chin upon her hand and a softened, lazy smile as she looked into the intricate appearances play out on his face as he so boisterously expressed himself. A lift of his hand, a hearty laugh deep in his chest, the crinkles around his eyes as he’d chuckle.

The roughness of his palm as he would reach out for her. An unconscious gesture; fingertips lazily drawing against the back of her hand. Sometimes glimpsing her way; a look of confirmation on what he’d said or a gentle glance.

She loved the shine of his eyes most of all. The barricades he’d held to close off such a magnetic, engaging personality for years had been shattered long ago. It left behind his insecurities that rose and fell from time to time, but mostly this look he had now resided. Utter joy and calm. Warm and welcoming.

Her thoughts skipped in and out of the conversation with sir Barnabus as she turned around on the stool to look out on the mostly empty bar. The day was too early for customers of the more rowdy variety, so there was only a handful of ladies at one of the larger tables with two gentlemen nearby. Horse drivers, Essätha recognized by their less-expensive attire and placement in the far corner silently.

An absent brush of fingers caressed her shoulder. It drew a sigh from her, shyly glancing over to Amon whose eyes only flickered to her mid-conversation before he turned back to the barkeep, grinning.

Damn him, he knew well how he made her heart quiver when he did such things. The weightlessness he put her in; stealing away her breath like a criminal when all he had to do was ask.

“Lady Essätha?”

She spun around slowly on the barstool, turning towards the soft feminine voice.

“The honeycakes you asked for, my lady.”

“Oh Giselle, you’re such a dear,” she gushed, laughing softly. “I’ve told you before, you can just call me Essätha.”

The timid elfish girl grinned gently in response. With a curtsy, she slid the small plate on the counter.

“Give gentleman Grbrysh my undying love and gratitude, will you Giselle?”

“Of course, my lady.”

She snickered softly at the young woman as she walked back along the edge of the bar towards the kitchen door. A fork quickly in hand as she poked her tender, delicately layered honeycake. Glossy honey drizzled over the top, the scent of orange and cinnamon touching her nose as a few nuts fell away from the slice of deliciousness.

In the corner of her eye, she could see a flash of two silver pieces Amon slid over to Barnabus as she took her first bite.

“Mmmmm,” she mumbled, delicately chewing as the cake dissolved in her mouth. “Yummy.”

Poking another forkful off, she picked up a nearby folded napkin to hold beneath her hand. Tilting towards Amon’s stool, she held out the fork; catching the amusement dancing in the Briarton Lord’s eyes as he fondly gazed to her in the corner of his eye.

“Ahhh!”

She giggled as he took the forkful with a tentative scrap of teeth.

Barnabus made a gruff, barely restrained laughter in the back of his throat.

Watching as he chewed, Essätha took another eager bite herself.

“Good?” she inquired, pressing a hand over her mouth as she spoke while chewing. Quite improper of a lady but then again, she hadn’t been raised to be the ideal woman.

A noise of agreement, and Amon leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Sweet, but I’ve tasted sweeter.”

“Amon, behave yourself in my bar,” Barnabus snorted, his voice shaking with laughter. “It’s much too early for me to throw people out for public indecency.”

“Oh sir Barnabus,” Essätha coed, leaning over the counter with a pouty wide-eyed look. “You wouldn’t do that to us! We’re your valued customers; your loyal friends. If it makes you feel better, I’m sure Amon could offer you a kiss on the cheek as well?”

There was no stopping the barking laughter now. Even Amon; red in the face which he hid behind his hands, was shaking in the shoulders with repressed chuckles.

“You really are somethin’, lady lass.”

“I sure hope that’s a good something.”

“Any lady who can put a smile on his face is surely a special one,” Barnabus remarked, leaning across to jab Amon gently in the shoulder.

Essätha smirked to herself, poking another section of her dish to take a bite as Amon rounded on the barkeep with a slew of words she couldn’t understand. Ah, elvish. Well, at least judging by their expressions and tone, they were having some friendly banter.

Whatever the Illaid gentleman said next was too fast-spoke, but she she did pick out ‘darling’ in there somewhere. His hand taking hold hers for a moment, brushing an intimate kiss against her knuckles and his beard rubbing against her fingers as she gazed upon him.

Barnabus smoothly muttered a few words, raising a towel in the air as he picked up Amon’s pint to mop the water ring.

Feverishly, Amon jumped back in to conversation; leaving her to nibble on her dessert with a quirky grin and pinkish toned cheeks. Tuning in and out the foreign tongue she only barely could clip fragments out of, and thus leaving herself open to the rest of the room and its chatter.

“… his mistress.”

“She hardly seems lady-like, does she? Trousers, I mean, really. Was she raised on a farm?”

“He wed her because he was desperate, Guinevere, not for her looks. No one would take him after so many failed relationships. I always heard he was a careless lover and heartless shrew.”

Essätha slid her fork across the plate slowly, her appetite lost.

“I still say Ivy would have made a lovely bride for him. They were an enchanting duo. But she told me; years ago now mind you, that that man Amon always was a bit standoffish. When things got serious or when she’d bring up marriage, he would always push her away. Sometimes he’d disappear, off on one of his expeditions you know.”

“Oh yes, him and his hunts. Who could forget.”

“She must be another hunt.”

“You wouldn’t dare suggest her a trophy wife. Look at her; she’s hardly public presentable.”

Essie’s grip tightened upon the edge of the table. Her vision doubling; swimming with unshed tears as her fingers shifted between fingers themselves and talon-like digits in flickers of scales.

“Not to mention she’s not of noble descent.”

“Margery, what else is there if not trophy wife? Sure she’s undignified, but she the shape of her face is very nice, and she has a great waistline. If only she’d utilize it for more dressy apparel…”

“The shape of her face, or those lizard scales.”

“I’m fairly certain that is dragonborn heritage, no?”

“No, I think it’s lizard. Those lizard-people what are they called… Kobay? Kobbie? Oh who cares. They’re disgusting and unhygienic. She probably sheds from those nasty spots.”

A round of giggles followed from some of the ladies.

“Besides, what man in his right mind and stature would choose such a scandalous realtionship and unkept woman if there wasn’t something hidden between them? It could be a falsified blackmail, for all we’re aware. Maybe she’d holding something above him.”

“It may have something to do with her position?” another reasoned. “He did travel with her and those hooligans, and their names did gain favor. Maybe it’s his way of redemption since no one in the aristocratic community would dare touch such a cold man again. He bodes ill on Lady Josephine in comparison, anyway. At least now he can say he’s married; and brush the lone woman under the rug and out of sight when visitors arrive.”

Shaking, Essätha gingerly placed her utensil on the table. Her hips swiveled on the seat, spinning around until she could hop off the edge.

There was a comment from behind her that she didn’t catch. Her feet were already in motion; striding across the room efficiently. A smooth heel-to-toe until she was upon the table effortlessly and in no time.

The women faltered upon her approach. A hush befell them as they all reached out to hush and quiet each other when some did not instantly grow quiet. All eyes upon her. Each set wide. Some worried, some terrified, all a bit uneasy.

She stopped just in front of the table. Her jaw clenching and unclenching as it worked. Her hands balled into fists, and then relaxing as she exhaled deeply and slowly. Rearing control of her anger as best she could, but most importantly, keeping a steady sense of self. She did not want to shift or reveal her true nature, not here and now out of temperamental stupidity.

“I am Lord Amon’s wife!” she proclaimed in a harsh, threatening tone as tears sprung up in her vision.

“You will respect me as Lady Amon Illiad of the Emerald Expanse, you disgraceful harpies! How dare you whisper your vile tongues in the same space as me. Well here I am, right in front of you. Why don’t you say them now, hmm?”

“Essätha-”

A beckoning voice; alarmed and concerned as it approached her.

“That is my husband’s name you spit at like dirt! Have you no shame; no honor? This is his land; his area of reign and you belittle him here? How dare you, how fucking dare you-”

A warm hand slid over her shoulder, pulling at her lightly.

She refused to budge. Raising her chin, a finger pointed out at the women as they flinched beneath her furious glare.

“I’m not his mistress!” she hissed, voice cracking. “I’m not just something he picked up off the streets to satisfy, and you will respect that! You will respect me, and my husband, and his choices because it is none of your concern! It’s none of your business, and you can stay out of it and stop spreading your toxicity and diseased thoughts like plague around these parts!”

“My darling,” Amon whispered, moving to stand beside her as he pressed a coaxing hand to her collar.

This time, Essätha didn’t refuse him. Her lips trembling, shaking with the undertow of her emotions dragging her in. At the will and mercy of the guiding arm that wrapped around her as she turned, allowing her husband to lead her through the pub and in the direction of the kitchen.

Behind her, the drifting words of Barnabus went unheard. Urging the women sternly, but calmly, that they were to immediately leave his establishment.

The door to the kitchen swung gently open as Amon pressed a hand upon it to escort her inside. Only the worrisome face of the orc chef stood in the middle of the room, wringing his massive hands.

“Tea?” the cook grumbled thickly.

“That would be nice, Grbrysh,” Amon spoke quietly. “Thank you.”

Wordlessly silent, Essätha stood where she was left as the Illiad heir strode the room. Pulling aside two stools, he placed them off to the side and came back for her. Encouraging her along with a soft pull of her hand, and bringing her to sit across from him on the rickety old seats.

Grbrysh stepped over, politely offering a steaming cup to her.

Keeping her head down, Essie accepted it with a murmured ‘thank you’ hardly to be heard.

Amon accept his own with a dry smile she only just captured at a glimpse. Her eyes trailed over the orc as he moved past her, with his footsteps moving up the creaking stairwell behind.

The quiet stretched.

Essätha became increasingly aware of her shaking hands holding the teacup. She lifted it to drink, a few tears dripping from her chin into the cup as she drained most of it in a single gulp. The heat felt good in her stomach, but less so on her throat and tongue.

Amon’s cup clattered against the edge of the counter he slid it on a few feet away. Leaning forward, his hands reached acros to take hold of her hands. Callused fingers running alongside the back of her hands and the cup, palms entrapping her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered softly.

A small shake of her head, wisps of ebony hair falling over her face from loose curls.

“You weren’t the one saying those awful things.”

“No, but I’m sorry you heard them.”

His hands gently took the cup from her grasp to set it beside his own. Reaching out, those same delicate fingers brushed against her jaw and moved further. Taking hold of her face on either side, with thumbs massaging against her cheeks.

“They are just the babble of single-minded people, Essätha,” he spoke softly. “Do not let them fool you into thinking that the things they say are true. You are a clever, staggering, charming woman of grace and beauty.”

Chewing on her lower lip, an enormous sigh escaped her. His words; though gentle, did not stop the dull ache in her chest. Doubts she carried deep, deep, deep inside. Hardly ever recognized; concealed by the euphoria of her perfect life and in the way it was so gently unfolding before her. Filled with love and soft promises; filled with friends and family and so many people that she never really stopped to look upon her own inadequacy.

But it was always there, lurking. Waiting for opportune moments just like this to latch on to her like a leech.

“Do you regret marrying me, Amon?” she dared to ask, her voice faint.

A stiff quiet. When he didn’t respond, she drew in a slow breath and continued on; aware of the humiliating tears that ran down her face.

“I… I would understand. It can’t be easy, the jeers-”

“Stop.”

Her mouth snapped shut at the soft, compelling voice.

Scooting his stool closer, Amon rested his forehead against hers. Breathing in deeply and slowly; training her lungs to follow the sound of his breathing as his proximity steadied her. A warm circumference and warmer, dark eyes staring into hers.

“Why would you ask me such a thing?” he inquired in a hush. “Have I failed to prove how much I care about you? Is my affection not obvious? Do you doubt me?”

“N-No-”

“Then I ask you, as your friend and husband, not to disgrace us with such a question. It… It hurts me to think you would consider that I would turn you away just because a few people do not agree with what we are together.”

“And what we are together-” he murmured, pausing to press a kiss to the corner of each eye, “-is something marvelous and something that gives me hope, and joy, and all the satisfaction and love I could never hope to achieve otherwise.”

One side of her mouth tugged up into a ghost of a smile. A little forced, but growing less so as the gentle noblemen wiped the pad of his thumbs affectionately against her eyes and cheeks to dry her face.

Clearing his throat, Amon spoke once more; but with a hoarseness that wavered with the depth of his emotions: “I have everything I want; everything I need and adore and love, right in front of me. What more could I want out of life then you, my beautiful Essätha? You complete my world. You fit beside me so wonderfully. It is you that I desire to have, and no one else. I don’t care about the gossip they spread about me. But if what they say hurts you, I will do my best with all my power to stop it.”

Her lips trembled slightly. The strength of his words; the belief he held in them so strong and fierce. They were words of endearing truth. A momentum of his devotion to her, so ardently placed before her.

“I-I’m sorry,” she managed, voice wavering. “I… s-shouldn’t have asked-”

“Shhh,” he hushed, circling his fingers near her eyes to swipe away tears. “It is their words that stirred your doubt. But you have nothing to fear from me, my dear. You have me, and my heart. I love you, Essätha. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

A choked series of giggles slipped through as he peppered her cheeks with light, gentle brushes of his lips. Kissing away her tears, and rubbing his whiskers against her skin in accident quick strokes that tickled her face.

His hands still cupped her face tenderly as he came to a halt, forehead pressed to hers once more. Their softened breathes bathing against each other as mirrored eyes reflected into each other. The smell of honey on his tongue; the aroma of his addictive cologne against his skin.

Loud snuffling drew her glance, and ultimately Amon’s, to the door.

In the stairwell, a teary-eyed orc.

In the doorway to the tavern, five sets of eyes. The three elvish daughters of Barnabus, the barkeep himself, and his nephew all peeking in with red-eyed, grinning complexions of awe.

Heat burned into Essie’s face like a fire. Squeaking with horror, she pulled free of her beloved husband’s grasp to dive into his chest. Burying her embarrassed face, her hands clutching to his backside.

The rumble of his laughter against her was soft and gentle. His hands to her backside, stroking in gentle circles despite the flushed look against his own splotchy cheeks.

“The room’s clear if ya lovebirds ever want to remove yourself from Grbrysh’s workspace,” Barnabus teasing voice offered.

Only just peeking out from the shadowed safety of Amon’s arms, Essätha glimpsed upon his handsome, rugged face as he looked down to her with a wide and worshiping smile.

It made her smile in return, of course. His glee reflected into her heart with ease. It was infectious to look upon him and not find an infinite amount of reasons to be happy and grateful for her life. For the life they lead, together.

“I need to pay for the tea-”

“Aye- no,” Barnabus tutted, a waggle of his finger. “Your money’s no good here right now, miss. Owner says so.”

A giggle faintly, glancing with bashfulness to the staring eyes as she mumbled: “Well thank you, Grbrysh, for the tea, and thank you, sir Barnabus, for your everlasting kind nature.”

Bowing slightly as he swung the door the remainder of the way open, Barnabus gave a slight chuckle.

“Always a pleasure to be of service, lass.”

The orc gave a nod, still grinning as he sheepishly wiped at a tear upon the corner of his eye.

With a thankful sigh, Essätha turned her gaze back to the one burning into the side of her face. Calling to her, those gorgeous eyes and patient smile.

Her heart brimming; overflowing with her love for him too much to handle, she fell back into his chest to share some of that love with his own heart.

A faint grunt exuded Amon faintly. Without a moment’s hesitation, he buried his face into her hair. Breathing deeply, with sturdy hands embracing her close from behind.

Nothing ever felt so pure and so right in her life then being in his arms. It was indescribable. Nestled there, safe from harm and warmed by his gentleness and love.

Pleasantly, she inhaled the fragrance lingering on his clothes, and sank into the eternal comfort that was her perfect Lord Amon.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Never say never - Chapter 11

Yeah, by now, you know the drill :D

WIP of my heart and so on :D

°11° ~Victoria~

Victoria had not even noticed that the time had flown; she had been so entranced by this strange tale that was so unlike the ones she had been allowed to read at home. There was an immature, sick longing in her gut whenever that strange, stern man came on screen; he reminded her much of the men she had grown up around and it repelled and attracted her in equal measures. Then again, Thornton was much more handsome than anyone she’d ever seen before.

Hiddleston sat, motionless, on his chair, watching her as much as he watched the movie.

His heart broke for her when she gasped and hid her face in her hands during the botched demand for Margaret’s hand, and he smiled along with her every time Thornton’s mother spoke.

“My mother would have loved a son like that, I think. Unfortunately, none were granted to her.” Victoria confessed to the screen, wiping her eyes angrily as new tears welled up against her will.

They had finished their cakes and their tea and now sat with their hands in their laps, watching an old movie.

The doorbell rang and she paused the movie to go down and see who it could be. The darkness outside took her by surprise; had that much time passed? Was it evening already?

“Are you crying? What has he done to you?” Liza pushed past her, but Victoria’s hand shot out and grabbed her arm.

“He’s been nothing but kind and helpful. It is the movie…it…startles me.” Victoria confessed, looking up when Hiddleston came down the stairs, a broad smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, I know I was not invited, I…” Jenna murmured in a hushed voice. Victoria understood though, she knew how desperately one could long to see a pretty face again. The huge box Angie was holding in her arms that had been left on her doorstep was a testament to that.

“So…how do you find Thornton?” Angie asked, putting the box in a much more reasonable corner of the hallway than Victoria had previously chosen for her books that were still lying partly under the treacherous hallstand.

“He’s…a sourpuss.” Victoria replied, walking to her kitchen to get the number of the pizza delivery.

“Richard was roughly your age then.” Liza prompted her. “Armitage? He looks better now.” Victoria replied with a shrug.

“He doesn’t. Get out!” Liza cried out, stumbling over the books as well as she followed Victoria into the kitchen.

“What would you know?” Victoria laughed, earning a wink and a nod from Hiddleston which made her prouder than it should have. His support buoyed her spirits, she found, and she gave him a warm smile.

“I have known the man for years.” Liza snapped, laughing at Victoria’s dumbfounded face.

They ordered pizza and no-one had the heart to tell Hiddleston to leave, so he retrieved his chair from upstairs and they got comfortable in the small parlour looking out on a neat, little garden while waiting.

“Let me see what you’ve got here.” Liza, brazen as always, started piling up the books and, opening the box, spreading the ordered movies on the table as well. Her jaw went slack upon discovering the scope of Victoria’s “research”.

“Hmmm, this reminds me,” she said, looking up from the piles, “Armitage lets you know that he’s starred in a few horror movies. He thinks you might take pleasure in that.”

“Naaaaa, he’d certainly die. The pretty ones always die.” Victoria replied, trying to snatch away her books and movies from the prying eyes of her friends…without much success. “Hence why he thought you’d like them.” Liza quipped.

“I’m not a monster, Liza! I have been deplorably rude to the man, but that does not mean that I’d enjoy seeing him die.” Victoria shook her head, still grabbing at her possessions only to have them whisked away by Jenna and Angie.

“You might want to stop with the movie you’re presently watching then, dear.” Hiddleston commented, an uncomfortable expression on his face. He and Liza exchanged a worried look over the table, glancing down on the DVDs spread out under their noses and then back at each other again.

“You’re right. The pretty ones always die…so do the evil ones.” Angie offered carefully, but Vic rolled her eyes.

They were putting words in her mouth, she thought, she had never called the man “evil”, had she? She had thought and called him “dangerous”, but she could not pass judgment over his soul, if he had one that was.

Victoria bit her lip, these thoughts: stupid, rash, inconsiderate words that might easily have spilled out of her mouth, were the very reason why everyone suspected that she secretly hatched some dark plot to assassinate Armitage.

“I’ve known evil men. He doesn’t directly strike me as being evil.” Victoria skirted the unspoken question. “But indirectly, he does?” Liza dug deeper within a moment.

If Victoria hadn’t known better, she would have believed that she was on the verge of being married to Armitage; only nobody had told her about it beforehand. Why did everyone care so much about what she thought about him?

“I…meant that he oftentimes…inhabits…erm…performs…you know.” Angie drew helpless shapes into the air. “He’s the bad guy, he plays the bad guy.” Liza interrupted harshly, observing Vic’s face.

“Makes sense. What a scowl.” Vic laughed, turning to retrieve the pizza when the doorbell rang, humming to herself.

Only, it was not the pizza. It was Martin Freeman, holding a stack of papers and asking for Liza.

“Liza? It’s Martin. Why is he at my door? How does he know where I live?” Vic called into the house, stepping out of the doorframe, and letting Martin enter. “Welcome to my humble abode.” She laughed, shaking her head.

“Ah, you come when the work is done!” Hiddleston cried out in mockery, but went to retrieve a chair for the newcomer, nonetheless. “Here’s the…what do you mean?” Martin gave up on the business-conversation he was about to have with Liza and turned to Hiddleston instead, who was more than happy to recount his whole afternoon with Vic in detail.

Victoria knew she should be mortified, but her mood had mellowed considerably after her shopping-spree, and it had been pleasant to sit in the failing light with Hiddleston and watch that mysterious movie everyone seemed to know.

“I also have a gift for you, so your withering anger will not fall on me.” Martin said with a humorous gleam in his eye. Making her promise not to attempt any kind of voodoo or other witchcraft on them, he presented her with two dolls. She took them with a confused look on her face, waving her hand at Jenna to turn on the little lamp in the corner of the room.

“Oh. My. GOD.” She exclaimed as she recognised the characters. These were not the kind of hard-plastic dolls she had thought of; in her mind, she had seen actual action-figures, but these were funny and adorable, like cartoonish bobble-heads.

“Look at them, Liza, Angie, Jenna, come look at them.” Victoria exclaimed, holding the dolls up with such obvious, child-like delight that the men couldn’t help but stare. There were obviously shards of a broken childhood embedded in her soul and she had grown around them, making her 70% scar tissue and wounds.

“I…I am glad you like them.” Martin said, carefully; he had expected mockery and outright rejection, he had been prepared to have his dolls thrown at his head in disdain, never would he have been able to predict the joy with which she cradled the effigy of men she seemingly despised.

“Are they collectibles? Am I to keep them in that box?” Victoria asked, insecurity making her voice tremble. “Not really, you can if you want to, someone might pay a pretty penny for them one day, but…they’re not like the Ming-vase or the Persian rug…You can take them out and play with them.” Liza answered, holding her hand up discreetly so none of the others would say anything careless that might hurt Vic deeply in her vulnerable, open state of mind.

The doorbell rang again, and Liza nodded to signal that she’d go accept the pizzas. “You go ahead.” She said to Vic who was ever so carefully taking her dolls out of the boxes, placing them on the table and providing a napkin for them to sit on comfortably.

“Thank you so much, I want to say that my anger is not withering…but you have my deepest affection right now.” Vic mumbled humbly and hugged Martin awkwardly. “You are an astonishing woman. If we had known that a Bilbo- and a Thorin-doll would make you so happy, we’d have started by that.” Martin chuckled, gazing at the two inanimate objects he had seen be showered with a tenderness, so earnest and deep, he had never seen her grant to any living creature.

“Stay and have pizza with us.” She invited Martin when Liza came back, carrying the steaming boxes.

~Richard~

He didn’t even want to pick up the phone when Martin’s name appeared. The last time he had done that, things had taken a terrible turn for him, and he was not eager to repeat the experience.

He should have known better than to think that his friend would give up that easily though, and, after a few solid minutes of unnerving vibration, Richard gave in and accepted the call.

“Hey. I found the way into Vic’s heart.” Martin declared without preamble, describing her reaction when he had handed her the dolls that were now resting on a chair reserved for them while Hiddleston was sitting on the carpet.

“Wait…you’re at her place? You’re having a party and I’m not invited? Wow, thanks.” Richard knew that he was petty and that his tone might betray that he was not entirely joking either. “I just swung by to deliver some documents, Liza gave me the address and because I made an appropriate gift, I was asked to stay.” Martin sounded weirdly proud of himself.

“What are you doing? Who are you talking to?” Vic’s voice resounded in the background, followed by a mumbled complaint about how she was not running a boarding house. “I just told Richard about how much you liked the dolls. Shouldn’t I have?” Martin’s voice was contrite, but also a bit challenging.

“Armitage? Oh, hello.” Victoria’s voice grew very quiet instantly and Richard hated the fact that the mere mention of his name made her joy flicker out like a candle in a draught.

“He feels left out.” Martin snitched. “I had no intention of having any of you here, it has just happened.” Victoria squeaked helplessly, but she could see how this must look.

“I didn’t know anything about this meeting until this afternoon. Jenna was not invited, Tom helped and stayed, you came here with a gift…” Victoria tried to justify herself. “I cannot ask Armitage to come here and watch his own movies with me, can I? Or have him play with my dolls?”

“Richard, how do you feel about shameless narcissism?” Martin asked him suddenly and Richard had to do a double take to even find the words to reply to such a ludicrous question: “Erm, I don’t know.”

“What is going on?” Another voice called from far away and he heard Vic yell back that Martin had ratted her out to him and that now, he was disgruntled at not having been invited to a completely unplanned and chaotic get-together.

“Well, your house, your rules.” The other voice replied, and Victoria uttered a low grunt of frustration.

“Please, tell Mister Armitage that he is as free to come startle me at my home as any of the people here now.” Victoria spoke haughtily to Martin before withdrawing again. “Really?” Martin called after her. “Really.” She replied from further away with a small peal of laughter.

Martin then proceeded to swear that this had not been planned and that he genuinely did not believe that Victoria had taken any precautions to consciously exclude Richard. “She really liked the doll by the way and there’s a whole stack of books and movies on the living room table. Many of them…with you in them.”

Richard had no idea why Martin was telling him all that, but he was feeling lonely, and it was somehow nice to be told anecdotes and funny stories about people they both knew. It turned out that Hiddleston had indeed stayed and helped get the mysterious drawing room into shape for the furniture Vic had ordered and received the same day.

Must have cost a pretty penny, Martin joked. He also described the slight chaos and the many colourful clothes lying around. “I haven’t seen the drawing room yet. Want me to go check?” He said in a mischievous tone.

Informing the others with a careless call into the direction of the living room, he made his way upstairs, and towards the room from which a blueish light was emanating.

“Mother of Christ.” He cursed and Richard was invested enough by now to almost beg his friend to describe what he saw.

Martin was more than happy to oblige, telling him that it was a lovely room with big windows that let in a lot of light during the day. Now, the room was plunged into darkness though and against the faded tapestry stood an antique bookshelf, ready to welcome all the books he had seen lying around downstairs.

He also described the dainty and distinctly feminine ottoman in the middle of the room and the treadmill in the corner that seemed so anachronous compared to the other pieces of furniture.

“Don’t.” Martin whipped around to find Vic standing in the door, nodding at the still on her screen. “Don’t what?” Richard asked, curiouser than ever now, as he heard that Victoria had followed Martin upstairs.

Maybe, she was afraid that he was secretly taking pictures of her underwear for Richard?

“She…She’s watching porn on her new telly.” Martin blurted out and Richard heard the shocked gasp from Victoria.

He was not exactly sure that this was the truth, Liza had said something about North & South, but would Martin call that “porn”? Yeah, he would, without batting an eye.

“Ah, Richard, Vic wants to talk to you.” Martin said while he was still deep in thought, damn it, would she always take him by surprise? “Hello Mister Armitage.” Her voice was heard now, shy and demure, maybe even a tad embarrassed.

He thought that this might well be the first time that she greeted him unprompted and his name in her mouth gave him a tiny jolt of pleasure. There was still that distance in her tone, but right now, it sounded a lot more like reverence than like rejection. “Hello? Sir?” Her tone faltered and he kicked himself into action. “Hello Miss Victoria.”

A tiny sigh was heard, followed by Martin’s cackle and the sound of something heavy thudding to the floor.

“I just wanted to say that we did not purposefully exclude you. I don’t want you to think that.” She sounded apologetic, he thought, and by the shifting of the background noise, he could tell that she was pacing around the room.

“It was a joke. I am not that self-absorbed that I really believe that everyone has to invite me everywhere.” He said quickly, embarrassed about being taken literally when he was just acting like a mopey brat.

She didn’t immediately reply to that, and his spirits sank, of course she wouldn’t really want to have him in her home, would she? She had never hidden the fact that she hadn’t taken to him particularly and it was his own problem if he let that hurt him.

[justanoutlawfic]

Happy OQ Valentine’s Day!

So, this may be a complete wreck but I’d like to draw your attention to a few things before you read you’re present ;) 1. Im pretty sure I gave away my identity already because... 2. I’m working off my iPhone (it’s sad but it’s true lol) and... 3. Mobile Tumblr just refusesss to make things easy on me. 4. And also, I waited to write this last minute like most other things in my life. But aside from all that, I do hope you find even a tiny bit of enjoyment in this. Our beautiful sunken ship deserves a bit of light today ❤️ P.s. I’d love to write for you again in the future if you’re ever interested. HOPIN’ AND WISHIN’ AND PRAYIN’ (An Outlaw Queen fic) The shadows blanket the road this far out. They stretch from the tops of the evergreen trees and cast most of the road in darkness. Except for tonight, there are a few bright beams filtering down from the full moon in the sky. The only sounds come from the crickets and wildlife beyond the pines and it’s a solitary, lonely kind of peaceful. She’s made a habit out of coming here; slipping out just after Henry’s gone to sleep and spending a precious few hours hoping. Hoping for what, she isn’t quite sure. Maybe for the resolute acceptance of how things have turned out. For her heart to stop aching and move on already. Sometimes even, she’s loathe to admit, she wishes for a freak accident that would take Marian away and right the universe again. But mostly, she hopes he’ll appear out of thin air, grinning how he does, as he steps back into Storybrooke and into her life. She knows it won’t happen, that he might as well be in another realm altogether. She understands why he’s gone, respects it even, but it doesn’t keep her from peering out down the road and wondering where on the other side he could be tonight. The pavement is cool beneath her thin slacks but she likes sitting at the very edge where she can pretend the red line in front of her crossed legs is the only barrier keeping them apart. As if the two of them sit apart, the protection spell a curtain that only need be pulled back and they’d be face to face. She lifts the flask next to her and the moon beams off its shiny surface as she indulges in another sip. She’s not drunk, but the alcohol numbs things just enough, blurs the edges so she doesn’t actually cry. And it would be all to easy to let herself embrace her emotions and sob in self pity. He was supposed to be her second chance; her redemption for the awful woman she’d been—and he was, for however brief a time. His integrity made her better. His morals brought her back to that seventeen year old girl she once was. Just “Regina”, not “Her Majesty” or “The Evil Queen”. He saw the real Regina under all those layers of guilt and anger and regret. And perhaps what makes her feel more despondent than anything is that she’ll never get a third chance. She got so unexpectedly lucky with Robin. She didn’t deserve him to begin with, but only he could have been her soulmate. Only he could understand every sordid detail of her past and still have the audacity to not only love her, but choose her. Regina runs a hand through the front of her dark hair as she sighs. She misses him. She misses having another person unconditionally in her corner, misses not always feeling like the third wheel, misses the smell of damp earth and aged redwood. She wants to scream to the heavens, or this “author”, or whatever higher power there might be that it’s so unfair! Only she knows damn well how fair her pain is; how cosmic and condemned her story has read. It’s her punishment for choosing revenge when she could have chosen forgiveness. Daniel’s death was the great catalyst of her life. And while she knows there are many who let their grief morph into hatred, there had been another way. It would have been harder, maybe taken longer, but she might have come out the other side a better person; a hero. She won’t make that mistake again. While it feels just as bad as it had years ago, even worse actually; she cannot tarnish what Robin stood for, just to try to ease the ache. If anyone was undeserving, it was that man. He had made mistakes the same as any of them, sure, but he worked for his redemption. Robin had found a way to do what she never could. He turned his pain into purpose. A purpose full of love and selflessness and renewal. And now he’s been hurt once more, entangled in the web of her retribution; collateral damage for the penance she was paying. He had not known just what loving the Evil Queen would cost him, even if she had truly made a change. Yet, he had opted to accept the shit hand he was dealt and if only it weren’t for her he wouldn’t be hurting because of it. He might even be overjoyed to have his late wife back; his family reunited. She prays for that as she slowly pushes herself to her feet now. She decides it’s the only thing she can do to wish him well, Marian too. If only she could have granted him a memory spell before he’d gone so he could forget about the wreckage she’d brought into his heart. Of course, her thief would never have taken the easy way out. And Regina can’t help but to hold on to the thought of him remembering her, remembering the true, sacred, magical connection they shared. She suddenly has to lift her fingers to her face to brush away an errant tear. She will not feel sorry for herself, at least not anymore tonight. Staring out down the still, vacant road out of Storybrooke, she sniffles and squares her shoulders to reign in her emotions and she hopes above all else that Robin finds the kind of happiness she knows he deserves. This chapter of her story is closing, and she needs to let the dust settle on the pages and find a way to move on. If her heart is going to take it’s time mending, then she must stop her late night visits. She has a son at home and new, delicate friendships, and a town that seems forever under threat, and a population of people who she owes debts so great she may never repay them. But she must try. She turns on her heel and heads back to her silver benz parked just off the shoulder, opens the door and gives one last, longing gaze down the vacant road. In her mind, the protected barrier shimmers and parts and her handsome thief appears, Roland at his side, tiny hand clutched in his. Regina abandons the door, unconsciously letting her feet carry her forward a few paces. She let’s her eyes slip closed and smiles wide with the image of them behind her lids. “Regina”, he says. And it’s not until she reopens her eyes that it occurs to her the tone of his voice had not been quite right. “Regina!” As if awaking from a dream, her focus snaps back to reality and he’s still in front of her, rushing towards her more accurately, his arms outstretched. The the next moment she can feel him against her chest, can smell his woodsy scent right under her nose. “Oh thank God, Regina!”, he nearly cries in relief and it’s all she can do to catch her brain up to what’s happening. Maybe she’d had more to drink than she thought? He pulls out of the embrace, but doesn’t completely withdraw his touch. He must have sensed her shock, perhaps too overwhelmed to see her to notice she didn’t hug back. “Regina?” Her eyes scan over his body, willing herself to believe it’s really him, but they land instead on the dimple faced child grinning up at her. “Gina! We come to visit you!”, his little voice hits her ears and she raises her eyes back to Robin’s anxious gaze. The acceptance breaks around her and she throws her arms around his neck, afraid he might disappear. “Robin!” It’s the only thing she manages to say while she’s this overcome with emotions. He holds her back, just as tight and whispers her name quietly against her head and she finally finds her voice. “Wha—why—what are you doing here?”, she breathes in disbelief. Her hand falls to Roland’s head below and caresses his locks to finally acknowledge him, but she needs to grasp her current reality before she makes a fool of herself. “It’s Zelena”, he tells her with a bit of disdain, “We’re all in danger. I had to come back to warn you all, to help fight” He glances down at his now frightened son and lifts him into his right hip for a soothing hug while Regina blinks in confusion. “What are you talking about? Where is Mari—“ “We can’t talk about it now”, he cuts her off urgently, gesturing with a discreet nod to the boy in his arms. “Listen, I promise I will explain everything later. But we don’t have a lot of time to gather the others and make a plan”. He slides a gentle hand down her arm as if to assure her it’ll be alright despite his ominous warning. Roland wiggles in his grasp and his father sets him on his feet a moment before he bounds off a yard or two and squats down to examine a rock on the pavement. “I’m just so happy to see you, Regina”, Robin cups her cheek in his chilled palm, “didn’t think I would again”. His words rush off his tongue before his lips are pressed to hers, desperate and needy, fueled by the current perils only he knows they face and his all consuming love for her. It is a reunion kiss that can only come from resolutely believing they’d be separated permanently. Regina responds with all the heart she can muster, their lips moving fluidly together as if the last few weeks had not eclipsed. When they finally break for air they are both grinning like fools, foreheads resting together as their breathing falls in sync, and she swears she suddenly feels whole again, as if her arm had been missing and has just now been returned. She lets the feeling wash over her, soaks it in selfishly for a minute because she knows how fleeting this absolute contentment is now. There are still a thousand questions running through her head, a dark cloud churning and billowing over their little town and every life in it, but with Robin’s hand in her own things feel possible. She tightens her grip and they start toward her car, ushering Roland away from his picture in the dirt as they go. They let their hands slip apart to round the car and Robin opens the back so Roland can hop inside excitedly, insisting that he’s mastered belting himself in. Once he’s safely buckled and shut in, Robin pulls his handle but catches Regina’s eyes over the hood. They both have a flurry of emotions hidden in their expressions, but one sticks out above them all and Regina knows this one to be the only true importance in the world. “I love you”, Robin declares, the lines around his eyes wrinkled from the joy on his face. Her chest swells with such happiness that her dark eyes moisten with tears and she doesn’t care that her voice cracks when she finally speaks the words herself. “I love you”. Fin

[the-golden-mango-of-discord]

Maybe This Is Enough

I was not the type of person to just move on to the next compartment when I saw a lonely girl sitting by herself on the Hogwarts Express.

She was staring out the window, probably lost in thought. She had long, blue-black hair that hung in her face, half-obscuring her sharp features. Her eyes had a challenging coldness in them that I’d never seen before.

Well, I loved new things. And challenges.

I pushed open the compartment door and sat down across from the girl, changing my appearance to be as inviting as possible - dark golden hair, with a subtle wave to it, and smooth chocolate skin. Oh, and bright blue eyes! Yes, that was it.

I took a moment to pride myself on my new look and how effortlessly I’d changed my original hair, skin, and eye colour. Mum was right; practice makes perfect.

“Hello!” I said, plopping down opposite her. “Mind if I sit here? I saw you were alone, and I thought you might want company.”

The girl shook her head ever so slightly, narrowing her eyes. But after a moment, she sighed, quiet and slow, and said, “Yes, you can stay, I suppose.”

Everything she said and did seemed to be subtle and soft - a contrast to her high cheekbones, sleek black hair, and sharp, cold eyes that seemed to scream ‘mean and dark’.

“Oh, wonderful! My name’s Cassiopeia. Cassiopeia Carter, but you can call me C.C. or Cassie or even Carter but -”

“Cassiopeia is fine,” she murmured.

“And your name is...?” I prompted.

“Soraya.” She didn’t elaborate, nor did she take my offered hand to shake. I let it fall back to my side awkwardly.

“Pretty name. Well, um...” I pulled out a box of hard colourful candy from my bag. “Tic-tac?”

Soraya eyed the candy suspiciously. I popped a couple in my mouth to show that they were harmless. “They’re fruit-flavoured.”

She tentatively held out a hand, letting me rattle a few into her hand. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Well, you looked lonely, and I can’t just let people wallow in their own sadness because then I’d be a bad person,” I said. “And my mum didn’t raise me to be a bad person.”

Soraya shot a glance out the compartment window. “But don’t you have real friends to spend the trip with?”

I shrugged. “Probably. But I should make new friends too, right?”

She ate the Tic-Tacs one by one, nibbling on them first before swallowing them. Her expression didn’t change, but she didn’t spit them out, so I took that as a good sign.

“You’ve never had Tic-Tacs before?” I asked. “Are you pure-blood?”

She nodded.

“Ah, that explains it. In that case, you’re missing out. They’re a Muggle candy.”

I settled back in my seat, making myself comfortable with my Tic-Tacs and luggage. Soraya went back to staring out the window, her eyes quickly losing focus again as she fixed her gaze on the rolling hills and fields that passed by the window.

Every so often I would peek a glance at Soraya; each time she would still be gazing out the window with an unreadable expression on her face. When we were almost to Hogwarts, she picked up a bundle of clothes - probably her school uniform - and left the compartment. She returned a few minutes later and curled up in the corner of her seat and fell asleep, the oversized jumper she’d been wearing before she changed draped over her shoulders. I’d already changed into my uniform before boarding the train.

When we finally arrived at Hogwarts, I leaned over and nudged Soraya to wake her. She stirred but remained sound asleep.

I pushed her, and this time she did wake up with a start. She almost fell off the seat, and her jumper slipped to the floor in a crumpled heap. I picked it up and dusted it off.

Soraya snatched it from my hands and wrapped it around herself. I raised my hands and she looked away.

“Oh, hey,” I said as we spilt out of the Hogwarts Express with the rest of the students, “what House do you think you’ll be sorted into? My mum’s a Hufflepuff, but she said she almost got into Slytherin so I might be either of those.”

“Slytherin, definitely,” she said, but she sounded almost disdainful. “My whole family’s Slytherin. My mum would kick me out of the house if I ended up in any other house.”

I shot her a quizzical look.

Six Years Later

“I’m going to do it!” Alexander stood up so suddenly that he sent his chair flying. 

“All right,” I said, turning the page of my book. Alec had been saying this since third year, and see how that turned out. Tried to ask out his crush and tripped over his own robes, the poor soul.

Alec fidgeted, then tried to sit down before realizing that his chair was now lying on the floor. He stumbled and righted his chair, then sat down heavily, sulking. “But if you don’t think it’s a good idea, perhaps I shouldn’t....”

I sighed. “Well, just decide already! You’ll get it over with, at least. One way or another.”

Alec ran his fingers through his hair, messing it up even more. “But he’s... unattainable, I can’t just go up to him and...”

“It’s James Cornery, not some Greek god!” I said, throwing my hands up. It was days like this that made me want to slap Alec in the face. And then maybe hug him and wrap a blanket around him because sometimes he needed it. “He once ate an entire pizza in four minutes. Trust me, he isn’t anyone you can’t talk to like a normal human being.”

A tall boy with curly black hair sat down next to Alec, leaning over. “What’s going on?”

It was Cory Lovegood, Alec’s best friend. Maybe he could talk some sense into the poor lovestruck Gryffindor.

I waved my hand toward my fellow Hufflepuff James Cornery. “Alec’s been trying to work up the courage to ask him out. For the past twenty minutes.”

Cory frowned. “What do you see in him? I’m much more handsome than that bloke.”

Alec swatted his friend’s arm, blushing furiously.

As they bickered good-naturedly, I spotted my reluctant friend Soraya Dolohov out of the corner of my vision. She had her nose buried in an emerald green book - knowing her, probably a potions book - and her hair looked in need of a wash and combing.

I left Cory and Alec to argue over who was the prettiest of their sixth year and chased after Soraya.

I touched her shoulder, giggling when she jumped half a foot into the air and almost dropped her book.

She relaxed only slightly when she saw it was me. “Carter. What do you want?”

“A girl can’t check up on her friend every now and then?”

She frowned. “No. Not when she’s not even friends with her.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but that really did sting.

“Well, that’s rude,” I protested. “I haven’t talked to you in forever. Come.”

I linked my arm through hers, dragging her out of the library. Even though she protested, she didn’t try to dislocate herself from my grasp, so I took that as a good sign.

“Tic-Tac?” I asked, digging through my schoolbag, sure I had some somewhere. “They’re fruit-flavoured.”

I found a box of colourful Tic-Tacs buried underneath all the schoolwork and quills and books. “Aha! Here; candy always makes me feel more alive.”

Soraya let me pour a whole bunch into her hands. She downed them all in one gulp like you would swallow a pill. Her expression didn’t change, but I had come to realize that meant she was feeling happy and just didn’t want to show it.

I grinned. “So, how have you been?”

We turned a corner as Soraya slowly crawled out of her shell and told me about the new potion she was trying to perfect. She just couldn’t find the last ingredient to give it the exact result she wanted.

And so we walked the long, winding corridors of Hogwarts, past chattering paintings and students enjoying their weekend. We split two boxes of Tic-Tacs between us, talking about potions and class and little things we’d been thinking about the past few days. And as the hallways slowly cleared of students and grew darker as the sun set, I thought, Maybe this was enough.