#Paint By Number: Fancy Silhouettes

[monstersinparadise-saga]

Crackpots & Flapjacks

Book One, Part Two of Monsters In Paradise

(Read Part One Here)

Paradise, Washington turns out to be not as far away as I thought. By the time the sun has fully risen, I’ve arrived on the crest of a hill. To my left the road continues on roughly the same elevation; I can see a residential area beginning to emerge. They’re nice houses, most of them two-story, painted in a lot of pastel colors that seem more endemic to a beach town than the side of a mountain. Some of them have boats in the driveways alongside pickup trucks and medium-size SUVs and hatchbacks, and most of the hatchbacks have kayaks strapped to the top. Outdoorsy town, I think, although I suppose around here you’d have to be.

Along the right-side path the road descends to follow a river emerging from below, a winding path that is still residential but with houses that aren’t as nice. They’re mostly one-story or ranch style, and gravel instead of driveway. There are a few shops down there too, although most of them still look dark. One eyesore sticks out: a neon sign like you’d see advertising a bowling alley, except instead of pins it depicts a stack of pancakes with a pat of butter on top, and a redundant word, HOTCAKES, above it.

This catches my attention for two reasons. One, any local gathering place is a good way to trawl for information for the three main questions I need to urgently solve: who I am, how I died, and how I’m now walking around. I don’t expect a diner to be a place I can get much traction on question number three, but it’s a start in the right direction. 

Two, I am undeniably starving. So starving that I am completely unwilling to contemplate how I have no heartbeat but still need food. Chalk that up to the list of mysteries for after pancakes.

As I go to make my descent, the unmistakable sound of an engine comes up from behind me. I keep my head low, but a large navy-blue van rolls to a stop beside me anyway.

“Hey there, stranger!” 

The speaker is another man, young, with wild-looking hazel eyes and curly blonde hair that is mostly shoved into a grayish baseball cap. He’s got a toothy grin, minus one tooth on the right side of his mouth. “Fancy seein’ you again! You out for a jog?” 

Oh God, we’ve met. He’s as unfamiliar as everything else, but he’s the best chance I’ve gotten so far to figure anything out. “Oh, uh… yeah. Just getting a workout in, you know.” 

“How’s the t-shirt treatin’ ya?” 

He can’t mean the worn-out AC/DC t-shirt I stole from a morgue locker, can he? Did he give me a t-shirt? Does he sell them? “Great,” I say weakly, hoping the response won’t raise suspicion. 

“You want a ride down to Flapjack? I’m headed there myself, and no offense man, but you look dead on your feet.”

Fighting the urge to laugh, I accept, and he pops open his passenger-side door. I slide in and try to scan as much as I can for context clues. 

It’s an old van, a manual transmission with hand-crank windows. Despite that, it seems to be running fine, as the man putters down the steep hill. Hanging from the rearview mirror is some kind of work badge and something else; a small keychain with what appears to be a small stuffed-animal Bigfoot. 

“Those didn’t sell well,” the man says mournfully. “Said it looked too much like a regular gorilla or somethin’. I gottem on sale still if you want one.”

Casting a look behind me, there are racks of clothes built into the interior of the van, along with crates stacked on the bottom. From here I can see a few different designs, paired with bold, all-caps slogans like “I WANT TO BELIEVE” and “RESPECT THE LOCALS”, overlapping creatures’ silhouettes. 

Well. That answers a few questions.

I decide to play my odds. “Remind me, what was your name again?” 

He flashes that grin as the road levels out, bringing us to the strip of shops along the river. “It’s KP! And you’re – wait, wait, wait, don’t tell me…” 

He pulls into a small parking lot right below the neon hotcakes sign and frowns in concentration. I hold my breath, hoping for a lucky break. He sighs. “Dang it. Hold on…” Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scrap of paper from his pants pocket. “That’s right! Max!” He flashes the piece of paper at me, which has the name and a ten-digit number scrawled into it. 

“Ah, that’s right,” I said, relieved. “I forgot I gave you my cell number.” 

“Well I hope it’s not your cell number, man, what use I got for that? Ain’t service out here for miles. This is your hotel number, right?” 

“Right. Of course.”

We get out of the van and head into the diner, which I can see from the sign on the door is called Flapjack, depicted in old script like a classic baseball team. A bell rings as we walk in – there aren’t too many people here, but KP waves to a woman at the counter. “Mornin’, Kris.”

“Morning, Kay! Usual?” 

“Yes, please, and whatever my new buddy here wants.” He flashes me a grin, adding to me, “Got a big tip on my route this morning.”

Perplexed at how a t-shirt and souvenir salesman has a ‘route’, I just slide into a seat at the counter next to him. The woman comes up to me – she’s probably college age, and not wearing any kind of uniform save for a name-tag that reads Krista. She hands me a laminated menu and pulls a pen and pad out of the back pocket of her light-wash jeans. “Whatcha feeling?”

“Pancakes, please,” I say, scanning the menu briefly.

“Comes in a stack of three. That good with you?” 

“Perfect.” 

“Bacon or sausage with that?” 

Automatically I say, “Sausage.” Somewhere in the back of my mind I feel another wave of relief – it’s almost the first real thing I know about myself outside my name, and that I’m not from here. Max, whoever he is, likes sausage over bacon.

“Sure thing. Coffee?” 

“Please.” Before she walks away, I think to ask one more thing. “Oh, hey – I uh, got a little bit turned around this morning, and for the life of me I can’t remember which hotel I’m staying at. Do you recognize this number?” I nod at KP and he fishes the note out of his pocket again, showing it to Krista. 

She looks at me quizzically, but takes it anyway. “Sure; I mean, if you’re staying in town there really aren’t that many options.” She pulls out a small booklet from underneath the counter, which looks like some kind of recommendation list for tourists: local trails, activities, and presumably, lodging. It’s a very thin booklet. “Yeah, this is the number for Paradise Inn. It’s right next to the welcome center; you can’t miss it.”

I thank her and she returns to the kitchen to place our orders. I’m tempted to go running to the hotel right now, abandoning KP and pancakes to go investigate my room, but hunger and politeness get the better of me. Beside me, KP chatters. I’m able to gather from the chatter that at the very least he’s lived in Paradise a long time, and he carries on a number of odd jobs alongside hawking cryptozoological souvenirs, one of which is delivering weekly copies of the Cascadia Spectator newspaper to its subscribers in the nearby area. After checking in on a few other customers dining in the booths, Krista comes back to chat, too, setting down two coffees in front of us in heavy ceramic mugs. I take a sip – it’s bitter enough that even if pre-death Max didn’t take cream in his coffee, I decide he does now.

“Any sightings this week, KP?” She asks, waggling her eyebrows conspiratorially.

He shakes his head. “Naw. Some guy over in Lewis County tried to sell me that he seen a flyin’ saucer the other day, though. Swore up and down, til I pulled up the NASA reports and showed him it was just some space junk fallin’ outta orbit.”

“How’d he take it?”

KP snorts. “Guy kept insisting. Anyway, he got real mad when I didn’t pay him.”

Krista turns to me. “KP offers rewards for reports on sightings of weird stuff,” she explains. “UFOs, Bigfoots, stuff like that.” 

“It’s just Bigfoot, Kris. It’s the singular collective, like how lots of fish is still fish.”

I smile. Suddenly I like KP a lot. “Got a high burden of proof, KP?”

“Sure do! I mean, anybody’ll do anything for a buck, you know? But folks still need motivation to come forward with stuff; they’re used to bein’ laughed at by the cops, or they’ve been intimidated by the Men In Black. But a fifty-buck reward will grease a lotta wheels.”

Krista disappears into the kitchen and returns with two steaming plates. She sets pancakes and sausage down in front of me, and a big omelette stuffed full of mushrooms, cheese, and peppers in front of KP, along with toast. KP takes a bottle of ketchup and squirts it liberally in a zigzag over his eggs, while I lather my breakfast with warm maple syrup.

“KP runs a blog,” Krista says helpfully. “The Watcher.”

“Been thinkin’ about a re-name,” KP says, mid-chew. “Not great SEO, if I’m bein’ honest.” He swallows, pointing his fork at a rack by the door. “Kris here’s probably the biggest fan; keeps printouts of articles by the door.” 

While they talk, I try to eat as calmly as I can, but God in heaven these are good pancakes. Fluffy and tender and they taste like butter and a hundred-year-old griddle pan that someone’s been taking care of their whole life.

“It’s good for business,” Kris shrugs, though it’s clear from her expression that her interest isn’t purely pragmatic. “The more people come around looking for weird stuff, the more omelettes we sell. Besides, a lot more people like The Watcher than just me.”

“Just not people around here,” KP says under his breath.

I tilt my head between bites. “Locals aren’t a fan of you?”

“Naw. But it’s not their fault. This town was supposed to get a big leisure industry; there were plans for a big resort until not too long ago. But it all went belly-up.” 

“Why’s that?”

“Protected species. Big population of – what was it, Kris?” 

“White-tailed Ptarmigan,” Kris supplies. “It’s a kind of bird that makes its nest in the ground, and populations were found too close to the building site. In fact,” she adds, “It’s probably gonna stop damn near anything from being built around here for a long time.”

I nod slowly. “So people are sour about that?”

“Big-time,” says KP, now attacking his toast. “But I don’t care none. I looked up pictures of them birds; they’re cute – I’d rather have a Ptarmigan than a resort, anyway.”

Kris hums her agreement as the door swings open again. A dark-skinned young woman with her hair in long braids walks in, wearing a hoodie over what appear to be scrubs, paired with chunky sneakers. She walks behind the counter, giving a kiss on the cheek to Kris before pouring herself a mug of coffee.

“Hey, sugar. Long shift?” Kris asks. 

The woman nods wearily. “Not too intense. Just a couple hiking accidents, mostly. And that flu going around.”

“You should really sleep before you study, you know,” Kris says, sliding her arm around the woman’s waist and giving her coffee a well-practiced stink-eye.

The woman doesn’t respond, just raises the mug to her lips – but she stops before she gets there, because she makes eye contact with me, and freezes. 

Her recognition shocks me to my core. There’s something in her face; some combination of confusion, fear, and anger present on her face, though I can’t estimate how much of each.

There’s a big problem here, I can tell; and it’s one I can’t deal with until I know more about myself and why I’m here. I react, standing up quickly, leaving behind a quarter of a plate of pancakes and half a sausage link. “Thanks for breakfast,” I say to KP, before giving a short wave goodbye and setting off out the door, exhaling deeply as I leave the Flapjack Diner behind. A quick scan shows me that the welcome center, marked by a large flag, is up another small hill towards the mountain.

As I climb, the I see the silhouette of the Paradise Inn. A two-story, log-cabin-looking affair, it’s the picture of a quaint countryside hotel. There’s a parking lot with around eighteen spots, but only two of them are full. At the front desk, there’s a bald man with glasses leaning back in a swivel chair. 

“Erm… hello. I seem to have misplaced my… room key,” I say awkwardly. 

The desk guy raises an eyebrow. “Room number?” 

“Uh…. Lost that too.”

“ID?�� 

“…You’ll never guess.” I smile weakly. “Left my wallet in the room.” God, I’m getting so tired of guessing and lying.

He snorts. “Mountain air got to your head, did it?”

“Actually, I took a fall on my run this morning. I’m fine, but, you know. A little fuzzy.”

“Well, I trust you know your name, at least,” the desk guy says, firing up an ancient-looking computer on the desk.

“Yeah. Max.”

“That’s right. Max. Paid cash.” He doesn’t ask a last name. Maybe it’s a small-town thing. “Right; you checked in a week ago. Room 12 – down the hall on the right.” He pulls a fresh key card from the scanner. “Try not to lose this one.”

I grimace. “Understood.”

The room, once I find it, has a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. “Guess I don’t like visitors,” I mumble to myself, before pressing the keycard to the lock and swinging the door open. 

It’s spare in there – no television or anything; just a bed, a desk, a lamp on a small side table, and an old armchair. There’s a duffel bag on the bed, and again I’m disappointed as it fails to evoke any recognition. The clothes inside are basic – jeans, some plaid button-ups, the usual unmentionables. 

The bed is mildly slept-in, but other than that, there isn’t much to go on. There’s an empty bottle of water and a crumbled wrapper from a gas-station sandwich in the trash can, but that’s it. As I’m about to tear my hair out in frustration, I realize – the drawer on the bed-side table is slightly ajar. I pull it open, and if I needed to breathe, the sight would have taken knocked the wind out of me.

There’s a wallet there, sure, but more pressingly – a sleek black handgun, and a badge with credentials. 

FEDERAL BUREAU OF INVESTIGATION

SPECIAL AGENT MAX VALLER

“Oh, fuck.” 

I pick up the badge, the weight of at least one mystery finally off my back. This is me. I have a last name, a job, a damn badge number. I could use the hotel phone and call the number listed right here and someone who knows me would arrange for me to get out of here, back to wherever I’m from, back to whoever might be missing me. I have a life, somewhere, and it’s right here in my hands.

Except. 

Except I’m very dead.

I’m dead, but I’m not, and no one can know, or I’ll be stuck in a facility to be tested until whatever spark of life still within me is pulled out with tweezers. And then I’ll really be dead.

I’m sure of almost nothing, except for the fact that I really really don’t want to be really dead.

I shove the credentials back in the drawer and shut it. No one knows I’m dead, and it needs to stay that way.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of crackling behind me.

“Hands up. Turn around. Real slow.”

I comply, as still as I can. It’s the woman with the braids from the diner, standing in the door that I stupidly left ajar in my fervor for answers. She’s holding a taser, and the look on her face tells me she’ll use it.

“You want to tell me what the fuck,” she says fiercely, “a corpse I put on a slab not three hours ago is doing walking around town?”

(Read Part Three)

[houserulesfilm]

first pass at the treatment

The tenant lies on the floor surrounded by a pool of blood. Some body parts are missing or somewhere else in the room. Some on the wall along with trails of blood, some replacing the paintings that were once adorning the room. He coughs up blood and suffers to get his last few breaths in. “You’re probably wondering how I got here,” he narrates.

The tenant walks into the house to a kitchen illuminated only by a single candle on the dining table. He sets down his bag on the floor and walks over to the table to find a piece of paper titled “House Rules” sitting next to the candle. He picks up the paper and reads the first rule. He shrugs and reads the second rule. He smiles, grabs a wine glass and opens the wine cupboard. He takes out an opened wine bottle, pours a glass and sits at the table. He reads the next rule, looks at it with a confused expression, and reads it again. He stares at the paper for a second. He finishes his wine and walks to the basement door and opens it. He slowly walks down the creaky stairs. He turns on the light to reveal two freezers. He slowly walks closer to one and hears a faint sound. It’s muffled at first but then turns into the sound of a heart beat. He hesitates, reaches for the handle and opens the freezer. It’s dark inside. Suddenly a hand reaches out and a single eye opens. The being inside asks if he wants some ice cream. The tenant screams, runs up the stairs and shuts the door behind him. His heart beats out of his chest. The first thing he goes for is his phone. He tries to make a call but it doesn’t work. He decides to leave the house but catches a glimpse of the next rule. He reads the next rule on the paper and immediately walks away, trying to make his way to the study area to find the antique phone mentioned in the rule. He stumbles into the study and finds the antique phone. He dials numbers to no avail until he gives up and walks away to the kitchen. He picks up his keys and bags and walks to the door, but he stops at the sound of the antique phone ring. He turns his head to face the noise, looks back forward, and pauses for a moment. He drops his bags and walks to the study. He picks up the phone despite the rule’s warning and hears a whisper, making his pupils shrink. He feels his stomach churn and stumbles back into the kitchen. A hand claws its way out of his stomach and a little being crawls out (not sure what this is yet but something stupid like an anime girl figure). The tenant is on the floor and reaches for the table, but brings down the paper with the rules instead. He reads the last rule. Suddenly a knock on the door makes him jump. He hears a woman’s voice coming from the door. He looks back at the house rules in horror as he reads rule #5 again. He runs away into a hallway. He turns a corner, then another, he passes by walls of paintings and hallway lined with potted houseplants and fancy statues of busts. He ends up right back in the kitchen. He pauses for a second and hears the door creak. He sees a creepy shadow cast by the housekeeper. He runs away again and once again ends up in the kitchen. The housekeeper stands across from him, a silhouette in the doorway. His heart pounds as they stare at each other. She points and the tenant follows where she’s pointing. She’s pointing at the empty wine glass on the table. “Ruuuule number onnee” she says. He looks back at her. With a slash blood splatters all over the kitchen.

“There you have it,” he narrates, “all I had to do was follow the rules."

[anthonyspage]

🐺🌅🌌🏞🌕🐺🐦

[obeymedreams]

Sweet as You

Author’s notes: I’m salty that the event will not give me Lucifer and Luke’s card so instead I’m replacing it with sweet headcanons about the essence of the datables’ kisses and what chocolates you’d give, plus a little bit about how you and Luke teamed up to make them! 

Content warning: food, chocolate, candy

Length: 2.4 K

Lucifer

You make a coffee bonbon for Lucifer. The shell is dark chocolate with two streaks of colour painted on—one in your favourite colour and another in his. The filling is an espresso ganache that highlights the bitterness of chocolate and coffee while ensuring the bonbon is never too sweet

Lucifer is both impressed with the flavour and the obvious care you’ve put into crafting this confection. He offers to prepare some drinks so you two can enjoy the chocolate together

Kissing Lucifer is being swept up in each other. It feels like passing by each other in castle walls, then hiding behind pillar to exchange impassioned kisses and whispers of love. The world might be continuing around you, but in that moment only the two of you matter

Lucifer feels clarity when kissing you. Everything else melts away and all that is left is the feeling of your lips and the warmth of your love. Your kisses contain an oasis and Lucifer finally feels like he can relax

Mammon

Mammon gets a fancy gold leaf bonbon that has a glossy shine. And to his delight you’ve gifted him liquor chocolate filled with an expensive Demonus that’s all the rage lately

Naturally, Mammon enjoys the chocolates because they’re fancy. However, the real reason he adores them is that they are proof that, to you, he is someone worth splurging on in both effort and money

Kisses with Mammon are messy and unexpected yet both of you feel like you’ve waited forever for this. The first taste of you isn’t enough, and Mammon becomes addicted pretty quickly. It’s a rush, like betting on a rolling dice or a flip of a card while on a winning streak. He feels like he’s losing all good sense yet so sure this is the right decision

His love for you is neither neat nor compartmentalized and neither are his kisses. It’s bubbling affection that he just can’t contain anymore. No matter how many lies he verbalizes, the blush on his visage and the way he greedily steals kiss after kiss says enough

Levi

You craft a chocolate treat based of a scene in TSL! There was a cute scene between Henry and the Lord of the Shadows where they eat chocolates, sharing one last sweet moment before having to part. You decide to recreate it by creating milk chocolate bonbons with a salted caramel filling, making sure to use a mold which creates the right shape!

Levi is floored. He knows EXACTLY which scene these chocolates are from, down to the page and line numbers. He simply gawks for a while and then proceeds to basically have a photoshoot. When he finally takes a bite, you can see the way his face lights up and it’s worth all the effort

Kisses with Levi are an adventure with ups and downs, bumps in the road, but a treasure chest at the end. When you first kiss him, he’s a blushing mess with brain working overtime to suppress his fight or flight instinct. But in spite of himself, Levi leans in and trusts you because no one treats him with this tenderness

His world is still small, aside from his brothers and Lotan, everything he loves could probably be contained in his room. But your kisses expand his horizons and maybe he thinks it’d be worth it to explore the world a little more, even if it leaves him vulnerable

Satan

You make Satan a combination of brigadeiros and mint discs for Valentine’s day! He enjoys that you’ve made chocolate confections but veered outside the classic bonbons. Satan likes the soft and chewy textures of the brigadeiros in contrast with the crunchy sprinkles and the unique texture of sugared mint atop dark chocolate discs

Satan happily opens the box of chocolate. He admires them for a bit and compliments you on their appearance before popping one in his mouth. He feels both loved and a little smug, Satan knows a bit about chocolate confections, enough that he’s certain you’ve put quite a bit of effort into this, which makes it all the more sweet

Lay on compliments about how he’s just as sweet as the chocolate, perhaps referencing a book he’s reading, and how all that work was worth it for his sake and you might get him blushing

Kisses with Satan are like browsing a library—the nostalgic smell of old books combined with excitement of discovering new worlds contained in pages. You’ve had more kisses with Satan than you can count, but even with that familiarity, you feel like you’re uncovering something new each time your lips meet

Asmo

Asmo knows the value of appearance so you ensure your chocolates look just as good as they taste. You make white chocolate disc in the shape of hearts and adorn them with sugared petals. Additionally, you create passionfruit bonbons with cute heart indents which look picture perfect.

Asmo takes a selfie with you while you each hold a chocolate confection. Sweets for your sweetheart!~ It’s cute. 

But then you bring up how you chose passionfruit for its refreshing taste, so its easy to continually eat the chocolates, because just like the bonbons you’ll never get sick of him! It’s such a small detail but it warms his heart and suddenly you’re trapped in a hug

Asmo’s kisses don’t neatly fit into any single category. He is sweet, masterful and practiced, playful and lets you take the lead, but he is always sincere in his affection to you. Kisses are one of many ways to reaffirm your love

His kisses are like eating an assorted box of chocolates. One kiss is light and flirty, the next is sensual and stroking desire, then another which is teasing and light while interspersed with giggles. Yet all of them leave you with a sweet feeling

Beel

You make Beel a big pile of semi-sweet chocolate bark with variety of toppings, one has freeze dried raspberries, another has almonds, some use hellfire peppers, it’s a whole buffet

Beel plants a kiss on your forehead and thanks you so much for the gift! He begins to dig in to the treats you’ve made and has an endearing content grin the entire time he wolfs the chocolate down. He does his best to remember to offer you a bite too!

Many of Beel’s kisses start off as innocent fondness and true devotion. He loves you and you can feel it in the way he holds you close to him and devours all the affection you give. 

But many of his kisses turn hungry, because he can never get enough of you, the taste of your lips, your sweet moans, the way your hands roam, the puffs of hot breaths, they all never fail to leave him wanting more. His kisses feel satisfying and fulfilling, because you get to indulge to your heart’s content

Belphie

You make Belphie coconut oil chocolates! They’re so easy to eat, he doesn’t even need to chew. You have to be careful to not melt them when making and handle the individual morsels, but it’s worth it all in the end

You surprise him by popping the chocolate into his mouth! You’re lucky he trusts you, if it was anyone else he’d probably have spit it out. It’s easy to bite through and melts to spread a pleasant chocolate taste across his mouth.

Probably muttered something under his breath, but he makes sure to thank you for the gift too, even if he is a little blasé about it. At least these ones aren’t dusty

Belphie’s kisses are lazy little things with missed lips and little laughs, huffs of air, and that smirk that makes you want to kiss him stupid until he can’t pretend to be relaxed. Random pecks in the morning, between naps, before bed, but if you ever ask why, the answer is “just because”

Occasionally your kisses are salvation and desperation. No life, no relationship, no person is without turbulence. Your hot breaths prove you’re alive and breathing, the love your pour into him as your lips meet prove he is worthy of affection, and he doesn’t intend to let go

Diavolo

You make Diavolo white chocolate matcha bonbons! The inside is filled with a smooth matcha ganache that’s a brilliant shade of green. The shells are painted with the rough silhouette of your favourite flower. The matcha flavour helps balance out the sweetness of the white chocolate, making a delicious treat

Diavolo is delighted by the gift and compliments the taste! But he also enjoys the story that goes with it when you tell him your thought process, how matcha has become popular across the world in the human realm, and what human traditions are attached to the gifting of chocolates

He’s already plotting what he wants to give you in return, but for now he’ll enjoy your heart felt confection while making sure to give you a piece

Kisses with Diavolo are like fireworks. No matter how many times you see them, they never lose their brilliance. Even if they aren’t always in the sky, they bring you joy each time you see their bright colours and sparkling streaks

Diavolo intends to indulge you in kisses. Even the short ones, before meetings, after class, the domesticity tickles his heart. But Diavolo’s preference leans to long kisses where the two of you meld together. Everything is you, your unique scent, the way his name leaves your mouth, the way you hold onto him, your taste alone makes him want to dive deeper 

And why stop at one kiss? He should have another for good measure, maybe two, three, four—well now there’s no point counting so you might as well continue

Barbatos

You make strawberry shortcake inspired chocolates for Barbatos. The bonbon shell is made with ruby chocolate with the filling consisting of whipped white chocolate ganache and strawberry preserves. 

The several components merge together to make a sweet dessert and Barbatos appreciates how you use the novel ruby cocoa. Barbatos out of everyone knows how much work must have gone to create these bonbons and makes sure to both savour it and compliment you

Kisses with Barbatos are like sharing a secret. You get special access to a gateway into him, and in these kisses you create a special place just for the two of you

His kisses are almost dangerously good, you swear kissing didn’t always feel this good. But his intensity, the way it’s only the two of you, the mere privilege it is to have him whisper sweet words between gilded kisses, it makes it worth all the wait

Simeon

You make Simeon earl grey tea truffles! You coat the truffles with milk chocolate to create an easy to hold shell. Then you have stripes of dyed white chocolate — one in your favourite colour and another in his. 

Simeon thinks it’s adorable at how your chocolates have become a matching couple item with the coloured stripes. He thinks it’s lovely how you made him tea flavoured chocolate, given how many fond memories the two of you have which centre around a cup of tea

Simeon kisses make you feel treasured. He peppers your face is soft kisses, he cups your cheek gently, and the adoration in his eyes almost overwhelms your heart

His love is all encompassing and you’ve never felt safer than when you’re in his arms. Beautiful lashes fan his cheeks, contended sighs, and underlying warmth. Simeon feels like home and with his kisses, you’re falling in love again 

Solomon

You know Solomon likes cupcakes and poisoned apples so you decide to combine the two! You make him an apple cakepop coated in coloured white chocolate to look like a poisoned apple!

Unlike his cooking, your sweet tastes delicious and leaves the eater happy. You make sure to use granny smith apples to retain some tartness and Solomon happily eats the confection. 

Unfortunately, your sweetheart has also made sweets to express his love for you. Don’t let Solomon give you chocolates back or use a trick to dispose of them! It is not romantic to spend the day puking or sick in bed. Or hey, maybe true love is eating it knowing that it spells out nothing less than doom

Kisses with Solomon feel like an exploration. You get to know him bit by bit and each kiss feels like proof he is wiling to vulnerable with you. Some trips result in airy kisses, others feel like rocky days at sea filled with passion and you’re in danger of running out of breath, it’s always an adventure

Sometimes, you swear you can feel his lips form a smug smile. Other times, he approaches you so gently and the touch of hesitancy, like he can’t really believe he got you, makes you want to shower him with enough love to wash away all doubt. He holds you tight, to him you are warmth and intimacy, and he never wants to let go

Bonus: Making Chocolates with Luke

When making chocolates with Luke, it is best to be sweet with him, guide the angel with soft suggestions without sounding like you’re babying him. Generally, Luke is pretty amendable but he can have a stubborn streak if he feels like he has something to prove

He makes for chocolate confections for Barbatos, Simeon, Micheal, Solomon and you! It’s so cute to see him so excited when he thinks about how happy everyone will be when they receive the gift

You two go through many spoons to check if the chocolate is tempered, rapidly tapping the chocolate to see if it has that snap and sighing when it blooms

By the end of it, you two are a mess with chocolate smears on your apron, but you have nice assortment of shiny chocolate sweets

[pizadowa]

Ooh!!! That was lil sick ficlet was so well written!!! I love it<3!! They were SO in character??? Your crazy talented!! 😭

Bonus that I thought of; Carmen goes BACK into Ivy’s room, and Ivy is still buried under her blankets and all. But, her arm is stickin’ out from under the covers. Carmen, while sitting at her bedside, reaches over and takes hold of her hand gently. (Ivy is silently freaking out under the covers) I can see Carmen trying to start a bit of conversation but when she sees Ivy isn’t up to respond, she asks her if she wants to be left alone. Ivy quietly says “no.”

So Carmen stays a bit longer. The two are still holding hands.

Ivy squeezes Carmens hand three times, the code for I love you :]

AW THANK YOU!!! :)) I don't normally do pure fluffs and "I love you"s, but I was feeling inspired :)   (for anyone out of the loop, this is a mini continuation of another ficlet ask here)

-- --

Ivy stares ahead at the vague room scenery bleeding through her porous blanket from the light at her window, unable to handle the brightness and quickly flipping over towards the door. She sticks a leg out, then an arm, though refuses to emerge any more of herself despite the heat quickly catching up to her. But it’s fine, she tells herself. She has to sweat it out, right? At least until Carmen returns with that fancy-sounding soup. She closes her eyes, aching all over and feeling like the Earth's core is pulling her entire soul down, desperate to quell her discomfort with at least some positive thoughts. Her mind wanders for a moment to the previous few days in their new headquarters, of normal activities filled with comfort and absolutely no stuffy noses, hoarse throats, or tired muscles.

She really can’t stand being so weak and fatigued.

If only Carmen could read her mind and waltz back in to put her so-called massage powers to the test. What she wouldn't give to have those delicate hands on her working every tense knot like they’re dough and—

“Oh, before I forget, I'll probably add a little kick to get those sinuses opened up again, hope you…hm?”

Ivy startles under her covers at Carmen’s sudden voice before remaining absolutely still. She waits for her to finish, still refusing to let out any more of her body from her blanketed cocoon after that last gesture undoubtedly did a number on her reddened face, but it never happens. There’s a quietness in the air but Ivy can tell that Carmen is standing watch over her, emphasized even more so by a gentle sigh and muffled footsteps re-approaching the bed. The mattress sinks under additional weight, and then they’re back to their previous exchange. Ivy can see an ambiguity of Carmen’s silhouette through her peripherals but keeps her eyes dead-set on her extended arm in front of her.

“I really mean it when I say ‘anything you need,’” Carmen starts, the lilt in her voice flowing like a lone creek. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”

In lieu of expressing her request she stays silent, unable to provide any insight into her wants or needs once actually confronted. The thoughts are nice, but saying them out loud? She’s not sure she’s ready for that yet. Even if...Carmen is the one offering.

And...it is already turning out to be better than when her bro is in charge of nurse duties.

Would it be so bad if she tells Carmen how she feels, even when it's about this one little thing?

Before she can get the engine going on her thought train, Carmen inches closer and grabs onto her exposed hand, effectively cutting off any progress Ivy would have made in her mind and wiping it clean. She holds her breath without meaning to, trying with all her might to neither jerk her hand away nor squeeze too tightly, and allows a current of heat to flow through her from the touch. When Carmen begins running her thumb over Ivy’s knuckle, she finally expels all the air in her lungs as slowly and inconspicuously as she can. Suddenly the whole world feels a lot lighter.

That may be the sickly headrush, though.

“I’m not letting you get away from my sopa de mondongo,” Carmen adds sternly yet lightheartedly, “but other than that, do you...really want me to leave you alone?”

Ivy internally smacks herself. Even when she says nothing she somehow sends the wrong signals.

In an attempt to right an accidental wrong, she states plainly in a surprisingly meek voice, “No.”

Carmen seems to take to it, sitting still by her side again and not once letting go of her hand, not even when Ivy can feel her palm turning clammy from what are surely incoming fever sweats. She tries to not think about how gross she is right now, how unappealing it must be for Carmen to have a moist palm clinging to her own, and chooses instead to be grateful for their moment together, however unorthodox.

“Uh oh," Carmen pipes up after a long pause. Ivy's heart clocks into overtime.

"'Uh oh'?"  

“I touched your hand. I’m breaking common cold violation one-oh-one, now I’m super infected.”

Ivy verbally cringes. “Car-meeeeeeen.”

“What’re you gonna do about it?” the other girl says with a hint of laughter in her voice.

“Nothing,” Ivy sighs after a much-needed deep breath, “'cept lay here—”

“—and let me take care of you?”

Ivy finally concedes; Carmen always bests her at her own games. “Yeah, yeah. All of that. But at least promise me you’ll wash that hand. And no touching your face!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice, I'm about to go cook! Ivy, have you started sick-hallucinating that I’m your brother?”

They exchange laughter. Ivy inadvertently clings harder to Carmen’s hand as she tries—and fails—to conceal another cough that pushes even more heat over her skin. Carmen doesn’t pull away. Instead she continues to sit there for the few more minutes she allows, and Ivy takes advantage of the time to relay her subconscious affections with three repetitious hand squeezes. Her secret code that she’s used all this time, inconspicuous without too much commitment, nice and safe and sound. She can continue to do it in the rare chances they hold on to each other, and Carmen is none the wiser. She’ll tell her when the time is right.

That is, of course, if Carmen hasn’t already figured it out.

"Guys, you do know that you're supposed to dress down during a fever, right?”

As if to act as a mental guide away from her wandering thoughts, Player’s voice pings from somewhere Ivy can only assume is Carmen’s athletic pants pocket.

“As in, the less clothes and blankets the better?" the disembodied voice continues.

In one fell swoop Ivy withdraws her hand, throws the covers off her, and shoots a wild look at the only other person in the room.

“Whoa,” Carmen reels.

“This is meant for him, not you,” Ivy clarifies with more intensity than she means to, unsure where to direct her flustered gaze. It’s unfair how perfect Carmen looks despite having just worked out.

Carmen angles herself on the bed to better fish her phone out from her pocket, instantly casting furrowed brows down at the screen. “How very nice of you to join us.”

“You can’t force-sweat a fever out of your body,” Player goes on to explain, of which Ivy’s body seems to respond to with a single bead of sweat gliding down her back. “Overheating will just dehydrate you more. And yes, Red, you did accidentally leave the call open.”

Carmen raises her hand into view of the camera—“Thank you, Player, I'll take it from here.”—and promptly returns the phone to her pocket.

“An educational PSA is the last thing I need right now,” Ivy complains through a sniffle.

“Can’t actually argue with him, though. Let’s ditch the duvet for now so I can finally go make you some food.” Carmen pulls the covers clean off and replaces them with lighter sheets that had been bunched up at the end of the bed. Once everything settles she turns to Ivy with a sly smirk painted across her face. “No comment on the ‘less clothes’ part.”

Ivy’s cheeks light up more than she ever thought possible as she collapses back onto her pillows and tosses her companion a woozy pout. “I’m still in my fever dream, I swear.”

From the door frame, Carmen chuckles with a wink. “Not if I can help it.”

[imnotwolverine]

LOVE IS LIKE - Sleeping Beauties and Working Life

< PART 1 | PART 2 Sleeping Beauties and Working Life | PART 3 >

A/N: It's snowing so I'm stuck inside..writing! Hope you all have a lovely Sunday ❤️

Summary: Back to work, Henry remembers his early days in showbizz. And the banana sock wearing woman appears to have found the sneakily shared phone number.

Word count: 2.179

The song: Chaka Khan - Like Sugar

Disclaimer: mentions of great age difference sex partners, stardom, loss of partner to cancer, dieting, physical/mental insecurity as well as Henry just really loving his work

--

LOVE IS LIKE - Sleeping Beauties and Working Life

--

Hey. Thanks for the book! I figured the number written in the book was your number? If not, I’m sorry and don’t mind this message. - 08.45

It’s Aurora btw. - 08.47

The name’s Aurora I mean. - 09.04

nvm - 09.05

Thanks for the book! Good luck with everything! - 09.06

And say hi to Kal from me - 09.06

‘Are you asleep?’ Fingers traced through Henry’s curls, their strands slightly sticky with hair products and sweat after one busy night between the sheets, the ceiling fan broken. Henry grumbled, indicating he was at least sort of awake, his lips curling in a lazy, close-eyed smile.

‘Again?’ He mumbled quietly with his young sweet voice. The woman laughed and propped herself up on one arm, eyes tracing down the soft morning silhouette of the kid who became a man.

‘No, no. You did well.’ She lowered her fingers to trace his brow, nose, cupid’s bow and lips, fingertips silky soft and gentle over Henry’s skin. Henry’s smile grew. Almost as if proud he had managed to please her.

For a moment the room was quiet. A very early Los Angeles sun was starting its slow rise over the hills somewhere far from this 70’s style abode with its paisley print curtains and yellow shag pile carpet. The interior fitted its owner quite well; her long sleek brown hair cut in bangs that hid those mysterious emeralds that had taunted his dreams ever since he met her on set. She was older. Much older. And perhaps those bangs were there just to hide her first wrinkles. But Henry rested easy beneath her trailing fingers, his eyes slowly fluttering open as she spoke again: ‘So how is Hollywood treating you?’ There was some concern in her voice and Henry looked at her. After getting busy all night they hadn't spoken quite so sincerely yet. He shrugged.

‘Hollywood is Hollywood?’

The woman moved her fingertips to his chin and used her hand to tilt his face more sharply in her direction. Her mouth opened to speak, but she hesitated. The concern had now spread to her eyes as they gleamed in the light of dawn. ‘Be careful yea? And if you ever need help with anything..? I can help..or get you help. Okay?’

‘Ok.’ Henry pushed himself up so he could cup his hand around her cheek, pulling her closer. She let him. ‘Thank you.’ He whispered, kissing her like the way they did in the movies.

Henry stretched out in his naked morning glory, the early London air chilly on his skin. Pushing the sheets off of him and with Kal refusing to wake from his doggy dream by the foot end of the bed, Henry padded over to the ensuite. Squinting in the burst of bright lights clicking on, he stepped beneath the shower, cold water jumpstarting his day, the very air pushed out of his lungs as the radio alarm cued exactly on time. 4.30.

'Li-like sugar, so sweet Good enough -- to eat,'

Gasping softly Henry pawed his hands over his crusty eyes, waiting for the water to become more warm and soothing with every massaging drop of water. From here on his morning routine was perfected to the minute. Coffee: brazilian. Gym: ACDC. Eggs: 5. Kal: walk. Cab: thankfully on time.

It was near 9 when he walked onto set in his full gear, ready for his first run-through of the day, Leah waving him off with Kal by her side. 'Be careful yea?' She chanted, smiling as he winked at her - she always said that no matter how totally safe the day's set would be.

'I will! Have fun today.'

'You too!' Leah wanted to turn around when she felt something buzz deep inside her bag of tricks, her hand having to angle for a bit before she found Henry's phone - kept there for safe keeping.

Whatsapp - 08.45 - Hey. Thanks for the book! ..

Leah smiled.

And there was the mysterious new book owner.

Henry let himself fall back on his bed, the frame squeaking. Suddenly Jersey felt too small. His bedroom too boyish. His clothes too normal. His dreams no fiction but real.

Flopping around on his belly he turned his attention back to his flip phone, his eyes roving over the call that had just finished. Hundreds of boys, hundreds of auditions. But he got it. He got it! Smiling only to himself he sighed, near missing the sound of feet walking over the floorboard landing.

Was that Charlie? With an excited little squeal Henry pushed himself off his bed to chase after his brother. It looked like his little brother had just lost a bet!

'HENRYYY!!! Henry!!!' Squinting his eyes at the flash of a camera, he stepped out of the hotel's revolving doors. By his side his trusty pal Kal looked up. Fans.

'Henry! Can I take your picture? -- Can you sign-' Some pieces of paper were shoved in his face and with the blinding glare of the flash gone he finally managed to throw a smile their way, his free hand scribbling some signatures here and there as he greeted them with a warm good morning.

Some girls squealed and as the excitement finally dissipated, Henry thanked them all and bid them a good day, some few last flashes following his silhouette as he pulled Kal in the direction of the nearest Parisian park.

It truly had become a Mission Impossible to just walk his dog. And Henry couldn't help but laugh as Kal snorted in what may be disapproval.

'I know I know. I won't forget about you.'

'Hey.'

'H-hi. Hi?'

'It's Henry.'

'Oh, of course!'

Henry smiled as Aurora's voice greeted him back through the phone line. It was a little past snacktime, his hands holding onto his tupperware with last night's pasta. He was hungry, but with her messages waiting for him, he had decided food could wait a moment.

'So I see the book has found a good home with you?'

'It has. Hahah. Thank you again. In fact..I kind of finished it last night, dodging around some particularly benign toothmarks I think I got the jest of the story.' She laughed again, making Henry smile back as he looked out over the set, some camera men in raincoats dragging around material.

'Well there's more where that came from.'

He hesitated the moment the words were out of his mouth. OH you donkey! That..that is not something you say to -- she laughed even harder.

'Oh why that sounds both terribly enticing and terribly inappropriate hahahaha.'

'Sorry that kinda - '

'Oh please hush.' Her chuckles subsided and after some loud clatter and a yelp her voice returned to the phone. 'Hey..eh..aherm..can I-eh, DAMMIT, can I call you back?'

'Something wrong?'

'J-just me trying to manage coffee and a laptop - and failing.' It sounded like this was just another Tuesday for her. She really was clumsy huh?

'Oh! Oh yes. Of course. Hope your laptop's alright..eh.. I'm off after..6..ish?' Henry looked to his left and saw Leah return with one exhausted Kal, back from their walk.

'Okay!'

'Alright. Goodbye..Aurora.'

'Byeeee!'

He was soo, soo hungry. Cutting never was his favourite part of dieting, though this time it was extra rough. For half a year he had just let go, not working out much at all. But then the one role that got away was back in arm's reach and for the hell of it; he couldn't let it slip by.

Gritting his teeth he focused back on the barbell on the gym mat, weights the size of two small children on either side. At least if Ellen wanted kids, I can manage them with ease, he thought, gripping his sore hands around the bar before he pushed off to lift it with all the strength he could muster. It wasn't enough. The bar only lifted halfway before his body sighed in defeat, the weight of it all crashing down on him finally as the barbell landed back on the floor with a loud thump.

Ellen hadn't called back in days.

'Remember me?' He felt stupid for calling, but he just needed it right now.

A warm voice responded like they called all the time.

'Hey! Henry! Of course! How are you?! Are you okay dear?'

Henry settled on the airport bench, waiting for his personal cab to arrive. Stardom was great, but in silent moments like these he felt terribly alone. He felt stupid for it, but her voice was near bringing him to tears.

'Yea ehh..' His voice broke and the small boy in this Superman body returned.

'Hey-hey. No problem darling no problem. Where are you right now? Are you safe?'

Henry nodded and looked through the haze of his tears in hope nobody would see him - thankfully he was alone.

'Talk to me.'

'I'm sorry for--' He wished to hang up, forget about it all. Ellen leaving. The stress. Fatigue. The travel. But he didn't. He just hesitated, waiting for her to speak again.

'I don't know where you are Henry dear. But you must know that you're not alone, okay? And if you happen to be in town; I'm making an absolutely delicious, mean and green lasagna.'

Henry wiped away a rogue tear and smiled. He could kill for a lasagna right now. And one cheat meal couldn't hurt right? Looking up as he saw a man with a clipboard sporting his name appear, he sat a little more upright.

'I--I might just take you up on that.'

'Okay.' Her lack of glasses and banana print socks made the woman before him near irrecognizable. She did however still have that dorky vibe about her, especially when she removed the awkwardly placed handbag before her; a stain on the right side of her tight dress appeared. She grimaced. 'It's bad isn't it?'

Henry chuckled and stood up from his seat, the chique bar a hushed daze of black furniture and fancy cocktails being carried by hipster bearded men. 'Hi Aurora.'

'Hi.' She let a chuckle escape her red painted lips and let him move out a seat for her. She smelled nice.

'I thought I could fit in one more business meeting and eat on the way. And..yea..that--' She shook her head and waited for Henry to take his seat, his face beaming with mirth.

'Stain or not, I'm glad you're here.'

'As am I.' She picked up the drinks card and immediately turned it to the snacks side. 'Do you mind if I order something on the side?'

'Oh no, no of course. I'd like some too actually.' He leaned in to look with her through the options, the both of them deciding on a cheesy snackboard.

'And here I was thinking all of Hollywood was on a diet.' She smirked, making Henry grin.

'Trust me: been there, done that. But no more. I like eating simply too much.' He winked and signaled a waiter to take their order.

'Good.'

He had initially spread his arms to keep his balance as he rushed after Kal on this slippery meadow of grass. But as Kal returned on Henry's call, leaving some racing off sheep behind, Henry kept his arms up like that. Like an eagle in flight he sniffed in the countryside air, feeling blessed cold air tingle his lungs. Life was good right now. Really really good.

Halting his feet and near slipping in the process, he lowered his arms to praise Kal for listening and returning to him. Sometimes, his furry son truly could be a handful. Today, he was a good boy.

'Chasing after the ladies again huh?' He rushed his fingers through Kal's thick warm fur. 'Well there's one thing you should know Kal; gotta give them some space every now and then.' Kal looked up. 'And don't forget to listen to what they want, mkay?'

Kal borked softly. Henry laughed, being bombarded with an in-the-face-tongue-kiss.

--

Drinks buzzed in their veins and between all the laughter and nerding out, Henry noticed something. First he thought it was a play of light. A figmentation of his mind. But he could see it clearly now as she noted his gaze and held up her left hand: no longer there, the left-over indent from what once had been a ring.

'I'm no longer married if that's what you want to ask.' She sighed and lowered her hand again, looking at it with an unreadable expression.

'Oh eh.. no, no. I couldn't be so rude to..-'

'No, you're very much allowed to ask, Henry. Please.' Aurora smiled and took a somewhat shaky breath before finding her comfortable, confident (though slightly clumsy) self again. 'He got cancer, died two years ago. We built the company together..'

'I'm sorry for your loss.'

She smiled. 'Thank you. I do miss him, but this is just life. Can't have the good without the bad. And it's okay now. I like where I am.'

'In some dimlit bar with some weirdo you met on an airplane?'

'Absolutely.' She snickered, then shook her head. 'But no haha. You're no weirdo Henry. In fact; you are perfectly, and surprisingly..normal.' And with that she reached out that ring-less hand and brushed it over his right hand opposite the table. Her hands were so soft on his.

A comfortable silence fell and were it not for the toasty heat of the indoors, Henry would swear he was on that meadow with Kal again, feeling like he was breathing truly for the first time in a long, long while.

He smiled.

--

Part 3 > 

--

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@beck07990​

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Chancellor

This happens right after Escape Attempt and doesn’t end well. You’ve been warned. If you want to read more about murdersword, click on the tag at the bottom. 

The network spread out before me like an endless tapestry, a night sky filled with bright, glimmering stars. 

Within moments, I knew exactly where the chancellor of this forsaken place kept his chambers. The extent of my plan involved scaring him into unwinding the magic that bound people in the nearby village to their land. As far as plans went, this wasn’t even my worst one.

I started moving in the right direction when something else caught my attention.

A familiar taste of magic permeated one edge of the network tapestry. I recognized it as the ancient sorcerer who’d turned me into a weapon of his will. That he was still alive surprised me, but maybe tonight, I would live up to my name. 

I could still remember his grinning face when I woke for the first time, the spirit of an inanimate object given momentary flesh. His first command had been, see that pile of bones over there? Just touch his hand and make him your wielding. Hurry up. We have work to do.

I remember shaking my head and pleading with the person who gave me life to stop. What I couldn’t do, not then anyway, was disobey his will. 

Hot, bitter rage swirled around in my tired mind. Some of it was the product of the curse and the rest came from my hatred of those moments, those memories. I hated feeling this way. And I couldn’t stop thinking of Iris’s disappointment if I killed without mercy.

By then, the humans had crossed the garden, and I could no longer make out their silhouettes in the distance. The activity inside the keep was ramping up, and the web warned me of a number of nearby targets. Most of them were armed mages and fighters.

Every person in the entire castle was somehow part of the magical web. Some had control, others not so much. The idea of toying with so many lives was sickening. I added the destruction of the network to my nonexistent plan. 

Picking my way carefully down a hallway and up some stairs, I made an effort to avoid the guards. They weren’t the cause of the problem, and my anger lay elsewhere. Flickering torches provided the only light inside the keep, which didn’t bother me since swords don’t have eyes, and magic doesn’t give a fuck about illumination. 

On the top floor, I floated into an alcove as people passed. Most of them were either guards or servants. I was about to move again when loud voices echoed down the nearest corridor, interrupting my next move. A man in a dark-green tunic strolled past me, not paying attention to his surroundings. He was followed by two soldiers in fancy livery who were paying even less attention.

This is why humans shouldn’t do their own security.

The sorcerer was fuming. “Find them,” he snapped. “They can’t be allowed to escape.”

“Yes, chancellor,” said one of the soldiers.

The two men retreated, so now I was alone with the person I wanted to see. Time for my non-plan. I shifted into a more useful form, wiped at my face, and then stepped out of the dark alcove. 

The man must’ve heard me or felt the magic of my transformation because he spun on his heels and stared at me. “Let me guess. A disgruntled resident?”

Wait, what? “No.”

“You’re one of them aren’t you?”

“Unravel your spell,” I said. I figured I didn’t need to specify which one.

The chancellor laughed in my face. “You know what, you’re funny. I don’t think I will. Know what I will do, though? I’ll reactivate the spell you’ve so conveniently disabled. And then, we’ll see if you’ll dance to my tune.”

“Fuck off.” 

Before he had a chance to move, I was in his face, one hand wrapped around his neck. He was choking, so I dropped him. For a moment he just knelt there, gasping for breath. I stayed close, ready to strike again if he didn’t cooperate.

“Unravel your spell,” I repeated.

“You’re too kindhearted,” the chancellor ground out. 

Can’t argue with that. Clearly, I must be daft, too, since the human was alive, and I was here rather than somewhere as far away from this place as possible.

“I won’t ask again.”

The chancellor got up on unsteady feet. I felt like maybe I had the upper hand at that moment. And then, my ex-owner turned the corner and I felt him before I heard his voice chanting. Fuck.

The paint hit almost immediately. It started at the back of my neck where the first sigil was burned into my flesh and then spread into my limbs. Immobilized, I fell on the floor.

Well, this wasn’t going as planned. 

[stumbling-after-happiness]

Shadowing- Chapter One. A New Adult Horror Short Story -  TW: Crime and poverty

I loved our home, it had light lemon-coloured curtains and a sofa that we could fall asleep on if we were too tired to go to bed. Even though Mum was a single parent we always had food on the table. Six months ago she died. It left a bit slice in the middle of our lives. Olive’s five, I’m nineteen and her sole carer, we bumble around is this creaky terraced house getting by. Social services don’t want to know, the fact that I am ‘of age’ apparently means I am equipped to be a parent. 

One night I woke to the sound of crashing glass spraying across our wooden floor boards. Olive and I waited in the dark for half an hour, (“best to be safe”), as we didn’t want to meet the intruders. When we emerged like the survivors of a tornado, the curtains in the living room were hanging from the rail looking torn sails. ‘Who was it?’ Little Olive asked.

“I don’t know, you better get back to sleep.”

They could’ve still been there. Lurking.

Olive took a quick look at the glass confetti on the floor before padding back to her room. Then I heard the sirens.

The police came in as though they were crashing a party. They didn’t speak at first, one officer put the kettle on and they helped themselves to biscuits I’d been saving. They bent down to look at the glass as if it would confess to the crime. 

“And you saw no one.” said the glass-inspecting officer, his wrinkled forehead bunching up like those fancy blinds I couldn’t afford. “No, we stayed in our rooms. I was scared they would have a weapon.” “Good call. You never know what it may be these days.”

The second officer poured a cup of tea like it was a present, taking long, gurgling gulps and only said one thing the entire time, 

“Time to go.”

We’ve had no windows for weeks since then. Well, that’s not strictly true. We have the frames but not the glass.

A few nights later, I was leaning out the hole in the wall for a smoke when I saw it for the first time. At first, I was so tired that I forgot to do anything. It wasn’t a person exactly, but a shadow of a person. It was sat in the sash window frame of a shattered window of an abandoned house a few cars down. Its hands (?) hung over the half open frame like a man in the stocks on one of those programs about medieval people. 

It slithered down the side of the house and I forgot to inhale my cigarette. My lungs clenched.

The shadow approached the house opposite, climbed onto its front wall and smashed the window with a dark fist. At first I thought it was human. But its figure bent into grooves of mortar and stuck to surfaces like a thin layer of paint. It was like the dark stain of a dead body’s outline. It had a lean, tall figure. It reminded me of a paper chain of flat men Olive had cut out for her birthday. She’d drawn smiles on every single man and they’d concertina’d in the draft of the hallway. 

The shadow pulled itself up and through the smashed window opposite, it was then that the spell was broken.

“HEY!” I screamed, “BURGLAR! NUMBER 89!” 

At first the ditch of terraced houses trapped my voice. It echoed out into the lonely night. A couple of icy breaths later, a weakened light appeared in Number 89’s bedroom like a glowing mist. The street lit up like fairy-lights. 

“OUT! YOU FUCKER!” came the reply from Number 89.

I reached for the broom that was leaning against the wall and chucked it down onto the acne’d pavement. I limbo’d my gangly limbs under the picture-frame of our front ‘window’ and clutched the drainpipe. Consciousness rippled up the street. Lights flickered in my periphery vision and I swung my body onto the drainpipe, perching my feet on the brackets at the side. I climbed down, grabbed the broom with it’s splayed bristles and ran over to Number 89. Len from Number 86 was at the front door, banging on it, a shard of glass from the smashed window raised in his hand like an icepick. 

“She’s not answering!” Len said, half looking at me. 

The door creaked open. Mrs Bellamy stood in a nightgown and a pair of knitted socks she’d made. Her arms had bubbling goosebumps. 

“I’m not sure where he is!” She said, stepping aside to let us past. It wasn’t the first time she’d been burgled. Burglaries were not uncommon these days, what with the mines being closed for 6 months and savings running thin. Miners were used to applying physical force to get what they needed. Broken shards of glass had become like diamonds for many of those in need. 

We spilled into the living room, there were 5 of us now, all neighbours, wanting to catch the thief. Mrs Bellamy’s living room comprised of a white painted wooden table with no table cloth, a small hanging light in a rose design that blearily projected onto the ceiling. There was a freezer, stove, two chairs, a small work surface, kettle and clock, along with several framed photographs of her sons from when they were children on the walls. The room was a light green colour and I had sat many times recounting my day to her on one of the chairs as she cooked Olive and I supper. 

Mrs Bellamy gestured for us to go upstairs with an arm that reminded me of a broken wing. As I climbed the stairs, I thought of Olive first learning to walk and how I didn’t know what I’d do if the burglar killed me. Len was in the bedroom on his hands and knees, glaring under the bed.

“Bastard’s not under the bed!” he growled. 

The wardrobe doors were wide open, Mrs Bellamy’s ghostly clothes huddled together inside it, swaying in the breeze. The burglar wasn’t in the other rooms either. We called to the neighbours in the street but they hadn’t seen anyone come out.

The officers came again but they didn’t bend down to look at the shards of glass or put on the kettle this time. It was me, Len, the two officers and Mrs Bellamy left in the kitchen. I remember I was stood against the wall with the clock on it, the steady ticking reminding me that I’d missed several hours of sleep. Len was propped up against the refrigerator. The bobbie that had put the kettle on at mine was sat in a chair, his arms were crossed too. It was clear he was more interested in the pictures on the wall than solving anything.

“And what did he look like?” asked the wrinkly-forehead officer, his stocky silhouette pronounced against the twitching thin green curtains. 

“Dark, thin, I never saw a face.” said Mrs Bellamy. The bags under her eyes were much more pronounced than they had been earlier.

“Was he carrying anything?” said an officer, gripping a small notepad in his fingers like a grenade, the pin-thin scratched pencil clutched in his other hand. 

“No, but I remember him running past me and then he slammed the door of my bedroom on the way out. That’s when I got the drawer from my bedside table…and I saw him standing on the stairs and I went to try and scare him you know, like this..”

She made a waved her fist, it made an echo of movement up her arm that disappeared under the sleeve of her nightgown.

“I screamed at him.”

She was perched uncomfortably close to the edge of the seat as if ready to take off at any moment. I walked forward slightly, the ticking clock was beginning to irritate me. She turned to look at me, then frowned,

“He looked like, like..,” she fumbled with her thought, “that.” She pointed at my shadow that was leaning against the wall.

All their eyes turned to me, but the officer who was writing seemed bored.

“So he was a slim build man, dark and you never saw his face but he moved quickly. Seemed young?” read off the officer more to himself than anyone else.

“Yes.”

“Alright Mrs Bellamy thanks for your time, if you can I would get that window boarded up as quickly as possible and we’ll let you know if we hear anything.” “Thanks officers, I’ll let you know if I remember anything else. I’ll show you out.”

Later that day I went down to the beach, Olive was at school. I waded into the water and let myself float for a bit. A dark shadowy arm wrapped itself around me. It pulled me under. The water went shadowy black and I couldn’t escape.

[thronesofshadows]

Storms May Collide || Alain & Evelyn

Takes place just before the fish rain ended. Alain finally comes to the Artesian, and he and Evelyn get talking.

This was, in nearly two decades, the first time Alain would be in a room full of people who were much richer than him, and even if he had spent the whole drive to the Artesian telling himself that Evelyn would never allow that he spends a bad evening, and that the worst thing that could happen was people looking at him, he was still rather stressed as he opened the door and realized that this was not somewhere you could just walk in. There was a reception. Of course. He rubbed his hands nervously against his trousers as he approached the woman standing there, indicating his full name, too unsure of whether Evelyn would have booked him as Alain or Mr. Babineaux. His lips pinched together, he forced himself not to look too much as what was going around him yet, and was relieved when she told him he could walk to the bar counter now. “Thank you,” the place looked a lot like he imagined it to be. He left his umbrella by the entrance, with the other ones. With the fish storm out there, it was more than necessary. The bar reminded him of the room where his father used to talk with other hunters from who knows what aristocratic family except that this one didn’t smell like cigars and wasn’t filled with laughter. People were chatting rather quietly, although as he had expected, his presence was already granting him some eye glances. Surprisingly enough, he doubted that this was about his outfit. If he was not wearing five grand on his shoulders, and carried himself quite well, thanks to his parents, people recognized him for who he was, an outsider. 

It was quite an understatement to say that he was happy to reach the counter and to see there a familiar silhouette with her back still turned toward him.

She was glad he’d agreed to come by her work. Evelyn had, for whatever number of reasons, decided against a suit tonight. So on went a nice dress instead. Still formal, nothing too flashy, but nice. Because if someone who she’d come to consider a friend and that deserved more than Super Formal Evelyn. For now at least, to maybe make him feel more comfortable because she wasn’t quite sure that he’d really and truly wanted to come. But he had agreed, and so she’d made herself present behind the bar - and lucky for her, Sterling Hudson was there, in all his absolutely aggravating glory. She’d avoided him mostly, offering a few smiles at him, pushing Joseph to make all of his drinks. Throwing a glare at him when he made a comment about her dress. “I can wear dresses too, you know.” Luckily, for the last twenty minutes or so he’d left her alone. So she’d been turned around, organizing and carefully fixing some of the bottles behind the bar. After not too long, she heard a small noise behind her, but no words or request followed. Evelyn turned around and felt a small smile covering her lips. “Bonsoir, Alain. How can I help you this evening?”

“Bonsoir Evelyn,” he smiled back politely but also genuinely. It had been a while since Alain last saw her, but they had been speaking so often that he barely had time to miss her company. “Well, what would you suggest for someone who does not want to end up bankrupt over a glass of alcohol.” He knew too well that he could probably afford a glass or two of wine but he was also aware that good whiskey could get insanely expensive and while he could splurge a little as he was usually reasonable with his spendings, he still had loans to pay at the end of the month. Although with the amount of broken windshields and cars since the year began (thanks to the fish and lobsters), the end of the month was more comfortable than usual, although exhausting. It was one of the reasons he had called her for a reservation too. He could have used a break. “Work on your car is moving slowly I’m afraid,” he added.

It was nice to see him in person, she had realized that for whatever reason, she found him to be a nice friend. Evelyn was not always so used to that whole thing - becoming friends with someone, because it was not something that she was used to. It had never been her normal when she was a child. She placed her elbows on the top of the bar and placed her chin in both hands. “Hm?” Her lips quirked to the side. “I have a new whiskey, if you would like that?” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “besides, I think, given all you are doing for me, I can swing a friend discount?” Another thing that she rarely did. If ever. “What are you most in the mood for?” She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “Oh, it is not a worry, I hope you are having a nice time working on it, and that I have not troubled you too much with all the extra work I placed upon you.” She stood back up and adjusted her ponytail. “I am so deeply appreciative.” 

"A friend discount," Alain repeated in a lower voice, mirroring her movements and resting his head on one of his hands. "Well that sounds delightful. I should have trespassed much sooner," he laughed, leaning back in his seat. "Do you think you could get me an Old fashioned," he glanced up at her although his glance drifted toward a man at the counter who seemed to be looking at them with a disapproving look on his face. "A friend of yours too?" Alain raised an eyebrow. He remembered Evelyn ranting about some of her customers and apparently she had reasons to feel this way. "It's fine. Considering how terrible the weather has been the whole month, with the fish, I needed a hobby that happened underneath a roof." He paused, "I should be thanking you, really." Whatever anxiety he had walking into the bar had already vanished, although he hadn't noticed it yet.

“Mhm.” She murmured. “I did promise you that, and I am not one to go back on my promises.” Evelyn bit her lip at his comment, giving a shrug. “Yes, you are rather delayed in all of that, I have been there nearly four years, now.” She nodded at his request. “That is easy, Alain. One old fashioned, coming right up.” She turned around and made up the drink, her hands working quickly and deftly. She brought it back over to him, sliding it across the bar. “Oh, him?” She rolled her eyes. “That would be the ever-lovely Sterling I told you so much about.” She lowered her voice, her lightly-painted red lips curving into a smile as she leaned towards Alain. “Not so much friend as an utter, well, words I would prefer not to use. They are not so very polite.” She stood back up again, her ponytail swinging behind her. “Yes, that is an advisable thing to do, the fish turned out to be far more damaging than one might have expected.” She tapped her fingers against the top of the bar, red polish shining in the light. “No need to thank me, I am excited to see how it all turns out.” A pause. “Speaking of, how is the drink? Did I do it well?”

"Four years," he raised an eyebrow. That seemed like so little time and yet, it was more than enough time to notice things about this town. He wondered how she felt about this place. Alain didn't doubt for a moment that she liked it here, as she had decided to settle down here, it was the oddness of the town he cared about. "I'm sorry, I hope you can forgive me for being so late," he shook his head as he smiled. His smile didn't falter as she turned her back on him, and was rather joined with a softness in his eyes, one he did not quite understand yet. "Merci," he took the glass in his hand and followed her glance at Sterling, who strangely enough was now looking anywhere but in their direction. "Oh, you mean the Sterling you're so fond of." He paused, taking a good look at that man. "I can see why. I'd do him too if I were you," holding back a smile, he took a sip of his drink and looked at her from over the rim of his glass with amusement. Putting the glass down, he idly played with the spoon. "It's going to be fantastic. I just finished painting the parts on the first one. It's looking great already," he spoke with passion, and while he wanted to tell her more about it, show her the pictures, he also wanted it all to be a nice surprise. "Heh, it's okay. Wish you had used William Peel instead of that fancy whiskey though," he teased.

“It will be four years on my birthday.” She replied, grinning. “I think I can find it in my heart of ice to forgive you. After all, you have reignited my interest in the stars, so I think that is only fair.” Evelyn brushed a single stray strand of hair behind her ear. “De rien,” she responded. Watched as Alain looked over at Sterling. “Alain.” Her voice was firm, posture straightened. “I have no desire to do him, as you so artfully described. He wishes, though.” Still hushed whispers, murmurs coming from her lips that she knew Sterling couldn’t hear. “But yes, that is him. I think he might not like I am paying you so much attention.” Another smile, softer this time, crept over her lips. “Well, you are an expert, so I am certain it looks brilliant.” As she had always been someone filled with passion about topics she loved, and she found herself enjoying seeing it in someone else. “Well hey, it is not my usual, but perhaps you can come by my place sometime and I can do that for you.” She said, raising an eyebrow.

"You know, I don't think I asked you when your birthday was the other day," he pursed his lips. He remembered telling her that he didn't celebrate his birthday and being a bit taken aback by her age as she often sounded older than that. "A heart of ice? Sounds like something a fairy tale character would be cursed with," he observed, glancing away from her to stare blankly at the round piece of ice in his glass. "How did you like the book, by the way? It's pretty thick... It's fine if you didn't get the time to look at it," he mumbled the last bit, pulling on the collar of his sweater, feeling warmer he supposed from the heat in this place, compared to the freezing outdoors, and not from any other reason. "Really? A gentleman of this class?" He smiled. "I'm glad you appreciate my talent for poetry, thank you." He had never been shy, not really, and sometimes he could be a bit too abrasive in his choice of words. Now and here were maybe not the place and time but she didn't seem to mind too much. "If he's going to be jealous of me, then he must be really obsessed with you." It struck Alain at this moment that just like him, Evelyn may have had a habit of not letting people close. "It is brilliant," he commented before he sighed heavily. " And it's a real shame that's all I can tell you about it," he was not even trying to be annoying. He wanted to talk to her about it. "Well you must really be fond of my company if you wanna drink that with me." This brand of whiskey was still quite good for getting drunk however and he wondered what kind of drunk she would be as he brought his glass back to his lips again. Probably a happy drunk.

“You did not. It is in April - the eighteenth.” She nodded. “I always liked watching the flowers bloom right around then, or sometimes before. Depending on the weather.” She glanced down at her hands. “Not to talk about the weather. I know we established that talking about the weather is not especially a good sort of thing. Shows a lack of creativity or something.” She rolled back her shoulders for a moment. “Yes, well, I am almost a princess, so it fits. Not really a princess, obviously, but once you get to American they hear “English Elite” and equate it to being related to the Royal Family.” She reached out to grab his free hand with one of her own. “I have plenty of time, Alain, and it was a book that meant a lot to you, so of course I read it. I loved it.” Evelyn raised both her eyebrows at him. “Yes, really. His class if anything lends itself to the remarks he might feel a need to make, or to imply.” She made a face at his next comment. “Obsessed, or just a creep with a lot of money, take your pick… I had plenty of people obsessed with me back home. Something about being publicly there, but also not. If that makes sense? I was at parties, I attended events, but I was not as much in the real world as some.” She was so rarely this open, so rarely allowed others into this side of who she was. Because it was easy to make vague remarks, to comment without being specific on her childhood, or to shove the fact that she’d been a model years ago into everyone’s face. But not so much this. Though perhaps this was because she had a feeling that somehow, perhaps, Alain could appreciate this side of her too. “Yes, we have established that we mutually enjoy one another’s company.” She pressed her forefinger against her mouth, “but shhh, that is a secret. Right?”

“April, the 18th,” Alain repeated to himself, as he took out his phone to write that down in the calendar. “Alright, it’s noted,” he put his phone away before she could comment on the fact that he had a physical keyboard on it which, he was aware, was not really in fashion these days. “Well, when talking about when flowers are going to bloom, we do have to mention the weather. I’m afraid I’ll have to mention the weather if we’re going to be stargazing together again,” he raised his eyebrows and nodded as if to say: I know, that’s terrible, but it has to be done, Evelyn. Leaning his back against his chair, he glanced up at her as she spoke of her social background and how people associated it with the Royal family. He was about to comment on it when she went ahead and grabbed his hand. Okay. This is fine. He had never been too fond of being touched by other people, and he felt his stomach clench as she did that, although it wasn’t exactly for the same reasons as usual. He did not remove his hand from her hold, and kept his eyes on her as she was talking about something that mattered to him. “That makes me really happy,” his smile reached his eyes. When they first met, he had promised her that when he would come to the Artesian, he would bring along some astronomy books. Things had changed now, and it was empty handed that he arrived tonight. “If you want to read more, do tell,” he raised his eyebrows and made a face as she mentioned the creepiness of people such as that man at the counter. Sharks, people who took everything they could without ever being condemned for their selfishness or their cruelty. This was a description that could have worked perfectly for many people in his family. Had he been born from the right mother, he probably would have been just like that man at the counter, wouldn’t he? Probably. “I imagine. My parents had plans for my sisters too,” oh God no. Had he gotten this comfortable around her? Was it the fact that she was sharing with such honesty all of this with him, that made him feel that way? Well now he had to change the subject, as he really didn’t want to discuss growing up rich and having the shittiest family around town. “Of course, my lips are sealed. No one has to know that the mechanic likes to spend time with princesses and vice-versa,” he finished his drink and sighed. 

“Yes, precisely that.” She watched him take out his phone and put in her birthday. Despite the actual keyboard on his phone, she found herself fighting away a smile. It was nice to have someone who cared enough to genuinely try and remember details like that about her. Though, Evelyn supposed, many people had known of her birthday, but it was different when someone was a friend. Which Alain had become, somehow. Perhaps it was because they had just enough of a mixture of extreme differences mixed with similarities. A nice balance, even if he was human. Her mother’s fondness for humans too ingrained into her blood. “I suppose for you, I can suffer discussions about the weather. It is rather necessary in order for us to discuss stargazing. I would not wish to go out while it was a terrible rainstorm, or too snowy, or even simply too cloudy.” He didn’t say anything about her hand being around his own, and she fought away the urge to bite her lip. She wasn’t usually this touchy-feely, though she did acknowledge that for most, simply touching someone else’s hand was not considered overly so. “I am glad. I would like to read more, if it pleases you.” But she dropped his hand, suddenly and once again acutely aware of that they were in a public space and maybe she ought to not be doing things like that, unless she wanted people like Sterling to remark on it next time they had her alone. “They did?” She said, her voice soft, gentle. He had not really ever spoken about his family, and she didn’t want to have him stop on account of her jumping into conversation about that too quickly. “Such is the way, sometimes.” He moved beyond the conversation, then. “Well, I appreciate it. I mean -” She scrunched up her nose, “I like spending time with you, but I do not think either of us are especially known for that. I just would not wish to ruin your reputation, is all. Even if you are one of my favorite people in town.” She coughed, suddenly. “So, would you like a refresher on your drink, Mr. Babineaux?”

“You won’t be watching a lot of things if we go out there on a stormy or a snowy night,” which was weather, he supposed, people like her weren’t really used to suffering from. Ever since the snow had started falling months ago, Alain had not stopped going out nearly every night, even if it was freezing out there, and it was the same schedule for him whether it was raining or not. Of course he didn’t like it, but liking it had never been really part of his job or education. It had to be done. He moved his hand away from where it used to be when she removed her hand from his. Still, the thoughts he had had just seconds ago on the subject still remained, and the feeling lingered in his stomach still. “I’ll see if I find you some copies of books I have in English,” he glanced down at his glass with a thin smile. “I would like to keep some of my library intact, if you don’t mind,” and besides, most of his books were on the more complicated side, and even someone with a good level in French would struggle with the vocabulary. It was probably best this way. He crossed his arms on the counter and fell silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts.Evelyn was probably one of the most genuinely kind people he had spoken to in a while, and he felt like her mind was just as polished as her looks. He could tell that she did not exactly have a dream childhood and that her life today was far from being spotless, and yet, she radiated with optimism and kindness. This should have repulsed him as he’d always been the kind to see the glass half empty, but she must have found a way to make her feelings contagious because he had yet to feel like he had nothing to do here while he was around her. She had even managed to make him feel at ease while he was trespassing on her property. Evelyn really was good with people, and so he didn’t really believe that she didn’t have a lot of people she hung out with. Although he didn’t put her word in doubt but rather smiled and replied : “Only one of your favourites? And here I thought I was already your new best friend, as the kids say,” he paused, “ruining the reputation of a friend would be very friendly yes,” he nodded as she offered to make him another drink.

“That is true. If we hang out on nights like those, it should be inside, with hot beverages and perhaps rewatching an old movie - like Rear Window or another one of your French films.” Evelyn remarked, watching him carefully. She hoped that she was not being overly enthusiastic. Though her tone had not changed, she wondered if she was being too eager. If being starved for true friends had left her overly willing to grab onto anyone who wanted to genuinely spend time with her, outside of a formal obligation through status or parties. “I will give you your books back, if you wish. I promise.” She raised an eyebrow at him. “But yes, English would be nice, even though I do like any chance to practice my French.” He became quieter then, and she did find herself biting her lower lip, wishing that her abilities let her understand how someone’s mind worked more, wished that she could sometimes tell what someone was thinking. Because she wanted to understand him more, she found, she wanted to figure him out. She had always been desperately curious, even before she found out that her purportedly weird tendencies and physiological abnormalities had an explanation beyond a “rare genetic mutation”, and after that it had only increased tenfold. He let her be herself, let her be both venomous in some of her remarks but also made her smile, made her laugh more than most people were able to. “Sorry, but it is perhaps promising that you may achieve that some day.” She brushed her fingers against her nose. “Another old fashioned?” She asked. “Would you like to share a drink with me? I think it is only a basic courtesy to do that while engaging in such delightful conversation, after all.”

“Sure, why not.” He looked at her with his chin resting on his hand which was his attempt at hiding at least a part of his smiles from her. “That sounds delightful,” he added. There were quite a few movies on his mind that he knew she would enjoy, but at the same time, he didn’t want her to end up bored to death even if most of the things that they had planned to do were very different. Still he couldn’t help but think that there was no way she could be friends with someone like him. Even without the hunter part, they were still so very different and from the looks he was still getting from the rest of the clients, he was not the only one thinking it. “That’s not what I meant. The first book is still a gift,” shaking his head slowly he replied to her next comment in French : “I’m sure there will be plenty of other chances for you to improve your French if you plan on doing all those things on the list with me,” the few times he saw her write in his language, he didn’t notice any grammar errors, and he doubted that she would have a lot of room for improvement but he wouldn’t refuse an opportunity to speak in French. Evelyn was easy to talk to and he appreciated their conversations, as they almost made him forget for a moment that he was this close to have what looked like a normal life. Life felt just normal then. He felt the same way around Erin and Cassie these days too, and that was nice. "I'll have a drink with you, of course. Surprise me." It was already established that he enjoyed whiskey and he didn't recall ever trying one as nice as the one she just had used. Now he was curious as to what she would pick for him.

“It does. I have a nice television and an excellent couch, and I will admit I have halfway memorized some of these films.” She scrunched up her nose. Evelyn ignored the looks that the two of them were getting - now not only from Sterling, but from a few others who had made their way over to the bar. She knew that even if they didn’t say anything now (though who knows, they could start making remarks at any moment), she’d get an earful of comments the next time they came by the bar when only she was there. “Well, it is a gift I treasure.” It was true, she had always loved receiving books, no matter how fond she was of all her many material items, too. “I do plan on it, and now I have even written them down so who knows? Perhaps it is some sort of binding contract. We now have to hang out, spend time together, speak French or English and attend to the many different items there.” At his request for her to surprise him she bit her lip, snapping her fingers together in a quick motion before she turned around again, back to him. A mint julep, she decided. Bitter enough, but also a little bit sweet. She went about crushing the ice, mixing everything together. It was a terribly American drink, but perhaps that was alright. She grabbed the juleps and turned around, her face lit up with a smile. “Let me know how it tastes.”

“Now you really sound like you have too much free time,” his shoulders shot up with repressed laughter. Alain shook his head. While he didn’t know movies by heart, he always made sure that he was busy as it kept him from doing too much introspection, or thinking about hunting, his family, or losing his sanity over too many disappointments : Alain couldn’t count the amount of times his relationships had followed the same two patterns. Either people found out that he was a hunter and left, either they found out he was a hunter, and being hunters themselves, they stuck around and wound up dead. He had for a while tried to stay away from people, but it only made things worse. “A binding contract,” he bit his lip, doubting that such a contract would resist to time and revelations. Maybe he didn’t have to tell her. Why did he feel the need to be honest. It felt as if liars were much more successful in life anyway. “Sounds to me like it’s another one of those things you love who are half enticing, half frightening,” his eyes lingered on her silhouette as she turned around. For the first time since he walked in, he had a look at the rest of the place. If keeping his eyes on her made him feel safer in this shark tank, a glance at said sharks comforted him in his idea that he didn’t miss much by no longer being part of this masquerade. This was at least one good decision he had made. His eyebrow raised as he turned to find what looked like a mojito in front of him, and he gave her a confused look. He had expected something more european coming from her and hadn’t expected for her to actually listen to him and surprise him in every sense of the term. “Alright…” He had a puzzled look on his face as he put his glass back down. “Alright.” He paused. “It is a surprise,” if he had an aversion for Mojitos and all those popular drinks who he found to be too sugary, this one felt a lot more balanced. “Good job, Evelyn,” he raised his glass at her, “to an unlikely friendship and a never-ending to-do list.”

“I mean,” she shrugged, making a small face, “my bar is only open three nights and two days a week, so you are not incorrect. I do have a great deal of free time.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “Plus I had free time as a child, and I have always been drawn to those movies more than the romances.” Perhaps in part because I was never really shown what nice romance was as a child, and perhaps just due to my nature. “Well, you see, when you say it like that it sounds like I am doing something terrible.” As his next words came, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Yes, I suppose it is one of those sorts of things.” She ran her tongue against her teeth again as she grew quiet. Once she’d made the drink and handed it to him, her heart rate increased just so - not normal, but she didn’t want to mess up the drink she had made him - part of her wondered if she should have done something else with just plain whiskey, make a joke about being half Scottish and be done with it.  But he took a sip and her fingers clenched around her side of the bar, nails halfway digging into the wooden counter. But he seemed to like it, or at least was kind enough to pretend - though she didn’t see him as someone to put on false niceties, at least not in a situation like this one. She grabbed her glass and clinked it against his. “To a lovely friendship, if a bit unexpected, and a to-do list that we shall never be free of.” She took a sip of her own drink and grinned at him. “So, not so bad here after all, hm? We did not even have to retreat back to my office.”

“Dear God,” this sounded like an awful lot of free time to have, and it said a lot about how well her business was doing. He, on the other hand, was open 6 days a week, early in the morning and late enough in the evening which was a completely different schedule. “I’m not sure what it is I prefer in the movies,” he looked up at the lights above the bar, as he thought about it. He certainly had a taste for David Lynch and Terry Gilliam, which weren’t for everyone’s taste, but it was mainly about the emotions it made him feel, and romance was part of that. It wasn’t his favourite, but he could enjoy something well made, like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, which was one of his favourites. Evelyn probably could appreciate something like that. “You’re a bit twisted,” he remarked. It was not a reproach, but rather something he had noticed about the woman, who as polished as she liked to appear, had, he believed, some rough edges to her. Alain wondered how rough those edges truly were. Nibbling on the back of his thumb, which was something he did quite idly whenever he felt anxious, he looked back at Evelyn. This couldn’t last forever, could it ? This relationship they had, the laughter and the good times. Still his glass was raised with hers. “You’ll tell me how they felt about having a commoner in their favourite bar, alright?” He might have not belonged here, but it would feel nice while it would last.

[wandloreinamerica]

The Wands of Fantastic Beasts

So this is very different from what I normally post. I hope y’all enjoy and if you agree or disagree, I would love to hear what you have to say. This post is long and very picture heavy so I will continue below the cut.

Let me say that I think most of these wands are actually well executed individually, and I think the team who designed and made these wands is very talented. That being said, some have large flaws and when seen as a collection, they feel very lazy, especially the wands from the second movie. I am aware of three other wands (Bunty’s, one labled “Auror’s wand” and a purplish wand). However, I was unable to find good pictures or other reviews online, so I was forced to exclude them. 

1) Tina’s Wand

Tina’s wand features a well-defined handle and cleanly tapered shaft. It has very plain lines, and primarily adds visual interest with the grain and mild color variation. This wand is somewhat unusual because it is not in the Art Deco style. However, this works because Tina has a no nonsense, no frills approach to life, and this wand reflects that. The simple and clean lines speak to practical mind and an appreciation of a quiet beauty, much like Tina herself.  This wand is my favorite because it really does reflect its master and its understated beauty.

2) Bernadette’s Wand

Bernadette has a pale wand with a nodular shaft/handle and an offset pommel that has been carved into a face. Frankly, this wand is great. The detailed carving and the pale color make it stand out. I have seen the face described as either a mummy’s face or a faun’s. In either case, it is a unique and somewhat bold choice that I think paid off. That being said, I personally find the face a little creepy which is why Tina’s wand is Number 1.

3) Rosier’s Wand

Vinda Rosier wields a rather neutral looking wand. The wand is a rich, dark brown wood with reddish tones that become more pronounced towards mid shaft before fading into dark brown at the tip. The wand itself is made of several elongated ovals separated by smooth dips.  While I do not like silhouette of this wand, I think the color is lovely, and I applaud the designers for not giving a dark looking wand to a dark character. 

7) Skender’s Wand

Skender’s wand has a ball pommel and a minimally tapered shaft with a thick square tip. The two sections are joined by a gold band. What really stands out on this wand is the color: the shaft is a yellowy olive with pointed black striping and the pommel is bright red. The simple design really lets the colors be the stand out feature on this wand.

8) Spielman’s Wand

Spielman has a somewhat unusual square cross section wand. The shaft is a clean black taper. This simplicity forms a sharp contrast with the detailed off-white and silver handle. The pommel is a heavy silver thing with two meander/Greek key borders. A meander is also used to decorate the small silver cross guard. The bulk of the bone/ivory(?) handle is divided into four sections by three silver bands. All of these sections have a small silver stud on each face.

This wand is very well designed. The colors complement each other, and the meander is expertly used to highlight the square cross section. I like playing with the cross sections on wands, so seeing a well-executed square one is nice. That being said, I do think some decoration on the plain shaft would balance out the rich handle.

9) Leta’s Wand

Leta uses slender black and silver wand. The handle features two wide silver bands both covered with delicate, hammered scroll work. The remainder of the handle is made of an elegant, multi strand twist. The shaft is long and quite thin, giving the wand a unique silhouette.

This wand is well designed. It is feminine and classy, but not overstated. 

10) Percival Graves’ Wand

Perceval Graves has a deceptively simple wand. The glossy black shaft is separated from the handle by a thin silver ring. The silver pommel resembles an inverted rook, and is joined to the handle by a thinner silver rod.

I think this is a well-designed wand, and while I am generally not a fan of wands with lots of metal, I think it works in this case. Part of this comes from the wand echoing some of the more futuristic Art Deco schools, and part come from the black and silver color scheme. In the first series black and silver wands were rare, so this wand stood out because of the unusual colors. However, black and silver wands have become more common and robbed this wand of some of its uniqueness.

11) Abernathy’s Wand

Abernathy’s wand features a black handle with an asymmetric spiral and a large ¾ ball pommel. A silver band separates the handle from the plain, medium brown shaft.

I think this is serviceable wand. I like the asymmetrical twist, and think it goes nicely with the pommel. However, while the colors do complement each other, the shaft is very plain, and almost looks like it was made from a different material from the handle, though it is possible that the handle was painted.

12) Yusuf Kama’s Wand

Yusuf Kama’s wand shares a similar color palette with Abernathy’s: the shaft is slightly darker and there is a touch more silver. The additional silver comes in the form of a broad pommel cap that has a slightly pitted finish. From here, the wand flows into a slim handle with two raised rings marking the middle. The silver cross guard slightly tapers to the shaft. While most lines on this wand (the grooves, rings and color transitions) run perpendicular to the wand, the cross guard has some delicate fluting that lies parallel to the wand. While subtle, this does serve to make that element the focal point of the wand.

I like the fluting on the cross guard, and overall, think the wand is generally fine, even if the shaft is a tad plain.

13) Theseus’s Wand

Theseus Scamander’s wand has a simple, gently tapered silhouette, and a plain warm toned wooden shaft. The shaft contrasts nicely with the rich gold and tortoise shell handle.

I like the similarities in the Scamander brother’s wands: both are simple baton style with shell accents. In Theseus’ case the similarities have all been polished and the wand looks like it belongs to a member of the British upper class. That being said, this wand really does feel like a non-wood handle was added to the wand.

14) Newt’s Wand

Newt’s wand is a simple baton, with a rustic, well used finish. The darker handle is separated from the shaft by a blueish band. The wand has a hollow pommel lined with mother of pearl.

I do not like the hollow pommel, as that is a weak spot, susceptible to breaking, and it will get filled with dirt, water, and other debris. I know that the designers wanted a natural look, with animal elements, but I think they tried too hard and it shows.

15) Queenie’s Wand

Queenie’s is mostly a slim black shaft. The visual interesting parts are located in the elongated two-part pommel. The first part is bright gold, miter-eques band that is decorated with an incised banner pattern. The band grips a mother of pearl column which cumulates in a delicate shell. When seen in a void, this wand is incredibly Art Deco, both in materials and motifs.

I have read that this wand was supposed to be “sexy”, but I personally don’t see it. I question the inclusion of that much shell, which would be fragile and likely to break (although if this is painted wood, I applaud the skill that went into the carving and painting.). I also think too much emphasis is put in the pommel/handle to the detriment of the shaft. Part of Art Deco is showing of the richness, and if in every day use all you can see it the very plain shaft, it kind of fails as an Art Deco piece.

16) Flamel’s Wand

Flamel uses a very plain brown wand. Much like Queenie’s, the plain shaft makes up most of the wand. The handle/pommel is made from a slightly curved horn. The horn is joined to the shaft by an aged gold band that has a slightly raised, swirling pattern. I am very, very, disappointed with this design. Flamel is ancient and you would think his wand would have a radically different look. Instead with the very plain shaft and fancy handle, this wand fits in with the modern wands in the rest of the collection. I would expect this wand to have significant gothic influence, with intricate, allegorical scenes, lots of fine details, and, possibly, painted areas to mimic stained glass.

17) Albus Dumbledore’s Wand

Dumbledore uses a black and silver wand. It features a broadly flared silver pommel that flows into the black handle. The handle is joined to the shaft by a broad silver band etched with runes. Just distal to this band is a delicate three-part hollow twist, smooth in the outside, yet rough on the inside. This then blends smoothly into the rest of the shaft.  This wand is visually interesting. But I have serious issues with the hollow twist. The location is where you would expect the most stress to be if you hit something while holding the wand, and with that area weakened, where you would expect the wand to snap. Additionally, how does the core run through that section?

18) Seraphina Picquery’s Wand

Seraphina uses a wand with a large amethyst crystal handle that draws most of the attention. The crystal is griped by a delicate silver cage which joins it to the shaft. The wood shaft is a very simple dark brown baton. Overall the color plate work’s well, and the silver cages serves as a textural focus point, with both the crystal and wood having almost no texture.  

While this wand does preserve the Art Deco feel, the large crystal looks like it belongs on a high fantasy fairy wand or a Wiccan wand rather than a Harry Potter wand. Additionally, the crystal is clearly grafted onto wood shaft, which raises questions about how the wand was originally constructed. Were the crystal and silver handle originally part of the wand? If so what was the cost of the wand? Was it added later, and how did that change the balance of the wand? To my mind, this wand is the epitome of an overly extravagant, inorganic handle grafted onto a very, very plain wooden shaft.

Overall thoughts:

Let me be clear, I think the props designers are fantastically talented, and by and large most of these wands are individually very well done. And there are some fantastic wands and some really awful ones. However, when you look at the overall collection it feels…lazy and over decorated.

Art Deco was clearly a major inspiration for the wands. I have also read that the design team wanted to go in a different direction, and separate these wands from those in the original series. And I think both ideas are good: it’s a different time, and Art Deco really is big at this point. But I think they got too wrapped up in the new, Art Deco direction and failed to adhere to the basics, both in wand design and in Art Deco.

 Too many of the wands look like they are plain batons grafted onto decorative handles. While there is nothing wrong with having a plain shaft, and most wands will have a plain shaft, here it is taken to an extreme.  Queenie, Picquery, Theseus, Speilman, Leta, and to a lesser extent Flamel, all have very rich, extremely detailed handles, that often seem to be made of non-wood materials. These handles stand in stark contrast to the shafts, all of which are very plain, and few have any notable grain. This contrast sharply with the books, in which wands are wood and the original series, where non wood accents are used sparingly. These new wands with their large non wood sections are a substantial reversal from the wood wands of both movie and book cannon. Secondly, as I noted for Queenie’s wand, part of Art Deco is showing off the rich exotic materials you are using. While these wands undoubtably have such materials used in their construction, they are exclusively confined to the handle which is covered in normal use. This means what you see most of the time, is a plain shaft, which really isn’t Art Deco.

The color palate is somewhat condensed, and this detrimental the Art Deco theme. A third of the wands use black and silver. This combination is very classy and elegant, but it is overdone. Before black and silver wands were unique, and stood out: now it is common, and slightly cheap. Wood comes in a staggering array of colors, and this collection does not reflect that. There are a myriad shades of brown, cream, tan and colors beyond that too. There is Padauk, Redheart, Redwood, Bloodwood, (all varying shades of red) Canarywood (gold and brown striped), Yellowheart (bright yellow), Osage Orange (orange), Purpleheart (purple), Pink Ivory (ranges from a pale pink to watermelon red), Lignum Vitae and Sassafras (both are often an olive green), and Holly (one of, if not the, whitest wood). And then there is grain. Black and White ebony is noted for its striking black and white stripping. Ziricote is valued for it’s beautiful landscape like grain, and the cream and chocolate stripping of zebra wood is always stunning. Spalting adds unique patterns and colors, while figured grain is not uncommon and can and an extra bit of oomph to another wise simple design. Using some of the above mentioned could have contributed that richness in the Art Deco style and added more variation.

There is also a huge missed opportunity here to show how different countries and wandmakers have different styles. There are American, British, German, and French wands here, but there is no real difference in the style, with the exception of Bernadette’s. We get a glimpse of this in the original series, with both Gregorovitch wands having a strong organic aesthetic (one can also include Grindelwald’s original wand in this group, as he appears to come from the same region).  Unfortunately, this does not carry over into this series.

 Sources:

http://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0221/1146/products/Porpentina_Goldstein_Collectable_Wand_2_grande.png?v=1532942253

https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB12FqqSVXXXXXEXVXXq6xXFXXXY/Newest-Metal-Core-Deluxe-Harry-Potter-Fantestic-Where-to-find-Bernadette-Magic-Wands-Stick-with-Gift.jpg_640x640.jpg

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CpBiah84Xy4&t=429s (a very different take on these wands, that I would suggest watching, to get another view point)

http://www.thedailyowl.gr/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/vinda-rosier-wand.jpg

https://www.wbshop.com/collections/fantastic-beasts-wands

https://www.noblecollection.com/Fantastic-Beasts-Wands

[untilthenextencore]

Beyond My Wildest Dreams Ch. 1 Pt. 2

Sitting & settling down in the darkness of the theatre, Robert, armed with a small bag of popcorn & small drink had the fortune of ending up sitting through the trailers for the very same movies that he had foregone in order to see this one; True Grit, Easy Rider, Wild Bunch and all. Thankfully he was able to distract himself by people watching & snacking on popcorn. Most of the others were young lads, he heard a word or two in Italian, marked by a touch of the local accent.

One lad he caught - when prodded as to why he had chosen this out of all pictures to see - admitting to friends that this was but one of their many viewings of the film, adding. “A friend of mine recommended this pic. He said it made him want to learn Italian for the girl alone! He says he’s seen it probably about 20 times already!”

The film started soon enough after that thankfully, saving him from having to sit through and struggle to distract himself from any more heaviness or potential hyperbole.

For Robert soon found himself not only distracted but thoroughly enchanted as the lights dimmed even further & the screen flickered to life, announcing the featured presentation. As the opening credits rolled, and soft music played in the background, each lyrical sounding word rolling across the screen in script fascinated him to no end.

At first the only glimpses of the “infamous” Deanna came in pieces. Fractions. The hem of a white nightgown billowing in the breeze. Tanned toes, the nails painted a soft melony shell pink. Calves & feet seen in silhouette through that same nightgown’s hem. Long, loose raven curls fluttering softly in the breeze, a ribbon loosely tied around her crown, the ends of the bow fluttering along in the mix. Body folded in on itself with her arms circling her knees, tucked into a little ball; a ball balanced on the balls of her feet, on the broad expanse of the curved balcony of her room. Her compacted form was framed by moonlight & a nearby tree whose branches seemed to reach out in an attempt to touch, to graze, to caress her just as the moonlight did… Just as the breeze did… Just as the audience did through the camera’s gaze… And subsequently… Just as Robert’s eyes did…

And the camera at last zoomed in & focused on a close up of Deanna’s face, at first in profile, then turning to gaze down at her from above, with her returning the “gaze” by looking up in kind, up to the moon & smiling serenely. The look in her eyes as she smiled, held a gaze as distant & detached, as far away as it was present, near & warm.

That face…

It caught him by surprise.

It caught him off guard.

It caught him with a handful of popcorn stilled in mid journey to his mouth, fingers and kernels grazing and poised at his lips… Momentarily… For the next thing he knew, Robert’s fingers went lax & the kernels dropped to his lap completely ignored as his gaze stayed locked on the screen.

That face.

That face!

Those eyes…

Those eyes!

Those Eyes!

THOSE EYES!

Two pools…

Like maple syrup…

With a gaze that stuck to him. Clung to him. Found and fixed itself into a little corner of his mind… And stayed there.

His studying of her features continued. A fine if slightly snub nose. A touch of baby fat still perhaps. And a set of full lips, plush, soft, inviting, tempting. All of it maddening! Robert didn’t know what to expect walking in. Now that he saw he realized that he should have expected NOTHING LESS from a “Daughter of the Moon”!

The movie had him riveted though it was nothing but a slice of life film. Deanna lived next door to this chap with a rather drab, humdrum life. She meanwhile was a quirky sort. One of her main quirks being her balcony side moon gazing. The chap absolutely adored her.

"Who wouldn't?! Living next to that?!" Robert thought.

The boy adored her in all her faults & little imperfections. Even in her little moods & flashes of temper. She kind of reminded Robert of Maureen in those scenes. Ah, women!

The lad found a new way of life with her. She opened his mind to all sorts of new experiences, taught him to enjoy even the smallest pleasures in life. Sunlight. Rain. Music. Books. Movies. Picnics. The Beach. And even though the lad didn't get the girl, and though aside from hand holding and hugs the only kisses she gave him were on the cheek - Deanna making it clear she only saw him as a friend and wasn't interested in settling down just then - by the end of the film he was at least that much closer to manhood after knowing her. Learning to stand on his own feet & learning to enjoy life thanks to her.

In terms of him trying to escape what was plaguing his mind, Robert couldn't have picked a better one. By the time the lights came up, Robert wasn't ready to leave. He wasn't ready for it to be over. At first he had thought the guy's friend who had apparently seen the movie 20 times was a bit excessive. A bit much.

But now...

Now...

Now he got it.

He got it & as he sat there watching as the rest of the people dispersed, contemplated as to whether or not he should start up a similar count as well. A similar number of viewings as well.

He wanted to.

Really wanted to!

But he didn't really fancy the idea of paying for all those showings of the same movie.

He was at a loss...

Until...

"Excuse me, sir." Robert heard those words just as he got a whiff of a soft powdery perfume cutting through the movie theatre butter smell that permeated the air. A soft voice called from just behind his seat, a finely manicured hand giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder as he turned to face the girl. A petite thing halfway in between blonde and brunette with honey caramel colored hair, and eyes that he couldn't quite make out the color of. So, in his head he supposed them to at least have the possibility of being at least a little bit in the way of being maple colored. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. You see the show's over & before the next show we have to sweep up and... Wait... Wait... Wait..."

Those potentially maple colored eyes narrowed slightly before flashing wide as the girl gasped.

"Wait... Wait, aren't you... Aren't you that singer? From that new group? Led Zeppelin? You're Robert Plant, right?"

Bingo!

Like clockwork Robert found what might just be his key to making it a day at the movies.

"Guilty as charged I'm afraid." He laughed. "And now that you have my name squared away my dear, might I have yours?"

"Allison! My friends call me Alli or Al. Oh my God! I can't believe it's you! I've seen you like a ton of times and I listen to you all the time outside of that! I can't tell you how many copies of your album I've burned through! I love your voice! It's just so sexy! It's so primal and... Oh my God!" She gasped, covering her mouth with her right hand.

"I'm rambling! I'm so sorry! You must've come here to get away from people like me. Just rambling & carrying on like so. You must be just sick of that. I bet that's even why you picked a foreign feature, huh? I feel so stupid. Ugh... I cannot believe I just did that! I'm so sorry! I just got carried away and... I guess... I... I dunno... I just... I... I... Ugh... I dunno... Sorry..." She mumbled as a blush began to flare & creep across her features.

Robert just laughed, taking her free left hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Not at all, love! It's nice to hear that one is so well thought of. Especially to have such nice thoughts thought about you. Such scintillating ones too..." The corners of his mouth perked up, dimples popping in his cheeks.

"Sexy? And primal too no less? My... That is something! Certainly not something you hear everyday! I'm flattered. And I thank you." Robert leant in, placing a kiss to the back of her hand making her little flare of a blush roar across her face.

Robert then grinned up at her as he asked. "By any chance... There wouldn't be any place we can continue this conversation in private would there, Allison dear?"

"Um well, my family runs this place so... I'm sure we can try to find somewhere." She swayed a little, giving his hand a soft squeeze for the playful squeezes he gave her, never relinquishing the firm hold he maintained on hers. "But you're so busy I bet... With touring and all... You really want to spend time with me?"

"With a stunner like you? Of course I do, Allison! Who wouldn't?" He grinned even wider at her blush intensifying all the more at his words. "But first... I have to know... Are you sure you can find us a place to be alone?"

"Yeah!" She nodded. "I mean... If push comes to shove there's always an office or the projection room between shows. Or I can just postpone cleaning here for awhile. I'm the only one assigned here. This movie is at the end of its run here so there's not as much mess anyway."

"Perfect!" Robert smiled, taking the opportunity to lift the armrests on his seat & tugging her closer by the hand, getting her to perch on his lap where his arms found their way around her as he purred. "Now then, luv. Where were we?" And before she could respond much less even think to respond, he was on her, his lips fusing to hers with her falling into the kiss not a moment later.

Ah, yes...

This day was turning out to be just what Robert needed...

Even when he didn't expect it or didn't seek it out...

Even when he didn't expect them or seek them out...

Today he was surrounded by pretty girls...

Young pretty girls...

On screen and now on his lap...

Pure softness...

Soft curves in his arms...

Soft hair tickling his neck...

Soft perfume wafting around them...

With her soft lips on his...

Soft moans humming into the kiss as he took over and took control...

And slowly began to undo & peel her clothes off bit by bit...

As she reached down between them and worked on undoing & unzipping his trousers...

Freeing his rousing & rapidly hardening length which sprang forth to nestle in and find a home between her thighs...

Ah, yes...

His favorite kind of escape...

[tsundere-model]

[Day 13 + Kyouya] Romantic dinner

@lowbloodpressurelord has taken Izumi for a date

He still wasn’t used to all this. The fancy car, the fancy dinner, the fancy everything. He kept remaking his outfit time and time again, going through the entirety of his wardrobe at least twice. He wanted to be sure he looked the part - that he was worthy of the kind of dinner he was being invited to. Wouldn’t he end up embarrassing his boyfriend by looking subpar? At the very least he was confident in his looks, so it was only a matter of not looking out of place.

The limo arriving at the front door, he poked his head out of the window and waved for his boyfriend to wait a moment -was this even real? Kyouya looked like a full fledged prince with this set-up. Izumi wasn’t even a girl and he felt like squealing a bit.

Finally making his decision for a close cut white jacket, Izumi looked at his own reflection for a last time, fixing his fringe a bit and double-checking his make-up before finally stepping out. Handbag in hand, keys safe on his pocket and boots with high-heels he was ready to leave.

Almost too excited he skipped his way down the few flights of stairs - not too fast since he didn’t wanted to end up sweating, just enough to reach down fast- and almost jumped into his lover’s arms. Feeling the corresponding warm squeeze around his body he smiled warmly and stepped on his tiptoes to go for a small greeting kiss.

There was a bouquet of flowers for him, big enough for it to be a bit troubling to hold it, deep red roses that smelled fresh and sweet surrounded by tiny white flowers to decorate. Hopping into the car, and sitting side by side with Kyouya, leaning against him tenderly, he counted the number.

One, two, three, four and more… how was your day? You look beautiful today. Ten, and eleven and twelve. You look way too handsome. We should take a picture together. Twenty-six, twenty-seven. When he finished counting -and recounting because there were just that many and the little conversation he was having made it hard to focus- he realized they were 47.

Kyouya only smiled, prompting him to look for the meaning himself.

Searching for the meaning in his phone, the host’s arm around his shoulders, his heart skipped a beat at the ‘You’re my one and only’ in the screen. A nervous blush, he gently leaned closer to Kyouya, enjoying the warmth from his hold -so different from the cold outside.

When the car finally stopped, he was guided down, the roses left there for him to pick them back when they returned. Hand in hand, feeling almost like a princess guided by a knight -quite the opposite from his usual performance.

He had never come to such a restaurant, and he found himself naturally leaning closer to Kyouya, seeing what he did and attempting to act as if it wasn’t as surprising as it was. Still, it was impossible to avoid the almost childish surprise in his eyes when he looked out the window from the n-floor and into the sight of the whole city. The lights from the buildings like little fireflies over the dark silhouette of the world.

A brindis. A meal selection specially for him, with nothing but delicious and healthy food, finishing off with a dessert of grapes, calorie low cream and chia seeds that felt delightful o his tongue. And on top, the sweetness of a gentle kiss.

It felt almost too good to be true. Like a beautiful dream. To be like this, with the man he loved, eating delicious food, with a beautiful sight. Would he ever be happier than this? Feel more loved than this? He didn’t thought that was possible, but that’s what made this moment so special.

The sound of the ‘Happy Birthday’ never as sweet as today.

And yet it wasn’t even over yet, a small box being offered forward. Inside a silver watch with a light blue face. The design -was it custom designed?- that of a chess piece -a bishop, as a call back to izumi’s position in Knights. A warm smile painting his features he leaned over the table, for a moment not worrying if he was being impulsive or unsightly, just wanting to kiss him at once.

A soft kiss full of gratefulness. For being loved. For being able to love. For being here.

[anthonyspage]

🐋🌊🌿🐋🐠

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Cleopatra

Warnings: angst Word Count: 1.5k Pairing: Sam x Reader A/N: After listening to the album of the Lumineers and looking into its backstory, my heart was so broken I just had to write something. Mostly inspired by THIS song. Special thanks to @queen-firefly for being amazing and helping me. This is an AU. I’d love to hear what you have to say about it :) Enjoy!

Masterlist

Sam AU

Sam gazes distantly at the traffic because the girl in his back seat looks so much like her. He can’t stand it. His heart hurts. Like, physical pain. So he lets his eyes get stuck on the black Sedan in front of him, reading over the license plate repeatedly like a broken record, as if, maybe, if the letters and numbers engrave themselves in his brain, he’ll forget the images of her. But he can’t help to glance back at the girl now and again and daydream of the first time she slid in the leather seat with a bright, thankful smile on her face. God, that girl is wearing similar colors as well. What could the chances possibly be? Same khaki jacket, same blue jeans, same red lipstick. Fuck, and the traffic is stuck he can’t not make a conversation.

He remembers wearing his all-black, cheaply lent suit, blurry eyes leaking tears. His arm was on the window, hand holding his head while the other white-knuckled the steering wheel, stuck in traffic as he is right now. Images of the black, closed casket, images of his brother and small family gathered around dug out dirt, images of fallen red roses on dirt. He was hurting back then too, mourning a loved one, until someone knocked on the window.  It was her. Crap, he knew he shouldn’t have gone to the funeral in his damn taxi. She pleaded a ride, promised her destination was close and begged some more until he said fuck it and waved her inside. Better to shove down and ignore the pain rather than deal with it.

She slid in his taxi smoothly, thanking him repeatedly. He fell in love with her that day. He didn’t know it yet, but he did, enamored by the way dimples formed beside her mouth, dazed by her eyes that were sprinkled with stardust and wonder. She made him smile the same day he put his father in a casket, six feet under.

He didn’t let her go like that, obviously. He’d be a fool to do so. The memories he created with her consisted of the most incredible, adventurous journey in his life. Cold nights under the stars, warm mornings of glowing smiles, shared breaths and smooth, carefree laughter.

“Why the fancy suit?” The girl in the back asks him and he feels like he was hit by a bucket of cold water. He meets her eye in the rearview mirror. Her eyebrows are raised in curiosity and genuine interest.

“Being a taxi driver isn’t my only job.” He shrugs with a friendly, slightly forced smile.

“And what else do you do?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“Shut up.” Sam chuckles. “Why the heck are you driving a taxi then?”

“Because… I love it.” The girl looks confused as ever. “I just…” Sam sighs heavily, her image popping in his head again. “I have a lot of memories in here. A lot of memories made, a lot of memories to be made.” He runs a hand through his hair. “There’s something about driving all sorts of different people around, briefly looking into hundreds of people’s lives. There’s just something about it.” The girl hums and for a little while the conversation dies down. His heart sinks.

The mattress under him is rough, slightly hard and lacks frame. Not that he notices this, Y/n’s body fallen on top of him, comfortably wedged between his legs. Hands trailing up and down his body, ending up under his ear, thumb on his cheekbone, her right elbow beside his head. She’s kissing him, tuffs of hair tickling his forehead. Her waist is small compared to his arms and her hair soft between his fingers.

She trails kisses right there, under his jaw, outlines the columns of his neck in feather soft touches of her lips, before she’s pulling away. Sam’s eyes flutter open, drunk on her taste.

“Let’s get married” It fell from her tongue in a whisper and she has him under a spell with her surreal eyes. He’s lost, he can’t see anything but her.

“Yeah.” he decides “Let’s.”

He’s teared up again. Dammit.

When did they arrive? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember. But the girl is thanking him and giving him his money, before she wishes him farewell.

The drive to the airport is short. Before he knows it, the door to the passenger seat is opening.

“Dad!”

“Hey, baby.” He grins, pulling his daughter in a hug and kissing the crown of her head. “How’re you doing?” She’s a spitting image of her mother and as they drive downtown, her hand in his on the joystick, light conversation is made. Bailey tells Sam of her adventures is art school, excited smile painted on her face.

“It’s so incredible dad, you don’t even know.” She tells him. “Shawn is wonderful too.” Sam raises an eyebrow.

“Shawn?” Bailey suppresses a grin.

“Shawn” She confirms. “… My boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend, huh?” Sam hides the teasing smirk that’s about to burst on his face.

“Stop looking at me like that!” Bailey slaps his shoulder, laughing mirthfully and Sam can’t help but do the same.

“What’s he like?” He asks and she looks outside with a loose smile. She opens her mouth and starts going on and on about him, about how well he treats her and how sweet he is and how she connects and relates to him. Sam can see the look in her eyes, can see the warmth in her smile. He recognizes it immediately.

“Dad…I…” She looks at him almost teary.

“You’re in love with him” It’s a simple statement that hangs in the air. It takes some time for her to let the words sink in. She nods faintly, biting her lip.

“I think I am.”

They spend their evening driving around and eating burgers on the side of an empty back road, sitting on the hood of the taxi while watching the last hues of orange and pink fade away from the sky.

Night falls and the lights of the car are reflected on the garage door of her house.

“I’ll see you, dad” Bailey steps up to him and wraps her arms around his waist, burying her face in his shirt. Sam holds her tightly against him with his chin on her head and tightens his hold a little more when the front door opens and there she is.

“Y/n?” he blinks tiredly at the darkness. The shuffling stops.

“Go to sleep Sam, I’ll be right there.” Something in her voice makes him highly doubt that, even half asleep.

“What’re you doing?” she’s… dressed. She’s dressed, mounting a backpack on her shoulder. She sighs dejectedly.

“I’m leaving.”

“What do you mean you’re leaving? Hang –hang on y/n let’s talk about this for a mo-“

“That’s what we’re always doing, Sam. I can’t do this life anymore, I can’t-“ she’s crying, he hadn’t realized it till now. “I can’t stay in the same place, I can’t settle, that’s not me. It never was.”

“But what about- what about Bailey? What about us?!” He shoves the comforter off of him, pretending that he hadn’t seen this coming the second the words ‘I do’ came out of her mouth with a second of delay on that aisle. This is all going too fast.

“I love you Sam, both of you. But I need to go.” She walks up to him, pulls his face in her hands and kisses him deeply, so deeply that he doesn’t know who’s breathing for who, kisses him breathless like it’s the last thing she has in her for him. Because it is. She’s gone like dissipating smoke.

Sam never washed the footprints her dirty, worn out boots left on the carpet.

The porch light illuminates her silhouette. She has cut her hair short, grey curls framing her face and she’s wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt like she’s twenty again. She’s still as beautiful as she was and maybe it’s his love for her, the love that never went away, that makes him look at her this way. But he forgives her. Forgives her and understands, even if it hurts like hell.

Bailey lifts the duffle from the cracked pavement, stepping away from her dad hesitantly. She smiles at him one last time, walking towards her mom, embracing her happily with a silent squeal. Sam watches with a small smile as Y/n ushers her daughter inside.

He opens the door to his taxi and before he can talk himself out of it, spares a glance her way. She gives him a small bittersweet smile and he nods her goodbye with a purse of his lips. As she turns her back and goes inside, Sam is left still looking at the door. He looks on, picturing himself walking inside along them with an arm around her shoulders, until the porch light turns off, snapping him out of his trance. With a sigh, he steps back in his car and hesitates for another moment before starting up the engine and driving away, still looking at the house through his rearview mirror, longingly.

Taglists! (Which, by the way, you can Join HERE):

@deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @deanssweetheart23 @easelweasel-deactivated20180103 @nostalgic-uncertainty @twentyoneredsocks @dancerwithapen @mogaruke @superseejay721517 @blackcherrywhiskey @andi-winchester @lady-hawkguy @thosefeelsarereal @superwholockmarauder  @justiceiswater

Sam Taglist:

@kymberlytorres

[eleonorpiteira]

[Edit: These prices no longer apply. For new information regarding commissions, please see my tumblr.] 

The return of commissions! But this time, I'll only be opening card-like commissions - no ‘fancy’ portraits.

I'll open only 5 spots on the waiting list at first. Once they're filled up, I'll close them, and open them again when I finish the commissions on the list, and so forth - I’ll post about it so check this tag for any relevant info.

Prices:

- (1) Card: 70€ - (1) Card with 2 characters: 80€

- (1) Card for return commissioners: 60€ - (1) Card with 2 characters for return commissioners: 70€

[rest of the info bellow the Read More - Please read before contacting me!]

Info:

- Cards can be about any character from any fandom, including OCs - they don't necessarily need to be from the Dragon Age franchise - examples below:

- I have the right to refuse a commission. I also won’t do furries, robots, explicit nudity, etc. I’m fine with some nudity as long as it’s ‘classy’.

- I retain full rights to the commissioned image. It’s for personal non-commercial use only and you cannot claim is as your own work. You can use it as your online avatar or on your blog, etc, as long as you credit me, of course.

- Spots on the waiting list are saved for people, and not number of commissions, therefore once you have a spot, you can ask me for more than one commission - but please tell me so beforehand, so I can organise accordingly. Otherwise you might have to wait before I can start on your second commission.

- If you want a romance card - for example - in which one of the characters is only barely visible (like arms/hands, a silhouette, something like that), it won’t count as two characters, just one.

- The cards can be tarot-themed or not - it’s up to you, so simply let me know.

- If you don’t want the white margins of the card, just let me know as well.

Process:

- PART 1: Initial sketches (sometimes I go straight for one idea, other times I give 2 or 3 options).

[Details:] Tell me about your idea/your character. I like to play with symbolism a lot, so little details that make them stand out from other characters are always welcome information, and they may spark my inspiration. Moodboards (or pinterest boards) with examples of the aesthetic/inspiration for the character are a great help. If you have a faceclaim for them, let me know. Please give me references for anything relevant (clothing, armour, jewellery, weapons, faceclaim, in-game looks if it applies, etc.). I work best when commissioners tell me about their character and give 3 or 4 pointers about things that they would like to see represented - a theme, a feeling, symbols, things that have meanings - and then give me freedom to explore those things.

- PART 2: Final sketch (this step might be unnecessary in some cases)

[Details:] After the initial sketch is approved (which version was chosen, any slight changes, etc), I re-do the sketch, since it will be used for the final version of the illustrations. Only small changes allowed.

- After part 2 and before part 3: Full Payment (commissioner will give me their paypal e-mail and I will send them the invoice. after the payment is made, I’ll resume working on the commission).

- PART 3: Shading + colours + textures + effects = finished illustration.

[Details:] All details must be 100% locked and approved before I ever start to paint. I will only be able to do minor changes after these phases. After we talk about colours, I'll start painting until I finish it. When it’s done, I’ll send the final image (always big enough to print).

Estimated time:

Cards (w/ 1 character) usually take between 1 and 2 weeks from start to finish - but it depends on the complexity, depends on the commissioner, depends on my life. I'm usually quick when doing cards, but the back and forth between me and the commissioner always takes time, thus some cards can take longer because of that. If you have a specific date that you’d like to have the card finished on, let me know in the beginning and I’ll see what I can do.

Contact:

If you have any questions, you can send me a message to either my art tumblr or to my deviantArt. If you are interested in commissioning me please contact me through my e-mail: eleonorpiteira@gmail.com.

[enna-of-the-stars]

Black Night Veil

Fandom: Original Work  Word Count: 6.5k Rating: Teen and Up  Summary: Aren is a delivery man, running errands and generally hating life. He's given up too much, he's been erased from existence. So he built a new life, a new experience, but something that's been eating at him since then, comes back nipping at his frost-tipped ears and chilled spine. This is the original version of the story. If you’re looking for a more in-depth look at the backstory of the characters and overall improved writing, please click here for the Black Night Veil_Extended.

The sun dips low, burning into the distant horizon against purple ink clouds. The barren trees, stripped of the colorful warmth from just a few weeks ago, are stark silhouettes against the weathered white paint. When I finally pull up to the right address after searching for the past half hour, I am immediately overcome with a sense of unease, a slight foreboding that makes my heart pound and breath hitch.

The house itself is average sized. Nothing too big, nothing too small with faded numbers and a crooked mail box leaning heavily to the right. But something about it—perhaps the way the shuttered windows creak and swing in the frigid air, or maybe the way the stone chimney chokes out black smog fumes—ignites anxiety deep in my bones. The grounds are unkempt, shaggy in mis-constructed fences and misplaced stones. It’s like there’s blanket, some sort of wall, blocking this house from the ones back down the street. Just a turn before, the grass was greener, or at least as green as it could be in this season. The sky was brighter, but maybe that was because too much time had passed in my search for this place. The birds were louder, chittering and chattering against calls from parents to children still playing in the yards. But this street, devoid of laughter and voice, is silent and simultaneously overwhelmingly loud in its silence. A raven, perhaps crow, I’m too unnerved to really look, seems to stare down at me from its perch on the black smoke tree. It cocks its head to the left, eyes glimmering in the evening twilight. It caws.

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe. Drumming my fingers on the steering wheel, I stop, gripping tightly. The shaking in my hands does not stop, but I ignore it. The seat belt seems to tighten and I choke in its grip. The belt unclicks and freedom is granted as I grab the delivery in the passenger seat, weighing the small box, judging if this is worth it. It is. I have to. I slam the car door shut, pull the delivery closer to my body for its strange persistent warmth, and make my way across the barren street.

The sun drops away, leaving just hints of twilight before even that loses faith and disappears into the ink black veil of night. The feeling of eyes on my back is unnerving and present and eats at me. So, I look around desperately from underneath my cap, yet I see nothing except for that cursed black winged creature on the branch. I’ve confirmed it, truly. It’s been staring at me since I drove onto the street, leaving the livelihood of the street just passed. Turning away, I breathe in, sort of strangled at this point, because god does it feel like there’s something clutching at my neck. I turn back, and the creature is gone. My heart, hammering, pelting against the stone-tired bones of multiple overtime shifts, stops for the first time since the start of this delivery. Shaking my head, the sights change and the house comes back into view. Ignore the bird, ignore the bird, ignore the bird. Ignore the bird. A mantra I repeat for only me, myself, and I.

A sharp, cutting caw strikes me. I nearly drop the box in my hands at the sudden intrusion of the previously somber silence. I fumble for it, catching it just before it hits the ground, stumbling in my steps on the uneven weed trodden stone path in the process. The box is clutched even tighter now. My hands only shake more, it feels as if my entire body is ready to rattle out of its flesh driving prison. The wooden stairs creak under my feet and I jump again at the suddenness, not expecting, was expecting the sound. The cool air fogs and puffs from my abated breath, but still, I move to knock on the door.

And I do. The door shudders with the weight of my knocks. It gives up what seems to be at least a decade’s worth of pollen, dust, and ash. Taking a step back, wide eyed and wholly unsure of what the hell I was doing here, because I’m going to—I’m going—

The thought stops there. As does my heart. As does my breath. As does everything in the world. It all spins to a stop, as the glittering starlight strikes something shiny in the corner of my eye. I look to the left, towards the aging wooden deck and the—

“Oh god.” It’s more of a weak escape of my soul, rather than tangible words. The weight of the world rests on my shoulders and presses down, hard. My knees give way for it, pliant under the pressure. I’m a mess, crumbled and broken and breaking on the wooden floor. Just to the side, there lies that crystal. It glows, ethereal in the veil blanketing the world in its sudden stop.

The world starts up again without me, when the thump of heavy footsteps from inside the house flickers some sort of awareness in the back of my mind. The old and tired door struggles itself open. In its haste, it sweeps more of that ash and dust and memories, long, thrown away memories, into the house. I blink when an awkward cough splits like thunder through the raining silence. I turn, looking up at the man that stands before me.

He’s tall, shrouded in a black… thing. It drapes over his shoulders and floats back and forth, back and forth, sometimes catching the moonlight and glittering its dark secrets before settling back to a void. Drooping locks of curly black hair, long and cascading in weeping waterfalls over the dip of his barely visible collarbone, puff and sigh with each breath. Pale, almost translucent white skin shimmers and both disappears and reappears in the pall of the dark interior of the house. He stares down at me unblinking. I stare right back, taking in the blue eyes, really almost gray. Something flickers in them, just as something flickers in the back of my mind. He moves forward, barely leaving the threshold of the house. He’s not wearing shoes, I realize, before a hand swims into my vision. The pale and thin wrist is delicate wire silk as it wraps around my arm. But, like spider silk, it is delirious and fake in its delicacy.

I’m pulled to stand, with striking, yet expected strength. I blink, still not really processing the who, the when, the now. The hand doesn’t leave my arm, but the shroud of black moves closer, and I too, am shrouded. The warmth is surprising, shocking.

Fuck, because what the hell.

I close my eyes and lean in as the other arm of the man wraps its way around my waist and pulls me in flush to his chest. Familiar.

____

“Aren.” He breathed, close to my ear. His arms are around me, holding me tight as the sunlight drips into the crack of the curtain and onto the bed. I hum, lazy, too tired from last night, too tired to do anything really. But still, I turn to him. He smiles, underneath those black curls that always seem to be in his way, with well, the way he’s always pushing them to the side. He looks down at me in his arms, smiles wide and pearly white. “Hey, sleepy.”

“Hey yourself,” I mumble right back. It’s mostly word mush into his collarbone, which I’ve taken quite the fancy of. I can hear him breathing, his heart thumping steadily away. He breathes in to say something, and holds his breath. Something is wrong, I can tell, after spending so many years by his side. Something is eating at his heart and mind and soul.

“I wanted to show you something today,” He said. “It’s important.”

That wakes me up fully. I untangle myself from him, he pulls back too. Suddenly, there’s a gap between us, palpable and tentative and possibly dangerous.

“Everything okay, love?” I ask. He doesn’t reply but merely looks away, moving to get clothed. His back is smaller than I’ve ever seen it.

“Just… Just wanted to tell you something.” His voice is softer than anything I’ve ever heard from him before. But it doesn’t fool me, he’s scared and I don’t know why and that breaks me. Still, I turn around too, and now we are back facing back. Pulling on some pants, a shirt, something to go over it, before moving to his side of the master bedroom, I stop just a hair width’s breath away. He’s still dressing, slow and methodical like always, but his hands are shaking and that’s what scares me the most.

“Hey,” I said. He doesn’t look at me, dead set on continuing to fumble at the buttons of his shirt, clumsy and obviously on edge.

“Hey.” This time, his hands stop, and I take that as my queue to move in. I carefully pry his freezing hands from the buttons and instead do them up for him. When I reach the top one, just under his chin, I look up and we lock eyes. His are pearly, glistening. I stand and let my hands cup his cheeks tenderly, thumbs wiping at the first not-quite tear.

“Sorry,” He manages to choke out.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to be so scared, love.”

“I just—” His shaking hands come up to grab mine and they still shake, even as the warmth from me bleeds into him as if breathing fire and life into his limbs.

  “I just,” He tries again. “I’m scared you’ll hate me.”

I pause at that, thinking back to all the times before. Of weird occurrences, of strange accidents, of the many, many things that were should-have-been or could-have-been. Things that went wrong, somehow, someway, without really ever understanding why. But then, I remember that fire the burns bright within. That ignites passion and ferocity to protect the man before me. I smile reassuringly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Not going to stop loving you.”

He finally closes his eyes, letting himself lean into the caress of my hands. The unshed tears breaking free and fluttering to the ground, even as I tried to wipe them up and make them disappear.

____

I blink and we’re back. I’m back and he’s back and, fuck this is happening, fuck—he pulls away. The gap between us is starker than ever, deeper than ever. I look up at him. His eyes are soft, gentle. I open my mouth, he inhales sharply. Both of us, we are here.

“I’m sorry,” He says first.

I can’t really muster anything except a strangled peep in reply as I blink droplets dusted by the stardust night sky. He wipes my tears this time.

“I’m sorry.” He says again. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to just—”

  Dry mouthed, my self comes back to me, and in an instant, the white-hot anger sears into the air dripping lava and spite and desperation.

“You. Left. Me.” I practically spit out the words. “You left. Disappeared. Gone.” At this point, I’m not sure what’s more surprising, the not-rain falling to the ground despite the cloudless sky, or the way my heart stutters with each breath but still yearns. Yearns.

"Please,” He starts, “Let me show you why.” He pulls back farther, through the still doorway, into the darkness of the shrouded interior of the house.

“Why the hell should I listen to you? You’re the one who left! You just up and disappear one day and never come back and now you think that just because this,” I gruffly gesture at the, well everything, encompassing both of us. My heart screams the opposite of everything I say. “Just because this, this, meeting or whatever, happened doesn’t mean I ever wanted you ba—”

The crystal beside the door starts glowing. It floats from where it’s lain on the aching wooden floor and moves to come between us. It flashes, pulsating between bright brilliant white and bleeding red, before finally dimming altogether and fading black. It clatters the ground, spinning.

“No!” It’s a whisper. I turn to look at him. His blue eyes have turned silver and distant, and his face almost disappears, with how stark and ghostly it has become. His black long curls flutter and brush off as smoke forms where he stands with his… his shroud fluttering with it. “No.” He almost pleads, collapsing onto the floor, scrambling for the black crystal.

He looks back up at me, after confirming the now still crystal moves no longer. His eyes have shifted to gold, but there’s fear in them, unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. He lunges forward, grabs me by the arm, dragging me into the house. In my shock, I don’t fight back, and the door swing shut behind me with a definitive slam. It locks itself, despite the door not having an electronic lock. The rest of the house too, seems to spring to life. Lights start flickering on, I realize they’re really little flames and candles, than a modern light. My shoes untie themselves and as I’m still dragged further and further into the depths of the house, two steps and my shoes come off on their own. They stow away neatly into the little shoe rack by the door. I too, am now barefoot.

We enter a long and thin hallway lined with doors and doors and more doors that open and shut at random intervals. Paintings hanging on the walls move with life and breathe with vitality. The flames flicker, casting dark and faint and long and short shadows all across the room in a sort of dizzying nonsense.

The door at the end of the hallway opens up, and he pulls me through it, firmly locking it behind us with an old-fashioned metal cast key. He fumbles a bit with some muttered words, and I watch as the door suddenly bleeds. Gold lines curving, carving into the wooden flesh appear and disappear before he stops muttering, and they stop.

“They know.” Is all he says. “And I can’t—I can’t let them hurt! They, now they know and they won’t forgi—” He stops there. Closes his mouth firmly shut, but eyes suddenly burning molten gold and determined. He marches past me, careful not to actually push me out of the way and starts ransacking the room with fervor. Dumbfounded, I sort of move to sit even though I don’t realize I’m nowhere near a chair; to my surprise a chair lumbers up behind me just as I sit down. I don’t even register it; my eyes are focused on him. His brilliant golden eyes glowing in the dim shadow cast room of flickering flames and fire, burn bright. His black curls seem to move with a life of their own, picking things up, and moving them as he does the same to a random assortment of things around the room.

Parchment, god is that really parchment? Quill pen, ink bottle, a few decks of cards, black and dipped with gold. The entire set of books living on the shelves around the room start shuddering, moving, flying into the open canvas sack that he was throwing everything else in. Pouch after leather pouch of miscellaneous items that I can’t really identify follow suit. A few more crystals, these I don’t recognize, unlike the one he was so afraid of from moments before. Of the one that he had shown me all those years ago, that had then, blinked that brilliant blinding white and warning cautious yellow. I recall, it never ended bled black that time, it just flashed and flashed and flashed until he was gone and everything we’ve ever had, gone.

"What,” I start. My lips are dry so I lick them before trying again. “What’s happening?”

He doesn’t stop, he’s actually packing, I realize. Things are still flying and moving on their own. But he does stop, eventually, once everything is fully gone and in the canvas bag which shrinks and shrinks until its nothing but small canvas pouch no bigger than my palm. He grabs the bag; it disappears in a little poof and shower of golden sparks. He sits down, and another chair, appearing out of nowhere, shoots out to ensure he actually sits down instead of falling to the floor. The black shroud that cloaks him seems to swallow him in its gaping maw of void and nothingness. Even his limbs are eaten up, until its just the peaks I can see of the tips of his ears and his nose through the curtain of his hair, now messier than ever.

“They know.” He says. I shake my head, not really understanding.

“They know about you. I was stupid, they always say to never tell and I put you in danger and it was stupid that I showed you, I should’ve never showed you, shouldn’t have ever told you shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off with a strangled inhalation, because now, I realize, I see, golden tears dripping from his eyes. They fall in perfect pearls, landing on his shroud of black and splattering like stars against the night sky. I wait. But that doesn’t mean my heart wasn’t screaming and thrashing and crying for my mind to move, my body to move and wrap him up in my arms.

“They took me away because I showed you. I was young and stupid and I didn’t want to hide it from you! They always say to never, never show this,” He sort of, weakly gestures at the room and the situation. “Never show outsiders, they say, but I—” He chokes back a sob. He continues. “I thought you would be my forever. I wanted you to be my forever! You were, you are, I know it!” The tears don’t stop, but he lifts his head and looks at me with what I finally, finally recognize as the same look from that night he disappeared.

He didn’t leave me. He was taken from me. This… this understanding dawns on me like the rising sun, moving in tandem with the beating of my heart and the coursing white-hot anger that had simmered away in the panicked run, but now burns brighter than ever.

“You didn’t leave, did you.” I finally manage to speak my words, tongue heavy, sizzling anger steady and burning in my veins, but I don’t let it seep into my voice. He shakes his head, unable to say anything. “You could’ve come back, but you didn’t. You were scared for me.” I say this not as a question, but more of a statement, because really, I think I see it now.

He nods in affirmation.

God I’m going to punch whoever the fuck they were.

He suddenly jumps out of the chair, eyes blown wide and gold shrinking to golden rings instead of pure color where blue should have been. His pupil thins, and thins, and thins, and thins until it’s nothing put a sharp vertical line. They’re beautiful.

“We have to go,” He says in a whisper. In his hand appears a thin black stick, a wand. He reaches out for me, but doesn’t force me, not like moments before. I stare back at him. At his dripping gold eyes and smoke hair and shrouded night veil and shoeless ghostly feet. I feel the anger of ten years of loss. Of what could have been. What should have been. My grief turns brighter, bitter, better in its strength as it evolves. It’s no longer grief because I know he didn’t leave me. I know he didn’t. He was taken, and he was afraid, alone by himself and hurting.

I was going to kill them. For hurting him. For hurting me. For hurting us.

For a brief moment, I think to my life, my current one. Compared to what it is, to what it was—could have been… Yeah, I’m going to kill them.

I reach out for him. Our hands meet in the middle and yes, this is what home was. We disappear in a shower of golden sparks against the backdrop of a black night veil.