#Crash landing of love Wallpapers

[panda-writes-kpop]

I'll crawl home to her ~ k. mj.

a/n: only one week late woo!! improvements are happening, y'all!! happy belated jiu/minji day! wrote this at the request of @dark-night-insomniac - enjoy, my platonic soulmate <3

tw: arranged marriages, love at her sight trope, running away from responsibilities (me too), quick mention of blood, reader is a professional little shit

wc: 1.8k

summary: your party-crashing antics go awry when you sneak into the engagement party that celebrates the union of the oldest Kim girl and another high-ranking member of society. you don't expect that Kim girl to be Minji, the one you've been dreaming of for weeks, or for Kim Minji to recognize you right away.

♡ Masterlist ♡

To mask oneself is often a way of hiding emotions, to shield yourself from any physical, mental, or emotional harm. A mask hides your identity from the world and yourself, if you keep the mask on long enough. For you, a mask was most useful for some good, old-fashioned hell-raising.

Dressed in your second-best outfit (to sneak into the party required going through a muddy stretch of road, and your maid would’ve had a fit if you got something on your future engagement outfit), you slip past the guards and head inside of the Kim manor.

You adjust your mask as you’ve landed directly in enemy territory - the Kim family and yours have been feuding for many generations- and you didn’t need the backlash from your appearance. 

Siyeon links her arm with yours as you navigate through the party, one that was supposed to celebrate the engagement of the oldest Kim girl to another. You felt bad for the girl - the Kim family was old-fashioned, and had taken to arranged marriages to marry off for the girl. At least your family lets you decide on your marriage partner, even if the stuffy clothes and constant public appearances could be a little much for you.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Siyeon whispers as you hand her a vial filled with a red liquid. 

“No, but it’ll be hilarious if we manage to pull this off.” You say as she hides the vial within the deepest pockets of her overcoat. 

“Why do I have to help with all of your schemes? Why not drag along one of my cousins?”

“Dami would never agree to do something this daring, and Gahyeon would babble to her parents and get us caught before we even started.” You explain before placing a hand on her shoulder. “Remember, if you get caught-”

“-Play the foreigner card, I know.” Siyeon finishes your statement before smiling to herself. “My life would be too simple if we weren’t friends.”

“There’s the Siyeon I know.” You rub her shoulder before offering her a parting sentiment. “Be careful, and make sure to keep your head down if you run into a Kim.”

“Got it.” She blends into the moving crowd too easily as you allow yourself to be pushed towards the main center of buzz and activity. The gardens surrounding the manor are gorgeous, but they don’t hold a candle to the interior of the manor itself.

The ballroom that you find yourself in is expansive and wider than you could’ve imagined, covered head-to-toe in expensive wallpaper, flooring, and decorations.

“It’s beautiful.” One of the party-goers stares in amazement as another comments on the interior.

It’s tacky, you think as you automatically roll your eyes, and you’re impressed too easily.

Is your home nearly as fancy as this? No.

Do you feel a small spark of jealousy within you? Perhaps.

You drown the negative feelings with a glass of champagne. Maybe two glasses would be the best way to enjoy the fireworks to come?

It’s all fun and games, games that you’ve played plenty of times before, until you see her.

You know who she is - she’s a Kim girl, but you were completely unaware that she was the oldest Kim girl. 

Your first and only interaction with her happened when you were out with Siyeon, playing around as you normally did.

“Ah, I apologize, ma’am.” You bow to the girl who you’ve nearly sent tumbling to the ground, all because Siyeon has bad aim.  

“No, it’s alright, my dress is the only thing that is harmed.” She turns and shows you the small amount of mud on the bottom of her skirt.

“Let me pay for it,” You say before noticing the Kim family crest on her attire, “and I can walk you home if you’d like?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” She nods before taking her arm. “Forgive my rudeness. My name is Kim Minji.”

“Minji,” You repeat to yourself, “what a lovely name.”

You both had chatted for hours, long past the time it would take to clean her dress and walk her back to the manor. Minji never questioned how you knew exactly where the manor was, or the fact that you made a few shortcuts to avoid your home.

“Thank you for your utmost kindness,” She smiles before pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, “and good night to you.”

“Good night.” You mumble to her as she lets go of your arm and heads inside of the gates.

It was worth the lecture from your housekeeper for being late to dinner, and you weren’t able to keep the smug smile off of your face until you fell asleep that night.

You never forgot Minji, she was the girl in your dreams. The one you’d dream of running away from this fanciful life with. You weren’t sure that your feelings were mutual - you only met her once, of course. 

Minji looks radiant in her princess-style dress that spills out over her feet and onto the floor. You’d swear she was a princess herself if the family crest on her arm didn’t give away her current familial standing. 

You notice that her fiancé is off in the distance, drinking a little more than they should. They weren’t royalty, not by any means, but a respectable match for a lady of Minji’s standing. 

Minji greets a few of her closest friends and family before wandering into the crowd. You find yourself pushing through the many people inside of the ballroom, wondering if you’ll even be able to catch her before she sees the one she’s supposed to marry. 

Luckily, the crowd breaks just enough for you to see the back of Minji’s dress. Once you’re an arms-length away, you lightly tap her shoulder as you think of something to say.

“Thank you for coming to my party, you’re-” Her beautiful smile causes your heart to pound as you’re left speechless. “You’re the stranger from a few weeks ago, the one that helped clean up my dress and walked me home.”

“How did you know it was me?” You ask.

“I could recognize you in a crowd of millions, and besides,” She leans in close to you, “I saw the family crest on the inside of your overcoat.”

“Ah,” You shyly pull the overcoat closer to your body, “you know my secret, then?”

“It wasn’t much of a secret to begin with, really.” She shrugs before backing up and laughing. “What mayhem are you here to cause?”

“I wasn’t-”

“-I know of the things you’ve done, and I must say, I’m quite… amused by you.” Minji folds her arms after fixing her hair. “You have such a notable reputation.”

“Now you sound like my mother.” You roll your eyes before silently laughing. “I knew you were a Kim girl, and I was surprised by your kindness and grace. My parents had raised me to hate your family, but I’m starting to think that they were just blinded by past feuds and bitterness.”

“We should make new beginnings for ourselves, then. Wipe the slate new.” She offers you her hand, which you gladly take. “To new beginnings?”

“To new beginnings.” You take a sip of your champagne as she squeezes your hand.

“May I tell you something, in confidence?” She asks as a waiter takes your empty glass.

“Of course, Minji, you may.” You let go of her hand as she takes your arm and leads you to a nearby balcony.

“In all truthfulness, I haven’t been able to sleep without seeing your face. You’ve managed to consume my sleeping moments, as well as some of my waking ones. I never knew how someone could be so enchanted by a stranger, but you, you’re… so different.” Minji softly confesses to you. “I was okay with the arranged marriage, it was always going to be a part of my life as a Kim, but now I want so much more.”

“I’ve felt similarly, in all honesty. I never was one for balls and suitors, but you have completely changed my mind. My foolish tricks were not the only things that brought me here tonight. I was hoping you would see me, and maybe I would have a chance, but…” You trail off as you stare at her fiancé. “You have someone here for you.”

“I-” She pauses as a guard storms into the ballroom.

“There appears to be… unsavory company in our midst. We are requesting all attendees report to their nearest guard to be checked for the family crest that they adorn.” The guard announces as a few more appear behind him.

Well, shit.

“C’mon, I know of a secret passageway. I can help you escape.” Minji pulls you towards the exit as you try to hide your face with your overcoat.

~

Your escape from the party was a lot less eventful than you expected. You ended up in Minji’s private garden when the passage door closed behind you.

“I don’t think I will be able to express my gratitude for you, Minji.” You say before sitting on a park bench.

“It was my pleasure to help you.” She gently pulls up her skirt before sitting next to you. “Pray tell, how will you make your daring escape?”

“The hedges aren’t too tall or thick, so I could climb over or squeeze through them, depending on the durability of my pants.” You lightly pick at the stitching as she laughs. “Then, I will use the nighttime to sneak away to my home, where my housemaid will surely belittle me until I fall asleep.”

“It sounds perfect, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?” You tilt your head in confusion.

“Doesn’t the adventurer, after escaping near death, need to show their affection for the love interest before they leave?”

You chuckle before lightly smacking your head.

“Of course, how could I forget?”

You lean in and softly kiss her lips as her arms wrap around you. You deepen the kiss as your arms meet her waist, and you find yourself missing her lips as soon as they leave yours.

“Would the love interest like to travel with the adventurer, explore the world a bit, before settling down?” You unwrap yourself from Minji before standing up and offering her your hand.

“What would their family and friends say?”

“Nothing bad, if they truly cared for the person they were traveling with,” You smile as she grabs your hand, “and I truly care for you with all of my heart.”

“Then I suppose a bit of traveling couldn’t hurt, then.”

The two of you wander into the night, far away from the places you call home, in hopes of finding what truly lies behind the walls that have entrapped the both of you. Maybe you’ll find peace, or another place to stay.

Or maybe you’ll realize how much you need Minji, how you’d crawl home to her from the pits of hell if you had to.

Maybe you’ll find nothing at all and return back to your normal lives.

But as you hold Minji’s hand and run through the forest with her, it seems like everything is possible. The world is at your fingertips, ready for a new story to be told by a new generation.

[scenteddelusion5]

can you write a zestial x reader where the reader is an angel and they have a secret relationship but the seraphim found out and b an ned her from heaven

A Daring Creature -Part 1

Zestial x angel fem reader

Note: AHHH!!! I LOVE this!! Also why don't we have yellow text colours! I also had to take a LOT of liberties writing Zestial because we don't know much about him.

Warning: inacurate middle English

Word count: 1880

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4

Zestial was more than 400 years old, he lost the real count a LONG time ago. What he would never lose count of was how long he'd known her. To be fair it wasn't all THAT long ago, only 42 years ago, but he swore to himself he'd never forget that day.

He was hiding out in his mansion on his territory during extermination day when he heard a loud pang outside. Something must've hit the ground very hard, if it was a sinner they would probably already be dead by this point and if it was an exterminator, he didn't want to cross paths with them. So instead he hid deeper, in the basement of his mansion.

The day went on without a hitch and Zestial could leave his manor again to check what happened. While he was exploring his garden, he found a strange creature had crashed into the path, having destroyed the beautiful tiles. She had giant white wings and a yellow halo above her head. small wounds and bruises adorned her body with golden blood flowing out of them, they were, however, healing quickly. She wasn't dead.

Was this angel an exterminator? No, she didn't wear their uniform nor did she hold a black hallow like her military sisters, then why was she here. Zestial had many questions, but first he had to decide. Was it worth bringing in this angel to gain their favour even though she could become a threat later on?

She didn't seem to have any angelic weapons on her, she wouldn't be able to kill him... Zestial decided to bring her in and laid her down on a bed in one of his guest rooms. He designated one of his demon contracts to take care of her and warn him when she wakes up.

Y/n woke up with a headache, the last thing she remembered was falling face first into the ground and now she was in a bed? How did she get here. She slowly sat up, looking around the room, it was decorated with red, black and greenish yellow decor. Did this mean she made it to hell? Another look over her eyes landed on a man standing in the corner, he was short, wore a butler-like uniform and had a web in his hair. What she assumed to be a demon, had red skin and black horns.

"H-hello," she spoke but the demon stayed quiet. "Where am I?"

The demon looked at his watch. "Please put on this attire and wait here. I'll be informing master that you're awake." And with that the demon left without answering her question.

On the chair laid a simple black dress, nothing fancy but it also wasn't a rag. She slowly got out of bed, being careful with her headache, and changed out of her very badly damaged angel attire.

Who was this guy's master? The demon who lived there seemed to be very well of and thus powerful. What kind of mess did she get herself in now?

A knock came from the door, "lady, if you're finished changing please come out."

When she walked out, she saw the same demon waiting on her in the hallway.

"Follow me."

Looking around the hallways, the building looked like it was decorated by someone from th 17th century. Besides all the luxury paintings and dressers, what really stood out were the strange spiderweb motives all around the building, from the wallpapers to the candle chandeliers.

They ended up in front of a pair of doors that were at least 3 meters (10 feet) tall. The tops were arched and the handles looked like spiders.

The demon knocked on the giant doors. "She's here, sir."

"Thee can enter!"

The demon didn't react, so Y/n opened the door just enough to walk through. Inside was an office. The wooden walls as well as the furniture had flowery carvings in them, the fabric used for the cushiony parts of the furniture had web patterns in them and the candle light glowed green instead of yellow.

On the armchair behind the desk sat a tall figure, he had four green glowing eyes, a dark black cloak wrapped around his body, spider held the place of where his bowtie was supposed to be and a hat sat upon his head making his already tall figure even taller.

"Please, sitteth down." The man conjured up two cups of thee, one of which he took a sip from. "Now, wherefore is there an angel down here? Thee aren't an exterminator."

"I was just really curious about hell and kind off... Snuck down." Y/n awkwardly looked around the room avoiding eye contact with the demon in front of her. "What is an exterminator?"

Zestial choked on his tea hearing her question. "Does thou not knoweth?"

"No," she answered.

"Alloweth me to proposeth a deal." He got her attention again after she started to search around the room again. "I shall bid thee about the exterminations and hell, in turneth thee bid me in detaileth about how thee did get here." Zestial held out his hand, it became surrounded by glowing webs.

"Uhm sure, but we don't have to do the hand thingy." She laughed it off. "So when I first arrived in heaven three years ago, I started to wonder what hell was like. Nobody could give me a concrete answer, not even the seraphim. I made it my mission to find out what's it like. After two years, I realised a group of angels went down every year..."

"Hey lute!" Y/n ran up to the older angel. "Where were you yesterday?" "Work." "For a whole twenty four hours?" She asked. "Yes," Lute sighed, "what do you want Y/n?" "I was just curious." "Too curious, it's none of your business where and how I work."

"I knew I just had to follow them, so the next time they gathered, I snuck through the gates and jumped after them. On the way down, I had a bit of an accident, my wing got caught on the metal tip of a strange tower and it ripped through me. And that's how I ended up falling into the ground."

"I supposeth I shouldst hold up my own endeth. Every year, the heavens sendeth down an army of exterminators." As Zestial was telling her this Y/n's eyes widened. "Thy sisters cometh down to slaught'r."

"I... I know Lute and the others aren't model angels, but I doubt they would-"

"T's the thruth." Zestial stood up from his desk. "Anon, t's better thee leaveth. I wanteth not beest the targeteth of thy sisters."

He was about to snap his fingers when Y/n yelled, "WAIT!"

He stopped.

"How about another deal? No one of the angels know I'm here and I have a strong alibi. You seem like a powerful demon and I probably wouldn't survive the streets of hell. So, I stay with you for a year, you show me around and I'll give you... Whatever you want...?" Even though she talked a million miles a minute, he still understood her.

"I aught to want?" He considered it for a few seconds. "Dealeth." Zestial held out his hand and the glowing webs were back.

"You haven't said what yet..." But y/n didn't get an answer. "Fine, ONE thing you want."

Zestial nodded his head.

"Deal."

She shook his hand and for a slight second, his whole appearance seemed to change. The man became even taller, spiders crawled around his body and webs covered their intertwined hands. And then it was gone again, like it never happened.

"Edward shall be in chargeth of thy careth. I expecteth thee to never grise foor of these grounds unless thee has't mine own permission to doth so. Thee may taketh thy leave now." He shoed her away.

Y/n walked out of her office finally realising the gravity of the situation. She just gave a DEMON to make her do or get anything he wanted from her without any limits, except that he could only do so once of course. How stupid could she be? At least now she had a safe place to stay and a very intimidating tour guide.

A week went by and Y/n hadn't been able to explore hell at all. She was stuck in the manor, barely even allowed into the garden. At least she grew closer to the demon butler Edward.

At first the man was distant and cold but he slowly opened up to her. His wife and kids had gone to heaven while he was cast down for protecting them. Zestial had offered the safe and comfortable job as his butler and Edward accepted.

She also learned he was a lot more of a joker than he made himself out to be. When Y/n was helping him prepare dinner for only them two, which they decided was going to be pizza, she had tried to spin the dough and toss it in the air. It went horribly wrong, the dough landing on top of her face. Edward laughed so hard he started crying, after a while the man decided to try it too, only to end up in the same predicament.

Zestial was aware the two had grown closer, he didn’t mind, however. It meant that she wouldn’t bother him and go to Edward for everything. What he wasn't aware of was for the fact that Y/n had made it her mission to create fun activities in an otherwise boring mansion.

One day, Zestial was walking down the corridor to go and ask Ed to pick up an important package for him, only to find the strangest display in the hallway.

"This is going to go horribly wrong," the butler stated.

"It'll be fine, loosen up!" She laughed.

Edward sighed, "If you get hurt, I'm not patching up your wounds."

"I'll take that risk."

What Zestial saw was that the angel had tied sponges to her shoes and tried to skate around on the wet and soapy marble floor. He was just about to speak up when she slipped and fell back. Her back hit his waist, he quickly caught her.

"What art thee doing, î̷̟n̷̰͆͜s̴̢͍͒o̷̖͐l̷̟͇̂͠é̷͖n̶̙̫̑t̶̲̘̅͝ angel?" The overlord was glaring at her.

"I'm sorry sir, uh... Zestial sir." Y/n looked down at her soapy boots. "But you haven't showed me around all the fun stuff in hell, so I decided to make the fun!"

"I can't even but now," he explained, "Everything in doth timeth."

"Then I'll keep finding fun things to do."

Zestial sighed. Maybe this angel was more work than she was worth. "Fine, I shall taketh thee out tomorrow morning." He caved. "Doth not maketh me regreth it."

"YES!"

That nights Zestial was pondering about his angel guest while looking for a big robe. She was quite bothersome but then again, he had made the deal to show Y/n around. Although, the manor had been much more livelier in the week she had been there. Almost every day, he would walk through the hallways and hear laughter, which was a stark difference from before. The manor used to be eerily quiet, maybe she wasn't too bad after all.

Part 2

Masterlist/request guidelines

[elaenya]

127

Ascended Astarion x gn reader.

Just an angst drabble of a scenario i’ve imagined lately. Astarion is described as rather abusive.

TW:Abuse, isolation, depressive thoughts, suicide.

127 years, one week and four days. You had counted every single day since your freedom had been taken from you.

This wasn’t what you expected, and if you had known that this life was ahead of you, you wouldn’t have even considered helping him take the power that now seemed to crush your very being.

But he had been so compelling, so convincing. He had your strings wrapped around his fingers and played you like a puppeteer.

It wasn’t always this bad, though. For the first 30 years he had given you everything that he’d promised. You danced, travelled, stretched your wings and soul in every corner of the world and came back to the home you’d settled in together. He threw you parties, brought you the finest wine, and held you as the heat of the morning sun escaped through your windows and settled upon your cold skin.

Then he became possessive, paranoid. He accused you of things you never did, of trying to leave- so he made sure that you never could again. It was funny how that worked, a vampire spawn tied to its master. Just his words forbidding your leave left a burning power through your veins. If you ever tried to even as much as stretch your arms out through the window, the agony that soared across your bones and limbs would leave you weakened for days.

Sometimes you wondered how your friends were doing, though you weren’t sure if you could really remember just who they were. You knew their names, their voices that echoed through your dreams, and that you longed for the absent reality where they burst through the door to rescue you from your prison. Was Jaheira still as warm and strict, and did Wyll still love to dance?

Were they still alive? Any of them..

It wasn’t a pleasant thought, to think that you were all that alone in the world.

In some ways you almost wished your cell had been in a cold underground prison, not in the mansion that reminded you everyday of what you used to have. Not the bed you used to lay in, not the halls he used to chase you down. Just a stone wall and a cold bed.

Anger, fear, sadness- it all rushed down on you like lightning. It stole the air from your lungs.

The realisation that the realities you imagined weren’t real and never would be crushed your entire soul until only strained breaths were left. You weren’t going to see Karlach break down your door, or Shadowheart embrace you tightly. No, all you had was the stupidly detailed wallpaper and a ceiling which didn’t turn any less white and plain each day that passed.

You swung your body up, grabbing on to the first thing your hand got contact with and threw it across the room. A vase. It landed on the wooden table on the far right of your room, crashing into small pieces on the floor.

It wasn’t enough.

You grabbed a hold of the thin wooden post of your bed, tugging on it until broke off and you could throw it on the floor. There it fell into pieces, sharp and ragged wooden pieces.

Perhaps it was desperation, or pure rage, but for a moment you saw the sharpest wooden piece as something else. A stake.

Your hands fumbled as you fell down on your knees, tears staining the carpet below you. There weren’t many thoughts as you moved, just a scream of despair as you grabbed on to the piece and plunged it into your chest.

It burned and ripped through your body with a pain far worse than anything you’d felt before. It strangled you, engulfed you, and yet there was also a sense of relief.

Arms wrapped around you, trying to tug yours away from your body. Muffled shouting surrounded and echoed against you.

The two of you both got to feel something you hadn’t felt in very long.

Freedom, and pain.

[030mxl]

Summer Puppy (Rival) Love by Qwifmuncher on Ao3 (my account)

Rin and Isagi have been dating for a few months now, unbeknownst to everyone. Right after the NEL and the PXG vs BM match, fate had allowed them to meet outside of Blue Lock during their summer break, and through a short myriad of what seemed to be like unconscious dates, they realized their feelings for one another and decided they wanted to be more than partners in soccer or the nemeses of their lives.

Waking up back in the Blue Lock facility, it was a very normal morning for Isagi in the BM dormitory; Chigiri, Bachira, Nagi, and Reo, with the permissions and privileges they got from their rankings, decided to crash in last night to have a sleepover with Isagi since it’s been quite a long time since they had slow times with each other besides training.

In the room laid 4 other futons just for those visitors, and in the very corner was Isagi’s bed with a frame.

Isagi, who was sleeping, suddenly woke up by the murmuring in front of him.

“Hurry, hurry! Before he wakes up let’s take a pic in his phone. 😜” Bachira kept his hyper voice down.

“Be quiet! And patient. I’m trying to open this, I don’t know how to operate androids, okay.”

“You suck. Give me the phone.” Nagi tried reaching for it.

The four swarmed together to pose and whilst Chigiri was trying to open it while also swatting Nagi away from him, the phone accidentally got unlocked and the first thing that everyone’s eyes landed on was its wallpaper.

A bust up of a shirtless man with messy dark green bed hair and sleepy turquoise eyes was staring into the camera with a seemingly pouty face. His cheeks were puffed as he was toothbrushing, and you could clearly see he stopped in the middle of it and pushed the brush to one side of his cheek to take the picture.

“Is that who I think it is?” Reo chimed in.

“...Woah.” Chigiri and Bachira said in unison.

“Honestly, I knew it.” Nagi seemed unperterbed.

Then, a few notifications popped up.

-

5:30 a.m, today

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Good morning, Isagi.

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Are you free today?

Tongueful Owl (Rin): You said you wanted to beat me at yoga, right? Come meet me in my training room as usual.

Tongueful Owl (Rin): And don’t forget my shirt.

-

“Shirt?” Nagi’s curiosity was perked.

Chigiri’s muscle memory moved by itself and pressed the notif and accidentally saw the history of their chat.

-

6:34 p.m, yesterday

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Good evening, Isagi. I need my shirt back.

12:06 a.m, yesterday

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): So soon? Joke lolol

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): I forgot to wash it, I’ll give it tomorrow morning, besides it’s late.

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Sent a pic (In the picture revealed Rin lying down flat and he obviously seemingly just woke up, but everything about him was perfect; the warm tone light of his lamp shone gems in the moisture of his eyes, and his aloof expression was unlike his usual frowning always-on-guard face made everything so perfectly cozy, unlike the Rin everyone else but Isagi knows)

Tongueful Owl (Rin): You woke me up. My eyelash poked my eye, it’s all your fault. */Isagi reacted with 🥺

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Why’d you respond so late anyway?

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): Sent a pic (It was a picture of Reo, Nagi, Chigiri, Bachira sleeping on the futons of Isagi’s dorm’s floor)

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): Had some visitors barging in today 😅 sorryy,

Tongueful Owl (Rin): It’s fine. Go to sleep. I will silent my phone now.

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): Alright, goodnight 💖

Tongueful Owl (Rin): No heart emojis before marriage, please. */Isagi reacted with 💖

Tongueful Owl (Rin): Ugh. 😒😠

Lukewarm NPC no.1 (Isagi): 😘 I love you.

Tongueful Owl (Rin): I love you too, now go to sleep. I will too for real. /*Isagi reacted with 💖

-

As the four continued staring, the phone was suddenly swept away by a dolphin diving Isagi.

“Jeez, this is not how you wake someone up! Care to know the word privacy?” Isagi yelled, his face already slightly red.

“Sorry- we really didn’t mean to open it. Besides, why don’t you have a phone password?” Chigiri, still astonished by what they witnessed, spoke up.

“Hey, hey! Isagi, when’d you guys start dating 🤔🤩?”

“...?!” Reo and Nagi stared at Bachira’s bluntness.

“No one’s dating no one! Stop snooping around… I need to go to the bathroom.” Isagi stuffed the phone in his pocket before going, his face slowly going beet red the further he’s away from them.

“...”

“...”

“Who knew Rin could talk with more than 3 words per sentence if it’s not about insulting or killing someone?” Nagi said, his eyes slightly widened in surprise, still staring at Isagi's phone.

"I never knew they'd be into each other like that. They could've been friends for sure I saw that, but further...?" Reo added.

"Well I did see them during summer break when I was getting groceries,"

"You do your groceries??" Chigiri looked genuinely shocked.

"Shut. Anyway, I saw them around the produce area and Rin seemed pretty close with a middle-aged woman he called Mrs. Isagi. I thought nothing of it until Rin got closer to the aisle opposite of where I was and asked an employee where they sold flowers and if they had any light blue Ajisai (hydrangeas) in a bouquet. As far as I know, before when we were consecutively interviewed by reporters, I think Isagi said he loved flowers and his favorite color was light blue." Nagi narrated while continuing the game match on his phone.

"Oh, yeah! I remember that. That's also the reason why sometimes fans would give blue flowers to Isagi, 🤗. When we were out for a stroll after U-20 we were shocked when a group of girls asked us for our numbers and even gave Isagi a cute lil' baby flower hehe." Bachira jumped on Isagi's bed since he was away.

"So Rin's a blooming lover now... ? That edge lord?"

"And dating his rival above all, love is strange." Reo seemed befuddled.

"But then again, you are still dating the guy that dumped you even though you did everything to satisfy him and I even told you multiple times to just get over him like he did to you but you still came back to him and we never talk about it no?" Chigiri swiftly commented.

"I'm still in this room." Nagi nudged.

"Okay, that's enough, you gossip snake."

Reo and Chigiri continued to argue.

"So... how do we conclude this? Are Isagi and Rin really an item? How sappy do you guys think they are out of 10? 😯." Bachira broke the conflict.

“Enough of this topic and/or of dating! I mean, well, Isagi is still our friend regardless, so let’s just pretend nothing happened, you know? It was all an accident anyway.” Chigiri said with a bit of guilt.

“Yea! Totally accident. I can live with that.” . . .

[rafemotherfuckingcameron]

COASTAL VENTURE

Word Count: 2.5K

Pairing(s): Rafe Cameron x fem! Reader.

Summary: RAFE SAVES Y/N WHEN SHE IS PUSHED OVERBOARD OFF COASTAL VENTURE

Warnings: Drowning (not dead), rescued,CPR, kissing, cuddling, fighting, head injury , swearing etc.

Here I was held captive by the one and only Ward Cameron on the Coastal Venture sailing out to sea away from the OBX. I was trapped in the boiler room where the temperature was rising by the second. He had handcuffed me to the pipe that my back was leaning against. It was a small, dark room and the only light that was seen was from the seam under the door. At this point I was starting to panic, I didn’t want to be here, I was all alone, I wanted Rafe to save me but how could he, he doesn’t even know where I am.

1 Month Before……

Rafe and I had been dating for over a year now and nothing had ever come between us because we wouldn’t let it, we loved each other and would doing anything for each other.

My parents, Rafe and I had been after ‘The Cross of Santo Domingo’ for the last 2 years, never stopped looking. We followed trails which lead us to the Island Room that happened to be at Tanney Hill. Rafe let us in and we started to tear the wallpaper away and uncover the map illustrated on the walls. “Y/N we are so close” my mother says as she smiles at me. As I go to speak, I’m interrupted “What the hell have you done to my house? You have no right to be in here” Ward says angrily as he looks at Rafe and you can see the rage behind his eyes. “Go wait in my office,” Rafe starts to speak but is hit with a slap to his face. Y/N runs to Rafe’s aid and is alsohit with the same response. Ward yells at Rafe to go now and he does, looking back to make sure you were okay. You nod your head at him. 

After that day I saw ward arguing with my father about his cut of the money. I knew that Ward had found out about us looking for the cross and that we were getting closer. Ward was always greedy and wanted more money and power. 

2 weeks on………..

(Y/N parents died in car crash)

After the funeral I received a letter in the mail addressed to the last living Y/L/N relative, I couldn’t open it as tears started to run down my face. Rafe and I had stopped looking for the cross since the accident. However Ward never stopped asking if my parents left any clues to where it could be. He wasn’t going to give up on the only thing that could make him the richest man on the land. As time past I started to be more motivated than ever to find this cross and that's when I opened the letter.

When my parents past away they left me a coded message and coordinates to a church called Freedman’s Assembly of God, where the The Cross was hidden in the architecture of the building. “OMG…….. I can’t believe they actually found it”. Y/n yelled. “I can’t believe we found it y/n” said Rafe. Y/n ran and jumped into Rafe’s arms and kissed him. 

We arranged for a truck to come and pick up The Cross and take it back to Tanney Hill. When we got back to Rafe’s house we had the cross stashed in the guest house and went to decode this message my parents left me. I read the message and automatically start to hyperventilate. “Y/n what's wrong? Talk to me, I’m right here baby” He says holding my hands in his. I look up at him “He’s going to kill me…….I’m going to die” I say while tears start to form in my eyes. Rafe looked so confused as to what I said. “What are you talking about y/n, who’s going to kill you?” Rafe tried to calm me down by rubbing circles on back. “Ward is going to kill me, I’m the only one who can open the cross!” I breathed out. “The letter says to open the cross they need the blood of a Y/L/N ancestor.” I say quietly so no-one but Rafe hears me. Rafe can’t believe what he hears as he stands up with his heads to his head and starts to pace back and forth. As I watch him, I bring my legs up to my chin and put my head in my hands and start to cry. 

Wards POV

Just getting home from work I see four men leave the guest house and wonder what they could possibly be doing on my property. As I watch them get into the truck and drive out, I go into the guest house and see ‘The Cross of Santo Domingo’ leaning against the wall. “OMG they found it……………..I must have it, my son wouldn’t know what to do with it, it's better in my hands than theirs”. I say to myself. I enter the house and go upstairs to make arrangements about stealing the cross when I overhear Rafe and Y/N talking. “I’m the only one who can open the cross, a blood sacrifice is needed.” I ran down stairs into my office and called a pick up truck to have the cross transported on to a freight ship. “I need to transport at 6 foot cross it the next 24 hrs and my family will be onboard but not apart for the manifest.” I say to the captain of the ship. 

The Night Before…………

As I sleep beside Rafe in bed all I can think about is Ward killing me to make himself richer. I toss and turn all night until I finally wake up and go down stairs to get a bottle of water. It's about 1:30am and I hear people outside talking. I walk to the window and that's when I see the cross being lifted into a wooden box and driving away. I go to run and tell Rafe, as I turn around I see Ward holding a damp cloth “I really wish you hadn’t seen that.” That's the last thing I remember until I woke up on the ship.

Rafe woke in the morning and saw a note on the pillow “Dear Rafe, I'm so sorry I had to leave this way. I could never fully trust that you weren’t going to kill me in my sleep and sell me out to Ward. I suppose I never really loved you enough to try and work this out. Please don’t look for me as I never want to see you again , Y/N.” Rafe’s heart melted and he got so angry that he punched a hole in the wall. Ward came through the door and said to Rafe that we were leaving in an 1hr and that he had to pack a bag. Rafe obliged and started to pack. 

Ward drove the family to the docks and told them to get on the ship. Sarah not wanting to leave was forced on to the ship, as Rose, Wheezie and rafe followed behind. “My family I have with us a The Cross and it ours to keep or sell if I wish” ward said proudly and smirked. “I’m glad Y/N isn’t here for this” Rafe thought to himself. What Rafe didn’t know was that I was on the ship. As I sit it the heated box handcuffed to the pipe I can feel my lungs starting to close from the lack of fresh air. I start hitting my handcuffs against the pipe to get attention from anyone. I hear someone walking past outside and I call out “help me, help me please!” The door opens and I see Sarah Cameron, she looks back at me and comes to help me escape. “What are you doing here? What happened to you? She says. “Ward kidnapped me, he’s going to kill me to open the cross” Her eyes open in shock at how here father would kill an innocent person just for another dollar in his pocket. “There's a lifeboat, I saw it when I got on, I can help you get off. Your like my sister y/n im not letting him kill you” she said as she helped me up and hugged me. 

As we make our way to the back of the boat we approached by the captain. He tries to stop us from leaving. He radios ward “I found your daughter and another girl with her, what do you want me to do?” “Don’t let them escape” ward yells. As he goes to respond Sarah hits the captain with a piece of wood. While he’s down Sarah and I run to the lifeboat and wench it down. I go to jump off when Sarah is struck to the back by the bunt end of a machete and fall to the ground. I go to help but then Im hit with a strong force to the side of my head almost knocking me overboard and then placed in a headlock. “I have the two girls, there not going anywhere” he says. Rafe overhears the radio “what is he talking about, what two girls” he yells stepping up to ward. 

Ward and Rose push past Rafe and storm out to the back deck to see y/n almost unconscious and Sarah knocked out. Rafe following rose see the scene before him. Rose runs to Sarah’s side at takes her back inside. “What the Fuck is this?” He says as he goes to help y/n. Ward grabs his son my the shirt and throws him up against the wall “You have been holding out on us, your family. You had the key to the cross this entire time sleeping right beside you and what you forgot to tell me, your father.” He speaks abruptly as Rafe looks into wards eyes “I have no idea what the fuck your talking about.” He yells, this captures your attention and you try to free yourself, not getting much luck. Ward turns around and looks at me. “Any last words Miss Y/L/N” he laughs. “You’ll never get what you want” I say before making enough space to undo the hold around me and go to hit the captain with his machete. As I swing my arm around he clocks his fist into my head I stumble back and he pushes me overboard, hitting the water face down. “nooooooooo, what have you done” ward screams running over to the side to see y/n lifeless body floating in the water. “Y/N” Rafe yells sprinting over to see her. Rafe jumps overboard and swims over to y/n and flips here over. rafe lightly hits my face to get me to wake up. “Y/n wake up baby, wake up. Don’t die on me, I need you to wake up please wake up. I love you y/n.” My eyes slowly open and I feel rafe’s arms holding me up from the water. “Rafe” I say nearly above a whisper. “You saved me” “I love you y/n” “I love you too Rafe.” Ward shouts from the deck “you have made a huge mistake boy, your done, your not getting a single dollar, your cut off. You’ll have nothing to come back to if you ever survive out here.” Rafe shouts back “I have all I need right here and you better hope I never see you again, because if I do, your a dead man.”

And with that ward walks away leaving us to drown in the water while the ship gets further and further away. “What now” I say. Rafe has been trending water while desperately trying to keep me above him for at least an hour now and I can see him getting tired. He looks at me and signals his head to an island he can see in the distance. We finally make it to shore and I feel the tiny grains of sand between my fingers. I turn around and lay flat on the shoreline. 

The sun starts to set in the west, and rafe carries me bridal style and places me next to the fire that he built from scratch. He comes and sits behind me handing me the shirt off his back to keep me warm. I feel like I’m in a freezer, my body is shaking from the hit I took back on the boat. I can see my vision starting to blur, as my eyes start to close I hear rafe speak up “I’m sorry what happened to you baby, when I saw your letter I was so hurt and angry that you had just left without a goodbye. But when I saw you there held against your will, I knew my father had brought you here to kill you.” I turned my head to the side and looked into his eyes. My fingers intertwined with his. “When I was in the boiler room I never thought id see you again and tell you how much I love you…………….I love you Rafe as much as my heart can take. “I love you Y/N and no-one will ever take you away from me again.” Rafe said as he leaned down and his lips melted into mine. i kissed him back sliding my tongue through his teeth and deepening the kiss. His hand was on my face, and the other was on the back of my head. He slowly withdraw his face and held me in his arms. I wrapped my arms around his biceps and leaned my head on his bare chest as we both watch the fire burn. Rafe rubs soft circles into back to comfort me and I can feel my heart starting to slow. I feel my body slowly shutting down and my eyes getting heavy and my blinking starts getting longer and longer, until my eyes finally close.  

(Play while reading last paragraph)

The fire begins to subside and Rafe lifts me off to put more wood on the fire. He returns back to me to find me as cold as ice, he tries to wake me up, although I do not. “Y/N, baby are you okay, your freezing?. Y/n, baby, hey wake up.” He cry out. He turned my body onto my back and leaned over me to feel my pulse. He felt nothing. He tilted my head back and opened my mouth, he placed his hands over my heart and started to push to revive me. “Please don’t leave me y/n, I need you, I can’t live without you” he said as he gave me CPR giving me two breaths of air and repeating this five times. On the final breath, I gasped for air and saw tears dropping from his chin as he had his forehead against mine. “What happened” I say bringing my hand to the back of his neck. Rafe lifts his head at looks at me “You were unconscious for over three minutes and I…………….I saved your life baby!” He said as he lifts me up and he hugs me into his chest. “Never do that to me again, I can’t lose you y/n you're all I have” he say as looks into my eyes. “Your all I have too” I say hugging him back and placing my head in the crook of his neck. “Seems like I owe you one Cameron” I laugh. “Just don’t die on me and we can call it even” he smirks and kiss me on the forehead as we watch the sunrise together. 

Hope you loved this as much as I did Like & Comment below

[grubhubgamingofficial]

Pizza Tower: A Rant

Let me preface this with a warning. I am not good at Pizza Tower. I can only get A-Ranks, can’t keep a combo for the life of me, and I accidentally unlocked the Bad Bones outfit in Pizzascape. In boss fights, I usually end with 1 health, getting a D-Rank almost always. My highest rank is a B in The Noise fight, and that’s only because I kept trying to P-Rank him via Parry spam. That being said, this rant will also contain spoilers for the Final Boss, Boss 4, and the ending in general. Viewers beware, you’re in for a scare!

TL;DR, Pizza Tower is a love letter to the 90s and the Wario Land franchise, with an artstyle fitting of a 90s gross-out Platformer the likes of which are forgotten to time. It’s an amazing game, with heart and soul poured into each crevasse of its scuffed form. It’s easy to learn, but to master it takes skill. Little story, good music, and infinite potential.

Now, I won’t go into detail on every individual level, only some highlights, and the bosses. If I did the whole game, we’d be here forever. Also, each lobby, of course.

Layer 1 of the tower is the Tower Lobby, which boasts some slightly menacing music. This is the first leg of the journey, and already, it readies you for what’s to come.

The first level the average player does is John Gutter. The music is calm, the sounds of tinkling crystal and rushing wind only accentuated by the familiar beat of Pizza Time. As it goes on, the music becomes… well, music. But, unlike its main leitmotif, it’s… calm. The level is dotted with dead pillars, similar to Pillar John. You can break them without triggering Pizza Time, and even get an achievement for breaking them all. The background looks like an old vaporwave wallpaper, pillars with John’s face on them poking diagonally out of the background. Palm Trees on raised platforms dot the landscape.

Beyond this level, everything is somewhat forgettable, so we’ll move to the first boss. Pepperman. For a first boss, he’s still really good. His music has amazing rhythm, and the background tells all you need to know about our red friend. The walls are lined with works of himself, from a king to a knight. Everything he has is themed to himself. The only artwork not of him is promptly destroyed, being art of Peppino. Statues fall from above to crush you, poor drawings of Pepperman come from off-camera to knock you around, and knights who look like the great Pepper slide along the ground in Phase 2. The only thing he likes more than himself is art. His last two hits need you to make a statue, which he will begin critiquing. This is your chance to smack him.

After the lobby, put on your cowboy hat and saddle up, because it’s the Western District. Based on cowboys and indians. The first level I’ll talk about is Oregano Desert. You enter it, and you can already tell what it’s about. The music has the famous whistle instrument of western music, and the background is full of pizzas. Tribal piles of sentient cheese dance around totems for rain dances, and caricatures of Colonel Sanders in massive Cowboy hats dot the landscape. However, the desert isn’t real. One of the backgrounds shows a spotlight, shining down. None of the levels are outside, sans the final boss’ fight. All of them are in the tower, all simulated environments. However, even in environments can be environments. A UFO lies in the middle of the sands, crashed. Pillar John resides within.

Fun Farm is the other important level. It’s the calmest level, the music being more atmospheric than anything. A lush, green field awaits you. Cows stand, stacked atop one another. A UFO kidnaps a cow in the background. While walking through, a face from time long since passed will greet you in this level. Jumping from a well, Mort the Chicken from his own Playstation game, Mort the Chicken, will land upon your head. Mort is a… helpful(?) addition to the level, as he lets you move through easier. Oddly enough, this is one of the few places with a lore reason. Fun Farm was run by John E. Cheese, the grandfather of the boss of the Western District. Now, that boss owns this place. However, Peppino accidentally burns it down on his way out.

The boss of Layer 2 is The Vigilante. A cheese slime wearing a cowboy hat and wielding a revolver. He is an honorable duelist, though, and gives you a free gun. If you avoid it, he looks at the camera, as he has no time for shenanigans. His fight is chaotic. Vigilante will fire cheese bullets at you, throw dynamite, and even use an Uzi to rattle you to bits. But, hold through, you will see the most beautiful second phase ever. The world will be wreathed in shadow, the background your only way to see. The battle ends in a quick draw duel, ending in a glorious fashion, and moving into Layer 3. Vacation Resort.

The only level of note is GOLF. That’s right, GOLF. There’s a golfing minigame in this game. GOLF is a bizarre level concept. You’re thrown into a restaurant, and from there, you smack a ball of cheese through hoops in an attempt to get the lowest possible score. Known as a Primo Burg. Your enemies will be fellow golfers, demons, and pitchers. The music has the right amount of kick for a golfing mini-game. Fun fact, this level was a spoof for DOOM, the golf demon being clearly a Pinky demon from DOOM.

So, with not much on the GOLF, or Vacation Resort in general, let’s go to the boss. The Noise. The boss is a chaotic mess, taking the chaos of the Noid from old Domino’s commercials with the zaniness of the 90s, topped off with an MTV spin-off in the NTV cameras following him. Noise drops bombs, rides a pogo stick, and rides a skateboard. Furthermore, a Hot Air Balloon waits in the background, suddenly blowing towards you in Phase 2. The battle ends with Noise taking out a Minigun before being dragged off-screen by his girlfriend, Noisette.

Floor 4 is Slum, an industrial utopia. EVERY LEVEL IS UNIQUE. I cannot talk about them in their own lines, so I’ll do all here. The Pig City has the best music, and gives off the grimy vibe of a city. Corrupt pig cops cuff you around every corner, gangster pizzas slide around, and shrimp will try to shank you. Oh Shit! is the sewer level, and it’s gross-out to the nth degree. Blocks of feces help progression, and the whole level IS a sewer. Peppibot Factory pulls off its theme well, with the vibe of Kirby 64 in each note. The last level, Refrigerator-Refrigerador-Freezerator, is the most interesting in that it combines everything above. Music gives off major icy vibes, the landscape is a cold wasteland, and the last pick-up you get is even spicy to counterbalance it!

So, for the best world, there needs to be a good boss. Well, Boss 4 is the best. Fake. Peppino. Every good late 90s-early 2000s game had a faker. Sonic has Shadow, Link has Dark Link, Mario has Wario. Peppino’s worst foe is a clone of himself, whose music is even a warped form of the Pizza Time music. Fake Peppino can do everything normal Peppino can, but weirder, and with clones to boot. The background begins as Peppino’s Pizza 2, a clone of the original, supposedly better than the original. “Nothing Compares!” cries the cut-out on the wall. However, in Phase 2, hell breaks loose. Limbs break from the walls, the cut-out turns to gibberish, and the sign denoting it Peppino’s Pizza 2 begins recurring the name. Peppino. If this wasn’t enough, the final act of the fight has Fake Peppino morphed into a monstrosity, chasing you down through the darkened pipeways of the condemned building.

World 5 has the same issue as World 4, but to a lesser extent. Only 3 real levels, one of which I’ll skip over, but still the other 80% is talked about. But, I’ll split it up. This is Staff Only.

Don’t Make A Sound is a unique level. It’s a spoof of Five Nights at Freddy’s, with the REAL enemy being five animatronics based on the Toppins you’ve rescued all this time. There’s only four until the end, however, where a teleporting fifth one enters the fray. This mirrors FNAF, where there’s only four, with the fifth one being a teleporting menace. All four have unique attributes, too. Well, not Mushroom and Sausage, they follow the same thing. Cheese will jump onto the ceiling, and Tomato just plain floats at you. However, it’s still a dangerous level, full of panic due to being chased by the monsters. The music gets intense as they chase after Peppino, a voice laughing in the background. Until you get the Shotgun. That’s right, you get to go on a tear with a gun.

After DMAS is WAR! The only level with a time limit without a Pillar John to initiate Pizza Time. You get a Shotgun again, and have to run to the end gate while keeping the time from going too low. The level is chaotic, the music going from a Platformer to a Hotline Miami-esque murder spree soundtrack. It culminates with the seconds ticking down one by one, until you just barely miss the last one through the exit door.

The last boss is Pizza Face. You reach the apex of the tower, the skies a crimson red. Peppino’s Pizza looms in the background, reminding you of why you did this as the fight begins. As Pizza spits out enemies, you throw them up at him for a stun, punching him until you hit Phase 2. The music gives off the urgency of this, as he plans to destroy your way of life. Like hell you’re letting that happen. One by one, his Hit Points go away, until eventually, he opens up, to reveal a familiar face from cut-outs. Pizzahead comes from the machine, the music becoming way more chaotic in a zany way. Televisions of Pizzahead begin floating by in the background, swirls of purple in the sky. However, still Peppino’s Pizza remains. So, you fight on, knowing your goal. Each hit is satisfying, watching his smug grin be turned inside out. Eventually, you will reduce him to zero. He’ll fall over, before getting back up. Pizzahead reaches back down, pulling up the old bosses. Peppino, however, is DONE. It begins raining as he lets out an enraged scream, rushing Pepperman and unleashing a combo of devastating proportions on him. The music in this area is littered with almost every level’s leitmotifs, and with each boss down, Peppino’s anger mounts. The cinematics of this fight get to you, and you can FEEL each satisfying crunch of bone as Peppino lets his full rage loose. Each enemy stomped, each throw, each grab, each wall destroyed, all led to this. As you grind through Pepperman, Vigilante, Noise, and your own shadow, you reach Pizzahead. He doesn’t truly fight, taking this as a game, letting you get free hits. You finish the boss by taking him into the heavens, on a beatdown delivered hot and ready by the greatest pizza maker there ever was. The last blow is a piledriver, sending his head INTO the tower.

The tower shakes under Pizzahead’s defeat. Peppino’s shatters the last Pillar John, and the tower begins falling apart. So, you begin the TRUE last stage. Level 25, The Crumbling Tower of Pizza. You begin rushing to get out, grabbing every foe and friend along the way. Everything comes back, every foe trying to stop your descent. Everything follows you, the Pizza Time leitmotif coming back one more time to help your motivation on the way down. One by one, blocks crack, enemies fall, and eventually, you make it to the end, friends intact. The last level over, you celebrate your victory. Everything you’ve done up to that point was worth it.

Or was it? There’s two endings. If you’ve been paying attention in levels, you’d find Tower Secret Treasures. These help you obtain the secret ending. By finding Gerome, a Janitor of the tower, and having him unlock doors for you, grabbing all 19 treasures from the former levels, you unlock the secret ending. Peppino will lose the treasures, reviving John in a new state, living once more as a real man instead of a cracked pillar. Pillar John will send Pizzahead blasting off into the stratosphere with a hearty uppercut.

Finally, the game over, you can relax. Or can you? There’s so much to do. Achievements, P-Ranks, and so much more. Can you find the Mort Cube? Or Grandpa? Or even Noisette’s Cafe, deep in the tower? Really, the game never truly ends, instead, you can go on forever. Collect all the clothes, beat every mission, don’t kill Snotty upon first entering Slum! That secret ending is hard, too, so why not try to get it in general? Indeed, there’s a lot to do. Plus, Pizza Tower doesn’t end with the Tower. There’s also fangames, too. Like, say, Sugary Spire.

[thesinglesjukebox]

THE WEEKND - "DANCING IN THE FLAMES"

Now rank "Dancing in the Sheets"!

[5.23]

Harlan Talib Ockey: Dancing in the Dark > Dancing in the Street > Dancing in the Flames > Dancing in the Moonlight. [4]

Alfred Soto: An OK example of Abel Tesfaye's rattling electro-pop, though I get no hint from the singing and the arrangement that he has any acquaintance with flames except what he sees at the end of a lit joint. [6]

Katherine St. Asaph: Juddery synthpop that's peppy and soulless and fine. The challenge with music that evokes actual danger -- e.g., the Weeknd's offerings until "Can't Feel My Face" -- is that it requires constant, believable escalation to work; Abel fumbled those stakes sometime around Kiss Land. Music that evokes fake simulacra of danger, though, can stay the same forever and be just fine. [6]

Dave Moore: You know, the Weeknd turned into Spotify playlist wallpaper so gradually I didn't even notice. [4]

Taylor Alatorre: You have to listen a second time to recognize that Abel has just given us a bimbofied reskin of "Understanding in a Car Crash," and you have to listen a third time to recognize that no, of course he hasn't; whatever highfalutin' concept this ends up buttressing on the album, the shattered glass imagery is really only there to cover his candy apple melodies in the thinnest latex coating of Old Weeknd edge. "Love," "beautiful," "radio," "switching lanes": those are the words that stand out amid the streaks of passing tail lights and the rush of oncoming wind. They are footholds of pop familiarity, mental permission slips for the listener to kick back and let the jet-propulsion synths carry them to the next highway mile marker. Any loss of control is only nominal -- this is cruise control working as the good Ralph Nader intended. The Weeknd puts in studio hours to dutifully turn out yet another "Blinding Lights" variation, and we forgive him because the almighty driving song (much like the teenage tragedy song) is not a thing to be reasoned with, only turned off or fully locked into. Which side of the windshield are you on? [7]

Ian Mathers: He should have pivoted (pivoted back to?) full-on synthpop sooner, honestly -- this feels like his best chorus since, what, "Blinding Lights"? So many of the last [x] number of Weeknd songs and appearances have felt tedious or fraught in various ways; it's a surprising relief to hear one where I mainly just want to hum along. [7]

Hannah Jocelyn: The last line of this chorus is a meme in a Discord server I'm in (god I feel so "how do you do fellow kids" saying that, I'm 27!), but even after hearing this multiple times, when someone says "it's unremarkableeee" I still can't piece together what they're referencing. As someone who was teased for liking Coldplay in high school while other kids were getting into the Weeknd, it's incredibly funny that the two have converged: with its oohs and kitschy synths "Flames" could have fit on Moon Music.  [3]

Will Adams: Close enough: welcome back CHVRCHES. [6]

Nortey Dowuona: The Weeknd is a lithe, agile vocalist who comfortably floats atop the tenor range, but the song he gave producers Max Martin and Oscar Holter needs to soar into the heady, vacant stare of the hypnotized, then fly into the focused, intense glare of the excited. They needed to cast a glowing spotlight upon his voice that doesn't expose its lack of depth or power, but also doesn't isolate it in a way that makes it clear the music accompanying is meant to be incidental. So they settled for a simple kick/snare/kick pattern and a bland bassline that lurks beneath the heavy cloud of synthesizers, which seize the bridge to make their play for attention. They do their job. Unfortunately, the lyrics The Weeknd wrote are so vapid that their careful work is completely wasted -- at least, if you are paying real attention. If you in fact heard this while crashing, my condolences: you will survive, thus hearing "Out of Time" instead when you get driven home. [3]

Mark Sinker: There’s a rhythm shape that seems to be all over the place at the moment: two measures, one of two long syllables, the second of four short syllables. Poetry nerds would calls this a “spondee” followed by a “tetrabrach,” and I’m getting technical only because I had to hunt around for “tetrabrach,” which makes me think it’s rare (or anyway used to be). This is what gives the chorus its push-push-push feel: I – CAN’T – WAIT (to-see-your) FACE – CRASH – WHEN (we’re-switching), etc. I associate it with Taylor Swift -- which may not be fair, I don’t suppose she invented it. Even more unfair, maybe, is me associating it with childishly sulky foot-stamping, but that’s what it sounds like to me. It adds a curious and not very likeable flavour to the perky beat of this already quite anxious song.   [5]

Andrew Karpan: I’ve long stopped liking using iPhones, or even many of Apple’s products generally, but I remain attracted to the faint nostalgia for a time when that felt like the future. The same can be said of the Weeknd, whose latest piece of heartpounding softpop kitsch doubles as an advertisement for the iPhone 16 Pro. But that's okay, I'll still keep drinking that garbage. [7]

Jel Bugle: Coming on like a latter-day Cher, like a popstar from the algorithm. A very easy-listening modern pop tune, and I did enjoy it. We still need things that are safe and sound like now, the past and forever. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Dazzling — the legendary showman and pop icon unveils himself, shedding layers of artifice and mystique. He is free now, untethered to the personas of the past. He is revealed anew, fresh in the light of dawn, as his final form: the most boring man alive.  [3]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[finsterhund]

Listen if I was in the Skinamarink house I'd just infodump about Mayhem Mountain constantly while playing HoD or whatever the fuck. rip to Kevin and whatever his sister's name was but I'm different.

I literally spend my life thirsting after wanting to own "big old spooky old house with analog media and toys and shit everywhere with no parents" this is the fucking experience here. (Okay maybe I also want parental figures too but I need to be at least somewhat realistic. I'm not ever getting that. But if this stupid housing industry crashes and burns I can get a house someday. I fucking want a house. I would kill to get a house. Etc.)

Every time I hear about people abandoning houses and not wanting to live in haunted houses I'm like "you stupid assholes are rich enough to be picky about a fucking house you own. Give it to me you fuckers I will eat a demon and fistfight a ghost and the only thing haunting it will be me and my demonic little boy taken by the consumption ass vibes." (Please don't mention that I'm scared of New England the east coast is cursed and evil also if we're being honest if I got a cool carpenter gothic or whatever the fuck house for free there I would bite the bullet and go there because you know what fuck it free house. Worst case scenario I find a way to straight up take the house somewhere else.)

There are so many houses left to rot by my grandparents house. That's a thing there. It's been a thing for a hundred years or so and it pisses me off. The beloved town my cousins used to live where I visited like once and never wanted to fucking leave and it had a little swimming pool is almost a ghost town now. Apparently they lost their grain elevator in a fire and I don't even know if that rumor is true or not but I legit fucking had a weeping fit about that somewhere last week idk my brain was soup and all I remember from then was that I ground my jaw so bad it locked up. There's so many fucking houses abandoned in the plains. I would live in all those houses. Give me the fucking houses. I will live in a fucking grain elevator that was turned into a house. Fuck you.

Everyone always bitches about being in the middle of nowhere but if there's fucking electricity and plumbing and internet (yeah there is now. Suck on that assholes) and roads what's the fucking problem you big fucking baby. Getting a driver's license is probably possible for me in that province because nobody gives a shit. If I fucking own a house and fucking land I don't give a fuck if I have to drive to get to stores and shit I have a fucking attention span and patience when I fucking want to. Asshole. Also pretty sure people can have small private planes and fly them there. You certainly have enough space for takeoff and landing. Can you fucking imagine even having small paraglider personal flying devices and shit you could do that there.

There's shit called paramotors please look at this fucking shit please look at it. I could have this. Fuck you.

https://youtu.be/rvQ9DjJNal0

I am fucking screaming in emotional anguish agony pain. This is for me. This is what my life should be. In a house. Windows XP wallpaper ass land. Paramotor trips into idk swiftcurrent or whatever. Fuck you fuck you fuck you. Screaming crying throwing up. It's not fair.

Apparently Canada treats paramotor like ultralight aircraft need permit and stuff but there's a guy who's been doing just fine without one. Fuck the government.

Want paramotor so bad. Screaming crying throwing up.

Anyways yeah. So mad. So sad. Miserable.

It's perfect in every fucking way. My fucking body craves the steppe. Did you know why I fucking ended up always loving the goddamn windows XP desktop background Naboo ass aesthetic? It's because it's literally my fucking blood I was fucking born for there. I'm literally fucking homesick I want to fucking cry. It literally fucking looks like that there. I am screaming. If my fucking mother didn't fucking take me back from my grandparents. I am going to fucking scream. (I would have never experienced the CSA from my birth father either) am going to fucking commit die.

I have manic obsessions over the extended family houses I barely fucking remember from childhood visits. Hell, even the Spot house. And that was a place with my stupid fucking birth father in the stupid fucking childhood costal city.

I would take the Spot house and move it to the steppe. Most of the houses in the near ghost town my cousins used to live look like the Spot house. Screaming.

I am filled with the utmost of hatred and grief and wrath. I do not resent my mother more for this because she was taken advantage of by that fucking demon too and I know every day she regrets leaving her parents too. But she doesn't fucking want to go back she loves that shitty fucking place she's in now I just don't understand that. She's like the people who left the houses. She thinks winter is cold. I don't understand.

You have no idea how much I want a fucking house and my preference is literally 1900s-1970s construction. So shut the fuck about things being old and outdated I literally fucking want that. Bitch give it to me. I am no longer asking. 🗡️🗡️🗡️ I will put the knife in your eye

I found a scary story the other day where a guy got an old magic key that when he opened his closet with it the closet lead to some cool old hidden secret castle room or whatever the fuck with a bunch of neat antique shit and instead of living there he fucking plundered it all like a stupid little bitch. I was so mad. This also ended up getting his ass because he kept finding doors and doors to do this to just to steal all the cool shit just to sell it and eventually he let out a monster because he was such a stupid little moron.

Am I rambling? Yeah but I don't care. I'm actually conscious and awake and functional right now. It's not even noon yet and I've taken all my meds. I am actually awake and not tired right now for some fucking reason and of course immediately the mania starts.

I am just explosive right now. Oh my god. You know I'm so apathetic and tired and exhausted and have no drive or energy or anything anymore but I have so fuckibg much for my goddamn house quest my fucking dream.

Could make my own grassland city state. Landback sovereign citizen shit. Get army of friends to all bring back the almost dead town and it's ours now and we rebuild the grain elevator and reopen the pool and shit.

This is my dream and what I want. I want to achieve it through violence.

(if I'm being completely honest if I got all this I don't even think I'd NEED there to be internet at that point. Everyone always brings up internet but so much of the internet for me is a surrogate for one thing or another.) If I could have my friends with me I would not need to use the internet to be with them for example.

I apologize if I appear to be crazy (I actually am lol and sometimes I get really fucking tired of presenting myself in respectable coherent ways. I tire of masking for the benefit and comfort of others. Of hiding my mental illnesses at every turn because of you domestics thinking that anything short of tame subservience is dangerous and that aggression and violence are unbecoming of the human nature. When in reality it is us with "dangerous" mental disabilities who are the primary victims of violence and harm for being the way we are.) but I really can't fucking take this anymore. I am a member of a species meant to live off the land and wander and have big space to call your own and exist within the natural world and not live in a tiny little box. Life in captivity has both made me weak and pitiful and violently explosive wanting to be reborn as I was meant to be. I'm at that point where you know what? I can import my medicine in bulk. I can have it delivered to me. If I can't then I fucking should. And if I need a hospital but do not make it in time then this is nature. I should not be scared I should not live in captivity because of death because of disability because captivity is worse than a natural death. I am sick of living as a domesticated shell of how I should be.

I fear change. I fear it so badly. But I have been tricked into fearing the small changes when in reality I need to learn that what is truly harming me is that gradual change that put me into this environment. It is scary to move and to leave behind these places like where I live now and the things that have become routine but that is not the big picture. This is the comfort of domestication and is a trick. It is my attachment to the tiny little white room where I live even though with time I would not miss it in comparison to the love in my heart for the new life of the big house. The uncertainty of change is clouding the judgement and I am a fucking coward.

I fear rejection from the domestics and their stupid world even though I resent it. This is a survival instinct warped by trauma. To mask and roll over and submit for fear of being hit. To play nice so that they do not take my tiny white room because it is all I have. Because they have made it so. My safety in this environment is dependant on them. When it shouldn't be. This is in a way a form of grooming that I have yet to overcome.

I do not know how to overcome it. I suppose acknowledging this is a first step.

Andy want house.

[glowdrama]

Like or reblog if you save

Follow @Glowdrama on instagram 💕

[celibatairedramas]

— like or reblog if you save. ♡

@celibatairewang on twitter. ♡

[xx-icons-xx]

Drama: Crash Landing on You

[ortadunyainsani]

Crash landing on you lockscreens ♡

[mydramalandx]

Crash landing of love 💜

[leggerefiore]

▽Alt. Coraline AU▲

cw: yandere, unhealthy relationships,

anon,,, brain now craves other lover ingo and i blame u for this mess

some music because is a bit long

○ Emmet was sweet. He did nearly everything for you and barely asked for anything in return. His smile was brighter than the gaseous orb that warmed the earth. His love was an unyielding passion that surrounded you so tenderly and made you feel safe. It was this tender, kind love that led to you both moving out of the city after fans of his had started stalking and harassing you. The Subway Boss could not stand to see your pain, so he returned to his childhood home, far away in Anville. It was an intense shift to speak lightly, a large metropolitan city meeting a sleepy, rural town where everyone knew each other.

○ Still, you moved to the property in his family's name. A larger, older house painted a bright pink over splintered, rotting wood divided into four separate apartments. Emmet held a strange facial expression as he observed his home of previous years. His smile present as always, yet his soft chrome eyes held such intensity you felt he could burn the building down. You grasped his hand softly to remind that there were more pressing matters. The emotion was extinguished as the light returned at a glance of you. Boxes are unloaded and unpacked as you settle into your life.

○ It was fine at first, Emmet coming home a bit later than he would to your apartment in Nimbasa, but still returning nonetheless. You shifted your schedule to meet his and were happy to greet your boyfriend at whatever time he made it home. Dinner was eaten together and his pokemon wandered about the house in a peaceful tandem. He was exhausted, lidded eyes with heavy darkness lingering underneath, yet he still pampered you in adoration.

○ That was until one day, during his lunch break, Emmet called. He explained that there was too much work for to do that day and the following and wanted to see if you were alright with him staying in Nimbasa for the night. You agreed, not wanting him to wear himself so thin. The man thanked you many, many times. That one time became two, then into four and once more into eight until it often became for him to stay in Nimbasa at least twice a week. Loneliness stung bitterly, and while you knew he'd come home if you simply asked, you didn't want to interrupt his busy schedule. Holidays were coming into the station and his time was to be consumed further. It stung when he told you (not asked, as he had many times before) that he wouldn't be back in town until Sunday. It was a Tuesday.

○ Your lonely heart grew worse as time ticked on in your boyfriend's absence. Friends were busy with their own obligations from the holidays, and your family wasn't nearby enough for a day trip. Emmet pour salt directly into the laceration when you complained lightly about being lonely with a simple, “I'm lonely too. Just put up with it.” You had hung up the call then and there to sob yourself to sleep. Where had your sweet lover gone and what devil had he been replaced with?

○ You awoke on your couch after the emotional crash from the distress Emmet caused. A doll that resembled with sat on your coffee table comfortably, it had white buttons for its eyes and wore the outfit from your first visit to the home. You found the strangeness of it both cute and creepy. Had Emmet gotten you it and left somewhere you failed to check? It didn't make you forgive him, but it made you smile at the thought. You moved it onto your bookshelf to overlook the shared living and dining room.

○ A bored exploration of the house happened. Nothing exciting was found until you landed on a piece of lightly burned wallpaper. Running your fingers across the surface, you felt abnormal grooves in it. A knife is taken from a kitchen drawer and stabbed to free the hidden contents from its off coloured, floral paper prison. A small door was the secret. You stared at it for a few moments as you wondered why such a thing would be covered. Curiosity grows as you grab the brass knob of the door. It refuses a turn. Locked. A keyhole proved your last barrier. You tried to recall where Emmet had lied the key ring the landlord had given him. Once remembered, you grabbed the item from his desk drawer, where it had been buried under forgotten paperwork.

○ Giddiness consumed your senses as you tried every key until you found the correct one for the tiny door. Perhaps you had found a long forgotten secret room or a path to neighbouring apartment's secrets. The lock clicked free, and you swung open the door. A running theme in your life seemed to be a bright sun rise followed by day's of heavy, stormy rain. A brick wall mocked you for all your effort. The door was slammed shut, the keys were strewn on the counter, and you stomped off to grab groceries out of the accursed house.

● Though, a following night had seen you waking up early in the unreal hours of the morning; everything hazy and filled with tired wonder. A soft purple will-o-wisp floated about your room and out your open door. The ethereal light led you to the answer of a hypnagogic reality as you threw off the duvet to follow. The will led you down the darkened hall and into the living room, where it faded into the small door you uncovered. You grasped the brass knob as you had previous. A change was felt within the pulse provided by strangely warm metal. One could say it felt alive. The door opened to show a quivering, hypnotic tunnel of unworldly lights. Hesitantly, you crawl into the new area.

● The tunnel leads you to a matching door as the one you entered through. It pushes open all the same to reveal your living room. Well, it resembled your living room. Minor differences in aesthetic choices were obvious. A vase of ebony roses sat delicately in the middle of a coffee table. You walked on your heels to silence your steps as you crept around the imperfect copy of your home. When you noticed lights pouring out of the kitchen along with an absolutely enchanting scent. Peering into the room, you spotted… Emmet - Yes, it definitely appeared to be your boyfriend from behind – cooking something on the stove. You shifted slightly and caused a floorboard to creak. His head whipped around to reveal two ebony buttons where bright silver usually lied. A frown replaced a smile, alongside a much stiffer body language. “My dear, you arrived much sooner than I had anticipated. I apologise for the dimness present, please don't hesitate to turn on the lights as you need them,” his voice was stronger in volume than Emmet's own with a more polite tone.

● He turned off the stove and made quick strides over to you. His movements more determined and precise than your boyfriend's, as flicked on the light switch just behind your head. His button eyes stared into your own for a moment. “Um…” it felt strange to ask, “Who are you?” He wasn't Emmet, that much had been easily determined, nor was he your dream idealised Emmet either. Carefully, he knelt before you. Your hand was grasped by his as it was brought to soft lips. The appendage remained in his grasp as turned to focus on your face again. His face was intense and showed no strong feeling, “I am your other lover, Ingo. It is pleasing to finally greet you properly. I have loved you for many long years, and I am elated to have you in my home.” His affection carried within his tone as he stood up to his full height again. You were pulled into a reassuring embrace by the other lover. The hug was reciprocated by you fully, happy to receive the absent contact that Emmet normally provided.

● The evening was a charming one, with Ingo serving you the meals you favoured most alongside a drink of your choice. He spoke with you as if he had known you for your entire life. Conversation flowed easily with him, words from him near hypnotising and pleasant. You were brought outside into a flower garden that Ingo stated he created specifically for you. His arm was linked with yours as you wandered through the flora with idle conversation. Flowers of yellow and purple hyacinths, aromatic lavenders, white heathers, begonias, black dahlias, and mallows. Along the ground, you spotted creeping willow as well. You found yourself leaning into Ingo as he explained some proper gardening techniques. Slowly, sleep reclaimed your weary mind. The other lover led you to your bedroom with a knitted black blanket covered your body. Ingo held you tightly as you drifted off, crooning a gentle love song to further ease your mind. You missed the darker promises his hot breath whispered as unconsciousness settled in.

○ You awoke in your normal bed, refreshed from the odd dream. It was a bit sad to see it wasn't in no part real, but you stretched and wiped the sleep from your eyes. Emmet had tried to call you on his lunch, but you had let it ring. Your heart sunk at the thought of speaking to him, fearing another cruel comment about sucking it up. Though, as it was Sunday, you would be seeing him later in the evening. You cringed as the lock clicked to signify he was home. Emmet opened the door and sighed in relief upon spotting you on the soda. The closed behind him as he rushed over to embrace you, spilling apologies out like an overfilled bucket. He has been so stressed, his brain stopped to consider your feelings. Never again would he say such a cruel thing to you. His silver eyes stared deeply into yours as pressed his lips to your own. The kiss turned passionate alongside the night, both of you were excited to feel the other's touch. Blissfully unaware of the doll watching from the shelf.

○ It was a month before another period of time away reared its ugly head into your life. Emmet apologised, but didn't bother to ask how you felt about it. The door shut loudly behind him, and you cried in bed that night until a wisp floated around your head. Crawling back through the tunnel, Ingo awaited. You were fed a delicious meal, and he listened to all your complaints about Emmet with a gentle expression. His hand held yours as the buttons bored deeply into your eyes, “I would never leave you alone, dear. I would hear all of the worries with a willing heart. You are my partner, and I wish to become more one day.” His lips pressed against yours. You reciprocated the gesture wholeheartedly. His hands wandered around your body with a chilled touch as he laid you again the couch, a mimicry of what your true boyfriend had done to you previously. Ingo proved himself a worthy lover that evening, all your needs and wants put before his. He was so different from Emmet in every way you needed. You were carried to the bed and laid to rest. “I'll take care of you, my love. I won't allow my ●●●● to ever cause you sorrow again. We'll be married soon and happiness for us will surely follow,” the words went unheard by you as he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead.

○ You yelled at Emmet as he pretended to have no clue as to what you were talking about. The doll was missing from the shelf alongside the key for the door, which itself had been mysteriously locked. He coldly remarked that you seemed unwell and panicked over nothing. As you searched for the key wildly, you heard him say, “The door shouldn't even be there. There's just a brick wall behind it.” To which you immediately latched by stating he did know what happened to the key. His expression was terrifying as he pressed a finger to your lips, the air felt alive with something unearthly as he shushed you. Emmet passed out on the couch that evening, not bothering to acknowledge you anymore in his inexplicable frustration. You hated him, you thought. He was pretending you made up everything while choosing his stupid job over you. A promise of never wanting to leave your side, clearly incorrect. If he wanted trains over his own lover, then you would crawl back to Ingo one way or another.

○ This wish went ungranted until Emmet was forced to stay in Nimbasa one night. He didn't want to, he kept babbling over the phone, anguish evident in his tone. He had become suddenly clingy after that night and kept you at his side, apologising for his odd behaviour with wide, innocent eyes. It was stress and exhaustion, he claimed. The doll had made him uncomfortable with its button eyes, so he hid it in his office closet. It was returned to you, but something felt strange. The buttons were black, but you couldn't recall whether that was wrong or not. He genuinely didn't know about the key, he has wept into your shirt like a child. You had combed his hair and believed him. Both of you had been much too harsh toward one another. It had been settled.

● A gentle song pulled you from sleep that night as you saw the wisp once more. As you always did, you followed. It led you to Emmet's office, where it hovered above his desk. Dumbly, you pulled open every drawer until the low light from the flame illuminated the key to the crawlspace door. Tears welled in your eyes as you realised Emmet had lied to you. Why had he done so? It hurt more than it honestly should have. You grabbed the key and wandered over to the small door. Ingo would never lie to you as Emmet did. The melody lulled you further along as the ethereal tunnel squeezed around your form.

● Ingo held your body trembling for to his with hushed reassurances. “He's always so childish, isn't he, dear? Are you his partner or a fun way to pass his time? You're all alone out here in the countryside while he is surrounded by your friends in the city,” his voice reverberates through your entire body as it vibrates in his chest. “I would never do such cruel things to you, my darling. Together, here, I would give you the most wondrous life.” His fingers interlock with yours as he kisses the tears from your eyes. Ingo addresses all your concerns with expertise. Emmet didn't view you as his life partner. This was all some fun relationship, not something that would culminate into marriage. You wept harder at the thoughts. Ingo offers you what is wished for with ease. He excused himself, seeing pure opportunity in your distress. You were finally ready. “I have a present for you. Will you please wait while I go retrieve it?” His thumb traces circles of your knuckle. You nod and he walks down the hallway.

● His return brings a dark charcoal box with a bow of your favourite colour situated on top. You open it eagerly and see two ebony buttons alongside a sharp, shiny golden needle and matching ring. The set parallels the other lover's own. Ingo grasped your hand in a strong, yet gentle grip. “Dear, should you let me sew these buttons onto your eyes, then you will never have to leave my side. Wear my ring, and you can finally settle down here with me,” his voice is intense and serious, desire apparent within the stitching of the sentence. He craves you at his side and seems ready to accept no less. “I-I, I…” it was hard to think after the emotional low and sudden invitation, “I'm sorry, Ingo. I don't think I can do this. I'm not ready.” Not with him; not if you hadn't spoken with Emmet. Ingo was a dream husband, everything anyone could want in a spouse, but your heart belonged to the sweet lover who cooed while he squeezed too tightly. There was a reason Emmet had done all these strange things; he always had purpose behind his actions, even if it was just for fun. You'll call him before he goes to work – “You are ready; you've been ready for years. This I know from what you have told me,” his frowns grows deeper, and the tender affection he exudes shifts into something more corrupt, “Emmet will never give you what you want. He's afraid of devotion, afraid of dedicating himself wholly to you because he refuses to accept what he is. I will give you all that and more, my dear.” Your heart stops as he speaks your boyfriend's name, not once had you mentioned it in your time with him. Ingo speaks of the Subway Boss as if he's known him for a lifetime. His tone his controlled, yet something malignant lies just under the surface. The grip on your hand shifts into a shackle as you attempt to pull away.

● “I think I need to go, Ingo,” you refused the whimper that wanted to leave your throat about the entire situation, any weakness would be latched onto by him and thoroughly exploited. “I don't want what you're offering. There's no need to make this harder than it already is.” Ingo shook his head and tightened his grip enough to constrict blood flow. The air felt horribly heavy. “Ah, I understand it properly now. You're conflicted because you still care for him,” he pulls you up roughly and drags you through the house with precise movements. A mirror lies at the end of the hall. “End of the line, dear. Please reflect on what truly you want. I'll let you out when you stop lying to yourself,” he clasps your shoulders as he shoves you against the surface. It molds around your body like water and accepts you into its maw, obscuring Ingo into nothing more than a dark shadow.

● Footsteps marched away as you are left abandoned in the desolate room. Dust rests heavy on every surface in the dim light a stray will-o-wisp provides from resting on a nearly melted candle. Freeze nips at your skin, but there's no blanket in the room. At first, you push and shove at the mirror in an attempt at escape. Then you move to silent resistance. Lastly, you curl up on the filthy mattress on a rusty met bed frame to sob. Emmet was trying to keep you safe, you realised. Hiding the key, refusing to further acknowledge the situation. A failure of communication, but immediate action taken. Would he notice you had gone? Somehow, you knew that this place wasn't unknown to him, but would he be too late? Hiccups echoed off the unseen walls.

○ “Oh, darling… You really went and did it now. I know you're in there,” a soft voice coos across the barrier of your freedom. A phantom stands on the other side with hands pressed to the surface. You hopped up from the bed to the mirror. “Emmet! Help me, please,” you whimpered for the help of your true lover. His hand suddenly broke the tension of the surface and grabbed your forearm to pull you through. Crashing into his chest, you bawled quietly into his button down. His hand strokes your hair as he held you close to me. “I wish it was just a brick wall behind that door. I'm sorry this happened to you…” an explanation could be given later, you both silently agreed. “Let's go home. I bought your favourite dessert from the one shop. We can spend the entire night talking, I promise.” His voice was low, as to not attract Ingo's attention. The warmth of his hand surrounds your own as he leads you toward the door. Everything is pitch black, yet Emmet navigates with ease. As you pass through the living room, the light clicks on with a clearing of someone's throat.

● Ingo stands opposite to you both, walking to block the door. It's completely quiet in the home, barring the shifting of fabric with his movements. Emmet's eyes are wide with terror and tears. “My precious, younger twin finally returns,” his tone is not harsh, a genuine joy present. The simple sentence explains so much, but brings forth more questions than before. “Ingo. Let us go. You lost,” Emmet speaks to him in an empty tone. “We fought and I won. I was allowed to leave as we agreed. Leave my partner alone.” You wanted more information but were too petrified to speak. Ingo shook his head and glared at him. “Emmet, I do wonder whether you know how much to crave marriage. Neither of you are getting any younger, yet you still treat them like your college sweetheart. I simply gave them what they needed while you hurt them with your ignorance,” the mimic scolded his brother with your words. Emmet frowned to show just how frighteningly similar they were. “Then I will marry them. You won't,” his tone was harsh. It seemed impossible for either twin to intimidate the other.

● “I think we can find an agreement,” Ingo offered, “I know how you are, after all, moving them out to the country. Hiring those people to harass your dear partner to help influence them further along. You don't want to share them with the world, do you? How long until you trapped them in a web of your own?” Your heart shattered at the claim. Your boyfriend's face shifted into one of shock, then something neutral. “Emmet, you didn't — you couldn't!” A manic grin split his face as he turned to you, tears welling in his eyes. A hand swept his hair back as he shook his head. “You weren't supposed to find out. Ingo is verrrrrry mean. It's part of the reason I wanted to leave here in the first place,” his grip refused to let up as you tried to free yourself. “Do they truly want marriage, brother? I know they like you, too; they reeked of you often enough.” There was no escaping this, you realised. “Of course, Emmet. I would never lie to you. Are you agreeing to share them?” Ingo stepped forward to stand beside his twin. Emmet nodded, forced you into an embrace. “I'll get the needle and buttons then. I trust you'll restrain them?” Another nod. You hated this; you hated them. There was no escape as Emmet turned you to face his buttoned counterpart as the brilliantly shining golden needle travelled carefully toward its destination.

[wkemeup]

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending 

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.  

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.  

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.  

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.  

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.  

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.  

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.  

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.  

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.  

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.  

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.  

Three minutes past check-in.  

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.  

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.  

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.  

“Hi.”  

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.  

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.  

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.  

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.  

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.  

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.  

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.  

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”  

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.  

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.  

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.  

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.  

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.  

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.  

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.  

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.  

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.  

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.  

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair. 

“Yeah, I know.”  

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.  

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.  

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.  

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.  

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.  

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.  

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.  

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.  

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.  

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.  

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.  

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.  

But that’s not the worst of it.  

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.  

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.  

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.  

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.  

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.  

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.  

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.  

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.  

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.  

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.  

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.  

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.  

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.  

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.  

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”  

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.  

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.  

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.  

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.  

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.  

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.  

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.  

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.  

“You let me know if you need a break.”  

Still, there’s no response.  

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.  

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.  

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.  

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.  

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.  

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.  

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.  

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.  

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.  

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.  

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.  

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.  

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.  

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.  

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.  

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.  

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.  

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.  

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.  

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.  

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.  

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.  

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.  

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.  

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”  

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.  

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.  

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.  

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.  

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands. 

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.  

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.  

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.  

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.  

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.  

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.  

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.  

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.  

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.  

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”  

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.  

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction. 

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.  

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.  

For that, Bucky owes him everything.  

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.  

You’d killed them all.  

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.  

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.  

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.  

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.  

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.  

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.  

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.  

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.  

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.  

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow. 

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.  

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.  

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”  

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.  

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.  

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.  

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”  

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.  

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.  

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.  

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.  

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you. 

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly. 

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye. 

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you. 

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax. 

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze. 

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you. 

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again. 

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.  

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.  

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn  

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”  

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.  

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”  

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.  

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.  

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[darling-cas]

Hoax (an original story)

I amaze myself sometimes. 

My therapist says I need to go back to things that bring me joy, says I need to find happiest in life again. During one specific session, I was asked to name a time when I was truly at peace, a time I felt moments of pure joy outside of my partner and friends. The first thing that came to mind was a time years ago, when I would post stories here, on this website, for you all to see.

This surprised me honestly, because if you knew me personally (*cough* hi @ilikebigbooks-and-icannotlie *cough*) you would know the amount of stress and pressure I put myself under when it came to writing We Are Young, Whatever It Takes, etc, etc, etc. But despite all the negative emotions, the moments that always stand out to me is sitting on my laptop after I clicked post, watching all the love and adoration pure in from each and every one of you.

I say this monthly but, I really do want to get back into writing. Thanks to my therapist and business major partner, I’ve been dipping my toes into editing for others as a side job. But I want to make my way back to writing my own stories and sharing them with even the smallest corner of the world. This story, Hoax, I wrote actually one year ago, when I first started therapy and after a hard heartbreak. It helped me feel like myself again and lifted me out of the darkness.

I hope, for even the smallest number of you, it does the same. I hope you can feel the same magic that I felt when I wrote it. Take this as a thank you for, years ago, bringing me such joy and happiness.

Until next time...

Cas.

--------------------

The air was midsummer sweet.

It was an Indian summer of blue sky dreams and late evening tears, with the weather shifting moods in the blink of an eye. Grey clouds would eclipse the setting sun with their mighty fists, soaking up the colour of the earth like ink drenching a cotton ball.

And with the continuous alternating weather came the busty smell of sunblock and wet grass. Summer scents combined with the salty air and pungent fish that cling to Jake’s senses from the moment he started his journey along the coastal towns.

His mountain travels started just mere days ago. The task of hiking the grand peak was something he was finally going to cross off his bucket list. Dipping into his savings and requesting a week or two off work was a small price to pay when it came to the tranquility and beauty laid bare before him.

Born and raised on the outskirts of the city, there hadn't been much nature for him to appreciate and admire growing up. But from the moment Jake entered the first small, close-knit fishing town, all he could seem to do was appreciate and stare in outright awe.

The land laid undisturbed all around; the mountains, the trees, the ocean, they had all planted their roots, dug in their heels, and refused to surrender. Cities had been conquered, the vast expansion of country fields and towering summits were placed in chains, forced to give themselves to man. But here, on the coast of fishing villages, it seems as if Land and Man came to an agreement, a compromise, an understanding, to live in peace as one. 

Roads of all kinds swerved, twisted, curled up and down along the coast, between the trees. Houses of unnaturally charming bright blues, yellows, oranges, and greens sat gracefully against the mountain rocks, climbing up the forest-speckled cliffs. Homes and buildings of sea-weathered colour rested on the broken shoreline. Boats bobbed in the water, their docks reaching out towards the horizon like fingers longing to reach and touch a disappearing lover.

In the coastal towns, driving along the sunset stained ocean, Jake swore he would never see true beauty again.

Even now, when the sky wept tears of sorrow, its beauty never vanished.

The weather came on suddenly, as he passed the welcoming sign for Higdon's Harbour. The roads became slick, a  ghostly fog settled in, and the colours were muted a few shades darker by the clouds above. Rivers trickled down the mountain side, disappearing into shallow ditches. Waves started to leap and jump to catch the increasing wind. All while the sky cried on and on.

Jake drove on through the town. Classic rock thumped softly in the background and raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He had planned not to stop for the night until the next town over. He had driven through several rain storms since the start of his trip, and this was nothing.

But the cracks in the sky's broken heart continued to grow with exceptional pain. Tears of despair quickly turned to tears of anger. The beating on the car became more aggressive as the wind wailed daunting threats and the ocean frantically waved its arms.

It became too much, too quick. Jake was used to driving through bad weather, but not seaside storms. Not gusting winds and sideways rain. Plus, he decided, he was already making good time. So when the flashing green neon sign reading Beaumont Motel came into view, he didn’t hesitate to pull off the road, into the parking lot, and turn off his car.

A bell jingled above as Jake pushed open the door. He stepped into the warmth of the lobby, drenched through his clothes and soaking the carpet under his feet.

“Turned nasty out there real quick, didn’t it?”

Jake threw off his hood, shaking out his damp, blonde hair as he caught sight of an older woman with long grey hair smiling at him from behind a wooden desk.

She pulled her beige cardigan closer around her, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “Looking for a room, hun?”

“If you happen to have one available,” Jake replied, walking towards the desk and setting down his backpack. Judging by the lack of cars in the parking lot, he was more than confident there were plenty of empty rooms. Still, he glanced at the woman’s name tag and flashed her a smile. “Vera.”

“Oh, hun,” Vera chuckled. Her fingers tapped away on the computer that looked too new to be in the small, tacky, lobby with flower-patterned wallpaper. A lobby that was decorated with simply a small sitting area off to the side, a dusty fireplace warming the room, a dark wooden desk, rouge carpet, and outdated lighting fixtures. “I think I have one or two available. For how long will we be seeing your handsome face around?”

“Only a night,” Jake said. “I’m just passing through.”

“Storm pushed you off the road, huh?” Vera turned around and grabbed a key off one of the hooks on the wall. “It should only last the night. Nightly storms are common for us during this time of year. Here you go, hun.”

“Thank you!” Jake took the key before picking up his bag once more, throwing it over his shoulder.

“If you’re looking to warm up a bit, Kay & Elle, the pub next door, is open for a few more hours,” Vera informed him, fixing her wool cardigan on her shoulders. “A lot of the locals inhabit the place, but we’re friendly folks here. I’m sure they’ll keep you entertained for a bit.”

“Thank you for the suggestion!” Jake pulled his hood back over his head. “Have a good night, Vera.”

She waved him off with a dazzling smile. “Enjoy your short time at Higdon’s Harbour.”

Rain beat down around Jake as the lobby door closed behind him. The sticky air promised an onslaught of thunder and lightning, but it had yet to develop. With a glance at the metal key in his hand, Jake made out a marked 9 engraved at the top. His toes were cold as he quickly made it to the door and inserted the key before pushing the door open and stepping into the musty smelling room.

It was just as drab as the lobby. The double-bed was dressed in off-white coverings. Cream walls, dark carpet, and tacky seaside pictures. Along with two side tables by the bed, a small TV on top of a mini fridge, and a bathroom door on the far wall.

It wasn’t the nicest looking room he’d ever stayed in, but he would also be lying if he said he hadn’t stayed in worse before. 

With a tired and uncomfortable sigh, Jake tossed his bag onto the bed, peeled off his wet coat, and padded off into the bathroom.

He never really thought of going to the pub Vera had mentioned. His only plans that evening consisted of taking a scalding shower before crawling into bed. Maybe watching some TV or reading the book at the bottom of his bag to spice up the night.

Yet, once the two former items on his agenda were checked off, an uneasiness fell over him. Neither the TV nor his book could hold his attention. The bedsheets itched his legs. His heart thumped in his chest, just fast enough to be noticeable. He couldn’t sit still.

Lightning flashed outside and Jake’s head whipped in the direction of the window. The pub came into view; the two porch lights twinkled in the dark and laughter sounded in time to the pounding storm. It shimmered in the lightning’s afterglow, the rain creating a silver mist of magic around the stone building.

Jake tossed off the sheets and threw on some clothes and his damp jacket. The pull in the pit of his stomach pushed him towards the front door without Jake even really realizing what he was doing. But he chalked it up to boredom and the anxiety of being knocked off his schedule.

He left the warmth of his room behind, almost crashing into a figure as he gently closed his door. An apology was on the tip of his tip tongue when a feeling of nausea washed over him. He felt dizzy, stomach turning. But it was gone between one blink and the next, along with the person. Jake got a glimpse of red hair out of the corner of his eye followed by bells and laughter as the door to room 8 snapped closed. 

The thunderous weather started to overload Jake's senses and the urge to get to the pub was greater. With his head down, the figure fading from his memory, Jake made his way across the parking lot.

A drink or two would kill some time, he thought to himself. At least it would help settle the uneasiness and put him to sleep.

The mist around the pub seemed to glow as Jake drew closer, but he was too busy keeping the rain out of his eyes to pay much mind to it. Warmth shot up his arm as he pushed the door open, a jingle filling the room.

The smell of liquor and smoke tainted with the slight scent of sweat greeted Jake as he stepped over the threshold of Kay & Elle. The low rumble of a banjo filled the space, bouncing off the wooden rafters, mixing with the low mumbles and chuckles of the clusters of people scattered around the room. It wasn’t a full house, but crowded enough given the storm outside.

With his footsteps sounding off the wood floors, Jake made his way to the dark-oak bar. He received a few stares and nods of acknowledgment as he walked by men and women alike, sitting at tables and standing by pool tables. As he walked past, he took in the stone walls, the empty stage in the back, the shimmering yellow lights, and the photos of fishermen, smiling ladies, and vast landscapes littered throughout the walls. 

He took off his jacket, his heart having settled from the moment he entered the pub. Jake wasn’t a man who believed in faith, but in his bones, deep in his marrow, he knew this was where he was meant to be, for whatever reason.

“Well ain’t you a fresh face,” the elder man behind the bar remarked as Jake sat in one of the barstools, just a few seats down from a hunched over figure nursing a glass of whiskey.

Jake placed his wet jaket on the chair beside him as he chuckled. “Hard to be a stranger in this town.”

“Small-town life, my boy. Everyone knows everyone.” The man threw a towel over his shoulder, his dark hair pulled back in a low pony-tail, causing the wrinkles on his slim, tan face to be on full display. His green eyes sparkled in welcome and his smile pulled at the faded scar on his left cheek. “Passing through?”

The dim lights jumped and danced off the many bottles lining the wall behind the bar. A muted glow hugged the bar, the music changing to the beat of a fiddle.

“I am, but the storm took me off the road for the night,” Jake explained.

“You staying at the Beaumont?”

Jake nodded. “The woman, Vera, recommended I stop by for a drink.” 

The words tasted bitter, full of half-truths and false tales. But Jake wasn’t sure why, just as he wasn’t sure how to explain his need to be sitting in the pub at that particular moment.

“That woman,” the elder man chuckled with a shake of his head. “She sends more business this way than any billboard ad ever could. Well, have a drink while you’re here…"

“Jake.”

The music skipped a beat as the fiddle played a harsh note. The air turned bitter and cold. Jake’s limbs urged him to run, screamed that he made a mistake, scolded him for giving his name so willingly. But it was a reflex; the word leaving his lips before he understood what was happening. An impulse came over him, the same one that pulled him to obey the man's demand and order a drink.

No one seemed to notice the odd behaviour, aside from the hunched over figure a few seats down. His depthless brown eyes flashed to Jake, grey hair falling across his pale, sweaty forehead. There was a look of pain and madness in those eyes. Jake opened his mouth to say something when a draft of beer appeared in front of him. And suddenly he couldn’t remember why his limbs felt tense or why there was a cold sweat on the back on his neck.

“Nice to meet ya, Jake,” the bartender smiled with a gleam in his bottle-green eyes. “Name’s Murphy.” 

“Likewise,” Jake raised his drink before bringing the glass to his lips, downing half of it in a few gulps.

The hunched man tipped back the last of his whiskey, slamming the glass hard on the bartop.

“Murphy,” he spoke in a husky voice, like the sound of asphalt and gravel.

A flash of irritation, with just a hint of sadness, came over Murphy's face. He didn’t say a word as he quickly prepared another glass, sliding it gently in front of the stranger.

“Take it easy, Harold. That’s your third now.”

Harold grunted, shooting back half the glass without a word.

Murphy sighed, every other emotion but worry washing from his face for the smallest moment, before he turned back to Jake with a smile on his lips.

“So, where were you headed before the rain knocked you off track?”

After another smaller sip of beer, Jake explained his mountain travel plans and his desire to reach the great peak that waited for him at the end.

“Good on ya. Do it all now while you’re still young and can move about,” Murphy said with a chuckle. “This a solo trip? Or are you with someone special? Perhaps they’re waiting for you back in your room?”

“No,” Jake chuckled, ignoring the grunt of clear annoyance from the man a few seats down from him. “Just me.”

A glimmer appeared in the old man's eye. “So no one speical then? No sweetheart waiting for ya?”

Glass rattled as Harold slammed his empty drink back down on the bar.

Jake cast a sideways glance at the stranger. Restlessness rushed through him as he slowly sat up straighter. Tension gripped his limbs as Harold turned to look at him. Those unnaturally dark eyes shined with intensity. They held so much knowledge, so much pain, so much fury that Jake couldn’t look away. 

“Don’t waste your time with such things, boy,” Harold grumbled, voice rough and firm. His brows were pulled together so tight they were touching, as the bar cast his face in shadows of back and grey. “Love is pointless.”

He said the word love with such hatred, Jake felt as if the stone structure surrounding them would cave in and collapse. 

Murphy, for his part, looked just as on edge. It was a fact that did little to calm Jake's sudden nervousness. 

“Harold,” he sighed. “Let’s take a moment-”

“There is one thing that is certain when it comes to love,” Harold continued, eyes gazing unblinkingly at Jake. “It is nothing but pain. Love is made up of pain and heartbreak and bitter ends. It is a useless and pointless part of the whole damn human existence.”

A hush fell over the bar, as if even the other guests could sense the mood Harold had brought about. The upbeat tone of the fiddle suddenly switched to a soulless wail. . A shiver ran up Jake’s spine and he begged his body to turn away, to dismiss the man and be done with it. But he couldn’t. His unmerciful gaze pulled him in and suddenly Jake was drowning in the scent of liquor and smoke and dead leaves and depthless seas. 

“You fight so hard." Harold gripped his glass, and a crack started to appear. “You fight with all you have and give yourself completely and it's no good. It doesn’t matter. Nothing you do is good enough. Love is about fighting a losing battle and in the end, only one person suffers the consequences. And it's usually the one who fought the hardest.”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was firm, loud, booming over the music as Jake jumped back in his seat. He didn’t realize how intently he’d been listening to Harold. How he was hanging on to every word like it was air. Or how, while talking to the terrifying man, for the first time since entering the town, Higdon’s Harbour glowed with colour.

An angry, remorseless, pulsating red colour.

Harold held Jake's gaze for a moment longer, intense eyes cast in complete shadow, before turning back to the bar.

“Thanks for the advice,” Jake found himself saying, voice shaking more than he'd like to admit. He didn’t mean to speak, the words simply rushed out of him with an aftertaste of smoke. 

Clearing his throat, Jake downed the last of his beer before pushing the glass towards Murphy for a refill.

A hush fell around them for just a few moments, the tension already starting to subside. Jake felt his shoulders drop as he slowly sipped his beer and Murphy slid Harold a glass of water. After some small talk with the old bartender, Jake felt himself able to breathe once more. His body started to relax, the fog lifting from his head. He was breaking the surface and forgetting all about the darkness of the ocean and the murdered limbs of the trees on the forest floor.

While on his third drink, Murphy started to get busy with the other parties of the bar. Tables started to ask for refills, and drenched couples walked through the door, the wind roaring behind them. He drifted more and more between the bar and the tables. And it was about that time that Jake decided he would soon be calling it a night.

“You shouldn’t have stopped, boy.”

Ice crawled up Jake’s spine at the sound of that sandpaper voice. Murphy was off to some seemingly remote corner of the bar. Jake couldn’t help but notice that every new body who walked in stayed far away from the bar, from him, and from Harold.

Jake gripped the tall draft in his hand, foam and condensation running through his numb fingers. 

He turned to face Harold, those black soulless eyes dragging him into the abyss. He was in a freefall, too much rushed through him all at once. A thumping started at his left temple and his heart dropped to his stomach as he fell and fell and fell from the bowels of the sky through the open arms of the corpse-like trees.

“You shouldn’t have stopped,” Harold spat, teeth clenched and head hung low. “You should get out of this cursed town before they get you too. They know you’re here. They knew you’d be here before you knew you’d be here. They got to the rest of this damned town. They got her. Get out before they get you too, boy.”

Fear rooted Jake in place. Fear for what, he couldn’t tell. But in the back of his mind, in the depth of his soul, he knew Harold was right. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have stopped. Yet, the thought of leaving caused his heart to clench and spots to form behind his eyes. Without his control, he found his lips forming the words - 

“Who are they?”

The lights flickered with the time of the thunder clashing outside. The fiddle faded out and the haunting strings of a violin floated through the room, accompanied by a soulful woman's wail.

He knew he shouldn’t have asked. He shouldn’t provoke this man. He should just pay his tab, get up, and leave. But it was unexplainable, much like the whole night had been. He simply couldn’t help himself.

Harold completely turned to Jake. The harsh lines on his face caught the glow of the dim lights. His eyes burned with unattainable wisdom and passion. Jake's heart started to race, limbs locking into place as he noticed the music slowed. Along with, somehow, every other body and soul in the bar. A haze filled the room, a mist blurring and engulfing everything that was not Jake and was not Harold. Even the storm seemed to hush, with only the woman's cry continuing on.

“Let me tell you a story, son.” Harold’s voice turned mystical, the words floating in the air between the two. “Cause I’ve lost my friends, my family, this whole damn town, and yet no one will believe me. They think I’m a nut-case, a man full of grief. But I ain’t, you hear? And maybe you’ll believe me. Maybe you won’t. But they took my wife-”

“Your wife is missing?”

Jake’s pulse jumped as Harold leaned in close, his blood-shot eyes burning crimson red. “For years now. Cause they took her.”

“They?” Jake repeated, feeling physically ill.

Harold nodded. “The fairies.”

He should have laughed. He should have backed off. His mind should have been yelling at him that the man was senile, crazy, insane. He should have bid him goodbye, called over Murphy, and been done with this place, this man. This man who was staring at him with all the earnestness in the world.

Fairies.

The word danced around in his head, bells and whistles suddenly joining in with the escalating violin. Suddenly, the whole town made all the sense in the world and yet, none at all.

“Fairies?” Jake spoke slow and steady. “They’re just folklore. A myth.”

Even as he said it, the words turned to dust on his tongue. He wanted to wash the taste out with his beer, but found he genuinely couldn’t move. 

“The Harbour Fairies,” Harold whispered. “Nasty creatures. And if you believe they’re just a myth, you’re as foolish as the rest of them. If you believe there isn’t more to this world, that we’re the only beings here, you’re blin. These aren’t just some little buggers who pick your berries and sprinkle dust. They are savage, mischievous demons.”

Jake started to shake his head, mostly to clear the fog that had started to form. “I don’t-”

“We here grew up wearing our clothes inside out and carrying bread in our pockets to stop the little people from leading us astray,” Harold spoke with more urgency than Jake had heard all night, “But little good it did. Everyone was blinded by what was right in front of them. These creatures play tricks. Oh, they love tricks. And not the fun kind. No, the kind that leads you over a cliff or dead at the bottom of the sea. They are unpredictable forces of nature who lead you in the woods, and suddenly you're never heard of again.”

“And they got your wife.”

“They stole her,” Harold spat the words into the air. His gaze flicked towards the red-head who walked past them, beer in hand, before he spoke again. “They took her from me. Everyone here believes she ran away, but I know. I caught them you see, I saw it with my own two eyes. One day she was in the garden, the next…”

… she walked into the woods, never to be seen again. Jake knew because he saw it himself. He watched it play out in Harold’s aged eyes. And suddenly he was inserted into a story that was not his. He didn’t feel right; too tight in his skin, eyes unable to properly focus on the greys, blacks, and whites of the world. But he still watched.

A grass-stained seven year old boy cradled the arm of a pretty girl with messy blonde hair. They sat in a treehouse, feet dangling over the edge, kicking at the clouds. The girl had tear-tracks running down her cheeks and dead flowers stuck in her hair. She was biting her lip, nodding as the boy spoke.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” he whispered sternly.

“I didn’t mean to,” her lips trembled, gaze moving to anything but the boy before her. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The boy shook his head as he ran his hand over the forming bruise. “You gotta be more careful Cathy. What if something were to happen to ya?”

“Then let's get out of this town, Harry,” a seventeen-year old girl twirled in the headlights of an old pick-up truck. The waves crashed against the shore in the distance, the sun tenderly kissing the horizon goodbye. The girl’s blonde, messy braids whipped around her shoulder, dress bunched at her ankles. She stood before a brown haired boy, grass-stains on his jeans, leaning against the red truck. “Let’s pack up and leave after graduation next week.”

“And go where, Cathy?” The boy shook his head. “I have a job lined up on the boat and you have-”

“Nothing! I have nothing!” She threw her hands in the air. “I ain’t got nothing lined up. Just my next shift at the diner. I want to go to school, you know I do. But papa-”

“Don’t worry about your father,” the boy grabbed at the girls skirts, pulling her so close their hips touched. “I told you, I’ll protect you from your papa.”

The girl bit her lips, forest green eyes glancing over the boy's shoulder. Her face was tender but the look of caution never left. As if she wanted to believe the boy holding her but her heart refused to pay heed. “Promise?”

“I do.”

Applause thundered across the crowd, the waves beating against the rocky cliffs. The man lifted the woman's veil, tucking a piece of messy blonde hair behind her ear before gripping the back of her neck. He leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. Whistles and wails filled the air, a screaming violin starting to play as the newly-weds walked down the aisle.

She held on her husband’s arm like a life-line, biting her lip as her father clapped the bride-groom on the shoulder. Her eyes darted around the crowd, the same look of caution from five years ago still masked her face.

It was a look that never left her face, a look that was forever present in the back on her eyes. It was the only thought Jake found he was able to form; the look of a woman who was scared. The look of a woman who was holding a secret.

And maybe she was, for that look stayed with her for all the years to come, Jake noticed. He watched Harold's and Catherine’s life play out before him, just as Harold described. The twenty plus years together. The moments of tender love, the moments of bitter fights. The squealing laughter and howling sobs. The funerals and the weddings, The slamming bottles and doors leading to nights together and alone. It wasn’t the best marriage, but what marriage is, Harold said.

They never had kids, their life centred around just the two of them, their fading love and the growing tension. Every second leading up to that moment, in a garden of muted yellows, reds, and oranges.

Flowers in her messy hair, a near fifty year old Catherine knelt before a bed of dirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes, dirt stained her knees, finger nails, and cheeks. She was silent as she worked.

A door slammed in the distance. “Catherine!”

The tension became electricity in the air. Catherine’s head snapped up as footsteps made their way to the backyard.

Jake noticed it at the exact moment she did. The wind switched directions, bells jingled off the tree tops, mystical laughter floated out from the forest on the other side of the garden.

Catherine turned slowly. The flower fell out of her hair. She tossed the sunglasses onto the ground and her bruised, deep green eyes glowed against the muted world. She walked towards the tree line, footfalls light. Laughter bubbled past her own lips and, between one step and the next, she was gone.

“... the forest swallowed her up and I knew they got to her.”

Jack was back in the bar. Everything rested as it had, and he himself wasn’t even sure if what he had just witnessed was real. Surely not, but the description and details felt real, tangible. As if, for a moment, he truly stood in Harold's memories.

“The forest was the only way out,” Harold’s eyes were wide, urgent, and the brightest things in the whole bar. “It was either through the house or the forest. And she’d been acting out for years. Always in the garden, out on her own. They got her, it's the only answer. But,” a pause, eyes shifting. “I know where she is.”

Jake swallowed, throat dry as sandpaper. “You do?” 

“An island just a few miles out in sea. A rocky cliff, that's where they stay,” Harold nodded, talking more to himself than Jake. “She's there, with them. I’m taking my boat out tomorrow morning. I’m going to get her and-”

“Harold.”

Murphy’s voice was enough to make Jake jump back. He never noticed how close he had been leaning towards the old man. Just as he never realized how tightly he was holding his warm, untouched third glass of beer. He pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans as the pulsing in his left temple grew stronger. 

As he looked around the pub, Jake took in all the faces looking his way. Eyes bounced between him and Harold, whispers and murmurs accompanying the flute and violin pair. It was only when Murphy loudly, purposely, cleared his throat that the inhabitants of the bar started to look as if they weren’t listening. 

“Harold,” Murphy spoke softly, placing a hand on Harold’s tense shoulder. “I think it's time to head home, friend.”

There was a fight in Harold’s eyes, Jake could see it. That bloodshot, haunting, soulless gaze held a fire and life to them, ignited by the hatred for creatures that couldn’t exist. But the moment Murphy spoke, the moment Harold looked around the pub and saw all the eyes on him, the fire vashined. It was as quick as releasing a breath, there one minute and gone the next. 

Harold held Jake’s gaze. There was still so much left unsaid, unanswered, and Jake found he didn’t want him to go. His mind and soul craved to know more about fairies and their secret world.

A laughter echoed off the rafters, and Jake realized for the first time that night how terrified and exposed he truly was.

“Tomorrow morning,” Harold grunted as he stood, the invitation loud and clear. Jake didn’t understand why Harold was inviting him along but it somehow made all the sense in the world.

With no other parting words, with not so much as a glance at any other living soul in the pub, Harold walked out. Back hunched as he disappeared over the threshold, rain and wind howling as they swallowed him whole.

A hush carried on throughout the pub for a few heartbeats. Until the flute faded back into the plucking of a guitar. Someone cheered, laughter followed, and soon the lively atmosphere of the bar was back once more. As if the haunted man with an implausible story wasn’t present a few moments before.

“Is it true?” Jake found himself asking, tongue sliding across his chapped lips. He turned in his chair, facing Murphy, who now stood behind the bar. He hoped his shaking hand wasn't noticeable as he raised his beer to his lips. “About those… about the fairies.”

The word tasted like strawberries and metal on his lips.

Murphy glanced up for the glass he was cleaning, scar strained across his cheek as he pursed his lips. “They’re urban folktales. Myths passed down through all the generations of the Harbour.”

“And his wife?”

Murphy paused. He let out a sign, placed the glass under the bar before turning to Jake. Worry and concern shinned in his eyes.

“She left him,” he explained softly, mindful of the ears around. “Packed up and left, just like that.”

“Just like that?” Jake raised an eyebrow at Murphy’s hesitation.

“There were… rumours about cheating and drunken fights but…” Murphy took a breath, crossing his arms on the bartop as he leaned in close. “Look, Harry's a good guy, difficult but good. Our families know each other well. And Cathy… well she had a hard life with her father. She wasn’t all there before she left and Harold took it hard. He still won't get help and has himself convinced the Harbour Fairies are behind it. Says he’s seen things with his own eyes that explains it.”

Jake swallowed, leg bouncing restlessly. “He’s going out tomorrow morning-” 

“Yeah,” Murphy nodded solemnly. “We’ve tried to stop him, talk sense. But he won’t listen. And he’s at the age and point now where we've given up - what can ya do.”

A lot. Jake glanced around the pub, taking in the numerous people laughing, chatting, drinking. He didn’t know these people, he shouldn’t judge, but they could be doing something to help that man. He may be talking crazy but… was he? 

The more Jake studied the bar, the more it felt like a fog was lifting. The pieces were falling into place. The math was suddenly starting to make sense. And Jake refused to acknowledge the answers that were before him.

“Where is she then?” Jake asked, breathing through his nose to calm his racing heart. “His wife. Catherine.”

“No one knows,” Murphy admitted. “She got out of this town, that's for sure. And no one has heard from her since.”

“No one checks in?” Jake couldn’t hide the disbelief from his voice. “No one’s tried to find out where she is or what happened.”

Murphy watched Jake for an uncomfortable moment. His eyes looked him over, mouth twisting as if to say something. But then his lips shut, he blinked, and he shrugged before pointing to the still full glass in front of Jake. “You want another?”

Jake's breath caught in his throat. Claws bit into his spine. His skin felt too tight as a breeze brushed the back of his neck, red flashing in his vision. The room was too small and too big all at once. He didn’t know why he was feeling such a way or what had brought it on. But his gut knew it was because of this town.

And he knew he wanted to get out.

The door to the pub shut as a couple walked out, but the noise still rattled against Jake’s bones as he shook his head.

“No,” he stood up, hand shaking as he pulled out some bills and tossed them on the bar. “I think I’ll call it a night actually.”

Murphy picked up the money, either not noticing the odd behaviour or choosing to ignore it as he smiled. “Well, Mr. Jake, I hope you enjoy the rest of your short stay. Maybe someday we’ll get to see you passing through the Harbour again.”

“Who knows,” Jake gave a nervous chuckle, “It seems anything is possible.”

He left the pub in shambles. The smell of ashes and fowl fish followed Jake as he made his way to the door. Tables were knocked off centre, chairs were tipped over. The banjo played too loud and slightly off key. Men and women alike stumbled over one another, drinks spilled onto the floor. Even Murphy’s slicked back pony was a mess, falling into his dark, sweat covered face.

The illusion was breaking, the corners being pulled back to show something ugly and monstrous. Something those who inhabited Higdon’s Harbour refused to acknowledge.

Jake stepped over the threshold, blood pounding through his veins. He welcomed the rain beating down on his face, the wind biting through his damp jacket and nipping at his icy skin. The door to Kay & Elle closed with a thunderous bang. The banjo and hysterical laughter was replaced by sorrowful wind and wailing rain.

He stood there for a moment, face turned towards the sky as he tried to will air into his lungs. 

He needed to get out of this town.

Whatever force pulled Jake towards the pub earlier was controlled by a demon. He didn’t know what purpose it served him, to hear about Harold and the fairies… fairies that shouldn’t, didn’t, couldn’t exist…

Someone squealed and giggled across the parking lot. With a jump, heart in his throat, Jake started to make his way back to the safety of his room.

And he was almost there, just a mere few steps away, when his body suddenly felt as if it were stretched too thin. Nausea overcame him and his head spun. The rain pierced his skin like devilish needles and the wind sang a woman's lullaby in his ear. He could hear his blood pounding in his ears, thunder crashing as someone bumped into his shoulder.

It was an innocent tap, the woman clearly too captivated by the lady on her arm to notice him. But it did all the damage in the world.

“Oh!” She gasped, the sound like a thousand bells. She grabbed his arm, full-lips pulled back in an apologetic smile as all the air vanished from Jake's chest. “I’m sorry.”

He couldn't breath, the pulsing in his left temple was suddenly magnified by ten. The warmth of her hand on his arm spread through his whole body. He no longer felt the wind and rain beating against him, he was too allured by her auburn curls, high-cheekbones, and hazel eyes that glistened like moss coated in morning dew. 

She was the most hauntingly beautiful creature he had ever beheld. And every part of his being begged him to run.

“Are you okay, Jake?” Her partner spoke up. They were holding one another so close, arms locked tight, it was as if they were one. Gravity pulled them together; where one moved the other followed. A simple stranger such as himself could not doubt their adoration and love.

Jake ripped his gaze away from the red-headed woman and looked at her partner. He took in her slim face, the dirty dress, and messy blonde hair pinned back with a flower.

It was then that Jake noticed that both women were completely dry.

It was then that Jake realized they knew his name.

It was then that his eyes met the blonde’s green ones, and he saw it all.

“I told you not to make your papa mad,” a seven year old boy with grass stains on his knees told the six year old girl with a bruised arm.

“I didn’t mean to,” she trembled, and Jake realized she wasn’t avoiding the boys gaze. She was looking at someone else. She was looking at the young auburn haired creature standing a few feet away, invisible to the boy and eyes tense with worry. “It wasn't my fault.”

Be more careful, the boy told her at the exact moment the creature met the girl's gaze and said, I know. I’ll protect you.

“I told you,” said a seventeen year old boy as he gripped a sixteenth year old's skirts. “I’ll protect you from your papa.”

You know he can’t, Cathy, The auburn creature said, standing over the boy's shoulder as she held the girl’s green-eyed gaze. I’ll protect you from them both.

The blonde trembled. “Promise?” 

With all the power of the forest and the sea. I promise.

She was there, always there. She did all she could to keep her promise. But it seemed even she was limited in her abilities.

Jake watched Harold and Catherine's life play out once more. As the twenty plus years faded together, the moments of tender love vanished. The fights were more frequent, more aggressive than Harold let on. He stumbled home in the dark more than once, eyes bloodshot and words slurred. There were many years of fights and screams. Fists were thrown and bones were broken. And the red-head was there through it all, helping as best as she could. She cared for Cathy, tried to protect her, but it wasn’t enough.

Run away with me, Cathy. It's the only way.

And run she did.

It wasn’t a laugh that called Catherine to the forest that day in the garden as Harold’s raging voice bellowed off the walls of the house. No, it was not a laugh at all, but her name, spoken in bells and chimes, love and warmth.

Catherine stepped over the threshold of the forest, laughter on her lips, as she jumped into the arms of the beautiful red-headed fairy.

She didn’t leave, wasn’t taken. She willingly left her delusional old life for one of magic and wonder and respect.

Jake stumbled back a step, shaking off the hand of the creature before him. His head was spinning, his stomach turned and his vision blurred as he truly saw the two ladies before him. As he noticed the glow around them, the electricity that danced in their wake. 

This town, these people… how could anyone let a woman suffer as Catherine did and not do anything? How could they not see what was right in front of them?

And these creatures, the fairies, Harold painted them as the demons and yet, this fairy was Catherine’s saving grace, her lover, her protector...

They shared a look, the two lovers, before turning back to him. They didn’t say another word as the fairy smiled at Jake, white teeth flashing, and blew him a kiss. They turned to leave, Catherine giving him a wink over her shoulder, before disappearing into their hotel room. Right next door to his.

Jake stumbled as fast as he could to his room, slamming the door behind him as he tried to catch his breath and will his mind to understand what the hell was going on.

It took him a few moments to realize, for the first time all night, he was completely dry.  

----------

Light had yet to transform the morning sky when Jake sped out of the Beaumont Motel parking lot. The rain had stopped and the winds were whisked away. Grey clouds lingered in the sky, suffocating the rising sun on the horizon. 

What was once a piece of art to Jake was now the ugliest thing he had ever seen. 

The mountain reached its claws to the sky, holding all the trees and buildings in the palm of its hand. The roads swerved in and out of its fingers, weather-worn homes running up the forest-speckled hills, trying to escape. The ocean leaped for joy as it played with the rocky cliffs, trying to capture and destroy anything it could reach. The boats bobbed in the water, begging to be let free, while the docks pointed their fingers to the open sea, luring in any desperate and lonely souls to the corrupt town. 

The ocean was painted an angry blue against the grey light. The white-capped waves pounded against anything in their way. What Jake once thought was a place of harmony, he realized now, was an illusion.

The image had been shattered, broken beyond repair.

The land had won after all, he realized now. It had conquered Higdon’s Harbour and all within it. There was no agreement, no compromise to live in peace. For nothing could truly defeat nature.

The land cackled against the last remains of the raging storm winds. For it knew the game it was playing; it knew who truly ruled the town. And it was not man.

Jake made it out before the first kitchen light flickered on. Before the inhabitants of Higdon’s Harbour woke and started about their delusional lives. His heart pounded in his chest the whole way, hands shaking as they gripped his steering wheel. Even when he passed the city line, his body refused to relax. Not as the sound of chimes echoed on and on and on in his head.

By the time Jake remembered Harold, he was long gone. And he was too far out to turn back. Too far out to hear the news, or see the headline of the Higdon’s Harbour newspaper that morning. And to hear the otherworldly laugh that accompanied it.

Man Crashes Boat Off Rocky Cliffs In Desperate Search Of His Wife.