#the inherent beauty of exchanging glances with the person you are in love

[softiedingo]

PEDRO PASCAL and ETHAN HAWKE as SILVA and JAKE, STRANGE WAY OF LIFE (2023) ⎢⤿❝Your eyes met mine; and they made it whole, Without touching your body; I hugged your soul.❞

#jose pedro balmaceda pascal #ethan hawke #pedro pascal #pedropascal #pedrohub #ppascaledit #pedropascaledit #strange way of life #extraña forma de vida #it's all about the eyes guys #eyes can tell a whole story #the inherent beauty of exchanging glances with the person you are in love #this must be amazing #and im like #i would give anything to be able to experience this #can't believe i'm waxing poetic about two hot western gay dudes #what am i doin with my life #my gifs #dingogifs #softiedingo

[lilflowerpot]

Hello!! I’ve been reading Little Blade for around three years now—I think actually four?? Around the first couple of chapters at least and I just wanted to say: thank you so much for all the fun nights I’ve had reading your fic! I’ve re-read it to keep entertained on long flights and just for fun. Heck I even gush to my friends (who sadly aren’t in the fandom) about how much your writing style enamores me and the way you explore characters relationships! Especially the PLOT I am always here for the romance with plot ^^

Speaking of plot 👀 I also had a question about the Druid “Erik” from a couple of chapters ago! If it’s not going to be revealed later in the plot ofc. He was such a big part of the infiltration mission on Keith’s end (and honestly kinda cute, he’s just a lil guy who imprinted on Keith!) and the big mystery of how he functioned and all—but he disappeared and I don’t think he was ever mentioned again besides Lotor in a dialogue exchange in chapter 22 or 23?

Like, he’s so interesting?? I wanna know why he focused so much on Keith and called him Rhyal??? Was it because he was aware it was targeting Keith? Or is smth in Keith just Inherently “Rhyal” to other Galra? Is he self sufficient in anyway? Do people in his condition need to be cared for or can they survive without eating at all? He was described as “leaking” so can you somehow fix that and rebuild his quintence?? (I probably misspelled that) if so!!! Does he even remember himself or is it like being “born” again??? I just!! Have so many questions and wanna see him again!! He was given a name, so going by most rules of literature that means he’ll be returning no?

I’m sorry if I just missed a line that explained it or not i just thought to ask since I could. Thank you again so much for writing and sharing your fic with us!

😭😭😭😭 you're so very sweet and ilysm thank you!!

Erik was a beautiful accident for me—one I never explicitly planned for that came about as I was writing that chapter purely by chance—so I'm genuinely thrilled to know that you love them as I do! I had hoped that their reasoning behind repeating "rhyahl" would become clear after the resolution of that chapter, but I suppose I did leave it somewhat ambiguous: though Keith thought Erik was using Lotor's nickname for him, they were actually trying to warn him about the monster that lurked ahead! ...Though why they were warning Keith specifically is up to you to decide, as that's not something I'll be disclosing just yet ;)

Though initially Erik's purpose was solely confined to chapter 18, I grew unreasonably attached while writing, and given that they were largely so well-received I have since minorly tweaked to the plot to allow for them to make a reappearance in the (distant) future! I shan't say much more than that, but what I can tell you is that their quintessence was drained by the rhyahl to such a severe level (far beyond that which Keith himself suffered) that,,, the person they were before is essentially dead and gone, and that which Keith met was an entirely blank slate.

When Keith glances back a second time to gauge their reaction, Erik’s ears prick up slightly and they click their tongue with a fluttering trill that neither Matt nor Hunk seem to hear, and it’s so… it’s so sad, not just the sound but all of it, as if in bearing witness to this leaking vessel’s ethereal gait turned slurred and stumbling, Keith himself has been burdened by a hollow ache in his chest, because whoever this Druid was before—whatever terrible things they might have done in the name of Haggar or the Empire or even Sa itself—they simply aren’t anymore. They just don’t exist. Keith’s stomach takes a swooping, sickening swan-dive as the full force of what it means for a living being to suffer such a monumental loss of quintessence hits him; this Druid isn’t simply ‘leaking’ in the abstract, but rather comatose, and haunting their own corpse. - Little Blade, chapter 18

#''just a lil guy who imprinted on Keith'' indeed ♡ #I'M SORRY ERIK I GAVE YOU SUCH A SAD BACKSTORY FOR NO REASON AT ALL #Ao3 Little Blade #sa screams back #keith kogane #i feel like i need an erik tag now dammit #druid of the opera

[worthyhog0001]

The Happiness Blueprint: Knitted Positive Potatoes and the Thread of Bliss

 Exploring the Impact of Knitted Positive Potatoes on Happiness

In a world where stress and negativity often dominate, finding moments of pure bliss becomes essential for maintaining our mental and emotional well-being. Enter the charming world of knitted positive potatoes, where laughter and joy intertwine to create a blueprint for happiness unlike any other. Join us as we unravel the secrets of this delightful phenomenon and explore the profound impact of knitted positive potatoes on the thread of bliss.

The Power of Positivity

Knitted positive potatoes may appear to be simple creations at first glance, but their impact goes far beyond their knitted exteriors. With their infectious smiles and whimsical designs, these delightful potatoes have the power to uplift spirits and brighten even the darkest of days. Whether displayed on a desk, nestled among household items, or gifted to a friend in need, knitted positive potatoes serve as constant reminders of the inherent goodness in the world. Their presence alone has the ability to shift our perspective and infuse our lives with positivity, reminding us to seek joy in the simple pleasures that surround us.

Creating Connections and Community

Beyond their individual appeal, knitted positive potatoes also have the remarkable ability to foster connection and community among individuals. Whether crafted as part of a crafting group, shared on social media, or exchanged as gifts between friends, these charming creations serve as symbols of solidarity and support. In a world that often feels fragmented and disconnected, the shared appreciation for knitted positive potatoes brings people together, uniting them in a common pursuit of happiness and fulfillment. Through the act of crafting and sharing these whimsical treasures, individuals form meaningful connections and strengthen bonds, ultimately enhancing their sense of belonging and well-being.

A Source of Comfort and Joy

In times of hardship and uncertainty, knitted positive potatoes offer a source of comfort and joy. Their cheerful presence serves as a beacon of hope, reminding us to approach life with optimism and resilience, even in the face of adversity. Whether placed on a bedside table as a source of nighttime comfort or carried in a pocket as a portable source of joy, these charming creations provide solace and reassurance to those in need. Their simple yet profound message – that happiness can be found in even the smallest of moments – resonates deeply with individuals seeking comfort and support during difficult times.

The Blueprint for Manifesting Bliss

At their core, knitted positive potatoes embody the principles of manifestation. Crafted with love and intention, each potato is infused with the positive energy and hopes of its creator. Whether consciously or subconsciously, individuals imbue these creations with their dreams and desires, setting the stage for manifestation. By surrounding themselves with symbols of positivity and joy, individuals can align their thoughts and actions with their deepest aspirations, ultimately bringing them closer to a life filled with bliss and fulfillment. In this way, knitted positive potatoes serve as powerful tools for manifestation, empowering individuals to create their own blueprint for happiness.

Embracing the Joy of Knitted Positive Potatoes

In conclusion, knitted positive potato plush hold a special place in our hearts, serving as reminders of the joy and beauty that exist within and around us. With their infectious smiles and playful personalities, these charming creations inspire us to embrace life with a sense of wonder and gratitude. Whether displayed proudly on a shelf or shared with a loved one, knitted positive potatoes serve as beacons of light in a sometimes-dark world, guiding us toward a path of happiness and fulfillment. So, the next time you encounter a knitted positive potato, take a moment to savor the joy and love it represents – for in doing so, you may just find yourself on the journey to bliss.

[nolanell]

Apartment 9: Writer Wednesday September 8th 2021

Writer Wednesday: @autumnleaves1991-blog and @clydesducktape

Pairing: Maxwell Lord (WW84) x Female Reader

Length: 2.8K

Warnings: Mention of divorce, being a single parent, brief consideration of being a woman alone in a big city. A lot of this takes place in a lift. Allusion to an age gap (not a big one, and reader is of age). Aside from being female and other characters describing her as pretty, there are no other descriptors of the reader. There is one kiss described, but no other physical intimacy.

Author's Note: My first ever Writer Wednesday submission! I hope you enjoy. I have read a few soft and fluffy things for Max Lord recently and he's just been in my head. Inspiration struck me with this week's prompt and I just went with it!

--

You didn’t know much about the man who lived down the hall. What you did know, you didn’t know if you could fully believe as a lot of it was snippets of lift gossip you had heard as you went to and from your apartment to the ground floor. That didn’t seem reliable, or like it would be particularly kind in the way it painted a picture. But if this gossip was to be believed, he had recently lost everything except his son, who he loved dearly. Essentially, he had made some bad decisions and was now paying for them.

You hadn’t seen him in person yourself until he had been there about six months. It so happened he was running for the lift and you held the door for him. You didn’t know who he was at first.

‘Thank you,’ he smiled softly as he stepped in.

You smiled back.

‘Have you… have you lived here long?’ he asked.

You turned to him and raised an eyebrow. There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with the question, but you couldn’t be too careful, a woman living on your own in the big city.

‘I- I just meant I’ve been here six months and we’ve not met before,’ he explained.

You softened a little bit. Whoever this was, was just trying to be friendly. ‘Two years, nearly,’ you replied.

The lift door dinged as you reached the ground floor. He motioned for you to go first. You paused a second, a little taken aback at his politeness, but walked out of the lift, turning around to face it once you came out. He stepped out after you, not quite sure what to do given you had stopped. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

‘You live on the eighth floor too?’ you asked, a little surprised.

‘I do,’ he nodded. ‘Number 11.’

‘Number 9,’ you pointed toward yourself.

‘Wow, practically neighbours for half a year and we’ve only just met!’ he laughed. He had a genuine smile, but his laugh seemed a bit restrained, a bit guarded.

You couldn’t help but break into a big smile at the absurdity of it. ‘Right? How crazy!’

He seemed to perk up a bit at your smile; seemed to stand a bit straighter, his smile starting to reach his eyes a bit more. He pushed his floppy, blondish-brownish hair out of his eyes and smiled again.

‘I’m Max,’ he offered his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

You offered your hand in return and gave your name. ‘Nice to meet you too, Max.’

‘I’ve got to get going, I’m picking up my son,’ Max said, moving toward the exit.

‘Where from?’ you asked. Couldn’t be school at 10am on a Saturday.

‘From his mum,’ Max explained. ‘I get to see him this weekend.’ The smile on Max’s face showed just how happy he was about it. It was a much more genuine smile this time, and very infectious.

‘I won’t keep you then,’ you smiled back, moving to catch up to him. ‘Have a lovely time together.’

‘Thank you,’ Max was still smiling and this one had reached his eyes fully; he looked genuinely pleased at your remark. ‘Have a good rest of the day yourself.’

You parted ways as your came out of the apartment building. He seemed pleasant enough. Just a single dad, clearly loved his son, trying to get by, as far as you could tell. And after all, wasn’t everyone in the building just trying to get by? And if the lift gossip was true, was that really your business, or anyone else’s, for that matter? Max seemed nice enough to want to say hello to, and hold the lift door for again.

You didn’t see him again for a couple of days, and this time you were both waiting for the lift to arrive. After exchanging the standard ‘hello’, the silence was a little difficult; you weren’t one for inane small talk. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Max stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring at his feet. He looked… nervous?

Come on, you must be able to think of something.

‘How was your time with your son?’ you asked, glancing over at Max.

He looked relieved that you had said something. ‘It was great, thank you,’ he smiled. ‘How have you been?’

‘Not too bad,’ you gave what you hoped was not a tired smile. ‘Just trying to get by.’

Max nodded. ‘I hear that,’ he agreed. ‘Just one foot in front of the other, it feels like some days.’

The lift dinged and the doors opened. Max motioned for you to go first again. ‘To the ground?’ he asked as he went to hit the floor button.

You nodded. ‘Are you seeing your son again today?’

‘No,’ Max said, more than a hint of sadness in his voice. ‘Just out for a walk and a coffee.’

‘There’s a great place round the corner from here, if you haven’t already been. Maria’s?’ you furrowed your brow trying to remember the name.

‘I think I’ve walked past it,’ Max nodded. ‘I’ll check it out. Anything exciting planned for you today?’

You shook your head and laughed. ‘I wish. Just errands.’

‘Never ends, does it?’ Max agreed.

The lift doors opened and again Max motioned for you to go first. As you left the building, Max wished you a nice rest of the day and that he would see you later. You smiled and nodded. You only had two interactions lasting less than five minutes, but Max seemed much nicer than the lift gossip suggested. Which is exactly why you tended not to not give it any credit. At least next time you had something to ask about; whether he tried the coffee at Maria’s, and what did he think of it. You found yourself hoping you saw him again fairly soon; it was nice to have someone to talk to who didn’t just want to gossip about the building residents. Or was it that he was kind of cute? Sure, he was a little older than you, but the way his hair flopped forward when he looked down was adorable. He had a nice smile too. But, you reminded yourself, he was just trying to get by, one foot in front of the other.

But weren’t you, too?

You didn’t see Max for a few days after that and even then, only very briefly. You were coming out of the lift having come up, as he was waiting for it to go down. There was a boy with him you assumed was his son; there wasn’t a huge resemblance, so you assumed he must look more like his mum.

‘Hello Max,’ you greeted him as you stepped out.

‘Hello,’ he smiled at you. ‘I’m so sorry, we’re in a bit of a rush.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll hold the lift for you soon,’ you smirked over your shoulder as you walked to your door. You heard the lift doors close behind you, but not before you heard a chuckle from Max and a young voice ask ‘Dad, who is that?’. So you’d finally met Max’s son, sort of.

You did in fact hold the lift for Max a couple of days later, but on the way up this time. He was carrying a couple of grocery bags and smiled at you over the top of them.

‘Thank you,’ he said as he tried to hold the bags without anything slipping out.

‘Told you I would hold the door for you soon,’ you laughed softly. ‘Can I give you a hand?’

‘Would you mind?’ Max looked relieved. ‘Only if you’re sure, I wouldn’t want to impose.’ You motioned with your hands to pass you one and took the one in his left arm from him.

‘How was the coffee at Maria’s? Did you go in the end?’ you asked, once you were sure the grocery bag was secure.

‘I did, it was lovely,’ Max smiled. ‘Definitely one of the best I’ve had since I got here.’

‘It’s my favourite,’ you agreed. ‘Oooh, and it’s nice to see your son has your curiosity.’

Max blinked at you and looked genuinely confused. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘A few days ago, you were in a hurry as I was coming out the lift? He asked who was that as you got in?’ you explained.

‘Oh! Sorry, yes, I’d almost forgotten,’ he said as recognition crawled across his face. ‘I keep telling him to use his indoor voice. He does keep me on my toes.’

The lift doors dinged, and before stepping out you asked Max if he’d like some help carrying them to his apartment.

‘If you’d hold on to it while I get the door open, that would be wonderful,’ he said, motioning for you to leave the lift first. He followed you as you stepped out and nodded in the direction of his apartment door.

As you got to Max’s door, you were standing either side of the door itself, facing each other as Max fumbled in his pockets for his keys. This was the first time you’d properly looked at him, and you found yourself picking up details you’d not noticed before. His floppy blondish-brownish hair flicked down toward his eyes, that you’d seen before, but you hadn’t noticed how beautiful his deep brown eyes were, and you hadn’t taken in his gorgeous golden skin, and the size of his hands on the grocery bag…

Girl, get it together. This poor guy is probably reeling from who knows what, given he is a dad not living with his son he very clearly loves, and describes living as one foot in front of the other. He does not need you looking at him like that.

You heard Max say something.

‘Sorry, what was that?’ you ask.

‘I… I said thank you so much for helping,’ Max said, his skin a little pink.

His front door was open. He’d found his keys and opened the door while you’d been gawking at him. Your cheeks burned slightly at the thought he might have noticed.

‘Oh! It’s no trouble,’ you smile. ‘Want me to bring this in?’ You raised the bag you were still holding.

‘No, don’t worry, I’ve got it from here,’ Max chuckled. He seemed to be avoiding your gaze.

You straightened up and smiled again as you passed the bag over. ‘Okay, I’ll leave you to it. See you later, Max!’

‘See you later,’ Max replied, as you were already walking back to your own door.

Later turned out to be a couple of days later, and again you met Max going up in the lift. He had his son with him again.

‘This is Alistair,’ Max beamed proudly, after introducing you to his son.

You knelt down, and smiled at Max’s son. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Alistair,’ you hold your hand out.

‘You too!’ he smiles in that adorable, excited way most children do, and shakes your hand.

You stand back up again as the lift dings and you all get in, Max holding Alistair back as he lets you go first again. In the lift, Alistair presses the button for the eighth floor, and looks up at you.

‘Can I press the button for you?’ he asks.

‘You already have,’ you smile down at him. ‘I live on the same floor as your dad.’

Alistair smiles. He gets this expression on his face you can’t place. You don’t dwell on it as you hurriedly try to think of small talk; what can you ask that doesn’t ignore one or the other? Then it hits you.

‘Alistair, has your dad taken you to Maria’s?’ you ask him, a smile teasing at the corners of your mouth.

‘The coffee shop?’ Alistair looks at you, confused, as you nod. ‘No, he says coffee is for grown ups,’ Alistair rolls his eyes.

‘That’s true, but you know what? Maria’s also does amazing milkshakes,’ you grin as you look at Max. He smiles at you.

‘Ooooh,’ Alistair gasps.

The lift dings. Max motions for you to go first. You step out and kneel down to Alistair again. ‘It was nice meeting you, Alistair. See you soon?’

Alistair nods with a smile. You stand up and smile at Max ‘I’ll see you soon,’ you say as you walk toward your door.

‘Dad, is that the pretty lady from number 9?’ you hear Alistair’s voice, and you’re glad you’re walking away as your face flushes red.

‘Indoor voice, please, Alistair,’ you hear Max sigh, as their footsteps move away from you.

--

You’re beginning to think Max is avoiding you. It’s been almost a week since you met Alistair and you’ve not seen him. You’re standing in the lift waiting for it to start moving, staring at your shoes, as you hear someone get in. Your eyes flick up for a second and you see Max standing in the lift with you.

The lift doors close and it begins descending.

For the first time, you actually feel like there is an awkward silence between you two. You dare another glance at Max and he is doing the same as you, staring at his shoes. That gorgeous hair has flipped forward again, hands stuffed into his pockets…

You clear your throat. ‘Do you normally tell Alistair about all the pretty ladies you see?’

Max’s head whips round to you, so fast your surprised he’s not given himself whiplash. ‘I’m… I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.’

You smile kindly at Max. ‘Not at all,’ you reply. ‘But that’s not what I asked,’ your expression turns into something of a mischievous grin.

Max blushes. Those stunning eyes meet yours. ‘I… I told him… well, you’re the only one I’ve ever mentioned.’

It was your turn to flush red. ‘Really?’

Max nods as the lift dings for the ground floor, and gestures for you to go first. ‘And even then, it was his idea.’

‘What?’ you ask, confused.

Max looks at the floor, smiling nervously. ‘Remember when we were on our way down, when we were in a rush? Well, he asked who you were, as you heard, and I explained you lived at number 9 and we got the lift together sometimes.’

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

‘And Alistair really does keep me on my toes because he said you were really pretty, and I agreed. And of course he decides to remember that at the point it would cause the most embarrassment,’ Max sighs, risking a glance over to you.

‘I think it was more the lack of indoor voice that was the problem,’ you giggle.

Max laughs, another genuine one that reaches his eyes, and he nods in agreement. ‘It certainly was,’ he smiles, a sweet little dimple emerging on one side of his face. He was so cute, and you were starting to think he had absolutely no idea.

You both stood there for a few seconds in silence, not really knowing what to do next but also not really wanting to end the encounter.

‘Where are you off to?’ Max asks you.

‘Nothing too exciting, just a walk and then coffee at Maria’s,’ you reply.

‘What a coincidence,’ Max smiles. ‘Would you mind if I join you?’

‘Of course,’ you nod. ‘Who would turn down the gorgeous guy from number 11?’

Max flushes red. ‘I don’t know about that. But I’m glad the pretty lady from number 9 wouldn’t.’

Damn, he really had no idea how cute he was, did he?

As you step out of the building, Max offers you his arm, and you loop yours through it as you walk down the steps from the entrance. You pause at the bottom, smile and gaze into those incredible dark brown eyes. Before you know where you are, your lips are on his and you’re running your hands through his hair, curling your fingers at the back of his neck. His lips are impossibly soft, his hands finding their way to your waist, holding you close to him. His tongue gently brushes against your lips, seeking permission, and you are all too happy to grant it. He’s gentle, almost hesitant at first, but his kiss deepens into something so passionate you’re glad he’s holding your waist, as he’s making you weak at the knees.

Eventually you pull back, breathless, giddy, smiling. ‘Wow,’ is all you can offer.

Max smiles and blushes for about the third time in five minutes. ‘Wow indeed,’ he agrees. ‘Come on, let’s go and get a coffee and you can tell me about this gorgeous guy at number 11.’

You roll your eyes, loop your arm in his and start walking. ‘Sure thing, but only if there’s more of those kisses in it for me,’ you tease.

#writer wednesday #max lord fanfic #max lord x you #maxwell lord x reader #maxwell lord fluff #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

[dropsofletters]

hate everything

— summary: the heir of a fashion brand and a modelling company has nothing to do with a duchess, but xu minghao spends more time in her castle than anyone else she ever knows. perhaps, his presence is so perpetrating that even after falling in love and breaking her heart a thousand times, he stands. she may hate everything, but she doesn’t hate him.

— title: hate everything — pairing: xu minghao x reader (ft. joshua hong) — genre: heir!au ; duchess!au ; royal!au ; strangers to friends to lovers!au ; slowburn!au   — type: angst ; fluff ; romance ; drama ; suggestive ; humor (with a happy ending though!) — word count: 25,984

December 17th. Five years ago.

To wear a dress is a tradition. No matter how harshly the fabric tightens around her ribcage, or how badly her legs ache whenever she has to bend over and place another faux kiss on a person’s cheek. To have something as expensive as the cloths that drape over her should be a blessing, the quartz pink lace of her sleeves falling off her shoulders, a corset placed on her waist to become an image to look at—a product, maybe. The skirt leaves more to the imagination, flared and eccentric, and she’s starting to wonder if someone would realize if she only slipped away from these hells that should’ve been crafted in Hell—

Royals are used to this. The children of those enigmatic individuals train the entirety of their lives to be three things: charismatic, beautiful…and fake, overall. One would know when she’s an outsider; part of it but also a branch of the many more important people in her family-line. Therefore, her Father being a Duke and his daughters becoming, inherently, Duchesses of their own shouldn’t be of higher importance than anyone else in this goddamned party, but they are. Because, over everything, they are there for something—to be coquettish and courted, find a man of wealth of the highest society to decide either of them is worth their time.

She pushes her chest forward when her Mother steals a glance at her, quirking an eyebrow in the process, silently telling her to act like a lady. Maybe, Princesses are used to this, but she’s not quite ready to call herself anything remotely close to that. Instead, she brings her cup of lemon water up her mouth, opening her lips a bit wider so her immaculate lipstick doesn’t get ruined and scrunches up her nose as delicately as possible in the process. The children’s table is filled with snacks and sodas, and she can’t help but feel envious of such exquisiteness.

The high ceilings showcase twirls of gold and blue, curling onto themselves to give the view of a wider space. Instead, the white and champagne walls are covered in pictures of the real Royals. Her family, though not as close, definitely more wealthy and more important than she is, mingling and chatting as if it’s their job. It probably is. Some people stay at the center, dancing with glee, finding more people to talk to, all of status. Not that she does anything other than stay seated on her designated table and let her sister do her job.

Socialize, in this case.

Socialize and find some connection that will leave her family in a better position.

She breathes in softly, her fingertips playing with the itchy fabric of her skirt, feeling the strands of her hair start to hurt against her scalp after holding up such hairstyle for so long. This is not who she is, but it’s who she is designated to be. Normality has not been set for her, neither has fame made its way towards her. She is nothing more than just another dot in a world where she doesn’t quite fit in—Royal, but never a known Royal. It’s up to her to make herself become a paragraph, more than the simplistic end of a sentence.

When she feels the presence of someone behind her, she doesn’t think much. Around five hundred people, if not more, have attended the main castle’s grand event and, of course, there is not of space left. But when a soft breath mingles on the back of her neck and a manly scent, almost musky, makes its way through her nostrils, she realizes whoever this man is has decided to get close to her specifically.

“Why aren’t you enjoying yourself?” There it is, that voice, dulcet, soft, breathy into the air as he tries to whisper only to her over the music. It reminds her of words written on the back of her notebooks in high school and crushes that were destroyed by the imminent existence of graduation. The schools she attended to, since the beginning of her life, had been considered the best of the best but the only good thing she remembers is—

“Joshua.” The name comes to her easily, and she doesn’t even have to turn around to see one of the many Princes of a land not too far away from hers. Well, not hers—her family’s, or something of the like. Joshua is, technically, perhaps the fifth in line if he were to ever reach the throne, and he spends most of his time out of his small land than doing Royal work. “What are you doing here?”

Joshua holds a glass of what seems to be wine on his right hand, his brown hair pushed away from his youthful face. Only twenty and looking like he owns the world, and perhaps, he does. A fitted suit falls on his slim body, his waist accentuated, the back of the jacket trailing a bit downwards, its rich black color contrasting well with his olive skin. His eyes fold romantically at the same time his lips curve onto a smile. “Hi.” He says first. “Well, uh, I was invited? Isn’t that the only reason why I would be here?”

“I haven’t seen any of your brothers here.” And most people would say that they don’t know the names of all the Hong brothers, but she does. It comes with the number of times she has spent keeping her sighs locked in front of Joshua, a daydream that has been unattainable for the entirety of her life. “That’s—I figured you wouldn’t be here.”

“Now I’m here.” Joshua breathes out, taking a sip of his wine. “Why the long face?”

“Ah—” Her hands indeed come grasp at her cheeks, eyes widened as she tries to come up with an excuse. “I don’t really like parties, that’s all.”

The statement has his eyebrows raising, youthful above all. “That’s a big statement.”

“There’s a lot of people here,” She says, hands coming to rest on top of her dress, curling around one another only not to reach out for him. Not that she has ever heard of Joshua being a lover of many girls, but…he has never quite shown signs of wanting to be with her. “And no one really wants to talk to me, so. Also, the drinks…I don’t like them. I’m hungry, too—”

Joshua’s smile transcends into full-on laughter, throwing his head back just as he extends his hand forward. “You just haven’t gone to a good party.” He says, waving his fingers into the air. “Come on, stand up.”

The feeling of his hand sliding into hers feels like the satin covers of her bed, slipping away from her in a rainy morning when the maids ask her to join them for breakfast. When her family is not around and she gets to enjoy the solitude of being both warm and cold. Joshua does as much as interlocking his fingers with hers, and she both wants to smile and die at the same time. “What—? Why?”

“I’m taking you to a good party.” Joshua decides out of the sudden, walking with grace as they move towards the entrance, but she has to stop him at that moment, heels digging onto the tile flooring in a way that almost has her falling.

“J—Joshua…” She chuckles a bit when he looks at her over his shoulder, finishing the last few drops of his wine. “My family is here with me. I just can’t leave like that—”

“Tell your sister to cover up for you.” Joshua says, shrugging his shoulders. “Come on, we both know we’re Royals…but we’re not that important in this event. If we leave now, we still have the rest of the night to enjoy.” His words are calm, like everything he does, never does he look like he fears the world may eat him alive for his actions. “Besides, I’ll make sure to take you home safe and sound.”

One of those opportunities that falls from the sky, graced by heaven, suddenly seem to be covered in a veil of doubt. Her family would love for her to go out with someone of importance like Joshua—but parties aren’t her kind of thing. She has gone to many of them as she has grown up, drained herself of all possible social skills because of how tough it is to try to be liked by everyone. “…Are you sure this is a good party?”

“Listen,” Joshua breathes out, a pout on his lips. “My oldest brother is going to get married in January and my friends want to throw a birthday party for me before I have to go back to my land. That’s all that’s going on.”

“But, your birthday is on December 30th—”

“And I’m leaving on the 21st.” He tugs at her hand then, and maybe, this is enough to tug at her heart strings, as well. “Come on, we haven’t hung out since I graduated and that was almost two years ago.” Knowing how to speak, because someone like Joshua Hong has taken charisma classes since the day he was born, perhaps, he adds: “I’ve missed you. It’s all up to you, of course, no pressure.”

Missing him is something she has done, as well. With every arranged dinner with someone that she doesn’t like, and every moment she spends wrapped in between her blankets watching romantic comedies, in the rare occasion that she exchanges her historical films and enthusiasm for something more of the like of youth. Joshua Hong is someone she met when she entered her teenage years and has become, instead, her longtime dream.

“…Only if you take me home before three in the morning.”

Joshua nods. “I can do that.”

“And if you promise we’ll grab something to eat on the way there.”

“My friends are waiting for me outside. I can ask them go get some drive-through on the way to the mansion we’re hanging out at.” He always has a solution to life, so simplistic and sure of himself, and maybe that’s what drags her closer to her sister, asking her to cover up for her as her heels click against the floor. Now, the least of her worries is how pompous this dress is, but how nice of an opportunity has settled on her lap instead.

Throughout her entire life, she has had a conceptualization of love that feels like a fairytale. If she didn’t get to live the entire fairytale of being a Princess, then she may as well expect to get a Prince in return. The way the wind blew on his hair as he talked to his friends, taking small bites of the fries they shared, his eyes glistening when he looked at her—it all felt like love. The young kind. The one that makes her feel like she only has one more day to live and he’s willing to give it all to her. His jacket rubs her skin when he gets her closer to her, music blasting loudly, and for once, she’s not the daughter of the Duke and Duchess, or another Duchess in that raunchy Royal stance—

She’s just another person in this world.

“…Hey, you okay?” The question breathes in between the two, the limousine able to take up the group of six people. Joshua, however, only seems to have eyes for her. Maybe, it’s that little string of hope that tells her that the butter-like words and the fluttery feeling inside her chest mean something. They have to. “I’m here for you if you need anything, okay? If you want to leave, we will.”

So far, nothing seems to bother her. Instead, she lets him wrap his fingers around hers, sending a hum his way. “I like this. They’re nice.”

“They are.” He conquers, looking out the window once again. Petrichor and a Prince, the sprinkles of the unwelcomed rain now becoming a mere memory. His lips wrap around a tranquil smile when he says: “You’re an adult now. People become nicer as you grow older.”

But that’s not what she has heard the maids at her small castle say. People only grow worst with time, like weeds—they hope someone falls so they can hold onto them. Twenty and ready to bite into the world with expertise, she accepts his words as truth. “I see.” She conquers. “Maybe, I’ll get to know people like that now that I’m going to university.”

“Didn’t you want to go for history in university?” Joshua asks, and she remembers the talks that they used to have when he was a senior in high school.

“That’s the dream.”

“Say: That’s the plan.” Joshua corrects. “If you make it a certainty, you won’t have time to hesitate.”

That may be the key to happiness—not hesitating, not doubting, not blinking twice when a man like that offers her his jacket and holds her hand like he never wants to let go of her. Joshua has become a plan, not a dream. “That’s the plan.” She whispers, earning a chuckle from Joshua.

“Good.”

###

The wicked, Mother used to call them. Those who live their lives for anything other than socializing in the most antique of ways are considered to be outcasts. From Royals, one can only expect utmost beauty—from normal people? The raunchiest. Those go to cheap parties. Those drink horrid alcohol. Those embark in love stories that only last mere months, and drop their secrets out at the appearance of whatever person seems trustworthy enough. Mother always considered people less than her, but she never understood her. Why is it that out of this group of six people she should feel better? Because she doesn’t enjoy a party? Because this mansion is bigger than her own and hence, she has to find something she is better in than the owner of said house?

The son of the owner of the house, Zhang Wei, barely pays attention to the pristine flooring or the worker that trails right behind him to serve him another glass of wine. He’s twenty-one, the oldest of the group, and somehow, so lost in his own world that he doesn’t notice anyone but his own phone. According to Joshua, he’s not as much of a lightweight as others, and the frown perched on his enigmatic and perfectly crafted face comes from the longing of his lover, living seas and seas away from him. Zhang Wei is a sight to look at when he’s seated on the red, leather couch of his living room, the clean wood under his feet looking dirty with how shiny his designer shoes were.

Heejin is the drunkest, as of now, twenty years old just like Joshua, long hair cascading down her back as she insists on holding onto Kyle, one of her closest friends, whose bottle-like glasses make his brown eyes look much smaller. Finally, Seungcheol has lost himself to the karaoke machine nearby, taking the bottle from the worker’s tray to bring it up his lips, taking a nice swig of the alcohol before smiling brightly. Life is good for all of them, so why should she judge?

“Let me help you out,” She doesn’t notice the reason behind Joshua’s words, or why he places his glass of rosy champagne in between her fingertips as he drops to kneel in front of her. His fingers softly glide across the bottom portion of the fabric of her skirt to showcase her feet. “You’ve been fidgeting since we got here. I’m sure Zhang Wei’s sister has a pair of flats that is more comfortable for you.”

“Ah, they were supposed to make my legs look better.” Though, that doesn’t seem to phase him, lifting a thoughtful eyebrow that reminds her of the times she would catch a glimpse of him studying in the school’s library. She’s free from such place as of now, thankfully, for the only memories she wants to keep include Joshua and some history classes in between.

“No one can look at your legs with this cupcake you have for a dress.” He jokes and her laughter rips through her even when Seungcheol’s singing voice covers all sources of it. “Besides,” Joshua starts again, throwing her white shoes somewhere on the wood, clicking obnoxiously. “Your legs are already good as they are.”

It’s in the magic of acceptance that a true gentleman earns a heart. Somehow, Joshua reminds her of the men in the shows her maids watch. Damn, she spends a lot more time with them than she does with her Mother. “You say?”

“I confirm.” Joshua finishes, settling himself down on the seat beside her before taking his cup once again. “Besides, it’s not like I could not notice. You always dress the prettiest for all the events we go to.”

She has to giggle at that. “Thank my stylist.”

“Why do you doll yourself up so much?” Joshua asks, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not like it matters. What other people think of us, that is.”

Oh, and that’s only one of the many things she loves about Joshua. How in syntony and acceptance he seems to be with the fact he’ll never reach the throne. “Mother says we should always look our best. You never know who you’re going to find.”

“Are you looking for someone?” Joshua asks, eyes inspecting her vision, lips wrapping around the glass in a way she wishes would rest upon hers. A first kiss from him would be a symphony to dance to, a bite onto the cleanest of apples. “Like—”

“No.” She replies quickly, interrupting him in the process. “Well, no—ah, not really. Depends…”

Joshua chuckles. “Depends on what?”

“On, well…” On you, Joshua Hong. “Depends on the situation. I’m not looking, rather…waiting.”

“Waiting,” He repeats, a gush of air blowing towards her face straight from his mouth—alcohol in his scent. “Yeah, that sounds like you. You’re the person anyone would love to wait for.”

“Am I?” She asks, trying not to sound impressed. Flirty, she aims to be, but she sounds far more robotic than intended. “Oh, wow.”

A laugh that doesn’t make it out his mouth accompanies his next statement. “Go look for a pair of shoes with Heejin. At this point, we all have to dance to Seungcheol’s singing.”

“Okay, but wait for me, okay?”

The connotations of such sentence only fall on her later, opening her mouth to say something before Joshua smiles widely. “Isn’t that what I’ve been doing for a while?”

Heejin doesn’t even have to be called by the time she wraps her slim arms around her shoulders, placing her cheek against hers as she speaks loudly. “Ah, I love all of you guys so much.” Her voice trails with the amount of alcohol inside her body, her cheeks tainted in a deep red, her nice profile cold to the touch. “Who are you again?”

She has to give a tight-lipped smile then. “Care to help me find a pair of shoes? My heels were killing me and I need something comfortable.”

“Ah, of course!” Though, even through her drunken hues, her sweet personality comes through and shines a light. “…I know exactly where to find shoes here.”

“Good.” Heejin clings to her hand with glee, moving her to the spacious and curved set of stairs as she throws a glance over her shoulder to look at Joshua. The man, however, simply lifts his hand to greet her, leaving her with a small—

“Have fun.”

She’s meant to be having fun, she reminds herself as she roams the mansion for the third time because Heejin can’t quite concentrate when she is this drunk. She’s meant to be having fun, she says in a low breath, when Heejin opens as many doors as possible until they reach the one that belonged to Zhang Wei’s sister, apparently not there at all. In the faint distance, she can hear Joshua’s voice singing into the microphone, epitome of youth, somehow calling out for her attention because she should be there. Wasting ten minutes of her time with him just for a pair of shoes just doesn’t sound like the best idea.

“Shua never mentioned you. It’s the first time I hear about you.” Heejin says, and she doesn’t know if her words are meant to prick or not, but they do. For someone as important to her as Joshua not to care enough to talk about her hurts. Maybe, this group of people are just not close enough to him, and that’s why he doesn’t talk about her. “Are you a Princess?”

Heejin trudges inside the sky-blue room, bumping onto a few things, dropping her jacket on the bed and she immediately picks it up. They can’t leave anything behind that tells anyone they were there taking shoes, after all. “Ah, no,” She says, following after her towards two huge, white doors. “I’m the daughter of a Duchess. That technically makes me a Duchess, too—”

“So, a Lady.”

“Yes, a Lady.” The doors open gleefully, gates to heaven that welcome a spacious wardrobe. Shelves in pristine white, bathed in bright lights, hold different types of jewelry and shoes, all organized by color and by brand. “What about you?”

Heejin may be surprised about her curiousness, twirling her brown hair in between her fingers after absentmindedly trying to put it up on a ponytail. She fails, too drunk to even do that. “I don’t have a Royal title.” She starts. “None of us besides Joshua do.” But she doesn’t forget to put some penny for her thoughts. “My dad owns four hospitals in different continents. My mom is…I don’t know, I think she’s a fashion designer. I haven’t talked to her in so long.” Though, the champagne in her system must not let her linger on the thought.

“…I see.” She mumbles, a smile on her face. “Ah, and what happened to Zhang Wei’s sister?”

“She’s at university.” Heejin replies, moving away from the walk-in closet and towards the balcony. Opening the doors wider, she now starts to unzip her dress, her eyes widening in the process. What the fuck is this girl on? “Uni…it’s overrated. It wants to make us all feel dumb. I failed my exam—”

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t get naked.” After rushing towards her, she trails the zipper up once again, keeping the red, taut fabric against her body. The harsh breeze of the balcony moves her just as much as Heejin does when she pushes her off her. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I want to go for a swim.” Dare she point towards the pool some good meters down that balcony, on the fucking second floor, and definitely with a good space in between its railings and the pool itself. The lights must be catching the attention of her drunken mind. “It’s going to be fun. Come on, I’ve bungee jumped, this is going to be just as easy—”

“Heejin, no.” She says, tugging at the woman’s arms when she leans her weight against the railing. “It’s dangerous. You could fall and—”

“I’m not going to fall. I said I’m a professional—”

“Heejin!” She never raises her voice. The last time she did so, she ended up being told to act like a Lady, anger flaring through the room. This time around, however, fear replaces the highness of her tone. “You could split your head in half. Don’t. I’ll take you to the pool if you want to.”

“I’ve done this before. Don’t be a prude—!” The whine on Heejin’s voice gets more persistent, and even when she pushes Heejin’s back towards her chest to bring her away from the balcony, the young woman’s toned legs flimsily move to push herself away.

“Joshua!” She calls out in a scream, in hopes of having someone support her with whatever the hell Heejin, the now discovered daredevil, wants to do. “I’m calling Joshua and we’ll take you to a swim, just—” More moving around from Heejin, perhaps trying to get away from her grasp. “Joshua! Come help me out here!”

Why is it that he’s gone when she needs him the most? Fear clinging at her throat, heart beating, eyes staring at Heejin as she slips away from her hands and works on taking her dress off again.

“Stop it, Heejin! Get over here!”

The doors of the room open with a harsh bang, thoughts of Joshua listening to her clouding her mind in a second, still battling to keep Heejin’s dress up the woman’s body. Instead, she watches a young man barge into the room. The short strands of his black hair done a mess from the sleep that still lingers on his features, a straight nose and plush lips that accompany somewhat aloof eyes, that only manage to widen a fraction when he watches Heejin on the balcony, using only one hand to tug at her wrist and bring her inside the room.

“I was trying to sleep and you were being loud, Heejin.” The soft timbre of his voice is surprising, the black t-shirt on his body reaching his hips, the rest of his legs covered in pajama pants in plaid figures. He must know Heejin far better than she does. “What did you think you were doing?”

Heejin stares at the man in front of her when he sits her down on the soft, almost cloud-like mattress, bringing one hand up before waving it across his face. “Minghao, I didn’t know you were going to be here today.”

“It’s been a year since I started living here, Heejin. Use another excuse.” The man says, putting down Heejin’s hand with a soft touch before turning to look at her. “She was causing you trouble?”

“She was trying to throw herself into the pool from the balcony.” She says, well aware that it sounds like an atrocity, but she can’t bring herself to say anything but the truth. Her fingers twirl against one another under the weight of his watchful gaze. “I’m sorry we woke you up.”

“…You better.” He breathes out, though the initial annoyance of his entrance seems to be dissipating. “I’ll make her something to eat and then, I’ll ask Zhang Wei to take her home. If he’s not too drunk.” Minghao seems to be deep in thought at that, shaking his head in the process. “Who am I kidding? I’ll call a cab.”

“Okay.” She adds, a small smile on her features as she moves towards the door, shoeless, with her hair done a mess, and with the sleeves of her dress somewhat disorganized after so much tugging and pulling with Heejin. “I’ll go look for Joshua and ask me to take me home.” Though, she stops herself, turning around to look at Minghao. “Wait, why should I leave Heejin with you? I don’t even know you…”

“…I’m Zhang Wei’s cousin.” Minghao indicates, asking Heejin to stand up soon after before walking behind her, as if dragging her away from the room. Though, what surprises her the most when the door closes behind all three of them is that he manages to say her sister’s name, quirking an eyebrow in the process. “Yeah, you both look alike.”

With Minghao walking in front of her with more certainty, definitely knowing this mansion like the palm of his hand, she stutters out an answer. “And how do you know my sister?”

“I’m good friends with her.”

“I have never seen you with her.” She retorts, not quite trusting how knowledgeable this man seems to be about everything. Even Heejin grew quiet when around him, following after his every step.

“Your sister says you’re not around much.” She can’t deny that, either. For her, she’s always being prepared to find someone that betters her title—and that takes a lot of socializing and going around with her parents. “Shouldn’t I be the one who is suspicious about you? You were inside my cousin’s room and I don’t even know you.”

“I came here with Joshua and Heejin was looking for something there.” She excuses herself, leaving out the obvious—she was there to look for shoes, and Minghao may have not noticed just because of the length of her dress.

Just when they reach the bottom of the stairs, she expects to see Joshua already there—at the edge of his seat, ready to know what happened. Instead, he’s laying back on one of the many couches in the living room, his glass on one hand and his phone on the other, avidly talking to someone in a low tone, even over the music.

“Tell you something,” Minghao instructs, taking this time to show some expression on his youthful, innocent face. He may be eighteen or nineteen at most. “I’ll call a cab for you two, as well, and you’re going to go home. It’s late and you’re too drunk. This can only go wrong.”

She thinks about it for a moment, and she crosses her arms over her chest when she calls out for— “Joshua!”

The man pushes his phone away from his ear, smiling softly when he asks: “Yes?”

“I want to leave.”

“We were going to an after-party, though—”

“I want to leave.” Something of the like of pride flashes through Minghao’s face when he takes his phone in between his hands.

Joshua breathes out softly, blinking at her as if he’s trying to study her, before saying something on the phone and hanging up. She’ll never know who he was calling. “Okay, we’re leaving. There’s no need to get harsh.”

With one arm around her shoulder and a kiss to her temple, she figures out she forgives him for not appearing at the balcony.

Because Joshua is that. A silent conversation in a cab as he texts someone for an after-party, mainly because he wants to enjoy his youth as it barely begins. He’s the promises he breathes out, the words that he says, the comfort that comes with being with him—because he’s known, and he’ll always be. One day, he could even be her home. It leads to nothing, as of now, but something about this night tells her that the quietness in between the two will sort into something else. Tranquility, maybe. The tranquility that she has never gotten in that castle she lives in.

His fingertips trail down her arm when he presses one last kiss to her cheek, opening the door to the cab and getting back inside after she stands in front of the castle. The fountain by the entrance welcomes her as quickly as the guards do, and she can’t look at Joshua without needing to go back with him. Instead, she stares at the time in her phone.

Three in the morning.

Three in the morning and she watches Joshua leave to another party, and the Duke’s car parking out and way from the castle. Once again, she’s left in solitude—it’s in her blood to wait for people to arrive to her, for her nights to be filled with the questioning of what could have been. What’s not enough, and what does not meet the expectation of those around her, for them to always want something else.

It’s three in the morning when she gives a smile to the guards, trying to forget the feeling of the concrete under her bare feet, and once again, she’s greeted with the usual. A compliment on her liveliness, even at such a time.

It’s three in the morning and she’s lying.

###

August 3rd. Three years ago.

Dinners always go like this.

First, a sip of the richest drink. Fruit directly from mother nature, crafted by the hands of those who work for her.

Lips moistened, the fork and knife cut through whatever is served. In the rare occasion her Mother is not looking at her, she mixes the vegetables with the main course, adds a bit more of sauce. She lets herself enjoy it at those times.

Two chews, slow, steady, and she nods at whatever the Duchess says. The table is long enough for her to feel like she’s miles away—in this family, it always feels like that.

When she swallows, she always tries to look for a middle ground, something that doesn’t make the food go up her esophagus out of nervousness. When her eyes connect with her sister’s, she finds it. The only person in that entire table that knows her well.

Then, it’s inherent. She looks for the Duke, her Father, blocks every thought of her mind that wonders if his long trips and getaways include another family, an affair, or if he’s simply doing his job. Trust earns itself, and it lacks, thereof.

The process repeats itself until her plate is finished and she can excuse herself away from the table.

Her name is called, catching her attention away from the plate underneath her. Tomatoes sliced to perfection are left on the white ceramic when she connects gazes with her mother’s—eyes the same shade as hers, but much colder. “…How’s everything going with Joshua, my love?”

Maybe, her family was never of a higher stance in the Royal timeline because they deserved it. The only way she becomes a loving matter in this castle is when Joshua’s name lingers in between, and she can’t hate him for it. Kisses shared underneath the moonlight sealed their relationship long ago—after that December they saw each other last, and he continuously texted and called her, opting to go visit her on January to make it official. A relationship that most called expected, while she thought of it as a blessing.

Placing the fork and knife down, she interlocks her fingers together, catching a glimpse of her favorite maid and, perhaps, her best friend, Hana, standing a few meters away from her mother. Instead, she decides to answer as simplistically as possible. “We’re doing excellently, Mother.” Though, that much is not a lie. Joshua’s been working on investments to depart, or grow away, from the Royal family, and that has made him spend more time in her land rather than his. “Two years and still going strong, that has to say something.”

“It does not say much.” The Duchess says, extending her gloved hands towards her Father before resting it on top of his extended hand. “It feels like he’s not so sure about you, honey. Your Father asked for my hand after nine months of dating. If a man is sure about what he wants, he’ll make it happen in a second.”

The shots are fired, then. Though young and full with the will to keep up with her duties as a Lady, her Mother aches for more. It’s in the line of women like them—marry someone of importance, and after her relationship with Joshua became serious, all the hopes of marriage fell on her shoulders. Her sister, on the other hand, had managed to go for university…just like the two of them had dreamt of doing. History slipped away from her hands, and she doesn’t think she’s making history of her own.

“Mother,” Her sister says, an eye-roll to her statement. “Just let her be. Not everything has to end with marriage.”

“I—I think…” She stutters, wetting her lips with a bit of the orange juice in front of her. It does nothing to ease her nerves when under the gaze of the Duchess. “I think Joshua and I are fine as we are. We still have to live this part of our lives and marriage is such a serious thing—”

“Love.” Her Mother interrupts, cutting through the air with certainty. “You need to be someone of importance. I’m not going to be here for you forever…and you must find the strength to keep going. Richness. A kingdom. Something. We have given you education, now you must harvest your future.”

Though, she has never thought of her future as one that revolves around a man. It shouldn’t be like that. For, the times that she doesn’t spend with Joshua, she does a lot more than what anyone can see—study in the library, bask herself in books, do some appearances in the local schools to teach about history. The real kind. The kind that teaches people to be kinder, to want to change the world. Their land may be small, but while she is there, they won’t lack the proper information to continue growing as a society.

“Right?” The Duchess asks the Duke, and the man can only hum.

“That Joshua guy…he’s nice, but if he hasn’t asked for your hand in marriage, at least as a promise, I can’t see this going anywhere.” But, what does the Duke know about relationships? He’s barely even here to start with—

“That’s why you should try to be better. Make him notice how good of a wife you could be.” That’s what she has always been—a trophy. Words that are knives and cut right through her. No matter how much she takes in one morning with the stylists to doll herself up, or how precisely she tries to speak, there is always something else to try out. A new posture. A new class. Anything to be able to take a man’s attention. Sometimes, the tip of her tongue itches to just say: fuck that.

“I think he likes me as I am, Mother.” She replies, her hand tightening against the fork and the knife to continue eating. She’s hungry, so she may as well continue biting on her food even if she’s talking with her family. “I don’t have to be better.”

“Then, he’ll leave you.” Her mother says, as if it doesn’t hurt. As if the thought of Joshua just taking his things and going back to his land, for real, doesn’t pierce through her and leaves her breathing ragged, obstinate. “Darling, he’s always going back and forth. Business stuff, sure, but still…in one of those many trips, he’ll find someone he’ll deem better.”

“If he loves me, I’m his only option—”

“Men don’t work like that.” The Duchess spites, though she is quite thankful that she has vegetables inside her mouth, moving softly with her chewing, because she would have inherently said what everyone knows in this castle, even the workers. It’s not men that don’t work like that, it’s your man. “He’ll get bored pretty soon.”

“If that day comes, I’ll move on.”

“And do what?” The Duchess asks. “Recite the entirety of our land’s history to children for the rest of your life? Come on, darling, I taught you better.” But most of the things she learned came from the workers, the maids, the butlers, the people that lingered around her while her family was socializing— “You have to seek for a title. A Prince’s Wife, and he has been making far more money recently—of his own, too. Joshua is the perfect image of the man you have to marry.”

“Can’t we just stop talking about this?” Her sister questions, throwing her napkin on the table. “Really, it’s fucking annoying. She can do what she wants—”

“Language.” The Duke mumbles in between bites of his meal, never once lifting his gaze. Not like he cares. She continues staring at her mother, the woman shrugging her shoulders.

“It’s her choice.” But those words don’t sound like they would come from the Duchess. “But that man is the only man that she has loved, and the only one that has loved her. If she doesn’t get married now, she’s going to lose it all. Richness. Love. Opportunities. I’ll just sit back and watch it happen, then.”

Hana clears her throat, moving towards her side before dragging the plate away from under her gaze. Not that she does much, leaving the fork and knife in the air as she tries to think of who she is. What she has become other than a people pleaser, leaving all thoughts of her dreams behind to live for others— “Lady, you have finished your plate. May I give you another serving?”

She hadn’t even realized, but instead, she stands up. Moving the fabric of her black dress down her thighs, she juts her chin forward. “I’ll eat in the kitchen.” She replies, lowering her gaze when her Mother quirks an eyebrow at her. “May you please ask the chef to make me some mashed potatoes? I’m craving that.”

“Of course, Lady.”

Though, she can’t give more than a few steps behind Hana before she hears her Mother calling out her name. “You’re not leaving like that, are you?”

Sometimes, she likes to believe there is regret in the Duchess’ voice, that something in her strict way of being means that she cares. Probably, she does—cares about the status of her daughters, more often than not squinting her gaze at her slightly younger sister for being…in love with too many people. Instead, she tries to follow after her words, lowering her face the slightest to press a kiss to the crown of her head. Her scent doesn’t feel familiar. “May you have a nice meal, Mother.”

Her heart only feels heavier after those words.

###

September 20th. Three years ago.

His breaths mingle in the oxygen around her, though not clear under the golden lights of the event hall’s bathroom. His chest presses against her back, each muscle curving and contorting to match hers—and it has always been beautiful, how Joshua seems to be made just for her. With his eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed to utter perfection, his teeth do wonders on his bottom lip, capturing it until it turns red, only letting go of it when he opens his eyes and pulls away from her, leaving her vacant. His lips flutter against her neck, that spot that he knows makes her ticklish, but somehow always slips his mind.

Joshua, over everything, prides himself on how good he is at hiding. Living a normal life while being a Prince comes easily for him—never once missing the opportunity to be young and free. With the mirror right in front of them, she tries to remind herself that she is a Lady. Golden, creamy dress falling off her shoulders, the see-through sleeves loose yet tightening around her wrists, small dots littering around the fabric. Her boyfriend pulls the skirt down after he zips himself, up, as if that does something to hide the fact that her hair is done a mess, her pink lipstick has suddenly disappeared (if she doesn’t count the remaining bits on her chin), and there is the tiniest layer of sweat on her forehead when she clears her throat.

The image on that mirror is of a woman sedated by a physical connection. Not of a Lady, per say. Not of the conceptualization that the castle has given her.

And she loves it.

It was not something she had done—afraid that someone would walk in, too much of a pillow princess for her to ever think about even doing anything outside of the bedroom, but trying it out just came to her head. There, in Joshua’s land, visiting a ball and not being the center of attention of people’s judgement, the thought of conversations they had in the past slipped inside her head and she ended up dragging him to the nearest bathroom. For a moment, Joshua seems to be happy, arms wrapping around her waist as she does quick wonders on her purse to grab her lipstick.

“…The best part is that I had to listen to Chopin as I did that.” The joke appears in between them as a whisper and she can’t help but chuckle, taking the tube of lipstick and smearing a bit across her lips.

“Nothing sexier than Chopin.” She speaks out, not quite remembering the moment that said piano expert’s music played from the ball on itself. Whatever. Instead, she concentrates on making herself look more presentable. “But we have another issue at hand.”

“What?” Joshua asks, chin pressed to her shoulder as he stares at her. With time, he has only gotten better—eyes more profound, lips rosier, voice more of a lullaby than anything.

“You need to stop doing this.” She instructs, lifting her upper lip the slightest to show bite-marks, the most subtle of darkening spots that come from the deepest of his kisses. “It’s hard to hide and it’s embarrassing because anyone could notice.”

“It’s not noticeable.” Joshua conquers, a pout to his voice. He pulls away the slightest then, fixing the collar of his shirt, silence falling in between them until he frowns deeply. “Babe, what the fuck?”

Annoyance lingers on his tone, and she has to look over her shoulder to see what bothers him. One glance at his face says nothing, his neck is not littered in hickeys—for, she is not much of a fan of marking him in any way. Lower, she realizes what the issue is, her pink lipstick ended up on one portion of his white button down. “Oh shit, sorry.” That’s all she can manage to say, but Joshua sighs instead.

“This is an expensive shirt, babe.”

She has to roll her eyes at this. “Everything you own is expensive, Shua. I’m sure it’s fine—”

“I have to talk to some investors in, like, twenty minutes. This is not a good look.” One last glide of her lipstick should be enough, she tells herself, sparing Joshua a look over her shoulder before sighing.

He wasn’t saying that when they got to this bathroom ten minutes ago. “I already said sorry,” She starts. “Besides, we have water here. We can just pat it out and see what happens—”

A smile appears on his features when she opens the water faucet, droplets cascading in a rapid motion before he closes the tab again. “Babe, this is a Louis Vuitton.”

She quirks an eyebrow then. “And you’re Joshua Hong. They’re just names, what’s the matter?”

“You don’t just pour water on it.”

Though, she has spent enough time with the maids to know the basics about washing clothes or taking a stain out in a rush. “Joshua, how do you think they wash clothes? With water—”

“I’m sure it’ll only ruin it more. Like, drag the stain or something.” Joshua replies, always thinking ahead of himself as he closes the buttons of his golden jacket, staring at himself in the mirror. He fixes the strands of his black hair that had fallen out of place in his forehead before clearing his throat. “I’m sure that would do.”

He’s not wrong, but— “Then, why start that whole drama about your Louis Vuitton shirt?”

“It wasn’t drama.” Joshua whispers, turning to look at her before running his hands over her arms, her legs trying to regain their composure to walk in those high heels. “I just—I’m very nervous, okay? I’ve been doing well with my investments, but it’s the first time I try to invest in something that isn’t music related.”

She lets him touch her, because there is something magical about Joshua. Knowing that he was a first—that she was lucky enough to get the person she liked on the long run, maybe the comfort and familiarity of him. Joshua spends days in his land and days in hers, basks in her presence in both sides, makes it known that he is trying to secure his future, build an empire for himself. Not a single minute goes by without the man thinking what to do next. He’s always had it together.

Crossing one leg over the other, she grasps his face in both of her hands, inspecting who should be hers. What, sometimes, he calls hers. Why is it that the name itself seems to sound lovely to her but doesn’t fit him at all? Joshua Hong is not hers. He is inherently his.

“You always do great.” She whispers, one step forward before meeting her lips with his. Kissing him always feels passionate, like he can’t get enough of her—but time passes too quickly when he does. Rushed, he is, eager to taste more, to have more. For someone as quiet and posh as him, Joshua knows what he wants. When she pulls away, breath taken away, she hears the soft lull of the piano outside. “Besides, there’s nothing to be nervous about. You’ve gone over what you were going to say a bunch of times and you’ve met up with them before. This is only the last step.”

“The last step is always the hardest.”

“But whatever the outcome is, you can always say you tried.”

Joshua opens the door to the bathroom then, the apples of his cheeks lifted when he asks: “Since when did you become so wise?”

Maybe, the words of the Duchess had gotten to live inside her head—what if Joshua did not feel the same as her? What if all those kisses, nights of passion, comfort, were only livelihoods for him? Ways to spend time in her land? Ways to feel like he has a home to go to even when he’s always around, from lands to countries. “I don’t know. History books make you sound posh sometimes.”

“Remind me to start the habit of reading.”

He always says the same thing, a resolution of each year they’ve spent together—but it never happens.

The public loves them. They adore the way Joshua seems to shield her from any eyes with a hand around her waist, or how he seems to take care of her utmost necessities—if her glass is empty, or if she’s hungry. What they don’t know is that this is not the realistic version of them. It’s the happy one—that one that bathes in longing after not seeing each other for an extended period of time, the happy couple that is not so happy because they avoid arguments at all cost. They don’t know that she’s wary of the eyes that linger on him or the way he talks about his life as immaculate. He hasn’t gone back to his castle in years. There is a part of him that doesn’t speak about the heartbreak that came with knowing he was last in line when it came to being a possible King.

He never talks about that. Closed-off. Perhaps, masking it as something he’d rather ignore. Joshua likes covering it up with a veil and let it dust, while she loves talking about her utmost feelings whenever she can. Hana, for example, is an excellent listener as well as a storyteller.

She wishes she had a better dress by the time they get to the center of the room to dance, burgundy walls and brown tiles, gliding against her heels and leaving her legs to touch the coldness of the atmosphere surrounding them. Something longer, perhaps, to feel like a Princess when Joshua is looking directly into her eyes. He smiles then, pulling her closer to whisper something onto her ear.

“Hey, you’re stepping on me.” He says, a chuckle following after his statement before pulling away the slightest. “Skipped those dancing classes, didn’t you?”

“You’re just invading my space, that’s all.” She replies, a bit of embarrassment in her tone when she pinches his shoulder. “Stop talking like that. You’re also not Prince Junhui from the eastern lands.”

He shrugs, something that irks her endlessly. What’s with this overconfidence tonight? “It doesn’t matter.” He conquers, looking down at his feet after. “Try not to ruin my shoes, too, okay?”

“Shua!” She yells in a whisper, eyes widened. “You’re being an ass right now.”

But, as per usual, Joshua gives her one of his enchanting smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips that sneaks a few gasps and sighs of content from the couples watching them. One of the most gorgeous and awaited lovers for the night. “You know I’m just joking,” Though, sometimes it doesn’t feel like it. “And I love you just as you are.”

“I love you, too.” She tells him, a flutter to her chest, but why is it always hard to believe him?

###

September 25th. Three years ago.

“My Lady!”

Hana’s dulcet voice has aged with time, she realizes, a tad different from the unrestrictive strength of her energetic self twenty-something years ago, when she was assessed as her maid and protector. She’s a little bit over her fifties as of now, her short hair bouncing with each step she takes towards her, the length of her black skirt making it difficult for her to walk through the green fields at the entrance of her castle. With wrinkles covering her features and a thin layer of sweat living on the bridge of her nose, her eyelids and her neck, she realizes one thing.

Or two, rather.

One, she really missed home.

Two, she really missed her mom—Hana. The only woman that had grown alongside her, heard about her crush on Joshua when she was a teenager, gave her advice when she went on her first date, and would click her tongue whenever she spoke about some of the issues they had and pushed to the very back not to be talked about.

“Hana!” She breathes out, letting her luggage fall down on the floor to be taken by the butlers, arms extending to encage the taller woman in between her grasp, basking on the familiar scent of oil from the kitchen. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Though, the woman pushes her weight away from her, a mocking smile on her rounded features. “Ah, I doubt it. You were with your boy, the apple of your eye, Prince Joshua.”

“The love is different.” With one arm around her shoulder, she starts to walk forward. “How have things been in the castle?”

“Pretty dull without you, actually.” Hana includes, lowering her body when a few branches come across their way. She rests her hand on Hana’s head, just in case, aware of how important this woman is for her. Not a single line shall shatter the vase of stone that is Hana, fundamental to anything she does. “Though, we have had visitors to keep us entertained while you were gone.”

Some days that she is not unhappy about missing, actually. “Visitors? What were they this time?” She prompts. “Another businessman? Are we talking aristocrats or—?”

“An heir, actually.”

“Like Joshua?”

Hana hisses through her crooked teeth, licking something on the inside of her cheek in a way that brings a smile up her features. They are getting closer to the park by the side of their little castle, perched there for the two sisters to enjoy while they were younger—thus, nowadays used for the gossiping and chattering needed to coexist in such a harsh world like this. “Not to make you feel bad, my Lady, but I would not compare this young man to Prince Joshua. I don’t make the choices in your life, but Prince Joshua is as bland as the chef’s chicken water after he washes the meat.”

For a second, she tries to think how others would. What about Joshua Hong seems to be bland? His lack of expression, perhaps, his preparation, the way he always seems to fit in with everyone. If a lot of people like him, that must be that Hana is on the wrong.

“He is not bland.” She says, letting her dress trail on the green grass, not caring if the fabric gets stained. “Mind you.”

“Oh, I am minding me.” Hana says, moving her neck slightly as she lets go of her. “There is nothing substantial about the man is all I’m saying.”

“Why?”

“Darlin’, I know you love him…” The maid says, twirling her fingers around the necklace that rests on her sternum, all the angles of her body highlighted by the action. “But I have this little patting, bickering bird on the top of my head that gives me the feeling that he’s not the love of your life…and you’ve given up so much for him.”

Rather, she has given up a lot for everyone. Mother was over the moon the moment she confirmed her relationship with Joshua, fingers threaded with his, promises made a reality. Father? He didn’t care much—said what he had to say, only to leave. Education be forgotten for the duties of a Lady, for becoming the perfect example of what the real Royal family should have been like. That meant that her dreams of studying history went down the drain, replaced by endless hours of eternal love for Joshua Hong.

Sometimes, it is tiring.

Tiring to a plus-one.

To be the woman of a man. Someone’s someone.

She lets it go. If she has to be someone’s, she’d rather be his.

“That’s what I always tell her.”

The sound of her sister speaking to her has her perking up, a smile appearing on her features to cloud any moment of rainy thoughts that translated onto her face. Eyebrows well raised, shoulders way back, she extends her hands to grasp her sister in her hold, only to be met by crossed arms and a strong frown.

“And it fucking disgusts me that we planned on going to university together and now I see her beyond happy for spending some days with her long-distance boyfriend.”

She spits it out as if it is venom, as if every meter that separates Joshua and her physically have becoming everything and the factor of their issues. “I’m sorry,” She puts her hands down, a bit of a bite on her tone. “I hate that I have been pushed to be like this, but this is what I was meant to do—”

“S—Since when going after a man is what you have to do?!” Her sister asks, the wind moving the flowers on her dress as she steps forward, fingers curling around the air like a vice, a threat to their conversation. “I expected you to come here having broken up with that asshole!”

“He isn’t mean to you, why call him an asshole?” Born under different circumstances, her sister never waited a second to speak back. She always thought of her as the light of her days because of that—a word would never go unspoken by her. However, this time around, it hurts. Expected romanticism has translated into real love, what was once looking for a man has now become expecting for him to come back.

It’s devastating for her sister, apparently. “Because he took my sister away.”

“What are you talking about? I’m here.”

“Barely.” Her younger sister spits out, curling an eyebrow on her forehead. “What is it about you right now that connects to your old self? You spend every given second trying to follow after Mother’s awful rules of marriage and it’s starting to look pathetic.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.” One step forward has Hana grasping her by the forearm, but she tugs at her. “I’m your older sister, I get to make my decisions without having you question me as if I’m some fucking child.” She spits out, looking up and down her sister’s features before the woman scoffs.

“And what? Are you an example for me?” She asks. “You’re nothing like an older sister anymore. It’s about time you wake up and realize the world is not going to change for the better if you marry a man just because you have to.”

“Who said we’re getting married? He hasn’t even asked—”

“Has he talked about it?” Her sister asks, only to have her shaking her head.

“I don’t see why—”

“Has he talked about the future with you? The longtime future when his cheeks are saggy, his hands are wrinkly, his voice can’t sound the same—?” She stops, jutting her chin forward to further emphasize her words. “Has he?!”

Her chest heaves up and down, trying to recoil in a memory that doesn’t exist. Joshua has never talked about such thing. He doesn’t even know if he wants to get married or not.

If I ever get married, he has said.

It has never been: if we ever get married…

When we get married? No.

“No.” The answer rips through her throat in a way that makes her ache, though her tone is soft. Her sister smiles sadly then, flaws pointed out to her when she shakes her head.

“Then, he’ll never ask.”

“Give your sister a break, she just arrived here.”

That voice sounds oddly familiar, but the time in her head doesn’t go back to the time it sounded against her eardrums until she looks up at the man that pulls her sister away from her. The oxygen goes back to her lungs, only to be stolen by him—wavy black hair curling against his forehead, straight eyebrows and monotone eyes still looking breathtaking on him. Something about the guy that saved Heejin, Xu Minghao, as tranquil as ever, relaxes her on the spot, beauty beyond what transcends through him…but in the lake that patters each drop to create him, mellow and peaceful.

His jacket moves with him, black as coffee, his oversized white button down on his chest making him look more elegant. Since the last time she saw him, perhaps hanging out with her sister like he always does as her best friend, he has grown quite a bit.

“Minghao, you’re a guy.” Her sister says, turning to look at her friend, much taller than her. “A man will make plans with you only if he wants to keep you long time, true or false?”

Minghao keeps his straight expression, though a glint of pity appears on his irises when he interlocks his hands behind his back. “Ah…I’d say true.” An answer from a man has her heart dropping to the floor. Not that she wanted to get married right now…but knowing that Joshua did not even consider an option, according to popular opinion, made her feel undesirable. "But, then again, that shouldn’t be something to criticize her for. Every sailor decides which ship they want to sail."

At times, she wonders if the ship that has already sailed will make her happy. “He is right.” She includes, finally connecting her gaze with Minghao’s when he turns to her. “Thank you, Minghao.”

“Just…this is none of my business,” He raises his hands in the air momentarily, letting them drop to his side in a gracefully dance. “Be careful.”

His cousin is good friends with Joshua, and the sentence alone scratches at the insecurity inside of her. “Why should I?” She asks, trying to keep levelled, though her eyes feel like they’re permanently blinking under the weight of her tears.

“Sometimes, when a man doesn’t express a lot of emotions is because he doesn’t actually feel them. It’s the same for both men and women—overthinking is just too much thinking at times.” The advice rushes through his lips, though his voice is calm. One step forward brings him closer to her, pulling the sleeves of her dress down to keep her warmer, fingers barely skimming over her skin in a way that has her looking down at the connection in between the two. “Welcome back, Lady.”

She breathes out her name, looking into his eyes in the process. “You never call me Lady.”

“Maybe, I’ll call you Princess one of these days.” Minghao retorts, a shrug coming after. “Does it change you as a person? Whether you’re a Princess, a Lady, or just plain old you?”

She thinks for a moment, shaking her head. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Then, it isn’t worth it to marry someone just for a title. Or push it, rather.” Minghao finalizes, lowering his face to smile up at her, soft and strong, something so inherently him. Epiphanies, perhaps, made into a person—contradiction over contradiction that complexes him beyond her understanding. She’s an intelligent woman, just not intelligent enough to figure him out. “Come on, a smile?”

His voice is much too soft, and it’s only broken through when her sister scoffs. “Come on, Minghao.” She says, nearing them with dragged steps. “I think I’ve bothered her enough. The smile won’t be real if you get it out of her like that.”

One look at her sister tells her that she’s sorry, but instead of awaiting the moment she says so, she gives a small smile. “I’m here to prove you wrong, aren’t I?” She retorts to the youngest.

“Much to my distaste.” The youngest answers, tugging at her friend’s blazer. “We’re going to study, want to tag along after you’re done unpacking?”

“I’d love to.”

###

October 10th. Three years ago.

He’s out again.

And it’s not the fact that hundreds of people get to see his smile, the brightness of it and how blinding it can become, that has her seated in front of the castle, phone placed in between her fingers, grasping it to her chest as if one simplistic ring of the device could make her feel alive again. It’s not that Joshua has the most beautiful set of eyes she has ever seen—and she has always wondered if they’re emotionless, or he’s just really good at controlling what he feels. That’s not what has her jealous.

It’s not that Joshua always dresses to the nines, loves feeling like he is the most watched man in the room—but never says it. Mighty may be the person that gets Joshua to confess something with much of a reaction, even a surprised gasp. He relishes in keeping levelled, while she feels too much. Another press of the button on her phone tells her that it is twelve at night and Joshua is still out.

He has been out all day.

She counts the texts again. Sent by her? Twenty-three. Sent by him? One.

It was seven in the morning, and Joshua had the audacity to send a picture of himself, sprawled in his bed when he’s here, in the same land as her, one hand covering his forehead, fingers threading through his dark locks, half-closed eyes and a dizzy smile. He said ‘good morning’, and the burn in her stomach told her that she had fallen in love again.

He never answered to her ‘good morning’, her ‘good afternoon’, her ‘hey, you just saw my message, why aren’t you replying?’. The ‘haven’t you eaten?’ that mocks her.

Keep sucking ass, Lady. It looks wonderful on you.

Wealthy enough to throw the phone against the concrete under her, she wishes she had the lack of composure to do so. To feel all the hatred and uselessness that racks like books inside of her, mocks her for being able to stand so much. A boyfriend of years that doesn’t even answer her texts, that had planned going out with his friends upon landing on her land just because he wanted to meet up with them. Now, when he said he’d be with her at seven, he continues to be in some raunchy club with his friends.

Seven is the worst fucking number in the world right now.

Doubts clash against her ribcage when the flimsy fabric of her nightgown clings to her skin. Her hair, less from perfect, suddenly becomes an insecurity. Her eyes. Her nose. Her lips. The way she had let go in comfort for him—in the feeling of acceptance that he had once bathed upon her but now bites her back. What if he’s in that club with one of his friends? What if one of those friends are interested in him?

She swallows thickly, trying not to scream when she hides her face in between her legs, but she does. Harsh enough to be heard by someone, but not someone in the castle. What kind of Duchess is waiting for her boyfriend in front of a castle, dressed and ready to sleep, only to be left behind like some toy?

She grabs the phone again, and types with all the will in the world—

To: Shua.

I deserve better than you.

But she deletes it.

She can’t tell him that.

She doubts him, but questions the jealousy that creeps up on her as well. Maybe, he is just having fun—his world shouldn’t revolve around her.

When she stands up, her mind is only set on grabbing something to eat. Call it a third dinner, perhaps, but she needs to concentrate on something else. The entrance doors of the castle open up for her like magic, all thanks to the guards, as she makes her way towards the kitchen. A good cardio away from her, but the smell of the leftover baked potatoes that lay on her refrigerator calls out for her attention even from meters away.

Though, upon entering the kitchen, someone else has half of his body placed inside the refrigerator, long limbs grabbing something in his hands that he can’t quite decipher. Not her refrigerator, but the one designated for her sister’s food instead—used by her chef, and apparently, by Xu Minghao.

Her body splays against the marble island by the middle of the kitchen, the low yellow lamps making her eyes hurt…or is it that, maybe, Minghao in his university-student form is really a sight to look at? His hair is pushed away from his face, haphazardly in the process, like he didn’t have time to do it. Some glasses rest on the bridge of his nose and the red turtleneck sweater on his body is as bright as the apples that he holds in between his hands. Two on each hand.

“Am I getting robbed by Snow-White?” The question leaves her, though in a badly joked manner, before she could fully think about it. Maneuvering his feet up, Minghao closes the refrigerator’s door with one swift motion before laughing at her words.

“That’s your sister’s fridge, and we have a final tomorrow that I feel like I’m going to fail.” Minghao confesses, putting the apples down on the island before leaning his weight forward. Everything about him feels like a silhouette of what could be in an art museum. “Something about math being part of a business major’s life just doesn’t sit well with me.”

For what she can remember in the times she has seen Minghao and her sister studying together, he is— “You’re excellent at math, though.”

“…I guess.” Minghao says, biting down on his lip. “I’m good at a lot of things, if I do say so myself, but there’s that gut feeling that tells me I’m going to fail.”

“Why so?”

“The professor hates me, for one.” The enigma instructs, extending his palm on the island to draw little circles on the surface. Had his hands always been this pretty? “I told him that one of his equations was wrong and that was all it took for him to have my head on the next test.”

Shaking her thoughts away from Minghao’s hand, she looks up. “But you corrected him, that means you were smarter than him.”

“It means he made a mistake. We all do.” He finalizes, ready to grab the apples on his hands and say his goodbyes until she interrupts him.

“…Do you think we should forgive people just because they make mistakes?” She asks, making Minghao stop on his tracks, his back turned to her as she plays with her hands. “As in, forgive them every time they do?”

“Not always.” Minghao, always one for an answer, debates as he turns around. “Some mistakes are worth standing someone for. Others are just not.”

“What kind of mistakes would you apologize?”

“Forgetting something, for example.” Though, he doesn’t seem to be thinking deeply about it. “Or…if someone accidentally ate something I left on the fridge or something like that. I’m not one to forgive people for deep shit.”

“Conceptualization of deep shit?”

“Mhm, depends.”

“Not everything in life is relative, Minghao.”

“But, oh why, it is!” The heir conquers, looking at her for a second before smiling softly. “What we see is not what we really think it is.”

“And how do I know what it really is?”

“You listen to what your gut says.” He says. “Life is difficult, but we have the answers inside ourselves to make the right decision for us.”

For a moment, she wants to pretend like her gut has always told her Joshua is the right man for her. But, that’s not the truth. The right man didn’t open doors for her, but loved to be with her whenever he could. The right man didn’t spend every single second with her, but made every minute they spent together the reason why she misses him when being with other people. The right man made her feel unique—like that one imperfection on her skin isn’t worth that much thinking from her, or that the curves or lack of in certain places aren’t something to hold onto as if they conceptualize her.

The right man doesn’t spend an entire day not answering to her texts.

The right man chooses to visit his girlfriend first when he has spent weeks without seeing her.

The right man doesn’t leave her standing, on her nightgown, inspected by a man that studies her eyes from too close, shoulders going up and down with each breath before his smile erases and he says—

“This is about Joshua, isn’t it?”

Not having the heart to deny it, she nods. “He hasn’t answered in the entire day.” She admits, hard to say it out loud without feeling judged. By his actions, nonetheless. “…And, well, he did say yesterday he was going out to the beach with his friends from here once he arrived, and that he’d be going to the club after that, but he said he’d be here by seven—”

Minghao’s jaw tightens, placing his hands on her shoulders to make her turn around. “Then, go to bed—”

“What if he comes home?”

“He will not.” Minghao boldly replies for what he thinks of Joshua’s thoughts. “Not only has he stood you up, but he preferred going out with his friends than meeting up with you, his girlfriend, when getting to your land. I think that’s enough for you to go to sleep or cut ties with him immediately.”

That makes her stop on her tracks, no longer moving towards the stairs but instead, thinking about his words. Leaving Joshua, that is. “…I can’t.”

“Can’t you or don’t you want to?”

The question weights her down. Both sound pathetic at this point. “I don’t know.”

“I’ll tell you what it is,” Minghao stands in front of her, fixing the glasses on his face before sighing. “You’re waiting for him to change. That, one day, he’s going to wake up and choose you over the world. You think about all those things that people say about people just needing to go through phases, and you think this is a phase—”

More than anger, disdain bubbles up inside her. “He is young, maybe this is a phase—”

“It’s not.” Minghao says. “He chose them over you. He chose partying over you. That has to say a lot about what he thinks of you.”

“…I guess.”

“Think about it.” The heir concludes his advice with that, putting an apple up to his mouth before giving it a big bite. “I’ll go study. See you later.”

With that, he leaves.

###

October 11th. Three years ago.

She liked delicacy, but that never meant she liked it when people thought she was made out of glass. Invisible, easy to break, easy to taint when breathing against it—she’s strong, even if the hits of life have left a stain on her one too many times. Punches to be taken just for the sake of it.

Let the glass that represents her be broken, at the edges that people managed to ripped but never broke her entirely. Her first friend, a young boy that flew away from the land when he was six, and left her with the memory of him. Her second friend, a young girl when she was nine, that pushed her around to make her feel miniscule—always better than her, prettier than her, smarter than her, with nicer clothes than her. It was over after four years. Then, five years went by of people that were not that good either, always coming back with that sense of hope that told her…one day, the right people will come around.

What if they never did?

Because the right man is standing in front of her at this moment, the smell of lasagna cladding the room and making her feel disgusted. Thick sauce, white and red, with meat. It all deserves to be trashed down, like the rest of the gifts Joshua carried all the way here on his forearms, his face void of any imperfections even when he must have knocked himself out yesterday with as much partying as he did.

The right man, Joshua Hong, has taken a piece of her. That edge that keeps pricking her whenever she passes by, and she never falls asleep like how it happens in fairytales. Needle-deep, it makes her wonder of his whereabouts. Makes her tighten her fists against the fabric of her dress, cross-legged on the bed as she watches him open one bag.

“I brought you something—”

“You never answered.”

Joshua stops then, leaving the plastic white bag on her cream sofa before smiling at her. Once he nears her, seated in front of her, Joshua places both of his arms around her waist, face to face with her. “But you didn’t speak, babe.”

From the moment Hana let him inside her room, just five minutes ago, she had not been able to organize her thoughts. Her guts tell her that there is something inherently wrong with this—with Joshua and how he is acting.

“Not speak?” She breathes out, each word more pointed than the other, looking up at him from a tilted position. “Is my lack of speech really an issue when I texted you like crazy last night? Called you just to see if you were okay and alive or breathing? Is that silence to you?!”

Her voice raises, enough to have Joshua pushing himself away from her, eyes widened when he replies: “Hey, I told you I was going out. That’s not—”

“What kind of boyfriend goes out with his friends when he had not seen his girlfriend for weeks and she’s right there, waiting for him—?” She asks, willing to break at that moment. If Joshua has to smash her body into pieces with one throw of reality at her, she’ll take it. “Really, Joshua? Don’t you have some sense of guilt in you?”

“I was doing business.” Joshua says, always too little, never enough, returning to the packages of gifts before scoffing. “It’s not like I didn’t remember you—”

“What?” She asks, getting closer to the bags on her sofa. “Some gifts are supposed to make me feel better?”

“I guess. I was thinking of you when I bought them.” Never does he lift his tone the slightest, and it irks her.

Placing both hands on her hips, she nods. “I’m at the wrong here, because my boyfriend ignoring me for an entire day and, over that, deciding to make business in a beach and a club is supposed to be a normal fucking thing—!”

Before she could lift his hands to grasp her head, Joshua connects his fingers to her wrists, keeping her in place to look her in the eyes. “Stop it with the dramatics. I don’t have to ask you for permission to go anywhere.”

“Oh yeah, you don’t.” She says, voice inherently low. “But it’s really low of you to prefer that over spending a night with me. An entire day, even.”

His back faces her at that moment, taking the gifts out of their confines as he speaks. “Well, I’m here right now, I don’t know why you don’t settle for that.”

Settle.

When has he ever settled for her?

Instead, she covers her eyes, tugging at her skin in a way that would have had her mother swatting her palms away. She can’t do it right now. “Joshua Hong, listen to yourself for a second. This is unfair for me.”

“Don’t you think I want to see you every day?” He questions, though she can’t see him she feels his lips resting on her momentarily. “I want to see you at every given second of the day…but I have other important things to do.”

Other important things to do.

The worst part is that he says it as if she’s not important.

Though, that’s not true. The worst of it all is when she lets go of her face, vision filled with stairs and blurriness, but mostly the picture of him in front of her, finally, when she says:

“I understand.”

But her gut feeling tells her she doesn’t.

###

April 23rd. One year ago.

The birds chirp freely for an early celebration, sunflowers mingling against her cream dress. Today, the big gowns are changed for something more simplistic—a prideful sister that embarks into a new road of success when looking at her sister graduate. In something that she likes, first and foremost, and definitely as if she was a Princess with the big celebration that Mother prepared. Though, for someone that complained that her youngest studied too much and lacked a man because of that, it surprised her that she had even planned anything at all.

Yesterday was the real event, students gathered together for one last time to close one of their chapters of adulthood. The last one in the educational stance, for those not approaching further education. Her sister preferred something more private then, asking her to tag along with Minghao to have some drinks and talk about life with people with as much power as them, given the university that she goes to, but with less of a stick up their asses. Good was an understatement for how well the night went.

Taking the cherry from her drink, she tosses her head back, relishing on the dulcet taste as the shadows the sun creates on her skin rest on her chest. Dress in the color of cream, off the shoulders, just tight enough to make her look like the adult she is, but loose enough to let her breathe. People mingle by the center, children bustling around, parents talking in between themselves, and Mother making herself the center of attention, even when her youngest sister is by her side.

A lot has changed for her sister. Meanwhile, nothing has for her.

One can only take so much scolding from their parents about not getting married, but like her sister had once said, Joshua is not quite ready. She doesn’t know if he’ll ever be ready, but letting go makes a tingle go down her spine—perhaps, one day, he’ll want to. The possibilities are what make her stay, but it’s what makes her doubt the most. Downing the rest of her drink, she tries to think of something else other than the man talking business with some people in the corner, pristine as the day she met him and promised herself that it’d only be a tiny little crush.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The sound of that voice is oddly familiar. She remembers it more slurred yesterday’s night, throwing his gown somewhere on a couch to relish on drinks and good memories. Now, Minghao voices out his thoughts like he normally does, as if he had not been hungover this morning.

Letting the birds do their music when she looks at him, she shakes her head. “My juice is finished. Joshua can’t stop talking business with those men and you…my friend,” She lets her gaze go up and down his body, the sunflower shirt making her smile widely. “Are probably spring made person with that shirt.”

Tugging at the black fabric of his blazer to show the shirt, a few buttons opened to showcase his sharp collarbones and the hint of curved, yet slim pecs, Minghao looks down at himself. “I wanted to look the least professional I could.” He confesses, returning his gaze to her, though a bit squinted because of the harsh sun. “Your boyfriend may be perfect with business talks, but I am not. I can only pretend I am interested in what someone in saying about themselves until I actually tell them straight on that their lives aren’t that important.”

Hiding her laughter behind her glass, she drops the seed of the cherry inside before sighing. “Well, you’re a heir. You were prepared to be a businessman. I think that’s what makes you less interested in that.”

“That and years of studying.” Minghao finishes, taking a bite of a cookie he found on the food table nearby, munching for a few seconds before talking again. “Besides, Joshua has expanded far more than I have. My family owns an haute couture fashion brand and a modelling agency, it’s way different from Joshua’s musical takes.”

And then again, she has always wondered why she has never seen Minghao with some tall, skinny model that hangs on his arm like a beautiful match for him. “I don’t know…” She answers, puckering her lips when looking at Joshua. “At least, you don’t like the socializing but love the fashion aspect of your business. Joshua…he loves socializing with people nowadays, even if he doesn’t speak much. He just has to hang around people.”

“That’s what going out to too many parties does to you.” Minghao says, grabbing another cookie before offering it to her. “Cookie?”

“With chocolate chips?” She asks, already taking it in between her hands before taking a big bite. “I imagine how disturbed those businessmen would be if I went over there to hug Joshua and they’d saw a piece of chocolate on my teeth.”

“Devastated, perhaps.” Minghao says. “I doubt they have ever had a woman actually show themselves naturally to them. No posing. No falseness. Just plain old reality.”

“Do people really show themselves as they are in the business industry, though?” Rhetorical at most, she questions, shaking her head in the process.

“They don’t.” But, something seems to glisten in his eyes. “But you do.”

“Not really—” She tries to defend, heart picking up at the way those brown eyes look at her as if she’s different. “Mother has made my life miserable until I became the perfect image of what she wanted. Well, not really, I am not married yet but—”

“Even so,” Minghao interrupts her. “You may have to go around and throw some pleasantries to other people, but that doesn’t make you faux in any way.”

“It does.”

“No, you’re one of the most genuine people I have ever met.” Those words have her looking at him as he walks backwards, pushing his hair away as he chews on a new cookie. “It just so happens that you think being nice is not a personality trait a person can have, even yourself.”

“Well, I haven’t met a lot of nice people—” And still, she keeps around them.

Minghao, on the other hand, waves his hand in the air. “Nice to meet you, then. I’m Xu Minghao.”

The smile on her face is forever petrified after that.

It must be a pleasure for Joshua’s business associates to see her smile so brightly, his hand placed on her waist as she holds onto his chest for leverage. Perhaps, she loves the way he sees her the most when he is around people—as if he has seen the answers to all his prayers on her very own irises.

This time around, Joshua impresses more than usual. A bowtie, hair pushed away from his face by some gel, and a black suit that leaves everything to the imagination. Nothing quite creative there, just plain old classic that makes him look good enough to desire.

“You two seem to have a great relationship.” One of the businessmen says, his beard practically connecting his chest to his jaw, rounded glasses on the bridge of his nose, wrinkles giving his age away, perhaps making him look older. “I remember when I was like that with my wife. Lots and lots of good times, you know?”

Joshua looks at her chuckling, pleasantries over all, and she stares back as he lets go of her waist. “Well, then we’re lucky, Mr. Kim,” Joshua says. “Because she is going to be my wife soon.”

Her face falls then, just like Joshua’s hand does to search for a box inside his pocket. People around them start to go quieter, watching the movements he does as he opens the velvety box with carefulness.

“J—Joshua—”

Both of her hands come up to her mouth when Joshua shows the ring. Rose gold with one big platinum diamond in the middle, surrounded by medium sized speckles of brightness. She’d count around thirty diamonds, all engraved around the ring that reads his name on the inside.

Her name is breathed out, as if it’s poetry—never one for romanticism, it takes her aback that he has gone back to that breathy tone that once enamored her. He doesn’t drop on one knee, instead pushes the ring halfway into her finger before asking.

“Will you finally become my wife?”

Say no, her guts say, wrenching, wanting nothing more than to run away. The right guy would have never done this—

But the time she has waited for him, the years she has spent liking him and the will to continue with this just for the same of accommodation has her nodding slowly, extending her hand even more to let the ring fully engulf her finger. Fit like a glove.

“Yes, Joshua, of course.” She says, cheers coming soon after when Joshua wraps his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the curve on the bridge of her nose before leaning down to capture her lips in one of those overly-passionate kisses of his.

The last person she sees before closing her eyes to kiss Joshua is Minghao, a tight-lipped yet tranquil smile on his face as he claps slowly. It almost feels like he is saying…

Glad you found the wrong one for you.

###

August 1st. One year ago.

Joshua’s land has always been different to hers.

More up North, this time of the year welcomes its freezing cold, perspiration coming from every window, words tangled by the smoke that leaves people’s lips, and, of course, how to forget the marvelous fog that barely lets her look out of the window to sip on her cup of tea as people rush around to show her yet another color scheme for the wedding.

Greeneries are mostly what she is used to seeing. Not mountains, not hills, definitely not the lack of flowers that has her pushing herself away from the window to look at one of the workers in Joshua’s castle. Upon her visit, the wedding preparations have resumed, and with Joshua somewhere in the castle preparing for a presentation tomorrow, she’s left to make decisions on her own.

“Lady, Lady, Lady!” The overexcited, chirpy, and tall woman with the fringe in front of her moves it away to showcase her color scheme, all tones of the rainbow making her squint her eyes harshly. God, she’s tired of this. “You said you wanted yellow for your wedding.” Of course, because it reminds her of sunflowers, and there has never been a flower more beautiful. Home has sunflowers. Her grandmother’s castle had sunflowers. Hell, sometimes she likes to pluck one inside her hair. “But I need to know which shade you want for the overall theme—”

“Sunflower-toned yellow.” She says, bringing her cup up to her lips only to be met with lukewarm tea. She likes it piping hot, but no one seems to listen to her around this castle.

“So, is that like a toasted yellow?”

“Have you seen a sunflower before, Yerim?”

“Of course.” The older woman says, pushing her hair off her shoulders before looking down at the color scheme. “But are we talking Dead Sunflower-toned yellow or—?”

Okay, fuck this.

“Just—” Raising her hands in the air, she takes one of the many papers that Yerim had displayed. “I want this yellow.”

“That’s not sunflower yellow, My Lady.” Yerim instructs, going after her as she tries to get out of that living room. Not that it should be called that way, each and every single moment of certainty she had to get married to Prince Joshua now seems to die down upon the appearance of the wedding preparations. “That’s pee-colored yellow.”

“…Yerim!” She speaks a little too loud, startling the woman when she places one hand on the railing of the stairs, ready to go up to Joshua’s room and embark in a trip down the sets of history books he keeps in his shelves. “I don’t mind if it’s pee-colored yellow. I just want it to be yellow.”

Yerim puckers up her lips then, perhaps annoyed but unable to say it. “Well…don’t come around and tell me I didn’t tell you when all your invitees tell you your decorations look like pee.”

“I’ll be glad to hear them say it.” The sarcasm drips from her tone, releasing a sigh that has her feeling guilty. The woman is only doing her job, but the doubts of not knowing how this wedding is going to go—or perhaps, that she doesn’t fully believe Joshua is settling down for her, has her fuming internally. “Yerim? Sorry for acting like this. You know better than I do, and I am so thankful with your job.”

“Not to worry, Lady. I dealt with each of the Hong weddings and you have been the kindest.”

Damn, she can’t imagine how the others are. Instead, she decides to give her a soft smile. “I’ll be up in Joshua’s room if you need me.”

“Check his pee and see if that’s the color you want!”

“Yerim…”

“Yes, My Lady?”

“You’re pushing it.”

Missing her land is something she would have never thought she’d do. She doesn’t miss the situation she normally finds herself in, trying to please her parents and the landers alike, but that is far from what makes her ache when she looks around the castle, trying to remember the way back to Joshua’s room. Hana would have already been by her side. Her sister would have come visit, finally independent and away from the castle. Maybe, Minghao could tag along, her best friend over everything and anything—

Through the elongated hallways, with white walls and squared floorings, she finds the door to Joshua’s room on the far end, near the elevator that would have made it much easier to go up instead of using the stairs.

Instead, she opens the door with quick motions, not surprised to see Joshua seated in front of his personal desk, spacious enough for it to be considered the size of an office, a contract up to his face as he sports his best set of glasses. With the buttons of his shirt half undone, and his trousers hugging his legs nicely, she guesses he must be done with his online presentation.

“How was the presentation, love?” She asks, not missing a beat to go to the shelves next to Joshua’s office, surprised to see the width and tallness of some of them. Dark wood, bright under the sunlight, and filled with books like a library would have them.

Joshua finishes reading something on the contract before looking at her. “It was fine, babe.” He says, though, something in his voice tells her he is about to complain. “I thought I could make myself clearer, but I am not very good with introductions.”

She looks through the history books, trying to get to one she hasn’t read. Maybe, she should catch up on his land’s history. “You do just fine. You just get nervous.”

“I just don’t know what to say—”

Her fingers graze the spine of each book. Read. Read. Read. Read. “You’ll learn with time. You’re still young.”

“I’ve been in this business for years.”

“Well, you started extra young, and you’ve gotten so much better.”

“I guess, but—”

The spine of one book stops her from listening him, Joshua’s name written on it. She gets it out, surprised to see another book fall backwards, the number two following his name. When looking at the cover, she realizes that this is his diary—written there, only for her to see, is Joshua’s diary. Followed by a sequel, and then a third book, and then a fourth—

“Joshua, I didn’t know you used to write diaries.”

Those words are enough to have him up his feet, perhaps a little bit too slow for seduction, but quick enough to have him closing the book before she reads the first page, lifting her chin with his finger when he moves forward, making her walk backwards in the process.

“Old, stupid things that I used to write when I was younger. I stopped writing them years ago.” Joshua instructs, a movement on his eyes to sense his nervousness, though his lips are distracting when they land upon hers. His arms grasp around her waist, bringing her closer until he was waltzing around with her, sending her closer to the bed. “I used to write about you, too.”

“You did?” She asks, the voice of hope that comes when she realizes she likes Joshua for a reason. Most of the time, she doesn’t get to see it—but it exists there.

He hums, biting her bottom lip before letting her fall on the bed, the mattress jumping a bit at her weight, though she doesn’t pay attention to it, vision centered on him when he whispers. “Yes, about how beautiful you are…” His knees plant on the bed, right in between her legs, arms extending on each side of her head. Now hovering over her, he looks down at her lips. “And how much I wanted to do you on my bed.”

“Joshua!” She chuckles, hiding her face in his neck when he says those words. “You don’t get to say that!”

“I do.” He replies, pecking her cheek before descending for another kiss. Somehow, those diaries are left forgotten for a moment—whatever he has written in there is his business, after all, and with some chapters about her in those books, she can’t ask for anything else.

###

August 4th. One year ago.

When sunflowers rest in between her hands to pick the organic, natural decorations of her wedding, she doesn’t expect her human sunflowers to have surprised her with a flight to Joshua’s land.

Minghao. Hana. Her sister. All in that order.

Truthfully, she has never been more thankful for Hana. For a woman that only got to marry once, only to lose her husband soon after, she surely knew about wedding preparations. Everything that she had not been able to explain is now being jotted down by Yerim, seated on a bench in the corner of the flower shop, not once losing focus.

Her sister, however, despised the atmosphere—giving the excuse of going to grab something to eat before disappearing completely. Perhaps, she’s doing something she really loves doing, playing tourist and rummaging around the land of the Prince she hates so much.

However, one person fits perfectly in this boutique-like flower shop, his white t-shirt something simplistic for him, but the brown pants reaching his waist and the beige cardigan something to remember. His hair moves thanks to his hand, picking up another bouquet of flowers—roses, this time around—, smelling them, and putting them down.

“How’s the family, Minghao?” She asks, far more comfortable with him than she was four years ago. Minghao raises his head then, giving one of those smiles that make his cheeks plumper before shaking his head.

“Mom and dad love the retirement; I can tell you.” Minghao whispers, the adoration in his voice not making her jealous. She wishes she had a relationship like that with her parents, but over everything, she is happy for him. “And I am absolutely thrilled to be picking up calls like crazy.”

“Those people are lucky they get to talk to you.” She says, looking at the cherry blossoms in one little vase before clearing her throat. Better swallow her pride now before he leaves. “I missed you.”

Minghao remains quiet for a few seconds, his hand rubbing against her back soon after. “I missed you, too.” He replies, a sweet lullaby when he sighs softly and goes over to pick another bouquet of flowers. “How’s Joshua?”

“The question of the day.”

“It wouldn’t be me if I didn’t ask.”

“Why?”

“Because Joshua is the reason you’re here. And you’re the reason I’m here. It’s a connection.” Minghao instructs, elbowing her side to get a few words out.

There is only so much she can take out of their relationship right now. No fights, thankfully, but the lingering voice inside her head tells her that it is not enough. Spending hours in his bed, twisting and turning, breathing out his name like a mantra, letting him kiss her until her lips ache isn’t exactly what she imagined for a lover. Conversation, silence even, can be even better at times.

“Ah…alright, I guess. We haven’t had a big fight in a while.” She says, letting her fingers play with the flowers as she walks sideways, followed by Minghao. “But there’s this lingering feeling that tells me there’s something he is hiding from me.”

“How so?” Minghao asks, studying her expression as she speaks. She will never understand how observant he is.

She stops on her tracks, Minghao’s chest colliding against her back and making the two of them stumble a bit. His hands wrap around her waist, keeping her in place as they both apologize at the same time. When he lets go of her, perhaps a bit nervous at the same time, she can’t help but chuckle. “Well, I—I discovered some diaries in his bookshelf. His. Like seven. The moment I mentioned them to him,” A snap of her fingers has Minghao looking down at her hand, the rose-gold band making a wild appearance. “Boom, he was trying to shut me up. Whenever I bring it up, I end up…” She pushes her lips together, not wanting to say much.

“You two end up fucking.”

“Minghao!”

“What, can’t a Lady fuck?” Minghao questions, laughter shaking her when the man shakes his head. “But that’s not something he should be doing to shut you up. Tell him that.”

“But what if it’s nothing?”

“Then, why wouldn’t he want to tell you?”

“Ugh, Minghao.” Pressing her index and middle finger to her temples, she sighs. “You need to stop making sense. You are too intelligent for my own good.”

His tan skin glows under the rare sunlight when he chuckles, shining brightly when he shakes his head. “Sorry, I’m just trying to be a good friend. That’s all I can do.” Though, the last sentence seems to have something else to do with them. She breathes in deeply, biting her bottom lip when Minghao rubs one thumb against her cheek, once, before pinching her cheek. “Check those diaries, or get it out of him. I don’t trust it.”

“Don’t you trust it or him?” She asks, trying to bring a smile up her face but Minghao shuts himself up.

“I think you know the answer.” He finalizes. Instead, he turns to the set of flowers. “Maybe we should go for white flowers for your bouquet? Since the wedding is going to be yellow themed and all. Bring some contrast—”

###

August 10th. One year ago.

The picture was flawless in her head. One of those dreams that she can’t recall if had been a reality or were just part of her imagination. Joshua, the new boy in the school, would fall so head over heels for her one day that he’d kiss the ground she laid upon. He’d make a rose out the words he told her. He’d turn chivalry into his way of speaking, love her for who she truly was, with so much adoration that each year would be stronger. Each and every single year, they’d grow into a sweet tune of comfort that could only come with so much love that she’d feel at ease. Not complete, for that was all her doing, but something of the like of that.

Then, years later, she should have imagined that there were risks to take with such a happy ending. Seated on that spacious desk, with Joshua fast asleep on the bed, she uses the light of her phone to illuminate all seven diaries. Three in the morning and a good reader, she thinks she can get through them—or, at least, skim through the most important stuff—, before he wakes up. It’s that sense of craziness and curiousness that bleeds out now that Minghao is back to her land that she truly feels like she needs to act upon the words he says.

The first few readings are cute. Joshua at fourteen, a bit dreamy eyed, a ton of stupid, and clearly not in love with anyone. She even finds herself trying not to laugh at some of those, at the notes he wrote on paper for his love for music, and all of the like.

Though, when Joshua turns sixteen, everything changes…and it’s not the presence of someone like her that does it.

Heejin comes up a lot in the first few pages. Beautiful, delicate, daughter of a businessman Heejin who owns a bunch of hospitals. Long dark hair, a beautiful smile, and carefree nature. Heejin who stole his first kiss. Heejin who went out on a date with him. At first, she believes that this truly comes with the passage of time. So what if Joshua had a little thing when he was a teen with Heejin? Now they’re much older, still friends, but he has been in a relationship for so long—

Second book, Joshua is seventeen. He has his first time with Heejin.

Third book, Joshua starts his relationship with her and it’s at this moment that she can’t stand reading that woman’s name—

“I wonder if I will ever feel like how I felt with Heejin with her.”

Joshua tends to make a lot of mistakes on his diaries, scraping them over with lines before continuing, but this one line came with so much confidence that she finds herself looking for more. That’s only the third book, there needs to be more.

Her eyes itch by the time it’s five in the morning, going through the fourth diary and feeling tears welding up quickly. Joshua speaks about not getting over Heejin, speaks about the uncertainty of his feelings—writes his name down with what seems to be love, initials and all, thinks of her as beautiful. As the most beautiful. Lusts and loves, adores and worships. Joshua’s goddess has always been Heejin, and it only further intensifies the feeling of hatred inside of her when she continues reading.

It’s by the sixth book that she realizes Joshua does not only love Heejin, but he also started seeing her again on the 8th of October, last year.

Seeing her like he would when he was younger.

Even better, now he’s wiser, a bigger liar, a bigger asshole.

She doesn’t know what takes over her, but she questions a lot of things. How dare he? First and foremost. How dare he take her first kiss, her first time, her entire train of thought? Make her lose her dreams, concentrate on him, lead him on as the front-man while she was in the background? How dare he write a hundred texts to her saying how much he missed her, how he wanted to kiss her, how she was the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid his eyes on, when he had always wanted Heejin?

How dare he keep bringing Heejin to every event? And how does Heejin even dare ask her for updates on her wedding preparations when she has seen it all? Seen the man she is about to marry fall so deeply in love with her that he’d risk a long lasting relationship just to be with her again, that he’d use her just to get over her, just to get over the fact that Heejin wanted to be free and while that was what made him fall for her, it’s also what kept them apart?

How dare he say that he had written hundreds and hundreds of pages about the beauty of her when there is only two?

The chair clanks against the floor when she stands up, abruptly, taking those two pages and crumpling them at the same time that she hears Joshua gasp away.

“Babe, what are you—?”

He doesn’t have the time to finish his sentence, the ball of paper ending up in between his lips as he fidgets to get away from her, whining in the process. “Shut the fuck up, I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit.” For the first time, she forgets she is a Lady. Tonight, she is someone sleep-ridden and heartbroken. Enough tears had been dropped for this man. “Thank you for those two little fucking pages in your diaries about Heejin, I very much appreciate my goddamned fiancé being head over heels for someone else.”

Joshua gets the crumpled paper out of his mouth, throwing it to the side as he stands up. “I can’t believe you read them—” And above all, there is a bit of resentment in his tone. “What about my privacy?”

“What about my dignity?” She asks, tears brimming her vision, but she won’t let them drop again. “You and your best friend have been having fun behind my back, but that’s not the worst part—you’ve used me to get over her.”

“I—I didn’t use you!” Joshua tells her, extending his hands forward before sighing. “Babe, can we just talk about this? I swear I didn’t use you.”

“Don’t swear.”

“But, I really do swear—”

“Don’t swear!” She screams, her throat hurting at the ripping motions of her vocal cords before shaking her head. “Don’t swear when I know it’s a lie—”

“Everything with Heejin has always been impossible—”

Yet, he still wants it. It has always been her. “So, you decided to be with me instead? I was the second choice?”

“No, God—” Joshua says, lowering his weight until he is kneeling in front of her. Never had he kneeled for anyone, a Prince above all, not even for his proposal, but now that he has been caught, he’s crawling like an ant. “I’m so…so sorry.” Kisses scattered across her thighs, enough to have her eyes closing tightly.

How many times has he done this for her?

“You were always the first choice! I just…I didn’t know how to…You…You were so in love with me, I didn’t know how to react.”

“So, instead of telling me you didn’t feel the same, you went on and cheated on me.” This time around, she pushes at his shoulders, soft enough to pull away from him before giving a few steps back. Her fingers wrap around that band, the one that she had been so doubtful to put on, and for a reason. “Take your ring and never talk to me again, Joshua Hong.”

“Hey, no, no—!” Joshua says, for the first time in his life lifting his voice, tears clouding his vision when he reaches for her wrist. “Don’t leave me, babe, you have given me everything.”

“And you gave me shit in return.” She finishes, shaking her head as she rushes out of that door. She can hear footsteps behind her, quickened, but she moves with the need to breathe. If she doesn’t get out of there as soon as possible, get on a plane and go back to her land, her lungs will contract so badly they will stop working—

When she reaches the entrance, she doesn’t hear Joshua rushing behind her anymore. He has stopped searching, stopped running, and it doesn’t surprise her.

It was never her he had been looking for.

###  

December 22nd. Eight months ago.

The only time she has gone out of her room since arriving from Joshua’s land has been to grab pen and paper.

In fairytales, when a member of the Royal family locks themselves up in their rooms, it’s for a Prince to find them. What a surprise, it is, that she has locked herself to avoid anyone seeing her after making a fool of herself with that man for so long. The first few days, her Mother complained about Joshua calling her and telling her that she had broken off the engagement, calling her stupid for even letting go of such a man. Chivalry is dead, she said, and she believes it may be. With the passage of time, the only people that tried to get to her were Hana, her sister and Minghao. Only Hana managed to greet her, for she didn’t have the ability to face those who had seen her such in love with a man like that.

The pen glides across the paper with ease, her utmost desire coming to life now that she has become a mess of reading and writing. She knows what she wants, knows that it isn’t what she had. Being Joshua’s plus one had never been her thing, but the parties before and the pleasantries were much worse. This time around, she lets those professional words and charisma that she had been taught speak for herself, opting out of the Duchess position.

Perhaps, no one will care. It’s a certainty that not a lot of people remember her anymore, but she doesn’t want to be a Royal anymore. She will live here as long as she can before moving on to something else. That’s as much as she knows, but it will be more difficult once the news goes along. With one final movement of her wrist, she signs the letter, putting it inside an envelope before turning around to look at Hana standing by the door.

With her hands interlocked in front of her, Hana looks at her with worry. “Don’t mind it,” She says, standing up and letting her pajama pants drag against the flooring. Fuck all those dresses she used to wear. “I personally asked for you not to be fired. I know you need the job.”

“I—I won’t go anywhere if you don’t go.” Hana says, voice much stronger than intended before cowering onto herself. “You’re like my daughter, I can’t leave you now that you’re all saddened—”

“Ah-ha.” She tuts, moving her index finger from side to side before giving her the envelope. “I am not going anywhere without you. I’ll see what I can sort out for us with the money I have saved until I can give us the life we deserve. No more of this bullshit we have gone through.”

“Language.”

“Well, I am not going to be a Lady for much longer so…” Once again, she drags herself inside her bed, her home for the past few months, plopping her thumping head down on the pillow before smiling dizzily. Hana opens the door to the bedroom, and she watches the shorter woman about to leave until she asks her. “Hana?”

“Yes, sweetie?” Hana retorts, turning around with a much more dulcet expression than the worried one she had sported earlier.

“Will I ever feel better?”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Hana says, taking the brief time to go over to her to press a kiss to her forehead, speaking against the skin. “You’re only one step away from happiness.”

“How about a hundred?”

“One big step, then.” Hana concludes, moving over to the door and closing it with some last few words. “But closer than you were before, honey.”

###

August 15th. Present day.

She has figured out that not a lot of people look up at her window to see if she’s there in that damned castle. It’s as though once she became an invisible matter, no one cared.

Books read, words written, and she still has a lot of work to catch up with. While locked in that room, she has managed to do something different with her life—past the drama that followed her departure from her title, and some speech through the walls to be able to stay for a few months while she gets her life sorted out, a new light has appeared in her life. Not that new, if she’s honest, she has always imagined herself doing something like this, but being a teacher’s assistant in one of the educational spots in the land wasn’t exactly out of her mind even when she was a Duchess. It’s tiring, revising tests is starting to worsen her vision, but it’s so worth it.

Most of the time, she spends it by the window, seated on the straight couch there, legs extended as she feels the weather of the day bask her. Today, it’s awfully gloomy for her land, fog coming up to people’s faces and blending them in when they enter the castle. None of them stare at the opened curtains of her window, neither do they care about her existence. With a sigh, she returns to the task at hand, revising one more test before she gets lost in the real dream that had always been part of her.

Studying history, technically, as a career.

Honesty is the best policy and she knows she got this job, partly, because she used to be a member of the Royal family. She still is, in what blood consists of when pumping against her arteries and keeping her alive, but she no longer holds that sense of pride on it. It’s been months since she has last seen her sister, not because she doesn’t want to, but because she needs to heal. Become the woman that would be powerful enough to eat the world alive, contrary to her brittle self.

Signing herself for a university interview feels odd. It’s been a while since she has been out in the world, and perhaps, she doesn’t miss it as much as she makes herself believe. She had put herself out there too many times before, fired by the bullets that ripped straight to her heart and made her recoil to herself. What are the odds of everything going alright if she tries again?

When she looks down the window, she sees two figures that she misses deeply. Her sister, whose hair is longer, sporting an all-black outfit that makes her look both professional and youthful, lips tainted a deep red. Minghao, by her side, is speaking to her as she rushes towards the entrance, holding an envelope on her hands that she can only imagine is something for her Mother. Nonetheless, Minghao is left behind, enough for her to inspect him from afar.

Minghao’s hair is much longer than remembered, a green shirt under a gray suit that somehow looks great sported by him. From a distance, she can see him inspecting around, from the gardens to the entrance, to the people bustling around before looking up. His eyes connect directly to hers, the first person on the passing days turned months of her solitude, on lockdown.

Had his lips always looked like petals of roses? She questions herself, watching him purse his lips as he lifts his hand to wave at her softly. Glasses cover his eyes for the most part, tainted thanks to petrichor, but he sees her. Knows exactly where to get her, texts ignored by her as a way to put the pieces of her heart together and he waited.

She doesn’t wave back, instead resting her hand against the window, tapping her fingers against the surface as if she was able to touch him. Minghao had always made her feel better, no different in the way a smile sneaks up on her features and sits there to stay.

The man mouths, pointing at the place he is standing by: “Want to come down?” She reads, concentrating on the flower on his lips, the noir poem of his existence that somehow has turned dulcet.

Though, she is not ready, shaking her head in hopes of slowing down the process of Minghao getting too close to her. She still needs time. “Not today.” She says, lips parted enough for him to understand every word before he nods.

“Some other time?” He breathes out, only understood by her when he repeats it again and without the hint of doubt, she replies:

“Definitely.”

With that, Minghao sighs deeply, a cloud of smoke gathering by his nose before giving a few steps forward, opening the weighty doors of the castle and closing them behind him. Her heart is racing by the time she looks at the empty spot he left behind, suddenly much brighter than the gloomy day.

###

Minghao knows where she is, and he makes it known.

Somehow, studying feels even worse when there is pressure on her shoulders—trying to get into university like a normal student, not like the Duchess she used to be. With her back hunched, she sits on her bed, readying herself for the moment three weeks from now when she’ll have to face the world again, and not only that, get judged by it again, but for something else, her intelligence, perhaps.

Breathing the answers into the air about this certain question, she stops when she realizes she has forgotten someone’s name. It passes her enough to have her closing her eyes tightly, cursing herself for not being able to remember. She used to be so good at this, but it seems like she has lost some of the talent she had, or the confidence that had once been within her when it came to history.

Two taps at her window make her lift her gaze, heart shaking in fear of what it could be. Birds passing by, perhaps, her room is high enough in this castle for it not to be reached by anyone, but the persistent sound follows her even minutes later, something thrown at her window before leaving her in silence, repeating the action only seconds after. It’s only after the fourth time the noise comes by that she stands up, anger raking through her when she goes to the window.

Opening the window, she looks around, lowering her weight the slightest to be able to inspect the sides. Left, nothing. Right, nothing. The castle looks the same as it did earlier, birds gone to other portions of the garden, but just as she’s about to push herself back inside her room, she hears her name being called, a tone not dulcet enough, but somehow warm in the way he speaks.

When she looks down, she is not surprised to see Minghao. Well, part of her really is—whenever he has the time, he makes himself be known, reminding her that he is there for her. Notes left under her door, that she reads when she gets the time. Books that he places outside of her door, never once knocking, but mouthing to her from the window to check the outsides of her room. It has been like this for days, perhaps even weeks, she has lost the passage of time when it comes to him.

She leans her weight against the windowsill, quirking an eyebrow at him. “What were you throwing at my window, Minghao?” She asks, not a single tone of annoyance in her voice anymore, and Minghao takes this moment to cross his arms behind his back, the yellow sweater on his body highlighted because of this. Yellow has always been her favorite color.

“Pebbles.”

“You could’ve broken my window, then.”

“If that’s what it takes to get you out of there, I will.” Minghao shrugs his shoulders, always too honest for his own good, and that’s what she adores the most about him. He pushes one of his legs forward and back, a dance of nervousness that only goes past his lips when he decides to let it go. “It’s been months. I want to see you.”

But she doesn’t feel quite ready. What if he suddenly realizes that she has played with time for far too long, that each step she takes she doubts, that right now, she doesn’t know where she starts or ends, or if she even started at all? “I’m isolating myself until I get my mind together—”

“I understand that, but—” Minghao lifts his hand to cloud the sun that basks on his face, making him glow. He has always had that with him, that’s for sure. “I could help you if you’d just let me.”

She chuckles at that, interlocking her fingers as she speaks to him. “Why?”

Minghao doesn’t hesitate, and that’s something to envy. Hardships of her life, all the pain and tears, suddenly seem to be left in the past when he smiles softly at her, like he does, never quite showing his teeth and yet, saying everything she needs to hear. “Because I miss you.” He tells her, loud enough for the people around them to hear, or perhaps, no one cares about them. It’s better if they don’t.

“I miss you, too.” She breathes out, wanting nothing more than for it to be heard. She misses one of her closest friends, her sister’s best friend, her confidante. Over everything, she mixes Xu Minghao. “…We’ll see each other someday, I promise.”

“Someday soon?”

“Sooner than you think.” She tells him, lowering her gaze to avoid his penetrating gaze. “I’ll text you…ah, we can text and sort something out.”

“I’m okay with that.” Minghao says, though, when she looks at him again, he is looking down at his watch. “I have a meeting right now, so I have to go. Check outside your bedroom, okay?”

Patience follows after him as he moves away from the castle, but she isn’t quite as patient anymore. Scrambling to close the window, she walks over to the door, opening it in one swift motion, being met by one of the workers in the castle, holding up a tray filled with her favorite food, two red apples reminiscent of him, and of course, a note from him.

“Until we meet again – Xu Minghao.”

She can’t wait.

###

Never was it her virtue to wait for the right time, the perfect moment. This time around, it isn’t any different. Instead of waiting for the day of her university interview, she texts Minghao much sooner—asking him how his day went, thanking him for all the pleasantries, gratefulness above all, and when he answers, there is nothing that stops the conversation.

It was only a matter of time until she decided to meet him again, and when he said he planned on having a picnic meeting with her—not a date, mind her—she thought it was perfect. With the moonshine draping against the curtains of the castle’s living room, the world in silence as it’s well over dinnertime, she tugs at the fabric of her dress. It has been a while since she has worn one of those, even when she hated them to bits, but this one makes her feel at ease. One that Hana made for her when visiting her sisters, the time away giving her inspiration for her favorite Duchess. Short, yet flowy, in a daylight sky blue that has her feeling a bit too bright for the night.

Everything on her is much cheaper than what she was set to wear as Duchess, but the movement of her feet is more lightweight the more she reaches the door. Minghao had said he was waiting for her outside, but each step falls harsher than the last. Not only will she meet with Minghao, who has very much grown onto himself as a person, physically and mentally, but it is the first time she will be out of the castle in months.

Maybe, she should stop.

Shame is an emotion she tries not to feel, but her life has been set, plotted, written and read according to what other people said. With her hand connecting to the doorknob of the entrance door, a few guards sparing her glances before looking away, she wonders what people would say. The Duchess is out again. The ex-Duchess. The one that left Prince Joshua for a supposed cheating scandal. Maybe, too old to study in judging eyes, or too privileged to do so.

It almost makes her stay, but she tugs at the door before she could even think in any other way.

There, in the usual spot that gives her a clear view of him from the window, is Xu Minghao. A businessman by now, owner of very big companies, an heir that knew how to divide his life perfectly. With his back turned towards her, he only notices her when the door closes, the moon making perfect shadows on his face. Maturity had taken over his features, his hair falling down his forehead, and surprisingly, a full smile appears on his face when she nears him, arms taking a mind of their own to wrap around Minghao’s slim frame.

Never had a hug felt this good, as if she belongs in these arms—unjudged, unashamed, without a hardship in this violin tune of line that only dizzies her. Minghao doesn’t waste much time to wrap his arms around her body, hiding his face on the juncture of her neck before breathing in deeply. His eyelashes flutter against her skin, as if taking all of her in, the tickling sensation nicely welcomed when she tugs at the fabric of his white sweater, tucked inside a pair of stylish, painted jeans, with figures that she hasn’t quite detailed.

“I’m so happy you’re back.” He breathes out, taking her face in between his hands when pulling away and, as always, his thumb rubs against her cheek, pinching it soon after when he lets go.

“I never left.” The confession weights with guilt on her chest, because she did. Months of not talking to him just for the sake of healing, when he could’ve been there by her side while she did so. “…So, picnic time?”

“Yes.” Minghao replies, extending his arm for her to take before walking side to side, the fabric of his sweater rubbing against her bare forearm. “Read the books I gave you?”

“All of them.”

“What did you think about—?”

Lips pushed together to keep himself silent, Minghao is not a man of many words—not until he is interested, and what a surprise it is that not a single moment in that lake, as they gave bites of each other’s foods, he seemed to stop himself from talking. It’s at that moment that she realizes she is necessary for some people in this life, and likewise with him, or rather, not necessary…wanted, desired, wished to be there.

There’s no better feeling.

###

Water always makes her feel better. In all forms and shapes. Knowing there is something deeper than what she feels, something stronger than her and yet, feeling so weak against her fingertips, gives her the force to know she has been through worse than waiting for the response of a university. Though, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t spend most of her time helping the maids around the castle, trying to find something to do that distracts her before she goes absolutely crazy.

Hana has always been a bit strict when it came to certain fabrics, and only now she realizes how difficult it is to wash a gown by hand, much more her Mother’s, that seems to be never-ending as four people, including her, try to get it washed. She knows Mother won’t use it again, but she doesn’t have the heart to remind that to the groups of people working for her. It would only make them feel worse, and she’s there to feel better.

The laundry machine roars behind them, though she pays more attention to the faint sound of music playing in the background. Water drips down her hands when she rubs the fabric against itself, trying to get rid of any stain or smell, though there is a party in between the staff. Candles lit up, cake sliced, a song too upbeat for her danced by her workers. Some are buzzed, even in this early moment of the day, for it’s the ex-Duchess’ birthday.

Her birthday and it doesn’t quite feel like it.

In the past, she liked her birthday, but today, she feels nostalgic. Only getting older, but not getting anywhere—well, she’s in the process, but it feels like her growth will last forever, and she’s too impatient to wait for it. Smelling like smoke, detergent and soap, she thanks the few people that gave her such pleasantries, that congratulated her as if they were part of her family, because they are. Careless, she isn’t, and even though the smile on her face is weakened, it means well.

One day, she’s going to hold onto every birthday as if it’s the last—one never knows, but somehow, today, celebrating is not in her vocabulary. It hasn’t been in a while.

“I think someone is looking for you.” Hana says, already reaching for her hands with a towel to wipe them away from the soap and water. She widens her eyes, unaware of why Hana is so rushed to get her out of the laundry room and towards the living room. “Oh my, darling, why are you this untidy?”

“I was doing laundry, Hana, that’s why.” She replies, looking down at her black tank top and leggings, not looking like how she used to be on a normal day, always prepared for an event. “Why? I get to be comfortable on my birthday—”

Hana stops her as they are reaching the living room, turning around to release her hair from its confines on a ponytail, tugging her shirt down to show more of her cleavage and using that towel to wipe all the droplets of water from her body. “Because you will want to look good for this visitor.”

She scoffs. “I don’t want to look good for anyone other than myself.”

Hana stops rubbing at her skin then, lifting her hands in surrender before looking at her pointedly. “Okay, look like a mess, but when you do regret looking like one in front of this visitor, I am going to say that I told you so.”

“If that happens, have my heart.” Her hand extends on top of the left portion of her ribcage, moving forward with her slippers sliding against the tiles, resounding obnoxiously as she reaches the main area by the entrance. Spacious enough to be considered a house of its own, but the closer she gets, the more noticeable the person by the door becomes.

She stumbles back slightly, though the smile on her face is more taken aback than angry. Minghao stands there, a bouquet of sunflowers in between his hands and a small black bag holding tightly onto his fingers, turned white under the pressure of his gift. With a deep green turtleneck, a leather jacket and a pair of ripped, oversized, light-washed jeans, he looks more like the birthday person than she does.

“Minghao? What are you doing here?” She asks, once again retreating at the sound of her slippers. Fuck, once they’re wet, they sound like they’re smacking against the floor far more than usual. Still, she keeps walking forward, Minghao giving her a once-over that goes unnoticed, mostly. “Not that you’re not welcome, but you said you had a meeting with your PR team.”

“I did, but now I’m here.” Minghao finalizes, giving the bouquet of sunflowers to her before she looks down at it. One note reads her name, written in his expert handwriting, a brief ‘happy birthday’ wit a heart making her feel more at ease than ever. Who cares if she looks a little bit unprepared? “Happy birthday.” He says, one arm wrapping around her shoulder to rest his cheek against her head. She chuckles at that, enveloping her arm around his taut waist to take the warmth of him, the hug sideways and yet, meaningful.

“Thank you. It hasn’t been exactly the happiest, but it hasn’t been sad either.” She conquers, pulling away from him before pointing to the kitchen. “Want me to serve you some coffee?”

“Do you have tea?”

“I do.”

“Let’s have tea while we wait for the cake I ordered for you.” Minghao replies, going after her towards the kitchen. Though her grin is perceptible, she can’t help but groan.

“Goodbye to my night of sleep with the amount of sugar I’ve eaten today, and it’s not even night.” She says, going over to the shelves to look through her repertoire of tea. “Black?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’, the chair creaking under his weight when he splays his gift on the island, unable to stand straight. “But, before you start, I brought you something—”

She stops then, moving towards him before taking the black bag in between her hands. Gifts are not something she enjoys regularly, much more because she was bathed in them instead of being given sentimentalism, but from Minghao, she finds it hard to deny that she is head over heels with the idea of him giving her something.

“Thank you.” She says, opening the bag as she speaks. “It must be heavy; your fingers are all red.” Though, her words come to a halt when she gets a canvas out of the bag, the plastic falling on the floor when she inspects it in front of her line of vision. Blue merges into a moonlit sky, railings of a balcony crooked yet enigmatic, strokes made from his heart and soul, a pool underneath, the doors open ajar. She knows this place.

Minghao explains it for her when she can’t find words to say, reminiscent of the first time they met. He was, what, eighteen or nineteen then? “That’s the place in which we met,” Minghao whispers, pointing at the canvas. “Well, where you met me. I always saw you around the castle, but you never paid much attention.”

How could she not? She will always blame herself for not getting to know Minghao sooner. Still, she lifts her gaze, unable to voice out what she truly feels. Adoration. “Why didn’t you just try to talk to me?”

He shrugs, pulling the sleeves of his jacket down before taking it off, draping it on the island in the process. “Way back then, I thought you’d never connect with me. We wouldn’t be, well, good friends or anything, in my head.” Minghao tries to come out with proper answers, crossing one leg over the other. “I am glad I woke up that night.”

“Because you met me?”

“That,” Minghao says, resting his hand on his palm, his index and middle finger parting on his cheek. “And that you noticed me.”

“You painted this?” She asks, only to receive a nod from him. Looking at it once again, she can’t believe he remembers the balcony of his cousin’s house that perfectly. He moved away from there years ago, after all. “Minghao, I am the lucky one for getting to know you, not the other way around.”

“Ah, perception. Another thing of life that is relative.”

“…There you go.” She chuckles, knowing fully well that said words belong to Minghao. Always thinking ahead of what is in front of him, so realistic that it almost becomes complex to understand. She puts the canvas down on the island, taking the time to wrap her arms around his shoulders and rest her chin on his shoulder. His hands hesitate to rest on her waist, getting closer and closer until he engulfed her completely. “I’ll put it up in my room. Thank you.”

The tea that brews later will never be as warm as his presence, as his smile, the way he seems to remember things about her that she even forgot telling him. Xu Minghao is not only a realist, but the only reality that she is happy of living.

###

While she had never noticed just how loved Minghao was around not only businesspeople, but with normal individuals as well, it seemed like the world had put him on a pedestal. A deserved one, at that. Earning himself the opportunity of a documentary for his strenuous, gorgeously planned work in the business industry as one of the richest heirs in the entire continent. Not that she was told beforehand, but when Minghao texted her to join him while he recorded around the land, she took her textbook and followed after Minghao’s staff for the rest of the day.

The sun beams down on him, in the middle of the bustling city with the cameraman, Jeon Wonwoo, on one knee as he tries to get a good shot, the rest of the team working with the lights, with the microphone, making sure that everything Minghao wears is still on place. The high-waisted striped pants and the button down a standard for fashion just by looking at it, yet so incredibly creative that she finds her breath stolen the moment she saw him earlier. Never had she been able to look at Minghao this closely, or this sentimentally, when he raises his head and answers one of the questions one of Wonwoo’s team has as he walks, showing the land that had welcomed his business after he moved in here.

Small as a land, but productive for him as a businessman.

This time around, Minghao doesn’t have a camera hanging from his neck and she has long forgotten the textbook that rests in between her arm and her ribcage, walking behind the team to hear Minghao’s answers, must of them have been simplistic enough, something for him to showcase how it was to move in here, how he grew internationally, what he wants for his future and what he imagined in the past. All equaling to something Minghao could respond easily, his own photographer taking pictures of him from afar for the previews of the documentary.

He props his sunglasses down on the bridge of his nose, quirking an eyebrow when Wonwoo, instead of one of his team, is the one to ask him a question: “What is the most important lesson you have learned in your life?”

Minghao giggles a bit to himself, as if a million thoughts crossed his head and he couldn’t pick one. When that smile settles on his face, she details him. Rosy lips and brown eyes that capture her when the apples of his cheeks become prominent and he answers: “Be patient. Work hard for what you want. What is meant to be for you, will come to you even if it’s the last day of your life.”

The way he looks over his shoulder, his eyes twinkling behind those expensive yet flimsy pink sunglasses, tells her a million things and none at all. Not that she minds it, this uncertainty doesn’t dull in insecurity, but rather blinks with curiousness. Her heart, against her ribcage, begs for an answer…but maybe, in another life, she’d let that one voice inside of her speak with confidence. This time around, she knows better than to ponder, than to hang onto that smile that makes her feel a thousand things all at the same time. For once, she doesn’t think Minghao as a friend that she wishes to keep by her side, but she sees him as something else. Attractive, for once, a pull so strong that she finds herself stopping when he looks ahead once again, taking the questions like a champion.

Bullshit.

This is absolute bullshit.

She’s not this kind of fool, but why is it that she now realizes that Minghao has one of the best eyes she has ever seen and that, when with him, this feeling of attraction doesn’t make her feel disgusted? It doesn’t make her feel brittle or insecure, but the experience tells her not to give that step forward.

She doesn’t like Minghao. It can’t be.

She’s not able to like anyone after what happened to her.

Whatever this is, it isn’t what she is thinking. What’s the use of falling if it’s not going to be real? Minghao was just looking over his shoulder, there is no way he would have waited for her—

Love never waits. People never wait. They’d rather have someone than not have anyone at all.

Besides, it’s not like Minghao is not a handsome man. There is no way that his heart kept with only one person for this long.

Yeah, she’s just assuming, and assuming is never good. Minghao has his heart well reserved, given to someone that she doesn’t know, and she can’t feel that way for someone who has treated her so fairly, such like a friend. She doesn’t need another reason for a headache, not when her life is sorted out or halfway there. Love is a waste of time, just a touch of lips, souls and bodies that brings to nothing at all. A game that no one wins.

With that in mind, she keeps walking, listening to Minghao and feeling each portion of her heart ripple with electricity. He’s a charming man, she’s not the only person that sees it, and definitely she isn’t thinking of him in any other way that isn’t as friends.

###

The first test in university is always the worst. Just seeing her classmates’ grades has her throat getting dry, seeing all the people who have failed—and those who have barely passed is just enough of a headache to have her closing the laptop momentarily, only to have the person beside her sighing deeply, taking a seat next to her on her bed to open the laptop again, pressing on the spacebar with rapidness as he wraps one arm around her.

Minghao is not her leverage—she has learned never to lean on someone, but what a blessing it is to feel him next to her when she is at her worst. Woken up at night because of the worries for this one text, he’d always reply to her midnight worries, albeit a bit annoyed at times, but caging it in because it’s her. She’ll never understand how he does it, being this nice and not asking for anything in return.

“Come on, whatever the grade is, it’s not a definition of who you are.” Minghao says, pressing his index finger to her adjacent temple, looking for her name through the masses of people in the picture. “Besides, what you learned will stay here and that’s what will keep on with you. No matter how many people did better or worse than you, you still learned, and that’s the important part.”

She lays her head on his chest, the fabric of his simple shirt rubbing against her cheek when she breathes out through her nose. “Yeah, but I studied so hard.”

“That’s what matters.” Minghao says, leaning his weight forward before pointing towards the laptop screen. “Besides, you’re the best grade in your class.”

The sound of those words shadow everything that has gone wrong in her life, light like him, in the way he says it so plainly but means the world to her. She lifts her gaze then, tears that she planned to drop gone in a second when she takes his face in between her hands, her head still pressed to his chest when she pulls his face down to look straight into his eyes, showing a lot of her teeth in a smile that plasters her happiness into the air. “Minghao, are you kidding me?!”

“I would never.” Minghao smiles back, looking down at her lips before returning his gaze to her eyes, clouds of pink rain scattering across the apples of his cheeks and if she is not mistaken, the lullaby in the ballad of Minghao’s heart turns into an upbeat tune. Something that she would hear in a club or in a party, rushed beyond her understanding, making her raise her eyebrows when she lets go of her face and his face stops flushing.

“Your heart is racing.” She says, awfully aloof in her deliver and Minghao can only let out one of his nervous giggles, nodding in the process.

“I am usually good at controlling my heartbeat.” He confesses, one of his hands resting on her shoulder, rubbing circles there yet not moving her from her spot. “But I am not doing so great today.”

“Why do you have to control your heartbeat?”

“…Well,” Once again, he smiles, this time around pulling himself away from her to take one of the cushions on her bed, playing with the fabric, fisting it in between his hands. “I normally have to do it around you.”

Does Minghao have to control his heartbeat around her? Why would his heart race on the first place?

At the mention of such words, she opts not to take the answer out of him. If Minghao said what was possible that existed between them, she wouldn’t know how to act. Her gut tells her to step forward and place his hand on her chest, show him that it has been weeks since her heart has started to go crazy for him. Instead, she goes for the easier route, the one that isn’t accompanied by heartbreak.

“Either way.” Minghao finishes, pushing his weight off her bed before clapping his hands together. “Now that we know you’re a genius, we should go and grab something to eat, don’t you think?”

Is that something else falling from his eyes? That glint that she has always talked about, always gushed about internally, perhaps it could mean something…just like it could mean nothing at all. Who knows? She doesn’t answer.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

###

Three months pass and her heart doesn’t want to shut up. It dances to its will whenever it sees Minghao, just like it does now that he is seated across from her in the sofa of her new mansion. His hands extend on each side of his body, inspecting the place with certainty, with the eye of a critic because he was the one that helped her the most with the decorations. All props should go to him.

Hana has her own room, locked away and excited to be able to start anew and not have to work for anyone in the process. Not that Mother was too pleased about her decision, but she could not bring herself to care, not when Minghao nods to himself and hums in the process, a big smile taking over his face.

“It’s perfect for you.”

The rows of bookshelves, the vintage atmosphere, the delicacy that meets both feminine tones and real masculine ones, they all come together with pinches of yellow, her favorite color. Minghao doesn’t notice it, the way she isn’t even inspecting the mansion but looking at him instead, taking the seat beside him and placing her arm over his abdomen, taut and contracting thanks to the action.

“And it’s all thanks to you.”

“No, no. I helped you decorate,” Minghao corrects, turning to look at her before sighing. “This was all your doing. You bought the mansion. You planned what you wanted. This is years-worth of dreaming given to you by yourself.”

Always finding the perfect words, Minghao manages to engrave himself inside her head. Not that he has ever left, the cause of her dreaming, also the cause of her absolute denial. It’s in the fact that she fears getting hurt that keeps her away, that ignores the way his eyes trail down to her lips from time to time, how he stops himself each time is beyond her. Maybe, he senses more than what she actually realizes, and it’s at this point that she notices that Minghao won’t ever talk, do anything, even remotely speak about what he may feel about her if she doesn’t get it out of him.

She has known him for years, and never had she felt this…lukewarm. She used to think that love was meant to be feral, rip at her, bite at her heart, make her feel heartbroken but in love at the same time. It’s what she saw, it’s what she believed in. However, with Minghao everything has always been different. She doesn’t hate herself in the process of liking him, neither does she think of herself as less when being around him. All the kisses she has given in the past seem to be forgotten when she tries to think of giving him a kiss.

If she has to die, she wants her last kiss to be with Xu Minghao. Those petal-like lips engulfing hers to give her hope of knowing that whatever life she got to live, she made the best out of it.

Which is why, for the first time, without thinking and with an intake of breath, she whispers out the words that she had not even internalized. Certainty clouds her, it’s so full of confidence even in its mumble, that she finds herself surprised by what she feels, the way her eyes want to concentrate on everything about him.

“I like you, Minghao.”

She is a woman of words. It’s what she has read, what she has expected for her. Big confessions, grand apologies, bunch of excuses and lies, people that kiss up to her even if they don’t mean it. Minghao loves the silence of patience, waits for the right moment to let those words fall down on him like rain, his features softening, the slightest bit of surprise passing his wide eyes before he leans forward, just a breath away from her, but he stops.

He stops because he knows she likes words, and they both compromise silently at that moment.

“I’ve liked you for a long time.” He tells her, lowering his weight slightly until their lips are centimeters away from each other. “Can I kiss you?”

With a nod of her head, she realizes the difference between the kiss of love and the kiss of desire is huge. Not a lot of pressure, he seems to melt against her, softly parting his lips to relish on the sentiment more than the quickness of it all. Minghao splays his hand on her waist, bringing her closer when he uses his other hand to touch her cheek. A rub of his thumb against the skin, and a soft whisper of her name against her lips once the contact is finished.

It doesn’t take a lot of words to know then Xu Minghao loves her, and after all this time, she may say one thing…

She hates a lot of things, but she will never hate him.

#the8 scenarios #minghao scenarios #seventeen scenarios #seventeen #minghao #the8 #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #minghao au #minghao fluff #minghao angst #heir!au #duchess!au #there we go one of my best tries at modern royal!au lol

[angstsfordays]

Beautiful Pain (6)

Chapter Six- Growing Pains

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced! Reader

Summary: Post-Blip, you started to feel lost when most of the Avengers team are gone. Coping with your loss, you still find hope in the connection with your remaining friends. However, it is not easy as everyone is trying to figure their lives after the Blip.

Having a long history with Bucky ever since you both saved each other from Hydra, you were still glad you had Bucky after all this time. However, as you try to give Bucky space to find himself after being pardoned for his past, you start to wonder if you should ever cross the line of friendship before it’s too late.

That thought might have to be put on hold though, when you, Sam and Bucky find yourselves having to deal with threats that continue to rise in a post-Blip world.

Chapter synopsis: Arriving in Latvia, you find your group closing into Karli’s group. You found yourself unexpectedly in upsetting exchanges with Bucky, making you take two steps back from the progress you two had since Madripoor.

Warnings: Angst as I like it! Bucky being a dense block of wood.

Word count: 4k

Notes: It’s insane the number of followers I have gained after starting this series. I am very humbled to know that you guys take interest in my work! Appreciate all the likes and reblogs! 🙏🏼

Hope y’all would enjoy this chapter! Things cannot be forever smooth sailing and we see a roadblock to Bucky and reader’s progress. I would love to know your feedback on the story so leave a comment if you can! 🥰

The tag list is still open! Let me know if you want to join with a message or comment in the chapters!

Previous: Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Next: Chapter Seven

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Six years ago

The embers from the fire glowed warmly in front of you, a finger daringly reached out to touch the flames. The energy flames emitted from the tip of your finger and blended into the fire.

Turning your head back to Bucky and Ayo, you saw how Bucky was anxious and had a doubtful expression on his face. It had been a week since the programming has been removed from his system.

While he was still reassured that the worst was over, he had a lot of reservations. Having you by his side was the only source of comfort that he could through these hard times.

“I won’t let you hurt anyone,” Ayo spoke to relieved Bucky of his concerns. You flashed an encouraging smile back to him and Bucky nodded at Ayo for her to start.

As Ayo started saying the code words, you could see Bucky’s entire body tensing up as if he wanted to resist the possibility of being turned. Holding in your breath at the entire situation, you clasped your hands together in prayer, wishing that things would turn out well.

Every time each word was said, it built up hope and anxiety at the same time. You could see the dread, regret and guilt all from his eyes alone as Bucky stared intensely at the burning fire. It seemed his mind was heavy on a lot of memories and recollections that seemed to eat him away.

You wanted to take a step forward but Ayo shook her head, silently asking you to stay put.

As the number of codewords was closing into zero, your anticipation grew at how Bucky was doing well. However, your heart started breaking when you saw the tears welling up in his eyes.

Once the last code word was spoken, Bucky was sobbing. Seeing this sight, your own tears started to fall down your cheeks as you brought your clasped hands over your heart.

“You are free,” Ayo stated with a pleased smile and she looked over to you to give you a nod. Grinning a full wide smile at her, you looked down to Bucky shaking by the fire. You wondered what was wrong until he removed his clenched fist from his face. It was when he turned to face you that you both mirrored the full-blown smiles on your faces.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Stretching your limbs on the plush couch, your eyes closed wearily from the flight to Latvia. You still couldn’t process the entire series of events that had happened in the past 72 hours and your mind was mentally drained.

Hearing the door open, you lifted your head to finally see Bucky joining everyone in Zemo’s fancy place. Bucky’s eyes turned to yours and the two of you stared at each other silently for what felt like an eternity.

You first broke the stare by blinking and bit your lips in nervousness. Your mind immediately went back to what happened in Sharon’s club and you turned your back to avoid looking at him for the time being.

Bucky was thinking of the same thing and tried his best to maintain a cool façade. Seeing how you turned your back on the sofa, he felt it was best to move on to business with the others first.

“Well, the Wakandans are here. They want Zemo.” Bucky spoke to Sam before looking at an unbothered Zemo who was fresh out of the shower in his robes.

Bucky’s words managed to get you to turn back and sit up at attention.

“It was sweet of you to defend me at least.” You see Zemo looking grateful at Bucky but the super-soldier just rolled his eyes.

“Hey, you shut it. No one’s defending you.” Sam shut Zemo down as he couldn’t believe how thick-skinned the Sokovian man was. “You killed Nagel.”

Zemo tried to defend his stance while Sam definitely wasn’t buying it. You couldn’t say it out loud lest you get a look from Sam but you were glad Zemo did it. Who knows if there would be a day where you would be handed off to Nagel and he got his hands on you to do whatever he wanted?

You shuddered at the thought and as if Zemo knew what was on your mind, you see the Baron turning back to give you a wink and mouthing a ‘welcome’. Your nose scrunched in distaste, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of him being right.

“Karli bombed a GRC supply depot,” Bucky spoke up again after looking up from his phone. Sam asked for the amount of damage to which Bucky answered that eleven were injured and three were dead.

This was getting serious. Especially when you heard Bucky saying that the Flag Smashers were promising more attacks if their demands were not met. You suddenly felt a renewed sense of responsibility and purpose to help the world once more after the last battle.

Even though you were tired of fighting, you knew that bearing the powers that you had gave you the responsibility to take action for the greater good.

Zemo then remarked that he had the will to follow through with this mission but questioned you and your friends.

“She’s just a kid,” Sam emphasized, showing his empathetic and kind heart who chose to see the good in others first. It reminded you so much of Steve and you smiled at the resemblance.

Zemo didn’t agree with Sam’s opinion and explained how Karli was a supremacist. The very idea of super-soldiers was troubling, how they viewed themselves as invincible and above others. Zemo compared it to the Nazi ideology, how it led to Ultron and the Avengers.

His last point rubbed you the wrong way because you knew your friends were never focused on themselves but rather dedicated time, effort and their lives for the world.

Sam understood that Karli had indeed been radicalised but still argued for a better way to manage the situation, one that he hoped would be peaceful and led to lesser bloodshed.

“I agree with Sam.” You spoke up for the first time. All three men focused on you as you lifted yourself from the sofa and walked towards them. “She’s not doing this for power or money, she’s doing this to help her community and the vulnerable. The least we could do is to try to talk to her first.”

Zemo tilted his head with an annoyed look, seeing how you backed Sam up in this debate.

“Y/N. The desire to become a superhuman cannot be separated from supremacist ideals. Anyone with that serum is inherently on that path. She would not stop, in fact, she will escalate unless you kill her.”

You knew that there were part truths in Zemo’s words. You kept quiet and he looked at you pleased that he probably has gotten through you in some sense.

“Or you can kill her first.” With this, Zemo stared straight at you as if he decided to give you this responsibility, knowing that you were the likeliest to overpower Karli when the time comes.

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The serum never corrupted Steve.” Speaking from behind you, Bucky refuted Zemo’s claims but Zemo seemed unaffected. He even added on that there was no other Steve Rogers. Who were you guys to presume not everyone could get corrupted once they had a taste of power?

Having enough of Zemo, Bucky suggested handing Zemo over to the Wakandans right at this moment and you wanted to agree. You were indebted to them and with their late king’s murderer right in front of you, a sense of guilt washed over you as you must have realized how livid they must be that he was walking free.

Sam then explained how Donya was an influential member of the community and related it to his own story of his TT aka his aunt. When someone who was a pillar in a close-knitted community had passed, people would gather to hold a long ceremony in memory of that person. He presumed that the same would be done for Donya and that’s where you all should lead with.

-------------------------//---------------------------

The four of you decided to venture to the streets to ask for information on Donya. As Zemo and Sam went their own ways, Bucky looked over you as if to ask if you wanted to join him.

“Uh, I-uh-I” You started stuttering without realising. Bucky knitted his brows in confusion at your sudden display and he immediately thought of your almost moment. Did you not want it? Did he overstep?

Inwardly groaning, he couldn’t believe he did something so stupid in the heat of the moment. Deciding to do something about it, he spoke up.

“Hey. About earlier-” Glancing up at Bucky, he nervously rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to find the words to say.

“Earlier?” You weren’t sure what he was referring to and returned a quizzical look. Taking a deep breath before exhaling, Bucky tried to continue the conversation.

“I mean back in Madripoor. You know that uh-” Your eyes widened realised at the particular event that he chose to bring up. Your heart quickened at how he was choosing to address it now and you stared at him expectantly. “Yeah?”

“It was stupid, all right? I didn’t think and it was all at the moment, I didn’t mean to went in like that-” Blinking your eyes as if you couldn’t process what Bucky had just said, your heart dropped at the realisation that everything turned out to be one-sided wishful thinking of yours.

In his attempt to piece his words together and play it down, Bucky didn’t realise the disappointment painted on your face and how you stopped the tears that welled up in your eyes from falling.

You felt so stupid. There was no way that Bucky would have taken interest in you. All this time, you were nothing more than friends. You didn’t doubt that that moment in Madripoor with its atmosphere could have clouded both of your senses.

“It’s okay, Buck. I totally understand.” You spoke up to prevent him from continuing to dishearten you.

“I’m cool. We were swept up in the music and the dancing- it’s natural to uh-do that.” You were starting to choke up at your words but forced yourself to swallow down the knot in your throat.

Pulling your lips into a tight grin and forcing yourself to meet Bucky’s eyes, you saw him puzzled and expectant of your next response.

“I am going to go that way.” Mustering up a cheerful voice to make it sound like you were fine, you pointed over to a random street. “We should split up and cover more ground. Bye!” Giving a quick wave to him, you hurriedly turn your back and almost broke into a sprint to get as far away from him as possible.

Bucky knew that from your reaction he must have done something wrong. He just wasn’t sure what he did. Scolding himself for being such an idiot, he looked back to where he last saw you before you turned the corner.

Bucky’s hands and jaw both clenched with tension at how things had been with you just moments ago before allowing himself to be distracted with the mission. He made a mental note that he had to catch you later and have another talk.

-------------------------//---------------------------

You were a woman with a purpose and that was to find out more about Donya Madani. You realised after the first few queries, people here were wary once you mentioned the woman’s name.

Cracking your brain to think of a strategy, your eyes roamed around the neighbourhood for some sort of idea. A familiar back caught your attention and your eyes widened in shock at who you had spotted.

The man back from the fight on the truck was here. That means Karli and her group were here too! You didn’t have the chance to see the man’s face as he had a mask on back then but you recognised him instantly.

He was alone and that gave you a good chance to corner him. You blended in with the crowd while closing in on him with every step. As he turned the corner to an alley, you quickened your steps in fear that you might be losing him.

Once you stepped foot into the alley, you were shocked to see there it was clear and empty. Running your fingers through your hair in a stressful moment, you wondered how he could have disappeared without a trace. Venturing further down the alley, you hoped that you might be able to catch sight of him once more.

Your body reacted a second later than your intuition when you felt someone grabbed you from behind, the hands covering your mouth to prevent you from screaming.

The person switched hands and used their strength to push you against the brick walls. Feeling the wind knocked out of your chest, you took quick hurried breaths to regain yourself and that’s when your eyes looked up to meet the dark eyes of the man that you had been following.

His eyes mirrored yours as they widened at the recognition of who you were and he then spoke. “How did you follow us? Where are the rest of your friends?”

Clawing at his hands to free your face, your hands started glowing a bright orange to get him to release you. The man was taken aback at the display of your powers and decided to make a run for it, knowing that you would have the upper hand eventually.

“No wait, please!” You cried for him to stop. The man’s steps slowed down at your plea and he turned back slightly to face you. You raised your hands up in surrender to show you meant no harm.

You willingly put your hands behind you, clasping them together and showing them to him.

“I just want to talk.” You continued saying. Sensing the man’s hesitation, you then emphasized please desperately. Taking a few steps closer, you still left a gap between the two of you.

“I am Y/N.” Hoping that introducing yourself showed that you were interested to get to know him, you looked on anxiously for his response.

“Dovich.” The man replied curtly before staring back at you. Repeating his name once more in your mouth, you showed off a friendly smile before resuming.

“I know what you must be thinking, but please I do not mean any harm.” You hoped that the sincerity in your voice would get his guard down but seeing Dovich squaring his shoulders to look more intimidating, you knew that he couldn’t trust you yet.

“Lies!” Dovich refuted your claims.

“What happened back there was self-defence!” He must have thought about how you were about to use your powers just moments ago. “Trust me, if I wanted to do any damage, I would be able to but I didn’t.”

Seeing how you were still standing there with your arms behind your back, Dovich’s stance seemed to ease up a little. “What do you want?”

“We- my friends and I want to talk to Karli.” You knew your words only served to upset him once more as his face distorted into a frown.

“We really want things to work out! We don’t ever want things to escalate, it is never in my interest to kill anyone.” Dovich glanced over you to see an earnest expression on your face and he couldn’t help but be a little swayed.

He knew who you were. You were less well-known but still regarded as part of the Avengers team. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t intimidated. He recalled how you fought his group back then and knew that given your powers, there was a chance to be bested even if he had taken the serum.

Dovich still clearly remembered how you pulled him up when he was about to fall off the moving truck from before. Your actions at that moment had changed his impression of you, regarding you in a better light. It matched what you had just said earlier, you weren’t interested to kill anyone.

“Karli wouldn’t listen. She is determined and resolute in our vision.” Dovich hoped you understood his perspective and you nodded in acknowledgement.

“I know but that doesn’t mean we don’t want to try settling this peacefully. We don’t want more lives gone than it already had.” You added on to your own perspective in the matter. Dovich believed you but he still wasn’t sure. He couldn’t be so easy to trust especially of all of the experiences that he and his group went through.

You were still considered a threat to the existence of the group.

“I don’t trust your group. Especially that Zemo guy. We know he hates super soldiers.” Dovich reiterated his mistrust before continuing. “Plus you guys are the Avengers, you wouldn’t know what it is like to be us. You get to live comfortable lives and do as you please.”

Hearing his assumption, you shook your head in disagreement. You closed your eyes and exhaled deeply before speaking.

“The Avengers aren’t really there anymore. Most of our group are gone. We are only what’s left but it doesn’t feel like there’s a team anymore.” Your mind to your current situation. Yes, you were with Sam and Bucky but they were just tolerating each other for the moment. You didn’t exactly feel like you were a team at all but just a group put together because you were all that’s left.

The sense of camaraderie from your previous team was gone and you were at a loss. You did what you had to do to support your two friends but you felt empty on the inside. You titled your head up to see Dovich peering at you with an almost concerned look on his face.

“Besides, that’s a bit of a generalisation you have there. We don’t live fancy lives, that’s a misconception because of uh-Tony. We all are still normal human beings dealing with struggles in our personal lives too. We gave up most of ourselves to defend this world….” Reeling from the exchange that you two had, you knew Dovich was someone that could be reasoned with.

“Of course, I am not trying to brag or anything!” You hurriedly explain before he had the thought that you were trying to make yourself look better in his eyes. “It’s just that I hope you could understand where we are coming from too.”

Dovich didn’t expect the conversation to progress in this manner. He had spotted you in the reflection of a glass window of a shop and initially wanted to get you off his tail. Despite the initial scepticism, he was starting to warm up to you. He figured you weren’t like the rest of your group and seemed down to earth despite being an Avenger.

He couldn’t lie to himself and claimed he thought of you several times ever since the first encounter. How can one not forget someone who stepped in to save their life once?

Dovich gazed at you now standing civilly with an awaiting look. He wanted to trust you, he really did. But he knew Karli was especially alert and distrustful of anyone outside her circle. Your affiliation wouldn’t help in this case either. He couldn’t make a promise that he can’t keep.

“I can’t promise you anything.” A grin formed on your face for the first time and you nodded your head in understanding.

“Of course, I just need a chance to talk. That’s all.” Dovich nodded back before he started walking back to the other end of the alleyway. He told you that he would speak with Karli after Donya’s ceremony and asked you to wait for his contact. He made you promise to not speak to your friends about this meeting and that he only trusted you.

You gave your agreement and maintained a friendly smile before he turned back to go onto another street.

-------------------------//---------------------------

Walking with lighter steps, you were glad to be able to do something right. You re-entered Zemo’s place and was greeted with the men gathering around to discuss their lack of result. You had to control yourself from revealing about your meeting with Dovich and kept quiet.

You agreed with Sam’s remarks on understanding Karli’s perspective and how she and her group were not motivated by malicious intentions.

Bucky then gave his own input that Karli would not be any different from Zemo. Recalling your last exchange with him, you suddenly felt upset with the super-soldier. You didn’t agree with his words either as you believed you understood better after talking with Dovich.

“I agree with Sam on this. Karli’s group is different and we need to give them a chance.” Bucky looked at you in disbelief. This was the first time you were ever not on the same page with him. He couldn’t agree with your views of giving the Flag Smashers a chance when they were such obvious threats.

Bucky believed that your soft-hearted nature was clouding your judgement and he thought better of you given your experience of dealing with such people.

“Can’t believe you are actually siding with terrorists Y/N.” His words came out harsher than expected and his heart twisted when he saw the tinge of sadness at how you received his words. A brief moment later, he saw your brows frowning and now looked at him with an offended stare.

“Not everything is black and white, James.” You scoffed before walking off to use the bathroom.

Sam and Zemo were surprised to hear the condescending tone in your voice towards Bucky. Knowing how you and Bucky were close-knitted, witnessing the suddenly tensed exchange between the two of you would have been baffled at what just transpired.

Hearing you calling him James was clear as day to Bucky that you were definitely not happy with him. Rubbing his temples in dismay, he wondered what have gotten over you suddenly. Sure, he was at fault for saying such a harsh comment but he still didn’t expect you to be like this.

Bucky lost his cool when Zemo stated he wanted to keep his leverage by not revealing any more information he had gotten from the little girl on the streets about Donya.

“You wanna see what someone can do we leverage?” Bucky too the glass in Zemo’s hand and threw it to the wall behind the Sokovian baron. He was silently seething at Zemo’s play on top of the unpleasant exchange that he had with you.

Sam came around to calm Bucky down before he indicated that he would make a call.

You stepped back into the common room when you heard the smashing of glass. You looked to see Bucky and Zemo in an intense standoff, well more so Bucky than Zemo.

Sam walked away first. Zemo asked Bucky if he would like some cherry blossom tea but the super-soldier refuted the offer with disdain in his tone.

“Y/N?” Zemo gestured to the lovely glass tea set on the coffee table. Glancing up to meet Bucky’s eyes, you could tell he was still bearing an annoyed look on his face.

You weren’t sure if it was his emotions from his exchange with Zemo or yours. Walking up to Zemo, you gave a polite smile before speaking.

“I would love to.” It was the second time that you acted out of character in a row. He knew that you didn’t like Zemo at all, only because of what Zemo had done to him. You were his girl (well sort of) and seeing you accepting Zemo’s offer even if it was just tea hit him differently.

Hearing how you graciously accepted the glass from Zemo and commenting on the fragrance of the brew, Bucky couldn’t believe his ears. He immediately stomped away from the scene before he felt like he would implode.

This was not right at all. Why would you suddenly act like this?

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Tag list: @tanyaherondale @spookycereal-s @cataves @archaeoheart @conflicted-noxsirius @archaeoheart @idiotinnit @anxious-stitcher @lindseyrae20 @mads-weasley

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #marvel fanfiction #angstsfordays #beautiful pain #tfatws #thefalconandthewintersoldier #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader

[haztory]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

--erwin smith x reader; fluff, domestic, not canon compliant farmer erwin, there’s a mentioning of injuries but not enough to be considered graphic! (erwin lives!)

a.n: this is my attempt at swinging back into the ways of writing after a long, long, long hiatus! i wrote this in thirty minutes as just an exercise, but felt it was cohesive enough to post. its vague, abstract, and definitely not a magnum opus, but its something. this is more of an erwin story than an x reader one, but i hope you all enjoy regardless!

this was titled after a song on the pride and prejudice ost of the same name. highly recommend you give it a listen

anything for my sweet boy erwin ♡

(w.c: 1686)

At the initial prospect of it, retirement was somewhat akin to shooting oneself in the foot for a man like Erwin. It was condescending, debilitating, almost an insult were he any lesser than a reasonable man.

The word was floated around numerous times after the loss of his arm, spoken with a gentleness and, dare he say, a trepidation they believed must be adopted when speaking to the freshly injured man. For fear of upsetting him or for fear of making the situation real, he’s not quite sure. It was mentioned, nonetheless. In passing, directly, through implication; Everyone seemed to think that Erwin was less of a man and more of a liability because of his lost arm, and that retiring from the Scout Regiment would be the best option for everyone. 

That was something he took offense to. 

His physical abilities may be considerably limited now, yes, but he still holds inherent value to the cause he’s dedicated his life to. Still has goals, still has dreams, still has ideas that must be discussed and implemented if the fate of humanity is to even think about surviving beyond the next few days. 

Erwin still had some fight in him, and he still had things to offer. Things that retirement would take away from him.

The word settled like a thick tar on his tongue and left a bitter aftertaste, one he couldn’t bear to swallow down. So he didn’t. He spit the word back out, removing it from his mouth and sternly asking others to rid themselves of it too. They followed his order, albeit begrudgingly, but the conversation ended then and there. Not permanently, unfortunately. No amount of power, Erwin imagines, could ever snuff out the growing fear his missing appendage has instilled in his soldiers. That even the most untouchable, unshakeable of leaders could be tainted by this cruel world. 

He knows it's on everyone's mind, no matter how many times he can try to assuage the fears, for if the exchanged uneasy glances between his eccentric Section Commander and trusted Captain were anything to go by, then the fear his cadets must feel must be traumatizing. The looks they pass to one another when they think he isn’t looking.

Erwin lost an arm, not his intuition. It seems he’s the only one who knows that. 

But they let it go. They all do, for now at least. They reluctantly put a pin at his assertion that he would continue his work, regardless of injury, and quickly filed this topic as one they would return to at a later date. Appease him now to make him more receptive to the future. They let him continue to work himself dry, let him continue with physical missions like he wasn’t missing a trusted appendage, and entertained his reckless and drastic thoughts to a certain extent.

When he lands himself back in the infirmary, this time with a serious rupture to the side of his stomach from flying debris, and a number of broken bones that will surely cause permanent hindrance to his mobility, the topic is brought back up again. Only this time, it’s non-negotiable. His near death was the final straw in forcing Erwin Smith into retirement. 

                                                              ∵

He hates it.

Hates how quiet his home is, hates how unexciting his routine is, hates not being able to know.

But he finds that making coffee is still manageable with one arm. The sun still shines as brightly inside the walls as it does outside. The birds still chirp excitedly in the morning and the wind still blows gently in the afternoon. 

He hates retirement, but it’s manageable. 

It gets better after a while, the presence of a neighbor making his nights substantially more interesting with the dinner she brings over. 

                                                             ∵

The house is quiet once again, only the distant chirps of the birds filling the empty space. It's familiar, but he finds it unsettling this time around. A feeling of anticipation creeping into his stomach, waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment.

It doesn’t happen. 

With a slight furrow in his brow and after a long analyzing gaze outside the window above the kitchen sink, Erwin makes his way towards the front door, granting him access to the front porch of the house. Settled away from the city, the land his house is built on stretches for miles; Fields of green spread out before him and littered with tall, blooming and swaying trees. The chickens squawk and run around before him and the horses huff their snorts of boredom. There’s activity in the Smith residence, but it’s not the kind he’s looking for. 

There’s something missing. 

Bringing his left arm up to his mouth, he curls his fingers below his tongue, blowing out a loud and sharp whistle that has all movement still for a brief moment on his farm. All attention piqued on him, the animals and the trees alike waited for Erwin’s response. 

They wait, and they wait, and they wait. But still, nothing.

The crease between Erwin’s brows dips further. A brief flash of worry settles in his shoulders. He pulls his fingers into his mouth again, blowing a whistle that lasts for a few seconds longer this time. His eyes stay trained on the hill before him, hoping to see something. Anything.

He waits a minute before the restlessness takes over and he takes his steps down the stairs of the porch, his boots crunching against the crisp grass still wet from the morning dew. He approaches the top of the hill, the one that lays level with the foundation of his house, before surveying the land further below. He looks left and right, then left again and then right again, eyes peeled for that familiar flash of grey.

Where in the world could that damn dog have gone?

The dog is usually fast enough to return before he even needs to whistle a second time, never straying too far from the property for her to not hear Erwin’s call. But this time is different. She’s gone and isn’t returning to him and that can only mean one thing.

Trouble.

He begins his trek down the hill, the morning still early enough to not have him sweating on this irregular stroll of his, but he can feel the temperature slowly rising through the air. The wind serves as his only semblance of comfort as it continues its mission of cooling the exposed skin of his forearm and neck. 

He must be walking for at least five minutes before he sees it. The scraggly grey hair of a dog's bottom, her top half hidden behind a large oak tree but her tail wagging ferociously. A small smile graces Erwin’s face subconsciously, the slowly building apprehension dissipating in an instant at seeing the vivacious mutt. 

Or at least at seeing her bottom half. 

He approaches the tree slowly, the noises of enjoyment and panting from the dog becoming louder as he draws nearer. But there’s another sound too that fills the air. A sound much sweeter and delicate, one that he’s heard a thousand times over the years,  and yet, Erwin swears it's one he can never get tired of. 

It’s a breath of fresh air, an instant drug in his veins, and the reason behind the swelling of his heart. His smile grows wider than he could have possibly imagined.

He gets close enough and the dog finally notices him, bounding over to him in an instant with a greeting bark and a perk in her step. He pats her head, a silent gratefulness at having found her finally and understanding why she refused to meet his calls. Why she continued to stay at the spot behind the oak tree a five minute walk away from her home.

He finally gets near the tree, peering around its large trunk to the spot the dog previously occupied and can’t help but laugh in surprise. 

Sitting in the space between the bulging roots are his two girls, one aged six and the other three, huddled close together as they coo and giggle over an object resting between the two’s feet. Their backs are turned towards their father, too preoccupied with whatever was settled between them to even notice the beloved dog’s disappearance from her original spot and its replacement with their father. 

His years of training to fight titans kicks in, his steps as quiet as can be as he gets closer to the girls to get a look at what they were currently fawning over. 

A baby bird. Brown in color and more than comfortable between the two children.

“What are you two doing?”

His voice sends a jolt of shock through them, the two girls jumping in the air at the sudden disruption and whipping their faces around to look at the intruder. The fear quickly melts off of their round faces when they realize who it is. 

“Daddy!” The two girls yell unanimously, unbridled joy filtering their features and Erwin briefly sees the beautiful face of their mother in them. The youngest in particular. 

The eldest managed to take most of his features, much to his wife’s pleasure, retaining his aquiline nose, the vibrant blue of his eyes, and his own oval face shape, but her hair is a delightful mix between his and his wife’s. And while she looks the most like him, she acts the most like her mother; Joyous and giggly and a passionate ball of rays. 

Now, his youngest, while looking almost entirely like a carbon copy of her mother, was in fact a replica of his own personality. Quiet, curious, diplomatic. A balance to her impulsive sister, a shining grey crater of peace in the sky.

His sun and moon. His reasons for orbit. The loves of his life. 

                                                             ∵

And as he walks his two girls back across the field to their home, their mother’s figure on the horizon and an excited chatter between them as they recount the tales of their morning in helping the baby bird, a single thought enters Erwin’s mind. 

Retirement isn’t so bad. 

#erwin smith x reader #erwin x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #erwin smith #fluff #my writing #baby boy erwin deserves the world #i just want him to be happy

[thestraggletag]

Virtual Session, A Rumbelle Zoom Fic

Rating: Explicit.

Summary: Town meetings were usually drab, boring events, and having them over Zoom hadn't improved them much. Or so Mr Gold thought, until he forgot to log out of the meeting after it ended, only to discover a half-naked Belle French had also forgotten to do so.

SOMEONE PLEASE COMMENT WITH A BETTER SUMMARY I HATE IT.

Based on this prompt.

“We will review your presentation and hold a virtual vote before the month is up, Miss French. Thank you very much for your time.”

The mayor adjusted her suit jacket, her shirt riding up as she did so and unknowingly displaying the telltale white check of her Adidas yoga pants. Royce snickered, taking advantage of the fact he was muted.

“As there are no other pending topics on today’s agenda this virtual session is adjourned.”

He half-expected her to produce a gable out of thin air and bang it against her marble countertop. All around him people began to say their goodbyes and log out of Zoom, lest Regina decide to spring a surprise motion at the last minute. There was no need to flee, however, as Regina herself was one of the first to log off. Given the amount of smoke he had spotted coming from behind her right before she exited he did not need to guess what had caused her sudden departure.

“I guess no apple turnover for dessert at Madame Mayor’s.”

He heard an adorable chuckle and did not need to glance at the screen again to guess who it was. Very few people found his brand of dark humour palatable, but the librarian seemed to love it. It was nice, he soon found out, to have someone appreciate his often ill-received quips. It was one of the things he had first noticed about her. Well, other than her stunning eyes. And perhaps her hair, which was a lovely shade of reddish-brown. Her legs too, he acknowledged reluctantly, so nicely-displayed by her short skirts and high heels. And her-

He stopped himself. That way lay madness and he knew it. It was one thing to admire in an unattached way, from a distance. He was a connoisseur of beautiful things, after all, and Belle French was certainly beautiful. Unfortunately she also happened to have a lovely personality. Kind, generous, open, but also bold, defiant and the littlest bit dark. She flaunted the rules of smalltown society by wearing what the matrons around town considered “inappropriate clothing” for a librarian, and speaking to anyone and everyone, including those that polite society would urge her to shun. Drank beer with the miners, for example, men deemed “too coarse” for genteel women, and stocked the library with altogether undesirable books, be it because they dealt with unseemly issues or because they were from traditional authors. Which, he was sure, was code for “white men”, even if Mother Superior never quite spelled it out in such terms.

She was altogether dangerous for him, with her mix of light and dark, so he was always on his guard, lest his thoughts veer too far into dangerous territory. He didn’t fear scorn or derision if his feelings became too obvious for her to ignore. Belle was altogether too kind for that. But to be gently yet firmly rebuffed, and have their subsequent interactions laced by the barest hint of pity from her, would be unbearable. 

“I’m pretty sure that at least Mr Spencer didn’t hear a word I said. His camera was off during the whole of my presentation.” The librarian huffed, clearly bothered that her proposal to increase the library’s budget to repair the East Wing’s leaky ceiling wouldn’t get a fair shot. The wing was currently closed, and had been since she had taken the post of librarian, but with the newfound need of social-distancing, particularly in enclosed spaces, she hoped she could change that, make the town council see the need for more space in the library. “Though perhaps he didn’t want to be yelled at again for not being in a three-piece suit for a virtual town meeting.”

He briefly paused to remember Spencer’s red face when Regina had chastised him for wearing a white polo shirt instead of a shirt and tie during the last meeting.

“Kinda hypocritical of Madame Mayor, given she was a couple of clothing articles shy of a full tracksuit tonight.”

They shared a conspiratorial laugh, and he hoped the camera somehow toned down the stupid look on his face. He tried to avoid direct eye contact, looking instead mildly-interested in her living-room. Her laptop seemed to be perched somewhere on her dining-room table, giving him a great view of the rest of her flat, which was a loft, so it was open space, with exposed brick and tall ceilings. Though small it was tastefully-decorated, and with enough bookcases to make it seem like it was a part of the library he had never been to, if it weren’t for the kitchen area and the- and he told himself to stop looking at it- queen-size bed.

“Well, Miss French, at the risk of getting ahead of myself I can confidently state that things are looking good for your project. It was an excellent presentation and I could see Midas and Hopper were clearly in favour. That leaves the Mayor and Spencer outnumbered. Hell, I think even Regina will vote yes on this one. I know she’s keen on finding a place for students with connectivity issues to go do their homework and attend some classes. Fingers crossed the voting goes your way.”

He smiled at her, trying to look reassuring instead of besotted, and they exchanged their goodbyes. He closed his laptop, deciding that he needed a stiff drink first and a cold shower later, and went over to his wet bar, where after some debate he picked up a bottle of Ardberg and poured himself three fingers of Scotch, opting to forgo the ice and drink it straight. The alcohol burned pleasantly on its way down, making him loosen up almost immediately. He went over to the window, undoing the buttons of his vest and slipping it off as he did, feeling warmed by the whiskey. He chanced a glance outside, where the night remained crisp and clear, thankfully devoid of snow. It was still bitterly cold, though, and he hoped the library’s heating system, which was in need of maintenance as well, would not fail. The money for its maintenance had already been allocated and the budget for the work set, but perhaps he could email the person in charge of the job and… persuade them to make it a priority. The work should’ve already been done, but the pandemic had put a temporary stop on jobs like that with the exception of emergencies. Now that things were slowly returning to normal he was confident he could get the people working on the library by the end of the week with three sentences or less.

He went back to his laptop, determined to send the email as soon as possible. He opened it up and noticed, at first, that his camera light was still on. Almost as soon as his brain connected the dots and realised that he had forgotten to log off Zoom he noticed something else: so had Belle French. She was walking around her house, seemingly tidying things up and humming as she went along. It was a lovely, domestic little display, and though he knew he needed to log off fucking Zoom and stop intruding on what Miss French clearly thought was the privacy of her own home, he didn’t move the mouse. Surely there was no harm in indulging a bit. He was a lonely man, partly by design and partly by circumstance, and though he often told himself he wasn’t missing out on anything, he had to admit it was nice to- albeit accidentally- share an intimate moment with someone he had an affinity with. He imagined, for a moment, that instead of her living-room he was seeing her in his, picking up discarded books or perhaps the remnants of a tea they had shared together. He quickly shook himself out of that fantasy, alarm bells ringing in his mind, and refocused in the present, where Belle was taking off her cardigan. Well, surely, that meant the heating system was holding, which was a good thing. Which reminded him of his idea to write-

He glanced at the monitor again, where Belle French was now shimming out of her skirt.

He blinked, idiotically-confused for a second, as if the thought of a woman undressing was news for him. After the initial shock he took in all the details, fixsting on the black stripe on the back of her sheer black stockings, which she rolled down with painstaking care, the gesture almost painfully erotic. She started on the buttons of her sheer maroon shirt, undoing them with ease and shrugging out of the garment. The black camisole she wore underneath did nothing to conceal her lacy black culotte, which hugged her perfect ass like it was made for her. She went to unpin her hair next, letting the bobby pins that kept it off her sides of her face drop into a little ceramic bowl on her vanity. He was surprised at how much seeing her walk around her house with bare feet, shaking her hair out and stretching her limbs affected him. There was nothing inherently sensual about her movements, yet he was transfixed, unable to look away. Any hope of containing his attraction or attachment to the librarian vanished into thin air at that moment, leaving him equal parts scared and turned on.

It was then that his mostly-unused sense of decency decided to let itself be known, a wave of shame washing through him at the notion of what he was doing. Miss French had every right to her privacy, and here he was, violating it in the worst possible way. He should log out immediately and stay away from the librarian for a rather long time, enough for-

“Royce?”

His heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sound of her voice. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head towards the screen, telling himself that he deserved the scorn and disgust he was sure to see in the librarian’s face. But whatever hasty apologies and half-formed excuses he was about to blurt out died on his lips the moment he saw her: she was standing in profile, arms crossed in front of her chest and hands grasping the hem of her camisole, prepared to take it off, and her head was turned to the side, her eyes on her laptop screen. She didn’t look accusatory, or disgusted. She didn’t even look embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone, but it looked more like… like... 

Arousal.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

He could hardly recognise the low, growly burr as his voice. It sounded uncouth and harsh, like the way he used to speak back in Glasgow. He had worked for years on toning down his accent, letting only the barest hint of it show when he was trying to intimidate someone. Never enough to sound too much like he did back in his youth, and yet he hadn’t managed to quite rid himself of it. 

On screen Belle lifted the hem of her camisole a few inches, exposing supple, creamy skin. Royce tried hard not to swallow his own tongue. She bit her lip, suddenly hesitant, and fuck him if that sliver of vulnerability wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. 

“Is this… Is this okay?” 

It took him an embarrassingly-long time to understand that Belle fucking French was asking him if it was alright for her to strip in front of him, presumably for their mutual enjoyment. He reminded himself that he had had only one glass of Scotch, not enough to dismiss whatever was happening as a drunken daydream. Which he might have had, from time to time. About Belle. Maybe.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.” 

Her lips curled into a coy smile, the growl in his voice making her shiver, and in one swift motion removed her camisole, revealing a lacy black bandeau bra with delicate details done in leavers lace. It matched her knickers, he noticed idly, and the black contrasted amazingly with her pale, softly-blushed skin. His keen eye noticed the exquisite craftsmanship right away. It was an expensive set, no doubt, and given how she was wearing during a commonplace day where she planned to stay home it led him to the conclusion that Belle French simply owned a lot of fancy lingerie, to the point that she wore it as an everyday sort of garment. He was very sure he would never again be able to look at her and not think about that.

“You’re gorgeous.”

In any other situation he would’ve been embarrassed to sound so… Reverent. So incredibly not in control of the situation. He might be fully-dressed, a man of means with a position of political power in their little hamlet and she might be a half-naked small-town librarian but he was absolutely powerless at the moment. And what was worse, he enjoyed it. 

“Thank you, Mr Gold.”

Though he loved the way she said “Gold”, with enough irreverence to turn her tone teasing, he desperately wanted her to say his name.

“Call me Royce, sweetheart.”

She walked over to the table, flipped the chair and sat down, draping her arms loosely around the backrest, the position loose and cocky. There was no doubt in her now, no hesitance. She had assumed control of the situation, for which he was grateful. She tilted her head to a side, sizing him up.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothes, Royce. I feel at a disadvantage.”

She smiled, looking supremely unconcerned, but there was a glint in her eyes he recognised quite easily. Greed. And not the kind he was used to seeing in people who frequented his shop to strike one of his infamous deals. It was different. It certainly felt different to him, hit him right beneath his gut in a way that felt both uncomfortable and pleasant. Without quite thinking his fingers went to the knot of his tie, already loosened, and tugged expertly, untying it in seconds. The silk made a soft, hissing sound as it slipped off his neck, which sounded loud in the otherwise dead silence of the room. Belle followed his movements avidly from the screen, and the look of utter absorption on her face gave him the surge of bravery he needed to tackle the buttons of his shirt till he could shimmy out of it. He was wearing a white undershirt beneath, but his arms and throat were bare, making him feel ridiculously exposed. 

“You have many layers. I like that about you.” Belle dropped her gaze, looking coy and vulnerable at the same time. “I like a lot of things about you.”

“Me too.” He tried to stop himself, but it was easier said than done. “Too many things, actually. But I’ve always understood that it would be foolish to expect anything to come of that.” He looked at Belle, draped over her chair and in her underwear. “Well, perhaps I was wrong.”

Belle smiled.

“You’re finally getting it. Good boy.”

He forced himself not to react visibly to those words, even though the moment he heard them it was like being struck by lightning. Thankfully the camera caught him from the waist up, hiding the embarrassing way his cock had perked up a second earlier. He could not hide his flushed face, however, or the way his eyes glazed over the slightest bit. 

“Tell you what. I’ll take off my bra if you lose the t-shirt. It’s a fair deal.”

It wasn’t. As far as he was concerned he was getting the far better end of the deal but he would never dream of telling her that. Tipping his hand was not his style. 

“Deal.”

He said it in the pleased, soft burr he usually reserved for his less savoury business arrangements, the kind that needed to be sealed in the cloak of night in some remote, deserted location. Belle shivered, and he enjoyed the thought that his voice made her react so. Feeling bold he grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it off,      baring himself from the waist up. He saw and felt the librarian’s eyes roam over his torso. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He had scars from his dodgy upbringing in Glasgow, and some from his learning days restoring antiques. He was fond of the sun so at least he was not pasty white, or overly hairy, but he didn’t have much in the way of muscles. Belle, however, seemed to appreciate his more lean physique, if the heat of her gaze was any indication. After she seemed to have her fill of staring she leaned back and deftly unhooked her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms till the garment was on the floor. 

He stared. Couldn’t help himself really. Belle French’s tits were perfect. Fucking perfect. Just the right size, incredibly soft-looking and with the loveliest nipples he had ever seen, a rosy-pink that he would never be able to get out of his head. The kind of breasts that would ruin a man for other women. He certainly felt like no other breasts could ever tempt him again. 

“Royce, are you okay?”

Her voice sounded a delightful mix of amused and slightly worried, so he forced himself to nod, still unable to look away.

“Fucking perfect.”

Fuck, was that his voice? He sounded… dazed. He fought the instinct to slap some sense into himself. Belle draped herself across the back of the chair again, and though the position hid her breasts somewhat it didn’t do so completely. 

“I love how soft you are. Underneath the hardass pawnbroker exterior, I mean. Soft, and kind and funny. So funny. It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

Most people wouldn’t think so. His brand of humour was dark, sometimes too much. And yet Belle always laughed, always caught on to his quips and seemed to appreciate them in a consporatory way. She could also dish it out, but in a far more subtle way that he was sure most people didn’t catch on to. Softly-spoken sarcasm delivered in a lilting accent. 

What was not to love?

He told her so. Unburdened himself completely, caught up in his own physical vulnerability and hers. It felt safe to tell her of his feelings, of how days where he knew he would see her were brighter, and how he liked when they shared a smile or exchanged a comment on a book. How his heart fluttered when he watched her read to the children, and how another part of his anatomy altogether reacted when she strutted around town with her short skirts and devil-may-care attitude. Liked how she thumbed her nose at the pearl-clutchers in town, doing things her way. Completely unsuited for boring, conventional small-town life, and yet wholly at home in Storybrooke, to the point where he could not imagine the town without her.

He shut up after that, noticing how she seemed to have changed, her mood going from loose and flirty to… anxious? No, that wasn’t the right word. Unsettled, perhaps.

“I can’t do this.” The sudden sentence felt like a slap in the face, but the moment his face dropped she seemed to backpedal. “No, no, not like that! I mean… I wanna touch you. I want to be in the same room. With even less clothes on. This… It suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.”

She was fucking right, he realised. He felt itchy all of a sudden. Unfulfilled. Empty.

“Come over.”

“What?”

Belle seemed genuinely surprised, but the way her skin flushed and her eyes got big let him know she was very open to the idea.

“Come the fuck over. It’s fucking cold anyway and the heating system at the library is shite at the moment. Come over and I’ll keep you warm, sweetheart.”

He was rather impressed with his blunt bit of bravery, born out of a consuming need more than anything, and even more impressed when it looked like it worked. Belle scrambled out of the chair, throwing a lovely little nightie on before getting her coat and scarf. 

“Be there in a few. See you!”

She disconnected before he could tell her to bundle up. It was fucking freezing outside and that nightie and her stockings and shoes would do nothing against the cold, coat or no coat. A moment later he realised he was sitting down in his pants, socks and shoes and nothing else while Belle fucking French was coming over to... 

Fuck.

He scrambled up, fishing for his cane in a hurry and having just enough presence of mind to disconnect from Zoom. He went upstairs to his room, deciding that it would be awkward for him to still be wearing pants. And socks. And shoes. So he chucked all that off, throwing a dressing gown over his boxers, pausing to put on his house slippers, glad beyond words he had recently bought new ones. After that he went downstairs to the kitchen and popped a bottle of champagne, looking into his pantry for the box of chocolate truffles from Kreuther, a treat he had gotten himself after visiting a state sale in Midtown Manhattan a week ago. He arranged the impromptu offerings on the dining room table, and when the bell rang he told himself he was ready. He opened the door, finding a rosy-cheeked and clearly shivering Belle on the other side, hair windswept, as if she had run there. Taking into account her heels it was rather impressive.

Belatedly he thought about the scene she had walked into. He in his dressing gown, with champagne flutes and truffles on the table and a fire roaring in the living-room, a scenario ripe for debauching. But perhaps she wished to talk more, to explore their emotional intimacy. Perhaps the trek there had killed her ardour and all she wanted and needed was to get warm and comfortable. He didn’t want to come off as… expecting anything.

Belle, however, seemed to not share his concerns. She took one look at him, one look at the softly-lit space behind him and the food laid out and smiled.

“You brilliant, wonderful man.”

A second late she was in his arms. Cold, but soft and smelling of orange blossoms and frost. She tilted her head up, slanting her lips across before he could blink and it was… wonderful. The coolness of her lips contrasted with the searing heat of her mouth, making for a rather delicious contrast of sensations. He used the hand not clutching his cane for dear life to find the buttons of her coat, undoing them one by one with barely-contained impatience. Finally he had the coat opened and could snake his arm around her waist. The silk of her small camisole was soft to the touch, and let him feel the warmth of her skin beneath.

He needed to feel more. Now that she was safe in the warmth of his house she didn’t need her coat or scarves and went about the business of removing both without separating himself from her. It took a lot of tugging and pulling and a couple of missteps that landed her up against the wall, to his utter delight, but she was finally rid of both. Her skin, despite the toasty temperature inside the house, was still chilly from the outside.

“Come close to the fire, sweetheart.”

They managed to stumble across the hallway and into the living room, where they seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that remaining standing was not conducive to their current situation. The rug near the fireplace, thankfully, was thick and soft, and the couple of throw blankets he quickly spread over it made it more so. Once he was satisfied she would be comfortable he let her tackle him to the ground, enjoying having her above him. She was small, especially once she wrestled her heeled boots off. A tiny slip of a woman, shorter than him even, but there was a presence to her, a strength, that he couldn't help but surrender to. Beautiful, terrifying Belle.

“I’ve dreamed of this.” Her voice was low, husky. “You weren’t wearing a dressing gown in my dreams, though.”

“And you weren’t wearing anything in mine.” His accent was so thick he feared she might not be able to understand me. “Tit for tat, dearie.”

She ground herself against him, causing him to hiss and arc. Enough pressure to elicit a response, but not nearly enough to satisfy him.

“Don’t call me that. That’s how you call everyone else, and I’m not everyone else, am I?”

Her confidence slipped for a second, exposing a hint of uncertainty that he was quick to dispel.

“No, sweetheart. Of course not.”

He untied the belt of his dressing gown, managing to slip it off while still pinned by Belle. He didn’t imagine it was a very sexy spectacle but she seemed to appreciate it nevertheless. To reward him she yanked her nightie off, revealing her glorious breasts once again to his hungry stare. She was absolutely perfect, made even better by the way the fire lit her skin and hair, and turned her eyes a deeper blue. She looked fierce yet soft, a magnanimous mistress looking down fondly at a favoured pet. Idly she traced a scar near his right shoulder with the tip of her index finger, frowning the slightest bit.

“I want to know the story behind this. I want to know… more. About you. All there is to know that you wish to tell me.”

“Yes.” Usually he’d balk at the idea of such intimacy, of being so bare. Yet it felt like something he could do with Belle, something he wanted to do. “Yes, of course, sweetheart. And I want to know everything about you.”

She smiled, the gesture slowly turning sultry as she crossed her elbows over his chest.

“We’ll talk… later.”

She kissed him then, slowly and thoroughly, sinking one hand into his hair so she could tilt his head just so. Her fingernails felt delicious against the sensitive skin of his scalp and were a welcome distraction from the uncomfortable pressure of her ass against his groin. He wanted to last, desperately, but she was every wet dream he’d ever had come true. He needed to redirect his attention to anywhere but his aching cock. So he forced himself to focus on anything else. The soft, silky feeling of her skin against the rough pads of his fingers, and the taste of her, faintly sweet. She kissed like it was an art, managing to somehow find every spot that made him want to rip her panties off and just bury himself in her, foreplay be damned.

He startled when he felt her hands trail down his body and grasp the elastic of his underwear, tugging on it to hint at what she wanted. He obliged her before he could talk himself out of it, raising his hips so she could slide the boxers off his legs while still kissing. He felt her touch his mangled ankle and forced himself not to flinch or pull back. Blessedly she seemed to notice his discomfort, tugging his boxers off completely and reaching out to place his hands on the sides of her hips, against the scratchy fabric of her underwear. The message was clear, especially when she propped herself against the floor with her hands so she could raise her hips. He gently tugged her pantied down, with slow, careful movements to avoid accidentally ripping the delicate lace and not simply to watch in aroused amusement as Belle fidgeted above him. 

“Patience, sweetheart.”

She whined, kicking her panties off when they reached her ankles and pushing him back a second later, her expression demanding.

“No more delays. We’ve had months of foreplay.”

He found himself agreeing with her. It certainly felt like they had been teasing each other for months, with the shared jokes, the furtive glances, bitten lips and coy smiles. Not that he had even dared dream of it before that night. Belle was too good in every way for a bitter old cripple like himself. Her hands on his cock chased his self-deprecation away, leaving his mind in a blissful state of blankness. Slowly, torturously so, she took him in, her hot, wet cunt enveloping him with the right amount of pressure. It was almost too good a feeling, leaving his nerve-endings too excited to register much else. She was fucking perfect, the feel of her the weight of her above him. Like she was made for him, only he wasn’t that lucky. 

He needed to somehow make it up to her, make it so good she would not regret it. So he focused on establishing a rhythm, steady enough to build up their pleasure, but not too perfect to make it boring. He concentrated on the sounds she made, the perfect little gasps and the occasional, shivery whine that let him know she was enjoying herself. Soon enough, however, coordination and any form of higher thinking went out the window, the pleasure getting to be too much to focus on anything else other than driving himself as deep into her as he possibly could. He had enough presence of mind to sneak a hand between their bodies, slipping it across her wet fold to stimulate her further, determined not to come before she did. When he finally felt it, the blissful fluttering of her inner walls accompanied by a triumphant cry, he let go of his last shreds of self-control, letting his body seek out its needed release, the feeling travelling up his spine and leaving his whole body boneless with satisfaction. 

He grunted when she practically fell on top of him, though he welcomed the reassuring weight of her and the heat from her body. He thought about the champagne and the truffles waiting for them on the dining room table and decided they could wait. As soon as he was able to move he would wrap his dressing gown around Belle and take her and the food and drinks to the bedroom, where they could recoup their energy and talk. And perhaps much later, if he was good, Belle would let him drink champagne from her navel. 

Thank Regina and her fucking Zoom twon halls. He would never complain about them again.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Thestraggletag fanfiction #Virtual Session

[angryinternetduck]

... in love

a little more than 2.5k on double dates, pencil tapping, and a bit of switcheroo. Part two of Like a Fool! 

You were starting to think you were being stood up. 

Or maybe that it was all an elaborate prank in the first place. 

You fidgeted in your booth, flicking through your phone in an attempt not to look like such a loser, sitting all by yourself in the crowded diner. The last text you’d received had been from Harry, assuring you they were on their way. 

He was supposed to be coming with Casey, his girlfriend, and some guy he was hooking you up with. You really hadn’t wanted to come, didn’t want to see him act all mushy with the new love of his life, but he’d insisted you should at least give this Niall guy a try - “You got me with Casey, love, I might as well return the favor.” 

And he pouted at you, and held your face in his hands, because maybe he might have been a little tipsy, and so you really couldn’t say no. How could you? You weren’t really too regretful of your decision to agree immediately after, when he planted a kiss on your forehead and grinned at you and said you’d love Niall, but now you really were regretting it. 

Until he pranced into the diner, seeming to light up the entire place with just one dimpled smile, and making your heart race and butterflies erupt in your tummy with just a single glance in your direction. 

But then his gaze flicked away from you and to the girl next to him, to Casey. Then he was giving that gorgeous grin to her, and whispering something in her ear, and your heart sunk to your stomach as regret - and jealousy - flooded through you once more. 

Harry called your name as he walked over, shrugging off his coat as he slid into the booth next to you. “You should have seen the bloody traffic, love, absolutely ridiculous, and Niall here, for all his strengths -” 

He paused when he realized Casey and Niall were hovering on the other side of the table, looking hesitant. He raised a brow. “Wanna sit down, or no?” he asked, and you frowned. “H, don’t you want to sit next to Casey?” you muttered, and Harry paused. 

“Oh - well, yeah, yeah, of course, but, erm - ‘s better to talk across, yeah?” 

Casey and Niall shared a glance, and you felt your face heat, but then they sat down and Harry cleared his throat. “Right, then,” he began, grinning at Casey, “here we are.” His gaze flicked to Niall, who looked a bit awkward, and then he introduced you to him. 

“Nice to meet ya,” he said, an Irish lilt to his voice, and you gave him a smile. 

“Yeah, ditto,” you replied. 

He was pretty cute, you had to admit, with blond-tinged brown hair and bright blue eyes. You couldn’t quite gauge his personality yet - he seemed terribly awkward at the moment. Which made sense, really, because the whole situation was kind of inherently awkward. 

“Niall here’s in my ethics class,” Harry was explaining. “Remember that exam a few weeks ago?” You gave a slight nod, and Harry went on, “Yeah, well, this bastard was sat the row behind me and would not stop tapping his pencil.” 

Finally, Niall broke a smile and shook his head. “Oh, please. I did it for about half a second.” Harry shrugged. “Well, either way, you still did it. And then afterwards, when I went and yelled at him, he just laughed and asked if I wanted to go and get a pint.” 

“Sounds like a nice meet cute,” you said, and Harry grinned. “You betcha,” he replied. “But anyway - enough about me. Introduce yourself, Ni - and properly this time.” Niall frowned. “Erm… I’m not quite sure…” 

“C’mon, Ni,” Casey giggled, nudging his shoulder, “give us a proper dating show intro.” 

Niall rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he leaned into her, and you wondered for a second if he wasn’t there because of you, or even Harry. “I’m, er - I’m Niall. Twenty seven, Irish, business major, virgo, and lover of Guinness and long walks on the beach.” 

“Bravo!” Harry exclaimed, giving him a round of applause. Then he turned to you expectantly, and you did the same, copying Niall exactly - age, where you’re from, major, zodiac sign - and then finished off with, “... and lover of rom-coms and hey - long walks on the beach.” 

“What a coincidence,” Niall said with a grin. 

Then a waitress came over for orders. You got your usual, and Harry got his, and Casey got what Niall did. After she went off, Harry started up the conversation again. He was pretty great at that, you thought, entertaining a crowd and keeping the talking going, and you had to stop yourself from admiring his easy jokes and casual smiles. 

Instead, you focused on Niall. Who was nice! Seemed it, anyway. You liked him a lot more once he warmed up. He had a nice laugh, and he seemed like the most cheerful guy you’d ever met. 

It was pretty late by the time you were all paid and heading outside. Just from the way you’d been sitting in the booth and the way the diner was crowded, Casey and Niall were just slightly ahead, and were talking as they waited for you and Harry to catch up. 

It was dark, and pretty cold, and Harry placed a hand on your back, rubbing slightly to warm you up as you stepped outside. “‘s cold,” he murmured, hands fidgeting with his coat. “Do you want -?” 

You bit your lip, frowning as you shook your head. “H,” you said quietly, glancing at Casey. He blushed red, looking embarrassed, and mumbled, “Right. I just -” He stopped, and then finished, “Sorry.” He sped up slightly, a smile on his face as he approached Casey and shrugged off his jacket. 

“You look cold, love.” 

“Aw, Har,” Casey giggled, going up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. 

You looked away. 

Niall caught your gaze, giving you a bit of a smile, and you walked over to him. “So,” you sighed. “This was fun, huh?” He nodded, his smile widening. “Yeah. We should do it again sometime.” 

“Hm, yeah. It’s just so hard to coordinate schedules, you know?” You glanced over at Harry and Casey and then back to Niall. “I dunno if we’ll be able to get all four of us. Two people’s easier, though, right? Maybe it should just be you and me…” 

Niall grinned. “Yeah, maybe.” 

You grinned right back, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear before asking, “Do you live close?” Niall shrugged. “Not too too far. Do you? Maybe we’re closer than Harry and Casey.” 

“Yeah, we might be,” you said, beginning to wonder just how fast Niall was planning to take this. You supposed you weren’t opposed to having a drink in your flat with just him… You didn’t have to answer, though, since Harry came up behind you. 

“Right, then, you two, let’s try and say our goodbyes, hm?” he said jokingly. “You can always see each other tomorrow. Or exchange numbers, yeah?” Niall glanced at you, and then told Harry, “Actually, we were thinking maybe I could give her a ride home. Probably closer…”

Harry frowned. “Nah, it’s fine. We’ll just drive you home. You’re in opposite directions, anyway.” He put an arm around Casey’s shoulders and then his other around Niall. “C’mon, Ni,” he said, steering him away. “Bye!” he called back to you. “See you later!” 

You gave Niall a sympathetic smile as he glanced back at you over his shoulder. 

Text me, you mouthed, holding up your phone. 

He nodded, and turned away, and got into Harry’s car. 

For a moment, you didn’t move. You just stood there, watching Harry pull away.

It was cold.

You blew a breath out, watching the puff of white that floated into the air. 

And then you walked to your car. 

***

“You,” Harry declared, “need to get laid.” 

You sighed, looking up at him from your textbook. The two of you were in your flat, “studying.” Casey had a class, and Harry suggested meeting up to study but hadn’t even opened a book yet. 

“I was going to. Last night. But you dragged Niall away!” 

Harry made a face. “Yeah, well, Niall’s sketchy, anyway. You can’t date a guy who has a pencil tapping habit.” You shrugged, looking down at your book again. “Don’t worry, I’ll hide all my pencils tonight.” 

“Tonight?” 

“Yeah, he’s coming over.” 

You looked up as a beat of silence hung in the air, and then Harry asked, “Who, Niall?” 

“No, H, the other guy who taps his pencil like mad.” 

“He’s coming over?” 

You frowned, reaching over and tapping on his head. “Are you okay? Do you need a minute to process?” You leaned forward. “Your plan’s working, H. Calm down.” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “This wasn’t my plan, I just -” 

There was a knock on the door. 

“Come in!” you called, sliding off the bed and stretching towards the ceiling. 

Casey walked in, her gaze already on Harry. “You didn’t answer my texts, Har,” she said with a pout. I thought we were gonna go for coffee!” Harry blinked, and then scrambled off the bed, shoving books into his bag. “I am so sorry, Case, I completely forgot. We were - well, we were studying, and I… We can probably go now, yeah?” 

“I guess,” Casey sighed. She glanced over at you after a second and said, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” you said back, a bit awkwardly. 

Harry clapped his hand lightly against your shoulder as he passed, murmuring a goodbye before heading out with Casey. He didn’t shut the door, and a little piece of your heart fractured as you heard Casey giggle at something he said. 

Somehow, you weren’t very excited to see Niall that night. 

***

A few days later, and you and Niall were in the library. 

Harry was, too. 

He was sat at a table, in the back, where you and Niall couldn’t see him. 

He was supposed to be studying. 

You and Niall were leaned towards each other, and you were smiling. Smiling bright and big and beautiful. Niall whispered something in your ear, and you laughed, and Harry felt something sink in the pit of his stomach. 

His phone buzzed. 

Casey. 

Harry didn’t even look at the message, just flipped his phone over and looked down at the book in front of him. He stared at the words, but didn’t process them. He could only think about that night a few weeks ago. That party. 

The kiss. 

And then a few days after that - his first date with Casey. He remembered saying, I don’t like you like that without thinking, and then leaving, and everything sinking in on his way to meet Casey. He’d really believed it back then. 

But now, seeing you with Niall, seeing you happy, seeing you - he looked up, just in time to see you melt into him, into his lips, and then immediately looked back down again. He shut his eyes, remembering when he’d kissed you… 

Harry stood up, and grabbed the book and his phone, and left the library. 

“I know,” Casey said when Harry told her they should take a break. 

Harry opened his mouth, and then closed it, and then opened it again and said, “What?” 

Casey said your name. Her voice was soft, barely there. Like it hurt her a little to say it. 

There was a beat of silence, and then Harry closed his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“Yeah, Har,” Casey murmured, “me too,” and Harry looked at her again. He bit his lip. “I don’t know what to do, but I - I don’t think it’s fair. To you.” Casey smiled, just a bit, and kissed him softly on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said. 

Harry frowned. “For what?” 

She shrugged, pulling away and running a hand through her hair. “For telling me. I’m glad you’re - you know, you’re…” She sighed. “I don’t know. I just - I don’t get why you were so set on her and Niall. I really thought…” Another sigh. “I thought you were over her.” She looked down at her toes. “And then you sat next to her. And drove Niall home. Jesus, Har, that car ride was so awkward, and -” One more sigh, and then she said, “I’ll see you around, Harry, yeah?” 

Harry swallowed thickly. “Yeah.” 

She left the room, and Harry stared at the door, feeling just a little bit like a fool. 

***

“I’m sorry,” Harry breathed as soon as you opened the door. “I’m so sorry.” 

You frowned, your hand still on the doorknob. “Um… about what?” 

“I lied to you.” 

Your brows jumped. “About what?” you said again. 

“I don’t want you with Niall. Jesus, I’d rather die than see you with Niall.” 

“Wow, this pencil thing is really serious, huh?” you asked with a smile. 

He didn’t return your smile, just shook his head. “Not because of that. I don’t want you with anybody. I just - I want you with me.” Your smile faded. “I thought… I thought you didn’t like me like that,” you whispered. 

“Well,” Harry laughed wryly, “would you look at that. I do.” 

There was a beat of silence. 

“Niall’s here,” you said softly. 

Harry’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“I can’t do this right now,” you said. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. 

You cleared your throat. “I know, H.” 

“Please,” he begged, “please forgive me.” 

“I will - I do, but -” You shrugged helplessly. “Niall.” 

“He fancies Casey,” Harry blurted, happy to finally have an answer to something. 

You gave a half smile. “Right.” 

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again, and you laughed softly. “I know, H.” 

***

“I’m getting deja vu,” Harry murmured in your ear as he opened the door to the diner. 

You shrugged. “Least the traffic wasn’t too bad.” 

“Yeah, now we’re fashionably late rather than irritably late,” Harry said with a smile, and you nudged his shoulder as you walked up to the table where Casey and Niall were sitting. You frowned when you saw them sitting across from each other. 

Both you and Harry hesitated before sitting down, and Niall looked up, smirking. “What, now sitting across from each other isn’t better for talking?” Harry groaned, rolling his eyes, and shoved him slightly. “Sod off and scoot, Horan.” 

Casey laughed, scooching over so Niall could sit next to her. 

Niall had been really understanding when you’d broken up with him. He’d said he wasn’t very surprised, too. Which was a bit embarrassing. But he was so nice about it, and apparently wasn’t too upset, since he agreed on another double “date” with Casey and Harry. While you and Harry were (technically) officially together, though, Niall hadn’t quite confessed to Casey yet. 

You had a feeling he’d do it tonight. 

You sat down, and Harry sat next to you, and Niall started talking about some project he was working on. Harry replied, making some dumb joke, and this time, you didn’t stop yourself from watching him fondly, feeling a smile on your lips for no reason other than the fact that you were with him. 

Harry probably noticed you staring at one point, because he stopped talking and grinned, pressing a kiss to your lips. You giggled and leaned in, letting yourself get lost in him, in his kiss, like a fool in love. 

Niall and Casey both groaned, and Niall threw a french fry at you. 

Harry just kept kissing you, throwing his middle finger up in retaliation. 

Yeah, you thought. A fool in love. 

***

la fin <3

haha that ending was really cheesy wasn’t it slkdfj 

Hope you liked it though! thanks for reading lol 

masterlist | ask

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfic #harry stylesxreader #harry stylesxy/n #hs #harry styles

[takaraphoenix]

My Sanctuary (You're Holy to Me)

Fandom: Shadow and Bone / Grishaverse

Tags: f/f, fluff, awkward courting

Main Pairing: Alina/Inej

Summary: When everything was said and done, Alina and Mal didn't quite know where to go. So why not follow the very pretty assassin and her two friends. Not that Alina had a crush or anything.

Link: On FFNet | On AO3

--

“Wherever you are, whatever you need... My hand is yours.”

Alina was too gay for this. She simply stared with large eyes at the beautiful woman next to her, with the warm, dark eyes and the kind, sweet smile. It wasn't new to Alina that she liked boys and girls; she had had a crush on Genya at the Little Castle and then dating Aleksander... No. Not thinking about that, not thinking about all that had gone done, how things had ended. The pain.

Her mind snapped back into focus. Focusing on the now, on Inej next to her. She was... beautiful and fierce, dangerous and yet soft and merciful. The one who had let Alina get away, when Kaz still seemed very set on capturing her. Inej had saved her life. Like a beautiful woman didn't make her weak enough as it was, but the way Inej looked at her and those words. That downright sounded like a proposal; Alina had heard less romantic proposals before. What was she supposed to say to that? How was she supposed to react to these words, spoken so honestly? Because Alina could hear it in Inej's voice, pure and raw honesty. Whatever Alina needed, Inej would be there.

“I think I like that hand with a dagger in it,” said Alina when she finally found words. “I couldn't hold onto yours, so take mine.”

It was the best thing she could think of. Inej didn't seem like the kind of girl swayed by flowers. She seemed like the kind of girl who'd love knives. Just, in general. As accessories and gifts. The way Inej looked at her told Alina that her hunch was right. Such a blinding smile.

“I know just what to name it,” declared Inej with the brightest, cutest smile on her lips.

Alina's stomach fluttered at the way Inej looked at her. Many people looked at her as a saint, as a savior, as the Sun Summoner. But Inej, she... looked at her like all of that and so much more. She looked at her as Alina the Sun Summoner, as though she could see Alina. Could see that there was a person underneath the mantle of sainthood. It was nice feeling seen, as a person.

/break\

The Sun Summoner had never been graspable for Inej. They were this almighty figure, this holy savior. And when she first saw the Sun Summoner at the party, in those beautiful robes, all regal and disciplined. Truly, the vision of a saint. And then... she interacted with Sankta Alina and the Sun Summoner became... Alina Starkov, slowly. Talking to her, seeing her up close – disheveled, not in royally regal clothing, not putting on a show, but... being human. Admittedly, at that point Inej was still very far from actually thinking of Sankta Alina as inherently human, but it was still startling to realize that this figure she had believed in all her life was real and was a real person.

She flushed as she remembered her own words, at the camp-fire. Promising Alina her hand in whatever Alina could possibly want or need. She had babbled. That wasn't her, neither were grand promises. But looking into Alina's eyes, it nearly felt as though the world melted away and Inej was ready to fight it all for her sake and safety. And then Alina had given her a knife. A knife. From the Sun Summoner herself. This was going to be Inej's most cherished knife now.

Inej felt torn in her calling. Her loyalty laid with Kaz, and with Jesper. The Crows were her family. But Alina was – Alina was... everything. There were no words. She was the Sun Summoner. She was Sankta Alina. She was so much more. She was everything and Inej knew she could never turn her back on Alina and she also knew every word she had told Alina was true. Whatever Alina would ask, whenever she would ask it, Inej would be there for her.

“Where are you going now?” asked Jesper ahead of them.

She had just talked to Kaz and the two had fallen back a bit. Jesper was walking next to Mal and Alina. While Zoya had parted ways with them rather quickly after the camp fire, it seemed the other two were headed the same way as them. It made Inej's heart race for some reason.

“Ketterdam. For now. We talked about wanting to see it. It's... as good a start as any,” offered Mal.

“I figured I could train everywhere. So... why not go and see something new?” added Alina.

Inej's heart was racing in her chest at that thought and she found herself looking toward Kaz, hopeful. Hopeful for what exactly, she didn't know. He tried to look as stern as possible, which was quite a lot. Without thinking on it, Inej opened her mouth, on instinct.

“You told me you invest in one of a kind. There is no one more one of a kind than the Sun Summoner,” whispered Inej, holding Kaz' gaze firmly.

There was the smallest hint of a smile on Kaz' lips as he huffed, though he did not reply. Instead, he tapped his cane on the ground, in a manner that drew Jesper's attention immediately.

“We're going to take a detour before we depart,” declared Kaz without further explanation.

Glances were exchanged – Jesper looked at Inej curiously, Mal and Alina had a silent conversation with looks alone. Kaz remained quiet, not elaborating at all, simply leading the way. Inej and Jesper followed him, blindly. Though Mal and Alina also followed them, perhaps simply lost.

/break\

The detour led them to a barmaid and to a goat. The sounds Jesper made when he got to hug Milo again were a bit embarrassing. At least he wasn't the only one; for some reason, Mal made similar sounds as he also hugged the goat. Perhaps it was a sign of sorts, that one goat tied them together. It had saved them – in a way, if Jesper had kept freaking out, Inej doubted that they would have made their way through the fold in one piece – and it had apparently helped Mal too.

Inej wasn't sure, but it seemed like the goat was the final, uniting factor. Mal and Alina joined them on their way back to Ketterdam. The five of them (and the goat) sat together on the ship. Jesper, happy with his goat, sat next to Kaz. Very close to Kaz, though not touching. Inej saw the tenderness in Kaz' eyes, regardless of how much he tried to hide it. He'd always had a soft spot for Jesper, even if he had very unconventional ways of showing it. Like by buying Jesper a goat.

On Jesper's other side sat Mal, so both men could cuddle the goat. Alina sat opposite Mal and Inej sat opposite Jesper and Kaz. Meaning Inej sat next to Alina. For hours.

She left a little space between the two of them at the beginning of the journey, though she couldn't help but keep looking at Alina and slowly inching closer the longer they traveled. Alina covered herself with a shawl, just in case anyone would recognize her as the Sun Summoner. Laying low was a very good idea. Was there a lower to lay than with the Crows...? Though it was only at the end of their journey, as they reached their destination, that Inej found it in herself to voice it.

“What will you do in Ketterdam?” asked Inej, her voice soft.

“I... Train?” guessed Alina with a thoughtful expression. “Gamble? Take in the sights?”

“If you want to be useful and earn some money. Find us,” Kaz made it sound like an order.

Inej was not the only one surprised by that, though she smiled, pleased. For now, they had their own business to sort out first. The three of them headed off, toward the club, not looking as mysterious and dangerous as they usually did, because... there was a baby goat skipping along next to them.

/break\

For a few weeks, Mal and Alina hid away together. He got a job at a bar to earn them enough money to support them. They thought it would be best for Alina to not be too public; just in case. Even though the chances of someone recognizing her as the Sun Summoner here were incredibly low. But after a while, it got kind of boring. And when Mal lost his job, because he had lost his temper with a customer who was more than just rude toward Alina, they made their way to the Crow Club. Ever since they had parted ways, they hadn't seen the three again. In passing, Alina thought she had seen Jesper or Inej one or two times. She knew Mal would occasionally sneak off to visit the goat – she still didn't quite understand the whole goat-thing, but Mal was very happy about it. He's always liked small, cuddle-able animal, though goats were bigger than bunnies.

“You came,” Inej's voice was a whisper and it came out of nowhere.

Alina could have sworn Inej was nowhere in sight when Alina and Mal had entered. Yet suddenly, she was right behind Alina. And she was still as pretty. For a moment, Alina stared in awe at her beauty. All words lost to her. She also lost Mal; he spotted Jesper at a poker table, with the goat on his lap. For a second, Alina smiled as she watched her childhood friend hug Milo the goat.

“I... yes. I don't know... much about what you guys do. But... if we can be useful. We could... use the money. And... I... missed you,” blurted Alina out.

Well, that was elegant. She shouldn't have put everything into that one sentence. She was normally not this awkward around people she had feelings for. But then again, no one had ever pledged loyalty and devotion to her the way Inej had. How was she supposed to be not awkward after that? Her cheeks felt warm, but the genuinely surprised and happy look on Inej's face made it worth it.

“I'm... sure we will be able to find use for you, and for the tracker,” assured Inej.

She slipped her hand into Alina's, seemingly without even thinking about it herself. It seemed to come so easily and naturally to them, just as it had at the fire-place. It was strange, how often Alina thought of that short moment, but it had been the first moment of serene peace in a while. Alina smiled to herself as she let Inej lead her toward Kaz' office.

/break\

Inej had always known that the Sun Summoner would bring peace, but she had not expected it would be her own personal peace. Being with Alina made her feel like nothing before had. It took many more weeks of shared missions and laughter before Inej understood that it was more than simple sainthood – Alina had become Inej's personal sanctuary. Her own peace and comfort and warmth and light. Hers. And, mesmerizingly enough, she had become Alina's.

“Good morning,” whispered Alina with a smile as she brushed Inej's hair out of her face.

They had shared their first kiss after an exhilarating mission, adrenaline and laughter fueling them. And now, Inej got to wake up to that face, that smile. And she had never felt that alive before. Reaching out, Inej cupped her face and brought it close enough to kiss her gently.

~*~ The End ~*~

#Alinej #Inej x Alina #Inej Ghafa #Alina Starkov #Shadow and Bone #Fanfiction #Fluff #Falling in Love

[96harmony96]

Chapter 7

I don’t remember much of what happened after we arrived. Camera flashes burst around us like fireworks as we walked the length of the press gauntlet, but I scarcely paid them any mind, smiling by rote. I was drawn into myself and desperate to get away from the tension radiating in waves from Lauren.

The moment we crossed over into the building, someone called her name and she turned. I slipped away, darting around the rest of the guests clogging the carpeted entrance.

When I reached the reception hall, I snatched two glasses of champagne from a passing server and searched for Cary as I tossed one back. I spotted him on the far side of the room with my mom and Stanton, and I crossed to them, discarding my empty glass on a table as I passed it.

“Camila!” My mother’s face lit up when she saw me. “That dress is stunning on you!”

She air-kissed each of my cheeks. She was gorgeous in a shimmering, fitted column of icy blue. Sapphires dripped from her ears, throat, and wrist, highlighting her eyes and her pale skin.

“Thank you.” I took a gulp of champagne from my second glass, remembering that I’d planned on expressing gratitude for the dress. While I still appreciated the gift, I was no longer so happy about the convenient thigh slit.

Cary stepped forward, catching my elbow. One look at my face and he knew I was upset. I shook my head, not wanting to get into it now.

“More champagne, then?” he asked softly.

“Please.”

I felt Lauren approaching before I saw my mother’s face light up like the New Year’s ball in Times Square. Stanton, too, seemed to straighten and gather himself.

“Camila.” Lauren set her hand on the bare skin of my lower back and a shock of awareness moved through me. When her fingers flexed against me, I wondered if she felt it, too. “You ran off.”

I stiffened against the reproof I heard in her tone. I shot her a look that said everything I couldn’t while we were in public. “Richard, have you met LaurenJauregui?”

“Yes, of course.” The two shook hands.

Lauren pulled me closer to her side. “We share the good fortune of escorting the two most beautiful women in New York.”

Stanton agreed, smiling indulgently down at my mother.

I tossed back the rest of my champagne and gratefully exchanged the empty glass for the fresh one Cary handed me. There was a slight warmth growing in my belly from the alcohol and it loosened the knot that had formed there.

Lauren leaned over and whispered harshly, “Don’t forget you’re here with me.”

SHe was mad? What the hell? My gaze narrowed. “You’re one to talk.”

“Not here, Camila.” sHe nodded at everyone and led me away. “Not now.”

“Not ever,” I muttered, going along with her just to spare my mother a scene.

Sipping my champagne, I slid into an autopilot mode of self-preservation I hadn’t had to use in many years. Lauren fintroduced me to people and I supposed I performed well enough—spoke at the appropriate moments and smiled when necessary—but I wasn’t really paying attention. I was too conscious of the icy wall between us and my own hurt anger. If I’d needed any proof that Lauren was rigid about not socializing with women she slept with, I had it.

When dinner was announced, I went with her into the dining room and poked at my food. I drank a few glasses of the red wine they served with the meal and heard Lauren talking to our tablemates, although I didn’t pay attention to the words, only to the cadence and the seductively deep, even tone. SHe made no attempt to draw me into the conversation and I was glad. I didn’t think I could say anything nice.

I didn’t become engaged until she stood to a round of applause and took the stage. Then I turned in my seat and watched her cross to the podium, unable to help admiring her animal grace and stunning good looks. Every step she took commanded attention and respect, which was a feat, considering her easy and unhurried stride.

She looked none the worse for wear after our abandoned fucking in her limo. In fact, she seemed like a totally different person. SHe was once again the woman I’d met in the Crossfire lobby, supremely contained and quietly powerful.

“In North America,” she began, “childhood sexual abuse is experienced by one in every four women and one in every six men. Take a good look around you. Someone at your table is either a survivor or knows someone who is. That’s the unacceptable truth.”

I was riveted. Lauren was a consummate orator, her vibrant baritone mesmerizing. But it was the topic, which hit so close to home, and her passionate and sometimes shocking way of discussing it, that moved me. I began to thaw, my bewildered fury and damaged self-confidence subverted by wonder. My view of her shifted, altering as I became simply another individual in a rapt audience. SHe wasn’t the man who’d so recently hurt my feelings; she was just a skilled speaker discussing a subject that was deeply important to me.

When she finished, I stood and applauded, catching both her and myself by surprise. But others quickly joined me in the standing ovation and I heard the buzz of conversations around me, the quietly voiced compliments that were well deserved.

“You’re a fortunate young lady.”

I turned to look at the woman who spoke, a lovely redhead who appeared to be in her early forties. “We’re just…friends.”

Her serene smile somehow managed to argue with me.

People began stepping away from their tables. I was about to grab my clutch so I could leave for home when a young man came up to me. His wayward auburn hair inspired instant envy and his eyes of grayish-green were soft and friendly. Handsome and sporting a boyish grin, he lured the first genuine smile out of me since the ride over in the limousine.

“Hello there,” he said.

He seemed to know who I was, which put me in the awkward position of pretending I wasn’t clueless as to who he was. “Hello.”

He laughed, and the sound was light and charming. “I’m Christopher Vidal, Lauren’s brother.”

“Oh, of course.” My face heated. I couldn’t believe I’d been so lost in my own pity party that I hadn’t made the connection at once.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m sorry.” I offered a sheepish smile. “Not sure how to say I read an article about you without sounding awkward.”

He laughed. “I’m flattered you remembered it. Just don’t tell me it was in Page Six.”

The gossip column was notorious for getting the goods on New York celebrities and socialites. “No,” I said quickly. “Rolling Stone, maybe?”

“I can live with that.” He extended his arm to me. “Would you like to dance?”

I glanced over to where Lauren was standing at the foot of the stairs that led to the stage. SHe was surrounded by people eager to talk to her, many of whom were women.

“You can see she’ll be awhile,” Christopher said, with a note of amusement.

“Yes.” I was about to look away when I recognized the woman standing next to Lauren—Magdalene Perez.

I picked up my clutch and managed a smile for Christopher. “I’d love to dance.”

Arm-in-arm we headed into the ballroom and stepped onto the dance floor. The band began the first strains of a waltz and we moved easily, naturally into the music. He was a skilled dancer, agile and confident in his lead.

“So, how do you know Lauren?”

“I don’t.” I nodded at Cary when he glided by with a statuesque blonde. “I work in the Crossfire and we’ve run into each other once or twice.”

“You work for her?”

“No. I’m an assistant at Waters Field and Leaman.”

“Ah.” He grinned. “Ad agency.”

“Yes.”

“Lauren must really be into you to go from meeting you once or twice to dragging you out on a date like this.”

I cursed inwardly. I’d known assumptions would be made, but I wanted more than ever to avoid further humiliation. “Lauren’s acquainted with my mother and she’d already arranged for me to come, so it’s just a matter of two people going to the same event in one car rather than two.”

“So you’re available?”

I took a deep breath, feeling uncomfortable despite how fluidly we moved together. “Well, I’m not taken.”

Christopher flashed his charismatic boyish grin. “My night just took a turn for the better.”

He filled the rest of the dance with amusing anecdotes about the music industry that made me laugh and took my mind off lauren.

When the dance ended, Cary was there to take the next one. We danced very well as a couple because we’d taken lessons together. I relaxed into his hold, grateful to have him as moral support.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” I asked him.

“I pinched myself during dinner when I realized I was sitting next to the top coordinator for Fashion Week. And she flirted with me!” He smiled, but his eyes were haunted. “Whenever I find myself in places like this…dressed like this…I can’t believe it. You saved my life, Camila. Then you changed it completely.”

“You save my sanity all the time. Trust me, we’re even.”

His hand tightened on mine, his gaze hardening. “You look miserable. How’d she fuck up?”

“I think I did that. We’ll talk about it later.”

“You’re afraid I’ll kick her ass here in front of everyone.”

I sighed. “I’d rather you didn’t, for my mom’s sake.”

Cary pressed his lips briefly to my forehead. “I warned her earlier. SHe knows it’s coming.”

“Oh, Cary.” Love for him tightened my throat even as reluctant amusement curved my lips. I should’ve known Cary would give Lauren a big brother threat of some sort. That was just so like him.

Lauren appeared beside us. “I’m cutting in.”

It wasn’t a request.

Cary stopped and looked at me. I nodded. He backed away with a bow, his gaze hot and fierce on Lauren’s face.

Lauren pulled me close and took over the dance the way she took over everything—with dominant confidence. It was an entirely different experience dancing with her than with my two previous partners. Lauren had both the expertise of her brother and Cary’s familiarity with the way my body moved, but Lauren had a bold, aggressive style that was inherently sexual.

It didn’t help that being so close to a woman I’d so recently been intimate with seduced my senses despite my unhappiness. SHe smelled scrumptious, with undertones of sex, and the way she led me through the bold sweeping steps made me feel the soreness deep inside me, reminding me that she’d been there not long ago.

“You keep running off,” she muttered, scowling down at me.

“Seemed like Magdalene picked up the slack quick enough.”

Her brow arched and she drew me closer. “Jealous?”

“Seriously?” I looked away.

SHe made a frustrated noise. “Stay away from my brother, Camila.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

My temper ignited, which felt good after all the self-recrimination and doubts I’d been drowning in since we’d screwed like feral bunnies. I decided to see if turnabout was fair play in Lauren Jauregui’s world. “Stay away from Magdalene, Lauren.”

Her jaw tightened. “She’s just a friend.”

“Meaning you haven’t slept with her…? Yet.”

“No, damn it. And I don’t want to. Listen—” The music wound down and she slowed. “I have to go. I brought you here, and I would prefer to be the one who takes you home, but I don’t want to pull you away if you’re enjoying yourself. Would you rather stick around and go home with Stanton and your mother?”

Enjoying myself? Was she kidding or clueless? Or worse. Maybe she’d written me off so completely that she wasn’t paying attention to me at all.

I pushed away from her, needing the distance. Her scent was messing with my head. “I’ll be fine. Forget about me.”

“Camila.” SHe reached for me and I stepped back quickly.

An arm came around my back and Cary spoke. “I’ve got her, Jauregui.”

“Don’t get in my way, Taylor,” Lauren warned.

Cary snorted. “I get the impression you’re doing a smokin’ job of that all by yourself.”

I swallowed past the lump in my throat. “You gave a wonderful speech, Lauren. It was the highlight of my evening.”

She sucked in a sharp breath at the implied insult; then shoved a hand through her hair. Abruptly, she cursed and I realized why when ahe pulled her vibrating phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen.

“I have to go.” Her gaze caught mine and held it. Her fingertips drifted over my cheek. “I’ll call you.”

And then she was gone.

“Do you want to stay?” Cary asked quietly.

“No.”

“I’ll take you home, then.”

“No, don’t.” I wanted to be alone for a bit. Soak in a hot bath with a bottle of cool wine and pull myself out of my funk. “You should be here. It could be good for your career. We can talk when you get home. Or tomorrow. I’m going the couch potato route all day.”

His gaze darted over my face, searching. “You sure?”

I nodded.

“All right.” But he looked unconvinced.

“If you could go out and ask a valet to have Stanton’s limo brought around, I’ll run to the ladies’ room real quick.”

“Okay.” Cary ran his hand down my arm. “I’ll get your shawl from the coatroom and see you out front.”

It took longer to get to the restroom than it should have. For one, a surprising number of people stopped me for small talk, which had to be because I was Lauren Jauregui's date. And two, I avoided the nearest ladies’ room, which had a steady flow of women pouring in and out of it, and I found one located farther away. I locked myself in a stall and took a few moments longer to finish my business than absolutely required. There was no one else in the room besides the attendant, so there was no one to rush me.

I was so hurt by Lauren it was hard to breathe and I was so confused by her mood swings. Why had she touched my face like that? Why had she gotten mad when I didn’t stay by her side? And why the hell had she threatened Cary? Lauren gave new meaning to the old adage about “running hot and cold.”

Closing my eyes, I shored up my composure. Jesus. I didn’t need this.

I’d bared my emotions in the limo and I still felt horribly vulnerable—a state I’d spent countless therapy hours learning to avoid. I wanted nothing more than to be home and hidden, freed from the pressure of acting like I was completely pulled together when I was anything but.

You set yourself up for this, I reminded myself. Suck it up.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out and was resigned to finding Magdalene leaning against the vanity with her arms crossed. She was clearly there for me, lying in wait at a time when my defenses were already weak. My step faltered; then I recovered and made my way to the sink to wash my hands.

She turned to face the mirror, studying my reflection. I studied her, too. She was even more gorgeous in person than she’d been in her photos. Tall and slender, with big dark eyes and a cascade of straight blonde

hair. Her lips were lush and red, her cheekbones high and sculpted. Her dress was modestly sexy, a flowing sheath of creamy satin that contrasted beautifully with her olive skin. She looked like a fucking supermodel and exuded an exotic sex appeal.

I accepted the hand towel the bathroom attendant handed me, and Magdalene spoke to the woman in Spanish, asking her to give us some privacy. I capped the request with, “Por favor, gracias.” That earned me an arched brow from Magdalene and a closer examination, which I returned with equal coolness.

“Oh, dear,” she murmured, the moment the attendant stepped out of earshot. She made a tsking noise that scraped over my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “You’ve fucked her already.”

“And you haven’t.”

That seemed to surprise her. “You’re right, I haven’t. You know why?”

I pulled a five-spot out of my clutch and dropped it in the silver tip tray. “Because she doesn’t want to.”

“And I don’t want to either, because she can’t commit. She’s young, gorgeous, rich, and she’s enjoying it.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “She certainly did.”

Her gaze narrowed, her pleasant expression slipping slightly. “She doesn’t respect the women she fucks. The minute she shoved her dick in you, you were done. Just like all the others. But I’m still here, because I’m the one she wants to keep around for the long haul.”

I maintained my cool even though the blow had been a perfect hit right where the most damage could be done. “That’s pathetic.”

I walked out and didn’t stop until I reached Stanton’s limousine. Squeezing Cary’s hand as I got in, I managed to wait until the car pulled away from the curb to start crying.

____

“Hey, baby girl,” Cary called out when I shuffled into the living room the next morning. Dressed in nothing but a loose pair of old sweats, he was stretched out on the couch with his feet crossed and propped on the coffee table. He looked beautifully disheveled and comfortable in his own skin. “How’d you sleep?”

I gave him the thumbs-up and headed into the kitchen for coffee. I paused by the breakfast bar, my brows lifting at the massive arrangement of red roses on the counter. The fragrance was divine and I inhaled it with a deep breath. “What’s this?”

“They came for you about an hour ago. A Sunday delivery. Pretty and super pricey.”

I plucked the card off the clear plastic stake and opened it.

“I’m still thinking about you.

Lauren”

“From Jauregui?” Cary asked.

“Yes.” My thumb brushed over what I assumed was her handwriting. It was bold and masculine and sexy. A romantic gesture for a girl who didn’t have romance in her repertoire. I dropped the card on the counter as if it’d burned me and fetched a mug of coffee, praying caffeine would give me strength and restore my common sense.

“You don’t seem impressed.” He lowered the volume on the football game he was watching.

“SHe’s bad news for me. SHe’s like one giant trigger. I just need to stay away from her.” Cary had been through therapy with me and he knew the drill. He didn’t look at me funny when I broke things down into therapeutic jargon, and he didn’t have any trouble shooting it back to me the same way.

“The phone’s been ringing all morning, too. I didn’t want it to disturb you, so I shut the volume off.”

Aware of the lingering ache between my legs, I curled up on the couch and fought the compulsion to listen to our voice mail to see if Lauren had called. I wanted to hear her voice, and an explanation that would make sense of what happened last night. “Sounds good to me. Let’s leave it off all day.”

“What happened?”

I blew steam off the top of my mug and took a tentative sip. “I fucked her brains out in her limo and she turned arctic afterward.”

Cary watched me with those worldly emerald eyes, eyes that had seen more than anyone should be subjected to. “Rocked her world, did you?”

“Yeah, I did.” And I got riled up just thinking about it. We’d connected. I knewit. I’d wanted her more than anything last night, and today I wanted nothing to do with her ever again. “It was intense. The best sexual experience of my life, and she was right there with me. I know she was. First time she’d ever made it in a car, and she was kind of resistant at first, but then I got her so hot for it she couldn’t say no.”

“Really? Never?” He ran a hand over his morning stubble. “Most guys scratch car banging off their fuck list in high school. In fact, I can’t think of anyone who didn’t, except for the nerds and fuglies, and she’s neither.”

I shrugged. “I guess car banging makes me a slut.”

Cary grew very still. “Is that what she said?”

“No. sHe didn’t say shit. I got that from her ‘friend,’ Magdalene. You know that chick in most of the photos you printed off the Internet? She decided to sharpen her claws with a little catty girl chat in the bathroom.”

“The bitch is jealous.”

“Sexual frustration. She can’t fuck her, because apparently girls who fuck her go into the discard pile.”

“Did she say that?” Again, fury laced his quiet question.

“Not in so many words. sHe said she doesn’t sleep with her female friends. SHe’s got issues with women wanting more than a good time in the sack, so she keeps the women she bangs and the women she hangs out with in two separate camps.” I took another sip of my coffee. “I warned her that sort of setup wasn’t going to work for me and she said she’d make some adjustments, but I guess she’s one of those people who’ll say whatever’s necessary to get what they wants.”

“Or else you have her running scared.”

I glared. “Don’t make excuses for her. Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Yours, baby girl.” He reached out and patted my knee. “Always yours.”

I wrapped my hand around his muscular forearm and stroked my fingers gently along the underside in silent gratitude. I couldn’t feel the multitude of fine white scars from cutting that marred his skin, but I never forgot they were there. I was thankful every day that he was alive, healthy, and a vital part of my life. “How’d your night go?”

“I can’t complain.” His eyes took on a mischievous glint. “I shagged that busty blonde in a maintenance closet. Her tits were real.”

“Well, then.” I smiled. “You made her night, I’m sure.”

“I try.” He picked up the phone receiver and winked at me. “What kind of delivery do you want? Subs? Chinese? Indian?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re always hungry. If you don’t pick something, I’ll cook and you’ll have to eat that.”

I lifted my hand in surrender. “Okay, okay. You pick.”

____

I got to work twenty minutes early on Monday, figuring I’d skip running into Lauren. When I reached my desk without incident, I felt such relief that I knew I was in serious trouble where she was concerned. My moods were shifting all over the place.

Mark arrived in high spirits, still floating from his major successes of the week before, and we dug right into work. I’d done some vodka market comparisons on Sunday and he was kind enough to go over those with me and listen to my impressions. Mark was also assigned the account for a new e-reader manufacturer, so we began the initial work on that.

With such a busy morning, time flew swiftly and I didn’t have time to think about my personal life. I was really grateful for that. Then I answered the phone and heard Lauren on the line. I wasn’t prepared.

“How’s your Monday been so far?” She asked, her voice sending a shiver of awareness through me.

“Hectic.” I glanced at the clock and was startled to see it was twenty minutes to noon.

“Good.” There was a pause. “I tried calling you yesterday. I left a couple messages. I wanted to hear your voice.”

My eyes closed on a deep breath. It had taken every bit of my willpower to make it through the day without listening to the voice mail. I’d even enlisted Cary in the cause, telling him to restrain me forcibly if it looked like I might succumb to the urge. “I did the hermit thing and worked a little.”

“Did you get the flowers I sent?”

“Yes. They’re lovely. Thank you.”

“They reminded me of your dress.”

What the hell was she doing? I was beginning to think she had multiple personality disorder. “Some women might say that’s romantic.”

“I only care what you say.” Her chair creaked as if she’d pushed to her feet. “I thought about stopping by…I wanted to.”

I sighed, surrendering to my confusion. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

There was another long pause. “I deserved that.”

“I didn’t say it to be a bitch. It’s just the truth.”

“I know. Listen…I arranged for lunch up here in my office so we don’t waste any of the hour leaving and getting back.”

After her parting, I’ll call you, I’d wondered if she would want to get together again after she settled down from whatever trip she’d been on. It was a possibility I’d been dreading since Saturday night, aware that I needed to cut her off, but feeling strung out from the desire to be with her. I wanted to experience again that pure, perfect moment of intimacy we’d shared.

But I couldn’t justify that one moment against all the other moments when she made me feel like crap.

“Lauren, we don’t have any reason to have lunch together. We hashed things out Friday night, and we…took care of business Saturday. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Camila.” Her voice turned gruff. “I know I fucked up. Let me explain.”

“You don’t have to. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. I need to see you.”

“I don’t want—”

“We can do this the easy way, Camila. Or you can make it difficult.” Her tone took on a hard edge that made my pulse quicken. “Either way, you’ll hear me out.”

I closed my eyes, understanding that I wasn’t lucky enough to get away with a quick good-bye phone chat. “Fine. I’ll come up.”

“Thank you.” She exhaled audibly. “I can’t wait to see you.”

I returned the receiver to its cradle and stared at the photos on my desk, trying to formulate what I needed to say and steeling myself for the impact of seeing Lauren again. The ferocity of my physical response to her was impossible to control. Somehow I’d have to get past it and take care of business. Later, I’d think about having to see her in the building over the days, weeks, and months ahead. For the moment, I just had to focus on making it through lunch.

Yielding to the inevitable, I got back to work comparing the visual impact of some blow-in card samples.

“Camila.”

#camren gip #camren shipper #camren fanfiction #camila and lauren #laurengip #lauren jauregay #lauren and camila #lauren jauregui #camila cabello #smut #Camren smut #Jauregui fire

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 13)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! I am so excited to be back with this story after the month I spent away, and I find it so wild that in that past month so much happened with royals in the actual world. I wouldn’t say it inspired this chapter at all, but it was cathartic to write a story where the Prince and Princess get a much healthier, more healing reception. I know how many of you love this fic, and it definitely has a special place in my heart as well. It’s been so important to me that I do the ending of this story justice, and so it took a bit of time to get my thoughts organized. This is one of the final chapters, and I only anticipate one more actual story installment and then maybe, someday far off in the future, an epilogue or two. That being said, this is a long-awaited milestone for CS and I have attempted to infuse all of my usual cuteness and romance. I hope that you all enjoy, I would love to hear what you think, and thank you all so much for reading!

Gazing out upon the overlook as the sun rose over the tree line in the Montenarran morning, Killian was comforted once more by the vastness of the world and the beauty that danced before him. The light shone with a color and vibrancy he’d come to know and love, but this morning the air hummed with languid layers of anticipation. Maybe it was Killian’s excitement and nerves, but he didn’t think so. No, if anything the world seemed to shimmer today, a sign from above that the timing was right and that he was ready to take this next big step.

The next time I visit this place, I’ll have Emma by my side, he thought to himself, soaking in the comfort of such a plan. 

This was on his list of places to share with his Swan, but he reasoned that he had all the time in the world for such gifts. Today, though, he was planning to make that assumption a reality. For finally, after nearly three days of being parted from his love, he was planning to propose, in a way befitting a woman of Emma’s caliber.

Instinctively, Killian’s hand moved to his pocket, drawing out a small black box which held a ring inside. The ring was beautiful and ornate, an overt and ostentatious display of love, but one with inherent meaning. This was the ring his grandfather had given his Gran, a ring forged for the purpose of real and lasting love. It was not exchanged at their wedding, but instead in a private ceremony the two of them shared some weeks later. Their wedding had been arranged, but still they’d found real love. This ring was a gift, however, given at the turning point where Killian’s grandfather knew that his love for his new Queen was more than mere arrangement – it was true and totally transformative.

“Your brother, as reigning monarch, has full claim to your grandfather and my wedding bands, and he will make good use of them with his Elsa, I am utterly assured,” Gran had claimed some weeks back when she stole Killian for a private moment. On that night, she was serious and sincere, most of her deeply playful nature tucked aside for a brief window of time. She glanced at her the matrimonial ring she still wore, years after the death of her dearly departed husband before looking back to Killian with conviction and calm. “The love between them grows each day, and is befitting of what me and your grandfather shared. But this ring I’m giving you, Killy… this ring is something else altogether. This is magic made metal. This is perfectly genuine affection forged into precious gems.”

“It is gorgeous, Gran,” Killian agreed when she presented the ring to him. “But I can’t take something like this from you. Not when it means so much.”

“That’s why you must have it, Killy. If your Grandfather were here, he would say the same. This ring bound us in life, but now we are bound through so much more.”

For the first time in years, likely since the death of his grandfather himself, Killian watched as tears trickled down his Gran’s face. It instantly pierced his heart, for this was a woman who always showed strength. Even when he was on deployment and gone for years on end, his Gran persevered. She may grow misty eyed or get choked up, but tears were a whole different story. Only the memory of her husband could prompt them, and Killian thought to himself not for the first time that she had been so strong for so long, going on without him.

“Our love is forever, living, thriving, singing its song for now and for always. I miss him, every day, every moment, I wish that he was here, but someday we will have each other again. And in the meantime, this ring deserves another union. It was made to be passed through generations. I will confess that I wondered if anyone should ever be worthy of it, if love like ours would find its way here again. But I needn’t have doubted. You and Emma are made for each other, and it would be my honor for Emma to wear this.”

Killian agreed whole heartedly with his Grandmother’s explanation, and he knew no more beautiful stone could be found the world over. This ring bore a remarkable yellow diamond, encircled with smaller stones of the same rare hue. The exact shade sparkled in the sunlight, but almost seemed dipped in the golden glow of a summer’s afternoon. It was pristine and poetic, warm and well beyond the pale, reminding Killian of the highlights in Emma’s hair and the lilt of her laughter. Her joy was precious, more precious than any stone, but as he gazed upon the rock, it felt quintessentially designed for his Swan. It was happy and bright, bold and beautiful, and he knew, despite its flair and size, that Emma would love it.

The only thing left to do is ask her.

The thought breathed new life into Killian, even more so than the Montenarran morning, and he walked back through the forest paths towards the palace once more, energized and ready for the day ahead. He had everything planned and had been working on this for some time. There were many moving pieces, but he’d squared them all away. In the end he would see to it that this was perfect, for that was exactly what his Swan deserved.

Arriving at the palace just after the sunrise, Killian moved with purpose and precision. He had only a little bit of time, and much to accomplish.

“The last of the parcels have been delivered, Your Grace,” one attendant announced as Killian walked through the palace doors. “The bulk of them are here, as you see, though some are in the green house for obvious reasons.”

“Excellent, Jacque. Thank you.”

“I beg your pardon, Sir, it’s just… are you certain you don’t need help arranging things? It’s a significant amount of work here. The staff is happy to assist.”

“I appreciate that offer, Jacque, but I’ve got things well in hand. I’ve been planning this for some time.”

A thoughtful smile appeared at the older man’s face, one that broke the traditional polite protocol and spoke to how long he had known Killian and the royal family. “Of course, Sir. Well, in that case, best of luck.”

Killian took the well wishes to heart, knowing he had a massive task before him. Perhaps he could have given himself more time to bring all of these pieces together, but to him, it already felt like too much time had been wasted. He was more than ready for this next step with Emma, and after three days spent apart, not seeing each other in person, or sharing much more than a few texts and facetimes, he was particularly desirous to see this through. He had been strategizing on how to get this right for quite a while, and by now he knew each assignment down to the letter.

“I assume that your dismissal of Jacques offer goes for us as well?”

Killian glanced up, finding his mother on the stairwell. From here she was stately and elegant, a poised dowager Queen with refinement and grace, but as she descended, she became more herself, and by the time she was in front of Killian, taking his hand in hers, she was no more and no less than a wonderful mother. His greatest support for many years, and someone who he knew would give anything she could to make this moment special.

“It does, at least for this. But with the children arriving in a few hours’ time -,”

“Not to worry on that front,” his mother said cheerily, her own happiness at the thought of all the Institute’s residents coming to the palace for a special premiere outing. “Your Grandmother and I have all in hand, and Liam and Elsa are set to help us. It’ll be a day to remember.”

“Good,” Killian said, looking around and finding his Gran already in full form, instructing the staff as to the desires she had for the outdoor space. Through the glass of the palace’s wall of windows, her words were muddled, but the humor was clear as day. This woman, frail and aged from outward appearance, was a firecracker, ruling over the days designs with an iron fist. “Surprising that Liam is giving Gran such a wide berth.”

“Well how could he not? He’s yet to come down for the day. Hard to give orders from a distance.”

Killian let out a whistle, and laughed as his mother swatted his arm and ‘tutted’ his boyish actions. Knowing when enough was enough, he left unsaid the clear reason that his brother would choose to stay abed so late in the morning. Killian would stake his life on the fact that a certain guest was here within the palace, and that she likely made a visit of the overnight variety.

“What are the chances that Gran doesn’t know?” Killian asked and his mother shook her head.

“Zero.”

“And the likelihood that she will say something?”

“That’s still to be determined.” Killian was shocked at his mother’s genuine opinion. He, for one, thought it undoubtable that Gran would make mention of this moment, gleefully commenting on the need for royal heirs or some such outlandish claim. “Eleanor is direct and prone to speaking her mind, but she is also strategic. If the calculated risk of such a comment is too high, she will deny herself. She would never do anything to jeopardize your brother’s prospects.”

“You really think a smart comment from an old woman is enough to keep them apart?” Killian asked, thinking back on the few weeks that Liam and Elsa had shared since finding each other again. They had been as close to inseparable as the schedule of a King would allow. It was clear that they were both entirely invested, so much so that a royal announcement would be made in the coming days announcing their relationship.

“Not for a second.”

“So, if you know that, and I know that… surely Gran must know that.”

At that exact moment a maid was walking back into the house, opening the glass doors. From the outside they could hear his grandmother calling out to Liam and to Elsa, who had been discovered somewhere in the backyard. They no doubt were trying to be more discrete, but Gran seemed to have no interest in allowing them that privacy.

“Oh Lord, it’s time,” Meera said with a mix of worry and also amusement. Her eyes were alight with the humor of the moment, but also the very real awkwardness that may soon transpire. “I best get out there and spare them from what I can.”

Killian nodded, but wasn’t ready for the impact of his mother’s arms around him squeezing tight. It was not in any way part of the royal protocol, but his family never paid much mind to that. Still, this was a big hug, one that was obviously filled with tremendous meaning.

“I’m so proud of you, my darling. You’ll give her everything she deserves, and the two of you will be happy. So wonderfully, beautifully happy.”

“Thanks, Mum. Love you,” he whispered, accepting her soft kiss on his cheek and her shared words of love in kind before she dashed off to help his elder brother. A Queen should never move so quickly, but then again, Gran could do quite a bit of damage in the seconds it would take to get from here to there. For his part, Killian only chuckled to himself before heading to the side of the palace towards the gardens for the day.

The next few hours were defined by attention to detail and purposeful precision. Before meeting Emma, Killian could safely say he never imagined the lengths and planning required for a proper proposal. The idea was so intangible, so unnecessary in his estimations, that he never dwelled on even the possibility. It seemed unlikely that his heart would ever be touched in that way. He assumed he’d go through life a bachelor, or worse yet, that he’d cave to eventual pressure and say yes to something arranged and designed without feeling or passion. Luckily for him he had escaped such a fate, and instead had been steered through the grace of all things good towards a woman who was far and away the most remarkable he’d ever met.

Emma was rare and extraordinary. He had known it from their first meeting, and he continued to hold onto this truth every day they were together. There was never a moment when he didn’t realize his good fortune, or when he took her presence in his life for granted. Emma had revived him. She anchored him into the goodness of the world, and she showed him what could be. She expanded his horizons, even brought with her a son, another key part of a growing family, and by her side, Killian felt like he was capable of anything.

He only hoped that the elements he’d gathered today would translate as he imagined they could. This was a memory in the making that could only be shared once. Killian wanted to be sure that it was what Emma wanted and deserved. Luckily, he’d had help and more than a little bit of intel, mostly provided by Henry and from a few other insiders who knew Emma best of all.

“Are all systems a go, Captain?”

As if he’d conjured Henry with the grateful thought of all the boy had done for him, he turned now to find Emma’s son in the garden. Killian watched as the lad took in their surroundings, his eyes growing wide, and his whispered ‘this is so cool’ a welcome sign that Killian’s efforts had not been for nothing. He stood from where he’d been bent down, tidying up the last of his efforts, and when he gazed upon it himself, he had to say he was happy with the outcome.

“Aye, Lieutenant. All the necessary components are accounted for.”

“Good. She’s going to lose it. In a good way though,” Henry said with a smile which burned bright.

“Is everyone arrived then?” Killian asked and Henry shook his head.

“Soon, but not just yet. Anna and I have been here for a while now. Gran needed help with the game set up, but I asked if I could see you first.”

The look of wonder and happiness that had clung to Henry since arriving colored to something a bit more pensive. The shift gave Killian some pause for the first time all day. “Everything all right, lad?”

“Everything’s great, I just – well I was wondering – I mean if Mom says yes – or rather when she says yes, because she’ll totally say yes, it’s just that, well I – I was wondering…”

“No need to be worried, Henry,” Killian said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Whatever you have to ask me, I’m here to help. You have my word I will make it right.”

“I know. And you’ll love Mom forever, right?”

“Aye, lad. Forever and then some.”

“And you love me too,” Killian’s heart clenched as he automatically nodded.

“Yes, Henry. I love you both, undoubtedly.”

“And we’re going to be a family.”

Killian didn’t know what to say. Down to his bones he knew that they would be. He was confident in this union between him and Emma. They had made promises already, declarations of love. He would give anything to be her husband, and he knew that someday he would be, but to say it aloud to her son when Emma herself hadn’t had a chance to even be asked was something else entirely.  In the end, he decided to just go with his gut.

“In my heart, we already are.” Henry beamed up at him, the worry of the moment melting away. Still, Killian never imagined what he’d say next.

“Well then I was hoping that maybe, when you and Mom are married, maybe I could call you Dad?”

Killian was overwhelmed with the request. It was something he had wished for, but didn’t want to press. He knew Henry had no memories of his biological father, but he never wanted to assume. It was a massive move for a young man to ask such a question, but Killian’s answer to the query was instant and heartfelt.

“I would be honored, lad.”

“Cool,” Henry said happily, brimming with the excitement he’d had since Killian first told him about his plan to propose to Emma.

Henry moved forward, hugging Killian with the affection of an earnest hearted ten-year-old, and Killian savored it, knowing he would always see Henry as his son. He may not be his blood, but he lay claim to a large piece of Killian’s heart. He silently swore to always do right by Henry. To protect him and to teach him what he could. But mostly he would support him, and show love to Henry and his mother all the days of his life. Before Killian could speak to more of that, the sound of busses pulling up, and happy children streaming onto palace grounds wafted through the air. The time had come. This was the moment.

“You know the plan, son?” Killian asked, the word slipping off his tongue so easily, and bringing real joy to Henry’s eyes.

“Aye, aye, Captain. I’ll have Mom to you in five minutes. You can time me.”

Killian might have laughed at the fervor and excitement Henry shared, but unfortunately, five minutes waiting in a moment like this felt like a lifetime away. The only thing that got him through were the last-minute adjustments, and the journey that was needed from where he was, to where they’d start their memorable afternoon. Finally, the moment came where Killian was waiting at the start of the hedgerow, even further from the festivities and he could hear the woman he loved, unaware of his being here.

“Henry, seriously, what’s going on? The party’s only just starting. We have time for a tour later. We can go with the others.”

“Trust me Mom, this can’t wait.”

“What is it Henwy?” a tiny voice Killian would know anywhere asked. Cecelia was with them, another sign from above that his plans were moving the way he wanted.

“Something magical,” Henry said and Killian could hear the sharp trill of an excited little girl.

“Like fairies?”

“Just wait, you’ll see.”

“Something magical, huh?”  Emma parroted, but at that moment they all stepped into view.

Three days may be but a blip in time to some, but to Killian it had felt like an eternity. The peace he now experienced at seeing his Swan again was profound, and somehow she was even more stunning than when he’d left her. The day’s light shone in her hair and in her smile. She was gorgeous and relaxed, dressed in a delicate pink sun dress designed to tease and torment. Her radiance outshone every flower in this garden, and in the moments before she saw him, he soaked in the sight of her. God she was beautiful, too beautiful to properly behold. His heart skipped and his muscles tightened, and then her eyes landed on him and he was whole.  The world was righted once more, and all because Emma saw him and felt the same pull he felt emanating from his chest. The surprise in her eyes was evident, followed immediately by relief, and joy, and love, and all of it was too sweet a call to resist. He moved towards her and the children, sending up one last prayer in this critical moment.

Please let her be mine. I swear I’ll deserve her. Whatever it takes.  For I am hers, body and soul, and I always will be.

………………

God he’s gorgeous, Emma thought instinctively upon finding Killian at the far end of the garden hedge. That thought was followed closely by, Wait, what is he doing here?

“Killy!” Cecelia cried out happily, letting go of Emma and Henry’s hands and sprinting towards him. Emma watched as Killian crouched down, accepting the hug from the little girl who effortlessly stole their hearts. He closed his eyes momentarily, soaking in the moment, and then he pulled back and pushed some of her wayward curls from Cecelia’s eyes, smiling at her with genuine affection.

“Good morning, little love. How are you finding the palace?” Emma’s heart clenched in her chest in the best way. He was just so sweet with her. He always had been.

“It’s so so good,” Cecelia replied, bringing a laugh out of all of them.

At the little girl’s enthusiastic endorsement, Killian thanked Cecelia and then stood once more, looking at Emma with those captivating blue eyes and that charming smile that always took her breath away. She was still trying to fathom his presence here. They had spent the last few days apart, days she found so much more difficult to manage than she expected, but he wasn’t set to return for a few more days. Liam had sent him on state business. She didn’t press for details, assuming it was confidential, but now, she was curious as to this wonderful turn of events. Before she could ask though, he walked over to her, taking her into his arms and kissing her surely. She leaned into this embrace, loathed to let him go, but he seemed to remember they were in the presence of little eyes. It was a fleeting kiss, but still invigorating all the same.

“I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be away the rest of the week.”

“I hope you’ll forgive my brother for that white lie,” Killian said, his hand coming up to scratch at his ear in that subtle show of bashfulness she’d witnessed a time or two. “If you’ll recall I never actually confirmed an itinerary, having sworn never to lie to you again.”

“So, you weren’t on a… huh, let’s see, how did Liam put it? A ‘mission for the future of the nation’ then?” 

“Not exactly. But then again, in some ways, that’s exactly where I was. Do you trust me, love?”

Emma nodded, and watched as his smile grew warmer. She knew that it meant to him to have her trust, but in her eyes, he had earned it ten times over. Killian was a good man – the best man she knew – and he made her feel safe. Of course she trusted him. She had never trusted anyone this much before.

“In that case, I’ve some things to show you. Henry, you’ll be sure to hold down the fort in the meantime?”

Emma looked over to her son, and only now realized that this was all planned somehow. Her boy looked pleased as punch, and even sent a salute Killian’s way. “Yes sir. And Cecelia will help, wont’ you Ceci?” The little girl nodded, joyously, thrilled at the prospect of helping. “We’ll see you both soon.”

Killian nodded, leading Emma in the direction of the garden. The further they moved into the hedgerow, the quieter it became, until the only songs around them were those of birds and breeze. Emma was amazed at all of this, but she was also still wrapped up in his return. It felt so good to be back with her hand in his, the glow of his presence enveloping her. She’d never missed someone like she had the past few days, never ached this way to be reunited with someone. It was a testament to all she felt for him and how much she’d come to love him. Quietly she stopped walking, pulling Killian’s attention. With a quick glance behind them, she saw no one had followed. They were totally alone and so she made her move. Pulling him down for another kiss, she said a proper hello, and shivered in delight at his reaction.

His hands were on her, seemingly everywhere, holding her close as they tasted each other. She felt his soft dark hair between her fingers, where she ran them through by the nape of his neck. She arched in closer, feeling the friction of their bodies together, and sighing in pleasure when they pulled apart. It couldn’t go further than that, but Emma felt more secure having shown him even in a small way how happy she was to see him.

“Hell of a welcome home, love,” he growled out, words low and throaty from his own swirling emotion. “If leaving wasn’t torture in itself, I’d consider more trips just for this.”

“No need to leave for these,” she whispered to him, leaning in for another kiss but then nipping him gently instead and stepping back out of his grasp. She smiled at his evident frustration, and laughed when he groaned in defeat. He knew he was had, but from the way he pulled her back into his arms, running his hand along the small of her back and looking at her adoringly, he didn’t seem to mind.

“You are a marvel, love. Have I mentioned that yet?”

“Maybe once or twice,” she teased, looking back to where they’d been walking and giving him silent permission to lead to their destination once more. “It’s beautiful out here.”

Beautiful was an understatement. In truth, Emma had never seen such intricate floral designs or such an array of colors and flower species. She had to imagine it was more than a palace garden. This had to be one of the most beautiful botanical spaces in all of Europe.

“Much of that is my mother’s doing. Her passion project, so to speak. She brought us out here when we were boys. Showed us bits and bobs. But this has always been hallowed grounds. Special, and perhaps, as Henry hinted, a little magical as well.”

Emma was poised to reply, but at that moment they turned a corner and things changed. They were still in a garden, but this time – oh lord it was difficult to describe. Magnificent was the first word that came to mind, and ethereal came soon after. For where there were blossoms and buds before, now there even more, hanging from pergolas above and winding through ivy vines on every hedge. Some were clearly naturally placed, but Emma noticed pieces woven into this area that she’d seen before, half a world away.

“Windchimes,” she murmured, looking at the gorgeous displays that reminded her of home.

There was a storefront, totally discrete from the street view and far off of the beaten path, deep in the heart of Chinatown, that she and Henry had found when he was younger. It was filled with artisan chimes and motifs and mobiles made from natural items and glass and more. The owners were amazing and known in crafting circles around the globe. The first day Emma and Henry visited taking refuge from a sudden winter chill, the couple who owned the store had taken the time to walk her son through their work. They’d then spent hours in the studio, and though Emma had very little by way of money for a purchase, they’d showed her and Henry nothing but the utmost kindness. She’d always found the pieces beautiful, comprised of shells and flecks of crystal or silver and gold, swirled into constellations that evoked a night sky or sense of wonder. 

Over the years she and Henry returned to the studio many times, and even bought a few pieces when she could save enough to treat herself to something precious. There was so much beauty crafted in each piece. Emma always found herself wanting more, and she loved their trips back over and over again. The style  of this artwork was one of a kind. Emma had never seen other pieces like these, but here, in this patch of the garden, there had to be a hundred intricate, delicate, interrelated art pieces dancing in the wind.

“How is this possible?”

“Henry may have mentioned something. Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous. God, the time it must have taken to put this all together…”

“Was time well spent, believe me, love.” Emma looked to him and she could have sworn from the look in his eyes and the tone of his voice that he was the one who had done this. But that was crazy. How could he have possibly had time for all this?

“But how did it all even get here?”

“I brought it.”

“You brought it?” Emma asked, stunned, her fingertips grazing the smoothed lines of one art piece dripping in sea glass. “You were in New York.”

“Aye.”

“But why?”

“Patience, love. There’s more to see.”

Emma had no idea how there could possibly be more, but she tucked her arm through Killian’s and walked with him to the next section of gardens. Here there was a sudden burst of purples and whites, and a scent she’d been missing without even realizing it. Lilacs, but none of them in season. Oh God, look at all of them.

“Killian,” she whispered, looking at what must have been thousands of bouquets of her favorite flower. It was unbelievable, but it was real, and she moved forward, seeing them all set up and displayed prominently in the midst of a garden with white roses. It was gorgeous and surreal. And now she was utterly dazed and more than a little confused.

“You and Henry are well known at the Brooklyn gardens love, as I’m sure you are well aware. I had it on good authority from a woman named Ella that lilacs are your particular favorite.”

“These can’t all be from there,” Emma said and Killian shook his head.

“No, these are admittedly sourced from a few specialty purveyors across the continent. But this,” he pulled out a polaroid of a small lilac tree that was recently planted. Looking at the surroundings, Emma realized that was outside Killian’s home here in Montenarro. “This is directly from the gardens. The same family and strain, all the way from New York.”

Emma was too shocked to speak, and felt the tears welling in her eyes. He had done so much for her, and she knew it was for one reason. He wanted to bring part of her home, part of a place that meant so much to Henry and her, here to his home. It was so thoughtful she felt tongue tied. What could she say? This was all so much.

Unbelievably there was even more, and over the next few minutes he took her through three more break away gardens, each filled with other staples of her one-time home. Food and culture and memories and more. This man had managed to find all of the best parts of her time in New York and he had brought them here. Some of them were things completely out of the realm of possibility.

“I can’t believe you found this,” Emma said, holding onto a years-old piece of construction paper that had been forgotten to time.

This picture was one of so many projects that her son had made in life, but Emma cherished the memories that went with it. Another example of the city’s serendipity, this painting chronicled a day of adventure for Emma and Henry. They’d wandered all through the city, and ended up in Queens for a special summer program for kids. She was always looking for magic moments for Henry, especially ones designed for a budgeting single Mom, and this one had delivered. There were story times and games, crafts and activities, and Henry had been thrilled. He made this picture of the two of them, and though it looked nothing like Emma, it had captured her heart. It also caught the eye of the librarians working that day and they’d selected it to put on the wall in the Children’s wing. Henry was oh so proud, his four-year-old heart filled with joy at getting to hang his art somewhere aside from their refrigerator door. It meant something to Emma, another example of her doing her best by her boy, and giving him all that she’d never had.

“There was a picture of you and Henry and this particular masterpiece in the Saturday Times.”

“Okay now how could you possibly know that?”

“Your neighbor, Mrs. Hubbard. She was very forthcoming, and she’d saved the article. Has it framed and everything.”

“You spoke to Mrs. H?” Emma asked completely bewildered, and Killian nodded. “And the library had it all this time?”

“Aye. In the archives. Nothing a few strategically planned favors couldn’t procure.”

“I don’t deserve this,” Emma said, letting the tears finally fall. This was all too much, but she was immediately comforted by the feel of Killian’s strong arms. His hand came to cup her cheek, his thumb wiping some of the tears as he shook his head, his eyes full of earnest feeling and emotion.

“That’s where you’re wrong, love. You deserve every good thing the world over. I know it’s presumptuous for a man like me to ask for such a treasure, but I swear to you I’ll spend my life giving everything I can.”

“I already have everything. I have you, and Henry,” Emma said. “This is beautiful, but it’s nothing to you.”

Killian hummed out a sigh of contentment, but where Emma expected a kiss, she watched instead as he pulled back, reaching for something in his pocket. “I was hoping you’d feel this way. Makes this next part a bit less nerve wracking.”

In a smooth gesture, he pulled out a small black box and lowered to the ground. Watching Killian drop down to one knee here in the gardens, Emma felt totally adrift from all cares of the world. She was stunned and yet deeply aware that this had all been a long time coming. There was no doubt in her heart that she loved Killian, and she held no fear over taking this next step. This man had shown her for months that he genuinely cared for her and her son. He would move mountains for them, if only for a possibility of their happiness. He was selfless and loyal and true, and he made her brave, emboldening her to believe that the risk was worth it. Love was worth it. Still, it was shocking, to be adored so deeply, and to know that someone truly felt the world began and ended with her.

“Emma, I realize that this is perhaps soon by some standards, but believe me when I say that I have been aching to ask you this question since the moment we met.”  

More tears formed in her eyes, thinking back on that day. Her world had truly shifted in the span of one morning. There was a time before Killian, before romantic love that ever made her hopeful, and then there was more. It all started at the center, but it built well beyond those four walls. Knowing what she did now, she had to call their encounter what it had been – love at first sight. Maybe she hadn’t admitted it then, and surely she hadn’t said it aloud, but that is what transpired. She took one look at this man, this extraordinary, incredible man, and she was hooked, plain and simple.

“You amazed me then, that first day at the Institute. I didn’t realize anyone like you could truly be real, or that I was capable of forming an attachment with such strength. I had seen too much, I reasoned, knew the darkness of the world in ways that may leave me lacking for the rest of my days. I thought such chances at something halfway near normal were beyond me, but those first sparks between us proved me wrong. I was totally ensnared, caught in a web you couldn’t help for making, and still, that immediate response can’t compare to all I feel now. Knowing you – loving you – I am more certain each and every day that you hold my heart in your hand. I am yours, Emma. I have been yours, and I will remain yours all the days of my life.”

There was absolutely no chance at stopping from crying now, but the sensation was one of happiness. She was actually living a fairytale. Her, the once lost girl who never had a nickel to her name, or a friend to keep her going. She had survived the cruelest affairs of the heart. She had been so terribly and tragically alone, but she persisted, and she learned, through the grace of her son, and the courage of her convictions, to live. Now with Killian she was starting anew, building up the small life she’d shared with Henry into something much bigger. To say she was exited at the prospect was an understatement.

“Emma Swan, will you -,”

“I want to adopt Cecelia!” Emma said abruptly, blurting out a seemingly unrelated fact in the middle of what had been the most beautiful proposal. She was mortified, but only for a moment. Because the smile on Killian’s face calmed the storm inside her.

“Ah, right. You see, I had anticipated that, though in the interest of full disclosure I envisioned this part of the conversation after your reply to the proposal. Regardless, I offer you this, love.”

Emma watched as he juggled the ring and instinctively she took it, holding the box and sparing another glance at the absolutely beautiful band. Her fingers itched to put it on now, but she knew it would be so much better to let Killian do the honors. She then watched in amazement as he pulled out a series of papers from inside his jacket. He opened the file containing them all and showed her an application for adoption. The child in question was Cecelia, and the forms listed both Emma and Killian as petitioning guardians. Now she was completely overwhelmed. He knew every single part of her. Every hope. Every dream. He was perfect.

“Family is so much more than blood, Swan, as we both know, and I think we’ve known for sometimes that Cecelia will always be our princess.”

“Yes,” Emma whispered. Yes to everything, yes to all of it.

“I’ve also spoken to Henry, not intentionally per se, wanting to speak with you first, but it would mean the world to adopt him as well. I don’t know how you’d feel about that, but I-,”

“Yes,” she said again, this time with even more conviction.

“Yes?” he asked with a hopeful grin and she nodded. “Well in that case. May I, love?”

She handed him the papers which he put down beside them with care. Emma watched as he took the ring box back from her other hand. He settled down on bended knee again, preparing himself for another attempt at asking her to marry him. It took everything in her to bite her tongue and let him actually get the request out.

“Emma Swan, love of my life, light of my spirit, and queen of my heart, will you please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

“Yes.”

Everything from there went quickly as he slipped the ring on her finger, tossing the box without care to the group. Killian was up at full height in mere moments, pulling her in for a scorching kiss and Emma was complete. It may not have been a totally according to plan proposal, but Emma believed what they had was even better, because it was real and true and filled with so much love. She could think of no better way to start a beautiful forever, and when they pulled back, resting their foreheads against each other and soaking in the moment, Emma let out a sigh of sheer relief. This was what they meant when they said happily ever after, and it was so very worth the wait.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy,” Emma murmured aloud.

“Neither have I,” an emotional voice said – only it wasn’t Killian. The voice continued. “Truly beautiful.”

“Gran,” Killian muttered shaking his head. Emma bit her lip and covered her mouth. They had absolutely just been caught out here, but when they both turned to see their unexpected audience, consisting of Killian’s family, Elsa and Anna, and Henry and Cecelia, a different person outside of all the rest, was revealed to be the culprit.

“You take that back, Killian, for you know better than that,” Gran said, standing beside a dressed up and dazzling looking Mrs. Hubbard. Mr. Hubbard was there too, his hand on Henry’s shoulder and his leg being held onto by a very friendly Cecelia. Emma never expected to see her dear, sweet neighbors. Their appearance here in Montenarro left her floored.

“My new friends are a treat, believe me,” Gran continued, walking forward, and seemingly giving everyone else the silent permission to do the same. “But their spying skills need work. I would never speak through such a moment, nor rustle these hedges with quite so much gusto. Not to worry though, they’ll learn.”

Everyone descended in that moment to wish them all well, but the most important reactions came from Henry and from Cecelia. The happiness of both of these kids – their kids – gave Emma tremendous joy and satisfaction. She was also thrilled to share this with their blended family, and with the friends who had become such strong bonds in her new life. After much congratulations, everyone returned to the party, and an announcement was made. If Emma believed the reaction to be enthusiastic from her loved ones, it was even bolder from all of the children at the center. Indeed, the happiness and infectious sense of hope made for the best party any of them had ever been to, and created an afternoon like none she’d ever experienced.

Hours later, Emma was still reeling from the high, and loving the fact that she and Killian had stayed together all day. He’d never let her go after her saying yes, always beside her, supporting her, adoring her, and loving her endlessly. She was so happy with him, but as the day drew to a close, her spirits dampened slightly. In his usual form, Killian caught on immediately.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked, sure that no one else was listening, even though they were still amidst the party.

“Nothing,” Emma said automatically, though that was only half true. “This is one of the best days of my life. It’s just… the waiting…”

“Aye, I’ve considered that too. But I think I’ve arrived at a workable solution.” Emma looked at him curiously. “I will submit for a special license from the crown. The King and I are on decent terms you see.”

“Decent, huh?” Emma teased, looking over at Liam and finding him swaying with Elsa on a makeshift dance floor. There wasn’t even any music playing, but to this happy couple, and to the children dancing nearby, that didn’t matter in the slightest.

“He’s been in better spirits of late, as you might imagine.”

“Seems to be going around.”

“Mmm,” Killian hummed out, running his hand along her cheek and looking at her with sincerity and bliss. “We can have everything arranged in a week. It’ll be quite the undertaking, but the staff is up to the challenge.”

“A week?” Emma said, not believing it. Surely it must take longer than that, but she loved the idea. In truth, she’d marry him right now if she could. “Can we really do that?”

“Just say the word, Emma.”

“Yes,” she said nodding. “It’s crazy. Actually it’s totally insane, but yes, please, yes.”

“As you wish,” he replied kissing her again under the party lights and lighting her aflame once more. “In the meantime, I’ve no wish to be apart. We should be together, love, as long as that’s what you want.”

“I do.”

“Everything’s ready. I’ve been working for weeks on it. The rooms for Henry, for Cecelia, all of it. It’s merely a matter of moving your things in, all of which can be done tonight.”

“You’re serious?” Emma asked and he nodded.

“A magistrate’s already granted temporary custody for Cecelia. You can take her home now while the process continues. Please, love, say you’ll all come home to me.”

Emma looked over to Henry and to Cecelia, who were dancing together on the floor. Emma watched as her son already took so well to his new sister, and as if she’d conjured his attention, Henry glanced her way. He waved, a sign that Emma returned. Drawing attention to them set Cecelia in motion, and soon the little girl was dragging Henry across the party. Soon enough they were back together, the four of them a new but undoubtedly permanent unit. Cecelia jumped into Killian’s arms, and Henry came to Emma’s side looking up with his knowing expression.

“What’s up, Mom?” he asked and Emma smiled, unable to resist pulling him and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“How would you feel about moving to Killian’s house -,”

“Our house,” Killian stressed and Emma chuckled.

“Sorry, our house, tonight?”

“That would be awesome!” Henry said excitedly. “Can we do that?”

“Aye.”

“And me too?” Cecelia asked hopefully.

“Yes, honey, you too,” Emma said, brushing a stray curl from Cecelia’s face. The kids made their feelings known. They were in, totally and completely. “Well I guess we have our answer then.”

“Aye, love. The best of answers, all around.”

And so, later that night, when the festivities of the day had ended, and the children all departed, Emma and Killian, Henry and Cecelia all headed home together, enjoying their first night in a place that would always be theirs. And though Emma knew they were in for a crazy week of planning and party design, and wedding wildness, she was truly joyful. For this was a life beyond her wildest dreams, and she knew, deep down to her core, that it was going to be breathtaking.

Post-Note: So… what did you think? Personally, I found it SO cathartic to write this scene. It’s been such a long time coming and I have pictured this outcome for Emma and for Killian even before writing the first word of this story. Almost a year ago to the day this story came to me, and my hope is to write out the final chapter by the one year anniversary in early May. Hopefully it won’t take quite so long, but please know that it has been a joy to write this and share with all of you. I hope this chapter and this fic have brought some brightness to your world and some magic to your moment. This has been an insane time, but I’ve been grateful to share it with all of you. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed, and I’d love to hear what your hopes for the end of this story are. Until next time, wishing you all well and healthy and safe! xE.

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan au #cs fic #cs #cs ff #cs fluff #cs au #emma swan #killian jones #Prince!Killian #single mom Emma #feels like this #feels like this au #feels like this 13 #CS modern AU #cs royalty #Modern Royalty AU #the whole storybrooke gang #cs proposal

[worthyhog0001]

The Laughter Equation: Knitted Positive Potatoes and the Fabric of Happiness

 Unravelling the Laughter Equation: How Knitted Positive Potatoes Weave Joy into the Fabric of Happiness

In a world where stress and uncertainty often dominate our daily lives, finding moments of genuine happiness becomes increasingly important. Enter knitted positive potatoes – whimsical creations that have captured the hearts of many with their infectious smiles and quirky charm. In this blog, we'll delve into the laughter equation and explore how knitted positive potatoes contribute to the fabric of happiness.

The Power of Playful Positivity

Knitted positive potatoes may seem like simple crafts at first glance, but their impact goes far beyond their knitted exteriors. With their endearing smiles and playful designs, these delightful potatoes have a remarkable ability to uplift spirits and spread joy. Whether placed on a desk, nestled among household items, or gifted to a friend, knitted positive potatoes serve as constant reminders of the inherent goodness in the world. Their playful positivity invites laughter and lightness into our lives, reminding us to embrace the simple pleasures and find joy in the everyday.

Fostering Connection and Community

Beyond their individual appeal, knitted positive potatoes also have the power to foster connection and community among individuals. Whether created as part of a crafting group, shared on social media, or exchanged as gifts between friends, these charming creations serve as symbols of solidarity and support. In a world often marked by division and discord, the shared appreciation for knitted positive potatoes brings people together, uniting them in a common pursuit of joy and positivity. Through the act of crafting and sharing these whimsical treasures, individuals forge meaningful connections and strengthen bonds, ultimately enhancing their sense of belonging and well-being.

A Source of Comfort and Encouragement

In times of adversity and uncertainty, knitted positive potatoes offer a source of comfort and encouragement. Their unassuming presence serves as a gentle reminder to approach life with humor and resilience, even in the face of challenges. Whether placed on a bedside table as a source of nighttime comfort or carried in a pocket as a portable source of encouragement, these charming creations provide solace and reassurance to those in need. Their simple yet profound message – that laughter and positivity can be found in even the most unlikely places – resonates deeply with individuals seeking comfort and support during difficult times.

The Magic of Manifestation

At their core, knitted positive potatoes embody the principles of manifestation. Crafted with love and care, each potato is infused with the positive energy and intention of its creator. Whether consciously or subconsciously, individuals imbue these creations with their hopes, dreams, and desires, setting the stage for manifestation. By surrounding themselves with symbols of positivity and optimism, individuals can align their thoughts and actions with their deepest desires, ultimately bringing them closer to their goals and aspirations. In this way, knitted positive potatoes serve as powerful tools for manifestation, empowering individuals to create the life they envision with laughter and joy.

Embracing the Joy of Knitted Positive Potatoes

In conclusion, knitted funny potato hold a special place in our hearts, serving as beacons of light in a sometimes-dark world. With their infectious smiles and playful personalities, these charming creations remind us of the power of laughter and the importance of finding joy in the everyday. Whether displayed proudly on a shelf or tucked away in a pocket, knitted positive potatoes serve as constant reminders of the beauty and wonder that surround us. So, the next time you encounter a knitted positive potato, take a moment to embrace the laughter and love it represents – for in doing so, you may just find yourself wrapped in the fabric of happiness.

[clumsyclifford]

cruel summer fic: director’s cut

fever dream high in the quiet of the night

so...............for a fic i wrote in such a short amount of time, and also for a fic written by me, there’s actually a surprising amount of Stuff To Analyze in here. themes. motifs, if you will. anyway. i am really proud of them, and ainslee and helen and sam enabled me, so i’m gonna talk about some of them here! 

fair warning, this gets a little long. hence the cut. also i know not everyone cares. and that is super fucking valid. anyway. let’s get into it. spoilers for the fic under the cut, obviously.

1. colors

so this fic has a lot of colors, like a lot more than i normally include (since i tend to write dialogue-heavy stuff). thematically the main important colors are blue and red. the ~blue~ is more or less for this like...physical relationship, but also blue of course connotes sadness and any kind of negative feeling in general (and re: cruel summer the song, "it's blue, the feeling i got"); the ~red~ is there in more romantic moments. the VERY first line of the fic says "the sky is bleeding navy blue" talking from the get-go about jack's uncertainty and how nervous he is and how unfamiliar the terrain is for him. but later on, in the scene when alex randomly picks jack up to go on a late-night adventure, we get this line:

“You certainly surprised me showing up at my house,” he says. “Any reason you thought I would be the best person to join you on your adventure?” 

 Alex casts a glance at him. The red stop sign before them is a jarring change from all the blacks and blues and washed-out yellows around them.

so there's this flash of red in the midst of the darkness and all this ~blue~ around them, and this is almost a romantic moment, because up until this they've pretty much only been hooking up and they're not even really friends. but now alex has specifically come to take jack on an Adventure. also i think it's interesting that it's a stop sign! possibly conflicting signals!

but then in the nightclub scene there's these lights ("flashes of blue and red keep washing over Alex’s face, making him difficult to look at for too long") and this is the scene where jack tells alex how he feels and then alex says that they wouldn't work. and it's not that alex doesn't feel the same, but alex is rejecting him anyway, so it's somehow a moment that is both romantic and tragic, hence both colors over alex's face at once. and then here:

Blue light washes over Alex. He gives Jack a hard look. “You’d tell your family?”

it's like..........that's the turning point. alex says this and it flips the argument in his favor and proves his point that they couldn't work, and that's a really fucking sad moment for the two of them. but then outside the nightclub, jack keeps talking about alex's red converse. like:

Jack staggers, and Alex grabs ahold of him, wrapping one of Jack’s arms around his shoulders. 

 “Easy,” he says. “I got you. Just focus on one spot until you get your balance.” 

 [...] Jack stares lasers into Alex’s red Converse.

because first of all the gesture itself of alex holding jack to help him get his balance is romantic and that even THOUGH alex rejected him there is still something romantic there. and it's here again later:

The scenery races by, Baltimore in all its trashy glory, but Jack fixes his gaze on Alex’s shoe until all he sees is red.

until all he sees is red.......it's all love baby. just call him FLETCHER cos it's all love

(there's also something to be said about the hickeys that are supposedly "reddish-purple"...purple as the middle ground between red and blue...something romantic but kind of painful...masquerading as a thing that exists without feeling...and another thing to be said about when jack falls from the tree and his palms are bleeding red and alex patches him up...but we'd be here all day)

2. shadows/darkness

i honestly don't know how much of this was intentional and how much just worked out, but there’s this idea of a dark cloud of rumors that surrounds alex? there's a lot of talk about rumors and reputation in here. like one of the first lines is:

From what Jack has heard, Alex is bad news. All he has to go on are rumors, but rumors start from somewhere, and rumors surround Alex like a storm cloud.

he's surrounded in this dark cloud of rumors! that's mentioned again in the scene at the high school:

After a while, a cloud of rumors resolves into a reputation, and Alex’s is impossible to ignore.

and this feels inherently dark, and this fic is inherently dark (not thematically just literally dark because it almost entirely takes place at night) but alex specifically seems to be shrouded in shadows and darkness, a LOT. his very first appearance in the fic is introduced like this:

There’s a shadow outside Jack’s window. 

 Something too irregular to be a heartbeat rams against Jack’s chest. He approaches the window. In the dark, dressed in black from head-to-toe, Alex looks like a robber, or maybe a ninja, or maybe a nightmare.

and almost immediately after that:

Alex fits so incongruously into it, absorbing all the light from Jack’s lamp like a six-foot black hole.

importantly, this is the very first scene of the fic, so this alex is the closest to Reputation-Alex as he gets in the fic, because hereafter jack starts learning more and more about him and the threads of this reputation start to fray and fall away. but in this very beginning, jack sees alex as someone surrounded by these rumors, and he keeps noticing shadows and darkness around alex, and alex (dressed in all black) kind of tries to be seen that way, too.

and then when they're in the high school, this Dark High School At Nighttime, the darkness over alex's face returns. they've all but broken into their high school and that's a very Reputation-Alex thing to do! jack sees this reputation around him, not necessarily as a bad thing but just as something that is very present. this exchange:

“No, it’s cool. I get it. Lotta rumors about me.” Alex nods. Jack can’t read his tone, can’t tell if he likes that his reputation precedes him or not. 

 “What’s your favorite?” he asks. “Is that a weird question?” 

 Alex looks at Jack, face shrouded in shadows. “Who cares?”

they're talking about alex's rep and his face is shrouded in shadows. jack is very aware of these shadows. he's not afraid of them or anything. but he knows they're there. he keeps mentioning them. he's never not aware.

and theeeen when there's light on his face...and jack sees him........clearing away this Shadow of a Reputation..........there's subsequently this theme of gold/light on or around alex, in certain moments when jack Sees alex. in the first scene:

Jack breaks away and the lamp light casts a glow over Alex’s face. It occurs to Jack for the first time that Alex is beautiful.

and also from that scene:

“Shh,” he says, grabbing Jack’s face in one hand. His eyes look like shimmering gold. “Your parents will hear.”

and in the high school (this one has Layers) when alex buys jack something from the vending machine, and they kind of...........become friends:

Now he and Alex stand before one, bluish-white light awash over Alex like a fluorescent halo.

there's this light around him and jack can see him, and especially on the heels of that conversation where they both talk about how the other person is good for them, this is a good moment of jack Seeing alex as a person and a friend and not seeing his Reputation

3. the halo (aka the devil/angel dichotomy)

this part is very important to me, so here we go. in the final scene, when alex comes out of his house to talk to jack, his appearance is characterized like this:

By the time Alex appears, a shadow backlit by streetlamps, incandescent halo in full effect, Jack is very close to a nervous breakdown.

now. first of all. his halo at the vending machine had been fluorescent, and his halo now is incandescent. aside from the obvious ~angel/devil~ dichotomy (this part happens only moments later: “I love you too,” Alex says in a rush, and then a devilish grin splits his face in two as he takes Jack’s hand in his own) (i.e. "he looks up, grinning like a devil"), the color of the halo has changed. it started as this clean fluorescent bluish white, like their relationship was before; incandescent light is warmer and it feels a lot closer to red. so the light behind alex's halo has changed, because the nature of their relationship has changed. and that's important. 

but the other important thing is that he has a halo at all. because alex is the "devil" in this fic and jack is the "angel," so to speak, of course. but in these two moments, jack sees him as an angel, and he sees this halo. and then JUST after that incandescent halo line, there's this line:

As he comes closer, the streetlight glow fades until only darkness surrounds them both.

importantly: it surrounds them BOTH. the darkness isn't just alex's now. maybe that's because jack has changed and he's done a very non-jack thing, a very alex thing, but whatever the reason, the Rep isn't just alex's now, and jack is aware (not negatively or anything, just Conscious) that it's now around them both. in short, the devil isn't just alex now, but jack as well, at least a little. and then there's also this, and this is the last way jack describes alex:

Alex’s smile gleams brilliantly, impossibly white.

so......maybe.......he's a little bit an angel. a little.

4. height

this is small, but in the beginning there's this:

With a start, Jack realizes he’s actually taller than Alex. Somehow he’d never noticed. Alex takes up space. Jack never has.

this is a scene in which jack feels like alex has the power. because alex has the experience and the Reputation and this is the kind of thing he Does, and it's not something jack has Ever Done. but THEN, in the high school, there's THIS:

An echoing silence fills the space between them. Jack pushes himself off the wall. The two inches he has on Alex suddenly feel very real.

alex is insecure in this scene. he's saying jack is a good kid and that jack is good for him because alex is a bad kid and a bad influence, and suddenly jack has the "power" (so to speak) and alex is the weaker one. because alex is feeling insecure. so suddenly jack realizes not only that he and alex might not be as different as he thinks, but also that alex isn't this untouchable Reputation, that he's also just a kid who resents himself sometimes. and that's very important for their relationship! for jack to realize that alex is not on this pedestal, that he is also just a kid.

5. stuff i did not do on purpose

these are things that either i noticed or that got pointed out to me after i posted the fic but i will gladly take credit for them if you feel like giving it lmfao

(1) there are a lot of taylor references. some of these were intentional (yes it does say cruel twice, that was on purpose lmao), and the mention of august ("August starts melting away, slipping through Jack’s fingers") was kinda a callback, but it fully slipped my mind that all the reputation talk could have read like a reference. "For something so heated, it certainly feels delicate” was not an intentional reference to delicate. but kinda cool that it worked out that way !!! 

(2) in the high school scene, jack tells alex that he's the worst thing he's ever done. and then at the end he tells alex, “Alex, I honestly think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” talk about a fucking 180!!!!! 

(3) in the very first scene there's this:

and when Jack says he’s out on a limb he means it. To fall from here would mean almost certain death, but fuck, it might just be worth it.

and then later, jack literally falls from the tree. and on top of that, alex is the reason he falls (the texts), but ALSO, alex is the person who's there to patch jack up. it's not "certain death," BECAUSE alex is there. jack hadn't been wrong; alex had been the cause of his fall, but he'd also been the reason why the fall hadn't been "fatal." (using hyperbolic words to make this point)

(4) the first and final scenes parallel each other. in the first scene jack's room is in complete darkness except for the one light at his bedside. in the last scene, too, they're surrounded by darkness. the streetlamps illuminate alex briefly but then the light fades and it's just the two of them in the dark again. 

 on top of that, here's this from the scene in the car towards the beginning:

“What are you doing here?” [Jack] whispers, leaning through the window. “Turn off your headlights, someone might see.”

and from the last scene:

“What the fuck are you doing?” Alex hisses, and he sounds nervous, for what Jack thinks might be the first time since they’ve known each other. “My dad is still awake, you know.”

so the cautious (jack) has become the reckless, and the reckless (alex) becomes the cautious!!!! that's shown in a LOT of ways in this last scene, but that one is particularly salient.

~

also, this doesn’t really go anywhere but it is one of my favorite lines of figurative language in the whole thing:

It’s a dumb joke in a lot of ways and Jack gets the sense that had he made it to anyone else it would have landed like an airplane on fire, but Alex actually chuckles.

airplane on fire!!! it’s just so much fun. and so evocative. and i like it.

~

so anyway, that’s my director’s cut analysis of cruel summer fic. if you read this, or even if you just read the fic, or even if you read this WITHOUT reading the fic (although ???? i think it will make more sense if you read the fic), thank you for indulging me!!! i am extremely happy with the way this fic came out. point being. thank you for joining me. love ya <3

#god i wanna make a playlist for this fic so BAD #the thing is i HAVE a playlist where the plot is very close to the plot of this fic but that's just coincidence #so i might just fuck around and do it #anyway thanks everyone for humoring me #xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo ill kill and die for you all xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo #stuff #director's cut #cruel summer fic #i've never done a director's cut but that's because there has never been so much stuff to Talk About before so like #also yessss i know i'm not a Director and this is Fanfiction #but i like the phrase director's cut i think it fits i'm keeping it you can pry it outta my COLD DEAD HANDS #complete full disclosure this was originally typed up with the intent of only sending it to helen and ainslee and possibly sam #and it was written on discord #sorry if it doesnt make a lotta sense #theres some other stuff but it's a lot more obvious #like the scene in jack's bed where jack resists the urge to brush alex's hair away and when he DOES do it it's with the excuse of sex #versus in the nightclub when he doesn't disguise the action at all #or the 'take your parents' car' 'no' >>> he takes his parents car thing #anyway there are just THINGS in here #STUFF!!!!

[b-else-writes]

the tiger shark and the sun

New chapter posted for my Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender-RebelCaptain fusion AU! Feat: Jyn calls Obi Wan an old fart, Jyn tells Luke and Leia to stop being melodramatic about becoming evil, dragons, and me ranting about the “evil sexy matriarchy” fantasy trope. 

Read on AO3 | Read from start

Pairings: Jyn/Cassian, minor Han/Leia and Baze/Chirrut, random minor background pairings

Rating: T

Summary: Star Wars/Avatar the Last Airbender fusion AU. The Fire Nation, under  Fire Lord Palpatine and Lord Vader, has been at War with the world for  the last twenty years. When Jyn Erso lands on his doorstep the day  Cassian, last southern waterbender, is assigned to protect the Avatar,  she seems just another obstacle in ending the War. An obstacle he would  willingly remove. For exiled firebender Jyn, the Avatar is her last way  home - and to her hostaged father, never mind her own conscience. But as  their paths keep crossing, and the Avatar needs all help in saving the  world, Jyn and Cassian find they are more alike than they ever thought  possible.

Snippet under the cut!

Jyn woke with a start, rapidly trying to figure out where she was. She was lying on a straw mattress in a stone room. The early morning light filtered in through a low window. On the ceiling were carvings of circling sky bisons.

Slowly, her memory returned. Jyn sat up, taking in the small room in Hynestia, the Western Air City. Cassian and Kay were nowhere in sight. He had removed her bracers and her boots sometime after she’d fallen asleep, and left then. But there was a dent on the mattress from where he’d been. She could still smell him – and his horrible lizard – and she gave herself a moment to imagine a world where someone like her…

She hastily shoved the thought aside. Another, more pressing concern than her unrequited feelings had emerged. She was supposed to teach. Jyn buckled on her bracers and slid her boots on quickly. She combed her fingers through her hair, repining the bun, and set about finding Enfys.

It took her a surprisingly short time to get around: the entire city seemed to have been developed and built for easy accessibility, with lifts, railings, and maps everywhere. Enfys, after she’d shown Jyn her room, had said she was going to the temple. Jyn found her and Luke curled up on the temple floor, fast asleep.

Jyn crouched and poked her. “Wake up!” she hissed.

Enfys groaned, red braids falling in her face. “Jyn, it’s only dawn…”

“Enfys, I need your help.” Luke made a noise but continued to snore. Jyn pursed her lips. “I’ll make you those wheat pancakes with dates and honey you love,” she said in her sweetest voice.

Enfys cracked one eye open. “We don’t have honey or dates.”

“I brought a jar as a peace offering,” she admitted. There was a pause. With a groan, Enfys extricated herself from Luke’s arms, pulling her cape on. Luke made a little grumble and rolled over. Jyn refrained from commenting as Enfys trailed after her to the central atrium. Enfys was perfectly liable to turn it right back on her.

As Jyn got the ingredients out from her satchel on the war balloon, Enfys asked, “So, what’s the issue?”

Swallowing her pride, “How did you teach the twins?”

There was another long pause. “You didn’t think this through at all, did you?” Enfys said, covering her mouth with her hand. Jyn glared. “I’m not laughing, I’m not!”

“I hate you,” Jyn said, swatting the date jar away from Enfys’ grip.

“No, you don’t,” Enfys said happily, dipping one finger in the honey jar and licking it. Jyn crouched to light the cookfire. It took a moment for the flame to appear on her fingertips. She frowned, but Enfys continued to speak, refocusing her attention. “Well, for me it was simple – I just followed how I was taught by my mother and aunts and elders. I already had a lesson plan ingrained in me.”

Jyn shook her head, feeling her pulse race, though it had been a decade since Master Jorus had backhanded her to perform better. “That…is not going to work.”

Enfys’ face clouded over. She stood from her perch and began to help Jyn, brushing her hands against hers. “Well, then, start simple. Like how to produce fire. And go from there. Basic punches and blocks, you do that a lot, don’t you?”

“They’re called fire fists.”

“My mistake,” Enfys said, her eyes sparkling with mirth, “Fire fists and fire kicks and fiery-ness and aallll that.”

Jyn bit back a smile, extending the plate with honey-drizzled wheat pancakes. “For her highness, the Queen of Mon Cala.”

Enfys immediately grabbed it, digging in with a moan of delight. “One of the few things from the Fire Nation worth saving,” she said, her mouth full of food.

“What’s the rest?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” Enfys said easily, making Jyn grin. As Baze and Chirrut came in, Enfys added, “Just remember to be patient.”

“I am a beacon of patience.”

Enfys laughed. “I meant with yourself, Jyn. You’re doing something new and difficult. So be kind to yourself as you figure it out.”

She sighed, resting her head against her best friend’s shoulder. “And yet you won’t share your portion with me?” she asked, fighting down her own rising panic.

“You’re impossible,” Enfys laughed, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Now eat up for your first big lesson, Master Jyn.”

Jyn stretched and popped out her muscles. She, Luke, and Leia stood in a beautiful courtyard of cream and white clay and wood. She imagined it must have been a communal space when Hynestia had still housed Air Nomads. She didn’t like dwelling on that too long. She could still feel…something clinging to the place. Fire child, they whispered, stroking her face and hair, this is what your people did.

She would have preferred pure hatred, but she felt that was not their way. It would have been easier than guilt. Especially when she saw the sadness in Enfys’ eyes.

Jyn focused back on the twins. Both wore expressions of trepidation, Leia in particular throwing her suspicious looks. Jyn tried not to take it too personally. “Have either of you ever firebent before?”

They exchanged a look. “Once,” Luke said, shifting a little, “We… we burnt Cassian by accident.”

Multiple statements immediately became clear in Jyn’s head. She pushed aside her own empathy for Cassian – and her instinctive urge to get angry on his behalf. Cassian held no grudge about it. Patiently, she said, “Most firebenders accidentally burn themselves or others when they’re starting out as children. It’s…normal.

“Alright then, let’s see what fire you can produce,” she said, folding her hands behind her back. Keep patient. Don’t be like Master Jorus. Don’t be what the Air Nomads know you could be. The summer heat touched the scars on her arms.

Exchanging another uneasy glance, the twins sank into a low hot-squat, good form, and punched.

A puff of smoke came out.

“That’s it?” Leia glared. Jyn resisted the very powerful urge to groan. “Let me demonstrate,” she said. Her muscle memory was so honed that Jyn didn’t even need to think. She sank and punched, sleeves billowing.

She produced a tiny gasp of flame.

Leia began clapping. Jyn scowled. “Don’t patronize, you know what it’s supposed to look like,” she grumbled. Jyn punched again. She slid into various forms, again and again. Only wisps of flame. “What in the…”

“Maybe you were never as good as you thought you were,” Leia said, grinning slightly.

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Jyn snapped, trying in vain to produce more flame.

“Maybe it’s the altitude?” Luke suggested, though he didn’t look convinced. Jyn stared at her hands. Her inner flame felt cold and dull in her chest, despite the sunlight pouring over her skin. Sól, give me power, she thought, but none came.

Her firebending was gone. Somewhere, she could feel Master Jorus laughing.

The group sat around the cookfire, eating and chatting. The summer days were long, Chirrut knew. He could still feel heat despite the dinner hour. Baze had passed him his bowl, their fingers brushing. He smiled, gripping Baze’s fingers momentarily and grounding them both.

He heard Jyn clear her throat to speak. “There’s…a problem. I’ve lost my firebending. Well, not lost…but it’s weaker now and I can’t figure it.”

Chirrut considered as he munched. Bending was inherently spiritual, something that many had now forgotten, preferring to use as a blunt instrument. Jyn had never struck him before as someone who wanted to look within herself.

“Maybe it’s because you changed sides,” Cassian spoke up. Chirrut’s seismic sense could feel Jyn immediately perk up and orient towards him. Oh, young love. “Your firebending used to come from anger and desperation. Now you have none.”

“So, what? We piss Erso off?” Han asked, poking Erso with his sword butt.

Jyn kicked him in the shin. “Cut that out! It’s not an option.”

“What you need is a new source,” Chirrut said. “And by that, I mean an old one. The original. For earthbending, the first earthbenders were the badgermoles. When I was young, I ran away and hid in a cave. A blind child was better off gone.”

He still remembered the pain and fear as he had fled Jedha’s orphanage, stumbling through the crowds of people out into the scorching, shifting ground he had learnt was sand. Finding his way into the Catacombs. Surrounding by the dead, as he imagined he would soon become.

The Spirits had other plans. There had been a great crunch of rock, and a soft, wet snout had nosed him. They had recognized him as one of their own. “The badgermoles are also born blind. I learnt earthbending as an extension of my senses. Earthbending is not a martial art – it is a way of interacting and moving through the world, and that is the form I taught Luke and Leia.”

The wonder he had felt as he began to feel the world expanding outwards beneath his palms and feet. The grubs and creatures that lurked beneath the desert sand. The hardy plants that nourished from the earth. The secret oases. The possibilities that had exploded to him. His only regret was that it was no help to non-benders and other benders, but Chirrut was nothing if not stubborn. He had tried to help them too, as a Guardian of the Whills.

“Firebending isn’t like that,” Jyn said quietly, standing up and pacing.

“But surely you must know who the original firebenders were,” Enfys said, “I learnt from my Tribe, but the first airbenders were the sky bison. That’s influenced our bending to use gliders to fly, to our culture!”

Jyn walked over to Chirrut. He felt the same turmoil of his childhood self, in her. “It won’t work. The first firebenders were the dragons, and they’re extinct. There’s no other way.”

Baze squeezed Jyn’s hand. “There is always another way.”

Jyn was silent for a moment. When she spoke, he felt the vibrations. There is something she is concealing. “We’re not far from the island of Dathomir. The witches of Dathomir were said to be the first to learn firebending from the Dragons. They were killed off thousands of years ago. You still hear stories, but there’s no proof their society still exists. We might find something. Otherwise…”

“Sometimes the shadows of the past can be felt by the present,” Chirrut said. Several of the group shifted uncomfortably.

“We don’t have much of a choice,” Luke said, “Han, can we borrow the Falcon?”

keep reading

#rebelcaptain #rogue one #jyn x erso #star wars #jyn erso #cassian andor #atla #au: atla #zutara #my fic

[flovey-dovey]

I want to say something about Klaus

I’ve been waiting a very long time to see this movie, and when I finally could I loved it to pieces. But the ending broke my heart- in more ways than one.

There will be no “tldr” here because my feelings about this film are too strong to let me minimalize what I have to say about it (but I might have to make a part 2 since this is pretty big). If you don’t agree with me, that’s fine, it’s okay, I don’t blame you. I won’t tell you you’re wrong, because in your own life you’re as obligated as ever to have an opinion of your own, correct or not. One other thing I want to say before I start rambling is that this will be messy. Also I do not- nor have ever- claimed to be a critic, and this is not a review. This is just a single person on the internet expressing their opinion, and for the love of all that is holy let’s keep it at that.

Foreword over, on to my pure thoughts. Oh, and spoiler alert for those who haven’t seen the movie yet. No matter what I think about it it’s definitely worth a watch, and going into this without seeing it will probably confuse some folks. Maybe.

Okay, since my main qualm is with the characters, let’s start with Alva. I like her. She’s not the generic “tough girl who don’t need no man” I was fully prepared to have shoved down my throat. She has some genuinely good moments on her own as well as funny and pleasant interactions with both Jesper and the children of the town and is a fine character. She is jaded and determined, though not to the point of that being her entire personality, and I loved watching her find happiness as the teacher she wanted to be. She is a victim of circumstance that eventually has her environment changed and finds herself changed with it for the better. Her design and personality were very pleasing (to me) to see as well.

However...

Why did she have to be the love interest? Just- why? What warranted her eventually desiring a relationship of any description when she was shown to be more devoted to her position as a teacher- and as a single woman- throughout 90% of the film? This is especially frustrating since it turns almost every scene with her into one that involves Jesper in some way rather than build her as a character outside of this perspective. It takes away from Alva “the character” and instead focuses more on her as Alva “the love interest”. In media stuffed to the rafters in heteronormative relationships, and from those that I’ve seen, as afraid as I was to see it happen I was also prepared to have this aspect of the movie gracelessly thrown into my face. So, as might be expected, I actually groaned out loud when I saw it come to pass. I’m not mad, just... actually that’s a lie I am rather irritated by it, but also just... sad. Very, very sad. Disappointed, you might say. She and Jesper don’t have a lot of interactions showing that this was the obvious outcome. The best I can think that people would draw this conclusion would be a) she’s a woman and he’s a guy and they looked at each other that one time, and b) when he was trying to be charming to wriggle out of her wrath. Also, same scene, I don’t buy that it’s further implied by the boat-guy (I forget his name and can’t find it on IMDB) teasing Jesper over “young love” after she leaves in a huff. He’s not a reliable look into any feelings Jesper might feel towards her since all he’s done up to that point is tease him. It’s not enough, it just isn’t. Not to me.

In regards to her feelings for Jesper, the most I see from her is gratitude. The scene when she’s showing Jesper what he unintentionally did for the town is just that, and as she’s looking at the townsfolk Jesper looks... distressed. This is because he is conflicted about what to do at this point in the story, not necessarily because of any feelings for Alva, but it doesn’t even look like he’s thinking of her- romantically- at all. They don’t share any additional conversation, either; not a single flirtatious joke or anything that would lead me to believe they were bonding. I feel horribly conditioned to see her as the love interest and nothing more because that’s all I’ve ever seen done with a man and woman who only share a single line of dialogue before some narrator is telling me “of course” they got together in the end. Oftentimes, that line of dialogue is in an unpleasant or downright aggressive scenario, and that’s not romance. Seeing it happen over and over and over and over in almost every piece of media I subject myself to makes me want to take a blowtorch to my brain. I’m literally at my wit’s end. If it was more built-up and actually there, then fine, I take it back, but the thing is I hardly saw anything at all in terms of either Jesper or Alva or both of them thinking about each other, wanting to be together as more than just friends, throughout the entire hour and a half of the movie. The most scenes I can say they shared (not counting the ending because I’ll get to that in a bit) are four, with each one being little more than a minute long, two of them being more on the aggressive side, the third being when Alva shows Jesper the new Smeerenburg. Pleasant and humorous, yes, but not inherently romantic (neither of them share more than a glance and Jesper looks pretty preoccupied internally). The fourth is of Alva helping Margu translate what she wants from Klaus for Jesper. When Margu hugs Jesper and he and Alva exchange silent looks, the expression on Alva’s face, to me, says something like “you’re not half bad” and a note of good humor for how he handles children. Just so we’re clear I’m not against her finding happiness with Jesper. I just want it to be warranted. Not narrated.

Oh, but their love for each other is obvious and clearly meant to be from the start, is it? Okay then, show me when Alva says or does something and makes Jesper laugh, or vice-versa. Show me when she thought of him OUTSIDE of simply showing him what he did for everyone and how their hands touched, their gazes met and shy or flirtatious smiles spread across their faces as they drew slightly closer, and how she felt something more than gratitude and impressment for him. Show me when Jesper wanted to do something for her OUTSIDE being the means to a letter-related end. Show me the parts when they pined for each other and how happy seeing the other’s smile made them and how they were happy for each other’s progress and encouraged each other. Show me the parts of the movie where Jesper visited as often as he could manage to squeeze into his busy schedule just to chat. Show me kisses, hand-holding, lingering looks and happy little half-smiles cast from across a crowded courtyard. Maybe they do share something more than friendship, but no matter what I can’t get over how little there was between them to give me the impression it was going to lead to romance. It’s not even subtext, in my opinion.

Do you remember when Jesper’s father came back and it all came out in a part known as “the liar revealed” (a trope I quite hate for the oftentimes needless forced drama it creates, but whatever, for now I’ll let it slide) that he had ulterior motives which, at that point, he no longer had? Alva was the FIRST to turn her back on him in spite of their “lovey-dovey” merry-go-round painting MOMENTS earlier. She didn’t even want to hear out Jesper, who was clearly upset, and jumped straight to accusing him without showing that she was just as upset by the revelation that he could’ve been using her and playing with her feelings. How romantic. Meanwhile, the last one to return inside was Klaus, who was far more saddened and disappointed, leaving slower and leaving Jesper looking the worst, like he was heartbroken by his words- an echo of his own- most of all.

In fact...

Speaking of Klaus, I’d say Jesper is far more attracted to him than to Alva. This movie, while nearly devoid of interactions serving to build romantic chemistry between Jesper and Alva (which it absolutely should’ve if they had the ending be what it was), is littered with moments, wordless and otherwise, between Klaus and Jesper. So let’s go over them. I mean, if you’ve left by now then like I said at the start, I don’t mind. But if it’s alright I’d like to talk about them anyway, because holy holly I love them.

The scenes in question are clearly shown to develop their friendship and only get more romantic from there, and I could run out of breath trying to ramble them off all at once and what it meant to me to see them portrayed in such a beautiful way- artistically as well as in terms of the story.

Fairly early on, we learn that the wind is kind of its own “character”, guiding both Jesper and Klaus to ultimately meet each other as well as bringing them together more than once afterwards, and later on with what we learn about him it’s heavily implied to be the spirit of Klaus’ dearly departed wife. I’d like to think she was trying to tell Klaus to move on and find new love in Jesper and for Jesper to find purpose by Klaus’ side. The instances involving the wind are scattered throughout the film, so this is going to be a bit out of order.

To start, Jesper, while trying to get Klaus to donate his toys to the children of Smeerenburg, doesn’t notice the wind swirling around behind him like it was telling Klaus to follow him even if at the time Jesper’s intentions were selfish. Because he changes. They change each other, and their dynamic progresses so much more naturally, directly and clearly than Jesper and Alva’s.

There’s another scene when it leads Klaus to his workshop, where he opens the door to see a silhouette distinctly meant to parallel his wife- the one he loved- and revealed when he pulls back the cloth to be Jesper- his potential new love.

It’s one of the most explicit scenes enforcing my idea that Klaus’ wife was trying to get him to love again. Anyway, Jesper then excitedly starts going on about his gift and trying to get his mojo back before making an unintentionally big mistake by revealing a painful reminder of Klaus’ wife. A mistake he deeply regrets, mind. Not too long later, Jesper tries working on his own to make Margu’s wish for a boat/sleigh come true. While he works, the shot fades to see Klaus back at his workshop. He sees the picture Jesper drew of them and sighs, giving in and going to see him at the post office [also not to mention the drawing fades with the family shelf thing Klaus made so that’s pretty neat; took me a year to edit this in but hey better late than never]. My favorite scene is Klaus showing up to work on Margu’s present, giving Jesper a tool as well and interrupting Jesper to wordlessly point at the task at hand as if to say “If we work, we work together”. And that spoke to me. More than anything else in the movie and more than I’ve heard from any movie I’ve seen that I can remember. Also, Jesper’s soft, shy, willing smile put the biggest grin on my face. It was the last nail in the sled that made me convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were forming a romantic bond from this moment forward.

Part 2 because this is long:

https://flovey-dovey.tumblr.com/post/189133807093/part-2-of-my-thoughts-on-klaus

#Klaus #Jesper #Alva #part 1 #text post #Klausper #TALL AND SMALL