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𝐙𝐮𝐤𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐚

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝑃𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔...

𝐀𝐥𝐛𝐮𝐦𝐬

𝐴𝑟𝑟𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑑 | 𝑍𝑢𝑘𝑜 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐼𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑍𝑢𝑘𝑜’𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑒, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 1 ~ 𝐿𝑎𝑘𝑒

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 2 ~ 𝑇𝑜𝑤𝑛

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 3 ~ 𝐶ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑛?

IT WAS ARTTTT

GUYS SWADDLED IN SILK REACHED 1K

LOVE YOU ALL IM GLAD YOU LIKED IT

❀𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧❀

𝐹𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 𝟸𝟾

┍━━━━━━━━»•» ❀ «•«━┑

❝𝐼 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑦 𝐼 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑 𝑢𝑝,

𝑇𝑜 𝑔𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑛 𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑎𝑟.❞

~ 𝐿.𝐷.𝑅

┕━»•» ❀ «•«━━━━━━━━┙

𝑨𝒏𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒂: 𝑠ℎ𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

❝𝑖 𝑔𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑

ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑠ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑎 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑠𝑠.❞

~ 𝐴𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑎

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒎𝒔:

𝐷𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑦 = 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

𝑆𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑒𝑠 = 𝐼𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 / 𝑂𝑛𝑒𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑠

𝐴𝑙𝑏𝑢𝑚𝑠 = 𝑆𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠’𝑠

𝑀𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔:

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𝐵𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐𝑢𝑡: 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡, 𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝐼 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟, 𝑅𝑢𝑙𝑒𝑠

- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - -

𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑢𝑡 𝑜𝑓𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑠, 🎀. ~ 𝐴𝑛𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑠𝑖𝑎 (𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑔)

𝑂𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑠 (𝑛𝑜𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠) 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑡ℎ 𝑀𝐴𝑌𝐵𝐸 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡.

𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑟𝑒𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑠 𝑑𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑏𝑙𝑒.

𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮!!! 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝟷𝟾˖ 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕. 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒌.

𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲

𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐞 | 𝐶. 𝑆.

❛ ━━━━━━･❪ ❆ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜

𝟾.𝟽.𝟸𝟺

𝑊𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 𝟸𝟹𝟶𝟼

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡, 𝑣𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑡, 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑆𝑛𝑜𝑤, 𝑠𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑎𝑒 𝐿𝑢𝑐𝑦 𝐺𝑟𝑎𝑦, 𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑒.

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

“𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑙 𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑

𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑒

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝑖𝑠ℎ 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 (𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒

𝑦𝑜𝑢)“

~ 𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝑃𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑒 | 𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑎 𝐷𝑒𝑙 𝑅𝑒𝑦

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

Coriolanus Snow isn’t the feelings type of person. He didn’t express an ounce of love for you throughout your entire marriage, and didn’t expect any from you. Not even in the most intimate of moments, and never behind closed doors.

He wasn’t abusive which is better than most man in the capitol. Although if you ever got in his way there was no doubt that you would meet an untimely demise. He mostly just kept himself cooped up in his office all day, mulling over stacks of papers and papers.

You were more than an exceptional wife by his standards. Quiet and obedient, you were smart and graceful and were a wonderful cook when need be. You have given him a beautiful heir, with little to no complications during birth.

He admired your beauty, appreciated you in general, but love you? No. He denied himself of love after that horrible district girl had torn down the walls that he had so meticulously crafted his whole life. All because he had been stupid enough to fall for district scum.

So why was it that when you had succumbed to your sickness had he been drowned in such an overwhelming feeling of dread that he felt like recreating the end of Romeo and Juliet?

At this moment he lies curled in on himself on the queen-sized bed in your sleeping quarters. You two had never shared a room and his is down the hall but for some reason he does not get up when he knows he should.

Sheets engulf his body, smelling of the rose perfume he insisted you wore mixed with the smell of your shampoo. Dried tears stick to his face and his eyelashes droop from the weight of them.

He wasn’t like this immediately after the funeral, what drove him to this point is noticing all the things you had done for him that now leave a gaping hole in his life.

The way you used to draw designs on his coffee every morning, the way you would massage his back after a long day of work without him even having to ask, the way you would bring him snacks when you knew he hadn't eaten all day from being too engrossed in his work.

He would always shoo you away and chastise you for disturbing his work, (although would always bring an empty plate back into the kitchen).

For some reason, he was expecting you to come into his office to hand him a plate of food or ease the tension of his shoulders with your delicate hands. But then you didn't.

And he couldn't take it anymore.

Which is why he has barely moved from his position for days, only to go to the bathroom occasionally. He can’t remember the last time he ate or drank anything. Maybe at the funeral, maybe before.

He sees you in his dreams, what your relationship could've been if he wasn’t so cold to you

.So he rolls over and slips into unconsciousness yet again.

You walk with him in the gardens of the president’s mansion.

The gardens you so carefully tend to every day, even after Coriolanus tells you that you can hire people to do that. You say it’s for your joy, and although he still thinks it inefficacious he leaves you be.

“The gardens really do look beautiful at this time of year,” you state as you lean in to capture the musk of a rose bush besides you.

It really is an alluring sight, even a man like Coriolanus can admit. Although he has come to notice everything you touch has become beautiful in his eyes.

“Yes, it does,” he says, his eyes practically glued to the back of your head.

You reach your hand out to touch one of the flowers and prick your finger on a thorn.

You wince and Coriolanus peeks over your shoulder to see a red stain on your, otherwise perfect in his eyes skin.

“Are you okay?” he reaches out and places and hand onto your shoulder to try and give a soothing effect, nevertheless his hands had never had that effect on people, as they are nearly the same as a corpeses in temperature.

“It’s nothing to worry about,” you say.

A strong feeling of a mix deja vu and unease spread though his body, manefesting in a shiver that runs all though his frame.

It’s not fine.

The bleeding doesn’t stop.

Blood gushes out of the wound and the force of it tears the skin around it. Three long gashes spread their way up your arm as you let out a chilling scream.

The red liquid spills and pools around your feet as your face twists in horror. Your knees hit the floor with a sikening crack and they split the fresh blood mixing with the blood littered with debris from the floor.

“HELP ME!” You shriek as the gashes spread up your shoulders and to your neck the loose skin of your arms draping off of the red flesh underneath. Almost like a flower wilting.

You always were his rose.

Coriolanus’s wants to help, he really does, surprisingly. But something is preventing him from moving, his body is as stiff as a board. He tries to move, to override the benevolent power that overwhelms his whole body. But he can’t. He is out of control.

He hates being out of control.

He wakes up drenched in sweat. His heart is beating rapidly and his breathing is skewed. He turns to his side and vomit spews off the side of the bed and into a bowl that one of the avox put down after the third time cleaning up.

Grief is something that Coriolanus has had very minimal exposure to, so it materializes in such a violent way for him.

He stumbles out of bed and makes his way to the desk next to the entrance of the room. Sitting on it is the diary you kept, you would write in it every night, Coriolanus knows. You rarely wrote in his presence but during the few times you did you refused to go into much detail of the contents. He assumed it was because you were writing about minuscule things, and he was right. For the most part.

But as he sat days ago, after your funeral, he found himself turning to the back pages of the worn book to find detailed entries of the last days of your life.

Repeating things like, ‘I told Coriolanus it was just a cold so he wouldn’t worry.’ And things similar to that dotted across the pages.

Some of the later pages become incoherent as your state deteriorates and you become too tired to form the thoughts that ever so filled your brain before.

One of the specific reasons you downplayed your sickness was you didn’t want to distract him from his work.

His stupid, horrid work.

He never wants to set foot in his office again.

Much less touch quill to paper.

His therapist, (that you suggested to him), told him not to beat himself up about it, that it wasn’t his fault. But how could he think otherwise? It was his fault, it was, at least by his justification.

Maybe that’s what he was feeling, guilt. Guilt for prioritizing work over you, his wife, the person he should be completely enamored with. Guilt for not being there for you in your final moments. Guilt for never saying goodbye.

Maybe guilt is why he lays his head down on your desk, or maybe it’s the selfish need to not want to deal with his thoughts anymore. And sleep washes over him.

Coriolanus would’ve been perfectly fine, content even, with sitting at a table in the corner of the room. A glass of posca in hand, observing other people mingle and dance. And he would’ve stayed if Ms. Plinth hadn’t urged him to go dance.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to do formal dances he just despised them. Ms. Plinth was right though, stating that it would be a perfect place to find the wife he talks about so very much.

He goes through a couple of dances with… interesting people before he spots you. You sit at a table with a girl, a beaming smile on your face as you laugh at something the girl had just said. He makes a beeline to you, as nonchalantly as he can. Which is admittedly not very.

Once he gets there your friend gets up and gives you a look and nods her head towards him subtly. He has no idea what that means but hopes for the best.

“May I… uh have this dance?” He asks as you filck your eyes up to him. You hold your hand out to him and he lowers his head and takes your hand in his before bringing it to his lips, giving your hand a slight peck

“Sure, umm-” you look to him for his name

“Snow, Coriolanus Snow.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got, Coriolanus Snow.”

A waltz starts playing and you take to the floor. With one hand still gripping yours and the other resting on your waist where the torso of your dress ends and the skirt stops, he guides you through the dance. And you get lost in the steps and twirls, completing each step from muscle memory.

Couples dance around you and you seem to take in everything but him. But he is solely looking at you.

When your eyes do land on him his breath falters for a second, just as the music slows but he plays off his very obvious staring.

Once the music comes to a stop you thank him and curtsy, “Do you want to go have some fun?” You ask in a whisper just as he is going to send you off. Not that he wants to get rid of you.

“I- what do you mean?” he asks, his mind wandering.

You gasp, feigning insult. “Do you think me a common whore Coriolanus?” you place a hand on your chest, “I meant to wander the halls, visit the garden. Something other than being here.”

He nods and you slip out of the room and walk through the halls.

“You know I really do hate those events. They are one of the most boring things I have ever experienced. I usually just come for the food to be honest.” you ramble as you stroll through the corridors.

“Right?” he says “Also the amount of dances you have to memorize is lethal.”

You laugh, a sound that is like heaven to his ears. Just as he lets his guard down you pull him into a room and quickly close the door behind you.

“I think I heard someone coming,” you breathe out.

“That or you just wanted to get into a room with me alone,” he jokes “though I wouldn’t be completely against the idea.”

Your eyes, god your eyes, shift up to him. “Hm?”

“I said what I said.”

You move to peek out of the crack of the door and see a guard walking by. Once his footsteps fade away you slip out of the room and hurry down the hallway in a fit of muffled laughter.

The crunch of your footsteps ricochet off the hedges of the garden as you nibble a croissant that Coriolanus had snuck into the hall to grab.

“You eat very slowly,” he says, observing the pastry still in your hand.

“You eat like a starved man,” you say as of now you are taking larger bites, conscious of his words.

You and him find a seat on a marble bench under a tree that has draping limbs resembling the strands of a wig once placed on a mannequin that is not quite the right size. By now you have finished your croissant.

The remnants, he notices, are still resting on the corner of your lips.

His hand grips your chin and turns your face toward him. Your brows furrow and your gaze lands on his.

“What?” You question although it comes out as more of a nervous laugh.

He brings his other hand up to your face and swipes the chocolate from your lips.

“You had something,” he breathes. His hand still is resting on your face and a couple of moments of silence pass. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?”

His words send a rush of warmth down your spine, “so I’ve been told,” you respond in a breathy whisper.

Almost agonizingly slow, he leans into his face getting closer to yours every second, every breath.

Under normal circumstances this would be something Coriolanus would never do. Spontaneous and him don’t mix. But something about you makes him want to rush, rush everything. Just so you can be his.

Coriolanus wakes with a jolt. Quite literally as someone is shaking him out of his slumber.

“Mr. Snow, your supper has been prepared.” One of his maids say. Glinda, that’s her name, old but efficient in her craft.

“Thank you,” he dismisses her with his words along with a wave of his hands and gets up from the chair. Pain shooting up his back from the not-so-comfortable sleeping position.

He makes his way down the hall for a lonely dinner, the first one in days. One that he specifically asked for your favorite foods to be littered across the spread of the meal.

He eats listlessly, and makes his way back to your room.

He doesn’t bother to change into pajamas and just lays down and rests his head on the pillow that he prays will never lose your scent.

He nods off and falls into the dream space of you that will continue to torture him every night.

Now until forever.

𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒚❅

•❅─────✧❅❆❅✧─────❅•

𝑹𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔: 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑑

𝑨𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒕: 🥀 𝑭𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇: 🌷 𝑺𝒎𝒖𝒕:🌹

𝑺𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆𝒔

𝑫𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒆 🥀

𝐼𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝐶𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑢𝑠 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑦𝑜𝑢, ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑤𝑖𝑓𝑒𝑠 𝑢𝑛𝑒𝑥𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑑 𝑝𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔...

𝑨𝒍𝒃𝒖𝒎𝒔

𝑃𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔…

𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 | 𝐙𝐮𝐤𝐨 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟸 ~ 𝚃𝚘𝚠𝚗

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝙰/𝙽: 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚙𝚊𝚍.

Word count: 1295

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 | 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛

Narrator's P.O.V:

The drive to town is peaceful, it always is. With the music playing on the radio and Aurora shutting up for once in her life it's basically heaven on earth.

But then you get into the town.

Don't get me wrong you love living so close to the capitol of the Fire Nation, the dense variety of people, the fresh food, the festivals, and just the culture in general, but it can get a bit chaotic at times. It's a very bustling place. People always seem to have somewhere they need to be immediately.

Today seems like a chiller day, the weather is perfect and people seem to be calmer than usual. There are only a couple of people that you can see from your line of vision, an older couple, a mom and two children, and an old man walking with a cane.

You park on the side of the street and pull your keys out of the car. You gather up all your stuff and place it in a tote bag you brought. You step out of the car and close the door behind you, walking over to Aurora.

"Where do you want to go first?" She asks while slinging a bag over her shoulder.

"We should go to the boutique," You respond. We can't exactly afford it but it's fun to see.

"Ok!" she responds eagerly and starts skipping towards the boutique, she's always loved the town and is practically begging you to take her every day, and we do end up going most days.

You pick up your pace to catch up to Aurora who is about a block ahead of you now and we come to a stop. You look up to see the familiar swoopy letters spelling out boutique in fancy cursive on the sign above the shop. Aurora walks into the shop and the bell dings above us as the door swings open. "Welcome in you two!" the shopkeeper says as Aurora briskly walks from dress to dress examining every single one with care, "Good morning Miriam," You wave at the older woman who runs the shop. She has gray thinning hair and a bony frame but somehow is still glowing in her old age.

"Any new shipments?" You ask while leaning against the front desk. Miriam has gotten used to our visits at this point and doesn't seem to mind when we don't buy anything.

"I got some new dresses for some of the girls to wear during the prince's choosing of his spouse." She shakes her head, "About half the girls in the city are going to be dressed up for him, the other half couldn't care less!" she lets out a small laugh at this. "I wouldn't either, I already told Aurora but being forced into a marriage isn't exactly as glamorous as the books make it out to be," You look back at Aurora who is now trying on different hats in the mirror. A smile spreads onto your face before you turn back to Miriam, "There's just so many factors that could go wrong. Not liking them, them being abusive, cheating. It's too much to even think about,"

"You're always looking on the darker side of things when it comes to a relationship Y/n, you're always such a bubbly person but when it comes to relationships you only think of the worst-case scenario, why?" She leans against the other side of the counter giving you a look that says even if you don't tell me I'm going to find out, she always does.

"Honestly I'm not completely sure, I've heard so many horror stories about guys who have done crazy things in relationships. One time a girl told me her ex snuck into her house and lived under her room in her basement for a whole month before they found him!" a hint of worry flashes across your face even thinking about that.

"You do know that those things don't happen as often as you think right? People tend to focus on the bad  things and lose the good along the way." She looks into your eyes before walking around the counter and placing her hands on your shoulders, "I'm sure that whoever you end up with will be great." She says with a reassuring look on her face.

You nod your head slightly and look up at her, "Thank you, Miriam." You say a small smile on your lips.

She lets go of your shoulders and turns to Aurora and walks over there to start talking to her. You tune out their conversation and go over to some of the dresses on the rack. You're flipping through them when a pearly white dress catches your eye. It's floor-length with bits of see-through fabric flowing down from the side and sleeves of the same material.

The dress:

(If you don't like it imagine something different.)

You pull the dress from the rack and walk over to the mirror holding it in front of your body. It is perfect, everything about it. It's the perfect length, color, fabric, everything. You do a spin still holding the dress to your body and the fabric flows like something from a storybook. You run your hands over the silky fabric before placing it back on the rack where you found it, sighing.

You turn away from the array of dresses and to Aurora and Miriam, Miriam holding a dark red dress in front of Aurora and looking deep in thought. A slight giggle comes out of your mouth at the scene when you see Aurora reaching for a completely different dress than is held in front of her. You make your way over to them and just stand to the side to watch the scene play out.

"No no no," Miriam scolds Aurora "this one will go better with your color palette." She knocks Aurora's arm back to her side but she raises it up again.

Aurora starts whining "But Miriammm, that one is prettier!" She points to a light blue dress and reaches out for it. "No, not for you." Miriam slaps her hand away again. You walk behind Aurora and put your hands on her shoulders, "She's right you know? That dress would look better on you." You peek out from behind her to look in the mirror. "Fine! Fine..." She mumbles begrudgingly.

After a couple more dresses are shoved in front of Aurora we tidy up the place and say our goodbye to Miriam, exiting the shop. You follow Aurora into an old antique store where we look around for a bit at different trinkets and other things. While we are in the shop you hear some girls talking about something that catches your attention.

"Who do you think the prince will choose to be his wife?" The girl on the left asks, she has long blonde hair and brown eyes and is wearing a gown.

Probably from Miriam's.

"Probably one of those stuck-up rich girls that go to school with us." The girl next to her says while rolling her eyes, they both look about 17. Too young to even get picked by Prince Zuko.

Before you can hear the rest of their conversation Aurora grabs you by the arm and drags you out of the store, mumbling something about the shop owner. You're not paying attention until she taps you on the shoulder aggressively obviously trying to get your attention.

"What?" You ask, whipping your head around to face her.

Oh god...

~~~~~~~~~~~♕♔~~~~~~~~~~~

𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜:

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𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 | 𝐙𝐮𝐤𝐨 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟹 - 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚗? Warnings: none, A/N: this is not my work, my it’s my sister’s from Wattpad Narrator's P.O.V: Oh god... You tu

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜:

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𝐀𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 | 𝐙𝐮𝐤𝐨 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝟷 ~ 𝙻𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝑌𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐹𝑖𝑟𝑒 𝑁𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑤ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑜…