#also thanking my sibling for the suit and its colours

[matchanxious]

Headcanon parents of Max Power twins (thanks @bluetorchsky for the help)

The dad, James Power, British from England 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿, owns a British company that sells fabric which cannot be found elsewhere, once partnered with Invincible United FC for the jersey and stuff

The mom, Charlotte Cho, Korean-British from South Korea 🇰🇷, a pharmacist with so much work load, but brushes it off as if it was no big deal, sometimes helps out with her husband’s business

They have a decent marriage, but are terrible at parenting 💀

#supa strikas #ocs #supa strikas ocs #max power #invincible united #supa strikas headcanons #James kinda looks like sexy colonel sanders lmao #maybe he should be an IU boss #Vince who? #I could get behind Charlotte too tho- #also thanking my sibling for the suit and its colours #if terrible parents why sexy #Hiram’s grandparents folks

[shadowmercies]

❝ THERE COMES AN END TO ALL THINGS … AND THIS BRIEF CONDESCENSION TO EVIL FINALLY DESTROYED THE BALANCE OF MY SOUL. ❞ ⸻ inspired by dr. henry jekyll (jekyll & hyde), dr. gregory house (house md), lord shen (kung fu panda 2), and ebenezer scrooge (a christmas carol)

PINTEREST — SPOTIFY

tw: death, murder, traumatic birth

basics

• full name: gabriel elias crowe

• preferred name: elias

• nicknames: eli (only by those he considers friends)

• gender: cis male

• pronouns: he/him

• age: 62

• date of birth: 10th august 1961

• zodiac sign: leo

• sexuality: heterosexual

• place of birth: co. clare, ireland

• residence: a spacious room with its own en suite at the bastion in london ; he also owns a third floor flat a ten minute walk away which is used as something of a bolt hole

• occupation: doctor & resident mortician for the bastion ; former trauma surgeon

• aesthetics: old medical text books, surgical scalpels, tweed, black coffee, salty sea air, petrichor, fountain pens, the metallic taste of blood, sandalwood, irish whisky, a crackling fire, decadent velvet cushions, grand pianos

appearance

• faceclaim: daniel day-lewis

• voice claim: daniel day-lewis

• height: 6’ 1”

• build: tall ; lanky

• eyes: green-grey

• hair: grey

• piercings: n/a

• tattoos: a nautical compass on his inner right forearm ; two black armbands around his left forearm (one solid black & one celtic) side by side

• style:

personality

• positive traits: organised, resourceful, articulate, hardworking, punctual

• negative traits: reserved, opinionated, blunt, assertive, callous

• mbti: istj - the logistician

• likes: irish whiskey, savoury food, reading, researching, watching the rain from inside his room, art, classical music

• dislikes: extreme temperatures, spicy food, heavy metal music, being underestimated, rudeness, prejudice, tardiness

• phobias: entomophobia ; acrophobia

• hobbies: working, reading, researching, playing the piano

• skills: polyglot (speaks fluent english, irish, german, and french) ; ambidextrous (favours his right hand)

• pet peeves: being interrupted, loud music, when people don't say 'please' or 'thank you', people invading his personal space, loud chewing and talking, anything unhygienic

• other: suffers from insomnia ; he is usually very calm and collected, but when provoked he'll snap and erupt into a fiery temper that occasionally leads to threats of violence

family

• mother: sylvia evangeline crowe (née thomas - deceased)

• father: jeremiah maurice crowe (deceased)

• siblings: none

• the sunshine to his thundercloud/love interest: évelyne chaudoir

favourites

• food: anything he can snack on like fruit or seeds

• drink: irish whiskey

• time of the day: evening

• weather: dry and cool

• colours: blue ; grey

• songs: anything classical

bio

— elias was born on 10th august 1961 at 2:27pm to jeremiah crowe, a lawyer, and his wife sylvia, a business secretary. it was a warm, dry day and almost a month before he was actually due.

— elias’s birth was traumatic and sylvia almost died from blood loss. there was also trauma to her reproductive system and it meant that her chances of having another child were non-existent. sylvia became very bitter about it and harboured resentment towards elias that lasted the remainder of her lifetime.

— edwin was raised by a nanny and later by a governess. his nanny, maeve, was quiet, calm, caring, and treated elias if he were her very own. his governess, alice, on the other hand, was incredibly harsh. she cared for nothing but providing him with a head start to his first class education. alice never had a strict timetable, only moving on or breaking for lunch when she was sure elias had grasped what he had been learning so far. during this time, he rarely saw either of his parents and the older elias got the further he grew apart from them.

— by the time he attended boarding school from the age of nine, elias was already reading above the average level for his age. he loved to read, was very good at most subjects taught, and spent a lot of time in the library, however, he hated sports with a passion. he was never anybody’s first choice when it came to other boys picking teammates and he especially hated football. the only sport elias tolerated was badminton, which he played in his garden with his neighbour’s children back home.

— the older he got the more his parents began to pester him about thinking of the future. naturally, jeremiah wanted his son to follow in his footsteps and sylvia wasn't particularly fussed as long as it was a high-paying, respected profession. after thinking about it for a while, elias decided he wanted to be a doctor, which pleased both of his parents greatly. they bought him textbooks to make him study in his free time to get a head start before applying to university. elias became passionate about medicine very quickly and also became adept at anatomy before he needed to know about it.

— at 17 years old, elias’s parents decided to uproot the family from ireland and make the move to london after jeremiah was offered a top job at one of the most respected law firms in the country. elias was reluctant. he didn't want to leave everything and everyone he knew behind and trade the lush green hills of county clare from the smoke and noise of the city. but ultimately he had no choice but to follow along, at least until he could move away for his studies and then on to a career that could take him just about anywhere he wanted to go. anywhere was better than under his mother's scornful, watchful eye and under her suffocating control.

— at 18, elias enrolled at oxford university to attend their school of medicine. jeremiah had wanted elias to stay in london, but was persuaded to let his son leave when elias threatened to drop out of university altogether. he lived in halls of residence for two years and then boarded at a house nearby with two classmates. he also excelled in his course and gained top marks for the majority of his classes, but ranked the highest in neuroscience and trauma medicine (the latter of which eventually became his speciality).

— elias spent this career at the same hospital in central london, building up his reputation as a world renowned trauma surgeon. he also spent some time travelling to give lectures and even wrote a handful of research papers.

— he eventually became disillusioned by the idea of helping people even when there was no hope left. the part of him that held that hope over the years had slowly faded away until there was nothing left. he found power in controlling death, even after spending so many years bringing people back from the brink of it. elias thought that killing a patient who had little to no chance of survival or who would suffer for the rest of their lives if they survived was the kind thing to do; to ease their pain and suffering was better than letting them live with it.

— he spent the next two years sporadically killing patients who came under his care, from car accidents to overdoses, usually through administering drugs or nicking certain arteries with a blade, which were made to look accidental. elias eventually got to a point where he realised he could no longer work at the hospital, that he could no longer upheld the hypocratic oath, and that even one accidental move could trigger suspicions. he wasn't about to tarnish his public record and reputation, so gave in his notice and lied, saying he was thinking of taking a job in some remote part of the world to live a quieter life.

— it wasn’t long before he was sought after by the the table. his skills, knowledge, and experience would be invaluable to them. and whilst not a fully qualified mortician, elias assumed the role on the basis that there wasn’t anyone else willing to do it. he had the basics down to a t and spent a lot of time studying (and practising) to ensure he was capable. however, he settled quickly into the job and found that he enjoyed working with patients that didn’t talk back and ask stupid questions and move when he specifically told them not to. elias’s services as a doctor to the high table were also highly sought after by the common assassin and gang member, knowing they’d be quickly and securely stitched up to move onto the next job. sometimes elias is grateful for his insomnia and it’s usually when he has an influx of clients during the night.

— elias now lives in the bastion itself, ensuring he is able to answer a call for help at any time and to provide his services as mortician quickly and discreetly. he likes living there as it gives him privacy from the outside world and his previous life, as well as being able to conveniently access anything he needs or wants.

other muses: d. montmorency / r. thorne / m. fox

#⸻ sky ; she/her ; 23 ; gmt ; no triggers #talesfmintro

[i-cant-sing]

Hi hi! I would like to request on what would yandere platonic Todoroki family react if their kid/sibling love to sing and is pretty good at it! Take your time if you are busy

Yandere Platonic Todoroki Family x singer reader

LMAOOOOOOOOO the images that popped in my mind.

Okay so this isn't very yandere. Beware, this is literally one of the stupidest things I've written, but I had to get this off my chest.

Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Yandere Todorki Family:

You were singing to your self while cleaning up your room, thinking you were alone. And as one does singing while cleaning, you were really into the song and completely pouring your heart out. Only once did you finish singing, you heard clapping. You turned around to see Dabi standing in your doorway, clapping and smiling. "You have a good voice, baby sis. Adorable, really" He said to you, pinching your cheek. You swatted his hands away, mumbling a 'stop it' and 'thanks' under your breath. Just as you were about to return back to cleaning, he suddenly grabbed your hand. "You know what? I have a great idea."he grinned mischievously. You eyed him suspiciously. "Does it involve me getting out of this house?"you asked him. "For a while."he replied, still grinning. You thought for a while. Its been too long since you've been outside anyways. "Alright. Let's go." Dabi's smile widened as he took your hand and dragged you down the stairs of his dad's home. You guys were almost out the door before Shotou stopped you. "Where are you going?"he inquired. "I'm taking her out with me. You wanna join?" Dabi answered for you. Shotou didn't trust the wicked glint in his brother's eyes. Shotou nodded, joining you guys to wherever Dabi was taking you, but not before sending his mom a text that you were with them. She would go crazy worry if she didn't know where you were.

You guys had left in the morning and returned just before dinner. Enji and Rei were getting anxious about where your brothers had taken you for so long. Fuyumi and Natsuo were texting Shotou back and forth about you, but he only told them that they will be returning soon and to "wait to be surprised".

Once you guys came home, Shotou was the first to enter and quell everyone's worries. He told them to sit in the lounge and that he and his siblings have prepared a surprise for them. Once everyone had settled down, Shotou called you and Dabi in. Dabi walked in first, still grinning wickedly, and then you walked in.

The silence was deafening as everyone looked at you.

There you stood, your appearance completely changed. Your hair was coloured jet black like Dabi's, but had streaks of neon green in it. It was pulled into space buns, and half of your hair was down. Your eyes were decorated with green eyeshadow and black kohl liner, eyelashes heavy with mascara, and your lips were coloured jet balck. You were wearing a spiked choker, a black AC/DC shirt, black shorts with fishnet stockings underneath and black laced boots.

You could literally hear crickets.

"(Y/n)? Is- is that you?" Fuyumi was the first to break the silence. "This was Dabi's idea."you pointed at him. Everyone looked at him. Dabi only chuckled, replying "yeah. But wait. The surprise isn't done yet."

"There's more?"Natsuo asked, bewildered.

Dabi ignored him and brought out his electric guitar and speakers. Shotou was handed the triangle instrument. Once everything was set up, Dabi handed you a mic and told you to take position.

You were about to sing "Shook me all night" by AC/DC. You were only doing this because Dabi had promised to take you out more often.

"This is the surprise."Dabi said before he started his guitar solo.

And then your part came. You closed your eyes to avoid further embarrassment.

The song ended with Shotou striking the triangle. Honestly, he was glad to be a part of whatever you're doing, so he pestered Dabi to gave him a little part in the song as well.

When you opened your eyes, you took in the scene in front of you. Natsuo and Fuyumi were filming you, Rei had tears in her eyes and Enji's mouth was slightly agape.

And then everyone started clapping. Rei got up and hugged you, her tears falling down her cheeks. "Oh my....that was so good sweetie! Mommy's super proud of you! You have the voice of a sweet angel!! My baby!!!" Natsuo was next to hug you and high five Dabi. "You're a little rockstar baby sis!" "Your voice is great, but you should sing for us only." Shotou said montonously. Fuyumi had little tears in her eyes as well. "That was really nice, (Y/n). C-can I be a part of your band as well?"she asked, feeling a little bummed out that she was left out. "Uh, yeah sure."

You then looked at Enji, waiting for his reaction. You had figured it out that this was all an elaborate plan of Dabi's to piss Enji off. Dabi changed your appearance and made you sing this song specifically to break whatever "little innocent princess" image of you Enji had in his mind.

Enji stood and walked towards you, his expression as serious as ever. Dabi was biting his lip in anticipation. Is this it, he thought, did he break Enji?

Enji looked at you, blue eyes piercing you. Suddenly, a small smile appeared on his face. His eyes were soft as he spoke. "That was very good, (Y/n). You sang quite nicely. One of my favourite bands as well." He said, before patting your head affectionately. "You should sing more often." He said.

What the fuck? Enji, a traditional and conservative man, likes AC/DC? Dabi thought to himself. His plan produced counterproductive results.

"Oh definitely! We should do this every week! Her voice is great!"Natsuo said. "Yes."Shou nodded. "I'll play the piano! Or I can duet with (Y/n)! We can do that right?"Fuyumi asked. "Lets pick the next song. Maybe one that isn't as obscene as this one. Dabi you should've known better, she's too young to listen to these songs." Natsuo added. Shotou nodded. Fuyumi agreed,"Yeah. And that outfit didn't suit her at all. I've already picked out our next look! A light pink and white theme for all of us! (Y/n) what do you think?"the siblings turned to ask you, but you weren't in the room. Neither were their parents.

Enji and Rei had taken you to your room. Rei was running you a warm bath, while Enji was un-doing you hair. "How long does this dye last?"he asked you, dislike clearly evident on his face at the neon streaks in your hair. "I think a month" you said, as you went to un-pin your hair but he gently swatted your hand. Sighing, you put your hands back in your lap. Rei came back with your pyjamas and took you to your bath. "My sweet angel. Look what they did to your pretty skin and hair. And then making you sing such a vulgar song! Your brothers are nice, but remind me to never let you go out with them again." She said to you, rubbing off your makeup as if it was dirt.

You wanted to remind her that you can still wash yourself. You wanted remind her that this was the first time in 5 months since you had been outside the house. Don't do it though.

You don't want to spend the night in a frozen bathtub, do you?

If you were actually a singer, you best believe Enji would've bought your first 100 albums himself. Rei would attend all your concerts and buy all of your merchandise.

Also imagine, the Todoroki siblings in a band. I think they'll be like Arctic Monkeys or something. What do you guys think?

Requests are open!

#yandere endeavor #yandere enji todoroki #yandere dabi #endeavour x reader #yandere shoto todoroki #yandere rei todoroki #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #yandere mha #yandere bnha #platonic yandere #platonic enji todoroki #todoroki clan #yandere todoroki clan #yandere todoroki #yandere todoroki family #yandere natsuo todoroki #enji todoroki x reader #enji todoroki

[enthusiasticharry]

Second Best

summary: you and Harry meet at a party, but he seems to take more interest in your sister than in you, and you won't be Second Best. 

author’s note: bonjour mes chéris!! this is the first instalment of hannah being the history/french student she is and merging all three of her worlds and creating her own little fictional one. this is based off of lousia may alcott’s little women (one of may favourite books ever) but with my own little twist on it. this is set in the 1860′s during the civil war but i haven't made it too historical at all.  i have done all of the translations myself and even though i'm semi-fluent i still make mistakes so if you spot any let me know. this is so long so i'll shut up now, thanks for all the support bye!! <3

word count: 16k of good old fashioned marriage talk (there’s a lot of it, its all they spoke about tbf??), fluff, angst and a lil’ smut. there is marriage and children at the end (woo, exciting!) not proofread because my eyes are already asleep. 

masterlist   |    speak to me about second best here!

“Stand up straight, don’t slouch. You have a tendency to do so, and these people will not tolerate it.” You sister, Lizzie, says as she pushes her arm between yours, walking you towards the fancy house in front of the two of you, “Whatever you do, don’t speak about your art at all. Nobody can stop you once you’ve started. Do speak if you’re spoken too, and if you’re asked to dance, dance.”

You shake your head, “But I don’t want to dance.”

“You will dance.” Lizzie says again, squeezing your arm slightly, “You may find yourself a husband if you act proper enough.”

“I shouldn’t have to act proper just to find a husband, Lizzie.” You scoff, shaking your head, “If they don’t love me, oil paints and all, then I don’t want them. I don’t think I’ll ever find a husband.”

“Oh shush with you.” She says, tapping your arm slightly. It didn’t hurt, but it did cause your lips to part in shock, “How lovely would it be if father returned and you were married! It would make his life.”

“I think he’d have a heart attack.” You mutter, removing your arm from around hers as you stand outside of the door you were going to walk through in mere minutes, “I’m his little girl, you are also, Lizzie. If we were both to be married I’d think we’d kill him off.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking. I truly believe that would happen.” You deadpan.

She scoffs and slips her arm through yours this time, using her free hand to ring the bell. A man wearing one of the fanciest suits you’ve ever seen in your life opens the door, allowing the two of you to slip through. You help Lizzie remove her shawl, whilst she does the same to you. The man hangs them up amongst the array of other jackets. You lips part in shock at the sight of the house you were in, the first thing your eyes falling upon being the large staircase, with paintings littering the walls. For once, you were speechless, unable to control your excitement and want to gawk at the art upon the wall.

“Lizzie!” You gasp, gripping her arm tightly, “Look at the—”

“Don’t you dare say paintings!”

“Lizzie!” You groan again, pulling her arm so that she’s looking your direction, “Look at them.”

“I’m looking at them.” She lifts her eyes to look at the wall you were looking at, where the pieces hung with such grace and elegance, “They don’t seem too spectacular.”

A shocked gasp escapes your lips, “Take that back, Lizzie! They are beautiful!

“If you say so.”

She removes you from your awe of the paintings and pulls you towards the ballroom. There’s people everywhere, the most amount of people you think you’ve ever seen in your life. You watch as they mingle with glasses of Champagne in their hands, the expensive material of their dresses sparkling in the light from the chandelier. Men stood wooing the women before them, flicking their suit jackets and inviting them to dance. The dresses the women were wearing were something out of dreams. You weren’t the biggest fan of dresses, in fact, you lived in trousers around the house, but you couldn’t help feeling embarrassed about your tattered dress. You’ve had the dress for a year or so, and the holes and rips and anything else you’d manage to do to the material could be seen in the light even if you’d fixed it.

“Lizzie!” The call comes from somebody who you don’t recognise, but Elizabeth certainly did and before the syllables of her name could escape your lips, she’s gone. You watch as your sisters whisked away with the crowd, leaving you stood there with no clue as to what to do.

Gripping the material of your dress, you slip yourself to stand by one of the doorways, away from the hustle and bustle of everyone in the room, but close enough for you to be able to watch. Lizzie stands in the middle, just as she always is, with a group of people around her. She was always the centre of attention, the one that everyone loved — you included. You were only a few years younger than her, but you were the only siblings each of you had, so you were close. You had your disagreements, that was certain, but you always came back stronger. You weren’t shocked when you noticed her spinning around holding some man’s hand, dancing away with a smile on her face that always made your insides happy. If she was happy, you were happy.

“Not one for dancing?” You eyes almost bulge out of your head as you hear a voice next to you, a male one at that.

“Oh, um, not really.” You laugh, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “I’m not a very good dancer. I don’t really like dancing, to be completely honest.”

“Everyone loves dancing.” The man says, and you’re able to get a good look at him. A black suit, with a crisp-white shirt sits upon his torso. His hair was a fluffy brown, a chestnut that you found yourself in awe of. His green eyes ones of masterpieces, better than any art you could ever see upon any wall in any gallery, “I believe you are just lying.”

“I am not.” You shake you head, “My sister told me that if anyone asked me to dance I must say yes, but I have decided that I mustn’t. I have two left feet and anyone who is to ever dance with me will regret it, I know of it.”

“I highly doubt that.” He shakes his head, sipping from the glass he had in his hand, “Your sister shouldn’t force you do dance either.”

“Oh.” You shake your head, “Lizzie isn’t forcing me to dance, she just wants the best for me. Dancing is how people meet.”

“It’s how we met.” He says after a few seconds.

You let out a small chuckle, running your tongue over your lips slightly, “Sir, pardon me, but I don’t even know your name.”

“Harry.” He smiles, “M’names Harry.”

“Oh!” You exclaim again, “Harry Styles! You’ve just moved in next door with your father! Mother saw you the other day.”

“You must be—”

“—YN YLN.” You hold your hand out for him to shake, immediately shaking your head and pulling it back, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Styles, Lizzie forgot to remind me to not shake hands. It’s not very ladylike, I know.”

“It’s perfectly okay.” He holds his hand out, and you bite your lip and shake it, “And please don’t call me Mr. Styles. I’m not my father. Call me Harry.”

“Harry.” The name slips from your lips, “I think Lizzie would die if she saw me talking to you.”

“If I may, would you show me Lizzie?” He asks and you nod.

You nod and turn back to the crowd, fluttering your eyes across all of the people in hopes to spot your sister. She was wearing red, the colour which suited her the most in your opinion, so she wasn’t too hard to spot. She was dancing in the middle of the room with a man with blonde hair, a suit similar to the one that Harry was wearing upon his body. She looked happy, and the sight caused a smile to flutter across your lips.

“She’s in the middle there.” You say, nodding your head in the girls direction, “The one in the red dress.”

You turn to look at Harry and once his eyes fall upon your sister, you can tell that the whole world stops around him. His lips part, his eyes widen and if you look closely you can see the reflection of the red dress in his eyes. You’re unsure how long he’s staring at her, but you’re staring at him for the exact same amount of time.

“It’s a. . .” He fumbles with his words after a few seconds, lifting his hands to scratch the back of his neck, “It’s a beautiful dress.”

“It is.” You agree, “Mother let her save up her allowance to buy the material. I should’ve done the same but I spent mine on paints.”

“You paint?” His raises his eyebrow, finally looking back at you.

You nod, “I love to.”

“Then you have every right to spend your money on paints.” He says, and you try to hide the heat that falls upon your cheeks, “You dress is perfectly swell

“It’s not beautiful though.”

“It’s swell, YN.” He reminds you again, “I’m sure you’ll get a beautiful dress at some point.” 

Then you’ve lost him. You’re not surprised, though. Everyone prefers Lizzie to you, it’s just how it’s always been. You watch the back of him as he walks towards your sister, taking the world in his stride behind him as he does so. You watch as she courtesy’s for the man she has just danced with, and before Lizzie can go anywhere, she’s scooped up to dance with Harry. Maybe if you had bought the Emerald material your mother had wanted you to, Harry would be dancing with you right now instead of Lizzie. Maybe if you hadn’t been so against dancing in the first place he might’ve asked you to dance.

No, you wouldn’t stoop to that level for a man of all people. If Harry didn’t want to dance with you, ‘swell dress’ and all then you weren’t going to change yourself, no matter how much you wanted to, for a mere man.

“YN!” Lizzie delightful glee of your name came after their dance had died down. Lizzie came bouncing towards you, a just as bashful Harry following behind her, “Harry has offered to take us home in his carriage!”

“Now?” You ask, your heart hopeful that they’d both say yes.

Lizzie turns to look at Harry who shrugs his shoulders slightly, “If the two of you want to, we can.”

“Oh no.” Lizzie places her hand upon his shoulder, “We couldn’t dare take you away from the festivities. We will wait until you’re finished.”

“I’m ready to leave myself, Miss YLN.” He says to Lizzie, the same heat falling upon her cheeks as you had felt earlier.

“Please. Call me Lizzie.”

“Okay, Lizzie.” He grins, “I’ll just go fetch the carriage, see you by the front door?”

Lizzie nods, and you give him a small smile and watch as he walks towards the door. You try not to stare as he shrugs on his coat but it’s hard to, and you know that Lizzie is feeling the exact same way that you are.

“Oh YN.” She gushes, turning to you and placing her hands upon your shoulder, “He’s a perfect gentlemen.”

“Is that so?” You ask, walking towards the door also to fetch your shawl, shrugging it on your shoulders.

“It is.” She copies your actions with her own, “He asked to dance, saying that you were the one to introduce me to him. I can’t thank you enough, dear sister.” 

“It’s no issue.” You shake off, turning away from her so that she can’t see the fall in your face, “He seemed to take a fancy to you once I’d pointed you out from the crowd.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes.” You nod your head, turning to look at her. Her shawl was scraggly thrown upon her body, probably from how distracted she was, and you lean forward to sort it for her whilst she gleams over your shoulder at nothing. You wonder if this is what it was like to meet your husband, butterflies and distractions from that moment on. It hadn’t happened yet for you, and seeing the way Lizzie was acting, you decided that you didn’t really want it happen, “Couldn’t take his eyes off you, sweet one.”

She squeals and wraps her arms around you, squeezing you slightly. You were happy that she was happy, and you wouldn’t take that away from her.

The door opened, revealing a blushed faced Harry due to the cold outside, “Ready?”

“YN!” Your mother calls from the floor below you, “Can you please come and set the table?” 

You groan and remove your paintbrush from your canvas. The day prior you had been given a small sum of money from your Aunt Jemima after visiting and immediately gone to the store in town to pick up some new canvases. It was heaven to receive little amounts of money like these and you almost always spent it on canvases so you wouldn’t have to use paper, which was the cheaper alternative that you had to buy. 

“I’m a little busy!” You call back, moving so that you can shout out of your door, “Can you ask Lizzie?” 

“She isn’t here!” Your mother calls back and you groan. You place your palette down on the table beside you, as well as your brushes in the pot of water you had brought up with you. You wipe your hands on your apron before pulling it over your head and off your body. You drape it over your bed carefully, being careful to not get anything on the linen.

You bounce down the steps, tucking your hair that falls down in ringlets by the side of your face behind your ear. Entering the kitchen, you place a kiss to your mother’s cheek. She stands over the side, chopping some vegetables that she’s going to bring to boil for your dinner. She greets you with a smile and continues chopping. 

“Is Lizzie with Harry?” You ask, placing the cutlery beside each mat on the table, noticing that there were four like there had started to be now.

“Of course she is.” Your mother shakes her head, “They’re always somewhere causing trouble.” 

You had to suppress your grin. Lizzie had been the good girl of the family for so long, always doing everything that was asked of her and your were the one who tended to ignore requests so that you could continue doing whatever you wanted to. Since Lizzie had met Harry, that had been completely flipped upside down. You were the good girl of the family who did everything that was asked of you, and Lizzie was the one always getting out of doing things by sneaking off with Harry. 

Since the two had met just over two months ago, they had been inseparable. When the two of you weren’t being taught how to read and write by your mother, Lizzie was always somewhere doing something with Harry. The other week he had taken her to the theatre and words couldn’t explain how jealous you were. You and Lizzie did everything together, and you always had done, but now you felt second best to someone who she hardly knew. You knew a part of you was jealous, but you would never admit that. What you did admit to yourself was that you were lonely and missing your sister. 

“Is Harry staying for supper?” You ask, filling up the water jug to be placed upon the table. 

“I’m guessing so.” Your mother says, moving to bend down by the fire to check on the meat, “It’s ready. Will you go get them? I think they’re by the river.” 

You nod your head, moving to the front door to retrieve your shawl and boots. They were always at the river, as though it was there place. You couldn’t understand for the life of you why they’d chosen that place out of all, especially during the winter months. Snow was just around the corner and the two of them decided to spend their days moments away from catching a cold by the river. 

The walk itself was five or so minutes through the woods behind your house, watching your step for fallen branches and wild animals. Lizzie was usually the one who brought you to the lake, so it was a given that you hadn’t been in a while. 

Once the trees start to disperse, you stand in the middle of the opening to try and spot them. You do, quite quickly in fact. They’re stood by the water, picking up stones every now and then to skim across it, rippling the stillness with their movements. Skimming stones felt like a normal thing to see people doing, but once you watch Lizzie throw her arms around his neck, you feel like a little portion of you crumbles inside. You hadn’t seen them like this before, and you never ever wanted to see them like that again. 

“Lizzie!” You call, snapping them out of their trance so that they turn to look at you. Lizzie immediately removes her arms from around Harry’s neck.

“Is there something wrong?” 

“No.” You shake your head, “Mother just asked me to collect the two of you for supper.” 

The two nod and move around where they were stood to collect their things but you don’t wait for them. Instead, you turn around and walk back towards the house. You can hear them laughing but you refuse to look back, because you know that you won’t be able to handle it. The temperature drops dramatically as you walk back, and you pull your shawl closer to you to help preserve some heat. You had a suspicion that at some point this evening it would start snowing, which you weren’t too unhappy about. It would give you time to finish the painting you started today, and hopefully create some more. 

They aren’t close behind you as you reach the door, so you enter and immediately walk towards the table which is looking a lot fuller than it had been. 

“Are they coming?” Your mother asks and you nod, sitting down at the table. They enter a few minutes later, Harry greeting your mother with a kiss on the cheek. 

The three join you at the table, Harry next to you, Lizzie next to him and your mother sat next to the spare seat — where your father usually sat. You all join hands in saying grace, your hand feeling completely natural sat in his. The way his encompassed yours was something that will be etched into your brain for the rest of the day, and for the days after that. It isn’t a light hold either, it’s a prominent one, and his fingers squeeze yours tightly. You drop your eyes to your plate, unable to look up at him because you’re unsure of what his features may hold. 

You don’t say anything over the dinner, you just listen to their words. It’s all about Harry’s time in London, like it usually was, and the rest about what the two had been up too. Your mother asks the dreaded question, and yet again, you ignore any word that comes out of their mouths.

It was inevitable at this point that Harry and Lizzie, at some point, were going to marry each other. You were surprised that Harry hadn’t proposed yet, if you were honest. If soulmates were a thing, no matter how much it pained you to believe, you wouldn’t be surprised if they were the example. You wouldn’t ever say anything to anyone about this, but you do think a part of you wished that was you in her place. You wished that you were the one that he smiled at, held hands with, kissed upon the cheek as she left. 

After the dinner had finished, you had returned up to your room and lit your candle, leaning against the window frame to peer outside. They stood by the gate, Harry’s hand holding hers and her hand holding is. They looked as though they truly loved each other and what you expected to be a measly kiss on the cheek like it usually was, wasn’t that at all. A little part of you died inside when you saw him lean forward and place a kiss upon her lips, his hand lifting up to rest against her cheek. You managed to draw yourself away from the window after you’d watched for a while or so, slipping under your sheets and into your linen, turning so that you’re facing the wall. A few minutes or so later, you hear the door open and the rustling of clothes and you suspect Lizzie gets ready for bed. You try not cry but you can already feel the tears starting to fall down your face.

“YN.” You hear the soft whisper of your voice over the crackle of the candle that was still on in the room, “Are you awake?” 

“Yes.” You manage out through the hesitation within your voice. 

After a few seconds, and a slight giggles escaping her lips, “He kissed me, YN.” 

“Oh.” You try not to sound like you’re upset, “Are you going to marry him?” 

“He hasn’t asked me.” She’s quick to say, “But I think he might.” 

A month or so later, you’re stood in front of a carriage, one that sits Lizzie inside on her way to Etiquette Lessons. Every young lady in the village had to go to them when they reached a certain age to make sure that they are properly prepared for how to look after their husbands when the day comes. You weren’t quite at the age yet, but Lizzie was. 

You had given her a hug, and watched your mother kiss her cheeks and hug her, but you now found yourself watching something that you had seen so many times now. Harry and Lizzie stood by the door of the open carriage, her hands in his as they whisper and chuckle at whatever they’re talking about. You can’t hear what they say, but you can tell it’s emotional from the tears that are running down his face. 

You mother wraps her arm around your shoulder, squeezing your shoulder. You wondered if she knew. You hadn’t said anything to her, but she always seemed to know what was going on in your life even if you hadn’t told her anything. 

Harry helped Lizzie into the carriage, and closed the door for her before coming to stand next to you. Your eyes fluttered up to look at him for a second, but he didn’t even look anywhere near you, he was watching the carriage as it left. The love of his life was leaving in it, so I’m not surprised he did so. 

“Mother.” You say quickly once the carriage had turn off the path, “Can I return and paint?” 

“Of course you can.” She places a hand on one of your cheeks and a kiss to the other, “Take Harry with you. He’ll need the company.” 

You turn to look at him, and he just shrugs, so you nod. You return back to the house with Harry trailing behind you, looking like a lost puppy. The way his eyes seemed to droop, as well as his hair, all hinted to the fact that he was actually upset that she was leaving. He follows you into the room, and sits on the end of Lizzie’s bed whilst you pulled your paints out of your drawer. 

“I’ve only been in here once before.” He says after a few seconds, running his hand over the linen of her sheets, “You were out. Something about Aunt Jemima.” 

“Oh.” You start to face place some of your paints upon your palette, “I read to her, sometimes, and she pays me so I can buy paints. I’m hoping that one day she’ll take me to Europe with her.” 

“Europe?” He asks, “You want to go?” 

“More than anything.” You sigh, swirling your brush in the green paint you had just placed upon your palette, “More specifically I’m hoping she takes me France. I’ll be able properly practice my art then.” 

“Can you not do that here?” 

You hesitate for a second, hovering your brush over the canvas slightly, “I’ll be better suited if I go there. People will care more about my work.” 

“It’s beautiful work.” He says after a few seconds, “I don’t know how France would change that.” 

You think for a second about how to explain this to him, “Think of it like Etiquette school. The girls go and return as better wives than if they hadn’t gone. They would’ve been good wives, but not as good without the school.” 

“I don’t think I understand.” 

“My art is good without France, just like the wives are without Etiquette class, but they are better with it. My art will be better with France.” 

You turn around to see him nod his head, “I think I understand.” 

“A part of it is also me wanting to leave this town.” You say, turning back around so that you can place your paintbrush back upon your canvas. 

“I cannot fault you for that.” He says, and you turn to him again, only to see that he’s laid back upon the bed, a hand over his eyes, “Sometimes I wish I could leave.” 

“Why don’t you?” You ask, “If one of us had the beings necessary to leave it would be you?” 

“Beings necessary?” He pushes himself up on his elbow so that he’s looking directly at you, “And what would be those necessary beings?” 

“Money, for one.” You say, moving so that you’re sat on your bed, looking straight at him, “Carriages. Knowledge of the world. The furthest I’ve ever gone is the neighbouring town and that was to drop something off for my mother.” 

“Why don’t you leave then?” 

You chuckle, raising your eyebrows, “I plan on it.” 

“Ice Skating.” Harry says as he walks through your bedroom door, holding two pairs of ice skates in your hands. 

“Harry!” You exclaim, placing your hand upon your chest at the shocked sight of him, “I could’ve been indecent and you would have never known!”

“But you aren’t.” He tips his head to the side, “Ice Skating. We’re going ice skating. The lake has frozen over and it’s perfect.” 

“Are we now?” You ask, placing your palette down upon the table next to your easel, “Is Mr. Styles bored of his mansion.” 

“I’m going to loose my mind.” He drops down on your sisters bed, the skates clattering to the floor as he does so, “Please come ice skating with me.” 

“Harry.” You sigh, pulling your painting apron off, “I don’t even know how to ice skate.” 

“Then I will teach you.” He says. 

After a few seconds of contemplation, you nod your head, “I’ll do it if you let me paint you.” 

“Deal.” 

Over the past two weeks you and Harry had grown close. Not as close as Harry and your sister, but close enough for you to class him as one of your good friends. The two of you had started to do everything together, similarly to him and Lizzie but with some barriers. You hugged each other but you certainly weren’t as touchy deeply as they were with each other. You couldn’t do it to your sister, so you avoided doing anything that would be seen as wrong.

 You did feel sorry for Harry. He had told you that he had sent three letters to Lizzie during this time and she hadn’t even replied to one. You weren’t quite sure why, but that was quite despicable on her part. The poor man was making himself sick with how much he was worrying about her, and you were the one who had seen it, and been the one to try and get him out of it. One of the things that you had begged him to let you do was paint him, but he kept rejecting your proposal. Instead, he told you that he liked to enjoy watching you paint rather than having you paint him. 

You were excited to say the least that he had agreed to let you paint him, and you certainly weren’t going to miss that opportunity. 

“Slow down.” You call to Harry, who’s around ten strides a head of you as you waddle your way with your dress in your hands through the snow, “I can’t keep up with you.” 

“Walk faster then.” He says, turning to look at you with a grin across his face. 

You groan and try to pick up the pace, nearly slipping a few times on some particularly icy parts of the ground but you make it to the lake in once piece. Harry passes you the skates he had picked up for you and you thank him for passing them to you. You kick your shoes off and fasten the skates, just as he does the same. 

“Stay away from the middle.” He says, “It’s thinner than the edge.” 

“I think you’re forgetting something.” You say as you try to stable yourself on the blades, “I have not idea what I’m doing.” 

“It’s like walking, but on ice.” He deadpans and you resist the urge to roll your eyes, “I’ll let you hold my hand if you want.” 

He holds his hand out and without really thinking you place your hand in his, allowing him to guide you onto the ice. His hand was cold, but so was yours, but having his in yours sent little flames across the entirety of your body. 

At first you were unsteady on your feet, and you’re sure that you could’ve nearly broke Harry’s hand with how tightly you were squeezing it. He chuckled and made sure that you were continuously upright. After five minutes or so, you found the swing of what you were doing, and managed to move forward without any wobbles.

“I’m letting go of you.” 

“No!” You exclaim, gripping his hand tighter so that he wouldn’t be able to pull away from you, “I’ll fall.” 

“You won’t fall.” He chuckles, trying to pull his hand away again. “I will.” You shake your head, “Please, don’t.” 

“You’re not going to fall.” 

“I am.” 

“You’re not.” 

He somehow manages to release his hand from yours and skate backwards away from you, leaving you on your own. You hold your hands out, straightening them as though that’s going to help balance you out. With the little momentum you had left, you moved forward slightly until you came to a halt, where you pick up one of your feet to push forward and move forward. You manage to do it, without falling which surprises you. 

“Harry!” You exclaimed, beaming at him, “I’m doing it.” 

“I told you that you would.” He smiles, tilting his head to the side, “Shall we?” 

“We shall.” You smile, and the two of you continue off across the ice. 

Everything seems to be going well and good until you manage to catch your blade in a slit in the ice and go tumbling forward, going over on your ankle as you do so. You drop to the ground with a thud, a throbbing immediately falling upon your ankle. 

“Harry. . .” His name escapes your lips through the the hiss of pain you let out. 

“Are you injured?” He’s quick to ask, skating over to you as quickly as he possible could. 

“My ankle.” You say, “I think I’ve sprained it.” 

“You probably have.” He’s quick to say, “Lift up slightly, I’ll carry you back home.” 

You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that.”  

“What are you going to?” He laughs, “Crawl?” 

“I might.” 

“You wouldn’t make it home for Christmas.” He bends down, “Come here.” 

You lift your hand up and wrap your hands around his neck, allowing him to place his hands underneath your knees. He looks at you with a small smile on his face and skates back to the edge of the lake, placing you on the floor for a second so that you could both remove your skates. 

“How did you get so good at skating?” You ask, returning to your prior position his arms. 

“Home.” He says, “In England. It’s cold year round there, and the lakes are often frozen. My mother taught me.” 

“You don’t talk about you mother.” 

“She died when I was young.” He says, not looking at you the way that he had been, “I don’t remember a lot about her.” 

“I’m sorry.” You say, “I didn’t mean to pry.” 

“You didn’t.” He shakes his head, “You were merely curious.” 

You drop your eyes to the white around the two of you, “My mother says that my curiosity may get me in trouble one of these days.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” He chuckles, “But that’s something that makes you, you.” 

Without really thinking, you say the next few words, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t me.” 

He shakes his head, “You don’t mean that.” 

“I do.” You nod your head, “There’s nothing special about me. I’m no Lizzie YLN.” 

“No.” He shakes his head, “You aren’t Lizzie, but you are YN. This world doesn’t need anymore Lizzie’s in it.” 

“I thought maybe you’d have a thousands Lizzie’s if you could.” 

“I wouldn’t need a thousand if I could have the one.” 

“You do have you.” 

He shakes his head, “I told her before she went that there was no need for Etiquette classes because to be my wife all I wanted was her. Lizzie wanted to go to get the best experience she possibly could.” 

“You respected that?” 

He looks directly over you again, “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“We all know what actually happens at Etiquette classes, Harry.” 

Harry only nods his head once, not saying anything else. He still carries you home, one of his arms rested comfortable under his knee whilst the other rests behind your back. You hoped you hadn’t offended him, but there was no way for you to know. 

Etiquette classes, as a whole, were to teach young women the proper ways of being a wife during the day, and through the night thy would attend balls and such. The balls were so the women could hopefully meet eligible, rich men who they were hopefully going to marry. If you were already meant to marry someone else, it didn’t seem like a right thing to go to this place where the people were always after one thing. 

As your feelings grew for Harry, you wondered whether Lizzie’s had diminished and that was why she decided to go to the classes. You certainly shouldn’t want that, but you couldn’t lie and say that a part of you did.

“Mrs. YLN?” You mother comes running towards the two of you at Harry’s call of her name, “We’ve had a little accident.” 

“What have you done now?” 

“I went over on my ankle.” You deadpan. 

“Harry will you get me some ice?” He nodded and moved towards the kitchen whilst you mother freed your ankle and rested it upon her knee. 

He came back with ice wrapped in a cloth and passed it to your mother who placed it upon your ankle. 

“Thank you for bringing her home, Harry.” 

“It’s no problem.” 

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” 

“I shouldn’t.” He shakes his head, “Thank you for the offer, though. But I should be returning home.” 

“Pass my love onto your father.” 

“I will.” 

He throws you once last look, one that you can’t quite pinpoint the emotion of. After a few seconds he drops his eyes, and walks out of the door without looking back. You turn to look at your mother, who’s got a skeptical look upon her face as she looks at you. 

“What is it?” 

“Does he know?” 

“Does he know what?” 

A small smile crosses her lips, “That you love him.” 

You lips part in shock before you clamp them shut, “I. . . I feel no such thing.” 

“You had just lied to me, child.” She shakes her head, “I know love when I see it.” 

“Mother.” You shake your head, “He loves Lizzie.” 

“I know.” She places her hand upon your cheek, “You’ll be the one to pick up the pieces when she breaks his heart.” 

Lizzie was due to return home today, on Christmas Eve of all days, and the house certainly looked as though it was ready for her.

You, your mother and Harry had spent quite a while this year decorating the house to be as Christmassy as possible. The thing that you still think about to this day was jumping on Harry’s back so he could lift you up to reach the star, your mother smiling as she watched the two of you. 

The carriage returned at around midday. You were stood next to Harry at the end of the garden, with you mother next to him. The carriage came to a halt and the driver was the one to open the door, Lizzie immediately tumbling out and throwing her arms around your mother who had taken a few steps forward. 

She didn’t look like Lizzie, in your opinion. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, the dress upon her body looking more expensive than the ones that she had gone with. The material was a blushed pink colour, with fancy detailing upon the corset and a puffy skirt that was one of the biggest that you had ever seen in your life. Lizzie looks happy to see your mother to say the least, but you’re quite surprised when she moves to you next instead of Harry. 

“Hello!” She throws her arms around your shoulder, placing her head on your shoulder whilst you placed yours on hers, the material of her fancy coat hitting your cheek. You hadn’t seen anything quite like it before, never mind felt anything quite like it before, “I’ve missed you so much. How are you?” 

“Well, thank you.” You pull away. clearing your throat and wiping your hands upon your skirt slightly, “The same old. It’s you who I should be asking that question to.” 

She smiles and pulls away, holding her small bag close to herself as she looks at the person stood next to you. Harry looks as though he’s about to cry, and so does Lizzie if you’re being brutally honest. The two of them needed to be alone, and you understood that. When your mother motioned you to follow her back into the house, you didn’t hesitate with your movements, following her back into the house. 

“I feel as though dinner might be late tonight.” You mother says as she closes the door behind you, fumbling to take off her scarf, “I feel like they might be out there for a while. Why don’t you go up and finish your painting?” 

You nod your head, not wanting to say anything. You remove your outdoor gear and race up the stairs. You know you shouldn’t, but you immediately run to the window to see whether you can see the two of them, but you’re unable to. 

Lizzie looked like a different person, but she sounded like Lizzie when she opened her mouth. The clothes that she wore might have changed but she was still your sister, the same sister who had the man you loved following her around like a lost puppy. Lizzie was the same Lizzie as she always had been, and that meant that she probably did feel the same way about Harry as she did before she left. There was a selfish streak in you that wished that wasn’t the case, and she had completely forgot about her feelings for Harry and had met someone else, but until you properly had a conversation with the girl, you couldn’t be too sure that was the case. You couldn’t be sure either that if that had happened, Harry would want you in that way. 

You found yourself unable to paint, so you dropped down upon your bed and sat with your back against the wall, watching the outside world as your thoughts danced around within your head. You found the thoughts spiralling through your head that you were still a young woman at the end of the day, one who could have a line of men wanting to marry you but you instead found yourself second best to your sister, and that shouldn’t be happening. No matter how much you loved the man, or had grown to be accustomed to his company, being second best wasn’t something that you had set your heart on being, and you wouldn’t be for him.

You were the first YLN he had met, yet he had chosen your sister first and he was going to lay in that bed now. 

“YN!” You mother called from downstairs, “They’re here.” 

Christmas Eve dinner, to say the least, was one that you’d never forget. Harry looked as though he was either going to burst out crying or kill someone at any moment, Lizzie looked exhausted and your mother and yourself were sat in the middle of the two of you trying to make ends meet of what had happened. Harry’s eyes caught yours once, but he was quick to flutter them away and take another forkful of vegetables and place it in his mouth. 

“Lizzie, you haven’t told YN and I anything about your time away.” Your mother started, probably not the best topic of conversation but one that would split up the silence hopefully, “Did you enjoy yourself?” 

“I did.” She wipes her mouth upon her napkin, “I had an amazing time. Met some amazing people. Actually, there is one person that I’ve invited for you to meet for the new year.” 

“You have?” Your mother raises her eyebrow, “How wonderful.” 

“His name is Theodore.” 

That’s all it takes for Harry’s fork to clatter to the plate, his chair screech across the floor and his body to stand up. 

“I’m, uh, truly sorry Mrs. YLN.” He says, “The meal was lovely but I’m not feeling very well so I think it’s best that I go home.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“I will be.” He nods his head, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his neck, “So sorry again, have an amazing Christmas.” 

“You too, Harry.” 

Once the doors closed, Lizzie’s the next person to drop her cutlery and sulk off upstairs. The slamming of the bedroom door shakes the whole house. You place another bit of potato into your mouth and slowly chew whilst looking at your mother. 

She sighs, “Will you go check on your sister for me?” 

“But—”

“You’ll get to see him later, don’t worry.” She says, “I’m going to plate him and his father some food. God knows they won’t eat without it, and you can take it over for me.” 

You nod your head, taking a sip from your glass of water before standing up and making your way upstairs. You cam hear Lizzie’s cries before you open the door, and you know that its because of what had obviously happened before the two of them had come to lunch. You push the door open, to see her laid on her bed face down, her head deep within her pillow. You push the door closed behind you and back up until your back is directly placed upon the solid wood. 

“Are you engaged to him?” You say, looking down at your shoes so that you don’t have to make eye contact with her. 

You can hear the bed creek beneath her as she moves, but you still don’t look up, “To who?” 

“To Theodore.” 

“No.” You lift your eyes up just as she shakes her head, “I’m not.” 

“But you want to be.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

You scoff and shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest, “You forget that I’m your sister, Lizzie. I know you better than you know yourself.” 

After a few seconds, she speaks again, “He’s going to propose.” 

“He is?” You take a few steps forward until you’re sat upon your bed, directly across from her, “Why, Lizzie?” 

“We’re in love.” She quickly says, her eyes bulging out the way that they do when she starts to get upset, “When you’re in love, you get married YN.” 

“I thought you were in love with Harry.” 

“I love Harry.” She says, shaking her head, “But I’m not in love with him. I love him as a best friend.” 

“He loves you.” 

“I know.” She shakes her head, “I just didn’t love him the way I love Theodore. He’s just so kind, and so gentle and he makes me feel things that I just haven’t felt before.” 

The way that she stands up immediately makes your mind immediately fall to a place that you know isn’t where it should be. Your eyes widen and she looks at you the exact way that you know that what you thought is right. 

“Lizzie.” You voice comes out as a whisper, and you shake your head, “You didn’t.” 

“I love him, YN.” She shakes her head, “And he loves me.” 

“We always said we’d save that until marriage.” You shake your head, “You told me that’s what you have to do.” 

She sits down on the bed next to you, reaching so that her hands are placed upon both of your shoulders, “And you do. Promise me you will, YN.” 

“I will.” You quickly say, “I promise, I will.” 

“Good.” She sighs, dropping her hands from your shoulders, “You will not end up like me, I won’t let you.” 

“How have you ended up?” 

She looks at you with tears in her eyes, “I think I’m pregnant, YN.” 

You were holding a basket of food that your mother had collated for Harry and his father. You had knocked upon the door once and now you were stood, waiting for someone to open the door and let you in from the cold. The temperature had certainly dropped since you had been outside earlier, but you weren’t surprised at that fact. 

“Miss. YLN.” Harry’s father opens the door. You’ve only ever met him once, and from what Harry has told you, he’s quite a cold man, “May I ask why you’re here?” 

“Uh, my mother sent you and Harry some food over.” You say, holding up the basket within your hands, “I just came to deliver it.” 

“Please.” He says, “Come in.” 

You step through the threshold of the house, entering one that was three times the size of your own but just as empty as yours. 

“I’ll take that to the kitchen for you.” He says, holding his hands out so you can place the basket within them, “H is upstairs, in the library. Third door on the left.”  

“Thank you.” 

The stairs themselves were probably bigger than your entire house, and as you ran your hand across the wood of the banister you couldn’t believe how expensive it felt beneath your fingers. You followed Mr. Styles’ instruction and walked along the grand hallway until you found the third door on the left. It was slightly ajar, so you placed your hand upon the wood and push it open, the door creaking as you did so. 

Your mouth drops open at the sight of the room in front of you. When Mr. Styles said Library you thought it may have been a small room with bookshelves in it, but it wasn’t, it was a full library at the most. It was full of the most books you’ve ever seen anywhere, floor to ceiling bookshelves. You couldn’t help your want to run your fingers across every single cover. 

You spot Harry sat at the window, his knees bent and a book placed open upon them. You cross your hands in front of you, taking a few steps towards Harry. The sound of your shoes against the wooden floor notifies Harry that you’re there, and he lifts his eyes to look at you. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, closing the book that he had open. 

You take a few more steps towards him, sitting at the opposite side of windowsill to him, “I should be asking you that question.” 

He chuckles, lifting his leg up again so that it’s on the windowsill, “I’m okay.” 

“I don’t believe that.” You shake your head, coping him so your feet are up also and you’re facing him, “Tell me truthfully. How are you?” 

He shakes his head, dropping his eyes down to his knees, “She doesn’t want to marry me.” 

“You asked?” 

“Today.” He nods, looking back at you again, “I had a ring.” 

After a few seconds you whisper, “Can I see it?” 

“See what?” 

“The ring.” 

He opens his jacket and fumbles around in the inside pocket, bringing out a small blue velvet box which he throws towards you. You catch it, nearly dropping it but you manage to keep it in your hands. You raise your eyebrow at him and he offers a small smile, one that you knew wasn’t the most truthful of how he’s feeling.

You open the box and see a beautiful ring in the box. The ring itself was silver, but the thing that drew your and probably Harry to it was the gem. It looked to be diamond, not a large one at that but one that was a lovely sized. The light from the window caused the diamond to glimmer slightly, a gasp escaping from your lips.

“Harry.” You shake your head, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “It’s beautiful.” 

“I thought so too.” He says, running his thumb across his bottom lip before shrugging his shoulders, “Lizzie didn’t think so.” 

“It’s not because of you, Harry.” You quickly say, “Nothing to do with you.” 

“It must’ve been, YN.” He says, “You’re sister doesn’t want to marry me. Me! Not anyone else.” 

“She can’t marry you, Harry.” You say, the tears starting to collect in your eyes, “I don’t know whether if situations were different she would marry you, but in this situation it isn’t your fault. I can promise you that.” 

You watch a tear fall down is cheek, “Has she met someone else?” 

You look away, pursing your lips and closing your eyes to try and stop the tears from falling down your cheeks, “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“Is it Theodore? Is she engaged to him?” 

“She will be.” You say, standing up and moving so that you’re in front of him, placing your hand upon his knee, “I’m so sorry, Harry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“She’s my sister.” 

“You’re not in charge of her.” 

You reach forward and place your hand upon his cheek, using your thumb to delicately wipe the next year that falls out of his eye. His tilts his head slightly so that it’s nicely rested within your hand, and you smile at him, which his returns. 

“Did she ever love me?” 

“She did.” You say, nodding your head, “She loves you. She’s just not in love with you.” 

“That doesn’t make it any easier.”

You shake your head, “I don’t think anything will at this point. You just need to wait, time will heal. I’ll be here for you.” 

“I think.” He says, dropping his knees so that he can move closer to you, “I think you might be able to.” 

“Whatever you need, H.” You say.

He moves closer, you can feel him closer to you, but you certainly hadn’t expected for him to place his lips upon yours. The kiss at first in gentle, his lips pressed against yours so gently that at the start you couldn’t quite feel him upon you. Then it’s more urgent, with his hand placed upon your cheek, his lips moving against yours at a quick pace. 

“H.” You whisper, pulling away slightly as he removes his lips from yours, using them to dance down your cheek, to your jaw and then resting against the skin of your neck. 

He removed his hand from your cheek and hooking it underneath your thigh so he can manoeuvre you to be on his lap.

This is the first time you’ve ever kissed a boy, and you can’t believe that the boy of all people is Harry Styles. You hadn’t been this close to anyone before, straddled across his lap with your knees each side of his waist, your skirt bunched up at your waist. The second you were comfortable, his lips attached to your again, his hands rested upon the small of your back. A feeling brewed within you, causing your hips to involuntary buck towards his. You felt him smile against your lips, and that was when you snapped out of the daze that you were in.

Without really thinking, you pulled away and clambered off of his lap. He looked flushed as you pulled away, his hair a little messy and his lips red from the kissing. 

“No.” You hold your hand out at him, shaking your head, “You can’t do that.” 

“Why not?” He said, standing up and taking a few steps towards you. 

“Because. . . because you just can’t.” You shake your head, lifting your hands to run through your hair. 

“I thought.” He looks at you quizzically, “I thought that’s what you wanted.” 

“Maybe I did, a little bit.” You say, shaking your head, “But you didn’t want it to be me. You wanted it to be Lizzie.” 

“No.” He shakes his head, holding his hand out as if to touch yours, “I didn’t want that.” 

“You did, I know you Harry, and you did.” You sniffle slightly, shaking your head, “I’m not Lizzie and I’ll never be Lizzie, and I’ve accepted that. You’ll never love me like you love Lizzie, and I know that. But, Harry, I won’t be second best. I don’t deserve to be second best.” 

“You aren’t second best, YN!” 

You can’t help but let out a small sob at his words, “I am, Harry. From the first day that we met each other, Lizzie came first. She was the one who you couldn’t bore your eyes away from, not me. I don’t think I had a full conversation with you until Lizzie left for her classes.” 

“That’s not true, YN.” He shakes his head, “I swear to you, it isn’t.” 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” You take a few steps back, “I won’t be second best.” 

With that you turn away, leaving the house and leaving Harry. You couldn’t help the tears that fell as you walked across to your house. 

You had made the decision that day that you weren’t to stay in America, that you were going to leave and you knew that Aunt Jemima was the person you knew would be able to help you with that.

Your Aunt Jemima was getting older, but before she died she wanted to go to Europe on last time, more specifically France. She had asked you years ago to be her companion on the trip, and you had agreed, but that was the last time you’d ever spoken to her about it. On Christmas day, you had been the one to bring the idea back up in conversation, dropping in little hints until Aunt Jemima picked up what you were saying. She had been the one to say that in the new year you were going and that you had to be ready to leave on January second with no complaints, not that you had any anywhere. 

When Aunt Jemima’s carriage came, you said your farewell’s to your mother and you sister, and Theodore who had proposed to your sister the day prior — and left. As you sat in the carriage, you couldn’t help but look at Harry’s house, and you weren’t shocked to see him at the window watching your every move. You didn’t look away from the window until you could no longer see the house, when you turned to look straight in front of your, your gloved hands resting upon your knee. 

“Forget him.” Aunt Jemima says, sighing slightly and shaking her head, “He isn’t right for you.” 

“I have no idea what you are on about.” You shake your head, looking out of the small carriage window so that you don’t have to look at your Aunt. 

“That Styles boy.” She says, and you immediately snap your eyes towards her, “Don’t think I don’t know about the two of you.” 

“There isn’t anything to know.” You shake your head at her. 

“There obviously is.” She says, “Or you wouldn’t be sulking the way that you are.” 

“I’m not sulking.” 

“I haven’t brought a liar with me have I ?” She asks, raising her eyebrow at you.

“You haven’t.” She shakes her head, “I am sulking, I’m sorry.” 

“Apology accepted.” She says, pursing her lips, “Are you going to tell me about him, then?” 

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re about to cry, my dear.” She flutters her eyes to you slightly, “I could sense your heartbreak from a mile away. He’s the reason you wanted to come, isn’t he?” 

“I wanted to come.” You say, messing with your fingers that sat on your lap, “He just. . . gave me a reason to finally do it.” 

“I think he’s the idiot in this situation.” She says after a few seconds and your lips part in shock, before you clamp them back together, “He’s the one who got involved with you and your sister. I wonder if he can even get out of bed.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Well. First of all your sister broke his heart by not marrying him and marrying that other man, I’ve already forgotten his name.” She shakes her head, “Then you broke his heart by doing whatever you did when you went to go see him on Christmas Eve and you’ve been depressed ever since you left.” 

“Who told you that?” 

“Who do you think?” Aunt Jemima clicks her tongue and shakes her head, “My daughter told me. Wouldn’t stop crying saying that you’re leaving the love of your life and her other daughters pregnant by some pretentious nobody.” 

You run your hand over your forehead, scrunching your face at the fact that everyone knew, “My mother knows too much.” 

“Your mother just knows you.” Aunt Jemima shakes her head, “At least you haven’t ruined your life before it’s even begun, with a child of all things.” 

“You’re just saying that because you never had children.” 

“Why would I want an offspring of myself and some other man?”

“It’s about love, Aunt Jemima.” You can tell that you’re about to cry, so again you turn your head, “When you love someone, that’s something to bring that love into a being.” 

“I just don’t see why.” She says, curling up her nose, “But then again, that’s why I’m seventy, unmarried and childless. Don’t think about the Styles boy too much. You’re going to a different country for heavens sake, think of all of the people that you’ll meet whilst you’re there. You’ll forget him soon, my dear, and he’ll forget you. That’s what we’ll hope for anyway.” 

The tears do start to fall now, in quick streams down down your cheeks. You couldn’t stop them. Aunt Jemima, no matter how much you despised her sometimes, she certainly knew what she was talking about. You turned your head so that you were looking away from your aunt, looking out of the window and trying your hardest not to let any sobs fall out of your lips.

You did love Harry and if he had stopped your from getting into the carriage, your probably would. If he had asked to marry you, you probably would have said yes without any hesitation but at the same time you also felt as though you were second best, and that wasn’t a place that you ever thought you’d be.

No matter how much you loved him, and yearned to be with him, you knew for the sake of your sanity and for the sake of staying as a strong independent woman. You were taught from being young from your mother that no matter how many people try to say that all you were worth is more than just being the wife of some rich man. Your mother also said that you had a talent and that you had to use it. 

France was going to be the place that you were going to use your talents, and be a better person for doing so. 

Four Years Later

“Pierre.” You say, smiling at the man as he held his hand out to you, “Puis-je vous demander ce que vous faites?” May I ask what you’re doing? 

“Je demande à la plus belle fille de la pièce de danser.” You can’t help the blush that falls across your cheeks. You nod your head and slip your hand into his, standing up and following him into the middle of the dance floor. I’m asking the most beautiful girl in the room to dance. 

The music changes around them to one of the most popular songs in Paris to dance to. He lifts his arm up, just as you do to his, and start the movements in the same way that everyone else in the room had.

You had arrived in France with Aunt Jemima four years ago, fresh faced after the journey and ready to start your new life there.  At first it took a while for you to get used to the new life that you now lived. Aunt Jemima’s French house, if it was even possible, was bigger that her house back home with more nooks and crannies to explore but more importantly, a bigger garden that you could paint every corner of. The main thing that you focused on during the first few months of your arrival was settling in and learning the language which you knew would be hard, but it was something that you needed to do. 

Pierre was the person who had helped you do that. 

Aunt Jemima had hired him to be your French tutor. She said that he was one of the best for you, and that he certainly was. You learnt the basics within the first few months until you were able to finally communicate with the people around you in their native language. At first, you despised Pierre and his pretentious way of making you feel small, but here you were, fours years later, dancing with him and waiting for his proposal at some point. 

Aunt Jemima would be turning within her grave if she knew you were planning to marry Pierre. Even though she hired him when you first arrived to teach you, but she found him incompetent to do anything else. She could tell that you were falling for him, and told you multiple times to not settle for him but you were ignoring her. 

If you listened to every one who your Aunt Jemima told you to not settle for, you’d never marry at all. 

“Do you have plans tomorrow?” He asks, in English this time, his accent seeping through with every word that he spoke. 

“Plans?” You raise your eyebrow, “To paint, yes, but I suppose I can clear my schedule.” 

After learning the French language, that was when you had started your painting classes. You started taking everything in, listening to every single word the teacher said to you until you were good enough to start on your own. The first time one of your pieces was shown in an exhibit, people loved it, and you found yourself creating more and more works and creating more and more links with people around. 

“Do.” He says, nodding his head, “Je veux t’emmener quelque part. Quelque part spécial.” I want to take you somewhere. Somewhere special.

You bite your lip, nodding your head whilst trying to suppress the large smile that’s ready to cross your entire face. 

Pierre was a hopeless romantic, always showering you in large gestures that caused your heart to flutter within your chest. He hadn’t kissed you, and even though you knew that you knew deep down that you shouldn’t compare it, you found yourself not feeling the way that you did the last time you found yourself with a man. 

At twenty-three you were late to get married, and if you ever wanted kids you would have to do so quicker than anything you had ever done in your life because you knew that your days were going to start become numbered. 

“What time should I be ready?” 

“I’ll pick you up at eleven.” 

The song ends, your courtesy and he bows and that’s when you walk back towards the table you were sat at, picking up your glass of Champagne and taking a sip. 

“YN.” You stop drinking immediately, nearly choking on the liquid that you had already started to sip. You know that voice anywhere, etched into your brain from when you were just a mere eighteen year old with a heart twice the size of the one you had now, “As I live and breathe.” 

You turn around, immediately seeing a man that you had left years ago stood in front of you. He looked exactly the same as when you knew him all those years ago, except his features were a tad harder and his hair curler that it was before if it was even possible which you weren’t too sure about. 

“Harry.” You swallow the lump in your throat, placing your glass down on the table and turning so that you were facing him, “It’s been a while.” 

“It certainly has.” He says, lifting his own glass to his lips, “You look good. Happy.” 

“I am.” You nod your head. You look at him, his eyes emptier that you had ever seen them before, not even when Lizzie refused to marry him, “I wish I could say the same for you, but. . .” 

“I look exhausted.” 

“You do.” You say, watching as his lips curled up into a smile as do yours, “How are you? Genuinely.” 

“I’m. . .” 

“Ma chérie.” You feel an arm slip around your waist, rest upon the small of it as he stands next to you, “Qui est-ce?” My darling. Who is this? 

“Ah.” You brush a piece of your hair that had fallen out of place away from your face, “Pierre, this is Harry. Harry this is Pierre.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows, lifting the glass to his lips to drink the rest of it. As you watch, it doesn’t seem to even hits the sides with how quickly he drinks it. 

“Bonjour.” Pierre holds his hand out to Harry, “Comment allez vous?”

Harry looks at Pierre’s hand but he doesn’t shake it, and that’s when you lift your fingers to run against your forehead, “Are you two, marié?” Married.

“No.” You shake your head, stepping to the side slightly so that Pierre’s hand isn’t upon your waist anymore, “We are. . .” 

“Courting.” Pierre’s quick to interject, “I think that’s what to call it.” 

You watch as Harry’s eyebrows raise, and without saying anything to the two of you, he turns around and mutters, “I need another drink.” 

As he walks away, you can see the slight stagger in his walk, one that many intoxicated people hold and you know that him being not himself treads deeper than just seeing you there today. 

“YN.” Pierre places a hand upon your shoulder, “How do you know that man?” 

“He’s someone from home.” You say, watching as Harry drinks another full glass of Champagne where he’s staggered off to, “He’s an old friend.” 

He leans down until you can feel his breath at your ear, “Just a friend.” 

You nod, leaning into him as he places a kiss to your neck, “Bien.” Good.

Since Pierre wasn’t picking you up until eleven, you decide that you have the time to at least start your next painting. In the garden of your Aunts house that you had inherited, you had built a gazebo with the money that you had made from selling your art pieces to exhibits that overlooked the garden and the pond from the four different directions that it had around it. 

You had decided that the swans that swum in the pond were looking particularly delightful today and you decide that is the direction that you want to start your painting. You set up your easel and your canvas, as well as your paints that you brought on a palette and start figuring out the dimensions of the painting and what you wanted it to look like. 

You hold up your paintbrush, closing one of your eyes as you move it from portrait to landscape and back again. 

“You always were a perfectionist.” The paintbrush in your hand clatters you the ground as it slips through your fingers, due to you jumping. You weren’t expecting anyone to be here, and you certainly weren’t expecting to hear his voice. 

“And you always had a tendency to shock people.” He laughs, his dress shoes hitting the decking with loud pats.

“My apologies.” He says, slipping one of his hands into the pocket of his trousers, taking another step closer to you, “I didn’t mean to shock you, love.” 

You place your palette down, brushing your hands off slightly on your apron. You’d usually wear your comfortable clothes to paint in, the attire usually not even being a skirt but often trousers, but because you were meeting Pierre later, you knew that you had to dress up. It wasn’t the fanciest dress you owned, but the light blue material complimented your features in a way that you just couldn’t resist when you saw it in the shop. 

��Yes you did.” You lips curl up into a smile, “You forget that I know you Harry, even after all these years.” 

“Lots of things can change in four years, YN.” 

“You haven’t.” 

“You haven’t, either.” He smiles.

You tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear and take a step closer to him, clearing your throat slightly as you do so, “I want to apologise for last night. Pierre can be a little. . .” 

“Intrusive.” Harry leans against the pillar nearest to him and you nod, knowing that is exactly what he is. 

“I’m very sorry. I would have loved to have caught up with you.” 

“I probably wouldn’t have been in the best frame of mind to do so.” He runs his fingers through his hair, “I was drunk, if you couldn’t tell.” 

“I could.” 

“Now.” He lifts his hand up and motions to the garden around you, “Are you going to tell me what I’ve missed in the last four years?” 

“Uh.” You move so you’re stood next to him, leant against the barrier, “I moved with Aunt Jemima. This was her house but she died a year ago, if I remember correctly. She left me the house in her will, and I decided that I wanted to stay.” 

“Have you been at home at all during the last four years?” 

You nod your head, “I went home when Lizzie got married, that was when I met Anna for the first time. Then I went back for Aunt Jemima’s funeral because she decided she didn’t want to be buried here.” 

“I must have missed you.” He says, “I spent a lot of the last four years in England with my grandparents.” 

“Lizzie told me.” You say, “She said that she did invite you to the wedding but your father explained that you were in England.” 

He nods his head, “I left a few months after you. I think my father was fed up of my moping.” 

It shouldn’t have hurt you, but his words did. Your chest squeezed slightly at his words. Even though you knew you were doing what you were doing to benefit yourself, you couldn’t lie and say that you hadn’t missed him. You had lost a friend when you left, as well as your first love. 

“Are you married?” You ask, not really knowing why the words escape from your lips in the way that they do. 

He shakes his head, holding his hand up to reveal his completely ring free hand, “Nope. I can’t really say that I’ve been looking.” 

“I’m sure you’ve had opportunities.” You say, “You’re the perfect gentlemen, Harry. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve had women queuing to marry you.” 

He chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “People have tried but I haven’t been interested.” 

“Why not?” 

“Some may say that I’m still hung up on somebody.” His eyes flutter away from yours, and you take it as the opportunity to look down at your hands, “But that doesn’t matter. What about you and Mr. Intrusive.” 

You chuckle, lifting your eyes up to look at his, “He was my French language teacher. I didn’t like him, despised him to be fair but here were are a few years later and I think he’s going to propose to me later today.” 

“Do you want to marry him?” 

If you were asked this question but anybody else, you probably would have immediately said yes and that was enough for you to know that you should marry him. But seeing Harry stood there, the way that he is, waiting for you to answer what should be one of the easiest questions ever, reminds you that this may have gotten a lot more confusing now with Harry’s reappearance. 

“I. . .” You hesitate and drop your eyes down to the ground again, “I think so.” 

“You think?” He says, “I can’t say that I believe that you do if you only think that you want to marry him.” 

“I do.” You say, quickly. 

Harry stands up and takes a few steps towards the opposite end of the gazebo, “Do you love him?” 

This answer, so it should be another one, was easy to answer, “No.” 

“Then why are you marrying him.” 

“I’m twenty-three, Harry.” You say, your heels tapping the wood as you move to stand next to him, looking at the pond in front of you, “I’m certainly not getting any younger. If I returned home to mother and father without a husband and children I believe they would disown me.” 

“They wouldn’t.” He shakes his head, “They love you too much.” 

“I’ve had three letters from them asking about grandchildren.” You deadpan, looking at him with a stoic look on their face. 

“I’m sure they wouldn’t want to marry someone who you don’t love.” He says.

“If I don’t marry Pierre, who will I marry?” 

After a few seconds, the smallest whispers escapes his lips, “You could marry me.” 

The whole world seems to slow down around you, and you turn to look at him. He’s already looking at you, with those green eyes that you became so accustomed to all those years ago. You knew each other in all for three months, but you spent every second of every day with each other when Lizzie was away, and it certainly showed with how close you became. Marrying Harry could be the thing that you need, have always needed. You haven’t been as happy as you were when you were back him with him in a long time. 

“Harry.” You say, the words coming out in a small whisper, “You can’t mean that.” 

“I do.” He says, quickly to say the least, “I haven’t been more sure about anything in my life before.” 

“Harry—”

“Madame.” One of the groundskeepers say, walking towards the two of you, “Monsieur Perney est là.” Mr. Perney is here. 

“Merci, Alfred.” You clear your throat to try and mask the uncertainty in your voice, “Ça ne prendra qu’un seconde.” Thank you, Alfred. I will only be a second. 

The man nods and walks away, and you turn back to look at Harry, who has the same look on his face as you do on yours. There’s a level of defeat between the two of you. 

“I need to, um, go meet with Pierre.” You say, hands gripping the material of your dress. 

“Is that a no?” He takes a step towards you. 

You sigh, “It’s a, I have to think about it.” 

He nods, “When will you know? This is probably a good time to tell you that I’m leaving tomorrow.” 

That changed everything. It wasn’t as though now you had a few days to think through and make your decision, you had to make it quickly before he goes. 

“Tomorrow?” 

He nods, “Father’s ill. Paris was my last hooray before I go back home to be an adult.” 

You take a few moments to think, “Will you be able to return back here this evening?” 

“For you? Of course.” He says as though he doesn’t even have to think about it. 

You nod your head and take a few steps towards him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “Goodbye Harry.” 

“I’ll see you later, love.” 

“C’est une belle journée.” Pierre says as the two of you walk side by side around a park, the spring heat light upon your skin as you do so. It’s a beautiful day. 

“It is.” You say, not being able to pull your eyes away from the ground below you.

You knew that you shouldn’t be thinking about this at all, that it wasn’t fair to Pierre, but all you could think about was Harry. You couldn’t get the look of his face out of your head as you kissed his cheek and walked away, as though he felt like that was it between the two of you. You were still unsure of the decision that you were going to make, but once you found yourself stood at the top of some steps, looking out at the park below, you knew that you were to make your decision sooner of later. 

“Is something bothering you?” 

“No.” You shake your head, finally lifting your eyes to look at his, “Everything is swell, thank you.” 

“Good.” He takes a step closer so that his fingers are brushing yours, “YN?” 

“Yes?” 

“We’ve known each other for a long time.” He says, and the two of you turn so that you’re facing each other, his hands gripping yours, “A very long time, and I was wondering whether I could ask you something?” 

“We have.” You know what the question is before the words have left his lips, and you’re already beginning to prepare yourself for what you’re going to hear the next time he open his lips, “And you can.” 

He clears his throat and fumbles within his inside pocket, drawing out what you know is a ring box. He lets go of your hand which he was still holding with his free one and drops down to his knee, using his other hand to open the small box. 

“YN YLN.” He sighs, “Ma chérie. Will you marry me?” 

The same feeling that you felt before overcomes you, when the whole world around you seems to be moving in slow motion. He looks so happy, his cheeks lifting in a wide grin that you can’t seem to shake from your sight. You can’t even bring yourself to look at the ring he had chosen for you, because it was at that time, seeing him on his knee, that you know what your answer is. 

“I’m so sorry, Pierre.” You slip your bottom lip between your teeth, “I don’t think I can.” 

“What?” His whole face drops, and guilt starts to wash over you. He immediately stands up, looking at you with wide eyes, “No?” 

You shake your head, “I’m so sorry, Pierre.” 

“I thought that you wanted to marry me.” He shakes his head, “Comment ai je pu être si stupide?” How could I have been so stupid?

“You haven’t. I promise you, Pierre.” You reach your hand forward to touch his arm, but he moves away from you, not wanting you to touch him you suppose, “I did want to marry you.” 

“What has changed?” You look at him with sad eyes, tears threatening to spill and you watch the realisation flutter across his features, “He has.” 

You drop your head, lifting your hand to wipe away the tears that had started to spill, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Who is he?” His features switch to angry ones next, and his voice deepens and it shocks you to say the least, “You have never mentioned him and now you will not marry me because of him?” 

“He’s an old friend from hime, like I said.” You repeat your words from the party last night, “I haven’t seen him since I moved here.” 

“Do you love him?” The words are quick to leave his lips and you once again drop your head, in shame if you are completely honest, “Do you? I want to hear you say it?” 

“I do.” His hostile tone scared you into answering, “I always have.” 

“Did you ever love me?” 

You shake your head, the little movement causing him to throw you one of the worst looks you’ve ever seen in your life and stalk away from you. Tears stream down your face, and you know that you probably look the worst you’ve ever looked in your life at this given moment but you couldn’t care less. You thought that you’d feel worse than you do, but you you feel more relieved than anything. You feel bad that you’ve had to break his heart, but the idea of going back home with Harry, seeing your family and saying that he is the man that you’re going to marry was enough for your heart to burst with excitement. 

In your opinion, you couldn’t return home quick enough. The second you return to the house you’re fluttering around as quickly as possible, packing all the belongings that you’d need immediately when you returned but you knew that you could get the rest of your belongings shipped in at a later date. 

The evening rolled around quicker that you had imagined it would, but you supposed time went quickly when you’re packing to go across the world with the love of your life. When you hear the knock at your door, you race to open it, not caring what people think because all you want is to see him. 

You throw the door open, and there he is, stood in the exact same suit that you’d seen him in earlier. He did look tireder then he did earlier, but if you had spent the day worrying you probably would’ve looked worse than he did. 

“Come in.” You open the door wider, so that he can step in, “Please.” 

He takes a few seconds to look around at the entrance way to the house, his lips parting at the sheer size of it as you did when you first arrived. Aunt Jemima was an odd woman, you couldn’t lie, but she certainly knew how to pick a lovely house. You’d probably sell it now that you were going back to America. 

He looked around for a while before he noticed your pile of belongings in the corner, all packed away and ready to leave. 

His eyes meet yours and he looks as though he’s going to cry at any given moment, “Really?” 

You nod your head, “I want to marry you, Harry. Always have.” 

He takes two steps forward and places his lips on yours, his hands falling to your cheeks. It sent you back to four years ago, stood in the library after you’d just kissed him. You couldn’t believe that he was back with you, kissing your lips in the way that you had yearned for him too for so many years. 

He pulls away and rests his head upon yours with a sigh, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Ever since that day. I should’ve done more.” 

“It was my fault.” You thread your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, “I shouldn’t have left. I should have sulked for a while but gone back to you. I missed you so terribly.” 

“I know why you did it.” He says, pressing another quick kiss to your lips, “I shouldn’t have proposed to your sister when it was you who made me happy. I knew that I shouldn’t have the second I said it, and I’m sorry for that.” 

“We’ll start a fresh.” You whisper, resting your forehead upon his, “Forget everything that happened four years ago and start fresh. I love you, Harry. I always have.” 

“I love you too.” 

You lean forward and place your lips on his again, his hands resting comfortably upon your waist. It felt so familiar for you to be in his arms, his lips upon yours. He was the only person you had ever kissed, and now he’d be the only person that you’d ever kiss, and you certainly weren’t complaining about that. 

“You may now kiss the bride!” 

Harry smiles at you, and you beam up at him before the two of you lean forward and kiss each other. Cheers and applause erupt around the two of you, as well as confetti and flowers being thrown across the two of you as you walk down the aisle. 

You had arrived a few months ago from Paris, and immediately thrown into trying to nurse Harry’s father back to health, which didn’t go to plan. It was hard on Harry, but he had you and that was the most important thing to him. His Father gave you his blessing for the marriage, saying that it was the best thing he’d heard in a while. The funeral was a few weeks later, and the two of you decided to have the wedding two months afterwards.

The two of you were moving into Harry’s house, across the road from the house that your mother and father still lived in. You had so many plans for what you wanted to do to with the place, seeing as though it was way too big for the two of you to live in on your own. 

It was your wedding night, and you were walking up towards the front door of the house when you felt Harry’s arm slipping under your thighs. You squeal as he picks you up, wrapping your arms around Harry’s neck. Giggling, you lean forward and place a kiss to his cheek, causing the dimples to show within his cheeks. 

“I love you, husband.” You say, smiling as he places you down in the entry way. 

“I love you too.” He leans forward and places a kiss to your lips, “Wife.” 

It was as though the atmosphere within the room changed the second he said that word. His hands found your hips, resting on the material of your dress. You took a step backwards, causing you to press your back against the inside of the door, your lips immediately attacked by his. Your hips involuntarily buck up to Harry’s, causing a groan to escape from his lips. After a few seconds, he pulls away, kissing down your neck. 

“Harry.” You whisper, feeling a moan ready to tumble from your lips at the feeling of his teeth grazing your neck, “Take me upstairs.” 

“Are you sure?” You nod your head and he’s quick to pick you up again, this time carrying you over his shoulder. You squeal and grip his shoulders to steady yourself, “Better give my wife what she wants.”

Once you were up the stairs safely, he placed you down and connected your lips again. The first thing you did once your feet touched the ground again, you gripped the edge of his suit jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, listening to the material tumble to the ground and drop. 

“Can I take your shirt off?” You mumble against his lips and he hums, allowing you to unbutton his shirt and shrugging that material off of his shoulders. This was the most you’d seen of Harry naked, and another human being at that. 

“What about you?” He says, walking you both back until he’s sat on the bed, “Can I see you?” 

“You’ll have to help.” You giggle, turning around. He starts to unbutton your dress, letting the material slip from your body into a pile upon the floor. He starts to unfasten your corset next, allowing that to slip from your body also. You were very exposed now, and you knew that, but the way that Harry looked at you sent all of your worries flying from your head. 

He leaned back on his arms and clambered back into his lap, similarly to the way you had done all those years ago when you first kissed in the library of this very house. You wrapped your arms around his neck, just has his rested upon the exposed skin of your waist. 

“YN?” You hum against his lips, “Can I make you feel good?” 

You pull away and nod, tucking some of your hair behind your ear. It made you feel nervous that he was going to see you in the way that he was but this was Harry, your husband and the person you had wished to be touching you and near to the years that you had been apart. He helps remove the rest of your undergarments until you’re completely naked in front of him, laying and waiting for whatever he is going to do to you. He removes his trousers and underwear as you do so. There’s something about seeing him like that causes your hear to flutter and the rest of you to follow it. 

He hovers over you, pressing another chaste kiss to your lips before moving down your neck and to your chest until he reaches your breasts, pressing kiss to the plushy skin around it until he wraps his lips around your nipple, lifting his hand up to pinch the other one between his fingers. 

“Fuck, love.” He smiles up at you as you whither beneath him, feeling all of your senses heightened at the feeling of him on your skin. 

He kisses down from your breasts to your stomach until his face is directly where you want it the most, where you’re literally throbbing for him. Without any warning, he leans forward and starts to attack your clit with his tongue, causing your hips to buck up from the bed and moans threatening to spill from your lips. Your hand drops to the top of his head, tugging at the curls that rest there. You’ve never felt like this, ever, in your life and you believe that if you feel it too much you will become accustomed to it. Your thighs try to clamp around his head but he stops you from doing so by gripping your thighs with his hands. After a particularly hard tug of his curls, a moan erupts from Harry and vibrates against your clit causing you to shudder. 

He moved one of his hands up from your thigh to run over your wet slit, “Can I?” 

“Please.” You’re quite embarrassed about how breathy it comes out but once he slips one of his fingers in, and a whine escapes his lips you can’t be bothered to care about the sounds that are leaving your lips. 

“I need to stretch you out.” He says, curling his finger in you, “Can I?” 

You nod your head, “Please.” 

He pushes another finger into you, leaning his head back down to attack your clit again. He’s quite gentle with his tongue, using it to make a skilled attack on your clit, using it and his fingers to coax you closer and closer to the first ever orgasm you are to experience. 

“Harry.” You whine his name and the feeling washes over you quicker than you had expected it too, but at the same time the man knew what he was doing and you to bring you to that peak. He continued to move his fingers and kitten lick at your clit until your thighs stop shaking. Once you have, he moves up your body again and kisses you. 

“Good?” 

“Really good.” You laugh, wrapping your arm around his neck, “I want to feel you, H.” 

“Certain? Because we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 

“I do.” You place your hand on his cheek, pecking his lips, “I want to.” 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

You smile, “It’s going to hurt whether we do it now or later. I want to.” 

It’s uncomfortable to say the least, the feeling contrasting the one that you had felt earlier. You weren’t in a lot of pain, but it made it a little harder to feel the pleasure that you know you can feel from this act, Lizzie had told you plenty about it when you were younger. Harry grunted as he pushed into you, scrunching up his features. From the way that little groans and deep breaths escaped his lips, you knew that he was feeling an immense amount of pleasure. 

“Feel good?” He grunts against your neck, pressing a small kiss to the skin as you smile, running your nails down his back. You knew that he was close, from the way he twitched inside of you, and your tried everything to coax it out of him. 

“Feel so good, love.” He comes soon after his words, spilling into you and filling you up. 

He collapses on top of you and you hold him close to you, pushing his curls off of his forehead that have stuck. You giggle as his pouts his lips, leaning down to play a kiss to them. 

“I love you so much.” You smile. 

“And I, you.” He pulls you close, “You were never second best, I hope you know that.” 

“I do now.” 

Three Years Later

“Mary.” You smile, placing your hand on the back of the little girls shoulder, “That looks beautiful.” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Styles.” She says, continuing to add the green paint to her painting. 

You and Harry figured out not that long after what do with the large house you had been left by his father. With your art and French skills, and Harry’s love for reading and slight knowledge of simple maths, you decided to convert the house into a school for the kids in the village. It was a place for them to come without having to worry and learn and focus on new skills. 

At this point you had just finished one of your art classes and left the kids to let their creativity flow with some paper and paints, as well as pencils and other materials for them to use. You were making your way outside, smiling at the sight of Harry sat in the garden with a group of children sat around him, listening to every word he spoke as he read from a book. 

The next thing you saw was your sister, stood with her husband and her children. You were surprised to see your little boy, Oscar, sat comfortably in her arms. The second he sees you, he’s making grabby arms in your direction. 

He had just turned one and was now in a phase of not wanting to walk but be carried everywhere. He was certainly his father’s son, in more ways than one. He looked identical to his father, with green eyes and unruly brown curls and dimples, but he was also the exact same person as your husband, and if you thought it was a struggle to live with one Harry Styles, having an Oscar Styles as well was just as hard. 

“Hi baby.” You pick him up and place him on your hip, his hand resting on your neck lovingly. From the way he drops his head to your shoulder, you can tell he’s almost ready for his nap. You smile and press a kiss to his cheek. 

Harry comes over a few seconds later and kisses you on the lips briefly and places a kiss to Oscar’s cheeks. The two of you look over at what you have created for the kids around you and smile at each other. 

“I’m glad I didn’t give up on you.” 

“Me neither.” You smile, “I love you, mon chéri.” 

“I love you too.” 

Oscar looks up at the two of you with a pout on his lips, causing Harry to chuckle, “And we love you too, little man.” 

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles smut fic #harry styles writing #harry styles au

[jimlingss]

Black Waltz [1/2]

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 [Finale]

➜ Words: 13.2k

➜ Genres: 70% Fluff, 30% Angst, Butler!AU

➜ Summary: When your parents pass away in an accident, a family secret is revealed. The only person you can trust and rely on is your personal butler, Kim Taehyung.

The caskets are small.   You’re not sure why but you always imagined that they’d be bigger. The undertaker already reassured you thrice that the bodies of your parents fit perfectly. Perhaps they were always that small.   “Poor girl.” Someone murmurs in the corner, not realizing that you can hear above the discordant sobs. “She’s already such a weak child. How will she handle this?”   “How do you suppose?” a man replies in a sharp mutter. “She’s just become one of the richest people in Trulia overnight. Look at this entire estate. All thanks to her father’s watch business.”   “Will you have more delicacy?” she bites back in a whisper. “A man and woman just died.”   You don’t bother looking at them. You don't cry either.    Not a single tear sheds down your cheeks as you look through your netted veil to the closed coffins belonging to your parents. Even the gardener is sobbing into his hat, but you don’t.    Your expression remains stoic.   A man approaches, dark hair and darker suit. He bows his head towards the caskets and then turns to you standing by. You recognize him the few times you saw him in passing. He’s your father’s worker, Yoongi. “My condolences, Miss Y/N.”   “Thank you.”   “Your father was a great man. It was a privilege to work under his guidance. I’m sorry this happened.”   You nod and he takes that you don’t want to extend the conversation and leaves you be.    It was an unfortunate accident. More specifically, a railroad accident. It claimed the lives of many and that also included your parents coming home from a trip to Germany.   “Eugene!” Suddenly, Uncle Seokjin throws himself over the casket. A few distraught folks try to pull him back, but he continues to howl, “How could you leave your only brother like this!”    Aunt Marie cries louder into her handkerchief.   It’s noisy.   In the midst of the ruckus, the corner of your eye catches an older man with brunette hair. The wrinkles crease around his eyes with his sorrowful expression and he takes off his top hat as he approaches. You watch as he places a rose in front of your mother’s casket and then he turns to leave without addressing you.   “Oh, Y/N!” Your attention is ripped away by your hysterically sobbing uncle grabbing your hands. “Poor Y/N!”   Someone takes him away before you get the chance to shove him off.   //   Everyone gathers in the dining room not even a full day after the funeral.   The wallpaper is dark, black trim that matches the hardwood. The long table is mahogany and there’s an unnecessary golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling. You’ve always hated this room and its decorations, especially the heavy curtains that block out the sunlight.   “Y/N!” Your uncle draws out your name and smiles widely as he comes before you with open arms. He gives you a quick squeeze much to your dismay and then lets go. The middle-aged man searches your expression. “My favourite niece.”   “I’m your only niece.”   “Which makes you even more special to me.” His words are sweet. He shakes his head. “What did you ever do to deserve this?”   You wonder the same thing.   Aunt Marie clears her throat and Uncle Seokjin flounders. “Right, right, we should take our seats.”   Your eyes lift to your cousin who smiles at you, dressed in a navy frock coat with an ascot tie. “It’s been a while, Y/N. I didn’t think you’d notice but I was greeting guests at the funer—”   “I noticed.”   You cut Hoseok off mid-sentence with his mouth still open. Aunt Marie chastised him under her breath to sit down and at the same time, the family lawyer enters with his briefcase. He’s been working with your family before you were even born. You could feel his sincerity when he spoke at the memorial.   “Good evening everyone. Y/N.” Mr. Kim — Namjoon as your parents familiarly called him — nods at you in sympathetic acknowledgment and takes his place at the head of the table where your father once sat. He reaches for his briefcase and opens it up for a sealed envelope inside. “I never thought there would be a day like this. Most unfortunate indeed.”   “A heartbreaking tragedy,” Aunt Marie agrees.   “But no time like the present for us to fulfill their last wishes.” Mr. Kim slips out the crisp papers and then his eyes flicker up at you. You subtly motion to him that you’re ready for it to be read and he clears his throat.   Your relatives are sitting on the edge of the seats, hands clasped on the table in anticipation.   “I, Arden Eugene, resident in the City of Lennox, Country of Trulia, being of sound mind, declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby revoking all prior wills and codicils made by me. I appoint my wife, Arden Hana, to inherit all my assets.”   The lawyer continues, “In the event where my wife is unable to inherit...all my assets, including the investments, savings and the estate, liquid and otherwise, I leave my daughter, Arden Y/N, in their entirety.”   Your aunt’s jaw ticks, your uncle has a face of disgust and your cousin’s jaw has dropped.   You’re not sure why they’re so offended. It’s not a surprise. This is what you expected.   That is until Mr. Kim adds the word— “temporarily.”   Your head turns. The lawyer’s mouth continues to move.   “Until the date and time when her half-sibling will be found.”    You’re not sure what happens first. The gasps echoing in your ears, Aunt Marie nearly falling off her seat in laughter, your uncle standing up from his spot, or your own heartbeat thundering in your ears as blood drains from your face. You feel ill, like you might throw up right on the table.   A half-sibling. Another child. There was another child all along.    “—to which ownership of all asserts will thereby be shifted onto them.”   “What is the meaning of this?!” Uncle Seokjin protests. “What child?!”   “I’m sorry, Mr. Arden. I only know as much as you do.” Mr. Kim’s eyes place on you before he resumes reading. “I give my daughter, Arden Y/N, a pocket watch.”   The amused snicker of your aunt is all too clear.   A small box is placed in front of you. It’s the size of your hand, a deep wine red. For a moment, you want to huck it on the floor, but with your breath held in your throat, you nudge the lid open. It’s a perfectly round contraption, the cover golden and perfectly polished, reflecting against the candlelight. You flip it open to find handles ticking away as seconds and minutes pass.   “To my brother, Seokjin, my sister, Marie, and her son, Hoseok, I wish them the very best in the rest of their lives.”   Aunt Marie scoffs. Uncle Seokjin collapses back onto his seat.   The will is finished being read and the paper is folded. The room is full of a tense silence as you stare at the watch. Mr. Kim clears his throat again. “As you are aware of the laws, Y/N, all assets are entitled to you temporarily. But as you have no husband to collect the inheritance, it makes things a bit more complicated. You may still live at this estate and continue the company, but you cannot alter it in any way. That includes liquidating, removing, expanding, or withdrawing. You do not have the jurisdiction to alter the company or any of the investments either.”   Everything is essentially frozen. They left you with nothing.   “Yes.” The corner of Aunt Marie’s lip curls and she sits back. “Even if you are twenty one, you need a husband to own land and wealth. Trulia’s quite old-fashioned, isn’t it?”   Trulia — a small country that bridges France and England together, cutting the English channel into half. You’ve lived here all your life, born and raised, and never hated it more.   “Y/N.” Hoseok breaks your train of thought and you look him in the eyes. Your expression remains impassive. “Did you know you had a sibling?”   You hate it all.   //   The bedroom is shrouded in darkness as you sit back in the armchair.    You’re loosely holding the cold, golden chain of the pocket watch, studying it as it swings back and forth. It’s like a clam, but without any engravings, designs or even ridges on the surface. It’s heavy, perfectly new and polished, the time precise. When both handles of the pocket watch come to twelve, the grandfather clock from downstairs chimes throughout the mansion.   Your other hand crumples into a fist and with a strangled cry in your throat, you hurl the pocket watch across the room with all your might. It clatters to the ground, ear-splitting.   A figure emerges from the shadows, leans down and picks it up with his white gloves.   “Madam, are you not well?”   “Don’t call me madam,” you snap at him.   Taehyung comes closer, his dark hair slicked back, dressed in the usual black tailcoat and trousers. His smile is tender. “You are the head of the household now.”   Arm propped up on the armrest, you press your hand to your forehead. “It makes me feel old.”   “Then I won’t, my lady. I apologize.” He places the pocket watch on the vanity table and comes to your side.   You look up at him, wondering if you look as bitter as you feel. “Even when they’re dead, they have to have the last laugh, Taehyung. They spared me nothing.” Your eyes sting painfully, the lump at the bottom of your throat aching. Anger has coloured your vision red. You’re so full of hate, but you wonder why most of all, it hurts. “I can’t believe my parents didn’t love me even after their death.”   Taehyung kneels and takes your hands that are crumpled hard enough that your nails sink into your skin. He earnestly gazes at you. “You have me. I’ll be with you until the end.”   He promises it rather recklessly. But he’s more than just your butler. More than just a worker in this house. He’s been a friend since childhood. The only one you can fully trust.   Taehyung’s expression softens even more and he reaches out. He hugs you, propping your chin on his shoulder, placing his arms around your back. “You can cry.”   You scoff. “You’re stepping over the line.”   “Then discipline me.”   You bite the inside of your cheek, vision becomes foggy as tears hang onto your lash line. “Why should I cry for those people? If...if anything, I should cry for my own circumstances.”   Taehyung smiles. “Cry then.”   For the first time, you let go. You sob into his shoulder, grasp his coat with tight fingers, allowing yourself to be at grief’s mercy. Wails choke out of your chest and the thick lump finally escapes your throat, leaving it raw and aching in a different way. The tears stain a path down from your welling eyes to your cheeks and then Taehyung’s shoulder like a chilling rainstorm.   It feels like minutes tick away until you’ve cried yourself to exhaustion.   By then, you’re so weak and you can barely open your swollen eyes. But Taehyung guides you to bed and pulls the covers. He tucks you in, making sure you’re warm. “Get some sleep.”   You nod and he extinguishes the flame in the oil lamp.    Sleep comes easier than you expect.   //   When dawn arrives, the light of the sun comes through the white curtains to cast against your eyes. You stir uncomfortably before your lids flutter open. The world is bleary in your fogged vision and your body is heavy. You don’t want to get up, but you have to.   “Good morning, mistress.” Taehyung enters, dressed in his black trousers and tailcoat with a white waistcoat underneath. His hair is pushed back in a windswept look. He sets down the golden tray balancing a water bowl and cloth. “Glad to see you’re already awake.”   “Couldn’t sleep more if I wanted to.” You round the bed and collect the water to wash your face before pressing the cloth to your skin.   Taehyung steps towards your wardrobe. “Would you like me to replace the curtains?”   “It’s fine. I don’t want to wear anything too restricting today.”   He hums. “Then will an aesthetic dress do? Green?”   “Is there a dark blue?”    Taehyung swiftly takes out a simple gown, cut loosely with a few frills at the neckline and a red, ribbon sash around the waist. The shade is a midnight blue and perfectly to your tastes as if he read your mind. It’s without any restrictive corset too. Heaven knows today is going to be suffocating enough, you don’t need to make it more difficult for yourself.   You stand in front of the three panel mirror folded into a nook and lift your arms up. Without batting a single lash or looking twice, Taehyung undresses you from the silk sleepwear and helps you into the camisole before draping the dress over your figure.   You sit at the vanity and he gently brushes out your hair. “Taehyung.”   “Yes, my lady?”   You look at him through the mirror. “Do you think I can do this?”   His eyes flicker up and he smiles. “Of course you can.”   “What if they don’t find me intimidating enough?”   “Then I’ll stand beside you and help you with that.”   What he says has you bursting out in laughter. You spin around in your seat, and Taehyung’s completely unsuspecting when you squeeze his cheeks together. His rounded eyes blink and his lips mimic a fish’s. It makes you grin. “You’re more of a puppy than a guard dog.”   But well, you suppose it’s not important what the truth is. The illusion is what matters most.   He pins half of your hair up and you barely powder your face before you’re leaving for the family meeting. On the way, you brace yourself, only temporarily interrupted by the gardener, Park Jimin, a man who’s been working on the estate for the past three years. He takes care of the garden well, better than your mother ever could. Her roses always withered. He, on the other hand, has quite the green thumb.   “Good morning, madam.” Jimin greets you merrily.   “Good morning, Jimin.” You slow in the entrance hall and Taehyung behind you does as well. “I hope you and the others are doing well. Thank you for still being here.”   The young male blushes. “We’re just doing our jobs, ma’am. You already gave us a whole week’s break which we’re more than thankful for. We just had to come back for the funeral to honour Mr. and Mrs. Arden. So there’s no need to worry about us.”   “I’m glad then.” Your smile eases. “Please continue, don’t let me stop you.”   He nods and goes on his way.   The moment Jimin’s gone, your expression hardens as you enter the main lounge area.   There your uncle, aunt, and cousin are seated around and you recognize your father’s worker, Yoongi as well. You’re not sure since when this house became a guest home where anyone can enter and loiter in as they please. You’ll have to have a word with Taehyung later.    “Y/N! My dear niece!” Uncle Seokjin’s loud and he stands from the armchair with an enormous smile that looks like it’s about to break his face. At that, everyone’s head swivels around.    Yoongi slowly rises from his seat as well.    But your uncle continues, “I hope you had a good sleep. I could barely get a wink thinking about your father and our happy days. Speaking of which, I was thinking about how empty this house will be with your parents gone. Isn’t it time for you to get married? You’ve been of age for a while. I happen to know this very kind young man from England. His name is Mark. I’d be happy to introduce—”   “Uncle Seokjin.” You stop him. “I’d rather not have you speak about my private affairs in front of a stranger.”   His pupils flicker to Yoongi and his mouth closes with a smile. “Right.”   You turn to said man and he nods his head in acknowledgment. “Would you like to have tea in the parlor?”   “No, this will only take a moment. I’m sure you’re already busy. My apologies for coming unannounced.”   “It’s not a problem. What is this about?”   “Your father’s company,” Yoongi says. “There is a client waiting for a shipment and since we closed we’ve been unable to finish the order. Would you like to refuse it?”   “No. It’s fine.” You hold in your sigh and press your finger against your forehead for a moment. Then, you come to a decision. “You may continue and run business as usual. You may act as the temporary lead, Min Yoongi.”   At the announcement, Hoseok rushes upwards with his jaw gone slack. “I could!” Heads turn towards him. “I-If you need me to! I could take over! T-Temporarily, of course!”   Your eyes narrow into your cousin, your expression cold. “There’s no need, Hoseok. I’m sure Mr. Min here will already have his hands full. There'll be no time to properly train you and no way you could take over.”   “But—!”   You ignore him to address your father’s right hand. You’re not sure if this is the right decision, but Yoongi comes across as sensible and rational. He doesn’t seem to have any malicious intention or ulterior motives either. At least your father trusted him, so you will too. “I’ll take a look at the finances and figure out the details soon enough of where the company will move forward from now on. But for now, I will entrust you to it. Please proceed as you normally would.”   Yoongi nods. “Thank you, Miss Y/N.”   You shift on your feet and look to your butler whose height towers your own. “Taehyung, can you please see Mr. Min out?”   He puts his gloved hand over his heart and bows. “Certainly.”   The two men leave the room while your cousin crosses his arms and drops back down into the sofa with a displeased face.   Aunt Marie’s eyes are narrowed in on you and she sighs, shaking her head. She comments, “You’re quite close with that butler of yours, Y/N. A bit too close, if you ask me.”   Your brow cocks. “You don’t have any authority in this household to make such comments, Aunt Marie.”   “I am merely looking out for you, Y/N,” she quips with an underlying sharpness to it. “You never know what rumours can get out and they can get quite nasty. It wouldn’t do you any good to be in a scandal. It’s best if you weren’t so close to the such lowly—”   “I choose who I want to affiliate myself with.” Your voice booms throughout the room, unknowing to how Taehyung’s already returned and that he’s standing just outside of the room. “Taehyung is my most trusted confidant. To insult my personal aid is to insult my choices and thereby, me. From now on, I will not take such things lightly.”   Aunt Marie shuffles back with a cough and the room’s swept into an uncomfortable silence.   Taehyung smiles to himself and notices a timid maid rolling a cart down the hall towards the room. He takes over and dismisses her to which she’s grateful for, knowing the room is tense. But Taehyung is unaffected as he enters with an exaggeratedly cordial expression. He places down a cake stand of pastries on the table, then the teacups.   “There, there. Let’s not get so upset in the morning.” Your uncle sits down and you find your place in front of the fireplace and the imposing family portrait above the mantle. In the meanwhile, Taehyung pours the tea with one hand in front of him. It’s earl grey, your favourite.   You sip it warmly while your expression remains stoic.   Uncle Seokjin clears his throat. “Your cousin, aunt and I have been discussing, Y/N—”   “And?”   He smiles. “We think it’s best if we...join forces.”   The tea is no longer pleasant on your palate, so you set it down on the porcelain saucer. “How so?”   “Well….”   “We don’t know who this half sibling of yours is, Y/N,” your aunt cuts to the chase. “Who knows who they could be or what they would want with us! It is simply outrageous that an outsider could come and collect everything that your parents have worked so hard for and take everything away. Your father clearly had some misunderstandings when he gave us nothing and you so little. I believe he must not have been well when he wrote that will. There must be some mistake.”   Uncle Seokjin nods and Hoseok finds the opportunity to jump in. “I have a friend who’s working in law. There must be ways we can challenge the will or at least find a way to claim back what should be rightfully ours!”   ‘Rightfully ours’.   You want to laugh. “So you want to sneak the money away?”   “You shouldn’t put it that way.” Your uncle laughs heartily. “It’s more like making a wrong a right!”   “Yes!” Hoseok enthusiastically nods. “We can’t just let someone else steal it, Y/N! What if tomorrow someone comes knocking on the door claiming to be your brother or sister, and they want to take everything away?”   Aunt Marie offers a smile. “It’s best if we work together on this matter.”    Taehyung steps behind you, shadowing your form as your relatives look at you expectedly. They have a point, but you’re not at all tempted by their most generous offer. “No.”   “Pardon?”   “I said no.” Your arms cross and you sit back. “Everything is already in my name, the estate, the investments, the company, albeit temporarily, but I’ll figure out what is to come on my own.”   Hoseok’s mouth draws open. Your uncle is unable to muster a rebuttal.    You scoff, rolling your eyes as if their very proposition is ridiculous. It’s too easy to play the villain — and it’s the only way you know how to protect yourself. “And why should I have to accept your help and have to split up my parents’ wealth when I can take it all for myself.”   “Why you!” Aunt Marie stands up, face reddened. “Ingrate!”   Her hand raises, arm extending back. But before she can slap you like she wants and knock your head to the side, Taehyung snatches her wrist. He’s faster than anyone can blink and he clutches her back, glare boring into her skin.   Her teeth grit and she rips back her hand to her chest.   You rise to your feet, eyes placed at the god awful antique cabinet on the other side of the room. “If that’s all everyone wants to say, then you can leave now. Thank you for coming to the funeral but from now on, none of you have permission to enter this estate until I announce otherwise.”   Your aunt scoffs and with her remaining pride, she stomps out. Hoseok’s brows are knitted together at a loss while your uncle is already trying to reason with you. But you leave through the doorway and allow Taehyung to take care of the rest.   //   The streets are full in the afternoon bustle — hooves clacking as horses pull the street car, ladies with parasols giggling as they cross, shouting coming from the tenement windows above, wheels of the carriages rolling along the dirt. It’s the symphony of the city. But he leaves it all behind for a short carriage ride away.   It’s a short uphill climb on foot that follows, but he swiftly gets to the magnificent mansion on a stretch of green behind black gates. It’s quaint here.   A girl in a maid ensemble scurries over and opens up the gates for him. “Right this way.”   The man is led up the path and he removes his top hat as he enters.   The manor is darker on the inside, the wallpaper a deep shade, black trim matching the hardwood. He knows every inch of this place is ridden with wealth, from the chandeliers, the ornate carpet underneath his feet to the glass cabinets full of antiques. It’s old money that will last for centuries.   But he doesn’t get to admire it for too long. A taller man with slicked back hair wearing a black tailcoat approaches. “If you’d follow me, sir.”   He nods and silently shadows the butler to the west wing. They twist down the corridor before turning a left to two large doors. The butler opens them and he hesitantly enters after.   There’s a figure behind the desk at the very back wall, an inked pen in her hand. He muses that the lady looks much too young to be residing so deep inside of this mansion surrounded in papers in the low lighting. She might be even younger than himself.   “Taehyung, stay.” You mutter out of the corner of your mouth before he can leave.   The doors shut and you finally look up as Taehyung takes his place beside you.   “You are Detective Jeon?”   He has brunette hair and brightened doe eyes, rather boyish looks overall. But you know better than to underestimate anyone simply based on appearances.   “Yes, ma’am. I am Jeon Jungkook from the Bennett Detective Agency.” He comes up to you with his briefcase in hand and gingerly places a business card on the desk. “I believe you contacted me for a private investigation.”   “Yes. I did.” You stand, going to the seating area and he follows suit. “Would you like tea?”   “No, ma’am. I’m fine, but thank you very much.”   You nod, noticing how Detective Jeon’s eyes flicker to Taehyung who comes to pour your cup.   He finally asks, “How may I be of service?”   You take a sip, savouring the flavour on your palate before placing the floral porcelain cup down. Your expression is indifferent as you sit back. “As you may have heard, my father and mother recently passed away in a railway accident.”   “I read it from the newspaper. My condolences. Your father was a very charitable man and did a lot for Trulia.”   “Yes, well, they left behind a will and revealed that I happen to have a half-sibling that is to inherit this estate.” It goes silent. A pin could drop in the room and echo. You inhale a breath and continue, “I want you to find this sibling of mine and tell me who they are, where they are, and what they’re doing. If you can do it, I’ll pay you a generous sum. However much you want. However long it takes.”   Detective Jeon nods. He doesn’t seem too surprised or curious. You suppose he must be used to this sort of thing in his line of work.   It was through your connections that you found him. He’s an upcoming private detective, but what he lacks in experience, he makes up in tenacity and foresight. He’s the best that Trulia has.   “Do you have any leads?”   You hum. It’s remarkable he asks that. You’ve been thinking about it — picking apart every single memory, all instances there could have been a hint, each time you could have been blinded to such a secret. “I don’t have any leads, but I have suspicions.”   The detective leans in closer, doe eyes placed on yours.   “I believe my sibling may be older than me and I believe contrary to any initial hunches, it may be my mother’s child.” Maybe your father knew and something had happened. Maybe he was ridden with guilt and that’s why he decided to give everything to your sibling.    “I remember, years ago, my mother came in one drunken night and she told me about her previous lover. She was supposed to marry him and they even ran away together, but my grandparents found them and she was forced to marry my father. It’s possible that she may have had a child with him before I was born. And it may be possible he came to the funeral.”   Detective Jeon takes out his notepad and begins scribbling. He bobs his head and you inhale a staggering breath as you continue to talk. You never thought you would have to divulge into your parents’ secrets after their death, that you would have to reveal all you know to a stranger. But you have to do what it takes if you want to find this person before your aunt and uncle do.   “I saw a man about your height. He looked old, about fifty or so. He put a rose at my mother’s casket and left without speaking to me. I have never seen him before in my life.”   “Did you see anything else about him?”   “Nothing that would be helpful. He had brown hair, but he was wearing black as everyone else was. He left before I could get to him.”   “Did your mother ever tell you anything else? Where they ran away to? What they were planning to do afterwards?”   “No. She only ever spoke to me about it on that one occasion.” Frankly, you’re not sure if you want to know, but you push past the thought. Detective Jeon notes it and something prickles in your mind. “If you can, I want you to also look into Park Jimin as well.”   His eyes lift off his paper.   “He’s a gardener that works at this estate,” you tell him. “He’s always been close to my mother.”   And unusually so. She never cared much for the help, but you’ve seen them walking together before and conversing on numerous occasions.   “I’ll see what I can do for you.” The detective smiles and once the conversation concludes, he takes his briefcase.    “Oh and Detective Jeon.” Your voice stops him on his way out and he turns. “It would be best if no one finds out about this, namely my relatives. They can be quite...nosy.”   He looks at you and smiles. “Understood.”   Taehyung sees him out and you take a moment to recline back into the armchair, gandering at the many bookcases lining the walls. You never thought you would one day sit in your father’s study like this. He was in here more often than any other room and somehow, it always seemed so big when you were a child.    Taehyung comes back within minutes and you can tell by the expression on his face that he has questions.   The corner of your mouth tugs and you languidly bat your hand. “Ask away.”   “What are you planning to do when you find them?”   “I’ll kill them, of course.”   You get onto your feet, slowly rounding the desk. There’s a glass paperweight on the surface and you pick it up to fiddle with it. There’s a floral print inside and it catches the light no matter what direction you turn it to. You gave this to your father for his birthday one year.   “I can’t return to being that naive person like you hope I will, Taehyung.”   You’re not children anymore. As much as you wish, you can’t go back to that simple time.   “I know.”   You twist on your heel, looking him straight into his eyes. “Then will you help me?”   He closes the distance in two strides and leans down to take your other hand. His plush lips kiss against your knuckles and he swears his loyalty yet again, “I’ll do anything for you, mistress.”   //   The next afternoon, you gather the entire estate’s servants together — the cooks, kitchen workers, maids and footmen. They look nervous at the sudden impromptu gathering, glancing at one another and quietly murmuring.   You clear your throat loudly and their attention is taken.   “As you all know, recently my father and mother, Mr. and Mrs. Arden, have passed away. And I have become the new head of household. You have done a well enough job to be here and your services are much appreciated. For those who came to give their condolences at the memorial, it is something I will not forget. However, your loyalties must belong to me, not to my late parents.”    There are worried glimpses exchanged and you begin to pace in front of them. “As I am now the lady of the Arden estate, I would like to begin anew.”   You can’t afford to feed so many mouths, considering all the wealth is frozen. You’ll be paying with what you personally have until you can find a solution with Mr. Kim. Not to mention, you’re not sure who can be trusted, who your uncle and aunt have already persuaded. The last thing you need is extra eyes and ears in this house.   “From now on, Taehyung will be the manager of this household. He will see to it that the household will still function. If you have any questions, ask him. If you have any concerns, then ask him. He will come to me with whatever he cannot solve.”   “Few of you will stay and I thank the rest for serving this house for so long. I will make sure your severance pay is generous enough until you will be able to find work elsewhere. If your name is called, you may stay.”   Taehyung, standing behind you, begins reading from the list. One of the three names called is none other than Jimin himself.   The gardener smiles out of relief, eyes crinkled into half-moons. “Thank you, madam.”   You nod and once it’s done, you leave for the study as Taehyung takes care of the rest. You don’t want to stay around to see disheartened expressions or hear pleas to stay. So you’re resigned to watch out of the upper windows instead.   You’ve allowed them a few days to leave, but some are already taking their exit with their belongings with them, tearfully looking back at the mansion. It’s difficult but it needs to be done.   “My lady…”   You hear Taehyung come from behind you. You shift away from the window. “You’ll help me look for new help?”   “Of course.”   “Do you think four maids and one cook will suffice?” You count on your fingers. There’s already Jimin taking care of the gardens, you kept one maid so he’ll only have to hire three, and there’s a trustworthy kitchen maid too. It’s not like you need that many hands to take care of the estate. “Or will you need more help?”   “That’ll be fine.” The edge of Taehyung’s mouth pulls. “I could technically do it all, if you’d like.”   “And have you fainting on me from exhaustion?” You notice lint on his coat tail, so you come up to him and gently dust off his shoulder. “I think not.”   Taehyung’s sly smile tugs. “Do you consider me delicate?”   “No. But I am,” you clarify, looking up at the man. “If you’re not here twenty four seven attending to me, then what would be the point of having you around?” You brush past him, mumbling, “Can’t have you in the kitchen when you’re supposed to be by my side.”   The man stifles back a laugh to himself, yet his grin is all too evident. “Yes, madam.”   You glare at him over your shoulder, but it reminds you, “Tell the new help not to call me madam. You know I don’t like it.”   He puts his hand over his heart and bows exaggeratedly. “Yes, young mistress.”   You scoff. The title is not that much different and he knows it too. He always knows how to be cheeky, but you let it go because he’s Taehyung. It’s not like you can ever be upset with him for long.    He’s already won before the game’s begun.   //   A few days later, there’s a knock at your door.   It’s unusual. Taehyung never knocks and your suspicions are confirmed when an unfamiliar girl is sticking her nose into the room. “Umm...pardon me.”   It’s an unfamiliar girl in a maid ensemble, a black dress with white trim and a ruffled apron with a headpiece. Her hair is dark and shiny, features sharp. You assume she must be one of the new ones. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find Butler Kim, I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Kim, the lawyer— I think, is in the parlor. He instructed me to tell you that he’s brought it.”   You nod and get up. But you stop for a second and come eye to eye with the girl. “What’s your name?”   “Jane.” She smiles to herself as if she’s happy you’ve made a note of it.   “If you could clear the teacup from the table.”   “Oh! Certainly!” She rushes over and you don’t linger.    True to what’s been told, the middle-aged lawyer is sitting in his chair and he staggers up as you come into the room. “It’s good to see you well, Y/N, and that you’ve taken charge of this estate so well.”   “Thank you.” You motion to the armchair. “Please, sit.”   “I brought your parent’s business expense reports as you asked.” Mr. Kim takes it from his briefcase and hands you the thick folder after settling down. “I didn’t think I would have it until I remembered there was a box in my office closet meant for this sort of thing. My office ended up branching out and opening a professional accounting firm a year ago, you see, so we no longer do bookkeeping.”   You flip open to find your father’s writing, then pages of Mr Kim’s. The reports match up with what he says. It stops a year ago. You might need to get into contact with Yoongi to find the more recent expense documents.   “Thank you for this. It will be very helpful to me.”   The lawyer nods. “Anytime, child. Now about what you talked to me about last time….”   “Yes, how is that coming along?”   He sharply inhales. “As I suspected, it will be difficult to challenge the will in court, Y/N. It hasn’t been done before and it may be costly. For now, my first submission is still in process, so we’ll have to see if we can even speak to a judge. I’ll let you know how that comes along.”   You’re grateful he’s still of help to you. He's older than your father is, but you suppose he must enjoy his line of work to not retire at this age. “Mr. Kim, if I may ask a question. Were...you aware that I had a sibling?”   The man smiles sadly. “Unfortunately, I was not. The will was sealed and I was simply entrusted to read it to you all. It took me by surprise as much as it did for you.”   If you didn’t know, the family lawyer wouldn’t either.    You wonder how many other well-kept secrets there are in your family.   That night, you look over the documents while burning the midnight oil. As usual Taehyung insists that you head to bed when the grandfather clock chimes past twelve, but after you tell him to go retire first, he stays silent beside you.    Taehyung’s too stubborn sometimes, but you don’t tell him his company is pleasant to have.   “Huh.”   “What’s the matter?”   “I didn’t know my father donated to St. Andale Orphanage.” You squint, reading the barely legible writing. You don’t remember that happening or it being posted in the newspaper.   “It must’ve been done anonymously,” Taehyung comments and you make a noise in agreeance. But it’s strange. Your father always liked to have his name on donations so that people would know and it would be written in the newspaper. It’s not like him to go quiet and he gave quite generously too.   “I’d like to go to the orphanage tomorrow.” You look up at Taehyung. “In the morning.”   “I’ll arrange that for you,” he says with a smile.   You close the books. “I’d like that man to join me as well. My father’s worker, Min Yoongi.”   At that, Taehyung’s brow quirks. “For?”   “He was close to my father, right? He might know something I don’t.”   //   The orphanage is a worn brick on the south side of the city in the poorer area, yet it somehow looks to be holding up well. It’s unlike the other buildings around that’s crumbling. You wonder if it’s your father’s doing that made this place half-decent.   You can hear the laughter of children in the plot of grass fenced in. You watch them at the distance while strolling the perimeter with Taehyung to your left and Yoongi to your right.   “It is quite cloudy today.”   “It looks like winter is coming soon.” Yoongi looks at you. “If you’re cold, we could go inside.”   “No, it’s quite alright. I don’t get to enjoy the cold weather often and it can be nice.” You turn with a small smile. “I might be like my father in that way.”   “Yes, I remember he told me he quite enjoyed the snow.” His eyes gloss over, reminiscent. “Your father was a very respectable man.”   “He was a good businessman and an even less attentive father,” you hum and feel Yoongi’s gaze on your profile, but he doesn’t get a chance to reply. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but did my father ever speak about his private life, Mr. Min?”   “Yoongi is fine. But no, not frequently at least. I only remember he once told me about flowers he was going to get for his wife before he headed home and I remember he spoke about you a few times.”   “Me?”   “Yes.” Yoongi offers a polite smile. “He told me that you were quite talented in your personal studies.”   You take a glance at him. There’s not a single trace on his expression that lets you know he’s lying or exaggerating, but you still find it hard to believe. “In his will, he gave me a pocket watch. I was hoping you’d know more about it. It’s gold and without any designs or engravings—”   “Gold?” Yoongi gives you a peculiar expression. “The company doesn’t make gold pocket watches.”   “Pardon?”   He explains, “We found that the profits weren’t worth the costs, so what’s used is silver, bronze, ceramic or even glass. In the third collection, there were some gold watches, but you said there weren’t any designs or engravings on it?”   “There’s nothing.”   The corner of the man's mouth pulls. “Mr. Arden must have personally handcrafted it for you then.”   Your brows furrow. You’re not sure how you feel upon hearing that, so you cast a glimpse to Taehyung who’s been quietly listening and he smiles at you. Yoongi clears his throat a moment after. “I wasn’t planning on telling you this, Miss Y/N, but considering it’s about your family, I think you have a right to know.”   Your head turns over in alarm. “What is it?”   “Your cousin, I believe, Hoseok. He’s been….showing up to the company often. He’s been wanting to book a meeting with me for a week now and he waits until I’m done working to try to speak to me. I suspect he wants to take over the business.”   You’re not surprised. “I’m receiving that kind of pressure in regards to the wealth and estate, Yoongi, and a hundred times worse. I think you have it in you to handle my overbearing cousin.”   Yoongi laughs from his chest as if he already figured you didn’t have any real solution. But based on your answer, it’s allowing him to do whatever he wants to that cousin of yours.    A few minutes pass before an older woman emerges to the field. “Children! Children! It’s time for lunch! Come along now!”   Another woman comes to invite you inside, so you follow after them into a room where they’re serving soup and loaves of bread. You watch children as old as fifteen to as young as three line up one after another. It’s both sad and heartwarming to see so many sparkling eyes in hunger-pane frames.    “Today’s food was given to us by Miss Arden and Mr. Min, can everyone give a big thank you?”   There’s a chorus of ‘thank you’s throughout the room and toothless grins from boys and girls.   When a woman struggles with carrying a box inside, Taehyung comes to help and then Yoongi. They’re supplies that you donated out of your own pocket, clothing and some blankets — it’s not much but still better than nothing.   “I want more!”   A pitched voice of a four year old boy in drab clothes knocks you out of your train of thought and you shift towards him. His friend adamantly shakes his head.   “No! ‘Member what Sister Emmy said? You only get one!”   You step forward, lips parting but before a single word can escape—   “Here you go.” An older girl with soft features and her hair pulled back in a frayed ribbon has spun around with an extended arm. Her loaf of bread is in hand. The boy blinks owlishly at her and she beams. “You can have it.”   “Thank you!” He takes it and the two boys run away.   “That was very kind of you,” you speak up and she turns around, startled that someone saw. You smile at her, lowering yourself to match her height. “You can have more bread. There should be enough for the next few days.”   Her eyes light up. “Really?”   You don’t like children much, but this girl seems to be intelligent and mature for her age. “What’s your name?”   “Rose, ma’am.” She bows her head awkwardly, rather well-mannered. “Thank you for the food.”   “I’m happy to help when I can. Can I ask how old you are?”   She counts on her fingers for a moment. “I believe twelve, ma’am, but I’m not sure.” As you frown, she quickly explains, “My mother died when I was young and I’ve never met my father, so I don’t know for certain how old I am….”   Her voice becomes quieter and quieter as it goes on and you realize she’s ashamed.   “That’s quite alright. I don’t have parents anymore either.” You muster a smile and the corner of her own mouth tugs. It’s pleasant to talk to someone who doesn’t know you, someone who doesn’t have any ulterior motives. “What do you like to do, Rose?”   “I don’t do much. But I like to cook! And churn butter. I also like collecting eggs and making milk.”   You hum. “How would you like to come back with me and work at the house?”   Her eyes open wide, irises practically glistening from the afternoon sunlight coming through the windows.   You’re normally not so impulsive, but you have a feeling she’s wasted here in the orphanage where she’ll have to work in a factory soon or get married by fifteen. Your mother always warned you to pick and choose the people around you carefully, and this girl seems trustworthy. Or at least, you can see capability.   Taehyung was even younger than she was when he entered the house for the first time. He must’ve been six or seven. His dad worked for the household and so did his dad’s dad — a whole lineage that made it inevitable that Taehyung would follow too.   Rose comes home with you three hours later.   You take it that this kind of affair customarily doesn’t happen so quickly judging by the head lady there being overwhelmed by the generous offer of taking the girl. But the process was most likely sped up considering your well-known status and Rose’s enthusiasm at the promise of a private room, food each day, and a high pay at the end of every month. She was more than happy and practically begging the woman she knew well to let her go. And the woman was happy too — even thanking you for giving her a home.   You’re not sure if it’s much of a home. But it’s yours.   “This is...enormous.” Rose gasps as her eyes lay upon the manor, lugging her small case of belongings by her side. “I-I mean, thank you, ma’am. I will work very hard!”   Your lips tickle into a small smile. “I’m glad.” The three of you enter and she gawks at the place. “Taehyung will show you where you’ll stay in the maid’s quarters and what will be expected of you. I’ll give you time to settle yourself, so don’t worry about anything for now.”   “Thank you, ma’am!”   “It’s right this way.” He guides and she tottles after him. You sigh softly with a smile as you watch the pair. He was amused when you told him that you wanted to take her home and he followed your instructions without much protest. Hopefully Taehyung will let her know that you’re not keen on being called ma’am or madam.   You’re about to retire to your room, but you’re stopped on your way by Jane.    She fiddles with her fingers nervously. “Miss, um, there’s, uh…”   “What is it?”   “There’s a guest in the parlor. He came about an hour or two ago and he insisted on staying until you came home.”   You hold in your sigh, wondering why it’s so hard to take a rest these days. “From now on, do not allow anyone inside the house when I am not here unless said otherwise.”   She flinches at your tone and dips her head. “Yes, my lady.”   You make your way to the room to find out who this uninvited guest is, and your brows furrowed in confusion when you see the backside of an unfamiliar man. He’s dressed in a sack coat with a matching waistcoat and black trousers. He must hear your footsteps since he turns around and instantly gets up, jaw gone slack.   “You must be Y/N,” he murmurs in awe. “You’re even more beautiful in person.”   The man comes to you and takes the back of your hand, placing a kiss against your knuckles. You eye him the entire time. “And you are…?”   “Oh, I apologize, I hadn’t realized I didn’t introduce myself.” He takes off his top hat and presses it to his chest. “I am Mark Carter. I believe your uncle may have spoken about me previously.”   You vaguely remember something about meeting his friend’s son, but you can’t quite pinpoint the details. Your expression remains stoic and unimpressed. “Is that so?”   “It’s an honour to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”   You guessed this would have happened, but you didn’t know it would come so soon. Being the head of the Arden Household and unmarried at that, it’s only natural that others will come after you.    It would be wise of you to consider it as well — the only way you can collect the temporary inheritance is through your husband. But as silly and naive as it might be, you want to marry for love and not convenience. And it’s the one thing you won’t allow yourself to give up on.   “Like what?”   “Pardon?”   “What have you heard about me?”   Mark clears his throat. “Well, I have heard that you are as intelligent as your father and as beautiful as your mother, no less than a red rose blossoming in the morning dew of spring. And I must say, those rumours do not do you justice, Miss Y/N. You far exceed any poetry that could possibly be waxed.”   The corner of your mouth curls in amusement. Admittedly, it’s nice to hear such bold and blatant compliments once in a while, even if they are exaggerated and likely crafted by your uncle. “While I am wholly flattered, Mr. Carter, is this what you came here to tell me?”   The man’s posture straightens. “I came to ask permission to court you.”   You nearly choke on your own spit. You’re taken aback at the man’s shamelessness, not sure if he’s dimwitted or simply brave. “Meaning?”   “I would like to send you letters every so often if you grant me permission and perhaps if you’d be inclined to take strolls with me.”   You’re not sure how to answer or what to say, but you’re starting to feel your impassive expression crumble. You muse it’s impressive your uncle found someone as overbearing and insistent as he is. “Can I ask why you want to send me letters? We’ve never met before.”   “Actually, we have,” he says and blinks. “At your father’s charity function two years ago.”   You scour your mind, but you can’t recall. Every charity function you attended, you just remember sneaking out food for Taehyung and sitting together outside looking at the stars.    Mark reads your expression as he realizes that you can’t remember and his face falls. “It hurts me that you can’t remember the encounter but no matter.” He suddenly takes your hands and you lean back to create more distance. “If you let me, Miss Y/N, I promise you that you will not be disappointed.”   “Mr. Carter—”   “I have not been able to forget you since that night.” You wonder why he didn’t look for you sooner then if he felt so passionately about an encounter you can’t even remember. But before you can ask, he comes closer to you, forcing you to take a step back. “If you give me a chance, I will grant your every wish.”   He’s crowding you, intruding in your space, larger than you are.   Your mouth parts, trying to utter out a word, but it’s not necessary. A looming shadow comes over Mark, draping him away from the light.    It’s Taehyung with a menacing expression — his lips drawn together, eyes practically burning holes. He grabs the back of the man’s coat collar and yanks him away from you, finally giving you space to breathe. “Please do not lay a hand on her ladyship, good sir.”   “W-Who’re you?!” Mark looks between you and Taehyung as if expecting you’ll tell him to leave him be. But you don’t move whatsoever.   Your butler offers the man a stiff smile that has your own mouth curling upwards. “Uninvited guests are no longer permitted in the Arden estate. The maid that you let in was inexperienced. A mistake like that will never happen again. So unfortunately, you will have to leave now until you receive a proper invitation.”   “Wait!”   You stifle back a laugh when Taehyung physically picks him up, nearly throwing him over his shoulder.   The man struggles and his cries echo throughout the manor as he’s taken away, “Put me down! Stop! You idiot! You’ll hear from my father about this! How dare you!”   Taehyung throws him out of the estate and you’re finally able to breathe a sigh of relief.   When he comes back, he dusts off his hands with a more pleased expression. “What would you like for dinner, mistress?”   //   The next time someone visits, it’s not uninvited.   “Who are you?” Jane has stopped in the middle of her path, duster in hand and scrutinizing the doe-eyed male in the foyer. His brow lifts at the girl, but before he can come up with an answer, Taehyung appears from the corridor.   “Right this way, sir.”   The man in his coat nods and walks away, yet the maid is still curious. Her eyes follow the stranger’s form and she murmurs to Taehyung, “But who is he?”   “Her lady’s affairs don’t affect you,” he coldly deadpans. “It would be better to attend to your duties than ask questions.”   “M-My apologies, Butler Kim.” Jane dips her head and turns around, but she still steals a glance over her shoulder with a pout and a huff escaping through her nose.   Taehyung comes inside the study to find you and Detective Jeon going through what he’s found.   “I looked into Park Jimin like you asked me to.”   “What did you find?”   Detective Jeon flips open copies of documents. “He was born and raised right here in Lennox, never stepped foot outside of Trulia. His parents are immigrants from the East, still married and living together on the West side of the city in a tenement. His father worked in a landscaping company and his brother, three years older than he is, is a wagon craftsman.”   You go through the papers and sigh after a moment. It doesn’t seem like he’s the one you’re looking for. Well, you suppose you’ve ruled out at least one possibility.   “He’s as boring as they get,” the detective says. “But I did find something...peculiar.”   “What is it?”   “That man you wanted me to search for, the one who came to the funeral, I think I might have found where he is.” Detective Jeon hands you another worn folder from his briefcase and you eagerly untie the string to look at the pages inside.   “An intern at your father’s company actually spoke to him briefly and I found the inn he was staying at in Lennox. Spoke to the lady there and went to the train station. I have a connection with someone who manages the books and they found a train ticket. There’s more to it, but I won’t bore you.”   His name is Arthur Kahl. There are small details of him written, how he’s in his fifties, where he lives and a drawing of him sits amongst the documents. Your brows furrow. This is him — there’s no doubt about it.   “He’s an artisan. A woodworker,” Detective Jeon tells you. “Lives in France, in a town called Colmar, but he grew up here in Lennox.”   Your eyes flicker up to Taehyung and then the detective. “Thank you for this.”   He offers a smile. “It’s all in a day's work.”    Shortly after, Detective Jeon is escorted out by the butler. His eyes are perceptive but his senses are even more keen. He takes a glance at the taller man. “Your name is Kim Taehyung, right?”   Taehyung’s brow quirks. “I think you already know the answer to that.”   Detective Jeon boyishly smiles. “Is it alright if I ask a question? It might be intrusive.”   “Then don’t ask.”   “But see, I’m much too curious.” His steps slow while the two men come outside where it’s harder to eavesdrop. They stop on the front path of the manor leading towards the gates. “It might be the reason why I ended up in this line of work. Can’t give up on something once it’s in my head. I just have to know.”    There’s a pause. Then, he doesn’t hesitate any longer. “Do you perhaps fancy Miss Y/N?”   Detective Jeon’s doe eyes sparkle in the sunlight.   It’s a subtlety that can only be noticed through careful observation.   But he’s seen it — through the way you allow the butler to stay in every private conversation divulging the secret details of your family. How he always knows what you want without you needing to speak a single word. You’re in rhythm with one another and always taking glances when the other person isn’t looking.    Jungkook has seen many things. But never a master and servant so close to each other.   “That is an intrusive question.” Taehyung’s expression remains impassive. “My devotion goes beyond such kinds of frivolous and fickle emotions.”   His mouth quirks. “Why don’t you do anything about it then?”   “It’s not my place. I merely grant her wishes and fulfill my necessary duties.”   “So you’re holding yourself back on purpose?”   “That’s enough questions.” Butler Kim continues walking. “You’re a detective. If you’re that curious, I’m sure you can figure it out.”   “You’re right.” Detective Jeon grins, led out the gates, yet he turns around one last time. “But if you’re willing to do anything for your mistress, would you kill for her?”   His expression hardens while Jungkook flashes another smile. It’s not the kind of question that is waiting for an answer, so the other merely walks off, down the path and away from the estate.    //   You’ve only ever left Trulia twice in your life.   Once on a family outing when you were five or six and another time for just a few days when you were accompanying your father on a business trip. You’ve never had the chance to see much outside of this country and it’s a wish that you never spoke to anyone before but Taehyung.   There was simply never a chance for you to go. And while you expected your next journey out of Trulia would be an adventure and perhaps seeing new sights, you suppose this is a good excuse as well.   “Can you please pack another dress? I don’t want to run out when I’m there.”   Rose enthusiastically nods and goes to your wardrobe to pick another gown. While Taehyung is the one who would ever pack your suitcases, you don’t want to rely on him too much. He was already preparing the rest of the things for the trip and Rose seemed more than happy to help.   “The blue one will be fine.”   She nods and folds it into the case as you look over the gloves. “How long will you be going for, miss?”   “A few days.” You look up at the twelve year old and the corner of your mouth tugs. “You’ll watch the house for me? I don’t want any roaches to crawl in while I’m away.”   Her head bobs up and down. “I’ll try my best, my lady.”   You smile, noticing Jane looking into the room. She realizes you’ve seen her and clears her throat. “Do you need any help, my lady?”   “No, I’m fine, thank you.”   It’s nerve-racking to leave the estate and Trulia. You trust that a few days won’t bring things into chaos, especially considering that you’ve kept your affairs discreet. But underlying the unsettlement is a buzz of excitement — that just for a short while, you can escape.    You feel that way even a day later when you’re at the train platform. And whatever you were afraid of is washed away with Taehyung by your side.   “Stand right here. I’ll only be a moment,” he tells you, holding your tickets to Colmar and you nod.   Your hand grips the suitcase as you overlook the bustle of people. You’ve never seen so many gathered in one place before, families and lovers parting ways, children rushing past, the conductor quickly pacing to the front of the platform. It’s dizzying to look at and overwhelming to be in.   You wonder if you look out of place in the mass of people. You chose to wear a white dress with a natural silhouette, a bustle pad underneath and a bonnet around your half pinned-up hair. It’s modest attire, but the threads are still expensive. The last thing you would want is to attract needless attention and that’s why you made Taehyung wear a normal white waistcoat and black frock coat with matching trousers than his usual stiff tailcoat. He looks rather nice in normal clothing anyhow.   As you think about Taehyung, you start to search the crowd.   The red and black painted train whistles, smoke coming from its chimney. It looks like it’s about to leave soon, but you’re not sure if you should go in or where you would even sit or put your luggage. It’s been so long since you’ve been on a train, you don’t know what to do.   The endless questions and uncertainty drains blood from your face and you start to panic.   Until Taehyung comes into sight.    “What took you so long.” You frown at him but he still has the audacity to smile.   “My apologies, I had to check if we were at the right platform. Let’s go.”   He takes your suitcase and offers his arm which you take.   Taehyung keeps you from being swallowed by the thick crowd and pushed back. His height looms over even most men and although his stature is lean, he remains steady. Once you’re at the doors, he puts down the cases and holds your hand to help you up the step and then he resumes by your side, cutting through the passenger cars.    The two of you pass the more luxurious sleeping cars and as you peek into the window of the car of commoners, wondering if that’s where you’re heading, he slides open the door of a compartment.   It’s a private booth with a large window and a ledge overtop for your suitcases.   “Here we are, my lady.”    Taehyung organizes your belongings as you sit down on the plush seat. A moment later, the train begins to move, wheels rolling against the rail and then it builds speed to chug along.   You watch houses flash past the window.   “What do you think?” he asks, sitting opposite of you.   “Is it supposed to be so nauseating?”    Your head is light and the world is dizzying from the fast motion of the train. Taehyung must see your weakened expression with the way his eyes widen in alarm. But you quickly lift your hand and try to reassure him, “It’s fine.”   It isn’t. And he knows it.   “We can get off the next station.”   “No!” You inhale a deep breath, calming yourself. “We have to go. We have to make it, Taehyung.”   You shut your eyes. There’s no way you can turn back now. “It’s probably because I haven’t been sleeping well.” Not when you’re up day and night taking care of what your parents left for you, even if it’s only temporarily. And not when you’re kept awake plagued by the secrets of the people who were supposed to be closest to you. “The herbs in my tea can only do so much.”   Suddenly, you feel the seat dip beside you and your eyes flutter open to see Taehyung. He reaches over and gently guides your head to lean on his shoulder. “Then sleep. Don’t think about anything else.”   The corner of your mouth curls. “You make it sound so easy.”   “I’ll watch over you.”   A noise is made at the back of your throat and you allow yourself to mold against Taehyung’s side, your head cradled against the slight slope of his broad shoulder. As you ease, your fingers slowly drag itself over until you graze the back of his hand. No words are needed. No explanations are necessary.    Taehyung flips his hand so that his palm faces upwards and his fingers entwine with yours.   Within a few minutes, your chest begins to rise and fall, soft breaths escaping your parted lips.   Taehyung’s eyes stray from the windows to watch you.   You’re cold and blunt, carrying yourself with an intimidating demeanour that either frightens others or causes them to despise you. But he can still see the traces of your childhood self, even if the recent weeks have forced you to harden. Taehyung knows that you’re still sentimental, that you’re affectionate, that you’re not as indifferent as you’d like to be.   He knows you’re still grieving for your parents.   The two of you grew up together after all.   Since young, he’s been told he’s talented for this line of work, but devotion was another matter. He was told that being a butler meant more than just serving — it meant protecting. And he swore his duty to your name that day you took the blame when he stole from the kitchen and you got slapped by your mother.    He can still remember your small frame standing in front of him. How your words didn’t waver.   Taehyung knew it then and he knows it now — there’s nothing more important than protecting you.   His mouth tugs and his eyes lift from your sleeping features, but something catches the edge of his vision. Taehyung looks up to the window of the compartment door and finds a man, blue eyes, blonde hair curled in front of his forehead. The stranger peers into the compartment and when he notices Taehyung’s gaze, he dips his bowler hat as if to shield himself.   Taehyung moves.   He cradles your head until you’re laying down fully on the seat and he quietly slides the door open.   “Excuse me.”   Taehyung moves past someone, eyes darted on the man who peeks over his shoulder and quickens his steps.   He had seen the man before — earlier on the platform and then again when he left you alone. Taehyung came back right in time. You hadn’t noticed the man behind you at all.    Taehyung quickens his steps, stalking after the man who looks over his shoulders once more. His strides hasten. He practically breaks out into a run. Taehyung chases after him as the train curves into a tunnel. The windows are blackened, darkness sweeping throughout the cart.   He hears staggering breaths pulling roughly out of lungs and at the same time, the train rushes out the tunnel. Light breaks through the windows again and the steel door at the end of the cart begins to close. Taehyung sees through the tiny gap where panicked eyes meet his own gaze.   Taehyung runs.    He throws open the door and the cold wind rips through his hair with the intensity of a storm. The wheels shriek against the rail. There’s only a tiny step before one would have to make the jump to the other cart’s door. In between are violently rattling metal links that connect the two carts.    “Hah!”    There’s a squeak of shoes behind him. Taehyung ducks. The door slams closed.   The man’s arm is extended midair, having missed Taehyung’s cheek and within a blink, Taehyung grabs his arm and twists it. The man shouts in agony, teeth gritted. “Why you!”   His fist swings and it manages to catch Taehyung’s jaw. He’s knocked back, tasting a surge of coppery blood.    Taehyung wheezes, but his lips curl into a smile. He launches himself forward as the man squares himself. An arm swings. Fist curled. Taehyung dodges.   Taehyung takes the opportunity, no longer on the defense, and he swiftly strikes.   The man stumbles back, air ripped out of his lungs, eye sure to bruise.   Taehyung steps forward, but the man grabs something within his coat.   “Step back!”   Taehyung’s met with the muzzle of a revolver and puts his hands up, calming his breath.   The man snorts with a sly smirk. “Yeah that’s right. You’re just a dog.”   But then Taehyung's left hand clutches the man’s wrist and he contorts it at an angle, knee coming up to slam into the man’s stomach. Instantly, the man keens and wheezes.   He cries out as the revolver crashes onto the links connecting the carts and falls beneath to the rails.   Taehyung grabs the man’s collar and holds him backwards, nearly off the train. The man’s eyes become rounded in fear. There’s a storm of verdant in the background, fields and trees darting past.   “Who are you?!”   “Let go of me! I...I swear, I didn’t want to do this!”   “What do you want with her?” Taehyung demands, shaking the man whose head nearly touches the steel rails. The man’s fist curls on Taehyung’s so he doesn’t fall. “Answer the question!”   The shout is torn from Taehyung’s throat, his face crumpled into unadulterated anger, jaw clenched.   “I-It was her uncle!” the man quickly spits out in fear of his life. “Seokjin! He hired me! He wanted me to kill her!”   “So you were planning on putting a bullet through her head?!”   “I-I just needed the money! I’m sorry! Please, please,” the man pleads. “You don’t have to do this. W-What has that girl ever done for you? You’re just her guard dog!”   Taehyung has a deadpan expression, eyes dim. He begins to release his hold on the man who audibly sighs of relief. “That’s right.”    But it’s too soon.   “Don’t you know dogs are one of the most loyal animals?” Taehyung grabs the man again as he stands and throws him off the train into the soft meadow. “Woof.”   The man’s scream echoes. Taehyung dusts off his hand.   He comes back to the compartment to where you’re still sleeping and resumes his spot with your head in his lap, finding a warm blanket to drape over you.    Six hours later, you wake up, rubbing your eyes. He smiles and tucks a loose strand of hair in front of your face behind your ear. But your sleepy daze shatters when you see his split lip.   Almost immediately, you’re leaning over to Taehyung, grazing the wound with your thumb.   He sharply inhales.   “What happened?” you demand, worry written all over your face.   It hurts to smile, but can’t resist it. He should never admit it — he likes it when your attention is solely on him. “I tripped.”   You look at him incredulously. “Taehyung.”   “I did.” He doesn’t give up the excuse no matter how much you prod and pry.    The train arrives in the town of Colmar shortly after.   It’s a quiet place with a certain dryness to the air in spite of the river running through the town and underneath the bridges. The homes are tightly knitted next to one another. It’s a cozy kind of atmosphere. For a moment, you can imagine your mother having spent her life in this place and you’re not certain how to feel.   You decide to stay in an inn near the square, dropping off your suitcases in your given room.   “We should find him, shouldn’t we?”   You turn from the window to Taehyung with an unreadable expression.   “We don’t have to,” he says and it’s all too tempting. You want to forget that you’re here looking for your mother’s old lover, that you’re searching for your sibling. You wish you can pretend that this is merely a trip to enjoy with Taehyung in a place far away from Lennox.   But even if you were to dream such a thing, the truth would not stop plaguing your mind.   You muster the strength to shake your head. “We can enjoy ourselves after. There’s no point in putting it off.”   “He’s an artisan. A woodworker.”   The detective’s words ring inside your head.   “Lives in France, in a town called Colmar.”   It should be difficult to find the man — that way you have a legitimate excuse to put this off. You wouldn’t have to confront your parents’ secrets. Or meet a brother or sister you never wanted.   “But he grew up here in Lennox.”   Yet this town is small and there is only one known woodworker. If such a thing as fate or destiny exists, then it never stops being cruel to you.   The bell rings as the door of the shop opens.   “Hello there! How can I help you?”   There’s an older man behind the counter busy at his shelf, brunette hair and features tender, wrinkles creased around his eyes to mark each smile he’s collected over the years.   You come towards him with Taehyung by your side. “You were at my mother’s funeral.”   At your murmur, the man turns around wide-eyed. Arthur Kahl, the man your mother loved, who she wanted to marry and be happy with. The father of your sibling.   “You’re Hana’s daughter….” His mouth draws open. “Wh-what are you doing here?”   “I came to see you. I think you may have answers to my questions.”   “I-...I don’t know if I do, but please, sit.” He hobbles to the front of his shop, turning the sign over to not receive any more customers and the both of you sit on wobbly chairs. He knows you came this far, that you searched for him. There’s no other way you could have found him. “I’m sorry I never spoke to you at the funeral. I thought since we didn’t know each other, there was no point in bringing back old memories.”   “Is it true then?” You look at him carefully. “About my mother and you running away together…”   “That was a very long time ago.”   “Then why did you come to see my mother?”   “It was a long time ago, but I still wanted to pay my respects. Your mother...was a wonderful woman and treated me kindly. I’m glad she ended up having a good life and a happy family.”   The corner of your mouth twitches.   He continues, “While I never personally met your father, he seems like a very respectable man and a good husband. I’m truly sorry for your loss.”   The words sit uncomfortably in you. Your parents always seemed to treat each other with mutual respect and trust. It was never a passionate affair like pairs you’ve met, but rather a quiet relationship of sitting alongside one another. You never would have guessed your mother had someone else.   But you don’t want to know anymore about your mother’s history.   “I received my parent’s will a day after their burial.” You inhale a breath, bracing yourself. “And it promised my sibling the estate and the company. I don’t want to harm them. I want to fulfill my parents’ last wishes. So please, allow me to meet my sibling.”   Your eyes meet his earnestly. The man stares back at you, his brows knitting together.   “My apologies, but I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding. I don't know who your sibling is.”   The clock on his shelf ticks loudly.   “Your mother and I never consummated our relationship.”   //   The night sets in, matches hissing into a flame and thrown into the wood in the fireplace until it awakens and paints the room in a warm orange hue. The quietness is deafening outside of the crackle and pop of the fire.   You haven’t eaten. You don’t want to. You don’t think you could stomach it.   “My apologies.”   You’re seated at the rounded table in the chair, motionless. You should’ve never come. You should have just stayed in the estate instead of trying to dig around in the secrets of your family, into the reasons why nothing was left for you, why they didn’t love you even after death.   “But I’m afraid there’s a misunderstanding.”   You came here for nothing.   “I don't know who your sibling is.”   Your efforts were worthless.   “Your mother and I never consummated the relationship.”   There’s an ear-splitting crash that rings the four walls.    Taehyung opens the door, eyes darting to you. You’re hyperventilating, clutching the handle of your suitcase, all your belongings fallen on the ground beside the wall. You toss the case aside with a frustrated cry.   He calmly shuts the door before anyone in the inn can pry and closes the distance in two strides.   “It’s okay.” He opens his arms and he engulfs your quivering frame.   You grasp onto him, your hands twisting into his white shirt. “I-I don’t know what to do, Taehyung. I...I really thought I had it. I was preparing myself—”   You were preparing yourself to meet your sibling. To confront it all. For once, you were ready.   The frustration cripples you blind and angers you.    How much longer will you be left in the dark? How much longer do you have to look like the fool, a child fumbling in her parent’s history searching for the truth? Why did they do this to you?    Why?   “You can cry,” Taehyung murmurs.   And tears finally slip from your eyes to stain his shoulder.    If it wasn’t for him, if he wasn’t here, you might have lost your mind by now.

#bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung au #bts au #taehyung writing #taehyung series #taehyung scenario #bts scenario #taehyung fluff #taehyung x reader #taehyung x oc #ooOoooOOoH LET'S GO

[angelthebedsheet]

If you’re ok with it, could you do Hawks, Todoroki, Shinsou, Bakugo and Kaminari with a black support engineer s/o with big curly hair and stretched ears? Maybe she wears gauges with their hero theme? Just some cute fluff!

a/n: oooooh bitch okayyyyy!! i like that! hawks my lil bird bitch ✋🏽🥺

your quirk! super brain.

what is it? you have the ability to memorize things easily, piece complex puzzles together, make great strategies. you essentially are a megamind. you are incredibly smart invention-wise. you are skilled in support hero work so you are one of the go to’s for hero modifications, suits and basic designs.

hero name? hakim: the tinker hero

why the name hakim? from what i searched up it has arabic and african significance and it’s one of the 99 names based on the attributes of Allah. the two famous bearers of this name were hakim ajmal khan, the india physician and hakim muhammad saeed, a pakistani medical researcher. if i got any of this wrong please message me so i can fix this! i want to stay as respectful as possible as i love to include names that hold a message!

i might have to split this into two parts bc this gets long!! i just assumed reader is fem presenting bc you can use feminine pronouns and not be a girl like me. also disclaimer i only take 4 characters at a time per request but i dont think at the time of this request i had finalized my requirements in my masterlist so IMMA LET IT SLIDE. sorry this is late as SHIT. lets get it!

——————————————————————————

Hawks

okay we all know he’s a lil shit

and we all know how he be

you are working on your next commission piece in your studio when your window opens

you can only sigh

“what happened kei.”

“now birdie dont get mad now okay”

“what did you do.”

“i may have.... broke my visor and destroyed my jacket?”

how the fuck do you do that.

“what.”

“ahahah...”

boot to the face

when you two were first dating

which was back in hs

you helped him figure out how his hero costume would be along with how they would sit comfortably on his wings

i mean i love the idea of you roasting him while measuring him

“where’s your fuckin DRIP kei.”

“y/n PLEASE. i came here to get a new costume not get slandered”

“well you jus gon have to deal with it sugar, especially when you look like a mess.”

he had definitely bought you so many gauges that have little red feathers hanging from it

or simply his initials hanging from it to the point where you just wear one of his feathers around your neck

marking his territory and making sure you are safe

protective and trendy!

i hc that he has alot of bird like tendencies so you probably have to stop him from stealing the lil shiny things you have

your nuts and bolts allat

“keigo put my bolt down”

“but its so SHINY”

“NO.”

cue keigo’s WHINING

sometimes he just sits on his stool you put for him and play with your ears

like he’ll stare at them and ask you questions

“do they hurt?”

“kei im trying to focus”

“like they’re all stretched how long did they take?”

or he’ll bounce your curls

you’re just polishing a piece of hero gear

here comes kei silently sitting on his stool and gently grabbing a strand of your hair

pulling it down then you hear a quiet

“boing”

i hc that kei has adhd, has lil tic and has to fidget

(can you tell i self project onto majority of them)

(i mean hawks’ quirk must be IMMACULATE for fidgeting 😫👌🏽👌🏽)

(its dead his fault why i have a pretty bird tic)

and one day

“kei baby, here.” you said as you handed him a box. he cocked his head slightly as he looked at it. “what is this, dove?” he asked as he took the box. “well, i made you something to help with your fidgets.” you said as you rubbed the back of your neck. his wings puffed out as he smiled. he opened the box and gasped. you watched as his eyes brightened while he took out the keychain fidget toy. it has multiple sides to it. metal rings connected by two hoops, red, white and beige plastic bangs that were at the ends with two small red feathers at the chains. you watched as he bit his lips and tried not to cause a big reaction. “do you like it, pretty bird?” you asked. he nodded and pulled you into a hug. “thank you so much, baby.” he said into your shoulder. “and you can hook it onto your pants. cute, right?” you said as you gently rubbed his back. “yep, i’m cuddling the fuck outta you. lets go.” he said as he let you go and sweeped you up into his arms. you squealed with a giggle and wrapped your arms around his neck as he ran to the bedroom.

Todoroki Shouto

yall are in hs okay no time skips lmao

todoroki loves EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU

i mean he has so many sneaky pics of you working on your projects

oil on the cheek, gloves, goggles

straight up working in your zone

he will post on his story sometimes like

“look at my s/o”

“they’re working hard”

dry ass cute shit yk?

he carries scrunchies and glass cleaners 24/7

you take your projects on the go so he’ll just take out a scrunchie and neatly pull them curls back into a pineapple

my mans lowkey was struggling at first bc DAMN

CURLS BE FIGHTIN HIM

love the idea of todoroki watching youtube tutorials bc he’s TIRED of getting his ass BEAT by them

he kinda gets a lil grossed out when you take out your gauges and your earlobe kinda just dangles

like earrings in? cool asf

them out? my mans fold like a lawn chair. he looks away or makes a stink face

“are they in?”

“yes they’re in you lil baby. you can try attempted murder but you can’t look at stretched earlobes?”

“shut UP”

he does internally swoon when you put in gauges that match his hair colour

like you love him that much? okay i see

he’s amazed by how you work

sometimes he’ll just stand behind you like a lil sibling in the door way

“mom said it’s my turn on the xbox.”

(not at how me and todoroki are both the youngest siblings)

when you saw his first hero costume you busted out LAUGHING

that day you roasted todoroki to the point where he left

“janitor looking ass. my nigga where you goin? a space adventure? scary ass.”

“😐 are you done.”

“space jam headass, lookin like a g.i joe action figure. terminator lookin ass.”

“alright im leaving”

“no wait come back andjajdjsba”

i hc that todoroki has panic and anxiety attacks and things like that

so you made him a little sumn sumn for his anxiety

“candy, look here for a second?” you called out, making todoroki hum and look up from his notebook. “what happened?” he asked as he cocked his head slightly. “made you something.” you said as you handed him a small box. his eyes light up as he gently took the box. “really? are you sure?” he questioned. you only nodded with a smile as you placed your pencil behind your ear. you watched as he carefully opened the box. he pulled out a tan clicker toy and smiled confused. “what’s this, bub?” he questioned as he placed the box down. “a fidget toy i made for you that can help with your anxiety. it can help ground you when you feel overwhelmed? hopefully? oh! it also has a music box feature.” you said as you pointed at the back of the toy. he silently turned the toy around and you leaned over and pressed a button that played a music box version of a pearl by mitski. you watched as his shoulders loosened up at the sound of his favorite song. he placed the toy down while he tried to hold his smile back. he sighed and smiled widely. “thank you, i love it, bubba.” he said sweetly. “i’m glad you like it.” you whispered. “may i kiss you?” he asked. you simply nodded before he gently cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss to your lips. you pulled him into a hug.

#x black reader #x female reader #bnha x black!reader #bnha x poc!reader #todoroki shouto x reader #hawks x reader #shinsou x reader #kaminari x poc!reader #bnha x black reader #bnha x reader

[bowieandqueen11]

Luke Crain Headcanons

Request: Hi🥺I’m usually not to good about making request but I’m trying to breakout of my shell on that cause you are an amazing writer and I love everything you write!! But can I request a Luke Crain headcanon where you guys grew up together but distanced while he was in rehab but you came back together after what happened with Nellie! Thank you so much you’re an angel🥺💛 

Thank you SO much @cathrinexxxv​ I LOVE LUKE CRAIN! Also I’m so ready to binge watch all of Bly Manor tomorrow!! <3

You and Luke first met when you were very young. As in, really really little. To this day, you’re still constantly teasing him and making him blush smile about his huge magnifying pair of glasses and his obsession with bowler hats.

You and your family used to live in the small village which was a fifteen minute walk away from the looming heights of Hill House, so when a rumour started spreading down the houses that a new family full of children were moving in for the summer, you, naturally, were intrigued.

One night, when you had heard from your mother that the new family had moved in, you sneaked out your back garden on a warm afternoon before dinner, cutting through the dark and dingy forest until you reached the outskirts of the property. Seeing a boy around your own age sitting on his own on the burnt grass, you waved to Luke from behind the branch of a nearby, crooked oak tree. He was startled, to say the least, but as he watched you hide slightly behind the bark, he was surprised to find he wasn’t scared in the slightest.

He felt as if he almost knew you already. As if this was always meant to happen, that you were meant to find each other here.

Nudging his glasses back up the bridge of the nose, he shyly waved back. Once he finally realised that you weren’t going to budge from your hiding place, nervous from the stories your neighbours had told you about this house, he decided to pick up his crayons in one fist and his paper in the other, before he sets off half stumbling, half stomping along the uneven ground towards you.

When he finally reaches the trunk, he stops and looks at you kind of funnily, tilting his head slightly before he decides the right reaction was to smile at you.

‘My name is Luke Crain. Do you want to play with me? All my siblings ignore me and they don’t want to draw with me.’

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon huddled under the shaking leaves, sitting on the roots of the tree, Luke tracing out a picture and you giggling as you tried to bump his hand out of the way to colour it in.

From then on, the two of you were inseparable. Nellie loved you of course, and saw you as her honorary best friend as well, as did the rest of the siblings (even though Shirley would never admit it, and Theo was too stubborn to), which meant constant sleepovers at Hill House.

Hugh would always chuckle and shake his head when he peeked into Luke and Nellie’s room, seeing Nell asleep on a red bean bag with a half open bag of sweets lying deserted by her feet, and you and Luke sprawled out on the mat by the iron railings of his bed, snoring. 

You were also the only one he allowed up into his treehouse. Although, sometimes he was too embarrassed to let you, or his siblings, in, because he had stuck pictures up on the wall of the drawings he had tried to do of you.

Growing up with Luke also meant having to calm him down after he starts seeing the tall, floating ghost. Sometimes you would try to climb up the ivy outside of his bedroom window, only to topple into the house headfirst when you start to hear Luke’s high pitched screaming coming from under his bed. Although Olivia would come running in, she would always end up comforting sobbing Nellie, as Luke would only grab onto you, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed as you remind him the rule.

‘Breathe in and out Luke, that’s it. In and out, seven times - that’s what keeps you safe.’

‘Eight’, he would say with a trembling breath. ‘Eight times. You’re my family too.’

The two of you were gutted when Luke had to move away, but your parents could already see how close the two of you were, and so decided that a move away and a new school for you, perhaps, wasn’t the worst idea. Especially, they decided, since you had been there that night as well.

Although the two of you were close for the whole of your childhood, it takes Luke until he’s eighteen years old to realise just how long he’s really been in love with you. It takes some nudging on from Nellie, pointing out how you would run up to his locker during breaks between classes and just fill him in on how your day was going - each break, no matter how long it had been, without fail. Luke was the only person you wanted to talk to, and from the look of pure delight on Luke’s face as he leans against his locker door and gives his full, undivided attention to you, you’re the only person he wants to listen to.

Or how, Nellie would continue, you would come round to their house for dinner, and although Aunt Janet tried to separate the two of you by sitting you opposite each other, you would just spend the whole dinner ignoring whatever Theo was talking about and giving each other funny looks as you kicked each other in the shin.

Or, when the two of you got a bit older, and you would sneak out of your dorm to visit him in the middle of the night, throwing little rocks at his window until his curtains would rustle and the window latch would be thrown open, his grinning face peering down at you. Despite having spent the whole weekend together, reading to each other in the town’s local library, or just lying shoulder to shoulder watching movies, the two of you would sit out in his garden, on the dewy grass, constantly craving each other’s company. You made him blush one night, when you suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined his growing fingers over your smaller ones, pointing up at the moon, and the glowing stars, not realising the little side eye, euphoric look he would give you. 

That’s when he finally realised how immensely, and terrifyingly in love with you he was.

It scared him, to realise this, but deep down he knew it had always been you.

He has so many nightmares though. So many nights are spent with his head lying heavy in your lap, as you brush through his golden hair, trying to shush him and calm him down, or rocking him as he cries into your shoulder because of the nightmares he has about his mother, or about Abigail.

As the two of you start to escape your teenage years, and the wishful chasing after each other that came with it, your relationship becomes slightly more strained when he starts using. You choose to move in with Nellie for a while, once he finally goes to rehab. When she gets married, and you're forced to find somewhere new to live, you think you'll never hear from the Crains again - you get the odd visit from Nell, or Theo, but they're so busy enjoying the newly wed life, or studying for their degree that it's not enough - nothing fills the hole that comes from missing Luke. 

It hurts that he never comes to see you, but little did you know that he used to sit at his little beige desk every night, underneath the barred window, just staring up at the moon as he bit on the edge of his pen, a feeling of such wistfulness and loneliness and longing weighing down his chest.

He used to write you a letter, every day, just pouring out all the feelings he was too afraid to tell you, but he always crumples them up and throws them away, too scared to send them.

When Steve phones you up to tell you the news about Nellie’s passing, you told him to immediately come and pick you up.

You're terrified when you open the door and walk out into the bone chilling night to hug him, your heart thumping in your chest when he tells you about how Luke has left rehab again and is somewhere out on the streets, probably using. It breaks your heart, but you know you have to be the one to find him, to bring him back.

When you reach him, and see the man you've loved since you were a child wandering, shoeless and shivering along the freezing, cracked pavement, muttering to himself, you can’t help a tear slip out as you unbuckle your seatbelt and hop out of Steve’s rental.

Luke is so terrified, he doesnt recognise you for a second. It’s only a second, though, before his eyes widen and he pounces on you, wrapping you into him so familiarly, his frame looming large above you but yet feels so fragile in your grasp as he buries his head into the side of your neck and starts crying.

‘I’m so, so cold, Y/n, and my arms are s-s-so stiff, and I’m s-so sorry, I’m so sorry-’

You can’t bear to tell him the news, so you just hold the nape of his neck and pull him tight against your chest, hating the way his whole body shakes in your hold.

On the day of Nell’s funeral, he doesn't leave your side once - it’s as if the two of you had never been separated at all. As everyone files in through the main door, ignoring the sour face on Shirley as they wander into the reception area, you and Luke just sit knee to knee on the couch opposite the entryway.

‘I tried to write to you,’ he starts, as he fumbles a cigarette from out of his breast pocket and tucks it away behind his ear, trying to busy himself with anything so he doesn’t have to meet your confused eyes, and so you don’t have to see the guilt ridden in his. ‘I want you to know that. Nellie kept on telling me off, but i just didn't know how to say what i needed to say to you.’

‘Luke, its okay, i understand how difficult it was for you-’

‘No-no, Y/n, no more excuses! You mean so much to me and i- i cant... i can't lose anyone else. Just-’

He's so gentle when he finally reaches over and kisses you, trying to shake off his fear and just show you what he meant instead. His suit rumples against your chest as he smooshes himself against you, cupping your cheeks softly with his large hands as he tilts you to the side to meet him in a needy, a desperate, a long anticipated kiss. 

He doesn’t pull away - he can't - until you finally break for air, and only then does he finally concede and places his forehead against yours with a soft thud, just closing his eyes in both agony and bliss.

‘I’m sorry that took me so long to do.’

‘It was worth the wait. Although, I have to be honest, your timing has always been rubbish.’

He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating against your chest as he rests his head on your shoulder like a lost puppy, gazing up at you with those wide, lost eyes, and for the first time you can finally see the adoration and awe and just pure love that’s always been in them.

For the rest of the reception. before he tells you of his plans to go back and burn Hill House to the ground, is spent with the two of you escaping from his siblings by stepping outside and sitting on Shirley’s porch. Your arms stay linked tightly together, as if afraid to let go again, and his coat is wrapped around both of your shoulders as he rests against you, just content to be surrounded by your presence.

#luke crain #oliver jackson cohen #the haunting of hill house #luke crain imagine #luke crain x reader #luke crain headcanons #thohh #thohh imagine #luke thohh #luke the haunting of hill house #hill house #the haunting of hill house imagine #ojc #luke thohh imagine #oliver jackon cohen imagine #luke the haunting of hill house imagine #nellie crain #theo crain #steve crain #olivia crain #hugh crain

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Your cool literary takes on James Bond made me want to ask you this. I have to wear a tuxedo for a special occasion, can you give me some advice? I would welcome some style pointers from you as I respect your refined taste. What are your thoughts on men wearing the tuxedo? I think it’s a dying tradition because here in the US, where the tux was invented, it has all but disappeared as the choice of evening wear for any social events. Great blog posts but I only wish you would post more.

Thank you for your kind words about my most recent posts on Ian Fleming’s James Bond and also generally liking what I post. I too wish I could post more but unfortunately my time is taken up with the reality of work and other things even during these tough times of the Covid pandemic. But when I get a moment to myself I do enjoy posting as a way to detox from the pressures of work. I appreciate your continued support.

I got this question before Christmas so the thought had occurred to me that you were asking because you had a decision to make over the festive period. If so, I am sorry for tardy lateness of my response. But I trust what little advice I can give will help you in the future. 

I always remember the maxim by the fashion designer, Tom Ford, who said, “Dressing well is a form of good manners.”

To me, for a man to wear black tie (or tuxedo) is the height of good manners. It used to be the case that every gentleman had one and it was perhaps the first suit to pack into a suitcase. Perhaps one of the few times I was ever envious of my older brothers as men was accompanying them with my father the first time they went to get fitted for a bespoke black tie at Henry Poole & Co - the Savile Row tailors that had been the regular choice of my grandfather and father for their clothing attire. Although both siblings later gravitated to other Savile Row bespoke tailors as they got older, that first Henry Poole black tie lasted them for a long time. The whole ritual around taking measurements took on a hushed sacred tone of a liturgy. Looking back it felt like a rite of passage for them as they passed from boyhood to adulthood.

The choice of wearing a tuxedo epitomises the desire - among people of means and social standing - to be fresh, clean and as attractive as possible when meeting on evening social events and attending high spirits affairs. This tradition was maintained also with the beginning of the use of the automobile, when there was no practical justification.

Before the Second World War, tuxedos and tails were still considered the only appropriate clothing for all the elegant social evenings. However, after the war, the traditional suit, or the work suit, began to be accepted more on informal evening and daytime occasions, and so the use of the tuxedo was limited to just formal evening gatherings only.

The tuxedo was completely remade in disco's image by the 1970s. A young, revolutionary generation looked at the conservative styling of the tuxedo and threw out nearly everything, keeping only the vague silhouette. Huge, floppy bow ties, colourful patterned jackets, shirts with ruffles and lace, and trousers that looked more like bell-bottoms became much more prevalent. The typical tuxedo in the '70s usually had at least two of these elements, if not all of them.

By the 1980s, a return to classic styling had thankfully re-emerged and tuxedos started looking more conservative.

By the late 2000s, as dress codes became diluted and misunderstood, formal-wear took another hit. Business-casual was the predominate dress code of the workplace and shiny black suits with matching ties had nearly supplanted traditional black-tie. Coloured dress shirts also began to trend in this era.  Those who continued to wear traditional black-tie made it as simple as possible to match the casual aesthetic that a new generation preferred.

These days I think more and more young men are adopting the black-tie styles of the '30s and '40s. Midnight blue tuxedos have even made a comeback. I think high quality period dramas like "Mad Men" are at least part of the reason for the shift, with men growing nostalgic for a bygone era of neater, more crisp look.  

People forget, as often as they do, that the original purpose of this elegant clothing was to replace the suit worn all day, allowing men to leave behind the dirt and smell of a day spent on horseback, not to bring it around the dining table.

These days the emphasis on informality has made it easier to make excuses for men (and women) to dress down to a street level of casual indifference (laziness) that I find aesthetically displeasing.

Moreover I find it a tad disrespectful to the sense of occasion and also an unkind ingratitude to the efforts made by the host or hostess in organising such an event. For those who think wearing black tie is a sign of social superiority, then respectfully they have not understood its true purpose. In following the dress code, it is in effect a sign of respect towards your fellow guests, as it has been put in place to ensure attendees are on the same level.

The origin of the tuxedo is a controversial subject of conversation in some circles. I know in the US it’s common to assume the tux was invented there but many have pointed out it was in England that its origins lie. Some fashion historians trace it back to the 17th Century as a tailless ‘smoking jacket’. In England during the 17th century, after dinner the gentlemen might put on a smoking jacket and retreat to a den or smoking room. Indeed in the beginning it was believed that the purpose of the ’smoking jacket’ ensured that their evening coat would not be burned by ashes nor absorb the smell of tobacco which the women found distasteful.

However these days there remain two theories about the first ever proper tuxedo that we would recognise today. In the first theory the tuxedo was invented by Pierre Lorillard IV of New York City according to one school of thought. Pierre Lorillard's family were wealthy tobacco magnates who owned country property in Tuxedo Park, just outside of New York City. At a formal ball, held at the Tuxedo Club in October 1886, the young Lorillard wore a new style of formal wear for men that he designed himself. He named his tailless black jacket the tuxedo after Tuxedo Park. The tuxedo caught on and became fashionable as formal wear for men.

The second theory, according to English clothing historian James Laver, has it that the idea of wearing black for evening wear was first introduced by the 19th Century British writer, Edward Bulwer-Lyttonn who wrote in 1828 that "people must be very distinguished to look well in black." It was only until later in the century that a village resident of Tuxedo Park, New York, James Brown Potter vacationed in England in the summer of 1886. Potter and his wife, Cora were introduced to the Prince of Wales {who later became King Edward VII} at a court ball in London. Potter asked the Prince for advice on formal dress. The Prince sent Potter to his own Saville Row tailor, Henry Poole & Co. Potter was fitted with a short black jacket and black tie that was unlike the formal tails with white tie that was worn in the United States for formal occasions.

The new tailless formal wear was said to have been designed by the Prince of Wales. It was Edward VII who in 1865 commissioned to his tailor Henry Poole to create a short blue evening jacket (midnight blue), to be used for informal evenings in his country estate of Sandringham. The Prince and his tailor drew inspiration from the British military uniforms of the time, which used short jackets with black ties.

This is where the two origins meet. James Brown Potter took the design back to the Tuxedo Club, where Pierre Lorillard modified it, named it, and made it popular during the Autumn ball. And so from that blessed bespoke collaboration between the Prince and Henry Poole & Co was born the ancestor of what everyone call today as tuxedos, the English ‘dinner jacket’ and the Americans ‘tuxedo’ - because of its original word spread starting from the homonymous village of Tuxedo Park.

Whatever the exact truth of its origin, black tie remains the evening attire par excellence. I’m flattered that anyone should ask me for style tips, especially regarding grooming and clothing for men.

I like to think that the true purpose of a man wearing black tie was to help the man show the humility to be an unassuming gentleman in effortlessly blending into the background so that his female companion could shine more by his side. A man in black tie was a gentleman who stood steadfastly there with an outstretched arm to make women feel more beautiful, but also to reassure them that all is right in the world.

If you get the opportunity to wear black tie then do please take it. The fact that you desire to wear one is already a great choice that makes you stand out from the loud bling-bling hoi polloi. But please don’t confuse wearing a black tie with snobbery. It isn’t, it’s just good manners. Manners maketh man as they say and so it’s not something one is born with but can only be learned. And don’t confuse fashion for style. The two are very different. Fashion is what you copy from others and style is what you express about yourself. Don’t conform to the passing fancies of the day (the loud, the garish, the attention seeking), or as Coco Chanel put it, ‘elegance is refusal’.

Always remember that style is a way to say who you are without having to speak.  

In theory, the elegance of the tuxedo stems from its simplicity - it’s an ultimate classic, the one outfit one doesn’t mess around with. In practice, many men find the rules governing this suit and its accoutrements to be annoyingly complex and complexly annoying.

My basic rule for men is ‘kiss’ - Keep It Simple, Stupid. 

Rule 1: Buy, don’t rent

It’s better if the black tie that you have is yours, and not rented. For one thing it’s a question of comfortability. You’ll be comfortable in your skin if you’re more comfortable in a suit that actually fits. Secondly, a rental doesn’t mean it’s good quality. The fabric is an important consideration.

In an ideal world you should get a bespoke tailored black tie made - ideally from any of the excellent tailors on Savile Row. But not all tailors are equal. Henry Poole & Co would be the traditional choice. I know for my older brothers they prefer Gieves & Hawkes and Huntsman because they have a more military draped cut, traditional but not stuffy.

In the long run it’s a once in a lifetime worthy investment if you take in consideration the cost of each potential rental along with how many times you would be wearing one throughout the coming years.

But I understand for many that may be an impossible proposition. The next best thing is to get a less expensive ‘made-to-measure’ black tie which is an increasing and welcome avenue for men to still have a suit or black tie made to fit them.

I would hesitate recommending buying off the peg because many high street brands have a rather relaxed attitude to tailoring and quality. If you must buy off the peg or rent then make sure the fabric is wool.

Rule 2: Black or Midnight blue and no other colour

Your black tie should be, to state the obvious, black. Not only is it the correct choice, it is the stylish choice. You can never go wrong with black. But if you’re feeling a tad adventurous go with Midnight blue. Midnight blue, being blacker than black, is not merely an exception to the rule but an exceptional choice for shimmering with distinction under the moonlight.

But what about white dinner jacket so beloved of James Bond or Indiana Jones? Yes, quite.

Traditionally, white was worn in place of a traditional black suit to deflect heat. This made it the perfect alternative for black-tie events that were held in the afternoon, during the Summer or at sea. The white jacket variation of black tie began was adopted in the early 1930s as a way for well-heeled vacationers to dress formally in the tropical heat without having to endure the heavy and dark-coloured fabrics that were standard for evening wear at the time. 

While dinner suits have become much more lightweight since then, the light-coloured jacket has remained a popular warm-weather alternative to its ebony progenitor. However, without a proper understanding of its form and function, the white dinner jacket easily becomes a flashy gimmick.  Subtlety and restraint are the keys to the successful execution of this classic variation.

Avoid other colours like the plague. I do notice from time to time in the shop windows here in Paris (as well as London and elsewhere) that some menswear boutiques display bright coloured dinner jackets.

Usually it’s the Italians (like Canali and Brunello Cucinelli who give in to their worst Italian impulses to show off their peacock flair) and others who really should know better (yes, the wine red velvet dinner jacket is very fetching but it belongs by log side fire, a cigar, and a cognac, so thank you Tom Ford). I even think some of them look nice and charming but it’s not black tie.

Besides a non-traditional black tie will be much more vulnerable to the whims of passing fashion where as traditional unfussy black tie can give peace of mind that it will never go out of style and thus will last longer.

Rule 3: Put yourself in a straight jacket

The first thing to decide is single or double-breasted and number of buttons. A safe and elegant option is one-button single breast which is both timeless and classical. Two buttons are fine, worn with the lower button undone. Double-breasted styles of any button configuration are also appropriate, but keep in mind that double-breasted jackets add some ‘bulk’ to the body. So take a hard look at your body type before you decide which one best flows off your shoulders. The buttons should be fabric-covered.

Hand in hand with the button style goes the lapel. The classic, formal option is peak lapel. Shawl lapel is somewhat less formal, but perfectly suitable. Shawl has become very popular, especially in slim versions. Notch lapels are frequently seen on off-the-rack tuxedos, but this is a more casual style, which should be reserved for suits. My preference would be to go for the peak lapel but make them sufficiently wide and not too slim.

The jacket was traditionally without vents, to keep seams (i.e. details) to a minimum, but double vents are also acceptable, providing comfort and movement. The pockets should be straight piped (slit without flap) and there should be a breast pocket.

Rule 4: Trousers, brace yourself

The trousers are ideally made without pleats or cuffs, with straight pockets following the side seam, in order to make them less visible. Black tie attire should never be worn with belts, so skip the belt loops. Traditionally one would use suspenders (braces) as it straightens the body shape as well as holds up the trousers. Choose black or white braces in fabric, rather than in leather, or in any case they should be matching the colour of the tuxedo. But I should note that side-fasteners are also a convenient option for some flexibility in the waist. The front closure should be clip-only, avoiding the button. Classically, the trousers will have a satin silk stripe covering the outer side seam on each leg, matching the lapel facing. This is a lovely detail, but nowadays sometimes considered old-fashioned. For this reason alone I would insist on it.

Rule 5: Don’t get shirty

The shirt should be plain white cotton, with a few distinct features. It should always have a ‘bib’ running down to front, which provides starchy stiffness (i.e. a higher level of formality). I’ve seen shirts in which vertical pleats in matching fabric are designed. I think they look plain and boring. Similarly if someone suggests to you a fly-front placket panel that covers the buttons and leaves a clean look then walk away immediately. Both these kind of shirts are for the lazy because they both want to avoid having to deal with those troublesome studs where the buttons would be.

I would advise always make sure your shirt has a starch like ‘bib’ that is attached made up of a textured pique fabric (pin dots), usually called Marcella. They look so much more elegant and classy.

Many would say that collar can be a normal Kent variety or a wing collar, which has little points turned down where the collar wings would be, but otherwise exposing the collar band. I personally think a wing collar is subject to whims of fashion and something best left in a 1920s set movie. Some can wear them very well (see Paul Newman in The Sting) but it depends on the girth of your neck. I think the wing collar can portray a man’s neck in an unflattering way.

I think the normal Kent collar is cleaner and classical, and it will never go out of style. The Duke of Windsor made the Kent collar hugely popular in his prime.

The cuffs should be double (French cuff), to accommodate cufflinks.

Many people also forego the buttons on evening shirts, instead leaving holes where you can attach studs (often matched with the cufflinks). If you are going to do that make sure that they’re mother of pearl studs.

Rule 6: Accessories are in the details

The shirt should not be visible at the waist, which calls for a something covering the gap between trousers and jacket, unless you opted for a double-breasted jacket. Traditionally, this is non-negotiable, but these days you often see people wearing no waist covering. My advice is unless you’re wearing a double breasted black tie (for which there is no need to wear a cummerbund) then always wear a cummerbund with a single breasted black tie.

You either use a cummerbund matching the bow tie (a cummerbund folds upwards, for convenient opera ticket storage) or a waistcoat. Please don’t commit the faux pas of making your cummerbund a colour other than black. Often people match their bow ties to their cummerbunds in garish bright colours which just defeats the object of why one wears black tie in the first place.

For the waistcoat, there are a few style options. Often, black tie waistcoats will have a rounded (horseshoe) cut with shawl lapels but a regular cut waistcoat is also acceptable. The key is to go simple and match the jacket fabric, facing and buttons. The back can be wool or lining, where we’d recommend the latter, to make the ensemble cooler. A stylish fob watch with chain would be a nice little detail that one can drop without telegraphing it loudly.

Consider having a white silk pocket square. You can fold it any way you like, but the so-called straight presidential fold is simple and sharp looking.

Socks must be knee length. Make them black. Again, the principle is one of clean lines and elegance. Disruptions below the trouser leg - stripes, shins, whatever - threaten to ruin the whole effect.

Shoes. Your shoes must always shine. This is one detail many men neglect. The shoes should be black patent leather. My preference would be for high quality Oxfords. I know some purists would insist that only opera pumps walk the one true path, but it is obvious on its face that those precious ribboned things, also called court shoes, are not completely in step with modern life. I know too that bit-toe loafers (thank you Tom Ford) are also more of the modern rage but I find them a little effeminate. So while I don’t see it as a style concession I do think Oxfords shined to a high sheen is the modern and best choice I would opt for a gentleman to go for. To me being comfortable in your shoes is also an equal and valid consideration.

Cufflinks and studs should be simple and classic, luxury metals and mother-of-pearl or onyx insets are nice touches. I know some punt for more personalised cuff links - like their regimental or college or some other institutional affiliation - and there is nothing wrong with that but I am on the fence about this. Generally I would leave that for your day time business suits. Showing off defeats the ethos of wearing the black tie in the first place. 

Rule 7: ‘Sprezzatura’ up your bow tie

‘Sprezzatura’ is a gorgeous Italian word - first appearing in Baldassare Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier in 1528 - that means a disheveled elegance by way of studied carelessness. This perfectly sums up how one should wear the centre piece of the black tie - the bow tie.

Don’t be taken in by the very modern fad - thank you Hollywood and modern music pop stars - of wearing long neck ties (even if they are in black) as part of your black tie attire. Just don’t. It doesn’t matter how swish you may look you still are a prat for not dressing in real black tie.

Plain black silk and entirely self-tied. That’s a real bow tie.

Anyone and his dog can always identify a pre-tied bow tie by the fact that it's just a little too studied. Perfectly straight, perfectly symmetrical, and perfectly balanced. Just like plastic surgery, clip-on bow ties just look too perfect to be real. It is one of the most obvious signs that you're a style amateur.

Avoid pre-tied bow ties (and its ugly sibling the stick-on bow tie) like the plague....unless you’re a child who is unable to tie his own bow tie. But what if you don’t know how to tie a real bow tie? It’s never too late to learn. It’s the same level of difficulty as tying your shoes. If you don’t know ask someone who does know. If you’re buying a bespoke tailored black tie the tailor would most definitely show you how to do it. Easy peasy.

Remember bow ties are supposed to be imperfect and worn. That’s what makes the wearer authentic.

Perfect symmetry is not a goal worth pursuing here. Being an elegant gentleman is.

And that’s it. Those would be my informal rules for any man wanting to be a gentleman wearing black tie for a special occasion.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #black tie #tuxedo #dinner jacket #menswear #fashion #style #bespoke #savile row #gentlemen #culture #personal #henry poole #bow tie #monarchy #edward VII #etiquette

[jaskiersvalley]

hi hi!! can i request some fluff or comfort possibly?? my dog passed yesterday and i could use some distraction but im quickly burnung through ao3 😥

I am so sorry to hear about your dog, Nonnie. While there isn’t a lot I can do to fill this newfound void in your heart, I can offer up a bit of silly fluff to distract you.

“Come to Lettenhove with me.” The words were so out of the blue, Geralt had to wonder just what Jaskier was truly asking because so often the words his bard spoke were not quite the ones he meant. “Just think, a few days of rest, we have the most wonderful tub even you could fit in.”

“Why do you need to go there?” Not that Geralt was against the idea but he wanted to know the truth, not be lulled in with fancy words only to have so ‘surprise’ sprung upon him.

After a moment, Jaskier pouted. “I want to swap out my clothes.”

Which was fair enough really. Jaskier did take great pride in his appearance, liked keeping up with trends and detested looking road worn like some common bardling. He had standards and he made sure he lived up to them.

“Fine.” Geralt had learned which battles to pick. No doubt there’d be a contract or two along the way and he’d scout some out in Lettenhove too. The Path was the Path, no matter where it took them.

Lettenhove was quite pleasant, all things considered. Which was nice because it wasn’t the kind of area Geralt often frequented. But not so good because there were no contracts and they had to rely solely on Jaskier’s skills to gain shelter and food. At least the closer they got to Lettenhove, the nice people seemed to be to Jaskier and, rather than scorn Geralt, they were more inclined to pretend he just wasn’t there. Which suited Geralt just fine.

They were walking up to a stately home, Jaskier chattering away, pointing out windows and telling what he thought were great stories about hanging out of them to not get caught stealing from the kitchen again. Thankfully, he was interrupted. Less fortunately, it was a squeal of “Jaskier!” and someone barrelled into him, only to be picked up and spun around.

“Geralt!” Jaskier beckoned him. “Come meet my sister.”

Never before had someone curtsied for Geralt in quite such a genuine manner. He nodded back in reply and watched as Jaskier and his sister started talking, trying to draw him in but accepting his silent nature. Maybe it was a sibling thing to not be fearful of witchers.

They ended up inside the house where more and more people greeted Jaskier and were courteous to Geralt. Definitely a family thing. That idea was cemented in Geralt’s mind when Jaskier’s parents made an appearance. They were obviously delighted their son was back and it was nice to see.

“You must be Geralt. Julek’s witcher.” Hearing those words from Jaskier’s mother’s mouth had Geralt’s mind going blank which was taken as an invitation to keep talking. “He talks so much about you, it’s so nice to have you visit. Would you like a room to call your own while you stay? Or we can move a larger bed into Julek’s room if you prefer to share.”

“Mother!” Jaskier looked scandalised.

“What? It’s not like your childhood bed could take the strain of the two of you making love on it.”

Titters went up and one of Jaskier’s siblings ruffled his hair as they jeered.

“It’s okay, we’ll have a room made up and the bed changed. Then you can decide how you’re most comfortable.” It was said like it was the most obvious thing on earth.

“And you must join us for dinner this evening.” Jaskier’s father was in on the act it seemed. “We normally don’t stand to formality but it’s been years that we’ve heard stories about you, it feels like we already know you through the letters and stories. Would be nice to actually spend some time in your company.”

Nobody had ever wanted to spend time in a witcher’s company before. Geralt stared at the peculiar family gathered around Jaskier and him and could only wonder what poison had been dropped in their food that they all survived but were a bit funny as a result of.

Dinner was as chaotic an affair as Geralt had feared. There was no seating plan, no hierarchy. Everyone wanted to crowd around him and Jaskier, keen to share embarrassing childhood stories and listen to tales of their travels. It was one of the most exhausting social engagements Geralt had ever had. He slept well that night, in a large bed that had been put in a room for him. With Jaskier in his arms because “I’m not defiling my childhood bedroom, I just can’t”. He didn’t seem to have a problem with doing that to the guest bedroom though.

They spent three days in Lettenhove during which Geralt learned that Jaskier had a tendency to steal things from his siblings like a magpie. Though he was also claiming it was payback for all the jump scares they unleashed on him. They said it was to see what high notes he could hit. Geralt knew exactly what high notes could be pulled from Jaskier and scaring him was not the way to go about it.

“Get him a parrot,” he said as he walked past a huddle of giggling idiots. Geralt didn’t expect his words to be heeded.

The screech which rang through the home the next morning was one that trailed off into such ranges only witchers and dogs could hear it. It made Geralt’s eyes water in pain and he grumbled that they were at breakfast so it was too early.

“But Geralt! Look!”

Where Jaskier normally sat was a basket. In it was a parrot with a bow around its neck. Someone clapped Geralt on the shoulder.

“Thanks for the tip.”

No amount of arguing could convince Jaskier to leave the parrot behind. It was colourful, nibbled happily on Jaskier’s ear for attention and squawked when he sang.

“If your horse is called Roach,” Jaskier had mused, “the I suppose we can call this parrot Pike.”

“No.”

“Salmon?”

Geralt gave him a stern look.

“Bass? Tuna? Guppy.”

The last got a snort and Jaskier beamed. “Guppy it is. Thanks love.”

When they got back on the road, Jaskier with a new set of clothes, a parrot on his shoulder and coin purses sneakily topped up, Geralt couldn’t help but turn back and wave at the strange family that made him feel more welcome than anyone ever before. Maybe he would direct his brothers through here too, see what reception they got.

Come winter, Lambert didn’t return to Kaer Morhen. He did send a letter though.

Thanks for the tip. This is so much better. Suck it, up in the cold halls. Come here next year. Lambert Pankratz, adopted son of the Count of Lettenhove

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #jaskier's family #the witcher #tldr: jaskier has a very welcoming family

[worstloki]

Part 3

Fury: I cannot believe the Avengers No. 1 unattainable criminal right now is a seventeen-year-old twink Clint: I can’t believe you’re calling Loki a twink Tony: I can’t believe he's been the legal godparent of kids his own age for months and I didn't realise Steve: You didn’t get him removed? I thought you made Rhodey their legal godparents instead?? Tony: nah I removed Thor Natasha: ?? why would anyone do that ?? Fury, having a breakdown: we nearly lost New York and the entire world to a 16-year-old twink with daddy issues Clint: yoU just did it aGAIN- Tony, the only actual Avenger who knows Loki isn’t actually evil™: heY! Daddy issues are a serious thing! Don’t make fun of the guy for having a crisis and finding out his life was a lie and he’d faced over a millennium of abusive environment for nothing!  Avengers: are you… defending Loki… the megalomaniac WAR CRIMINAL who turned every SHIELD facility into ice cream earlier today…? Tony, hands up in surrender: I’m saying maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to judge the guy. I wouldn't be able to guess what but maybe he had an ulterior reason for the New York fiasco? His normal stuff is usually harmless.  Avengers: ... Tony: What? It could’ve been much worse. Strange, rolling his eyes: Yes, at least it wasn’t Stark Raving Hazelnuts Loki, who has been standing at the back listening to the entire conversation: That flavour is way too chalky to suit SHIELD anyways [everyone turns to Loki with their weapons ready, except Tony of course] Loki, raising his hands in surrender: what? A Hunka-Hulka Burning Fudge is way better, and its green, and for some reason they didn’t have a Loki flavour so that was the next best option-

---

Loki: hey Morgan what would you say if i offered you an officially evil part-time job with decent pay and extremely good evil workplace benefits? Morgan: do you offer evil dental? Loki: of course?? we also have A-Grade coffee 24/7 because top class extremely good evil deserves only the best Morgan: Excellent! I look forward to working with your evil team and being a part of your nefarious schemes and plots in future Loki: Thank you. Tomorrow we replace all Tony's vehicles with incredibly realistic wax models. Morgan: ...including the jets? Loki, scoffing: what kind of amateur villains would we be if we left his jets, boats, bikes and single vintage helicopter untouched Tony: its 4am can you maybe not have this conversation right next to me in my own workshop?!

---

Tony: I THOUGHT YOU SAID YOU WOULD REPLACE THEM WITH WAX MODELS Morgan: What kind of low-grade predictable villainous evil doers would we be if we did what we said we would Tony: oh $#!^ now you're speaking like him too Loki, cutting his shoulder to reveal cake: Just so you know, it wasn’t JUST the vehicles ;)

---

Peter: *following loki around with a notepad* Loki: Terribly sorry if you mind but he's MY intern now. Tony: You don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you’re doing, do you? Loki: I don’t think anything I’ve ever done is wrong Peter:  *avidly taking notes and nodding along*

---

T’challa: I cant believe you filed an application for ‘time off’ Shuri: I NEED at least 3 hours a week reserved specifically for training if I want to keep my part-time job T’challa: you don’t NEED a job! You make up 90% of Wakanda’s research and development departments! Your technology work IS a job! Shuri: yeah well my ACTUAL job is fun and has proper work benefits and I simply must empty the time blocks I specified for it! You wouldn’t stop me from meeting with Peter and Morgan would you? They ARE, legally and spiritually speaking, my siblings, brother :) T’challa: what job could you have that would need you reminding me that a mischief deity adopted you before telling me what the job actually is Shuri: The official position is called Secretary of Evil but that’s only for the probationary 2 week period and I’m allowed to request a name change if I think of anything better T’challa: T’challa: you are working as a SECRETARY?! Shuri: The job pays well, Brother, T'challa:  T'challa: mother will be so disappointed

---

Scott: I can’t believe you did that Maggie: I didn’t know he was a supervillain! OBVIOUSLY! Scott: how would you noT KNOW! He wears nothing buT LEATHER and BELTS and GREEN BOOTS AND- Maggie: I needed someone to watch her and she showed up in pink sweatpants and a black tank top and was charging a decent rate Scott: Scott: are you sure their name was loki

---

Clint: you told me it was a ‘family gathering’! Tony: yeah, it is, and the avengers are family Clint, pointing at Loki: so what’s the twink doing here and why are MY kids along with every other person here who is under drinking age clinging to him like a frickin’ koala bear Tony: morgan wanted to get her ‘the floor is lava’ badge and loki was the only one immune to the lava so they jumped him - and he enjoyed walking around covered in them way more than he should have -  and also loki is legally peter and morgan and harley and shuri’s godparent so he’s allowed to be here on more of a basis than anyone else here at this point Clint: There was LAVA near MY KIDS?! Tony: no of course not – it was FAKE lava that just looked and functioned like real lava Clint: im taking them all home Tony: good luck convincing them not to want another playdate Clint: this isn’t a joke Tony Tony: I’m serious. Good luck. The kids love him, and you’ll need all the luck you can get if you want them to ever root for the side of good instead of wherever-loki-is-at instead. 

---

Pepper: *watching the news* Pepper: oh hey the Avengers are on Peter, running into the room: woW NICE Pepper: wtf why is Hulk wearing giant boxing gloves Peter: Language! Pepper: is Steve's shield padded?! Peter: i don’t remember that being normal Pepper: did most of the Avengers just ditch Steve? Why’re they leaving Peter: I guess the danger must be over? Pepper: WHAT is going ON out there today Peter: I think Loki had planned an attack today so maybe he did it as a joke Pepper: oh they're facing Loki yeah okay that explains it Peter: Loki always does the funniest things of course he baby-proofed all the Avenger's gear! Classic Loki! :D

-meanwhile-

Captain America, tears streaming down his face: pl,,ease, loki,, stop,t his, I cant hit ,,a child Loki: Look at you, the American icon, unable to save all these innocent people from having their skin turn into primary colours, all because you are TOO AFRAID to fight me! Captain America: I’m a national icon, not a good soldier but a good man, I will do whatever it takes to keep innocents safe, but I can NOT beat up someone who isn’t even legal enough to vote Loki: I was around causing chaos before this ‘voting’ was even invented! And I’ll NEVER legally vote even if I could!! mwahahAHAHA- Falcon, to Bucky in the background: How did we not realise he was a teen, all his comebacks are ‘no u’ and ‘uno reverse card’ and ‘look over there!’ Bucky, to Falcon: I don’t know but I really really want to know where he gets his outfits from Falcon: if it means I’ll be seeing you geared up in leather again then I want to know where he gets his outfits from too ;‘) Thor: I think my brother makes his own outfits Loki, still tormenting Captain America: *SISTER Thor: ah, my bad Captain America, crying x2: wait does this mean I’ve been lobbing my shield at not just a child, but I’ve been misgendering them while doing it?! Loki: only occasionally and I don’t blame you that was on me for monologuing too long, really— Captain America, taking off the helmet: nope I’m done Loki: what are you doing Steve, handing Sam the shield: It’s yours. Enjoy. Sam: woah woah woah what’re you doing you cant retire just like that  Steve, unzipping his suit to reveal American flag boxers: watch me Bucky to Sam: hello new best friend Sam, realising that Cap and Bucky are a duo: oh no no no STEVE is your best friend Bucky: he hasn’t been my ‘best friend’ since I saw him with the American flag splayed over his butt Loki, holding his hand out for Sam to shake: Hello there new Captain America its nice to meet you formally, my name is Loki and yes I’m a child but I’m actually 1075 but that is irrelevant if I’m causing trouble and looking for a fight, I’m also genderfluid so yes sometimes my pronouns will be different but I’ll be sure to inform you if it happens Sam: what are you doing Loki: I’m… formally introducing myself Sam: Sam: why?? Loki, blinking to hide that he’s getting teary eyed: well, the last national icon I didn’t do this with ditched me because I didn’t Bucky, a trained assassin, who isn’t a fool: *hugs loki* that wasn’t your fault steve just likes to carry the stupid with him Loki: thanks Bucky: is this a bad time to ask where you get your clothes from…? Loki: I make them Bucky: oh. Well $#!^. Loki, sniffing: if you join the dark side I’ll make you some too Bucky, immediately: done. Sam: JAmES Bucky deadpan: Yes, Samuel, what is it that troubles you, my new arch nemesis? 

---

Sam: HE TOOK BUCKY Natasha: What do you mean ‘he took bucky’ he’s standing right next to you Sam: He’s “infiltrating the enemy” Natasha: *lifts an eyebrow and looks to Bucky* Bucky: It’s true. My loyalties lie elsewhere now. Natasha: ??? Bucky: note to self – unexpected outcomes confuse the black widow. Natasha: how did this happen?? Sam: he SOLD himself out to the ENEMY Natasha: well when you say it like THAT ;) — Bucky: I think friendship is a decent price to pay for decent clothing Natasha: ??? Sam: oh also I’m Captain America now because Steve broke down and quit Natasha: ?!?!?!

---

Peter, entering the room and high-fiving Loki: I heard you got Mr. Bucky to switch teams! Loki: well, my fashion skills ARE legendary Tony, under his breath: he’s not even trying and he’s gotten every kid and the freaking winter soldier on his side and I am so so grateful he isn’t actually TRYING to make everyone go bad

---

Bucky: we’ve been over this Steve, Loki is young but he’s also over a thousand years old Steve: I was beating up a KID, Bucky, a kid who was SMALLER and WEAKER than everyone else where he lived but wouldn’t EVER turn down a FIGHT for what he BELIEVES IN and he was probably BULLIED and I wanted the guy DEAD, Bucky– Bucky: don’t forget the genderfluidity thing Steve: he said it wasn’t my fault but I should’ve asked Thor after he referred to Loki as ‘she’ instead of thinking he’d made a mistake and I just can’t – he isn’t even old enough to DRIVE or VOTE or DRINK or BUY A KNIFE or -- Bucky, holding Steve and patting his back: hey now, there, there, it’ll be okay, Bucky: *gives Loki a thumbs up as he sits on the couch with popcorn and watches Steve be miserable*

---

Loki: We need to get through this locked door. Tony, quick, give me your card! Tony, handing the card over: Take it! Loki, pocketing it: Thanks! Morgan, fire at the door Morgan: *pulls out an iron man gauntlet painted green and gold* Tony: hOW COULD you deface YOUR BIRTHDAY PRESENT with GREEN Morgan: MINE is still being used as a paperweight. This is one of YOUR gauntlets.   Tony, under his breath: maybe it’s not too late to burn the physical evidence and hack Loki’s name off the digital copies of the adoption forms Loki, whispering back: oh its definitely too late. I’m already on your christmas card and everything.

#LokiAdoptsAU #where all the kids can enjoy loki tormenting the world because its funny and no one actually ends up seriously injured ever #loki is about mischief and chaos not death and destruction #the avengers don't know why the kids are attached #tony knows that loki isn't evil but so far Shuri and Peter and MJ and Ned and Cassie are the only ones who know about the torture #because everyone else is an *d*ot #watch as loki cajoles the avengers to his side 1-by-1 with the promise of good coffee decent prankster material and custom leather outfits #ThisPostIsLongerThanMyLifeSpan #TPILTMLS

[the-dead-skwad]

Miss Lestrange Part 3 X Reader X George Weasley

Sorry it’s been a spell ;) I’ve been super busy with my new job and metal health kicking my ass. Also don’t get hung up over the spelling mistakes, my nails are so long and I always miss something out. 

Summary: It’s going to be lonely tis Christmas or so you thought. 

?!? Warning: Slight mention of self harm, Parental abuse. 

Tag : @hopeladybug​ @supernaturalidjitjess​ @til-the-end-of-the-line​

This year had gotten even crazier and it wasn’t even Christmas yet. Umbridge was terrified of you; Not long after your screaming match in her first lesson she called you to her office. She told you you were there to write lines but of course there would be a catch. As you started to write the words formed as scratches on the back of your hand. You looked up at her with her sadistic grin. You glanced back to your hand “Does the ministry approve?”

“Excuse me?” She cleared her throat.

You smiled “That’s what I thought.” You stared straight at her with a smile on your face.

“What are you?” Her grin was gone.

You put the torture quill to the parchment and started to scratch, scribbling a giant bunch of mess, never breaking eye contact.

“Stop it!” She screamed. “Get out!”

You collected your things still smiling. When you finally got to the hallway you stopped. “Owww.. merlin that hurt.” You held on to it with your other hand.

After all that she hadn’t even acknowledge you were even there. Every lesson, if she saw you in the hallways, you were invisible. It suited you fine.

I was approaching Christmas now and you just weren’t feeling it. Everyone would head back to their parents, their family’s have a really nice time and you would roam the empty halls all alone. Some kids would stay but it was no one you knew.

You went to leave the dungeons when Draco stopped you. “How you doing?”

“What do you want Draco?”

“I hear your joining the quidditch team.”

“And what if I am?”

He walked over to the table where there were two large boxes “Mother sent you these.”

“What the hell is that? I don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity. She was proud of you making the team, you got brand new kit and the best broom.”

“Oh…” Narcissa was the only person who had looked after you ever “Tell her thank you and that I’m sorry I can’t come home.”

“She understands.” He walked off and you took your stuff to your room.

“What’s that?” Pansy was in your dorm.

“Er Quidditch stuff.”

She pulled a face at you “How did you afford that? Aren’t you like an orphan?”

“Just because my aunt buys me things and can’t stand you doesn’t mean you have to be bitter.” You flashed her a sarcastic smile. “And besides.. my parents are very much alive.” Winking at her made her exit the room, fast.

When you left the dungeon Fred popped up out of no where. “It’s Christmas!” He shouted in your face.

“Fuck Fred! I know.. I’d like to make it to Christmas without having a heart attack.”

He laughed “Sorry, George wants to see you in the astronomy tower.”

“Okay, you know why?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Right..” You looked at him funny “A good one?”

He frowned at you “Is there bad surprises?”

“Well that heart attack you just gave me wasn’t pleasant.”

“Just go!” He pushed you forward.

--

He stood at the rail looking over the grounds. “Hey.” Your soft voice from behind him melted his heart. He turned to look at you “Hey beautiful.”

“Fred said you wanted to see me?”

He leaned in and just millimetres away from your lips he whispered “Always.” Causing your knees to almost buckle. He pulled away making you sad at the lack of contact. “I know you’re not looking forward to Christmas and I thought you could spend Christmas with us.”

You sighed “You know that’s the only thing I want to do but it’s not safe. I’m not putting your family in danger.”

“Shut up for a second.” His abruptness shocked you. “I have something for you.” He handed you a small box.

Inside was a necklace made of a chain and a beautiful crystal. “Oh George, this is stunning. What stone is this?”

“Well that’s the cool thing you see. This stone is enchanted and when wearing it anyone who uses dark magic can’t find you. It’s a protection stone.”

Your mouth dropped open. “So… so I can be with you?”

“And it gets better, I have spoken to my mum. We are staying at the Burrows to collect some things just for the first night and then we’re going to a safer location where the order meets. So you’re even safer.”

“George I don’t think you know what this means to me..” You threw your arms around his neck. “Thank you so much.”

You leaned back and looked at each other “I love you Y/N.”

“I love you George.”

--

Travelling to the burrows made you nervous at first. Every noise you heard your heart jumped. But George was there to squeeze your hand or wrap his arm around you. When you finally arrived looking up at the house your whole body relaxed. It felt like home.

“It’s no Malfoy Manor but it’s home.” Ron smiled at you though the mouth full of food he had some how found.

You smiled at them all “It’s beautiful.”

A small yelp made you jump “You’re home!” You turned to see the happiest woman covered in multi-coloured wool. She ran to the boys and hugged them. “How was the trip?” She turned to Ginny. “You all in one piece?”

“If it wasn’t for Fred’s driving.” Ginny snapped at him. He just shrugged in response.

She looked at you “Oh sweetheart!” She opened up her arms and squeezed you tight “You must be Y/N. How are you feeling deary?”

“Much better now I’m here. Your house is amazing Mrs Weasley.”

“Oh pff please call me Molly. George has told me so much about you.”

“Oh that’s not terrifying.” You could see the look in her eye. All the things she wanted to say to you but didn’t know how. You smiled and gave her a reassuring nod.

She squeezed both your hands “You must be starving.”

The food was incredible. Everyone sat there shovelling it in while all the siblings bickered. You heard Ginny from across the table “Ron I swear if you don’t put your elbows down I’ll tell Hermione you still have a blanky.”

His face turned bright red “No I don’t! And why would I care what she thinks anyway?”

You and George shared a look. Ron pointed a chicken leg at him “I saw that!”

After you had all finished you sat by the fire for a while. They all told stories from when they were children. Like George turning Ron’s chocolate into spiders or when Fred tried to hide the firework he made and blew up the toilet.

Your eyes started to get heavy. “Shall we head up?” George whispered in your ear. You nodded.

As you both walked up the stairs Fred whistled after you receiving the middle finger from you both.

You stood by his bed in just your t-shirt and shorts. He raised his eyebrows at you.

“What?” you said as you tied up your crazy hair into a loose bun.

“I’ve just never seen you like this.” His head propped up by his arm.

“What? Scruffy?”

“No!” He laughed “You know, we’ve just never been allowed in the same room alone like this.” He swung his legs off the bed and sat on the side.

You sat on his knee facing him, your knee’s either side of his legs. “You nervous Georgie?”

He placed his hand on your lower back to keep you steady. He smiled into a kiss “Far from it.”

After a few minutes of kissing you leaned back. He groaned from the lack of contact. “Sorry I gotta pee.”

“Down the stairs next to mum and dads room.”

You did an army salute as you left. The idea of him lying there in just his boxers, waiting for you. You practically leapt down the entire flight of stairs.

Leaving the toilet you could hear raised voices coming from Molly and Arthurs room. You weren’t rude enough to listen to a couples argument but then you heard your name.

“You are not listening to me Molly.”

“I am but you’re talking nonsense.”

“No I’m not.. Did you see her at the table? She can already do things without her wand!”

Hearing them talk about you in a bad way hurt you deep.

“We knew she was going to be powerful. There was no question in that. Arthur she is only a child.”

“How can you trust her? Not only is she powerful she is literally the spit of Belatrix. How can you just let her into our home?”

“You are just paranoid. George trusts her!”

“He is blinded by love! Or by a spell she put on him. I think she should leave.”

Tears started to roll down your cheeks. Maybe he was right. Maybe you should leave, you were selfish to think that you could live a normal life with someone you loved. What you thought you would get married and have children? Live a normal life? You were just kidding yourself. Prolonging the time till your mother got a hold of you again.

As you ran down the stairs you tripped over something making a right noise. You looked up the stairs as Molly Arthur and George ran to the stairs.

Tears blurred your vision as you ripped through the front door. You looked out into the vast fields around you. Without your broom there was no where to really go. Felling started to become overwhelming. You dropped to your knees and screamed. A circle of fire burst around you.

George stood in front of you the flames roaring between you. He looked down at you and noticed your hand wrapped around your necklace. “Y/N stop.. please listen to me.”

You couldn’t hear him over all the voices in your head, all the people telling you you were worthless, a bad guy, the devils daughter, nothing but a traitor, only good for wiping their feet on. You were completely unaware you were pulling on the necklace.

George knew you couldn’t take it off otherwise they would come for you. “Y/N please! Listen to my voice. Just mine.”

Slowly his voice pushed through the noise. Your breathing started to slow.

He got his arm and went to reach forward. “George!” Molly shouted “What are you doing?”

“She won’t hurt me.” He stuck his hand straight through the fire. To him it was almost cold. He stepped through and knelt down in front of you.

Him placing his hand over yours cause your eyes to burst open. “George?”

“Its me. You’re okay.”

As you fell passing out in his arms the fire disappeared. He held onto you tight. Scooping you up into his arms he walked back into the house. He placed you down on the sofa and lit the fire to keep you warm. The rest of the family stood looking at you both.

“Do you have an idea what she has been through?” He voice was sharp but not loud enough to wake you.

“All I said was that I’m not sure after everything that has happened we should trust her.” Arthur stood his ground.

“She doesn’t just burst into a circle of fire because someone doesn’t trust her. I am all she has.. Her own family want her dead and everyone else is too scared of her to even look at her. Do you know how she must feel? Her own mother almost tortured her to death.”

Arthur swallowed hard. “Maybe I was a bit harsh.”

“Maybe?” Ginny looked at him in disbelief.

Molly approached your sleeping body, she moved your hair out your face and stroked it gently. “Maybe she needs the love of a real family.”

George sat on the sofa and pulled you into his body. “That’s all she’s ever wanted.”

Molly smiled at him sweetly “And that’s what you’re going to give her?”

“That and the entire world if she wishes.”

She nodded “Then that’s what we’ll give her. This family.”

#george weasley #george weasley fic #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley fluff #fred weasley #Harry Potter #Harry Potter fic #harry potter imagine

[summoner-chan]

It's always kind of hard to identify what makes one's style different huh, but if I had to say what I most like about yours is the way you draw your complex lines without losing any readability, its most clear when you draw long flowing hair and in your OC's arm as well!

I totally get what you mean with coloring digitally, coloring is one of the main reasons I haven't done traditional art in a looong while.

From your Question Game: Sitri, Aizen

I think those haven't been asked yet?

I mean, I DO have a tendency to do complex things and make my life harder by making those lines for the hair 😂😂 but it makes me satisfied looking at them in the end so it'd a give and take situation

No doubt, what said made me realize it's one of the prominent features I have in every artwork skskksksks

Okay but for real, I was SO confused on what you mean by my OC's arm and thinking SO SO HARD on what was so complex on my Summoner's arm until then. I realized. You were referring Darius 😂😂

Maybe my art style is overcomplicating lines or just over detailed line works skksksksk (also please excuse the cake she has in that one picture- I swear the main focus was her tattoos and the dragon which was cropped off and not her asscheeks 😂-)

I rarely do coloured traditional artwork because they end up looking not as good as the sketch so it pains me hhhh (´;︵;`) but yeah, I really like sketching in traditional because it feels much more natural(? I have no idea but this is what I feel, like nyoom nyoom my hand go brrr- oh no I smudged a line FUCK- that sort of thing 😂)

Also time for the Housamo Ask Game!~✨✨

Note, this is going to get pretty lengthy so I apologize for that (｡•́︿•̀｡)

[Sitri]

Someone who I look up to when I was younger? Hmmmmm, hard to say because I admired a LOT of people when I was younger, even if it was the most simplest of things. For example, someone being able to cook a certain dish, someone who can tackle on multiple tasks and etc etc. 😂 I was a kid that get excited at almost everything so I tend to try to do what everyone does. You're cooking? Well, I'm gonna cook too!! (A 6 year old little girl who couldn't even reached the sink yet-)

Fun fact, I started drawing because my second sister watched anime and started to draw so me being the a mazed little sister I am, I quickly followed in her footsteps. Usually siblings would bond over that kind of thing but unfortunately not for me and my sister 😂

She absolutely hated my guts that time and she hated me even more once I started to follow what she was doing. Basically calling me a impersonator/copy cat and she would throw a fit if I was drawing anywhere near her when she was drawing.

Though along the way, she eventually stopped drawing when she had reached high school while young me continued to draw anyway. At first, the reason why I wanted to draw was because that I wanted to get praises from my sisters since during my childhood, they would shoo me off and they would play only between themselves, making me having to play with my mom most of the time or just plain watch the tv the entire day.

I was constantly drawing something everyday and every moment I had the chance, simply because I wanted to get better so that my second sis would acknowledge me. This lead up to being the hobby of drawing ingrained into me, the simply hobby now fully a part of me and my childhood.

I vividly remembered where during in primary school, we were having an art test where we would have to draw a flamingo and of course since I was the quiet art kid in class, some of the popular young girls begged me to draw the flamingos for them which I then profusely refused since cheating was a bad thing. Though I'd wish that young me wouldn't have been so easily scared by the threat of them not being friends with me anymore ( ；∀；)

In the end, I ended up drawing for half of the class in secret and got scolded by the teacher for drawing for them (she said something along the lines of 'You can't help other people! They should do their own!' like Miss, why are you getting angry at me :( I was 6 + this wasn't the first time the popular girls cheated, it also happened during English test and they kept bothering me about the answers, same threat btw)

Now that I'm older, I don't have anyone specific that I look up to but I look up to anyone in general. Like, I'd admire someone who takes up their courage to do things they were scared of doing or someone who's confident in their abilities when they're usually so shy like yeah!! I admire you so much!!! It maybe insignificant but to me it might have been the most extraordinary thing!

[Aizen]

What ticks me off but not for others? Hard question 😂

I don't get mad easily but when I do, it's just a short while before I go back to normal, the only thing you're going to witness me being angry is just not talking to you for a certain amount of time, completely avoiding you and staying in another different room 😂 then once I cool off, I'm back to being to a annoying rat skskksskks

Though, if I were to really answer this properly, I think what ticks me off the most when someone just cuts me off while I'm talking and tells me that I'm being too loud. I know that this thing would probably tick anyone off if they can't help controlling their voice volume-

I can make my voice really loud when I want it to be without even straining my throat 😂 One time, I was calling out to my fellow art members who was across the field which in turn I had to make my voice a bit louder.

This caused one of the passing group students (they're somewhat troublemakers sksksks) following suite of trying to call them (they were mocking me) and this whole shouting thing made one of the disciplinary teachers come out of her office and yelled at the group of students, telling them they were being too loud and they were causing a ruckus (ngl I was scared shitless but like internal happy dance because I didn't get scolded by her 😂 Still feel bit bad tho for them)

Eventually, the fellow art members saw and heard us from a distance and came right over, promptly saying that my voice could be hear across the field (they can also hear my voice from the 2nd floor too)

Thank you for sending an ask in!! Another thing is that, so sorry for talking too much- I tend to get carried away with these kinds of things since I'm too much of a chatterbox and open person myself-

Feel free to send in more by the way! (人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+

#housamo ask game #summoner answers #mauveadagio #tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo #@summoner-chan

[abbynx]

Sibling things (Kakyoin X Sibling reader)

Spoilers for part three! Please skip if you haven't watched/finished it yet!

Just an angsty fic to satisfy my needs for my lovely cherry boi~

Yesterday... It felt like yesterday when you and I played together within the enclosed walls of our residence. Despite being too young to remember such things, the memory was vivid in my memories. That dumb cherry licking, mother chasing bastard was a tolerable asshat who tend to tease me a lot. He'd mess my hair style whenever he gets the chance, call me an embarrassing nickname, just sibling things nothing much. With all the teasing, all the fight picking, all the kicks, the punch, scratching, biting, possibly knife pointing... We cared about each other, for we were told that it would be us against the world when we grew up. If we grew up... I can't get to grow up with him like we planned.

______________________________________

"Happy seventeenth birthday! Oh my sweet darling child!" Your mother embraced you, pressing a firm kiss on your cheek leaving the residue of her red lipstick after you blew the small flame that burned the red candle moulded to mimic a cherry.

You softly smiled at her statement, when your eyes flickered up and caught a glimpse on the mirror. For some goddamn reason, you didn't see yourself in it. In your place, you saw Noriaki, embracing your mother with that smile of his while he was wearing his form fitting uniform of his he always wear for some god forsaken reason. You saw yourself in the mirror as well, holding the cherry flavoured you bought with your allowance.

_____________________________________ Seventeen. It was his seventeenth and last birthday. I can vividly remember planning his birthday, saving funds, baking him the cherry flavoured cake since it was his favourite, saving my allowance to buy him the video game he had his eye on...

A bright future was ahead of him, welcoming him. Bright young man with grace, regality, intelligence, had myriads of talents. He was an intellectual, a painter, a gamer! He knew a thing about other cultures, literature, norms, morals. A boy with the heart of gold, brains rich with knowledge and wisdom... The bright young man wasn't bright at all, as darkness snuffed his light and he was gone. ______________________________________

"We are so proud of you sweetheart." Missus Kakyoin wholeheartedly smiled, she took your cheeks within her grasp, softly running her thumb on your cheek. Her eyes became glossy with tears pooling in her eyes that couldn't escape. "We love you Y/N. Please remember that no matter what."

"Your brother would be so happy and proud of you." The patriarch of the Kakyoin family puts a hand on the matriarch's shoulder, smiling alongside her as tears has already escaped his eyes.

"Thank you mom, dad." You gathered them into a warm embrace in an attempt to hide your watering eyes, not wanting them to see you cry. You glanced up, catching the family's framed photograph from two years ago. Noriaki sat beside you, whilst your parents stood behind you. That stupid jerk and his stupid smile, he was seventeen and had decades and decades more to live when he died, he could've been nineteen already.

Upset, you gripped your parents tightly within your grasp, tears making their way out of your eyes whilst your chest tightened with your denied sobs.

_____________________________________ Loneliness... All he wanted was a friend, someone who can understand him, who will be there for him as much as he is there for them... And that he found, I was proud of him for making friends... But he was only friends with them for fifty days. ______________________________________

"Oh! Happy belated birthday Y/N!" Your classmate leaned on your desk with a bright smile. "Gosh, you're seventeen now! Only four more years and we're legal to drink! I would TOTES love to hang out with you."

"Thank you, Ibara. I would also love that!" You responded, putting a humble hand on your chest with a close eyes smile.

"Wow! That necklace is pretty! Emerald really suits you a lot!" She compliments, tucking her hair behind her ear. "It accentuates your features and it's really pretty despite not being that bedazzled. Simplicity really is beauty."

You blinked at her in shock. "You really think so?" Your hand unconsciously lands on the circular shaped emerald pendant.

"Yeah! It's so very pretty! Its the first time I saw you wearing a necklace, so it must be new. Is it a birthday gift?" She gasps, covering her lips with her opened palms before smirking mischievously. "Is it from your boyfriend~?"

"Oh, more like my brother's boyfriend!" You rolled your eyes, playfully punching the girl's shoulder.

Jotaro Kujo, Noriaki's friend visited you yesterday. The big guy was a statue towering over your small stature but that didn't let you be afraid of him. Despite being practically strangers with each other, only seeing one another during random bumps in school, a friend of your brother's is a friend of yours. And besides, you found yourself being fond of his family after his grandfather and Jotaro came to your residence that day to share the tragic news. It was a complicated situation, very messy... But in the end, the tragedy was all the same, the death, the circumstance... Despair inducing.

Jotaro Kujo shared so many tales about your brother, how smart he was, how helpful, how brave... How dead he was.

___________________________________ "I honestly didn't know he'd be capable of that..."

"Same here. In all my years of knowing him, I never knew he'd pull that stunt... But undeniably, sounds like him," I smiled, looking over the normally silent behemoth. "And you're right about the cherry stuff. He regularly does that whenever he'd eat cherries."

"It's unnerving, to be frank." The hat wearing boy turned away, tipping his hat downward.

"It is! I remember when we'd buy milkshakes after school! He would often take my cherry and do that thing he always do....."

The storytelling went on, endless stories of Noriaki's childhood with me went on and on. I could never get tired of taking about him, his memory lives on with me, in my heart and in my soul. It hurts to admit he's gone in this certain young age of seventeen, but he still lives inside me... That came out wrong, but you get my point.

After our not-so brief talk about Nori, it was time for him to leave, when he turns back to me. In his hand, was a black velvet box wrapped with an emerald bow. He said it was my gift for my birthday and wouldn't you know it, the behemoth is a huge softie. He is like an older brother to me, but of course, I would never replace Nori.

Let me tell you this, it wasn't easy being friends with Jotaro. I'm a junior year while he's a senior. And for some god forsaken reason, they thought we were dating... Uh, I like him as a friend/brother. Nothing more, really.

The box... Inside it, was the necklace. The golden chain and the circular emerald pendant, a certain colour I often associated with my older brother as he named his stand's attack just that. Emerald splash... No one could deflect it, as he claims alright. That's what I thought at least, he never aimed the attack on me.

I gave Jotaro a hug before he parted ways with me. The green certainly reminded me of the stand and it's user... I honestly miss them. _____________________________________

"Say Y/N, I say we go get some boba tea after this class! My treat of course!" Your friend beams, posing with a peace sign at you. "It's the least I can do since I wasn't able to attend your birthday yesterday! And it really makes me feel guilty!"

"Oh Ibara you don't have to," you giggled. "But if you insist!"

As of cue, the bell rang to signal class was over. Ibara has always been a close friend of yours since you've transferred in this school. The girl with an obsession for boba milk teas and middle aged actors who were thrice her age. The comforting soul that stuck with you while you mourned for your brother's death and never left your side. After packing you bag, you glanced at the orange haired girl who was already waiting for you in the doorway with an encouraging smile. Giving your friend a smirk, looping your elbows through hers.

"Off we go, Ibara. A certain cherry boba milk tea is calling my name~" you giggled.

"Oh you always get that flavour. You're obsessed with cherries, aren't you? How come you don't try other flavours?" Ibara asks, casting a questioning glance at your direction. "And your pin is even cherry! And your earrings! Seriously! You and your cherry obsession!"

"I don't know why, but I think they taste good and they're oddly aesthetically pleasing." you lied. "I just like how cherries taste and how they look, that's all."

______________________________________

Heavenly... Every moment spent with you is the reason why I lived.

You may not realize it, big brother, but you were a great influence for me. I was hard on myself for not knowing how certain mathematics work, I knew not much about literature, culture, history, sociology and you taught me all about it. Stands, what the fuck were stands? I developed one and I was afraid and you helped me cope with it and now we're friends.

I knew nothing about friendship, but my relationship with you alone made me feel relevant, valid despite being bullied back in elementary. Your influence lurked within me every single time.

Thoughts like "What would big brother Nori do if...." Frequently crossed my mind whenever an inconvenience occured. You are, in a way, my role model. I love how you handle things, the way you think, negotiate, move after thinking... Such a quick witted guy you were. That's how much I look up at you despite I acted mean to you. You never knew how you influenced me to be a person I am today...

I miss you, truly. I wish you weren't dead.

But I have to ask... Why? Why do you always want to make me feel better about myself when you can't even do the same thing for yourself?

You did everything to make me smile, make me feel comfortable, make me feel loved, appreciated, you helped me feel valid while you suffered with your own pain. You bear your pain alone while I had the nerve to unload my personal baggage as if I was the most miserable person there is...

Hell, I don't even know how much you've suffered until you died. I'm such a useless younger sibling who can't even return the same gestures you've made for me... _____________________________________

"Ewww, what is that?" Fifteen year old Y/N Kakyoin pointed at the canvas in which the red haired male painted on.

"Why, it's my very own magnum opus, dearest youngest sibling," Noriaki jokingly stated with a mock posh accent. "It was time that I replace De Vinci, don't you think?" He moves away for you to get a perfect view of his painting.

It was a painting of your Stand that stood behind a street light. The rough painting was difficult to recognise, but the colour scheme was a dead give away for your Stand. You presumed it was still unfinished, considering there was a clear outline of another character that stood in front of your Stand.

"Why would you chose to draw trash like me?" You pointed at yourself, seating yourself on a stool whilst you watched him dip his paintbrush on a pile of mixed paint before making soft, precise stroke on the canvas.

"No don't say that, you're not trash. You're the whole dumpster." He retorts with a smirk. You couldn't see him as he had his back turned away from you, but you highly suspected he was smirking.

"Wow, that's toooootally original," you dragged the vowels, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. "Says the one with a trashy looking hair."

Noriaki chuckles, shaking his head, the dangling cherry earrings he has shook alongside him. "Okay, I take it back. You're not the whole dumpster, nor trash. You're just my cute little sibling." He has this smile that can light the whole damn town with fire, and girls would swoon and fall and dance around that fire like witches in a ritual to summon a demon... Ugh, it sounded too specific, but that's how you'd describe his smile. Irresistible, not easy to contained and it easily affected you as well because in no time, you were smiling just like him.

"Okay, what the fuck did you eat for you to say those things to me? Who are you and what have you done to my Noriaki?" You laughed, poking him by his tiny waist and immediately elicited a flinch and a laugh from him.

"Oh nothing, just feeling particularly thankful for the existence of my younger sibling who is totally relevant and beautiful in every way. They think that they're bad looking and is often feeling down, as they doubt themselves every time makes me feel like a bad brother." He puts the brush down alongside the others and turns to face you. Noriaki firmly places his hands atop your shoulders and shook you repeatedly. "You haven't been completely honest with yourself and your family. I know something's happening to you in your class. Tell me what's wrong."

His firm grip prevented you from escaping, prompting you to pout. Of course he'd know you were being bullied. He always knows something is up. You're starting to think he uses those good looks of his to pull gossips from gossiping school girls who knew of your circumstances. Nevertheless, you sighed, you spilled your problems as he listens intently.

"I just... I don't feel like expressing myself if people can't accept me. They're right though. I'm just an irrelevant trash and— ow!" You were able to barely flinch when his grip tightens around your shoulders.

"You. Are. Valid and beautiful! Don't forget that okay? You're a flame that doesn't deserve to be snuffed out." He reassures. "I know how you feel, but know that there will be people out there who will love you for who you are. You're not irrelevant, you're not trash. You're the best, unique and the only you they will ever meet and they will miss out for not meeting you. I will not stop saying these things if you do not know, scratch that, believe you are one of the most wonderful person everyone will meet."

"Tsk, stop being cheesy you dumb dork." You playfully punched him by his pectoral, trying to deny your glossy eyes to escape, prompting you to coil your arms around his waist to prevent him from seeing it. "Big dumb dork."

"See? There's my little sibling!" He strokes your hair with a soft smile. "So cute and small, growing too fast!"

"You're not mom, you don't have the right to say that." You glanced at him with a smirk, poking a finger on his waist earning a slight flinch from him, as he is ticklish there.

"Well I am your older brother and I am always in charged on watching you," he flicks you by the forehead in retaliation, prompting you to lightly smack his cheek with a toothy grin. "Have you finished packing yet?

"Yep. I honestly can't wait for the trip in Egypt. I think this going to be the best vacation slash celebration of successfully moving to another house." After speaking, you let out a high pitched shriek when he ruffled your hair with his palms with a mischievous chuckle. As you were about to attempt to free yourself from his grip, he tightly held you to his body and resumed ruffling with your hair as you squirmed and moved. Once he had his fun, he released you with a playful chuckle, watching you rearrange your hair. "Ohhh, curse you!"

"Shut up, now go to bed. We still have a flight to catch tomorrow. If you need me I'll be in my room. Good night!" He waves, abandoning you in the living room as you tend to your hair.

"Whatever you cherry sucking idiot." You incoherently mumbled to yourself, straightening your hair into its former glory.

____________________________________

I love you Noriaki... I hope you believe that. Mom and dad are proud of you, they love and miss you so much. Your friends miss you and they are grateful for what you've done for them.

I hope you're doing well up there with the angels and the cherry gods or whatever.

Know that your little sibling is alive and well and living the best years of their life because of you. By this, I will fulfill everything you have never done.

I miss you big brother and you will always live in my heart. _____________________________________

#jojo kakyoin noriaki x reader #jojo's bizzare adventure stardust crusaders #jojo sdc #noriaki kakyoin #kakyoin #cherryboi #sibling #x reader #platonic #angsty #death

[lady-plantagenet]

♦▼ for clarence and ☼☯ for anthony woodville!

Asked via the Headcanon Meme: https://lady-plantagenet.tumblr.com/post/634584063141920769/headcanon-meme. Thank you darling! X (at least I sprinkled a bit of history in all this).

George Duke of Clarence

♦ - quirks/hobbies headcanon

- One Hobby/Quirk headcanon -

According to household accounts and information about his education, George knew how to play the harp and the lute. I headcanon him as continuing with those hobbies well into his adulthood. I don’t know if it’s maybe the fact that George had far less presence in the battlefield than his brothers - only Barnet and Tewksbury he actually fought in and his troops are never on the main battle charts which indicates they were not the most important, he was given the largest retinue to lead to France but as we know, there was rather more talking than bloodshed there ahasjd. Or if it’s maybe the fact that his actions and phrases denote an unusually emotional man... but I always saw him as rather sensitive and that also reflecting in his hobbies. I also headcanon him as being rather particular with his clothing (exposed to great finery since the age of 12), and so relished spending hours badgering his tailor over the smallest details regarding colours, designs, patterns etc. At some points even Isabel gets a headache ahashj.

He also had great taste for elaborate architecture (historically, there were many designs he had in mind and renovations for Tutbury and Warwick castle, to make them less fortressy and more palatial but died before they could be completed), so I think that links. As for the harp and lute, I headcanon him as having great proefficiency in them but not interested in showing that off and so just playing when in his own homes and heard by very few people there. Not because he was modest or something (quite the contrary) but because he did not like to do anything competitively because he did not like being seen as bested by others, or worse being seen to fail because well.. pride and self-importance. He never participated in jousting for example, because he knew he could not handle the shame if he were beaten by the likes of Richard Woodville or Anthony or the score of prominent jousters. Also as a typical aristocrat, he never saw the point of having to ‘prove’ his gifts, nor work at them enough to be truly talented.

▼ - childhood headcanon

I’ve had this discussion at some point with a mutual about when George left Ireland, I think the conclusion was that he may have very well stayed there quite a bit, at least maybe until Richard III was born in Fotheringhay in 1452, or even later (for his own protection or as an enduring symbol of his father’s importance there and piece between Earls Ormond and Desmond, as his baptism was all about uniting those two godfathers). I have to look deeper into this but the truth is next to nothing is known of George’s life pre-1460.

I see his sister Margaret being with him until 1452 or so (I think Ashdowne-Hill put the possibility that Margaret accompanied their mother to Ireland), and treating him as her baby as four + year olds have been known to do, creating the link. But while she returned to England (most likely), he would stay there for a one more year or so, with the occasional visits from the godfathers for goodwill. And goodness, both James Butler 5th earl Ormond & Wiltshire and Thomas FitzGerald 7th Earl Desmond had something of a similar spirit to their godson: always up for a gallantry whether that be rebellion (a contemporary saying something similar regarding gallantry about pre-1469 George - I think it was Crowland), reputed handsomeness (with some vanity):

“Gregory records, at the First Battle of St Albans in 1455, Wiltshire "fought mainly with the heels, for he was frightened of losing his beauty" ahahaha idk why gives me some Clarence vibes

or personalities that attracted support, eager patrons. With the facts of an absent real father this headcanon, just sort of clicks whether it has any bearing in reality (yet I recall an Irish castle where he spent his early years in being mentioned, but forgot the name). I also headcanon him as having spent a part of his infant years with James FitzGerald around, though, he may have been a couple years older (birthdate not given). As they were god brothers and both from Yorkist families, of course this is the same James that gets executed under Edward’s name in 1467 (godfather Ormond gets executed after the battle of Towton). In addition to him, many other companions that were relatives and nephews of his godfathers I suppose would have been selected as the 5/6 year olds’ companions. I headcanon George as charming them all, leading to him being remembered fondly by the Irish because though records of his going there in his adult life contradict each other, he seemed to have left an impression somehow. Of course, all this attention and preening has contributed to his deluded self-image as a very very important man. I also headcanon him as picking up quite a bit of the native tongue, but like most young children, what is quickly learned is quickly forgotten.

Anthony Earl Rivers

☼ - appearance headcanon

When it comes to my story, I’m tempted to make him the ‘golden-haired’ knight that he tends to get depicted in fiction because thematically it drives home the whole George/Anthony foil thing we spoke about and intend to hint at.

But for me, this will always be my mental image of Anthony. With a very kind yet clever looking face, like in here. I also always headcanoned him as heavily resembling his sister, perhaps, because of their strong sibling bond (this depiction capture that too with the heart-shaped face, small thin nose, round eyes and cheekbones (come to think of it also the mouth) .

Like in his contemporary depiction [Him presenting the Dictes and Saying of the Philosophers] I see him as having a warm brown eyes and light brown hair, but with a twinge of auburn (whereas Elizabeth Woodville is more full on red-gold). Because of his keeping with a hair-shirt underneath, I tend to see him as rather thin and tall (nearer to Edward and Margaret’s height than Richard or George’s).

࿊ - likes/dislikes headcanon

- Likes - (aside from what we know: philosophy, poetry, literature, religion, tournaments)

As a result of: That bit in one of his works where he (with great wit and subtlety) calls Plato out for his misogyny, him being a reader of Christine de Pizan (the only man at that time who I can recall), his strong relationship with his mother, sister and friendship with Margaret of Burgundy... I’ve headcanoned him as having a deeper appreciation and ‘like’ (more like respect) for womenhood than most of the others. And with an interest in the discourse that must have been going on post-De Pizan and Joan of Arc.

I also have this weird headcanon of him getting an insane fascination with Wales, the people, the Celtic remnants in its folklore - that is, once he establishes there with his nephew. And tried to absorb as much of it as possible. Particularly because he strikes me as one who though a great appreciator of beauty, is more attached to the natural, less ornate rather than the florid and goldeness of the london courts. As he was a well-traveled man this isn’t so far-fetched I suppose. I also headcanon him as a massive fan of Arthuriana (he did after all have all the features of chivalry) and would see himself as a Merlin to Prince Edward’s Arthur.

- Dislikes - (aside from war apparently)

I always saw him as taking a profound dislike to Edward’s debauchery later in his reign, especially, when it pertained infidelity to his sister. As somewhat of a stoic (not to say emotionless or robotic), he obviously did not say anything about it, but the disillusionment welled up in him, and he would find any excuse to not have to deal with it. By the time it came to leave for his guardianship, he was grateful for not having to see it. Of course, there remains mutual respect between him and Edward, during his pilgrimage I headcanon him as praying for Edward’s soul and for him to be guided back.

I always headcanoned him as never quite clicking with his wife. For some unknown reason e.g. perhaps she was a bit ignorant, dull or cold? We know very little about that marriage and it was quite brief nonetheless. There were no children and we never hear of them ever being in the same place, or references to mourning etc. Of course, since marriage is a sacrament and a way to connect with god, he feels a bit regretful about it, only in later life to realise, that some men are like Gawain, better suited to bachelorhood. But while respectful of women, few attain to his marianistic expectations (partly stemming from the image his sister projects). Overall, a dislike for this sort of inner-conflict.

#🍷❤️ #to everyone: this meme is still open ☺️☺️ #and here you have it somehow I ended up writing you a novel #can you tell how much I feel the need to write something #masters apps and schoolwork begone #george of clarence #anthony woodville #I profusely apologise #I’ll add the read more function tommorow #and grammar check

[impishnature]

Stray Feelings

AO3 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: G

A/N: Thanks anon! I hope you enjoy this <3 Also I think the prompt speaks for itself. Theres Feral!Ford and there’s fluffy animals.

.

Stan wasn't meant to be gone this long.

There was a strange atmosphere around the Shack as Ford paced, quick sharp steps and tapping fingers. Stan had a routine. He may not realise it but he did. Through the week he probably knew; get up, get dressed, work, go out on the porch to relax or in front of the TV if the weather was rough, sleep, rinse and repeat. That was simple, it made sense and Ford could integrate himself easily enough. At the weekend, or on days off, it was calmer and things could change if he only asked, Stan happy to jump at the chance to spend time together. But certain things were always the same, Stan got up, made himself a warm drink and sat on the porch for half an hour before coming in to make them both a breakfast that set off the rest of the day.

Only.

Stan hadn't come inside yet.

And deep down there was a voice laughing at him that it was nothing, that Stan was just taking his time and that was that. It was his day off, he was allowed, he didn't have to jump to Ford's whims and fancies.

But the much louder voices were the ones that itched to check up on him, to make sure he hadn't gone past the barrier or done something equally reckless. The alarm bells that clogged up his throat and set his heart racing so that he couldn't call out and get him to come back inside. It wasn't like Stan to deviate, he was a creature of habit and kept himself to himself, straying from the pattern set off too many warning signals for him to ignore.

And so he paced.

And the time Stan took outside stretched and stretched.

Until the 'what ifs' and awful cackling laughter got too much and he propelled himself at the door, brain ready and expecting a threat.

"Jesu- Sixer!"

The door cracked against the wooden wall and Stan yelped like he'd shot at him.

Ford blinked, the light outside blinding in it's intensity as he scouted for a threat in the distance, too amped up to wait for them to adjust. He could feel Stan in his peripheral, stumbling up from the floor and it only added to his anxious, heightened senses.

What was he doing down there?

"Easy, Ford, what's going on? What's happened?" 

Ford frowned, finally turning to him as he groaned and stood up properly. He darted to his side, lifting him up and depositing him into the porch chair to another disgruntled yelp at his manhandling. Had he fallen? Why hadn't he called out for me?

Stan slapped his fluttering hands away, gently but still frustrated. "Sixer, I'm fine! Just tell me what's happened." His eyes were soft, searching Ford's face as he loomed above him. "I can't help if you don't tell me, Ford. Breathe." 

"I-I-" Ford stared back at him, head tilting ever so slightly. It was easier to breathe now that it was obvious Stan was OK, and that meant the words flowed just that little bit easier. "You- uhm-" 

And suddenly everything felt that much more childish and unnecessary.

The laughing, cackling voice from before suffocating the paranoid voices.

Paranoid.

"Nothing. Doesn't-"

"Oi. Don't do that. Whatever it is, it matters." 

But did it really?

He didn't want Stan to worry about him more than he already did.

"Ford."

But perhaps that ship had already sailed.

"I- that is-" Ford huffed, scrubbing at the back of his neck as he stood up. "You were taking longer than usual."

Stan raised an eyebrow, though there was a strangely sheepish tilt to his mouth that he couldn't quite hide. "O-oh?"

"You usually, uhh, you tend to only stay out here for a little while-"

Understanding dawned on his brother's face and Ford's heart sank guiltily. "Or I tell you if I'm going somewhere, don't I? Shoot, sorry. I just lost track of time."

"No, no." Ford held up his hands. "I still overreacted."

Stan shrugged, an apologetic smile still on his face. "Well, perhaps next time I lose track of time, you'll remember this time."

Ford tried to smile back but he knew it wasn't fully working from Stan's expression. "Hopefully."

"Or you could always join me- maybe with less fanfare next time." Stan's smile turned more mocking, a sibling grin beginning to stretch from ear to ear.

Ford groaned. "Don't give me that look. But yes, next time, I'll- do my best to just check on you."

Stan shrugged. "Suit yourself. It's very calming out here in the mornings." 

Ford stared at him for a few moments. He'd always assumed this was Stan's quiet time, away from the world, away from- well, him as well. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good." Stan's face brightened, as if he'd just won an argument before his face fell again and suddenly he began searching at his feet. "Shoot. Wait, where'd it go?"

"...Stan?"

Ford watched as Stan almost forgot he was there, head snapping to him for a second before going back to his search. "Oh, right, well I did say I lost track of time. I kind of got distracted." He started making a strange noise with his mouth, soft clicks and pursed lips. It was a sound Ford was sure he'd heard before, but given all of his travels, everything had become jumbled together into a mix of signals, either angry or pleasant. This one came under the pleasant category at least, though his hackles still raised ever so slightly at the thought of another creature being on their porch that he hadn't even noticed.

He stayed silent, watching Stan's shoulders lock up even as he continued his hunt.

"So, right- this little thing came padding up to me while I was sat here. And I was going to come in and talk to you! But  I didn't know what your thoughts were on strays and the like... so I was trying to come up with a good way to broach the subject and-"

He was starting to get agitated, and Ford couldn't have that. 

It felt like he'd started this downward spiral.

"Slow down." Stan flinched and Ford hated it. "I didn't mean- just tell me calmly-"

A soft mew punctuated both of their words.

Ford watched as Stan leaned over as far as he could, a little pink nose peeking out from under the porch seat. 

"There you are!" 

He placed his hand within reaching distance, the little nose sniffing at his fingers before warily popping a whole head out and glancing up at Ford with worried eyes and downwards ears.

Ahh. He'd spooked it.

He squatted down beside the seat, hoping to appear smaller and less threatening, as the small creature shimmied it's way out of it's hiding spot and rubbed against Stan's hand, still watching him carefully. It was a skinny little thing, he could almost see ribs, but it seemed happy enough at the attention Stan was doting upon it. It was grey, though he was unsure on how much of that was dirt versus actual colouration, with short tufted little whiskers and big ears that it had yet to grow into. It mewed at him again, tiny teeth making their presence known as big brown eyes continued to stare at him. 

"See? It's just a kitten." Stan's face was locked onto the little thing as if it were Mabel at her cutest. One of his fingers was big enough to scritch it's chin and it seemed happy to sit there and bask in the attention. "It stumbled out of the woods when it heard me. Even fell over half way along the trail like the kids did sometimes when they were too excited to just walk." He cooed at it ever so softly, Ford wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't heard it. "And- I don't-" He frowned, eyes darting to Ford. "Guess I've always had a thing about looking after strays."

Ahh.

Ford could understand that.

After everything, he could see Stan doing that.

Besides, as much as he had to fend for himself in his travels, and his hardships had been innumerable, sometimes you just couldn't resist helping someone or something else in need as well, regardless of the danger it put you in.

Ford put his hand out slowly to the kitten, extending the olive branch and waiting patiently for it to accept or reject him. It at least looked curiously at him from behind Stan's hand. "What were you worried about?"

Stan swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I-I dunno. I mean, it is your house and your rules so. I guess I was scared you'd say no and I'd have to try and hide this little one on the porch so I could still feed 'em."

Ford was mildly offended. "It's our house." Stan looked at him strangely at that. Oh, had he never actually said it before? "It is." 

Stan continued to stare before his smile widened again. "Alright, it's our house. But that still means it has to be a joint decision on looking after this little one until we find it a good home."

"Hmm..." Ford gave the kitten a joking once over as it slowly plodded over to him. "I mean it doesn't seem like a threat."

Stan snorted, Ford grinning along with him as he achieved what he'd hoped. "I swear to god if I find you running tests..."

"Well, you can never be too sure." Ford continued to smile as a cold, wet nose hit his finger, but his eyes trailed over to a little wonky tail and skinny legs. "Though I think any tests would be to check how healthy this little guy is."

"There's a vet for that."

"I'm better than a vet."

Ford could feel the eye roll he received but his focus was fixated on the little creature that was now too filled with curiosity to be cautious. It sniffed his hand, and then his coat, continuing up until both front paws were on his knees and a little face was stretching up to sniff his. He leaned down, letting the small creature continue its ministrations, scoping him out in a way that made him oddly proud but also oddly protective of the little child that didn't seem to understand that he could also be a threat.

He scooped the little thing up, pulling it into his chest. There was a soft yelp and more searching eyes as Stan started to tell him off but then the kitten relaxed, curling up into his arms against his chest. His heart was still beating fast from the earlier worries and the strange conversation but as the kitten relaxed against him, he could feel the tension easing.

It evaporated entirely when a soft purr emanated from the tiny body, slipping into his chest and warming him from the inside out. 

"We're keeping them."

Stan beamed, fist pumping ever so slightly like they were teenagers again. "Yes! I'll go out later and grab some food and see if anyone's looking for a kitten-"

"No."

Stan paused. "What?"

"We're keeping them." 

And with that Ford stood up, kitten still in hand and walked into the house, happily rejoicing at the peace the small creature was giving him as it purred in his grasp.

He heard an exasperated and confused voice behind him as Stan tried to catch up. "...Well, alright then. Guess that's that decided-"

He was sure Stan wouldn't mind.

After all, it had been his idea in the first place to look after the stray.

And they both knew deep down that once you were family to Stan, that was it for life.

He could pretend all he wanted, he'd have never been able to give the kitten up once he was attached to it.

And Ford was pretty sure from his earlier arguments and that fond expression he'd worn that it had already happened.

Yeah, he was sure Stan would forgive him.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #stanley pines #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #gravity falls fanfiction #feral!ford au

[redbootsthetimetraveller]

I wanted to request the “OC dressed by other OC” things but you’ve got so many!!! And they’re all so cool!! Would you mind saying what some of your favourite ones’ styles are (i.e. mod, psychedelic, hippie, glam, etc.)?

Love your art❤️

oh I am always up to talk about my characters and thank you for sending this!! I appreciate these sorta things because it’s a nice message AND I get to talk about my characters which helps me actually figure them out lmao

and I know you’re asking for my favourites but that is subject to change and I want to talk about all of them. and I’m not entirely sure exactly what styles of dress they each come under but I’ll use the terms where I see fit, and I’ll just. ramble about their individual dress styles. that’s the same thing right!

this is gonna be long (spoiler alert: IT IS) so to keep things short for those who don’t want to scroll through a mile long post, I’ll put it under the cut

so I’m gonna start with the starstrucks because they ARE my like. main characters. I am planning something with them which is in its very early stages of development but I’m hoping that when things around me settle down I can work on it a bit better than what I have (but I procrastinate the things I WANT to do so we’ll see. feel free to nag me about it though)

roger claire: considering he’s like. the main-main character (not intended, that was meant to be snowy but HERE WE ARE) his outfits and style of dress changes a lot but also it’s not that creative for a lot of it. at the start he wears more mod clothing, but he’s not that daring since he is pretty cautious. he had a strict family. anyway around 1965 he starts getting a lot more daring and he’s definitely not an extravagant dresser he does know how to dress sharply despite that so you get things like his peacoat that I DEFINITELY didn’t copy directly from micky dolenz on the cover of more of the monkees, and that really heavily decorated overcoat that’s 18th-century inspired but also Groovy, y’know? that sorta thing carries over into the seventies where he pretty much wears shirts with the sleeves rolled up, light coloured trousers, and a few t-shirts because Variety™. haven’t really thought about beyond that but he’d probably dress like a cool dad

pete sutton: he’s got sensory issues so he’s even MORE cautious in dress style than roger. main thing is turtlenecks though. and a lot of purple. there’s a quote about ray davies being the kink most likely to wear a tie offstage and I think pete’s the starstrucks’ equivalent

snowy smith: he’s got the most defined wardrobe out of the lot of them! black-and-blue striped jumper, a black peacoat, blue jeans, blue-green shirts, his leather jacket (which has blue-violet stripes on it so it’s unique from the million other jackets I draw) since he’s definitely on the rocker side of things and cuban-heeled beatle boots he doesn’t need since he’s already 6′1

charlie morris: REALLY mod. at the start of the story he has a collarless jacket with pink trimmings. his colours are yellow and green but I also always end up drawing him in red

davey peacock: mod, but the mod that your parents approve of. does get a bit more adventurous when his uncle, the manager, gets fired, and I gave him a union jack jacket like pete townshend had at some point lol. he also gives hippie clothing a shot around 1968 and in the eighties he has a mullet and not a good one

rory locking: SO MUCH ORANGE. aviator sunglasses, collared shirts with the first two buttons undone, his kinda short jacket that’s plasticky leather with a fluffy lining (those style jackets have a particular name don’t they? I can’t remember it) but like. there’s so much orange. why did I do that my markers are dying

mick lily: light was denim. that’s about it.

next we have the midnight delusions

jimmy jade: scarves. he has a gold embroidered black suit that I’ve drawn a couple of times and ALWAYS regret it because OW, pink, and a lot of black

teddy van alst: he has a leather jacket. wears interesting trousers and really plain shirts typically. he’s the one with the cool glam makeup even though it’s 1966 and glam isn’t exactly a thing yet. he’s a rocker though

arthur floyd: has a leather jacket like his bf teddy! it has roses embroidered on it. he has a rose sorta aesthetic going on, along with the blue-and-gold star outfit that I drew him in a couple of times. he’s sort of a carnaby street mod if that’s a thing lol

lucky littleproud: gonna be real with you he’s boring he wears colourful shirts and trousers that’s about it. I haven’t worked on him much :(

peter morrison: between hippie and mod. definitely more on the hippie side compared to his sibling

stevie maple (counting him here even though he kinda isn’t a Member): textured shirts, he’s more of an american mod. considering he IS american (unfortunately)

all of those side characters I have absolutely no idea how to group but are part of the same story as those two bands:

sylvia chase: mod, but she also doesn’t put much effort into her appearance. that’s the best way to describe her style

holly keys: she’s a model so literally whatever is the ‘hottest’ trend

james cassidy-bell: he dresses like brian jones in the early-mid sixties

katherine robinson: mod, and then the most avant-garde things she can find if she’s going in public. and a lot of red lipstick (that’s her Thing)

morgan morrison: MOD but also like that sorta soft aesthetic thing that was popular in like. 2017. because why not am I right

christopher goldstein: he is also a model but I draw him in really dandy-ish stuff a lot. him and jimmy sorta have a prep/goth dynamic going on

and that’s about it for the characters who really are gonna appear often enough to bother describing their dress styles! moving on now

keith neptune: band tshirts and anything with patches on it.

nico (haven’t come up with his surname yet, if y’all have suggestions I’ll take it): baggy jeans, sneakers, baggy tshirts, and has a denim vest with patches on it but Different types of patches to keith. if keith has the sorta etsy partches nico has ‘I pickpocketed these from a bikey who hasn’t showered in a month from a servo in the middle of nowhere’ patches

grey: they have a brow leather jacket that I think was inspired by jim morrison, a stamp out the beatles jumper, and a really big and motheaten black woolen jumper which they wear with beatle-boots, a white collared shirt, and like. not black jeans but very desaturated blue jeans that happen to be very dark

jude anne sutton (yes I know she and pete have the same surname they’re not related they’re in different universes): mod. enough said

rene shannon: mod but boring. he’s Repressed y’know

leslie (I’m gonna change her surname lol): honestly mainly shift dresses and that one really simple black-and-white dress, and their ripoff black watch tartan jacket, and tall boots.

danny: honestly? he dresses like a mod but at heart he’s a rocker. he’s a rocker who washes

that One character I won’t name: it’s complicated. he goes from trying to be a teddy boy with the rest of his friends and then it goes a little wrong and they fight about it and then they discover early rocker culture and he sticks with that for a while and then starts dabbling in more mod stuff and then DEFINITELY his style changes into the dandy stuff of the middle of the sixties. you know the stuff I’m talking about. and then he’s a hippie for about two seconds and goes back to dandy stuff but throws a few of his old rocker pieces back in. THEN he has a breakdown and fucks off to america for three years (returning home like twice for two days before fucking off again) where he’s got a peacoat, his old leather jacket, a turtleneck, a few shirts, and two pairs of jeans. that’s it. for three years. and workboots obviously because he’s trainhopping. I have that part very worked out as you can tell!

harper (character I have sketched exactly Once but have his style very sorted out): he starts off pretending to be a teddy boy in the way that a fifteen-year-old with a highly overprotective and lowkey horrible mother would probably be. he is also kinda Broke for that exact reason. and then he and the above character get into more rocker stuff and that’s probably where the two drift apart and where rene/jude/leslie/whoever else I may come up with would come in

anyway!!! I think that’s every character I have a defined style for. some of it’s a little hard to explain but I hope this cleared things up. I have also had a migraine for most of today so my ability to use words is extra impaired lmao!

and I’m so sorry for just. rambling. but I do have a lot of characters and I love them all so much and I’m so happy you like them too!!!

#ocs #oc band #ask/ #text/ #I warn you. it's a Lot #and thank you I needed the excuse to just TALK about them and ik it's not what you asked for exactly but it's something right???? #but like. I dunno if I know things well enough to say definitively 'that character is a mod and that one's a rocker' and if they even FIT s #because as you can tell if you're reading this some of them have less of a neat square box of fashion they fit in and more a colour or a pa #particular article of clothing #this post made my browser crash. oops