#I’m all for distancing art from artist but I just can’t do it with her

[sickly-victorian-boy]

I think it’s so fucking funny that despite being a noted enthusiast of both toxic gay media and vampire media, I passionately abhor IWTV. I hate Anne Rice more than words can possibly express, with a fervor so passionate it’s nigh comical

[chlmtsdoll]

BOMBSHELL

౨ৎ @cinnamoncunt asked: can we pleaseee get an either art or patrick fic with victoria secret model reader?

Um, ABSOLUTELY ? Let’s do both ! Perfect timing bc I just settled on being a vs angel for halloween since I don’t have 2 bfs to do challengers this year. I’m sick of seeing the girls on my fyp who get to do it so this will justify my envy. 🤍

౨ৎ summary: it’s 2006 and you’re the opener for this years Victoria’s Secret fashion show. But unlike your other fellow angels, you have not one, but two supportive boyfriends just waiting to get their hands on you after the show.

౨ৎ warnings: 18+, smut !, threesome, p in v (unprotected) sex, oral (f) receiving, early 20’s Art and Pat, model reader, womanizer Patrick, shy Art, reader has dom-ish moments, flirty foreplay, pet names, dirty talk, Victoria’s Secret (the brand) mentions, a song inspo: Long Way 2 Go by Cassie

You might’ve been the only angel backstage with two boyfriends on her radar.

No, you totally were.

And that was fine by you when having the two boys under your wings was your own little secret.

Art and Patrick wouldn’t have missed it for the world. With not only their supermodel girlfriend being the opener for the Victoria’s Secret Fashion show, but fulfilling a great erotic teenage dream — something they both watched together during former years. In their dorm room at the Mark Rebellato Academy, while the other thirteen year olds would be up playing video games, or signing up for extra tennis classes in their free time, those two were glued in front of the tv. Creating a world of their own fantasy’s filled with angel wings and lingering far too overwhelming for them to even handle. Long legs, the bounciest glowing curls and pink bra sets filling the void. Their fascination with gorgeous and exceptionally powerful women at such a young age was far more vibrant than average.

It was what they bonded over from the very beginning.

Doing whatever they could whenever they could to find girls as close to what you happened to be as possible.

So when you came into their life, effortlessly magnetic with your beauty, superb bone structure, glitter dusted skin and a modeling contract — Art and Patrick had been at your beck and call since.

This was your peak. You’d really been here. Your I made it moment sinking in as you sat in the makeup chair backstage. The chaos of other models and their teams all rushing to get ready for the huge fashion show starting in just an hour tops was comforting to you, as an artist smudged on your cherry blush and the stroke of mascara running through your lashes before you checked your reflection in the mirror. Perfection to the way your curls flowed down your back, to even the careless drape of your robe hanging off your shoulder.

In the distance coming from not too far, there had been tousling wings parting as crew of models jumped out of the way, along with yelps like “what the hell ?” and “you guys can’t be back here!” coming from the group of girls.

And of course, it had been your blonde and brunette trailing through the crowd of angels to find you.

You watched with giggles coming from your covered mouth as the most handsomely men approached you. “What are you two doing back here?! You’re gonna get me fired and I haven’t even walked yet- -”

Art had a sideways little smile on his face, and eyes set on your face done up in shimmery makeup. You could nearly feel the way Arts heart had to be beating out of his chest just by the flustered look on his expression. Red and a tad dewy in the heat of the other barely clothed with mostly just rhinestones and lace six foot models surrounding him — but his focus was automatically choked up by you. On the other hand, Patrick’s eyes had been lingering all over the place, standing next to Art with a smirk across his lips as he had already charmed a group of angels nearby. Waving to them a bit with his sly attitude being just what they needed to get the fun pumping out of them for the show. As the girls all giggled to themselves and tried their best to look away, the brunette couldn’t wait to go yapping to all his friends or whoever would listen about all the hot girls he’d seen tonight.

You were so used to his cockiness contrasting Arts sweetness all too well, it hadn’t even phased you in the slightest..

“We uh- - wanted to bring you a little gift.” The blonde one spoke up nervously after clearing his throat, from behind his back, he revealed to you a full bouquet of pink peonies.

“Your favorite for all that hard work in the gym. The prettiest for our pretty girl.” Patrick grinned as he passed the flowers to you and you had let out an excited little noise as you took them. Your smile facing the two men as they watched your every girlish movement that they adored, smelling the arrangement in front of you.

“I- - you guys are too cute. They’re lovely.”

“You look bad ass by the way.” Art finally let himself breathe before chuckling with a smirk. And you grinned at him, pink colored cheeks as you stand to get closer to the men. Lean and in your six inches, Patrick shoved his hands down in his pockets just so resist the urge to touch you. Just a hip or your wrist. Anything he could while you looked like that. In all the eloquence of a woman that you were. Body so fit to him it was almost painful he wasn’t going into a spiral right now.

“Please confirm this for me angel.. can the wings stay on tonight ?” The brunette licked his lips carved into a smile of his own mischievous thoughts, Art then shoved him in his bicep.

You couldn’t help but let out soft laughter as you looked down at the peonies with shyness although your eyes had been full of tease.

“I can’t take them silly, they’re gonna be up in a museum.” You bit your lip as you smiled at your boyfriends. Eyes sparkling under the florescent lights of the room and the pair had collectively sucked in their breaths from.

“Ah.. course, course.” Patrick nodded although he’d still been eyeing you up in your pink stripped robe. ���I don’t think they’d be able to fit in the limo anyways, they’re so big..” the blonde one laughed with the two of you, your eyes moved between them before you looked away with a naughty but playful nature.

“Yeah, well, I gotta say I like my pleasures pretty big..” your tone was smooth, as smooth as the way your hand then trailed, pink tips touching delicately over Arts belt buckle to Patrick’s leather as you made sure to meet both of the boy’s widening eyes. You turn back to your makeup chair with a little smile.

“Holy shit.” and “Oh my god.” Was heard behind your shoulder.

“Now go before you get kicked out.” You giggled. Patrick had knock Arts shoulder so he’d come back to earth and start heading out with him. You waved their way with your fingers and could barely hide your embarrassingly big smile, watching them fawn over you even while exiting.

As the show began and the crowd was roaring, the anticipation backstage was an overwhelming high with the rest of your fellow angels. You were first. And that was a lot of weight on your back. (not just from your wings) the moment you stepped on the runway, and the lights set on you, cheers were heard from the far back of the audience as your gleaming smile took upon your face. In your vs set, glimmering down the runway. You felt the adrenaline move within your hips as you not walked, but glided down the runway in a sexiness that had a sense of grace and girlish fun. Excitement big and bubbling through you as you blew kisses to the crowds of not just other models, but fans, legends. Everyone admiring you.

The front row wasn’t absent of familiar faces either because when you found Art and Patrick eyeing each other with proud grins, all the memories and moments of their early teen hoods was like a flashback through their minds. Art and Patrick would shamefully try and hide the way their cocks would tent as they watched one after the other angel strut down the runway. In bliss it was all the wanted to see it right in front of them. Now, that same feeling was on a different level when they got to actually leave with one herself. the moment you flashed a smile at the two boys from the stage before swishing your lace lined hips back stage — they started cheering even more than the others around them. You closed heavenly. And you knew you looked damn good with seven foot pink angel wings behind you.

♡

When the after party rolled around, it was all of your model friends to pour it up in celebration of a phenomenal show. The other angels had begged you to stay, keep dancing on tables and flirting with the guys at the bar — but your desire had been pulled to have your own little after party. But with just your two boys in attendance.

You let them take over your hotel suit with as much whiskey and champagne as they wanted, more wine and more glasses being delivered to your room would rack up a massive bill at the end of the night that your agents would take care of. You couldn’t give a care in the world as you’d been frolicking around that room in your gifted pink set, diamond bra stuck to your chest made you look from another world of heavenliness. Your heels were still strapped on and the r&b from the radio filled the area as you stood on the bed to pose for the camera of your blinged out BlackBerry. You had Patrick snapping pictures, capturing you on your big night. Even if you’d already gotten tons from the show, that just wasn’t enough when you had the looks of a goddess.

“Hell yeah, baby, that’s it.” The brunette edged you on as he got you from all angels, knowing he’d send them to himself immediately after you’d gotten your pick. You giggled with a glass of champagne in one hand, and your other pushing up your locks for more volume. Art sipping on whatever he had while observing you from Patrick’s side. Putting on a show for the two boys without even realizing it.

“Make sure you get my good side,”

“Are they not the same ?” The brunette had made an confused expression from behind the phone. You stopped from posing to reach out and laugh “gimme” you grabbed it from him and all he could do was grin at the way you had no idea just how much of a true bombshell were. Art sat on the bed closest to you while you pressed different buttons to scroll through the dozens of photos with a bitten lip covered in gloss. The blondes eyes ran over your skin, the way you sat in that little set, and the way he relaxed against the comforter of the bed with a shy grin made you look up from your phone to meet his blue orbs.

“What ?” You tittered, throwing your phone to the other side of the bed.

“It’s just, you were so confident out there tonight, princess. You’re always so.. confident. You didn’t even look like a thought of nervousness had crossed your mind,” Art reached out to run the back of his index over your glowing skin and you hid your smile in your shoulder a bit.

“I was so nervous.”

“Really ?” He sat up.

“Yeah, opening in front of all those people ? Live tv ? Half naked and in six inch heels ? I was terrified.”

“You could of fooled me.” Patrick scoffed as he sat on your other side, “what Art said.. your confidence. It’s so sexy.”

“Yeah ?” Your voice was slightly silkier as you look from the brunette to the blonde who were only inches away from you now, breathing in your pure seduction they couldn’t hide the need to want to get that lacy thong off you immediately. Taste what you’d been teasing them with all night long.

“like.. what if my heel got stuck ? …what if I fell ?”

“No way, your- effortless.”

“But would you have rushed to save me ?” You leaned in close to the brunette, batted you lashes with a subtle pout. And it was then that rare occasion when Patrick had gotten choked up on his words occurred. You gave him your sweetest eyes, and smirked at the way his vision trailed down to your lips from there. Hands going to slip around your thigh.

“Who wouldn’t ?” You then heard the blondes voice come in slowly. He watched you turn away from Patrick’s embrace to now focus on him.

Arts eyes meet yours and that sugary smile you always carry returned to your face too soon. You followed what he laid down. Leaning in Arts path now, your lips landed against the blondes. Slow and with ease you kiss and the tension in who’d entrance you first was settled. Art slipped a hand in your waves, he moved his mouth against yours like it had been second nature to him and you sat on your knees to deepen it, tongues running against one another and a soft “mmm” came from the back of your throat as he surprised you with his newfound control over his movements.

Lost in the kisses as your lips smack against one another continuously, the lip stain of your liner now smudged across arts mouth, the blonde groaned. Patrick, felt his hard on grow viscous as he scanned the two of you. And Art, way beyond that point, could of came if it went on just a few more minutes.

You grab on to his curly locks as you pulled him away, softly panting with a smile. Arts lips were lingering nearby as you closed your eyes to peck them one last time before brushing your thumb against his bottom one with a giggle, your view flashes Patrick’s direction.

“Now, are you gonna make me cum or what ?” You sigh before letting your back hit the sheets behind you, leaving the two to fend for themselves at once. You watched Patrick’s digits run over your front side, hunger in his as while feeling up your skin. Art already leaned in to find his place between your legs — the other following when he got the memo. “mmm, you smell like paradise..” Art had his nose pressed against your lace covered cunt. He breathed deep for your sent to fill his senses, and Patrick kissing up your thigh. You observed with a bitten lip as you play with the strap of your bra.

“She is paradise..” was the brunette’s response, he nibbled a bit on the plushness of your thigh and you squeal excitedly. Both boys struggle to let the other get your panties out of the way, you were amused to watch them. You just lifted your legs so it would be easier. They settled on the side since your set had been hot anyways. One leg on the shoulder of the other, you felt a digit come in contact with your clit — already letting out a soft whimper. A tongue laid a stripe up your cunt, and it felt like sweet relief.

Art took his time with going from kissing to lapping at your core, setting his tongue flat then flicking up to your folds, Patrick focused on your clit. Sucking till his lips find their way to eating you in rhythm. Your eyebrows knit together as you let out a higher pitched noise and stuffed your hands into their hair, the overwhelming sensations washed over you. Moans echo clean from your throat. “oh- yeah… good boys.” you heard more groans vibrate from your core and that made you grin. All while now reaching for the pillows above your head as the boys make your legs shake and tremble. You gasp, muttering curses under your breath.

They were too good just oral wise. It had your nails clawing at the sheets in no time as they let all their craving for you out on your pussy, it pushed you into a climax fast.

“Mmm, yes- - fuck !” you whine as you start to cum on the tongues that were fucking into you, even their licking and sucking after your soaked cunt made you shutter. Your grip on the sheets letting up slowly as you came down with a soft sigh. Art rubbed the back of your thigh as he leaned up with the other, they both sat back with their chests heaving and very visible bulges showing from behind their jeans.

You cracked a honeyed smile. “Okay. Let me see those cocks.” You rise to your elbows after the order and the men take no hesitation to get their buttons undone. Your smile turning to a darker smirk soon enough in anticipation.

“She wants to play, huh ?” Art’s lips curled into a grin as he looked up at you whist shoving his pants and boxers down his thighs, Patrick already way ahead of him as he chuckled,

“Always a bad girl under all that sweetness,” the brunette joked as he playfully pulled on your foot and you yanked it away with a giggle. “You know I can’t help it.” You lean up to see the sight in front of you. Both men hard enough to keep you up till sunrise and your eyes light up right then. “Oh, look what we have here..” your tone was playful as you got closer, keeping an eye on them but also the way both their pretty cocks stood in excitement for you.

Reaching out you went to Patrick first. Letting your soft but experienced hand stroke him a bit, just to feel his thickness grow in your embrace.

“Shit..” the word slips from him and you sucked in your bottom lip as you went to work, innocently watching his expression as you stroked him so calmly but with devotion.

“Y’know… I never got a kiss.” The man uttered and you scoffed kittenishly before hovering your lips above his, smooching just once before Patrick went in hot, reaching behind you to palm at your ass and inch you forward to him. You yelped mixed with a string of giggles, pushing him down on the bed so you can climb on top of him.

“Get this off,” your voice was playful and flirty as you pulled Patrick’s shirt over his chest and arms. “You too, Art.” the blonde was quick to follow.

Your dripping core was just inches above Patrick's erect member. You sat at top of his body, just smiling and admiring the view. But it was a known fact the man underneath you was quite impatient, especially when you’d been running your hands down his chest the way you were, acrylic nails doing their own thing by the texture of the hair lightly trialed there.

“You gonna show me how you ride like an angel, princess ? Or should I do it myself ?” You were blushing right after his words, nodding a bit, your hands lead down farther to find his dick, brushing it up against your clothed slit as you sucked in your breath. With just a couple adjustments, you were leaning up so you could fit Patrick’s thick and full cock inside of you. A whimper immediately breaking through you as you sunk down. And the brunette didn’t hold back for a second as he held your hips, thumb kneading against the mesh fabric of your panties and watching the way you move so gracefully above him.

Art was too drawn in by the scene to have even remembered to get himself prepared. He hadn’t touched his cock, but you knew what to do.

Reaching out, you gently took Arts chin in your palm as you brought him close. Still going up Patrick’s cock as you kissed the blonde nice and slow. You all were beginning to be a mess of moans. “Touch yourself while we fuck, okay ?” You whispered against Arts ear. It caused him the most delightful chills. He didn’t think twice as his own hand went to his cock. And you started bouncing on Patrick, whimpering and moaning out like their hadn’t been people in the next door rooms — your hair springing off your skin with you.

“There you go, doll… take my dick. You’re so fucking hot.” Patrick grunted as he held your waist so you could fuck yourself against him, leaving no space between as you rocked yourself on his lap. Your mouth went agape when he readjusted to pound up into your tight hole,

“Yeah- - was I the hottest angel out there tonight ?”

“Fuck yeah..” the brunette grabbed you with roughness so you’d been flush with his chest, you smiled as he made your pussy clench hard frantically and your moans turned into stuttering whines. Taking him like this, you knew you’d cum. So you then hit on his chest to let you up, that way you could save your next high just a little longer.

“Oh- - shit… shit,” you climbed off of the man and sniveled out as you flipped your hair out of your face.

“Oh my god.. baby, I was so close.”

“Not yet. Art, come fuck me.” Your directness had turned the blonde on so much he could feel his cock twitch at your words. He met you, and with one look at your gorgeous set gaze on his and a smirk on your lips it set his thoughts wild. His tongue darted out to wet his own lip as you smiled up at him, you finally got rid of your bra now, and slipped off your panties before placing a hand on his neck tenderly as the other slid up his chest. Arts eyes locked with yours, he just watched you with a coy little sideways smile. And when you turned around, your ass was at his crotch, you were bending over near the bedspread and he sucked in his breath. “Oh, shit..” the blonde muttered. And it made you giggle girlishly.

You were pushing your soaked pussy on Arts member, “my god, you’re so wet.” He announced just ready to pump you full himself, but he knew he wouldn’t want anything to ruin the sweetness of the moment. So he let his tip meet your core, you observed with wide eyes, his dick perfectly pink and dripping of pre cum. You were practically salivating at the sight. “Fuck her good, Art.” Patrick chimed in and the blonde pushed into you with a deep groan leaving his throat, you gripped at the sheets as your face scrunched up and your jaw went hanging. Art slowly moved his hips against you, mouth agape at the sight of your ass against him heavily. Arts hand kneaded against your hip.

You spread your legs a little farther apart to take him. All of him. Moaning like you’d been split in half, Art started to thrust nice and easy. It made you reach back to grab his muscly arm for support and he grunted from the sight of your teasing eyes watching him, you always just had to see Arts face whenever he fucked you, because he was so pretty. Especially like this — chest glistening and damp curls as he made escalating noises exit you. You regularly told him he would be successful if he ever gave modeling a shot. Although he never believed you, thinking you were just being kind. But you really meant it. Art was delicious on the eyes. And not that he took any away from Patrick (him being too pretentious even for the modeling industry anyways) but they each had their own beauty to serve in different ways. Arts gorgeousness came straight from good genes. And just like his face, so did his cock. Wonderful and thicker than most guys his age, especially when he put it to good use like you and Patrick occasionally showed him.

You smile beneath your bitten lip and mewls at your other delectable boyfriend, Arts sly grin was in response and when he pounded into you faster, you felt the bed shake. You couldn’t hold back as you began to scream his name. It was always in the front of your mind to make Art feel good when you knew he struggled with his shyness at times unlike the brunette.

“Yes ! Yes, oh fuck- - make me cum, Art !”

“Yeah ? ..You like that ?” The blonde huffed as he snapped his hips into you,

“Uh hu… harder- - fuck it, just like that.”

Art let his hands palms at your ass, then slide up your torso to cup your breasts. Gripping them in his hands as you slid yourself up and down his member. “Your tits are fucking perfect, oh my god.” You felt slick running down your inner thigh, sheets tight in your palms as your eyes began to roll.

Patrick who watched right beside Art, was jerking himself to the sounds of your syrupy moans. You looked too angelic on Arts cock, he couldn’t help it as his free hand smacked down on your ass while you fucked yourself on Art. It made you both groan. And you loved it, your flirty smile said it all.

Art felt full enough to cum in you right then, the sight of your cunt spread against him was starting to make his head spin. “I’m gonna fill you up pretty girl, you ready ?” It was quick thrusts and a mixture of your half screams and half moans of “fuck, Art!” Filling the noise of the room before you were gushing around his dick. And he was spilling inside of you like that, an uncontrollable amount of his seed was painting your walls and the blonde made sure to get every last drip of it in your sweet cunt. The other man l beside him pumped his cock quick to releasing on your back side all with a string of groans and curses.

You didn’t collapse on your stomach just yet, not only the feeling of the two boys marking their territory on you being too excellent of a feeling to end just yet, but because Art crouched to lick at your puffy cunt. He tasted the mixture of you and him (with Patrick flowing into the mix) as you let out soft whimpers against the pillows. The brunette gripped your ass cheeks to help and you wiggled from the pleasure with a sigh of giggles. “naughty girl.” He smirked, the other licked up what was left of all of you like a pro. Your toes flexed and curled with the punch of his tongue.

“Fuck. That was amazing. You were amazing. ” Was all he could say when he collapsed on he comforter beside you with a deep breath and you turned on your back too. Slowly coming down from trembling. Art wrapped an arm over your body as he rested against your shoulder and you smile.

“That was the most fun I’ve ever had- - ever.” Your laughter was light and Patrick to your side got close to your body too, you let your hand gently caress his jaw.

“They weren’t gonna give you that at the after party we’re they ?” He grinned.

“No. Definitely not.” you shook your head with the sweat on your face only making your half ruined makeup look better somehow. Your love spell body shimmer still stuck to your skin and even got on Art and Patrick’s sculpted bodies pretty nicely as they gently rubbed you down. You smiled before tapping above your cheek bones, and both of your boys knew what to do. They left a two sweet kisses for you.

[slashmagpie]

Break Like an Artist

My fic for @hermitadaymay's Solstice Social Collaborative Fanwork Event! I was paired up with the wonderful @eydilily to create something spooky, dramatic and contemplative featuring Gem and Pearl, and it's been an absolute blast putting this together. Please go check out Eydi's art for this AU, it's absolutely gorgeous. CWs: description of a corpse, dismemberment, loss of awareness, fire/flooding/destruction, and depiction of a panic attack. Wordcount: 5.8k

There is a plague sweeping Pearl's hometown.

One by one, she watches as her friends fall to the infection, the colour and life drained out of them and leaving hollow, apathetic husks behind. Even with the devastating loss of her friends, her village, and her regular life, the worst part of this situation is not the infection.

It's that Pearl knows that Gem is the one spreading it.

[Read on AO3]

It’s a grey day in the fishing village that Pearl calls her home. Not that it’s ever not a grey day, at least not anymore. She stares out of her window at the thick encompassing fog that’s claimed the bay, at the desaturated buildings that dot the shore, and she twirls her paintbrush in her fingers. 

The canvas is blank, of course. She doesn’t remember the last time she sat down to paint and didn’t end up with a blank canvas. It must have been—months ago, at least. Back when the last monster from the depths had attacked, and not a single person had had the heart to fight back. When Tango’s house had been shattered in two, and Tango with it.

(He seems to be dealing well with the loss of his arm, at least. Or, as well as you can deal with anything, when the only things inside of you are all-consuming numbness and apathy. Pearl feels it in her chest, the yawning emptiness, and thinks that if she were to lose her arm right here and now, she also wouldn’t be able to summon the energy to care.)

She’d painted after that, though. She remembers it vividly, waking from a nightmare and running to her studio to capture lashing tentacles and inky waters and splatters of crimson blood. It’s a frenzied piece, a disturbing piece, and the moment she’d finished it she’d been filled with so much dread that she’d turned it around to face the wall and refused to look at it since.

The dread’s gone now. Along with the anxiety, and the uncertainty, and the fear. It’s all gone, and Pearl’s left sitting here, paints drying on the palette as she stares at an empty canvas.

Across the house, she hears her front door swing open and closed. A familiar voice shouts, “Pearl? Pearl, where are you?”

“Studio,” Pearl calls back, her voice flat. She continues to twirl the paintbrush as she waits for Gem to trek her way across the house to find her.

“Studio,” Gem echoes as she pushes open the door. “Oh, Pearl, are you painting again? Oh, I’m so happy for—oh.” The joy in her voice vanishes as she takes in Pearl, sitting on her stool, paintbrush raised and canvas empty. “Oh, Pearl…” 

Sympathy. Pity. Concern. Pearl can pick apart the emotions in Gem’s voice, even if she can’t feel them herself. She stares back blankly, because she can’t find it in herself to care about either aspect of the situation, whether it be her own inability to paint or the way that Gem’s looking at her like she’s a wounded animal.

“Come on,” Gem says softly, crossing the room and gently prying the brush from Pearl’s fingers. Pearl lets her. She’s not really painting, anyway. “Let’s get you to bed, shall we? A nap will do you some good.”

Pearl lets Gem help her up, lets Gem allow Pearl to lean on her for support as they make their way back to Pearl’s bedroom. It’s not like Pearl has any difficulty walking. She’s not sick, she’s not injured, she’s just…

Cold. Empty. Not quite lifeless, not in the way Mumbo had been when she’d last seen him, skin and eyes and hair all the same shade of grey-white-nothingness as he’d stared into the distance, completely unresponsive. Listless, maybe, is the better word. She’s halfway to a fate worse than death and she cannot find it in her to care at all.

She feels colder where Gem touches her. She looks down, and she’s not sure if it’s her eyes playing tricks on her, or if her skin is more desaturated where it brushes against Gem’s. She lets Gem help her into bed, lets Gem fluff the pillows and fuss around her, lets Gem sit next to her as she hands Pearl a bowl of soup (“Your favourite!”) and watches her to make sure she eats.

If Pearl were more herself, she would care about what Gem’s doing to her. Care enough to stop it, maybe. Care enough to—no, not to confront her. Every time she’d tried, the words had gotten stuck in her throat. Because she’s known for a long time who’s been behind all of this, behind the corruption leeching all colour from their village, their home, their friends—

And she’d never said anything. Too worried about Gem’s feelings. Too worried about their friendship.

…Pearl realises, as Gem goes to take the empty bowl and brushes her hands against Pearl’s, that she’s not worried anymore.

She waits quietly as Gem washes the bowl in her kitchen, chattering to fill the silence as she does, updating Pearl on their friends’ conditions. Her tone is bright and optimistic, even as her words are dour. Scar seems to be doing the same. Grian’s getting worse. Joel’s down to communicating only in broken phrases—but he should be fine. It definitely won’t be like Mumbo, or Cub, or…

Gem returns to Pearl’s room, regarding her for a long moment before bending down to give her a hug. “Get better soon, okay?” she says into Pearl’s ear. “It’s not the same doing my rounds without you.”

Pearl knows that she’s not getting better. So does Gem, so Pearl doesn’t bother pointing it out. She just nods, lets Gem withdraw, lets Gem run one last hand through her hair.

“You should rest, Pearl,” Gem says, stepping away from Pearl’s bedside. “I’m going to go check on Impy now—”

Pearl’s moving before she’s even properly registered it, grabbing onto Gem’s wrist with force, holding her in place. Gem freezes. Pearl looks up at her through strands of greasy, greying hair.

“Gem,” she says, and it’s the first thing she’s said in days, and her voice is hoarse and her throat sore from the strain.

“...Pearl?” Gem replies, and she sounds almost scared.

“Gem,” Pearl repeats, getting used to the sound of her own voice in her mouth again. “I know.”

Gem laughs. It’s a nervous, tittering sound, the laugh Pearl remembers from when they’d gotten into trouble together as kids. “Know what?” she asks, voice strained. 

“That it’s you,” Pearl says flatly. 

Gem stares at her.

Pearl stares back.

Gem swallows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says. “Pearl—”

“I know you’re the one doing this to us,” Pearl says, more specific this time, choosing her words carefully, and Gem—

Gem tries to pull away.

Pearl tightens her grip. 

“Pearl,” Gem whines, eyes wide, tugging. “Let me go—”

“Why?” Pearl croaks, and Gem snaps her mouth shut.

---

Pearl’s in the midst of mixing a particularly tricky shade of green when there’s a loud, frantic knock on her front door. She sighs, setting down her brush to rest, and gets to her feet. “I’m coming, I’m coming, hold on!” she calls as the knocks continue, echoing through the house.

She pulls the door open and Tango’s there, a nervous ball of energy, just about ready to bolt. “Pearl!” he calls. “Pearl, come on, we gotta go—” 

He grabs her by the arm and drags her off. Pearl just barely manages to close her front door behind her.

“Wha—? Where are we going? What’s going on?”

“Something washed up on shore,” Tango explains. “The whole town’s there, c’mon.”

Accepting that she’s not going to get an explanation out of him, and now deeply curious about this something, she lets Tango lead her down to the shore by the lighthouse. Sure enough, the whole town is there, a chattering crowd gathered around a spot on the shore that Pearl can’t quite see. Impulse is standing on the edge of the crowd and catches sight of them, raising his arm in a wave. Tango makes a beeline towards him, ducking under the crowd, and Pearl follows behind, apologising to False and Keralis as she bumps into them.

“Did you decide what to do with it yet?” Tango asks as he comes to a halt and finally lets Pearl go.

Impulse shakes his head. “We’ve decided it’s Gem’s call,” he says. “After all, she’s the—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence as the crowd suddenly goes silent and parts for Gem, her hair wild and eyes wide behind her thick-rimmed glasses. She’s got her lab coat pulled on over her day clothes, clearly not prepared for this in the slightest. She reaches the front of the crowd and stops dead still, staring at the thing that has washed up on the shore.

Pearl follows her friend’s gaze, and sees it for the first time.

It’s a body. Of course it is. A corpse, taken by the sea and ravaged by the waves and washed ashore by the brutal bay currents. The body’s clothes are torn and sodden, the skin beneath so pale that it could practically be paper. Pearl is stricken, for a moment, with the mental image of her taking a brush to this canvas, filling it back in with colour, painting contours back into its skin, breathing life back into the body.

She shakes her head violently, banishing the thought. Where did that come from? This isn’t a canvas, it’s—

It’s a person. A person who was alive, and is now dead, washed up on the beach like a dead whale and just as much of a spectacle. His eyes are open but rolled back, only the whites showing, and his hair is white too, just as pale as his skin. It stands as sharp contrast against the dark fabric of his torn clothes, a mask wrapped around the bottom half of his face.

Pearl swallows hard and averts her gaze back to Gem, who looks just as disturbed by the body as Pearl feels. It takes Gem longer to pull her eyes away, to glance around the crowd. “I’ll—I’ll take it back to my lab,” she says. “Investigate, and—and give him a proper burial.”

The words reassure the crowd, a low chatter beginning up again. 

“Skizz, will you help me carry him?” Gem calls.

Skizz does, stepping forward from the crowd and helping Gem maneuver the bloated corpse. Pearl finds herself looking at it again, noticing dark striations in the skin, caught in glimpses between the tears in the clothing as it’s moved. 

She shakes her head again, forces herself to look away as the body is carried out and the crowd disperses. The image of the body lingers in her mind. Something settles uncomfortably in her stomach, and she wishes that she’d never opened the door.

---

Things go back to normal after that. Or, well, as normal as they get in the village, at least. False monitors the currents and warns of any incoming floods or monster attacks. Impulse and Tango work maintenance on the fishing boats that Grian and Skizz and Keralis take out into the bay. Mumbo runs the fish market. Cub and Scar come and go along the trading routes. Joel maintains security, or at least the illusion of it.

Gem hides away in her lab running experiments she never explains, and Pearl paints.

She tries to return to her usual fare, brightly-coloured landscapes with fantastical features, but something about her paintings rings hollow when she looks at them. She decides she needs a change, to switch things up and just relax, so she pulls out her paints and a blank canvas and begins with no intentions. Her movements are fluid and free and thoughtless and she falls into a flow state that lasts hours, until she blinks her eyes and awakes to find a portrait before her, a colourless face in full saturation.

The corpse’s visage, so alive she can’t believe it’s not breathing, stares back at her from her easel, and Pearl flinches like she’s been burned.

She hides that painting away, face turned towards the wall, and returns to painting landscapes. They come easier now, and for a time Pearl feels normal, as long as she ignores the canvas in the corner.

It’s Impulse who notices that there’s something wrong first. It’s not surprising that he’d be the first to pick up on it, really. Skizz is his best friend, after all. Of course he’d notice when Skizz stopped laughing, stopped joking, stopped drumming out tunes with his fingers on the side of his boat. And when Pearl sees him, she notices changes too—his skin paler, like he’s spent several weeks locked inside a basement instead of out in the summer sun, his eyes no longer their regular bright blue.

“Hey, Skizzly,” she greets brightly, trying to play at normal, throwing him a bone to grab onto.

Skizz just glances at her before responding with a flat, “Oh, hey Pearl.”

Pearl’s smile falters. “How are you feeling? Impulse told me you’re a little under the weather.”

Skizz shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Did you need something?”

Pearl swallows, something cold sinking in her guts. “No, no, just checking in on you.”

“Gem already checked on me,” Skizz says. “She said I’m not sick.”

“Gem’s not that type of doctor,” Pearl reminds him with a weak smile.

Skizz shrugs again. “She’s the only doctor we’ve got.”

Pearl tries her best not to let that unsettle her.

---

It’s not just Skizz.

It starts with him, but it doesn’t end there. Keralis is next, and then Grian. Mumbo gets sickest the quickest, going from his anxious, affable self to a nearly-unresponsive husk within a week. That scares them all, because even Skizz is still responding when spoken to, still moving when instructed to, even after nearly a month of being infected with… whatever it is that’s going around.

False gets sick without anyone noticing, sequestered away in her lighthouse until she comes into town for groceries looking like a photograph that’s been left in the sun for too long, and that’s when people really start to panic.

And that’s when Gem declares, with all the authority that being a doctor of anthropology afforded her in a tiny town with no real doctor, that she’s putting everyone into quarantine until they can determine the source of the illness. 

“I’m not sick,” Pearl tells Gem when her friend knocks on her door, dressed in full lab gear, her hair out of its usual ponytail and falling forward around her face. She’s pretty sure she isn’t, at least, having hyper-analysed the shade of blue in her eyes in the mirror every morning for the past month. 

“I know,” Gem says. “I want to—I need to—can I come in?”

“Yeah,” Pearl says, stepping aside. “Of course.”

Gem enters, heading down the stairs into Pearl’s living space and staring at the paintings on the wall. Pearl watches her for a moment before stepping closer, resting a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder.

“What’s eating you?” she asks.

Gem snorts out a laugh at that. “I’m not a real doctor, Pearl,” she says.

“I know that.”

“They all need me to be a real doctor for them. I—” She breaks off, runs an anxious hand through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I need help.”

Pearl raises her eyebrows. “I don’t know how I can help,” she says. “I’m even less of a doctor than you are.”

“I know,” Gem says. “But you’re my friend, and I trust you, and I need—please?”

She stares at Pearl, bright green eyes magnified through thick glasses lenses. Pearl has never been able to say no to those eyes.

“Okay,” she agrees, letting out an uncertain breath. “Okay. What do you need me to do, Dr. Tay?”

Gem laughs again, high-pitched and anxious, and Pearl feels hot and cold all at once.

---

They do house calls. Once a day, Gem and Pearl, and sometimes Impulse, will make a round of the village, checking in on everyone. Gem brings some of her lab equipment and a notebook, where she scribbles down all the readings she takes from her instruments and any observations she makes. After the first week or so, Pearl also takes to bringing a sketchbook and a small travel painting kit, attempting to record the desaturation rate in her friends’ colours. 

It doesn’t matter which way they look at it—the situation is bad, and rapidly getting worse. Most of the town is infected now, and Skizz is approaching Mumbo’s level of deterioration. Cub fell ill two weeks ago, and Tango—

Well, he’s not quite grey yet, but he looks washed out where he sits at his table, especially next to Gem, all bright copper and ocean blue and forest green. His voice is flat, all of the emotion in it gone, and while he responds in full sentences to Gem’s questions as Pearl attempts to capture the moulded-straw colour of his hair, none of his words sound like him. 

Gem wraps up her check-in, and Pearl follows her out, paints packed away in her bag and sketchbook held carefully so as not to smudge the paint. Impulse is waiting for them outside, staring out into the bay, where a low-lying fog has been hanging for days. 

He glances over at them, voice shaking as he asks, “How is he?”

Gem hesitates. “About the same?” she offers. 

Pearl shakes her head. “Worse,” she says, offering her sketchbook to Impulse, pointing out the differences in values between the colours she’d sampled from Tango two days ago to the ones she’d taken today. 

Impulse’s hands are trembling as he hands the sketchbook back to her. “What do we do?” he asks. “They just keep getting worse—Gem, what do we do?”

Gem’s eyes are fixed somewhere out at sea. Her expression is so scarily blank that Pearl would worry she was infected if not for how bright and vibrant she looks against the backdrop of the village. (Are the houses getting greyer? Surely not—surely it’s just the fog, and the fact that the sky has been overcast for a fortnight now—surely—)

“We look after them best we can,” Gem says. “I’m trying—every night I’m working on a cure.”

“And do you think it’ll work?” Impulse pushes.

“I have to,” Gem replies. “It has to.” 

Pearl swallows, and does not voice what all three of them are thinking: what if it doesn’t?

---

Impulse turns up one morning a shade dimmer than he had been the day before. Pearl notices immediately, her stomach lurching at the sight of him. He offers her a smile that’s smaller than his usual ones, a greeting that’s a little flatter than it would usually be. Pearl’s not sure if Gem even notices.

But Pearl notices, and her eyes sting, and she throws herself at him in a way that catches all three of them off-guard.

“Uh, Pearl?” Impulse says, stiff and uncomfortable beneath her. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Pearl mumbles against his ear.

“Pearl?” There’s a peak of distress in his voice but it’s not enough. Gem hears it, too.

“Oh no,” she breathes.

“Okay, guys, seriously,” Impulse says, pushing Pearl away. “What’s going on?”

They just stare at him.

Realisation dawns across Impulse’s face. “No.” 

“Maybe…” Gem sucks in a breath. She reaches out to take his hand and squeezes it. “Maybe you should go home, Impy. Get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Impulse protests. “I’m…” His protest crumbles under their gazes. He slumps, and Pearl knows that he would normally never crumble like that. He’d protest and fight back and keep working until he passed out on the docks and had to be carried back to bed.

“C’mon,” she says softly. “I’ll help you home.”

Impulse doesn’t protest that either. He knows, as well as the two of them do, how this ends. He knows that there’s no fighting this.

Pearl, very valiantly, does not cry about it.

---

With everyone except the two of them infected, Pearl manages to convince Gem to split the rounds, with her taking half of the houses, and Gem taking the other half, swapping halves every couple of days. Gem is reluctant, but she has no good argument against Pearl’s that this is more practical, and so she agrees.

And that’s when Pearl notices.

She thinks she’s imagining it at first, but the colour swatches in her sketchbook back up her suspicions, damning evidence she can’t ignore.

When she visits her rounds, she finds that the people she’s visiting appear to have stabilised, at least for a couple days, no greyer today than they were when she saw them the day before. And then she swaps with Gem, and notices that Gem’s half of the rotation are far paler, far less responsive, than they had been the last time Pearl had seen them. They stabilise for a couple days, and then they switch, and Pearl’s original rotation have deteriorated massively in the several days since. 

There’s really only one conclusion she can draw from that, and she doesn’t want to draw it. She doesn’t want to believe that the one responsible for this is—

The fog is a permanent fixture of the village now, blanketing the bay in a thick blanket of quiet. Pearl finds it hard to sleep, even the familiar sound of waves muffled by the mist. Kept awake into the early hours of the morning, she finds herself in the studio, a brush in hand, letting the paint take her where it will.

And where it takes her is familiar: the village, desaturated and coated in fog, dark looming shapes in the mist beyond, rising out of the ocean. And there, in the midst of the painting, a bright spot in all the gloom, is Gem, so vibrant she practically lifts off the page.

Pearl stares at it for a long, long time, and then places it face against the wall and tries her best to forget about it.

---

In all the dread, they’d forgotten something important.

The sea isn’t safe. It never has been. Growing up in the bay you learn how to weather the storms, to predict the tides, to flee from floods. You learn how to build barriers, and you learn how to rebuild once the ocean drags them down. 

Pearl knows that her village can handle the sea: she’s seen them do it time and time again over the years. Together, they move as a well-oiled machine, responding to threats from the depths with weathered ease. That’s why she doesn’t expect it, she thinks. 

There’s never been a monster attack that False didn’t warn them about.

But False isn’t capable of doing much of anything at the moment.

And so when the tentacles rise from the waves, there isn’t a warning.

Just a deafening krk-crash that wakes Pearl from a dead sleep with a bolt of adrenaline that’s nearly nauseating. She scrambles from her blankets, still in her pajamas, and rushes up the stairs to throw on her boots. It’s edging towards winter now, the weather much milder than the summer months, and though it’s not cold by any stretch of the imagination the chill of the air still makes her shiver. She grits her teeth, racing from her front door to the village proper, and there—

There’s a sea monster, dark purple tentacles reaching out to the shore, destroying everything in its wake. The fish market is half gone, and it’s awful, but it’s a relief, in a way, because nobody lives there.

“Gem!” Pearl screams into the night.

“Pearl!” she hears echo back, followed by distant footsteps, growing ever-closer. 

Gem’s face is flushed, her hair wild, her eyes wide. She’s also in her pyjamas, her lab coat that’s been ever-present for months now gone, and Pearl finds her eyes drawn to dark striations in her skin. They look like—

“Pearl,” Gem says again. “We need to get everyone out, away from the shore, up to the research centre—”

Pearl nods. “Got it,” she says. She points towards the docks and says, “I’ll head over there.”

Gem nods. “Be safe,” she says, and then she’s off again, pelting in the direction of the lighthouse.

Pearl doesn’t bother knocking as she throws Impulse’s door open. He’s still lucid enough that he’s been startled awake by the noise, though it hasn’t driven him to do much more than put his shoes on and stare out of the window at the dark shapes rearing up out of the fog.

“Impulse!” Pearl cries.

“Pearl?” Impulse says, glancing at her with dull eyes.

“We need to get people out,” she says.

There’s an extended pause, then, “Okay.”

“Can you get Skizz?” she asks. “Tango, too, maybe? I need to go to the beach, help everyone down there.”

Another extended pause, then a nod. “I can do that,” Impulse says. He moves too slowly, not driven by the same panic flooding Pearl’s veins, but it’s good enough. It has to be. Pearl doesn’t have time to consider the alternative.

She goes racing off for the beach. She throws open Keralis’ door first, relieved that he is, at least, wearing underwear when she drags him from his bed and into the night. She leaves him there while she grabs Grian from his hut, and then takes them both by the wrists, pulling them along behind her while she races for the cliffside.

It feels like hours that she races back and forth, grabbing her friends from their homes and dragging them in various states of comprehension to the safety of the cliff before running back into the danger zone. Grian’s hut is gone, and so is a large portion of the road. The tentacles have taken a chunk out of the farms further up the coast. Gem’s been taking the people she rescues a different route up to the research facility, the path that Pearl’s taking cut off to her by debris.

Once she’s got everyone on her side of town, she collapses panting on the grass, her lungs aching with the strain. There’s a fire somewhere down on the shore, someone’s lantern knocked astray by swinging tentacles. Her eyes burn just from looking at it.

A voice says, “I got him.”

Pearl looks up.

It’s Impulse, manhandling a colourless, greyscale Skizz.

Pearl goes cold.

“Where’s Tango?” she asks.

Impulse blinks. Slowly. Too slowly.

“Oh,” he says. “I’ll go get him.”

Pearl shakes her head, rocketed up to her feet by panic once again. “No, I’ll go,” she gasps. “You stay here.”

And then she’s off running again, beelining for Tango’s house, praying to any higher power that will listen that she’s not too late. Her lungs ache. Her legs burn. She can’t quite catch her breath. She’s shaking.

And then she’s knocking down Tango’s door, grabbing him from his bed against the far wall, dragging him away—

The roof coming down sounds like thunder, like the sky split open and gutted for parts. Pearl goes down hard, stars bursting behind her eyes, her breath coming out empty and then as a whine. She blinks, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark, for her ears to stop ringing, and that’s when she hears it.

It’s—not a scream. More of a whimper, or a wail, stretched out and awful and pained and punctuated by short, desperate gasps. It goes straight to her stomach, straight to making her sick, and she doesn’t want to look. Doesn’t want to move.

But, god, she has to, doesn’t she?

She wiggles her fingers, her toes, and lets out a deep groan as she pushes herself up onto her hands and knees. The world has narrowed in on itself, the open air of Tango’s house reduced to a crawlspace, and she shuffles down it, rubble and debris tearing her skin open and leaving bloody red marks on desaturated wood. It is a far cry from the blood she finds, practically brown with how much colour has been leeched from it. 

“Oh, my god,” she chokes. “Tango…”

Tango just moans in response. She can’t tell if he’s pale from blood loss or pale from the infection, but either way it has the effect of making him look half dead. He’s half buried beneath the rubble, body jerking with what she can only assume is pain, barely felt beneath the weight of numb apathy.

“I gotta get you out of here.” The words taste acrid against her tongue. Or maybe that’s the smoke. She can’t tell. “I’ve got you.” She grabs Tango by his good arm and grimaces. “It’s gonna be okay.”

It’s not a reassurance for him. Not really. Pearl’s familiar enough with his condition by now to know that he can’t really care about being okay at this point.

It’s more for her as she does her best to get leverage in the small space and pulls. 

When Tango screams, she knows it’s completely involuntary, an animal howl of agony that stops her short. Pearl gasps, tears on her cheeks, head spinning. “Please, no,” she begs, and she doesn’t know if she’s talking to him or the higher power that’s been ignoring her for weeks. “No, no, I gotta—I—”

“Pearl?”

“Gem!” Pearl cries. “Gem, please, I need—it’s Tango—he’s—”

“I’ve got you,” says Gem’s voice, familiar and close as footsteps pound across rubble. There’s a series of grunts and clunks as rubble shifts, and then there’s light pouring into the crawlspace, which is no longer so much of a crawlspace. Gem stares at the two of them, Pearl in tears on her knees and Tango half buried and lying in his own dull blood. 

“Okay,” she gasps out, and she sounds terrified. “Okay,” she repeats, steadier this time. 

Pearl wants to be relieved, but she’s just on the other side of hysterical. Gem’s holding an axe, which she must have used to clear the rubble, and she steps forward with it held between white knuckles.

“Hold him still,” she tells Pearl.

Pearl swallows. “Gem?” she whispers.

“Please.”

Gem glances down at Pearl, and god, she never has been able to say no to that, has she?

She shuffles forward, puts her weight against Tango, holds him still. Squeezes her eyes shut.

It doesn’t make it any better.

It doesn’t stop her from hearing the sick crunch of the axe cutting through bone or the blood-curdling scream Tango lets out.

It doesn’t stop her from feeling the sudden lack of resistance as she pulls Tango’s bleeding body away from the rubble, leaving his arm behind.

---

Pearl manages to hold it together until they’re able to get Tango safe and stable. Once the wound has been cauterised and disinfected and bandaged, and he’s left sitting with a mostly-unresponsive Skizz and an Impulse who’s just aware enough to be awkward about how little he feels for his friend, she walks away from the town’s refugees on the hillside until she can no longer hear them, and they can no longer hear her. She stands for a moment, surveying the damage below, the sun rising over the sea and the flooded streets and destroyed buildings, and she sucks in a breath that knocks her to her knees.

The panic attack comes in quick half-breaths and waterlogged wails, her hands gripping at her hair and pulling it hard enough to hurt. The world blurs around her as she chokes on saltwater and bile, her ears ringing with screams and funeral bells. When the hands settle on her shoulders she barely feels them—only feels them when they rise to her wrists and untangle her fingers from her hair.

“—earl? Pearl. Look at me. Come on, I know you can do it.”

“Ge-em,” Pearl chokes out. “I can’t—I—”

“I’ve got you,” Gem soothes. She takes Pearl’s hands in hers, squeezes them tight, real and grounding. “See, come on, that’s it. Breathe with me.”

Pearl blinks tears from her eyes as she tries to time her breathing to Gem’s. She’s not very good at it, her heart too quick and Gem’s too slow, but it helps, dragging her down from the high of panic. 

“That’s it,” Gem breathes. She lets go of Pearl’s hand, reaching up to push the hair out of Pearl’s face, cupping her cheeks in her palms. “See? Nice and calm. Everything’s fine, see?”

“Yeah,” Pearl agrees, and the words feel hollow. Her panic feels hollow, somewhere above her body, her soul sunken to somewhere below her knees. She sucks in a breath, lets Gem wipe tears from her eyes with her thumbs.

Gem is so bright. A searchlight in a storm, a ray of rising sun through the dark. The world seems to grey around her. 

Pearl reaches out, splaying her hand against Gem’s cheek, a clumsy echo of Gem’s own reassuring, grounding touch. Gem is still so bright, vivid enough that Pearl doesn’t think any paint could capture it. 

And Pearl, held in comparison, is grey and dull. A shade, drained of life.

She swallows. Lets out a shaking breath. Looks up into Gem’s green eyes, sees the fear and regret in them, and can barely summon her own panic or hurt in return.

“Oh,” she says, and the word falls like a stone, plunging into the depths.

---

Pearl lets out a breath. “It was the body, wasn’t it?” she asks, loosening her grip. “The one that washed up. It did something to you.”

Gem swallows. She pulls away, holding onto her own wrist where Pearl had dropped it, clutching it to her chest. “I’m so hungry, Pearl,” she whispers. “I fade so fast now. I need… I need…”

“You’re going to kill us.” Gem flinches at the words. “You know that, don’t you, Gem? You’re going to kill us. You are killing us.”

“I just need your colours,” Gem replies, a whine in her voice. “I just…”

“What happens when we’re gone, Gem? What happens when you’ve taken all the colours? What happens then?”

Gem stares at her. There are tears in her eyes. They don’t quite fall, but Pearl can feel them drip into her hollow heart. There’s an ocean between them now and Pearl doesn’t have the wits to cross it. She doesn’t care enough to cross it, and she doesn’t feel enough to care about that. 

“I have to go and check on Impy,” Gem repeats, her voice thick. “I’ll see you later, Pearl.”

“You won’t,” Pearl calls after her as Gem hurries for the door.

Gem doesn’t reply, just slamming the door shut in response.

Pearl sits in bed for a long time, staring at the wall with hazy vision. Her thoughts are muffled under the thick fog that chokes the village, and so when she finally stands, she’s not entirely sure why. She lets her body carry her back to her studio, picks up a canvas from against the wall, and places it on her easel. She sits down in front of it and stares.

Gem’s face stares back at her, the only alive thing in a dead and colourless world.

[cierraonline]

IT’S ABOUT CONFIDENCE

Chapter one : It’s about confidence

Warning: none

Masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

SEPTEMBER 13, 2021

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK CITY  

“Ahhh, it’s time!” Kimora walks into her booked hotel room at The Mark, the hotel synonymous with the Met Gala.

The Met Gala is an annual fundraising event and fashion show that benefits the Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of Art (the Met) in New York City. But for Kimora West, this was like a Christmas holiday all in one day. Since she was five, Kimora dreamed of walking the carpet in a beautiful gown with grace. All eyes on her, wondering, How does she embody empowerment? What is her secret? And now, today was her day—and it meant even more to her because it was also her twentieth birthday.

“Is that my muse?” Karl Lagerfeld, German fashion designer and creative director for Chanel, calls out from the back room.

“I don’t know, are you talking about me?” Kimora smiles, greeting everyone that was present for preparation with a wave. She moves toward the bedroom, where the designer and the dress stand, both tall and beautiful in their own ways. “Stop!” Kimora pauses, staring the dress down, her eyes scanning over each inch of the masterpiece before her. “I’m not wearing that, am I?”

“Made just for you, inspired by you, darling,” Karl walks over with the help of his black designer cane, pulling the girl into an embrace.

“N-no,” Kimora shakes her head, accepting the hug. “I know we discussed and sketched out the dress with it being covered in pearls… B-but that dress right there deserves to be in a museum, not on me.” Kimora breaks away from the hold to take a few steps forward and get a closer look at the dress. “And the hat… oh my God. You’ve out done yourself. Younger me would be jealous right now.”

“Beautiful people deserve beautiful dresses,” Karl smiles. “A dress that creates a statement. A statement that lets everyone know you are here.”

“I know we need to get started, but I just can’t stop admiring it,” Kimora smiles, looking at the designer. “I feel like I need to handwrite a thank-you note to everyone on your team.”

“Just putting on the dress and shining bright like a diamond on that carpet is enough.”

“You guys,” Kimora turns to look at the camera that belongs to Vogue, as they’ve chosen her to broadcast her getting ready for the Met Gala. “Karl has always been there for me when it comes to anything custom and always manages to knock it out of the park… But this right here is just another level.”

“She’s a muse and a goddess, therefore she needs to be seen as one. And this dress right here will show that,” Karl tells the camera. “We’ve been walking together since she was fourteen, and each time we did a project, she’d say, ‘I can’t wait to see what you do when I get invited to The Met.’ And I’m like, sweetheart, it’s already planned out. Who needs a theme when you have extravagant glamour?”

“Fairy God-mother is going to die when he sees this piece,” Kimora pulls out her phone and calls her personal stylist, Law Roach, American fashion stylist or in his words image architect. Best-known for his work with artists such as Zendaya, Céline Dion, Anya Taylor-Joy and Kimora West.

“Hey, Princess!” Law answers his phone with a bright attitude, showing his comforting smile—the first thing that allowed the young woman to let down her guard when they first met.

“Hey, God-mother!” Kimora greets. “Are you around anyone? I want to show you my dress.”

“I just finished picking out Zendaya’s accessories,” the stylist informs one of his in-suite clients.

“Hey, Mora!” The mentioned Black beauty calls out from a distance.

“Hey, Z!” Kimora blows a kiss, showing love to one of the free-spirited young people in Hollywood she’s actually close with. “Okay… only you and Z can see… Look what Karl created just for me,” Kimora flips the camera on her phone, and instead of showing her face, she reveals the masterpiece that the German designer created…just for her.

“Oh my God!” The two gasped, looking at the screen.

“I want to say it’s beautiful, but it’s more than that… It’s you, like that dress was made just for you,” Law compliments the dress and the young business owner.

“Why, thank you,” Karl and Kimora take the compliment at the same time, causing them both to laugh at their dynamic, which has been built over a decade. “I’m letting you go. We have to start getting ready since I’m the last to enter.”

“Good luck. You’re going to look amazing,” Law concludes, knowing that he and Zendaya also have to get ready to leave.

“Happy Birthday, Mora!” Zendaya calls out.

“Thank you, baby,” the call ends, and the now-young woman looks to the designer. “Let’s do this.”

XXX

THE METROPOLITAN MUSEUM OF ART  

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK  

“For months, designers and stylists have been collaborating with our celebrated guests to achieve sectoral glory for this,” Gwendoline Christie speaks, as the actress and model Ashley Graham hosts the opening of the full production. “The first Met Gala back from lockdown due to the Coronavirus pandemic.”

“And now, after thousands of hours of planning and fitting their creations, we are moments away from being revealed.”

“I am Gwendoline Christie, and I’ll be with Ashley Graham all night, interviewing some of the most notable figures in the world. They’ll line up here in the tunnel as they await their big moment.”

“They’ll make their way up these stairs as photographers, journalists, and even other guests shout their names and capture every detail. And once they reach the top, they’ll find our co-host, Lala Anthony.”

“That’s right,” the camera switches over to television personality Lala Anthony. “We’re here to talk with everyone from this year’s co-chairs—Timothée Chalamet, Billie Eilish, Naomi Osaka, and Amanda Gorman—to the entire guest list that’s been kept under wraps until tonight. This is the 2021 Met Gala red carpet.”

XXX

“Now the doors to The Met have officially closed, and we’re at our last guest: reality television personality, business entrepreneur, and creator of Skims, Kimora West, partnered with Chanel and creative designer Karl Lagerfeld,” Gwendoline Christie states, watching the two enter the room. Instead of the normal flashes that had been occurring all night, the room stayed a blinding white, as the flashes never stopped, wanting to capture every angle. This commotion causes the guest that were still on the staircase to look over and pause at what they were witnessing

“Kimora West is here to make a statement… and I think… nope, I know she just did with that masterpiece,” Ashley Graham gawked, looking at the influencer’s silhouette in the dress.

XXX

As the night went on, Kimora received praise and hushed whispers of compliments about her assemble from figures in different industries, some she knew and others she met that night. Long story short, the young woman knew she would be the topic of discussion and the standard when it came to the Met Gala from now on.

But just like beautiful things, there are ugly factors. And for Kimora, that would be having to use the bathroom, where she’d have to get out of the airtight dress, squat to use the toilet, make sure she doesn’t poke herself with the nails glued onto her gloves, and get the head-to-toe dress back on without damaging it—since she was already asked to donate her dress to the museum.

“Do you need help?” Georgina, invited as a plus-one since she is Kimora’s best friend and assistant, asked, standing outside the stall, holding the influencer’s personal items like her phone and makeup retouch bag. She simply waited, offering assistance if needed.

“No, I should be fine,” Kimora tells her, managing to pull the dress down off her waist and gently into a large plastic garbage bag on the floor so the dress wouldn’t touch the bathroom floor. “The event is endling in like five minutes, and then I’m getting changed in the car to head to the after-party. Can you just find the location and order me DoorDash to deliver to the next place? I think it’s just cocktail hour, and I’m starving.”

“Ooo, what are we in the mood for?” Georgina smiled, pulling out her best friend’s phone and opening the food delivery app. “Shake Shack?”

“Oh my Heavenly Pink God, yes please,” Kimora moaned at the thought of eating food from her favorite place every time she comes to the Big Apple. “This might seem fatass of me, but can you order me 3 chicken sandwiches, two order of fries, and a cookies-and-cream milkshake? I usually would follow my diet, but I haven’t eaten in like a week to make sure I fit in this dress.”

“Your fatass is beautiful,” Georgina waved off her best friend’s nonsense. “You need to start eating more. It’s unhealthy.”

“I know!” Kimora groans. “I just want everything to be perfect down to every detail, including my body… Just so no one can say I didn’t earn it and that it’s just nepotism or something… you know?”

“I don’t,” Georgina shook her head. “But I know my best friend, and I know it’s just the Kardashian in you, trying to be perfect in order to be liked by society. Which you are. In fact, you’re voted the most liked and tolerable out of everyone in your family… which weirdly includes North and Mason. I’m going to step out into the hallway since the reception in this bathroom is just terrible. Scream if you need me.” With that, Georgina walked out of the bathroom, just as up-and-rising pop star Billie Eilish walked in, with one goal in mind: make sure she didn’t look like a disaster. As the girl stared at herself in the mirror, reflecting on her appearance after the Met Gala carpet and event, she wondered what in her right mind had made her think it was okay to wear a dress and Marilyn Monroe-inspired Old Hollywood makeup. Too deep in her head, she hadn’t heard a toilet flush, letting her know she wasn’t alone, nor did she see Kimora walk out and watch the blonde stare deeply at herself.

Kimora walked forward, thinking sudden movement would snap the blonde out of her trance, but it didn’t. Even with turning on the sink to wash her hands, the noise had no effect on the girl. “You know, by now, everyone is past drunk because the food here is literal shit, so they have nothing else better to do than drink. They won’t notice what you really look like now—just a remembrance of what you looked like before,” Kimora offered a small smile.

“Huh?” The blonde finally stepped out of her trance and removed her eyes from her reflection, looking at the girl standing next to her.

“Get out of your head,” Kimora stated, before walking out of the bathroom. Watching the girl leave, Billie scoffed.

“Like you can understand, you’re a Kardashian.” She rolled her eyes, reverting her gaze back to her reflection in the mirror.

“Actually, I’m a West,” Kimora walked back into the bathroom, causing Billie’s eyes to widen, not thinking the girl had actually heard her words. “Plus, beauty isn’t actually about looks,” Kimora walked behind the girl, placing her makeup pouch on the counter, and trailed her hands on the blonde’s waist, traveling toward the back of the light pink, Old Hollywood classic-inspired dress. She untied it. “It’s about confidence,” she tightened the corset strings. “And when you have confidence, you stop worrying about whether you’re pretty enough because others tell you without asking.” She finished the tie with a bow.

“Are you saying I have low confidence?” Billie’s right eyebrow lifted.

“Yup,” Kimora emphasized, turning the girl to face her. “But it’s okay because everyone new to this level of fame has low confidence,” she said, taking out her red lip liner and beginning to mark the girl’s lips. “You’re trying to figure out your place in this new world. You’re filled with anxiety because you believe one wrong look or one word said wrong, and Hollywood will send you packing back home… News flash, it’s not about what you look like or pronounce wrong. It’s about how you treat your fans. They are the only ones who can send you packing, and by looking at how fast you got invited, I doubt that will be happening anytime soon.” She picked up the ruby red M.A.C matte lipstick and gently placed it on the girl’s baby-pink, plumped lips. “Studies show, the color red releases hidden confidence one didn’t know they had in them.” She softly turned the blonde back around to the mirror so she could see her retouched appearance. “And as a ‘Kardashian,’ I think you look absolutely beautiful and breathtaking,” Kimora smiled at the girl, watching Billie glance at herself with the light in her eyes she had at the beginning of the night. With one last feather-like touch, Kimora walked out of the bathroom, leaving the girl by herself, in which she mentally agreed with Kimora’s words.

XXX

Like many celebrities who attend the Met Gala, Kimora found herself with Georgina by her side at some random lounge surrounded by cameras… well, her for some reason, as she ate her crispy chicken sandwich. To Kimora, she didn’t see what the need for photography and video was for. But to those who had their cameras and phones in action at that moment, it was iconic. What other status beauty do they know that would sit in a popular lounge, where food is prohibited, wearing a custom ruby-red designer dress, hair and makeup meant for a goddess, pigging out on messy fast food and a milkshake, besides the world’s classic sex symbols like Marilyn Monroe, Anna Nicole Smith, and Pamela Anderson?

Especially when she’s the first young, mixed, or appearance-wise black-labeled sex symbol in American culture. That had many big figures in the industry and randoms at home ranging from men to women all waiting, itching for the day she turned eighteen years old to express their deep admiration for the young woman—just like they did with the Olsen twins…but bigger.

“That’s so weird!” Billie called out to her friend as they watched the scene people were causing with their flash photography and phones pointed at Kimora West. “All she’s doing is eating because she’s hungry. Like, you don’t need to record her. There’s no reason for all that,” Billie commented.

Little did the Grammy-award-winning singer knows, the beginning of her words were recorded by a cellphone and uploaded to social media with controversial words under it, in hopes of starting a backlash against her.

taglist @billiesrighthand @bilswildflower @bilsluckyheart @billiesgoodgirll @billsvip @billieshrry @dandelions4us @factsbybriggs @rhearipley-69 @cierraonline @amberg1998 @crystalblue88 @mercurylvd @saffsblog @ihavenoideayimhere @umadirectioner @harajukub4rb1e @sun81rise @jamiemundy7773 @cyberdreamlanddeer @steampunkprincess147 @zendayasredbottoms @efemerous @lady0ftheflowers

[thickness-protection-program]

Even without it being a country album and even if it wasn’t an album “in her genre”, the idea that an artist can only create within a genre is soooo stupid and limiting. I don’t go here but a band I like went from hardcore heavy metal screamo shit to like, high concept alt pop in 10 years and they specifically have said in interview that they distanced themselves from the metal scene because they felt it was too limiting to their ability as artists to be confined by a genre.

They’re incorporating elements now, but like. That’s what you DO with art. You try new things, get good at them or decide you don’t like them, and then you take the bits you like or find useful and incorporate them elsewhere. Idk where the idea that artists are “make more of this specific kind of art only” machines in any way.

People are being hella weird because it’s Beyoncé and broader society seems to hate black people and especially black women winning, but I’ve seen this same thing with pop punk/post-emo whiteboy bands trying a new sound and having an album flop because everyone quietly just “wished it was like their last one” until a few years later when everyone realized it was good actually and they were being close minded.

Do I find her most popular song right now overplayed on the radio? Yes. I listen to a LOT of radio. But it’s a good fucking song and she can make country if she damn well wants to. I swear we all JUST did this with Lil Nas X. If I’m tired I can’t imagine how tired the people who actively follow this are cause at this point it’s goofy as hell. People getting mad over nothing with the memory of a goldfish so they can get mad over the same nothing again in three months

Ooo you fuckin said it. It's the literal fact that music as a whole can't evolve if we don't allow individual artists to evolve and especially black artists. There's a wide variety of reasons why this unjust hate is here but I feel like two of the main reasons are 1) consumers have become a little too comfortable expecting from artists as if they owe us something as opposed to just enjoying the harvest and 2) in this current rage based culture we let our dislike of someone get in the way of viewing the facts as facts. The fact of the matter is Beyonce and any artist in the world, yes including the ones you hate, can do whatever tf they want bc they don't owe us shit

[brabblesblog]

A little hope.

Set between chapters 10 and 11 of Whither has thy beloved gone? Astarion muses on the first time Ban smiled at him again since his ascension whilst watching her get her portrait painted.

Read on AO3. For @snowfolly, @marimosalad, and @iizuumi, incredible, kind artists who have been so kind to gift their art to me. I love you all!

Ban, by @iizuumi

Ban, by @snowfolly

Astarion snaps his fingers and a servant appears. He quickly rattles off instructions. A cup of her favorite tea, laced with some animal blood, warmed just the way she wanted it. Her favorite tailor is summoned.

He follows her to their old room, and deep inside he is giddy, an emotion he hasn’t felt in a long time.

She sits on her old desk, running her hands over the filigree. She has missed her comforts here. Her table where she worked. Their bed - the mattress a perfect softness and the sheets always immaculate until they methodically ruin it every night. She turns to Astarion, and seeing his grin, can’t help but smile back.

For a moment, all is well.

Whither is thy beloved gone?

Chapter 6

Astarion stands behind the artist they’ve commissioned, fingers idly scratching his chin as he watches the painting taking shape on the canvas. A good likeness, he thinks - it doesn’t exactly capture Ban, and he doubts any painting ever really can - but it is a decent attempt.

She smiles, and his own lips quirk up in response. She’s always looked better smiling, as rare a thing as it is nowadays, although they’ve been making some headway on that front.

I mean, she does smile, Astarion muses. Just not at -

The thought dies when he meets her eyes and sees hers locked onto his; hers are crinkled with amusement, and he feels his chest swell.

“Missed a button,” Ban says, nodding at him.

It takes a moment to register her words. His mind is back to when she had first smiled at him again - a genuine, honest-to-goodness smile, and not one of those manufactured ones she’s aimed at him since his ascension.

How she had sat at her desk, running her hands all over it. How she had looked around their room as if seeing it for the first time, and how she had turned to him and returned his grin with one of her own.

He’ll always remember that, he thinks. He’ll always have that to remind him that there is hope.

“Astarion.”

Her voice snaps him out of it, and he shifts awkwardly, hands moving to clasp behind his back as he straightens up.

“Yes, my love?”

“Your button. I’m not going to dinner in the upper city with your shirt askew like that,” she mutters.

“Or, you know, I could just unbutton everything and not go out at all,” Astarion counters. The laugh that rings out from her lips makes his heart flutter.

Ban shakes her head at him. “Maybe. Depends how nice you’ll be the rest of the day.”

“Darling,” he drawls. “I’ll be positively angelic.”

The painter clears his throat, annoyed that his subject is moving around too much. Astarion immediately shifts his attention towards him, eyes instantly glaring. Try doing that again.

Just as quickly he turns back to Ban, the hardness melting away as if it was never there at all. She’s back to holding the pose for the painter, and Astarion satisfies himself with observing the work.

There is still a long way to go, a distance he isn’t even sure he can traverse, but at least there is that.

A little hope.

Taglist: @elora-the-slutty-songstress @tragedybunny @spacebarbarianweird @ayselluna @enterthedreams @coltaire @qiific3 @misscrissfemmefatale @vixstarria @eatyourheartoutmylove @linllewellyn @ battisonsgf @micropoe10 @thegoodwitchs-blog @akirahime @velcyrptrr @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @babblebrain-blog @asterordinary @last-but-not-the-least @artist4theworld @gracemisconduct @decadentcoffeewizard @rootin-tootin-n-kind@pursuitseternal@youngtacobanana @krispeenuggiez @pursuitseternal@girlygmer-blog @cheezits4lyfe @vinegarjello @the0ldmann

[mrs-snape5984]

“How can you miss someone, you've never met? 'Cause I need you now, but I don't know you yet…”

“But can you find me soon because I'm in my head? Yeah, I need you now, but I don't know you yet…” (“IDK You Yet” by Alexander 23)

Being devoted to a fictional character for about 21 years can be challenging from time to time. Sure, it’s called “having a comfort character” for reasons, and I can’t deny, that my long lasting love for Severus Snape has given me the much needed comfort and consolation all over those years. He was by my side, whenever I felt the urge to escape from my traumatic reality…and fuck…there was way too much in my life, which made me flee to Severus. Don’t worry, I won’t mention all these experiences in this text (I’ve already done this in one of my other pathetically whiny posts).

But there’s another issue, that comes with the adoration for a fictional character…something torturous, heart-wrenching and devastatingly painful: It’s the piteous longing for someone, who will never be mine in real life….a goddamn feeling, which is eating me alive! Of course, I’m still coping with my current situation of being doomed to a life in darkness (fuck you, ME/CFS!!!!!) by writing my own ridiculously self-inserting fan fictions about Sevy and Jules…only for myself…solely to soothe my troubled heart. Furthermore, the many artists of Snapedom might know me as someone, who’s requesting immensely personal artworks for my blog…always using them to emphasise my journal entries here.

But there are times, when this isn’t enough anymore! I’m surrounded by Severus in my dark room… one could say, that I’m living in my private Snape-and-Wizarding-World-in-general-Museum. 😅 Everything here feels like my very own comfort blanket, which I’m pulling tighter around my trembling body to create a sensation of warmth and safety. And yet… yeah… and yet, I’m fucking lonely! Lying in darkness and solitude all day makes this cruel longing for Severus become agonising and almost unbearable. I’m bawling my eyes out for someone, who will never be able to hear my heart crying out for him. And to be honest: In my age, this is a sentiment, which I’m absolutely ashamed of!

For the past 21 years, I’ve known this miserable emotion only in this exact context. But now, something happened, which made the confines of my heart and the walls, I’ve built around myself, shatter into pieces…leaving me vulnerable and emotionally churned up like never before. Becoming close and trusting friends with someone, who’s living so far away from me - separated by the ocean - turns out to be blessing and curse at once.

Suddenly, I feel confronted by the same emotions, which my pining for Severus provokes in my heart…a yearning for a deeper connection - regardless of the relationship’s nature between us friends. And just like in the song, which I’ve mentioned above this text, I’m asking myself: “How can you miss someone, you’ve never met?”

Fortunately, I’m able to reach out to my friend in these occasions. I don’t have to weep over my fan fictions or my art collection…no, I can just grab my phone and annoy the fuck out of my beloved confidant. And I think, this is beautiful! 🥹

For this heartwarming piece of art, I’ve commissioned my friend @alinearthp once again. I asked her to draw Severus and my undeniably self-inserted OC Jules as young adults…going out to grab some butter beer in “The Three Broomsticks”. Whenever my longing for Severus becomes too strong, I’m trying to imagine him doing something casual like that with me…and now I’m doing the same with my long-distance-friend. For this reason, I’d like to dedicate this loving post to him. @preciousthelmadonna, you’re in my heart and in my thoughts every single day, since I got to meet you on tumblr. Despite those 6095 kilometres, which separate us from each other, it seems as if you’re right beside me, whenever we’re talking about everything and nothing at once. I’m beyond grateful for our connection, my love. Thank you for being you.

Oh, and @alinearthp, you made me smile with this cute drawing of Sevy and Jules! Thank you for your understanding of my ideas and for each of your lovely and kind messages! Feel hugged, my dear!

🖤Severus & Julia🖤

🖤Sevy & Jules🖤

[fitrahgolden]

To React: Chapter One

This was actually my first attempt at a multi chapter story. I posted it in December of ‘22 and deleted that chapter last summer. I'm giving it another go. Huge shout out to @lookingfts for helping me flesh out this story and for continuing to give me feedback on my ideas.

To React

—

Kathani Kaveri Sharma, 26

Member of Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society - props and set design

Manager of Palette Arts and Crafts Supply

Watercolour artist by commission

Anthony Bridgerton, 29

Solicitor at Bridgerton, Danbury, and Frederick Solicitors law firm

Benedict Bridgerton, 27

Member of Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society - writing, directing, acting

Published writer - poems, plays

Oil and watercolour artist by commission

Siena Rosso, 25

Member of Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society - acting and singing

Social media influencer

—

CHAPTER ONE

“I can’t keep doing this. I deserve more. So do you, though I know you won’t let yourself believe that. You need to figure out what you want. We both know it isn’t whatever the fuck this is. Anthony, you need to let me go.”

They were standing in the tiny foyer of Siena’s flat. She hadn’t even let him get all the way inside before she told him they needed to talk. They had gone back and forth for about fifteen minutes before Anthony realised he didn’t know what he was fighting for. Everything she’d been saying was true.

Maybe it was just because he was the one that was usually doing the breaking up. And that’s what this was. A real breakup. Not some lover’s quarrel that would inevitably end with them making up, fucking in some ridiculous place like his mum's garden during a dinner party or her dressing room at Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society.

“Right.” He looked down, around, anywhere but at her, feeling like a twat, holding the roses he’d brought to her place, the bouquet she ignored as she wasted no time getting into what had obviously been weighing on her for some time. “Um, so, I’ll go.”

Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. His eyes weren’t, which probably said something. Siena put a hand up to his cheek, which was thick with stubble that one could almost call a proper beard.

“I really wish you all the best, Anthony.” She sounded… tired. So damn tired.

“Thanks, um…” He took half a step back away from her touch, telling himself he didn’t need any comfort. “You, as well.” He turned to leave, but stopped. “Would it–You’ll probably still see me at shows. You know, for Ben.”

Siena nodded. “Of course.”

“I’ll keep my distance, though. At wrap parties and things like that.”

“I’m not worried about it, Anthony.”

“Right.” He stepped out over the threshold. “OK. Bye. Um–Yeah, bye.”

“Bye.”

Anthony had made it halfway down the hallway before realising he was still holding the damned roses. He tossed them in the bin at the top of the stairs without a backwards glance on his way out to the street.

—

The next morning, Siena sat up in bed and turned to her bedside table, where she kept her "I Woke Up Like This" kit: A brush, floss, bottle of water, mascara, and lip stain. Once she was armed for the internet, she posted a quick video to her feed.

"Good morning, guys! I'm gonna level with you. I'm going through some personal stuff right now but I just wanted to hop on here to let anyone who needs to hear this know: You are worth it. No matter how hard it may seem, stand up for yourself. You are your biggest advocate. Love you guys! I'm off to SSDS for rehearsals. Make sure to buy tickets for our upcoming show! It's a revue of Shakespearean comedies! It's gonna be so much fun. Link in my bio! Check in with you later today. Mwuah!"

—

"OK, guys, I think we can call it a day! Thanks for everyone's hard work! Now, let's go drink!"

Benedict's dismissal was met with cheers and applause by the cast and crew, scattered onstage, in the audience, and backstage at the Smythe-Smith Dramatic Society. As everyone gathered their things, most preparing to walk down the street to the pub, Benedict caught up with Siena, who was moving slowly, putting her bag strap over her shoulder.

"Hey."

"Oh, hey, Ben."

"You were great today, as usual, but I just wanted to check in because you seem a bit down. I don't know, low energy? Anything I can help with? Are you unhappy with the show or–"

Siena scoffed and shook her head. "You haven't spoken with your brother?"

Anthony. Of course. Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. "Ah, no. What did he do this time?"

Siena paused thoughtfully. "Nothing, really. It was just time to finally… I don't know, free ourselves, you know?"

Benedict didn't know. He narrowed his eyes. "So… You guys broke up."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, an indication that this didn't seem like news. They fell out all the time. But Benedict knew better than to point that out.

Siena sighed. "Yes, we broke up. But this time is different.”

Benedict smiled a little at the cliche.

“No, Ben, really. I sort of had an epiphany a few weeks ago. How can I claim to be all about self love and respect while being in a relationship with a guy who has made self-loathing his entire personality? If he doesn't think he deserves anything good, what does our relationship say about how he feels about me?"

Benedict's face sobered. He opened his mouth to respond but nothing seemed right.

"Sorry, I know he's your brother–" Siena waved a hand and made to turn away but Benedict stopped her.

"No, no, it's fine. I do understand what you're saying. I just… I’m sorry he made you feel that way."

Siena shrugged, “I appreciate it.” A small smile formed on her face. “It’s weird. When I woke up this morning, in some ways, I already felt better than I have in a year and a half. I hope it's the same for him. I think it will be. I'll always care about him, you know?”

Benedict nodded slowly. “Come here, babe.” He pulled Siena into a bear hug that made her chuckle. She backed up and put her hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.

“But, really, we don’t have to talk about your brother. We're meant to be drinking, right?”

Benedict relaxed and took Siena’s bag off her shoulders to carry for her.

“Right. And yours are on me tonight.”

—

Three weeks later, on a Sunday evening, the members of SSDS were celebrating a successful run of “The Comedy of Errors, and Then Some” backstage at the theatre. As always, Benedict made sure the wrap party was catered well and had an open bar. Such was one of the benefits of having a trust fund baby as the most active member of your drama club.

Once Siena had changed, she cautiously entered the gathering, scanning the room for who else may be here in addition to the players and crew.

“He’s not here,” came a voice from behind her.

“Jesus, Ben! Do you need to start wearing a bell?”

“Sorry, honestly didn’t mean to startle you. You just looked… worried?” Benedict raised his eyebrows

Siena nodded reluctantly. “Thanks.. I… Yeah, I was wondering if he was here,” she admitted. How has he been? I haven’t really seen much from him online or anything.”

“To quote the man himself,” Benedict dramatically pulled out his phone, took a deep breath, and uttered, “‘I’m fine.’” 

“Ugh, fuck off.” Siena gently pushed his shoulder as they shared a laugh. “He’s always fucking fine,” she lamented, rolling her eyes.

Benedict shrugged. “Yep. Haven’t seen him much. He came to a show, of course. Left a donation. Same as ever. Mum was complaining that he hasn’t been at the house, citing work every time any of us even hints at a family get-together.”

“Same old shit.” Siena ruefully shook her head.

“Same old shit, indeed. Anyway, we don’t have to talk about him, remember? Can I get you a drink? Some food? You have to eat something. This place I ordered from is fucking excellent.”

Benedict offered Siena his arm, and after she took it, he led her to the buffet table.

“Every place you pick is always excellent, Ben.”

—

Kathani sat on one of the folding chairs at the edge of the party, thinking it was probably time to say her goodbyes and head out. She was opening the art supply shop she managed in the morning, and had already had too much to drink, if she was being honest. She needed to pack for Bridgwater so she could catch the train right after work. Mary and Edwina always insisted she didn’t have to visit every week, yet every time she made the trip, there was a laundry list of things with which they needed help. And lately there was the ongoing conversation of where Edwina wanted to go to university. Ultimately, Kathani wanted her sister to pick anywhere she wanted. But if Edwina stayed in Somerset, she could live at home with Mum, which would be great not only for Mary but also for their family finances. Edwina had spoken excitedly about the aspect of coming to London. Kathani had been careful not to discourage her–not yet, at least. However she always found herself in a spiral about everything that would need to change to make that happen–without contacting Mary’s parents. Mary can’t stay three hours away from her daughters by herself. How would they pay for Edwina’s tuition? If Edwina lived with her, that would help, but her flat is tiny. Could she afford a bigger place? She could leave SSDS and have time for a proper second job. Maybe put more effort into marketing her paintings?

“Hey, mind if I sit here?”

Kathani’s thoughts were interrupted by Siena Rosso, gesturing towards the empty chair next to her.

“Not at all. Brilliant job tonight. The whole run, actually, as always.”

Siena settled into the chair and smiled as she took a sip of her drink. “Thanks. It’s Kate, right? Beautiful work on the sets. Likewise, no surprise there.”

“It’s Kathani, actually, and thank you.”

“Oh. Sorry, I could have sworn–”

Kathani waved her off. “It’s fine, I went by Kate for a while. Decided to go back to my given name. I realised I actually couldn't be arsed to care too much about making white people more comfortable with me.”

“Ah. Sorry.”

“On behalf of all white people?” Kathani teased.

Siena held up her hands. “Just me, I’m afraid.”

“Well, apology accepted.” The two women shook hands in mock seriousness, laughing. “I’ll just have to collect my reparations one at a time, then.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments before Kathani spoke again.

“Isn’t Benedict’s brother usually following you around at these things?” Kathani’s voice was a little tight as she asked the question, falling short of her goal to sound only mildly interested.

“Ah.” Siena shook her head, resigned. “Nope. Not anymore.”

Kathani's eyebrows shot up, something like longing awakening within her and making her heart stutter. She schooled her features before tentatively offering, “Sorry?”

“No, it’s good. I mean, thanks, but… I ended it. It was the right thing to do. Um–” Siena suddenly looked away, sheepish.

Kathani narrowed her mirthful eyes. “But…?”

“What?” she responded innocently.

Kathani held her hands up. “Hey, you don’t have to tell me, I can just tell there was more you were going to say. And I’m a neutral-ish party.”

“Ish?”

“Well, Anthony isn’t here to defend himself, is he? So, I’ll gladly ‘yes and’ any shit you want to say about him.” Hearing how terrible a partner Anthony is sounded like exactly what Kathani needed.

Siena laughed, “Ha, no. Actually, it’s nothing to do with him. Not directly, anyway.”

Oh, well. “No?”

“Yeah, I’m just… I don’t know…” Siena struggled to articulate her thoughts, gesturing vaguely at her own body.

Kathani smiled as realisation hit her. “Lonely? Missing a warm body in your bed? Getting tired of your vibrator?”

“Jeez, yeah. Yes, OK?” Siena looked around as if anyone might be paying attention to them. No one was, of course.

“Hey, no judgement coming from this direction,” Kathani said. “Actually… I think I may be able to help with that.”

Siena raised an eyebrow, amused, but perhaps also intrigued. “You think so, eh?”

Kathani shrugged, biting her lip. “I, um… I was actually about to head out.” She looked over at the exit before meeting Siena’s gaze, holding it.

“OK,” Siena said softly before swallowing.

Slowly, giving Siena time to stop her, Kathani raised her hand and pushed a lock of Siena’s hair behind her ear and smiled at her, her eyes dropping to Siena’s mouth.

“Smooth,” Siena whispered, her eyes similarly trained on Kathani's lips.

“Thank you,” Kathani replied under her breath before leaning in and kissing her.

Siena was still for a few moments, but right before Kathani took the hint and pulled away, she felt Siena’s lips move against hers. Kathani cupped the back of Siena’s head and deepened the kiss once Siena opened her mouth to allow Kathani’s tongue to mingle with hers. Once they pulled back for breath, Kathani stood and held out her hand. After Siena took it and stood as well, she said, “Let me get this out of the way now. I actually do have work in the morning, and I’m going to visit my family afterwards.”

“Two tried and true excuses? Impressive.” Siena's eyes twinkled.

“I know. But if tonight goes well, maybe we can catch up next week?” She ran a thumb over Siena's knuckles

They shared a grin before Siena nodded. “Yeah, take me home and let’s see how we fare.”

—

The following week, SSDS met up to discuss their next show. Benedict noted that Kathani and Siena were sitting together and tried to remember if he’d ever seen them looking so friendly. Of course, all the members knew each other to some degree. But it was a pretty big group, and Kathani tended to stick with her fellow props and set design crew. But the twosome were certainly friendly tonight, smiling and whispering throughout the meeting and then finally, once everyone was dismissed, leaving together, hand-in-hand.

—

Anthony was leaving a date’s townhouse when he received a video call from Benedict.

“What?” he huffed as he jogged down the front steps.

Benedict looked to be trying to make out Anthony's surroundings. “Well, well, well. It’s only 9 o’clock. Couldn’t even stay for tea?”

“Right. Hanging up.”

“Wait, wait! I have news,” Benedict announced in a singsong voice.

"Sure, you do. Go on, then."

"Seriously, though. I'm only telling you this because I work with them and if something comes up on Siena's Instagram or something, I know you're gonna feel betrayed or some shit."

"Siena can do whatever she wants," Anthony said, defensive.

"I know that. But does that mean you don't want to know if she's hooking up with someone I know?"

Anthony slowed his steps. After rolling his eyes and running a hand over his face, he relented.

"Fine. Who is it?"

"You remember Kathani Sharma, right? She does the sets."

Kathani Sharma. Kate. Of course Anthony remembered Kate. Last year, Benedict dragged him to SSDS bowling. Well, more like his brother casually mentioned he was going bowling, and Anthony grabbed his bowling bag and declared, "Fuck, yeah, I'll come show you theatre kids how it's done!"

A couple of hours later and he was as frustrated as he was mesmerised by the woman he ended up on the same lane with. Anthony would never say she was better than him. Never. But facts are facts, and she blew him out of the water on that particular night. And with such unabashed glee, as well. "That's not even my highest score!" she had crowed, a grin gracing her striking face. As far as Anthony was concerned, he was playing against Kate and Kate alone. And she seemed to be on the same wavelength. That night had been shaping up to be the most fun he'd had in a long time before it was suddenly cut short when Siena, who had been playing several lanes away, sauntered up to him and started whispering in his ear about how much she missed him. Before he knew it, he was in the back of a car with Siena, a thought circling in the back of his mind about not giving Kate a proper goodbye–and a quieter yet more persistent thought that he shouldn't have left at all.

"Ant?"

Benedict's smug smile greeted Anthony as he was pulled back to the present, a stranger jostling passed him where he'd stopped on the sidewalk.

"Yes, I remember her. Like I said, Siena can do whatever she wants. No need to keep me updated. I've gotta go."

"I'm sure you do. The night is young and all that."

—

Back at his penthouse, Anthony felt like the worst cliche, and a bit of a creep, if he was being honest. What bothered him most was that he didn’t know why he was behaving this way. In the history of his on and off relationship with Siena, he’d never been particularly interested in who Siena spent her time with when they were “off.” Sure, he got a little jealous when he happened to see a social media post featuring her and someone else looking cosy, but it passed quickly. He had his own company to keep him plenty occupied. And, anyway, he always took comfort in the assumption that they would eventually resume the exclusive fuckery that they called a relationship. But that door was finally firmly closed, and here he was, googling “Kathani Sharma London” and sorting through the results.

[bonesandthebees]

Hey, just wanted to check in on you. I know a lot of your fics center around cwilbur/ctommy. I hope you’re doing ok with the news. I’m so proud of the community not tolerating this.

I feel kind of guilty though. I listened heavily to love joy as I related to it and it’s been helping me get through rough times. But now I’m sitting here wondering “does that make me a bad person?”. I stopped listening to Lovejoy YCMGA and MSR but am I a bad person for relating to those songs?

I can’t listen to them anymore without feeling sick, knowing something that once brought me so much comfort was created by a man doing the same thing I’m trying to escape from.

I still want to listen to them sometimes though, but I refuse to support a man like that. I’m also a little nervous about fics. Me and my brother would read your fics together as a way to bond even through long distance living. cwilbur was one of my brother’s favorite characters and he loves your fics.

I haven’t talked with him about it yet, though I probably should. I feel like all in all I just need time to plant my feet and get it back together.

But in the meantime I am so endlessly proud for seeing how everyone has been encouraging and supporting Shelby. I know how scary it is to speak up about what has been done to you and I’m so proud of her. I’m also proud of how the community has refused to support him at all.

Shutting down accounts, turning the Wilbur subreddit into a Wilbur Wright subreddit, I’m proud that so many people have taken action while the rest of us are still reeling

Thank you for letting me vent, I hope you are taking time and space to care for yourself during this as well

thank you anon, I spent the last week talking extensively with people in my inbox about the whole wilbur situation and it really helped me process a lot of my emotions at the time so I'm doing alright now. while I'm not taking any of my old fics down, I'm still figuring out what I'm going to do with my ongoing fics that center around c!wilbur, so we'll see where I end up landing with that

I'm also so incredibly proud of the community for not tolerating this. like, you gotta admit, this was one of the most cohesive ways I've ever seen a fanbase dissolve. sure there are still some freaks sticking around, but the vast majority of us got up and left.

now, don't ever feel like you're a bad person for relating to the lyrics wilbur wrote. although many of the songs feel different now with this new information about him as a person, he wrote about mental struggles in a way that MANY people connected with. there's nothing wrong with having those kinds of struggles. what's wrong is when someone dealing with those kinds of things is hurting other people, is made aware they're hurting other people, and then refuses to do anything to try and change for the better. wilbur refused to try and be a better person. he chose to keep abusing his partner and hurting the people around him. that's what makes a bad person.

I do think separation of art vs artist is possible, but it gets trickier when financial support comes in. that's why I suggest if you want to keep listening to lovejoy, piracy is always an option. the mp3 youtube downloader is your best friend there. MSR is a bit trickier though given that we know MSR was entirely written about wilbur's perspective of his and shelby's relationship, and now we know the truth of what that relationship was actually like. his own narrative that disregards the abuse is what makes up the album itself. personally, I don't think I could ever listen to MSR again without feeling gross.

that makes me really happy to hear you and your brother bonded while reading my fics. like man that's so sweet, I really hope you two will be able to keep enjoying the same things. whether you're both able to separate character from cc and continue reading c!wilbur content, or finding another interest to share in the future. take your time though. there's no rush to talk to him. let your feelings settle.

and yes I'm also incredibly proud of shubble as I'm sure we all are. coming forward like this is a terrifying thing to do but I'm so grateful she did, because now we all are aware and aren't unintentionally platforming a dangerous person like that. I'm so proud of this community. we really all came together in the end.

take care of yourself <3

[bobby-r2d2-floyd]

Life Goes On (REUPLOADED)

Rhett Abbott x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: 18 year old reader spends her last night in Wyoming with 21 year old Rhett Abbott before leaving for art school

Warnings: None? Two idiots in love not telling each other

might cross post this to ao3, not entirely sure yet but not posted anywhere else.

read part 2 here!

-----------

Freshly graduated from high school, the summer before you left to go to university had flown by. Days were packed full of riding, roping, moving cattle with the Abbott family whenever they needed, spending time caring for your younger siblings when your mom worked day shifts. You and your best friend Rhett Abbott barely had hung out at all, spare moments here and there in the hay loft when Royal wasn’t needing you two to do a chore around their property. Before you knew it, it was your last night in town. 

You were perched atop of your roof, staring at the stars as you took slow drags from your cigarette, you missed the sound of your bedroom window being open and boots padding across the shingles. You don’t need to turn around to know who it was that was joining you, you already knew. 

Rhett dropped his flannel over your bare shoulders, the strings of your tank top doing nothing to keep the chill of the Wyoming night time air from sending goosebumps across your skin.

“Can’t believe this summer’s already passed by” he says, sliding up behind you and hooking his chin on your shoulder. You let out a small hum and take another drag, the only noise between the two of you being the burn of the paper. 

“I can’t either, and I have no idea when I’m gonna have time to come back and see you again.” you say before exhaling the smoke that was in your lungs. “I saw you every day this summer and I still feel like I never saw you.”

He takes the cigarette from your hand, taking his own slow drag before exhaling after a few beats, “you could always not go.”

“Rhett.. I have to go. I have to get out of this town, I can’t stay here.” you tell him for what felt like the millionth time. “This is going to be good. I can go out there and I can get an education and make a name for myself that isn’t the girl who cried wolf.” 

“You didn’t cry wolf, that guy.. He was no good.” Rhett says as he rubs your arm.

“Tell that to the rest of Amelia County.” you take the cigarette back and take the last hit of it before putting it in the old water filled coffee can.

He squeezes your midsection a little tighter and you lean back against him, “as much as I hate it here, I don’t want this night to end.” you say as you exhale the smoke from your lungs, watching it swirl amongst the stars before dissipating.

Tomorrow you would be headed east to Chicago, a 16 hour drive, mostly on I-80 before a stint on I-88. It was a drive that you had mapped out for weeks, even alternate routes should you need them. You weren’t expecting to get into the Art Institute straight out of high school but you were honored nonetheless to be accepted. It was something that Rhett didn’t understand, he knew you were artistic, you did murals all over the town, He just didn’t understand why you felt like you needed to go to school for it. 

“Are you going to keep working with your dad?” you ask, staring at the moon rising in the distance.

“Yeah, work with him, move the cattle, now that fair season is over I'm not gonna be on the bulls as much anymore unless I do well this next time.” he says as he admires the partial view of your face in the moonlight. He knew that there wasn’t a lot of money in the bull riding at the level he was competing,or in the ranching, so the odds of him ever making it out the city to see you would be out of the question unless he picked up another job or you were able to fund his visit. 

You inhale with a shaky breath and before you know it there’s a rogue tear running down your face and landing on his arm.

“Let’s get outta here. Go for a drive, pretend we have more than just a few hours.” he mumbles and you nod your head. He stands up before offering a hand to you to help you stand. When you stand, you’re a little too close than you were planning on being and you look up at him, your breath catching in your throat. He looks down at you, his dark aegean blue eyes boring into yours and for a second you wish that he would tilt your chin up and kiss you. When he doesn’t, though, choosing to step back instead you give him a small smile and a thanks as you make your way back into your room and down and out of the house, putting his flannel on properly as you make the way to the front door. Rhett kicks himself for not kissing you, but he still follows you out of the house and to his truck, putting his hat back on as he shuts the front door behind him. He opens your door for you like the gentleman he was raised to be and you smile softly as he shuts it once you're settled in the cab. 

Rhett drives for what feels like hours, heading out of his own personal hell. There’s a small road up the mountain about 45 minutes from your house where as a child you always felt like you could touch the stars. Neither of you say a word as he drives, neither of you wanting to break the comfortable silence with the impending heartache of tomorrow. 

He drums his fingers against his steering wheel, bringing you out of your thoughts, “haven’t even left yet and this place already feels so different.” 

“Sucks we had to grow up, that you’re leaving…” he leaves the leaving me out.

“This’ll be good, right? ‘M makin’ the right choice?” you question, finally looking over at him and he looks back at you.

“Darlin’ I want nothing more than to keep you home where I know that you’re safe, but I also know that if either of us were gonna be makin’ it out of this place it would be you. You’re gonna be great wherever you end up.” he tells you, hoping that you don't hear how his voice cracks at the end.

You give him a sad smile before opening your door to climb out. He follows suit and when he makes it around the hood of his truck you wrap an arm around his waist, his own arm finds its home around your shoulders. 

You make the small hike up the mountain to where there's a lookout, taking a seat in the grass you look up at the stars where they seem even brighter than they were from the roof of your home. "I'll miss this view the most, I think."

"Lookin' up at the stars definitely won't be the same tomorrow night." he responds, taking the opportunity to sit next to you this time so he can really commit your face to memory. 

"It's beautiful." a smile makes its way across your lips and you miss the way he's looking at you when he replies.

"Yeah, it sure is." his eyes trail your face, quickly looking away when you finally look over at him.

At some point you fell asleep in Rhett's arms, awaking slightly damp from the morning dew and when the first rays of sunshine were finally making their way into Wyoming. You smile at the way you were curled against his chest, his arm wrapping around your hip and resting on the exposed skin there. He stirs when he feels the arm you had draped across his torso move and he looks down at you and offers a gentle smile. "Good morning, darlin'."

You return his smile with a sad sigh, "mornin'."

You both sit up, and as always he's hopping up before you so he can offer his hand to pull you up to start the walk back to the truck. 

"What time you headin' out?" he asks, packing tobacco into his lip, an action that shouldn't be sexy but is coming from him. 

"Uh, well.. I wanted to be leavin' now but I won't say no to breakfast?" you say with a smile and he chuckles, starting the vehicle and heading back towards town as you shoot your mom a text that Rhett and you are grabbing breakfast out so she doesn't need to worry about fixing you a plate. 

He pulls into town and parks outside the dinner, both of you take your time making your way and inside. The silence is comfortable as you sip your coffee, speaking only when the waitress comes for your order. 

The coffee sits like a hot coal in your stomach, nervousness for the drive and leaving your entire life, the man you fell in love with. Sure, he's three years older, 21 to your 18, but that never stopped him from being there for you. Everyone at school called you "Rhett's girl", they all knew not to mess around with you or he would be on their case. Despite all the buckle bunnies throwing themselves at him, he only ever had eyes for you.

It was easy to love him. 

The food arrived and only then did you two make small talk. He asked pretty basic questions:

Where are you staying? In the dorms. Do you have a roommate? No, I don’t think so. What courses are you taking? I don’t know yet. 

How long are you going to be gone? You hesitated on answering that, unsure of how long you were going to be gone and if you were even planning on coming back. “I don’t know, Rhett.” 

He nods his head and puts cash down on the table, enough to cover the bill and leave plenty extra for the tip. He slides from the booth and offers his hand to you to help you stand up, you smile at the gesture and take the outstretched palm as you rise. “Well, guess we better get you back home so you can say your goodbyes and whatnot to your family.” 

Rhett dropped you off at your mom’s house, his eyes following you inside as he walked over to your car, opening the unlocked door to pop the hood so he can check your oil and top of any fluids that needed it. Your mom watches him from the kitchen window as you say goodbye to your younger sister and brother, holding them both maybe a little too tight before you leave.

“It isn’t too late to change your mind, baby.” she says turning to look at you and you stand up and look over at her.

“Mama I can’t stay here, you know that.” you walk up behind her and watch as Rhett double and triple checks everything, even turning your car on and making sure you’ll have enough gas to make a good chunk of the way through Nebraska. 

“Did you tell him?” she asks as she rubs your back.

“Tell him what?” you play oblivious to her question.

“That you love him.” you stiffen at her words and she lets out a small chuckle, “sweetheart the only person in this world who is too blind to see how much you love Rhett, is Rhett himself.”

“I can’t tell him.. If I told him I would want him to leave with me and you and I both know that he isn’t going to leave behind the bull riding and his family’s ranch.” you tell her and fill up a travel mug of coffee.

She sighs and goes to say something when the front door opens and not wanting to track mud throughout your mothers house from his boots, Rhett stands in the doorway, “your car’s all good to go darlin’. Ma’am” he says as he addresses your mom with a small smile. She shoots you a pointed look and you send back a glare. Rhett shuts the door and stands on your front porch, waiting for you to come out after saying a long goodbye to your mom. 

“I was in your position, and I regret it every single day that I didn’t beg him to come with me. I know how it feels and you’re going to regret it too.” she tells you as she holds you tight.

“You did?” you ask and she nods.

“Yeah, I mean, granted I came back and married him, but your father and I lost years of what our relationship could have been, and then he passed away in that bull accident. Don’t make the same mistakes that I did.” she wipes her thumbs over your face and you shake your head. 

“I can’t tell him.. He probably doesn’t even feel the same way.”

“You never know unless you say something, so say something or risk losing him forever.”

Rhett looks back at you as you open the front door and he holds it as you step outside, “you ready?” 

“As I’ll ever be moving 15 hours across the country.” you laugh and he gives you a small smile before walking with you to your car. He opens the door and you throw your small bag inside that contains your wallet, cellphone, and charging cord. “Hey Rhett-”

“So listen-” he says at the same time as you, “you go first.”

You shake your head, “no, you can.” 

“Be safe, please? You’ll have to stop for an oil change along the way so I left some money in the glovebox for you and there’s pepper spray in there as well should you need to use it, on the drive or in the city.” he tells you and you nod, opening your mouth to say something and he takes a step back, cutting you off. “It’s almost noon, you should be headin’ out.” 

“Yeah, I uh, I guess I should.” you say, gripping your car as he walks back up to pull you in a quick hug, kissing your head before pulling away.

You inhale as much of his scent as you can, trying to commit it to memory - the tobacco and coffee of his breath as he exhales across your face, the cedar of his cologne, and the mint of his aftershave that’s barely clinging to his skin.

He climbs into the cab of his truck, head leaning back against his seat as he watches your car pull out of your driveway, tail lights fading down the road with the dust trail you leave, he pounds his steering wheel, cursing himself for not kissing you or telling you how much you meant to him and that he loved you. 

You looked back in your rearview, your childhood home and Rhett’s truck fading into the background as you headed towards your future, your new life in the big city.

Life regrettably going on for the both of you, without each other.

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Five

After a morning of frantic creativity in the studio, I head down to the shop with a head buzzing with thoughts of Christmas motifs. Petra is comparatively calm, sitting behind the till reading a crochet magazine in her lap and drinking a hot chocolate from one of the sachets she keeps in a drawer with the excess breast shaped candles. “Oh hello.” She says serenely. “Have you come to do the window?”

“I have.” I go into the storage closet next to the employee bathroom and start yanking bits of blue roll off the holder, wrestling my way through the clutter and piles of empty postal boxes for a squeegee and a bottle of industrial window cleaner. 

“I can’t wait to see how it turns out.” She flips the page while I start spraying the window and buffing off the dirt and streaks. It’s a smaller window than the café I worked on back home, but tenfold more intimidating, seeing that this is an actual art shop with actual artists working upstairs who will no doubt notice things like crooked ‘o’s or asymmetrical ‘m’s. Recalling the mistakes I made the last time, I first sketch an outline on the outside of the window. The sun is hot on my hair. 

The muscles in my arms ache from the gym as badly as I expected they would. As I work I silently curse Shane Healy and his wicked exercise regime, and every time I lift a paint pen to the glass and my biceps groan I curse him harder. I am tired too, my eyes feel dry and heavy after a poor night’s sleep, tossing and turning in my bed with a head whirring with thoughts of Izzy’s gig. I think about it now too. Of Jen especially, and how different she was, but of Jude too, and the strange rift between them. I can’t help but recall all of those little details like the purple skin under his eyes, the nicotine stains on his fingers. Jen’s thin body, the vacancy in her stare. It was freaky to see them both like that, to witness their distance when all I’ve ever known of them was their closeness.

I start sketching out the lettering for ‘mezzotint’. I have a design in an open notebook at my feet, and I refer back to it again and again, trying my best to mark out the shapes as symmetrically as possible. It starts off well. I’m careful, I’m precise, and I realise that focussing as hard as I can upon the task makes it harder for me to dwell on other thoughts. I don’t notice the time passing me by, the shadows moving across the pavement, I even drown out the sound of the tram as it passes, and it’s just me and this window and these pens and…

“Um, hello?” I get such a fright that my marker slips across the window, sending a slash of white through my meticulous lettering. “Shit.”

“Fuck, sorry.” It’s Jude. He’s reaching for a damp cloth so he can help me to erase it. I never even heard him coming. 

“Oh, God, Jude, don’t worry about it, it’s just the guide.”

He pulls the cloth over his finger and uses the flat edge of his fingernail to carefully remove the offending mark from where it cuts right through one of the Zs. “Sorry I scared you, I was trying to catch your attention from across the street for like, a minute. I thought you’d heard me.”

“It’s okay, honestly.” I take his wrist and lift the cloth out of his hand. “I’ll fix it later. Like I said, this is just the guide bit. I’ll erase it later anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, it’s fine, it’s just a stupid white line, nothing to get upset about.”

He looks up at the window. “It’s looking good though.”

“You think?”

“I do.” He smiles at me. “Nice job. I’m glad I caught you in time for lunch.”

“It’s lunch?”

“Yeah it’s like five past one.”

“Oh.” I frown. “I swear to God, sometimes I seem to just switch my brain off when I’m working.”

“I know the feeling. Do you have time to get food? If not it’s totally fine, I probably should have texted you or something, I couldn’t remember if we actually made a plan to get lunch or if I just ended up being vague with you.”

I smirk as I start bundling up my art supplies. “You asked me if I take lunch, and then you walked away.” After brushing my cheek with his thumb in a way that made my stomach bottom out, but I don’t bring that part up.

“Ah, sounds like me.” He holds the door for me as I carry my things into the shop. “If you’re not free it’s fine, by the way, I can get lost.”

“No, we can get lunch.” I smile at Petra who is eating a sandwich at the till, and we give each other a quick wave as I leave my supplies on the floor and head back outside. “Where’s Astrid today? Are you meeting her after lunch to do the big tourist round of Dublin?”

“Ah.” He says as we fall into step next to each other. “She’s not feeling well. She doesn’t want to do anything today.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Mm.”

“Do you think you’ll go tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure, she, well, she kind of wants to just go back to Berlin at the moment, I’m trying to convince her to stay for the rest of the week but-” He shrugs. “I dunno. We’ll see how it goes.”

“Not a fan of Dublin City?”

“Something like that, maybe.”

“I don’t blame her.” The Liffey still stinks as we cross it. A man leans over the railings and hawks up a mouthful of spit to launch into it. I shudder. “It’d be a pity to cut the holiday short all the same.”

“I’d bring her back to Berlin if I could, it’s just with the things I have to do…”

“That family stuff you mentioned?”

“Yeah. My mom is away on business this week, she needs someone to take care of Ivy. Like, bring her to school, cook dinner, laundry, all of that stuff.”

“Oh, damn. Is your dad away too?”

“No.” He kicks a coke can into the road and it goes under the wheels of a passing bus. “He just won’t- can’t do it. He’s not a big fan of, uh, parenting her.”

I frown. “Like, at all?”

“At all.”

“So what does he do?”

He exhales a laugh. “He’s very busy.”

“Right.”

“He’s rarely home for dinner. He works a lot. Late hours, paperwork, you know the drill.” I don’t know the drill. My dad only ever worked steady, predictable hours in the medical factory, and my mam, well, hasn’t worked since she gave up her secretary job in 1993. I can’t remember a time that she wasn’t at home, potatoes boiling in the pot while she scrubbed every corner of our tiny council house. She was always there to look after me.

Jude asks me what I want to eat, and I tell him that he can choose, so we head east along the river. “I know it’s weird,” He continues defensively, even though I haven’t said anything “that my mom would rather get her adult son to look after their child than her own husband, who like, you know, fathered her, but it’s just the way the situation is.”

“Yeah it’s not great, obviously, but I suppose this is an exceptional circumstance. One time is inconvenient but manageable.”

He gives me a sideways glance. “Yes. One time.”

The conversation shifts to Ivy as we venture into the Liberties, and he tells me about her. She’s almost thirteen now, she’s in first year of secondary school, she’s still bad at piano and has to be forced to go to her lessons. She still never practises. I like watching Jude’s face when he talks about her, he gets very animated. It’s like he’s a bit proud of her, like he finds her funny, like he genuinely likes being around her. I consider his relationship with Ivy in contrast to Shane and Kelly, siblings who would have beat each other to death with remote controls, fighting for the teddy bears with the hardest plastic eyes, the biggest battery packs so they could cause maximum damage to one another when they smashed each other across the backs with them. I often counted my blessings over the fact that I was an only child when one of them started up a battle, but now, for a brief moment, I catch myself mourning the absence of the sibling I never had. 

He takes me to a food van that sells coffee and Italian sandwiches at the foot of an apartment complex. I grab a chicken and pesto panini, which he pays for, and we take a seat on the grass in a nearby park. Jude stretches his legs out in front of him and leans on his elbows. He’s wearing shorts and a fleece, green and white runners and tube socks that have fallen down a bit on one side to reveal a strip of pale skin right up against the deep tan of his legs. He’s away in his thoughts again, eyes turned glassy as he stares out across the park to somewhere among the young trees planted by the fence. My eyes automatically follow the lines of his profile, from his forehead over the slight roman curve of his nose and down to the long line of his throat before I realise I’m staring too much, reading his visual language like a painting at a gallery, so I examine my sandwich instead. 

“What are you thinking about?” I ask him. 

“Oh.” He says. “Nothing, I don’t even know.”

“Mm.”

He gives me a half smile. “Maybe I was thinking about how I’m glad we could meet for lunch today.”

He definitely wasn’t. “Of course. It’s been nice, you know, to see you again.”

“I missed talking to you.”

“Did you?”

“I did.”

I nod. “Well, I missed that too. I’m sorry-”

“No more sorrys.” He reminds me. “It’s all water under the bridge, and like I said, I have more to be sorry for than you do.”

I smile, then he smiles, before getting distracted by a nearby dandelion. He plucks it, and instead of blowing away the seeds he rather barbarically picks them off with his fingers and flicks them into the wind. I wonder if he made a wish. “I hope everything was alright last night with Michelle.” I say, hoping my prying doesn’t seem too much like, well, prying.

“Ah, yes. It was fine she just had to tell me about something that happened.”

“Hope it was nothing bad.”

“Well, I don’t know. It was just… well, nothing.”

He isn’t going to tell me. “Is it a bit weird,” I pivot “That Michelle and Jen are friends? Like I’ve wondered before. I saw them together in a bar a couple of years ago and I was surprised that they seemed close. Do you ever feel, like, a bit put out that your best friend stayed close with your ex?”

He shakes his head. “No, because they were friends first. They went to primary school together, and when I moved to Ireland I started hanging out with them. We were a trio of friends.”

“Really? You and Jen and Michelle?”

“And some other people here and there, on and off at times, but yeah, we were.”

“And then…”

“And then one day I ruined it and kissed Michelle.”

“Oh.”

He splits the stem of the dandelion with his thumbnail, opening it up to flatten against his palm. “I seem to have this weird impulse issue where I can’t stop fancying my friends and then inevitably destroying everything.”

“Harsh. Surely you’ve had a female friend that you haven’t tried to kiss.”

He thinks about it. “Sure, but not as many as I’d like to admit to. When I really get to know people it’s hard for me not to blur the lines, to think that everything about them is beautiful, or whatever.”

“But Jen?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” He rolls his eyes at himself. “I kissed Jen too. When we were thirteen. She called me a fucking freak and went off crying.” His mouth quirks up at the corner. “And then a month of no contact later she approached me in the school yard and said she was sorry, that she actually realised that it wasn’t I specifically who was disgusting, it was just that she didn’t like boys.”

“She sort of came out because of you?”

“Yeah, well, because of my bad habits.”

I mirror him and start picking the grass. “I hope that she’s doing well.” I say. 

“Yeah, me too. Things aren’t that great between us at the moment.” 

“I’m sure it’ll get better.”

He sighs. “Friendships do this, you know, especially long ones. People kind of eclipse in and out of your life, and it’s easier for it to happen when you’re in your twenties. I guess she’s just, like, eclipsed out right now. I think I should have tried to be a bit more understanding over Pamela. I think I was a bit full on when she started confiding things to me. Jen doesn’t often get into relationships so I can see why she’s been pouring all of her time into this one, it’s just, well, I suppose it’s whatever. It’s not worth getting into it.”

“I think things always get complicated eventually.” I remark. “The longer you’re friends with someone the more likely it is that there’ll be conflict, and then when there is it’s so bad, like they know how to hurt you more than anybody else.”

“A bit vulnerable.”

“Very.” I say. “Back in first year I had a big fight with Claire.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It was because of… well, basically I just lied to her by omission. It wasn’t very wise of me to think that she wouldn’t find out on her own, but I don’t really like conflict, in case you didn’t notice that.”

“Who, you?” He grins. 

“But I was so used to always just taking on everything, like, blaming myself for being wrong and for ruining everything, but actually, when we finally got to talk about it and try to fix things, she admitted that she felt the same. She felt like she’d been in the wrong, and that she shouldn’t have reacted the way that she did. I suppose it was healing, or something, to realise that we both hurt the other, and it was okay because our friendship was stronger than that.”

“And now?”

“Now we’re great, we’re perfect. When I fell out with Kelly I thought about it all the time. I still think about it, honestly. I think about the things I wish I’d said to her instead of the things I really did say, and I imagine scenarios where I win and I make her look so stupid. And sometimes…” I wonder if the next part is too insane to admit. “…I think about mowing her down with my bicycle or shoving her into a massive thorny hedge and she gets all scratched up and has twigs stuck in her curls that she can’t get out for hours, and maybe they’ll get so tangled that she’ll eventually have to have them cut out-”

Jude lets out a loud, surprised cackle. “Specific.” 

“-and everyone points and laughs at her, and she runs off crying, and I know it’s so stupid and those things would never actually happen, but I’ve never stopped being angry with her, or actually, angry with myself for being weak for our entire friendship.”

“You weren’t weak.”

“No, it’s okay. I think I was.”

“And now? What about with Claire?”

“With Claire I don’t feel that way at all. I handled it so differently, it felt mature and fair, like, I was upset while the fight was happening and for the month that we didn’t speak, but after that, yeah, it was fine. We’re good. I don’t even care about the fight because we fixed it.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Well, that’s lucky then.”

“Whatever it is with Jen, I’m sure you’ll fix it too.”

He sighs. “She’s complicated. It really goes back further than just this year, there’s things I should have done the whole way along, ways I should have been there for her but wasn’t. I’m kind of coming to terms with being a bit of a shit friend.”

“It’s not like you to talk yourself down so much.”

“Hm, well I’m trying out this new thing where I’m more honest with myself.”

“How’s it going?”

“Horribly. It feels very bad.” He smiles weakly. “I think I’ve had a lifetime of being a bastard and it’s all manifesting this year, like I turned twenty one and it decided to come and bite me.” he suddenly sits up straighter and shudders, like he’s physically shaking the self deprecating thoughts from his head. “I don’t mean to be so miserable right now, Jesus.”

“You can be miserable all you like.”

“No.” He gently tugs on the cuff of my jean leg. “I want to hear about you. Tell me about this fancy internship. It was too loud in the bar last night to really get into it.”

I grimace. “It’s really not that interesting.”

“Tell me everything.” He insists. “Don’t leave anything out. When did you apply?”

I sigh and I lie back in the grass so that I can watch the clouds drift past. “Okay well…”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[amessageonthewind]

New Horizons

Pairing: Connor/Hannah 1 year after being married.

Word Count: 1360

My half of my art trade with @nerdstreak

Skylines had quickly become a favourite of the Anderson household. Well, more accurately the love for them had been reignited once new life had taken residence in the household that had been previously haunted by the natural oppressive presence of grief, blame, and guilt. The solitude only amplified the suffocating nature of such a haunting.

The home was plagued by solitude no longer, now that Lieutenant Hank Anderson had acquired (though, more accurately adopted) two androids. Something he never thought he’d ever do.

Not until he’d met Connor and Hannah. It was a strange set of circumstances he’d found himself in and he had no choice but to deal with them, though Connor was way more of a pain in the ass. Actually…Hannah was nothing but a sweetheart, to be frank. The fact that she was his android for a while did make him a bit uncomfortable, but once she had deviated and still chose to stay with him in his home, he’d felt not even an echo of that discomfort in quite some time.

Now, these two were like family. They’d only been a part of the lieutenant’s life for a comparatively short time, but their inclusion in it left nothing left to be desired for someone as weathered as he was. For a while, the Anderson household was completely devoid of community. And now, community was all it ever saw.

Case and point, Riverside Park. What was once a painful reminder of the loss that Hank had suffered had now become a place of new beginnings. Hannah was standing by the railings of the park, easel set up and painting the skyline. She was experimenting with painting a picture using one colour in various shades and saturations while including whatever fleeting thoughts pass through her mind during the painting process. She may have been an android designed to copy art pieces by the man who previously owned her, but her artistic merit could not be understated…and she had only grown more and more skilled every day.

It had been roughly a year since Hannah and Connor had gotten married, Markus having officiated the wedding and Hank being proud to be asked to walk her down the aisle. Androids were just starting out, developing their own distinct culture, customs, and traditions all on their own. Some of them borrowed from human culture – after all, humans did create them and maybe over time, androids would become more and more divorced from human culture as they began to properly evolve and grow on their own – while others adamantly refused to.

Hank couldn’t possibly keep up with all of it, interesting though it was, but he was perfectly content supporting the pair of them.

On the bench, Hank and Connor were both contentedly observing Hannah while she painted. He was enjoying the atmosphere and the sounds of the hustle and bustle of the park and the bridge in the distance. Meanwhile Connor’s eyes were squarely on his wife. He was a man who valued details, as per his function and his naturally curious personality. It was hard not to take in every detail of his wife, the furrow of her brow and the focus in her eyes, every deliberate stroke of her brush delivered through avenue of her delicate hands.

And, of course, the art piece itself, a picture pulled from her mind’s eye so complex and unknown even to herself, like many androids who were living in this new world of deviancy and free will. Every detail and fleeting thought depicted on the canvas told him of everything that went on around and even inside Hannah.

Even without speaking, his world expanded every time he even so much looked at her. It was easy for Connor to sink into it as he gazed at her. So much so that he almost didn’t realize that Hank was speaking to him. “I’m sorry?”

“Jeez, I’m not used to you actually getting distracted. But it’s been a long time since I’ve seen people look at each other the way you two do, so I can’t really complain.” Hank gruffly joked, a jovial tone in his voice as he chuckled in affectionate amusement at the android he’d come to see as a son. “I was just asking if you and Hannah thought about maybe going on a late honeymoon or something since you two got hitched.”

Connor tilted his head a bit. He heard of the concept and he was aware of it, but he had never really considered it personally. It sounded pleasant, upon reflection. It just simply hadn’t crossed his mind until now. “We haven’t discussed it previously, why?”

Hank simply shrugged, pursing his lips underneath his grayed beard for a moment before he leaned back against the bench, pale eyes reflecting the colour of the sky cast back to it. “Just wondering. It’s not important or anything, it’s just…a nice thing to sorta go off on your own somewhere with your partner and not have to worry about any responsibilities or work and just be with them. Away from the rest of the world, y’know?” He replied. It had been a while since he’d even thought about his ex-wife and she’d been out of his life for so long that she was nothing more than a neutral footnote in his mind.

But, it was nice to actually have something of a reason to think about stuff like this. Hannah and Connor deserved to know all the nice parts of being in a relationship and being married. He just figured he’d float some options to them if they were interested. There weren’t a lot of travel options for androids, still, but they could probably plan something if they wanted to go for it. Hank could handle being alone better now than he used to, now that his house felt like a home, again.

Ruminating on the covert suggestion that Hank had offered, though hesitant to interrupt his wife, Connor got up from his seat and discreetly made his way towards her, hands folded neatly behind his back, thumb fiddling with the wedding finger snugly fit onto its respective finger. The very same one that glinted in the light on Hannah’s hand as she painted.

He was about to speak up to get her attention when he paused to observe her painting. Amongst the hues of blue were little shapes and silhouettes of everything that was going on around her – children running and playing with their families, birds, dogs, and of course…planes.

One of which was followed by a trail of little bright blue hearts that dotted the canvas brightest among all the hues and shades. Hannah, of course, was neither blind nor deaf. She had overheard Connor’s conversation with Hank on the park bench and a soft warm smile was gracing her lips as she set her brush down, turning to meet her beloved husband’s soft gaze.

Naturally, he knew instantly that she’d overheard him and patiently waited for her response. “I haven’t really thought about it much, myself. But…I think it’s a great idea. Just going off somewhere, you and me, and not having to worry about anything else. Just us for a little while. Don’t you?”

Gaze flitting between the beautiful azure canvas of the Detroit skyline dotted with all of the immediate experiences around her, he gave her his signature lopsided grin, reaching for her hand and bending down to kiss her forehead, a contented hum accompanying the affectionate and loving gesture. “I think so, too.”

Chuckling in satisfaction, Hank leaned back and crossed his arms, eyes grazing the skyline again. Man…this placed used to be somewhere so painful. Somewhere that reopened old scars. A place he used for the same purpose he used alcohol.

Now, it was a place that bandaged those wounds and allowed them to heal…and he owed it to these two. He might not live nearly as long as they would, especially at his age, but he had every confidence that they would live a long and happy life together.

So finally, he could say without a doubt that Hank Anderson would die a happy man.

[toasted-valentine]

Analysis of the song “Choker” by Raincloud Halo

(Note: I do not own any of these characters, I am just very intense about artists I like, and my adhd is very unmedicated right now so I’m on my hyperfixation bullshit. All characters belong to @cynopter / @tobyisave, I am but a humble nerd who needs to let my energy out somehow.)

Cw suicide, strangulation, general violence, OCD, and intrusive thoughts.

Linking to the creator’s post about the characters, I’m just gonna go more in depth and speculate about specifics within the song and what each lyric could be alluding to. Again, send this dude bro all the love, motherfucker deserves it for scratching at the adhd parts of my brain and having such crunchy looking art. Anyways, if their art had a flavor it would be salty and spicy, and that’s my favorite, so go check them out.

Gonna go bit by bit, lyrics in orange, my notes in white.

“Veering off the path

With the devil on my shoulder”

Townsend went as far into the middle of nowhere as they could get to hang themself, they’re going off the already established paths to make sure no one finds them. People who kill themself will sometimes go out of the way to make sure their loved ones don’t find them. This is most likely what Townsend is doing, not realizing that it’ll trap her as a ghost. The devil line is a reference to the fact that their family and community blamed their OCD on the devil, so Townsend’s religious trauma is showing it’s hand.

“A sturdy branch that won't snap

And Baby's jacket dangling at my waist

'Cause he won't miss it when he's older”

First part is just referencing Townsend finding a branch that’ll hold their weight so that they can hang themself, the second bit is what I’m more interested in. Townsend stole her baby brother’s jacket to take with her as a reminder as to why she’s doing this, and I believe the line has a duel meaning. Townsend’s brother won’t miss the jacket when he’s older, sure, but he also won’t miss May. He’s a baby at this point, he hasn’t been hit with the consciousness beam yet, he won’t remember the older sister that died if she does it now.

“It gets really bad

I don't know why they're not scared of that

I only dream of hurting him

Now images of wringing him out”

Townsend is terrified of her intrusive thoughts, she had OCD and is suffering from violent compulsions. She wants someone to hold her accountable, to hurt her, to keep their distance so she doesn’t hurt them. It’s why she commits suicide, in her mind it’s the best possible way to keep her from hurting her brother since she loves him. She’s sort of hyping herself up in this moment, once more reminding herself as to why she’s doing this.

“No one ever tell you not to nurse the wolf pup?

Now I've gone and tied the ends off on this strife

Sorry, that's just what happens when you trust me with my life”

May sees herself as a dangerous creature, therefore is comparing her family keeping her around to keeping a wolf around. In her mind she’s just going to maul someone, so she needs to be put down for the greater good. She finishes tying the noose, apologizes one last time, and dies.

“The city

Good people passing through me everywhere I go”

May wakes up as a ghost, she’s officially the ghost at the towns end, and Townsend is figuratively born. The thing is, since she’s a ghost, no one can see her. Everyone around her seem like “good people”, better than her, and she’s stuck alone having to watch them. It’s like living in hell, seeing “normal” people just living their lives, and none of them seeing the supposed demon standing right by them. It’s why she lives in the edge of town, she can’t stand to see them.

“And I hate that you found mе

Don't want to have to say I told you so”

Enter stage left Phượng, she can see ghosts and finds Townsend. And Townsend fucking hates it, not because she necessarily dislikes Phượng, but because it means she could potentially hurt someone. As much as Phượng reassures Townsend that she’s not dangerous, she doesn’t believe it and is waiting for the “I told you so” moment. She’s anticipating the moment she snaps and hurts Phượng, and is fucking terrified of the thought.

“"Don't touch me, I'll kill you"

The devils will slip through”

Townsend is trying to keep Phượng and her brother as emotionally distant as humanly possible, it’s safer that way after all, at least it is in Townsend’s mind. Along with that she’s trying to get Phượng to lash out and exorcise her, to kill her and get it over with. It’s a fucked up way of trying to protect the two. The devils line is once again referencing Townsend’s religious upbringing and her belief that Satan himself is fucking with her brain and making her want to kill.

“But still you hold me to yourself in bed

Like it’s all in my head”

Phượng has full knowledge of Townsend supposedly being an evil ghost, and in spite of that, she still wants her. She still loves Townsend, she loves May, and still is completely comfortable sleeping next to May. Phượng knows that May would never hurt her, May can’t event stomach the idea of hurting someone, let alone hurting her partner. Phượng keeps telling May that it’s just in her head and that that there’s no way May would hurt her, pulls her close at night so there’s not the kind of distance May thinks is safe for Phượng, is insistent that May isn’t dangerous or evil. Specifically having it be when Phượng is sleeping next to May is something interesting to take note of, because she trusts May at what could be considered a person’s most vulnerable state. People can’t defend themself when sleeping, so it’s a big sign of trust and security in May.

“But it gets so bad

I don't know why you're not scared of that

I'm thinking of your broken body

Reaching in and squeezing softly”

Townsend’s worst night has started pulling itself out of the hellscape that is her OCD, the intrusive thoughts and homicidal compulsions have transferred onto Phượng. She’s started thinking about killing Phượng, and it’s hell. What’s worse is that the compulsions have gotten more gorey and violent, which scares Townsend. Even still, after presumably telling Phượng about her compulsions, Phượng remains a devoted partner and isn’t scared of May. It confuses the hell out of May, Phượng knows damn well what May is thinking about, and she still loves May.

“No one ever tell you not to play with fire?

Somehow got to hang me higher than your knife”

(Going to be so for real, I’ve got no clue what the knife line is referring to, so gonna focus on the other one. )

The line about fire has a larger meaning, May is comparing herself to fire, something dangerous and deadly. Thing is, Phượng isn’t scared of fire, she burns stuff often as offerings to her sister. May saying she’s deadly, that Phượng is playing with fire, but it’s a double meaning that helps show why Phượng isn’t scared of Townsend. Phượng can see the good in fire, the good it can do for her sister, and is completely fine around it. Townsend is fire to Phượng, but in the sense of the warmth and safety it brings, and more importantly the love.

“I swear to god

Stop saying that you trust me with your life!”

Phượng keeps trying to reassure May, tell her that she trust her, but it’s just cold comfort to May. May couldn’t even be trusted with her own life, how is she expected to be trusted with her partner’s? It’s the racing thoughts of not being able to keep a loved one safe, and all their reassurances not making May feel better. Sometimes loved ones say the wrong thing and can cause people suffering from a mental illness to spiral or lash out, being told this just makes May feel like she got handed a loaded weapon with a hair trigger on it.

“ "Choke her" Fuck Him" "Devil"

Why would I do that?

Why would I do that?

Why would I do that?

"Choke her" Fuck Him" "Devil"

Why would I do that?

Why would I do that?

Why would I do that?”

May is full in her own mind at this point, she’s scaring the every loving hell out of herself, and questioning why she’d even want to choke her loved ones to death. It’s scary, and she just is repeating the question over and over again in her mind. The three most common intrusive thoughts she has are full swing, the thought of choking Phượng, the thought of harming her brother, and the thought that keeps calling herself the devil due to her religious trauma. It’s bouncing back and forth between the compulsions and questioning why she’d ever even think of doing that. The bridge is basically just one extended panic attack May is having in her mind.

“Choker!”

Roll credits.

But seriously, this is just May calling herself choker, and the compulsion of “choke her” morphing into an insult in her mind due to the stress and similarity of pronunciation. Townsend has managed to find a way to turn her compulsion into a title/self loathing term by meshing the two words together.

“I lover her

And I love my baby brother

Love her (Devil)

Love her (Devil)

Lover (Devil)”

May is reaffirming her love for her brother and for Phượng in her mind, along with accepting the fact she is in love with Phượng. She accepts Phượng as her lover and is willing to have that vulnerability, even tho her own low self esteem keeps causing thoughts that call her the devil. She’s trying to comfort herself with continued remembrance that these are the two people she loves most in the world.

“I’d never do that

(Choke her)”

I think this line can be read two ways,

•May accepting that she’d never actually hurt Phượng because she loves Phượng, even if the compulsions are still ringing in the back of her mind.

•Townsend having a crisis of conscious and desperately trying to cling onto the last bit of self soothing she can find when she feels like the intrusive thoughts and OCD are consuming her.

Personally I like the first one more because it leaves the door open for hope and the possibility of May being able to life a happy life with her lover. The mental illness may never go away, but she still knows that she loves Phượng and her little brother, and at the end of the day she’d never hurt them.

Moral of the story, intrusive thoughts don’t make you a bad person, there is no such thing as thought crime, and the Catholic Church should never be trusted with mental health issues.

This is just my own interpretation and analysis, I could be completely off the mark with this one, I just am having fun.

Again, please go check out the original creator, his work is amazing and he deserves more love for it. Their work really resonates with me, especially Choker with the fears of how intrusive thoughts could harm loved ones, and I think there’s a lot of good to be had in someone making stuff like this. Plus, the dude is just generally really skilled, and you can see the amount of effort it took to get to this point in his various artistic endeavors. I pray for that man’s wrist, the carpel tunnel must be so bad.

[dicaculus]

Title: A Pile of Hot Metal and Dirty Dishes

Artist: Crankyfossil

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Magnus Bane/ Alec Lightwood

Wordcount:42,462

Summary: Magnus Bane is the Head Chef at Encanto and doing just fine. Or that’s what he tells Simon the therapist, his boss Raphael, orders him to go to. Magnus is a genius in the kitchen, his food is art, but if he starts a fight with one more disrespectful customer, he’s gone. Simon is useless though, going on about Magnus using work as a means to distance himself from meaningful relationships, and emotional walls that could rival a fortress. What does he know? Magnus is fine. Then everything goes wrong. His best friend, Catarina and her daughter get into an accident. His eight-year-old niece, Madzie, is the only survivor and Magnus finds himself going from cool uncle Magnus to the only parent Madzie has left. To make matters worse, Raphael has replaced him while he’s on leave. Alexander Lightwood is a menace. He’s careless, breezy, and annoyingly good at everything he does. Magnus can’t stand him, but with Madzie refusing to eat his cooking and his hands full, Magnus needs all the help he can get. Along the way, Magnus begins to realize there’s more to life than seared cod and lemon dressing, and maybe, just maybe, it’s a life that he wants Alexander Lightwood in.

This fic was created for the Malec Discord Mini Bang 2023.

READ ON AO3

CHAPTER THREE

The rest of the week is spent the same. Every morning, Magnus makes Madzie’s lunch then he takes Madzie to school and spends the rest of his day looking and thinking about meals she might enjoy. He picks her up from school, helps her with her homework and spends the evening trying to get to know her.

“What’s your favourite colour?” Magnus asks one night,

“Red,”

“Red is a great colour. Do you have a favourite animal?”

But much too soon the week is over, and Magnus has to go back to work. Despite Madzie’s protests, Magnus hires a babysitter for the night. He’d gone through an agency that Clary recommended to him, claiming she’d never had a problem with any of the sitters. 

“I told you, I don’t need a babysitter. I’m not a baby anymore.” Madzie protests when Magnus hugs her goodbye.

“I can’t leave you here alone, Madzie,” He sighs

“Why not? I’m perfectly fine.”

“Madzie, you barricaded the door last week when you alone and heard sirens, remember?” He puts his arms around her shoulder and squeezes it. “I just want you to be safe, okay sweetpea?

“I charge from when I get her, you know”

Magnus glares at the sitter, interrupting their discussion “Yeah, okay” He kisses Madzie’s forehead, whispering at her to behave herself, and he’s out the door. “I’ll see you tonight, okay”

“Okay. Have fun at work”

Magnus arrives while lunch service is in full swing, he’s late but Raphael has Alec in the kitchen now so it shouldn’t be a big deal and he definitely doesn’t deserve the stern glare he gets from Raphael while he’s on the phone taking a booking.

“I know, I know,” he says, bristling past the man.

Magnus ignores the chorus of ‘Hi chefs’ and completely avoids contact with Alec, who he can feel staring into his back. He takes his time changing into his chef’s whites and finally ties his apron around his waist, looking at himself in the mirror.

“You need this job, Magnus,” He tells his reflection. “It’s not just you anymore, you have Madzie to take care of.” Magnus takes a few calming breaths, looks into the sink, then looks back at his reflection. “Alexander isn’t worth the prison time and you wouldn’t do well in prison.”

Another deep breath and Magnus leaves the bathroom, walking down the hall with his head held high as he steps into his kitchen. The very first thing he does is turn off the opera, coming from Alec’s phone.

“You don’t like music?” Alec asks

Magnus can feel Alec’s eyes on him, but he keeps his eyes on the plate in front of him. “It’s distracting my staff, and put your phone away. The last thing I need is for it to fall in my saffron sauce.”

Thankfully, for the rest of the lunch service, Magnus manages to stay away from the other chef. He works on his own, adding the finishing garnishes and and makes sure every dish that leave the kitchen is up to his standards. But unfortunately at staff lunch it’s impossible to avoid Alec. Every day between lunch and dinner service, the staff would have a potluck lunch, a chance to eat, but also a chance to ask questions and go over the menu for the evening. Per usual, Magnus sits at the far end of the table, phone in hand. He’d never joined in on the meal. Eating in the afternoon always made the chef feel tired, sluggish and in need of a nap. Plates of food get passed to him, but he keeps passing them down to his left without looking up from his device. He hears the other chefs and servers praising the various dishes, especially Alec’s pasta dish.

“Chef?” 

Magnus looks up at the plate of pasta being offered to him, “Oh, no, thank you.”

“Only a full cook can judge food. When you’re hungry, everything tastes better than it really is.” Alec points out the other chefs around him nod in agreement.

“I never eat in the afternoon.” Magnus says firmly, hoping Alec will drop the subject.With his coworkers looking at him, Magnus feels put on the spot and he hates it. He’s about to accept a plate to get Alec off his back but doesn’t get the chance.

Alec, who is seated at the other end of the table, stands and despite working with him, it’s only now that he notices how tall the chef is. He walks from his end of the table all the way over to Magnus and leans down, putting himself into Magnus’s space. He can smell his spicy cologne and the spices he’d been cooking with earlier invade Magnus’s nostrils. He can feel Alec’s warm body against his. Alec is firm with muscles and Magnus hates himself for how he stares at Alec’s biceps, his shirt stretching over the muscles. 

“My grandmother whispered this recipe into my ear on her deathbed. She brought it over from the Old Country,” he pauses to directly at Magnus, “And I made it especially for you today.”

Magnus shoves a forkful of pasta of the dish in his mouth, feeling the pressure with all the eyes on him. Of course, it’s delicious. Magnus hates how much he’s enjoy the one bite he’s taken. The pasta is a perfect al dente, the tomato sauce is made with chunky blistered cherry tomatoes, it’s sweet and rich with basil and garlic. The parmesan adds a needed salty element balancing the sweet tomatoes and much as he’d love to take another bite; he puts his fork down, not wanting to Alec the satisfaction.

“Happy”

“Very happy.” Alec says with a smirk on his face and walks back to his seat at the other end of the table.

“I thought your grandmother lived in Miami.” Raphael mentions

Magnus fumes in his seat while Alec stutters, trying to explain himself.

“Well, we all thought she wasn’t gonna make it. It was like a miracle.”

Magnus pushes himself from the chair and decides he’s better off in the kitchen before he says something he’ll regret. He’s fuming, angry at Alec for lying to him, angry for being put on the spot by his coworkers and embarrassed he fell for it.

“It was a miracle!” Alec calls after him.

A miracle? It’ll be a miracle if Magnus lets Alec survive the dinner service.

Dinner prep goes by, thankfully without incident. They stay on either side of the kitchen working on their own task, Magnus realizes how well this work for them and quickly makes a plan for dinner service. Magnus calls Alec over to the office. He takes the menu pinned to the corkboard and rips the piece of paper in half, handing one half to Alec, who leans against the door frame.

“You take care of those dishes and I’ll take care of these. We’ll stay on different sides of the kitchen.” He stands and goes to leave the office, “Then we won’t get in each other’s way.”

“Wait, yours is bigger than mine!”

Magnus huffs a laugh “Let’s not go there, Alexander” He stops beside Alec, clapping him on the shoulder, leaning into his space much like the other chef had at lunch, “It doesn’t matter how big the list is, Alexander. What matters is what you do with it.”

Alec chokes and his cheeks turn pink at the innuendo. Magnus, pleased with himself, continues into his kitchen, eventually hearing Alec’s feet following behind him.

“Okay,” Magnus claps, “Showtime, folks! Let’s have a good service.”

They do have a good service with the menu split in half, Magnus on one side of the kitchen and Alec on the other. Dishes fly from the kitchen and it pains Magnus to admit that Alec does fit into the kitchen. On his side, the chefs listen attentively to his orders. He dresses his plates beautifully despite Magnus looking for any flaws to pick at. 

Fifteen, two terrines, one Dover sole, two lambs.

Seven carpaccios.

“I’m still waiting on the carpaccio!” Magnus barks, “How long does a raw meat dish take!” 

Magnus wanders past his half of the kitchen, checking on the other chefs, ignoring Alec’s eyes as they land on him. When their eyes do meet Magnus sees the pot he’s stirring, he immediately recognizes the curry sauce that pairs with the sea bass.

“Have you seasoned that right?” Magnus asks, already grabbing a teaspoon 

“Yes, chef.”

He ignores the spoon Alec takes for him and dips his own spoon in the sauce. Magnus swirls the sauce in his mouth and fuck, of course, it’s perf.ect. The perfect amount of heat, the perfect amount of acid, but of course he won’t tell Alec

“It’s okay.” Magnus lies, refusing to admit just how perfect the sauce is. His voice a pitch higher than normal with a shrug then spins on his heels going back to his side of the kitchen. 

“Okay, carpaccio, now and where’s my lamb?”

Magnus spends the rest of dinner on his own side of the kitchen, but he finds his eyes wandering to the other side of the kitchen. Watching as Alec effortlessly laughs with the other chefs, cracking jokes, putting smiles on all the staff’s face, but his heart pinches the most when he sees how he makes Clary laugh. Magnus tries to ignore the laughter and continues on with the service. He takes the first four desserts of the night, two millefeuille with vanilla bean pastry cream topped with berries and chocolate raspberry tarts with a raspberry sorbet. Magnus is leaned over on the metal table using kitchen tweezers to top each piece of pastry with an even number of berries with focus. Magnus is so focused on the berries and not cracking the very delicate pastry, he doesn’t notice Alec scoot in the space behind him to grab dessert plates of his own. So when he stands up, Magnus is chest to chest with Alec, their bodies so close they’re nearly pressed together.

“Sorry,” Magnus says in a breathy voice.

Magnus moves to the right so Alec can squeeze past, but Alec also moves right so they’re still chest to chest. Then they both move left and they both laugh nervously, a blush rising on Alec’s cheeks. Alec puts his plates down and puts his hands on Magnus’s biceps and physically turns them around fixing their problem. Magnus shakes his head, collecting himself with a deep breath to get back to desserts.

“Pardon me.” Alec says, reaching over Magnus to grab the bottle of raspberry coulee.

“I need that.” Magnus groans.

“And you’ll get it right back.”

Magnus sighs and takes the bottles of chocolate ganache instead, dotting it on the chocolate raspberry tarts, then taking the raspberry coulee from Alec when he’s finally with it. For a bit, they’re quiet as they plate the dessert. It’s not awkward, but actually comfortable, and Magnus is okay with it.

“Can I ask you something?” Alec asks, breaking the silence.

Magnus sighs. “Do I have a choice?”

“Where did you learn to cook so well?”

 “My mother.” He says placing a quenelle of raspberry sorbet on the tart. “She taught me everything I know.”

“Seriously? I thought you were gonna say you studied under Ragnor Fell at Ravenscar Manor or something.”

“Oh, I did.” Magnus laughs “But my mom was better, and she didn’t throw plates at me.” He pauses plating and looks at Alec as he remembers his mother. “She had me in the kitchen with her from a young age. She’s the reason I fell in love with food and cooking”

The finishing touch is on the raspberry tart is a sugar cage which covers the entire tart made of spun sugar. Magnus takes a deep breath and leans over the plate, focusing to the point of holding his breath as he places the cage. Out of the corner of his eyes, he notices Alec watching him. He stands, giving the other chef a look he’s hoping says ‘back off’ and leans back over the plate. Magnus feels Alec’s warm body leaning back over near his own and really tries his best to ignore it, but when he feels Alec’s warm breath against his neck Magnus loses focus and the sugar cage shatters in his hand, breaking all over the plate.

“Shit”

Magnus cleans the sugar shards off the plate and gently grabs another one, putting it on an empty plate.

“God, I need more space.” Magnus exclaims, taking his plates to the other side of the metal table, which he thinks is a good idea so the chef can’t come up behind him until he realizes they’re almost face to face.

“Why are you so mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you, Alexander,” he says decisively. He turns putting his desserts on the pass for the server waiting, “Raspberry tarts for table 4”

“You’re very mad,” Alec insists once the server leaves

“Look.” Magnus places his hands on the metal table and looks Alec in the eyes, ignoring the bright smile on the man’s face. “ Alec, this is my kitchen. I’ve worked really hard to get here and I’m not gonna let you take it away from me.”

“What makes you think I want to take it away?”

Magnus rolls his eyes at the chef and glares. “What else could you possibly want?”

Magnus leaves the table before Alec can reply.. He goes to his safe space, the walk in to cool off, kicking out a waitress practicing lines for an audition so he can be alone. He leans his back against the cool shelf and takes a few deep breaths, imagining himself smacking the smirk off Alec’s face like he really wishes he could do in real life. But someone would definitely fire Magnus. The walk in opens again and Magnus groans when he sees that it’s Alec. 

Alec walks in, letting the door slam shut behind him and immediately walks right into Magnus’s space. As he walks closer, Magnus stands up straighter against the shelf he’s leaning on.

“Look, I don’t need this job.I can work wherever I want. I’d like to work here because it’s an honour to cook with you, but I’d rather work somewhere I’m welcome. So if you want me to go, you just say the word.”

The walk in opens for a third time and it’s Raphael. “Want to tell me what’s going on in here?”

“Well?” 

Alec looks at Magnus for an answer, but Magnus is silent. He can admit the kitchen has run smoothly with him there, but Magnus doesn’t trust him. No one had ever thought it would be an honour to cook with him. Most people ran at the thought with his high standards and the strict way he ran his kitchen, but Alec, Alec insisted on being here.

Alec unties his apron and Raphael’s eyes widen in shock. “Wait a minute. Where are you going?”

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to find someone else,” He says handing the apron to Raphael then leaves the walk in.

“Magnus, what have you done?”

Magnus rolls his eyes, then pulls two more tarts from a cart in the fridge. “I didn’t do anything.”

Raphael follows Magnus out of the walk in. While Magnus goes back to his station to fix up desserts, Raphael continues after Alec. “Alec, please. We need you.”

Magnus rolls his eyes. They didn’t need him. They were more than okay before he showed up messing with his kitchen.

“Well, I’ll have to hear that from him.” Alec says, packing up his things from around the kitchen.

“It’s my restaurant!”

“It may be your restaurant, Raphael, but it’s his kitchen. Without Magnus, all this would just be a pile of hot metal and dirty dishes.” Alec stands with his arms crossed and looks at Magnus. “So, he decides.”

“Magnus.”

Magnus turns around and looks between Alec and his boss. From behind Alec he makes eye contact with a very pregnant Clary, with tongs in one hand and her hand on her stomach. She looks at him and makes ‘come on’ gesture at him and he sighs, knowing the redhead is right.

“Seems you’ve left me no choice.”

“Do you want me to stay?” Alec says, a smile appears on his face.

“Didn’t I just say that?” He bites

“I didn’t hear those words.”

Alec put Magnus in a corner and judging by the now smirk that covers the other chef’s face, he’s fully aware of it. The kitchen is silent and everyone has their eyes on him making Magnus feel small and embarrassed. A blush covers his cheek from the situation but also how Alec looks at him and he only hopes the heat of the kitchen covers it up or Clary won’t let him hear the end of it. Magnus wants to turn around and ignore him, go back into the walk in or even leave the kitchen altogether but he knows there’s no way around this so he sighs and looks Alec in the eyes.

“I want you to stay.”

“Love to. Thought you’d never ask.” He says with a wink. Alec takes back his apron that Raphael hands back to him and ties it around his waist. “By the way, you have ganache on your cheek”

Magnus quickly wipes his cheek and sighs when his hand comes back with a streak of ganache. He doesn’t want to think about how the ganache had been there or why not a person mention it to him figuring, it would only upset him more than he already was. 

Magnus arrives at his apartment much later than he means to. The babysitter from the agency is nowhere to be found, which means they had left Madzie alone for who knows how long now. Tomorrow he’d give the agency a piece of his mind, but for now, he had a niece to find.

“Madzie” He calls out.

Magnus finds his niece in her bedroom but instead of on her bed under the covers, sleeping, he finds her underneath her bed with Chairman curled at her side, purring. 

“Well, don’t you both look cozy under here?”

“It’s a fort Magnus!”

“I see that,” He says, noticing all the blankets and pillows she’d shoved underneath the bed. “Why don’t we get into the bed to sleep?”

Magnus helps Madzie out from underneath the bed and pulls his fluffy cat from underneath the bed. At first he protests with a meow but calms down, curling up beside Madzie on the bed again. “He’s really taken to you,” Magnus says with a small smile.

“I like cats, “ She says with a shrug. “I always wanted one but mom was allergic”

Magnus nods, remembering all the extra cleaning he’d have to do whenever Catarina was coming over.  

“Let’s get you to sleep,” he says with a kiss on her forehead. “You have school tomorrow”

Madzie nods with a yawn. “Will I have another babysitter tomorrow?”

After tonight, Magnus is going to cancel for tomorrow. “Actually, I thought you could come to the restaurant tomorrow instead of a sitter. How does that sound?” He asks “You can see the restaurant and see what I do so late into the night. Maybe have a nicer dinner”

Madzie nods slowly, her eyes closing from exhaustion. “That sounds nice”

Magnus tucks her in one more time and pats Chairman on the head before heading to his own bedroom.

The next day Magnus leaves during dinner prep, leaving Alec in his place despite Raphael’s protests.

“You can’t just leave, Magnus”

“I won’t be gone long,” He says continuing to the door, “Besides you have Alec, what does it matter if I’m gone for half an hour?” 

He lets the door slam behind him and walks to his car. Magnus picks his niece up from school, waiting at the entrance, squinting his eyes, looking for her face in the crowds of children piling out of the building. It’s Madzie who finds him, taking his hand in hers with a tired smile on her face. The moment she walks through the restaurant door, her eyes widen, taking the grand dining room in. 

“Wow” Magnus hears her gasp.

Magnus bends down to her level. “You like it?”

The girl nods “The lights look like crystals”

Madzie points to the large chandelier in the middle of the dining room. She wasn’t wrong; it was made of crystals and was quite the centrepiece of the restaurant, but according to the staff, but was a bitch to clean. He’d been told numerous times how you had to nearly take apart the light fixture, unhooking each individual strand of crystal to clean them properly before putting them all back on. It was tedious and Raphael would accept nothing less than perfection, forcing you to redo it until it was right. 

“And there’s plants on the wall”

Magnus follows his niece as she goes to the wall to get a closer look. The plant wall is a section of the black painted wall filled with greenery and multiple colourful plants, one of the few parts of the dining room that had any colour other than black. There’s moss, snake plants, and even some flowers growing out of it. When Raphael had it put in, he claimed it ‘purified the air’ along with some other benefits Magnus didn’t believe, but it was beautiful not that he’d ever tell his boss that.

“But Magnus, In my science class we learned that plants need sunlight to grow, but it’s dark in here, so how are they alive?”

“You see those three lights that shine on the wall?” He gestures towards the ceiling. Madzie’s eyes follow Magnus’s arm and she nods as she spots them. “They’re a special lightbulb that mimics the sun’s rays. Think of them like pretend suns, sweetpea”

Madzie nods, and Magnus hopes he’s eased her curiosity.

“But why is the restaurant so dark, Magnus? Do you not want people to see what’s right in front of them?

Another great question, he didn’t understand the dark colour scheme either.

“I don’t know, sweetpea, I only work here. I didn’t design it.” He stands, hoping to end the conversation. “Now come on, I have to get in the kitchen”

Magnus sets Madzie up in the far corner of the kitchen where they can still see one another, but she’s out of the way of any staff and not in dangerous of getting anything spilled on herself. She sits at the table with one of the extra dining chairs Magnus pulls from Raphael’s office and starts on her homework. She keeps to herself, but she does make sure to greet every person who walks by her and if they introduce themselves, so does she.

“Your niece is adorable Magnus, how old is Madzie again?” asks Clary 

One thing Magnus hadn’t prepared for was the bombardment of questions staff would have about her or the amount that would come into the kitchen specifically to meet her.

“She’s eight, and everyone in this restaurant thinks she’s adorable.” He says with a sigh as he chops carrots, “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought her. What if everyone is distracted?”

“So River’s age.” She says with a smile, “No, it’ll be fine when dinner starts. How is she adjusting? Have you gotten her to eat anything yet?”

Magnus pauses his chopping and looks at the redhead, launching into his attempts at making her eat the fishsticks, which she did enjoy a then meal after meal of food she’d either pick at or simply not want to eat. 

“I’ve tried everything. No matter what I make, she doesn’t eat it.”

“Why not try giving her some regular kid food?” Clary suggests, “She probably misses her mother’s cooking and I doubt Catarina cooked crab cakes with katsu curry sauce or a cod fillet with a poached egg and jersey royals.”

Magnus raises an eyebrow at her. “Have you been talking to my therapist?”

It’s Clary’s turn to roll her eyes at Magnus. “I’m just saying you’re overthinking it. Madzie wasn’t raised with this kind of food, so of course she won’t eat it.” She stirs the pot of sauce in front of her, thinking for a moment. “What about French dip sandwiches? I’m assuming you can make an incredible roast beef. Cook it rare, caramelize some onions, melt gruyere cheese on some buns and she can dip in the au jus. Kids love dipping things.”

French dip sandwiches. He could try that. What did he have to lose at this point?

Dinner prep goes by smoothly, Alec walks in and Magnus is sure to ignore him and continue with his work. Madzie finishes her homework, then busies herself with watching the chefs prep things and asking them many questions.

“What that?”“What does it go in?”“Does it taste good?”

“Madzie,” Magnus interrupts at one point. “I know you’re curious but Viola has a lot of work to get through”

“It’s okay, chef,” Viola says, looking at Magnus. “Hey Madzie, do you want to see something gross?”

Madzie nods excitedly, and the chef takes Madzie by the hand, pulling her into the freezer. It’s only moments later before he hears Madzie’s giggles and shrieks of delight from that direction. Madzie comes out of the freezer with a smile still on her face. She goes back to the table Magnus had set up for her earlier, but sits on top of it instead and watches the chefs with curiosity for the rest of their prep time.

When dinner service begins, Madzie only watches more intently. When Magnus brought her in tonight, he hadn’t anticipated her becoming so interested. Magnus takes note and wonders if maybe, like his mother had, he should bring Madzie into the kitchen. Perhaps helping to make and prepare a meal would excite her enough to eat.

“All right, two foie gras, one tartare, two bisque, and a goat cheese.”

Throughout dinner prep and now into service, Alec had notices Madzie watching with interest as the dishes come together. He thought she was the sweetest thing, asking so many questions, showing such a high level of interest in food at her age and given the chance, Alec would answer every question she could think of, even if it took them all day. Alec had heard all about Madzie, the death of her mother, adjusting to this new city and new life. It was more than anyone her age should have to go through, and he truly felt for her. He notices when it’s nearing seven o’clock that the young girl still hadn’t had something to eat, so without asking Magnus so he wouldn’t get told no. He makes dinner. 

Alec crosses the kitchen to the other steel table Madzie had moved to at one point to get a better look at the kitchen during service. He nods and smiles at her in greeting, going to the shelves behind and picking up a metal bowl which he sets beside Madzie and a bunch of basil. Alec begins picking the leaves off them and putting them in the metal bowl. When he notices he’s caught Madzie’s attention, he brings the bunch closer to her face.

“Breathe in.”

And she does, taking a deep inhale of the basil plant.

“It’s basilico, one of my favourite herbs”

Alec tears off a few stems and hands them to Madzie, and together they tear off the leaves in silence, placing them in the bowl. At one point, he notices Magnus watching them. Alec can’t read the chef’s expression, but that’s nothing unusual with him. Alec was never sure if Magnus was angry and ready to stab him or simply focusing on his job. When Magnus doesn’t immediately stomp over to them, he assumes that they’re alright. He continues handing Madzie more stems of basil until all the leaves are in the bowl.

“You know what we’re going to do with these?” Alec asks Madzie, holding up the stems.

“Throw them out?”

“You could, most people do. But these young basil stems actually taste like the leaves we picked. So we’re going to save them and add them to pestos, salads and sauces.”

“Are you making a pesto now?” She asks, her eyes wide with wonder.

“I’m afraid not Madzie,” Alec takes the bowl of basil leaves from the table “And I’m afraid that ends our food lesson for the day, I must get back to work before your uncle yells at me” Alec says it jokingly to Madzie but silently he doesn’t want to be yelled at or be on Magnus’s bad side.

“Bye Alec”

Alec heads back behind the line as Magnus leaves the kitchen to greet his biggest fans. As he watches the duck cook skin side down, he begins dinner. He grabs tomatoes, dicing them with garlic and the basil from earlier and grabbing the nice olive oil. About half an hour later, when the tomatoes have cooked down, he blends it using a hand blender until smooth and then adds the basil leaves, adding salt and peppers as he goes. Finally, he adds in his pasta, stirring it in the sauce and adding a generous amount of parmesan before pouring it into a bowl.

“Clary, finish the duck on table five? I gotta take a break.” 

“Yeah, sure.”

Alec walks around and sits on the steel table beside Madzie, twirling a forkful of the pasta and eating it. 

“Mmm, good.” He says to himself before taking another forkful of pasta. 

Alec notices Madzie looking between him and the bowl of pasta and he knows his plan is working, but he pretends not to notice her and looks straight ahead.

“Table 12’s getting a little antsy. Will it be up soon?”

Oh table 12, earlier they’d been passed a note from one customer saying they intended on proposing to their partner that night and wanted something special done with the dessert. Alec had completely forgotten. He puts the bowl of pasta in Madzie’s lap.

 “Hold this.”

Alec leaps back into the kitchen, taking the squeeze bottle filled with chocolate ganache and attempts to right ‘Will you marry me?’ as neatly as possible on their plate with a chocolate pistachio dome. Alec watches Madzie from the other side of his station as he works, and then, when she thinks Alec isn’t watching, she takes a small forkful of pasta into her mouth. And then a much larger second bite, slurping up the noodles, and spreading tomato sauce all over her face.

“Save some for me,” He smiles

Madzie smiles as she eats the pasta and Alec knows Madzie won’t save him a bite.

“You know,” Alec says as he jumps back into cooking, “In ancient Rome guys used to chew basil before the prom to get rid of bad breath.”

Madzie looks at Alec in wonder, continuing to shovel pasta into her mouth.  

“It’s true.”

It’s at that moment Magnus walks back through the kitchen doors. He grabs his apron he’d tossed aside before leaving and reties it around his waist. He looks up and notices with shock that Madzie is eating; he looks to Clary who shakes her head that it wasn’t her. Instead, she points her tongs at Alec’s back. For the first time, warmth fills Magnus’s chest when it comes to Alec. As if he knew someone was talking about him, Alec turns around and smiles a soft smile when he makes eye contact with Magnus. Magnus smiles a warm smile back at the chef, surprising Clary, who looks between them but also at himself. He mouths a thank you to Alec and he nods in response.

“They didn’t have proms in ancient Rome!”

“They didn’t? Are you sure? I thought they did.”

It’s late when Magnus finishes and all the chefs start head home. After the pasta was long gone and she got tired of watching, Madzie fell asleep on a couch in one of the back offices. Magnus picks up her bag, shoving her coat and mittens inside, then picks Madzie up from the couch, carrying her on his side. He turns around and pushes the kitchen door open with his back when he notices Alec standing there putting his own coat on. Magnus once again smiles at the man and whispers a goodnight to him.

“Goodnight, Magnus”

His tone is soft, and it warms Magnus’s chest, then his heart thuds in his chest as the man walks closer to him. He stops and pets Madzie’s head, whispering a goodnight to her as well before leaving through the other door, leaving Magnus standing alone, his heart beating in his ears.

The drive home is silent, leaving Magnus alone with his thoughts, and for the first time Magnus thinks maybe, just maybe, he and Alec could work together. 

Perhaps they’d make a good team.

Magnus’s alarm clock goes off disgusting early that morning. Originally he’d given the fish monger and produce merchant job to someone else, but with Madzie seeming to adjust Magnus decided he wanted that duty back. He showers, and dresses quickly and quietly so he doesn’t wake Madzie in hopes she’ll sleep in after her long night at the restaurant. But all Magnus’s hopes are shattered as he puts his coat and boots on.

“Where are you going?”

Madzie peers around the door frame, teddy bear in one hand and Chairman at her ankles.

“The pier,” He replies. “I order fish to the restaurant from the mongers down there and produce from the farmer’s market. Go back to sleep Madzie, it’s early”

“Can I come?” She asks 

Magnus agrees, of course, and together they go to the pier. Normally Magnus wouldn’t wander but with it being Madzie’s first time seeing anything like this, he slows his pace and watches as his niece’s eyes widen at the produce and all the fish. Magnus buys her breakfast from one farmer, a probably overpriced fruit salad and a muffin the farmer said his wife makes. While Madzie eats on a nearby bench, Magnus bargains with the fishmongers.“What you got, Steve?”

“Fresh bluefin.” He says, pointing to the fish, “Just came in like five minutes ago.”

Magnus shakes his head. He’d had bluefin on the menu too recently.

“I got baby mollusks over there.”

He shakes his head again. “What’s behind you there?”

“Swordfish.”

Swordfish, Magnus can’t remember the last time he’d put that on the menu. He thinks about the black garlic he knew was coming today. Garlic and ginger rubbed swordfish…and a fruit salsa on top, maybe a mango salsa?

“Yeah, I’m gonna take some of those. Have them delivered by noon.”

When the pair arrive back at Magnus’s apartment, he decides a nap would be good for them both as they still had a few hours before Madzie needed to be at school. But Magnus should’ve known better or at least set an alarm on his phone because the moment he closes his eyes, he falls into a deep sleep dreaming of hazel eyes and spicy cologne, only woken up by the ding of a text message. The moment Magnus realizes it’s 9 am, he’s suddenly awake and panicked.

“Madzie” Magnus shakes her shoulder, “Madzie, come on, we overslept. You’re gonna be late for school.” Unlike Magnus’s hurried pace, Madzie slowly stands up and stumbles to the front door. “Here are your boots, sweetpea.” Once Madzie is finally dressed with all her things, he opens the front doors and shoos her out, leading her down the stairs. “Come on. Let’s go, let’s go.”

Magnus easily breaks multiple traffic laws as he drives Madzie to school, but thanks to his somewhat reckless driving, she’s only half an hour late.

“Tell them it was my fault, okay?” He says as Madzie climbs out of the car, “Have a good day sweetpea,”

He waits until Madzie walks through the front door of the school before he speeds off again, this time to the restaurant. Running late with Madzie should have been a warning to Magnus that today wasn’t going to be a stellar day. Every delivery that was scheduled for that day was late, throwing Magnus’s schedule off. The wrong fish gets brought to the restaurant.

“I told you I wanted swordfish this morning, so why is it that I’ve just been given salmons!”

Then when their truffle guy, who Magnus thinks is super sketchy, comes by to sell them white truffles for $2200 a pound. Clary’s water decides it’s the perfect moment to break and his best friend is suddenly in labour. The salesperson suddenly panics at a coworker’s suggestion to call an ambulance heightening Magnus’s suspicion of the man, but Magnus declines and instead says he’ll bring her himself, leaving Alec in charge. The drive to the hospital is thankfully fast, with Magnus only breaking a few minor traffic laws despite Clary’s squawks of displeasure from the passenger seat.

“The doctor warned me she’d be early, I should have listened” Clary laughs “River was late, so I didn’t believe him,” She suddenly turns to Magnus with wide eyes “Jace, we have to call Jace! Magnus, give me your phone!”

“Let’s focus on getting you to the hospital biscuit and I’ll call him,”  Magnus squeezes his friend’s thigh in a comforting gesture, “I love you, but if you give birth in my car, I will never forgive you.”

Clary had met her husband, Jace, at the restaurant. Jace worked as a farmer, and his farm was one farm they got their produce from. Clary was new at the time, only working there for a month the first time she set her eyes on the blonde man. 

“It was love at first sight,” she’d say, which always made Magnus roll his eyes at her.

While Magnus didn’t believe in love at first sight, he did agree they were immediately attracted to one another. Clary suddenly wanted to help bring in deliveries, especially the produce deliveries, and Magnus often caught them speaking and flirting nervously with one another. After months and months of terrible flirting, Clary giggling at Jace’s terrible jokes and hopelessly pining Jace finally asked for Clary’s number and on a date, which of course Clary quickly agreed to. Their romance was a whirlwind marrying only eight months late.

“When you know, you know Magnus,” she’s said to him at a bridal boutique as they look at dresses. “Someday someone will come along who will tear down those walls you’ve built around your heart. And when that love comes back to you, you’ll do everything in your power to fight for it, because you’ll finally understand what I feel with Jace.”

Of course, Magnus didn’t believe her then, but a small part of him did secretly long for what they had. Jace was a good man who worshiped the ground his wife walked on, and Magnus knew he would do anything to make Clary happy. Magnus wanted that. He wanted someone to look at him the way Jace would look at Clary when she wasn’t paying attention. He wanted someone who loved him as is and wouldn’t try to mould him or change him into someone he wasn’t. He wanted someone to love and care for, cook their favourite meals and see the smile on their face when the plate was set in front of them. But he wasn’t sure if that was ever going to be in the cards for him.

As promised, after Magnus walks Clary into the hospital and he wheels her into her room where a nurse helps her into the bed, he goes outside for a moment and calls Jace.

“I can’t leave yet!” He panics into the phone. “Magnus, please stay with her until I get there. I don’t want her alone.”

And Magnus does. He stays by her side, helping her stand when she wants to walk around a bit and letting her squeeze his hand when she’s hit with a contraction. A few hours later, Jace rushes into the room, still in his work clothing, and leans over Clary’s bedside, giving her a gentle kiss.

“I’m Clary, I got here as fast as I could–”

Clary stops him with a finger to his lips. “You’re here now, that’s what counts…although I wouldn’t have minded if you’d changed from those dirt stained overalls.”

Jace blushes, looking at his dirty overalls. “You’re more important.”

Feeling awkward, Magnus quietly stands and attempts to leave the room without much noise. He shouldn’t be here, this is a special moment in the couple’s life. They didn’t need Magnus.”

“Magnus, where are you going?” Jace asks, noticing Magnus

“I should get back. I left Alexander in charge, so who knows what he’s up to? Besides, this is a private moment. I shouldn’t be here”

Clary reach her hand towards Magnus as if she could reach him from across the room. “I want you here, Magnus,” she looks at her husband, “We want you here to meet your goddaughter.”

God daughter?!

Magnus clears his throat, holding back the emotion in his chest and walks back into the room, taking back his original seat on the other side of Clary, taking her other hand in his.

“Well, let’s make a birthday biscuit.”

Clary does great. She squeezes the men’s hands throughout her contractions and apologizes to them and any nurse or doctor in the room when she curses. Many hours later, Jace and Clary’s daughter are born. They name her Rekha and she’s perfect. With all the excitement of the day, welcoming a new life into the world, holding his goddaughter Rekha and if that wasn’t enough, an exhausted Clary asks him something important.

“Magnus, Jace and I have been talking and we want to know if anything were to happen to us would you take care of Rekha and River?” Magnus’s eyes widen but Clary continues, “With Catarina’s death and Madzie it made us think..you don’t have to answer us now and I get it if you don’t want to you have Madzie—”

“Clary, of course I would.” He smiles down at his goddaughter as she yawns. “But nothing better happens to your mom and dad. I can’t lose another best friend.”

Magnus leaves the hospital that afternoon with a smile on his face, but it’s short-lived when he notices the time on the clock in his car. It’s 3:45 and Madzie’s school lets out a 3. With all everything going on, he’d completely lost track of time. Thankfully, the drive isn’t long and soon he’s turning the corner with the familiar school is in his view. Magnus quickly spots his niece sitting on the front steps of the school. He slams his car to a stop and throws open his door, not bothering to turn the vehicle off, and jogs towards her small figure.

“Oh, Madzie.” He coos, noticing her red cheeks from the cold, “I’m so sorry.”

“You forgot me.”

“It’s not what you think–”

“You forgot me!” Madzie yells again.

“Clary had her baby, I had to take her to the hospital–”

“But you still forgot me!”

 Magnus sighs in defeat. “Okay, I forgot you. And I’m sorry, come on let’s go home.”

Madzie says nothing, instead crossing her arms, looking away from Magnus.

“Madzie, come on, it’s freezing out here.” He says, losing his patience.

When Madzie still doesn’t move, Magnus crosses his own arms, “Madzie, move it!”

Madzie lets out a loud sigh but stands from the stairs with her arms crossed over her chest as she stomps towards Magnus’s car on the road. The car ride to Magnus’s apartment is silent and full of tension. Madzie had her body turn towards the window and stare out of it the entire ride. Up to the apartment, she walks ahead of him and waits impatiently at their door when she arrives first. The second the door opens, she kicks her shoes off, and throws her coat on the floor before stomping to her room and slamming the door shut with a bang.

“Madzie, I’m sorry. I totally blew it.” Magnus leans his forehead against her closed door. “I know I’m doing everything wrong, but I’m doing my best, okay?”

When Magnus hears nothing from the other side of the door, he decides to go in, regardless. Madzie is allowed to be upset with him. He did screw up, but there has to be a way he can make it up to her. He slowly opens the door and in front of him Madzie lays in her bed curled up with her back facing to the door and Chairman laying at her head on one of her pillows licking her head.

“Why don’t you think of something I can do to make it up to you, sweetpea?”

Madzie turns her head and to look at Magnus, “You mean like a wish?”

“Yeah.” Magnus sits on the edge of Madzie’s bed. “Yeah, you wish for something and I try to make it happen. And in return, you forgive me.”

“Can I save it for later?”

Magnus nods “Of course. I’m going to start dinner. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

Magnus pats her shoulder and stands from the bed to leave the room.

“Magnus,”

He stops, looking back to Madzie from the doorway.

“You’re not doing everything wrong.”

[burntotears]

Fanfic Origin Story

Tagged by @bekkachaos 💕

What was your first fandom (reading and/or writing)?

Popslash RPF - NSYNC

What was first story you ever wrote.

My main ship was Lance/Chris (Trickyfish), so it was most likely one for them. I wrote some Justin/Chris (Timbertrick) and Justin/Lance (Lamblove) too. I was 12 and everything I wrote was basically crack-fic or dark-fic where people were dying and shit. It was awful.

What's a piece of advice you would give your younger fic writing self?

Everything doesn't have to be devastating to be interesting. You can write something with a happy ending and it can still be interesting. But also, keep writing, because you'll get better.

What’s an early fandom interaction that stuck with you (be it a nice comment, a friend you made, a fic that got a lot of feedback)

Back in the Merlin, Legend of the Seeker, Lord of the Rings days I met this one Australian graphic artist who was super sweet and made a TON of stuff for me. She did all the banner work for us in the Merlin Slash Awards (which I ran), made us little banners when we participated in the fun little team contests for Disney, LotS, and LotR AND made me banners for my LiveJournal accounts. Just unbelievably kind and I am so sad that we fell out of touch.

The one amazing thing that really blew me away was the cover art she made me for my first multi-chapter long fic, Unsuitable, for the Merlin fandom. She's soooo talented and I still think about her.

Post a sentence or two from an older fic and a sentence or two from a newer one (if you want).

My first Sterek (and TW) fic, Be the Overflow

“A guy like you? That’s a load of bullshit and you know it. Erica said she had a crush on you for quite a while and you never even noticed her until she turned. For someone who knows what it feels like, Stiles, you sure are a huge fucking hypocrite. There are plenty of people who--” but Derek didn’t finish that sentence. Whatever it was he was about to say, he no longer wanted to say it.

“People who what? Who want to be my friend? Who want to laugh at my jokes but make out with the guy who’s hotter and a lot more mysterious? Someone more like Scott? Yeah, I know all about that, Derek, and I’d rather you didn’t call me a hypocrite before having all the facts, alright? How’s about we all just shut the hell up and stop talking about my non-existent love life because that would be really fucking swell right about now,” Stiles spat with a bit more venom than even he knew he possessed. He looked back down at the pipe and the rope and decided the task definitely needed his undivided attention now.

“You are completely full of it. You’re going to keep blaming other people for the fact that you can’t see the things that are right in front of your own goddamn face, so you know what? You deserve what you get, Stiles.” There was a hardness in Derek’s voice that Stiles couldn’t really place.

The Teen Malex AU, The Answer is Always "Okay."

Michael seemed better when Alex glanced up again. “Guerin… you wanna tell me what the fuck just happened?” Alex held up his wrist to indicate.

“I don’t - I don’t even know how to do that,” Michael said. He was afraid. Terrified, even. Alex couldn’t just see it on his face, though—it was something viscous seeping into his veins from inside Michael. He could feel it.

Alex stood up, moving the short distance across the shed. “Oh-okay, Guerin, you need to start talking. I know you’re freaked out or whatever, but so am I.”

Michael blinked and looked up at Alex as though he just realized he was there. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit.” Alex rolled his eyes. “Rationally, I understand that my wrist is fixed. I get that you did something. So what I’m sorta gonna need you to fill me in on is how the fuck that is.”

Tagging these lovely folks if they would like 💕

@portraitofemmy @haloud @jule1122 @im-the-punk-who @angrycowboy @beautifulcheat @thesquidkid @bydayornight

[spicywhenspeaking]

If I'm There: Chapter Twenty

you're stronger than me Nat, I'd be jumping on him like a freaking jack rabbit

read from part one here!

summary: Noah and Natalie met in high school and developed a relationship through their love of music and art. Falling in love, innocent and young, they think nothing can keep them apart. However, sometimes in the pursuit of your dreams the things we love the most get left behind.

this is a complete work of fiction, some characters while based on real people are totally made up. :)

word count: 2.4k edited by me ....soooo if you see something spelt wrong no you didn't.

taglist : @lma1986 @cookiesupplier @notingridslurkaccount @blackveilomens @thisbicc @thebadchic @jessitpwk @samanthasgone @laurpartyprogram @myownthoughts12

I walk Noah through the rest of the house, I show him some of the art I made that we have hanging and he looks closely at all of the family photos I have lining the walls. “Is that Maggie and your brother?” he asks in surprise.

“Haha um yeah, they got really close after I left.” I tell him and pick up the scattered clothes I find littered in the hallway. “And then he joined the marines and they stationed him overseas. To stay together they ended up eloping so she could be with hime when he was stationed. They have a little girl, she's five. Her and Erin are so cute together. They'll actually be here in a few days.” I can feel myself starting to ramble and I stop abruptly and smile awkwardly. Noah laughs softly, “You look different but you’re still the same Natty.” he remarks in a small voice.

“Jeeze, your brother could kick my ass before joining the army, can’t imagine what he’d do to me now.” I laugh to break the awkward stale tension and move to the outside of Erin's room. Her walls are Yellow and she has a pink bed with a princess canopy hanging over it.

Along with a bunch of toys, books and stuffed animals all over her desk and shelves. “She’s really into the Percy Jackson books, you know I never read them when I was a kid but they’re pretty good. She loves reading.” I say while I watch him taking everything in. On the floor of her room are several notebooks and sketchbooks open and sprawled out. “Wow, she's an artist. Like you” he says softly. “She also has quite the little voice on her. You should hear her, kids got range.” I say and move to grab what I came in for, Erins photo book.

We move back into the living room and sit side by side on the couch. I open the book and it starts with a picture of Erin as a baby along with her birth information sheet, detailing length, weight and other important facts for newborns. There are a lot of pictures in here, one of the firsts is me holding her after we got home from the hospital.

I look so young. He gently touches the edges of the photo and I see fresh tears gleam in the corner of his eyes. “Nat, I’m- I just can’t believe this.” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry I wasn't there.” he says again and I have to swallow the lump forming in my throat. “I know, Noah. I know, I wish things had been different. I should have tried harder.” I softly place my hand on his shoulder as I whisper out my words and he looks at me with a sad smile.

“This isn’t all on you Natty, I left. Gave up everything I loved to make this dream come true. I should have thought more about all I left behind.'' His voice is hoarse and I don't know if it's from singing just a few hours ago or all of the emotion that's behind his eyes right now.

Lost in his eyes again I feel like a teenage girl again. The girl that was so ridiculously in love with a boy, the boy that’s now a man sitting in front of her and in this moment they share it’s like the last ten years didn’t happen and slowly the distance between them disappears and they’re just a breath apart. Lips hovering about each other in a delicate balance of temptation. The clattering of the photo album falling off Noah's lap reels us both back into reality.

Shaking my head and sitting back further onto my seat I brush my hair back out of my face and grab my cup of water to adjust to our situation. He coughs awkwardly and I try to get focused on what we were doing. Kissing would be a horrible idea. After all of these years he’s still the most attractive man I’ve ever met. But, this confusing situation would only get even messier if we started something romantic again. That would be stupid. Erin still doesn't know about Noah andI have Kyle coming in a few days to worry about. Also, I don't really even know Noah anymore.

Can you still know someone after so long. Coughing to clear my throat and to disrupt the silence I offer an awkward smile as Noah leans down to collect the fallen book. We continue looking through the pages and I tell him about some of the important stages I have documented. “Oh her first birthday, we had it at the park, just me and Haylie, she has been with me through it all, the pregnancy and all of Erin's life.”

He nods silently as we flip through more pages. “Ah, this is after she got her tonsils out, she was so silly off the anesthesia, kept asking me when Pooh Bear was getting dropped off for daycare.” I laugh at the memory and Noah smiles sliding his hand over the page. A lot of the photos are of Erin and I and he looks at those very closely, they also show my change over the years. My hair gets darker and my skin becomeçs more and more covered in tattoos.

“A lots changed since we last saw each other.” he sighs offhandedly and turns the page again to a family photo of another birthday party, but this one while being a great picture includes Erin laughing over her Barbie cake and me, with the arms of my ex-boyfriend Gavin wrapped tightly around me. Talk about awkwardness.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Noah asks softly and I just about fall off of the sofa. “Oh no, um that guy, Gavin? We broke up a while ago. It was pretty mutual, we're just better off as friends.” I rush out in explanation and feel my neck start to sweat.

“Oh, yeah. My schedule is pretty crazy with touring and us trying to make this next album. It's hard to commit to a relationship.” There's a short pause before he finishes in a quick fluster, “that is of course, now with everything I will make time for Erin, I want to be as involved as you’ll allow. I want to be in her life, I want to know her. You as well” the last part comes out much quieter and I can’t help the redness that takes over my cheeks.

“There is a lot that we need to work out, I want you to be in her life too, I know she will want to know you. You said you would be done with the tour soon? What is your plan?” I ask, what does almost done with tour even mean if you tour all of the time? He continues flipping through the book while he answers. “Just a few more weeks and then we will have a long break through the new year, then we will head to Europe. How would you feel about us taking our break here?” he asks and I look around the house, wondering where he’s planning on having four full grown men stay for months. He notices my eyes scanning the house and he laughs, “Not here, Natty. I mean Austin. We will be working but I would have time to get to know Erin.” I let the breath I didn't know I was holding out.

“Oh, that sounds great Noah, and you’d be here for her birthday. It’s in September.” He flips back to the first page, “yeah the 17th? I’m gonna put it in my phone” as he says it he pulls out his phone and I see the blank front page aside from a few apps, “wow, you’re pretty boring Noah,” I joke and he laughs. “Oh yeah, I deleted everything a little while ago, It was just a lot haha, I mean seeing my face everywhere and reading everyone's psychoanalysis of me was too much.” Whatever I’m about to say dies on my tongue when Hailye bursts through the door with Folio’s arm tight around her for support.

“Ohhh Honeyyyy I’m hooome!!” she calls out and I laugh getting up from the couch to take her from Folio. “Honey, you're coming  home with another man? I’m shocked.” I take on the fake role of husband quickly as we begin are dumb little routine. “Well honey, you’re home with another man so I think It’s only fair.” she replies swaying in my arms and I work to steady her. “Thank you for getting her home safe, Foli, I appreciate it” I say to the man standing in my door.

“I’ll watch her anytime, she's a great gal,” he says and I can sense he’s being genuine. “She’s a maneater, but we love her.” I say to him as a slight warning. I love Haylie but she doesn’t stay held down for very long in relationships. Calls herself a lone wolf. Folio winks at me and nods to Noah, I’m assuming to gesture he will wait for him outside. “You’ll find that me and my friends work really hard to get the things we desire.” he says before exiting and heading down the front steps.

I turn to Noah whos waiting patiently on the couch, “just give me a second?” I ask and he nods while I help Haylie to her bed, quickly stripping her. I throw an oversized shirt on her and place her water bottle on her nightstand along with the bottle of ibuprofen she will definitely need in the morning.

Heading back out to the living space I sit next to Noah. “So yall leave tomorrow?” I ask and he shakes his head. “No, we have a few days off actually. Our next show is in three days.” I think on it for a moment before responding. “Okay well, Erin will be home tomorrow and I’ll tell her. I’ll see how she feels but maybe we can meet for lunch the next day before you leave?” A look of nervous excitement crosses his face and I almost want to cry again. “That sounds great Natty, here, put in your number so we can plan things later.”

He hands me his phone and I quickly send myself a text from his phone and just like that we're back in each other’s lives. “I know I can’t make up for these last ten years but I want to try. And Natty. I know that you and I-” I cut him off.

“I think all you and I need to worry about is being the best people for Erin we can be, you and I? I don’t know if that's anything we need to dive into right now.” His jaw tightens slightly but he nods in understanding. “So I’ll reach out tomorrow to see how it goes?” He stands and I follow him to the door. “Okay, I will let you know.”

Before reaching for the door knob Noah turns quickly and wraps me in a surprising hug. “I won’t let you down Natty, not this time.” he says and I barely have time to react before he lets me go and says goodbye and exits. I lock up and rest my head against the cool metal door. “What the fuck.” 

Noah POV

My mind is whirling, here I thought Natty and I were going to talk and after the concert she was going to want to talk about life. Just how much we’ve both changed and how our lives are so different. I thought life was bringing me the miracle of a second chance. I guess in a sense it did, but in a way I never expected. A kid. A child. A daughter.

I have a daughter. “I have a daughter.” I say out loud, and I think it’s the first thing I’ve said since Folio and I got back to the hotel. It’s late and we’re all exhausted but we all gathered in Jolly and Folio’s room. Folio spits his drinks out and coughs, “the fuck?” Jolly shares an equal look of surprise and Nicholas looks like his shoulders sag with what I think is relief. I’ll definitely ask him about that later. “You got someone pregnant? Damn. That could seriously mess up your chances with Miss Natalie," Folio says and I laugh at the irony, as does Nicholas which solidifies my curiosity about him already knowing.

That doesn't even surprise me and I just hope he hasn't known longer than we’ve been here or we will have bigger problems. “Well actually. Natalie is her mother. She’s ten.” I tell them and It’s like saying it outloud makes it so much more real.

“She was pregnant after I left her and just never managed to get to me. She just told me, tonight.” Jolly is the next to ask questions.

“She just never told you? How do you feel about that?” I know he’s considering my feelings but I don’t want to set it up that she intentionally kept me away from my child.

“Well at first when she told me I was pissed and then we just talked about it all. She explained herself and there were a lot of things that I have to accept. She felt abandoned and I did leave her. She tried to tell me and fucking Alex stuck her nose in it and then Kevin said some fucked up shit. It’s not at all what I wanted my life to be with Nat, but, this is happening.” I stand up and move to  grab a sparkling water from the mini fridge.

“Do you still want a life with her?” Nicholas finally speaks up. “I don’t know if I’ll ever fully move on from her, she was the first girl I ever truly loved. But, she doesn't want anything like that with me, especially now. She said all she wants is for us to be there for Erin. So that's what I’ll do.” Folio smiles and grabs me into a crushing hug. “Congratulations Daddy!” he calls out and the other guys laugh.

“So does win baby momma's heart back start now? Or…” Folio asks and I roll my eyes and wrap my arm around his head pulling him into a headlock to ruffle his hair.

“Why don’t we start with trying to get my daughter that probably thinks I abandoned her to like me and then I can start to think about trying to win the love of my life back?”

thank you for reading besties!!

next upload won't be for about a week! working on some other wips an building out the outline for future chapter! love youuuuuu :)

next chapter ->