#*shakes my children in glass and giggles menacingly*

[beartitled]

Oh those poor unsuspecting people

Oh how many things they don’t know~

You know I thought about just making a full on lore dump in the reblog

But that’s too predictable

too easy~

too obvious~~

But it would be cruel to leave people with no context at all, wouldn’t it?

So I’ll share

Just a bit ~

-art under read more/thoughts in tags-

‼️trigger warning for trauma, destruction and PTSD‼️

When it snows in hell, you call them “ashes”.

@beartitled’s part on being a “great” parent to their Narry.

[night-garden-fic]

Chapter Nine: Honey, Ink, Blood

Read on AO3

"If I stay here much longer, I'm going to do something I'll regret."

Chapter Nine: Honey, Ink, Blood

     I am traveling down a shady wooded path.

     It is green and quiet here, but I already know something is terribly wrong.

     As I press on, the path narrows, and the bare branches blot out more and more of the sun.

     So I press on still, in spite of the encroaching dark.

     Something is waiting for me at the heart of this wood.

     (I know this, but I don't know how I know.  I feel as though I've forgotten something.)

     The branches begin to snag my clothes, trip up my legs, scrape against my skin.  I fight in vain to shake them off.

     (Hurry.  It's waiting for you.)

     They brush my face, and it is with great horror that I realize the branches are moving on their own; animate, thinking, haunted.

     And I think the trees are laughing at me.

~*~

     "Hrmgh..."

     Russell fought against an unusually thick caul of sleep, against his dark dream of laughing trees and living branches.

     Soon, however, the enigmatic laughter began to take on a familiar, more mischievous quality.  And, as reality gradually crept into the cracks of his troubled consciousness, he recognized the source.

     Not haunted trees, but a young boy and girl, keening with barely repressed hysterics.

     Not the sharp ends of branches, but a pair of fountain pens, poised menacingly above his face.

     Russell groaned again, and—rather clumsily—threw off the blankets and sat up in bed.  He cleared his throat, straining to speak over their laughter in his hoarse morning voice.

     "Okay, okay...  I'm up."

     The laughter only intensified.  Russell shook his heavy head; trying to clear it, but failing rather miserably.  It was, in his opinion, too early for so much silliness.

     "I don't know what this is...  Just go downstairs and wait for a few minutes, okay?  I'll figure out some breakfast."

     He slipped on his glasses, then staggered to the bathroom.  Instead of going downstairs, the children had chosen to linger in the hall, whispering and giggling all the while.  But that, he supposed, was their choice.

     Just a little cold water, and I'll wake right up...

     Russell coughed painfully, spat in the sink, and drank a few swallows of tap water from his cupped hands.  Then he straightened up, got on with brushing his teeth, and froze in shock at the sight of himself in the mirror.

     At first, he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at, but couldn't rule out some strange disease manifesting itself overnight.

     Then he dimly recalled the hovering pens, the waving nightmare branches.

     Before long, the strange marks on his face resolved themselves into a haphazard pattern of lopsided stars.  In all honesty, he felt more baffled than frustrated or angry, but still couldn't help a little indignation.  He spat out the toothpaste foam disdainfully, then wheeled around to face the open bathroom door.

     "...Seriously!?"

     Out in the hall, the kids went wild with laughter.  Their prank, apparently, had been a roaring success.

     Russell sighed as he set about washing his face; a splash of cold as planned, then a vigorous scrub with hot.  He repeated the process, just for good measure, but none of it was enough to completely wash away that galaxy of crooked little stars.  He considered going through the motions a third time, but decided to give up before he started scrubbing himself raw.

     Cursing himself for springing for the good ink, Russell backed out of the bathroom, right into his cackling tormentors.

     "Yes, yes, we've all had a good laugh at my expense.  Now let's go get something to eat."

     The children thundered down the stairs, with Russell following at a more leisurely pace, taking a mental inventory of the rather sad contents of his refrigerator.

     Surely, there must be something...  It can't have gotten that bad.

     (You know full well it's all going to shit again.)

     Thankfully, he didn't have to dwell on that for long.  A quick survey of the kitchen revealed a bowl of leftover rice, and a few eggs that had somehow escaped the previous night's massacre.

     All of this amounted to some rather inept omelet rice—the eggs stiff and falling-apart, owing to a lack of milk—which the children happily accepted; content to cover Russell's shoddy cooking, not to mention everything else, in great red gobs of ketchup.

     Russell ate slowly; taking care not to rest his arms on the table, which was still sticky with the previous night's honey. The smeared inky stars on his face and the film of sleep still coating his brain were making him feel grimy and disheveled enough as it was.

     That feeling only intensified when he noticed that the kids were both fully dressed, ready to throw on their coats and run out into the night's fresh cover of snow at a minute's notice.  In stark contrast, Russell still wore his rumpled grey pajamas, and soon realized that they weren't even buttoned straight.

     And that was precisely how he felt: rumpled, grey, crooked.  Like last night's pajamas, like the clumsy stars he couldn't wash away.  There were dead leaves in his head, and sludge in his veins.  Dejectedly, he took another bite of his omelet.

     This really isn't very good.  Poor kids.

     Even so, when breakfast was over, they both thanked him profusely, then ran for their coats, eager for the day to begin.  Russell—feeling a bit more apprehensive at the prospect—hung back in the kitchen, making a note of the mess.

     I really need to clean this place...  And get some real groceries...  Maybe I should talk to Neumann about a chair...

     ...Right.  The chair.

     As he mentally ran down his list of tasks, Russell felt the thicket of thorns closing around him again.

     At least I know how to deal with them now.

     No, you don't.  You never learned.

     (That's your whole problem.)

     Well, it's not like I can fix all that today.  It's just another quarter dose.

     (And when that becomes a half?)

     With a sigh, Russell grabbed the back of the rogue chair and dragged it back to its home behind his desk.  Then he sat down in it, watching his daughter and her friend as they used suiting up for the snow as an excuse for yet more horseplay.

     He wondered if he had ever been so carefree.

     "...Daddy!?  Can I walk Nicky home!?"

     In spite of his low mood, Russell smiled.

     "I don't see why not."

     Cecilia pulled on her hat, with an odd purposefulness that reminded Russell, for some reason, of a caver getting ready for a long expedition.

     "And can I play at the beach for a while?"

     Please stay here today.

     (Let her go.  Don't be selfish.)

     Reluctantly, Russell reminded himself that he probably wouldn't be home, either.

     "Of course.  Have fun."

     Cecilia ran to her father, wrapping him in a tight hug.

     "Thanks, daddy!"

     Before long, Nicholas had joined the pile.

     "Bye, Russell!  I had lots of fun!"

     He wrapped both children in a quick, awkward embrace.

     "You know what?  So did I.  See you later, Nicky."

     And then the two of them took off, blowing past Tori as she entered the Library to start her shift.

     She took one look at Russell's scribbled face and carelessly skewed pajamas, then broke into a shy laugh, daintily covering her mouth with one hand.  Russell sighed wearily, with a good-natured smile.

     "...Yeah, the kids got me good.  Anyway...  I have some things to take care of.  Would you mind filling in again this morning?"

     Between the unstoppable giggling and her usual stutter, Tori could barely squeak out a reply.

     "Of...  Of c-course not sir!"

     At this rate, she'll be the one running the place.

     (Well, maybe she should be.)

     "...Thanks, Tori.  You're the best.  I really mean that."

     With that, he slumped upstairs; to his wardrobe, and some decent clean clothes.

     To the crevice of the mattress, and what glowed there in the daytime dark.

~*~

     And so, Russell set about a task that, by now, had become all-too-familiar: attempting to get his entire life together in the space of an afternoon.

     In his opinion, he'd done a decent job of it, all things considered.  Though he was adrift in a numb haze, lightly scummed with smeared ink and ennui, he'd managed to walk himself through the tasks he set out with little complaint, and only once or twice felt the urge to simply lie down in the snow and wait for Edward to scrape him up with a shovel.

     The kitchen was cleaned.  The chair was commissioned.  The groceries were gathered and brought in.  And, all along his way, the curiosity about the scribblings on his face was met with as much good humor as he could muster.

     See?  You're fine.  You just have to put in more effort.

     (From where, pray tell, can I possibly dredge up more than I've already put in?)

     Finally, as his reward for all that effort, Russell ended his day of errands with a soak at the bathhouse.

     Unfortunately, he'd found it somewhat disappointing in its ability to either clear his chest or wash the remaining ink from his face, but a good hour of floating in the sweet-smelling water had cleansed him so well otherwise that he really couldn't complain.  He'd even brought the novel he'd been reading in with him; holding it carefully above the water, so as not to damage the pages or the delicate paper butterfly that marked them.

     Immersed in the familiar story, and in the weightlessness of water, Russell, blessedly, forgot himself.

     And, when he eventually remembered himself again, he felt crisp and businesslike, ready to begin the day's work in earnest.

     Still somewhat adrift, but a bit less hazy, he paged through a publisher's catalog and wrote up several queries.  Then he bid Tori goodbye, locked the Library's door for the evening, and set to work on a decent dinner for his daughter and himself.

     At first, the sheer potential of a full kitchen threatened to overwhelm him, but he eventually settled on one of his few standbys; a simple vegetable stir-fry, rather roughly-chopped and uninspired, but solid and nutritious enough to feel like one more job well done.

     Nevermind that you missed lunch again.

     I didn't just forget.  I was out.  I was busy.

     (Your body can't tell the difference, and your clothes are starting to fit funny.)

     Can't I just have this one decent day?

     While they ate, Cecilia told an elaborate story about a crab she and Nicholas had played with all morning as she fussily picked every fragment of green pepper out of her meal.  Russell decided to let it slide, in favor of allowing himself to become fully engrossed in her little tale.

     Maybe your real problem is that you put in too much effort?

     (...I know I spend too much time thinking about everything I'm doing wrong, so let's just start there for once.)

     Later, while cleaning up after dinner, Russell began feeling a bit peculiar.

     Not ill, exactly, and certainly nothing unbearable.  A little unsteadiness, a little tension behind the eyes, and a mood that threatened to plummet back to the morning's dolorous lows.

     He knew what was happening, because he'd put himself through it before.

     All winter long, he'd been dancing.  He'd danced through the thorny pages of that difficult book, and through the short, dark days of the difficult season.  It had been a sorry, graceless dance, set to an atonal off-key dirge.  But it was a dance all the same, and it carried him when he couldn't bear to walk.

     And now, it seemed, it was time to pay that miserable piper.

     You've taken this as far as you sanely can.  You'll start tapering off tomorrow.

     What about tonight?

     Do what you have to.  Avoid a crash.

     (...Delay.  Delay the crash.)

     Russell found himself reaching under the mattress for the second time that day, searching for the patient glow that waited beneath.

     The dose this time was miniscule; almost homeopathic, barely more than a shining smear on his knuckles.  But it was enough, within the space of a minute, to steady his hands.

     And enough, it seemed, to tear open the fragile, damaged lining of his nose.

     See?  You can't keep doing this.

     Holding his own ink-smeared face in a disgusted, judgemental gaze, Russell plugged the leak with yet another ball of compacted tissue.  Then he proceeded downstairs; to the world where he was still, against all evidence, having a single damned good day.

     Once there, he found Cecilia sitting on his desk, with her favorite origami guide in front of her, and that was all it took to convince him that he'd done the right thing after all.  Tonight, he'd need eyes that could focus, hands that didn't tremble, a mind that wouldn't break under its own weight.

     (You probably should have thought about that before.)

     Thankfully, once immersed in the task, Russell was able to lose himself again.  He was trying to master a rather complicated method for creating a tiny flying dragon, while Cecilia appeared to be determinedly fashioning an impressive swarm of butterflies.

     As he watched the flock of increasingly crisp dragons folding themselves together in his hands, Russell listened as his daughter explained that, since he'd told her that the butterflies could be used as bookmarks, she'd gotten the idea to sell them at the front desk for one gold piece each.  He agreed that this was a splendid plan, and spent the rest of the evening beaming with pride.

     The diligent pair worked for hours; until Cecilia began to fall asleep right there on the desk and had to be carried up to bed, where she immediately slipped into her ever-pleasant, untroubled dreams.

     Russell already knew that he, of course, wouldn't be so lucky.

     With the warmth of their shared evening fading fast, he was already beginning to feel vaguely frustrated and ill-at-ease with himself.  Standing before the mirror again, he blew his nose clear of clotted blood, and tried, for the umpteenth time, to wash the stars from his skin.

     And, once again, they stubbornly remained; if diminished only slightly.

     Russell debated whether he should try again, or just accept his new, grey-spangled life, until he was startled out of his thoughts by something loudly slamming against the bedroom window.

     At first, he instinctively dropped to the floor, arms wrapped protectively around his crazed head.  But before too long—after a few moments of breathing shallowly on the cold tiles—he realized he had overreacted.  It was probably just some frightened night bird that, in its haste, hadn't been looking where it was going.  He would stand up, dust himself off, and go see what happened.

     If it hadn't survived the hit or the fall, he would bury it in the frozen ground, so Cecilia wouldn't have to cry over it in the morning.

     If it was merely injured, Tori could probably nurse it back to health at the farm.  The gentle girl had a gift for such things.

     Hell, she likes you well enough, and that just says it all.

     Warily, Russell crept into the bedroom and approached the window.

     Instead of a fallen night bird, dead or injured, he saw a smallish, bundled figure standing on the snowy street.  It only had to raise one hand in a friendly, exuberant wave for Russell to know exactly who it was.

     Sabrina!

     (But what could she want?)

     Eager to find out, Russell descended the stairs as quickly as he could without waking his slumbering daughter.  He opened and closed the Library's door with painstaking gentleness, and tried to keep the last of the shake out of his voice.

     "Hey, Sabrina..."

     He hadn't quite succeeded, but she didn't seem to mind.  He barely got his greeting out before she took him warmly in her arms.

     "...Hey, Russell!  Aw, I'm sorry...  I know you get spooked.  It was just a little snowball...  I saw the light on in your window, and thought I might get your attention!"

     In that snug embrace, Russell felt the tremble leave his spine, and his rapid wheezy breath slow to a calm, smooth rhythm.  She'd always had a way of sucking the nerves right out of him.

     "...Well, you certainly have it.  Any particular reason why?"

     Sabrina let out a playfully heavy sigh.  In combination with the thick wool hat pulled clear down over her eyebrows, it gave her a comically grumpy aura.

     "I am not cut out for Neumann's schedule.  I mean, who goes to bed at seven in the evening?  And under these stars!  So I was wondering if you wanted to go kill a little time at the Pub?"

     For a moment, they both stared up at the sky, admiring all the grandeur shining through the crystalline winter air as their white breath tumbled up towards the moon.

     Russell smiled; to himself, and to that boundless sky.

     ...And what about Cecilia?

     Sleeping like the dead.  I can afford to step out.

     "I'd like that.  Very much."

     Sabrina's face split in a cheerful grin, breaking any illusion of ill-humor.

     "Well, then let's get going!"

     She gently took his arm, and the pair led one another down the street.  Russell, catching her giddy spirit as he always did, laughed to himself.

     "You know, speaking of Neumann, I actually saw him today."

     Sabrina burst into a laugh of her own.

     "He told me!  Said you bought a chair, and I was just...  'Finally!'  Y'know?"

     Russell smiled shyly.

     "Yeah...  It was time."

     The laughter paused, and Russell swore he could see the years playing through Sabrina's mind.

     "Remember how we'd sit in the chairs, and the kids would just eat under the table?"

     Russell—with a strange, aching fondness—remembered.

     "Oh, they loved it under there."

     Sabrina laughed again, eyes glittering with sweet recollection.

     "You know what they loved?  Nicky loved pretending he was a Chipsqueak in a burrow and making those awful squeaking noises, and Ceci loved putting freezing cold cucumber slices between my toes!"

     Somehow, Russell had almost forgotten all of that, but Sabrina had brought it rushing back, in all its cozy hilarity.  For a moment, he laughed as freely as he had in months.

     Then something caught in his chest, and the laugh devolved into a rattling cough that bent his body double.  It went on for long enough that he felt like he should apologize, though he could scarcely breathe deeply enough to speak.

     "I'm sorry...  I don't know wha-"

     His voice broke, and the cough came harsher and wetter than before.  Sabrina put an arm around his waist to steady him.

 ��   "Russell...  That sounds really bad.  Have you been to the Clinic?"

     At first, he couldn't answer.  It was as though some icy-fisted devil were gripping him by the throat with one hand and driving hot irons into his lungs with the other.  His ribs felt about to fly apart, and he no longer had to look up to be dazzled by a profusion of stars.

     Eventually, Russell was able to take a deep, quavering breath, before spitting messily into his handkerchief.  What he'd brought up was larger than he'd anticipated; thick and sticky, streaked with dark blood from his battered sinuses.

     (You hope that's where it's from.)

     I know I like to assume the worst, and I'm sick of it.

     With a shudder of revulsion at his own body—at all those slimy quicksilver mysteries—Russell quickly slipped the handkerchief into his pocket and out of sight, struggling for a moment to catch his breath.

     "...Few times, yeah..."

     Sabrina kept rubbing comforting patterns on his quivering back.

     "Well, you should probably go again."

     Russell straightened up, clearing his throat thickly.

     "Maybe...  I don't know...  I think it's just...  I had that bad cold back in autumn, and then the weather turned before my lungs recovered...  I really don't know.  It's a pain.  But I don't think anything's really wrong with me."

     To look at Sabrina's face, she was seeing a lot wrong with him, but she didn't seem to feel like pressing the matter.

     "Just...  Take good care of yourself, okay?"

     Go ahead and say it.

     ("...Because I can't be there to take care of you anymore.")

     Russell stretched his aching back and threw on a weary smile.  Whether this one was practiced or not, he wasn't sure.

     "I try.  Don't worry about me."

     Sabrina took his hand, gently interlacing her fingers with his.

     "You know I can't help it!"

     This smile, Russell knew, was genuine.

     "I know, I know..."

     Hand in hand, they walked the rest of the way to the Pub, snow crunching under their boots.  It was only when they'd gratefully entered the golden warmth inside that Sabrina finally let go, raising her hand in that familiar broad wave.

     "Hey, Emmett!"

     The friendly bartender glanced up from the wineglass he'd been intently filling; which sat before Lukas, the young poet.

     "Well hello, you two!  Have a seat."

     Sabrina took Russell's hand again, leading him over to the bar, where she lighted on her stool with the effortless grace of a seabird.  Russell settled in a little more slowly, and was beginning to feel slightly apprehensive.

     This is no different than what you've already been doing.  It was barely enough to do anything, and that was hours ago.

     (If you're so worried, just stick with beer and try not to get plastered.)

     ...This is Sabrina.  When have we come here together and not gotten plastered?

     (I should just see what happens.)

     Once situated on his seat, Russell ordered himself a pint of ale.  Then he turned to Sabrina, who was looking at him rather strangely.

     "...What?  You okay?"

     Sabrina laughed, sounding uncharacteristically bashful and shaking her head.

     "It's just...  Now that I'm seeing you in the light...  Russell, what on Earth happened to your face?"

     Russell, who had all but forgotten about his personal galaxy of misshapen stars, unconsciously rubbed at one inky cheek.

     "...Your son.  Your son happened."

    Sabrina's laugh was full and bubbly again.

     "My son!?  What about your daughter!?  They've pulled the same thing on me.  Twice.  Good thing I buy cheap ink..."

     Still rubbing at the stubborn scribbles, Russell nodded thoughtfully.

     "I'm not as smart as you, evidently."

     Emmett, who had just assembled their drinks, apparently had his own opinions.

     "...I happen to think it looks quite festive!  This first one's on the house!"

     Sabrina took her drink gratefully and brought it up to her grinning mouth.

     "Thanks, barkeep!"

     Russell hadn't caught what she'd ordered, but it was something that looked dark and sweet, with a little wooden-stir-stick and a glacier's worth of sparkling ice.  His own glass of beer looked plain in comparison, but he was glad to have it, and found himself downing a quarter of the pint in one go without thinking.

     ...Hey.  You're pacing yourself, remember?

     He gently sat the glass back down, then turned to Sabrina.

     "So!  It's been a while since we've had a chance to actually talk...  How are you?  How was ice fishing?"

     Sabrina was draining her drink quickly but steadily, with delicate little sips.

     "Oh, I'm good...  I don't think I'm cut out for ice fishing, though."

     Russell took another pull from his drink, though a more prudent one this time.

     "That so?"

     She shook her head brisky.

     "Love fishing, hate ice...  I'm glad I tried it, but I'm from the South, you know?"

     He knew well.  Sabrina was a creature of summer haze, of sunlight glittering on deep water.  Russell remembered her first few years in Kardia, and how she used to drag in winter just like he did.  But eventually, she seemed to grow used to it, and managed to keep a summery vigor in all seasons.

     He, on the other hand...

     (...She'd still stay in bed with me so I wouldn't get cold.)

     He killed that thought with another dangerously long swallow.

     "Yeah, it's hard to imagine you standing out on some frozen lake.  With or without a fishing pole."

     Sabrina shrugged, strong shoulders rusting in her open coat.

     "Well, we had cake and hot cider out on the lake on my birthday, so it wasn't all bad."

     That, Russell could picture.  Then, almost reflexively, he also pictured Edward's little birthday celebration; the glow of the sunset, and the mug of hot wine warming his chilly hands.  He remembered that he'd always thought it would be fun to pick a day between his dearest friends' closely-set birthdays and celebrate together as a trio.

     But you could never get it together and ask, could you?  And now it's too late.

     Sabrina finished her drink.  Russell wasn't far behind, so she ordered a second round for both of them.

     "...So, what about you?  How are you?  How's Cecilia?"

     Russell's beer was placed before him, and he sucked at the foam thoughtfully.

     "I'm...  Good.  Cecilia's great, though.  I always knew she was a clever one, but she's outdoing herself lately.  Right now, she's really interested in making these origami bookmarks.  Wants to sell them at the Library."

     Sabrina poked at the ice in her drink, as though the arrangement needed to be perfect before she dared take a sip.

     "That's wonderful! I'll have to swing by and buy one...  You're just 'good,' though?"

     My dear, I'm not even that.

     "Weather just has me down a little.  You know how it is."

     Hearing this news, she gently squeezed his hand again, then returned her own hand to her drink, to whatever game she was playing with the ice cubes.

     "I know...  But it'll be spring before you know it.  And at least you still go to work...  I swear, that husband of mine closes up shop the second a cloud crosses the sky."

     Russell decided not to mention how much of his slack Tori had been picking up.

     "...Yeah, what's up with that?  What does he even do when it rains?"

     With the ice to her liking, Sabrina took a hearty sip.

     "Mostly, he hangs around my shop, getting underfoot more than Nicky does.  I love the guy, though."

     I'm glad.  I hope he loves you, too.

     The very suggestion of love and marriage seemed to grind their conversation to a sad halt.  But, by the time their glasses were drained, it had chugged to life again, meandering and full of laughter.

     It was Russell who ordered the third round; switching to whiskey, which he drank in careful, measured sips between wisecracks and meaningless musings.

     I'd almost forgotten how easy things were with her.

     (The hard part comes later.)

     Sabrina ordered the fourth round at last call, and they finished these final drinks in the sort of reluctant hurry that always accompanies the curtain falling on a pleasant night.  With their cups empty, they began to head for the door.

     Emmett, as he often did, had other ideas.

     "...Hey, where are you two going!?  I have two new recipes I've been working on!"

     Russell and Sabrina turned around and scurried back towards the bar, like scruffy city pigeons eager to be fed.

~*~

     So much for not getting plastered.

     For the time being, it was at least a pleasant sort of plastered; wheeling and giddy, just dizzy enough to keep Russell on his toes as he and Sabrina laughed and hurled snowballs at each other through the pure starry air.

     The two free drinks they had sampled had been surprisingly strong, and one of them had involved an exotic liqueur, of which small glasses had been offered and gratefully accepted.

     Russell, for his part, had accepted two.

     And, between that and the scant dose of Lamp Grass he'd taken that evening, he was a bit wobblier on his feet than Sabrina.  She occasionally had to pause to steady him, and he tried not to revel too much in the feeling of her small, surprisingly strong hands bracing his shoulders.

     That isn't her job anymore, and you know it.

     (She's acting of her own free will.  Let me enjoy this.)

     Whether it was her job or not, Sabrina seemed to accept it in good spirits.  She guided him all the way back to the Library, where her vigilance finally failed them.

     This time, it wasn't a drunken misstep, but rather an unexpected patch of ice, that sent Russell falling ungracefully to his knees on the jagged ground.

     "Okay...  Ow..."

     In truth, he hadn't been sure how much it had hurt, numbed as he was by the liquor, not to mention the chill of the icy street itself.  He only really reacted because it seemed like the thing to do.  Sabrina, to her credit, was a little more tuned-in, and rushed to his side, kneeling next to him in the snow.

     "...I'll say, 'ow!'  You all right?"

     Russell was starting to become more aware of a rough edge of pain on the horizon of his being, but it still didn't feel like anything to get worked up about.

     "...Yeah.  I think so."

     Sabrina suddenly looked concerned, but he wasn't really sure why until she spoke.

     "Well, you're...  Bleeding, it looks like."

     Without thinking, Russell brushed his knuckles across his nose, but they came away clean.  Then he realized she was talking about his knees; dark stains seeping through his trouser legs, smearing the white ice below.

     "...Oh.  I guess I am."

     Sabrina sighed; sounding slightly exasperated, but not truly angry or annoyed.  It was more like he was just another hapless, beloved child that she had to care for.

     "Come on.  Let's get you cleaned up."

     With her help, Russell staggered to his feet, then fumbled for the key in his coat pocket and clumsily inserted it into the lock.

     The air inside the Library was so warm after the chill night that it made his face tingle and burn, in a way that almost felt pleasant.  But not quite as pleasant as Sabrina's hand on his waist as she gently guided him toward the stairs and up to the dark bedroom, where she deposited him on his unmade bed.

     "First aid kit is still in the bathroom, right?"

     Russell nodded.

     "...Good.  I'll go get that.  You should probably change."

     She disappeared into the hall, and Russell undid his rather complex outer clothing, slithered out of his long underwear, and threw on a pair of clean pajamas; the old striped ones, already well-stained from years of fatherhood and ink-slinging.  Still, he rolled the legs past the bloodied spots carefully, not wanting them to stick.  Then, suddenly feeling strangely lucid through all the haze, he turned the lamp on low and sat down to wait.

     Before long, Sabrina emerged from the shadows of the doorway, carrying a small metal box and several rags.  Though still slightly clumsy with drink, she sat on the floor at his feet with a familiar ease, dabbing at the wounds with a warm, wet cloth.

     "There we go, that's not as bad as it looked...  Just a few scrapes."

     Russell let out a small, wry laugh.

     "...I'm not going to bleed out?"

     Sabrina giggled, dabbing a bit of disinfectant on the corner of a dry rag.

     "I think you're safe."

     She then touched the cloth to his raw flesh, for which he'd forgotten to properly prepare himself.

     "...Agh!"

     Her hand pulled back slightly, then began dabbing at him again, a bit more gently this time.

     "Sorry... I know it stings...  Good thing Ceci's a heavy sleeper, huh?"

     Now that the initial shock had passed, Russell was back to enjoying the feeling of being cleaned up and cared for.  He leaned back on the bed and closed his eyes.

     I wish she could just open up my head and do this to my brain.

     "Sure is...  That kid doesn't take after me at all."

     With another small laugh, Sabrina dabbed the wounds one more time with a dry corner of the rag.

     "Believe me, she does...  She's real smart, and a real handful too.  Just like her dad."

     Russell sighed.

     "...I don't feel very smart."

     Sabrina sorted through the box, finding the gauze and tape.

     "You're just drunk, sweetie.  Neither of us are very smart right now, and I think that's kind of the point."

     Her voice was still slightly slurred, but her hands were careful as she affixed the gauze securely to his skin; made sure his wounds, however shallow, would be properly protected.  When she was finished, Sabrina hopped up on the bed to sit beside Russell, who sat up and leaned forward, delicately resting his elbows on his bandaged knees, cradling his head in his hands.

     "Yeah, well...  I don't feel very smart when I'm sober, either."

     Sabrina wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in slightly.

     "Hey...  Russell...  You're just a little down right now.  You'll feel better soon.  I promise."

     He didn't know why, but his eyes started welling slightly.

     No tears fell, but the rest of Russell's body seemed to liquify, leaning into her familiar warmth.

     Sabrina, almost tentatively, responded in kind.

     Untold miniscule adjustments later, and they found themselves lying down on the mattress; Sabrina holding him the way she did on all those melancholy winter mornings, not so very long ago.

     Cautiously, Russell held her in return, and remembered how right it always felt.  Sabrina was slightly shorter than Lady Ann, and somehow both wirier and rounder.  He'd almost forgotten how solid she felt in his arms.

     As he lay there, he felt his exhausted, drunken mind rolling in and out like a tide, pulsing with her steady heartbeat and the throb of his skinned knees.

     Russell sighed contently, breath rattling slightly in his chest.

     I feel like I can rest now.

     (I could sleep.)

     "...Sabrina?"

     At some point, she had placed her hand in the hollow of his waist, just the way she did back then.  He hoped she wouldn't be disappointed in him.  Or—worse still—worried about him.  But that Monster, he supposed, was long out of the barn by now.

     "Hmm?"

     Russell cleared his throat, coughing slightly.

     "...Could you stay here tonight?  Maybe just until I can fall asleep?"

     A silence fell over the room, thick and sharp as the ice that had tripped him.  Sabrina's hands didn't leave his body, but they were suddenly deathly still.

     "Russell, I...  I was actually thinking..."

     Whatever she says, keep your head about you.

     (Whatever she says, this is going to be bad.)

     "...Yeah?"

     The silence froze around them once more, then shattered.

     "I was thinking...  That...  That I need to go home now.  If I stay here much longer, I'm going to do something I'll regret."

     Russell felt the unfallen tears well over and spill down his cheeks, and wished more than anything that he could reverse their course.  They marked him as low and needy and selfish; helpless, pathetic, an overgrown child.  Everything he'd never wanted to become.  He hated himself for reacting this way, for reacting at all.

     I didn't even want to do anything like that.

     I just missed being together.

     (I just wanted to be held.)

     Sabrina noticed, and gently wiped the few tears away with her hands.  Unfortunately, they just kept coming.

     "Oh, sweetheart...  It's okay.  We'll see each other again soon.  I'll stop by tomorrow."

     Tomorrow.

     That was a whole, dark, lonely night away.  He needed her now.

     (Stay with me.  I get cold.)

     Indeed, Russell felt himself start to freeze as soon as she pulled away from him and sat at the edge of the bed.

     Shivering, he drew his legs up to his chest, trying in vain to warm himself.  He felt as though he were about to start wailing, but the very fact of that feeling disgusted him, so he managed to keep his composure.

     "...Okay."

     Sabrina stood from the bed, then leaned down to catch him in a brisk embrace.

     "Just take care of yourself, okay?  I mean it. Try to get some rest...  And make sure you're eating enough, all right?  And please go to the Clinic soon...  You really don't sound good."

     Russell found himself virtually mute, but nodded once into her chest.

     "Okay...  Bye, Russell.  I really had a nice time seeing you tonight."

     She placed a dry kiss on his wet cheek, and then she was gone.

     Sadly, it wasn't until she was well out of earshot that Russell finally regained command of his voice.

     "...Bye."

     And then, at last, the wailing.

     Though Cecilia was indeed a heavy sleeper, Russell was acutely aware that only a thin wooden screen separated them, so he quickly buried his wailing face in his pillow, not wanting to wake her.

     She can't see you like this.  She needs to believe in you.

     After about a minute, it stopped long enough for Russell to rise from the soggy pillowcase, wipe his bleeding nose on his sleeve, take the bottle from his headboard, and drink deeply of it.

     Then he planted his face in the pillow again, and the wailing resumed.

     This process, he repeated several times.

     Get yourself together.  Sabrina has her own life.

     (Not everybody is a sad lonely piece of shit like you.)

     It wasn't the specter of sexual rejection that had upset him so; indeed, that was the farthest thing from his mind.

     It wasn't even being left alone, though that certainly gouged him deeply.

     It was what she had said.

     "If I stay here much longer, I'm going to do something I'll regret."

     It's not like we haven't had sex since you remarried.

     (Just once.  We agreed on just once, remember?)

     Did you regret that, too?

     (Do you regret everything?)

[duckymcdoorknob]

Daily Speedwrite Pairings: Day 11

“I can’t calm down! I’m freaking out man!” -Tsukkiyama

I GOT CARRIED AWAY AGAIN

This could be seen as non platonic??

Also I’m dying at how soft Tsukishima is.

A pair of shrieking second years bounded down the hallway, past the team’s sleeping room, “GHOST! GHOST!”

Tadashi shot awake. His eyes widened and his breath hitched. Did they say...?

“GHOST!!” he heard again.

The first year shuddered and furrowed his eyebrows, looking to the world around him. He had to rationalize his surroundings, ensuring he was the only one awake. Sure, he was the only one awake, but him and Tsukishima were the only ones in the room, trying to sleep at the moment.

He didn’t know what to do; he just knew he needed help. “Tsukki? Tsukki wake up!” Yamaguchi cried in a hushed tone, shaking the sleeping boy next to him, “Tsukki please I need you!”

The blonde awoke with a jolt, instinctively wrapping himself around his friend, “What’s wrong? Who am I fighting? Do you need something to drink? Did you have a bad dream?” the deluge of rambling questions continued to assault Yamaguchi.

“Tsukki- I’m alright! I’m just... just scared.” Tadashi whispers as he looked anywhere but at his friend.

“You scared the hell out of me, Tadashi. I thought you were crying.” The tired boy let out a yawn and placed his glasses on his face, “But you’re still scared; so let’s get you calmed down, alright?” Tsukishima placed a gentle hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“I’m so thankful for you.” Yamaguchi nuzzled into the embrace, “You make me feel safe.”

Tsukishima allows himself to smile in contentment, “I’m glad you trust me, Tadashi,”

Tanaka and Noya come bursting in the room, causing both first years to jump.

“WE SAW A GHOST!” GUYS!” Noya’s breathless cries absolutely petrified poor Yamaguchi.

“I’m sure you didn’t.” The blonde’s glare could’ve pierced through the second year, “You need to take your antics before you scare Tadashi to death.” He stated through gritted teeth.

“But-“

“Some of us are actually trying to rest before the camp tomorrow.”

“Tsukish-“

“Leave”

The olive haired boy began to tremble in his friend’s grip, whimpering slightly. He kicked himself away from his friend and hid inside his futon.

“Tadashi you need to calm down.” Tsukishima states bluntly, petting the latter’s hair.

“I can’t calm down! I’m freaking out man!” Yamaguchi whined as he pulled his covers up to cover his eyes.

“We all know that Tanaka and Nishinoya are just messing with us. There’s no ghost.” Tsukki replied with a scoff.

“But what if there is?!” Yamaguchi peeked out from his cozy shield, “It could get us!”

“Oh get a hold of yourself. We’re not children anymore.” The blonde snapped back.

“R-right...“ the frightened boy replied gently, his tone much softer than earlier.

Now you’ve done it Tsukki, “Tadashi I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” he sighed, “You’re scared... and It’s my job to keep you safe.”

“ ‘mfine-“ Yamaguchi mumbled, “Jus’ go back t’ sleep.”

“Tadashi-“

“S’okay.”

“Tadashi I’m not letting you mope. You’re not being bothersome. I know that’s what you’re thinking.” Tsukki stated, scooting closer to his friend.

“How do you always know...?” Yamaguchi mumbled, snuggling into his futon.

“I just do.” Tsukishima replied, “I also know that I’m going to have to resort to drastic measures to get you feeling better.”

“Tsukki no! I’ll wake everyone up!” Tadashi whined.

“No one else is trying to sleep.” the blonde let himself smile menacingly, hovering over his friend, “I’ll need to get you free from your cozy prison first, though.”

Tsukishima attempted to pull the futon off of Yamaguchi, only receiving a pretty good fight from the latter. Tadashi giggled madly as he tried to keep the blanket above his head, only pulling it away from his ankles.

“You want to do this the hard way huh?” Tsukki questioned bluntly, eyeing the olive haired boy’s now exposed feet, “Fine. Have it your way.” 

The blonde hooked his arm around Tadashi’s ankle, trapping the boy’s foot.

“Nonono! Tsukki! They’re gonna hear you!” Yamaguchi whined while tugging on his leg.

“You mean they’ll hear you?” Tsukki asked with a sinister grin.

Tsukishima wasted no time spidering his fingers over one of Tadashi’s feet.

“Tsuhuhuhukkihihihi!” Yamaguchi fell backwards against the floor, giggling uncontrollably, “dohohohont.“

“Don’t? But you seem to like it if you’re laughing. Laughing equals merriment my book.” Tsukki stated, changing his spidering to scratching.

“NGRHG- TsuHUHUKIHIHI!” Tadashi attemped to hold back his laughter, but no avail.

“That’s me. What do you need?” Tsukishima’s teasing was almost unbearable to poor Yamaguchi. Tsukki played dumb and spoke so sarcastically that Yams didn’t feel like a little kid. Tsukki made him feel like a flustered little high schooler.

“STAHAHAHAP!”

“No thank you. I haven’t gotten my fill yet.”

Tadashi threw his head back in agonizing laughter, “GOHOHOHOD YOHOHOHOUREHEHEHE SOHOHO MEHEHEAN!”

“Mean?!” An over exaggerated gasp followed Yamaguch’s accusation, “How dare you Tadashi, I thought we were best friends.”

“GAHAHAHA- TSUHUHUHUKKIHIHI PLEHEHEHEHEASEHEHEHE! NOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOREHEHEHE!” Yamaguchi was slapping Tsukishima on the back.

“Are you still scared?” The blonde asked as he released Tadashi’s foot.

“...”

“Tadashi?”

“...yes.”

“Then it seems like my job isn’t done.”

“Wait. What?”

Tsukishima prayed that the walls would be thick enough to cover his friend’s inevitable ticklish cries for mercy. Regardless, he sat on his friend’s waist and began to squeeze Yamaguchi’s bare knees, causing the boy to jolt up.

“NGH- HAHAHAHA NOHOHOHOHO! TSUHUHUHUKKIHIHIHI!” Tadashi whined as he pounded a fist against Tsukishima’s back.

“No? Is this spot too ticklish? You have an even more ticklish spot that I could be abusing right now. I decided to be nice. You should be thankful, Tadashi.” The sinister blonde stated bluntly.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASEHEHE AHAHAHNYWHEHEHEHRE EHEHEHELSEHEHE!”

“Oh anywhere else? Alright... I guess you just want me to attack your death spot.” Tsukishima did a 180 turn in his friend’s waist, used his knees to pin Tadashi’s arms, and pulled his shirt up.

“NO! WAIT! BACK TO MY KNEES! ITSOKAY!“ Yamaguchi was pleading for his life.

“But I really wanted to hear you giggle while I tickle you here. It really gets you going.” Tsukki wasted no time in his assault, swiftly dipping a finger into Tadashi’s belly button.

Yamaguchi squealed and bucked his hips, “NAHAHAHAHAOHOHO! TSUHUHUKKIHIHI- SHIHIHIHIHIT!”

“My my Tadashi. I thought you were better than those other doorknobs. I never expected you to have such a foul mouth.”

When the blonde brought a hand up to squeeze at the pudge around the boy’s belly button, it was already over.

“GAHAHAHAD TSUHUHUHUKKIHIHIHI STAHAHAHAHAP! NOHOHOHO MOHOHOHOHOREHEHEHEHE!”

Tsukishima retracted his finger but continued to gently squeeze Tadashi’s sides to get him down from the high.

“Are you alright, Tadashi?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you want me to tuck you in?”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“Tadashi-“

“Would you please?”

The blonde chuckled and obliged with his friend’s orders. He snuggled into his own futon then pulled his friend into his chest.

“No ghosts. No monsters. Just me. Rest now. You’re safe.” The whispers in Tadashi’s ear were enough to send him into a coma.

When morning followed the eve of the day, the two friends were surrounded by their teammates sleeping around them. Except for Nishinoya and Tanaka.

“Oh! G’morning boys!” Sugawara’s cheery voice rang, “You must be wondering where the second years are.”

Tadashi, who realized he was in Tsukishima’s grip and wormed out of it, furrowed his eyebrows, “does this have to do with the ghost thing?”

Sugawara let out a hearty chuckle, “Precisely. They were frantically telling everyone they saw a ghost. Scared the bejezus out of a lot of us.”

The two first years learned that it was just Asahi, who had taken his hair out of the bun he usually keeps it in.

“Anyways, please prepare for camp. It seems you two were very well rested and Tadashi seems to be more relaxed than all of us.”

“Suga-saaaan.” Yamaguchi whined, hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh don’t worry. We won’t use that to your disadvantage.” He smiles happily, “Where was he even getting you?”

“Tadashi here has the most ticklish belly button it’s just soooo cute and he can’t stand me talking about it.” It was Tsukishima’s turn to interject.

“Tsukkiiiii!”

“Oh you’re just like me-“ Sugawara caught himself with wide eyes, “I mean-“

“Oh? Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Tadashi?”

“Let’s introduce Suga-San to your teases.”

Let’s just say that the rest of the team wasn’t too upset to be woken up by the noise, when they learned the source was Sugawara’s joyful laughter.

[twilitty]

Moonlit ch.2

This is the second chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every week and a half. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3.9k words

previous chapter

big thank you to my beta reader @effervescentlyirrevocable who has given me the absolute best criticism and helped make this chapter so beautiful :)

Bella Swan is introduced to a possible new friend and receives a gift. The doctors new family may not be as well adjusted to small town life as Charlie would like.

Chapter Two

The next morning I wake up to a growl of thunder beating against the inside of my skull. I had a night of thankfully restful sleep for once, only waking up to get a glass of water. My hands are clasped against my chest, fingers knotted in annoyance as I hold back what likely will be a spill of expletives. Why must there always be noise? Why can I not sleep soundly and awake soundly, just once?

I open one eye experimentally, hoping the sun has already arisen and I won’t be missing out on any leftover sleep. My room is shrouded in darkness. The expletives, swear words crude enough to make a priest gag, spill out in a muttered breath and my hands squeeze against each other once more before reaching for my alarm clock. The red numbers blink back at me and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the light before I read the time. Nine in the morning. I look back to the window where my blinds are drawn closed, but still no light, even filtered through the canopy of clouds, peaks at the edges. 

The thunder, which had gone quiet after waking me up initially, rolls again for a moment before silencing itself. Only, was it thunder? It sounded heavy, like machinery but with a deeper growl. Was there construction nearby? I didn’t recall any on my few trips up and down the street, and I question why there would need to be any construction anyways. It’s not as if this is a booming neighbourhood with a subdivision being built. 

Charlie knocks against my door, quieter than yesterday. “Bella, it’s time to get up.” You’d imagine that with my age being nearly twenty and my status as a legal adult I’d be allowed to choose my own time to wake up. My annoyance dies down quickly when my thoughts bounce back to Phoenix, waking up early each morning to drive Mom into her early morning classes. Nine in the morning really isn’t that early, in fact, it allows me time to get some chores done before class. “Someone has dropped by.”

My lips contort into an annoyed pucker. Who would have stopped by? Mom had warned me before the move that nothing but rumours and nasty mold comes from Forks. Apparently her quick marriage to Charlie, and even quicker pregnancy with me, was enough gossip to fuel conversations for years. I remember a trip to Forks at eight years old, a woman had stopped my mother in the grocery store and asked her over for coffee. “They just want the inside scoop,” Renee had told me afterwards, “Give them anything and they’ll find a way to make it ugly.”

My bare feet brush the ground and a flash of cold spreads up my shins. Apparently, even in spring, the weather is dangerously cold. I tell Charlie I’ll be downstairs in a moment, pulling on a pair of jeans and thermal socks. I was hoping for a relaxing day alone, just me, my sweatpants, and the laptop. I compromise on the socks, regardless of who is downstairs, my toes will not be cold today.

I pull the blinds open, the lawn stretching out beside the house is bathed in shadowy darkness despite the morning hour. The forest that lines our property, secluding us from the neighbours, is eerie and mysterious. The green tones that I initially found alien and too bright are now gone and replaced with navy. I wait a moment, staring into the trees, my thoughts rambling into fairytale imaginations. 

My brain conjures an image of a man, tall and insidious, stepping out of the tree line, long claws attached to his fingers and a nasty grin revealing pointed teeth. His shirt is ripped in the front, a long tear reaching from throat to navel and from inside the shirt tufts of hair stick out. No, not hair, fur. He growls menacingly. 

I close the blinds quickly and blink against the pictures my brain throws at me. 

The landline rings downstairs and startles me, a jolt of anxious adrenaline surging through my cold feet and up into my heart. Maybe one of the reasons I enjoyed Phoenix’s barren, plain landscape was that I would not be subjected to such terrible thoughts. I remember being twelve and watching Scream with my mother, she was on a horror movie kick and had rented a whole stack of DVDs for us to watch. That night when I was tired but my eyes refused to close as I didn’t want to imagine what could be lurking outside my bedroom window. Crawling into my mother’s bed, she ran her warm palm against my forehead and hummed a song until I calmed down. 

“Bella,” she had said quietly, the nurturing lilt of her voice expanding my heart, “We live in a desert. You can see for miles and miles and miles, if some bad man was coming we’d see him from forty minutes away.” I giggled quietly into the comforter, our bodies pressed against each other in near sleep and my mother’s hands maneuvering through my hair with expertise. 

Now, I look out at the grassy lawn from a crack between the blinds. It resembles the set of a slasher movie, the forest borders it with every possibility my imagination can muster. I can see a man from four seconds away, not forty minutes.

There's a chorus of male laughter from below and I sigh, assuming this is my cue to go downstairs and meet with whoever has stopped in.

Charlie is sitting in the living room, facing me and his back to the television which is decidedly blank. On the couch is a head of glossy, black hair. Beside him is a wheelchair with an older man sitting in it, a mug clasped between dark hands. I curse whatever forces brought these strangers into the house so early, I am not in the mood for interaction. I was hoping for a bowl of oatmeal and a quiet morning. 

“Hey!” Charlie braces his hands on his knees and pushes out of the armchair. His face is split in half with a grin. I can’t recall him smiling this large in the past week of my stay. The two men turn, facing me with warm smiles.

One of them is older, perhaps Charlie's age, his mouth creased with smile lines and his eyes wrinkled with sun damage. His skin is a warm russet brown, his eyes deep-set behind pronounced brows and a large smile. Bright white teeth stare back at me as my brain picks over his features, how do I know this man? I know almost immediately that he’s Quileute, from the Reservation to the west of town. I vaguely remember trips to the beach with Charlie and eating hotdogs over fires with some of the children from the area. 

“Do you remember me, Bella?” He asks in a deep, commanding tone. His voice transports me back to the beach, collecting colourful rocks with the other kids and being called to dinner. Billy Black. He lives in a small, red house with a large kitchen perfect for gatherings. He’s older than I remember, but my last time being here for any substantial time was nearly four years ago. 

“Dad, c’mon,” the boy says with a sarcastic eye roll. He stands from the couch, his height towering mine by a few inches and his broad shoulders slumped forward happily. I wonder how tall he’d be if he stood to his full height. His voice is deep, not as deep as his father’s, but still an indicator of the family resemblance. Where his father is strong and sure, this boy is aloof and casual. Jacob Black. “She hasn’t been back in ages, she probably blocked your nasty attitude out of her memory.” 

I bite back a smile, but Billy laughs and shoots Charlie a look that says, kids, am I right? I step forward and extend my hand to Jacob, who takes it gratefully in his own and gives a soft shake. His hand covers mine and is most definitely a few degrees warmer than I am. “Jacob Black, we used to make mud pies together.”

“Best in town,” Charlie adds in from the back of the room. I smile. 

“No, no, I remember you guys,” I tell the Blacks. “It just took me a moment.” Charlies sits back down in his chair and motions for me to take a seat. 

“Billy and Jake just stopped by,” my father explains. I sit beside Jacob on the couch, a cushion between us. But, even with the provided space and the lack of physical contact, I feel heat come off of him in waves like a radiator. I wonder if he’s sick. “Jake here is a mechanic.” A furious blush settles under the boy's brown skin as his mechanical skills are brought up, this is my first time hearing of his expertise. I remember his sisters being twins, both tall and beautiful with matching smiles. They were almost two years older than me, Jacob had followed closely behind and was only born in the same six months as me. Of course, now that I try to remember, the date falls short in my memory. It’s possible he has a career as a mechanic somewhere on the Reservation, but he mustn’t work in Forks. I hadn’t seen a single mechanics garage in town. 

“No, no,” he looks between me and my father with an apologetic smile, “it’s just a hobby. Something for fun.” Billy tsks at his son, shaking his head in a way that makes me believe this conversation has occurred before. 

“Hobbies can bring in money, hobbies can turn into jobs,” the older man says with a scolding tone. Jacob just shakes his head crookedly, not responding. Charlie takes this as his cue to interrupt the trajectory of the conversation, and I’m grateful. I haven’t spoken to these men in nearly four years, that last place I want to be is in the middle of a family feud. 

“Well, now, there was a reason I brought up Jake’s skills,” Charlie interjects with a wave at the large boy next to me. “Bells, go take a look outside.” My fingers twitch anxiously in my lap at being thrust into the center of the conversation. I was hoping I could slide under the radar here, not end up in the middle of it. 

It takes great restraint for me to get up from the couch and not stumble over my ankles in the act, my clumsiness reaches new heights when I’m being watched by a room of people. Even if there are only three people in the room. The window at the end of the room is open, the curtains pulled to the side, and when I reach it my gaze falls on a group of kids biking down the street with a rainbow of helmets. Apparently, the dark sky doesn’t scare them the way it does me. 

They pedal quickly, little screams of delight just barely audible through the thick glass of the living room window. They pass the porch and disappear behind a large red truck parked out front of the house. I blink. It’s still there, rounded fenders and shiny door handles, long bed, ancient grill adorning the hood. It’s beautiful. “Is that your truck, Billy?” There’s a chorus of laughter behind me, the men’s baritones mixing and producing a flaming blush starting at my neck and creeping up into my face. I turn to look at them, my stomach clenching as I turn away from the beautiful vehicle. “What?” 

“It’s yours, Bella,” Charlie tells me. The breath I was holding leaves my lungs through my gaping mouth, I struggle to close it and take an experimental inhale. “Bella?” I turn and look back out the window, the glorious truck still sits there staring at me from across the dark lawn. I can only imagine how beautiful it is in the sunlight.

“I- it’s mine?” I ask. Another series of laughs echo through and then footsteps come up beside me, Jacob stands looking out the window. “You made it?” I question, looking up at him. 

His shoulders shake silently and his lips press together as he tries to compose himself, I’m not sure why he finds my comment so funny but it reignites my blush. “I fixed it up, yeah. But, don’t get too excited. The thing runs at sixty miles max, push her further than that and you’ll be walking home.” 

We all go outside quickly, me leading the pack with an excited skip in my step. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall on my face or stumble over my words as I spoke my thoughts aloud. “It’s so pretty, I love it! Jake, I have no idea how you could make it look so perfect.” The truck sits against the curb, its red paint flaking in places around the tires, but even more perfect than I could have imagined. 

The sky is a disturbing shade of grey, a fact that irritates me more outside than it did in the house. Why does the weather have to ruin such a perfectly good moment? But I spend the majority of my time on the vehicle, petting its sides carefully like I might damage it. Finally, seemingly having had enough of me quietly admiring the vehicle, Billy tells me to hop in and check it out on the inside. 

Jacob produces a set of keys, no automatic locking mechanism, and twists it in the truck's door handle. He holds the door open for me, producing a hand to help me in. I take it gratefully, stepping up into the driver’s seat and letting myself sink into the seat. Jacob closes the door on me, but my thoughts are lost and focused only on how much I love this truck. 

“So,” he says after opening the passenger door and climbing up next to me, “You ever driven a truck before?” I shake my head, fingers curving experimentally around the thin steering wheel. I can see myself now: driving down the empty highway, the sun blinding against the dry pavement, window down and hair blowing, radio blaring. It’s exactly what I needed, a way for me to get around without needing to borrow the cruiser (which, yes, is illegal) or have Charlie drive me around. 

“I can give you lessons,” Jake offers, fingers clasped in his lap, drumming a tune against the opposite knuckles. “If not that’s cool, but she drives a little funny.” “She?” I ask, eyes leaving the steering wheel momentarily to watch his face. He notices, the serene expression dropping from his face and replaced with a quick upturn of his lips. 

“Uh, yeah.” He palms the back of his neck roughly and seems almost apologetic. “I have a thing for cars, y’know, so naming them is kinda part of the deal.” I can barely make out a faint red tinge over his cheeks. “Wait, hold on,” I can’t contain the giggle that slips out but firmly press my lips together before trying again. I can only imagine the toothy smile I’m giving him, a girl all too excited over some old truck. Only, this is the perfect old truck. “What’s her name?”

“Betty,” he responds sheepishly, his hand still massaging the back of his neck. “But if you tell anybody that I’ll have to kill you.” 

“That’s okay, Betty is our secret.” 

And, just like that, I now have a secret with someone. Does this make us friends? Regardless of whatever it makes us, my heart sings happily from within my chest, excited to think that maybe Forks won’t be as lonesome as it’s been this past week. Maybe Jacob and I will become friends and bond over Betty and I won’t only have Charlie and school and books. 

“Well, before you accept her turn the keys,” Jacob instructs. I oblige, setting the keys in the ignition and giving them a gentle twist. A roar of mechanical thunder envelopes us. I nearly leap out of my seat in surprise, the loud rumbling of the engine settling in my ears and blocking out all other noises. Jake says something but I can barely hear him from over the thunderous growl of Betty. I turn the keys back and the truck dies down with one last rumble. “She’s loud,” he says obviously. 

“She’s perfect.” 

Jacob hands me a spare set of keys after we get out, telling me that he’ll be back the day after tomorrow to give me my first driving lesson in the truck. Charlie was all too excited with that idea, even though I already have my license and know how to drive. In fact, other than illegally borrowing the cruiser with Charlie’s permission, I have never committed an illegal act involving a vehicle. If memory serves me correctly, Charlie has two speeding tickets from his youth. 

But, I don’t argue against Jake's offer. In fact, I thank him profusely and promise to pay him for the lessons. “Bella,” he says in an exasperated way, as if we’ve known each other for years and I always say such supposedly outlandish things. “Why would you pay me for something I’m offering to you?” 

We’ve stopped in front of the Blacks vehicle, a large brown and beige truck which seems to only be a decade newer than the red one. This isn’t saying much for the brown vehicle as the red one could be from the fifties. Billy is wheeling his way down the driveway with Charlie walking beside him, laughing emphatically at something his friend had said. 

“That’s crazy,” I respond with a shake of my head. “That’s like me not paying you for the truck.”

“Yeah, I know.” I take pause at this, the words welling up inside my brain and the meaning lost to me for only a moment. Then, like finally finding the missing puzzle piece under the table, I understand what this means and the picture is clear. 

“You- I- This truck isn’t free.” The words stutter out of me, the first two the beginnings of messages I abandoned immediately after starting them. This truck, though old, is not cheap, and neither is Jakes’s skill. I should pay him for labour if nothing else, but I know he doesn’t want to include that in the bill. He doesn't want to send me a bill. 

“It’s a gift,” he states simply with a shrug of his wide shoulders. Billy pulls up beside me, slapping away Charlie's hand as he tries to adjust his chair for him.

“Careful, Swan,” the older Black warns with hostility. “I have more muscle in these arms than you do in your entire body. Touch the chair and you’ll get what’s coming to you.” 

Jacob helps Billy into the passenger seat, folding up the wheelchair and securing it into the truck bed with quick hands. Charlie stands beside me, shooting fiery threats back and forth with his friend until Jacob climbs behind the wheel. “Storm coming through,” Jacob says with a wave towards the dark sky. “If you need any help with anything, tying stuff down or moving let me know.” Charlie thanks him for the offer and I lean in to thank him again for the truck and the lessons. I also assure him that the argument over billing is far from over and that he’ll get an earful the next time we meet. 

The rest of the day is spent restlessly. I log into my online classes but my attention is continuously claimed by my truck in front of the house. The sun never shows itself, content with hiding behind the cloud coverage. I’m sitting in the living room when Charlie gets home for dinner, my book discarded on the couch somewhere beside me. I reach for it once I see his cruiser pull into the driveway, deciding it would be better to look busy than to look like I’m obsessing over my new means of transportation.

“Bella?” He calls, the door shutting behind him with a creak. At some point I’ll have to oil all the hinges in the house. It’s that or I go clinically insane from the constant noise. 

“Yeah, just in here.” 

He comes in bearing a brown bag with the Forks Diner logo written on the side. “I brought dinner, it’ll be on the stove.” I nod and thank him, telling him that we can eat together once he’s down and out of uniform. “Well, actually, I won’t be eating until a bit later.” His moustache twitches irritably and he disappears into the kitchen to drop the food off. 

“Are you meeting with Billy?” I ask, knowing this isn’t the case. It must be an issue with work causing him to feel stressed. And when he comes back into the living room from the kitchen I’m able to see the tension holding his shoulders in place. “Did something happen at work?” “It’s nothing to worry about,” he assures me, but his words do anything but. So much for police chief being a boring job. “Just those new kids in town, the doctors children,” he waves a hand in the air as if trying to gather his thoughts. “Kicking up trouble in their first week here, something about racing.” 

“Oh.” I pull my knees under me and turn to face him fully, my arms hanging over the back of the couch like a child. 

“Anyways, no big deal I’m sure they’re just used to city life or something.” But, my fathers tone indicates that he most definitely does not believe his own words. In Charlie's books a bad apple is always a bad apple, and he’s probably dreading all the other trouble these kids will kick up. “I’ve just gotta go check-in with them, make sure it doesn’t happen again.” His hand moves towards my arm, as if to pat me goodbye but it stutters midair, falling back to his side awkwardly. 

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, biting on it as he mutters a goodbye and leaves through the front door without looking at me again. I wonder when this will get any easier. 

Renee left Charlie a year into their young marriage, taking me away to live with her in Arizona. She had given me partial reasons over the years for her leaving, talking of them being too young, the weather too wet, how she wanted a life where she could be free from responsibilities. I’m not sure whether it dawned on her that a child constitutes a responsibility, but she took me to every yoga class and rarely left me with a babysitter. 

My mother was never too keen on Forks, not that I fault her for it, the weather leaves much to be desired and there’s virtually nothing to do. But, because of her disliking I rarely visited my father, my first extended visit being when I was twelve and stayed the entire summer as Renee travelled with her then-boyfriend. I came back to a scrapbook of kissy photos and pressed leaves from her travels, all I had to show for my trip was a runny nose and a strong distaste for hamburgers. One can only eat so many burgers before the novelty wears off.

taglist: @musingsofvenus @maybesandohnos​

[alstanfordart]

Bob’s Nightmare. Scene below.

@queenoftheclownsme

@theblackrosegoddess

It awoke. Not particularly rested. Its mind had drifted. Drifted back to the Todash, leaving Its material presence hidden beneath the ground, safely stashed away in a dark crevice of the cave. As Its conscious was violently ripped back into Its avatar of Robert Gray, It could feel the wound. No healing. Something had awakened It.

Not healed. Not healed but awake prematurely.

Confused, It staggers up, focusing Its one eye, seeing only black. Hearing creaking sounds and door slamming. Unable to see a few feet in front of It with just a subtle hint of weak light from an unknown source. It begins to walk and as It does, It hears, at the edge of the darkness, children singing;

'Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St. Clement's, you owe me five farthings, say the bells of St. Martin's.'

It pauses in Its steps as It sees a flash of yellow accompanied by giggling.

A boy.

The voice of the child causes unease as another blur of yellow dashes past, before the child appears before It, partially obscured by the shadows save for emerald rain boots stark against the midnight and a speck of light in each iris.

What the Hell is this?

Little Georgie Denbrough in his slick rain coat, skin flaps dangling from his bloody stump as he slowly reveals himself as a gentle sound of thunder and rain drift out from behind him.

The boy approaches, neutral expression, standing before It.

"Why did you kill me?" Georgie asks, his round face pale, his eyes rimmed with dark circles as he gazes up. "I didn't do anything. I just wanted my boat."

Georgie holds out his hand, the paper boat sitting on his tiny fingers, blood starting to seep through and engulf the faded paper.

"It wasn't anything personal kid, I was hungry." Robert growls, lip curling up in disgust and taking a step back from this unwelcome mirage.

Like It needs to justify Itself to this brat. He is what led to Its confrontation with the hated ones. Perhaps had It targeted another child...

But maybe that would have lead to an entirely different group of children targeting It.

Maybe the Final Other intended it that way.

And that boat. That fucking boat is what started the whole mess.

It doesn't pursue this train of thought further, as it enrages It.

There's a shift in Georgie's melancholy demeanor and a creepy grin breaks out as he bends down to place his boat on a thin river of blood that has manifested, suspended a few feet above the ground.

Georgie then steps back, his form breaking apart as it evaporates upwards into the darkness as the now crimson-soaked boat starts to glide along as the singing starts up again;

'When will you pay me? Say the bells at Old Bailey. When I grow rich, say the bells at Shoreditch.'

Robert stares down at the boat as it starts to move, the blood river carrying it along. The boat's route becomes altered as the river begins to flow out, a small wave lifting it through the air. Robert's gaze follows as a red-haired woman appears amid the swirling ruby.

Beverly Marsh.

"Well, aren't you a sight," she smirks, hands perched upon her hips. "Just as bad as the time I stabbed you in the head. Couldn't sleep that one off, huh?"

The little bitch.

Snarling, quill teeth now jetting out his mouth, Robert lunges, only to have her vaporize as he goes to tear at her throat. Her disembodied laugh echoing around him. The blood river drifts off, taking the small boat along as it disappears into the gloom as a cream-colored wooden door appears. It steadily swings open, revealing a bathroom. Robert refrains from coming closer, but the room appears to envelope him, moving on its own.

The steam cloud blanketing the area barely conceals a dark-haired man slouched in a bathtub.

Stanley Uris, head lolling against his shoulder.

Spotting Robert, he sits up as he holds out his wrists, thin slashes appearing and dripping, inking the bath water red and dotting the white porcelain.

"I got to grow up at least." he says.

Robert gives a contemptuous scoff. "You did that to yourself."

"After you came to me." Stan retorts, lowering his arms slowly, staring blankly at Robert, a little half-smile just barely showing. Robert quickly retreats, slamming the door as it dissolves in a puff of thin smoke.

It is growing increasingly uncomfortable. Anxious. It must get out of here, whatever this is.

A dream. A nightmare.

Limbo? Had It been killed while slumbering?

Robert's head darts around as he searches the area, strange clanking sounds and echos vibrate in the distance coupled with a growing forest of giggling children's voices and the baaing of sheep.

'When will that be? Say the bells of Stepney. I do not know, says the great bell at Bow.'

Mike Hanlon comes forth, holding up a photo album. Opening it, there are various photographs of black birds.

"We're all afraid of something-even you." he says as the birds come to life and begin to flap their wings and squawk, emerging from the album's pages in droves, growing larger in size as they fly at Robert, pecking at him, their beady eyes glowing yellow. He ducks down and swats at them, growling as Mike fades into the dark.

As the birds swoop away, another familiar male voice appears.

"What's up clown man!" Richie Tozier jumps out, bat in hands as Robert, startled, stumbles backwards.

Ugh, of all the Losers, It had hated this one the most. The insulting little shit.

Richie continues to swing the bat, the wood making audible swooshing sounds that cut through the air.

Roaring, Robert grabs at the weapon, only to have his hands pass through it, tumbling forward as Richie cackles.

"Hey, no! Sorry no cigar! You know this place is worse than that crack house." he says, as he pauses to adjust his glasses.

Another final voice, immediately recognizable.

"He thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts, he thrusts his fists against the posts and still insists he sees the ghosts."

Bill Denbrough steps forth from the tenebrosity, the boat pinched between his fingers.

"You're not real. None of you are. Old age took you back to the weeds long ago." Robert says glaring at him, his one iris starting to spark as Bill approaches.

Save for Mike. All are gone.

Bill smirks. "We're not real enough for you?" he replies, chuckling as an inhaler rolls out beside his feet. Eddie Kaspbrak reaches down to pluck it up, standing alongside Bill.

Raising it to his lips, he halts. "I actually don't need this anymore." Eddie says as he chucks it casually over his shoulder.

Richie moves to stand by them along with Mike and Beverly, with Georgie close behind, followed by Ben Hanscom, who holds up a piece of a large eggshell, black and shiny. Robert's expression drops at the sight, an angry grimace exposing his razor incisors.

Stanley Uris suddenly joins them, that same barely-smile still there. Almost mocking.

Robert glances around at his former adversaries.

"You should have stayed out of it. All of you, had you just kept to your business, let me have what I wanted, Stan and Eds would have lived longer, happier lives. I would have been nothing more than fragments of a forgotten dream. Amnesia is a kindness."

"We forgot, but you haven't forgotten us," Mike offers. "Have you?"

"We're still here," Bill adds, tapping the tip of the paper boat against his temple. "Can't escape that."

The eight are now bordering around him, with more emerging from behind: Candice Swain, Veronica Dell, the drunk Samuel, Colin and Hank Dobson, Esther, Noah Brady, the Muncy family, Julie, the hateful redhead Heather Taggart, Brandon Wilkes, Emily and her mother and the rest of the newest souls he'd claimed on this planet as well as his victims from Derry; the boys from the tunnel, Derek Stuart and James, Henry Bowers, Patrick Hockstetter decked out in his cartoon cat shirt, features chewed, the other two punks from the Bower's gang whose names he couldn't be bothered to remember, their necks bloodied, ripped open. Betty Ripsom, little Victoria, Adrian Mellon and the faces of endless Derry children and adults, some recognizable, some barely a hint of familiarity, many just a passing blip on his existence like pretty Martha and naive Alison. Many he'd used and killed like Tom Rogan, some that survived his Deadlights like Audra Denbrough.

As well as the unfortunate wife of the true Robert Gray, Agnes and their daughter Emma. Scowling and hateful.

Decades upon decades of victims. Many missing limbs, their eyeballs gouged out, blood bubbling from their mouths.

"Why'd you kill me?"

"You ripped my legs off and left my body in a ditch."

"You ate my baby. My only son."

"My father died from a broken heart after I went missing."

"They only found my head with no eyes."

Whispering, talking, with some laughing menacingly, all tinted in dull green-blue as the numbers begin to grow as more appear behind them.

Then a few clear a path, allowing another achingly familiar figure to step into the bleak light.

Mirasal.

She moves to stand before him, bringing her arms up to scissor them across her chest, she gives him a somber scowl.

Robert lowers himself to his knees, keeping his gaze locked with hers as resentment and hatred glimmer within her cerulean disks.

"What was that you told me? That I could trust you?" she says, giving a repulsed head shake.

No. This is not her. Remember that. None of this is real.

Just a dream. It's not real.

Robert hangs his head in his hands. "I don't want to hurt you." he mutters into his palms, his face shooting up at the sound of her chuckling derisively.

"Like I would believe you, you even thought about killing me," she replies. "Or perhaps give me a little scare."

With that, she leaps forward, her mouth unhinging, the blue eyes switching to ebony as she comes at him with her claws out. Robert winces back, covering his face, ducking his head down, only to feel nothing. He gingerly peeks out from beneath his fingers.

She's vanished. But the others, their irises blacking out to mimic that same appearance, still remain. All begin to draw closer, the Loser's Club at the forefront, their hands growing paler, some stained with blood splatter, grabbing at him as they close in, swaying back and forth, becoming more zombie-like.

"Get away from me," Robert rapidly stands, whirling around, panic gripping him as he growls, his one intact pupil now burning bright. "Get away."

"We all float down here, Robert. Float with us. Float with us. " they all cantillate in unison. "Float with us."

"No, no. Leave me alone." Robert drops back down to the ground, cowering, shielding himself from their increasingly grotesque faces, their features shriveling up and dropping to the ground. Their cackles resounding through his skull, magnified.

"You'll float too! You'll float too! You'll float too!"

"No!" Robert shouts, covering his ears as the area begins to spin, the faces around him now blending together. "No! No! No! Please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Their laughing abruptly ceases, their fingers no longer grabbing and prodding at him, and all is quiet save for the angelic crooning beginning to rise again;

'Here comes a candle to light you to bed.'

Robert follows the source, coming into view of a tall lithe figure, its slouching back facing him, standing in the center of a circle of light. The air above has red balloons hovering, completely still as Robert approaches, pausing every other step as the being becomes more visible, its ruffled off-white costume beginning to twitch as it turns to face him, bells jingling.

Robert stands facing his favorite form as it gives an empty grin.

What?

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed." Pennywise says as he reaches his elongated gloved fingers to grip the nape of Robert's neck. His eyes are two empty sockets, devoid of any color, his teeth yellowed needles as he brings his ghostly features closer, smooth, almost as if they were set in porcelain. Without warning he slams Robert to the ground, the strings of the balloons suspended above gently blow in response as he straddles him.

"Time to pay the piper, ol' Bob Gray," Pennywise intones as he lowers his teeth, only an inch from Robert's visage of both fear and confusion, the dripping saliva strings cold against his skin. Pennywise traces a bony finger along Robert's nose. "And here comes a chopper to chop off your head! Chip chop chip chop, the last man is dead!" he starts to maniacally cackle.

Squeezing his lids, Robert lets out a roar, fighting to free himself, thrashing beneath his double.

And just like that, the clown and the balloons are gone.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 14: Fever]

A/N: I’ve written a lot of chapters for Tumblr, but this one was by far the hardest. Thank you for reading. 💜 

Chapter summary: Queen enjoys an American tradition, Y/N struggles to be optimistic, John offers distractions, Roger makes questionable decisions (what else is new).

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, accidental intense flirting, inconvenient erections, drugs, overdoses, near-death experiences, medical emergencies, hospital stuff, pregnancy, babies, miscarriage, drama, sexual references, do I even need to say angst...? Y’all already know.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​ @pomjompish​ @writerxinthedark​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 

It’s November 12th, 1977, and you’re six weeks pregnant.

“I can’t believe I’m going to be a grandmother!” Your mom is positively giddy, beaming ceaselessly, patting the back of Roger’s hand at least once every three minutes. I was right about this delightful English boy and my future gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says. Your parents either never saw any headlines, or—a possibility that seems increasingly conceivable—didn’t believe them.

“I know it’s early to announce,” you add nervously. “But we figured...you know, since we’re here now...and who knows when we’ll be back in Boston...”

“Oh, I’m so happy you told me!” your mother peals like a wind chime. “Here, have some more sweet potatoes, and some salmon too, they’re so good for the baby...have you thought about names yet?”

“Roger Junior,” Roger jokes.                                                        

“Freddie Junior,” Freddie offers with a flamboyant flourish of his hand; his fingernails are jet black with glinting flecks of silver.

“A few,” you tell your mother, rolling your eyes at Freddie. “But there’s still plenty of time to figure that out.” In truth, this whole having a baby thing still feels rather nebulous and untrustworthy, like it’s a dream you might wake up from, like it’s a desert mirage that will evaporate as soon as you stumble too close, parched and ravenous and aching for it. Roger slips his arm around your waist, and you don’t exactly dislike that; but it feels a little like a mirage too.

“We’re so happy,” he says, with a gentle wistfulness that is striking on him. Roger is happy, as happy as you’ve ever seen him. He drinks only in moderation. He does his physical therapy. He’s taken up meditation. He fucking meditates. He wants to get clean for the baby, for you, for this second chance at a future together. And you don’t entirely trust this—because everyone lies and everyone disappoints and everyone carries around mortal shadows in the marrow of their bones—but you are beginning to let it make you happy too.

“You’re next, Fred,” Brian says. “You’re the only one left. Come on, it’s your turn. Cough up an infant.”

Freddie cackles. “All my children have whiskers and tails and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Your mother shoves a glass baking pan of sweet potato casserole, topped with a layer of gluey burned marshmallows, towards you. “Eat!” she commands.

You warily spoon yourself some, grimacing; you’re more or less constantly nauseous. Then you stare down at the heap of lumpy orange root vegetables that—to you, at least—contains a choking quantity of cinnamon. The sweet potato casserole stares menacingly back. John leans over and scoops himself a bite off your plate.

“Mmmmm!” he exclaims, to your mother’s delight. Then, more quietly to you: “Not to worry. I’ll help.”

“Everything is delicious, as always,” Brian tells your parents, ever well-mannered. “It’s always such a delight when work brings us to Boston. This was so kind of you!”

Your mom and dad wanted to treat Queen to the band’s first-ever American Thanksgiving dinner, even if actual Thanksgiving was still two weeks away; the table features a monstrous turkey with brown crispy skin, stuffing and mashed potatoes and gravy, homemade cranberry sauce, green beans almondine, ham, Atlantic salmon, buttered rolls, pumpkin pie, and of course the loathsome sweet potato casserole. You endeavor to taste at least one bite of everything, sipping sparkling apple cider cautiously, biting back waves of nausea that surface at random like breaching whales. The tablecloth is speckled with autumn leaves and inappropriately jolly cartoon turkeys. Your parents are glowing, proud, thrilled...although they’re visibly channeling effort into not being offended by the fact that Brian won’t try the turkey.

“It’s our pleasure, of course,” your father deflects as he puffs on a cigar. He’s mixed a drink for all of the non-pregnant attendees: Apple Cranberry Moscow Mules for everyone except John, who requested his usual Manhattan. “And you’ve timed it perfectly. There’s no better time to be in New England than the fall.”

“Oh, the foliage is just stunning, and the skies are so clear, you can see all the constellations!” Brian cranes his neck and points out the dining room window. “Look, there’s the winged horse Pegasus, and Cassiopeia, and Perseus...”

“The scenery is gorgeous! Creatively rousing!” Roger agrees.

“Oh, planning a Boston-inspired sequel, are we?” John quips. “I’m In Love With My Lobster Boat?”

“I’m In Love With My Revolutionary War Memorabilia?” Freddie suggests.

“Get a grip on my extremely unreliable and difficult to load musket...” John sings.

Freddie points his fork at him and grins. “Yours wouldn’t be so difficult, Deaky dear.”

“How long did those old muskets take to load?” Bri asks.

“About two minutes,” your father pipes cheerfully.

Freddie snorts. “Sounds about right.”

John bears the laughter with a good-natured, smug sort of smirk. I’m not bothered because I know I’ve got nothing to worry about, that look says. You wiggle your eyebrows at him. He winks back.

Roger groans as he stretches his hands up towards the ceiling. “Am I really expected to play after all this?! Jesus christ. I’ve gained a stone in the past hour. Alright, one more slice of pie, then we have to get going...”

Queen has reserved your parents front-row seats at the show, as well as a limo to shuttle them there and back. While your mother fusses over whether you’ve eaten enough and what appropriate rock concert attire is—“leather and feather boas and riding crops, darling” Freddie informs her—your father circles the table snapping photographs, first with your Canon and then with his own Polaroid. You and Roger pose together, lean into each other, plant giggling kisses on each other’s cheeks. And you marvel at how a photo is a snapshot, a split second, nothing less and nothing more; that it’s instantly and mechanically captured, impersonal even, cheap to print and easy to burn. As your mother begins gathering up plates and glasses, you stand to help her.

“No no no,” Roger says, wiping the crumbs from his chin with an orange napkin. “Not allowed, Boston babe. Sit down, I’ll do it, I’ll help clean up.”

“I want to,” you insist. “I feel better when I’m moving around.” Less likely to vomit into anyone’s sweet potato casserole.

“You sure?”  

“Absolutely.” You smile down at him fleetingly, ruffle his short bleached hair, then disappear into the kitchen.

Your mother is scrubbing plates in the bubble-filled sink, her hands turning pink under the hot water, humming Rhiannon in a bright merry voice. She’s wearing a sparkling crimson dress that reminds you of blood. Your stomach lists like a sailboat.  

“I’ll wash if you want to dry,” you offer.

“I raised such a kind girl. My beautiful daughter, a future mama. Mrs. Roger Meddows Taylor.” She twirls a lock of your hair affectionately, then steps aside so you can reach into the sink. “That John Deacon is a bit strange, isn’t he?”

You resist the reflex to bristle, to snap at her; it’s not her intention to be cruel. It never is. “No, not really. He’s wonderful, he’s a genius. He’s my best friend, actually.”

“Oh alright, dear. I’m sure he’s lovely enough. He’s just so terribly quiet. He fades away next to the others. And certainly next to Roger.” She sighs, infatuated, dazzled.  

You hear Roger’s voice echo in your skull: Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.

Maybe he was right about that.

You’re trying to be happy, really you are; you’re trying to fall in love with this future Roger has planned for you. But you can’t shake the gnawing sensation that—somewhere along the way—your life stopped being written by you. You’re anxious all the time; you bite your lips until they bleed and wring your ringless hands and rarely sleep. You feel restless and ineffectual and nervy, like there’s some inescapable horror crouched behind every door you open, every page you turn. You feel the opposite of free.

Your mother notes casually, drying a china plate patterned with pink roses and edged with gold: “It must get difficult sometimes, having to share him with the world.”

You gaze into the nest of pearlescent bubbles that pop around your wrists like interrupted dreams, like broken promises. “You have no idea.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s December 21st, 1977, and you’re twelve weeks pregnant.

Blood trickles down your palm, the underside of your wrist, your velveteen-soft forearm. You hold the wad of gauze against the Scottish roadie’s pouring nose. What’s this one’s name? Nick? Nate? Niall? You’ve lost track. Whoever he is, he sustained an accidental elbow to the face as the crew was unloading the band’s luggage from the tour bus and is now slumped on the marble floor of the New Orleans Ritz-Carlton, splattered with drops of blood like the freckles sprayed across his pale cheeks. Giant red bows and Christmas trees trimmed with twinkling white lights rim the lobby.

“Alright, let’s take a look.” You lift the gauze away; the bleeding has slowed considerably. You gingerly probe the bridge of his nose as the roadie moans in pain.

“You trying to kill me, lady?” he jests.

You wrap an ice pack in fresh gauze and press it against his swollen face. “It’s not broken. Keep the ice on it, apply pressure, come get me if the bleeding doesn’t stop in ten minutes. Okay? You might have black eyes but you’re gonna be fine. You’ll look extra badass for the babes at the club.”

“Okay.” The roadie smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Florence Nightingale.”

You smirk up at Roger. “Did you have to teach them that?”

“You’ve cultivated quite the reputation, love.” He grins, takes a drag off his cigarette, glances around the lobby through his opaque prescription sunglasses. And you’re struck by how pertinent he looks here, in grand rooms with chandeliers and towering ceilings, in famed cities littered across the globe. He belongs in the spotlight. He belongs to the world. He doesn’t belong to just me, and he never will.

You reach for your duffel bag, but Roger yanks it away and slings it over his own shoulder.

“Will you please stop trying to lift heavy things?!” he pleads.

“I’m pregnant, I don’t have brittle bone disease.”

“Brittle bone disease!” Freddie cries, horrified. “Is that an actual ailment?!”

John snickers. “Yes, and it’s sexually transmitted, so watch where you stick your bone.”

“Oh, ha ha ha, you are hilarious!” Freddie says, rolling his large dark eyes. “Worry about your own performance, Mr. Misfire. Bri, you’ll join us for a drink tonight, won’t you?”

“Well...” Brian hesitates, and you suspect you know why. He’s been looking forward to this stop for months, Queen’s last in the States during the News Of The World tour; after two days in New Orleans the band will fly back to London, spend the holidays there, resume the tour with shows throughout Europe beginning in April. In just a few rotations of the Earth, Brian will be back at home with Chrissie and the twins. But tonight he has plans to see the girl he calls Peaches.

“You undependable poodle,” Freddie scolds. Then, saccharinely, batting his eyelashes: “But you’ll surely come along, won’t you Nurse Nightingale?”

“Fred...I hate to disappoint, but...”

“This is unacceptable!” he exclaims. “I am distraught! Not even an orgy with spicy Cajun men will lift my spirits!”

“I doubt that,” you reply, smiling. “I’m exhausted, Freddie. This making a kid business isn’t easy.”

“Oh, but you’re not too exhausted to cart around luggage like a fucking alpaca!” Roger massages your shoulders, enfolds the slight bump of your belly with his hands, lands a series of featherlight kisses down your neck. He’s still clean, he’s still effervescent, he’s continuously devoted in a way that is unusual for him, tender and sensitive, simultaneously ecstatic for the future and nostalgic for the past. “Want me to stay?”

“For fuck’s sake!” Freddie laments.

“That’s alright. John said I can help him wrap Christmas presents for Veronica and the kids. I’m learning how to be all maternal and domestic, isn’t that exciting?”

“I’d say you’re fairly effortlessly maternal,” Roger says, rather proudly. “Want me to bring you back anything?”

“No, I’m okay. I’ll send a roadie for chili cheese fries or something.”

“You can send them for lobster and filet mignon. Whatever you want.” He reaches into the pocket of his fitted black jeans and pulls out a small ring box.

“Roger...?”

He opens it, grinning, and taps an antique gold ring with a ruby stone into his calloused palm. “I found this at a shop in Miami. You remember the first time we were ever there? March of 1975. Hotel room with a view that looked out onto the beach, taking photos on the balcony with the ocean crashing behind you, feeding the seagulls chips until the bitches started attacking us.”

“I never forget.” And that’s true; there have been times you wish you could, but you don’t.

Roger takes your left hand and slips the ring onto your wedding finger. Then he lifts your knuckles to his lips, bites them gently, leaves faint burning indents in the flesh.

“I love it,” you breathe, turning your hand back and forth, watching the lights from the Christmas trees glimmer off the ruby. It feels real in a way that sharing a future with Roger hasn’t for a long time.

“Now don’t get all emotional over it. It doesn’t mean anything, you know.” Roger winks and lands a parting kiss on your forehead. Then he passes your duffel bag to a roadie, who vanishes with it into an elevator. “Deaks, you’ll take care of my girl?”

“I always do,” John replies.

“Have fun,” you tell Roger, beaming up at him. “But not too much fun.” This could work. This could really work.

Freddie crosses himself like one of Veronica’s Catholic great aunts. “Depravity? Us? Never in a million years, darling.” Then he hooks an arm around Roger and leads him towards the glass hotel doors. They’re engulfed by a crowd of Queen’s roadies, laughing and shoving each other playfully: Ratty Hince, Paul Prenter, Chris Taylor (dubbed Crystal by the band), Brian Spencer, John Harris, others whose names you haven’t committed to memory yet.

“You ready, Emily Post?” John asks, heading towards the nearest elevator, and you follow him.

In his hotel room is a messy stack of gifts accumulated over the past month and a half from tour stops all over the United States: tiny model Liberty Bells from Philadelphia, Yankees baseball caps from New York City, a slot machine that spits out gumballs from Las Vegas, red socks embroidered with the logo of—what else?—the Boston Red Sox, NASA astronaut action figures from Houston, teddy bears wearing Cubs t-shirts from Chicago, plushies from the Miami aquarium: a hammerhead shark for Laszlo, a dolphin for Anna, and an octopus for the newest Deacon due in mid-February. You and John sit on the floor together in a flurry of tubes of Christmas-themed wrapping paper, stick-on bows, name labels, greeting cards, and pens. John flips through the tv channels until he finds It’s A Wonderful Life. You send a roadie to get dinner from a New Orleans-based fast food chain called Popeyes, and you take leisurely breaks between gift wrapping to chomp on crispy chicken wings and biscuits and mini apple pies and to guzzle down towering cups of Southern-style sweet tea.

“Octopuses are gender-neutral, right?” John asks, floundering as he tries to wrap all eight tentacles individually.

“Totally.” You’ve been brainstorming how best to package the slot machine for fifteen minutes. You take another contemplative bite of a flaky biscuit. “These kids are gonna be super confused when it comes time to pick a favorite team for the World Series.”

“Well obviously they’ll have to be Boston fans or I’ll disown them.”

You sigh contently. “This is just too adorable. I want to wake up early on Christmas morning and open presents with some hyperactive children. Please adopt me into your family.”

“Done. You’re in.”

You laugh. “I don’t think Slavic Jesus thinks highly of polygamy.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, who said anything about a second wife? You can be the live-in nanny but also the filthy secret mistress. Take it or leave it. Final offer.”

“Alright, Mr. Misfire. But you’ll have to fuck me for at least slightly longer than two minutes.”

Oh god, I should not have said that.

John stares at you. You stare back. And something flies between you, something like a pop of static electricity or a firing neuron, something hot and lightning-quick. There’s blood flushing his cheeks, but it’s not quite embarrassment; you know because the same heat is swirling in yours.

Stop, you order yourself.

But it’s too late, now you’re thinking about it, what it would be like: what he would feel like, taste like. Not like wildfire, reckless and consuming, disaster nipping at its heels. Something different, something constant and dependable and soulful, something that feels like home anywhere in the world.

It wasn’t about me. It wasn’t about me. You’re My Best Friend wasn’t about me.

John grabs a sheet of crinkling wrapping paper patterned with chortling Santa Claus faces and drags it over his lap to conceal the sizable bulge growing there in his white pants. You pretend—unconvincingly, you’re sure—not to notice.

Finally, he chuckles uneasily. “However you want it.”

“I’m so sorry. That was wildly inappropriate. I’m hormonal and stupid.”

“I kind of like you hormonal and stupid.”

“Well don’t get used to it, this is a temporary condition.”

“You really can come over,” John says. “On Christmas morning. You and Roger can come over if you want to. The kids love you both. And honestly neither of them are old enough to remember this year anyway, so no pressure if you fuck up Christmas by being accidentally slutty or whatever.”

The smile ripples through the muscles of your face, uncoiling all the tension there. He really does make everything better. “Okay. But you have to promise to behave too.”

He shrugs coyly, lights a cigarette, watches you as he exhales smoke. “You’ve always said I have game.”

There are voices out in the hallway, uproarious laughter, the pounding of irregular footsteps, thumps against the walls. You can hear Freddie giggling: “Rog, darling, come on, get it together...!”

John furrows his brow at you. He doesn’t say anything, but you know that look. What John means is: Is he okay?

“I’m sure he’s fine,” you reply. He’s been fine all tour.

And then, more desperately: He HAS to be fine. Not just for me anymore.

“Rog?!” Freddie shrieks, and now the voices are louder, more numerous. There’s one massive thud. Someone screams for help.

You and John scramble to your feet. You snatch your kit off the dresser and bolt out into the hallway. Roger is sprawled on the floor in the center of a reeling crowd, unconscious, gasping for air, his skin a starved bluish. Freddie and Crystal are hovering over him, shouting and horrified.

“Oh my god,” John says.

“Call an ambulance,” you tell him, and John sprints back into his hotel room.

You shove Freddie and Crystal aside and kneel beside Roger, jostle him awake, pry open his eyes and shine your flashlight into them. His pupils are pinpricks. His breathing is shallow and uneven. You close your fingers around his right wrist; his skin is drenched with sweat. Roger’s pulse is erratic, fading.

“Roger, can you hear me?”

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs. Then he blacks out again.

“What did he take?” you pitch at Freddie.

Freddie and Crystal exchange a glance, hesitating.

“If you don’t tell me what it was he’s going to die, what did he take?!”

“He wasn’t in the same room as us,” Freddie says, his voice quaking. “We don’t know—”

“So you left him alone,” you seethe. “Of course you fucking did.”

Roger’s hand shoots up and seizes your shirt, twisting the fabric in his gnarled fingers. “Speedball,” he rasps. His vivid blue eyes—like bruises, like veins, like cold rain—are huge and bloodshot and frantic. He’s begging for his life. He’s begging you to save him. “The guy said it was a speedball.”

You know exactly what a speedball is; it’s your job to know things like that, to know all the chemical combinations that errant rock stars love destroying themselves with. “A speedball has heroin in it, Roger!”

“I can’t breathe,” he sighs dispassionately, as if it doesn’t bother him at all. His eyes are glassy now, unseeing.

“Don’t you fucking die on me!” You rake through your kit for the vial of Naloxone that you thought you’d never need. That’s not for bands like Queen, you remember thinking when the record company insisted you carry it. That’s for people like The Rolling Stones or Black Sabbath or maybe even Fleetwood Mac on a bad day, but not Queen. Not my boys. Not my Roger.

Oh, but has he ever really been mine?

You pull a syringe out of your kit, throw off the cap, and hold the vial of Naloxone upside down. You stab the needle through the rubber stopper and measure out 1cc—an entire syringe’s worth—of the drug that can reverse opioid overdoes. CAN, not will. It doesn’t always work.

Freddie is sobbing as Crystal drapes an arm over his shoulder and turns him away. So they don’t have to watch. So they don’t have to see him die.

You don’t have the luxury of not watching.

John is back. “What can I do?” he asks.

“Shake him. Keep him awake. Hit him if you have to.”

John kneels, cups Roger’s face in his hands, smacks his cheek each time Roger begins to nod off. Roger gazes up at him numbly, breathing in haphazard wheezes. “Stay with me, Rog. That’s it. Stay with me, you’re gonna be fine...”

You pinch a tiny roll of fat in Roger’s upper arm and jab the needle in. You push down the plunger and 1cc of Naloxone vanishes from the syringe barrel as it surges into Roger’s disordered bloodstream. You toss the syringe away and rub his arm as crimson blood beads from the injection wound.

“Come on, Roger,” you beg him. “Come on, Roger, please...”

You fill another syringe and inject it an inch below the first puncture mark. Roger’s eyes—those eyes that you’ve been trying to claw your way out of since you first saw them across a hospital room in the June of 1974—flutter closed. His sweated rib cage stills.

“Roger?!” John roars, shaking him. “Roger, Rog, wake up!”

“Roger!” you scream.

He sucks down a sudden breath—deep, clear, life-giving—and his intense blue eyes fly open.

“Oh thank god!” you cry, clutching your chest. “John, help me, help me get him up...”

Together with Fred and Crystal you drag Roger to his feet, force him to walk, parade him up and down the hallway until the paramedics arrive and ferry him away—still dazed and ghastly pale, still grasping for you and muttering things you don’t understand—and then your adrenaline rush evaporates and you crumble to the floor, one shaking hand covering your face, the other on the small swell of your belly.

I’m so sorry, little guy, little lady. You deserve better than us.

“I have to go after him,” you tell John when he reaches for you, trying to lift you off the floor. “I have to make sure he’s okay, the Naloxone, it could wear off before the heroin does, and it...it...it can stop an opioid overdose but speedballs have coke in them too and he could still have effects from that...”

“Okay, no problem, we can go, come on, we’ll get a cab and we’ll be right behind them.”

And you remember what Roger once told you as the planet rolled into 1975, under streetlights casting islands of luminance in an ocean of cold darkness: But I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage. And isn’t that what this was all about for you anyway?

But Roger was wrong.

My life does feel like a cage. It feels exactly like a cage.

You sputter weakly: “He’s not, he isn’t, he can’t...”

“What?” John presses. “Slow down. Breathe. Tell me.”

“He’s never going to change, John,” you whisper. The weight of the ruby ring is heavy on your trembling left hand. “He’s never going to change.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 15th, 1978, and you’re nineteen weeks pregnant.

The kitchen phone rings, and you answer. The date for your twenty-week ultrasound is circled on the calendar in red ink. “Hello?”

“Do you need to get out of the house?” John asks. “Because I really need to get out of the house.”

You do, incidentally. Yesterday was Valentine’s Day, and Roger did everything right: a bouquet of pink roses and carnations waiting on the kitchen table when you woke up, a new Ferrari parked in the driveway, a candlelit dinner at Mon Plaisir. It was a little too right, actually, like Roger was trying to coax you into serenity, like he was proving how illogical it would be to consider ever being unhappy with him, like he was making up for something; and that’s how things feel a lot of the time, now that you think of it. Roger is fine, mostly. He’s home, usually. He’s clean until he isn’t, and then afterwards he’s so dazzlingly radiant and kind that you can’t stand the thought of not being there to help if he needs you, can’t remember your frustration or your anger half as much as your fear of losing him. And it’s incredible how good you’ve gotten at pushing the memory of that News Of The World headline out of your mind, like it was something from a soap opera or a cheap romance novel, like it was just a slice of scandalous fiction that happened to somebody else. That’s the way the body works too, isn’t it? Wounds close over, livers regenerate, old cells slough away and reveal fresh tissue beneath with no recollection of the pain that comes tangled up with all the other eventualities of existence. Times like Valentine’s Day are a revival, a resurrection: brand new cells, a healed fracture, a shot of Naloxone to restore the blood to equilibrium. But today is not Valentine’s Day, and Roger isn’t home. You aren’t entirely sure where he is, and you don’t know if you’d want to be. “Yeah, I’ll pick you up. I can show you my wicked new ride.”

“I’m intrigued. You’ll have to let me drive it one day.”

“What, directly into a cop car?”

“You’re awful and I hate you,” John says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “See you at 8? There’s a new disco in Soho I’m dying to check out.”

“Sure thing, I just have to make myself glamorous first. It’s quite a process now that I have all the elegance and svelteness of a large marine mammal. But I’ll rise to the occasion. I’ll be the most attractive whale you’ve ever seen.”

He chuckles. “I don’t doubt that at all.”

You roll up to John’s Putney house in your maroon Ferrari, the convertible top down despite the biting cold, a bomber jacket—just a tad too tight to zip up over your bump—concealing your short black dress. Pregnancy has finally started to look good on you, aforementioned marine-mammal-ness notwithstanding: your hair is thick and gleaming, your skin clear, your face fuller and emitting a mysterious, ethereal sort of glow. You check your hair and makeup in the rear view mirror as John jogs out of his front door. He stops dead in the driveway.

“Wow.”

You pat the passenger’s seat. “Hop in, felon.”

“He bought you a freaking Ferrari?!”

“Am I not worth it?” you joke, flipping your hair.

John slides into the car. “How do I become married to Roger Taylor? Tell me your secrets.”

“Well, to receive a Ferrari, you’ll probably have to get pregnant with his firstborn child too.”

“Ahhh. A minor obstacle.”

You laugh as you spin out of the driveway and cruise towards downtown London. Then you peer over at John, really taking him in, reading him like heart rates or units of measurement inked to the barrel of a syringe. His elbow is propped up on the window sill, his chin nestled in the heel of his hand, his blue-grey eyes unfocused as they gaze out into the night sky and streetlights that flicker by like the episodic flashes of a firefly. “Are you okay, John?” you ask seriously.

“Yeah,” he replies, a prospect that seems implausible.

“I’m glad you called.” You both know what that means: Roger isn’t home, I don’t know where he is, I don’t know when he’s coming back or what condition he’ll be in when he does.

John smirks wryly. “You have a shit husband. I am a shit husband. We should stick together, people like you and me.”

The disco is a small place called Lo Asilo with neon blue lights rimming the entrance way like vines laced through a trellis. John orders a Manhattan for himself, goes back and forth with the bartender for a while about the virgin drink options, ends up passing you a non-alcoholic raspberry mojito.

“I love it,” you pronounce after a tentative sip. This kid loves fruit. And sugar. And you feel a abrupt groundswell of affection for that sometimes inconvenient, frequently anxiety-inducing little person who temporarily shares your blood and bones: who they are, who they one day will be. These moments are coming more and more often, as your future solidifies in some ways and becomes more imprecise in others.

“You’re almost halfway done,” John says, pointing at your belly like he can read your mind.

You sigh. “Do we have to talk about me?”

“We definitely can’t talk about me.” He studies you for a moment, makes mental notes like someone browsing through archaeological artifacts in a museum. Then he realizes: “You don’t want to have to stay home.”

You nod, downing your sort-of-mojito. No offense, kid, but I could really use some mind-numbing inebriation right now.

“Because you don’t trust him...?”

“It’s not quite that,” you reply. “I can’t stand the thought of not being there if something happened to him. If something happened to any of you. If I wasn’t there to at least try to help and someone ended up...you know...” Goddammit, I’m so much more sensitive these days. You force it out. “If someone ended up dying, I wouldn’t be able to live with that.”

“No one’s going to die, love,” he says gently.

“People die all the time. Especially rock stars. Hendrix, Joplin, Morrison, Murcia, McIntosh, Bolin. I could go on. There will be more names a year from now. Maybe some we recognize.”

“What do you want me to do? You want me to haul him off to rehab? You want me to handcuff him to his hotel bed every night we’re on tour? I’ll do it if you think that would help. I’ll do whatever you want. Obviously I don’t want to lose him either. But I’ve never known Roger to be someone you could force into anything.”

“No, he’s definitely not,” you agree softly, in surrender.

The opening notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Go Your Own Way rumble from the stereo. John knocks back the end of his Manhattan and sets the glass on the bar.

“Alright, congratulations, you get your wish.” He grins, holding out his hand. “We don’t have to talk about you anymore.”

“I’m warning you, I am zero percent graceful in my current state.”

“I’ll manage somehow.”

“Loving you

Isn't the right thing to do

How can I ever change things

That I feel?”

John leads, pushing through the crowd to a spot near the center of the kaleidoscopic dance floor. Then he knots his fingers through yours, sways with the music, dances comically sluggishly as you struggle to keep up, twirls you randomly until you’re giggling against him, blushing and not thinking about Roger or the tour or your impending career change at all; and you suspect John isn’t thinking about Veronica either. You belt out the lyrics at the top of your lungs, flouncing around like an extremely ungainly Stevie Nicks, and after a moment John joins you, pumping his fist in the air:

“You can go your own way

Go your own way

You can call it

Another lonely day...”

And it feels good. It feels more than good. It feels almost like being free.

Lindsay Buckingham’s guitar solo splits through the fog-filled room, and your smile begins to fade, recedes like the frothing ocean waves at low tide. And you think, more clearly and more inauspiciously than you ever have in your life: Something’s wrong.

The body knows when it nears catastrophe. There’s a primal dread that sparks up in the blood and nerves and endocrine system, seeps from your pores like smoke, cloaks you in that bleak, biological premonition. Dogs can smell it, can be trained to alert people before that nascent calamity manifests into a cardiac arrest or diabetic coma or asthma attack or stroke; and humans can feel it when that inevitable devastation creeps close enough, when it sharpens its fangs and scrapes them down the jugular. You’ve never truly been able to understand that before. But you recognize it now.

There’s cold sweat springing up on your skin like goosebumps. There’s a stormy rush of blood pounding in your ears. You can’t remember the name of the club, the city, the type of car Roger bought you for Valentine’s Day, the stone gleaming in your ring. The air that you wrench into your lungs is thin and fleeting, without the relief of oxygen. There’s an indescribably heavy iron twist of fear buried in your guts.

John freezes in the middle of the dance floor. “What?” he asks, alarmed.

There’s pain; sudden, sharp, low. Your eyes follow it. There’s blood snaking down your bare thighs. There’s indigo darkness crumbling around the edges of your vision as you sink to the floor. Your knees bruise against cold tile.

Someone is screaming for help; you aren’t sure who. But you reach for them, because they sound so irrevocably strong, because they sound like home. Your fingertips collide with John’s leather jacket.

“Make it stop,” you choke out through bared teeth, as claws of glass and barbed wire tear at where your future once lived. The agony is unnatural, razored, almost surgical.

“I can’t. Here, we’re gonna get you help, hold on, hold on to me—”

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” you sob into John’s neck. His skin is stubbled and dusted with nicotine and flare-hot. He’s trying to drag you to your feet, shouting over his shoulder for someone to call an ambulance. “I don’t want this anymore, I don’t want any of it. I don’t want to see the world. I want to go home.”

“Don’t say that, everything’s going to be okay, they’re coming, listen to me, listen to me, I’m going to get you help—”

“It’s too late,” you whisper. And every light in the world blinks out.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s February 16th, 1978, and you’re not pregnant at all.

You’re a registered nurse, and so you understand perfectly the terms that the doctors use when they explain to you why it happened, after they do the ultrasound to make sure the miscarriage was complete; when they tell you why it was doomed from the start. Stage 4 endometriosis. Placental abruption. Difficult to conceive, nearly impossible to carry to term. An open and shut case. That’s the genetic lottery, and some people roll straight sevens, blood-red sevens rimmed with fool’s gold.

What you have a harder time understanding is how this could have happened to you. How is it possible to have all of that organic poison building inside of you, all that latent ruin, and yet not know it? To have never had any symptoms besides slightly-more-annoying-than-average periods? To have a nursery set up in one of the five extraneous bedrooms—the one with the blue-grey wallpaper, to be exact—with a crib your child will never use, never peer out of with their tiny fists curled around the wooden bars, never cry out to you in the middle of the night from? To have a list of names scribbled on a notepad stuck to the refrigerator—Roger favors deeply Anglophile possibilities like Arthur and Jasper and Alice, while you tend towards names with a Southern European flair like Aurelia, Callista, Felix, Augustus, although you both quite like the idea of incorporating some variation of John—that you suddenly have no use for? To have to inform your husband, your parents, your friends that there is no baby, that there most likely never will be, and that it’s entirely your fault: So terribly sorry, due to a genetic glitch my womb is rendered inhospitable, we’ll have to leave that ultimate trophy of womanhood off the shelf indefinitely I’m afraid.

You’re in and out through the night. The dreams are murky and fragmented and ominous, jolting you awake four times an hour. John never leaves, except to periodically phone the Surrey house from the nurse’s station. And there’s pain now, of course, even through the haze of the morphine drip—your uterus cramping down to collapse the void, your head splitting from the shock and hormonal bedlam—but it’s almost like that pain belongs to someone else, someone you might have heard of but don’t know especially well. The pain doesn’t surprise you. What surprises you is the totality of the darkness that rolls over you like a quilt, like a second skin.

Shouldn’t I feel at least some infinitesimal amount of relief, of liberation? Shouldn’t I feel free?

“I don’t feel free,” you murmur, your voice hoarse and very quiet.

“What?” John leans into you, takes your hand in his, lays his palm on your forehead and smooths back your hair. Harsh morning sunlight streams in through the window. “What did you say?”

“I don’t feel free at all. I just feel empty.”

His greyish eyes are slick and anguished. “I am so fucking sorry,” he says, his voice breaking.  

You whisper: “He’s never going to be able to love me now.”

“Shhhhh, don’t,” John pleads. “He’s always loved you. As much as he can, and in the way that he can.”

“You’ve been here all night.”

“Of course.” And he hasn’t managed to tell Roger. Which means Roger hasn’t come home yet.

You shake your head groggily. “No, you have your own family. You have to go home.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he says tersely.

“John, you have to go home. You have to call at least. Veronica could have gone into labor or something.”

“No, seriously, it’s fine, she pops out one a year no problem. I’m staying.”

A scalding tear slinks down your cheek. “You’re lucky to have her.”

“They must have you on a lot of drugs.”

You laugh, then begin to cry.

“Hey, don’t do that, please don’t do that, shhhh...”

John climbs into the hospital bed and you fold into him, burrow into his warmth that smells like cigarettes and dusky cologne and Manhattans, sob against his chest as he locks his arms around you and pulls you in until there’s no space, no air, no line between you at all.

“You have to be okay,” he murmurs, his lips to your forehead. “I need you to be okay for me. Because when I was messed up I didn’t get better for me, I didn’t do it for me, I got better for you. So now you need to get better too, okay?”

“Okay,” you promise, not meaning it at all.

And he makes you promise again and again until you drift back to sleep with his steady heartbeat drumming against your palm, just loud enough to keep the dreams away.

~~~~~~~~~~

John finally reaches Roger at 9:47 a.m. Roger arrives at the hospital twenty minutes later, his hair a chaotic tangle, his eyes shielded by prescription sunglasses, still wearing the sapphire blue suit he left the house in the night before, his tie undone and several buttons missing from his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Roger begins. “I was at this party and met some guys who wanted to collaborate on my solo album, and it turned into a whole...oh, fuck, it doesn’t matter. Is she—?”

John grabs him, pushes him against the hallway wall, yanks off Roger’s sunglasses and pries open his eyes. Roger flinches, but doesn’t struggle.

“What—?”

“I’m making sure you’re not high.” John observes normal pupils and shoves Roger away, disgusted. “Get in there. She needs you.”

“You’ve done a lot for us,” Roger says.

“It’s mutual.”

“Thank you.” There are tears in Roger’s crystalline blue eyes. “Thank you so much, John.”

John nods towards the hospital room. “Just go.”

She wakes up when she hears the door open, and she knows it’s Roger instantly. Of course she does. Everyone knows the way a room changes when Roger walks into it, the way he lights up people and places like wildfire, the way he gets humans addicted to his innate magnetism the same way some are hooked on coke or alcohol or heroin. John isn’t that kind of man, and he knows it. He will never be that kind of man.

“I’m so sorry,” she tells Roger.

Roger shakes his head, cradling her face in his hands. “Baby, I’m not mad. I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you.”

John watches as she explains everything, as Roger embraces her, as he says all the right things, all those beautiful and hopeful and effortlessly spellbinding things, as she begins—slowly, yes, but unmistakably—to light up again like rising sunlight glinting off quicksilver waves.

And only then does John leave.

[gingerwritess]

I was at the dentist today and started thinking how it would be loki going to the dentist with Elliot 😂

summary: a trip to the dentist becomes a little more than it should have.

warnings: couple’s fighting, arguing, bad words, a tiny bit angsty, and sum nice fluff afterwards

a/n: this wasn’t supposed to turn into this giant not completely fluffy one shot but suddenly it was 3am and whoops here we are

i really enjoyed writing my first first between you and Loki? it’s neat to get in his head and think about what he might get mad about, triggers, how he would be angry, etc. so i got a lil carried away. enjoy!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

You really should’ve known better than to bring Loki to Elliot’s dentist appointment.

The moment the poor old dentist picks up the little handheld drill and approaches Elliot in the chair, Loki has him by the throat dangling a good twelve inches off the ground.

“LOKI! STOP IT!!”

The dentist’s glasses go flying when Loki slams him against the wall, eyes raging; “how dare you threaten my child?!”

Utter chaos ensues.

Nurses come running, someone is screaming into the phone—shit, they’re calling the police—Elliot bursts into laughter, you’re grabbing Loki’s arm and screaming at him to put the poor guy down, and the dentist is absolutely petrified; naturally, considering Loki looks (uh…is) ready to kill him.

“Stop it, Loki, stop that right now!” You screech, hitting his arm and tugging at his waist but the god doesn’t budge, his grip tightening around the dentist’s throat. “Do NOT kill this man!”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t dismember you as we speak,” he spits in the dentist’s face, and you know that’s the only response you’re going to get; he’s much too blinded by the idea of the man threatening to harm his son.

“He’s a dentist, Loki, just a dentist!! He isn’t threatening Elliot!”

“He dares to approach my son with that weapon and expects us to sit idly by?! You disgusting creature,” he hisses and slams the dentist back into the wall. Elliot giggles, much to your concern, eagerly clapping his little hands and watching his dad. “I will ensure that you pay dearly for this, preying on the young and helpless—”

“LOKI WILL YOU PUT HIM DOWN ALREADY?”

The whole scene screeches to a halt and every head in the room turns to stare at you; except little Elliot, who is still excitedly watching his father reluctantly drop the terrified dentist to the floor.

“Sorry…will you excuse us for a moment?” You wrap your fingers around his wrist and yank him out into the waiting room, ignoring the other family sitting there that jumps when you shove Loki into a corner and point a threatening finger in his chest. “What the hell was that?!”

“That man threatened our child!” He’s still raging and flings a hand at the door you just came from, then points an angry finger right back at you. “You are not reacting nearly as much as you ought to, being the mother of our child!”

“Excuse me? Oh I’m sorry, was I supposed to join you when you started strangling that poor man in front of our kid?”

“Yes!”

The couple pretending not to overhear pick up their little girl and nonchalantly scoot a couple more seats away from the two of you.

“No! It’s a goddamn dentist, genius! You didn’t need to start throwing him into walls—”

“He threatened our son!” Loki rakes his hands through his hair, gritting his teeth; why aren’t you as upset about this as he is?!

But you can’t even comprehend why Loki would do something like this, why he is so angry, and why he’s now yelling at you too, in the lobby of a children’s dental clinic. “He’s just trying to clean his teeth!”

Loki’s jaw drops. “Why are you defending him, wife?!”

“Because he’s just a dentist, Loki, a f—”

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT WORD MEANS!”

Your finger freezes in the air jabbing at his chest and you gape at your husband—that makes a lot of sense, actually.

“I—oh.” Guilt starts to spread through you; of course he wouldn’t know what a dentist is. He’s not exactly from around here, and have you seen the guy’s teeth? Pearly white and annoyingly perfect. The god has probably never even heard of such a thing as braces or cavities. “I’m sorry, babe. I had no idea you didn’t know.”

“Clearly,” he hisses, crossing his arms and glaring at you. “And now I’m the fool. Are you going to educate me or not, mortal?”

Oh crap. He’s actually mad, his eyes flashing and he just called you “mortal”—and not in a cute way.

“Hey, ease up a bit.” You put your hands up in defence, trying not to shrink under his piercing gaze and clenched jaw. “I didn’t know you didn’t know what a dentist was, it’s kinda something everyone knows!”

“How was I supposed to?” Loki shouts, throwing his hands out in exasperation as sarcasm drips from his voice. “I don’t know if you realise this, but you and I are entirely different beings, so thank you so much for taking my ignorance into consideration.”

“Well no shit, Loki, I should have warned you, but—”

“But what? Aren’t you enjoying this? Feeling above me, with all my stupidity?” He’s leering down at you now, a sick smile on his face as he mocks you.

“Loki, stop it, I said I’m sorry—”

“You like knowing more than a god, hm?” He takes a step closer to you, leaning menacingly over you as he gives a sour laugh.

“You’re not even letting me say anything, I’m trying to help y—”

“Oh, shut up, you love this power trip. It feels good to laugh at a higher being, doesn’t it?”

“That’s it.” You slap his pointed, mocking finger away from you and step away from him, giving him the most disappointed look you can manage. “I’m going back in there to clean up yet another one of your messes, and to be with our son while he’s just getting his fucking teeth cleaned.”

Loki doesn’t say anything, just firmly clenches his jaw and stares at you, his breathing jagged. “Fine.”

“Fine? Really,” you laugh bitterly, “that’s all you have to say?”

His nostrils flare as he glares down at you but his teeth stay gritted together, bared in what can only be described as a snarl.

“Fine.” You give a short laugh of disbelief at his silence, shaking your head. “When you’ve gotten that ginormous head of yours out of your ass,” you turn and storm off to the room your son is in, spitting the last words back at your husband over your shoulder, “then you can come home.”

The door swings shut behind you and the waiting room falls completely silent; the little family now cowering in the corner is pretending like they didn’t hear any of the argument that had just taken place, and the young guy at the front desk is staring at a blank computer screen, eyes nervously flicking over to the silently fuming god every few seconds.

Loki can hear his heart pounding as he glares around the room, daring anyone to approach him, and he clenches his hands into two burning, shaking fists by his sides. A surge of angered energy is emitted from his whole body, and the stack of magazines on the centre table crashes to the ground as chairs around him go flying into the walls.

The little girl with her parents in the corner bursts into tears, and Loki storms out the door without so much as a second look behind him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“Where’s daddy?”

Elliot keeps asking the same question over and over again, happily sucking on a lollipop that’s turning his lips blue in the backseat of the car.

“I don’t know, sweetie,” you tell him once again, your grip on the steering wheel a little too tight. “Hopefully he’s waiting for us at home.”

He falls quiet for a moment with your answer, the only sounds in the car being the soft clicking of your turn signal. Your mind is frankly in shambles right now, because when you had finally left the dentist after apologising to the entire staff and trying to give an excuse for your husband, he wasn’t waiting outside for you. Loki wasn’t anywhere to be found, and after waiting a while for him to come back, you’d decided to just take your son back home.

All that is going through your mind are the awful, horrid things you had said to Loki, everything you shouldn’t have ever said to him. Of course you regret it. Everything. Telling him it was his mess, making him feel in any way belittled for not knowing what a dentist is, calling him bigheaded…you blink back a few angry tears.

But Loki is just as much at fault for your little…you don’t want to call it a fight. But that’s exactly what it was, and he had definitely overreacted and let his pride get the better of him, resulting in one of the worst fights you’ve ever had—and it was in the lobby of a dentist office. So. stupid. Now he’s god knows where, and you can only hope he regrets what he said as much as you do.

“Maybe daddy left cause he got scared of the dentist? I didn’t like the dentist my first time either!”

You almost want to laugh at the kid’s cute suggestion, but your heart feels too hollow to give Elliot anything more than a sad half-smile in the rear view mirror. “Maybe. But daddy’s pretty brave.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, but when you look at him in the mirror, he’s deep in thought staring at his lollipop. “Did I do somethin’ bad? Daddy said we’d get ice cream after my ‘pointment, but he’s gone.”

Oh, Loki, we fucked up big time. You want to cry and I don’t know, punch the steering wheel at your son’s question, but you just grip it tighter and squeeze your eyes shut for a moment. That little fight did a million times more damage than it should have, and now your four year old son is blaming himself, and you have no idea where your husband is—all you know is that he’s mad at you.

“No, no, you didn’t do anything, Elliot. It’s not your fault,” you assure him, reaching back to give his knee a comforting squeeze. “Daddy’s not very happy with me right now, actually.”

“He’s mad at you?”

“…a little bit, yes.” You sigh and pull into your driveway, turning off the car and twisting in your seat to look at your son. “I said some things that I shouldn’t have said, and dad did too, so he left to go calm down.”

Hopefully.

Elliot mulls over your words for a bit, not sure how he feels about this, and you can’t blame him. You and Loki hardly ever even argue, and you never, ever do so in front of your son.

“…but daddy still loves us, right?”

Okay, your heart didn’t need to be shattered like that. You silently curse your husband for making Elliot even think thoughts like this—but you can only curse yourself, too.

“Of course he does!” You unbuckle and reach back to grab Elliot’s hand, trying to give him a reassuring smile. “He is always going to love us. Especially you. He’s got a special little place in his heart that has your name on it, did you know that?”

That thankfully brings a bright smile to the little boy’s face, and he sticks his lollipop back in his mouth as he tries to unbuckle from his car seat. “It says Elliot on his heart,” he repeats, mostly talking to himself now. “E-double-L-i-o-t.”

“That’s right, kiddo.” Now you’re smiling too, this little mini-Loki just too much cuteness to handle. Elliot’s struggling with his seat belt and you start to open your door to go get him, but the front door of the house swings open and Loki sulks outside, his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Daddy!” Elliot waves his lollipop at him through the car window, and Loki acknowledges him with a tight-lipped smile. “See, mommy? He loves us. You’ll make it all better.”

“Yeah, we will…” your voice trails off as you watch Loki walk to Elliot’s door, avoiding your gaze the whole way, and he opens it and unbuckles his son.

“I’m sorry I had to leave,” he says, pointedly speaking only to the little boy he’s now setting on the ground. “Why don’t you go inside? We’ll be right in. I need to talk to your mother.”

Wonderful. You slump back in the drivers seat, crossing your arms and hoping he approaches this ordeal from a somewhat humble standpoint.

Elliot glances at you for a moment, his little mind racing to understand what’s going on, then he looks back at his dad and nods. “Please don’t be mad at my mommy,” he tells Loki, tugging on the hem of his shirt. “She likes you a whole lot.”

Honestly, how do either of you deserve this kid?

Something catches in Loki’s throat and he swallows hard at Elliot’s words, giving him a curt nod. You can hear him muttering under his breath as he ushers Elliot to the door: “I can only hope that’s still the case.”

Idiot.

You don’t look at him when he comes back and climbs in the passenger seat, crossing his arms and fixing his gaze straight forward. No one talks. The tense silence fills the whole car as you both sit there waiting for the other person to speak first, and neither of you will look at the other. You dare a glance over at his crossed arms, his fingertips digging into his own biceps—good, he seems conflicted.

You sigh and look down at your hands in your laps, deciding to make the grown-up decision and just speak first. “Okay, of course I still like you—” you mutter at the exact same time as Loki blurts out “I am so, so sorry—”

“Sorry, go on,” he mumbles and waves a hand to tell you to continue.

“No, no, I liked where yours was going.” It comes out a little more sour than you intended, and you catch Loki’s face fall out of the corner of your eye. “Sorry,” you wince, “um, you first?”

He nods, casting his gaze to his lap where he’s picking absentmindedly at the palm of his left hand. The beginnings of a tiny smile start tugging at your lips and you reach over to take his hand in yours, twining your fingers between his. “I thought you were trying to stop doing that.”

“What?” He freezes when you grab his hand, staring at it with a confused look when you give him a light squeeze.

“Picking at your hands when you’re nervous.”

He scowls and pulls his hand away from you, crossing his arms and turning to stare out the window, looking far too similar to a little kid throwing a tantrum. “I am not nervous. What could I possibly be scared of in this situation, you?”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter and throw your hands in the air in defeat; this healthy discussion has started out wonderfully. Already the giant ego has shown up again, rejecting your attempt to fix the situation and sending Loki spiralling back down into the sarcastic, closed off, troubled mind you worked so hard to brighten.

He’d been so close to apologising, but now his arrogant ass is raging at you—again.

“‘Unbelievable?’ You think I am unbelievable?!” Loki bangs a fist against the door of the car before glancing at you for a split second; he seems to decide better of it and looks away from you again, going back to his sarcastic anger. “Oh, no, I’m just your stupid husband, trying not to ‘lose my way’ around this trash heap of a planet—” his wildly sarcastic hand gestures and jeering tone have your blood boiling yet again.

“Yes! You are un-fucking-believable!” You shout, cutting him off. “Yeah, you should be scared of me! You should be terrified that maybe one day I’ll get tired of your shit and pack up and leave, you arrogant little—”

“No, but you wouldn’t do that, would you!” He gasps in mock surprise, a hand to his chest as he turns to you. “I make you feel too good, don’t I? I make you feel too smart, validated, so needed, thinking you’ve managed to claim yourself a god!” He shakes his head with a cold laugh. “You know, it all makes perfect sense, now, why you claim to want me. You’re just basking in the glory of my ignorance, using me to set you upon some sick throne so you feel needed—”

SMACK.

“Shut up.”

Your hand stings from the burn of his cheekbone on your palm, but you just close your hand into a tight, shaking fist. “Just shut your fucking mouth.”

He’s stunned, mouth hanging open as he slowly brings his head back to stare at you, an angry red mark on his cheek. You hadn’t even slapped him that hard, just to try to knock some sense into him, and you know he couldn’t even feel any pain from your slap anyways with his whole “godly power” he seems to be so obsessed with right now.

But the principle of it…

You just slapped him. You want to break down in tears so badly but not right now, not when he’s in front of you and being so cold.

You’ve rendered him speechless, bringing a hand up to gingerly feel where you slapped him without breaking his dumbfounded gaze with you.

“Are you finished?” Your voice shakes ever so slightly but you try to sound threatening and unaffected by what you just did. “Anything…anything else you’d like to say to me? Your wife?”

When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and low, barely a hiss through gritted teeth, but you swear it sounds almost broken.

“You do know I feel no pain at your hand, yes?” He’s still holding a hand to his cheek, even though he felt nothing more than a slight tickle at your hit, his troubled eyes piercing into yours. “I’m afraid you’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Next time?” Your jaw drops in shock. “Loki, you think there’s going to be a next time?”

“At the rate you and I seem to be communicating, without a doubt.”

You raise your hand again as the split second thought of slapping him again flits through your mind; what has gotten into him? But you immediately change your mind when Loki notices you preparing and closes his eyes with a tiny wince, turning his head slightly to expose his cheek to you once again, already expecting the next blow.

Your heart twists at his reaction; where did you go wrong, to make him think you’re using him? Instead of dropping your hand, you reach out to gently place your hand against his cheek, running your thumb over the mark still burning. He lets out a short, stuttering breath when he feels your touch, gentle this time, almost exhaling in relief.

“Loki. I didn’t do that to hurt you,” you say, your voice quiet. “I know it won’t. If it did I would never have done that.”

“You could never cause me physical pain, no matter how hard you try.” He finally opens his eyes and looks at you, and you’re horrified—but also shamefully relieved—to see his eyes are becoming bloodshot as he fights back tears.

“You really think I want to?” You wipe away the first stray tear from his cheek with the pad of your thumb.

“…do you?”

He’s picking at his hands again.

You take one of his in your open hand, stopping the nervous habit and slipping your fingers between his. “Oh my god…Loki, never.”

The two of you slip into an uncomfortable silence again, each of you wondering what needs to be done, what needs to be changed or said to fix this. You’re still holding his hand, your fingers tight between his, and he’s slowly, slowly twitching his fingers down to curl around your hand as well.

“I don’t know where to begin.”

His voice cuts through the stale, silent air in the car straight to your heart, and you glance up at him. “Some kind of apology would be nice.”

“I’m sorry.”

You sigh and shake your head. “I’m gonna need you to be more specific than that, Loki. But…I’ll give you a minute. I’ll go first.”

He gives you a grateful nod, listening.

“I’m sorry too,” you start, swallowing your pride and trudging on. “It was wrong of me to make you feel in any way stupid, or, or ignorant for not knowing something. And…for everything I said. It was so insensitive.”

The god gives your hand a reassuring squeeze instead of responding, chewing on his bottom lip as he listens.

“And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Loki, for slapping you.” You look at him, wishing he would meet your gaze, but he just stares down at your intertwined hands. “I only did that to try and get you to wake up, and…and I think it was warranted.”

“In every way,” he agrees, finally looking at you. “Thank you for doing that. I think I needed it, I was being a bit…hostile.”

“To say the least…” you chuckle under your breath and he gives a quiet huff of laughter, too.

He twists in his seat to face you, taking both your hands in his and holding them tightly. “I am sorry for treating you like this. For speaking to you in such a disgusting manner, I-I’m ashamed to think of the lies I yelled at you.”

You try to flash him a half-smile for encouragement; it’s clearly difficult for him to be saying this, but he’s so focused on telling you the right words and trying so hard, it’s working on you anyways.

“I am so sorry for doubting you, for accusing you, for blaming you, for forcing you to suffer at the hands of my swollen ego, for forgetting—” his voice breaks and he chokes, quickly trying to cover it up and finishing in a shameful whisper. “—for forgetting to love you.”

Now your eyes are starting to sting with tears, because the way he’s looking at you, clutching your hands as if you might actually go through with your threat and leave him, his eyes are so bare and trusting, pleading with you to take him back.

“I love you,” he mumbles, “you have to know that. I am absolutely horrid at showing it and even worse at saying it, but I do, I truly do love you.”

“I know you do,” you assure him, giving him a teary smile. “I love you too, so damn much, no matter what you do.”

“You really shouldn’t.” Loki tries to return your smile but his face falters under your gaze.

“Go on, stop me.”

That gets a halfhearted grin on his face, and he brings a hand up to cradle the side of your face, running his thumb along your cheekbone. “Don’t tempt me.”

You pull away from his reach and throw open the car door, jumping out and running over to his side before he can even say anything. Ripping open his door, you fling yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his chest. “No more fights, ever, okay?”

Loki’s in shock from your sudden movements, but he quickly wraps his arms around you too, trying to slide out of his seat in the car so he can hold you properly. Once his feet are on the pavement, his arms tighten around you and his head drops to your shoulder, turning slightly to whisper in your ear. “Never again.”

He wants to stay there forever, holding you tighter than he probably should, but who cares; he feels like he almost lost you. But he pulls away abruptly much too soon, his hands on either shoulder to look at you. “Elliot!”

Ah yes. That little angel.

“I think we both owe him an apology.” You nudge Loki’s arm as you begin the walk up to the front door side by side, and he nods, reaching for your hand.

“Actually, I owe him an ice cream, too,” he chuckles, lightly swinging your intertwined hands back and forth between you. “Which reminds me, are you ever going to explain to me what a dentist is?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course,” you laugh, leaning into his side as you walk. “It’s a doctor or healer or whatever you want to call them that like, work specifically on teeth. Well, the whole mouth, really.” 

“Hmm.” He appears to be deep in thought with this new information as you reach for the doorknob, but he tugs your hand and spins you back around to face him.

“Ooh! Well hey there,” you giggle when he catches you and pulls you flush against his chest, grinning down at you and swaying gently from side to side. “What’s this?”

He leans down to rest his forehead against yours, running his hands up and down your back. “I should think I’d like to be a dentist.”

A commotion behind the front door cuts him off as something crashes and you hear a little voice yell “oh NO! I gotta clean that up!” Then footsteps rushing away from whatever mess was just made.

Loki just laughs at your terrified face and doesn’t let you go, pointing at the window next to the door. “He’s fine. And it appears we have an audience now.”

You follow his finger to see Elliot’s face smushed up against the glass, getting handprints all over it as he shoots you both a huge grin and waves. “Did’ya kiss and make up?!” He yells through the glass.

Loki winks at him and holds up a finger, telling him to wait one moment, then turns back to you. “Have I told you how much I love that little boy?”

“I think the feeling is mutual,” you laugh, looking up at him expectantly. “You never finished, why on earth would you want to be a dentist?”

Your husband throws his head back with a laugh, then slips a hand behind your neck to pull you closer as he leans down.

“Because I do enjoy studying your mouth,” he whispers, and he closes the gap between your lips, muffling your hysterical laughter at that terrible, god-awful dad joke.

As you lose yourself to a kiss that’s more laughter than anything, you can hear Elliot start cheering, his yells and clapping muffled behind the window.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, feel free to send me ideas!

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance@destiel1597@dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie@skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea@wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy@laurfangirl424 @paradisaicsam @fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak@chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland@kenzieam @jessiejunebug @catticas@the-republic-and-face-of-texas @doralupin01 @whitewitchdown@atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435  @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettrosella @rocks-are-pretty-odd  @confessionsofastrugglingteen

[dimpled-gukkie]

Second Chance Love

Credit to whoever made this gif 

Pairing: Daycare owner!Hoseok x single mom!Reader (mentions of Jungkook x reader and appearances from Jimin)

Genre: S2L, Fluff with a side of angst 

Word count: 8.1k

Warnings: Death 

Summary: When you first walk into Sunshine Daycare and meet an orange haired man named Jung Hoseok you don’t expect him to be anything more to you than the guy who watches your son during the day. Then day by day he weasels his way into your heart until you’re left wondering what to do. Can you really love someone when a piece of your heart still belongs to someone else?

You feel a tug on your arm and look down seeing your little three year old with a tight grip on your sleeve. You smile gently down at him before carefully removing his hand from your sleeve and holding it instead. You can tell he’s apprehensive to enter the daycare center that looms over you both and crouch down to be eye level with him. “What’s wrong Kai?” You ask noticing his glossy eyes upon further inspection. 

“I don’t want to go in.” His voice is soft, barely a whisper, and nearly gets lost amongst his sniffles. 

“Aww bunny I’m sorry. I’d love to go home too but Mommy has to go to work.” You gently smooth down his hair and bring him into a tight hug. He nestles his head into your neck, his large round glasses cool against your skin. Gently rubbing his back you quietly shush him, holding him close until you no longer hear his sniffles. “I put a special surprise in your lunch you know. But you can only open it if you promise me to go inside and try to have fun.” Kai clutches onto you tighter before taking a big breath and pulling away. 

“Okay.” He pouts and in response you kiss all over his face until he starts giggling. 

“It was your daddy’s favorite.” You wink causing his distinct bunny grin to grow even wider. 

“Can we see daddy later today?” Your heart wrenches a bit at the thought but you hid it behind a bright smile. 

“Sure thing bun. Now come on, your new friends are waiting.” 

The inside of the daycare center is bright, the walls splattered in color. One of them even has a forest scene with little animals scattered about it. Over the counter you can see and hear children running and screaming, which makes Kai clutch onto your hand even tighter. Picking him up, you place him on your hip so he can see over the barrier. “See they’re just playing. You have nothing to worry about.” Kai watches with pursed lips, carefully observing the children before him. His eyes grow wide and his mouth opens as he notices a little girl sitting against the wall by herself watching the other children play. When she looks his way after feeling his stare, he quickly turns his head and hides in your shoulder. “Maybe you should go say hi to her.” You suggest struggling to hide the giggle that your son may be developing a little crush. 

Before you could tease him, a man with bright orange hair emerges from out of seemingly nowhere with two children hanging off his arms. “Hi I’m Hoseok.” He smiles before stretching out a hand. The child is still limply hanging off his arm and you wonder how strong this guy really must be since your arm gets sore just from holding up your straightener and curling iron. The man’s smile drops and only then do you realize you’ve been blankly staring at him. 

“Oh I’m sorry.” You awkwardly laugh, grabbing onto his hand to shake it. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“And what’s your name little man?” Kai worriedly looks at you with wide doe eyes. 

“It’s okay to tell him your name. He’s not a stranger.” He looks at Hoseok again with pursed lips before mumbling out, “Kai.” 

“Nice to meet you Kai.” Hoseok smiles before extending a hand towards your son who gingerly takes it. “I like your backpack. Do you like superheroes?” Kai nods eagerly and points towards his Iron Man backpack. 

“He’s my favorite.” 

“Well if you want to come inside we have some Iron Man toys you could play with.” 

“Is that okay Mommy?” Kai asks turning back towards you. Nodding you set him down before kissing him once on the crown of his head and then once on each cheek. 

“Be good for me today okay? I’ll be back in a bit to pick you up.” Kai eagerly nods before dashing behind the gate Hoseok had opened. You watch after him with sad eyes before he turns around and runs back. Gripping your legs in a tight embrace he mumbles out an I love you before dashing over to the toy box. 

“So what time will you be here to pick him up?” Hoseok asks, stealing your attention away from your son. 

“I get off at 5 so probably around 5:15 or so. Does that work for you?” Hoseok nods. 

“Well I guess I’ll be on my way then. Thanks again Hoseok. Bye bun!” You wave before turning towards the door, dreading each step that takes you further from the light of your life. 

When you get to your desk your coworkers are already sitting in the chairs across with cups of coffee in their hands. “One caramel macchiato for you.” Jennie smiles before handing over the cup. You smile gratefully and take a sip, glad to have something to energize you for the long say ahead. “How’s Kai?” Lisa asks.

“He’s good. He was a little upset at having to go to daycare at first, but after he found out there were Iron Man action figures he was excited.” You and the girls giggle. 

“Do you have any pictures? It’s been a while since I’ve seen him since you’ve been so busy with the move and all.” 

“Here’s what he wore today.” Handing over you phone Lisa and Jennie immediately coo. 

“You put him in little overalls?” 

“And a little striped long sleeve?” 

“Aww look at his little glasses!” 

“He picked it out himself actually.” You chime in. 

“Really? Seems like an odd choice for a little boy.” Both Lisa and Jennie have confused looks on their faces.

“When we were packing for the move he.. um he saw a photo of his dad wearing the same outfit. He wanted to look like him on his big day.” Turning your laptop monitor around you show them your background photo. Jungkook is sitting on the floor of your first apartment clad in blue denim overalls and a black and white stripped shirt. Large circular glasses frame his face along with parted hair to show off his forehead. He’s grinning up at the camera, at you, his smile the exact same as your son. The girls eyes flicker from your phone to your desktop before resting back on you. 

“Wow umm… I knew he looked like his dad but the resemblance is uncanny.” Lisa adds. It sounds like she’s trying to walk on egg shells. 

“Yeah. Kai is basically a mini kookie.” Your eyes begin to water and you turn your head away not wanting to taint either image with your sadness. Jennie leans over you desk and gives your arm a comforting squeeze. “Sorry I just.. um seeing them both side by side but not together just.. reminds me that he’s not here.” 

Jennie stands up and gives you a hug perching herself on the arm of your chair. “You don’t have to apologize for being sad. It’s okay to not be okay.” 

“I just don’t like crying in front of people. Plus you were happy before-“ 

“It’s not your fault. You’re allowed to feel things other than happiness. You’ve been through a lot.” You smile gratefully when though it wavers a bit due to your mixed emotions. You don’t know what you would’ve done without Lisa and Jennie. If it wasn’t for them you don’t think you could’ve survived the heartbreak. For a while they were the only two you felt you could confide in. 

You nearly sprint into the daycare after work, excited to see your little baby. With the move from your old house to new apartment you had taken a week off work, which allowed you to spend every day with him, you had forgotten how awful it felt to be apart. Throwing the door open you slow your jog into a walk and smile awkwardly at Hoseok who definitely saw you running towards the door. “Kai your mom is here.” He calls and your son squeals before running for the gate. 

“Mommy! Mommy! I missed you.” He screams and your eyes start to water. 

“Hi bunny.” You pick him up and carry him over the gate. He snuggles into your neck, arms wrapped tightly around you, while you hold him close. You kiss his head before turning back to Hoseok with Kai still in your arms. “Thank you for watching him. I hope he wasn’t much trouble.” 

A heart shaped smile appears on Hoseok’s face and he looks at Kai fondly. “Nope. He was actually quite the little helper.” Your chest swells with pride and you can’t help but smile. That’s your boy. “Well, I’ll see you again tomorrow?” 

“I’ll be here.” He smiles and waves before turning back towards the other children. 

Carrying Kai to the car, you carefully put him in the seat and double check that all the buckles are secure. Then you back out of the parking lot and merge onto the highway,. “Mommy we’re still going to visit daddy right?” You had completely forgotten your promise and swallow hard after remembering the episode from earlier today. 

“Yeah we can.” You look at him through the rearview mirror and he’s dancing in excitement. 

“Good. I want to tell him about school today.” 

“So you’ll tell daddy but not me?” 

“I want to tell you both together. Like a family.” You swear you can hear your heart shatter and hit the floor like broken glass. You don’t say anything the rest of the drive to Jungkook, tears rolling down your face. When you pull into a parking spot you wipe your face hastily, trying to hide any remnants of your sadness. Stepping out of the car, you take a deep breath before walking around to Kai’s side and unbuckling him. He clutches tightly onto your hand, almost like he knows you’re not okay, and leads you the whole way. He has a skip in his step since he doesn’t truly understand the seriousness of the situation and you find yourself struggling to keep up with your heavy ones. You just want to go home, but you’re doing this for Kai, for him.  

Almost too soon you’re standing in front of a headstone with Jeon Jungkook carved menacingly into it. 

Kai sits down across from it and beckons you to join him, which you do so reluctantly. “Hi daddy!” He cheers before looking at you expectantly. 

“Hey kookie.” You mumble plucking at the grass in front of you. Even though it’s been three years, coming back here reminds you of the day of his funeral. It makes you remember that he’s really gone and there’s no chance of him coming back. Kai doesn’t understand this though, he only thinks this is a place you go to when you want to feel close to someone you love. He doesn’t fully understand that he’ll never see his father in person. 

“I went to school today. I met a girl there named Yoonji and she’s really nice. She’s quiet too and we just played Superheroes together. My teacher is nice. He said to call him Hobi. I think he wants to be mommy’s friend because he watched her leave this morning.” Before you can question Kai about Hoseok he continues one. “ Do you like my outfit? Mommy showed me a picture of you and I wanted to look like you. Mommy says we’re identical. Daddy won’t you come home soon? I miss you. Mommy misses you.” You don’t know how much more you can take of this. You’re not sure how much longer you can pretend that Jungkook is still there When you had the house you could pretend, you could hide amongst the memories decorating the house like paintings. 

“Kai are you ready to go?” You ask. You’ve been sitting in silence for a few minutes now. He nods before taking your hand and “helping” you up. You’re about halfway back to your car before he lets go of your hand and dashes into the other direction. “Kai!” You yell chasing him down. His little legs move surprisingly fast and you only manage to catch up with him at Junkook’s headstone catching the last of his words to his father. “-come home. Mommy cries for you in her sleep.” Your throat constricts and you find it hard to breathe. You didn’t know you still did that. You especially didn’t know your son could hear it. 

That night you find yourself struggling to sleep. After finding out you still cry over Jungkook you don’t want to subject your son to that anymore. You toss and turn for most of the night, falling asleep a little after 3 am. 

Your alarm startles you at 6 am, and you sigh at the realization that you’ll have to get through a whole day on three hours of sleep. Groaning, you groggily get both yourself and Kai ready. It’s getting cold outside so you put him in jeans, a grey hoodie, and little timberlands. It’s definitely not as fashionable as yesterday but Kai’s happy so it doesn’t matter. Plus it only slightly screams Jungkook which makes it easier for you to bare.

Driving to the daycare center you both are quiet as Kai sleeps in his carseat and you simply just listen to the music playing on the radio. You’re only a few minutes away when So Far Away by Agust D comes on the radio. Out of shock you take your foot off the gas but quickly place it back on. The last time you heard this song was the day before the accident. You can almost hear Jungkook singing along to the song and hitting all the high notes, leaving you to rap Agust D’s parts. You can’t help but glance over to the passenger seat, the memory feeling all too real. 

“Kai,” You gently shake him awake. “Bunny, it’s time to get up.” He groans and shifts away from you mumbling something incoherent. “Come on baby.” Unbuckling him, you cradle him to your chest and carry him inside the daycare. Again Hoseok is there with a bright smile on his face. He’s clearly a morning person. 

“Morning.” He smiles. “Is he not a morning person?” Hoseok jokes gesturing towards Kai who has fallen back asleep in your arms. 

“Yeah he takes after me.” Hoseok laughs before opening the gate. “You can lay him down in the nap area if you want. Seems like the little guy could use a bit more sleep.” 

“Thanks.” Laying Kai down you give him a kiss on the forehead before walking back towards the front. “I’ll see you the same time as yesterday?” 

“I’ll be here.” 

That afternoon your long time friend Jimin comes to meet you for lunch. You had met him when you first met Jungkook back in your freshman year at University. They had been best friends since they’d moved to Seoul back in middle school and were practically inseparable. When you and Jungkook got together, the duo quickly became a trio and you all did everything together. 

You laugh as you watch every head turn as Jimin walks through your office floor to get to your desk. Your office is situated in the back corner and you have to pass a lot of people to get to it. You know Jimin is quite attractive, but it never ceases to amaze you how he can turn every head in the room. Your computer dings just before you shut it off and it’s an Instant Message from Jennie. 

Jennie: You didn’t tell me Jimin was coming today. I look like crap bdufrfr

You chuckle before shooting her a wink while she glares at you through your office window. Jimin finally makes it into your office and gives you a big hug. “Hi Jiminie.” He squeezes you tight before letting go. 

“Hi. I’ve missed you.” 

“I missed you too. I’ve just been so busy with the move and finding a daycare for Kai. Speaking of which he keeps telling me he misses Uncle Jimin.” Jimin giggles, his eye smile making an appearance. 

“Well Uncle Jimin misses him too. What daycare did you end up choosing by the way?” 

“Oh there’s one about 15 minutes from here. It’s called Sunshine Daycare.” 

“Oh! My friend Hoseok owns the place.” That would explain why he always looks so happy there. You both head out of the office and down towards the local ramen place. 

“You’re really killing my self-esteem here Jiminie.” You tease.

“How so?” 

“Do you not notice that literally everyone turns to look at you?” A bright blush graces his cheeks and he shyly smiles while running a hand through his hair. 

“I try not to acknowledge it. It’s embarrassing.” He mumbles, toying with the hem of his suit jacket. 

“Aww my little mochi. Embrace your looks bub, not everyone has the face of an angel.” You pinch his cheeks which makes him blush even harder. 

“Shut up.” He laughs, shoving you away. You push him back in return and that begins a war. The whole way you’re walking to the ramen place you both try to push each other into things. Whether that be plants, fire hydrants, lamp posts, really anything mildly embarrassing to run into in public. 

Walking into the restaurant, you’re plucking leaves off your pants with Jimin clinging onto you in laughter. You thought the game had ended when the restaurant was only a few feet away but Jimin decided to get the last laugh and push you into a nearby bush. You spend the next hour talking and chatting about anything and everything. You talk about Kai, work, friends, and finally romance, or lack thereof. “When was the last time you went out with friends?” Jimin asks. By the look on his face, he is growing concerned with your lack of a social life. 

“I think maybe once in the past three years back when Kai was smaller. I just haven’t had the time. Plus I’m always exhausted when I come home and would much rather spend the night watching movies with him than have creepy old men hit on me all night.” Jimin sighs at your response. 

“This weekend we’re going out. I’m sure Jennie or Lisa would be willing to watch him.” 

“But I don’t want to.’ You whine. 

“You don’t want to or you’re scared to? Look, I know it’s hard without Jungkook but it’s been three years. I’m not trying to pressure you into a relationship but I think it would help you to open up to someone new. Besides, Jungkook wouldn’t want you to become the sad cat lady.” You let Jimin’s words sink in before nodding. Maybe this will do you some good. Maybe meeting people who don’t know you’re a single, widowed mother will help you relax. You can pretend that you’re not missing a piece of you for a night. 

“I guess I’ll go.” Jimin pulls you into a big hug and kisses your head. 

“You won’t regret it.”

Four days later and you’re sitting at a booth in a club watching Jimin break a sweat on the dance floor. Being involved in dance his whole life, he fluidly moves to the beat and attracts a crowd within seconds. When he catches your gaze he smiles at you before gesturing for you to come over. Shaking your head you turn away and look back down at your drink. You don’t mean to be a buzzkill, it just doesn’t feel the same without Jungkook. Back in your college days, you, Jimin, and Kook would go to the club all the time. It was a great way for the boys to burn off their endless energy and it always let you loosen up. The only dance partner you’d ever had though was Jungkook and dancing with someone who’s not him feels wrong. He’s not physically here anymore but you still feel like you’re married to him. Even though you technically can never cheat on him, the thought of someone else touching you feels wrong. Maybe it’s also the fact that you have your wedding rings on a chain necklace that’s tied around your neck. 

Across the way you feel someone staring and anxiously tug the rings back and forth in your hand. This was a bad idea, you shouldn’t have come. Glancing through the corner of your vision you can see an older guy stand up and make his way towards your booth. Maybe if you leave now you can make it to Jimin. The crowd around him however is too large and you’d rather be in sight in case anything happens than lost amongst a crowd of people. You chew your lip in nervousness and take your phone out of your clutch just in case. You’re most likely being overdramatic but without someone to come to your rescue you feel vulnerable. The man finally makes it to the front of your table and you can’t tell whether you feel more relieved or scared. “Hey sweetheart.” He smiles and you scrunch your nose. This mad had to be at least forty-five years old. 

“Hi.” You fight the urge to smile politely knowing that if you do he’ll decide to sit with you. You try and appear as disinterested as possible and swirl your drink with your straw. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you sitting all alone?” Could this guy be any less original? 

“I’m not alone. My friend is getting a drink at the bar.” 

“Well if she’s half as pretty as you, it’ll be a good night.” 

“Yeah, Jimin is quite attractive. I’m sure he’d love to meet you.” You hope he can hear the sarcasm in the last part. The man’s eyes widen when he picks up that you’re with a guy. 

“Jimin huh? How about you be with a real man and not some little boy.” Before you can even get a word out, someone slips into your booth and sits next to you, sliding their arm around your shoulders. You immediately tense and look over but relax when you realize it’s only Hoseok. He owns a daycare, he really can’t be that bad. 

“A real man wouldn’t be hitting on girls in their twenties when they’re married.” Hoseok spits out and your eyes widen. He gives the older man a wry grin before pulling you closer. “Besides she’s already taken. I suggest you head home to your wife though, she’s probably looking for you.” The amount of dominance in Hoseok’s tone and expression makes you shiver and the creepy man slinks away. As soon as he’s gone Hoseok relaxes and takes his arm off of you. His gentle smile returns back onto his face and you’re left wondering how someone can have so much duality. “Sorry about that. Figured he probably wouldn’t leave you alone unless you were taken.” You can only nod in response, too stunned by the rapid change in demeanor. 

The both of you fall silent and take each other in. His orange hair is parted in the middle and he’s wearing wearing all black. Tight pants show off his muscular thighs and the leather jacket he’s wearing gives him an edgier vibe. It’s a complete three-sixty from the man with messy hair and colorful sweaters who runs the daycare. You end up staring a little too long and look away blushing when he coughs. You’re not sure what’s gotten into you, maybe the alcohol has finally set in, but you feel quite warm and have butterflies in your stomach. You take a drink to busy yourself in the awkward silence before Hoseok speaks. “Do you want to go dance?”

“I uh-I’ve never danced with someone besides my husband.” Hoseok’s eyes widen and his cheeks turn red. 

“Right! You’re married, my bad. I thought I hadn’t seen you wear a ring but I must’ve-“ 

“No no. My husband, he um… passed away a few years ago.” Again you pull at the rings and drag them across the chain. 

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” 

“Yeah. He was actually Jimin’s best friend.” 

“Oh, Jungkook. Yeah, after the accident I remember Jimin calling me and he stayed at my house for a week. From what I hear he was a great guy.” Maybe Jimin was right. Talking to someone about Jungkook who didn’t know him feels easier. Like they aren’t judging you based on what you say from their own experiences with him. 

“He was. He’s just like Kai. They even look identical too. Sometimes I wonder if there’s even a little me in there at all.” You laugh humorlessly and Hoseok puts a hand on your shoulder. 

“There is. I mean you’re both not morning people right?” His heart smile appears when you laugh and you can’t help but notice his little dimples. 

“Yeah. Jungkook wished sleep didn’t exist, so I guess that does come from me.” 

“Even if he doesn’t resemble you a lot, he really loves you. He talks about you all the time both to me and the other kids.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Just the other day he was bragging about how good of a baker you are and how you are better than everyone else.” A blush lightly dusts your cheeks and you put your head in your hands. 

“I’m not even that good.” 

“Kai begs to differ. But if you want an honest opinion you can always bake me something.” You turn your head to glance up at him. 

“Is this your way of getting free food?” 

“When you put it like that it sounds bad.” 

The next Monday you’re putting home-made cookies into a tin while getting Kai ready for school. Today he’s in a white shirt, denim jacket, black joggers, and a blue beanie. He had seen another picture of Jungkook last night while you were unpacking and wanted to look like him again. It still hurt you a little, but the pain was lesser because it was something that wasn’t directly related to Jungkook. Anyone could wear that outfit. But maybe it also had something to do with an orange haired daycare owner with a cute heart smile.  

When you arrive at the daycare you’re already smiling, anticipating seeing him again. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt so giddy and a part of you feels guilty for your reason why. Jimin’s words from your lunch date ring in your head, “Jungkook wouldn’t want you to become the sad cat lady.” Jimin’s right. You shouldn’t feel guilty for developing a crush on someone. Jungkook will always be your first and greatest love, that will never change, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find another person to share your life with. You walk in confidently, a hand held in Kai’s with the tin in the other, and strut over to Hoseok. Now’s your chance, you can do this. Hoseok smiles when he sees you both from across the room and hurries over while your heart hammers in your chest. “I uh- brought you cookies. For that umm… honest opinion on my baking.” You smile shyly and practically shove the tin into his arms. 

“Oh! I didn’t think you’d actually make me something. I guess that works out then since I got you this.” He slides an iced coffee over the gate towards you and you can’t help but smile. “I know you’re not a morning person, but I thought this might help.” 

“You really didn’t have to.” You smile but take it anyways. 

“I know. I wanted to.” He scratches the back of his neck, a blush painting itself across his cheeks. 

“Thank you Hoseok.” Kai looks between you both confusedly. 

“Mommy aren’t you going to give him a kiss?” Both yours and Hoseok’s faces flush red and you’re sure your eyes are as wide as saucers. 

“Why would I do that bun?” 

“You always give me a kiss on the cheek when you say thank you.” His eyes are filled with innocent wonder and you’re not sure what to do. You could make your move and kiss Hoseok on the cheek but what if he doesn’t like you? What if he was only getting you a coffee because he wants to be friends? Maybe you misinterpreted everything, you’ve been out of the game for a while. 

“Umm… special boys get kisses.” Your voice is quiet, you’d much rather prefer to just run out of the daycare without answering Kai’s question. You turn back to Hoseok though and swear he’s almost frowning. “Not that you’re not special or anything but we don’t know each other and that’d be weird and I just-I have to go.” Giving Kai a kiss on his head, you carry him over the gate and then dash out with your coffee in your hand. “Thanks again! See you later.” You call over your shoulder. 

“I’ll be here.” Is the last thing you hear. 

That evening when you go to pick up Kai you’re bouncing your leg up and down in anticipation. The awkwardness from earlier has been replaying in your head all day and you can only hope Hoseok forgot about this morning. Hesitantly you walk towards the door, a complete contrast from this morning, and come face to face with Hoseok himself. He’s leaning against the counter munching on one of your cookies as Kai runs around with an Iron Man figurine.  The other children are all gone and you check your watch. You came at the same time as always, where is everyone else? “Where is everyone?” You interrupt Hoseok mid chew and he quickly swallows the remnants in his mouth but crumbs still cling to the corners of his lips. 

“They’ve been picked up already.” You nod and walk over towards him, snatching one of the few cookies left in the tin. Taking a bite you can’t help but groan. Maybe you really are a good baker. 

“Weird that Kai’s the last one. Normally there’s still a few kids here when I come to get him.” Hoseok gives a sheepish smile. 

“We actually closed at 3 today.” 

“You did?! Hoseok I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.’ Your cheeks flush for what feels like the millionth time today as guilt washes over you. If only you hadn’t freaked out then he could’ve reminded you and wouldn’t be stuck here waiting. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind hanging out with Kai. He’s a pretty cool little dude.” 

“You should’ve called me though. I could’ve come early to get him.” 

“It’s alright. Besides you made me these cookies so we’re even.” 

“I don’t think that’s how it works since you also bought me coffee this morning.” 

“Well if you really want to be even you can make me another batch of cookies.” 

“They’re that good huh?” You tease. Hoseok only smiles before dramatically taking another bite. Kai only just now seems to take notice of your presence and runs over to the gate. “Mommy, mommy! Will you play Iron Man with me and Hobi?” 

“Bunny, we have to go. Hoseok is busy and we’ve overstayed our welcome. Come on, we can play Iron Man when we get home.” Kai’s eyes water and his lower lip starts to tremble. Oh no, he’s going to throw a fit. “Come on bunny it’s not that bad. Hoseok just has something to do and can’t play today. We’ll do it some other time okay?” He simply stares up at you with big doe eyes, quietly sniffling. Sighing, you scoop him up into your arms and cradle him into your chest. Rubbing his back, you quietly shush him as he clings onto you. 

Turning back to Hoseok he rubs his eyes before mumbling, “Promise?” Hoseok only smiles and extends a pinky out towards your son. 

“Promise.” He says when they link pinkies. Your heart swells at this small interaction and you’re so happy you don’t know what to do with yourself. The fact that him and Kai are getting along so well really pulls at your heart strings. 

“We’ll see you tomorrow Hoseok. Any different closing time I should be aware of?” 

“Nope.” You’re almost out the door before he calls out to you again. “Y/n?” You turn to face him. holding the door open with your hip. “Call me Hobi.” 

That week Hobi brings you a coffee every morning and in return you bring him baked goods. It varies between cookies, muffins, or brownies, really whatever you have in your fridge. Hobi complains of you ruining his diet each morning, but if the chocolate crumbs on the sides of Kai’s mouth are anything to go by, he’s sharing your gooey creations with the children. You had both forgotten about the promise made to Kai earlier until Friday evening when he brings it up again. “Can we play Iron Man now mommy? I’ve been waiting all week.” 

“If Hobi is okay with it.” Kai whips out his best puppy dog look in response and you can already see Hobi’s resolve crumbling, not that you thought he was going to say no in the first place. 

“Sure thing little man.” He ruffles Kai’s hair before opening the gate for you to step into the child’s area. Kai immediately runs over to the toy box and takes out three Iron Man figures. He gives each of you one before taking off around the room running and jumping with his little figurine. Both you and Hobi look at one another and shrug before taking off after him and making all sorts of sound effects. At one point Hobi picks him up and jogs around while Kai pretends he’s flying. You’re all in fits of giggles before Kai turns to you. 

“Hobi! Hobi, make mommy fly!” 

“Bunny mommy’s probably too heav-“ Before you can finish your sentence you’re thrown over Hobi’s shoulder and he straightens out your legs so you’re almost in a plank position. You grip onto his shoulders in fear of falling and the room fills with Hobi and Kai’s giggles. 

“Mommy you’re flying! Spread out your arms mommy!” Your grip on Hobi’s shoulders tightens and he chuckles. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Carefully you stretch out your arms for a short moment to appease your son, before clutching back onto Hobi’s shoulders. 

“Okay, I’d like to land now.” Hobi begins to lower you while slowing down but somehow you end up tangling your legs with his during your descent which sends you both sprawling onto the floor. You land with an oomph and somehow Hobi manages to catch himself by landing on his forearms. He hovers above you and you both just stare at one another, waiting for the other to make the first move. 

“Are you okay?” Hobi asks lowly, his voice much raspier. His breath gently fans your face and you find yourself watching his mouth move. If you raise your head only a few inches your lips can meet his. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Are you?” His eyes trace your mouth movements and you can feel him inch closer centimeter by centimeter. Your eyes begin to flutter closed except a sudden weight on top of your chest makes you reopen them. You struggle to breath with both Hobi and Kai’s full weight on top of you. “Bunny,” You wheeze. “Mommy needs you to get off. I can’t really breathe right now.” Both boys scramble off of you and flop down onto the floor instead, panting softly. Pulling out your phone from your pocket you check the time and realize that it’s been an hour. “Oh Hobi I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize we’ve been here for an hour.” Standing up, you stick out a hand to help Hobi as well. He holds onto your hand though even after he’s standing making you flustered. 

“No big deal. Besides I was wondering if maybe you both wanted to go out to eat or something? It is dinner time after all.” Kai bounces excitedly and clings onto your other hand. 

“Can we? Please!” A fond smile on your face, you nod which makes both boys squeal. Why does it feel like you’ve taken on two toddlers? Kai hurriedly leads you both out the door and impatiently waits for Hobi to lock up. “Old people are slow.” He complains and you and Hobi both gasp, placing your hands over your hearts for dramatic effect. 

“Are you calling me old? I’m only twenty-eight.” You cry which makes Kai giggle. 

“And I’m only thirty!” Turning to Hobi you scrunch your nose. 

“Oh. You really are old then.” His expression turns serious and you bolt down the street with Kai running besides you as Hobi chases you down. Your laughter bounces off the buildings surrounding you as you make your way to the Ramen place down the street. It doesn’t take long for Hobi to catch you, and he wraps his arms around both you and Kai, effectively bringing you both to a stop. 

“Who’s the old one now?” He pants with a large smile. 

“Still you old man. You can’t even run 20 feet down the block without getting winded.” Hobi shoots you a glare which just makes you laugh even harder. You’ve never been so glad that you’re always the young one in the friend group. 

“You know, when I talk to Jimin about you he always mentions that you’re so sweet. Am I missing something?” 

“You talk about me to Jimin?” You’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk and people huff as they walk around you. Normally you’d be embarrassed, but this is much more important. Hobi’s ears begin to turn red as he looks away bashfully. 

“Sometimes. After the umm… night at the club.” 

“Club? I want to go to a club!” You have to hand it to your son. Somehow he manages to always interrupt right before pivotal moments. 

“One day bunny. One day.” You gently pat his head. “Now come on, I’m sure we’re all hungry.” The next hour and a half is spent at a small table in the corner of the ramen place laughing, chatting. It almost feels like you all have been together forever, like you’re almost a little family. The thought nearly makes you choke on your last mouthful of noodles and Hobi is by your side in a second, rubbing your back comfortingly. When the coughing subsides and you’re slowly sipping on your water he sits back down across from you. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah I’m fine.” You’re really not fine. Guilt is eating its way through your chest leaving you bare once again. Your heart that was steadily growing warmer is now frozen and cold, barren of any love except for that for your son. You chide yourself mentally for thinking you could be a family. Jungkook should be here. Jungkook should be the one to complete your family. He’s the only one that can complete your family. It takes everything in you not to stand up and run away. Hoseok doesn’t deserve that after everything he’s done for you and Kai. When the check finally comes, you grab it before he can and hastily throw in some cash. “It’s nearly Kai’s bedtime. Thanks again Hoseok. See you on Monday.” You’re in such a hurry you miss the hurt flashing across Hoseok’s face. 

“I’ll be there.” He whispers sadly. 

The following Monday you arrive at the daycare with no treats in hand. Casually you walk inside even though your stomach is flooded with butterflies. Looking at Hoseok makes you feel guilty, both to him and Jungkook. Hoseok deserves someone better, someone who can give him their whole heart. Someone who can love him as much as you loved Jungkook. He deserves something other then secondhand love. Hoseok immediately runs over to the counter when he spots you and Kai, handing over a vanilla iced latte. He had learned your order after a couple tries of hit or miss. “Thanks Hoseok, you really didn’t need to.” You can’t find it in yourself to look at him, too afraid to catch the disappointment in his eyes. It’s better to end this now, for him only to hurt a little if at all, then let this turn into something he’ll regret. Giving Kai a kiss on the cheek you walk him to the open gate and wave goodbye as he runs towards Yoonji. “I’ll see you later Hoseok.” 

Walking out the door you only hear, “I’ll be here.” You completely miss his small “call me Hobi” at the end. 

That evening you send Jennie to pick up Kai from daycare, unable to see Hoseok again for the day. You’re so distraught that you only realize you’ve driven to the cemetery when you’re met by the sea of graves. You stare out into them for a few minutes before deciding you needed to talk to Jungkook. You’d never been here on your own, only coming when Kai wanted to, and it gives you an eerie vibe. It’s hard to accept that the love of your life lives here now. When you finally get to his headstone, you sit down across from it plucking at the grass. “Hey Kookie,” You sniffle. “Sorry Kai’s not here this time. It’s just me.” You can’t help but wait for a response and laugh humorlessly when you don’t receive one. 

“Right. So anyways I wasn’t planning on coming but here I am. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore Kookie. I used to always have you when I was unsure of what direction to take but now that you… you’re gone I’m wandering aimlessly. I’ve lost my compass and the only thing I have left is the feeling of home. You’re my home, but I can’t reach you. Not for a while anyways. But what if I’m beginning to find a new home? Will you be disappointed in me? I wish you were here, that you could tell me what I’m doing wrong.” You sit in silence and look around waiting for an answer only to receive none. There’s no sudden gust of wind, no leaves falling from the nearby tree in a suspicious pattern, there’s just silence. Standing up you look at the grave before pressing a kiss to the headstone. “I love you Jungkook. No matter what happens you’ll always be my first love.” With that you walk back to your car and drive home to your son.

The next few weeks pass by, each one as dull and grey as the next. Hoseok continues to bring you a coffee every morning, even when you tell him each time he really doesn’t need to, and you’ve stopped bringing him treats. It feels too domestic now, too much like the family you and Jungkook dreamed of. Jimin stops by a month after you’ve stopped interacting with Hoseok in a more personal manner. He enters your office with a frown etched onto his face and closes the door behind him. Sitting down in the chair in front of you desk and crossing one leg over the other, he leans back in the chair. “Talk to me.”

“What?” You have a hunch at what he’s referencing but won’t admit it. 

“Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. Tell me why you ghosted Hobi.” You gulp at hearing the endearing nickname, the memories of a few weeks ago resurfacing. 

“We… we got too close.” 

“Did he pressure you into anything?” Jimin’s eyebrows furrow and he begins to get out of his seat in anger but you quickly gesture for him to stay put. 

“No. I guess I freaked myself out. We were hanging out, me, him, and Kai, one day after daycare and we played Iron Man and went out to eat and it felt too real. It felt like we could be a family and then I just kept thinking of Jungkook. We were supposed to be a family. It feels wrong to be a family with someone else. It feels like I’m cheating him out of our dream.” Jimin doesn’t say anything after your spell and just nods sympathetically. 

“Jungkook dreamed of Kai having a family. I think under these circumstances he’d understand. When you were pregnant with Kai all he’d talk about is how he wanted you both to be happy and healthy.” 

“But would he want us to be happy if not with him?” Jimin rolls his eyes and gives you a stern look. 

“Stop trying to come up with excuses for your feelings. We both know Jungkook would want you both to be happy regardless of whether or not he was in the picture. The real issue is that you’ve started to develop feelings for Hoseok and you’re scared. Am I right?” 

“No,” You grumble like a child that was just scolded. “I feel guilty. I can’t love him like he wants. Like he deserves. A part of me will always belong to Jungkook, a part of me is with him right now back at the cemetery. Hoseok deserves someone who can love him wholeheartedly. Someone who won’t always have the ache of losing a significant other.” 

“This isn’t a matter of what he deserves Y/N. This is a matter of you wanting him and him wanting you but you’re too afraid to act on it. You’re using Jungkook as a scapegoat for not going for it and that’s something I know he wouldn’t want.” Putting your head in your hands, you catch the fall of tears. Jimin is right. Right about everything. You didn’t mean for it to turn out like this, it’s just easier to hide from your feelings. To pretend that they don’t exist because it protects you from any pain. 

That night you march down to Sunshine Daycare as determined as ever. You’re not going to let yourself chicken out this time. Armed with a cake from a nearby bakery to make up for the lack of sugary treats, you march over to Hobi who is leaning against the counter. For the first time since you’ve met him, he doesn’t greet you with a smile and you can feel yourself deflating. You’ve turned the sunshine at Sunshine Daycare into a dull ray of sunlight obscured by clouds. “I um.. I brought you a treat.” Shyly you slide the package onto the counter and watch nervously as he inspects the contents. A smile breaks onto his face as he reads the message sprawled across in cursive icing. 

“Bet you got some weird looks when you ordered that.” 

“Yeah. Surprisingly getting, I’m sorry for being an umm… bootyhole piped onto a cake isn’t common.” He chuckles before stepping out from behind the counter. Glancing over to the kid area, it’s only just Kai again and you sigh. “Close early again?” 

“Yeah.” He chuckles and you drag a hand across your face. 

“I can’t do anything right. I can’t read schedules for the daycare, can’t confess my feelings, can’t-“ 

“Confess?” Hobi interrupts and your eyes widen in realization. 

“Surprise?” You offer lamely. “I like you. Well actually I think I’m falling in love with you.” Rushing out the last part you wring your hands together in nervousness. Silence fills the daycare, even Kai stills, and you immediately begin backtracking. “I mean I understand if you don’t like me or want to date a widow. Not that I think you’re shallow enough to not want to date me solely because I’m a widow but I know I haven’t-"

“Y/N. I’m falling for you too.” The world seems to stop and you’re not really sure what to do. The last time you said I love you for the first time, you were already in a committed relationship. How do people do this when they’re not together? 

“So what do we do now?” 

“Well I was thinking of kissing you first, then asking you to be my girlfriend, and then taking you and Kai out to eat.” 

“I could eat!” Kai chimes from behind the gate causing you both to laugh. 

“He really has impeccable timing.” 

“That he does. Hey aren’t you supposed to be kissing me by now?” Hobi’s heart smile reappears and you fight back the urge to stick your finger in one of his dimples. 

“As you wish my love.” Gently Hobi cups both of your cheeks before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. It’s not heated, it doesn’t ignite sparks, but it’s sweet and leaves you with the knowledge that it’ll be the first of many.

[chillmichelle]

Next week

Standing in the kitchen, you tore off the freshly baked cookies from the aluminum foil, neatly placing them onto a clean glass plate. Harry had told you earlier this morning he wanted cookie, and you planned on baking the best possible ones you could just for him. Harry sat with his friends in the living room, all of them discussing what they’d missed while they were all doing their own things.

You were happy his friends were over, you knew his time at home was limited, which was exactly why you wanted him to have as much fun as possible before he eventually had to go back on tour or to record his album in LA. Stacking the cookies in cute little circles. You picked up the little tray and walked towards the swinging door towards the living room.

Suddenly, you hear a voice say a familiar name, and your actions halt.

“If I were you I would’ve taken her up on the offer man. She’s sexy as fuck.” All of the boys laughed, respectively muttering small “you’re right”s and “true”s.

“I saw her on a magazine cover the other day.” You heard a whistle come out of one of the boy’s mouths, the others giggling at the statement. You felt slightly insecure. You had always been told you were beautiful, but hearing Harry’s friends rave about a supermodel that he ‘should’ve gotten with’ while he was in a relationship with you deterred your self confidence a good amount.

“I have a girlfriend” You heard Harry say. His tone was more playful than serious, as if he was just stating the fact rather than actually putting serious thought behind it. Regardless, you smiled lightly knowing that he was at least acknowledging your existence.

Mitch soon countered Harry’s statement, “That’s so boring.” He simply stated. Soon after, you hear another deep voice that you couldn’t recognize enforcine what Mitch said. “I agree with him. Ever since you started settling down, you’ve become so boring. What happened to the Styles who had girls lined up every stop of the tour?”

You frowned, Harry had mentioned his previous girlfriends, but had failed to mention anything about the string of one night stands that were apparently on his record. You’d met him when he was freshly 20 years old, and he was the first person you’d ever pursued a real relationship with.

“Bro, remember Lani?” Jeff says out of nowhere. You hear Mitch laugh before replying, “How could I forget?” Another one of the many boys in the room speaks out, “Who’s Lani?”

You’re wondering the same thing. So many topics Harry had never spoken to you about were all of a sudden being addressed.

“This hot girl from London. Harry and her-”

“Not now, Jeff” Harry urgently cuts him off, as if he doesn’t want you to hear. You feel your heart beating faster and you start overthinking. Who was Lani? Did she and Harry have some sort of history?

“Nevermind” Jeff inquires, understanding what Harry was signaling.

“The point is, there are so many hot girls out there Harry. I don’t know how you have the power to just reject all of them.”

You were expecting him to stick up for you, to give a response about how he was in a committed relationship with you, about how he had enough respect and decency not to cheat on you. But instead, he replied with an all too plain.

“I don’t know how I do it either.”

You had never been the most secure person when it came to the way you were, you always worried you were being too clingy, or that you weren’t enough for your friends or the people close to You. With Harry, those feelings couldn’t help but be elevated due to his status and the number of girls who were willing to throw themselves at him. Regardless of your many insecurities, Harry had always assured you there was nothing to worry about, so how come you were feeling uneasy now?

A voice you think is Adam speaks up, “You know what next week is. You have an awards show, are you just gonna stare at her this time or are you gonna make a move?” He questions. You balance yourself on the wall next to the door and brace your ear up closely.

“Y/n isn’t going to be there, right?” Harry inquires cautiously. Your eyes begin to burn as you cover your mouth with your hands to prevent any noise from emitting and giving you away. It felt as if everything you had worked towards with him was all of a sudden torn down, as if you didn’t mean anything to him this entire time.

“Of course she isn’t, she’ll probably be studying for some exam or writing you a fucking letter with how obsessed she is.”

A cruel laughter is emitted from the person who says it, you can feel your self confidence, or whatever is left of it, crumbling along with the small speck of pride you had remaining.

“I just might slip her a hotel key right before my performance then.” Harry lets out a laugh after, the menacing vibration escaping his throat. It was ridiculous to you how he was laughing about completely destroying you, while you stood leaning against the door and barely holding onto your composure. Softly weeping into the safety of your clasped hands, you felt a numbing ache in your chest.

Harry had always told you he was proud of you for doing what you loved, that he was happy to call you his and show you off. The words he was uttering with his friends tonight were completely contradicting his words to you. You questioned everything he had ever said to you. Was he really planning on cheating on you with a model? Did he really think you wouldn’t find out.

You had never been the closest with his friends, you were very often shy. Closed off to the people you didn’t know. you never comprehended or could tell that they hated you, especially to this extent.

Not wanting to hear anymore, you stepped away from the door, still weeping into your two hands as quietly as possible. While walking backwards blindly, you felt yourself stumbling over something on the ground and instinctively reached out for the first thing you could grab. Grasping onto the counter suddenly, you nudged the plate of cookies off of the kitchen island and onto the floor.

The plate crashed with a deafeningly loud noise. You knew the boys had heard it from the living room for sure. As much as you didn’t want to face them, their footsteps all rushing towards the kitchen were unavoidable.

Harry stepped in first, being met with a shattered plate of cookies on the floor and a crying girl with flour stains on the shirt she was wearing. A part of him had to have known that you had heard what he had said, which is why the look on his face was extremely panicked.

“Baby, are you okay?” Adam peered over his shoulder at the mess in front of him. You felt as broken as the plate shattered on the ground, tears continuously falling down your cheeks rapidly.

You shake your head, not knowing what else to say or do. So overwhelmed with all of the people who were seconds ago talking about how insignificant you were, and paralyzed with fear, you stood there frozen like a small clueless child.

Harry reached out his arm quickly, stepping over the scattered glass shards on the floor of the kitchen. He knelt down to reach for your leg but you pulled it back right as his hand made contact with it.

“You’re bleeding.” You bent over a bit to look at the blood dripping out from a deep wound on your right calf. You didn’t want him touching you, in fact, you didn’t even want to be near him at the moment.

“No!” You say as his soft hand touches near your wound. He surprisingly stand up from his kneeling position, staring at you shocked.

“I don’t want you near me!” You exclaim between hiccups. You were still understandable through your sobs, and though the condition you were in may have made you seem even more unattractive to Harry’s friends, you had no interest in appealing to them anymore.

“Baby…” Harry calls out softly. If he had known you were listening, you’re almost positive he would’ve defended you. He was legitimately considering cheating on you, and that was something you couldn’t just ignore and put aside.

Taking a few stumbles backwards and away from him, you pray he doesn’t try to follow you.

“Why don’t you go sleep with a model instead?” You ask him. Mitch’s eyes widen and he’s now aware that you were listening to the entire conversation.

“Might as well get it over with a week earlier, right?” You menacingly retort. Harry breaks eye contact with you and instead looks at the cut on your leg that is forming a trail of red dots on the floor.

Your words are slurred due to the crying that is unable to stop. You wipe furiously at your cheeks, and no one is talking. You feel like a mother scolding her children, they all seemed ashamed about being caught.

You grab your phone that is conveniently lying on the counter next to the oven where you took out the cookies. The countertop is still warm from the cookie pan, and it alarms Harry that you’re walking out with an injury and a broken relationship.

“Don’t go…” he quietly mumbles.

“We can work this out, let me explain.” He desperately says, but you don’t want to hear it. He had said too much for anything to be justifiable anymore.

“Explain what? How I stayed faithful to you and you were planning on cheating on me with some girl just because she’s pretty?” you loudly retort. “Or maybe I should let your dumbass friends explain, since they’re the ones who gave you this stupid idea in the first place!”

His eyes widen, he’d never heard you curse so much before. You were rarely ever rude to anyone.

“Just…you can do what you want next week.” You tell him, voice quieter now.

“Because you’re officially a single man.”

[rheesus]

corpse party! — richie tozier (two)

pairing: richie tozier x reader

warnings: panic attacks, mentions of murder, gore, horror, occult and paranormal happenings

— part two of ?

( see part one )

i wont do all 5 chapters since chapter one is entirely based on seiko and naomi who are beverly and eleven sooo yeah! if you want to know what would happen to them and you don’t know the story of corpse party well, watch a gameplay or something laksjshddh 

something soft and wet had landed on y/n's cheek as she laid unaware of her surroundings. whatever was running down her face like tear drops seemed to have woken the class representative up. her e/c eyes batted opened and met to the view of a ceiling that had a clear whole through both the top of the building and the floor between that and the floor she laid on, next to that was a broken light fixture, flickering intensely with its last life.

"so, you're one of the new victims, huh?" an unfamiliar make voice echoed from behind her. the voice alone sent a wave of chills throughout her entire body as she turned and let out a ear piercing scream, she scrambled away, looking up at a boy no older than 17 - the lower part of his body seemed to sway like flames but his whole being had a blue ethereal glow to it.

from out in the hallway she could easily hear two voices calling her name in worry; richie and ms byers. if not for the boy in front of her, she would've smiled at this revealation. the boy's eyes seemed to wander in the direction of their voices and he gave a bittersweet smile.

"wow, stuck in the same space with not one, but two people you know? you're lucky." 

"w-w-" 

"that luck wont last long, i mean - look what happened to me!" the boy had laughed but not in a way that emitted happiness or amusement. his eyes now wandered to the floor, where a pile of bones and some ripped clothing laid.

“what do you mean?” the teen girl boldly said, though her thoughts didn’t match her tone. the ghost just shrugged. 

“you’ve been dragged here against your will. it looks like an abandoned school but it’s hell. you’ll either die horribly or eventually, you’ll kill your friends and die horribly. no matter what, it’s just pain twenty-four fuckin seven.”

 y/n had gulped down her fear in hopes to ask more before something came barrelling through the door and the ghost had fled at the sight and sound.

richie tozier and their beloved ms. byers. 

the first thing that happened upon seeing each other was the tears and smiles of relief before ms byers wrapped the class rep in a tight embrace, richie had squatted down next to her. his grin only widened when she turned to playfully glare at him.

"of all our friends i could be stuck with and i get stuck with you?" the boy rolled his eyes and ms byers had chuckled.

“if you ask me, richie was more worried out of—”

“anyways, it’s good you’re alive.” richie cut the lady off, smiling and ignoring the way his cheeks warmed up. y/n had smiled too, hugging ms. byers again. their happiness was, however, short-lived. the building had started to shake violently and a loud scream rang out through the building — one of filled with the pain and suffering. and who it belonged to was a familiar person to the three.

eleven hopper. 

the very thought that one of her classmates and friends were in danger made y/n’s stomach churn and her mind to run wild with negative thoughts. soon those thoughts became to overwhelming to the point where the teen girl couldn’t help but lose her breath. ms. byers could sense her distress and cupped her face in her hands, 

“y/n, focus on me. it was probably nothing,” she gave an encouraging smile, “probably the wind.”

“but you heard it, right? that was el. our el.” ms byers sighed. richie looked around the wrecked classroom, chewing on his lip nervously.

“ms byers, stay here with y/n and i’ll go look for eleven—”

“no! you stay here with y/n where it’s safe and i will find eleven.”

“stop it! no!” the two looked back at the h/c, her breathing was still erratic but she persisted in talking, “you can’t leave, i just found both of you.”

the kindly teacher had done nothing but give a genuine, sweet smile, “you’ll be fine. i’ll bring eleven back here safe and sound. promise.”

not allowing y/n or richie to protest, ms. byers had left the classroom. the two students stared at the door for what felt like hours. y/n had moved her head towards the corpse of the boy she had talked to. near his the bones of what used to be his hand was nearly touching a card of some sort. she crawled to it and took it into her possession. in fine black print were the words.

derry boys high school

steve harrington 

d.o.b.: 16 april 1996

grade 12 

y/n had let out a shaky breath before stashing the id card in her jacket pocket. she looked back to the door ms. byers had left from and mumbled words of hope under her breath.

please, be okay.

joyce byers had found herself in a classroom worse off than the one she left richie and y/n. one half of it was collapsed in, leaving nothing but a black abyss. she would’ve gone up the stairs but she could hear a wicked voice giggle in her head, “unwise to go upstairs, teacher.”

and so she stayed on the same floor. she had taken five steps in before a blue boy had appeared before her, a bored expression across his face. his mullet was a mess and he glowed. 

“teacher! you stopped cowering with the two in the other classroom, huh?”

she looked at the boy in annoyance. what did he mean by cowering? joyce bit her tongue and gulped, “i heard one of my student’s scream and i’ve set out to find her.”

“i see... regrettably,” he spoke lowly, “that won’t be possible. this school exists in a nexus where multiple dimensions overlap. it’s a single closed space in a sea of closed spaces. in other words, even though you may be in the same school as your screaming student, you and her occupy different dimensions... which means you two can never meet.”

“if one of you should die, perhaps your body... or spirit may move from one space to another... you can find a way of traversing the planes freely as they do,” ms. byers didn’t know why but the way the boy spoke the word they, sent a chill running down her back. the blue boy continued to talk to her, “consider this fair warning: even if you should find the exact spot from which your student’s screams emanated... she herself may not be there and if she’s not there’s not a thing you can do about.”

the boy spoke smugly but there was no indication in his expression that he meant to be. joyce’s eyes were filling up with tears of desperation, “but i heard her scream!”

“it is true other children have arrived here not long ago and by all appearances seem to be your students,” the boy shrugged, “but as i explained, time and space is fragmented here and it doesn’t behave like you assume — you say you heard a scream. that may have taken place a few minutes ago or perhaps in another space hours previous or maybe an echo from the future, who’s to say. or maybe with the phenomenon as it is; it’s possible two closed spaces can have some influence on each other.”

the young woman had clenched her teeth. this young boy was doing her head in. all she wanted was to find eleven and verify her safety, “it doesn’t matter! i can’t go on and ignore an antagonising scream like that! step aside!”

she charged at him and he disappeared. ms. byers had missed the glowering expression he gave her. she had looked around the room for any clues or hints that her student was near but to no avail. as she went to leave the classroom, a supernatural force pull her back in, slamming the door fast. materialising in front of her was the same boy she had just talked to except her glowed red with nothing but malice and hate in his lifeless eyes.

“step aside?! why don’t you fuck off!” his voice was now no longer monotone, but angry at her. the ground had started to shake once again. too focused on the earthquake, ms byers had failed to notice the shelf filled with cutting supplies slowly falling towards her body. the shelf itself was too heavy with the combined force of wat was pushing it down and so it caused her to topple too.

she felt the bones in her back all crack at once and her skin was being sliced. was it the scissors or the scalpels or the glass that was worse? she couldn’t tell it was all too painful to bear. the angry teen started to talk again, “in all the world, the most vile and untrustworthy are you schoolteachers. all you give a shit about is your own well-being! you’re not worried about your students! you’re just worried about being held responsible if something should happen to them!”

joyce couldn’t worry about his rant, only how much the weight was hurt her, “youre all the same... every single one of you! and i won’t be taken in by your lies!”

this caught her attention. taken in by lies? 

“when you see a problem among your kids, you just keep your distance because you sure wouldn’t want to get involved! have to keep up appearances, right? you just pick out the problem children and chip away at them until they drop out or get expelled! you’re not disciplining them — you’re just raging at them! there’s no teacher ever that’s actually cared about their students!” 

with what little energy she had, ms byers spoke up bravely, “-you’re... you’re wrong.” 

this angered him more and the weight on her back grew more heavier, she let out a yelp of pain as he continued raging, “all of your students are destined to starve to death here if they don’t succumb to this hellhole and kill everyone! it’s the only possible outcome. they’ll all die meaningless deaths like me! and they won’t be thinking of you when they take their final breaths i’ll even pass on a message as they die so — any last words?”

the woman used her energy to glare up at him menacingly, “d...don’t touch those children.”

the teen boy snorted than laughed maniacally like she’d said the most wicked joke, “come again.”

“spare my students... please don’t hurt them.” for some reason this angered him more and more, “please! i beg of you don’t harm a hair on their... goddamn... heads.”

her voice faded out but her thoughts didn’t. 

please please be safe, my sweet students.

  richie had finally stopped looking at the door to turn and look at y/n. minutes had passed and no sign of eleven or ms byers could be seen. y/n suddenly stood up, legs wobbling slightly but nonetheless she bravely stood, walking to the door.

“we have to go find ms. byers.” she mumbled. she soundly drained and tired.

“no way, ms. byers said stay here so—”

“we have to go find ms. byers!” her tone caused richie to flinch, “i just have a bad feeling... we gotta go search for ms. byers.” 

the boy sighed and shook his head.

“fucks sake, fine. but we leave a note for her. do you have pen and paper?” y/n produced a pen but shook her head without any paper. richie messily written a note on the teachers desk and sighed again, “alright lets get the fuck out of here.”

this was so long holy fuck-

anyways i finished writing this at 1am and i’ve scared myself writing so congrats! here’s chapter two! and if you want to be apart of the tag list, i ask or just like the post i made abt it or if i forgot you please tell me oksejhdhdhd

taglist — @dovageidys @the-internet-is-a-scary-place @schwankyblock @musicalsandbooks 

[queen-of-lazuroth]

((This is Exactly what you think it is ))

[ @son-of-an-invader @queen-of-lazuroth ]

Midge wasn’t used to sleeping by herself. It had been years since she’d been alone in a bed. It...didn’t feel right. She even found herself wishing she’d asked Drift-Dib to stay the night. She immediately shook that and the following idea of texting him to come back over away. She knew Dek’s weird werewolf behavior was already scaring the human a little. He didn’t need her randomly being scared and lonely and freaking him out even more.

She shifted a bit in her spot, rolling over to look at the ceiling. That moment on the couch was playing again and again in her mind. Their eyes meeting, Dib’s soft hair, the soft, warm buzzing that seemed to always occur between them. What was that anyway? What did it mean? She rolled over again, slamming her face into the pillow.

Maybe it was nothing.

But also...maybe it wasn’t…

It wasn’t like Dek and Midge hadn’t talked about stuff like that before. When Midge first told Dek about Leona, he asked her, out of pure curiosity, what would have happened if Leona had lived. Midge had, stated first of all if Leona had lived, perhaps Midge never would have turned completely against Harmonia. Or maybe she would have. She didn’t know. However, had she done so, and had met Dek while being with Leona, she’d said she knew she would have loved them both.

So...loving more than one person wasn’t really an issue…

Midge pushed her face deeper into the pillow. This wasn’t love, though. Just some weird feelings bubbling up due to finding some...strange...magnetic connection to another person.

Even so, Dib was in a vulnerable state, and certainly wasn’t looking for anything like that.

Midge sighed roughly. She wasn’t going to figure this out tonight. She needed to sleep.

Suddenly she began to hear a loud banging noise outside the window. Midge jumped from the bed, her brow furrow in concern. The another even louder bang followed, sounding like something was trying to come through the window. With a flick of her wrist Midge produced a sword made from ice, ready for a fight.

The window burst open, sending dozens of glass shards across the room. Midge jumped back a bit, shaking a little. The creature that had broken into the room snarled, shaking the glass off his dark green fur. He snorted once, sniffing the air. Ears and antennae both twitched as the giant creature prowled for a moment, surveying the room. It’s eyes fell on Midge. One emerald and on amaranth.

“D-Dek?” Midge stammered, taking a small step back.

The werewolf made a noise that wasn’t quite a growl, his eyes narrowing at Midge. Midge swallowed, gripping the sword in her hand. She didn’t want to hurt Dek, but she wasn’t about to let him go on a rampage. What if he not only hurt her, but hurt their children?

“Get back, Dek!” Midge ordered, waving the sword with warning. Her eyes and freckles glowed menacingly. A warning.

Dek didn’t seem to get the message. Or care. Either way he continued his approached until he was right in front of her. Dek’s werewolf form was almost a foot taller than his normal state, covered in thick fur. His eyes seemed to burn right through her. He leaned down, snarling quietly, and then began to sniff at Midge. The sniffs became deeper and more insistent, his muzzle rubbing against Midge’s face.

“Hey, your nose is cold,” Midge said with a snort. Her hand reached up to pet along Dek’s nose. She smiled as he leaned into the touch. Apparently even in this state he recognized her. She had to admit, not only was that relieving, it was a little heart-warming.

“Tch. Good boy,” Midge said, unable to help herself. Dek gave a rumble of displeasure. She giggled. “Sorry, sorry.”

The rumbled grew into a deep predatorial growl and Dek’s nuzzling became a little more aggressive. It almost scared Midge a little, until her gaze caught a glimpse of what was causing the strange behavior.

Well, his cock looks almost the same. Almost meaning just a bit bigger.

Large, furry claws suddenly trailed down Midge’s hips and thighs, before moving back up to lift up her shirt. Her face flushed and she swallowed. “Dek I…” She attempted to try to come up with all the ways this was a bad idea, that this was wrong...but she couldn’t help how those claws shot electricity through her body, and how her legs became weak at the thought of that cock inside her.

Dek caught on immediately, going back to inhaling Midge’s scent. He gave her an expression that looked ridiculously like his smirk.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t act so smug, Captain,” Midge told him. She then squealed as he scooped her up his arms before plopping her down on the bed. He gave another needy growl as he hover over her, before his expression changed again. He looked almost like he was...asking something.

“It’s okay, Dek,” she whispered. Not only was she not afraid, but she found herself yearning for this. Her hearts palpitated and her body trembled in anticipation.

Dek gave a happy growl this time before flipping Midge over so that she was on all fours. She gave a tiny squeak at being moved so quickly, but it was quickly replaced with a loud moan as Dek entered her roughly.

“Oh my fuck,” was perhaps the only coherent thing she could say before Dek began thrusting. His claws dug into her hips a little deeper than usual, sending her body reeling with sensations. Dek didn’t get rough with Midge very often, unless Midge explicitly asked for it. Even then he was super careful. However, in his werewolf form, he seemed unable to help himself, leaving bloody marks on Midge’s hips as he fucked her almost ruthlessly. Midge didn’t mind at all. In fact she was revelling in it, trying to move her hips to get more.

Dek seemed to realize this, however, and then began pulling and pushing Midge’s hips and to meet his thrusts. Midge cried out, gripping the sheets beneath her. If she were able to think she would know she was being a little too loud. But at the moment she didn’t care. All she cared about was her literal werewolf of a husband had her pinned to a bed and was fucking her senseless. And, good fucking Togal, it felt incredible.

“Ah! Yes, Yes, Dek, fuck yes!” she screamed as she came hard, her body convulsing with how insanely strong her orgasm was. Dek finished soon after inside, giving one last very satisfied growl as he did so.

Once Dek pulled out and let Midge go, she collapsed onto the bed, feeling like her legs were made of noodles. Dek quickly fell beside her, gathering her in his arm in a protective hold. She chuckled, activating her powers just a bit to keep herself cool.

She knew in the morning Dek would see the marks on her hips (and the broken window) and feel all kinds of guilty, but she would reassure him. It was definitely a comfort to know that no matter what, the two of them had each other.

They would always have each other.

Her mind now fogged up with other things, and in the arms of her mate, Midge had no trouble getting to sleep.

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Stars (Children Part 1)

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 2108

Summary: Simon and Baz help Penny with decorating her nursery. And Simon starts thinking...

Read on AO3

AN: Welcome to part 1 of this crazy idea Theo came up with ar 3 AM. Hope you like it! :D

Simon:

“Pen?” I shout. “Where do you want these?”

Penny loudly groans and waddles (that's honestly the best descriptor) into the yellow nursery. She glares at me, hands placed on the small of her back to support her large stomach.

“On the ceiling of course,” she says annoyed. “Where else are glow in the dark stars supposed to go?”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but do you want them in a specific pattern or something?”

“I don't think the baby will notice nor care for a complicated constellation, Snow,” Baz says, smirking from the ground where he's painting a baseboard pale yellow. I smirk back. If I were not standing on a ladder, I'd kick him. Or kiss him. Either works.

“Baz is right.” Penny shudders slightly. “Oh that feels so wrong to say.”

“Ha ha, you're hilarious Bunce. Maybe your child will inherit your sense of humour.”

“Oh that'd be wonderful. Then I'll have someone to insult you with.”

They glare at each other menacingly. I'd be worried, but this is how they've interacted for their almost ten year friendship. Deep down they do care for and respect each other. Penelope did name both of us godfathers of her baby. That speaks a lot louder than their jabs.

“Well,” I announce, “I'll put them in a nice pattern. Baby Bunce may not appreciate it yet but they will one day.”

Penelope sighs, stretching out her back. “Whatever, Si, It's up to you. I'm going to sit down. Movement is a nightmare.” She waddles out the door, groaning with every step.

“I'm so glad I'm male,” Baz mumbles. “Pregnancy looks horrendous.”

I shrug. “Yeah, but you get an adorable baby at the end. It's worth it.”

“I guess so.”

I bite at my lip. I've been meaning to ask Baz something for awhile now. It really shouldn't be this hard. We've been together for nine years, married for three. And it's not like we haven't chatted about the idea before. Baz had said it wasn't off the table, but I was far more cautious. But we were also still in uni. It felt so far away, and we were still so broken. Now we're 27 years old, married, and the most mentally stable we’ll probably ever be. Hell, we even have a flat together. A house with too many rooms.

“Hey Baz,” I say cautiously, “what do you think about all this?”

“'All this?’ You'll have to be more specific, love.”

“Y'know...baby stuff.”

“Well, I certainly hate the painting. I’d rather hire a professional. I think Bunce is making me do this as some sort of torture.”

I groan. Crowley, he’s usually able to pick up on subtlety. I put down the remaining few star decals and step off the ladder, facing his back as he’s stretched out along the wall. “Baz, do you want to have kids?”

Baz freezes, brush stilled in his hand. My heart stops beating. I’ve fucked up. I look at the floor, fiddling with my fingers. “I-I mean, not exactly right now, obviously. Someday? It’s just, I know we talked about it years ago, but we were so young, and I don’t know if yo’ve changed your mind since then. Just...all this baby stuff with Penny has got me thinking about it again. So, I was- I was thinking that we should talk about it again? W-We don’t have to though. If you’re not- If you-”

“Simon, stop.” I look up again. Baz is standing. His mouth is a thin, firm line, but his eyes are round. He reaches forward, placing his hand over mine, skin cool and comforting as usual. He takes a deep breath.

“Just, wait a moment,” he whispers. “Stay right here.”

Baz dashes off, leaving me blinking confused. Huh? What the fuck is going on? I’m even more lost than usual.

He reappears just as quickly was he vanished. He’s holding a thin blue binder. His hand is shaking slightly. “I, uh, I was hoping to show this to you when we were alone at home. But now seems like a better time.”

He hands it to me. I slowly open it, and my eyes bug out of my skull.

There’s pages and pages of printed info. Research on the legal process of adoption and surrogacy, addresses of agencies, spreadsheets calculating the cost of childcare vs. our combined salaries, even good schools in our neighbourhood. Literally anything and everything we’d need to know about having a kid.

I look up slowly, mouth hanging open. Baz seems nervous, maybe even embarrassed, a little red accenting his cheeks.

“You...you did all this?” I strangle out.

He nods slowly. “To be entirely truthful, I’ve been thinking about this, y’know, baby stuff, for awhile. But I wanted to be sure I had all the information first. I mean, us being two blokes, there’s more than a few extra steps. So I wanted to make sure I knew all the details. And, it’s definitely possible. For us. It’s not exactly easy. It’ll certainly be a headache. But still, we could...if you want, that is.”

I blink rapidly, very confused over the strained expression on my husband’s face. “Did-did you think I wouldn’t?”

Baz shrugs, shoulders coming to his pinkened pointy ears. “I wasn’t sure. I know you and parents is a...touchy subject. You said back then that you were worried about being a good father. I wasn’t sure if having kids was something you felt ready for now, or wanted. Just, you were so nervous last time we talked about it.”

“That was 7 years ago, Baz. I was still recovering from Watford and everything else. The Mage was the closest thing I ever had to a father, and he was shit. So yeah, part of me thought I couldn’t be a good dad, because I had no good reference point. But I’m older now. I’m more mentally stable, and I’m...” I hold his hand, weaving our fingers together. “I’m not scared anymore. I’m not like the Mage. At least, I don’t want to do what he did to me. I-I hope I couldn’t be that awful. And...more important than anything, I really want kids. I love children, and the idea of having our own makes me so happy.”

Putting the binder behind me on the ladder, I reach up and cup his cheek. He leans into my touch like always. “And even if I do end up being terrible, you’d be a great dad, Baz. You’re wonderful with your siblings. Merlin, even Mordelia likes you now.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “So...I think we could do this. Do you?”

He squeezes my hand once and lets out a long breath. “I think we could too. But just so you know.” He leans forward, tapping our foreheads together. After all these years, his deep grey eyes still make my heart stutter out of control. “You’re not giving yourself enough credit. I think you’d be a wonderful dad too.”

I giggle, wrapping both my arms around his neck and pulling back to grin at him. “Well, if you say it, it must be true. As we know, Basilton Snow-Pitch is infallible.”

Baz turns up his nose haughtily. “Of course. I know all.”

“Oh that is definitely the truth. Should’ve put it in our wedding vows.”

“Damn right.”

We laugh for a second, but quickly get quiet again. He pulls me closer, thin arms tight around my waist. His face gets sober but still soft. “I’m serious though. You don’t need to worry, Simon. I’ve been with you for almost a decade, and have been watching you for even longer. So I can say this without a doubt: You’re nothing like him. And you would be a marvelous parent.”

My face crumples slightly. “What if I fuck up?”

“We’ll both fuck up, love. No parent is perfect. But we’ll try our best. And I know your best will be fucking amazing.” He grins, and it’s sweet and genuine and perfect.

Crowley, I love him. And over the years I’ve grown to love him more and more. He’s still a sarcastic stubborn arse sometimes. (Actually a lot of the time.) But he’s also like this, when he’s just with me: soft, genuine, and unbelievably kind.

I sigh and hug him closer, burying my face in his bony shoulder. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, darling.” He presses a soft kiss my hair. I love the feeling of his cool lips against my skin. “So we’re really going to do this, right? Even if it’s hard? Even though we’re both a bit scared?”

I pull away, smiling so hard my face. “Yeah, we’re really gonna do this.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, and so do I. Soon we devolve into stupidly loud joyful laughter. Baz lifts me up in a fierce hug (yay vampire strength). I hold his beautiful face in both my hands. And completely on instinct, I lean down and crush his mouth against mine. We’re still laughing between every kiss. We’re too happy not to.

“Hey! My baby’s nursery is definitely a no snogging zone!”

We break away to see a very pissed off, very pregnant Penelope Bunce glaring at us. Baz puts me down. We’re both still grinning like idiots.

I chuckle nervously. “Sorry, Pen, W-we’re just...we’re really excited cause-”

“We’re joining you on the whole baby thing,” Baz says cooly. He’s far more calm than me (he always is.)

Penelope’s eyes bug out from behind her glasses. Her mouth slowly falls open. “Nicks and slicks, you’re serious?”

“Very.” He picks up and waves the binder. “I’ve done all the work though, of course.” I elbow his side, but we both keep smiling. Always a sarcastic asshole. That’s the man I married.

Penny marches forward as best she can and snatches the binder. She flips through it, eyes getting wider with every page. She looks back up at us.

“Holy shit,” she breathes out. “You’re actually doing this?”

I grin so hard my cheeks hurt, but I don’t care. “Yeah. We really are.”

She snaps it closed dramatically. “You two are such dicks. Just copying me, huh?”

Baz glares, eyes practical slits. “Hey, you don’t have a monopoly on children, Bun- ah!”

Penny throws her arms around both our necks, pulling us down to her level (so Baz is practically bent in half). She clutches us fiercely.

“I’m so happy for you two,” she whispers.

I sigh, wrapping an arm around her lower back to return the hug. “Thanks, Pen.”

“Thank you, Bunce,” Baz replies, tone much softer than usual.

She lets go, but keeps a hand on our shoulders. I notice a small tear in the corner of her eye but I don’t point it out. She would be pissed if I did. Pregnant or not, I would never cross Penelope Bunce.

“Now, no matter how happy I am, you two need to get this room ready. Your baby may be far off, but mine is about ready to pop. So finish up in here and I’ll tell Micah to bring us celebratory scones on his way home from work. Alright?”

“Wonderful,” I say.

“Unfortunate,” Baz grumbles.

Penny playfully ruffles his hair, loosening some strands from his annoyingly attractive man bun. “You’re going to be such a good father.”

“Damn right I am. My kid will be just as sharp tongued as me. They’ll give your baby a run for their money.”

I hang my head and groan. “I can’t believe you two are competing over this.”

“We compete over everything, Snow,” Baz says, patting my hair. “This will be no different.”

“I agree with you, Basilton.” Penelope shudders even more dramatically. “Crowley, that still feels so wrong. Finish up quickly, you two. I’ll put on coffee.”

She walks away with a smile on her face. I know, insults or not, she’s genuinely happy for us. Of course she is.

“Guess I should finish with the bloody baseboard,” Baz grumbles.

“I can help,” I say. “I’m done with the stars.”

“Hm, really? And what pattern did you choose?”

“Well, why don’t I show you?”

I rush over to close the door, then flick off the light. Baz looks up and lets out a loud laugh. He walks over to hold my waist.

“You’re so cheesy,” he whispers into my ear.

“Hey, everyone needs a little extra love,” I reply

We both look up and gaze at my handy work. At the big glow in the dark star heart that will hang over Penny’s new baby. I hope to do the exact same in our kid’s room.

AN: Okay so for the last few prompts, they will all be connected by Baz and Simon being parents. There will be time jumps but follow the same canon and idea. Hope you all liked this :)

Tomorrow: Christmas decorating!

[athedemonsqueen]

I Found You #26 (Finn Balor Story)

Ok, who is enjoying the Gauntle Match?? I’m so excited to see Finn win, but damn this might last another hour! Enjoy the chapter! 

Luke and Karl were kind enough to drive us to the airport. It was close to the late night hour. I sat in the back with Luke, and Finn in the front with Karl. I was exhausted. How I was looking forward to that little nap in the car, however the temperatures outside were dropping dramatically and the chill from the windows were keeping me awake and causing me to get the chills. I hid it as much as I could from the men.

Eventually I went to sleep, but I still could hear their conversation.

“So, are you guys thinking about buying a house together?” Karl asked.

“Um, we are happy where we ‘re for now, but it might be a conversation.” Finn said.

“I think she’ll like the idea of decorating her own house…” Karl said.

“Yeah, that’ll make her happy, I’ve seen her work on those apps that she uses.” Finn said, looking back at me.

I trembled from the frigid cold, not even in Seattle would it get this cold. “She’s shaking a little bit.” Luke said.

“She’s probably freezing.” He added. Finn turned around, nudging me awake.

“Baby, are you ok?” Finn whispered.

“I’m cold.” I whispered back.

“Wanna come in the front with me?” Finn asked, I nodded, slowly climbing over the car seat and into his lap. I curled up around him as he placed his scarf around me.

“There we go.” Finn whispered to me. Finn was unusally warm tonight which did not bother me. Karl looked over at me and smiled.

“It is cold back here.” Luke commented.

“I’m not surprised she’s not coming down with something.” Finn said, examing me.

“Is she warm?” Karl asked.

Finn shaked his head, no. Finn nuzzled me close to him.

“How would you feel about getting our own home?” Finn whispered to me. “You can deck it all out the way you want it.”

I was too tired to move my mouth to let words out, all I could do is nod my head and give a faint smile. It would be a great change up.

The plane ride I slept the entire way, I slowly felt like I was coming down with something. Everytime I opened my eyes my head would start to spin. I would have vivid dreams of my own home with Finn. I can see two little kids probably twins from the looks of them as they run to Finn in the backyard. They are everything of him- blue eyes, blonde hair (at least when he was a child) and child-like smiles. I knew right way they were our kids.

When I woke up, I realize I was home in our bed. It is dusk and I felt like someone had run me over with a tracker trailer truck. I moaned rubbing my head as I got out of bed. Since I did not have the strength to go far in the house looking for Finn, I stood in front of the doorway weakly calling for him.

“Finn?” I called softly.

I gathered my strength and called for him again, “Finn!”

“I’m in here!” He called from the shower. I walked into the hot airy bathroom, to my relief it did uncloud my head.

“What happened I don’t remember anything pass the car ride?” I asked. I could tell from the other side FInn was washing his hair.

“Well, you passed out in the car, half way in the air, you started to come down with a fever you were ok enough to get through the airport, you slept all the ways home and I put you into bed.” Finn explained.

“You’ve got the flu, baby.” He said, I looked up at him, it’s not a surprise, but for the first time I don’t know how to cure it.

“What should I do?” I asked.

“Get back into bed, I’m going to pick you up medicine at the uh...um…” Finn started to stumble on the American words.

“Walgreens?”

“No.” He said.

“CVS?”

“No, the other one.” He said.

“Oh, Rite Aid.”

“Yeah, that one.”

I smiled to myself, rubbing my nose. “Honey, who is Abby and Will?” He asked.

“Who?”

“Abby and Will, you were muttering their names the entire plane ride, at one point you called them for dinner.” He said, turning around in the shower to face me through the glass. I thought back on my dream and realized those were our babies. I pressed my hand to my stomach and figured I couldn’t be pregnant from the last time we had sex. I just couldn’t be now, but they were my kids. I knew they were, but it was so vivid, so clear. I could even hear their laughter and their voices. I could see the beautiful dress my girl wore as she picked flowers in bushes. I could see my son, climbing a large oak tree leading to a tree house. The best aspect I felt was the warmth. It wasn’t burning heat or frigid cold, it was warmth a happiness warmth.

I looked up at Finn who was waiting for an answer, “I think it was just a dream and nothing more that you need to worry about.” I said. Finn smiled as he got out of the shower. He pressed his lips to my forehead,

“Thank God, your fever went down.” Finn said.

“How do you feel?” He asked caressing my hair back.

“Like someone has ran me over with a truck.” I said.

Finn giggled, “Go back to bed, I’ll run to the store real quick.” He said. I nodded, as his hand ran through my hair.

I went to lay down and I soon fell back to sleep. My mind wander to outside the house. I didn’t understand why I was standing outside, it was cold too cold for Florida. I walked inside to find the house had changed the staircase that met me is no longer there, the kitchen that is across from me was placed with a long hallway. I walked down it slowly and went through it to find no one was there. It was a nice house though.

“Mama! Mama!” Came a small child’s voice.

“Mommy!” A girl’s voice came. I rushed down the hallway and and up the flight of stairs. There were two rooms- I went to the one on the left and it was locked, I banged on it, then scrambled to the room next to it, and banged on it- it opened. I looked around to find the kids sleeping in their beds peacefully. My heart pounded in fear my breathing became heavy. From the corner of my eyes i could see a set of red eyes that belonged to a figure sitting in the rocking chair.

I began to tremble as it looked at me menacingly. It slowly got up and came into the light. It was Finn- dressed in a black suit, but I knew it wasn’t Finn. It was Balor. The kids started to wake and rise from their beds to reveal a corpse- like deposition with glowing red eyes like Balor’s. It was as if it to say these are our children. The children looked horrifying.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” Balor’s gruff voice came. I gasped slightly as I watched the children decay even more. I could not say anything even when I opened my mouth I was forbidden to say anything. Balor sat in the boy’s bed, and draped his arm around him.

“Say hello to your mummy.” He said.

“Ello, mom.” His mouth opened to have blood spew from it, I gasped taking a step back.

I closed my eyes and opened them only to pop out of bed gasping. “Honey, honey, what’s wrong?” Finn said, coming into the room. I looked up at him, getting out of bed,

“Where is Balor?” I asked.

“What”

“Balor where is he!” I cried.

“Honey, he can be anywhere, but he’s not here.” He said.

“That dream the dream I had it twice, but it wasn’t them, it wasn’t our kids…” I said, hysterically.

“Our kids?”

“The dream from before it was our kids, Balor just showed me a dream again now, and…” I gasp, losing my breathe.

“And they were nightmares, Balor wanted my babies!” I cried, hysterically. Finn pulled me to him.

“It was only a dream…” Finn said.

“But they were real Ferg, they were real. Don’t let Balor take our babies away.” I cried.

Finn pulled me closer, “No, I won’t I won’t let him take them, their safe.”

Within the next week, I was back to studying, graduation was an arm stretch away and I was more concentrated than ever. I sat in the kitchen as Spring slowly approached us from the looks of the small crowds and the smell of the air. Finn came in and sat next to me.

“What are you studying?” He asked, placing a cup of tea down for us.

“Not studying, looking over.” I said softly.

“Do you want me to re-read it for you?” He said as he took the paper from me.

I sighed, letting my hand support my head. “This is a graded paper.” Finn said.

“Yeah, I know.” I said displeased. “Not the best grade.” I added.

“It’s a C (Y/N)” Finn explained.

“Still I don’t like Cs.”

“Ok, you just settle down and study more...you won’t go on the road with me.” Finn said.

“No, Elimination Chamber is underway and your counting on me and so are they.” I said referring to the fans.

Finn sighed placing the paper down and coming over to me. “I forgot to give you a Valentine's Day gift.” Finn said.

“I don’t need one.” I chuckled. He smiled devilishly, “Well, you’re in luck, cause I got something for you.” He said. He went into the living room and came back with a large bear and papers.

“Oh, my God he is so cute!” I cooed.

“Check out what he has…” Finn said, as i took the papers from the teddy bear. I scanned through them to see they were houses.

“I don’t understand…” I said, looking up at him.

“These are just a few houses I found within the area, for us to buy.” Finn said, I looked up at him with disbelief.

He pointed to one house, “See this one is close to your school, a mile from a food store, and convenience to get to the airport.” Finn said.

“That’s A LOT of money!” I exclaimed.

“I didn’t know a price could go beyond eight zeros.” I said. Finn laughed, not understanding what I was saying.

“Well, I have a friend that could help us with this.” Finn said, the door bell rung.

“And he is here…” Finn added.

“Honey, these are all very expensive, I don’t think making over a million dollars you could afford this, and by yourself, oh Lord I would not make you do this by yourself.” I said.

“That’s what the realtor is for…” Finn said, going to answer the door.

I swiftly followed him to the door and around the kitchen bend, “Who is the realtor?”

@mylittlepartofthegalaxy @igobypoet @finnabonthesinnabon @devitts-girl @finnbealor @calwitch @tina679 @echelonfam-30 @squirrel666

[codename-bewareofthefangirl]

Hi! I'd just like to say your scenarios are great! I thoroughly enjoyed your Momoi stories (my Queen *-*

Hi dear!Obviously I’m late and I don’t even know how this turned put, however I hopeyou can enjoy our dorky guys and their princess! Thank you for all your supportand compliments, you made me blush *-*

Have a goodday!

Momoi xMiraGen, Fluff and Slice of Life

 Precious Birthday

 “I still think Paris would have been a better choice.”Akashi murmured pouting.

“Please Akashi, stop.” Midorima sighed exasperated byhis side, together with the rest of the Generation of Miracles.

They were all standing in the packet train with their luggage,directed to the seaside. Precisely, to Akashi’s villa in a typical village onthe sea.

“Ah I’m so excited!” Momoi chirped bouncing up anddown between Kuroko and Aomine, without having heard Akashi.

The boys had organized a secret two days trip for herbirthday. For now, she only knew they were going to the beach and she was soexcited she couldn’t stand still. Spending her most important day with her mostimportant friends was simply perfect.

Kuroko sent a “Told you” glance to Akashi, who glared backoffended.

“What are we going to do when we arrive?” she tried tobribe them with shining eyes, but it was useless. They had spent an entire weekof bickering and thinking to organize it in secret: they weren’t going to spoilthe surprise now.

“Stop pestering, Satsuki.” Aomine grunted, cursinginternally the hot weather.

“It’s a secret!” Kise mused flicking her forehead andhe puffed out her cheeks.

“Geez, alright, alright.” She surrendered, taking oneof the candies Midorima was offering her.

“The next stop is ours. Get ready.” Kuroko quietlyobserved and the girl thrilled excited, moving as to take up her heavy bags,but her boys moved faster. Without letting her protest, Aomine and Murasakibaratook the luggage in her place.

“I’m sorry they’re heavy.” She apologized, seeing theyweren’t intentioned to give up on it.

“No problem.” Aomine shrugged and Murasakibara pattedher head with a small smile.

“It’s the duty of a gentleman.” Akashi smiled sweetly,even if he wasn’t the one doing it, and making Momoi blush.

“Smooth motherfucker.” Aomine and Kise thought at theunison.

 After leaving their belonging at the majestic villa,in perfect Japanese style, they spent the entire afternoon at the beach, withMomoi’s great joy. To her surprise, even if there was a basketball court, noone of the boys asked to play. They stayed and had fun with her in the waterfor all the time; swimming and dive races, playful tickle fights, table tennismatches…They even bought her ice cream and built a giant sandcastle for her.All the children of the nearby ended up helping them, completely amazed bytheir skill. Akashi and Midorima revealed to be real professionals architects.

In the end, when she asked her if they wanted to playbasketball (and they beamed up, it was obvious they had wanted to do it fromthe start), they insisted for her to play with them too, changing teams so thatshe could play with everyone.

 In the evening, after having returned home and taken ashower, Murasakibara cooked her favorite dishes and they ate joking andchatting, in a relaxed, familiar atmosphere. Then, Kise kidnapped Momoi andbrought her to another room.

“Here my part of your birthday gift.” He chirpedhappily, rummaging in a big red bag that he had treasured for the entiretravel.

“Isn’t this trip already an enormous gift?” she askedshaking her head incredulous, “I don’t deserve all this surprises.” She whisperedsoftly and fondly, but Kise turned faking a pout.

“What are you saying, Momocchi? You deserve this andmore.” He reassured her, finally raising and showing her his gift. “Ta-daaa!”

Momoi covered his mouth with both hands, eyes widenedand shining.

Kise was giving her a beautiful kimono in red silkwith pink cherry flowers.

“I can’t…” she murmured in awe, caressing the softfabric.

“Obviously you can. I chose it on purpose.” He proudlyrevealed, messing her hair with a bright smile.

A loud knock interrupted the two. Kise smirked andopened the door. Midorima was standing there, blushing furiously.

“I- I just thought it would be better to give you mygift now…” he stumbled on his words and embarrassedly stretched her a smallpackage.

Momoi blinked surprised, feeling a giddy happiness fillingher up.

“You didn’t have to…” she whispered, opening it withdelicacy.

“It’s your lucky item of the day. It matches with Kise’skimono.” He simply added, fixing his glasses.

Momoi took out from the wrap an elegant hairpin, witha beautiful scarlet butterfly on top and small bells hanging.

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed fascinated, looking ather precious treasure. “Thank you, Midorima.” She thanked him with a smile sobright and full of joy that even his ears became red.

“N-nothing.” He stuttered, “Now, I let you change.”Midorima closed the door and escaped covering his mouth with a hand.

Kise, who was giggling from the start, called the girlto have this attention.

“Now, let me show you what I’ve learnt being a model!”he grinned.

 In the meanwhile, the other boys were waiting for themin the living room, already wearing their kimono.

“Momoi-san is really cute today.” Kuroko commentedthoughtfully after some seconds, seated on the couch.

“Ah? She’s the usual.” Aomine replied, sprawled besidehim.

“It didn’t seems so, seeing how you were blushingwhile putting the sun cream on her.” Akashi slyly commented, making him blush.

“Oi! Akashi you bastard!” he roared, straightening menacingly.

“Animal.” Midorima muttered rolling his eyes.

“She asked!” Aomine defended himself, frowning.

“Because she trusted you, Mine-chin.” Murasakibara deliveredthe final blow, seated on the floor and swinging on his place.

“Shut up! You are not better than me.” He growled inthe end and actually, nobody of them could argue with that.

“I’m ready!” Momoi entered suddenly unto the room, “Ah,you are very handsome dressed like this.” she complimented them innocently andearnestly.

The truth is, she was the beautiful one. Like aprincess from ancient tables, the red kimono fitting her body perfectly andcomplimenting her pink hair, that Kise had styled in an elegant and freshhairdo.

Beautiful enough to freeze them completely. Aominefell from the couch, Kuroko widened his eyes, Murasakibara choked on a candy,Akashi remained without words and Midorima had to avert his eyes before havinga nosebleed.

“Something wrong?” she asked a bit worried, feelingself-conscious about how she looked.

However, Akashi recomposed immediately and took herhand.

“Your beauty left us speechless.” He explained smoothly,leaving a kiss on the back of the hand.

She stuttered something, red like a tomato.

“Smooth motherfucker.” All the members thought atunison.

But this finally unblocked them and they started complimentingher in their own, awkward way, until Kise reached them too.

“Let’s go!” the blonde boosted excited and everyonenodded, following Akashi out of the house.

Before they left, Aomine grabbed him.

“Good job Kise.” He muttered still amazed, “Good job.”

“See? My Perfect Copy can be useful in different ways.”He joked, “But she is already pretty as she usually is, so it’s not my merit.” Hethen added sweetly, shrugging, while following with the eyes Momoi.

Aomine snorted, watching her too.

“Yeah, I know.”

 They brought her to a festival and spent all the nighthaving fun, trying every kiosks and stands. Midorima won for her a necklace atthe shooting game, Aomine a giant plush at the basketball one, Murasakibara boughtand let her taste every type of food, from takoyaki to caramel apples. Akashiled them to a secret and private hill where they watched together thefireworks. Kuroko, while they were coming back, asked a tourist to take them aphoto with his instant cameras and gave it as a gift to the girl.

It was one of the most beautiful photos of them. Theywere smiling happily hugging each other and surrounding Momoi, looking fondly ather, as she was a walking treasure. She was so happy she spilled some tears ofjoy.

 When they came home, Akashi brought out futons foreveryone and put them in the living room so they could stay together; theyarranged them so that Momoi was in the middle and they formed a circle around her.Aomine had insisted about that and, even if at first they thought it was a bit hazardous,seeing how happy and excited the girl was about it they had to agree with himin the end.

For Momoi it was a very special thing, as her bestfriend knew perfectly, because when they had training camps, the coach alwaysgave her a private room, so she had never had a pajamas party with them before.That was beyond exciting, they made her feel like a real family.

After a heated pillow fight and exchanging horrorstories, childhood memories and gossip, they finally decided to go to sleep.However, before tiredness could win them over, Momoi gave to each a kiss on thecheek to thank them for the most beautiful birthday she ever had.

 Even after years and the difficult moments they hadlived, that one remained a memory all of them cherished fondly in the deep oftheir hearts.

[beatitlikeabongodrum]

Taking Care Of The Avengers: 15) What Have You Done To Loki?

It had been at least over a year since you had met Loki and your liking for him never ceased, but you always kept your emotions at bay in fear of rejection.

"Man of Iron, why am I here?" Loki asked for the hundredth time, impatient as he sat on a bed in the lab.

And just like the last ninety-nine times, Tony just kept silent and ignored him with a smirk. Loki would've ran out of the lab of it hadn't been for the fact that Tony had his scepter.

Bruce, who was watching a computer screen with some results about the sceptre, finally obliged to speak. "Tony and I were thinking that we could harness the sceptre's powers to help me be in control of the Hulk."

Loki's eyes widened. "That is madness! You'll get us all killed!"

"Is it madness? Truly?" Bruce snarled with a fierce glare, putting his face only an inch away from Loki who immediately backed away. Bruce quickly changed his demeanor to an amused one, and the Science Bros laughed at Loki's startled expression. He didn't expect Bruce of all people to imitate him.

"But if we do succeed, you will never have the Hulk out to crush you again." Tony sang out temptingly, which made the god begrudgingly comply.

After another long twenty minutes, Stark held out a glass and plastic gun, with a serum injected into it. "We did it and we are not dead!"

"Great, now I'll take my leave with my Tessie." Loki stated, and then immediately froze in shock at his words.

Bruce stared at Loki and Tony crossed his arms over his chest. "Tessie, eh? That's sweet. Calling your scepter Tessie. I wonder what your nickname for (Y/n) is."

"(Y/n)? What has (Y/n) got to do with this?" Bruce asked curiously and edged closer to the two men, taking off his glasses.

"Speak one more word and I won't hesitate to neuter you, Stark." Loki threatened darkly and advanced menacingly towards Stark with the scepter.

He was about to lunge at Stark when Tony frantically aimed the experimental gun at Loki and fired. The serum injected itself into Loki's arm, and he immediately passed out.

"What have you done to Loki?" Bruce screamed in panic and ran to the fallen god.

NOW WE GO TO YOUR SIDE--

You were sitting on your couch and happily reading a story on your phone. The other Avengers other than the Maximoff twins, Bucky and Clint were there. The Maximoffs had gone for a whole day out and would not return until the next morning.

Clint had gone out for a mission yesterday and was due to come in today.

Bucky had gone to a SHIELD facility for a few upgrades in his weaponry and he also had to interrogate some people, his metal arm and intimidating attitude could scare the pants off of anyone. He actually did it for fun instead of using that special hot baby sauce.

You glanced up for a second as you heard the patters of rather small feet coming towards you.

A boy of the age of seven with straight and smoothed black hair and green and gold clothes ran past you. He was being chased by Tony and Bruce.

You just looked at the boy for a second, shrugged and then went back to reading without a second thought. After a few seconds, the sight registered into your brain and you jumped up in shock. "What the hell?"

"Lady (Y/n)! It is not good to use such language in front of children." Thor scolded and then abruptly stopped as the thought hit him too.

"Why is there a kid running around in the Tower?" Steve asked with the same confused look etched on all your faces as you glanced at each other.

"Tony, Bruce! Get your as- I mean, facs, here!" Natasha snapped and corrected herself, afraid of using bad language in front of the kid.

"The boy reminds me of someone." Thor muttered and reached his hand to the table, to retrieve a pop tart. Just as he was about to catch it, it faded away as it was an illusion.

Thor rose to his feet in anger. "Loki! What have you done to my MIdguardian delicacy?"

No Loki appeared. The boy, Tony and Bruce had gone to the kitchen and no sounds were heard from there.

"Loki! I demand your presence now!"

Instead of the tall and lean god, the small boy appeared in front of Thor, eyes wide in fear, making everyone jump.  You finally understood why this boy looked familiar.

"Thor, I think he's -"

"Loki." Thor finished as he never took his eyes off the small boy.

The small boy turned his head to look at you, and you couldn't help but have your heart melt at the sight. He had short black hair and the same pale face, with a slight pout on his slightly chubby pink lips. His emerald eyes were the same, having a spark of mischief in them.

"Loki! Where is my pop-tart?" Thor screamed at the little Loki, who flinched at the sound.

"Thor! He's just a kid!" Steve scolded and looked at the boy kindly. "And we have to find out how he's become a kid again."

"Tony! Bruce! Get here now!" Natasha screamed out, and the two men appeared from the doorway.

"Ah! I see you found the little delinquent." Tony exclaimed with open arms and proceeded to chase the boy again, who gave a small scream and bolted.

"Tony! Stop chasing Loki!" You commanded and grabbed Tony by his collar as he passed you, pulling him back.

"I'm sorry, Thor!" Loki shrieked in fear as he hid behind the couch. "I didn't mean to. I just wanted to have some fun. "

Thor's face softened. You approached the huge blonde god and said, "Thor, this may be your only chance to prove how much you love your brother. He might be able to have great childhood experiences if you're a good big brother to him."

Thor immediately nodded and gave out a broad grin. "Loki, where are you?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "He's still behind the couch."

Thor and you walked towards the back of the couch, finding the small boy crouched there with his knees to his chest. He had a worried expression and tears were built up at the back of his eyes.

"Are you going to hurt me, Thor?" He mumbled in a shaky voice, his body trembling.

Thor's eyes widened. "No. I would never hurt you, Loki. Come, do you want this Midguardian delicacy of frozen cream?"

Loki lifted his head slowly and eyed Thor cautiously, as if seeing whether he was telling the truth. After a few moments, Loki stood up slowly and reached his hand towards Thor. Thor happily took his brother's hand and led him to the kitchen, with you marveling at how sweet that was.

You started hearing thuds from the ceiling, and your brother popped out from a vent. Clint smiled and walked over to you, and as he spotted the boy, he looked at you questioningly.

"Who's the kid?"

"Thor's brother." You replied shortly and kept staring as Thor and Loki were now licking lollies.

Clint looked shocked, to say the least. "Thor has another brother?"

You playfully punched his stomach with a chuckle. "That's Loki, you idjit!"

"Did Tony do this?" You nodded.

"They look so sweet. Like real brothers." You commented longingly. Clint stared at you for a minute and then sighed.

"You're thinking about mom, dad and us, right, (Y/n)?" He asked, even though he knew the answer. "Sorry that I couldn't be the brother you wanted."

You turned to him in shock and hugged him,"You're a great brother. I wouldn't have anybody else."

He hugged you back, earning sentiments from the other Avengers. You both pulled apart with bright smiles and turned to face the other siblings, who had now finished their ice-creams.

"Brother, do you want to meet your friends?" Thor boomed from the kitchen and Loki immediately shook his head.

"I do not like mortals." Little Loki exclaimed angrily and furiously kept shaking his head.

"If only he had a chance to speak with the adult Loki." Tony commented silently to Steve, who giggled as they both eyed you knowingly.

"I shall take you to them anyway." Thor argued and hauled up his brother, placing him on his shoulders despite the little boy's protests.

"Let me down, you big oaf!" Loki roared and started banging on Thor's head with his miniature fists, giving absolutely no effect of pain to Thor.

"Glad to know the real Loki is there." Natasha said as she chuckled, earning laughs from everyone.

"Let me down! Let me down!"

You saw the god's distress and quickly rushed forward to step in front of Thor.

"Hey there, little guy." You said softly as you spoke to Loki.

Loki looked down to meet your black eyes, and stared at you suspiciously. "Who is this mortal, Thor?"

You narrowed your eyes at the boy. "Is that a way to talk to other people? You need to be punished for your behavior."

Loki's eyes widened and he shook his head and blabbered. "I'm sorry. Please, no punishment. You are very pretty."

You were taken aback, so you had no choice as spoke sweetly. He was too adorable. "It's okay, I won't punish you, maybe except for a few tickles!" You darted forward and carefully took the boy in your arms and tickled his sides.

"Hahaha! St-ahp! It tickles!" Little Loki gasped as he laughed, squirming in your thin arms.

Thor chuckled audibly at your kind behavior. Tony and Steve on the other hand were jumping eagerly, as they saw you two, hoping that when Loki gets back to being an adult, both your feelings may be revealed.

Natasha was staring at the two men curiously, wondering what had made them so hyper. Then she thought of something, "Guys, how is Loki going turn back into an adult?"

Everyone in the room froze, not expecting this particular question. Tony and Bruce glanced at each other in fear.

"Well? Can you change him back or not?" Steve asked the scientists, who were still shocked.

"We don't know."

Bruce rolled his eyes and said, "What Tony means is that he will change back, but we don't know when. Maybe in a day or so."

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief, except young Loki who resorted to tugging your loose black hair for attention. And that's what you and Thor gave him.

"Aw! Who's a cute little Loki? You are!" You exclaimed and smiled brightly at the black haired boy in your arms. You nudged his nose with yours cutely, making him giggle happily.  You put Loki down and looked at him adoringly, finding many similarities between the older and younger Loki.

One was that they were both mischievous. Another was the fact that they were both really cute.

Feeling something clutch your legs, you looked down to find Loki with his arms cutely wrapped around your right leg and his small and thin body pressed firmly against your leg. He was quite short, only reaching to your thigh.

Loki grinned cheekily and said to Thor. "Thor! I like this mortal! Can we keep her?"

You turned red, and everyone laughed. Most of the day was spent with Thor and Loki playing and having fun together, which Loki completely enjoyed.

The young Loki even admitted that he loves his brother and that he was glad to have so much fun thanks to him. Thor was absolutely happy to say the least, and hoped that Loki would remember everything that happened when he changed back into an adult.

The things Loki and Thor did might've pissed off other Avengers, but it was all in good fun. And Thor actually understood how fun it was to prank others.

They played around the whole tower, played pranks and ate a lot. They practically raided every cabinet and refrigerator. Thor was about to open the liquor cupboard when Clint luckily stopped them in time and Natasha scolded Thor for not thinking about the child.

By the time night fell, Loki still hadn't changed back and it worried you a bit. But the brothers didn't seem to mind much.

"Loki! It's bed time!" Natasha announced an hour after everyone ate dinner.

"No! I don't want to sleep!" Loki retorted, almost in distress.

"Loki! Bed time now!"

"I DO WHAT I WANT!"

"Haven't heard that line in a long time." Tony piped in excitedly. You agreed silently with a nod, wanting to watch what would happen next.

Well, what happened next was surprising. Loki ran up to you and climbed onto the couch on his rather short legs, and he sat on your lap attentively with a perfectly straight posture for a kid.

'Keep it together, (Y/n),' you thought, 'He's just a kid.'

"Can I stay with Lady (Y/n), Thor? Please?" Loki looked at his brother with the cutest puppy dog face.

Thor was about to reject his request until he saw that you were willing to have Loki.

(Author"-- "Have Loki!" This line made me burst out laughing! I can't even imagine what my readers would think!  Don't take that sentence in the wrong way. I didn't know how else to frame it. )

"Of course, brother. But do not trouble (Y/n)." He warned with a smile and stood up, walking over to you and the little Loki who was happily perched on your thighs, as he gazed adoringly with wide green eyes at your face.

"I won't. I want to make her happy!" He exclaimed loudly, and the Avengers who heard this were stifling laughs.

Well, Tony didn't really care. He was literally rolling on the floor and clutching his stomach as he gasped for air. Steve was chuckling loudly and guess what happened?

Yeah. You turned red.

Thor tousled Loki's hair fondly and received a bright smile from the boy. He bade Loki goodnight with an 'I love you.' and then went to sleep.

One by one, the remaining Avengers also went to their respective rooms to turn in for the night. In the end, only you, Loki and Tony were left. Loki was resting his head on your lap and never ceased his attentive gaze from you. You were stroking his head lovingly and he crooned happily, trying to cuddle closer to you.

Tony stood up and gave you a knowing smirk. "Well I'm going. I hope Loki made you happy."

"He did." You replied immediately and then face-palmed. Loki perked up slightly and tuned into your conversation with Tony. Your blush became deeper and you wanted to crawl into a hole and just die there, hoping that Loki wouldn't remember this.

You felt so embarrassed as you knew that Tony might never let this go.

"Really now?" Stark smirked smugly and crossed his arms.

"Not that way. Such an ass."

Stark tut-tutted. "Language. " And then he strutted out with the same smirk on his face.

You wanted to strangle that annoying man. 'One day,' You promised yourself.

You looked back at Loki who had the same curious and interested gleam in his beautiful emerald orbs. You continued to move your hand softly through his raven black hair.

You yawned, making your eyes close and your nose scrunch up. Loki noticed your movements and immediately tried copying you.

You chuckled at his antics and traced your fingers from his hair to his face, earning a soft giggle, making your smile broader. You tapped his nose and he giggled and tried to catch your fingers. After you playfully dodged your palm away from him many times, he finally got your right hand in his tiny hands and he grasped it tightly, as if never wanting to let it go.

You moved your left hand through his hair and he yawned tiredly, and soon he fell asleep with his head resting on your lap and your right hand in both his arms, which Loki brought close to his and cuddled so adorably.

You sighed with a soft smile and, well, you did not hum a tune out sing or anything. That would make it more cheesy than it already is, and it helped that you didn't have a good singing voice.

Within a few minutes, which made the time 10:00 pm, your eyes automatically shut down and you fell asleep.

Loki had awoken in the middle of the night as he felt himself turning by back into an adult, finding himself in the same position where his head was on your lap, your right hand clutched in his, and your limp left hand on his black hair.

He remembered everything that happened the day before and nearly slapped himself for his behavior towards you. But as the god looked at your calm sleeping face, a sweet smile found its way on his lips and the sly bastard slowly rearranged yourself and him so that you both were comfortable.

Yea... Well that position ended up with you resting on your side, facing his face, and your right hand never got out of his hold as he carefully wrapped an arm around your waist.

He fell asleep again with a soft smile on his face.

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

Next morning --

"And what do we have here?" A feminine Sokovian voice exclaimed in a low tone.

"They are so adorable! We should definitely ship them!" Pietro said excitedly, and Wanda responded positively.

"Let's see- (Y/n) and Loki. Oh! (Ship name)!" Pietro continued, and Wanda clapped her hands happily.

"But were shouldn't tell the others. We will keep this to ourselves for now!" Wanda said as she glanced upon the sight of you and Loki together, but this time, you were closer to Loki and yours and his legs were slightly tangled.

"Could you idiots talk any louder?" Loki grumbled slowly, careful not to wake you up.

The twins' eyes shot wide open and the Scarlet Witch connected her's and her brother's minds with Loki's.

The following conversation happens between minds and not aloud. >>

"How did you guys get in this position?" Pietro inquired curiously as he took in the scene.

"Long story. And no, I will not say anything about this and neither will you, got it?"

"We should take a picture." Wanda thought and immediately brought our a camera and snapped a picture despite Loki's warning.

"We will leave you love birds alone then. Make sure you get up before the others do. " Pietro said and the twins left, talking happily about this little situation.

You suddenly shifted, feeling slightly warm, so you cuddled closer to Loki as he was colder. The god stiffened slightly, and then relaxed and tightened his arm on your waist and he brought you closer.

You hummed contentedly and proceeded to bring an arm to wrap around Loki's waist. In doing so, your face came closer to his and your noses touched. You had a slight frown on your face, but Loki always found you beautiful and perfect.

To say that Loki's heart was racing and his mind went into a frenzy was an understatement.

He couldn't stop staring at your face, wanting to just kiss you. But his face fell at the thought that you would never like him that way.

"I thought that I could never change. I never thought that a mortal could make me feel like the happiest person. I've always thought myself above, but you made me realize that I was so very wrong...." The raven haired god spoke softly to you, as he gazed at your face so lovingly.

"I don't know how you have this effect on me. I've never felt this way before, and I want you to know that. I think I love you, (Y/n). " Loki whispered softly, his mind screaming at himself for not having the courage to tell you when you were awake.

But the thing he was scared more was losing you, and so he didn't reveal his feelings for you, not until the time was right, not unless he knew if you had liked him too. He thought that you would never even think of having feelings for him. A monster.

And this shattered his heart into a million pieces.

----------- Hey guys! I hope you liked this!! It was a total overdose of cuteness in one story! Comment about your SHIP NAMES with Loki!!! I wanna see how many Loki fans are out there!!

[vannahfanfics]

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Rise of the Guardians: Earthsong

Ao3

Chapter 12: War and Peace

Jamie’s eyes were sparkling like a galaxy in motion as he stood frozen in the entrance to Nathalie’s hidden hideaway; his little body simply couldn’t process the majesty of the Tree of Life’s sprawling mass stretching through the domed cave and the scaled bulk of Salazar the dragon snoozing beneath its mass of branches, so he had to take a minute or so to absorb it all. As soon as he did, a shrill scream of excitement erupted from his wee little lungs and he skipped his feet like he was running in place, throwing up dust clouds around him. He didn’t know what to focus on first and so his head zipped about in all directions. Nat giggled and strode into the natural room, gesturing lightly for Jamie to follow. He scampered after her eagerly, clinging to the softly billowing folds of her dress.

“It’s the biggest tree I’ve ever seen…” Jamie whispered in awe as his wide eyes fixated on the branch they passed; it was nearly as thick as three of him.

“This tree is as ancient as the Earth itself. It is Her history,” Nathalie explained. “Do you see those strange fruits it bears, hiding amongst the leaves?” she asked while gesturing to the nearest mini-biome sphere where it sat atop a twisting branch, its iridescent surface rippling as a light breeze passed over it. “Those are the records. Within each one is a world in itself, home to creatures of that habitat and era. The farther back you trace along the tree, the further back in history you travel, all the way to the trunk, where life was but mere cells struggling to survive on an inhospitable planet.”

“Wicked,” Jamie breathed in approving awe. “I wanna look in one!”

Nathalie complied with his wish; with a mere wave of her hands, the tree began to contort and writhe. It branches uncoiled and twisted around one another and coiled again, their gigantic green leaves quivering with the tremors. Jamie exhaled slowly in wonder as one of the branches dipped down to curl slowly around them, bearing one of the glittering clear bubbles close enough for him to observe. Within was the portrait of a deciduous forest on the onset of winter, where a pack of wolves were baying as they chased a massive elk through the thick trunks. Jamie hesitantly poked at the bubble’s surface and jumped back when it easily bowed to his weight, allowing the tip of his finger to slip through the liquid-like surface. Then, without hesitation, he grabbed onto the branch on either side to shove his head into the bubble with a squeal of glee. Nathalie looked to Jack in amusement.

“You two are very much alike.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jack flushed while rubbing at the back of his neck. Nathalie laughed and looked back to the little boy as he yanked his head back out of the bubble with a breathless smile.

“This is amazing! Show me more, please, please!”

Nathalie allowed Jamie to enjoy the Tree of Life to his heart’s content. The air of the cave was filled with groaning wood and shaking leaves as Nathalie traveled the cords of history, allowing Jamie to peek into the worlds of ages long past. He eagerly absorbed it all like a sponge; he would take his fill of one bubble before giddily requesting the next. Nathalie wouldn’t have thought it possible, but once he had pored over the Tree’s offerings for almost an hour, his eyes were shining even more brightly than when they had arrived. “This is so amazing… I can’t believe something like this exists!” he grinned as he played with one of the leaves that Nathalie had allowed him to pluck from the tree (really, it wouldn’t hurt it, and he thoroughly enjoyed the fact that it was bigger than his head). He waved it around like a flag as he jumped around Nat in a circle. “I dunno what was my favorite! I didn’t know that dinosaurs had so many feathers! The unicorn was prettier than I ever imagined! All the really old fish things were kinda gross-looking but also really awesome! Jack, Jack, wasn’t it so neat when that big crocodile-thing came swooping in and just crunch! ate that other fish and all that blood went everywhere?!” he screamed in rapture as he balled up his fists, one of them crinkling the thick stem of his new toy.

“Uh, yeah, it was cool,” Jack responded lamely because the poor boy was draped over one of the Tree’s branches holding his stomach with a green tint to his pale face. Nathalie had spent a good five minutes teasing him for being so surprisingly squeamish. Nathalie, infected by the boy’s boundless enthusiasm, smiled brightly and pointed at the base of the tree, where Salazar was watching with interest. Jamie’s screams had of course woken him up long ago, but since he was with Nathalie, he had surmised that the little boy was no threat. A forked tongue flickered at the air as the earth spirit gestured to him.

“Jamie, would you like to meet Salazar before we leave?”

“Yep, yep, yep!” the boy cried and took off over the uneven ground for the dragon. He ran right up to his massive paws which could crush him underfoot with so much ease and grabbed one of his talons, shaking it like he would hands. “My name’s Jamie! You’re a beautiful dragon!” he gushed giddily. The dragon made a rumbling noise reminiscent of a purr and flicked his giant tail, clearly pleased with the praise. Nathalie and Jack followed more slowly, wishing to give Jamie room to explore the creature’s features to his heart’s content. Salazar didn’t budge an inch as Jamie clambered onto his scaled back, using his ridged spikes for balance as he tottered up to his elephant-sized head. “Hey, Mr. Salazar, you want a head scratch?” he asked while stooping down to scratch at the scales beneath the holes that served as the lizard being’s ears. Salazar’s back leg began to pump and claw his foot into the ground while his chest rumbled in a thunderous purr, head twisting and tongue lolling out of his mouth with his eyes crinkled up in pleasure. Apparently, a head scratch was just what the dragon ordered. “Hehe! You’re kinda like a big puppy and a big kitty all-in-one, aren’tcha?” Jamie cooed. Salazar growled happily in response. The cave rumbled as the dragon abruptly flipped onto his back, using his wing tip to push Jamie onto his stomach; he wriggled about, begging for more pets, and Jamie happily complied. Nathalie watched him with a warm smile.

“He really is such a curious, appreciative little boy,” Nat remarked to Jack as he lounged against one of the tree’s branches beside her. “I had quite forgotten about how inherently pure children are…” It had been a very, very long time since Nathalie had deigned to frolic amongst humanity. Man’s callous treatment of the Earth and her bounties had only worsened in the last four hundred years; they no longer believed in the entity that was Mother Nature nor that the Earth had any sort of will, so there was no pleading to them to respect their natural surroundings. However, looking at Jamie and his enthusiastic outlook on everything, and his deep-rooted love for the wondrous things around him, Nathalie wondered if children were the key to reversing the sorry state of the world as it was.

“Yeah. He gives me as much hope as I do him,” Jack smiled lovingly as he watched Jamie clamber all over the dragon. His gaze then flickered to her. “I think you would make a good Guardian, Nat.”

“M-me? I don’t know. The role of Guardians is to protect certain aspects of childhood, yes? I haven’t the faintest idea what my role in such would be,” she stammered shyly and fidgeted with the folds of her dress. Jack sidled over to where she was standing, close enough for it to be intimate but not close enough for them to touch and set of their adverse reactions, smiling sweetly. Nathalie didn’t even need to wait for him to reassure her before she smiled too; just knowing that he was there for her set her heart to fluttering and her nerves to humming with a joyful buzz. As he went to say something, she caught the flicker of something over his shoulder and her eyes automatically followed the movement. The smile slowly fell from her lips as all the color drained from her face, and Jack looked at her in utter bewilderment. There, hovering over Jack’s shoulder, was the faintest wisp of Pitch’s dark sand in the form of a small insect. Nathalie’s hand shot out to snatch it out of the air, enclosing it and crushing it within her fist, and Jack gasped in horror as the purple sand crystals leaked from between her fingers.

Nathalie’s heart stopped in her chest. It was over. It was all over.

“Salazar!” she screamed as the cave began to rumble ominously. At the exact same time, Jack screamed for Jamie, forming an icy wind beneath his bare feet to scoop the perplexed boy off of the dragon’s belly and vault up into the trembling leaves of the Tree of Life. The dragon snarled savagely, clawing up the earth in clumps as he whipped back upright, while Nat vaulted up his tree-trunk legs to plop down at the base of his neck, a saddleless dragon-rider. Above their heads, the circle where the earth above had fallen away was slowly being eclipsed of its light as a maelstrom of the shadowy purple-black sand swirled menacingly. “Get Jamie out of here!” she screamed at Jack as the dragon stretched out its massive wings. As it gave one powerful flap, the Tree whined and keened in the hurricane-force winds that tempested through the earthen dome. Pushing off with his sturdy legs, he bore Nathalie into the air, shooting through the opening just as the tornado of Pitch’s sand began to spiral down. The scales on his front turned a burnt orange as fire gathered within his chest cavity; then, with a tremendous roar that sent toe tropical birds screeching into the heavens, it spilled from his maw to collide with the dark storm. The fire was white-hot and turned the sand into glass instantaneously; as the dragon shattered the grotesque crystal under his sharp claws, Nathalie bent backward to wave her hand in the direction of the opening below. The trees surrounding the opening groaned and shifted, spreading their roots into a thick, interlocking woven mass that not even an ant could wriggle through. The glass shards tinkled harmlessly over the bark surface, and Pitch’s sand could not wriggle its way through to do as it pleased with her blessed Tree of Life.

He would have to kill her in the skies— and Nathalie was not one to be killed so easily, not when she was fighting in her own domain.

“Pitch!” she yowled into the writhing black maw. The cyclone parted to reveal him standing amongst the whirling particles, hands clasped behind his back and sneer curling as if he were a god descending among mortals to wreak havoc. Well, it wasn’t an entirely inaccurate description. Wrenching her bow from her back and docking an arrow before he could even blink, she had the arrowhead trained on the spot between his eyes. ��Do not think that this will be like last time. You’ve made a mistake coming here,” she warned. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw the faint pale form of Jack flitting through the air, Jamie tucked safely into his arms. Both of them cast worried glances her way before the winter wind carried them into the clouds, and out of Pitch’s reach.

However, it also meant that Nathalie was without help from the Guardians for quite a while… But that mattered not, because reinforcements she had in plenty. A confident grin distorted her features, alighting her emerald eyes as her body began to sing with the blood rush of battle. It had been so very long since Nathalie had been able to let loose against a formidable opponent, and despite the stakes, she could not help but be excited. The Earth began to thrum in tandem to her silent signaling; below, the trees began to writhe back and forth of their own accord, their branches twisting higher and higher as their growth rate began to accelerate. Flocks of birds began to take to the skies, toucans and parrots and songbirds and raptors alike to begin counter-currently flying around Pitch’s own dark tempest. A distant yowl of a jaguar was joined by another, then another. Stampeding hooves rolled like distant thunder, approaching with great speed. Nathalie was very pleased to see a shadow of doubt darken his expression.

“Brace yourself, Pitch Black.”

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