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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

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Terribly Confounding

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Based off of this ask that I got and went way overboard with. Point of view switches between Sherlock and the Reader. Also gigglemug is Victorian slang for someone that smiles all the time. Length: 6.2K Warnings: Angst; fluff; Sherlock Being Sherlock™ Summary: One of the articles that you’d read had claimed that Sherlock could size up a person in a minute. You couldn’t help but wonder what on earth he’d managed to ascertain about you.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Mycroft used to try to introduce him to eligible women all the time, but had stopped being so forthright when Sherlock had done nothing but openly disapprove of both the idea of being married and the women that Mycroft introduced him to. After a dozen or so attempts, Mycroft took more care to couch his suggestions, and was more selective with the women that he brought forward as potential matches.

Terribly confounding. A swath of robberies had taken place among some of London’s wealthiest businessmen. Servants had been fired, brought up on charges, but not a single piece of missing goods had been recovered. While Sherlock had been approached by a number of them to reclaim necklaces, rings, silverware, he had yet to respond to a single inquiry. Accepting one would bring on a deluge of irritation from those that had reached out to him and hadn’t received a response; refusing any and all would bring on an offer of raised rates, as well as an equally unwelcome letter from Mycroft asking for a favor toward a someone that he was trying to curry favor with. One particularly large robbery had been perpetrated only the night before, at the home of Mr. Enoch Mulvohill. It had been written up in the papers; the police had taken a report. Sherlock had met the man once, had found him pretentious and proud, if not a fair bit underhanded. He hadn’t liked Sherlock, either. But the man had not fired a single servant as a result of this theft; he hadn’t raised the alarm. It was for this reason that Lestrade had called Sherlock in. An entire set of silverware, an antique clock, a purple garnet brooch, a ruby and diamond necklace, and a seed pearl and diamond ring were all that had gone missing. Not a single charge laid, not a single alarm raised. There was something terribly confounding about Enoch Mulvohill. “Sherlock, are you listening to me?” Mycroft glared at his brother. Sherlock glanced away from the article he’d been scanning about the incident, considering what Lestrade had told him about it all that very morning. “Just,” He nodded. Mycroft sighed. “I know how you loathe the prospect of marriage--” Sherlock was careful not to roll his eyes. Ah. Mycroft was back on that tack. “But this particular situation is one of great advantage. The girl is the only daughter of a very rich gentleman,” As if such matters were of any interest at all to Sherlock, “And I have been told that Ms. Mulvohill is not … Unintelligent.” Sherlock stilled, lifting his eyes from his paper again. “... I’ll meet her,” He said after a moment. “You will?” “Yes.” “Why?” Sherlock folded the paper, turning to look at Mycroft fully and finding his glare replaced with a look of great confusion. “I’ve heard of Ms. Mulvohill’s wit,” He fibbed, “I should be interested to see if there is any truth in it.” That was fabricated entirely; he had no idea Mulvohill even had a daughter. Mycroft hesitated before giving a single nod. “I’ll make the arrangements.” -- “He’s supposed to be very handsome.” You tried to muster a smile. Luella, your maid, was much more excited at the prospect of your suitor than you were. It seemed awfully old-fashioned, a man coming over to meet you this way. All of you friends had met their suitors and husbands at balls or dinner parties. But your mother had been very particular about the men that had come to call on you, and had deemed none of them suitable (which was quite alright with you as you’d been none too fond of any of them). However, when your eldest brother Thaddeus had told you that his old school chum, Mycroft Holmes, would be coming by for a visit, you hadn’t the faintest idea that it would lead to Mycroft bringing by his younger brother for you to meet - and potentially marry. You’d heard a lot about Sherlock Holmes, had read his name in the papers (which your other brother, Phineas, often snuck you - your mother didn’t like you reading the paper; she was worried that it would put ‘dangerous thoughts’ in your head and ‘expose you to the evils of the world’); you knew that he was a detective. And maybe Luella was right, maybe he was attractive. The sketches that were done in the paper were not...Unflattering.

“There now,” Luella sighed, looking at your reflection in the mirror, “I’d say you’re quite ready for the day.” She gave you a bright smile, and you did your best to return it.

He was staring at you. A lot. Was that good? Or rather… Well, was that focus that he was fixing you with or was he simply frowning? It was quite difficult to discern what exactly was going on in Sherlock Holmes’ head when he was saying so little; Mycroft had done most of the speaking that afternoon. You didn’t particularly like Mycroft. You’d met him exactly twice, and both times, he’d been incredibly rude. He’d seemed to manage to do it without realizing it, though. Sherlock was still staring. You glanced at him before averting your eyes. One of the articles that you’d read had claimed that Sherlock could size up a person in a minute. You couldn’t help but wonder what on earth he’d managed to ascertain about you; you’d hardly said more than five words since you’d entered the room. -- You seemed a church mouse to him. You’d entered the room, curtsied, murmured a greeting, and then sat down beside your brother Thaddeus. That hardly concerned Sherlock, frankly. What he was more interested in was the discussion that Thaddeus and Mycroft were having about Enoch’s stolen items. He was careful to set his eyes on you, however. Your hands were folded in your lap, and your eyes set on them, though you’d glanced at him twice now; your dress was pristine, as were your shoes. Clearly you’d yet to leave the house that day, though Sherlock had a hunch that you wouldn’t be undertaking such a trip at all. It was already quite late in the afternoon. You’d have to dress for dinner soon, surely. “A damn shame-- Oh! Quite sorry, Miss Mulvohill,” Mycroft hurried to correct himself, turning to you. Sherlock watched as you glanced at his brother and gave him a small nod before Mycroft turned back to Thaddeus. Mycroft didn’t catch the way you rolled your eyes, but Sherlock did. His lips quirked into a small smile. A smile that you didn’t see. “Well?” Mycroft asked as he and Sherlock strode away from the Mulvohill home. ‘Well’, as if Sherlock could really have any opinion on you, as if he could be flushed with love for a woman that hardly spoken. Instead he declared, “I like her.” Mycroft had his suspicions, of course. He pressed Sherlock for his reasons, what he saw in you, and Sherlock was able to draw his answers from what he did see: your respectfulness, your quiet grace, your clean appearance, which showed a certain pride in yourself. “She hardly said a word. You said you were curious about her wit,” Mycroft reminded him. “Oh, she showed her wit, in a way,” Sherlock thought back to the roll of your eyes. Mycroft hesitated before shaking his head, “I will never presume to understand the workings of your mind or heart, brother. I will reach out to her father--” “Better yet, let me,” Sherlock interrupted Mycroft, “If I’m to marry this woman, I ought to go to her father myself.” “Very well.” But Sherlock would reach out to Lestrade, first. The game was afoot.

It wasn’t the proposal of your dreams. For one thing, your mother had already told you that your father had consented and given the marriage his blessing, and that your father’s consent and blessing meant that the deal was as good as done. The deal. Not that your happiness was in hand, but that the deal was as good as done. Sherlock Holmes had come in, handed you a box with an engagement ring, and given you a firm nod before bidding you a good day. Your new fiancé hadn’t even stayed to see if the ring fit. You sat at your vanity, eyeing the gleaming solitaire diamond on the gold band. You weren’t naïve; you’d always assumed that your marriage would come with some feelings of trepidation. But you’d hoped that you would at least know the man a little better. You’d hardly even spoken to him- and he'd had the chance to stay and speak with you, to propose properly, but he had chosen not to. You just couldn’t imagine what it was that your father and mother had seen in Sherlock that they hadn’t seen in your previous suitors. He’d certainly spent less time with you than the others; you doubted he had made a good impression on Thaddeus, who had likely been consulted on the matter. Of course they’d go out of the way to consult your brother and not you, who would ultimately have to marry Sherlock.

You sighed, shutting the ring box. You hadn’t tried the ring on yet; you hadn’t even taken it out of the box. All of your friends had perfectly darling stories about how they'd been proposed to. How could you bear to tell them about your own?

Yes, he handed me the box, nodded, and left. It was quite sweet.

If this was any indication of how your future marriage was going to be, you were almost entirely certain that your life would be dull, and very, very quiet. For the first time since your somewhat untraditional engagement, Sherlock had come to visit you. You’d written to him once to try and get to know him better; he hadn’t answered that letter. You’d asked him a couple of questions since he’d arrived, and he’d answered with simple, one-word answers. He had asked you a few questions, but they’d all been about your father. You’d spent the last week convincing yourself that perhaps this wouldn’t be all that bad, that Mr. Holmes may just be shy, and may need some time to warm up to you. Surely there was something that he had seen and liked about you if he’d chosen to propose. Your father’s wealth aside, he couldn’t find you wholly repugnant if he was choosing to spend the rest of his life with you. But now, well. Now you were just running out of patience. “-- Are you listening, dear?” You turned your head sharply to look at Sherlock at the use of that pet name. Who on earth did he think he was, calling you that after how he’d dared to act? “I thought that might catch your attention,” He hummed, turning back to the small bookshelf by your usual chair in the sitting room. You felt your stomach twist into knots at his condescension. “I asked you what you thought of your father,” He added, plucking one of your books up. Your irritation flared. It was your favorite-- and why was he touching your things? You stood, crossing the room. “My father is an unfeeling and self-involved man,” You answered. Sherlock turned to look at you, brows rising. “You have no love for him,” He observed. “Well, it’s difficult to have any love or respect for a man that would marry me off to the likes of you,” You took the book from Sherlock’s hands, snapping it shut and tucking it back into its place. You looked up to find Sherlock’s eyes travelling your face, a single brow raised. “... You’re not wearing your ring,” He pointed out. He was right, you weren’t. You’d hardly looked at the damn thing since he gave it to you. “Oh, is that what was in that thing you handed me?” You feigned ignorance, folding your arms across your chest, “I meant to look, but it slipped my mind.”

Sherlock’s expression darkened just a touch. “Well, perhaps you’ll find time somewhere in your busy schedule of nattering and needlepoint to give it a look sometime soon.” Your eyes widened for just a moment, and your face grew hot at the smug curl of Sherlock’s lip. “Of course,” You answered coolly, “I’ll happily give it a glance once you’ve gone.” “Am I to be leaving?” “I think that may be for the best, Mr. Holmes.” “But we’re just getting acquainted.” “It’s a wonder you’ve gone out of your way to propose to me when I’m certain you could have ascertained the information you wanted about my father from his doctor, his barber, and any number of gentlemen at his club, of which your brother is a member.”

“What makes you think I’m particularly interested in your father? Perhaps I was merely trying to better understand the family that raised my future wife.” “Well, then, what questions have you about my mother?” You allowed Sherlock only a half-second before tacking on, “Of course, you’ll have some about Thaddeus and Phineas as well.” “Of course.” “Go on, then.” “Where was your mother the night of the 17th?” The 17th? The night of the robbery?

“Interesting that you’ve questioned her location and not her character.” “Interesting that you’ve deflected rather than answer me.” “She and I were both at the McKerras’ ball.” “And your brothers?” “They were there as well.” “Why not mention that along with yourself and your mother?” “Because you didn’t ask about them.” “And your father?” “Perhaps you’d best ask your brother that. He knows very well where my father was. Now, if you have no more questions, then I’ll bid you a good day, darling,” You drew the endearment out before you turned on your heel and stormed out of the room. --

Sherlock watched you go, brow raised. You were quite… Sharp. Quick. Irritatingly so. His first impressions were rarely wrong, but he had been quite misinformed in your case. A church mouse, he’d thought. No indeed -- a lioness may’ve been more suited to your spirit. Lioness or not, you were infuriating, and prideful. Had you really not looked at the ring? The shop assistant had reassured him that you’d like it. No matter. This engagement was a sham - the sooner he pried answers about Enoch Mulvohill out of you, the better. And Mycroft, what did he know about Mulvohill’s whereabouts the evening of the robbery?

-- “Well he’s quite the gigglemug, isn’t he?” You hid your smile at your best friend’s scathing question behind your fan. Alice Teague was your dearest confidant. She’d been married the year before (to a man who she had the fortune of actually loving and knowing beforehand - some people had all the luck). Your family had arranged a small dinner to announce your engagement to your closest family and friends. Your family was in attendance, as well as Alice and her husband; Sherlock, Mycroft, and his younger sister, Enola, were all there as well. You’d only gotten to speak to Enola for a few moments, but you quite liked her. She seemed very unlike her brothers. But there was also an air of apology about her - about what, you hadn’t been able to ascertain; perhaps she simply knew what a brute her brother could be and pitied the fact that you’d be married to him. You had to admit that Sherlock looked quite nice in his eveningwear. He’d looked quite nice when you’d argued with him a few days prior as well, but you’d been a little more focused on the argument at the time. “He’s quite the busybody, as well,” Alice added, “He’s been speaking to your father and brothers all evening.” “Yes,” You sighed, “He’s quite enamored with Father.” “Oh, come now,” Alice nudged your elbow with her own, “He’s got to cozy up to him some, he is taking you away from him. You are your father’s only daughter, it’ll be difficult for him.” “This will not be difficult for my father. As mother tells it, he gave me to the man in the course of an hour-long conversation for a ‘lighter dowry than expected’. My father wants me out of the house as soon as possible. I’m a disgrace as it is, making it through three seasons unmarried.” “What’s that, dear?” In your discussion with Alice, you hadn’t noticed Sherlock breaking away from your father and walking over to you. You slapped a sweet smile onto your face, returning, “Nothing, darling.” It was Alice’s turn to hide her knowing smile behind her fan.

The more time you spent in Sherlock Holmes’ company, the more you were certain you loathed him. He was nosy, had a habit of rifling through your things, asking questions without any care or tact. You were obliged to see him; you’d faked a headache to avoid him once and had gotten a scolding from your mother, the likes of which you hadn’t had since you were a child. Luella actually grimaced when she came to tell you that Sherlock had arrived these days. When you came into the sitting room, you found Sherlock at your bookcase again. He’d taken to lingering near there. You couldn’t help but wonder if did so deliberately, knowing how it irritated you when he touched your things. Rather than walk across the room and whatever book it was out his hands this time, you stayed by the door, watching him for a moment. You couldn’t help but try and consider the man’s motives. Was it money? Surely it had to be something along those lines. Perhaps the detective business wasn’t particularly lucrative; perhaps Mycroft wasn’t willing to help him when things were difficult. Your father may’ve lowered your dowry price, but Phineas had still told you what Sherlock would receive; it was nothing to laugh at. You glanced down at the engagement ring on your finger. You hadn’t bothered with gloves - which, in any other circumstance, would be an absolute scandal, but this man was technically to be your husband. He was permitted to be alone with you, to touch your hand, or kiss you, should the urge ever arise. Not that Sherlock had ever given you any indication that he had any interest in any of those things, of course, or you, really. Something in your chest twisted when you saw him now. It wasn’t anxiety, or anger, it was… Hurt. A sort of hurt that didn’t make you want to curl up and cry, but the kind that sat with you through the day, through your ‘nattering and needlepoint’, as Sherlock had scathingly put it once before. It swirled about you as your mother reminded you of what wedding preparations remained; it sat with you and Alice when you had tea together, so much its own presence that it practically had its own seat, its own saucer, its own cup. Sherlock glanced back toward the door once, and then again when he spotted you. “There you are,” He said, turning back down to the book. “Here I am,” You confirmed with a sigh, finally venturing deeper into the room. You felt Sherlock's gaze follow you as you settled down in an armchair by the fireplace.

As much as he’d tried not to absorb them, Sherlock was quite attuned to your moods now. You weren’t the type to pout and give hints, to try and make someone tease out what was bothering you. No, you seemed to prefer to dwell on your troubles in silence. Initially, that suited him quite well; he was able to ply you for answers about your father, and he had ignored whatever little thing it was that was smoothing your face into a neutral set. But now, after weeks in your company, he found that he preferred that little spark that you got in your eye when the two of you were bickering. He even preferred it when you smiled, though the only smiles he’d ever been graced with were scathing. He’d seen you smile sincerely, once or twice, but never at him; they’d been directed at Enola, or at your friend Alice. Sherlock hadn’t meant to spend so much time with you or in your company to know precisely what your frowns, glares, scoffs, sighs, or rare smiles meant. He’d assumed that this case would come into focus once he spent more time in Enoch Mulvohill’s presence. There had been a number of thefts since he’d taken the case on for Lestrade, and he’d been to a number of the homes as a result of engagement festivities and visits. Rather than gaining insights into the case, Sherlock had been able to gather information about you, such as your dislike for your family - well, for your parents, at least. You had affection for your brothers. Thaddeus was a voice of reason for you, a guiding hand where your father had left you rudderless; Phineas offered you knowledge through books, pamphlets, newspapers. Sherlock had found a number of pamphlets tucked away in your books, and while he’d always meant to ask you about them, the two of you always fell into some argument before he could.

Sherlock watched you for a few moments, taking your countenance, your lack of gloves, where your engagement ring sat on your finger. You’d taken to wearing it daily, like some sparkling sackcloth and ashes, a public penance for being a woman in your position. Enola disapproved of his tactics regarding this case, and had told him as much twice over. He’d reminded her of the time she pretended to be his assistant, but she’d argued that that was entirely different. “When the case is over,” Enola had told him after the engagement dinner, “You will be celebrated. She will be ruined.” He had thought that Enola was being a touch dramatic. Surely you wouldn’t be ruined. He’d never touched you or acted in any way that could be deemed untoward. Your reputation would surely remain intact. Sherlock watched you still, even as you turned your eyes up at him, to take in his look and the book in his hands. --

“You’re awfully quiet today,” You said after a few moments. “I’m thinking.” “Yes, I’ve heard that you do that.” You saw Sherlock’s eyes narrow slightly as he snapped the book shut and replaced it on the wrong shelf. Excellent. You’d have to rearrange those later. “May I ask you what’s put you in such a lovely mood this morning?” “Only your company, Mr. Holmes.” He let out a humorless little laugh, one that grated at your nerves. “I understand why you’ve yet to be married, Ms. Mulvohill. You’re quite the rose - bright, alluring petals, but riddled from stem to root with thorns.”

You clenched your hands, ignoring the feeling of the band of your engagement ring tightening as you did. “And I understand why you are not married, as low as you are,” You retorted. “I take it that that is some comment on my social status, Ms. Mulvohill.” You rose from your seat. “No, Mr. Holmes, it is a comment on your character. You may be a clever man, and you may make an excellent outward show to my father -- and that may be all that you care for, but you seem to have forgotten that you’ve gained me in the deal that you made with him. I do not expect you to grow to love me, as I’m quite certain you’re incapable of feeling that for anyone but yourself, but I had expected you to at least make a decent showing of getting to know me, as I tried you--” “You--” “No!” You snapped, “I am not through, Mr. Holmes. I did try, at the beginning. I wrote to you, I tried to understand you, but you’ve chosen to shield yourself -- for reasons that I cannot begin to comprehend. You’ve been nothing but unknowable and unmoveable from the first.” Sherlock watched you for a long moment before he lowered his eyes to the bookshelf. “... I am working with Scotland Yard to investigate the robberies that have been perpetrated against your set and your family.” It was said so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it. Shock curled around the hurt that had made a home in your chest and squeezed at it until it was choking. “I beg your pardon?” You managed after a moment. “Your father’s circumstances were most suspicious, and I…” He lifted his head from your books to meet your eyes again, “I made a choice.” A choice. He couldn’t have just befriended one of your brothers? You were careful to hold his gaze and not to recoil, to fold in on yourself, or to run and hide as you suddenly wished to do. “...You were using this engagement as a ruse to get closer to my father because you suspect him,” You clarified. “Yes.” You nodded a little. “Then you’re less than half of the man I thought you were.” You tugged the engagement ring off and tossed it at his feet before striding out of the room.

Damn and blast it, why had he told you? You were sure to tell one of your brothers, and they were sure to tell your father. Sherlock left the Mulvohill home flustered and in a huff. He had considered leaving the engagement ring behind, on the mantle, but such an action could invite suspicion - your mother returning it to you, asking why it was where it was. He would have to work, and quickly - gather the insights he had, use the invitations remaining to try and solve the case before you told everyone what was going on. He wouldn’t have much time.

-- “You’ve a letter.” One glance at it confirmed that it was from you, your home. “Throw it away.” “Sherlock,” Enola frowned, looking down at your letter, “What if it’s something useful?” “It won’t be. Throw it away.” Enola ignored him, and he rolled his eyes at the sound of the envelope being ripped open. “...Sherlock.” “I’m not in the mood, Enola.” “No, Sherlock… You need to look at this.” -- Eight. Eight additional robberies that had never been reported to the police that you’d known of and never told anyone about. They’d been perpetrated against Alice Teague, a few of your other friends, and another two against your father, at your country estate. He hadn’t reported them, as they’d been quite small. Your mother had insisted on reporting the robbery in London. You’d taken pen to paper, listed off the items and dates to the best of your recollection, and done so to get Sherlock out of your life as quickly as possible. The sooner he solved the case, the sooner this ruse could end.

“Where is that sweet, ever-smiling fiancé of yours?” Alice asked as she settled on the settee beside you. You’d arrived at the Blakely’s dinner party alone, had made no mention of Sherlock, and was quite hoping you’d be able to get away without talking about him that evening. “Oh… He’s--” “Incredibly sorry that he’s late,” Sherlock’s voice cut over yours and Alice’s. You turned to see Sherlock smiling down at the two of you. You lowered your eyes, turning away from him as he and Alice greeted one another properly. “May I borrow you, dear?” He asked. “No,” You answered flatly. Alice’s brows rose. “It’s quite important,” Sherlock pressed. You sighed heavily before you excused yourself, rising off of the settee and following Sherlock out of the room. He took hold of your hand, hurrying you down the hall and into a study. He didn’t say anything as you tugged your hand out of his; he was more set on making sure there was no one else there. “What on earth are you doing here?” You asked, folding your arms over your chest. “I’m quite certain the robber is here tonight,” He said, turning back to you, “But I need your help.” “Why would I help you?” “Because the sooner you do, the sooner you’ll never have to see me again.” Well, that was tempting.

Sherlock had managed to keep it quiet. Well, quiet enough. Enoch Mulvohill was no longer the primary suspect, but rather quite complacent in a plot perpetrated by one Mr. Larkin Teague. Your eyes had widened when he told you; he had assumed that you would tell him off, that you would insist that your father was blameless and that you knew Larkin well, that he could never be the man Sherlock was looking for. What had, instead, come out of your mouth was, “Alice will be devastated.”

For all of your rage and anger toward him the day before, all that had settled over your features in that moment was concern for your friend. And in that moment, Sherlock found himself quite taken with you. He nodded, dislodging the thought in favor of the matter at hand. “The Blakelys are quite known for the jewels that they acquired during their last trip to the continent, are they not?” He asked. “They are, yes. What can I do?” “Keep everyone in the parlor. If you see Larkin leave, do not raise the alarm. I have police from Scotland Yard surrounding the house and waiting for Larkin.” He watched you nod and take a deep breath. “Alright.” You left him without further instruction or another word.

The night’s end found you comforting a weeping Alice; your mother seemed too stunned to cry, and you were certain she’d never dare let herself show that sort of emotion in front of you, anyway. You stayed at Alice’s that night; you didn’t see Sherlock after you spoke to him in the study; you didn’t care to. You were quite certain that you’d be happy to never see Sherlock Holmes again. -- “Mr. Holmes is in the parlor-- Though I cannot think why,” Luellla told you. You frowned. You couldn’t think why, either. You hadn’t seen the engagement ring since you’d thrown it to him, so he couldn’t possibly look for its return; all of your family’s missing items had been returned to you, as well as the other families that had lost items. Sherlock’s case and your engagement had been written up in the papers. It had been positioned that you had been in on the plot, working with Sherlock to help crack the case from the start, and a wave of suitors had followed once the story and the engagement had officially broken. “Thank you, Luella,” You gave her a small smile, “Please tell him I’ll be down in a few moments.” “Yes, ma’am.” You watched her go before you turned back to the mirror and looked yourself over. You’d seen neither hide nor hair of Sherlock since that night at the Blakely’s home. He hadn’t reached out to you through a letter or an invitation (though Thaddeus had received precisely two letters of apology from Mycroft, and you one from Enola). You really couldn’t imagine what the man could possibly want from you now. -- Sherlock was at your bookcase again. It seemed to be his customary place. You cleared your throat as you entered the room, but he didn’t bother to look away from whatever it was that he was looking at. “I did always wonder about this,” he said, holding up one of the many pamphlets that you kept hidden. It was one on fforeign trade that Phineas had brought you from father’s office. Your eyes widened, and you darted forward, snatching it from him and smoothing out a wrinkle in it. You glanced up at Sherlock to find him smiling at you, amused. “What would a businessman’s daughter want with a pamphlet from The Mercantile Guardian Office?” He added. “Phineas brought it to me so that I could better understand how father operates his business, and what he could be doing differently.” “Of his own volition?” “I asked him to.” You glanced up at Sherlock before you took the book from his hands and tucked the pamphlet safely away again. “What are you doing here?” You asked, stepping between him and the bookshelf to put it away. You’d never bothered to get this close to him while the two of you had been engaged, but now that he had been clear about his intentions, you didn’t see any reason to shield yourself from him. He hadn’t told anyone about any of the pamphlets that he’d clearly found, you were certain he wouldn’t now. “...I wanted to speak with you.” “What about?” You turned around to face him and found him close by, still. Gigglemug, liar, or no, Sherlock Holmes was quite nice to look at. And if you didn’t know any better, there was a touch of remorse in his handsome features. “I should have been clear about my intentions from the first,” He said quietly, leaning against the arm of the armchair behind himself, “I… I was not considering your side of this when I undertook this case with such an approach. It was shortsighted and unfair of me to prey on your feelings in such a way. I apologize, Ms. Mulvohill. It was, indeed, quite low of me.” You were taken aback for a moment. You certainly hadn’t expected that. “I accept your apology.” Sherlock gave a nod of thanks before adding, “I also wanted to thank you for assisting me the evening of the Teague arrest. It went off without a hitch, and I would not have been able to do so had there been people wandering the house. I couldn’t have done it without your help.” Criminy, you weren’t anticipating that, either. “Well, your...Particular method aside, I’m glad that you were able to undertake and solve the case. Many of my friends and my family are grateful to you, Mr. Holmes.” Sherlock chuckled, nodding a little. “I was happy to assist.” He watched you for a moment, and you watched him in turn. For the first time in all of your acquaintance, you didn’t have the urge to look away from him. “Am I to understand that congratulations are in order yet?” He asked. You raised a brow. “Excuse me?” “My brother tells me that you’d… Had quite a number of suitors since our parting.” “Well, your brother is something of a gossip. But, no, no ‘congratulations’, as you’ve put it. I think I should like to actually talk to someone before I become engaged to them this time.” Sherlock smiled, and you felt your stomach fluttering, and your own lips pulling to mirror it.

You were smiling - really smiling - at him, because of him. Sherlock needed to see that again, and again, and again, and again. “I must be off,” He said, glancing at the clock, “But… Might I call on you tomorrow?” Your brow furrowed at the question, and you asked him, “Whatever for?” “Well, so that we might actually talk before I speak to Thaddeus about you.” He watched you take that in, the narrowing of your eyes, the slight parting of your lips, the hesitation - and damn the hesitation, but that was his own fault. It was his own fault you didn’t trust him, it was his own fault that he’d lost you, and his own fault that he’d have to win your trust back. He’d work for it, though. He’d find a way to come by every day, if you wanted him. The ring that you’d thrown at him had been burning a whole in his pocket since you’d tossed it at his feet, and he was itching to do this properly, to slide it onto your finger and look you in the eye. “...Tomorrow should suit fine,” You finally answered him. He felt a burst of warmth in his chest at your answer, and he grinned. He glanced back toward the door. No one had been by to disturb the two of you; perhaps it was their habit, the two of you had had the right to be left alone when you were engaged, but now that that had ended, the two of you technically shouldn’t have been. Sherlock straightened and stepped closer to you. You were watching him like he was a living puzzle, a walking mystery. He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth. “I will be back tomorrow, then, Ms. Mulvohill,” He murmured as he leaned away.

“I will see you then, Mr. Holmes,” You answered in your steadiest voice. You watched Sherlock leave the room, smiled as he turned back to look at you before he disappeared from the study. As soon as you were certain he was gone, you raised your fingers to brush where his lips had lingered briefly.

Sherlock Holmes was coming back to see you, simply for you. He planned on asking for your hand again, not for a case, but because he wanted it.

Sherlock Holmes wanted to marry you.

Terribly confounding.

#Terribly Confounding #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x You #Sherlock Holmes Imagine #Sherlock Holmes Henry Cavill #Sherlock Holmes/Reader #Sherlock Holmes/You

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emmy-writes-sometimes · 3 years

Text

They'd Bring You Back

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x daughter!reader

Summary: You’re an unsub’s latest target, but your personality is way more than he bargained for.

Warnings: Blood/descriptions of stabbing and cutting, typical CM drama, fluffy dad!hotch

“And what about me?” You’d asked with a puffy lip, arms crossed, pouting as you sat on your father’s lap. He’d just laughed.

“What about you?”

“If I got kidnapped.” He rolled his eyes.

“You’re so annoying, they would bring you back. And that-” He said as he stood up, taking you with him before setting you on the floor. “Is a promise.”

Things had changed since you had that conversation. Drastically - back then you were only eight and your dad was a prosecutor for the DA. Your mom was alive. Your brother wasn’t even a thought in their minds at that point. And nobody could fathom what would happen when you were a little older.

You went off the rails when your mother died. The trauma was enough that you ended up living with Rossi for a few months while your dad figured out how to juggle Jack and the job and all of your issues. That further fractured your relationship when you felt like he forgot about you. But since you moved back in with him, you had started to feel like things could be normal again. Like things could be good again. You were getting into a routine - Jack would stay with your aunt while your dad was on a case since he went to a school on the other side of town from yours, you would watch Rossi’s house while he was gone since you were old enough to stay by yourself, and you’d go pick up your dad when he got back from a case.

They’d spent a week in Reno and really just wanted to get back to the house after mountains of paperwork. The holidays were coming up and your dad wanted to spend as much time with you as he possibly could, promising to take off some time to go on a day trip with you and Jack. You had made his favorite snack and walked out of Rossi’s front door, locking it and making sure it was locked, before going over to your car.

You held the covered bowl of food in one hand, trying to get the right key in the other hand. You got as far as unlocking the car before you heard a shuffling noise behind you. You turned, seeing nothing alarming, but when you turned back there was an unfamiliar person in front of you.

“Hotch, I think you need to accept that she was taken because...” Rossi started the next morning as they walked into the briefing room. The worst part of it was that they were being briefed on you. The police had determined that you’d been kidnapped, obviously, because there was no way in hell you’d start running away when things had just started to get better between you and your dad.

“How could they have known?” Hotch asked. “How could this unsub have known it was my daughter walking out of your house?” Rossi shrugged, not quite having an answer, and the two sat down.

“I’ve been thinking that the unsub must have been watching for a while. Long enough to know that she stays at Rossi’s when you’re both gone. They have to know who she is, Hotch. It doesn’t make sense for this to just be a random kidnapping,” Morgan said.

“And if anyone can get through it, it’s her,” JJ offered. “She’s a strong-ass kid. She just needs to hold on until we can find her.”

“Uh, guys?” Garcia walked in the room with a remote in hand, switching the large TV in the room over to what looked like a livestream. Of you.

“Holy-” Morgan started. Hotch’s eyes widened in shock, and as if he couldn’t see he walked up to the screen. “It’s a snuff film.”

You were tied up in a chair, a rope around your throat and your body so you were forced to sit up with your spine to the back of the chair. Your mascara was running down your face in silent tears.

“My dad’s going to find me!” You yelled to the unsub, looking around the room. They were watching the same camera that your dad was, but you didn’t know that. You didn’t know that you were the star of your very own snuff film. Suddenly the unsub’s voice came over the loud speaker in the dark, cold room. A cellar - you had to be in a basement or a cellar or something. You came to that conclusion at the same time as your father did, and you also came to the conclusion that he was watching you. This unsub was using you to get to your father, and somehow that pissed you off more than the idea of someone kidnapping you just for kicks.

“He’s using her to get to me,” Hotch determined. “We need to find out how to contact this unsub. Get what he wants. Garcia, do everything you can to track them down. We need to figure out what he wants before he hurts her.”

“My dad’s going to find me!” You yelled again. “I bet he’s already profiled how small your dick is!”

“Okay, sweetheart, now’s not the time,” your dad mumbled as if he was speaking directly to you. He rubbed his pointer finger against a scar on his thumb, one you’d given him shortly after your mom died.

“Although impotent might not actually be that bad of an observation,” Rossi suggested. You struggled against the hard ropes that were holding you down, only getting angrier and angrier at the unsub for not at least facing you.

You finally huffed and looked at the camera in front of you, then around the room. You were definitely in a cellar or a basement of some kind - maybe even an old nuclear bunker or something. The walls were metal, but they looked home-made almost. The white paint was peeling off of said metal walls, revealing a rusty red color that looked like dried blood. Then you were there, in an antique-looking wooden chair. So it was probably an estate of some kind, you thought. Who else would just have this kind of shit sitting around unless they were older, and it had definitely been a younger guy that kidnapped you. You could only hope your dad made the same observation as he watched you on the other side of the camera. Because who else would that camera be for, right?

“You know, your walls give off a lot of information about where I am!” You called throughout the room, looking at the green door. Just then, someone walked in. The same guy who kidnapped you, or at least the same body. But he was wearing a ski mask so you couldn’t identify him.

“Really?” The man asked. He actually seemed curious.

“This chair is antique. So is this room. So you’re keeping me in some kind of family home or estate. I’d guess your grandma’s or your mom’s house because you don’t seem like the type of guy who would ever make it out. And because you’re leaving the mask on, you’re probably not going to kill me. Only people who plan to kill show their faces because they’re scared of being visually identified,” you rattled off. “And we were only in the car for about fifteen minutes, three minutes off of the highway, so there’s no way you took me too far. I take back the impotent thing, at least so far, because you haven’t tried to assault me yet. Anyone who was impotent or had that issue probably would have already.” The man stood there, his arms crossed over a black hoodie. You could vaguely see a shape within the hoodie pocket to know that it was a knife of some kind.

“Good job, kid. Maybe you are your daddy’s kid. I’ve been watching you, you know.” You spit onto the floor out of pure disgust. How long had this creep been watching you? And how?

“Yeah, and if you know who I am then you’re planning to ask for ransom money. Which, you should know, you’ll get. If the FBI won’t pay it, my dad will. But if you’re streaming this to him like I think you are, then you’re planning to do something to me until you get that money.”

“You are smart. I don’t have the letter ready yet, so I figured I’d come have a little fun.” The unsub noticed how calm you were and it kind of scared him a little bit - like who the fuck was calm in this kind of situation? He figured you would be scared, beg your dad to save you, but you were actually holding your own. Huh.

Your dad noticed that, too, and his chest swelled with pride at the same time his stomach ached with fear for you. He kept asking himself why the unsub was sharing it, but he realized. He wanted your father to see what he was doing to you, he wanted your dad to see that everything that happened to you was a reflection of him.

“He’s not a sexual sadist,” your dad said. “The motive isn’t sexual. At all.”

“Good,” Morgan muttered. “But what do you think he wants, then?”

“He wants me to see my actions as a reflection of what happens to her,” he concluded. “He’s going to hurt her. Every time I give him something, it’s going to stop. And then he’s going to start again until I give him what he wants. I’m going to assume it’s money. She’s right about the location, at least from what I can see, so I would assume that money is the main motivation for this.”

“Maybe bail money?” Rossi suggested. “It would make sense. If we put someone away, he would want to see them out. And bail would be a large amount of money.”

“I’ll go tell Garcia to look for people we’ve put away who would be eligible for bail,” Reid said as he stood up. He shuffled away from the table toward Garcia’s office, leaving them to watch the live stream.

“I’ll go make sure SWAT is ready when we have our guy,” Morgan said. “I’ll lead. You don’t need to go in there, Hotch, because for all we know he wants to actually hurt you as well as her.”

“I’ll watch some of the initial footage back. See if we can figure anything about the location,” Prentiss volunteered. Everyone left the table except for your dad, Rossi, and JJ. Your dad had barely even paid attention, too busy looking at the screen as the unsub creeped around you. He had since drawn a knife, twirling it between leather-gloved fingers.

“If you’re going to hurt me, there’s literally no reason to wait,” you pointed out to the unsub.

“You’re annoying. No wonder your dad doesn’t love you.” That hit a nerve in both you and your father, but you didn’t show it. You just sat up a little bit, adjusting your cold, frozen ass on the seat.

“If you’re trying to turn him against me, it’s not going to work. I know he loves me, even in his own twisted way. So stop trying to make it seem like he doesn’t. Psychological torture isn’t going to work on someone who watched their mom die right in front of them.” Your dad’s heart fell thinking about all of the trauma you’d already been through, and how little of it you’d even discussed. After your mom died you just shut down to everyone, including the therapists who tried to help you get through it. You had just pretended like nothing was real and nothing was wrong. This, though? This was fucking real. And you couldn’t block it out no matter how badly you wanted to.

Your father watched as the conversation shifted from just that to actual events that had happened, indicating just how long this guy had been watching. He talked about the fight you had three weeks ago about you accusing your dad of being too overprotective. Then he brought up a fight that was so bad that Jack literally ran down the street to get away from you two. And by then you were crying, begging your dad to just come get you and prove that he loved you. You had been effectively broken by the time the unsub left and he hadn’t even used the knife that he had.

Your father watched absolutely helplessly as the man hurled abusive, and untrue, thoughts at your brain. He watched as the unsub untied you before leaving, allowing you to curl your legs up to your chest and cry on your own. You were doing so well a few minutes ago, so well that you thought maybe your dad might even be proud of you. But now?

“Okay, I have a list of everyone eligible for bail that had anything to do with us. Cases we’ve consulted on, ones we’ve actually worked, all that jazz,” Garcia said over the phone speaker.

“Can you cross reference that with men?” JJ asked.

“Honey, that takes one off the list of fifty,” Garcia answered. JJ sighed.

“What about family issues? Garcia, check any cases that revolved around families. Where they were the target, the motivation, anything,” Rossi said. Everyone could hear Garcia typing, the sound fading out as everyone watched the screen to see what was going to happen next. Reid came back in the room carrying what could only be a ransom note.

“It’s addressed to you, not the BAU,” Reid said as he handed it to your dad. He sighed, taking the letter, and sat down.

Aaron Hotchner:

You can see I have your daughter. You will deliver two installments of fifty thousand dollars. I will be live streaming to your organization as well as a chatroom. Until I receive funds, from this moment on, your daughter will be the star of her very own film. When you can acquire the funds, deliver them to the P.O. Box below. The installments must be in full, or I will not hesitate to kill her. The installments must be delivered over the course of twenty-four hours. For example, you may not deliver one hundred thousand dollars at once. Thank you for your cooperation.

- X

“So he’s trying to get money in two different ways. On the chatroom and from you. This is serving more than one purpose,” Rossi said. He took the note. “Garcia, look and see if any of the bail amounts total one hundred thousand dollars. And look to see if any of them are cash only.”

“Nothing. I’m sorry,” Garcia said after a moment of silence.

“We’ll give them the first fifty thousand,” JJ determined. Everyone in the room turned to look at her as if she was crazy except for your dad. He was visibly shaken, eyes glued to the camera.

“What?” Rossi asked.

“We’ll give them the first fifty thousand as soon as we can get it. We can go ahead and trace the P.O. box, find any connections, and hopefully get our guy before it even gets delivered.”

“And if not?” Your dad asked.

“If not, then we sincerely hope he’s bluffing about hurting her before he gets the second one. Twenty-four hours is a long time.”

Hotch turned back to the screen to see that you were sleeping until the unsub came into the room again. He slammed the door open, carrying a knife in his hand, and walked toward you. You jumped, but didn’t move. You had nowhere to go. You couldn’t leave, so you just sat there with nervous eyes.

“I sent them the ransom note,” the unsub said casually. You swallowed.

“Okay, and? We don’t have that kind of money, and federal funds aren’t going to be...”

“I don’t care about federal funds. Someone better give me my fucking money. Isn’t it taxpayer dollars anyway?”

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

“Oh, I’m so hurt,” the unsub said, “boo hoo. You’ll be the one crying before too long. Sit back in the chair.” You didn’t try to run as he tied you up. You didn’t cry. You didn’t say anything. You just looked at the camera, eyes pleading for someone to fucking do something. If you knew your dad as well as you thought, he’d already made the connections about where you were, hopefully why the guy needed money, and they were already going through the ransom note.

But, no. Your dad was watching as the unsub started by lifting your chin with the silver knife. Then he brushed your hair behind your ears. And then, out of nowhere, he dug the knife into your skin and dragged it down your arm.

“Dad, please,” you said, knowing fully well that he was watching. You didn’t want to seem like you couldn’t handle yourself, but you were getting scared that maybe this guy was actually going to kill you if he didn’t get what he wanted.

“Your daddy’s due to give me some money in a few hours. I figured I’d let you bleed until then.” The unsub was casual as he wiped both sides of the knife on your jeans and then walked out of the room, leaving you tied up.

Garcia tried to had into the livestream and say something, but it didn’t work - there was no way to get a message to you. Your dad just had to sit there and call the bank, telling them that he needed to withdraw everything from his savings. He felt helpless as he watched you cry and bleed.

The P.O. box turned to nothing. The guy had paid in cash and given them a fake name. Garcia’s search came up with four possible matches. Then she looked at property records, and then it was time to give the profile of the unsub. Your dad’s eyes were glued to the screen in the conference room, not even listening to the profile that he would usually be concerned about. He just sat there and watched, hoping that you knew he wouldn’t leave your side even then.

The bank came through and let him withdraw the money, but not before the unsub came back and cut another gash into the same arm. Your dad went to the P.O. box and peeled his eyes away from the screen long enough to deposit the money. They had cops waiting to see who collected it, but nobody did. Nobody even tried to get anything from those boxes.

“You should get some rest,” Rossi said later that night. Your dad shook his head, refusing to leave the screen. “He got his money.”

“And he said he’s going to hurt her still,” your dad insisted. “I’m not leaving her, even if it’s just a screen.” Rossi sighed. The rest of the team agreed not to leave you, either, and they sat there for most of the night, watching as the unsub cut you like a piece of paper.

You had told the unsub numerous times that your dad was coming to get you, and those words haunted the entire BAU as they watched you on the screen. They weren’t coming because they didn’t know where to go. And then the unsub talked you up again, mentioning that he knew you were quiet enough that you wouldn’t scream.

“Garcia, check for neighborhoods. Widen the search again, maybe it’s not bail after all,” Morgan instructed. Garcia started typing again.

“There’s a Joshua Robinson, he lives twenty minutes from Rossi’s house. It looks like his father was one of our unsubs who didn’t make it four years ago. And it looks like he’s over that amount of time in missing mortgage payments. I think this could be our guy,” she said.

“I’ll get SWAT ready again,” Morgan said. He stood up and left the room. Everyone went their separate ways except for your dad, who sat there and watched as the unsub full on stabbed you. Fucking stabbed you - you actually screamed at him instead of starting to cry. You called him impotent. A bitch. You called him slimy. You called him everything in the book and it only aggravated him more.

Morgan drove as fast as he ever had over to the house. They raided it and found nothing - no basement, no nothing. And then they found the reason why the guy was so behind on house payments. They owned the land next to the house, too. It was only a matter of time before they found the bunker and the unsub trying to get away.

Garcia had stopped the stream as soon as she could and called EMT’s to the scene, knowing how hurt you were and how much blood you’d lost. But it was up to your dad to go down to the creepy bunker and get you. He sighed as he descended the stairs and opened the now familiar green door, seeing you, untied but still in the chair. You were so bloody that he barely even recognized you.

“Dad?” You asked as he walked in. He nodded, kneeling in front of you.

“You’re safe, sweetheart, come with me,” he said softly. He threw the ropes off of you and reached underneath you, picking you up and being careful not to hurt you any more than you were already hurt. He took you up to the surface, holding your hand as the EMT’s worked their magic on your arm to try and keep you from bleeding any more than you already were.

They figured out that the unsub had been living at his father’s property, so behind in mortgage payments that he needed almost a hundred thousand dollars to pay for that and for property upkeep so he could sell the place and get a fresh start after attempted murder and kidnapping. You were right about almost every observation you’d made, down to the chair, and when your father looked around the room after loading you into the ambulance he realized just how smart you actually were. And how he hadn’t been paying attention to it.

The next few hours were a blur - they wouldn’t let your dad come with you for anything at the hospital so he just sat there, waiting, with the rest of the team. The unsub had done quite a bit of nerve damage to your arm, leaving you unable to feel any pain in it for what may be forever, but at least you still had your arm. Rossi bought you a guilt gift of a new phone, too, since you’d dropped yours on the concrete, and said he was adding extra extra security to his house if you ever wanted to go there again.

“You were watching the whole time, weren’t you?” You finally said to your dad, shutting your new phone off and putting it in your lap. He was going through some folder before he turned to you, nodding.

“I wouldn’t leave you if I was there. And I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

“I’m sorry that anyone thinks I’m worth a hundred thousand dollars.” That made him laugh, if only a little bit. “You always said that they’d bring me back if I was kidnapped.”

“Because you were so annoying!” He laughed. “I think the guy almost did. He was getting pretty fed up with you.” Joking about it, it seemed, was the only way to not cry about it. At least in your family.

“Yeah, I think telling him he had a small dick was a lot for him.”

“I’m really proud of the way you handled that.”

“I had nowhere to go if I tried to run,” you shrugged. “You always taught me that if I’m in a bad situation, stay in it unless I have a way out. You said that’s how you always get through things. Because you don’t just walk out on them.”

“You don’t feel like I walked out on you, do you? And you don’t think that’s why we are the way we are?” You looked down, thinking about it for a minute, before you shook your head.

“No. But-” Your eyes lit up when Rossi walked Jack into the room. He was holding another guilt gift, too, and ran up to you. You picked up your brother and put him in your lap, making him laugh.

“What happened to your arm?” Jack asked, poking at a bandage. You tried not to wince, smiling instead.

“Just a bad guy. But I worked the case,” you told him. He smiled.

“Just like Daddy?”

“Yeah,” your dad said with a smile as he walked over to the two of you. “Just like me.”

A/N: Just some good ole classic Dad!Hotch for y’all... I hope you like it as much as I do!!

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner x daughter!reader #hotch x daughter!reader #hotchner x daughter!reader #criminal minds x reader

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mianavs · 3 years

Text

half agony, half hope

“you pierce my soul. i am half agony, half hope.” - jane austen

Oikawa x f!reader, regency!au, angst, romance, hurt/comfort

for @sakeomi’s the chosen one collab

a/n: fueled by my love for jane austen and a bridgerton binge. some regency/nobility jargon but nothing too fancy. hope you like it :)

a huuuuge thank you to @tetsunormous for taking the time to look this over. you’re a gem!

wc: 9k+

Peering out the small window of your family’s carriage, you couldn’t help but scowl at the ridiculously nice weather you were having en route back to the ton. The weather had also been lovely the day you left society which you took as an affirmation that you’d made the right decision in leaving. Now, you didn’t feel that same hopeful sentiment you did back then and had hoped lousy weather would delay your return, but it seemed that your luck with the weather had run out.

The sun shone brightly and was accompanied by the perfect amount of white fluffy clouds amidst a beautiful blue sky. There was a light breeze that kept your bonneted head cool enough to prevent beads of sweat from trailing down your brow, and you were also positive that Henry, your footman, was enjoying the mild weather outside on his box seat as he escorted you from your family’s country estate back to town.

You drew back the small curtain and leaned back onto your cushioned seat before picking up the stack of letters beside you and thumbing through them until you found the first of many unopened ones. Setting aside the others—all mostly from your father demanding your return—you examined all twelve letters that bore an unbroken turquoise seal and were addressed to you from Toru Oikawa. They all had a date scribbled on the bottom right corner, with the first one dating back to six months after you left town. You successfully fought off the urge to open the letters and piled them up with the others before putting them away in a wooden box—a present from your late mother.

It was hard to believe that a year had passed since you begged your father to let you retire to the country after witnessing an immoral scene no respectable person should ever witness—let alone the fiancée of one of the perpetrators. Looking back, you could firmly say it wasn’t the shame that drove you to abandon society and your fiancé but the heart-wrenching agony you felt from seeing the man you loved with another woman.

While love matches were a rare thing between members of the aristocracy, you had truly believed yours to be one of them, and it all started from the moment you first beheld Toru.

It had been the annual debutante ball hosted by the monarchy, and you, along with a dozen other seventeen-year-old ladies, were making your debut into society. The ball was strictly for the aristocracy only, and, as a result, only members of the nobility were able to mingle with each other.

While on the surface, it was meant to start the matchmaking season by introducing the newest line-up of ladies to the ton’s eligible bachelors and their mothers, there were other activities taking place simultaneously. Racy affairs took place under a cover of darkness in hidden corners or outside in the gardens, and business deals of all sorts were struck up in gambling rooms between men as they dealt cards and downed glasses of brandy.

Of course, being the naïve debutante that you were, thoughts on the covert activities taking place were beyond you. All you could think about was keeping your head held high, back straight, and minding your step as you walked to the dais where the royal family sat, to not trip over the hem of your new silk ball gown.

After a satisfactory curtsy and subtle nods from the King and Queen, you took your place next to your father, the Count. The butterflies in your stomach settled as you watched the debutantes with better curtsies, looks, and family backgrounds get asked to dance by eligible young men. After a couple of songs, apprehension ate away at your calm demeanor as you wondered if standing at the sidelines in the balls to come would be your fate. Beside you, the Count shifted uncomfortably, and you took notice of his knitted brows as he scanned the room for someone before excusing himself and disappearing into the crowd.

Just when you’d resigned yourself to a dance-less evening and twiddled with your dance card, a pair of black boots stood before you and captured your attention. You looked up to find yourself face to face with the man that would become your fiancé—Toru Oikawa, the Duke of Seijoh.

He was everything a young man should’ve been and more. He was effortlessly charming and handsome with his velvety brown eyes that remained fixed on you throughout that evening, tousled brown locks that added to his boyish looks, and a roguish smile that never failed to take your breath away.

Toru remained by your side that entire evening. The two of you spent half of the evening dancing and the other half talking about your interests and hobbies. It didn’t take much for an innocent girl like you to fall for the first man that spared you any attention, so by the end of the evening, when Toru placed a gentle kiss on your gloved hand, you were already half in love with the man.

Toru spent a considerable amount of time wooing you during those two months prior to your engagement in your defense. He called upon your home at least three times a week, during which the two of you split your time in your drawing room conversing over tea, admiring your estate’s gardens, or promenading through the town.

It was during those times that you realized just how popular your suitor was simply from the jealous stares that ladies would send your way. At first, it was easy to ignore them, but as time went on and they grew bolder in their actions, you often found yourself biting back tears during assemblies or rejecting tea invitations to avoid subjecting yourself to their snipes.

While being the object of the Duke of Seijoh’s interest did ostracize you from the other ladies, you found that it was worth it as long as Toru’s charming smiles and warm words continued to fill your dull life with love. That was the belief you held onto up until that fateful morning when Toru arrived with flowers and an engagement ring before getting down on one knee. Besides your initial meeting at the debutante ball, the day of your engagement was the happiest day of your life, made even more special by one of the Count’s rare smiles and an albeit awkward embrace.

Unlike the fantasy you had already concocted in your mind, the reality of your engagement was disheartening to say the least. Toru stopped visiting your home altogether and avoided you at balls and other social events. While you hid away in corners, sipped on a glass of port, and made-up excuses for him, Toru fluttered about the assembly rooms chattering away with friends and dancing with ladies that never failed to mock you afterwards.

During those rare occasions when he graced you with his presence, any complaints you took up with Toru were shot down as petty jealousy. His smile would disappear from his handsome face, and his eyebrows would knit together as if you were submitting him to a torture session by just speaking with him.

“What other proof of my love do you need?” He would ask and raise your ring-clad hand for effect. “You will be my duchess and the mother of my children. That is all that should matter to you.”

You spent the majority of the fall and winter seasons planning for your wedding with only the guidance of the Marchioness of Niiyama. She had been widowed at the young age of twenty and had inherited her husband’s title, but above all, she was Toru’s childhood friend. While you found the Marchioness witty and extremely helpful when it came to wedding planning and understanding Toru, you found yourself missing your deceased mother more than ever and wondered what sort of advice she would give regarding your relationship.

The only time you saw Toru was during the Christmas celebrations and official events where the two of you were expected to attend as a couple. Other than that, you didn’t see or hear from your fiancé and spent your days wondering what went wrong while ignoring the conclusion you came to every time.

Those thoughts would continue to plague your mind until the last ball of the spring season when you decided to take a stroll in the gardens only to find Toru and the person that had been your confidante over the last couple of months—the Marchioness. Her long willowy arms were wrapped around Toru’s frame with her gloved fingers tangled in his brown locks as the two shared a lover’s kiss.

The sight was like falling into frigid waters. A numbness washed over, and you stood frozen in place while the air around you thickened until you couldn’t breathe. There was a disconnect between your body that remained still and your mind that was full of screaming thoughts demanding you move, confront them, or leave the premises altogether. It wasn’t until you locked eyes with the marchioness that the spell you were under broke, and you fled the scene with hot tears stinging your eyes.

That night was the first time you cried in front of your father since the death of your mother. It was also the first time you personally asked him for anything and, to your surprise, he acquiesced.

For the remainder of that night, the house was abuzz in preparation for your departure at dawn. You also didn’t sleep a wink that night and instead gathered all of the letters, dresses, bonnets, and gloves Toru sent and tossed them into the fire. With swollen eyes and still in your ball gown, you sat in front of the fire and watched the items you once treasured burn until the flames died out and only ashes were left.

In the end, you left for your family’s country estate before the rays of the sun peeked over the horizon but not before taking off the ring on your left hand’s fourth finger and leaving it on the windowsill of your bedchamber.

“Apologies for the delay, my lady, but we’ll be arriving in the evening.” Henry called out to you from his seat at the front.

“Thank you for letting me know, Henry.” You replied and continued to flip through the documents you’d prepared prior to leaving your country estate.

When your sorrow turned into indignation, you decided to do everything in your power to put an end to your engagement. What started as a simple letter asking your father to end things with Toru on your behalf snowballed into endless hours of research and lessons on all matters relating to your family’s properties, business ventures, and finances. The catalyst? Your father’s curt reply explaining the details of your engagement contract.

The engagement also includes a business deal the duke struck up with me that will save us from ruin. It cannot be broken off simply because you’ve fallen out of love with him. Stop this nonsense and come home immediately.

Your Father,

Now a year later, you returned with a vast amount of knowledge on your family’s businesses and the large debt accumulated from decades of bad business moves. It was a sheer miracle your family hadn’t lost your properties yet, and it was easy to see why your father had readily agreed to an engagement with someone as powerful as Toru Oikawa.

He had offered your father enough money to settle your family’s debts and then some to invest back into Seijoh’s multiple businesses. While it was a fair enough deal on the surface, you couldn’t help but wonder why Toru had chosen you. If it was purely to find a wife and gain a life-long investor, there were plenty of other families in dire situations with daughters of marriageable age that would’ve fit the bill. Whatever his reasoning, you made it your mission to find out during your inevitable encounter with him.

The tired whinny of the horses woke you from your slumber to an almost pitch-black carriage. Henry rustled outside while you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and straightened your bonnet. The door opened a moment later, and your footman greeted you with a weary smile and an extended hand.

“Welcome home, my lady.”

You took his hand and stepped down in front of your family’s estate, illuminated for the night. Although smaller than your family’s country estate, the imposing white stone building had been your family’s ancestral seat for generations and held memories that you either held near and dear to your heart or buried in the darkest corners of your mind.

“Rest well, Henry.” You said and gave your footman a small smile. “You’ve worked hard.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Henry replied with a low bow before returning to the carriage.

Turning to face your home, the front doors opened, and a blanket of light from home illuminated the pathway before you. Almost immediately, a flurry of maids exited the building and made their way to you, wearing sheepish looks and emitting a cacophony of apologies for not greeting you properly. Walking into your home surrounded by bustling maids and butlers carrying your luggage, you took a deep breath and braced yourself for the mess that awaited you.

While a year ago, the sight of hundreds of lilacs would have brought tears of joy to your eyes, the pungent fragrance of your favorite flower that filled your bedroom made you nauseous the longer you remained. You raised a handkerchief to your face and picked up one of the dozens of turquoise name cards attached to the bouquets that, sure enough, had Toru Oikawa printed in gold.

Crumpling the name card, you turned to your maids. “Get these out of my sight. The smell is making me ill.”

The maids exchanged a confused look before one of them spoke up. “But, my lady, His Grace delivered these himself—”

“I’m well aware of that fact,” you replied, tossing the crumpled name card onto a bouquet. “But I still want them taken out immediately.”

“Y-yes, my lady, right away!”

As the maids went to work, a knock on the door caught your attention, and you found the head butler standing at the door. The sight was one you were accustomed to and, wordlessly, you approached the elder man already knowing what he’d say.

“Greetings, my lady. I hope your trip wasn’t too tiring.” He said with a slight bow

“I’m assuming father wants to see me?” You replied curtly.

“Yes, Lord L/N is waiting for you in his study. Please, allow me to escort you there.”

“There is no need for that. I will see myself there.” Noticing the weary look on his wrinkled face, you softened your tone. “You may retire for the night.”

After dismissing the butler and removing your travel coat and bonnet, you made your way to your father’s study on the other side of the manor. Standing outside the study, you straightened your dress and took a deep breath before knocking once on the large mahogany door.

“Come in,” a low voice rumbled from the other side, and you opened the double doors to reunite with your father.

The Count sat at a table instead of his desk and upon closer inspection, you noticed the array of pastries accompanied by a teapot and two cups. The refreshments caught you off guard, and you stood awkwardly trying to process the situation that was unlike any of the other meetings with your father.

While you were sure some fathers excessively doted on their daughters, the Count wasn’t one of them and only grew more distant after the death of your mother. He either remained locked away in his study or went on business trips. Family dinners happened only once a month, and even then, they were stiff affairs with him asking about your education and you replying with short answers. The only semblance of affection from him came in the form of gifts with short notes delivered to you by the head butler. It was in those notes that your father would awkwardly convey his affection by congratulating you on an academic achievement or wishing you a happy birthday.

“Sit, Y/N,” the Count stated gesturing to the chair across from him. “I had them prepare this fresh for your arrival.”

“Thank you,” you replied and took a seat, settling your hands on your lap.

The Count took a sip from his cup, and when you didn’t partake of the food, he let out an exasperated sigh.

“Must you make things so complicated from the get-go?”

Any fondness you felt at the sight of your father and the display he prepared for you dissipated the moment he uttered those disgruntled words.

“I apologize if my wanting of a respectful husband complicates things for you.”

Your thinly veiled anger was somewhat of a shock to your father, who had never been on the receiving end of it. He cleared his throat and replaced his surprise with a look of disapproval.

“Whatever happened a year ago, I am certain that Oikawa has thoroughly repented. He’s been visiting me over the past six months for news of you since you never replied to his letters. He even spent the entire day waiting for your return.”

Your heart clenched painfully in your chest while a harsh, derisive laugh ripped from your throat. “Yes, I’m sure the lucrative deal the two of you made had absolutely nothing to do with his visits. Tell me, father, how much more did he offer you?”

The Count averted his gaze and lightly shook his head. “You’ve changed so much I hardly recognize you. Was his transgression so great to turn you into this?”

“I doubt whatever I say will change your mind on the matter.” You replied coldly and took a bite from a cookie. “I just hope whatever he offered didn’t affect our agreement.”

He took another sip from his tea and fixed his gaze on you, his own face undecipherable. You steeled your resolve under his scrutiny and held your breath waiting for his answer.

“If you can find another alternative, be it via marriage or not, that will provide our family with the funds needed to get us back on our feet, I will do everything in my power to annul the engagement.”

You exhaled. “Thank y-”

“But you must receive him when he comes tomorrow,” the Count concluded, setting down his teacup.

You finished your cookie and stood up. “I already planned on it. Thank you for the dessert. I shall take my leave now.”

The Count nodded his approval and you sank into a curtsey before turning your heel and leaving your father’s study. Once outside, you leaned back against the large double doors, relishing your small victory against your father.

Despite being completely worn out from the trip, you tossed and turned in bed only managing a couple hours of sleep as thoughts of Toru filled your mind. While it was relatively easy to occupy your mind with other things during the day, he was a constant figure in your head at night that always invaded your dreams.

Toru Oikawa still resided within your heart, whether you chose to admit it or not, and your father’s revelation of his visits during your time away proved it. It had been a fleeting sensation but your heart had wavered in that moment.

By the time the sun rose over the horizon, you had already bathed, dressed, and sat on your room’s balcony nibbling on a plate of fruit. It was all you could stomach while you waited for Toru’s impending arrival.

“Would you like me to style your hair, my lady?” The outspoken maid from the day before inquired hesitantly.

Raising a hand to your hair, you considered her suggestion for a moment before deciding against it. A year ago, you would have spent all morning primping for Toru’s visit, but the situation was different now, and there was no need for elaborate hairstyles.

“That won’t be necessary.”

You’d just finished your breakfast when you heard the faint whinnies of a horse that only grew louder. Rising from your seat, you were able to make out a male figure on horseback wearing a navy-blue tailcoat that approached your home. As the gentleman drew closer, his wind-swept brown hair came to view, and that was all you needed to verify his identity.

You wrung the cloth napkin in your hands before dropping it on your plate. “It seems we have a visitor to greet.”

The reunion between you and Toru was one that you’d played out in your mind many times over the course of the year. You’d memorized impassioned speeches and even practiced storming out of the room, yet nothing could have prepared you for the torrent of emotions that washed over you the moment you stepped into the drawing room where Toru waited.

He was on his feet as soon as you entered, tugging on his silver waistcoat as his eyes swept over your form. It had only been a year yet Toru seemed to have aged five. While still handsome, his boyish looks were gone and replaced with a weariness beyond his twenty-three years. Instead of the air of confidence he once gave off, the Toru before you appeared hesitant and—dare you say it—ashamed.

It wasn’t until his brown eyes locked onto yours that a glimmer of the light that used to radiate within his orbs appeared, and you felt your legs tremble with every step you took. A ragged breath left his lips that broke into a hesitant smile before he took a step forward that turned into another until he was able to take you into his arms.

“My love,” he breathed into the crook of your neck. “You’re back.”

You couldn’t breathe or move, as he tightened his hold around you. All you could do was stand there and feel every shallow breath he took as his entire body trembled against yours. He held you with a desperation that made your chest tighten and throat close up.

“I-I thought I lost you, Y/N,” Toru murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you that I’ll do everything in my power to make it all up. I’ll make you the happiest woman alive and you’ll never regret giving me this second chance. Oh, my love, I’m so happy you’re back that-”

Every word he spoke was like a needle poking and prodding at you until the pain became too much and you broke free from the trance you were in. A snarl ripped through your throat and you pushed Toru away with all of your strength.

“Let. Go!”

He stumbled backwards, steadying himself with a chair, and looked back at you as if you’d struck him across the face instead of breaking free from his suffocating hold. For a moment, you almost felt guilty for rejecting him when you saw the distress in his eyes, but the memory of his betrayal resurfaced and anger took ahold of you once more.

“You’re gravely mistaken if you think I have forgiven you, Your Grace. You and the Marchioness have shamed me in the worst possible way and I refuse to submit myself to a life of misery by your side. If I am meeting you today, it is only to put an end to this engagement. I’m sure you and your lover can find another girl to fool.”

Your voice quivered and tears stung your eyes, but you kept your head held high as the words tumbled out of your mouth like water bursting from a dam.

The color drained from Toru’s face as he stared at you aghast. His mouth opened and closed a multitude of times before it settled into a thin line. He tore his eyes from you, running a hand through his hair before a defeated sigh escaped him.

“You didn’t read my letters, did you?” He asked, facing you once again with the gleam of unshed tears in his eyes.

Your throat constricted painfully but you answered him anyway. “No, I didn’t and I refuse to do so. I’ve had enough of your lies and false proclamations of love-”

“I do love you!”

Toru’s declaration came out hurried, ragged, and desperate. It reverberated off the walls of the drawing room and echoed in your ears eliciting a shallow gasp from your trembling lips.

“I fell in love with you over the course of our courtship.” He admitted, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. “It wasn’t what I expected. You...weren’t what I expected. Before I knew it, I found myself wanting to be by your side. You’re so beautiful, intelligent, and devoted and the moments I spent with you were the happiest I’d ever been in my entire life.”

“Why me?” You asked the question that had been on your mind for months, unable to wait any longer. “Why did you pick me?”

Toru’s shoulder’s drooped and dejection replaced desperation. “Your father’s title, your family name that is as old as the royal family itself, and your financial situation were all factors that singled you out as the best candidate.”

“Did…the Marchioness have any say in the matter?” Your voice was so quiet it wouldn’t have surprised you if he hadn’t heard it at all. There was a long silence and all you could hear was the drumming of your heart against your chest. Just when you were about to repeat the question, Toru spoke.

“She was the one that brought up your name.”

His words were like a slap to your face.

“Leave! At once! I cannot stand being in the same room with you.” You glared daggers at the man not caring if he was a duke and you the daughter of a mere count.

“Please allow me to explain the situation! It’s not what you think—”

“There is nothing to explain, Your Grace. Our relationship is over and if you don’t annul our engagement then I will find a way to do it myself.”

Your threat washed away the obstinacy in Toru’s eyes and a haunting hollow look glossed over them. His hand released the chair he’d been holding onto for the majority of your encounter, and he dragged his feet towards the door.

He surprised you by stopping beside you, and for a moment, you believed he would take you into his arms once again and beg you to forgive him. Only, he didn’t.

“Read the letters I sent you. They contain everything I’ve ever wanted to tell you. Only then will I agree to put an end to our engagement.”

His words haunted you throughout the day up until the evening when you sat at your desk and traced the turquoise seal on one of Toru’s letters. It would have been so easy to break the seals and read through the letters but the thought of falling prey to his pretty words stopped you.

The following morning, the plan to end your engagement and save your family from ruin started with a package from the investigator you hired back in the country. Within it you pulled out pages and pages of information on all of the families of the aristocracy. The reports included the names and ages of the members, the business endeavors of each of the families, and the properties they owned. Other details were also included like their financial status, list of acquaintances, and town gossip.

Over the course of a week, you were able to go through each report and compile a list of potential families you could strike up a deal with. The longer you delved into the background of every family on that list, the shorter said list became until one last name stood out amongst the rest—Kageyama.

According to the report, Viscount Kageyama had been successful in his business endeavors over the last couple of years and it was all thanks to his prodigal son. At the young age of twenty-one, Tobio Kageyama was racking up accomplishments left and right with no sign of slowing down. With a military background like his father, he was an excellent athlete and hunter and won almost all of the competitions he participated in. It was his eye for business ventures and investments, however, that caught your attention and made him a possible marriage candidate.

Over the past three years, he’d managed to turn his family’s failing businesses into prosperous ones and used those profits to invest in other groundbreaking ventures. That was the sort of advice you and your father needed to turn your debts into profits and it just so happened that Tobio wasn’t engaged to anyone.

You found that odd.

For a young man of his age with an acceptable family background and a natural talent for business to be without a fiancée was unheard of. The mothers of society would never let a man like him slip past their radars so you sought to find out why.

Rummaging through his family’s report, you searched for the list of acquaintances hoping to find a mutual one that might give you more information on him. Your eyes stopped on a last name that you’d recognized from an invitation to a tea party that would take place in two days’ time.

Turning away from the document, you called out to the outspoken maid that always seemed to be in the room when you needed her. “What is your name?”

“It is Akane, my lady.” She replied with a deep curtsey. “How can I be of service?”

You smiled, thoroughly pleased with how quick-witted she was. “Send word to the Yachi estate letting them know I will be attending Lady Hitoka’s tea party.”

Akane’s eyes flitted to the table then back to you before a small smile played on her lips. “Right away, my lady.”

Hitoka Yachi was somewhat of an outcast in polite society despite her caring and gentle personality. Her mother was an outspoken countess in her own right that had married for love and, and as a result, Hitoka was an heiress—something that was frowned upon by most. The two of you had bonded over the fact that you both had lost a parent at a young age; she had lost her father and you’d lost your mother.

Over the course of the year, you’d exchanged a letter here and there with Hitoka, and she’d been kind enough to reach out when you returned. While you initially hadn’t planned on attending social events until you’d broken your engagement, you figured rekindling your relationship with Hitoka while garnering information on her friend, Tobio, wouldn’t be too bad.

The day of the tea party, you dressed in a simple cotton dress with small flowers printed on the fabric and had Akane sweep your hair into a simple updo. Since the death of your mother, maids had come and gone under the head maid’s strict supervision, but none of them had stood out like Akane. You found her a smart and observant girl that worked as your eyes and ears around the estate. For that reason, you decided to keep her close and had her accompany you during your outing.

The Yachi’s manor was located in the outskirts of town and gave off the appearance of a large country home while less than an hour away from town. It was a beautiful home surrounded by gardens that, in the spring, bloomed exquisite flowers of all shapes, shades, and sizes.

You were escorted to the rose garden by one of the manor’s butlers where Hitoka and another young woman were already seated at a table filled to the edge with pastries, bite-sized sandwiches, fruits, and a porcelain teapot with matching cups and saucers.

“Y/N!” Hitoka exclaimed and leapt to feet and took your hands into hers. “Oh, it’s been far too long!”

“It’s nice to see you again, Hitoka,” you replied earnestly. “Thank you for your wonderful letters this past year. They were a great comfort to me.”

A pretty blush dusted her cheeks. “I’m glad my silly letters had such a wonderful effect.”

She drew you to the table where her other guest was standing by. Upon closer inspection, the young woman’s distinct black shining hair and stormy blue eyes triggered your memory and her name resurfaced just as Hitoka introduced you.

“Kiyoko, this Y/N L/N.” Hitoka said, gesturing to you. “Y/N, this is Kiyoko Sawamura.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Kiyoko.”

“Likewise, Lady Y/N.” She replied, her voice quiet but firm.

The three of you took your seats and Hitoka took the lead in the conversation cluing you in on what they’d been discussing. You caught a couple of words here and there but your main focus was on the woman to your left.

Three years ago at her debut, Kiyoko Sawamura had been declared a diamond of the first water by the Queen herself and had caused quite a stir amongst all of the eligible bachelors at the time. As the only daughter of the Duke of Karasuno, not only was she stunningly gorgeous but she came from a noble family whose wealth and power surpassed even that of the Oikawa’s. Her engagement to Yuji Terushima, heir to the Marquess of Johzenji, had been the announcement of the year—at least until the annulment three months later.

Rumors ran rampant that summer over what had actually happened but they all lead back to a cheating scandal involving Yuji and a maid from his household. Of course, Kiyoko faced the brunt of the ordeal since Yuji fled society like a coward along with his maid who ended up pregnant with his child, but she never succumbed to the pressure and kept her head held high with the support of her family. The last piece of gossip you’d heard regarding Kiyoko was that she’d found love with the son of Baron Tanaka.

To say you admired the woman was an understatement; she was everything you wanted to be but never could. Where she had braved society, you had fled to the country for a year like a coward.

Hitoka’s cheery voice broke through your cloud of dark thoughts. “…he’s been trying to get Tobio to attend more social events for the past two years, and he finally succeeded! Tobio will be attending Viscount Udai’s ball this Saturday.”

“I told you if anyone would be able to convince him it would be Shoyo. After all, they are best friends whether they admit it or not,” Kiyoko replied before taking a sip of her tea.

“Tobio Kageyama will be attending a ball?” You muttered, mostly to yourself but Hitoka heard you and responded.

“Yes! Are you acquainted with him, Y/N?”

“No, I am not,” you admitted sheepishly and made up an excuse on the spot. “My father mentioned him the other day and spoke of his achievements.”

“He is very talented when it comes to making money, but I just wish he would let people see the other sides of him. He’s actually a kind person underneath his gruff exterior,” Hitoka lamented before changing the course of the conversation.

“Will you also be attending the ball with His Grace?”

You plastered a smile on your face and prayed it looked genuine. “I’m not sure if Toru will be able to attend but I certainly plan on it.”

Despite your relationship with Hitoka, the real reason behind your leave wasn’t something you disclosed to her or anyone else for that matter. You had already dealt with enough ridicule from being Toru’s slighted fiancée and had no desire to add more fuel to the fire by revealing the details behind his betrayal.

“He must be awfully busy these days. It’s been months since he has attended any large social gatherings.”

Your friend’s revelation was shocking to say the least, and the smile on your face faltered. Kiyoko’s sharp gaze immediately zeroed in on your face, but her scrutiny only lasted a second before it was gone.

“Ruling over a duchy is no easy feat. My father is very strict with my brother’s education.”

“Oh, how is Daichi these days? I saw Yui the other day at the modiste and…”

Hitoka’s chatter faded into the background and her revelation of Toru’s absence in society echoed in your head. You had expected Toru to take advantage of your absence to the fullest and yet he hadn’t. A single thought amidst the storm in your mind stood out amongst the rest, and your heart wavered.

Maybe he’s truly become a changed man.

And yet, the cursed image that had been branded in your mind returned and dashed away that hopeful thought, replacing it with a more cynical one.

Or maybe he’s just showing his devotion to his true love, the Marchioness.

For the remainder of the gathering, your mind continued to drift to and from the conversation until the refreshments were cleared and the sun began to set. After bidding the ladies farewell, you returned to your carriage with Akane following closely behind you.

“Akane, do we still have some of the tea leaves I brought with me from the country?”

“Yes, my lady. I daresay there is enough to give away.” Akane replied and you smiled before turning to face your perceptive maid and ally.

“Good. Have some packed and sent to Lady Hitoka and Lady Kiyoko.” You paused before adding, “and save some for yourself. You’ve earned it.”

While you could have easily waited until the Viscount’s ball to be introduced to Tobio, time was of the essence and you needed to set your plan in motion prior to meeting him. If everything went as planned and Tobio proved to be receptive to an agreement—be it one of marriage or not—then the ball would be the perfect place to present your terms and come to a verbal agreement.

With that in mind, you started drafting a letter to Tobio introducing yourself as Hitoka’s friend and provided him with a brief outline of what you wanted, offered, and how it would benefit him and his family. You reread the letter thrice and debated including the possibility of a marriage between the two of you. From what you’d gathered, Tobio Kageyama was a straightforward man that valued honesty, so you added it in while making it clear that it would be one of mutual respect. You knew it was risky sending a letter to a man who was no better than a stranger but it was a risk you were willing to take.

The couple of days prior to the ball you spent preoccupying your mind with business and family matters to steer your mind away from Tobio’s pending reply. It wasn’t until a day before the ball that Akane interrupted you to bring you your correspondence. There was a sealed letter and one short message that you picked up and read without a second thought.

I will not ask to escort you to Viscount Udai’s ball as I do not deserve that honor. I only ask that you not deny me the first dance as your fiancé.

Yours,

Toru

As much as you dreaded the idea of being in the same social function as Toru, let alone dancing with him, you had appearances to keep up and would have to permit it for propriety’s sake. You tried not to dwell too much on his intimate farewell address and shifted your gaze to the sealed letter, which upon closer inspection, had the Kageyama family crest pressed into the navy-blue wax. With trembling fingers, you broke the seal and unfolded the paper, ever eager to read its contents.

Lady Y/N,

I was very surprised when I read your letter simply because I did not know who you were. Now that I am more familiar with you and your family, I am interested in your offer and would like to speak with you more at Viscount Udai’s gathering.

Until then,

Tobio Kageyama

A sigh of relief left your lips. Your gamble had paid off and Tobio was considering your offer. If you played your cards right during your meeting then it would only be a matter of time before you would be free of Toru Oikawa while saving your family.

Your eyes stole a glance at Toru’s note. While you should have tossed the note into the fire, your fingers ran over the dry ink until they stopped at the word before his name. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you took his note and placed it inside the wooden box that contained his other letters.

According to Akane, Viscount Udai’s ball was rumored to be the grandest event of the season and when you stepped out of your carriage with Henry’s help and peered up at the bustling and glowing manor, you found no fault in her statement.

The ballroom was brightly illuminated with chandeliers of glass. Curtains and elaborate tapestries of white and gold lined the walls. White flowers of all sorts hung from the ceilings, lined the doors, and wrapped around columns. The room was something out of a fairytale and the people that filled it had all dressed the part. Glancing around the room, you searched for a familiar face only to hear your name called.

“Y/N!”

Hitoka stood on the other side of the ballroom surrounded by Kiyoko and other gentlemen you didn’t recognize. One of the gentlemen turned his head in your direction and stopped when he saw you. Approaching the small party, your attention remained fixed on the man whose midnight blue eyes were glued to your face with an intensity that unnerved you.

Hitoka’s gloved hands reached out to yours and drew you into the circle of people. Now facing the gentleman, his gaze softened slightly before it shifted to Hitoka.

“Y/N, this is Tobio Kageyama. He’s the man I was telling you about the other day.”

Hitoka’s hand patted Tobio’s upper arm before addressing him. “Tobio, this is Y/N L/N. She’s the friend that just arrived from the country.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lord.” You replied demurely and sank into a curtsey.

“Likewise, my lady.” Tobio’s reply was stiff but his bow was even stiffer and earned him an elbow to the ribs from the shorter man beside him.

Introductions to the other two gentlemen were made and you learned that the shorter man next to Tobio was none other than Shoyo Hinata, a famous jockey and son of a Baron. The man with a roguish grin next to Kiyoko turned out to be her fiancée, Ryunosuke Tanaka.

At that moment, the musicians took their seats and readied their instruments while the room exploded with young men and women finding their partners for the first dance. Your eyes swept over the room in a cursory glance, and to your relief, Toru was nowhere to be found.

Kiyoko and her fiancée left to the dance floor first. They were soon followed by Shoyo and Hitoka but not before the former shot Tobio a pointed look and gestured over to you with a tilt of his head. You found the jockey’s not-so-subtle indication amusing but played off having seen anything. Tobio cleared his throat and you turned your head to face him.

“May I have this dance, my—”

“No, you may not.”

Toru’s voice rang out from behind you. It had a hard-edged quality to it that you’d never heard and sent shivers down your spine. Before you could turn around, his hands settled on your hip and hand. The intimacy of the gesture left you stunned and unable to reject him.

“My fiancée has already promised me her first dance.”

Toru’s warm breath tickled your exposed neck and set your face aflame. Tobio shifted his weight and the action garnered your attention. His brow was furrowed as his eyes searched yours for an explanation you couldn’t give him.

Still in your stupor, Toru drew you away to the dance floor. You opened your mouth to say something but the music started and the couples around you bowed and curtseyed in greeting before they began to move.

The muted chatter around you, the soft music in the background, and Toru’s eyes, darker than usual, drinking in your appearance left you speechless. He looked as handsome as ever in his black tailcoat, golden waistcoat, tousled chocolate brown locks, straight nose, and a pink inviting mouth. Completely mesmerized by him, any ill-will you bore him became non-existent. You drowned in his dangerous pools of brown that disarmed you and left you bare. His touch burned through the fabric of your dress and gloves, branding you with his hands.

It was like the first time you ever danced with him only it wasn’t. Where butterflies had once fluttered about in your stomach, waves of something now swirled within you and pooled at your core. It was terrifying and yet you wanted more. So when the piece came to an end and Toru’s ragged breath fanned on your face, you tilted your head hoping he would close the gap.

Except he didn’t. You didn’t let him because across the room was the face of the last person you wanted to see—the Marchioness.

Her face held no malice as she watched you but she looked almost relieved and it shook you to your core.

“My love.” Toru’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper. “W-what is it?”

You didn’t answer him. Your eyes remained fixed on the marchioness. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly before turning towards one of the doors. She took three steps before turning back to face you and then she continued until she disappeared from the ballroom.

Toru reached for your hand but you side-stepped him and dashed out of the room; your name blending in with the music and chatter the further you got.

The corridors were dimly lit compared to the ballroom but you could still make out the marchioness’s silhouette in the distance. Her pale face turned to you before walking further away and entering a room. You bounded down the hallway until you reached the room and found the marchioness standing before a large French window. The room was dark except for the moonlight that spilled in and illuminated the center of the room.

“Close the door.”

You hesitated before reaching for the double doors and pushing them until you heard a click. Turning around you found the marchioness already watching you. She was as beautiful as ever with her porcelain skin, golden curls styled fashionably, and rosebud mouth. Her cat-like eyes softened in a way you’d never seen before—not even when she pretended to be your friend and ally.

“Why did you appear before me? What do you want?”

“Technically you appeared before me. This is my home after all,” She replied, a hint of mirth in her voice.

You staggered back. “W-what do you mean?”

“I remarried and am now Viscountess Udai.”

“I-I don’t…why?” Your feet took you forward until you were an arm’s length away from her. “What about Toru? I saw you with him…the two of you…that day.”

She sighed and turned her head, fixing her eyes on the wooden desk beside her. “That is the reason I had you follow me here. It’s high time I confess my sins to you.”

Her eyes looked back at you and the whirlwind of emotions swirling in them left you stunned. In the months you got to know her you knew her to be a charming but cold woman, so seeing her so vulnerable shook you to your core.

“Since I was a girl, I had always envied Toru. He had two parents that adored him and did everything in their power to ensure his happiness. My parents were the exact opposite and sold me off to the highest bidder when I was just sixteen. My late husband was a beast of a man that was forty years my senior. He had poor health but an even worse temper and wouldn’t hesitate to beat me until I passed out from the pain. It was then that Toru lost his parents in an accident, and I started to use him to make myself feel better. I tried manipulating him into thinking I was the only person who could be by his side. That I could be his friend, lover, and family. It worked for a while but when Toru started drifting away from my hold…”

Her voice that had been growing thicker with emotion broke down. Sobs wracked from her body as she slipped off her black lace glove. Under the moonlight you could make out pale scars on the underside of her forearm.

“I started to hurt myself and that kept him by my side until he met you.”

Your chest tightened painfully and tears stung your eyes but you didn’t let them fall.

“He needed a wife to fulfil his mother’s wish and I picked you for him. I believed he would remain loyal to me, but I was wrong. Day by day, Toru fell more in love with you and left me behind. When he received your father’s blessing to officially propose, I was so desperate to hold on to him that I lied to him. I promised to let him go after your marriage if he neglected you during your engagement. But that night in the garden, he declared his unyielding love for you, and I did everything I could to kill that love.”

She wiped away her tears while you let yours fall. She took a couple of deep breaths whereas a ball lodged itself inside your throat and blocked the air.

“I dare not ask for forgiveness. I only ask that you not blame Toru for my sins.”

Unable to utter a word, you managed a solemn nod before turning your heel and leaving the room. The darkness of the corridor left you hollow, the noise from the ballroom rang painfully in your ears, and the air around you was stifling. Everything about the place was suffocating, so instead of returning to the ball, you rounded the corner and left.

Upon exiting your carriage, you ignored everyone and bounded up the stairs to your bedroom before locking the door and forbidding entry for anyone. Heaving from the exertion, you lunged for the wooden box on your nightstand and set it on your desk with a thud. After taking a seat, you lit a candlestick and took out the first of twelve letters.

With trembling hands, you finally broke the turquoise seal and unfolded the paper to read Toru’s side of the story.

After you read the letters once, you sobbed into your hands until the candlestick burned out. You reread them and cursed yourself for being so oblivious—so blind—to the pain in his heart. The third time, your heart swelled with affection for your father who did everything he could to ensure you would be happy with Toru prior to allowing the proposal to take place. The fourth time, you pulled out a piece of paper and wrote to Tobio rescinding your offer and offering your most sincere apologies. By the time you finished rereading the twelfth letter for the fifth time, the birds outside were chirping signaling dawn.

You stood up abruptly and glanced out the window to find the rose-colored light of the sun’s rays peeking over the horizon.

I have to see him.

After washing your face, you discarded your ball gown in favor of a simple cotton dress and a woolen shawl. You picked up the letter addressed to Tobio and opened the door.

Akane, who had evidently been sleeping at your door, tumbled backwards and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“Oh! A-apologies, my lady, but I waited to see if you needed anything and…”

You crouched down and helped the girl up to her feet. “Thank you, Akane, for everything you do. You are my most treasured ally.”

Her caramel-colored eyes welled up with tears that she wiped away with her sleeve. “H-how can I help you, my lady?”

You handed her the letter. “Have this sent to the Kageyama estate as soon as possible. Also let my father know that I will not be cancelling my engagement.”

Akane’s eyes lingered on your coat and a smile played on her lips as she replied, “right away, my lady.”

Outside the confines of your home, you breathed in the cool morning air and bolted down the white stone steps, setting off for Toru’s estate. Trudging through the grass and kicking up the rocks of your front lawn, you were full of energy despite not having slept a wink. The negative emotions that had weighed you down since your engagement were lifted and all you could think about was Toru. You wanted to drink in the sight of him, touch his face, run your fingers through his hair, and wrap your arms around him never to let go.

Your front gate eventually came to view, but before that, the backside of a man standing near your family’s fountain appeared and your breath caught in your throat.

Tall, broad shoulders underneath a black coat, and wind-swept brown hair, you knew who it was before he turned around.

Toru’s velvet brown eyes widened and his lips parted at the sight of you. He looked perfectly disheveled in his plain white shirt, unbuttoned, and exposing his chest, and grey trousers that looked like they’d seen better days. Like a moth to a flame, you drew closer until he was in front of you.

“I-I had to see you,” he admitted. “You disappeared from the ball and—”

“She told me…what actually happened.”

His eyes widened. “I must tell you—”

You reached for his hands, not able to hold back any longer. “You already have.” You brushed your thumbs against his knuckles and felt his pulse quicken. “I read your letters…multiple times.”

“I’m sorry, truly,” he breathed.

“I know, and I’m sorry as well. I should’ve given you a chance to explain. I should’ve read them sooner.” You released his hands and stared into his eyes, lips trembling. “If I’m too late an—”

His mouth descended upon yours in a kiss that silenced the words on your tongue. His oh-so- soft lips felt like satin on yours and you melted into his arms that wrapped around you and drew you closer to him. The swirling heat in your core returned and you wrapped your arms around his back, eager to see where the sensation led you.

Toru broke away from the kiss first, leaning his forehead against yours and taking in shallow ragged breaths. A whine escaped your lips and the embarrassing noise set your cheeks aflame. Toru laughed and pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose.

“Patience, my love. We have the rest of our lives for this.” He assured you and drew you into a loving embrace.

His sweet words sounded like a promise to your ears and tears of joy prickled your eyes from simply imagining your future with Toru, the man you loved and had never stopped loving.

#oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #toru oikawa x reader #hq x reader #oikawa angst #chosen one event!#pb's collab event!#long af bc i changed the ending #and bc oikawa deserves 9k words #navs.hq

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hypmicdaydreams · 3 years

Note

omgg that one ask abt the love letters is super adorable... is it okay if i request the same thing but with jiro and dice? (seperately) I really love ur writing btw!! reading ur fics/hcs always makes me smile all of them are just so heartwarming

Heyo anon! I absolutely love this idea so I'm more than happy to write more about it! Thank you so much for your kind words as well <3 it really does mean a lot to me to know that others enjoy my writing. Thank you for the request and hope you enjoy 💕

𝗝𝗶𝗿𝗼 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗗𝗶𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝘀/𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗱𝗮𝘆

-pairings: jiro yamada x gn!reader, dice arisugawa x gn!reader

-genre: fluff

Jiro

he’d find the letter one day when he was emptying out his pockets so that his jacket could go in the washer

i think jiro’s the type that’d just keep trash in his pocket whenever there wasn’t a trash can around or he was simply too lazy to get up, so at first he thought that the letter was nothing more than a quiz or assignment he wanted to discard

when he opened it, however, jiro was quite taken aback to see that it wasn’t, in fact, one of his homework assignments. for one, the handwriting was much too neat to be his

secondly, what was a love letter doing in his pocket? it was so strange, not that he minded though, and besides, when did they even manage to slip it into his pocket? jiro practically wore that jacket everywhere, and how long was it in there exactly?

well, at least the letter was cute, way too cute, and he couldn’t help but feel so flustered and read it through multiple times after he’s finished

the idea of him having a secret admirer made jiro quite proud of himself to say the least, though that’d quickly change to panic once he realizes that he’s already got an s/o, you

(it takes a few moments for him to recognize your handwriting)

once he notices that it was you who wrote the letter, jiro’s going to feel a multitude of emotions: pride, for one, as his lovely s/o was absolutely amazing with words and even wrote him a letter (seriously, could anyone top that?), as well as love and embarrassment, though the good kind

after that first letter, jiro was craving more and developed a habit of checking his pockets every so often in hopes of finding another one

so imagine his surprise when he finds another letter the very next day, as well as another one after that and so on

is overwhelmed with love, though he might brush it off and act as if it was no big deal, when it was, in fact, a very big deal

he’d confront you about them and mumble about how much he really did appreciate your letters and how cute you were, though the whole time jiro couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eyes. he was sure that he’d start tearing up if he did, and that wasn’t ideal to him when he was in front of his partner

definitely shows them off to saburo just to gloat but also in hopes that he’d finally show him the respect he deserved as his older brother

(of course, saburo brushes it off and tells him that he probably wrote it himself, though he does sneak into jiro’s room later on to check for himself)

probably tapes them to his bedroom wall or pins it to one of those cork boards so that they’re always in his view. simply glancing at them always made him feel so much better

jiro would attempt to write you your very own love letter as well, thinking that it was only fair since you had given him so many

he tries to sneak it into your pocket as well, but he either gets caught or finds out you don’t have pockets, so jiro hands it to you directly

his letter is very messy and perhaps barely eligible given that jiro had so many things he wanted to say, but his hand could only write so fast

still, his sentiment and emotions got across quite clearly to you, and you could tell how much time he spent pouring out how much he loved you into that piece of paper, even if it didn’t make much sense at times

it was one of your treasured mementos

Dice

he practically lived in that jacket given that it was one of the only pieces of clothing he had, so dice really had no idea how you managed to sneak in a love letter without him noticing (you had a brilliant plan, really. you slipped it in when he was either fast asleep or when you were washing his jacket)

finds the first letter while he’s strolling through the park one day, a habit he’s picked up after having been on his own for quite some time

dice immediately assumes it’s from you since you were practically the only person he saw on a daily basis, unless it was from some punk back at the casino that managed to slip him a piece of paper

well, he didn’t think too much of it as dice opened it up right away, a bit taken aback by the fact that it was a full-on love letter but ecstatic nonetheless

honestly, dice most likely reread it a hundred times over or so, grinning each time. he loved how his pounding heart felt against his chest. it was so exciting to say the least

i mean, you had written him a love letter! it was as if he carried a piece of you where ever you went, and that was more than enough for dice who loved to stay by your side

dice immediately confronts you about it, though it’s more accurate to say that he went up to you and talked on and on about how much he loved it and how amazing you were with your words

gosh, he had tremendous pride afterwards, happy to know that his s/o was so smart and creative and loving that you were able to put together a cute love letter

and his excitement only grows when he finds yet another letter in his pocket when he leaves your home the next day, which prompts a habit of him always checking his pockets after being in your presence

would also begin to be on the lookout for when you managed to slip the notes, wanting to catch you in the act, though he doesn’t have much luck with that

it was almost like magic

he definitely doesn’t shy away and may outright ask you about them and whether or not you have another letter for him today as well (you did, but you’d rather keep it as a surprise). your letters would begin to be one of the things that he looked forward to each and every day

dice also loved to think of them as good luck charms. sure he had his lucky dice, but they couldn’t even begin to compare to your love letters

he thought of you as his good luck charm seeing as dice saw himself quite lucky to be able to love someone as sweet as you, so why wouldn’t your letters be lucky as well?

anytime he won with his gambles, dice would almost always thank your letters for it, even if they didn’t do much

each and every time you gave him one, dice felt the need to go off about how great you were and how much he loved you; so basically a verbal love letter, except you weren’t expecting it in the slightest

he always had the urge to remind you of how thankful he was for you, not just for loving him but also for taking care of him. dice may not have written you a love letter, but his words were more than enough

they were so much at times that you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed from simply how much he loved you. dice never was one to shy away from expressing his feelings, no matter how extreme

and sometimes, it felt nice to have such an outward confirmation of his love for you

#asks #requests #hypmic #hypnosis mic #jiro yamada #jiro x reader #dice arisugawa #dice x reader #fluff #headcanons #gender neutral reader

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omgrachwrites · 3 years

Text

The Princess and The Duke - Chapter Four

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: As the Princess of Spain, you were always supposed to marry King James of England to make an alliance between Spain and England. When he marries a woman at his court for love, you are married off to his best friend, Sirius Black the Duke of Bedford to keep the alliance. However, the court is riddled with secrets and a rebel in the North starts to rise against the Throne. Royal AU.

Warnings: fluff, lil bit of angst

Words: 2547

Disclaimer: This gif and the wedding vows do not belong to me!

Translation: Mantenerte fuerte - Stay strong

A/N: Happy New Year guys! Here’s to hoping this year will be better! I used the wedding vows from Game of Thrones in this chapter hahaha! Hope you guys enjoy this part and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be tagged! I love you all! xxx

Chapter Four - Spring Music

Sirius could hardly think clearly or concentrate on his work, he couldn’t concentrate on his work for King James and he could hardly concentrate on his med that were holding Calais brilliantly for him and the King. All he could think about was her, the Princess, Y/N; he couldn’t get his mind off of her proposal of marriage, even though she had explained her reasons to Sirius. He had never wanted it to be this way, he had wanted to throw a magnificent party and invite his friends and even his enemies.

Sirius had wanted to properly show Y/N off and show everyone who threated James’ rule that he had the full force of Spain at his side. But then again, he supposed his marriage would prove that, they wouldn’t have needed to have a party. It troubled him but he couldn’t help thinking that Y/N had been forced into marrying him so quickly. Whatever was going on in Cumbria had sealed their fate and perhaps the rest of England’s.

Sirius didn’t have time to dwell on anything more because the door to Sirius’ study burst open and Remus stormed in, frowning at a letter before he flopped down on a chair, rubbing his temples. Remus had avoided going back to court for a while now and Sirius was sure it had something to do with Sophia, Y/N’s lady in waiting.

“Are you alright?” Sirius asked, raising an eyebrow.

Remus looked up from the letter and sighed, stretching out his arms behind him, “apparently, there’s some powerful Lord at court and he wants his daughter to marry well. The King writes that this Lord wants to meet with me when I return to the English court,” his eyes grew sad and Sirius bit his lip.

Remus was his best friend and in an ideal world Sirius would have Remus marry someone for love. Unfortunately, Sirius knew things couldn’t always turn out that way, not everyone could be as lucky as King James and Queen Lily.

“I’ll talk to James, surely he can’t make you marry someone that you don’t want to, and I know that he’s the King but he’s also our friend.”

“He made you get engaged to Princess Y/N, she’s beautiful and considerate but you didn’t choose her.”

Sirius laughed dryly, if he hadn’t had to marry Y/N then he would have stayed an eligible bachelor for the rest of his life, “I agreed to take Y/N’s hand in marriage and to be honest, I’m glad that I did because she’s one of the good ones,” he said truthfully, “but I also knew that it would be the best course for England but it doesn’t have to be that way for you,” he cleared his throat, “speaking of Y/N, you haven’t seen her have you?”

Remus smiled and nodded, running a hand through his hair, “she’s in the library, or she was the last time that I saw her. I was talking to her about the wedding and she seems rather excited about it.”

At Remus’ words a warm and floaty feeling blossomed in Sirius’ chest, “really? Huh, well I’m pretty excited too,” the two young men shared a smile before Sirius bid his friend goodbye and he set off for the library.

Just as Remus had said, Y/N was in the library but she wasn’t reading a book. Instead, she was staring at her hands and Sirius could have sworn that a couple of tears slipped out of her eyes and slid down her cheeks. What could she be crying about? Unless, unless it was something to do with him or the wedding. Sirius got a bitter taste in his mouth as that possibility crossed his mind.

Even when she was crying she was so hard to look away from, she was so devastatingly beautiful. Something in Sirius’ chest squeezed hard as Y/N wiped the remaining tears off her face and combed her fingers through her hair. It made him sad to see her so upset, he had to try and ease her worries.

“Y/N, are you okay?” he asked, his voice echoing slightly in the vast room.

Y/N jumped slightly, her bottom lip trembling before she offered him a weak smile, sniffling slightly, “I’m fine,” her voice sounded wobbly and it seemed like she was on the verge of tears once again, “it’s nothing that you need to worry about, I promise.”

“Oh, Y/N,” he hesitated when Y/N’s eyes got more teary and her lips parted just a little bit, he gulped and proceeded to say what he needed to. He needed her to hear him, he needed her to trust him, “we’re to be married and I always want you to feel like you can come to me about any worries you may have, even if they’re about me,” he sat opposite her and lifted her cold hands to his lips, kissing over her knuckles, warming her hands with his lips and he dropped his voice to a whisper, “please Y/N. Let me in, don’t push me away, we’re in this together remember?”

Y/N gave him a weak watery smile as she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Sirius shivered at the feeling of her warm lips against his skin, “sometimes I almost forget how kind you are,” she sighed wistfully and cupped his cheek, “I received a letter from my parents today, I wrote to them with news of our upcoming marriage and my father sent me one back to tell me that he and my mother won’t be in attendance,” her lips trembled and she looked just like a lost child, “the most important day of my life and my parents won’t be there. In his letter my father told me that he wanted to come but my mother fought him every step of the way. But, it’s silly,” she wiped her eyes and looked away from him.

Rage started to simmer and came to a rising boil in Sirius’ chest; he couldn’t believe that the King and Queen of Spain wouldn’t be attending their own daughter’s wedding. Y/N looked so heartbroken, he just wanted to make it better, “it’s not silly if it upsets you, and they are your parents after all. If it helps, my parents won’t be there either,” he hesitated for a second, “well, they’re dead but if they were alive then I wouldn’t let them come. My mother was a horrid bitch.”

Y/N let out a surprised giggle of laughter as she almost touched his lips with her thumb, her sparkling eyes studying his face, “I take it that you and your mother didn’t get along then? I can’t think why because you must have been the ideal son.”

Sirius let out a dry bark of laughter, he was so glad that Y/N would never have to meet his parents, “I was the black sheep of the family, the disappointment. Regulus was always the favourite, he was everyone’s favourite.”

“Not mine,” Y/N whispered, looking up at Sirius from beneath her eyelashes and Sirius felt his heart speed up, “Regulus isn’t my favourite,” her first kiss was tentative and shy. Sirius could hardly revel in the feeling of Y/N’s lips because she pulled away too soon.

Y/N bit her lip and looked at him with her sultry gaze and there was a light dusting of pink across her cheeks, she looked so beautiful and intoxicating. Her gentle fingers cupped his cheek and she pressed her lips against his more firmly. Sirius sighed against her soft lips and threaded a gentle hand through her hair as he kissed her back.

After a beat she pulled away and let out a tinkling laugh, “perhaps we should have waited until our wedding to do that.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Sirius’ lips curved up into a smirk, causing Y/N to roll her eyes with a smile, “so, tell me about your wedding dress, what does it look like?”

Y/N’s face lit up at his question but she raised an eyebrow, “isn’t it bad luck if I tell you?” she asked and Sirius shook his head.

“It’s only bad luck if you show me.”

Y/N nodded, looking satisfied with his answer, “well, it’s champagne lace lined with golden thread and that’s all the information you’re getting,” she giggled and Sirius nodded with a smile though he did feel a little disappointed.

“It sounds beautiful.”

Y/N flushed at his words, “it is, I couldn’t imagine a more beautiful dress and I’m so thankful that I’ll have a kind husband who will respect me,” she smiled and placed a hand over his.

Sirius grinned bashfully and stood up, holding out his hand to her, “come on, you must be hungry. I’ll have the kitchens make you something special. Do you have any requests?”

Y/N smiled and graciously took his hand, “hmm, something with honey and fruit,” she giggled and rested her head against his shoulder.

“Your wish is my command,” he chuckled, grinning down at her as they walked down the bright, sunlit corridor.

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

It was a warm radiant morning on the day of your wedding, the birds were chirping their beautiful song and there was the scent of flowers on the wind that was almost a promise of what was to come. It seemed like God himself was smiling down upon you today. The King himself helped you into the magnificent comfortable litter that Sirius had procured for you. The King was to be walking you down the aisle today; he was going to be giving you to Sirius since your father wasn’t coming.

The knowledge that your father wasn’t coming felt like a dagger to your heart, in all honesty you didn’t really care that your mother wasn’t coming; you just wished your father was. He had written you a second letter telling you how proud and sorry he was but his words did nothing to soothe your aching heart.

With a sigh, you uncorked a bottle of springtime wine and poured yourself and Sophia a goblet, adding liberal amounts of honey, you drank deeply sighing with pleasure as the sweet taste danced along your tongue.

Sophia accepted the goblet with a thankful smile but you could see the sadness in her eyes. The news around the chateau was that Remus had returned to court because he’d had an offer of marriage. The news troubled Sophia and you had spent many nights with Sophia crying herself to sleep in your arms. You just wanted to make her feel better.

Sophia smiled at you as she sipped her own goblet of wine delicately, “are you excited Y/N?”

You nodded, there was a fizzle of excitement blooming in your chest already, “I’m nervous too, I always knew that I would be a wife one day but I was unprepared on how it would make me feel,” you admitted, biting your lip.

Your dear friend smiled kindly as she leaned forwards and placed her hand on top of yours, “it’s completely normal to be nervous,” she spoke to you gently and you smiled at her, you were so grateful that she was by her side.

You looked out of the thin curtains of your litter to look at the surroundings as you travelled through the woods to the small grove where the chapel was. The beautiful trees and the dappled sunlight that streamed through them slowly but surely seemed to calm your nerves and you smiled, taking in one deep breath. All too son the litter came to a halt just outside the cluster of cherry blossom trees that shrouded the chapel from view.

King James helped you out of the litter and smiled at you as he took a little bow, “you really do look beautiful Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you grinned back at him as you took the hand that he was offering you.

Your nerves increased as he led you through the curtain of pink petals and you looked up at the trees and smiled as the petals began to fall as soft as a kiss and settled in your beautiful hair. You closed your eyes as you took a deep breath of the sweet scent of the trees. Sirius had been right; the air was practically fizzing with magic. The most beautiful piano music floated outside of the open door of the pretty chapel and it seemed to diminish your nerves ever so slightly.

“Mantenerte fuerte,” you whispered to yourself, remembering the last words that your father said to you and with your head held high you walked through the front doors of the chapel, on the way to your future.

You gasped in delight as the weak sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, making rainbows in the air; you reached out a hand to the quivering beautiful light. Queen Lily also looked beautiful in robes of forest green and flowers in her hair. Biting your lip, you looked over at the altar where your future husband was waiting for you. You smiled, feeling your eyelashes flutter of their own accord. He looked so handsome and he grinned at you with a light dusting of pink on his cheeks and those gorgeous grey eyes were shining as brightly as the stars. His teeth worried at his bottom lip as you floated towards him, not even sparing a glance to the spectators, they didn’t matter. It was only him that mattered.

When you reached the altar, King James lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to it before he joined your hand with Sirius’ and he clapped his best friend on the shoulder before going to join his Queen. Sirius’ lips curved up into a nervous elated smile as he squeezed your hand gently and you smiled back before the priest cleared his throat and began the service. The priest proclaimed that Spain and England where to be joined today but you weren’t really paying attention; the only thing you could think of was Sirius’ hand in yours. You jolted slightly when it was time to say your vows.

“Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am yours and you are mine, this day until the end of my days,” you said together and smiled all the way through. It wouldn’t be so bad being Sirius’ wife, you knew that he would respect you and care for you, and you would do the same for him. It would be something, anything was better than nothing. Even if you never fell in love with each other, it was going to be okay.

“You may kiss your bride,” the priest prompting Sirius and the flush on Sirius’ cheeks only deepened.

Sirius took a deep breath as he cupped your neck and leaned in gently to press a chaste kiss to your lips, it was a pleasant kiss that made your lips tingle and your heart beat wildly. Before Sirius could properly pull away, you took hold of his shirt gently and tugged him back to you, threading a hand through his hair as you kissed him back, nipping at his lower lip slightly. He chuckled into your mouth and the outside world seemed to melt away until it was just you and him.

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

@smiithys @elayneblack @amelie-black @siriuslyjanhvi @pregnant-piggy @lindatreb @mabelle-cherie @hxrgreeves @britishspidey @mads-bri @classicrocketqueen @sxtansqueen @hufflepuffzutara @missmulti @bruxa0007 @ourstarsailor @fific7 @squ1dward @2410slb @sunles

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writing-in-april · 3 years

Text

A Hope to go Home

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (Spencer’s POV and Vietnam war AU)

Summary: Spencer is drafted for the war and the only thing that helps him get through it is the letters he gets from Reader.

A/N: This is my second fic for my 1250 follower celebration!!! It’s also the third part for my Spencer Reid & Letters series based on this request by @90spumkin 😊 This was super fun to write cause of how much of a history nerd I am! It’s the first time I’ve done a full blown historical AU (besides the series I’ve got coming in the future) Thanks for reading hope y’all like it and requests are open!

Warnings: Talk of violence & Talk of war- this whole fic is kinda loosely based on the prison arc with Spencer, just with an obvious twist

Main Masterlist Word Count: 1.6k

When October 28th was called out over the radio my heart dropped deep down into my stomach. I had been huddled next to the men that I worked with that were eligible. I remember distinctly thinking that there was no way that it could ever be me, if I didn’t fully acknowledge the possibility it would be easier to get through.

Then reality decided to slap me across the face.

Out of all the 27 million men that were eligible for the draft, why did I have to be part of the 2.2 million that got chosen?

None of the other men I worked with at the bureau had been called in, besides Anderson though I wasn’t very close with him. Most of them besides Me, Anderson, and Morgan were already too old to be eligible, I envied them immensely.

The looks on their faces told me all that I needed to know. They looked like they were already ready to start planning my funeral. I was glad I had at least been given the rest of the day off so I wouldn’t have to look at their somber faces anymore. At least I’d also get to go home to them early. It would probably be my last day off in a while, maybe ever.

Morgan and I had been pushing to get funding from our bosses for a new department, along with a few others, especially that old timer named Rossi. We had a few working names, chief among them the “Behavioral Science Unit”. Our idea was to create a unit in response to the uptick of violent crimes- especially serial offenders and help catch them by analyzing their behaviors. Most of the bureau thought we were a bunch of cooks, they still viewed our idea to use psychology to help catch criminals as a pseudoscience. I had even considered quitting my position a number of times because of the rampant disregard for people’s rights by the director, J. Edgar. Hoover, who’s questionable investigations caused my stomach to churn regularly.

But, we were getting close to getting that first pile of cash to help us fund a unit and I felt a need to see this project through. It was too important of a project to quit right when we were so close. Even though the actions of the government made me sick, I wanted to help from within, I wouldn’t quit. Though in light of my new circumstances I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to see that pile of cash, let alone be able to name the unit. Maybe I’ll live to see what name they choose, if I get out of Vietnam alive. Though from what I had seen already from the people that came back injured beyond belief, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get out alive.

Even though I considered myself too weak to be a proper soldier that could be successful in combat, I didn't have any viable exception to the draft and I wasn’t brave enough to dodge. I cursed myself internally for not going for another PHD, I had heard it was rather easy to obtain a waiver if you were a student. However, I felt increasingly guilty for thinking that.

It was a well known fact that the richer you were, the easier it was to get a deferment. And, even though I wasn’t the most well off I still would have been able to afford to get another PHD when many couldn’t even think about getting a bachelors. Plus, I wasn’t even sure what we were supposed to be fighting for anyway. In the last world war there had been a reason. It seemed like no one knew the reason for this one. Was it worth it to see all these men perish? I guess it was for the Washington elite.

As I boarded to leave to a country so few knew anything about or cared to know anything about, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever come home again. The look on their face when I broke the news to them and their devastation when we had said what may be our last goodbye haunted me. They were smart, arguably just as smart as me, they knew I was most likely marching to my death. I hoped their devastation wouldn’t be the last thing I’d ever be able to remember of them while I bled out in a country I didn’t think we should be fighting against. I hoped I’d be able to come home.

—-

The only thing that was really keeping me going over here, where the sun was so hot I thought I would be incinerated to a crisp like those poor people in Hiroshima and Nagasaki was my hope. Though maybe that was the fear of being bombed by my own country and brushed off as “necessary casualties” talking, all in an effort to put down an enemy most of us didn’t understand.

I waited impatiently under the burning sun tapping my foot repeatedly while someone next to me kept talking. Any other time and at any other place I would’ve been talking just as much as he had. When I first got here and the only person that I had connected with in basic training was almost immediately blown to smithereens. I decided that forming relationships here was futile. It was just easier to keep my head down and hope for home.

It had been quite a long time since I had gotten my last letter, specifically from them. Most of the letters I ended up getting were from them, my mom sent some on occasion but because of her fragile mental health I had told the staff where she was to not tell her where I had gone. My co workers had tried too, mostly at the beginning though when it was somewhat assured I’d still be alive. I think they had lost hope that I’d return, though some had obviously thought that was never going to happen, probably on account for my obviously unathletic stature.

My significant other had been the only one who seemed to hold out hope, even sometimes more than I could muster. That’s why every night I’d look over the letters they had sent me, to help replenish the hope that had been drained throughout the days.

It had been so long though, since I had received my last letter from them. A sense of dread filled the bottom of my stomach over the crippling fear of wondering if they had moved on. I didn’t know how long I’d been here, I stopped counting after a month. Had they stopped bothering to count too? Was it no longer worth it?

“Reid!” My last name was barked at me by the man in charge who I only bothered to learn the name of because I didn’t know I would have gotten in trouble. He barked again at me, “Letter for you!”

My heart caught up in my throat. I hoped the letter would be from them, if it was from anyone else I’m not sure it would bring me any happiness- at least it would be nothing compared to the happiness letters that they sent me made me feel, even if only for a moment.

I scooted off quickly with my letter in hand towards the barracks eager to tear into the letter. I hadn’t flipped over the envelope yet, wanting to wait to see who it was from by myself so I didn’t show emotion in front of the other soldiers. I plopped down on the cot assigned to me, though it was so thin it might as well have been a wooden board. My fingers shook as I tore into the envelope rabidly, I needed to see the words written in their hand. I didn’t know if I could handle this letter not being from them.

“Dear Spencer,”

As soon as I saw those words written in loopy cursive on a creased piece of paper I always felt slightly better. The letter was filled with sweet words and flowery language that most people would scoff at, but it meant the world to me. I wasn’t ok by any means and I didn’t know if I’d ever be fully ok again. But the words ‘Dear Spencer,” made me hope I’d one day go home again.

—

When that fateful day came, it was surreal. It wasn’t until I was back home on U.S soil that I had processed that I was finally going home.

My heart pounded in my chest as I waited to be reunited with them- the streets were crowded with many people. It had been the happiest sight I had been able to see in a long time, people reuniting with their loved ones.

I couldn’t find them in the sea of happiness around me, it made me worry. The last letter I had gotten from them had been a few months ago. I clutched it in my hand like I had clutched onto my hope. I wondered if it had been too long since I had been home.

“Spencer!” My name being called, my first name, not my last as I had become accustomed to overseas. Relief flooded through my veins that had only known anxiety, dread, and fear for so long. I knew who it was instantly and I knew it was time to come home. Maybe they’d let me name the unit now that I was home.

——

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

Letters Series: (Group of Unlinked fics about Spencer and letters)

@whoreforthebau @sierraraeck @90spumkin

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #mgg #mgg x reader

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cummingforkylo · 3 years

Text

The Prince Of Alderaan Chapter I

Summary: It’s the spring of 1813, you’re the daughter of Viscount Huntington and after your family went through a scandalous season last year your parents have decided it’s time for your debut in society as a marriageable young lady. You’ve had life long expectations about what this would mean, charming young men excited by the prospect of being your suitor, lavish dances, and falling in love. What your debut season turns out to be is far from your innocent imaginings, especially because the Prince of Alderaan is in London for the season and with him all kinds of dark intentions.

Read it on AO3 | Send me a ko-fi

Rating: Explicit...eventually

Word Count: 6,117

Warning: None as of now

Pairing: Kylo Ren x reader

Notes: This story is inspired by the netflix show/book series Bridgerton. It’s kind of a crossover because I do use some themes and characters from the show but it is mostly a Kylo x Reader fic. I am still in the process of writing it but it is all planned out. I’m hoping to post weekly but I don’t have any set schedule as of right now. I promise you this is not going to be super historically accurate so don’t expect that lol. I’m just here for a good time. I really hope you like it!!

Dearest Lords and Ladies of London,

As the social season of 1813 fully blooms in the spring air, I pose one question, what scandal awaits our starved apetites? Last year we enjoyed the delicacy of the great Huntington family being almost brought to their knees by the Viscount Huntington’s love of gambling. This year we can feast upon his youngest child and only daughter being presented to society for the first time, perhaps earlier than she should have been to in an attempt to make up for their problems last year. We also will get to try a taste of exotic flavor as the Prince of Alderaan has returned to London for business reasons unknown(but will surely be found out by this writer). As those of us who keep up with world politics know, the Prince is the current ruler of the Kingdom of Alderaan as he and his militaristic political faction ousted his mother, the Queen Regent, from power only a few years after his father abdicated responsibilities and is in places unknown.

Yesterday, the young ladies of high society who are debuting this season were presented to Queen Charlotte of England and of course, it was an event filled with who’s who, how did this girl prove herself silly or charming or cold and who managed to scrape by with Her Majesty’s much desired approval. Miss Daphne Bridgerton was chosen as the Queen’s diamond of the season, and was, to use the Queen’s word, “Flawless.” It will be interesting to see how many suitors Miss Daphne may be entertaining over the next few weeks. Miss Huntington, who’s family had very nearly been shunned by all of society last season proved to be quiet but charming and earned herself almost no regard from the Queen but did fair better than the young Miss Philippa Featherington who swooned almost the moment she was presented to the Queen.

Yes, Lords and Ladies of London, we are in for quite the season, I am sure. I can assure you I will be with you every step of the way. None of you know me, nor will you ever(no matter how hard I am sure you will try) but I know you. I know your business and every dark little secret that you think is private and I will gladly be sharing it with the rest of the society. I’m sure we will all become very well acquainted over the next few weeks.

Yours most sincerely,

Lady Whistledown

***

Everything was silk and cotton, ruffles on skirts, rouge, curls and words of the latest scandal sheet that had been delivered to the door of 3201 Grosvenor Square earlier in the day. You were of course readying yourself for the Danbury Ball that evening, it would be your first ball after being presented to the Queen of England herself and to society as a whole so it must be perfect.

“What did it say of me again, Mama?” You asked as you stood facing the large mirror in your room while your maid, Ella, tied up your stays. She pulled them tight but not so tight you could not breathe, fainting at your first ball would hardly do, it would be unacceptable outcome to both you and your parents who hoped to find you an excellent match this season.

“Do not concern yourself with what some horrid writer thinks of you, dearest.” Mama said, looking up from the paper in question. You had read it through and found your name mentioned multiple times, none of which had been terribly favorable. Of course she referenced the scandal that had taken place in your family the year previously but that had been covered endlessly in older scandal sheets and no one found it of much interest anymore. Lady Whistledown was new she had more interest in reporting the new scandals….and yet, she had mentioned it. So it would be fresh in any suitors mind, a thought that caused you discomfort. You would hate to fall madly in love with some beautiful lord only to have him find you detestable due to something that happened in your family over a year before. You had been looking forward to your season since you were a child, you imagined it always bathed in beautiful spring sunlight, you imagined yourself surrounded by affectionate suitors, flowers, music, charming conversation and always…options.

Now that your season was here, you found it tainted by the mere memory of scandal but you were not going to let it stop you from finding love and enjoying the beauty of being out in the eyes of society. Marriage eligible. Despite what Lady Whistledown had written, you felt yourself ready for society, ready for all that it could bring you; and your Mama was right, you should not let the words of a gossip writer concern you. Ella had finished with your stays so now it was time for your petticoat and then your gown, fresh from the modiste. Once it was on, buttoned, straightened, and thoroughly fussed over Ella stepped back and you examined yourself in the mirror. The dress was fashionable in every aspect, powder blue, high waistline, short puffed sleeves, and square neckline that showed off more than you had ever been allowed to show before. You felt it swish around your slippered feet and you felt exactly how you had always dreamed of feeling just prior to your first ball.

“Mama?” You prompted, glancing over your shoulder to where your Mama was still poring over Lady Whistledown(even though she had told you not to concern yourself). Lady Huntington finally looked up and gasped. Standing up, she rushed to your side.

“You are a vision, dearest.” She said, smoothing a section of your hair. You smiled, allowing your eyes to linger on your own reflection again. Your heart sputtered with excitement, tonight could very well be the night that you would first lay your eyes upon the man you would wed.

“We truly do not need to worry about what the Horrible Whistledown woman writes, because you are such a gem that all the gentlemen at tonights ball shall be vying for your attention. “ Mama said. You looked to Ella,

“Do you agree, Ella?” You asked, reaching out for your maid’s hand, you had known her for years and she was your closest confidant, especially after all you had endured last season.

“Oh, My Lady, my opinion hardly-“

“I do very much value your opinion, Ella…and I’d believe you if you were to tell me I look like a fool. Please.” You said, squeezing her hand.

“You look lovely, my lady.” Ella said, you gave her a look that practically begged her to tell you the truth. “That is the truth, my lady. You’ll need your best gloves but you look just as your mother said, a vision.” She said. You smiled and looked back to the mirror, allowing yourself another moment to take yourself in. Perhaps it was a silly thing to do, perhaps you were being vain but you had to be flawless to be viewed as eligible and that was what you intended on doing.

***

Kylo Ren had changed his name years before and still sometimes invitations were addressed to his past name. Especially when he was here in London; he believed his mother had something to do with that and he despised it. Of course, no one would refer to him as that name to his face, no one had the courage to do that; but he still found it irksome to look at the letter sitting on his desk that invited him to the Danbury Ball tonight addressing him as Benjamin. Even worse was the gossip rag that had been delivered to his address that morning not only mentioned him but even the author of that drivel had managed not to refer to him as his detested past name. And yet, high society here in London could not be bothered to at least address him as his title. It had his mother’s doing written all over it and it put him in a truly foul mood. There was a knock on his door and he looked up from his desk,

“Yes?” he called and the door opened, revealing the butler.

“A General Hux here for you, Your Grace.” He said in the snooty high society accent of a well trained London butler.

“Yes, let him in.” He said dismissively. He went back to the work in front of him while he waited for the wretched man to enter. He was in no mood for Hux, his chiding or his warnings about tonight’s events. Yet, he had to humor the man even while they were here in London. General Hux commanded Alderaan’s army and even though Kylo commanded the General, he needed to keep the abhorrent man at least semi happy.

“Ren,” Hux was already speaking as he walked into the room. Kylo stood, deciding to ignore the fact that Hux had not bowed or showed any amount of respect for his position as he entered the room. Kylo held his hand out for the General to take, Hux clasped it, and Kylo maybe squeezed his fingers harder than he had intended to.

“Hux,” He said in greeting. “How are you?” he asked in a tone that implied he didn’t care at all about the answer.

“Well. Enjoying London so far. Ah,” Hux had spotted Lady Whistledown’s sheet on the desk and walked over, picking it up. “You received this as well?” He asked around a smile.

“Of course, I believe it was delivered to all the households in high society.” Kylo said, he picked his tailcoat up from over the back of his chair and pulled it on. The ball was in a few hours and he needed to begin to get ready, to make himself presentable for society so he hoped he could rush Hux out by appearing busy.

“It mentions you.” Hux said, looking at the paper in one hand while the other arm was tucked behind his back in a way that was clearly commonplace for him due to his military background. A refreshed wave of irritation washed over Kylo as Hux told him something he already knew,

“Yes. I have read it.” Kylo said through a clenched jaw.

“You know this means all the young ladies and their Mama’s will be out for your favor.” He said. Kylo didn’t want to hear it, he knew it to be true but listening to it from a man he could barely stand was not something he wanted to tolerate.

“I know. It does not matter.” He said.

“You would be wise to marry.” There was the chiding Kylo had expected. “People will only take you seriously when you have an heir…and an heir,” He looked at Kylo meaningfully, “A legitimate heir, requires a wife.” He finished in clipped tones. Kylo realized he had been clenching his fist, his brow furrowed, anger coursing through him. He slowly released the clenched hand.

“Do you forget who you are speaking to?” He asked, his voice going from the simple boredom of before to fury.

“No, Your Grace, I merely am trying to impress upon you the importance of something you seem to have entirely written off. Just because you want to behave like a petulant child and irritate your mother-“ Hux was cut of mid sentence due to Kylo crossing in front of his desk and grabbing the shorter man by the front of his tailcoat. Kylo dragged Hux towards him, their faces close, fury burnt through the Princes’s expression.

“You’ve forgotten your place, Hux.” He snarled and then because he did not wish to start a brawl with his army’s general in the study of his London home he shoved Hux away so hard the man stumbled. “I am aware of the situation and I do not need your counsel. Now, I will see you at the events tonight. Remember who you speak to next time.” He warned. Hux hastily fixed his collar, adjusting it as he caught his breath, still looking shaken. It was not the first time the Prince had brutalized him in such a fashion and neither of them thought it would be the last.

“I shall see you tonight.” Hux said before turning to leave. He paused at the door,

“You would do well to reign in that temper, Your Grace, if you do wish to secure an heir and your position.” Hux warned and then he was out the door. Kylo stood there, shaking with rage, it bubbled inside him and in an explosion of movement he lashed out and sent a stack of books flying from their position on the desk. They crashed across his desk as they went flying, upending a inkwell, throwing papers into the air and making a giant clatter as they hit the floor. Kylo stood back, seething as the Butler hurriedly entered to clear it up.

***

The Danbury Ball was just as Kylo had suspected, stuffy, hot, and dull. It was filled with the smell of ladies perfume and powder from the wigs worn by the musicians. It was also filled with young ladies and their Mama’s flocking around him begging for his attention either for themselves or for their daughters. “Lady This from That estate in the country, Your Grace, I can play any Mozart you’d like on piano.” “Lady Whatever, Your Grace, please meet my daughter Miss Whatever. We have three homes in London alone thats not to mention our country estate. So you can assume her dowry is sizable.” “Your Grace, what an honor that you would attend-“ “Prince Ren, I’d like you to meet-“ It seemed to go on and on and there was no escape, unless he were to leave entirely and he knew that was unacceptable.

Kylo refused to be bested by the hordes of young women, all bright eyed, rose cheeked and dressed in the most fashionable of gowns. No, he would hold his ground, be polite but dismissive and leave it at that. How dull. Leaving it at that. Lots of the girls were attractive but most of them would prove to be proper young ladies who would never be caught dead alone with a man, let alone in any of the compromising situations he might find enjoyable. It was true that it would be easy enough to lure one of them out to the garden and from there some kind of seduction would be simple, a kiss on the neck, a hand on the waist and the girl would be so flustered and excited that she wouldn’t know how to say no. For a moment he found himself entertained at the idea but then he glanced around at the girls batting their eyelashes at him, smiling and trying to make themselves as demure and eligible as possible and he was bored once again. The idea of compromising one of their virtues had been exciting for a fleeting moment but the excitement had died the moment he truly considered acting on it.

Kylo excused himself in what was probably an extremely rude manner to the woman who had been trying to ask him if he hunted. He felt as if he was being hunted himself as he walked away from her and the other ladies who were waiting for their opportunity to talk to him. He finally found himself a tiny pocket of peace, just off of the dance floor by a window that looked out onto Lady Danbury’s gardens. He stood for a moment, finally getting to enjoy a second of peace and quiet when a voice next to him spoke,

“I’m shocked to see you here.” Kylo stiffened, because he recognized the voice. It belonged to his mother and he hadn’t heard it in years. It made his chest tighten, if his hands had not been clasped behind his back they would have trembled. Before he looked at her he set his jaw and his eyes hardened,

“Queen Regent,” he said in greeting, tilting his head down slightly but barely meeting her eyes.

“Ben,” Leia started but Kylo sucked in his breath through his teeth so she had to pause, but she continued without correcting herself, “I am so glad you’re in London for the season…there is so much you can accomplish. Starting with healing your relationship with Queen Charlotte.” Of course, the instant she spoke to him again it was about all his failings, all the things he needed to fix.

“No, Your Grace. It is not my plan to heal anything with her, she is not the leader of England just as you are not the leader of Alderaan.” His tone was cross but quiet, he didn’t need anyone hearing the way in which they spoke to one another. Leia glared up at him for a moment, Kylo could feel his mother’s eyes burning into him as if the glare could actually turn to fire and scorch his clothing and then his skin.

“At least tell me you’re coming to these events looking for a wife.” She said after a moment of silence between them. Kylo looked down at her and watched her turn around to face the ballroom, placing both of her hands properly on top of her beautiful gilded cane. When he didn’t answer she took his arm, pulling him slightly to look at something. He tugged his arm out of her grip but looked where she was looking, “Daphne Bridgerton was named the diamond of the season. She was chosen by the Queen.” She said to him. Kylo’s eyes caught on Daphne, a pretty young debutant but thoroughly uninteresting to him. “She would make quite the wife, and being married to a Prince is a big step up for her. I’m quite sure she would be interested.” She was speaking hurriedly as if she knew he was about to walk away from her and to be fair, that was exactly what he wanted to do.

“I am not getting married, mother.” He growled, his voice still low. “Especially not to some girl who’s in the pocket of an English Queen.” He snarled before turning from his mother and stalking off.

Walking into the ballroom of your first ball was somehow better than all of your fantasies, all your dreams seemed to have lead to this moment and as you stepped in from the entry hall you lost your breath. It was a swirl of white gloves, beautiful light dresses, curls immaculately done up, men’s tailcoats jostling as they danced, and golden candlelight danced over the whole thing. You felt as though you had inhaled bubbles from the sips of champagne you had on holidays.

The ballroom at the Danbury’s estate was a large, high ceilinged room with many beautiful crystal chandeliers hanging down providing glowing golden candle light. On the mantles of the multiple fireplaces were spring green garlands, white roses tucked amongst the greenery. It had all the charms and refinement you expected from your first ball. The center of the room was the dance floor and just off to the side, below a grand staircase the musicians played beautiful, joyful music. Many people danced and still more mingled around the edges of the dance, sipping drinks, talking and trying to impress.

Your mama walked in behind you and it was her hand on your back that stopped you from staring all around with wide eyed wonder. You had been to balls before, but it had been as a child, not as a lady eligible for marriage and this was so vastly different.

“Close your mouth, dearest.” Mama said “Lest you catch a fly.” You snapped your mouth shut. Mama lead you to a table that had little cards connected to dainty pieces of ribbon on them. Dance cards. You found your name and Mama helped you tie it around your wrist and it finally felt real. You were here. You were finally going to be able to be a real lady, you could meet the love of your life this very night. Perhaps he would sweep you off of your feet and you would be wed by the end of the season. Did anyone get proposals after one night? You were sure that you had heard of a woman who had managed to get a proposal after only a few hours but you had to remind yourself of how rare that was. There were plenty of young ladies here tonight that had been searching for multiple seasons for a husband and had yet to find one. A lot of those girls didn’t even have a scandal in their family’s history and you did, you had to remind yourself of this so you remained beyond reproach. You had to be perfect. You straightened one of your gloves at your elbow and began to make the rounds.

It came naturally to you because it had come naturally to your mama and she had taught you very well. You greeted everyone by name and title, smiling but not too wide, never looking upset or dowdy. You spoke with Lord Humphies about hunting and Mr. Banbrook about music. You were even able to answer Monsieur De la Rue in acceptable French. Mr. Banbrook was the first to ask you to dance and so he took your hand and lead you out onto the dance floor. His arm wrapped around your back and he began to lead you through a fairly quick waltz. You began the dance dizzy with excitement, Mr. Banbrook was quite handsome, he didn’t have a title but he had money and he smiled while he talked and that charmed you. Something happened as you danced though, you realized your head wasn’t swimming with happiness, your heart wasn’t pounding hard and fast in your ears, there was no excited butterflies dancing in your stomach. You didn’t feel as if you had inhaled champagne bubbles. No. This was no different than dancing with one of your older brothers. Even the steps felt too familiar.

The conversation was lifeless as well, he talked endlessly about all the things he had, and all the things he used to decorate his house with. You had long since left the topic of music behind and you found yourself staring off just over his shoulder, a pleasant smile plastered onto your face.

“I have quite a few stuffed deer heads on the walls of my study out in my country estate.” Mr. Banbrook said, you had to blink a few times to bring yourself back to reality. “They’re really quite beautiful.” He added when you didn’t answer right away.

“Oh, yes. I’m sure they’re lovely.” You said politely.

“Here in London I tend to fashion my home with art more than my hunting trophies-“ he continued and your mind wandered again, it was a thrilling moment when he spun you away from him for a moment and you joined with another gentleman before being spun back to your original partner. How could this be? Mr. Banbrook was perfectly suitable, maybe nothing special but, shouldn’t your first dance at your first ball bring some excitement?

After the disappointing dance with Mr. Banbrook he signed your dance card and promised to come back for another dance later in the evening and you were relieved when he left you. It’s just this first one that was bad, there are plenty of other gentlemen here. You told yourself this over and over again. The first man was not bound to be the man you married. There was a part of you that had hoped that the first dance with a man would be something magical, something that would have sent your heart into spasms of excitement, would have put stars in your eyes, and butterflies in your stomach.

The next man to ask you to dance was Lord Kensington, he was handsome if a bit more bumbling than Mr. Banbrook. He stumbled over his words when asking you to dance but you reserved your judgment until you had danced. Lord Kensington had a title of his own and seemed completely taken with you. He kept his hand tight on your back as you danced. When the music picked up, you hoped and hoped. Please, let this give me every feeling I’ve ever wished for. But when he stepped on your toes and you had to tell him with a polite giggle that it was quite alright, you knew there was no chance. In what world would the man you were going to fall in love with step on your toes, smell of fish and stare at your chest while he tried to keep up with the steps to the dance. You hoped that the disappointment did not show on your face.

By the end of the dance it was hard to pretend you were enjoying yourself, but you attempted. He signed his name to your dance card and you thanked him. Soon. Soon. Someone will and it will be just as lovely as you’ve always imagine. Even if he isn’t the one you marry. It will feel like butterflies and champagne bubbles. You tried to tell yourself this after each man you had a dance with disappointed you. None of them were interesting, exciting, or like the spellbinding man you had always dreamt of.

No, you continued to have your feet trodden on, your back squeezed too tightly, be nearly put to sleep by the conversation and generally underwhelmed. Even the men who were perfectly lovely seeming sparked no interest in you. You tried very hard with them, listening to every word, dancing as prettily as you could, you tried to create the feeling you had dreamt of. The feeling you had when you first entered the ballroom, the rushing excitement, the pulsing happiness, the feeling of possibility. It never happened. The moment when you thought you might feel it, it just fizzled away.

You finished a dance with Lord Fernside and retreated to your Mama, she had been talking with Lady Featherington and the Viscountess Bridgerton when you came over. She detangled herself from the women and turned to you,

“None of those men were your fancy?” she asked, you wondered if she could so easily read it on your face.

“No, Mama…how did you-“ You asked.

“People have been talking,” Never a good thing. “It seems lots of people have been saying you seem…cold. Uninterested.” She said. You felt hot with anger suddenly. You had done nothing wrong, in fact you had played the part of interested and excited as well as you could under the circumstances.

“Uninterested?” You gasped.

“We will discuss it later, for now try and look happier, dearest.” She insisted. You took a deep breath and looked around the ballroom, hoping to calm yourself. You found your eyes drawn across the dance floor to the other side where a man stood almost a foot above the people around him. Besides being shockingly tall, he was broad with waves of dark hair, and a striking features. The oddest thing about him was that he was looking straight back at you. It was as if your eyes had been drawn towards him because you could feel the intensity of his gaze. Your heartbeat quickened, you could feel it in your throat, your hands even seemed to tingle. You knew you shouldn’t stare at him and yet neither of you averted your gaze.

“Hux,” Kylo said in greeting as Hux appeared at his side. He did not take his eyes off of the girl across the dance floor from him. She was the first girl at this nightmare of a ball who he did not find completely banal. Maybe it had been the way she had looked around the ballroom with such misery that it nearly rivaled his own. Or maybe it was just because he found her attractive.

“Your Grace,” Hux said, looking up at him and then following his gaze across the ballroom. “Has someone actually caught your eye?” he wondered. Kylo quickly averted his eyes, not wanting to admit anything to Hux, his lip twitched towards a snarl but he reworked his face into disinterest once again.

“She’s attractive is all. Who is she?” He asked.

“Miss Huntington, daughter of Lord and Lady Huntington.” Hux said. “From what I’ve gathered this is her debut season but her prospects do not look good considering the scandal her family suffered last year.” Hux said.

“Scandal?” Kylo asked, the memory of a page in Lady Whistledown’s paper that morning floated back to him. Huntington. Gambling.

“Her father has a gambling problem and lost the family quite a lot of money, they were in some amount of debt. It seems they managed to dig their way out of debt and have returned to proper society.” Hux informed him, leaning in towards him to speak, Kylo wished it was proper to push him away. “I think it was mentioned in Whistledown this morning-“

“I do not care what is written in that fucking paper.” Kylo snapped. Hux was quiet for a moment and then,

“She is far below your station, Your Grace.” Hux said as he watched Kylo’s eyes drift back towards the girl across the ballroom. “And with that kind of scandal, who knows if she even has a dowry anymore.”

It was true. She was far below his station. Far from the Queen’s diamond of the season. Far from the choice his mother would have made for him. He could imagine the irritation he would cause his mother if he was seen with the girl. Choosing to dance with her out of all of the many, more appropriate ladies to choose from.

“Well, thank you for your input, General.” Kylo nodded to Hux and started to cross the ballroom towards the girl.

You had to hurriedly force yourself to look away as he looked back towards you, you had already been staring for too long. He was going to think you improper. Maybe you were improper, because you had never even spoken with the man and he was making your heart pound, making you lose your breath.

“Dearest,” Mama said, taking your arm. “The Prince is coming this direction.” She said. Prince?! He was a prince. You had locked eyes with a Prince and hadn’t even realized it.

“Prince?” You asked, shocked. Before your mama could answer you he was standing in front of you. All eyes were upon the two of you. Everyone who had been standing nearby couldn’t help but notice when a prince stepped directly in front of a young lady. You had to remind yourself that were, in fact, the lady he had stepped directly in front of. You looked up to him, struck again by how how tall he was. Your eyes met and you were again struck by how handsome he was. Struck by how intense his gaze was. Struck by how hard your heart pounded. How it migrated up from your chest and into your throat. You remembered yourself in a hurried movement and curtsied, “Your Grace.” You said, trying to remember everything you knew about Princes. This must have been the Prince of Alderaan. You racked your brain for his name. Benjamin Solo. No. Kylo Ren. He had changed it from his family name. Prince Kylo reached out for your hand, you held it out to him and he took it, gracefully bowing his head and kissed the back of it.

“Miss Huntington,” he said, he was unsmiling and yet you didn’t find yourself missing it. His face didn’t need a smile to be beautiful. “Would you care to dance with me?” he asked.

“Of course, Your Grace.” You said. Without another word he offered you his arm and you took it with a shaking hand. He lead you on to the dance floor and pulled you in towards him. The music was beautiful, another fun waltz but this already seemed entirely different from your first dance of the night. Your mind whirred, trying to come up with all that you knew of Prince Kylo. His reputation was not a good one, cruel, quick tempered, cold and unsettled were just a few of the things you knew of his reputation; but a reputation was not necessarily reality.

In the first moments of the dance, everything seemed to blur around you. It was like you could not focus on the outside world and the only focus was on him. Everything you wanted to happen in all your other dances with other men tonight was happening now. Your heart raced, your smile was genuine and butterflies danced in your stomach.

“Are you enjoying London, Your Grace?” You asked.

“Not at all.” He said, glancing away from you. Your brow furrowed, but you recovered quickly,

“I’m sure all of these balls and the season’s events must feel silly to you.” You offered with a smile. Prince Kylo’s eyes met yours and you felt your mouth go dry.

“Yes, they do. Especially silly when I have every stupid girl at this ball vying for my attention when I try to make it very clear I do not care to give any of them an ounce of my attention.” He said. At first you were shocked at the way he talked about other ladies, calling them stupid as if it wasn’t an insult. As if it was just a fact. Then, you realized he was giving you attention. He must have thought there was something special with you, something different, something worth giving attention to. Your heart leapt at this thought and you looked up at him, eyes meeting his.

“It must be exhausting being so desirable.” You teased lightly, you wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t made it seem obvious that he felt you were worth giving attention to. You smiled at him in a way you hoped was flirtatious. As you smiled you watched his expression change from interest to something that might have been akin to disgust.

“You’re not so different from any of these other girls, are you Miss Huntington?” he asked. It took a moment for your excitement and interest to turn to confusion and embarrassment and then finally indignation. Had he just implied that you were stupid?

“Excuse me?” You asked, unable to restrain the anger you felt.

“You were staring at me from across the ballroom, were you not?” He asked, his voice wasn’t so much teasing as it was mocking. Heat flooded your cheeks, embarrassed, you hurriedly looked away from him. Your jaw set and your heart pounding but not from excitement anymore, but instead from anger.

“I only looked at you because I felt you staring at me.” You said, your voice dropping lower.

“You felt me staring at you?” He asked, now sounding amused. The hand he had on your back moved upwards, towards the exposed skin of your upper back. You felt one of his gloved fingers brush against your skin, shivers seemed to erupt through your body even though you were flushed from anger and the exertion of dancing.

“Yes. You looked at me with such…such…intensity that I felt it.” You insisted. He scoffed, his lip twitching up towards something like a smile. It irritated you and to your even worse irritation it interested you.

“I believe you are mistaken. I caught you staring at me long after I looked away from you, Miss Huntington.” He said seriously, his dark eyes seemed to burn. His hand against your back squeezed, the finger that lay across the skin on your back dug in slightly. You felt dizzy, your breath left you in a sharp exhale. You wished that this waltz was one where you switched partners, even for a brief moment, so you wouldn’t have to look at his burning eyes and the way his lips seemed to twitch as he thought or listen to the way his voice was so deep it reverberated through his chest. You had finally gotten what you had wanted from the night, the excitement from a dance, the rushing happiness, the kind that bubbled through your veins like champagne, the excitement that made you tingle. You got all the feelings you wanted but they conjoined and mixed with fury and embarrassment. Kylo leaned in towards you, he was so close you could feel his breath, he was too close, you could hear his smirk as he spoke,“You stared at me, my lady. How improper.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #kylo ren fanfiction #kylo ren reader insert #ben solo #kylo ren au #regency!kylo #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic: tPOA #kylo ren smut #writing

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bananaofswifts · 3 years

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For Women's History Month 2021, GRAMMY.com is celebrating some of the women artists nominated at the 2021 GRAMMY Awards show. Today, we honor Taylor Swift, who's currently nominated for six GRAMMYs.

When we met Taylor Swift in 2006, it was immediately apparent that her songwriting approach was like ripping a page out of her diary.

"Just a boy in a Chevy truck/ That had a tendency of gettin' stuck/ On backroads at night/ And I was right there beside him all summer long/ And then the time we woke up to find that summer gone," she lamented in the first verse of her debut single, "Tim McGraw(opens in a new tab)." The way the then-16-year-old Swift could turn personal anecdotes into instantly memorable hooks mirrored the prowess of an industry veteran, appealing to more than just the teenage girls that could relate to a short-lived high school romance.

Now, nearly 15 years later, Swift has introduced another layer of intrigue with a foray into indie folk, unveiling a pair of albums, folklore and evermore, last year. Recorded entirely in isolation after the COVID-19 pandemic hit in March 2020, folklore has been widely acclaimed(opens in a new tab) as Swift's best album, touted for its intimate songwriting and cinematic dynamics; evermore has received similarly glowing reviews(opens in a new tab).

folklore was 2020's best-selling album(opens in a new tab) and earned Swift five GRAMMY nominations at the 2021 GRAMMY Awards show, including her fourth Album Of The Year nod. (evermore will be eligible for the 64th GRAMMY Awards in 2022.) As her 10 previous GRAMMY wins suggest, though, this new chapter isn't an abrupt departure for the star—it's a masterful continuation of her evolution as a singer/songwriter.

If there's one thing that Swift has proven throughout her career, it's that she refuses to be put in a box. Her ever-evolving sound took her from country darling to pop phenom to folk's newest raconteur—a transition that, on paper, seems arduous. But for Swift, it was seamless and resulted in perhaps her most defining work yet. And folklore’s radiance relies on three of Swift’s songwriting tools: heartfelt balladeering, autobiographical writing, and character-driven storytelling.

While there was always a crossover element to Swift's pop-leaning country tunes, her transition from country starlet to pop queen began with Red. The album’s lead single, the feisty breakup anthem "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together(opens in a new tab)," was Swift's first release to reach No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 (and, ironically, scoffed "indie records much cooler than mine"). She declared a full pop makeover with 2014's 1989, but the response proved that her bold move was the right one: Along with spawning three more No. 1 hits, the project won Swift her second GRAMMY for Album of the Year.

From there, 2017’s Reputation, a response to media scrutiny, and 2019’s Lover, an often bubbly exploration of all facets of affection, followed. Although they shared similarly grandiose production, Lover featured a handful of poetic ballads, including "The Archer(opens in a new tab)," a self-reflective love song that teased Swift's folk sensibilities through storybook lyrics and ambient textures.

Swift’s ballads are key in understanding the full essence of folklore. They’ve regularly marked standout moments on each of her albums, both thanks to her poignant vulnerability and rich tone. Fearless standout "White Horse" earned Swift two GRAMMYs in 2009; Red's painstaking "All Too Well" was an instant fan favorite; 1989's "This Love" and Reputation's "New Years Day" provided tenderness amid otherwise synth-heavy sounds.

The raw emotion she puts into her downtempo songs comes alive on folklore, introducing a new wave of neo-classical sonics that elevate her fanciful penmanship to an ethereal level. Whether or not Swifties saw a full indie-pop record coming—at least not yet—the shift isn't all that surprising. Folklore’s romanticized lyrics and relatively lo-fi production are arguably what many fans have been patiently waiting on.

Lyrically, the super-personal nature of Swift’s music has always captivated fans and naysayers alike; diehards and critics dissected each of her albums for its real-life subjects and hidden meanings. While she played into those conspiracies at the time—whether she was revealing names in titles like "Hey Stephen(opens in a new tab)" and "Dear John(opens in a new tab)" or scathing the other girl on "Better Than Revenge(opens in a new tab)"—even Swift herself admits that her teenage method had an expiration date.

"There was a point that I got to as a writer who only wrote very diaristic songs that [it] felt unsustainable for my future moving forward," she told Apple Music's(opens in a new tab) Zane Lowe in December of 2020. "It felt like too hot of a microscope ... On my bad days, I would feel like I was loading a cannon of clickbait when that's not what I want for my life."

That realization is what helped make folklore so memorable: Swift stripped away the drama to let her artful storytelling shine. Sure, there are occasional callbacks to personal happenings ("invisible string(opens in a new tab)" references sending her exes baby gifts and "mad woman(opens in a new tab)" alludes to her legal battle with Scott Borchetta and Scooter Braun). Still, she largely shies away from her autobiographical narratives to make way for her imagination.

"I found myself not only writing my own stories, but also writing about or from the perspective of people I've never met, people I've known, or those I wish I hadn't," Swift wrote in a letter to fans(opens in a new tab) on social media the day folklore arrived. "The lines between fantasy and reality blur and the boundaries between truth and fiction become almost indiscernible."

folklore might be her first full project dedicated to creating characters and projecting storylines, but Swift has shown a knack for fantasy from the start. Tracks like "Mary's Song (Oh My My)(opens in a new tab)" on her self-titled debut and "Starlight(opens in a new tab)" on Red saw Swift craft stories for real-life muses ("Mary's Song" was inspired by an old couple who lived next door to Swift in her childhood; "Starlight" was sparked from seeing a picture of Ethel and Bobby Kennedy as teens). Even when songs did pertain to her real life, Swift often had a way of flipping memories into whimsical metaphors, like the clever clap-back to a critic on Speak Now's "Mean(opens in a new tab)" or the rebound relationship in Reputation's "Getaway Car(opens in a new tab)."

To think that we wouldn't have folklore without a pandemic is almost surreal; it's already become such a fundamental piece of Swift’s artistic puzzle. There was no telling what may have come after the glittering "love letter to love itself” that was Lover, but it seems isolation made the singer rethink any plans she may have had.

"I just thought there are no rules anymore because I used to put all these parameters on myself, like, 'How will this song sound in a stadium? How will this song sound on radio?' If you take away all the parameters, what do you make?" she told Paul McCartney in a November (opens in a new tab)Rolling Stone(opens in a new tab) interview(opens in a new tab). "And I guess the answer is folklore."

Even if she hasn’t been making indie music herself, Swift has shown an affinity for the genre over the years through curated digital playlists(opens in a new tab). Those included four songs by The National including "Dark Side of the Gym," which she references on folklore single "betty(opens in a new tab)," and "8 (Circle)" by Bon Iver, Swift's collaborator on folklore's gut-wrenching "exile(opens in a new tab)" as well as evermore’s title track. (“Exile” is one of folklore’s GRAMMY-nominated cuts, up for Best Pop Duo/Group Performance.)

The National’s guitarist Aaron Dessner co-wrote nine and produced 11 of folklore's 16 tracks, soundtracking Swift's imaginative tales with sweeping orchestration and delicate piano. Their partnership started with "cardigan(opens in a new tab)," a melancholy take on teenage love(opens in a new tab) that's up for Best Pop Solo Performance and the coveted Song of the Year. The team-up was a dream come true for Swift, a self-proclaimed National superfan and a career highlight for Dessner, who shared in an Instagram post(opens in a new tab) about folklore that he's "rarely been so inspired by someone." He sees the album as a pivotal moment for both Swift's career and pop music.

"Taylor has opened the door for artists to not feel pressure to have 'the bop,'" Dessner shared with (opens in a new tab)Billboard(opens in a new tab) in September. "To make the record that she made, while running against what is programmed in radio at the highest levels of pop music—she has kind of made an anti-pop record. And to have it be one of the most, if not the most, successful commercial releases of the year that throws the playbook out.

"I hope it gives other artists, especially lesser-known or more independent artists, a chance at the mainstream," he continued. "Maybe radio will realize that music doesn't have to sound as pushed as it has. Nobody was trying to design anything to be a hit. Obviously, Taylor has the privilege of already having a very large and dedicated audience, but I do feel like it's having a resonance beyond that."

Swift's other primary folklore collaborator was Jack Antonoff. He has been her right-hand man since they first paired up on 2013's promotional single "Sweeter Than Fiction(opens in a new tab)" (Swift referred to him as "musical family" in her folklore announcement(opens in a new tab)). Even after years of creating stadium-ready pop smashes, Antonoff said in his own folklore Instagram post(opens in a new tab), "I've never heard Taylor sing better in my life / write better."

As Swift recognizes herself, folklore ushered in a new way of thinking for the superstar that not only brings out her best, but sets a promising precedent for what's to come. "What I felt after we put out folklore was, 'Oh wow, people are into this too, this thing that feels really good for my life and my creativity,'" Swift added in her interview with Lowe. "I saw a lane for my future that was a real breakthrough moment of excitement and happiness."

Her enthusiasm is tangible on both folklore and evermore. Dubbed folklore’s sister record, evermore further expands Swift’s newfound mystical atmosphere. Much to the delight of many Swifties, the follow-up also calls back to her country beginnings on tracks like the HAIM-assisted “no body, no crime(opens in a new tab),” as well as her pop expertise on more uptempo cuts like “long story short(opens in a new tab).”

Together, the albums are a momentous reminder that Swift is a singer/songwriter first. Her wordcraft is some of the most alluring of her generation, and that’s never been lost on her music, regardless of the genre she’s exploring. But now that Swift also feels she's at her best, it’s evident folklore was just the beginning of Taylor Swift in her finest form.

#taylor swift #folklore #Grammy #WOW

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

For weeks now, I have vowed that I would finish these letters early and get to bed before midnight, and for weeks now, I have finally finished around three in the morning. That was not the case two years ago, when I started writing these at the start of the Ukraine crisis: it was rare enough for me to be writing until midnight that I vividly remember the first time it happened.

I got to thinking today about why things seem more demanding today than they did two years ago, and it strikes me that what makes the writing more time consuming these days is that we have two all-consuming stories running in parallel, and together they illuminate the grand struggle we are in for the survival of American democracy.

On the one hand we have the former president and the attempts by him and his loyalists to seize control of our country regardless of the will of the majority of voters, while Republican Party leaders are refusing to speak out in the hopes that they can retain power to continue advancing their agenda.

Since the 1980s, this branch of the Republican Party has tried to dismantle the government in place since the 1930s that tries to protect equality in America, regulating business, providing a basic social safety net, and promoting infrastructure. Members of this faction of the Republican Party—the faction that is now in control of it—want to take the government back to the 1920s, when businessmen controlled the government, operating it to try to create a booming economy without regard for social or environmental consequences.

Although initially unhappy at Donald Trump’s elevation to the White House, that faction embraced him as he advanced the tax cuts, deregulation, and destruction of government offices they believed were central to freeing businessmen to advance the economy. Believing that Democrats’ determination to use the government to level the playing field among Americans would destroy the individualism that supports the economy, they had come to believe that Democrats could not legitimately govern the country. And so, members of this Republican faction did not back away when Trump refused to accept the election of a Democratic president in 2020.

Almost a year later, the leadership of the Republican Party, composed now as it is of Trump loyalists, is undermining our democracy. It has fallen in line behind Trump’s Big Lie that he and not Biden won the 2020 election, and that the Democratic Party engaged in voter fraud to install their candidate. This is a lie, but Republicans at the state level are using that lie to justify new election laws that suppress Democratic votes and put control of state elections into their own hands. If those laws are allowed to stand, we will be a democracy in name only. We will likely still have elections, but, just as in Russia or Hungary now, the mechanics of the system will mean that only the president’s party can win.

This attack on our democracy is unprecedented, and it cannot be ignored. Tonight, for example, Trump held a “rally” in Perry, Georgia, where, to cheers, he straight up lied that the recent “audit” in Arizona proved he won the 2020 election. And yet, to overemphasize the antics of the former president and his supporters enables them to grow to larger proportions than they deserve, feeding their power. Tonight, for example, Newsmax and OAN covered Trump’s rally live, but the Fox News Channel did not, and the audience appeared bored.

On the other hand, in contrast to the former president's party, President Joe Biden and the Democrats are trying to demonstrate that democracy actually works. Rather than simply fighting the Republicans, which would permit the Republicans to define the terms under which they govern, they are defending the active government the Republicans have set out to destroy. Biden has been clear since he took office that he intends to strengthen democracy abroad, where it is under pressure from rising autocratic governments, by strengthening it at home.

To that end, he and the Democrats in Congress have aggressively worked to pass legislation that benefits ordinary Americans. The wait for such legislation to appear can be frustrating, but that is in part because the Democrats are actually doing the kind of work that used to be commonplace in Congress: hammering out compromises, finding votes, arguing, amending legislation.

Today, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi (D-CA) released a letter she sent to her caucus, telling members they must vote this week to pass a continuing resolution to fund the government, as well as the two major infrastructure bills on which they have been working for months: the Build Back Better Act and the bipartisan infrastructure bill. While news stories have often turned the negotiations over these bills into a fight between moderate and progressive Democrats, it is important to remember that while a handful of Republicans were willing to agree to rebuild roads and bridges and to bring broadband to rural areas, most of them are simply not negotiating at all. They reject the idea that the government should invest in infrastructure, especially that kind outlined in the Build Back Better measure: infrastructure involving childcare, elder care, and climate change. And if they can run out the clock and convince voters that government can’t get anything done, so much the better.

Democrats disagree about the details of their measures—exactly as one would expect from a big-tent party—but they all accept the principle that the government should actively help ordinary Americans. Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) and Senator Joe Manchin (D-WV) might disagree on the size of the infrastructure package they want, but they both agree that the government should support infrastructure.

Republicans reject that idea, standing instead on the principle that the government should simply stay out of the way of businessmen, who are better equipped to manage the country than bureaucrats. The Charles Koch–backed Americans for Prosperity, the U.S. Chamber of Commerce, and the National Federation of Independent Business are all pouring money into defeating the $3.5 trillion Build Back Better bill, warning: “A government takeover of our economy is a fundamental departure from the spirit of entrepreneurialism we’ve relied on for generations to drive prosperity, and there’s only one outcome—unmitigated economic disaster that will be difficult to reverse.”

The profound disagreement between the Republicans and the Democrats over the role of government has led to a profound crisis in our democracy. Democrats’ argument that the government should work for ordinary Americans is popular, so popular that Republicans have apparently given up convincing voters their way is better. Through voter suppression, gerrymandering, the filibuster, and the Electoral College, and now with new election laws in 18 states, they have guaranteed that they will retain control no matter what voters actually want. Their determination to keep Democrats from power has made them abandon democracy.

For their part, Democrats are trying to protect the voting rights at the heart of our democracy, believing that if all eligible Americans can vote, they will back a government that works for the people.

And so, the task of writing these letters has gotten more complicated of late. I try to detail the growing threat that the Republicans will succeed in destroying our democracy while also explaining the ways in which the Biden administration is trying to move beyond the current crisis to demonstrate the vitality of American democracy.

And, always, I try to keep front and center that these fights are not academic. They are, fundamentally, a fight to determine whether a nation, “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal...can long endure.”

—

Notes:

Aaron Rupar @atruparTrump claims that the Arizona "audit," which affirmed Biden's victory in the state, actually concluded that he won. Shameless lying and his fans eat it up. #TrumpRally

272 Retweets1,085 Likes

September 26th 2021

Aaron Rupar @atruparNewsmax and OAN are broadcasting the #TrumpRally in Georgia live. Fox News, notably, is not.

102 Retweets659 Likes

September 26th 2021

https://www.speaker.gov/newsroom/92521

https://thehill.com/business-a-lobbying/business-a-lobbying/573610-koch-backed-group-launches-7-figure-ad-blitz-opposing

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#corrupt GOP #criminal GOP #Letters From An American #Heather Cox Richardson #January 6 2021 #election fraud #lies and the lying liars

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verryberriess · 4 years

Text

Accept Me As Your Valentine’s | Rowaelin Oneshot

This is the first fanfiction I’ve ever written!! Thanks to my bestie @maastrash for the encouragement and helping me out :D I hope you guys like it!

Rating: T, mild swearing

Summary: February 14 was the one official day at Greenbriar where an individual could offer chocolates, flowers, or small gifts to someone they admire or want to express pure feelings towards. And Aelin had spent all night making chocolates for a certain someone...

Note: There is potential for the side stories to be written out ... let me know what you think!

February 14. Valentine’s Day. A tradition celebrated around the world where gifts and flowers are exchanged between lovers in order to express a physical act of love. Gifts didn’t have to necessarily be exchanged between lovers, however. Many, in fact, are exchanged between close friends and offered to those whom someone admires.

At Greenbriar High School, Valentine’s Day had become a popular school event over the years. February 14 was the one official day at Greenbriar where an individual could offer chocolates, flowers, or small gifts to someone they admire or want to express pure feelings towards. It was the ultimate event of courage for girls and guys of all classes to attempt a confession towards the person they admired from afar. The hope of having one’s feelings returned often came at the expense of high-end chocolate carefully wrapped in gold foil imported from Switzerland and Belgium or opulent custom-designed pastries from French patisseries.

Rowan Whitethorn, Aedion Ashyrver, and Fenrys Moonbeam were some particular individuals whom many girls had intended to present their chocolates to on this special day, for the reason that these men were the most eligible bachelors of Greenbriar High.

School legend claimed that a couple years ago, alumni Lorcan Salvaterre, infamous for his ruthless and dark manner, had actually started dating someone after she had presented chocolates to him on this particular day. As a result, most people reasoned that if the notorious Lorcan could be swayed by some certain chocolates on Valentine’s Day, there was certainly some charm in the event that had provoked such a miracle.

Amidst the bustling student body, Aelin Galathynius stood in front of her locker and stared down at what she clutched in her hands. A tiny, golden, heart-shaped box she had purchased from the local art store for her homemade chocolates. She had even put in the effort to tie a little bow across the box to complete the aesthetic. It had taken her all night to prepare her chocolates. Although she was certainly talented in consuming large quantities of the physical manifestations of cocoa heaven, they were absolutely a pain to produce. Cooking was not in her favor.

She remembered last night’s events where she burned her first batch of cream and chocolate in the bowl, and in her second attempt, somehow the chocolate had managed to never melt. She stirred for one whole hour for the mixture to turn liquidy as the recipe called; it was apparent that after she had Googled the approximate time it took for chocolate to melt under this process, she knew she had to start over again. Hence, third time's a charm when she followed an easier recipe.

In the end, she had successfully made chocolates-- or well-- it was as chocolate as chocolate could be. Her chocolate turned out lumpy, with unusual grooves and warts sticking out in various directions. Perhaps that was due to the almond shavings she had added for an artistic touch? Were truffles supposed to carry such a discoloring? She compared her outcome to the one in the article. Ehh.

Aelin took a bite out of one of the six chocolates that had survived her horrific cooking venture. “Hmm,” she mulled over its unusual taste. It was definitely edible. But did it taste like the usual chocolatey decadence she was so accustomed to? Big no. Even if it was chocolate. Even if she was the ultimate chocolate connoisseur who would probably consume any form of chocolate in the world. What she had concocted was a big mistake.

Aelin couldn’t afford to waste any more heavy cream. The jar of cocoa powder that she had gotten earlier that day was also almost out. And it wasn’t like the general store near her operated 24/7. Carefully assembling the remaining five chocolates in the box she had acquired on sale just for tomorrow’s occasion, she wrapped a golden ribbon across and pulled the ends tight.

She couldn’t reason how so many of her fellow classmates had thousands of dollars to spend on chocolates that carried high risk of being rejected. Actually, maybe that was the best form of action anyways, since her truffles didn’t exactly turn out how chocolates were supposed to. But, in reality, this was all Aelin could afford. She lived in the most underprivileged neighborhood in the area and rode on the bus for an hour to get to school everyday. Some days after school, she worked a part-time job to pay for her rent. She was sincerely thankful for being able to attend Greenbriar High under a full scholarship despite the air being polluted by rich snobs and bigots. Nevertheless, Aelin was most thankful for the best friend she’s ever made in her life there. These chocolates were for him, after all.

He better be thankful. Aelin was on the verge of hand-writing letters to thank each chocolate company in the country for their honorable service. She had a newfound appreciation for the treat.

Aelin peered out of her locker to look over her shoulder at an onslaught of girls and boys. The crowd was immense. She hadn’t realized the extent of the school event’s popularity until now. She witnessed some groups exchange treats with each other and heard others talking animatedly about who they would offer theirs to. But the majority of the crowd was focused around a certain group that everyone had aspired to give their chocolates to. Rowan, Fenrys, and Aedion walked as a group through the hall, conversing with each other, stopping intermittently to interact with brave souls who tried to give them chocolates. Fenrys looked like a balancing act. He carried stacks upon stacks of chocolates and sweets within his arms. The pile seemed to grow with each passing second. Aelin feared for all of the treats that would scatter across the school if he ever toppled over… she just hoped she would get there in time to maybe steal some for herself? Aedion carried a few chocolates himself, but most of them were probably hidden inside of his bag, since it was looking extra stuffed today.

She watched as a girl, holding luxury chocolate bars Aelin would have died to get her hands on, approach a notable tall, silver-haired, pine-green eyed individual. He only carried his backpack on his right shoulder-- any sweets he may have received were out of sight. The girl blushed, determinedly held out the chocolates, and shyly insisted, “Rowan, please accept these chocolates!”

Rowan looked upon the unassuming girl and the chocolates with disinterest and replied, “... No.”

With encouragement from her friends to try again, the girl piped up assuredly, “If you could just-”

Rowan cut her off, “I’m sorry, but I can’t accept these.”

The crowd around Rowan and the girl didn’t seem to decrease even with Rowan’s apt rejection. In fact, it only seemed to get bigger. Of course Rowan would reject the chocolates though, reasoned Aelin. He was never big on sweets. But maybe he would accept hers-

Before Aelin could reconsider, she saw Rowan reject yet another person across the hall. This time, he rejected a guy who had wanted to thank Rowan for his help from some extracurricular activity.

No. This is stupid, thought Aelin. If he didn’t accept someone’s chocolates meant to thank him for his help, what were the odds of Rowan accepting hers? They weren’t that close, were they? She had wanted to thank him for being a good friend to her. He was one of her closest friends at school. He had introduced her to the rest of his group and allowed her to meet Lysandra and Fenrys. Why did she feel like she needed a better reason to present him her chocolates?

Aelin shoved her chocolates in her locker and collected her books for the school day.

When she walked into Second period, she scrambled to her seat and shrunk into her chair and focused on a peculiar spot on her desk. It was not long after until Rowan walked in and made eye contact with her. Immediately, his resting bitch face morphed into a grin, “Hey, Fireheart!” Rowan made his way towards Aelin’s seat.

Aelin looked up from the all-too interesting black dust speck and carefully crafted her response, smiling smugly, “Buzzard! I’m surprised you’re not carrying a mountain of chocolates with you.”

Rowan smirked, “Well, I have my own agenda to account for today.” Rowan peered at Aelin expectantly. Aelin only stared back. Was he trying to communicate telepathically with her somehow? She would have to remind him again that it wouldn’t work. “But I’m also wondering-- “

Before Rowan could finish, their teacher walked in and silenced the room with her eerie screeching throughout the class. Rowan, about to quickly tell Aelin something, hastily turned back around towards the board at the lecturing tone of their teacher, who reminded him that class had already started.

Aelin was confused. But she figured he would tell her later. They sat at lunch together with the rest of their friends anyway. During the entirety of the class, Aelin couldn’t help but wonder what he was going to ask her. He looked at her as if he was expecting something, but he also looked hesitant to ask her about whatever he wanted to ask. His idiotic face was too much for her to think about right now. What did he expect from her? Chocolates? No, she was still on the brink of destroying those utter atrocities. She had yet to decide whether she still wanted to give them to him, but considering the way he acted towards everyone else who tried to give him something, she was leaning to not.

Towards the end of class, Aelin packed up her bag and readied her materials for her next class. Next period she had to turn in a paper before class started. Otherwise, it would be considered late.

When the bell rang signaled for Passing period, Rowan turned back around in his seat to approach Aelin again, but she remarked, “I’ll see you at lunch! I have a paper to turn in!” and ran out of the classroom.

At lunch, she found the usual table already occupied by her friends who were already discussing intensely about the events of their day so far. It was apparent that everyone already had dozens of boxes of treats set out before them. She sat down next to Lysandra and inquired about her friends’ large collections, “How do you guys already have so many chocolates? It’s literally lunch and we only sat through three periods of the day so far,” Aelin was seriously concerned with the popularity of her own friends. With their collection alone, they could feed a whole nation. The total costs of all of the gifts themselves could probably amount to the entire GDP of England or something.

“Well, Aelin, it’s all because of my infinitesimal charm. It’s also a little process I like to call, ‘accept and accept’” replied Fenrys jokingly.

“No, I’m specifically wondering why YOU, of all people, have been offered chocolate!” Aelin grinned back. She loved joking with Fenrys. But now she wondered why she ended up empty handed. No one had offered her anything yet. Maybe she had been too much of an oddball at school to make any sort of formidable impression among her peers. Was she too unapproachable? She watched the exchange between Lysandra and Aedion. She guessed that eighty percent of the gifts that Lysandra received were from Aedion. It would have been nice to receive something too…

Next, she observed Rowan. He had resigned from any conversation to focus all of his concentration on his food to ignore Fenrys, who kept berating him with a small box of special hazelnut chocolates Fenrys had gotten from Russia. That especially looked appetizing. “Come on, Rowan! I ordered these a few days ago just for you! They taste just like Nutella!”

Rowan grumbled something incoherent and concentrated harder onto his food.

Fenrys eyebrows furrowed. He turned away from Rowan to face Aelin. An idea must have hit him because soon his disappointed expression morphed into that of a devious one. Aelin waited to brace herself for whatever rambunctious idea that Fenrys had apparently come up with. “So Aelin, would you mind-”

The movement was so fast, the whole table fell silent at the abrupt speed that had been displayed. Rowan had swiped the hazelnut chocolates from Fenrys, tucked them besides his lunch, and resumed eating. Aelin was shocked about what had just happened. Lysandra and Aedion, who had paused their conversation, both resumed their exchange. Their talking had seemed to lower even more so in volume, almost to that of whispers, discussing whatever between themselves that had to be kept a secret from all of them. Expressions coy, they traded little smiles and light touches between each other. Fenrys’ only response to Rowan’s reaction was a gleeful smile of victory. He continued to badger Rowan as they both ate.

Aelin scrutinized the little box of chocolates that Rowan had kept next to his lunch container. Damn, she really wanted them. She was so ready to accept them from Fenrys if Rowan hadn’t stolen them away. As if he sensed her watching his chocolates, he gracefully gathered them closer towards himself, out of her reach. Aelin huffed in resignation. There was no way she could attempt to steal the treats now.

While everyone had an endless supply of chocolates, where were hers? She was the ultimate chocolate connoisseur. She was the most qualified to be receiving chocolates. This kind of school event was made for her! She should have been receiving all sorts of things now. She knew she wasn’t exactly the nicest person in the school, nor a typical rich kid that could lure others to be her friend, but she wasn’t a fiend! Consequently, her own source of chocolates from this day were the chocolates that she had made herself… and while those things were chocolate, under her jurisdiction, they were not qualified to be considered as such. To top it all off, she hadn’t even made those chocolates for herself.

She looked out at the other tables. A group of girls cheered as they exchanged little boxes with bows tied atop. She saw another guy blush and shyly present a heart-shaped box to another girl. Groups mingled and high fived each other as they handed out treats to each other. Aelin’s felt an unpleasant tug in her chest as she observed students carry out the gift-giving event.

But as Aelin turned her attention back to her own table, she had realized that her friends had exchanged chocolates without her. She watched Fenrys play Jenga out of the boxes that he received and Lysandra and Aedion in their own world. Rowan only kept Fenrys’ chocolate, but that was because he had turned down all of the other gifts throughout the day. She looked at the collection of chocolates that Lysandra and Aedion scattered around them on the table and zeroed in on two tiny red-wrapped boxes of hazelnut chocolates that have been imported from Russia.

Aelin frowned. Suddenly those hazelnut chocolates didn’t look so appetizing anymore. Nor any of the other chocolates that she had seen exchanged today. She couldn’t control the feeling of her lips starting to tremble or the sudden deep tugging in her chest that felt like a million bricks had settled atop her chest. She tentatively rose from her seat at the table. Her long bangs shielded her misted eyes from the group, fortunately covering her face as she remarked shakily, “I just remembered I had an assignment due next period. I’ll see you guys later.”

As Aelin stood up, about to leave, Rowan called, “Wait, Aelin, you’ve barely touched your food.”

Aedion chimed in, “Yeah, you should eat at least a little bit, Aelin. We still have three more periods to go.”

It was true. Aelin had just gotten back from class and knew that she’d only sat for a few minutes. She had barely touched her lunch. But the gnawing in her gut diminished her usually ravenous appetite. Aelin pulled on a smile. It was strange how exhausting it felt to force her lips to tug in a motion that was so effortless and natural to execute only moments before. She couldn’t see the group’s reaction, but responded, “I’m suddenly just not hungry anymore.” She pivoted herself around so as to not face the group and walked out of the cafeteria in haste.

It was bad enough that sometimes she had felt like an outsider at her own school. But the feeling only solidified today as she truly realized the reality of her position. She interacted and got along with her classmates well and participated in class, and although she was not as close to her peers she wanted to be, compared to herself and her usual group, it hit her that one of her classmates had passed out goodie bags of candy corn to everyone in the class but her. She didn’t realize it until the end of class when she asked her classmate why everyone held the same goodie bag. It didn’t bother her that much because she was eager to go to lunch… but now it was at the forefront of her mind. And now? She felt like an outsider to her own lunch group.

Her footsteps thudded through the hall. They sounded louder than usual, as if she were the only one walking through them. There were a few people loitering the hallway, yet they felt so far away. This small stretch of space that usually felt so narrow and crowded now felt like it could stretch for miles. All Aelin could hear right now were her footsteps. Everything else was muted. Her thoughts whirled, a simultaneous mess of gibberish and nothingness and everything at the same time. Her steps carried her to her locker, where she now beheld the little, golden, heart-shaped box. She didn’t have the heart to throw out the hours of work that she put into the little monstrosities, but…

Rowan had been offered chocolates that had probably cost more than her whole month’s rent. Fenrys’ were from Russia for fuck’s sake. If he had trouble accepting even his own friend’s presents, what were the odds of him accepting hers? It’s not like she was any different as a person compared to her friends. But even so, what did she have to offer? She was poor. She walked in rags and everyone else lept in riches. Aelin felt the tears that she fought so hard to suppress well up and stream down her face. If she could physically put a price on how much she felt she owed Rowan, the number would be in the thousands. Millions. What did crippled, deformed chocolates amount to compared to the things that these daughters and sons of millionaires could afford and buy without even batting an eye?

Rowan had given her so much. So, so much. Friendship. Laughter. Dessert... And something else she was so afraid to put into words. She knew it in her heart earlier when she began thinking of what to gift him. She knew what she had felt when she tried to make the chocolates over and over again. She knew what she was trying to convince away from herself when she stood at her locker this morning and watched Rowan reject gift after gift.

But she wouldn’t admit it now. Couldn’t. She was far too stubborn. She tightly gripped the box in her hands and closed her locker door. She gripped the box so hard the cheap cardboard repaid her in wrinkles and a large, thumb-sized dent. The box looked so worn. Its cover was dented and soiled with the scent of salt; the bow she so proudly tied together flopped, weighed down from its damp ends, saturated by her tears.

Aelin smuggled the box into her backpack and slid down the wall of lockers to settle on the floor.

-----

She avoided the group the rest of the day, but she often saw Rowan in the distance. During class, Aelin once looked out the window and saw Rowan casually standing a few meters away from her classroom. As if he sensed the instance she noticed his presence, he immediately walked in the opposite direction of her classroom. During Passing period, she would often see Rowan walk in her direction. But when she saw him nearing, she took a detour. She was successful in avoiding the others the whole day, but somehow it was as if Rowan was everywhere.

At break, she noticed that when she walked to her spot, Rowan was already there, so she walked away quickly. But when she went to another room, it was like he appeared out of nowhere. Today, to her dismay, it seemed that he was just always within her vicinity.

After school, she made up her mind. This would be the last time she would interact with any of them. This would serve as her final good bye, and a big “fuck you” to Rowan’s asshole rejections.

She walked outside of the school to the spot they usually meet up at to walk home together. As Aelin neared, she scowled at a line that had seemed to form. But a line for what? Her eyes traced the direction of the line to its head. Who would have thought. A line to present chocolates to Rowan Whitethorn. It seemed as though many people had acquired the same idea as she had. But now, the energy in the crowd that had gathered felt even more intense than that of this morning.

The line consisted of both girls and guys. They lined up one after another. A tall, athletic guy Aelin knew as Jasen presented a large box of Japanese candy and asserted, “Hey Rowan! The basketball team all pitched in to buy this for you. We really appreciate you for helping us in our championship game.” Rowan wasn’t officially on the team, but secretly subbed in the last quarter, he had ended up scoring the winning basket. “Hopefully we can play again sometime,” Jasen smiled.

Rowan replied lamely, “... I hate mushroom-shaped, matcha flavored konpeito.”

The group of guys that encouraged their friend to approach Rowan argued amongst themselves. “Why did you give him those? Did he seem like a mushroom-shaped, matcha-flavor konpeito type of guy to you?!”

A girl with brunette curls and sun-kissed skin came forward, “Rowan, I’ve always wanted to thank you for helping me last year. It really meant a lot to me, and I don’t want anything in return, but it would make me really happy if you could accept these…?”

Rowan inspected the chocolates and flowers she held out to him and examined the brunette’s face. The crowd was silent, eagerly waiting for his response. Will he accept them? He would actually be an asshole if he didnt, thought Aelin.

“Sorry, I don’t think I remember helping you, so I can’t accept these.”

The girl insisted, “It’s Lyria. You helped deliver flowers to the hospital with me to my parents last year.”

“Oh, well, Lyria, I’m sorry, but it’s just that I actually don’t remember you… so,” Rowan shifted uneasily.

“Buzzard,” Aelin cursed at Rowan’s bad memory. He was actually the worst.

The line increasingly reduced as he rejected person after person. No matter the reason, no matter how intensely they felt about him, Rowan rejected them. But also after each rejection, came an energy of rejuvenation as the next person somehow felt even more fired up to present their gift. The courage was astounding.

“Sorry-”

“Sorry, I-”

After what seemed like hours, the mile-long line had dwindled to nothing. Rowan had accepted absolutely no one’s gifts. But the crowd remained, eager to see who would bravely face him next. This event had in some way transitioned into a spirited competition of who could possibly get Rowan Whitethorn to accept their gift. This competition would forever be embedded in the yearbooks. The energy was wild. It was legendary. No one so far had accomplished this feat. Aelin could tell people had lost any sense of unease. No matter one’s status or wealth, everyone had been rejected just because. And by the time the line had dwindled down to twenty, not one had felt shame in approaching him, no less in offering him their gifts in fear of rejection.

Aelin looked around. It seemed that there was no one else who wanted to approach him. They were all defeated. They only waited for the next person to advance toward him. She sucked in her feelings and walked down towards him in an air of pridefulness. No matter, she was just going to do what she had to do and go about her life.

Although the path towards him was only a few feet, it seemed like she had walked for an endless number of miles. She had turned her attention towards the ground as she walked, so, so hesitant to take the next step. But her mind fought to keep her walking towards him. She needed to do this for him. She needed to do this for herself. It was like everything was muted again. The chatter surrounding them faded to a dull white noise and as she looked up towards his face-- as he commenced to close the distance from where he stood all those dozens of times students tried to propose to him. His pine green eyes met her turquoise blue. She couldn’t deny the sudden intensity in them, compared to the obvious disinterest that he had shown to others time and time beforehand. His mouth firm, but in awe as if struck by her presence. There it was, his usual, idiotic Buzzard face.

Now, they stood only a few inches apart. She glowered at him and he bored his eyes back into hers. They were so close Aelin could smell his scent of pine and snow. She didn’t know what to make of his reaction, because they had only just stared at each other, as if the first person to speak would shatter the electric energy that peaked in the atmosphere, as if the other person would explode into pieces just from their speech alone. Aelin was addicted to this energy whenever she was with him. When they were walking home together, when they hung out at each other’s houses, or when they had bought each other ice cream and devoured them on the flowery grass at the park. No, Aelin was mistaken. She could never say goodbye to Rowan. She could only ever welcome him back into her life, welcome back an even stronger relationship than they had initially formed.

But, when she finally chose to speak first, “Rowan, I-”

At the same time, Rowan uttered, “Fireheart, I’ve-”

Aelin’s cheeks noticeably burned. The realization of what she was doing finally had caught up to her. Her face burned even hotter as if she was branded by the 350°F heat of a thousand ovens baking chocolate chip cookies. As she looked at Rowan’s face, she couldn’t help but feel relieved at his instant blush as well. “You go first,” Aelin said.

At Aelin’s command, Rowan proceeded, “I’ve been waiting for you. Since this morning, I just-”

But Aelin was too impatient. She had steeled her mind from any sort of rejection. She primed herself and wanted to get it over with, so she took up the heart-shaped box she held in her hands and cut him off, “No!”

Rowan immediately stopped himself and looked at her, bewildered.

This was the first time Aelin would let herself acknowledge her feelings. At this realization, she had wanted to let him know. She wanted him to know her feelings. As she replayed her interactions with him for the past five months she’s known him in her mind throughout her classes today, she knew that she had to use today to finally get her feelings out. She would hurt afterwards, but at least he would know, because every little thought of hers had been crashing down on her lately. He was on her mind everyday. She would hurt but Aelin knew she had the ability to slowly put herself back together again.

And so, Aelin took her stance.

She exhaled harshly,

And aggressively shoved the box against his broad chest.

The crowd around them was stunned at this sudden development.

“When I first came to Greenbriar, I never expected to form close ties with anyone. But it was you who had worn down the iron walls I had so carefully crafted up, because of your stupid, stupid idiocy, and I,” Aelin paused, “And today,” She took a deep breath, “Today I really wanted to get rid of you and Fenrys and Lysandra and Aedion from my stupid life because I-- I felt hurt.” Aelin closed her eyes to collect herself.

“Fireheart, I can-”

“No, I need to say this… Just, let me get this out… please.” Aelin regained her composure and started again, “When I thought about cutting ties with you guys, I recounted all of the memories we made together in these five months alone. I have never felt so happy in my life before I came here, and I realized it was because of everyone. And then I remembered those times you picked me up in the middle of the night and took me to this beautiful, beautiful spot to admire the stars. I recounted how I knew my heart began to mend so slowly; it was so slow, but it was healing, and I knew it was only because I was with you. So I realized I could never say goodbye. Not ever. ”

“So,” She picked a crease on Rowan’s shirt to focus on, looked up into his eyes, which crinkled back immediately in response, and shouted at him, “Rowan, I like you! Accept my chocolates!”

Rowan peered down at her. A visible blush painted his cheeks and the corner of his lips quirked upwards into a small smile. Rowan closed his large hands around Aelin’s small ones, gently taking up the marred heart-shaped box from her hands, and pulled Aelin into a tight embrace. He enclosed her within his arms and held her tight, as if he feared she would fly away from him. In response, Aelin instinctively leaned into the crook of his shoulder. Rowan bent down to bury himself within her hair. They fit together perfectly. He couldn’t get enough of her, and she, him.

Rowan pulled back from her hair to face Aelin, grinning, “Fireheart, of course I’ll accept your chocolates.” Without letting Aelin out of his embrace, Rowan tugged on the ribbon of the box and popped one of the chocolates in his mouth. “Mm, as expected from my Fireheart. They don’t taste like chocolates at all.”

Aelin glared back up at him as Rowan licked some of the remnants from his finger and continued, “But, Miss Chocolate Connoisseur, this is truly unacceptable.”

“What now?” Aelin sunk in deeper into his embrace.

Rowan reached into his pocket, “You’re simply not qualified to be the one giving out chocolates. It’s demeaning of you.” He pulls out a key and slips it into Aelin’s palm.

Aelin’s brows furrowed in confusion and inspected the key that Rowan placed in her hand, “Are you trying to ask me to move in with you or something? I think that’s a bit fast, don’t you think? You didn’t even kiss me yet.”

Rowan’s cheeks burned further, “It’s the key to the Godiva store in downtown. You can enter the store and take whatever you want, whenever.”

“Even when it’s closed?”

“Even when it’s closed. And on that note, I’m sorry for how you felt today… I know I hurt you, I was supposed to give you this key this morning,” Rowan looked away and whispered, “Yesterday, I... threatened the whole student body to not gift anything to you because,” Rowan spoke even more softly, so that only Aelin could hear, “Fireheart, you’re mine to spoil. I want you to know that I love you. Out of every single person in this school, out of every single person on this earth, and perhaps even the universe, you’re the only person I would accept chocolates from. The only person I’ll concede to, fall for, and let my heart be stolen from.”

Aelin looked at him and traced the swirls of his tattoo with her eyes, like she had done a thousand times already whenever they were together. She felt her heart swell. It was healed. Her heart had fully healed. Its tiny cracks mended and now the weight of her heart that initially only served to weigh her down made her feel so so light, she was afraid she would accidentally soar into the sky. So, Aelin stood on her tiptoes, reached up to grab at Rowan’s hair to pull him down at her level and muttered, “Territorial bastard,” before crashing her lips onto his to feel the electricity between them once more.

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theawkwardterrier · 3 years

Text

An Alliance with an Earl

Here’s one for @lavellenchanted. It’s no Steggy AU of A Song for Summer (although what is?) but maybe Regency Jily will suffice, Sarah...

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I am going to have to buy Frank Longbottom a very nice bottle of brandy, Sirius thought to himself as he looked down at the letter in his hand, but what he said casually aloud was, “It seems we’ve been invited to a house party.”

James finished whatever he was scribbling, taking care to sign his name with the full flourish before he looked up. Light from the wonderfully sunny day, the kind they would never have been inside for a mere year ago, caught his spectacles as he did. James had worn a pair from the time he and Sirius first met as boys at Eton, but when light used to flash across them, it paired with the grin he once wore nearly constantly and his foolishly infectious laugh. Now Sirius half expected James to take his glasses off and massage his eyes, the way their old headmaster used to do.

Instead he set down his quill and gestured to the letter in Sirius’s hand. “If it’s any of your cousins, I shall have to respond in the negative. Well, perhaps we should have Lupin draft the letter - he is less likely to phrase it as rudely as either of us might.”

Sirius tossed the letter opener he had been using on the day's post back onto the very edge of James’s stupidly massive mahogany desk and barked out a laugh. “As if any of my cousins would allow me to darken their doorway. No, it’s the Longbottoms - it seems that old Augusta has allowed Frank and Alice use of the country place and they’ve invited us to come for the week after next.”

He tipped his head to the side, slouching further into his chair. He had once only done such things in the parlor of Grimmauld Place, his parents’ London residence, because in their view posture, like wealth and good breeding, was one of those things which mattered and he made a point of not allowing such things to matter to him. But the habit was so ingrained in him now that every time he sat, he tended to perch himself with a leg slung over the chair arm or his back placed on the seat and his head allowed to hang. “Not having access to that all-important family tree of my mother’s, however,” he said, “I really couldn’t promise you that I’m not cousins with either of them somewhere along the way.”

“Aren’t we all? I think between the two of us, we must be related by blood or marriage to half the ton.” James stretched his arms back and above his head, rotating his wrists and making a slight groaning sound. “Not, however, closely related enough to stop plenty of mothers from shoving their most eligible daughters into my path at every turn.”

Sirius nearly responded as he once would have, with a jibe about that sort of thing being unavoidable for such a catch as the future Earl of Gryffindor. Two years ago, however, after the deaths of first his mother and then, weeks later, his father, James actually became the Earl of Gryffindor, and seemed to think nothing in that line of humor at all funny anymore.

Quite a lot had become unfunny to James, actually. Some days, Sirius worried that his friend’s shoulders would simply break from the responsibilities settling there. Oh, James still came out with them in the evenings, still made them laugh and could manage to charm nearly any woman in a given room. But his old self, the one who loved racing on the fastest horse or placing the highest bet, the one who thought duels were daring instead of a measure to be undertaken only under direst circumstance, who snickered with Sirius around the corner after they had placed a tripwire across the school corridor...Sirius suspected that boy to be gone for good. In his place was a nobleman who inherited too early, whose indulgent father had thought to have more time to teach him how to grow into the man he needed to be, and who was now struggling to meet the expected role under the weight of who he had suddenly become.

Which was why, Sirius thought, eyes scanning the invitation from the Longbottoms again, this would be perfect. Balls and parties around London brought with them some degree of diversion if not enjoyment, but also held a reminder of responsibility. A playful lack of interest in marriage had once been the subject of jokes between James and his mother, but finding a wife, having a child, had now become a grim and acute duty. Sirius hoped that this more simple gathering, merely a few friends out in the country air, would allow James some desperately needed socialization with much more limited pressure - not to mention that it would tear him away from the deadly dull work which seemed to pile endlessly upon his desk at Gryffindor House in London and at his estate of Godric’s Hollow.

“Anyway, Longbottom’s always done us a good turn,” Sirius said, forcing a bit of a yawn to keep his manner as informal as possible. James went tense at the littlest things these days, at the merest suggestion that he might lay his duties to the side for just a moment or any hint that Sirius thought he might need to relax. “And Alice is a fine girl from what I remember. It’s only polite for us to join them, since they asked.”

James looked over toward the window, the drapes drawn back to reveal the bright, busy Mayfair street outside. The sunlight caught the lenses of his glasses again so Sirius couldn’t see his eyes; still, something seemed to grab at his mouth for a moment and twist it in pain. But the next second, he was turning back to Sirius looking like himself again, or at least like this new self. He picked up his quill once more and said, “You know that I am only ever polite.”

It was a lie, or at least Sirius hoped that it was. Either way, however, it was an affirmative response, which was exactly what he had hoped for.

“I’ll inform the Longbottoms, then,” he said, still maintaining his nonchalance. “My handwriting has always been better.”

This was true, but he mostly said it because being bested at something always made James a bit disgruntled and this time was no different. Without looking up from whatever document he was currently taking careful notes upon, he crushed a piece of paper with his other hand and tossed it toward Sirius’s head.

So there is something of you left after all, Sirius thought with relief as he caught the crumpled ball. Let us hope that some time in the country is enough to bring you out again.

Having known Alice since her own first season four years previous, Lily was quite familiar with her friend’s sweet, detail-oriented, and slightly nervous personality. She had received numerous letters in the weeks leading up to the house party filled with particulars of the menu, questions regarding the ideal number of guests, or worries that there would not be sufficient entertainment, and had tried to send back her reassurances that Alice’s first instance of hosting such an affair would surely be a resounding success.

Yet, as her carriage came to a halt on the wide drive in front of the house, she was unsurprised to see Alice wriggling a bit and twisting her hands as she stood with her husband’s arm over her shoulder.

She alighted from the carriage and went over to greet them, trying to infuse a bit of levity into the way she said “my lady” to Alice, though it didn’t seem to work. Alice linked her arm with Lily’s under the premise of leading her into the house and whispered, high and trembling, “Frank’s mother insisted on joining us and bringing friends of hers, which has my numbers entirely off, and you know what Lady Longbottom is like besides.”

“You are Lady Longbottom as well,” Lily reminded her, but before she could say something else bracing, she saw, striding across the grounds with Sirius Black at his heels, another person who would apparently - and unfortunately - be joining them.

She successfully avoided him over the next several days, making certain to keep at least five people between them even when they were in company. The odd thing was, however, that he didn’t seem to notice her very much at all. No, that wasn’t right. He clearly noticed her, his chin dipping in recognition if their eyes happened to meet across a room, but he did not pursue her in the way he once had.

He did not, in fact, act similarly to the way she remembered in general: his remarks, when he made them, were astute and his sense of humor not at all mean-spirited, he tended to spend most of his time at the edges of the room rather than the center of it, and every time there was dancing he took at least one turn with Hestia Jones, who everyone know was very nearly on the shelf. The whole thing was the slightest bit confusing, though, Lily reminded herself, it was a perfect relief not to be approached. Their paths had crossed less in the past two years or so, but she remembered sharply their prior interactions.

On the day before they were to return to London, the gentlemen were called to a hunt while the ladies attended to their correspondence. Lily had just finished and sealed a letter to some distant cousins in Sussex when the footman brought the morning's post. It did feel a bit Sisyphean, finishing the last of your responses only to have more required, but Lily was certain that none of it would be for her; Alice had invited most of their close friends, after all, and Lily's family was not large.

However: "Oh, here is one for you, Lily," Mary said, picking it up from the tray and passing it over. "From your sister."

Lily swallowed. "How lucky." She stood, tucking the letter in her pocket with fingers that fumbled despite her best efforts. "Do you know, it looks as if it might begin to rain this afternoon. I would like an opportunity to spend some time out of doors before the weather turns. Would anyone like to join me for a walk through the gardens?"

Though Alice looked as if only her duties as hostess kept her inside, the mention of a potential storm made the rest of the group demur, as Lily knew that it would. Within five minutes, she had her cloak on and was making her way alone into Lady Longbottom's lush and splendid garden. She walked until she found a small seat to perch upon and, after taking in a few deep gulps of the air (it seemed that she had not been wrong: there was a tinge of moist heaviness to it that spoke of an oncoming storm) forced herself to open the letter.

She read it through once, then a second time to see if she had misunderstood. She had not. She wanted to cry.

In person or in writing, Petunia never said anything that Lily wanted to hear. They had been friends of a sort when they were small, but Lily had long since given up on her sister understanding her or even loving her despite not doing so, and she no longer sought her approval. If they could have stuck to basic pleasantries or the dutiful exchange of sentiments, that would be one thing, but in the last year, Petunia had turned nasty, and this latest letter...

"Da-Deuce it," Lily said aloud, leaning over to scoop a handful of pebbles from the ground. She pitched one toward the bushes, then threw the next one harder when it seemed not to alleviate any of her upset. Even that did nothing; she flung the full handful. "Damn it!" she shouted, disregarding all propriety, then placed her palms over her eyes, pressing down as if surrounding herself with darkness might help.

"Lily? Er-My apologies. Miss Evans, are you quite well?"

Her hands flew from her eyes. Standing before her, uncomfortable but certainly there, was the Earl of Gryffindor.

The first time he saw Lily Evans, James Potter was standing on the balcony of Lady McGonagall's home with Sirius and Peter. They had left Remus below distracting their hostess; she had been widowed several times longer than she had been married, but it seemed to suit her well and she ruled every occasion hosted at her home, and in the ton generally, with an iron fist.

"She's quite fine," Peter had said, jabbing a finger toward a lady in a pink gown who was being helped from a recently arrived carriage.

"Too fine for the likes of you, Pettigrew," Sirius said carelessly, though James did not get the sense that he was joking. Peter forced a laugh anyway.

"There's plenty of girls here tonight for all of us," James responded, scanning over the street. Most people seemed to have already arrived. "With the season just starting, no one's begged off for the evening or tired of each other's company yet."

Sirius snorted. "That's your opinion. I believe I tired of the company of most everyone here before I was past my dear father's knee."

"Well, there's always—" James started, but did not even complete his thought, much less his sentence. Instead he said blankly, "Her," leaning forward a bit over the rail as if this would help him take in each detail of the new girl who had just stepped from her carriage. She was followed by a slightly older girl wearing a most unattractive expression and a woman he would guess was her mother, but James did not pay them even a moment's mind. His mouth had slackened as he studied her hair - it looked dark from this height and in the barely lit street, though not dark enough to be brown - as he imagined her eyes, and took in each nuance of her expression, excited and just a bit forward, her shoulders thrown back as she stepped toward the party.

By the time James got downstairs and escaped a lecture about etiquette from Lady McGonagall, her dance card was full, but he at least found out her name. The next day, armed with the largest bouquet from the most expensive florist in the city, he stopped at the house that she, her mother, and her sister were renting for the season. There were several other gentlemen in the room already as he was announced, but he paid them no mind as he walked over to her, knelt, and said, "Miss Evans, I would like nothing more than if you would agree to become my wife."

Later, his father would berate him for this, for going about it without asking permission, for being too hasty, introducing himself and proposing marriage in the same breath. But he knew that this would not have made the difference. Because there was a look in her eye, as if she had been expecting this and had prepared her answer, when Lily Evans said, quite coolly, "No, thank you, my lord."

And now here she was, sitting in the garden before him, looking far less collected than she had that day. She had lost the aspect of the ingenue - she was near his age, making her at least two and twenty - though she was no less lovely for it. The deep red of her hair, the arresting green of her clear eyes, were familiar to him by now, though he did not typically see those eyes looking so startled.

“My apologies, Lord Gryffindor. I had thought you had joined the other gentlemen.” She hastily made as if to stand and curtsy, but he gestured at her to keep her seat.

“I had some business which necessitated my return to the house,” he said, trying to hold himself straight, the way his father would have done, but it did not work. He shrugged his shoulders, sagging a bit back to himself. “Well, that is not the truth of it. It is what I said when I begged off, but to be frank with you, I wanted a moment with my thoughts. And they were planning on shooting deer besides, something I have never quite been able to stomach. The Potter crest features both a doe and a stag, you know, and the deer are truly beautiful when they run - it always seems such a terrible thing to do, killing them.”

Fool, he thought despairingly, refusing to allow himself to collapse with his face in his hands. The first time you have spoken with her in years and you come off as a blibbering fool who is unmanned by the thought of a hunt. Not to mention using her given name - even if it is how you address her in your head.

But, strangely, instead of regarding him with even her usual disdain, she was watching him with a slight smile: the first, he thought, she had ever directed toward him.

“Do you refrain from eating venison then, my lord, in honor of your family crest, and the sight of the deer running?”

The lightly teasing sound of it, as if they were any sort of friends at all, made him grin far wider than the comment meritted. “I’m afraid that by the time I find myself at table, my stomach does not have such high minded ideals.”

She actually laughed now, and it made him comfortable enough to gesture to the place beside her. “May I sit?”

“Oh, of course.” She glanced over and saw her letter still there, crushed at the edge, and snatched it up. All traces of laughter left her face as suddenly as they had come.

“Have you received bad news from home?” he asked as carefully as he could, seating himself a decent distance from her, even on the small bench. “I know that you have a sister - is something amiss with her?”

Her mouth pinched inward, though not, he thought, as if his question had angered her. She swallowed and then said, “I would not say that something is amiss with her, no, though she certainly seems to think something is amiss with me. Or, I suppose, she thinks that I am still too much a miss.”

“I’m sorry?”

“As am I.” Her laugh now held no lightness nor humor, and he valued the true one she had given him all the more for it. She glanced over at him, seeming to examine his face closely; he did not have time to shift his expression, but whatever she found there was apparently correct, for she began, slowly, to speak.

“My mother passed this last autumn and since then I have been living with my sister and her husband, an arrangement which suits none of us. In their view, I should have been long since married and of no concern to them. My sister has hinted before, but she writes now that her husband has determined that I should be married before the end of the season, and if I have not found a match myself by that point, he has selected one for me.”

He watched her sit up straighter, the wind catching a strand of her hair and whipping it from her coiffeur so it lay in beautifully vivid contrast to her pale throat. She stared out into the gray bluster of the day as she said, “It is well known that Lord Snape has expressed his interest in the past. My brother-in-law did not initially view the match as advantageous enough, but it seems that given the lack of other prospects, that avenue has become sufficiently promising.”

James felt his fist clench atop his thigh before he truly thought to clench it himself. Severus Snape had been heir to his nearly insolvent barony through merest coincidence - all closer cousins were female, a fact which had led Sirius to remark that Edward Christian might have had the right of it in Blackstone’s ten years past and perhaps women should be allowed some latitude in inheriting. And yet, those with whom Snape chose to consort closely were the most disagreeable sorts of snobs, people who believed anyone without generations of nobility behind them to be worthless.

He seemed to think it a great compliment that he would single out Lily as someone meriting his particular attention despite her own father having been only Mr. Evans. One of James’s few consolations after Lily had rejected his proposal had been that she had apparently rejected Snape’s as well. He, however, had not taken it with good grace or even James’s own dazed acquiescence; instead, he had stated publicly that it was merely a sign of her low breeding, that someone of a more elevated bloodline would have been happy even to have been approached by him. (James had run into Snape one evening shortly after hearing of this, and would have called him out on Lily’s behalf had Remus not intervened - and had James not already been so foxed he could barely string the words together discernibly.) Still, in the years since, Snape had made it plain that he would be willing to consider her were she to humble herself enough.

“Surely there must be other options,” James said, a bit awkwardly. For the rest of the season following his initial proposal and even into the next, he had arrived at her residence with regularity, though he had not approached her so directly again - too humiliating, and impolite besides to press when he had been so clearly declined. But although it had been some time since then, he knew, even when he did not want to, that she was often called upon by others.

She hesitated, seeming to choose her words carefully. “I was, perhaps, not as wise as I might have been. Not as wise as I thought myself to be.” Her gaze drifted to her lap, where her hands were folded carefully over the letter. “I was not waiting for a love match, I truly was not. I simply hoped to find someone who was not on the hunt merely for looks or for a biddable wife, with whom I might find conversation and companionship, someone who truly saw me. I allowed myself to believe I had time to be selective, and while my mother lived she indulged me, perhaps even enjoyed being able to keep me close for some time longer. But now she is gone, leaving my keeping in the hands of another who is not so lenient, and it seems that I have waited too long. Those who were once interested have moved on to women who are prettier or younger or lighter-hearted, women with larger dowries or who do not seem as fussy as I, and I cannot blame them.”

I have not moved on. It came to his throat readily, nearly voiced before he stopped himself. He did not want a wife right now, he reminded himself, and he especially did not want a wife who was cornered into the marriage, and it did not matter if that wife would be the one woman to whom his eyes turned without his control anytime they were in the same room.

But if he could at least help her, just a bit, even if it would mean tormenting himself, well, it was not as if he were not in torment already.

“I wonder—” He cleared his throat. “That is, I wonder if you would consider...It is rather unconventional, of course, but if you were amenable…”

“Have you something to say, my lord?” she asked, turning to him with just the barest hint of amusement touching her mouth.

“I could, perhaps, affect as if I were courting you,” he finally spat out.

His breath held for a moment in his lungs, and he was certain that she would gasp or dash off or even strike him, but instead, though the humor had gone from her lips, she tipped her head to the side and asked, “And what would be the object of such a ruse?”

“Well,” he said, voice a bit too eager now that she had not reacted with outright negativity. “The season settles into such dull rhythms after a while that any new story always gathers interest. Considering our...history, I suspect that a courtship between us would have tongues wagging, which would certainly remind people of your charms. And of course, not to generalize regarding my sex, but men are always particularly roused by the idea of rivalry. Were I to pose as a serious suitor, it would surely spur others to emerge as alternative contenders for your affections.”

Her eyes narrowed a bit at this last piece, but she only said slowly, “And what would you gain from this arrangement?”

James forced himself not to cross his arms. “My own parents passed not long ago…”

“I had heard,” she said. “My sympathies,” and from her it did not sound at all rote. He nodded.

“Thank you. And mine to you, on your mother. But in any event, it has left me with quite a lot to learn regarding my position, and I have found the continued attention of certain mothers and their unwed daughters to be an extremely inconvenient distraction. Were I to be seen as having my affections already directed toward another young lady, I believe they would leave off, and I would have some reprieve to attend to the management of other things.”

She looked away from him once again, squinting out absently into Lady Longbottom’s hedges. One foot tapped a bit, and her finger ran around the edge of her letter, though he suspected that she did not remember exactly what paper it was. They were the sort of gestures that he would have taken for granted in another male of his acquaintance or in his mother, but young women were always on such perfect behavior around him that simply being allowed to see these common mannerisms made Lily seem filled with an extra bit of color, of brightness. He swallowed, unsure once more that making this offer had been in his best interest; then again, he had never been known to be hesitant or particularly calculating. Diving headfirst was always more his style, and he had rarely looked out for his own interests with any real care.

Finally Lily said, “I would, of course, not want to take you from your other responsibilities, but if this were to work, I would require a certain amount of attention to ensure that others truly believed that you found me of interest. Would three evening occasions and three daytime meetings per week be reasonable to you?”

“Perfectly agreeable,” he said, even as his heart began to pound in a manner so uncontrolled, he might as well have been running. “Let us say two dances together when we are in attendance at the same ball. I believe that expresses the right amount of interest while still indicating that there is a chance for others.” Traitorously, his mind began to slip into wondering about holding Lily’s body against his own in a close dance, how he might feel her laugh rippling over his skin during a more energetic reel, her face alight as she returned her hand to his.

She nodded slowly. “Thank you. That should do quite nicely. And, of course, if I at some point become affianced, I could spread word on your behalf regarding your broken heart if you would like - that should grant you a bit of extra time before the interest begins again in earnest.”

At her mention of becoming engaged to someone else, the wind, which had been pleasantly brisk a moment ago, seemed to cut through his riding coat, his skin, right to his heart. “I would certainly appreciate it,” he managed, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

“Well, I am very appreciative of this,” she returned. “I had not expected...It is most kind of you, my lord, even to offer such a thing.”

“Think nothing of it,” James replied, knowing all the while that he would be able to think of nothing else.

When they returned to London, the talk was all of what a success Alice Longbottom’s house party had been. Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mary Macdonald would certainly be announcing a wedding soon; Hestia Jones, several years older even than Lily and practical, was allowing Peter Pettigrew’s attentions; and - pigs might fly - James Potter seemed to have caught Lily Evans at last.

They had agreed to walk together in Hyde Park as a first outing, and for all her thought that a secret might bind them together and smooth over any lingering awkwardness, Lily was hard pressed to think of a more uncomfortable stroll she had taken in her life, and she had certainly been on her share of contenders.

Part of the problem was that she could hardly believe she had even agreed to such a scheme in the first place. It was ridiculous, unheard of, completely foolish of her regardless of the situation Vernon and Petunia might have placed her in. Even more difficult to conceive: she had agreed to it with James Potter of all people. The same James Potter she had rejected without remorse, who she had sniffed at when hearing of his later reckless exploits, counting herself blessed she was not attached to him in any way. Well, there were few people she was attached to more closely now.

“Have you told anyone?” she asked abruptly, the first either of them had spoken in some minutes, after the pleasantries regarding the return journey to London, how they had each fared so far that day, and the state of the weather had been exhausted. “Have you told anyone about our…?”

He cleared his throat, though whether from discomfort or disuse she could not tell; either seemed entirely feasible. “Our arrangement? I’ve told Sirius. Remus and Peter as well.”

“Ah.” She attempted to transform the critical press of her lips into a smile as she nodded to the passing Bertha Jorkins, though she could practically already hear Bertha dashing off to tell whoever was closest that Lily Evans had been walking alongside Lord Gryffindor with a most unattractive expression. “I suppose I might have expected, considering your closeness. I had heard that his lordship, at least, has rooms in your home.”

“Yes, Sirius has had a strained relationship with his family for several years now.” Lily, though no gossip, was aware that this was an understatement. It was well known that, had it not been for the scandalous reflection on the family, the marquess and marchioness would have disowned their elder son years ago for what they considered his lewd behavior and unseemly friendships; as it was, they rarely mentioned each other in public, and pretended the other did not exist when they were present at the same function. “Even when my parents were alive he had free run of Gryffindor House, and the place has only become emptier since so there is plenty of room for even one as untidy as he.”

Lily glanced at him, unable to help hearing the sadness in his voice although he tried to give the words some degree of levity. She did not comment on it, however, saying instead, “It is rather unconventional, though of course utterly reasonable.”

He shrugged. “Were Sirius my brother by blood, he would always have a place in my home. As he is my brother in all but that, I see no reason that he should lack such a place merely because of an accident of parentage. I have offered Remus and Peter as well - there are probably a dozen bedrooms going unused, and perhaps even more which I have not discovered - but they have both declined.”

“The decor is not to their taste?” Lily asked, winning her a laugh.

“No, Peter’s mother still has a residence in London and prefers he stay with her, and Remus…” He sighed, his mouth shifting a bit to the side, as if this were a problem he was well used to mulling over. “He has his pride, and a part of that is insisting on keeping his own lodgings. But he does join us for supper several times a week, and as Mrs. Pomfrey, my housekeeper, nursed him through many a childhood illness and injury, he cannot well refuse when she tells him we have food going spare and he must take some home.”

It was this comment which forced her to fall silent. Somehow it was even more shocking than the way he had seemed to her transformed in the Longbottom’s garden, smaller and more human instead of filled with that overconfident persistence she had remembered and hated, more shocking than when he had suggested this ruse in the first place. She could not help but think that when Lord Gryffindor sat in his office or attended a session of Parliament, some part of his mind was distracted by wondering how he could best take care of those closest to him, even if it made others about the ton think him odd for it. There was not even anything to be gained from his solicitousness: Lupin’s father, if she recalled correctly, was a missionary only distantly related to some minor viscount, and Pettigrew’s hope of becoming a baron rested on two uncles and seven purportedly hale and hearty cousins meeting untimely demises.

“It is most kind of you,” she finally said, but he merely shrugged.

“As I said, Gryffindor House is altogether too large. My father actually decided that two sitting rooms was quite enough and turned the third into a space for experimentation - he was a bit of an amateur natural philosopher.”

“Truly?” The grin taking over her face felt a bit silly, but she found the idea of it a bit silly, and entirely delightful.

“Truly. In fact, he enjoyed having such a room so much that he had one of the bedrooms turned over at our country home as well so he could continue with his discoveries there. He actually was fairly successful at it. His tonics and ointments might remain family recipes, but there is a pomade of his invention which is only growing in popularity.” His smile tinged a bit sad at the edges. “I think he would have been quite tickled to hear that.”

“I’m certain he would have been.” Familiar with the propensity for jollying people away from their remembrances, as if the sorrow of it was too much for polite conversation to bear when perhaps a moment of dwelling would be welcomed by the one grieving, Lily remained silent for several paces and kept her tone neutral when she said, “These experimental rooms of your father’s sound most entertaining. I wish I could see them myself sometime in the future.”

“Of course, why don’t I—” But he was too smart a man, to finely bred, to allow his tongue to run away with him and simply invite her over. They wanted to build a gentle interest in her from suitable parties, not ruin her reputation entirely. Instead he said, “I’m certain I shall entertain at some point during the season. My mother was well known for her gatherings, and I could never let down her reputation. I shall, of course, have an invitation sent for you, and we will make sure that there is a tour.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” Her arm had been resting on his as they walked, but she allowed her hand to press a bit more heavily against him in gratitude. She had meant it to be a momentary gesture, but he turned to her then, his dark brown eyes catching hers from behind his spectacles, and she found that she could not look away. They were still walking, she was nearly certain, but how many people they were passing, what everyone might be observing, she had no idea.

It was he who cleared his throat and took his gaze from hers. “I suspect that was sufficiently convincing to anyone watching,” he said, and cleared his throat again.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course.” Although, if she were truly forced to consider, she thought she might find that it had been somewhat convincing to her as well.

If the training on proper behavior that James’s mother had tried to instill in him had one benefit, it was the ability to keep a brilliant smile on his face even as he asked quietly, “Is there something I can do to make you more comfortable?”

The cotillion offered little chance to speak privately - one was constantly being forced to circle or line up beside other dancers - so it was not until their next brief whirl as partners that she was able to reply. “I am perfectly comfortable.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but you do not seem entirely to be enjoying yourself,” he said hurriedly at the next opportunity. “You have barely smiled.”

Many women of his acquaintance and most of the gentlemen would have lost track of the conversation as they stepped and wove and traded partners before rejoining, but she merely said, “Perhaps you are more accustomed to dancing with those with silly looks on their faces. Here, I shall make you more comfortable.”

The expression she pasted on was of such exaggerated adoration that he nearly burst into laughter straight into the face of his new partner. As it was, he returned to Lily grinning and found her doing the same.

A whisper seemed to start at the edge of the ballroom (they were quite definitely not displaying the usual polite smiles reserved for these events) but James barely noticed that their plan was coming to some success.

“Well played, Miss Evans. Clearly I should have left it all to your capable hands.”

“See that you do next time,” she responded with a regal nod, and the thought of next time filled his mind with such sudden brightness that his grin stretched anew and did not stop when the music did.

“Unacceptable!”

At her sister’s hiss, Lily looked up from the embroidery in her lap, but did not need to ask what was causing Petunia’s upset. She was altogether too familiar with the expression that came with minor household imperfections, and by the glare being leveled at one of the teacups, she suspected that some nigh invisible spot had been detected.

“All our visitors have gone,” Lily hastened to say. “I’m sure there is no need to disturb—”

But it was too late. Petunia had taken the cup and stalked from the room, undoubtedly to berate the poor housekeeper or whichever maid came across her path.

Shaking her head in sympathy, Lily nevertheless allowed her gaze to wander over to the place behind the curtain where she had hidden the novel she had been reading before the callers had started arriving. Petunia barely allowed such pursuits in privacy; reading in front of gentlemen would certainly have earned a reprimand.

There had been a goodly number of callers, enough that Lily found herself hopeful for the first time in a while, but she would be glad to have a chance to relax, a few moments to just be in her own mind. She was standing on soft feet to go retrieve the book when the butler arrived and announced, “Lord Snape.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she was not at home. Over this one thing she had control, and it would be so easy to exert it; she could nearly feel the relief of avoiding him. But something, a wisp of remaining affection for a childhood friend or a desire to see whether she would be able to bear him should the worst case scenario come to pass, made her nod and say, “Show him in, and please inform my sister that he has come.”

The butler stayed after bringing Severus in, standing guard beside the doorway for the sake of propriety in a way which made Lily feel protected rather than surveilled.

“Won’t you take a seat?” she asked as she did the same, but he did not seem even to take heed of her words.

“You danced with Lord Gryffindor last night,” he said. His riding gloves, held as a pair in one hand, smacked lightly against his thigh, and Lily held herself back from flinching.

“Yes, we recently discovered that we have much in common with each other, despite past differences. I found him a most amiable partner,” she responded, her tone not as cold as his but not particularly warm either. She reclaimed her embroidery and began to work on it as she added, “I had not realized that you were in attendance at the ball.”

He gave a short, sharp laugh, and she could not help but notice the difference between it and the one Gryffindor had given the night before. “It was not the sort of affair that I would take interest in. I was in attendance at the Selwyns. The company was a bit less...mixed.”

And there it was once again, this idea that could not seem to be purged from him, this idea her old friend seemed to have no interest in overcoming. “I find that with such an attitude, I cannot regret not having received an invitation,” she said, making three flawless and focused stitches in quick succession.

“But—” He began to surge forward, until the butler let out a loud and pointed cough. Jaw tight, he stepped back once again and said, “As my wife, you would have received such an invitation and would have no fear as to the attitudes shown you. There would be only deference. You would be under my protection.”

Her hands fell still in her lap. She looked up at him directly and spoke with precision. “I have no interest in engaging with people who would only tolerate me were I under your protection, and I have equally little interest in marrying a man who believes that it is deference and a shield from petty remarks which I seek in a marriage.”

There was a twitch of anger in his face which he covered over quickly. Severus had always masked things so easily; it had once seemed natural to her, a part of him, but now she found it slightly frightening, not being able to tell his true thoughts or feelings.

“Very well,” he said. “That is your opinion. Only remember when Gryffindor has thrown you over for the next pretty thing which comes his way, that I will still be here.”

Lily swallowed. Steadfastness was an admirable trait, but being the sole focus of someone like this felt more like being a hunted animal, a butterfly trapped behind glass, only meant to flutter prettily at the one who had caught it and locked it away, stolen from nature.

“Ah, Lord Snape,” Petunia said from behind him. Her voice was not pleasant - she and Severus had never liked each other - but it was polite, and Lily realized how much her sister and brother-in-law were depending on Snape to take her if no one else did. “May I offer you some refreshment?”

“I shan’t be staying, Mrs. Dursley,” he said, with equally cold politeness. “I merely wanted to ensure that Miss Evans is well. Good day to you both.” He gave a short, sharp bow, and walked past the butler out the door.

Lily rested her hands on her lap for a moment, then forced herself to pick up her embroidery. Even if Snape were no longer in the room to see, she did not want to give him the power of her anxiety.

She cast her mind once again to the plan. It had seemed a longshot at the time, slightly foolish, but she needed it to work. Unbelievable as it seemed, she had placed her trust in the Earl of Gryffindor, and she needed him to have been worthy of it.

“I must say, Miss Evans,” James said, “that you are quite the most stubborn woman of my acquaintance, possibly the most stubborn in the whole of England.” He kept his tone fairly low in deference to the fact that they were surrounded by dozens of other pairs of dancers, but he knew that his amusement came through regardless. She was arguing her point with the focus and diligence of an experienced barrister, which was entirely annoying while also being entirely too much fun.

“Well, England is not particularly large, so I shan’t worry overmuch,” she responded pertly.

“I rescind the comment. You are surely the most stubborn woman in all the world.”

“Merely disagreeing with you regarding the best type of pie does not make me the most stubborn woman in the world, my lord. It only makes me someone who knows her own mind, and I should hope you would be aware of that.” He thought that she might break away from him to place her hands on her hips and wag her finger in the scolding so familiar to him from his time in the nursery, and he held on just a bit tighter, not out of any ridiculous concern for propriety, but simply because these moments when he was allowed to touch her were outlined with such care and detail that he did not want to miss a single second.

She did not even attempt to move from him, however, a smile breaking its way across her face instead. “And regardless, I have complete certainty in the superiority of the apple pie, as any right-thinking person would.”

“Lemon pie,” James responded staunchly, nearly gritting his teeth even as he grinned back. “On the day that you try the lemon pie we eat at home, you shall eat your words along with it and beg my forgiveness.”

“I shall certainly sample it when offered, if only in the spirit of open inquiry and because I am absolutely secure in my own opinion, although I’m doubtful that I would ever beg anything from you.”

“Expect one at your home tomorrow afternoon, then. I do not retreat from a challenge any more than you.”

They were standing close enough that he could see the precise way her eyes flashed as she said, “I take your challenge gladly.”

“I say, is there to be a duel?” Benjy Fenwick, a longtime friend of James’s, seemed taken aback as he came alongside them. James felt similarly taken aback, shocked that the outside world had managed to intrude, shocked that it even still existed; without their having realized it, they had completed the steps of the dance and the next set was starting.

“Of course not.” Lily blinked, then adjusted her tone. It was not precisely fawning, James decided, nor coy, but there was a polite feeling to it, as if she had tucked away some of her warmth or her particular character. He wanted to bring it back, to make certain that the world did not lose that sparking magic of hers, but at the same time he found himself oddly relieved that Fenwick, who she had been so excited to add to her dance card, was not worthy of her true self. “A simple debate between myself and Lord Gryffindor. My apologies, my lord. It is terribly good to see you. Shall we rejoin the floor?”

Fenwick offered his arm and they took their places for the quadrille, while James retreated to the corner where Sirius was observing everything.

“Fenwick’s a nice fellow,” said the man who had only a moment ago been James’s best friend.

“Hmm.”

Sirius sipped at his cup, which James doubted contained only lemonade. “I’m certain Miss Evans would be delighted if he were to further his attentions toward her.”

“He isn’t—Fenwick is fine. He never excelled in a single class to my knowledge nor has he grasped sarcasm, he seems entirely content to be an unassuming third son without particular purpose, and I have beaten him handily every time we have fenced, but he is fine. However, Lily—Miss Evans needs more than fine. She needs more than nice,” James said, exasperated. “We’ll simply have to keep this up until she finds someone else. Someone better.”

“Indeed.” Sirius sipped again, a damnably amused shimmer in his eye. “I suppose keeping up your arrangement would be the only way of achieving that.”

“Of course it is,” James said.

“Of course it is,” Sirius echoed, but he was smiling, almost as if in relief. James turned away, even though he was fairly certain that he did not want to watch Lily dancing with someone else, smiling at someone else.

No, not fairly certain, absolutely certain. But if she was the most stubborn woman in the world, he was the most stubborn man, and he forced himself to keep on. The whole point of this was to find Lily a husband, and she had made it perfectly clear that she did not consider him to be a contender. He would have to become accustomed to seeing her with someone else. He would simply have to.

“Not only pie but ice cream as well?” James asked, licking chocolate from his spoon. “How does one manage to have so many wrong opinions?”

“Unbelievable as it might seem to you, an opinion is not wrong simply because it is not yours,” she responded, taking a dainty bite from her own dish. “Although, to tell you the truth…” She looked this way and that before leaning across the table just slightly. He mirrored her at once; apparently it was lucky that he was a part of the plan because he seemed more eager for gossip than any ten ladies of Lily’s acquaintance. “I actually only order the maple because it seems the least popular. It’s terribly sad to think of it simply melting away for lack of interested customers.”

He gaped at her for a moment. “But then you miss out on the chocolate,” he said, with a sort of implacably simple logic that belonged in childhood. She laughed.

“The maple isn’t actually bad. It simply isn’t as popular because it is overshadowed by the other flavors. Even the lavender gains an audience simply because it sounds sophisticated. But…” Her voice lowered even further. “Sometimes I finish my serving and then ask for a dish of chocolate as well.”

“Gluttony, Miss Evans?” he said, eyes glinting. But where she might have once reminded him sharply that he certainly had more experience in deadly sinning than she, now she merely raised an amused eyebrow and said, “Enjoyment, my lord,” before sitting back and picking her spoon up once more.

He seemed to watch her more closely than the simple movement deserved. “Enjoyment indeed,” he said, and his low voice was not as one telling a secret, but one who had forgotten he was speaking aloud. She glanced up at him sharply, but before she could say anything more, he too had started on his ice cream again.

“One thing I do miss from my travels is getting to try the local delicacies,” he remarked. “There is quite a bit more to the world than the traditional menu would lead you to believe - although I will confess that I was glad to come home to lemon pie and chocolate ice cream.”

“Oh, yes, you mentioned that you had traveled. Where did you go?”

He waved his spoon. “All sorts of places.”

“Please, you must give me something more particular than that. I have never been even to Scotland and might never, and so I may only read about other places in books and listen jealously to stories such as yours.”

“Well, most people start off in Paris, but we - Sirius and I - went to the Netherlands first, then throughout Prussia, then down to Italy and Greece, and across the water to the Ottoman Empire. We even got a chance to see Egypt and some of North Africa before…” His mouth had clearly been coming up with the words before his mind was ready for them. When he realized what he would have to say next, he seemed to take a steadying breath, sliding the ice cream away from himself as if it no longer held appeal. “Word reached me that my mother had taken ill. We cut things short.” He swallowed. “Unfortunately, it made no difference.”

The urge to reach across the table and touch his hand came to her quite suddenly; she was nearly surprised into giving into the impulse. Instead she folded her hands on the table and said softly, "That must have been quite difficult, moving so quickly from a time meant for freedom and adventure and frivolity to one of urgency and then of mourning.”

“I wonder if mourning should always feel sudden, even if one were expecting it,” he said. Once she would have thought it shocking if not impossible for this man to take such a serious tone or speak such a profound thought aloud, but she was finding that there was quite a lot about him which was unexpected for her but no less true.

He cleared his throat. “Regardless, you needn’t be jealous: our travels were not as full of frivolity as all that even before we received the news from home.”

Perhaps if she had not spent the last several weeks so often in his company, with such an awareness of his every expression and how it would be perceived, she would have mistaken the charming smile he gave for a true one. As it was, she said simply, “Oh?” and waited with patiently folded hands for him to continue.

His eyes observed her keenly for a moment before dropping to his lap. Slowly, he said, “I thought that merely reading in the newspapers about the ruin Bonaparte made of things on the continent was enough. I thought I understood. But it was nothing to actually seeing everything that people needed to rebuild, hearing from the locals all that they had lost.” His expression turned self-deprecating. “I had once thought that had I not been the eldest and only of my family, I might have been a soldier, but I could barely stomach even the aftermath years later.”

“I think you could have been a soldier had you the opportunity,” she said. “I believe it can only be for the good to have soldiers who fight not because they enjoy the battle or out of a desire for glory, but to bring peace, to protect the innocent. And of course we have determined that you can come up with an innovative strategy with haste, a quality I’m certain would have served you well.”

That actually made him smile truly, and she could nearly see him trying to brush away his unfortunate mood. “I thank you for your compliments,” he said. “And of course, all of that was no more painful than what you had to bear. You have lost your mother more recently than I did my parents. If anything, I should be comforting you.”

“There needn’t be a competition between us regarding our suffering,” she pointed out. “And taking a turn at being comforted simply because I am next in the queue is not how I like to remember my mother.”

“How do you like to remember her? I confess, we—” He gave an uncomfortable cough. “We had little opportunity to speak.”

She wondered if he remembered that, although they had indeed spoken little on the occasion, it had been her mother who had guided him gently from the room after his ill-fated proposal. She suspected not - he had seemed quite dazed in the moment.

“I have rarely enjoyed simply being in company with someone as I did her,” Lily said instead. “Our minds seemed to work quite similarly. I miss so many things about her - her quiet humor, her independence although even as a girl I could tell that she wished my father had not passed so young, and how she always seemed to know exactly the solution to any problem in the household, any social faux pas - but more than anything, I don’t know that I will ever find someone who seemed so often to echo my same thoughts. I’m afraid it left my sister a bit isolated at times. She engages with the world so differently. It was Mama who always encouraged me to continue reaching out to her, trying to allow some understanding between us.”

Now it was her turn to glance down at her lap, although she forced her eyes back up toward him mere seconds later. “I imagine these last months would have been easier if Petunia and I did have some sort of understanding, even an imperfect one. I am not speaking of my...situation, although I am certain that would have been different had we been closer. But there are so many memories which only we two now share, and I wish we had closeness enough to recall them together.”

He nodded. “I was lucky to be able to spend a few weeks remembering my mother beside my father before his passing. Perhaps that time would have been better spent in discussion of our holdings or my responsibilities, and had he known what was to come he might have insisted upon it, but I find that I cannot make myself regret those times. And now I have been lucky to have Sirius nearby to share with me his memories. He spent so much time in our home, with my parents, that he can easily recall to my mind things I did not even realize I had forgotten: the way my mother ordered a new perfume for each season, or how my father would sit alone with a cup of hot milk when he was particularly pensive.”

His throat seemed nearly to catch as he swallowed. “I suspect it is always easiest to bear these sorts of things when you are with people who will listen, even if they cannot share experiences with you. I am sorry that you do not have the same.”

“Well,” she said, “I wonder if perhaps I do.”

She had not known she would say the words until she did, but she had felt them all the same. She had her own friends, it was true, and yet no one seemed to want to discuss her mother’s passing the way he did, no one even seemed willing to try beyond platitudes or small embraces. And he seemed overwhelmed by the comment, his lips falling open just a touch, eyes large and bright behind his spectacles as they caught hers.

“Miss Evans.”

She very nearly fell from her chair, and her only consolation was that he nearly did as well, although he recovered more quickly, his from-the-cradle training pushing him to rise and bow smartly. She had forgotten, somehow, that they were in the middle of Gunter’s, that their object for the day was to be seen in public laughing together and enjoying each other’s company in order to rouse the notice of others, that being with him - pretending to be with him - was only meant as a waystation on the path to the man with whom she would actually spend the rest of her life.

Somehow, as she sat at their small corner table, she had only been seeing him.

“Miss Lily Evans,” Lady McGonagall said again, and Lily remembered to stand and curtsy. The countess looked her over closely, then turned and said, "You could hardly do better, my boy."

In their limited interactions, Lily had rather liked Lady McGonagall and she suspected that she was liked in return, but she was still surprised at her warm and roundly approving tone.

The countess continued: "And James Potter. Earl of Gryffindor, Viscount Peverell, cousin to the king, heir to the Potter fortune..:” She glanced him over and tilted her head to speak directly to Lily. “I suppose you could have done worse." She turned back. "See that you're worthy of her," she said, in that way of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

And while Lily could feel her eyebrows practically springing into her hair, he merely smiled and said, "I am trying my best.”

He really was remarkably good at pretending - for a moment, even Lily nearly believed him.

Having already attended the agreed upon number of occasions for the week, James could easily have begged off of the Weasley’s supper party and spent the evening at home or at his club or out with his friends (up to less savory pursuits, if Sirius was allowed to be in charge). He told himself that his reason for accepting the invitation was simply because he liked Molly and Arthur - regardless of their financial status, they were actually enjoyable company, unlike many in the ton - but that did not explain why he had not cited another engagement following the meal instead of sitting through the gentlemen’s retreat and then their return for cards and socializing. Overall, as he watched Lily set her face fiercely across from him at the whist table, he found any excuse less and less convincing by the moment.

Sirius elbowed him. “It seems as if you have a tiger for a partner,” he remarked in a low tone, somehow managing to lounge in his chair while holding his cards properly before him.

“If you are referring to my demeanor, you should well address me directly so that I may tell you just as directly that I have rarely lost and do not intend to do so tonight,” Lily interrupted, running a fingernail casually across the top of one of her cards. She faced Sirius directly, and James suspected that he was the only one who would be able to detect the hints of humor in her face. “And if you were referring to my hair, my lord, well, perhaps you should retire once again in order to refresh your arsenal with more creative comparisons.”

Grinning, James watched Sirius and Remus staring at her in astonishment. They had exchanged pleasantries before, but this was the first time his friends were spending time with Lily, and she was certainly leaving an impression.

“Goodness, Sirius,” Lupin finally said, a chuckle building in his throat. “If you do need to retire after such a carefully aimed attack, I can certainly replace you as a partner.”

“No need.” Sirius sat up straighter, staring Lily down with good-natured ruthlessness. “I have talent enough to come up with my riposte as we play.”

Lily said, “One might say that if there has not been a response within the first moment, there is not one forthcoming,” then bowed her head politely to Sirius, adding, “Not, of course, that I am referring to anyone in particular.” She faced across the table once more and said, “Now then, shall we play, my lord?”

“James,” he blurted before he could think better of it. "You should call me James."

It meant something, giving her leave to call him by his given name, and he wondered if he had been holding himself back from this particular development, one which now felt inevitable, as some sort of protection. The thought of it felt quite tangled about in his mind, but regardless, he needn't have said it in front of his friends.

He could tell that they were gaping at him - well, Remus had his eyebrows raised so high that they were practically on the moon and Sirius's expression had defaulted to arch surprise - and he even thought that Molly Weasley might have looked over instinctively from her own whist table to ensure that nothing was amiss, but his eyes were for Lily alone.

"James, then," she murmured comfortably, though he seemed to see a touch of something like nervousness, even fear, in her eyes as she said, "And you may call me Lily, of course." But it was gone the next second as she said to the group at large, "Shall we play, then?"

"I like her," Sirius declared as they sat in James's study later that night having a brandy together. "I like her quite a lot."

"As do I." James tapped a fingernail absently against his glass. Lily was indeed a champion whist player - he was willing to lay the lion’s share of their team’s victory at her feet - and her dress tonight had been a most fetching shade of blue which offset her hair quite startlingly. Obviously she wore green beautifully, and he had once seen her in a gown of deep purple which redefined the shade for him, but the blue in the candlelight as she laughed and schemed over her cards…

"I can tell," Sirius said, and his voice was sober enough to break James from his thoughts and look over at him. "I can tell that you like her. It has been some time since I saw you smile with such frequency." His own smile returned and he said, "Although I would wonder if she would consider you worthwhile after tonight. You should call me James, indeed." He repeated it, voice lower and more pompous than James believed his to be, then in an oily, seductive way, then with a shy blink through his lashes, until his impressions were apparently so hilarious that he fell into laughter and could not continue.

Dear Miss Evans,

Dear Lily,

Madam,

I hope this note finds you well, and my apologies for leaving without a proper goodbye - or truly any goodbye. I had an early letter regarding a fire near one of my estates which necessitated a speedy departure. Luckily the damage appears to be less serious than feared: there are no severe injuries, it seems that only minimal repairs will be required, and the harvest will not be affected.

I spent the morning helping to clear some of the wreckage, and then was deemed competent enough to swing a hammer and so was able to help with some repairs. In the afternoon, I assisted with a foaling, although to be frank, I'm not certain that I was truly any help at all. If I recall, I mostly spent the time asking the farmer whether it would truly work and flinching away as I wondered whether that amount of fluid was normal - which it apparently is. (If any of this should happen to make its way to Sirius, I'd like it to be impressed upon him that he would certainly have done no better in the circumstances, and if he doubts it, he may come try next spring.)

I shall likely be staying another two weeks at least - now that I am here, there is some business it would be wise to take care of - but I hope that my absence gives opportunity to those perhaps not bold enough to come forward while I am about. Only recall, of course, that you do not have to give in to such gentlemens’ attentions if you do not want to...unless you desire a husband over whom you can take charge. It would, after all, be only natural for you to desire someone whose stubbornness will not outmatch your own. But if you are waiting for something else in a man, please recall that you are a most excellent catch and quite eligible on your own, and someone with the highest qualities to recommend him will see that in due course.

In the meantime I remain,

Yrs &c

James Potter

Dear Gryffindor,

It is quite a relief to hear that things were less dire than initially believed - although I suspect that they might be a bit dire still if they are allowing you near hammers or any other tools. I shall, however, refrain from sharing my opinion on that with any of your friends or acquaintances, as it would likely spoil the illusion of our deep affection for one another (to my knowledge, most ladies do not express their ardor by pointing out the flaws of their supposed beloved). Nor will I mention the incident with the foal - unless I am severely provoked to it.

Since you bring up potential suitors who might be suffering from attacks of nerves at the thought of crossing the formidable Lord Gryffindor, I did dance twice with Mr. Davey Gudgeon at the Abbott ball evening last. In the first dance he was anxious but quite sweet, but in the second he mistimed his cross-step during the Duchess of Devonshire's Reel, knocked into Miss Vance (or as he put it “nearly had his eye taken out by her!”), and seemed to desire me to spend the rest of the evening fetching him cool cloths and telling him that the redness was not visible. It depressed things quite considerably, I must say.

I shall be waiting with bated breath for these gentlemen of highest quality who you allege to be on the horizon. My criteria remain, I believe, modest: kindness, someone who will be a friend to me, and who will be open to conversation. (Degree of stubbornness matters not at all, regardless of your inferences to the contrary...) Hope with me that they come soon: if my need for air becomes too pressing, I shall be left gasping at the feet of Lord Snape, and there is more than one reason I have worked for many years to avoid such a fate.

With best and most sincere wishes,

Lily

Dear Lily,

I shall keep in mind not to provoke you, although I should ask that you grant me some amount of latitude in what is meant by provoking lest I blunder into it and you are forced to cast aspersions on my reputation as an iron stomached lord of the domain.

Although by your description, Mr. Gudgeon has set the standards quite low in this regard. If these are the men of the ton, I believe my reputation would remain intact even should my inability to assist in live animal births be revealed. (My reputation with Sirius in specific would, of course, never recover.)

I hope that whoever you partner with at the next occasion is more suitable, and that it is certainly not Snape. Forgive me for asking, but I wonder if I misunderstand your comment regarding him. Has he caused you insult or injury further than is commonly known? I give you my assurance that I shall refrain from rash behavior, regardless of your answer - although you must know that I might countenance a considered, planful vengeance upon my return.

James

Dear James,

Your reputation remains intact here in town, although Lady Bones did frown most ominously upon your absence at her party two nights past, even with your other friends present. (Mr. Pettigrew seemed a bit downcast, despite my efforts to cheer him; it seems that Miss Jones has been engaged to another.) Apparently you have a habit of slipping from your promises of attendance. It is a lucky thing for you that it was I with whom you entrusted your secrets, or she might be casting aspersions in revenge even now without you here to defend yourself. (I suspect, however, that she would not, regardless of her pique - she is quite dignified.)

Regarding your own revenge, there is no need. Lord Snape and I were acquainted as children, prior to his inheritance, and he believed that our past friendship and certain areas of mutual interest were enough to assure his suit. However, in the intervening years, I found his choice of friends to be quite reprehensible and his values not to match with my own. I care little regarding his insults toward me, but he was similarly disparaging to those for whom I care, or stood by and listened while others acted similarly. For those reasons I refused him, and while I have the choice, I will refuse him still. You are already doing quite enough in allowing me to continue to have such choices, and for that I must thank you once again.

Yours,

Lily

Dear Lily,

I avoid Lady Bones because she is so intimidating that I perpetually fear that simply being near her will result in unintentional confessions. Even Lady McGonagall, who is quite shrewd and can devastate with her tongue lashing, has a sense of humor beneath it all; Lady Bones seems all mind and sharp eyes.

Perhaps this observation is another which can remain between us? Although if I encounter her again, I might find myself revealing it regardless.

As for Lord Snape, I still find that I would rather confront than avoid him, but as this is your battle, I shall defer to you. (If his path and mine were to cross, however, I wonder at my own control.)

I am to journey home in two days’ time, and while I do not find myself anticipating my arrival back in the social whirl, I hope that you will have some time free to walk with me at least. We must remind everyone of our affections most publicly, after all, as the attention of the ton is short - and besides, it has been quite too long since last I saw you.

Yours,

James

Her drawing room did not lack for suitors these days, her dance card rarely had an empty place, and surely someone would offer for her soon, but as they walked through the park together, even given the gloomy weather, Lily found herself overwhelmingly glad that James had returned.

He was speaking of a visit he had taken to the school in the village, his manner proud as he described the recitation that the students had performed for him - although he turned sheepish as he described how, when one boy had asked him to show them his own skill, he had needed to make up an excuse and flee in order to avoid embarrassment.

“Truly, you could not have been such a terrible student that you cannot remember a single thing,” she admonished, laughing slightly. He really was quite intelligent, as determined as he sometimes seemed to act otherwise; they conversed often on literature and current events, and his friend Lupin had once let slip that James had received a first at university.

James tapped his head. “I’m certain there is some passage or poem lurking around up here, but what if I had erred in front of them? I could never have endured the shame. And, being frank with you, I was never a particularly engaged student. That crop I saw was all much better and they deserve the credit for it.”

“I had not realized that you would be so involved in the education of your tenants,” Lily commented, lifting her skirt a bit to avoid a puddle which had collected in a dip in the path.

“Many are not, but my family has seen it as a responsibility of ours for some time. Not everyone will find themselves at university, but there is no reason that we cannot help to ensure that there is instruction beyond the most basic of reading and sums.” He said this all very staunchly, brow furrowed, but he relaxed a bit as he added, “My father would often send books down for the schooling of the boys.”

“And what of the girls?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Her sister would have hissed at her in shock and shame, both for the impertinent tone and for even bothering to ask the question, but James just grinned. “That was my mother’s pet project, actually, a schoolhouse educating the village girls. Whenever she had heard that my father had provided more materials or hired on a new schoolmaster, she would do the same for them. She was quite an admirer of Wollstonecraft.”

“Really? I had not heard,” Lily said. It was not altogether surprising, as she had never interacted with James’s mother in life, but gossip did travel far and fast. And Lily was sure that if she had known this about the late Lady Gryffindor, she would not have forgotten; although she had hidden it from not only Petunia but their mother as well for fear they would be scandalized, Lily had read both Thoughts on the Education of Daughters and Vindication of the Rights of Woman and considered the ideas within them often.

“It’s likely fairly common knowledge in that corner of the country but she kept it a bit quiet in London. She always said that it was easier to change people’s minds when they did not know your opinions well enough to start bracing themselves and preparing their counterattacks without having even heard your points.” Strangely, it was not the smile on his face which spoke more to Lily of his love for his mother, but the gruff clearing of his throat as he said, “She could likely have worked for the War Office, my mother. Napoleon would have been dispatched much sooner.”

“I wish I could have met her,” Lily said honestly. “I wish I could have met both of them. They both sound quite lovely, quite special.” She had one arm resting in his, but she drew up her other hand and covered his fingers lightly, trying to communicate the truth of her sentiment.

James nodded. “They were, to me and to each other. I was terribly lucky to be able to watch their partnership for as long as I did.” He squeezed her fingers back.

His hand, Lily realized, was warm beneath hers, warm and very strong and somehow comfortable. She did not know how it had happened or when, but she had grown to adore walking alongside him, hearing his thoughts and having him listen to hers, watching the way his face crumpled a bit with concern over his friends or his tenants or news from the continent or some issue in Parliament, seeing his concern turn into determination, registering the degree of his every smile and laugh, especially when they were for her.

She thought of the things she had told him she wished for in a husband, comfort and companionship, someone who truly saw her, and she knew that she had that in James, and that she had more too. He had told her that he had arrived back in London near twilight the previous evening, and that after so long in the carriage he had wanted to stretch his legs so he had walked part of the way to Gryffindor House. She had not mentioned that she had been at her window as he passed, that she had involuntarily drawn in a breath at the sight of his undone cravat, of the leanly muscled forearms beneath his rolled up sleeves, of the hair that she once thought foolishly messy but which now seemed dashing as he brushed it carelessly from his eyes.

Neither had she told him that she had run down to receive the post each morning that he had been away, and not only because she had feared Petunia withholding his letters from her if she got to them first. She did not mention that she had read them over more than once, conjuring up his awkward little gestures and his seriousness and his enthusiasm, imagining him swinging a hammer beside his tenants, rubbing a finger against his lips as he read her own correspondence the way he did when he was particularly engrossed in something. She did not speak of the way, when she lay in bed, she thought of his eyes lighting up behind his glasses as he returned to see her, nor of the way she would fall asleep smiling just from the thought of being with him once again.

Oh, she thought with polite surprise, even as it felt as if a rock were sinking into her belly. Oh, God. I’ve fallen in love with him.

She had never questioned her refusal of his proposal all those years ago. There was no doubt that he would not have suited her at the time, that after a short time he would have realized that she did not suit him. Only, if they had turned into who they were now and they had already been married…

She allowed herself a moment to imagine it, being married to James, being a friend to him over the years not only at a distance or because of some scheme but in true partnership as his parents had been. To have all that they did now, but also to be able to touch each other, to be alone together.

But she could allow herself only that moment. He had made it more than clear at the outset that he was uninterested in marriage at present, that he now found the idea a bothersome distraction. She had missed her chance, and she would simply have to live with it. Fenwick had danced with her thrice two nights past, tantamount to a proposal. She would live a fine life with him, and James would be happy, one day, with someone else.

Swallowing against the tears in her throat, she squeezed his hand once more and let him go.

When Remus came running into the room two days later, James thought he must be falling ill once more. His friend kept his condition quiet, but he had developed malaria as a child after time spent abroad due to his father’s work; attacks of the illness came on periodically, bringing with them terrible fevers and pain which James hated to watch and could do little to stop.

“Shall I call for the doctor?” he asked desperately, forcing his thoughts straight as he rose from the table where he had been having a late breakfast and shoved out a chair for Remus to collapse into. “You’re meant to have that quinine remedy, aren’t you? Have you run out?”

But Remus only shook his head frantically, finally rasping out, “A drink, please.”

James hastily poured him tea, remembering only after he had handed it over that it would likely be cold by now. He had come down to breakfast late already, and then had lingered quite a long time absently eating through progressively more tepid eggs and fish as he read over reports from his solicitors. But Remus took it down in a gulp, making a face only after he had finished and returned the cup to the table.

“You’ve been found out,” was the first thing he said.

James slowly regained his seat. He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I was at the stationers,” Remus continued as his breathing calmed slightly and his color began returning to normal. “And I was approached by Lucius Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange - those bounders married to Sirius’s dreadful cousins, you remember.”

“Of course.” If James had not already known and disliked the men in question, he would have pitied them, Lestrange especially. “But I don’t see—”

“They said that they knew that Lily had been having one over on everyone,” said Remus grimly. “And they know of your part in it too. It’s apparently already being spread all over town. According to them, as soon as Snape found out, he went to go see Lily’s brother-in-law: he seems to think that Dursley will simply give Lily over now that there are even rumors about her being duplicitous or what have you, and having only met the man once I’m inclined to think he’s right.”

James stood from the table so quickly that he didn’t unbend his legs in time, hitting both knees on the tabletop and needing a moment to straighten himself. Fingers fumbling with his cravat, he called for his coat and hat, only pausing after he had done so to ask, “Did they say how they found out in the first place? I don’t expect that Lily was spreading it around, and I only told you three.” There was an unpleasant turn in his stomach at the thought of Sirius’s unbound tongue when he was in his cups. But surely even then, he would not have revealed the information? If Lily’s life was ruined because of this…

“It was Peter,” Remus said.

“What?” James said, his thoughts still on how Sirius would have to grovel, but then the words made it through. “What?” he said again, so shocked that he sank back into his chair. “Peter?”

Remus said, with the air of a doctor giving a fatal diagnosis, “He was trying to ingratiate himself to them, I think, but they kept needling him about Hestia Jones throwing him over. So he struck back by letting them in on the most sensational secret that he had.”

“I’ll have to—” James began weakly, but then his anger took over. “I’ll speak with him later,” he said, rage bristling through him, pushing his shoulders back. He found himself wishing that the morning had never started, but it was too late for that. He took a fortifying breath as the butler returned and set his jaw. He would need to handle things regarding Peter, but for now he had somewhere else to be.

Fifteen minutes later, he was nipping at the heels of another butler as he walked through the hall to the drawing room of the Dursley house.

“No callers all morning?” came the voice of Lily’s entirely unpleasant sister. “It seems that the bloom has quite come off the rose. I caught Vernon in my second season, you know. It seems that once again you will not be so lucky.”

“The bloom coming off the lily would have been the more apt reference, Tuney,” Lily replied. “And I am quite grateful that you were the one to catch Vernon. But regardless, perhaps everyone somehow divined that I would prefer some quiet time with my thoughts this morning.”

“And what thoughts are—”

“The Earl of Gryffindor, madam,” the butler announced, mere seconds before James entered the room.

Petunia Dursley rose and curtsied. “My lord,” she said, although with a turn of her lip as if she would prefer to call him something else, or even to comment on his lack of manners in barging into their home. If James had not been so distracted, he might have even appreciated her lack of ingratiation: too many people began positively groveling as soon as they heard the title. As it was, he was distracted by the sudden realization of the flaw in his plan. For all that the ton relied on rules and propriety, Mrs. Dursley clung to the concepts with a martial gleam that put most others to shame. She would never leave them alone and unchaperoned, not for a moment. Perhaps he could trip her, and in the chaos, whisper something to Lily…?

“Would you like to sit down?” That was Lily now; he focused enough to watch her gesture to a chair across from the sofa which she and Petunia shared, and even to follow her direction, although he was still distracted by the necessity now of coming up with a plan.

“Would you like something to eat or drink, my lord?” Lily again. She had set her embroidery aside and was eyeing him oddly. He had the feeling that this was not the first time he had been offered a refreshment.

“Tea would be lovely,” he managed. Maybe her sister would go to arrange it…

But no, Petunia Dursley simply rang for a maid, then picked up her own embroidery and began conversing about the weather as if she were being forced into niceties with a pistol at her back. He was able to manage answers for several minutes, sipping tea occasionally, even as Lily looked at him in a way which clearly showed she thought him mad.

“The weather is indeed lovely,” he finally interrupted a bit desperately, although he knew that firstly, it was not, and secondly, Mrs. Dursley had been asking whether he believed that there would be more rain this month than the same time last year. “Perhaps I might take Miss Evans on a walk?”

“Fresh air would certainly be wonderful,” Lily said swiftly.

Petunia glanced between both of them suspiciously. “You walked only yesterday, Lily, with Mr. Fenwick. I’m afraid you will become too dark and hearty-looking if you step out so often.”

James Potter had never even considered being rattled by an exam, a fight with a fellow gentleman, or an upbraiding by his mother. The slightest sweat broke out on the back of his neck now.

And then, several things happened, if not at once, then in very close succession: the front door burst open followed by a stream of unintelligible invective; Petunia rose, calling, “Vernon, is there some trouble, darling?” and began to cross the room; and James, spotting an opportunity, upended his teacup onto her skirt with a barely believable, “Oh, my apologies!”

Instead of causing her to leave the room at once to put herself to rights, this clearly non-accidental dousing simply made Petunia eye him stonily, mouth agape. James ignored her, turning and starting, “Lily—” before being cut off.

“Thought you could pull one over on us, eh?” Vernon Dursley had arrived in the room, impressively red in the face. The color became even more impressive as he spotted James, and he barked out a “You!”

“We’ve been found out,” James said rapidly, returning to face Lily alone. “It was my error. I should not have—In any case, I have heard that Lord Snape has already tried to finalize things, but if you were to marry me, I believe that you would be…”

She was looking at him with the same vaguely curious expression that she had all the way back in the garden at the Longbottom house party. The arguments he was about to make - that the power of his title and standing would offer protection to her reputation, that it was only honorable that he make amends in this way considering it was his lack of discretion which had allowed their secret to be known, that he would trouble her as little as she liked within their marriage - died on his tongue.

All he could remember was Lily making conciliatory faces to Alice Longbottom behind the back of the redoubtable Lady Longbottom, Lily’s small and capable hand against his arm as they walked, the feeling of her assured steps, of her warmth against him when they danced. Lily’s look of concentration as he explained something dull regarding crop rotations, her careful gestures as she offered some solution. The gleam in her eye when she won at cards, the way she gave Sirius as good as she got and spoke with Remus about literature and was kind to Peter even when he stepped on her toes. Lily, choosing the maple ice cream because it was the least liked, looking fascinated at the idea of his father’s old work rooms, conceding a point only after he had presented his best arguments, teasing him that he allowed his hair to stay in such disarray because he did not want to seem shorter than Sirius, speaking so lovingly of her mother and tilting her head in welcome as he spoke of his own parents. Lily’s smile, her laugh, her mind, the way he felt such joy whenever they spent time together…

He had thought himself in love with her years earlier, but that had been mere infatuation, an enjoyment of her appearance, her outward manner. He had been drawn to this one woman who had not been charmed by him, who had offered novelty through her rejection, but that was not love. This, knowing her and wanting to be known by her, always, this was love.

The teacup was empty, but he placed it politely on the side table before he slid from his chair and knelt before Lily. He took both of her hands in his and held them near his mouth. Surely this was allowed? Hands were allowed, he had kissed many of them, although not ungloved like this and not with this precise level of intimacy. The Dursleys certainly seemed to take offense: Petunia gasped in nearly all the air in the room, although she left enough for Vernon to bellow out an “I say!” James ignored them both, watching those spectacularly green eyes of Lily’s instead.

“I have no flowers,” he said softly, “and I have no ring, although I can obtain both very soon, but if you would have me, I should like to marry you. Not because you must, and not because of what my name can offer, but because you are my friend, because I adore you, because I want you to be my partner in every dance, today and for the rest of my life, because my favorite times are when I am with you, because I want to spend each one of my days with you beside me.” He swallowed. “Will you have me?”

And just as he had known the first time he had asked what her answer would be before she said it, he knew now too.

Two years later…

Sirius was not certain whether it was his sighing or his constant checking out the carriage window, but a few miles from Godric’s Hollow, Remus had apparently had enough.

“Please,” he said, faintly begging. “Borrow a horse and ride ahead.”

“It would not be polite to leave you alone,” Sirius pointed out dutifully, glad that his mother was not there to see him acting in such a manner.

Remus countered, “It would, in fact, be more polite than what you are doing now.” He gestured to the manuscript atop the travel desk on his lap. “I have much to keep me occupied, and you are merely a distraction from it. Now go.”

And so, less than an hour later, Sirius directed his commandeered horse up the neatly maintained path to the house. A servant was already hurrying out as he swerved to a stop by the front door (Lily had been welcomed easily as countess, and her staff always rose to exceed her expectations), and Sirius tossed over the reins and bounded up the steps two at a time.

He was recognized immediately by the butler and footmen and maids, but he only nodded in acknowledgment of their bows and curtsies as he strode through the entrance hall and made his way to the main staircase.

Barely had he reached the upstairs landing when he heard a door thrown open and saw James barrelling toward him.

“Sirius,” his best friend shouted, nearly knocking him over when he couldn’t manage to come to a stop quickly enough. Without apology, he grabbed Sirius’s hand and hauled him further down the hall. “The baby’s here.”

“I know,” Sirius said, laughing. “You wrote to us, that’s why we came.”

But James didn’t seem to hear him. “Come see the baby,” he said, words nearly toppling over each other in his excitement. “Come see Lily. Come meet my son!”

His spectacles were falling down his nose and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in the days since the baby was born and there was a large, unpleasant looking stain on his waistcoat over his ribcage, but Sirius had never seen him so happy.

And as he allowed himself to be dragged for his first glimpse of the future Earl of Gryffindor, Sirius realized that the best friend of his childhood was well and truly gone. Or perhaps not gone, he decided, but transformed. James had left behind old habits and made way for new. He had laid aside the roles of rake and man about town and had taken on others, earl and husband and now father. They would no longer challenge each other dangerously or act below their age and rank, and that was no pity. James had happiness here, a different kind than Sirius had once expected, but no less true for it.

“Let’s go see your son,” Sirius said, and James laughed a wholly exhilarated sort of laugh, running his hand through his hair and beginning to describe the baby as though Sirius wouldn’t see himself in only a moment.

Two weeks later, Frank Longbottom received two bottles of extremely fine brandy alongside a note from Sirius Black.

Congratulations on the birth of your son, and my belated thanks for the invitation.

“What invitation?” Alice said, rocking their new baby Neville as he read the card aloud to her. “I should hope that you have no intention of inviting people around for months yet.”

“Not even—”

“Especially not your mother,” Alice said with exhausted vehemence.

“Well, I have no idea what he’s talking about, regardless,” Frank said, hefting one bottle to eye level. “But it’s a jolly nice gift anyway.”

“I would have preferred some chocolates, and Neville might have liked another blanket, but I suppose we shall make do.”

“Oh, Nev will like this perfectly well one day.”

“One day quite a long time from now,” Alice remarked, but she smiled as she did.

#Jily #Jily AU #James Potter #Lily Evans #long post #too much Bridgerton can't cope

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cordoniantrash · 3 years

Text

the seas within me

Hello one and all! There’s my day 4 submission for the Choices 12 Days of Fictmas (It’s my 2nd year doing this! Can you believe?!) . Huge thanks to @leelee10898 and @emichelle for hosting this year and to @grenadineandsunshine for betaing this one (along with all my works here tbh)!

Title from Notos by The Oh Hellos. Here’s some angst I guess?

Book: Distant Shores

Pairings: Oliver x f!MC

Rating: G

Warning: none

Words: 2770

It was snowing when they arrived. The rising sun at their back had splashed colour on the white piles of freshly fallen snow at their feet while the distant sea breeze froze them in place. Claire felt something tug at her heart. There was something about this place, an almost indescribable tingle, a feeling of a feeling, which reminded her of him. She felt like she could close her eyes and find him there. It was absurd. They haven’t even had the chance to spend a winter together. All her memories of him, of them, are tethered to the waves, the ever present salt in the air and the unrelenting heat of the sun. So why can she almost hear his voice in this cold, snow-covered place?

“Huh. Expected something fancier.”

Claire felt the corners of her lips turn into a frown. It was becoming a steady companion in this hare-brained scheme. Her frown deepened when that indistinct tugging faded at the sound of his voice. It took some effort to unclench her jaw and her fist. To bite back the venom in her retort. It wouldn’t do to annoy him out of helping me. And so, stealing herself, Claire took a deep breath and repeated the mantra that began the moment she agreed to this plan.

Just until I get back.

Just until I find them again.

Find him again.

“What time’s that tour supposed to start again?” she asked instead. Robert, ignoring the too long stretch of silence between them, stepped into her line of sight. Claire carefully wiped her face clean of emotion. Uneasy allies they might be, but she’ll be damned if she let him glimpse a crack, however small. Being betrayed once was enough for her.

If only the compass worked like last time! Suppressing a sigh, she turned back to the estate. She’d been optimistic when they reached out to touch the compass. After all, all it took for her to travel that first time was a simple touch. The devastation when nothing happened nearly sent her to her knees in the middle of the museum. It was only a slight consolation to find out that Robert had expected the same thing.

A breeze ruffled past them, the air fresh and bitingly cold. Claire rubbed her numb nose, her frown forgotten. At the corner of her eye, she saw Robert trying to hide his shivering. Claire suppressed a smirk.

Silence once again stretched between them. A bus full of students pulled up near their rented car. Claire couldn’t help but smile at the little faces peering from the windows, all of them bundled up despite the light snow. The adults with them did not seem to mind the cold as much. Tightening her hold on her hand warmer, Claire tried not to feel jealous.

Maybe we got used to the Caribbean. Too used. Man, I really want to go back.

“Well,” Robert sighed as a staff member opened the door of the estate. “Here’s to hoping, I guess.”

“D’you think this’ll work?”

Robert glanced at her. Claire took it as her queue to walk.

“His family had the compass before some descendant of his thought it’ll be a good idea to donate it to the museum. If there’s anything that can explain why it’s not working now, it’s probably here.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Robert paused, letting the last of the children run past them. “All those records of you as a captain must mean we got back.”

Claire frowned, “And what about you?”

Robert’s profile seemed to blend with the snow clouds ahead.

“That’s what we’re here to figure out, isn’t it?”

Vice-Admiral Sir Oliver Francis Cochrane KCB (born c. 1722-24, Durham, England—died unknown) was an English naval officer most known for his short but successful maritime career where he had earned the moniker of “The Pirate Hunter” and his much speculated and scandalous personal life. Decades after his last known sighting, he had become a well-recognized literary romantic icon.

Despite his early moniker of “The Pirate Hunter”, Cochrane had occasionally worked with pirates, particularly with the crews of Captain Edward Mortimer and the much disputed Captain Claire Velis. Whereas association with pirates is enough grounds of treason, Cochrane retained his position and rose through the ranks of the navy for his work in exposing the crimes and treason of other naval officers, most notably, his own father Francis, often with the help of Mortimer, Velis and their pirate crew.

Excerpt from High Seas and Piracy: A History of English Maritime Advances

The compass was silent.

Claire turned it over, as she had done again and again since she entered her hotel room. Robert had mumbled something about rum and a free bar before awkwardly hightailing out of the lobby. Claire felt too rung out to even think of a quip about pirates and alcohol.

The golden finish of the compass seemed to glow in the dark room, mocking her with the faint possibility of a return. Outside, the Christmas decorations glitter amidst the darkness and the sea breeze.

The tour hadn’t gone exactly as planned. For them, at least.

Not for the first time, doubt crashed and tumbled in her mind. Apparently there was a reason poets after his time found Oliver so fascinating. As someone who knew him, loved him, stayed and fought at his side, whose hands were stained with his blood—

Claire closed the compass with a snap.

Her heart felt heavy, an anchor dragging her down further into despair.

Charlie had made a name for herself, doing what she loves in freedom.

Charlie, who while being wily and nimble, ultimately could not outrun an empire.

Edward, doing more good and ascending into hero hood, depending whose side you ask.

Edward, who despite his strength and loyalty, was betrayed and handed over to the British.

Oliver, the successful navy officer. Loving father of two.

Oliver, who never got to rise to the ranks he deserved, who became a widower, ultimately becoming a figure of tragic romance, his final fate unknown.

All of them were shining brightly.

All of them doused before their time.

If I go back could I change things? Can I lift them up, move them forward? Or will they run aground because of me?

The edges of the compass dug into her hands, forming indents where hands softened by inactivity pressed into the compass’ sides.

Or will I just make things worse?

To return would mean chaos, but to stay where she was supposed to belong felt hollow.

Should she even go? Either way, it will turn her world inside out. She’d cause them all grief one way or another, the family she had in this present and the family she found back in time.

The tour guide’s words echoed in her mind:

“He left England a hero and an eligible bachelor to boot. Almost a decade later he returned a father of two small foreign looking children and claimed himself a widower. His ever loyal crew refused to shed light on what happened during those years at sea.”

Claire blinked. Tasting salt on her lips, she hastily wiped away the tears that splashed onto the compass.

Outside, the fairy lights continued to twinkle. Their rhythmic pulsing at odds with the raging sea within her.

What happened after I left?

Oliver Cochrane was a creature of contradiction. Of chaos, one might even say. On one side, he was an exceptional officer, a step away from becoming an Admiral before he mysteriously disappeared. On the other side, he was an excellent example of British hypocrisy.

Throughout his career, Cochrane toed the line between audacity and treason.

He had exposed numerous corrupt navy officials, while he also worked with pirates. What’s more, he had a rather well-known love affair with a pirate captain.

Records at that time proclaimed the affair short-lived, painting Captain Claire Velis in a rather unflattering light but contemporary evidence now opposes that idea and posits that the identity of his deceased wife (whom historians have precious few documents about) was none other than Captain Velis herself. Common consensus among society (and among historians) was that the mysterious mother of Cochrane’s children was the pirate captain herself. Further cementing Cochrane’s strange status in both 18th century Britain and in history.

This personal life aside, his apparent friendships with Captain Edward Mortemer and Captain Charlotte “Charlie” Smith was so prominent that one of the most salient theories to ultimate fate after his disappearance was that he himself became a pirate when he last left England’s shores, a contradiction to one so hailed for his honour and morals.

Excerpt from Cochrane: Behind the Myth

***

“Oh, hello dear.”

Claire turned and almost collided with a smaller figure. The tour guide from yesterday was standing in front of her. A glance at the pin on her blazer identified the older woman as Tina. In smaller letters under the name was the word CURATOR. Claire hastily stepped back.

The curator smiled.

“Aren’t you one of the people on the tour yesterday? The names Tina,” she said as she offered her hand. Claire found herself smiling as they shook hands.

“Uh, Claire Velis. Nice to meet you,” as soon as the words left her mouth, Claire felt herself freeze. Damn it! The hell was I thinking!

Tina’s eyes seemed to sparkle, “Claire Velis, you say? My, what a coincidence!”

Claire blushed.

“My parents were fans,” she mumbled.

“I’ll say!”

“Uh… yeah.”

“You must have loved the mention of your namesake then?”

Claire arranged her face into a smile.

“Right. Yeah. It was very interesting.”

“You know, I’ve always wanted to meet Captain Claire,” at Claire’s wide eyes, Tina let out a tinkling laugh. “Of course, I never thought it’ll be a namesake, but here we are. In fact, you look quite a lot like her drawings.”

Claire swallowed, “Is that so?”

Tina nodded, “Oh, would you like a cuppa? I noticed you were very interested in the tour yesterday. Besides, it’s almost the holidays,” she leaned in, smile growing. “We’ll have some tea and some mince pies as well! What do you say?”

“Oh! I wouldn’t want to impose –“

“Oh, pish posh! It’s no imposition at all, dear. It isn’t often we get tourists here, you know what I mean? Usually it’s always field trips and the like. Sometimes academics, if we’re lucky. Besides, tea is just the thing when it’s this cold out. ”

Claire followed the curator inside the building, bewilderment and relief making her mind buzz.

As they passed by an open doorway, Claire felt something tug at her.

A familiar tug.

Claire stopped in her tracks.

The room looked similar to the public exhibitions, with glass boxes in pedestals displaying some artefact or another. The feeling, however, was leagues away from the public rooms.

It was tugging me here.

“Oh, what a lucky find!”

Claire jumped. Tina smiled as she leaned toward the doorway.

“It’s a special display, see? We’re going to show it to the public soon.”

“W-what’s in this one?”

Tina glanced at her, eyes twinkling again. “It’s a collection of Oliver Cochrane’s personal effects. Or what’s left of them. Would you like a peak?”

“I—are you sure?”

“Of course, dear,” Tina’s eyes seemed to droop. “Captain Claire may not have had the chance to see it. At least a namesake can. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Throat suddenly dry, Claire offered a nod.

“Let’s go then!” Tina exclaimed as she entered the room.

Claire stepped forward.

The world seemed to blink.

“Claire? You alright? Hang on, I’ll call the nurse –“

“Wha—no, no, please. It’s fine.”

Tina’s eyebrows furrowed. Claire straightened, pointedly ignoring the twinge in her temples. The headache had taken her by surprise.

So different from the first time I travelled.

“—here, just sit down here for a moment.”

“I’m really fine—“

“Of course,” Tina smoothly interjected. The curator seemed to regain some composure. “But better safe than sorry, yes? I’ll get the nurse, dear. Be back in a jiffy.”

Claire sighed as Tina left the room, exchanging a couple of words with the security guard before waving back at Claire and rounding a corner.

Claire shook her head and looked around the room.

She froze.

There was a necklace inside the display in front of her (not the one she was currently wearing. The one that belonged to her grandmother). No, this necklace was obviously old and weathered besides. The shine of the silver peeking behind dark spots. The label under it calls it a Cochrane family heirloom.

And it was the same exact copy of the one hanging on her neck.

Except she wasn’t wearing this necklace when she travelled for the first time.

Outside, the waves crashed and crested. The snow kept falling.

Going forward will mean turbulent waters and uncertain winds.

But a ship cannot sail in becalmed waters.

Inside her, hope surged.

1752

“Will that work?”

“Well, we haven’t been twiddling our thumbs while you were off smooching with high society.”

“Charlie.” One word contained an entire conversation’s worth of chastisement. Charlie shrugged but fell silent.

Edward sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. But it seemed like the compass is lacking a catalyst of some sort.”

“A spark if you will.”

“That’s not a guarantee.”

“No. We’re groping in the dark here. But there has to be something that can work on this side.”

Oliver sighed. “I suppose it’s better than nothing.”

Charlie smiled, “That’s the spirit. We’ll get her back here yet.”

Oliver’s lips curled into a shadow of a smile.

The compass was humming.

Claire and Robert stand amidst a partially shattered exhibition room. Security alarms had just started blaring while some artifacts seemed to pulse with light. Beside her, Robert looked tense. But Claire felt calm. There seemed to be some form of energy in the room for the compass to actually come to life.

“Well. Here we are. Just in time for Christmas too.”

“Yeah. Whodathunk?”

“Certainly not me, Velis.” A particularly loud alarm blared. They both winced. “You ready?”

Claire took a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be.”

“… do it then.”

There was a flash of white light.

A moment later, the doors burst open. The staff looked around in shock and bewilderment. The room was in chaos, that much was clear.

But there was no one inside.

When I was younger, I used to pretend my mother was a mermaid. My older brother had indulged my fantasies and our imaginary mermaid mother would become a fixture in my make believe plays. On the days, months and years that bordered the beginnings of our fleeting visits and even shorter holidays, I, an imaginative child prone to wild fancies, would sometimes believe my own story.

Before I understood what really was going on, I used to ask Father of her fate. He would humour me, a twinkle in his eye as he told me she was lost at sea, a romantic fate that contrasts with the pitying looks thrown our way when Father wasn’t looking.

Perhaps it was one of his favourite sayings that stuck this particular fancy within me. After all, he always told Eddie and me that the sea was in our blood. My older brother, ever the man of reason, took that quite literally and followed in our Father’s footsteps, becoming a sailor as soon as he could. Experiencing adventures that our parents surely had. Whereas I was content enough to experience adventure through the page, whether through my brother’s letters or my own pen.

But sometimes, when I look out to the sea, I can’t help but wonder if there was any truth to my childhood fancies. But that probably is just sentiment talking. Father had always remarked that my stories should set foot on a stage of some kind, something that Aunt Adelia and Uncle Axton would heartily agree with.

Over the years, I had often wondered at the irony of a navy officer’s daughter having pirates as aunts and uncles. An unforeseen consequence of being the Pirate Queen’s progeny, I’d imagine.

Perhaps Mother was a mermaid masquerading as a pirate. Or perhaps it’s the other way around.

All I know is that being lost at sea, for all its romance, does not quite fit my parent’s fate.

I hope—no. I know—they must have found each other.

The sea is in our blood, after all.

- Excerpt from the diary of Marcelline Somerset née Cochrane, Viscountess of Ashbourne

A/N: This surprisingly had a lot of number wrangling that didn’t make the text (rip my last braincell - don’t get me started on the research and the excepts). Also had a bit of a crossover with The Unexpected Heiress (haven’t played it yet). Anyways, lemme know what you guys think!

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#choices 12 days of fictmas #12 days of fictmas 2020 #emgee tries to write #Distant Shores #choices distant shores #choices ds #oliver cochrane #oliver x mc #playchoices #choices: stories you play

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starlightregulus · 3 years

Text

the stars of the night sky could never be enough

i started writing this when i was trying to write the inferi fic and then realized oh this got dark so i decided to make it completely separate! it is also available to read on ao3.

if you’re interested in a second chapter or follow up to this let me know!

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Regulus had always been considered handsome. Not only by close family, who took every birthday and holiday as a chance to host a spectacular ball full of stuffy purebloods gossiping and spreading rumours, but also by the general populace. Though he had never exactly understood being attracted to someone based on their appearance, he realized in about his late sixth or seventh year that apparently romantic attraction based on looks was a thing and about half of his year was interested in him.

He continued to ignore this throughout his sixth year, there being far more important things for him to focus on; his mother had been pushing him to take the Dark Mark, him being the only eligible heir for the Blacks now that Sirius was gone.

Sirius. He wanted to hate his brother, he really did. Wanted to hate him for always being better than him, for always mastering a spell faster, for remembering the names of his great aunts and the history of their entire House-- but he couldn’t. He wanted to hate Sirius for always being that little bit smarter, for being just that much better looking, for being everything that he couldn’t be. For being the one he was compared to even when he had run away, disgracing the entire House and disowned. He was still being compared to him, still mocked for being a failure compared to his older brother.

When Regulus was younger, it didn’t seem to matter as much. Sirius had used to protect him, both through standing in front of him, bearing the brunt of the curses their mother threw, and through sitting with him at night, when he was scared of the dark, scared of the screaming from downstairs.

“But you’re going to leave me next year for Hogwarts, Siri. I don’t want to be alone.”

Regulus still remembered his ten year old self standing on the platform, watching the scarlet train carrying away his only friend. The only thing that distracted him from the icy hand clamped on his shoulder was the memory of his brother’s promise ringing in his ears.

“You’re always gonna be my best friend, Reg. And next year, you’ll be at Hogwarts with me! I’m not gonna leave you behind.”

Regulus had stared up at him, glorifying the eleven year old as a hero; that’s what Sirius had been to him.

“Promise?”

“‘Course. Promise.”

Regulus raked a hand through his hair, staring at the door to his dormitory. Sirius had graduated from Hogwarts the year before, leaving him alone. Well, he corrected himself, it didn’t feel very different with him gone. Sirius had returned that Christmas brimming with an energy Regulus had never seen him with before. Talking excitedly about Gryffindor, about the new friends he had made. About how amazing James Potter was. About how they loved all the same things, from Quidditch to Transfiguration to pranks. How James Potter, a boy he had met only months before, was like a brother to him.

“Did you miss me Siri?”

Regulus later regretted asking. He had felt vaguely sick the entire time Sirius had talked on about how amazing his new friends were, how their Mother and Father were wrong about everything, how glad he was to be in Gryffindor. Was he not enough for Sirius anymore?

“Of course I did, Reg.”

But Regulus had been good at spotting lies since he was young, and he heard the hesitation. Connected it to the single letter he had received from his brother. Pasted on a fake smile as he listened to his brother chat away about the new family he had.

As Regulus got older, the gap between them grew. Knowing how much more severe the punishments for both of them would be if he were in any house other than Slytherin, Regulus made sure to be placed in the house of the snakes. He made alliances with purebloods. Aced his classes. Did everything his family wanted, hoping that maybe this time, they would be proud of him. But it was never quite enough for them.

He got all O’s except in Potions? Sirius had been able to brew those potions since he was nine.

He made the Quidditch team in his second year? Impressive enough, sure, but Sirius was still better.

He could never live up to what they wanted, just as he could never be good enough for Sirius. Three letters his first year from Sirius turned into one in his second, and none in his third. That only led to Sirius pretending not to hear him in his fourth. Regulus didn’t know if he was just embarrassed to be his brother or ashamed. He didn’t really want to know either.

The attention he got from the other students as he grew older never was what he wanted. He didn’t care what the pretty blonde Slytherin wanted when she fluttered her eyelashes, what the cute black haired Ravenclaw meant when he asked Regulus to meet him after hours for “studying”. He just wanted someone to be proud of him, to like him for more than his appearance and the prestige he wielded.

Regulus signed his initials on the bottom of the note, flourishing the quill slightly to add a slight bit more dramatic flair. He leaned back on the bed, studying the soft emerald fabric and then sighed. He was wasting time, trying to stall the inevitable. He got off the bed, staring back at the lonely trunk, holding everything that he had with him of any value to him. His eyes skimmed over the piles of textbooks, Divination cards and crystals, and landed on the black velvet box-- a gift from Sirius in his first year that held a crystal model of the stars, of both of their constellations revolving around each other. After six years, it was still his most precious possession. His eyes fixed last on the balled up piece of parchment in the corner of his trunk. He had tried for hours to write a letter to Sirius, apologizing, telling him what he was about to do, but in the end thought it wasn’t worth it. He didn’t know if Sirius would even bother to read the letter and thought that perhaps it would be better, easier, if Sirius could just forget about him. If there weren’t lingering what-ifs still there, Sirius would never bother wondering if there had been any way to save him.

Regulus turned away, glancing back one last time when he reached the door, staring for the last time at his home for the past seven years. Sirius would move on easily enough-- he probably wouldn’t even miss him.

Regulus turned, calling Kreacher and apparating directly to the cave. Why put off his death longer than he had to? He felt the shadow of his demise looming over him and sank into it, almost grateful. He was almost done.

The potion burned, like liquid fire as Kreacher poured it down his throat, his arms too weak to even hold the goblet. The pain was nothing though-- he had felt similar pain a million times before when his mother had decided that he wasn’t quite good enough for her. The hallucinations taunted him, his worst nightmares being laid out in front of him. He saw Sirius taunting him, screaming that he was worthless, pathetic, and that he was glad Regulus would finally be gone, dead weight that would finally be cut away. A nuisance would finally be left behind and forgotten.

He watched Sirius numbly, not even having the strength to feel the hurt from everything the hallucination was saying. It was nothing that he hadn’t already thought Sirius must feel about him. He had made as much peace with it as he could.

And then, the hallucination vanished and he was left shaking on the cold and slimy rocks of the cave. He needed water, desperately needed it, and it was there, only feet away, glistening cold and inviting.

Somewhere in his mind there was a warning bell, but this is why he came, wasn’t it? To get the locket, and then to be free of everything. He could hear Kreacher crying, and with all his strength, called for him to go, to destroy the locket and not to return for him. To not tell his mother of what had happened to him. It was the first and last time he had demanded something of the house elf, but it was necessary.

For one moment there was peace as he tasted the cool water, but then hands, slimy and gray, rotted yet strong wrapped around his hands, pulling him forwards. He fought back, water splashing around him. A hand wrapped around his neck and Regulus overbalanced, falling backwards into the water. His head slipped beneath the surface and he panicked, fighting back with the last of his strength. He broke for only a moment, long enough to see Kreacher disapparate through heartbreaking wails before the hands held him tighter and dragged him into the murky depths.

For years, people had been forcing him to do things. Deciding his fate, pulling him to places. Girls and guys alike had been trying to flirt with him, push him around, make him do things. He had resisted everything, fought fate and destiny, but now he was here. And for the first time in his life, he gave in, closing his eyes and letting the inferi pull him down into the murky depths of the lake.

#:)#elle writes #regulus black #sirius black #marauders #marauders era #marauders fi #hp #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fic #the noble and most ancient house of black #black brothers #kreacher #the cave #the locket #slytherins locket #if you have any requests or want a second part please let me know!

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conradoneil · 3 years

Text

Among all of the colorways to drop was the original colorway that was released for the first time since 2007.

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airis-paris14 · 3 years

Text

Starlight 4

Summary: Amani is an orphaned heiress who’s spent most of her life raising her younger sister. T’Challa is a widowed King and Father. Neither of them is expecting much from their night at the Lotus. But the coming months have many milestones in store for these young adults. Will becoming a family be one of them?

1 || 2 || 3 || 4

“Sis, you are killing my dating life,” Madiyson whined as she and Amani cleaned the glasses at the bar. “I’m killing your dating life? It has to exist for me to kill it.” Amani murmured.

“Haha.” Madiyson threw her rag at the other waitress. “Look, you go to all these fancy parties, with rich eligible men, and you never invite me. Girl, you’re holding me back from my husband.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to go to those parties. All the men are old and boring, and they all want something from you.” Amani sighed and began hanging the wine glasses on the rack. “Yeah, some good lovin’.” Madiyson shimmied her way around the bar laughing.

“Oh my god.”

“So you’ve never met any young attractive guy at these parties?”

“Well….”

“Well?”

“Well, He’s the exception to the rule.” Amani sassed.

“See, I’m just asking for one chance. One party.”

“Fine fine,” Amani placed the last glass on the shelf. “Amare won’t be home for another month so you can go to the next party.”

“She’s not coming home for spring break?” Madiyson frowned.

“Nope, engineering conference with her school. In France.” Amani pouted.

“Yeah, I’d choose France over you too.” Madiyson teased.

“Shut up,” Amani pushed her. “This isn’t how you get the invite to this gala.”

“Now, you know I’m just messing with you girlie.” Madiyson hugged her friend.

“I know, but sometimes it just feels like she doesn’t need me anymore.”

“That’s a good thing! You’re not her mother, and you’re young. One day you’ll have kids and get to go through it all again. Except they’ll be infants this time and you won’t be in college.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Amani smiled.

“Aren’t I always? Now, tell me all about this exception to the rule guy.”

“What do you want to know?” It’d been three months since Amani had heard from T’Challa. Not even a text or letter. “Tell me anything,” Madiyson shrugged. “Well, he was attending our yearly investor gallery. He saved me from a boring conversation and we sat out on the balcony and talked all night.”

“That’s it.”

“That’s it.” Amani turned back to putting the dishes away. “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Madiyson accused.

“No, I told you everything that happened,” she fought to hold back a smile. “At the party at least,” Amani added. “Okay, so what happened after the party?” Madiyson prodded. “Well, before the party-”

“Before the party!” Madiyson exclaimed moving closer to her friend as a couple of guests looked over at the outburst. “Yes, before the party. You remember that table I handled for you when I got into work?”

“The one with the father? He’s the dude from the party?!”

“Yeah, his name is T’Challa.” Amani blushed. “Did he recognize you?” Madiyson bubbled, pulling Amani to sit in the break room with her. “Yes, and his daughter asked that I hang out with him the next day.”

“So y’all spent the day together?”

“And they both stayed the night.” Amani blushed. “Sis-” Madiyson started. “Then me and his daughter made breakfast and we went to the park.Then he asked me on a date, and they spent the night again.”

Madiyson stared open mouthed, “This was all a few months ago and you didn’t tell us?”

“Tell us what?” Sakura interjected as she walked into the breakroom from finishing her last table. “That she has a boyfriend who spent the night.” Madiyson smirked.

“He’s not my boyfriend, and his daughter was there too.” Sakura raised an eyebrow at Amani’s rebuttal. “Besides, there’s nothing to tell, I haven’t heard from him since they left.”

Sakura frowned, “They left?”

“They went back home, out of the country.” Amani explained. “That’s good news, he may just not know how to get intouch with you from his home country.” Madiyson offered. “I guess, but he still could have sent a letter or something.”

“Just give him a chance to explain himself,” Sakura encouraged. “Yeah, I just wish I knew something,” Amani sighed. “If you never hear from him again that’s his loss sis,” Madiyson hugged Amani.

After hustling through the rest of her shift, Amani finished cleaning her tables, hugged Madiyson and Sakura goodbye, and headed to pick up some dinner from her favorite burger joint. She hopped in line and placed her order. She had just pulled out her phone to pass time when a familiar voice invaded her senses. “Is that the heiress I see?” The king chuckled.

“Your majesty,” Amani bowed smiling in return, “You're back stateside.”

“Yep, Ada and I got in earlier this morning.” The king smiled. “Cool,” Amani smiled back before turning back to the pick up counter. “I also had a special someone that I promised to take out on a date.”

Amani raised an eyebrow, “She must be real special.” T’Challa smiled oblivious to her sarcasm, “You could say that.”

“I wonder if you called her like you didn’t call me,” Amani sassed. “T’Challa’s mouth dropped open slightly. Just as he went to respond one of the worker’s called Amani’s name. She walked away from him to grab her food. The king hurried after her, “Amani, I didn’t realize until we got home that I didn’t know how to reach you from out of the country.”

“And you couldn’t write a letter? Or call someone at the company that I own and ask for it?”Amani deadpanned as she walked towards the door, not stopping until T’Challa gently grabbed her wrist. “Amani, I am sorry. I didn’t think and that is obviously not an excuse, but I would still like to hang out with you.” Amani calmed slightly as she heard the sincerity coating his voice. “Please? Let me make it up to you?”

Amani nodded in response. “Great, are you free friday? At 8:00?”

The heiress smiled, “Yeah, I am.” T’Challa beamed, “I’ll pick you up?”

“Sounds like a date,” Amani winked, “I should let you get back to Ada.” The king glanced at the bag of food in his hands. “Why, don’t you join us for dinner tonight? She’s asked about you.”

“Oh, um..” Amani tried to quiet the leaping of her heart. T’Challa grabbed her hand, “We would both really enjoy your company Amani,” the king’s thumb traced soft circles on her wrist. “I’d love to,” Amani smiled back, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks, grateful that it wasn’t too noticeable on her skin. “Great, I can give you a ride or?”

“Oh, no I drove my own car. If you give me the address, I’m pretty sure I can find my way there.” Amani smiled, pulling out her phone. T’Challa gave her the address and they hurried off to their cars. Amani smiled as she noticed what hotel they were staying at. “St. Regis huh,” Amani chuckled as she pulled off. Along the way she stopped to grab something to drink, and a box of cookies from her favorite bakery, she text T’Challa that she was on her way before beginning the drive to the hotel. Within 25 minutes, She pulled up to the valet counter and handed over her keys. Amani walked into the lobby juggling her food, the cookies and a drink. She walked towards the elevator before realizing she didn’t know where she was going. Amani sighed and gingerly reached for her phone in her pocket. Just as she went to dial the king’s number, his name flashed across her screen. ROOM 1009. She chuckled knowing he’d read her mind.

Amani used the edge of her iphone to call for the elevator and began her ascent to the 10th floor. She hummed lightly to herself and prayed that she had read the room number right. The door dinged open and she walked out into the carpeted hallway. Her sneakers padded along the floor as she read the door numbers, relieved that she had gotten off at the right floor. She made her way down to the ninth and final door. She knocked and smiled to herself when she heard the rapid pattering of feet approach the door. T’Challa laughed, “Well, are you going to let me open the door for Ms. Amani or not princess?”

“Sorry baba,” Ada replied, her bouncing feet still audible through the door. The door handle clicked and Amani was welcomed into their penthouse suite. “I brought cookies!” The older sister grinned. The former prince shook his head as his daughter cheered beside him. T’Challa grabbed the cookie box from her hand and Amani followed them into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take her home with me if she’s too hyper,” Amani jokes slightly. “T’Challa smiled before grabbing her a plate from the cabinet. “Where’s my hug princess Ada,” Amani grinned scooping the little girl in her arms. “Hi, Mani!” the little girl squealed.

“How are you?” Amani asked, placing the little girl back on her feet. “I’m good, I missed you.”

“I missed you too princess,” Amani reached for her own food. “I’ll warm it up for you.” T’Challa offered. “Thanks.” The two adults smiled at each other before Ada pulled Amani into the living room.

T’Challa’s heart melted at the sight in his living room. In just a few seconds Ada had pulled out all of her dolls for Amani to see. Amani sat on the floor in front of the couch greeting the doll princess Tiana. T’Challa cleared his throat, “I hope your royal highnesses do not mind my interruption, but I think that Ms. Okeke would like to eat her dinner.” Amani thanked the king as he handed her a plate with her burger and her drink.

“It’s okay baba, we were just going dress shopping for the ball,” Ada explained “The ball?” The king grinned, bending down to his daughter’s eye level. “Yeah, like the one we went to with Auntie Shuri and umakhulu.” Ada nodded excitedly. “Okay then,” the father sat back into the couch, “have fun.”

Amani took a bite out of her burger as the little girl collected her dolls and ran off. “Her first royal ball huh?”

The king nodded and sighed, “She grew up so fast. She got tired of being left out of ‘all the fun’.” Amani finished chewing before pulling herself up to sit on the couch. “You got any pictures?” The waitress finished her burger while the king scrolled through his phone. He held the phone up to her face once she was done.

“She looks adorable!” Amani squealed. “Her dress is so pretty!” On the phone, Ada was standing next to her father a smile stretching across her face. She and the king were matching in their black and gold. She wore a black halter-neck ball gown. The black silk was covered in delicate gold brocade and embellishments. Her hair was braided around the crown of her head, with a large gold halo tucked into her braids. “She’s so precious!”

“I know, she looks just like her mother,” the king smiled, Amani squeezed his hand. “You look pretty good too,” Amani playfully nudged his shoulder. “Thank you,” the king smiled putting away his phone.

“You want a cookie?” the heiress asked getting up from the soft couch. “Sure,” the king followed her into the kitchen. Amani popped open the box grabbing two chocolate chip cookies before popping the box in the oven.

“Did you work today?” The king bit into the warm cookie. “Yeah, unfortunately,”Amani groaned.

“You don’t like the work?” The king frowned. “I mean, the people are great, it's just tiring like anything.” Amani explained, finishing off her cookie. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you work? I am assuming your parent’s set you up well enough to thrive without a job?”

The king watched as Amani grabbed the cardboard box of cookies out of the oven once more. “They did, but I’ve always been independent. I used the money to pay off bills for the foreseeable future. We already owned the house here in Atlanta and I kept our vacation homes in South Carolina,Florida, Savannah, New Orleans, and LA. Used the money to continue paying the staff’s salary and put away money for Amare to go to school and start a life. Then I got a job to pay for youtubing equipment, travel, my car, and clothes.” Amani took all but four cookies out of the box and placed them on one of the white plates from the cabinet.

The king nodded, “You don’t have a passion job you’d like to start? Instead of waitressing at a job you don’t really like.”

“I mean, I’ve thought about starting my own luxury event planning company. You know, weddings, gala’s, balls, birthday parties, sleepovers, any event you can think of really.”

“What’s stopping you?” The king stole another cookie from the plate. “Nothing hypothetically, but I enjoy doing that stuff for fun. I think I’d want to throw my own event first. Kind of build up my own brand and relationship with contractors instead of just popping up out of the blue like that.”

“I think you should go for it. Get a job as an event planner for a company, work your way up or start as an independent contractor.” The king smiled. Amani tapped her fingers on the white marble countertops. “You’ve got this all figured out don’t you?”

“That is what the king does, solve problems.”

“What about you? Aren’t you very busy as a king?”

“I am,” the father replied, finishing off his cookie. “Isn’t it a little hard taking care of Ada and going about kingly duties? Doesn’t she have to have like a tutor and a nanny or something?”

“I only bring her on trips when I know I can take her with me to meetings. Not all of the kingly duties are boring. Like the ball, or charity appearances. That is most of my work this trip and she was on spring break, I believe it is called here.” T’Challa explained. “Oh, she’s in school?”

“Yes, she attends a very prestigious boarding school back in Wakanda.”

Amani looked up “ You send her away for school? Isn’t she just barely 5?”

“It is how things must be, her mother is no longer here to take care of her.”

Amani frowned, I think the nanny is a better option, don’t you think she misses her father while she is at school? A school with all these strangers?”

“She is fine Amani-”

“Have you ever asked her if she is fine, or if she likes it?”

“No, why should I have to. I am her father!”

“Because I was her T’Challa. My parents shipped me off to boarding school as soon as I was old enough to leave. Then they sent Amare right behind me!” I spent less that 5 years of time with my parents face to face before they died. Now they are gone.” Amani confessed, tears brewing in her eyes.

“I- I am sorry. I did not know that,” the king started. “I know you didn’t. I apologize for getting upset with you. I am not her parent, but as someone who grew up in that life, talk to her, come and see her. Make sure there isn’t another way for her to stay home. It would truly be for the best.” Amani sighed.

Silence choked the room, “I think I should go,” Amani stood up from the counter. “It is getting late, we have an extra guest room. You should spend the night here.” T’Challa offered.

“It’s only ten o’clock your majesty, I think I will make it home alright.” Amani teased. “Very well, at least, let me walk you downstairs. I’ll put Ada to sleep and come back out.”

Amani nodded her consent before taking a seat on the couch. Her phone lit up as T’Challa headed into Ada’s room. She pulled out the device and saw a new message from Madiyson.

Madiyson: Whatever you’re about to say no to, say yes sis!

Madiyson: Just thought you might need to hear that.

Amani: How’d you know I was making a decision?

Madiyson: Ohh so I was right?

Madiyson: What’s going on? Don’t keep me out of the loop!

Amani: I’ll tell you in the morning.

Madiyson: In the morning!

Madiyson: Girl who you gon be with in the morning!

Madiyson: You’re finally letting someone love you down!

Madiyson: Ohh sis! Tell me!

Amani smiled and put away her purse and set off down the hall to where T’Challa had gone. She peeked into a doorway where she found the king, conversing with his daughter. Amani stepped closer to the door and inadvertently pushed it open. Ada’s eyes shot up and a grin took over her face. “Mani! Baba is trying to make me go to bed but I’m not sleepy.” T’Challa looked up in surprise at her figure. “Well princess, if you don’t go to sleep, tomorrow won’t come and then we can’t hangout more.” Amani pouted. “Really?” Ada sighed.

“Really princess. Sleep makes the clock go faster and faster and speeds everything up so that tomorrow can come earlier.”

Ada looked to her father for confirmation. The king nodded his head and she sighed. “Okay. Thank you Mani.”

“No problem princess, just count backwards from the biggest number you can think of.”

“Goodnight Ada Ade,” T’Challa pressed a kiss to his daughter's forehead. “Good night baba,” the young princess smiled back. As the king led Amani out of the room Ada called out once more, “Good night Mani.”

“Good night princess.”

The king led Amani out of the room gently before shutting the door behind them. “I hope you don’t mind me staying, I-”

“I am glad you decided to stay,”The king reassured her. “Good, I figured I couldn’t really get to know you if one of us is always having to leave,” Amani chuckled, “even after an awkward conversation… I want to apologize again for what I said, I had no right to criticize how you choose to raise your daughter.”

“Please, do not apologize. I am glad you said what you said. People are normally too afraid to criticize any personal decisions I make. I am glad you stood up for what you thought was in her best interest and I will definitely be giving the matter more consideration.” The king promised.

“Oh, good.”

“Well, the night is still young. Would you like to watch a movie or something?” The king offered, clearing his throat and moving closer to the heiress. “Umm sure, I should probably run home and grab some clothes for tomorrow. I’m just a few minutes away.”

“Okay. I will set up a movie and order some more cookies or something,” the king replied.

“Cool,” Amani jogged down the hall and to the couch, “I’ll be right back,” she smiled before heading out the door.

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