#the grand surprise he prepared for her was so beautiful and how he remembers every single casual remarks of her 🥺

[sylvia-forest]

[CN] Shaw's 6th Anniversary event - Finale (Part 1)

⚡ Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an Event which hasn't been released in EN yet!⚡

[Day 5]

MC: Do you remember the event "To Myself 365 Days Later" that we participated in last year?

Shaw: I haven't forgotten. Judging by your excitement, did you receive the letter you wrote to yourself last year? MC: Exactly! Did you receive yours? Shaw: Let me check... Oh, indeed, I did. MC: Quickly, let me see what questions you asked last year. Shaw: Hold on, do you want to see mine? How about exchanging yours? MC: ...Alright, let's look at mine first and then yours!

Under the bright lights, Shaw's eyes sparkled with curiosity, as if waiting for my answer.

Looking at the familiar yet distant questions in the email, my heart was stirred.

The first question I asked myself was: Are you living happily? My answer was...

After answering, I looked at the unusually quiet Shaw.

MC: Why aren't you saying anything? Not even a sarcastic comment...?

Shaw: Because you look so serious, much more refreshing than when you're usually making a fuss. Shaw: I don't want to spoil the atmosphere. MC: After all, it's a ceremonial thing, of course, we should treat it well. MC: Now it's your turn.

Shaw smiled, slowly took out his phone.

He didn't rush to open the email; instead, his gaze fixed on me.

Shaw: It's up to you to look, but let's get one thing straight—I won't answer every question. MC: Are you afraid your questions are "difficult to answer"? Shaw: What are you thinking? How could I dig a pit for myself?

He stubbornly squinted his eyes, raised his hand, and opened the email.

—

Life is not like archaeology—no clear origins, no clear classifications. Many questions need to be answered by oneself. But I've always enjoyed taking on challenges.

So today, I wrote down these questions. As for how to comprehend them, it's up to you a year from now.

As for me, I like to add difficulty for my future self. Now, tell me, which moment of hers was the silliest this year?

Do you know how to skillfully handle her when she pretends to be angry?

When she buries herself in work and ignores you, how can you attract her attention reasonably?

You probably have the answers already, right?

—

A ripple of emotions surged within me, and I happily leaned in front of Shaw.

MC: Why are all your questions related to me? Shaw: What do you think? In that situation last year, I couldn't think of anything else.

I paused for a moment, realizing what he meant by "that situation," and then chuckled.

MC: Some people looked composed at the time, but unexpectedly, they had their own troubles~

[T/N]: By ‘that situation’ means, Shaw and MC were having a “cold war” last year, although Shaw looked calm and composed on the outside but inside he was wrecking his mind as how to end this "cold war"! You can read the event from here.

He slightly averted his gaze, speaking somewhat unnaturally.

Shaw: Anyway, those are all in the past. MC: True, let's focus on the present~ So, these questions related to me should be easy to answer, right?

Seeing that I set a trap, Shaw grinned and seemed ready to counterattack.

Shaw: Still not difficult? The first one is a tough one. Shaw: You've had too many silly moments; I can't rank them. MC: ...Then you can skip it! Answer the second one first! Shaw: No, I like taking on challenges. Shaw: The silliest moment... Should I say singing in the shower? Shaw: Or perhaps every time you work overtime with that "life has no meaning" look? Shaw: Let's use the process of elimination. First, list the rare moments when you're clever. Shaw: This way, what's left will be the silliest... MC: Shaw!

I raised my fist, but he grabbed it and then turned me around, holding me in his arms.

Shaw: I already answered the second question. Shaw: In terms of counterattacking, I've become more proficient.

The breath tickling my neck made me laugh uncontrollably.

MC: Alright, alright, I won't argue with you! Answer the third one quickly!

Shaw: The third question is framed incorrectly.

I paused, turning to look at him.

Shaw: As long as it's something I want to do at the moment, I won't consider what's reasonable. Shaw: Whether it's kidnapping you or tempting you with something fun. Shaw: I won't let any opportunity slip by.

In the dim light, his confident expression gleamed. I chuckled and nestled into his embrace.

MC: But I won't cooperate with you every time.

Shaw: Doesn't matter. There's always a way to make you cooperate. Shaw: I'm always confident about that.

—

MC: Since it's a little flower hat you gave me, I've decided to let you help me put it on~ Shaw: ...Troublesome. MC: Hmph, then I'll put it on myself. ￣⁠ヘ⁠￣ Shaw: Did I say I wouldn't help? Shaw: There, it's on. (一_,一) You look even sillier now. Shaw: Indeed, this silly and cute style doesn't really suit you.

MC: Is that so? Then why does someone keep staring at me? MC: Could it be they find me cute but are too shy to say it out loud? Shaw: Tch, what's there to be shy about? MC: Oh? Is that so? My ears are perking up—Shaw! MC: (///¯皿¯) Why are you using the hat to press down my ears! MC: Shaw, aren't we supposed to be heading back? Where else are we going on the way? Shaw: You'll find out when you get there. Shaw: It's definitely beyond your expectations.

—

MC: Undersea tunnel...?! MC: Wait, isn't this supposed to be a detour on the way back? MC: How did we end up crossing several cities to get here? Shaw: It's a secret. Shaw: You'll find out when the time comes.

—

The moment I stepped into the passage, it was as if I had entered another world of wonder.

The arched passage, made of a giant transparent glass, extends forward under a "blue sky," and waves of fish swim by.

Curious, I look around, and Shaw raises his jaw at me.

Shaw: Just looking at it is boring. How about... we also swim under the sea? MC: You mean scuba diving! Shaw: Let's broaden our horizons a bit. Who said we can only scuba dive under the sea? Let's go for a mix-and-match style.

Shaw opened a hidden door behind him and took out two skate boards with a familiar pattern, making my eyes widen.

MC: Aren't these our backup boards? When did you put them in? Shaw: About a month or two ago. MC: ...?

Seeing my lack of reaction, Shaw puts his hand into his pocket.

Shaw: I overestimated you. I thought you'd figure out why I brought you here as soon as you arrived. Turns out you're not only dumb but also have a terrible memory.

MC: What do you mean?

Shaw: There was once an island lord who claimed he'd build the world's best undersea tunnel. But now it seems that guy was just all talk and no action.

This is a reference from the 'Four season event' (I didn't play this event so I don't know much about it (┬┬﹏┬┬)

MC: ......!

Memories of the summer island flood back, and I sweep my gaze around in disbelief, almost breaking into a high-pitched tone.

MC: No way? Shaw... you actually built an undersea tunnel for me?

Shaw: ......

He wordlessly flicks my forehead with his fingers.

Shaw: I'm not a God. Where would I build an undersea tunnel for you? MC: But you... Shaw: Thanks to Professor Shen being invited as a consultant for relics here, I took the opportunity to offer my help. Shaw: The condition was for him to clear this place for me for a day.

I pause, and emotions surge within me, mirroring the silent waves — I never expected that a casual remark would be remembered for so long.

MC: Even if you didn't build it, you still brought me here, so it's just as valuable in my heart. MC: But you're really good at keeping secrets. You hid it from me for a month or two, and only now...

I suddenly stop and realize the subtle aspect of this.

MC: Hold on, so you originally planned to bring me here? What about the RV trip...

Shaw: What's the big deal? This little accident won't affect my plans. Shaw: It's just making this day a bit more interesting before moving on. Nothing wrong with that.

Seeing him confidently raise his jaw, I teasingly blink my eyes.

MC: Really? It's not that smooth, after all. Your arrangement was unintentionally disrupted.

Shaw: If it's disrupted, it's disrupted. There are countless backup plans.

He takes a step forward, staring at me meaningfully.

Shaw: Hey, you said... no matter what choice I make, it can make this day interesting. I naturally can't be left out.

Those eyes, so close, glitter brightly, and my heart seems to miss a beat.

MC: It seems I did a good job setting an example~

He smiled, lightly kicked with the tip of his foot, and my skateboard was already in front of me.

Shaw: Alright, this is the only chance to skateboard in an unmanned underwater tunnel.

As he spoke, he stepped onto the skateboard, leaned forward, and drew a beautiful arc in the deep underwater world.

I also smiled and stepped onto the skateboard, catching up with him.

We freely roamed in the deserted underwater world, with strange and colorful shadows in the corner of our eyes.

Only the figure in my eyes was particularly clear.

His flamboyant clothing seemed to turn into a fish tail, leading me to swim against the world, galloping towards the distant and unreachable light.

I accelerated to keep pace with him, holding onto his hand.

MC: Shaw, today is the happiest day for me. Shaw: Don't speak too soon; the day is far from over.

After some play, Shaw took me to the end of the room.

A touch of anticipation welled up in my heart as I reached out and gently pushed open the door—

Under the azure light, this cozy glass room was covered with dream-like continuous warm light, like the only end in the deep sea.

Everything here was obviously carefully arranged. I couldn't help but imagine how the person in front of me, who was not good at such things, handled it. He must have been a bit impatient, criticizing his own choice of decorations while arranging them with an air of righteousness.

Maybe when someone passed by the door, he would immediately stop. His actions would freeze, putting his hands in his pockets, pretending nothing had happened.

These hurried yet chic figures vividly appeared in my mind, gradually merging with the person in front of me.

Thinking step by step, I walked to him, tiptoeing playfully.

MC: I didn't expect someone to have such a sense of ceremony. Setting up must not be easy, right?

Shaw: Don't underestimate me; as long as it's something I want to do, there's nothing I can't do. MC: Hmm, I certainly know that. It's just that your delicate side is not often seen.

I paused, teasingly took a step forward.

MC: It seems like I'm seeing different sides of Shaw more often now~

He bent down, a warm breath rushing towards my nose.

Shaw: Is that so? Are you sure you've seen everything clearly?

He was too close; when I instinctively tried to step back, he directly embraced my waist, blocking the "retreat."

The next moment, with a crisp snap of his fingers, a cluster of electric light burst at his fingertips, and the overhead lights instantly went out.

In the dim darkness, a nearly ethereal voice echoed in my ears.

Wooo—

Like a curtain, a shadow slowly closed from above, almost swallowing all the faint light in sight.

I stared blankly, a huge whale swimming past the skylight.

Its dorsal fin towered high, like a lonely island lost in the deep sea, wandering in the boundless ocean.

Such an unrealistic scene made me feel like I was in a woven dream.

MC: ...!

The next second, another burst of brilliant light and shadow suddenly bloomed on the wall, like fireworks filling the underwater world.

How could there be fireworks here?

I hurriedly turned around to the other floor-to-ceiling window, only to find that the incredibly dazzling "fireworks" were continuously blooming underwater.

It was not as grand and overwhelming as the previous two years. It didn't even have sound, but the brilliant colors stole all my attention.

I stared in amazement, still unable to react to how such fireworks could bloom underwater.

But for some reason, my smile became even brighter.

Shaw: Why are you smiling so foolishly?

I came to my senses, slowly blinked my eyes.

MC: I thought I had already guessed what "thing" you were hiding, but now it seems like I need to correct it. Shaw: Well, let me hear it.

My gaze swept around and finally settled back on him.

MC: At first, I thought the thing you were hiding was—"being carefree." MC: After all these days, although you rarely made plans and arrangements, every single thing took me by surprise. MC: I thought you would give me excitement, but you gave me a gentle rain in Watertown; MC: I thought you were going to take me on challenges and adventures, but you gave me the courage and determination I needed the most; MC: Even when I thought it was my turn to surprise you, you made me realize... MC: A surprise can also be created by two people at the same time.

Shaw listened quietly, with even the fireworks merging into his bright gaze.

MC: But until just now, until one unexpected moment after another, I realized... MC: The thing you hid might be simply "liking." MC: Everything happens only under the premise of liking. MC: Only then does it come in front of me.

I paused, gently hooking his finger.

MC: Shaw, am I right?

It seemed like my smile also caught his, a rare thread of joy pouring out from his eyes.

Shaw: Almost, but you didn't mention the most important part. MC: The most important? Shaw: Just like you said, this is only the "premise," and what comes after is the main topic.

In the dim light, the color hidden in his eyes became even brighter.

Shaw: What I truly hid is an "invitation." Shaw: I know very well what kind of person I am. Shaw: I never care about what is the best; I only like what interests me.

He paused, his gaze freely sketching on my face.

Shaw: So once I encounter it, I won't let go. Shaw: And I invite her to stay with me and keep it interesting all the way.

I smiled, holding his fingers a little tighter.

MC: It sounds like an invitation that cannot be refused, but...

I smiled, holding his fingers a little tighter.

MC: No matter where you go, I will be with you. MC: If you want to play in the mortal world, I'll "arm myself" and venture with you. MC: If you want rare tranquility, I'll hold your hand tightly and watch the sunrise and sunset together.

I took a deep breath and looked at him seriously.

MC: So, no matter what the future holds, I'm willing to burn my life and unleash it to the fullest with you.

He raised a carefree smile and gently pulled me closer to him.

Shaw: I remember your words. Shaw: What about my final touch?

I was taken aback.

MC: You've been secretly taking so many photos of me, and I didn't have time to prepare any finishing touch here.

Shaw: Well, in that case, I'll do it myself.

In the silent depths of the sea, a hot kiss gently pried open my lips.

Everything was so quiet, quiet enough that I could only hear the breath near my ears and the pounding of my excited heartbeat.

I slowly closed my eyes, falling into the endless sea with him.

Another year.

And there will be countless more.

—

🚐 Finale (Part 2)

[azullumi]

"honey in your mouth when you say my name" ; aventurine

premise— happiest birthday to the man who had stardust on his wake and the sun for a soul; he was warm and he was everything you have ever dreamed for. this is a gift to the man who knew cruelty all his life but remained kind despite the cracks and blood on his skin.

content tags — 2.1 QUEST SPOILER, established relationship, soft aventurine (WE SAY IN UNISON), angst and fluff, a few metaphors, mentions of death and blood, birthday sadness (idk what u call that), NOT PROOFREAD I DID THIS ON A RUSH, 1.4K ; one-shot (bullet-form)

note — i have exams tomorrow and a lot of things due but the moment i heard it was his birthday, i wrote this for him AAAAAAAAAAAAA

AVENTURINE can still remember the smell of rain the day blood filled the line of his vision. It’s horrifying, haunting, sharp in all of its corners as it finds him in a sunny morning when he tries to look for the pieces of himself scattered on his floor, hidden beneath the carpet (and when he lifts the pattern, he’ll find torn and broken memories of when he was still young and loved). For this reason, he is not really into the prospect of celebrating his birthday, not when the day is intertwined with grief.

He avoids telling people of his day, avoids thinking of it by burying himself in hundreds of paperworks and cases to handle. He can’t think of that day without thinking of death, without thinking of his sister who laid lifeless in the golden sands (she probably thought of him in his last moments), without thinking of his mother who prayed even when her knees and hands are bleeding (the rain came to her as a blessing, but for him it has become a curse), and without thinking of his father who never got to hold his son (he never knew what he sounds like).

He’ll remember everything, that was his curse.

He never celebrated that day, not anymore, not even once. Perhaps he tried, perhaps he went into the bakery with the thought of getting himself a cake and lighting a candle, perhaps he tries to seek beauty on the day that he was born, especially when it coincides with the day of rebirth of his goddess. Perhaps he did and perhaps the cake was left rotting in his fridge because he can’t seem to enjoy the taste of it when its reminiscence of the bitter rain and fresh blood. 

(He can’t bear the thought that silence was his only companion either) He’d like to think that the meows of the critters as they approach him translate to words that greets him a happy birthday, but how could they? It’s a silly thought, it’s not like they can understand him nor any of these stupid traditions, and it’s not like he can understand them either. So he still remains alone.

But there, you came—unexpected, unwavering. When you learnt of his birthday, when he told you of his past and every line that exists in his being, a shell of determination washes on the shore of your thoughts. It didn’t have to be grand, it didn’t have to be extravagant; you only wish to make the day memorable for him, even just for once. You wanted him to let go of the thorns and feel how nice it is to have nothing that makes your hand bleed.

Although, you must admit, you were anxious, scared, nervous, everything while you were preparing for it. I mean, sure, it’s just going to be something simple with you and him only, and you made sure that in some aspects of it, he’ll enjoy it. You know that the burden he carries is heavy on his shoulders, and letting go is never easy nor simple, but for once, you wanted to do something for him to ease the tension that lies in his thoughts and bones.

Imagine the surprise and confusion on his face when he comes home to his apartment smelling like freshly-baked bread, tangled with the scent of lit candles and flowers, and the aroma of food. Surely, this wasn’t a burglary, right? What type of burglar would leave rose petals on the path of his doorway leading to wherever? What type of burglar would spend the time to bake a cake and even cook dinner? And what type of burglar would dress up so pretty and smile at him while their hands are trembling behind their back?

There’s the sound of his voice calling out to your name and soon, he heard something cluttering followed by rushed footfalls, and there you were, peeking behind the wall with a nervous grin plastered on your lips. You greet, “You’re home early, I thought you were going to be late?”

“I was going to be but I decided to bring some of the leftover papers home instead. I didn’t know you were going to come by, you should have told me.” He answers, taking off his dress shoes and placing it on the rack, “I could have come home much earlier if I knew.”

You laugh, emerging from behind the wall, “It’s fine, it’s fine.” You try to find the words to say in your trembling palms and fidgeting fingers. If he knew of what you were planning, surely, he would stop you and you didn’t want that. Albeit you don’t recall him saying he didn’t want nor like celebrating his day, but he did mention that he simply avoids it—does avoidance equate to dislikeness or hatred? It was plaguing your mind.

He hums, ushering you to come close to him so he can wrap his arms around your figure, engulfing you in a hug as he rests his forehead on top of your shoulder. “Why are you so dressed up? What’s the occasion? I don’t recall setting a date for the both of us tonight.”

“Do you not remember?”

Panic quickly shot over him like a bullet as he stood up straight from his position, “We have plans tonight?! There’s nothing on my schedule for today so I thought.” He’s quick to utter apologies, anxiety seen on his face as he spoke. It breaks your heart a little hearing what he’s saying—he doesn’t even remember.

“‘Rine, it’s your birthday.”

Silence.

Disbelief outlines the line on his lips, “What?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling like there is something that wraps and binds around your chest which suffocates you; It was your turn to panic, feeling it overwhelm the nerves of your body, “You mentioned it once, perhaps a few months ago. I wanted to make it a little special for you so I prepared something for us, for you. It’s okay if you don’t want to, I mean I can just—”

You were interrupted by him, your sentence cutting short, “Oh, love, you didn’t have to.” He cups your cheek, warmth seeping into your skin. You didn’t listen to his voice for so long to not be familiar with how it cracks and breaks when the words fall from his lips.

“But I did and I wanted to.” You answer, softly, reassuring him as you lean into his touch.

“Having you beside me already makes it all special.”

You laugh, eyes forming into a small crescent that reminds him of the moon, “And I want it to be more than just that kind of special.” And he sighs upon hearing your answer, it’s not one of frustration but it still has worry forming on your stomach as you swallow, “Are you mad at me?”

“No, how could I ever be mad at you? I’m just surprised.” He brushes the pad of his thumb across your cheek, gazing into your eyes with such affection and adoration as if the stars were born from his eyes. He presses a kiss on your forehead, whispering to your skin as if a small confession, “Thank you.”

How could he ever be worthy of you?

You hum, "I love you, Kakavasha."

Aventurine is grateful—it fills every gap and crack on his skin, soothing the scars of his flaws, and everything that sets him apart from his humanity. He never knew that cakes could taste this sweet, so kind and gentle as it melts on his tongue.

Slowly but surely, he soon let the warmth settle in his skin. The gray walls that surround that day are soon painted and drawn with different colors, with doodles that were made by your hands mixed with a few of his works. Perhaps the ocean of his grief will still haunt him but he won’t drown in it, nor will he find comfort in the cold embrace of nothing and everything that rejects him.

(Kakavasha, your sister would be so happy for you.)

And when the day comes once more, he’ll see and dream of the rain but not how bitter and heavy it was, but how it soon became warm and sweet, washing away the blood on his feet.

special mention to @toorurs, thanks for always being there for me even when i say the most nonsense of things or when my sheep genes are acting up 😔 i hope everything is going well for you and will go well for youuu!! sorry for being inactive AND NOT REPLYING TO YOUR TIKTOKS AAAA I SWEAR ILL BE MORE ACTIVE SOON I WILL REPLY EVEN WHEN YOU STILL HAVEN'T MESSAGED 👆 anyways this is a very short dedication note because gosh i still have to study hejsad ilyyyyy a lotttt please always remember that !!

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[ave09]

birthday

han solo x reader

note: this one’s kinda cute. i have a cute indy birthday fic on the way, which i’ll probably post later today, and i’m working on another han one that’s gonna be a lil sad so be prepared

you were disappointed.

had they all forgotten? 

the one day that you had been waiting for had finally arrived, and it seemed as though everyone around you had no clue about it.

you weren’t disappointed, you were hurt.

after all, you were the one who remembered everything. 

every birthday, every holiday even if it was insignificant to you, despite it all, you would wish them a happy day and do all in your power to make it a special day for them.

and yet, on the one day, your day, there was nothing. you hadn’t expected anything grand of course, merely a “happy birthday” just some acknowledgment of your day. 

and yet, the day was already almost over, and there was nothing. not even from leia, who you thought of all people would remember.

then there was han. 

now, he was forgetful, it was just his way. but this was one thing that he never forgot. of course, he wasn’t good with planning things so it would never be some big party, but just a nice little gesture. 

but you hadn’t seen him all day. you’d practically searched all of endor, even taking the time to ask some ewoks. 

as night fell, you approached luke, “hey, have you seen han?” the blond shook his head, “haven’t seen him all day. but if i do, i’ll let him know that you’re looking for him.” you smiled softly, trying to mask your sadness. 

“okay thanks.” you replied, turning to go, “hey!” you faced him again, “yeah?” luke sent you a kind smile, “happy birthday.” 

happiness swelled in your chest. someone remembered. “thanks luke.” 

you headed to you and han’s shared hut with a newfound joy. one person had acknowledged your day, and honestly, that one person was enough to change your day for the better. 

as you were about to open the makeshift door, you paused, hearing bickering inside. 

“han you idiot!”

“it’s not my fault!” 

“how is it not your fault!? there’s glass all over the floor now!” 

furrowing your brows, you probably pushed open the door, your eyes widening. 

but it wasn’t the glass littering the floor that surprised you. it was the decorations. beautiful flowers, large and small, filled the small interior of the hut. intricately painted lanterns were set upon the small table. 

these had not been here this morning. 

leia and han whipped around, surprise written across their faces, “oh hey!” leia exclaimed, trying to act as normal as possible, but failing. “sweetheart-what, uh, what are you doing here?” han questioned, his voice riddled with anxiousness. 

“you did this for me?” 

“i know, it’s dumb, leia suggested it-“

“han actually was the one who wanted to do this.” leia corrected, glaring at the man. you shook your head lightly, approaching him, carefully avoiding the shards of glass on the floor, “it’s not dumb. i love it, han. i really do.”

a playful grin toyed on his lips, “yeah?”

“yeah.” you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. he smiled into it, deepening it slightly. “hey guys-“ luke paused as he caught sight of what was happening. 

his jaw dropped. “leia, i thought you were joking!” 

“why would i lie about this?” 

you and han pulled apart, glancing at the siblings in confusion, “what are you talking about?” you questioned slowly. 

leia crossed her arms over her chest, nodding toward luke, “skywalker now owes me some money.” 

suddenly, it clicked. 

“hold on a sec.. were you betting on us?” 

the twins exchanged a mischievous look, “maybe.” 

“you couldn’t have waited a week!” luke exclaimed, causing the room to erupt in laughter. han pulled you close, his arms hugging your waist as he rested his chin upon the top of your head, “no way kid, i’ve waited years for this.” 

you smiled.

and that day, for the first time, you had spent your special day surrounded by everyone you loved. 

your best friend, your ‘brother’, and the love of your life, oh, and chewie of course, although he was fashionably late. 

and while the day had started off rough, this was one that you would remember for all of eternity. 

and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[foreverinthepagesofhistoryy]

fav fact about Elisabeth of Hesse?

Hi anon! My favorite “facts” about Ella are the mentions of her and her cousins in Margaretta Edgar’s book “Six Years At The Russian Court”. These might not be specific facts but they definitely are something about Ella’s personality that I love. Because of her short life, there wasn’t much time to observe Ella so any memoir that mentions her amazing personality is so special.

“My children were delighted to see their cousin Ella once more. This dear child was then between eight and nine years old, and very like her beautiful mother in appearance. But the child's eyes had ever a look of fate in them. Looking at her I used to wonder what those wide grey-blue eyes saw, to bring such a look of sadness to the childish face.”

“In spite of this look of intense sadness in her eyes the little Princess herself was full of life and happiness. I never saw so sunny a nature; never saw the child out of temper, nor cross, and should any little dispute arise amongst my four charges, she would settle it with perfect amiability and justice, making whoever was the most in the wrong give in, and reproving with great gentleness the others. Where Princess Ella was, no angry disputes could exist. She was so sweet and just that the other children always gave in to her arbitration. Looking back on her short life often wonder why we did not see that she was quite too good for this world, her fit companions were the angels. She was a regular little mother, and was never so happy as with the ‘tiny cousin’, as she called Anastasie.”

“She always enjoyed life so much, and she ran and bicycled about the gloomy old park, took the lead in all the games and was like a sunbeam; yet all the time she was stricken with mortal illness, though none suspected it.”

“One day she and Tatiana were wonderfully busy and mysterious, running in and out of the rooms, and exploding into laughter every now and then. In the evening after they were in bed Tatiana took from under her pillow a little box which dear cousin Ella had prepared for her. This contained some little coloured stones which they had picked out of the gravel the day before, some bits of matches, luminous ends, of course, the sand-paper off a matchbox and some tissue paper. This was a toy which they had prepared. After Tatiana was in bed, if she felt lonely she was to sit up in bed, light a match upon the sand-paper, set fire to the tissue paper, and by its light to play with the stones. Well, of course, that could not be allowed, and the poor little Princess was overwhelmed when I explained to her that they might all have been burned in their beds.”

“The little Princess was full of life and fun. never remember to have seen her in higher spirits than she was on Saturday evening. She prepared and carried out an innocent little practical joke on her father and the Empress. She asked me to put her three eldest cousins in her bed, and leave little Anastasie alone in her bedroom. "When auntie Alix and papa come, said the child, "auntie Alix will be looking everywhere for her children, and papa will not know how he has got four." Accordingly it was done, and I stepped into the corridor to ask the Empress and the Grand Duke to be very much surprised. They were, of course, exceedingly surprised, and the Empress pretended to be much frightened, to the child's great delight. You could hear her laughter all through the house, as one by one the cousins were disclosed.”

She was a beautiful and unique soul who will be missed forever! Happy belated birthday dear Ella! 💜

Thank you for asking!

[sips-tea-cutely]

Dance with You Tonight

includes: ugly old people haters, gn!reader, the zubayr theater is woke af, no beta we die like kavehs dad

having cyno as your boyfriend is quite the bummer, having to always sleep alone while he scouts around the desert, searching for the latest wanted criminal, not to mention how hard it is to catch him in the morning as well! the only trace of his presence is the torn paper on the dining table

“Why did the sea sponge wake up early everyday?

To get the ‘moist’ out of everyday.

In case you didn’t understand— moist sounds like most. and sea sponges come from the ocean which makes it moist.

I’m quite sure I’ll be able to come back early for dinner, but if I don’t come, don’t wait up for me (that is if you aren’t gonna be busy practicing). I love you, dear

, Cyno”

it’s just surprising how cyno can come up with a new pun everyday. giggling at his note, you put it back on the table, before getting yourself ready and heading to the grand bazaar.

“mx. s/o, you’re here!” nilou spoke as she made her way towards you. “nilou! alright… are we going to continue our practice from where we stopped last night or from the start again?” you asked as you left your belongings with the prop masters. “oh! hmm.. let’s start from the top so that we don’t forget it” nilou concluded as she went into position.

the zubayr theater had been working on a performance honoring the late goddess of flowers, lesser lord kusanali’s dear friend from before the archon war. as the two main performers of the theater, the two of you were obviously the main choices to play them, nilou as lesser lord kusanali and you as the god(dess) of flowers.

practice had gone for hours into the night, both you and nilou dancing and acting with grace as co-performers, acting as other minor gods clapped and sang along to your dance of sabzeruz. even if it was acting, it hadn’t felt like it, the fun and cheer of your friends being as genuine as the beautiful purple hue of the padisarahs made by the crew.

from the floor, excited friends of the performers watched the practice; mr zubayr, inayah and her father, tighnari, and even cyno has snuck some time to get a sneak peak of your hard work!

it truly was wonderful. even though it was just a rehearsal, no costumes or backdrops, it already felt like he was back in time, thousands of years ago, spectating the birthday of buer; the way your legs spun you in circles, the way your hands flowed with the light spotlighting you, even the very way your hair cascaded and lightly followed your every spin and step took his breath away, as if the true god of flowers had resurrected and guided your body’s movements to create a breathtaking performance— actually not only him, the way your every move glided, kept the audience breathless, excited for the true performance tomorrow.

that is, until five men in akademiya uniform had found out about the performance. they stood beside the other people watching, almost all in their late twenties or early thirties, besides one being around the age of 46 or so. it seems they’re supporters of azar from during the experimentation “we’ve heard that your theater troupe is preparing a performance to honor lesser lord kusanali.” the ringleader said, his eyes glaring to meet every single person in the cast, his voice laced with mockery and judgement. “don’t you fools remember of how grand sage azar had banned performing arts? this is an illegal performance!” one of his goons yelled.

mr. zubayr has foreseen this and already stated his argument to the hecklers. “you idiot! do you seriously not remember the prohibition act?! it says— ‘all public performances in sumeru city are not allowed, guards are to immediately stop the performance and take them into custody.’” he recited word for word. he waited for mr. zubayr’s response before he had spotted cyno, pointing his finger at him “there! general mahamatra cyno knows every rule word for word! general, please shut this down right now.” the elder man kindly asked whilst smiling, thinking that he had won. “yes… you are right, although, i remember hearing from mr. sharif that intellectual performances were allowed, correct, sir?” he looked over to inayah’s father as he nodded in agreement.

“this performance is detailing the sabzeruz festival, the birthday of our archon— as well as the creation of the padisarah. history is intellectual in my opinion. in fact, isn’t the vahumana darshan dedicated to history and social sciences? which would mean that this performance could pass as intellectually-stimulating.” he sighed out.

“yes..! as the mahamatra said, the akademiya has its’ very own darshan for history, which is, in fact, what this play is about!” mr zubayr smugly agreed with cyno, he totally knew that, cyno just beat him to it y’know?

the scholars stood stunned, trying to find a new ground to argue with. “yes, well the act still stated that ALL public performances be banned. you can’t even say that it isn’t valid, because the acting grand sage hasn’t even thought to revoke that act!”

“that is true… why hasn’t alhaitham revoked that yet… anyways, none of the corps of thirty had actually seen it either since it was overridden by the information that the lesser lord had broken out of the sanctuary of surasthana, and it seems like they still don’t know even until the akasha had been turned off.” cyno replied, his patience running thin with how this know-it-all tried to debate with the general mahamatra, seriously… the five stood dumbfounded and embarrassed, the eldest’s face as red as fire. he whispered to the other four as they move back in the path to the akademiya, perhaps to find more rules to have the theater banned.

cyno pouted in annoyance as he walked towards the foot of the stage. “it’s already midnight, i think you all deserve a break, right? the zubayr theater works too hard…” he said as he shooed the members to grab and drink and go home. mr. zubayr tapped cyno by the shoulder. “mr. cyno, i’d like to thank you on behalf of the troupe… if it weren’t for your intervention, i fear those scholars would’ve stood corrected and try to close the theater like before…”

“sir, it wasn’t a problem, really…” his eyes downcast in thought. “the theater is a home to my friend and my partner, i’ve heard so many wonderful memories that happened here, it’d be a shame if all of that were to just go away.” he shrugged, cyno’s hands trying to grab you and bring you to the concrete “cyno, if i fall and get a head injury, i’m going to take away your casket of tombs” you jokingly threaten your boyfriend as he finally let go of your fingers, leaping down the stairs to meet him where he waited. mr. zubayr laughed at your childish threats with cyno. “even so, thank you, cyno for saving the theater” he nodded with gratefulness as he went to the stage to help contain the paper decorations in preparation for the performance tomorrow.

cyno intertwined his fingers with your’s before wrapping his arm around your waist to bring you closer as you started your walk home. “y’know, your dance was amazing awhile ago. i know you didn’t get to finish final rehearsal because of them… but it was still amazing, love. would you mind showing me the full dance it in all its’ glory later before we sleep?” he smirked as you laughed and shook your head no “my dear, i’m all danced out tonight, i can’t stand anymore!”

the oh-so scary general frowned in dismay “not even for me? after the note i wrote for you this morning too..?” he pouted satirically. “nope! if you wanna see it so bad, you have to buy a ticket~” you shrugged and grinned cheekily. cyno sighed sadily “shame… i would’ve danced with you tonight too.”

[its-to-the-death]

Bracket E thoughts:

"Brand New Day" and "Alive" are both very good, but I'm a sucker for Anthony Warlow's Hyde. He just sounds so happy to unleash his inner evil! :)

"Philistine" fucking slaps, and as much as I love "Snuff Out the Light," I want to make everyone appreciate this rockin' number as much as I do. She spends the entire song ripping Travis apart, pointing out how his vengeance doesn't make him noble, his anger doesn't make him cool, and he's a pervy otaku. She rhymes aeternum with sternum. Having listened to both versions, I think the English version is better in the vocals because they're clearer, but the Japanese version has a kickass climax at 3:15.

I'm a perpetual fan of GLaDOS' songs, and I really enjoy the thinly veiled spite in "Still Alive."

"Mean Green Mother From Outer Space" is a fun song, but I am a self-admitted sucker for Joey Richter being a hammy villain in "Wagon on Fire".

Further research has indicated "Grand Ceremony" is indicative of the pompousness and fakeness of Manley, who is universally regarded as a prick. I don't know this game, but I can definitely get that vibe from this one.

"In the Dark of the Night" is always a classic, but I voted for "A Million Gruesome Ways to Die" because it's hilarious to me that Barnaby is threatening to kill the player in all sorts of gruesome ways the same way you'd offer a bunch of options to a really picky customer at a restaurant. He's just trying to be helpful, he's so enthusiastic about it!

Dawn M Bennett my beloved makes this modern-day hypocritical dirty cowgirl seem unironically cool every time she sings. Also the Banzai Blasters apparently just fucking shot her parents to death which is some fucking whiplash from "Great at Crime," to say the least. Anyway go listen to Zora's surprise musical backstory.

This might just be because I'm not an Ace Attorney fan, but I didn't really get a lot out of Distant Traces of Beauty" in terms of villainy? Like from what I've read it makes sense in context but it just doesn't give me the villain vibes I was hoping for. Also I have to give points to "I'm a Professional" for being made up entirely on the spot.

SO PREPARE FOR THE COUP OF THE CENTURY! BE PREPARED FOR THE MURKIEST SCAM--

Holy shit that's Captain Marvel's actress? How and why the fuck is she rocking that song so well??? Anyway vote for "Black Sheep," a.k.a the much-needed "fuck you Scott" song.

Ok I submitted "Grandpa's Going to Sue the Pants Off of Santa," but...it's not a good song. It's really not. And even without knowing Les Mis that well, Alun Armstrong is doing such a good job of getting across who Thénardier is by being such a delightful scumbag.

I already can tell "Slipping" is going to win, which is fair, but I needed to vote for "What You Feel" because it is a bop.

As several people have pointed out, "That's Not How the Story Goes" is not really a villain song so much as a song lamenting the horror of the world they live in which happens to feature Count Olaf. Since the villain is listed as Olaf and not The Narrative Itself, I voted for "The Whole Being Dead Thing," which is also a very good song in a completely opposite direction from its opponent.

Holy fuck, why is "Where There's A Whip, There's A Way" so good. Why do the orcs harmonize so well. What the shit.

Have I mentioned that I love Queen Latifah's singing? Because I love her singing. She is having so much fun here.

"Open Up Your Eyes" is a pretty good villain song in an unfortunately mediocre movie that tells me a lot about who the villain is and why she villains, while "You Will Remember" veered kind of too hard into generic rock song territory. Like, I know it's supposed to be an allusion to Ember's backstory, but that backstory wasn't even in the show itself...

Oh yeah and also the person who uploaded that video apparently committed a shooting, which isn't relevant to this bracket, but was a big surprise when I scrolled down to the comments.

Some good opinions 👍

[cherienymphe]

Bloodied Crowns (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, STEPCEST, murder, violence, abusive realtionships, Tony x reader, prince!Peter, king!Tony, queen!Reader

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ based off of this ask

summary:  When your husband, King Anthony, is killed in a coup staged by his son from his previous marriage, Peter, you are forced to marry the young man who no longer feels the need to hide his feelings.

~

Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, the stern monarch losing his wife only a few months prior. The engagement and the wedding happened so quickly, and before you knew it, you were married to King Anthony Stark. Truth be told, you’d feared that you’d never marry at all, and that you’d bring shame to your name, but a stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, had put you directly into the king’s path.

Your family had attended the queen’s funeral to pay your respects. It had been drilled into you to catch the eye of an available suitor, as it had been many times before, and while you were disgusted that you could not even properly pay your respects to the royal family, you understood your parents’ desperation. You were twenty-eight with no prospects on the horizon. They had no other children, no sons, your mother unable to conceive after yourself, and so the weight of carrying on the family name was solely on your shoulders.

Your family was not poor by any means, but you were far from wealthy. That being said, your mother spent an outrageous amount to get you the most captivating black dress money could buy. It was not something that would draw too much attention, but enough so that you did not look like a grieving widow yourself. When it was your turn to pay your respects, you recalled bowing to the young prince, the brunette barely acknowledging anyone’s presence. It was rumored that he and his mother were close, that he’d taken her death very hard, and the way he seemed to stare right through you confirmed as much.

When you bowed to the king, apologizing for his loss, you could feel his eyes on you. This was nothing you concerned yourself with. After all, you were speaking to him and he you, but when you rose, you were taken aback by the intensity you found in his dark eyes. Where his son seemed to look through you, the king could not seem to take his eyes off of you. No one else seemed to notice, and, brushing it off, by the time you returned home, you had forgotten all about it.

Until a few days later when a royal guard was at your door. You were being invited to dine with the king, the invitation extending to your family as well, and although you were confused, you knew you could not refuse. Even if you wanted to. The dinner was nice, and you were a bit surprised at how easy it was to get along with the king. You never thought him cruel, but you’d heard that he was a rather stern man. After supper, he extended the invitation to staying at the castle so that you would not have to travel back so late in the evening. Your mother answered before you had the chance to, and it was no surprise to you that the answer was yes.

The castle was so different during the night. It seemed less welcoming and more ominous, and you found it hard to sleep that night. Convinced that the corridors would be empty, you quietly slipped from your chambers and made your way down to the kitchens. There were still a few servants lingering about, cleaning or preparing for the next day. You felt guilty for bothering them for something to drink.

“Nonsense, my lady. I would be more than happy to get that for you,” a younger girl by the name of Guinevere told you.

“Oh...please,” you waved her off. “No one is around. Call me Y/N.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as you told her your name, but she said nothing more as she gave you your water. The dark corridors did not scare you, but the eerie silence was a bit off putting, especially in such a grand structure. You had turned the corner to make your way back to your room when you bumped into none other than the prince. You had almost dropped the drink, and you placed your hand on your chest in an attempt to still your heart.

“Your highness. My apologies, I did not see…”

Your words died in your throat as the prince fixed you with a look that made your stomach churn. You snapped your mouth shut, swallowing as he simply glared at you, brown eyes looking so much darker. You had not seen him since the queen’s burial, and he did not look much better than he did then. Before you had a chance to say anything else, he had shoved past you, almost making you drop the goblet in your hand, and a low gasp escaped you as your other shoulder harshly met the wall. You turned to watch him go, shock and confusion pouring through you, wondering what you had done to offend him so.

It was only a few weeks later did you get your answer.

“I...I beg your pardon?”

The king reached for your hand, a soft breeze ruffling his dark hair as he brought it to his lips. They were soft as they brushed over your skin, and the corner of them curved upwards into a smile.

“Everything is already being arranged, but...this is my formal proposal. I need a queen, Peter needs a mother, and you are everything I could have hoped for,” he told you.

You stared at him in shock, feeling as if the world had been ripped out from beneath your feet. Your mind whirled as you tried to make sense of this and where this had come from, and suddenly, the puzzle started to piece together. The countless dinner invitations, the gleam in your parents’ eyes, the hushed conversations...the prince’s animosity. You were being courted by the king this whole time...and you’d been none the wiser. His chuckle pulled you from your thoughts.

“When your mother told me that you could be quite oblivious, I thought that it was a simple exaggeration.”

He found humor in your distress, you realized, and you swallowed.

“I do not know what to say,” you slowly breathed, and you watched him tilt his head at you, a frown beginning to form.

“You say yes,” he said with a scoffing laugh as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

You realized that to anyone else, it would be.

“Your majesty...I feel as if we’ve only just met. Surely, you would allow me time to think-.”

“Think about what?”

His hand tightened on yours, and you winced. He leaned in, genuine confusion in his dark eyes as he stared into your own.

“I am a king telling you that you are to be my queen...and you are hesitant?”

The severity of the situation suddenly dawned on you. Anthony was a king. You were a mere lady attempting to refuse his proposal for marriage, and your heart sank to your stomach. You blinked at him, and his face suddenly smoothed over as he sighed.

“Ah. I understand what this is about…”

“You do…?”

He softly smiled at you, reaching up to brush his thumb along your chin.

“You come from an acceptable background. You are beautiful and smart and kind. I assure you, this is genuine. This is not some poor attempt to cope with my grief. In all honesty, my marriage to the queen was over long before she died,” he told you.

You looked away, realizing that you were not getting out of this. Whether you liked it or not, you would be marrying the king, and with reluctance and a shaky voice, you accepted his proposal. He straightened when you did, a look of satisfaction on his features, and he looked as if he wanted to kiss you. You were thankful that he did not.

The wedding took place only a couple of months later, every nearby royal, and even some across the water, in attendance. It was a grand and beautiful affair, no expense spared, and it was days later that you found out it far outshined his first wedding. You remembered feeling sick as you walked down the aisle, the feeling only getting worse as your gaze met that of the prince.

In the time since the official engagement, you had interacted with the prince only a handful of times. Each time more disastrous than the last. You told yourself that he was grieving. His mother’s death was sudden and had hit him hard and here his father was, marrying again so soon. You did not fault him for his cold behavior. He was young, after all. You would expect nothing less, to be honest, but you could not lie and say that it did not hurt.

Unfortunately, even after the marriage, he did not soften towards you. Every attempt to get to know him was met with nothing short of loathing, and you finally accepted that he would come around in his own time. The last thing you wanted Peter to think was that you were trying to replace his mother. You did not know how long this would go on, but you did not expect it to be more than a year. 

You were wrong.

“I throw that kid the best birthday celebration a nineteen year old could ask for and this is how he shows his appreciation? By not even having the decency to show up?”

Tony was angry as he sipped from his goblet, glaring down at the attendees dancing below. A wonderful number was being played by a string quartet, several single princesses in attendance, and an hour into the celebration, Peter was still absent. You placed your hand on your husband’s arm with a sigh.

“I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, Tony. He will show,” you tried to assure him.

His shoulders sagged as he slammed his drink down, and his eyes softened as he turned to you. He reached for you, and you flinched, but he paid it no mind as he brushed his finger along your cheek.

“You are far too nice to him...and he hardly deserves it,” he whispered.

“He’s your son,” you reminded him with a frown. “Do not talk about him like that.”

“He’s ungrateful,” he spat.

“He’s grieving,” you argued.

“It’s been a year,” Tony sneered. “How much time does he need?”

You sharply turned away, swallowing a sigh as anger flared within you. Sometimes Tony could be so insensitive, amongst other things, and it baffled you. Peter lost the only mother he ever knew, and Tony was treating it as if it was something minor. After a few more moments, you excused yourself under the guise of needing some air. In truth, you were determined to track down the prince.

It was not a hard task. He tended to frequent the same places when he called himself hiding. You found him deep within the grounds, lounging on a branch high up in the tree. It was getting late, the sun currently setting, and you held up the skirts of your dress as you trudged towards him. You knew that he heard you, and you resisted the urge to sigh as you stood below him. Your heart ached for him as you could not even begin to imagine what he was going through. After all, you still had both of your parents.

“Peter,” you eventually called.

He yet again pretended as if he had not heard you, a hurtful habit of his, and this time you did sigh.

“Peter, please come down. Your father is concerned about your whereabouts, and...and I am concerned about you. I-.”

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking I care about how you feel?”

His tone was cold, venom coating every word, and your heart clenched. He rarely spoke to you, every time he did as cold as today, but this was different. You were unsure of what to say, and before you had the chance to remedy that, he was hopping down. It was a bit cool out, and his coat flared behind him as he strode towards you, face hard and nostrils flared.

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking that I care about you at all?”

You reared back, staring at him with wide eyes. His words hurt, that you would not deny, and as much as you fought against it, you could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes. You swallowed, briefly glancing down as you took a step back.

“Peter-.”

“My mother was not even in the ground properly before you came sniffing around my father like a bitch in heat,” he sneered.

Your lips parted, wide eyes staring at him in shock at his words. You had never seen him look so hateful, borderline murderous, and you suddenly realized that this was about more than grief.

“P-Peter...that… That is not what happened-.”

“Isn’t it?” he wondered, taking another step towards you. “Do you think me stupid? Blind? You think I have never known of the way so many women prayed on my mother’s downfall?”

“I never-.”

“Do you think that I do not know that you all came to her funeral not as mourners, but as vultures? As desperate snakes trying to slip your way into my father’s bed so that you may take her place?”

“No! That is not what happened-!”

“You are no different from the rest!”

He was practically upon you now, glaring down his nose at you with so much disgust it finally made the tears spill over.

“I always knew that you were a desperate and conniving whore…”

You gasped, more tears falling at his insult. He raised one dark eyebrow at you.

“...but I never took you for a liar too.”

You were frozen as he looked you over one last time before breezing past you. You shook, unable to stop the tears, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You had no idea that Peter’s disdain was in fact not misplaced due to grief, but was instead as genuine as could be because he thought you to be something you were not. This knowledge made your heart hurt, and it turned out that you were not as adept at hiding your feelings as you thought.

“What troubles you so?” Tony wondered later that night, his hand on your shoulder as you sat at your vanity.

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked with a small smile.

His gaze met yours in the mirror, and the way his jaw clenched told you that he did not have much patience tonight. His fingers pressed into your skin, and you swallowed. You looked away, eyes blurring a bit as you recalled Peter’s cruel words.

“Peter hates me,” you confessed.

You heard Tony heave a sigh, and you turned to look up at him. He ran his hand through his hair as he rolled his eyes.

“That kid hates everyone and everything,” he replied.

“No, Tony. You do not understand. He believes me to be something I am not. He thinks that I schemed my way into marrying you, that I am trying to replace his mother-.”

“Peter will be just fine. He will grow to get over it in time,” was his enlightening reply, and you stood.

“But it is not true. Tony, does this not bother you? Because it bothers me! He should be like a son to me. He should be looking to me for guidance and care, and he curses the very ground I walk on. It hurts,” you spat, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Tony’s entire demeanor softened, and he pulled you into his arms. He pressed his lips to your cheek, and you winced at the soreness before he took your chin in between his fingers. He tilted his head at you.

“I love that you’ve grown to really care about him. It warms my cold heart…”

You forced a chuckle at that.

“...but Peter has always been a bit difficult when it comes to me and anything in relation to me. His mother is really the only person he ever really connected with. This will pass, I assure you.”

You reluctantly accepted that Tony just did not care about this as much as you did, and likely never would. Against your better judgement, you opted to let it go, and softly exhaled when Tony pressed his lips to your jaw. He trailed kisses down your neck, tightening his arms around you.

“As much as I enjoy your big heart, I would rather not spend the rest of the night discussing my troubled son,” he murmured, lips finally finding yours.

You did not know if you would ever grow used to making love to Tony. The only time he had ever been anything close to gentle was on your wedding night, and you had still cried, waking up sore and bruised. It eventually dawned on you that this was simply how Tony was, but it did not mean that you had to like it. 

The years that passed did not improve things as you’d hoped they would. Tony was still the same as ever, and Peter was no different. Your conversations with the prince were rare, but every one was brief and left you with a paralyzing chill. When he was not speaking to you, his animosity was enough to force you to keep your distance. The hurt that his behavior caused never got any easier. 

“When you have a child of your own, this will mean nothing to you,” Tony would assure you.

However, it only did the opposite. Even though Peter was not your own, it did not mean that you viewed him any less, and you knew that would not change when you finally did have a child. Whenever that happened. You and Tony had been trying for years, and there was still nothing to show for it. It was a great source of stress for you both, but Tony was taking it much harder than you.

“They say that it took many tries before they were finally able to have Peter, and even afterwards...the queen was never able to conceive again,” Guinevere had whispered to you one night.

“Oh,” you sadly said. “How awful…”

The blonde girl had glanced around the busy kitchen before leaning in.

“The king will never admit it, but many believe that he was the problem, and considering he is experiencing the same thing with you…”

Your heart sank as she trailed off, and despite everything, you found yourself feeling sorry for your husband. Many would argue that you should feel sorry for yourself. After all, it was a popular opinion that the woman’s womb was always at fault, and kings have gotten rid of their wives for less, but you knew that Tony was far too possessive of you to ever do such a thing.

It was a subject you wished you could talk to Peter about. He knew his father far better than you did, and sometimes you wished you could get some insight on how to make this better for him, but Peter was disgusted by your very presence. There came a time when you reluctantly accepted that it might always be this way, but everything changed when Peter was only a few weeks shy of his twenty-third birthday.

Tony, ever the showoff, was having a ball every week for five weeks straight leading up to the night. It was the second gathering when he had dragged you out of the great hall. His hold had been tight, steps hurried, and you forced yourself to swallow down the pain. The corridor was dimly lit and equally as empty, and tears of frustration were kissing your eyes.

“Tony-.”

“I saw you,” he spat.

“Saw me what? Saw me greet one of your friends? Because that is exactly what King Steven is to me and nothing more!”

His dark eyes were hard as he pressed his fingers into your arms, lip curled over his teeth as he sneered at you.

“He desires you. It is plain as day, and he has never been subtle,” he bit out.

“Somehow I am at fault for that? Steven is a bachelor in every sense of the word. That is how he is, and you know it-.”

“Yes, but I thought to myself, surely my loving wife would have the sense not to entertain his antics!”

“I was being polite,” you told him, wincing at his tight grip. “Just because you are only ever nice to people when you want something-.”

You swallowed your words with a sharp shriek, pressing your hand to your hot cheek as the tears finally spilled over. Your eyes were on the floor as Tony shook you, a scathing remark on his tongue, no doubt, when he suddenly stilled, swallowing whatever he was about to say. His sudden change confused you, and you hesitantly looked up only to realize that his gaze was not on you. You turned to find Peter standing just at the entrance of the corridor, his wide eyes on the two of you. 

Tony was quick in straightening you up, and you hurriedly looked away as he acknowledged Peter.

“Why are you not enjoying your celebration with your friends?”

It was a while before Peter responded.

“I noticed that you had slipped out, so I came to find you. I had hoped to continue our...conversation from earlier,” the prince answered.

When you turned back around, you avoided Peter’s eye, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. Tony’s hand was rubbing into your back as he responded.

“Of course. Sweetheart, you will excuse us, won’t you? Peter and I have much to discuss, and I am sure the other wives are missing your presence,” he said, turning to you.

He threw you a tense and threatening smile, and you shakily returned it with a forced one.

“Of course. I shall see you in there when you return. Peter,” you acknowledged as you hurried past him, avoiding his gaze still.

You did not return to the hall though, but instead made your way down to the kitchen. It was filled with servants, and Mary Jane gasped when she saw you. She and Guinevere were always joined at the hip, but the other girl had been ill for the last few days. The redhead dropped what she was doing, shooing another servant off of a stool before grabbing your arm.

“My God,” she breathed.

The other occupants tended to the food and drinks, much too used to seeing you down here twice a week or so. Mary Jane pressed a cold piece of steak to your face, and you hissed.

“Is it that bad?”

“It is swelling already, your majesty,” she said.

You shifted on the seat, holding the cold meat to your face as you shooed her off.

“I hardly notice how hard he hits anymore. It still manages to shock me every time though, and I have no idea as to why,” you whispered.

She was just about to reply when another voice rang throughout the kitchen.

“Everyone out.”

You turned with wide eyes, confusion tearing through you at the sight of Peter just at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone seemed to hesitate for a moment, worrying about the food, no doubt, before eventually heeding his order. Mary Jane, no stranger to your relationship with the prince, threw you a worrying look before being the last one out. Peter seemed to hesitate as well before huffing, quickly approaching you.

You moved to stop him, but he was already pulling the red meat from your cheek before you had the chance. He stared at your skin for a while before putting it back in place. You held it there as he leaned against the counter, a familiar look of anger on his boyish features.

“This is not the first time this has happened,” he murmured.

There was no need to respond. It was a statement, not an answer. The silence was heavy, thick with tension and filled with words unspoken. Outside of that night, this was the longest you had ever been alone with Peter, and the first time you did not feel uncomfortable in his presence.

“You did not want to marry my father...did you?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, lips parting to refute such a blasphemous statement, but no words came out. Words failed you. Peter was a smart young man, always had been, and you were sure that he would see through whatever lie you pieced together.

“Of course, it was not like you could refuse if you wanted to. He is a king, and you were a mere lady,” he said more to himself than you.

You sighed, putting the steak down as you stood.

“My father has never been kind to anyone in his life. I do not know why I thought you were an exception…”

“Peter… I do not want this to affect how you view your father, do you understand?”

He simply frowned at you, and you continued.

“He is not without his flaws, this is true,” you slowly said. “...but he is still your father. In his own way, he loves you and only wants what is best.”

Peter stared at you for a while before scoffing, a humorless laugh not far behind. He pressed his hand to the counter as he stared at you with a look of shock.

“My father does not deserve you,” he said, almost as if he could not believe it.

He chuckled again, pressing his hand to his forehead.

“All this time, I thought that the two of you deserved each other. I hated you...and now...now I just feel sorry for you. For both my father...and me…,” he quietly finished.

“Peter-.”

“I have been nothing but cruel to you, and for that I am sorry. I am sorry for the things that I have done...and the things that I have said.”

You blinked, convinced that you would never hear those words. They warmed your heart, and you looked away.

“It’s alright. You believed what you believed, and if I were in your shoes, I might have believed the same. Your feelings were valid, Peter,” you told him.

He blinked at you.

“I never wanted to replace your mother. That is still not what I desire...but I am here. I know that there is only a decade between us, but I have come to love you like a son despite everything.”

Peter’s eyes softened, and you could see the guilt there.

“I never wanted to rush you, even now, but I hope that you will view me the same one day. Tony is no longer your only parent, and I am always here.”

Peter looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he held off.

“I should get back before your father comes looking for me,” you said, heading for the stairs. “Oh...and please refrain from provoking him.”

You looked to Peter.

“I may dislike him at times, but I do not want to send him to an early grave.”

Peter simply hummed, sending you a strained smile before you left him to find your husband.

You remained in the corridor as the angry voices bled through the door. Both Tony and Peter assured you countless times that their strained relationship was none of your concern, but it could not be helped. They had never had the best relationship, but if possible, it had soured even more over the years, and you were unsure of who to blame.

The minute Tony started to get more serious about grooming Peter for the throne, things had gone from tense and strained to borderline violent at times. Not only did the two have such opposing views when it came to how to run the kingdom, but your husband had been pushing the idea of marriage more and more lately. It had only gotten worse when Peter neared his twenty-fifth birthday, the party on that fateful day ending abruptly when Peter had stormed out.

You were pulled from your reverie when the door swung open. Peter was the first one out, and he held up a hand as you moved to approach him.

“Not now, Y/N,” he huffed, quickly striding down the corridor with a frustrated sigh.

Tony emerged not long after, and you moved to kiss him, knowing that it would soothe him for the time being.

“That boy will be the death of me,” he complained.

“You both provoke each other, and I do not know why,” you told him. 

“He has duties! He is twenty-five and nowhere near taking them seriously. It seems that he is determined to ruin me,” he spat.

You sighed.

“Would you like for me to talk to him?”

“You seem to be the only one he actually listens to, so by all means,” he gestured down the hall, face cloudy.

You patted his chest before leaving him, wondering if a day would come where you would be a functional family. You and Peter were nowhere near what you used to be, and for that you were eternally grateful, but his relationship with Tony was far worse than it had ever been, and you did not know how to even begin to fix it.

You found Peter sparring with his dueling instructor. The sound of clashing swords was loud, and you rounded the corner, wincing when Peter just narrowly missed a rather dangerous blow. He motioned for the other gentleman to stop once he spotted you.

“Come on his behalf, have you?”

“Peter,” you sighed.

He snapped at the other man.

“Give your queen a sword, will you? Come,” he was talking to you now. “Spar with me.”

You reluctantly accepted the other man’s sword, a grimace on your face as you stepped forward.

“I am a horrible dueling partner,” you complained.

“Nonsense, Y/N. You are far better than what you were a year ago,” Peter said with a chuckle.

Your heart sank a bit at the sound of your name, but it did not distract you from blocking the swing of his sword with your own. Peter smirked at you.

“See?”

“Peter, this is not why I am here,” you told him.

“Of course not,” he calmly said. “My father knows that between the two of you, you are the only one I actually respect. He believes that you have some sway over me...and I am not reluctant to admit that he is right.”

He blocked your blow, quick to do so again when you swung your sword down towards his legs. He eyed you, a bit of pride in his gaze.

“Very good,” he praised.

“I was hoping to talk you into agreeing to some sort of compromise with him. Any compromise, really.”

Peter let out a humorless laugh, spinning before bringing his sword down over his head. Your eyes were wide as you lifted your sword, the sound of them clashing meeting your ears.

“There is no compromising with that man. He is determined to bring this kingdom and all of its subjects to ruin, and he wishes for me to just stand back and watch. He does not hear a word I say,” he spat.

He swiped his sword at you, several times and in several different successions. Unable to keep up, you were not surprised when your sword was knocked from your hands. You did not flinch when the tip of his blade found your throat, confident that Peter would never hurt you. He pressed the tip further, eyes locked on yours, and you swallowed.

“Do you agree with him?”

“Of course not,” you honestly answered.

Peter lightly dragged his blade down your neck and towards the top of your dress, his eyes following its movement before he quickly snatched it away. He tilted his head at you, raising an eyebrow as he waited for you to continue.

“You know I do not agree with how your father runs this kingdom, but I have no say. I never did. Believe it or not, Peter, you have much more influence than I do.”

He turned away with a disbelieving laugh.

“Somehow, I doubt that…”

“Look, I am going to say something that I know you are not going to like,” you suddenly said.

Peter did not respond, so you continued.

“I think that you should consider marriage.”

You saw him straighten at that, back tense, and you rushed to say something else.

“If Tony feels that you are taking your future seriously, then he will be more inclined to take you seriously.”

He turned to you with a withering look, and you rolled your eyes.

“Do not look at me that way. I am not saying that you have to marry some poor girl right away, but at least make an effort to look around, and show Tony that you are attempting to meet him halfway,” you advised.

Peter gave you a hard stare for the longest time before eventually rolling his eyes and looking away.

“Very well. You always do get your way, don’t you, Y/N?”

Your mouth parted for a moment before you snapped it shut, looking down. This did not go unnoticed by Peter, and he neared you.

“What is it, now?”

Your eyes met his, and you tried to hide your hurt, but it must have been clear as day. Peter’s entire demeanor softened, and he stuck his sword in the dirt, reaching for you.

“What is it?”

You exhaled.

“That...is another thing I had hoped to discuss with you.”

He frowned in confusion.

“You still refer to me by my name…” you watched as his face fell. “And I do not wish to rush you, I never have, but when you say my name...it makes me feel as if I am doing something wrong here.”

“You are not,” he rushed to assure you. “Believe me…”

“I do not want to replace your mother, but if I am doing something-.”

“It is merely a force of habit. That is all,” he interrupted. 

“You are sure…?”

“Positive,” he said with a small smile.

“...okay,” you said with a nod. “...and what will you be doing after this...?”

“I will be speaking with my father,” he reluctantly told you.

“Good,” you said, Peter bending to allow you to quickly peck his forehead. “...and please be polite. I hate the way you two provoke each other.”

He roughly exhaled.

“Yes...mother…,” he seemed to bite out, eyes on you.

You looked to him with wide eyes, heart swelling as your smile grew. You chuckled, kissing his forehead one last time before leaving him to finish his instruction.

Contrary to what you had hoped, your advice did not improve things. Now that Peter had agreed to at least looking for a wife, it just gave him and Tony one more thing to disagree on, and disagreements about the smallest of things only gave room for disagreements about more serious matters. Peter hated the way Tony ran the kingdom, and you could not fault him for that.

Meals were more tense than ever, and it soon became suffocating to be in the same room as father and son. You did your best to keep the peace between them but there was only so much you could do. Especially when the arguments would get so intense that you feared for them. Tony could get so angry, and while you had never known him to put his hands on Peter as he did you, it still worried you that he might one day. And Peter…

Sometimes Peter would get a look in his eye that chilled you to the bone. He would get so fed up with his father, lips pressed together as Tony tore into him, and you would see the younger man’s eyes flash with something you could not name. It was a look that terrified you and made him look like someone that was not Peter, at all. 

Tensions only mounted as your birthday neared. You did not want either of them involved in the party planning process, convinced this would be the final nail in the coffin. Truth be told, it was also for yourself as well. It allowed you to breathe better.

“The party is tomorrow night, and Peter has yet to have the last fitting for his attire,” you told Mary Jane as you stood.

“I can finish this up, your majesty, while you go find Peter,” she replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! I am almost finished, anyway.”

“Wonderful! I shall return shortly. There are only so many places he could be at this hour…”

The corridors were scarcely occupied as you decided to check Peter’s chambers first, making your way to his wing of the castle. You were unsurprised to find them empty, and you quickly made your way outside. He had a habit of frequenting the grounds, the maze especially, and you were confident that you would find him there then. 

You had not been inside the maze for a while, but you remembered how to navigate it vividly. You were deep within it, somewhere in the middle perfectly between the beginning and the end when you stumbled upon a sight you were not prepared for.

At the other end of a long stretch, were a couple, far too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence. You felt your face heat up as you stumbled upon the lovers, and you were prepared to turn back when the young man lifted his head, familiar eyes meeting yours. A gasp escaped you, and you were frozen on the spot as Peter simply stared at you.

He did not break his gaze as he continued to thrust into the woman beneath him, who you absentmindedly recognized as Guinevere. Her eyes were closed, clinging to Peter as moans tumbled from her lips, and even though Peter was silent as he stared at you, the heat in his eyes was undeniable. Finally coming to your senses, you willed your feet to move, but you did not escape in time to miss the way Peter’s deep moan rang throughout the air.

Upon your return, you told Mary Jane that you were unable to find Peter. You did not want to think of the awkward encounter, and told yourself that the tailor had never been wrong before. You were positive that Peter’s attire would fit. You did not see the young man again until the following day, your birthday, and it was only an hour or so until your party. Tony was meeting with a few of his Lords when there was a knock on your chamber door.

You were quick to answer it, surprised to find Peter on the other side. You only felt uncomfortable for a moment before you took in his attire. You beamed, widening the door to allow him in.

“Oh, Peter, you look positively dashing!”

“Did you doubt that I would?” he smugly wondered.

You threw him a look.

“I swear, you are getting more and more like your father every day,” you told him with a chuckle.

“I got you something,” he suddenly said, and it was only then did you notice the box in his hand.

You blinked in surprise, eyes widening when he opened it to reveal the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. The ruby heart in the middle was positively blinding, standing out against the rest of the diamonds that made up the band. You pressed your hand to your chest, mouth parting.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Oh my… Peter, this is so sweet of you,” you told him.

“Well,” he started, setting the box aside as he took the piece of jewelry into his hands. “It is not every day that one turns thirty-six.”

He motioned for you to spin around, and you obliged.

“This might also double as an apology for yesterday. I regret that you had to see that,” he chuckled.

You joined him, waving him off.

“Nonsense, Peter. It was a bit of a shock, but nothing more. You are a young man, after all, and I could never fault you for doing what young men do. You are treating Guinevere well, I hope? She is a sweet girl.”

Peter groaned.

“Yes, Y/N.”

Your heart sank at the sound of your name, and you frowned a bit.

“I am treating her just fine,” he assured you.

You chose not to comment on his use of your name, wondering if you had done something wrong.

“Would you ever consider marrying her?” you pushed.

Peter was quiet as he brought his hands over to lower the necklace at your neck. It was not one that rested at your décolletage, but at your throat instead, and your eyes widened a bit when he pulled it back. You reached up to your neck, forced to stumble back into his chest to keep from choking, relaxing a bit when he finally clasped it together.

“No,” was his simple answer. “It is not like that.”

He rested his hands on your shoulder, turning you around to admire you. His dark eyes took you in before finally focusing on the necklace, the corner of his lips lifting a bit. He pressed his finger to the ruby heart, drawing patterns over it before eventually stepping away.

“It looks great,” he told you.

“Thank you. We should track down your father before they start my own celebration without me,” you replied.

It was not long after that the three of you were entering the great hall, a smile on your face as everyone greeted you. Tony and Peter were at your sides, and both of their hands rested at the small of your back as they guided you to the royal table at the head of the room. Everyone only quieted down when you took your seats, and you looked down at the familiar faces with a smile.

Your attention was drawn to Peter as he stood, raising his glass as a servant came by to fill them. He only filled yours and Peters, but another quickly came to fill Tony’s. Once everyone’s glasses were filled, that was when Peter spoke.

“I would like to propose a toast…”

He turned to look down at you, dark eyes unreadable as he swallowed.

“...to the woman who loved me even when I did not deserve it.”

Your heart swelled as you smiled at Peter, so happy that you two had come this far.

“No one could ever replace my mother...and I would not want them to, but you, Y/N, you are the next best thing.”

Your eyes softened, realizing that while maybe Peter did not see you as something akin to a mother just yet, he still loved you, and that gave you hope. You could live with that for now. Peter’s eyes fell onto his father, and he suddenly smiled.

“...and to my father, the king. If it were not for you, Y/N would never have come into our lives.”

His voice was even, but his eyes glinted before he turned to the rest of the royal court, his glass held high.

“To the king and queen. Long may they reign,” his voice traveled over the room.

Everyone else repeated his words before taking a drink, you and Tony following suit. As you set your glass down, you watched, a bit concerned, as Peter swallowed all of his wine, a look of satisfaction on his face as he lowered his glass. You turned to Tony, prepared to ask him if he wished to say anything, just as he let out that first cough.

It sounded nasty, and you frowned, prepared to ask him if he drank too fast when he coughed again, blood staining his bottom lip. Your heart fell to your stomach, eyes widening as you reached for him, hands trembling. You were prepared to call for help when you noted the sound of several coughs reaching your ears, followed by screams.

When you turned towards the rest of the room, you saw every single one of the royal court coughing up blood, and you stood on unsteady legs as understanding dawned on you. You reached for Peter, your hand gripping his arm as fear and horror clung to you.

“P-Peter…”

You looked to him, but his face was stony as he looked down at everyone. The only people who were okay were you, Peter, the servants, and the few guards. You watched as Peter waved his hand, confusion filling you as two guards opened the door to let more in. You were frozen as they all drew their swords, stomach churning as you realized what was about to happen. You turned back to Peter, but he was already moving past you.

“Peter, what- what is happening? What are you doing?”

You lunged for him as he drew a dagger, hand fisted into his fathers hair to pull the struggling man’s head back.

“Peter, no!”

He shoved you away, right into the arms of a waiting guard, and you did not turn your head in time to miss the way he dragged the blade across his father’s neck. A scream left you, belonging to a voice that you did not recognize, and you continued to scream and cry as the guard backed up. Peter pointed at you, his father’s blood coating his hand, his face unrecognizable to you.

“Get her out of here…”

His eyes met yours, dark with a harmful intent that terrified you. Who was this man? He ran his eyes over you.

“...and do not let her get away.”

You fought against the guard as he dragged you away, kicking and screaming all the way. Your efforts did not even cease as you made it into the corridor, having been forced past the dead bodies of your friends and acquaintances. The guard towered over you and was easily double your size, so all of your efforts were useless. 

He only let you go when you reached Peter’s chambers, dragging you through the receiving chamber to toss you onto the floor of his bedchamber. The impact made your head spin, and by the time you pushed yourself to your feet, he was already pulling the door shut. You slammed your hands against it just as you heard it lock, and another sob threatened to escape you.

You had only ever been in Peter’s room a handful of times, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked around. Your chest hurt, heart breaking as you recalled the way Peter had so callously taken his father’s life. Your husband was dead, and it was no secret that the man was far from perfect, but his absence scared you. What would become of you now? Why did Peter not poison you like the rest? God, had his feelings never changed, at all? Had he still secretly hated you this whole time and wanted to get some sick satisfaction out of killing you here?

You lost count of how many times you tried the door before moving to the balcony doors. They too did not budge, and you kicked them in frustration. You could barely form a coherent thought, and more tears spilled over as you realized just how alone you were. You did not understand anything. Why would Peter do this?

As you heard someone enter his receiving chamber, it occurred to you that you might get your answer.

Your eyes met Peter’s as he entered his chambers, and you stumbled back, afraid to take your eyes off of him. You watched as he locked the door behind him, and the sight of that made your face crumble.

“What have you done?” you shakily asked.

The room was quiet save for your soft sobs, and you flinched when Peter took a step forward. He did not look like the young man you knew. He stood there in the dark attire he had picked out for your birthday, looking every bit like the murderous man you now knew him to be. A dark strand of hair kissed his forehead, jaw clenched as he eyed you. It started to lightly rain outside, and your eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

His father’s blood.

“Have you come to kill me too?”

Finally, his face shifted, and he frowned at you.

“Kill you?”

Peter scoffed, laughing to himself as he tilted his head at you.

“You could not be farther from the truth…”

“Then what do you plan to do? What are you doing, Peter? I do not understand…”

“My father was going to run this kingdom into the ground. We both know it…”

You started shaking your head before he was even done.

“Something had to be done.”

“Not like this! You killed him- you killed everyone,” you cried.

“...and here I thought you would be thanking me,” he sneered.

“Thanking you?”

“Unless I was wrong, and you enjoy being slapped around,” he threw at you.

You felt as if you were just slapped then, and you pressed your back into the wall, tightening your arms around yourself.

“Not like this, Peter. Not like this,” you tearfully murmured.

The rain got louder, filling the otherwise silent room with some noise, and you flinched when lightning flashed, shedding light on the room and on Peter’s dark gaze.

“What will become of me? Did you ever think about that? I am the widow of a murdered king. A king murdered by his own son in a coup!”

“...and the future wife of the next one,” Peter calmly stated.

You froze, his words failing to make sense despite the fact that you heard him just fine. Something about them did not sound right, and your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping you.

“What...what did you just say?” you hesitantly questioned. 

Peter took another step towards you, and you slid along the wall...away from him.

“Do you have any idea how much it pained me to watch you with him?”

“Peter…”

You shook your head, still moving away as he moved closer.

“Do know what it was like to watch him mistreat you again and again only to turn around and reap the spoils of his marriage as if he had not just caused you harm only moments before?”

His voice was low, thick with something you were too disgusted to name. Your eyes were wide, filled with tears as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Peter’s feelings, his father’s murder...the two of you alone in a castle full of people that have proven their loyalty to him. Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, standing face to face with you, but now, eight years later, the young man towered over you.

He suddenly chuckled, and the sound terrified you more than anything now.

“I find it funny… My father was always telling me that royals take. We take what is ours. We take what we believe we should have. That is what we do, son,” he mocked. “We take.”

His cold eyes bore into yours as you stumbled away from him. In a circle the two of you went, and you pulled on the handle of the door as you pressed your back to it. Fresh tears spilled as it refused to budge.

“Now look. I have taken his life, I have taken his kingdom, and I have taken the woman he thought belonged to him-.”

He swallowed the rest of his words as you suddenly dived to the other side of the room. Peter followed, and you reached up to pull the portrait from the wall, tossing it at him only for Peter to evade it. You frantically crawled across the bed, kicking Peter in the chest as he reached for your ankle. You fell to your knees on the other side, running to the balcony doors with tears in your eyes.

Again, the doors would not budge, and you were prepared to throw yourself through the glass when Peter was suddenly there at your back. He enclosed you in his arms, and you reached back to fight against him and push him away, but he only pinned you between him and the glass. The sound of the thunder drowned out your screams, and you yelped in shock when he fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head to the side.

Peter was determined to taste you, tongue and teeth brushing your skin as he ground himself against you. Nothing you did seemed to deter him, and it suddenly felt hard to breathe. The storm raged outside, wind pushing rain against the window. One of Peter’s hands dragged up your leg, pushing the skirts of your dress with it, and you slammed your hands against the window, attempting to push back.

This only egged him on, and he moaned in your ear.

“Peter, please,” you begged

You could feel the air against you, and your efforts to get away only increased when you felt him moving to release himself. The hand in your hair moved to your neck, cutting off your airway as he pulled your head back to rest against him. You struggled to breathe, nails scraping against the glass. He leaned down to cover your lips with his own, kissing you for the first time, and you sharply inhaled.

He moaned at the taste of you, his tongue meeting yours, tasting the wine that you wish had killed you too. You both struggled against the window, your hands turning into fists when he pushed his leg between yours, quickly followed by the other. You turned your head away, your small victory overshadowed by your ultimate defeat as he thrust into you. You yelped just as Peter shuddered against your back, a long sigh escaping him as he pressed a hand into the glass beside your head.

He pressed his face into your hair, grinding against you, the sound of him breathing you in reaching your ears. Your own forehead was pressed to the glass now, tearful eyes taking in the storm as Peter dragged his cock in and out of your unwilling core. Your body shook from both your sobs and his ministrations, and again, you pushed against the glass in hopes to push him away.

He merely shoved his chest into your back, forcing you back against the glass before wrapping his arms around you again. One hand pulled at the neckline of your dress, ripping it straight down, and your lashes fluttered when he slipped his hand beneath the fabric to roll his fingers over you. His other arm came across your middle, pinning your own at your sides.

“You are finally mine,” he breathed after a while.

You shook your head in denial, another lightning strike bathing the room in a glow. It was gone as quickly as it came, and you were forced to focus on Peter’s reflection in the window. He was lost in the euphoria of you, the feel of you wrapped around him, sucking him back in again and again.

“Finally,” he groaned. “At my side and in my bed as my queen…”

His hand slipped from beneath the torn fabric of your dress, dancing along your skin before his fingers brushed over the diamond choker at your neck.

“I have all night to claim you as mine, and no one is around to stop me.”

“Peter, this is not you-.”

“Oh, but it is,” he sighed. “This is the man you loved when he did not deserve it. This is the man you will marry, bear children with…’

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears falling at his words.

“Oh, please. Everyone knew that my father was the problem. He was the only one in denial about it, and I have a feeling that by the time I am done with you, you shall be with child by tomorrow.”

“Peter, please,” you screamed.

His hand tightened on your throat, pulling your head back so you were forced to stare at the ceiling, back arched to take his slow and purposeful thrusts. He kissed the corner of your eye before doing the same to your cheek. His breathing was choppy, heart pounding in his chest, and the way his hips stuttered told you that he was close.

“Oh God,” he moaned, stilling against your back as he spilled himself into you.

You froze against him at the feel, realizing that there was no turning back. You shook in his hold, feeling the urge to be sick when he suddenly pulled out of you, replacing his cock with his fingers. You gasped, reaching down to grab his wrist as he shoved a second finger inside of you, the wet sound of it reaching your ears even with the rain outside. He pressed you to his chest as he curled his fingers into you.

You bucked your hips, ashamed with your actions as he pulled pleasure from you like it was nothing. LIke he somehow knew your body better than you did. His lips were at your ear, brushing against your skin before he trailed them to your neck again, pressing kisses there. Your nails dug into his wrist, but he paid your efforts no mind as he thrust his fingers into you, setting a pace that had your legs shaking. You knew that if it were not for his hold, you would have collapsed already.

Peter hummed when your breath hitched.

“You are close...aren’t you?”

“Peter...stop,” you shakily begged.

“I shall stop when I feel your arousal dripping down my hand,” he purred.

His words had you clenching around him, and he moaned against your neck.

“I suppose I cannot blame my father for being so possessive of you. Your walls feel like heaven…”

“Peter…”

“I do not know how I will ever allow you to leave our bed-.”

“Peter-.”

“I guess I shall just have to keep you tired…”

“Please-!”

“Come for me, Y/N. Fall apart for your king,” he whispered.

And you did. You seized in his arms, walls clenching around him, your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. Your nails drew blood, but he only moaned with you, cursing as you rode yourself on his fingers, your other hand reaching back to twist into his shirt. That was the hardest you ever came, and shame filled you.  As you came down from your high, Peter lowered the both of you to the floor.

It was only then did you notice the bloody handprints on the glass. The same blood on you, no doubt. More tears sprung forth as it all seemed to hit you, and Peter forced your head onto his shoulder as he shushed you. You obliged, and he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, rocking you as you sobbed in his tightening arms.

~

tags:   @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie  @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @mcudarklibrary @melli0112 @buckybarnesplumwhore @dramaholic18​

[wpdarlingpan]

How would yandere Damian Wayne react to his beloved having a fondness for books? Will he get jealous that she keeps gushing about non existent fictional characters? Lol I have a feeling he will 🤣

I absolutely love this idea, it was fun to write.

Trigger Warning: Abuse

(Not on Damians end but Y/N’s father)

Nothing descriptive and very brief.

~*~

Damian had met his beloved at school after she was the only one who didn’t chase after him. She didn’t even seem to notice he was there. He was determined to change that.

The first day they talked he introduced himself, waiting to see her reaction to his last name but gained nothing more than a polite introduction from herself than she returned back to the book she was reading before he interrupted her. If she hadn’t got immersed back into the book than she would have seen the surprised look adorning the young Wayne’s face.

From there on he was determined to know everything about her. He used the bat computer to find out that she lived with her father in a nice house near his own. Her mother died during child birth and she had no siblings. Damian wished he didn’t have ‘siblings’ even if he never called them that. Well... maybe Grayson. But Todd could go along with Drake.

He decided to go to her house to check in on her and his excuse was to gather intel, but what he saw was not what he was prepared for. Damian saw Y/N’s Father yelling at her as if she had nine something terrible. Damian watched as the man cursed out his young daughter making Damian scowl and tighten his hands into fists. But they suddenly stopped fighting so Damian left as he had school tomorrow and he wanted to talk to you then. If he had stayed a second longer he’d have seen her getting locked into the cupboard under the stairs without dinner.

But luckily for her she had books. She read hunger games, Harry Potter, and many more. Even twilight even though she absolutely despised the ‘Bella’ character. But they all had love. She loved to read about love and the feeling of euphoria it gave people.

“Maybe one day.” She thought to herself.

The next day Damian Wayne talked to her again. He made more progress but it was hard to keep her away from her book.

It continued for weeks and then to months. He had slowly broke down her barrier and she finally stopped ditching him to read a book.

After 3 months of talking and Damian following her around daily to make sure she was safe he finally asked her on a date.

She met him at the park during sundown. When she arrived there was a picnic blanket with a basket on it and a couple of cushions. She saw someone walk up to her from where they were sat by a tree and they gently grabbed her hand and led her to the set up.

“Do you like it?” Damian asked nervously. He knew that this date was what determined his future plans. She was his beloved even if she didn’t exactly know yet. If she didn’t like the date or found out she didn’t like him the same way he loved her than she would learn to with force and time or she could love the date and he will spend every moment of the day with her after he asks her to be his.

She smiled widely, liked it? She loved it! It was exactly like something out of a book. A grand romantic gesture.

He smirked at her smile and he just knew he was already successful in gaining her feelings. He noticed the shiny glint in her eyes.

“I love it Damian. Thank you.” She spoke smiled at him and leaned over to give him a hug making his heart spike with happiness.

They had a wonderful date and it resulted with a 2nd and 3rd one. Then he dropped the question and she couldn’t bring herself to say anything but yes.

Even as she noticed that some of the few friends she had distanced themselves from her after she agreed to be Damians girlfriend after the 3rd date.

Even when some of her romance books began to disappear, which is what really made her sad. Once she told Damian with tears in her eyes that a. Few of her books were missing he gave in and hid them in her room for her to find the next day.

That’s when something happens. Y/N’s father was killed in a police shooting after he had assisted the Joker himself on a robbery. Worst part was Y/N found out over the news.

Damian was very happy with the news of the death fo his beloveds dad. He found out about the abuse after he snuck in to her house the second time and heard a lock click with no Y/N in sight.

Damian told his father about the girl and Damian played his fathers weaknesses against him he told him that she was abused and that she needed help. She needed to be safe. That thing that convinced him finally was that Damian told Bruce that she was the one and Bruce’s eyes widened greatly before he moved into a smirk. Of course his son had found his beloved, Bruce was a Yandere too of course, where else would Damian have got the tendencies from? His mother Talia or his grandfather Ra’s? They both would be caught dead saying the four letter word.

That’s how Y/N was adopted by the Wayne’s.

That’s how she ended up staying in the room next to Damians.

That’s how she ended up being with him 24 hours a day, since he got his classes switched so he was in all of hers but when it was questioned it was for academic reasons.

Y/N was sad though. She had no friends other than Damian. Her father was dead, her mother was dead, she had no family. No matter how bad her father treated her all she could think was that she deserved the pain.

A month after the shooting Damians Yandere side began to progress. She wasn’t allowed out of the Manor without being accompanied by him if she was allowed to leave at all.

She had been taken out of school alongside Damian by Bruce at the request of his son who didn’t like that boys and girls were looking at his beautiful beloved.

He was obsessed with his love.

A few months after living in the manor, meeting everyone, and adjusting to Damians possessiveness and rules she was doing okay. She wouldn’t dare go against Damian after he had guilt tripped her after she said she wanted to be alone for awhile and take a walk. Damian was glad that she was so easily manipulated that she didn’t even attempt to fight his love. He had to protect her form the cruel world he had experienced first hand. Her kindness, innocence, and trusting nature would get her killed in Gotham. But there was nothing to worry about because he was there to protect her. He always would be.

But she grew slightly distant from Damian after she began reading the books in the Wayne Library. There was a whole room stocked shelf by shelf with books.

She had been in there reading a book where the main character was trained with a sword and was a Assassin but he fell in love with his target. That’s where Damian saw her after he had been searching for after he began to getting annoyed after being away from her for so long.

“What are you reading My Beloved?” She had gotten used to the nickname and would slightly blush at every use of it. It was another thing that seemed like it was straight out of a book, he was her knight in shining armor.

“It’s called His Mission, His Love. It’s about this dashing guy who can sword fight and is a very skilled Assassin. He falls in love with the girl he was supposed to assassinate for his group of assassins. But he failed it by falling in love. I haven’t found out what happens yet. He sort of reminds me of Finnick from that other book I told you about, Hunger games remember? Well he wields a trident and it looks super cool and...” she was cut off from Damian snatching the book from her hands and shutting it without even marking her page making her lose her page.

“Hey!” She cried out as he tossed the book across the room. He scowled when she yelled at him which result in him standing directly in front of her as she sat on the couch and he leaned down to her height the grabbed her chin making her face towards him instead of that insufferable book he had tossed across the room.

“You don’t need that book got it? You have me, and you only need me.” He spoke looking into her eyes as his face was only inches apart from her own.

“But...” she began to say. She loved books, it was nice to image the love. But she couldn’t exactly say she didn’t know the feeling for herself now after dating Damian. He had done so much for her to keep her safe and well after he father died.

“I can sword fight, I’m a assassin, I am even more handsome and richer than any character in those terribly pointless books. You don’t need them when you have me.”

She looked at him weirdly and that’s when he realized that in a fit of jealousy - over a book character- he admitted by secret he hadn’t told her yet.

“Assassin? Fighting? What are you taking about Damian.”

He rolled his eyes at her but explained.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m Robin. My fathers batman, Graysons Nightwing, Todd is Red Hood, and Drake is Red Robin.” He watched as her eyes widened making him begin to lose himself in the beautiful eyes he loved so dearly.

“Really?” She said in disbelief but it did make sense. But that’s when she suddenly blushed at a thought and by the fact it took her so long to blush Damian was thinking that she was thinking back to her book character again as her eyes darted away from him coincidentally to where the book was.

“What are you thinking about My Beloved?” he demanded in a cool tone that was laced with jealously. He grip on her chin tighten a little more and his other hand laid on her waist.

She murmured something he couldn’t hear which was very surprising as he was so close to her.

“Repeat what you said but louder. Please” he spoke waiting for her to say she was thinkjnt about the assassin from her book but he wasn’t prepared for what she would say.

“I used to have a crush on Robin, he is my favorite.” She spoke then closed her eyes willing the blush that adorned her cheeks to disappear.

This would be the first time that Damian let out a huge smile and a slight laugh of disbelief.

“I pictured him... or well you as the character from my book because of the similarities.” She spoke still lightly dying from embarrassment which worsened when he scooped her up from the couch and into his arms before kissing her face multiple times while she laughed at the feeling. Then he sat down o the couch with her in his lap, not letting go as she tried to climb out of it.

“Stay here My Beloved. Why don’t I tell you real stories?”

And that was how Damian got jealous... over himself.

And how Y/N found out the identity’s of the Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Red Robin, and most of all Robin.

And it all started because of a book.

[crowdedimagines]

Familiar Love - Harry Styles

harry and y/n have a hard time staying out of each other’s arms, not that there’s a place they’d rather be Famous!Y/n

“Well well well.” Harry grins, opening his door wider to his home for me. 

“Why are you acting all surprised? You invited me here.” I get on my toes to steal a fast peck from him as I walk by. I walk into the living room I have grown very familiar with over the years. Harry’s London home never changes, his one taste of consistency.  

“Of course I did, we’re both in London at the same time.” 

“I know.” I roll my eyes, backing up the stairs to his room. He matches my steps evenly, pacing us like predator and prey. I slide my jacket off my shoulder, ditching it for the floor. His eyes never leave mine. If I didn’t know this house so well, I would be on my ass by now. 

“It’s been a while since this has worked out.” He presses a stolen kiss to my cheek, then another and another, “I’ve missed you.” 

“Missed me or a muse?” I bite down lightly on his earlobe, he backs me into his bedroom finally. 

“Always miss you.” 

“That’s right, you are pretty obsessed with me.” I smirk. 

“M’not obsessed with you.” He defends, finally pulling his face away from my neck. 

“Well your discography would beg to differ.” 

“Shh.” He works on the spot he knows would normally occupy my mind enough that I couldn’t banter. The spot just below my ear where my neck and jaw meet. 

“Temporary Fix, Perfect, Change Your Ticket-”

“Alright alright” Harry rolls his eyes, dimples showing up on his cheeks while he fights a smile.

“-and that’s not even counting your solo career” I tease, letting him back me onto his bed. “Only Angel, She-” 

“You’re such an ass sometimes.” He shakes his head, as if in disbelief, but his smile only grows wider. 

“What?” I scoff feigning shock, “You love my ass.” He presses a kiss to my collarbone. 

“Yes, I do. Now shut up so I can love on you for the first time in eight months.” 

-     -     -  

Harry and I were the worst and best things to ever happen to each other. We met when we were too young. My career had just started, I had a singular album to my name and was lucky to open for any band that was on a tour. Harry was a couple years into One Direction by the time we met. 

It was on a red carpet, thankfully not my first, but my first time being on the carpet for an award show that I actually had a nomination for. This was huge for me. My album had done well, but never expected a recognition like this. 

I met Niall before I met Harry. I had bumped into him walking in and he complimented my music, even claiming one of his mates ‘couldn’t get enough of it’. When he said that I wasn’t expecting him to walk me over to meet the rest of the band. Harry had been the ‘mate’ Niall had been referring to. 

I lost that night, to Ariana Grande, who in my own opinion deserved it more than me. That night didn’t feel like a loss though, because I got Harry out of it. We quickly became friends, texting, calling, facetiming any time we got the opportunity. One Direction was touring on a constant cycle, and I had just finished mine. I was in the process of writing my sophomore album, Harry flew me out and I ended up staying for the rest of the tour. 

It wasn’t a surprise to anyone that we started dating, the calls and giddy smiles were enough already to clue in everyone around us. I was able to get a glimpse at the world he lived in with his stardom, and soak in every second he wasn’t on stage. It didn’t take long for fans and the public to catch on. A few too many paparazzi pictures at each concert venue to avoid. 

Both of our managements allowed us to openly date, officially coming out to everyone with PDA and everything. It was amazing. I flew back home to Los Angeles to record my second album and before I could blink I was touring it. 

Things got hard for Harry and I at that point, we could never manage to be in the same city, or get time off to visit the other. My name was quickly becoming a household one, and One Direction had yet to ever even stall in popularity. 

It broke us both completely that after three happy years together, we had to call it quits. Neither of us were ready to give up our lives and it was no longer working to never see each other. We both needed to feel loved, and on opposite ends of the planet it wasn’t enough anymore. It was only a few months after our split that One Direction went on hiatus. 

Harry and I remained close. Some would say too close. It started with just being friendly whenever we saw each other at events or things with mutual events. It took one slip up that sent us back into each other’s arms. It was a New Year's party, we agreed to be with each other, because we didn’t have anyone else to kiss at midnight. 

Once you get a taste for someone you never stopped loving, it gets pretty hard to stop. So that’s how it all began. Harry and I decided to see each other, date, love, fuck, anytime we both happened to be in the same city. It didn’t happen as often as you would think. We both still had home across the world, and varying tour schedules. We both had on and off again partners, that then the deal would be off, but neither of our partners were ever in the picture for very long. For years it went on like this. It was heartbreak all over again though, once we knew that someone had to leave. 

-     -     -

“Well, that was fun! It’s been a while, Styles.” I let out a sigh to try and gain back my breath. We practically just ran a marathon. Maybe two. He does the same, a grin plastered to his face. 

“Too long.” He tilts his head to press a kiss to my bare shoulder. 

“Well I do believe a plane works two ways.” I turn on my side to face him, my head resting in my palm. 

“Mmm, I’ve been stuck in the studio. I’ve been working on new stuff.” 

“Ooh, a new album perhaps?” 

“Yeah, it’s been a whole process trying to get all my thoughts out and sorted.” He clears his throat. 

“So why not go to Jamaica like you did for your first? A new environment that you can just throw yourself into it.” I question. 

“I don’t know, it doesn’t feel like that for me. I did that because it was the first time I was doing music without One Direction. This time it’s a little more on me and how I feel.” 

We catch up for nearly an hour before we both feel gross from our previous activity and decide to take a shower. Together obviously. 

“Mum and Gem are coming over for brunch tomorrow.” He states. 

“Hmm?” I turn away from the shower head to face him again. 

“I think they’re going to be here close to 10:00.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” He places a hand on my hip, trapping me between him and the cool tile on the walls. “Never.” 

“So what do you want?” I ask, tilting my head up to fully look at him. To read every expression that crosses his face as the water pours over both of us. 

“I want you to stay. Have brunch with us.” 

“Are you sure?” I ask, pressing a kiss to his peck. 

“Yeah, if you can.”

“My fitting isn’t until 2:00 so that should give me plenty of time.” I smile, “Are you sure they aren’t going to think it’s weird that I’m there?” 

“They won’t think it’s weird. They’ll both be thrilled to see you. I swear everytime I pick up the phone they’re asking me how you’re doing.” 

“That’s funny considering how often that Gemma texts me.” I smile. 

“So you’ll stay for brunch?” 

“Mhm.” I pull him down to my height for a kiss. 

-     -     - 

“Well if it isn’t the one that got away.” Anne teases as she pulls me in for a tight hug. 

“Fuck-” Harry sighs, letting out air as if he took an actual physical hit. 

“Hi, Anne.” I laugh. 

“You just get more and more beautiful every-time I see you.” She holds my face in her hands and she studies me closely. Over the years Anne and I have only grown to be more close, even though I am no longer dating her son she still treats me as family which I can’t help but love her for. 

“Let me give her a hug!” Gemma pushes her way in and pulls me in tight against her chest. 

“Gem!” I grin. 

Harry and Anne walk into the kitchen together with Gemma and I following, arm in arm. I remember this from years ago. The Styles family would like to make brunches together every couple of weeks when they could. 

Obviously if Harry was touring or over in the States they couldn’t, but when they could they make the most of it. Everything is made from scratch, together. Nothing is decided until everyone gets there that morning. 

“How do we feel about waffles?” Gemma asks. 

“And eggs.” Harry adds. 

“And bacon.” Anne adds. 

Everyone turns to me waiting for my request. 

“And fresh fruit.” I smile. 

We all get to work and quickly become a well oiled machine. Them it’s not too surprising due to them doing this over the years, but I have to say I am able to jump in with ease. 

I cut up various fruits arranging them as beautifully as I can. A vibrant display of colors on the platter. 

“Excuse me, love.” He presses a kiss to my temple, a steadying hand at my waist as he reaches for a knife from the island. 

I prepare everyone’s drinks around the table as well considering my task went the quickest. Shortly, everyone joins me and we dig in. Everything tastes immaculate. 

We dive into conversation, the table never getting quiet for a second. Something I love so much about this family. There’s always something to be said.

“Well, I actually should be going it’s one o clock now, and I still need to drive to the other side of town.” I pick up my plate from the table. We’ve all been done eating for a while now, but the conversation kept us at the table. 

“Where are you off to?” Anne asks. 

“She’s got a fitting with Gucci.” Harry grins. 

“Wipe that smug little grin off your face.” I smack his shoulder lightly. 

“Gucci?” Gemma grins even wider than Harry did. 

“I am going to be the new face to the brand.” I smile, feeling pink raise up on my cheeks.

“For the whole company?” Gemma cheers. 

I simply nod as I grab a few other plates off of the table as I go. 

“Can I come with you?” Gemma asks, the two Styles siblings following my into the kitchen. 

“Why didn’t you act like this when I modeled for Gucci?” Harry asks, his jealous side coming out.

“Harry, you got a cologne, but she’s getting the whole company!” She huffs, “Do you know what cool clothes she’s going to be trying one?”

“I’m not getting the company!” I roll my eyes, putting the dishes in the wash. 

“You didn’t answer the question.” Gemma smirks. 

“Yes, Gem.” I laugh, “As long as you can be out the door in five minutes.” 

Gemma leaves the kitchen and goes back to tell Anne, leaving Harry and I alone. 

“You’re coming back here after, right?” He asks, trapping me against the counter. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll actually be in London for almost the entire campaign. You’re going to be sick of me soon.” I smirk. 

“Never.” 

-    -    -

“I am OBSESSED with that yellow jacket you had on!” Gemma sighs dreamily as we enter Harry’s flat several hours later. “It’s to die for!”

“Well, I can see if I can get it for you after the shoot.”

We make our way to the living room where Harry is settled in on the couch with a book. 

“An angel.” She turns to her brother, “Did you know this one is an angel?” 

“You give me too much credit.” I laugh. 

“Thanks for the reminder, Gem.” Harry chuckles. 

“Okay, now I will get out of your hair. I’ve already stolen all afternoon with you. Hopefully see you soon!” She pulls me in for a hug, “Love you.” I let Harry walk her to the door to say their goodbyes. 

Harry comes back after a few minutes and pulls me down in a hug on the couch. He lets out a deep sigh into my neck, pulling my head in even closer. 

“You okay, babe?” I ask, taking note of his obvious mood. 

“Mmm, I was just thinking while you were out.”

“And what were you thinking?” I pull back so I can get a good look at his face. It’s always been an easy way to see how he’s feeling. 

“I was just thinking that we’re both in such a better place than we were all those years ago. I don’t tour every year anymore, and I’m signed with good management that actually lets me make my own decisions.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, wrapping my arms around his neck and studying his face closely. 

“I’m saying that you only tour ever other year, at max. I do the same now. Why can’t we make this work for real again? We’re both more established now and have the right to chose when and where we do things. I know, we make time for each other when we’re in the same city, but there’s nothing saying we can’t be in the same city. I could live in Los Angeles full time. I could live with you. Or we could both go to New York. I don’t care, as long as we can be together.” 

“Harry, you’re sure about this? We haven’t truly been together in a long time. I love spending my time with you, truly, but I don’t want you to uproot your life just for me.” I clarify. He’s saying what I’ve wanted to hear for years, but I just want to make sure we’ve thought things through before I give either of us false hope. 

“It wouldn’t just be for you, it would be for us. I love you so much, I feel like I’m wasting time. It seems like a waste to know exactly who your soulmate is, and not do everything in your power to make it work.” 

“I love you, too.” I press a fast and passionate kiss to his lips, “Although, I do have one thing that I think we should change.”

“Anything.” He answers, his eyes all gooey and lovey making me break out in a grin. I couldn’t keep a straight face over how I’m feeling if it tried. 

“Let me move here.”

“What?” He asks shocked.

“You love London and being close to your family more than anything, I could never ask you to change that.” 

“But-”

“And I love being close to them too. If today proves anything, you are my family.”

“Let me make the move” I grin. 

“Happily.” Harry’s dimples are on full display. 

“Hey, isn’t that another song you wrote about me?” I tease.

“Oh, shut up.” He rolls his eyes, pushing me back against the couch. 

plz give me some feedback! i thought this was so cute 

[honeyhenry]

Captain Confusion

A/N: Inspired by this video that makes me weep with its cuteness! I just had to write this okay 🥺🥺🥺 This is in the same universe as Homeward Bound, which happens after this story. Feel free to give it a read after this, if you haven’t already! ALSO should note that the lovely @ohmygoodie​ is my Sy partner in crime and without them this fic would not be made possible :)

Warning: mention of operations/hospitals, and a whole lot of fluff!

It was a simple procedure and so it hadn't worried you too much, other than the usual fears when a loved one is under the knife while in the hands of trained doctors. Sy’s hernia had been authorised for operation only five minutes into the doctor’s appointment you had all but dragged him to, and scheduled for 4 days later. Not really much time to prepare mentally, but you knew it was necessary with your big bear of a man in pain. Despite the painkillers prescribed, he was walking with a limp and groaning in bed for all the wrong reasons.

In the waiting room, you and his Ma kept busy during the 45 minute wait by looking through magazines, talking about how the Captain’s quality of life will improve, and what kind of minor jobs you’ll have him do around the house while he’s recovering as you continue to work.

“I hope the recovery isn’t as long as some people have said. I know for a fact he’ll not want to be cooped up all day. If he’s anything, he’s stubborn” you sigh, knowingly.

Ma smiles, looking at you pointedly, knowing that she is in the presence of the only other soul who knows what is best for her son. “He knows better now that his health is his wealth. He’s got a lot more riding on being well now. After all, it’s not just him he’s gotta be there for anymore.”

“Yeah, I mean I always tell him, he’s not 25 anymore. Or even 30. I’ll need you to back me up, he does anything you say. I’m his equal, you’re his Mom.”

You both laugh a little, hers warm and kind, while yours tinges with the remaining hopeful nerves of an army Captain’s wife. You don’t like not knowing about your Sy, especially since you spent all those years apart, not knowing if he was safe, or even alive. The waiting, in any capacity, is the hardest part.

You’re flipping through a random tabloid magazine, when the surgeon in charge walks through to the waiting room.

“Everything went really well with Captain Syverson. He’s coming to from the anaesthetic and asking for his Ma?”

Ma grins before sucking her teeth between her lips watching as your mouth drops. You both move from the waiting area to follow the surgeon towards where your husband is resting. You speak under your breath, only wanting Sy’s Ma to hear you; “I hope he still remembers how to grovel after this.”

Ma enters the room with you following her, arriving only a couple more corridors along from where you’d last seen him earlier that morning. He may not have asked for you but you were going to see Sy whether he wanted it or not. A grand push of the door allows it to swing open, and suddenly there he is. A little disoriented but has a large dopey smile plastered on his face as soon as he sees his Ma. His heavy head lolls to one side as he rests it on the plush hospital pillow.

“Hey Ma” he groans out as she bends over her large son to give his forehead a kiss, taking his hand in hers. He spends a moment just gazing at her for a while, the love he has for her evident on his face, as she tells him that everything went well, and that he can go home tomorrow.

It’s only after this tender mother and son moment, that he notices you.

“Ma.... why ya bringing a beautiful girl here when I’m like this...oh god I’m not wearing underwear Ma!”

His feeble attempt at trying to cover himself means that you actually end up seeing far more of him than you expected. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but it definitely hasn't happened in front of his own mother before. The whole situation makes you blush and giggle a little as you try your best to avoid eye contact with Ma. You can only imagine the look on her face, and you don’t want to get any more involved with Sy’s naked form than you need to right now.

Rather than put you and your poor Sy through any further embarrassment, Ma speaks up.

“Oh darlin’, this is y/n. You remember her, right?”

And while he’s listening - or at least pretending to listen to his Ma fussing over him again - he’s just staring at you, gazing in awe as if you were the one to hang the stars in the sky.

“You are.... so pretty” he slurs, making you break out a genuine smile that he mirrors, glad that he was the one to make you look even more pretty.

“Well thanks handsome. How do you feel?” you perch on the edge of the bed and hold his hand. To him, the gesture feels warm and inviting - even if he doesn't know you, he recognises something about you in the comfort that you bring.

“Feel like shit. Oh fuck i said ‘shit’ in front of the lady” he whines again, scrunching his eyes closed as hangs his head in shame. It looks like he might even cry with the realisation that he’s made such a foolish impression of himself. It takes Ma shushing him and making him take a sip of juice from his bedside to calm down, dabbing his face with a cloth when his juice spills from his mouth.

“Oh Logan Daniel Syverson...what did they do to ya?” she lightly scolds as she helps clean up the mess he’s unknowingly created around him. That’s your Sy, a hurricane of mess that somehow fits into order just how he likes it.

You giggle a little more at his shameful expression, before he refocuses, giving you his undivided attention once more.

“How is it that ya know my Ma and we’ve never met? Or have we? ‘Cause I think i’d remember a face like yours” 

“Well...” you start, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear to let him see your entire face, hoping it would jog his memory. As you do so, the ring on your fourth finger glints in the hospital light, and for the first time since you've entered the room, he’s noticed.

“Oh...man...knew a girl like you would be snatched up already. Whoever has the honour of being yours is a very lucky man.” He smiles softly, a wistful look in his eye, while makes you realise that you can’t wait for the drugs to leave his system, you have to remind him who you are and who he is, right this very moment.

“Sy honey... we’re married. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife. I think the drugs are making you more than a bit loopy.”

It’s his turn for his jaw to drop, his eyes are unblinking as he takes in what you’ve just said. He turns sharply - more than his doctor would have probably liked - to his Ma, and then back to you, and then his Ma again, waiting for one of you to burst out laughing at the prank you surely must be playing on him.

“Wha-? A wife? I have a wife?” you nod and he exhales a deep breath of air in amazement. 

“YOU’RE my wife? Really?” you nod again and Ma smiles at you as she watches the scene of Logan meeting you all over again.

“Am I still in the army? I’m a Captain ya know”

“You left just a few months ago. You still work in the local camps, of course. You like it there, and you’re home every night and most weekends.”

“Does Ma like you?” You don’t even get a chance to finish as he turns to his mother “Do you like her? is she nice? Does she like your new kitchen? I built it y’know.” 

You knew when you met, dated, and married him, that Sy was a Momma’s boy. He loves his mother so much, that her opinion will always mean the world to him. 

Ma nods “You two are the sweetest couple. She’s the best addition to the family, gives you a run for your money alright. She’s my new favourite.” You get a soft hug from her as she says this, with her wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. She’s always felt so grateful that her Logan found you, because my goodness did he love you ferociously, and he needed you in his life. You were the making of him, and the whole Syverson clan will forever be grateful to you for it.

"And where did we get married? If we really are married.” He continues his line of questioning.

“At the ranch, on your family’s land. it was such a special day. We had the reception there too. And we went to Italy for our honeymoon.”

Sy is basking in every word you say, praying it to be true, as if he could will it into existence if it hadn’t already happened, wanting badly to remember sunset kisses and italian food and beach days all spent with you. He perks up at the last thing you say, taken by complete surprise.

“Honeymoon?! Oh my god have we...ya know..?” A blush fades over Sy’s face, and even though you love his Ma, you really wish she wasn’t finding out so many details about your personal life today, like how your son rails you on the regular in many ways, and in many places. He must somehow remember or at least accurately imagine your past endeavours, as he grins like a little shit. 

You smack his arm, lightly but with a firm hand.

“Be quiet, or the whole ward will know about our sex life” you threaten. “Yes we’ve had sex. i’d hope so given that we have a kid on the way.”

If Ma had had to deal with her son getting horny over his “new”wife, she was being fully compensated for it as she witnessed him fall head over heels in love with you, all over again.

“A kid?...Tell me ya not messing with me...are we really- I-” he swallows and his tears come even easier than before “We’re havin’ a baby?” With the sudden realisation, he turns to his Ma. “This beautiful woman right here’s havin’ my kid, Ma?” He looks between the two of you again, watching as you both nod and beam from ear to ear.

“You know you cried just as much when i told you for the first time too. i promise when the drugs are out your system it’ll all make sense again.”

Sy smiles, clutching your hand in his warm palm, almost scared to let go as the door is knocked and he feels you might be taken away. Instead, it’s a welcome visitor.

“Hey doc,” Sy greets the man who reenters the room, now freshly out of scrubs  to visit his patient - who if anything is now simply love sick, no hernia to be found. “This is my wife, and she’s having a baby.” he looks back to you with a quirk of his eyebrow “My baby?” You roll your eyes and he confirms it; “my baby.”

“Oh, congratulations...again.”

The doctor’s evaluation and explanations don’t take long, and while Sy is being informed, you start rubbing your belly as a form of self-comfort. You will need to remind your child that while their father looks incredibly stern and impossibly large, he is silly and goofy and already loves them with his entire being. Over the course of the afternoon, Sy talks with you while the anaesthetic wears off. It turns out they had given him a pretty high dosage based on his height and muscle mass, so he would be out of action for a couple of hours at least.

“Oh, i have your ring” you pipe up before he starts getting too sleepy again, taking the thick gold band off of the necklace around your neck, placing it on his finger carefully.

“That feels better already” he sighs, as he begins to doze in and out of consciousness. Before he closes his eyes once more to rest peacefully, a small tear slides down his cheek, which you of course, notice. Sy has cried maybe 5 times in the time you’ve known him and three of those times have been in this very room.

“Honey what’s wrong? Are you in pain? i can call the doctor-” 

“No i’m fine i’m fine i just-” he sniffs and tries to clear his throat from the sad, heavy pain he feels in his chest. “I’m gonna be real sad when I wake up from this dream. What if I can’t find you when I wake up?”

Oh your sweet, silly man.

“Bear it’s not a dream, I’ll be right here when you get up properly and we can go home and cuddle and I’ll heat up your favourite meal. I’ll be right there with you.”

“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide. almost nervous to ask.

“Well they have to come too, they're with me. We can look at their pictures again so you can get reacquainted. And Aika will be so happy you’re back. We’ve been gone the whole day.”

“Aika!” your husband perks up, “Oh Aika, man....I love that dog..”

“I know you do bear, you just get some rest for now and then we can go home.”

Before you know it, he’s fallen back to sleep, his mouth wide open as he slumps against his pillow, completely out of it.

It’s dark outside when Sy opens his eyes again, watching as his Ma passes you a small herbal tea in the dimly lit hospital room. Technically visiting hours are over, but no one was going to argue with the Captain’s family. You smile, and he feels like he can finally relax, in your presence

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he growls lowly, and you look up at him from your phone, beaming in surprise, glad that your husband had woken up feeling a bit more like himself.

“Oh hello again” you smile and squeeze his hand, his slow blinking already indicating a much clearer mind, and that he knows exactly who you are.

“Again? What’d I miss?”

“The drugs” he stops you mid-sentence for a sweet kiss, acting as though a minute more without your lips would be the source of his downfall. “Mmmh, the drugs made you so loopy, it was the sweetest thing, Sy.” You grin as he pulls you up beside him on the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly with no recollection of any of the past events. Yet still, he smiles.

“Yeah? How’s baby?” he holds you close to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist so he can cover your tummy with his palm.

“They’re great. Glad to have daddy back and sane.”

You swear that as you say that, he starts tearing up again, this time however he doesn’t let them fall. He was openly weeping earlier, but you won’t tell him that. Not yet.

“Damnit. Must be something in these drugs they got me on.”

“Mm-hmm sure bear.”

You stay close that evening, both curled up on a hospital bed that is already quite a tight fit for your husband alone. But as always, he makes it work. You’re half on top of him, both of you fast asleep, when the nurses come to do their rounds. Ma had left just after he had woken up, sneaking off into the night to let the rest of the family know how her most middle son is keeping after the operation. You’d cuddled and doted on each other until you’d fallen asleep, Sy following not long after as he bid goodnight to you and your precious cargo with a soft kiss to your lips, and protective rub of your stomach.

He counts himself more than lucky to have something so good, that it would pain him to forget. He was living the life that he’d been too scared to ever dream of, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

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[darling-archeron]

My love! You know I've got to get my Feysand fix in, so about about some hcs for a Feysand modern day proposal? 🥰

hello hello hello! it's taken me a couple days to get to this but it was a lot of fun and basically turned into a mini fic in bullet points! (i do have the christmas fic version of this you requested stuck in wip hell lol. expect christmas in july.)

Ok so for starters Rhys would be super nervous, everyone knows Feyre is going to say yes because they're so sappy and obviously in love, but it doesn't stop him from worrying!

In terms of how he does it, Rhys is torn between a huge grand gesture (because Feyre deserves The Most and he wants to deliver) and keeping it small and intimate (since they both have an aversion to huge parties and feyre would be a little self-conscious at the attention).

He also wants to avoid any unpleasant memories of her first engagement with Tamlin.

Eventually, he decides to keep it simple with a nice dinner at one of their favorite restaurants, followed by stargazing in a secluded spot.

Rhys initially plans to keep the proposal a secret so nobody in his family spills the beans, but Az finds him standing in the middle of the living room staring at the ring one day. Naturally, it isn't long before Cassian and Mor have also been roped into the secret.

Thanks to Mor's not-so-subtle meddling, Feyre dresses in a gorgeous navy dress that just so happens to be the same shade as Rhys's dress shirt.

Rhys feels like he's had the breath knocked out of his chest all throughout dinner. He can't stop staring at Feyre, caught up in her bright smile, the way her dress hugs her curves, how the lighting glints off her eyes and hair.

At one point, Feyre leans in, bemused.

"Is everything alright? You've barely touched your food," she asks.

Rhys shakes his head and laughs off the nerves. "I can think of something else I'd rather be eating."

She smacks his arm lightly with a laugh, but says, "Maybe you'll be in luck when we get home."

Suffice to say, Rhys makes it through the rest of dinner without making too much of a fool out of himself.

After they finish, Feyre is prepared to head back home, but Rhys drives elsewhere, to a park a few miles outside of town. He pulls a picnic blanket out of the car so they can sit on the ground and stargaze.

It's reminiscent of one of their very first dates. The sky is clear, it's a beautiful night, and they're young and in love.

It's impossible to say how long they're out there for, equal parts sneaking glances and sharing smiles with each other and stargazing.

But finally, Rhys knows it's time. He pulls Feyre to her feet. "Let's go down by the lake," he says.

"Won't it be a little chilly?" Feyre asks.

Wordlessly, Rhys shrugs off his jacket, offering it to her. Feyre takes it with a small bemused smile and lets Rhys lead her down to the glimmering lake, where the stars reflect upon the water.

She knows Rhys is a hopeless romantic, but can never tell exactly what tricks he has up his sleeve.

"I remember the first time we came here."

She smiles at the memory. "So do I. I hadn't gone on a date with someone who wanted to go stargazing before. You were the first person I met who loved the stars like I did."

He winks. "I knew there was a reason you decided to keep me around."

Rhys's heart is pounding out of his chest, he can feel the weight of the ring box in his pocket as he squeezes Feyre's hands. But it's now or never.

"Do you want to know what else I remember about that night?"

He gently slips his hands away from hers and drops down on one knee, pulling the black velvet box from his pocket.

"I remember thinking that the joy in your eyes was as bright as the stars that night. I knew right then that I wanted to spend every day trying to make you as happy as you were then."

Feyre's hands fly to her mouth, overcome with surprise and emotion. Rhys's own eyes grow a little damp, recalling all the steps they have taken to get here, everything they've worked for.

"Feyre darling, will you let me make you smile for the rest of our lives? Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes," Feyre mouths, at a complete loss for words before she finds her voice back. "Yes, Rhys. Yes. Of course, I will."

She's falling to her knees just as Rhys is rising back up, so they both catch each other and stand.

Rhys holds her left hand reverently, and he slides the luminous sapphire on her finger. As Feyre pulls him in for a kiss, a shower of stars begins to scintillate down from the sky. They're laughing and crying and don't ever want to let the other go.

Rhys never tells a soul whether or not the timing coinciding with the meteor shower was planned. But he makes good on his promise to make Feyre's eyes shine as bright as the stars with joy. And she returns the feeling every bit as much.

[interstellargatorskinboots1812]

Tapped Into Your Mind & Soul Chapter 5

WARNINGS: It’s an Alfie fic, so obviously SWEARING.

As always, i am a complete comment whore so PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE drop me a line to let me know what you think of the story so far.

All Things are Subject to Decay and Change

Alfie's red Bentley barges it's way through London- a city of vibrant smog which is helping Arabella feel at ease.  There is plenty of beauty to her in the soot-hazed stone of the passing buildings and even the Londoners who hunch by with sour faces and their misery reflected in the colour of the sky.

She is glad of the car's padded seats which absorb each of his sharp turns and brutal stops.

'It's like a circus round here', she comments with optimism, pushing her head further out of the window. Miles upon miles littered with curiosities - street artists providing depictions of escape on the cold pavement, costermongers shouting their trade and yards of train advertisements pasted onto lampposts in every colour. Alluring as the sound of jazz and the sight of the Charleston might be, London shrouds itself in so much more potential for her than flappers and frivolity. His irked voice snaps her from her thoughts.

'It's fuckin' 'orrible, too many animals in this circus'.

His knuckles are white from his grip on the wheel, intense focus directed to the trams and wagons weaving ahead of them. The car agitates over the metal tramlines, as a brown Hovis truck cuts in front of the car, coercing Alfie to slam on the breaks.

'Oh fucking hell!'. His tone is booming as  he reaches into his pocket , pulling out a pistol to aim at the offending driver. Arabella's mouth slowly drops open, capturing his arm and pulling the gun under the dashboard, obscuring it from view. With narrow eyes she quickly looks around to scan the area.

'Have you lost your mind, Alfie?'

'Treacle, these idiots, they only understand one language.'

'Well, lets not have you arrested on my first night in London, eh?'

A small grunt emits from his throat. He yanks his hand easily from her grip and stashes his gun back into his coat pocket.

'Suit yourself,' he grumbles. The car has been overtook now on more than one occasion, another headache to add to his list. Still, best not to piss her off on her first night  and so he turns his eyes back to the road ahead and daydreams of shooting the bollocks off the Hovis driver.

Twisting an unstrung strand of hair repetitively around her finger, she can't help but think about where they are going. It's going to be her new home for the foreseeable future and given the volatile looking environment of his work place, Arabella isn't holding out hope.

Moments later, the noise level begins to filter away as if they have turned down a road that is miles from any civilisation. Thriving with colourful flora within well tended gardens, regency era town houses stand majestically at three stories and with the fanciest of facades. A short and  stoutly older woman canters down the pavement, before turning right into one of the houses and desperately trying to manipulate two heavy shopping bags in order to open her gate. Alfie slows the car down to a stop and beeps his horn, making the poor woman almost jump to the moon, she briskly turns around.

'Oh, vey Alfie! Are you trying to bring me closer to God?' Alfie opens the car door and takes the bags from her hands, opening her cast iron gate with ease.

'What did I tell you Mrs Goldman, mhm? No lifting and carrying these heavy bags, eh? Ishmael can take you to the market and bring you back.'

'Ah Alfie that poor lad does everything, I don't need him helping me as well. I ask God not for a lighter burden but for broader shoulders'. She simpers at him with a twinkle behind her brown eyes that Arabella did not observe before the lady spoke with Alfie.

'Worryin' about you yeh, will be the death of me! Now, tell me that landlord of yours 'as sorted that broken light fixture?'

'He's getting round to it'.

'So, that'll be a no then?' Alfie furrows his brow, making it crease with line after line and tilts his head to the side. 'You need me to have a word with him?'

Mrs Goldman chuckles earnestly before pinching his cheek between her thumb and forefinger.

'Don't be a Schmuck Alfie, the last time you did that my rent went up to pay for his hospital bill. Now, who is this beauty you're sharing your car with hmm?'' Looking around Alfie's broad shoulders, her gaze falls on Arabella who feels rather sheepish under her matriarch stare. Sighing, he pinches the tension from the bridge of his nose. The last thing he needs is for Mrs Goldman to start shooting her mouth off at her knitting circle and have the whole of the Jewish community gossiping before he has had time to formulate how he can position Arabella into his life.

'It should be fuckin' noted right, that nothing gets past you'.

Catching Alfie unawares, she uses her now free hand to provide a sharp whack to the back of his head, making his eyes scrunch. Arabella's eyebrows curve upwards as she swallows down the urge to laugh.

'This is Arabella Shelby, the sister of one of my close business associates. She's going to be staying with me until she gets settled in London'.

So, that's how he plans to play this. Arabella exits the car.

'Nice to meet you Mrs. . . erm...'

'Goldman, dear'. She shakes Arabella's hand, her light touch and weak grip showing just how delicate she is. Alfie was right, she shouldn't have been carrying those bags.

'Please accept my apologies for Mr Solomons lack of manners, I assure you dear, he does possess them somewhere'. She sends her a wink.

'I'll let you know when the search party I've sent out, actually find them.'

This tickles the grey haired lady who stomps her foot letting out a huge guffaw and patting Arabella on the arm.

'I like her Alfie, she is sharp of tongue as well as looks'. She flashes him a knowing smile, one that makes him shift from foot to foot. Much as he likes Mrs Goldman, he can muster no interest in her insinuating words.

'Right, well as much as I'd like to stand here as if i'm fuckin' not and be insulted, we have to get going. Miss Shelby here 'as 'ad a rather eventful day so, goodbye Mrs Goldman'.

She throws a harried glance at Alfie before returning a polite smile at Arabella.

'Now my dear, just you remember that I am but five doors down and that makes us neighbours. Should this  Mazik get to you, just pop on to my door and i'll make sure you're always greeted with a cup of tea and a listening ear.'

Alfie knew that her words served only to aggravate him. He places a hand on Arabella's arm to lead her back to the car and curses his poor decision making for stopping here in the first place.

'Lovely to meet you Mrs Goldman, I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more of one another'. Alfie's gentle push to the car, turns into a shove.

'I'm sure we will my dear, and it's Nelly to you.'

Alfie watches to make sure Mrs Goldman enters her house safely.

'Sister of a close business associate? Dread to think how you'll introduce me to people when I'm your wife.'

'Arabella, that woman has a mouth wider than the Thames, best to give her as little detail as possible and save her choking on gossip'.

Crossing her arm over her waist and tucking it in at her elbow, she turns toward her window. With a roll of his eyes, he starts up the car. They don't have to travel far before the vehicle is once again stationary. Straightening  up in her seat, she observes the building in front of her.  All of the houses on the street were identical in their architecture, stressed in uniformity – this one however,  was built with a desire for individuality.  

'There ya go, look. Home, sweet-fucking-home'. He walks around the car to help her out. She is mesmerised by the grand blossom tree that pushes the house into almost obscurity due to it's size, looming over the black front door. Pale pink pieces that have been wooed from the tree by the spring winds, gather under her feet, a reminder of life's fickleness. Concealing herself behind Alfie, her cautious spirit holds an inner negotiation with her resilience as they walk up a black and white tiled pathway.  Inside the warmth of the house engulfs them both along with a nauseating charcoal smell. Her foot suddenly slides on something slippy on the marble floor. Bending down she picks up a folded piece of paper that is lay in the doorway. Alfie's name is written on it in the scrawled handwriting.

'Alright now, let's have a look and see if your suitcase has been dropped off... what's that?'

'You tell me, it's got your name on it.'

The blithe and animated Alfie Solomons she is getting to know  is barely recognisable now as an ashen and turbulent man stands across from her, a wrathful look in his blue-green eyes. Frantically he grapples the paper from her hands and faces away from her to peek at the contents.

'Must be something awfully important'. She says, standing on tiptoes to see over his shoulders. The note buckles into pieces as he folds it in his fist, harshly.

'Who's asking you?' his quick-tempered reply takes her by surprise and she narrows her eyes at him, making him clear his throat.

'It's a betting tip if you must know. As an occasional bookmaker, I do need to keep a sharp eye out for the fastest horses'.

He stashes the note into his deep pocket. They both stand facing one another, Alfie towering over her by a good few inches. Neither of them speaking, just eyes setting fire to the other pair. The door at the end of the hall bursts open and commotion on four paws comes bounding excitedly towards his owner.  

'Oh, 'ere he is look, the behemoth with a wagging tale. Ello mate, did you miss me?' Placing his hand onto his right hip, Alfie slowly bends down to fuss and stroke the solid bulk of his bull mastiff.

His incensed constitution replaced with playful humour by his four-legged friend. As if sensing the presence of a stranger, his dog bolts into an alert position and begins to bark anxiously and warningly at Arabella. Alfie prepares himself to calm down his probably panicked fiancé. He's not expecting the hand that comes to his elbow, pushing him aside as she crouches in front of the slobbering beast, offering her hand to smell.

'Hello, you. I've heard so much about you, don't you know?' She strokes her hand roughly over the top of the dog's head, which he immediately cocks and begins to excitedly wag his tail.  'See, your gruff and tough owner here is a huge softy when it comes to you, he doesn't shut up about you'. Alfie watches on as  she undauntedly makes a fuss, not caring about the amount of froth being drooled onto what looks like an expensive, if not gaudy, coat.

'Well, his name is Cyril and he's supposed to be an all powerful and protective breed, but I will acknowledge that it appears I was fuckin' lied to about that'. He crinkles his forehead as he watches Cyril gracelessly roll onto his back so Arabella can rub at his belly.

'Well I think he's just perfect., i'm sure we'll get on like a house on fire.

'Let's see if you're still saying that when he's all over you at five in the morning because he wants to go out for a piss'.

Arabella looks up at him and shakes her head. 'I can see Cyril here holds all the power in this house'.

'Oh yeh? An how do you work that out?'

She pushes herself up to standing and offers him a condescending smile. 'Because Alfie, power lies in loyalty and I can see how dyed-in-the-wool you are with him'.

'That so? Well, lets see where my loyalty gets him tomorrow when Edna sees these muddy paw prints on her mopped floor'.

'Edna?'

He scratches Cyril behind his ears as he steps closer to her.

'My maid. Lovely woman she is, reminds me of me Mother. You'll meet her tomorrow. Now, do you wanna see your new home?'

****************************************

Arabella piano-plays her fingertips on the dark walnut dressing table, listening to the rain outside as it pelts the windows and drips from the alien roof. She could float half way to heaven as she kicks off her slippers and the plush carpet hugs at her swollen feet. Alfie has spent some of the evening showing her around his impressive home. A big house, one she dreamed of owning as a child with it's polished wooden floors and graceful bannisters. Nothing like her Small Heath dwellings. Is it possible she is beginning to get homesick for a place she isn't even sure exists? One with love and where her soul is understood. However, when he had shown her the fully plumbed copper bath tub, she was ready to say 'i- do'  post haste.

Alfie is steadfast becoming a curious paradox – his abode is a beautiful palace, gleaming with a spotless silence. It's king, all the same is harsh and unpredictable with a flare of intelligence and good looks. Although she is hasten to admit it, he intrigues her.

Until Tommy sorts  the delivery of the rest of her things, all of her is compacted into the small suitcase that she pulls from the bed to put away She puts on her nightie, a soft cream silk slip – although well worn, still immaculate.  After an argument with Alfie regarding sleeping arrangements, they finally agreed that they should be adult enough to share a bed to make their relationship more realistic to his house staff. Standing in front of the floor length, mirror she watches as his mother's locket swings off her neck like a stranger. She pats the soft garment over her stomach - full from a delicious stew his maid had prepared, which she enjoyed alone. Alfie has secreted himself in his downstairs office and she has not seen sight nor sound of him all night..

The sound of smashing glass makes her jump, she can hear the thundering voice of Alfie barking out words she can't make out. Whatever the furore is, it's emanating from the upstairs landing. She quickly steps out of the room and sees the bathroom door ajar. Inside Alfie is desperately trying to wrestle Cyril inside a large fluffy towel. The floor around him is immersed in water and Alfie's shirt is saturated.

'Cyril, keep-the-fuck-still'. His fractious tone echoes off the bathroom tiles as he battles against his dog.

'Alfie, do you need some help?'

'No we've got this under control, ain't we boy'. As Cyril succumbs to submission, allowing his master to begin to towel dry his fur, Alfie looks up to acknowledge Arabella, his eyes immediately give her a once over and he feels the inside of his throat dry up as he spots her legs. Cyril takes advantage of his master's distraction and bounds his way out of the towel, bouncing his head off the copper bath in the process, before galloping his way to Arabella.

'Cyril! Ya daft, mad cunt! Get back 'ere now!' Taking not a ounce of notice, Cyril jumps frenziedly onto Arabella, wet paws pushing away at her.

'Get off 'er now ya demented lad! CYRIL! Fuck sake!'

Uncontrollable barks bite their way back at Alfie who is now tugging at his dog's paws, trying to gain purchase to pull him off her, flattened and trapped as she is against the wall.

'Fuckin' hell Cyril, what are you playing at, get off. . . stop trying to wrestle . . .CYRIL! I'm warning y. . . '

'SIT!' Her voice is loud and stern as she points to the floor with a free hand. Cyril obeys and sits down, Arabella following him to the ground, untwisting the towel from  around Alfie's fisted hands and slowly patting down Cyril's blubbery body. The dog sits calmly, with his head held up majestically as if he is content in being obedient for her.

'Right fuckin' turncoat ya are Cyril. Get one whiff of a woman and you forget about me, eh?' He folds his arms and leans against the door frame, watching as Arabella softly finishes drying.

'It's all in the tone, Alfie. You have to be stern not erratic'. She stands up smugly in front of him.

'S'at so?' He looks her up and down once more, only this time he notices just how wet Cyril has made her and he swallows hard. The light fabric of her night dress is now translucent and he can make out the shape of her ample breasts and the enticing colouring of her nipples. The quick glance he gets before looking away is like a blow to his chest. Her body is certainly holding his interest but he knows he can't take any more of her in. He does not want to look at all, but this was unavoidable.

Clearing his throat and picking up the towel from Cyril, he gestures to her chest.

'You might need this, to erm cover . . . ' She looks down and immediately covers her chest with her arms, taking the towel from him to dry off.

'I'm sorry about Cyril, he can be a right lunatic when he wants to be.'

'They're just tits, Alfie', she says as she notices how he has turned his body away from her.

'No, they're not just tits- they're yours and it's not up to my maniacal dog to expose them because he can't keep bloody still'. He moves past her into the bedroom and reappearing a few seconds later.

'You can wear this if you like, whilst you dry that off. I promise it's clean'. He hands her one of his white shirts which she gladly accepts.

'You're nothing like I thought you would be, Alfie'.

'Yeh?' He moves closer to her. 'That's because, right, true power lies in the unexpected'. They both stare at the other, as if taking notes, before he breaks the chain and walks away toward the staircase.

'Cyril, come on', he pats his leg and Cyril follows, leaving her flustered on the landing. Was it possible that Solomons possessed a more human side that contradicts his reputation? She turns away from the stairs and hurries into the bathroom to change. Closing the door, she notices Alfie's black wool coat hanging from the hook. The coat he placed his secretive letter in earlier. An uneasy feeling washes over her, she always respects privacy, to her far too many people can't live in silence for fear of missing applause from an audience who don't even care. She has to see what has him so vexed though -  if she wants to be ahead of him and her brother then she has to do some necessary digging. Before she can talk herself out of it, she plunges her hand into his pocket and pulls out the piece of paper. As she turns it over she can see that this is not the same note. This is a pink betting slip- after further rummaging, she realises he has moved the note elsewhere.

'Fuck' she says, annoyed. One final glance and she sees what looks like a phone number on the back.. She leaves the bathroom in a hurry, her hand concealing the slip.

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[raplinesmoon]

October (MYG x GN!Reader) - Oneshot

Pairing: Min Yoongi x GN!OC/Reader

Genres: heavy heavy heavy ANGST

AUs: interns!AU

Word Count: 8.3k

Trigger Warnings: a story about love that’s not a love story, some cursing, mentions of traumatic accident and brain injury/coma, mentions of hospitals and medical issues, mentions of life support and end-of-life-care, mentions of miscarriage, sadness and just generally people being assholes (including Yoongi), MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, please be kind to yourself and don’t read if any of these things make you uncomfortable or sad (your wellbeing is valued and important)

Ratings: R

Summary: Yoongi can’t remember his life before the fall. He doesn’t want to either - being with you while the mugunghwas bloom is enough.

A/N: Hi everyone! Putting this out there that this is probably the longest (and angstiest) thing I’ve ever written, and I cried a lot while writing it. This story is based on the Bollywood movie October, which is single-handedly one of the most amazing films I’ve ever seen in my life. This story deals with heavy topics (read at your own discretion), but I really tried my best to use my healthcare knowledge and some research to make this an honest portrayal. I recommend reading Being Mortal by Atul Gawande if this topic interests you more. Honestly, it was a journey for me to write this, and although it’s very sad, I’m really proud of it, and if you choose to read it, I hope it speaks to you in some way. Also, big thanks to Suzie (@lcksndkys) for beta-reading this and helping out on the medical side of things (she’s the best, pls give her a follow)!

Crossposted to AO3 here.

mini playlist: autumn leaves by bts | october theme by shantanu moitra | butterfly by bts | don't by eAeon ft RM | love die young by eric nam | like i need u by keshi | rEaR vIeW by zayn

November

“Hello, welcome to the Signiel, how may I help you today?” your chipper voice cuts through the din of the hotel lobby, a warm smile lighting up your face.

“Yes, can you tell us what’s good to see in your city?” The man’s accent is foreign, but kind. He seems genuinely in awe of the posh decor that surrounds him, and the subtle chill emanating from the sliding doors as they woosh open and close.

“Ah yes, there’s so much to see in Seoul! There’s Gyeongbokgung Palace, the Samsung Museum of Art, Namdameun Market…,” you drone on, sharply aware of a pair of cat-like eyes gazing at you from the corner of the lobby.

Your fellow intern Yoongi is there, mopping away at the already pristine marble floors, likely cursing his entire existence for accepting this internship. As interns, you expected you’d be in charge of greeting guests, taste testing the house specialties and coordinating events.

However, the menial tasks were a surprise. Sweeping floors, doing laundry, flushing toilets. Most of the interns, including you, took it in stride. Yoongi, however, was different.

Your eyes can’t look away from him as you watch him furiously mop, back and forth, back and forth, so hard you think he’ll knock the dirty bucket of water over and Manager Im will have his head.

Eventually his movements slow, coming to a complete halt. He lets out a deep sigh, the rich baritone of his voice cutting through the monotony of voices and travelling to your equally tired ears. He’s turned away from you now, instead staring wistfully at the beautiful grand piano tucked away in the corner, its pristine facade reflecting every tiny moment happening in the lobby with immaculate detail.

Glancing back towards the guests, you muster up another smile and offer them their room keys. When you look up again, Yoongi’s gone.

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The clinking of champagne flutes and the echoes of footsteps can be heard as you prepare for tonight’s event. A wedding - one of Seoul’s richest CEOs marries its biggest social butterfly.

You remember reading the groom’s name in a magazine somewhere, and now it currently dwells at the back of your mind. Kim Taehyung? That sounds familiar.

Banishing the intrusive thoughts of handsome Mr. Kim from your mind, you turn back to the task at hand. Napkins should be perfectly folded, not a single crease visible, and the edges should be neat and even with one another. Flowers go in the specific order indicated on your index cards, and candles should be placed in the center of the table, far enough away from the edge that they don’t fall and burn the whole place down.

As you finish placing the last flowers on the table, you’re rammed into by someone. The petals scatter to the ground, creating a large mess where a sophisticated centerpiece should have been.

“Shit, sorry, I-. Here, let me help you,” the person groans out, ennui evident in their listless tone.

“Hi Yoongi! How are you today?” you greet him, carefully bending down and tenderly picking up each stray petal. The mugunghwa flowers feel soft in between the pads of your fingers, their smell light and sweet.

Yoongi lets out a sharp grunt of acknowledgement, as he hunches over and desperately shoves the flowers back into your hands, like a man possessed. As the last bloom finds its way back to you, he nods and makes his way towards Manager Im standing all the way by the stage.

Trying your best to refocus your attention, you catch the faint wind of their seemingly unpleasant conversation from where you stand.

“Need off on the 30th and 31st -- parent’s anniversary -- silver jubilee.”

“Hotel at full occupancy -- should know better -- go get a haircut and stop bothering me please.”

“Fucking fine, keep me here to do your dirty work, then. All I’m asking for is a job that’s worth my qualifications, you know, like the fucking degree I’m supposed to be getting for this?”

You wince at Yoongi’s last comment, knowing the words ring painfully true yet no one else is brave enough to voice them. Manager Im doesn’t bat an eye, ushering Yoongi away with a sweep of his arms and moving on to another part of the room.

As he huffs past you to leave the room, you offer a weak smile Yoongi’s way.

“Thank you for your help picking up the flowers, Yoongi! I’ll see you later.”

Shoes tapping against the marble, he lifts his head but doesn’t turn as he makes his way out of the ballroom, failing to spare a single glance in your direction.

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December 31st

“You know what your problem is Yoongi? You’re constantly annoyed,” Yeri drawls, scowling as the whipped cream topping her coffee drips onto the ground.

You swing your legs from side to side on the curb, avoiding eye contact with Yoongi as he pushes himself out from underneath the hood of your car.

“You know why I’m irritated? It’s because I’m constantly surrounded by you two,” he gestures to you both and scoffs.

“Yah, don’t tell me you’re annoyed about me calling you irritating,” Yeri’s voice goes shrill as Yoongi flips her off, slinging his bag around his shoulder and walking over to his motorbike.

“Thank you for the oil change Yoongi!” you shout, but your voice is drowned out by the whirring of the engine as it fades away, the bike zooming down the road and away from you both.

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Tinsel and fairy lights shimmer along the vast hallway as Yoongi vacuums the carpet that is now full of glitter from the guests’ merrymaking. Despite the cheery exterior scene, the inside of Yoongi’s headset is blaring Seo Taji and the Boys, not Deck the Halls.

He’d unceremoniously landed himself in hot water with Im again, his frustration getting the best of him. Not surprisingly, Im had retaliated by putting him on cleaning duty the one night he knew all the interns were having their holiday party.

Yoongi groans loudly, blinking his eyes and letting his mind travel. If just thinks hard enough, he can almost imagine the bass thumping outside, the clinking of glasses as the drunkest one in the batch gets up to make their yearly toast… he can imagine you, full of warmth and laughter, sparing a smile for everyone you come across.

Yoongi hates that he can’t hate you like he does the others. That you’re always asking him about his day, thanking him for doing the bare minimum when he could be doing more, appreciative of his mere presence when all Im and the others want is for him to get lost. To disappear.

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“Yah, Namjoon, why are you on the ground again, are you drunk?” Yeri screeches, trying her best to lift up the gentle giant of a man who’s made himself at home on the grass by the pool.

“Druuuunk onnnn youuuuu babyyyy!” Namjoon shouts with vigor. Namjoon’s candid behavior has you smirking to yourself, thinking how nice it is to see the kind, reserved intern let loose and enjoy himself a little. Yeri seems to be enjoying it too, a faint blush coloring her cheeks despite the grimace on her face.

“A toast,” Seokjin, the broad shouldered senior intern exclaims, “to another year gone by!”

“Happy New Year!!” The chorus is loud and raucous.

Glasses are raised and hors d'oeuvres consumed, the golden lights twinkling in the night.

“Seokjin, another drink?” Yeri reaches out, offering up a beer in her hand.

“Nahhh, I’m okay,” he counters. “Besides, gotta drive home with Yoongi at the end of the night, you know how it is.

“Come to think of it,” you ponder. “I haven’t even seen him, where is Yoongi?”

You hoist yourself up onto the railing, dizzy from the effects of the alcohol reaching your head.

You feel the wet, slippery dew drops against your fingers and suddenly, nothing.

Slipping through space, the air whooshes around you as you fall, staring up at the sparkling lights one final time before you hear a loud thump and everything fades to black.

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“Patient is in acute respiratory distress —- I’m having trouble finding a pulse --- might need intubation,” the static crackles through the radio.

Yoongi was slumped against the hallway, eyes closed. Lost in a dream world of allegros and sonatas, he’s jolted awake by the jarring dissonance of a wrong note. Blearily, he rubs his eyes, but the note remains prolonged, piercing his eardrums.

It’s a siren. His pupils dilate as the bright red lights hit them. Something’s wrong.

Yoongi doesn’t know when he started running, or how, just that he’s skirting on death’s edge, skipping stairs two at a time, making his way down the emergency staircase to the ground floor exit.

He’s greeted with the sight of Manager Im, face blanched and brows furrowed, speaking to a police officer.

“Their name is ___. They fell from the third floor swimming pool, but normally no one goes there.”

The officer nods along, jotting Im’s statement down on a notepad, and it’s then that Yoongi turns and sees the blood.

A pool of it, and you, in the middle. Before he can even think, EMTs are strapping you in and lifting you onto a stretcher.

“Current status, 23 y/o F patient who will need mechanical ventilation, sedated, no movement. Pulse 110”, the voice blares through the megaphone.

All Yoongi can do is tremble, Seokjin coming to wrap an arm around him. He watches the ambulance as it drives away, wondering where and when everything decided to go so wrong.

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January 2nd

The fragrant perfume of gochujang and crackling of oil permeates the air as Yoongi pulls up to the tteokbokki stall, shaking out his windswept helmet hair from the frantic drive over.

Seokjin gives him a pitiful glance, Yeri and Namjoon both avoiding eye contact.

Yoongi decides to speak up first. “Dude, you could have told me what happened that night.

“Yoongi, I called you. I must have left at least 15 messages.”

“Listen up, interns,” Im sneers. “You will not breathe a word of this to anyone, okay? Not until the police report is complete. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Manager,” Yeri and Namjoon answer monotonously, Seokjin nodding along.

“Min,” Im says, “here’s an extra entry pass. Go and see them, and report straight back to me afterwards.”

Yoongi gapes at the keycard Im hands him, unsure of how to breathe.

“Yoongi,” Yeri breathes out, struggling to hold back tears. “Go. 3rd floor, neuro ICU, bed 28.”

Yoongi steps backwards. One step. Another. He feels as though he’s dragging his feet through a pool of quicksand. If he doesn’t get on the bike, he wouldn’t be able to go to the hospital. He wouldn’t be able to see ___, broken and bruised. He would be able to pretend that nothing had happened, that everything was normal, that you’d pop up out of nowhere and say “Hi Yoongi!” with that wide smile of yours.

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“Dr. Sungchul Kim, please report to the cardiology department.”

The loudspeakers are garish and blaring, befitting of a circus rather than the serious, sterile institution Yoongi finds himself in.

Yoongi thought the behind the scenes of the hotel was the most depressing thing ever, but he was wrong. The white walls and the smell of antiseptic taunt him, reminding him of the way these walls act as a prison for lives barely hanging on. Lives like ___’s.

As he approaches the ward, he can make out a haggard looking woman with kind eyes, conversing with a police officer towering over her.

“___ was a good person. They would never drink alcohol so recklessly, and all their friends at the hotel were such good influences. I know my child. They didn’t just fall, someone pushed them.”

“Ma’am,” the police officer starts, “I understand your concern, but we have to consider all possible options here.”

The officer’s conversation with your mother drifts away as Yoongi finds himself at the entrance of the neuro ICU. The guard gestures for him to remove his shoes and sanitize his hands.

Then, Yoongi is ushered into room #28 with a gust of cold air following behind him. He wonders if you were cold when you fell. He hopes not.

He tiptoes through the room, silent, as if one wrong footfall could wake any of the patients in here. People who sleep but don’t dream, don’t know when or if they’ll wake up.

At the end, towards the window, he stops and sees you. Small and frail-looking, bright spots of red and purple littering your entire face. They’ve cut off your hair, he muses. He remembers how you always used to wear it in a sleek, neat style, and how keeping it off your face highlighted your eyes.

And the tubes. There’s so many. Yoongi counts 19 in total, all hooked up to different machines and making their way into your body. He wonders what they’re all for, how they manage to keep you alive when you look anything but.

The nurse comes by to change your IV, and Yoongi feels sick. He’s an intruder, and he doesn’t belong here. Doesn’t deserve to be here. He turns on his heels and walks out of the ward, the monotonous beeping never leaving his head the whole time.

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January 16th

It’s hot and muggy in the apartment, the pressure cooker letting out the last bits of steam as Seokjin scoops out an even portion of rice, placing a perfectly shaped dome on Yoongi’s plate.

Silence was never an issue between the two of them, but now, it feels overwhelming. Like both of them have forgotten how to speak, forgotten how to live.

The days since the accident have all passed like this, in still and stagnancy.

“I still can’t get over how swollen their face was, and did you see all those tubes?” Yoongi’s voice is gruff, hoarse from days of no use, from keeping his head down and changing sheets and mopping floors.

Seokjin stares at him questioningly, wondering why Yoongi chose to broach this topic of conversation when they haven’t spoken in a week.

“I felt like I had the wind knocked out of me just standing there,” Yoongi drawls on.

“Is that why you never went back? I’ve been there twice already, you know. Namjoon has gone at least three times, and Yeri goes as soon as she gets off work every day.”

“I-, it’s not that, it’s the machines. They make it hard to concentrate,” Yoongi counters, feeling ashamed that while he was lost in a haze, his fellow interns were using their free time to visit the hospital.

“They asked about you, you know? Right before they fell. ___ asked, “Where is Yoongi?””

The same feeling of sickness from the ICU washes over Yoongi again, his breath heaving and palms becoming clammy. He wishes he could admit himself into the hospital too, maybe then he wouldn’t feel so guilty.

“Bro, something’s wrong with the food, it doesn’t taste right today” Yoongi starts, hauling himself up off the ground. “I’m gonna go to the tteokbokki stand and eat. You want anything?”

Seokjin looks up at him, cheeks full of food. “It tastes fine to me.”

“Alright then, see ya later man.” The door closes on a concerned looking Seokjin, as Yoongi makes his way out to the parking spot.

The cool air on his face has Yoongi feeling lighter, breathing easier, and he feels brave enough to detour from the tteokbokki stand and follow the green and white exit sign to Seoul National University Hospital.

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Inside, the ward air suffocates Yoongi once more, as he makes his way to room 28.

He sees your mother again, and another smaller version of you, trapped in yet another conversation, this time with the doctor. A sister maybe? He always thought you were an only child. Yoongi surprises himself constantly with how much he never knew about you, how much he could’ve found out if only he took a chance.

Passing by, neither of them fail to acknowledge the blonde haired boy making his way into ___’s room. Glancing again towards the end of the bed, he sees the same nurse from last time, clipboard in hand, recording your vital signs.

She takes notice of him lingering behind her. “Are you family?”

Yoongi shakes his head no.

“A boyfriend then?” Another shake of his head.

“The other boy that was here, is he the boyfriend?” Yoongi’s throat tightens, but he somehow manages to croak out a no.

“Sir, if you don’t have a reason to be here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I hope you understand, these are the rules.”

She beckons Yoongi out of the room. He turns and gives ___ one final wave, passing the two women on his way out, before being cast out into the frigid chill of the winter air once more.

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February

“Off again, Yoongi?!” Namjoon calls out, as the door shuts in front of him, and he and Seokjin hear the kickstart of the motorbike once more.

Yoongi’s been disappearing multiple times a week, firing up his bike and blazing through gas money. Somehow he always ends up at the hospital. Sometimes, he’s brave enough to go in and spend a minute, or five, or ten by your side. Sometimes he just lingers outside the ward, especially when he sees the nurse go on. Most of the time, he just sits outside on the bench, listening to conversations between the doctors and staff that work there. Yoongi would consider himself halfway to an MD based on the things he’s overheard sometimes.

Today, though, he’s possessed by the unknown urge to see you again. To check up on you. Maybe it’s based on the conversation he overheard last week between your mother and the doctor. About how you’re in a deep coma, and neither awake or alert. About how your case might be hopeless. He hears your sister cry, your brother (who he’d seen recently) with the doe eyes suck in a gasp, and your mother plead to give them some more time.

He wants to tell you that time’s running out, that you need to wake up soon or everything will be over. And yet, he wants someone to be gentle with you. To tell you that despite how hard it is, you can take all the damn time in the world. Just as long as you keep trying, keep fighting.

“Excuse me sir? This is a day pass.” The guard outside the hospital stops Yoongi.

“Shit, I-, I left my night pass at home. Can you just let me in please? I have to speak to someone, it won’t take long at all.”

“No entry without a pass, sir. Rules are rules.”

“Fuck, listen, I just need like five minutes please? I’ve been coming here everyday, they recognize me. I really need to speak to her.”

“No entry without a pass,” the guard becomes aggressive, pushing Yoongi away. Yoongi struggles in his grip, cursing out the guard with every breath, but he finds himself back on the curb, head held in his hands.

“Excuse me? I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re looking for a night pass. You can borrow mine.”

Yoongi stares up at the mellifluous voice, and does a double take. Kim Taehyung. The Kim Taehyung whose wedding he’d coordinated mere months ago. Before the fall.

“Are you sure you don’t need it?”

“I’m Kim Taehyung, I can get another hospital pass any time I want. My wife’s in the hospital for pregnancy complications. She’s staying for a few days, but I know she’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay. You, on the other hand, don’t seem so sure. Take it, please.”

“Mr. Kim --- Taehyung --- sir, thank you. Thank you so much. I hope your wife is okay.” Yoongi’s gummy smile shows for the first time in a long time, as he snatches the pass and presents it to the guard standing there with an astounded look on his face.

Taehyung watches the other man with a wistful smile. Give a life, save a life. He and his wife couldn’t save their baby, but maybe for the man with the gummy smile and the sad eyes, there was hope yet.

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“Hey. Hey ___. Wake up.” Yoongi whispers, flailing his arms around, trying to catch your attention.

He yearns to reach out and stroke the short spikes of hair that now adorn your head, hoping that a tender touch would jolt you to life.

“___, wake up please. I have something important to tell you.”

Yoongi feels the tears building up in his eyes, and he wants to fall to the floor from exhaustion. Working shifts at the hotel, then coming here and spending time with you. He wants everything to go back to the way it was before.

“You wanted to know where I was that day? The day you fell? Actually I was…. I wasn’t around. I wasn’t there.”

Yoongi chokes the words out, reaching behind his head to ruffle his hair and relieve the nervous itch that has built up in his bones.

That night, Yoongi sleeps on a bench outside, the bitter tang of tears and unspoken apologies clogging his throat.

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March

For the first time in months, Yoongi wakes up and heads to work on time. The hospital was important, but today, the hotel housed something even more important. ___’s car.

The abandoned red station wagon is parked in the same spot outside the hotel, collecting dust that flies away with each gust of the spring breeze.

“What do you need this time?” Yeri’s voice is clipped and harsh as she approaches Yoongi by the parking lot.

“Did uh, ___ ever talk about me? Like in college?”

“Are you kidding me Yoongi? That’s what you called me over to talk about?”

“Yeri, please! I need to know.”

“No, Yoongi! No! We had better things to talk about than your lazy ass! Why would they have cared?!”

“But they did Yeri! Why would they have asked about me before she fell? And none of you thought to tell me either! People’s last words are special, they’re not just something you can ignore!”, Yoongi is roaring, rage boiling in his veins.

“Look Yoongi, I really don’t think they were interested in you. You guys were too different. Now, if that’s all, both you and I should get back to work,” Yeri says icily.

“Fuck that, I’m out of here. See you around, Yeri.”

. . .

“Hey!” Yoongi gestures to the valet, pointing at the station wagon. “Do you have the keys for this?”

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Your mother is a professor, Yoongi muses. Another thing I didn’t know about her, he ponders to himself as he pulls the now shiny and sparkling station wagon into the driveway of your family home. Your mother steps out onto the porch, wide-eyed and shocked at seeing the familiar vehicle being driven by such an unfamiliar person.

“You’re the one from the hospital. How did you get our address?” her tone is laced with shock and surprise.

“My name’s Yoongi, I was one of ___’s fellow interns. I got your address from Yeri. I’m sorry for not letting you know in advance that I was coming, but I thought it was time to return the car to where it belonged.”

Tears fill the old woman’s eyes as she breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Would you like to come in for some tea?”

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Everywhere Yoongi looks, baby pictures of you adorn the walls. You’re alone in some of them. In others, you’re accompanied by a mini you and a doe eyed boy. The common theme among all of them is that your smile is bright, eyes wide and filled with kindness. You’re happy. He’d never seen you any other way until the fall.

“Yoongi,” your mother calls out. “Please come and sit.”

She clears her throat, starting again. “Between here and the hospital, things have been so hectic, we forgot all about the car. Thank you for bringing it back for us.”

“You know,” Yoongi speaks, startling everyone at the table. “When I was a small child, I fractured my left arm. It should have healed in three weeks but it didn’t. I thought I’d never be able to play piano again. But eventually it healed. In the same way, ___ should have been okay by now, and she’s not. But she will be. She just needs a little more time.”

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April

The underside of ___’s bed has become a familiar place to Yoongi. Every day, he checks the bag filled with yellow fluid underneath, using it as his one sign that ___ is still alive.

“Nurse, isn’t her urine output a little more than usual today? What could that mean?”

Nurse, unfortunately, has never warmed up to Yoongi in the few months they’ve known each other.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Yoongi flashes his teeth and lets out a gummy smile. “You’re right, I actually do have something I need to do. Bye, ___. See you soon.”

The little girl is anticipating Yoongi’s arrival in the waiting room. He plops down on the seat next to her, and pulls out a book from his bag.

“How much longer until your mom has the baby?”, he asks.

“I don’t know,” she whines. “You should ask the baby.”

“You’re right,” he chuckles, flipping open the pages of the book. “Now where did we last leave off? I think our hero was about to fight the mighty dragon…”

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The bland mush of the hospital café’s offerings leaves a strange taste at the back of Yoongi’s throat. Huddled around a table all together, ___’s uncle is the first to speak.

“I’ve seen cases like this before. I think we should pull the plug. If ___ has to live like this, like a vegetable, what’s the point of all this torture? They won’t even recognize us anymore, is that what you really want?”

“Please Won-jae, don’t start again with the negativity,” your mother looks this close to losing it, hair frazzled and clothes rumpled.

Yoongi clears his throat, startling the table guests once again. He notices they all seem intimidated by him, as if he’s a stranger that makes them uncomfortable, scared to admit their hopelessness.

“Just because ___ can’t recognize you, that doesn’t mean you can’t recognize them. They’re still the same ___.”

“I think he’s right,” the shy boy with the doe eyes speaks up. Yoongi had recently learned your younger brother’s name. Jungkook. The younger boy had looked at Yoongi with stars in his eyes, asking him for help with his homework and talking to him at any chance he could get. Yoongi would spend every second of the day with Jungkook and your younger sister Sooyoung if it meant the sadness in their eyes would disappear little by little.

“Anyway,” Yoongi says. “I have to get going. I’ll make sure to stop by the pharmacy and get ___’s medications before I leave. Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“No, Yoongi.” Your mother offers him a faint smile, tenderness in her gaze. “You’ve done more than enough.”

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May

“You’ve been spending a lot of time at the hospital these days,” Seokjin says the moment Yoongi walks in the door. “I was beginning to think I’d never seen you at home again either. Not like I see you at work these days anyway.”

Yoongi ignores him, leafing through the fridge for anything to eat. He finds nothing. Disappointed, he slams the door shut, Seokjin’s broad frame cornering him against the fridge.

“Only like the taste of hospital food now?”

“What the fuck is your problem, Seokjin? If you have something to say, just spit it out.”

“Fine. I will. I’ve covered 6 of your shifts over the past month. Yeri has covered 4, and Namjoon has covered 3. I can’t afford the apartment anymore because I’m the only one bringing money in since you never come to work, and I’m this close to asking Namjoon to move in with me.”

“Your point is?”

“You know what it is Yoongi! Why are you doing this? What were they to you anyway, it’s not like they were your best friend. The doctors said it themselves, the chances of survival are low.”

“Seokjin, you’re telling me you only do something when there’s a 100% chance it’ll work out? If there’s a chance, even a small chance that ___ will make it, I have to help.”

“Yoongi, you have to start living in the real world again. What you’re doing isn’t practical. You’re not helping anyone - not me, not you, and not ___.”

“Don’t you dare say that, Seokjin. Don’t you dare,” Yoongi wants to continue on, but is interrupted by the blaring of his ringtone. ___’s mother. Seokjin looks at the phone, daring him to pick it up, to confirm his suspicions that Yoongi is no longer capable of rational thought when it comes to you.

Accept call. With no hesitation, Yoongi leaves his best friend and roommate behind, revving up his motorbike and disappearing into the night once more.

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“___ has had a massive stroke. While their brain activity spiked, they weren’t able to regain control of her movements. It’s likely they’ll be paralyzed for life.”

The doctors deliver the crushing blow to the family huddled in the stairwell, Yoongi standing in the corner beside them.

“You heard what the doctor said, and yet you still foolishly cling onto hope. Why can’t you all just be practical for once? What kind of a person would want to live like this?” Won-jae’s biting words cut through the air, and Yoongi can see their devastating effects, watching the hope slowly drain from your family’s eyes.

There were many socially unacceptable things Yoongi would like to say to your uncle right now, but for the sake of avoiding chaos, he decides to be gentle instead.

“Maybe ___ wants to live like this. Maybe ___ wants to live, period. Maybe they don’t. In any case, who are we to decide that for them?”

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“Your uncle has the patience of a wild boar,” Yoongi says to you. He hopes you’re listening, that you can hear his rant. It’s not like Seokjin wants to speak to him anymore, so he only has you to let it out to.

“So what if you need the machines for a little longer? There are times when my motorbike doesn’t start either. Then, I just give it a good kick and it starts. The machines will do the same for you, so just bear with it ___. Okay? Just bear with it for me. For us.”

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June

The chill air of the morning greets Yoongi the moment he steps out onto his balcony, craving the iced Americano he always used to get from the hotel kitchen. The hospital coffee is absolute shit, he decides. And it wasn’t like he had money to afford fancy coffee from any of the cafés surrounding it. Seokjin had stopped loaning him money long ago, instead preferring to sulk with Namjoon and Yeri any chance he got.

A strange sight greets him across the parking lot. His bike, perched against a blooming tree, covered in a fresh blanket of mugunghwa flowers. He hadn’t even noticed the seasons changing, the sterile white walls of the hospital obscuring every ray of light that dared filter in through the windows.

An idea crosses Yoongi’s mind. He chucks on his sandals and makes his way to the carpark. Kneeling by his bike, he painstakingly picks up every single blossom, the light floral scent permeating his senses.

Not less than fifteen minutes later, he’s dumping the blooms out onto your hospital bed, dozing off in the chair next to your bed as he prepares for the long day ahead.

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

He wakes to the appalled gasps and shrieks of the nurses, rubbing his eyes and balking at the sight before him. Your nostrils. They’re moving. You’re breathing on your own.

Dr. Sungyuk Park is by your bedside, the most renowned neurosurgeon in all of South Korea. The man who knows everything seems lost for words, and behind him, he sees Sooyoung and Jungkook hugging your mother tightly, tears in their eyes.

“Coma patients can often respond to strong external stimuli, like the smell of these flowers. In this case, it’s a very positive sign that we’re on the right track,” Dr. Park explains, and Yoongi feels the burden upon his shoulders lift with each word.

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

July

“____, today at 5am, you opened your eyes. You’re doing very good, I want you to try to do a little bit more? Can you do that for me?” Dr. Park’s voice echoes across the ward.

Yoongi can’t believe it. A month ago, he brought the mugunghwa flowers to you. In that time, you’ve started slowly waking, coming back to life before him and your family’s eyes.

He rests a hand on your mother’s shoulders, fearing that the poor woman may fall over from sheer joy.

“I want you to look to your left for me,” Dr. Park continues, your orbs bloodshot but still beautiful to Yoongi’s own eyes following his finger slowly and precisely.

“Aaaand to your right please,” you follow seamlessly, the opening of your eyes mark the beginning of a new chapter in your story.

As Dr. Park steps out, your mother rushes to your bedside, gently reaching out to stroke the long bangs that now fall over your face.

“___,” Sooyoung cries. “Your hair is so pretty now. Now please get better. Get better so that we can all go home soon.”

“It’s been too long,” your mother sobs, collapsing against Jungkook. “It’s been too long without you, my dear. Please come back. Come back soon.”

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

Sweat drips down Yoongi’s back, restaurant duty causing him to hover between the dining room and the kitchen behind it, cleaning up scraps, carrying plates, and bussing tables. Manager Im has him working double duty on probation, threatening that if he doesn’t show up for his shifts, his degree will be terminated and he’ll never graduate from the management program.

Normally, Yoongi wouldn’t have minded the hours. In fact, the old Yoongi would have taken this chance at redemption in stride. The new Yoongi, however, is filled with butterflies. He longs to see you every day, to see your pretty eyes looking up at him, to ask you how your day went.

The other day, Sooyoung ran up to him and hugged him tightly, saying that after just two weeks, you’d moved from being able to open your eyes to croaking out words.

Eomma had been your first. Garbled in tone, but the meaning crystal clear. Sooyoung had been with you all week, trying to teach you the syllables.

“SOO-YUNG,” she lisped out, the air escaping between her two buck teeth. “Soon you’ll learn my name too!”

Yoongi’s thoughts are interrupted by a plate being shoved towards him.

“Excuse me, waiter boy? Are you even paying attention? I told you to take this food back.”

“Why,” Yoongi seethes. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Don’t talk to me in that tone! This food already tastes like shit and we’re paying for it, bring us something else on the house.”

Yoongi takes a deep breath, putting on his customer service voice. “I’m sorry the meal wasn’t to your satisfaction. Unfortunately, I can’t refund the order completely. I’m sure we can bring you another replacement that’ll be more to your liking.”

The man sneers, disdain evident in their expression. “Listen to me you fucking nobody, your job is to make people like me happy. You don’t have a life. I control your paycheck, and therefore I control your life. So, it’ll do you good to just shut up and do what I say.”

White hot rage blinds Yoongi’s vision, and before he knows it, the plate is clattering to the ground and his fist is flying into the asshole’s face. A scuffle starts, people jumping in from left and right to prevent the two of them from hurting each other.

Yoongi feels a pair of arms drag him away from the man, Seokjin holding him steady.

“Yoongi man, stop, just stop. Leave it alone, leave it!” Seokjin implores him to calm down.

Yoongi yanks himself out of Seokjin’s grasp, untying his apron with a groan and throwing it onto the luxurious hotel carpet. He can feel Im’s seething stare from behind his eyelids, but he no longer cares about Im, or the hotel, or this job. All he wants is you.

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

As dawn approaches, Yoongi once again finds himself by your bedside. Except, this time, he’s not alone. Dr. Park is there, checking your vitals and jotting notes down on a clipboard.

“Dr. Park, does this mean she’s fully conscious now?” Yoongi gazes expectantly upon the old man, willing him to inject some much needed hope into his day.

“Thalamus… cortex… medulla oblongata… dorsal plexus of the spine. These medical terms have one spiritual connotation… the soul. And the soul never goes into a coma. Have patience, ___’s trying.”

And with that, he makes his final notes and leaves the room.

Yoongi takes this moment alone to stare into your eyes. He’s never properly looked into them, he realizes. Even when you’d always greet him daily, he always looked past you. Never at you. He takes all the time he has left.

“____. Hey ____. Listen to me, can you say Yoongi? YOON-GI. It’s simple, just try it.”

You look up at him with a blank stare. No response. Yoongi panics, his chest becoming heavy. For a moment, he entertains the terrible thought that you’ll never recognize him again, that maybe he doesn’t mean anything to you, even though you’ve come to mean everything to him.

“___, please. Please say something, do something. It’s me. Yoongi. You asked about me before. Please, please. Look to your left if you recognize me.”

When he sees your eyes shift to the left, Yoongi almost sobs with relief. He wants to collapse and hug you for making his insignificant existence feel worth something again. But he doesn’t want to scare you. Instead, he lifts himself up gently and waves goodbye, pinning something on the wall before slipping out of the ward before the first rays of morning light filter into the room.

When he doesn’t come back to your bedside that day, your family is left speechless. Gone, nearly without a trace. The only proof he’d existed at all was the small passport photo he’d clipped to the railing of your bed, the black ink of the Hangul lettering spelling out a single word. Yoongi.

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

August

The new hotel brings a strange feeling with it. Yoongi’s not used to the crisp air of the mountains, growing up among the fog and fumes of Seoul. He’s not used to having a fresh start, to being unburdened by the weight of others’ expectations. He doesn’t know how to feel, so he settles for just living for now, spending every day training staff and overseeing operations.

When the Signiel offered him a new placement, Yoongi was reluctant to leave you behind. He’d paced for days on end, chewing his fingernails raw, wondering how to break the news. Your mother beat him to that.

“Yoongi, you’ve done more for us than you could imagine. Please, it’s time for you to go on and live your life. You’re still so young. We’ll manage.”

And so, Yoongi headed towards the hills. The cozy chalet he worked at was full of nothing but friendly and forgiving people. He struck up a friendship with the assistant manager, Hoseok, and the two of them would often roam the grove of Japanese Maple trees adjacent to the hotel, wandering and rambling on for hours and hours. Hoseok reminded him of Seokjin, and of Yeri and Namjoon, people he should have held close to his heart, but instead, he let go.

He wondered how you were constantly. Amongst preparing the drinks, dusting the decor, and planning excursions. His thoughts never strayed from you. Were you still in the hospital? Were you home? Was someone taking care of you?

He’d given the nurse strict instructions before he left, telling her every little detail he noticed you liked or responded to. The nurse waved him off with a smile, saying he was a fool in love. And that’s what solidified Yoongi’s decision to run.

Love. The feelings he developed for you were dangerous. Love made people selfish, it made people succumb to their deepest desires without a second thought for others. Yoongi decided that wasn’t fair to you. You deserved to live out a full and happy life. You deserved to live unburdened by his feelings, feelings that were out of his control, but could have sent you reeling off the rails were you ever to find out. Yoongi never wanted that for you, and maybe he’d never find out the reason you asked for him the day you fell, but he’d made his peace with it. The mountain air had done him some good.

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

Peace, however, is a fickle thing. Yoongi’s startled awake in the middle of night by the blaring of his phone, your mother’s contact name lighting up the screen.

He scrambles to answer the phone, breathing heavily as he rasps out, “Hello? Ahjoomah, is everything okay? Is ___ okay?”

“Yoongi,” your mother sobs out. “The last few days have been so difficult. First ___ stopped responding, then they had another seizure. We had to take them back to the ICU, and the doctor told us they’re at a severe risk of cardiac problems. Once the seizure subsided, ____ started to become violent towards others and themself. They’ve had to put on restraints.”

“Ahjoomah, I-, let me help you, please.” Yoongi pleads, tears pricking his eyes. “What do you need from me?”

“Yoongi, I just wanted to let you know since you’ve become so close. Don’t worry about us, this is now part of our lives. You focus on your work, okay?” her voice cracks on the last syllable, and the line cuts dead.

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

September

“___, can you please lift your leg for us again. Please try one more time,” the physiotherapist asks, struggling against your lashing figure.

Yoongi looks at the scene with grief, chastising himself for leaving. After the phone call, he’d packed his bags and caught the first train to Seoul, leaving an apology note for Hoseok. Come the morning, he’d woken up in the hospital waiting room to your mother’s shocked face, catching the faint hint of disappointment emanating from her.

“Doctor?” Yoongi says. “Is it okay if I just take ___ out into the hallway for a bit?”

He nods a reluctant yes, and Yoongi wheels your chair out into the sunny yet secluded alcove at the end of the hallway.

He leans against the wall, looking at your face that’s lolled to the side, turned away from him.

“I know you’re mad at me. I’m sorry. I’ll never leave you again I promise. Now, don’t you want to get better?”

As Yoongi falls asleep that night, his phone buzzes with a text from Seokjin.

You’re back, and you didn’t think to tell me? The keys are in the flower pot outside the door. There’s food in the fridge. I made samgyeopsal, your favorite. Oh, and Yoongi? When you come back in, please take a shower. You probably smell like sterile piss.

He lets out a loud laugh and looks up at you, suddenly stopping in his tracks when he sees the ghost of a smile flicker across your face.

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

Bringing his foot down onto the plywood, Yoongi jumps on the makeshift ramp he’d built to commemorate your homecoming, testing it out for signs of weakness. Driving to your house each morning, checking out the ramp, lifting you in and out of bed, making sure there was fresh air circulating in your room… it had all become part of his daily routine.

His mornings, afternoons, and evenings were filled with you. He’d cook breakfast for Sooyoung and Jungkook in the kitchen. He’d strap you into the wheelchair and take you out for a spin every afternoon. In the evenings, he’d sit at the dining table with you and your mother, her professor side out in full force as she taught you how to write shaky letters once more.

Today, on his daily stroll with you, he’d stopped in the park for a moment. The weather was chilly yet enjoyable, but he still made sure you were bundled up in a coat and scarf.

Yoongi lets out a groan and plops down on a bench, right beside your chair. The falling leaves have him reminiscing on his life a year ago, and how different everything was back then. How both of you were two ships in the night, navigating the same murky waters yet never crossing paths. And now you’d become his anchor, and he was your lighthouse, guiding you to safety and security every hour of the day.

“Do you ever want to go far, far away?” Yoongi blurts out, unable to contain his thoughts. “Where would you go? You never imagined you’d go into a coma, right? None of us did.”

The last words are a whisper, Yoongi being careful not to dwell on the past. All that matters is the road to recovery.

“Can I ask you one final thing? That night, when you fell, why did you ask for me? Why did you ask for Yoongi?” The door was closing on this chapter for the both of them, but Yoongi would always wonder about the what ifs. What if he had been there that night, what if she had never gone into a coma, what if life for the both of them hadn’t morphed before their very eyes?

A strangled noise interrupts Yoongi’s thoughts once more. He glances over to you, and is shocked to find your lips moving.

“Yoon-gi,” you croak. “Yun-gi.”

Recognition fills your eyes, and Yoongi is incapable of doing nothing but hiding his head in his hands, not wanting you to see the tears of joy that fall and mix with the dew drops on the vibrant green grass.

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

October

The call came in the middle of the night, annihilating Yoongi with the weight of its impact, and for once, he’s the weak one. Sobbing helplessly into his sheets as Seokjin throws his arms around his roommate and holds him through the night.

____ had another seizure last night. Their lungs collapsed. They passed away at 2:27am.

The words echo in Yoongi’s brain as he makes his way to your front door, pushing past the crowd of mourners as numbness encapsulates his entire being.

He passes your uncle, hunched over in the recliner, weeping into his hands. He passes your mother, holding on tight to Sooyoung and Jungkook, almost as if they too will slip out of her grasp at any moment.

He gazes into your room, surprised to still see you lying among the pillows. You look so peaceful, almost as if you’re asleep. It’s the most he’s seen you look like your old self in a long time and Yoongi feels nothing but pain as tears burn in his eyes. Pain that you were awarded a brief moment of peace, of normalcy, before it was all snatched away so soon. Pain that you’d never live out the life you deserved to have, to achieve the happiness that you were meant to achieve. And he’d never be there to see it too.

He stays the night, and the night after that, and the next two nights, helping with the signing of documents and ushering the guests out, one by one, until it’s just your mother and siblings with him at the table.

“We’re moving to Daegu in two weeks,” your mother gasps. “For a fresh start.”

Yoongi knows that their paths diverge here, that in two weeks, all traces of you, and Sooyoung with her buck teeth, Jungkook with his doe eyes, and your mother’s loving smile will be erased from his life. He keeps quiet, afraid to say anything. Afraid to tell them that he doesn’t want them to go, that his soul that had finally found an anchor would be cast out into the depths once more.

“You know Yoongi,” your mother chokes out a sob. “___ loved mugunghwa flowers. Every year, they’d eagerly wait for October when all the flowers fell from the trees and collect them on a sheet with thier father and count them one by one. Mugunghwa are known for their extreme resilience, weathering the worst of conditions to produce something beautiful. They’ll always be known as the “eternal blossom”, and I couldn’t think of a better way to describe our ___.”

The magic of the mugunghwa isn’t lost on Yoongi. He watches as your mother gestures out to a potted shrub in the yard. “____ had a plant of her own. Every day, they would come home and smile at it, water it, and tend to it. They’d pick the flowers when they fell and put them as a centerpiece on our table. I don’t…. I can’t just leave it here to die.”

“I’ll take it,” Yoongi says. “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. It’ll be safe with me.”

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

November

The heat of the spotlight burns the hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck. He’s going to suffocate in this damn suit. He’ll have to talk to Seokjin to see if Yeri would be able to find him a replacement.

With a flourish of the keys, he ends the song and clears his throat into the microphone.

“That’s all for tonight, folks. My name is Min Yoongi, grand pianist at the Signiel Hotel, and the piece you just heard was called October. Thank you for listening.”

A/N pt 2: I didn’t want to put this in the summary, but this piece is dedicated to a classmate of mine that passed away suddenly this semester. I’ve been wrestling with a lot of grief surrounding their passing, wondering if I could’ve done or said something to make things turn out differently. Like Dr. Park says, the soul can never be put into a coma, and I hope that wherever they are, their soul is resting easy and at peace. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[anxious-allie-ren]

Hey everyone! I’d like to introduce the new story I am writing! You can find it on both my AO3 and Wattpad. Both of which are linked in my bio. But I’ll also be posting the chapters here for you all. Be easy on me as I haven’t quite figured out how to post chapters on here and create a master list. That is something I will be working on. Alright, now in to the good stuff.

Erota

As the only daughter from a high society family, the pressure is on you to impress the ton and find a suitable match. You hope to find love, but your fate is decided for you. Your marriage is arranged to King Kylo of Chandrila. Pain and tough decisions are soon to follow.

This story is inspired by Bridgerton and regency era.

Hello everyone! I have been dreaming of writing this fic for a bit now and finally gathered the courage to do it! Like I said in the description, this story is heavily influenced by the regency era and the Netflix show Bridgerton. I've done my best to keep it accurate to both the era and the Star Wars world. I hope you enjoy!

The Ton.

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

The season has finally arrived. You have officially joined the ton and are coming out into society. The debutantes of higher society are to be presented in court. This now includes you and your family.

You were the only child of the Duke of Selonia. A small territory southeast of Drall within the kingdom of Corellia. It's a quaint little area, nothing to brag about. It was cozy and calm. Many of the families had lived in the area for generations. Neighbors all knew each other. But despite its comfort and kindness it was lacking funds.

Since you had been able to remember, life was very simple. You helped in the gardens, the kitchens, and even with the laundry work. Your family took trips to town often, visiting with the people. Your mother loved to stop at the bakery and buy pastries to bring back to the estate. She told you stories from her childhood as bedtime stories. Coming from a common family and marrying into high society. Your parents married for love and not statues. Many scolded your father for marrying "below his station" but he let their words roll off his shoulders. He was attracted to your mother for her beauty, kindness, and capabilities. Your mother was no stranger to hard work, and she assured you weren't as well.

As you matured, you watched as your home aged as well. Bricks began to weather with time and vegetation started to take over. Farmers had less success each year and businesses were closing. The help your father was once so quick to provide had now dwindled into nothing. There was no help to give. The funding was nearly gone. After your mother's death, the strong and reliable man you had once called your father was gone. What replaced him was a shell of a man. He gave up on his duties as a duke and instead threw his time and money into bad habits. Gambling and drinking had become his crutch.

You lost your mother in your adolescence. Still a young girl so in need of a mother and her guidance. Her death left you confused and in desperate need of comfort. You tried to lean on your father. But in his own grief, he seemed to forget about you. Instead, you turned to your community. The maids and butlers became your family. They ensured your schooling would continue. The men even went as far as to teach you math and science. When you entered your teens, you attempted to take on the dukedom in secret. You went over all the documents and finances, trying to find a way to help your people and restore your estate. It was to no avail. Nothing could be done without your fathers signature. So you were left with no choice but to let it go. You focused on your studies and lessons with the maids. They helped bring you to maturity. Now, it was time to join society as an eligible woman.

Marriage has been heavy on your mind for many years now. The idea of meeting a man and marrying just for statues or titles didn't interest you. Neither of those things mattered to you. A marriage had become something with such a negative connotation. But love, now that was very different. You yearned for a true love match. You craved a deep connection unlike any you'd ever experienced. As a child, you'd developed small crushes on some of the neighborhood children. The butterflies and blushed looks were something you understood. But you'd never felt love before. You loved your family of course. You even loved your townspeople. But that was so different from what you hoped to find.

Becoming a debutante was not something you were looking forward to. Joining the ladies of high society was only asking for drama. But as the daughter of a Duke, it was your duty to join the ton and find a suitable husband. This had become increasingly important as your territory lost more and more money to your father's lifestyle. These thoughts scrambled around your mind as you got ready. You would be heading to the first ball of the season, your entrance into society, in moments. You were dressed in your nicest items. A deep red ball gown embroidered with golden florals along the bottom of the skirt and corset. Your hair was pinned back, allowing your face to stand out. Your maid, Jillian, was helping you put on your shoes as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Jillian had been with your family before your mother passed. She had watched you grow from a pained child to a strong young woman. She was with you every step of the way. Jillian became a motherly figure and your most trusted confidant.

Jillian pats your calf as she begins to stand, finished with clasping your heels. Her touch pulls you from your thoughts. You give her a polite smile and thank her, turning back to the mirror. Your anxiety is growing with each tick of the clock and in typical Jillian fashion, she can sense your discomfort. She comes to stand behind you, adjusting the pins in your hair.

"You know you're prepared for this. There's no need to sit and worry."

You meet her gaze in the mirror, her gentle blue eyes giving you a wave of comfort. You let out a sigh and play with your fingers.

"I felt prepared, but now that it's upon me, I'm not so sure. So much is at stake here, Jillian. The people of Selonia are relying on me to find someone who can help. What if I'm not up to standards?"

Jillian only chuckles at your words and places her hands on either of your shoulders.

"Standards? Now you're just being silly. You are a kind, intelligent, and strong young lady. Any suitor would be lucky to have you as his wife."

You turn to look at her, face scrunched in concentration.

"That's exactly the issue! It can't just be any suitor. They need to be able to fix dukedom and be the love I've been waiting for. What if that's unrealistic? How can I ever find someone to do both?"

Jillian places a comforting hand on your cheek, her thumb slowly stroking your cheekbone. She gives you a small smile before she speaks.

"Is that what you're so worried about? Dear, you're placing too much stress on yourself. Don't worry about the dukedom or Selonia. Go and find your love, everything else will fall in place."

You lean into her hand and smile, her words bringing you peace and a newfound sense of confidence. She pulls her hand away and turns towards your bedroom door. She calls back to you, "Now let's get you going! It's time."

————————————————

The carriage stopped in front of the King's summer estate. Many of the guests were already walking up the grand entrance and making their way inside. Your father hurried around and opened the door for you, holding his hand out and helping you down. Tonight he was doing his best to look and act presentable. You place your hand in his bent arm and let him lead you into the ball. Neither of you had spoken more than a few words to each other in years. You were surprised he even accompanied you tonight. His presence only made you nervous again. You weren't sure what his intent was by coming. Was he finally stepping back into his positions as father and Duke? Or was there some ulterior motive?

You found out quickly as he leaned in to speak to you, just as you were arriving at the entrance of the ballroom.

"I am expecting you to perform well tonight. I want to see gentlemen callers of high status calling on you tomorrow."

You look up at him and furrow your brows in confusion. So this is what he came for? To ensure you schmoozed with the highest titles with the most money? If so, he's going to be very disappointed.

"I'm here to find a reasonable suitor for myself, father. Not a suitor for you and Selonia."

He stops walking at your words, his head turning to look down at you. You can see his clenched jaw and anger in his eyes. His distaste for your words is written all over his face.

"Stop with your foolish girly fantasy of a love match. You're here to do as I say, and I'll be damned if you disobey me."

His words sting your heart. Your father had never spoken to you this way. When you were young, he was always so gentle and loving towards you. Now it seems you're just another pawn to be thrown around his chessboard as he pleased. You swallow the lump in your throat and move your gaze back down. Now was not the time to worry about this. You had more pressing matters.

You allowed your father to lead you to the entrance, stopping to allow the announcer to get your names. You took a deep breath as you prepared to face the ton. First impressions were everything, and you did not want to screw this up. The announcer clears his throat and stands at attention. Everyone in the room stops what they're doing to await the next debutante.

"Presented by her father, the Duke of Selonia, Miss Y/F/N."

You stare forward as your father leads you into the ballroom and towards the King and Queen of Corellia. You both stopped before them, your father unlinking your arms and bowing. You fall into a curtsy, bowing your head in respect. Your father stands back up and looks to the king. You stay still, awaiting the command to move. The king of Corellia rises from his throne and moves to stand in front of you. Everyone holds their breath, watching closely to see what unfolds. He places a gentle finger under your chin, raising your head to meet his gaze.

"Stand up for me, dear. You can relax."

You do as he says and stand quickly, giving him a polite smile as you return his intense eye contact. His finger never leaves your chin. He smiles back at you and begins to speak again.

"You are a true beauty, my dear. You know, they say the eyes are a window to the soul. I can see the love and strength living within yours. Hold onto that, they will be your biggest asset."

Your eyes widen at his words. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face.

"Thank you, your majesty."

With that, he removes his finger from your chin and climbs back to his throne. He turns his attention back to the room and declares, "Let the festivities continue."

Your father grabs ahold of your arm again and leads you away from the thrones. You can feel the crowd staring at you, but you can't find it in you to care. King Luke of Corellia spoke to you! Not only that, but he complimented you. This was a great honor bestowed on very few. You would take his advice to heart.

It seems your father had a different perspective. He leads you to a table with dance cards placed neatly in rows. You begin to search for your name as he smirks and begins talking.

"Compliments from the king will help greatly in gaining potential suitors. You'll be the most desired lady in the ton. Seems finding you a husband of high title will be easier than I thought."

You finish tying the card to your wrist and turn to look at the room. Your father continues to talk as you observe your surroundings. You look up at the elegant chandelier. It shines beautifully in the light, casting sparkles all over the room. You watch as they dance across the guests, creating an angelic and light atmosphere. A waiter comes by and offers you and your father glasses of champagne. You take a small sip and return your attention to the crowd. Many of the ladies are giving you glares or speaking with the eligible men in attendance. You take notice of their attire. Many have much more elegant gowns and jewels on. Their appearance shows how much they have to offer. Your feelings of inadequacy begin to creep back in. You don't even notice a man approaching.

Your gaze stops on a young man across the room. His dark brown curls and bright smile grabbed your attention. He was speaking to another man, seeming to be in deep conversation. His face was so expressive as he spoke, hands moving about to help prove whatever point he was trying to make. You couldn't help but be captivated by him. If there was anyone you were hoping to get a moment with this evening, it was him.

You snap from your thoughts as your father greets him and motions towards you. This man must have been reaching his thirties. Much older than any of the debutantes here. His bright ginger hair stands out like a sore thumb. He makes eye contact with you as your father talks. An uneasy feeling sweeps over you. For some reason, something about this man doesn't sit right with you.

"Y/N, I'd like you to meet the Earl of Drall, Lord Armitage Hux" your father says as he motions towards the man. Lord Hux takes your hand and raises it to his lips, kissing your knuckles. The contact makes you cringe internally. Your father looks at you expectantly and you quickly pull yourself together.

"Hello Lord Hux, it is so nice to meet you."

Your father smiles at both of you and claps a hand on Lord Hux's shoulder.

"Lord Hux here is a good friend of mine. I was hoping to introduce you both tonight."

The uneasy feeling now makes sense. Any friend of your fathers is likely a crook. Not at all the type of man you want to be speaking to. You nod politely, biting your tongue from speaking your mind freely. The men then turn away from you and begin a discussion of their own, leaving you out. You lift your glass of champagne back to your lips and turn your gaze back to the direction of the man you had spotted before.

Instead of finding the curly haired man again, you met eyes with someone else. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back was a raven haired man. He stood tall and broad, much larger than any other man in the room. His gaze pierced through you, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. You wanted to approach him, but to do so would make you look indecent.

Your eye contact is cut off by Lord Hux coming in front of you. He holds out his arm to you in invitation.

"Would you do me the honor of a dance, Lady Y/N?"

You wanted nothing more than to say no and go speak to the mystery man. Or even go find the curly haired man from before. But you know you had no choice in the matter. To deny him would make you look bad to the ton. Plus, your father would never stand for it. So you placed your hand in his arm and nod.

"Of course, Lord Hux."

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

I really hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!

Love,

Allie

[borkthemork]

Finally cleaned up this draft based on @/popcornbee’s art and it is now officially on AO3 as well, so I hope all of you enjoy!

---

There were numerous pathways for a sparrow to travel. Following their migration patterns, they'd travel down to warmer lands, typically somewhere protected for the nights. In doing so, they'd rest in the winter and return back all new. Refreshed for the upcoming springs and summers.

For American Tree Sparrows, these patterns were necessary to survive.

For Joe Sparrow, the true information depended. 

He liked to flit about on rapid wing beats. He preferred curdled mealworms due to previous battles hurting his digestive system. For migration, he remained stubborn on whether he liked the warmer breezes or if the Newtopian stables were of true home than anything else.

Newtopia had a history of domestic birds. Joe Sparrow was the mixed case when he grew all-natural, got captured and owned by one or more owners who called him previous names, and then found Marcy in the middle of sweltering rain. Where a mission lead to something new and surprising, bold and unorthodox, and the moment Joe saved her — chose her hand of all people — Marcy promised to keep him safe. Safe, protected, cared for.

And nothing had pulled these two away from each other. Not even the fleeting concept of gravity. Or the fact winter threatened his nests.

Anne asked about him before. On one occasion, where Marcy groomed him under Plantar barn shade, Anne looked at his big, round, puffy belly and wondered out loud where the scar above his eye fit in out of all things.

Of course, Marcy had the answer.

“Oh, you know Joe,” she sighed. “He keeps pushing his limits. You won’t believe how many scars this bad boy got during his old career. For the eye one, he actually got that scar back when he was just a fledgling, but this was during the morally ethical times where amphibians didn’t really care for mounts unless they were battle resistant.”

Her hand parsed through his plume, giggling when Joe tweeted pleasantly against her skin. “But now he’s in a morally ethical place, aren’t you, boy? Yes, you are.”

Anne snorted. She ruffled Joe’s feathers too, and the two giggled quietly when the sparrow seemed to lean into the touch. Almost as if the sparrow connected immediately to Anne.

And Anne teared up over the thought. “It’s just like mother nature intended.”

The week afterward reminded Marcy of her sparring days, but instead of swords and smoke bombs, she had worms and patience. Lots of patience as Anne attempted to feed some mesh into Joe’s beak — and ultimately got stuck when she leaned too hard into his mouth.

It was funny how all this bonding time left her blind to anything else on the schedule. Marcy could instruct Anne to direct the mealworms to Joe for hours and still find Anne’s laughter to be the highlight of her day. Maybe Joe would sit on Anne, and leave her yelling and laughing under floof-fulls of bird, and Marcy would sketch that scene than the typical mission schematics Lady Olivia instructed her to look through.

Marcy hypothesized that Joe's love for attention spurned her focus. It made sense for birds to tease if they didn’t get the proper reaction out of people. It made sense for a bird such as Joe to find affection in someone who exuded goodness from their heart. But then Marcy would remember Anne. For Anne had Joe’s affection at the palm of her hands but irritated the bird enough to prefer dipping her into a nearby pond just for the sake of playfighting. And that enough had gotten her intrigued.

Was it another phenomenon she needed to analyze? To understand fully until the cusp of discovery?

Perhaps. Not right now though.

Marcy had found a breakthrough. A breakthrough in Animal-Human Sociology. But her focus lingered elsewhere, came down to how she rested next to a bucket load of dirty feathers — snoring into her best friend’s shoulder until the moon rose high above the Amphibian mountains.

---

When Marcy stared through the sky, and the act alone reminded her so much of Kid Icarus. If she ignored the wings branching out from the corners of her eyes, and only focused on the colors then she thought of herself as flying. Flying through skies that bled yellows and reds like Aivazovsky, framed so well against the crisp horizons that Marcy could almost paint the perfectest picture in her mind.

And when wind buffered her hair, parted the clouds with her hands, she swore that the taste on her tongue was of fresh saltwater.

Navigation. Freedom. The fades from orange to blue to maroon. Marcy loved riding for a reason. She held onto Joe’s reins with the utmost quickness, spelled out her name with short dives and leaps through cumulus tufts. And in the aftermath, she wrung her coat dry of moisture.

At least, until Anne became a priority.

Anne Boonchuy. Friend of ten years. Friends since the term friends became part of the Merriam Webster. Now, the latter sounded silly, but friendship could be a frank concept at times, it was something Marcy had no clue how to navigate, and yet Anne found her and decided Marcy was worth her time.

So they were here now: One readying an avian saddle, the other petting Joe’s tufts with the heaviest affection. And aw, Joe seemed to like it, what with the amount of cooing he’d been doing for the past hour.

Not like Marcy didn’t want to get in on that action. She just needed to finish clipping on the latches — and when she did that, it would be go-time, her a-game.

“Anne, can you push me that satchel?”

“Sure thing, Marce.” With ease, Anne somehow lugged a chair-sized bag over to where Marcy was, and they remained silent afterward as she finished the remainder of preparations.

What preparations? Well, the kind that remained out of her league.

“Sooo, where are ya’ going, exactly?” Anne asked. She had the same perturbed look to her ever since she whiffed the scents from the bag itself.

Marcy couldn’t help but rub her neck, not knowing how well to respond. “Well, I’ve been planning to scout an area somewhere high up in the Southern sect of Amphibia. I got wind that some bandits plan to use a route to jump ambassadors from here and there on the pathways, and I just wanted to make sure that doesn’t happen again, you know?"

“For sure, dude. I mean, you are the boss after all. That stuff’s gotta be pretty important if you’re getting loads of homework for it.”

“Well,” Marcy puckered her lips. She was right in some sense. Chief rangers plopped themselves into some high category up in the Newtopian ranks. It made sense. “Correct, kinda. I don’t really call it a boss position, more so a job. A very fun job, actually. You’d be surprised at how many prefer office desks to infantry, it’s nuts.”

Although, the more she thought about it, being able to stay safe in a big ole’ cube than getting skewered by bandits did sound appealing. Less probability for harm, sure. But Marcy loved the hunt way too much for her own good.

If Andrias gave her another objective, she might as well do a little dance at this point; there was always something exciting to partake in.

And with Joe, the fun always doubled with him.

At least, until she remembered that Anne had been staring at her, snapping her fingers in front of Marcy’s nose. “Marbles, you good? Another zone-out moment again?”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Thanks, I was about to get worried, the internal dialogue I had was getting way too extensive for my taste."

"Well, now that you’re out of your internal dialogue stuff, I got to ask.” Anne peered at Joe again. “Can I get on your bird?”

Marcy blinked at her. “Oh. Of course. You don’t really need to ask me if you’re curious about riding him.”

“I know, but he’s a big softie, really wanted to make sure I got your permission before anything else.” She coughed. “Plus I’m not gonna take any vehicles without permission. Tried that once. Didn’t go so hot.”

Somehow, Marcy found herself giggling. She couldn’t pinpoint why; Anne’s honesty must’ve just been that funny. “Well, if you want to jump on the SS Joe Sparrow, I’d be happy to show you around and get you a front-row ticket to some action.”

“For real?” Anne beamed, only for her expression to melt into a frown, scratching her chin at the thought. “Aren’t you on ranger duty though?”

Okay, she had a point there. “I mean, yeah, but I’ve mainly done this stuff solo. Sure I’ve got Joe to accompany me but it’ll be interesting to have a second person on board for the ride.” Without a skip in her beat. “And why wouldn’t I have you go with me? Of course, I would. You’re always the best on road trips.”

And with that, Anne’s smile grew tenfold. Oddly beautiful. Oddly hard to describe. Weirder to even have herself think those things in the first place. “Count me in, then. Let’s go, Marbles!”

Oh well. She’d think about that later.

---

Joe softened his landings in-between. And at certain points, when the mountains dipped to valleys he rocketed around and buffeted the gales just for the heck of it. He had the heart of a little kid sometimes, every moment he swooped through some current or plummet forward if he got the chance. He liked to make himself seem so grand when he cheeped. And Marcy confided in the idea that no matter how aged this sparrow would become, he’d still be the softest avian around.

Always there. Always playful. Always…eager for potential mates. He was the total package for best mount in all of Amphibia, and Marcy didn’t want it any other way.

So with Anne, Marcy became delighted when Joe kept that same kindness. It wasn’t just Marcy doing rough landings against solid ground or her zipping through the air. There were two people, two people to consider on the back of his saddle.

And Joe never disappointed her. He pivoted, swerved on command, and coaxed giggles from the girl behind her, whose arms pressed tightly to her waist until their hair puffed out from the wind.

“Keep your arms locked in, Annie B!”

Marcy’s hands whipped the reins, whooping at the top of her lungs when the dive pushed oceans of air into their faces.

The straps and belts dug into their laps when Joe pulled up, braced them in a loop-de-loop that had their eyes rolling when they finally exited out to a steady level.

And Marcy could hear the laughter behind her.

The laughter spoke of so much joy and happiness, of a symphony that Marcy had heard so many times before, and Marcy leaned into her warmth when they passed from the hallowed groves to the shimmering Newtingale creaks.

All throughout the Southern sect, all throughout the faint rattle of Marcy’s heart.

---

The ride home had been a lot darker than Marcy expected. For most of her trips in and out of the valleys, a lot of her path-finding culminated in something one could describe as an adventure. If one described her and Anne beating up an entire bandit group disguised as a clown posse to be an adventure, then yes. That was what happened.

They went head-to-head, toe-to-toe. All while decked out in white makeup and smelly rotten clown noses. This all sounded ridiculous, but out in Amphibia, one should never ever underestimate a theatre group.

For entertainment was their cruelest weapon.

Anne had been the first to ambush the bandits during the mission. With the agile reflexes of a cat, she deflected each oncoming slash with ease while Marcy took aim, calculated her crossbow trajectory until the enemies all knocked unconscious in the mud.

If one ignored the clown get-up, then what she talked about seemed like a typical day for Marcy. Always saving someone. Always doing her best. Always making sure no newts got chewed up by some toad or frog dressed up in rogue wear.

But the difference today was that she had someone to accompany her. Or how that same someone jumped onto Joe and gave that feisty bird a few scratches to his feathers, trying to wash her face in the water bucket they stored earlier today.

It all seemed domestic-like. The kind that Marcy dreamed about in fantasy stories, where the protag had a close ally to travel the world until their dying breaths.

And gosh, it was so cool that Anne became that friend.

She seemed to enjoy it too, what with the close embrace when they finally took off for the night, her chin propped on her cloaked shoulder, or the fact her exhales drifted in crisp Amphibian air.

A sign that she was enjoying everything. Everything from the swoop of Joe’s wings, the purple haze of the night, or how the moon cloaked their forms in red lighting — masking the landscape in darkness like a blanket over bedding.

Anne sighed contently. Her face nestled close to Marcy’s neck. She didn’t show that she regretted being here.

Not one bit.

“I’ve never been this high up before,” she mumbled. “The only times I did were when some creature flung me up into the middle of nowhere.”

Marcy hummed to that. Anne's fingers ghosted the triceps of Marcy's arms, left goosebumps to form and bristle in the cold, it made everything feel weird. Comfortable. Safe. “So is this less traumatizing and more exciting then?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.” Her voice rang, all charmed and sweet. “By a long shot.”

And Marcy was glad about that. Ever since she found Joe, a lot of her adventures had gotten easier to deal with. From zooming over to the Dry Swamp to the many forests hidden deep underneath solid canopies, one of the many pros of having a steed like Joe was of the view.

A view that made scouting ten times easier. The kind that entangled her in clouds, the song of avians, and the dance of the breeze. The kind that chilled her nose, left cumulus droplets on her thumbs, and when she settled down from grazing the upper layers of oxygen her body’s equilibrium warmed her up like it always intended to.

To have Anne feel that same experiences — the same elation — made the trip all the more worth it. Especially when Marcy’s skin grew warmer under non-equilibrium circumstances. All due to the cuddly contact.

Oh, Anne.

“If you want, I know a froggy pitstop nearby that sells slushies twenty-four-seven,” Marcy said softly. Joe went into a descent, already maneuvered by Marcy’s quick hands at the reins. They weren’t going to land yet. At least until Anne said so. “Wouldn’t hurt to take in the view on a full stomach.”

“That sounds amazing.” Anne pressed closer, and Marcy tried not to think about the murmur, how low it rumbled against Marcy’s ear. Gosh, she must be really relaxed by now. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m ready for some grub.”

“Well, they aren’t really grubs more like a mish-mash of every insect on the palette.”

“I try not to think about it.”

With laughter escaping them, Marcy directed Joe into the forest space below, her heart synced with the beat of sparrow wings.

[bxllafanficc]

Lady of mischief- Part five

Pairing: Loki x Greek!goddess f!reader

Summary: Asgard is having a change of power so there are several events Loki has to get right before he can announce victory against his brother as the next king. But one lady’s approval will change the whole outcome if the stakes are right. That lady is you, intended heir to the throne of Olympus but tied down to a marriage of convenience with one of the princes of Asgard. The prince you choose to marry will be the next king but you refuse to let yourself be a pawn in this game for power. Loki, with his intentions to take you as his queen has far greater reason to marry you than just for the reason of being king. You however, would rather cut off your left arm than exposing yourself for the fact that there’s another purpose besides Loki getting a throne to sit on.

One week later and you found yourself at a sea cliff on Asgard’s largest known bay. You’d brought Henna with you, just like every other day since you got officially banished. Now you couldn’t stand being in the castle and spent almost every waking hour in the city, avoiding the royal family at all cost. Odin even demanded you ate breakfast with them since you were an honored guest but of course you never showed.

Zeus left the day after the banquet and not a word from your parents. They probably didn’t even blink the second he told them their daughter had been locked in with an entire castle of self-centered gods.

“Gods are assholes!” You threw a rock at the size of a basketball into the water and glared at the splash, secretly hoping your father Poseidon would sense it and feel guilt. That was impossible, of course. A Greek god holds no power at the realm of Norse gods.

“My lady, you’re a god.” Henna stayed seated at a comfy rock she found the first day coming to the cliff. She said it was the perfect fit for her to relax her always perfect posture without sloping. You always told her you don’t care if she sloped at non-formal occasions.

“Yes, Henna. Me included.” You were just surprised she didn’t faint because you used such a mundane word, a thing you picked up from the humans on a visit once.

“I can’t stop thinking about what I said to the prince. It was a decade ago, yes, but he still remembers it. Probably thinks about it every time he sees me!” You tried to concentrate on the real reason you were here. To practice. You’d never win anyone’s respect if you couldn’t control your powers. You started with the hardest, the sea; a force that doesn’t want to be tamed.

A pulsing body of water drove up from the sea and flew in front of you. The goal was to force it into a perfect shaped globe, forcing the sea to obey so thoroughly. To your luck the liquid started obeying your wish when you put all your concentration to use. Almost a solid globe. You’d only need a few more seconds to-

“And I’ve already said you should apologize to him. Who knows, you two might hug it out and the next thing you know you wake up naked in his chambers the next day.”

The almost globe burst into millions of droplets and salt burned in your eyes at the shock. Your vision blurred out and you coughed on the water that went down your airways. Heat went to your cheeks and you looked down at your soaked clothes.

“Goodness, Henna! You’ve spent too much time with the Asgardian maids.

You can’t say stuff like that!” Your voice was still faint from the couching as you scolded her. You had to put your focus to use once again to extract the water into fine droplets hanging midair in front of you. The dress was far too pretty to get stained with saltwater. The jewelry looked surreal in the light the dress radiated. Every thread of the fabric seemed to be created of pure shining starlight or liquid diamond. The dress held the beauty of a thousand stars.

No one knew where it appeared from, however. You had your own guess, of course. It laid neatly folded on your work desk one afternoon and if it was the first born prince, he would’ve left some grand note with it as well. The dress just laid there in absence of anyone claiming the rights. An apology for sure.

“Well, you said asshole if I’m not mistaken.” There it was. Henna cleared her throat as a sign to drop the subject but you knew she had a big smirk on her lips. You didn’t want to turn around to confirm it.

“Let’s try again, my lady. Why don’t you try claiming the entire wave coming right there?”

You analyzed the wave and realized what Henna was asking. The size of it was huge and it would surely crash into the cliff side underneath you. Your job was to stop that impact and lift it up to your level.

It was dead silent as you waited for the wave to arrive. With a last big engaging try you felt the power of the sea surging through you. Blocking the impact of the wave lashing itself forwards was similar feeling to getting that same wave right in the face like a wall of bricks. But it was not in vain. The water started to rise to the cliff you stood on and you had to replace your feet for a better stance. Every second the sea threatened to leash out of your hold.

“How mighty.” A soothing voice, yet laced with viciousness, appeared only a hot breath away from your ear and you screamed.

The scent of new books hit you too late and the wave had already been unleashed on the threat behind you. The water had devided around your frame, covering Henna and Loki from head to toe in seawater without showing mercy. The sea held no mercy. Right…

A moment of silence and Loki still had his eyes tightly shut, his entire body frozen in place. He’d been less than an inch from you and you hadn’t noticed. He was still less than an inch from your bodies touching.

He slowly went to wipe one of his eyes clean of water and tasted the layer of salt glancing his lips. You cursed yourself for noticing the shameful way his tongue swiped across his bottom lip. Did he take the warm weather with him somehow or why was it suddenly growing hot again? And why did he look so different with the drenched clothes hugging his frame, hair slicked back. The dripping from the each strand fell and caressed the heavy outline of his collarbones.

What were you even thinking about. He must’ve done something. A spell of some sort.

“That was unnecessary.” He said it as simple as ever and it made you grit your teeth.

Stop staring at his abs, dammit!, you thought.

It had to be a spell. This couldn’t be real.

“Why are you here?” You weren’t prepared for this. He was supposed to be on a mandatory meeting right now. Did he just right up ditch that?

“You’re no fun… I came with a proposition.”

“Of what sorts?” You eyed him with careful detail, trying to sense a trick of some sort. His gaze lingered on your appearance a little too long from what seemed appropriate. It was a thorough scan up and down and the soul behind the eyes held a strange glow. Of course he was shocked you wore the dress he bought.

“We can teach each other things. You tell me stories and history of the Ancient Greece, your kind’s gracious era and I teach you illusion magic.” He could tell your raised eyebrow was a sense of confusion. “Like, combining water and light into something entirely new. I’ll teach you how to conjure spells-“

“Like the one you’re doing now?” It just slipped out of you and it was too late to ignore. It was now his turn to look confused. The tip of his tongue came out once again to wipe off some salt and you looked away.

“What?” He asked.

“Whaaat?” You repeated along with a dumb giggle you had no idea where it came from. The already tight fabric of Loki’s shirt was riding up from the wet fabric rolling itself up. You really did try not to think about how the pearls of droplets looked like glitter in the sun on his toned stomach, but realized that you already failed. You swallowed a hot lump of dryness that caught in your throat.

So no spell then?

Loki sighed and cracked a tense muscle in his neck, a green light drying him and his clothes from bottom and up in a matter of a second (Henna remained drenched).

“Just say no quickly, there’s no reason to drag it out. I’ll leave you be when you’ve answered.” You bit your bottom lip and actually took a moment to think about it.

“Actually, it doesn’t sound too awful. But don’t you already know everything about my realm there is to know?” That earned a genuine smile from him and you thought about how that was a rare sight.

“You’d be surprised of how understocked Asgard’s library is when it comes to your history, your highness.”

“And stop calling me that! It’s weird. You never did it before so why do it now?”

“I thought you disliked me being informal.”

“Oh do shut up!”

Loki laughed and nodded in agreement. It was just then you realized how you were still inappropriately close to him and how his breath smelled of something sweet. Something brushed past your hand and Loki retracted his own with a flinch and an apologetic look.

“I’m s-“ Loki started but Henna’s loud cough and pointed glare.

“Wait!”

“Yes?”

“I don’t… I don’t find you disgusting.” You watched his expression and expected him to get upset but nothing in his body language seemed tense. If anything, his jaw and shoulders seemingly dropped.

“That’s like the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” His chuckle was bright but your gut still twisted in shame.

“No but like, I don’t find your touch disgusting. I never did, actually-“ The amount of truth you entrusted this man with was almost too much. The words were so tense on the way out that you started coughing.

“Then why did you-“

“I don’t know! No more questions though. All I know is that it was far from unpleasant and that’s all you need to know for now.” Loki raised his eyebrow, lips slightly parted. You understood you’d talked before your brain caught up with you again.

“No, that came out wrong. But you know what I mean!” Your hands fiddled on the edges of the dress, only to flatten out the fabric right after. The dry lump just couldn’t seem to go down.

“Oh I sure do… And I agree with you on how we speak to each other. I hate speaking to you formally! It doesn’t sit right for me especially. Then I wouldn’t be able to say the stuff I actually want.”

“Like what?” You regretted asking immediately but couldn’t bring yourself to step back as he leaned in.

Lips brushed against your earlobe and his scent was all up in your world, along with the surreal warmth that always seemed to follow him.

“That dress looks absolutely ravishing on you, (Y/n). I never thought you’d wear it to be honest. We’re you really planning on fleeing the castle on such an occasion and not letting me see any of the beauty?” His voice turned low again and the always present rasp seemed extra present today.

The dry lump finally went down.

“You could’ve gifted it to someone else if you wanted to see the dress on an actual body instead of a hanger.”

A low rumbling came from his chest and erupted in his throat. It took you a moment to realize that the sound was a chuckle.

“See, I don’t think that’s true. Yes, any person could wear it, but I can’t think of anyone else who could wear one of the most beautiful things crafted ever and the most beautiful thing in the room would still remain the person in it.”

You couldn’t move your body. It was frozen in place even though the blood in your veins was literally boiling. You were almost thankful that he was so close. That way he wouldn’t see your red cheeks.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Why would I lie about it? Meet me in the library tomorrow after breakfast. I look forward to our time together.”

(A/N: Hi! Don’t hesitate to comment on each chapter what you thought about it/if you liked it since that keeps me motivated to keep writing. Also reblog so my story reaches a wider audience, if you really liked it! Your support is much appreciated. Also let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for this series. Have a good day, lovelies!)

Find the other parts in my MASTERLIST

Tag list: @liffydaze

@queen-of-mischief

@girl-obsessed-with-things

@obsessivelysearching

@reverse-iak

@perpetually-exhausted-and-tired