#I maybe fell down an espresso hole a few years ago and now know a lot about coffee lol

[thresholdbb]

Admiral Janeway's adding espresso shots to her coffee black now. Icon behavior

[outroshooky]

waiting for the sky to fall | jjk

⇢ genre: series; part one (i-saw-you-on-the-subway-every morning-this-week-and-i’m-possibly-in-love-with-you!au) (fluff)

⇢ pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

⇢ word count: 6.3k

⇢  warnings: brief instance of anxiety; probably too much rambling about how pretty jeongguk is when he exists like that

⇢ a/n: a dearest birthday present for the love of my life and platonic soulmate @guksheart. cait, i cannot believe we have been a part of each other’s lives for over a year now. i adore you so so much and i am so proud of the bold, compassionate, wonderfully gay, fierce yet gentle, considerate, accepting, lovely woman that you are. i would not trade our sisterhood for the world, and i still cannot believe that you are coming to new york in a mere matter of months. i can only hope that we’ll have adventures like this one when you do.

this is heavily inspired by the commute i took to visit my friend in the city over the summer!! kudos to columbia university for loaning me some much-needed inspiration, although i never fell in love with anybody on the way there.

part one of the verses and vibes series. part two will be uploaded on december 20, 2019.

“bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art—   not in lone splendour hung aloft the night   and watching, with eternal lids apart,   like nature’s patient, sleepless eremite,”

⤷ “bright star, would i were stedfast as thou art”; john keats

10:57pm.

Call it 11, it’s close enough.

Eleven o’clock in the evening.

A sacred time, those great appreciators of the universe would say. It is amazing how, as the wind caresses your hair with breezy fingers, there are some who walk the city streets below without pause. Some who cannot understand the sanctity of such a time, the security that comes with the blanket of nightfall— if you could call it nightfall in the heart of such a metropolis.

Below you beats a rhythm akin to the one in your soul, beneath the skin of your merely human chest. A home you’d heard so much about, fallen in love with before you’d even met, and god it couldn’t have felt more right. Over the edge of the balcony is utter chaos: taxi cabs honk an irregular staccato, the open! sign of the ramen shop one block over flickers its own neon melody. People shout, brakes screech, doors bang, dogs bark; to anybody else, it would be utter madness but to you- to you, it is simply home.

The ambient light mutes the glow of so many stars that pinprick the sky millions of miles above, arcing across the heavens in so many celestial designs. If you squint, you can pick out Casseopia, maybe even Ursa Major through the dim haze. The stars are far and few between, but it’s a quick glance to your left and right and you’re surrounded by majestic masterpieces, this time of a manmade design.

When you were younger, you used to muse that skyscrapers not only scraped the bright blue sky so far above, but supported the very cosmos itself with the slight curve in their arching backs. They bore the weight of the world, shouldering the immense task of keeping the stratosphere aloft. For a skyscraper to crumble was for the sky to fall, and yet you’d never seen one even waver in the wind.

Later, of course, you would learn that this was not the case. Earth herself kept the stratosphere in good health, and those wonderfully tall buildings existed as testaments to man’s great ability. However, there was a quiet part of you that still entertained the fantasy (as all of us do, in one way or another). And why not? It's moments like this, where you are surrounded by the dizzying breadth of the world out there and you can taste the sweetness of the universe’s ambrosia, that have you thinking twice about it all. Who says that we can't hold up the sky? Who says we don't spend our lives wondering, even if just a little bit, when the pillars will collapse and the sky itself will cave in one shuddering breath? Who decides when the Sun will burn, the Moon will freeze, when life as we know it tumbles to ash and dust?

“Baby?” His fingers interlock over yours, warm against the cool of the balcony railing. “Everything okay?”

His chest is warm against your back, grounding in its familiarity. You could name the planes and angles of his body like you could name the asterisms that freckle the night sky. He smells like cucumber soap when you turn and nuzzle into his neck, the damp locks of his hair tickling your forehead. You usually tease him when he’s post-shower like this, the bangs that tumble past his cheekbones giving the impression of a shaggy mop, but you spare him tonight. He squeezes over your hand, palm flush against your knuckles as your cheeks heat against his neck. 

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “Just taking a moment.”

Jeongguk tilts his head skyward, but he’s already got the universe in his eyes, wide and fawn. His chest rumbles when he speaks, soft velvet, a little gritty. “It's so beautiful out here.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” you raise your head to reply, brushing your nose to the column of his throat.

He’s got good composure but he's blushing now, between the lateness of the hour and the softness of your skin. He may smell of Dove and there’s a pimple dotting his cheek, but you’re stunning in the light and there’s a faint air of something sweet; if it’s your skin or your soul, he can’t decide. Perhaps both but he can’t help himself; his lips find your forehead and your eyes flutter shut. Contentment so simple, so lovely. 

His arm slides around your shoulders and the way you fit into his side is divine insistence. The other half you never knew you had, and yet at one time, it wasn’t this way. Hard to believe, but that’s the reality of it, and you never even knew he filled a gap in your heart until the deed was done, and there was nothing you could do to unplug the hole.

He kisses your temple and you kiss his shoulder, exposed by the dip of his t-shirt. “Come to bed, baby.”

“But it’s so nice out here,” you whine. 

“It’s late and you have class in the morning,” he coaxes quietly, his accented English gentle in your ears. “Come on.” His fingers slip from your own and you sigh, giving in.

“But you have to carry me inside.”

His eyes roll but he’s already stooping, and when he scoops you into his arms to press a kiss to your nose- he just can’t help himself- you poke his cheek and he grins a smile as warm as the lazy afternoon sun. “I love you.”

“I love you twice that amount.”

Jeongguk takes the balcony in stride, nudges the sliding door open with his foot. “Yeah, well I love you fifty times that amount. Squared.”

He kicks it closed behind him as you raise an eyebrow. “Cheater.”

“I’ll throw you on the bed, swear to god.”

“You’re mean,” You retort. 

“No I’m not.” He turns the light off on his way in, bumps the bedroom door shut with his impossibly slender hip. “I’ll be the big spoon if you take that back.”

Bedsheets under your fingertips. “Fine.”

It is hard to believe that, merely a year ago, you would be coming inside to an empty bed. Merely a year ago, your world would be silent, save the busy hum outside your apartment windows. Merely a year ago, you hadn’t a clue that your world was about to turn upside down, flipped on its axis and spun into chaos in ways you’d never even considered possible. Merely a year, but a lifetime spent sitting, waiting, wishing- twiddling your thumbs, chewing on your fingernails, anxiously hoping for something, anything.

And that’s when, exactly three-hundred and sixty-four days ago, the columns gave out in a rush of dust, the cosmos itself unraveling at the seams of early morning.

 Momentary silence, a stifled yawn. “Come cuddle.”

A sleepy, breathy, near-whisper. “Will you be the big spoon?”

Jeongguk chuckles, breath soft. “Always, baby girl. Always.”

one year before

There’s no better alarm clock than a caramel macchiato, sipped through tired lips and bleary eyes on the chaos of a Monday morning in the subway. You are far from a morning person, as evidenced by the death grip on your Starbucks cup, but you feel just a little more human with the help of four espresso shots and a pump of hazelnut. Having an off-campus apartment means it’s a roughly twenty minute subway ride between home and school, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when there’s not much of a difference between the two.

To be frank, the city is home- a comfort you never expected, the subject of a thousand love letters never to be written but in the deepest cavities of your soul. The grime of the sidewalks, the gritty rumbling of the subways, artful graffiti and corner bubble tea and a little bit of pride, thrumming in the deepest recesses of necessity. The city in which you grew up is merely a square foot to the square acres that are your romping ground now.

The wires of your headphones snake around your scarf, bundled up around your shoulders. It is that wonderful time before fall bleeds over completely into winter, a lingering cool breath, and arguably the best season of all. Thus, you are perfectly comfortable underneath a warm jacket, backpack slung across your shoulder as you swipe your card, pass through the turnstiles and on to the waiting train just across the platform.

The subway car rattles beneath you with a groan, darkness rushing past in so many variants of orange from the neon lights that dotted the tunnels. Around you, bodies press tight on the morning commuter train; in any other circumstance, it would make you anxious, but there’s an odd feeling of security it grants. The train slows, pulling into the next station, and you focus your attention on the page of Madeline Miller’s latest bestseller.

At the next station, the car decompresses as travelers shift, and you are left a moment to breathe before the train will inevitably fill again, two stops from now. Next to you, a purple jacket brushes your shoulder. Just above the top of your book, a pair of black Timberlands pauses before turning towards you and settling.��

There really is no reason at all why these Timberlands would be special. There's no reason at all why your eyes find it necessary to track upwards, no reason why you should have glanced up from your delightful novel for the sake of one commuter’s settling. No reason at all why, as your eyes followed skinny jean-clad thighs to a leather jacket, and further, further.

His caramel-streaked hair brushes his cheekbones, styled in a way you’d typically call bedhead, but on him looks like art. His brow is soft yet defined, much like his jawline, cutting narrow. His lips are perfectly pink, a gentle pout, and his graceful nose a button. His shoulders are broad, the taper of his waist impossibly slender but hidden under the folds of his ridiculously oversized t-shirt. 

And his eyes- his eyes. 

You have poured over literature for hours upon hours, soaking in poetry and epics and novels alike, yet you have never understood what the poets meant until this very moment.

His eyes are the café au lait you sip on sunny afternoons, the sweetness of a chocolate bar, the warmth of a woolen blanket in wintertime. They glint with the light of a thousand stars but shine with the depth of a thousand galaxies, each and every one a testament to the great work of the universe. It is as if he holds the very cosmos in his pupils, and your breath is stolen from your lungs without a second thought. 

He is stunningly beautiful but goes completely unnoticed by everyone else in the car, it seems, as the train picks up speed. There is no greater punishment than tearing your gaze away from him when you realize you've been staring too long to be socially acceptable. You force yourself to return back to your novel but end up reading the same line five times over, too distracted by the shift of his heels, the way he toys with the straps of his rucksack. 

Part of you aches every time the train car fills, obscuring your view of the handsome stranger. Each time, you’re left wondering if he's moved, but each time, the crowds part to find him still seated on the garish plastic bench, glued to his iPhone. Your stop is the next and you can't help but feel anxious about getting up, about turning face and walking out of the train car. Your heart rattles an irregular tempo as you snap your book shut (still on the same page as twenty minutes ago), gather your things, and carefully stand amid the gently rocking car. He doesn't even look up at your sudden movement, and there's a part of you that is somehow irrationally crushed. 

The train grinds to a halt and the doors slide open, and you spare one last longing look before striding across the grimy tile, minding the gap between the train and the platform. Foolish of you to want to stop your day for the sake of an attractive stranger. Foolish of you to think his day would stop, either. 

With a muffled curse behind you, footsteps thud and voices grumble as a mop-haired boy with a rucksack on his shoulder bursts his way out of the train car, having nearly forgotten that this is his stop, too. When something brushes your arm as you jog up the stairs, you nearly drop your Starbucks with the realization that he is unintentionally keeping pace with you across the stairwell, lost behind the curtain of his fawn locks. 

Anxiety melts to curiosity as you weave through the station, matching pace all the while as you’re spit out onto the street from underground and walk the mere half block to your university gates. He hesitates under them, a touch of nerves, but shakes his head and continues on under the tree-covered path of the quad. You lose him somewhere by the Economics building, heading towards the library as you turn towards Hamilton Hall, but the excited thrill in your veins outweighs any and all disappointment.

You're practically glowing during 8am lecture, dancing on air through your lunch break when you think you spot him across the dining hall, but in fact it's just that guy from your math gen-ed. You’d never admit to a stranger consuming your thoughts, but here’s a nagging feeling at the back of your skull as you zip up your bag at the end of your day and head towards the corner station. 

A typical Monday indeed?

Anything but. 

It was certainly unconventional, the way you launched yourself out of bed the next morning in favor of tripping into a pair of jeans and dashing to fix your hair in the bathroom mirror. You haven't put so much effort into getting ready in months, and factoring in time for a dab of makeup left you skipping breakfast in favor of slinging your bag over your shoulder to rush out the door on time.

An iced Americano restores breath to your lungs, but does nothing to soothe the jitter in your bouncing knee as the train doors shut and a voice crackles over the intercom, unintelligible. A chocolate croissant is light on your tongue, memories of the flaky pastry crossing your mind only to be drowned out by thoughts of the next station and the promises it holds.

With no novel in hand, it is easy for your eyes to flick to the crowd as the train slows coming into the station. Effortlessly, you pick him out even with the white mask across the lower half of his face obscuring his nose and mouth. His visage is scrawled, it seems, on the inside of your eyelids; it danced throughout your Human Behaviors class, teased you through the late night of cramming for midterms. You hoped the concealer would cover the dark spots under your eyes, but you couldn't be certain.

As the doors slide open and the crowd surges forward, you lose him for a moment in the streams and flows of people coming and going. He appears just down the car, button-down rolled at the elbows, and even from a distance you feel your cheeks heat as he finds an empty seat just across the aisle.

Yesterday, his jacket hid him to the knuckles under the security of worn leather. But today, pushed sleeves reveal the ink snuggled tight around his wrist, curling its way up his forearm to snake hidden under the folds of the unbuttoned dress shirt he so casually threw over another plain black t-shirt. Sunflowers and daisies and blossoms you can't even name bloom in color across his skin, geometric designs etching sculpture into living marble. He is a magnum opus through and through, bearing so many works of art on the canvas of his flesh.

The white wires of his headphones leave him oblivious to the world, the galaxies in his pupils twinkling under the stark white light. He is wholly unbothered by a group of high school girls tittering to his left, the judging eyes of the older gentleman to his right. He simply exists in all of his beauty, whether the world wishes to love him or not.

And then his eyes find you.

It is only for a moment, but his gaze renders you breathless, mind spinning, pulse racing. He blinks owlishly, staring only for a second, two, but it's long enough to feel your heart ricochet around your chest, caged butterflies in your chest soar against the crest of your ribcage. They dart in tandem, beating their fragile wings with a fluttering pulse; you swear you’re reduced to a mere teenager at the sight of him, and that’s just ridiculous. The train car around you is suspended; it is hard to believe you are breathing the same air merely a few paces away, but you are and it is him and the depth of his soul is staring you blind in the face.

You don’t know him but you know him, all at once. He says a thousand sweet nothings with the shine of the lights in his eyes, promises commandments to keep when his lashes flutter against the apples of his cheeks. He is a complete stranger but somehow, someway, a known companion. His fingers twitch against the fabric of his jeans and you wonder what they would feel like wrapped around yours, memorizing every divot with a careful reverence. How they would brush your hip when he pulls you against his side, how they would pull at you craving more, more, more— 

A spice of cologne curls under your nose, a little floral, a little sweet. Perhaps it’s his, the scent that clings to his pillow in the morning and his jacket in the evening. The tap of the woman’s foot to your left is the beat of his footsteps on the creaky apartment floor as he announces he’s home, he’s brought dinner; life is simple and content—

He nods his head to the beat that flows quick through his headphones, eyes shut, in his own world. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to share on your morning commute, fingers entwined with coffee in one hand but music in your heart—

Bodies around you ebb and flow, but the flurry is nothing compared to the images that swirl in front of you. Tracing his tattoos with the lightest touch, laughing till his nose scrunches at a shitty pun, early kisses and late-night touches. The warmth in his eyes when you do something stupid, the comfort in your arms around his shoulders when he’s doubting himself—

It’s a misplaced elbow to your ribs that jolts you out of reverie as the older gentleman seated next to you creaks to his feet. You wince and open your mouth to complain, but not before taking in the empty seat across the train car, devoid of leather and ink and beauty.

Where did he g— 

That’s when the car doors slide shut and you, all too soon, come to a stunning realization:

The handsome stranger whom you have just spent twenty minutes daydreaming about is gone, nowhere to be seen, lost in the crowd of chaos that is the city.

And you have completely missed your stop.

Well, it’s a damn good thing taxi cabs exist.

Your alarm does not go off on Wednesday morning. Perhaps a fatal mistake, because by the time your dreary eyes crack open at the suspicious amount of rest you’re getting for the middle of the week, you are supposed to leave your apartment in eight minutes— shower, breakfast, makeup, and all.

Perhaps there is a god looking out for you after all, because you manage to make it out of the house only two minutes later (although just about all of the above had to wait). Your stomach grumbles as your feet trod down the littered stairs of the station, an insistent reminder that the last meal you had was ten hours ago, and you really need to eat sooner rather than later. No time meant no coffee meant cold hands, an unfortunate consequence, and you’re shivering your way through the turnstiles onto the train as the wind bites cool at the back of your neck.

You’re still drowsy from sleep, a ten page paper having kept you awake, so it is no surprise that you nod off on the train. You’re not sure when your mind clears of soporific fog, but when your eyes flutter open, the one person you’ve been waiting for is seated in front of you with his elbow slung across a backpack next to him, propping up his head as he too drifts off. A raven cloth mask covers his nose and his mouth, his eyelashes brushing the curve of his cheeks, a bit crimson from the chill. A binder slips crooked under his arm, threatening to topple to the floor. Squinting at the train board means you’ve got two stops left and you force yourself upright, rubbing your eyes only to wince at their dryness.

Though your eyes ache and sleep tugs at your bones, he is worth staying awake for as his body sways with the rhythm of the car. Around you, everyone is immersed in their own little slices of the world, completely oblivious to another tired traveler. There’s a scar on his cheek and a tiredness about him, and your heart, two sizes too big, aches for something you don’t quite understand. One station passes without interruption and he is still asleep, draped over his backpack with his notebook slipping further, further. 

The train rounds the final bend, brakes screeching as it pulls into the station. The sudden deceleration is enough to send the stranger’s binder, packed with papers, spinning to the floor of the train just as you stand to gather your things. A few index cards here, some loose green and white papers there, and he is somehow still asleep through all of this, surrounded by oblivious minds and occupied hearts.

You have approximately five seconds to make a decision before the train fills with a swell of new passengers.

You don’t have to think when you’ve already made your choice.

Forgoing the cleanliness of your jeans, you stoop to the floor, scrabbling the spilled contents of paper and a pencil and a spare Chapstick into the mouth of the binder. People are already beginning to spill through the door, but you’re pushing your way through without a second glance, feet pounding the steps underneath you. You follow the beam of light that pours underground, cutting corners and rushing staircases until you are facing a narrow city block and the buildings that reach on tiptoe to kiss the heavens. The sun’s caress is warm on your cheeks as you stride through the gates, ever stony in their stoicism, and find a shady bench to sit and organize the mess in your hands.

It is a simple black binder filled to the brim with notebook paper, neat handwritten ideas that dissolve into simplistic sketches and jotted thoughts. You don’t mean to read it, you really don’t, but as you tuck the pencil into the neon green case looped through the rings, a single form catches your eye: an advertisement for the show in the greater library this weekend, set up by the architecture majors showcasing their designs in conjunction with the fine arts students.

He does fine arts? That must be the sketches in these pages. But perhaps it’s a casual hobby for him? Maybe he’s only interested in it and not actually pursuing it as a major. There’s Korean on this too; is he an international student? How long has he been going here? Why isn’t he dorming on campus with the others—  

A cough in front of you, and when you glance upward, you nearly choke in surprise.

Hazel shines russet when his eyes catch the light that filters through the trees, twinkling with something unknown when they meet your own. His hair is tucked under a beanie, vivid red against the muddy brown of his oversized sweater. His mask is pulled down to his chin as he fidgets in front of you, twisting his fingers with almost a childlike nervousness. His lips part, plush, a little chapped. “Can I have that?”

His English is sweet, accented on the ears, a softer tone than you’re expecting, but you don’t mind it. Curse your nerves and your sweaty palms! “Oh! Yeah, sure!” You nearly shove the binder at him and he blinks owlishly, taking a moment to examine its contents, making sure nothing is out of place while you ramble on and on. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get it back to you on the train, but you were asleep and I didn’t want to bother you, especially since here that’s typically just not what people do, you know how they are- Oh, your pencils and things are inside the pencil case, I figured they would be too much to try to carry around before I found you, you know? And I didn’t want anything to get lost; I hate when things of mine go missing and I tend to be so scatterbrained.” You chortle nervously as he hugs the binder to his chest.

A small smile blossoms on the stranger’s face and you get the feeling there’s more he wants to say, but doesn’t know how. Instead, he bows graciously, a little pink in the cheeks, and states simply, “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, really! Don’t worry about it. It’s what I’d want someone to do for me and since I’ve seen you only recently on the morning train, I didn’t quite know if you’re new to campus or you’ve been here a while and just moved or something like that-” He’s still staring, eyes wide, and you realize you’ve been talking for far too long. “But ah, I’m sorry! Continue on, yeah? Have a good day!” You ramble, internally kicking yourself. Damn your loose tongue and damn this man for being so infernally, unfairly attractive.

He blushes even deeper, face flushing crimson, and shoulders his backpack. “You too…?” When he trails off, you realize he’s waiting for your name and nearly trip over your own tongue getting the syllables out. He repeats it once and nods, extending a hand. “My name is Jeongguk.”

The way his fingers brush yours is ingrained in the softness of your skin for the rest of your day, in the touch of cologne that lingers in the autumn air long after he’s gone to class. He is the sweetness of your afternoon Starbucks and the freckles of the night sky, dotted through the ambient fog that settles over the city with all the comfort of a blanket. Somehow, someway, there’s a name to the face.

A very handsome face, to boot.

You wake early that Thursday, early enough that you have time to wrap yourself in the fuzziest blanket you own and pad to the window to gaze out upon the city as it wakes slowly, block by block.

The city is sleepy too, rosy glow hanging lazily over the skyline, reluctant to slip into the brightness of daytime. It slumps against the skyscrapers, vibrant fingers brushing the glass with the softest caresses, whispering sweet nothings to the minds that rest just behind the other side. Perhaps dawn enjoys pampering her city like this, with the kindest affirmations and the prettiest, warmest eyes. 

From your apartment window, it is as if first light is melting away, slipping lower and lower as the cracked-egg yolk of the sun leaks over the harbor, spilling over the urban jungle. As you stand, blanket around your shoulders and bathed in the beauty of early morning, a thought strikes you, a minute snippet of profound reality.

It is still on your mind as your feet cross the platform an hour later, effortlessly stepping over the gap into the narrow confines of the train car. It’s busier this morning and thus your usual seat is taken, leaving you to stand and cling for dear life to the pole. A stranger brushes your arm and someone pushes against your backpack, your throat tightening in response. Oh, how you hated busy days. Anxiety blurs your surroundings, swirling in color and breath and heat around you, an unfocused Polaroid. It is blurry and nothing is right, and the doors are opening and closing, opening and closing, and then there’s a new face pressing to your left, and your entire world melts at the very seams.

It is him. Him! He is here and real and in front of you, and has opted to completely ignore his usual (empty) seat in favor of standing with you, a kindly smile gracing the corners of his lips and he ducks his head into your field of view. His eyes flick to yours and the bokeh clears, your heart thrumming happily at the warmth they contain. His fingers grip above your own as he shifts to make sure others can flow around him; you take in that little scar on his cheek, the moles that dot his neck just under the folds of his jacket, the subtle lick of ink that dips into his collarbone. You can just make out the hum that trickles from his headphones over the rattling of the train, a melodic undertone, and his head dips to check his phone.

You’re the one to nudge Jeongguk when it’s your mutual stop, him flinching with surprise when he realizes how fast the ride has gone, and as you follow up through the station, you find that you are no longer trailing him, but instead by his side. He opts to walk next to you; when you tilt your head, asking the silent question, he merely smiles and pushes the pace just a bit. When you’re chasing sunlight on stone, borne out of the street into the mouth of the day, you find yourselves under the university gates, side by side. He takes out his earbuds, fidgeting with the wires as one foot taps the sidewalk. He’s nervous. “I just wanted to say thank you for getting my book yesterday,” he begins. “Properly thank you.”

“It’s nothing, Jeongguk!” You grin, perhaps a little flushed. “Anytime, really.”

Now it’s his turn to redden, shuffling in place. “Ah, is there anything I can do to return the favor?”

“Jeongguk, don’t be silly! Well…” you trail off. “Answer me one question. What’re you majoring in?”

He beams a little at this, glancing at the sidewalk. “I’m studying architecture here for a year; I’m from Seoul. I’m also learning English.” He winces. “Or trying to.”

“Well, I think you’re doing a great job. It’s amazing that you’re learning architecture in an urban environment like this!” You gesture above as a flock of pigeons flutters past. Like a damn Disney film. 

His eyes follow the birds as they swoop above the street, ducking under lamps and through scaffolding. “It’s different from Seoul, but also like Seoul. I like it,” he confesses. “I really like the city. Any city is my city, not just Seoul. You know?”

God, he is so cute, it hurts. Hearing him talk is flowers blooming snug in your chest, winding around your nerves, soothing their live-wire ends. You can’t help but smile at him. “I know.”

“I don’t want to keep you too long…” Jeongguk hesitates as the bell in the clocktower resonates down the commons. “Class starts soon.”

You frown. “Too soon. Want to grab lunch over at Fourteenth?”

His brows furrow. “Fourteenth?”

“Fourteenth and Tenth, yeah. There’s a cute little cafe on the corner, great for people watching and Americanos. And bubble tea. There’s ramen a few shops down, too.”

“Ramen!” Jeongguk practically vibrates in excitement. You swear your face will crack from how hard you’re grinning, from shyness or joy or both. His nose scrunches; your stomach flutters. “Can I have your number? Wait, is that too direct? May I have your phone?” He shakes his head but you’re already handing him your device, a new contact at the ready.

“Text me when you get out of class. I’ll show you how real ramen is supposed to taste.”

Jeongguk raises a hand in farewell, slipping his own phone back into his pocket. You’ll never know that he saved your contact under 귀여운 여행자, nor that he suddenly has a reason to stay awake through his 8am.

And when he spots you sitting there under the Alma Mater a few hours later, his heart skips a beat in its chest. His phone vibrates in his hand.

Ready to eat?

He was born ready.

There’s a poetry book you like to read on Friday morning subway rides, one that filters breath into your lungs and stirs the lyrics in your heart. You soak up the comforts of literature with a mocha in the other hand, lo-fi in your ears, and obnoxiously colored plastic supporting your back. How wonderful life could be in all of its simple joys.

There’s warmth at your side in the form of a boy, a boy with the stars in his eyes and the galaxy in his heart who asked if he could sit next to you and with a pounding in your chest, you gladly accepted, moving your bag to your lap and returning to your Keats, singing cants of yearning all these years later.

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art--

Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

And watching, with eternal lids apart,

Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

The moving waters at their priestlike task

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--

No--yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

And so live ever--or else swoon to dea—

A note is tucked into your open page, a folded piece of cream-white paper, smooth at the edges, unwrinkled. You glance up at him to find his gaze steadily fixed on a grayed gum stain, knee jumping up and down, up and down as he fingers the rip in his frayed jeans. You unfold the paper slowly, carefully.

Are you busy on Sunday afternoon? Because I’d really like to take you to an art exhibition on campus, and I think you’d look right at home among the masterpieces.

Jeongguk’s focus is on the floor and the floor alone as his stomach twists. Butterflies beat their wings against his ribcage, darting here and there, and he swears that if the train sways one more time, he may throw up his bagel right there and then.

He feels something at his right jacket pocket and flinches, only to notice it is your hand that retreats from it a second later.

He produces a familiar looking scrap of paper from his pocket with trembling fingers, unfolding it anew as he reads a new line of scribbled letters, squinting a little at the cramped figures.

An art exhibition? Sounds like a perfect first date to me.

And that’s how this beautiful thing begins.

an epilogue (of sorts): one year and one day later

There is a thought you had many moons ago, in the heart of a child but nestled in a timeless soul. A thought that was purely fantasy: of mankind supporting the weight of the heavens with the structures that scratch the sky around your tiny little apartment, shared not by one soul, but two. Never before had someone so fallen into your heart like he had, cradling it in his palms with sweet, sweet adoration. Jeongguk was yours and you were his, and that was simply how things were.

You had moved in shortly after you began dating, a decision some criticized but had felt purely natural to the both of you. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him, easy to let him into the world you had built for yourself now expanding to fit one more.

He introduced you to Korean barbecue and held you when things wouldn’t go your way; you dragged him into the vortex of John Mulaney’s comedy and cried together while binging all seven Harry Potter movies in two days. He taught you some Korean while you polished his English, supplementing it with words he perhaps didn’t need to know, but you couldn’t help laughing when he mashed profanities in brand-new combinations. He loved tea and quiet nights on the couch; you craved the intimate moments high above it all, watching your city rush beneath you in all of its gritty, grimy, wonderful glory. Jeongguk’s pen scratches the page of his sketchbook as you gaze out at the lights that flicker in the apartment buildings seated securely in midtown, downtown, beyond.

We will never know when the sky decides to fall, to come crashing down to earth in all of her heavenly splendor. It is something known only in the fabric of the universe, stitched together in cosmic threads we cannot even hope to unravel. Not yet, anyways. It will come to us eventually, when it is time, comfortably so. In the meantime, you’ll look out over the balcony railing of your little studio apartment uptown, the night air breathing clear, with a blanket wrapped around your legs and Jeon Jeongguk by your side, unceasingly himself.

And that is everything you can ask for in this life and the next.

[stellar-alley]

Of Scales and Sea Glass

•Chapter 7•

<< Previous Chapter 

(Summary: The Final Chapter)

Also shout out to @ambitiousskychild on tumblr for being my beta!

Thank you.

~

It had been a week since Beverly, or any of the Losers had heard from Eddie. He had gone totally radio silent on every social media and didn’t even answer the door when they tried to visit. Bev was worried and she was gonna do something about it.

After rifling through her stash of keys, she finally found the spare key to Eddie’s house that he gave her in case of emergencies. In her mind this was deemed a worthy time to use it. So she shoved it in her pocket and marched over to her neighbours house.

She didn’t even bother knocking, she’d been knocking for the past week with no response. She rang the doorbell, shoved the key in its hole and slipped into the house.

“EDDIE!” She called out. Bev searched the main level, the kitchen, family room and basement. She shouted out his name a couple other times before making her way up the stairs and onto the top floor. Surprised that he wasn't in his room, she wondered if he was there at all. Maybe he left town, the idea of Eddie leaving without notifying anyone sent a shiver down her spine. Finally, as she was walking past the bathroom she caught a glimpse of Eddie through the door that was cracked open.

“Eddie?” She questioned as she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Eddie was indeed in the bathroom. He had fallen asleep in the bathtub with a blanket around his shoulders and a tear soaked pillow under his head. His cheeks pink while his eyes were puffy from crying.

Beverly let out a sigh of relief before kneeling down beside the tub and reaching down to nudge Eddie.

“Eddie, sweety, wake up.” She raised her voice slightly in hopes of waking him from his slumber.

Eddie’s eyes blinked open. He jolted sideways, trying to sit up, but he was in a bathtub. “Ri-” Eddie stopped mid word, “Beverly?” He croaked, his mind hazing from sleep.

“Hey Eddie.” She smirked at his disheveled hair, half of it matted to his face while the rest shot out in random directions.

Eddie began to rub his eyes in hopes of clearing his vision then asked. “W-What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s because my best friend just decided to drop off the fucking face of the earth without telling anyone.” Sarcasm laced her voice as she scratched her head, as if she had to think about it.

“Oh… Yeah,” Eddie glanced away, guilt created a pit in his stomach.

“Oh, yeah,” she mimicked. “Eddie what’s going on?” She asked as her brow furrowed, clearly worried.

Eddie realized he had hid for too long. “Richie’s gone.” His voice shook, but he continued, “H-He had to go home. I miss him so much.”

Beverly leaned over the tub and wrapped her arms around Eddie. “I’m sorry honey, I thought Richie was gonna stay.”

“I thought so too.”

It took a while but soon Eddie was back to living a semi normal life. Every morning when he woke up he’d go for a walk on the beach and watch the waves, in and out, in and out. After Beverly ambushed him at his house, she had helped him clean and make some actual food for himself. She agreed to let Eddie tell the rest of the Losers what happened but she made him promise to get out of the house and see them. So when Bill invited them to his house when his parents were out of town, Eddie told them everything. At first he was only going to say how Richie left to go back to Canada but instead he began retelling the story of how they met and how he housed a merman in his bathtub for a month before he magically sprouted legs.

At first no one believed him, then Stan pipped up. “Makes sense. Richie was weird, he kinda just appeared. Plus he had trouble walking and was obviously unaware of most things we talked about. So yeah, I buy it.” With Stan behind him he was slowly able to convince the rest of the group. The thing that really got all of them on board was when he whipped out his phone and showed them the photos he’d taken of Richie in the tub with his tail, he refrained from playing the video, that was his.

That night Eddie had felt better than he had in a long time. There was a weight off his shoulders now that the rest of the losers knew about Richie. He really hated lying to them.

Eddie was in the middle of folding the freshly washed clothes he had just removed from the dryer when he felt an odd lump in the pocket of a pair of shorts. He rummaged around in there until he felt a smooth object rub up against his fingers. He collected them and looked down at what he held. A small gasp escaped his lips when he realized what he was holding. Scales and sea glass.

A tear rolled down his cheek, but for a change it wasn’t filled with sadness. No, Eddie was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of joy as he recalled all of the best moments he had with Richie. Everything from their first kiss to how Richie helped him in the water. That night he fell asleep in one of Richie’s massive cat T-shirts. It was still filled with the smell of the boy he loved. That was the first time he had a good night’s rest in a long time.

~

The next morning Eddie found himself watching the sunrise from his bedroom window as he sipped from his first cup of coffee. The pastel pinks and purples filling his body with a comforting feeling as the new day began. The ocean in his backyard was fairly calm, which was a nice change considering the past few days have been filled with white caps and cool water.

The human’s gaze scanned the horizon, he examined the various clusters of rocks that poked out from the ocean’s surface. Finally his gaze fell on one of the clusters closest to shore.

He noticed something shiny laid over the rocks.He didn’t want to get his hopes up again… What really got his heart racing was when he saw a fucking hand lift up and off the rock. Immediately, Eddie ditched the whole ‘getting his hopes up’ thing and bolted from his room and down the stairs. The only thing he was focused on was the stairs under his feet, then the door in front of him. He yanked open the back door and leaped out and into his backyard. Eddie ran through his yard, not stopping when he reached the ocean, he simply dived into the waves.

Making it to the rocks didn’t take that long, but it felt like a lifetime. When he hoisted himself up and onto the rock his heart nearly stopped beating completely.

There he was, all sprawled out on his back, tail and all, one hand on his forehead while the other laid beside him. His inky black hair all wild and tangled just like the way it was when they first met. Eddie couldn’t deny how good he looked.

“Richie…” Eddie’s voice drifted off as he admired the merman in all of his fish-like glory.

Richie’s eyes fluttered open and landed on the two legged beauty that hovered over him. He let out a little amused breath of air through his nose as if in shock he ever saw Eddie again. He squinted more than normal, especially since he didn’t have his glasses on, but he could clearly see the beauty before him. The sun shone in his eyes as he moved his hand to cover the light that blinded him.

Eddie’s face scrunched up, “Wait what the fuck, where are your glasses?” he asked.

Richie shrugged as he squinted even more as if he was trying to say ‘how the fuck am I supposed to know?’.

“Richie what happened?” Eddie asked.

Richie leaned up and reached a hand up to the back of Eddie’s neck as he pulled him down, their lips meeting in the middle. The human and the merman kissed as if not a day had passed since they last saw each other.

“Hey Spaghetti,” Richie breathed.

Eddie giggled at the realization. “Did you just steal my spit so you can talk?” he smiled against Richie’s lips.

“Oh you know it!” Richie smirked before going back in for another kiss.

~

•One Year Later•

“God I don’t get how you weirdos like this shit,” Richie gagged as he invenonetenly sipped Eddie’s coffee.

“Us? Weird? Speak for yourself Fish butt,” Beverly smirked up at Richie from where she sat on the floor beside the couch. She reached up and grabbed Ben’s drink from where he sat on the couch, sipped it then handed it back.

“How do you like it? I tried a new recipe for that one,” Stan motioned towards Ben’s drink.

Since the Losers started college, Stan has taken up the art of coffee-making. First by purchasing an expensive ass coffee and espresso machine, he proceeded to get a job at one of those pinterest coffee shops with the fake plants and the really good cookies. The Losers dubbed it their new hang out spot, that’s where they had just returned from. Currently the Losers were lounging in their college’s common room. They were all lucky enough to have rooms on the same floor so it made it really easy for all of them to meet up.

Bev nodded in approval. “It’s for sure better than last time.”

“You mean the time Bill shot frappuccino out of his nose?” Mike recalled a memory that made them all laugh a little.

“Not fu-funny Mikey,” Bill flicked his arm playfully.

Eddie reached down and snatched his drink back from Richie who was laying in his lap as he laid on the couch, back against the arm rest. After Eddie sipped his own drink then resumed playing with Richie’s clean and untangled hair. (Eddie always made sure Richie’s hair smelled good and often found himself brushing it out whenever it was just them two in the room. They both found it cathartic, reminding them of a simpler time)

When Richie returned to Eddie just over a year ago, the merman explained how the council of mers was furious with his actions and banished him from his kingdom of Oceana, never to return again. “Little do they know how good I’ve got it up here,” Richie smirked as he nudged Eddie. So Richie would go swimming, in the pool or the ocean whenever he pleased, going full tail and all. Eddie never got tired of watching him swim, it always left him in awe. Even the rest of the Losers loved Mer Richie. Even though Eddie had spilled the beans, the next time the Losers came over for a pool day they all demanded to see Richie’s tail. So of course he cannonballed into the pool and showed off his scaly blue tail, everyone loved it.

“Hey Rich how did that test go today?” Ben asked.

Richie rolled his eyes at the thought. “As good as it can go. I knew most of the content but I’m pretty sure I fudged the last question.”

After some intense studying and some magic, Richie was able to slither his way into college at the same time as the rest of the Losers. He majored in marine biology. It was pretty easy as he knew most of the stuff they taught but he was just happy he got to be with his real family. Sure there were some hard times, since he was a merman. Like when it was raining outside, making Richie late for class, or when someone (Bev) was smoking in their room and set off the sprinklers. But other than that, life was pretty swell.

All the Losers applied early so they’d be able to pick their roommates. So Richie and Eddie lived together, which wasn't anything new, now they just had two beds to choose from even though they always slept together. Mike and Bill shared a room across from Richie and Eddie while Ben and Stan lived in the room beside them. Bev had a room all to herself as her roommate dropped out. There were about four other rooms in their hall, but they didn’t see much of their other hall-mates so the Losers ran that floor. Lucky floor number seven.

“Well, well, well, look who it is.” A familiar voice caught the Losers’ attention as they all turned towards the hallway to see Victor Criss walking towards them.

“Hey Vic, how’s it going?” Mike greets him as he’s the closest one to him.

“Eh, ya know same old same old,” Vic takes a sip from his own drink as he walks around to lean against the couch Richie and Eddie are on.

Sure the Bowers gang bullied them throughout the years, thank god Victore was the only one who attended the same college as them. He also wasn't that bad of a guy, without Henry bossing his ass around he was acutely a pretty chill guy. He’s even hung out with them a couple of times.

“Staniel, how’re you liking the new job?” Vic gestured to Stan with the hand he held the drink with.

Richie flinched at the movement from where he laid below, worried that the drink would drip on him. Eddie caught on and wrapped his arms a little tighter around him, snuggling his head into Richie’s soft curls as he balanced his own drink on Richie’s chest.

“Oh god not you too,” Stan facepalms, “That’s not my name.”

Both Richie and Vic burst out laughing. The merman reached a fist up to the bleach blonde for a fist bump.

The next moment played out in slow motion. Vic reached down with the hand that held his drink, when their fists collided, the liquid in his bottle sloshed from its container and fell down towards the merman. Richie jolted into a sitting position. With a quick slide of his hand, he was able to magically divert the water so it hit the floor instead of him.

A sudden wave of relief filled Richie as he avoided an accident, a code blue, but that relief disappeared as quickly as it rolled in, when Richie felt something cold and wet seep into the front of his shirt. He looked down at his chest and noticed that when he sat up, Eddie had tipped his own drink, which is why coffee now soaked his shirt.

“SHIT!” Richie hollered as he leaped from his seat on the couch and stood up. When he stood he pulled Eddie off the couch, he landed on the floor with a thud. Eddie didn’t waste any time scrambling to his feet just in time to meet Richie’s gaze.

“Code blue?” Eddie asked quietly, worry laced his voice.

“Code blue,” Richie confirmed. He looked back at all of his friends who had their eyes glued to him.

There was a moment where everyone just stared at each other before the rest of the Losers burst out in shouts, basically all of them saying how he needed to go now and that they’d cover for him.

With that, Richie grabbed Eddie’s hand and ran like hell.

That was the scene, two boyfriends, one human and one that was far from it, laughing and running hand in hand as they ran to their dorm room.

Richie transformed the moment the door closed. He fell forward and landed on his now naked chest, his long, blue, scaly tail sprawled out behind him. When he fell his glasses had flown off of his face.

Eddie locked the door after them, tossed Richie one of the various towels they had laying around their apartment for moments like these. He tossed it down to Richie before he went to retrieve his boyfriend’s glasses which were a mere couple feet in front of Richie’s face, but he’s blind as fuck without them so that wasen’t new.

Eddie carefully picked them up off the ground and took a seat across from Richie, who was now sitting up and vigorously drying his tail. Eddie studied the glasses in his hands, feeling their frame and their insanely thick lenses. The tinted glass brought a nostalgic grin to his face.

The human reached forward and cupped Richie’s cheek, turning his face to look at him. Eddie smiled as he slid Richie’s glasses back on his face. He watched the fish boy's eyes clear with the help of his glasses, he glanced down at his tail and smiled.

My boyfriend Sea glass and scales I wouldn’t want it any other way

Eddie thought as he leaned in and kissed a merman.

His merman.

Fin

Get it?

Get it?

Fin?

Cause he’s a merman and has a fin?

Ahahah I know I’m hilarious.

Word Count: 2828

Woah... I cannot believe this story is over. I’m sad cause I love mer Richie and the storyline, but at the same time I’m so happy with the way this story turned out! I always had trouble creating a storyline and sticking with it, so actually finishing a story that isn’t 100 chapters long with like 20 subplots is a big accomplishment for me!

Not sure if this will be the end of merman Richie’s adventures as I have a couple ideas for one shots that’d be based in the same universe. So let me know if you’d be interested in that! Comment down below or send me an ask. Heck, even request scenes! Like if you have something you’d like to see these characters do, let me know!

Throughout the entire time that I’ve published this story I’ve gotten so many sweet and loving comments, they always made my day! So don’t feel shy to spam my comment section and like stuff because it really shows how much you guys like my work. Thank you to everyone who’s supported this book, none of your appreciation went unnoticed, I saw every like, reblog, and comment. I appreciate all of it. 

And if you’ve enjoyed my work so far, why not go check out my other Reddie story, Everfalls. It’s about Eddie who is a magically rabbit hybrid and Richie who’s a werewolf! If you liked this story then you’ll for sure enjoy Everfalls. You can find it on Tumblr, or Archive of Our Own. Or check out all the other stories I’ve written on my Masterlist. And if you want to stay up to date with me and my life, go check out my Instagram Stellar.Cosplays . I'd love to see some of you guys there!

Okay I think that’s everything I wanted to say. So once again, thank you, I really have loved every second of writing this book. I love IT, and mermaids, so this truly was the best of both worlds. 

That’s all from me guys, catch you on the flip side...

So Long and Goodnight.

~

[Taglist]

@richietoaster @s-onora @that-weird-girl-blog @beproudtozier @ghostnebula @bellarosewrites @s-s-georgie @lermanslogan @iamcupcakefrosting @madidraw @gazebobullshit @thoughtfullyyoungduck @aangzukos @ambitiousskychild @reddieonwheels @breadheadscorpius @opinions-you-didnt-ask-for @faz-se

[angst-for-the-angst-queen]

YOU Get Some Crofter's, And YOU Get Some Crofter's!

Sanders Sides Fanfic

Originally posted on Wattpad on February 25th, 2020.

Summary: It’s the last day of filming for the newest Sanders Sides video. Roman is still jealous that Crofter’s named the Logan’s Berry jam after Logan, so he decides to make his own Crofter’s flavor.

Warning(s): Crude humor.

Roman stretched as he walked into the Mind Palace’s kitchen, adding a little extra wrist flick as he did so. “Fantastical morning, Logan!”

The knowledgeable Side looked up from his breakfast, putting down his utensil and pushing up his glasses as he did so. “Good morning, Roman. It is quite unusual to see you this sprightly so early in the morning. You aren’t even usually conscious until Patton informs you that breakfast is ready. What are you doing up now?”

The prince opened the refrigerator door with a flourish, turning away from his fellow Side and focusing on the task of figuring out what to eat for breakfast. “Oh, the last day of filming for the newest Sanders Sides video is today, as you know. I thought that it would be a good idea if I woke up earlier than usual so that way I would be at my peak acting ability in time for the video, which would benefit both Thomas and myself greatly.”

Logan picked up his eating utensil again. “As I have discussed in a previous video, it is essential that one falls asleep and wakes up at the same time every day so the body releases adrenaline an hour before it’s time to get up. By getting up earlier than normal, your adrenaline most likely didn’t release at the correct time, making you more tired and therefore backfiring on your plan.”

“Oh, shut up Encyclopædia Boretannica,” Roman retorted, slamming the door to the fridge shut when he failed to find anything of interest to eat. “If you haven’t noticed, I am just as energetic as I normally am.”

“If by ‘energetic’ you mean ‘excessive,’ then no, I haven’t noticed. The brain ignores repetitive sensory input, and your actions are consistently exaggerated.”

Roman turned around in order to properly respond to Logan’s retort when he froze, noticing for the first time the gelatinous sustenance Logan was putting into his mouth. “We still have that?! I thought they sold out more than a year ago!”

Logan swallowed the food he currently had in his mouth before he turned his attention onto the container of Logan’s Berry jam in front of him. “Indeed we do. The Mindscape doesn’t reside in the real world, meaning it doesn’t follow the scientific principles I know and cherish. I can just conjure up a new container of Logan’s Berry jam whenever I want, even though it no longer exists outside of Thomas’ mind.”

Roman slid into the seat across the table from Logan, pouting. “I still can’t believe that they made the jam about you.”

Logan, who was about to put another spoonful of jam into his mouth, stopped and lowered the spoon to the container’s opening. “You’re still distraught over it?”

Roman replied to the teacher’s question with a sullen nod.

“Emotions,” Logan muttered with disgust under his breath. Of course this problem was caused by emotions. He was clueless as to how to console Roman, so he tried the next best thing: a logical solution.

“Couldn’t you just conjure up your very own version of Crofter’s Jam? You are Creativity, after all.”

Roman’s eyes widened, and he leapt out of his seat. “That’s an amazing idea Logan! How do you come up with these ideas? Why are you so smart?!”

Logan pulled his flashcards out of his pocket and began rifling through them. There was one he was saving for this very situation, when one of the Sides admitted his intelligence. Finding it, he held it up and read it out loud. “Yeah, it’s big brain time.”

Roman stared at Logan in disbelief. “I immediately take back what I said.”

Logan just raised one eyebrow and put his flashcards away. “You can’t take back words. They aren’t physical objects.”

Roman held up a finger dismissively in Logan’s direction. “I’m not listening to you anymore. Let me focus on making my own Crofter’s Jam flavor!”

He held his hands under his chin and stared at the table in complete concentration. After a few seconds, a small container appeared on the surface with a small popping noise, which Roman snatched up. He examined the jar and its red contents before holding it towards Logan with a smile. “Behold! Royal Raspberry!”

Logan studied the jam before returning his gaze back to Roman. “Raspberry? Really? I would have expected Creativity to be able to come up with something more... creative.”

Roman pouted as he summoned a spoon into his hand. “Well, I’m sorry that my favorite jam flavor is raspberry! I can enjoy the simple things in life, you know.” He opened the jam and tasted it with his spoon. “And it tastes divine, even more so than yours.”

Before Logan could reply, a certain energetic Side bounded into the room, followed by another Side who followed with slouched shoulders and his hands in his pockets. “Hey, kiddos! What’s this talk of Crofter’s I hear?”

Roman proudly held up the jam. “I got my own Crofter’s flavor!”

“Congrats, Roman!” Patton exclaimed, leaning against the counter. “Did Thomas get another partnership?”

“I doubt it,” Virgil countered from where he was sitting on top of the table. “I would have known instantly, as Thomas would have become stressed out over the prospect of making a unique promotion video like ‘Crofter’s: The Musical.’”

Logan studied Virgil’s location before deciding to ignore it for now. “There is no reinitiated partnership between us and Crofter’s. Roman just realized that he could conjure up his own Crofter’s flavor.”

“That’s pretty cool!” Patton replied. “Will you teach me how to do it? I want to try.”

“Just conjure an object like we usually do, but in your mind, imagine the flavor and label design that  you want. It may be a bit harder for you since you’re not Creativity like I am,” Roman explained.

Patton plopped into a seat at the table. If objects were impacted by the focus of one’s gaze, a hole would have been burned into the table. After about thirty seconds, the bright blue jam popped into existence, which Patton scooped up and presented proudly. “Look! Dad’s Blue Raspberry Delight!”

Virgil gazed at the jam curiously. “Blue raspberry? Like the blue flavor for ICEEs and AirHeads?”

Roman gasped. “How dare you?! First you hijack my joke, now you’re stealing my jam flavor?!”

Patton’s smile fell slightly. “I’m sorry, Roman. I didn’t realize it was your flavor. I couldn’t see the label from where I was.”

Noticing Virgil’s intense glare aimed at him, Roman quickly made amends. “It’s alright, Padre. You put your own little twist on it.”

Logan adjusted his tie. “Patton did indeed put his own style on his jam. He decided to use Rubus leucodermis, while you used Rubus idaeus.”

“English please,” Virgil sighed.

“Whitebark raspberries vs red raspberries,” Logan added, pushing up his glasses before looking over at Virgil. “And are you alright? You are, and I quote, ‘sitting on a surface that isn’t meant to be sat on.’”

“I’m fine,” Virgil said quickly. “Just worried about the last day of filming.” After a pause, Virgil slipped off the table and landed on a chair. “I want to try.”

Everyone observed Virgil as he focused on the table for a minute before the jar appeared. Virgil looked at it for a second before spinning it around so everyone could see the purple jam.

Roman leaned forward in order to read the label. “Failure Figs?”

Patton looked disapprovingly in Virgil’s direction. “If you’re implying anything about yourself with that name, I will get my hands on that jam and change the name to Fun Figs.”

Virgil threw his hands into the air in exasperation. “I wasn’t saying anything negative about myself!”

“Then what did you mean?” Patton asked.

The anxious Side fidgeted in his seat. “Well, I thought that whenever I’m feeling down, I could eat some of that to remind myself that not all failure is bad. It’s a stupid coping mechanism, I know…”

Logan inhaled the rest of his jam and licked his lips before refocusing on Virgil. “That is a perfectly reasonable coping strategy, Virgil. It would be considered an emotion-focused coping strategy, as you’re changing how you feel about the events occurring around you in order to alleviate some stress.”

“Oh. That’s cool, I guess,” Virgil muttered. He opened the jar and sampled a little with his index finger. “Hey, this actually tastes pretty-“

“Sup, b****es!” a certain trash man shrieked, bursting into the kitchen, Deceit sauntering in behind him.

Virgil shot bolt upright in his chair, hissing.

“What are they doing here?!” Roman asked.

“Now, now, Remus. What have I said about inappropriate language?” Patton admonished.

Remus scrunched his face up in thought, before exclaiming “Sup, buttholes!”

“Well, that is better,” Patton admitted.

“What. Are. They. Doing. Here?!” Virgil repeated Roman’s question, louder this time.

“I have no idea, don’t ask me,” Logan responded.

Virgil looked at Roman, but he was too busy staring down his twin. With a sigh, he turned to Patton. “Patton, do you know why they’re-”

“Of course I do!” Patton chirped happily. “I invited them here for breakfast!”

Silence filled the kitchen, which Virgil interrupted with a poignant “Why?”

“Well, kiddo,” Patton replied. “Since the Sanders Sides video that we’re all working on right now is about making peace with the Dark Sides, I thought that it would be a good idea if we actually attempted to do so! They’re coming over every Friday morning to have breakfast with us! I’m calling it ‘Fun FamILY Fridays.’”

“We’re all going to have ssso much fun together,” Deceit stated with a sly smile.

Virgil stared at Patton in disbelief. “Patton, when you promised Thomas that you would try not to have a knee jerk reaction to Remus anymore, I didn’t expect that you would literally invite him and his scaly pal over for brunch.” 

“Calm down, depresso-espresso,” Roman remarked. “Maybe making peace with them won’t be such a bad thing. It is the whole point of this new video, after all. There’s a reason why we’re making it.”

“I agree with Roman’s and Patton’s logic, strangely enough,” Logan admitted.

“Don’t worry, Virgil. Nothing will go wrong,” Deceit reassured him.

“That isn’t comforting at all, considering that it’s coming from Deceit!” Virgil shot back.

Before the conflict could escalate into a full blown fight, Patton snatched up his Dad’s Blue Raspberry Delight jam. “Do you two want to make your own Crofter’s Jam flavor?”

Remus, who was busy watching the bitter staring contest occurring between the current and former Dark Sides, turned to look at the moral Side. “What?”

“Do you want to make your own Crofter’s flavor?” Patton asked hopefully. “Roman, Virgil, and I made our own this morning.”

“Sounds interesting,” Deceit scoffed, “but I’ll bite.”

“Wait, what?! No!” Virgil exclaimed. “Get out of here, you slippery snake!”

Patton ignored his son. “Just focus on conjuring a jar filled with jam of your desired flavor and decorating it with your own creative label.”

Deceit placed his chin on his hands, his gaze focused on the table. After about forty-five seconds, a jar filled with yellow jam appeared, instantly filling the kitchen with a noxious odor. Patton winced, Roman pinched his nose shut with two fingers, Virgil hid the bottom half of his face in his jacket, Logan’s nose twitched, and Remus cackled.

Patton hesitantly picked up the jar and looked at the label. “Durian’s Deceit? Is your name Durian?”

“Yes,” Deceit responded, rolling his eyes and snatching the jar back. He then opened the jam and tasted it.

Princey blanched. “How are you able to eat that?!”

Virgil snorted. “Well, you are what you eat.”

“Actually, the durian fruit doesn’t taste poorly, like its unsavory scent would imply,” Logan corrected. “It’s well known for smelling disgusting, yet it’s actually quite delicious.”

“Which is why it’s deceitful!” Patton finished. “Good one, Deceit!”

Deceit opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the deodorant-eating Side, who had made his jam during the commotion. He held it out for everyone to see. “Mine is Forbidden Fruit! It contains apples, peaches, and eggplants.”

Deceit rolled his eyes while Virgil facepalmed and Roman tried to hold in a chuckle. Logan cleared his throat before remarking “I should hope that it’s at least cooked eggplant, as raw eggplant can cause an upset stomach. However, the part we eat isn’t poisonous like the general public tends to believe.”

“Well, eggplant is an odd choice, but you do you kiddo!” Patton added on.

In response to Patton’s statement, Virgil hit his head on the table.

Patton turned on Virgil faster than dogs chase their tails. “You hurt yourself again, and I will physically fight you!” he warned.

Virgil flipped his hood on. “Your innocence is painful sometimes.”

Ignoring the commotion between Patton and Virgil, Remus whipped out an empty deodorant container and began the process of scooping the jam out of the jar, plopping it into the container, and compacting it down. Deceit and Roman instantly teamed up in order to get him to stop, while Virgil began explaining Remus’ thought process behind his jam flavor to Logan.

Patton surveyed the chaos. While this breakfast wasn’t the best the fatherly Side could have hoped for, it was still better than some of the other meals he and his fellow Light Sides shared in the past. Overall, he was just happy the kitchen wasn’t on fire.

Fun FamILY Fridays can only improve from here, Patton thought to himself hopefully. Leaving the rest of the Sides to their own devices, he began cooking breakfast for them all while thinking optimistically about the future.

[the--sad--hatter]

Name Calling (34)

FANDOM - MARVEL MCU

PAIRING - BUCKY X READER (female reader, no physical descriptions)

WARNINGS - ALL OF THEM, SMUT, VIOLENCE ANGST

DESCRIPTION -  In which the ongoing and bloody war of words between you and Bucky turns in your favor when a disgruntled one night stand of his lets slip a secret when you run into her in the elevator… Now you have all the ammunition you need to destroy your enemy but you don’t plan on killing him quickly. Oh no, Bucky Barnes was going to suffer and you were going to enjoy every second. You just didn’t count on how much you would enjoy it.

Current Word Count -  95,032

MASTERLIST

Moodboard by @talesofakindredspirit

Chapter Thirty Four - Starkcation

On the bright side you were the golden girl of the international media and had been given a medal of some kind by the Spanish Government for dismantling Los Charlínes, one of the major Galician Mafia Clans.

On the less bright side, you had three bullet wounds a broken wrist, a hairline fracture in your skull and the worst hangover known to mankind. The UN were furious with you for your unsanctioned self-appointed mission despite it’s success and you were currently sat on a Private Plane across from your extremely displeased father.

You tried to sit up and grab the glass of water but every time you moved half an inch you just ended up groaning in pain and/or throwing up.

“Help?” You muttered pathetically at Tony.

You hadn’t really needed his help or to have him fly all the way to Spain in a panic but Wade had convinced you it was a great idea. Your drunken self had agreed and paused in the middle of a shoot-out with forty odd mafia goons to phone Tony and tell him you were in trouble. By the time he arrived you were holed up in the American Consulate building being congratulated for your work by the Spanish Prime Minister and trying not to throw up into a waste-paper basket.

“I told you I needed space. You really think acting out like this is going to make things better?” Tony snapped at you as he pushed the water within reach.

You guzzled it down and collapsed back in your seat with a whimper.

“I * hiccup* missed you.” You muttered.

“You went on a killing spree with a mercenary whilst you were drunk, without any kind of back-up,  without informing anyone where you were and you did it in a foreign country.” He ranted.

“Well when you say it like that it just sounds impressive.” You retorted.

“It’s… a little impressive.” He begrudgingly admitted.

“But it was dangerous, foolhardy and ill thought out and now I sound like Capsicle so thank you for that!” He continued.

“I just wanted to have fun, I needed to have fun and feel good feelings but I realised no matter how hard I try it doesn’t mean anything if you don’t love me anymore.” You said weepily.

There was a slight possibility you were still drunk.

“I can’t love you if you’re dead! If this had gone badly you’d be floating in the ocean right now as shark bait!” Tony yelled and you winced at the volume.

“But I won. Well we did, Wade helped. He got all the money and I got all the credit. There’s a country with a lot less crime going on, there’s less drugs being intentionally shipped, we get to spend quality time together and I have a pet donkey! There’s no downside.” You insisted.

There was in fact a donkey in the cargo bay of the ship, gifted to you by a very grateful family who’s son had been taken by the mafia a few years prior. His name was Mr Donkeypool and Tony had to pull some strings so you could take him back to the US where he was going to live on the Barton farm since Laura had happily agreed to take him in.

“No downside? You’ve got so many bullet holes in you you’re practically swiss!” He pointed out.

“I’ll heal.” You pouted.

“You’re too much like me, I can’t argue with you.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Does that mean you forgive me?” You asked hopefully.

“For risking The Accords and international politics? Yes. For falling in love with the 100 year old brainwashed assassin who orphaned me? I’m trying, I really am.” He admitted.

“I know you need time, I do. But do you have to ignore me? I won’t rub me and Bucky in your face, I promise but please don’t push me away.” You begged.

Tony looked guilty and reached over to slowly adjust your seat so you were lying down.

“Get some sleep Kit Kat, you need it. We’ll talk more once we’ve landed.” He instructed you.

You were drunk and hungover at the same time, in massive amounts of pain and emotionally and physically exhausted. You didn’t have to be told twice. Your breathing evened out quickly and Tony watched your face smooth over as you fell asleep.

Maybe pushing you away wasn’t the best idea. He couldn’t face you and Barnes but maybe he didn’t have to just yet. Secretary Ross needed time to cool off and you needed some R&R away from the buzzing public while you healed. He pulled out his phone and started making arrangements.

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

Tony gently shook you awake as the plane a few hours later.  

“We’re landing Kit Kat.” He warned you.

The sun was streaming through the windows and you blinked blearily, shifting to check your pain levels. You were stiff as hell and your mouth felt like dry moulded over cardboard but you had healed a little bit. You’d gone from death’s door the death’s driveway so it was an improvement at least.

The plane tilted as it began it descent and the pilot spoke over the intercom.

“Good morning Mr Stark, Miss Stark. We’ve begun our descent and will arrive at Van Nuys Airport shortly.” He said.

“Where?” You asked groggily.

“We’re in Malibu, you haven’t been to the New House I had built here yet and you need a few days for your injuries to heal.” Tony explained.

“So we aren’t in New York?” You asked, puzzled.

“No we’re in Malibu.” He repeated, shaking his head at you and handing you an espresso.

“Why?” You asked.

“For Gods sake… We’re here to have a vacation.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh. OH! Really? We? As in you’re staying?” You asked excitedly.

“Well I’m not leaving you alone in my beach-front mansion, you’ll probably invite every morally dubious individual in the city over and throw a rager.” He snarked.

You ignored the sass and grinned happily at him.

“I would never do that, not without inviting you anyway.” You offered.

“No parties, can’t believe I’m saying that. Pepper landed a couple of hours ago and will meet us at the house. This will be a peaceful family bonding holiday. With lots of booze. For me, you’re being dried out.” He informed you.

You couldn’t care less, you were going to get to spend a few days with Tony and Pepper. Pain aside, this was the best news ever.

When the plane landed Tony had to help you hobble off it and down the stairs and as he guided you across the tarmac you decided there was something magical about the sky in Malibu, it was so blue. You barely had a chance to see it as Tony ushered you both into the waiting car but he did put the top down for you as he drove you both to his house.

Mr Donkeypool was in good hands he assured you, he was being transported to the house and he was going to be a beach Donkey for a few days. Tony promised he’d be happy in Malibu and he’d hired someone to look after him until it was time to send him to the farm.

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

After you washed the jet lag off in the gigantic en suite shower you wandered back into your bedroom. Pepper had set out a sundress on the bed for you in your favourite colour and you smiled at the gift. Pepper had a penchant for spoiling you.

You slipped it on, mindful of your plasters and bandages and after gently rotating your wrist you decided you could get away without rewrapping it. It was fairly healed by now.

You happily slid down the bannister and joined Tony and Pepper on the back deck where luch had been set up.

“There you are sweetheart, how was your shower?” Pepper asked you, passing you a glass of orange juice.

“Great! I’ll enjoy it more when I’m not doing weird acrobatics to keep my bandages dry though.” You admitted.

“Maybe try not getting shot next time.” Tony snorted.

“This coming from the man who flew a nuke through an alien wormhole.” Pepper berated him and you smirked.

“Wait how did this become about me?” Tony asked, perplexed.

“Isn’t everything?” You quipped and he toasted you in agreement.

“If you’re feeling up to it we were going to take a walk on the beach after lunch.” Pepper informed you.

“I’m ready, I’ve never been to the beach!” You admitted excitedly.

“You two have fun, I’m going Jet Skiing.” Tony informed you both.

“Tony...” Pepper warned.

“Don’t worry, Kit Kat is going to help me test the new repulsor gauntlet on the beach later.” He assured her.

You choked on the bite of fruit salad you’d just swallowed.

“I am?” You asked.

“Yip. I’ll throw stuff and you can shoot it. It’ll be fun.” He said.

“And perfectly safe dear.” He told Pepper confidently.

Tony and Pepper continued to affectionately bicker throughout lunch, you and Pepper teaming up to make fun of him every few minutes.

“That’s it, I’m leaving while I still have a shred of ego intact.” Tony sulked, kissing you both on the cheek.

“Want to take that walk now?” Pepper asked you and you nodded.

She linked her arm with yours since you were still a little unsteady as you both casually strolled along the sandy beach.

It was beautiful and calming and while you missed Bucky terribly (He was sending you sad face emoji’s every half hour and you were going to kill whoever taught him how to use emoji’s) you found you were strangely happy. You just weren’t you when you didn’t have Tony.

“So you and Barnes?” Pepper asked, diving right in.

“I know, I picked the worst possible person to fall for.” You sighed, ready for her disappointment.

“I’m not sure you did. I remember how much you admired him before you even met him and how he inspired you to ask Tony if you could join the Avengers. I think you and Bucky have a connection, a unique way of understanding each other.” She admitted.

“You’re not mad at me because of the complications?” You asked her.

“What happened to Tony’s parents was in no way Sargent Barnes fault, he’s a good man. I admire him for trying to make amends for the things he was forced to do, it takes real bravery and strength. And maybe, this will help Tony finally see Bucky as someone other than his parents killer.” She said.

You were speechless. Pepper not only supported you, she saw Bucky the same way you did and saw hope for Tony and Bucky’s relationship.

“Thank you.” You told her earnestly, holding her a little closer as you walked.

“If he hurts you though, it won’t be Tony he has to be afraid of.” She warned and you laughed, even though you quite believed her.

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

It was the same scene he had watched on a grainy video in Sibera but this time he was there, frozen and unable to do anything as his parents car was ran off the road. He watched the Soldier stalk over to the car and kill his parents, horrified and heartbroken but he couldn’t stop it.

“Dad… Help me.”

He turned slowly, in fear at the familiar voice. His daughter, his Kit Kat was sprawled across the road, covered in blood. He tried to go to her but he couldn’t move as The Soldier walked over to her.

She coughed weakly, reaching up to stroke The Soldiers face lovingly as he knelt down and placed his metal hand on her neck.

“Barnes, stop.” Tony croaked.

“I love you.” She said, to him or the Soldier he wasn’t sure.

The metal hand crushing her windpipe jerked to the side and her neck snapped with a sickening crunch. Her unseeing eyes looked straight through Tony.

Tony woke up covered in sweat. Pepper was sleeping soundly next to him and he quietly slipped out of the bed without disturbing her and left the room. The door to your room was cracked open and he peered through. The room was empty. His heart skipped a beat before he spotted your silhouette on the balcony and he walked over to join you.

“Can’t sleep?” He asked.

You’d had a long day, playing in the sun with him all afternoon after your walk with Pepper. You’d been exhausted at dinner and assumed you’d sleep through the night.

“Too much on my mind.” You admitted.

“Wanna go down to the lab and help me rewire the circuitry on the Jet Ski I crashed?” He offered.

“Sure.” You shrugged and followed him downstairs.

“Why are you awake?” You asked him.  

“Too much on my mind.” He mimicked you.

“Touche” You muttered as you both entered the lab.

“So what’s eating you Kit Kat?” He snorted at his own dad joke.

“Just nervous about my first session at Xavier’s. It’s straight after we go home.” You admitted.

“Why would you be nervous about having a telepath poking around in your brain?” He asked sarcastically.

Why indeed. What was lurking in your subconscious was weighing heavily on your mind, no pun intended and you wished you could discuss it with somebody.

“Dad I...”

You almost told him. You wanted to. But how could you tell him that the monster within you was one of your own making? That there was a very real part of you that wanted to destroy the world. That deep down in your soul, you were evil.

“I know Kit Kat. I know.” He said.

You frowned and he sighed heavily.

“There’s a video in The Vernichtung Files from the one time Docherty managed to call Vernichtung to the surface. Since I saw it, on some level I’ve known the truth since I found you. It wasn’t until the Professor told me you needed his help to make yourself whole again that I worked it out though.” He admitted.

“You know what Vernichtung is?”

“Yes sweetheart, it’s you.”

“How did you know?”

“Genius remember?” he snorted.

“You aren’t afraid of me, you don’t hate me?” You asked fearfully.

“I’ve never met anyone without a dark side. The difference is you literally locked yours away to keep it contained, that doesn’t make you evil, that makes you stronger than most people.” He assured you.

“But my Dark side wants to kill people!” You insisted.

“And my good side created a killer robot and sold weapons of mass destruction. Nobody is perfect, especially those of us with power. Don’t mistake your capability for destruction with being a bad person. The fact is you’re the same as everyone else except for the fact you fight harder than most. Being a good person is a choice and you went through hell to stick to that choice.” He rebutted.

Your eyes teared up. Tony knew the worst parts of you and loved you anyway, more than that he saw the good in it that you couldn’t. You tried to stifle a sob by burying your face into his shoulder and you felt him put his arm around you.

“No matter what happens kid, I’m proud of you. Always will be.” He assured you.

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

STARKCATION

The hottest new Hero on the block is taking a much deserved vacation in Malibu after her busy week.

Deathwave hasn’t been on the scene for long but she’s already proving herself to be a force to be reckoned with. After her debut taking down aliens in the Capital it was revealed that the mysterious hero was actually the youngest Stark and a Secret Avenger, one responsible for helping the Secretary Of State save millions of lives and facilitating the arrest Benjamin Newlands.

Her tragic backstory was then revealed and hearts around the world broke as they read about the harrowing upbringing of the mutant know as ‘Vernichtung’. Raised by what can only be described as a mad scientist the young mutant was primed to end the world and live up to her namesake but instead chose to become a symbol of goodness and hope.

Fans around the world have accepted her into their hearts and while there are naysayers and those who believe she poses a threat, the general consensus is that the heroine is the symbol of strength and hope we all need. Proving that people can be what they chose and not what they are told, we our the masters of out own fate.

Seen earlier today walking along the beach with billionaire superhero Tony Stark, it seems the hero on everyone’s minds is enjoying some family time after her recent victory in Spain. We can only assume her father is as proud of her as the general public is since the family are celebrating in the sun.

“She’s almost ready.” He said with a vicious grin after reading the article.

“Doctor?”

“Everything is proceeding as I hoped. Vernichtung will soon learn her final lesson. The more she gives in to hope and happiness, the easier it is for me to break her.”

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

The drunken shenanigans with Deadpool were left out for several reasons...

It just seemed funnier to see the aftermath.

I'm in too deep a sad funk to write a funny drunk chapter. I'm starting to wrap up this fic now, so there are several chapters left but we are in the home stretch now. I was informed that longer fics can put readers off so I'm quitting while I'm ahead, before anyone gets too bored. As long as people are still interested I'll still do sequels and one-shots though, but that is mostly up to you lovely folks!

@nerdandproud-86 @harrison-shot-first @thejourneyneverendsx @thelostallycat @inquisitor-selvala @the-corruptor @iovher @kendrawr-kitkat @phoenix-whiskey-tears @the--real-wombat @buckitybarnes @fairislesheets @angieptt @meganjonezzzz @dugan365 @fluffeh-kitty @memanda17 @krystallynx @theonelittleone @piscesbarnes @free-as-fishes @tarastudiesalot @captainamericasbeard @dropthepizza346 @jaynnanadrews @likes-to-smell-books @drdorkus @life-wanderer @metalarmlover @animegirlgeeky@jsmith509

[chrismerle]

so I entered a short story contest, and I didn’t win, but whatever I’m posting it here anyway

(like it? maybe support me on ko-fi!)

The door creaks open beneath your fingers. You aren’t sure if it wasn’t properly latched, or if the doorframe is simply that worn out. You don’t know which one you would prefer.

The floor seems to sag as you take your first step into the entryway, and the door doesn’t quite manage to click as you push it closed behind you. Part of you wants to just leave it open. It’s scarcely past noon, and yet it’s darker than midnight, dust coating the windows like curtains.

But the last thing you want is the songbirds deciding to move in, so instead you drag one hand along one of the window panes. Your fingers and palm come away blackened with dirt and dust and the streak you’ve cleared on the glass is still grainy, but it lets enough light in for you to at least pretend you can get a look around.

Instead, you wind up pulling out your phone and using it as a flashlight.

The electricity isn’t on. The water isn’t on. Of course they aren’t; no one’s lived in the house for years. Even so, you didn’t expect it to be so quiet. You take a step and the floor creaks, and it sounds louder than a gunshot in that moment.

You should have done this years ago. Back when something might have been salvageable. But you were an idiot back then. Going to college doesn’t actually make someone not an idiot, it just means you thought you knew best. Thought that if you just ignored the house that had fallen into your possession then you wouldn’t ever need to stare it down.

Ridiculous, really. Sticking your head up your ass never brought your dad back. It never put him back into his house. It just means you have a lot of cleaning to do, assuming you don’t just bulldoze the entire mess.

You already know you can’t do that. Even through the dust and the dirt and the dark, you can see where you and your sister were measured against the doorframe. Your dad always did like to make the notches with a knife. Always said using a pen wasn’t good enough. You recognize Grandma’s dishes in the cupboards, and you remember eating corn dogs and pizza bites off of antique China—“Look, kid, Ma may have spent half her life sighing about never getting to use the fine China, but I’m not gonna.”—and drinking espresso out of teacups.

Even now, the liquor cabinet isn’t empty. You think about pouring yourself a glass for a minute, but you don’t really feel like peeling eighteen layers of dust off of a glass, and you aren’t actually sure what’s still good. It was always your dad’s domain.

The desk in the office is just like you remember it. Dark and sturdy and huge. You used to make forts underneath it, considering your dad was always so bad at actually working in his office. You sweep off a corner of the glass on top of it, and you can just make out the family photos underneath the dust and grime.

You’re not quite ready to go upstairs yet. Not yet. Instead, you lean a shoulder against the backdoor and shove, and you nearly face plant onto the ground when it creaks, squeaks, and flies open, leaving you clutching at it like it’s a lamppost in a hurricane. You can’t quite help the urge to make sure no one is around to see that, but you don’t know who would even be there.

The bird bath is sitting in a forest of waist-high weeds and grass, and the basin is coated in green and brown muck, and you wrinkle your nose as you drag a finger through it. You don’t actually know what you were expecting? You scrub your hand off on your pants.

The yard is darker than it used to be. But all of the trees were saplings back then. They’re still growing—they’ll still be growing for a while yet—but they’re thick enough to cover the sun all the same.

The sandbox is covered in grass and weeds, and you keep your distance from it. Coming home doesn’t have to include being bitten by a snake, and you’d really prefer if it didn’t. The swing set and the slide are mottled with wood rot and rust, and you’re pretty sure they might collapse if you breathed too aggressively at them. You’re pretty sure the ivy is the only thing holding them together. The rotted through remnants of the bird feeder your sister made in middle school weren’t so lucky, sitting in pieces in the grass.

You look back at the house, its paint peeling in great swathes. Before you can help it, you grab onto a flaking piece the size of your hand and pull, and you wind up with a curling stripe of paint nearly as long as you are tall. You let it flutter to the ground and step back inside. The back door doesn’t latch behind you, and you give up on the effort after a few seconds.

You really do need to go upstairs. You’re running out of distractions.

You take the stairs slowly, testing each one and clinging to the banister as the stairs creak and groan beneath you. You’re pretty sure it would rip away from the wall if you fell, but holding onto it makes you feel better. By the time you’re at the top of the stairs, it feels like you’ve climbed a mountain.

You look to the left, confronted immediately by a door, and with a gentle push it swings open. Your dad’s room looks just as you remember it, dust aside. The four poster never had curtains in your memory, but the cobwebs are making a good effort at it now.

There are lumps on the floor, and it takes a minute for you to realize it’s abandoned laundry, and that drags a slightly hysterical laugh out of you. You step backwards out of the room and turn on your heel, dashing to the next bedroom.

Your sister’s loft bed looks like it’s sagging, and for a second you have the ridiculous idea about climbing the ladder, even knowing it will collapse underneath you. In the end, you don’t.

The knobs have fallen off of the dresser, littering the floor. On top of the dresser, there’s still a hamster cage, even though you know it was empty for years before the house was. You give it a poke and something inside moves, eight enormous legs scurrying away. You’re out of the room in a heartbeat.

The only room left is yours. You stand in the hallway and stare at your old door for a few minutes before you finally grab the knob and turn it. You still need to use your shoulder to get the door to open.

Your empty bed frame is still crammed into the corner, blocked in by the dresser and a trunk. The window is broken and there’s a hole in the screen. Half-heartedly, you look around to see if there’s anything living in the room, and instead you find a rock on the floor.

You stand in the middle of the room, staring at the walls, all bare. The top of the dresser is free of anything except dust, and you know the drawers will be empty. You go to pull one of them open anyway, and the knob pops off in your hand. You drop it to the floor with a clatter.

When you open the trunk, the inside of it is the cleanest part of the house. There’s an afghan folded at the bottom of it still, and it smells like mothballs. You slam it closed again, grab it by a handle, and haul it towards the door, leaving a dust-free rectangle of space on the floor and a streak of smeared dirt in the trunk’s wake as you heave it out of the room and back towards the stairs.

The dishes. The liquor cabinet. And a trunk. It gives you somewhere to start.

[imnotinclinedtomaturity]

Love Yourself (Chapter 1)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. words: 2.3k chapter: 1/? rating: t  genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn

a/n: shoutout to @auroraphilealis for helping me edit and inspiring me to finally write this fic i’ve had in my head for a year<3 [[ao3]]

“Triple espresso, one sugar. To go.”

“Sure that will be – oh. You’re Dan Howell.”

Dan’s head snapped up to meet the barista’s eyes. His unfamiliar, gorgeous eyes. “And you’re new.”

“Er, yeah. How’d you know that though?”

“I come here almost daily. I live nearby, plus it’s the only place slow enough that I rarely get recognized.” Please don’t be a crazy fan.

“Seems like the kind of thing my coworkers could have warned me about.”

Dan cocked an eyebrow. “Warned? That bad of a surprise, huh?”

The barista’s eyes grew wide. “No! No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean it would have been nice to have a heads up so I wasn’t so surprised. It’s not like I don’t like your music or anything – I actually really enjoyed the new single you released last week and–”

“Relax,” Dan’s eyes flickered down to the cute new worker’s name tag, “Phil, I’m just kidding.”

“Oh. Good. Um…” Phil seemed to remember he was at work and had a job to do. “That will be three pound fifty.”

Dan dug his wallet out of his pocket and embarrassedly remembered he was wearing old joggers and a hoodie. What a great outfit to meet a cute guy in.

Dan shuffled down the counter, trailing Phil as he started making his coffee. The sudden appearance of a new (attractive) employee woke him up better than any triple espresso ever could.

“So, Phil, what brings you to this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop?”

Phil’s head shot up, as if he was surprised that Dan was continuing to talk with him. “Oh, you know, the usual. I just moved to London and needed a job to help pay the rent.”

“Welcome to London. Where did you move from?”

“Thanks! I just got here from Manchester last week.” Phil slid Dan’s coffee across the counter, a few drops splashing over the edge. However, instead of Dan grabbing his coffee and leaving, he leaned forward, rested his arms on the counter, and took a long sip of his coffee. He knew he should be going — he had a plenty long to do list today — but he couldn’t resist learning a bit more about Phil.

It’s just because he’s new and I come here every day. It’d be weird not to chat.

Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. All he knew about the girl who was normally working during the weekday mornings — Emma? Emily? — was that she was Irish, and that was based solely off her accent. The guy who worked on the weekends — Jake, maybe? — was incapable of putting his phone down for more than thirty seconds and smoked like a chimney.

But Phil’s new. It’d be rude not to be friendly.

“How are you liking London so far?”

“It seems like a cool city, from what I’ve seen of it. Between unpacking and working, I haven’t really had a lot of time to explore yet.”

“There’s definitely plenty to explore. What kind of stuff are you into?”

“Um, I’m a bit of a nerd, to be honest.”

Dan chuckled and wondered just how much ‘a bit’ was. If Phil was anything like him, ‘a bit’ was code for ‘completely and utterly’. “I feel you there. Have you been to the Sherlock museum?”

Phil’s eyes lit up. “No! I want to so badly though. I’ve heard it’s amazing.”

“It totally is. I swear I think I had to be dragged away the first time I went. They were literally closing when I finally left.”

Phil leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter. “I’ll definitely have to check it out. My friend promised to go on the Doctor Who tour with me on my next day off, so it will have to be after that though.”

“I’ve been meaning to go on that! No one in my life likes it enough to go on a two and a half hour tour with me, though, and I hate doing stuff like that alone.”

Phil nodded along like he perfectly understood what Dan was complaining about. “I know what you mean, there were so many nerdy things I wanted to do when I was living in Manchester but none of my friends there were interested in going with me.”

“That sucks. It’s good that you’ve got someone here who’ll go with you.” Dan took a sip of his coffee, taking the opportunity to study Phil’s features a bit more closely over the brim of his cup. His eyes were a striking combination of blue, green, and yellow and his jet black hair was carefully arranged in a short, borderline-outdated, emo fringe that Dan would have done anything to replicate just last year. One the whole, Cute Coffee Boy looked much more put together than Dan did. To be fair, he probably didn’t roll out of bed twenty minutes ago. “Okay, so, important question. Who’s your favorite Doctor?”

Phil looked contemplative for a moment. “Well, obviously David Tennant was great. He was both cute and played a great character. But I also kind of have a soft spot for Christopher Eccleston? He was the first person I ever saw playing the Doctor and who got me into the show, so he’ll always have a place in my heart.”

“I feel that way about David Tennant! I didn’t give in and start watching until he started — obviously I went back and caught up after watching like two episodes. Are you all caught up? I’ve been dying to talk about —”

Dan was interrupted by his phone buzzing.

Both he and Phil glanced down at his phone, which laying face up on the counter. “Louise <3” was on the caller ID. Dan shot Phil an apologetic smile and held up a finger as he answered, trying to express his annoyance at being interrupted.

“Hi Lou.”

“Daniel James Howell, I’ve been in your apartment for 20 minutes where are you?” Dan’s face fell in shame.

Oh shit. Louise. THAT’S what I was supposed to be doing.

“Er, I’m downstairs. At the coffee shop.”

“Of course you are. Get your butt up here. And bring me a coffee since I had to wait on your bum.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be there in 10.” Dan turned to Phil. “Looks like I need a venti iced soy latte with two and a half pumps of vanilla, double whip cream, and cocoa powder on top.”

Phil raised his eyebrow. “Complicated drink.”

“Complicated drink, complicated girl. I’ll take a few shots of baileys in my coffee if you’ve got any back there. I have a feeling I’m about to get yelled at for being late.”

“Ha. Ha. So you’ve got to go meet your… girlfriend?”

Dan blushed. “NO! God no! I mean – that came out harsh. Louise and I would be a train wreck. She’s my best friend. And my manager.”

Dan averted his eyes, staring into his coffee rather than at Cute Coffee Boy. The silence that fell in the coffee shop while Phil made Louise’s drink felt awkward to Dan and he really, really hoped Phil didn’t feel it too.

Unable to come up with anything to say, now that their conversation had been interrupted by Louise, Dan fiddled on his phone, liking a few tweets here and there. Both too soon and not soon enough, Phil passed him Louise’s and suddenly he had no legitimate reason for loitering. Phil handed him his receipt with a chipper “have a nice day!” and Dan awkwardly dropped his change in the tip char.

Despite having his slowly cooling coffee and Louise’s slowly melting drink, Dan was tempted to stay, to keep talking to this interesting and adorable new barista, but he knew that he couldn’t. He knew Louise would be furious if he wasn’t back in his apartment in the next five minutes, and even more so, he knew talking to a cute boy wasn’t something he was allowed to do at this moment in time.

So rather than staying and talking and just melting in the presence of this beautiful human, Dan grabbed Louise’s fancy ass drink and his own dark and bitter espresso and turned to leave. But before he could even turn around, the words just fell out of his mouth.

“I’ll see you again soon? Raincheck on that Doctor Whol conversation?”

Phil smiled and raised one hand in a stilted wave of sorts. “I’ll be here!”

Dan couldn’t tell if Phil’s response was customer service friendly, or trying to keep my fanboy in check friendly, or I actually want to see you again friendly.

Unfortunately, it seemed, Dan cared.

Dan trudged back into his lobby, nodding hello at the doorman, Mark. Trying not to dump out his drinks, he stuck his key into the elevator and pressed 7, nearly spilling his drinks anyway when the elevator started opening.

When the elevator doors opened to his apartment, Dan was immediately bombarded by Louise, who was apparently waiting in the entryway.

“Dan! I know I told you we were meeting to go over some of this publicity stuff today, where did you go?”

In response, Dan shoved her too sweet coffee into her hands, kicked his worn converse off, and walked passed her into the living room.

Louise followed him into the room, sitting in the armchair across from him. “You’re being weird, what happened?”

Dan sighed, figuring there was no use keeping anything from Louise.

“Well, you know Beans and Grind?”

Louise held up her cup, which clearly had the coffee shop’s name stamped on it. “No, no dear, never heard of it.”

“Shut up, Lou.” He took a sip of his drink, slightly stalling in hopes that Louise would bring up whatever business matters she wanted to cover.

She didn’t. She patiently drank her coffee and stared at Dan over the brim of her cup, waiting for him to continue.

“Ugh, fine Louise. There’s this new barista.”

To her credit, Louise was first and foremost always an amazing friend; she never told Dan off too severely for being reckless or stupid or making poor decisions. So rather than pointing out the millions of reasons why this discussion could lead somewhere bad, she leaned in conspiratorially.

“Tell me everything. Girl? Boy? Non-binary? I want all of the details.”

“His names Phil.” Dan paused, waiting for Louise to say something. What, he wasn’t sure, but he was positive she’d have something to say on the matter. When twenty seconds went by and Louise was still silently staring at him, waiting for more, Dan finally continued.

“He’s new, he just moved to London, he was surprisingly not fan-like once he got passed the initial ‘there’s a famous singer in my coffee shop’, and is apparently a massive nerd. I didn’t get the chance to learn too much else about him though, because somebody called demanding my presence.”

“Well, if I’d known you were making the acquaintance of a cute, new boy, maybe I wouldn’t have.”

“It was just friendly, Louise.” But even as the words came out of his mouth, Dan knew he didn’t believe them.

Fuck.

Morning coffee and gossip with Louise eventually turned into productive work time with Louise, which after a few hours turned into wine and more gossip with Louise. It was nearing 9 o’clock when the elevator let out a loud ding, indicating that someone had entered the apartment. Given Dan’s allowed visitors list, it could really only be one person.

High heels click clacked on the hardwood floor but the footsteps passed the lounge and continued further down the hallway.

“Really, Dan, this is still happening?” Dan threw a slightly startled, slightly admonishing look in Louise’s direction.

A shrill voice called loudly from the kitchen. “Ugh, Danny! I had such a bad day at work and of course you didn’t come take me out for lunch like I texted you to. Did you have your phone on, like, do not disturb or something?”

Rather than responding to the accusation, Dan turned and whispered to Louise. “Quiet or she’ll hear. Be nice, I really don’t want to fight tonight.”

The voice from the kitchen continued whining. “The girl at work was being, like, so annoying. She doesn’t understand that it’s, like, literally her job to do my errands and stuff. I mean, like—”

Louise continued talking, slightly drowning out the high-pitched complaining from the other room. “Right, unlike every single other night you’ve seen each other this month.”

“— and, like, the woman doing my nails didn’t even believe that I knew you. As if she hadn’t seen us together in the media or anything. I actually had to, like, show her my lockscreen to make her believe. When she finally got the fucking picture, she was much nicer and gave me a free—”

Dan and Louise had both mostly tuned out the diatribe against the woman from work, the manicurist, and whoever else was being complained about.

“Louise.” Dan sent her a pleading look, silently begging her to be nice, don’t provoke her, don’t lecture me.

“Fine, I’ll be polite. That still doesn’t mean I approve of you continuing this…whatever thisis.” Louise loosely gestured to the hallway toward the voice in the other room, which was still rambling at an ear-splitting pitch.

Somewhat resigned, Dan shrugged his shoulders. “Good enough.”

Just as the words left Dan’s mouth, the visitor waltzed into the living room, preceded only slightly by the tell-tale click clack of stilettos. She was wearing a tight red dress with a plunging neckline and her nails were painted to match perfectly. Her hair was styled in big, loose curls that Dan was sure probably took some hair stylist ages to achieve — and probably left a hefty charge on his account, too. The woman was sipping a bottle of Perrier she’d already taken from Dan’s fridge, leaving a thick stain of dark red lipstick around the mouth of the bottle. A bit belatedly, Dan jumped off the couch and crossed the room to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek and wrap his arm loosely around her waist.

“Hi, Isabella, I didn’t realize we had plans tonight.”

[[next chapter]]

[iminclinedtowriting]

Love Yourself (Chapter 1)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan's life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he's got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He's currently lacking inspiration, he's rather lonely, and he's stuck in a rut. Dan's been going to the same coffee shop for years. It's quiet, it's quaint, it's near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that's he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. words: 2.3k chapter: 1/? genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn a/n: shoutout to @snowbunnylester for helping me edit and inspiring me <3  [[ao3]]

“Triple espresso, one sugar. To go.”

“Sure that will be – oh. You’re Dan Howell.”

Dan’s head snapped up to meet the barista’s eyes. His unfamiliar, gorgeous eyes. “And you’re new.”

“Er, yeah. How’d you know that though?”

“I come here almost daily. I live nearby, plus it’s the only place slow enough that I rarely get recognized.” Please don’t be a crazy fan.

“Seems like the kind of thing my coworkers could have warned me about.”

Dan cocked an eyebrow. “Warned? That bad of a surprise, huh?”

The barista’s eyes grew wide. “No! No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean it would have been nice to have a heads up so I wasn’t so surprised. It’s not like I don’t like your music or anything – I actually really enjoyed the new single you released last week and–”

“Relax,” Dan’s eyes flickered down to the cute new worker’s name tag, “Phil, I’m just kidding.”

“Oh. Good. Um…” Phil seemed to remember he was at work and had a job to do. “That will be three pound fifty.”

Dan dug his wallet out of his pocket and embarrassedly remembered he was wearing old joggers and a hoodie. What a great outfit to meet a cute guy in.

Dan shuffled down the counter, trailing Phil as he started making his coffee. The sudden appearance of a new (attractive) employee woke him up better than any triple espresso ever could.

“So, Phil, what brings you to this hole-in-the-wall coffee shop?”

Phil’s head shot up, as if he was surprised that Dan was continuing to talk with him. “Oh, you know, the usual. I just moved to London and needed a job to help pay the rent.”

“Welcome to London. Where did you move from?”

“Thanks! I just got here from Manchester last week.” Phil slid Dan’s coffee across the counter, a few drops splashing over the edge. However, instead of Dan grabbing his coffee and leaving, he leaned forward, rested his arms on the counter, and took a long sip of his coffee. He knew he should be going — he had a plenty long to do list today — but he couldn’t resist learning a bit more about Phil.

It’s just because he’s new and I come here every day. It’d be weird not to chat.

Even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true. All he knew about the girl who was normally working during the weekday mornings — Emma? Emily? — was that she was Irish, and that was based solely off her accent. The guy who worked on the weekends — Jake, maybe? — was incapable of putting his phone down for more than thirty seconds and smoked like a chimney.

But Phil’s new. It’d be rude not to be friendly.

“How are you liking London so far?”

“It seems like a cool city, from what I’ve seen of it. Between unpacking and working, I haven’t really had a lot of time to explore yet.”

“There’s definitely plenty to explore. What kind of stuff are you into?”

“Um, I’m a bit of a nerd, to be honest.”

Dan chuckled and wondered just how much ‘a bit’ was. If Phil was anything like him, ‘a bit’ was code for ‘completely and utterly’. “I feel you there. Have you been to the Sherlock museum?”

Phil’s eyes lit up. “No! I want to so badly though. I’ve heard it’s amazing.”

“It totally is. I swear I think I had to be dragged away the first time I went. They were literally closing when I finally left.”

Phil leaned forward, resting his arms on the counter. “I’ll definitely have to check it out. My roommate promised to go on the Doctor Who tour with me on my next day off, so it will have to be after that though.”

“I’ve been meaning to go on that! No one in my life likes it enough to go on a two and a half hour tour with me, though, and I hate doing stuff like that alone.”

Phil nodded along like he perfectly understood what Dan was complaining about. “I know what you mean, there were so many nerdy things I wanted to do when I was living in Manchester but none of my friends there were interested in going with me.”

“That sucks. It’s good that you’ve got someone here who’ll go with you.” Dan took a sip of his coffee, taking the opportunity to study Phil’s features a bit more closely over the brim of his cup. His eyes were a striking combination of blue, green, and yellow and his jet black hair was carefully arranged in a short, borderline-outdated, emo fringe that Dan would have done anything to replicate just last year. One the whole, Cute Coffee Boy looked much more put together than Dan did. To be fair, he probably didn’t roll out of bed twenty minutes ago. “Okay, so, important question. Who’s your favorite Doctor?”

Phil looked contemplative for a moment. “Well, obviously David Tennant was great. He was both cute and played a great character. But I also kind of have a soft spot for Christopher Eccleston? He was the first person I ever saw playing the Doctor and who got me into the show, so he’ll always have a place in my heart.”

“I feel that way about David Tennant! I didn’t give in and start watching until he started — obviously I went back and caught up after watching like two episodes. Are you all caught up? I’ve been dying to talk about —”

Dan was interrupted by his phone buzzing.

Both he and Phil glanced down at his phone, which laying face up on the counter. “Louise <3” was on the caller ID. Dan shot Phil an apologetic smile and held up a finger as he answered, trying to express his annoyance at being interrupted.

“Hi Lou.”

“Daniel James Howell, I’ve been in your apartment for 20 minutes where are you?” Dan’s face fell in shame.

Oh shit. Louise. THAT’S what I was supposed to be doing.

“Er, I’m downstairs. At the coffee shop.”

“Of course you are. Get your butt up here. And bring me a coffee since I had to wait on your bum.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be there in 10.” Dan turned to Phil. “Looks like I need a venti iced soy latte with two and a half pumps of vanilla, double whip cream, and cocoa powder on top.”

Phil raised his eyebrow. “Complicated drink.”

“Complicated drink, complicated girl. I’ll take a few shots of baileys in my coffee if you’ve got any back there. I have a feeling I’m about to get yelled at for being late.”

“Ha. Ha. So you’ve got to go meet your… girlfriend?”

Dan blushed. “NO! God no! I mean – that came out harsh. Louise and I would be a train wreck. She’s my best friend. And my manager.”

Dan averted his eyes, staring into his coffee rather than at Cute Coffee Boy. The silence that fell in the coffee shop while Phil made Louise’s drink felt awkward to Dan and he really, really hoped Phil didn’t feel it too.

Unable to come up with anything to say, now that their conversation had been interrupted by Louise, Dan fiddled on his phone, liking a few tweets here and there. Both too soon and not soon enough, Phil passed him Louise’s and suddenly he had no legitimate reason for loitering. Phil handed him his receipt with a chipper “have a nice day!” and Dan awkwardly dropped his change in the tip char.

Despite having his slowly cooling coffee and Louise’s slowly melting drink, Dan was tempted to stay, to keep talking to this interesting and adorable new barista, but he knew that he couldn’t. He knew Louise would be furious if he wasn’t back in his apartment in the next five minutes, and even more so, he knew talking to a cute boy wasn’t something he was allowed to do at this moment in time.

So rather than staying and talking and just melting in the presence of this beautiful human, Dan grabbed Louise’s fancy ass drink and his own dark and bitter espresso and turned to leave. But before he could even turn around, the words just fell out of his mouth.

“I’ll see you again soon? Raincheck on that Doctor Whol conversation?”

Phil smiled and raised one hand in a stilted wave of sorts. “I’ll be here!”

Dan couldn’t tell if Phil’s response was customer service friendly, or trying to keep my fanboy in check friendly, or I actually want to see you again friendly.

Unfortunately, it seemed, Dan cared.

Dan trudged back into his lobby, nodding hello at the doorman, Mark. Trying not to dump out his drinks, he stuck his key into the elevator and pressed 7, nearly spilling his drinks anyway when the elevator started opening.

When the elevator doors opened to his apartment, Dan was immediately bombarded by Louise, who was apparently waiting in the entryway.

“Dan! I know I told you we were meeting to go over some of this publicity stuff today, where did you go?”

In response, Dan shoved her too sweet coffee into her hands, kicked his worn converse off, and walked passed her into the living room.

Louise followed him into the room, sitting in the armchair across from him. “You’re being weird, what happened?”

Dan sighed, figuring there was no use keeping anything from Louise.

“Well, you know Beans and Grind?”

Louise held up her cup, which clearly had the coffee shop’s name stamped on it. “No, no dear, never heard of it.”

“Shut up, Lou.” He took a sip of his drink, slightly stalling in hopes that Louise would bring up whatever business matters she wanted to cover.

She didn't. She patiently drank her coffee and stared at Dan over the brim of her cup, waiting for him to continue.

“Ugh, fine Louise. There’s this new barista.”

To her credit, Louise was first and foremost always an amazing friend; she never told Dan off too severely for being reckless or stupid or making poor decisions. So rather than pointing out the millions of reasons why this discussion could lead somewhere bad, she leaned in conspiratorially.

“Tell me everything. Girl? Boy? Non-binary? I want all of the details.”

“His names Phil.” Dan paused, waiting for Louise to say something. What, he wasn’t sure, but he was positive she’d have something to say on the matter. When twenty seconds went by and Louise was still silently staring at him, waiting for more, Dan finally continued.

“He’s new, he just moved to London, he was surprisingly not fan-like once he got passed the initial ‘there’s a famous singer in my coffee shop’, and is apparently a massive nerd. I didn’t get the chance to learn too much else about him though, because somebody called demanding my presence.”

“Well, if I’d known you were making the acquaintance of a cute, new boy, maybe I wouldn’t have.”

“It was just friendly, Louise.” But even as the words came out of his mouth, Dan knew he didn’t believe them.

Fuck.

Morning coffee and gossip with Louise eventually turned into productive work time with Louise, which after a few hours turned into wine and more gossip with Louise. It was nearing 9 o’clock when the elevator let out a loud ding, indicating that someone had entered the apartment. Given Dan’s allowed visitors list, it could really only be one person.

High heels click clacked on the hardwood floor but the footsteps passed the lounge and continued further down the hallway.

“Really, Dan, this is still happening?” Dan threw a slightly startled, slightly admonishing look in Louise’s direction.

A shrill voice called loudly from the kitchen. “Ugh, Danny! I had such a bad day at work and of course you didn’t come take me out for lunch like I texted you to. Did you have your phone on, like, do not disturb or something?”

Rather than responding to the accusation, Dan turned and whispered to Louise. “Quiet or she’ll hear. Be nice, I really don’t want to fight tonight.”

The voice from the kitchen continued whining. “The girl at work was being, like, so annoying. She doesn’t understand that it’s, like, literally her job to do my errands and stuff. I mean, like—”

Louise continued talking, slightly drowning out the high-pitched complaining from the other room. “Right, unlike every single other night you’ve seen each other this month.”

“— and, like, the woman doing my nails didn’t even believe that I knew you. As if she hadn’t seen us together in the media or anything. I actually had to, like, show her my lockscreen to make her believe. When she finally got the fucking picture, she was much nicer and gave me a free—”

Dan and Louise had both mostly tuned out the diatribe against the woman from work, the manicurist, and whoever else was being complained about.

“Louise.” Dan sent her a pleading look, silently begging her to be nice, don’t provoke her, don’t lecture me.

“Fine, I’ll be polite. That still doesn’t mean I approve of you continuing this...whatever this is.” Louise loosely gestured to the hallway toward the voice in the other room, which was still rambling at an ear-splitting pitch.

Somewhat resigned, Dan shrugged his shoulders. “Good enough.”

Just as the words left Dan’s mouth, the visitor waltzed into the living room, preceded only slightly by the tell-tale click clack of stilettos. She was wearing a tight red dress with a plunging neckline and her nails were painted to match perfectly. Her hair was styled in big, loose curls that Dan was sure probably took some hair stylist ages to achieve — and probably left a hefty charge on his account, too. The woman was sipping a bottle of Perrier she’d already taken from Dan’s fridge, leaving a thick stain of dark red lipstick around the mouth of the bottle. A bit belatedly, Dan jumped off the couch and crossed the room to give her a chaste kiss on the cheek and wrap his arm loosely around her waist.

“Hi, Isabella, I didn’t realize we had plans tonight.”

[dkewauthor]

The Reaper: Chapter 2

The rain was still pouring outside as Maeve woke up.  She dragged her body out of bed, turned on the coffee pot and hopped in the shower. She lived a simple life, had a simple job at the local coffee shop nearby, Grounded Out. Most of her days consisted of working, sleeping and occasionally going to her boxing lessons. Maeve got out of the shower, combed her shoulder length black hair and got ready for work.

           “Good morning Maeve.” Her roommate shouted from down the hall.

           “Morning” she yelled back. A two bedroom single bathroom apartment was all she could afford, and even with the roommate they still struggling to get by. The apartment was nice for where they were. The city of Criel known for its beauty often hid some dark corners. Corners like Rutle Ridge where she and her roommate lived. Rutle Ridge was known for its dark alleys, its nefarious drug deals and robberies and of course the highest crime rate in the city. Most who lived there either couldn’t afford to live anywhere else in the pristine city, or liked to get their hands a little too dirty. Maeve and her roommate Salem had lived there for just over a year together and had to fight off a couple lousy drug addicts the occasional time, never enough to cause a scene, but enough to remind them of where they lived.

           “The shower is acting up again just so you know.” Maeve mentioned to Salem while grabbing her coffee.

           “Awe come on, I thought we got it fixed just a couple days ago.” Salem replied also pouring herself a cup.

           “Well it’s something different this time, no more black water which is nice, but the temperature fluctuates. So get ready to get really hot and really cold all at the same time.”

           “Damn it!” Salem swore as she added some cream and sugar to her cup, eyeing Maeve as she drank hers black. “We’ll have to call the landlord again and see when this will get fixed.”

           “If it’s anything like last time it might take a while. Although he does seem to like to come by whenever you’re around Salem.”

           “Oh shut it, last time he was here he kept staring at my ass the whole time and barely did any work.”

           “I don’t blame the man, I’m just saying if we want it fixed faster maybe flirt a little with him.” Both of them laughed as the continued to get ready for work. Maeve threw on her black work shirt and pants over her small toned body. The company shirt might have a tacky logo on the front of a groundhog drinking coffee, but it did compliment her figure well.

           “Alright I’m heading out, remember drinks tonight after work, we’re meeting at the Fox Hole at 8.” Maeve said as she headed to the door.

           “The Fox Hole? Are we trying to snag us a rich boy tonight?” Salem responded with a smirk.

           “Maybe, it is on the edge of Rutle Ridge so you never know who we might meet, just make sure you’re ready and I’ll make sure we look the part.” And with a wink of her bright blue eyes Maeve headed to work.

           Grounded out was a decent place to work with all things considered. Back in its prime when Rutle Ridge wasn’t just a crime infested shit hole it actually had a name for itself. People would come from all over town to enjoy their beautifully blended coffee, offering a variety of teas, espresso and delicious food people would come from all over town to get a taste. Today it’s the opposite. The food is old and inedible most of the time, the coffee seems bland like water filtered through an old cars tire treads and the management could care less about their employees.

           Maeve started her shift off like any other; she punched her time sheet, turned on the radio for some background music, put on her apron and headed to the front counter. There was always an early morning rush, people needing that early fix to help get them through the day or at least the next two hours. Customers would come get there coffee, grunt a hello and thank you and leave. Most had enough money for a cup but the few that didn’t Maeve would cover the extra. The business might not be what it used to be, but she did everything to try to make it a friendlier and better place every day, no matter how exhausted she was by the end of it. “Hello Bryan, how’s the family today?” Maeve asked the timid looking gentleman as he approached the front counter.

           “Oh they’re good, we just found out we are pregnant with baby number 3!” Bryan responded with glee. Bryan was a regular at Grounded Out; he came in every morning at the same time and ordered the same thing, a tall caramel macchiato with extra whip.

           “Congratulations!” Maeve said with joy. “This one’s on me.” And she handed him his drink.

           “Thank you Maeve, now off to the office, need to get those working hours in to help with the new baby.” Bryan tossed Maeve a wave and a gleeful grin as he exited the shop.

           The day droned on as it was finally time for her shift to end, the next round of staff showed up and Maeve was out the door. The rain had stopped finally, but the streets were still wet as she splashed her way through puddles on her way to boxing. One of her many skills her father had trained her in growing up, they’d spend hours outside in a little ring her dad built out of loose things around their home and backyard. One corner was a stack of buckets, the other was just a rake stuck into the ground to hold the lines of clothing tied together to be the ropes. It was simple and Maeve loved every moment of learning to box with her dad.

           She showed up to Angel Boxing ready to go. A nice establishment with better equipment than what she grew up with, the punching bags actually had stuffing in them, the ring stood tall and centre in the middle and training equipment circled around the rest of the Gym. “Afternoon Griffin, any new recruits?” Maeve questioned the man approaching her.

“A couple new ones, up to no good as usual but jumped at the chance to try to do something better with their lives.” Griffin told back. Angel Boxing was known in Rutle Ridge as a place where people could change, whether you were too poor, into trouble you couldn’t get out of or even just wanting to learn to defend yourself within the community Angel Boxing helped people. Most came in as kids or young teenagers looking for some kind of answers, having lost loved ones, or ended up with the wrong crowd they all found their way there, including Maeve.

“Well you let me know what ones need help and I’m on it, I’ve been in their shoes and I know how hard it can be.” Maeve said with solemn tone.

“Always helping but still never asking for help,” Griffen laughed. “I’m sure there are a couple who could use your help, thank you. Griffin patted Maeve on her shoulder as he walked by and went back to his teaching letting Maeve get to her workout. Maeve loved the gym, time seemed to stand still, just her and the bag nothing else. Punches and kicks sounding like music to her, creating a rhythm that she only needed to follow to land that knock-out punch. She would live in this state all the time if she could, but the song never seems to last long enough.

           Maeve finished with the gym and got ready to head home at last. She had a little time to kill so she thought she would hit up some of the street markets nearby to find something nice to wear for tonight. She walked a couple blocks away from where she worked and sent a text to Salem. “You better not bail on tonight, you know we both need this girls night.” She hit send and put her phone back in her pocket as she rounded the corner to the street market.

           Most street markets in Criel were amazing; you could find gorgeous jewellery, stunning clothing, and plenty of fresh food to feed you for a lifetime. In Rutle Ridge you didn’t get that kind of experience, but if you knew the right people you could strike gold every now and again.

           Maeve worked her way through the vendors, kindly waving off offers of roasted rat and pig tongues until she found Cyril in his booth picking away at his banjo as he always did. His banjo was missing a few strings, but that never stopped him from playing his heart out. “Cyril…” Maeve spoke. “Cyril!” She said again this time raising her voice over the banjo.

“Oh my I’m sorry dear, you know how I get when I play.” Cyril finally responded. He was short, but that came with his old age. His gray hair was thinning on top of his head, but he never stopped smiling. He lived most of his life in Rutle Ridge so no one bothered him, he was family. He had a way of getting things you needed, and sometimes things you didn’t know you needed until you had paid him and were walking away with way less money than you started with.

           “It’s ok Cyril, I was wondering if you had any new clothing you might have gotten a hand on that might work for my friend and I for a girls night out? Ya know something from the inner city.” Maeve raised an eyebrow, the one with a scar through it as she eyed him down.

           “I don’t have anything from the inner city ever on me, that’s too expensive for a place like this.” Cyril responded trying to avoid eye contact.

           “Cyril, we both know you get your hands on this kind of stuff. Don’t beat around the bush with me. How much for two dresses for your favourite girl?”

           “Oh alright, you know just how to get me, give me two seconds I have just what you need.” Cyril dipped behind his stand for a minute; you could hear him rummaging through boxes and clatter as some fell over, the occasional curse coming out of his mouth. He returned with two beautiful dresses, one a deep emerald green and one an ocean blue. “For both it will cost you 5 gold, usually I would say 10 but you are one of my favourites.”

           “I’ll do 3 and promise to tell my friends about you, how about that.” Maeve responded with a cheeky grin.

           “You have a deal,” Cyril said while shaking her hand. “Come on back if you ever need anything again.”

           “I will, thank you Cyril.” And Maeve walked out of the street. She got to a corner and checked her phone. A new text was there from Salem. “I’ll be there don’t worry.” Maeve put her phone away and headed home to get ready for the night.

[narniasummerexchange]

The Lion, The Witch, and the Storage Cupboard

Rating: G

Words: 2500

Summary: Coffee shop!AU – Ivy, Margaret and Betty fell ill at the same time and the four Pevensies have to spend their spring break running Uncle’s Diggory’s coffee shop in Coombe, Cornwall. For @riptidethepen 

«This is so boring,» Susan complained in a flat voice.

Peter muttered something unintelligible, staring at the big oak tree out in the park. They didn’t have trees like that in Central London. Tall, heavy with acorns and lush leaves dancing under the fat raindrops – it was beautiful. The whole garden was beautiful, really, even under the heavy rain that was plaguing Coombe and the whole of Cornwall since the day they arrived.

«Peter! Did you hear me?» Susan called again. «I said this is so boring!»

Peter reluctantly peeled his eyes away from the garden and looked at his sister. Susan sat with her legs crossed on the low seat of the bow window and she was clearly doing her best to look like the picture of utter misery.

«Yes Su, I heard you. Just like I heard you the first six times you said that.»

«And?»

«What do you want me to say, exactly?»

Susan huffed, crossing her arms. «I don’t even know anymore. We’ve been stuck inside this place for five days, Pete. I think I am going insane.»

«I can see that,» the boy mumbled to himself.

Susan ignored him and carried on. «I want to go outside. Talk to people, breathe fresh air. I wasn’t made to be stuck in a room all day.»

«You can always grab an umbrella,» Peter said. «And there are worst places to be stuck in, if you ask me».

He meant that: he had always liked the house but the coffee shop was his favorite place. The room was spacious, illuminated by two tall bow windows overlooking the garden and a fireplace sat in a corner, surrounded by cozy armchairs and wooden benches covered with pillows. The red brick walls were covered with overflowing bookshelves and old family pictures in sepia and black and white. The room used to be the servants’ quarters once, Uncle had said, and behind the counter there was a small wooden door which led to the main rooms of the house through a labyrinth of corridors.

Still, as beautiful as the room was, it was hard to appreciate it after being stuck inside the place for so long.

«There aren’t even any customers,» Susan sighed. «I bet everyone has left this frozen city by now and has gone somewhere where it’s hot and sunny. Maybe in Florida, like Uncle Diggory. Just you see, we’ll be the only ones here all day, all week».

Peter said nothing. He couldn’t just agree with her. Susan had a brilliant mind and the unnerving tendency to be always right, and she used every opportunity to remind him. Cornwall was cold and damp during the spring and Uncle Digory always chose those weeks to leave the manor to his staff and take some days off. He called the Pevensies from Pensacola just a week ago, asking Helen how her children would have liked to man the coffee shop by themselves until he returned. Apparently, his maids had fallen ill all at the same time. It would have been a bonding experience, Uncle Digory said. More like a testing experience, in Peter’s opinion. Unlike his sister he just didn’t feel like complaining about it, though. Cornwall was beautiful even under the heavy rain and besides, he was an optimist at heart.

«Don’t be ridiculous Su. Someone will come,» he said. «And stop complaining, would you? You know Mom didn’t send us here just to help Uncle Digory. She just wants us to spend more time together».

Susan got up from the bow window and came closer to Peter. She rested her elbows on the counter and stood silently for a few moments. «I know that of course,» she said finally. «You are right, as always.»

Peter raised an eyebrow. «Weren’t you the one who was always right?»

Susan smirked. «It depends, o dear brother. In logic reasoning, yes. You are more understanding, especially with mom.» She smirked. «Of course logically you understand that this makes you a mama’s boy,» she added in a sweet voice.

Just as Peter started sputtering in protest, the backdoor slammed open and their youngest sister entered in the room. «Guys, whatever you’re bickering about, stop! I brought cake.» Lucy was wearing a bright yellow sweater, her blonde hair loose on her shoulders.

She carefully set the pan she was carrying on the counter. «What do you think?» It was sponge with lemon curd. Edmund’s favorite, Peter thought with a smile.

«It looks wonderful Lu,» he said earnestly. «But I don’t think anyone’s going to eat it except for us. As Susan who is notoriously always right, kindly reminded-»

«Logic Peter, logic.»

«- it’s likely no one is coming this afternoon.»

«Try “this month”,» Susan added, while Peter leaned on the counter and casually tried to dip a finger in the lemon curd.

Lucy batted his hand away. «I don’t mind. This is just blackmail material for Ed.» She walked to the front side of the counter and sat on a stool. «I’m forcing him to have tea with us this afternoon. He needs time off the books».

Susan nodded. «Good call, Lu. I swear he almost sleeps in the library these days».

Peter shook his head. «I prefer him staying there. He almost cut his hand away with a sword once».

«Oh my god, Mrs. Macready was so angry,» Susan laughed.

Lucy’s eyes were wide with surprise. «What?»

«You were too young to remember,» Susan said, and then proceeded to tell the story.

Lucy and Peter were still cackling when Edmund came in from the front door, drenched from the rain, and of course the sight of him caused more laughter from the pair.

«Oh, I see,» Edmund said to them. He extracted an old book from under his dripping clothes. Thankfully it looked undamaged. «Here you are, laughing at my expenses while I risk my life to come and have tea with you lot». He shook dark hair out of his eyes and looked at his brother and sisters. «Can I get a towel or what?»

«Why didn’t you use the back door!» Lucy laughed as Susan threw him a towel from behind the counter.

«Those corridors are a nightmare! Last time it took me ten minutes to get here and I swear I ended up in a room full of stuffed animals. I didn’t even know Uncle Digory was into taxidermy.»

«Well, I’m glad you braved the dangerous road just to come and see little old us,» Peter said.

Edmund sat in one of the small armchairs, cheeks bright red and toweling himself dry «Shut up. I’m only here for the Wi-fi. Can’t find a place inside the house where it works. Bloody stone walls.»

«You are right on this, I’ll give you that.» Susan jumped off her chair. «I’m going to go in the back and prepare tea. The only thing we have here is this overly complicated Italian espresso machine.»

«I’ll help!» Lucy piped up, jumping off her stool.

They went through the backdoor cursing about the lack of electric kettles in the house and left the brothers in a comfortable silence.

«How’s your reading coming along?» asked Peter as Edmund finished toweling his hair dry.

«Well…» the boy looked at the book he brought with him. «Good, I guess. I’m almost finished with this, but I have two more to finish for the end of this month. We’re lucky that Uncle has such a big library».

«If you say so,» Peter said, amused. «You sure are spending a lot of time in that room, even by your standards.»

«I just want to be done with this,» Edmund said, opening the book.

«Okay, but take it easy. You have plenty of time.»

«Says you.»

«Not just me. The girls too.»

Edmund just scoffed, and settled deeper in his armchair.

Peter frowned. «What? They’re right, you know. You’ve been holed up in that room for days. You should take a break. And by the way, why do we always have to pray you to join us when we’re doing something together?»

 Edmund didn’t have any snarky reply, an obvious sign that Peter had hit the mark.

«Ed,» the oldest boy began, slowly. «I know this has been a difficult year for you, but…»

«For me?» Edmund said harshly. «Peter, you almost ended up in the hospital because of me. How is this difficult for me?».

«I…» Peter was taken aback. «That happened so long ago, Ed. And it was nothing, really.»

Edmund’s laugh sounded off. «Yeah, right. If I got punched in the face would it be nothing for you?»

Peter said nothing – the answer was clear enough. His brother getting hurt was exactly what he had been trying to avoid that day. The guy had been twenty years old and a lot taller than him or Edmund. He had been trying to talk him down when he landed the punch on his face, and had time for another one before the guy’s sister began to bawl her eyes out and convinced him to leave. To his mother he said that he had slipped on the ice and hit his face on a wall. She and Susan and Lucy laughed at the story and he did too, and then he didn’t think about it anymore.

It all had happened about a year before and he never suspected that Edmund was still thinking about that day.

«He was right, you know,» Ed continued, bitterly. «He had a right to be angry at me. I had made fun of his little sister. I had been horrible to her.»

«Oh yes, and that makes it perfectly right for him to beat up a kid half his size,» Peter said angrily. «Please Ed. You were a little beast, we both agree on that. But you’re just a kid, and you made a mistake, like everyone else does. You made amends, and you learned from it so just stop thinking about it, please.»

Edmund said nothing, he just sat in the armchair, holding his brother’s gaze.

«You’re a lot better now, I can see it. And don’t worry about me. This was nothing at all. I won’t let anyone harm you for making a mistake. I won’t let anyone harm you for any reason at all , actually, do you understand?»

Edmund looked at him seriously for another moment, then gave him a tentative smile. «Yeah, I understand. I understand I have a stupidly noble brother who’s willing to risk his neck too often».

«Then maybe you should listen to this brother of yours sometimes, and just take a break,» Peter said.

Edmund smiled and was about to answer when he was interrupted by the sound of the main door opening. The boys turned and both of their mouths fell open with surprise.

A young woman clad in a bright yellow raincoat stood on the front door. She had a guide book in one hand and an umbrella in the other. It was obvious what she was.

«A customer!» Edmund said to Peter in an inaudible whisper.

«Good… good morning!» the girl said with a puzzled expression. «Is this the coffee shop? The lady said first door on the right but-»

«Guys you want black tea or- Oh!» Susan almost dropped the teapot when she saw a stranger in the room. Just like their brothers she and Lucy stared in amazement at the girl, who was clearly beginning to feel uncomfortable.

«Maybe I should just -»

«No, no, please!» interrupted Susan. «Just tell me what you want and we’ll be happy to serve you! Would you like some lemon cake? My sister made it and she’s a terrific cook.»

«I thought the cake was for us,» Edmund muttered. Peter choked back a laugh but the woman didn’t notice anything. «No, thank you. Just a cappuccino please.»

Susan’s smile froze on her face. «Of… course. Just sit wherever you want an I’ll bring it to you right away.»

As soon as the woman turned her back Susan looked at her sister «Lucy,» she hissed. «Fetch the instruction book.»

«Where is it?»

«In the storage cupboard. Go, now!»

Lucy ran through the backdoor as fast as she could. But it certainly wasn’t her fault the corridors in that part of the house were so labyrinthic and complicated. «Why did I have to get lost just now,» she muttered between herself, opening door after door. Of course the fact that she had just a vague idea of where the storage cupboard was didn’t help.

She opened yet another door which led to a room with several closets. Maybe that was it? She checked the drawers and the shelves of the smaller ones but they were all empty. Then she looked at the one that was left.

It was really big, made of dark wood and its doors were carved with trees and flowers. It was too nice to be a storage cupboard, really, but maybe, just maybe…

She opened the doors. Inside there was a row of winter coats and furs, but the cabinet seemed so much bigger than that. She threw the clothes aside and put a knee on the bottom panel. Maybe the instructions book was in the back…

Just five minutes later Lucy ran back through the back door of the coffee shop.

The scene she found would have made her laugh in other circumstances: Susan and Peter were trying their best to make the espresso machine work but their only result seemed to be a burnt smell and a lot of steam. Edmund was trying to distract their customer, who was sitting next to the fireplace and eyeing the espresso machine dubiously.

Susan looked so relieved to see Lucy that it took her some moments to notice that her sister was completely out of breath. «Lucy, thank god you’re here! Did you found the… Lucy?»

Peter looked at her, worried expression. «Are you all right?»

Edmund left the girl with some excuse and ran by the others. «What’s happening?»

Lucy took a deep breath. Then she smiled.

«Just come and see!» she said in an excited voice. The other three siblings looked at each other in surprise.

«Lucy?»

«Lu, there’s a customer here, we have to-»

«It’s not important, trust me,» the girl cut them short. There was something in her eyes… In twelve years they never saw an expression like that on her face. «Come with me,» Lucy said. She opened the back door and disappeared behind it.

Peter, Susan and Edmund exchanged a look, then they looked at the customer, who looked really confused.

«I’m very sorry,» Edmund said. «But it appears we’re closed today.»

Then they turned their backs to the room and ran after Lucy.

[raavenreyes]

aeternum.

Bellamy x Raven: reincarnation / immortal au

Word count: 2,487 words.

Description: Bellamy Blake has been alive for longer than he’d care to admit. When he refused to side with a God in a petty disagreement, the God decided to curse him with immortality. When the war resulting from the petty disagreement reaches Bellamy’s front step, the immortality benefits him but kills the love of his life. Now, thousands of years later, he’s doing his best to blend. That is, until the love of his life finds him once more. But that’s impossible, right?

[ rating: R for language. ]

Chapter 8.

It was late, maybe early, he didn’t know. Raven was still asleep, snoring softly next to him with a small puddle of drool on her lavender sheets. He gave her a soft smile and kissed her shoulder, then her rib cage, noticing she had discarded her shirt sometime in the middle of the night. Wells was gone, on vacation for two weeks with his family, leaving the house to Raven to do whatever she pleased. Apparently that meant forcing Bellamy to spend every night with her because the house was ‘scary’ by herself. Not that he was complaining. He headed into the bathroom after placing his glasses on his face to wash his face with some soy-based cleanser than smelled like lemon Raven had in her cabinet.

Looking in the mirror, he ran his hands over his face, deciding not to shave for the day—then something caught his eye. He pushed his hair from his face, finding a single, stark silver hair. Bellamy plucked it from his hairline and stared at it in his palm, seeming to glow against the gold in his skin.

“Bellamy?”

He jumped at the sound of Raven’s voice behind him, and she stood in the bathroom doorway, rubbing her right eye free of sleep. “Hey, babe. What’re you doin’ out of bed?” He questioned.

“I heard you get up.” She leaned against the doorway. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Can’t sleep. I’m gonna go for a run—you want anything from the store while I’m out?”

“I think we’re good. I’ll text you if I discover we’re out of something.”

Bellamy went towards her and kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

The minute he was outside, he hailed a cab and watched as people got their day started, rushing towards cabs and subway stairwells, talking on phones and scarfing down breakfast sandwiches.

“Here you are, sir.” The cab driver announced, gesturing to the Starbucks they were parked in front of.

“Thanks, man.” Bellamy tossed him a twenty and slid out, opening up the door to find that the coffee shop was only inhabited by a few patrons.

“Bellamy!” He heard from behind the counter, and Clarke beamed a bright, white smile. “How are you?”

“Hey, I’m good.” He mirrored her smile, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“What can I get for ya?”

“Venti Americano with an extra shot if you don’t mind,”

She chuckled. “One of those days, huh?” She moved over to the machine and got to work, brewing the espresso. “How’s Raven doing?”

Bellamy leaned against the counter. “A lot better. The physical therapy is going well and she’s walking well on her own. Still on the crutches though.”

Clarke let out a sigh. “Body needs time to heal. My mom was talking about her last night, was wondering how she was doing.” It was by pure coincidence that Bellamy and Raven discovered that Clarke’s mother was the responding physician after Raven’s car accident. Despite how large the city was, New York could often be a tiny bubble when it came to population interaction. “Hey, you got a minute? I’m about to go on my thirty, I’d love to catch up some more.”

“Yeah, I got time.” He nodded, sliding over a ten dollar bill. “I’ll go hang out outside at a table.”

“Great, I’ll meet you out there.”

The morning was a bit chilly, but nothing a warm drink and a light jacket couldn’t fix. Bellamy leaned back in the metal chair and propped his ankle on top of his knee, enjoying the sounds of the city until the sound of a gate shutting brought his attention to the petite blonde making her way towards him. She uncapped a venti-sized cup and inhaled the scent of her coffee with a happy smile.

“First one of the morning?” He questioned.

“Oh god no, it’s my fifth. I’ve been here since five o’clock in the morning.” Clarke laughed, letting her hair down from its bun, which revealed some fading pink tips in her golden locks. “What prompted the visit?”

“Haven’t seen you around. You and Lexa holed up somewhere having a honeymoon?”

She chuckled. “I wish, no, I’ve been so busy. School’s finishing up and I’ve been so stressed with everything…” Clarke trailed off, brushing her fingertip around the mouth of her cup. “Lexa and I have been fighting, nothing super bad but it’s enough, enough to…”

“Bother you.” He nodded. “Yeah, she mentioned you guys were hittin’ a rough patch.” Clarke frowned. “Nothing bad.” Bellamy assured her, leaning forward. “Lexa’s…as sad as this sounds, she’s not used to this. Neither of us are.”

“Used to what?”

“Being happy and okay.” Bellamy let out a sad laugh. “She’s had a crush on you for so long. You know she blew through a chunk of her savings just going to Starbucks to see you.”

A smile spread across Clarke’s pink-painted lips, the color almost matching her dyed ends. “She told me about that. She’s such a dork.” The girl let out a long sigh, picking at the cherry red polish on her thumb nail for a moment in thought. “I want to take things further…you know, introduce her to my mom and my stepdad—which she’s all for, she’d love to meet her formally but…”

“But what?”

“Whenever I bring up her family, you know, suggesting we go meet them…she shuts down.”

He nodded. “That part of Lexa’s life is complicated.” Mostly because everyone she’s ever known, loved, or had a familial connection to is dead and has been dead for centuries, his mind finished for him. “She’s…a tough one, Clarke. I’m gonna be honest with you. Your best bet is to wait for her to break down her own walls then try to do it yourself.”

A shrug lifted her shoulders, and then she let out a sigh “I mean, you know her best.” Clarke lifted her gaze to meet his. “Thanks for talking to me about this, Bell. I know it must be weird—”

“It’s not. Lexa’s my sister. We’ve been like that for years. We’re bound to talk about each other.”

“You know, Bell, they’re both lucky to have you. Raven and Lexa.”

The statement brought a smile to his face. “I’m the lucky one. I was so lost and I found Lexa…in the strangest of places, but I found her. She found me. Raven….I feel like I had been looking for her for ages and there she was.”

“Like the sun coming out from behind clouds,”

“Exactly. Very poetic of you, Clarke.”

She blushed. “What can I say? I’m a moody art student.” Taking a long sip of her coffee, she tipped her head back and finished it off. “I gotta head back, but thank you for the visit.”

“No problem.” Bellamy stood up and pulled the girl into a hug. “I’ll see you around, Griffin.”

“Right back at’cha, Blake.”

Bellamy hailed another cab, and the minute he slid into the interior, his cell phone rang with a picture of Raven at the Intrepid Air, Space and Sea Museum. “Hey, baby.” He greeted her warmly.

“Bell, I need coffee, a bacon and spinach omelet from Freddy’s and a foot rub.”

He chuckled. “Anything else I can get you, Princess Raven?”

“A kiss too, if you’d like—but! I’m leaving the apartment, I gotta stop by the shop real quick and since your place is closer, can we stay there tonight?”

“Sure,” He nodded. “I’ll see you soon, be safe.”

“See ya.”

Bellamy ran his errands, remembering half way through ordering breakfast that he needed some groceries, so he stopped by the bodega and took the long way home. He made it up to his apartment with all his bags in one trip, though, a silent victory. When he entered the apartment, he called out a greeting for Raven and she came out from his bedroom, limping until she leaned against the separation wall.

“Hey, gorgeous.” Dropping a bag on the counter, he smiled. “Bake n’ spin omelet and a large coffee. Got some groceries too. I was thinking we could stay in tonight and watch a movie, unless you got plans?”

“I don’t.” Raven said softly, but something in her voice startled him and he frowned as she turned back into the bedroom.

“Rae?” Bellamy questioned, following her into his room, and then coming to a dead stop.

Spread across his comforter was his life.

Hundreds of state IDs, Drivers Licenses, Social Security Cards, photographs, land deeds, letters were finely combed through and displayed on the dark brown comforter than covered his bed. Panic spread through him, and he had to fight against his own body to look at Raven, who was hugging herself tightly, fighting back her own tears.

“I um, I was getting the extra wraps you said you had up in your closet to wrap my ankle because it…it was swelling and, a bunch of stuff fell out of some boxes.” She explained, much too calmly for his liking.

“Raven—”

“I want to…I don’t know if I want to know, but I knew it was—I knew you were too good to be true.”

His jaw set, “Rae, if you just give me a chance—”

“What is it, Bellamy? Who the hell are you? Is Bellamy even your real name?”

“It is. I promise you it is.”

“Who are you?” She yelled, tears finally breaking over the lids of her eyes and creating shiny trails down her cheeks as they caught the light in the room. “Why do you have sixty-seven ids from almost every state in the country? Why do you have fourteen different social security cards? Why do you own land in Canada, Montana, California and Pennsylvania? And why are they all from different years ranging from fucking 1908 to two years ago?!” She was screaming by the time she finished her sentence, and Bellamy’s body went into shock.

“Raven, I don’t know how to explain this and I’m afraid if I do, you won’t believe me.”

“How am I supposed to when everything else has been a lie?” Her voice broke on every word, and it was when she went to take a seat on the bed that he noticed her hands were shaking. “I told you I loved you and you didn’t say it back. Is this why?”

He let out a shaking sigh, kneeling in front of her and brushing tears away from her eyes. “Raven, I love you. I do.”

“Are you in love with me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Are you just saying this to save us?”

“Do we need saving?” A quiet sob broke through his chest, and his eyes blurred with hot tears.  

She reached behind her, picking up one of the identification cards. “Bellamy Alexander Franklin, born in 1940, place of residence at 54 Maple Avenue, Atherton, California.” She listed off. “Bellamy Martin Graves, born in 1956, place of residence at 2360 Crowne Point Boulevard, Suamico, Wisconsin.” He tried to cut in, and she just spoke louder. Bellamy Robert Vincent. 3004 Brick Lane, Decatur, Georgia. Born in 1975.” She looked down at him. “Give me your wallet.”

“Raven,” He whispered.

“Give me your fucking wallet, Bellamy.” He slipped the billfold out of his back pocket and handed it to her, where she furiously ripped the plastic folder than contained his driver’s license. “Bellamy Weston Blake, born –” The tears started coming more, and she rubbed at her puffy, red eyes in frustration. “Bellamy Blake. Why? Why did you do this to me?”

“I didn’t do—this wasn’t intentional.”

“What is it, huh? Are you some kind of fugitive? Do you make fake I.D.s for fun? Why does this one say you were born in 1940? 1956? I’ve been wracking my mind trying to figure out for the life of me why you would have all these.” He stayed quiet. “You can’t even say anything to me?”

“It’s not my secret to tell, Raven.”

“If you love me you’d tell me the truth.” Her words hit him in the chest like a bullet, sending shrapnel-like ripples through his system. His gut rolled with nausea and his temples pounded in pain. So, he stayed quiet.

It seemed to be the wrong choice.

Raven turned and grabbed her coat off the bed, tugging it onto her arms. Her crutches swayed and when one fell over, Bellamy reached for it and attempted to steady her on her feet. “No—STOP! Get away from me,” She screamed and delivered a hard punch to his chest. “Don’t touch me. I don’t need your help.”

“R-Raven, please. Stay. Let’s just…We can talk. Just stay, please.” He was all but on his knees, begging. “I love you, I mean it. I never stopped.”

Her brow rose in confusion. “You never stopped?”

“You don’t remember, I’ve been trying to make you remember.”

“Remember what?” She croaked, voice hoarse from yelling.

“Me,” The word barely came out, his body felt so weak. “Remember…me.” Her lower lip quivered. “Raven, remember us. The tree out back, the cypress…fresh fish, the way you put way too much salt on everything. The wooden swing I made you, the…your birthmark.”

Raven shook her head, the look on her face growing stranger. “What are you talking about?”

“Baby, please. Just…I’ll tell you everything if you just stay, don’t leave me again.”

“How do I know you’re not gonna lie to me?”

“I can’t…you have to trust me.”

Her eyes fell to the barrage of paperwork on the bed, then she closed them tightly for a moment, as if to push out any remaining tears. “That’s the thing, Bellamy. I can’t trust you.”

As she pushed passed him, he got a whiff of some kind of scent. Maybe her soap, or shampoo. Sweet, like honey. It broke him.

His front door closed, and he came to the realization that the first time he lost her, she had died in his arms.

Somehow, this was worse.

[abiteofnat]

TBT TO THE TIME I HELPED (RE)OPEN A COFFEE SHOP AND IT WAS COMPLETELY NUTTY... 

But also wonderful? And inspiring? And messy and dirty and beyond exciting? As a lot of y’all know, I was hired at Peet’s Coffee in downtown Chicago off North & Sheffield about four months ago and ever since it has shaped my world in terms of coffee adoration, books on books of new knowledge, and a newfound appreciation for waking up before most of the rest of the city dos. After weeks of studying all the bean roasts, learning how to warm AND plate croissants efficiently, and then being bar certified and labeled as a “BARISTA” I finally made it. My dream of working in a coffee shop, hand-crafting the drinks I grew up on and engaging with the public had finally come true, and even though it seems like a silly thing to be so incredibly proud of I am. I am truly in love with my job, with my team, and with the neighborhood that relies on our store especially to be part of their daily routine. It’s a job that is full of secret heroes; to make the perfect drink you have to “feel” the milk, know the espresso, do unexpected amounts of math, and serve it all up with a smile and under two minutes. My biggest fear each shift is giving someone an unhappy first sip of coffee, because if you’re an avid caffeine fiend you know that first sip of the day shapes the next 8-10 hours. Or until you step foot into the next cafe, bitter and vowing to never return to the first place again. We want to avoid that- and because Peet’s makes sure we know what we’re doing and want to be doing it, it’s usually a joy and a half for all parties. 

Our store is (was?) the first Peet’s location in Chicago, opening 18 years ago and allowing people to develop a pretty serious bond with our special coffee & pastries. The store, long and narrow like any good Chicago building’s layout, was warm and composed of cherry wood counters, dark marble tables along the long church pew-like benches that were a staple in all old Peet’s stores, and offered beans from what looked like a honeycomb counter setup. Every roast had its own cubby, and every patron had a table they sat at for hours. Imagine a coffee shop you stumble upon in the streets of Montreal up in snowy Canada- this was like that. An odd fit for Chicago, but so welcoming that you didn’t mind the fact it was falling apart. For 18 years, the store remained untouched and therefore got a little beat down, a little crumbly, and forced everyone on the team to work in close quarters since the layout worked much better for a small Austrian coffeehouse and not a bustling cafe serving a popular work & shopping area. So after I learned everything I know about milk, espresso, and pouring a perfect heart on those cracked black counters, we were informed it was really happening: Our Peet’s was getting a total renovation! Six weeks of remodeling and a brand-new look was in store. (Ha, in “store”). 

I feel like I can’t do this post as much honor as it deserves, because I am technically “newer” and some people have worked at this store for longer than I’ve been able to drive. But there’s such a sense of pride in what Peet’s employees do; we really put everything into every drink, we learn every customer’s name and order, and we do it because it’s expected and we want to. We are not the local chain; we are some people’s every morning. Kids have grown up in that store; as someone who grew up on chai lattes in the Evanston location and was shook when they renovated, I knew it was going to be a Big Deal in this neighborhood. These people weren’t expecting their daily routines to be taken away and replaced with a new normal, and even though it’s all good it’s a lot to take in. Coffee is really just THAT important- I will never argue that! So then there came the weeks of anticipation, informing customers we were leaving temporarily, and then BAM- the Sunday we closed finally came. It was weirdly emotional to walk out, a painting of a girl’s silhouette sipping a cappuccino on an orange background that hung over one of the pews for 18 years tucker under my arm, and for six weeks we all worked at other store locations and wondered, “What was it going to be like?” 

Tuesday, June 27, the team walked back into our Peet’s, and maybe it was the smell of fresh paint on the walls or the new leather chairs lined up on the shiny, newly-exposed floor, but there was the promise of something new and good. The store, however, was a hot mess. With four days until opening, there was nothing in the stock room, no boxes of dished unpacked, and not even a pen to put near the register to be found. After taking it in and a pep talk from our manager and the district manager, we all got to serious work. Unpacking, up to our elbows in sanitizer, taking pizza breaks after a couple hours and swapping stories of what happened while everyone was apart. The beautiful gray walls that look like the color of a storm at sea I immediately fell in love with, and the white marble counters on top of dark, mahogany counters looked stately within our humble cafe. The lighting fixtures, now dark and industrial, still gave that familiar glow that matches the one the sun lets in the front windows. Over the course of four sweaty, tiring days, the store welcomed us back in as we welcomed it to the neighborhood. Then, it was Friday. The store was still bare bones, but the team was excited to get to WORK. It was an energy I hope none of us forget; the feeling of anticipation, payoff, and a little bit of fear. 

After spending the morning with a carafe of hot coffee (Major Dickasons, a favorite) and some tubs of pastries to hand out to the public in case they came back to the store too soon (which they did, but who hates free coffee & pumpkin chocolate chip bread?!), Chris (the manager) sent me and two of my coworkers out in our new, starched aprons to alert the stores and community around us that we were doing a soft open to the public. The community, not shockingly, R A N to the store to get a free drink and see the inside. Familiar faces flooded in, “Same as usual” orders that my brain forgot my fingers still remembered how to type in, and for a few hours it was nonstop. The baristas fumbled around the new bar setup but got into their rhythm, we all fought muscle memory of where things used to be and found their new home, and customers walked in like they fell out the rabbit hole in “Alice in Wonderland.” It was shiny, new, jarring, and beautiful. After 18 years, Peet’s was still the same coffee and people, but in an entirely new set. And we got to be part of it.

It’s strange looking back on how important that week felt, and how it still does even though we’ve gotten back into the swing of things for the most part, and  I think it comes down to the people. The customers that love this store and love our coffee genuinely care about coming in and the attachment that’s been there for years, and it’s hard to ignore that. The customers aren’t just getting an iced latte, they’re getting THAT iced latte that they can count on and from a barista they recognize and who recognizes them back. 

So, here are some photos I’ve gathered from the time back to entice you guys into coming in and sayin’ hey. It’s really a dream... and it makes me excited to see my own cafe come to life one day. 

Spotted: the Bacon, Egg & Cheddar sandwich minus the bacon for moi. It is a fan favorite, with or without the bacon. 

Pro Tip: get it with a medium cold brew as part of the $6 combo deal, what a steal! 

Sit in one of the new buttery leather seats for a hand-crafted cappuccino and a sammy, plusssss check out that sneak peak of the new digs! 

To wrap it all up, here’s a step-by-step of my barista boy Tim making the stunning cappuccino requested JUST for this post. Check out the premium espresso, that wiggle buildup of velvety milk, and then BAM latte art worthy of an Insta. This too can be yours if you come to Peet’s Coffee... how’s that for marketing?

Dear friend Lauren- thanks for stopping by, snapping this pic, and eating two almond croissants. They are indeed the best pastry. 

To everyone else, thanks for reading this ~very~ long post if you’ve made it to the end, and make sure to tip your local baristas. That’s my PSA for all these good people serving the neighborhood. We’re so excited to be back!

Until next time, Happy Eating!

-Natalie