#I’ve written maybe three of them down. locked in the notes app.

[whump-is-love-whump-is-life]

*has no intention of writing nsfwhump*

*brain decides to jump-scare me every couple weeks with an nsfwhump idea*

[rhysismydaddy]

Casual Ruin Pt. 3 (Elriel)

Elain’s part of the Damnation Series.

Part 1 | Part 2

God help yall this shit was a rollercoaster to write

________________________________________________

~Elain~

For a second, no one breathes, let alone moves.

Azriel’s hands are steady as he grips the gun, body lined with tension, eyes so cold I shiver. The barrel’s close enough that if I leaned forward an inch, it’d brush my forehead.

The man next to him holds a cigarette halfway to his mouth, looking at me like he’s never seen a woman before and has absolutely no idea what to do. 

And me? I’m frozen in place, horror rushing through my veins and mixing with the shock to create a nauseating cocktail I’m not sure I’ll survive.

It’s the brutalized man in the chair slumping over and hitting the floor with a loud thud that finally snaps us out of our momentary haze.

Azriel blinks and throws the gun to the side so hard it makes a dent in the wall, the stranger drops his cigarette and reaches for me, and I sprint like my fucking life depends on it. Because at this point, I’m pretty sure it might.

What the hell did I walk into? 

I race up the stairs toward the garage, where less than a minute ago, I’d heard Azriel’s voice and gone to surprise him. By the look on his face when he turned around, I’d at least succeeded in that.

I can practically feel the man behind me, can tell he’s reaching a hand out to grab me.

I’ve never been a violent person in my life, but with the amount of adrenaline coursing through me, I don’t even question the urge to use the wine bottle in my hands as a weapon.

It breaks over the man’s head, but unlike in the movies, he doesn’t go down immediately. However, he does lose his balance enough that with a firm shove to his chest, he goes crashing back down to the hellhole I’m running from.

I make it to the garage and slam the door to the basement closed, locking it for good measure. Then I drag the heavy workbench next to the line of pristine cars over in front of it for even better measure. 

I refuse to let myself stop and think, because I’m pretty sure if I do, I’ll break down into a pool of tears and never get up. I’m running on nothing but adrenaline, and I know I’ll crash soon, but I force myself to keep going.

For a moment, I’m tempted to steal one of the cars to get away, but the sound of angry Italian shouts behind the locked door makes me hesitant to waste any more time.

I also definitely don’t have time to call the cab driver that dropped me off and beg him to come back.

The fear and terror don’t give me time to doubt myself as I take my heels off, take off up the driveway, and pray I’m fast enough to escape the devil on my trail.

~Azriel~

“Get that goddamn door open,” I shout at Luca, who’s dripping wine all over the place and has a gash on his forehead from where little Elain Archeron shoved him down the stairs.

I almost fucking shot her in the head. Her. 

Dolcezza mia. The girl I’m stupidly obsessed with. The one who’s always quick to smile--the same one who sighs when I kiss her and lights up when I walk into the room.

I almost shot her between those beautiful brown eyes, almost snuffed them out forever.

I run a hand over my face, listening to the sound of Luca throwing himself into the door repeatedly. “I’m trying, boss, but I think she pulled something in front of the door.”

Smart.

Fucking annoying as hell, but smart.

If I wasn’t so damn pissed at myself for not locking the basement door behind me and allowing her to find us down here, I’d be mildly impressed. 

Two of the most dangerous men in Italy, trapped in the basement like idiots. 

I pull up the app to track her phone--which was originally for her safety, not because I’m a complete stalker--and see that she’s on foot, going behind the houses instead of down the road. She probably thinks I’ll drive by her while she gets away right under my nose.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sending out a text to all my neighbors to tell them not to shoot the beautiful young woman trespassing through their properties. She has no idea the people around us have security systems better than the President’s. “Luca!”

“Working on it,” he grunts back.

“If that shit isn’t open in the next twenty seconds, you’re going in the incinerator after this asshole,” I warn, nudging the dead body on the floor with a boot.

The threat must work, because a second later, there’s a loud bang and the telltale sound of the workbench from my garage toppling over. “Got it!”

I storm up the stairs and tell him, “Run interference with the neighbors and local police. Anyone talks-”

“Got it,” he interrupts, grabbing his phone to start threatening people.

Pulling up the app again, I track the path she’s on, curse when I see she’s headed to the bus station about a mile from here, and take off after her.

Technically, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she got away. She’d probably go to the police and tell them what she saw, not knowing that Marco, the deputy on duty, has been on my payroll since the day he passed the police entrance exam.

Having done her civic duty, she’d probably try to recover from the trauma of what she saw, eventually finish her classes and move on, and leave. Forgetting all about me in the process.

Technically, for her, this option would not be the worst thing in the world.

But in my head, it feels worse than being stabbed. In my head, there isn’t a question about it. 

I’m going after her. 

There’s this weird, itchy feeling in my chest I’ve never felt before as I run and run and try not to think about the look on her face as she saw the body fall to the floor.

I realize the feeling in my chest as panic, something I haven’t felt since I was a teenager getting booked for stealing my first car.

She knows.

She knows, and the look on her face... she looked at me like I’m a monster. 

And fuck, maybe that’s true. Maybe I am beyond saving.

But having her look at me, and having her take away the easy smiles and bright eyes I’d grown strangely accustomed to... it feels like being robbed.

And it makes me panic.

So I’ll chase her, and catch her, and do whatever I have to do to get her back. 

Because I need her, and damn if I’m going at this alone. 

After a surprising amount of time, I see the thin outline of her off in the distance, sprinting like the devil himself is chasing her. 

I take a deep breath and try to stay quiet, but it’s hopeless. Like she’s the one with the tracker on me, she can tell the second I’m close. I can see it from the way her shoulders go stiff and her pace increases.

“Elain!” 

I call out again for her to stop, because I don’t want to tackle her and risk hurting her. She ignores me and keeps running, turning behind the coroner of one of my dealer’s house. 

That sticky, awful, panicky feeling in my chest grows as she disappears from sight, and without thinking, I follow.

Which, if I had been thinking, I never would’ve done, because shit like this leaves you open to attack. 

Which reminds me: I’ve now broken all three rules for this woman, because I don’t have a single weapon on me to defend us if something happens.

I hit the ground hard enough the wind rushes out of me and my stupid brain rattles around in my stupid skull. 

Blinking through the blur, I look up to find Elain standing over me with an empty metal trashcan raised like a bat, ready to strike again. 

I need to explain, need to talk to her, but all I can seem to say is her name.

“Elain,” I croak, trying to force air down my lungs.

As my vision clears, I notice she’s crying, beautiful face streaked with tears and dirt. 

She pauses and looks at me, like the sight of me knocked on my ass hurts her just as much as it does me, then shakes her head to clear it. 

She throws the trash can at me and turns to flee, but I know I can’t let her go, at least not like this. Grabbing her ankle, I yank her down to me, making sure she lands on me instead of the ground. 

She screams, the sound scraping away another layer of the trust we’d built, and I don’t think I’ve ever been so desperate in my life. Elain flails around, but I use my weight to pin her, trying not to hurt her. 

She has to let me explain. She has to.

I hate what I’m about to do, but the only other option I have is making her pass out the old fashion way, which I know I could never bring myself to do.

The second the needle goes into her neck, she goes stiff underneath me, looking at me with wide, panicked eyes. 

“You drugged me,” she sobs, the betrayal in her voice making my chest hurt.

I brush the hair off her face, press my forehead to hers, and start telling her things I haven’t told another living soul.

I’ll never hurt you.

I’m sorry.

~Elain~

Am I dead?

Why does it feel like I got hit by a bus?

Where am I? 

These three questions rattle around in my brain at the same time, all demanding answers, as soon as I open my eyes. 

And the weird part is... I don’t have any.

I have no idea if I’m alive or dead, but the headache I have that seems permanently settled behind my eyes points to the latter.

I blink the haze in my brain away and realize I’m at my house in bed, but my extend of knowledge seems to stop there. 

There’s a voice in my head whispering something, but it’s too quiet for me to understand what she’s saying. All I know is that I feel like I need to do something, need to get out of here. 

I rub my sore eyes and see there’s a note on the bedside table, written in precise, calm handwriting I recognize better than my own. 

Come downstairs. 

He’s here? I thought I went to his house, not the other way around.

The blinds are closed, but when I make my way to the window and peak out, I see a dark night sky, the moon reflecting off the water and making everything seen calm.  

What the hell happened to me?

I start to leave the room, intent on going downstairs and asking Azriel that very question. 

Except as I’m passing by my closet, I see something. 

Something small and so inconsequential, I almost don’t think anything about it.

Like I’m in a dream, I feel myself walk over to the corner of the room. I feel my knees hit the floor, see my finger extend to the floor and touch the tiny drop of liquid that caught my eye.

I pull back and look, and somehow, I’m not surprised to see that it’s blood.

The floors are dark enough I shouldn’t have been able to see it from so far away, but it’s like a part of me was looking for it. 

And that’s when it comes back to me.

Coming to surprise him, seeing the door in his garage, going downstairs... I press a hand to my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the tidal wave of nausea washing over me. 

I remember seeing the blood first and wondering if someone was hurt, then coming further into the room to find myself in the middle of a nightmare. If I wasn’t so strangely sure it had been real, I would think it was a horror movie.

The man strapped down had been so brutalized, I doubt I would’ve recognized him even if I’d known him my whole life.

I remember running without a thought more, giving into the fight or flight impulse to get the hell out of there. 

I remember hitting Azriel, seeing him fall to the ground and looking up at me with those deep, wounded eyes that will haunt me more than the torture he inflicted on that poor man. 

Eyes that told me everything and nothing at the same time.

I remember looking into those eyes and crying at the pain in them that was surely reflected in my own. 

And then nothing. 

Why don’t I remember? How did I get back here?

I’m sorry. 

I finally recall that last whispered promise, and if I hadn’t already been sitting on the floor, I would’ve fallen to my knees as I realize what happened.

He drugged me.

Azriel, the same man who slow-danced with me in an empty restaurant and drove me along the coast and held me in his sleep, drugged me.

And he’s downstairs.

I start to hyperventilate, because I don’t know what to do or what he’s planning to do. Why is he still here?

What am I going to do? Should I call the cops?

I realize I don’t have my phone, probably a countermeasure on his part. 

I also realize there’s no way for me to run. I remember how fast he’d caught me, how easy it had been for him to render me useless. 

There’s no escaping him. Not if he’s already down there waiting, evil plan cooking in his mind.

I have no other option, unless I want to stay in this room for the rest of my life.

So with confidence I don’t feel, I walk downstairs. 

I find him sitting at my breakfast table, leaning back casually and sipping a cup of coffee despite the late hour. 

The moonlight clings to him like it loves him, playing off of his sharp cheekbones and illuminating his features. His face is carefully blank, but there’s a flicker of something as he looks at me, something that seems almost like relief. 

He’s calm and collected and everything I’m not, and it pisses me off. My world’s on fire, yet he’s sitting here like nothing’s wrong? And he’s drinking my coffee?

I stomp over to grab the stolen drink, then sit across from him and cross my arms. 

And wait.

Because I sure as hell am not talking first. 

He stayed because he has something to say. I don’t have anything to say to him. 

For a long time, we just stare at each other, because he’s apparently playing by the same rules. 

Then he accepts his defeat, sighs, and asks, “Why did you come to my house last night?”

I purse my lips, narrow my eyes, and try to stop myself from throwing the coffee in his face. 

Because he said that almost like an accusation. 

Like the problem is that I came over unannounced, not that he was torturing someone. 

“I’m not justifying that with a response,” I eventually tell him.

He gives me a hard look. “Answer the question.”

Something about the entirely male way he demanded that, like he expects a response immediately, makes me tilt my head and ask so sweetly I almost choke, “Why? Are you going to torture me if I don’t?”

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, showing the first sign of imperfection I’ve ever seen from him. “What you saw-”

“Was horrifying, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

He acts like I didn’t even speak. “-was something I meant to keep private from you.”

I don’t tell him that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point. 

Instead I ask, “Why?” 

I’m not sure why I want to know, but it suddenly feels important. 

He doesn’t takes his eyes off of me as he says, “Because you’re you. You shine so brightly it should be illegal, and you look at the world like it isn’t a terrible place. I didn’t want to take that from you.”

My throat feels uncomfortably tight all the sudden, but I clear it and say, “Well, you did.”

His jaw clenches, and he looks down. “I know. If I could go back and walk away, I would. Shit, I told myself I would more times than I can count. But I just... couldn’t. And I couldn’t tell you either. I wanted to, but I didn’t know how, Elain.”

The sound of my name on his lips makes my heart finally start beating again, but I still call him on his lie. “That isn’t why you never told me. You never told me because you knew I’d hate you the second you did.”

“Maybe,” he admits, looking back up at me. “But now you know, and I’m glad you do. You know everything now.”

It’s my turn to look down, because while I’d wanted to know the real him, I’d never imagined I’d find something like this. 

“No, I don’t. I don’t know anything, because you haven’t explained anything.”

He tilts his head. “What needs explaining?”

I ask the obvious question. “Who do you work for?”

“Myself.”

Once again, I don’t feel like justifying that with a response. He still isn’t saying anything that explains what I saw or why he’d do that to someone. 

If he isn’t going to say anything meaningful, I’m not having this conversation.

Eventually, he seems to realize this. Because he says, “I’m Capo of the Sicilian Outfit of the Cosa Nostra, Elain.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, trying to keep my emotions in check. I don’t know how to feel, other than confused and angry.

“Any other questions?”

“Why did you drug me?”

If he just wanted to talk, he could’ve dragged me back to his place or maybe just say that. Not chase me down like a rapid animal.

“You were panicked, and I didn’t want to hurt you. I needed time to explain, needed to tell you this was never the plan.”

There’s something else there, and I narrow my eyes in a silent demand for him to continue.

Azriel sighs and admits, “My neighbors are business associates-” aka fellow criminals, “and I didn’t want them to hear you yelling and come to... investigate-” aka kill me, “or watch me get knocked unconscious by a twenty-four year old woman with a trash can.”

I give him a smug smile, more than ready to give him a repeat of that show, and try to decide what else to ask. 

But before I get the chance, he says, “I don’t see why this changes anything.”

My mouth falls open.

He doesn’t see- is he serious? “You’re joking.”

“I’m not known for my humor.”

I’m still stunned into silence, so he tilts his head and asks, “Why does it matter? Why does what I do make me a different person?”

When I don’t answer, he says, “It doesn’t. Nothing I do will ever come near you. You won’t ever have to see it again. I promise.” 

“It’s not about seeing it! It’s about knowing what you do when we’re not together. You kiss me goodbye, then go home and... there is absolutely no way I can go back to what we were doing before. You killed someone, Azriel.”

He straightens his cufflinks and shoots back, “He deserved it, Elain.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

“First off, murder is illegal. So is torture, which from the way that man looked, you’d definitely been inflicting on him. Not only is it illegal, it’s wrong! He was an innocent human being-”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

I keep going. “You aren’t judge, jury, and executioner! You-”

He’s on me before I can finish, sliding a hand over my mouth and leaning over my chair. 

God, the man is fast. Has he always been that fast, or have I just never noticed?

“Let me explain something to you, Elain. On this island, I am. I decide who’s guilty, which he confessed to being. I decide the punishment, which was a bullet to the brain. I’m the executioner, and I pull the trigger myself, because I’m not a fucking coward.”

I fight his hold, trying to push him away, but he doesn’t even budge. 

“I play by different rules, bellissima. Just because you’ve never been exposed to them, or my world, doesn’t mean it hasn’t always existed. I’m the judge, jury, executioner, and the goddamn king.”

A shiver goes down my spine at his words. 

He pushes my head back, forcing me to meet his eyes. “And it doesn’t matter.”

I shake my head, bite his finger, push at his chest. But it doesn’t do any good.

“It doesn’t matter, because like I said, we live in two different worlds. I’d never let mine impact yours.”

I want to tell him that isn’t the problem, but his hand is still on my mouth. 

“Have you even asked yourself why you’re not afraid?” he asks out of the blue, surprising me. 

I stare blankly at him, no longer fighting, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re scared of what I do, but you aren’t scared of me. Not really. If you were, you never would’ve come down those stairs.”

That’s why he looked relieved, I realize. He was worried I’d be scared of him.

Everything he’s saying makes sense, which makes no sense at all. 

Because if he’s right, and he certainly seems to think he is, it begs the question... why aren’t I scared of him?

He seems to see my ask myself that, because he answers it a second later.

Eyes growing softer, he murmurs, “It’s because you know I’d never hurt you, nor would I let anyone else.”

I remember him whispering that right before I passed out. I’ll never hurt you. 

He comes so close I can see the individual flecks of green in his dark hazel eyes. “I may do terrible things, and I’d do terrible things for you, Elain, but I’d never do them to you.”

“So you aren’t afraid. Just angry,” he concludes. Then he looks at me like he did the other day in the sea behind his house, right before he called me his. “Do you know why you’re angry, Elain?”

Currently, it’s because he’s explaining my emotions to me, which has to be the most male, obnoxious thing that’s ever happened in all of history.

But I have a feeling that isn’t what he’s talking about.

And I have another feeling that I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.

I take another glance at the look in his eyes and realize what he means, starting to fight again. I push at his chest and hands and try to get him to not say the words I know he’s going to. 

It doesn’t work. 

“You’re upset,” he says a moment later, slow and sure like always, “because I lied to you. You feel betrayed, like you don’t know me. But that isn’t why you’re angry.”

One hand on my face, the other in my hair, he holds me perfectly still as he whispers, “You’re angry because you were falling for me.”

I press my eyes closed, trying not to hear the words he’s saying as if that’ll make them any less true. 

But it doesn’t, because they are true. 

Every easy smile, midnight whisper, and lingering kiss he’s given me in the past month has given him a permanent place in my heart, and it hurts to have that all feel like a lie.

It hurts to look at him and not know if I recognize the person holding me.

A sob escapes me, which seems to confirm what he said, and he takes his hand off my mouth to wipe away a tear. 

His brow comes to rest against mine, and I breathe him in, unable to stop myself. 

There’s a war happening inside me, and it distracts me enough I don’t stop him from pulling me closer.

My heart plays me a montage of the past month, showing me countless moments where I’d been so positive I’d found paradise, so positive I’d found someone I could trust completely. It tells me Azriel has always felt like home, like something so inexplicably right I don’t even know how to describe it.

But my brain reminds me the hands cupping my cheeks softly are covered in blood and gunsmoke and victims’ tears. It tells me I’ve never really known the man I’m currently begging myself not to have feelings for. 

The battle inside of me rages on, and I cry harder, not even knowing who I want to win.

It only gets harder to choose as he murmurs, “Ance io mi sto innamorando di te.”

I’m falling for you, too.

I don’t know what to do or feel or think, and I’m so helplessly confused it makes me want to scream. 

Yet even though I’m confused, something about this makes sense. Something about knowing what he really does for a living makes everything in my head just click.

The way he’d redirect the conversation whenever I asked about his job. The way I’d always suspected him of hiding something about himself from me. The way every movement he’s ever made with me has been lined with restraint.

He could hurt me, has had the opportunity for months, but he never has. He’s always been careful with me, has always held and looked at me like I’m something precious to him.

My brain starts shifting to his side of the argument, and I can feel my morality ripping to shreds under his hands.

Before I can think, I shove him away, getting to my feet to point at the door. “Get out. You lied to me. You’re a murderer. A monster.”

Feelings or not, I know I can’t do this. I can’t just ignore what I saw, what he’ll continue to do. So he needs to leave.

He doesn’t.

Azriel just leans against the kitchen island counter and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it as he watches me for a long moment. 

“Maybe I am,” he says eventually around a mouthful of smoke. “But just because I’m a monster, Elain, doesn’t mean I can’t give you what we both know you need. Nothing has to change.”

It already has.

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“No?”

“No.”

He prowls toward me, the intent shining so clear in his eyes I take a step back for every one he takes forward. My back hits a wall, and he traps me between it and himself, caging me in with strong arms.

The line between right and wrong, good and evil, seems to blur as he gets closer and closer, and by the time we’re sharing air, I don’t know which way is up. All I know is him.

He takes a deep inhale of his cigarette, tips my head back with his thumb, and then breathes the smoke into my mouth. 

It should be disgusting, considering I don’t smoke and make it a point to avoid cancer-causing products in general. 

It should be. But it isn’t.

It’s the opposite of disgusting. 

There’s a buzz in my veins that has nothing to do with the nicotine, and I realize too late that he’s the vice I can’t quit. 

I’m too far gone, too addicted already.

He pulls back slightly, tucking the still-burning cigarette behind his ear. His eyes burn with intensity, and his dark hair and shoulders are surrounded by the smoke clinging to his shoulders like a shadow. 

He looks like the villain of a movie I never even knew I wanted to watch, and it physically pains me to have him this close and not be touching him, so I put my hands on his chest, fingers fisting in the expensive material of his suit.

His are on the wall by my head, bracing himself as he leans in and slowly licks a line across my lower lip, like he’s tasting me. 

My want for him is a tangible thing, and I have to ask myself if he’s right. Does it matter what he does, when he makes me feel like no one else ever has? Do I care enough to stay away from him?

“You don’t need me?” he asks again, so close his lips brush against mine.

I shake my head, even though I know it isn’t the truth. I do need him, and that’s why this hurts so damn bad. Why this betrayal cuts so deep.

Even though we’re so close he’s nothing but a blur, I can feel his eyes on me, burning a hole through me. 

And then he says something that changes everything. 

“Well, I need you,” he whispers, so softly it breaks my heart.

I’m lost.

I’m so goddamn lost in him, I forget everything we were talking about, forget everything he’s done. 

My knees go weak, and I cling to him, pulling him into me as I slip down the wall.

His lips crash against mine, and I know instantly that this is him. This is all of him. I finally know exactly who he is, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

It’s probably our hundredth kiss, but it feels like the first, and I’m drunk on it, drunk on him.

Hands in my hair, he kisses me like he wasn’t lying--like he needs me. 

My hands pull tighter, until there’s not an inch between us, and he makes a low sound in his throat. His are on my waist, gripping me tightly and telling me he wants this just as much as I do.

The restraint from before is all but gone, and I tremble at how much power is in his grasp, how small and fragile it makes me feel in comparison. 

My willpower crumples further, like a napkin in his fist, as his tongue teases mine, making me chase him for more.

Azriel pulls my lower lip between his teeth, pulling it between us as he draws back. It’ll be bruised tomorrow, but a sick part of me likes that he’s leaving his mark on me.

“Say it,” he say roughly, voice deep and scratchy with lust.

I don’t get a change to say it, or anything else, before he’s kissing me again, running his hands up my back and into my hair.

“Say it,” he demands again.

Maybe I’m not as lost as I thought, because I know what he wants but stay silent, refusing to give it to him.

Because I can’t.

Everything he said tonight makes sense, but I just... can’t.

He kisses me again, a lingering kiss that makes my chest ache, and almost pleads, “Say it, Elain. Say it doesn’t matter. Say you need me.”

The air grows thick as I stay silent, because it’s response enough.

His eyes narrow, and even though everything inside me begs me to, I don’t stop him as he steps away. 

“Only two more months here, and you want to spend them lying to yourself?”

I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I’m leaving so soon, but I don’t let myself get distracted. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

Except it feels like I am.

A smile pulls on his lips, but it isn’t friendly. “You’re fucking lying, and you know it. You know it doesn’t matter, you just can’t admit it, because then you’d be like me.”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but he keeps going. “Fucking a monster would be condoning the devil’s work, right?”

He takes a step in, catching my wrists as I try to push him back, pinning them above my head, and laughing. 

“You saying you don’t want me is the most pathetic lie I’ve ever heard, carro. ”

“Azriel-”

Mouth next to my ear, he growls, “You’re really telling me if I slip my hand between your pretty thighs, I won’t find you wet and ready for me?”

I push against his hands and look away, all the confirmation he needs. 

He tsks, feigning disappointment. 

I close my eyes and fight my response to him with everything I have. I try to tell myself it matters, that what he does disgusts me, but it doesn’t sound believable to even myself at this point.

“I could prove it to you, make you come right here and now, but I don’t think I will.”

I’m breathing heavily, two seconds from passing out at the intensity and violence in his voice. 

“I think the next time I fuck you, Elain, you’re going to have to tell me you need me just as much as I need you. You’re going to tell me you want me, and you’re going to beg me for more.” He licks up the side of my neck, and I press my lips together to hold in the moan that wants to escape. “You’re going to tell the goddamn truth, and you’re going to fucking apologize for lying to me in the first place.”

I glare at him, silently conveying that that will never happen. He lied to me. I’m not apologizing for shit.

He sees that and everything else in my gaze, and he shakes his head slowly. 

“I’ll get your confession, Elain,” he promises, going to the door and almost ripping it off its hinges as he opens it. “I always do.”

___________________________________________________

Part 4

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @bamchickawowow @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @nahthanks @highqueenofelfhame @autophobiax @rowaelinismyotp @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace @elorcan-trash @loosingdreams @januarystears @emikadreams @swankii-art-teacher @thedarkdemigod @full-tilt-diva @biggestwingspan-az @bookstantrash @mari-highladyof-feels @pilesofriles @teddytdr

[cloud9in]

The Half of It - 2 (Poppy x MC)

Summary: Bea, the town’s outcast is recruited by the school jock to win Poppy’s heart. But what happens when she starts falling for her as well?

HIGHLY recommend you read/re-read part 1

No warnings this chapter

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter 2: How to write a love letter 101

 “In love, one always starts by deceiving oneself...and ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls romance.”

- Oscar Wilde

I was tasked with what was probably the hardest piece of writing I’ve done in all of my years of highschool, and I wrote eight different versions of the analysis on David vs Goliath my freshman year. That’s besides the point, it wasn’t like any normal research essay. No. For some reason I found that my one and only letter to Poppy would have to be the best thing I ever wrote in the entirety of the universe. Too bad I had to make it sound like it was written by Carter, that big stupid jock. You can guess how severely depressed I became after reading what he had initially written…

 “Dear Poppy, I think you’re really beautiful. Even if you were ugly, I’d want to know you, because you are smart and nice, too. It’s hard to find all those things in one girl. But even if you were only two of those things, I’d be into it. But you’re, like, all three, just to be clear.”

 Bea reads off the paper, turning her head with cringe and confusion at the confident jock sitting next to her. Carter smiles, “She’s all three, like you know all three backs of football. The running back, the fullback-”

 “Thanks for clarifying...:”

 Carter stares awkwardly, waiting for her to continue on. And Bea does, with a big ass sigh.

“...About me. Some people think I’m the cutest one in my family. Those people being my grandma...who’s dead now...Never mind about my dead grandma. All I’m saying is that I like fries. I like dipping them in my milkshake. Is that weird? It’s actually really tasty. Would you like to try that with me sometime?

 CJ, school quarterback.”

 Bea takes a good five minutes to compose herself. Yeah this was definitely gonna be a long week. She lowers the paper slightly and turns to Carter, a puzzled look in her eyes. “So what you’re trying to say is-”

 “I’m in love with her.”

 That confession definitely would have sent her sprawling a few feet back if she hadn’t been sitting. Love? What was love? And why does she despise it now that Carter has mentioned it. 

“...Have you ever spoken to her?”

 “Well...no, I’m not good with words. Besides, would I be here with you if I did talk to her?”

 Bea rolls her eyes and huffs exhaustingly. “Carter, you're not in love. You’re just stubborn.”

 “No I’m not! It’s love, I know it’s love. Love feels different, it doesn’t feel...real. It almost feels impossible. But we indulge in it because of the thrill, the adrenaline of chasing someone mindlessly...and wanting to be present in everything they do. There’s that ‘what if?’, the question that could make or break that love. Even if the ending isn’t what you had hoped for, at least you know how it felt to feel so much joy, so much want.”

 Carter stares up at the ceiling in thought, his eyes seem to be unfocused, staring at nothing and everything. Bea gazes over at him in part shock and part admiration, a smile painting her face. “...Wow.”

 “...Hm, yeah. I heard it in a dating app commercial once.” 

 Bea gasps and smacks Carter repeatedly with the letter in her hand, clearly disappointed. 

 “Wha- Ow!”

 “And here I was thinking you were being original.”

 Bea eventually sits back in her seat, her shoulders slumping as she reads the letter over and over again, trying to make sense of it. That was the problem though, it didn’t make sense, well maybe the fries part did, but the blonde had a lot of work to do. Carter watches her silently until he can’t hold back the lingering question in his head. “...Haven’t you ever felt it? That screwy feeling that love gives you? Poppy makes me feel screwy.”

 Bea continues to read, her eyes glued onto the words that are slightly falling out of the printed lines of the notebook paper. But her mind is fully elsewhere, she heard his question loud and clear. The only thing she could muster was an annoyed “no” in efforts to not become vulnerable.

 He intertwined his hands together, leaning back on the bench. “...Oh I get it, you’ve never been in love have you?”

 Bea’s legs were already one step ahead of her mind as they sprung her out of the seat. She grabs her bag and swats the papers in Carter’s direction, a scoff leaving her lips. “You want a love letter? I’ll give you a love letter!”

 “Yeah but will it be something that makes her fall in love with me and not walk away like you’re doing right now-” Carter’s voice rings out hurriedly yet Bea can’t hear anything except the pounding of her heart getting louder as she stalks out of the church. Love, love, love, what even is it? Will I ever feel it? There is nobody who could make me feel-

 The blonde was cut abruptly out of her thoughts as she crashed into someone, who was most likely on their respective part of the sidewalk. All of the materials in her arms fell to the concrete and Bea rushed to pick them up, “I’m sorry I-”

A familiar blonde set of locks and porcelain skin came into view and she immediately stopped and looked up. Poppy’s eyes were already boring into hers, a look of slight concern, and maybe annoyance? on her face. 

 “...I’m-I’m Bea Hughes…” She could only stutter, all those moments that she pretended to talk to Poppy in her room were definitely not paying off. 

 But maybe it did pay off because a small smile, masked with sparkly pink lip gloss started to form. Poppy bit her lip as her eyes crinkled with amusement, “...Yeah I know. You’ve only been playing my dad’s services on Sunday for, like, four years. He does favour you...even if you are a heathen.” Poppy peers over at the church that Bea had just come out of and raises an eyebrow in curiosity. She picks up a stray book from the ground and grins with an impressed look. “Remains of The Day...Loved it. Mr. Stevens is quite the character.” Okay, so Poppy has great taste in literature, that’s another thing to add to the list that Bea totally doesn’t have stored in the notes app of her phone. Listen, she has to write a love letter to Poppy Min Sinclair, so every piece of information is vital. 

 Poppy hands the book to Bea, their eyes never leaving each other while standing up. Say something Bea. Anything. It’s almost like the strawberry blonde was waiting, hoping, for her to speak . 

 But she said nothing. No, all the insecure blonde could do is stare into Poppy’s eyes, almost as if she wasn’t afraid to turn to stone. 

 The sound of car tires scraping against the pavement caused Poppy to break eye contact before smiling one last time at Bea. “This is me.” Bea watched the shorter girl stroll past her so casually, the complete opposite of what she was feeling in the moment. She didn’t speak until Poppy closed the car door and the driver took off, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips. “I’m Bea Hughes? Really?”

 ***

Bea sat in front of her tv, a pen and notepad in her hand. She couldn’t think of anything to write down. How do you write a love letter, or a confession? This is the one thing she had trouble writing. The tv blasted on with 1987’s “Wings of Desire”. Bea cocked her head to the side when the man started to profess his love. She put her pen to the pad and started writing. 

 Poppy,

 You don’t know me, and truth be told I see that as a good thing. You know that saying, there are plenty of fish in the sea? Well I am not a fisherman, nor do I think you are a fish. Letters are not the form of communication that I would personally prefer, but I am the one writing to you. So no more complaining. I think you are interesting. Like a book I want to read. I’d even read the author’s notes at the end just to get every bit of you. I don’t desire a lot of things, but I long for a wave of love to swell up in me. That’s what makes me so clumsy: the lack of pleasure.

 Yours, 

Carter 

***

Bea pushes down on her pedals, pacing her breath with each turn of the wheels beneath her. The voice of Carter appears as he races behind her, careful not to send her flying last time. Then she’d never write a letter again.  “Bea! She wrote back!”

 The blonde pulled the brakes on her bicycle so hard a wheel might have popped off. She was out of breath but suddenly the reason for it was different. Bea grabs the letter from Carter’s hands and makes haste to read the words she imagined would sit on the paper. 

  Carter,

 I like Wim Wenders too. Wouldn’t have plagiarized him though.

 -Poppy 

“Who’s Wim Wenders and why’d you cheat off of him? Bea I looked up what plagiarism meant.”

 “I didn’t cheat off of him!...Okay maybe I did but this is a good thing!”

 “HOW?”

 “It’s...it’s like a game. She’s challenging us..but in a good way.” Bea nods to Carter but also to herself. There was a response. She didn’t think that Poppy would write back but she did and it has changed Bea’s outlook on everything. She was in, and there was no way it could stop now. 

 “So...are we back in the game?” Carter’s words jumble Bea out of her thoughts and she stutters, “Yep..yes we are.” No you are. “We are definitely back in it.” Nope just you Bea. 

 Bea leaves Carter with an awkward fist bump before peddling away, her mind racing with a million thoughts. But they always seem to close back into one familiar blonde who danced and did everything Bea couldn’t. She sighed, the adrenaline pumping its way out of her lungs. 

 “Game on, Poppy Min Sinclair.”

***

 Bea spent the following days perfecting her next letter to Poppy. This one would be more heartfelt, and less cringe and plagiaristic like her last one. It would come from her and only her...but for Carter of course. The thing is, when Bea started writing again, she didn’t think about the fact that Carter would take credit for everything on the paper, and that he would be the one that develops a *possible* relationship with Poppy. Maybe she didn’t want to think about that part, but the other parts brought just the right amount of serotonin to make her shitty day better. Everything she read, everywhere she went reminded her of the strawberry blonde, and of the unfinished letter. Bea attempted to step into the life of Carter’s and speak like a jock would, without making him seem like something he is not. But that was hard. Because it was her words, her mind. Carter would take that from her, even if it was unintentional. 

 It didn’t help that Carter didn’t want them to be seen together in public. He would slide to the opposite end of the bench in the church when his football buddies would come in. Bea didn’t take it personal. She of course had other things going through her mind. 

 It took 7 days. One week. To finish the second letter, a very short one. Bea wouldn’t describe herself as a perfectionist, but every word that Poppy would read had to be perfect.

Dear Poppy,

 Okay you got me…

 Now that that’s done, let’s start over yeah? I’ll start by saying that I sometimes hide behind other people’s words. For one thing, I know nothing about love. I’m 17 and I’ve lived in Farmsville my whole life. I hang out with my friends, I keep my head down. I’m a simple...guy. Which is to say, if I knew what love was, I would quote myself. But I don’t. I have a question for you, please answer it in any way you want. Are you happy where you are right now?

 -Carter

Bea sat in the church, silently tapping away at the keys of piano, a simple soft melody following the nod of her head. Carter had found her like that but didn’t want to disturb. Except, Poppy wrote back again, so this was big news. They both sat in confession booths as Bea read the letter quietly, her hand gripping the edges a little too harshly. 

Dear Carter,

 You know that it takes eleven muscles to yawn? This is the sort of weird fact I find myself recalling to keep myself from...well yawning. Or showing anything I feel really. And I find myself doing that a lot. So yeah..believe it or not, I turn to other people’s words too. 

 When you’re a pretty girl, and I know it makes me sound conceited, but sometimes I am, but that’s why you’re even writing to me right? I mean my image is what gives me attention, I’ve grown used to that fact. When you’re a pretty girl, people want to give you things. What they really want is to make you like them. Not like them as in, “i like you”, but like them as in, “i am like you.” You may think I’m different, but I’m like a lot of other people. Which makes me kind of no one. It looks like I’ve found my place but I really haven’t. Just a girl who’s lost in the mix. I don’t know why I feel like I can tell you this, but you provide the sort of safety I always craved. You’re interesting Carter, I like you. 

 -Poppy 

Bea read the last sentence more times than she should’ve. Carter watched her silently as she stared into the lines of the paper, maybe hoping that more words would magically appear. The blonde couldn’t describe the feeling in her chest, but it hurt. Physically. 

 “Uh...can I text her now?”

 “Too soon.”

 “No, I'm gonna do it now.”

 Bea felt herself starting to get frustrated, but calmness always overtook any other feeling she had. She was taught to be rational.

 “You do that and she’ll think you’re just like everyone else.” You’re not like anyone else Bea, she needs to know that. 

 Carter lets out a heavy sigh and pulls out his phone. Bea felt a buzz in her pocket and pulled hers out as well. A message pops up alerting Bea of another income of $50 being sent to her. 

***

 Bea slogged through the crowded halls trying to find the exit but before she can walk any further, a firm hand grabs her and pulls her into a familiar classroom. The blonde turns to scowl at the perpetrator which was probably Bradley, but instead she sees bright red lips and black glasses. Ms. Kingsley. But she doesn’t look too happy.

 The older woman holds up a paper which Bea recognizes immediately as her letter to Poppy. How in the world did she get that? 

 “So...this is why half my class is failing their essays?”

 Bea could make a snarky comment back to her, but the sight of the letter sends her thoughts spiraling once again. She lets out a defeated sigh. I mean how did this woman know she’d  written that letter? Ina Kingsley knew everything. “Look...I’ll be reopen for business soon enough.” Bea starts to turn to leave and looks at Kingsley one more time. “I can’t do this for much longer.”

 Bea couldn’t hold in her feelings for much longer as well. But not even Kingsley knew that. She walked out of the classroom with her head down, hoping to avoid eye contact with the one she wanted to see the most. 

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

End Note: Part two is here woah. Thought it would never come. 

Tags: @samanthadalton @somewillwin @clowneryme @baexpoppy @zigxryanz @uselesslesbianfr @aleiramacaii  @thedaft1 @alexlabhont @iamsimpforpoppy @cloakanddaggerthings @straightlikewetspaghetti 

[casuallyimagining]

You and Me

Min Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi has something he needs to ask you before the Grammys. Genre: slight angst, kind of fluffy at the end? Word Count: 1,865 Rating: T (there’s some swearing) Notes: Part of the Long Term Couples series. Read more here.

As he was leaving to go out to lunch with Namjoon and Jin, Yoongi told you that he had news he wanted to tell you when he got home. Which, of course, is possibly the worst thing to leave a person with.

What could he want to talk to you about?

You had a feeling you knew. Physical therapy had been progressing well for Yoongi, and while he still had a lot of healing to do, he was to the point where he could do almost all normal, daily tasks without help. He still had to wear his sling when he went out, and he was still in quite a bit of pain, but it was to the point where he would probably start back to work soon. And, of course, he would probably be moving back to the dorms again, and you would return to your lives pre-November.

Which meant you would go from seeing him literally all the time to only seeing him a few times a week--a return to taking him meals in your spare time, to sitting in the studio watching him work, to short dates to go grab coffee or a milkshake on his rare breaks. Thankfully, you had written the code for the Genius Lab down in your notes app, because after almost two and a half months of not using it, you weren’t confident that you remembered it.

Honestly, you weren’t sure if you could go back to sustaining yourself on text messages, and video calls, and brief, 15-minute meetings. Adjusting to him being there constantly--underfoot when you least expected him to be, but always there to lend an ear or a hand or just generally be there for you--had taken some time. Your routines had melded together so quickly, that having him wandering around your apartment at two in the afternoon was no more uncommon than you not being able to find a series to watch on Netflix. You knew it was coming eventually, but you weren’t sure you could stand the separation.

You would, though, for his sake. You would walk through fire for him.

And it would only be for a short time, right? He had promised you on Christmas. As soon as he was able, he was going to start moving out of the dorms and into his own apartment. He wanted you to join him, wanted you to move in with him. But you weren’t sure when that would be. He had never given you a timetable for when he expected to start moving. Which was fine, you supposed. He could take his time.

But the whole thing made you anxious, even though you knew it shouldn’t. What if he got too busy once he got back to normal life and forgot? What if he decided he wanted to stay at the dorms indefinitely? Worse, what if he changed his mind and he decided he did want to move, just not with you?

Your mind raced as you sat in your office at your piano, trying to lose yourself in the music. You wanted to believe that you had nothing to worry about, that even though things would change, you would continue to be a priority in Yoongi’s life, that you wouldn’t be taking a huge step backwards in your relationship. Somehow, you managed to distract yourself enough that you barely noticed you were playing “Spring Day” until you were almost done with the song.

You continued to play through some of the other songs you had memorized. Most of them, you noticed, were BTS--a strange side-effect of who you spent your time with and your students, the most prominent of which was, of course, Jimin.

As you played the final chord of “Black Swan,” the sound of gentle clapping made you jump, causing you to hit your knee on the bottom of your piano.

“Fuck,” you hissed, rubbing where the corner of the wood caught your leg. Now that you weren’t so surprised, you could see Yoongi standing in the doorway of your shared office, a look of concern barely masking his earlier amusement.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you heard me come in,” he said softly. “I put some leftovers in the fridge, and Namjoon made us stop for hotteok on the way back, so that’s in there, too. Are you okay?” He crouched down beside you, his hand falling to your knee.

“Unsurprisingly, that is not the first time I’ve done that,” you said with a laugh. “I’m honestly kind of shocked there’s not some sort of dent in the wood.”

Yoongi offered you an amused smile. “Well I’m glad there’s no damage. To you or the piano.” He leaned in to kiss you as he stood, the action quick and easy--like he had done it a thousand times before--but contained no less love. “You’ve been holding out on me.” You could hear the mirth in his voice as he moved one of his paintings to pull the office chair closer to the piano.

You waved off his comment, shutting the lid on the keys of the piano. “I don’t take credit for the things Park Jimin forces me to memorize.”

“Maybe you should start.” He shrugged, and the two of you fell silent. After a moment, he wiped his hands on his thighs and looked at you, though dropped his gaze to his lap the second you made eye contact. “So, I was talking with Si-Hyuk-hyung, and he had some… news he wanted me to pass on.” You raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Was this what he was talking about before he left?

“News?” you question, trying to play it off like you hadn’t spent the past few hours in a downward spiral of anxiety. “About…?”

“He and I were talking about us.” Yoongi gestured to himself and then to you. “He asked me if we wanted to go public any time soon.”

Your eyes went wide. “I… what? Why?”

“He apparently talked to Jin, Namjoon, and Jungkook about it, too.” He shrugged. “Si-Hyuk-hyung didn’t say why, but we think it’s because of the Grammys.” When you continued to look confused, he elaborated. “I mean, that’s kind of the thing, right? If you win an award, you turn and hug the person you love and then you go to receive it?”

“Oh, so you’re expecting to win?” you teased, trying to pretend like your cheeks weren’t a little flushed.

“Well, I think…” he stammered. “I think we should be prepared. Just in case.”

“So what did you tell PD-nim?”

“I told him I would talk to you about it.” You hummed. “He said he’d leave it up to us, but he’d like at least three days’ notice so they can prepare a statement.”

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say. Of course you had thought about it, about what going public would do to your relationship. You had considered the potential hate from the fans you would receive, and the fact that your private life, no matter how hard you tried, would never be fully private after. You knew about the strain it could put on your relationship with Yoongi, about how the saesangs and the paparazzi drove a wedge between many idols--particularly male idols--and their significant others.

But at the same time, you wanted to be able to go out with Yoongi without having to constantly look over your shoulder, without having to worry about someone from Dispatch seeing, or a well-meaning fan posting on social media. You wanted to be able to go with Yoongi to events, to publicly support him at concerts.

You sighed and reached for his hand. “What do you think?”

“It’s what you want, jagi. My life won’t really change much,” he said, squeezing your hand.

“Yoongi, please.” You didn’t like how exasperated your voice sounded, but you could feel your anxiety starting to spike again. “I need to know what you’re thinking.”

“Honestly?” You nodded. “I don’t know. It actually kind of terrifies me.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve seen idols’ careers die when dating scandals come out. But at the same time, I want us to have a normal life.” You snorted. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s very sudden,” you said softly, gripping his hand with both of yours. “The Grammys are in a few weeks. We’d have to do something in the next few days.”

“I’ll tell him we’d like to wait, then.”

You hummed, tracing his hand with your index finger. “We’d be able to do it how we want?”

“That’s what Si-Hyuk-hyung said. I imagine there’s a limit, but I don’t think he’d lie about that.”

“How much of an advanced warning did he say he wanted?”

“Three days.”

Would it really be that bad? You weren’t a stranger to hate comments and wildly unfounded criticism, although not quite to the scale it might get to. Yoongi rarely looked at social media, unless he was posting a selca to Twitter. And what? You might have to private your Instagram? Delete your Twitter? Honestly, it might do you some good to get away from social media. You trusted Yoongi to not drop you the second things got tough, and there were six other members of BTS there to help lessen any damage his career might take. As long as the two of you could weather it together, you were confident that you could come out on the other side relatively unscathed.

“Fuck it.”

“What?” Yoongi’s eyes were wide.

“Fuck it. Let’s do it.” You squeezed his hand, a small smile starting to form.

Yoongi’s eyes locked on yours. He was smiling, but you could see him hesitate. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Ask PD-nim if we can do something right before they send out their release. I think it’ll go over better coming from you.”

“You’re already planning this?” It wasn’t a question. He laughed, a sweet, gummy smile spreading across his face. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do this. I’ll text Si-Hyuk-hyung and let him know.”

You watched him slide his phone out of his pocket and unlock it. “Hey Yoon?” He hummed, continuing to type for a moment before looking up at you. “We’re gonna be okay no matter what, right? Still us?”

Yoongi pulled you to him as he stood up, his arms immediately wrapping around your back to hold you close. “Don’t be silly. Of course we will be.” You felt him sigh as he tucked his chin onto your shoulder. “I can’t promise that things won’t change, but we’ll be okay.”

You hugged him, your arms around his shoulders, careful not to press too tightly on his bad one. This certainly hadn’t been where you were expecting the conversation to go when he walked out the door that morning, but you hoped he was right. Telling the fans was an important step to take--and an inevitable one, if you wanted your relationship to last. “You and me?” You pulled away slightly to look him in the eyes.

He smiled and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against yours. “‘Till the end.”

Read more of the series here

[anystalker707]

I’m always yours

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader Genre: Fluff Word count: 2 338 Requested by @thunderpurple (who apparently got their account deactivated, but I hope they read it anyways) Summary: Reader is a famous singer who dates Gerard and writes a song about their relationship.

"What are you smiling about?" The sudden question pulls me away from my thoughts. I hum questioningly at first – Gerard's curious face is the first thing I process, eyes flickering over me in an attempt of understanding what's in my mind. He sits on the couch across from mine, his elbow over the couch's arm while he supports his chin on his palm.

"Oh," I say when finally understanding the question, adjusting my position – with the motion, my pen almost falls from my lap, but I'm able to catch it. "Erm, nothing," I answer with a smirk, raising my eyebrows lightly, demonstrating I'm just not telling him about it. Certain frustration hits me as I look down at my notebook – it seems like half of the ideas I believed to have written down didn't even leave my mind.

Gerard doesn't seem like he's giving up soon, furrowing his eyebrows as pouting lightly. "Is it about me? You've been observing me way too much." He stands up from the couch to sit down beside me, but I close the notebook and set it between me and the armrest before he does so. "That's not fair," he complains, eyeing the notebook with furrowed eyebrows.

"Yes, it is," I chuckle and place a kiss on his cheek. "I love it when you're sulky, you get all cute. Not like you're not cute normally, but you get it," I smile, watching him try to put on an angry look, but he ends up blushing. I can't help but to chuckle again, pulling him for a kiss.

"Agh, ew, no fucking on the couch." A sudden voice says and we pull away to see Frank opening the fridge – and most likely having entered the bus without us having noticed.

I roll my eyes with a small lazy smirk, deciding to joke, "you don't even know what happens when you're not around."

"And I'll be happy if it continues this way." He takes a bottle of water in hand, shooting us a playfully reprehending look as making his way out of the bus again; Gerard and I laugh at him.

"Aren't you going to tell me what're you doing?" His head rests on my shoulder as Gerard looks at me from under his lashes. Grinning, I shake my head. He sighs, defeated, and adjusts his posture. "Okay then," Gerard shrugs nonchalantly before leaning in for another kiss.

He must think he's very smart, doesn't he? I can feel the exact moment his hand reaches for the notebook, but I immediately slap it away, shooting him a look once breaking the kiss. "The more you try to see it," I tell him, narrowing my eyes, "the less I'm convinced to show it to you. You'll find out soon enough." With last peck is pressed to his lips, I grabbing the notebook, planning to leave it back in my bus.

"You're no fun," Gerard presses a kiss to my cheek.

"I'm not supposed to be," I tease, standing up and reaching for his hand. "C'mon, I changed my mind, I was just gonna leave this in the bus and come back, but we're not continuing inside here. I want to stretch my legs and I'm tired of staring at a TV or at the wall, the bus makes me feel suffocated." I chuckle seeing him roll his eyes, though agreeing. Maybe some time together will help me having an inspiration.

We grab a coffee from the café of the gas station and take a seat on the concrete step in front of the convenience store, observing the cars passing by. It's quite peaceful – the sun already set itself, so the sky has this golden shade in the horizon, slowly fading into a grayish blue which contrasts perfectly with the clouds, which still have a pink tinge. A stronger breeze hits once in a while, making a few of Gerard's strands cover his face – he hooks them behind his ear just for another breeze to send them flying again. The frustrated grunt he releases makes me chuckle.

"Wait, don't move," I say as getting my phone off my pocket. Doing as said, he hums questioningly. "You look beautiful, all aesthetic," I saw as opening the camera app, taking a few pictures of him. He furrows his eyebrows a bit in a wordless complain, but doesn't do anything to stop me either. Once I lower my phone, he nods towards it as if asking to see the pics.

"Ah, no, wait a minute," I say, changing the camera to the frontal one and moving closer to him – leans in, his cheek brushing mine as I snap another couple of photos. "Imma post these of us later," I hand him the phone to see the pics like he asked earlier, leaning a bit closer to him to see it too.

"Not the others too?" He asks curiously, returning the phone.

"Nah," I shake my head, "these are for personal archive." His scoff makes me grin. "I don't share every pic I take of you, Gee," I let my cup on the ground to be able to hug Gerard, pecking the side of his face. "I can't expose too much what's mine, even more with so many people wanting too," I mutter against his skin, the corners of my lips curling up into a smile seeing him blush – knowing I can make him blush is just amazing.

He hums softly in a mockingly judging tone, turning his face so his lips meet mine. "You do a great job," Gerard mutters on my lips before locking them in a short, sweet kiss. "But don't worry, whether near or far, I'm always yours."

~

Besides blood, lot of thoughts flood my head as sit upside down on the couch, looking at the nothing. Gerard needed to do whatever, so, with him away, it's the best time to try to write this song. I just want it to be a surprise.

Ray approaches, eyeing me curiously before taking a seat too, about a foot away from me and my guitar – which's actually Frank's, one he lent me earlier. "Why are you sitting like this, kid? For how long have you been like this? You'll pass out." Certain concern is mixed with his confusion, though most of his attention is turned to the phone in his hand.

"'Waiting for inspiration to come." I say as sitting upright again. The room spins under my gaze for a second, but it quickly goes back to normal since it hadn't been long since I had decided to sit like that. "I'm writing a new song," I explain, taking the guitar back on my lap again. "It feels like all my ideas slip away just because I need one then, when I notice, I'm just staring at a white paper waiting for the ideas to show up, y'know?"

Ray chuckles a bit as glancing at me, his curls moving as he nods. "I understand completely. Good luck, tho," he shoots me a smile.

"Thanks," I smile back, playing on the guitar what I've written until now. Turns out I end up finally finding an idea and, getting too engaged on writing the song, I just notice how late it is when the Gerard and Mikey are walking back inside the bus.

"Don't you have your own bus?" Mikey asks playfully, nudging my foot with his before sitting down across from Ray and I.

"Ah, sometimes I forget I do," I set my guitar laying on my lap as throwing my arms over my head to stretch myself. "But I wasn't supposed to be here yet, I just got too carried away..." Seeing Gerard's hand furtively reaching for my notes again makes me interrupt myself, slapping his hand away. "You're so stubborn!" I furrow my eyebrows at him, shooting him a look as standing up.

The guitar is left in a corner, against the wall, and I sigh dramatically, my notebook safely hugged close to myself, "how Mikey's being so rude, I'm already leaving. 'Hope y'all have fun without my illustrious presence, then." My words make Mikey and Ray hum or scoff sarcastically – I throw my nose in the air while walking away, stopping in the last moment to look back and laugh with them.

"Let me go with you," Gerard says as following me, taking my hand in his. He blushes lightly at the peck I give him before we continue walking.

By the time the tour is over, the song is completely perfected – with a little fixing here and there in the lyrics, melody and adding a few other instruments. I smile as listening to the final result, all happy about it. Today completes exact five years since I met Gerard – I remember clearly internally freaking out when meeting him and the calls until four in the morning we started having not long later – so it's obviously the best day to release the song.

I'm anxious about posting it, mostly about Gerard's reaction; I never told him what was the song about and when I was releasing it. Breathing in deeply and exhaling to make myself calmer, I decide to finally post the announcement of the single. First on Twitter, then on Instagram, both with the same caption – I've been working on this song for a long time; it was difficult summing up in five minutes everything (or almost everything) between me and the love of my life, but here it is.

I bite back a grin as placing the phone inside the pocket of my hoodie – that's actually Gerard's, but I'll just return it when it doesn't smell like him anymore and grab another, maybe one of his green jackets – and look for Gerard around the house.

Gerard's in the kitchen when I find him, preparing himself a mug of coffee. Not saying anything, I simply observe, quietly moving to the counter, leaning forward with my hands on the cold surface. He takes a quick glance at first before looking at me properly, humming quietly in acknowledge to my presence. Grabbing his mug, he gives me a peck on the lips in his way out of the kitchen.

He's most likely returning to his office, since there's where he was when I last checked, not long ago. I wait for a moment before following him, but I find him in the living room and wait until he goes up the stairs. Again, after a moment, I'm already after him, however, I almost jump three feet in the air when turning around the corner and seeing Gerard there – he eyes me unamused, sipping on his coffee.

"Why are you following me?" He asks, narrowing his eyes.

I blush, playing with the hem of the hoodie's sleeve. "Ah, um," I think for a moment. "It's a big house," I shrug, remembering the excuse he gives when following me around my house or his own – he always walks in the room about a minute later and blushes, getting all fidgety, when finding me staring at the doorway, waiting for him with a knowing look. "I feel alone...?" It ends up sounding more like a question and I try to crack a convincing grin in the end.

He chuckles softly as stepping closer, pressing a peck to my lips, leaving behind the bitter taste of coffee. "You can stay in the office too, y'know," he raises an eyebrow at me, nodding towards the said room. "I also enjoy your company."

I'm about to agree when it suddenly comes to my mind – maybe he'll check his phone when getting back there and I don't want to be around, watching his reaction to the song. "Ah," I look away, stepping back again, "no, actually, I'm fine," I force a grin, ignoring his questioning gaze. "I'll go watch something on the TV."

Before Gerard can question me, I'm already turning around and going down the stairs, throwing myself on the couch once in the living room. The TV ends up turning into just another detail in the background, losing my attention to my phone as I read the comments on the new song.

There are these hate comments as always – most of them are attacking me about for just wanting to use Gerard and MCR, which simply doesn't make sense since I was already famous before meeting them and our relationship didn't come out to the public until about a year ago.

People started suspecting about it and the media was also annoying a lot, trying to figure out the truth. So, in an interview to MCR and I before a concert I was opening for them, when the interviewer asked us about it, I just kissed Gerard in front of the camera and walked away. I remember how Gerard just shrugged at the guy and followed me while Frank watched with a grin – he had already figured out about us by himself – and Mikey and Ray stood there containing amused smiles.

The comments do make me feel bad sometimes, but I believe people would like it to be in my place, so I try to not bother too much. There are the people who actually like me, above all, and who support us together. Not like we need their approval, but that's it.

Arms being wrapped around me suddenly pull me away from my thoughts – I blush as coming back to reality and remembering everything, shrinking a bit while Gerard covers my face with kisses. "Gerard!" I say through a chuckle, in a reprehending tone, interrupted when a last kiss is pressed to my lips.

"You're the best," he says, kissing me deeply before giving me a chance to answer. "I love you so much, you make me feel so special, you're literally the best thing that ever happened to me." Once again, he kisses me.

As much as the kiss is good, I pull away a few seconds later to answer. I grin sheepishly, "you too, Gee, I love you too."

[anxious-logic]

Getting to Know You

@tsshipmonth2020 (I hope it’s okay that I tag you even though September is over!!)

Day 23 - At a certain age you switch bodies with your soulmate for 24 hours.

Ship: Romantic Analogicality (platonic Prinxiety hijacked it)

Warnings: Don’t think there are any.

Word count: 1919 (better than 2020 amirite)

Summary: When Virgil woke up on the day of his eighteenth birthday, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but it definitely wasn’t to find another person in bed with him. 

(He’s very glad to realize that it’s just a dog.)

When Virgil woke up on the day of his eighteenth birthday, he (they? No, he right now) wasn’t sure what to expect.

He’d written out a detailed schedule of what his day was like – no meetups with friends, a very small birthday celebration with immediate family (that his possible soulmate could opt out of, if they wanted). If he didn’t switch with a soulmate, he’d probably text some of his friends and spend some time with them, but he didn’t want to overwhelm his soulmate by having too many social events in a body and possibly town that they weren’t familiar with.

So when he woke up on his birthday, the first thing he registered was that he wasn’t alone in bed.

He stiffened – who was in bed with him? Why? Did he switch with his soulmate? Would Virgil have to have a very uncomfortable conversation with the person next to him?

Suddenly, he felt something cold and wet bump his face. He opened his eyes to come very close to a dog’s nose. He relaxed as the weight in his bed shifted as the large brown dog excitedly licked his face, putting its front paws on top of his chest.

“Hi,” he said, an unfamiliar smile spreading across his face. “What’s your name, huh? How are you?” He was a little startled by the voice coming out of his mouth, forgetting that he wasn’t in his normal body.

He was startled by an alarm going off on his phone. It was some peppy music – something pop, maybe? Virgil wasn’t really sure. He picked up the phone to turn off the alarm, interested in learning more about his soulmate. He felt vaguely guilty about going through another person’s things without their permission, but it was a commonly known thing that once you turned eighteen you had to be ready to switch at any time; you had to accept that someone else would see into your life and essentially be you for a day. It was probably okay that he was looking at his soulmate’s lock screen.

His soulmate’s lock screen was a picture of kittens and puppies piled on top of each other, sleeping. Virgil couldn’t help the tiny smile that spread across his face when he saw the picture. It was cute – a little bit cliché, maybe, but cute.

He was startled out of his thoughts by someone knocking on the door. “Pat?” a voice asked as Virgil sat up ramrod straight, startled. “You okay? Normally you’ve fed Rosie by now.”

Virgil opened his mouth to respond and paused. He wasn’t sure exactly how much this person knew about Patton, or how close they were; maybe they were a total stranger or something.

Then Virgil thought about what the other person had said. If Pat and this other person were complete strangers, the other person probably wouldn’t be commenting on Pat’s daily routine.

“Uh- this isn’t Pat,” Virgil called, hoping the sound would be heard through the door.

“What?”

There was a pause, then a high-pitched squeal.

“Oh my god, you’re his soulmate!!”

Virgil got up and self-consciously opened the door, the phone in his hand. “Yeah. Um- do you know the passcode to his phone? I want to text myself and get to know him.”

The other person was wearing a white t-shirt and red pajama shorts. They were beaming, rocking back and forth on their toes. “Give it here,” they demanded, grabbing the phone out of Virgil’s hand. They quickly tapped the screen, unlocking the phone and opening the messaging app. “Here you go,” they said, handing the phone back. Virgil took it, absently putting a hand on the door to close it. “My name’s Roman,” they said, interrupting Virgil in the middle of thinking about what his first text to his soulmate would be. “He/him pronouns. I’m Patton’s brother, and roommate.”

“Virgil, he right now, I guess his soulmate,” Virgil murmured back distractedly, chewing the inside of his cheek.

“I see that your attention is divided at the moment. I can take care of Rosie for now, and we can talk more later.”

“Yeah,” Virgil said, looking up as he closed the door slightly. “Thanks.” It wasn’t that he didn’t like Roman; he was just very energetic and too happy for how early in the morning it was.

Virgil toyed with the phone case as he debated what to send. It was a light blue rubbery material, with little ears and paws to make it look like an owl. It matched the rest of Patton’s room – in varying shades of blue, with lots of light, fluffy pillows on the floor around the bed. There were lots of pictures around the room, and a few happy quotes taped to the walls.

He looked down to the app, tapping his phone number into the “New Message” box.

Hi Patton, this is Virgil, your soulmate.

He sent it off, then put the phone down, being careful that the screen didn’t turn off. Was that okay? What if it came off too strong? What if his soulmate hated him and didn’t want a soulmate at all and was angry that he had to be in another person’s body for a day and now Virgil was saying that he needed a soulmate and-

His panicked thoughts were cut off by the phone buzzing as a new message came in.

This is interesting, as I am not Patton and this is not my phone number. I am, however, messaging with another person named Patton, who is currently in my body.

Virgil’s breath caught as he read the message. If he was in Patton’s body… and Patton was in another person’s body… and this other person was in his body…

It must be a three-way soulbond. That was the only explanation.

Okay.

We must be in a three-way bond. Can you put us all in a group chat so we can all get to know each other maybe? No pressure or anything but I think it might be nice?

Hopefully that wasn’t too overbearing or demanding. He absentmindedly bit his thumb, noting on some level that Patton was wearing nail polish. He tried his hardest not to mess up the lilac color while still getting out some of his nervousness.

Of course. One moment.

Virgil took a deep breath, relaxing back into the wall as he pulled his legs up onto the bed with him. He waited for the group text to come through.

Patton, this is a group chat with Virgil, who is currently in your body.

The phone next to him dinged as the person in Virgil’s body sent a message to the chat.

Hi Virgil!! This is Patton, I use he/him pronouns!!

Virgil smiled slightly. I use he or they. He right now but that might change.

There was a brief pause, then another message came through.

My name is Logan. I am currently exploring different pronouns, but he/him is sufficient for the moment.

Virgil bit his lip, fingers quickly tapping at the keyboard. Let me know if you ever want to talk or want help with that, I’ve been there and it’s not too fun.

Thank you. I appreciate the offer.

Virgil smiled slightly as he read the next text – from Patton, this time. I’ve never been through that but I’m so proud of both of you for being yourselves and opening up!! <3

There was a short pause, then the phone vibrated again. I hope that’s okay that I sent a heart, I send them platonically to my friends all the time, but I know it’s a little different since we’re soulmates, so I can totally stop if you want!!

You’re fine, Virgil sent. It almost overlapped with Logan sending a message of affirmation as well.

<3 <3 Yay!!! <3 <3 <3 Patton sent. It made Virgil smile – Patton seemed so happy, so upbeat, a contrast to Virgil, whose emo aesthetic didn’t mesh too well with happiness, and Logan, who he didn’t know much about yet but seemed relatively no-nonsense and formal.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Roman knocking on the door. “Virgil? How are you doing?”

Virgil looked up to meet Roman’s eyes and noted the wickedly sharp eyeliner on his face. “Good. Turns out it’s a three-way bond, so another person’s in my body and Patton’s in theirs.”

Roman nodded slowly. “That sounds fun to navigate.” He hesitated. “I… actually haven’t had a soulmate switch yet. I’m almost twenty-five, so… I’m not sure if I will have a switch? Ever?”

Virgil shifted slightly awkwardly. “I’m… sorry? To hear that?” He offered. He wasn’t sure what the proper response should be in this situation – someone who was basically a stranger was telling him something intensely personal.

Roman gave him a small smile. “I’m just saying, I might not understand it, but I know Patton’s been looking forward to this since he turned eighteen. It’s been a bit since then, but he… I don’t know. He’s excited.”

Virgil ducked his head. “I… thanks. I guess. Yeah.”

Roman clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Tell you what. How about you get dressed, then we can go out and spend the day getting you caught up on Patton.”

Virgil nodded slowly. “I- I do want to keep texting them though?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t make you stop doing that.”

“Okay.”

There was a brief silence, then Virgil spoke up.

“Do you know where he keeps his things? I don’t want to see any stuff he wouldn’t want me to see- I guess?”

Roman made a silent “oh” face. “Of course,” he said. He entered the room, pulling open some of the drawers from the dresser. “Underwear in here, pants here, shirts here, socks next to the underwear, sweaters up here, and any accessories down here. If you feel like makeup or doing anything with your hair, let me know and I’ll show you where that is.” He paused for a moment. “If I may ask… what is your usual aesthetic in your own body?”

Virgil gave him a little smirk. “Emo,” he said.

Roman’s eyes went wide with amusement. “Oh, that is hilarious,” he said, laughing a little bit. “Patton is the softest, fluffiest person you will ever meet, I cannot believe he’s bonded to an emo of all things.”

Virgil couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I kinda guessed by the room.”

“Anyway,” Roman continued, “What I was saying is that you are welcome to… get as close as you can to your… typical aesthetic, I suppose. It may be difficult, I’m not sure if Patton even owns any colors darker than red, but… it’s worth a try.”

Virgil stopped his hand from reaching out to squeeze Roman’s shoulder. “Thanks,” he said quietly.

“I’ll leave you alone now,” Roman said.

“Thank you,” Virgil repeated, giving into his instinct to touch Patton’s brother as he grabbed his hand to pull him back. “For everything. I… really appreciate it.”

Roman grinned, squeezing his hand before releasing it. “Of course. It’s what Patton would want. And, of course, my naturally chivalrous nature also dictated that I should-“

“Oh hush,” Virgil laughed, pushing him out of the room. As he gently closed the door to Patton’s bedroom, he couldn’t help but keep smiling, a relatively new experience for him.

Roman seemed incredibly nice and supportive, especially for someone who appeared to be struggling with his soulmate status.

And his actual soulmates?

Well, they were already his whole world.

[calmlftv]

telephone - m.c. (part 1)

w/n: this was supposed to be a cute and soft blurb that turned into 10 pages on google docs, so it’s officially the longest thing i’ve written about 5sos! this part is a bit boring and slow so i apologize. part 2 coming soon! 

word count (part 1): 1.7k

warnings: n/a! 

Ever since the quarantine started, you were bored. Absolutely, totally, and completely bored. Because you took it all so seriously you stayed home as much as possible, and while your home was quite literally squeaky clean, you just couldn’t take the silence anymore; your friends were all still working from home, so while you had all the time in the world to talk, you tried not to bother them too much.

One day, just after dinner, your boredom had once again brought you to your Twitter feed. While it was probably the 4th time you had read through the same tweets, you finally found a new one; something your friend had liked during the day, probably while they were on a break from work. You paused when you read it, really thinking before you opened up iMessage. The tweet contained a phone number, and while you had no idea who this person was, you thought “why not?” and sent that first text.

Hello??, you sent, your boredom truly bringing you to this uncharted territory. Saw this phone number on Twitter, and lockdown is boring. Pls don’t be a serial killer. 

You set your phone down but left the conversation open, biting your lower lip as you stared at the screen. After what felt like forever but was only a few seconds you locked the screen, deciding you were just being weird and getting up to grab a snack for yourself. From the kitchen you heard the ping, your head snapping in that direction as you paused your actions. After a second you put everything down, your curiosity getting the better of you as you wandered back to your room and picked up the phone. 

An emoji appeared on the screen, one of the crying laughing ones, before a new blue bubble appeared below it. Am not a serial killer, the bubble read, causing you to sigh a bit in relief. Just a man who is also bored of lockdown. 

Locking the phone you set it down again, standing and pacing your bedroom as you thought. Could you really take this person's word for it? Could you really trust they weren’t tracking your cell phone right at that moment, just waiting for the right moment to grab you and carve you up for dinner? 

On the other side, however, was the loneliness of lockdown. Could you really go another day without talking to someone? Your friends do what they can, but loneliness has really crept up on you in this quarantine. Letting yourself trust this person was telling the truth wasn’t going to be the worst thing in the world, right?

Without much more thought you picked up your phone again, opening the conversation again and typing out your response. 

I’ve decided to trust you, Mister Stranger. You paused, sending that message before starting a new one. What’s your name, again? Unless you prefer being the handsome Mister Stranger.

You practically threw your phone on to your bed as you waited for the response, now forgetting about the snack you had prepared that was still sitting on the counter. Surprisingly your phone dinged rather quickly, the object being in your hand before you could even think about it. 

Well, you don’t know who I am, so how do you know I’m handsome? 

You bit your lip. Mister Stranger had a point. 

Good point, Mister. Maybe a name and a face, then? 

Another answer within a few seconds: You first.

You took a second to find a really cute photo of yourself and sent it, your name following in a separate speech bubble after it. The response was a smiling photo of the cutest blonde man you’ve ever seen; he had a chocolate Easter bunny in one hand, his blue eyes sparkling while he held it up for the selfie. He looked cute and sleepy all at once, like he had been just about to lie down in a nap. 

A second speech bubble appeared soon after, containing a name and a question. 

Name’s Michael. Michael Clifford. You really don’t have any idea who I am? 

The question was odd, your curiosity peaking again as you responded. 

No idea. Should I know? Are you really a serial killer after all? 

Definitely still not a serial killer, Michael’s response read. Hopefully you were making him laugh. Just a bit strange that you’re texting someone and you have no idea who they are. 

Oh I’ve done much worse with strangers. Almost immediately you blushed, regretting the response right after you had already sent it. 

Oh, she’s saucy. A winky face was added after that. That’s alright, we don’t need to dive into that at all. What have you been up to in this lockdown?

It didn’t take long for you to grow comfortable with this stranger -- Michael -- as you talked, both of you obviously invested in the conversations you were having. If you were honest, you really enjoyed the attention; you know people you care about have lives outside of you, but finally getting the attention you’ve been craving for so long was almost euphoric. So when Michael pointed out what time it was you cursed under your breath. 

Not like it matters anymore, you joked, adding a winking emoji to the text. But I should go to bed. Chat in the morning?

Michael quickly responded with the affirmative, causing you to smile as you said your goodnights. Once you were finished talking you laid in bed for a bit, looking up at the ceiling while your thoughts swirled around in your brain. Eventually you finally caved in to your curiosity, pulling out your laptop and typing Michael’s name into the Google search bar. 

The results were...nothing like you had expected. 

Photos ranged from obvious teenage years to the present day, his face splashed across your screen as you dove in a bit deeper. You got to laugh a bit at his multi-colored hair styles as you scrolled through, reading tabloid titles and gossip pages and even pausing over social media accounts dedicated just to him. It seemed like his band was much more popular than you thought; not that it would have affected the way you spoke to him, of course, it was just surprising that you had never heard of such a popular band. 

Your snooping eventually leads to uncovering his Instagram page, causing you to scroll through different posts and give him a quick follow. With his follower count so high you were sure he wouldn’t notice, so you brazenly snooped and looked at the photos of him. His dogs were adorable, and the photos he had with his girlfriend (?) were precious. Mentally you made a note to ask him about those things in the morning before you turned off your computer. 

Settling in once again you went through the conversation in your head. Usually small things about how you texted would bother you and sometimes other people, but this time nothing seemed to have been standing out; you would double, triple, or quadruple text Michael and he would do the very same with you. Having someone meet that energy was...different, but very much welcomed. 

With these thoughts swirling around your head, you drifted off to sleep, dreaming of puppies and a world without a possibly deadly virus. 

**

Sunlight filtered through your window, the wispy curtains you had hung not doing very much to keep the light from waking you. Slowly you were pulled from your sleep, a small groan escaping you as you reached for your phone. The time read 8:16 a.m., another groan emitting from you as you flung your blankets off of your body. Groggily you dragged yourself into your bathroom, running a hand down your face as you yawned and put your phone on the counter. You reached up and ran a hand through your hair as you checked your notifications, catching up on social media as your phone rested against the sink counter. 

A memory surfaced when you saw your missed texts, your fingers immediately tapping the conversation from last night. You forgot you had updated his contact to be his name, followed by the obvious dog emoji and you couldn’t help but smile. You really thought you were so clever, in the best way possible. 

After giving it much thought -- really, about 2 seconds -- you sent Michael another text. 

Good morning! Hope you have a great day today, x. 

For good measure you added a smile emoji and left it at that, not expecting any sort of answer until much later anyway. You dismissed the app and pulled open your favorite music one instead, playing your favorite playlist as you got into the shower and went about your day. 

Things got quiet again after that. Doing your spring cleaning occupied your thoughts, but on occasion they drifted back to your conversation with Michael; after your good morning text didn’t get a response you had simply given him space, sure he was just a busy guy with other things to do and worry about. Being in a band was tiring, and lockdowns probably didn’t stop everything he had to handle. 

During all your down time you had decided to listen to Michael’s band, going through the entire discography two or three times within the almost two weeks you didn’t hear from him. They really were incredibly talented, you decided, and a handful of them found their way on their daily rotation as you danced around your home. 

One day you were watching the television, just surfing through the different channels while you lounged on the couch. You were about to shove a fitsful of popcorn into your mouth when you came across the broadcast, the California state governor issuing another address about the state of emergency he had issued months ago. You sat up straight and turned the television up as the governor spoke, a smile on his face as he proudly announced the end of the lockdown. 

You immediately jumped up and cheered, knocking the full bowl of popcorn to the ground as you grabbed your phone. Immediately you were texting your group chat with all your friends, planning a killer kickback for the following weekend to celebrate your newfound freedom. Without any hesitation you tapped open the text thread with Michael, your single text from however many days before still sitting there unanswered. You don’t know why but you sent him one more, asking him if he wanted to come to the kickback before you finally noticed the mess on the floor. 

Still giddy you started to clean, this time not resenting the fact that you had to. 

[butterflydreaming-writes-fic]

*sweats* I'm excited to offer a gift fic for @imthatpeculiarone in this round of the Profound Bond Gift Exchange: Reunion. 

Title: This Wheel's on Fire 

Word Count: 3,419 

Fluff, Rated Gen

An old Lincoln Continental with faded paint nearly hits Baby in the supermarket parking lot. Dean slams the brakes. His untasted coffee takes a dive, and Dean is quickly slapping take-out napkins from the glove box stash even as he slides into an open parking spot. He takes a minute of the limited time he has for this errand to get himself calmed down.

His temper flares up again when he sees that he’s parked next to the gold Continental. He doesn’t have time to move the Impala to another spot, so he slides over the bench seat. The Fiat on that side is crookedly parked but still leaves enough space for Dean to open the door more than four inches.

Phone in hand,  he scrolls through Jody’s text messages for the list. While he was driving to the store, she’s added more. He grabs a shopping cart on the way in, notes where the freezer with the ice is, and speeds up an aisle toward the bakery section, where he almost collides with a guy striding through the T-intersection.

“Shit! By bad,” Dean says, stopping short of running the startled man down.

The man squints. His blue eyes burn brighter. “That would be the second time today,” he accuses.

“What?” Dean asks.

The man rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this,” he gripes as he beelines for another section of the store.

Dean doesn’t have time either. The cake is ready when he gets to the bakery counter, but they’ve written “Congratulations Kelsy” instead of “Kelly.” To fix it, Dean would have to wait for the only person on staff with the rare skill of being able to write with decorator gel to get back from a break of unknown duration. He takes the cake as-is and a tube of Cake Mate. He rattles through the aisles for the rest of the supplies, eyes the coffee cart, but opts to get in the shortest of the long checkout lines instead.

The cranky guy gets in line behind him.

Their eyes meet and lock. For a second it looks like the guy might yield and move to another line, but as Dean is starting to unload his items onto the belt, the guys interrupts.

“Can I go ahead of you? I only have three things.”

“Sorry, buddy,” Dean says. “I’m on a clock.”

“I’m not your buddy,” Blue Eyes snipes. He eyes Dean’s purchases, expression a mix of irritation and confusion.

“Man, what is your issue with me?” Dean protests. “Look, I haven’t had my coffee yet, so maybe I’m missing something. But I’ve gotta finish shopping and be gone in sixty seconds, OK? There’s a pregnant lady waiting for her cake and baby shower games. I’ll be out of your life in five minutes.”

The man’s face suddenly brightens. “You’re going to a baby shower.” The brilliance of his smile is like white sparks. Dean feels his body respond to the warmth of that smile even though the sudden transformation from pissy to friendly throws him.

The checker has started scanning Dean’s purchases. He gives her the sticker with the barcode for the cake. “And six bags of ice,” he tells her.

Blue Eyes asks, “Is the party for your partner?”

That startles a laugh out of Dean. “No,” he answers, a drawn out negation. “My friend is hosting. The mom-to-be is from her church.” He adds, “I’m not seeing anyone currently.” He gives the guys his own friendly smile.

Dean’s lure lands, because the man extends a hand. “I’m Cas. By the way.”

“Dean.” They shake hands. Cas has a strong grip. In the fleeting skin to skin contact notes the slight callous and Cas’s long fingers. He has good hands.

“It's a happy occasion.” Cas sets down his purchases: a guinea pig plushie, pack of gold gift wrapping tissue, and a glossy white bag decorated with rainbows and unicorns. A tween must be having a birthday. 

Dean reaches for his wallet to pay. It’s not in his pocket. “Crap.” This grocery store isn’t set up to take pay apps.

Cas catches on. “Dean, I’ve got this,” he says. “It’s just,” he gestures at the bags, “diapers and candy bars.” 

“It’s a lot,” Dean objects. “I’ll Venmo you the money right now.”

“I don’t know Venmo,” Cas says. He tells the cashier, “I’ll pay for mine with his.” To Dean he says, “Let’s exchange phone numbers and we can settle up later when we’re not holding up a checkout line.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks.

“I believe in trusting people.” Cas nearly bumps Dean’s hip putting his card into the payment terminal. When the path is clear, Dean pushes the shopping cart past the checkstand, but for a long moment Cas and Dean are crowded into each other’s personal space. 

“You said you haven’t had coffee yet. Can I buy you a cup?” Cas points to the coffee cart. “I know you’re short on time, but we can get each other’s contact info while they make our drinks.”

They both order drip coffee, black. The barista doesn’t have any brewed, and offers a choice between Americanos or a five minute wait.

“We can blame our delay on traffic,” Cas suggests.

They opt for the wait.

“OK, give me your number,” Dean says after they take a table in the tiny dining area. “If you want I can bring you cash after I drop off the party stuff.”

The cart is too big, so Dean takes out the bags and sets them on the table, leaving the cart parked out of the way. He’ll need it when he gets the ice on the way out. They start out chatting about movies and end up in an oddly intense discussion about social justice and the existence of a benevolent God in the minutes until the barista calls out that their coffees are ready.

Dean takes the lid off and slugs the coffee. He can’t help the sound that comes out of him, even though it is borderline inappropriate for a grocery store. “That’s scalding,” he says, eyes watering, “but so good.” Cas is smiling at him. “My friend woke me up with the shopping emergency,” Dean explains. He gestures to his coffee-splattered clothes. “And then some dick in a crappy Continental makes a illegal left on the way in here — “

“Excuse me ,” Cas interrupts with flashpoint ire. “That turn was both legal and clear , and if your boat hadn’t been taking up two lanes we would not have had that near miss!”

Dean takes a long swallow of hot coffee before he gets in a fight over Baby’s honor. He takes a mental half-step back as he realizes that Cas was the driver earlier. Dean has a bad temper, he knows it, and he’s learned to be better about it than he was in his twenties. Cas had saved his bacon with the money thing, and he had done it in spite of thinking Dean was in the wrong.

“Look. Thanks for the help,” he says. He’s sincere but somehow it comes out sounding aggressive. “I mean it. Thanks.” Without saying anything more, he grabs his bags and stalks out. He makes it all the way to Baby before he realizes. He gets the shopping bags in the trunk and goes back for the forgotten ice.

Cas is walking directly toward him. For a solid three strides across the asphalt it is a game of chicken. They stare daggers at each other, oblivious to any traffic around. Nearly simultaneously, they both realize that Cas is walking to his car, which is parked right next to the Impala, and Dean is walking back into the grocery store. They pass each other; the absence of acknowledgement is an acknowledgement in itself.

Dean makes it back into the store, loads up a shopping cart with the ice Cas paid for, and pushes the rattling cart out the door and across the lot to his car. The Continental is still in its spot. Cas hasn’t left yet; he is sitting in the driver seat. Dean can’t get into his driver’s seat until Cas leaves, so he loads the ice into the trunk slowly. He finishes his coffee.

When Cas still hasn’t left, Dean walks around the Lincoln’s large ass end and raps a knuckle on the back window to get Cas’s attention. He waits for Cas to roll down the window a few inches, before pitching his voice to him. “I can’t get in my car until you pull out,” he tells him.

“Your shopping cart is in the way. I’ve been waiting until it’s safe,” Cas informs him.

Dean just shakes his head and walks away, dragging his cart to the corral at the end of the parking row. He lobs his empty paper cup into the same trash can he dropped the mess from his spilled coffee into. He watches Cas back out of the space, smooth and easy, the engine of the Continental bumbling like a contented bee as he drives away. Dean jogs back to the Impala and slides into the driver seat before a car can take the newly empty spot, not that anything would fill the space like that late ‘70s Lincoln Continental Mark V. 

He gets a weird feeling looking at the empty space. It feels like a missed opportunity. He wishes he’d kept his mouth shut about the left turn. How many times had someone cut him off in traffic or made a bad lane change, and how many of those times mattered after? None. He and Cas had been having a good conversation, connecting.

Dean tunes the radio to the classic rock station, relaxes with the comfortable and familiar, and heads out. Kelly’s address is less than five minutes away, but too many of the residential streets dead end, and by the time he finds the right path through, it’s been a quarter hour. there is space for him in the driveway, though, and he pulls in so that he can unload the ice bags. He tosses one on his shoulder and knocks on the unfamiliar door.

* * *

“I should have handled that better,” Cas says to the stuffed animal, his last minute gift for Kelly’s baby-on-the-way. Her house is close by and he knows the way, so he finds himself thinking about Dean, feelings a mix of irritation and deep attraction. Dean, who he will probably never see again.

Because he knows that quite a few guests will be attending her party, he parks the Lincoln around the block to leave space along the street in front of her home. Kelly Kline-Rooney and her husband Jefferson have a newly remodeled, two-story Craftsman home with a large yard and back garden. Cas drew the plans for the remodel, and over some difficulty with the contractor, he and Kelly became friends.

He’s arrived early to help with set up, but Jody, the organizer — who he meets for the first time — shoos him out of the kitchen, so he gets to spend the time with Kelly. “How are you,” he asks her, “and how’s the baby?”

“I’m good,” she says, “we’re both good.” She heaves a little sigh and fidgets in her armchair. “Actually, I’m a little wound up. I haven’t finished painting the mural in the nursery, and all of a sudden I feel like there won’t be enough time to get anything finished before my baby gets here.” She smooths a hand over her belly. Her expression changes and she gasps, “Oh! Give me your hand.” She takes him by the wrist and pulls his hand toward her baby bump.

He feels her baby kick, all that life, gearing up to meet the world. Cas has to admit, because Kelly has enthusiastically roped him into the experience of her pregnancy, he has become more interested in the idea of having children. It has broadened his outlook.

“Kelly,” he finds himself saying, “I met someone today.”

Her eyes sparkle with interest. “It’s not even ten o’clock yet!” she laughs.

“I met him at the grocery store,” Cas says, shrugging. He smiles, thinking about Dean. His smile breaks as he recalls how it played out. “Unfortunately,” he confesses, “we didn’t part on good terms.”

“Cas,” Kelly mourns. “What happened? Tell me all about it?”

“This beautiful man,” he starts, thinking of Dean, his deep voice and the way he spoke with conviction and certainty. The way he made direct eye contact. The sexy freckles and the shape of his lips.

“Yes?” Kelly prompts when Cas gets lost in thought.

He laughs. “He is… very attractive,” Cas emphasizes. “You know I’m not overly focused on appearances, but Dean.” He shakes his head and looks heavenward. His eyes fall to his hands. He picks at his fingernails. “We almost got into a car accident, and that’s what we ended up fighting about. But before that, we got coffee together and talked, and we exchanged numbers.”

“Well that’s good!” Kelly encourages. “Something sparked between you. You can call him and smooth things out.”

“I wasn’t in the wrong,” Cas grumps.

“No, sweetie. I’m not saying you have to apologize or anything. But you can talk. You only just met. Sometimes first meetings don’t go all that well because of sparks.” She gives him a robust pat on the knee. “I’m rooting for you.” Inching forward in her chair to get up, she sighs, “I miss drinks with booze in them. How about we get some fancy lemonade and pretend it’s rosé?”

“I’ll get it,” Cas says so that Kelly doesn’t have to rise. He enters the kitchen with a hello for Jodi and gets introduced to Patience a moment before she leaves to answer the front door. Cas can hear her greeting the newcomer, and he stops mid-pour when he hears the deep timbre that answers. He finishes pouring Kelly’s sparkling pink lemonade before he musters the question for Jodi, “Is that Dean?”

“You know each other?” Jodi responds with cheerful curiosity.

Patience comes back in, holding up a grocery bag. “Dean came through. I’m going to help him bring in the bags of ice — “

“I can help with that,” Cas interrupts.

“Would you? Thanks!”

The look on Dean’s face when he sees Cas is… not what Cas expected. Dean’s eyes light up, and there is a genuine wonder in his surprise.

  * * *

Missouri’s granddaughter, Patience Turner, waves for Dean to come inside. “Hi Dean! Jody’s in the kitchen.”

“Hiya, Patience. Where can I put the ice? I’ve got five more bags like this.”

“There’s a big cooler out on the barbecue patio,” she says. “Through the living room. I’ll get you some help unloading the car.”

The living room already has a dozen people in it. Dean exchanges salutations with the people he knows and exudes charm at the rest. He shakes out the bag of ice into the cooler, which looks big enough, and scopes out the landing spot for the cake. There is a long table already stocked with plates and plastic cutlery; it has some gifts on it that will need to be moved to join the pile of gifts on the coffee table. Dean registers that one is a white gift bag with unicorns and rainbows on it, stuffed with gold tissue.

Patience is in the entry with Cas.

For a solid beat, Dean doesn’t know what to think, because something in his chest turns over like a big engine revving up. Once the wheels of his mind get going, he still continues standing there like an idiot. “Hey, Cas,” he says.

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas turns and goes out the door. When they reach the Impala, they are alone together, and it is awkward. It is definitely awkward. Cas stands by the trunk, expectantly.

“Here, let me get that,” Dean says. As he unlocks and lifts the heavy lid of the trunk, they are standing too close again. Dean should mind that Cas’s keeps getting into his personal space, but he doesn’t. He wants to get closer. This level of attraction makes him stupid, and he feels the urge to make an offhand comment to sabotage himself.

But then Cas says, “I’m sorry we parted on a bad note.”

“Yeah, um,” Dean answers, “me too.” He knows it’s not enough, not when he’s gotten a second chance. “I mean, I’m sorry, too.” It’s hard to believe it can be that simple, but Cas’s face lights up with hope, so maybe it is. 

“Between the two of us, I’m sure we can get all of this in one trip,” Cas says, and now they have to get moving. Apparently, he is also a pro at self-sabotage. It’s weirdly comforting.

They don’t get much of a chance to talk alone after that. Dean fixes the writing on Kelly’s cake and catches up with Jody, while Cas makes party talk with the people he knows. They chat, but not alone, not until Dean is volunteered to fire up the barbecue and Cas escapes outside with him.

It’s a gas barbecue, and clean. There isn’t much to do while it heats up. “How do you like your burger?” Dean asks, because food is an easy topic.

Cas shrugs. “Well done?”

Dean shakes his head. “A good cut of grass-fed beef, medium rare — that’s a burger to sink your teeth into. Juicy, fresh.”

“I don’t eat much red meat anymore,” Cas says. “I sneak a trip to White Castle once in a rare while.”

“White Castle? You’ve gotta let me make you a real burger, Cas.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Trust the Meat Man,” Dean says, pointing both thumbs back at himself.

Cas squints at him. “You’re very confident in your opinions,” he says.

Dean’s not sure how to take that. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“There’s more than one side to things,” Cas answers.

“A right side and a wrong side?” Dean teases.

“Dean.” Cas gives him an eye roll and a look, a real cut the crap look that delights Dean. He knows he likes arguing with someone who can hold his ground.

“You’re easy to get riled up, y’know that?”

“Am I.” Cas’s tone is flirty.

“Or maybe it’s just easy for me to get your wheels burning,” Dean flirts back.

“How, by disparaging my car?” Cas asks.

Dean blinks. “Your car?”

“You called it ‘crappy’.” He does the air quotes. “It’s not. There’s a lot to love about an old car. As I would think you would know, since you have one yourself.”

“Did you just compare my Impala to your land yacht? How does a guy like you even have a car like that?”

“I like it,” Cas defends.

“It’s still not a Chevy,” Dean says.

“I have never understood the Ford - Chevrolet rivalry,” Cas comments. “They’re not sports teams. It’s bizarre.” He’s serious.

“OK, OK,” Dean responds. “I’m not trying to be an asshole,” he says. He adds on, “It just comes easy to me.”

“So we should just kiss and make up?” Cas asks, making eye contact.

Dean licks his lips. Damn, if that isn’t an invitation.

They both glance at the sliding glass doors and the potential audience inside. “Ah, the garden shed,” Cas starts. “There might be some needed equipment.”

“Yeah, barbecue stuff or,” Dean agrees.

As soon as they are inside the painted shed, they are in each other’s personal space again. There is nothing accidental about the kiss that follows. Cas’s hands grip Dean at the hip. Dean puts his hands on Cas’s jaw. He holds his head and kisses him deeply, eager to feel him. He gets Cas’s lower lip between his own and gently lingers as they explore each other’s mouths.

They make out for as long as they think they can get away with. But the barbecue is unattended, and they know someone will wonder where they’ve disappeared to if they are gone too long.

Dean makes the moment they have last as long as he can. “I guess we should get back,” he murmurs, nuzzling at Cas’s neck.

“Mmh,” Cas makes a noise that could be agreement.

“What are you doing after the party?” Dean asks.

“Probably helping clean up,” answers Cas.

“Funny, me too. What about tomorrow?”

“Well, tomorrow I have to run some errands after work. Grocery store shopping.” Cas’s eyes are twinkling.

“Oh. I see. How about I do the shopping, and cook you a nice dinner? My place?”

“You’re on, Meat Man,” Cas agrees.

* * *

[1dffchallenges]

Maybe I’ll Come Home

Written By: @harrysdodgyankles​

Summary: In which Mona Arshad, Chief Technical Officer of the Calm™ app, is horrible at not letting an accidental discovery drive her absolutely crazy. Good thing Harry Styles, her boyfriend of three years, knows all her tells. 

Author’s Note: I have no affiliation with Calm™, nor do I claim to know anything about being a CTO at a startup. Anything mentioned in this fic is purely for entertainment purposes. 

Warnings: language, inordinate amounts of goopy fluff. Enjoy!

December 16, 2022

Mona Arshad stands in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in her office with her arms crossed. She eyes a raindrop as it runs down the glass, slowly getting larger as it merges with other stagnant drops until it disappears into the puddle on the windowsill. Los Angeles is a dreary grey this morning. At least the drought is over.

She sighs, subconsciously slipping into her Ujjayi breathing. Her yoga brain is lingering after the sunrise class she took this morning. It’s the only reason she hasn’t completely blown her top at the sheer amount of idiocracy she’s experienced today--and it’s not even lunchtime.

If she closes her eyes, she’ll see her color-coded schedule behind her eyelids. Blocks of blue for meetings, yellow for phone calls, green for video calls. The only thing keeping her sane is the pink rectangle--lunch with her boyfriend. She hasn’t seen him in five weeks. Her stomach flutters at the thought of seeing him after so long.

Mona turns around on her heels and trudges back toward her desk. The light on her office phone is blinking yet again. She pushes out a lion’s breath with closed eyes and flared nostrils. “Few more hours,” she mutters to herself as she reaches out to press the call-waiting button. “Yeah?”

The crackly voice of her assistant, Devon, filters through the room. “Scott is on line two for you, Mona.”

She can’t contain the roll of her eyes, nor the sharp exhale that leaves her nose. “Did he say what it was for?”

“Nope. Probably something about the new developers. Want me to take a message?”

“No, that’s alright.” Mona runs her hands over her face and sighs. “Connect me to him. Thanks, Dev.”

“Sure thing, Mona.”

A few seconds pass. Mona settles herself into her desk chair as Scott’s voice sounds from the phone. “Mona! Glad I caught you before lunch. Did you see my email?”

Oh, she’d seen his email. The one from this morning--and the one last night, and the one from yesterday morning. “Sure did, Scott,” Mona replies, much less enthusiastically. “I told you I wasn’t looking to rotate my engineers until I figure out what’s going on with my guys. Did you know Anton was thinking about leaving?”

“Yeah, he spoke to me about it.” There’s a pause. “I just wanted to make sure you have options moving forward. I’ve vetted them extremely well--you’ll have the best of the best when it comes time to pick.”

“And I appreciate that, Scott, I really do.” Mona’s pinching the bridge of her nose with her eyes clenched shut, trying to think up an excuse to get off this call. Scott is one of her most enthusiastic recruiters and he always does his job well--maybe a bit too well, sometimes. “I also need to speak with Marta about this. Let’s arrange a meeting with the three of us, okay?” She checks the time--it’s only been two minutes. “Listen, I have to run. Just ping me on Slack with the details, please.”

“Okay! Should we do--”

Mona hangs up before she can hear the end of Scott’s question. She does feel a bit guilty--he’s just doing his job, after all--but it’s one of those days where all she wants to do is lock herself in her office and disconnect all her devices so she can just be left alone. 

Exhaling loudly, Mona collapses back into her chair. It’s still not quite noon, so it’s too early to skip out of the office to head to lunch. But then her stomach growls--fuck it, she thinks, pushing herself out of her chair and grabbing her purse from the floor beside her desk. She’s her own boss. She can take an early lunch if she wants.

“Devon, leave my messages on my desk. I’m going to lunch,” Mona says as she marches out of her office, coat and umbrella clutched in hand. “Should be back in an hour or so.”

“You’ll be back in two hours and we both know it,” Devon smirks from behind her computer. Her blonde hair is pin straight, not a single strand out of place. You would think Mona would possess even the ounce of grace that her assistant has, but unfortunately that’s never been the case. “Lover boy meeting you there?”

“Gonna call him now,” Mona quips back, phone already pressed to her ear as she pushes the door to their office suite open with her shoulder. “See you in a bit!”

The hallway is a peaceful reprieve to the bustling office. As much as she loves working at a startup--and being a ranking member at said startup--sometimes the restless energy pervading the office makes her feel especially twitchy. She takes her time getting to the elevator as the dial tones sounds in her ear. A few people from the neighboring office walk past and she waves, cradling her phone between her shoulder and ear as she pushes the down button.

The call goes to his voicemail after a few rings. The elevator arrives and she steps inside, already thumbing a text to make sure he’s even awake. Once she gets to the lobby of the building, she tries again. She’s eyeing the rain warily when he finally picks up.

“Hi, baby. Sorry I missed your call.”

“Hi,” she answers in a quick breath, already fighting a smile at the sound of his sleep-tinged voice. “I thought you might be asleep. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I just got out of the shower.” There’s some rustling on the other side. Mona walks over to the couches on the far side of the lobby and sits, crossing one leg over the other. “You still want to get lunch?”

“If you’re not too tired. I left the office early so I’m heading there now.”

There’s a soft hum across the line. Mona can picture him in their bedroom, probably gazing out the window into the backyard. “It’s raining,” he murmurs, confirming her assumption. “Let me come pick you up.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Make it ten,” Mona says softly. She ducks her head and says, even quieter, “I miss you.”

She can hear the amusement in his voice when he replies, “Miss you too, Moons. I’ll see you in a bit. Love you.”

He hangs up. Mona breathes a sigh and drops her phone in her purse after locking it. She stares outside at the rain--it’s coming down harder now. Good call to get picked up, she thinks. An absent smile pulls at her lips at the thought of seeing her boyfriend after over a month. He’s been all over the world in that time while she’s been at a standstill in Los Angeles. She’s ready for their life together to pick back up again.

Sometimes when he’s gone for long periods of time and Mona starts getting used to waking up in a bed alone, she thinks about the life they’ve built together. Three years is a long time to get to know someone-- you learn their habits, their quirks. You come to share their aspirations, their fears. All of these things get especially louder in her brain when he’s gone, as if her subconscious is reminding her of all the ways they’re committed to each other. 

She must have a strong subconscious because it always seems to squash any seeds of doubt about the stability of their relationship. Even with the schedule he has, being long-distance multiple times a year hasn’t driven a wedge between them. If anything, it’s brought them even closer.

A black Audi pulls up to the curb then, its hazard lights flashing as it parks. Mona shrugs on her coat and opens her umbrella as she steps outside into the torrential downpour. She runs over to the car and slips in as quickly as she can, though she still manages to get wet trying to get her umbrella closed.

“Stupid thing,” she mutters as it finally closes, leaving her with soggy hair and slightly damp clothes. She drops it at her feet with a scowl, wiping some of the water off her forehead. 

“Thanks for getting the leather wet.”

Harry calmly observes her struggle to get herself settled, elbow perched on the armrest of his door with his body angled toward her. Mona takes in the sight of him--his hair is still damp from his shower, cologne sharp and sweet and every ounce of the familiar scent she’s come to associate with home. 

“Oh, shut up,” Mona says, though the immediate grin on her face mutes the harshness of her words. “Nice to see you.”

Harry’s lips quirk. “You as well.”

There’s a pause. Then, the movements as natural as breathing, they lean forward. Mona stretches over the console as Harry reaches to cradle her jaw. Their lips meet in the middle, both still smiling. Harry breathes life into Mona again and, suddenly, her morning is forgotten.

It’s gentle. Mona’s bottom lip is caught between both of Harry’s in a delicate press. Their lips part with a soft pop after a few seconds. Harry sponges another kiss to the corner of her mouth before pulling away.

“Hi, my love.”

“Hi.” 

Mona can’t help the way her heart thrums when she sees his dimple pop. FaceTime doesn’t do any part of him justice. Sometimes she gets a bit overwhelmed by how much he glows, both in physical form and personality. 

They’re both still leaning toward each other, still grinning like idiots, but Mona is happy. Happy to have her boy home, happy to be with him again. Rain and dreadful morning aside, today could still be savaged. 

“Flight was okay?” she asks, reaching over to link their fingers. 

“Yeah, was actually a bit early. Managed to get a quick nap in, too.” 

“Your time is still pretty screwed up though, isn’t it?”

Harry shrugs helplessly. “It is what it is. But we’re leaving soon anyways, so I won’t really bother trying to correct it.”

Mona hums in agreement. Harry finally pulls back fully and switches out the hand that’s linked with hers so he can shift gears and pull away from the curb. “Can’t wait to get away from here,” she says under her breath, though she still hears the cluck of Harry’s tongue against his teeth.

“Bad morning?”

“The worst. The update we pushed didn’t go as well as we’d hoped, so now I have to get my engineers to get through the new prototypes as soon as possible so we can push another update.” Mona scowls and shakes her head. “But there’s a mutiny--half of them just want to go back to the old features. What’s the point of an update if you don’t change anything?”

“I actually quite liked the update,” Harry replies, nodding toward his phone in the cupholder. “Messed around with it a bit on the plane. Didn’t seem very buggy.”

“You know, I already let you put your dick inside me on a more-than-regular basis. You don’t have to be a butt-kissing friendly user, too.”

Harry lets an affronted scoff mixed with a laugh. “Moons, maybe I just like the app that much. Why do you think I invested in it?”

“Fair enough.” Mona leans over the console again to smack a kiss to his cheek. “I love you. Glad you’re home.”

Harry spares a quick glance at her, eyes filled with affection. “Glad to be home.”

-*-

Mona met Harry at an Eagles concert in 2018. The Calm app had just closed its first round of funding and they’d splurged on a box at the Forum to celebrate. She’d never really listened to the Eagles but she’d figured it would look bad if every ranking member except the CTO was there. 

She’d shown up begrudgingly, choosing to linger by the buffet while the rest of the group watched the opener perform. She was too busy filling up her plate with cheese and grapes to notice Harry walk in with some of the other investors. They were introduced by the head of their main venture capital firm. Harry shook her hand and said a few kind words, politely ignoring the way she was struggling with her appetizer and drink. He left her with an amused smirk and a nod, and that was that.

Fast forward to February of 2019. A perplexing Instagram follow was the only form of contact Mona had received from Harry since the concert. She didn’t dwell on it, nor their interaction. The greatest awareness she had of him was his generous investment alongside Ashton Kutcher’s firm. It was his gift that allowed them to secure $27 million in Series A funding and be valued at $250 million. She’d be out of a job without him, quite frankly.

So, it was understandable that she had been a bit confused to see a notification from him. A question, asking if she was still in Japan. She figured he’d seen her photos from her trip with her brother earlier that month. By the sound of it, they’d been there at the same time. 

She replied, saying no. The messaging began. It continued, progressing into questions about each other’s lives. It persisted when he arrived in Los Angeles once more. It was odd to get messages from him at a normal time of day rather than in the middle of the night. Pretty soon, he asked her to get a drink with him. She said yes, because--well, why not?

They got together in the easiest and simplest of ways, Mona thinks. A conversation over drinks. Liking that conversation enough to have another one over dinner. Quick lunch meet-ups turned into lunch dates. Harry asked her to be his girlfriend after a month of quiet dating. She said yes--and that was that.

-*-

December 18, 2022

“Babe! Have you seen my glasses?”

“Kitchen, maybe?” Mona calls out. 

There’s a thud, then a triumphant, “Found them!”

Mona rolls her eyes fondly. She’s sitting criss-cross on the floor of their bedroom folding Harry’s laundry. An open suitcase half-filled with her things is to her right, mounds of freshly-washed clothes surrounding her. 

They’re heading to the UK for the holidays in the morning and, as usual, they’ve both left their packing until the very last minute. One would think living with someone like Harry, who travels as often as he does, Mona would have learned how to pack quickly and efficiently. But every single time they go away together, without fail, she’s always left scrambling to get everything together.

Still, she can’t wait to leave dreary Los Angeles and trade the tumultuous, unpredictable weather they’ve been having for the last few weeks for the perpetual overcast skies of England. They’ll be stopping in London for a few days before heading north to Holmes Chapel. Mona can’t wait to see Harry’s mum and sister again after so long--the last time she’d seen Anne was on Harry’s last tour stop in London the previous year.

The telltale creak of the floorboards in the hallway alerts Mona of Harry’s presence. Sure enough, his head pops through the doorway a few seconds later. He’s got one of her butterfly clips holding his fringe back. “How’s the packing going?” he asks, fingers tapping on the doorframe.

“Horribly,” Mona deadpans. “Can you do it?”

“Mmm… don’t think so.” He shrugs. “I’m busy.”

Mona glares at him before rolling her eyes and falling backwards with a groan. She’s cushioned by a pile of winter coats. “I don’t want to do this anymore,” she whines, voice muffled by her hands on her face. “Can we take a break?”

“You’ve barely been at it for an hour.”

Mona only grunts in response. She’d had the longest day at work making sure everything was in order before they left for their extended vacation. Her VP of Engineering, Marta, would have it all under control, but she wasn’t so sure about her developers. Too many people left to their own devices spells danger in her eyes. At least there’s only a few more days until everyone’s out for the holidays.

“Darling.” A pair of hands grasps her wrists and pulls them away from her face. Mona blinks a few times, still disgruntled when Harry’s grinning face comes into view. His knees are on either side of her hips as he looms over her. “You’ve been so stressed lately,” he notes softly, simply stating an observation. “You weren’t even this stressed when you’d just become CTO.”

She blows out a sigh because she can’t find the words to reply. Yes, she’s been stressed--there’s been more pressure than ever to make sure the new updates are rolling out smoother than before. And with the company outsourcing and making hires all over the country, she’s got a new arsenal of remote developers she can barely keep track of. She won’t admit she’s in over her head--because she’s not--but it’s wearing on her, nonetheless.

“Baby,” Harry says, voice soothing. Mona looks up at him through her eyelashes, frowning. He tilts his head at her and exhales through his nose. He nods to himself, as if coming to a decision. “Okay, c’mon.”

He starts to pull on her wrists as he gets up off the floor. “Where are you taking me?” Mona whines, head lolling back as he lifts her off the ground. “Let me lay here and wallow for a bit, please.”

“Nope, we’re getting up now.” His voice comes out strained as he heaves her up. Mona collapses head first into his chest; his arms are quick to wrap around her shoulders, squeezing tightly. 

He starts walking them backward toward the bed. Mona lets herself be maneuvered by him, fully content to be dragged away from the dastardly pile of clothes. The backs of her knees hit the mattress but before she can steady herself, Harry lets his body’s momentum take them all the way down to the mattress, Mona letting out an ‘oof’ at the sudden weight on her chest.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles from where his face is tucked into her neck.

Mona shifts so his shoulder isn’t digging into her sternum anymore. “Let me breathe, you big lump,” she grunts halfheartedly. “I didn’t ask to be squished.”

“You love being squished.” Harry’s arms tighten for a split second. “Can I tell you about my day?”

A smile tugs at her lips. Harry knows exactly when to fill in, when to provide a distraction for her ever-racing mind. Usually his distractions come in a different form--mainly one involving his mouth and the space between her legs--but she probably wouldn’t be able to get in the mood even if she wanted to thanks to how bone-tired she is. 

“Sure,” she says, burying her nose into his soft curls. “What did our mega rockstar do today?”

Harry snorts a laugh and lifts up off Mona’s chest. His nose crinkles, eyes shining with mirth. He dips down and pecks a series of quick kisses against Mona’s lips. “I love you, Moons,” he whispers, voice light. “D’you know that?”

“Think I do.” Mona lifts up to kiss him again. He takes the opportunity to deepen it, his tongue swiping against the seam of her lips. She sighs, letting her head fall back as Harry dips his tongue in her mouth briefly. When he pulls away, she says, “Go on, then. How were your tour meetings?”

Harry launches into an enthusiastic retelling of his day, talking vividly about the ideas he came up with for the new tour’s set design. Mona listens aptly, humming at the appropriate times while gently carding her fingers through his hair. He rests on her chest like a weighted blanket. The feeling of his skin on hers provides security, peacefulness. She latches onto the way her chest vibrates beneath his as he speaks in his low, raspy drawl.

“Can’t wait for you to see all of it,” he’s saying as he shifts so only his leg is draped over her thighs. He rests his head in his hand and his elbow on the bed as he gazes at Mona through lidded eyes. “After we get back from Mum’s, of course.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to get to your mom’s house. Is she gonna make the Scotch eggs again?

Harry nods. “She even got the special sausage for you.”

Mona nearly moans at the thought. “Your mother is a saint.”

He snickers at the look of faux-ecstasy on her face. Swaying a bit on his balanced arm, his eyes flicker over her face. They make quiet eye-contact for a few seconds. Mona cracks a small, sleepy grin at Harry’s inquisitive stare. She reaches forward and cradles his cheek, running her thumb down the slope of his cheek.

“Feeling better?” he murmurs, sliding his toe along her calf. Mona nods silently. Her thumb moves lower and digs into the tiny crater of a dimple in his cheek. “Good,” he whispers. “D’you want me to get started on dinner?”

“That’d be lovely,” she says, not having the energy to insist on cooking. “Can you use the last of the chicken in the fridge so it doesn’t go bad?”

“Sure.” He leans down to kiss her again, just a light peck that leaves her lips tingling. “Wraps sound good?”

“Yes, please,” she says, puckering her lips for one more kiss. Harry obliges with an easy smile. “Thank you,” she adds quietly once he’s pulled away with barely an inch between their mouths.

She doesn’t have to say what for, but Harry always knows. His mouth quirks to the side and he raises his eyebrows in full awareness.

It takes Mona a few seconds to find the will to push herself off the bed. Her suitcase stares back at her like an open-mouthed monster. With Harry puttering around in the kitchen, she figures she should get the rest of the packing out of the way so she can go join him and forget about the 11-hour flight waiting for them in the morning.

Getting off the cloud-like mattress is a Herculean task. She stands over the mounds of clothes and scratches her scalp, formulating a plan. The clean laundry needs to be put away, but it takes forever to organize her clothes and Harry tends to be particular about his shirts. The socks and underwear can be done quickly, though.

She grabs enough pairs of Harry’s briefs and tosses them into the suitcase to be folded later. The rest of them can go in his drawer. She folds them and stacks them neatly before gathering them in her arms and walking over to the dresser. Harry’s briefs and socks have their own drawer at the bottom, per her request to keep their socks separate since he tends to nick her patterned ones and stretch them out.

The drawer is a bit messy, so she starts by taking some of the rumpled underwear and refolding them. It’s when she lifts a pair of red Calvin Kleins that she sees it.

Mona stills. 

She doesn’t know why she’s taken aback. They’ve talked about it in incredible detail, more so than she ever thought she would. They’re both pragmatic, logical people--they live together, they have joint assets, they co-signed on their last three new cars. She considers his family her own, and he feels the same about hers. Her dad takes him to football games whenever they’re visiting. They’ve built a goddamn life together, for crying out loud.

And yet. The little black box has rendered her completely shocked.

She starts reaching for it--but then she yanks her hand back like she’s been burnt. What is she doing? She can’t ruin her own proposal by looking at the ring.

The ring.

Harry’s planning on proposing.

Her brain whites out. 

She shoves the boxers into the drawer in the flurry without even bothering to fold them. The sound of her slamming it shut echoes through the room. Her chest is heaving--eyes wide, heart racing. She wants desperately to forget what she’s just seen. 

A part of her feels guilty--Harry takes pride in the fact that he’s one of the only people who can successfully surprise Mona. He knows how to keep a secret well. She’s never been able to sniff out any of their anniversary or birthday plans. It isn’t like him to leave the ring in such an obvious place. Almost as if… he wanted her to find it.

Mona frowns. Whatever Harry’s intentions may be, she doesn’t have time to dwell on them. She doesn’t believe he’s that much of an idiot to throw a curveball into her already tumultuous life as of late. Besides--who’s to say how long the box has been in there? It’s not often that she has to put Harry’s laundry away, so she hasn’t opened that drawer in a few months at least. He could very well not have plans to propose any time soon.

That would be preferable.

Not that she doesn’t want to marry Harry. Of course she wants to marry him! 

Her frown deepens. 

There’s a clatter in the kitchen, effectively startling her out of the haze of internal turmoil she’s currently experiencing. “Babe?” she calls worriedly. “Everything okay?”

“I’m fine! Just dropped a tray!” A pause. “Actually, could you come here for a second?”

Knowing him, something’s definitely been spilled. Mona sighs to herself. Still, cleaning the kitchen is a better alternative to contemplating the impending future of her relationship. So, with a huff, she pushes herself off the ground, wipes her clammy hands on her thighs, and trudges out of the bedroom, hopelessly attempting to throw any thoughts of the little black box out of her brain.

-*-

Dating someone in the music industry was never something Mona expected to happen.

She’s a tech nerd, through and through. Graduating with honors from Berkeley with a degree in computer science, she fell headfirst into the startup space right when Calm was getting on its legs. It was fairly easy for her to ascend in the ranks from a novice to a proficient senior developer. 

So, it made sense for her to stay on at Calm after they were offered funding considering her joint algorithm she built with a few others lay the foundation for the app. She was head down in her work until finally breaking through and being offered the CTO position five years after starting there. Conveniently enough, that’s when she met Harry.

The tech industry is all she knew for her professional, young adult life. Similarly, the music industry is all Harry knew. It was a strategic game of push and pull to get each other acquainted with their respective lives. It helped that Harry was technically allowed to come to the investor dinners--part of Mona felt like he wouldn’t fit in with the bigheaded VC’s whose heads were so large she felt suffocated at the table. But he charmed his way in, matching their strides and taking pride in and boosting Mona’s accomplishments as CTO, letting his role as an investor become secondary.

Harry’s job was exciting, Mona came to learn. The process of creating music, the procedural task of laying down the foundation of a song and producing it in the studio, the choice to write lyrics for music or music for lyrics--it felt very similar to the operative way she wrote code. Miles away from the expectation that they’d have nothing in common, Mona suddenly found herself deeply moved by the way Harry conducted his life. 

The attention, however, was something else.

It took a while to get used to. And it was difficult--extremely so after the first time they were seen holding hands. An ill-timed moment, an unfortunate coincidence of being near a pap while walking to dinner in North London together. After that, the floodgates opened. But Mona likes to disappear from time to time, and this gave her an excuse to do it more often. 

Three years later and people have finally seemed to accept the fact that Harry and Mona are in it for the long run. Moving in together, splitting costs evenly, having a joint bank account for their combined assets--the equity Mona received from Calm allowed her to consider herself Harry’s equal in most respects. When she started earning that respect from Harry’s fans, she considered them to be in the clear.

But as Mona lays awake the night before their flight to England, she wonders how they’ll react if she steps out with a diamond ring on her finger. Some part of her knows it’s going to cause chaos. The thought is enough to keep sleep away until her alarm sounds at 6:15 the next morning.

She hardly reacts. Harry grunts next to her. He snuffles a bit into her hair, his arm tightening around her waist for a brief moment before he moves off her. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s early,” he says with a groan. He reaches over her frame and taps her phone to silence the alarm. “Want coffee?” he asks before pecking her cheek lightly.

“Sure,” Mona says. She hopes her voice doesn’t give away the fact that she’s barely slept. 

Harry peers at her through bleary, sleep-riddled eyes--this is her favorite Harry; the Harry no one else gets to see. His eyes crinkle with the boyish grin that appears on his face. “We’re goin’ on holiday,” he cheers in a croaky whisper, drawing out the last word. “Are you excited?”

“Thrilled to be sitting in a metal tube for 12 hours, yeah.”

He pouts. “Spoilsport.” Sponging a close-mouthed kiss to her lips, he throws the duvet back and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’ll wash up. Could you bring the suitcases when you come down, please?” 

It’s more of a request than a question. Harry’s out of the bed and out the door before Mona can even object. She holds back a yawn as she begrudgingly rolls herself out of bed. There’s a crick in her neck that makes her wince. Should be a great flight, she thinks.

After washing up and throwing on her sweats, Mona does a final check in the bedroom. Their suitcases are closed but still unzipped. She makes sure they have all their belongings before closing them up properly and dragging them down the stairs.

Harry’s just putting milk in their coffees when she’s got the suitcases by the door. “For you, my love,” he says sweetly, placing the mug in her hand and punctuating it with a smacked kiss to her temple. 

“Thank you, H.” Mona raises on her tiptoes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Passports are with you, right?”

“Yeah, I’m ready to go when you are--oh, could you just grab a pair of socks for me while I load everything in the boot?”

Mid-sip, Mona nearly chokes. 

Harry looks at her with wide eyes when she starts coughing. “I’m fine,” she reassures hoarsely after a few seconds. He doesn’t look convinced—she shakes her head and hurries away before he can question anything. 

Upon entering the bedroom, her eyes immediate fall to the offending drawer. “Socks, of course,” she mumbles to herself. Its handles stare back at her like two beady little eyes. 

Rationally, she should just get the socks and go downstairs so they can get on the road to the airport. But, because Mona is the way she is, she dawdles. Reaches into the drawer to grab the socks and notices the way Harry’s briefs have been spread flat rather than how she’d thrown them in there yesterday. She gulps, wary of the obvious--Harry’d been in the drawer at some point last night.

Mona pushes the underwear aside. Her eyes flit over the empty space in the corner. Somehow, she knew this would happen.

The ring is gone.

-*-

December 23, 2022

Mona’s on edge.

Harry hasn’t noticed yet--surprisingly so, considering every interaction they’ve had has left her skin prickling with the thought of him dropping down to one knee at any moment. He’s startled her too many times to count. She can’t be in a room alone without her thoughts wandering toward the proposal that is absolutely going to happen on this trip. 

After stopping in London for a few days, they set off for Harry’s mum’s house in Holmes Chapel after a lazy morning spent in bed. The drive is long enough to put Mona to sleep. Harry wakes her when they’re about twenty minutes out. It’s nearing three and her stomach is rumbling.

“Can we stop for some coffee or something soon?”

“Mum’s got a whole spread on at home. We’ll be there in a bit.”

Mona pouts a bit but drops it nonetheless, turning to face the window. The countryside flies past her eyes--she allows them to go a bit unfocused, everything turning into a green blur. She’s been looking forward to this trip for ages. She’s desperately needed a step away from her hectic work life. And since Harry had been away for so long for work himself, it was the perfect time for them to relax and recharge together, away from the bustle of their professions. 

Yet, here she is with a tense line down her spine that hasn’t eased since they boarded their flight from Los Angeles. The uncertainty of when encompasses her thoughts. Harry is none the wiser, completely oblivious to her torment. 

By the time they reach Homes Chapel, Mona is sure that Harry knows something’s wrong purely based on how clammy her palm is against his hand. She’s eager to get out of the car and get some space to herself, but that proves impossible the minute the front door opens.

“Oh, my boy! And my lovely girl!” Anne greets them with a megawatt grin, wasting no time in gathering both of them in her arms. She squeezes them for a few seconds--Mona finally finds a bit of ease in the familiar embrace. “Happy Christmas, you two. So glad you’re here!”

Harry pulls away and presses kisses to Anne’s cheeks. “Happy Christmas, Mum. Is Gem here yet?”

“She’s in the sitting room with your cousins--Mona, love.” Anne turns to her and squeezes her arm, already pulling her into the house. “I need you to try the curry--I followed your mum’s recipe but I’m still certain there’s something missing.”

Harry disappears with a peck to Mona’s lips and a squeeze of her waist. The rest of the evening progresses at a whirlwind pace--it’s always like this whenever they come visit. Harry’s always eager to catch up with his family and while Mona’s seamlessly blended into his little group of cousins, she and Anne have developed a special bond in the kitchen. 

So she spends the rest of the evening with Anne, helping her finish off the goat curry (with a little help from her own mom) and making fresh naans for the entire brood of relatives in the house. Harry acts a nuisance in the kitchen as always and keeps nicking bites of the food before it’s on the table. Mona whacks him with a dish towel more times than she can count.

There’s something about the full table with the air imbued with holiday spirit that clears Mona’s mind for a few hours. She’d never celebrated Christmas growing up--it wasn’t until she started dating Harry that she got to experience the holiday in its truest form. This is their second time spending the holidays with Harry’s family and she knows it’ll be something she can continue to look forward to for years to come.

By the time the dinner plates have been cleared away and the adults are nursing overflowing glasses of mulled wine, Mona’s nearly nodding off on the couch. Harry’s not faring much better. The two are curled up on the loveseat under one of Anne’s quilts, Harry’s head resting on Mona’s shoulder as they all watch a film. He’s got an arm laid across her thigh, his fingers scratching her bare legs every once in a while.

Mona purses her lips against his forehead. He shifts closer and looks up at her. “Alright?” he asks.

“Yeah, just a bit sleepy.” Mona smiles down at him through lidded eyes. She leans forward and connects their lips in a lethargic, drowsy kiss. “Might head up. You stay, though.”

Harry doesn’t object, knowing Mona wants him to catch up with his mother in private. He gives her a sleepy smile and she pecks his lips once more before getting up.

Mona squeezes Anne’s shoulder before heading up the stairs to Harry’s old room. She makes quick work of getting ready to sleep, halfheartedly splashing her face with some cold water and braiding her hair so Harry won’t complain of waking up with strands of it in his mouth. Turning the light off, she clambers underneath the mess of blankets on the mattress, pulls the thickest one over her head, and promptly falls asleep.

-*-

December 25, 2022

“You’ve been a bit quiet.”

Mona slows her pace a bit. She bites the inside of her cheek, staying silent.

“Moons?” 

Harry stops walking, their joined hands outstretched in the space between them. The path they’re walking on is completely deserted on Christmas morning. It’s a little loop around Harry’s house they like to take strolls on whenever they need some time for themselves.

“Hey,” he says quietly, tugging her toward him. Mona goes easily, wary of the way her face has gone tight. “Is everything okay?”

She spares a look at his face--there’s a faint divot in the space between his brows. He regards her carefully, like he doesn’t know how she’ll react. “I’m fine, H,” she reassures him. “I swear, it’s nothing.”

He sighs--she knows he doesn’t believe her. Never once has she felt the need to conceal her feelings about something. It’s the reason why their relationship works as well as it does. But right now she feels like the secret has a vice-like grip on her vocal cords. She wants desperately to tell him she saw the ring and she’s ruined the surprise, that the stress of not knowing when he’ll propose is eating her alive--but how can she tell him?

“Baby, I know… I know I’ve been a bit withdrawn,” Mona admits, stepping closer to him so she can lay her head on his chest. Harry’s free hand immediately comes up to cup the back of her neck. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, okay? Honestly, it’s mostly work stuff.”

She pulls back to give him what she hopes is a comforting smile. None of this is Harry’s fault--she has to make sure he knows that. 

“It worries me when you carry that stuff home,” Harry says. 

“It’s shitty, isn’t it?” Mona gives him a dry smile. “You’d think they’d let me relax before the holidays, but I guess not.”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Harry still doesn’t look convinced with the way he squints at her. She swallows, forcing herself to plaster a grin on her face. “Nothing you want to talk about?”

“I’m sure, babe.” She rolls onto her tiptoes to plant a kiss square on his lips. “Let’s get back to the house. I want those Scotch eggs.”

He searches her eyes for a few moments. Mona can see the fight disappear from his eyes in a split second. He nods, cracking an easy smile before looping his arm around her shoulders. They start back down the path to the house and Mona tries to keep her thudding heart under control. 

-*-

December 27, 2022

It happens in the morning.

Harry’s in the bathroom and Mona’s coming up the stairs after finishing breakfast with Anne and Gemma. The door to his bedroom is mostly closed, just a bare strip of sunlight peeking through the crack. She pushes the door open and walks in with her head down and thumbs flying over her phone’s screen. 

The sound of the sink shutting off makes her look up. “Darling, can you grab me a pair of pants?” Harry’s voice calls from behind the bathroom door.

“Yeah, one sec!” Mona tosses her phone onto the bed and goes to the chair with Harry’s suitcase on it in the corner of the room. She unzips it and lifts the flap--and freezes.

The box is sitting perfectly on a pile of folded shirts. Mona instantly knows it’s not an accident. 

This time, she picks it up. Surprisingly, it doesn’t burn her fingers. The weight of it in her hands suddenly makes the situation fathomable. The ringing in her ears drowns out the sound of Harry coming out of the bathroom. 

The door shuts. Mona startles out of her daze, whirling around to face Harry. 

“I’m sorry, I--”

Her words halt. Harry’s fully dressed--she immediately realizes he meant for her to find it.

“You know,” he starts, taking a few steps toward her, “I had an inkling this is why you’ve been weird since we left LA.” He stops in front of her and plucks the box out of her fingers, as if it were something mundane. “You saw it, didn’t you?”

There’s no use in denying it. “I didn’t mean to,” Mona says softly, voice trembling. “I didn’t look, I promise. It just… it caught me off guard.”

“I figured.” Harry smiles to himself and chuckles softly, like he’s remembering something. “I told Jeff to hide it in the closet, not the dresser. I knew you’d see it eventually.”

Mona frowns. “Jeff?”

“I had him drop it off from the jeweler’s. Had to get it sized.” It’s then that he gently flips it open, revealing the most stunning diamond on a simple white gold band. Mona can’t hold back the gasp that escapes her lips. “Should’ve known him to hide it in the most obvious place,” Harry says through a laugh.

Mona doesn’t know what to say. She can’t think. Her eyes go cloudy. “Harry…”

“I know things are hard for you right now.” His voice is more determined, filled with an intensity that has Mona’s legs feeling weak. Their eyes meet--he’s staring at her intently, willing her to listen to everything he has to say. She can’t look away. “I haven’t been around and I’ve been kicking myself for it. And I know this isn’t always the answer to everything, but…”

“Wait! Wait.” Mona holds her hands out in front of him to stop his movements. Harry stills--there’s a split second where he genuinely looks worried. “Were you going to do this now regardless of if I’d seen the ring or not?”

Harry pauses for a moment. “Well… yeah.” He shrugs. “I’d planned to have the house to ourselves, maybe cook you dinner, love on you a bit beforehand. But you were driving yourself crazy, Moons. I felt like I needed to put you out of your misery.”

Mona purses her lips at him. “I’m not some anal-retentive control freak, you know.”

“I know,” Harry says simply, dimple popping. “Besides, I figured you wouldn’t want a showy spectacle anyways. And…” The corners of his lips quirk upward in a secretive smile. “...I just really want to marry you, Mona.”

He drops to one knee. Mona can’t breathe. 

“Fuck.” She shifts, blinking rapidly to clear the sudden mist in her eyes. “Fuck, okay. You’re doing this.”

Harry nods with something fierce. “I’m doing this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure?” He chuckles with a shake of his head. “I’m the one who should be asking you that question.”

He’s right. Mona swallows, pressing the palms of her hands to her eyes for a few short seconds. “Right,” she says thickly, not even caring about how blotchy her face must look as she’s on the verge of tears. “Okay, I’m ready.”

They both take a shared breath, Harry adjusting himself on his knee and presenting the ring to her. “So,” he says shakily, and she can finally see how much it’s affecting him. They’re looking at each other through foggy eyes, but Mona loves this boy with everything she has and she can’t even believe why she was ever worried.

“I love you,” he breathes, eyes glimmering with fresh tears. “With everything I have, I swear. Will you marry me?”

Mona sniffs, a tear finally falling. She nods, slowly at first but then quickly. Her fingers are pressed against her lips to keep herself from losing it completely. “Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Harry takes the ring out of the box with delicate fingers. It casts a rainbow over the wall from the way the sunlight hits it. Mona’s transfixed. He raises up to his full height and slides it on her finger--they’re both crying but she can’t look away. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. His forehead knocks against hers--she doesn’t waste another second and leans up to connect their lips. She tries to convey everything through the kiss, clutching his cheeks to hold him against her. 

She pulls away to ask, “Why are you thanking me?”

“Because I just--I don’t know.” He laughs stuffily, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. He takes Mona’s left hand and presses a kiss to her palm, then to the band of the ring. “I love you, Moons. We’re going to be just fine.”

Her mind is finally settled. She believes him.

-*-

They tell the world with a single photo of their entangled hands with the ring visible. Nothing more, nothing less.

[dishonoredrpg]

Congratulations, NAY! You’ve been accepted for the role of THE LOVERS with the faceclaim of ASHLEY MOORE. Admin Cas: I think we can all agree that The Lovers is a difficult concept to pin down. It’s a task in itself to balance the devotion they have for The World, her world, while not sacrificing who they are at their core. But, Nay, you were certainly up to the task. There’s something so lovely about Prudence, so beautiful and admirable, but something hungry. So much of her life revolves around The World, but that does not mean that Prudence doesn’t have a story of her own to live out. I particularly enjoyed the way you likened her story unfolding to a caterpillar grows into its chrysalis; to become a butterfly or moth, either is possible. I can’t wait to see what you do with her!

Please review the CHECKLIST and send your blog in within 24 hours.

Out-of-Character.

NAME: nay 

PRONOUNS: she / her

AGE: twenty-two

TIMEZONE, ACTIVITY LEVEL: gmt + 5 ; and i’d say my activity ( especially with quarantine, still ) is at a 7/10. lately, i have been trying to write every day, and that means at least a reply every day – even if posted through queue after being written on a better writing day. 

ANYTHING ELSE?: i wrote this way too quickly, because i suck at being patient and didn’t want to wait a week to turn in an app, so forgive me for the sinful typos committed in my haste! this definitely isn’t as polished as i wish it were. also? there are possibly too many insect-facts in this and if that shit squicks you, i am so sorry.

In-Character.

SKELETON: the lovers

K E Y W O R D S 

UPRIGHT: love, harmony, relationships, values alignment, choices

REVERSED: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, misalignment of values

| source: x

NAME: prudence “prue” luna lockhart

→ ETYMOLOGY ;

P R U D E N C E / “intelligence; discretion, foresight; wisdom to see what is suitable or profitable;” also one of the four cardinal virtues, "wisdom to see what is virtuous;" from Old French prudence (13th Century) and directly from Latin prudentia “a foreseeing, foresight, sagacity, practical judgment,” contraction of providentia “foresight” (see providence). Secondary sense of “wisdom” (late 14th Century) is preserved in jurisprudence.

L U N A / “the moon,” especially personified in the Roman goddess answered to Greek Selene; also, an alchemical name for “silver”; from Latin luna “moon, goddess of the moon,” from PIE *leuksna- (source, also: of Old Church Slavonic luna “moon,” Old Prussian lauxnos “stars,” Middle Irish luan “light, moon”), suffixed form of root *leuk- “light, brightness.” The luna moth (1841, American English) so-called for the crescent-shaped eye-spots on its wings.

L O C K H A R T / Scottish: of uncertain origin, probably from a Germanic personal name composed of the elements loc 'lock', 'bolt' + hard 'hardy', 'brave', 'strong'. English: occupational name for a herdsman in charge of a sheep or cattlefold, from Old English loc 'enclosure', 'fold' + hierde 'herd(er)'.

| sources: x & x

FACECLAIM: zendaya coleman ( or ashley moore or natali litvinova — in order of preference! )

AGE: three-&-twenty for zendaya / four-&-twenty for ashley or natali

→ BIRTHDATE: fantasy-equivalent of july 8th; the most cancer baby there ever was!

DETAILS: it took me forever to find a skeleton that made me feel the enduring love i’ve been searching for beyond the ability to see a story, and as it always, unfailingly, tends to happen for the rare occasion where i opt for a softer character, it caught me completely off-guard. initially, surveying the tags, i was leaning towards the skeletons of the wheel of fortune, the hierophant, the devil, the hermit – all of whom, in my opinion, are characters who have been shaped by a darkness, be it inherent or inflicted, that’s rendered them with shadows or edges. with the lovers, that’s not the case. they are tender: like a paramour’s kiss, or a bruise, or an overripe peach you can sink your fingers into. and maybe it’s my unflinching desire to subvert the stereotypical presumption of what it is to be soft, the fragility noted in their skeleton does not translate to weakness or meekness to me; i enjoy that they are both tender, and possess the ability to be chaotic, and manipulative, and impulsive and desperate and vindictive and defensive. what i love most about this particular skeleton is the sheer humanness of them.

that, and their love for THE WORLD. for a moment there, that was definitely what drew me to them; this idea of love as religion had my mind reeling like a siken poem, rhapsodising about a love so powerful, it can alter a person. this is partially because i am the most hopeful and shameless of romantics, and partially because love, its nuances, and its powers and vulnerabilities genuinely, deeply interest me. however, working my way deeper into this application-form, that changed.

it is the love that the lovers — or prue, to me, now — holds for THE WORLD is one that attracted me. it is her own potential for growth that’s kept me in her clutches, besotted, wishing to tell her story. hers is a tale, i believe, of metamorphosis: a question i posed in a later section, as well as what lurks in my mind, is whether that metamorphosis is one that leads to a moth or a butterfly. did you know it is moths who come from cocoons, but butterflies who come from a chrysalis? moths, who are drawn to light. butterflies, who drink nectar, also help spread the seeds to grow more of the flowers. both which come from a caterpillar, whose first meal is typically the egg they come from. what i enjoy is the ambivalence that presents itself — or, as i like to call it: potential. there are several directions that prue’s story could go in, several choices that could define her, and it’s all up in the air until it isn’t anymore.

i wish i could tell you that my EUREKA! moment wasn’t insect-research, but i can’t, because that would be a lie. i’m not even sorry. 

BACKGROUND: 

☉ CONTENT WARNING(s): infant death, stillbirth, body horror imagery, insects

come, dear reader, won’t you settle in? let me spin you a tale—a tangled web of one, indeed—about a girl who smells sweet as white roses and is as satiny to touch as her gossamer-thin garments. this girl is just a girl; she has never been the girl. even so, this story is her story, and though she is not equipped to be the heroine of a story, or so she believes, she is the heart of this one. like a heart, she is swollen with the fullness of blood: thus, let me etch this tale into parchment with the blood of love, in crimson-ink of metallic-reek. 

it comes in three parts: a beginning, a middle, an ending; it is for you, dear reader, to decide which is which. 

let us anoint this tale the title of METAMORPHOSIS –

✧✧✧

i. THE EGG ;

before there is the girl, there is a man and a woman who live in faerûn by the sahrnian sea, bound together by a contract that is decidedly not the forest-fire love faerie-tales herald. yet that is not to say that love never comes, just because love comes after. when it does, it is a calm love, a steady one; a love that has never cost one to lose one’s mind, and has been grown, meticulously, over the passage of time and the trials and tribulations have littered the path of a match made by those who are older and have witnessed so much more life than them. it is not for years that the woman feels nature stirring within her body’s vessel, and when it does, it is with the undying bestowing upon her a gift that makes up lost time. 

when the girl comes, she comes from a belly more full than most. it makes sense that it is so, for there were meant to be two of them: a boy, and a girl. one might suppose that, in the end, there still were, yet only one in the way it mattered. 

( you decide, dear reader: which is which? ) 

she is born — and it is days, and days, before her time. no matter, a name still awaits her. prudence, they call her. pierce, he would have been.

from the beginning, she emerges from the ruddy cave of her mother’s womb incomplete. a greyish pallor remains where life ought to be warming her skin; it is as if he leeched enough life from her for him to choke on, and she siphoned her brother’s death through the connection only womb-mates share – and this is what she will hear in later years, when she asks about him. 

she will wish she hadn’t.

✧✧✧

ii. THE CATERPILLAR ;

( when you feel unforgiving, dear reader, remember: it is a caterpillar’s job to eat; without an abundance of consumption, it cannot survive. it is this abundance of consumption that allows for the production of silk. it is this same abundance of consumption that is its undoing. )

years do not care if one is ready to bear them; they come, when they must, as they must. and so comes to pass the childhood that tries to swallow prudence lockhart whole, over and over and over –

as an infant, blood is filtered out of her body and fresh blood poured into her veins. it helps, some. it does not help enough, yet there is nothing more to be done; her parents must take her home, and pray to the undying god for the rest. they pray, and pray, and pray, as two people of noble blood and lucrative business-dealings rarely stoop to, for lack of need to need it.

as a child, prue is still a frail slip of a thing, with bones jutting out against taut bronze flesh in protest. fill yourself up, her mother pleads. you must survive, beloved. she offers her savory meals and sweet decadence twice, and anything she takes a suggestion of a liking to just as many times more — and it works; it takes time, but work it does, and prue’s cheeks round some and at times flush rosily, some weakness giving way to the minute miracles that are her tardy signs of life. it is not much, but it is enough, isn’t it? it is to the mother who has warred for her existence. who still combats for prue’s survival. 

when does the girl begin to feel that it might be her that her mother is fighting, when every frustration about her lessness, her inherent lessness, begins to steal the breath from prue’s lungs – for is it not her who is all poetry & rot, wisp-thin & about as flimsy? her heart fills with hot, vital blood then: it beats loud and clear as a belltower’s toll, cutting through all else with the potency of its truth. this is as much as i am, she beseeches in turn, as her mother had once done, except not, for graceless tears roll down her cheeks in impassioned rivulets and the voice that thickens with feeling.

how will you survive the world, beloved? her mother implores.

i might not, prue knows. i might not, she accepts.

it is the caterpillar’s destiny to unbecome –

✧✧✧

iii. THE CHRYSALIS ;

– unbecoming takes time.

it takes long enough that both mother and daughter grow used to it, initially, and then around it, ultimately. 

there is, after-all, the distraction of warfare engrained in the backbone of their precious faerûn. there is the journey to tyrholm, the settling into the dregs of hightown – not quite lowtown-bound, and not-quite-not. it fazes her parents to not be profound upper-echelons of society; her father, a man used to running the business inherited by the men in the lockhart family, and her mother, who had spent all of her time worrying for prudence and never had to about wealth. but prue, for her part, is accustomed to the notion of not-quite-right / not-quite-enough; the feeling might not be home, per se, and yet she recognises the walls of the house all the same – could walk its rooms in the dark, if she had to.

it is circumstance that calls the lockharts to castle tyrholm. 

it tears at her parents: her father believes in not squandering opportunity, and her mother would rather squander anything but prudence. even THE EMPRESS sees it, does she not, when she cants prudence’s head and observes her fragility? the king’s reputation precedes itself; would a heart as true and innocent as hers survive a court like his? within minutes, it is too late to ponder it any longer. within minutes, it is no longer a choice, but a deal already struck. just like a match: it cannot be unstruck. one can endeavour to douse a fire, but it is not the same as un-starting it.

for a time, the castle is one more place prue does not feel she belongs; it is alright, she tells herself. you are alright, she says – because her mother is no longer by her side telling her anymore, is she? silken thread ensnares the girl when THE WORLD knocks on her door one evening; it is lilly-white, the radiance of their smile. prue does not understand why, then; she is nothing exceptional, she flounders for the right thing to do, and even then, she gets it wrong so much more often than she ever gets it right. perhaps, she will never understand why – why they are so kind, why they make her feel seen, why… 

and still, this once, there is no question of whether it is enough. they are more than enough.

for the first time in her life, prue discovers what it is to be warm.

✧✧✧

tell me, dear reader – is this a butterfly’s or moth’s metamorphosis?

PLOT IDEAS: 

❂ “love, for you, / is larger than the usual romantic love. it’s like religion. it’s terrifying.” – richard siken  

see, i told you: siken’s poetry reeling through my mind. religion is a really interesting ideology to link the notion of love to, because there are so many boundaries one crosses in the name of faith. at times, we call it the lesser evil. other times, we say it’s letting the end justify the means. we’re all trying to be holy. 

this is where i want to start discussing potential plots for prue — but i want to, first, preface it by saying that though THE WORLD is very much at the centre of her story, it is because prue’s unparalleled love for them is central to her life-story; i treat it like an experiment, where prue is the dependent variable and her love for THE WORLD is the independent variable that incites action & reaction, placed in different situations. it is, that said, the most potent of variables, and can hardly be called controlled, despite how desperately prue herself attempts to keep it to the corner-alcove they hide the truth of their love in. this love is not a selfish love; it is strong, and all-consuming, and maddening – more than a soldier’s swearing fealty to a kingdom, it is the most devout of prophets bowing their head at the altar of the divine deity they put their faith in. that’s pretty intense stuff, right? i want to see what it elicits.

this can be a double-edged sword, and in fact, i’d be rooting for it to be. on one hand, i want to explore how this love has made prue strong. i want to see how it has made her braver, and more resilient. i want to explore that she took THE EMPRESS deeming her fragile-seeming, and how she’s donned it as armour, because it is that same delicacy that has made THE WORLD love them. i want to explore it through interactions with the royal family foremost — THE WORLD, of course, but THE EMPRESS, THE EMPEROR, THE CHARIOT, and if it works out, maybe even septimus himself. it’s rare for prue to not let things slip, and roll off her back, but that is when it comes to her. her love for THE WORLD makes her want to protect them, fiercely; it lights a fire in her soul that has never been lit before. and fire? yes, it warms – but oh, it burns, too, doesn’t it? it has the power to ruin. and i don’t want to limit that exploration to just the royal family; i want to explore it with the animosity-potential between her and TEMPERANCE as well, but that’s one plot i’ll talk more about further down. 

there are little ideas floating around in my head that i would love to explore with the respective players, but i could imagine a friendship between prue ( probably due to her sweet-tooth luring her, too often, to the kitchens ) with THE HANGED MAN – and to explore a bond, that could further be complicated, potentially, by prue not being able to talk about what she and THE WORLD share. or, more chaotically: for her to share it, and for THE HANGED MAN to let it slip to THE DEVIL? how far would prue go to protect this? and would she, if it presented the opportunity for the future where she and her love get to be together is pushed closer by it? how selfless is her love? how powerful would fear be against it?

i’m honestly just a firm believer that, when our backs are against the wall, that’s when we find out who we really are. and that’s the main storyline i want to explore with prue, more than anything else, because i think that she has never been pushed to that edge and, because of it, she’s never copped up to her own identity. she met and fell in love with THE WORLD at such a young age, so quickly and wholly, that it has shaped so much of what her ideal self is. i want to see how her ideal self would differ from the reality of her. and i want to see her confront it.

❂ “you are going to break your promise. i understand. and i hold my hands over the ears of my heart, so that i will not hate you.” – catherynne m. valente

very recently, someone put forth an idea to me: love is a promise. that’s what i want to talk about here. there’s a sense i got — both from the lovers’ skeleton, and THE WORLD’s — that both of them know that there is a time-limit on their relationship. or, at the very least, whatever room there is for prue in their future, it isn’t a room where they share the bed. but i also get a sense that they know it, and neither of them talk about it. i think a part of prue feels like the amount of good that THE WORLD has brought her will last her a lifetime, and i think that isn’t true, so much as she’s hoping it is? i want to see the two of them talk about it. i want to see prue wanting them to fight her love. i want prue to admit she wants to be chosen over duty, or a marriage with someone who isn’t her, or fear, and i want to see what something like that would do to their relationship. or hell, i want someone who has power over THE WORLD, like THE EMPEROR, or THE EMPRESS, or THE CHARIOT or THE HIGH PRIESTESS to find out about the true nature of their relationship and force that choice once they even start talking about, so the situation can force their hands even if they don’t force one another’s.

there’s so much between the two of them i want to dissect and play with, it apparently needed to separate quotations. oops?

❂ “all things truly wicked start from innocence.” – ernest hemingway 

we all have the occasional ( or perhaps more, no judgement! ) propensity for wickedness. i feel really passionately about softer people not being safe from cravings for chaotic behaviour, even if they might, in prue’s case, justify it through the innocence of intention. a lot of her initial effusion is of a heady amalgamation of sweetness and delicacy; i want to see her display a dash of something that takes leave from that, and surprises even herself. now, though not at all set-in-stone and totally up to be discussed with the respective player, i could easily see it rearing its head in the dynamic between herself and TEMPERANCE. how many times will she be shooed away from a room with a beautiful woman and the love of prue’s life? it terrifies prue, the idea that THE WORLD will slip out of her fingers like the sands of time, so much sooner than she is ready for. i’m curious: would there be a moment where she would not leave? where she would make the nature of their relationship known? would she ever snap back, or continue to smile tenderly, bow her head, and listen?

i’m also dying to explore the potential plot brewing between the lovers and DEATH. part of this is a total shot in the dark, so bear with me, but – imagine this: there is a darkness in them that tugs at the darkness in her; they are hungry, and she is a starving-thing, and what a pairing they could make. imagine prue venturing into lowtown with them, and for the alternative reality DEATH’s hunger dangles that could open a door to an actual future with THE WORLD? i want there to be temptation — towards darkness and chaos, yes, because i am a sucker for moral ambiguity, but also for the loyalist that prue is to be lured by the revolt. 

❂ “you cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.” – clive barker

it is difficult for even me, as i delve into prue’s psyche, to be a wordsmith adept enough to encapsulate the sheer magnitude of her love for her lover. let me tell you this, though: it is love that is devout enough that prue would sacrifice herself before it. she would shirk what she believes she knows of herself to fight for THE WORLD. but there is little in the universe free of the shackles of consequence. it feels inevitable to me that, at some point, sooner or later, prue will commit an action or reaction in the name of love — and then, she will have to live with it. it’s even better to me for her to go beyond her limits for this love that is everything to her, and then find herself turning to them to sacrifice for her as freely as she does them… and for them to, perhaps, not be able to. or perhaps, for it to turn prue into a person she herself can no longer recognise. there was a part of me that wanted to already cook something up, and to toss it into the writing sample portion, but i decided otherwise. if i get to write this character, i want to start in a place that is different, and develop my way towards a darker pasture, so to speak.

a darker pasture, however, is where i want her to at least visit. in a setting such as this one, i don’t think it can be helped, truthfully.

❂ “each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.” – anaïs nin

while i was trying to knit this application together into one whole piece, a recurring concern for me has been that i want this character to have its own story, and the lines of that can get awfully blurry when the character is one the feels as intensely as prue lockhart does. she is such a hypersensitive creature; more than anything, it is her interactions that penetrate her, and alter her, and cause the discord between the sides that are wont to tug at her, who stands in the most Lawful Neutral of spots. i’ve decided to lean into it, though, because i genuinely believe that it poses an intriguing dichotomy between her inherent nature and the nurture that moulds it beyond the obvious, magnitudinal parental hand in it. that said, there are actual several different potential connections i want to toy with here. ( one of which is THE HANGED MAN, but i already mentioned that above, and didn’t want to be repetitive! )

THE MAGICIAN / listen, prue is so used to being the Softest. but this little baby is even softer than her, and every time they flinch, she just wants to help. she tries, at every turn, to be kind and i really want to see her become a friend / confidant for them? maybe learn about their magic. to maybe give them a secret of her own back ;) gal pals, gimme. i need something wholesome; it can’t all be agony & ecstasy, god damn it.

WHEEL OF FORTUNE / it is pure coincidence that throws the two of them together as often as it does. but prue is the sort to believe the best in people, and is never too arrogant to admit where she’s been wrong. this bond is where her feelings towards magic first begins to see development, and i am so, so, so interested in toying with it. even more so when you throw in their bond with THE EMPEROR — does faze prue a little — and his relationship with THE WORLD in there. such potential for growth and drama.

DEVIL / for years, every time prue has seen them, she has walked in the other direction. otherworldliness is unnatural enough as it is, but the proof of what they can do scars them with evidence of it – and so, out of genuine fear, she’s evaded them. and yet, coincidental interactions with the WHEEL OF FORTUNE has made prue think twice. a look at the haunting in their eyes has made her think thrice. i want to play with that dynamic!!!

THE MOON / hers is the only magic that does not scare prue, i think. it is the only one she is not too intimidated to ask questions about, because she truly is extremely curious when she takes an interest in something, and a lifetime of listening in the background has given prue a taste for stories. i feel like she could bring out something adventurous and wild within prue? a part which prue never got to explore, because she grew up with a very, very cautious mother who kept a very close eye on her and treated her like glass because prue really does look fragile. i want a bond to make her feel stronger!

THE STAR / if there is one thing that prue has grown up to be, it is a true romantic. it makes him something of a kindred spirit; something in her could reach out to something in him, creating a kindred bond that makes her feel seen in a way that only THE WORLD has ever given her.

THE TOWER / because she was raised right by it, the sea is where prue feels most at home, and she always has. i could see there being something about THE TOWER’s stories making her feel warm inside, and thus, her braving a friendship with them. i think she could use the wisdom of someone older? and there’s just something about them that made prue shyly scuff her toe at the ground, like – an oliver twist moment of, “can i have more, please?”

THE FOOL / stories talk about princes and princesses. the dragon’s fire, the nobel steed. prue looks at him, and she wonders: where are the stories about them? the princess’ lover, and the king’s soldier – those who fight for the crown, without wearing it. it could make for such an unlikely bond, but such an intriguing one, i think? i got the idea, and i just could not shake it. humour me!

and 0f course, there is potential with literally every other character, too, but i honestly ran out of time before i could come up with something for them too. i’m down to flesh it out~

❂ “we grow. it hurts at first.” – sylvia plath 

at the start of her story, prue starts off as a fragile underdog. she turns blossoms into a lover, and it turns her fiercer – which is not the same thing as being fierce, but it’s a start. what i want for her — what any writer wants for their muses, i reckon — is growth. i want prue, who has grown up sheltered and protected, to experience pain and hardship. i want her experiences to call into question what she thinks she knows, flip it on its head, and make her think. i want her to think, and to change her mind, and to change it again. i want her to confront her fears, and her uncomfortable truths, and to experience all the tempestuous emotions she’s spent her entire life keeping at bay, having convinced herself they could shatter her. i want her to unearth her endurance, to test its limits. i want to explore her undoings and remakings. what i enjoy most about her is the volatility of her that most would not see coming, because volatile and tempestuous and emotional is what she is. she is all heart, all the time, everywhere. can you imagine how visceral that has to make every experience?

imagine the potential for growth if she let herself just feel all of it. if she opened herself up, and let the universe rush in, instead of walking on eggshells as she does. just imagine. that’s what i want for her.

CHARACTER DEATH: i could, of course, see prue meeting an end. in fact, there are a couple of circumstances that could make it deliciously poetic, even.

Writing Sample.

They match each other: step for step; right, then left –

Hardly anyone turns to look at the two of them anymore. The two of them, making their way down the hall, with their dark heads leaned close together, like two plants growing towards one another when the sun leaves them for too long. It might be more peculiar to see them apart. There is a strange pride that twists a corner of Prue’s mouth at the unshakeable knowledge of the fact – a hint of tremendous pride at the small, precious claim THE WORLD makes with the statement of their proximity. It is everything to her, and perhaps it is what lends to the smoothness of her gait as they move past the portrait-eyes that scrutinise it, as if they await another of the many stumbles they’ve already witnessed. Prue floats beside them.

Her heart is gone, long-since pressed into the palm of their hand. Does it weigh them down? She could pretend it is why she keeps their fingers curled into the crook of her elbow, helping them carry the heaviness of the heart she’s given away to them; Prue holds fast to that touch with her own hand covering their fingers, unwilling to give up those four pressure-points that burn her flesh through the silk of her sleeve for anything, enough to shield it with the dome of her palm.

“ – Prudence?”

Their hand flinches at the same time as Prue’s grip on their fingers tightens. As if a chill blew in, and froze the marrow in her bones, the girl stills in place. It is not because she recognises the voice. It is because she ought to have done, for what the cant of her head finds is a woman whose gaze mirrors her own: amber-warm, almond-shaped. It is her same mouth that speaks the syllables of a variation of her names that does not belong to her, not as Prue does.

“Mama –” she says, her voice so quiet, she fears it might not reach her.

She is too far away now. Even mere footsteps away, she is too far.   

Extras.

✦ INSPIRATIONS → anne shirley cuthbert – from anne of green gables; tiana – from princess & the frog; missandei of naath – from game of thrones; margaery tyrell / house tyrell – from a song of ice & fire;  madame lebedeva – from deathless; effie trinket – from the hunger games series; jack pearson – from this is us; patroclus – from the song of achilles; 

✦ INSPIRATION TAG → here;

✦ PINTEREST BOARD → here.

[atc74]

Watching You (2)

Square(s) Filled: Sam Winchester for @spngenrebingo

Warnings: Crazy supportive big brother Dean, creepy love notes, stalker, angst, mentions of death, language. 

Summary: Y/N has a secret admirer that has been leaving her sweet notes. On top of that, she gathers her courage and asks the tall, dark, and handsome Cross Country Coach/History Teacher, Sam Winchester to dinner, thinking he could be her secret admirer. Sam isn’t the secret admirer and someone is unhappy. Will history repeat itself or can Sam keep his new girlfriend safe?

Pairing:  Coach/Teacher!Sam x Coach!Reader

Characters: Y/N Y/L/N, Sam Winchester, Michael Shurley, Dean Winchester Bobby Singer, Jody Mills, Alex Jones

Word Count: 4565

Written for:  @spngenrebingo

Beta’d by: The incomparable @amanda-teaches, thank you to the moon and back for everything! Also a huge shout out to @luci-in-trenchcoats, the Queen of AU Whodunits for her feedback. And to @alleiradayne, for her faith in me and her unwavering support.

A/N: This is the second installment to a two part story. I feel it was too long for one solid piece. I am very proud of this entire story and I hope you enjoy it! 

Looking for the next level fan experience? Check out Sam or Dean’s scent now! Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

Read Watching You part one now!

Previously...

Y/N woke sluggishly. The house was still dark, save for the light above her kitchen sink. She stretched her stiff body, noticing for the first time the blanket draped neatly over her. She remembered her argument with Sam. She remembered asking him leave, telling him she didn’t know if she could trust him. She remembered crying herself to sleep on the couch. She did not remember grabbing a blanket. A blanket that she kept in the window seat of her living room, not on her couch. A chill ran through her as she grabbed her phone off the coffee table. There were three missed calls, five text messages, and a voicemail. All of them from Sam. 

Ignoring the notifications, she dialed Dean. Groggily he answered on the third ring. “‘Lo?”

“Dean, it’s Y/N. I’m sorry to wake you, I don’t even know what time it is, but can you come over? I think someone was here.”

Dean immediately sat up in his bed, now fully awake and coherent. “I’ll be there in ten minutes. Make sure your doors are bolted and put on a pot of coffee. It’s going to be okay, Y/N.” 

A knock sounded at her door eight minutes later. She peeked out from behind the curtains to see Dean’s ebony car in her drive. “Y/N? It’s Dean. It’s okay to open the door.” 

She rushed to the front door, quickly undoing the lock and throwing it open. Before Dean could even step foot inside, she launched herself into his arms, knocking him off balance. 

“Whoa, whoa, Sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re okay,” Dean comforted her the best he could. “Wanna tell me what happened?” 

Over coffee at three in the morning, Y/N recapped the events of the night, including her conversation with Sam. “How could he keep something like that from me?”

“Hey, first things first. I need your phone so I can check the video feed from the cameras,” Dean started. “Then we can talk about Sam.” 

Y/N handed him her phone and he opened the app, checking the feed on all four cameras. “There’s nothing. You didn’t disconnect them did you?” 

“Why would I do that Dean?” she argued. 

“I’m just asking, okay. Did you have any power outages, lose your internet? Anything out of the ordinary you can think of?” Dean questioned. 

“I had to reset the router last week because it wasn’t working,” she thought back. 

“It must have lost signal with the cameras. Dammit!” Dean shouted, pacing the floor in her kitchen, stopping suddenly when he came to the back door. He grabbed a paper towel and jiggled the handle, it was loose. “When was the last time you used this door?” 

“I don’t know. Uh, a week ago maybe. Sam and I grilled last weekend,” she said. “Dean, what the hell is going on?” 

Dean pulled a weapon from the holster hidden by his flannel and handed her a business card. “Lock yourself in the bathroom. If I don’t come back in ten minutes, I want you to call this number. Tell him what happened and he’ll help.” 

“Dean, you’re scaring me.” 

“I think scared is good right now. I’ll be right back,” Dean told her. He took off for the stairs as she ran to the small powder room off the kitchen, locking the door. 

Dean checked each room of the modest house, not finding anything out of the ordinary. When he got to Y/N’s room, he noticed some of his brother’s clothes over a chair. He flipped the light on and that was when he spotted it. A plain white envelope in the middle of her pristinely made bed. He gently picked it up by the edges after photographing it with his phone. He bounded down the stairs to check the basement before he retrieved Y/N from the bathroom. Nothing else in the house was amiss. 

“Sweetheart, you can come out now,” he said softly, knocking on the door. 

“Dean, what the fuck is going on?” she demanded. 

“He left another note. It was on your bed,” Dean laid it on the counter before her. She shook her head, so Dean opened it. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? He was in my house and watching me sleep?” she bellowed. 

“I’m going to make a call,” Dean announced, leaving the room momentarily. Y/N took a bottle off the top of her fridge, adding a healthy dose to her coffee. 

“Tell me about Jessica, the fire and Michael Shurley’s involvement,” she requested when he returned. 

Dean took notice of the bottle, added a shot to his own coffee, and took a large drink. “After our parents accident, Sam wasn’t really the same. I guess neither of us was. He was only sixteen. I was twenty, in the Academy and suddenly had to parent my little brother. They left us a substantial life insurance policy and the house was paid for so we did okay. We both went to therapy and things got easier.” 

“Then, Sam went off to college. He met this girl and she was great for him, but it turned out her secret admirer wasn’t so thrilled about their budding romance. Then the house fire happened and he was never the same. He never came home for breaks, just spent all his time studying. They interviewed all of their friends and reports said Shurley was jealous of Sam’s relationship with Jess. But the police couldn’t find any evidence that he was the stalker or set the fire. The case went cold and was never solved,” Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. 

“Sam said they questioned him too, but the two of you were camping,” Y/N mentioned. 

“Yeah, we were. It was actually the anniversary of our parents’ deaths and we always went camping to get away, you know? So we were over in hill country, but got separated while hiking. I didn’t see Sam for almost six hours. I made it back to camp and he was just sitting there by the fire and he goes, ‘Nice navigation skills, jerk.’ like nothing happened. I was freaking worried sick that something had happened to my kid brother, but he was having the time of his life roasting marshmallows,” Dean exasperated. “It wasn’t until the next morning that I got the call on my radio about Jess and the fire.”

“That must have devastated him,” Y/N pondered quietly, her hands fiddling with the coffee cup. 

“It did. It took years for me to get my brother back and now this,” he groaned. “It’s this weekend, did you know that?” 

“What is?” Y/N asked, confusion filling her features. 

“The anniversary. Our parents and Jessica. The same day five years apart. It’s been ten years since her death,” Dean informed her softly. 

“No wonder he didn’t tell me. I still wish he had, but I guess I see the reasons why he didn’t. Or couldn’t,” she reasoned. 

There was a knock at her front door, making her jump from her seat. 

“It’s my buddy. It’s okay. I called him,” Dean reassured her, going to the door. He returned a moment later with an older man dressed like a trucker. “Y/N Y/L/N, this is Bobby Singer. He’s the friend who hooked us up with all the equipment.” 

“It’s good to meet ya, kid. The boys have told me a lot about you,” the old man smiled. 

“I wish I could say the same, Mr. Singer. But it seems the people I meet now are only because of this psycho,” she chuckled nervously. 

“Shit, girl. Mr. Singer was my father and an ass. Please call me Bobby. And yeah, it sucks balls, but I trust this boy with my life,” Bobby proudly turned to Dean, a hand clasped on his shoulder. “And you can, too.” 

“I know, Bobby. I feel better knowing he’s here,” she smiled at the two of them, feeling the bond between them. “But if you don’t mind me asking, why are you here?”

“Stalker situations don’t exactly take top priority with the boys in blue. No offense, Dean,” Bobby looked to the younger man. “Unless there has been actual, physical harm, they tend to look the other way. That’s where I take over. I’m the former chief of police here and now I’m my own boss.”

“So what do we do?” she asked. 

“You are calling in sick to work tomorrow, uh, today. Then you’re going to take a nap while Bobby and I make a plan,” Dean told her. 

“But,” she argued. “I can’t, Dean. We have a game tomorrow afternoon.” 

“And that is what assistant coaches are for, Sweetheart. Your life is more important than a win right now,” Dean pointed out and won. She trudged up the stairs. He heard doors open and close and the shower start. Then he turned to Bobby. 

“Did you have eyes on him all night?” Dean demanded. 

“You know I did,” Bobby grumbled. “Nothing since he got home from work. Rufus has been on him since he left the school.”

“Then what the fuck?” Dean shouted, slamming his fist down on the counter. 

“Watch your tone with me, boy!” Bobby smacked Dean upside his head. 

“Ow!” Dean rubbed the back of his head. “What about Sam?”

“Jody said he hasn’t left his house since he got back. She walked the perimeter and all she can hear is him working out. Weights, the treadmill, the heavy bag until he turned in for the night. It’s not him, Dean. That’s a good thing, boy,” Bobby confirmed. 

“Check in with Rufus, please?” Dean asked. “It’s gotta be Shurley.”

He and Bobby came up with a plan and dusted the house for prints, but didn’t find any that shouldn’t be there. All of them came back as Y/N’s, Sam’s or Dean’s. There also was nothing on the letter, prints or DNA. Dean didn’t know what else to do to help this girl that he had grown fond of since she had started dating his brother. He pulled his phone out and shot off a text. He hoped it would work. 

Y/N groaned as she rolled over to glance at her alarm clock. It was just past eight in the morning and she had gotten a few hours of sleep. The aroma of fresh coffee and bacon reached her nose as she threw back the covers. After taking care of business, she made her way to the kitchen for her fix. Dean was at the stove, but she ignored him for the coffee pot. She didn’t even notice Sam sitting at her kitchen table until she consumed the first hot sip. Her heart caught in her throat. 

“What are you doing here, Sam?” she mumbled, not sure if she was excited to see him, or if it was nerves making her heart race. 

“Uh, Dean called me. Told me what happened,” he replied, standing up and crossing the room to stand before her. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I should have said something, but I was scared. I’m so sorry, baby.”

“You can’t change the past, Sam. But I need you here with me. We need to be open and honest with each other,” she sniffled. “I’m scared.” 

Sam didn’t say anything else, just took the cup from her hands, setting it aside to wrap his arms around her until they covered her like a favorite blanket. Neither of them noticed Dean slip from the room to give them some privacy. 

Later, over breakfast, Dean and Bobby filled Y/N and Sam in on their plan to keep her safe. 

“You want me to move in with someone I’ve known for five hours? Just uproot my life like that?” Y/N questioned, snapping her fingers in front of Dean’s face. 

“It’s just for a few days, I’m sure, Y/N,” Sam attempted to reason with her. “Bobby’s place is the safest of safe houses. He and his wife, Jody, are both retired Law Enforcement. Whoever is doing this won’t be able to find you there. And, I’ll be there with you, too.” 

“Fine. I guess I don’t have much say in the matter. You two are the experts here. I’ll just go pack a bag,” Y/N stood and left the room, all eyes following her until her feet hit the stairs. 

“Are you guys sure about this?” Sam turned and looked at the only two men he trusted wholly. 

“Yes. We’re sneaking her out the back to my van. Jody’s daughter, Alex, is the same height and build and will be staying here in her place. She will receive a phone call from you, Sam, and drive to meet you somewhere. We hope the bastard follows her so we can nail him,” Bobby explained. 

The air was rent with a scream from the second floor. Sam and Dean ran for the stairs, taking them two at a time. “What is it? What happened?” 

“He was here!” she cried, pointing at another envelope on the bed. Dean lifted it off the bed carefully. He pulled the paper open with his knife to read the words aloud. 

“Get me the fuck outta here.” Her voice cracked with emotion. 

“You idjits ready?” Bobby called up the stairs as the three of them were exiting Y/N’s room, Sam holding tight to her hand. 

“Y/N, this is my step-daughter, Alex. She’s going to play you for a couple of days so we can catch this son of a bitch,” Bobby introduced them. 

“Thank you,” Y/N acknowledged her softly, turning her face into Sam’s shirt. 

“You know what to do kid,” Bobby addressed Alex. “Anything fishy and you alert me or your mama.” 

“Got it, pops,” Alex agreed. She hugged Bobby, before wishing them luck and watching them duck out the back door to his waiting van. “Now, you guys need to leave. Go home. Don’t head to our place just yet.”

“I’ve got to check in at the station, anyway,” Dean said, looking to his brother. “She’s gonna be okay, Sammy. You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Thanks, Dean. Bye, Alex. Thank you,” Sam waved as he headed out the door with his brother. They got in their respective vehicles and parted ways. 

~*~

The Singer-Mills home was not what she was expecting. It was an older two story with light blue paint and white trim. The landscaping was immaculate and cheery, flowers lining the walk. Y/N was pleasantly surprised as Bobby ushered her into the house quickly. 

“Y/N, this is my wife, Jody. She’ll show you to your room,” Bobby grumbled, heading to the kitchen for a drink. 

“Right this way, sweetie,” Jody smiled kindly. “I can only imagine what you are going through, but I want you to know you are perfectly safe here. Bobby and I are going to make sure of it, okay?” At the top of the stairs, she turned back down the hall to the last room on the left. 

The room was well kept, with a queen size bed in the middle and lacy white curtains blowing with the slight breeze. There was also a small dresser and a large closet.  

“Thank you very much, Jody. I think I’d like to lay down,” Y/N yawned, the last twelve hours having taken its toll on her. 

“That sounds like a good idea, honey. I’ll come wake you in a couple hours when lunch is ready,” Jody excused herself from the room, letting Y/N get her bearings and some rest. 

She returned to the kitchen to find her husband nursing a whiskey, just finishing a call with her daughter, who was currently posing as Y/N. Their plan was risky, but it was the best possible outcome. She stood behind him, gently rubbing his shoulders. “It’s gonna work out. We’re gonna get him this time.” 

“I sure hope you’re right, woman,” Bobby groaned. 

“I always am. That’s why you married me,” she smiled down at him, laying a sweet kiss to his bearded cheek. 

“Damn straight,” he laughed, pulling her down into his lap. 

~*~

“Baby, it’s me. Wanna wake up?” Sam nuzzled his face into Y/N’s hair as he laid in the bed behind her. 

“Time is it?” she mumbled sleepily into her pillow. 

“It’s time for lunch,” he whispered softly in her ear. 

“Good, I’m hungry,” she replied, rolling over and curling into his chest. 

“Then, let’s go get some grub,” he chuckled, the rumbling settling in his chest. 

A few minutes later, they wandered hand in hand into the kitchen. “Hmmm, it’s smells amazing in here.” 

“Thank you, dear. That’s actually dinner. We’ll be having lasagna tonight. Right now, you’ll have to settle for grilled cheese and homemade chicken noodle soup,” Jody informed them as she dished the soup into bowls at the stove. 

Bobby slid the sandwiches onto a platter, placing it in the middle of the table. “Eat up, kids.” 

“Where’s Dean?” Sam asked, grabbing them both a sandwich. 

“He called a little bit ago. Got held up at the station with some paperwork, he said,” Bobby relayed. “He should be here for dinner. You know that boy hasn’t missed a family dinner in fifteen years.”

“I don’t think Dean has ever missed a meal,” Sam agreed. 

After lunch, Y/N helped Jody clean up then Sam pulled her outside with him to sit out on the porch. It was a nice autumn afternoon, the leaves just starting to change color. 

“I could get used to this,” Sam stated. 

“What, running for my life?” Y/N asked, a bitter laugh falling from her lips. 

“No, definitely not that. This, you and me. I know we haven’t been together very long, but I see a future with you,” he professed. “I haven’t thought about that with anyone since Jessica. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about her, about what happened to her.” 

“Sam, I talked to your brother. He told me everything. I’m sorry I got so upset. I should’ve listened more and talked less. I know it wasn’t easy for you to tell me that, and then I kinda blew up at you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I said I couldn’t trust you. I was just scared,” Y/N apologized not only for her reaction, but for Sam’s loss. She knew that must have been hell to deal with. 

“When you love someone, it’s harder to let all the ghosts out of the closet,” Sam murmured. 

“What? Did you say you love me?” Her head shot up off his shoulder so she could look him in the eyes. 

“Yeah, I guess I did. I love you, Y/N,” Sam repeated. 

“I think I might love you, too, Sam. But can we get through this first?” she hesitated. “There are so many emotions going through me right now, I just need a clear head to sort them all out. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. I get it, I do. I can’t imagine being on the receiving end of what this creep is doing to you. But me, Bobby, Jody, Dean, and Alex...we’ve got you, baby,” Sam promised. 

Y/N knew she was safe here with Sam, Bobby and Jody. She knew Dean wouldn’t be far behind, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that had settled deep in her bones. 

As the sun started to set and the breeze turned cooler, Sam and Y/N headed inside to help with dinner. Alex and Dean had arrived while they had been outside. 

“Pops, I’m telling you, there was no tail. I stayed at the designated point for four hours and took a different route home. I stopped for gas and wine. There was no one watching me. You’re the one that trained me. You doubting yourself, old man?” Alex filled everyone in on her afternoon as Y/N without incident. 

“I’m not doubting myself, or you, honey bun. I’m just trying to make sure Y/N stays safe. She’s in our care now and we need to be on top of our game,” Bobby reiterated, casting his eyes over everyone in the room. 

“I had some paperwork to do, but I ran through the old case files from ten years ago. I even made a follow up call to the lead detective back then, too. They’ve heard nothing new on Shurley. He doesn’t even have so much as have a jaywalking citation. On paper, the guy is a freaking angel,” Dean delivered his own news. 

“Well, then we keep on keeping on,” Jody said. “Besides, right now, it’s family dinner and chow’s on.” 

The table was filled with lasagna, salad, bread and wine. Y/N looked around the table at the smiling faces of the people whom she had grown to care about in Sam and Dean, as well as those that were her new protectors. She felt conflicted, with the emotions spinning inside her like a tornado, and instead of a family dinner, she couldn’t help but hope it wasn’t her last supper. 

“Thank you all so much for dinner and conversation, but I’m beat. I think I’m going to turn in,” Y/N announced, downing the last of her wine, yawning widely.

“I’ll come with you,” Sam said. 

They climbed the stairs side by side and readied for bed in silence. It wasn’t until they were bathed in moonlight from the gauzy curtains that Sam broke the silence.

“I know you’re scared, babe. I can feel it. It’s oozing from your pores. I’m scared, too,” Sam admitted, rolling to face Y/N. 

“Sam, I am certain that I love you, but I don’t want this to be your life. What if this never goes away?” she faltered, trying not to look him in the eye.

“We’ll figure it out together. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. I love you,” Sam expressed. 

“I love you,” she sighed, allowing herself to let go and just be with Sam for now. They’d figure the rest out later, if they survived. 

~*~

“Sam, Y/N! You have to get up now!” Alex whisper screamed as she glided across the floor, her steps featherlight as she reached the bed. “Sam! Y/N!” 

They bolted upright, seeing Alex hovering over the bed. “He’s here, isn’t he?” 

“We’ve only caught movement on the cameras, nothing defined. But go! Now!” Alex moved toward the closet and the large bureau that sat against one wall. She pulled open the double doors and twisted the bottom left knob to reveal a hidden hatch inside the bureau. She handed them each a glowstick. “There is a door in the northwest corner with a retinal scanner. Go!” 

Sam climbed through first, landing on his feet in a darkened stairwell. He broke the glowsticks as Y/N eased her body through the opening to stand beside him. The door to the bureau closed and they were left in silence as they negotiated the narrow stairwell to the bottom. Sam turned and found the door Alex told them about. He lined up his face and the scanner passed over him. “Samuel Winchester. Access granted.” The robotic voice declared and the door popped open.

“Y/N, come on!” Sam urged her to hurry through the door just as a gunshot echoed on the floor above them. 

“That was a warning. Don’t make me shoot you, boy!” Bobby bellowed as he defended Y/N and his home. 

Sam dragged her into the room behind him and pulled the heavy steel door closed and the lock engaged with a resounding boom. He quickly assessed the room and, at a glance, it seemed to have everything they needed to hide out for at least two weeks. Sam calmed Y/N down and helped her onto the couch on one side, covering her with a blanket while he held her close. 

“He’s here, Sam. He’s coming for me,” she mumbled. 

“Hey, no one is getting in here. You’re safe here with me,” Sam cooed, trying his best to reassure her, but it was getting harder by the minute. He could only imagine what was going on upstairs. “I’m going to look around and get some water, okay?” She only nodded as he rose from the sofa. 

Steel shelving lined one wall and was stocked with bottled water and canned goods. There was a door on the other wall which Sam assumed was a bathroom, as the shelves also held toilet tissue and hygiene products. There was a full size bed in the other corner and a desk next to it. He walked over and took a seat at the desk. There was a note addressed to him. 

“Sam, this ain’t gonna be easy, but just stay here and let us deal with this sicko. We’re trained for this kinda shit, but if we need someone to outrun him, we’ll call you. Sit tight kid and hold tight to your girl. We got this.” ~Bobby.

Sam couldn’t help but chuckle at Bobby’s attempt at joking at a time like this, but that was part of his charm. He rose to grab two waters from the shelf when the lights went out, followed by a shriek from Y/N on the sofa. “Babe?” Sam called out for her. 

“Sam!” she cried out for him just as the emergency lights kicked on, bathing the room in a red glow. 

Sam rushed to her side, forgetting the waters. He needed to keep calm to keep her calm but he knew he was close to losing it, too. 

~*~

“What are you doing, boy?” Bobby called out from behind cover in his office, the red glow throwing shadows everywhere.  

“I’m tired of playing. Let’s finish this game!” the voice boomed throughout the house with thunderous rage. 

“You don’t have to do this. You can still walk away, Dean!” Jody shouted. 

“Really, Jody? Would you feel the same way if it had been Alex?” Dean mocked as he walked through the hallways of the house he practically grew up in. 

“No, you piece of shit. You would’ve been dead already!” Alex screamed as she lunged forward from the shadows pulling the trigger of the gun aimed at a man she considered her brother. The single shot hit him in the thigh. 

“You bitch!” Dean roared as he stumbled, falling to one knee. 

“I taught you more respect for women than that, boy,” Bobby chastised as he entered the hallway, seeing Dean bleeding. 

“You’re not my father,” Dean spat on Bobby’s shoes. 

“Don’t talk to my dad like that, ass hat!” Alex fumed, swiping his other leg out from under him. Dean Winchester collapsed at her feet. 

“Sam! Y/N!” Jody yelled out. “It’s Jody, I’m coming in.” A moment later the heavy door swung open, revealing Jody. Y/N rushed to her feet and embraced the woman. 

“You’re okay!” Y/N exclaimed, checking her for injuries. 

“Yeah, we’re okay. Come on. Police are on their way,” Jody dropped their shoes on the floor, then motioned for them to follow her. 

The lights had been restored, and Y/N looked at the chaos that had erupted on the first floor of Bobby and Jody’s house. There was broken glass everywhere and more than a few bullet holes in the walls. 

Sam and Y/N crossed the threshold into the kitchen when Sam grabbed her arm tightly, preventing her from going any further. She looked up to see why Sam had stopped, her eyes wide with bewilderment. 

“Dean?” Sam gasped, dropping to his knees as tears streamed down his face. “You killed Jessica? Why?” 

“Why?” he mocked. “Because! Because mom and dad were gone! We lost everything and I’d be damned if I was gonna lose you too! I wasn’t going to let some girl come between us! We need to be together, Sammy. We’re stronger together and we need each other!” 

“Well, you’re right about one thing,” Sam stood to face his brother. 

“I’m always right Sammy. I’m your big brother,” Dean cackled. 

“No, Dean. You’re just damned,” Sam said.  

Part Three

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

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The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @cherrycokegirls1 @closetspngirl  @roxyspearing @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @sis-tafics @just-another-busyfangirl @evansrogerskitten @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @wotinspntarnation @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @kickingitwithkirk  @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @mogaruke @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @seenashwrite @crashdevlin @thoughtslikeaminefield

The Dean’s List: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @maddiepants  @adoptdontshoppets @mtngirlforever @supernatural-jackles

The Sam Sin-Dicate:  @mtngirlforever @supernatural-jackles

[pea-milk]

Get to know me tag 🌙

I was tagged by the lovely @fourfinefreshfishforyou and @rosymiel . Thank you!

I tag @dafadolly  @early-grape  @simulationcowboy @bratsims @obi-uhie@crescentcrustacean @cupidlet @ridgeport @faaeish @herbalbrew and anyone else who would like to do it. (Also you dont have to do this if ya dont wanna. It’s a lot of questions lmao)

1. WHAT IS YOUR FULL NAME? Eliav somethin somethin

2. WHAT IS YOUR NICKNAME? Eli...?? I sometimes go by ben

3. BIRTHDAY? 1st of September

4. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE BOOK SERIES? None

5. DO YOU BELIEVE IN ALIENS OR GHOSTS? Aliens probably

6. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE AUTHOR? Toni Morrison or David Sedaris

7. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE RADIO STATION? NPR or this one french music station once awhile. 

8. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FLAVOR OF ANYTHING? Ah either spicy anything or a nice fruity flavor with vanilla

9. WHAT WORD WOULD YOU USE OFTEN TO DESCRIBE SOMETHING GREAT OR WONDERFUL? “Oh Cool” or just literally great/wonderful

10. WHAT IS YOUR CURRENT FAVORITE SONG? Railroad Bill - Andrew Bird or Sabor a Mi - Kali Uchis

11. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE WORD? Orke / Gide or anythin with hard “ch” 

12. WHAT WAS THE LAST SONG YOU LISTENED TO? You Are The Light - Jens Lekman

13. WHAT TV SHOW WOULD YOU RECOMMEND FOR EVERYBODY TO WATCH? Uh Dark! I recently watched it and it was good!

14. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE TO WATCH WHEN YOU’RE FEELING DOWN?  The Ritual. Its a good horror movie.

15. DO YOU PLAY VIDEO GAMES? Yes. But not like...hardcore? I dont like online multi player just like casual games. I will however become a hardcore gamer once I get my lil goblin hands on Red Dead Redemption 2. Yeehaw.

16. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST FEAR? Idk why but I think it’s bad luck to name your fears out loud. 

17. WHAT IS YOUR BEST QUALITY, IN YOUR OPINION? Mm...Humour? 

18. WHAT IS YOUR WORST QUALITY, IN YOUR OPINION? I lack...empathy ...and have a very hard time relating to people

19. DO YOU LIKE CATS OR DOGS BETTER? I like both.

20. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SEASON? Autumn.

21. ARE YOU IN A RELATIONSHIP? No.

22. WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU MISS FROM YOUR CHILDHOOD? Being able to just be...loose? Just not have to worry about things.

23. WHO IS YOUR BEST FRIEND? I’d like to say my highschool “bestfriends” but we havent talked in a hot while.

24. WHAT IS YOUR EYE COLOR? Hazel

25. WHAT IS YOUR HAIR COLOR? Dirty Blonde

26. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU LOVE? Hm.

27. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU TRUST? No one lmao

28. WHO IS SOMEONE YOU THINK ABOUT OFTEN? Not a specific individual but just...people who’ve left my life? People I dont talk to or see. Just wonderin how life goes for them.

29. ARE YOU CURRENTLY EXCITED ABOUT/FOR SOMETHING? Uh, not in a longterm sense, but just being in the apartment alone and going to work.

30. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST OBSESSION? Small deviances.

31. WHAT WAS YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW AS A CHILD? Courage the Cowardly Dog, Hey, Arnold or Country Mouse City Mouse.

32. WHO OF THE OPPOSITE GENDER CAN YOU TELL ANYTHING TO, IF ANYONE? Hmm...No one? 

33. ARE YOU SUPERSTITIOUS? Somewhat.

34. DO YOU HAVE ANY UNUSUAL PHOBIAS? No.

35. DO YOU PREFER TO BE IN FRONT OF THE CAMERA OR BEHIND IT? Behind.

36. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE HOBBY? Gardening.

37. WHAT WAS THE LAST BOOK YOU READ? Calypso - David Sedaris

38. WHAT WAS THE LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? Ballad of Buster Scruggs. 

39. WHAT MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS DO YOU PLAY, IF ANY? I used to play violin and clarinet.

40. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ANIMAL? Wombats.

41. WHAT ARE YOUR TOP 5 FAVORITE TUMBLR BLOGS THAT YOU FOLLOW? I like just sorta weird aesthetic blogs or overall blogs with no general direction.

42. WHAT SUPERPOWER DO YOU WISH YOU HAD? Shape-shifting or just like bein immortal but the kind where, if for example, my head were to be chopped off from my body, I’d just be a conscious, bastard head.

43. WHEN AND WHERE DO YOU FEEL MOST AT PEACE? In my room or a quiet cafe while it rains outside.

44. WHAT MAKES YOU SMILE? Small things. Nothin real specific

45. WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY, IF ANY? I used to do track and lacrosse. I hated both.

46. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE DRINK? Lavender Lemonade or a Cappuccino. 

47. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE A HAND-WRITTEN LETTER OR NOTE TO SOMEBODY? Yesterday. I write post-cards to a ceramic teacher that I still keep in touch with. He’s a very funny man. 

48. ARE YOU AFRAID OF HEIGHTS? Depends.

49. WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE? Sloppiness. Just general disorganization. (Also loud chewing)

50. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN TO A CONCERT? Yes.

51. ARE YOU VEGAN/VEGETARIAN? I dont generally eat heavy meats. Especially red because I vomit if I do. I eat a lot of fish though.

52. WHEN YOU WERE LITTLE, WHAT DID YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GREW UP? An Undertaker. I met one at a friends funeral, she was very interesting.

53. WHAT FICTIONAL WORLD WOULD YOU LIKE TO LIVE IN? Hmm. Maybe a rural-ized time locked town? Or a cabin in the middle of a foggy evergreen wood, not really fantasy I suppose.

54. WHAT IS SOMETHING YOU WORRY ABOUT? Health.

55. ARE YOU SCARED OF THE DARK? No.

56. DO YOU LIKE TO SING? If it’s a rock ballad in the middle a long road trip with friends, yes, but mostly I sing when alone.

57. HAVE YOU EVER SKIPPED SCHOOL? Yes. Alot.

58. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE ON THE PLANET? I’ve tiny places, or just moments that I enjoy.

59. WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO LIVE? A lot of places. Mostly rural.

60. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? Two Dogs. Zelda and Charlie.

61. ARE YOU MORE OF AN EARLY BIRD OR A NIGHT OWL? Night Owl.

62. DO YOU LIKE SUNRISES OR SUNSETS BETTER? Both.

63. DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DRIVE? No. Im gay.

64. DO YOU PREFER EARBUDS OR HEADPHONES? Earbuds.

65. HAVE YOU EVER HAD BRACES? Yes.

66. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE GENRE OF MUSIC? No specific genre.

67. WHO IS YOUR HERO? ...No one

68. DO YOU READ COMIC BOOKS? Not recently.

69. WHAT MAKES YOU THE MOST ANGRY? Selfishness.

70. DO YOU PREFER TO READ ON AN ELECTRONIC DEVICE OR WITH A REAL BOOK? Physical copies are nice. I like the smell.

71. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL? I’m not in school but uh Math. Art.

72. DO YOU HAVE ANY SIBLINGS? 1

73. WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU BOUGHT? Vanilla Extract.

74. HOW TALL ARE YOU? 179cm

75. CAN YOU COOK? Yes. I bake for a living. I make a mean puff pastry.

76. WHAT ARE THREE FOUR THINGS THAT YOU LOVE? Smelling spices, like cinnamon, red peppers, hard rain, when my dog snores.

77. WHAT ARE THREE THINGS THAT YOU HATE? Sweat, being yelled at, alcohol

78. DO YOU HAVE MORE FEMALE FRIENDS OR MORE MALE FRIENDS? More male identifying friends.

79. WHAT IS YOUR SEXUAL ORIENTATION? Bi. More lenient towards male identifying individuals.

80. WHERE DO YOU CURRENTLY LIVE? The US.

81. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TEXTED? My Manager.

82. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? Thursday.

83. WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE YOUTUBER? None really. Just the weird video once awhile. Like “will it blend.”

84. DO YOU LIKE TO TAKE SELFIES? Yes and no.

85. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE APP? ????

86. WHAT IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH YOUR PARENT(S) LIKE? I get along with my mother when I can. Father could be dead for all I care.

87. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE FOREIGN ACCENT? Any accent.

88. WHAT IS A PLACE THAT YOU’VE NEVER BEEN TO, BUT YOU WANT TO VISIT? Too many places

89. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER? I like 8 I suppose

90. CAN YOU JUGGLE? No.

91. ARE YOU RELIGIOUS? I was raised under a Jewish household, but as I’ve gotten older and more bitter, I’ve grown out of faith. However, I still identify as Jewish.

92. DO YOU FIND OUTER SPACE OR THE DEEP OCEAN TO BE MORE INTERESTING? Yes and Yes.

93. DO YOU CONSIDER YOURSELF TO BE A DAREDEVIL? Sometimes. Depends.

94. ARE YOU ALLERGIC TO ANYTHING? Peanuts.

95. CAN YOU CURL YOUR TONGUE? Yes.

96. CAN YOU WIGGLE YOUR EARS? No.

97. HOW OFTEN DO YOU ADMIT THAT YOU WERE WRONG ABOUT SOMETHING? If I act wrongly to someone I apologize right away.

98. DO YOU PREFER THE FOREST OR THE BEACH? Both.

99. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE PIECE OF ADVICE THAT ANYONE HAS EVER GIVEN YOU? None.

100. ARE YOU A GOOD LIAR? Yes.

101. WHAT IS YOUR HOGWARTS HOUSE? Ravenclaw?

102. DO YOU TALK TO YOURSELF? Once awhile.

103. ARE YOU AN INTROVERT OR AN EXTROVERT? Introvert.

104. DO YOU KEEP A JOURNAL/DIARY? Not anymore.

105. DO YOU BELIEVE IN SECOND CHANCES? Yes and No. If its absolutely awful, then I’m quick to cut ties.

106. IF YOU FOUND A WALLET FULL OF MONEY ON THE GROUND, WHAT WOULD YOU DO? If there’s cash, take it. Return everything else. Sorry. 

107. DO YOU BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE ARE CAPABLE OF CHANGE? Yes. As long as they keep accountability for there actions. 

108. ARE YOU TICKLISH? In certain areas, but hardly.

109. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON A PLANE? Yes.

110. DO YOU HAVE ANY PIERCINGS? I did, but they closed up.

111. WHAT FICTIONAL CHARACTER DO YOU WISH WAS REAL? None really.

112. DO YOU HAVE ANY TATTOOS? No.

113. WHAT IS THE BEST DECISION THAT YOU’VE MADE IN YOUR LIFE SO FAR? Seeing a psychologist.

114. DO YOU BELIEVE IN KARMA? Somewhat.

115. DO YOU WEAR GLASSES OR CONTACTS? Yes.

116. DO YOU WANT CHILDREN? Probably.

117. WHO IS THE SMARTEST PERSON YOU KNOW? The best friends I havent talked to in a while.

118. WHAT IS YOUR MOST EMBARRASSING MEMORY? There’s a lot.

119. HAVE YOU EVER PULLED AN ALL-NIGHTER? Yes.

120. WHAT COLOR ARE MOST OF YOU CLOTHES? Black. Earth tones. Problem Patterns.

121. DO YOU LIKE ADVENTURES? Sometimes

122. HAVE YOU EVER BEEN ON TV? Yes.

123. HOW OLD ARE YOU? 19

124. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE QUOTE? None.

125. DO YOU PREFER SWEET OR SAVORY FOODS? Both

[musicalburrage]

a party surprise

“Let’s go! Come on, Ellie!” Megan shouts.

“I’m coming, hang on,” Ellie says as she grabs her bag before making a run to the front door. “I’m ready.”

“Yeah, come on, we can’t be late to this party that I know nothing about.” You laugh.

“I know almost nothing about it either!” Megan says. 

“You still know more than me.”

“Alright children, stop bickering. Be safe and phone me or someone else to pick you up if you’re drinking.” Ellie’s mother says.

“Will do, Mrs Taylor!” You say as you leave. The three of you get into Ellie’s car before she drives you to the location of the party. No more than ten minutes later you pull into a street that had some nice houses. It isn’t hard to work out where the party is - there are university-aged people drinking alcohol outside. Ellie parks a few houses away and the three of you walk to the house. Ellie says hello to people she knows whereas you and Megan just smile politely since neither of you knows anyone. It isn’t your first time in London, however, this trip is a “sleepover” and not an actual trip. Ellie is studying at Cardiff University where she met you and Megan, and the three of you formed a bond. You were now staying in Ellie’s house for the bank holiday weekend. Ellie drags you into the kitchen area.

“Let’s get drinks!” She says. “What do you want?”

“I’ll have anything alcoholic,” Megan laughs. “What about you Y/N?”

“Just a coke, please.”

“You’re no fun!” Ellie laughs as she hands you a can of coke. “Let’s dance!” 

She drags Megan into the empty space in what looks like a dining room. You decide not to dance, so you start walking around, trying to find somewhere quieter, before walking into the lounge area. You look around the room and note an unusual amount of Spider-Man figures.

“Must be a big Spider fan, I guess,” You say to yourself.

“You could say that.” You turn around to face someone that you didn’t expect to see tonight. “Hi, I’m Harrison.”

“Uh, hi. I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Now I think about it, he probably has too much Spider-Man stuff in our living room, right?”

“This is your house?” You ask. That makes sense, you think, if Tom Holland lives here then the Spider-Man merchandise makes so much sense. 

“Yeah, I live here with my mate, Tom.” He smiles. “Who are you here with?”

“Ellie. Ellie Taylor.” 

“Oh, she and Tom used to train together. They’ve known each other for ages.” Harrison says. “Think he had a crush on her for a while but he’s over her now, thank god.”

“Thank god?”

“Yeah, I mean… you know her, you know what she’s like.”

“She's… a lot,” You sigh.

“Yeah, exactly!” Someone calls Harrison's name. “Better see what they want. Make yourself at home! It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too.” You smile as you watch Harrison walk away.

“Who was that?” Megan asks as she and Ellie appear next to you. 

“Uh, Harrison. Harrison Osterfield.” You reply. “He lives here.”

“He’s the host?” Megan asks.

“He’s the roommate.” Ellie slurs. “He looks nice tonight, right? Maybe I should go talk to him.”

“Okay, enough alcohol, El.” You tell her, taking away her beer can.

“I agree!” Megan laughs, knowing how Ellie got flirty and clingy when drunk. “Maybe we should get you home?”

“Good call, Meg. I’ll call Mrs Taylor.” You say and you leave the room, trying to find a place with a signal in the house.

“Nothing.” You sigh as you walk through the hallway.

“Go upstairs, you’ll get signal up there.” Someone says behind you and you immediately recognise his voice. You slowly turn around, praying that you don’t make a fool of yourself.

“Thanks, uh, anywhere in particular?” You ask, not looking him in the eye. 

“Try the landing, but if not, the bathroom and master bedroom have a good signal. Hopefully, both rooms, especially my bedroom are empty.” He laughs. “I’m Tom, by the way. It’s my house.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom.” You smile. “I’m Y/N.”

“Let me show you upstairs,” Tom says and gestures just outside of the living room area where the stairs are. Both of you slowly walk upstairs. You continue checking your phone, looking for a signal to be able to phone Ellie’s mother. 

“Anything?” Tom asks when you reach the top.

“Uh, no.” You frown. Tom tries opening what you assume is the bathroom door but finds it locked. 

“Follow me.” He says as he starts walking to his bedroom. As he opens the door he’s greeted by the sight of his brother, Sam and his girlfriend, Elysia sitting on Toms bed, talking. You recognise both of them from Instagram posts. “Thank god it’s you two. I hoped it would be empty but this is fine.”

“Who’s this, Tom? Look, El, the movie star finally has a girl!” Sam asks his brother with a smirk on his face.

“Sam! Leave him alone. Come on,” Elysia says with an apologetic smile on her face.

“This is Y/N, she needs to phone someone. Piss off, Sam.” Tom grumbles.

“Is that all?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, it is actually.” You say with a smile.

“We’ll get out of here to give you some quiet then,” Elysia says. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“You too. Both of you.” They leave the room and Tom sits on his bed. You open up the phone app and click on Mrs Taylor’s contact. You put the phone up to your ear and it rings. Tom looks at you and you nod signalling that you have a signal.

“It’s ringing.” You say. Tom smiles, then gets out his own phone and starts looking on there.

“Y/N? Is that you?” You hear Mrs Taylor ask.

“Yes, it’s me. Can you come to get us now? Ellie is, well, really drunk.” You explain. Toms ears prick up at the mention of Ellie, so that’s who you’ve come with. “Do you want us to meet you somewhere or?”

“No, I’ll come to the house. I’ll be there in ten minutes, Y/N.” Mrs Taylor says. “Don’t leave Ellie alone!” 

“See you in a bit!” You hang up and turn to see Tom looking at you. You blush lightly and Tom smiles. 

“All sorted?"

“Yeah.” You nod. “Thank you.”

“So, who’s coming to get you? Your boyfriend?” Tom asks.

“God no,” You laugh.

“Something funny?” 

“My last boyfriend was a complete dick. He would ignore texts and phone calls like that but expect me to pick him up all the time. Not the worst thing he would do though.” You explain. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’ve not drunk any alcohol tonight.” You laugh nervously. “No, Ellie’s mother is picking us up.”

“It’s okay.” Tom smiles assuringly. “You may want to find your friends before she gets here. I’ll help you look for them.”

“Good idea. Thanks.” You turn to walk out of the room and Tom follows.

The two of you walk downstairs to find Megan talking to Sam and Elysia, you can’t see Ellie anywhere. 

“Crap, where is she?” You say more to yourself than to anyone else but Tom hears and suggests looking in the kitchen. You both walk over to the kitchen and see Ellie leaning against Harrison, who looks slightly uncomfortable. You sigh walking over to the two of them.

“Y/N!” Ellie slurs. Harrison looks relieved at the fact that you’ve just shown up. 

“Harrison, I am so sorry!” You say and put your phone on the kitchen counter. Megan runs in and helps get Ellie off of Harrison. “Let's get her outside.” 

“Bye, guys!” Megan shouts back at the group. The two of you manage to get Ellie out of the house just as her mother pulls up. You get her into the back of the car and Megan sits with her. You get into the front and sigh. Ten minutes later, you all work to get Ellie into her bed. Megan and you get changed then go down to the living room and camp out on the couches in there. You start to feel like something’s missing. It’s only when you wake up ten minutes after your alarm was scheduled that you realise what’s wrong. 

You left your phone in Tom Hollands house.

this is my first posting anything i’ve written on here, i’m thinking it’s a part one of two so please let me know if you like it and i’ll write a part two!

[theonyxpath]

Yes, we’re down to the last few days of this extra-long Kickstarter campaign for They Came From Beneath the Sea!

Holding a Kickstarter over the Xmas holidays is always a risky venture, but we’re pretty happy with the response we’ve gotten from this brand-new game. The extra time time allow a bunch of groups to try out playing the Early Access version that is available to all backers, and it seems like hilarity has been had by all!

Except for one group, actually.

But, to be fair, that was sort of the point of their playtest. Allow me to explain.

C20 Players Guide art by Jeff Holt

Red Moon Roleplaying contacted They Came From Beneath the Sea! developer Matthew Dawkins with an interesting idea. As much as they liked the inherent humor in TCFBtS!, it wasn’t really the tone they’d set for their podcasts. Their previous broadcasts have been much more strictly horror oriented.

So, they asked Matthew, could TCFBtS! handle a non-humor session?

“Hell, yes!”, I imagine Matthew responding, although I’m sure his real answer was less rude and a bit longer.

In fact, Matthew and I discussed this very thing when we were originally talking about the game. We both wanted to give the game its own feel, and thought that the material cried out for a funny direction, but agreed that it is so focused and robust a game with the Storypath System underlying it, that folks could easily play it straight.

So that’s exactly what they are doing with Matthew’s help. He sent me this earlier:

I’ve just concluded recording the first session of They Came from Beneath the Sea! with Red Moon Roleplaying, going through all of character creation, a breakdown of the rules, and an introduction to the scenario. It went very well!

What’s going to be a lot of fun once they are ready to air the show, is that they add sound effects and selected music to their show, so this promises to be very enjoyable to listen to. Here’s a sweet visual they prepared:

The first episode is slated to start this Wednesday the 23th and here’s hoping you get a chance to listen to it. I know I will! https://www.redmoonroleplaying.com/

You’ll also be able to find the first episode on our Onyx Path YouTube channel! We’re getting more and more excellent content over there – like interviews with our creators from MidWinter and Gentleman Gamer news and review segments – I strongly suggest you check it out, there’s something for everybody! https://www.youtube.com/user/TheOnyxPath

I bring this up because a lot of games and their fans can get locked into a “this is all this does” mode, and we’re still reallllly early in the life of our Storypath System. There’s still a ton of different gaming styles and genres we can use Storypath as the basis for.

Geist 2nd Edition art by Drew Tucker

Horror, as an example, is something we’ve discussed, but haven’t specifically built towards, but if we hear from our community, you wonderful people, and we see support for other Storypath powered games, then we can use those indicators from you as guideposts for our future plans.

So if you are interested in us exploring a new game, a new genre, whatever, with the Storypath System, let us know. Here, in our forums, Facebook pages, on Twitter. Back our Storypath game Kickstarters even just for the PDF so we know the interest is out there. Like I said, we’ll look at these sorts of things as indicators that the interest is there.

But maybe you want to know more before you pledge, maybe you have questions not covered by all the various They Came From media bits we’ve been giving the links out for. That’s fair, and we actually have you covered.

On the Onyx Path YouTube channel tomorrow, there will be a live Q&A with the They Came from Beneath the Sea! team of Matthew Dawkins, Larry Blamire, Bianca Savazzi, and John Burke! Tune in and throw them your questions about the game, B-movies, and RPGs in general! The broadcast is scheduled for Tuesday 22nd January at 20:00 GMT!

Dystopia Rising: Evolution art by Mark Kelly

Next week, I think I’ll be talking about where we are with all of our Kickstarter campaigns, what we’re trying to achieve with them now that a lot of our emphasis is on making KSs that fund getting our books traditionally printed and in stores, and what’s up next.

If you have questions about our Kickstarters you’d like to see answered in next week’s MMN blog, lay them on me in the comments to this one, and I’ll try and work them in. Kickstarters are, after all, one of the ways we are able to create games that explore:

Many Worlds, One Path!

BLURBS!

KICKSTARTER:

They Came From Beneath the Sea! (TCFBtS!) has only three more days left as I write this and we’ve passed through Stretch Goal after Stretch Goal including getting Larry Blamire to illustrate a horizontal scene usable on a screen, three entries for a book of additional soggy Threats, a T-Shirt, two added Adventure Scenarios, digital wallpaper featuring our submarine menaces, and we are rising up on the next goal!

TCFBtS! has some very different additions to the Storypath mechanics we’ll be explaining during the KS that take an excellent 50’s action and investigation genre game and turn it to 11! You can see the actual play here:

Check out the teaser:https://youtu.be/kxLydk4t76s

Hope to see you there back in the 50’s, fighting watery menaces and cracking wise!

ONYX PATH MEDIA

Illustration by Michael Gaydos

This Friday’s Onyx Pathcast features an interview with long-time White Wolf and Green Ronin writer and developer Joe Carriker. Joe has lots of STRONGLY held thoughts and opinions about a lot of stuff, and we’re betting that a lot of tables get flipped! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

And Here’s More Media About Our Worlds:

As mentioned above, on the Onyx Path YouTube channel tomorrow, there will be a live Q&A with the They Came from Beneath the Sea! team of Matthew Dawkins, Larry Blamire, Bianca Savazzi, and John Burke! Tune in and throw them your questions about the game, B-movies, and RPGs in general! The broadcast is scheduled for Tuesday 22nd January at 20:00 GMT! 

Celebrated podcasters and actual play dramatists Red Moon Roleplaying will be starting their broadcast of Terror at Make-Out Point, ran by our very own Matthew Dawkins, on Wednesday 23rd January! If you’re at all on the fence about They Came from Beneath the Sea!, here’s a fine place to hear it in action, complete with sound effects and music! https://www.redmoonroleplaying.com/

On our channel Matthew Dawkins is recapping his campaign of Scion that he’s named “Tokyo Noir”. It sounds like a lot of grisly fun and mixes the children of Bishamon, Kissh?ten, and Loki in a murder mystery. Matthew is involving viewers in deciding the direction of the game, so get in early with your suggestions! https://youtu.be/cKpHy3W4Z-E

YouTuber Stuart Armstrong has put together an interesting video on crossing over They Came from Beneath the Sea! with the World of Darkness! Check it out and give his channel a subscription: https://youtu.be/2wBFny9mSng

One of our forumites, Cinder, has started a written recap of their campaign of They Came from Beneath the Sea! It’s in its early stages right now, but you can subscribe to the thread for updates: http://forum.theonyxpath.com/forum/main-category/cavaliers-of-mars-and-pugmire/1278691-explorers-of-the-fathoms-tcfbts-actual-play

Caffeinated Conquests concluded their actual play of A Slippery Conspiracy, the sample adventure in They Came from Beneath the Sea! Check out their footage here: https://youtu.be/2Z724VBdqV4

Twin Cities by Night posted their actual play of Scion: Origin – A Light Extinguished to YouTube. In this story, a scion of Re is found murdered. It’s up to the protagonists to find out why and who the killer is: https://youtu.be/CeMWhD92hIg

The Story Told Podcast has produced overviews of both Scion and They Came from Beneath the Sea! Here’s a link to where you can find their shows: http://thestorytold.libsyn.com/

Caffeinated Conquests (again!) posted a review of They Came from Beneath the Sea! on YouTube! If you’re on the fence about backing the game before the Kickstarter ends, perhaps this video will sway you: https://youtu.be/JDqOVHcgjwI

ELECTRONIC GAMING:

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is now live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is both rolling and rocking!

ON AMAZON AND BARNES & NOBLE:

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue you bought it from. Reviews really, really help us with getting folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these fiction books:

OUR SALES PARTNERS:

Running until Feb 3 is the Trinity (Aeon) 1e Bundle of Holding: https://bundleofholding.com/presents/Trinity1E and the Aberrant 1e Bundle of Holding: https://bundleofholding.com/presents/Aberrant

Check them out and get some amazing deals on the first edition PDFs (same as we have on DTRPG) and watch how the Bundles grow during the duration of the sale!

We’re working with Studio2 to get Pugmire out into stores, as well as to individuals through their online store. You can pick up the traditionally printed main book, the Screen, and the official Pugmire dice through our friends there! https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

We’ve added Prince’s Gambit to our Studio2 catalog: https://studio2publishing.com/products/prince-s-gambit-card-game

Now, we’ve added Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition products to Studio2‘s store! See them here: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/all-products/changeling-the-lost

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

And you can now order Pugmire, Monarchies of Mau, Cavaliers of Mars, and Changeling: The Lost 2e! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/manufacturers.php?manufacturerid=296

DRIVETHRURPG.COM:

This Wednesday, we’re offering PDF and PoD versions of the Changeling: The Lost 2nd Edition Jumpstart : Hearts on Trial on DTRPG!

CONVENTIONS

New convention notices coming soon!

And now, the new project status updates!

DEVELOPMENT STATUS FROM FAST EDDY WEBB (projects in bold have changed status since last week):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep)

M20 The Technocracy Reloaded (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

City of the Towered Tombs (Cavaliers of Mars)

Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)

Geist2e Fiction Anthology (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition)

Pirates of Pugmire (Realms of Pugmire)

Distant Worlds (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Dragon-Blooded Novella #1 (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Across the Eight Directions (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Exalted Essay Collection (Exalted)

Legendlore core book (Legendlore)

Creatures of the World Bestiary (Scion 2nd Edition)

Chicago Folio/Dossier (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Let The Streets Run Red (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Kith and Kin (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

Scion: Demigod (Scion 2nd Edition)

TC: Aeon Ready Made Characters (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Redlines

Scion Companion: Mysteries of the World (Scion 2nd Edition)

Memento Mori: the GtSE 2e Companion (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2nd Edition)

C20 Novel: Cup of Dreams (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

Second Draft

Tales of Good Dogs – Pugmire Fiction Anthology (Pugmire)

Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Scion Ready Made Characters (Scion 2nd Edition)

Witch-Queen of the Shadowed Citadel (Cavaliers of Mars)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Development

Hunter: the Vigil 2e core (Hunter: the Vigil 2nd Edition)

CofD Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

Lunars: Fangs at the Gate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

WoD Ghost Hunters (World of Darkness)

Oak, Ash, and Thorn: Changeling: The Lost 2nd Companion (Changeling: The Lost 2nd)

CofD Dark Eras 2 (Chronicles of Darkness)

Night Horrors: Nameless and Accursed (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Manuscript Approval:

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Scion Jumpstart (Scion 2nd Edition)

Editing:

Aeon Aexpansion (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Dystopia Rising: Evolution (Dystopia Rising: Evolution)

M20 Book of the Fallen (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

In Media Res (Trinity Continuum: Core)

Tales of Excellent Cats (Monarchies of Mau)

V5 Chicago By Night (Vampire: The Masquerade)

V5 Chicago By Night Screen (Vampire: The Masquerade)

Spilled Blood (Vampire: The Requiem 2nd Edition)

Wr20 Book of Oblivion (Wraith: The Oblivion 20th Anniversary Edition)

Post-Editing Development:

C20 Players’ Guide (Changeling: the Dreaming 20th Anniversary Edition)

Signs of Sorcery (Mage: the Awakening Second Edition)

Night Horrors: Shunned by the Moon (Werewolf: The Forsaken 2nd Edition)

Adventures for Curious Cats (Monarchies of Mau)

Indexing:

Scion Origin (Scion Second Edition)

Scion Hero (Scion Second Edition)

ART DIRECTION FROM MIRTHFUL MIKE:

In Art Direction

Dystopia Rising: Evolution

The Realm – Contracted.

Ex3 Monthly Stuff –

Chicago By Night – Rolling on contracting next bits.

Aeon Aexpansion – Going over the notes.

They Came From Beneath the Sea! – KS over in three days!

EX3 Lunars – Updated KS finals are in, KS prep begins.

Signs of Sorcery – Over to layout this week.

In Media Res – Sketches starting to come in.

Hunter: The Vigil 2

Shunned By the Moon – Got the notes, contacting artists.

Book of Oblivion – Contracted.

Contagion Chronicle

Marketing Stuff

In Layout

Geist 2e

C20 Player’s Guide

Proofing

Scion Hero – Indexing.

Scion Origin – Indexing.

M20: Gods and Monsters – Sending for WW approval.

Pugmire Roll of Good Dogs and Cats – Getting backer PDF ready to send to backers.

Trinity Core – Errata closed.

Trinity Aeon – Errata closed.

Ex3 Dragon Blooded – inputting XXs and then off to Indexing.

CtL2e Condition Cards – Sending for PoD proofs.

Ex Novel 2 (Aaron Rosenberg) – Sending for WW approval.

At Press

Wraith 20th – Shipping to fulfillment shipper.

Wraith 20 Screen – Shipping to fulfillment shipper.

Scion Dice – At Studio2.

Scion Screen – At Studio2.

CtL2 Jumpstart – PDF and PoD versions on sale at DTRPG this Wednesday.

Fetch Quest – Shipping to US.

TODAY’S REASON TO CELEBRATE: 

Happy Martin Luther King, Jr Day! Here in the US, for some of you out there, that may just mean you get a day off, or can’t get your mail as it’s a Monday holiday, and for others celebrating MLK’s birthday may mean a lot more. Humanity, and protest, and civil rights, and a man who stood up and spoke forth in a time period that sparked changes in laws and attitudes that we are still dealing with today.

[stormylofi]

2.8k, mostly fluff with a small bit of violence somewhere. G/T rating.

This is from the HC that Valkyrie absolutely loves Disney songs. This is written so that each scene is about a different Lion king song, but it was this one that basically inspired it; (We are one- Lion King 2) https://youtu.be/glDGAo9SIqs

This is also a birthday fic! I hope you have a very happy birthday Silky, and I hope you enjoy!!! Also side note, I love all your headcanons and I agree that these two are flipping adorable. Sorry if they at all seem ooc to you.

____________

The first time Ela had ever come across the woman, she was singing a damn Disney song. Not that Lion King wasn’t amazing, but she honestly didn’t think her timing was the best.

They were meeting at a busy cafe under the guise of school friends for an intel hand off, but when when Ela wandered over, pretending to be excited, the woman just grinned goofily and continued humming some random song as she stood to pull her into a hug, slyly dropping something into her pocket.

“Amanda! It’s been far too long wow, I’m glad I found some time to see you while you’re in town.”

“I’ll actually be here for a bit! Jack’s got a job in one of the law firms downtown so maybe a few months?”

She made up something about loving to show her around if their schedules match up, before starting to gossip about something one of their supposed ex school mates had gotten up to.

The woman she knew to actually be the Seal ‘Valkyrie’ started humming the same tune again as she talked, and it finally clicked in her mind what it was.

Hakuna Matata, what a wonderful phrase.

She paused and squinted her eyes into an accusatory glare.

“Are you humming… Hakuna Matata?” She regretted asking the minute humming changed to singing. Loud, obnoxious singing. Immediately she sprung across the table to slap a hand across the woman’s mouth.

“What are you doing?” She all but hissed as laughter bubbles under her palm. They were meant to be inconspicuous and believable, she doubted bursting into Disney counted as that.

“Ok, ok.” She removed her hand, settling back into her seat as she glared off looks from other customers. “Sorry, I’ve had it stuck in my head all day.” A disarming smile was shot her way and she sighed, deciding to let it slide.

They met again a little while after operation Orange Sky and it soon occurred to Ela that it wasn’t a one off. No, it seemed to be a regular thing around the operative.

The next time it happened, they were on their first practice operation as Rainbow Six members in a killhouse.

They had both wandered from their objective room and had ended up in a small room with a hatch on the floor and two windows, one of which was half busted open. Ela had her gun aimed steadily through it and into the yard below them when it started.

“Be prepared for sensational news! A shining new era is tiptoeing nearer.”

She moved from view in seconds, spinning to glare at her teammate for giving away their location.

Valkyrie hadn’t moved from her careful angle on the doorway, hardly even moving as she continued to sing, doing the next line in a silly voice.

“But, where do we feature?”

Ela couldn’t help herself as she said the next line with a growl.

“Just listen to teacher.”

The smile she received was blinding and she rolled her eyes in response, turning back to the window to peek. At least she shut up.

“I know it sounds sordid, but you’ll be rewarded-”

She spoke too soon.

With a huff she gave up and left the room.

__

Despite the usually ridiculous timing of her Disney songs, Ela realised she found it amusing. It bugged her at first but Valkyrie more than proved herself plenty of times as a fully capable operator who never got stunted by her silly habit. If it wasn’t causing issues then Ela didn’t see it as a problem.

As a matter of fact, it was kind of endearing.

Today they were both laid across the couches in the Rec room, Ela quietly drawing while Meghan scrolled through some app on her phone.

It happened gradually. She didn’t notice at first, too focused on her drawing.

The tapping was quiet and repetitive and so she passed it off as a bit of boredom. After a little bit she recognised that it was a regular beat and not just random, around the time she also decided it was distracting her from her work. She glanced up, ready to tell the other woman to shut up, only to catch a gaze that was locked on her with a playful smirk.

Meghan was sat upright, tapping against the table and waiting for Ela to finally look up. When she did and met her gaze, humming started to match the beat.

It look her a second to recognise it, but when she did she wanted to literally facepalm. Huffing a short laugh, she gave the Seal her ‘are you serious?’ eyes, before giving in.

After all, she didn’t doubt the woman’s persistence. She probably wouldn’t stop until she did.

“I’m gonna be a mighty king, so enemies beware.”

“Well I’ve never seen a king of beasts with quite so little hair!” Valkyrie immediately jumped in for the birds part- Zazu if she remembered correctly.

“I’m gonna be the main event, like no king was before. I’m brushing up, I’m looking down, I’m working on my roar.” She couldn’t help but return the amused smile the blonde sent her, snorting when she exaggeratedly threw out an arm for her next part.

“Thus far, a rather uninspiring thing.”

She couldn’t help humouring her as she leapt to her feet and shouted “Oh I just can’t wait to be king!”

Meghan stood too, dancing her way over as they continued the impromptu duet, slowly getting louder and louder until they were basically belting the lyrics, arms waving around as they ‘acted out’ the song.

Toward the end, Sledge appeared in the doorway with an eyebrow raised and yelped in surprise when he was immediately drawn in, the two girls bouncing around him like idiots as he joined in for the final lines, arms wiggling above him like one of the inflatable tube men some stores use.

As they came down from laughter, Sledge decided it was time for a party and put music on, leading to all three dancing until they tired themselves out, much to the amusement of the crowd they gathered. Other people continued to dance while Ela dropped back to the couch she originally was in, sending a cheeky wink to Valkyrie as she fell to the floor and spread out, winking and wiggling her eyebrows back only after situating herself in an appropriate starfish position.

_____

A few months later they were in a boat on the way to an op, and Ela was nervous. This wasn’t the sort of operation she was used to. No, she’d never been comfortable on the water so securing an oil liner that had been overtaken and planted with a bomb wasn’t ideal for her.

Heck, the only reason she was chosen was because there were so many opfor and they felt that her mines would be ideal for disorienting, especially as they were on high waves.

Her sister unfortunately was on another mission so that left her. There were two teams, both lead by the Rainbow Six Seals. Alpha was tasked to clear and secure hostages while her team, Bravo, disarmed the explosives. Bravo included herself, Echo, Jäger, Rook, and-

“Deception, disgrace, evil as plain as the scar on his face.” Valkyrie sent her a wink before lifting her voice a little. “Deception-”

“An outrage.”

“Disgrace!”

“For shame.”

Everyone laughed at Echo joining in, clearly knowing the song well. Jäger looked a little confused but still amused by the antics, clearly not used to Valkyrie at all.

“He asked for trouble the moment he came!”

Their boat bounced over the water but Ela didn’t even think about it as the whole team morale lifted and they all carried on singing to random songs, tapping beats on the metal of their vessel.

They fell silent, serious modes engaging as their comms came to life to announce their approach. All the same, Valkyrie send a reassuring smile to the girl next to her, squeezing her leg before responding to her radio to say their team was ready for boarding.

The boat stopped and they climbed outside, shooting two grappling hooks upward before starting their ascent.

_____

The mission was successful overall, but due to a mild explosion from an undetected bomb, Valkyrie and Jäger had been injured, the latter more drastically. All the same, they were both returned to base unconscious and now resided in the medical bay.

It was really a shame that IQ wasn’t available for their mission. Really, Ela was angry at their superiors for their planning despite the fact that she knew they couldn’t simply send the German girl back for immediate redeployment.

Still, as she sat by Meghan’s bed, she couldn’t help her grumbling. The beeping of her heart monitor was as irritating as it was relieving. The injured woman had woken briefly earlier but fell back asleep shortly after from her pain medication, but all the same Ela was glad because, much the same as the beeping, it meant she was ok.

A ruckus out in the hall caught her attention as she heart the raised voice of Doc.

“Bandit, Dominic! Don’t you wake her!”

The GSG9 rushed through the doorway, Doc tailing him. He stopped in the doorway when he caught sight of her repositioning herself to the end of Valkyrie’s bed and crossing her arms, radiating hostility.

The Bandit completely ignored her, marching past her- or attempting to. Her hand shot out to grab his arm and push him back, causing him to stumble in surprise before turning his dark glare to her. She merely returned it with her own.

“Get out of the road, arschgesicht.” She didn’t need to understand German to know he was throwing insults so she bristled a little at the word.

“Leave.”

“Your friend here is the reason Jäger is in the room over! She has some fucking explaining to do.” Her fists were clenching and unclenching in hopes of keeping calm, for Doc’s sake, the man watching exasperatedly from the door.

“No one noticed the bomb. We’re all to blame and have all been chastised.” Her voice was cold but calm and her words measured.

Clearly that wasn’t the reply Bandit wanted.

“She should have seen it, Jäger could be dead and it’d be her fault! Maybe she’s not a fit team l-“

Ela’s fist met his jaw before he could block it.

He stabilised himself and came back in heavy retaliation, more than ready for the fight Ela would happily provide.

Doc rushed in and yelled for them to stop, trying to push himself in between them without success. When he realised they weren’t going to stop, he rushed out to get another ops assistance.

They traded a few blows before Bandit took them to the ground, punches landing across Ela’s ribs and face before she rolled out from under him and wrapped her elbow around his throat in a choke hold.

The bastard squirmed valiantly but he couldn’t escape and in moments he was out cold. She dropped him unceremoniously for the others to deal with when they returned, sparing him a kick to the stomach before she moved back to her chair.

Valkyrie was awake, merely watching the fight through hazy eyes. When she turned her gaze from Bandit to Ela she frowned at her bruises, getting a careless shrug.

“It’s the circle of life.”

Meghan blinked and confusion and she laughed.

_____

She never got an apology from Bandit but she never expected nor cared for one. She understood worrying for a friend and the desire to defend them, despite the fact that she was sure those two were more.

Doc told Valkyrie to abstain from exercise for a few weeks while her bruised rib healed, but still she lingered around the gym. It was easily noticeable just how much she wanted to be working out but she did as told without complaint.

Ela of course noticed her friend lingering and invited her over to talk whenever she could, trying to distract her and keep her entertained.

By the end of the second week she had an idea.

She waited outside the gym room, lock pick in her pocket and cheeky grin on her face. Sure enough, Valkyrie rounded the corner at her usual gym time, eyes on the ground as she listened to Blackbeard talk. She snorted and punched his arm in reply to something, causing him to laugh.

He met Ela’s eyes and she respectfully nodded, getting a wide and goofy smile in response. He mumbled something else, causing Valkyries head to snap up. Her cheeks were slightly flushed as they stopped in the doorway.

“Hey,”

“I’ll leave you girls be. I can feel my arms going floppy-” he nudged Meghan but ignored her scowl. “Nice to see you Elżbieta.” He ignored Ela’s scowl too as he strut off with a laugh.

“What a dick.”

“Yep.”

They both looked at each other before breaking into laughter. They both loved the man and couldn’t deny it, he was like the big brother neither of them ever had.

“So anyway, I’ve got an idea.” She wandered across to the staircase door just beside the gymnasium entrance.

“Are we going to get in trouble?” Ela shrugged as she knelt and started picking the lock.

“It’s possible, but I’d say it’ll be worth it. Especially because I saw Buck and Jackal enter earlier.”

“…Buck and Jackal? What have they got to do with anything?”

The lock clicked and Ela quickly opened the door, ushering her friend inside.

“You’ll see.”

The climbed up to the room that looked down over the full area, moving to crouch along the furthest wall to cross to the room out of sight. When Meghan spotted the sound system she frowned before a mischievous smile lit her face.

“Oh, we’re not, are we?” Ela merely grinned over her shoulder in reply. “What song do you have?”

“Just wait. You’ll love it, I promise.”

They stopped next to it, Valkyrie watching over Ela’s shoulder as she plugged her phone in and brought up her song of choice.

“Oh my god. Wait I’ve gotta bring up my camera.” She laughed as she grabbed out her own phone and moved to the windows corner, laying on the ground to hide as best she could still.

Throwing a thumbs up to the green haired girl, they both giggled as the songs swapped.

“I can see what’s happening, and they don’t have a clue. They’ll fall in love, and here’s the bottom line, our trio’s down to two!”

‘Can you feel the love’ filled the air and caused everyone to stop, looking around in confusion.

As predicted, Buck’s face lit with red as Jackal winked at him, sitting down his weights to start shimmying toward him exaggeratedly. Buck just buried his head.

They didn’t miss the look shared between Sledge and the new member, Maestro, which definitely intrigued them.

Some people decided to continue working out while others started singing the song and dancing in a silly manner. Blackbeard glanced up to them while laughing, causing Rook- who had been spotting him while he did bench presses- to also look up and spot them. He shook his head while the two continued to record, giggling as Jackal draped himself over his flustered boyfriend.

_____

Ela had noticed something the other day. Valkyrie loved Disney and often randomly sung songs from it but… never Lion King. That was only for when she was around. It had unintentionally become their thing.

The idea warmed her heart and cemented her choice.

She wandered through the halls, seeking out her friend as she hummed the song that had been stuck in her head all of the past week.

She already knew to go to the shooting range, had been told where to meet the woman.

The air was warm when she stepped out into it, eyes meeting Valkyrie’s that had turned to see who had joined her outside. Thankfully, no one was around. She was confident in their relationship but she couldn’t help the small amount of anxiety bubbling in her.

Nonetheless she strode forward, humming the Lion King 2 a little louder to distract herself, the upbeat tune drowning out the nerves.

Of course, Meghan shot her a strange look as soon as she was within hearing distance, most likely recognising the song.

Ela didn’t stop, marching until she was within arms reach where she reached out and pulled her friend in, clasping their lips together. It took a moment for Valkyrie to respond to the kiss, most likely shocked. Still, she gradually melted into Ela’s hands, soft lips returning the movement before they broke apart, resting their foreheads together.

Meghan mumbled the next line with a fond smile.

“Upendi, it means love, doesn’t it?”

[sage-nebula]

Something Like a Modern Fantasy

Notes: So, six years ago, I wrote a thing.

Specifically, I wrote this thing, and I know it was six years ago because I posted it to Facebook and it showed up in the “On This Day” app. And here’s the thing about this thing: This original fic resulted in one of the worst drags I’ve ever experienced, one that honest-to-god almost broke me as a writer.

Let me explain.

Six years ago, I took an advanced fiction workshop for the first time. See, I was a creative writing major in undergrad, and so we were required to take at least one advanced creative writing course (I took two over the course of my time---fiction and playwriting---but that’s not the point right now.) The first time I tried to take the advanced fiction workshop, however, I didn’t finish it. The reason why I didn’t finish it---the reason why I ended up dropping out---was because I submitted this story when it was my turn to submit something for our class of 25 to read . . .

. . . and the professor . . . raked me over the coals for it.

Now, again, our class had twenty-five students in it. But my professor hated this story so much that he went off about how much he hated it, in front of all twenty-four of the other students. He also said, and I’ll never forget this, “There’s so much wrong with this I don’t have time to tell you how to fix it.” Apparently it was the least funny, most horribly written thing he had ever read. I’m all about constructive criticism, but literally nothing he said was constructive. All insults, and no instruction on how to fix it. As a result, I was so completely ashamed and humiliated that I just stopped showing up to the class and took my failing grade, feeling that I deserved it.

Anyway, I ended up taking an advanced fiction workshop with the other professor who taught it a year or two later (because while I could have just given up on writing forever, that’s . . . not really my style), and I worked my ass off and passed that one with flying colors, so it all worked out in the end. The first workshop was a disaster, and the second one was a success. But the point of this post is that I’m going to share with you that fateful story that was so bad that I couldn’t show my face in that first advanced fiction workshop again, because, hey . . . even if (though?) it’s garbage, if nothing else, it just shows how far I’ve come.

So, here’s this.

- - -

Most people go through their lives without anything exciting happening to them. Oh, sure, they go to school, go to work, maybe win a contest or two, participate in some sports tournaments, attend a few concerts . . . but nothing truly exciting happens to them. They live ordinary, boring lives, even if their lives don't seem boring all the time. Most people, through the course of living these ordinary, boring lives, indulge in fiction as a way to break up the monotony. They read books. They watch movies. They watch television, listen to music, and play video games. They let themselves escape to a more exciting, interesting place for short intervals of time, as a way of pretending that living their ordinary, boring lives doesn't bother them. This gets them through until they die, at which point it no longer matters how boring and ordinary their lives are, because they're dead and there's nothing they can do about it.

But still, some of these people wonder, what if life wasn't so boring and uninteresting? What if they woke up one day, and life was suddenly exciting, interesting, and all-around like every fictional book and every fictional movie they'd ever dreamed of living in?

For some people, such a thing sounds like a dream come true. For others, it sounds terrifying.

And for others, well, they really don't have much of a choice in the matter.

- -

The adventure always kicks off differently in each story. For some, they get a letter summoning them to a magical school. For others, they get told that they must take a magical MacGuffin off to some faraway place, all the while avoiding others that try and take it away from them. Still others simply happen upon the wrong place at the wrong time and then spend the rest of their adventure constantly running from those that want to kill them. Actually, all of the people in the above scenarios, at one point or another, run away from people who want to kill them. It seems to a staple of the interesting, exciting life. Well, that, and conveniently being an orphan. You'd be amazed at how many main characters in various fictional scenarios just don't have parents for some reason or another, because parents — above all else — seem to not approve of their children going off on magical, life-threatening adventures.

As for me, well, I'm not an orphan, but I'm not a child, either. I don't even live with my parents anymore. Not that I'm exactly an adult; I don't want to be an adult, and so long as I'm still in college I can pretend that I'm not while still reaping all the benefits of one, such as getting to do whatever I want in my on-campus apartment while not having to pay rent or mortgage bills. Anyway, so I'm not an orphan, and my adventure doesn't kick off with a letter of summons, a "but thou must" quest, or stumbling into the wrong place at the wrong time and triggering a series of unfortunate events.

Instead, it starts with me opening my front door and hitting a zombie in the face with a baseball bat. And let me clarify: this is an actual zombie, not someone pretending to be a zombie, or my drunk neighbor stumbling home at three in the morning, so piss drunk out of her mind that she looks and acts like a zombie. No, this is an actual zombie, of the eat-your-flesh-and-brains for breakfast variety. It'd actually be kind of cool, if it didn't reek of dead flesh, and ooze all over my welcome mat.

At least I wasn't too attached to that mat.

But anyway, that's how the whole thing started. In case you're wondering, I was holding the bat because I was getting ready to go to batting practice. Not that I'm on the baseball team or anything, but sometimes I like to just go down the batting cages and hit a few rounds. It's good for getting out anger, you know, without actually hitting someone in the face. Besides the zombie, I mean. But if a zombie was standing outside your front door, moaning and probably about to gnaw your face off, and you just so happened to be holding a baseball bat, you'd hit it in the face, too.

But there we have it — the "just so happened," the convenient coincidence that goes along with every sort of story like this. Well, I guess we had to have it somewhere.

Anyway, so that's how it all began. I was on my way to batting practice, I opened my front door, saw a zombie, and hit the zombie in the face with the bat. I didn't even really think — I just swung. And I guess all those years of batting practice have paid off, because the zombie went down pretty hard, fluids oozing out of its face where proper blood should be. It didn't die — blunt force trauma won't kill anything that quick, and anyway, aren't zombies undead anyway? Can't kill what's undead. At least, I don't think you can. I didn't stay long enough to check. It was stupid of me, but I just hopped over the zombie, didn't even bother to close my door, and took off running to see if the rest of the campus was overrun. What? I was excited! It's not every day that you open your door, see a zombie, hit the zombie, and then get a chance to jump over it and check out the rest of campus. And with a campus this small and this mundane, completely boring and not exciting in the slightest, the chance of a zombie apocalypse is a pretty big deal. It's something to get excited over.

But there was no zombie apocalypse. When I went down the stairs and got to ground level, everything and everyone looked normal. There were no more zombies, no lumbering corpses, no moans or odors of dead flesh — nothing. Just me, holding my goo-covered baseball bat, a zombie twitching in front of my open front door upstairs. Good way to start the morning, I guess, but for some reason I didn't even really panic. I just stood there, looking at the rest of the ordinary, still-alive people around me, holding the bat and probably looking like an idiot.

Well, at that point, I had two options. I could either, A) go back up and check on the zombie (who, incidentally, turned out to be my roommate; I felt kind of bad for hitting him in the face when I found that out, but since he was already a zombie, there wasn't much I could do for him; a band-aid wouldn't fix it, and anyway, since I left the door open he could get into the apartment just fine, so I don't think what I did was that terrible) , or B) leave. So of course, I did what any reasonable human being would do in that situation.

I left.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is where I lost all choice in the matter. Because if you're faced with a zombie upon opening your front door, and you happen to be holding a bat, chances are you're going to swing the bat to hit the zombie. And at that point — or maybe the point after you check to see if the rest of your campus is infested with flesh-and-brain-eating corpses — you have two options. You can either go back to your life as normal, and have the adventure end there, or you can leave, and thereby get contracted into going on an adventure.

I left, and so I was contracted into going on an adventure. It's really as simple as that. Once I turned away from the stairs and went off in search of finding out why there was a zombie in front of my door (or really just doing something about it, because the why wasn't as important as the can you please take this away it really smells rank and it's getting ooze all over the place as far as I was concerned), I was roped into whatever would happen next, whether I liked it or not. It would have been that way no matter what I did, so long as what I did didn't involve going back up to my apartment, going inside, shutting the door, locking it, and then going back to bed.

But since that's the case, I really wish I would have done something other than go to public safety for help.

- -

In my defense, I didn't know what else to do. I guess I could have called the Help Desk, but what could they have done, filed an incident report to public safety to get them to take care of the zombie? Yeah, as if. I figured I'd cut out the middle man and just go to public safety myself.

I should have known better, all things considered.

"Uh, excuse me?" No response. The woman behind the little window just kept typing on her computer, completely oblivious to my presence. You'd think the fact that I was holding a baseball bat might've got her attention. I mean, I had no intention of bashing her skull in, but I could have, and usually that makes all the difference in any and all situations pertaining to weapons. "Excuse me?" Still no response. Maybe I should have brought a box of Krispy Kremes with me. "Excuse me!"

"What?" Finally. Even if the response was less than friendly, it was still a response. I tried to make my voice polite again, but I wasn't too sure I succeeded.

"There's a zombie in front of my apartment. Can you send someone over to do something about it?"

"What?" The woman's voice still wasn't friendly, but now it wa a little less angry, and a little more confused. I tried again.

"There's a zombie in front of my apartment. I opened my door, and it was standing there, so I hit it with my bat." I held up the bat and she looked at it, frowning because of the goo that was still on it, I guess. "I think that knocked it out, or at least stunned it or something, because it went down pretty hard and didn't move aside from twitching after that. But anyway, I guess it's probably still there, and I want someone to go take care of it. Or at least make sure that it's not still there, I don't want to get mauled the next time I go back."

The woman stared at me, and I stared back. For a few minutes, there was no sound except for that which the other public safety "officers" made behind her, filing reports or whatever it is they do. Mostly all they ever do is issue parking tickets, so I guess maybe they were filing those into the system. Finally, the woman asked, "Do you think this is a joke?"

"What?" It was my turn to be confused. "Uh, no, a zombie in front of my apartment is pretty serious business." I didn't want to think about what ResLife would fine me for zombie stains on the carpet inside.

"Here at public safety, we work tirelessly to ensure the safety of the students, staff, and faculty on this campus," she continued, and I guess I should have seen where it was going then, but part of my mind got distracted wondering how they factored frequent trips to McD's as "working tirelessly to ensure the safety of the students, staff, and faculty" on the campus. "We do our best to respond in a timely manner to every report, to make sure that every safety regulation is followed, to investigate each matter as seriously and swiftly as possible."

"Great. Then you're going to send someone to deal with the zombie, right?"

"That means," the woman continued, and her voice was rising at this point, so I really should have gotten the message that this wasn't going to end well, "that when we get fake reports — when we get little practical jokes by students, we take those seriously as well. They are not appreciated. They are not amusing. If we had the same power as the police department, I can assure you that you would be arrested for this insubordination!"

"Uh."

"Please leave. Do not come back here again unless you have a serious problem."

"I do have a serious problem. There's a zombie in front of my—"

"Leave!"

Well, in all honesty, I wasn't that surprised. Put-out, I guess, because this was the one time in which public safety could actually be useful, and they'd failed me. But surprised? Nah, not really. Like I said, they were never really useful despite that woman's speech about how they worked tirelessly to blah, blah, blah, and so I hadn't really expected much from them, especially since I'm pretty sure they were not prepared for a zombie apocalypse. For a mass onslaught of parking violations? Definitely. For zombies? No.

Of course, that gave me the idea that maybe I should say someone was parked illegally in front of my apartment building, and then just drag the public safety officers up to my apartment once they got there. But then, if there was someone parked illegally by some chance, the officers would be too distracted in writing their tickets, so that was a lost cause, anyway.

At that point, I was at a loss for what to do. I figured that I could go back to my apartment, but by this point the zombie would probably be awake, and I didn't want to get mauled. There was still the option of calling the Help Desk, but again, what could an incident report do for me now? And then I could always go to the university center, but I didn't see what they could do, either, except maybe make me a new ID card for the zombie. Out of all the resources on campus, that only left ResLife, Health Services, and the Academic Advising/Resource Center. ResLife would just fine me for zombie stains, Health Services was only ever useful for hounding people for vaccination records, and the Academic Advising/Resource Center was just useful for administering tests and telling you to take classes that you didn't need while never offering you any real help when it came to registering for the classes that you did need.

So all in all, my options were pretty slim. Given that I didn't want to go back to my apartment (at least not alone), and given that I also couldn't make use of any of the available "resources" on campus, I did the only thing that made sense at that point.

I went to go see my best friend Kyle.

- -

"A zombie?"

"A zombie."

"In front of your apartment?"

"Yep."

"And you hit it with your bat?"

"Uh-huh."

". . . No fucking way." I knew he'd react like that. But see, the thing about Kyle is, while he says "no fucking way" right off instead of giving some long-winded speech about how I should only talk about serious things and not joke around, he doesn't mean that he doesn't believe me. He just means that he thinks there's no fucking way there could have been a zombie in front of my apartment. And despite how it sounds, that's not the same thing. "You've gotta show me this shit."

"I will, if you'll move your ass and come with me." I walked away from his apartment, only pausing at the top of the stairs to let him shut his door and lock it. Not that he has anything worth stealing in there except his laptop, but you know. "It might not still be there, though. I didn't kill it."

"Of course you didn't kill it, it's a zombie. It's already dead. Undead. Whatever. But you're just saying that now because there wasn't an actual zombie, so nothing's going to be there when we get there."

"Like hell, dude. There's zombie ooze all over my welcome mat."

"Sure there is."

"You'll see."

Kyle's on-campus apartment was across campus from mine, but the campus was so small that it only took about five minutes to get from his place to mine, even taking into account the fact that we had to dodge kids on scooters and weave our way through the parking lots. When we got back to my apartment, the zombie had moved as I predicted, but it didn't go far. Not only was the ooze still all over the place, but it made a trail through my open door, leading right to the zombie, who was rolling around on the carpet.

ResLife will have a field day with those zombie ooze fines, I swear to Christ.

"Holy shit dude," Kyle said, and I glanced over to see that his jaw was dropped. Well, that's a decent reaction, at least.

"Told you so."

"No, seriously, holy fuck." Kyle walked into my apartment, which I thought was pretty batshit stupid considering it was a fucking zombie that was rolling around (moaning, too — seriously, was it getting some strange, freaky, orgasmic reaction to the cheap carpeting or something?), and leaned forward a bit to get a closer look at the zombie. "I think that's your roommate."

"My what?"

"Your roommate. Ryan. Isn't that Ryan?"

I walked up to join Kyle in the doorway, standing a bit behind him even though I was the one with the weapon, and leaned forward to get a closer look. In case you were wondering, yeah, this was when I found out that my roommate was the one I bashed in the face upon opening my door to find that there was a zombie there. Again, he was already a zombie. There wasn't much I could do. And from the way he was taking pleasure in rolling around on my carpet, I really don't think he cared too much. "Yeah, I guess that's him. Kind of hard to tell, since there's a gaping mouth where his face should be."

"I'm positive that's him. Dude, your roommate's a zombie. That's pretty fucked up. Think they'll give you a roommate transfer if you ask for one?"

"Well, considering public safety thought I was bullshitting them when I told them about the zombie in the first place, probably not."

"You went to public safety? Man, that's so weak."

"Shut up, I didn't know what else to do."

"Point taken."

The zombie — or Ryan, I guess — kept rolling around on the floor, pausing every few moments, yet then going right back to it. He kind of reminded me of my dog. She'd do that sometimes, too. After a minute, I asked, "So, what do you think I should do?"

"Ask for a roommate transfer."

"I mean besides that."

"Dude, I don't know." Kyle shrugged. "I've never had a zombie roommate before."

Well, there went all my options. I had no resources on campus, my best friend didn't know what to do, and my roommate was a zombie that was currently rolling around on my carpet and showing no signs of stopping. There was really only one thing I could think of to do at that moment, and if my fate to go on some quest hadn't been sealed before that moment, it was definitely sealed right then.

"Well, I guess I can just go home for the weekend."

- - 

Okay, so maybe going home for the weekend wasn't the best solution to my problem, either. I still couldn't go into my apartment, because even if he was just rolling around like my dog after eating kibble, there was still a chance that zombie-Ryan could jump up and maul my face at any given moment. That, and going home wouldn't exactly solve the zombie-Ryan problem. All it would do was postpone the fact that I had to deal with it until I got back, unless my drunk-ass neighbor happened to look in my open door at one point and see zombie-Ryan rolling around on the floor. Granted, I doubted anyone would believe my drunk-ass neighbor any more than they ever believed me, especially since she was drunk all the time, but hey. I could try.

Anyway, so going home wouldn't really solve the zombie problem, but it was all I could think of to do in that moment. I guess in a way I was panicking, but not in the screaming fit way of panicking. More of the I just did whatever came to mind first brand of panicking, and since that panicking allowed me to drive home without crashing the car, I figured that was a good thing.

Home was about three hours away, so even though I left at eleven AM, I got there at about two-thirty, which was fine. It was a Saturday, which meant my parents would either be at home or playing golf or something, and they'd be happy to see me home for the weekend. Probably, anyway. It was hard to tell with them sometimes. Anyway, I fully expected them to be home, because as mentioned before, I am not conveniently an orphan. That's not how this story is going to work. No way, no how.

But I guess stories can't function if the main character can just run home whenever they want, either. And I guess that having parents there sort of induces that "run home" feeling. And I guess since I lost all choice in the matter the second I decided to leave my zombie roommate rolling around on the floor, some divine forces from above were going to step in and make sure that I couldn't get all comfy-cozy at home, ignoring my destiny or whatever the hell it was that caused my roommate to turn into a zombie and then roll around in the living room.

That was the best reason I could come up with, anyway, for why — when I used my key to get in the front door and walked into my living room — a middle-aged couple that was not made up of either my mother or my father was sitting there, watching television, the house filled with furniture that I didn't recognize.

"Uh." It was my default response for when my brain was too broken to think of anything else, okay? And for the record, the middle-aged couple that wasn't made up of either my father or my mother seemed to have brains as equally as broken as mine.

"Who are you, and what are you doing in here?" the man asked, standing up from his reclining chair. I held up my key by way of explanation.

"I live here. Or I kind of live here, anyway. This is my parents' house. Speaking of which, where are they, and who are you?"

"This is our house," the man said, indicating himself and who I assumed to be his wife. "We've lived here for thirty years, and we don't have any children."

"Then explain to me why my key works," I said, holding out the key. He didn't take it. "I'm positive that this is my parents' house. I grew up here. We never lived anywhere else. I was just here two weeks ago to do laundry." Hey, don't judge me, you never really need to do laundry until you run out of underwear. "Seriously, what the hell is going on?"

The woman looked somewhat scandalized, either by my presence or my language. Hey, it wasn't nearly as bad as what I could have said, but then, I guessed they might be one of those couples that's traumatized by everything "our nation's young people" do. There are some older couples like that out there.

"Look," the man said, apparently doing all the talking for him and his wife. "I don't know where you got that key or what you're playing at, but if you don't leave right now, I'm calling the police."

"Leave and go where?" I asked, and I don't even know why I bothered. "I can't go back to school, there's a zombie in my apartment. And I would go to my parents' house, except this is my parents' house, even though it's apparently not now." The man seemed to have no sympathy for me, and his wife still looked scandalized, so I sighed. "Fine, fine. I'm going."

And go I did. I walked out, but I made sure to check the number on the mailbox and the outside of the house. There was no mistaking it. It was my parents' house, the house I was raised in, the house I'd just done my laundry at two weeks ago.

Only, apparently it was no longer my parents house, but instead the house of some middle-aged couple that I didn't even recognize. And when I tried calling my parents on my cell phone, all I got was a "this number has been disconnected" message.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still pretty sure that I'm not conveniently an orphan, but again, if nothing before had sealed my "you're set to go on an adventure now" fate, this did it.

And to be honest, it kind of sucked.