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babybluebex · 3 years

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not your duke [tom holland x reader]

➽ pairing: prince!tom holland x fem!reader (y/n) ➽ word count: 2.7k ➽ summary: at the dawn of the new century, you meet two men: one, your betrothed, and the other, a prince with a secret. ➽ warnings: explicit language, gothic era shit bc i live for that ➽ a/n: many thanks to the loml @earthlyholland for coming up with the title and urging me to finish writing this i luv u kiss

Nothing had ever drawn you into London. In fact, you were staunchly opposed to the idea when your father first told you that you were moving. What was the point of it? You knew that your father could conduct business as easily from the States as from England, but what’s done is done. You had lived in London for a short time, only a few months, before you realized the real reason why your father relocated you.

You met your fiancé at a party. London was known for its aristocracy, and your father’s banking business had put him in high regard with many of the British elite, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were invited to a New Years party. “The Osterfields,” your father told you. “I’m told they have a son only just older than you.”

“Really?” you asked, looking out the window, hardly curious. “His name?”

“Harrison,” your father told you. The carriage bumped along the street, and you swayed with it. “The Honourable Harrison Osterfield of Kingston.”

“Of course he’s noble,” you muttered. “Father, will you ever stop trying to marry me off?”

“Your younger sister is already married,” your father reminded you. “If it’s not soon, it’ll never happen. And Sir Harrison is a perfectly agreeable gentleman.”

“Agreeable to you,” you scoffed.

“He’s an Oxford-educated man,” your father pressed. “Well-read, which I know is something you covet. I’m told he’s a good conversationalist as well; I guess you’ll be able to judge that for yourself tonight.”

You cried out in opposition. “Father! Am I to meet Little Lord Fauntelroy tonight?”

“Watch your tongue, girl. You are to meet your fiancé tonight.”

The New Years party hosted by the Baron and Baroness Osterfield was what you expected, a lush spectacle of champagne and pleasing music and perfume. It wasn’t the sort of place that you usually found comfort at, but you tried your best; the Baron Osterfield was a close business partner of your father’s, and you couldn’t afford to muck everything up by having a foul attitude. “Lord Osterfield,” my father began, placing a hand on my back to usher me into his conversation. “Might I introduce my daughter?”

The man before you was older, his fair hair tinged with a bit of grey, but he was dressed wonderfully in his tails and a red tie. “Pleasure to meet you, miss,” he said in a sonorous voice. “You’re the lass that’s engaged to our Haz, yes?”

“So I’ve been told,” you smiled, and your father sent a warning pinch to your back through your dress. Attitude, you could hear him scolding you.

“Have you met him yet?” Lord Osterfield asked. “He’s a strapping lad; running around with his uni mates, I’m sure.” He looked around the room, bustling with activity, and he made a quick motion with his hand when he spotted someone across the room.

The space before you was suddenly filled by a young man, still older than you, blond hair and green eyes, a wonderful smile on his face and his cheeks blushed. His eyes sparkled as he looked at you, and he took your hand in a gentle but strong hold. “Hello, madam,” he said cordially. “I’m called Harrison. Haz, to most.”

“Haz,” you repeated slowly. “I’d rather keep with Lord Osterfield, if that pleases you.”

“Of course, madam,” Harrison said. “Might I interest you in a turn about the garden? It’s such a lovely night.”

You looked to your father for permission, and he patted your back with a nod. Harrison saw this and gave a smile, and you hooked your arm with his as he led you out into the cold December night. Harrison’s body was warm and you found yourself moving into him, and he finally stopped at a metal bench along the path. “Do you mind if I smoke?” Harrison asked, settling himself onto the bench.

You shrugged. Harrison took that to mean “No”, and he situated a cigarette in his mouth. It was rolled perfectly, either the work of a skilled amateur or a professional; either way, it was the smallest proof of his aristocracy. All of your friends smoked lopsided cigarettes that had tobacco that spilled out of the ends.

“I’m sure you like this as well as I do,” Harrison began. “I told my parents that I prefer to marry for love, but my younger sister is already married. They said it was getting to be--”

“Too late,” you supplied. “My father said the same of me.”

“You prefer to marry for love as well?” Harrison asked. Feeling slightly more at ease than before, you sat down next to him, fiddling with your skirt to lay right.

“I would like to,” you said. “But we both know that’s not possible.”

Harrison shrugged. “We only have a few minutes left of this year,” he said, looking at the Swiss watch on his wrist. “Who knows? Maybe 1900 holds newfound possibilities.”

You tilted your head. “What makes you so sure?” you asked.

“I’m not sure,” Harrison chuckled. A strand of blond escaped the rest of his styled hair, and you gently pushed it back, earning you a smile from your fiancé. “I’m just hopeful.”

“Hope can be dangerous,” you remarked.

“That’s true,” Harrison said. “But what’s the harm in having a little hope? Perhaps we can learn to love each other.”

“Perhaps we can,” you agreed. “I guess we have the rest of our lives to do that.”

Harrison smiled at you, and you huffed out a laugh. He pulled a drag from his cigarette, and he said, “So we’re getting married, huh?”

“Seems like it.”

There was a shout from the house, one that made Harrison look over, and you did as well to see a man, about the same age as Harrison, dressed nicely with curly hair, half-hanging out of the house. “Haz, get your stupid arse in here!” the man yelled. “Find your girl, the clock’s about to turn!”

“I have my girl, you git!” Harrison cried. Before either of you could say anything, the man slipped from the house and came over to the two of you, and Harrison rolled his eyes. “Here we go…” he whispered.

“This is her?” the man asked. He was British too, and he smiled at you widely.

“Yes,” Harrison said, and he stood up. You did the same, and Harrison carefully took your hand. “This is Y/N, my fiancé.”

“Ah,” the man said. “Hello, madam.”

“Y/N, this is one of my mates from university,” Harrison told you. “Duke Harold Holland of Kingston-Upon-Thames.”

“Call me Harry,” he said quickly. “Everyone else does.”

“Harry,” you said with a relieved smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Harry said. “Have you only just met?”

“Just several minutes ago,” Harrison told him, his arm snaking around your waist.

“Well, it’s quite cold out,” Harry said. “And the clock’s about to turn. Come in, madam, get a drink.”

“Oh, I don’t drink,” you told Lord Harry Holland of Kingston-Upon-Thames quickly. “It doesn’t agree with me.”

“No matter,” Harry said. “I’ll warn you, though: a drink completely agrees with your fiancé.” He gave a laugh, and you noticed that Harrison shifted uncomfortably next to you.

“Well, Christ, don’t make me out to be a drunkard,” Harrison laughed nervously. “You’ll frighten her away, and we only just agreed to go through with this.”

“Not meant to frighten you, madam,” Harry said quickly. “In fact, my oldest brother doesn’t drink. Perhaps you two will get along.”

“Oh, no, Harry, she’ll hate Thomas,” Harrison sighed. He looked at you, then added, “Thomas is quite a bore, honestly. Not nearly as fun as me, Harry or Sam.”

“Sam? Thomas?” you asked. You agreed that Haz and Harry seemed like fun, but anxiety thrummed in your chest. If Thomas was a bore to Harrison, you didn’t want to know what he truly thought of you. You could easily also be classified as a bore: you preferred reading and drawing to the piano or squash that was popular with your friends. You had done ballet when you were growing up, but were by no means athletic otherwise.

“My twin brother, Samuel,” Harry began. “And Thomas is… Haz is right, he’s an awful bore. He brought a fucking book tonight, can you believe it? What sort of sod brings a book to a party?”

“But Thomas is a good friend,” Harrison added. “He’s a wonderful listener and gives excellent advice.”

You nodded slowly. Thomas already seemed like a better match than Harrison, and you cursed your father. Of course he would match you with someone who wasn’t the best option for you. But no matter. Your fiancé offered you his arm and you took it, and you followed the men back into the ballroom. There was a renewed energy, and the ballroom was abuzz. You were introduced to Duke Samuel Holland, a man who bore a striking resemblance to Harry (as they should), and were briefly told about the twins’ younger brother, a boy of sixteen named Lord Patrick. The Honourable Charlotte Osterfield came after Sam, and she was giggling the entire night; she was engaged to Sir Tuwaine Barrett of Chelsea, another uni mate of your fiance’s.

“Where is Thomas?” Harrison asked, looking around wildly. “He promised me that he’d be my New Years’ kiss!”

“Did he swear to it as he did to Nadia?” Harry chortled. “I bet he’s gone home already. Slipped away without any of us noticing.”

The clock chimed, and Harrison turned his jade gaze back to you. You gave him a gleeful look over the brim of your champagne as you took a sip, and your body cowered at the bitterness of the French alcohol. “Happy New Year, dearest,” Harrison said quietly, just for you to hear. “Here’s to many more.”

You nodded. Suddenly, your chest felt tight, and your head was spinning, and you knew it wasn’t from the alcohol. You suddenly saw the rest of your life flash in front of your eyes: The Honorable Lady Osterfield, on your husband’s arm every single day, expected to please him and serve him. You didn’t want that.

“Y/N,” Harrison said, putting a hand on your shoulder. His eyebrows were furrowed, and you at least felt comforted at his genuine worry. “You look pale. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Quite fine. I told you that alcohol doesn’t agree well with me.”

Harrison nodded, his lips drawn thin, and he turned to Harry. “Call her carriage,” he instructed him. “I think my dearest needs to go home.”

Harry nodded, giving you a worried look, but hurried off to do as his friend requested. Harrison took the flute of champagne from you and set it down, and he put a hand on your back. “I hate that you’ve gone ill,” he said. “I do wish we can see each other again, though. I enjoy your company greatly.”

“And I, yours,” you replied. “I really apologize for my behavior--”

“Harrison,” a booming voice came, and you looked to see the Baron Osterfield approaching you. “I need to speak with you, son.”

“Father, can it wait?” Harrison asked. “I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“His Majesty needs to speak to you,” Lord Osterfield said. “A business venture, he says.”

Harrison looked from you to his father, and he chewed his bottom lip. “I’ll be right there,” he told his father. “I just need to escort Y/N to her carriage.”

“Harrison, Dominic cannot be kept waiting,” Lord Osterfield grumbled. “Especially not on such a matter.”

Harrison looked at you once more, then his eyes caught someone behind you. “Thomas,” he said. “Thomas! Come here, please!”

Your heart hit against the wall of your chest when you finally saw Thomas Holland. He was a well-built man, wearing nice clothes that were a bit worn in places. His hair was dark, and in frizzy curls, crawling down his face, as was the fashion. His eyes were the color of amber, his cheeks pink, his lips thin but like a rose. He had a book under his arm, bound in leather, a bit of paper sticking from the top. “Would you do me an amazing favor?” Harrison asked. “I have to speak to your father; can you escort Y/N to her carriage out front?”

“Y/N?” Thomas asked, and your heart warmed and melted just like chocolate. He had a beautiful voice, and you could just imagine the way he sounded as he read aloud.

“My betrothed,” Harrison said, gesturing to you. “She’s fallen ill and must be taken home at once.”

Thomas finally pulled his gaze to your face, and a lopsided smile came across his face. “Oh, of course,” he said. “Such an honor to meet you, madam.”

“Same to you, sir,” you said. “I’ve heard tell about you.”

Thomas’s smile faltered. “Good things?” he asked.

“Nothing but the best,” you said. You still felt dizzy, but Thomas’s warm hand on your arm brought you comfort, much more than Harrison’s did. “I apologize again, Lord Osterfield. I hope to see you soon.”

Harrison kissed the back of your hand. “Same to you, dearest.”

Thomas led you out of the crowded and loud ballroom to the front of the manor. “Lord Osterfield?” he chuckled lowly. “He’s your fiancé. You should call him by his name.”

You shrugged. “I can’t bring myself to,” you said. “I hardly know him.”

Thomas nodded. “I understand,” he said. “So… Harrison told you good things about me?” You nodded, and Thomas let out a laugh. You could tell that it was bitter, though. “Excuse my language, madam, but that’s a load of horseshit. You know it as well as I do. Harrison only puts up with me because my brothers are his closest mates.”

You were startled at his honesty. “I suppose that’s true,” you mumbled. “My sisters are the same with me. They call me boring, say I’m no fun.”

“The same is said of me,” Thomas said. “I’m perhaps the least commendable of my brothers.”

You nodded carefully, then tilted your head to look at his novel. “What are you reading?” you asked.

Thomas smiled. “You’d like to know what I’m reading?” he asked. “Are you actually curious?”

“Yes!” you said. “I just read the most wonderful novel, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It’s called McTeague and it’s about an American dentist--”

“By Frank Norris?” Thomas asked excitedly. He pulled out the book to show you, and you smiled at the same one you had been describing. “It’s so entertaining. You’ve finished it, then?”

“Just last night,” you told him. “I won’t spoil it for you, but it was so wonderful.”

“Have you read The Picture of Dorian Gray?” Thomas asked. When you shook your head, Thomas’s face went red, and he laughed. “It’s my favorite. I could lend you my copy, if you’d like.”

“Oh, Thomas, that would be so lovely,” you gushed. “You’re too kind.”

Thomas shrugged. “You’re my best mate’s girl,” he said. “I’m obligated to be kind to you.”

You chewed your bottom lip. “And what of your wife?” you asked. “Am I to meet her soon?”

Thomas came to a stop at the edge of the steps, casting a glance out at the carriage that rumbled closer. “I am unwedded,” he said. “Courtships have come and gone, but none have ever come to fruition. My father believes in me proposing rather than being forced into marriage, but I’ve never found a lady that I truly loved.”

Your carriage stopped before the two of you, and the Osterfield’s servant opened the door for you. “Miss Y/L/N,” he said, then turned his attention to Thomas, and he lowered his head in reverence. “Your Highness.”

“Your Highness?” you repeated, and your heart flipped in your chest. “But I thought that you were a duke?”

“My brothers are,” Thomas explained. “But, seeing as I’m the oldest and heir apparent, I get a different tile.”

“Your Highness, though?” you chuckled. “What are you, a prince?”

Your laughter died when you saw the stony look on Thomas’s face. “Yes,” he said. “Did Harrison not tell you?”

You shifted. No. Please, God, you pleaded. Don’t let it be true.

A smile played at Thomas’s face. “My lady,” he said. “I’m Thomas Stanley Holland. Prince Thomas of England.”

#tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland au #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland x reader #prince!tom holland

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elstreem · 3 years

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ALBW One-Shot: The Sword and the Shadow

Heya, so more writing stuff! This one is technically finished but prolly needs edits.

To summarize, the spirit of the Master Sword meets with a lad with her master's face on one late night.

As usual, if this is too hard to read, here's the G docs: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Pjs3LhclohUslR_ZQ55N1y8qQ3nZ640EJgn_5c-6HSg/edit?usp=sharing

ALBW: The Sword and the Shadow

Night lay deep on Hyrule, the late hour quiet except for the occasional rustle of the grass. Ravio peered outside and sighed in relief – despite his fears, none of the monsters patrolling outside had ever thought to come inside the houses of Hyrule. Whistling to his only companion, his pet bird named Sheerow, he proceeded to lie down on the dusty rug, the only comfortable place to rest on. It wasn’t always so – a few days ago, it was the neat and cozy home of a blacksmith’s apprentice. Ravio had changed that, and the former home was currently devoted to being an item shop. Not that it looked much like a shop - the display tables formed a rectangle, but most of them were empty, displaying only a few placards which proclaimed most of the items were on rent. Only a Fire Rod was left, sparkling in the lamplight.

Though he should have happily dozed off, Ravio felt rather restless and try as he might, could not get himself to feel sleepy. With a sigh, he realized he had to do something to pass the time. The only problem was there wasn’t much to do when there are monsters outside and your only companion is a pet bird. Looking around the house, the Fire Rod caught his eye, and with a huff, he stood up, expecting little more than a quiet night polishing the magical item. Ravio was just picking up the wand to dust it off when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Instantly alert, he clutched the Fire Rod to himself and anxiously peered out of the window. A warm glow came up the hill on which the house stood, and in a few moments a slight figure limped its way up the slope. Ravio perked up and immediately returned the Fire Rod to its display table, before eagerly bustling off to the front of the house to welcome his only customer. The door had barely opened when Ravio did his usual greeting.

“Hello, Mr. Hero!” Ravio chirped, sounding a bit like Sheerow.

“Here to rent -?”

But he stopped short in surprise. Garbed in green and with a sword in hand, the Hylian named Link looked like a hero straight out of the legends, but a very exhausted one. The hand he was using to carry a lantern was shaking slightly, and aside from the usual dirt from his adventures, a nasty cut was also on his face.

“Need to sleep,” Link groaned, limping into his home.

“Hang on, let me just, uhh, dig out your bed,” Ravio said, looking around at Link’s furniture, which he had wildly pushed to the walls to make the space for his shop.

“This will do,” Link mumbled, lying down on the rug. He just about placed his sword back into its sheath before he collapsed into sleep. Ravio gasped and hurried to his side, and was relieved to see Link breathing – in fact, he was already snoring.

“Phew, you scared me Mr. Hero…” Ravio murmured. Checking once more to see if the Hylian was truly, deeply asleep, he felt confident enough to remove his mask. Without the distinctive rabbit hood, Ravio could almost be mistaken for the youth sleeping on the floor. From the shape of their eyes, the same pointed tips to their ears, and even the way the hair fell down their faces, they were incredibly alike. There were only two differences: while Ravio’s hair was the purple of falling dusk, Link’s was the gold of noonday sun, and though the Hylian’s eyes were closed at the moment, his eyes were blue to Ravio’s green. Perhaps it had something to do with the worlds they lived in, and Ravio sometimes wondered if he too, might have had golden hair and blue eyes if he had grown up in a world filled with light. He shook the thoughts away and stood up. He went to the roughly stacked furniture and scrounged for a blanket, before returning to Link’s side and sitting down again. Sheerow landed on his shoulder and gave a curious chirp, making Ravio smile.

“Of course, we only look alike, Mr. Hero and I. The similarity is only skin-deep, but it would frighten anyone to see someone look much like themselves. I suppose he’ll only want to see his own face in a mirror,” Ravio softly said to Sheerow. With a sigh, he pulled on his hood again, wincing at the stuffy feeling of having it back on his head. With his face hidden away, Ravio then gently draped the blanket over Link, but on noticing the sheathed sword still within Link’s hand, he paused. It was definitely new – the sword Link had been using was a plain old sword, sharp and a good blade, yes, but nothing remarkable, especially when it was tucked away in its nondescript brown scabbard. This one was sheathed in a beautiful blue scabbard, richly decorated with gold ornaments, with the holy symbol of the Triforce prominently featured. The hilt of the sword was all that was visible, but it was certainly anything but ordinary. The hilt was made of a crystalline material, carved into the shape of wings that jutted away from the blade. It was enough for Ravio to recognize that this was the legendary blade spoken of in Hyrule - the Master Sword.

Awed, he couldn’t help himself from going closer to gaze at it. Even without knowledge about the history of Hyrule, Ravio could tell that this sword was sacred, meant to banish evil. Scarcely daring to breathe, he reached out to touch it, thoughts careening wildly in his mind. With a sword like this, maybe, just maybe, he could…he could do…

Nothing. Still nothing, because I’m only a coward.

The thought came like a splash of icy water, and Ravio flinched, fingers stopping short of touching the sword. A bitter frown formed on his face – while very unwelcome, the truth still held fast, and that truth was that he was a coward at heart, and he knew it. Only a coward after all, would have fled and left a princess when she needed him most…he was no hero. With a sigh, Ravio dropped his hand, his fingers brushing against the sheath of the sword.

In the next moment, a blinding flash lit up the inside of the house.

Ravio yelled in surprise and threw up his arms to shield his face. It was a dazzling silver light, and it burned his sight much like the sun of Hyrule has burned him when he first came through the chink between worlds. But as quickly as the light had come, it faded, and sensing this change, Ravio carefully lowered his arms and blinked away the spots dancing in his eyes. As soon as his senses cleared, he was aware of Sheerow making an alarmed racket next to his ear. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and realized why the bird was behaving so strangely. With his heart hammering away at his chest, Ravio scrambled back, his mouth open to scream, but sadly, his voice got stuck somewhere in his throat and would not come out.

There was an intruder in the house, and she was definitely a cause for alarm.

For starters, she was floating in the air, close to the ceiling. The sight reminded Ravio of the Great Fairies that were scattered across the land, but she had no wings at her back. Also similar to the fairy folk, she was very beautiful. Her face was young and smooth, her blue skin glowing with a metallic sheen. She was clad in the colors of the sky and dusk, her fluttering robes fit for royalty, richly dyed purple and blue, and threads of gold running through her dress.

For all her beauty and regal air, however, she also looked frightening.

“Ahhh…aaargh –!“ The pieces of a scream started to come out of Ravio’s mouth, but a voice cut across the sounds of his distress.

“Please refrain from creating noise,” the voice instructed in formal tones. Ravio saw the spirit’s mouth move, and he supposed only she could have spoken in such a voice – it sounded like a girl’s voice, but also otherworldly, echoing as though she was speaking from the end of a tunnel.

Ravio's voice, on the other hand, decided to crawl back into his throat and cowered there, and he ended up just shutting his mouth and scooching away. Sheerow perched on his shoulder and stayed there, trembling occasionally.

The spirit looked on curiously, and satisfied that Ravio seemed to have quieted down, she floated down until her feet touched the ground, just beside Link. At that sight, Ravio was about to stand up, a sudden feeling of protectiveness coming over him. He couldn't let Link be harmed by this spirit - he was the only hope for their kingdoms (as well as his only source of business.)

But before Ravio had even shifted his weight, the spirit sat down, neatly folding her legs under herself. She also draped part of her cloak over Link's sleeping form, and though her face hardly changed, Ravio thought there was deep fondness in her eyes. Her gestures and mannerisms - Ravio sensed a devotion in them, of a bond that had been forged long ago.

"What is your relation to my master?"

"Huh?" Ravio asked.

"What is your relation to Master Link? You share his home and your auras are very similar," the spirit said.

"I…I'm Ravio. I guess…I'm like his counterpart in this world," Ravio said. He briefly pulled his hood away to show the spirit his face. She did not look fazed at all to see Ravio's face, and only nodded her head in acknowledgement.

"Processing information…processing complete. You are not of Hyrule, but of a world also created by the Goddesses. Greetings, Ravio. I am Fi, servant of Master Link, spirit of the Master Sword."

"Servant…so you've been looking after Link here?" Ravio asked.

"Only very recently in this life," Fi replied. Ravio got goosebumps - the way Fi said it, he could only guess how many times she had performed this role. "I am sworn to serve my master, in any age that evil wakes to threaten this land,” she added.

“So...you’ve done this before then? Save Hyrule?” Ravio asked.

“Yes,” Fi answered simply.

“Then - then please -” Ravio came closer, aware of the desperation in his own voice.

“Please - save my own kingdom. No - save my princess,” Ravio said, bowing his head so low that his forehead touched the ground.

“I couldn’t do my duty to her. But you - and Link - you can do what I couldn’t. Right?” Ravio said, raising his face to look at Fi in the eyes.

“Once, long ago, I failed my master, and Hyrule fell to ruin. I cannot guarantee that it will not happen again,” Fi said. Ravio got a lump in his throat and fell silent.

“Any time we face down the dark forces against Hyrule, my master faces a 90% chance of failure. It is the same situation now.” Fi looked at Link’s face, a master she had grown to truly love over the ages. And with that love she had also felt his pain, and now, she felt hurt to see him wounded and in danger.

“But even with the low chances of success, I will do my utmost to prevent the same downfall,” Fi said, her words gaining an edge as sharp as her blade. Then she looked at Ravio, her eyes still blank and expressionless but somehow it felt like she was looking through him.

“If you are to prevent what you fear the most, you must act,” Fi said.

“But if I can’t find the courage to do so…” Ravio said, lowering his head.

“Then, act with love.”

Ravio looked up, his words trailing into a stutter of surprise. The spirit of the sword, a legend who had endured countless ages...her lips were unmistakably curved in a warm, fond smile. It was a sight that no one, save Link, had ever seen.

And the sight of her smile reminded Ravio of long-ago days, when the princess he loved did not yet bear the burden of saving a fallen kingdom...

“The hour grows late, and you will need strength for days to come. You should also get sleep,” Fi suggested. Ravio started, not realizing that he was lost in thought.

“Oh, but-”

“Do not worry. I shall keep watch,” Fi said. She stood up and floated over to the window, humming a lonely melody. Ravio blinked - it was like all his exhaustion caught up with him all of a sudden, and he lay down, his mind clear of all worries. He didn’t know what he was meant to do yet, but...he shut his eyes and slept, dreaming about light for once.

Alone, Fi looked out into the night, and when a curious Sheerow perched on her shoulder, she did not mind.

-------

“Up and at them, Mr. Hero!”

Link groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He knew he heard a wonderful, familiar song in his dreams, but he couldn’t quite remember it…

“Breakfast?”

A warm and sweet aroma perked Link up, and he looked to see Ravio pass him a tray, on which there was a bottle of milk, still-warm bread and apple slices. Link looked down at the tray and then up again at Ravio, and his wonder must have shown in his face because Ravio put up his hands.

“Ooh, surprised? Well, so am I! I was only looking forward to some apples for breakfast but a really nice lady passed by and left this food. I think she said she was the Blacksmith’s wife? Anyway, she said it was for you for finding...Gunney or someone,” Ravio explained in a chirpy tone.

Link’s mouth watered - he hadn’t had a proper meal in forever, it seemed, and barely had Ravio finished when he tore into the food.

“Whoa, adventuring sure gives you an appetite huh? Anyway, you’ll be going out again, yeah?” Ravio said. Link nodded, crumbs sticking all over his face.

“...well, take care, you hear me?”

Some time later, Ravio repeated the sentiment as Link was heading out, and the Hylian cocked his head at him, puzzled by Ravio’s behavior. Sure, he was pretty cheerful, but laid-back, and Link wondered why Ravio was being positively sunny. Shrugging it off, he walked out, not seeing Ravio wave cheerfully at his back - or the Master Sword twinkling briefly as they set off on another journey together.

#a link between worlds #albw #ravio #fi #zelda fanfic

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mortuarybees · 3 years

Note

NOT SURE WHAT YOU WANT FROM ME W THOSE PROMPTS BUT - THE HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

"Tell me what all the sighing is about" w armitozer?

JONAH ILYYY only if for a night is one of the first florence songs i ever played on repeat constantly and it has such a Vibe to me I hope i captured a little. Premise is, haha what if the tuunbaq didn’t eat their souls and they didn’t die, you know. right away.

✨

Solomon knows he is dreaming.

He’s lying in a field, the grass beneath him softer than anything he’s ever felt, the sun bright and golden above, shifting and glittering like a prism. The air smells like--like flowers and soil and life, and he feels clean. Nothing hurts and he’s warm, and that’s how he knows it’s not real. He can’t remember the last time he was warm.

Tommy is beside him, he realizes. He’s propped on one arm and gazing down at him with all the love in the world, and his hand cradles Solomon’s cheek. It feels nice, better than nice. Like heaven. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him in kindness.

“Solomon,” he says, lips curving around it like an embrace. His thumb traces his cheekbone. He’s wearing a pretty red coat; not a marine’s coat, but a brilliant and deep red all the same. Looks better on Tommy than it ever did on him.

I always knew, he wants to say, but his mouth isn’t his own and he can’t speak. I knew you’d be a sight in red.

“Solomon,” he says again, and tilts his head down. Solomon thinks he’s going to kiss him and his heart leaps, he closes his eyes, he thinks, finally, Christ, finally, but even in his dream, Tommy only presses their foreheads together. “Sol.”

Tommy, he tries to say. Tommy. My Tommy.

It’s warm.

“Sol, please,” Tommy says, and there’s something wet on Solomon’s face. “Please, please, please.”

Anything, he wants to say. Anything, I’ll do it.

“Please, wake up,” he whispers, and he notices now how strained Tommy’s voice is. That isn’t right, not here, and he’s irritated. Be happy, he wants to tell this vision of Tommy. I want him to be happy. “Please, Sol, please, God, I’ll do anything.”

I don’t want to wake up, he wants to tell him. Why should he? There’s--something, out there, wherever he is. Something that slinks and prowls. And other things too, horrible things, things he doesn’t know here and doesn’t want to remember. You don’t want to wake up, Tommy. I’ve got you. Here, I’ve got you.

“Look at me, Sol,” he says, and Sol does. He’s beautiful, and he tells him so, or tries to. He looks like he did the first time Sol saw him, doling out the dinner grog, hair rich and dark like the deepest night, eyes as pale and wide as the sky. He’s healthy, his skin looks soft and his cheeks are full and flushed, lips red as spring cherries. He wants to touch him but his arm doesn’t obey.

Tommy, he says, and Tommy sobs.

“I’m here,” he says, and his hand pats weakly at Sol’s chest. “Oh, Christ, Solomon, I’m here.”

“Isn’t it nice?” he says. It sounds like it should hurt to say, like it’s covered in blood and pushed from a broken throat, but it doesn’t.

“I--Sol?” Tommy frowns at him. He wants to rub at the spot where his brow furrows but he can’t.

“It’s spring,” he says, and Tommy’s face does something complicated. “You’re here and it’s spring.”

“It’s beautiful,” Tommy says at last, but he looks pained.

“Will you kiss me?” he asks. This is the perfect moment for it, better than any he could’ve imagined--elsewhere. Everything is bright and warm and soft and Tommy most of all. They can stay here all day if they like. They can stay here forever, and Solomon can kiss him in the grass until he’s laughing again like he used to; this sadness doesn’t suit him. Tommy doesn’t move and he looks like Sol hit him. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “What’s all this sighing about, hm? Can’t you give us a kiss?”

“Sol,” he whispers.

“I’d do it, only I can’t move,” he says, and Tommy chokes back a sob.

Slowly, achingly slowly, Tommy presses a kiss to his lips. They feel dry and cold and he feels the scratch of scabs against his own, but Christ, it may as well be richest silk for how lovely it is. He wants to kiss him proper: wants to cup his jaw, tilt their heads together and find their perfect angle, wants to roll him over with a hand on his waist and cover him, kiss him until Tommy’s lips are redder than they’ve ever been, bite kisses into his throat for him to show off to anyone who sees, wants everyone to know who put them there and Solomon will dare them to say a thing.

But he cannot move, and after a moment, Tommy pulls away. He misses his breath mingled with his own.

“Tommy,” he says, can still taste him. It’s bitter and rank but he could live a lifetime on it. “My Tommy lad.”

Tommy closes his eyes and a tear tracks down his cheek. He wants to wipe it away. “I love you, Sol,” he says, like it’s been wrenched out of him, like his guts have been opened and this is what spills out.

“I love you too,” he says, and he wishes he weren’t so sad. “You’re not supposed to be sad,” he tells him, because this is Sol’s dream and he should have what he wants.

Tommy laughs, a wet and weak sound, but it’s a laugh all the same, and Solomon grins at him. Tommy looks awed, traces his smile with shaking fingers, and he kisses him again. He looks tired.

“Lay down with me,” he says. “It’s getting late, we’ll have to stay here.”

The sun is setting, and that shouldn’t be the marvel it is. The sun always sets, and it rises again in the morning. It will rise in the morning to find he and Tommy here, and maybe if he can move by then and he hasn’t woken up he’ll take him to the pond where he used to swim as a boy. They’ll pull all their clothes off and jump in and the cool water will be a relief, for how hot it’s been, and his mouth and hands will learn all the parts of Tommy he’s never known, and when they’re hungry they’ll pick berries from the bushes and eat them while they watch the clouds float by.

Tommy’s hand traces his cheek one last time, his eyes studying him hard, like he’s committing him to memory. He nods, gives him a small smile, and he carefully lays his head on Solomon’s chest, like the simple motion requires some maneuvering.

He finds his right arm moves, at least, so something hasn’t completely betrayed him, and though it causes some discomfort that feels like faraway agony, he wraps it around Tommy, who shudders at the contact. There’s something wet and warm on his side. Solomon tries not to touch it and hopes it won’t stain Tommy’s coat.

The light dies around them, but the warmth never wanes. He doesn’t know if he can sleep in a dream, but he feels it scratching at his eyes, like he hasn’t had a good night in weeks. He’s never slept with Tommy in his arms and he wants it now more than anything. The world grows still, and finally, Solomon rests.

#henry speaks #the terror #solomon tozer #thomas armitage #funniest part is crozier laying like 10 feet away also unconscious still shackled to the dead god jfdlsajf #do you ever confess your love in a dream state with your estranged dad right over there?#started writing jealous tommy but: it's florence and bc it is florence i owe something to the overall Vibe of the song #urbanvictorian

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farfromharry · 3 years

Text

always (part one) | harry holland series

summary: harry helps to comfort you after the night before turned awful for you

word count - 2.2k

warnings - language, alcohol, yelling/arguing, mentions of throwing up

a/n - thank you so much for 300! also i think i’m gonna post once a week, most likely on fridays <3

“I have to go home Harry.” you giggled, trying to pull him towards the door of the houseparty you were in. He sighed, resting his head on top of yours, swaying you both slowly to the loud, booming music playing in the background. your phone buzzed again in your hand, the vibration alerting you of another text from Nate, and another one that you were going to blatantly ignore.

“ ‘m gonna miss you.” he drunkenly slurred, a giggle bubbling in your throat. you rolled your eyes, practically holding him up.

“Come on, I'm literally taking you home silly.” you had decided on being the designated driver for the night hours ago, right after seeing how harry downed his drink when you got here. you hadn’t particularly felt great all week but harry was so excited about this party, more so that it was for his brothers amazing performance in spiderman: far from home, and you couldn’t possibly turn down his offer, wanting to support Tom at the same time.

“need some help?” you looked up and made eye contact with harrison.

“yes please.” you whined.

With the help of a tipsy Harrison you managed to get Harry into your car, ignoring the almost consistent buzz of your phone now. Harry slumped into the passenger seat, laying his head on the window and quickly passing out.

“what am i gonna do with you?” you laughed, looking at your best friend drool on himself, you clipped his seatbelt into place and closed the door, getting in the driver’s side with a sigh. Driving to the large house the group of lads lived in was a routine for you at this point, you were there more often than you were at your own home. This time though, the short drive was filled with random muttered sentences falling from Harry's mouth every so often, mumbled under his breath in his sleep.

After pulling up outside the house you mentally debated what the best way to get Harry from the car to his bed would be. Eventually settling on just having to guide him there with a struggle.

“okay, come on mister, let’s get you to bed.” You hoisted him up out of the car, draping his arm around your shoulder as you led him up to his front door. Youu unlocked it with your spare key and hauled him inside.

“who knew you were this heavy?” you asked rhetorically, closing the door behind you with your foot.

“what are you doing?” you looked up and spotted sam sitting with his girlfriend in the living room, you smiled sheepishly.

“he’s really drunk, and also really heavy, please help me.” you pouted. Sam took pity seeing the drunken Harry cling to you, practically putting all his weight on you.

Sam wrapped his twin's arm around his shoulder, shooting a quick apology to Elysia, who brushed it off with an amused laugh.

Sam almost easily helped Harry upstairs, saving you the task of changing him into comfier clothes by doing it himself. leaving you to laugh in the corner at how difficult Harry was making it for his brother. when he was finally done he let out an exhausted sigh, throwing his dirty clothes in the corner of the room.

“thank you for your help.” Sam nodded, leaving you with a quiet ‘good luck.’ you looked at Harry with a sigh, pulling the covers of his bed over him and brushing your hand over his hair.

“y/n?” he slurred, blinking his eyes open just a little.

“hi, what’s up?” he smiled sleepily at you.

“thank you.” you giggled, looking at his half closed pretty eyes.

“of course.” you stroked his hair for a little bit longer than probably needed, making sure he was okay and didn’t need to be sick at all. He watched you the whole time with a lazy smile, nuzzling his head further into your loving touch.

“get some sleep, your heads gonna hurt in the morning.” before you left you made sure to get some painkillers and a glass of water. you placed them on his bedside table, kissing his head, making sure he was okay and asleep before you finally left.

The drive back to your flat was even quieter than the drive to Harry's home, no more drunken jokes from the passenger seat that made you laugh.

Even after pulling up outside your home you still waited in your car, not yet prepared to face your, no doubt, angry boyfriend inside.

After around 10 minutes of putting it off, you took a deep breath, climbing out of your car and heading into your building, greeting the receptionist on your way in. The lift ride up was long and filled with different scenarios of how this night could end, all of them overthought and turning out negatively. You hadn’t even started unlocking the door when it swung open, startling you.

“where the fuck have you been?” Nate yelled before you even stepped through the front door. you flushed in embarrassment at the idea of your neighbours hearing or seeing, shoving past him to make it inside.

“I told you, I was at Tom's party.” he scoffed, throwing his hands in the air dramatically.

“that was hours ago y/n!” you flinched at the loudness of his tone, wishing he would quieten down a bit. “where were you when i started texting you, huh?”

“I was making sure my best friend got home safe, because he was drunk out of his mind.” he rolled his eyes.

“since when was he your responsibility?”

“he’s always been my responsibility you arse, literally since we were 10.” you argued. you could almost feel the anger radiating from him, he was seething. You wanted nothing more than to simply just sleep this night away now.

“you know, he acts more like your boyfriend than me, and i am your boyfriend.” you laughed, glaring at him.

“Well that sounds like a you problem, Harry's just being a good friend, maybe you should try and be a better boyfriend once in a while.” he slammed his hands down on the kitchen counter, your eyes snapping to his face in fear.

“he clearly wants to fuck you.” this time it was your turn to scoff.

“no he doesn’t, do you not think he would’ve made a move by now, it’s been 11 years.” you finally snapped and let yourself yell. The argument seemed to go on for hours, back and forth of you defending Harry and him trying to make him sound like a bad person.

you didn’t even remember how it started by the time it ended, finally having enough of the shit he was saying. the same shit he’d been putting you through since he first met Harry.

“get out of my fucking house.” he stared at you dumbfounded, watching as you pointed to the door.

“what?” you rolled your eyes, moving to your front door and opening it.

“we’re done, get out.” Nate grabbed his jacket forcefully and stomped his way to the door.

“at least you can finally fuck him now.” you knew he was talking about Harry, he always hated how close you both were.

“you’re pathetic Nate.” he left without another word, leaving you to slam the door and think about everything that had just happened. A night that had gone really well, just gone down the drain.

There was a quiet, soft knock on your front door, a groan slipping past your lips as you thought it might’ve been Nate. you pulled it open rather forcefully, only to be met with your neighbours little boy. the 7 year old smiled at you sheepishly.

“hi Theo, what’s up?” you bent down to his height, looking into his brown eyes with confusion.

“me and my mum heard shouting, we just wanted to make sure you were okay.” your heart melted, looking up and making eye contact with his mum, standing in the doorway across the hall. you mouthed a ‘thank you’ and she nodded.

“Was it you and harry?” he asked shyly.

“no, it wasn’t Harry, don’t worry he’ll still come over.” Theo had told you once while you were babysitting him that he loved Harry, the male always told him a joke that’d make his stomach hurt with laughter.

“But I'm okay, thank you Theo.” you ruffled his hair, sending him back to his mum with a wave.

you closed your door and leaned back against it, finally letting some tears fall as you began processing things.

you spent most of the night crying, blaming yourself for everything that happened, even if you knew that wasn’t the case at all.

The next morning, well late morning, there was a knock on your door. you dragged yourself out of bed and didn’t even check before opening, mentally regretting it when you spotted the curly haired male standing in your doorway. you didn’t want him to see you in this state, even if he’d seen you at your worst many times before.

“hey, i just- what’s wrong?” he noticed the tear stains on your cheeks, his heart aching at the thought of you being in any kind of pain.

you walked forwards without a word and buried yourself in his chest, arms around his waist. He stroked your hair, holding you equally as tight as you were holding him.

your stomach growled at you, but not in a hungry way, your eyes widening. you let go of Harry, much to his confusion, and quickly rushed to the bathroom, throwing up everything you’d eaten the night before. the burning pain in your throat forced tears to your eyes, your knees aching from the firm tiled floor.

Harry was there in an instant, holding your hair back so nothing got in the way. His large hand rubbed your back gently, coaxing you through it until you stopped after your stomach was more or less empty. you sat back on your knees once you were done, arms still clutching the bowl in case you felt the nauseating feeling again.

“So, I take it you still don’t feel well?” you shook your head, ignoring the feeling in your gut that told you it was more than a bug.

you flushed the toilet, quickly brushing your teeth and washing your hands, having Harry stare at you through the mirror the whole time. Once you were done you sat back beside him on the floor, shoulders touching to give you any form of comfort.

“why were you crying?” you looked at him from your place on the bathroom floor and let a tear slip from your eye. your eyes stinging from how many tears you’d shed in such a short span of time.

“we broke up.” Harry frowned, pushing away the happy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“what happened?” you let out a loud sob, harry ignoring the pounding headache he had from his hangover to tend to you.

“awe love, it’s okay, always thought he was an arsehole.” you stifled a laugh, wiping your cheeks and looking at him.

“he was just, he didn’t like you, and you’re so important to me.” Harry smiled sympathetically.

“I'm sorry, i didn’t mean to-“ you shushed him, shaking your head.

“i’d rather have you in my life than him.” a few moments of silence passed by as Harry thought deeply about what you said.

“can we cuddle?” you asked quietly, almost scared to ask, snapping him out of his daze. Harry nodded, helping you up off the floor and guiding you to your room.

the two of you got under the unmade, crisp white covers on your bed, your head resting on his chest and your arms around his waist. you were silent for a while, just happy to be laying there in his warmth with harry’s fingers running through your hair. at some point you ended up falling asleep, a smile breaking out on Harry's face. He knew you probably didn’t get much sleep last night from the bags under your eyes, so he was glad he could provide you with enough comfort to do that for you.

you woke up to Harry shifting, sitting up in your bed. you groaned, trying to fall back to sleep, finding it almost impossible now Harry’s body heat was gone.

“where are you going?” you grumbled.

“i have to go, i’m sorry.” you pouted, harry placing a kiss to your head as he slipped his shoes on.

“are you sure you’re gonna be okay without me?” you nodded, flashing him a smile.

“if you need me, at any point just call me, any time okay?” you nodded again. you quickly pulled him into a hug, thanking him for helping you.

“i’ll see you soon.”

“bye Harry.” you frowned as you watched him leave, hearing your front door close a few seconds later. you closed your eyes again, willing yourself to go to sleep, prepared to sleep the rest of the day away as a distraction.

after being unable to fall asleep you groaned loudly, angrily tossing one of your pillows across your room, not caring what you knocked over.

“what a fucking day.”

harry holland taglist - @euphorichxlland @theliterarymess @drie-the-derp @sunkisseddreamer @call-me-baby-gir1 @fallinfortom @hollandbroz-n-haz

#harry holland x reader #harry holland one shot #harry holland imagine #harry holland

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remus-moonyylupin · 3 years

Text

Traitor Traitor Traitor

Remus trekked across the snowy lane, dragging his feet slightly as he went. He wasn’t entirely sure he should be going to their graves in the first place but he knew deep down he owed it to them. Before he knew it, he arrived at the quaint row their polished headstone sat in.

He looked down upon it with an empty stare. There were their names, James and Lily Potter, etched into the smooth stone. Proof they were actually gone.

Remus sank to his knees and took a deep rasping breath. He’d been having a lot of those rasping breaths lately. He had to keep reminding himself to breathe, the war was over. But the war wasn’t over. Not really. Not for Remus. He was still in the rubble, grasping at the broken pieces. a war raged inside him. A raging, despair filled war.

The snow soaked through the knees of his trousers as he kneeled there, staring. He reached out and traced James’ name with a gloved finger. He was shaking, he realized. He hadn’t shaken quite so hard in a while.

“Remus? Can we talk?” James’ timid voice had come from outside the bathroom door.

Remus finished brushing his teeth quickly and pulled on his pajamas. “Mm?” he hummed from inside, still fiddling with his night shirt, attempting to hide his scars as much as possible. He pushed open the door to find the other 3 marauders standing in a solemn group, staring him down.

“Umm… everything all right lads?” he asked timidly. He could sense the tension, smell peter’s fear, practically taste james’ adrenaline. He shook his head slightly as if to shake away the tiny remnants of the wolf. The full moon was only two nights before and he still felt a bit animal-like.

James cleared his throat. “We wanted to ask you a question, er. Actually more of a statement? What i’m trying to say is-“

“Remus, are you a werewolf?” Sirius cut him off.

“A- am I a wha- no pfft of course not how would you, er- uhm” Remus spluttered helplessly. He saw the look on their faces and knew they knew. His hesitation, his inability to keep cool had given it all away. They knew. He felt his knees buckle and sat down hard on his bed, his head in his hands.

“So I suppose I’ll be leaving school then. Sorry for lying to you, lads. I’ll start packing.” He stood up abruptly and began grabbing his things and throwing them in his trunk.

“Whoa whoa what’re you doing?! you can’t leave!” Sirius said.

“Well of course I can. I’m dangerous. I’m- I’m a monster!” Remus exclaimed, throwing a thick jumper into his trunk.

James snatched up the jumper and placed his hands on Remus’ shoulders, shaking him lightly. “You’re not a monster, Remus.”

Remus shot james a look that said ‘don’t test me’ and grabbed the jumper back.

“Oh come off it, mate. You can’t leave! Who’ll do my charms notes?” Peter looked exasperated.

Remus folded his arms across his chest defensively, refusing to believe they were being serious. When had anyone ever been okay with his condition? His own father wasn’t okay with it for Godric’s sake! “So you’re telling me you aren’t the least bit afraid of me? You lot are completely okay with a literal monster sleeping in your dorm every night?”

Sirius burst out laughing. “Remus, you fold your socks. You have your books alphabetized on your shelf. I am not the least bit afraid of you.”

Remus looked around at the three of them all nodding fiercely in agreement, an incredulous look on his face. Were they really okay with it?

“Yes mate, we’re serious. We’re sure. We promise.” James said with a firm nod as if he could read Remus’ mind.

“Literally,” Sirius grinned.

Remus smiled. They accepted him. They actually accepted him.

He looked at the small array of flowers laying at the base of the cold, smooth stone and smiled sadly. Lilies. James had always made sure Lily had her flower on Valentine’s day. Remus took out his wand and conjured a small bouquet of lilies. He laid them gently beneath Lily’s name. Lily. The first girl to be friends with him without trying to snog him. Lily. Wonderful, smiling Lily.

“Oi! Evans!”

Lily rolled her eyes and ducked her head behind the open book in her lap. “What d’you want, Potter?” she sighed.

James grinned and stood up, dusting off his robes as he did so. “Oh c’mon Evans. Can’t even bother to look at me anymore?” he teased.

She snapped the book shut and flashed him a smile before returning her features to her usual ‘I’m so done with your shit’ face that she used when addressing James.

He smiled even wider and ruffled his hair. “Will you go out with me?”

She laughed and stood up. “Eow not even a pick up line this time! How charming, but unfortunately I’m going to have to decline. Again.”

James’ shoulders slouched and he flopped down onto the sofa in front of the common room fireplace next to Sirius. Sirius threw an arm around James’ shoulders and patted his back. “Next time mate,” he said with a solemn nod. James grumbled something that sounded like “fat chance.”

“Remus are we still going to the library? I need to look at a few books for that transfiguration essay,” Lily asked, snapping back to business as usual.

“Yeah sounds great.” Remus said, jumping up from his spot in the comfy chair adjacent to the couch James was now sulking on. “I’ll bring my notes so you can look off of those too. I need to look at some things for Care of Magical Creatures. Trying to get a head start on revisions this year,” he said as he grabbed various scraps of parchment and shoved them into his bag.

He slung the strap onto his shoulder and smiled at Lily. “All set?” she asked.

Remus nodded and they set off to the library. He snuck a look back at the others and saw a flabbergasted James staring after him. “How? Bloody how?” James said, shaking his head. Remus chuckled and kept walking.

Lily and Remus walked side by side for a while until Lily broke the silence. “Dunno what you see in those dorks.”

Remus bumped his shoulder against hers playfully. “Aw they’re not so bad. A bit immature but they’re family you know?”

She smiled. “yeah I know. That's sorta how it is with Mary and Marls. I love ‘em to death but I can only take so much girl talk.”

“It’s not just the girls! Bloody hell, all I hear about is ‘what’s all the fuss about snogging, Sirius?’ and ‘well once you get the hang of it, it’s great James. you’ll get there, mate, don’t worry.’ it’s all any of them talk about!”

Lily smirked. “Good to hear I'm not the only one getting an earful.”

They laughed and then were quiet for a moment. “It’s not so bad, though,” Remus said thoughtfully. “You know James really likes you?”

Lily looked up, surprised. “Remus you know I-“

“No I know, Lils. Ijust thought you should know he’s not teasing. He really likes you. Talks about you all the time. And of course you don’t have to feel the same but-“

Lily cut him off by grabbing his hand and swinging it between them. “It's okay, Rem. I like James too.”

Remus looked at her and grinned. “Lily! That’s brilliant!”

“Mm yes… but I’m going to mess with him a bit. Now that I know he’s smitten,” she smirked.

Remus smiled and they walked into the library together, still hand in hand.

Remus looked at the headstone in front of him and then glanced about at the others. He realized how many people had died. He wondered how many had died young and unfairly like Lily and james. He wondered how many had had their chance at life ripped away from them so quickly it felt like the world itself was against them. He thought of James and Lily and Marlene and Dorcas and Peter. Poor, nervous Peter. He'd tried so hard to help out in the war. And now he was gone too. Killed by sirius.

Sirius. Remus clenched and unclenched his fist at his side. Sirius. He couldn’t help but feel a squeeze around his heart at the thought of Sirius. stupid, buggering Sirius. Remus hated that he’d trusted him. He hated that Sirius had been the spy all along. He hated that he didn’t see it coming. But most of all Remus hated that he couldn’t stop loving him. No matter how much he cursed his name and couldn’t stand what he’d done, he still loved him.

“He’s a traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor,” he whispered and shook himself slightly. Every memory together was tainted, every happy moment shared, every argument and smile and laugh. All tainted by Sirius’ betrayal. And yet Remus still loved him.

Remus supported a very drunk Sirius, one of Sirius’ hands gripping Remus’ shoulder tightly.

“Sirius,” Remus said, taking the sloshing cup from the smaller boy’s free hand, “You’re drunk.”

Sirius smiled benignly and reached for the cup. “No ‘m not, Moony. You’re drunk!” he said thickly.

Remus smiled. “Sure, Padfoot. I’m so drunk I just fell into my best friend.”

Sirius laughed and slumped into Remus a bit more. Remus guided them both to a large armchair and they sat down, smushed up against one another.

Sirius laid his head against Remus’ shoulder absently. “Remus?”

“Mm?” He looked sideways at the top of Sirius’ head, but Sirius didn’t look up. Drunk wanker.

“You’re so… you’re just so great.”

“Are you attempting to compliment me?”

“I’m just saying,” he said quietly. “You’re so cool Remus. You’re… you’re beautiful.”

Remus tilted his head back to get a look at Sirius who was wearing a dopey look. “Sirius… you’re drunk.”

“Maybe. But i’m right.”

“Remus?”

“Mm?”

“D’you think my family hates me?”

Remus curled his arm around Sirius more protectively. “Course they don’t hate you. They just can’t see all your greatest qualities. But I can” Remus smiled into Sirius’ hair.

Sirius curled up and made himself small against the other boy. “Just can’t shake the feeling they hate me. I know I shouldn’t care what they think after what they did to me but-“

“It’s okay, Sirius. They’re your family. It’s their fault what happened when you were little. And it’s their loss that they can’t see how amazing you are.”

Sirius rolled over and searched Remus’ eyes for the truth. He smiled slightly and said, Thanks, Rem.”

Remus hugged Sirius close to him and they just laid there like that for a while, curling into one another. It was comforting to be held like that.

“Hey Remus?” Sirius spoke into Remus’ chest. Remus could feel his warm breath against his bare skin.

“Mm?”

“I’m mental about you.”

Remus felt a blush creep up his neck. “I’m mental about you too.”

Sirius came bursting through the portrait hole with such a clatter remus thought he must’ve been chased by a pack of elephants.

“Moony!”

Remus looked up from his book and nearly fell out of his chair. Sirius was standing there wearing one of Mary's mini skirts and one of remus’ jumpers. And bloody hell he looked hot. Sirius smirked, apparently happy with the reaction he’d received and sauntered over to the chair Remus was seated in.

“Heya there, Moony. How’s your book?”

Remus laughed and slammed the book shut. “Hiya Padfoot. I see you’ve been raiding closets again.” The words came out easily once he’d recovered from the initial shock.

“I look just stunning, don't I?” Sirius laughed.

“You always look stunning, Pads.”

Sirius looked momentarily taken aback but then straightened up and flipped his beautiful hair over one shoulder. “I know.”

Remus laughed and scooted over, pulling Sirius by the waist into the large chair to sit with him.

A brown barn owl swooped through the open window in the common room Remus was smoking through and dropped an envelope into his lap.

“Got mail, Moony?” Peter asked from the floor without looking away from his chess board.

Remus puffed smoke and picked up the envelope. “Yeah from mum.”

Peter didn’t respond. Remus could tell without looking he was planning the perfect winning strategy. Peter was a god at wizard chess.

The werewolf stubbed out his cigarette on the windowsill and ripped open the envelope. Inside were two sheets of parchment. One with his mother’s neat cursive dancing across the page and the other with his father’s messy, scribbly writing sprawled across it. He picked up the sheet with his mum’s writing first.

Dearest Remus,

My dear baby boy. You’ve known I've been sick for some time. It’s a muggle disease, one with no cure. You’ve known this from the start. I'm so sorry everything was so sudden, my starshine. I'm afraid things have gotten worse since you’ve been at school. I regret not writing more often, I miss seeing your lovely notes and hearing the stories of you and your friends. I don’t have much time, my love. They’re moving me to hospice tomorrow. Your father says he can arrange a visit with Mcgonagall soon. I love you, my starshine. You make every day a gift. See you soon, love.

Love,

Mum

Remus set down the letter with trembling hands. No. No this couldn’t be happening. He attempted to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat and picked up the second sheet, feeling shakier than he ever had before.

Dear Remus,

Your mother has passed away. I'm sorry you couldn’t say goodbye, she died in her sleep the night they moved her into hospice and I didn't have a chance to post her letter. I'm very sorry, my dear boy. The funeral will be this friday. Mcgonagall has been contacted and plans will be made. I love you, son.

See you soon,

Dad

Remus stared down at the piece of parchment blankly. His mum was dead? So suddenly? It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be real.

He suddenly felt a surge of anger at his father. He didn’t have time to post her letter?! She was dying and he knew it! I’m her son! I had a right to say goodbye! Remus’ cheeks grew hot and he was in danger of breaking down right there on the windowsill.

The portrait hole opened and sirius stepped through, his face lighting up in a radiant smile when he saw Remus.

“Moony!” Remus looked at Sirius, panic and pain written all over his face. “Oh moony, what’s happened?” Sirius rushed over but the tears had already begun to fall. Sirius glanced around at the half-full common room and helped Remus down from the windowsill, gathering the letters and guiding him upstairs.

Remus was glad. He hated breaking down like this. Hardly anyone ever saw his emotions. anyone except Sirius.

“Moony…” Sirius searched his face but all he found was sorrow. “Oh Moony you poor love, what’s happened?” he asked softly.

Remus shook his head and pointed to the parchment clutched in Sirius’ hands. He read through the first one quickly and looked up at Remus. “Oh love, it’s gonna be okay. We can go talk to Mcgonagall and-“

“Read the second letter.” Remus’ voice sounded hollow.

Sirius gulped and bowed his head to read the second letter, his dark hair falling forward in silky sheets.

When he finished he silently set down the parchment and crawled onto Remus’ bed. He reached out his arms and pulled the werewolf close.

“It’s going to be okay, love. It’s going to be okay,” Sirius whispered into his ear, stroking his honey colored curls.

Remus curled into himself, making himself small. He rarely curled up like that, but right then it felt nice to be held so tightly. He made himself small and cried. His mum was gone. He'd never felt such sorrow.

“Hey Remus?” Sirius said quietly. “I love you”

“I love you too,” Remus croaked in response.

Remus stared blankly at the etched words in front of him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. I'm sorry James and Lily, I can't stop loving him. I want to but I can't. I hate myself for it. I just-“ he took a heaving breath, tears threatening to spill over. “I need time. And I'm so so sorry. I wish you guys were here.”

Remus stood up and brushed his trousers off with his hands. The snow left two dark wet marks on his knees. He wiped his eyes and left the way he came. He knew he shouldn’t have visited. He knew it was a bad idea.

They’re really gone. And he’s really a traitor. Traitor. Traitor. Traitor. stop loving him, Remus. Stop loving him. Traitor traitor traitor.

#marauders #hogwarts #sirius orion black #remus john lupin #wolfstar #james peter remus sirius #james potter #lily evans #lily potter #jily fanfiction #jily angst #wolfstar angst #oneshot #flashback #fiction #fanfiction

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maybe-theres-hope · 3 years

Text

Of Will and Wildflowers, Part 1

Tarlos | period drama/grudging acquaintances to lovers | Part 1/3

Read on ao3

Thank you to @oquinn53 and @resiotcage for cheerleading and reading ahead of time. You both give me the motivation to keep going.

Title by @oquinn53 :)

By law, TK Strand cannot inherit his father’s railroad empire until he marries. He has absolutely no intention of finding a husband on their trip down to Texas, but he finds himself blindsided by Mr. Carlos Reyes, only son of Doña Marialena Reyes. The problem is that Mr. Reyes resents the Strands coming to buy up parcels of his family’s cattle estate to build a rail line on. TK is perfectly happy to leave him to stew in his anger, as he has no use to see the man after the end of the week. However, TK will find that the heart wants what it wants, and there’s rarely anything one can do about it.

Set in 1885

Below is an excerpt, full part 1 from the beginning is under the cut!

TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“He insulted us and called us names. He besmirched our honor. He wears brocade to ride in! What on earth makes him a good man?” TK huffed out a breath. He turned to see his father just smiling at him.

“He’s a good judge of a room, anyway. He seldom looked away from you,” Owen ribbed. TK could now see where this was heading. His own father was just as bad as the Doña trying to play matchmaker.

“Parents are far too successful in matching their children up economically, but when it comes to romance, parents are no better off than if they hadn’t known another eligible soul in the world,” TK recited.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

At this, Owen softened his face. “I am sorry for being a bit pushy, but Mr. Reyes is the first man you’ve so much as made eye contact with of late. Is it so odd to wonder what about him brought you out of your self-imposed melancholy?”

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

Part 1

“Ms. Mercer’s proposal looks promising,” Owen says, mostly to himself but loud enough to include TK in the conversation, should he wish to participate. “And Mr. and Mr. Felton-Lowman have quite a sprawl, though it does look to contain more elevation than I was hoping. I thought all of Texas was supposed to be flat?” Owen muses as he tosses the papers back onto his makeshift desk.

TK is only half listening, choosing instead to stare morosely out the window at the passing countryside of the American South, eyes at intervals tracking livestock in the fields and lingering drips from this morning’s light storm rolling down the glass window of the lavish Pullman they’ve commandeered as their vessel for this journey. His father, bless his soul, had tried to get TK to care more about the business as of late, and truth be told, TK was very interested in the workings of his father’s company and he did take great pride in being able to inherit it someday and make his father proud. It was just that recently, he’d had his heart thoroughly crushed by an absolute rake of a man and he’d rather wallow in self pity than think about geological surveys and boundaries for livestock movements.

TK heard his father sigh, a sure sign that a lecture was coming soon. TK took a breath and held it.

“I wish you’d forget about that awful boy, Tyler. You wouldn’t have wanted a life with him anyway. His family was barely polite at best, and scandalous at their worst. Honestly, you got out on the good side of things.” TK wanted to say that he didn’t care about things like status and scandal, he cared about love and commitment.

Turns out all Alexander had been able to commit to was his harem of stable boys and footmen that TK had known nothing about until it was too late.

TK blew out his breath. He knew his father meant well. Owen Strand was not overbearing as some other fathers were, especially with an only child upon whom everything rested. He wished his son to be happy and settled, is all. TK knew this, and still he couldn’t help his sullen reply.

“Yes, father, I shall just forget. Forget every sweet nothing and every second and third dance. Forget every promise and every earnest declaration. Forget that it was all a lie. Yes, my mind shall be rid of Alexander’s presence by sundown. Then we shall celebrate. How simple.” He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted to be angry for a while. He’d only found Alexander with Mrs. Howell’s second footman three days earlier. It still stung.

As the train rattled on, closer to a place that TK was of a mind to understand was so far from proper civilization as to be considered exotic, he felt his father’s disappointment cling to him. That hurt worse than what he’d seen Alexander and the footman doing--which was something for which he was sure a name had not been invented yet.

“I’m sorry, father. It’s just that you’ve set this deadline for me with no explanation as to why, and I don’t want to let you down but I’m afraid I’ll never find the right man for me. I had thought it would be Mr. Thompson, but I was mistaken. Sorely mistaken.”

At this, TK looked up to catch his father’s soft look of commiseration. “I know you’re feeling overwhelmed, but you are getting on in age. Most boys are married off by three and twenty, and you’ve gone nearly four years past that. I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You need to secure a match that makes you happy, but you’ll need to do it sooner rather than later.”

“Why, father? Why must I rush such a momentous decision? You are in perfect health! I have another five or ten at least!” At this, he caught a very minute shift in his father’s countenance, something like pain, but it was gone in an instant. His father was the most stoic man TK had ever had occasion to meet; if he was in pain at all, no one would ever know. It must have been a trick of the flickering pre-dusk light coming through the windows of the train car. Owen took on a playful tone.

“Five or ten? What respectable young lad would want to marry a man of thirty-five? You’d practically be spinster by then,” he joked fondly.

“You’re a good deal past thirty-five and I’ve still seen twenty year old Miss Brinkman making eyes at you across the dancefloor of an evening. If I’ve inherited your genes I’ve nothing to fear,” TK shot back with a barely there smirk.

“Thank heaven for us all, but you’ve got your mother’s beauty. I couldn’t have asked for better,” Owen said quietly. TK’s mother had been gone these past ten years. A bout with pneumonia that the doctors could not cure had taken her from them. “But you do have my charm, I’ll allow you that. You should put it to use down south. Perhaps a cattle baron might catch your eye?”

“Oh by God, no. I couldn’t imagine whiling away my days on a smelly farm trying to read reports by moonlight and taking my sullen and fatigued husband to bed only for him to fall asleep minutes after his head hits the pillow. No romance in hard labor, that’s for sure.” TK shuddered a bit to think of life on an actual farm, constantly smelling of hay and manure like some streetsweeper back in Manhattan.

“I do believe successful cattle barons can afford more than a few tawdry tallows, Tyler,” Owen quipped with a smirk before turning his attention back to the maps and surveys scattered in front of him. The conversation that, just moments ago, had been fraught with uncertainty and earnestness seemed to flutter into the wind. TK and his father were like that most times: they’d lay things out on the table between them, and if it clearly couldn’t be resolved in a single good-natured quarrel, they both gave themselves time to regroup to resume the discussion at a later date.

For this particular subject, TK was coming to think of that ‘later date’ as a cuff slowly tightening around his wrist, the chain binding him to his destiny getting shorter and shorter.

He looked down at his hands, privileged hands that hadn’t had to do much manual labor in his life, save for the few times his father took him to the yards to show him how things were run. Owen, on the other hand, was an entirely self-made man, who saved and invested his earnings working for Vanderbilt and made enough to purchase his first railcar at just twenty. He contracted it with the Erie and charged passengers thirty-five cents for passage between New York and Boston. From there it only grew, to what was now a very respectable business, looking to lay lines of their own. Perhaps not the largest--that was still Vanderbilt’s claim--but certainly a player on the board.

And it would all be TK’s if he could just hurry up and fall in love already.

_______

The carriage from the station drove them twenty miles through gorgeous hill country. The cattle and horses grazed on rolling plains that swelled gently as they approached the horizon. It was warm, but not unbearable, which TK attributed to the absence of industry steaming and smoking and saturating the very air in one’s lungs as it did in Manhattan. Furthermore, despite the over-abundance of livestock surrounding them, the smell was far more pleasant than he was used to. TK could not help but conclude upon this observation that maybe it was not the horses that stunk, but the people. After all, fresh air was a luxury very few could afford, and they usually had to go thousands of miles to get it, such as he and his father were doing now.

Still, he held to his earlier affirmation that he could not see himself making a life in a place such as this. Despite the fact that he’d concluded they apparently smelled horrid, TK loved being around people. He supposed that was to be attributed to being an only child, and having no siblings underfoot to raise ruckus and otherwise pierce the silence that hung heavy over their home of late. Even though he’d not experienced that kind of life, he’d always hoped to make a large family of his own, his husband and he adopting ten or more children to raise and fawn over. TK had never considered for a moment that he wouldn’t be a father, regardless of his proclivity for finding only men attractive in any way. Some of that persuasion chose to remain as partners only, bequeathing their fortunes, such as they were, to their universities or other charitable pursuits. But TK had always wanted a house full of mouths to feed and hearts to warm.

He dreamed about the day when he could look over at his husband, gray-haired and body-bent, and smile at what they’d created.

Except it did not seem as though he would be acquiring a husband any time soon, and that thought vexed him more than he let on to his father. Yes, he agreed that he was getting on in years as far as marriageable age for young bachelors was concerned, but his one universal truth was that he would not settle for someone who was not the love of his life. That conviction, though others called it foolish, was the great constant that ran through every interaction TK had with any handsome man he happened upon.

He was determined to uphold that promise to himself, no matter how many years passed. If the right one came along, he’d know it. No matter for the moment, anyway, as he was doubly sure he’d not meet the love of his life in the middle of cattle country.

As the carriage rounded another gentle swell, a rather large bright structure came into view. TK put his hand up to shield his eyes for a moment, as it seemed the very sun shone out of the building. As they drew closer to the drive—lined with giant oak trees on each side like twenty such sentries—it became apparent that the house was not radiating light, but reflecting it. Every upright surface was covered with glittering textured limestone, something TK had seen here and there on their travels through the southern states. Also something they had encountered before was a grievously oversized stoop—which these people called porches—that spanned the entire width of the house, and it was evident that it wrapped around to the sides as well. It was dotted here and there with rocking chairs and benches, each with a wool blanket or cushion thrown haphazardly onto the seat to aid the sitter’s comfort on the otherwise hard wood surface.

They reached the house after a long drive up, and the carriage deposited them at the bottom of the steps up to the grand estate. TK had seen mansions in Manhattan and beyond, but this house was like a full government building. It was massive. He wondered how many people lived here.

As their driver helped them from the carriage and began to let down their luggage, a shriek of delight could be heard just inside the door. TK jumped for a moment, not expecting such a sound in such a peaceful place, before he was bombarded with the view of three bright young ladies in finely detailed seersucker and bustled skirts.

“Oh, you’ve arrived at last!” the one who looked to be the eldest exclaimed. She was tall, at least half a foot taller than the other two, with ink black hair tied up in neat chignon. Her sleeves accented delicate wrists and her waist was nipped down modestly. She smiled like TK and his father arriving was akin to a grand parade, when really they resembled world-weary travelers who could barely un-stoop their backs from so long inside the carriage. The other two young ladies—girls really—giggled behind their hands. They bore a strong resemblance to the elder; certainly they were all sisters.

Ever the gentleman, TK removed his hat to gesture to the ladies, who gave curtsies in answer. Owen did the same, and received curtsies that went just a bit deeper. “Good afternoon, ladies,” Owen called with a smile. “I was told I could meet directly with Doña Marialena upon our arrival.” He quirked his eyebrow up in question, even though it was perfectly plain that none of these girls was old enough to be the proprietor of this estate, unless they had been sorely deceived. TK thought he might admire someone capable of extending that sort of ruse for as long as they’d been corresponding with the Doña. But alas, a moment later, a much older woman who resembled quite strikingly all three ladies gathered on the porch emerged from the wide open front door.

The Doña was an intimidating woman on her own, but the height afforded her by their current positions made it seem even more so. TK tucked his hat into his elbow and bowed low, following his father’s action. The older woman bent her knees a bit, and TK noticed she did not descend the steps to meet them, but instead kept her position above, behind her daughters.

“Welcome to La Hacienda Reyes, gentlemen,” she intoned in a very slightly accented, gravelly voice. It should have sounded harsh, but it just sounded well-used, as though she’d employed it many times to shout at her daughters for their impropriety at scurrying out to meet guests on the lawn without their bonnets, as she looked apt to do right this very second. TK did not mind their state of dress so much, as rules were getting a little more lax for the younger set these days, especially in the city. Though, now that he thought about it, these country folk might be a mite more traditional, but he let the thought fade into obscurity as the Doña smiled softly down at him a moment later, as if sharing a secret.

He and Owen approached the steps as the Doña descended to meet them. Owen made their introductions as TK took her hand in his, giving a small bow as was customary. He let his father lead the conversation as he made his way over to the daughters assembled on the lawn. He kissed each of their hands in turn, learning that their names were Christina, Elena, and Raquel, from eldest to youngest. He was also informed that Christina was not the eldest in the household; her sister Rosa was ten years her senior and married, and she and her wife were summering on the East Coast.

As Christina regaled TK with how wonderful and filled with revelry their visit was to be, a lone figure appeared at the edge of his vision, galloping up quite swiftly on horseback. The animal was beautiful, sleek and black and moving with its rider as though they were one. As they drew closer, Christina also lit on to the approaching figure.

“Oh, there’s my brother. Mamà will have his head for not meeting you directly, as the man of the house should. Even though he won’t inherit, she still insists he accompany her when seeing to the business of the estate, especially when Rosa is away.”

“I’m sure he had urgent business to attend,” TK offered, however he did not know what kind of business a man in fine brocade—as he could now see the golden threads shining in the Texas sun—would have out in the fields. “We did arrive earlier than expected, I believe. Our apologies.”

“Oh, no. He wished to stay away. I’m of right mind to assume he thought we’d already be inside by now and that’s why he’s made his appearance, and he’ll be sorely thwarted to see us still about.” She fought to hide a smirk, and TK was intrigued. However, he didn’t have time to contemplate on the apparent lack of manners of the man of the house before the man in question was upon them.

He was invariably handsome, that much was clear on his approach. He had tanned skin that shone in the rays of the afternoon sun, and curls atop his beautiful head that caught that same light and transformed into blacks and browns and golds as he moved. He was fit and tall, as TK could tell even from his seat on the horse, and he commanded an air about him that sang with regality. As he disembarked from the saddle, TK was struck dumb at the fluidity of his movements. It was as if he was still galloping along with the horse, moving slowly and rapidly at the same time, body deliberately placing itself where it needed to be rather than flinging his limbs about as some proud men were wont to do when they felt the urge to assert their authority.

As he turned to face the gathered group and at last revealed his face from a close angle, TK was struck dumb. This man was gorgeous. Exquisite. A dream made flesh. TK could all of a sudden imagine what this man looked like when he smiled, when he was upset, when he was elated, when he cried. He could picture a thousand candlelit dinners at the Fifth Avenue Hotel across from this man, surreptitiously dragging their toes against one another under the table, faces and hearts alight with the impropriety of doing such a thing in public, but being too enamored of each other to care.

He could picture all of this so clearly and crisply that he could almost smell the gardenia adorning the little vase upon the table. That was, until the man opened his mouth.

“Gentlemen,” he spit, as though the word were a curse upon their persons. He turned to the Doña and intoned in a volume that was surely meant to be overheard but made as if to seem secretive, “Mother, I thought you said only one was coming. We must entertain two greedy industrialist blackguards for the whole of the week when we’ve not even fully migrated the herd?”

At this, Doña Marialena did not even flinch. She simply leaned in closer to her son and spit out a quick succession of words no doubt meant to silence his gaucherie, but which only served to wind his already pinched countenance into a tighter knot. When their short exchange had ceased, he looked mildly chastised but still as though he would rather be anywhere than here, meeting TK and his father on the front lawn. However, after receiving that nearly silent dressing down from his mother in front of their guests, he screwed his face into a more acceptable visage, and approached Owen, who was holding out his hand.

Doña Marialena made their introductions, “Carlos, this is Owen Strand and his son, TK. Mr. Strand, this is my son Carlos. Please excuse his horrendous manners.”

Carlos took Owen’s hand. “Welcome to our Hacienda, sirs. You are from New York, is that correct?”

“We are. Nearly a fortnight’s journey to get here, but it was beautiful country to pass through,” Owen answered in a friendly tone, unfettered by the exchange of impropriety that had just taken place and determined to move into more friendly territory.

“Ah, well. Let us hope your trip was not in vain,” Carlos answered with a barely there sneer. He turned to TK and offered his hand as Owen and the women turned to shuffle inside the house.

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Reyes. I hope we can find some mutual agreement that is beneficial to all in this endeavor,” TK said solemnly while shaking the man’s hand. He’d abruptly become determined to dispense with all amorous thoughts of this abhorrent man. He and his father were here to do business, attend a party or two, and leave with contract in hand, and nothing more.

“There is nothing beneficial to my family about breaking off pieces of our home to sell to ardent capitalists,” Carlos hissed in a volume meant only for TK. “My grandfather’s blood is boiling in his grave as we speak.”

“Well then I suppose it is advantageous for us that you are not the one making decisions about the estate. Your mother seems quite keen to receive the compensation of ‘ardent capitalists’, as you say. Perhaps there are some issues with the household which require assistance which you, as third born, were not made privy to, sir.” TK could not help himself, and shot back the jab without thinking it through. It was ill-bred talk of money in the open, and much more so to bring it up in a first meeting, but Mr. Reyes was the one who’d alluded to finances first, so TK felt little remorse upon seeing the other man’s face flash with indignation.

Mr. Reyes looked as though he wished to lob one last verbal volley at TK, but seemed to think better of it which was a surprise given his utter lack of tact until that moment. He turned away from TK with a last look of barely tempered rage in his brown eyes and made his way up the steps and into the house.

TK followed, determined not to ponder on why that look had given him gooseflesh in a way that did not suggest fear for one’s life, but rather intrigue at what other thinly veiled emotions his own words could make those eyes flash with.

_______

Dinner was a modestly lavish affair. The table was adorned with yellow roses, to symbolize friendship and cooperation, which TK thought was a nice touch from the staff yet ultimately ineffective.

Well, possibly not entirely ineffective, as his father was currently wooing and entertaining the four women at the table with his usual easy charm, and they all seemed to be devouring his anecdotes and quips with good spirts.

It was Mr. Reyes that seemed out of sorts with the rest of the party. Even TK himself was beginning to forget their fraught exchange on the lawn and give in to the revelry of the evening. Truth be told he was glad to be at table with someone other than his father, who tended to give him pitiful looks and well-meaning advice about his recently broken heart. TK also had to admit that along with the laughing women, even Carlos himself was a nice change. His presence gave TK something to focus on other than thinking of his failed chance at happiness.

As it was, TK had already forgotten that he’d vowed he would not focus on Mr. Reyes at all.

“Your father tells me you are six-and-twenty and still a bachelor? How ever have you managed that?” The Doña asked across the table. Given his current preoccupation, TK didn’t even take the slightest bit of offense from the statement. It was helped along by the kind look in her eyes.

He gave a bashful chuckle. “Hard work and perseverance, ma’am,” he joked, and the table laughed along with him, save for one. “I’ve simply not encountered the right match, I’m afraid.”

“If he was married to the work, I’d be less anxious, but alas…” Owen trailed off with a good natured smile. Even with all his father’s nagging, TK knew in his heart that his father wanted his son to be happy and unhurried in choosing a husband.

“I’m holding out for my perfect compliment. Is that so naive?”

“Maybe not for a man in such good standing as you. I’m sure you have suitors left and right vying for your attention, Mr. Strand,” Elena said from across the table.

“I’m afraid at the moment I am quite unadorned with neither suitors nor passing interest,” he answered her.

“I, too, am similarly afflicted,” Elena mourned with a sigh. TK thought she couldn’t have been more than seven-and-ten, quite young to be so concerned. Then again he thought perhaps the country was different than the city. The Doña was mature to be sure, but she looked much younger than he’d thought a woman with a child of more than thirty years—as had been hinted about the absent Rosa—would look. She must have been wed around Elena’s age after all.

“Oh hush, sister. Your situation is not nearly as dire as mine,” Christina said. She placed the back of her hand to her forehead in an affected swoon. “Whenever shall I leave the nest?”

“When someone who possesses such a lack of wits that it precludes them from knowing better comes to sweep you off your feet,” said Raquel. Her sister gave her a scathing look before smirking and presumably kicking her lightly under the table. The younger sister just giggled and went back to her meal.

As TK watched the family interact, lightly teasing each other good-naturedly but never outright insulting each other, he could sense the love and connection among them. Oh, how he longed for a large family such as this someday. Surrounded by his children and their love for each other that ran so deep as to assure each and every one of them that no matter what was said in jest, they were always seeded first in the minds of the rest.

Even with all the lighthearted conversation going on at table, the sole Reyes son was still silent. TK thought it odd that such a stoic, contemptible man could be born into a family of such vibrant women; he was surrounded by their vivacity every day and still he was unmoved to even smile into his potatoes at their revelry. The rest of them also seemed to sense that Mr. Reyes did not wish to partake in the lively conversation, as none of them moved to include him. The Doña glanced to her son every now and then, and TK couldn’t have said her expression looked reproachful (as he would have agreeably afforded her) but it did not look content either.

Perhaps this was not usual behavior for Mr. Reyes. If that was so, then it really was the Strands’ arrival that had put him out of sorts and TK had no recourse to remedy that at present. He and his father were here for business that must be conducted, and Mr. Reyes would just have to live with that.

The Doña had apparently noticed TK going quiet among the ruckus and subsequently had noticed his earlier gaze flickering around the family accompanied by a soft smile. It seemed as though she’d misinterpreted his attentions, however.

“Perhaps the perfect compliment is sooner encountered than you think.” She gave a very slight incline of her head, seemingly meant to indicate Christina, who was sitting to her right and had proceeded to blush so profusely TK was momentarily concerned for her health. He endeavored to be diplomatic but firm against the Doña’s clear initiative, which was impossible for anyone at the table to miss.

“Ah, your family is lovely, Doña, but I fear your son and I would need to converse at length before we could find views on which we do not differ at the moment.” It was part lighthearted joke, part barely concealed jab at Carlos, and part signal of his preferences, so as not to invite any more ideas about betrothing him to one of the daughters.

Alas, he did not miss the Doña’s sharp eye turn to her son before landing back on himself in quick succession. Given their greeting, the Doña should not rightly expect there to be any amorous feeling available between them. Her face relaxed after a moment, and she returned her gaze to the rest of the table. TK did not feel cowed, per se, but the weight of her scrutiny could still be felt upon his cheeks. He was immediately given to wonder what could be contained behind those steady brown eyes, so like her son’s.

As the conversation resumed—Christina was finally ribbing her brother for his lack of mirth this evening—yet again TK found himself studying Carlos Reyes, handsome specimen that he was. But the cut of a man’s jaw and the shine of his eyes did not a welcome companion make, in TK’s view. Sure, he’d lost himself for a moment in the man’s fluidity of movement, the low timbre of his voice, the fire in his expression. But the measure of a man is in his actions, not his appearance. A man can appear any way he wants to; it is his behavior that epitomizes his character. Carlos Reyes had shown himself to be headstrong, closed-off, and prejudiced. TK had no use for such a personality. Carlos could while and wallow away his days alone for all TK cared. He would leave here with no attachments and that would not be a hardship.

Just at that moment, the man in question met his eyes. They stared for a moment, caught in some trap of unconscious strain, seemingly bound to the attempt to find the measure of each other in a single look. When TK looked away first, he felt as if he’d lost some contest.

When he chanced a glance toward the man again, he found his gaze hadn’t wavered but was now more open than it had been since they’d met, which admittedly was not to say much.

Later that night, when Christina had shown them to their guest rooms, Owen made an observation as they dressed for bed.

“The girls are quite well-bred,” he stated, apropos of nothing. The caliber of the family had no bearing on the land, therefore it was of little interest to them in coming into this negotiation. At least, that is what TK believed. His father, it was apparent, thought differently. “And Doña Marialena is a fine head of the household. She has taught her children well.”

At this, TK scoffed.

“And her son is quite adept, don’t you agree?” Owen continued as he hung his dinner jacket away. “A good man who knows the value of family and home.”

TK could not let this statement slide. “A good man? He’s an absolute cad!”

“Oh? He was perfectly cordial during dinner. There was that snafu when we arrived, but that was cleared up quickly. I say, he’s a fine man.” TK was astonished at his father’s ability to forgive anyone almost anything, but this was almost too far. Mr. Reyes had barely said a word at dinner, and that was only after he’d been forcibly pulled into conversation by Christina. Even then he’d talked of nothing but the weather and cattle movements, and he’d offered a mild chuckle at Elena’s story of her first time riding a horse. He’d spent the rest of the evening simultaneously staring at and avoiding TK.

TK knew this because he’d been doing the same, though he would sooner saw off his own hand than admit to it.

“Oh, come now son, I’m not that insensitive! He’s handsome isn’t he?” his father returned, finally dropping the ruse and showing his true colors.

“Handsomeness does not a happy home make,” TK recited again.

“You’ve been reading too many Dame Juliette columns.”

“And you’ve been trying to plot my marriage since we were on the train, and the minute you saw a handsome son on this estate you’ve sealed my fate, have you?” TK groused.

“Who said I was out of my melancholy?”

“Your eyes whenever they met his.” Owen’s face was serious, no longer teasing.

“He makes me angry, is all. Anger is an emotion.”

“Yes. Yes it is.” And with that, Owen turned to climb into his own bed, the conversation abruptly halted and TK left wondering what his father thought he’d concluded from their exchange.

Lying on his own mattress across the hall, TK wondered at emotion. Sure, anger was an emotion. A useful one. But so was love, and he was determined to hold out for it.

_______

The morning after their first night in La Hacienda Reyes, TK woke with renewed energy to be devoted to forgetting Carlos Reyes even existed.

This endeavor proved extremely difficult when upon descending the stairs to the foyer, the man in question was seemingly awaiting him, pacing across the marble floor with agitated clicks of his boots. The sight brought TK up short, and he consequently forgot that his father was just behind him, causing Owen to collide into his back and sending TK tripping down the last two steps—

Straight into Mr. Reyes’ arms. They were pressed together so tightly for a moment that TK swore he could feel the other man’s exhales as they left his nostrils, softly caressing TK’s cheek as they went. One of his hands was gripped tightly on TK’s shoulder while the other had instantly wound its way around his waist to steady him.

It took TK an inordinate amount of time to catch his breath, all the while feeling that very firm body against his. As his senses returned, he felt himself blaze with the most furious blush at the proximity, and hurried to right himself. He nearly butted his head into the other man’s nose in the process, but proceeded to stand upright without further incident. He set about straightening his waistcoat before looking up and catching Mr. Reyes’ eye almost by mistake.

The other man seemed just as red in the face as he. They held each other’s gaze for a split second longer before TK was violently reminded that the incident had not happened in private, but that the whole of the ghastly encounter was overseen by his own father.

Owen asked, much too late in TK’s opinion, “Are you alright son? I apologize for being so clumsy there,” he added in address to Mr. Reyes.

The man of the house was the first of the pair at the bottom of the stairs to regain use of his tongue. “It’s quite alright, sir. No harm done.”

“That’s true, as you were here to prevent it. Lucky, that.”

TK thought to himself that he would like to disappear from this mortal plane rather than be party to his father’s smug innuendos, especially after their conversation last night and TK’s renewed vows of thoroughly avoiding the man of this house.

Mr Reyes, however, seemed unattuned to Mr. Strand’s jabs, and simply addressed them both again cordially.

“Good morning to you both, I hope you slept well.” They replied that they had, as was proper, despite TK’s own thoughts. He wasn’t about to share that . “I’ve actually come to offer you a tour of the grounds at my mother’s behest, and also in apology for my unmitigated rudeness upon your arrival.”

TK was inclined to believe the apology was also at the Doña’s behest, if not absolutely forced. She seemed a formidable enough woman to demand decorum from her adult son.

“I understand your company is pursuing the land in the northwest quadrant of the estate. It would be my pleasure to take you there so that you can survey at your leisure.”

“So early?” Owen asked. They had not yet broke fast.

“Yes sir, in order to avoid the humidity of midday, I thought we’d ride out closer to dawn. Our cook has packed some provisions in lieu of the breakfast meal.” At this, he gestured to a medium sized basket atop a side table by the door, apparently from which the scent of bacon—as TK had just caught on the air—was emanating.

To be quite honest with himself—which he would admit much, much later was not very honest at all—TK was not at all looking forward to spending the morning with Mr. Reyes and his ridiculously dashing seat on a horse. His father being there would temper his mood, but he’d rather spend the day walking about on his own, soaking in the fresh air and solitude of the country. Or even alongside his father and the Doña, negotiating the sale of her land, as Owen had expressed his desire that TK begin immersing himself in the business and he saw no better time than now, in avoidance of any extra time spent in Mr. Reyes’ presence.

The man made him hot around the collar and jittery, and the real problem was that TK was even more angry that neither of those emotions were particularly loathsome at the moment and he could not explain to himself why.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr. Reyes. Unfortunately, I really must sit down with your mother and ask her about some specifics regarding the provenances, so I must decline your kind offer.” At this, he turned to TK, who was already giving him wide eyes of panic before he even opened his mouth. “TK, would you be so kind as to accompany Mr. Reyes around the property? You know the general gist of what we are looking for, and you can report back to me with what you find. I’d really appreciate your help on this, TK.”

The man was practically grinning like a fool. TK thought he might keel over right there on the marble tiles of the Reyes’ foyer.

Mr. Reyes’ face was unreadable at the moment, but TK could imagine the line of his thoughts. The two of them no more wanted to spend time with each other alone than either would want a hole in the head.

Mr. Reyes, however, was the first to recover from the abrupt change in plan, with a direct capitulation that TK could have punched him for, had he been a less tactful man. “That…would be agreeable,” he said haltingly. He turned to look at TK, who schooled his countenance into something less vile than he felt this turn of events warranted. “Would that please you, Mr. Strand?”

Would it please him? Absolutely not.

“Of course, Mr. Reyes,” he said tightly, resigned to his fate. “I look forward to seeing your lovely estate and hearing its history.”

Mr. Reyes looked almost surprised at his cordiality, and TK congratulated himself on his capability of social falsehood.

_______

Their journey was to take them from the back of the house out and around the northwest corner of the ranchland where they would stop to breakfast at a small manmade lake and then south to the orchards, through which they would find themselves back at the west side of the house. All told, Carlos informed him, the trip would take them for six miles. TK resigned himself to a morning of misery, and judging by his would-be companion’s face, he was not alone in that regard.

Their basket of provisions securely fastened to Mr. Reyes’ saddle, and both saddles securely fastened to their mares, the pair set off in silence other than Owen’s shout of farewell from the porch.

They strolled along at a leisurely pace—too slow for TK’s regard—for quite a while before either spoke. Mr. Reyes looked over to TK with a judgemental eye before saying, “Watch for snakes in the grass. Flor will not spook at them, but she will spook if you do.”

“I’m not afraid of snakes,” TK snapped, although he couldn’t rightly say he’d ever seen one up close. “Furthermore, I am high on this horse, why would I worry about something as low as a snake?”

“Rattlers can jump. They’ll have your boot off and will have half devoured your leg before you can think to turn the horse.”

TK whirled to look at him, consequently causing Flor to twist toward Mr. Reyes and Jimena, putting them much closer than TK would like after their bout that morning. He knew his face was a mask of barely concealed horror, the image Mr. Reyes’ words had conjured up no less than tremendously frightening to a city gentleman.

Mr. Reyes’ face, however, was all mirth; his cheeks were reddening in the effort of holding back his obvious laughter, which he gave up the moment TK noticed his ruse.

“That was a bold-faced lie and you are a scoundrel for it,” TK muttered, feeling teased.

“I’ll take that judgement just to see the terror on your face again,” Mr. Reyes laughed. TK was determined not to acknowledge that the man had a nice laugh, a full bodied, soft-edged one that sent warmth down to the tips of TK’s toes. TK was also determined to keep the scowl upon his face for the whole of this journey, never mind the wrinkles he was likely to develop. Curse this loathsome cowboy and his ill intentions and his shining curls and his full lips. They lapsed into silence again for another half mile.

In his endeavor to ignore his companion, TK failed to notice how he was being closely regarded by said companion. He should have been able to feel the gaze upon the side of his face like sunlight as heavy and warm as it was, but alas he remained ignorant of it in favor of the beautiful countryside.

TK began to notice little strains of wildflowers growing on the gentle swells of hills here and there, their elevations no more than four or five feet. It was like looking at someone’s floral bedding that had been disturbed in sleep and not righted in the morning; soft, loved, and lived in, a safe place to come back to at the end of the day, a warm comfort to calm the tumultuous stresses one was apt to battle in the waking hours.

“The red and orange ones that reach toward the sky are called Indian Paintbrush,” Mr. Reyes intoned softly causing TK to turn his gaze away from the flowers in a startle. It had been so quiet he’d almost forgotten his company. “There,” Mr. Reyes pointed, urging TK to return his focus to the flowers. “That line there is all paintbrush. And the purple spiked ones are Horsemint.”

“Why are they so named? Do they taste of mint?” TK wondered aloud.

“I’m…not sure. I’ve never had occasion or urge to eat one. Perhaps the name means only horses would taste the mint, but Flor and Jimena do not seem so inclined either.” His chuckle was tacked on at the end, but it didn’t feel accusatory this time. It sounded as if TK had honestly stumped him with his question and he was considering the answer in earnest, but had ultimately come up short of a correct guess.

TK focused again on the sweeping little hills as they continued to trot along. “And the pink ones? What are they called?”

“Ah, I believe those are Evening Primrose. Those are the most prominent of the wildflowers here, as I’m sure you can tell. Quite boring to look at compared to the others, but a constant nonetheless.” His tone gave TK the impression that he, too, found the fields of flowers calming. It would make sense, seeing as this was his homeland. Or…was it?

“Have you always lived here? Or did your family come into the property recently?”

“My great-grandfather purchased the land at a pretty steep discount in twenty-six, just a couple of years after the Colonization Law took effect. He came far enough north that he wouldn’t be too crowded in with the rest of his countrymen, and settled the bit to the south of us, where the house is located. He did build it, but it was not as large as it is now. It’s been expanded with both generations since, I believe.”

“Your great-grandfather came from Mexico to settle?”

“Technically, this was Mexico still when he came, since the war for Independence was not won until thirty-six. But yes, he came from Guadalajara. He thought less over cultivated land would suit better for cattle ranching, and it turns out he was right. We now have three hundred head.” His voice was proud as he recounted the story, and TK was drawn in by the clear reverence he had for his family history. He wanted to hear more, so he asked after how the estate came to be so large.

“My grandfather negotiated the rest of the land from the tribes settled here at the time, which admittedly were so few in number that the endeavor was swift. He offered them fifty head and a handsome cash sum as well, and the deal was struck in accord. The tribe moved north to the central territories and are still there today I believe. We’ve had a few high ranking members as visitors in my youth, and they were always amiable and welcome.”

Mr. Reyes’ soft smile had drawn TK’s attention again and this time he let himself look. The man practically glowed as he talked of his heritage, his family, and it was rather intoxicating. TK wanted to ask after more, but it seemed they’d reach the aforementioned lake that they were to stop and break their fast beside. He allowed Flor to carry them to a stop at a suitable spot and dismounted, again allowing himself to watch as Mr. Reyes did the same. He was taken in by the same fluidity and grace as he had been the day previous, before their awful actual meeting.

TK was finding it hard to remember Mr. Reyes being crass yesterday, no matter how hard he tried.

In tandem, they spread out an extra saddle blanket in the grass, still slightly damp from the morning dew. Their provisions were divvied up and tea was poured into metal cups, and TK was just about to take his first sip when Mr. Reyes spoke, and his tone bade TK listen carefully.

“Mr. Strand—“

Without rightfully thinking about it, TK interrupted him with, “Please, you should call me TK. Well, my name is Tyler, but only my father calls me that. Friends call me TK.”

Mr. Reyes looked taken aback for a moment, possibly at the implication of friends , but TK kept his face impassive. He’d not have them making a mountain out of a grain of sand such as a name. They were to be business acquaintances anyway, and they should address each other as such. All of Owen’s partners called him by his first name, so TK took a page from his book by extending the offer. It would help keep his mind firmly on their business relationship.

It absolutely was not so he could hear his name, both sharp consonants of it, softened in Mr. Reyes’ steady timbre.

“TK,” he corrected, and the named man swallowed a sigh at being proven right about the sound of it coming off those lips. “I would like to—that is, I am committed to—well, what I would like to say is—“ he halted, frowning down at an apple clutched in his own hand. He set the apple aside, and turned to TK directly.

“TK, I mean to sincerely apologize for my behavior yesterday. It was rude and judgmental without cause, and I am sorry. I hope you can forgive me that transgression, as I do hope we are able to work together seamlessly in this partnership.”

It seemed sincere, TK thought. The man’s eyes were fervent and his face was open in a way it hadn’t been since the Strands had arrived. For a moment, TK was lost in those eyes that reflected the climbing sunrise off the water of the small lake like Mr. Reyes was radiating the warmth of goodwill through his very irises. His eyes were soft, inviting, shining with their earnestness. It was a long moment before he spoke, which Mr. Reyes seemed to take as reservation but was in fact TK pure preoccupation with studying the man’s face at the most inappropriate of times.

“I do hope I haven’t ruined things between my family and yours,” Mr. Reyes went on. “It’s just that I—well I’m quite attached to my home here and my pride is tied up in what my forefathers accomplished.”

“To see it broken up and sold off is to admit defeat that this generation could not hold the line,” TK finished for him, and his eyes grew wide.

“Yes, precisely.”

“I have misgivings about that kind of thing also. My father built such a tremendous enterprise—nothing like the Vanderbilts of course, but sprawling in reach nonetheless. I…find myself at times overwhelmed with the prospect of taking it on alone.” It must have been the country air, the absence of all human life for a few miles, and the still burgeoning sunrise combined that made his tongue so loose with such intimate thoughts. Surely he was losing control of his faculties if he was given to sharing his heart in this way, TK mused.

Even so, Mr. Reyes’ face had not closed off yet; it remained open and inviting to those thoughts and perhaps welling up with some of his own to share, now that the barrier had lost a few bricks and they could see each other over their respective sides of the wall they’d built over the previous day and evening.

“But, you won’t do it alone, will you? You cannot inherit until you marry, by law,” Mr. Reyes reminded him. Those deep brown eyes were on him again, somehow more liquid than before. TK must be imagining things now. He blinked the line of thought away.

“Yes, that’s true. But who’s to say I’ll marry a man who wants to be involved in the railroad business? My true love may be a man of the arts, constantly shut away in his studio creating pieces to adorn our home and teaching our children to appreciate the craft of them. Or he may be a man strongly devoted to politics and spend months away from home campaigning for the betterment of the American people. Or he may prefer the country life to the city, and I must remain in the city for the business for the bulk of the year. So you see, I may yet end up running the business alone, even if my life will not be spent in solitude. If I marry for love, I’ll be glad of that connection regardless if I get help with the business. Help is not what I’ll be marrying; it will be companionship outside of worldly endeavors that will make it worthwhile.” The picture he’d painted for himself inside his head was content, and he noticed he’d closed his eyes for a moment while he’d intimated the details to Mr. Reyes.

When he opened his eyes and refocused on his company, he saw Mr. Reyes duck his head slightly, a faint blush high on his tanned cheekbones. TK wondered if the other man was embarrassed of the intimate turn their conversation had taken, and hurried to move them to more casual topics.

“I do apologize, Mr. Reyes, I did not mean to be overly familiar with you. God above, it must be the early hour that has me as yet unable to master all my faculties.”

“No, please, do not apologize. I simply—that is—I do…admire your candor and conviction. Marrying for love is not rare, but it is not the standard. To be so assured of your path in life is enviable. I admit I haven’t given much thought to it myself.”

“You don’t think of who you’ll marry?” TK asked. He’d thought of nothing else since he was a boy.

At this, Mr. Reyes’ eyes turned down for a moment, a cloud of something passing over his features before the sun shone through his expression again. “Not in the sense you’ve described, no. I supposed I always knew I would marry, because I knew I would not inherit the estate—though I do envy Rosa a bit—but I’ve never imagined what kind of man I would spend my life with. I always assumed I’d know who he was when he came along.”

Their eyes met and for a moment not even the crickets or birds or any other constantly buzzing creature could be heard. TK was the first to break it, albeit in a slightly hushed tone.

“And he hasn’t come along yet?” he asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Mr. Reyes answered. He looked disinclined to elaborate. They gazed at each other a moment longer before Mr. Reyes broke the contact and gestured to their spread. “We should partake of Mrs. Smith’s generous meal. It seems she packed for much more than three this morning,” he laughed, and it only sounded a little forced. “I assure you, the fresh bacon cooked in rosemary will change your perspective on life the moment it hits your tongue.”

TK took the change in subject gracefully, also keen to step back from the precipice they’d found themselves on much too early in their acquaintance, truth be told. They’d forgotten themselves but no harm had been done, and they could go on as intended—as short-term business collaborators only.

_______

They rode the rest of the way around the western perimeter as the sun reached higher in the sky, Mr. Reyes pointing out landmarks here and there. Ostensibly this outing was for TK to survey the land for it’s viability for their project, and he was doing so, but he was also enamored with Mr. Reyes’ ability to guide them along with enthusiasm and grace. It was very clear the man loved his home and was deeply proud of it, and TK was entranced when he talked.

By the time they reached the apple orchard, TK had stopped deluding himself that he wasn’t fond of Mr. Reyes. He’d had his misgivings from the beginning, and for good reason, but there was a good man underneath the initial prickliness. Mr. Reyes could be likened to a cat protecting its young. Docile for the most part until his family was threatened, and TK could see where he’d felt that way initially. Mr. Reyes had come around quickly though and TK was not sure how much of that was due to his mother’s insistence and how much was just their conversation on this journey around the property in the early morning light.

“It smells so heavenly here,” TK mused aloud as the horses picked their way between the lines of trees. To be able to be abreast of each other to properly hold a conversation, the horses were so close that occasionally TK’s knee or thigh brushed against Mr. Reyes’. It startled him each time, even though he’d come to expect it. He supposed it startled his body but not his mind, which was a disconcerting feeling indeed, but not altogether unpleasant.

“They are called Gala apples. They thrive quite well here in the moderate rain. Would you like to try one?” Mr. Reyes asked. TK nodded with a small smile, and watched as Mr. Reyes dismounted Jimena and left her untethered. He turned back to TK and held out his hand. “Come along, it tastes better if you fetch it from the tree yourself,” he teased.

TK stared at the outstretched hand before taking it and dismounting gracefully, coming familiarly close to Mr. Reyes for the second time that day. This time, only their hands were touching as opposed to their whole bodies—as they had been on the stairs that morning—but it felt almost more intimate. TK noticed that they’d paused to regard one another again as they had multiple times on this journey. However, as they had done each time, they broke their gazes and their contact and went on as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. The only problem was that each time it happened—and this incident more than all he rest—set his heart aflutter in such a way as to distract from all else in the moment. It took him increasingly longer to come back to himself each time.

He watched as Mr. Reyes took a wooden-runged ladder from a pile on the ground and set it against the trunk of the nearest tree. Deftly, he climbed a few feet, reached up, and plucked a ripe bit of fruit from one of the lower branches before coming down off the ladder assuredly, his steps practiced as if he’d done this a thousand times before. Perhaps he had.

TK held his hand out for the fruit, but Mr. Reyes pulled it back and away. “Ah, ah. This one is mine. I told you, it tastes better if you fetch it yourself. I set your example, now it’s your turn,” he said, spitefully taking bite out of his prize, then using it to gesture to the ladder.

Unfettered by Mr. Reyes’ teasing, TK was determined to show that he could keep up with his companion’s prowess. He approached the ladder, assessing it for any weak points before tentatively stepping onto the first rung. It bowed gently under his weight, and he paused a moment to gather himself.

He felt a hand upon his hip and froze for a moment, feeling distinctly untethered. Looking down, TK saw Mr. Reyes’ earnest eyes on him, one hand steadying TK on the ladder and the other still casually consuming his fruit. He gave TK a reassuring smile and nodded in the direction of the tree, encouraging.

The climb to the correct height took TK a bit longer than it had the cowboy who was used to such endeavors, but he managed. He plucked a juicy-looking specimen from a close branch before carefully climbing down, deliberately placing each footfall for optimum support from the wooden rungs below him. It was slow and arduous, but he accomplished it.

Once landed on the ground, he held up his spoil triumphantly. Mr. Reyes smiled.

“And now, Mr. City Gentleman, you have farmed apples!” He declared.

TK bit his lip for a half-second before being unable to hold back his mirthful laughter. His eyes crinkled and his cheeks ached with it, and it felt so good that he didn’t notice his companion was gazing at him once more, admiration and awe in his expression. When his laughter came down to a more manageable level a few seconds later, they were caught in each other once again, as they had been many times that day. TK’s smile was still spread across his face and he looked up through his lashes at Mr. Reyes to see a serenity over his countenance that had yet to be shown since they’d known each other.

It was beautiful.

Just as quickly as the moment had began, it passed, with Mr. Reyes fingering his collar away from his neck in what seemed like a nervous gesture. “The heat is beginning to get oppressive,” he offered in explanation, though said heat was not yet unbearable in the slightest. “We should retreat to the safety of the house.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I wonder if our parents have concluded their negotiations for the day. I’d like to convene with my father to let him know what I’ve seen.”

“Of course, well. Shall we?” Mr. Reyes gestured down the path between the trees, Jimena’s reins held loosely in his hand as he led her on foot. TK grabbed Flor’s lead and followed in quiet contemplation. He realized his manners had slipped.

“Thank you, Mr. Reyes, for this tour. It was enlightening, as well as a pleasant diversion.”

“You are most welcome. And please, call me Carlos. After all, we are to be friends, as you put it.” His smile was radiant.

“Carlos,” TK tried out the name on his tongue with a nod. It tasted like the smoothest brandy, and TK felt like he was already drunk off of one sip.

“I wanted to reiterate my apology, to make sure it is clear. I judged you and your father before I allowed you to state your intentions. Your plans for the land, so far as you’ve told me, will not impact our operation negatively and I get the distinct feeling it is your mission to keep things that way as you work your way across the country. So I thank you for your discretion, and I once again humbly ask you to forgive my behavior yesterday.”

“It is already forgiven!” TK tells him, wanting to put any and all ill will behind them after such a glorious morning. “Do not worry over it any longer. Let us be friends from this day forth.”

Carlos smiled so wide it momentarily arrested TK’s heart.

They reached the house in due course to find Elena on the porch frantically waving a piece of paper in her delicate hands. They tethered the horses to the post off the side of the house and approached. The girl looked as if she could barely form words through her excitement.

“Carlos!” She cried as they ascended the steps and removed their hats. “Guess who’s coming to the ball tomorrow night!”

“I’m sure you will tell me without me having to guess,” her brother teased good-naturedly, sharing a conspiratorial smile with TK as they passed into the foyer.

“Mr. de Castillo,” Elena said, giving the name a weight that surely meant something, but which TK could not discern. He’d never heard the name before, but then again he did not know the upper class set of this region well enough to know their names and statuses that might warrant such excitement.

When TK turned to face Carlos, he wondered what Elena could find so appealing that her brother seemed to find mildly horrifying, judging by his expression. His eyes cut to TK and they almost looked…guilty.

Elena went on, oblivious to her brother’s distress. “His letter is posted from Santa Fe nearly two weeks ago, and he says he should arrive just in time to dress and attend. Isn’t that marvelous news, Carlos? He hasn’t come east since the fall. Oh how we’ve all missed him.” She put emphasis on certain parts of her sentence that didn’t entirely make sense to TK, but he could feel a growing lump in the pit of his stomach as he watched Carlos’ face drain of color slightly.

“He sounds like a character who’s good to know, if his presence at a dance excites you this much,” he offered to Elena to try and ease the focus off of Carlos, for he seemed unable to speak at that moment.

“Oh, it’s not me he excites,” Elena said, cutting her eyes to TK’s right, smirking but saying nothing more. TK did not turn to look at Carlos again, because that lump in his stomach was getting heavier the more Elena talked and he was not rightfully sure he could put a name to it just yet. Looking at Carlos’ guilty face was surely to spell it out quicker than he’d like. He halted his train of thought and plowed on.

“Well, I look forward to meeting this esteemed Mr. de Castillo. You said he’s not come east—do you mean to say he is from the west coast?”

“Yes, San Fransisco! His father rushed there in forty-nine and made quite the coup. They’re able to give the Rockefellers a run for their money, I’d wager,” she said. “And he’s so handsome as well.”

That bit tacked on at the end was again delivered with a weighted look at Carlos which TK again ignored.

He was saved from replying to Elena’s last comment by his father and the Doña appearing in the foyer.

“What’s got everyone in a fuss?” Owen asked.

“Mr. Fernando de Castillo is coming to the ball tomorrow night!” Elena exclaimed, elated to share her momentous news with anyone who would listen.

“De Castillo…” Owen pondered, “Is that Isador de Castillo’s boy? Of San Fransisco?”

“Yes, the very same. Mr. de Castillo the younger visits us quite often, as he’s got business back east with his company and likes to stop for a week or so on his way through. We’ve all grown quite fond of him, especially Car—“

“That’s quite enough, Elena. The Mr.’s Strand are not interested in country gossip. Run along and find Constance to start your lessons. Your sisters are already studying while you’ve been flitting about.” The Doña’s voice was firm and clearly dismissive. She glanced at her son and TK in turn, before turning her attention back to Owen. “Mr. Strand, might we all go into the drawing room for tea? Our sons can regale us of their journey around the property.”

Owen’s smile was wide and eager as he looked to the two young men. “Of course, I cannot wait to hear your thoughts on the land, TK. The Doña and I will also impart to you what we’ve agreed upon thus far, though there are still the finer details to work out.”

Carlos immediately followed Owen into the room off the left side of the foyer, barely sparing TK a glance in contrast to all their lingering looks throughout the morning. That, combined with Elena’s cryptic words regarding their future guest, unsettled TK more than he would have liked. Still, he was determined to soldier on in his mission to become good friends and business partners with Carlos and the rest of the Reyes’, and he’d not let a silly thing like a matter of the heart—which may not even exist—get in his way.

#tarlos #tarlos fic #911 lone star #911ls #tk strand #carlos reyes #brooke writes

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tenmillionwhumperflies · 3 years

Text

Cloudwalker Series Part 18

You know the meme where the cat is surrounded by knives with a smug look on their face? Can’t help but wonder if that’s how I’m gonna end up by the end of this. Starts off with really cute fluff and then plummets down into angsty whumpy fun times.

Warnings: Contains injuries such as claw marks and bites, blood, characters having panic attacks, big scars from amputations, and a bit of nudity.

Master-list Here

Approx WC: 3400 (I pondered splitting this one in half but I decided nah)

The time was passing by faster than Blue wanted it to, but he was also enjoying himself. For the first time in a long time, he felt like a cloudwalker again. He liked being able to play and roll around with Ihuka, to spend time with Dyan relaxing and enjoy each other's company in the early mornings while Ihuka was still asleep. Blue liked talking to him, he liked how he listened and didn’t interrupt and just... always managed to say the right thing. He wished he didn’t have to go.

Since lifting him and Dyan up in the air, Avizon had been confined to his bed while Orrien had looked after him and treated his fever. Blue felt guilty about it, he should have known that Avizon would be drained. Orrien had swatted those concerns of his away, insisting it wasn’t his fault. Avizon had offered to do it, and had done it.

It seemed like a mild enough illness, or at least, Orrien had told them not to worry. He was asleep most of the time, just getting it out of his system by resting. It had meant the birds had been free to do whatever they wanted, and that had been to stay with Blue.

Blue had struggled to get the image of Avizon out of his mind. He’d looked so sick and pale and his eyes were dark and dull. Blue had brought him soup a few times and Avizon had looked awful. His breathing had been raspy, but he’d managed to force himself up, to mumble a thanks and eat maybe a quarter of the bowl. but he was healing more and more. Avizon scared him more than he wanted to admit. He’d really hurt Ihuka, and he couldn’t help but fear making a wrong move, even if Orrien reassured him that Avizon had changed and certainly wouldn’t hurt him.

But around Dyan, he felt safe… he didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like Dyan could protect him. Perhaps it was because they’d had similar experiences- whatever it was, it was good. He was glad he had friends like Dyan and Ihuka now. The days weren’t so lonely and long...

The night before, the three of them had climbed onto the roof to stargaze. It was an activity Blue did more than he liked to admit, dreaming about the days when he’s been able to fly up there to try to meet them. He’d wanted to share it with them. Dyan had really loved it up there, and the three had eaten liquorice together. Blue had given Ihuka and Dyan some fruit too. Ihuka had been very confused by the taste and the texture, but after a few confused bites, he’d grown to enjoy it. Nectarines were Blue’s favourite fruit that Orrien was able to get for him. Dyan wasn’t quite so horrified by the idea of eating the fruit, but he’d been awkward with eating it, trying to catch all the juice that dripped down his arms.

Blue smiled to himself as he lay in bed between the two of them as the sun peeked through the window. They’d all stayed up late, and Dyan had ended up falling asleep against Blue’s shoulder on the roof, holding his hand as a reassurance. He’d been afraid of getting caught or falling off. But Blue had managed to comfort him.

They had indeed been caught, not that they were in trouble. Dyan had stayed asleep, a good sign as to how relaxed he had become. Orrien had managed to carefully carry him downstairs and back to bed. Blue and Ihuka had snuggled up to him and they’d fallen asleep.

But now he was a little late for caring for the horses, so he couldn’t savour the peace. He crept out of bed, though unsuccessfully. Dyan woke up, opening one eye. “Huh… when did I...”

“Orrien carried you down, you fell asleep,” Blue explained, shoving on his big boots. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, “You wanna come?” Dyan nodded quickly and made his way out of the mess of blankets and wings. He’d only just gotten out of the bed when the door opened to reveal Orrien.

“I have a spot of news. Avizon’s fever has broken. He intends to go home tomorrow.” Blue’s face fell. “Alright...”

Orrien ruffled his hair and smiled softly. “Don’t be glum, lad. So today, I want you to all go and have fun. Chores are cancelled today.” What? No, he couldn’t let Orrien do everything on his own, he was old. “But-” “I can manage, Blue, and besides, I want Avizon to prove he’s as healed as he says he is. It’s his turn.”

Blue sighed and let his head drop for a moment, “If you’re sure, thank you… I was wondering if we could go to the lake today?” “Hmm, it’s a little further out than I’d like you to be, but I can go with you and forage.” Blue nodded, “Thank you. I would like that.”

Orrien nodded. “Well then, it seems you’d best try to wake Ihuka up.”

Orrien left and Blue and Dyan looked at each other. Dyan grinned shyly and picked up a pillow, before hitting Ihuka on his buttocks. Hard enough to feel it, but not enough to startle him and scare him. Ihuka grumbled and reached for it, throwing it back at Dyan. It managed to hit him in the face with a soft oof, so Dyan hit him again, a little harder and in the back.

“Wake up, wake up! We can go and play in the lake today!” Dyan cheeped, hitting him again and again with the soft pillow until he finally turned onto his back, taking care not to pluck out any feathers. Dyan tossed the pillow onto him, leaving it to just lie on his face. “How can you be so awake?...” Ihuka groaned. He yawned and sat up.

The three of them got ready quickly, and they heard Orrien and Avizon outside.

“Are you trying to rip my stitches?” “You’re going to manage that without my help, m’boy,” Orrien said. “My point is you’re not healed enough. What are you so determined to get back for?” "There are things that need guarding in the castle and I don't want some maniac getting their hands on them. Besides, I feel a lot safer in a castle than a little farm."

“Didn’t I teach you feel safe within yourself and abilities, not a place?” “Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean a castle isn’t more fortified than a farmhouse.” Orrien studied him for a moment. “You’re dependent on it… You haven’t left for so long… even as the most powerful man.”

Avizon sighed and shook his head, but then he looked up at the window and spotted the three of them. Blue and Dyan tried to hide, but Ihuka stayed standing, unaware the others had moved. Avizon shook his head and smiled.

They made their way downstairs once they were all ready and once Orrien was ready, they set off. Avizon was happier staying at the house, finishing tending to the animals and then he could sit and rest for the rest of the day.

Blue kept close to Orrien as they walked, keeping his head constantly moving, looking for danger, for the threat of men. “You’re alright, Blue,” Orrien said softly. “You’re safe and you’re going to have a fun day, remember? You can spend a few hours by the lake and play.”

Blue nodded slowly and took a deep breath to calm himself. “Yes… i.it’s going to be fun,” Blue said softly. “I’m safe… I’m safe.” Dyan inched closer to him and offered him a hand to hold. Blue took it with a shy smile. Orrien raised an eyebrow before shrugging and smiling. “Good lad. Here we are anyway.”

They made it to the lake and Orrien set down a basket full of fruit and meats and then a towel for them to share. “Remember, Blue,” Orrien said gently. “If anything happens, which I doubt, but if. Pretend to be a human. It’s awful, but pretend that you own them, that you’re minding them for me. It will keep you safe.”

Blue nodded silently.

Orrien smiled, ruffled his hair, and left them to play. Ihuka went straight into the water and splashed around, putting his head half under and blowing bubbles, and spending the time to wash his feathers. Dyan was hesitant.

“What’s wrong?” Blue asked him gently “T.the water… I’ve… I’ve never...” Blue’s face fell. “You’ve never been in real water- like outside water?” Dyan lowered his head. “I’m sorry. I’ve never even seen something like this before... I didn’t think it’d be scary, but...”

Blue took off his boots and then reached for his shirt but paused. He didn’t want all his clothes to get soaked, but he was also self-conscious. He felt the joints twitching in his back, joints that had once served the purpose of carrying his wings. His scars from where he’d had his wings removed weren’t clean cuts, and they’d healed badly. He hadn’t planned on really going in the water, but if Dyan had never even gotten to see something like this, well, he had to help him. He’d lived and lost, but Dyan had never gotten to experience it. He took off his shirt and took a deep breath. Dyan understood scars, he wasn’t afraid to show him. He took his pants off but left his undergarments on.

Blue held out his hand. “Trust me.”

Dyan bit his lip but nodded. Blue waited until he’d taken off most of his clothes and then Dyan took his hand. They waded forward together, but Dyan paused before his feet touched the water. “Just one little step,” Blue said softly.

Dyan closed his eyes tight and jumped, making Blue’s legs cold and wet. “Well, that wasn’t little, but you did it!” Blue cheeped. “It’s cold!“ he shrieked with a giggle.

He watched as Dyan stood fascinated for a moment, before he started to move around, to kick his legs out. He let out a happy trill noise and waded deeper, up to his hips. He splashed and giggled and Blue joined him, letting himself be silly for a little while.

Ihuka showed Dyan how to bathe his wings in the water, and Dyan seemed to really enjoy it. They played and had contests to see who could throw the pebbles the furthest, and Blue went for a swim, but Dyan and Ihuka were too afraid to follow with the weight of their wings.

Blue guessed over an hour had passed, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it had been longer. He was getting cold, so he put his shirt back on and his boots after struggling to get all the sand and gravel off his feet. They all sat by the lake and ate, snuggling together under blankets to warm up.

Life was good, and it was better by Dyan, but then Blue paused, hearing something. Ihuka froze too. Blue heard it again, the soft whoosh. That was someone flying, and true enough, when he looked up, he saw a white winged cloudwalker.

And they were flying right towards him, with their teeth bared and claws ready.

Ihuka shrieked out a warning and Blue tried to get up to run, to move, but the cloudwalker was fast. They tumbled backwards with the massive weight slamming into him. Blue cried out, feeling claws dig into his shoulder and skin tear. Instincts made him fight, to try to claw and bite like he used to but he had no nails, and he had no fangs. He was-

“Human!” the cloudwalker hissed. It snapped at his throat and Blue barely managed to push him to the side, saving his throat, but he bit his shoulder. Blue screamed but he didn’t get the time to do anything else. Ihuka dived at the cloudwalker, but he clawed at Ihuka’s chest, knocking him back as he did so just long enough to drag Blue into the air. Blue let out a mercy squeak.

Dyan screeched and leapt up, flapping his wings hard, just getting high enough to grab Blue’s leg, to be able to reach the other cloudwalker and actually started to fight him in midair. Biting, scratching, snarling, the noise was awful and brought the panic to spike in Blue’s chest, but Dyan’s midair fight forced the cloudwalker to let go of Blue.

Blue clamped his eyes shut, bracing for hitting the hard stone ground, but he was met by air. He dared to open his eyes and saw Orrien at the treeline, his hand outstretched. He looked over to see Dyan had also been caught from falling, covered in blood and whimpering. The cloudwalker screeched at the two of them. “Stupids!” He shouted. “He’s human! You’re prisoners! Fight! Flee!”

“He’s one of us!” Ihuka roared. “Leave him alone!”

The cloudwalker landed on the ground, fluffing up his feathers with his teeth bared, oh so ready to fight. Ihuka did the same and Dyan dragged himself up despite the pain he was in and followed suit, and he was a lot bigger. They were both in between Blue and the new cloudwalker, snapping and snarling, hurling threats back and forth. But Blue didn’t care. He had to go. He knew there was a little cave close by, just on the side of the cliff behind them. He couldn’t stay here.

As soon as Orrien put him on the ground he sprinted off, doing the only thing he was good for now, and that was hiding, letting others fight his battles for him because he was powerless. Human. Blood streamed down his body from his wounds. He heard the squawking and squealing of a small fight but then he heard flapping again and squeaked, “let me go! They took my wings, please! They took my wings!”

“You speak?!” But Blue didn’t answer, he kept running, rushing into the little nook, not caring how he hit his body on the rocks and left bruises. He wedged himself in the little gap and struggled to not sob. He hoped this was enough to keep him safe. He didn’t want to fight, he didn’t want to bleed and hurt any more. Not anymore. He’d suffered enough for a lifetime.

The cloudwalker stopped right beside the opening of the cave and Blue whined. He kicked off one of his boots and threw it at the cloudwalker who growled. He stared at his foot for a little while. “I couldn’t stop them,” Blue whispered, “The other humans… they took everything… Please just go, leave me alone. I’m sorry- f.for whatever I’ve done I’m sorry!”

“You should be dead, ghost. How are you alive?”

Blue curled up, but after a few short moments, the others came running up to him, finally catching up. The cloudwalker hissed at them and flew up into the air and disappeared from sight. Blue could only shudder and take in just how many scratches he had as well as the bites. He knew cloudwalkers in this area had venom which could paralyse their prey. He was lucky the venom didn’t seem to be working very well, but he still felt awful from it, sluggish, and tired, but he could move.

The others were here now. Blue whimpered, but he wouldn’t move. He was scared, it was just more proof that he wasn’t a cloudwalker anymore, that neither side wanted him. He cried into his knees and curled up tight.

“Blue?” Orrien called gently. “It’s safe, lad. He’s gone. Are you hurt?”

Blue couldn’t calm down, couldn’t stop crying. Orrien tried to inch his way forward, but Blue whimpered and that was Orrien’s queue to stop. “Blue? Oh, lad, shhhhhh. It’s okay. You’re safe now… You’re bleeding, can I come and see them?”

“I just want to be happy,” Blue cried. “Why can’t I be happy?! What did I do wrong? W.what did...” his sobs got too strong and he couldn’t find his words. He choked on his tears. He hit the ground beneath him, screaming, groaning, crying uncontrollably.

“It’s not like that Blue… Come on, lad, please let me get to you. Let me take away the pain.”

But he just couldn’t stop crying. He shook his head and looked up in the sky. Blue had heard scary stories before about ghosts and monsters, stories where characters had known the things were out there. He knew how they felt, and he was terrified of that cloudwalker coming back, just like one of those monsters.

Dyan inched closer on all fours, carrying a deep cut on his shoulder and dozens of other injuries, but he didn’t seem to care. “Blue… do you trust me?” he asked quietly. “It’s not you that I don’t trust. I.It’s out there… No one wants me, everyone just wants to hurt me.”

“I don’t, Ihuka doesn’t, Orrien doesn’t,” Dyan said. “We want to protect you. You’re not alone.”

Blue was reluctant to look up at him, his eyes were full of tears and his lip trembled.

Orrien decided to step back, to give Dyan a chance to speak to him. Blue didn’t want to leave that little space, he was safe, he was secure, he was away from the pain.

Dyan reached forward, only with his hand. It was a relief on his mind when Dyan spoke the human language. The thought stung. He was forgetting his own language... “Can you hold my hand?” Dyan asked.

Blue swallowed hard but managed to do that. His hand was shaking so badly. He sat like that for a few moments, holding onto Dyan’s hand like it was a lifeline. “Will you trust me? We will all keep you safe and I promise that they’ve gone,” Dyan said.

Blue was hesitant, but when Dyan took a step back, Blue couldn’t let go of his hand. He didn’t want to, so he had to move a little further forward. He stared up at the sky, waiting for something to jump on him, but nothing did. The skies were bright and sunny just as they were before.

“Trust me,” Dyan whispered, taking another step back. Blue had the choice to let go, he could have shied away and hidden back inside, but Dyan’s expression was so calm and reassuring. It shouldn’t have been. He held on tight to Dyan’s hand, it was an anchor point and he didn’t want to let it go. Guilt chewed at him, knowing that Dyan was hurt, he was bleeding, he’d been attacked and here he was trying to help him out of his little cave of safety. He wasn’t getting the help because he was so determined to help him.

Another step, then Blue stopped, he was right at the edge of the mouth. Any further and he’d be in the open. Ihuka put his wing over the cave, like an extended roof. Orrien gave him gentle praise. A deep breath, and after a gentle squeeze from Dyan, he was finally out.

He was out, but now he was shaking, and he’d frozen up, still clinging to Dyan’s hand. Dyan came closer to him, letting him wrap his arms around him. Dyan used his wings to shield him from view. Blue let out a weak sob and fell to his knees.

“Stay here, I’ll be back in the blink of an eye,” Orrien said.

He wasn’t exaggerating. He put a hand on Ihuka’s shoulder and teleported away. Blue whimpered, but no sooner had he finished the noise, Orrien was back.

“Now you two, let’s get you home.” He held out a hand, and Blue took it with a gulp while he held onto Dyan.

When he opened his eyes again, he was back at the house, back in his room. He sobbed. He’d ended today so badly. He’d been so happy and now he was a trembling mess.

Orrien hushed him gently and eased both Dyan and Blue into sitting on the bed. Orrien managed to cup Blue’s cheek without him shying away.

“It’s alright, lad. That was a hard thing you had to go through… I’m going to heal your wounds, some of these are too deep to leave. You too Dyan, that was a nasty little scrap you got into.”

Dyan nodded silently, still holding Blue’s hand. Blue couldn’t help but lean against him. He was getting tired, everything was slowing down, fading off into nothing. Maybe it was the venom, maybe his feelings were just too strong, or it was blood loss, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. He had Dyan next to him, that’s all he needed for now.

“Blue? Eyes open, lad. Blue- Blue!”

But Blue was already asleep.

Sorry not sorry I had to hurt the boi.

#Cloudwalker series #whump #attacked #Blue you're a precious bab and I'm sorry but you're just so whumpable #Blue #Dyan #Ihuka #Orrien #Avizon #mystery cloudwalker muahahahaha #tw:blood #And look at Dyan being all protective and managing to draw him out #I ship those two so much I can't help it I made this ship and I will die on it

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smuggsy · 3 years

Note

Can I have a "i sleep better in your bed" for flyboys please 🥺

All right, I know those are supposed to be comfort prompts but I didn’t quite get there. Just a helpless pining Collins for you, my friend.

Collins doesn't fall into unhealthy habits. He thinks it must have something to do with him coming from a very small village, born into an even smaller family. An early bird that took care of the farm in the wee hours of the morning when everyone else enjoyed an hour or two of extra sleep.

A fag or two a day? That's alright, it's only common in the ranks; but he's never been one for alcohol. It would serve a purpose, he thinks, as he turns on his bed for the third time that minute.

Maybe if he knocked down a pint or two he'd get a wink of sleep on this godforsaken place. Which is anything but forsaken, of course. Quite the opposite. They've been sent out to an airfield in Croydon and it's beaming with personnel and new recruits being noisy and chipper, the word "inexperienced" written all over their faces.

Collins knows that's about to change, and he turns once again on his bed as that intruding thought downs on him at 2 in the morning. They've been transferred here for a reason and he reckons any day now the Luftwaffe will give those cheerful new lads a reason to finally get in the air and they will soon have no extra energy to burn off, no impromptu football matches to organize, no more bets to make on their card games.

At that, he finally sits up on his bed and weights his chances. He'd promised himself he wouldn't do this again. It was just a one-night thing, and he didn't even ask for permission to go and use someone else's bed.

(Although, to be fair, Farrier wasn't there to be asked. If he'd been, he'd have probably kicked him back to his own bed with a gruffly grunt.)

There is no infestation of ants round this side of the room tonight, so tonight he's got no real reason to scoot over to the opposite bed and lay down on it, the same thin and overly-soft army-issued mattress underneath but feeling much more comfortable.

Because it smells like Farrier.

Fuck it. He's always up before anyone else and Farrier won't be here till six.

And he's going to be awful tired for his early flight tomorrow morning if he doesn't get a proper four hours of shut-eye.

Farrier's not here.

What Farrier doesn't know won't hurt him.

So, in the dead of night, with about twenty-five other pilots sound asleep, he tiptoes over and gets under the covers with a sigh, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes shutting close with easiness at the familiar smell.

Collins doesn't really have any unhealthy habits.

But this may just be becoming one.

* * *

He's over by the runway when Farrier meets him at eight. His hair is wet and he looks very clean, and Collins actually hears him approaching before he sees him. That same cadence to his footsteps, careless and easy-going yet firmly getting closer.

"Morning," Farrier says, and Jenkins nods his way. Collins finishes fastening up his lifejacket and turns around to greet him, smell of coffee filling the air.

And also the smell of shampoo.

"'Elo," he says with a smile, avoiding Farrier's intent stare because it feels weird, because he really needs to stop using his bed every night when he can't sleep, because it's a violation of his privacy and it's wrong and it's becoming a thing, "good night?"

"Uneventful," Farrier shrugs and he comes closer to stand next to him with his cup of coffee, his free hand buried deep inside the front pocket of his navy-blue trousers, "you'll have a quiet day as well, I reckon."

"I hope not," Jenkins blurts out, turning around and heading for his own Spitfire at seeing their Squadron Leader hopping up, mumbling something about Jerries and the weather forecast.

Collins turns to Farrier with an awkward smile, feeling immensely inadequate standing next to him and smelling that same scent from up close. That's what his pillowcase smells like.

Stop it.

He clears his throat and checks his lifejacket's in place again, unaware of how twitchy he's behaving. Unaware of Farrier following his every nervous movement with an almost-smirk on his face.

"See ya then," he says in lieu of a goodbye, but when he takes a step forward Farrier catches his arm and stops him from leaving.

Collins turns around with sweat on his brow.

"What's up with you?"

"What? Nothing - stomachache. Milk was sour, I think. Good thing yer havin’ coffee," he rants, gesturing towards the half-empty cup Farrier's holding, ignoring the way his ex wing-mate is frowning at him like he's grown a second head, "I need to go."

Farrier's still got a hold of him and he frowns unapprovingly for a couple more seconds before stepping back. Collins makes a run for the cockpit and keeps his eyes forward until they take off.

They're not even out for sixty minutes before they must head back, storm looming over London and air so wet and hot they all make a beeline for the showers soon as they step back on land.

Collins keeps himself busy. He replies to a letter, he plays some poker, he sits down by Hugh when he picks up his guitar and starts singing away the afternoon.

And one too many times he finds Farrier looking at him from afar.

Just looking. Pondering. Not approaching.

He must know he's avoiding him, Collins thinks, and he feels like an idiot. Like a jittery teenager every time he glances around to find Farrier smiling at something his wingmates say but meeting his gaze immediately when he finds him looking.

The sky falling outside doesn't help a single bit.

There's nowhere to go.

When Farrier approaches him, like he'd been waiting for Jenkins to go away to come and chat, Collins runs a hand over his eyes and nods towards him, tired of the idleness and tired of his very useless infatuation.

Maybe he should stop turning down invitations from pretty birds at the pub and have some fun. Fuck the image of Farrier away from his brain, have his very musky scent erased from his memory and replaced by some soft flowery perfume.

"Alright?" Farrier greets.

Collins answers with a sigh and lights up a fag.

"Fuckin' bored," he says, with the cigarette in between his lips and leaning against the window overlooking the runway. It's immensely dark outside, save for one or two bolts of lightning flashing prettily in the distance.

Farrier lets out a laugh next to him.

"You sound like the boys," he comes round to block Collins' view and his eyes glitter with mischief as he takes a bite of his very red apple, "you should know better. Enjoy a quiet day for once."

He offers him the apple as he chews, and Collins shakes his head and can't help but smile at his air of playfulness, the awkward exchange of looks feeling distant and utterly silly.

This is Farrier.

They've been together since they got their wings.

Just his mate.

Nothing else.

"Yeah, well," Collins takes a deep draw and when he talks next, the smoke goes in Farrier's direction, "maybe they're growing on me."

"Yeah," Farrier says, half-heartedly like his mind's someplace else, and he just stares.

From then on, it starts getting awkward again and Collins shifts his weight from foot to foot, at a loss for words and feeling like he's being read like an open book.

It feels like ages before Farrier gestures towards him with the half-eaten apple again and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"You have a very nice cologne, don't think I ever said."

Collins almost chokes.

But it's just smoke in his throat so he simply plays it off as a cough.

"Quite strong," Farrier continues; Collins feels like his soul is leaving his body, like he's imploding, like he's about to pass out, "but nice."

He looks around, maybe someone nearby will come and drag him out of this situation, out of this conversation, is Jenkins gone off already?

"My bedsheets stink of it."

Oh fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Dear me, don't look so mortified!" Farrier laughs, he laughs, "I don't mind, but someone will notice, and they'll start talkin'."

Oh fuck, we are having this conversation.

"Shite, look - sorry, I'm sorry, I just, it's - I dunno," yes you do, you do know, you bleedin' idiot, "I sleep better in yer bed, I won' do it again."

"Do it all you want.”

And Collins stops himself from blurting out any more apologies at that, frozen in place whereas Farrier looks positively amused by the whole affair.

The fact that he's taking it so lightly is almost insulting.

"You wha'?" Collins blinks stupidly.

Farrier checks that no-one else is within earshot and shifts the slightest bit closer to him. Just a silent and quick look around that sends off alarms in Collins' brain.

The Scot swallows through a very dry throat and he most definitely doesn't look down at Farrier's throat when he swallows another piece of his apple, that very sweet apple he can smell from where he's standing.

"Is this why you've been avoiding me lately? Acting all weird because you've been sleeping in my bed?"

Collins makes a face. Farrier laughs again, the bastard.

"God, don't say it like that, ye make it sound-"

"What? I make it sound what?"

Collins can't make a sound. He can only look at Farrier, with his hazelnut twinkling eyes staring right into his soul, the brightest of lightning making his pupils go small for half a second, those juicy lips that would most definitely taste of fruit, the collar of his shirt buttoned-down, the suspenders firmly in place on top of both wide shoulders and BANG!

The loudest and closest thunder so far sinks the whole hall into deep darkness, only the very dim light from cigarette tips visible here and there. A collective wave of groans and colourful swearwords can be heard all throughout.

Collins jumps in his place at the sudden deafening sound, and instantly two strong arms come to grab each side of his shoulders to prevent him from moving, and he can't see a thing but he can feel, he can feel Farrier's fingers grabbing insistently at the fabric around his biceps and he can feel him suddenly leaning closer.

And he can feel him kiss him too.

Deep and needy and just a flash.

Like that lightning.

So fast and unpredictable it leaves him heaving for breath and needing to brace himself against the thick window glass. It leaves him tasting apple.

#as always me failing at portraying a scottish accent #(sorry)#i love writing these two #i love writing awkward collins tbh it's like my trademark #poor cols lol i just keep embarrassing him #thank you sm for the prompt!#also i know these are supposed to be fic STARTERS but ehhhh... yeah #dunkirk #dunkirk fanfic #dunkirk 2017 #farrier #collins #farrier/collins #collins/farrier #collins x farrier #flyboys #pilot husbands #mine #my writing

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29-pieces · 4 years

Text

Whumptober day 1: Good Omens

Happy Whumptober!! I did Good Omens and The Musketeers (BBC version) this year, alternating every day. All of these will also be on my AO3 and fanfiction.net accounts and I’ll attach the links ^_^ ~*~ Day One: Waking Up Restrained Fandom: Good Omens read on AO3 read on FF.net

~*~

Aziraphale, as an angel, generally had no use for sleep, and therefore generally had little occasion to experience waking up, but even he was quite certain this was not how it ought to go. His head was throbbing, either from being completely drained of all heavenly energy or from being hit in the head from behind. Probably some combination of both, he conceded. He was also still on his feet, but only because he was being held up by a pair of shackles that had been hung over a heavy beam of the rafters, keeping him suspended by his arms.

"Sir, he's awake," he heard someone say close by.

Aziraphale blearily opened his eyes a bit more as the lights coalesced into vague shapes and then the sharper outline of a man in the dress of a General.

From the opposite army from who he'd been lending his assistance to.

Aziraphale groaned, because gracious his head truly was pounding something awful, but even through the disorienting pain he had to admit sincere relief that his captors seemed to be human. He'd been expecting demons, and that was a thought worth shuddering over.

"You," the General said officiously, standing stiffly in an ill-fitting uniform. "You're the doctor here?"

Aziraphale let his head fall to the side wearily, looking towards the room that was housing the remaining ill soldiers.

"Please," he rasped, so exhausted. "They- they're sick. Don't hurt them... please..." Aziraphale had been trying so hard to save them all, but he could only perform so many miracles in such a short time without either being noticed or collapsing from exhaustion.

"There have been rumors," the General went on as though he hadn't heard. "Of a doctor, an Englishman, who is somehow able to miraculously stop illnesses. Normally I would assume it's pure nonsense but for the fact I trust the judgment and sanity of my men."

So much for having gone unnoticed then, Aziraphale thought, closing his eyes. Gabriel was going to be so terribly angry with him. The angel felt the muzzle of a pistol press against his forehead and his eyes snapped open with a soft mewl of discomfort.

"My men are sick," the General growled. "Dying. More men in their sickbeds than on the battlefield. You've been healing soldiers here. So you're going to heal mine as well." He cocked the pistol, shoving it harder into Aziraphale's head. "Or..."

Aziraphale swallowed, testing the chains. He was so tired, though, so weakened by his recent expenditure of miracles, he couldn't feel the slightest bit of his own angelic power.

"I will treat anyone who requires my assistance," he rasped, sagging in the chains. "Only... I- I'm afraid I must recover some of my own strength first, or I will have none to give-"

"Take him down," the General cut him off, nodding to two other enemy soldiers who had come in with him. He twisted towards the front and snapped his fingers at a few of the others. Two men who had been guarding the door hurried back outside.

Aziraphale bit back a groan as the chain was unhooked from the rafters, permitting him to lower his arms although his hands remained shackled and the soldiers who'd retrieved him held him fast between them. The front door opened and a stretcher brought inside with a man lying on it. No, hardly a man. A boy, really, but in the same grey uniform as the others. Far too young to be seeing battle, Aziraphale wanted to reproach them, but the flush of his face and the rash on what little of his body the angel could see told him that a bullet was hardly his biggest concern.

"Heal him," the General snapped, gesturing. Aziraphale was dragged roughly over to the boy, still held fast.

Aziraphale sighed, bowing his head. "Typhoid fever, I fear." Late stage, at that. Nothing short of a miracle was going to save the boy now, and... Aziraphale had none more to offer. Not until he rested. And even if he did heal the lad as soon as he was able, he would need an additional miracle to make these men forget what they had seen, which would take even more power... It would take days to rally that kind of strength, and the boy didn't have hours. Raising his eyes sadly, Aziraphale shook his head.

The General's face turned stony. His fist was so fast and Aziraphale so exhausted that he barely saw the swing coming before it collided with his jaw, knocking the angel into one of his captors.

"Heal him. I told you, I've heard the rumors. You heal with nothing more than laying your hands on them. You will heal him, because he's my son. You understand?"

Aziraphale gulped, straightening up as the gun was pressed to his forehead once again. Yes, he understood. He understood this man was desperate and that made him exceptionally dangerous. He wasn't given a chance to answer as the two soldiers he was sandwiched between grabbed his arms to forcibly set his hands on the sick boy. Then everyone fell silent and waited.

Oh heaven help him, what was he supposed to do? Aziraphale silently sent a desperate prayer up to Gabriel or Uriel or Michael or anyone who might be listening to spare him just a little bit of extra power to heal the poor boy—and to avoid the paperwork of his discorporation. But no help came, no replenished strength, no angelic assistance. Aziraphale sagged; he was on his own. Biting his lip, the angel summoned every scrap of power that might still be within him, but it was practically nothing at all, and nothing was exactly what happened. It was no use.

The boy suddenly sat bolt upright on the stretcher with a gasp, making everyone—including Aziraphale—leap out of their skins. His color evened out, sickly sheen fading into a healthy pallor, and his breathing returned to normal. Aziraphale gaped, stared at his hands, then frowned. No matter the appearances, that had not been him. His eyes darted over the other soldiers in the room in search of a fellow angel. Or, dare he hope...

"Thank you!" the General gasped, pulling his son in tightly against him, all but crumpled with relief. "Joseph, Anthony, take the miracle doctor out to the wagon. We'll have him start on the rest of the boys at camp right away."

"Anthony," Aziraphale mouthed, eyes latching onto one of the soldiers who'd remained silent and barely moved throughout the entire ordeal, hat pulled low over his face. He stepped forwards now, though, taking Aziraphale out of the hands of the men currently holding him. Together with another fellow, they marched him out the door and into the night. A wagon stood waiting, but they hadn't made it four steps into the cover of the night before the second soldier mysteriously collapsed, and the one remaining snorted softly.

"Why is it always you, angel?"

The soldier lifted his hat at last, golden snake eyes meeting Aziraphale's with exasperation. A snap of his fingers had the manacles dropping to the ground.

Aziraphale rubbed his wrists with a rueful smile. "I could ask the same of you," he pointed out. "Thank you, my dear. What ever are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I reckon. Only, you know, the opposite. Discord and all that. Listen, what happened? Kept waiting for you to miracle him, or at least save yourself."

With a sigh, Aziraphale hung his head. "Well, er... I can't exactly, not at the moment. There's just so many sick and wounded, Crowley... I'm a bit worn down, to tell you the truth. I feel as though I can barely move, let alone use any sort of miracles."

"Where's your backup, then?" Crowley demanded. "You didn't tell head office you'd overdone it a bit?"

"Well... I mean, yes, of course, but..."

Aziraphale saw a muscle in Crowley's jaw tick, but he couldn't exactly blame the angels for the reminder that he shouldn't have been so irresponsible as to overdo it in the first place, but it did seem bad form to leave one of their own in such a state. Not that he would ever say so, of course. Aziraphale could tell Crowley was barely biting his tongue, so hurried on, "And thank you for healing that boy, my dear. It was really quite kind of you."

"No, it wasn't," Crowley snapped, still sore. "Saving my own skin, actually. That General really would have killed you, you know, and with the Arrangement and all... I mean, it's been useful to me, can't have those blokes discorporating my business partner."

Aziraphale smiled fondly at his friend and shook his head. "Of course," he agreed kindly. "Pure selfishness on your part, my mistake. What are you going to do now?"

Crowley shrugged, leading Aziraphale the rest of the way to the wagon and helping him up into it. "Desert, I reckon," he said, taking the seat on the bench next to Aziraphale and glowering at the horses until they nervously started walking. "Seems like a devilish thing to do and I could use a break. You could, too, until you're rested up. No arguments."

Aziraphale yawned, jaw nearly cracking. Rest sounded wonderful, providing he didn't wake up in quite so awful a way. He longed to ask Crowley if the demon would possibly deign to stay nearby while Aziraphale slept but held his tongue. For one thing, there was pride to satisfy for both parties.

And for another, Aziraphale already knew that Crowley would.

Feeling safe and at ease, the angel closed his eyes.

#whumptober2020 #no.1 #waking up restrained #good omens #fanfiction #aziraphale whump #crowley to the rescue #civil war era

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minhothebighoe · 4 years

Text

2:03 pm I Love You

Requested: yes: “Hey babes, hope your doing swell❤ What about Felix ( stray kids ) with a self conscious s/o? Like, she just doesn't thing she's good enough for him + so he hard core comforts her. Cuddles her until she gives up type thing. Possibly smut but if you don't write smut for him just fluff is fine.”

Word Count: 3.1 k

Summary: Your relationship with Felix was great at first, but when you two got caught in public it changed your life for the worst.

Warnings: mentions of feeling depressed, mentions of sex, small amounts of smut (just don’t blink), a mention of degradation kink (AGAIN DONT BLINK). And a cute/ sexy Felix

**also I haven’t proofread yet so hope it’s not too bad lololol, also maybe pt. 2 ???***

“Babe please tell me what’s wrong”

Felix sighed deeply, before laying a hand on my bare shoulder, gripping tightly at the exposed skin that poked out of my sweater. He looked and concentrated on me with worry and sadness that was clearly displaying on his soft features; his eyes showing nothing but pure and utter remorse. I turned away and stared at the floor silently with pure guilt and anxiety that was building and starting to weigh heavily on my chest. I hated myself for the fact that I was the one causing him to feel this way.

Things have been shitty for a while now, and I’m not talking about Felix or anything about him. Felix is literally the light of my life, and it’s not an understatement when I say I would literally take a bullet for the boy or give up my life to save his. Everything that is wrong is because of me, myself, and I.

Things were more than amazing in the beginning when no one knew of us together. When Felix could visit or hang out we would mostly just Sneak around and hide the fact we were an item. It was definitely hard most times,especially for him; he wanted nothing more than to show me off to the world, but at the same time it was oh so exciting. Even though Felix wanted to come out to the world as more than close friends he also loved concealing our relationship. He being the dirty Aussie boy he is admittedly ached to fuck me in public anywhere that he could get his hands on me, and shit, it was our dirty little secret.

However, things mostly took a toll for the worst when dispatch caught us together, and stays all over found out about the relationship.

It was late at night, Felix and I were at a park close to my home, and me being the dumb ass I am, was not thinking coherently. All I was thinking of was the lovely night me and my beautiful boyfriend were having, and the fact that he was physically there with me. At no time did it occur to me to think that other people would be up at the god awful hour.

In the moment, Felix was chasing me on the open grass field, and we were both happy and content. We didn’t need much more than each other to have a good time or have fun.

“You’ll never catch me!” I laughed, running faster away from my playful boyfriend who was right on my tail. I however, knew for fucking sure he was definitely gonna get me, I just wanted to tease the poor lad and get him all worked up.

Not even 10 seconds later he caught a hold of my hand and before I knew it, we both came to a dead halt. I turned around to face him and capture him at the moment, it almost felt like one of those cheesy kdrama moments where everything is in slow motion. His beautiful dark eyes stared lovingly and deep into my own. His chest was heaving up and down and all I could hear was the sound of his heavy breaths parting from those big beautiful pouty lips. He leaned his forehead onto mine before speaking with that sinful voice of his,

“God you have no idea what the fuck you do to me.”

That beautiful playful smile was now a wicked and sexy smirk, and god did I love it.

He pulled me closer to where my chest was touching his long lean frame; I felt his hands slowly travel and make their way down to my hips, it was almost teasingly unhurried. I felt a soft squeeze on the flesh, and a painful chill make its way up throughout my body. I thought I forgot how to breathe at that very moment.

Meanwhile felix’s eyes had never left mine, causing a certain feeling make its way through out my core deep within. I was aching for him to touch me, and I could tell he couldn’t wait any longer as well.

God you have no idea what you do to me, Felix.

He continued to smirk at me before impulsively bringing his lips down to my neck with such vigor and pure lust. I brought my hands instantly from his chest and placed them at the back of his head running them through and tugging on his sexy red locks. I gasped for air as I felt his teeth nip slightly at my flesh, hitting that sweet spot just right below my earlobe. He slowly proceeded to run his tongue over the bite mark before sucking ever so mercilessly. I could feel the heat rapidly making a pool in my underwear, and I didn’t know how much longer I could wait for him to touch me.

“F-Felix please.” I pleaded.

He detached his lips from my neck, and I could instantly feel a cool breeze attack the spot where his mouth once was.

He stared devilishly at me, his pupils getting blacker, before speaking

“Awe is my baby girl getting impatient…. don’t worry darling I’ll fuck you right.” I gulped; He leaned in again, and I could feel his hot breath hit the inside of my ear causing goosebumps to arise and my complexion go pale.

“I just wanna play with you first.”

I stared at Felix as my mouth went dry and my mind buzzed. His words alone were enough to get me off, and all I wanted was for him to rip my skirt off and fuck me right then and there.

But Then…..that’s when I heard it.

**click**

I snapped out of the trance like state, and forcefully pulled myself away from Felix’s body. I automatically knew exactly what that sound was and it was almost an instant shock of anxiety that rolled throughout my body. I looked over to Felix and I could tell he felt the exact same way.

“C’mon babe we have to go.” Even though he was trying to rush me, he said it as calminglyas possible.

** click **

As we moved quicker away, the more rapid the noise was becoming. Felix and I moved speedily, giving even Usain Bolt a run for his money, trying to get away from the situation. However, we both knew it was too late and the damage was most likely done. We were already caught and red handed at that.

“People are going to find out” I thought, anxiety filled my entire being with the thought. What will they think? This wasn’t no ordinary fan base I was going up against, these are kpop stans the most frightening yet loyal fans to ever exist. They were going to completely and utterly judge me.

and that they did.

It had only been 1 month since the pictures had come out of Felix and I embracing each other at the park, and let’s just say the backlash was worse than what I was expecting. Each day was more shoddy than the last, it seemed as each hour passed the more shit I was getting and the more comments filled my Social media telling me I wasn’t good enough, or that I was too ugly, too fat, and so on. At first it didn’t really bother me, I had hoped changing my profiles to private would help, and get people to calm down about the situation, and it did for a while. However me being me, I couldn’t help myself to search and see what the fans were saying,and as much as I wanted to ignore it, I couldn’t fucking do it.

“Ugly bitch, Felix deserves so much better.”

ugh.

“Where the hell did he find her? Probably some whore.”

Woah.

“Fat ugly bitch should lose some weight, she’s going to crush our poor Felix.”

Ow.

“They’ll never last SHE'S just another slut I mean look how short her skirt is in that picture, such a sleeze”

Okay then.

A couple more months had passed and I thought it would die down but for some reason it never did and as the number of comments and articles grew, I felt my deepest insecurities grow as well, drowning out any ounce of confidence I once had.

The fat comments were an especially hard pill to swallow as I had always been insecure about my weight. Even though deep down I knew I wasn’t “fat” I still had trouble looking at a mirror and being happy with the way I looked. And having a boyfriend who is an international heart throb did not make things easier to say the least.

“Why aren’t you eating babe?”

“You‘ve lost some weight love since the last time I saw you, I’m a little concerned”

“Babe please eat something, are you okay?”

Felix had seemed to have asked these questions quite a few times in the past months, and I would always reply with the same short answers along with a fake smile.

“Lixie I’m fine, I promise.”

“I’m just not hungry.”

“Ohh I just ate I’m okay.”

It wasn’t just the fat comments not causing me to eat, it was everything that was sending me into a spiral of self hatred and let’s just say: my very own demise. I had lost all appetite because all I could think of were those millions of fans telling me how ugly and disgusting I was, and, oh yeah, that I should do Felix a favor and just kill myself. And the most annoying thing was, I had no idea why it was even getting to me so much. It just hurt knowing that practically a whole fan base hated you because you loved someone so unconditionally, and you couldn’t do a thing about it or change their mind.

And I started to believe every damn word that was thrown at me.

I was too scared to even leave my home knowing that people knew who I was and how I looked. I didn’t want to risk it. I was scared, point, blank, and period. Sadly, I didn’t have anyone to confide in. I had always been mostly independent and an introvert so friends were very few and far inbetween;I didn’t want to worry my poor parents, as they would be devastated and heartbroken to know their little girl was feeling this broken. And, I couldn’t tell my boyfriend because he was busy most of the time getting ready for a fucking world tour to notice, and there was no way in hell I was going to distract him from that, so me being very discouraged to bring this up to anyone, kept to myself and thought being alone was the best option.

At least that’s what I thought I could do.

I guess I was naive thinking I could hide and push away my own feelings, but every negative thought, moment of regret, and all my insecurities were starting to show and make their way from the dark abyss and pile to the surface. I wanted anything but to worry Felix with my issues, however everything was becoming way too hard to mentally bare and I was reaching above my boiling point.

“Y/N, please for fucks sake talk to me, don’t you understand I’m here for you? Don’t you understand I can tell when something is wrong?”

Felix, who was sitting next to me, quickly got down on his knees in front of me. He placed a hand lovingly on my cheek, softly rubbing soothing circles with the pad of his thumb on the skin, causing me to feel somewhat calm.

I didn’t want to tell him how I was feeling partially because I didn’t know how to explain it. There’s just so much going on inside my head that it feels as if I’m at war with my own consciousness.

“I-I’m fine baby I p-promise I ju-“ tears were threatening to spill and I couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

“Bull fucking shit (y/n). You for the past 8 months have been anything but yourself, you’ve lost so much fuckin weight to the point where you’re skin and bones, you’re not eating, and I- I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, and it fucking hurts to see you like this and I-“ tears streamed down Felix’s face, and he cupped my chin and forced me to look into him.

Everything was accumulating and it was starting to reach a point where hiding these demons was not in the question anymore. Seeing Felix in this much pain because of me, tipped me beyond off the scale and I felt almost angry that all this bullshit had happened. Am I weak for wanting to tell him?

Would he be able to handle it?

As I was building the courage to speak, I turned my head away again hearing my phone vibrate. I could see the notifications building up from Twitter on the screen from the previous hour; Felix noticed too and instantly shot out his hand to grab my device.

“Felix baby no do-.”

I tried to grab the annoying hardware before Felix could see anything, it it was too late. His eyes widened.

“Kill yourself you stupid bitch,

you’re so unworthy of a man like Felix like actual filth lmao,

You’re an ugly fat whore who will never amount to anything ,

Watch out Felix, she’s only with you for your money”

As Felix read the words aloud it felt as if thousands of knives were being stabbed into my body over and over again, but all I could do was stare at the floor in front of me, and not dare to look at Felix. I didn’t want him to know things were this bad, I tried to shield him from the pain I was feeling because he didn’t deserve to be included in the affliction. My heart hurt but I wasn’t going to let him be included in that agony.

I loved him too much.

“Baby….” I could feel his eyes bore into my figure and at that moment I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Everything that had pent up over the past months finally spilled out into the open atmosphere, and holy shit I was a sopping mess to say the very least. I huddled over as the sobs poured out of my mouth, they were mixed with so much vexation, sorrow, and panic as I didn’t know how to feel. Felix quickly sat next to me and put an arm over my physique, pulling me in closer to his broad frame. My head lay atop his lap while I cried as much as I could. He peacefully stroked my hair with his fingers, and every once in a while layed some soft kisses atop my head.

I leaned my head to fit in the crook of his neck,taking in the scent of his cologne. He held onto me tight, as if he was never going to let me go again.

“Baby, all this time…. why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was almost quivering but I knew he wasn’t going to cry.

“I- I didn’t want to worry you, you had so much to do for the tour and I thought it was dumb an-“ he stopped me.

“(Y/N) it’s not dumb that people are harassing you and making you feel this way. Listen, I love my fans each and every single one of them. However, you have to realize that in every good person there are another 5 evil ones who don’t respect mine or your feelings for one another, and those people are not true fans.”

He brought my face to look at his.

“Listen darling, I love you and if some people can’t respect that then, that’s their problem. Our love is stronger than this and I know we will overcome this hurdle. That’s all it is, these comments don’t matter they’re just people who have no respect or no life to worry about and all they want to do is take that anger and hurt into other people. But holy shit, I just thank god nobody hurt you or physically or came after you….I don’t know what I would do.” Felix kissed my nose and stroked the top of my hand with his very own sending small impulses of electricity up my body. The heat of his body comforted me and I had never felt more love for him than in that very moment. For once I could finally breathe again and smile.

Felix brought a hand to cup my cheek, the palm of his hand felt so reassuring as he brought his soft lips down to mine gently and with such passion. He kissed me as if we had all the time in the world yet it also felt as if it was our last moment together. The world could’ve ended right then and there and I would’ve felt content being in his arms.

I guess I learned it’s not good to hold things in, and now I know if I’m ever feeling sad or hurt that there are people who love me and are willing to listen. And as much as I wanted them to be, my problems were not small especially if they had me feeling the way I did. I don’t have to be alone even in my darkest thoughts or weakest moments.

All I know is Felix lifted a weight off my chest that was too heavy for me to even nudge. And for him I am more than thankful.

“Also those comments are bullshit because if anything darling you’re to good for me princess .”

I smirked at him.

“Oh really now.”

“Yeah but let’s get one thing straight.” I eyed him as he bit his lip, he coyly took the soft skin in between his teeth as his eyes went dark.

“ the only person who can call you a filthy whore is me. Got it?”

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

Text

is a virtue {Brian May} [1/2]

[ And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse ]

Summary: Gizelle wants to set Brian up with one of her friends, a model named Patience Hall, and the guitarist is surprised to find how nervous he is, and how Patience is nothing like he expected.

A/N: PATIENCE PATIENCE PATIENCE MY DEAR LOVE, anyways i adore patience and i need to write more about her. this is part 1, but there is a part 2 coming. @ginghampearlsnsweettea and @prettyboyroger i lov u both to the moon n back

----

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” it’s a Wednesday afternoon, overcast, though that in itself wasn’t really a sign of anything, especially not in the middle of Winter, but still Brian feels a wave of apprehension settle over him when he realises Gizelle is talking to him. The band is waiting for Freddie to show up since he’s late, again , and while Roger’s working on a new drum solo, and John and Veronica perusing a furniture catalogue together, but Brian’s been writing lyrics, perched on his amp.

Gizelle, coffee in one hand, designer handbag in the other, cocks her hip as she waits for Brian to look at her, and comprehend what she’s said, and she watches with amusement as a range of emotions flick across his face.

“You’re not trying to set me up with one of your sisters, are you?” Brian asks, and Gizelle has to bite back a smile as she plays innocent.

“You and Gabrielle get on well, don’t you?” Behind her, John snorts a laugh where he’s clearly eavesdropping, but Brian sighs as though terribly put upon.

“You know that’s not the one I meant.”

“As hilarious as I find the concept of you and ‘Vanna together, unfortunately she’s taken up with some American hair-metal boy, so no, I’m not trying to set you up with one of my sisters.” There’s the faintest twitch of her lips that indicates she’s trying not to smile at the thought, but for Gizelle knowing the sound guys are in the very next room, it’s her equivalent of a full-bellied laugh.

“So go on then, tell me then, who’s the unlucky lady?” Brian asks with only the barest hint of amused self-deprecation. Gizelle gives him a flat stare, the way her perfect eyebrows lower being the only real change in her facial expression, but it’s enough to let him know that she’s disappointed in his negative self-talk.

“She’s a friend of mine,” Gizelle explains, “we met through work.”

“She in a band?” Brain asks, interest piqued, finally putting down his notebook and pushing off from the amp to stand. Gizelle shook her head.

“My other work, Miami and I’s mutual friend is representing her in a contract dispute, and he brought me in to raise her profile and make sure she’d still get work after the dust settles,” Gizelle explained, which only seemed to confuse the guitarist, “even if she wins and gets out of her contract, there’s no guarantee she won’t be blackballed from potential jobs in the future so -”

“So you throw your support behind her and everyone and their dog wants to hire her,” Brian nodded, finally understanding, and Gizelle cracks a smile, “is that why you want me to meet her? Do you want us to hire her?” And there’s confusion in his voice, but it’s Gizelle’s turn to be confused.

“She’s a model; I want you to meet her because I think you’ll like her,” she tells him bluntly, and Brian’s expression lights up as he goes pink around the ears, pleased.

“Are you sure?” He’s trying to play it cool, “not that I don’t trust your judgement, but you did marry Roger .” And they both ignore Roger’s indignant scoff, but Gizelle’s smiling at that, her fond gaze flicking to him over Brian’s shoulder before she looks back to see Brian’s amused expression.

“I promise you’ll like her,” Gizelle assured gently, before offering him her coffee cup to hold, fishing around in her bag for a moment. Pulling out a business card, she hands it over with a flourish, “she knows I’m giving you her number; she’s expecting your call.”

“Oh is she now?” Brian raises his eyebrows, smiling as he exchanges the coffee for the card, taking the time to read it.

Patience Hall in a neat, nondescript typeface, white text against the dark skinned model whose headshot made up the background. On the back, there’s a business and fax number, but beneath those, neatly handwritten, sits a personal telephone number.

“This is her?” Brian’s voice is a little soft, a little awed as he takes in card as a whole; it feels so professional. Looking at the model, at her serious expression and gorgeous dark eyes printed in black and white, he quietly gets a little giddy at the idea of taking her out. When he looks up, meeting Gizelle’s gaze, he thinks she can tell.

“That’s her,” Gizelle nods once, and Brian lets himself smile a little wider.

Brian calls Patience that night, after Freddie finally shows up to rehearsals and the band is polishing the last few songs on their new album before they shut themselves into the studio for a few weeks to record it.

“ Good evening, this is Patience, ” the voice on the other end of the line answers after only two rings, soft and lilting despite the crackle of the phone line. Brian hesitates. “ Hello ?”

“Hello,” he finally finds his voice, “hi, this is Brian May, Gizelle Taylor gave me your number,” as if it could have been any other Gizelle , he’s already mentally berating himself, but he hears her laugh on the other end of the line, kind and relieved.

“ Oh, I’m so glad to hear from you! She told me you’d be calling, but I never expected it to be this soon,” she muses, and Brian grins.

“I can call back in a few days,” he offered, his smile clear in his words, “if this is too fast -” but she cuts him off quickly.

“ No, no! ” She’s quick to say, “ I’m not complaining at all, it’s lovely to hear from you! ”

Patience sounds like she’s smiling, like she’s genuine in her words, and Brian can feel himself flushing. She doesn’t ask him about Queen , and he doesn’t ask about her modeling, instead, they stumble through some small talk before he’s asking her out to dinner.

“Or lunch,’ he follows it up with quickly, “if you’d prefer -”

“ Dinner sounds wonderful ,” she assures, and there’s a moment of silence that hangs in the air between them before he asks, tentatively.

“How’s Friday?”

“ Friday, ” she pauses for a beat, and there’s the rustling of paper, perhaps a calendar, “ Friday’s perfect; does seven work ?”

“Seven sounds great,” he agrees, and she gives him the address of the hotel she’s staying at. The moment after he hangs up, he’s excited, and the moment after that, he’s nervous. He hasn’t really dated anyone since he and Chrissie had split up over a year ago. He’d thrown himself into his music and parenting his children, and making sure the divorce was amicable for the childrens’ sake. He wasn’t a nun by any means, he’d let Freddie take him to nightclubs a few more times than he’d like to admit to, had relieved his Fat Bottomed Girls days during the last tour once or twice, but dating had never been his intention.

So why - why - had he agreed to this?

Because he trusted Gizelle.

The next day, Thursday, he’s a ball of nerves when he walks into rehearsals, and Roger’s wearing a grin that’s all teeth.

“Don’t -” He heads Roger off before the blonde can even open his mouth. Roger’s smile widens. That’s the problem with having known each other for over fifteen years at this point, is that Roger can tell exactly what he’s feeling with just one glance; Roger of all people, should not be granted that privilege, Brain finds himself ruminating.

“You alright, dear?” Freddie asks, interest piqued, early for once, and Brian huffs a sigh.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine -”

“He’s got a date with ‘Zelle’s friend,” Roger crows, and Brian shoots him a filthy look.

“Good on you,” Freddie nods emphatically, walking over and clapping Brian on the shoulder, “she’s got wonderful taste in friends,” and both Roger and John behind him hum in agreement. Brain actually rolls his eyes at them.

“I’m sure she’s lovely, but that’s the problem, I’m… I’m just -” and he gestures to himself awkwardly, making an unflattering face.

“You’re a strapping young lad,” Freddie insists, and while Brian appreciates it, it’s not exactly what he meant.

“She’s going to love you,” the sincerity in Roger’s voice comes as a surprise, and when Brian turns to where he’s sitting on the drum risers, he sees Roger with one foot tucked up on his stool, expression warm and kind, “‘Zelle speaks very highly of Patience, and from what she’s said, you’re going to love her, and as long as you’re, you know, yourself or whatever, I’m sure she’ll love you too.” And he cleared his throat, averting his gaze and breaking the moment of honesty, but Brian was thankful for the pep talk. After a beat, letting the moment settle, Brain sighed deeply.

“Thanks, man,” he said with a half-smile, and Roger grinned back in acknowledgement, “but I don’t even know where to take her to dinner; I haven’t been on a real bloody date since -” and Chrissie’s name catches on his tongue but they all know, and don’t comment about it.

“I think ‘Zelle said she’s vegetarian,” Roger muses, and after a beat, he suggests a restaurant Brian’s only heard of by reputation, right in the middle of the city, telling him that even Gizelle recommended it. That night, he calls, books a private room at the fancy little restaurant, and heaves a nervous sigh the moment he hangs up.

The band has Friday off, so instead he lays about in bed until it’s almost eleven, spends a good few hours pottering around, occasionally gardening, reading a few articles his assistant had sent over a few days ago, and spends the better part of half an hour trying to pick an outfit.

Why had he chosen dinner ? There was no right answer to dressing for dinner! Lunch could be nice slacks and a button down, but dinner meant possibly a jacket, but what if he’s too overdressed? What if he doesn’t wear a jacket but he needs one to get into the restaurant, then he’ll look like a fool, what if --

When he picks Patience up, he’s wearing a well fitted suit that he’d had tailored for an event not too long ago. It’s dark blue and crisp, but he’s forgone a tie, leaving the top few buttons undone, he is a rock and roller, after all. He parks, steps into the hotel lobby, and tells the man at the front desk that he’s here for Patience, and they ring her, quietly letting her know that - and he gets a wide-eyed look from the bellhop, whose voice goes a little uncertain - Brian May is waiting for her.

Patience steps out of the elevator in a midnight blue dress, barely a few shades darker than Brian’s suit, and he’s pretty sure it’s fate. The moment she sees him, she’s smiling, and it’s blinding, all teeth and shining eyes and genuine excitement at seeing him, and Brian’s smiling too as she makes her way towards him, but all thoughts have left his head. She’s stunning in person; willowy and statuesque, the heels on her shoes make her the same height as him, which Brian finds he rather likes as she greets him with a hug and a kiss on either cheek.

“I wasn’t going for speechless,” she says with a soft laugh, and something connects in his brain very suddenly - she’s American , “but I think it’s a rather large compliment coming from you,” and finally Brian’s brain connects with his mouth.

“You look stunning,” and Patience’s answering smile was surprisingly abashed.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” she tugged the lapel of his jacket for emphasis, a playful smile on her lips, and gestured for him to lead the way out. As he turns, Patience tucks her arm into his, and leans in for a moment, “we match.” And she sounds so pleased .

“Must be destiny,” Brian hears himself say back, and Patience hums thoughtfully.

“Must be,” she agrees with a smile.

Patience wears her emotions on her sleeve, Brian’s quick to pick up on; she’s direct but never unfairly blunt, and smiles like she’s never known hardship. She’s like sunshine , an interesting counterpoint to Gizelle, who seemed to take months to warm up to the band enough to even smile at them. When Brian asks about her connection to Gizelle, Patience’s smile turns fond.

“I’m very grateful to call her my friend,” she muses, “she’s a lot kinder in person than I was expecting.” And Brian nods with the faintest smile, knowing exactly what she means, but already seeing how this bright and joyful woman was able to so easily win Gizelle over.

They have dinner in the private room of the restaurant, both ordering the garlic and herb grilled eggplant, and when Brian tells a joke, Patience laughs so hard she snorts. It’s adorable .

As the dinner’s winding down, and Brian’s wracking his brains for ways to keep this night going, Patience turns a little nervous herself, fiddling with her napkin, avoiding his gaze.

“I fear I’ve double-booked myself tonight,” she admits, and Brian’s heart sinks at her words, “I have a friend at the Museum of Natural History, and he’d pulled some strings for me to let me in tonight after they’d closed,” she explains, and Brian’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “I mean,” Patience deliberates, looking up at him through her lashes, “unless you’d like to accompany me?” And she sounds hopeful. He’s pretty sure he’s never met anyone so earnest, it’s kind of refreshing.

“I’d- I’d love to,” Brian’s so quick to agree it’s like the words fall from him before is brain even registers what he’s saying; he’d been so worried that she’d just want to leave after dinner, just call it a night, despite how much she’d seemed to be enjoying herself, but here she was, lighting up, explaining how the museum wasn’t far away, easily within walking distance and -

Oh , he finds himself thinking with a gentle smile, she might be perfect .

When they exit the restaurant, however, there’s a blinding flash of light, and then their names being called, someone desperate for their attention. Patience freezes, smile turning still as she grabs Brian’s hand and power walks to the theatre. He realises too late that it’s the paparazzi, and when he turns to tell them to leave them alone, Patience, voice low and insistent, tells him to just leave it.

They make it to the museum in a matter of minutes, hand in hand, and the man who greets them at the gates smiles at them both with a warmth in his eyes, and offers them both a solid handshake.

“So good to see you again, Hall,” he tells Patience, and quickly introduces himself to Brian as Lawrence, and turns on his heel and leads them through the gates, into the museum.

“How do you know each other?” Brian asks, trying to make casual conversation, still holding Patience’s hand.

“He was my tutor in college,” Patience explains easily, and the man nodded in agreement, before adding.

“She’s terribly bright,” Lawrence adds, “in her final year, she helped me with my thesis for my Masters, which, speaking of -” he looks over his shoulder with an inquisitive look, and Patience rolls her eyes.

“I’m getting there, you know I’ve been going through some shit, my Masters is the least of my worries,” she waived him off, and Lawrence made a disapproving tut, but didn’t press her on it.

“Terribly bright,” Lawrence reiterates, “not much of an entomologist, but a fantastic help nonetheless.” At this, Brian turns his amused expression upon Patience, eyebrows raised in question.

“I studied biology,” she explains, though her voice is quiet, as if she’s a little embarrassed by that fact, “I mean, I am studying- am still studying- I’m a biologist?” Though it sounds like a question.

“ Fascinating ,” and he means it with his whole heart when he says it, though she seems to be surprised at his enthusiasm, “I never would have picked that.”

“Most people don’t,” Patience muses with a surprisingly rueful tone, looking around at the museum ground as they approached the front doors. Lawrence graciously let them inside, acting as though he wasn’t listening to their every word.

“I haven’t worked much on my thesis lately,” Brian mentions casually, “have been rather busy over the last few years, it can be so hard to find the time.”

“Masters?” Patience asks, in the exact same carefully casual tone that Brian was using.

“Doctorate,” Brian tells her with an air of humble pride, “astrophysics.” There’s a moment of silence, and when he looks at her, she’s regarding him with a newfound respect.

“Never would have picked that,” she grins a little, parroting his own words back at him. Brian shrugs easily, and gives her hand a squeeze.

“Most people don’t.”

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panda-noosh · 4 years

Note

hello! i loved reading your work, they're SO GOOD and i don't think i've been happier 💕 do you mind writing a ghost cedric x reader? thank you i hope ur day is well!! ✨✨✨✨

Filch thought the halls were empty when he did his final rounds of the night. You know better.

You only leave your room when you hear the knock on the gargoyle outside. Nobody else bats an eyelid, mistaking the noise for a gust of window, or a painting getting restless – again, you know better.

No one else wants to admit what's really going on. Everyone else wants to think Cedric died, and he's peaceful now, living whatever life he wanted to live before the Dark Lord took it all away from him. People don't really talk about Cedric all that often any more, like his name is some kind of taboo. You don't complain; you see him almost every night, so it's not as if you're missing out.

You hear the knock tonight, as per usual, and make your way out of the Hufflepuff common room. A swift glance left and right lets you know the coast is clear, and that's when Cedric makes his appearance, a dazzling glimmer in the dim darkness of the Hogwarts hallways. He's smiling, as he is often is, with his hair slicked back and his feet hovering just a few inches off the floor. He was always taller than you, but now you have to look up at him just to see his eyes. Eyes that are dead and grey, but his eyes nonetheless.

Seeing him always has the same effect on you. Stomach flip, a moment if fear, disbelief that he's really here even though you saw his body in the gardens that day, cradled by Harry Potter. But then he reaches out, and his cold fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, and you realise with a start that none of this is fake, he is here, you can talk to him.

“You look very shiny tonight.”

Cedric chuckles. Cold air brushes your arms, and you have to fight to stop yourself from shivering. “Hello to you, too.”

“Let's get walking before someone in the common room hears us.”

“Aw, do they not wanna come out and say hi?”

You scoff. “They all miss you like mad, Ced, but they're also wimps – they'll call for McGonagall the second they lay eyes on you.”

Cedric scowls before the two of you set off along the hallway. It's so normal now, this feeling of bewilderment. You still have not been able to properly process the fact that Cedric is here, walking along beside you in his ghost form, that you were so lucky to have him come back and greet you.

“Have you spoken to Harry yet?” you find yourself asking, because this is the question you ask every time you see him.

He hollows out his cheeks. “You know I can't do that.”

“Why not? You can show yourself to me.”

“Because I want to show myself to you. Plus, you want to see me, and I know you want to see me.” He pauses, glancing back and forth as if waiting for someone to jump out at him. “I don't know if Harry wants to see me.”

“Of course he does. That poor lad probably hasn't stopped thinking of you since you. . . Well, you know.”

“That's the point, though. I think it would be better if he just stopped thinking about me, and we're never gonna get to that point if I keep showing up outside the Gryffindor common room every night.”

You sigh; it's Cedric's decision, of course, and you can definitely understand where he's coming from. Nonetheless, you're also the poor soul who has to watch Harry Potter mope around the hallways thinking he killed an innocent Hufflepuff. No matter how many times you let him know that Cedric isn't mad at him, he takes your words only as loose condolences. He has no idea that Cedric himself has actually passed the message along.

Lost in your thoughts, you don't notice Cedric swoop down until his cold fingers are looping through your own. It takes a lot of strength, he once told you, to tether himself to the real world, to feel things are he once did in his living years. You glance over to see him gritting his teeth, clearly putting a lot of effort into getting your attention back on him.

You chuckle, slipping your hand out of his. He immediately deflates, closing his eyes for a moment before grinning down at you.

“You zoned out.”

“Sorry,” you reply. “But don't do that again. You're gonna burst a blood vessel.”

He scoffs. “Don't tell me you don't miss holding my hand.”

You pause. You kind of hate it when he says things like that, because he says them with a smile. He says it like it's a joke, and maybe to him it is. To him, it's easy to perceive it that way, because he's just living his life. Nothing has changed for him. He gets to see the people he saw before, and he can speak to them if he so wishes – you, on the other hand, have the trauma of seeing your boyfriend laying dead in the grass. You do miss holding his hand. A lot. An awful lot.

Cedric swoops down again, blocking your path. His eyebrows are furrowed, a tiny crinkle forming between them that you so desperately want to flatten down, just as you used to, but even if you try, your hand will go right through him. “Hey. What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” you reply. “Let's just keep walking. I think the library should still be open-”

“You're lying. I can tell when you're lying.”

You hollow out your cheeks, stopping in your tracks. Cedric pauses, too, staring at you intensely.

“I just. . . Miss a lot of things,” you mumble. “Like holding your hand, for example.”

Cedric pulls back as if he's been slapped. You groan, making to reach for his arm, realising your mistake only seconds too late. Your fingers fall through his arm, and he notices, watching the action unfold as his expression slowly deadens to one of sadness and concern.

His eyes flick back to you.

You bite your lip. “Sorry. I know. . . I shouldn't be talking about stuff like this when I don't even get to see you that often. It just plays on my mind sometimes, that's all.”

“No,” Cedric says abruptly. “No, you have every right to be upset. Shit, Y/N, I didn't even think about that. Not properly.” He runs a hand through his hair. It flops back against his forehead. It brings memories back. “I'm a bit of a shit boyfriend, aren't I?”

Your eyes widen. “What? Cedric, no-”

“And I've been thinking,” he continues, speaking quickly now, like he's in a rush to get the words out before you can say anything to contradict him. “If you want to move on with someone else, I'm totally cool with that. Like, I am technically dead – you shouldn't feel tethered to me in any way.”

Your heart drops. It scares you, those words. The mere thought of moving on with anyone else makes you panic in a way that is most definitely unhealthy, but you can't help it. Cedric is right, of course – he is dead, and you should be moving on with your life, but it's early. You still have the image of his body planted behind your eyelids, can still remember how cold he felt when you fell to your knees and grabbed his hand, screaming out for help that was never going to be successful.

You shake your head like a dog getting dry. “Cedric, stop. Stop talking like that.”

“You're going to have to move on eventually,” he says. “Just because I'm here doesn't mean I expect you to stay with me the rest of your life. My life was over a while ago-”

“Two months ago!” you exclaim. Cedric winces as your voice echoes off the stone walls, but you don't care any more.

“Okay, two months ago,” he says. “But don't you think it's time you start forgetting about me? About us?”

His voice trembles. You watch him when he speaks, the way his bottom lip shakes, his Adams apple bobbing, like the words are difficult to get out. You know he means it; he wants you to move on and be happy, and you know you're going to have to do just that at some point, but right now, you don't want anyone else.

You step forward and reach out, letting your fingers glide through his delicately. He stiffens at the touch, looking down at you with heavy lidded eyes.

“I love you, Cedric,” you say. “Now, and forever, I love you. Let's just enjoy what we have right now and we can worry about everything else when life catches up to us, yeah?”

His shoulders slump. “Baby-”

“Please, Ced. I lost you once. Let me recover before I lose you a second time.”

He stares for a second longer before nodding. Then, gritting his teeth, he turns his hand over and gives your hand a squeeze, cold but familiar. You don't know how you're ever going to let go of it.

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renee-writer · 4 years

Text

Songs of an Outlander Chapter One Fergus

A/N from @ladymeraud

Renee writer and I are about to in bark on another story. This story will be an extension of a work by HCKYGRL72 called “somewhere over the rainbow on AO3” I have complete permission from the author of this story to give it some more story. I will also be have come creative fun with some Disney stories. As we know Claire went about to the 18th century in 1946. There where only a few Disney movies that she would have seen. As a military nurse working with the Americans and the other, she would have seen first run movies. Now some of the song in this story Disney didn’t release until the 1950’s Claire would have not seen them but for fun. Let’s have some fun and after 14 days of only going to work and an hour out to exercise, or shop for food, I personally need to be creative. As always, if anyone needs to see the email that HCKYGRL72 gave me to write this little story. I am very ok with sending it to you. This is to be an AU canon. I own nothing not the rights to any story by HCKYGRL72, Disney or outlander. So here we go sit back and have some fun.

At the End of Over the Rainbow

She ends the tale to the whistles and applause of her listeners. She smiles and bows. Jamie watches her closely. Though she seems happy, there is a note of sadness about her. He sees a single tear fall from her eye. He wishes to wipe it away and keep more from falling. Maybe someday.

“Mistress Claire, thank you so much for telling us the story. It was so enchanted with the wee people and the witches!” Hamish exclaims.

“And the magic slipper shoes and the big wind.” Another bairn adds. Jamie can tell she is getting tired and makes his way through the throng of children.

“Mistress Claire needs her rest. Come, let ye be off to your parents.” They move reluctantly away.

“Thank you Jamie.”

“May I see ye to your room Claire?”

“You may. Thank you.” He takes her arm and they head down the long halls.

“It was quite a tale. I've heard none like it.”

“It come from the colonies. My uncle told it to me.” Her eyes drop and he kens she isn’t being fully truthful but will not press her on it. She's a right to her secrets after all. “My Uncle Lamb was full of tales. He kept me entertained.” He smiles at her, struck by the far off look in her eyes. Somewhere over the Rainbow indeed.

They have reached her door and stop. “Thank you for seeing me safe Jamie.”

“You are welcome anytime a chridhe.” Jamie said. She looked at him but didn’t ask what that had meant. She would find out at some time. She smiled at him and closed the door.

“Good night Claire,” he said as she closed the door. “Good night mo chridhe’ he whispered.

She leans against the closed door with a sigh. She knows she needs to get back to the stones, back to her own time but she was drawn to the lad. To Jamie.

The next morning finds her humming another song, from her time, from the Disney film, Cinderella. She finds herself happy. She knows it has a lot to do with Jamie and that scares her.

They dance around each other over the next month. Brushing against each other in the halls, smiling across the table in the Great Hall. Careful conversation. Each are exquisitely aware of what is between them.

One day, the day before he is reluctantly to join Dougal, in collecting rents, he heads into her surgery. He needs to see her before he leaves. He stops in awe at what he sees.

She stands, swaying, with a small bundle in her arms. She is softly singing. “I know you. I know you once upon a dream. I know you.”

“Miss Beauchamp. Claire?”

“Jamie. Look. Someone has left me a present. A little boy, around three months, in a basket outside my surgery.”

He walks up to examine the baby. He is a beauty, with dark curls, a shade darker then the lass that holds him.

“A fine brawl lad.” He agrees.

“He is. Oh Jamie! I want to keep him. Do you think Himself will let me.”

“He will wonder if he is yours.”

“Mine! No Jamie. I have never been pregnant.” A vale of sadness covers her again. He longs to make her smile.

“I ken Claire. I ken he isn’t your son, by birth. Let’s go see if he can still be yours.” As he hoped, her smile returns. He leads the bairn and her out.

They enter Column’s office. “Jamie, Miss Beauchamp, and who is this, then?”

“It seems someone left a bairn, a lad, at Miss Beauchamp’s doorstep.”

“I wish to keep him. Oh please, may I?”

“How can I be sure he isn't yours? Those skirts hide a lot.”

“My Laird, the lad is near three months. Not two months ago, Miss Beauchamp rode before me in naught but a shift. Trust me, she was not near delivery.”

“I see. Well, I will talk to Ned, when he returns with the rents, about the legal aspects of it. But, yes Miss Beauchamp, you may keep the lad. He needs a name.”

“Thank you,” she wishes to do a little gig but restrains herself, “What is a good Scottish name?”

“Fergus.” Jamie offers.

“Fergus Henry Beauchamp. Will that do?” She asks Column.

“Perfectly. There is a lass, Annie Mackenzie. She lost her own bairn to the fairies.” All three cross themselves. “I will send her to you to wet nurse him.”

“Thank you. I will supplement with goat's milk.”

He nods.

“Jamie, I ken my brother wishes for you to travel with him to collect the rents.”

“Aye. I am to leave out tomorrow.”

“Ye were too. I feel that you would be a better service to me here. With most of the fighting men gone. Besides, Miss Beauchamp and the young lad, could use your protection.”

“Aye. I am at you and Miss Beauchamp's service.” He bows low to both of them.

“Verra good. Escort them back to her chamber. I will see Annie sent to them.” She curtsies, as well as she can, and they head out.

“What were you singing to the lad?” Jamie asks as they head back.

“Oh, a song from another tale. Cinderella.”

“Cinder Ella?”

“She laughs, full of incredible joy. “Yes. A lass named Ella is renamed such when her mean step-mother, sets her to cleaning out the fireplaces.” She recalls watching it with other nurses in a tent when it first came out and dreaming of her own Prince Charming, her husband Frank. Now she dreams of the red haired man beside her. She flushes at the thought.

“I see. Cinder from the fireplaces, eh?”

“Just so.”

He found her in the Great Hall at dinner that night. The lad, Fergus, is beside her in a basket. She is making faces at him and he hears her laugh from across the room. He is drawn to it like the moon draws the tide to the shore.

“May I join you Claire?”

“Yes Jamie.” He sits across from her as she lifts the lad up. She begins to feed him with a contraption that has what looks like o coo's teat at the end. “The wet nurse could only give him so much. I need to supplement with goats milk. He can have porridge and milk in about a month.” God, she is so beautiful with a bairn in her arms. “Jamie? Are you with me?”

“I am. Sorry.”

He walks her back to her room that night.

“He is a miracle.” She states as she changes his clod. He stands and watches her. “I couldn’t have one. We tried, my late husband and I. I don't know who's fault it was. It might have been him but, I felt responsible. To be gifted with this beautiful boy, it feels so wonderful!”

“Ye were meant to be a mam. He is a blessed lad.”

“Thank you Jamie.” She lays the baby, now asleep in a cradle by her bed. “He will sleep for three hours or so.”

“Aye. Do ye and the lad have enough wood for tonight?”

“I am not sure.”

He walks over to check. He starts the fire, building it up. He stacks more by the now roaring fire. He then turns and rejoins her. He sees another tear running down her eye.

“Claire?”

“I am just so happy. I never thought it would be so.” He can't resist. He reaches out to brush the tear from her eye. Their eyes meet. Her breath catches as he lowers his head. He kisses her cheek where the tear had been before taking her lips. What was meant to be a quick press of lips becomes more. She opens up under him. It is only a wail from the bairn that stops them from doing only God knows what.

She is quickly to her feet. “My luv, what is wrong?” She pats his belly and he falls back to sleep. She returns to Jamie, who is manly trying to get himself together.

“I thank you Jamie for all you did today.”

“You are verra welcome Claire. I will be here for whatever ye and he needs.” She smiles and kisses his check.

“Good night Jamie.”

“Good night Claire.” He floats away on a cloud.

#my writing #outlander fanfic #jamie and claire #cannon divergence #outlander fandom #songs of an outlander #fergus #disney songs

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mirkwoodshewolf · 5 years

Text

Moment with little queen; Queen x child reader

*Author’s note*

After the AMAZING success of “baby queen’s first word and steps” I’ve been putting a LOT of work and effort into this little head cannon (first time doing one) plus combined oneshot just to show you all what I’ve had in mind. Just so that I could save some time trying to write a oneshot for every single member of Queen when I’m trying to get through not only requests but my two current running series “Rock angel” and “Mother dragon” so I decided to do this till I can get up a real oneshot with the reader starting to date (as some of you have suggested I do).

Okay so not really much warning EXCEPT for Roger’s that deals with some serious stuff cause of the SOB P**l P**nter so just expect some serious stuff to go on in that. But other than that FLUFF ALL THE WAY FOR ALL 4 HC AND ONESHOTS.

Taglist:

@geek-and-proud

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@coolcxt

@queendeakyy

_____________________________________________________________

John Deacon:

· As you know our Deacy is the peacemaker of the three Queens.

· But also the sassiest little shit ever (cause c’mon let’s be honest).

· But when it comes to our little baby Queen, he’s a pile of mush and will do anything she asks.

· Even after becoming a father up to this point with two boys, he can’t help but dote on his little niece.

· He’s always there to help her out, especially when the three other men are arguing or too busy.

· He’s her advice giver, her comforter, and is always offering his shoulder or chest to cry on when she gets scared or feels lonely.

· Next to Roger, Deacy is practically the KING of playfully teasing her. Whether mixing up her words, or threatening her with the appearance of a certain ‘monster’ coming to get her.

· More or less you could say he’s a protective doggie around her. Soft and cuddly around her but mess with her, watch out! He’ll lash out in the best verbal way he is known for to cut you down to size if you threaten or mess with his beloved baby girl.

· Nicknames for her: Love, bumblebee (when she’s really sad or frightened), dearie, bear cub (for their games), sweetheart.

*Jan. 17th, 1978*

John was by himself in the corner trying to perfect this one song he had planned for the upcoming album “News of the world”. He wanted to make this song superb to what he envisioned and something that the lads could get on board on, but of course even if they didn’t he had a secret weapon to help convince them. A weapon that was actually taking her afternoon nap in the other room of the studio on the couch.

Wanting to see if she was still asleep (because cheeky little thing sometimes wakes up in the middle of her nap), he decided to go in and do it himself since the other three were too busy with the current song they were trying to find the right levels too. He walked into the other room hoping to see the little five year old napping peacefully.

But instead the first thing he heard were her whimpers of distress and fear and he saw her thrash her head from side to side. Deacy raced in and knelt down by the couch and said to her.

“(Y/n), (y/n) wake up.” The five year old shot up panting frantically as she looked around in fear. “It’s okay, it’s okay it’s me. It’s just me.”

“Uncle Deacy?”

“That’s right love. Are you alright?”

“What was it? Why am I so scared?”

“Sweetheart, I think you just had your first nightmare.”

“What’s a nightmare?” she asked innocently. Her eyes still brimming with tears.

“Well, a nightmare is another word for a bad or scary dream.” Deacy explained as he sat down beside her and wiped the tearstains from her cheeks. She cuddled into her uncle’s side and whimpered.

“It was scary uncle Deacy.”

“I know bumblebee, I know.” He cooed as he brought her onto his lap and allowed her head to rest over his heart, hoping that the sound of his heartbeat would calm her down. Just like he does with his two boys. “But it’s over now. I’m here, I’m right here my little bumblebee. You’re safe and nothing can hurt you now.”

“You promise?” she whimpered.

“I swear it. Here give me your hand.” He extended his hand out with his palm facing upward and she immediately placed her hand in his. He adjusted her so that he could now replace her head with her index finger and he made an X shape as he vowed, “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“But I don’t want you to die!” She exclaimed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t die for a long, long time love.” He said as he stroked her father inherited long black hair. Deacy brought her back close to his chest as he now began to rock her softly from side to side as he leaned up against the couch. “Do you want to tell me what your dream was about?”

“It was dark—and—and scary. A monster he…..he was taking daddy away from me.”

“Aww love~”

“It was awful uncle Deacy. I ran and ran but no matter how fast I ran they were too far away.”

“It’s okay love. It was just a dream. Your daddy’s fine, he’s just in the next room working as usually with uncle Brian and papa Roger. Wanna see?” she sniffled and nodded.

Deacy then picked her up and held her close to his chest as her arms wrapped around his neck and the two of them went over to the door and peeked through the window, and when (y/n) saw what her uncle said was true, she began to relax.

“See?” she nodded. “You want to try and go back to sleep?”

“But what if the monster comes back and tries to take him away from me again?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to your dad. He’s well protected by the three of us, including your mum. Okay?” she nodded softly and whispered.

“Okay.” Deacy then brought her back to the couch and tucked her in and said.

“Besides, I think I’d be more concerned about yourself.”

“Why?”

“Well—you didn’t hear that?”

“Here what?” she asked inquired as she sat up and looked around.

“Something just appeared under the couch.” He crouched down to look under the couch, “It—uh-oh it’s your favorite monster.” Deacy teased as he now slowly rose up with his hands up as he wriggled his fingers and grinned devilishly at his niece.

She shrieked and instantly dove right under the covers. Deacy chuckled deviously and said.

“Aww where’s my little dearie? I heard she was sad so I came along to cheer her up. Hmm, where could she be?” He began poking and prodding around the blanket which made her squirm and giggle. “What’s this? Why’s this blanket giggling? What a weird blanket. I’ve never seen anything like it, what happens if I do this?” he wriggled his fingers into her side. “Oh-hohoho. This blanket seems to be ticklish, hmm?”

(Y/n) couldn’t contain her laughter as her uncle kept teasing her with the infamous tickle monster. She was laughing and fidgeting so much that by the time she realized that she had now exposed her feet out of the blanket, it was too late.

“Ohh what have we here? Cute tiny fairy feet?”

“No!” she laughed out as she tried to pull her feet back in but Deacy had a strong but gentle grip on them.

“It talks! I wonder…..” soon the blanket was removed exposing (y/n)’s head and when she was revealed, Deacy gasped and said, “There’s my favorite bear cub. I thought I recognized these feet. Tell me do you think you can help a little mouse find his house?”

“Nohohoho!” she laughed out trying to break free.

“No? Why my baby bear cub why must you be so rude? All he wants is to find his home so he can be safe and warm. Well if you won’t I will.” He then began to lightly tickle around her feet as he recited a little ‘tickle rhyme’ as he and Roger liked to call them. “There was a little mouse, looking for his house; Not here,”

“Uncle Deacy! Plehehehease!” He then moved to her exposed neck and began tickling around there making her tense up giggling as he continued, “Not here,” he then suddenly threw the blanket aside exposing her entire body as he now went for the kill and began tickling her most ticklish spot, her tummy. “But here, here, here!”

“Nohohohoh! Not thhehehere!” Deacy kept tickling her for a couple more seconds before finally ceasing his attack. She was in post giggles as Deacy just grinned down chuckling at her.

“You okay there love?”

“I’m fine, thanks uncle Deacy.”

“Anytime love. I figure there’ll be no more nightmares from now on.” He took back the blanket and tucked it back around her and settled her down back against the couch and lay her head on the pillow. “No more nightmares?”

“No more nightmares.” She said determinedly.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good because who know whose gonna come back if you break that promise.” He teasingly threatened as he wriggled his right fingers in a tickle fashion making her shriek and him laugh. “Alright, time to go back to sleep. Your dad will come check on you in an hour, okay?” she nodded and he kissed her forehead but before he could stand up she said.

“Uncle Deacy?”

“What is it love?”

“Will you—will you sing me a lullaby?” he softly groaned and said.

“Oh love, you know I would if I could but, you know I can’t sing.”

“Please? Pleeease?” she extended the E cutely as she looked up at him with the famed puppy dog eyes.

“Ahh don’t make that face. Who even taught you how to pout like that? Your mum?” she nodded and he muttered, “I knew it.”

“Pwease uncle Deacy?” he sighed heavily and said as he leaned his forehead against hers making his nose touch hers.

“One of these days that face won’t work on me. But today is not that day.” She quietly cheered happily as Deacy sat himself down once again but this time she lifted herself up and rested her head in his lap as he stroked through her hair, “This is a new one I’ve been working on for the album actually. It’s not finished but I hope you like it.”

He then softly began to sing his new song that he has called ‘Spread your wings’. It was a nice ballad like song that soon sent (y/n) back off into dreamland. When he finished singing what he had, he looked down to see his niece sound asleep.

He softly smiled and very carefully put her back on the bed and brushed away the black strands of hair away from her face. “Goodnight my little bumblebee, dream sweet dreams.” He kissed her forehead and quietly left the room allowing her to continue her nap.

And dream sweet dreams

Brian May:

· If you want a teacher, look no further.

· Brian May to our beloved little Queen is the best teacher she could ever ask for.

· He’s always teaching her about the stars in the sky.

· But of course to a child using all those big words she either doesn’t get it or understand so little headaches come with Brian as a teacher.

· Like Deacy, Brian’s calm demeanor is like a warm blanket surrounding her.

· He’s always the first one she goes to whenever it comes to singing a lullaby to her unless he’s busy but nine times out of ten she’s preferred Brian’s voice) because of the gentleness and warmness of it. (can’t explain it any further but you get the picture.)

· Whenever she feels lonely or homesick, he’s always the first one to notice a change in her aura.

· He’ll just hold her and have her talk about what’s bothering her in her own way in her own time.

· Nicknames: Star (anything having to do with the word star like my bright star or my shining star, etc.), darling, sweetie, my bright aurora (like the aurora borealis), love, poppet.

*Nov. 25th, 1981. Montreal, Canada*

It was after a very successful concert in Montreal. It was also a relief because now it meant that the ‘filming concerts’ were finally over. It sometimes would affect the boys’ performance or it just made some of the audience members uncomfortable as they now had deal with a camera hanging over them or turning towards them and they felt like they’d rather watch the camera than the band.

But thankfully it was finally over and done with and now the guys could focus back onto just performing before the audience. Everyone was backstage doing a successful after show party in celebration of that (mostly because of the success of the future film hits it would make).

Since things were starting to get a little hectic in the building, Brian decided to step out just for some fresh air when he noticed a small figure sitting against the building. Through the lamplights near and above the stadium, he could see that leaning up against the building was his niece.

“(Y/n)?” she looked up and said.

“Oh hey uncle Brian. The show was awesome, you all were wonderful.”

“Thanks darling, but why are you out here alone?”

“Just needed to clear my head is all.” He was skeptical at first but he said.

“Alright, would you mind some company?” she shook her head no and gestured for her uncle to take a seat beside her. “So you really enjoyed the concert?” she nodded with a soft smile. “What was your favorite performance?”

“Why must you make me choose?” she whined out.

“Because we want to see what our little Queen has enjoyed the most about each performance. As long as you don’t say ‘I’m in love with my car’ then we’re good.” They both laughed at Brian’s teasing comment and (y/n) finally answered.

“Well, I think this rendition of ‘Somebody to love’ will forever be my favorite from now on.” Brian nodded in agreement. “Then again it’s always been my favorite Queen song.”

“And there’s no shame in that. Your father definitely came through with that song. Even if most record charts don’t say it’s in our top ranking, the only opinion that matters is yours.” He gently ruffled her head making her giggle softly.

The two of them looked back up at the sky and could see the faint glimmer of the stars, but due to all these streetlights, they couldn’t see them all.

“You wanna head for that park just down the road from here?”

“Yeah, let’s go.” They stood up and Brian managed to get one of the drivers that drove them all to the concert hall and asked him to take them over to the park for some quiet time together at the park.

When they arrived, immediately (y/n) took off running for the first thing that caught her attention in the park; the swings.

Out of anything in all playgrounds or parks if there was a swing, you bet you will see 8 year old (y/n) Austin-Mercury right on the swing.

“Uncle Brian can you push me on the swing?”

“I would be honored your royal majesty.” Brian teased with a mock bow with his hand over his chest. She playfully rolled her eyes at her uncle’s antics but soon felt him gently push her on the swing. As this continued on for a little while longer, (y/n) soon spoke up.

“Uncle Brian?”

“Hmm?”

“Do—do you miss home?” Brian gripped the rails of the swing and slowly stopped it before coming around to kneel before his niece.

“Sometimes, do you?”

“A little. Mostly I just miss mum. I wish she could come to every show like she used to. But now she doesn’t anymore because her and dad split up, I—”

“Oh love,” he gently wiped away a tear that had slipped out of the young girl’s eye. “Being on the road is hard at times. Trust me, when our first tour in Japan began, I was homesick to the max. I knew I wanted to keep going for the band’s sake but I couldn’t help but miss my own home. It’s natural for you to feel that way coming on the road with us.”

“I didn’t want to tell dad because I thought he’d get mad. Prenter said that’ll happen if I try to go back home.”

“First of all; never listen to that twat. He doesn’t know anything. He’s not as smart as you are.” He said as he gently bopped her nose which made a smile come across her face, “Second; you don’t always have to come if you don’t feel like it. We’ll understand if you would just rather watch us on the telly. God knows that’s been happening a lot lately, especially with this tour. If you ever feel like you want to stay at home with your mum, that’s fine. We’ll call every night when we can.”

She nodded but still looked a bit sad as she now stared down at her hands which now sat in her lap. Brian looked up at the stars then back down to his niece and said.

“Come with me (y/n). I want to show you something.” He picked her up from the swing and the two of them walked up a nearby hill underneath a tree that gave the best clearing for stargazing.

Brian set himself down before guiding (y/n) to sit between his legs and he wrapped his arms around her.

“You remember all those lessons I taught you about the stars and everything regarding the universe.”

“Oh no this isn’t one of those long lectures again is it?” Brian playfully scowled at her and said.

“No not this time yah little ankle bitter.” He lightly pinched her cheek before continuing, “What I’m going to tell you is that no matter where one is in the world, whether here on earth on this side of the Atlantic or the next, or even into the depth of outer space, the stars never change. Everyone looks up at the same sky, the same stars. Some even believe that the stars are there to help guide lost souls back home.”

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Do you believe that theory?”

“I’d like to think that’s one of the many theories we have stars. So you see (y/n), even though we are far from those that we love for a time, so long as we look up to the stars, we find ourselves home again. For our loved ones look up at that same sky, no matter what.” (Y/n) and Brian kept their focus on the sky and saw each star twinkle and shine in the pitch black sky.

“Oh darling look!” Brian exclaimed as he pointed outward and to their surprise they saw a shooting star.

“A shooting star!”

“Hurry and make a wish love.” She closed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest in an X formation as her two fingers crossed. “So what did you wish for?”

“Uncle Brian, you know that if I tell it, it won’t come true.”

“Right of course, silly me.” He teased. Brian then leaned his forehead against (y/n)’s and softly whispered, “I love you my shining star.”

“Love you too Uncle Brian. Will you—sing your song 39 for me?”

“Hadn’t done that song in a while, but for you anytime.” She then lay her head across her uncle’s lap and as he stroked through her hair, he teased, “First time doing this acapella really. But I hope you enjoy it either way poppet.” He then began humming the first few bars before finally beginning to sing.

If (y/n) was honest, out of her four family members, she always favored her uncle Brian’s voice. Sure her father’s voice could go into ranges most people can’t hit because of his additional incisors, and her godfather definitely had that voice that can either break glass or send shivers as he would give it that growl affect but also sound so soft.

It was Brian’s voice that was that feel-good feeling of the high-low range. It almost sounded angelic whenever he sung alone. It just made her feel so good inside and she could just listen to her uncle sing forever if she could. As the song was drawing to a close, (y/n) had managed to fall asleep.

When Brian took notice of his now sleeping niece, he couldn’t help but smile softly and lightly kiss her nose and he whispered.

“Goodnight my little stardust, sail through the cosmos in your dreams my darling.”

Roger Taylor:

· Okay let’s be real here.

· As said before from day one Roger has absolutely gone GAGA OVER THIS LITTLE GIRL.

· Spoils her to no END.

· NO BOUNDARIES

· NO RULES

· JUST FUN! FUN! FUN! FUN! FUN! FUN!

· Well of course he had to set some rules with her, otherwise she’d walk all over him, but I’m not lying when I say he spoils her.

· Even when he ever has a girl on his either arm, if his goddaughter needs him, he’s off like a shot even if it’s just for a glass of water.

· Like Deacy, he’s also the KING of endless teasing and playing around with her, especially when it comes to their favorite game “Lions on the Savannah”.

· Cause ever since he bought her that stuffed lion at 1 year old, lions have always been her favorite animal. So much so that she even named her stuffed lion after her godfather.

· And for warning, you ever hurt, harm or even give this baby girl the wrong look, you’ll be facing the wrath of a true Leo. Deacy is the verbal attack, Roger won’t hesitate to get physical and he don’t mind going to prison for it. NEVER. MESS. WITH. THIS. LEO’S. GODCHILD.

· Nicknames: Lovie, lovely, lion cub, dearie, my true beauty.

*May 1st, 1983*

It was a lovely spring day in London. Queen was currently on break from touring and just spending quality time at home with their families after being away for 7 months. In the backyard at Garden Lodge, something was moving through the tall grass of the garden, a stuffed lion was sitting there in the open fields of the backyard.

Silently stalking through the grass was 10 year old (y/n). She was down on all fours as she crept up towards her stuffed lion. She waited patiently as she stalked a little closer and waited once more before finally roaring out and tackled her lion, roaring like a lion that just caught its prey.

“Well, well it would appear her majesty has taken on the rival threat and single handedly won to protect my kingdom.” At hearing that voice she immediately shot up and turned around to see her beloved godfather on the ground just a few feet away from her.

“Papa!” she raced up towards him and tackled him down to the grass. The two of them laughing and rolling around in the dirt.

“Oh my lion cub you’re getting so big. Please stop growing.”

“Never!”

“Not even if your king commands it.” He proclaimed with a wave of his hand like a king making a proclamation.

“Especially that.”

“Ohh little rebel are you, does that make you my rival then? Have you turned rouge you cheeky little thing?”

“Maybe, you never know when I can strike out.” She mocked as she got into a pouncing position on all fours.

“I wouldn’t go bragging about it though love, you never know when you’ll be punished by your treachery!” Suddenly he lunged at her and took her in his arms as he gave her a playful noogie making her cry out as she tried to get out of her godfather’s arms.

“Hey no! No! Gah grr!” once she got out of his strong grip she pounced on him. “Come here!” Roger quickly got up and began racing around the garden as he laughed with his goddaughter chasing after him. When she finally caught him by jumping onto his back, Roger slowly tumbled down onto his knees.

The two rolling around once more laughing as (y/n) had her godfather pinned. She lay across his back, having her arms crossed over his shoulders as she said.

“Papa Roger,”

“Hmm?”

“We’re pals right?” He smiled and said.

“Right.”

“And we’ll always be together, right?” He got up which caused (y/n) to slide off his back and he picked her up to sit her between his legs as he said.

“Right till the end lovie. No matter what you’ll always be my true beauty.” He placed his forehead against her temple, allowing his nose to press against her cheek as he nuzzled her lovingly, like a lion does with his cub.

“I would’ve thought by now she’d outgrow these childish games? When will you both act like actual human beings for once.” An Irish tone spoke up. (Y/n) looked up while Roger glared hatefully at the man that now stood before them.

Paul Prenter.

“Your father wishes to see you (y/n). I suggest you love your actual father and not someone who isn’t even related by blood.” She narrowed her eyes and clung onto Roger while Roger now spoke up.

“Do you mind pissing off Prenter? By law I am required to love her as I am her godfather.”

“An irresponsible, sex-addict like you taking care of a child? The day that happens is the day that I find myself dead on the ground.” With all his might he wanted to beat the shit out of Paul.

“You can’t talk to him like that!” snapped (y/n).

“Never talk back to your elders lassie. Now clean yourself up you’re absolutely filthy like a dirty mutt.”

“Talk to her that way again and I’ll throw you over the bloody house!” Roger snarled. As Paul glared at the two and walked away, Roger suddenly got an idea. “Lovie, how well is your stalking?”

“I’m as quiet as a mouse. Roger 2 never suspects a thing. Why?” Roger smirked mischievously as he whispered.

“I think I’ve found you some live prey to practice on.” He turned back to Paul and called out, “Oi Prenter?”

“What now?”

“You know; if you want to impress Fred he always loves it when he’s given roses.” This got Paul intrigued.

“Really?”

“Oh yes, he especially likes the red ones. They’re just over there.” Paul then went over to the roses and knelt down to try and find the best and beautiful roses to give to Freddie. “Okay my little lioness, get ready.”

Already getting at what her godfather was wanting her to do, she got into position. She got down on all fours into her pounce position. “Stay low to the ground.” Roger whispered as he placed his hand on her lower back telling her to not have her butt sticking in the air.

“Yeah okay stay low to the ground, right got it.”

“Shh, not a sound.” He whispered deviously.

As Paul continued to browse through the rose bushes he was completely oblivious to what was going on behind him.

Suddenly he felt a force pounce on him and a roar from behind making him scream out and he fell face first into the rose bushes. Roger was in complete hysterics as tears filled his eyes and his sides began to hurt.

(Y/n) let out a victorious roar as she got off of Paul trotting smugly back towards Roger.

“That was better than I could imagine!” he laughed. He held his hand out for a high-five to which she gave it to him and he hugged her and kissed the top of her head.

“Did I do good?”

“Oh lovie you were amazing. A true lioness of the savannah. C’mon champ, let’s get you a victory ice cream.” He picked her up bridal style and took her back inside for her just reward.

It was a few days after that day in the garden, and right now (y/n) was continuing her piano lessons since she promised her dad that she’d practice before her big recital coming up in a few weeks. Using the techniques that both her father and uncle Brian had taught her, she lost herself into the music and let the piece take her away so that the piece had more meaning and emotion behind her playing.

But her concentration was broken when the door was forced open. She stopped playing and her heart began racing. She didn’t hear any voice and she was afraid it was a thief coming to rob them, so she did the best thing she could.

She raced outside next door to her mum’s place. She banged on the door but there was no answer. It wasn’t until she realized that her mum was at work right now and wouldn’t be back till later this evening.

She suddenly felt a hand grip her hair and when she looked up to see who it was, she was now looking into the piercing red eyes of Paul Prenter. His face covered with band-aids still trying to heal all the rose thorns that went into his face that day.

“You think this is all fun and games? You’re an insane, mental case. And if you don’t come quietly to be put away forever, then you can have your father as well as the rest of your ‘family’ kiss their Rockstar dreams goodbye.”

“Let go of me!”

“Think you’re so tough now? Well you aren’t without your godfather to back you up. You’re weak, pathetic.” He threw her down to the ground with such force that she heard a crack in her wrist as she had landed on it. She let out a cry of pain as she cradled it in her other hand.

(Y/n) crawled towards her father’s garden and Prenter merely followed behind her with a smug look on his face.

“They never really loved you, yah know. Especially Roger. He’s just using you. Like he does with all his girls. He’s pampering you lass, till you’re old enough to shag and then he’ll leave you hot and dry. Just like all the others.”

“Shut up you faggot!” She roared out.

“It’s true. He’s not what you think he is. Once a womanizer, always a womanizer.” She then let out as best as she could just to drone him out, her best and fiercest lion roar. “You think you’re a lion? Then prepared to get treated like one.” Prenter now stood over her ready to treat her like how some humans treat lions in the circus or zoos.

But before he could even touch her, a sucker punch was thrown across his face. The collar of his shirt was gripped and he was forced to look up and glaring down at him was a furious and beyond pissed, Roger Taylor.

A fist was raised in the air before he sent a punch across each cheek before forcing him backwards to uppercut him in the gut. He then sent a Spartan kick against his chest sending Prenter down to the ground.

Like a lion attacking a rival predator, Roger proceeded to beat the living shit out of Paul, giving him a few well deserved punches and kicks before finally pinning him down and choking him, his eyes burning with pure hatred while Paul’s shown nothing but absolutely fear.

“Roger….Roger please I wasn’t going to hurt—”

“SILENCE!!” He roared. “I heard what you planned on doing to her Prenter. If you ever come near my goddaughter again, I’ll show you just why I’m a leo. I assure you.”

“Please I’ll—I’ll do anything.”

“Get out!” Roger hissed before standing up, lifting Paul up and threw him aside. Paul coughed trying to regain some air as he just stood there frightenedly. Then Roger did something that was absolutely primal, he actually roared at Paul like the true Leo that he was which caused Prenter to tuck tail and run as fast as he could away from Freddie and Mary’s property.

With Prenter finally gone, his angry demeanor ceased as he now turned to his goddaughter who was on the ground cradling her hand in pain, trembling in fear. He slowly walked up to her and knelt down beside her. Very gently he brushed the hair away from her face and when she looked to see her godfather now hovering over her, she tried to sit up but by putting pressure on her right hand, she cried out in pain.

“Shhh, shh. Let me see it lovie.” She sniffled and held out her hand as she felt the gently calloused fingers of her godfather stroke around her wrist. But even the slightest touch caused her to cry out in pain. “I think it’s broken, I’ll take you to the hospital and have it checked out, c’mon dearie”. As he slowly picked her up, the slightest jostle of her wrist caused her to cry out in pain.

Tears began running down her face as she held her right hand trying to dull the pain.

“Shhh I know lovie, I know. It’s okay. It’s okay I’m gonna take care of you. You’ll be alright.” Roger comforted her as he took her to his car and drove off as fast as he could to the hospital.

Unfortunately she had broken her wrist and she was forced to wear a cast for the next 8 weeks which sadly meant she couldn’t do her piano recital and by missing a recital in her school, it meant automatic disbandment so she was kicked out of her piano school.

After hearing what Paul had done, he was immediately fired as Queen’s band assistant and officially kicked out of EMI as well as any other record company again. Of course witnesses who saw part of the story, tried to claim an assault case against Roger but based off the testimony of (y/n) and the evidence against Prenter, no charges were placed against Roger because he reacted in pure self-defense.

(Y/n) was currently in her room looking down at her newly cast arm that was supported by a sling that she needed to use for the next few days. A knock was heard and peeking in was Roger.

“Hey, can I come in?” she nodded and Roger came into her room and shut the door behind him. He slowly walked towards her and asked her, “You doing okay?”

“Yeah just fine.” (y/n) spoke solemnly. Sensing there was something wrong with her, Roger sighed and knelt down in front of her.

“Love I can tell when you’re lying. So c’mon out with it. Is it what Paul said to you? Because you know whatever he said isn’t true, whatever he said about you isn’t—”

“It’s not that papa. It’s not about anything that he said. I know he’s a liar and a cheat. It’s just that……” she trailed off as she looked away from her godfather. Roger waited patiently as he took her uninjured hand in his giving her silent encouragement to tell him, to show her that he was listening. “With my wrist busted like this, and now being kicked out of the school I—I feel like I failed dad. He worked so hard to get me into that school and I wanted him to be proud of me, I wanted all of you to be proud. But I guess I’ve disappointed all of you.”

“Oh love you could never disappoint us.” He gently cupped her chin between his thumb and index finger as he had her turn to look up at him. “That school was always too strict with their rules anyway, you’re better off without them. Your mum and dad can always find you a new school, or you can have private lessons with both your dad and Brian. I personally would go with the latter cause that means I get to spend more time with my best girl.” As he said the last statement, he wrapped his arm around her hugging her.

(Y/n) softly smiled and nuzzled into her godfather’s shoulder and he pressed a kiss on top of her head and said as he looked down at her.

“Now don’t you worry love. Soon you’ll have that cast off of you and you can go back to being the lion queen I know you to be.”

“Thanks papa Roger, I love you.”

“I love you too my little lion cub.” The two cuddled up to each other giving each other lion snuggles as they both liked to call it. “Besides, there’s one good thing that comes with having a cast.”

“What?” Roger stood up and went over to her desk and grabbed a sharpie before returning back and knelt down in front of her.

“Signatures filled with get well notes that you can look down at every day till it comes off. Now give me that arm.” She took it out of the sling and Roger delicately held it in one hand as he wrote something down on her arm, along with his signature. It read;

To my beloved lion cub,

Get better soon for your next hunt. I love you beyond time and space and always will. Never change lovie.

XOXO Roger Taylor aka papa lion.

He even grew to the best of his ability a picture of a lion’s face right next to his nickname she would sometimes call him.

“Can the others sign it as well?”

“Absolutely, c’mon let’s go.” The two of them stood up and headed downstairs and she got signatures from her family including her aunts, some of her dad’s trusted friends like Phoebe and Terry his driver, all filling her arm with good wishes and fast healing.

Freddie Mercury:

· Like all fathers, this man is the KING OF SPOILING HIS DAUGHTER.

· He always takes any chance to dote on his favorite girl (besides Mary of course).

· Ever since the day she first walked and talked, Freddie has tried everything to get his girl to be on her side.

· He tried to be the first one to teach her an instrument or how to sing.

· Whenever he’s home, he’s always the first one to sing her a lullaby or tell her a story.

· Have I mentioned that he really loves to spoil her to no end?

· In case it’s not clear, he does. Both he and Roger even sometimes have competitions to see who gives her the best gift.

· Which of course never works cause she loves them both so much and just can’t choose. AWWW 😊

· Nicknames: Darling, dear, lovely, princess, baby girl, sweetie pie, little kitten, angel.

*Feb. 11th, 1976*

It all began when she was just 3 years old. By watching her father, godfather and uncles ever since she was born, she’s always had an eye and ear out for music. Some pictures have shown that when she was just a few months old, either Roger or Freddie would have her sit in their laps with a toy piano or guitar, or when Roger would actually have her in his lap by his real drumkit with his sticks in her hands.

Even though she wasn’t quite ready to learn just yet, as Mary believed it would be too much pressure on her still developing brain, but it didn’t stop her when she saw her father at the piano-bed and she heard her dad humming what might’ve been a new song.

She quietly walked towards the bed and pulled herself up onto her mum and dad’s bed and crawled up towards him.

“Ahh there’s my little angel, have a good nap?” she nodded and asked him.

“What are you doing daddy?”

“Oh just fumbling about with the old piano bed. Had an idea for a song so I figured it needed to be played so that I could decide whether to keep it or just toss it aside.”

“It’s pretty.” She said.

“Thank you my darling, I think it has potential too.” She scooted herself closer to the piano and couldn’t help but stare at the black keys in front of her. She watched as her father continued playing, his black painted fingernails seeming to blend in with the keys as he played the song once again. As she heard the beautiful music come from the keys, she couldn’t help herself as she reached out and poked one of the lower note keys.

Freddie stopped playing and turned to see his daughter looking at the piano with pure fascination and awe but when she heard her dad stop playing, she looked up at him and he asked her teasingly.

“And just what do you think you’re doing princess?”

“Being like daddy.” Hearing that made Freddie smile proudly.

“Say darling, what would you say to me teaching you what I know?”

“Really?” she asked hopefully, her wide (e/c) eyes glowing with excitement.

“Absolutely. That way I can even rub this in your godfather’s face.” He muttered the last part to himself. “Come here dear.” She came up to her dad and he placed her on his lap. “You ready?”

“Ready daddy!”

“That’s my angel. Okay so first we start with the basic note. Let’s start off with C.” He then played the Middle C note. “Think of this as the heart of all the keys, set right at the middle and you can guide yourself by always finding the C chord. Try it my dear.” She lifted her hand and tried to find the Middle C but already she had forgotten since the keys were all similar. “Right here darling, it’s this key right here.” Her dad pointed out.

She then pressed the C note a couple of times and she smiled.

“Ahh excellent darling, now let’s try a scale up with three notes. We’ll go up the scale like this.” He then played the C, D and E chord. “You remember that movie mummy made us watch. The one that plays the scale song.” She nodded.

“That’s my favorite movie!”

“I know dear, now each key as said in the movie is a note of the scale. What you just did was play Do.”

“A deer, a female deer.” She sung along making Freddie chuckle.

“Exactly, now let’s try Do Re and Mi. Like this. Using your first three fingers to play the keys.” Freddie showed her first and then he allowed her to do it next. As he watched his daughter try to do the notes, he noticed she was struggling in using her tall finger and ring finger together. “Here darling, like this.”

“But it’s hard.” She whined.

“I know darling but you’re doing so good, here try it again.” It took awhile but she finally managed to use all three fingers instead of just one or two. “Oh princess, soon enough the band will replace me with you!” he praised as he picked her up and held her over his head.

As the minutes ticked by, she slowly began to master the basic scales of the piano.

“I did it daddy! I really did it!”

“Oh darling I am so proud of you, you truly are a master pianist. Just like me!” Freddie proclaimed as he embraced and rapidly kissed all over her face making her giggle.

“Does that mean I can play one of your songs now?”

“Ohh not yet princess, it takes years and years of practice before you can be able to play one of our songs.”

“Aww! But I wanna learn now!” she pouted.

“Okay little miss pouty face.” He teased as he began tickling her making her release her pout and squirm in her father’s lap as he laughed evilly at her. After getting rid of her pout, he held his daughter close and said again, “I’ll tell you what, put your hands on top of mine.” Freddie then placed his hands on top of the keys and his baby girl placed her tiny hands on top of his large ones.

He then began to play “In the lap of the Gods revisited”. (Y/n) kept her hands on top of her father’s and slowly slide her fingers till they sat over his as he played the song before starting to sing the song. Having heard the song many times before, (y/n) softly sung along to the words that she could understand, mostly the vocalization part of it.

Hearing her sing and ‘play’ along with him, Freddie couldn’t help but feel utter pride and warmth within him. Never did he imagine himself to be a father just when his music career was finally exploding off the charts since last year when ‘A Night at the Opera’ hit the charts. But he wouldn’t have it any other way as his little girl, the apple of his eye was taking an interest in learning to play from him. Not from her godfather.

“Oi Fred you in here!?” he suddenly stopped playing and hearing that voice (y/n) immediately perked up and raced on out of the room.

“Well it was nice while it lasted.” Muttered Fred as he got off the bed and walked in to see his daughter race up and hug Roger’s legs.

“And just who is this hugging my leg?” Roger teased.

“It’s me papa! (Y/n)!”

“No you can’t be (y/n), my (y/n) is surely not this big just yet.”

“Yes I am!” Roger knelt down and got into her face making her giggle and that’s when Roger picked her up and tossed her in the air and said.

“Okay you are her. Only my lovie can giggle like that. Jesus you’re growing so fast, stop it!” he said as he attacked her cheek with kisses.

“What’s going on guys?”

“Well if you’d answer phone, you’d know already.” Brian said as he saw that Freddie’s phone was once again off the hook.

“Reid wants us in his office to discuss our next tour in a few months, as well as to talk about our next upcoming singles.” Roger spoke as he kept his goddaughter in his arms.

“You’re going away again?” she asked sadly.

“Afraid so love, but it won’t be for another 3 months. You’ll have us until then.” Deacy spoke as he came over and gently ruffled his niece’s head.

“Well I guess I better call Maria.”

“No need, bring her along. She’s a blast to have with in the studio.” Roger said. He turned to her and jostled her lightly so that her legs now hugged his waist instead of his hip, “What do you say lovie?”

“Can I come daddy? Please?” Freddie knew he couldn’t win. Every time she’d use the puppy dog eyes of hers, he always fell for it. They all did.

“Oh why not.”

“Yay!” Both she and Roger cheered as he spun her around.

“And while we’re there, I can finally teach you the drums. Oh you’re gonna be the next best drummer next to me.” At that Freddie couldn’t help but grin and softly chuckle wickedly.

“Why are you smirking?” Deacy asked.

“Hate to disappoint you Roger darling, but she’ll learn the piano first.”

“Please, who did she take her first steps for, hmm? Oh and umm what was her first word again I can’t seem to recall oh that’s right, my name. Hate to break it to yah daddy dearest, but this girl will follow in her godfather’s footsteps, isn’t that right my little lion cub?” At asking her that, Roger teasingly tickled her ribs making her squeak and bury herself into his neck.

“Oh I wouldn’t go saying that Roger. See before you three barged in, my darling princess and I were having a very important lesson. Would you like to show them darling?” Freddie said as he scooped his daughter out of Roger’s arms and into his own. She nodded enthusiastically and he carried her into the bedroom.

The guys stood around the bed as Fred placed her in his lap and he said to her.

“Alright darling, just like we’ve been practicing.” She got her right hand into position one and played the Middle C chord a few times before slowly scaling up, her fingers easily gliding up as they hummed each note of the scale. When she reached the last Do, Brian and Deacy both applauded while Roger stood there in shock.

“Wow love that was incredible!” Praised Deacy.

“Excellent work my shooting star, soon enough we can boot your father out and replace him with you.” Teased Brian.

“As much as I resent that comment, that’s what I told her would happen.” She looked up to her godfather who looked awful mad about something. She cautiously crawled up to him and asked him.

“Are—are you mad with me papa Roger?” he immediately snapped out of his daze and said as he picked her up.

“No lovie I could never be mad at you. Never. That’s impossible for me to even do such a crime. No you played wonderfully. Elton John better watch out. There’s a new prized pianist in London town!” She giggled and hugged her godfather as he said to her, “But I would like to talk to your father really quick about something, kay?” he kissed her forehead and set her down and turned towards Freddie.

With a gleam of murder in his eyes.

“No Roger she’s my daughter and she deserved to know the piano first!” Freddie claimed.

“Just come here for a second Fred.”

“Hell no darling I don’t trust you!” he then raced out with Roger right on his tail. Soon the sounds of broken glass, thumping, cat’s crying and yelling came up.

“Did I do something wrong?” (y/n) asked innocently. Deacy picked her up and said.

“No darling. Your father and godfather just suffer from their own hystericalness. Trying to see who can win your affection more.”

“I do that?”

“Oh darling if only you could remember they day you took your first step and said your first word. Your father destroyed the entire studio trying to get a hold of your godfather.”

“I wish they wouldn’t fight though.”

“They can’t help it love, you’ve got them wrapped around your tiny little finger. That goes for all of us, I might add.” Brian said as he walked up and stroked her hair before lightly bopping her nose at his last statement making her giggle softly.

“Should we at least try to stop them?” asked Deacy.

“I say we just let them work it out. Now then love, did your dad teach you anything else about the piano?” Brian asked as he took her out of Deacy’s arms.

“You play piano too Uncle Brian?”

“Of course. Your father’s not the only one gifted with the keys on piano. And I wouldn’t mind showing you a few shticks I’ve got up my sleeves when it comes to piano playing.”

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bee-kathony · 5 years

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The Oath | Ch. 14 “Together”

a/n: it’s baby time! thank you to everyone who has left comments on this story, I appreciate them all! there is one more chapter in this arc and then a wee break before the second arc starts!

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! It did!” Claire gasped.

“I guess ye’ll be goin’ in to work after all,” Geillis smiled. “Do ye have yer bag to take to the hospital?”

“Yes, but it’s not finished!” Claire started to panic. The baby wasn’t due for at least three more weeks. It was close enough to the due date, that everything should be fine, but it was still early — early enough to cause worry.

“Stay here, tell me what else ye need and I’ll pack somethin’ quick!” Geillis raced to Claire’s room to pack her bag.

“I’ll need a change of clothes, and then the baby clothes for her should be sitting on the chair in the corner of the room. Oh Christ,” Claire’s hands started to tremble. This was really happening now. Of course she knew one day she would hold her baby girl in her arms, but today was now that day — it had all happened so fast.

She should call Jamie. Claire looked around for her phone, but couldn’t see it anywhere — it must have fallen when she’d gotten up from the couch. No matter what kind of argument they had had, Claire needed Jamie to be there for the birth.

Geillis rushed back into the living room, her red hair flying around her face, green eyes wide. “Alright lass, I’ve got a bag packed best I could. It’s time to have a baby!”

“Can you— OH!” Claire doubled over, a contraction making every previous thought leave her head as she groaned through the pain. “Bloody hell, that hurt!”

“Tis goin’ to get a lot worse, I’m afraid,” Geillis said sympathetically.

It took some time, but eventually, Geillis had managed to help Claire into the car and buckle her in. There was a bit of traffic, a wreck on the other side of the road, but they finally arrived at the hospital.

“Only for ye, Claire Beauchamp would I come back to work after my shift has ended,” Geillis joked.

Claire half laughed, half barked as she was placed in a wheelchair and wheeled inside. She reached for her friends hand, squeezing it hard as another contraction came. When it was over, she took a deep breath, looking up at Geillis. “Call Jamie, please.”

“Aye, I will lass. I’ll see ye settled into yer room first,” Geillis smiled and bent down, kissing her on the forehead.

Admitted into her room shortly after, Claire closed her eyes, trying to focus on her breathing. Her and Jamie had attended several lamaze classes and she laughed now, remembering.

“The cervix will dilate to 10 cm, that’s when it will come time to push,” the instructor said. Claire of course, knew all of this being a doctor and having gone to medical school, but it was one thing to know it and another altogether to experience it sometime in the near future.

“The baby will move further down the birth canal and then out of the vagina. It sounds rather simple, but ladies,” the instructor said, looking all around the room. “Ye should expect a fair amount of pain and some rippin’ down there.”

“Ripping?” Jamie gasped beside Claire, his face horror stricken. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph.”

“Oh yes, it’ll be quite a mess,” Claire looked at him, noticing how his face was looking rather pale.

“Jenny has had three bairns, but she didna say anythin’ about rippin’ um… down there,” Jamie said bashfully.

“I don’t expect her to tell her brother those sorts of things,” Claire laughed. She was almost six months along and they’d finally found out they were having a girl. Claire wasn’t planning on going to any of these classes, but thought it best to at least attend one so that Jamie knew what he was getting himself into.

“Nah, Jenny has nay problem tellin’ me anythin’,” Jamie chuckled. “I was there for all three of her bairns births. Not in the room, mind ye, but I heard the screamin’.”

“Do ye think ye’ll scream, Sassenach?” Jamie asked her, holding out both hands to help her off the ground to leave for the night.

“Oh you bloody bet I will,” Claire laughed. “You try pushing out an eight pound human being through a small hole and we’ll see how much you scream!”

Jamie winced at the thought, his hand reflexively going over his stomach. Claire noticed and reached for his hand, “It’s a good thing you don’t have to do that then, just me.”

“Och, lass,” Jamie’s face softened and he cupped her cheek. “I wish I could take the pain away from ye though. I’d do anythin’ so that ye wouldna feel it.”

“That is what an epidural is for,” Claire smirked.

++++++

“Did you call him?” Claire asked the second that Geillis walked back into the room.

“Aye, just got off the phone, he said he was on his way.”

“How did he sound?”

“Sounded a wee bit nervous,” Geillis smiled. “That wee fox of yers is a good man, Claire. I ken tis not been easy for the both of ye… all of this, but just think, it could be Frank that’s here by yer side instead.”

Frank Randall. Claire hadn’t thought of him in quite some time. In fact, she hadn’t thought of him since he had come over to her house that evening and Jamie had punched him, well a few punches. The only thing Claire thought of was her baby and Jamie. The only two things she needed.

“I hope he gets here soon,” Claire sighed. Another contraction came and Claire shut her eyes, moaning through it.

“It looks like we’ve got a long night ahead of us,” Geillis smiled, pulling her chair up next to Claire.

An hour later, Claire was only 4cm dilated and Jamie still wasn’t there.

“You did call him right? Jamie Fraser? Possible father of my child?”

“Aye, I did. He said he was leaving work and would come right away. The lad works not far from here?”

“Yes, just a few miles away actually,” Claire took a deep breath, placing her hand on her stomach. She tried not to think of the worst possible outcome, but she couldn’t help it. Jamie lying dead in a ditch, or run off the road. Or perhaps even worst of all was maybe he had changed his mind and he didn’t want to be there — with her and the baby.

“He’ll be here, lass.” Geillis smiled, but Claire could see she was worried too. “I’ll try callin’ him again.”

Claire watched as her friend dialed Jamie’s number, anxiously waiting for him to pick up. The phone quickly went to voicemail, “I think his phone’s dead.”

“Where the hell are you Jamie Fraser!” Claire half shouted through another contraction.

Another hour passed and still… no sign of Jamie.

“It’s been two bloody fucking hours, surely he could have walked here in that time,” Claire rolled her eyes. The worse possible scenario of Jamie not wanting to be there with her was now seeming the most likely. “Christ, I can’t just lay here. I need to do something.”

“Ye can take a walk,” the nurse in her room said. “Yer only 5cm dilated, and sometimes walkin’ helps to speed things along.”

“Help me up, Geillis. We’re going for a walk,” Claire held out her hands. With grunting and moaning, Claire was on both her feet, making her way slowly down the hall. Her back ached and her stomach felt like it was going to explode. All she wanted was her baby girl and Jamie — in the reverse order.

“What if—“ Claire started, tears springing to her eyes.

“Dinna go there, Claire. Dinna let yer mind go to bad places,” her friend squeezed her hand.

“But where is he? What could have happened to make him two hours late?”

They continued walking down the hall, one slow step at a time. “I dinna ken, but he will be here, I know it.”

Claire was just about to open her mouth and say ask how Geillis could possibly know that, when she looked up and saw a bright red flash of hair. Taller than everyone else, Jamie towered over them, his face red and his eyes wide.

“Jamie!” Claire shouted down the hall making everyone look at her.

“Claire!” Jamie saw her, his blue eyes locking on hers and then made his way through the throng of doctors, patients and nurses, jogging slightly to where she was waiting for him.

“I’m so sorry, Sassenach,” Jamie huffed and Claire noticed he was a bit sweaty as he ran his hand back through his hair. “I left just after Geillis called me, but there was a six car pile up on the highway and I couldna get out! I tried everythin’… I even tried to get out of my car to run here, but the police wouldna let me just leave my car.”

Claire reached out her hand for him, holding onto it tightly. Tears fell from her eyes at the relief she felt of touching him. “It doesn’t matter, you’re here now.”

“Oh, Claire,” Jamie took a step forward, wrapping his arms around her, his own tears flowing freely. “I missed ye so much.”

“I missed you too,” Claire cried, burying her face in his chest. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

“Aye, as long as ye dinna leave me,” Jamie laughed as he bent his head to kiss her forehead.

“Come on ye lovebirds, we should get Claire back to her room,” Geillis snorted.

Together, all three of them made their way back to the hospital room, tucking Claire safely back in bed. This time as a contraction came, Claire reached out for Jamie, squeezing his hand as tight as she could.

“Ifrinn! Ye’ve a tight grip on ye,” Jamie winced, shaking his hand after Claire let go.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” Claire laughed, feeling a light sheen of sweat break out on her forehead.

“Sassenach—“ Jamie said softly a moment later, his head bowed. “I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Claire said and Jamie popped his head up, mouth open to reply, but Claire held up her finger. “Good… because I am too. For everything.”

“Ye’ve nothin’ to be sorry for, Claire. ’Twas me that said awful things to ye, and wouldn’t see yer side of things. I’ll ask yer forgiveness for what I said, I was sore and I said more than I meant. I willna hit our daughter, even if she deserves a wee tap every now and then,” Jamie smirked.

Claire held his hand, this time not as tight and brought it over to rest on her stomach. “Thank you, Jamie. For understanding. But I was rather foolish about the whole thing and I talked with Jenny earlier today actually about your upbringing, and while I still don’t agree with hitting a child — I think I might be able to understand just a little bit more. She told me that sometimes all I’ll want to do is smack their bum when they’re misbehaving,” she breathed deeply. “Of course I forgive you.”

Jamie nodded, his body still tensed. “I’ll do anythin’ ye want, Claire. Just as long as I can have ye and the bairn in my life. Whatever ye say goes.”

Claire laughed, bringing her hand up to cup Jamie’s cheek. “We both get a say, Jamie. She is our daughter after all. I don’t want you to just agree with everything I want. There will be times that a decision is made that one of us doesn’t like… just as long as we both come to that decision together.”

“Aye,” Jamie’s voice cracked. “Together.”

“There’s three of us now,” Claire smiled. “And I want you with me for every single day of our daughter’s life.”

++++++

Two more hours and a few more centimeters dilated and Claire was exhausted. It was nearly ten pm and she just wanted to push.

“How much longer?” Claire asked the doctor once again as he was checking on her.

“Och, ye’ve got just two centimeters to go, hang in there lass,” the doctor smiled kindly and then left the room to check on his other patients.

Geillis had left a little bit ago to grab some food for her and Jamie, so it was just Claire and Jamie together now, sitting and waiting.

“Claire,” Jamie said softly, scooting his chair a bit closer to her bed.

“Hmm?” Claire said with her eyes closed, breathing slowly and deeply.

“I’ve been wonderin’ about somethin’ for awhile now…”

This made Claire’s eyes pop open and she looked at his face, red as his hair and a small smile forming on his lips. “And?”

“I ken we’ve got things a bit backwards now, wi’ the baby first and everythin’, but well… I was thinkin’ as how it would be nice for the lassie to have a proper Mam and Da,” he said with his eyes firmly on hers.

“Are you… are you proposing, Jamie?”

Jamie smiled then, “Would you say yes, if I was?”

Claire’s heart nearly leapt out of her chest at his words. They had never fully admitted their feelings to one another, but they were there — just on the surface waiting to bubble over.

“I think…” Claire said, squeezing both of Jamie’s hands. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“So it’s a yes?” Jamie’s eyebrows rose.

Nodding, Claire felt a tear spill down her cheek, “It’s a yes, Jamie!”

“Oh, Sassenach!” Jamie stood from his chair with a screech of the wood on the tile floor. He cupped both of Claire’s cheeks and paused, his face just a breath away from hers. “I’ve been wanting to say this to ye from the moment I laid eyes on ye…”

“Say it,” Claire whispered.

“I love ye, Sassenach. I love ye so much,” Jamie kissed her, his heart beating fast as if wasn’t able to contain the joy he felt.

“I love you, Jamie,” Claire said in between kisses. It was a wet kiss from both of their tears, a saltiness on both of their lips. “I love you, I love you,” she repeated.

Jamie held her face and then slid his hands down along her shoulders, as the kiss deepened. Claire arched up suddenly, accidentally biting down on his lip as a contraction came.

“Ow!” Jamie shouted, pulling back and placing his hand on his bleeding lip. Claire shut her eyes, groaning at the pain before falling back against the pillows as it passed.

“I’m sorry!” She said and then started to laugh.

“Nah,” Jamie wiped at his mouth. “Tis alright, mo nighean donn.” Jamie then turned and reached for something in his jacket that was hanging over the back of his chair. He pulled out a small blue velvet bag with drawstrings.

“I ken it might no fit just now,” Jamie nodded at her fingers which in fact had swollen up rapidly through the evening. “But I want ye to have this,” Jamie brought out his mother’s silver ring, the one he had been holding onto for months.

“It’s beautiful, Jamie…” Claire said softly, admiring it. He attempted to slide it over her ring finger, but it wouldn’t go past the knuckle. Laughing, Claire took it off and slide it over her pinky finger. “There. It’ll do for now. I’ll have to take it off in a bit though.”

“Aye, I just wanted to see it on ye,” Jamie smiled and then picked up her hand and brought it to her lips, kissing the finger with the ring on it. “’Twas my mother’s ring.”

“I love it, Jamie. I love you,” she smiled. Claire thought that she could say ‘I love you’ one hundred times a day to Jamie and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“And I you,” Jamie said and leaned up to kiss her. “I’ll never be away from ye ever again. I canna bear it. It almost killed me the past two months.”

“Me too,” Claire said sadly. “But we have time now, and soon we’ll have our daughter.”

“Speaking of,” Jamie glanced down at her stomach. “Have ye thought of any names for the lass?”

“I have one in mind actually,” Claire bit her lip. “Madeline.”

“Madeline Fraser,” Jamie tried it out on his lips. “Madeline Elizabeth Fraser.”

“It’s perfect,” Claire smiled. “A perfect name for a perfect baby girl.”

“Who I canna wait to meet verra soon,” Jamie bent his head, placing a gentle kiss to Claire’s stomach. “It’s time ye come out wee one, time to meet yer parents.”

“I bloody hope it’s soon!” Claire sighed and laid her head back on the pillow.

It was soon. Another hour passed and finally, Claire had dilated to 10 cm and the doctor instructed her it was time to push. All in all the actual giving birth part didn’t take terribly long. Jamie stood by Claire’s side, holding her hand, allowing her to squeeze it as tight as she needed. Claire screamed like she never had before, sweat dripping down her face, her body doing what it was designed to — everything was suddenly simple.

At one point, Jamie had walked around to look between her legs at their daughter and his face had immediately turned white. “Oh Christ,” he muttered, quickly joining Claire back at her side.

With a final push and a scream loud enough to wake the whole floor, Madeline Elizabeth Fraser came into the world, crying as she left her mother’s womb.

Jamie cut the cord, and immediately she was brought to lie on Claire’s chest. “Oh,” Claire said softly as she looked at her beautiful daughter with a small tuft of red hair.

“Oh,” Jamie echoed her and then that was all it took for his knees to give out and he fell to the floor, his head falling onto the bed as he began to weep.

All doubt was erased from Claire’s brain and she joined Jamie in weeping at the sight of their daughter. She was beautiful and she was all theirs.

Chapter 15: Results

#the oath #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire #outlander fanfiction #baby time #chapter 14 #together

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