#I had this sketch lying around for so long and finally just lined and coloured it jsdfjs

[perikiro]

based on this pic (under the cut!) it makes me think of them so much

[monstersandmaw]

Male vampire x male character - Part Three (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is going to be a four-parter, folks! And here's 3866 words of Part Three for you. Angst ahoy, but you know me, ok, so trust me. Here we meet Alec's little brother, and you'll find out why Sebastien was so jumpy and weird about the Twayblade name.

Part One, Part Two

Alec’s ‘one night stand’ with Sebastien turned into a whole month of of ‘one-night-stands’, and culminated in Sebastien asking him to dinner the following weekend - a pattern which repeated itself every weekend after that.

Sure, the sex was probably the most incredible sex that Alec had ever experienced in his entire life, but what he came to enjoy even more was the time they spent over meals and cups of tea in the intervening time, talking about everything from history to politics to video games and books and everything else besides. Sebastien talked about literature a lot, and Alec sketched him and illustrated his conversations while he spoke.

“You could really make something of yourself with talent like that,” Sebastien had murmured once as Alec had doodled a quick rendition of the Victory of Samothrace on the back of a coffee shop receipt one afternoon in the park.

“Meh,” he shrugged without looking up. “I’d like to, but I’ve got a steady job now, you know? I’m not going to throw it all away just because some gallery might take my work and I might make something of a name for myself, you know?”

Sebastien sighed. “Talent is such an overused word, and great art is rarely based on raw talent alone, but with your dedication over the years, you’ve really honed what natural abilities you have into something exceptional, Alec. I think you should make a go of it at least.”

Alec had flushed, and Sebastien had been distracted by the rising colour his cheeks long enough to abandon that train of thought in favour of kissing him silly on a park bench, and Alec hadn’t much minded.

At an Iranian restaurant near Alec’s place one Friday, four weeks after Halloween, Sebastien leaned on his elbow and popped a fragrant and decadent zoolbia into his mouth, and Alec watched, oddly fixated by the way his fingers held the little fried treat. His eyes, dark and warm and inviting, blinked slowly and he offered Alec a slow-dawning smile that stole his breath.

“We should go to the museum again,” Alec he blurted, thinking back three days when they’d spent their lunchtime meandering around the Italian Renaissance gallery together.

“Mmm?” he asked, licking his fingers in a way that made Alec’s jeans tighten and his throat close.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I mean, I know you’re not sick of me waxing endlessly about quattrocento art just yet…” he said, sipping his delicious cup of tea and trying not to choke on it as Sebastien’s ankle skimmed up his leg beneath the table.

“No,” Sebastien admitted. “You’re right. I’m not.”

With the bill paid by Sebastien this time, after Alec had bought them lunch the previous day, the two of them left the cosy warmth of the restaurant and stepped out into a bitter November night. “Oh fuck it’s cold,” Alec swore immediately, drawing up the collar of his coat.

“You want to head home?” Sebastien asked, a hand on the small of his back.

Unconsciously, Alec leaned into it and smiled up at him. They’d not yet been to Alec’s apartment, and he found himself more and more reluctant to let Sebastien in now that he’d seen the stunning penthouse that he called home. “If you’re sure? I think your wardrobe has more square footage than my entire place though…”

“Alec,” he purred, taking Alec’s hand in his and squeezing his fingers. “I —”

“—You’re freezing,” he commented, interrupting whatever Sebastien had been about to say.

“I don't tend to run hot,” he conceded, “But neither do I feel the cold much. I’d like to see your home, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He leaned in close and kissed the junction of Alec’s jaw and neck for a moment, his lips lingering, tongue just lapping at his skin and sending shivers down Alec’s whole body, shorting out his brain for a heartbeat or six. Sebastien raked his teeth over Alec’s pounding pulse point and he went still, frozen in a paroxysm of pleasure and, oddly, a strange thrill of fear he couldn’t quite place. Instead of pulling away when he recovered himself, however, he tilted his head further to one side, offering himself to Sebastien’s mouth, and the other man moaned decadently, deepening his attentions.

Sebastien’s hands found Alec’s belt and he tugged him sharply closer so that their hips met. Alec tried not to grind himself against Sebastien — they were still on a public street for goodness’ sake — but desire was washing through him in pulsing waves and it was becoming harder and harder to think rationally. That wasn’t the only thing that was becoming hard either, and he let out a harsh grunt before forcing himself to step back with a sheepish grin.

When he looked up at Sebastien, he found that the slightly taller man had frozen and was breathing hard, eyes closed, lips pursed together as though restraining himself from something.

“You ok?”

“Fine,” Sebastien hissed, still not opening his eyes.

Alec frowned. Sebastien looked like he was in pain of all things. “You sure? You look —”

“I’m fine!” he snapped through a clenched jaw. “Let’s go. You’re right. It is cold.”

The short walk to Alec’s apartment passed in tense silence, with Sebastien keeping his eyes locked downwards on the pavement, though he did deign to hold Alec’s hand. He couldn’t help wondering if perhaps he’d pushed things too far in public, given how proper Sebastien tended to be, but then again, Sebastien was the one who had deepened the gesture by practically mauling at his neck for three minutes straight back then.

Alec’s apartment building wasn’t fancy at all, and it certainly didn’t have a doorman, and once they’d stumbled in through the hallway with the busted light fitting in the ceiling, Alec smashed the elevator call button only to find it dull and non-responsive. “Damn,” he cursed. “Out of order again. Stairs?”

“If needs be,” Sebastien said with a gracious smile.

“This would never happen over at Buckingham Palace,” he quipped back, and Sebastien cracked a smile at Alec’s silly nickname for his apartment block.

“Exercise will shake all that dinner down,” he conceded.

Alec twitched his eyebrows in agreement and held the door open to the stairwell for him. As he passed by in the confined space, Sebastien stopped and leaned in, taking Alec’s jaw in his cool hands and kissing him gently, reverently, on the lips.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I was rude back then.”

Alec shrugged, feeling awkward at the sheer, heartfelt tenderness in the gesture.

“I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

“I like it when you’re rougher with me,” he smirked. “You should know that after a month of fucking me senseless.”

As if Alec’s words had hit him like a sledgehammer to the nuts, Sebastien rolled his eyes and grimaced, but he did laugh. “You do seem to like a firm hand, granted,” he said. “Let’s get upstairs shall we? Before I take you right here, and I’m not sure how sanitary this situation is…”

Alec needed no more encouragement, and he didn’t even get to give Sebastien the fleeting, one-minute tour of his tiny flat before the man was on him, kissing him blind and backing him into a wall hard enough to knock the wind from him. Sebastien came alive in moments like that, when he could kiss him and lavish attention on Alec, and the latter was not about to stop him.

It wasn’t long before Sebastien’s wandering lips found Alec’s neck again, and as Alec gasped, fists balled into Sebastien’s shirt collar, he felt the sharp prick of teeth quickly followed by the generous suck of a love bite in the making. His knees went weak and he nearly staggered as a huge rush of endorphins swam through his mind, leaving him limp and wobbly all over. Well, almost everywhere.

“I want you,” he gasped, and Sebastien lost no time in locating the tiny bedroom and tossing him onto the bed, stripping them both with startlingly attractive efficiency. Alec barely managed to yank a bottle of lube and a box of condoms from his top drawer before Sebastien was spreading his legs and laving his tongue up over the curve of his balls.

“Oh fuck me,” Alec exclaimed as Sebastien’s slick finger slid into him and he hissed at the intrusion. A moment later, he was lying with his head flung back into the pillows while Sebastien slid a second inside him and began to do just that with his fingers until Alec was finally ready — and more than desperate — for Sebastien’s cock.

Sebastien had a beautiful body, all lean, corded muscle and slender lines, and as he got more and more aroused, his deep olive skin seemed to glow almost supernaturally. He was perfection incarnate. Bernini couldn’t have carved him, even if he’d been given a lifetime to try. Alec was no Bernini but he’d still love to sculpt him.

Sebastien chuckled sweetly and crooked his finger, sending a jolt of searing pleasure through Alec so hard his vision whited out for a moment and his back arched. “I’m flattered,” Sebastien murmured, placing open-mouthed, messy kisses down Alec’s leg as he spontaneously bent that knee up.

“Shit, I said that out loud…” he laughed, still vague and giddy with the sensations sparking under his skin.

“Mmm,” he smiled, lowering his face to Alec’s inner thigh and kissing fervently all up his leg to the crease of his thigh and hips before smoothing his leg back down onto the bed. His breath fanned out across Alec’s sensitive skin and he quivered and bucked, causing Sebastien’s curled finger to brush his prostate again and he yelled.

“Please…”

Moments later, Sebastien entered him at last and stilled, allowing him to adjust to the new intrusion.

When he fucked him like this, Sebastien seemed to take on a new energy, becoming something almost more primal, and Alec lived for it. The expression on his face as he closed his eyes and simply enjoyed the heat of Alec’s body closing around him, taking him, drawing him in, was something he would never get used to, no matter how many times it happened. He was certain of it.

“You’re so tight,” Sebastien grunted, easily shifting Alec’s hips up a degree or two and adjusting his own angle so that he could thrust into his prostrate with every stroke.

Alec’s words failed him as immense pleasure ripped through him, building and building. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep that up,” he barely managed to grunt as Sebastien somehow picked up the pace and began to pound into him with renewed vigour. The man seemed utterly devoted to Alec’s pleasure, as if it was the only thing driving him.

With an utterly inhuman snarl, Sebastien opened his mouth and whispered, “Come for me.”

The sheer weight of command in his voice tore through Alec and he came instantly, untouched, painting his torso with ropes of his release and wrenching Sebastien’s own orgasm from him by sheer force a second after.

Sebastien curled forwards with a hiss, hips spasming as he released, and his lips found Alec’s neck again, and then his collarbone. In the daze of his own peak, Alec thought he saw a flash of red in Sebastien’s eyes again, but he was out of sight too quickly for him to believe what he’d seen. Instead, he found Sebastien kissing his hammering pulse while he finished. Finally going still, Sebastien slumped atop him, breathing hard, his white-blond hair spilling everywhere and tickling Alec’s stubble. He was too tired to care though.

When he woke, hours later, he realised groggily that it must be the middle of the night. Sebastien was curled up beside him, obviously having found the tiny bathroom to clean up, and he was now spread out beside him on his small, lumpy mattress as if this were a palace and he a prince, not some tiny, shitty apartment in the rough bit of town.

Something about the way Sebastien slept still freaked Alec the fuck out. He didn’t seem to be breathing, and when he had laid his palm on Sebastien’s chest on their first night together, the man had gasped and jolted awake like the living dead, sucking in air like he’d been underwater for hours. This time, he refrained from touching him, and instead stared at his inhuman beauty. There wasn’t a mark or scar or freckle on him, and his darkly tanned body spread out over the white sheets like a bronze sculpture arranged in a gallery for the adoration of thousands. And yet he chose Alec to be his only supplicant. Something lurched in his chest and he smiled bashfully, blushing, although there was no one to witness it.

Awake, Sebastien looked maybe thirty, thirty five years old, but asleep, he looked far younger; closer to eighteen or nineteen perhaps, with an innocence around his white-lashed eyes and the natural downward curl of his beautiful lips.

Unable to resist touching him completely, Alec kissed him and rolled over, drawing the duvet up around his ears and sinking back into a deep, dreamless sleep. His whole body felt heavy and satiated in a way he’d never experienced before with anyone. Something clenched in his heart; this felt right somehow.

But nothing is fated to last forever, is it?

Alec stirred groggily, unwillingly, the next morning, becoming aware of a rapid-fire knocking on the apartment door. Grunting, he kicked back the covers and fished for a pair of boxers and a shirt from the floor beside the bed. Sebastien slept on, apparently not having moved at all since the previous evening. Did he have sleep apnoea or something? It was something he’d have to bring up after he’d sorted whatever this was. It wasn’t natural for a man to sleep like that.

Like the dead.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming,” he grumbled, stumbling across the apartment and peering though the peephole in the door. Twitching back in surprise, he opened it. “Theo?”

His little brother’s bright, sunny grin beamed back at him. “Hey bro,” he chuckled jovially, stepping in as if he owned the place and shooting him a cheeky look back over his shoulder. “Brunch?”

“Brunch?” Alec frowned. “Since when do you do ‘brunch’? And since when is it brunchtime anyway?” He glanced at the clock in the kitchen and his eyebrows rose. It was well past eleven o’clock.

“Late night, I see,” Theo snickered, eyeing Sebastien’s shirt which was still on the floor outside the bedroom door, currently ajar from Alec’s hasty exit.

“Shut up.”

Theo’s grin doubled and his blue eyes glittered. Like Alec, he had the unusual combination of dark hair and blue eyes, and like Alec he could be described as ‘roguish’ at times. Now though, it bordered on downright Puckish. Looking not his actual twenty-one years but somewhere closer to sixteen, Theo shook his head.

“Brother mine, when will you —” he snorted but then stopped and his expression fell, shattering from playful to horrified in a heartbeat before he rapidly attempted to cover it by turning towards the bedroom. “Is he still here?” he whispered.

“Yeah, so keep the jokes to a minimum, would you?” Alec snarled. “What did you want anyway?”

But Theo had changed completely. Gone was the ebullient Labrador puppy and instead a tense, alert, wary young man stood before him.

“What the fuck’s wrong?” Alec hissed, heartbeat ticking faster like an over-wound clock.

And Theo spun and then froze as the door to the bedroom opened and Sebastien appeared on the threshold.

Theo’s lip curled into an ugly snarl and Sebastien regraded him steadily, apparently unfazed by the unexpected hostility.

“The younger Twayblade, I assume,” he said with such ice in his usually warm tone that it shook Alec into stunned silence. “Well, this is unexpected.”

“You’re shitting me,” Theo whispered, horror thickening his tone.

Alec blinked and looked from Sebastien to his little brother and back again. Never in all his years of dating men had he felt so uneasy around a family member. “What’s going on…?” he finally croaked.

“That’s what — who — you’re sleeping with?” Theo practically spat out.

Cold, defensive vitriol bubbled up inside him and he might actually have lunged for his brother had Sebastien not crossed the room in three rapid strides and laid a gentle hand on his forearm. “I take my leave,” he said quickly.

“Not so fast, fang-face,” Theo sneered and Sebastien froze. “Get away from my brother.”

“Or what?” Sebastien said in the quietest and steadiest of voices.

“What the fuck is going on!” Alec blurted into the tense silence that followed Sebastien’s taunt.

The other two blinked, and Sebastien sighed. He met Alec’s eye as he asked, “You really didn’t know at all, did you?”

“Know what?” Alec snapped, rage rolling through him. “Do you two know each other or something? What am I missing here?”

“I think this is a family matter that you need to work out between you,” Sebastien said, voice still tinged with frost. “Alec, you know where to reach me if you decide to continue what we’ve shared this past month.” And with that, he turned and walked from the apartment.

“Wait, stop!” Alec yelled after him, but he was gone down the stairwell and Theo was at his side, tugging him back into the apartment. “Fucking explain yourself!” he snapped, rounding on his brother.

“You’d… better sit down.”

“No. Tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

Theo stared him down, meeting blazing sapphire stare with blazing sapphire stare. “Sit. Down.”

The tone of his voice shocked Alec into doing exactly that, and he sank numbly down onto the saggy old couch in the living room without a word.

What followed next was like something from a movie.

“The Twayblades are an ancient family of monster hunters,” Theo said gently. “Father’s not in the military. Well, he is, but it’s not a normal unit or anything. That’s just a cover.”

“And mother?” he asked mechanically, the information-dump that Theo had just heaped upon him not sinking in, but floating like scum on the surface of his churning mind.

“She’s one too. And Ellie.”

“Ellie hunts… monsters?” he asked. “Like… what… the Boogeyman? Bigfoot?” Incredulity made his tone flippant, but something in the calm sincerity of his brother’s eyes told him it was true, no matter how stupid it sounded.

“Dracula…?” Theo added darkly.

“Dracula.” And then the penny dropped. “Wait. ‘Fang-face’. You’re saying you think my boyfriend is a vampire?”

Theo levelled him with a look from where he was leaning against the windowsill, arms folded over his chest in a manner eerily reminiscent of his big brother.

Now as Alec regarded him, he saw the harsh young man that this little kid had become. The puppy fat had melted into a steel jaw and a hard gaze, and his body seemed coiled for action at any moment. He had the body of a soldier, Alec realised with plunging horror. He knew Theo worked out — he was apparently a personal trainer and nutritional coach for celebrities in London, but even that seemed to have been a lie after what he’d just learned. Apparently the Twayblades actually hunted monsters — he and their parents and their older sister Ellie. Alec and Angie had been left out because they were apparently not ‘hunter material’ whatever that meant. Maybe it meant he was a monster fucker instead. He almost laughed.

“Theo, come on… I can’t believe any of this,” Alec said, leaning back into the sofa and pressing the heels of his palms to his aching eyeballs. All he’d wanted to do this morning was to wake up and maybe have Sebastien fuck him into the mattress a few times before breakfast until he was wrung out and softly buzzing like they had every weekend for the last month.

Now he was having some bizarre fairytale forced at him and he was supposed to believe it like it was some kind of sick joke. But he did believe it, and that was what scared him most of all. It wasn’t a joke. Theo showed him videos his father and he had captured on some of their ‘hunts’, exterminating a poltergeist here and eradicating a revenant there, and in the end Theo phoned their father on speaker, opening without preamble, “Dad, Alec’s dating a vampire.”

“Do you have proof?” was their father’s instant, chilling response. No ‘I'm sorry, what did you say, son?’ or ‘What’s all this nonsense?’. No. He went straight to the heart of it. With a stake.

“Just walked past the sucker leaving the flat.”

“Ancient?”

“No, thank goodness. Maybe just a century at most?”

“Can you eliminate him without alerting Alec?” their father asked, at which point Alec’s heart cracked.

He leapt to his feet and blurted, “Fucking what?”

After a heartbeat of silence, their father sighed. “Unfortunate. I had hoped to keep you and Angela out of this.”

“You’re telling me it’s all real?”  he asked, goggling at Theo who held the phone out on speaker between them like it was a live grenade. “You’re all insane!”

“Tell me something, son,” his father said flatly. “Have his eyes ever flared red during a moment of passion? Does he seem to fixate on your neck? Do you find yourself willing to do as he wishes without question?”

Theo interjected quickly, “He’s not compelled. His eyes are clear.”

“Well, that’s something at least,” their father scoffed. “Theo, you know what you have to do. Kill it.”

“‘It’?” Alec shot, eyes bulging, and Theo did have the grace to cringe. “Kill it? You’re going to kill him? He’s a lecturer at the university, Theo. You can’t just fucking kill him?!”

“He might be under the guild rules…” Theo said. “He might be a blood bank user, not a live-feeder… I’ll look into it first.”

Alec’s knees turned to water but he kept himself upright through sheer force of will.

“Fine. But don’t hesitate. And don’t make concessions just because Alec might be compromised.”

Theo nodded and hung up without farewell. “Look, Alec,” he grimaced. “I’m… I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t come here to —”

“— to kill my boyfriend?” he growled, taking a step towards his little brother. To his credit, Theo did actually take half a step back in the face of Alec’s confused, hurt, betrayed ire, holding his hand palm-up.

“No. I came here to see if you wanted to grab lunch, but —”

“—Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out!” he roared, jabbing his index finger at the door and pulling out his phone.

Theo surprised him by nodding and leaving, shutting the door behind him with a click and leaving Alec standing in the centre of the living room, chest heaving, phone in hand, ears ringing.

As his brother’s footsteps disappeared down the stairwell, he unlocked his phone and dialled Sebastien’s number.

Three rings in, Sebastien answered.

“It it true?” Alec asked without preamble.

After a long inhale, Sebastien answered. “…Yes.”

__

Sorry for the cliffie!! More soon, but it’ll hit Patreon first, then Tumblr. Don’t let me forget, either!

Part Four

___

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me  know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

__

| Masterlist | Patreon | Ko-fi | Writing Commissions |

[rwby-diaries]

Happy birthday Blake!

The bestest kitty is up next! Blake was born on November 8th (Total Lunar Eclipse date)! This cute cat has had a lot of hardships in her life, but if there is one thing that’s absolutely certain, it’s that RWY love her to bits and always will!

Art piece sketch, background, and colouring editing by: @yang-diary

Line Art by: @thetopazvulpix

Coloured by: @catsofhorror

Shading by: @narwhalish 

Fic by: @lameclub

Edited by: @thetopazvulpix @yang-diary @jackedupjack

Fic under the cut!

"Why can't you just admit we took a wrong turn?!" Weiss' shrill voice echoes across the vast corn field. Ruby scoffs loudly as she turns back on her heels to face Weiss - hands on her hips with a slight pout.

"Because we didn't!"

Weiss scoffs in response causing the bickering back and forth to grow more heated. The two stragglers behind them giggle amongst themselves. Blake and Yang, not wanting to be dragged into the argument, walk beside each other at a steady pace at the back of the group. Both would occasionally glance towards the other with shy smiles before their gaze falls back to the ground shortly after.

Yang snorts as Weiss lets out a rather indignant shriek when Ruby blows a raspberry at her, "At least these two make for good entertainment."

Blake nods with a fond little hum as they continue to walk down the winding paths of the maze - nothing familiar seemingly jumping out to her.

As they pass by a separate path, in the near blind-spot of her vision - a low pulsating glow catches Blake’s attention. She pauses for a moment and looks towards it with a curious stare, but it wasn't long until its warm glow disappears behind the wall.

Almost on instinct, Blake feels her body move on it's own accord, her heart racing and her pupils widening suddenly. Blake could hear the bickering of Ruby and Weiss becoming more distant - but she wasn't thinking about that right now. Turning on her heel, Blake follows in the direction of where she saw the light go - leaving a confused Yang staring after her.

"Blake, where on Remnant are you going?"  She calls out only for Blake's head to turn back slightly.

"Something went down this way - let's go check it out!"

Yang pauses for a moment as her eyes shift in the direction of where the other two went - seemingly pondering on what to do. Blake could feel her ear twitch in the direction of where the light had scampered off to and shrugs.

"I can meet you guys at the exit," she tells Yang before she turns back around and darts in the other direction  - barely giving Yang the time to react. The other watches for a moment before curiosity gets the better of her and Yang smirks, chasing after Blake with a gleam in her eye.

As the two jog down the path, Blake does her best to focus on the small glow, as it would keep vanishing just out of her reach - much to her annoyance. For a few moments, the two remain silent and focused on the task at hand, but it isn't long until Yang couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Do you even know what we're chasing?" That question has Blake's left ear twitch under her bow and she glances behind her.

"Not a clue," she answers plainly as she suddenly picks up the pace. Yang quickly follows suit as they sharply turn at another corner and the world falls silent once again.

As Blake moves through the night with ease due to her excellent night vision - she doesn't realise how little she is interacting with her partner. She was so focused on her goal she didn't hear Yang's numerous attempts to grab her attention. It isn't until the third 'ahem' does Blake jolt at Yang's voice - it sounds so loud in her head.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," Blake says, awkwardly laughing and scratching the back of her neck. Yang smiles at her warmly and waves her off.

"Don't sweat it - I know how focused you get." Yang says with an eyebrow raise. Blake giggles to herself as she covers her flushed face and finally looks around  - realization setting in.

“I...I have no idea where we are," she says quietly as she steps forward on her tip-toes and strains her neck in an attempt to see over the corn stalks. The maze around them seems to go on forever with the horizon stretching out of their view.

Yang hums to herself as she wanders around the small area, inspecting the different paths that lead in a variety of directions.

Yang shrugs, "Yep we're lost." Blake groans to herself while burying her face in her hands.

"Darn it, if only I hadn’t gotten distracted. I’m sorry Yang," she mutters, shaking her head and looking up at the paths again.

"Might as well keep going - we're bound to hear the other two eventually," she says quietly as she takes Yang's arm gently and the pair begin down a path of Blake's choosing. Little pumpkins dotted the sides of the trail - some painted and carved - likely by the local kids from around the area.

"I used to love pumpkin carving," Blake says, more to herself rather than to Yang beside her. The other tilts her head in Blake's direction, signaling her to continue. "It was a yearly tradition with my parents, during simpler times at least. I was eleven the last time I carved a pumpkin."

"Watch out!"

The pumpkin begins to roll off the table - causing Blake to shriek in horror as it falls. Before hitting the ground however, a hand catches it at just the last minute. A big burly laugh is heard as the pumpkin was placed back on the table.

"Be careful, my lil' puma," her dad says with a fond chuckle as he holds the pumpkin in place. "We don't have many of these lying around." He ruffles Blake's hair, who just giggles in response.

"Daaaad! You know I'm not a puma, I'm a Bombay and mama is a bur… a bur…" Blake starts but finds herself stammering mid-sentence as she stares down at the table, thinking intensely.

Ghira laughs as he pats her back "A Burmese, kitten," he explains and that causes Blake to jump up in excitement - nodding frantically. Ghira chuckles and kneels down beside Blake, as the two nuzzle each other's foreheads affectionately.

A small laugh sounds from behind them, "Looks like someone's excited for pumpkin carving." Kali smiles while taking the spot beside Ghira and crossing her arms. Blake nods enthusiastically as she slaps the pumpkin - it sounds like a drum.

"What do you want to carve into it, baby?" Kali asks, which has Blake pausing for a moment as she ponders the question. Pursing her lips, Blake reaches over and takes the marker carefully and sits back on her seat - humming to herself while inspecting it.

Both Ghira and Kali exchange soft looks between them before they sit down at the table and smile at their child whose eyes light up as an idea pops into her mind.

"I think I know!" she cries out as she sets herself upright and pulls the pumpkin closer in front of her. Picking up the pen marker on the table beside her in exchange for the larger one, she bites off the cap off it with fierce determination; but the moment the tip of the marker is pressed against the orange skin, Blake stops in her tracks.

"I don't know how to draw it," she says with a small pout. As her ears go down, Kali looks at Ghira with a small smile before she sits down beside her daughter.

"You don't need to be a master artist, my love," she explains while running her hands through Blake's frizzy hair. "You just need to try your best." Those words seem to do their job in bringing up Blake's spirits once more as her entire face lights up.

"What are you doing for your pumpkin, mama?" Kali giggles as she kisses the top of her daughter's head.

“As if I couldn't get any more stereotypical - I'm doing a tuna fish!" She answers her with a smile on her face.

Ghira let out a rumbling laugh beside her, "That's terrifyingly perfect for Halloween, ain't it my dear?" His teasing tone cases Kali to playfully jab him in the ribs. Blake could feel her stomach rumble at their antics as she hums to herself.

"Oooh tuna, my favourite!" Blake hums happily. Ghira nods in agreement.

"It's my favourite too, maybe we can catch some for next week! For an after-birthday celebration dinner!" He suggests with a smirk on his face and Blake claps her hands together in excitement.

"Sounds amazing, dad!"

Kali laughs warmly, "Going back on topic, what are you carving, dear?" She places her hands on Blake's shoulders, as the girl is practically thrumming with energy, and her eyes focus on her husband. Ghira stops for a moment as he thinks to himself and a serious look washes over his face.

"What do you think, Blakey, what should I carve?" He asks while turning towards his daughter who looks at him with big doe like eyes. Blake then proceeds to place a finger on her chin as she gives a thoughtful hum - her mind wild at work.

"You should make something super scary papa!" A devious look creeps onto Ghira's face as he leans on his elbow with smirk.

"Oh? But we already have you!" He says in a joking tone and Blake sticks her tongue grumpily but with no malice behind her actions. Ghira leans back with a hearty chuckle.

"I think my pumpkin will be a surprise!" Despite not fully being satisfied by that answer, Blake nods in agreement as she once again turns to her pumpkin, a focused look in her eyes.

"Then mine will be a surprise too!" She shouts out loud with a determined nod. Ghira and Kali both laugh to themselves as they accept her decision, and stand up.

"We'll give you space then, my love," Kali says as she pulls Blake in for one final hug but proceeds to blow raspberries into her neck. Blake snorts loudly as she pushes her mom off but can't contain the laughter that is rising up her body and escaping past her mouth.

As she is left to her own devices, several different ideas begin to bounce around inside of Blake's head - her tail wagging behind her. Thought after thought would rattle around but nothing seemed to stick or jump at her - much to her frustration. Groaning as she face plants the table before her and her attention falls elsewhere.

Spotting the slew of halloween decorations that littered around her house and several others, Blake sits up suddenly as she notices a particular one. A miniature, howling Beowolf animatronic with large fangs and smoky fur sits in the hallway. A grin creeps up her face as the pen marker is soon sketching the design on the pumpkin.

"Mama, papa! I'm finished!" Blake shouts excitedly as she runs over, tugging on her father's sleeve and trying to lead him in the direction of her pumpkin. Her dad laughs as he places his hand on his head and smiles.

"We're just finished ourselves, we're coming!" He says while tucking his own pumpkin under his arm. Blake jumps up and down before rushing off in the other direction, frantically urging her family to hurry up before sprinting ahead once more. Ghira and Kali smile to one another before following their daughter at a steady pace.

As they arrive back at the table, Blake's pumpkin is turned in a way that hides her carving. Blake plops herself back on the chair and pats the table while beaming brightly. Her parents arrive not long after and place their own pumpkins down in front of them.

"Do you want to go first, sweetheart?" Kali asks with the crinkle of a smile in her eyes. Blake nods as she eagerly taps her pumpkin, a big toothy grin present on her face. Kali giggles "Go ahead, dear, we're watching," she says with a look of encouragement.

With a small amount of effort, Blake turns the pumpkin around, revealing a rather choppy carving with random jagged points and no clear outline. Both of her parents glance at each other for a moment before they let out gasps of bewilderment.

"Wow darling! It's so unique!" Kali compliments warmly.

Ghira nods "I agree, honey - this is a true masterpiece!" He says as he takes in every aspect of her handiwork. Blake becomes quite bashful as her ears go down and she gives an awkward giggle.

"Beowolves are hard to carve, I was scared you wouldn't get it," she says, smiling. Kali shakes her head while walking over, ruffled Blake's hair before inspecting the pumpkin. Placing a finger to her chin, Kali hums in approval as she turns back towards Blake.

"A boo-wolf more like, very spooky!" She responds by playfully growling and hugging her daughter from behind and Blake lets out screams of laughter as she tries to wriggle out of her mother's grasp.

"Mama! That tickles!"

Kali eventually let's go of Blake and smiles down at her, her amber eyes swirling with warmth and love. "I don't think my pumpkin could ever compare," she says while turning around the orange vegetable, the careful carvings and details on the tuna fish has Blake lost for words as she stares.

"Mama, that's so cool!" Blake exclaims as she stares at it with her mouth agape. Ghira beside her whistles in admiration as he crosses his arms and nods - agreeing with Blake's statement. Kali softly blushes and leans up to kiss her husband's cheek, requiring her tip-toes just to reach him. Ghira's face mimics her blush, eliciting a giggle from her lips at the sight.

Blake looks up at her parents happily as they show affection to one another - it always made her happy.

It wasn't long, however, until Blake's attention was diverted somewhere else. "Come on, papa, you're next!" Blake calls out, gesturing to the pumpkin  that was still somewhat hidden away - causing the man to become rather embarrassed all of a sudden.

Kali's features soften as she places a tender hand on his arm, "Like I said to Blake, darling - you don't need to be a master artist--"

"--You just need to try your best!" Blake finishes with a smile.

Ghira finally brings his gaze back up to his family and a small fond smile makes its way back onto his face. "It might not be as much of a masterpiece as yours or Blake's, but..." he quietly says as he spins the pumpkin around with great ease.

Kali puts her hands up to her mouth with tears in her eyes while Blake gasps loudly.

Despite being crudely carved, the clear outlines of three people could be seen: two small stick figures with cat ears and a tail stand next to a tall, more squared figure.

Blake jumps from her seat "It's us!" She says loudly, running over to her dad who easily picks her up and hoists her onto his shoulder, keeping one arm over her legs for stability. Kali giggles as she nuzzles into Ghira's other arm.

"I love our family," Kali muses with purr.

Blake nods "Me too!" She says proudly, her tail wagging happily behind her. For the next few seconds, the trio embrace each other in total silence -  just enjoying each other's presence.  

Blake wipes her face and looks towards the sky, noting how much darker it's become. "Time flies when you're reminiscing," she muses. She holds her hand toward the sky and a soft glow lands on her finger. She brings it closer to inspect it, realization dawning on her.

“Wait, was I chasing a firefly before?” Blake asks, gaze shooting up from the tiny glowing insect in her hand. Yang chuckles, scratching the back of her head awkwardly.

“Yeah, I was pretty sure that’s what it was, but I didn’t wanna embarrass you,” she says, still grinning. Blake huffs to herself, watching the tiny bug as it takes flight with a passing breeze, a silence falling between the two.

As they both watch the small bug flitter off into the newfound darkness, Yang tilts her head in the other’s direction, “You’re pretty close with your parents, huh?’’ Yang mentions with a smile, but it didn’t garner the reaction she was hoping for - as tension falls on Blake’s shoulders.

“I-I’m sorry you don’t have to answer--’’

Blake shakes her head frantically as she crosses her arms, holding them over her chest with a sigh “N-No I want to… It’s just a little hard for me,’’ she explains while staring on ahead - her body feeling heavy at the thought. Yang’s features soften as she places a reassuring hand on her shoulder and immediately Blake eases from the touch.

Blake inhales deeply before speaking “I-I left home when I was very young - on my birthday in fact,’’ the more Blake speaks, the more shame starts pooling into her chest.  All Blake was waiting for was for Yang to lash out or feed into her guilt - but to her surprise it never comes.

In fact, the hand on her shoulder squeezes it in reassurance and a look of understanding washed over Yang’s face, “That explains why you were so hesitant to let us know it was your birthday, huh?’’ She suggests.

Blake nervously gulps and nods “I-I… I just didn’t want to be reminded of it,’’ she mumbles under her breath as her hands fall to the side of her body limply “It wasn’t just me leaving that bothers me the most - it was the reason behind it.’’ Blake’s voice is shaky as she explains further, her mind becoming rather hostile towards her own self.

“The reason behind it?’’

Blake opens her mouth to finish her sentence, but finds her eyes wandering towards the stalks of corn once more - only to notice a figure standing not that far in.

A man in the corn?

A man with horns...

Adam?

Blake stumbles back, eyes going wide with shock. Yang reaches out and catches her, steadying the other as Blake’s eyes readjust to the gloom. A scarecrow. It was a scarecrow, not Adam. Blake sighed in relief, only then realizing that Yang is helping hold her upright.

"You okay, B?" Yang worriedly asks, watching as Blake's frantic breathing finally returns to its normal pace. It takes a few seconds before Blake could compose herself and she sighs.

"I-I… I thought I saw someone-- something." Blake quickly corrects herself, all while staring down the scarecrow not far ahead of her - an uneasy feeling nestled within her chest. Following her line of sight, Yang takes a quick glance at the figure and then back to Blake.

"I wouldn't blame you for being scared of this thing," Yang starts as she walks over, inspecting the scarecrow carefully and shrugging, "This fella is very poorly made - we have more goofy looking ones back at home!" She explains while flicking the scarecrow's head and it barely budged.

"I don't even think they're meant to be scary - this poor one just got the short end of the stick… literally!’’ Yang says as she gently kicks the stick holding it up with her boot before walking back over to Blake, a big grin on her face. "You have nothing to be afraid of, especially when we're together!" She says with full confidence in her voice.

Blake blushes, "It's hard to argue with logic like that," she mumbles while playing with her thumbs, smiling down at the ground. Suddenly, Blake finds herself overtaken by a new and funny feeling  - it flutters in her stomach and makes her nervous.

What was this feeling?

All Blake knows is one thing - she wants to be close to Yang. Without warning, Blake wraps her arms around Yang and buries her face into her chest, much to the surprise of her partner. After the initial shock wears off, Yang pulls Blake in and hugs her even tighter.

"Thank you, Yang."

Blake's heart is beating like crazy, finding comfort  in how warm Yang's body is - a welcome change from the nippy autumn air. The two don't move a muscle nor do they speak a word - Blake enjoying the peace she has been withheld from for the longest time.

Everything was perfect… until-

"Take that, maze!" Screams a  voice, knocking the two out of their daze and drawing both of their attention. The blade of crescent rose slices through the corn, revealing Ruby and Weiss - the latter of whom was standing there and shaking her head.

"I will slay the hay!" Ruby screams.

Weiss raises an eyebrow "It's corn, you dolt."

Ruby blinks a few times before triumphantly holding crescent rose up high once more "I will slorn the… corn?" When Ruby loses momentum halfway through the sentence, Weiss groans.

"You're honestly going to get us kicked out.''

Yang laughs, "I think she has the right idea!" She calls out with a smirk, as she wanders over towards the other two. Blake watches as the excessive chatter starts up once again but she can't stop herself from giving a wistful sigh.

"You need to stop encouraging this behaviour, Yang!" Weiss says while sticking her nose up and huffing.

Yang rolls her eyes and yanks Weiss in with the crook of her elbow, "Lighten up, Weiss!"  She teases much to the annoyance of the trapped individual.

Blake snickers, "I like Ruby's plan," she says and Weiss gasps while pushing Yang away and staring at Blake in mock betrayal. Ruby fist pumps the air with a quick 'woo!' with a grin painted across her face.

"Birthday girl's wishes are to be followed-"

Ruby stops herself and covers her mouth, shooting an apologetic look in Blake's direction. The other blinks for a brief second before she manages a short laugh - confusing the others around her.

"It's okay Ruby - my birthday wish is to slice our way through this maze," Blake says while placing a hand on her hip and nodding. Ruby sticks her tongue out at Weiss who just responds with an irritated huff.

"Feisty! I like it," Yang says with a wink while she readies her gauntlet, "I'd love to see that side of you more." She comments, causing Blake's cheeks to burn brightly and she was thankful that her friends couldn't see in the dark like she could.

"Onwards, Team RWBY!"

On their way out, Blake makes sure to slice up one particular scarecrow, leaving its head all alone on the dusty ground.

[massivedrickhead]

bechloe tattoo shop au? Beca gives Chloe a tattoo?

So I’ve had this prompt in my inbox forever. I started writing it last year not long after I got my tattoo but it wasn’t going anywhere so I kinda gave up on it. But I just started watching Ink Master and I had to finish this prompt. 

It’s kind of pointless but I couldn’t get the idea out of my head, and now I’ve written it I might as well share it.

I also gave Beca loads of tattoos because I’m high-key attracted to the idea of a heavily tatted Beca

Read on AO3

------

“Hi,” Chloe said, approaching the reception desk at Titanium Tattoos and Piercings. There was a blonde woman sitting behind the desk, spinning on her chair.

“What’s up?” She asked, with a heavy Australian accent. 

“I have a consultation appointment,” Chloe said. 

“Cool, what’s your name?” The woman asked, looking down at her computer.

“Chloe Beale,” Chloe said.

The woman nodded. “You’re meeting with Beca?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said.

“She’s in with a client right now, why don’t you take a seat and she’ll be out soon. My name is Fat Amy, give me a shout if you need anything.” Amy said, gesturing over to a collection of couches. 

Chloe nodded and took a seat, her eyes roaming over the art that was hung around the room. She recognised a lot of it from Instagram, and she knew Beca was responsible for most.

Chloe waited for another 10 minutes before Beca came out, followed by a very pale looking man. 

“Okay Jesse,” Beca said, patting him on the shoulder, “keep it clean, no swimming for a few weeks,  and when it starts healing don’t pick it.” She handed him a sheet of paper. “Follow these instructions and take care of it yeah? If you get it infected it makes me look like a jackass.”

Jesse laughed. “Thanks, Beca.”

“Go give Amy your money and give us a call if you have any questions or anything,” Beca said. She spotted Chloe waiting. “Chloe, right?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said.

“Give me a couple of minutes to grab a drink and I’ll be with you. You want a coffee or anything?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Chloe said, watching Beca rush off to another room.

Chloe’s heart was pounding, and it was only partly due to nerves. Beca was cute. She had seen a picture of her on the tattoo shop’s Instagram but seeing her in person was something else.

Beca returned after a few minutes. “Chloe? Do you wanna follow me?” 

Chloe nodded and followed Beca into the shop. 

“Sorry I’m running a bit late,” Beca said. “My last guy got a bit lightheaded, we had to take a break.”

“No worries,” Chloe said.

Beca showed her into her room and asked her to take a seat.

“So, this is just a consultation, I’m not going to be sticking you with any needles today,” Beca said taking a seat next to her. “What is you’re wanting to get done?”

“I have a couple of reference photos,” Chloe said, pulling up her phone. “I want something kind of floral but a bit geometric too?” She handed Beca her phone who nodded and she swiped through the pictures. “And I also want to incorporate this ‘B’,” Chloe added, showing Beca a specific picture. 

“Okay, cool,” Beca said. She rolled her chair over to her desk in the corner and came back with a sketchbook and pencil. She started drawing as she spoke. “The B isn’t your partner’s initial is it?”

“No,” Chloe said, laughing. “I’m single.”

“Can I ask what it’s for?”

“Don’t laugh,” Chloe said. “But, um, I’m graduating from college next month, and this is the logo of the a cappella group I’m in.”

She saw the corners of Beca’s mouth twitch as she carried on drawing.

“That’s cute,” Beca said. 

Chloe laughed and felt herself blush slightly as she watched Beca draw. She was having a hard time focusing on anything else. Beca’s eye makeup was dark, her ears were pierced in several locations, and both arms had what looked like full sleeve tattoos.

She was distractingly attractive.

“You thinking colour or like black and grey?” Beca asked, glancing up.

“I was thinking black for the flowers and the shape, like kinda simplistic, not a lot of shading. But maybe we could do some colour in the logo?”

Beca nodded. “Awesome. Like the blue in this picture?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said.

“Where did you want it?”

“My ribs,” Chloe said.

This time Beca looked up fully and stopped drawing. “Is this your first tattoo?”

“No,” Chloe said, pointing at her tiny ladybug on her wrist.

“Cute,” Beca said, laughing softly. She ran a hand through her hair. “You sure about getting it on your ribs? It hurts like a bitch.”

“I’m sure,” Chloe said, laughing. 

“Okay,” Beca said, grinning. “How big?” She moved closer and put her hands against Chloe’s ribs. “Like this?”

Chloe felt suddenly light headed. “Yeah,” she said, trying to keep her voice casual.

Beca nodded again. She turned her sketchbook over so Chloe could see and passed her phone back. 

“So I can do something like this. You’ve got the geometric diamond shape here and that contains the flowers, but they’re sort of breaking that barrier here,” Beca said, pointing out different aspects of her sketches. “And then we can put the ‘B’ in the flowers but maybe a bit concealed? To give it some like depth.”

Chloe knew she should be focusing on what Beca was telling her, but she was having a hard time focusing when Beca was this close.

“Yeah, that’s awesome,” Chloe said, finally looking down at Beca’s sketches. “Exactly what I’m looking for.”

“Cool,” Beca said, grinning. “Can you send me that logo? I’m gonna draw up some more designs tonight.”

“Sure,” Chloe said. She airdropped Beca a picture of the logo. “I really love these designs, Beca. They’re perfect.”

“Thanks,” Beca said. “I’m glad you think so, you’re going to have this tattoo for a while.”

“So when can we do this?” Chloe asked, standing with Beca and heading back to the front of the shop.

“I might have some time tomorrow if you’re up for it?” Beca asked, heading behind the reception desk to check her schedule. 

“Yeah, that would be great,” Chloe said. “I’m free all day.”

Beca began typing into the computer. “How about 3pm?”

“Sounds great,” Chloe said, feeling a rush of nerves and excitement. She knew her tattoo was going to hurt like crazy, but somehow she was more nervous about having Beca’s hands on her body.

“Sweet,” Beca said grinning and typing into her computer. “So, I would recommend you don’t drink any alcohol tonight and please don’t drink any tomorrow. Make sure you eat too, I don’t want you passing out in my chair.”

“I don’t want that either,” Chloe said, laughing. 

—

Chloe arrived the next morning with a stomach full of butterflies but feeling excited. She was looking forward to seeing Beca again and she couldn’t wait to get her new tattoo, despite how much pain she was about to go through.

Beca called her through after she had been waiting for a couple of minutes.

“I usually take a girl for a drink before I ask this, but can you take your shirt off?” Beca asked.

Chloe laughed and pulled off her t-shirt, leaving her in just her bra. “Can I keep this on?” She asked, tugging at her strap.

“For now, yes,” Beca said. “Let’s get the design on there and see how it sits.”

Beca placed a piece of paper against Chloe’s ribs and applied the stencil of her design. When she peeled the paper away, a blue stencil remained.

“Have a look in the mirror,” Beca said. “Try it on for a bit while I get set up. Move your arm around, see how that’s going to affect the tattoo. Just make sure you’re 100% happy with it. Anything you wanna change or add we can do no problem right now.”

Chloe looked at the stencil in the mirror and did what Beca advised, twisting her arm and side, making sure it didn’t distort the tattoo in any weird way. 

She loved the design Beca had made, and she couldn’t wait to wear it.

“Happy?” Beca asked.

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “I love it.”

“Anything you want to change?” 

“Nope,” Chloe said, stilling grinning at the design in the reflection. 

“Okay, then let’s get started,” Beca said. She patted her chair which had been folded flat like a bed. As Beca pulled on a pair of black latex gloves, Chloe lay down on her side, her back to Beca’s chair. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said, feeling her heart race as Beca placed her hands on her ribs.

“Here we go.”

Beca hadn’t been lying when she said the ribs hurt. Each line felt like a knife was being pulled slowly across her skin. 

“How’s it going?” Beca asked after about thirty minutes.

“Yeah it’s uh, it feels great,” Chloe said.

Beca laughed. “Liar.”

“It fucking hurts,” Chloe said, laughing lightly. 

“You need a break or anything you let me know, okay?” Beca said, wiping away some ink and blood.

“Will do,” Chloe said, clenching her hand as Beca carried on tattooing. 

“How come you picked this design?” Beca asked, eager to keep Chloe’s mind off the pain she was putting her through.

“I just really wanted a way to commemorate the Bellas,” Chloe said. “They’ve been my family for like the last four years. They gave me confidence and - ah fuck - and a support system. That last line really hurt.” Chloe laughed, feeling tears prick her eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Beca said. “We’re making progress though.”

“Good,” Chloe said. “What’s been your most painful tattoo?”

“My ribs for sure,” Beca said. “I had some big pieces planned for them but after I got some lyrics tattooed there I totally changed those plans. So if it makes you feel better, I think you’re metal as fuck right now.”

Chloe laughed again. “That does make me feel better.”

“Your next tattoo is gonna be way easier now,” Beca said. 

“My next one?”

“Yeah you’re gonna get the bug, trust me,” Beca said, wiping away some more ink and blood. “It hurts like a bitch but I kinda like it.”

Whatever Chloe had planned on saying disappeared as a string of expletives flew out of her mouth.

“Damn I did not expect that from you,” Beca said laughing. She could see Chloe gripping the side of chair. “You doing okay?”

“Mhm,” Chloe replied, jaw clenched.

“No you’re not,” Beca said, stopping her machine. “We’re taking a break.”

“Thank you,” Chloe said, letting out a slow breath. 

“Stay where you are, I’ll get you some water,” Beca said. She pulled off her gloves and dropped them in the trash. “If you wanna sit up wait until I’m back, okay?”

“I’m good down here,” Chloe said.

Beca left and grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge and a straw. She stretched her back out before heading back in.

“You still with me?” Beca asked.

“Sure am,” Chloe said.

Beca pulled her chair around so she was sat by Chloe’s head, and passed her the bottle and the straw. 

“Your bedside manner is excellent,” Chloe said, smiling as she took a drink.

“I just don’t want anyone having a bad experience in my shop,” Beca said. “Plus if you passed out I’m way too tiny to lift anyone off the ground. You ready to finish this bitch?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said, drinking some more and then putting the bottle down.

“Awesome,” Beca said. She pulled on a new pair of gloves, pulled her chair back up to Chloe’s side, and started her machine back up. “We’re almost done with the line work now. Then it’s just some shading and some colour.”

“Cool,” Chloe said, thinking it still sounded like a lot to do. “So have you got any tattoos you regret?”

“Uh, not really. I mean I have some kinda shitty tattoos, but I think even bad tattoos tell a story,” Beca said. “I do have an ex-girlfriend’s name hidden under a cover-up though. That’s why I’ll always try and dissuade a client from getting their partner’s name on them.”

Chloe laughed. “Yeah I think that’s good advice. Is there anything you’ll just refuse to tattoo?”

“Oh yeah,” Beca said. “I won’t do any Nazi shit, or any other racist stuff. Nothing homophobic or anything like that. Like it’s just a straight up no, and once I know they want something like that I won’t tattoo anything else on them either.”

“That’s awesome,” Chloe said.

“Yeah, I don’t want bigot dollars,” Beca said. She stopped tattooing and wiped down the ink and blood again. “Okay the outline is done.”

“Thank god,” Chloe said, letting out a breath of relief. 

“You’re doing great,” Beca said. “Not much longer, I promise.”

As Beca carried on the tattoo, they carried on talking, each learning a little more about each other. 

Chloe learned that Beca also made music, and spent a few evenings a week DJing.

Beca learned that Chloe volunteered at an animal shelter, gaining experience for when she went to veterinary school in the fall.

After hours of tattooing, Chloe was finally done.

Beca helped her up, and Chloe admired her new tattoo in the mirror.

“Beca, it’s so awesome,” Chloe said, grinning. “I love it.”

“I’m really glad,” Beca said. “Can I take a quick pick for the Instagram before I get you wrapped up?”

“Yeah, of course,” Chloe said.

Beca took a few pictures and then cleaned and wrapped Chloe’s new tattoo, before handing her a sheet of paper on aftercare.

“Please take care of it. No scratching, no picking, no getting it dirty,” Beca said. “Follow these instructions and you’re gonna have a beautiful, nicely healed, tattoo in about a month.”

“Thank you so much, Beca. It’s exactly what I wanted, it’s perfect,” Chloe said.

“You are very welcome,” Beca said. “You sat like a champ. I’ve had grown men cry in my chair getting their ribs done, you did great.”

“So, um, what’s the deal on drinking now?” Chloe asked.

Beca laughed. “Give it 48 hours at least. This sounds gross but you’re gonna be bleeding and… oozing for the next couple of days, you don’t really want to thin your blood.”

“I can drink by Saturday then?” 

“Sure,” Beca said. “You got big plans?”

“No, I was just kinda hoping I could go on a date with this cute girl on Saturday,” Chloe said. Having survived her tattoo, she was suddenly feeling invincible.

“Sounds like a lucky girl,” Beca said. 

“Beca, would you like to come for a drink with me on Saturday?”

Beca couldn’t stop the grin that spread over her face. “I see. I’m the lucky girl?”

“You can be.”

“Sure,” Beca said. “It isn’t often I get asked out by clients after I put them through three hours of pain. Let’s do this.”

[solastay]

Color Wheel (Teaser)

(artist! Taehyung x artist! fem reader)

❥pairing: Taehyung x reader

❥genre: college!au, artist!au, fluff smut, crack

❥rating: M

❥summary: Kim Taehyung and you were best friends for over a decade. Between watercolours and tons of acrylic paint, will an art contest and a memorable trip finally reveal what is inside an artist's heart?

Colour wheel: A circular diagram of the spectrum used to show the relationships between the colors.

You dream of many things, many impossible things perhaps.

“Unlikely” is a word that you are fonder of. “I dream of things that are unlikely to happen.”

We are unlikely to happen.

Dreams and fantasies feel similar to a canvas. They trick our minds into a fictional reality, a different world, where everyone is who we want them to be. They make us happy, genuinely happy if we immerse ourselves deep enough. One surrounded by fantasies can almost feel like they are real, feel like they can reach them. In my dreams, everyone has a colour within themselves. Said colours reflect their personality. Some people were green... they are fun to hang out with. Other people were yellow, those always have cookies to share. Others were red, competitive beans.

One of them was blue and gray.

“Admit it (y/n), you can’t live without me".

You truly felt like you couldn’t, but you wouldn’t give him that.

“I’m still not showing you my sketchbook…” you snickered.

“Even if I say, I love you?” he mumbled hugging your pillow and staring at you with big bright eyes.

“You could be an actor, Tae” you replied not batting an eye, used to those same old techniques.

The man frowned, following your every movement while you got off the couch to get a jar of water “What makes you think I am lying!? You hurt me every day (y/n)…”

You knew he was being honest, but Taehyung declared his love to many people. He would say I love you to Yoongi, to Jimin, to Yeontan, to his mother, to you... Those words weren’t said under a vain pretext because he truly cared about the people around him. Although you were sure his love for you was nothing more than a long-term friendship. He was truly someone who loved words of affection, both receiving them and delivering them. His grandma used to call him “little bear” for his sweetness and cuddle addiction, although with his current height, 25-year-old Taehyung was far from being little.

You would describe him as a social butterfly, the type of friend who calls you to ask if you have eaten yet and suggests having lunch together if you haven’t. He is often the one who texts first and the one who wears a smile as often as possible. It becomes annoying how much his smile can brighten up your day. You hated that, the more you tried, you couldn’t ignore that boxy smile. He is just always there.

“How dare you doubt my affection” he dramatically laid down on the couch, taking the space for himself and glancing at your figure upside down.

“You are way too curious for your own good” you replied going back to the kitchen.

“I’m serious, though. I barely see your art… I know it’s personal,” he mumbled the last part while sitting up “but I feel like I am missing a part of you”.

He had a reason to feel that way. As an artist, he understood that the way one expresses themselves through lines and colours was a huge part of their lives. It was no exception to you. Sharing your art is sharing part of you. Your drawings and paintings were the way you perceived not only yourself but the people around you. It is an identity.

“Tae…you know how much I value my privacy. I appreciate you showing me your paintings, but my sketchbook is out of the question”.

It was out of the question because it was filled with sketches of him. Yes, you drew many people. Many people you didn’t even know, just as a practice, meaningless doodles. But Taehyung was one of your favourite models. You realised that when, in the middle of a lecture, you found yourself drawing a random outline, that wasn’t so random after all, it was his profile that you were mindlessly drawing. You found yourself drawing his nose and his smile more times than you wanted to admit. That very moment was one of the first signs that made you realise that you were in love with your best friend.

“So… you let me read your diary back when we were twelve, but I still can’t see your sketches.” he took the jar of water from your hand and wasted no time in dipping his round brush.

“Bingo. The quirks of being an artist.” You give him a wink while making your way back to his side.

“It’s been years and I still fail to understand you.”

You approach him and mess up his recently dyed blue hair “well, one day you might. Maybe when we are both old and adorable grandparents”.

He looks at you endearingly under his dishevelled bangs.

“I hope we are still painting together by then.”

“Do you really believe I would stop sending you classical art memes?”

[exodusmc]

5:30 am

Genre: Fluff, minimal angst, high school au

Words: 1828

Paring: Baekhyun x reader

Warning!:  Bad relationship with parents and fighting between parents

a/n: His solo is coming up! Who’s excited? And good luck to our leader! We will be waiting:)

Gif is not mine

The world was purple and quiet, the early morning still holding calmness. No cars roamed the streets, no people drank morning coffee, but a sound caught your dream, waking you to the very first sunray. Your blanket was pulled all the way up to your jaw, a small teddy bear resting by your side. It was Wednesday, the middle of a may week, but you shouldn't be awake now. Hands reached for the moon as you stared at the time on your phone, white numbers showing 5:30 am. Your head was about to hit the pillow again when the thud which woke you up sounded once more. Goosebumps rose on your bare arms as you left the warmth from your blanket, feet touching wood while the long shirt stopped mid thigh. Every house in your neighborhood were in some grey tone so his bright orange shirt stood out. Brown hair rustled in the morning breeze, the curve of his jaw tightening. What was he doing climbing onto the roof this early? Your neighbour sure was a strange boy but you had heard him laugh before, so loud and clear, eyes crinkling. 

Baekhyun’s side profile was lit in purple hues, stroking over his skin, landing right in your orbs. It was the sunrise he was after and you stayed in your room, admiring him while your hand moved over the sketch book. The world was a mystical place and decided to be a part of it, leaving you to be the spectator, resting inside the grey cloud, but you felt fin inside, even as blue covered the sky. Later that day would you see Baekhyun at school, grinning at something, while your friend wondered why you were so tired, and you would say that you woke to an early alarm.

-

Baekhyun huffed slightly, arms aching from dragging himself up. Yesterday had been the first time he decided that he had enough of lying in his bed, staring at the white ceiling, just waiting for the clock to scream 7 am. The purple hues had called him to come watch them play over the boring world, so he did. Baekhyun almost missed his bus to school, too gone in the early morning and all the silences. His parents weren't fighting, no doors were slammed, no feet stomped up the stairs. It was just peace, a sense of being himself in a world with masks. 

This morning, however, wasn't purple, no it bathed in a light yellow sea, the sun stroking over his chilled cheeks. He was fascinated with how different everything could look by just a change of colour, and you were fascinated by the neighbour you never talked to, how he would just stare as if he wanted to follow the light wherever it reached. Baekhyun didn't notice you that day but you saw, saw the hurt which was masked by smiles and laughs. He lied and you wondered why, only getting a clue when he sat by his window late at night. A lamp was illuminating his face, paling the natural colour, and headphones rested over his fluffy hair. The outer door had slammed open, a woman leaving in their car with a screech. 

-

Every morning at 5:30 am would Baekhyun climb up to the roof, watching the dawn light the world and every time would you hear him. He would sit up there for an hour and 30 minutes and you would too, but as time moved on were you becoming more and more curious of what he could see on the roof, what brought him to climb up every time, even when clouds coloured the world grey like an empty mind. 

So when two weeks had passed were you climbing up before him, feeling breathless from the sight which greeted you. The whole city was bathing in pink, let you see as far as you wanted to. All the houses stood against the sky, slowly liting with the sun and people who woke up. Wind reached through your hair, told you to see how big the world was, told you that it would always be there. If you could, would you want to experience it all, every crook of metal sticking out on the brick houses, every wall filled with graffiti.You started to realize why Baekhyun took the time to climb up, sit on the roof and just gaze at the slow pace of a never sleeping city, but the said boy was watching you this time. His eyes followed the way your face moved, his head wondered why you were there. Never...never had Baekhyun actually seen someone else climb up the roof, never had he thought someone would do it, but there you were, with orbs brighter than the morning sky, deeper than the forest. That day did Baekhyun look at you, stare at you, when school ended, smile fading from his lips to an expression of the raw him, like you knew, like he knew you knew. That night would his mom once again run of, however, he would watch you red peacefully while music kept out the angry sound of glass. 

-

You sat on the roof, hoodie pulled tight around you body when Baekhyun pulled himself up the ledge. His eyes found yours and you smiled his way, ignoring the dark circles sitting under his raven eyes. Yesterday had you been too occupied with the morning so you missed him, but now? Now could finally speak.

“Hello”your voice was clean, a soft and slightly raspy sound carried all the way to Baekhyun. He swallowed, glancing down to see his mom’s car gone.

“Hello”and neither of you said more, just sat and waited for life to start again, waited in silence.

That day would you smile at him and Baekhyun would lose himself for a moment, words no longer falling from his lips, leaving his friends staring. 

-

A week of simple hellos had gone by and with it had the earlier rise of the sun. May was just around the corner, bringing a bird’s high song and butterflies with the sun’s yellow. Baekhyun hadn't slept at all that night, head resting on the chimney while black locks hung in squinting eyes. His parents had fought longer than usual and the screams haunted him even as the house became awfully quiet, so he didn't hear when you came up, didn't see the concern in your orbs.

“Hello..”Baekhyun tensed but relaxed when it was you and not his demons greeting him at the light.”..How are you?”

You said more than one word, waiting by the edge, watching him instead of the sparkling world. 

“Hello…”for a second was he unsure of what to say. Saying he was fine would be a lie but did you care? Were you just nice? and what would he say?”..I’m just tired..you?”

“I’m fine…”he turned his head, rested his eyes on you instead of the grey concretar of the other house. You looked...alive? He couldn't describe but as your skin shone with some sort of colour, couldn't he think of anything else than life.”..maybe you can stay home today than? If you’re tired? I think it’s fine..”

Baekhyun listen to you because you didn't see him in school that day, just his friends and their bright smiles, but he had been in his room, headphones once again resting on his head, this time, however, had he looked up at you and smiled ever so slightly. 

-

It became routine, him climbing up to his roof and you to yours, a hello or a few more words spoken before the silence let both of you forget. Days became hotter and the sun had already gone up when the clock hit 5:30 am, but you were happy no the less. You made Baekhyun’s day better, a small smile resting on your sleepy face as you sat on the other side, watching. He wondered if you knew what you did to him, how you made him feel less fake and like you actually cared, even when all you two did was sitting. He hoped to do more one day, thank you for the mornings when sleep didn't come, when his parents forgot his existence. You were the rising sun, colouring the world purple, filling his lines with the colour. 

“Hey…”Baekhyun suddenly spoke, fourteen minutes before it was time to go down. His eyes were bright and deep, burning amber as he caught the sun filtering through the air.”...Do you want to do something someday?”

“Yes, that sound good..”and you smiled, leaving him with heating cheeks and a thought about being closer, watching the sun on the same roof.

Baekhyun smiled that day to you, became quiet as you waved his way, but he weren't trembling in the silence, falling into the pain of a mask, no he was happy, he wasn't scared.

-

Red numbers showed 5:23, leaving you to glance at the mirror one last time before you climbed up to the roof, the sun already up over the skyline. It was may now, summer coming closer and closer, leaving you with another feeling of lightness. You had thought about long walks by the beach and night adventures ever since last september brought reds and oranges but for a month had your friends faces changed to a boys slow,y opening one, a boy with dark locks and a smile which was as beautiful as your mornings. Love had crossed your mind a couple of times, love for his face, his voice, his laugh.

Your thoughts had been distracting you from the sitting form on your roof, so much you let out a soft gasp when the boy in your head smiled at you, this time sitting on your side. Baekhyun blushed, a small scratch shining red on his palm. There was this thought of why circling in his head. Why did he come over? Why was he suddenly so brave?but you smiled to him, sitting down right to his left, relaxed and sparkling. 

“Hello..”the greeting was like always, a tried edge to your voice but laced with happiness.

“Hello..”

“How come you are here?” your grin became wider, hand resting right by his as the clock struck 5:30.

“I wanted to come over and watch the sunrise with you..”Baekhyun glanced at you and for a second was he sure he found the one, a bright girl who woke up with dawn, woke up with him.”...it seemed nicer to spend my 5:30:s with you..”

You smiled to yourself, leaning a bit closer to him, still watching the city turn on. It was a lot nicer spending your mornings with him, feeling his presence. It felt like you could do this forever and maybe you would, because who knows, who knows when you find the one who lights up your day?

[pendragyn]

here's an excerpt of my fic Ineffable Bastards, which starts off with the missing scene from Saturday night into Sunday morning. There's also a (not so) secret code in the text, can you find it?

Chapter 1 ∞ Sunday ∞ Very Early On The Very Last Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives

Groaning brakes pulled Crowley from their thoughts and they led Aziraphale off the bus, waiting until it had pulled away to turn towards their building. There was a sharp twinge in their chest when they looked to the empty spot where the Bentley was usually parked. They felt another twinge when they looked at Aziraphale, who was staring up at the building with a distant blankness of expression that Crowley understood all too well. “C’mon, angel, I think we could both use a drink.”

No sound came at first, but Aziraphale managed to croak out, “Yes,” after a moment. The angel felt strangely distant from their feelings in the odd silence and they trailed behind the demon into the flat, which was both nothing like and exactly like what Aziraphale would expect from Crowley. The art got a few blinks but there was no energy to consider what it might mean after the day week decade they’d had.

Unlike the bare concrete walls in the other rooms, the kitchen was slick with creamy white marble and terrazzo tiles, ebony cabinets that gleamed and stainless steel appliances that had never been used or even plugged in, though they were well stocked with food and drink. Crowley grabbed a bottle at random and a couple of glasses, bringing them over to the chrome and glass table with a small collection of colourful orchids in the centre. “Salute.”

The angel lifted their glass to toast before downing the drink and holding it out for a refill. Crowley obliged and they sat in silence for a while before Aziraphale asked, “Now what?”

“Eh, now I fall down and sleep for a while and you…” Crowley pulled off their glasses and gave the angel a long look. “You don’t really sleep do you? You should try it, great for getting away from your thoughts.”

“Rarely. Doesn’t seem to work that way for me, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale sighed and shook their head. “I just keep thinking about Agnes’ prophecy. Face the fire.” They shuddered a little. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Rubbing at their tired eyes, and the sting of unsheddable tears, Crowley nodded. “You’re in big trouble, angel.”

“You know full well we’re both, as they say, in for it,” Aziraphale corrected, smiling a little when Crowley gave them a look. “I’ve toed the line for a long time, but you, my dear, have danced around it to the point that I’m not sure they even know where they drew the line to begin with. If Heaven is going to ‘fire’ me, what’s Hell going to do to you?” Saying it aloud had tears burning in their eyes and they wiped at them hastily.

“Psh, they’re not that imaginative,” said Crowley in an effort to soothe, staring down into their glass. “Their favourite is an eternity in the pits being subjected to your worst nightmares. But it never works out that way,” they said with a sneering laugh, finishing their drink and pouring them both more. “Reliving the same thing over and over again only works for so long.”

“Really?” Aziraphale found themself feeling the slightest bittersweet hope that maybe Crowley would survive, even if they themself wouldn’t.

“After a while it’s not even scary any more.” Crowley darted a look at Aziraphale and looked away from the understanding in their eyes. “’Sides, I know the Elemental who runs the pits, owes me a favour actually, I could get out like that,” they boasted, snapping their fingers and summoning another full bottle from the cabinet.

The angel stared down into their glass and swirled the dark liquid around. “I don’t think it will be quite so easy for me.” They gave Crowley a bitter smirk. “I don’t recall an angel being put to true death before. How lovely to set a precedent.”

Crowley let out a startled laugh. “Never thought you’d be one for gallows humour.”

“Happens that I never thought I’d be the one on the gallows,” Aziraphale admitted with a grim smile. “I always feared…” They looked away when tears threatened again. “I wonder how they’ll get a hold of the hellfire? I suppose the Elementals could do it, but I know they’d make a rather big fuss.”

“Elem-? Wait, what, they’re going to use hellfire?” Crowley demanded.

“That’s the only thing angels are truly vulnerable to,” Aziraphale reminded them. “Same with demons and holy water I assume?”

The demon nodded but their thoughts were whirling as an idea popped into their head but exhaustion had it whirling away again. “I need sleep. Are, is that-”

“Get some rest,” Aziraphale said lowly, and called upon their very unangelic ability to cover up that they were lying when they said, “I’m fine. I’ll miracle up a book to pass the time.”

“Ngk, ‘kay, well, make yourself comfortable, whatever you want,” Crowley said, gesturing to take in the entire flat. When Aziraphale nodded and shooed them off, they let out a cracking yawn and retreated to their bedroom.

Unscrewing the cap of the fresh bottle, Aziraphale poured themself another glass and waited until they heard the bedroom door latch before pressing their hands to their eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. They shoved up from the table, taking the bottle and glass with them as they wandered aimlessly out of the dining area back into the mostly empty front room.

Finding the odoriferous pile of clothing by the door into the office was an unpleasant surprise but the angel quickly miracled it away before stepping into the room. They couldn't help but laugh a little to see the opulent desk and gilded throne-like chair set in front of the impressive view out the west facing windows. “Oh, Crowley.” They looked around, hoping to find a private spot that didn’t feel so overwhelmingly big and empty.

Resplendent in her spot on the eastern wall was the sketch of the Mona Lisa, and the only other items in the room were a falcon statue and an urn on pedestals as well as a gilded chair shoved in the corner behind the door to the front room. To the north was a short hallway with two doors and an oddly familiar statue of a giant bird lurking at the end. The right hand room was a small unused bathroom. The door on the left proved to be an illusion, but they found the real door around the corner, past the eagle statue. Inside was a small sun room.

Etched windows gave the room privacy, but it was hardly necessary with the veritable jungle of plants crowded in front of them. There was a small potters’ table near the door stacked with empty plant pots and a half-empty bag of potting soil and Aziraphale set the bottle and glass down on it. Aside from the kitchen, it was the only place in the entire flat that didn’t feel like a warehouse or a mausoleum.

Doubtful, but at a loss for what else to do, they decided to take Crowley’s suggestion of sleep and miracled up a chaise lounge against the empty eastern wall. They also conjured up a set of sleep clothes straight out of a production of A Christmas Carol: a sleep shirt, night cap, and a big plush robe to keep the chill out.

Donning the shirt, they left off the night cap and the robe, not needing them with how warm the room was, and flicked off the lights before stiffly settling themself onto the lounge. They fidgeted around after a moment and made a couple pillows and finally pulled the robe over themself as a blanket before curling onto their side, just barely able to make out the silhouette of the plants against the sky through the frosted glass.

I’ve made a real mess of things, the angel admitted to themself. They closed their eyes, the past few days replaying in their mind’s eye, and they saw again the stricken expression on the demon’s — on their friend’s face when they were rejected, abandoned, by someone they’d considered a friend, just when they needed them the most. How can Crowley ever forgive me for what must surely seem like the worst kind of betrayal? And now there was no time left to make things right, not in any meaningful way.

Enveloped in darkness and their own bitter thoughts, the tears came and Aziraphale had no choice but to let them fall.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the flat, Crowley was trying to sleep, but no matter how or where they tried their thoughts continued to churn and sleep refused to come. Frustration soon had them flinging off the covers and lurching from the bed with a curse as they snapped themself back into their clothes and went in search of Aziraphale and another drink.

Emptiness greeted them in the kitchen, and their stomach sank with dread as all the worst scenarios immediately played through their mind. Oh, shit, did they come back? Did they get Aziraphale while I was stupidly trying to sleep? They sent their senses outward with an edge of panic.

Relief washed through them to sense Aziraphale at the far end of the flat and they tried to pretend they weren’t hurrying, that they weren’t desperate to reassure themself that the angel was still there, alive and well. They sidled past the partially closed door to the darkened sun room, but the teasing joke they’d been about to say died upon seeing the tears trailing down the angel’s cheeks.

Crowley couldn’t help but want to comfort them. The angel gasped in startlement when Crowley touched their arm, too caught up in their thoughts to have sensed their arrival, but when the demon settled beside them and gathered them close, they held on tightly and pressed their cheek against Crowley’s shoulder. A dry, silent sob escaped the demon then and they wished they could cry too. Wished for a lot of things that couldn’t be and likely never would be.

Unable to give voice to the apologies and confessions clamouring in their mind, Aziraphale’s tears began to flow in earnest to feel Crowley press their face into their shoulder and let out a harsh shuddering breath. It felt to the angel as though they wept on their friend’s shoulder for hours but barely ten minutes passed before Aziraphale made themself loosen their hold, made themself give Crowley a way out if they wanted it.

Regret gripped Aziraphale’s heart like a vice when Crowley eased away.

“You want me to go?” It was barely a whisper, and even that was a struggle for Crowley to get out past the lump of emotion in their throat. They didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to let go, but it seemed the angel wanted them to. But Aziraphale shook their head and hugged Crowley tightly again and the demon returned the embrace equally in spite of the vague sense that they shouldn’t. That it would only hurt more in the long run.

Neither could bear to end the hug nor lose the comforting closeness after everything they’d gone through and had yet to face. They kept their silence though there was so much aching to be said, and eventually exhaustion caught up with both of them.

∞

read the rest at AO3 (link in bio)

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Ace of Spades

So happy to finally be posting this Six of Crows multichapter fic for the Grishaverse Big Bang! Thank you so much to @corpsecro​ for the beautiful cover art! See end for author’s notes.

Summary: Two years since the events of Crooked Kingdom, the Crows are back and better than ever (or barely holding themselves together) in a swashbuckling hunt across oceans that leads them to legendary catacombs, a secret society, creatures of myth and whimsy, and- if everything goes as planned- a long lost treasure.

POV: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, The Lilia (OC)

Chapter 1- Whiskey in a Teacup 

Seventeen months. It’d been seventeen months since Kaz Brekker watched The Wraith set sail.

He’d watched her go. Stood on the docks as the sun painted the horizon a brilliant smear of papaya, then a blush of lilac and rose, to a bruised star-speckled blue. He’d watched that far-off, distant thing that was once a ship and so much more, as it faded to a small smudge in the crease between sea and sky.

Then he’d taken the long way back to the Slat.

After that, it was business as usual. There was work to be done. In seventeen months he’d built an empire in this wretched, glorious town. Though, it had really been more like eight.

The other nine months he’d spent spending—he was positively swimming in kruge. Half the time he didn’t know what to do with all of it. There was no way to spend that kind of money responsibly.

“So spend it irresponsibly,” Jesper had suggested. “You’re the newly crowned King of the Barrel. These are your days of golden enthronement.”

And it had been fun for a while—being the big gang boss of the Barrel, owner of nearly every successful gambling den in Ketterdam, raking in the kruge every night and never worrying because there would always be more.

Kaz couldn’t help but notice that lately, however, most of his time was consumed by the golden contents of a bottle—and that conceivably, the closest thing he had to a golden throne these days was the aureate tub he now slumped in.

Alas, all newness went stale eventually. As it happened, Kaz Brekker was bored out of his mind. 

And his bath was going cold.

With a toe, he spun one of the faucet nozzles. A steady stream of hot water flowed into the tub with a hiss. He sank back, submerging his shoulders under the water’s rosy surface.

He was the kind of bored that made shooting himself in the kneecap seem appealing, if only for the purpose of forcing something interesting out of what had become a very mundane procession of days. The kind of bored that even baths and bubbles and teacups full of whiskey could not fix.

Kaz swirled the finger of amber liquid at the bottom of his cup. It sloshed up onto the porcelain sides and he thought about how much the colour resembled her eyes in a shaft of sunlight.

Then he shook his head. Ludicrous. Categorically asinine.

Here he was, Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel made Barrel Boss, a veritable King of Ketterdam; and he was sketching metaphors in his head for the colour of a girl’s eyes. A girl who was long gone, and indefinitely so.

Be all this as it may, he was also neck-deep in drink and pastel bubbles, so perhaps that was about right.

Not just any girl, he reminded himself, taking another sip of his drink.

She’d assured him she’d come back. And though he knew she would in due course, he had insisted she take all the time she needed to right what had been so very wrong for such a long time.

“Make them fear your name so much they daren’t even whisper it,” he’d told her before she left. “Make them pay, Inej.”

From what he’d heard, she’d lived up to that. Surpassed it, even. Slaughterer of Slavers, they called her. Vengeance of the Sea. What he would have paid to watch her burn their ships to ashes.

Kaz smiled at his teacup.

He looked to the night sky through the wavy glass of the window beside him, raised his makeshift glass to the distorted moon perched on the city skyline, and knocked back the remainder of his drink.

It was funny. He swore he felt the whisper of her presence on the wind with that burning swig. He loosed a chuckle. He was either imagining things or he was much drunker than he thought he was.

For Kaz had not felt the familiar rise of gooseflesh on the back of his neck—usually the first indicator of his Wraith’s presence—in a long while. And as he was most certain he’d be the first to hear of a particular ship making port in the harbour, he doubted it was anything but the ghost of a memory.

Yet, the tingle skittering across his scalp, the keen alertness pricking his senses to life, continued to be the most real thing in that tub.

Definitely drunk, Kaz thought and poured himself another knuckle of whiskey.

The bottle on the service cart next to the bath was old—one he’d been saving for a special occasion. He supposed tonight was just as special as any. In fact, the past four nights had been. He’d made his way through half the bottle, toasting the moon and the stars and whatever else lay around the bathroom as he sat in the tub every evening. They were all the same these days, either way.

“What shall we toast to?” Kaz mumbled to the cloud of pink bubbles eddying near his chest. He swirled the whiskey in his teacup. 

Perhaps he should toast the pistol lying next to the half-empty bottle. It was the only promise of excitement in the room. 

The breeze felt nice. A cool lick of air over the slowly heating bath—

Kaz looked up. Air from where? 

He was sure he’d shut the windows in the adjoining bedroom. Suddenly, his stupor washed away like water down the drain. He glanced at the pistol again, debating whether to get out of the tub and investigate or if he could risk waiting for his assailant in the warm cocoon of water. 

“I’d say to the pursuit of kruge,” a silky voice murmured from behind him. “But it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

His heart stopped. He didn’t know whether he’d pass out or vomit, but either one might be likely considering the haze of whiskey he struggled to clear from his mind.

He turned to face the source of that familiar voice.

There, perched on the edge of the granite sink top like she’d been there all this time, was someone he hadn’t seen in seventeen months. Kaz couldn’t help the slow smile that crept across his face. 

“Hello, Inej,” he drawled.

“Hello, Kaz,” she said. 

He could have sworn the whole world shimmered when she smiled at him, though he wasn’t entirely certain she was truly here. He could have very well fallen asleep in the bathtub, and he would be none the wiser. Yes, this was all likely a drunken fever dream. His dreams did tend to torment him sometimes.

Nonetheless, he raised a brow and said, “Fancy meeting you here. In my bathroom. While I’m… bathing.”

If she blushed, Kaz could not see it in the golden glow of the bathroom lights. Perhaps the long months of travel and hard battle on the high seas had hardened her to such taunting that would have before made her cheeks stain red like a handful of pomegranate seeds.

In fact, he’d be shocked if she’d come back without a single jagged edge, though he couldn’t tell if that was the reason she held his gaze now, or the fact that he hadn’t delivered the line as smoothly as he would’ve liked. He couldn’t muster up enough wherewithal to care at the moment. Bubbles were really quite fascinating.

The corner of her mouth tilted up. “You were taking too long.”

“I like to soak.”

“I can see that.” Laughter gleamed in her eyes. Those eyes. And suddenly he did not care if this was a cruel figment of his imagination. He’d gladly play along.

Inej eyed the water. “Bubbles?” she asked with a bemused expression.

Kaz shrugged. “One of the more exciting facets of my life these days.”

“Things slow at the Crow Club then?”

“Slow at the Crow Club, slow with the Dregs.” He dipped his index finger in the mass of bubbles and came out with a small dollop which he blew into the air. They floated down like tiny, iridescent snowflakes. “Turns out, when everyone fears crossing you, nothing interesting ever happens.”

“One would think you’d be happy about that,” she said.

Kaz merely hummed noncommittally. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “One would think.”

“You’re not, though.”

He gave her a long look. “Would you be?”

“I’d be happy if I never had to worry,” she said, then knitted her brows. “Is the water pink?”

He smiled lazily. “Courtesy of Jesper. He took up a hobby.”

“Making bath products?”

Kaz nodded. “Soaps, bath fizzers, liquid bubbles, that sort of thing. The Dregs of the Bath, he called it. A business venture. It… did not end well.”

The corners of Inej’s mouth curled, eyes glittering mirthful delight—as if every possible consequence of Jesper and a hoard of perfumes and dyes reeled before her eyes in a resplendent carousel of disastrous hilarity.

This made Kaz very dizzy. Which was ridiculous, of course. It was her carousel. He sat up straighter and decided to stare very hard at a spot on the mirror beside her head.

“What happened?” Inej asked, and Kaz realised he had not offered her an explanation to his ominous statement.

The Dregs of the Bath had actually been a fairly successful business venture for a time. Jesper was good at dreaming up fantastical innovations and scent combinations so wondrous, it surprised Kaz for how much he didn’t mind them. For all of about three weeks, his friend had certainly given even the more established toiletry retailers of Ketterdam a run for their money.

The side effects of production, however…

Kaz remembered the way Jesper had shown up to the Crow Club for nearly a month sporting dark splotches of dye up to his elbows. He’d thought it amusing at first.

Half of the Dregs were covered head to toe in ink anyway, and Kaz didn’t enforce a dress code. Frankly, he didn’t care what any of the Dregs looked like as long as they did their jobs. That is, until the patrons had started whispering something about a plague.

Then, of course, Kaz had immediately grabbed Jesper by the back of his suspenders and hauled him to the nearest sink in the kitchens.

“It won’t come off,” Jesper had groused, scrubbing furiously at his forearms.

“Then I would recommend gloves,” he’d said dryly to his friend. “They make for quite the statement piece. I can loan you a pair.”

Once the dye had all but faded, there was still the matter of the smell, which wasn’t exactly bad so much as it was a little overwhelming. The problem with making your own scented bath products, it seemed, was that the aromas clung to every perceivable surface, and spread like an autumn breeze through a dale.

This was fine when Jesper had only been making one inoffensive citrus-scented bar soap. He’d smelled like a fruit basket for days, and made the entire club give off the impression that it was immaculately clean when Kaz knew it was surely not.

But one innocent fragrance had quickly become a cloud of five, and then an assault of ten.

Soon, every dweller from the Financial District to the Barrel had learned that if you could smell the aromas of the Van Eck manor (which had more than once been mistaken for a perfumery by tourists in those sundry weeks), it was already too late. You, too, would be wrapped in the cloying fragrance cocoon of a fruit basket inside a florist inside a bakery inside a tannery in the heart of a very dense forest.

Kaz had not mentioned it to Jesper, however; and one day, the smell had simply vanished. Jesper, in turn, had not mentioned anything to Kaz. They’d been seeing less and less of each other lately.

He supposed that was just how things went. Jesper had Wylan, and Wylan made his friend very happy. He couldn’t complain about that.

Besides, Kaz had… well, he had lots and lots of baths. And whiskey. And more kruge than he could ever possibly need. And…

A breeze floated in through the open window in the bedroom.

Kaz looked at Inej. There was a small part of him that still doubted her really being here. But then, the draft blew a lock of her crow dark hair loose from its braid—and when it fluttered a caress against her cheek, Kaz knew.

He might be skilled at plotting impossible schemes, but his imagination was not so creative and vivid as this. Especially not half-seas over.

Inej still sat on the countertop, reclined against the mirror, feet dangling over the edge. She eyed him in amusement. Probably mild concern, too, though he couldn’t focus through the steam and his whiskey muddled mind enough to tell.

“He got bored,” Kaz finally said with a shrug. “Moved on to something else. Made his own ale for a while. Regardless, there’s a closet full of bath fizzers of every smell and colour at the Van Eck manor, should you desire spicing up your bath experience.”

Inej laughed. That laugh. And Kaz’s eyes went wide and sober for five whole seconds before the glaze of alcohol and warm water slipped back over his senses.

He leaned back in the tub again. A wave of water sloshed over the side, hitting the tile floor with a splash.

“I think I’ll stick to regular baths for the time being,” she said.

At that, Kaz could think of no response. So he said nothing, but hummed and sank down further into the water.

“Why are you here, Wraith?” he asked when a moment had passed.

Inej’s eyes glinted something mischievous. “I have a proposal.”

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

AN: Thanks so much for reading, everyone! And a massive thank you to The Serrated Spades, the team of creators, editors, and beta readers who’ve been working with me these past few months to create something really special for @grishaversebigbang​ !! 

Check out @6crowgang​ ‘s GORGEOUS comic strip for this chapter!

Thanks so much again to @corpsecro​ for this absolute masterpiece of cover art! (GUYS. It moves!!!)

Get a sneak peek of heist planning (ft. an OC of mine) in this beautiful piece by @fishmaid​ !

This swashbuckling mood board by @ravenclawsandbeak​ sets the vibe just right!

More chapters to come soon- if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, just shoot me a message/ask 🖤💫

Next Chapter 

Chapter Masterlist 

Read on AO3

Meet The Serrated Spades!

Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @knifewifejude​

[randomoranges]

drag meeting au part 17

Shortly before Kate arrived, Étienne looked over his apartment one final time and judged that it was presentable. There were no dirty water pots lying about, his paintbrushes were all put away, and the drop cloths were in the wash. His kitchen was spotless, the table was set (and there was even a tall candle ready to be lit at the appropriate time) and his stack of books had been moved back to its appropriate bookshelf on his bookcase. The soft selection of jazz music he had picked for the evening was already playing, he’d showered, shaved, changed his outfit only thrice and had given up on his hair a long while ago. The sushi was ordered and the only person missing was his girlfriend.

 Étienne gave himself a once over in his mirror and figured he looked decent enough. He tugged at a curl just in case it decided to cooperate and when it didn’t, he let it be. Kate had texted him fifteen minutes ago to let him know that she was on her way. He went and sat in his living room, fixed up the television remotes so that they were perfectly aligned and then tried to pass the time.

 This was always the worst – the anticipated waiting – the last few minutes before something started, when he couldn’t get involved in anything else, but at the same time, didn’t have anything to occupy his mind. Therefore his mind went and thought about Kate. It was – interesting how things were progressing with her. He was – surprising himself even. This was not his usual speed when it came to relationships and as much as this was a relatively new experience for him, he also had to admit that it was nice.

 He supposed it helped that his connection with Kate seemed to be strong and that he utterly enjoyed spending time with her even if it was just talking. He liked getting to know her and every time they texted, spoke or saw each other was a gift. Still, he was glad that she was doing all right and that she had only been busy with work. (His mind had conjured a number of scenarios ranging from abduction to hating him and everything else in between. He’d been genuinely worried about her and had been relieved that she had accepted his dinner invitation.)

 When finally the doorbell rang, Étienne nearly didn’t hear it and only sprung into action when his mind registered the sound. He straightened out his shirt one last time and then went to open his front door.

 “Oh, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Kate said in greeting as Étienne let her in. She put the dessert she had brought along as well as her purse down on the little bench by the entrance, before pulling Étienne in for a hug, even though she was still in her coat.

 Étienne managed to shut the door behind her, before he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. It felt as though he hadn’t seen her in ages and he realised how much he had truly missed her as she snuggled deeper into the embrace for a moment.

 “And you’re a delight to see as well, my darling,” He said as he helped her out of her coat, scarf and gloves. He put them away in his closet and before he had the chance to say or do anything more, Kate pulled him back for another hug.

 “Missed you,” She added, kissing his cheek.

 Étienne held her closer still and sought her lips instead to give her a proper kiss and greeting. He feared he was being a little greedy, but Kate seemed not to mind as she parted her lips for him and kissed him back. “Missed you more,” He said when they pulled away, a little out of breath, “Glad you’re here.” Kate laughed and Étienne thought it was the prettiest of sounds in the entire world.

 “Me too,” She admitted as if it were a deep secret she was sharing with him. Étienne beamed and led her by the waist, further inside his apartment, “Well, it isn’t much, but it’s home.”

 Kate had expected Étienne to live in some tiny little apartment, for some reason. It probably had to do with the fact that he was an “artist” and thus, figured he most likely spent a large chunk of his income on art supplies. Another thought had been that he would maybe share a slightly larger place with far too many roommates, but instead, Étienne’s apartment proved to be the opposite of what she had envisioned and he was the only one living in it.

 It was certainly on the smaller end of dwellings, but it wasn’t claustrophobic. It was nicely furnished and decorated, and Kate would describe it as eclectic, but also cozy and charming. There were multiple paintings as well as picture frames on the walls, but each item had its own breathing space. It seemed as though everything had its own space and had been chosen with care to create the overall look, from the bookcases, to the couch and even to the throw over the couch.

 “Do I get the grand tour?” She asked after she gave the dessert to Étienne and he placed it in the fridge.

 “Of course; shall we?” He offered her his arm, which she gladly took and Étienne led her further in as he showed each room of his home.

 “Believe it or not, this is actually the first place I moved into, what feels like ages ago. You can’t tell at the moment, but it gets really great light during the day,” He explained as he walked her towards a first room. “That and this room is ideal for my studio,” He opened the door to the studio and once Kate was in, she felt as though she could tell why.

 The room was large and spacious – perhaps even the largest room of the apartment – maybe even intended to be the master bedroom. There were large bay windows that took up the better part of an entire wall and a large closet that Étienne seemed to use as storage for his supplies.

 There was a desk on the other side of the room with a surprisingly large screen computer, what looked like a really expensive graphic tablet and a myriad of other instruments Kate would have never been able to name.

 But what really got her attention was the giant canvas in the middle of the room. It must have been taller than she was and twice as large. She walked up to it, Étienne following close behind, and she couldn’t help but stare at the bold strokes and colours on it.

 “What is this?” She asked.

 “Oh, just a side job,” He said, as though this wasn’t a giant canvas and this wasn’t a gorgeous painting.

 She quirked her eyebrow at him and Étienne took it to mean that she wanted a further explanation, “Doing a mural at the school I sometimes volunteer at. I like to make a model of it before I bring it to the actual wall – kind of like a giant sketch, but on canvas and with paint.”

 “But this thing is huge! It must take you hours! What do you end up doing with the canvas afterwards?”

 “Depends. If the client wants it, they get it, if not I paint over it or un-mount it and cut it back to whatever size I need.” He explained as thought it was the most logical thing in the world.

 Kate blinked.

 “What?” Étienne asked, maybe a little defensively.

 “These are works of art! You’re telling me you just – paint over them? That you don’t keep them?” It sounded preposterous to her. If all of Étienne’s work looked like this, it was an outcry that he was disposing of them.

 “If I was to keep every painting I ever did, I would need a palace!” He laughed, “Plus, this isn’t really my style – this was a commissioned piece. I have a better one out in the living room, come on, I’ll show you.”

 Before she could say anything else, Étienne led her back towards the entrance and to the living room. She had seen the painting when she had first walked in, but had figured that it was a print of sorts that he had bought – something generic to fill out space on an otherwise empty wall, but as it turned out, Étienne had actually painted it.

 This piece too was on the large side and for as much as the other one in the “studio” had a clearer theme to it, this one was – wild, bold – eclectic. Loud colours, mixed with softer hues. It shouldn’t have worked, yet somehow or other it did. There was energy from the piece and Kate found herself both immersed in it and speechless at the same time.

 “It’s beautiful,” She murmured, after a moment, as though coming out of a trance.

 Étienne’s cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink and he sputtered something along the lines of it not being a big deal and that this wasn’t even his best, but he was fond of it and had decided to save it from being scrapped.

 “Next time you want to paint over something, let me know and I’ll buy it from you.”

 “Please, you don’t have to do that.” The last thing Étienne wanted was for his girlfriend to feel bad for him and want to “encourage him” out of pity or something of the likes.

 “Well, at least show me and if I like it then I will buy it.”

 “I’ll gift it to you for free. You don’t need to buy it.” Étienne retaliate it.

 “Don’t test me, dear, I will find a way to pay you,” She smiled at him sweetly and Étienne knew that he had already lost that battle. Once Kate set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. And – he kind of really liked that about her, but – he’d also find a way to give it to her if ever there was a piece of his that she was partial to. He was allowed to gift things to his girlfriend, after all.

--

PREVIOUS: XVI CURRENT: XVII NEXT: XVIII

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Pigments

Art Teacher Molly! Based on a set of head canons I posted a little while ago

Please consider reblogging or leaving a comment on Ao3!

--------

Caleb’s school had been a handful of rooms in the town hall building. He and the other children of the village had been roughly divided into two groups by age and taken by either the town’s only cleric, a dwarven priestess of Erathis who’d been sent to Blumenthal years ago to establish a strong faith amongst those people of the earth and had remained despite the local’s pleasant indifference, or the herbalist whenever she left the store with her nephew. Caleb would complete every task set for him within ten minutes and, instead, would be allowed to sit in the corner and read while the other children staggered their way through multiplication and verbs and basic Dwarvish. He read everything that could be found within the building, even staying in during playtime. The herbalist would share her tea with him and bring him scones when she could see that his parents were having a rough month.

Even as everything between who Caleb was now and that small child with unruly red curls and hollow cheeks and big eyes, even as all of it cracked and broke and rotted away for a number of reasons, it wouldn’t take much to bring him back to that little room. The dust motes dancing through the sunlight slanding in through the windows and falling on the blackboard with lines and lines of loopy handwriting that was clearly made to draw intricate sketches of plants and write labels on bottles of strange green liquids. The taste of flour and sugar baked together on his tongue, heavy with cherries, nettle tea, the taste of reassurance that maybe his stomach wouldn’t ache so bad when he went to bed that night, that maybe his mother’s heart wouldn’t break quite so much when she saw him. The promise of new words, so many it felt like he could barely hold them all in his mind, but he’d still always want more. Feeling like maybe one day he would be somewhere that would appreciate him for everything he knew.

It didn’t take much to send Caleb back there, to remind him of his days at school. Any little similarity would do it. But standing here, in an actual school, all he could think was how different it was from his own.

Molly’s hand hadn’t left his own since they’d gotten into the taxi. Caleb thought that meant the date was going well. The thought gave him a happy warmth in the bottom of his stomach, though he was very aware of his own inexperience. He wouldn’t really know if it was going well one way or the other, he had next to no data to fall back on.

But there was something in the way Molly kept stealing glances at him, leaving Caleb to just catch the slightest edge of his glance, the way there would always be a smile on his face whenever it happened. Almost as if just the sight of Caleb still sat beside him was enough to make Molly smile.

The hallways were left by the wide windows to alternate strangely between pitch black and wonky squares of yellow streetlight. The only noises were their own footsteps and the muted rumble of cars and voices outside. Of course, at nearly midnight, there was absolutely no one in the school.

“Are you sure we’re allowed to be here so late?” Caleb finally asked, his voice reverberating off tiles in shadow that he couldn’t even see.

Molly turned a little from where he was determinedly leading the way through the corridors and up the silent stairs, “Of course.” His hand, the one that wasn’t entwined with Caleb’s, reached into his shoulder bag and flashed a red lanyard with a faded, blurry picture of a far younger purple tiefling, “I’m staff. And you’re my guest.”

If he couldn’t see the staff badge for himself, Caleb wouldn’t have been able to believe that the loud, extravagant, naturally hedonistic singer he’d been dating for a month now was a teacher by day. The idea of Molly being an authority figure was like trying to imagine a fish climbing a tree or a shark swimming backwards. Something just wasn’t right about it.

But there was his name on the door they were approaching, Mr Tealeaf, neatly typed out in large, rounded letters surrounded by childish cartoons of paint brushes and easels, clearly added by whoever had made the sign in an attempt to make it brighter. But the stickers that had been placed around it with a heavy, generous hand and the graffiti style doodles done in loud, colourful marker were undoubtedly the work of Molly himself.

“Also I leave stuff in my classroom all the time,” Molly added, a little bashfully, “They gave me a key after the one time they found me trying to climb through the window. Someone called the police.”

Caleb had to smile at the mental image, “What did you forget that time?”

Molly suddenly seemed very interested in his keys as he put them in the door, “Uh, my phone.”

Caleb’s smile grew, “The same thing we’re having to come back here to get right this moment?”

Molly turned and poked him in the chest with a finger tipped by a long, deep red nail, playfully challenging, “What’s your point, Widogast?”

“Nothing at all,” Caleb showed his palms, his grin not fading at all.

Molly flicked his tail at him and disappeared into the classroom, “I wouldn’t bother but it’s got the cinema tickets on my email…”

Caleb nodded along, more absorbed in looking around. Even with the light off, the small space was a riot of muted colour, there wasn’t an inch of the walls that wasn’t covered in an art piece of some description. One was groaning under what looked like three classes worth of crookedly sewn embroidered patches, one dripped with just as many watercolours, one had bunting haphazardly strung up that boughed under a store’s worth of bead bracelets and paper flower garlands. Even things that couldn’t be pinned up found their place; the long banks of sinks that circled the room like a moat had sculptures standing sentinel, frozen in the act of listing slightly to the left or right.

Where there wasn’t displays of work there were boards on different artists and movements, one about Frida Kahlo backed by loud, patterned fabric, one about Van Gough set against a recreation of Starry Night done with twists of blue silk. The others were people Caleb had never heard of but he was sure he’d know everything he needed to after reading all of the carefully typed out squares of information.

Though the colour could only slightly be seen with the lack of light, Caleb could practically smell it. The scent of charcoal and pigment and fresh paper was on nearly everything, buoyed by strong coffee and sugary tea. Less pleasant was the slightest smell of stagnant water, probably left in paint trays and clinging to brushes, though it was mild enough that Caleb didn’t mind.

Molly went straight to his desk while Caleb was still staring, digging around in drawers that looked like they were overflowing until he came up with his phone, “There you are, you bastard. Yasha said she was going to super glue it to my hand if I left it at work again, let’s hope she’s forgotten that...”

Caleb made a soft noise of affirmation, ninety nine percent of his attention still on the room around him.

Molly gave a soft chuckle, “Do you like it? I know it weirds some people out, they can’t imagine me actually doing this as a job.”

Caleb’s eyes flickered over to Molly, managing to pull himself out of a sudden hyperfixation on L. S. Lowry. He allowed himself a long moment just to look at him, standing there in the half light. Though all they’d been planning to do was go to the pictures and get a few drinks afterwards, he was dressed as extravagantly as ever. Enough piercings to make his ears droop a little, a shirt made of nothing but glittering mesh patterned with stars over a tight vest and leather pants tucked into boots that went up to his knees. Not much on display but everything hinted at, his tattoos vibrant even in shadow. He looked as far away from a teacher as anyone could imagine.

But Caleb could see touches of him everywhere in the room they stood in. He saw him in the messiness of the desk but how he clearly knew where everything was regardless. He saw his guiding hand in every single work of art on the wall, he saw him in the gushing praise scribbled in red pen on the front of the pile of test papers near his computer. He saw him in the tin of biscuits right by his elbow, ready to be brought out at a moment’s notice for a child who was having a hard day or who’d achieved something after trying so hard.

Or a child who maybe hadn’t had any breakfast that day.

Caleb felt his lower lip wobble dangerously for a moment but he quickly brought it under control, managing to smile, “I don’t think it’s weird. I can’t imagine a job more perfect for you.”

Molly beamed at that, some pride warming his eyes now as he gently touched a piece of paper lying on his desk, a pencil drawing done in bright colours that was clearly meant to be himself done by a child that had clearly just been introduced to Cubism.

“Well,” he was even blushing a little, around the edges, “I do enjoy it. And that is about the nicest thing anyone’s said to me about my job.”

“Well, it’s true,” Caleb leaned against one of the tables, one hand awkwardly seizing his arm, though the smile on his face was undeniable, spreading across his face the more Molly kept looking at him like that.

Molly twirled his tail between his fingers. Was Caleb thinking wishfully or did he always do that when he was feeling charmed? His eyes roved over his desk, looking like he was trying to decide whether something was a good idea or whether it would come off as dorky.

“I...I have something for you,” he eventually grinned, eyes flickering up to Caleb, “Call it a prize for coming on this rescue mission with me.”

“Oh?” Caleb leaned forward slightly, hoping it might be a kiss.

Molly swept up, ringing slightly as he went with all his adornments, “My students were learning about mosaic and glass work? So we did a little jewellery making and seeing how I have to demo everything, I ended up with this…”

Caleb suddenly found something small and smooth in his hand. He looked to see a bracelet, a simple loop of black string with rounded, oblong beads in alternating sea green and vibrant blue.

“They’ll really bring out the colours of your eyes,” Molly murmured hopefully, “They always remind me of the sea so I guess I must subconsciously have been...thinking of you? While I made it? I must have always meant to give you it, even before I realised it.”

Caleb’s mouth opened, hoping words adequate to express just how much the gift meant to him would just come pouring out. Of course they didn’t, he was just left stammering until he stopped himself and just looked Molly in the eye as he slipped the bracelet over his skinny wrist.

“I love it, Molly. Thank you.”

Judging by Molly’s face, Caleb’s eyes must have said what his words couldn’t. That was when he got his kiss, sweet and gentle, coloured in moonlight.

And the bracelet would stay on his wrist all night. And the many dates they’d have after their slightly delayed trip to the cinema.

And the years they’d have together after that.

[badwolfwrites-sometimes]

Chapter 7

I liked that one Chibitalia scene too much.

By the lunch time, Feliciano was fairly certain of two things: this was by far his favourite book. And he finally understood why all that talk of it.

This book turned from a fluffy romantic story into the love of Feliciano's life.

'Otto walked impatiently to the servant rooms. Alice was currently working, cleaning some old storage rooms. He had a new job for her.

"Alice! I need to ask you a favour." He yelled, reaching the hall and waiting.

Soon enough, he spotted a redhaired girl in one of the blue dresses he bought her. "What is it, My Prince?" She asked, bouncing on her way to Otto.

Otto, as always, was as red as the halls whenever she used that nickname on him. "You're from Venice. I heard it's known for it's art. Do you think you could teach me how to paint?" He asked.

"Of course! Let me just finish my work and I'll meet you in the garden." She said and run off to quickly complete her work. She would be lying if she said she wasn't excited for this. Painting was her number one love after all. Right behind Otto.

He waited for her in the garden. The view of the flowers growing peacefully on the early spring morning made him feel a bit lonely. Otto wished for a certain someone to enjoy them with him. When will she finish her work?

He sat there sighing, unaware of anything but the flowers in front of him. Then he felt a pair of cold hands on his shoulders causing him to jump up in the air a bit. He turned around to see a giggling Alice. His Alice.

"Did I frighten you?" She asked, her giggling made her voice sound a bit more pitched than it normally was.

Otto blushed, still shocked from the scare attack. "Yes. Don't do that again, please. You almost sent me flying to the sun." He said.

Alice continued giggling. "I'm sorry. You wanted to learn how to paint, right?" She asked.

"Yes. I've set up some equipment nearby. Shall we go?" Otto asked, offering his hand.

"Yes!" Alice squeeled in excitement. This time she didn't accept Otto's hand offering and instead hurried off to wherever she guessed Otto could have set the equipment up.

"Um, Alice?" He said and she turned. "Not there." He said and pointed to the opposite direction. Whoops.

Alice walked back to his side and took his hand, embarrassed but smiling widely. Otto's hand offerings were always extremely cute.

They made their way to a small hill just above the garden. It seemed like the perfect place to paint. Flowers were in bloom and the grass beneath their feet shone slightly thanks to the sun shining the few drops of water remaining on it from the early morning rain. Early spring truly was in the air. All of it made Alice wish they could stay here forever.

Two wooden canvas boards grabbed her attention from the grass and flowers. From the looks of it, they appeared to be largely decorated, probably worth quite a sum of money. She would have to give Otto a lecture on that later again. Upon drawing closer, she spotted some brand new paintbrushes. And in a good quality as not a single hair was sticking out of the order. Two chairs were also there, ready for when the young couple needed some rest from their activity. Alice decided resting time was now and took a seat.

"So, what shall we be drawing?" She asked.

Otto blushed, already picturing a perfect painting in his head, but he did not dare say it out loud. Instead he blurted out. "I was thinking maybe some animals and flowers and, you know, spring stuff."

Alice smiled softly. "That sounds lovely. It's been quite a while since I've last painted anything so I might not make a great tutor, but you've chosen an excellent start."

Otto blushed at the compliment. "I believe you would be a great tutor. You can go ahead and remind yourself a bit if you want. We have all day at our hands." He smiled.

Alice nodded, taking one of the thicker brushes into her hand. She run her thumb across the hair on the brush. "Soft." She mumbled, opening a can of green paint, smelling it. It wasn't expired, that was certain.'

"Me." Feliciano laughed.

'Behind them stood two buckets. One with clean water and one empty. Alice assumed the empty one was for the dirty water. She looked around for the cups. "My Prince?" She asked.

Otto, who had previously just been standing and staring at every movement Alice was making, drowning in her delicateness with art, snapped back to reality. "Yes?" He asked, a bit too squeeky than his usual voice.

"Where are the cups?" She asked.

"Cups?" Otto stared in disbelief, there were obviously right-

Oh.

He forgot the cups.'

At this point Feliciano was dying from laughter. He related to everything in this chapter. Almost as if this Ludwig was writing about him.

'Blushing, Otto rushed off back to the castle, leaving Alice to her giggling fit. She must have made the very same mistake multiple times, but watching someone else make it was extremely hilarious to her. Soon, however, she calmed down and was swooning in the adorableness of the young prince right up to the moment he showed up, carrying two cups. His blood red face caused a reaction from her own, a light blush sweeping over it. Alice tried her best to mask it with her hands. Hopefully Otto can't see right through her.

"I-" Otto started, "got the cups."

"Thank you for your work, My Prince." Alice smiled, taking one cup, brushing her hand with Otto's slightly, enough for the dreaded colour red's return to their faces.

Otto accidentally dropped his cup and fell on his knees trying to pick it up, which resulted in another giggling fit from Alice. She offered her hand to him. The tables have turned.

Otto accepted her hand, squeezing it just a bit more harder, enough for him to absorb Alice's kind energy from that small hand of hers. And some of her warmth as well. Even when they were standing and facing each other, Otto still a bit taller than Alice, they didn't let go. These were the small moments they couldn't afford to enjoy while inside the palace walls. The dangers of Queen always lurking in the back of their minds. Right now they were free from it.

"I believe we should start, otherwise we'll miss the daylight." Alice was the first to break their small staring contest, walking towards the water filled bucket and filling her cup before returning to her seat.

Otto stood for a moment longer, blinking the moment they had away, cursing at the day for being too short. "If you say so." He said, before following Alice's suit and filling his cup, seating himself afterwards.

Alice dipped her paintbrush just a tiny bit before dipping it into the paint, her eyes focused on the grass before her as she took every small detail of it in her head. Seemingly without noticing, her hand moved towards the white canvas and, before you knew it, there was a green line going across it on the bottom half.

She smiled to herself, glad that she hasn't forgotten any of the wonderful feelings that were art. Alice repeated the process several times, making a rough sketch of how it was supposed to look before turning to face Otto.

Otto had been absorbing her movements up until the moment she stopped and faced him. Luckily for him, this time he wasn't blushing.

"Do you want to start?" She asked.

Otto nodded. Alice moved closer to him, taking his right hand which was holding the paintbrush. Adjusting it the way she saw fit, she continued holding Otto's hand from behind, guiding him towards the white canvas. If he hadn't known better, he would say he was growing a bit feverish, as everything around him started to spin.

Alice showed Otto a couple of movements to make for beginning, before letting go of his hand. "Try it." She said.

Otto dipped his brush into some water, careful not to take too much before dipping it in paint. He breathed in and out, closing his eyes and running the brush across the canvas. When he opened them, he was met with a slightly wobbly green line on the white background and a soft smile from Alice to encourage him to continue.

After a couple of more strokes, Alice deemed him ready enough to continue on his own and returned to her own painting. Otto still had a few troubles with little details, such as painting the rabbits foot, and Alice gladly helped him out. They were having fun in their own world, away from statuses and works, just two children painting outside. But soon, the sun begun setting. The day coming to an end.

Otto was working on some final details, the sun enough above horizon not to ruin his painting. He turned to Alice, needing her final judgement.

Snore.

Otto blinked at her. When had she fallen asleep? Sure, it's been a long day, but he didn't expect it to be that long. Still, the thought of waking her up was something he couldn't bring himself to do. It didn't even cross his mind. Instead, he got a better idea. The timing just perfect.

He turned his board to face Alice and pulled out a new canvas. The only reason he asked Alice to teach him how to paint was so he could paint her. Alice falling asleep was a perfect time to do it. And how lovely she would look with the sun shining those rosy cheeks and that lovely red hair. She truly looked like a princess to him. If he could, he would have married her on the spot.

He somehow managed to finish it before the sun set down completely, satisfied with results. Now he needed to wake his princess up. But before that, he had to hide the painting somewhere she won't look before he could gather some courage to show her. Otto sprinted towards the castle, hiding the painting behind the clothes in the closet. Hopefully Alice won't be needing anything from it. Or cleaning it anytime soon.

Making sure it was well hidden, Otto rushed back to Alice, glad to find her still asleep on her chair. She looked very comfortable sleeping there, it pained Otto a lot to wake her. But he had no other choice. He had to do it. However, one waking up kiss never hurt anyone.

Brushing away any hair that fell on her face, Otto slowly moved his head closer to hers. His lips met with Alice's forehead, slightly frightened of being seen and judged by anyone. Pulling back, he looked at her once again. What kind of a miracle did it take for this angel to walk on the same earth as him? What did he do that earned him just a glimpse of this sweetheart?

He closed his eyes again, allowing their foreheads to touch even just briefly. That was the moment Alice chose to wake up, accidentally bumping her forehead against Otto's.

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!" Otto grabbed his forehead. Who knew Alice had such strong head?

"Ow! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Alice panicked, seemingly quick to recover from the little accident as she was already checking on Otto.

"It's alright. I'm alright. Are you?" He asked, holding his forehead with one hand and Alice's cheek with other, attempting to calm her down.

Alice nodded. "I'm sorry." She said one more time. Otto shook his head that it was just an accident.

"It's already dark, I think we should head to the castle. You must be tired from sleeping in that chair." Otto smiled, pulling Alice up.

"I had a really nice dream so I do not mind. I'll clean up." She said, already grabbing the brushes and buckets.

"No, leave it to me. I brought it here, I should clean it up. Go get some proper sleep. Maybe tell me about the dream one day." Otto said, taking everything Alice grabbed into his hands. Alice nodded, knowing it was useless to argue against Otto once he had something set in his mind.

"If you say so, My Prince. Good night then." She bowed and run off.

"Good night, Liebe." Otto whispered, knowing full well Alice couldn't hear him. He got ready to work right away.'

"Aww! Those two are so cute! When am I gonna get such a nice relationship?" Feliciano giggled like a little girl. He knew the answer was when he got out of the house, but that was too much work. And besides, most people just weren't his type.

He made his way to the living room, deciding to get some snacks before continuing. There was no one to scare him this time luckily.

Lovino was on the couch, watching some Spanish telenovelas. He would never admit of doing this to anyone though, being famous for resenting any language that wasn't Italian. Luckily, Felicaino and Romeo were just his brothers. If they spoke a word of it, he knew when and how to kill them.

Romeo was still in college, the good little student he was. Or wasn't if he was hanging out with the ladies behind the college building. Either way, he wasn't home.

"They are still fighting?" Feliciano asked Lovino, but the latter was way into the series to answer the question. Or his phone, which he left on the little wall separating the dining room amd kitchen from the living room, as it was buzzing constantly. Probably Antonio.

Ignored by his brother, Feliciano set on doing what he originally wanted to do, get a snack. Rummaging through the fridge, he found some chocolate. Perfect. He was just about to head upstairs when Lovino's phone buzzed once again, the title of the annoying texter catching Feliciano's eyes.

Toni Amore.

With heart and tomato emojis.

Oh no. Was all that run through Feliciano's mind.

Breathe in.

He unlocked Lovino's phone, grateful to his brother for not setting it to make a sound once unlocked. He decided to read some of the messages. Just to make sure.

Breathe out.

There was no doubt. No doubt at all. It was the same Toni. Their family friend.

Breathe in.

No! No! No!

Breathe out.

That would mean only one thing. His brother was-

"What do you think you're doing, Feliciano?"

Oh no...

[pandas-pandemonium]

Soft Yandere!BTS Reaction- You tell them you miss practicing your instrument/making art

Namjoon

"I just- I just miss doing it, Namjoon. The feeling of the pencil or pen between my fingers, sketching out whatever my heart desires," you explain.

"I don't want all my progress in improving to just.. 'poof' away all because you keep me chained up here... There isn't even a piece of paper within my vicinity!"

Namjoon sighed, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you vented to him.

"Well.. you have been co-operating lately, and it would be nice to see you smile again. You did look so at peace whenever you drew," he began. Your eyes lit up, with that sentence.

"On one condition, your art is only for my eyes, understand?" He asked. It took you everything not to groan. You should have expected this. Terms and Conditions, set by Kim Namjoon himself. What was this? Some kind of business deal?

You forced a smile, anything to finally do something you love, "I understand, Namjoon. I'll even dedicate my best piece to you." That seemed to please him even more, as his smile grew wider.

"That's my girl. Now, what sort of art materials do you want me to get?"

Kim Seokjin

You huffed, blankly staring at the grey wall, trying to remember the last piece you had played before Seokjin had taken you into his grasp. Subconsciously, your fingers began to tap a faint rhythm, a piece of music you had played months, possibly years ago. In your trance you didn't even notice the taller man enter the room until you felt an embrace from behind.

"What's wrong, darling?" He whispered into your ear as one hand slid to your waist, tracing circles on your thigh.

Momentarily shaken from your trance, you paused, registering his words before replying.

"I-I want to play on my [instrument] again... Where did you even put it? I haven't seen it since you locked me up," you mention with remorse. You longed to see the [wooden, stringed/golden brass/sleek wooden] instrument once again, the object having been abandoned in your home when you were drugged and chained onto Seokjin's bed. Jin sighed as he played with the strands of your hair.

"Do you really have to, [Name]? Do you love it more than me?" He asked, his grip on your shoulder tightening as he tried to hold back his distaste.

"I-I," you paused. You had to phrase this in a way you won't be lying to him, nor will you be enraging him.

"I just--it's been a while, Seokjin... You understand right? What it feels like when you're taken away from cooking? That's how I feel when I can't play my music. Besides, you'll be there to watch me practice!" You suggested, in hopes of relating to something he enjoyed as well.

He chuckled silently before petting your head gently.

"All right, princess. If you're sooo desperate to play, I'll arrange for your instrument to be brought in and professionally maintained and retuned," he said. Surprised he agreed, you shot up from your seated position, almost forgetting about the metal chain around your ankle when you felt the tug against it, yanking your form back down onto the sheets.

Seokjin laughed, "Right, we should probably remove these first hm?"

Min Yoongi

Yoongi was out. He had supposedly left the house to get some groceries and new clothes and wouldn't be back for a while. Your throat felt dry as you approached the baby-grand piano located in the hallway. He never said you couldn't play it, or that you couldn't touch it... But it truly had been too long since he toned down on the drugs, and you were now in a clearer state of mind. He wouldn't know, you'll just play a short 2-minute piece and put everything back where it belonged, and if he asked what you've been doing, you can just tell him you were reading.

Gingerly, your hands lifted the heavy lid of the piano to unveil the black and white keys. Softly, your fingers trailed across the wooden tiles as you seated yourself on the chair opposite the large instrument. You noticed the files of music sheets on a shelf adjacent to the piano, and for a moment, you wondered why you hadn't noticed it before. You left your seat and returned promptly with a brown plastic file; one of Yoongi's piano compositions, the ballad version of one of his songs.

You flipped open the file, your eyes scanning the pages, your memories of years and years of practice and theory flooding back to you. You grinned and set your hands upon the keys and played.

Yoongi was confused, to say the least when he arrived. He was expecting a quiet home, maybe with you reclining on a sofa, reading a book. But to come back to picture of you playing the piano, his beloved instrument (after you, of course), so elegantly (though a little clumsily)? His heart melted at the sight. He cursed himself silently, wondering why and how he forgot how much you loved to play. A small gummy smile spread itself across his lips as he hurried to set down the bags by the kitchen, and to rush towards you to engulf your body in his warmth.

"Why didn't you tell me..." He muttered, you could almost hear his pout. Your fingers faltered the moment you felt his presence on you and you stumbled for words.

"I-I, I just, I thought you'd be mad if I touched your piano..." You began before he shushed you with his lips.

He pulled back, his eyes staring into yours, filled with love.

"Why would I be? To see my darling playing an instrument I love as well? I would give the world to see it. Now, let's get back to the piece hm? I can teach you how to play it," he said, excitement visible in his voice. You nodded, speechless. It was times like this when you can almost forget how lovesick Yoongi was with you, and you would treasure it; these brief moments of peace.

Jung Hoseok

It was one of those days when Hoseok would take you to his dance studio to watch him. It was when he was sure no one would be around to distract you from him, or attempt to even steal your attention. So here you were, leaning against one of the four mirrored walls, watching your boyfriend move his body to the music. Only when he was dancing, did you feel as if you were back in those blissful, oblivious times. When you were unaware of Hoseok's growing possessiveness over you.

You sighed as you watched his crisp and firm movements, you sure did miss your tablet. It had been so long since you were allowed near technology or even a device without Hoseok's supervision, you weren't even sure if you remembered how to operate the device anymore. Slowly, your mind began to break his movements down into frames, mindlessly tracing the air, pretending as if you were drawing him on a screen.

In your daze, you almost didn’t realise the dancer had stopped. His dark brown hair was slightly messy and his smooth skin shone with sweat. Once he paused the music player, he turned to you, one eyebrow raised.

“And what is my baby doing, hm?” He asked, both to you and himself. Your finger stopped in mid-air and you dropped your arm as you answered.

“I--uh, you know how I used to do animations, Hoseok?” you asked, your [Eye Colour] eyes glancing up at him nervously. His mouth opened in ‘ah’, signalling that he recalled your previous occupation. He motioned for you to carry on.

“Well, I was thinking...it would be nice to have my tablet again,” you said. Hoseok’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed.

“No.”

You flinched in surprise at the harsh answer. “Wh-why? It’s just a tablet, and, and I haven’t worked on any animations in a while-” you quickly explained, rushing to your feet as your boyfriend walked away from you, grabbing his things.

“I said, no, [Name]. You’re not getting your tablet back and you’re not going to animate or do anything without me,” he said through clenched teeth. Even from behind, you could feel the annoyance radiating from his body. 

You groaned in irritation, “Come on! You get to dance and do what you love, but I can’t even do something as simple as draw?” you exclaimed in disbelief. 

He looked over his shoulder, “Exactly. Now you’re going to keep quiet until we get home and don’t you dare mention anything like that again.” You stopped in your tracks, your mouth agape. Wiping away your tears, you inhaled deeply and huffed.

“Fine.” you muttered under your breath. He always got his way anyways, stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did you even bother asking him?

Park Jimin

You smiled to yourself, humming a familiar tune you had heard Jimin play for one of his dance performances. Due to habit, you ended up subconsciously playing an air version of the [instrument], making up a cover in your mind. It was a shame that Jimin had apparently forgot it back in your house, well...it was your house. He now demands you call his apartment your home as well, seeing as you now both will live together from now on.

You wondered if Jimin would allow you to practice your instrument, assuming he didn’t get rid of it. Blissfully, you swayed to the music as you hummed the song and tended to the chores of the house. It was something you did to occupy yourself when Jimin was away, seeing as how he thought everything else could “take you away from him” or something along those lines. You scoffed, you still haven’t forgotten your situation, but alas, you had no choice but to make the best of it.

You were about to move on to another tune when you heard the door click open and you immediately ceased your fun. You didn’t want Jimin questioning why you seemed to be enjoying time by yourself, and to stick by you for another month again. 

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” his soft tenor voice asked as he walked to the kitchen.

“Uh, just rearranging the cabinet,” you called out, hurriedly picking a dish out, pretending to do just that. You heard nothing but a hum in response and soon enough, you felt the man wrap you in his embrace.

“I missed you,” he whispered, his head on your shoulder. You swallowed.

“Me-me too, Jimin. How about you go change, I’ll prepare dinner,” you suggested, wanting to get him off of you. Jimin only shook his head in response.

“I want to cuddle...I spent way too long away from you,” he said, slowly edging you away from your spot and towards the living room. You let out a breath of defeat, steeling your nerves.

“Alright Jimin. Let’s do that,” you said, allowing him to guide you to the living room sofa, where as he sat down, he pulled you closer to his chest.

“I heard you singing...you don’t do that around me,” he commented. Your eyes widened; he had heard.

“I--” you paused to think of an excuse before you heard his tongue click behind you.

“No lies, [Name]. I want to hear why you sounded so happy when I wasn’t around. Is it someone else, hm?” he asked.

You shook your head, immediately denying his claim and explained yourself. You told him the truth, and that you wanted to play again, to which he only chuckled in response before getting up. His grip still remained on your shoulder however.

“Ah, silly [Name]. If you just asked, I would have brought your instrument out,” he said. He walked towards a room at the far end and unlocked it. Sure enough, your [instrument] was sitting there, propped against a wall, in its casing. It had unfortunately, been collecting dust for a while now and you wondered if you had to get any new parts for it. 

Slowly, your hand reached out for it before you were tugged back. Your head whipped around, about to question his actions. Jimin’s eyes were dark.

“I didn’t say you could play it though, did I?” he asked, a warning tone on the edge of his voice. You gulped and shook your head.

“I’ll take it out, but I don’t want you playing it without my permission, and you can’t play it alone either. I want you here with me, got it?”

You nodded your head in response, knowing that if you spoke, your voice would betray you. You didn’t want to make him mad even further. The silver-haired male smiled at your passive response.

“Good that you understand that then. Now, let’s watch a movie together okay? If I feel like it, I’ll let you tend to your instrument okay, love?”

Kim Taehyung

There he was, sitting opposite an easel, a paintbrush and palette in hand. His clothes were stained in various colours, some mixing in to form browns and hints of purple and darker colours, a result of colour theory. He looked almost angelic, seated painting...you. You swallowed, trying to keep your disgust at bay. It was horrifying really, how you became the only subject he would willingly paint.

As an artist yourself, you knew that this would only limit his creativity. But your countless suggestions to paint something else, the scenery, an animal, still-life, anything, but he would just ignore your suggestions. So here you were, about to try out something. You weren’t going to lie to him, oh no. But you were going to try and entice him with something else. You crossed your fingers and took in a deep breath.

“Taehyung?” your voice cut through the still air and the sound of the brush against canvas. He turned around, part of his face stained with paint.

“Oh! Doll, what are you doing here? I thought you were asleep...” he said, his eyes widened in curiosity. You fidgeted with your clothes, finding the courage to execute your plan.

“I-I was wondering if you would want to join me in buying some new art supplies?” you asked, your eyes avoiding his gaze. You heard a hum as he considered your suggestion.

“Why so suddenly, babe?” he asked. Your mouth felt dry, he won’t get mad right? Your previous suggestions to go outside never ended well, and you hoped this one would have a different outcome.

“Well, you know, I used to paint and all...but it has been quite some time. We use different mediums for art, so I’d like to get some new supplies,” you said, trying to keep your voice stable. Gosh, why were you so damn scared of him?

You heard him sigh along with the shifting of some papers and cans of paint. Finally, you looked up to see him in front of you, causing you to step back a bit, cornering yourself into the wall. His inquisitive brown hues examined your face, searching for something.

“Is this about how I don’t paint anyone but you?” he asked. Your silence seemed to work as answer. He let out a shaky breath, running his stained hands through his tangled brown locks. “Look, you’re my muse. I don’t care what anyone says, but you’re the only thing worth painting in this world,” he tried to explain. He must have caught your frown as he pulled your form close to his chest.

“But...it would be nice to have art as our couple activity... I suppose I can put in an online order for some inks and markers. You’d like that right? Or we could get you a new tablet?” he suggested, pulling himself away to look into your [Eye Colour] eyes. The intensity of his gaze made your blood run cold and you fumbled to find your words.

“Yeah, I’d like that. Our own couple activity, just the two of us,” you repeated, forcing a smile on your face. He smiled, his eyes narrowing into half-moon slits and he pressed a wet kiss against your lips.

“Then let’s get started then!”

Jeon Jungkook

You observed as Jungkook doodled on the screen in front of him, in a trance as the pen dragged the lines across the white background. You weren’t exactly sure what he was doing, but he seemed to have an idea of some sort. Bored, your eyes wandered, taking in every detail of the room you were both enclosed in. 

Framed pictures of artwork hung on the walls, along with some movie and game promotion posters. The figurines on the shelves stood in their place, their painted eyes staring ahead. It was hard to believe this was the room of some obsessed male. Then again, you didn’t think Jungkook was capable of such things until you woke up one day, tied to his bed, restrained from moving.

You looked down at the chain connecting your foot to the edge of his bed and sighed. The cold metal stayed strong as ever, even when you tried to weaken it through rusting. Jungkook didn’t seem to notice your movements, focused on the art piece on his computer. 

“What are you drawing?” you asked, figuring some conversation would be better than nothing. You couldn’t even get up to pick up a book without being yanked back by the chain. How did he expect you to entertain yourself in this environment, you truly didn’t know. His head perked up, turning around to look at you.

“Ah, I was just...working on a new project. I’ll print it out soon enough for you to see,” he said, before turning back to the screen. Well, that worked out well...

You groaned under your breath. You would give anything to be able to do something. Staring at the bed sheets, you noticed the faint outlines of Disney characters and began to trace them. While doing so, your brain ran through the countless work-in-progresses you had saved on your old laptop. You were pretty sure you had been working on painting someone’s OC before you were kidnapped. You huffed, not like it mattered anyway. You were pretty sure Jungkook had “taken care” of the whole situation.

You missed drawing.

You really did. The past couple weeks had been filled with your shouts and frustrations, your mind had almost forgot the basic things you loved to do. Your head turned to the taller man sitting at his desk, adjacent to his bed, and you wondered if he’d allow you to use his tablet when he was done.

He caught you staring soon enough and raised an eyebrow.

“What do you need, darling?” he asked, his eyes slightly concerned and his lips in a pout. You froze, and your brain failed to function for a brief moment.

“Oh, I was just uh..watching you draw,” you admitted, partially. His mouth opened in acknowledgement before he got off his seat and headed to the bed.

“You should have just said so, you know. You were pretty feisty the past couple weeks, but I’m glad to see you calmed down a little, [Name]! As a reward, I’ll let you contribute your creativity to my piece, hm?” he suggested, his doe eyes looking straight at you as he fumbled with the locks on the chain.

You pressed your lips in a thin line, “Sure. Sounds fun, Jungkook...” you said. Not quite what you hoped for, but at least you were free of those confounded chains.

A/N: This was more of a guilty pleasure than anything lol. No one requested this, I wrote it for myself. I’m sorry for the shitty quality. it was hard coming up with ideas for 7 people. The Seungcheol Soulmate fic is halfway done, because I realised I end my stuff with dialogues waaayy too often and wanted to add more proper scoups x reader moments before I just published it w 1.5k words.

Hope you guys enjoyed this. I really think we need more artistic s/o’s in this community tbh

[islareeveswriting]

STORY PAGE

PREVIOUS | NEXT

INSTAS

April showers bring May flowers.

Molly remembered that as she walked past Rosie Lee’s closed doors for the second time that morning, lights off, and noticed the ‘We’ll be closed for a week for a bit of a break, see you all soon’ sign that was written in what she knew to be Louis’ handwriting. Clive had been the one to tell her that for the first  time, as she sat in his cafe, with a pot of tea he’d made for her, a warm cheese scone melting the lump of butter she’d slapped onto it, on the verge of a breakdown over her first project disaster. It felt like everything was going wrong. Clive just smiled, and told her about April showers, and May flowers. And it had stuck.

As Molly glanced over her shoulder at the closed up cafe, Molly remembered it again. Right now it sucked Clive wasn’t in the cafe for a chat, her nervous tummy could have done with some wise words from Clive. But in twenty four hours, Clive would have a new hip and Molly could visit him in hospital, take him the toffees she knew he liked and the book she’d found in a charity shop that she was sure would be right up his alley, and once again promise him to take him up to the trundle and watch the horses. It would be better in the end, a closed Rosie Lee’s now, meant a better and happier Clive shortly. So Molly smiled, and headed home, watching her converse not quite scuff at the pavement, with the bouquet of flowers in her hand and two bottles of wine in the canvas tote on her shoulder.

It was a beautiful late April day, sunny and warm enough that Molly felt perfectly comfortable with bare legs under her sweet summer dress. Sure she had a bright pink cardigan on under her denim jacket, but she wasn’t sure that she’d be cold if she’d left it behind. The sun was glorious and Molly was revelling in it. Autumn always had been, and always would be her favourite time of year, but spring was a close second and it was thanks to days like that particular Saturday when Molly swore she could actually feel the world coming back to life after a long, cold winter.

It was as Molly was fishing for her keys in her bag, only a few steps from the front gate, that Molly’s phone tinged from the pocket off her jacket. Molly grabbed it, still searching for her keys, among her purse, crumpled receipts, water bottle, empty glass coffee cup and wine bottles, flicking her eyes to the screen as she rounded onto the front path.

Louis

They’d exchanged numbers nearly a week ago. Molly had been into the cafe just to catch up, but Clive wasn’t there. Just Louis. Clive could hardly walk, according to Louis, and finally he’d agreed to let Louis book him in privately and get it done. Molly would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved, if a little disappointed Clive wasn’t there for her to see before his operation. But they’d spoken on the phone, thanks to Louis’ idea to swap numbers. Apparently Clive wanted to talk to her before the operation, though it conspired that was only to make sure she wasn’t going to go back on her promise to go to the Trundle with him and watch the horses on the course below, and apart from that Louis promised to keep Molly up to date with what was happening and so she knew when she could go and visit. And like his father, Louis was clearly a man of his word.

Dad’s going down at about two thirty, I’ll keep you posted x

Molly replied with a quick thanks and a request to send Clive her love, just as her hand stumbled upon her keys. She grinned, ignored the anxious butterflies in her tummy that were now thanks to the news Clive really would be going down for his operation, as well as the fact she now only had an hour to wait until Harry turned up and took her away, with Nancy, for a BBQ at Shane and Ellie’s where other members of his family would be. Apparently they were quite close, after everything, Molly assumed it made sense. Her family had family friends, and it was nice Harry had that too, all things considered when it came to his immediate family’s past.

It felt like that hour simultaneously flew by, and also dragged like nothing else. Molly sat on her bed, cross legged, sketching messily, initial ideas for her new project that had already started up, constantly turning to look out the window every time she heard even the distant hum of a car outside. Everyone else was out, and she couldn’t blame them, it was a glorious Sunday, but it meant she didn’t even have someone she could lose time with chatting and laughing. When she felt as nervous as she did, she knew she could have really done with Jimmy to take her mind off it, or Clive to rationalise her, but neither were available so she was turning to the next best thing, her sketchbook and a worn down mechanical pencil.

When Harry did eventually turn up though, his car sliding into the forever empty space outside Molly’s house, Molly seemingly completely forgot about her sketchpad, leaving it open on her bed with the pencil and rubber strewn close by, as she headed out to the hall to open the door and pull her converse back on. Molly opened the door to Harry, in jeans and a plain t-shirt, as seemed to be his uniform, a pair of black boots on his feet, not exactly fit for the weather, Molly giggled.

“Are you not boiling?” Molly asked, still wearing a wry smile along with her finished outfit.

“Nice to see you too,” Harry chuckled, leaning forward and snatching her lips up in a sweet kiss. “You’ll be moaning when you’re cold later,” Harry pointed out, not being shy about looking Molly up and down with her bare legs. “Though you do look cute,” Harry smiled, eyes rising back to her face.

“Thanks,” Molly blushed, dropping her eyes.

“You ready then cutie pie.” Molly just shook her head at the ridiculous nickname that would never stick, and chuckled, turning for the bag she’d left by the door. “What’s that?” Harry asked, that almost infamous line between his eyebrows appearing as he frowned.

“Just some things,” Molly shrugged.

“What things?” Harry asked, as Molly joined him on the doorstep, pulling the door closed with her.

“Flowers for Ellie, a couple of bottles of wine, y’know the things you turn up to someone’s house with when you’ve been raised not dragged.” The regret was instant, and Molly felt her stomach twist as her eyes closed for longer than needed to blink. “Shit, Harry, I didn’t m-”

“I know, don’t,” Harry urged, taking her hand and walking them towards the car where Molly could see Nancy was sat in the passenger seat, smiling happily through the glass towards them. “I know you didn’t mean it like that, don’t treat me like a kicked puppy, please?” Harry spoke quietly, almost as if incase Nancy could hear through the door of the car. Molly just nodded, as Harry opened the door behind Nancy’s for her.

“Hello love, how are you?” Nancy’s gleeful tone instantly put a smile on Molly’s face, and the pair of them embarked on a happy catch up as Harry drove away from Molly’s to where they were going.

Even whilst chatting away to Nancy, Molly was getting more and more nervous the further they got from her house, and the closer they got to Ellie and Shane’s. The house trickled out to main roads, and eventually the new estates started to unfold. Dustings of white houses with red brick and coloured plastic doors. Each the same, with little squares of grass outside each and a small path that ran from the road to the front step. Some of them were bigger, some smaller, but they were perfectly identical other than that. Molly found herself a little distracted from the conversation as she began to get too focused on the somersaults her tummy was doing. Apart from the people she was sat in the car with, Ellie and Shane, Molly knew no one, but she knew everyone invited was family in some regard.

It had confused Molly a little, why Harry’s family would be invited along to a gathering at Shane and Ellie’s for their families.In typical Harry form though, he’d been quick to eradicate any doubts or questions. At first Molly wasn’t sure, it seemed far fetched that just because Harry was Lola’s goddaughter, his whole family would have merged into hers. But Harry had explained how Shane had done a lot of work with his uncle, and considering how things with Lola started, Ellie not wanting him alone with her until she could trust him again, trust him not to go off the rails when things got out of control, look for trouble just so he had something worse to focus on, Nancy had spent a lot of time with Lola. It made sense they were all close. They’d all gathered around a young child to make her upbringing as normal and calm as possible, Molly could understand that at least, and apart from anything else, she knew she had to trust what Harry was telling her.

What was the point if she couldn’t trust him?

They pulled up outside Ellie and Shane’s, and Molly noticed the open side gate that hadn’t even caught her eye the last time she’d been there. Nancy took Molly’s arm, linking them together, Molly holding onto her things tightly. If it had been Harry’s arm wound around hers she knew she’d have been squeezing it, but as it was, the bag took the brunt of her anxiety. She hoped her face wasn’t showing it, but when she looked over her shoulder to Harry, his footsteps a pace or two behind her own and Nancy’s, the smile he gave her told Molly her nerves were reading loud and clear.

The garden was longer than Molly had expected, a small swing set sat at the end, and there was a paddling pool inflated in the middle, filled with both balls and water, there were toys strewn everywhere, and a mini yellow and red car, doors open and on its side just outside the patio doors, one of which was open. All of that was background noise though, to the small collection of people that were sat around in chairs as the BBQ smoked, waiting for the coals to turn from black to grey, every single pair of eyes trailing to her and Nancy, and Harry behind them. Molly swallowed down hard and fought to keep her smile on her face. Nancy let go of her then, but the support of her arm, as she wandered towards people with her happy smile, was replaced by Harry’s hand on Molly’s lower back. Molly didn’t flinch, didn’t even look up to him, but she knew, he knew, she was grateful, as she stepped out of his touch towards Ellie who was grinning towards her, and heading straight for her with open arms.

“Hey lovely, how are you?” Ellie chimed, wrapping an arm around Molly, who tried to do the same but failed thanks to her collection of things.

“Good thank you,” Molly smiled. “These are for you,” Molly told Ellie, handing her the bunch of pretty flowers she’d picked out from the florists that morning. Ellie gushed and smiled and thanked her and took her hand leading her through to the kitchen with a suggestion of getting Molly a drink.

The inside of the house was beautiful, and Molly found her eyes wondering over the space casually, without even really realising. It was literally sparklingly clean, overly modern, with sharp lines and glinting surfaces. It was open plan, right across the dining room and kitchen, it was a huge space the width of the house and the sunlight was beaming around it. Molly imagined Sunday mornings around the large oval dining table, were pretty dreamy. Nearly as dream as her Sunday mornings at Harry’s small table across from him in only one of his shirts and her underwear from the night before.

“What would you like?” Ellie asked, pulling open the fridge. “Shane made some punch, but, well, I wouldn’t advise,” Ellie smirked over her shoulder back at Molly. “Or we’ve got gin, rum, margaritas, wine, beer, whatever you fancy,” Ellie told Molly, and she could tell she meant it, not like going into someone’s house and feeling awkward and annoying for asking for a simple glass of tap water. The doors were literally open, and Ellie was willing to give her guests whatever they asked for.

“Just a glass of wine will be fine,” Molly smiled with a nod, stepping closer to the breakfast bar and laying her hands on it. Ellie just nodded, and set about fetching a glass and a chilled bottle from the fridge to pour.

“Has Harry given you any kind of heads up about today?” Ellie asked, and Molly shook her head with a wry smile, Ellie simply rolling her eyes. “Sorry to spring it all on you, it’s just family though, my dad, Shane’s parents and his sister but they’re not here yet, then Frankie and Nancy,” Ellie told Molly with a nod. Molly knew Frankie, at least by name, her landlord, Harry’s uncle, only she’d almost entirely forgotten the connection until Ellie said his name, and she felt herself stifen. Ellie didn’t seem to notice, just handed Molly the glass of wine with a smile. As Ellie rounded the corner of the counter, Molly quickly knocked back a mouthful of her wine and hoped the effect would take to her quickly.

Back outside, Molly headed to the empty seat next to Harry that had obviously been saved and left vacant for her. Harry was sat next to the man Molly recognised as her landlord, though was familiar as the other man from the photos in Nancy’s house, the one that didn’t look so much like Harry, but also as her landlord. The sun was belting down, and Harry was sat fully in it, his golden skin soaking in the rays and undoubtedly loving it as he literally glowed. Molly felt it prickle on her own pale skin as she stepped out of the shadow of the house into the sunlight, and she was glad she could still smell the sunscreen she’d lathered on that morning.

“Ok love?” Harry asked as Molly took her seat and a sip of her wine, she nodded, knowing full well her cheeks were blushing. It had been a long time since Harry had called her that, in fact she couldn’t remember the last time he’d used the pet name that seemed to apply to anyone for Harry. “This is my Uncle Frank,” Harry pointed out, and Molly noticed how what was usually a hint of an accent, was stronger, and more consuming of his voice as he flicked his eyes to older man sat next to him.

“We’ve met,” Frank smiled, and somehow it felt settling and familiar, and not just because Molly had followed that man around the place she now called home a few months ago, or because she had his number saved in her phone, or because she’d called that number on more than one occasion about problems with the flat. In the garden though, the barrier that stood up between them as landlord and tenant lowered as Molly became the girl his nephew was introducing to the family. The dynamic was different to what Molly was used to with Frank, but not in a bad way. The conversation continued with Molly included, and Frank asked her the things people asked when they were getting to know someone, they were the sort of questions her parents had asked Ryan the first time Molly had taken him home to meet her family. It was a role Molly hadn’t played in a while, but in a strange sort of way it felt nice, and Harry kept his arm laid over the back of Molly’s chair the whole while, his fingers occasionally brushing over her shoulder, which only made it feel something better and bigger than nice.

Even when Harry got up to fetch Lola from her nap, offering to go and get her as Ellie and Shane fussed over food, the conversation between Molly and Frank didn’t cease. For a few seconds Molly had quietly prayed Harry would be quick, and she wouldn’t be alone for long, but that feeling quickly eased. It seemed there was something about those green eyes they all shared, and the soft smiles, that were nearly identical, that encouraged openness and comfort. Even when Harry appeared back in the back door, a sleepy Lola resting in his arms, Molly only glanced and offered a smile, before turning her attention back to Frank who was talking about the time he’d worked in London, after Molly had told him she was thinking she’d move to London at least for a little while once she’d graduated.

“Lolly!” It was a sweet gurgling voice, a little scratchy from sleep, but Molly turned to it nonetheless, cutting her own line of conversation short at the sound. Lola was clambering down from Harry’s arms eagerly, and smiling widely as she ran across the garden to Molly. Molly chuckled and twisted in her seat to grab Lola and lift her up onto her lap.

“Hello you, how are you?” Molly asked still smiling, and sitting back to look at the little girl, tucking some of her messy from sleep curls behind her tiny ears. “Did you have a good sleep?” Lola nodded happily, small fingers reaching for the silver necklace Molly had clasped around her neck.

“I hope I’m gonna get a cuddle like that in a minute trouble maker,” Frank smiled from beside Molly, reaching out and tickling Lola’s thigh. Lola instantly got shy, burying her face into Molly’s chest and giggling to herself. Molly laughed and held Lola to her until she twisted her head to look across at Frank with a sweet smile. “You being shy for?” Frank hummed. “Got a new friend is it?”

“Lolly my friend,” Lola nodded, as Harry sat down between them.

“Lolly’s my friend,” Harry corrected with a coked eyebrow.

“No!” Lola practically shouted, frowning and lifting her head so quickly she nearly met Molly’s chin on the way up.  

“Hey now, careful little miss you nearly hurt Lolly then,” Harry warned gently. Lola’s eyes cast to Molly with a sorrowful look in her eyes.

“Can she not say Molly?” Frank asked from the other side of Harry.

“No, Harry can’t, and Lola caught on,” Molly jested with a smirk, eyes flicking to Harry as she let Lola off her lap, the little girl squirming to get to the floor.

“I can say it,” Harry started with a slight frown, clearly a little offended, before turning to Frank and explaining what had happened.

The mid afternoon passed in a blur of sunshine, laughter, more alcohol, at least for Molly, though Harry was refraining in favour of being able to drive them home, and excellent BBQ food. Molly’s skin was prickling, and she knew she should probably have put some more sunscreen on her shoulders, and she’d probably regret not doing so later, but she was so caught up in Lola, that it went unnoticed. The little girl was paddling around in the small paddling pool, asking Molly to come with her once she was changed into a bright pink and turquoise all in one swimming suit. Molly couldn’t say no, and so she’d picked up her nearly finished glass of wine and headed to the pool, where she crouched by the side and entertained Lola with the toys that were in it.

“You ok?” Molly didn’t even notice Harry arriving by her side, until he spoke up and dropped to the same level she was at, a can of Coke in his hand.

“Yeah I’m fine,” Molly smiled with a slight nod.

“Uncle Harry you get in,” Lola cried, jumping closer, splashing water all around her, though neither Harry nor Molly minded the few splatters that hit them, just both chuckled as Lola grabbed Harry’s hand and attempted to pull him into the water.

“No, not today angel, next time,” Harry told Lola with a promise, switching their hands so he was holding hers rather than the other way around. “Why don’t you hop out and come play with your cars so we can sit down with the grown ups for a bit yeah?” Harry suggested sweetly, pulling Lola closer to the edge gently. Lola just shook her head though. “Lola,” Harry warned.

“It’s ok,” Molly whispered, but Harry shook his head so Molly just sat back and let Harry deal with the situation.

“Come on out you get,” Harry tried to insist, but Lola just persisted to shake her head.

“Want to play here with Lolly,” Lola whined, trying to pull her hands out of Harry’s and kicking her legs aggressively, beginning to frown furiously.

“Lola, it’s time to get out of the pool, are you going to make me count to three?” Harry let go of Lola’s hands then, his eyebrows lifting up his head as he gave Lola a second to think about his offer. The little girl just pouted more though and folded her arms across her chest, looking away from Harry pointedly. “If I get to three you’re going indoors for a time out,” Harry warned one more time.

“Lola Belle, I hope you’re doing as Uncle Harry says,” Shane’s voice was stern, and Molly took it as he cue to walk away, taking her nearly empty wine glass back to her seat and letting Shane and Harry deal with the stubborn little girl who didn’t want to leave her pool behind. It was slightly out of sight for where everyone was sat, not completely, but enough that it wasn’t advisable for Lola to be left unattended, Molly could understand that, and though she would have happily sat by the inflatable pool for a little longer until Lola got bored, she knew undermining Harry wasn’t the way to play it.

Harry marched past Molly a few seconds later with a crying Lola in his arms, trying to fight her way away from him and back to the floor, though it was having little effect. There was a stern word about how she had to do as she was told, as Harry stepped back into the house and Molly found herself taking the final mouthful of her wine as the conversation around the circle of chairs went quiet. Nancy and Ellie were inside, and through the kitchen window Molly saw even their eyes follow Harry and Lola through the house.

“Terrible twos, more like terrible threes,” Shane sighed from behind Molly before he took a seat with a defeated sigh. Molly chuckled like she had any idea at all about the changes in children’s behaviour through their development, and looked down to her empty glass.

“Do you want a top up?” Shane offered, getting to stand up, but Molly saw how exhausted he looked.

“It’s ok I’ll get it,” Molly told him with a smile getting to her feet and heading for the kitchen. On the few occasions Molly had spent time with Lola, she’d never felt out of her depth, despite her lack of experience with toddling children. But she felt out of her depth as Harry had changed his tone to get Lola out of the pool, and warned her there’d be trouble if she didn’t do as she was told. She didn’t know what she was meant to do or say, and so she’d just walked away and she still didn’t know if that was right either. She could feel herself overthinking it, the whole thing, no one was worried about what she’d done or hadn’t done, apart from her, but she just didn’t want Harry to think she was out of her depth when it came to Lola and taking care of her. There was no real reason for Molly to feel that way, no one had made her feel like she had to prove anything, least of all Harry, yet still she felt it.

“Well it’s not fair on you and Shane, I’ll have a word with him.” It was clear Nancy and Ellie hadn’t heard Molly come in the kitchen as they stood at the sink washing up, and Molly got the distinct feeling it wasn’t a conversation she was meant to overhear, so before anything else could be said she placed her glass on the kitchen side, noisily and pointedly, announcing her presence. The two women turned instantly, and it was all over their faces, the worry she’d overheard what they’d been saying, and the panic on Ellie and Nancy’s features quickly found its way into the pit of Molly’s stomach.  

“Do you want a hand?” Molly offered quickly with a smile, trying to distract from the obvious awkwardness, no one quite sure what to say next. Whether to apologise, whether to explain it away, Molly would rather just skim past it, and ignore the new feeling inside her and look the other way. Again.

“Oh no don’t be daft, you after a drink?” Ellie asked, with a similar smile as she wiped a dish towel over the last of the plates, stacking them on the side to put away.

“I’ve got it,” Molly told her with a shake of her head, moving to the fridge and grabbing the half empty bottle of wine that her and Ellie had been working through. “Did you want a top up?” Molly asked before filling her own glass back up.

“Oh please,” Ellie nodded, a large stack of plates in her arms. Molly filled Ellie’s glass first, before moving onto hers.

“Did Harry go upstairs?” Nancy asked from behind Molly as she opened the fridge to put the wine back.

“I’m not sure, he took Lola for a time out I think,” Molly shrugged, glancing to Nancy for a second. There was something about her face that didn’t help the feeling Molly had inside her. Molly couldn’t put her finger on it, and part of her supposed she was just overthinking again, jumping to conclusions without any real evidence for how she’d got to them.

“What’s she done now?” Ellie groaned.

“Wouldn’t get out of the pool,” Molly explained simply, picking up her glass of wine, and looking at Nancy over the rim of it as she took a small sip.

“She’s really pushing those boundaries at the moment,” Ellie explained with a sigh, closing the cupboards and quickly grabbing her own glass of wine. Molly hadn’t noticed it before, but Ellie seemed exhausted, and not just physically. She seemed drained, like even thinking about Lola’s testing behaviour took it out of her.

“She’ll get over it, don’t worry about it love,” Nancy assured with a knowing promise in her tone, and Ellie nodded, seemingly supposing it was true before Nancy disappeared from the room. Ellie sighed again, and shook her head, looking down at the floor as she clutched her glass of wine.

“Sorry Ellie, where’s your bathroom?” Molly asked quietly, part of her thought maybe she should have asked if there was anything she could do, but Molly knew she couldn’t. She was literally the least qualified person in that house at that time to offer any kind of advice on Lola’s behaviour. To Molly Lola hadn’t even been that naughty, but then she supposed that was because she had no idea what she was talking about, and she didn’t really know Lola, or what she was getting up to between the times Molly had seen her. It was just proof how far out of her comfort zone Molly truly was.

“Oh if you go upstairs, and it’s like left around the stairs and then first door on the left,” Ellie told Molly, and Molly couldn’t ignore the look in Ellie’s eyes then, so Molly sighed, throwing it all to the wind and stepping forward.

“Lola isn’t a naughty child Ellie, she’s just seeing what she can get away with, it’s normal,” Molly assured with a gentle smile, reaching to Ellie’s arm. Of course she didn’t really know it, but Molly still believed it was true. “Don’t worry about it, she’s a gorgeous girl, and you’re a brilliant mum.” That Molly did know, and Ellie nodded just a little with a soft smile.

“Thanks,” Ellie whispered, before Molly backtracked for the bathroom, making her way through the house. As Ellie had said Molly took the stairs up to the first floor. The voices were very obvious, though it was also very obvious they were trying not to be overheard. Even so, Molly recognised Harry’s voice, and she was beginning to know she would recognise it even in the most crowded of rooms, let alone in a silent house. Molly hesitated on the stairs a little, taking them slower, she couldn’t really make out the words, they were muffled, hidden behind one of the solid wooden doors she could now see.

“Not now Nan.” Harry’s voice raised, virtually a shout full of frustration, nearly a growl, and it made Molly jump, throwing her into action. She took the last few steps quickly, pulling the bathroom door shut and locking it before she breathed again. Behind the door Molly closed her eyes, there was something going on, and she couldn’t run from the feeling that it concerned her. She could feel people tiptoeing around her, she just couldn’t put her finger on why and it was making her heart beat faster and her hands shake a little.

Eventually Molly heard the creaking of the stairs, and it was only then that she relaxed and actually used the bathroom. She checked herself in the mirror before leaving, her cheeks were rosy from the sun, and her shoulders had a definite pink glow. She patted both her cheeks and shoulders with a little cold water, trying to cool them, and thinking she’d put some more sunscreen on before going outside. There was a bottle of it in her bag, it was nearly empty but there’d be enough to see her through until the sunset and a breeze came in and she was forced to put her jacket back on.  

“Oh, hi.” Molly jumped a little at the sight of Harry, stood outside the bathroom, leaned against the wall opposite the door, looking down at his feet until the door opened and he looked up to Molly. He didn’t have to say anything at all, it was all over his face, ridden in his eyes. Something was about to crash, and Molly could almost already feel the burn.

“I need to talk to you,” Harry gulped, his lips barely moving at all, his voice low and dark as he stood straight and reached for her.

“Ok,” Molly chuckled breathily, nervously, Harry leading her away from the bathroom towards the room at the end. It was clearly a spare room, there wasn’t anything in it that suggested it was anybody in particulars bedroom. Just a bed and some bedside tables. None of it really mattered though, as Harry closed the door and turned back to Molly, swallowing thickly so that his whole neck seemed to clench and unclench.  “What’s going on?” Molly asked, somehow quieter than she expected.

“I haven’t been completely honest about some stuff,” Harry sighed, and Molly felt her shoulders fall. She didn’t want her gut feeling to be proved right, she wanted it be proved very, very wrong, time and time again.

“Is this what you and your nan were arguing about?” Molly asked narrowing her eyes a little. Molly saw Harry retract into himself a little, emotionally stepping back, clearly not expecting the question, but he nodded nonetheless. If he was being honest, he may as well be honest about everything, it seemed. Molly felt herself stiffen against it, walls going up, the blind side rising. “Look if you’re not ready to tell me whatever it is, it’s fine-”

“No it’s not,” Harry chimed in quickly, his words biting. He stepped closer and shook his head all at once, eyes beaming down at Molly. “You need to stop doing that, you’re too nice and you’re letting me get away with shit you shouldn’t be,” Harry told her, and Molly couldn’t help the confusion, it felt hypocritical and she winced a little, eyebrows dropping, eyes fluttering as she recoiled a touch.

“Who said that?” Molly asked.

“Me,” Harry admitted sharply. There was nothing then, not a nod, or a word, or barely even a breath. Just silence as Molly looked up at Harry and swallowed on nothing in particular apart from the realisation of what was happening, of what she couldn’t control. On the fact she was falling deep into something and someone she didn’t know. “Look Lolly, I need to tell you, it’s not fine that I didn’t tell you in the first place,” Harry told her.

“Ok,” Molly nodded and took a seat on the bed without any suggestion from Harry that she should do so. She looked down at her clasped hands, trying to keep the shake out of them, trying to keep the nausea down and trying to keep her heart from beating right out of her chest. Harry moved closer, but didn’t sit down, not at first at least.

“So,” Harry started, but a long shaky breath took over and stole the rest of his words. Molly glanced up, there were tears lining his eyes making them gloss slightly. Molly couldn’t tell if it was because of what he was about to say, or if that’s how having her in the dark was making him feel. Either way, she felt a crack shatter through her. “The thing is,” Harry tried again after clearing his throat; “You know how I told you about my sister? About how I’d find her if I could?” Molly nodded, still looking up at Harry from where she sat. “I wouldn’t be able to do that, I can’t do that because,” Harry cleared his throat again then and his eyes shot to the ceiling, nostrils flaring, jaw tightening as he tried not to cry. “Ida died,” Harry breathed shakily and Molly’s hand lifted to her mouth without her really meaning to do it.

“Harry,” Molly breathed, looking up at him, her hand still hovering over her lips, muffling her words a little. “I’m so sorry,” She went on, getting to her feet, Harry’s eyes firmly on the floor, focusing on forcing his emotions back rather than Molly’s words. He just shook his head.

“I should have told you,” Harry sniffed, and Molly could tell his attempts not to cry weren’t working. Molly shook her head, but he couldn’t see, he was still looking at the ground, even though Molly could see him blinking back the tears that were making his long thick lashes wet.

“It’s ok, it’s sensitive, I understand why you didn’t,” Molly told him, and that much was true. There was no way Molly ever would, or ever could, hold it against him. It was obvious how much it still hurt him to even think about, let alone say out loud. Molly supposed it was easier just not to tell people, maybe that way he could pretend it wasn’t true, at least around those who didn’t know. Perhaps he liked that she didn’t know, just one little part of his life entirely separate from a part he’d rather didn’t exist. Of course it would never have lasted forever, and Molly was glad he’d told her really, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear, or any easier to watch Harry come to terms with it all over again.

“I shouldn’t have lied like I did though, I had the opportunity to tell you the truth and I didn’t,” Harry mumbled, finally glancing up at Molly, his eyes bloodshot from where he’d been fighting so hard not to let the tears out. But he’d stopped trying, and tears were trickling down his cheeks, making his cheeks shine in the light that came through the windows. They were silent, he didn’t sob, or catch his breath, he just let the tears fall, swiping away at them occasionally.

“I’m not going to hold it against you Harry,” Molly sighed, taking the tiniest of steps closer. Harry shook his head though, somehow avoiding her eyes. And it was suddenly clear there was more, so Molly stopped and waited, patiently.

“Mum blamed me for it, that’s why I got sent down here to be with Nan, she didn’t want me around anymore, she couldn’t stand me,” Harry seethed, but Molly got the feeling it was more at himself than anyone or anything else.

“Why would she blame you?” Molly asked quietly.

“I was meant to be meeting Ida after school,”Harry started, any anger that had started to rise up, fading out then. “I met her everyday after school, but I got caught up, I got into a fight, a stupid- I don’t even remember, when I went to meet Ida she’d already left so I started walking home assuming she’d done the same, and she had,” Harry went on, walking through it all in his mind, not really looking at Molly, more straight through her, straight past her. “On the way back to ours from school you had to go through this alley, I always hated it, there were always rumours that some gang hung out there from time to time and mugged people, beat them up, girls mostly, so I was panicking a bit,” Harry went on, and Molly felt herself tensing up. Even though she couldn’t see exactly where it was going, she knew how it ended, and that was enough. “That’s where I found her, she was barely alive when I got to her, she’d been beaten bloody, her bags were gone, everything was gone, her tights were all ripped, it was…” Harry drifted off then, words trailing out into a shaky breath that hitched in his throat as he caught himself.

“You don’t have to tell me this,” Molly told him quickly, stepping forward once more.

“I do,” Harry told her with a sharp nod, eyes flicking to hers. The tears had all dried up, but there was enough emotion in his eyes that they weren’t necessary for Molly to know all the things he was feeling. All the anger and regret and fury and despair. It was all there, all mixed together in a jumbled mess shining sharply through those bright green eyes. “I want you to know,” He told her, so Molly nodded and waited for him to start again. “When she got to the hospital she’d fallen unconscious and from there it just never got better, she didn’t wake up, she died two days later and it was all my fault cause I was more worried about a stupid fight than walking my sister home,” Harry sobbed then, he broke, in every way Molly thought a person could. He folded in on himself, almost as if he’d cracked, Molly stepped forward then fully, wrapping her arms around him tightly and pulling him close. His head found her shoulder and Molly held it there, her fingers combing into his hair. She bit her lips together, holding it tight as he shook, his arms tangled around her.

“It’s not your fault Harry,” Molly whispered. “It’s just not,” She told him, speaking into his hair, but it only made Harry stand out of her arms. Molly didn’t want to let go of him, but he didn’t give her much choice with how quick and strong he stood again.

“I should have been there,” Harry choked. “If I hadn’t gotten into a stupid fight,” He told Molly, shaking his head.

“You didn’t attack her though Harry, it’s not your fault, that some awful people decided to do that, it’s not, it never will be, for all you know being there would have made no difference, it might just have been bot-”

“Me instead,” Harry interjected. “And a lot of people would have been a lot better of for it,” Harry told Molly, and she knew he believed that. It made her feel sick, it made her want to shake him, and scream at him. How could he not see how important he was, how loved, and needed, and wanted he was?

“That’s not true,” Molly implored. “And I don’t want you to tell me it is, because it’s not, I wouldn’t be better for it, your friends wouldn’t be better for it, your nan wouldn’t be better for it, don’t say it, it’s not true.” Harry said nothing, just began to chew at his cheek. It didn’t take long, in fact barely even ten seconds for the dots to join. “This is why you don’t like people walking alone?” Molly asked, and Harry nodded slowly. Molly closed her eyes, instantly regretting ever arguing with him over it, ever using it against him, every making him feel small for asking to know she was home safe even if they’d just had a blazing row in the street. Harry just chewed his lip, looking at his feet, toying with the ring on the fourth finger of his right hand. Gold with a square red gem placed into it, it was one he always seemed to wear, even when the others didn’t make an appearance and it caught Molly’s eye as he span it around his finger.

“I’m such a shitty person,” Harry sighed shaking his head, “I should have just told you-”

“Harry, no, stop, it’s ok, I-”

“You’re not listening,” Harry snapped, eyes on Molly ring forgotten. “It’s not just that, it’s shit, I’m sorry, fuck, I didn’t mean to shout,” Harry quickly apologised, but Molly shook her head, his tone of voice not even really registering with Molly until he made a point of it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, you deserve better Lolly, I can’t, I’m…” Harry lost this words, and Molly found herself frowning at him.

“What’s going on Harry?” Molly asked, quietly afraid of the answer.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I can explain, if you’ll let me, I’m-” Molly’s phone ringing loudly in her pocket cut them both off, and Molly moved quickly to grab it and silence it, turn the call off. Nothing was as important as whatever Harry had to say. But then she saw the caller ID, and clearly Harry did too. She looked up to him. Louis. “Answer it, you need to answer it, it’s ok,” Harry told her, still a slight shake in his voice and in his hands. Molly nodded, and answered the call.

“Louis?” She asked, but there was no answer. “Louis, is everything ok?” There was a lot of loud background noise, the sound of vehicles moving around, Louis had obviously stepped outside to make the call.

“No, not really,” Louis’ voice was wobbling a little, and Molly held her breath. “Dad went into cardiac arrest…” Molly zoned out, eyes lifting to Harry, frozen, not really hearing what Louis had to say, not really taking any notice of the details, her mind simply whirring, wondering, thinking about her next step, about what she was going to do, trying to promise herself it was going to be ok. “They don’t know if he’s going to make it, you should probably come down, if you, well, y’know,” Molly nodded before she realised Louis couldn’t see her. “Molly?”

“Yeah, I’ll, erm, I’ll get there as soon as possible,” Molly told Louis, and the call virtually ended there, Molly staring at her screen trying to make sense of something.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked, clearly concerned, and unsure.

“Clive, he, they’re saying he might not make it, I’ve got to get…” Molly’s words got lost in her head as she started moving for the door, slowly in a blur, though it felt like everything around her was going a hundred miles an hour as she tried to find something, anything, stable to cling to.

“I’ll take you to the hospital,” Harry told her, pulling Molly out of her head for her to find she hadn’t actually moved an inch.

“No you stay, you should stay,” Molly told him, nodding her head, sure she was speaking sense even though nothing felt sensical.

“Not a chance, I’m coming with you, go and get in the car, I���ll go and say goodbyes,” Harry told Molly, and she found all she could was nod. She took herself off to the car and waited for Harry, wishing her mind would slow down and go over Louis’ words slowly rather than at a mile a minute and out of order so that nothing made sense. Though it made no odds how slowly she took it, it still made no sense.

Once Harry was in the car, neither of them said a word, Harry didn’t ask for an explanation just drove to the hospital as quick as he could, dodging through traffic like it was a video game, and that was a little how it felt. At least it didn’t feel like real life. What she was feeling was completely new to Molly, and she couldn’t make head or tail of it. There were things whirring around her mind and she couldn’t pin any single one of them down for long enough to understand it. It was nauseating and anxiety inducing, not to mention frustrating and soul destroying.

Molly had absolutely no idea how long it took to get to the hospital, it felt like time was as much of a loose concept as it really was, it didn’t matter, it didn’t make any odds. All that mattered was the minute she was in, the ones before and the ones to come felt like abstract concepts that Molly didn’t care for. It just slipped past as easily as Molly slipped out of Harry’s car and ran towards the entrance, quickly finding the reception and breahtlessly asking for directions. All that mattered was getting to Clive, anything else could wait.

Molly was all but running through the bright white corridors of the hospital, she was frantic and she couldn’t really even hear Harry calling behind her, or his heavy footsteps following hers. She was clutching her jacket in her hand. She didn’t know why she’d picked it up when she got out of the car, but she found she was squeezing it tight enough that she could virtually feel her nails in her palm through the denim, as she literally ran through the receptionists directions.

The ward was quiet, eerily quiet, apart from Molly’s arriving footsteps there didn’t seem to be another sound, no sense of urgency. In any other time, any other circumstance the calmness would have eased Molly, but as it was she felt tears beginning to prick her eyes. Looking back, she’d realise that she knew what she was about to find at that moment, but she chose to ignore it, wait for final confirmation even though her heart was already breaking. There wasn’t a soul anywhere, Louis was nowhere, no one she knew was anywhere, and she found herself stopped in the middle of the thoroughfare of the ward looking for a face she knew.

It was then she felt a firm hand on her shoulder, and she turned to it quickly. Harry was there, right behind her, and she could just about make him out through her tear blurred vision.

“Sit down, I’ll find someone,” Harry told her quietly, and Molly nodded. It didn’t feel like she was feeling anything, it just felt like she was going through the motions, and her legs took her to the seats, one of which she took, flopping down into it and staring up at the ceiling, puffing a shaky breath out of her aching lungs. It was all a blur, Molly was aware of nothing around her, all she could hear was the conversation with Louis on repeat in her head, and her eyes were beginning to sting from how intently she was staring at a single bulb in the ceiling. Until she heard her name, and she turned to it, her neck snapping back to normal.

Molly got to her feet quickly at the sight of Louis. If she’d known it before, there was no doubt then, as she took Louis in - red faced and glassy eyed. A sob bubbled her lips and choked out of her as she stared at who was essentially a stranger, though in that moment it didn’t feel that way. Louis just shook his head and Molly swore she saw how much his breath shook as he exhaled, how much he was fighting not to break down for what Molly could tell wouldn’t be the first time. Harry was stood in the middle of them, watching the strange interaction, neither able to speak, both just about able to breathed. Though without really registering, he moved to Molly, just before her knees gave way. She collapsed into him, fully sobbing, fat, wet, salty tears straight into his grey t-shirt. He held her, pulled her back to her feet, and made himself a pillar. Harry didn’t say a word, no one said a word, Molly just sobbed, though silently, into him.

“Molly, come in here.” It was Louis again, and somehow he seemed to be the one holding it together best. His voice was soft and gentle, and so was his hand that took hers once she was out of Harry’s arms, and led her to the room he’d come from. Inside there was a small collection of people, Molly knew instantly who they were. They all looked how Louis had, like the world and fallen down around them, and Molly supposed it had, at least that was the feeling that was settling into Molly, even with Harry right behind, ready to catch her no matter what.

“Molly.” The woman breathed, getting to her feet and striding to Molly. All Molly could remember of her, was her eyes, kind and bright blue, the way Clive had always described them, and she encircled Molly quickly without hesitation. Molly was the outsider in that room, but as had always been the way with Clive, it didn’t feel that way for a second.

Somehow Molly left the hospital, somehow she ended up on Harry’s couch, in a pair of his jogging bottoms and one of his hoodies. Somehow her hair got tied up and her make up got taken off. Somehow she got wrapped in a blanket. But she wasn’t sure how any of it had happened when she woke up in Harry’s living room, her head on his lap, his hand stroking her hair softly, his other gripping her middle tightly, holding her strong and steady.

The whole day felt forgotten, it had all been erased by just over an hour in the walls of the hospital. But when Molly opened her eyes, she remembered standing in that lifeless spare room with Harry, his eyes red raw, and his words tipping over one another.

“What were you going to tell me earlier?” Molly asked groggily, her throat sore and her voice croaky. Harry just stroked her hair a bit more, leaning over her and pressing his lips on her temple.

“It doesn’t matter right now baby, do you want some food?” Harry asked, but Molly shook her head, and curled closer into Harry, numb to mostly everything apart from the warmth of his body and the comfort she found being tangled up around him. It felt like Harry was the only person she could want, the only person she could need, when what she really wanted and needed was long gone. He seeped into the holes and into the cracks and filled it as best he could, not replacing, never replacing, because he was different in every which way, but just stopping anymore of her draining out of the cracks and the holes, before she was as much of a shadow as he was. 

Just gonna go find a rock to hide under

Have a good weekend <3

[alamanyar]

through the keyhole; [teen and up audience] character’s pov: martino ships: martino x niccolò summary: five times martino didn’t say I love you and one time he did chapter summary ⟶ you’re (amazing): domestic boyfriends. basically a future version of 'nel mio letto' maybe a bit more angsty (sorry)

chapter word count: 5.985 read below or on ao3 (thank you, if you do) ♡ I "Hm?" Martino was standing at the side of the bed in nothing but his underwear when Niccolò’s voice pulled him out of his trance. The black-haired boy he was entitled to call his boyfriend. He still couldn't grasp it at times. 

"What did you say? Sorry." He looked over to the desk where Nico was sitting at.

The latter peered over his shoulder and perked his eyebrows up in amusement. “I wanted to know what you're up to.”

"Well", he grabbed his boyfriend's pyjamas from under the pillow at the headboard, "I was thinking of watching some clips Giò sent me."

“Yeah?”, Nico called back, his voice soft, and yet, clothed in a tremble. It was barely audible, but Martino sensed that something was off. He looked over to the desk again just as Nico turned around in the chair. "What kind of videos?" He seemed to have bounced back already, his voice as clear and jovial as ever. Maybe he misheard, Martino thought.

He decided to let it slide- not every change in tone meant something. “Yeah", his voice merely a shadow as he fumbled through the action putting the pyjamas shirt on, "he wants my opinion on his latest skateboarding skills." He laughed then. Those were his best friend's words, and he wouldn't correct them. After he finished putting the pants on, he pressed his hands to his hips and caught Nico's eyes who seemed to be disappointed that he was dressed again- or so he thought. He shot him a reproving look, his lips forming an amusing smile, however. "And you know, since we’ve studied for a good while now by your parent’s request, I think we've earned a break. You said you wanted to draw, didn't you?” He took the blanket from the bed and shook it.

“I can always draw another time, you know?”

“True. But you also said you were inspired earlier.”

Nico’s lips twitched and he rubbed over the skin above his eyebrows. “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I?” Marti lay down on his side of the bed, wrapping the blanket around him like a cocoon.

It was a few days into the New Year and school wouldn't start until next week. They had spent most of the holiday together. On some days, Martino had merely come over to sleep next to Nico since his exhaustion hadn't completely worn off. Not that he minded at all. If there was a way he could help him coping, he'd do it in a heartbeat. He finished wrapping up and caught Nico's smirk when their eyes met.

“You’ll die of hot flush, Marti", he claimed, removing himself from the desk.

“I’m wearing your pyjamas, remember? It’s fine.”

The thing was, Martino often changed into his boyfriend's pyjamas and he always wrapped himself into a cocoon blanket when he was over, loving his scent, wanting to drown in this earthy, slightly made of cedar wood, dream-like smell that surrounded him with warmth he wouldn't want to miss.

Nico was giving him a side glance as he got rid of his own trousers, and seconds later, he was crawling onto the bed.

“You know, you could just wear your underwear underneath all of this.” He waved his hand over Martino’s posture.

“Your dad is home. So, no.”

“Ah, you’re boring like that, I almost forgot.” Nico chuckled and Marti would have been offended, if his boyfriend wasn’t all adorable laughing into himself.

“You wanted to draw, remember?” He tried to sound annoyed, but he was pretty sure Nico could see right through him. "That's why you got rid of your trousers", he emphasized just for the sake of it.

“Always so bossy.” He shook his head and crawled closer. “Have fun with your videos.” He gave him a quick kiss and was about to move away again, but Marti raised his head so that he could nudge his nose.

“Have fun drawing.”

He gently rubbed his nose against Nico's before he kissed it. Ever since the morning after that eventful night on the school's terrace, it had become their thing. Martino remembered how relieved he had felt. What he had hoped in his heart all along finally became certainty. Nico's feelings were genuine; they always had been. He was positive he'd never forget this moment of liberation that had rushed over him that night. It had carved its way into his skin- as a token, and as an abiding memory. And perhaps Nico's emotions weren't as heightened compared to his owns then, but when he had woken up the morning after their reconciliation, Martino knew that all the suffering had been - and would be - worth it. Such a stupid saying actually, at least, that's what he had always thought, but Nico, despite everything, smiling his sunshine smile that day, made him realize that it was true after all. It basically came down to love having the power to conquer every burden. Both in theoretical and practical terms. He got that now. 

So, naturally, he'd never get sick of kissing Nico on the nose since it always put him in a good mood. But he loved getting those kisses, too, and yet, before this thing of theirs could turn into something more, Marti drew Nico close by the collar of his jumper, gave him a peck, just so he could push him away, ever so gently, but not without smirking.

Nico heaved a sigh, but his eyes were shining and the corner of his mouth curved into a delicate smile. And so Marti let Nico collect some drawing materials which he spread out on the side of his bed. He tried not to look at his boyfriend’s bare legs which he had seen more than once, of course, but he still got all flustered when he saw them or any part of Nico’s body, that was. He still wasn't there believing that they were together for real now, even though he’s never felt this comfortable in his life. Naked skin and all.

He plugged the earphones in and clicked play on the first video while Nico started sketching beside him, legs crossed and sleeves pulled up, as per usual. His boyfriend got up from time to time, collecting all kinds of drawing utensils from his shelf. Every time he fetched something, Martino couldn't help but follow his every action. Sometimes it was something of daily use, like a rubber, a pair of scissors or another pencil, and sometimes he came back with a picture book he’d search for inspiration or pages he could use for collages. In the end, he used the sketchbook as drawing pad. Martino suggested that he'd better work on his desk, giving the fact that Nico had hoarded quite some materials which were now lying all over the side of his bed. He also didn't want his boyfriend to suffer from aching muscles tomorrow, but Nico wouldn't have any of that. Instead he came back with his next conquest. It was a kitchen tool Martino had absolutely no clue what use it held, but his boyfriend sketched it with great intensity and concentration.

It did something to his heart. He was positive he felt it flutter while he observed Nico’s aura in these moments. Brow furrowed with wrinkles, tongue sticking out merely a tiny bit, and hands guiding various pencils over the sheets of paper, emptying and filling his mind in equal measure− Martino was sure of it.

There was no doubt that he was far gone for the boy next to him, and in this very moment, he felt the devotion jumping out of his chest. He was aware, because for one, the corner of his mouth started to hurt from grinning, and two, his cheeks were heating up as well as his upper body.

Nico’s mouth moved then, pulling him out of his trance, yet again.

“What? I didn’t hear you?” He paused the video, grinning, probably looking like an idiot.

“I said stop looking at me.” Nico gave him a quick look of disapproval. “You’re distracting me.”

“Sorry, continue.” He pressed play again and chuckled into himself.

He’d be a liar, if he didn’t like the fact that he could hold such power over his boyfriend. Usually it was him who uttered those lines, so yes, this was a nice change for once. He kept glancing at the boy who was sketching in a medley of tranquillity and occasional outburst of passion. With vigorous movement, Nico guided the pencil over his artwork, or as it seemed, into his artwork, becoming one with it, so to speak. And every time Martino saw his boyfriend perform such an act out of the corner of his eyes, he smiled to himself, feeling the adoration he held for him in every fibre of his body. Giò had been right to call him a goner. 

After he had finished sketching the ominous kitchen tool, Nico gathered paintbrushes and colours around him. Martino was about to ask him why the hell he’d wanted to paint his sheets, but before he could say anything, the brush in Nico's hand landed on his face. Of course it did. His boyfriend knew he was ticklish and he fully took advantage of it. What a shithead. It didn’t take long though and the utensil was forgotten, and they were making out, exploring each other’s faces thoroughly, getting rid of the blanket Marti was still wrapped in while trying to stay on his side of the bed.

"I could paint you, you know", Nico breathed into his ear.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're beautiful, Marti."

"Shut up."

Maybe he would let him. One day.

Nico was lying on top of him now, working on his neck, holding his face in place firmly. His grip made him feel as if he was something special. Someone special. Martino sighed.

He moved his head then so that he could capture Nico's lips into a kiss. He seemed to know what Marti wanted and started kissing him slowly, carefully even, while stroking his cheek with his thumb.

Perhaps those kisses were Martino’s favourite ones. When their tongues danced around each other, almost lazily, accompanied by his tingling skin and butterflies bustling about inside his stomach. When their hands roamed over each other, when Nico searched for his skin underneath the clothes, when he grabbed the hair at the back of his head, and when he bit down on his lower lip. The black-haired boy sent him to places he didn’t dare dream of, all in the span of seconds.

However, Marti had discovered quite recently that his boyfriend kind of responded every time he kissed the skin above his eyebrows. Oh, sweet revenge. When he rolled them over, that's when he had him. Under him, pressed into the pillow, defenceless. He took his time to tease him - first with feather-like kisses, and then, nuzzling his nose over the skin deliberately, tracing an invisible line – and watched how Nico shivered when he blew air over the sensitive spot. That was one of Martino’s favourite facial expressions on him. Eyes closed and lips formed into a content smile. If he were an artist like Nico; he'd paint him precisely like that. And so he forgot that he actually wanted to keep teasing him. He just melted into Nico's body effortlessly then, putting his hands under his shoulder blades, squeezing him and hugging him tight to his chest. Not wanting to let go. Why would he? This, sharing an embrace with Nico, was his safe haven. He's never really felt like he belonged before, not anywhere in this world, nor let alone to anyone.  

Elia would have called him a lucky bastard. 

They stayed like this for a while until Marti untangled himself abruptly, Nico protesting vehemently in the process, trying to tug him back to his chest, but Martino was quicker. He kissed the skin right above his elbow and pushed him back to his side before he wrapped himself into a cocoon again.

Nico rolled into some of his materials and they both laughed at that, Martino a bit more maliciously which Nico responded with flipping him off.

He was still grinning when his boyfriend put his trousers back on and continued working on his desk. He already missed him and the diverse sheets of paper beside him, but he was glad nevertheless. Just recently, Nico had told him that his creativity wasn't something that he could summon whenever he wanted. No, it attacked him sporadically. And when that happened, he had to get it out of his system before he imploded. That wasn't something he wanted for him, of course. Just the thought of the possibility made his heart heavy.

When he watched him sitting on his desk, he knew that it had been high time for Nico to get creative. His arm guided the brush over the paper- sometimes his whole upper body moved in union with it. Like a dance he had to carry out. Maybe, he thought, that dance was a battle all the same. Martino barely registered what happened on his phone anymore. He was utterly entranced until the shadow of Nico's voice burst his bubble of thoughts. For the umpteenth time today, he paused the video and removed one of the earbuds.

"Hm?"

"You're distracting me again."

"I'm not doing anything?" He claimed, his voice throaty, knowing exactly what Nico was hinting at.

"If I turn around now, I know I'll see you smiling."

"Is that so bad?"

"No, not at all."

"I'm sorry for distracting you." He really was.

Nico put the brush aside. "Let's have some coffee. I'm getting tired anyway." He turned around. "See. You're smiling."

Indeed, he was. Strangely enough, Nico's comment made him smile even brighter. "Let me help you." He was about to get rid of the blanket when Nico interrupted him with a dapper wave of the hand.

"No, no, I'm on it. You stay here. I'll be right back."

Marti protested, but Nico was already at the door. "Before you've put on your clothes, I'll be back already anyway." He scrunched his nose and slipped out of the room.

It was more or less a lie. It took him quite a while to get back. In the meantime, Martino made himself comfortable again and closed his eyes. His mind wandered to different places at the same time, and yet, he felt himself wrapped into an even warmth. Perhaps the afternoon sunbeams interloping into the room through the window were a reason for that, but Marti always felt comfortable in Nico's world. Whether it was here or at his place or whenever they were together. Hell, just thinking about Nico and how loved he made him feel never failed to amaze him. He always came back to thinking how it enveloped him, just as the rays of sunshine which were enveloping this very room with a calmness, so gentle and yet palpable.

Martino's favourite colour might be blue, but right now he was gleaming in all sorts of yellow nuances. Luchì would have said it showed.

And then, just before he dozed off, Nico slipped back into the room, his voice nonchalantly ringing in his ears, almost sing-song like. "Sorry, had a chat with my dad."

"No worries." Marti got up into an upright posture and tucked the pillow between his back and the headboard. "What were you chatting about?"

"Ah, you know, this and that." Nico positioned a trayful of biscuits and two cups of coffee on the middle of the bed. "He told me about his new project, you know."

"Which is?" Martino poured sugar into his cup and started stirring the beverage. For a fleeting moment he closed his eyes just to soak up the familiar scent. Not long ago he would have said it was his favourite smell in the world.

"Some building north the city." Nico was sitting cross-legged on his side of the bed now and took a sip of his coffee, glancing at him over the rim of the cup.

Unlike his boyfriend, he finished his coffee in one go. "You sound disinterested?"

"Naw, I just, you know, sometimes he talks for ages."

Martino chuckled, knowing exactly what Nico meant. His father's floods of words were quite endearing actually, but he wasn't walking in Nico's shoes on a daily basis. There were a few things he'd never fully grasp. He'd never know how much pain Nico actually went through, he could only ever imagine. And just before his thoughts could wander to darker places, he heard a clinking noise of porcelain hitting metal. When he looked up, a pair of curious eyes stared back at him. Martino knew that look well. Before he was able to form a coherent reasoning, a biscuit was stuck between his teeth.

“Stop that”, he giggled, while taking a bite off the sweet, leaving crumbs on the sheet.

“What? You don’t like them?”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“Why would I do that?”, Nico answered and leaned in to give him a peck on the lips.

“Your eyes don’t lie.”

“Ah no?”

“No.”

“Well, what can I say, amore, you make me feel things.” His boyfriend gave him one of his best lopsided grins. One of those that made him weak in the knees.

“Is that so?”, he raised his eyebrows, trying to ignore the butterflies in his belly.

“Oh, you haven’t noticed?” Nico took a bite of the biscuit in Marti's hand and then he gave him another peck on the lips, leaving crumbs there.

Marti laughed and wiped over his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. No, I really haven’t.”

They held their gaze for a moment. Martino was absolutely certain that he must’ve looked like a dumbstruck idiot. But it was alright. Actually, he had stopped caring about that a while ago. He knew he was one of those people who blushed easily, but Nico always looked at him with what he'd call a mix of endearment and boldness when that happened. And that made it even more okay.

Filippo would have called them sickeningly adorable.

“Will you show me your latest sketches?”, he broke the silence, being in desperate need for a distraction, but he was also curious about Nico's art, and seeing him so very caught up in it today, had gotten him even more curious.

“Huh? You’ve seen them. They’ve basically been in front of you the whole afternoon.”

He glanced at the drawings lying on the desk. He saw the early stages and knew Nico had worked on outlining miniatures of fairies once again. They were little superheroes in his eyes; sitting on one’s shoulder, always watching out for the ones in need, so he had told him. He had sketched some with a pen, and then later − after he had stopped using the brush to tickle Marti − he’d coloured the fairies in shades of green and yellow as well as the star dust around them. Nico had held up various sketches asking him which one he liked best. Martino was bad at deciding and he liked them all anyway. He always did.

“No, I meant the ones you’re working on when I’m not here.”

Nico’s eyes stopped track in time for a second. It was as if he was contemplating of what to say or give away. “Uh, I told you I’ll show you when they’re finished.” He scrunched his eyebrows. “Be patient, amore.”

“But most of the sketches from today aren’t finished either. And you’re not hiding them.”

“Listen, I don’t hide the others−“

“Yes, you are.”

He stuffed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and looked at Nico who was eyeing him suspiciously.

“Are you taking the piss out of me?”

Martino snorted with laughter.

“You shithead!”

“Hey now, you fool with me plenty of times! It’s only fair.”

Nico’s eyes held a shine in them, twinkling almost. Martino noticed a ghost of a smile on his lips as well and started grinning when he looked back into his eyes. They told him how comfortable his boyfriend was. How happy he was that they were together and that there wasn’t anything between them that wasn’t right. That he could fool with him right in this very moment, in Nico’s room, surrounded by light yellow curtains and wooden furniture, where it was only them. Eva would have said they were a match made in heaven.

The outside world was okay, too, being with their friends and loved ones that was, but nothing came close to their moments alone. It was as if they lived in a safe house. Wrapped up in a shared blanket, waiting for sleep to take them. Even if it was merely imaginary.

“Hey, you have something there.” Marti pointed at Nico’s mouth then.

“Hm? Where?” He jiggled his head.

“Right there.” He propped his elbows up on his thighs - his boyfriend clearly waiting for him to close the distance - and slowly made his way up to kiss the left corner of his upper lip.

Nico’s lip twitched for a second. And then he traced the spot with his thumb.

“Biscotti flavoured kiss?”

“Biscotti flavoured kiss.”

He had the biggest grin on his face, and when he felt Nico's lips touching his own, he felt him smile into the kiss, too. He could say something, he thought.

“Hm-hm and a little bit of coffee, too.” Those weren't the words lingering on his mind, but—

Nico laughed. His shoulder trembled a bit and Marti melted into him. Again. His boyfriend’s laugh always did this thing to him when his cheek would just burn instantly. Not quite like fire, but with a certain warmth that was electrifying and calming at the same time.

The kiss turned deeper. Not like earlier. There was more hunger now. Tongues started grazing each other and fingers tugged at sleeves and elbows after they had gotten rid off the blanket again, this time more clumsily.

Martino took control whilst setting a slow, yet steady pace. It hadn't happened often yet, him, taking the reins. There still existed a certain shyness under all his eagerness to devote himself completely to their sexual intimacy. Nico had told him not to hold back, and it wasn't that he did it on purpose, but at times he was unsure if he was doing it right; whatever that meant. Maybe he was thinking too much about it. However, there was no way he’d get sick of Nico’s laugh. He always wanted to hear it. He wished he could kiss it away to put it in a jar that he could open whenever his boyfriend wasn’t with him. It made him all mushy and more in awe of him than he thought was possible. Yet here he was.

He rolled them around and slotted a thigh between Nico's thighs. While he stifled a laugh when they hit the tray, Nico cursed. Somehow they managed to shove it away with their hands and feet while their lips stayed glued together. He listened to Nico slightly starting to moan. It was more like puffing out air more rapidly each time their tongues parted, but it made him even more eager to kiss him absolutely senseless. Right here in this very room where he learned so much about him on one Friday afternoon. October felt like a lifetime ago.

Someway in between his attempt to make the object of his desire melt into the sheets, Nico managed to get a hand of his helix piercing with his thumb. It was enough to make him jolt. His boyfriend laughed into their kiss, his curls tickling his cheek, reinforcing the already existing tingling sensation going through his body.

“Ni, I swear...ughh.”

“Mh-mh yeah?” Nico kept grazing the metal with his thumb, slightly tugging at it.

“Ni, stop it, I swear”, he huffed in between smooches, digging his fingers into every spot of Nico's skin he managed to grasp.

“What?”

“Not now, your dad...”

“Who gives a fuck.” He felt Nico’s lips on his neck.

“I do”, he panted, feeling a throbbing heat to begin in his stomach.

“Of course, you do”, he sounded annoyed, yet his lips had arrived at his earlobe, biting down gently.

“Ah, I really don’t−“

“What?”, he asked more slyly and twirled his tongue around the piercing.

Marti's leg kicked the bed rest. He was at that point where he had lost control of his body, muscles doing whatever the fuck they wanted. He loved and hated it at the same time; especially in this very moment.

“Oh God, I swear, Ni...”

Nico ignored his plea. He really was insufferable. It wasn’t that he hated his boyfriend’s caresses on this particular body part of him, no, in fact, he loved them. It was just that he couldn’t bare Nico’s dad to interrupt them. Just the thought of that made him nauseous. How would he be able to look an older version of Nico in the eyes? They both shared the same pair of black curls and their eyes held the same shine in them. Martino was absolutely certain he'd melt in shame on the spot.

He managed to take a hold of his jumper's collar. “Ni, I swear... please...”

Nico's breath was hot and heavy on his skin, making his toes curl. “Marti... you drive me insane. It really isn’t my fault.” Another twirl around the metal followed by his leg kicking the bed rest again.

And then, a knock. Martino froze in a jiffy.

“Yeah?”, Nico called out, irritated.

“You boys alright?", a muffled voice called back.

Don’t open the door, don’t open the door, please don't open the door!

Marti buried his face in the crook of Nico's neck. It was bound to happen one day, he knew it. Perhaps he could disappear into the shielding niche of skin until the coast was clear again.

“Yeah, sure, pa", Nico called back while caressing his jaw with his thumb. Martino wished he'd stopped doing that, having trouble cooling down as hard as it already was.

“Thought I heard a dull noise, or well, something similar.”

“No yeah, Marti just stumbled against the bed...”

“Ah− you good, boy?”

He raised his head at the question, shooting a piercing look at Nico who was clearly entertained by his discomfort. “Every-everything’s fine”, Marti tried to answer with containment, but he felt his voice trembling. Nico snorted with laughter whereupon he nudged his shoulder.

“Oi!”, he cried out in fake pain.

“Niccolò?”

Martino thought he saw Nico’s dad trying to push down the handle of the French door.

No, no, no- don’t open the door! Don’t come inside!

He pointed to the door while trying to stare holes into Nico's eyes who was still terribly amused. What a shithead, Martino contemplated, trying not to grin at his own thought.

“Everything’s good, pa. Marti is just a bully, as usual.”

He nudged him in the shoulder again.

“We’re fine. Everything’s fine, don’t worry.” Nico said more earnestly now, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Okay.” A pause. “Listen, are you staying for dinner tonight, Martino?”

He turned his head towards the door, trying to regain his composure. “Um, well, actually I... I have a... dinner date with my mother tonight, so no.”

“Ah, what a shame− okay, you, uh, you boys continue. I see you later.” He listened to footsteps disappearing and heaved a sigh of relief.

Nico had started chuckling at one point and if he weren’t the lovesick puppy he had turned into, he’d truly be offended. However, it was really hard for him not to start laughing himself, so, with one final kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, he pushed himself off of him.

“I really hate you, you know”, he claimed, somehow grinning.

“Ah, you should have seen your face, amore, I swear I saw your cheeks turn burgundy in one second.”

“Funny.”

“That’s why you’re so incredibly fond of me.”

There it was again. That smug look of him, tongue sticking out for a millisecond behind his teeth, his eyes full of mischief.

“No, you got it all wrong, I really loathe you.”

“Oh really?”

“100%.”

“Okay. Then if you truly loathe me, you won’t mind that I won’t show you the sketches I am working on when you’re not here.”

“What?”

“You think I’m joking?”

“If you think you can blackmail me in any way...”

“I can’t?” Another challenge.

“Okay, fine”, he spit back angrily, almost on a level where he knew it was hard to tell he was joking.

It seemed to work, for Nico didn’t say anything. He felt his gaze, but he didn’t dare look. Two can play the game, he thought.

“Maaaarrrrtiiiii...” Nico stretched out his name, rolling the r’s endlessly it seemed.

He pretended he didn’t hear him and started looking for his phone which he remembered was lying somewhere underneath the sheets. When he had found it, he grabbed it, a sigh escaping his lips. It was really hard not to smirk, so he turned his head looking away.

“Really?”, Nico burst out, his voice an octave higher than usual.

He put the earbuds back in and was just about to get back to Giovanni’s videos, when he felt Nico grab his upper arm.

His finger hovered over the play button. “Yes?”

“Turn around.” Nico’s thumb dug into his flesh. “Look at me.”

He complied, putting the earbuds in his lap. Nico’s eyes were fixated on his and he blinked a couple of times so that he could hold his gaze.

“You didn’t mean that, did you?”

He was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Um, that you loathe me?” His eyes fluttered and there was a crushing nervousness in his voice Martino absolutely hated hearing.

“WHAT? Why would I mean that? Are you stupid?” He searched Nico's eyes. He seemed to be dead serious and he felt like an idiot.

“Ni, I swear, I was joking. I’m... I’m sorry if it came off−“

He didn’t get to say more. Nico pulled him up by the collar of his pyjamas shirt and kissed him on the lips. Hard and frantic. Hitting his teeth in the process.

“Ouch”, he chuckled into his mouth.

“I love you, Marti. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey now... hey.” He took his head into his hands and pressed his forehead to Nico’s whose hands had fallen on his shoulder, gripping the shirt there.

I love you, too. It’s okay.

“I overwhelm you, I always do that.”

“Please cut the always, will you.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“No. I promise you, you don’t. Sometimes I am overwhelmed that this is real. Sometimes I can’t believe it, you know, that we’re together?”

“No?”

“You’re amazing.” He took one of Nico’s hands and gave it a little squeeze while he kept their foreheads connected. “You amaze me every single day.” He half-whispered the last sentence and tried to lift his chin up, but Nico was shaking his head no. No eye contact for now, okay, Marti knew that much. And so he snuggled his nose against his neck, kissing the spot of skin with caution right afterwards. He repeated the action until Nico spoke, his voice in a mist of shame.

“I’m sorry I’m impulsive.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m sorry I’m so needy.”

“I’m not, really.”

“I love you.”

He started to tremble at his words. He was about to open his mouth, to say them back, because only a fool would believe him if he claimed he didn't love the boy who was clinging to him. Martino was chanting the words in his mind anyway. Ever since New Year's Eve – if not before that − when Nico had first said them, casually, as if they had slipped from his lips unintentionally. But Marti knew Nico had been sincere, just as he was in this very moment.

Now, if he could only say them back.

His heart exploded, because he felt so incredibly blessed and cherished and loved and there wasn’t anything to fear, and yet, he feared to say them. Those three little words. It was the most absurd thing he’d ever experienced. Here he was, holding his boyfriend, embracing him like the treasure he was, and yet, he couldn’t say them back. He truly was a walking contradiction. Nico moved him in every way a person could be moved. He should say something, he knew that. In fact, he should have said something a while ago. He could tell him right now that he loved him. It was neither a lie, nor a bad time. It could even soothe Nico's tension, if he thought about it. Still, shouldn't he say something so significant with nothing but joy between them? He felt a knot forming its way up his lungs, and so he buried the mental image and pulled his boyfriend to his chest. As if on cue, Nico started breathing erratically. He, too, didn't seem to get enough air to fill his lungs. Martino cursed himself, this was clearly his fault. Open your damn mouth. "It's okay, Ni, it's okay. I'm here." "I'm sorry, Marti." "Shh, shh, everything's alright. It's not your fault." Don't be sad, please don't be sad. It's okay. He losened their embrace and started to draw soothing circles on his Nico’s back and planted kisses - as tender as he could - on his hair where it met his earlobe. It took a while until he felt him relax, his head on his shoulder as if he had just ran a marathon and needed someone to support some of his weight. “A nap? Before you have to go?” Nico whispered into the crook of his neck, his breath tickling and making his flesh crawl at the same time.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

They settled down in the middle of the bed. Nico was already captured in a sleepy trance, but he still held enough force to pull him down to his upper body, enveloping his arm around his back. Martino partly nestled down on his chest and partly on his shoulder, belly down, and face towards Nico’s middle.

I love you.

Nico's lips brushed his forehead. He shivered at that and moved his hand over the jumper until he felt his heart beating.

I’m sorry.

Some time later Nico found his hand and Marti entwined their fingers. He moved his thumb over his knuckles, trying to soothe him, or maybe he was trying to soothe himself. It didn’t take long and he felt his boyfriend puffing air into his hair.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six...

It calmed him down listening to Nico breathing, and feeling him under him steadied him. Grounded him, yes.

He was so damn lucky, he thought, shedding a tear at the very thought, feeling relieved that Nico wouldn’t have to worry about that as well. God, Martino hoped he knew how much he wanted to be with him at any giving time. The shame he felt over not being able to tell Nico how much he meant to him made him feel small. What a fool he was.

At one point, Martino started repeating his affection towards him like a mantra. In his mind, but he could have sworn that he heard himself whisper his confession into the silence of the black-haired treasure's room he was holding on to.

I love you so very much.

The approaching evening light was creeping into the room now, absorbing the yellow aura which was one of the many things about these four walls he loved.

He reminded himself that, however dark this room might get, the warmest colour was lying in his arms, and that he needed to be brave to make it stay that way. He justthis ineeded to be brave. I do, I truly do. ☆．。．:*･° 

When you move I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be When you move I could never define all that you are to me So move me, baby Hozier - Movement

[sprnklersplashes]

A New Hope (2/?)

AO3

Hope wakes up a little before her alarm went off, her body apparently still stuck on school mode. She switches the alarm to off before it can go off and buries herself back under her blankets, only half awake, living in her dreamworld of beaches and bike rides until she wakes properly, just a little after eight. It seems the long lie ins will take a while to come around properly. She settle for lying awake in bed with the covers around, running through imaginary conversations with Melody. She tries to divert her mind away from Melody and towards her hypothetical LA trip or any fun she could have this summer and it’s partially successful. Partially.

She finally starts getting restless, the covers begin to feel constricting, so she kicks them off and jumps out of the bed. She pulls on a white t-shirt and dungarees, not fashionable, but practical. She’s never been bothered about what “looks good”, especially in days like today when her only plans involve sitting inside and watching TV, maybe with the occasional venture out into the garden. Alex claims she has a similar approach, calling her wardrobe style “whatever I find first” but she still manages to look effortlessly gorgeous, albeit in a messy way. And then there’s Melody, who always takes pride in her looks, carefully matching every shirt with the right skirt and getting every detail right, even down to the ribbon she’ll decorate her hair with that day.

It's equal parts infuriating and adorable.

She pulls the sheet off her canvas, revealing her current project. Until a year ago, her drawings had mostly consisted of copying scenes from books and movies, her family’s story mostly, as well as her favourites. Her art box contained drawings of Harry Potter on the moving staircases of Hogwarts, Carrie White covered in blood at the prom (Henry’s idea to watch it, not hers), Spiderman on a New York skyscraper and Winnie the Pooh (one of her earliest projects). As she got older, she branched out a little, starting on quick sketches of her friends and family and onto landscapes, which she considered to be her favourites, and figures from her own imagination.

Right now, she’s working on a painting of a black haired, blue eyed fairy with a pink dress. So far it was so good, even if she had only really done half of it. She picks up her brush and starts experimenting with different shades of pink, mixing it with red and white and purple until she is satisfied with the colour for Isabella’s dress.

Okay, so she names her characters too. Nothing weird about that.

She starts on the outline, making the sleeves and hem of the dress a little darker, before painting the main body a lighter shade of pink, taking care, brushing gentle, careful lines down the canvas. Gideon has his books, Henry has his writing… Hope has art to get lost in. While in New York last summer, her parents had taken her to an art gallery, where she happily fell in love with picture after picture.

She steps back, admiring her work. While she doesn’t want to toot her own horn, so to speak, she would say it’s pretty good. She doesn’t pull the sheet over it, cautious of the wet paint, and packs away her paints and brushes before pulling open her curtains. Outside her window, the sky is light blue, streaked with faint clouds. The rest of Storybrooke is oddly quiet. At this hour, she surely would see people going about their day, but even Granny doesn’t have her sign out and the streets are deserted.

She goes downstairs, taking them two at a time, passing her parent’s closed bedroom door, and enters the kitchen to find Gideon sitting cross-legged on the table, already dressed in a white check shirt over a blue t-shirt and jeans, hunched over another book. He regards her with a nod, but his eyes don’t leave the page.

“Morning to you too, Gideon,” she greets, pulling herself onto the counter to reach the cereal. She busies herself with making a bowl while Henry comes in, still in his pyjamas, his hair messed from sleep.

“Coffee,” is the first word he says to either of them. He walks to the cupboard like he’s on autopilot and takes out the coffee grounds. Gideon, miraculously, puts his book down and uses his fingers to frame Henry like he’s on a TV screen.

“And here we see the adult in his natural habitat,” he says, voice low and husky like a nature documentary. “In the morning, the adult can only function on minimum energy, and so misses key functions such as manners, good graces, and the ability to brush one’s hair.” Hope squeals with giggles while Henry raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“You really want to go with me while I have hot liquid?”

“No, I’m good, I’ll go back to my book,” he says. Hope sits herself on the counter with her cereal, feet tapping against the drawers. From her spot, she has a view of the living room window, and can make out the yellow curve of her mum’s car, which sets off a little bell in the back of her head, which doubles when she looks at the clock and realises it’s nearly 10.

“Hasn’t Mom gone to work yet?” she asks. Henry frowns and looks down the hall. Hope just notices the red and black leather jackets still hanging on the coatrack, as well as Belle’s pale pink coat. A shiver runs down her spine.

“That’s weird,” Gideon remarks. “Maybe they forgot to set their alarms?”

“Have you met my father?” Hope replies. “He never forgets to set anything.” Henry nods. Hope begins to run her thumb and index finger around each other, trying to dispel all her nervous energy.

“Hey,” Henry begins, coming over to her and taking her fidgeting hand. “They just slept in, Hope. It happens. Maybe something knocked out their alarms or something. Nothing suspicious, okay?” Hope nods, still not entirely convinced, and Henry squeezes her cheeks before turning to go upstairs. Gideon watches her from the table, reading her like he reads his books.

“Come on,” he says, jumping down from the table and reaching his hand out to her. She frowns at him. “You’re clearly itching to get up there, so come on.” Hope slides her hand into his and jumps off the table.

“Thanks,” she whispers as she grips his hand tighter.

“Any time, Cygnet,” he says while they go up the stairs together. They find Henry paused at Emma and Killian’s bedroom door, his hand just above the wood, his fingers dancing anxiously.

“Nervous?” Hope asks, making him jump. She doesn’t let go of Gideon’s hand.

“Course not,” he says, faking a smile. Hope nods and swallows the lump in her throat. “Let’s do this.” He turns the door handle and pushes it, letting it slowly creak open. The room is dark, save for the light of the lamp on the right side of the bed. Henry pauses at the doorway before he takes small steps in. Hope and Gideon follow, creeping in like little mice. Emma and Killian are still asleep, both facing right, Emma’s arm around his waist and her cheek on his shoulder. There’s something about seeing your parents look so intimate with each other, sharing the quiet moments, wrapped up in their own love. It looks like a piece of art, too beautiful to disturb.

Henry inches closer to the bed while Gideon and Hope remain in the doorway, their legs nearly frozen.

“Mom,” he whispers, shaking her shoulder. “Mom?” His voice grows louder slightly, beginning to panic when doesn’t even stir. “Mom? Mom!” He reaches across Emma and desperately shakes Killian’s shoulder as well, calling his name. Neither of them even move.

“Oh no,” Hope whispers, her chest growing tight. She squeezes Gideon’s hand; her nails dig into the flesh and her body turns cold. “Oh no, oh no.” She looks to Gideon, his eyes wide and his shoulders shaking. “Hey.” She drops his hand, despite it being the only thing that’s keeping her from screaming. “Go check on your mom.” He looks from Henry still shaking Emma and Killian to Belle’s bedroom door behind them.

“Thanks,” he mutters before throwing himself down the hall and into Belle’s room.

Meanwhile, Henry runs his hands through his already-messy hair, his breathing grows ragged. Hope’s never seen him scared.

She comes over to the bed. Up close she can see that her mother’s mouth is open slightly and her hair is in a loose ponytail and that her father’s hair is messy and he’s not wearing a shirt.

She watches Henry place two fingers on Emma’s neck, then Killian’s, and he breathes a quiet sigh of relief.

“They have a pulse,” he mutters, more to himself than her. “They’re alive, they’re breathing.” Hope nods, a whimper escapes her mouth. Henry looks over at her and something new comes over him. He kneels down to Hope’s level and holds her shoulders.

“Hey,” he whispers, trying to smile. “It’ll be okay. We’ll find a way to wake them up.” An idea flickers in the back of Hope’s mind.

“Try True Love’s Kiss,” she suggests. Henry nods, seeming to silently kick himself for not thinking of that. He kneels beside Emma and pushes the hair off her forehead. He takes one look back at Hope before pressing his lips to her head.

Nothing happens.

She can’t help gasping as another wave of tears hits her.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, coming and kneeling in front of her now. “Look, kid, none of our parent’s adventures were this easy. We’ve only exhausted option one out of an infinite number of possibilities, okay?” Hope nods, her eyes burning, just as an out of breath Gideon appears in the doorway, his lashes spiky.

“I can’t wake mum,” he says. “I tried, I turned on the light, I shook her, but she-”

“Hey, hey,” Henry says, taking him by the hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

“How?” Gideon asks as tears run down his red face. Henry sighs and takes a panicked look back at the comatose Emma and Killian before sitting Hope and Gideon on the edge of the bed.

“Look, back in the day, our parents dealt with stuff like this all the time,” he reminds them. “It always looked hopeless at the start, but they got through it. They got me off Neverland, they stopped Zelena from changing the past, heck, Mom saved Killian from Hades! Okay? Our family is unstoppable. And so are we.” There’s something in the way Henry says it, the conviction, the fire in his eyes, that has both of them believing him. It doesn’t lift the weight in Hope’s chest at all, but it makes the tears come a little slower. Henry smiles at them and kisses them each on the head. “Right, let me get dressed first, then we can scout the rest of the town. See what’s going on with everyone else.”

Minutes later, a now-dressed Henry runs out onto the streets with Hope and Gideon in tow. The streets are completely deserted, shops have their shutters down, curtains are closed. A light wind blows across, making trees rustle ever so slightly.

“It’s a ghost town,” Gideon remarks.

“What if we’re the only ones here?” Hope asks as goose bumps form on her arms. She has a feeling they’re not from the wind. Henry puts his hands on his hips as his eyes scour the street.

“We can’t be,” he says. “We just… We can’t be the only ones here.”

As it turns out, they’re not.

Gideon gasps loudly and Hope turns, her fists instinctively lifting, until she realises the new arrival is Lucas, his arms around Gideon’s waist, panting. He seems completely lost to everyone who isn’t Gideon.

“Thank god you’re okay,” he sighs, releasing him from his grip and pulling Hope into a tight hug, crushing her head. She doesn’t mind. If anything, she feels awful; Lucas didn’t even cross her mind. “Oh you’re okay.”

“I take it you’ve got the same problem as us,” Gideon says, his voice thick, as Lucas lets go of Hope and slips his hand into Gideon’s. “Your parents….”

“I tried everything,” he says. “I did, but they just wouldn’t move.” Henry turns to face them, the panic clear on his face, though he smiles briefly at Lucas. “Henry, what do we do?”

“Um… I don’t know…” he admits. “Why don’t we look through town? See who else we can find.” They agree, of course, given it’s the only idea they’ve had. Since splitting up is not an option, they walk through Storybrooke together, Henry leading the pack with the three of them clinging to each other behind him. They could hear a pin drop.

As they wander through streets, no real plan, they finally see another figure and feel weak with relief. And the dark blonde hair and brown jacket are instantly recognisable.

“Robin,” Hope sighs as she runs to meet them. When she meets them, they can all see how red her eyes are. Gideon doesn’t waste time in throwing his arms around her neck and Hope is close behind him.

“I am so glad to see you guys,” she pants. “My mom, she can’t wake up.”

“Neither can ours,” Gideon explains. “From the looks of it, we’re the only ones awake.”

“Alex is too,” she tells them. “I called her a few minutes ago.”

“Hope?” someone asks behind them. Hope is sure she knows the voice, and she finds she’s correct when she turns and sees Melody, wearing a pale pink lace t-shirt tucked into a floral skirt, ponytail tied with a baby blue ribbon. She runs towards the group, skidding to a half when she reaches Hope. “You guys are all still here.”

“Yeah, looks like it,” Hope replies. She tucks her hair behind her ears and straightens her dungarees, partially to give her hands something to do and partially because she’s suddenly become self-conscious. She can’t pretend she doesn’t know why.

Alex comes running down the street next, throwing her arms around Robin, who whispers “thank god” breathlessly, before she turns to face the rest of them, regarding them with a breathless smile. Gideon looks from each member of their little assembled group, counting them under his breath, muttering their names, and his eyes widen.

“I’m going to check Philip,” he says. They go with him, of course. No one wants to be left out on the street alone.

Philip’s house is completely closed down, no lights, curtains drawn. Hope, Melody, Robin and Alex hang back with Henry while Gideon and Lucas creep up to the doorstep, Gideon holding Lucas’ arm like his life depends on it (and standing slightly behind him) while Lucas knocks the door. When no one answers, they wait five minutes and try again. And again.

Lucas grumbles and pushes the letterbox open.

“Philip!” he calls. “Phil, it’s Lucas. Come on, if you’re here, give us a sign.”

To all their surprises, the door opens just a crack. From where Hope stands, she sees Philip’s face appear.

“Prove it,” he demands. She wonders if he thinks he’s tougher than he sounds. “Tell me something only Lucas and Gideon would know.” The two look at each other, sharing a silent ‘yes’ and look back at Philip.

“Freshman year, last day before Christmas break, you got up on the desk when Miss Ackerman was out of the room and then…”

The door is yanked open, revealing a wide-eyed Philip, brandishing a saucepan in one hand, who throws his arm around Lucas before doing the same to Gideon.

“I thought you guys were demons or something!” he explains, brushing his fringe out of his eyes. “And we also agreed to never talk about that ever again.”

“So you were going to… make them pasta?” Alex asks, half giggling. Philip looks up and just notices the rest of the group.

“I was short on weapons,” he replies as he, Lucas and Gideon join them, waving the saucepan under Alex’s nose. The laughter quickly subsides. The emptiness creeps in on all sides. Hope feels Henry’s hand on her shoulder, and it gives her some grounding anyway. Philip twirls the handle of the saucepan between his fingers until it slips and hits the floor. “So… now what?”

They don’t know. None of them know. Alex, who normally has an answer for everything, is twirling the blue streak of her hair while her eyes dart everywhere. Robin opens her mouth, then closes it again, and opens it again and closes it again. Like all she needs to do is say something, no matter how ridiculous.

“Why don’t we set up a base somewhere?” Henry decides. “Town hall?”. It’s the best idea they’ve heard all day, so they take it and walk to the town hall in an awkward, tense silence. Henry, naturally, leads with Alex and Robin close behind, their hands linked. Alex whispers something in Robin’s ear and Robin manages the tiniest of smiles, which only grows wider when Alex kisses her ear. Hope trails behind them with Melody wand Gideon on either side of her, but Gideon takes one too many looks back at Lucas and Philip.

“Hey,” she says, brushing her elbow against his. “Go hang out with your friends.” He smiles faintly and puts a hand on her shoulder. She guesses it’s meant to be comforting.

“We’ll be okay, Hope,” he says.

“I know,” she sighs. She squeezes his hand, something she started doing to him before she could talk. It lets him know she’s okay, that she loves him. He smiles and falls back to his friends and they form their own little trio.

And she’s left alone with Melody.

Something tells her that her pounding heart and dry mouth aren’t just because she’s scared out of her mind.

“I’m glad you’re still here,” Melody says. “I mean, I’m glad you’re all here.”

“Thanks,” she replies. “I mean, I’m glad you’re here too, I mean if you weren’t here I’d be really nervous. And I’d be really upset about it.”

“You would?” she asks, smirking. She has such a lovely smile.

“Yeah,” Hope squeaks. “I mean, you’d leave me here with all these losers?”

“We’re right behind you, Hope,” Lucas reminds her. She turns and sticks her tongue out at him, and she doesn’t miss Gideon’s knowing smile, the raised eyebrows when he looks at Lucas and Philip. If the circumstances were different, she’d smack him. Instead, she turns back to Melody.

“Thanks,” she says. They go quiet and Hope racks her brains for something to say. She envies the quiet support Robin and Alex can give each other, and the endless chatter behind her.

“You look really pretty,” she says. “I mean you always look really pretty but… you know I mean… I like your skirt.”

Nice one, Hope.

“Thanks,” Mel says, running her hand over it. It is pretty, just something Hope would never wear. “Yeah, I just threw this on.” In Mel-language ‘just threw it on’ means ‘this was the third one I tried’. “I really like your overalls.”

Liar, Hope thinks. Melody wouldn’t be caught dead in something so basic.

“Um, you have a bit of… Pink, on them,” she points out. Hope looks down to see a splash of pink of her chest.

“Oh, yeah,” she mutters, scratching behind her ear. “I was painting this morning. I guess I got a little carried away.”

“Cool,” Mel says, toying with the hem of her skirt. “Really cool. Something important or…?”

“Um, not really,” she says. “Just like… I don’t know, it’s stupid.”

“Well, I doubt it’s stupid,” she replies.

Hope can’t think of a reply, but they come up on the town hall soon enough and hurry inside. Hope realises she’s never actually been in it before. She doesn’t know what exactly she expected but what she gets is a black and white marble floor like a chessboard, white walls with a pattern of trees on it, a brown desk with a tiny sense of foreboding around it and rows of metal chairs.

She sits herself down in one, not knowing what else to do. Henry leans against the desk, not looking at any of them.

“Okay,” Robin says, breaking the silence. She marches up to the front and waves her hand, presumably to switch on the lights, but all that happens is the bulbs flicker. She tries again, and again, and again, until they finally switch on for her. “Okay… So let’s make a plan.” Meanwhile, Alex goes to the corner and starts filling and handing out glasses of water.

“A plan for what?” Lucas asks. “We don’t even know what happened.”

“So we’ll find out,” she says. “Gideon!” His head snaps up at his name, and she tosses him a marker. “You’re the nerd here, write this down.”

“You’re bossy,” he says, but he runs up to the front and drags a whiteboard on wheels out from the corner.

“Okay,” Robin says, taking a deep breath in. “Calm. Logic. What do we know?”

“All our parents are asleep,” Philip begins.

“It’s not a sleeping curse,” Lucas suggests. “At least I don’t think it is. Sleeping curses make you look dead. All our parents, they’re breathing, their hearts are working.”

“And it’s not just our parents,” Hope adds. “It’s everyone in town, except us.”

“So what sets us apart?” Alex asks. “What makes us different.”

Nothing, Hope thinks. Gideon taps the pen against the whiteboard, which is already covered in his scribbles, arrows pointing out of a central question “what do we know”, until he drops it.

“Oh my gosh father!” he declares, not really to anyone in particular. His cheeks turn pink as he picks the marker up again. “Think again, what do all seven of us have in common?”

His answer is a bunch of shaking heads and raised eyebrows.

“None of us were born in the Enchanted Forest!” he reminds them.

“Oh my god that’s it!” Henry declares. “Gideon you’ve got it.”

“It sounds right,” Melody says. “But… we’re the only ones in town not born in the Enchanted Forest? Seems a little far-fetched.”

“Not as far fetched as you think, Mel,” Gideon says, beginning to bounce and his eyes light up. “There’s this tradition amongst the older generation to have their kids in the Enchanted Forest. I don’t know sentimentality, or something. So they pop through a portal and go. But none of our parents did. Alex was born during the curse….”

“Thinking about it, all my friends at school were pre-Dark Curse babies,” Alex mutters, getting on Gideon’s level.

“Exactly!” he replies. He grows more animated as the pieces fall into place, reminding Hope of some kind of mad scientist. “Me, Luke and Philip, most of our friends were born during the Missing Year.”

“A lot of Missing Year babies,” Robin confirms.

“Yeah, as the author, I can confirm, Missing Year was a fun time,” Henry says, grimacing.

“And Robin was born in Storybrooke. Which leaves Hope and Melody,” he concludes. “Your parents must have skipped it and had you two in Storybrooke.”

“My parents wanted to,” Mel agrees. “But I came two weeks early. They couldn’t make the trip.”

“My parents just didn’t want to,” Hope agrees. “My mom wasn’t born there; my dad was a villain there. They don’t think of it like a home.”

“So whatever this thing is it clearly doesn’t affect people not born in the Enchanted Forest,” Gideon concludes. On the board behind him, the words ‘non-enchanted forest people’ and ‘NOT A CURSE’ are scrawled. He reminds her of Doctor Whale sometimes in the mad scientist way.

“So how do we fix it?” Alex asks. She sits on the windowsill, her arms wrapped around Robin’s shoulders with Robin’s hand over hers. “How do we wake everyone up?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” Henry says. “Maybe we check the library first, there’s books on everything in there.”

“He’s right,” Gideon says.

“And if not then… Then it’s time to turn to our parents.”

“Our parents?” Robin asks, wrinkling her nose.

“Yeah. Robin your mom’s the Wicked Witch, Hope our mom’s the Saviour and Gideon your dad…” Gideon flinches before the sentence can be finished. Henry’s hand curls into a fist, realising he’s inching close to the line. “Anyway, the point is our parents need to have something around to help us.”

“Uhh… guys?” Melody asks from behind them. She crouches in front of the table, eyeing a glass of water with more worry than there should be. “Sorry, but… I think something’s coming.”

And then Hope feels it. The ground shakes beneath her and she can see what Melody was worrying about; ripples form on the water in the glass. Soon the walls of the hall start to shake. They all drift towards each other, clinging to however is closest to them as the walls continue trembling, threatening to break on them. Henry steps in front of the little bundle they have created, trying to shield all of them with his body.

“What is that?” Philip asks, his voice barely a whisper as he frantically looks around the hall.

“I think I know,” Robin replies in a trembling voice. Almost against her own will, Hope follows her eyes and looks out the window, feeling her heart in her throat. Her hand tightens on the wrist of whoever is next to her.

Outside, she sees what Robin was so scared of. Sludge-green, at least 8 feet tall, wearing a scrap of brown fabric its waist. It lumbers down the road before stopping outside and turning its head, letting them see the dull yellow eyes.

“Is that…” Philip whispers.

“An ogre,” Henry replies.

They hit the floor when it turns to them. Hope feels the beat of her frantic heart against the wood and closes her eyes tightly. She presses her palms into the floor to keep them from shaking. Her chest feels hollow, making her heartbeat seem louder.

This can’t be happening. This doesn’t happen, not now, not to her or any of them. This is all meant to be over now.

“What do we do?” Melody hisses as the footsteps get a fraction quieter. “How do we defeat a troll?”

“Wasn’t it in the book?” Philip asks. “Snow and Emma, they fought one.”

“Right,” Hope sighs, searching for that part of the book in her mind. It sounds familiar, but she’s drawing a blank on the details. “How did they beat it?”

“Mom shot it with an arrow,” Lucas reminds them. “Right in the eye.”

“Pity we don’t have a bow and arrow,” Robin grunts.

“Maybe we don’t need one,” Gideon mutters, more to himself than anyone else.

“Do you have a plan?” Philip asks. Out of all of them, he’s the one closest to the floor, his body pressed against it.

“I think so,” Gideon replies, beginning to smile. Hope follows his gaze and sees what he’s looking at; the two swords mounted on the wall behind a shield baring the Charming family crest; a flower. “Hope, Robin, I’m going to need your help here.”

                                                                                               *****

Gideon, Hope, Robin, Lucas and Henry manage to escape the town hall from a side door. The rest stay inside, reckoning that there’s no point in risking more people. Although there’s no risk, because they’ll be fine if this all works out. If.

Outside, the road is destroyed with the ogre’s footprints. He’s a good bit away from them, far enough so that as long as they remain as silent as possible, he won’t notice them until they need to. They move swiftly down the road and take cover behind Leroy’s truck, which, true to character, he left sitting out on the sidewalk.

“You sure this will work?” Lucas asks. Gideon hands the sword over to Robin with shaking hands.

“I hope so,” he sighs. “You two clear on what to do?” Given how dry her mouth is, Hope can only nod.

“We’ve got it,” Robin whispers. Hope wonders how he manages to sound so confident. It’s only her fidgeting fingers that give her away. Gideon smiles weakly at them and follows Henry and Lucas to the middle of the road, grabbing Lucas’ hand.

“Hope,” Robin asks suddenly, grabbing her shoulder. Her green eyes are torn apart with worry as she looks from her to the ogre. “I…. My magic… I don’t know if I can do this…”

“You can,” Hope assures her. “Just think about who you’re protecting. That’s what Mom says she did.” Robin nods shakily and they place their hands over the sword together. She mutters ‘Alex’ under her breath.

“Hey!” Henry yells. “Hey you big… dumb ogre!”

That’s one way to get its attention, Hope thinks as it turns around. Immediately, she starts wondering if this plan will work. If it doesn’t and it gets any of them killed, she’ll kill Gideon for it. Especially if it’s Gideon who gets killed.

“Robin, now,” she hisses. She reaches inside her, calling to her magic. Her mother has told her so many times that magic is a part of her. She works with it, not it for her. And this should be easy, simple levitation. It’s one of her favourite things to do.

In the road, the boys keep taunting the ogre over to them and it works. He lumbers over, slowly, but it rattles the ground with every step he takes. Hope keeps her eyes on it, tracking its movements. They worked out a marker; the shoe shop. That’s where it has to be when they fire at him.

She doesn’t think about what would happen if she misses her cue. All she can focus on is holding the sword up. Especially when she feels it getting heavier on Robin’s side.

Come on, she thinks, watching the ogre as her friends keep luring it closer. Three more steps. Two more. One more….

“Robin now!” she calls, and they send the sword flying through the air. The ogre doesn’t even notice, too busy focussing on the potential snack in front of him. Thank god for dumb ogres.

Then the sword begins to take a dip before it can meet its target.

“Not on my watch,” Hope mutters, and throws her hands out, letting magic run through her veins and out her hands, and she sends an invisible wind to keep it up until it lands where it should; in the ogre’s chest. Slightly left of middle. Right in its heart.

The ogre stops in its tracks, and for a moment doesn’t even move. For a moment, Hope fears that it will rip the sword out of its body and trample Storybrooke to the ground. Until it lets out a long, low moan and sways before falling to the ground, the force knocking them to the ground with it. Hope lies there, winded on her back, looking up at the sky, just letting herself come back down to Earth, before she gets up.

“Hey,” she says to Robin, who looks paler than normal. “Hey, we did it.” She laughs, despite the fact that the world isn’t exactly standing still right now.

“We did it,” she pants, smiling. She pulls Hope into a tight hug before they run over to the boys.

“See? Fool proof,” Gideon says, adjusting his glasses.

“If that failed, I’d have killed you,” Hope pants.

“Are you two okay?” Henry asks, rubbing his arm.

“Fine,” Robin says and Hope nods. Henry tilts his head to the side, unconvinced. “Hope?”

“I’m fine,” she assures him. “A little shaken up I guess, but fine.” She turns her attention to the dead ogre lying in the middle of the street. “Is that it? Did we do it? Does everything go back to normal now?”

“Can’t be,” Gideon says. “Ogres can’t cast curses, they’re too dumb. He has to be working for someone.”

“Great,” Robin sighs. “So who can command ogres? And more to the point, what do we even do with it?”

But as it turns out, they don’t need to do anything. They see a mist begin to settle over the ogre, making it look fuzzier and muting the colours more than they are already. Logically, they should be scared, or ready to fight back, but they’re all varying degrees of confused and mesmerised. The ogre gets fuzzier and fuzzier and the colours fade before running and blending into each other and then Hope realises what’s happening.

“It’s disappearing!” she announces, just as it fades from them entirely.

“No way,” Lucas says, and he runs to where it was, Gideon running after him. Lucas stands in the exact spot it had been lying, jumps up and down and waves his arms around. “It’s gone!”

“So what.. it was never real?” Hope asks. She turns around and sees the footprints in the road.

“The damage it did was real,” Robin points out, tucking her hair behind her ear. “So it had to have been real… Right?”

“We can deal with that later,” Henry says. “For now.. We did good.”

“We?” Hope asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You two did good,” he sighs. “Come on, let’s get you guys back into the hall and we can work this out there.” Hope falls into step beside her brother while Robin walks on with Lucas and Gideon, Gideon letting her lean slightly on him. “You good, Cygnet?”

“I don’t know,” she confesses. “That was a lot. I mean, it felt good, but it was a lot.” She hasn’t realised before that magic can take so much out of her. She just wants to sit down now until the world goes stationery again.

“I’m sorry you had to do that,” he says. “For what its worth it was impressive.” Her cheeks go pink.

“Really?” she asks.

“Really,” he says. Slinging his arm around her. She grabs onto his jacket for something to keep her steady, because she’s sure she’s walking like Uncle Smee out of the bar. “Mom will be so stoked when she hears this.” Hope nods. When, not if. Never if. Their family doesn’t do ‘if’.

[thehuggamugcafe]

Mun and Muse

OOC: This, my dear followers, is something... out-of-the-ordinary, needless to say.

Caffeine sparked this musing, and I mean a lot of caffeine sparked this musing.

So, um... I guess I kind of self-inserted myself into the café AU, if only for this musing? Um... Please enjoy, I guess? ☕

“Hey, Boss, thanks for that little oneshot to read with my order. It was really spooky!”

“Nothing like a good musing to read while I drink coffee. Thanks, Boss!”

“Keep me posted on future writings, Boss.”

“Amazing work as always! Thanks!”

Such was the typical feedback that Eira received as the customers left the Huggamug Café, whether it was a verbal compliment, or a written one taped or pinned to the small bulletin board that hung on the wall, adjacent to the service counter.

For a few moments, ice blue irises stared at the written words that were scrawled onto little scraps of paper, blinking slowly as she processed the words that all but screamed of admiration for the supposedly mysterious author.

Finally, the dark-haired woman breathed a derisive snort.

“...‘Mysterious’? Yeah, right.”

There were a few things wrong with her customers’ conclusions with the stories that she had supposedly written, to share with her customers and earn their feedback on it.

The first conclusion was that she had written them at all. She hadn’t. She didn’t have a shred of creativity to offer when it came to writing; she didn’t have the patience or the time for it, either. She couldn’t invest hours upon hours of writing anything, let alone thinking of what she was in the mood to write, not when she had a business to run.

The second conclusion was that the “mysterious author” wasn’t wrapped in a veil of mystique, not at all. In fact, not only was she earning her keep at the café in secret, contrary to how the author appeared at first glance...

She was quite shy, in fact.

So it was no surprise to Eira that, after the café closed for the evening, the employees had gone home, and the manager was beginning to doze off, she’d hear the telltale groaning creak as a certain door in the prep area opened. Silence would blanket the first floor of the café before, finally, there’d be a soft click as the door slid shut.

Eira would lie awake in her bed, listening to the soft tap-tap of footsteps as the only other person inside the café crept around on the first floor, stopping suddenly. Most nights, Eira didn’t bother to get up and check, to make sure that she was alright. She’d usually stay awake long enough to hear the footsteps backtracking to that particular room in the prep area, the door opening and sliding shut with a silent click.

The following morning, the manager would be greeted with the sight of a few customers crowded around the small bulletin board, looking quite literally starstruck by the replies written below their comments. Eira didn’t have to see it herself, having seen the author’s writing style firsthand on many accounts; she knew the handwriting was as it always was: legible, but a bit messy.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Nothing like something sweet to read to balance the bitter coffee, huh?”

“Thanks for your feedback. I’ll try not to keep you waiting for the next part.”

“Thank you for taking the time to read it.”

Nine times out of ten, the customers would leave requests for the mysterious author to fulfill, jotting them down, taping or pinning them below the “Customers’ Orders” section.

When Eira went to check the bulletin board in the morning, the requests would be missing, as though they hadn’t been there to start with.

Sometimes, there would be a small stack of papers lying innocently at a particular table, waiting for the customer to read it. The story was never a particularly lengthy read; no more than six pages, and rarely longer than eight. Sometimes, the story would be accompanied by a plate of dessert, and a cup of coffee, tea, or hot cocoa, depending on the customer’s preference.

More often than not, however, there would only be a slip of paper with the author’s words written on it, scrawled with the all too familiar legible, but messy handwriting.

“I’m working on your request.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“Expect an update soon.”

“Please be patient.”

However...

Whenever Eira was in the prep area, putting together a customer’s order, she’d pause and listen, straining her ears to hear something, anything.

Something other than the fan whirling as she all but lorded over the stove.

Anything other than the pot of bubbling stew or soup.

Something, anything at all would have been fine with the young manager.

Finally, she heard it, exactly what she wanted to hear.

A cough that was stifled by a forearm.

The soft squeak of a chair as the person occupying it shifted where she sat.

The telltale clicks and clacks as the keys of a laptop were hit. The pace of the author’s typing was hardly ever the same. Sometimes, the keystrokes would be slow, methodical, as though the person’s thoughts were carefully trickling out from her mind, pouring out from her fingertips, and splashing onto the word document that was open in front of her.

Sometimes, the keys would be mashed so quickly that it was a wonder the laptop didn’t spontaneously combust, even miraculous, and yet...

Oftentimes, whenever Eira had a few minutes to herself during her break, she’d enter the prep area. She’d stop in front of a certain door, pausing to listen before reaching for the doorknob and slowly, carefully turning it before prying it open, peeking in through a small crack in the door.

The thin line of luminescence shone into the room, casting its gentle light over random surfaces and knick-knacks. A work desk with an old TV set, an equally old game system complimented with a retro game controller set up in front of the television, and directly in front of the television screen and video game system was a cushioned wooden chair. Next to the old-school game system were a few other, more modern game systems plugged into the power cord, all plugged into a socket in the wall, ready to be played at a moment’s notice. Scattered across the work desk were various cases, video games that stuck to horror-survival, RPG-style, and thriller/psychological genres.

Two small bookshelves were pushed up against the wall on the left-hand side of where the old-school game station was set up, stuffed with various how-to books, novels and manga of various types, all sorted in alphabetical order.

A few sketchbooks and some art supplies were set in a small space in the bookshelves, ready to be used whenever the owner felt the itch to sketch.

A mini fridge was plugged into the wall next to the bookshelves, gently humming away. Eira knew it was stuffed with various cavity-causing snacks, drinks, and some containers of a few healthy things, mostly ginger-infused rice pudding and fruit-flavoured yogurt.

In all honesty, at first glance, it spoke of—and technically it was—a leisure room. A place for someone to get away from all the hub-bub of the café, if only for a short while.

However, what mattered most in the room was where the glow of a computer screen could be seen, a laptop to be more precise, glaring its bland illumination over a face framed with dark hair. An upbeat song softly blared out from the headset that rested on the woman’s shoulders, clothed by the gray-and-black striped hoodie she wore. The dark colours looked a bit... off, clashing with the bright green apron that was tied around her waist.

The young woman’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, frozen in place. Her lips pursed to form a frown, brows pinching the slant of her eyes, coldly glaring at the blank document in front of her.

Well, it was mostly blank, anyway. Eira could just barely make out a title, and a few short paragraphs of text underneath the title, but other than that...

It was clear that her secret helper appeared to be in what was known as a “writer’s rut,” or so she’d heard it was called.

A knock at the door caused the woman to tear her eyes away from the screen, blinking owlishly at the manager as the glare slowly left her pale visage.

Silence, and then...

A soft “yeah, Ei?” came from the woman, and were she anyone else, Eira would have snapped at her to speak more clearly, but she didn’t.

Bly always put up a brave front, but she was more timid than she let herself on to be. She hated being snapped at or shouted at, even if it was Eira doing it.

“...Break’s over, Bly. Back to learning the ropes.”

“I’m comin’, Ei.”

That was Bly’s reply as she slid the top of the laptop down, pausing only to remove the headset and setting it aside. The chair she sat in squeaked as Bly used her sneaker-covered feet to move the chair; there was a second squeak as she got up, as the chair was relieved of her weight. The dark-haired woman stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie, walking over to where Eira stood, pausing to look at her.

Bly’s hazel irises met Eira’s icy gaze, but if the manager wanted to lean in closer, she would have caught a faint, very faint hint of a ring of blue circling the shorter woman’s gaze.

There were light bags under her eyes, making her hazel eyes look darker than they normally would have been. The signs of light insomnia gave her gaze a look of eternal sleepiness; the yawn that she covered with a hand further drove the inclination home that, yes, she always appeared as though she just climbed out of bed.

After a few moments of eye contact, Bly cleared her throat, raising a hand to rub the back of her neck.

Smiling sheepishly, Bly asked, “...So... What horrendous torture will you put me through this time, Ei? Stew? Bread rolls? Bread?”

Eira rolled her eyes heavenward, breathing a sarcastic “haha” as she voiced a soft “tsk.” She ignored the soft, but clear joking undertone Bly’s soft, mousy voice had.

“Dessert.”

Bly’s eyes shone with interest as she reiterated, “Dessert?” She sounded just as excited as she looked.

“Shortcake.”

“Can I have some of the leftovers this time? Ren doesn’t look like someone who appreciates sweet things, but he always hogs them to himself. What a sweet-hogging whore.”

Smiling slightly, Eira replied, “...I’ll put some aside for you.”

“Now you’re talking my language; let’s get baking, Boss!”