#all those days watching from the windows (rosaline)

[amidst-wonderland]

lilac

pairing: general gray family warnings: mentions of predatory behaviour that are implied, underage smoking is mentioned, strong language. 'queer' used casually, not homophobically - also, jack is gay and i'm queer. summary: rosie's not keen on her dad's new star hot-shot actor.

"she fancies him,” rosie knowingly hums but bitterness lingers in its delivery. hovering by the window and peering down at her baby sister who’d now draped herself over the yellow cab’s door like a mewling lovesick pup. she can’t see violet’s face but rosie’d put money on the expression not being too far removed from that adoring smile she’s perpetually wore across the dinner table. “can hardly blame her, but–”

    nora lightly scoffs at her elder daughter, flicking over the worn script. “she’s jist taken a likin’ tae ‘im. he’s a sweet-talker in a nice suit here tae impress yir da. can hardly try it on wae you.” she waves a hand motioning it in the general direction of rosie’s prominent bump, ash dripping from the lit straight. “got one of those hollywood types already, don’t you? speaking of, yer da’s got some work on offer if he’s lookin’ ‘something-hoaliday’ ‘hink it’s called – continent shite.’”

   the brunette ignores the offer, jibing again at her sister’s crush on the upcoming actor. “you know what she said to me, the minute i walked in the door? no, ‘hello’, no ‘how’s the baby’ just, ‘he says i could be the next doris day, ro!’ clearly never heard the wean bloody sing.”

    “or seen ‘er dance.”

     he has.

     rosalin hadn’t been home to her siblings much since falling pregnant but tonight's dinner guest had become quite the regular visitor in their home. she’d heard from her younger brother. jack explained this new mystery man, a friend of george’s who he met at a co-worker’s engagement dinner. he was from the stage now wanting to branch into film, “mum’s taken to him, well, said to aunt linda she sees a bit of dad in him, which is rather queer if you ask me considering vi’s stropping around the apartment like he’s the gentleman caller. georgie’s stopped picking up the telephone because of the pestering, had to tell her off.”

     jack continued ramble with general observations: the brief and playful pokes, rosy cheeks, the giggles and hair-twirls also how he’d caught them sharing a cigarette in the kitchen during george’s thirtieth birthday then a dance to one of sinatra’s. not to mention - although jack made sure to - the teen had gained a rather affectionate pet name, "flower".

     rosie frowns as her nostrils flare when catching a glimpse of violet’s pink skirt disappearing into the back of the cab before michael shuts the door behind her. she hastily decides to play devil’s advocate before his return, continuing to watch him instead of turning to her mother. “do you think dad would entertain it? he’s only a little older than me.”

     twenty-five.

     nora pauses, her pen’s scribbles halting in its tracks, scrapping against the paper. michael had a way about getting what he wanted, after all the shelby inside him was grimly decaying like some sticky, clingy tar as opposed to dissipating, but he consistently left his children out of the equation. much to his own detriment whilst they were little but there was no gain in this specific hollywood game. he’d won. gotten his lead actor, there was hardly a need for the hook, line and sinker foreplay act played subliminally through his freshly seventeen-year-old daughter. “wouldn’t feel the need to.”

     rosalin grimaces at her mother’s admission.

     she didn’t really know.

     “she’s just a kid–”

     “swallow it hen. filmin’ starts in the next few weeks and him’n’ that leigh-lassie will be all over the papers.”

     feeling a light burning sensation in her chest and bile rise in her throat causing a strain, “i hope he’s nice.”

     “well, if ‘es no, he’ll have tae deal with her glesga-bred brother, that an yir faither's kilt three blokes.”

so, i saw priscilla and wanted to write this, i did explicitly write this as open-ended, take it how ever you will with rosie's last line. i've never really written for violet and i thought it would be fun - don't worry this very year this is set (50-'51) she does meet someone her own age, however it was james dean - vi really knows how to pick a bi doesn't she?

anyways it's pretty obvious who this is about but i didn't want a name drop, similarly with rosie's husband who i have named elsewhere (it's weird because i wouldn't consider it rpf, but it technically is).

#peaky blinders #michael gray #oc: nora gray #violet gray #george gray #rosie gray #jack gray #michael gray fic #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fic

[goldenheartgirl1]

Rose and Marigold Ch.11-A Single Moment

In 1781, it was announced that the queen was pregnant with her second child, and in this year both Oscar and Marigold were 26 years of age and their relationship and love had soared in those four years since their first quarrel. When queen Antoniette had her first son everyone was ecstatic, which bothered Marigold since the queen had a beautiful daughter that the people refused to recognize, and for the first time in a while the pain and suffering seemed to vanish from France’s people. During the four years, Marigold had become a doctor to those with no money, everyone would visit her for their ailments or she would journey to Paris to help those that could not travel. She healed whoever she could with no charge or medicine, Oscar was greatly proud of her success, but of course it did have its failures too when some lives could not be saved. Overall, most were ecstatic by Marigold whenever she appeared in the city, she even had forgotten wearing her cloak so everyone could find her easily. Rosaline still lived with them and had become a wonderful fencer and house keeper, she also began to practice medicine with Marigold which made the redhead very proud.

However, trouble and rumors began to brew again when nobles and the people of France could not have an audience with the queen, tempers flared constantly according to André although Oscar would try to downplay his worries. Marigold was always there for Oscar though, always listening and offering her thoughts, and for serious times they would just hold one another or reduce themselves to sensual touching. Worries of the queen losing her supporters filled Marigold and Oscar. One evening, Oscar played the piano beautifully as Marigold sang beside her, it was their favorite way to pass the world around them even if it was only for less than an hour. André had briefly come in and gently told Oscar that the American expedition was finished and that America had won its independence, but as soon as he left Oscar stood up and watched out the window. Marigold stepped closer and gently took Oscar’s right hand, holding it to her lips and kissing her knuckles, gathering Oscar’s attention and kissing Marigold’s hand in return.

“Marigold..about Fersen-”

“When he returns, we’ll figure it out.” Marigold assured her with a smile. “I have no doubts Oscar, but for now we should sleep. We are meeting with the queen tomorrow.”

Oscar smiled softly and held Marigold in her arms, kissing her passionately with the redhead kissing back as well. The next day they both left for the villa and they were happy to see Marie so happy with her children, they all spoke about old times and what they have been doing for the past couple years, but the pressing matter of the queen’s absence from court never came up. Marigold and Oscar left the villa but the blonde insisted that the hazel eyed woman should go home first, the commander claimed she needed to speak with André and would not be back until late. While Marigold did worry a little, she pecked her lover's lips before agreeing and took her horse on the road back to the mansion. It was indeed late when André and Oscar came back, but they came back with bruises and cuts that had Marigold and Rosaline horrified. The two were quickly cleaned up before being taken to their rooms, the redhead couldn’t help but fret over her lover despite the small wounds.

Time continued to pass slowly at almost a painful pace but Oscar was still held up by her friends. When the trial of Rosaline’s sister came to be in August of 1785 up until May of 1786, Jeanne was convicted and sent to prison, but only from there her popularity grew. The woman escaped somehow and yet her popularity continued to grow while the royal family’s names were being dragged. Marigold did her best to focus her time on her family and those she helped in the slums, Oscar was careful when they spoke about their troubles but they never stayed quiet about their worries or emotions. As the scandal of Jeanne’s book grew it was decreed that the royal guard would hunt her down and bring her to justice, meaning that Oscar and André would be away from home more. Oscar gave a gentle kiss to Marigold the morning she had to leave, then the redhead pushed forward to take care of Nanny and Rosaline herself. Unfortunately, even Rosaline had grown more quiet and distant from the family.

One evening, Oscar had passed out downstairs after chasing another false lead, Rosaline took the wine glass from the unconscious woman while Marigold sighed and lifted Oscar up. She may not have been the strongest woman but she could at least lift her lover. Rosaline assisted in getting Oscar to bed, then looked at the redhead who hummed a lullaby. “M-marigold?”

“Yes Rosaline?”

“There is something I wish to talk to you about..”

“Very well, come, we’ll go to my room.” They left Oscar’s room to enter Marigold’s room, the redhead sat beside Rosaline on the bed and she gave a warm but tired smile. “Now, what is on your mind?”

Rosaline began to explain how Duchess Polignac was blackmailing her to return to her mother’s side, Marigold’s heart sank seeing how distressed she looked. “I-I don’t know what to do!”

“Rosaline..your sister's actions are giving her an advantage over you, but do not let her get into your head.”

“But she also says she’ll reveal Oscar’s love to you!” Rosaline wailed out suddenly, making Marigold stare at her with wide eyes. “Oscar can handle such rumors but I do not want you both ruined over her underhanded schemes! I couldn’t bear to watch that happen..”

Slowly Marigold stood and walked to her nightstand, retrieving a small bottle from the drawer with lavender stuffed in it. She brought it over to Rosaline and opened the cork to let the girl smell it, when Rosaline finally calmed down the bottle was put into her hands and Marigold smiled. “Rosaline, no matter what you chose to do you could never go wrong. You have changed from a girl of emotion to a woman of courage. I know you can outwit Polignac, I know you can tough out whatever the people of France say, and I support whatever choice you make.”

“Marigold..” Rosaline whimpered softly and held the bottle to her chest, her eyes glistened with tears.

“Just promise me, if you stay or go that you will never let someone tell you how to live. Pursue your life and never give in.” Marigold said, her own eyes welling up with sadness as she muttered. “You are the closest person I’ve had to call a sister..”

Rosaline sobbed as she hugged Marigold tightly, crying into the woman’s chest while the redhead only rubbed her back and wept quietly. The choice that Rosaline made was to leave and Marigold had to say the hardest goodbye along with André, when Polignac came to pick her up Oscar was distraught by the sudden news of her leaving. The blonde’s hugged and Oscar handed Rosaline a necklace of hers to wish her luck, Marigold only cried as she watched them but desperately wanted to chase after the carriage. Oscar needed to drink that night and Marigold asked to join her, only that by the next morning both were naked in bed with an empty bottle and tousled sheets. When Oscar set out again to find Jeanne, now with a clue thanks to the letter that was sent from the woman to Rosaline, it was reported back that the monastery she hid in blew up and Oscar needed time to recover. It became harder for André, Oscar, and Marigold to remain positive, but they all tried their best and continued to live every day they could with their freedom.

Then there was the return of Fersen, who sent Oscar into a sense of happiness for seeing him safe and alive from the war, Marigold welcomed him as a friend and all of them talked for hours upon his first dinner back. Even though they were delighted by his return, he was dumbfounded by the way the people have changed their opinions about the royal family, he even claimed he needed to see the woman he loved. Marigold knew that Oscar was broken hearted, while she assured her love to Marigold as the only woman she’d love, Fersen is the only man that Oscar has ever come to love. Days passed and it was clear Oscar’s heartache was going to be coming to a close, one evening after a life threatening attack against the queen, Oscar returned in a hurry and barged into Marigold’s room. The redhead was stunned and set her book aside, standing up as Oscar stormed, and asked with worry.

“Oscar? What is it? What has you so-mmhm!”

Oscar did not reply with words, but rather a ferocious kiss, the strength of the blonde had actually pushed Marigold into the wall as the kiss continued. Marigold did not try to break it right away but she was stunned and gripped onto Oscar’s arms in a frenzy, her hazel eyes noticing the tears streaking down her lover's cheeks. Minutes may have passed but it was indeterminate as Oscar pulled away and pleaded with Marigold. “I am giving up on Fersen..But I need your approval to be a woman for one night.”

Marigold’s eyes were wide as Oscar asked this, she managed to blink and question. “W-what do you mean?”

“I plan to dress up..one night for the ball to just dance with him as a woman.” Oscar elaborated, cupping Marigold’s cheeks as she pleaded. “Please, give me permission so I know I have not betrayed you.”

“Oscar..” Marigold smiled a little, holding Oscar’s hands in her own as they held her face and she whispered. “Go, get dressed and enjoy the night. I know you love me and I know you’ll come back. So go live your desire, I will be here when you return.”

A smile grew on Oscar’s face as she kissed Marigold again before letting go and leaving to find Nanny. With Marigold’s help, they soon had Oscar dressed up in a dress that would put all of France’s fine dresses to shame, with its purity and elegant form it would make Oscar the most desired woman of the night. This was a way for Oscar to grow, to let go of the past, and Marigold took the greatest care in putting her hair up to make sure she would be noticed. After she was ready to depart, Oscar placed a kiss on Marigold’s cheek before leaving, the redhead only smiled back and encouraged her to go. Pride overcame Marigold that night, seeing Oscar doing something she wanted and not being afraid or ashamed to admit it to her. She was not worried about Oscar's love and hoped Oscar would find the peace she deserved. When Marigold awoke the next morning, Oscar was in bed with her in her usual night attire and they embraced passionately for the morning.

Winter came next with news of the black knight, it seemed peace was never going to return again to anyone in the Jarjaye’s home. Oscar was sent on another man hunt but always made sure to come back, the one time she did not immediately and it worried Marigold, but a couple days later she returned with news from Rosaline that made Marigold weep happily. The girl escaped from Polignac’s home and resided with good people, the young girl even kept the bottle of lavender to remember her by, it was the best news she’s heard in months. Times only keep getting tougher on the family, their will to push forward and not run grinded on their minds and hearts, but what else could they do? Marigold no longer held love or support for the royal family and knew Oscar did, so she kept quiet to avoid more pain for Oscar.

#sadness #romance #versailles no bara #rose of versailles #oc #oscar françois de jarjayes #completed and 12 chapters #fanfic

[extremelyblackandwhite]

timeless - 06

PAIRING: medieval!james “bucky” barnes x reader

WARNINGS: mentions of wounds (bleeding), scars, trauma

A/N: today the only highlight of my day was spin class and whenever i get upset i just write, as hamilton would say, like i’m running out of time. enjoy xx

NEXT CHAPTER

If looks could burn, Y/N would be ablaze.

The whole of court had their eyes on her almost creating a wall between her and the outside world. Whispers like “who is she” could be heard all over the tournament courts yet all Y/N could look at was the crown of blue flowers in her lap, almost as blue as the eyes that watched her like a hawk. Mindlessly, she smiled, cheeks rising up and eyes locking with his, a kind of understanding that she clearly didn’t understand. 

    - Come on. - Odette helped her up noticing the increasing madness settling on the Princess of Genoa’s eyes. Without much space for questions, Eliza and Odette were guiding her out the box and into the castle grounds, avoiding the crowd as much as possible. Y/N merely looked at the crown of flowers she was now holding, almost like a memory she didn’t remember. 

The three girls kept on walking deeper and deeper into the castle until they reached Y/N’s chambers, where she was pretty much thrown into before the door was locked behind them. 

   - You are gonna stay here while I try and ... make everyone peaceful. 

   - But I wanna thank Lord Barnes. 

   - I don’t know why you’re upset, Odette. It was pretty enthused to see Rosaline first get denied something in her whole life. - Eliza laid down on Y/N’s bed, a little smirk on her lips.- It’s not like they have copulated, Odette. There’s nothing you need to solve.

   - It is such an insult for someone not to offer the honours to the guest. The King is gonna be mad, the Queen is gonna be mad, everyone is gonna be mad and they are not gonna let it out on the Duke of Addia, they’re gonna let it out on the person with no noble status. - Odette pulled some flowers off her hair, trying to prep herself to try and beg the King to be kind to her lady in waiting. Eliza, on the other hand, had a small smile, almost pouty, looking at Y/N whose eyes were but much worried with the crown of flowers on her fingers, fingers playing at the browning that was already starting to appear at the edges of the pretty blue buds. - Eliza, you two stay here. 

   - Sure thing, your Royal Highness. - the other lady in waiting nodded as Odette left the bedroom. Once it was just the two of them, Eliza sat against the various cushions on Y/N’s bed. - You are so smitten. 

    - What? No!

    - Odette’s not here, you can tell me. You spent the whole tournament staring at him and when you weren’t staring at him he was staring at you. I hate to be the Odette of the situation but you need to be safe, Y/N. He is a deranged, dangerous man. 

    - Eliza, I know. - Y/N laid down next to her friend, crown still in her hands, as a tiny mindless smile made itself onto her lips. - It’s just, and this might sound silly, looking at him feels right. It’s as if I’m supposed to be looking at him. 

    - He’s a Duke, you’re supposed to look at him.

    - It’s not that. He could be a stable boy and he still has this ... magnetic nature about him, it just pulls you in. It’s like you’ve never knew you knew him until you looked into his eyes. - she raised the crown above her head, staring at the beautiful way the flowers intertwined with the metal base of the piece.

    - I think you need to rest, you’re spewing too much non sense. - Eliza got up from her bed, looking down at the woman who seemed frozen in her own mind. She ended up deciding to let Y/N remain in her bedroom alone, thinking that Odette would need more than her princess charm and empathy to take Y/N out of the mess Lord Barnes had so kindly laid upon her. 

The lady in waiting, on the other hand, merely turned around, laying on her side with her eyes still locked in the little flowers which seemed to mean as much to nature as they meant to her. Her gaze shifted from the hyacinths to the white rose she had gotten on top of her pillow the night before which now laid in a clear jar with some water. The scent. That intoxicating scent. 

She raised her torso from the bed, placing the hyacinths a bit away from her before reaching for the rose. She still didn’t know why it had been left on top of her bed or who had done it, yet she couldn’t help but feel a strange calm nostalgia about it. She remained like this for what seemed like hours, enough for the sun to set and allow her to wonder why Odette and Eliza hadn’t returned yet. After the sun set and the moon graced the skies up and high, she made up her mind to go and find the girls and so, with determination on her step, she walked off her bedroom and into the cold, dark halls of the palace. 

Truthfully, she wasn’t sure where they could be or if they even were within palace grounds as the King took pleasure in having guests visit the palace’s gardens during the night. Nevertheless, she continued to walk through the walls until a grunt made her stop. She held her hand up to her chest as she noticed a door slightly open, a flickering light, possibly coming from candlelight, lighting the hall very faintly.

The young woman was about to ignore it when another grunt came through which grabbed hold of her curiosity and almost by magic, she padded to the door, hand holding the side of it as she peaked inside. There he was, Duke Barnes, laying down in bed with a gloved hand, as always, over his shirt. She noticed the red tint staining the white linen of his shirt which had her wonder if he was in pain from the wound gained from the tournament. Surely the servants should’ve patched him up yet by the thickening of the stain on his shirt, she guessed that wasn’t the case. 

     - Are you alright? - Y/N put her hand in front of her mouth as those words came out of her mouth without her brain instructing them to do so. Along with that, she stepped inside his bedroom, standing slightly further away from the door, but still close enough to hold the handle. On the other hand, the Duke seemed surprised to see her, his expression changing as if the pain faded the moment her voice soared through the room.

    - Milady, my apologies if I woke you up. 

    - Didn’t they tend to your wound? - she pushed her hair up with the ribbon that was normally tied in a bow around her neck and rolled up her sleeves to her elbows before walking over to a small basin of water laying on top of his dresser and kneeling in front of him

    - The staff is scared of me, milady. 

    - You should call me Y/N. - she gave him a caring smile. - Take your shirt off, milord. If we leave a wound unattended, it’ll get even worse.

    - I can’t. - he responded with a monotone voice, barely above a whisper. His gaze was directed to her but it was as if it passed right through her body, almost as if he was, in fact, staring at the air, as if she were nothing but a spirit to him or a disembodied voice. Furrowing her brows at the man, Y/N placed a hand gently on his shoulder, to which he grimaced and winced before mumbling under his breathe. - Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me, don’t touch me, don’t touch me!

He repeated numerous times and then quieter, making her heart wrench as she watched him sit down, his body move back and forth to soothe his troubled thoughts which she wished she could see through but sadly couldn’t. The red stain on his shirt got deeper and more red, spreading almost way all the way to his hip. 

    - I know, milord, but I need to examine you and clean your wound. Trust me, it’ll be much worse if we let it sit. - she reassured him, petting his messy brown hair. How would she ask that train-wreck of a man to remove his shirt or, at least, let her remove it? He was shivering and trembling and his eyes seemed more like blue beads reflecting the tiles, nothing more. Lifeless and soul-less just like when she first met him. - Please. 

   - I can open my shirt but not past my shoulder. 

   - I’ve seen some pretty bad wounds, Lord Barnes. You don’t need to protect me from gore. 

   - I don’t think you’ve seen something like me before, milady. I don’t want you to see it. 

   - I want to help you, milord. I would love to help you but you have to remove your shirt, I can’t treat your wound over a shirt. - she added, making his head raise to look into her kind and soft eyes, windows to all the emotions she showed. His eyes seemed to find some sort of safe harbour in hers and before she could try and persuade him to do anything else, his face was buried in her chest like a small child would. - Please. 

He nodded without a word, before bowing his head back again. She pursed her lips tightly against each other and in a thin line as she stared at the nobleman in front of her. Looking at him like that, that vulnerability, made it hard to believe he was the dangerous man Eliza and Odette warned her about. She started to unbutton the shirt he was wearing, as gently as she possibly could, since every small movement seemed to make him wince and make his eyes water, although no tear was spilled as if he was used to pain. Her throat felt lumpy and sore, heart beating frantically and almost out of her chest as she pulled the shirt from his body and slid it from his arms, before throwing it to the ground out of shock. It wasn’t the wound near his ribcage that surprised her, it was something else. 

    - What happened to you? - she furrowed her brows, raising her hand to her mouth as she watched how cut and wounded his shoulder was. The cuts must have been so deep, skin must’ve been lost as there was no way regular wounds would scar the way they did. However, the most surprising thing and she guessed the reason why he wore the leather black gloves, was the lack of a regular left arm, instead a metal one replacing it.

The sudden scraping of the wooden stood across the floor woke her from her thoughts, as well as the basin full of warm water hitting the ground and spilling it everywhere as she had hit it as she stepped back. 

He sat on the bed, lips tightened, hunched over and with a pale hand running through his brown hair while he waited for her to return to reality. Yet, she couldn’t move, her mind didn’t let her as she was still in shock how someone could hurt a man in such as way. It  wasn’t until he spoke to her that she truly woke to her senses.

   - It’s my fault, really. My wife told me not to go and I still did ... Serves me well. 

   - What happened? 

   - War isn’t as poetic as poets made them be. 

tag list: @lookiamtrying @kmuir1 @anxiousdreamersworld @tinymalscoffee @navegandoaciegas @cinnabanuxoxo @sideeffectsofyou​ 

#sebastian stan #bucky #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x reader #sebastian stan/reader #bucky/reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/you #bucky x you #bucky/you #bucky x y/n #bucky/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan imagine #bucky imagine #sebastian stan fanfic #bucky fanfic #sebastian stan drabble #bucky drabble #bucky au #sebastian stan au #medieval!bucky

[najoah]

First Chance [Chapter 2]

Despite being armed with my trustee Gentle Monster sunglasses, the sun was still beaming a little too strong for my liking. I checked the temperature as soon as I started the car engine.

Climate change deniers better believe that climate change is real. It's freaking 32 degrees in April! I blasted the air-conditioning before pulling out my phone from my jacket. I never got the chance to check my phone last night, despite its constant buzzing in my pocket. By the time I arrived at Tiffany and Co.'s showroom, I was way past the midnight deadline but Rosaline, the brand's public relations representative, was the apologetic one. Turned out the accessories used were to be shipped back to New York the next morning and she had forgotten to indulge me in that detail.

Rosaline insisted to treat me for a cup of coffee near the showroom as apology and in attempt to maintain relationship with the brand, I accepted. Maintaining a cordial relationship with brand representatives like Rosaline is crucial. Soft touches, like accepting a cup of coffee or sending them flowers on their birthday, can eventually lead to an exclusive contract with between Jay and the brand. Turns out, Rosaline and I shared a lot in common – and even share a few mutual friends. We spent the night talking about everything: from the latest Tiffany and Co. collection to industry gossip of who is dating who. By the time we said our goodbyes, it was two in the morning.

I scrolled through my iPhone's notification center to find a new message from Nia:

I'm heading to the dry cleaners this morning. I've packed the remaining clothes from last night that need to be returned today. They're all in the studio, ready for you! You just have to go to Hongdae and Hannam for the returns and can make your way to the photoshoot right after. I've also prepared the outfit for today's shoot! Make sure to bring it with you :)

I replied with a thank you and a promise of her favorite sandwich for tomorrow's lunch. I returned to my notification center to find three missed calls from Jay, two from Honey and five unread messages from Jay.

I sighed.

Honey tends to become especially clingy when she's intoxicated. I left her a message, encouraging her to hydrate and to have some hangover stew before the shoot later. I quickly placed an order on my food delivery application to her place.

Now, Jay. I had completely forgotten to inform him that I was leaving last night. Knowing Jay's petty antics, I will definitely be paying for it today.

I opened his messages.

Where the hell did you go? Seriously, my first concert and you didn't even congratulate me before you left.

Nia told me you're not coming for drinks either. Are you fucking kidding me? Answer your phone.

Please answer your phone.

I'm gonna whoop you ass tomorrow if you don't pick up the phone. Pick up!

That's it, you're dead to me.

I laughed out loud at his last message. I could see him pouting, relentlessly annoying Honey and Nia about my lack of response before swearing profanities at my name. I quickly typed a reply:

Sorry, I had to return the jewelries to Tiffany last night and was so out of it, I didn't even notice your calls. Then the PR wanted to treat me for some coffee, and I couldn't say no. Really sorry.

Congratulations, Jay. I'm proud of you. The show was amazing. And again, as always, you never failed to impress me.

Let me make it up to you. Ice Americano? From Tailor's Coffee. I'm going to Hongdae anyway so I can stop by the café and get your favorite.

Hopefully, the coffee can pacify his foul mood a little. Otherwise, it's going to be a long day.

The weather was little more bearable when I arrived at Tailor's Coffee parking lot a few hours later. Returns went off without a hitch and I was somewhat glad that I managed to avoid meeting other brand representatives. I could only keep up the empty conversations for so long. It's another thing that I learned a few years on the job: to maintain relationships, one must participate in draining conversations and sometimes, at the expense of your mental health.

Nia had just called to inform that she had shared the look book for Jay's next show in Bangkok to the Higher Music's creative team. Since the concert will be abroad, we must come up with a new look book for Jay that suits the weather, using only pieces that we own. Brands are unwilling to loan out clothes for an extended period, and the collection I have in the studio is far too small to create enough looks. If Higher Music could somehow squeeze us in their event expenses budget, we could go ahead and purchase the clothing items that we need for his show – without worrying about returning and damaging them.

"Don't worry," Nia assured over the call, "I'll handle them from here, so you just focus on the shoot!"

I had grown to appreciate Nia's enthusiasm, and although I was a little skeptical of hiring a friend, she had managed to prove me wrong. A professional and always on top of her game, Nia had given me the chance to take my mind off clothes from time to time.

I checked my watch as I made my way to Tailor's Coffee. With an hour to spare before Jay's call time, I decided that I could sit back and enjoy the coffee at my favorite café – something I haven't done in a while. I love working for Jay, but the job also meant shifting your world to revolve around him. It's been seven years of watching him sing and dance his way to the top, and seven years of doing everything I can for him to get there.

Now that same boy stood tall – even taller than me, surprisingly – at his first solo concert.

Brimming with unconveyed pride, I stepped into Tailor's Coffee and was immediately greeted by the staff. The café was relatively empty – except for a few students who frequents this café due to its close vicinity to Hongik University. I used to do the same when I was a student myself at Yonsei University, located fifteen minutes away. Despite Seoul's competitive café industry, Tailor's Coffee continues to thrive over the years and even opened a few new branches around the city. This branch especially will have a special place in my heart as its walls have watched me struggled through my years in Yonsei and my first few years as a stylist at JYPE.

"Can I have two Ice Americano please? One to go, and the other to have here."

"Sure, we will have that ready for you in a minute." The part-timer passed the buzzer as well as the receipt before running off to make my order.

I made my way to a seat by the window. The table was embedded with names of couples who sat there before me, immortalizing their love. I ran my fingers across the table, wishing those relationships lasted as long as it did on this table. My eyes scanned the names, hoping to find the ones I carved myself.

Baek Hyunkyu <3 Jo Ahna

There it is. Faded, but stood the test of times – unlike the relationship itself.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I welcomed the distraction. Spiralling into the past is not something I should be doing in public, especially where Kyu is concerned. It was a message from Jay.

If there's no Ice Americano when you walk in later, I will tickle you to death. Don't try me.

The buzzer on the table buzzed, indicating that my drink is finally ready. I walked over to the counter, picked up the drinks and went back to my seat. I pulled up my phone to capture the evidence for Jay. Before I could do so however, a voice I've spent years trying to forget call out to me.

"Ahna."  

#got7 imagines #got7 fanfic #got7 #jay b #jaebum #angst #fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines

[randbwrite]

La Comtesse Chronicles Chapter 4 Part 1

Words: 1649

TW: None CW: Vampires

R:

A bow went to Comtesse for her compliment made. There was certainly more to him than would meet the eye, as Cal had found out firsthand. Several times over, now, the two of them locked eyes and all of the questions burning bright in emerald eyes settled at last. Heh, for the moment. He could see a build up of new ones coming, something Cal almost never seemed to run out of. That and jokes.

Eyes widened as he tumbled off the rafter, only to have one of his hands stuck to a wooden support beam. Cringing as she heard him scream, she looked him over as he spoke.

<<Afraid killin' ya was a one-time deal, ma'am. You'll find me as harmless as a lamb. Oy, Derrick! Tell me you’re seeing this too? Even if you’re not, humor me. Please?>> 

"Well then, suppose that means I can take you out of here alive. Now, let go." Her eyes flashed as she floated up to him, gently catching him in her arms. The power of persuasion was something all pure bloods had, though she rarely needed to use it. It was called for here, as he likely had no idea of how to use his powers. A laugh left her as she held onto him and began to slowly float down towards Derrick.

“Ah, so that’s his name. Glad to meet you, Derrick. Cal, my name is Rosaline Arcanum, though I suppose you know that already. I’m a pure blood vampire. It would appear that I accidentally sired you on the battlefield. Seems you are already exhibiting powers. Never seen anyone with the ability to hold onto things like that before. Suppose there’s a first for everything. Reminds me a bit of Spiderman. Suppose you might be at this point, minus the whole web shooting thing.”

Shoes clicked on the marble floor, yet she left him suspended in the air just about a foot above the floor. “Let’s take a look at you, shall we?” Eyes roved over his form before she tenderly touched his hand. Eyes glowed for a second and it flashed in her mind: more recent memories of what had been taking place. 

Glancing at Derrick, she spoke quietly, “Thank you for keeping him alive. Rare to see someone know what to do with a newly turned vampire. Though, I imagine you know a fair bit more than first impressions give rise to.” 

Turning her gaze back to Rapscallion, she sighed, “I’m going to lay this out for you. Apologies if it upsets you or makes you question your sanity any more than you already have. You were exposed to my blood on the battlefield. This is why you are still alive, as no normal mortal could have survived the injuries I gave you. The reason that I’m still alive is because of what I am. It’s almost impossible to kill one of my kind, though I have done it, and will again if it’s called for. 

Vampires, both pure bloods, and lesser vampires, such as yourself, develop specific abilities. Yours seems to be grabbing onto things with just your skin, and…. The other is a bit difficult to discern. It’s hard to tell from your memories if it’s super speed or if you are teleporting, but either way, you are ending up places you shouldn’t be. Suppose you will figure it out eventually. One of the powers I possess is telekinesis, hence why I can float or fly, and is why you are still swimming in the air presently. I’m also a telepath, so I can basically get into your head and see what I want to… for the most part. I only saw the most recent things out of respect and to deal with things as quickly as possible. 

Now, you, as a lesser vampire have a choice. You can start drinking blood to live, or you can wither away and die. You haven’t healed yet because you haven’t fed. The other choice you have here is whether you will leave this place with me. No harm will come to you if you decide to come live in my castle with me, though the residents probably aren’t too thrilled with this prospect. Or, you are welcome to stay here. You have till we get to what remains of the front doors to decide. And by the way, your friend can see this perfectly fine, just seems to not be phased by it from what I can tell.” Her laughter rang out and echoed through the space, the vaulted ceilings serving as the best acoustics. 

B: Derrick:

Derrick watched, impassive through the fall, the nudge of mind and manipulation of matter, her explanation fitting with what he knew so far. What was of more interest was noting how Cal took it all. Had he not been supported via telekinesis, the red head would’ve needed to sit down. Or fallen, a second time. He’d flinched, a momentary tick of a muscle in his jaw the only tell, but Derrick knew. Involuntary touch had never been a kindness. It was this time, and he wished so badly to tell him that...however some things could only be learned through personal experience. 

“So...I’m a superhero! Yahoooo that’s sweet!!” 

Out of all the reactions one might’ve expected...that wasn’t on the list. Superhero? What was that? Cal had better not be pulling phrases from his hometown for 400 again. Yes, Derrick’s picked up a few. This must mean Cal’s survival mechanisms were back up and running again. That was good. They’d have to discuss the humane sourcing of human blood so he wouldn’t be internally freaking out all the while with that same silly smile on his face. Derrick had gotten good at seeing the small tells, but that didn’t mean he’d catch everything.

Rapscallion:

Spiderman?! How does she know about Spiderman!?? Too cool!!! There was definitely some internal happy dancing going on, external movement forgone for some deep thinking. The reference was kind of like a reboot, reviving the part of him that was the kid who always caused trouble, trying to bring about a laugh. And my but she had some beautiful laughter! He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard such lovely peals resounding in these blood-soaked halls.

Yeah, he’d focus on that and let the other stuff percolate for a sec. Testing out the extent of this hold seemed like a lotta fun too! He sat, finding it comfortable to hover in a kicked back position with one leg crossed over the other, fingers folded in his lap. Totally not trying to hide how they were trembling or anything. Fight or flight response; a difficult thing when it’s not actionable and can’t be switched off. 

“Does that mean I’m an X-Men now? Ohhhh hey! You’re totally Professor X! Except way hotter. Hey, Derrick ol’ boy, don’t give me that look! You’ve gotta be thinking it too. Oh right, I forgot. You’d use words like, ‘Her elegance and pulchritude are unrivaled by anything my eyes have beheld before, or will hence.’ Am I right?” 

Cal was lost to a laughing fit, great way to let off nervous energy, while Derrick raised an amused eyebrow...trying unsuccessfully to remain impassive. 

“Just because some of us have class...”

“Who’re you calling uncivilized?” 

“If the boot fits?” 

“I’ll show you just where this boot fits, you overgrown Boy Scout!” 

The banter between the two was that of old friends, though before now that would not have been a title they’d have flaunted. Which reminded him—before Derrick could get in another repartee, Cal was off with a question. 

“Hold up hold up. You have got a lotta names, sweets. Is there one you prefer to go by? Also, do ya really mean it? I—,“ he swallowed thickly, a vulnerable expression no one had seen on Cal’s face since he was a lad...or sleeping, though Derrick would never speak of it...not quite being shuttered quickly enough to be missed. “I can go with you? You-you’re not going to leave me here?” 

And he was back to the boy, remembering the day he’d first walked into the Citadel and discovering there was no way out. Not permanently. Would transforming into a kickass superhero by the supreme X-...er, Woman do the trick? Was she bluffing? Another overly confident royal who had it in their head they could defy the assassins? Derrick seemed to believe her, and that usually took some doing. Course he was also making gaga eyes at her, so his judgement might be suspect, but seeing as how Derrick had never looked at a woman that way...least far as Cal knew...maybe there was something real there. Not just another cruel joke.

It was a gamble, or seemed to be. But after the last week? Er...make that over a decade...it was one he was willing to take. Besides! “Shouldn’t let the big guy out of my sight anyway, always getting himself into trouble, he is.” 

Technically that was true of both of them. Derrick sticking his neck out for people he shouldn’t, even those around the Citadel who refused to see him as a human being, and Cal, constantly stirring things up...for good or bad. 

“How do you propose we get out of here? Nearest window? Need a bodyguard? I know I don’t look like much right now, and you can float an’ all, but there’s gonna be a whole passel of people ticked off you’ve invaded their home.” 

The glance at Derrick revealed the man still didn’t look perturbed. Amused, yes. Pensive or concerned, not even the slightest. Okay, so...vampires, floaty people, an entire Citadel full of assassins, and nothing was bothering him? Sheesh, he’d like to know where the man found his chill. Again, vampires?!? Course, this one was really hot...

#cw: vampires #vampires #ikemen vampire #whump #whumpfic #dark fantasy #fanfiction #oc #derrick #rapscallion #comtesse #au #assassin

[hello-robin-goodfellow]

FICTIONAL CHARACTER ASK: ROMEO MONTAGUE

TAGGED BY: @princesssarisa​

@ardenrosegarden​ @giuliettaluce​ @gravedangerahead​

Favorite thing about them: Oh my sweet boy, he is a sensitive poet that only wants to distance himself of violence and to share his love (for Juliet and for love itself) with the world.

Least favorite thing about them: That fact that when Tybalt kills Mercucio, he blames Juliet for “turning him affeminate” (weak) and decides to kill Tybalt in relation, believing this will prove that he is “man enough”. This obviously is the biggest mistake he ever commited.

Three things i have in common with them:

-His melancholy.

-I also can sometimes find dificult to communicate my true feelings to friends and relatives.

-I also love Juliet Capulet.

Three things i don’t have in common with them:

-Nobility status.

-Training to fight with a sword.

-I can’t improvise poetic dialogue the way he can. And i don’t have his french.

Favorite line:

“I fear, too early: for my mind misgives Some consequence yet hanging in the stars Shall bitterly begin his fearful date With this night's revels and expire the term Of a despised life closed in my breast By some vile forfeit of untimely death”.

 “What lady is that, which doth enrich the hand Of yonder knight?

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope's ear; Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear! So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. The measure done, I'll watch her place of stand, And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand. Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight! For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night”.

“ If I profane with my unworthiest hand This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss”. 

“But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, Who is already sick and pale with grief, That thou her maid art far more fair than she: Be not her maid, since she is envious; Her vestal livery is but sick and green And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, O, it is my love! O, that she knew she were! She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it. I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks: Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, Having some business, do entreat her eyes To twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head? The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven Would through the airy region stream so bright That birds would sing and think it were not night. See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O, that I were a glove upon that hand, That I might touch that cheek”!

 “She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art As glorious to this night, being o'er my head As is a winged messenger of heaven Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds And sails upon the bosom of the air”.

“ Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this”?

 “Amen, amen! but come what sorrow can, It cannot countervail the exchange of joy That one short minute gives me in her sight: Do thou but close our hands with holy words, Then love-devouring death do what he dare; It is enough I may but call her mine”.

“Ah, Juliet, if the measure of thy joy Be heap'd like mine and that thy skill be more To blazon it, then sweeten with thy breath This neighbour air, and let rich music's tongue Unfold the imagined happiness that both Receive in either by this dear encounter”.

“This gentleman, the prince's near ally, My very friend, hath got his mortal hurt In my behalf; my reputation stain'd With Tybalt's slander,—Tybalt, that an hour Hath been my kinsman! O sweet Juliet, Thy beauty hath made me effeminate And in my temper soften'd valour's steel”!

“ This day's black fate on more days doth depend; This but begins the woe, others must end”.

“Alive, in triumph! and Mercutio slain! Away to heaven, respective lenity, And fire-eyed fury be my conduct now”!

“O, I am fortune's fool”!

“Thou canst not speak of that thou dost not feel: Wert thou as young as I, Juliet thy love, An hour but married, Tybalt murdered, Doting like me and like me banished, Then mightst thou speak, then mightst thou tear thy hair, And fall upon the ground, as I do now, Taking the measure of an unmade grave”.

“ It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die”.

“ Let me be ta'en, let me be put to death; I am content, so thou wilt have it so. I'll say yon grey is not the morning's eye, 'Tis but the pale reflex of Cynthia's brow; Nor that is not the lark, whose notes do beat The vaulty heaven so high above our heads: I have more care to stay than will to go: Come, death, and welcome! Juliet wills it so. How is't, my soul? let's talk; it is not day”.

 “Come hither, man. I see that thou art poor: Hold, there is forty ducats: let me have A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear As will disperse itself through all the veins That the life-weary taker may fall dead And that the trunk may be discharged of breath As violently as hasty powder fired Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb”.

“Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, And fear'st to die? famine is in thy cheeks, Need and oppression starveth in thine eyes, Contempt and beggary hangs upon thy back; The world is not thy friend nor the world's law; The world affords no law to make thee rich; Then be not poor, but break it, and take this”.

“I pay thy poverty, and not thy will”.

“There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou mayst not sell. I sell thee poison; thou hast sold me none. Farewell: buy food, and get thyself in flesh. Come, cordial and not poison, go with me To Juliet's grave; for there must I use thee”.

“How oft when men are at the point of death Have they been merry! which their keepers call A lightning before death: O, how may I Call this a lightning? O my love! my wife! Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty: Thou art not conquer'd; beauty's ensign yet3040 Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Tybalt, liest thou there in thy bloody sheet? O, what more favour can I do to thee, Than with that hand that cut thy youth in twain To sunder his that was thine enemy? Forgive me, cousin! Ah, dear Juliet, Why art thou yet so fair? shall I believe That unsubstantial death is amorous, And that the lean abhorred monster keeps Thee here in dark to be his paramour? For fear of that, I still will stay with thee; And never from this palace of dim night Depart again: here, here will I remain With worms that are thy chamber-maids; O, here Will I set up my everlasting rest, And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars From this world-wearied flesh. Eyes, look your last! Arms, take your last embrace! and, lips, O you The doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss A dateless bargain to engrossing death! Come, bitter conduct, come, unsavoury guide! Thou desperate pilot, now at once run on The dashing rocks thy sea-sick weary bark! Here's to my love”!

“O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die”.    

brOTP: With Mercucio and Benvolio.

OTP: With Juliet.

nOTP: With Rosaline, Benvolio, Mercucio and Tybalt.

Random Headcanon:

-His favorite colors are: blue, green, white and silver.

-His favorite fairy tale is Rapunzel.

-His favorite greek myth is the love story of Orpheus and Euridice.

-In a Modern Day Everybody Lives AU i made in collab with @giuliettaluce​, he becomes an English Lit and Poetry professor. To know more about it, read it here:

https://giuliettaluce.tumblr.com/post/617050378210590720/modern-headcanon-romeo-and-juliet

Unpopular Opinion: Yes, Leonard Whiting is a good actor and he was a very good casting choice for the role of Romeo in the 1968 movie. But the cuts of many of his lines, like the one where he thinks that killing Tybalt as a regaining of honor and his dialogue with the apotecary, tones the characters actual complexity and intelligence way, way down, and is the cause of the popular misconception that Romeo is an impulsive bratty teenager.

Song i associate with them: 

Flor, Minha Flor (Grupo Galpão), wich is the theme of Grupo Galpão’s montage of Romeo and Juliet: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=koIO15cI-8Y

Favorite picture of them:

Sir Ian Holm, 1967

Dolhai Attila, 2001

Adetomiwa Edun, 2010 

Eduardo Moreira, 2012/13

Lucien Laviscount in the Still Star-Crossed series, 2017

#romeo and juliet #answered asks #princesssarisa #fictional character ask #bardolatry #shakespeare

[uncultureddirt]

Waiting (Part 1/3) - Mark Lee fic

~REQUESTED~

“Staring got boring”

PART TWO  ||| PART THREE

You liked to watch him from afar, across the classroom napping during a lecture, vigorously taking notes, or flipping lazily through his book. You liked to watch him stand in front of the class and present, stuttering every couple of words, and watching his cheekbones bulge as he tried not to smile. It was at this time of day you found yourself walking to your literature class, staring at the back of his head as he turned into the classroom a few steps ahead of you. He took his seat in the corner and began to fish through his bag for his notebook as you walked in. Noting your presence emerge in his peripheral vision, he paused his search and slowly looked up.

As you make your way to the opposite side of the room, you could feel his dark eyes on you, and you were glad. After sitting down in your chair, you looked over and met his eyes. He smiled lightly and turned away, beginning to search again for his notebook. 

“Just say ‘hi’ to me,” you mumbled under your breath. You turned your head and looked out the window. 

‘Mark Lee,’ you furrowed your brows, ‘hmm’

Turning back towards him, you watched as he talked to the kid in front of him. You smiled softly as he laughed loudly and joked around with the boy. You almost inserted yourself as a third member of the conversation. You wanted to join in. You wanted him to talk to you. 

‘Talk to me like that.’ you frowned and looked towards your desk, flipping open your notebook. 

The class silenced themselves as your teacher, Mr. Darten, entered the room. He was young, fresh out of school, and full of passion for reading and writing. You liked him; he was a cool guy. Instead of his red mug he always had in hand, he carried a large box. 

“Dude, what’s in that?” someone yelled. The class was too comfortable with him, but Mr. Darten never yelled or scolded them for their informal behavior.

Mr. Darten smiled as he spoke. “I dug this out from the storage room,” he said, placing the large box on the table in front of the class. After wiping off the tiny layer of dust he opened it and spoke again, “This marking period will be centered on William Shakespeare.” 

He sat on the table next to the box and reached an arm inside. As he pulled out a Macbeth book, the class groaned. Nobody likes Shakespeare. 

“Mr. Darten are you serious? The whole marking period?” a girl behind you whined. 

“Yes. Your first major project will be a book analysis. You can pick any Shakespeare novel in this box. There are about three copies of each. Those who pick the same book will be partners. You guys will work together on this and in a couple weeks we’ll have presentations.”

Mr. Darten came around with the box, each kid digging around to find the right book for them. Luckily, you were first to pick.

‘I need something easy…’ you thought as you sifted through the dusty paperbacks, before pulling out a small book with a purple ripped cover. 

“Ah, Romeo and Juliet. Kind of basic y/n. You better really wow me with this. No surface level stuff,” Mr. Darten laughed. 

He was right. You couldn’t have picked a more basic Shakespeare novel, but you didn’t care. It was easy. You flipped through the pages while you thought about the project, completely forgetting there was another copy to the book in your hand. 

“Hey y/n,” you looked up to the sound of your name and saw the book cover in a familiar boy’s grasp, “Mr. Darten said you picked this book too.” 

Your eyes widened as you stared at the glossy purple page. You felt your ears heat up slightly and bit the inside of your cheek, concealing your smile - you wondered if he noticed. 

‘Finally!’ 

“Oh, hi Mark! Uh yeah, I picked this too. I guess we’re both basic huh?” you laughed as he sat in the desk beside you. 

“No, I think we just both hate Shakespeare.”

“I think you're right.” you looked at him and smiled. He chuckled lightly and quickly looked away, his face blushing gently.

You began to flip through the book calmly as the inside of you was swarmed with butterflies. Though you’d always watched him from afar, all you really wanted to do was talk to him, but you felt he never shared that desire. Little did you know how wrong you were.

As you discussed how you guys were going to tackle the book and assignment, he zoned out. Mark stared into your face as you talked, noting the birthmark on your face and the way your eyes looked when the light hit them. He watched you flip your hair and squint as you attempted to read the words ahead of you. Your voice was like peaceful music playing in the back of his brain; its notes and inflections were strong, but the words didn’t register. He was lost in your glowing abyss, a place he’d encountered from afar, but up close was overwhelming. 

“Does that sound good?” you asked once finishing laying out your ideas, “Mark?”

Your voice calling his name ripped him from his trance and he jumped slightly, “Yeah,” he lied, “Sounds great.”

~

He left school clutching the glossy paperback in his hands. As his fingers flipped the old pages, he thought of you and your pretty face. His stomach was still swinging from class and the thought of working alongside you. 

“Okay. You have to do a good job on this. You gotta impress her.” he said quietly as he pulled open his car door. He placed his backpack and the small book in the passenger's seat and sank down into the leather seat. Exhaling deeply, he pressed the key into the ignition.

“Alright William, help me out here” he said aloud to no one in particular, not even the writer resting peacefully underground. 

~

“For the next week, begin class sitting next to your partner and start working.” Mr. Darten went on, “You don’t have to wait for me to begin class.” He then nodded his head and raised his red mug to his mouth, taking a long sip of his black coffee. 

You watched as Mark picked up his bag and walked towards you, taking a seat in the empty desk beside yours. You liked the placement of your desk; it was right next to the large window out-looking the courtyard. You often got distracted, finding yourself lost in the swaying trees or trapped in the muggy air during rainy afternoons. The window let a certain type of light spill into the classroom, one that filled it fully, but never made you squint. It was warm; you liked it. 

This light reached Mark’s face as you began to discuss the first part of the book. It caramelized his brown eyes and highlighted his dark hair. 

“So they hate each other?” Mark asked, his eyes glued to the page ahead of him.

“No. Their families do. Romeo and Juliet don’t know each other yet.”

“Right and Romeo’s depressed about Rosaline.”

“Mhm.”

“And Juliet’s supposed to marry that Paris guy.”

“Right.”

“Well, obviously none of it’s gonna work out. It’s conveniently set up for these ‘forbidden,’” He made air quotes with his fingers, “lovers to meet. Sooo sly of you William.” Mark put the book down and looked at you to smile. 

You laughed, “Mark that was lovely. Great analysis” you said mockingly. 

“Thank you.” He looked down quickly after you two made eye contact, cautious not to lose himself in a daze again.

Slowly your conversation digressed from Capulets and Montagues to you and him. It was a normal conversation, something you had been waiting for. You rested your head on your hand as you two talked. You began to notice his eyes shifting, and voice faltering every couple minutes. It was almost as if he would forget what he was saying mid sentence and have to begin again. It reminded you of when he would present in front of the class, the random stutters and slight blushing.

‘Is he nervous? No. There’s no way.’

~

It was Sunday morning. The road was empty, the sky was clear, and the air was cool. You were driving in your car on the way to Sunbelts, a small breakfast bar in your town center, when you noticed a light flash on your dashboard. 

Fuel Level Low

“Shit, I need gas.” you mumbled. 

You started to drive in the direction towards the gas station and pulled in. Opening the car door, you stepped out and let the cool morning air hit your face. You enjoyed getting out early on Sundays; it was peaceful to have time to yourself. As you pressed the gas pump in the car you looked up, noticing two other cars join you. You watched an old man slowly get out of his vehicle and slide on his glasses as he looked at the pin pad on the gas pump. You leaned against your car before turning your head at the sight of something familiar. On the opposite side of the old man was a slim figure wearing black joggers and a loose black tee. He had on specs and his hair was a bit messy, but he looked cute. 

“Mark Lee?” you said loudly. You knew it was him, it wasn’t even a question, you just wanted to startle him.

The old man placed the gas pump in his car as Mark looked up quickly. He looked panicked, but he covered it up with a smile. 

“Oh, hey.” Mark said back.

“Your hair looks great,” you laughed, pulling the gas pump out of your car. 

He furrowed his brows and lifted a hand to his hair, feeling it defying gravity. 

“Oh my god,” he started laughing, “I didn’t even know it looked like this.”

“Wait, I’m coming over to you.” you said jumping into your car.

“Is that your girlfriend?” the old man asked Mark as you slowly pulled around the lot, intending to park next to his car.

“Oh uh, no. Hah, she’s… she’s not.” his face reddened at the question. 

The old man smiled and chuckled softly, “Not yet.” He lowered himself back into his car after paying and drove off, leaving Mark with a wink and a pondering thought.

You poked your head out of the car window. “Come with me to Sunbelts.” 

Mark smiled, he noticed your messy hair too and lack of makeup. He liked it. He thought you looked perfect. He wanted to tell you that, but he couldn’t, so he just stared. 

“Okay, sure.”

“Follow me.” 

He nodded and got into his car, placing the key in the ignition and letting it start. As you pulled out of the gas station, he followed, tapping his wheel nervously, and smiling. As he drove behind you, your voice saying his name replayed in his head, like the sweetest song he’s ever heard. Your voice elicited some response within him, one of excitement, desire, and anxiety; it made his stomach burn and heart race. It was a feeling of discomfort, but encased in joy or dipped in gold rather. The feuding feelings coexisted. 

‘Mark Lee?’

There was that song again. He exhaled and smiled again. Ah, how lovely.

To be continued...

#kpop #NCT #NCT 127 #nct dream #mark lee #kpop fanfic #nct imagines #nct scenario #mark lee fanfic #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #nct fanfic #Gwrites #HI GUYS HERES PART ONE! #I REALLY HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY THIS #LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU ALL #im very excited to put my first work out in so long #thank you all for waiting you are so so kind #KISSES AND HUGS

[thorne93]

The Softest Fire (Part 16)

Prompt: Rosaline Vaughan had it all: fame, money, power, glory, a high status job. Until, one day, she woke up, and realized something was missing from her life.

Word Count: 3305

Warnings: aaaannngst, heartbreak

Notes: First Fantastic Beast fic! I could NOT have done this at all without @arrow-guy. They have created a counterpart to this fic, writing it from Nora Vaughan’s perspective (Rosaline’s cousin/adopted sister). Fic aesthetic done by @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo​

Newt, Theseus, Nora, and Dumbledore entered the room. Newt stood beside Nora as she sat across from me, and Theseus stood beside Dumbledore when he sat. 

I peered up at them, my usual bite giving way to general curiosity. 

“What’s going on?” I asked, no threat or malice in my voice. 

“We… We have something we need to tell you,” Nora started, gesturing slightly to Dumbledore. 

“What could it possibly be?” I questioned, wondering why it took four of the best wizards I knew to address it. 

“Rosaline,” Dumbledore began, huffing out a breath, “you’ve been cursed.” 

My eyebrow twitched up. “Cursed?” 

Everyone nodded. 

“It appears Grindelwald put you under a series of complex curses. He toyed with memories, he put you under the Imperius curse, along with other loyalty spells and charms. The love you feel for him, the loyalty, it’s all a farce.” 

I peered at them, my gaze saying nothing. 

“I…” Was all I could get out. I wanted to argue, to say he was my true love, but something in me felt they weren’t lying. My memories felt far too fuzzy for me to confirm nor deny their claim. With sorrow in my tone, I asked, “So what now? I’m imprisoned?” 

“Absolutely not. We’re going to work to get the curses out of you. So long as you don’t fight us, it should be relatively easy and painless. We have to be careful not to destroy your mind in the process. I’d like to give you your memories back.” 

I nodded gently. “Whatever you think is best,” I stated, feeling violated and exposed. “Let’s just get this over.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t fighting us more,” Theseus coolly remarked. 

“Either you’re wrong and this is a waste of our time, or you’re right and I won’t want to be cursed any more. It’s all the same to me.” 

Everyone nodded, leaving the room, except Newt. He held onto the door and turned back to me and said, “We’ll fix this, Rosaline. Everything will be okay.” 

All I could do was nod and smile faintly at him. I truly hoped he was right. 

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

For the next few weeks, I felt like a lab rat. Sometimes Dumbledore visited me, sometimes Nora did, sometimes it was an auror I’d never met before. Other times, it was two or more. They stuck their wands against my temple and they worked on me for hours at a time. 

As the first spells fell away, my hatred and anger melted away. I no longer said hateful things to anyone who came in. I didn’t give anyone extra grief. I didn’t demand my wand. My memories were still fuzzy and I still missed Gellert though, but the desire to be right next to him had fizzled.

At first it was rather easy, not uncomfortable, but I suppose it was the easy spells out first, because everything that followed was hell. After the first six or so spells, they got worse. 

A blood curdling scream erupted in my holding cell. Nora shut her eyes, trying to ignore how it pierced her ears.

“Fucking hell, Rosaline!” she admonished, pulling her wand away, breathing heavily. 

I glared at her. “It hurts,” I informed with malice. “Sorry, I’ll  try to keep my screams of agony down for you.”

“Thank you,” she said, a small smile playing at her lips, and despite myself, one came to mine too before we were laughing together. A fit of giggles completely took us over as I laid on my cot and she leaned on the edge. Finally, we gathered our wits and wiped our eyes of happy tears. 

“Are you done for the day?”

“Not nearly, but I’m exhausted trying to pull this spell from you. I need to get back to the bookstore and you need rest. Someone will be back tomorrow to try again.” 

I nodded while she stood and started to leave. She spun to face me. 

“Thank you, for being so cooperative,” she said with a solemn smile. 

“My pleasure, Nora.” 

And so, the spells continued to get ripped from my mind. Feeling as if my brain was on fire and being axed simultaneously. The team worked and worked until suddenly, the ties to Grindelwald fell away nearly entirely. I no longer wanted to be his wife, be near him, or help him. 

I pulled off my engagement ring and sat it on the table one day. Nora was pleasantly surprised to see that, I believe. 

“What’s that?” she asked as she walked in, sitting across from me, curious. She picked it up. “Ah, your engagement ring. Wait, does this mean...?” 

I peered at her, my thoughts unsure. “I don’t know. I don’t know what it means. I just... I feel like if Grindelwald was in this room, I would obey him, but I have no desire to be near him. How is that possible? I still remember being in love with him? I still…” I trailed off. “My mind is so muddled.” 

Nora gazed at me sympathetically, reaching across and squeezing my hand. “We’ll get there. All that’s left is the Imperius curse. Then you’re free.”

“One curse? The imperius?” I frowned, thinking. “That’s what’s holding me?” 

She nodded. “Yes. I think that’s why you still feel obedient to him.” 

“I wish I could just… shake this last spell lose. This is ridiculous,” I remarked, crossing my arms. “I should be a match for Grindelwald.” 

Nora smirked. “You are, but the Imperius curse is powerful, so is he. You’ve also been under its influence for months. It’ll take a lot to bring you out of this, Little Rose.”

Her words made me frown for half a second. I was about to ask her what she called me, but somewhere in the recess of my mind, I could hear Aunt Cecelia saying that to me when I was five. They were chasing me in the backyard, I had a hold of Nora’s wand, and I was running with it. Nora was laughing hysterically from the patio while Uncle Joshua smiled at me. 

That was all it took for the floodgates to open. Every memory Grindelwald had blurred and distorted restored to their previous clarity. Nora was never unkind to me. Sometimes we didn’t see eye to eye, and our idea of fashion differed wildly, but she was an amazing cousin. She had my back and I had hers. 

Uncle Joshua and Aunt Cecelia were nothing but loving to me, raising me as their own, buying me the finest goods for Hogwarts. They checked in on me regularly and we always spent Christmas together, happily. 

And Newt… Oh god… All the love hit me like a wrecking ball. The patience, the compassion, the care, the kindness, the courage. I fell in love with Newt for everything Grindelwald wasn’t. 

“Oh god,” I suddenly gasped, and Nora peered at me. 

“What is it?” 

“I… loved Newt.” 

The more the memories came in, the harder it was for me to breathe. 

Her eyes assessed me, she wasn’t sure what was happening. 

“You were always kind to me. You-- Oh my god, oh my god,” I gasped, my hands flying to my face. Horror painted my expression. “Oh god, Nora, what have I done?” Sobs came before I even realized it. I didn’t even know why I was crying, to be honest. 

Within a second she was out of her seat, wrapping her arms around me in a comforting hug.

“Shh, it’s alright. You remember, don’t you?”

I nodded, still sobbing violently. My breathing was rough, I couldn’t catch my breath. “I remember it all. I didn’t join Grindelwald. I went in there to end him. He--He cursed me!” I cried out. “I lived with him! I was going to marry him and be happy about it! Nora… I gave him everything! He stole my mind, my memories, my…” I stopped, saying the words was too much. “How could he do that to me? How could I let him do that to me? The things I did for him. I--”

She continued to stroke my hair, shushing me, trying to comfort me but I just kept babbling. 

“I told you awful things. I told Newt awful things.” 

“You weren’t yourself, we know that,” she assured.

“I did everything he said, without question, without fail….”

“You had no choice.”

“He exploited me. Newt broke my heart and that son of a bitch turned that against me.” My hands clenched into fists. Sorrow gave way to raging fire. 

The door opened, revealing Newt, and the sight of him made my chest nearly implode and a harder sob rocked my body again. Once he saw my reaction, he simply said, “My apologies,” and left. 

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

Nora had told everyone to give me space. She informed them that I was curse free and had no desire to see Grindelwald. She was reluctant to give me my wand back and I didn’t blame her. She said that Theseus and his team would probably be in the next day to question me on what I could give them about Grindelwald. I told her I would be ready for it. 

Night had fallen, but the room was brightly lit from a full moon. 

Thoughts had consumed my mind ever since the last spell broke. I relived old memories, happy to remember the good times, but more than anything, I wept. Tears flowed down my face as I lied, staring, thinking about how badly it must’ve hurt Nora while I was gone. No doubt she searched for me day and night. And Newt, left to take care of all of his animals, and his heart undoubtedly hurting from losing Leta. Theseus’s pain I couldn’t even begin to imagine. He and I were never close, nor did I suspect we ever would be, but he didn’t deserve to have his fiance killed in front of his very eyes. And what I said to him… I was cruel. 

To top it all off, I joined the man who caused pain to those I love. I joined the man who tormented Dumbledore, a man who I held dear to my heart as friend and mentor. I let him twist my mind. For Merlin’s sake, he ordered me to kill my cousin and the love of my life and I complied without hesitation. He inflicted unspeakable pain to Newt and I stood by and watched. 

What kind of a monster lived inside me?

The door to my holding room creaked open. My gaze shifted from the window to the door, breaking my thoughts from hating myself. When I saw who my visitor was, my chest constricted all over again and tears threatened to flow.

“Rosaline?” Newt said quietly into the dark, his silhouette lit by the light in the hall. 

“Yes?” I croaked out.

“I wanted to check on you. Nora said you broke to the last curse.” 

“Mhm,” was all I could say. 

He came in, shutting the door behind him. “May I sit?”

“Sure,” I said, failing to keep the tears at bay. 

He grabbed a chair and pulled it close to my cot. 

“How are you doing?” he asked softly once he got settled. 

“I--Not well,” I admitted. 

“I guess that’s to be expected. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.” 

Silence fell between us, I wasn’t sure what to say to him, or what he wanted me to say. 

“So what do you remember?”

“Everything,” I whispered before the first sob broke from me and Newt immediately left his chair to sit on my cot, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I remember falling in love with you. I remember working alongside you. I remember being best friends with Nora. I remember walking into those blue flames to kill that son of a bitch and now…. He took me because I’m powerful. He wanted me for my magic, nothing else. He took how I always felt like second best and twisted that. Do you know how demented that feels? To have the memories in my head. Happy memories of Grindelwald?” 

“I’m sure it’s very hard.”

“The worst part is he said everything right, he did everything right. All in all, he was never cruel to me, other than cursing me. All I’d wanted from you, he had done for me. He put me on a pedestal, gave me power, worshipped me. All so I would be his obedient little pet.”

I shook my head, wiping my tears as I laughed without humor. “All my life, I’ve felt like I was never good enough. Nora always had her friends, making them everywhere she went. At school, every professor seemed to admire my wit but, I think in all reality only Dumbledore liked me. Leta Lestrange, well, you always had a soft spot for her and she was nothing but a troublemaker. Not to mention Tina. At the Ministry, they liked my power, but I wasn’t anyone’s friend. Do you know what I mean?” I asked, peering at him. “People like me, people respect me, but no one notices if I don’t show up to the party.” 

“I do,” he quietly said.

Again, I laughed. “Newt… You love Tina. I did everything I could for you and you still fell for Tina. I thought I did everything right. Speaking of, how are you and Tina?” I didn’t really want to know, but I was trying to be kind. The idea of them together sent me reeling, but I didn’t have any room to request him to be mine.

Newt’s gaze dropped as his hand fell from my shoulder. 

“I… We aren’t…”

A perplexed frown found my face. “Together?” I finished.

He nodded meekly.

“What ever for?” I demanded. “You tormented me for over a year with pining for her and yet you are still not with her?” 

“She’s not the one I want to be with,” he breathed, his eyes looking at me, his gaze pointed. 

My face and heart betrayed me. The tiniest of grins tugged at the corner of my lips, while my heart fluttered at his words and his expression. A feeling of relief washed through me, finally, I knew he cared for me too, maybe even loved me. 

This is all you’ve ever wanted, this is what you wanted to hear right? So why does it hurt so bad? Maybe because you know he deserves better. He shouldn’t love you. He can’t love you. It would only end up getting him hurt. 

I peered at him with a sudden panic in my chest. I knew what I had to do, what I had to say. I had to let him go. I had to make him see that being with anyone elsas the best option for him. 

“Oh, Newt… no,” I objected softly. “You don’t want to be with someone like me. I’m not good for you. I don’t deserve you, Tina does.” 

“I don’t give a damn who deserves me,” he slightly snapped. “I know the pain of watching the person I love love someone else.”

“Welcome to the club.” I wanted to roll my eyes. Chagrin wrapped around me like a familiar cocoon. The pain he felt wasn’t news to me, he should be more sympathetic of-- And then it hit me. 

He just said he loved me, for the first time. I never knew he loved me. I suspected he might care, and I hoped for love… But to have him admit it… My heart softened more at that confession.

“Rosaline,” he said as he turned more towards me, taking my hand in his, “watching you love him, hearing about your engagement to him, that nearly killed me. It would have destroyed me to see you with anyone but me, but to know it was Grindelwald… You’re so pure and loving and he’s so vile and awful. I worried I had pushed you into his arms. I thought it was my fault for being so stupid for not telling you I loved you back at Flamel’s.” 

I pressed my lips together as I listened. “You didn’t do anything,” I assured. “I didn’t choose him. But you do deserve someone better. When I first started working with you, I told you I wanted to help the world, make a living at doing something kind and productive, not sitting on my behind  making legislative decisions.” I paused, biting my lip. “But the truth is… I think I left because deep down I knew I was capable of the things Grindelwald had me do.”

“Rosaline, no--”

I held up a hand to stop him. “I’m not being dramatic, Newt. I’m serious. I worried that if I came into power, some other part of me would take over. I worried I’d be corrupted, coerced, or even become terrible all on my own. Grindelwald didn’t make me powerful, I was already that. He didn’t do anything but make me loyal to him. The hurting, the rage, the loneliness, that was all there, he just twisted it to use it as a tool.” 

“I don’t believe that. You’re good. I’ve seen you. You care about every living thing with all your heart.”

“I do,” I agreed, my gaze falling. “But what if that changed? I like power, Newt, I’m not going to pretend I don’t. I like respect. I like knowing I’m the most powerful person in the room.”

“We all know that,” he assured with a soft smile. 

“But what scares me more, is what kind of person I became with Grindelwald is who I am deep down. What if that’s really who I am?” 

“If you really thought that, you wouldn’t have let us lift the curses. You would be running back to him right now.” 

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I know I did unspeakable things, and I should’ve been strong enough and smart enough to get out of it, and I didn’t. What does that say about me? What kind of evil lives inside me?” 

He took his hand and swept my blonde locks behind my ear. “Rosaline Vaughan, if anyone in this world is deserving of love, it’s you. Damn Grindelwald. He did nothing more than manipulate your memories and emotions. You are a good person, to your core.” 

“I’m not so sure any more.” 

“Maybe you don’t see it, but I do, Nora does, Dumbledore does. I know you may think you had to fight to be appreciated, but I assure you, Nora did nothing but fret over finding you. You are her world. All the students envied you at Hogwarts, believe me, I know because I was one. And I think the professors were frustrated that they couldn’t teach you anything new,” he teased, a smile touching both of our lips. “Theseus always spoke highly of you while you worked at the Ministry. It is a workplace and favoritism would be frowned upon. As much as I hated it, and I’m sure you do too, the most powerful Dark Wizard in history wanted you to be his bride. Regardless of why, he chose you out of everyone. He thought your power, over anyone else’s, would be his best shot at ruling the wizarding world. In an odd way, it’s a big compliment.”

I smiled slightly. 

“Friends are overrated anyway, look how many I have,” he remarked.

This made me laugh, for the first time in I had no idea how long. 

“This is true, and you’re a remarkable man.” 

He gazed down at me with kind adoration. “I’m glad you think so.” 

“Thank you, Newt. I needed to hear that.” 

He nodded, patting my hand. “I’ll let you rest now.”

“Goodnight,” I said as he got up to leave.

“G’night, Rosaline.”

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

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#the softest fire #newt scamander x ofc #newt scamander x oc #newt scamander fic #newt scamander

[rohad93]

A Knight Affair: Chapter 3 - Wake up Call

Blue rose before the sun as she usually did when Yellow was on leave. She had learned to not let a single moment go to waste if she could help it. They never knew when the knight would be sent off again to conquer lands in the queen's name. As if their time wasn’t limited enough by the constant need for secrecy. 

The need for a quiet place where they could be alone. Where they could just be together, for as long as they desired. Blue’s greatest fantasy.

But a fantasy was all it was, and she knew it. 

A few maids were rushing about the halls, to complete their daily chores, she nodded to them as they passed. Once, years ago they would have stopped to bow or curtsy at her feet, asking if there was anything they could do for her.  She’d decided long ago that she didn’t have patience for all the groveling her mother allowed. 

‘Oh my, glorious, resplendent, wise, elegant, merciful queen...

They could go on and on and Blue simply didn’t have the time for all of that. 

Speaking of…

“Mother!” Blue dipped into a curtsy when she rounded the corner to find her mother climbing the stairs. The queen stared at her for a long moment , seemingly not recognizing her oldest daughter before something seemed to change in her face.

“Ah, Azurine, good morning.” She nodded, but her eyes seemed to be drifting elsewhere. She was dressed in an elegant white gown that trailed behind her. The silver crown, embedded with a large clear diamond sat prominent on her head, dictating to all in doubt who she was. 

“You’re up early today, mother.” Blue observed.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. I had to see to the rebellion leaders Captain Stone brought in for interrogation…”

“Were you able to get any useful information out of them?” Blue asked, acutely aware of her mother’s drifting attention, it was often like this these days. As though she could not focus on conversations. Blue frowned, clasping her hands together at her waist.

“No... but they will serve as a warning to the rest of the rebellion…” The queen scowled, no longer looking at her daughter but out one of the hall windows that looked out over the courtyard.

Blue gave a nod unsure what else to say to the distracted queen. Before she could say anything else the queen was walking down the hall, seemingly forgetting about the conversation she was having with her eldest.

Blue started to say something but stopped short, watching her mother amble down the hall, the interaction all but forgotten. She frowned, watching the monarch disappear into her room.

She sighed before heading down the stairs to the dining room. She just didn’t know what to say to her mother anymore. Or even what she heard when she did speak.   

When she entered the dining room she wasn’t surprised to see her sister hadn’t yet come down. It was still fairly early after all.

She sat in her usual seat and glanced out the tall windows that lined both sides of the dining room. The sky was beginning to brighten with the light of the rising sun. Blue sat and watched the sky come alive with varying hues of orange, yellow and pink in silence. 

When Pink finally wandered into the dining room Blue had been their for nearly an hour, thinking and watching the rising sun spread its light over the empire. 

“G’mornin, Blue.” The younger princess mumbled, rubbing at her eye as she plopped into her seat beside the older woman. 

“Good morning, Pink.” She smiled at the younger.

“Are we still going to town today?” Pink piped up, remembering Blue’s promise from the day before.

“Of course.” she nodded as a tray of bread and fruit was set down in front of them. “I need to visit the apothecary.” Blue mumbled more to herself than to Pink as she picked up a piece of warm bread, but the younger picked up on it.

“Are you sick?” 

The desperate tone in Pink’s voice made Blue turn sharply. The girl was looking up at her with such panic in her bright eyes that Blue’s breath caught in her throat.  She turned in the chair to better face the girl.

“No, no Pink, I’m fine.” She soothed, laying her hands on the girls shoulders and giving a gentle squeeze. “Nothing is wrong.” She smiled.

The panic had slowly seeped from Pinks face but she still looked unsure. Her eyes flickered away, only for a moment, but Blue caught it. Their mother’s empty chair.

Oh

Blue’s grip on her sister tightened. She had hoped beyond hope that Pink was oblivious to their mother’s… behavior changes as of late. 

She sighed deeply through her nose, unsure what to say to the girl about it when she herself wasn’t even sure what was happening. 

“Don’t worry.” She finally said after a long moment. “Now eat, so we can be off to town.” She said, turning back to the table. Pink nodded, picking up an apple, but just ran her thumb over its mottled red and yellow skin thoughtfully while picking at her food with her other hand. 

When they had finished and Blue could see the younger girl getting antsy but doing her best to be patient. She stood, turning to Pink.

“Shall we go?” She was happy to see the bright smile take up her sisters face. 

“Do you think Yellow would come with us?”

“I suppose we could get the captain to escort us into town…” Blue hummed thoughtfully. Yellow’s presence would make them both happy.  

 “I’ll go get her.” Pink didn’t wait for an answer as she ran up the stairs to the knight captain’s quarters. 

“No, Rosaline!” Blue called after the teenager, she quickly gathered up her skirts and gave chase though her sister was already out of sight. 

“Oh, damnit” She breathed. 

~

“Yellow!”

“Hngh…” 

Inside Yellows personal chambers a lump stirred beneath the wool blankets, a single foot sticking out and hanging off the bed.  

“Yellow!” 

“Ugh…”  Slowly, dull honey eyes blinked open, adjusting to the bright early morning light that was filtering in through her windows. With a languid stretch and a yawn Yellow pushed herself up to sit. She slumped over, eyes starting to slide closed again. 

“Yellooooow!” The pounding on her door began again.

“Rosaline…”Yellow grumbled under her breath, whipping the blankets off her legs and plodding to the door. 

Blue finally caught up to the younger princess standing outside Yellow’s door and pounding on the wood with her fist. 

“Rosaline! You can’t just ...” Blue started as the door swung open, making both girls jump as the groggy and disheveled knight captain appeared, baggy cotton tunic hanging off her shoulders, the golden chain that held the diamond pendant Blue had given her was visible but the gem itself was hidden by the cloth. Pink noticed neither, far more preoccupied by the tired glower the knight was directing down at her. 

“What… princess…?” She managed the title almost as an afterthought, tone sharp. Blue bit her lip. Even disgruntled and half awake she found the knight too adorable for her own good.

“I...umm…” Pink stammered, looking up at the very obviously agitated knight. ‘We would like you to escort us to town…” She tried to make it sound like a royal order, but her wavering voice ruined any semblance of authority Pink may have technically possessed

Looking less than impressed, Yellow’s eyes dragged up to Blue, who was biting her lip and doing her best not to laugh at the whole thing. She cleared her throat, making Pink look back at her.

“We were hoping you would accompany us into town this morning, captain.” She smiled, clasping her hands together at her waist. 

She looked back down at Pink who was again, looking up at her pleadingly and holding up the apple she’d still had clutched in her hand.

“I brought you something from our meal.” She held out the offering.

Yellow sighed through her nose and took the offered fruit. 

“Wait for me in the stables…” She finally said. Pink grinned before taking off down the hall. 

Blue watched her disappear down the stairs before turning back to Yellow who was still blinking the sleep from her eyes. A quick glance around confirmed the hall was empty before she took the two steps to close the distance between them and laid a short kiss on the knights cheek.

“I’m sorry she woke you.” She murmured against Yellow’s warm skin.

“I should have been awake already at any rate.” She shrugged, stifling a yawn. Blue resisted the urge to kiss her again, Pink was waiting after all. Later, she promised herself. 

“We’ll wait for you.” She turned to go.

“Don’t forget your and Rosaline’s cloaks.” the knight reminded. 

~

Pink could hardly contain herself as they rode through the countryside into town. Watching all their citizens mill about, trading, selling and just living their lives. It fascinated the youngest royal to no end. A life so vastly different to her own, new and intriguing.

“Wouldn’t it just be so interesting, to be something else, to choose to be a seamstress or a cobbler?” She turned to her sister, who gave the girl an amused smile from beneath the hood of her black cloak. 

“Perhaps…” was her noncommittal answer. 

Yellow pulled the apple Pink had given her out of her jerkin and shined it on the black cloak covering her shoulders as she listened to the sisters talk. 

“Choose to spend your entire life in poverty, working all night and day long till you die?” Yellow cocked a brow at the youngest princess as she took a bit out of the fruit. Pink frowned.

“No… just, to do something different for a change. Besides, I’m a princess, I can do whatever I want.” Pink huffed, turning up her nose. Yellow’s response was to bring her horse closer and reach out and flip Pinks hood up, making the girl squeak.

“The point of the cloak is so you aren’t recognized.” She said around another bite. Blue smiled sadly.

‘If only that were true…’ Blue thought to herself looking over her squawking sister to Yellow, riding on her other side.

As if sensing her thoughts Yellow looked up from Pink and they shared a knowing look. Their status’ granted them more freedoms than most, yet at the same time those status’ bound them in other ways. 

To dutifully follow orders that dictated the slaying of men and women alike. 

To sit through the rambling of oblivious suitors from noble families and pick up all the duties being neglected by their monarch as she focussed on the rebellion.   

Bound to always being on guard, bound to dark corners of the library where no one would see the way they held hands or sat much to close as they spoke in hushed tones and grinned stupidly at each other. 

Pink would learn someday. 

“You chose to be a knight, Yellow.” Pink argued.

“No” Yellow said after swallowing the food in her mouth. “I chose to be a soldier for the empire. The queen made me a knight.” She corrected. “And I only chose to fight to escape the merchant class.” Yellow crunched on the apple. 

Blue could see the aggravation building with this line of conversation. Yellow’s father had not been a successful merchant, and had died penniless, leaving his only daughter with nothing at a very young age. 

“Pink…” Blue started only for the girl to plow ahead.

“What’s wrong with being a merchant? You can’t say you’d rather be a princess, it’s so boring. I think it would be fascinating to be a merchant.” She smiled.

“I think it would have been fascinating to not go hungry more days than not!” Yellow suddenly barked, turning a glare onto Pink, who shrank inside her hood at the look. Blue glanced between them worriedly. 

As the flash of anger cooled as quickly as it had come Yellow realized her mistake. Rosaline was a girl who had never truly known anything but the inside of the palace. She sighed, letting the snarl fall from her face, leaving her feeling tired.

“I apologize for that.” She started, looking for the right way to say this. “You don’t understand the kind of hardships your birth right has shielded you from Rosaline.” Yellow explained, leveling a serious but patient gaze on the youngest princess, who frowned. “My family was destitute. I chose to be a soldier not because I wanted to but because the only other choice available to me was starvation.”  

“Oh…” Pink mumbled.

“That being said, for all the things I’ve had to do in the empire's name, I don’t regret that choice.” She glanced at Blue, watching them. 

The rest of the ride into town was more subdued till they arrived and new life was breathed into Pink by the hustle and bustle of the towns people. They left their horses at the guardhouse where Yellow commanded one of her men to keep an eye on them.

“Come, Pink. I need to see the apothecary.” Blue reminded and started down the cobblestoned streets toward the shop in question. Pink sighed, looking longingly at all the merchant stalls in the opposite direction. 

“After” Yellow said, following Blue. Pink hurried along behind them.

Yellow wrinkled her nose when they stepped into the shop, the strong smell of herbs and salvs was overwhelming the moment they stepped through the door.

“Welcome!” The small, frail elderly shop owner called out to them when they entered.  

 Blue was quick to disappear among the many shelves of medicines.

“It smells in here…” Pink grimaced, looking around at the dark shop. Yellow grunted in agreement as they followed behind the elder princess. 

Pink eyed the many things for sale curiously. Rows of dark glass bottles with indiscernible contents lined one entire wall from floor to ceiling. On another were bundles of dried plants of all different kinds. 

Blue sifted through the plants carefully for the herbs she was looking for. Throwing the things she wanted into the sack she’d brought. A bundle of Yarrow, rosemary and mint all went into the bag. 

Pink watched her curiously.

“What is all this even for?” She questioned. 

“These…” She held up the sac. “When you add some wine and grind them into a paste are used for helping heal wounds and fight off infections.” She explained. 

“You’ve never been wounded, Blue.” Pink pointed out. 

“No, but I know some who frequently are.” Her eyes darted up to Yellow, who crossed her arms and huffed to herself. 

Pink caught the look and giggled at the pouting knight captain. 

"Are we done here?" Yellow groused.

"Nearly…" Blue nodded walking back up to the front with her things. She set the sac down in front of the elderly shopkeep. 

"Is that all you need?" She asked.

"Do you have anything that helps with...shifting moods??" She asked quietly. Yellow glanced at her, brows furrowing between her eyes.  

"Moods?" The old woman repeated. "Hmm..no, I’m afraid I don’t.” She shook her head. Blue frowned. 

“Than this will be all.” She nodded, pulling the small leather bag from beneath her cloak and handing over a handful of silver coins with her mother’s face minted on one side.

“We can go now.” She turned to her companions. 

“Finally…” Pink wasted no time leaving the dim foul smelling shop, but Yellow lingered, casting Blue a concerned look from beneath the hood of her cloak. 

“Later…” She promised, laying a hand on the knights arm as she passed. That did not make Yellow feel better. 

Pink was running ahead of them, toward the market.

“Come on!” Pink whipped around, cloak flapping about her form as she waved them on.

Blue couldn’t help but grin at her as they followed at a more relaxed place. 

She jumped when she felt a hand take hold of her own. She looked up at Yellow, eyes wide. Before looking back at Pink who was paying them no mind as she bounced between the different stalls set up along the street. 

“Are you alright?” The concern in those amber eyes made her breath hitch. She squeezed the hand in hers with a smile. 

“I’m fine, I promise. We’ll talk about it later.” She gave a final squeeze before gently tugging free of the knights grip and following behind Pink.

“Look at these.” The younger princess pointed at a table of glittering, uncut gems, polished to a high shine and reflecting light in all directions.

“Finest gemstones in all of Drysor!” the man claimed, sweeping a hand over his wares. Yellow rolled her eyes before wandering over to another table selling an assortment of leather goods.

“They are beautiful.” Blue conceded. The uncut stones had a primal charm to them, rough but charming in their own way.

Losing interest in the stones Pink moved to the table where Yellow was inspecting daggers. 

“Oh..” Pink picked up an elegant stiletto dagger with an intricate twisted handle and a small pink gem imbedded into the cross guard. “Yellow…?” Pink looked up at the knight who was testing the weight of a boot dagger. 

"Hmm?" She glanced at the princess out of the corner of her eye. 

"If I bought this dagger would you teach me how to use it?" She asked.

Yellow almost dropped the knife she was holding as she turned fully to face the princess, eyebrows disappearing into her hairline beneath the cloaks hood.

"What?' she asked unsure if she’d heard that correctly.

"I've just been thinking…" She started looking down at herself in the reflection of the blade. "With all the things that have been going on with the rebellion, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea if I learned how to protect myself." She looked up at Yellow.

The knight pursed her lips and she thought about the request. There were plenty of nobles who would say a princess didn't need to know how to use a dagger. Yellow however, was of the mind that everyone should know how to protect themselves.

She glanced up at Blue who was looking at her just as expectantly as Pink. 

“If that’s what you want…” She started and Pinks face started to bloom into a grin but Yellow quickly held up a finger. “On the condition… that you tell no one.” 

“Keep it a secret, why?” She tilted her head. 

“I have my reasons princess…” Yellow said crossing her arms over her chest. “So?” 

“A secret.” Pink grinned, giving a nod. 

“How much for the dagger?” Yellow called over to the merchant. A large bearded man. 

“20 ore.” he said. 

Pink immediately reached for the pouch of coins at her belt but Yellow stopped her by taking the dagger and inspecting it. 

“We’ll give you 12.” Yellow offered.

“12?! No, never!” 

“Very well.” She laid the dagger back on the table and began to walk away. Pink started to protest but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked up at Blue who was smiling knowingly.

Yellow didn’t get more than a few staeps away from the stall before…

“Wait!” The man called. Yellow glanced at him over her shoulder. “15 and it’s yours.” He offered. She turned to Pink and jerked her head at the man. She quickly paid him the agreed upon sum and took her new dagger with a wide grin. Blue chuckled to herself. 

“How did you know he would offer it for less. Yellow?” Pink asked as they walked away from the stalls and she slid the sheathed dagger into the belt holding her dress cinched at the waist. 

“I was born and raised in this place.” Yellow reminded. “The price they tell you is vastly inflated over what they’ll actually take. Only a fool pays the first price they demand.” 

Pink flushed.

“You should have gotten one, Blue.” She turned to her sister, who laughed behind her hand.

“Who said I don’t already?” A single sculpted brow rose in question. Pink starred up wide eyed.

As they exited the sidestreet of stalls a loud, raucous crowd had gathered in the center of town.

“What’s going on?” Pink looked around at all the jeering townspeople huddled together. 

Blue and Yellow exchanged glances. 

“Pink…” Blue started to reach for her but a moment to late as she moved forward, toward the center of the commotion. The two older women followed as she pushed her way through the crowd to the front. 

When they reached the front they could see what was going on.

Standing in the squares center were three men, looking worse for wear, chained and bound together. Several castle guards stood at the ready on either side of them while a man in noble garb held up a parchment and called for quiet among the rowdy townspeople. 

“Oh no…” Blue mumbled and Yellow could only agree. 

“What is it?” Pink asked looking up at them before turning back to whatever was going on. 

“Those are the Aarde rebel band leaders I captured.” Yellow leaned in and whispered to Blue who pursed her lips together tightly.  

“These men have been found guilty of treason against the empire!” The crowd began to holler and yell again before being quieted. “It is by the order of her royal majesty that they be put to death by stoning!” He declared to the cheers of the crowd. He turned to the men. “If you have any last words, speak them now or may they forever be lost.” 

“Long live Aarde!” the youngest of the three jumped up only for the first stone to come flying out of the crowd, smacking him in the forehead and knocking him to his knees. 

With that the dam was broken as large rocks flew through the air, smacking the men from every angle. They huddled together and covered their heads with their arms as they were beaten from all sides. 

The sounds of stone hitting flesh made Blue flinch, her hand covered her mouth.  

Pink watched in horror as a boy younger than her lobbed a stone at one of the huddled men, it struck one of them in the head and blood gushed from his ear as he curled into the fetal position, crying out as he was struck again and again. Stone breaking skin. 

 She jerked when a hand grabbed her shoulder. She looked up, wide eyed at Yellow’s grave face.

“We need to go.” Was all the knight said.

Pink could only nod numbly as Yellow pulled her and Blue through the crowd back to the guard house, though it wasn’t quick enough to miss the way all three men were now bloodied messes on the ground and the stones kept coming. 

The entire ride back to the palace Pink didn’t say a word. 

Blue watched her worriedly and Yellow just sighed to herself. 

They were supposed to be interrogating the band leaders. Had they gotten everything they could out of them already?    

She would get her answers when they returned to the palace.

And she would.

Walking back through the receiving hall did the trio come upon the queen leaving the throne room as court came to a close.

“Mother!” Pink spoke for the first time since they had left town. 

Winea Diamond looked up as her youngest came running up to her and wrapped her arms around her, burying her face into her chest. Blue stopped next to them and Yellow stood a few feet away, back straight and hands clasped behind her back.  

“Whatever is the matter my dear?” The queen ran her fingers through the girls soft curly hair. 

‘We went into town and they were executing the rebel band leaders.” Blue answered for her upset sister. “It was… disquieting…” She admitted. 

“Oh? Is that what you’re upset about?” She looked down at Pink who was looking back up at her with glassy eyes and nodded. “There’s no reason to be upset about that my dear.” She soothed, pushing Pink back just enough to look into her face. Pink started to smile.

“It’s what they deserved.” 

Pinks smile dropped and Yellows jaw clenched while Blue fisted her hands into her skirts. 

“They were rebellious traitors. They and their little rebellion are disrupting the peace and prosperity of our empire.” She explained to the girl as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The rest will get much of the same.” She promised with a bright smile.

“B-but…”The girl stuttered.

“Now, no more of this crying.” She wiped at Pinks cheeks with thin wrinkled hands. “It is quite unseemly for someone of your status.” She tutted and pulled herself away from Pink and as she had done so often as of late seemed to forget they were even having a conversation as she just wandered away down the hall, leaving both her children and the knight captain in her wake.

Pink watched her mother go as tears continued to drip down her cheeks, once the queen was gone she choked on a sob. Blue moved to hold her but without a word Pink took off toward the stairs, sobbing. 

Blue looked desperately to Yellow who nodded her head toward the stairs. 

“Go, take care of her, I’ll wait for you in my quarters.” She said quietly. Blue nodded before hurrying off.

~

It was several hours later when Blue finally appeared, looking tired and drawn as she silently closed and latched the door behind her. Yellow watched her from her bed.

Blue crawled onto the bed next to her and laid her head on the knights chest. Yellow laid her hands across her back. 

“Is she alright?” Yellow finally broke the silence.

“For now…” She sighed. “She was upset about the execution but…I can’t keep it from her anymore.” Blue squeezed her eyes shut, fisting her hand into Yellow’s tunic as the knight waited patiently for her love to speak. 

“Something is wrong with our mother…” She said at last, voice barely above a whisper. Yellow tightened her grip on Blue.

“I’ve had my suspicions…” She mumbled. “Our orders have gotten more brutal and conflicting everyday.One day we have orders to secure a town and the next we’re ordered to burn it down...” 

“When you speak to her it’s as though she’s looking through you, like she can’t even see you.” 

Yellow could feel droplets of water on her skin.  

I don’t know what to do, Yellow…” Blue admitted. The knight buried her face into the princess’ hair and held her tightly. 

“It will be alright, my love.” She soothed, running her fingers through the long silvery strands while she cried. 

“How? How will it be alright?” Blue choked, looking up at her, searching desperately for an answer in her amber eyes. 

“I don’t know yet…” Yellow admitted, running a thumb over Blue’s cheek, wiping away the tears there. “But I will do whatever you need me to.” She promised. 

Blue closed her eyes and leaned into the gentle touch. 

“I know you will....” She mumbled, taking hold of Yellow’s hand and pressing a kiss to rough, scarred knuckles.  “I’d be lost without you…” 

“Hardly…” Yellow scoffed making Blue’s lips twitch upward as she laid her head back on her chest, resting beneath the knights chin, where they stayed till the morning light.

#bellow diamond #yellow diamond #Blue diamond #pink diamond #White diamond #fanfic #steven universe #knightAU #fantasy

[goingsllightlymad]

Blinded By Your Light - Part 10. On Adoring.

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x reader

Summary: Y/N is the definition of ordinary. Studying at a medical school as far as she can get from her rainy hometown of Birmingham, she never expected to be shipped off the Flanders when the war was at it’s peak. Much less to meet a handsome young patient with the most beautiful pair of blue eyes she had seen in her life who as fate would have it would fall into her lap.

Wordcount: 5090. 

Warnings: I mean, smut? Kind of?

The first part is just catching you up to date, so it IS kind of shit, but I actually kinda like the rest of the fic. I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me. Also, — updates twice in under a fortnight! In this economy? It’s more likely than you think. 

__________________________________________________________________________________

When life went on the way it never had before, it took some time to adjust.

When, the morning after your date with Michael, you woke and saw your dress from last night hanging on the door, you called Ada once, twice, to make quite sure it was not hers. That last night had happened. It took you longer to know that it was not Tommy Shelby who had kissed you on the corner. Longer still to stop crying when you remembered what he had done.

When Michael came around at seven o'clock and took you to the Garrison and sat outside with you as you drank where it was quiet and cool, and you did not drink what he had brought you, because you were so scared that you would ask him why he'd left you back in Flanders when he knew you loved him so. Because you were not dating Tommy. Because Tommy did not love you half so much as this strange boy you barely knew.

When a week later you were kissing in the rooms behind the church that still tasted like Isaiah Jesus, and you could feel the name that was welling up on your tongue and it was not his, not Isaiah's nor Michael's. You knew full well what name it was you were trying not to say. You told Michael to leave. He did exactly what you said.

When summer ended, and in September you and he were sitting by the Cut, and he told you how his day had been, and he said that dreadful name that you had not said for so very long. The name that still lurked in the darkest corners of your mind, painting your thoughts a bitter, bluish shade of melancholy as you pushed him always from your mind. It was easier to ignore the thoughts now that you never saw him anymore, but it did not mean they were not there, filling your mind with a thunderstorm of colours every time you closed your eyes.

More often than not you still dreamed of him too, late at night when the last crimes had drained from the bloodied streets and lives enough had been taken from the town to last your conscience a lifetime on their own, when you had nothing better to do than to think that it was such a shame that you had found everything you thought was real and good and true and you had let it break you down to blood and bones and the remnants of a tired mind. You thought of him and all the beauty he might bring but never did because even his face was not so beautiful as it used to be.

And those late nights were filled with pain and memories, and the rain rolling down your window was enough to make your tears feel so small and your life even smaller. In all the grandeur of the universe you would leave no mark at all with him here beside you, and you would leave still less without. You could take the stars and tear them down, Romeo and Juliet and sins beyond your wildest dreams, and a whole lot more people dead behind you. And who could see the glory of a lifetime, the world they might have had if they were not who they were, and if they had not fallen for the angel they thought they knew, and settle with sad, sweet Rosaline?

Of course the town knew about you and Tommy. Michael knew. And of course he took it well. He was Michael fucking Gray;  there was nothing you could tell him that would make him look at you different. You'd cried when you had told him. Expected him to scream at you, to shout and swear and leave you be. Instead he only told you that none of that mattered anymore. You were here and you loved him. And that was true: you loved him. Of course you loved him. But sometimes you did wonder if he could care about your past a little more.

But in September, by the Cut, you only closed your eyes and nodded. Told Michael you were proud of him. How intelligent he was. Your boy, but that had never been the truth at all.

By October, you could say his name like you were saying aloud the names of the breads you were selling in store now. Your aunt had moved back into the kitchen and you into the shopfront, managing the shop-counter and balancing the books. No more deliveries. No more going to the Garrison in the daytime, when there were no crowds of people to hide you from sight. You drank tea with Ada and Polly and, from time to time, John at the tea-room off the high-street. The tea was cheap, practically water, but you had not seen Tommy Shelby in months. You had brought Michael once, early in October, but even you could see how bored he had got. It had not happened again.

And by December, Tommy Shelby was gone. You had not seen him in months, and even in your dreams you knew that that was all they were. Dreams. Tommy Shelby had no more power over you. Still you couldn't deny that the rumours sent thrills of sadness through you, when you heard of him and of his pretty blonde girlfriend, Grace. The girl you had seen that fateful day. Little feelings. Not enough to hurt you bad, but enough to make a cloud pass over the sun, the sky to become a little more grey. Even now, you could not forget the way that it had hurt you the first time you had heard it all. You had thought that there could never be a day when it did not break your heart. That day had not come yet, and you sometimes wondered if it ever would, but you liked to kid yourself that you were close.

When January came, you still had not left Small Heath. With Christmas come and gone, and the promise of snow looming over every grey day as you sat behind the bakery counter and watched the world pass by, the days were coming and going faster and faster, and with every one the memory of Tommy Shelby was becoming less garish in your mind. Some nights you slept and did not see his face at all. Some days you walked into the Garrison and did not hear a whisper of his name as you passed by. Tommy Shelby would always be all around you, god of this small Eden as he was, but he grew a little further every day.

And in his place came Michael, the boy who by now slept more often in the church-rooms than in his own home and was hardly ever at his office in the evenings now. The others claimed they missed him every night, and you were beginning to think that, in their shoes, you might just feel the same. There was something inexplicable about him, something that was not just that he was not like Tommy, that made you heartbeat jump a little. By January, you had adjusted. By January, you could swear that Tommy Shelby was only that to you - Tommy Shelby, OBE. Peaky Blinder. Owner of the Garrison downtown.

It was as though you had never loved the man at all.

________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing you noticed when you woke was the smell of smoke flooding in through the window. Your eyes stung when you tried again and again to open them, groping wildly around you for the door. You could not breathe - your lungs were heavy, syrupy, as though they had filled with tar instead of the air you were gasping for. Grabbing at the door handle when at last you found it, you burst through into the landing, a wave of heat knocking you backwards. Forcing your eyes open for just a second, you caught the bright flicker of what could only be the flames at the bottom of the stairs, leaping and rearing as you looked on helplessly, frozen in place. You tried to cry out for your father; from the dry harshness of your throat, no sound came.

Head swimming, staggering backwards into your bedroom and pressing against the door. There was no way out but down the stairs, and no way to survive the flames there too. And suddenly through the muffled roar of fire raging in the church, the sound of the window swinging, crashing against the side of the wall, the sound of God, a saviour. The window was open.

You threw them out into the street, all the blankets and the pillows from your bed, the cushions from the chair and all the clothes in the wardrobe. One big pile underneath your window, large enough perhaps to break your fall. Who knew. You only knew that it was the only way you might still make it out of here alive. And then, in the last minute as you stood upon the narrow windowsill, casting a final glance into the room you left behind, you turning and snatched up from the bedside table the small silver locket, already blackened by the smoke. The rest could stay; this alone you could not live without.

With that, you jumped. The window sill falling away beneath your feet, you squeezed your eyes shut and waited for the pain to kick in when you hit the ground. And you did. Hard. You bit your lip to hold back the wail that tore at your lungs as you splayed out over the pile of soft fabric, grateful at least that they had provided a little protection from the harsh pavement beneath. Here the air was slightly clearer, and after a long moment you opened your eyes.

At first it seemed the flames were everywhere, licking up the side of the church and casting strange shadows onto the street like the ghosts that roamed this town at night. You had never been the superstitious sort, and now you knew you should have been, for there was something otherworldly about lying in the street and watching the church spires burn. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows, and then onto your knees, and then back up to your feet, you found your place in this dark reality.

When you first tried to walk again you stumbled, nearly fell. The street was swimming dizzingly in every direction and your ears rang, half-deaf. Each time you blinked you saw the bright white light burned into your eyelids, and you were blinded by its light. Step by step, minute by minute that passed like hours in this timeless, hellish haze, you pushed yourself to the other side of the street where the fire had not reached, on your hands and knees. Every couple of seconds the flames would roar up, the deafening crash of bricks hitting the ground as the buildings burned all around you sending you ducking to the ground with your hands over your ears. The pavement burned under your skin, hot as the fire that glowed golden down the alleyways.

It was an eternity before you learned to breathe. Another before you were scrambling to your feet, pressing yourself against the wall as the footsteps came thundering down the street, ringing in your skull like gunshots. Even half-dead, drifting in and out of consciousness as the smoke filled your aching lungs, you knew that whatever was coming your way was not coming to save you. When the city burned the demons came out to play, and Small Heath would be alive with sinners tonight. There were worse fates than death, and tonight you would see them all.

Trying to steady your breathing and hold yourself upright at the same time, you waited for the danger to pass. It didn't. In front of the church the footsteps slowed, and into your line of sight there came the shadows of men, in their hands the awkward shapes of what could only be guns. Your head was pounding, your legs shaking from the effort of standing up, your lungs bursting as you took shallow, quiet breaths, and there was a terrible moment when at last you knew that you would never make it off this street. It was only a matter of time until you could not hide anymore.

Nearing you now, you closed your eyes and begged for peace. Thought of all the pretty things you knew that you would miss someday, and then those things you would mourn forever. You never got to tell your aunt that you were so proud. You never got to see the world, with Michael, on your own. You never told Tommy all these things you had to say. Tommy. Who would have thought that your last thought would be of those blue eyes, like every thought before. You loved him more than life, and soon life would be gone like your love would never be. You clasped your hands together and dreamed of him.

And then the unimaginable: gunshots around the corner, close to you, and the shadows by the church hurrying away. Away from you; you were, for now, alive. Collapsing to the ground, you gasped for breath, pressing your hands to your eyes to keep yourself from crying in relief. And then the realisation that what you had said could never be unsaid. You would love him forever, more than all your mortal sins. This alone you could never forgive yourself for.

And so you did the only thing you knew how to do - find Thomas Shelby. Inching down the streets down to the high street, jumping back into doorways as the shadows of people passed you on your way, you tried to find the Garrison among the broken lumps of buildings veiled in smoke. When you reached the high street you had to stop and stare, take a minute to take in the chaos that was unfolding in the street where only yesterday you had been buying flowers and delivering bread.

The fires were higher here, every building ablaze in a crimson glow that washed over you like a baptism of hellish light. Curtains billowing through the smashed remnants of windows, doors shattered in the street as people fought to escape. Women with children huddled in the gutters and men with guns, and in the centre of the street a bonfire climbing high, embers shooting up into the night sky and falling like rain. Children screamed; their parents wept; you could not hear the thoughts inside your head. The fires raged all the while. You took a deep breath and held it, stepped out into the crowds. Through the smoke and fire and fights, the faces flashed past you like the scenes of some twisted nightmare, the street whirling until you were sure you would search forever and never find your way. Never find your boy.

By the bonfire you stood dizzily, scanning the crowds wildly as you tried to find some semblance of a boy you had to see again. And then, through the haze, that face you knew so well. Those eyes.

"(Y/N)!" he was screaming, pushing through the throng of shadows by the fireside, an ungodly light flickering on his face and my god he was so beautiful that you wondered how you had ever breathed without him. Shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess and no cap in his hand, bloodstains on his shirt. He was a mess; your mess. You were yelling, screaming, and still he had not seen you. His eyes were wide and roaming wildly as he sorted through the faces, called your name again and again.

"Tommy!" the roar of the fire swallowing up the word, still you saw his head turn. Eyes catching yours, holding them with some emotion that you had never known before in his blue and panicked eyes, he ran to you. The way he did when you were dreaming, but this was not a dream.

"(Y/N)! What the fuck're you-"

You slapped him, the rage inside you bubbling up and you wanted to cry, because there had been a terrible moment at the centre of the crowd when you had heard his name and wondered if he would be alive at all, if you were just too late, and the feeling nearly killed you.

"That," you whispered, and somehow, through the roar of the bonfire by your side, you knew that he had heard you, "is for making me think you were dead."

"(Y/N) I don't-"

But you had cut him off. Your hands cupping his perfect face, you kissed him hard and fast. Let him taste the anger of this past year and a half, all the hate and all the tears and the way you had never stopped loving him, not really. How could you not love him when he was there in front of you, the most beautiful boy in the world? It took a moment - you nearly pulled away, a gut-wrenching fear that maybe you were wrong - but you realised that he was kissing you back, pulling you closer with his arm around your waist, skin as hot as fire and the summer that had broken you both. Tore you two apart but here you were, and you could not say where you ended and he began.

You broke apart, lungs burning as you breathed in and out, in and out, trying desperately to find the air to breathe as the world around you burned.

"And that is because you're not."

For a moment there was no reaction. No words in reply to let you know you had not been wrong. No sign at all that he was not the same cruel man that had turned you away so many months ago, that day the trouble really began. No way to know if you had finally screwed it up - that last last chance that someday he might love you too, the way you had never stopped loving him. Loving him more than life, for what was living if you were living without him? And then he had you once more in the palm of his hands, his hands around your face as he kissed you again and again; how many times you could never say, time was slowing down and speeding up and stopping and starting like the whole universe was about to explode with light. The fire brighter and brighter, hotter like you two were burning on the pyre, Guy Fawkes' catching light. You had never been kissed, never kissed, like this before. You had never loved a man quite like this.

You could not have said how you made it out alive: out of the church, out of the fire, out of the square and into the alley where the rest of the world was not. Up against the wall, kissing down your neck and wondering if you would be the same sweet girl the next time that he saw you. The way you were when he dreamed of you at night, for there was not a night when he had not called upon your memory to remind him he was sane. Thomas Shelby, OBE, was wise enough to know that you had never done the same.

The taste of weak January sun and the sadness of many years gone by upon his skin; you ran your fingers through his hair as he left his marks upon you. Souvenirs of tonight, but something told you that you would not be forgetting this anytime in forever.

All too soon he was breaking apart, pulling you down the street. Down to the Garrison, where the fires had not caught. Down through the main room, where in the moonlight you could have sworn the ghostly shadows of a darker past still played. If you looked hard enough you still might find the silhouettes of you and him, the whispers of a fight that was so long ago. You had lived this scene before.

Then up the stairs, into the bedroom where the lamps were lit, flames that flickered, danced, in their glass cases as though outside the window all of Small Heath was not burning. Life imitates art. He slid the nightgown from your shoulders.

Hands rushing in to touch you where the fabric fell away, naked but for all the clothes that held you back from him. You unbuttoned his shirt quickly, drawing in a sharp breath as though you had not seen him, touched him, done this all before. As though you did not know his body better than your own. As though you half-expected him to run away while you were half way through his skin to the darkness in his soul. An angel's soul, and the body of a soldier. Or perhaps it was the other way around.

Half undressed, your fingers slipping along the line of his hips; up his sides to his chest, his collarbone, his neck. The sharp angle of his jaw, the soft curve of his lips. Touching him. Learning him. This might be the only chance you got. Now to count the bullet marks interrupting smooth white skin: one by one by one. Smooth them over with your fingertips, feel him tense beneath you, kiss you deep and desperate, try to stop you leaving when you had already left. You had had one foot out of the door since the moment you had met him.

He bridged the universe between you, hands beneath your nightgown, running over you like he was holding you together. Oh, but he was. Shaping you like water from the Cut, running over his fingertips. He brought the nightgown over your head, and now there was nothing between you and the flames, the night outside the room, more darkness still within. He laid you down onto the bed, kissed you, every inch of you. Cleansed your soul with his touch, took your hips and neck and chest into his hands and learned all of the secrets from the way you moved beneath you, the breaths that came out short and loud as you cried out his name again and again into the emptiness that wrapped around your lungs. Until he took your hand in his, upon the sheets, you were not sure that he could hear a word you said.

He pushed apart your thighs and left himself in the gap that he had made. Kneeling between your legs and looking at you like a man may look at the god that he had lost, the god that he had found once more, you closed your eyes and sighed his name. The name that had hurt you; now you screamed it like a prayer. There was no god to hear you now; there was only Tommy. When his lips met you, you left the town entirely.

An eternity was never enough, and when he was over you again you knew that you could touch him forever and never have enough. Enough of him, enough words to say to describe him to your god when you told him that heaven had never been a place to you. Heaven lay over you, and heaven brought your lips to his. You tried to remember how to breathe and, more importantly, how you could ever breathe without him here.

He held you as he entered you; traced the tangle of veins down your wrist, the other wrapped around your neck. When you looked into his eyes, all was blue. You wrapped your arm around his waist and rocked your body into his. And all the while the fire outside the window grew and grew, and the fire in the pit of your stomach grew too, setting fire to your blood, coursing through every inch of you as it made you his entirely. But you had been his all your life. Your soul was written that way.

You closed your eyes when you let go. You knew what you were thinking. You knew then that he could never know it too.

And when he came chasing after you, biting at the side of your neck where the skin was soft and would be purplish tomorrow, you wondered if this was what they meant when they said "unity". You would never be whole again. And when he moved, pulled himself out from you, you whispered something to him that sounded a lot like asking him to stay. And he murmured something back that sounded a lot like a yes.

________________________________________________________________________________

When you opened your eyes, the lamp was. Through the open window, where the curtains billowed out like sails into the winter wind, there came no longer the garish glow of fire, the embers that floated up from the street below. Now there was only moonlight, and you knew it was time for you to go.

He was lying half-upon you, his arms around you like he knew that you were leaving. The way you always did. The way you always had to. Somehow it was always the hardest things that you had to do, when Tommy Shelby was concerned. You had not realised you were crying until a tear rolled down your cheek, falling onto soft white skin that was not yours, where the moonlight glowed as though he were angelic. You knew a lot better than that. He was godlike.

You drew yourself out from his embrace. Wrapped his arms around himself. Foolish girl, there will be another there tomorrow. Small Heath was full of girls like you, and more girls still that were not like you at all. After all, it was not you that he was seen with in the evenings. You could almost hear her breathing as she slept in peace, downstairs. What had you done?

Standing by the window as you let the breaths wash over you, one by one, with the cold and silver moonlight, you heard him stir behind you. Turn in his sleep, his arms around himself when he woke, for now around a memory. You knew better than to wonder if the memory was of you. You wiped away a stray tear and dressed quickly in the darkness. Back into the nightgown from the night before, and in the pocket the familiar weight of the locket that he bought you, back when you had no idea who Tommy Shelby was at all. You almost wished you had never known this boy at all. For some reason you could not name - perhaps the cold, or perhaps something sadder still that you had promised not to say - you took from the end of the bed the shirt that eh had worn. Slipped it around your shoulders. It still smelled like him, like cigarettes and fire. You thought the end of the world must taste like that, like him, because in that moment you would do anything not to leave that room. You smoothed down the collar, the way he always did. You wondered if you looked as ridiculous as you felt, standing in his room and wearing his clothes and pretending you meant a thing to him. It didn't matter - no one would see you now. The fires were gone, the dead were gone, the crowds would be gone too. You ran a fingertip along the brim of the peaky cap that lay upon the dressing-table. That bright and glittering line, the line that caught your eye when those handsome boys walked in. You had always wondered... When you brought your hand away, there was a trail of glossy red blood. It was a knife. You looked between it, to the man in the bed behind you. Of course.

Time to go; you had put it off for long enough. Standing by the door, trying to keep yourself from looking back at him in his bed. When he woke up, he would wake up without you in his arms. You knew he'd understand. You knew he'd know that it was all your fault. It was not right - it was not fair - to lie, to Michael, to Grace, to everyone around you who deserved more than you and all the heartbreak you would bring. You loved Michael. Of course you did. He was... Michael. Tommy was just a dream. Pretty, and impossible. Soon you would have to wake up. At least with Michael you knew if he loved you. You'd like to think he did. You'd like to think you loved him too. You could never break a heart the way that Tommy had broken yours. Tommy... You made to leave, and stopped yourself. You turned around and saw him sleeping. And in that moment, you had never loved him more. Never missed him quite so much. Your life was going to be very difficult.

Going over to his bedside, you kissed him gently on the forehead, tried to tell him in one moment that you had no fucking idea how you were meant to live without the love of your life. He sighed against you; you watched his lips as they moved, murmured something in his sleep. His chest rose and fell and, somewhere deep inside it, you knew that there must be a heart somewhere. You would not give yourself the privilege of believing that you had broken his heart. Tommy Shelby would never have been foolish enough to give his heart to a fucking mess like you.

"Tommy, I'm sorry." you murmured, and it was the most honest thing that you had said in all this time you had been in Small Heath. It was the only truth that you would ever say. Tommy Shelby had the best of you, and he would never know it either.

You stood from the bed; you turned and left the room.

It was only as you were leaving through the main room, closing up the front door of the Garrison behind you as you left all your love behind, to him, that you realised that never once had you wondered where Michael had been the night before. Never once had you thought to look for him. All the fire. All the fear. All the searching, searching for Tommy. When you were dying on the church corner and when you knew that now was the time to pray for all you loved, you had not thought of him at all. 

Taglist: 

@captivatedbycillianmurphy @actorinfluence @stressedandbandobessed7771

#peaky blinders #peakyblindersxreader #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommyshelbyxreader #thomas shelby x reader #michael shelby #michael gray #michaelshelbyxreader #michaelgrayxreader #fuck you steven knight #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader #cillian murphy x reader #finn cole x reader

[rainbows-fanfics]

Two Dearest Friends (Chapter 21)

Summary:

Jack Skellington, the Pumpkin King of Halloween Town, meets Sally, a ragdoll created by Dr. Finklestein. A friendship blossoms between them as he introduces her to the world outside of her tower. Sally is falling for him as their relationship grows into something more, and Jack finds the same is happening to him.

A story where the Christmas incident never happens, and Jack and Sally find their happiness on their own.

Pairings: Jack Skellington/Sally

---

The week goes by incredibly fast, and that's because of how much time she spends of her afternoon reading. She slips the covers back on the books in case Finklestein stops by her room and checks on her, which he does multiple times and even asks her about the material. She manages to slip by attempting to sound as sophisticated as possible and the Doctor, thankfully, leaves her alone. But when Friday comes, she spends a lot of time thinking of how her evening with Jack will transpire. She has lots of questions about Romeo and Juliet, but the shy part of her makes her wonder if he'd even find them worth answering. She twiddles with her fingers as she waits for Finklestein's meal to cook. She slipped some Deadly Nightshade in it beforehand, so the moment he takes a bite, she will be out of there. Her gaze finds its way out of the nearby window and she notices dusk is approaching soon. She assembles the meal on a plate, careful to make sure none of the nightshade is showing within. Once that is done, she comes outside and places his plate in front of him at the table. Finklestein notices right away she isn't having any. "You aren't hungry, my dear?" She shakes her head. "Not tonight." "Ah. So tell me, then..." He picks a piece off from his plate. "How have the books been? Do you like them? They're from Skellington, so I expect you do." "Oh, yes. They're very interesting." She replies, eager for him to take a bite already. "What is the quantum theory, Sally?" He looks up from the piece before it even reaches his mouth, looking at her expectantly. She twiddles with her thumbs as she thinks of an answer. She really hasn't the slightest clue. But it's bound to deal with science and...stuff...right? "I-It's a theory. A scientific one." She clarifies nervously. "Doctor, why don't you take a bite of tonight's dinner and tell me how it tastes? I spent quite a long time on it." "Don't avoid the question." He points his fork at her accusingly. "Your eyes have been glued to those pages for days now, girl! You can't tell me you don't know what it is?" She bites her lip. "Well, it takes me awhile to just...piece it all together. There's so many com-components to it. It's such a complicated theory-" Her rambling doesn't matter in the end, because in the midst of her explanation, the Doctor had taken a bite. It was only a matter of seconds until his head slammed on the table and he passed out. That's because of how much she added. She remembers practically emptying out the bottle into his food. She grabs a blanket and drapes it over his figure, leaving him and the Tower as quietly as she can. --------------------------- She finds Jack sitting on the hill already, resting his skull in his hands and gazing in the direction of Halloween Town. It looks as if he's absorbed in his thoughts, but as she comes through the gates, his face changes the moment he sees her. She had no chance of sneaking up on him as she had planned, for he positioned himself to the entrance, so she approaches the Spiral Hill with an embarrassed smile. But he thinks nothing of her partial lateness or sudden appearance, as his eye sockets go half-lidded the closer she gets to him. "There you are," He greets warmly. She brushes her hair behind her back. "Hi, Jack..."

She makes no hesitation as she climbs the hill and joins him by his side, sitting close to him and facing the same direction as he is. It's new for her to be looking towards the gate. She can finally see the buildings of the town for herself, admiring the irregular patterns of them. It leaves a lot to stare at, and as she gapes at all the interesting figures as well as the night sky filled with endless a mounts of stars, the skeleton watches her from the side. "I left early," He mentions. "You're almost always here before me, so I thought I would've caught you here." "I'm sorry about that..." She apologizes quietly. "The Doctor was being a little difficult before I left." "What did he do now?" "He asked me about the quantum theory." She admits sadly. "The Deadly Nightshade kicked in before I could answer." He gives her an amused smile. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time it saved you, wouldn't it?" She giggles at his comment. He chuckles along with her before his gaze is directed back to the town. She follows his sight to look at the dark buildings again. It's hard for her to believe how many there are. Especially out of town like she had seen...it was even harder to come to terms with the fact that Jack reigned all of it. Everything she sees, he practically rules over. It was...incredible to think about, and how seemingly lucky she is to be involved with the man who seems to have it all. Yet it could affect him less. That was another thing she had to admire about him. "You see my house there?" He suddenly points in its direction. She follows his finger and nods. "Yes, I do." "It overlooks the town. I can see most, if not, everything." He moves his arm. "And behind it...beyond my garden, I mean. There's your Tower. Right over there." "I see it." "All this time I've been looking at things in one direction," He rests his skull in both of his hands again. "I've been overlooking the Town for so long that it all looks the same to me. I can never find something new in it. But just last night did I finally look at things I hadn't thought twice of before." "What do you mean?" "I can see your house through my window. You've always been a glance away from me, Sally, and I hadn't noticed it until now. It felt like such a wake-up call to me." "I can see your house through mine all the time," Her cheeks heat as she finishes, "I look at it as much as I can, actually." "...You do?" She goes quiet, unsure of what to say. Now he's going to think she's some sort of creep for looking at his mansion all the time...she scolds herself for even letting that slip. He can tell how worked up she is getting and taps her shoulder carefully. She quickly turns towards him but finds that understanding smile on his skull again. It assures her instantly without any words, and she no longer feels embarrassed. "I guess, then, my confession won't seem so disgraceful..." He looks away from her to fixate his sockets on the small silhouette of her tower. "I've been looking at your place ever since I found it. Sometimes I find you at your window and...I just wonder what you're doing. You make me very curious." She understands. She shares that same curiosity, but with him. She, too, gazes at his figure and wonders what he can be doing, or what he can be thinking. What can be going on in his mind when she's not there to hear it. She relates to that feeling all too well. But she fears to say it, for if the words left her tongue, her heart would come with it and possibly burst out of her chest. She is overwhelmed with emotions of similarity, and he spares her the effort by changing the subject. "By the way, what did you think of the books I sent to you? Have you read them yet?" She releases the breath she'd been holding. "I finished Romeo and Juliet. I thought it was quite a tragedy." "Isn't it? That's why I adore that book so much. I love reading about death. That's my favorite scene too - when they both kill themselves." She smiles at his enthusiasm. She thought he'd have said something about the love portion about the story, but it was so much like him to focus on something like death. She knows that, now. But she's also blessed with the knowledge that he appreciates the romantic moments as well - that's something she wants to pry at while she's at it. The questions stir in her mind from the other night. She admits, "I quite...liked Romeo and Juliet's relationship. It seemed so natural to me. I felt like they were really in love." He goes quiet. She looks over and notices that he's thinking. She pokes at his side, beckoning him to snap out of it and look at her in surprise. Leaning closer, she asks, "-What did you think of Romeo and Juliet's relationship?" "I don't think they were ever in love," He replies. "Really? Why?" "To me, love is a little more than meeting someone and deciding right away that you want to marry them," He replies. "Romeo decided he was in love with Juliet even if he didn't know a single thing about her. I think that tells you that he was infatuated with Juliet - not in love." She finds herself genuinely curious. "What's the difference?" "Infatuation is a false sense of long-term love, I'd say." He shrugs. "It's where you feel strongly for someone, but it's only shortly lived. Like how Romeo felt about Rosaline. He was quick to change his 'love' for her the moment he saw Juliet." She slowly nods. "I think you're right...But I like the idea that someone would go as far as dying for the sake of someone they love. Even if Romeo's wasn't genuine..." "You and me both," He winks. Before she has a moment to react, his hand snakes his way into hers, and her knees buckle when she feels that squeeze again. Then her mind races as another question comes to mind. A blush grows on her cheeks far before it comes out of her mouth. Her breath feels shaky and her chest grows cold. She's going to ask him a question she's always wanted to know ever since she befriended him - an overwhelming curiosity that she had yet to tame. "...What DOES love mean to you, Jack?" She hears him take a breath and open his mouth to say something, but he closes it abruptly. He places a hand on his mouth for a few seconds as he stares at the ground. She presses her fingers together as she waits. She really wants to know what love means to him...Especially when she knows that SHE is in love with him. And now that they're becoming something together...she needs to have this final confirmation - so she no longer feels uncertain. "I think love is something that grows," He finally replies. "At first, it feels different. But over time, it grows so much to where the person you're IN love with can never leave your mind. You'll do things for them that you wouldn't ever think of doing before. The moment you find yourself to where you're missing them whenever they're not with you, then you're in love." . . . There is a very long moment of silence afterwards. She doesn't realize she's holding her breath until he stops talking. She slowly exhales it and she thinks further on what was said. What he described now is...exactly how she feels about him. She turns to him and finds his stare is on the ground, as if something is on his mind. "....I feel like love is the support you give someone," She starts softly. "Like you said, it's where you're thinking about them all the time...taking risks you wouldn't normally take. In the end, it's where you're hoping for the best of them and staying by their side no matter what. That's what I think love is." "--Then it seems like you and I have very similar definitions." He comments coyly as her fingers dig into his palm. She trembles slightly, trying very hard to keep her composure. "I-I want to know how you feel...about something..." She bites her lip. "-Do you think that Romeo and Juliet's titles mattered? That Romeo was a Montague and Juliet was a Capulet?" "Of course not. I think the whole 'title' excuse is ridiculous. You can't control who you fall in love with. Where you stand or where your status is could really be less of a factor if you're truly in love." "...So, you don't mind that I'm not a princess, or a queen, or...or someone like Juliet?" His look changes and he quickly glances over to her. She stiffens at this, and feels stupid for ever asking. But then comes his smile again, as well as that soft titter of his. "-Is that what this is about, Sally? You don't think you deserve me because you're not royalty?" She's quick to defend herself. "We-well, the Doctor used to say that you were most likely to fall in love with someone of a higher class...no one like me." "Well, first of all, there's no one else around in royalty. So there's no chance I could have fallen for a princess or a queen." He leans down further until she can feel his breath on her hair. "You know it doesn't matter to me. I hope it doesn't to you?" "No. Of course not." She breathes a sigh of relief, letting her shoulders relax. "I can't believe I let the Doctor's bias get to me...how I used to believe those things..." Her eyes narrow as her thoughts drift. Jack really is too good for her. Here he is telling her about all his good morals and how humble he is. He seems like an angel sent from heaven itself. There is nothing bad about him she could find, for how long she has known him now. There is no flaw...nothing that draws her away from him. Every part about him only makes her fall further in love. But she wants him to know that...she wants to hear it fall off of her own tongue, and to hear it from him, too... "Jack..." She starts. "I have something to confess..." "What is it?" As long as she has prepared herself for this, all the mental determination and words of encouragement she has given to herself, she still struggles to find the right words. "Th-the reason I bring all of this up is....is because...wi-with the Doctor--" She takes a deep breath and steadies herself. It's now or never. This is the best chance she has to confess it to him - after their discussion about love, feelings, and what they have together...she has hidden it from him so long now, and she needs to uncover the truth. With a firm nod of the head, she turns to Jack and begins confessing, in a heartfelt manner that leaves her words spilling and her sentences ongoing: "What you said about love, just now...how you can't stop thinking about that person, and how you take risks that are new to you...I-I realized I feel that way about you. I've done things I'm not so proud of just to see you, and I think a lot about you every night. You don't leave my mind no matter what I'm doing and you're the reason I leave that tower so often. You're why I always want to come outside and celebrate." She has the courage to look him in the eye sockets, and finds that they're full of emotion. His face is undergoing many expressions, but she has no time to read them all. "--You've always been so supportive of me, and you've taught me a lot about...well, everything. You saved my life the first time you met me, and I owe you so much for all the things you've done for me. I wouldn't be as happy as I am now if it weren't for you." He starts softly. "Sally..." She can feel a tremendous blush growing on her cheeks, and her chest very well may be close to combusting. But she doesn't care - she likes the fiery feeling in her neck, and the hotness of her body. She says all of these things with truth and care, because they're all things she has been holding back until now. She continues spilling her emotions, finding no reason to stop: "What I'm saying, Jack, is that...I care about you. So much. I-I think about you all the time. I always want to be with you. You've showed me that life is worth so much more than the Doctor has told me...that I truly belong here with everyone else. And I don't want to be with anyone but you." She stops to fiddle with her hands, and draws her gaze into his slowly. "I love you, Jack. I've loved you ever since you showed me this new world." When she finishes, she shuts her eyes tight, preparing herself for what may come. She hears him take a sharp intake of breath, but then he lets it out slowly. When she opens her eyes, she finds he has a look of affection, and before she can say anything more, his hands find his way into hers, bringing them up to their chests. He sets his large palm over her hand, and from that warmth can she feel many other things. "Oh, Sally...you're so different. So very different...you're the only one who has kept me up all night." She grows breathless as he says this. "-Never have I met someone like you. Someone who was interested in me FOR me. You're the only one who's ever looked to me as a person more than a King. More than anyone else ever has." He chuckles. "You very well may know more about me than this whole town does put together." Their fingers entwine once more. She starts to shake. Shake as his touch travels from the top of her hand to her arm, slowly finding its way onto her shoulder. The world around her spins as his figure draws closer to hers, and she reacts to her instincts by inching closer to him. By the time she can see the details of his stitches, where she can feel the fine fabric of his suit and the wings of his bow tie brushing against her neck, he gently tells her: "I love you, too." His hand finds its way to the side of her face. His thin fingers prod along along the stitches on her cheek before finding their way to her jaw, where they cup the side of her face. And she melts in this contact, turning into complete jelly as she allows him to bring their faces closer. She purses her lips and shuts her eyes, but she doesn't need to do anymore than that. She feels his lips brush against her own, then deepen passionately as his other arm wraps around her figure to draw her against his chest, where she is left to hold the sides of his arms as to not break away. She's finally kissing him. It's as unadulterated as Sally has dreamed, and to say she's in a state of bliss is an understatement. She was right - this feels nothing like when he kissed her forehead. This is so much more. It feels as if her phantom heart has left her body and in its absence is the heat of pleasure. Every part of her body grows warm the longer she kisses Jack, and as her fingers trail over the back of his neck, he feels colder than her. She relaxes against him - letting her chest collapse onto his own and clinging her arms around him. She is unsure if she can feel anything at that moment, but Jack's lips pressing against her own very softly. They both eventually break away after a few minutes, neither of them desperate for air. For as long as it lasted, Sally wishes she could have more - that the feeling would have prolonged, where her ruby lips would never had to have left his stitched ones. But in this period she stares at him dreamily, her arms still around his shoulders and her body resting against his. He returns a look similar to her own as his hand combs its way through her hair, the other that has been tightly wrapped around her body gently rubbing the side of her thigh. This period of relaxing silence is cut off when Jack speaks. His voice sounds very calm, and more quiet than usual. She loves the sound - it makes her melt even further in his grip. "--That felt like something I've been waiting for my whole death." She squeezes her legs together, reliving everything she felt in that moment. "Me, too." The kiss adamantly took their breaths away, both physically and figuratively. They substitute this silence by resting themselves on each other. She lays her head on his chest and brings her legs around his figure, breathing in the scent of his cologne while the tingling still lingers on her lips. There are no words needed to be said in this period - the silence is comfortable, and feels perfectly at ease. Their embrace continues as the night goes on, and at some point, he feels Sally go completely limp in his grip. He waits a moment before finding that she has fallen asleep in his arms. He combs the strands of hair from her face before gently lifting the two of them up, holding her carefully in his arms as she climbs down the hill. She doesn't stir in this time - she appears to be completely asleep. He uses this to his advantage on his way back to Finklestein's, where he can hopefully place her in her bed without any notice. As he walks through the Outskirts, listening to the sounds of howling and the creatures skittering in the shadows, he observes the sleeping figure in his arms. She looks so peaceful with her mouth slightly agape and her eyes gently shut. He felt such close contact with her once before - in a similar situation, where she was asleep in his arms. Except the circumstances are different, now. She fell asleep like this. After everything they had confessed to each other...after their kiss, and their long embrace where they did nothing but hold each other. He moves a finger slightly along her cheek. She shivers under his touch. He chuckles quietly and instead stares at her face. To observe the stitch lined along her right eye, the way her blood hair is brushing along her shoulders, and how tightly her small hands are clutching the lapels of his suit. Everything about her is beautiful. Now he was finally able to confess his undying love for this ragdoll that he's kept down for so much time. The urge to touch Sally, to look at her, to kiss her...the overwhelming desire to make them something more...he has that now. And right now, he has the woman he loves in his arms, innocently tucked away from reality...kept safely in his arms and away from the cold and the lingering creatures of the night. "Look at how peaceful you are," He speaks to her, so quietly that it goes unheard to her unconscious ears. He sighs blissfully a moment after. "How beautiful..." He arrives at Finklestein's tower, and attempts the front door. When it resists, he has to use his trusted skeleton key to open the door. And when it opens, he's quick to make his move. The door creaks as it closes only a second after Jack is already inside. He rushes up the ramps as quietly as possible. He ensures she doesn't stir in this time, holding her close and shielding her from the rush of the cold air as he approaches her room. He slips through the gap of the door easily with her in his arms, and looks around the silent room in search for her bed. He finds it in the same spot as last time, and leans down to open the blankets for her. When he slowly goes to remove her from him, he feels Sally resist. Her grip tightens around her neck and she emits a slight whine, her body insisting to stay wrapped around his. "Don't go..." She whispers. His ribs ache at her tone. She sounds so afraid of him leaving. "You'll see me again." He insists, applying a small amount of pressure to unclasp her hands. "I promise." She flutters her eyes open for a moment. His chest contracts when he sees her black eyes, and he wishes they were still back at the Graveyard so he could have a moment's more of a kiss. He lays her in her bed, against her pillow, and tucks her in. This reminds him so much of what he did before. Except this time he doesn't want to leave as soon as the job is finished. He wants to be here all night, by her side, so she won't have to be alone. Before he even takes a step away from her bedside, her arm reaches out and grabs his hand. "But what if...." He words fail to finish. With much effort, she finishes, "What if he won't...let me see you again...?" He wants to laugh. "I know you, Sally. You'll find your way to me. You're more capable than he grants you for." He reaches forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Now, you need to sleep. Can you do that for me?" Her hand squeezes his own, though it is very gentle. He can tell she's weak from fatigue. "..Okay..." He feels guilty as he slips his hand from hers. He hesitates a moment before leaning over pressing his lips on her forehead once more. His spine tickles slightly as he pulls away. As badly as his body demands for more; the selfish feeling prying at his bones to spend more time with her, he has to resist. As his eye sockets gloss over her figure, tucked in the blankets and settled comfortably on the bed, he runs his hand along the side of her face and whispers his final words to her for the night. "Goodnight, Sally." He doesn't hear a reply, but she doesn't need to say anything. She nuzzles the side of her face further into his hand instead. He feels the ends of her eyelashes brush against his phalanges as she finally closes her eyes, and he waits a few moments more before removing it. He takes this cue to finally leave, taking a few steps to reach the door and closing for the night. When he's alone, he cautiously peers about the tower and finds it's still empty. He climbs down the ramps with ease before leaving Finklestein's Tower for the night, locking the door behind him and starting his way back to his own home. ------------------------- The next morning, Sally wakes up in pure bliss. She doesn't forget everything that has happened the night prior because it is all she dreamed about. Something she has wanted for a very long time, and thought about for as long as she could remember...it actually happened. She has vivid memories of everything exchanged last night, and the same events repeated in her dream. Her and Jack, alone together, holding each other, engaged in a passionate kiss....confessing their love for each other whenever they broke away, only to lock lips again when their yearning became too overbearing. It all felt so real, but this time she knows they are for certain. The Doctor acts very disappointed when she finally shows her face that morning. He makes sure to guilt trip her every opportunity he has while she prepares their breakfast. But everything he says falls on deaf ears - she is too far gone in her own world, thinking about her first kiss, and her confession to Jack. She even goes as to hum while cooking the food, ignoring Finklestein's angry outbursts from above. When she's finally finished, she goes into the dining room to present their breakfast for the morning, setting down plates of rotten eggs, sausage, and glasses of juice to accompany it. Both the Doctor and Igor perk up as their servings are set down, and Sally happily skips over to her own chair as she joins them. "Well..." Finklestein picks up some of it with his fork and sniffs carefully. "Someone seems to be in a good mood this morning..." She says nothing, cutting her foot into pieces and swirling them around on her plate. Igor happily chows down his food while the Doctor squints his eyes at her suspiciously. She notices his look and sits up attentively in her seat, properly eating her food and clearing her throat. She can't let anything slip....if he knew of her and Jack - well, she was sure everything bad that COULD happen to her WOULD... "Oh, um, yes, Doctor. I guess it is a horrible morning." He takes a bite and chews. She tenses while he does this, but then he relaxes in his seat and nods in admiration. "This is good, my dear. A fine meal to wake up to. Nothing like what you prepared for me yesterday, where you poisoned my poor old body and left to who-knows-where..." She sinks in her seat. He tsks at her lack of a reply and continues eating. She pokes at her eggs as she tries to uplift herself - pretending it's Jack telling her he loves her instead of the Doctor scolding her for leaving again. That itself brings a smile back to her face, and she finishes the rest on her plate with confidence. She stands to gather the rest of the dishes from Igor and Dr. Finklestein, and happily skips back into the kitchen, where she can be alone with her thoughts again as she washes them. Dr. Finklestein watches all of this with observant eyes. He notices the new aura about her - from the way she's adding an extra skip in her step to the way she trotted to her seat. She is never usually this perky, and her mind seemed elsewhere when he spoke to her. This was the first time he's seen her finish her own cooking, or be so willing to eat with them at the table. He can already sense there is something different about her - as if she had done something after he was poisoned, or something happened to her.... "Hmmm." He muses to himself, rubbing a tiny gloved finger on his chin. "Something smells like rotten fish again, Igor..." "--Igor get more food? Igor hungry for more good food!" "Yes, yes, Igor...in time...we'll know in time...."

#long post #long #jack and sally #jack x sally #the nightmare before christmas #tnbc #disney #jack skellington #fanfiction #fan fiction #two dearest friends

[hildiraphillips]

The Apprentice

Preceded by The Master. This is the final story, and the rest of the arc is here. 

“There is more, Rosaline,” the Kyrian Hildira said gently after the pair had finally recovered. “I know that there is. What you have shown me already stirs some semblance of memory within me. We have seen my death, but I sense this is not the end of the tale of Hildira Phillips. Please... show me the rest. ”

“I... I do not know about that, my old master,” the younger woman answered gently. “Now that I am sitting here... speaking to you, I feel foolish for what has happened since. Please, I am not certain you want to know.”

“I must know what has become of my name, and of you, and of Azeroth.” The Kyrian stood, and offered the younger paladin a hand up, which was clasped as she was brought to her feet. A hand reached out to the mirror once more, and then the both of them stepped into her past.

Sunlight flooded in through the stained glass window to bathe a solemn ceremony in the day’s warmth. “In the Light, we gather to empower our sister...” The words pulled at both of their hearts, and the Kyrian’s was filled with pride as she witnessed her former student being inducted into the Order of the Silver Hand. What little memory she did retain knew what a momentous occasion this was. Priests and paladins alike attended the girl in the center, whose eyes they saw from. She was barely more than a youth, hardly old enough to be a paladin. But here she was.

 “Rise, Hildira Phillips,” a voice commanded, and she lifted a heavy warhammer, absolutely brimming with the Light’s power. “Welcome to the Order of the Silver Hand.”

As the pair watched the congratulations given to her, the Kyrian asked the paladin a simple question. “Why did you ask them to call you Hildira? It was not your name then. You were Rosaline... my apprentice.” 

“Your life was taken from you too soon. You had a legacy ahead of you, a truly noble and heroic one. Since my own life had been saved by yours? I had... a silly thought, perhaps, though I stand by it. I thought to add to your name, to make your legacy great and ensure you were remembered in the annals of history. The Faris lineage will live on. But Hildira Phillips? She deserved to become a legend, and for her ideals and faith to brighten the world a little longer."

The Kyrian, for the second time in recent memory, did not know what to say. She sat there in stunned silence, clutching onto her former student with a mix of bewilderment, pride, and shame. At last, she finally managed to find some sort of answer. “This is... a very noble gesture, Rosaline, but you did not need to do such a thing. If I offered my own life it was to save yours, not to drive you into such an act.”

“I know. But I chose this willingly, not through guilt. I wanted to see you honored as you deserved, even if I was the only one who knew the tale of why it was necessary. I took up wielding a shield and put myself on the front lines to live out your ideals of self-sacrifice. You showed me how a true knight-errant should act and live. You inspired me to care for even the smallest of folk. It was important that those I serve know who truly is responsible for aiding them.”

“Please,” the Kyrian responded  gently. “... show me more. What has Hildira Phillips accomplished since I have been gone?”

Flashes of memory came next. Southshore was defended against foes of all kind... Horde raiders, Scourge warriors, Syndicate bandits. She guarded holy pilgrims and relic-seekers on their travels into Lordaeron.  The paladin held her shield in defense of Hillsbrad’s farmers, and even walked upon the strange soil of another world while planets and magic drifted across the skies above. Years drifted by at war, pitting her against undead and orc, against cultist and bandit. Azeroth’s penchant for conflict did not surprise the Kyrian, but she did find some warmth at how the smaller folk were never forgotten by her student.  The greatest of her foes were the demons that spilled into the world, a more terrible and awesome sight than even the Third War had been. The Kyrian’s confusion at such a massive invasion was soon overcome by her pride as a familiar demon lord was slain within the Twisting Nether itself, a long-awaited moment of retribution for her violent death.

The sight of the demon who had slain her destroyed made the Kyrian let go of the younger woman for a moment, tears welling up in her eyes. “You have done so much,” she spoke gently. “You have done more than I ever could have hoped for. I am... so proud,” she said with a faltering voice. “I wish I had not forsaken my memories, Rosaline. How could I ever forget you? How could I have given up this?”

“It is the way of the Kyrian, Hildira,” the younger woman said, finding it strange to address somebody else with the name she’d long claimed for herself. “You had no choice... and these memories would only weigh you down. Unfinished regrets would torment you, my old master. I understand... I said before it was an honor to show you who you were. But... it is also the honor of a lifetime to show you who I am. Who I have become, what you have shaped despite your absence.”

The Kyrian shook her head. “I may have shown you the path, but it is you who walked it- you who accomplished all of these things and more. There is a memory of yours I saw for but a moment earlier. It is only now that I understand it.” 

The Kyrian placed her hand on the younger woman’s shoulder once more, and channeled into the mirror to bring one last memory to life. The ghostly voice of a deathly sister rang out for both of them:

“You live perhaps in a fallacy, twas not the master who crafted thee. Upon your own heart and head merits have garnered, of her soul memory you need not martyr.”

They did not speak for a long time as the both of them reflected upon their lives. The deathly sister had said all that needed to be heard just then. Eventually, the Kyrian reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair behind the paladin’s ear. 

“Show me your life, Hildira Rosaline, every triumph and tragedy. We have nothing but time right now, and I would spend one last golden day of peace with my former student before we face the horrors of the Maw.” 

#Shadowlands #RP Story

[stillnotoverstillstarcrossed]

Wherever You’re Going, I’m Going that Way

(Also on AO3). 

Benvolio was hopeless. His fingers tapped incessantly on his phone screen, doing the same thing he’d done for the last 20 minutes. Turning it on. Off. On. Off. The glowing white numbers that read the time seemed to be taunting him.

It was already 11 o’clock and she still hadn’t called.

And here he was, pathetically lying upside down on the gross couch Mercutio mooched off some garage sale in South Central. Benvolio had turned down Merc and Romeo’s offer to get a few drinks, and the open slot for teaching a class at the art studio. He even took an earlier afternoon shift at the bar. All so he would be right there when she called.

At first, Benvolio felt rather proud of himself for taking care of business so quickly. Clearing his whole schedule the day before seemed like a very grown-up thing to do. But now he just felt foolish.

Perhaps she meant “I’ll call you” in passing. Maybe he’d over-anticipated the meaning of the call altogether. For one thing, Rosaline didn’t even owe him a call at all. Because they weren’t exclusive. Because he wasn’t her boyfriend. He knew that.

Rosaline had made that very clear after that first night all those weeks ago. The night Rosaline had let him in for some coffee and conversation. At some point their conversation turned dangerously intimate. But Benvolio figured being as worn out as they were, a venting session was bound to happen. She had spoken softer than he’d ever heard her speak. Her skin had glowed in the moonlight that fell through the paned windows. One thing led to another and he woke up wrapped around her, her warm skin heating him to his core.

But before he could even flash her a smile or press a kiss into her shoulder, she told him she didn’t need anything serious. That this wasn’t going anywhere. Just some fun.

Benvolio nodded as casually as he could and agreed. And at the time, he probably thought he wanted that too. But Benvolio knew himself well enough to know that he fell hard and fast. Much too hard and fast to be trusted with this situation. He should’ve stopped this the moment Rosaline warned him.

But he stayed. That was in January, a cold and lonely month. Maybe that’s why this whole thing between them was ever allowed to happen. Convenience. He lived across the hall. He just happened to be nearby when Rosaline needed someone.

He didn’t particularly mind being needed by Rosaline. He didn’t mind at all. There was just a part of him that wished she needed him, Benvolio, not just a warm body.

Benvolio's phone was now laid face down on his chest. Still as bare and as dry as it was 20 minutes ago. Benvolio sighed and lifted himself off the grimy couch. Why waste time waiting up for a girl a whole country away who probably forgot about you when you could get a few hours of desperately needed sleep? he reasoned. That’s not a sad use of my time at all.

Benvolio stretched his arms out, loosening his stiff muscles from his awkward position. He made his way to the bathroom to prepare for bed. After a quick and rather melancholy brushing of his teeth, he tread to his room.

He tossed off his shirt and jeans and threw himself on the bed, hastily getting under the covers. He tried his best to ignore the thoughts of Rosaline, who's figure had laid here just a few days ago before she had left for New York.

“Don’t think that once I leave, you and Mercutio can just watch Scandal without me. I swear our friendship will be over,” she had said, with a scrutinizing look on her face. Benvolio’s white sheets wrapped around her chest and her curls splayed wildly over her face.

“Capulet, I wouldn’t dare. Besides, Olivia Pope is no fun unless your constant criticisms about her wine addiction and so-called ‘white-man problem’ accompany her.”

Rosaline threw her head back and laughed. She shoved Benvolio playfully at his cheeky use of her own term.

“You’re not allowed to say white-man problem, Benvolio, because you, yourself, are a white-man problem.”

“Your words, not mine.” He shrugged before he wrapped his arms back around her. She closed her eyes and muttered something about white boys again under her breath.

Try as he might, the memory still twisted Benvolio’s insides.

Benvolio tried to close his eyes again and push all Rosaline thoughts from his mind. As soon as he found himself finally drifting off, his phone rang.

Benvolio jumped up fast, glad no one was there to see his embarrassingly quick reaction time. He scrambled for his phone, almost knocking over everything else on the nightstand in the process.

The screen’s bright light made him squint, unable to make out the words for a few seconds. Once his eyes focused, he didn’t hesitate to hit the answer button. It was Rosaline.

“Hello?” Benvolio answered breathily.

“Benvolio? Were you sleeping? Why is it so dark?”

Benvolio stuttered out an apology and reached to turn on a bedside lamp.

“Better?” he asked, hoping he sounded more put together now that he'd caught his breath.

“Better.” Rosaline said with a soft smile. Benvolio took in her appearance through the small screen. Her hair was wrapped up in a bun and she was wearing an old t-shirt Benvolio had seen a few times on his bedroom floor. She seemed to be outside somewhere, most likely extremely high up, as there were city lights lined up at her shoulder. She looked wide awake, despite the time there being ahead of L.A.

“Sorry I called so late, we got caught up.”

Benvolio’s cheeks heated up slightly. Her apology only reminded him of his recent dramatic episode on the couch. That was a short but depressing time of his life that he really would like to forget.

“Where are you?” he asked, trying to move the topic along.

“You’ll never guess.” Benvolio nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah, I probably won’t.”

Rosaline rolled her eyes.

“You’re no fun.”

Benvolio shrugged. A fond smile reached his face at the sight of her frowning lips.

“Maybe. But tell me.”

“Well, the hotel we were originally booked at had a little mouse problem. Guess who got transferred to the 4 Season’s Hotel as an apology for the inconvenience? We did!”

In the background, Benvolio heard a “Hell yeah we did!” which could only be Juliet. Another voice could be heard saying “Hi, Benny boy!”. It was followed by a glimpse of Livia’s face popping up behind Rosaline’s shoulder. Isabella also joined in, wiggling her eyebrows and putting up a peace sign when she entered the frame. Benvolio simply smiled and waved back.

Rosaline shooed them away and looked back at him, waiting for his response.

“Congratulations, Capulet, you’re rubbing elbows with the elite now. Better be careful before a rich boy comes and tries to sweep you up.”

“I already have a rich boy, Montague. Don’t act like you’re so far removed from the life of glamor when you literally owned a Mercedes Benz in high school.”

Rosaline beamed challengingly at Benvolio. He inhaled at the mention of being “hers” but quickly recovered.

“I left the life of luxury behind a long time ago. No more Mercedes Benz for me. I’ve been enlightened. I’ll stick to renting the tourist bikes.”

Rosaline scoffed. “Whatever you say, Ben.” The familiar nickname never ceased to make Benvolio’s chest squeeze.

“Now tell me, Rosaline. How’s the trip going?”

Rosaline told him the events of their first 2 days in the city with a bright grin and wide eyes. He knew that Livia, Juliet, and Isabella had taken great pains to convince Rosaline to actually take her head out of her books for spring break. Rosaline needed it. Benvolio was happy to see her so excited for once and not anxious over the next paper or the coming exam.

“But enough about me. Montague, how have you been? Is Mercutio still alive?  Did Romeo cry every 5 minutes over Juliet’s tragic absence?”

“I’m good. I’m assuming Merc is still breathing, but I haven’t seen him or Romeo. They headed out to some club.”

“Aw, did poor Benvolio get left out of the fun?” she teased in an unexpected baby voice. “Now you know what it's like to be the one who stays home while everyone else goes out. How’s it feel?”

Benvolio took in Rosaline’s amused face. Her soft lips were lifted in a smile. Her dark eyes seemed to be beckoning him to a city miles and miles away. He felt a surge of bravery run through his spine.

“Actually, Capulet I turned them down. I wanted to be here when you called.”

Rosaline was visibly taken off guard, as her mouth slightly dropped open and she didn’t respond immediately with some light joke. Benvolio swallowed and anxiously tapped his fingers against his side.

“Well, I’m really glad you picked up, Ben.” Rosaline answered back, her initial shock replaced with an inquiring, but kind, gaze. Benvolio could only stare back, lost in her eyes that even over the grainy connection seemed to shine clear as day. His fingers itched for a pencil and his sketchbook.

“Rosaline, come on, the pool closes in an hour!” screamed Juliet from a distance.

Their moment was promptly ended, and Rosaline sighed.

“I’ve been summoned,” she said in a grave voice as Isabella and Livia’s giggles sounded in the background.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow at a much earlier time. I swear.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Benvolio answered quietly, half-hoping Rosaline hadn’t heard, half-hoping she had.

She apparently had, as she responded, “I sure hope so.”

Rosaline’s eyes met his one last time. “Goodnight, Ben.”

The phone buzzed, ending the call. With a resounding thud, Benvolio dropped his phone onto his chest. His lips slowly lifted in an easy grin. Maybe he wasn’t so hopeless after all.

#just some fluff #rosvolio #rosvolio fic #still star crossed #still star crossed fic #my writing

[grcndeursarchive]

“Again.” It’s an order. And it’s all Jean needs to hear before she raises her aching arms despite the way her muscles scream in protest, grip tightening once more on the knife in one blood slicked palm.

Within this last year, things had taken a turn for the worse. Both physical and firing drills became to the point where Jean woke with the cold steel of a knife blade pressed against her throat, dim moonlight reflecting in her father’s mismatched eyes as he stood over her bed. Yet she endured. Jean met these challenges with a grim determination that there had to be something at the end of all of this. 

The end, however, had not been one that she would have expected.

Two days before Jean’s birthday, on the 23rd of December, Maxamillion approached his daughter while she had been at the old wooden table that squatted in their kitchen. Methodical clicks of a pistol being disassembled then reassembled time and time again while a thick scrap of cloth was tied tight around the girl's eyes. Sitting down across from her he takes note that there is no hesitation in her movements as they continue to reassemble the weapon.

“Your final test is tomorrow.” His tone is soft, that is what causes the pause in his daughter’s movements. Placing the assembled weapon on the table she eases the blindfold off and peers at him with those dark emerald eyes just like Rosaline’s. Maxamillion supposes this is why he could never bring himself to kill Jean. She looks far too much like her mother.

“You will be given your choice of a knife from the shed, then your task will be to end my life. The knife is for your own upper hand I will be unarmed. Know that if you fail I will kill you without hesitation.” Maxamillion’s form is framed by the sickly yellow light that comes from a buzzing fluorescent over the kitchen sink obscuring his face save for the glint of two eyes. There’s no mercy in those eyes.

A lead weight, cold and heavy, drops into Jean’s stomach knowing that this is the end she had been waiting for. It’s quiet for a long time between them except for the slow dripping of the leaky kitchen sink. Finally, Maxamillion rises to his feet with the scrape of the chair across the floor and walks out of the kitchen into the joined living room space leaving Jean alone. 

Going out to the weapon’s shed Jean saw her fingers shaking as they reached up toward the first of eleven locks on the door. This was it. One of them would be lying dead on the floor tomorrow. Would they wear the same look of horror that Jackson had held? His ID burned in Jean’s inside jacket pocket as she started to unlock the shed. Wrenching on the hanging chain that lit the single bare bulb inside the tiny six by six shed the young woman gazes at the neat hanging rows of glinting steel and gunmetal that lined the walls. 

Selecting a blade that was lovingly kept within its own oilcloth Jean tests the point against her thumb, not flinching as the blade draws a drop of blood. It had proven to be the only trusted companion that she had here in the Sanctuary. This two-storied wooden slaughterhouse in the deep woods of upper New York State. 

Breath coming out in wispy puffs of grey in the cold of the weapons shed Jean feels eyes on her and turns to see her father standing in the second-floor window simply watching. This test would begin at midnight. Just like all the others that he had demanded of her. Just like all the other’s she would pass. 

—

In the darkness, Jean slowly drew in a breath. Feeling the press of her stiff mattress against her back and the woolen blanket laid over her body. Clutched in her hands the knife rests heavy against her stomach. Eyes closed she listens to the house and the slow ticking of the clock on the wall above her door.

tick.

      tick.

            Creak.

Eyes opening the girl slips from the bed and into a low crouch next to it, knife held fast in one hand as the other lightly braces against the floor. When it opens she’s already moving, muscles springing as her body launches at Maxamillion, the knife being slapped away and sinking into the door frame as he latches an arm around her middle and squeezes. Teeth gritting as several vertebra pop Jean snaps her head forward and hears the crunch of her father’s nose against her forehead. 

With a loud curse, he throws his daughter back into her room as hands fly to his smashed face. Jean slams into the bedside table splintering it, wind getting knocked out of her as pain lances white-hot through her body. Struggling to hands and knees Jean comes to the cold realization that she had just lost her only upper hand as Maxamillion wrenches the knife from the door frame, a dislodged chip of wood skittering across the floor. 

Flipping the blade in his palm the man shakes his head before casting the knife to the floor and advancing on the crouched woman. Advancing into Maxamillion as he approached Jean flexes her legs from the couch trying to go for another head butt, yet a blinding shock of pain stops the movement halfway with a cry. Maxamillion takes this advantage and seizes the back of Jean’s head before bringing his knee up to meet her face.

Jean’s nose explodes in a gout of blood that pours over a split lip as her father’s knee crunches into her face and he tosses her aside gasping. The fight was already over. Maxamillion’s disappointment is clear as he steps over his bloody daughter watching the way she tries to sit up while also backing away on elbows, never taking her eyes from him. 

Reaching hands down to wrap around the girl’s thin neck Maxamillion had made one mistake. Underestimating how well he had trained his daughter. 

It’s too late when he realizes that Jean had a large piece of sharp splintered wood from the destroyed bedside table in one of her hands. Wielding it like a knife she slams the sharp wood into his shoulder, getting two good stabs before it breaks again. Most of the makeshift weapon becoming lodged in Maxamillion’s shoulder. 

Howling in pain and clutching at the jagged piece of wood Jean scrambles to her feet and sprints from the room, tripping and skinning one knee as she scoops up her knife in the hallway. Only pausing when she reaches the top of the stairs, which over the top of the banister look directly into her destroyed room. That’s when through the darkness her alarm clock comes hurtling and connects solidly with the middle of her chest. 

Staggering back against the wall as the alarm clock bounces down the stairs Jean tries to suck in air through her mouth as hot tears burn her eyes. Chest aching and face numb she knows that this isn’t the time to succumb to your injuries. Still clutching her shirt Jean takes the stairs two at a time in the dark, feet still finding all the places those old steps didn’t creak on habit alone. 

Bile rises in the young woman’s throat as her own blood and mucus from the broken nose slicks the back of her mouth. Chest aching along with her back from where she’d connected with the bedside table Jean staggers then supports herself on the kitchen table. 

Maxamillion thumps down the stairs with no care for how loud he is. After all, he is the predator in this scenario, Jean is already proving to be a bit of a nuisance at best. Though with the sharp throb of the splintered wood lodged deep into the space just above his right collar bone Max knew it would spell death for him if it isn’t taken care of soon. This would need to end quickly.

They lock eyes over the kitchen table, blood painting each of their faces. Bruises from where Max’s fingers had locked around Jean’s throat already blooming and the disgusting angle at which her nose is broken makes the pure hatred in the girl’s eyes that much more potent. 

“Again.” It’s an order. And it’s all Jean needs to hear before she raises her aching arms despite the way her muscles scream in protest, grip tightening once more on the knife in one blood slicked palm. While the movement in his right arm is now limited Maxamillion raises his arms in invitation for her to strike again. The last opening she would be given.

She had lunged. Maxamillion had caught and thrown her back over the kitchen table, but not before the tip of that wickedly sharp blade caught him across the chest parting his shirt in a spray of blood. Body thumping to the floor and feeling the sharp pop of her arm fracturing against the metal foot of the oven Jean cries out in pain. Gasping raggedly but pushing herself up none the less the girl braces her good arm against the underside of the table and shoves it pinning Max against the wall behind it.

Boosting onto the table she hits him with the hilt of the blade, once, twice, three times. That sickening white of bone showing through the pulpy remain of his nose. Maxamillion’s one good arm reaches up palming blindly at Jean’s face, fingers scratching gouges out of her cheek before he tries to hook a thumb in her eye.

Jean bites him tasting blood and tries not to throw up or let go. Heart hammering so loud in her ears the girl flips the blade in her palm before driving it home again. And again. And again. Red coming away in great arcs out of Maxamillion’s chest. Soon Jean realized through the blur of her own tears that he was grinning.

Her hands shook. Legs too where they were braced against the table. Jean sunk to her knees as Maxamillion’s struggles weakened, blood as black as oil seemed to coat everything. Hissing bubbles rose out of three or four of the stab wounds in the meat of Max’s chest every time he took a shaking breath. 

Finally, his hand dropped limply from her face, Jean’s mouth falling open to release the dead man’s fingers.

It was over. 

Dropping the knife out of trembling hands Jean sucks in a breath and yells. Kneeling there on the table soaked in hers and her father's blood she screams at his corpse. Grabbing fistfuls of her hair and pulling hard as if it would wake her up from the nightmare, Jean suddenly realizes that she had really done it. She had passed Maxamillion’s final test. But at what cost?

—

Stumbling through the snow with the full jerry can clutched in her good hand Jean had fallen twice, having to lay there for a few moments before painfully standing once again. things were broken, it hurt to swallow around the bruises on her throat. Yet this needed to happen. 

Thick denim coat slung over her shoulders and the old blue Ford’s keys in the ignition Jean sloshed out the kerosene over the stiff mattress she’d spent the last 8 years of her life on. Clumsily pouring lines of the acrid smelling stuff across the whole upper floor she thumped the can down the steps and into the destroyed kitchen. Maxamillion’s corpse still stood there propped up by the table, that bone-white grin masked in the blackness of his blood frozen on his face. 

Sucking in labored breaths through her mouth Jean pours out the rest of the kerosene just as her vision had begun to go black around the edges. Weakly throwing the empty can at her father’s corpse she stood there for a long moment staring at him, the fumes of kerosene and gore heavy in the cold December air. 

Numbly fishing the lighter out of her pocket Jean doesn’t need to look down as she clicks the flint and is rewarded with a flame. Very carefully bending down so that she didn’t fall over into the fuel she feels the fire burst to life with a whump that immediately chaps her skin. 

Flames gobble up the kerosene, racing along the tracks she’d made and consuming it all. Staggering away to the idling truck she pauses with one hand on the driver’s side door handle. For a moment… Just a moment Jean can almost see her Father standing there in the hellish maw of the open kitchen door where flames leaped out into the freezing cold night. Panic blooms brighter and hotter than any of that fire-making Jean claw at the Ford’s door. 

Scrambling into the cab and gunning the engine she speeds away just as the generator that powered the house out back explodes. Trent’s house is still almost seven hours away. Jean doesn’t know if she’ll make it there.

#; QUEEN OF SWORDS ( backstory ) #Part 5 #the riveting conclusion to the first arc #tw abuse #tw gore

[cookieswriting]

“Just a Bit.” (SSC/Rosvolio Drabble/Alternate Scene)

((This is all @parisblakestuff‘s fault...I hope this is okay, and I hope you enjoy this.  After I read your post, this would NOT leave me alone until it was written LOL))

“You sure you don’t want to stay here a bit longer?”

Rather than responding immediately, Rosaline hesitated; it’s only just dark, after all, and they shouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.  She wouldn’t be the reason that Benvolio was caught and put to death if she could help it. “Maybe just a bit...to be sure.”

Benvolio nodded and finished securing his Silvius’ saddle.  “I know you are eager to get back to Livia and ensure her safety...we won’t wait but a few moments.  You have my word.”  He watched as she finished with her own saddle, and then they sat beside the stable door, backs resting against the wall and shoulders pressed together.  Rosaline didn’t shy away from his touch, and the Montague found himself growing anxious.  He cursed himself for allowing this woman to work her way under his skin...after keeping her at arm’s length for so long, now that he would either be executed or forced to leave Verona forever in a matter of hours...now he found himself aching to have more time.  

“There has to be some way that we can clear your name,” Rosaline murmured, as if her thoughts had matched his own.  “As I said I will not allow them to kill you.”

His responding smile was weak at best, and tears filled her eyes when he met her gaze.  “Sweet Rosaline…” She felt a tear slide down her cheek at the sound of her given name.  How many times since first calling her Rosaline had he reverted back to calling her Capulet in an attempt to shield himself, in the midst of his panic and frustration?  To have him speak to her with such emotion, such tenderness, once more...this time out of regret and resignation...was almost too much for her to bear.  “The Prince would not hear your witness before we fled.  Now that, as far as he knows, you have either been kidnapped or chosen to flee with a murderer, he will be even less inclined to trust that I have not manipulated you in some way.  Even if, by the grace of God, you are able to prove my innocence, it shall not be safe for me until their ire has passed.”

“Where will you go?”

The grief in her voice shattered his heart, and he reached forward to brush a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.  “I do not know,” he replied honestly.  “It may be safer that way, for I fear he would try to force you to tell him if he believed that you knew.”

“Then all of this will have been for nothing,” Rosaline hissed, hands clenching into fists with her abrupt anger.

“No!  Because of you, we were able to learn the truth about your Aunt and your sister.  You will be able to save Livia from whatever they are planning, and perhaps free Verona from their reign of terror.  That will be enough for me.”

“Well it will not be enough for me! Your life will still be forfeit...for what? You asked for none of this, Benvolio...and yet you are the one left to pay the price.”  Those same words that she spat at him, in her family’s house on that fateful last day in their city, echoed in his mind, and he gave her a wry smile.  

A sense of peace he’d never before experienced settled over the young man, and he turned to face her directly.  Rosaline stared at him with wide eyes as he took her hands and leaned towards her.  “You have shown me what it means to be chosen, Rosaline.  In spite of our history, in spite of your reservations and everything that could happen, you chose to come with me.  You chose to fight for me...and words will never rightly convey the depth of my gratitude.  What you have given me will far outweigh anything that can be taken...that is what this was for me.”  

While he still had the courage, Benvolio cupped Rosaline’s face tenderly and kissed her.  He felt her gasp against his lips, but she was quick to relax into him.  Trembling fingers covered his own, and the salt of her tears caught on his tongue as he willed himself to memorize her taste, her scent, her presence invading his awareness.  Before he lost himself Benvolio pulled back, and struggled to steady his racing heart and shuddering breaths.  

“Benvolio…” His name was like a prayer on her lips, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again.  He opened his mouth to whisper into the minimal space between them, but was yanked back into reality when stern voices drifted down to the stable from the main farmhouse.  Royal Guards.  He crept towards the window for a better look.

“We’ll never make it…” he cursed himself for indulging in his own selfish desires and fears, for giving them time to catch up, and for putting Rosaline in harm’s way once more.  

“Don’t say that!”

Before he could process what was happening, Rosaline whispered a plan, pressed a desperate kiss of her own to his lips, breathed ‘Goodbye, Benvolio...may we meet again some day,’ and disappeared through the door.  His skin crawled to follow her, but he knew he would do far more harm than good by revealing her lie as the guards helped her onto a horse and promised to take her to the Prince.

Even so, Benvolio could not shake the unease in his chest, and he immediately decided to follow the caravan of guards at a distance, until he knew for sure that they meant her no harm.

#Rosvolio #still star crossed #ssc fanfiction #drabble #alternate scene #rosaline x benvolio #rosaline capulet #benvolio montague #maybe a little more angsty than what you had in mind #but I hope you like it anyway!

[truthofherdreams]

Hi :) I would love tout see a Ros always watching and loving Ben hands prompt :3

She only discovers his love of art once they move in the house Lord Montague graciously bought them as a wedding gift – if only as yet another display of wealth to rub in her uncle’s face. Benvolio hangs paintings in every room, less as to imitate his uncle and more as true appreciation of the art. He seems to know the artists well, and to have an eye for the beautiful landscapes of Verona. He also grins when Rosaline discovers the house’s library and cannot help but stamping the floor excitingly at rows upon rows of books.

And then Rosaline discovers the charcoal. It is all over his desk, leaving black smudges on important papers and dust on his clothes, sneaking under his nails and between his knuckles. He seems to always be carrying a small notebook and pencil with him, though she never catches him using them.

It takes Rosaline three full weeks before Benvolio finally grows comfortable enough to draw in front of her. It is during one outing, the sun high in the sky and her hand in the crook of his elbow while they walk around one of Verona’s gardens with his uncle, discussing politic. Lord Montague meets another lord, leaving them to their devices, and Benvolio sits on a bench, takes the notebook out, and sketches the nearby bridge.

He is talented, there is no denying it, and Rosaline finds herself enraptured in the way his hand moves across the page, fingers delicate in their holding of the pencil. He stops only to rub one finger and create shadows, then glances up at her. Something akin to vulnerability dances in his eyes – as if it costs him to do this in front of her, and Rosaline wonders if he expected her to mock him for it. Which is egregious at best, coming from a man who brought an entire library to their house because she once mentioned her love of reading.

It becomes more of a habit after that day – after dinner or early in the morning, sitting by the window or in the garden. He fills books after books with charcoal and ink, sometimes paint. He never shows her, and Rosaline never asks.

She finds that she loves to read in the same room when he is drawing – there is something soothing in the scratch of pencil on heavy paper, and of his quiet presence by her side. Not to mention it allows her discreet glances his way. The sharp sinews in his hands never fail to fascinate her, nor does the blackening of his nail when he uses charcoal. There is also the matter of his focused eyes, of his clenched jaw – she may not have thought him handsome before, but her mind slowly changes on the subject.

“Are you in need of another book?” Rosaline is startled out of her thoughts, finding his eyes across the room. She looks down at her book, confused, then up at him again. “It has been ten minutes already, and you are yet to turn a page.”

Rosaline’s dark skin hides the blush on her cheeks, and she forces herself not to look down to her lap once more. Benvolio seems more curious than accusatory, though, but not enough so that she would admit to being distracted by his hands. Her pride and stubbornness run too deep for such a confession.

“My mind went elsewhere, is all.”

He doesn’t seem convinced – and neither should he be – but doesn’t ask further questions. Still, Rosaline could do without the gleam in his eyes. He sees too much in her, as if reading and understanding her deepest thoughts, and it always leaves her uneasy.

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

There is no hiding it, a week later, when they fall in bed together and he maps the shapes of her body with calloused palms, tickles her sides with surprisingly gentle fingers. And oh, oh, what he can do with those hands of his.

#rosvolio #rosaline capulet #benvolio montague #otp: my beloved #still star crossed #rosvolio ff #ff: still star crossed #fanfic #Anonymous #asks #Benvolio Montague: Art Hoe TM