#and oh boy what a canvas we have on this lad

[bleaksqueak]

lol due to the pose of this tarot card i'm being forced to draw the front facing panel of the reaper uniform completely by hand for the first time in (probably two years now...hahahaha) oh, assets, you are great and wonderful and save me so much time Until not even Warp and Transform can lift you high enough. Then I must replicate these complicated designs Wholly Anew. like some sort of "art" "doer" (I hate that I have to add this disclaimer but this is the hell world we live in: the assets in question are ones I painted by hand at flat angles with the intent to be used over and over again. like a shoujo transformation sequence. it's not Aye-Eye BS or anything of the sort) with that disclaimer out of the way.... at the very least it means I can save the flats for this specific pose and thus it can then be re-used later when the comic will inevitably call for it. WORK SMART! WORK ART SMRT

[cinemastyles-blog]

What Happens on the Tour Bus, Stays on the Tour Bus

Summary: A Wattpad request by mysticalrosean - “Ok so I was thinking it would be frat boy Harry and what happens is a fan wins like a free pass to spend the day with the band. Then Harry starts flirting with her throughout the day a lot and she does too, then they sleep together in the tour bus??Also can u make it so that Harry is dominant because thats so good haha”

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, flirting, biting/hickies, sex with people around, unprotected sex, hair pulling, choking, slight angst, filth

Master

FRAT BOY HARRY

“Hi, my name is y/n. I won the contest you guys were doing.” You hand the security guard the ticket stating the information and he nods, “Okay. Right this way miss.”

Your nerves are skyrocketing.

You’re about to meet the boys of One Direction.

Harry.

Oh god, you think, I’m about to meet Harry.

Your nerves cause your body to buzz with excitement, the physical shaking is quite noticeable at this point.

“Don’t be nervous, love. They’re harmless.” The security guard jokes and you laugh, “Okay.”

He knocks on the door and you hear the boys yell on the other side.

This is it.

The door opens and there stands Paul, “Yeah?”

“This is y/n. She won the best fan art contest.”

“Oh, yeah. They told us you were coming today.” Paul gives you a smile and turns around to talk to the boys but they’re gone.

“They’re getting on my nerves today.” Paul grumbles with a laugh, “Follow me.” Paul motions for you to follow him and you do.

You walk down the halls of the arena they’ll be performing in tonight.

“Incoming!” You hear one of them yell.

Harry runs and leaps onto Paul’s back, laughing and yelling along with Niall and Louis.

“Harry.” Paul says, trying to stay calm.

Harry’s eyes meet you and he instantly falls off of Paul’s back, brushing off his shirt and crossing his arms, “This the girl who did the drawing?”

You raise your eyebrows, surprised by his attitude, “Yeah, I am.”

“We absolutely loved it.” Harry smiles and walks over to you holding his hand out, “I’m Harry.” He brings your knuckles up to his lips and presses them to your skin.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks firing up, “Hi Harry.” You smile and look over at Niall and Louis.

“Hey, I’m Louis. Nice to meet you, love. Sick drawing by the way. Best one we’ve seen in a while.”

You smile and nod, “Thank you. That really means a lot.”

“No really, you’re incredible. How’d you learn to draw like that?” Niall asks walking up to you, “I’m Niall.”

You nod and shrug, “I just kinda picked up a pencil one day and started drawing.. so I guess I’m self taught?”

“Amazing.” Niall shakes his head, “That’s crazy.”

You laugh and look back over at Harry who has his arms behind his back and his eyes are scanning over your body, “I- I.. um.. I have these for you guys.. Zayn and Liam, too.”

“They’re in the dressing room. I’ll go get them.” Louis walks away yelling for them, “Oi, lads. I need ya!”

“Here is yours, Niall.” You hand the small canvas to Niall and grab Harry’s, “And Harry..” you hand him his canvas and his hand lays on yours. Your eyes meet his and he has a smirk on his lips, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

He drags his hand against yours as he takes the canvas, inspecting it with his lip pulled between his teeth, “Beautiful art done by a beautiful girl.”

He winks and Niall smacks his chest, “Harry. Don’t be flirting with her. She just got here, you’ll scare her off.”

Harry chuckles and shakes his head, “she won’t be going anywhere.”

You bite your lip, knowing he’s right.

Meeting them went a lot different than you ever expected. You and Harry have a connection.

With just a simple touch of his hand on hours, you felt like you belonged to him.

——

“So Niall says you taught yourself how to draw?” Zayn says leaning forward picking up the canvas again to look, “That’s honestly very impressive.”

You smile, “Yeah, I guess I just have a natural talent for it. For some people it’s singing and dancing but for me, I guess it’s this.” You point to the boys’ canvases laying on the table.

“It’s very good. I like it a lot.” Zayn nods in approval and leans back.

Harry can’t keep his eyes off of you. His gaze burns holes through you, constantly keeping you on edge.

“Boys. Sound check in ten.” Paul knocks on the door before he leaves and I look around at them, “So am I here for just a few hours or?”

“You’re here the whole day.” Liam says with a smile, “maybe you can sketch us something to keep on the tour bus while we do this, yeah?”

“I actually didn’t bri-“

You’re cut off by Louis making an off beat drum sound with his mouth and zig zagging a sketch book in his hands, “Ta-Da!”

“Oh you guys shouldn’t have.” You pout and take it from Louis, “This will be dedicated for you guys and you guys only.” You laugh and flip through the pages, “I love getting new sketch books. Thank you so much.”

“Not a problem.”

“Of course.”

“Very welcome.”

“You deserve it.”

“I’m excited to see what you come up with.” Liam says as he stands up, “Alright. Y/N, you can come sit in the seats if you want.”

You nod, “Sounds good.”

You grab your bag and put the sketch book into it. Harry waits for you by the door, watching you.

You turn and stop, a smile playing with your lips.

There’s definitely something there and you both know it.

“Since they’re not around to tell me no.” Harry walks up to you and semi roughly places his lips on yours as he wraps an arm around your waist. The sketch book gets squished between your bodies, but you didn’t mind.

“You’re mine.” Harry whispers against your lips, “Remember that.”

He leans back, his eyes scan over your face, “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He smirks and steps back, “After you.”

Star struck, you manage to make your way out of the room and down the hall. Harry walks beside you, his hand brushing against yours every now and then.

“There you are, Styles, What are ya doin, harassing the girl?” Louis asks as he puts his ear piece in.

Harry laughs, “No. I was going to the bathroom.”

He glance over at you and winks. You nod while trying to hide a smirk and walk down the stage and over to the seats. You sit a couple rows back so you can see the stage fully. You prop your feet up on the back of the chair in front of you and rest your gift from the boys on your thighs.

You tap the eraser part of the pencil against the blank page, thinking of how you want to start.

A little while into sound check, your eyes keep meeting Harry’s. He’s sitting on the one platform, leaning forward and his eyes are fixated on you.

You bite your lip, trying to stay focused but his gaze is strong.

You keep looking up at him, smirking and smiling every once in a while, rolling your eyes playfully at him.

You’d stop and listen to them sing, tilting your head, trying to believe that this was actually happening.

You hum along to the song, tapping your eraser against your cheek to the beat.

You and Harry are in a staring contest pretty much, but the only difference is, no one loses if they blink.

“Alright guys, I think we’re all good here. See you at the show.”

They walk over to the side of the stage and file down the steps, running over to you to see what you’ve come up with.

“Wow. Look she even got the detail of the lights.” Louis says pointing.

Niall smacks his hand away, “Don’t touch it, you knit wit. You’ll smudge her work.”

Louis mocks him and rolls his eyes, “Please.”

You laugh and look at your drawing, “it is pretty good isn’t it?”

They all agree.

“Alright. Let’s go get ready for the show. I can hear the fans screaming.” Liam says patting your shoulder, “You can come back and hang out backstage so you’re not caught up in the landslide of that.”

“Okay.” You laugh and stand up.

“They’ll know who you are. You’ll be bombarded with questions and shit.” Zayn says walking next to you, “We don’t want to be overwhelmed.”

“You’ll have a special spot front row.” Niall says pointing, “It’ll be right there.” You look down over the stage to see a small area that’s gated off.

“Oh that’s nice actually. Thank you!” You smile and walk back stage with them.

“You can just hang out back here, there’s snacks and stuff down in that room, help yourself.” Liam points to a room that has a green sign on it and you nod, “thank you.”

A little while later you find yourself in the room, looking over the different snacks. You can feel someone walk in but you don’t pay any attention until you see his arm reach over in front of you, lightly brushing against your boobs, “s’cuse me.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to flirt with fans.” You tease as you look up at him.

Harry smirks, “What they don’t know won’t kill them.” He winks and walks over to the mirror, running his hand through his hair.

You stand there, finding yourself unable to look away from him.

You walk up to him, “That kiss-“

“Is our little secret.” He leans in, “We can have plenty more secrets if you want.”

You smile and rub your hand against your bicep, “Really?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

You bite your lip, looking from his lips to his eyes, “Like what?”

He smirks and brushes hair off your shoulder, exposing your neck. He leans in, sucking on a little patch of skin under your ear.

Your legs go weak and a little moan slips from your lips. He wraps an arm around your waist, holding you to him as he keep sucking a mark onto your skin.

“Like that.” He moves your hair to cover the darkening mark on your skin, “And us. Sneaking around.” He leans in, his lips brush against yours, “Bringing you into my bunk. Hotel rooms. Anywhere I can have you.”

You stare up at him, your lip pulled between your teeth as you nod, “Anything you say.”

“Where’s Harry?”

He quickly puts his shirt on and walks over to the table of food. You sit down and get out your sketch book, flipping to a clean page and drawing randomly sketched lines.

“What are you doing?” Niall asks, “tormenting y/n again huh?” Niall looks at you, “Sorry about him. He can be a little-“

“He’s not bothering me.” You smile and look back down at your book.

“Mhm.” Niall laughs and you look up. Harry waves and blows you a kiss as Niall pulls him out of the room and you can’t help but laugh.

You sit there, Harry’s words replaying in your head over and over again.

You’re mine, remember that.

You feel like you’re in shock, stunned that Harry wants claim over you, but you also love the fact that Harry is all over you so you’re not going to argue with it, you always believe that Harry is your soulmate.

——

“Thank you so much!” Liam says as the boys line up, “You have been amazing!”

They all say their thank you’s and goodbyes and run off the stage. Harry gives you on last look, smirking before he turns and follows the others.

“Oh my god, it’s her!” A fan gasps, “Oh my god.”

“Y/n!”

“Y/N! How are the boy?”

“Did you draw them anything else?”

You turn and wave to them, “Hi, hello. It’s me. It’s been great. Really fun. The boys are all so funny and sweet. I’ve had the absolute best day of my life.”

Little did you know it’s about to get better.

“What’s Harry like?”

“Y/N, did you get to hug them?”

“Alright, y/n. Come on.” Paul says as he opens the gate for you, “That’s enough guys. Let the girl alone.” He laughs and shakes his head, “Harry is a loon, crazy.”

You laugh and look up at him, “You got that right.”

The fans scream as you walk by. You felt like royalty.

You didn’t know that the fans would get this crazy, but now you do.

“There she is! How was the show?” Louis asks walking up, “Did they ask you weird questions? We see lots of weird questions on twitter.”

You laugh and nod, “Yeah, they knew who I was. I felt almost as popular as you guys.”

“You will be now.” Zayn chuckles and grabs a water, “Just don’t let the hateful comments get to you. Just know that we love ya and that’s all that matters, right babe?”

You smile and nod, your cheeks turning hot with a blush, “Right on that.”

You glance over at Harry who’s glaring at Zayn and you can feel the hate filled daggers coming off of his stare.

You look between them to see if Zayn notices but he doesn’t. You but your lip, anxiously awaiting for them to tell you to go home.

“How about a tour of the bus?” Niall proposes, “Were headed there anyway, might as well give you the run down on the space we share.”

“Please.” You laugh and follow them out.

——

“It was nice meeting you, y/n.” Louis leans in and gives you a hug, “We’ll have to stay in touch. I might have ya draw me up a tattoo design, yeah?”

You nod against his shoulder, “I’d be honored.”

He smiles and heads to his bunk, pulling the curtain shut.

Zayn follows behind, saying his goodbyes and kissing your head, “Nice meeting you.”

Niall hugs you and rocks you from side to side, “We’ll miss ya! We’ll have to get you to come again, today was fun.”

He disappears and Liam hugs you, “Thanks for coming. You’re one talented girl and I know you’ll go far in life. Stay in touch, yeah?”

“Of course I will. Thank you all so much!” You smile and watch as he makes his way to his bunk.

You take a deep breathe and look at Harry who’s sitting on the couch with one leg crossed over the other.

He motions with his finger for you to come over to him. You slowly get up and walk over to him. He pulls you down onto his lap, sliding his hands on to your waist, “What did I say earlier?”

You knew exactly what he was talking about.

“I’m yours?” You whisper lowly, and he nods, “Right.”

“They did-“

He cuts you off by roughly kissing your lips. He leans back, “Say it again.”

“I’m yours.” You breathe out, “Harry. I’m yours.”

“Fucking right you are.” He grabs your hips and pushes them down, “Move your hips.”

You grind down onto him and he bites his lip to keep himself from moaning. You can feel how hard he’s getting under you and through his jeans.

“Were going to go to my bunk, you gotta be extra, extra quiet.” He groans lowly as he moves your hair to inspect your neck, “I’m going to make that darker.”

You melt into him.

This feels like it was meant to be on so many levels. It feels so natural. Your nerves melted away as soon as he kissed you for the very first time.

Harry is a very dominant person and you love being his.

A part of you felt like it was some sick joke between the boys, but they really seemed to like you.

“Wait.” You whisper, “This isn’t some weird joke between you guys is it?”

Harry tilts his head and his demeanor goes soft for a minute, “We’d never play with a girls emotions like this y/n. We know how devastating it can be.”

You nod, “Okay. I was just asking. I didn’t really think someone like you would go for a girl like me.”

He shakes his head and rest his hand on your cheek, “You are very, very, and I mean very beautiful. As soon as I knew who won the contest, I did some investigating and I can honestly say that you took my breathe away as soon as I seen your pictures.”

You bite your lip and lay your hands on his cheeks, “You’re my favorite. Always been.”

He smirks and shrugs, his turned on cocky demeanor is back in full effect, “Course I am.”

He leans up, connecting his lips to yours before he leans back, “If we wake anyone up, we don’t get to finish.”

You nod and get up, following him as he leads you to his bunk. He motions for you to climb in first and he gets in behind you, shutting the curtain.

His lips immediately find yours again as his hand slides down your body. His hand slips into the band of your shorts and slide between your skin and underwear.

His fingers find their place at your clit and rub small circles. He presses his lips harder to yours, muffling your moans as best as he can.

Your hands fist his shirt as your whimper against his lips.

He kisses back your jaw, finding the spot he started to mark. His lips pull your skin between his teeth and he bites down, sucking deep colored marks all over your neck.

He doesn’t care if your hair covers it or not.

Your body arches as the pressure on your clit grows harder. “Fuck.” You whisper lowly, “H-Harry.”

You spread your legs more, indicating you wanted his fingers further down.

He picks up on the signal and slides his fingers down between your folds, slipping them inside of you, moaning at how wet you are, “Fuck. I can’t wait to be in this pussy.”

You turn your head, finding his lips as you rock your hips against his hand, “fuck.”

He groans lowly against your lips, pushing his bulge into your thigh. Your hand slides down, cupping him. You give him a gentle squeeze and start to undo his jeans.

“Let me get you off first then we can do that.” He nudges his nose against your cheek, “I want you gagging on my dick but not here. Too loud.”

You nod and take your hands away, sliding them up to his hair. You grab his hair, tugging slightly as you feel yourself growing closer.

You bite down on your lip hard to try and keep yourself contained.

“Come on, love.” Harry whispers, “Cum for me.” He kisses across your neck, nipping and licking the skin, “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

You’re panting at this point, “s-shit.”

Harry brings his other hand up, shifting so he can cover your mouth.

You clench around his fingers and arch your body into his as you cum. You whimper and moan into his hand as he fingers you through your high. He moves it and instantly crashes his lips onto yours, swallowing your moans as fast as you get them out.

His thrusts slow down and he pulls his hand out of your shorts, “You’re going to feel so good around my dick.”

His words alone could make you cum again.

You pick back up on undoing his jeans again, “I can’t wait to feel you inside of me.” You kiss him as you slip your hand into his pants.

He kicks off his jeans and kicks them down to the bottom of the bunk, “Roll over.”

You roll over so your back is facing him and he pulls your shorts down. You bring your one leg out of them and his arm instantly hooks under your leg and lifts it up.

He pulls it to him, holding you tight as the tip of his cock rubs against your folds and you gasp, waiting for him to slide in.

He reaches down between you both, grabbing his cock to steadily slide it inside, “Quiet as a mouse, baby. Don’t want to stop now.”

You grip the blanket, biting down on it to muffle the moans you’re trying so hard to keep quiet as he pushes his cock into you.

He lays his head forward, his finger tips dig hard into your thigh as he sits there for a second, taking in the feeling of being inside of you.

“Fuck, y/n.” He groans, “You feel so good.”

You push your hips back, afraid that if you open your mouth you’ll wake everyone up.

He slips his arm under your head and holds your leg steady as he starts to slowly thrust, being carful not to make too much noise.

You tilt your head back, lips parted as he whispers dirty stuff in your ear, “I knew just by looking at you I needed to know what you felt like.”

He moves his arm so his hand lays on your throat, squeezing gently as he thrusts are slow and deep into you. The angle he has your hips at, allows you to feel every inch of him. The tip of his cock brushes around that perfect spot every single time.

Your leg starts to shake as you reach behind and grab onto his hip, “I’m so close.” You quietly gasp out, so low he barely heard.

“Me too, wait f’me.” He lets go of your throat and lays his hand on your chest. His hand kneads your one boob as he pushes his cock into you fully, feeling you clench around him.

You hold your breathe, trying hard to hold back the orgasm that is desperately trying to get free.

His cock continues to thrust in and out, painfully slow.

“Fuck. Let it go.” He groans and digs his fingers deeper into your skin.

Your body tenses and you lay your other hand over your mouth, muffling the moans that your orgasm is ripping away from your body.

He came sooner than he thought he would.

Oops.

He finishes pumping his cum onto your hip and quickly brings a part of the blanket up and wipes it off before it runs down your back side.

You shimmy your shorts up your legs and lift your hips to pull them up. He puts his boxers back on and lays down facing you.

“I may have came a little inside.” He chuckles slightly, “I’m sorry I-“

“No it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I’m on the pill.” You assure him as you lay down facing him. He nods and stares at you, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

After a few moments, he brushes hair from your face, “Don’t go. Please.”

You pout slightly, a part of you feeling sad at his words, “I really don’t want to.”

Harry leans in and kisses your forehead, “Well figure it out.”

——

So I’m thinking about doing a part 2 to this? Something along the lines of y/n and Harry get caught on the tour bus because there’s some fans poking around the fences and the secret gets out?

I don’t know let me know what you think 👀

As always, if you have any request, send them here.

I have three or four other requests in progress!

[blackberry-gingham]

Alright y'all, in honor of Valentine's I'm doing a quick break from requests and making a holiday post! Enjoy, and happy Valentine's to all from me AND the boys!

Relationship or not, remember that you are more then enough and I love each and every one of you mwah!!! ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜💝💖💗

Imagine: what each of the boys would do as your Valentine

George

George would treat you to an at home spa day!

First things first of course, and that being a nice hot breakfast

But after that, it’s all you baby!!

You guys would take a nice warm (and scented ofc) bath together and just relax and unwind

Then when you’re all nice and clean, you go get changed into what’s most comfortable for you, ie fresh PJs, a robe, ect.

And then back to bed, where George has a whole set up that he’s been planning for you

A fragrent, but not overwhelming candle burns in the corner, offering a low, amber light

Nearby, a slow record plays quietly, adding the perfect amount of white noise to the background

And finally, a few rose petals are scattered on the freshly made bed

George invites you to come lay down, while he works some lavender scented oil into his hands

You can’t hide your excitement as you trot over to the bed and get comfortable

“Stop squirming now, you’ll tense up again!”, George laughs, as he respectfully exposes your back to the cool air

Somehow you manage to settle yourself, and George goes to work, rubbing slowly outward from the base of your spine to the curves of your hips

He repeats this gesture aaaall the way up your spine, placing kisses here and there to your bare skin and using his expert thumbs to gently loosen any knots his palms can’t stretch out

But before moving on, he makes sure to pay extra attention to the stress knots in your shoulder blades until they’re as loose as he can get them

He slides up to your arms, getting all the pressure out of the joints as he rubs from your wrists up, then down to your legs to help relieve the soreness from your day to day hustle and bustle

and when all’s said and done, you feel weightless from the relief and steady massage, ready to go back to sleep

George grabs a nearby blanket and drapes it over you, the warmth helping to lock the oil into your skin and muscles

He lays down beside you and presses a kiss to the apple of your cheek, and with but a soft whisper he says, “Happy Valentine’s, love”

John

For Valentine’s day, John wants to do something extra special!

But what?

He’s pretty good about being sweet and sentimental when he wants to be, but how can he turn that into a gift...

Under normal circumstances, he’d tell you that a day of good behavior on his behalf is a gift in itself

And while that could certainly be true, you deserve better then that

So, he does some thinking and goes for the one gift he can give that few to none have ever received

John works tirelessly and in secret so as to keep it a surprise

Judging on obsession and perfectionist work ethic alone, you would almost mistake him for Paul

But finally, finally it’s all ready to go

You wake up that day like any other, and you almost forget what day it is

John appears to already be awake somewhere in the house considering he’s not beside you

Then, it comes to you

Excited to see if he’s been planning something, you hop out of bed and go off to find him

If he doesn’t have any plans today, you certainly can come up with a few!

John hears you coming and catches you around a corner

You give a yelp of surprise as john picks you up in his strong arms and gives you a spin

He wishes you a good morning and happy valentine’s day followed immediately after by a smattering of kisses before he sets you down

“Now come on, I have a surprise for you!”

John leads you into the living room amd sets you on the couch

Looking a bit antsy, he tells you to close your eyes

You comply, and by now the suspense is killing you

At last John’s footsetps return, “Now promise you won’t laugh, alright?”

You gasp in mock hurt, “I would never!”

John sighs and rolls his eyes, but he suposes that’ll sufice

Fianlly you get to open and you’re... well, you’re lost for words

In John’s arms is a large framed canvas, and painted there upon it is a loving, beautiful rendering of a photogrpah he keeps on his desk

It’s of the first dance you and he ever shared

He carefully guides it into your lap so you can get a better look

“Well? Do you like it?”

You trace your finger ever so lightly along the curve of John’s painted back as he holds you close in the picture still slow dance, a soft smile drawn onto his lips

Tears well up in your eyes as you slowly put the treasured piece down

“John...”, you turn to face him, unable to get the words out

But you don’t have to

John’s expresion softeneds and he leans in for a kiss, “...Happy Valentine’s”

Paul

Paul also has a bit of thinking to do for his gift

His knee jerk response is to dedicate a song to you!

...Again!

And while he does start working on one (for later, of course), he decides perhaps he should think a bit deeper for today

But what can he do that’s more personal then music?

He doesn’t really have much else in the way of outstanding talent

(Or so he thinks)

Well... He definitely knows he wants to produce a labor of love for you

After all, he would go to great extents to make you happy, so whatever he can do to make that happen, he’d gladly do it!

So, he thinks and thinks, and at last it comes to him

He breaks out some paper and some colorful things to write with and sets to work

When the day comes, he preps a little tray of breakfast and nestles his gift to you along with the plate and utensils

“Room service!”, he knocks sharply on the bedroom door and lets himself in without waiting for a response

Slowly, you begin to stir at the disturbance, but you awaken for sure after Paul snaps the shades open

A stream of soft light floods the bedroom, forcing you to get up

“Paul, wha...?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day!”, he happily declares

He swings around to fetch the tray from where he left it, then crosses back over to your bed side

“Here we are!”, Paul lays the tray in your lap, then comes around to sit beside you

“Oh, thank you Paul, this is lovely”, still a bit sleepy, you give him a kiss then pick up your fork and knife

“Wait wait! Look at this first!”, he retrieves a small stack of what appears to be printer paper neatly tied together by the corner

You take it and examine it

The front has a big, poorly drawn heart done in red crayon with you and Paul’s initials written in the middle

Already a smile blooms across your face, which grows into a full laugh as you flip through each page

It’s a little coupon book of romantic favors, all written in assorted, Valentine’s themed colors and messy handwriting

Breakfast in bed, dinner at a restaurant of your choice, a massage, movie night, 5 kisses, and more are among your choices

“Paul, I love it! Thank you...”, you land on a coupon that says 1 makeout session, then shoot him a look

“...Can I redeem this one now?”

Paul glances at it and chuckles, giving you a sly smile, “Hm, I think I can give you that one for free. Just this once...”

Breakfast will have to wait ;)

Ringo

Now, Ringo is a simple man

He loves you very much of course, and would do anything to give you the best day ever!

But considering the gift is supposed to be something of a surprise... 

That does complicate things a bit on what he should do for you, given that he can’t, you know, ask

He does a bit of thinking and even asks the other lads for ideas, despite the fact they aren’t much help

“How should we know?”, they say... Can you believe that?

‘How should they know’, how should he know?

So, he invests lots of thought into it...

All the spare brainpower he can muster...

And then... He’s got it!

He has to move quick to get everything together, given that Valentine’s is just around the corner, but he just might manage!

With everything set, he takes some time to get everything together for the big day, all neat and pretty

He even throws in some overtime while you sleep to spruce the place up a bit

The next day you climb out of bed in the morning and make your way downstairs

How strange that Ringo didn’t come to bed last night...

Not that you’re exactly complaining, that is

That man can snore something fierce

Hardly a few steps from the hall to the living room and you can already hear the good old sound of your boyfriend's rhythmic snoring

You yawn, closing your eyes and stretching as you round the corner, “...Dear, are yo-?”

But when you open your eyes, all you see is wall to wall of what appear to be handmade Valentine’s decorations

Sparkly, cut out heart banners, paper steamers, and a few clusters of balloons blown at various sizes are hung randomly around the room

Then, there on the coffee table, a massive bouquet of roses, over a hundred at least, provide a fragrant backdrop to a small teddy bear and a handmade card

You pick up the bear and give it a cuddle, then go for the card

On the front, two stick figures, one of which has been illustrated with quite a comically large nose, stand on a green hill with some hearts floating between them over their connected stick hands

The inside is addressed to you with a simple message of “Happy Valentine’s Day! Peace and love, Ringo”

You gasp and coo at the overwhelmingly sweet gesture, “Oh, Ritchie! Did you do all this yourself?”

Ringo snorts abruptly at the sound of his name and mutters, “Surprise!”, as he falls off the couch with a thump

Groggily, he comes to his senses, “Oh, uh... Happy Valentine’s! Uhm, D-do you like it?”, he asks nervously

You laugh and kneel down, your head hovering just above his as you give his forehead a kiss

“I love it”, you smile, and when you kiss him again, and again, and again, Ringo thinks...

Perhaps he did alright after all

[thou-crusty-batch-of-nature]

Je me laisserai derrière

-I will leave myself behind-

requested by @seriouslysiriuss: hello :))) could i request with prompts 9, 12 and 18 with either sirius or remus?? congrats again on 100 followers!! 🤍🤍💕💕

9."I love you!" "Lying has never been a good look on you.."

12."She's not yours." 

18."Is that my shirt?" 

A/N: ngl i spent so much time working on this fic and i hope with all my heart that you like it:)) thank you so much @approved-by-dentists​ for beta reading it and letting me rant about this fic<333

pairing: sirius x reader

warnings: fluff and a lot of angst™ (i warned you)

gif not mine

You could feel every wall you tried so desperately to hold up shatter one by one. You could feel your heart bleed from the shards they left behind. How could you pretend you were fine? You held your breath and squeezed your eyes shut, trying to hold your tears back, but your mind kept replaying all those moments you spent together. As if it tried to show your foolish heart what went wrong - where and when you stopped being enough. But how could you ever be enough for him? 

You let your head fall back, hitting the bedpost. You saw your reflection in the mirror on your desk and your eyes - your betraying eyes - slipped to the side of the bed where he used to sit. Where he used to hug you and play with your hair, then tell you how everything would be alright. You needed that lie right now. 

You slid against the bedpost until you let yourself lie on the floor. How many lies did he speak as truths?How many times did you believe him, even when your instincts told you otherwise? He could have told you the sun sets in the east and you would have believed him. You felt numb. You felt like a fool. You still loved him. And that hurt you the most. 

You started crying again. 

***

You got up. It was 4:11 am and you couldn't sleep. It was unexpectedly hot for this time of the year - it was autumn, for crying out loud, you only had jumpers packed! And with Sirius, the human-heater himself, holding you in his arms all night - not that you were complaining :) - you felt like a pumpkin pie in the oven. 

You catch sight of Sirius' t-shirt thrown on a chair. Should you…? I mean, no one was wearing it right now, so who would mind? You confidently slid out of his arms, careful not to wake him, took the shirt and quickly changed your festive pajamas. T’was a bit oversized, but it’s too comfortable for you to mind. You quietly went back to sleep. 

You were woken up by the sound of your alarm. You opened your eyes and saw him - you thought he looked angelic in the morning; his dark curls messily fell on his chiseled face, his full rosy lips sketching a smile every time he felt your touch. You slowly grazed his cheekbone and kissed him, and he tightened his embrace, giving into the kiss. 

He opened his eyes, seeming more awake than ever. He gave you a ravishing smile and kissed you again. 

"Morning Sirius is my favourite." you admitted, aware of the blush blooming on your cheeks. 

"So do you just take advantage of me in the evenings and afternoons? You are so cruel." 

"No, I also love Padfoot." 

"Do you now? I didn't know I was that good at licking…" he unceremoniously declared. 

"You aren't, I just like it when you don't talk." 

"How fascinating!" He propped his chin in his palm, smirking. "Then let me show you what I can do when I don't speak!" 

He tried to kiss you again, but you quickly pushed him and jumped out of the bed. "As much as I wish to do that, we have Transfiguration in 10 and I don't think Minnie would love it very much if we arrived late for the third time this week." you explained, though Sirius wasn't listening. He wasn't even pretending to, as his eyes were travelling all over your body. 

" Is that my shirt?" he got up and asked you in his morning raspy voice. 

" Yes… I was too hot last night and it was the only thing I could find. I can take it off if it bothers you or-" you played it off innocently. Oh, how you liked this game! 

"Love, the only thing that bothers me right now is that we have to go to class." Then, he plodded to the bathroom and took what you assumed to be a freezing cold shower.

***

Sirius lit his third cigarette. 

He didn't think he could hate himself more. Why did he have to ruin every good thing he had in his life? Every time he closed his eyes he saw you. You, sitting with your head in his lap, roses bloomed on your cheeks; you, in the library working on your essay, biting your lip in frustration and now you, sitting by the door of his dorm, blood drained from your face as you saw him with that girl. 

He knew he lost you. He ran after you to your dorm, and when you closed the door in his face he realised: you were gone. He ruined everything you two had, he ruined you. 

He let himself get scared. He had everything he wished for and more, and when he realised you weren't going to leave, he panicked. 

He waited. He waited three hours by the door, listening to your sniffles, then screams, then silence. The silence was the hardest to bear - it was when he realised how deep the scars he left behind would be. 

After that he left. And now he was by the lake. He finished his cigarette and threw it in the water. He hated himself. 

He let his head fall in his hands. Then, he cried. 

***

"You see that? That geometrical hotdog dog constellation, that is Canis Major!" He drew the figure with his wand. "And that -" he pointed to a star "-that is Sirius!" 

You were lying on the quidditch field, watching the stars. "It really is the brightest star in the sky!" you pointed out. 

"Well, did you expect any less from me?" 

"My petty small puppy!" you cooed. "Who is the brightest? You are, yes you are!" you ruffled his curls, earning a growl. "You know, sometimes you act more like a dog when you are a person than when you transform!" 

"I sometimes think you like Padfoot more than me!" 

"I do, but you do know I'm a cat person, don't you?" you asked in your most nonchalant voice. You didn't think you'd ever seen Sirius this disgusted before. 

"But - but they are so MEAN!" he whined. 

"Relax - I'm kidding! Cats are barely in my top 10!" 

"Then which are your favourites?" 

"Definitely stags!"

***

Lily was tired. 

She got to her dorm late after spending her whole afternoon in the library, studying with James. She felt her heart clench when she saw you sleeping on the floor, dried tears glimmering in the dim moonlight. 

She carried you to your bed and tucked you in, then sat next to you. She stayed up all night, holding you tight, making sure you wouldn't be alone if you woke up. The next morning, she kissed your forehead and promised to bring you breakfast when you refused to get up. 

She sat down next to James, who seemed just as tired as she was. He pushed a plate filled with food in front of her. 

"Sirius too?" The boys nodded. "The cheater - heartbroken! As if it wasn't his choice!" she retorts angrily. 

"It was a choice he made he will never stop regretting. He hates himself for what he did." James tried to calm her. 

"As he should!" She cut him. "Y/N doesn't deserve this! No one does! Why, why would he do this?" 

"I wish I knew." he whispered. 

"How is she holding up?" Remus asked.

"I found her on the floor last night. She cried herself to sleep." She could swear she saw something break in Remus' eyes.  

After breakfast, she went back to her dorm with a large plate in her hands. She was entering the common room, when she saw him on the sofa, staring at the crackling fire. 

"Lily, wait!" 

"What do you want, Sirius?" Lily snapped and turned to face the boy. Oh, if looks could kill! For a moment, though, she felt bad for the lad. It was safe to say, she thought, that Sirius Black looked just as miserable as you. 

"How is she?" 

"How do you think she is?" 

Not a flicker of emotion, nothing - his face was a blank canvas. "I need to see her." 

The way his voice broke made her eyes soften "She's not yours. Not anymore. I'm sorry." 

Sirius turned to leave. "Why did you do it?" she demanded. He faced her, and Lily saw the tears pooling in his eyes. "Because I'm an idiot. Because I love her so much that I got scared." 

He got up and left. 

***

With the Marauders Map in your hands, you made your way through the deserted halls, trying to find Sirius. You had seen him on the seventh floor, but then his name mysteriously disappeared. You stopped in the place where you'd last seen him and waited. 

Suddenly, an enormous wooden door came into sight. You reluctantly opened it, only to find yourself inside an posh, ancient house. You were in a spacious dark green room, decorated with intricate tapestries. 

The main tapestry depicted several small portraits, all connected through a tree. 'Licorus Black', 'Magenta Black', 'Phineas Nigellus Black', 'Arcturus Black I', 'Hesper Black', and there was 'Sirius Orion Black'! It was the Black's family tree, which meant that you were inside the Grimmauld Place! But where was…? 

You saw Sirius sitting in a corner with a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand. "Sirius?" you asked softly. He lifted his head and you could see pearly tears rolling down his cheeks. 

You sat down next to him and hugged him tightly. "I am here for you. I'll always be. You can tell me when you're ready, or not tell me at all, but I want you to know that you are not alone." His hands sneaked around your waist and he buried his head in the crook of your neck. 

"They disowned me" you heard him whisper. "And I knew I shouldn't care, hell-" his voice broke, "-I hate them, but it still hurts so much." 

You were left speechless.You hated the Blacks with a burning passion, but you knew your fury wouldn't make him feel any better. So you kept quiet, holding him close. 

Sometimes, words weren't enough. Sometimes, simply being there for someone was the only thing that helped. You gave them time and space. And sometimes, that meant the world. 

***

You skipped all your classes and called in sick. You stayed in your bed for two days, thinking and crying. The only times you tried to act fine were when Lily came in the evenings. Even then, you'd ask her about him. You felt pathetic. 

Today it was the Hogsmeade trip, which meant you could go anywhere in the castle and be all by yourself. Truth was, the weather was fantastic; it was the first sunny day in months of cold gloomy autumn. It was 12 o'clock when you made your way to the kitchen to fetch some food, then ate it in silence in the Great Hall.

After that, you walked by the Black Lake and sat down in your usual spot. This place carried so many memories, memories you grew to hate. You were staring at the water, watching the sun reflect off the waves when you saw the shadow of a silhouette nearing you. 

Of course it's him. He sat down next to you, copying your actions. 

"So many things have happened in this spot." he said nostalgically. 

"What are you doing here?" you retort. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Answer the question. What are you doing here?" 

"I needed to talk to you." 

"Why?" 

"I owe you an explanation." 

"You owe me a fucking big explanation, Sirius Black." you responded, "But that's not what I was talking about. Why did you do it?" you tried to hold your tears back. 

"I got scared."

"You got scared!" you chuckled drily. "Of what? Me?" 

"Of myself. I lost so many things, Y/N. When you came into my life, it was as if I saw the sun for the first time." A tear rolled down his cheek, but he didn't bother to wipe it. "I loved you so much that I got scared that if I ever were to lose you, I wouldn't be able to bear it. That it would destroy me." he turned to face you. "I still do. I love you."

"Lying has never been a good look on you." you scowl. "If you'd loved me that much, you wouldn't have cheated in the first place." Tears were streaming down your face. "Was it me? Was I not enough?" 

"I wasn't enough. And I will never be. I don't deserve you." he admits. 

"You are a fool, a stupid fool, Sirius." 

"I am truly sorry, Y/N." 

"Me too." 

You both stayed by the lake for hours without saying a word - pretending that you're fine, not wanting to let go.

***

"I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I love you more than anything in my life." he whispered, taking your hand in his. You stood next to him, your head on his shoulder, watching the sun hide under the waters of the Black Lake. 

"I love you too. And I could never stop loving you."

 taglist: @futurewriter2000, @puppycat714, @booksbeforebois, @screennamealreadyused, @fific7

[firaknight]

Follow up of Adeleines opinions on the helpers :) (stuff in parenthesis is the ability they have)

Blade Knight (Sword): 7/10 Mysterious little dude:

He’s cool! He’s kinda hard to understand at times (he’s got a thick accent, idk what kind), but he’s very nice! He’s got a lot of standards when it comes to swordsmanship and is very strong! He’s working on showing Adeleine the proper stances for sword fighting (it’s possible for her to emulate that style with her paintbrush, minus the cutting ability of a real sword).

Chilly (Ice): 9/10 Snowed Man!!

Snowed man friend!!!! He’s very serious about things but he’s a good friend! Only problem is he has to stick around Adeleines Ice Dragon drawing to prevent the poor guy from melting (they’re working on finding an eternal ice that won’t melt so he can stay cold!). He likes to make snow cones!!! (Which are hella good btw)

Bio spark (Ninja): 8/10 Speedy!!!

One of the fastest helpers around! They’re speedy, sneaky, and all around a mysterious little dude! They have a habit of showing up so quietly that nobody notices for a good couple minutes before they’re just like “I wasn’t even hiding I’ve been standing here this whole time.” Overall, odd but kind little friend!

Birdon (Wing): 7/10 Soft birdie!!!

They’re just a little birdie!!! Birdons probably the most carefree helper out of the bunch, and they like relaxing really high up (much to Adeleines dismay). They tend to make stuff out of the feathers they shed (and they shed very often), so they’re always giving friends bracelets, headgear, jewelry, and such made out of their feathers. Adeleine actually has a coat lined with their feathers and it’s SUPER warm! They’re a little strange (and Kawasaki keeps trying to cook them [see: Star Allies title screen skits]) but they’re a wonderful buddy!

Wester (Whip): 9/10 Yeehaw man!!!!

Dude is legit just a very small cowboy. He cannot help his smallness... He’s agile and absolutely has an accent when he talks. He’s a little chaotic, but has a good heart. Probably taught Adeleine how to mount and ride a grizzo just for fun. She’s got a cowboy hat he made for her!

Plugg (Plasma): 10/10 Old friend!

She’s known Plugg since Crystal Shards! The two are good friends and Plugg likes to paint with her! He’s got some... interesting ways of painting (sticking his entire face into paint and then running facedown on the canvas), but he’s a lovely friend! He likes to run around a lot tho, probably because he’s constantly generating electricity and needs to burn it off so it doesn’t overload him. Will absolutely charge electrical devices without a second thought.

Como (Spider): 6/10 Spider...

While they’re similar to Taranza, they have a lot more spider tendencies, and therefore kinda scared Adeleine. She’s tolerable of them (more so than Susie), but tries to keep her distance. They’re helpful and are very very very sweet!!! They just tend to do creepy spider things and it freaks her out...

Bugzzy (Suplex): 7/10 Massive bug dude

He’s like... huge. Closer to, if not taller, than Adeleines height. He has very sharp pincers on the front of his face, and they can be painful when used, so he either wraps them in bandaging or puts rubber caps over them! That way he can grab and hold friends without harm! He’s oddly cuddly and likes to carry people around (not neccisarily throwing them) in his pincers. Overall, big doofus bug who has lots of love.

Broom Hatter (Clean): 8/10 Clean freak

Literally cannot handle dirty shit. At all. Has the urge to clean everything. Perks are that they keep the base everyone hangs out in super duper clean! Adeleines taught them to draw and it helps them not want to compulsively clean everything. They make really pretty art!

Poppy Bros Jr. (Bomb): 9/10 Funky lad!

He’s got an older brother of the same name (Poppy Bros Sr.) and he’s a boss in training! One day he hopes to be just as good as his brother! Dude is ultra high energy (which is why he’s always hopping around) and tends to be a little obnoxious. They can’t entirely help it, they’re just energetic! They’ve taught Adeleine how to yeet explosives and she’s genuinely good at it!

Rocky (Stone): 7/10 He is literally just a rock

Sentient rock! He’s a little slow and can’t really talk, but he’s a buddy! He likes to just turn into his stone form and just sit like that. It’s comfy and feels like home to him. Will not hesitate to use himself as a step or a seat for someone if needed. He also gives everyone hes friends with a special rock! Adeleines has marbling to it and looks absolutely beautiful!

Waddle Doo (Beam): 8/10 Funky little man!

He’s got only one eye and therefore has poor eyesight. You’d think one eye would be better, but nope! He wears essentially one huge contact lens to help! They’re buddies with Parasol Dee and Bandee!!! Doo is on the calmer side of the group, and tends to not be so insanely high strung. He’s still a little anxious, but he’s better at covering it than the other. He hangs out with Wester sometimes (whip-like attack squad)

Chef Kawasaki (Cook): 2/10 Hes creepy and I don’t like him.

He has this weird... unsettling energy about him. He’s tried to cook both Coo and Birdon more than once and she genuinely doesn’t like being around him. He makes good food, which has stopped him from being a 0/10 in her book, but thats it. He’s only there because Kirby thought he’d be a nice addition and everyone knows that if Kawasaki crosses the line he will get booted on the spot. (Kirby has standards too!)

Gim (Yo-yo): 7/10 Hes just a robot huh.

He’s kinda strange, and doesn’t appear to have a lot of feeling, but Gims really nice! He likes to show people all the tricks he can do with his yo-yo (which is surprisingly a lot) and gives all his friends a yo-to so they can do the tricks along with him (Adeleines is teal with red and black stripes. It’s also got a couple paint splotches on it that we’re added on purpose).

Burning Leo (Fire): 8/10 Toasty heater child!

They’re small and warm!!! All the time!!! They like to be held and snuggle up to cold stuff because it’s the same feeling as snuggling up to warm stuff for humans. REEEEAAALLLYYY wants to hug Chilly but there is the very real possibility that Chilly will literally melt so he holds off from that. Adeleine tends to be cold and likes to hold Leo like a hot water bottle. He’s learned how to make his head fire harmless so people can hold him and not get burned!!

Driblee (Water): 9/10 Oh my god they’re adorable!

Sothisispartiallyjustmebecauseilovethewaterabilityimsorry They’re a little lizard mermaid! They adore swimming more than you’d think and hold pool parties!! They hang around Chilly because their water tends to be on the colder side and Chilly can use them to reform melted bits of Adeleine can’t get Ice Dragon to do it. They’re actually made entirely out of water! They can literally transform back into water by going into water. This also means that they can conform to spaces not meant for them like bottles and containers. They like to make drinks for people since the water they use for attacking is some of the cleanest water out there! (It also tastes super fucking good)

Bonkers (Hammer): 7/10 Kinda scary...

He’s big, taller than Adeleine (especially if he stands fully upright), and has an intimidating look, but he’s all bark and no bite! Dude is literally just a ball of sunshine! He likes to carry people around and will 100% shield someone from attacks (he’s sturdy!!!). He’s helping Adeleine with her strength because she’s fragile and a little scrawny and he’s all muscle (shes gotten a lot better!). Shes got her own lightweight hammer he lets her use so she can get a little stronger!

Sir Kibble (Cutter): 9/10 Smol knight!

He cannot help his size... but he’s tough! He also has no fucking braincells and does not think but he’s a good boy! He likes to headbutt people but his helmet poses a problem (it literally has a blade attached to it) so he puts a padded pool noodle over it to protect others (the padding is so the noodle doesn’t get chopped from the blade itself when force is applied). He’s just a little dude with no thoughts... head empy...

NESP (ESP): 4/10 They talk too much and know stuff about me that I never told them.

Strange and not very cool :( They have a tendency to read other people’s minds because they purposefully don’t tune their thoughts out and therefore know a lot of stuff they really shouldn’t. They also don’t know how to keep their mouth shut. Thankfully they’re just funky from psychic power and on a good day they’re kinda nice to be around!

Vividria (Artist): 10/10 THATS MY ADOPTED SISTER!!

They’re siblings. Drawcia adopted Adeleine as one of her own and that makes Vividria her sis! They paint together and Vividria kinda sticks up for Adeleine in more dicey fights because of Adeleines low HP. They’re the bestest of friends and are super cool with one another! She’s still growing and is one day gonna reach Drawcias size!! (If we put it into normal heights [Adeleine being 5’3” and Kirby being 1’8”] Drawcia is over double Kirby’s height. Probably closer to 3-4 feet)

Parasol Waddle Dee (Parasol): 9/10 Oh my god they’re just a smol friend...

Dee is literally almost as high strung and anxious as Bandee but they’re so sweet!! They like rain!! They also give parasols to all their friends! (Adeleines is teal with paint splotches!) They tend to nap a lot and will totally join cuddle piles. On hot days they’ll utilize the chumbrella as a big shade for everyone in the nap pile. Just a squishy little dee!!!!!

Knuckle Joe (Fighter): 10/10 Hes super supportive and nice!

He saw how fragile Adeleine was and said “aight so I may not be a master but I’m gonna teach this kid how to fight” and didn’t wait for any objections. Once a week he goes out into the forest with Adeleine and shows her how to fight like him! Physical combat is important!!! She can’t fire off energy blasts or deal lightning speed punches, but she’s getting there! He’s ultra supportive of everyone and loved to teach people stuff!!! He care about everyone!!!!

Beetley (Beetle): 8/10 Why is he so angy!!

Always grumpy. He says it’s because he keeps losing to Bugzzy but it’s just because he’s super small and gets picked up like a burger all the time (if you didn’t wanna be held like a burger don’t be burger shaped idiot). Isn’t aggressive but will headbutt people with the blunt end of his horn when he’s being extra grouchy. Adeleine likes picking him up because he gets all stiff like a ferret (when you pick them up and they stick their feet’s up all stiff).

Jammerjab (Staff): 9/10 Funky but fun!

Was originally really wary of them because of the whole Void Termina thing and their assosciation with the bad guys wasn’t a good thing but they’re super cool! They’re graceful and like to stand on their staff a lot. They also help the smaller helpers get stuff up high (they themselves are small but their staff can extend a lot so they can use that for extra height). They let Adeleine use their staff and she’s not that good at it (she always whacks herself in the face while trying to use it) but it’s a nice gesture! They know a lot about the Jambastion and like to tell people all the wacky secrets it holds (like how Hyness has an entire room full of just robes that all look the exact fucking same or how theres a specific set of hallways that move and change to get trespassers lost in them). Honestly a fun little guy to be around

[penaltybox14]

Decofiremen: Soon Be the Dawning Days

@darknight-brightstar @zeitheist Every single one of my attempts to write pleasant holiday-oriented things ends up ass-deep in character dissection and plot exposition.  @squad51goals @its-skadi

In this installment, we talk about seasons, changes, and things to celebrate.

December darkens the days, and sharpens the nights.  There is frost every morning, and the sun is a pale consumptive, waking feebly and slipping weakly into evening.  The potbelly stove in the dorm is always burning, always someone up in the night to tend it, every hour.  The lads spend a productive few hours one off day re-arranging their beds, recaulking the windows, and hanging curtains.  When Josiah asks what they are up to, they explain the lads at the ends of the rows have been getting cold in the night, and they are trying to fix it up so that either everyone is warm, or everyone is cold.

"You mind, Captain?" Jules Menlo asks.  He and Bertram Cochrane have taken up the lead, since Antoine and Ellis left for the City.  They are raw to it, but they are learning yet. 

"Not at all, boys, carry on."

Josiah is pleased with them.  Neat and natty rows of beds can go to hell, the lads are making a fine hearth for themselves.  They make sure to vent it properly, and Lufty nods approvingly at their work - a house inside of a house, a canvas-flanked beast breathing and snoring in the wind-snipped nights.  Josiah only scolds them once, when he catches Davey at three in the morning carrying wood in for the stove.  Sure, he is wrapped up tight as a beetle in a sack of flour, but Josiah reminds them that he's just a boy, yet, and needs his rest.

Young Cleary had stumbled a while, the days after Antoine and Ellis were graduated.  Eddy had given him a scorcher of a talk for forgetting to include Davey in the proceedings, and he deserved it.  That responsibility is still so new and giddy to him - where now, he can remember his own graduation, and think well on it, and not always be so bitter - and he had left the boy bereft.  Fool that he is.  Even Silky would've cuffed him for it. 

My true friend Silky, he writes, one glassy morning when the sun had lost the strength to lift the frost from the grass, you would not believe me or maybe you would.  Do you remember the day the bell sounded for us, at breakfast?  In the good cheer of sending my lads to the city, I left out the boy who needs us most, our young Cleary.  Your god, my friend, would smote me off the earth.  It was a terrible mistake, for I frightened him so badly.  I had to set him down later in the day and explain all the proceedings and the ceremony.  I am not yet sure he forgives me.  I am not sure I deserve it.  Here he is, a boy who has already lost one family, and I am to take another from him.  You can be sure Eddy let me have it. 

yours irresponsibly, Birchy

In those following days, after Antoine and Ellis depart on the train from Troy, his heart aches, something like a tooth you want to forget, something a body can't escape from.  The long hallway is there in his dreams, in the boy's dreams, and now he hears the piano, and the distant laughter.  He smells the books in the study.  When he wakes, he feels the far-off gaze of a man much his senior, cool-eyed but in such a way as a lake when the summer days grow taut about the city streets.  An expectant look, a waiting.  Far off down that hallway, as far from the boy now as the Bronx for him, as the dorm he once sweat out his sear in.  He would want to look away, as the village folks and the oakbellies look at his scars and his brace.

He knows that hallway, and that's just the trouble, for young Cleary has walked it alone, trailing his fingers along the green wallpaper, and Josiah, trembling for the thought of the beam waiting in the ceiling, has not followed.  Coward, he thinks.  To let the child walk his hallway and stumble, smoke-wrecked, to his wide lawn, alone.  A one-legged and half-hearted coward.  Davey looks at him askance often in those following days - doesn't come to read with him or practice his Latin, doesn't follow the lads out on their drills no matter how they coax him.  He walks down the pathway past the brambles and into the woods, his too-large coat down past his knees and his collar up so high it leaves just his dark curls tumbling out in the sharp wind, and when he comes in for dinner, he is quiet and small among the lads. 

It is one of those long, weary twilights when the winter rattles like dry bones, and his leg aches.  He is fixing the ledger, making notes, and Silky's reply is on the edge of the desk.  Davey slips in so quietly he only hears it with his sear, so startlingly that Josiah leaves a blot on the end of a row. 

"Capper?"

He puts his pen down and smiles like he imagines Silky would at an Antoine or an Ellis.  Truth to say, he has missed the boy, even the sometimes frantic, fledgling winging of his sear.  He is far too young to grieve such an emptiness as that long, black hallway and the smoke-torn sky.

"May I ask a question?"

Times, the boy's genteel raising surfaces, softly like the wave on the shore.  Times, as now, he holds his cap in his hands as if he's in a holy place, and his eyes are the shyness of moss on a shadowed ledge. 

"Course.  Always."

"Eddy said firemen don't take holidays."

"Come sit.  What're you onto?"

"It's almost Dawning Days, that's all..."

"Oh, ghosts above, Davey - " Josiah has to laugh.  " - no, that's not how Eddy meant it.  He only meant that fires and accidents and all our work, it can happen any time."

Davey sits in one of the clutter of chairs in Josiah's office, kicking his legs, the gesture of a younger boy, an apologetic sort of gesture. 

"I don't mean to laugh, young Cleary, but we do know the Dawning Days."

From the sundown on solstice to daybreak on New Year's - the time of spirits, the time of the seasons shifting, the time to do good and remember that the sun is only resting for a grand debut.  The oakbellies throw a grand to-do at New Year's, all the officers invited to come at their most festive.  He has not gone - and the oakbellies are likely to be glad of it, he figures, for he would not cut such a charming figure in his full dress and a tin of polish on his leg.  They would, as they did at his promotion, shuffle and swallow hotly above their stiff collars.  He would probably stand the whole night out of pride and spend the week after in bed.  Perhaps it would be worth it.

"Do you have a party?"

"As many as we can."

"And lights?"

"As many as the sills will hold.  The lights and the cups left out for the ghosts.  Eddy has probably got another little tree to plant - you know, that stand of maple by the stables, that's his handiwork."

Davey is looking as delighted as Josiah has ever seen him.  His eyes are younger, now.  He is more the boy that he must have been in golden days, before his long dark hallway. 

"And you already know Bertram and his fiddle, and save us all, we've heard the lads sing."

"They taught me the fireman's song."  Davey grips the chair, and then pauses, as if lost of a sudden.  "Lyddie would've liked that song, I suppose.  Mother scolded her because she called the music our teacher brought her 'musty old tunes'."

From far away, in the marrow of his bones, Josiah feels the soft carpet of the parlor under his shoes.  Dark walnut bookshelves and rich, salmon-colored wallpaper embossed with an intricate pattern, the sort of thing a child would run their fingers over.  The books are less a rainbow than a late-summer forest, greens and smatterings of red and orange.  The girl playing the piano, with the bow in her hair, likes to spin cleverly from the plodding strains of an old mass to the bright chirps of ragtime and dance.  The brother laughs. 

The oak floors in their dormitory had what seemed to be a century of wax and polish creating glistening currents in the low lamplight.  They could have greased the bedsprings with a gallon of lard per man and the damned things would've screamed like witches every time a man so much as thought of rolling over.  A cold night outside, and a warm hearth within, each coat and helmet hung on its hook, each woolen blanket tucked neatly around each mattress corner.  The brothers are singing and the brothers are laughing. 

"Antoine wrote me a letter," Davey says, quietly.  "He says he got his sear."  Davey bites his lip.  "He says everybody looked after him, and his captain Jack Prince gave him a pocketwatch.  Does it hurt so much, always?"

"Every man is different.  It's a hard hand of days.  But we look after each other." "I don't remember, exactly.  I hurt so long, I was in bed and the lady wanted to call the doctor, I think.  I hurt so long, and then - then it just felt like - "  Davey leans forward, puts his arms on the desk and his head in his arms and sighs.  Muffled, he whispers, "I felt like - "

Like wandering, Josiah thinks.  That strange stillness when the fever breaks, before you come around to your mates watching over you, before you pull yourself out of your bed weak and stunned and brand-new on foal's legs.  A fresh and open field, the shaded place where the last dollop of snow lives nearly into June. 

"I know," Josiah murmurs, and lays his hand - his scarred hand - on young Cleary's shoulder.  "I do know, son, I do."

"I wished Antoine didn't have to hurt that way.  Or Ellis.  Or Jules or Betram." "I dunno what it was like - " Josiah sighs.  " - but for me, I had my mates around, and my pal, we got it together.  I never would've got through it, without him."

"Thomas."

Josiah starts.

"Sorry, Capper.  I read it on the letter.  Eddy talked about him once, too."

"Silky."

"Capper?"

"Silky.  That's what we called Thomas."

"Why?"

"I don't remember, really."

"What's he like?"

"Oh," Josiah says.  "I'll tell you.  You'd like him a sight better than me - for one thing, he's got two entire good legs and he could take you down to the fish pond.  Second - "

Davey is kicking his legs again, scuffing the toes of his boots on the wooden floor. 

"Well, I'll tell you.  The day I met him, here at Wynantskill, he very nearly ran me down with a horse, a big old dapple grey gelding we called Chubby..."

Davey leans on his hands. 

Silky's letter, half-unfolded, is by his elbow.  I never really got the brothers' whole forgiveness bit, it says, but I do reckon it's a little bit like when you turn over the ash of a building, and you find a little green thing growing underneath.

[radiojamming]

The Terror Meta - Tom Hartnell: Symbol of Death, Redemption, and Bravery

By now, I think it’s been established that The Terror’s writers went above and beyond when it came to making their characters. The question board picture has been circulated (including the question of when a character went from being in a high adventure story to horror), so it’s probably not a reach to say that every character had their place in the show carefully considered. And one of those characters is Tom Hartnell.

(Warning: Long post and spoiler heavy. Uh, people die. A lot.)

For the show’s time constraints, Tom’s backstory is mentioned in snippets, mostly in the first episode. David Young provides the majority of it:

“I don’t want you to do to me what you did to Tom Hartnell’s brother. [...] I want to go to my grave as I am. Don’t cut me open.”

Several times in the same episode, references are made to the men on Beechey Island, having been the first three casualties of the Expedition. Clearly, Tom’s brother was one of these three. 

I’ve posted this on my blog before, but the original pilot script also gave Tom an extra role and provided deeper backstory, such as this:

With Tom on the Erebus watching Billy Orren drown and attempting to go after him, a role that was eventually given to Collins. And again in a removed flashback to Beechey Island, which provides not only backstory, but further explanation to why Tom is the way that he is:

While this isn’t included in the show, the writers probably kept this scene in mind with his character. Yeah, Tom walked in on his brother’s autopsy. From the very beginning of the Expedition, he dealt with death in the most direct and horrifying way possible. In the sense of the writer’s question of when it went from high adventure to horror? It was probably this moment, before the show even begins.

From this point, Tom is transferred to Terror for reasons not explained, but now everyone knows what’s happened to him. Even people as far down the hierarchy rungs as David Young know, and it makes them uneasy. But here’s where it gets interesting.

At the moment David Young starts coughing, Tom Hartnell appears in nearly every single scene involving a person either dying or about to die. Case in point.

He’s sitting right behind Hickey and looks over his shoulder when David starts coughing. Shortly after, when David retches, he’s standing up and watching him.

(It should probably be noted that David dies of exactly the same disease that killed Tom’s brother. Wuh-oh.)

“Okay, DJ, but that’s just one time. He’s an AB, so of course he would be there!” you might say.

You’re right! But the next time he appears in Episode 2 (”Gore”), look who he’s standing next to.

Lieutenant Graham Gore, that’s who! (And Morfin by extension, but that’s for later. Same with Des Voeux.)

Aaaand who goes next?

(Really big UH-OH.)

And if you want to go by extension, he’s also present when Silna’s father is shot, and is the one assigned to collect Silna’s things that are in the Erebus sick bay with her father’s body in Ep. 3 (”The Ladder”). 

Where he looks, appropriately, uncomfortable. @theiceandbones​ absolutely brilliantly pointed out that yes, this is the Erebus sick bay where Tom walked in on his brother’s autopsy. It stands to mind that of course he’d be anxious. He knocks on the doorframe before he enters, walking in slowly and nervously. His body language here is interesting and hard to capture with just screenshots, but he keeps trying to look away from the body as much as possible, but is finding it very hard to look away. Even as he’s leaving the room, he looks again, while also bodily backing away from it. With his brother’s death in mind, he’s revisiting the place where it all happened, possibly for the first time since then. 

While I think his death symbolism starts with David Young, it really picks up between here and the next scene, where he speaks to Silna.

In the short time he speaks to her, a few things are established, both said and unsaid. Unlike some of the crew, Tom doesn’t appear to be uneasy about Silna, but instead is sympathetic. His job was probably just to get her things and deliver them, but he goes out of his way to help her and extends kindness in packing her food. He offers his condolences, and again, in something that is hard to catch in screenshots, he thinks about it for a moment, looking conflicted before offering them and giving her the nickname she’ll have for the rest of the series. 

It’s unsaid, but undoubtedly, he’s thinking of his own loss as well. 

We don’t see Tom for a little while until near the end of the episode when Sir John is taken into the firehole. And then, sure enough:

There he is. (For an AB, he’s sure showing up with officers quite a bit.)

Tom is in-frame for death after death after death. 

It gets subverted (like a lot of things) in Ep. 4 (”Punished, As a Boy”). Tom is not in frame during Private Heather’s attack, which may be owed to Heather not dying. Strong is taken off-screen, and Evans is only with Crozier when he’s killed. He reappears briefly and in-focus, sitting with Hickey and Peglar, when Tozer is talking about how baffled they all are that Heather hasn’t died.

He also doesn’t appear when the Strong-Evans mismatched corpse is found by Hickey, who proceeds to actually see the Tuunbaq for the first time. The next time he’s seen is at a very pivotal scene for not only him, but the entire plot. 

At this point, Hickey’s claimed responsibility for capturing Silna, and Tom stands up a few seconds after to also claim responsibility. This is where I think the tone of his subplot changes completely, all in the matter of one scene:

The interrogation.

Now the above shot is kind of amazing, and I’ve only noticed it recently, but knowing how much detail the show crew put into this, I feel like it’s relevant to point out a few things. First, this shot is framed with Hartnell in the center and Hickey and Manson off to the side, just after Hickey says that Tom saw the Tuunbaq first. There’s a brief shot of Hartnell sort of side-glaring at Hickey with his lip twitching before he steels himself, and then this composition. Little and Fitzjames are looking at Hickey, but Crozier’s looking at Tom, fully and completely. He knows something, and it feels relevant to note that Hickey is level with a chessboard, while Tom is level with the light.

I’ve posted about Tom’s face journey here before, and I’ll recycle a few shots for this, but the turning point comes just after Crozier outlines what Hickey’s being accosted and punished for. He names the punishment (the lashes), and Tom’s face says it all.

Fear. His eyes are watering. He has to take in a few breaths, but then Crozier asks what do they have to say and without even a full second of hesitation (I counted):

Tom says, “Yes, sir!” as clearly as possible. He accepts the punishment immediately. Crozier’s reaction:

He stares at Tom for a long moment, thoughtful, until Little draws his attention away. 

Now, what does this have to do with the theory of Tom being a symbol of death? Well, a lot. I’ll get to that.

First, during the lashing, you only hear Tom’s v/o telling Manson that the lashings will hurt, and that the pain is the point of why they’re lashed. He is deliberately kept out of sight and focus, because the punishment isn’t really for him in the audience’s eyes anymore. He was probably absolved the moment Crozier looked at him. The punishment is completely directed on Hickey after that. 

Ep. 5 (”First Shot a Winner, Lads”) is where the change in Hartnell really shows. The episode starts off with scenes of life now. Officers and men are taking measurements of temperature and gauging the speed of sound and light. Fitzjames is working on the charts (towards Back’s Fish River). Goodsir and Lady Silence are talking and translating, and the trinkets from the men are shown as they’ve interacted with her. The show physically leans away from death for a moment, which up until now has been bloody and gruesome. The first person who dies is Hornby, and all that happens to him?

He simply falls to the ground. No blood. No viscera. His heart’s just stopped. 

Of course, the next time Tom appears:

He’s handling Hornby’s body and taking it down to the dead room. 

This scene is very poignant because it shows how four different characters handle the idea of death and the afterlife, all in very short order. 

You have Magnus, scared of the hold because he’s certain he’s heard the voices of Strong and Evans. He’s afraid of the ghosts that he’s sure are there.

You have Irving, who is oddly indignant, technical when it comes to the dead with explaining that all that’s left of them are frozen remains and canvas shrouds, and furious at the idea of Manson believing in ghosts.

Hickey, who at first seems to be doing Manson a kindness, but probably just more eager to show Irving up. 

And then Tom, completely unafraid of handling a body, and offering to Manson that he can get the job done if Manson lowers Hornby down.

The next shot we see is another interesting one, with Hartnell leading the way to the dead room, Hickey bringing up the rear, and Manson, the lantern-bearer, several steps behind. (You could say a lot for crossing the River Styx energies here, ya.)

And then the dead room is shown at a Dutch angle or Dutch tilt, a technique used to establish uneasiness or tension.

Manson is watching the two of them work in the dead room, out of the light, in a shot that is off-kilter (yes, the ship is off-kilter as well, but up until this point, everyone has been shown standing upright) to suggest that something is going to go wrong. But then:

Tom steps out of the dead room first, in the lantern light, standing upright against the angle, diffusing the tension. There are no ghosts, no eerie disembodied voices. And just like that, with a quiet affirmation--

The scene ends, with nothing having gone wrong.

To follow up on this in the sense of Tom’s character, he’s gone from being nervous and touchy around the dead to being completely alright with their presence. 

Following this, there are more scenes of life against all odds. Tozer is cutting Heather’s nails and speaking to him as though he’s awake. Hodgson supervises another scientific experiment with the cannons. Goodsir and Lady Silence meet with Blanky and Crozier and speak, ending up with the fight that culminates between Fitzjames and Crozier. No one is killed. If anything, this is one the liveliest scenes thusfar.

The next time he appears?

Is when the Tuunbaq is on the ship and about to appear in full. Before, his appearance might have suggested that someone was about to die, but something kind of interesting happens.

The crew fire on the Tuunbaq after Blanky marks it with the lantern fire, and for one of the first times in the show, Tom actually appears happy. 

He’s excited! He’s standing with Little, Hodgson, and Tozer, and they’re all thrilled. Even more amazing?

Blanky does not die.

He’s injured. His injuries require a pretty gruesome amputation, but of all the episodes in the show, Ep. 5 ends with the lowest body count.

Now Ep. 6 (”A Mercy”) is kind of all over the place for Tom and everyone else. He appears first talking to Hickey about Armitage, who is now revealed to have been part of their plot to kidnap Lady Silence. Hickey asks why Tom didn’t turn Armitage in, even after being flogged. 

Hickey: You’d have been in your rights to.

Hartnell: I didn’t see the point in it.

Hickey: Even still? After getting flogged? That sort of thing can change your sense of what the point is.

Hartnell: It did. I’m grateful... is the point. 

Hickey: [pause] Reformed you, did it? 

Hartnell: I shouldn’t have listened to you. And I deserved to be flogged. 

Hickey: [silence]

Hartnell: Yeah, and by ordering it, the Captain, he’s given me a chance to clean my record and start anew. 

Hickey: Do you think Crozier sees it like that? A new Mr. Hartnell? 

Hartnell: I do, yeah. [smiles] And I intend to use that charter well. 

This is another turning point for both Hartnell and Hickey. Hickey is realizing that his list of allies is getting shorter (he starts by trying to drive a wedge between Tom and command, reminding him that he physically suffered because of them, and when he realizes that it isn’t going to work, he mocks him and leaves him) and now understands that Tom probably won’t work with him again. 

Tom shows that his loyalty is now completely with Crozier. I’d even say that he never followed Hickey’s ideals in the first place, even with the kidnapping (remember how he acted toward Lady Silence before, and how quick he was to be held responsible). This is him now completely, as the phrase goes, on the side of angels. It’s going to add a new tone to his next few interactions, and really drive home his place as a death symbol.

Ep. 6 is as bloody and horrific as Ep. 5 was not. Fitzjames holds his Carnivale, Jopson and Crozier attend, and it all goes wrong very, very fast. One thing that @theiceandbones​ and I noticed was that before it-shay hits the an-fay, Tom is seen once in costume.

And he’s dressed as what appears to be a lion - a very poignant symbol of bravery (and Britain, if you want to go that far). 

Of course, during the fire, Tom is there (as is everyone except Hickey who is outside of the tent), so I’d hesitate to call that a connection. His first mention after Carnivale is through Bridgens, who tells Crozier that Tom reported Dr. Peddie lost during the fire. 

Going into Episode 7 (”Horrible from Supper”), Tom is officially an outlier to the people who are going to become the Mutineers. He’s excluded from anything Hickey begins to plan and is completely on the captains’ side. Literally. His next shot shows him between Crozier and Jopson.

But more relevant is the next time he’s seen with Crozier and Blanky, making notes of the ice and the movement of the compass. Blanky remarks: 

Tom’s been completely redeemed in the eyes of Crozier, enough that he’s being asked to step outside the grunt work of hauling sledges, and his opinions and observations are trusted (”Very well. I’ll continue to rely on your eyes.”). The way he gives his observations also show an uptick in confidence and enthusiasm. He’s happy, and a far step away from his nervous, mournful attitude of earlier episodes.

Has he stepped out of the role of being a death symbol? Yes, and no.

Death has started to dog the crew of the Expedition again. Madness is seeping in with the lead. Hickey begins to weave the tapestry of his mutiny as the gruesome discovery of Fairholme’s party takes place (note that Tom isn’t present for this). Rescue seems impossible, and death is starting to become imminent.

Tom Hartnell’s role begins to change, and he goes from being present at the deaths to aiding in the recovery. Whereas death is everywhere, Tom is a symbol of something gentler (on a whole, this is talked about beautifully in this meta piece). 

It starts with Morfin.

Remember that Tom was in the shot with Gore, Morfin, and Des Voeux in Ep. 2, and he’s seen with Morfin again with Lady Silence’s father in the Erebus sick bay later. His role changes with Morfin in Ep. 7 (I’d even through in the symbolism of Morfin singing The Silver Swan if we really want to go wild with the death icons). Morfin is shot, put out of his misery effectively, and Tom does not appear until after he is killed. More importantly, he’s now interacting with the scene - helping, as it were.

He’s at the center of the shot with Goodsir - not Morfin, who is technically the subject. His hand is on Goodsir, and he silently says something to him before Goodsir stands. Unlike with the other deaths, Tom is no longer directing his attention on the bodies, but on the people who are dealing with them. 

Further on, he privately speaks with Crozier about Armitage’s involvement in Hickey’s earlier plot. Once more, he’s on Crozier’s side completely, which Crozier affirms for him, saying that he trusts him and does not want to put him in a position where he feels like he can’t speak. He says they’ll work together, and thanks Tom, earning a smile out of him.

D’awwww.

But back with his death symbolism, Tom is the first shown to be handling Morfin’s body, drawn into sharp focus against the corpse.

He’s responsible for the handling and burial, but rather than appearing nervous or upset about his job, he handles it as he did with Hornby’s body. It’s a job to do, and one that he doesn’t appear to mind doing anymore. He helps dig Morfin’s grave, juxtaposed with shots and conversation of Crozier talking about the lead in the cans that led to Morfin’s madness and death. 

The episode ends with Jopson’s promotion and the start of Hickey’s bloody mutiny, in a way signaling the beginning of the end.

Tom doesn’t appear for a portion of Ep. 8 (”Terror Camp Clear”), removed from Irving’s violent death where he probably would have been before, and instead placed in the silent, mournful atmosphere of the dead Netsilik group.

He’s also removed from the general chaos of the imaginary raid on Terror Camp, but appears in probably one of the most pivotal and brilliantly-arranged scenes that he gets in the entire show. 

The Tuunbaq attacks in full force, ripping the camp asunder, causing so much chaos that the mutineers manage to get away. Men are killed left and right, gruesomely torn apart. The fog makes it difficult to see what’s happening and where, and so only the sounds of roaring and screaming indicate what is happening around them.

And then there’s Tom.

He’s scared. Of course he is. He’s seen what the Tuunbaq can do, and he knows it’s coming. All he can do is tell the men with him to get down and out of sight, while he stands. 

Trembling, he raises his gun and waits for the inevitable. He was on deck with they shot the Tuunbaq with the cannon, and he knows that even then, it got away. He knows its size and what it’s capable of doing. His gun will do nothing to it, and he knows this. All he can do is buy the men time and take at least one shot. 

Tom Hartnell literally faces down death itself, and does not back away.

The camera pans in on him, drawing into focus how he steels himself, furrowing his brows, keeping his aim steady. If anything, this shot establishes his bravery in full detail. And then--

A rocket is launched at the Tuunbaq from behind -- completely parallel to Tom. In a similar focused shot is Fitzjames.

Complete with the same steely resolve and surety, establishing his own bravery. With him on one side and Tom on the other, the Tuunbaq is caught in a perfect intersection of selflessness and courage, even when no one’s around to witness it (”A man like me will do amazing things to be seen.”). 

Ep. 9 (”The C, The C, The Open C”) opens with Lady Franklin formally, but with Tom and Golding on the Arctic side, dealing with the dead in the day after the attack on Terror Camp. 

Once again, Tom is no longer present during the deaths, but is dealing with the aftermath. He offers to help Golding move the body. Golding wonders after the identity of the body, clearly shaken by what he’s seen. But Tom, turning his focus way from the corpse, puts his hand on Golding’s arm to comfort him, as he did with Goodsir.

“That won’t change what we do for him.”

It’s no longer a matter of the how’s and why’s, but rather how the men move on. Tom has come to represent something so much more in death than its execution. His own grief was mired in the memory of his brother and what was done to his body. Lashing out, curling into himself, allowing others to control his path, and then finding his own way to redemption, Tom has made the full walk of his own sorrow and gone through its stages, coming out on the other side with the sense of mind to help others cope with their losses.

Then, he’s standing before the row of the dead, hands respectfully folded in front of him. He’s in their presence again, but not in the violent hour of their death, but again, in the aftermath. 

Crozier’s speech is examined so, so gorgeously in this post, with the words “courage” and “the end” focused on Tom. @theiceandbones also pointed out (and subsequently broke my heart) that after Crozier mentions bringing home the names of the dead so that their loved once can find solace, Tom’s bottom lip is trembling. I fully believe in his character, Jack Colgrave Hirst chose to keep the real Thomas Hartnell’s life in mind, thinking that he was going to have to go back to their mother with news of his brother’s death. He embodies this concept so well in that moment. 

After Fitzjames’ death, Tom is seen again in that same role.

He’s at the center of the shot with Fitzjames’ body, sewing him into his shroud, surrounded and at the center of the focus of their party. He’s either volunteered or been chosen to the handle the body, which he does respectfully. As Shannon, my brilliant cohort noticed:

He’s working diligently and carefully. And again, it won’t change what he does for him. 

Tom also helps with Peglar, who he has been shown with multiple times since the very first episode, possibly suggesting that they’ve been friends all along.

He helps lift Peglar into Bridgens’ arms, clearly worrying for him. 

He’s not shown during Peglar’s death, but he helps handle him, allowing him to rest a little easier before he quietly passes on. Compared to what’s been happening in the mutineer camp, what Tom’s witnessing is a gentle passing of people.

It’s the last scene that stings the worst, as Crozier’s group is confronted by the mutineers, including Des Voeux, Hodgson, and Manson. 

Des Voeux’s gun misfires, hitting Tom square in the chest.

Tom’s own death is not through the Tuunbaq, or through any of Hickey’s machinations, or anything more than an accident. It’s quick, but painful. Crozier kneels beside him, stroking his hair, comforting him as Tom’s done for others before. The next few lines speak for themselves.

It’s the end of Tom’s redemption, a sign of his bravery, of his own recovery and progress. Crozier calls him son, affirming a bond between them. Tom is not dying alone. Instead, he has someone at his side who cares for him, just as Tom had been for his own brother only a few years before.

He holds on, struggling against the agony of his wound, until Crozier, eyes filling with tears, lets him go with one phrase -- one that includes something that hasn’t been mentioned since Ep. 1. 

John Hartnell hasn’t been mentioned since the first episode, and it’s been several years at that point since his death. But Crozier knows what Tom’s been through, and he’s certainly seen his displays of grief and development. If anything would cause Tom to let go, this would be it. With it, Tom goes quietly in only a few seconds. He goes without a sound, simply closing his eyes and letting out a breath.

Des Voeux, shaken, asks Crozier to stand up. With it, Crozier does Tom a final respect by asking Little to bury him, and to live. Tom’s body is kept out of sight completely, not seen again. 

After his death, the others go quickly. By the time of Ep. 10, it’s almost wholesale loss, between Goodsir’s heroic suicide, the Tuunbaq, and others just disappearing into the mists of the Arctic. But Tom’s character appears to have represented a balance, showing grief and loss, but also recovery and redemption. He appears with nearly every major death in the show, going from anxious and shaken to brave and kind, more eager to help those left in the wake of death, making him the perfect representation to the concepts of loss, grief, and recovery for The Terror.

[pilyarquitect]

War for Genius - 4.- I’ll never fail you again

And as I promised, here you have chapter 4, I hope you'll like it!

***************************************************************************************

Fenton was in pain, it seemed that there wasn’t a single part of his body that wasn’t screaming in pain. What had happened? Oh yes, the explosion, it was luck that he was self-ejected just before the artificial processor exploded. If he hadn’t, the explosion would have killed him.

But everything else hadn’t been so lucky. Despite not receiving the direct impact of the explosion, the shock wave was enough to make him collide on the water’s surface. He bounced across it several times like a skipping stone before he finally fell and sank under the sea. Any other duck might’ve been carried away by the current or would have given up. But Fenton wasn’t going to give up. He had to get to the shore. He couldn’t leave his mother alone.

Swimming as hard as he could with the pain, the Hispanic duck managed to reach the pier and laboriously climb the ladder. Once he managed to reach the platform, his strength failed him and he collapsed. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was one of the reporters and the boy who had helped him take control of the suit.

Slowly, Fenton's eyelids parted, and a hospital room appeared before his eyes. Looking to his right, the duck saw that his mother was there, asleep next to him. How long had he been in that position? In a raspy voice, indicating that he hadn’t used his vocal cords for quite some time, the Hispanic duck spoke:

“¿Mamá?”

Instantly his mom woke up and straightened, when she looked at him, her face alighted with radiant joy. She excitedly exclaimed:

“¡Pollito!”

Fenton looked forward again, while his mother rose from the chair, and said:

"I think I was fired,”

And after a few moments of silence added:

"I was definitely fired.”

His mom kissed his head and softly told:

“Just rest right now. Someone sprung for the best VIP hospital suite.”

A sudden voice joined the conversation saying:

"Need a word with you.”

Mother and son looked towards the door and there they saw the richest duck in the world. Imposing, leaning on his cane as usual. Fenton saw him and spoke surprised:

"Mr. McDuck?”

His mother sounded more excited when she said:

“Scrooge McDuck? Oh, I’ll leave you alone.”

And picking up her belongings she walked towards the door. Scrooge took off his hat to say goodbye, but the woman turned to her son and whispered:

"See if you get money out of it, he's loaded.”

Those words provoked a disapproving look on Scrooge's face, although the woman didn't notice. Fenton smiled apologetically, not knowing what to say after what his mother had just done.

Scrooge suddenly returned to his serious expression and walked towards the window of the room, saying:

“You know, I spend a lot of time abroad I won't always be here for Duckburg…”

Then he turned to Fenton and picking an eye, said:

“I need someone to make sure this place is still standing when I get back.”

Unsure what he could be hinting at, Fenton stared at him question ally. Scrooge seemed to understand his bewilderment, because suddenly he turned to the door and shouted:

"Gyro!"

The scientist entered with a canvas bag in his hands. Dropping it on the ground he opened it and took out the helmet of Gizmoduck's suit, saying:

"Mr. McDuck is very impressed by my hero armor and he feels that despite literally every conceivable piece of evidence to the contrary, you are the best person to test the new model.”

He put the helmet on the bed and added:

"The armor is self-contained using your brain as the core processor, arg, go ahead.”

Fenton looked at the helmet and then he said the words that activated the armor:

“Blathering Blatherskite.”

Instantly the helmet flew over his head, making him laugh with happiness, the rest of the armor's pieces were also placed in place, which caused Fenton to exclaim:

"I think I need a new plaster.”

When he finished his transformation, Fenton stood up and looked at Scrooge and Gyro with a radiant smile on his face. Scrooge nodded and said:

"Looking good lad, you work for me now, I just need a name to write in the paychecks."

While smiling, the Hispanic duck answered the question by saying:

"Call me Gizmoduck!"

Another nod from the main duck before he responded:

"It's good that it's Gizmoduck."

Gyro closed his eyes and shook his head. Fenton knew that the scientist disliked that name, but what could Fenton do? It was the first name that came to his mind and so it stuck, apart from the fact that he did like that name.

Gyro opened his eyes again and spoke:

“Anyway, I'm leaving.  I’ve a lot of work to do, and don't forget that even if you now work for Mr. McDuck, you're still my intern. I want to see you in the lab as fast as you’ve the medical discharge, understand?”

Fenton swallowed nervously and replied:

"Yes Dr. Gearloose.”

With that said, Gyro left. Fenton saw him leave, and when Scrooge and himself were alone, Fenton sighed. There was something he’d to say to his new boss, so, in a serious voice, the Hispanic duck spoke again:

"Thank you very much Mr. McDuck, but I must be honest, none of this would have been possible without someone's help."

Scrooge raised an eyebrow and spoke, although his voice seemed more curious than angry:

"Oh yeah? Whose?"

Fenton fiddled with his thumbs and replied honestly:

“A boy of about ten years old with a red shirt and a red cap over his head.”

Scrooge grinned. Why did he seem happy with that news? Was there something Fenton had missed? Scrooge asked then, with a hint of fun in his voice:

"And what makes you think that without him ye wouldn't have achieved it, lad?"

Fenton sighed, lowered his arms on both sides of his body and explained:

"It was him who came up with the idea of using my brain as the central processor."

Scrooge nodded and simply said:

"I see, I like your honesty."

Then he looked back at the door and called:

"Ye can come in now.”

Fenton looked over in surprise and then he saw him. The same duckling he’d been talking about. He was standing at the doorway hesitantly, unsure of whether he should come in.

As soon as he recognized him, Fenton turned his body completely to face the boy and exclaimed:

"It's you!"

The boy took a deep breath before venturing into the room. He said:

"Hi, Fenton... I mean GizmoDuck, I'm Huey."

Scrooge moved to stand beside the duckling and placed a hand on his shoulder. He told Fenton:

"GizmoDuck, I introduce you to my grand-nephew Hubert Duck.”

Fenton stared at them both, the boy... Huey, had called him by his name, did he know his secret identity? How? Who told him? Looking at the rich duck beside him, Fenton asked:

"Did you tell him who I am?"

Before Scrooge could respond, Huey came forward and spoke quickly:

“No, I figured it out on my own, but I promise to keep the secret. Junior Woodchuck word.”

Scrooge then explaining:

"Huey insisted on coming to thank you for saving his life."

That said, the older duck replaced his top hat and said goodbye:

"Well, I leave ye alone, I think ye’ve things to talk about.”

Scrooge left the room closing the door behind him. After this, the two ducks were left alone. Fenton encouraged Huey to sit in the chair beside his hospital bed. Once this was done, Fenton scratched the back of his neck nervously and asked:

"So... you wanted to thank me? Why?"

Huey smiled kindly and responded:

"For saving my life! And for saving everyone's life there in Waddle."

Seriously? Was that what he wanted to thank him for? If Fenton considered everything that happened that day as a failure. If he hadn’t agreed to work for Beaks, there would’ve been no disaster to begin with. And, in fact, if they had managed to get out of it alive, it wasn’t thanks to Fenton, but precisely thanks to the duckling that was now sitting in front of him.

Sighing, Fenton closed his eyes and replied:

"But I... I don't deserve that thanks, really. It's me who should thank you, Huey.”

Huey looked at him with the widest eyes Fenton had ever seen and said:

"Thank me? But I didn’t do anything.”

Fenton giggled and responded:

"Nothing? You were the first person who truly believed that I could be a hero! Not to mention how you were able to connect the suit to my brain.”

Huey smiled slightly at the mention of the last part, and responded:

“Yes, I’ve a small and painful memory of that moment.”

Fenton’s eyes widened in horror. He had forgotten that the boy had been electrocuted when he rewired the suit. In a slightly anguished voice, the older duck asked:

"Are you okay?"

The duckling hurried to answer:

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, it was nothing too bad."

He offered the Hispanic duck a sincere smile. Fenton in turn also smiled. That boy was too kind to him. Looking away at his hands, the older duck said:

"Let's make a deal, I accept your thanks if you accept mine, okay?"

Huey's smile widened and replied:

"We have an agreement!"

And after this he threw himself on Fenton to give him a hug. Fenton was surprised by the sudden action. The rapid movement made him groan in pain, because at that moment he remembered that despite wearing the suit he still had several parts of his body seriously damaged.

Huey immediately pulled away, fearing that he’d been responsible for harming Fenton, although the other duck assured him that it wasn’t his fault.

With Huey's help, Fenton took off GizmoDuck's suit and put it back in the bag. As the adult duck had anticipated, he now needed another plaster. While he was calling someone from the hospital staff, he asked Huey to hide the bag in the closet. He didn't want anyone else to know that he was GizmoDuck.

The duckling immediately did what Fenton had asked for and when he finished, he checked the time on his phone and announced that he had to leave. But before doing so, he asked Fenton if he could visit him again. The Hispanic duck smiled broadly and assured the duckling that he could come whenever he wanted. This brought a smile to the little duck and promised that he would visit again soon.

Fenton was left alone again until a nurse arrived who, seeing Fenton’s state, screamed in horror and called for more staff to help replace the broken plaster of the badly injured duck.

When the nurse asked how that had happened, Fenton simply replied that he tried to move and ended up falling out of bed, which caused a good part of the immobilizations he was carrying ended broken.

Fortunately, hospital staff seemed to buy his excuse, so no one in that environment would know how the plaster actually. His secret was safe.

Several days passed and Fenton recovered quickly. Huey came to see him whenever he had time. The duckling was very considerate and affectionate in that sense, always trying to bring the adult duck things to entertain himself; or telling stories of his adventures or ideas of how to improve the suit...

Actually, that boy had very good ideas. Maybe it’d be good if Huey could present those ideas to Dr. Gearloose. Surely, they'd be good implementations for his suit. But in addition to all those ideas, Fenton was mostly pleased with Huey’s kindness and generosity. Of all the times he came to visit him, not once did Huey do anything of his own interest. He always tried to satisfy him as much as he could. To Fenton, it was a truly admirable character trait, and Fenton secretly increasingly felt that the real hero was Huey, and not him.

When he was finally discharged from the hospital, Fenton actually felt a little sad. He’d become accustomed to Huey's almost daily visits, and now he couldn’t enjoy the company of the duckling anymore. Unless he came to see him at the laboratory, but that would be a different environment. They would no longer have the chance to speak in the same way as they did in the hospital. But on the other hand, being finally out of that building, allowed him to start his hero duties as GizmoDuck. He was willing to do the best he could. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially, not the first person who believed in him.

When he went out into the street, with the canvas bag hanging over his shoulder, he breathed the outside air for the first time in several days. Fenton felt strengthened. He’d missed walking down the street. Suddenly, a car with some Beagle Boys passed in front of him, the police got in pursuit. That made him smile. It was time to start his new job. Moving behind a corner, the Hispanic duck left the bag on the ground and shouted:

"Blathering Blatherskite!"

*******************************************************************************************

And this is all for this week, I hope you liked both chapters. If so, please don't doubt on share your thoughts.

Just one thing more, this translation wouldn't be as good as it is without @empro-8's help. I'm really, really thankful to her!!!

[the-witch-and-her-husbands]

Red Light

(Author’s note: cut for length)

Jil sighed, leaning back against the sofa as she took a huge swig from the bottle of cheap red wine that she had brought with her. A dull red light shone down on her from above, making everything look slightly hellish and surreal.

Why had she let her friend drag her along to one of these parties? Said so-called ‘friend’ was now nowhere to be seen. She’d copped off with the first bloke who had looked in her general direction and was most likely getting her brains shagged out in the master bedroom at that very moment.

Nearly everyone had paired off by that point of the evening. Jil squinted, scanning the room to see if anyone else was still around. Her eye fell on a young lad she knew, a fellow art student. Albert? No, she knew that wasn’t right. Alan. That’s what he was called. Alan.

‘Hey, Alan.’ She smiled, crooking a finger from the hand that was wrapped round the neck of her bottle in a sort of greeting.

‘Hey.’ He smiled widely, but made no further move in her direction from where he was sitting.

She got up from her seat to plonk herself next to him on the floor, glad for someone friendly to speak to. They’d worked on a few projects together, and he seemed like a nice enough lad, though painfully quiet at times.

‘I hate these parties,’ she giggled. ‘Drink?’ She offered him the bottle.

He took it gratefully, necking it to the point where wine was dribbling out of the corners of his mouth.

‘Careful. Don’t waste it,’ she smirked, reaching up to gently brush the remnants away before sticking the wine-covered fingers in her own mouth. Waste not, want not.

He sat goggling at her.

‘What?’ She giggled again. Now halfway through the bottle, everything was beginning to seem hilarious. Hilarious and slightly strange, thanks to that damned red light bulb overhead.

‘You’re gorgeous.’ The words appeared to tumble out of his mouth before he had a chance to stop them. He stared at her, clearly mortified.

‘You’re cute.’ She smiled, passing him the bottle again, which he eagerly took. ‘Do you come to these sorts of parties often?’

‘Yeah. But I never usually enjoyed myself. Until now.’ He hung his head. Was he blushing? Difficult to say, at the moment. It was too adorable for words. She leant over to kiss him on the cheek. After a long silence, he finally spoke. ‘I really liked working with you. In class, I mean.’

‘Me too.’ She meant the words sincerely. He seemed to have a real talent for art, that was for certain. Plus he was wickedly funny, when he allowed that bit of himself to be seen.

‘Did you really?’ He looked at her, clearly confused.

‘Yes. Really.’ She drained the last of the bottle and tossed it aside. ‘Did you bring anything?’ He held up his own offering, a bottle of equally cheap and nasty red. ‘Perfect! Hand it over!’ She grinned, holding out a delicate hand.

By the time they’d gotten through most of it, he’d loosened up considerably, to the point he was now sitting on the sofa with her sitting on the floor, arms draped over his legs, smiling up at him. It was nothing to her, she was outgoing and tactile, always wanting to hug and cuddle her close friends. It felt natural, to be touching him in this way. Like something she had always done since time immemorial.

They’d been giggling over the misfortune of a student who had spilled paint on his own freshly completed project the week before, when Alan suddenly stared at her intently. ‘Yes?’ She smiled.

‘I care about you,’ he blurted out, looking shocked at his own admission.

‘Oh.’ She patted his leg, still smiling. ‘I care about you, too.’ Was it the wine talking?

‘No!’ He shook his head violently. ‘I mean, I really really care about you.’ It sounded like he was slurring the words, slightly. He slid out from under her arms, manoeuvring himself until he was sitting next to her on the floor once again. ‘I mean…you make me hap…happy.’

He hugged her then, but before she even had a chance to react he’d pulled back with a look of fear. Clearly, he was afraid he’d gone too far.

‘Oh, Alan.’ She reached out with a wide smile, wrapping her arms around him to pull him close to her. Hopefully, this would show him that his attentions weren’t exactly unwelcome. He was cute. And very sweet. She could do a lot worse.

‘Willyougooutwithmesometime?’ He said the words so quickly she wasn’t entirely certain what he’d said, at first. ‘Go out with me? Please? I want to hang…hang out with you. We can go to the park. A walk somewhere. An art gallery, maybe. Something like that. Please?’

‘Of course.’ She’d pulled back to look at him while he was speaking, but now she tugged him close for another hug. ‘I’d like that.’

He held her tightly. After a long moment, they both released the hug, looking intently at each other, faces inches apart. She tilted her head, invitingly. He was seemingly frozen, just looking at her.

Ah. Perhaps he really was that shy. ‘Would you like to kiss me?’ She smiled warmly.

He took a deep breath. ‘Of course.’ Hesitantly, he leant forward to press his lips to hers gently. She kissed him back with as much feeling as she could muster. It seemed surreal, kissing someone for the first time in this sort of scenario, but they were classmates. It wasn’t like she was kissing a total stranger, after all.

After a few moments, he broke the kiss, pulling away from her gently.

‘Are you okay?’ She frowned, concerned. Maybe she’d gotten the signals wrong?

‘Yes.’ He gave her a beaming smile, which seemed to transform his whole face. He really did look gorgeous when he smiled like that. ‘Yes, I really liked it,’ he admitted shyly. With that little proclamation out of the way, he picked up her hand and held it.

‘I really really want you,’ he continued. ‘From the moment I first saw you in class. You tossed your hair, your beautiful blonde hair, darling, over your shoulder like a waterfall, while staring at your canvas. And I fell in love.’ He ducked his head, looking down at his lap.

‘Oh, Alan.’ That had to be the sweetest thing that anyone had said to her, ever. ‘I want you too…’ She found that she wasn’t just saying it back to be polite, or as not to hurt his feelings. It dawned on her that she could feel something stirring, when she looked at him. Really LOOKED at him, his floppy hair and his hazel eyes. Oh, she could fall hard for this boy.

‘What are we going to do about that?’ He sounded like he could barely stop his voice from shaking as he asked her the question. She could feel his hand trembling like a sparrow in hers.

‘Well.’ She smiled at him. ‘How about dating? Maybe we could be boyfriend and girlfriend. In time.’ She gave the shaking hand a reassuring squeeze.

‘Yes.’ His voice was so low she could barely hear him. Was he blushing again? So difficult to say. She wished they were somewhere, anywhere, else, but perhaps the atmosphere was adding to the magic of the moment. ‘Jil. Do you…do you believe in soul mates?’

She looked up at him, surprised at his sudden question. ‘Yes,’ she answered immediately and honestly. ‘Yes, yes I do.’ She had been shocked into speaking from the heart, rather than giving a considered answer.

He seemed content with that, allowing himself to relax slightly once more. He still had a grip on her hand, seemingly reluctant to let go.

They drank in companionable silence for awhile. Soon, she’d gotten brave enough to climb into his lap and they were sharing kisses and caresses along with the wine.

‘I think you’re really sexy.’ She smiled, playing with his hair.

‘You really think so?’ He swallowed. She could see the movement of his throat.

‘Yes. I think you’re cute.’ She beamed, leaning forward to kiss his nose.

‘I think you’re very pretty,’ he mumbled. ‘And hot. Very hot. And absolutely sexy.’

‘Aww. You are sweet.’ She giggled, nuzzling her cheek against his. God, please don’t let it be the wine talking. I really like this boy….

‘I’m glad you were in my class.’ She turned to look at him. He was speaking so quietly she wasn’t entirely sure she’d heard him until he spoke again. ‘I’m glad you’re in my life.’

‘I’m glad you’re in my life too.’ She gave him a slight squeeze.

‘I’ll always be in your life.’ Dear Lord, how much had he had to drink?! Would he remember any of this come the morning?

‘Well. I’ll always be in yours.’ She shook her head, smiling.

‘You make me so very happy.’ He closed his eyes and kissed her cheek, causing her to hug him in response. ‘I love you!’ The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, in seeming reaction to her embrace. It had to be the wine.

‘Yes. You too.’ She touched his cheek with affection.

He shook his head. ‘You really mean the world for me. And I mean it. I love you, Jil.’

‘I love you too, Alan.’ Maybe he meant it. Time would tell.

Seemingly contented with her answer, he rested his head on her shoulder.

She sat and held him in the dim lounge, adjusting so she could press a kiss to his forehead.

Time would tell. She would see what the future held in the morning.

For now, she was content to hold him in her arms.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Dream Ashes (Yoongi x Reader)

Genre: Smut, Angst, FwB AU, HYYH AU

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: Allusions to self-harm, smoking, drinking and domestic abuse, toxic relationships, unrequited love, Top!/Dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses), (semi-)public sex (if sex on a rooftop counts), swearing/cussing

Summary: Not every night under each roof is pleasant, filled with arguments and the broken dreams of aspiring artists held back by parents either having no faith in their child’s talent or, if they acknowledge it at all, in a future pursuing a dream. A mixture of the two continues to kill the aspirations of the black sheep of the Min family, a delinquent deemed a pyromaniac by the ignorant eyes that solely know how to shallowly judge.

But there is a guardian angel with love who bears his burden gladly on lonely nights.

Even if it comes at the cost of her own heart.

Masterlist

Not every night under each roof is pleasant, filled with arguments and the broken dreams of aspiring artists held back by parents either having no faith in their child’s talent or, if they acknowledge it at all, in a future pursuing a dream. A mixture of the two continues to kill the aspirations of the black sheep of the Min family, a delinquent deemed a pyromaniac by the ignorant eyes that solely know how to shallowly judge. However, the open-minded individuals who can see beneath the tough exterior will be met by a musical genius who is forced time and again to give up the sole reason to live.

Music.

The piano.

‘I don’t have a dream. Besides, what’s the point in having one?’ Those words have become a steady statement to make whenever the conversation turns to what can be done after leaving behind six good friends and dropping out of high school. Whether any help is needed, in any regard, because a girl ran away from home herself is more than knowledgeable in how hard it can be to survive without anything to fall back on.

Though eventually a safe haven was offered freely by the actual leader of our little band of troublemakers guarded by a mistress of lies, another runaway living in a train yard outside of town. 

Withal, tonight a new worrying addition is spoken after a habitual check-up text sent from Joon’s refurbished container after patching up Taehyung’s latest wounds inflicted by a raging drunk of a worthless father. The boy with the curious square smile stubbornly continues to hide the true cause of the physical and mental pain despite his fellow graffiti artist having hinted multiple times at wanting him to open up about the issue. Notwithstanding, it would seem the real cause of the harm will only be entrusted to the boys' confidante, the guardian angel helping tattooed aqua locks keep the rabble in line. 

For as far as that is possible. 

‘They take everything from the inside and throw it away.’

‘Who is they?’ Throat constricted by concern at this new detail, fingers stop combing through caramel locks finally fallen asleep after grunting through the medicinal care while precariously avoiding making eye contact with Monie. 

‘Everybody.’

‘I don’t, I would never. Neither would Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon and Seokjin.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘No, it’s not!’ No response, the last text remaining to be noted as read. ‘Yoongi? 

‘Yoongi, answer me! You’re not gonna do anything stupid, you hear me?

‘Yoongi, please!’

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

‘Oh God.’ The exclamation comes out on a short breath, panic rapidly overtaking as thoughts refer to the past.

‘What?’ Namjoon looks up from designing a new piece of art to place somewhere on a bare city wall, an eyebrow curiously cocked.

‘I- I need to go.’ Gently, Tae is laid down on the mattress. Futilely, the unconscious boy tries to wrap arms around the upper legs to pin them where they are before moving away. They have to, because time has become precariously precious again. Hence, all that the sleeper gets is a quick platonic peck on the forehead. ‘Right now.’

‘What’s going on?’ The leader notices the distress, turning halfway on the worn seat and about to get up.

‘It’s Yoongi. He’s not responding anymore and I think I know why.’

Shredded paper, beautiful notes turned awry thanks to disregard by the public, compositions torn apart to be hauled through a shredder or be burned in the next fire leading to an arrest.

Scarlet.

Glistening metal. 

More silver lines added to the ever-expanding canvas on pale thin limbs.

‘Honestly, why doesn’t he just come here? We’ve both said multiple times he should.’ Honey digits remove the simple beanie to run through blue short strands, defeated in the wager as to why the pianist remains on the flight instead of retreating to the home we have created. 

Regardless of the severity weighing heavily on shoulders moving towards the door, a sympathetic smile can be managed to put Joon at least somewhat at ease. One person carrying the burden of Time is more than enough and if someone should be to blame for being too late, it should be the guardian angel. ‘Because he can’t see the point, the good it’ll do him. He doesn’t know he has a home.’

It should be me.

‘He’d rather see his dream burn than move in with us.’ A mutual deep sigh erases the only sign of comfort that can be given at the moment as a hand reaches towards the latch. ‘One of these days I’ll drag him here myself and just lock him in. It’ll be full house, but I’m sure we could figure something out.’

‘Good luck with that, Monie. I’d help, but I value my life. He’s a tiger. One that’s hopefully unharmed by the time I reach him.’ Because, once more, it are solely the black wings engraved into the back which know the truth while the rising bird is kept in the dark regardless of begging in silence for the last sliver of complete trust even telling of hardships they do not know about. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Gritting gravel surrounding neglected railways beneath open twilight gradually transforms into asphalt broken up by holes in the districts ruled by crime and smooth steady ways in good neighbourhoods forming the residence area of families of which the children will either become something akin to the grandness of a doctor or a nine-to-five, if not worse, office worker. And it is here the phone put into the pocket of the denim jacket buzzes, the screen lighting up thanks to a new message that is a blessing and a curse at the same time. ‘Not home. Ran away. Warehouse. Roof.’

‘When did you run?’ The answer might seem fairly obvious were it not for the memory of the first time created melodies were destroyed by the paper shredder and parents furiously yelled at the aspiring producer to actually go back to school and get a proper education.

A good life.

Meant for someone else.

Not for an artist.

These same bordeaux Puma sneakers stormed through the front door and up the stairs after mister Min opened up, about to ask who in their right mind came calling around midnight. Absolutely not giving a damn about the consequences and solely focused on reaching a familiar door hiding ignored hardship. 

Truth be told, none of us ever has.

Because we live.

Young, wild and free.

Or so we will, after all of us have escaped the judgmental cage created by a society looking down on creative souls trying to make a change. To leave a worthy legacy meant for generations to look back on and learn from. 

After feathers break free from the egg. 

But more than a single care was given upon warily approaching the figure in the secret studio least of all serving its original purpose of a bedroom, crawled away from the door to hide in the corner while clutching anxiously at freshly bleeding cuts. The knife was put aside, undeniably used and cruelly lying on the ground beside us.

Instead of directly speaking, we merely sat across from each other in a heavy hush wherein confidence was regained by calmly waiting for dark eyes to make contact. Which they eventually did, trembling bloody palms removing the white headphones given as a collective birthday present together with Joon and Hobi. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’ Regardless of knowing what was meant, locks nevertheless tilted to the side in feigned wonder because any direct reference to the difficult situation would lock the oppressed musician up immediately.

And invite the cruel blade upon leaving. 

‘For being so fucking worthless. For making you come all the way here, just to see this good-for-nothing criminal.’ Unjust cracks appeared evident in the barely composed raspy voice of salt-streaked tears. Crimson fingertips plucked at baggy clothes concealing the frame that had become ghastly thinner due to the stress placed upon young shoulders forced to see dreams burn over and over again. 

As always, helpless heavy-weighing playfulness was resorted to in the quiet hope of brightening the mood enough to break through the impenetrable walls which are always built when Yoongi is put down. ‘Shut up.’

Colourless irises, the passion sucked out of them until all they knew was how to cry, looked up in a sharp sneer. Or so it wanted to be, but could not due to an inner voice constraining the harshest negativity which turned the expression grave rather than judgemental. ‘It’s true, Y/N. You know it is.’

‘No, it’s not.’

A shift of subject made it more than clear the current topic did no longer serve any purpose, completely disregarding the smeared headphones and fresh cuts. Curiously, it changed to inquire about the well-being of the equally, albeit not to the same degrees, abused boy with whom often arguments were started merely because of being followed. Followed by the one who looked up to him, the rebel who will one day fully make the right decision and flee from beneath this harming roof permanently. ‘How’s Tae?’

A resigned sigh gave into the shift reluctantly, a tiny sliver of gladness spreading warmth throughout the limbs grown cold at the miserable sight and calming a rapidly beating heart unable to not worry about the wounds. ‘Bruised ribs, split lip, a cut on his cheek and an ugly bruise beneath the left eye.’

‘Please tell me he’s crashing at Namjoon’s.’

‘He is, as always. Mended for as far as possible and asleep.’

‘Good.’ Absently, as if drifting off into the forcefully created crumbled world once more, Yoongi nodded while repeating the confirmation under sharp breath. ‘That’s good.’

‘You, on the other hand, aren’t doing so great.’ It could not be helped, the dark carmine droplets staining ashen sweatpants creating hideous murky brown stains could not be ignored. Ugly yet alluring ghosts tempting the eye into being looked at. ‘You could have come to the train yard.’

The subtle suggestion resulted in the habitual denial of all help, any former softness sharpened like a dagger and flowing from a snarling tongue. ‘I’m fine. Just go.’

‘Where’s the first-aid kit?’ It had always been part of the dynamic, ignoring what the composer said in favour of a better outcome or serve as the company that was wanted but the wish of had never been explicitly stated. Withal, the guardian angel would triumph once more due to the trump card of iron determination, speaking in a tone that would not let anything of the pain due to the confrontation with self-destruction filter through. 

‘Go.’ Sullenness preceded, as per habit, the fierceness of the tiger beneath the skin. Stained fingers moulded into fists gripping at oversized clothes, trembling with rage but trying incredibly hard to contain it to not do something to regret in the second after rashness. 

‘Where?’ The characteristic raised sarcastic eyebrow was not appreciated, still only so on very few occasions nowadays. 

‘Just fucking go!’

The lashing out would have chased away any of the other guys, but not the girl merely scoffing at the show both minds knew was nothing except fakery. ‘Have it your way. I’ll look for it myself.’

As expected, it was stored away in the lower compartment of the bathroom sink adjacent to the small bedroom, thus leading to the swift return to a cherry-haired tiger meticulously observing every movement from a safe spot. Withal, without shrinking as if wanting to melt into the scenery. Instead, he stared on in wonder of the help coming to the rescue of both a friend and a precious bond.

‘Give me your arm.’ No response at first, even at the beckoning hand any other might mistake for being impatient yet was all but that. It was desperate, frightened to death by the flowing carmine. ‘Yoongi, arm.’

Despite not stating it outright, the mere act of putting it in the cross-legged lap calmly without grumbling said more than words could at the moment. Henceforth, a tense though comfortable hush descended while cleaning the wounds after disinfecting them, checking up on an expression continuously returning to stoicism with every hiss. 

Notwithstanding, in spite of missing the change betraying bodily hurt that by no means outweighed the mental burden of both parties, there was a fascinated warmth in irises drained of life time and again as digits bandaged the visible part of the damage up.

‘There, that’s better.’ Glad hands put down the first-aid kit as the last freshly carved scar had been concealed by ivory linen, sighing in calming relief. All in all, it did not take long to patch the musician up but the pressure of time flowing away made the instance appear longer than it really had. 

‘Why?’ Furrowed brows regarded the first step to physical healing, almost as if uncomprehending of how it would help. Of course, it would not aid mental stability but it did allow for the rescue of a soul who would have gone too soon.

‘Because we’re friends and I won’t let you fall. I’d never let you down.’ Trembling in hesitance, the palm of a barely recovered from the shock voice reached out to a pale cheek, the thumb languid in caressing the denied tears away. ‘You’re an incredible musician, Yoongi. No matter what anyone says or whether you believe me, it’s true. We, the guys and I, think so. No, we know so.’

‘You speak of them as if they’re my friends too.’ Had the genuine broken persona living beneath the skin of the rebel kicked out of school been unknown to the girl sitting across from him on the floor, the end would have happened right then and there. However, the opposite was the truth and thus the sneering tone was disregarded in favour of establishing at least a sliver of conviction of reality.

Something to believe in. 

Something to hold on to. 

‘They are. They disregard the fact you don’t contact them at all because, as I said, they know you’re going to make it big someday. They still continue to support you. None of them has forgotten about you.’ Lips pursed in careful contemplation, calculating the impact of each word which wanted to be said without angering the only temporarily subdued tiger. Eventually, such an argument was formed in good faith. ‘And you haven’t forgotten about them either because you wouldn’t have asked after Tae if you had.’

‘Still, you’re the only one here.’ A pale palm folded perfectly over the one on the salt-streaked cheek, the broken dreamer leaning gratefully into the touch with lashes fluttered shut and a voice as if drifting off into slumber. A blissful place away from cruel reality. Away from here. ‘You’ve always been.’

‘That’s not tr-’ The protest was cut short by an unexpected kiss, lips meeting in soft urgency. A whirlwind of emotions kicked up at the suddenness of the action, Reason and Fancy at war due to never having thought the tiger would do such a thing. 

Nor expect to hear a new level of despair in the whisper temporarily breaking up the kiss, sounding strange as it was caught between genuine clarity and relieved sobbing begging to not be left behind. ‘It is. Only you love me.’

Thus, the truly vicious cycle began of coming to the rescue both mentally and physically only to end up in the sheets to fully calm down. See to it Yoongi can rest easy even while one heart falls deeper and deeper into chaotic love.

It has been for the past two years of denial.

But it cannot mean anything.

It should not.

Because, once it does, it becomes a passion.

A dream to pursue.

And that is forbidden and therefore it will shatter or be burned like music.

Until all there is left are merely ghosts.

The only type of changing the meetings of scared hearts have undergone is a shift in location after the rebel dared to run away again the day Jungkook almost ended it all on the edge of the highest skyscraper.

Barely in time could the youngest of the chaotic band be rescued, the man like an older brother pulling the maknae by the back of an ivory and rose checkered blouse and holding on to the boy until both had regained enough breath after spilling tears of frustrated relief. After all, Yoongi had sworn during the last meeting with the entire group beneath a nightly sparkling spring sky to be a support pillar because he knows what living while feeling useless is like, vouching to do so while Kook rested on his shoulder. Through the high-rising flickering amber flames of the fire pit, the two seemed content at last.

For a little while, everything was okay.

We would be fine.

Would be.

But tonight, on the roof of the abandoned warehouse in the harbour where on the lower floor stands a dusty brown piano, we are not. The damaged knuckles and chafed skin beneath sullen irises tells of barely escaping another arrest after being kicked out a bar again and drunkenly searching for a fight, the scent of cigarettes indicating music has been burned again because the pieces were not good enough.

They never are.

Not to society.

But, to the girl approaching a wild tiger, they are everything.

Though the producer is blind to see it.

‘Yoongi?’ No reaction to the greeting comes as the heavy door to the roof closes and bordeaux Puma sneakers pad with a heavy heart over the asphalt still warm due to the day’s heat. They come to a halt a mere step away from the brooding tiger. ‘You never answered me over text and make me come all the way out here to get a response.’

‘Does it matter?‘ Without so much as a sideways glance, entwined damaged slender fingers maintain a steady melancholic gaze over the dark quiet waters of the harbour. A mocking grin tugs at the corners of the mouth but does not form completely, essentially as joyless as the denied dreamer.

 ‘It does! It fucking does!’

For once, please believe me when I tell you that you’re not nothing.

‘To who, hm?’ At last, colourless irises grace a worried soul with a challenging look but at least attention is pulled enough to actually listen and not simply hear. 

‘To the guys.’ A palm slaps against a rapid beating heart in a constricted chest as lips tremble and a cracking voice rises in volume. ‘To me.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘No, it’s not. We care, Yoongi, all of us.’ The last bit of distance is breached as a hand naturally folds over a frozen shoulder clad in a military green jacket, resting there without being violently shrugged off. 

A sign of listening. 

And thus the argument is pursued on a calmer and more steady yet equally urgent tone. ‘What about Jungkook? You promised to be his supporting pillar. Taehyung is over at Joon’s again, beaten up by his dad and you know it hurts you. Just as much as it hurts us.’ 

Upper arms are enveloped as briefly locked gazes break up, ashen strands hanging low in stubborn ignoring of the guardian angel crouching in front of them. ‘Us, Yoongi. The Bangtan Boys and me. Our family.’

‘I have no family. They were the first to destroy it all.’ Regardless of being unable to see it, lips are undoubtedly pursed in a fight to prevent new tears from falling. Woven digits tremble in barely suppressed crimson nicotine anger, vision blurring with tormenting memories of refusal. 

‘But we build it up together, didn’t we? You know you aren’t-’

‘Shut up.’ An arm lashes out to undo any contact, the impact of the action causing a fall backwards. Nothing but agonizing exhaustion radiates off the snarl on the handsome face that has become loved as more than a mere friend. 

Even while it extorts another for pleasure.

A means to forget.

It means nothing. 

‘I’m tired of speaking. Tired of thinking. We both know where this goes anyway.’ Each sentence is accentuated by a firm demanding kiss sealing off any chance of protest after being roughly helped onto two unsteady feet, the tables turned as it now are the arms of somebody trying to help which are grabbed tightly. 

Held dear and cherished in an incomprehensible manner.

But it is better than nothing. 

‘We can’t keep doing this.’ Had this been pure desire, the shape pressing hotly against the thigh would have been appreciated in a whole different way. Interpreted in a manner not remotely close to the reality of us because it is not sensual wanton craving.

It is pent-up frustration coming to a boiling point.

Fruitless.

A wandering ghost.

A heap of ashes. 

‘Shut up.’ The hands creating an abyss by pushing against a sturdy chest are given other purpose. Nevertheless, the meaning of the distance remains: foolishly to be able to be filled with sincerity. 

One hand is placed on the hip and the other below, simulating a laughable imitation of actual craving as another kiss adds to the poor fancy. ‘Just do what you’re told for once.’

Lips connect once more in saltwater carrying broken wishes and all the dreams that cannot be because of emotions warring with ideals, the correct way of life stained by nicotine and the sharp yet sweet tang of cheap soju. 

Trembling fingers envelop damaged cheeks as slender musically gifted hands tug at the edge of pants, beckoning them to lie down before undoing the belt fastening bleached ripped jeans only to be warmly welcomed again by the palms that only get to hold the face they love in this repeated loveless lovemaking. Knowing the impatience of the tiger, any restrictions to allowing the heated wantonness pressed against the thigh earlier have been removed before wiping away returned tears and lovingly caressing ashen brown locks.

Don’t get your hopes up. It won’t mean anything. It’s just a means of comfort.

Everything is familiar, a piece of the past tainted by crimson and smoke to cling to. 

The warmth spreading throughout as separate souls effortlessly become one, unprotected in wordlessness and thus letting actions say all that tongues cannot. 

The speed of snapping hips, uncaring about pleasure and merely wanting to fuck the pain away. 

The agony of the tug on each tendon keeping the heart inherently belonging to the occasional groan breaking through heavy breaths whispering into the side of the neck. 

The urban scent of cigarettes, ashes and blood.

The possessive iron-like grip on the waist, desperate to be grounded in the moment or simply an anchor into this world while the mind it belongs to tries to flee.

The chase after temporary oblivion together, though one soul remains a step behind to not frighten the other into love.

After all, it has no meaning.

None of this.

It is a ghost we keep.

Preventing us from finding happiness together.

The chance to hear three simple words spill at least once before or after a troubled mind finds brief peace in the arms of the woman he said, no, knows loves him. Nevertheless, Yoongi cannot return the affection.

Cruelly, the hope remains even while lying on the warm concrete, the heat seeping through dishevelled clothes covering the upper part of the body, and embracing the musical genius drifting somewhere in a pleasant ignorant limbo. The same state of being that lashes turned to a beautiful sparkling sky did not reach again and never will during these meetings. Still, it is not minded for this is a more meaningful type of contentment.

Simply lying here among the ashes. 

But it cannot mean anything.

It should not.

Because, once it does, it becomes a passion.

A dream to pursue.

And that is forbidden and therefore it will shatter or be burned like music.

Until all there is left are merely ghosts.

[stressedlady]

2,5k of god knows how to call this Enjoltaire fic...

The Portrait

He didn't want to be there. The light, the colorful dresses the ladies around him wore, the alcohol he had been practically forced to drink...he felt dizzy and slightly confused.

However, the blond wasn't going back home by any means. He had had a fight with his father and was not willing to give that bastard the satisfaction of thinking that he was dependent of him in any way.

How had Enjolras ended in that famous brothel? Well, in the second he told Courfeyrac that he couldnt return home for the night his friend dragged him and  Combeferre to the Moulin Rouge. They stared  for a while at the beautiful ladies dancing for a while, both of his friends were quite interested but Enjolras face expressed nothing more than indifference, deep resignation and anger.

"This is inmoral." declared the blond.

"That's what a priest would say, and you hate the clergy..."  replied Courfeyrac with a wide smile.

"Well, my arguments are quite different, this poor girls are treated like objects to play with by those rich men because they need their dirty money to survive in this society who shames them as if they criminals. Some of them are probably being forced to work here and have to give the most of their earnings to someone else"  He sighed. "And we are just contributing this injustice by coming to this place."

"Hell, now I feel guilty" snorted Courfeyrac, considering his friend’s words. But seconds later a man who was about their age approached them.  

"Goodnight, Monsieur Courfeyrac" said the man with bright blue eyes and curly black hair. "I just came to say hello before leaving, I see you are in company, I don't want to bother you."

Saying this, his eyes went in a fast gaze from the lad he already knew to the one wearing glasses and to the blond. He smirked at Enjolras' serius face before turning his eyes back to Courfeyrac.

"Grantaire! Goodnight my friend. Don't leave yet, it's uncommon to see you out of your study, and sober..."

"Well, I wanted to take a break from all the comissions and projects, leave the oil paints aside for a couple of hours." He sighed. "But it seems that I've grown used to be alone or with very little company and now this much people and noise is overwhelming."

"Do not lie, you've never been a friend of crowds." He said with a grin. "Let me introduce you to my friends: Monsieur Combeferre, Monsieur Enjolras, this is Grantaire, one of the most brilliant artists of Paris."

Grantaire laughed "Oh, you are the one who lies to them. I don't even reach the rating of artist. Now I should leave to home and get drunk, nice to meet you..."

"Wait!" exclaimed Courfeyrac. "Would you mind to take my friend, Enjolras, with you?" The artist raised his eyebrows, and the blond one frowned. "He wants to do the morally right thing and leave this place but of he is left alone in the streets he will probably get killed by some robber, you are leaving and if you are not in company, you'll probably drink youself to death. Am I wrong?"

Grantaire looked at Enjolras again, trying to scrutinise his beautiful features with the dim light of the place. Then answered smiling "Not at all."

"Then it's done, Enjolras, you may go with Monsieur Grantaire." he said, practically pushing Enjolras off of his chair. "Wait, what?" sputtered Enjolras out of confusion.

"Just follow me, unless you want to stay here." Indicated the artist, with a smirk.

The atmosphere into the Moulin Rouge was really heavy, people flooded every single room and it was so warm that it was hard not to feel dizy. But the two young men went through and, when they crossed the main entrance and stepped into the cold empty streets, they sighed of relief.

  "Would you want me to scort you home? This streets are dangerous at night and, without any intention of offending you, sir, you don't seem very able to defending yourself..."

"Being true, going home is the last thing I'd like to do tonight and, trust me" the blond boy raised slightly the lap of his jacket, showing the artist a small revolver he had in a inside pocket, his face turning serious "I'm not as naïve and helpless as I may seem."

"Good" replied Grantaire quite surpraised "Then, may I invite you to spend the night at my apartment? I mean, chatting and that stuff..."

"Won't I bother you?" Asked Enjolras a bit concerned. "You said you had work to do and, well, you look pretty tired."

"If I go back home alone I'll probably get drunk and stay awake until the alcohol beats me down which may happen around four in the morning...so I would be rather pleased to have company.” he smirked. “And more if it's company of a man who wanted to get out of a brothel because he thought it was inmoral." They had already headed to the artist's flat. "And, don't take me wrong but I'm dying in desires to paint you a portrait, you are really beautiful."  

Enjolras blushed slightly but remained composed. “It’s okay for me...”

Grantaire’s flat wasn't the most luxurious or tidy place he had ever been into but, Enjolras thought, was much better than to stay at the Moulin Rouge. The flat was composed by two big rooms. The first one, in which you entered from the front door, was a kind of small and pretty precarious kitchen. There were a small table with two chairs, a wooden old cupboard in a corner and a firewood kitchen, everything surprisingly clean if you let the five empty wine bottles on the table go unnoticed. Grantaire guided Enjolras to the next chamber and inmediately mumbled something like "Sorry for the mess, I wasn't specting any visit tonight..."

That room was a bedroom, livingroom and studio all together. The funiture was composed by a single person bed in a corner in front of one of the big windows which pierced two of the walls, a desk which filled the space next to the bed and in another corner there was a old wardrobe.  The rest of the stuff were basicaly art supplies. Big white canvases and stands were splayed across the place, paintbrushes of every sizes and textures and a lot paint could be found everywhere in that chamber. Some finished portraits and paintings rested in a corner against the wall and some others, unfinished, filled the stands.

Enjolras entered in the room, followed by his host, and after looking at the composition the previous elements formed, he drived his attention to the finished and ongoing paintings. Portraits of some men who, by the way they looked, would pass as what his father would call a 'respetable gentleman' and he would define as an 'elitist bastard', some still alives and one or two religion themed paintings.

"These are really good." said the guest as Grantaire setled the necesary material to paint the blond boy.

"Thank you, but those are mostly commisions, I actuallyi hate them. They are unoriginal, and ordinary, but is what rich people like to put in their walls covered with silk... and a man needs to eat."  he sighed with a resignated smile, staring at Enjolras who had turned to him. He set a wooden stool which Enjolras had not even seen and approached the blond to take his jacket and hat and put them aside. But first he pointed at the jacket, smirking.

"Your weapon is still here, are you sure you trust me enough to stay unarmed?" Enjolras giggled in a way that made the other man grin sweetly.

"Keep that thing away from me, please. I would hate to fire that crap if is not for a really good reason."

"Okay, then I won’t give you any good reasons." said the artist with a smirk and pointed the stool. “Could you, please, sit here however you like and talk as much as you want?”

“Of course.” Enjolras hummed, doing as he was told, a bit confused but smiling pleasantly and watching the artist disappear behind a canvas of 1m x  50 cm "And what would you like to paint then?" The answer was simple, "Whatever the hell I want and however the hell I want. For example, now I want to paint you like the fine marble you seem to be combined with the impression I get of you as you talk."

" ...great" said Enjolras. The man of dark curls had awaken his curiosity.

"So, l'm curious, why would you think going to the Moulin Rouge is immoral, if I may ask?"

"Well, first of all..." he described a long list of reasons which could perfectly answered Grantaire's question: the public shaming and the terrible treatment fo the costumers to the women who worked there, the miserable pay they had, how ephemeral was their work and so on. He went on his ranting for a half an hour or so, the artist painting his features serious and quite focused. Was surprised that the boy was aware of the injustices of the world surrounding him and was not afraid to put them down in words. However, a sudden doubt crossed his mind.

"Okay, I understand, our society is hypocritical and unfair but..." he lifted his eyes from the canvas and set them on the boy's bright blue eyes. "why the hell should you care at all? "

Enjolras' expression turned serious, but not of anger or anoyance, but with the severity of a man who speaks of his beliefs. His blue eyes seemed to be filled with passion, and so did his voice. "Because I am unable to turn my back to the misery in which a big part of the french citizens is living,  I can't spend a hundred francs in a coat while there are families starving in the streets of Paris, and will never think myself or anyone better or supperior because of how rich or powerful they are."  His words were frivolous and he knew it, but were as honest as a drunk man's. Later he smiled, looking into the artist's eyes. "I believe that all men and women on earth are created equal and shall live in freedom, and I will fight for it."

Grantaires eyes were wide open, staring at the man in front of him. Enjolras wasn't a god or an angel like he had thought at first, he was something he felt more distant and foreign, an idealist with the will to change the world, to make it better.

"Yours is a lost cause, my friend." The artist finally said, hiding himself back again behind the canvas, sighing. "You know it, don't you?"

"Probably, but I don't care, I will defend it with my life." he replied. 'You'll die young, then.' Grantaire thought to himself, feeling a sharp sting in his heart.

The conversation went on quite normal, Enjolras told Grantaire why he didn't want to go home and why he had argued with his dad. The artist told him about the pedant rich old men, their arrogant wives and even more arrogant descendency who commisioned him and how much he hated them. He also talked about his younger sister and how smart she was. They enjoyed their time together and around six in the morning, when the sun had just started rising, painting the sky of beautiful yellow, orange and pink-ish colours and filling the room in which both young men were with a warm light, the portrait was finished.

"Done, come and see."

Enjolras stood up and walked next to the artist.

He looked at the painting and his eyes sparkled like stars, but remained silent.  "Well, do you like it?"

In the painting, his clothes were quite different. He wasn't wearing a white shirt and an expensive vest, made with the finest fabrics, but some more modest, a plane white shirt with puffed sleeves and a red vest. There was a detail Enjolras loved and which made him smile warmly: in his chest there was pinned a cockade with the colours of the French flag.  This was a common accessory for French revolutionaries and rebels, who Enjolras admired and respected. In the portrait he looked quite calm, with a smile, but his eyes sparkled with passion and decission. His blond curls and pale skin seemed to have their own light because around him, over the dark background, a light like the ones around gods and angels had in classicist paintings surrounded him.

"I love it, it's...perfect." Enjolras said out of pure joy. Grantaire observed him tenderly and  felt his heart pounding in his chest when Enjolras set a hand on his shoulder  "You are a really good artist, Grantaire." 

"Thanks, and you a really good model." Answered his compliment. Both of them were slightly blushing, staring at each other. When he noticed this,  Enjolras' cheeks turned completely pink and turned his sight to the canvas again.

 "And how much will it be?" asked suddenly the blond.

"How much will it be, what?" Grantaire looked confused.

"The portrait..."

"Oh, you don't have to pay me."

Enjolras jumped in the place "No way, I can't have you up this late, painting me  and later giving you nothing in return!"

"Of course you can, I'm doing this mostly for fun, and you have stayed there, awake, as I painted. I am not rich but I can afford to paint with no ecconomical profit in return."

"I don't care, I want to pay you." answered Enjolras stubbonrly.

"I won't take any money or anything material." said the artist with a smirk . "I swear the is no need to pay me, Enjolras."

"But-"

"Look, just come back, that will be enough. Come back, pose for me again... I don't know if you can tell but I'm a pretty lonely man and some company won't make me any bad. Only if you want, I mean." he looked quite nervous and embarassed by his own request. "You can't take your portrait with you yet, the oil paint takes a week or so to get dry, you should come to pick it next Sunday."

"I can come earlier if you'd like..." said Enjolras tentatively as he took his jacket and was scolted by Grantaire to the front door.

"Whenever you want, I'm always here."

"Is tomorrow okay? I have some work to do today but I'll be free tomorrow."

Grantaire smiled widely, noticing that the boy had liked him a bit.

"Yes, tomorrow will do."

Enjolras reached out to give the artist the traditional French kiss-on-each-cheek, which took Grantaire quite out of guard. "See you tomorrow, then." and he left. 

Grantaire sighed, walked back to his bedroom and turned stood in front of the finished portrait, wondering if such a beautiful creature was real or that boy was just fruit of his imagination and the last hours had been a dream or a illusion. Maybe he had met an angel or a god, a son of Apollo, or Apollo himself, perhaps.

He put his hands into his pockets, before empty, and hummed when he felt four small heavy objects inside his left pocket. Grantaire took them and couldn't help feeling surprised as he looked at the four 20 franc gold coins on his hand. He rapidly deduced that Enjolras had put them there while giving him the two kisses. He smirked.

"That little motherf-"

[the-fickle-muse]

The future has fangs

Colleseum AU timeline. Set post SUF 3k words.

Chapter 3 : Back to bed

So many new questions, but where to start? The gem, Tiger, lay peacefully before Steven and Connie. It's head firmly fixed on observing as Lion rolled his belly up to the bright sky. A warmth had settled overhead as midday marched comfortably onward, a softly blowing breeze filtering through the two large beasts’ manes.

The grass swayed in an inconsistent rhythm. Overhanging branches and rustling leaves greedily catching the sunlight above the resting trio, Shielding Connie’s eyes as she raised her hand up. Then lowered it back down. Over and over, watching Tiger's attention snap from lion to herself. Its tracking was impeccable. Even when she sharply changed the direction of her wandering wrist the gem not once was caught lingering in the wrong place.

Stevens' mouth creased into a thoughtful pout, holding out his hands at arms length before clapping daintily. The same way he remembers the homeworld gems ordering around their pearls. 

"Up!" he barked, jokingly, laughing as Connie all but facepalms at the silly notion. His mocking air of superiority breaking into a shocked stare as his command is actually obeyed, Tiger sitting up with some effort. 

"I didn't actually expect that to work." He admitted, sheepishly, suddenly feeling awkward as Tiger waited on the next order. 

He clapped again, "down?" And sure enough, it lied back down, nestled into the grass with a hearty sigh. 

Connie, whose knees were starting to leave imprints in the dirt, clapped twice with firm hands. "Up." But Tiger only watched, the corners of its mouth turned up in the same patient smile as before. Her cheeks burned, not having enough time to feel caught out as Steven almost doubled over from trying to hold in his giggles.

Just behind Connie's back stood Lion, staring at her like an obedient puppy. His eyes lit up excitedly as she turned to see what Steven was wheezing about, laughing and pushing his nose out of her face playfully. 

"Not you!"

The cool breeze carried a clean, slightly grassy scent under the bustling trees, ruffling idly at everyone's hair while Lion returned to his pleasant sprawl under the sun. Steven unintentionally mimicked his companion by flopping onto the grass in a starfish pose. A groan breaking the very brief pause as he buried his face in his palms. 

"What are we going to do with you, Tiger? Do we leave you here? Do we try to take you home? I wish we could just ask the gems from here.” “Steven… Don’t you have your phone?” Oh my stars.

His eyes jumped back open beneath his hands, looking up through the gaps at Connie who was leaning over him with an indiscreet look of amusement. 

“Connie. I have a phone!” He blurted out, sitting upright so fast he almost headbutted his poor girlfriend in the nose. 

"I can’t believe I missed that, it’s so obvious, I'll just call Amethyst! She's the most likely to pick up-"

My my. The little man really does talk, doesn’t he, so expressive too. And his friend… what a personality. Very fiesty, there’s a fire in there Tiger could appreciate. Though she had zoned out of their little squabble a while ago, too preoccupied with watching their movements to pay attention to their words. That gem in the boy’s stomach. It felt familiar, to an uncomfortable degree, yet she remembered nothing of the chunky lad it was embedded in.

As Steven stands, the cellular device ringing obnoxiously, Connie again began to glare in Tiger's direction. The beast smiled, already sensing the tension in the human's shoulders under the heavy jacket she wore. She huffed a polite chuff of air through Connie's bangs before stiffly getting up and stretching out each limb in turn, watching closely as the human followed suit, curious as to what the strange little people had planned.

Steven's bright smile and waving arms dragged her gaze back to him, cupping the air in front of him while slowly walking backwards.

 "Come on, this way, follow us." Follow him. Or them, rather. Hmm. It was technically an order, one she was very tempted to obey, but worry had clouded her judgement. She didn't move at first, glancing from Steven to Connie and finally the opposing treeline as Lion padded over from his resting spot. 

Would it be worth it? Putting them in danger to obey a simple command? The thought swam in her head, behind thick locks of fur, until it felt hazy and distorted. She felt the compulsion to move in her gem but her body wanted to flee instead. Such conflicting signals came out as high pitched, drawn out whines as she continued to stare at the forest and lightly shiver. 

Connie spoke but the words were mostly lost to her foggy mind. Only zoning back in on the here and now as one of her hands came up to Tigers muzzle and gently waved in front of it. Such a simple gesture was so grounding. Like having a small rope lasso her consciousness back to the present while in reality all she had done was wiggle her wrist at the creature's face. Her whimpering died down to soft occasional grumbles. She sighed deeply and eventually took a few steps forward and the group disappeared into the bushes.

The tree they had been sitting under shuddered violently moments after they leave. Leaves drifted silently back and fourth all the way to the ground, settling at the patches of swaying grass that had been squashed flat. It continued to groan and creak under pressure until finally the weight lifts away, leaving behind deep scratches in the twisted bark.

Lion took the lead, pushing bushes and branches alike aside while Steven followed close behind, Connie and Tiger taking up the back of the little train. Their shoes and paws, leaving a long winding track in the dirt. Overlapping one another like layers of paint on a canvas. The muddled talk over the phone is hushed behind Tiger’s thoughts still buzzing and churning around in her head. Every few minutes turning to look at where they had just come from, and every time feeling a sense of relief as the trees stood silent and undisturbed.

The woods soon passed. From today’s rocky expanse, to yesterday’s battleground, and finally the monolith. Still exactly as they had left it, reaching tall towards the summer sky.

Steven sighed as he hung up the phone and stuffed it back into his bright pink jacket. 

“Amethyst is busy, but Garnet said to wait at the bed and breakfast, she’s going to get Pearl and they’ll be bringing Dad’s van once Bis is finished fixing it. So like tomorrow? Until then I guess we should… Bring them to the B and B?” He gestured vaguely at Tiger as she approached the monolith and sat at its base, staring up at the top in silence. He casually approached the monstrous gem with his hands stuffed firmly into his pockets.

The beast droned quietly and gently placed one of its massive paws onto the stone, dragging it softly downwards, passing over the deep grooves in the pillar with a remorseful air. They angled their claws to line up with the scratches… they scrape, scrape, scraped away. Like a nervous itch, dragging tiny grainy pebbles out of the pillar, repeating the action while Connie stored her sword away in Lion's mane.

It felt like watching someone nervously tap their fingers on a desk. Or scribble nonsense into the borders of a scrapbook. The mindless nature of it reminding him of yesterday. Pacing back and forth, whining, being quick to flee. Thoughts of his own frustrations fluttering to mind. Uninvited and bitter. Pacing around his room, obsessively watering his plants, ignoring the building signs of stress. This monolith hadn't been struck by a vicious blow but by hours of slow scratching. Thoughtless action to vent out unwanted feelings.

His heart ached. He found something so wordlessly expressive almost hard to watch, having to redirect his eyes up to Tiger's creased muzzle where its smile had one been. Without thinking his hand drifted up from its safe snuggly spot in his pocket, softly touching the beast's shoulder. Smoothing over the prickling fur in slow soothing strokes. It was coarse but, as expected, pleasantly warm. Like a bowl of soup on a rainy day. Despite not having a real body, Steven could feel the gem's forearm ripple beneath his touch like a tensing muscle. The scratching came to a delayed halt as it turned to face him.

A slowly building hum from his gem took over the dense song of the trees. He found himself unable to take his hand away from Tiger’s fur. Time dragged along in a barely noticeable crawl. His breathing hitched at the dissociative sight of his hand clad in a long richly pink glove. Panicked, he pulled away from the beastly gem with a shaken expression.

Clearly Tiger noticed the oddity of the situation, as she rose from her haunches and took a single forceful step in his direction, stopped only by Connie who put a hand cautiously on the startled Steven's back. 

"Steven, is everything ok?"

He shook away the off expression and glared back at the beast's face with a knowing frown.

"Y-yeah- yeah, I- Everything's good." A low rumble rolled from Tiger's mouth. Not threatening, but curious, as it tried to reach a claw to his stomach. Her paw was swatted away by Connie's firm knuckles.

"That's enough, whatever you did I don't appreciate it." She barked, taking Tiger by surprise, the gem’s tail swiftly tucking under its legs. 

"We're going back to the B and B, as a group, and you're not going to cause trouble. Understood?" She got thorough nods from the beast, a lot more receptive to the little lady's firm attitude. 

His hand retreated back into the confines of his jacket, easing Connie with a wide smile. It was disingenuous, but it was what she wanted to see. Steven just hoped it would be enough to offset her distrust of the looming beast. 

The remainder of the walk back to civilisation was tense and unforgiving. Connie, still unsure of how to feel towards the gem, had Lion walk in between Tiger and Steven despite the monster's very clear interest in him. The drawl of cars on hot asphalt became louder as the woods began to thin and pull away.

"Do you think it'll follow?" Connie asked, cautiously, stepping out of the bushes to the side of the road. Tiger was still obscured behind a few branches, trotting to catch up.

"I hope so." Steven sighed back, not entirely sure of his own plan either. This wasn’t beach city. Even if it wasn’t too far away, giant gem monsters weren't something people just saw on a regular basis. "We should try to keep Tiger out of the open. If we can get them around the back of the B an' B I think this could work out. The manager was alright with Lion, so Tiger shouldn't be too different." He nodded, already planning out their crossing in his head as a gap in traffic approaches.

Connie hauled herself up onto Lions back, lightly nestling her hands in his mane like makeshift reins. "Hop on!" She patted the pink cat's back before holding her arm out to Steven. Pulling with a great deal of effort as he took it and was hoisted up behind her.

Tiger was still shadowed by the rustling blanket of leaves overhead, the gem swaying back and forth to get a better look at where she was. Some kind of human place, obviously, and as much as she wanted to avoid it the boy was clearly asking her to accompany him. After little thought she hustled up behind Lion, blowing air playfully across Steven and Connie's hair before all four of them made the short jaunt across the highway.

The road stilled. Quiet and unused, while several sets of paws padded across the heated surface. Tiger's muzzle lowered briefly to get a better look but jolted back upright the moment she fell a step behind. The building, now much closer, was nestled at the end of a long road. Further up was town, and further down was an open highway back to beach city. Claws made little pitter letters on pale concrete as they reached the other side. Lion thwapped tiger over the face with his tail, several times, until she gave up being behind the trio and pulled up at their side.

The space behind the building was scattered with the occasional car and a single flame-decal jeep. Trash bins lined the back wall, leading up to a big emergency exit style double door. The handle was a single long bar on either side. Lion's paws were near-silent on the pebbly tarmac, but Tiger's clawed back feet laced the air with clattering sounds every time they hit the floor.

"So… our options." Steven started, twisting to look around as he held onto Connie's shoulders for support. "By the car could work, but she might wander off, or get in someone's way-"

Connie swung her legs over Lion's broad shoulders, hopping down with a smack of her shoes against the floor. Not long after joined by Steven, who was still pondering their next step. Lion grumbled quietly, lifting his chin to lessen the pressure of his thick mane on his sore throat, catching sight of Tiger with her head buried deep in a dark green container. His ears turned towards her in curiosity.

She growled quietly with intrigue, smacking the back of her head against the lid as Connie clapped her hands loudly. 

"Hey!" Tiger's head flew out of the dumpster, and with it so did a full garbage bag, which she dragged out and dropped at Connie’s feet. A large, comically goofy smile broadened across the beast's face, clearly very pleased with herself.

Despite everything Connie had to hold back a tiny snort. She watched as the beast's tail thumped against the floor like an excited dog. 

"Tiger. Put it back." She got a low whine as a reply, having to roll her eyes and put it away herself before the heavy thumping sound returned.

"So in our room it is." Steven announced, dusting off his palms as Connie's shoulders bunched up.

"Whoah, wait, with us? We already have me and Lion in your room, don't you think it would be a bit crowded?" 

Steven squints, both hands clasped together with the pointer fingers at his lips. He took a long pause while watching Lion incessantly bat at Tigers tail.

"Steven, quit stepping on my heels."

"It wasn't me, it was Lion!"

"Growwrrrr?"

"Shh, both of you, quiet." Connie hisses, her outstretched arm stopping Lion in his tracks while Steven delicately shuts the back doors behind the bundled up mess of a group. Everyone jumped in place as it clapped shut a little louder than intended.

Hallway? Clear. Reception desk? Clear. Front room… behind a corner up ahead. She could feel Lion and Tiger leaning out to peer around the corner with her and quickly batted them both away. "Why don't you just ask the manager if she can stay?"

"Because! What if she says no, or gets weirded out, she doesn't even know Lion slept in our room she thinks you two came from outside." He hastily whispered back, leading the convoy as everyone tiptoed up to the next corner. Tiger's broad and fluffy shoulders skewed paintings as she pushed past them, leaving a line of tilted landscape shots in their wake.

The floorboards creaked and groaned beneath their weight as they approached the stairs. The lounge was thankfully empty. Lion bounded up the stairs with relative ease thanks to his small paws and light weight. Tiger however stopped at the first step, looking down at her paw awkwardly, trying to find enough room to step.

"Steven, it can't walk on the stairs, the steps are too small" Connie whispered in hushed urgency, keeping watch behind them with Tiger's tail under her arm.

"Right, right, uh, let me think…" small steps. Big paws. If she tried to walk up now she could leave claw marks everywhere, or worse become unstable and fall down again. They needed something big and stable… "My shield!" He barked, almost a little too loud, before summoning the iconic floral-patterned disc. He hovered it, flat, just above the first step. His arms wobbled under sudden pressure as Tiger stepped up onto the shield, their back legs shifting weight from one to the other with clear excitement.

The walk up was gruelling , but not long, as Connie and Steven both flanked the sides of the shield to push it. Tiger's hooked claws on her two toes made tapping sounds on the wood below the entire way up. 

By the time they reached the top Lion had already gone into Steven's room and Connie could feel a sweat building up across her forehead. 

"You said Garnet and Amethyst should be here by tomorrow, right?" She panted tiredly, the pink thorn-decorated disc vanishing with a few sparkles of light while Steven ran his sleeve across his face. 

It was a cozy room. Nothing flashy or deluxe, just  a bed and a bedside table, with a big window who's blinds were pulled shut. Lion had his head stuck between them, nose pressed against the glass to stare outside, while Tiger peered inside with insatiable curiosity. 

Her muzzle creased and bobbed, mimicking the heavy sniffing of a dog, as she took a cautious step inside. Connie pulled the door shut behind them with a little 'click'. Once everyone was inside, both herself and Steven collapsed on the bed with relieved groans.

"Steven, this isn't how I planned to be spending my weekend." To his delight, she was laughing. Quietly, behind a very drained smile, with her face sunk into the duvet. He grinned a big goofy grin, facing the ceiling with his arms spread in a starfish pose once more. “Yeah. Me neither.”

[cap-cavern]

Title: Under the Summer Night Sky

Fandom: Phineas and Ferb

Summary: Five friends sitting around a campfire. All were recollecting the times they spent as kids, for they hardly do it nowadays.

AO3, FFN

Commission done for @thephantomwithin7! Thank you so much for the commission! My commissions are still open so, yeah! DM me if you’re interested!

The sky was dark. It was like a painted canvas that was splattered with dark, blue paint with glitters thrown at every inch. Every glitter twinkled with such bright light, as if there was life in it. The breeze was slightly crisp for the summer season, but the people around the campfire didn't seem to mind it.

The campfire wasn't as massive as one expected from a huge campsite, but it was warm enough for a toasted marshmallow party. Five friends composed of four boys and one girl were all sitting on two separate logs placed on either side—the two dark-haired boys on the left, while the three were on the right. The fire in the wood was burning slowly. Its crisp noise was relaxing as it got mixed along with the sounds the forest was providing.

The redhead took a deep breath, throwing his head back. He looked at the sky, before moving his marshmallow slowly into the fire. He watched it slowly roast in the flames. He smiled, his eyes darting around his brother, his girlfriend and his friends.

It had been a while since they were all together like this. Ever since they started college, they hardly have time to catch up with each other. All of them, besides him and Isabella, went to different universities across the country, and being apart from them felt like there was a huge hole in his heart. He felt empty throughout the year, for he hardly see them and if he had time, it was just a quick chat; something he wasn't used to since they used to spend a lot of time together in their childhood.

He sighed, pulling his marshmallow off the campfire. He blew the fire from the sweet dessert and put it back in the blazing inferno. He chuckled at the thought.

'Blazing Inferno' sounded cool. It could be a possible name of an invention! He made a mental note to discuss that with Ferb later or tomorrow. After all, even if they go to different universities, they are still brothers.

"So," his girlfriend said, snapping him out of his trance. She blew the fire off from the marshmallow. "I realized something—" she kept on cooling her toasted marshmallow.

Phineas chuckled, his lips curving into a smile. He couldn't help to notice how cute she looked whenever she puffed air out of her mouth. "What is it?"

Ferb rose an eyebrow and chewed his own toasted treat while Baljeet furrowed his own. Buford, on the other hand, opened his mouth, forming an 'o'. All eyes were focused on her.

The girl sighed then smiled, before replying, "We've never been together like this for a while."

"Oh," Buford replied, ruining the mood with his nonchalant tone.

"Buford," Baljeet scoffed. The bully's eyebrows creased.

"What?"

"You sound rude," the Indian boy berated, while his frenemy shrugged, punching his arm like it was nothing. Baljeet let out a pained 'ow' but proceeded to grab another marshmallow from the pack with his uninjured hand.

"Well, what do you want me to reply?"

This caused Baljeet to roll his eyes. "Oh, I do not know. Maybe say something nice! I—"

"Guys," Isabella called the two, stopping their little argument. The two stopped to look at her, only to see her giggle. She sighed dreamily. "You two never change."

Baljeet's shoulders drooped along with his lips. He rubbed his cheek. "Well, you are right about that."

"The only difference is we're older and taking care of young Fireside girls," Ferb added while chewing his marshmallow.

Phineas laughed. "We became babysitters, basically."

"But with a price!" Buford laughed along while Isabella rolled her eyes.

The only reason why the five friends were together was all because they volunteered to help Isabella watch over the new Fireside recruits. Now, Fireside girls are independent ladies, but the only reason why they were here was the fact that these girls were around five to seven years old. They are young and needed guidance from their seniors, which happened to be her.

Isabella grabbed her now cold roasted marshmallow and popped it in her mouth. The toasted yet sweet flavour of the dessert lingered in it, and it was enough to lift her mood.

"Excuse me," a meek girl said, getting their attention. The boys stopped laughing while Isabella blinked. They all looked at the child with a curious expression.

"Oh," she bit her lip. "Umm, Sarah, right?"

The blonde nodded, twirling her fingers.

Isabella paused. She suddenly forgot that some of these girls were first-timers, and being in a troop was new to them. She sighed. "Do you need anything?"

"I…"

"Go on," Isabella encouraged.

"I-I need to go potty," she responded shyly.

There was a short pause until Buford stood up and offered his hand at the little girl. The little girl blinked. "Come on, short stuff. Me and my friend will accompany you."

Baljeet blinked, registering what his best friend and enemy stated. Did he want him to go with them? Could he just do it on his own?

"Come on, nerd," Buford hollered and Baljeet was left with no choice. Hopping off from his seat, he followed Buford and the little girl to the restrooms.

Moments passed since the three left, Ferb stood up from his seat. He breathed. "I'll try and make a call."

"You're calling Vanessa at a time like this?" Phineas asked his brother, while Ferb just nodded. The triangle-headed boy, being the oblivious lad he is, just shrugged. And now he was left alone with his girlfriend.

It took him a minute—or maybe more—when he realized that he was only accompanied by Isabella. He blinked and swallowed the lump in his throat. His eyes widened.

Did those three plan this? How come he was still wasn't aware in the first place?! He really needed to start paying more attention to things for once!

He sighed, rubbing his head. Well, there was no point in complaining now that it's happening. He could hear a giggle, and it was more than enough to wash away his distress. Jerking to his left, he looked at his girlfriend who had a huge smile on her face while roasting another marshmallow. He could only guess that she liked that there was no one around but them.

"What's so funny?"

Isabella stopped giggling. She elbowed his chest. "You oblivious goofball! Those three left us on purpose!"

Phineas just laughed. "I guess you noticed it first, huh?"

"No duh. You really need to pay attention to some details."

Phineas continued laughing. "I'm trying. I'm trying."

The two looked at each other before bursting into a fit of laughter. Their chuckling died and Phineas suddenly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

"I guess I can do this, then," he quipped, pressing his soft lips on her right temple. Isabella giggled once again.

"Hey, stop, that tickles!"

Phineas smirked. "Oh, really?"

He kissed her temple once again, causing Isabella to laugh. She placed her hands on his chest, pushing him away from her, but Phineas was too stubborn. Instead, he leaned his forehead on hers. He was in awe at how beautiful her eyes were. His heart raced wildly in his chest at that, as his breath hitch.

She is truly gorgeous.

He suddenly realized that they too, hardly spend time together. And now was his chance.

Taking a deep breath, his eyes went to her stick and grabbed it. He doused the flames off with his breath and ate the roasted marshmallow like a madman.

"Hey!" Isabella squealed. "No fair! That's mine!"

Phineas chortled. "Come and geth it, then!"

Isabella pouted. How could she get it if it's in his mouth?! To her surprise, Phineas smacked his lips on hers. She could taste his saliva and the toasted treat exploding through their kiss. She could get used to this.

A cough interrupted them, making the couple break from their kiss.

"Oh, hey, Ferb!" Phineas said, smiling at his brother despite the blush on his cheeks. His eyes went round as he saw Baljeet and Buford behind him. "Uh...hey, guys!"

Buford chuckled, folding his arms across his chest while Baljeet and Ferb were smirking. "Look, what you did was cute, but get your own room, for Pete's sake."

"Dude! We are surrounded by children!" Baljeet intervened and the three just laughed. They watched the best friends slash enemies bicker like there was no tomorrow.

Phineas eyed his friends; from his brother to his girlfriend to Buford and Baljeet, he realized that he was very thankful for this night. They were together, just like the old times. Nothing could ever beat the happiness he could feel every summer.

[eveningstarcatcher]

Day 27: Champagne

“Oh, just one more shop, dear.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley out of the cold into what felt like the hundredth shop that day.

“What are you even looking for, angel?” Crowley grimaced as he looked at the goods of this shop. Frilly pillows, candles in every shape and color, canvas prints of cheesy phrases meant to brighten up homes, but instead pulled Crowley’s lips down even more.

“Nothing in particular, just browsing,” Aziraphale cheerily inspected the items on the shelves and displays. 

“Is something going on? You’ve dragged me into every single shop on the way back from the park.” Crowley leaned against a built in shelving unit and crossed his arms. 

“Of course not!” Azirpahale looked just a little bit jumpy. “I just wanted to prolong our outing. I’m having a lovely time.” He smiled, making Crowley’s annoyance soften.

“We could have a lovely time back at the bookshop, you know.” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“Of course, dear. If you really want to go…” Azirpahale started toward the door.

“No, finish looking here, but no more.” Crowley gently took Aziraphale’s arm and pulled him back.

“You’re sure?” 

“M’Sure,” Crowley pressed a quick kiss to Aziraphale’s cheek, causing him to blush, which was quite a lovely look on the angel, then released him to finish browsing.

Thirty-five minutes later the two finally emerged from the shop. Aziraphale had bought nothing, but had made Crowley promise to return to that shop with him another day to pick out some items for the cottage, something they had chosen together.

They made their way slowly back to the bookshop, arm in arm, Aziraphale chattering happily away about the cottage and how thoughtful Crowley was to buy it for them and how excited he was to see it. Crowley just smiled and nodded as they walked.

As they neared the shop, Aziraphale quieted down.

“Okay, angel?” Crowley asked.

“Oh yes, just thinking.” Aziraphale assured him.

“About…”

“Nothing really. Just planning which books to bring to the cottage first. So many to sort through, you know.” Azirahale wasn’t lying exactly, which was good because he wasn’t very good at lying, but this was enough of a lie to set Crowley on edge. 

“You’re sure nothing’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, love.” This definitely wasn’t a lie. Crowley relaxed a bit.

“Ah, here we are!” Aziraphale stepped to the front door of the shop, and unlocked the door. He held his hand out to Crowley before stepping inside, partner in tow.

Inside, the lights were thrown on and Crowley nearly screamed as a room full of people yelled ‘SURPRISE!”

“What the heaven is this?” Crowley yelped.

“A surprise party, darling!” Aziraphale beamed. “I may have phoned Madame Tracy and mentioned our engagement and she insisted on hosting an engagement party for us! Isn’t that lovely?”

“Sorry for the fright, but it is a surprise party. Congratulations!” Madame Tracy stepped forward. She looked quite different than when they had seen her last. Her hair was blonde, straight, and tied back in a ribbon and she wore a simple navy dress with a gold brooch at the waist, black fringed shawl around her shoulders. She held two champagne flutes in hand, which she handed to the happy couple and then gave them each a quick hug.

“All these books and you still had to take mine?” A dark haired woman stepped forward, dressed in heavy navy and forest green skirts, thick rimmed glasses framing her face.

“Anathema! How lovely to see you! I’m so glad you could make it on such short notice!” Aziraphale hugged her.

“I told you we’d meet again under better circumstances and this seemed like one of the best circumstances one could have. Couldn’t pass it up.” Anathema grinned at him, then turned to Crowley.

“Congrats.” She hugged him and stepped aside, long skirts swishing and swirling. 

“So happy for you!” Newt was shaking Aziraphale’s hand with gusto. He looked much the same as before, bespectacled, slightly disheveled, but infinitely happier. 

“Ah, thank you so much. So glad you could come.” Aziraphale said with sincerity.

“I’m glad we could be here to celebrate,” he turned to Crowley and shook his hand. Aziraphale hid a giggle as Crowley shot him a small grimace. Newt had quite the grip.

“I’ve set out all the snacks just there, and drinks just beside them. Please enjoy!” Madame Tracy ushered Newt and Anathema out of the way, so the others could congratulate the couple.

Shadwell was still highly suspicious, but was polite, at least polite enough for Shadwell. Adam Young was there with his parents, who were kind, but seemed confused as to why they were there. Even dog barked his congratulations before trotting off after his boy. The rest of them Them were in tow, having tagged along with the Youngs. Pepper seemed especially excited in her congratulations. Aziraphale even thought he heard her whisper something about how happy she was that the nice queer couple was getting married, such a great example for the queer youth of today.

“Do you mind terribly, love?” Aziraphale asked Crowley quietly once everyone had congratulated them and moved to the snack table.

“Surprised, but I don’t mind. It’s actually kind of nice to have people to share the news with. Even this lot,” he inclined his head toward the seemingly random group assembled. Newt and Mr. Young were talking animatedly about something, while Anathema and Madame Tracy were deep in conversation beside them. Mrs. Young was pouring more champagne for the group while Shadwell was eyeing Dog warily. The Them explored the bookshop, looking for new ideas for games and being particularly respectful of Aziraphale’s collection.

“It is nice to have people to share it with, isn’t it?” Aziraphale looked dreamily across the shop.

“Why don’t we?” Crowley’s face lit up.

“Why don’t we what?”

“Share it? Let’s have a proper wedding so they can be there!” Crowley turned to face Aziraphale and grabbed both his hands.

“A proper wedding?” Aziraphale echoed, unbelieving. 

“Why not? Let’s do it up all nice. No churches, of course, we could do it here! In the shop! Or in the park! Anywhere you like.” Crowley’s golden eyes were wide behind his glasses.

“That sounds lovely!” Aziraphale beamed.

“Champagne! We need more champagne!” Crowley dropped Aziraphale’s hands and sauntered toward the crowd. “Everyone, refill your champagne!” he announced.

The crowd looked puzzled, but gladly received more bubbly. 

“Angel, come here!” He held out an arm, which he wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist when he was by his side. “We’ve got an announcement. We’re getting married and we want you all to be there!”

A chorus of “oooh” and “when” rang from the assembly.

“Today!” Crowley cheered.

“Ah, not today. We do need a little bit of time to plan the ceremony.” Aziraphale laid a hand on Crowley’s chest, so as to not deflate him.

“Right,” Crowley agreed.

“I’d love to help with that!” Madame Tracy spoke up.

“Me, too!” Anathema smiled. “I could even perform the ceremony if you’d like.”

“Oh, we would love that!” Aziraphale looked on the verge of tears.

“We can spend tomorrow planning and prepping and have the wedding the following afternoon!” Madame Tracy announced. “Will you be able to make the trip back?” She turned to Mrs. Young, who nodded.

“Adam, would you be the ring bearer?” Crowley asked and he could hear Aziraphale choke back a sob.

“I’d be honored,” the boy replied solemnly. 

“Good lad.” Crowley nodded to him.

“I’ll help with music,” Newt volunteered. “No computers, though.”

“Could you handle a record player?” Crowley asked.

“Absolutely!” Newt nodded excitedly.

“Oh Crowley, this is wonderful!” Aziraphale was wiping tears from his cheeks. “I love you so very much, dearest.”

“I love you too, angel.” He kissed Aziraphale softly, ignoring the soft “awww” from the group.

“This calls for a toast!” Anathema lifted her glass, prompting the others to follow suit. “To the happy couple!”

“To the happy couple!” the group echoed, then clinked glasses together.

“To our side,” Crowley whispered to Aziraphale, who pulled him into another kiss.

[bisexualstokes-archive]

Innocence is Gone (1/?)

Chapter (1/?): Twilight Visions Rating: Teen+ (For: Language, Graphics Depictions of Violence) Pairings: Nick Stokes/Greg Sanders (also gen friendship with rest of the team) Summary: When Greg is abducted at a club by a group of vengeful youth who were part of the group that beat him up in Fannysmackin', it's a race against the clock to find Greg before the final blow is struck on him, and Nick admits some feelings he had tried to keep a secret, but some things can't stay underneath the surface. Nick/Greg, set in late season 7. Chapter Notes: oh boy...here we go, lads. My first whump fic in which Nick isn't the victim (but don't worry, he's not without his own suffering in this fic) (tw for a slur thrown at the end of ch. 1, by some ignorant youth.)

Read it on A03

Dusk was always Greg’s favorite time of day. While the bright, yellow sun against the clear blue sky brought a certain warmth and joy, there was a certain comfort, in the twilight hues that filled the sky as the stars began to appear on the multi-colored canvas. There was an awe-inspiring beauty, one that can only be found in this small time window, during a time of day in which he’s normally getting ready for work.

He’s grateful, for a night like tonight, in which he doesn’t have to go into work. A night all to himself, to do whatever he pleased, to fully experience this short window of time that he normally doesn’t get to look at.

“Something on your mind, G? You’re never this quiet.”

And what pleased him the most, was spending time with Nick Stokes.

“Nana Olaf called me this morning,” Greg said, staring at the vast desert landscape as they drove down the never-ending road. A crumpled paper was on his lap, the only direction they had on their excursion on this day.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?”

“Told me she had a terrible dream--well, not just a dream, a vision. Said it was about me.”

“Really? What’d she see?”

The corners of Greg’s mouth twisted up, he lowered his head. He knew Nick wouldn’t believe it--didn’t believe in that sort of stuff, or at least, he didn’t think so. But Nick seemed to have become a bit more open-minded since Greg’s met him, all those years ago. He knew it was stupid, to think telling Nick about something like this would be so...embarrassing, or maybe to think that Nick was just humoring him, instead of actually caring. He knew Nick cared about him, and the things he had to say, even when he was rambling about nothing in particular.

Greg let out a short, nervous chuckle.

“She didn’t say, actually...but she did tell me, not to go out tonight.”

Nick’s eyes widened, and then his eyebrows narrowed downwards, before a smile spread across his face.

“Maybe she foresaw us gettin’ lost on our way to this new club,” Nick snickered. “You sure you know where we’re going?”

Greg’s heart fell, just slightly. He had almost expected Nick to grow concerned, to take this bad omen for what it was, to suggest that they just go back to Nick’s house, or Greg’s apartment, and spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms.

Because he did know what Nana Olaf saw--or at least, a vague description of it. According to her, she couldn’t distinctly see Greg, but saw bloodied hands, a metal chair, blood drooling from his lips. He hoped it was just a nightmare, that perhaps she was seeing a crime scene that he would be investigating--it did happen before, after all. A week before Nick’s abduction, she had called him, to tell him that she saw Greg, surrounded by dirt, and glass, and white foam, frozen in fear.

“Yeah, ‘course I know where we’re going,” Greg muttered. He squinted down at the paper, wishing his friend had better handwriting. “You’re gonna be taking a left after we get past the city limits sign.”

“Where’d you hear about this place, again?”

“My friend, Trixie. She’s never steered me wrong before.”

“Trixie, huh? Isn’t that the same chick who told you to put bleach in your hair in your senior year of college?”

“Aw, shucks, you remembered!”

Nick shot him one of his looks that he gave Greg when he was semi-annoyed, but the smile still remained on his face.

“Besides, you saw those pictures, I was H-O-T hot with that blonde hair.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Nick murmured under his breath, fiddling with the zipper on his leather jacket. He moved the zipper up and down. An anxious tick. He knew Nick was still a little uneasy about going out, in public, with him.

“You should keep it halfway down. Looks hotter that way,” Greg suggested. He knew Nick wasn’t asking for fashion tips, he had to admit that his friend typically had a good sense of style--when it came to his clothing, at least.

Nick cleared his throat as he did what Greg suggested. Greg noticed that Nick wasn’t wearing a shirt under his jacket. He contemplated telling Nick to pull over, make some excuse to get them out of the car…

“Greg! Which way am I going?”

Greg snapped out of his mind, his voice squeaked as read the instructions to Nick. The sun had finally set, and they were left driving in near darkness. Although they were far from the neon playground in the middle of the desert, the stars in the cloudless sky shined bright enough to give them more light than the beams coming from Nick’s SUV.

“And then...the instructions end. Guess it means we should be seeing it soon.”

“I don’t know, man, it looks like there’s nothing but desert out here. We’re not even on the road anymore.”

“Wait--you see that? Up there?”

Among the vast landscape littered with bushes and boulders, Greg spotted a crowd of cars, all parked haphazardly together, surrounding a small, square building.

“That’s gotta be it.”

They parked off to the side, Greg ran his fingers through the curls of his hair, patted his shirt straight, popped up the collar on his jacket. The slight chill of the night air send a shiver down Greg’s spine as he took a deep breath. The thrill of the night was spreading through his veins. He bounced a little, with a big smile on his face, excited for whatever lay beyond the large steel door, guarded by a large man in a suit. Nick stood opposite him, staring at the door with a frown.

Greg ran a hand through Nick’s hair, in an effort to get his hair to stick up with a slightly messy style. He was grateful that Nick’s hair had grown back, his fingers lingered as he lifted the individual strands upward.  Nick didn’t quite realize it, but with that look, he had become one of the most attractive men Greg had ever seen, and was sure to be the envy of the club that night.

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked, fiddling with the zipper on his partner’s leather jacket. He immediately realized why Nick hesitated before he even finished the question. He knew this wasn’t just nerves over going out in public with another man, this was nerves over the fact that this building, on the outside, was way too small to hold all the occupants of the dozens of parked cars.

“Nothing, G. Let’s go,” Nick gulped. His throat was dry, he was biting his lower lip. He cleared his throat again and started towards the door.

“We don’t have to--”

“It’s fine--”

“Nick, I didn’t know--”

“It’s fine, Greg,” Nick growled, and stopped walking. He sighed and turned towards Greg, his expression was a half smile, but Greg didn’t buy it until his hands were sandwiched between Nick’s.

“As long as I’m with you...everything’s fine.”

He planted a small kiss on Greg’s cheek, Greg’s mouth spread into a smile. Nick gave him a satisfied smirk and guided them towards the door. The bouncer nodded at them as he opened the door for them, the soft buzz of music vibrated through their bodies.

The stairway was steep, narrow, only allowed for one occupant at a time. Greg’s hand was held out in front of him as Nick’s arm bent backwards to keep hold of Greg. He grimaced at the tightness of Nick’s grip on his hand, which hand caused Greg’s fingers to stretch out between Nick’s whitened knuckles.

The previously muffled music grew louder and clearer as they made their descent. Once they made it down the stairs and Nick let out a slow, deep exhale. Greg cupped his face in his hand, looked him in the eyes. He asked a nonverbal question, to which Nick nodded in an answer.

“C’mon, let’s get a drink,” Nick shouted over the loud music.

They waded through the crowd of people huddled in the large room, the bar was on the opposite side of the entrance. The room felt smaller than it was, due to the amount of people inhabiting it. Tables and chairs were strewn around the edges of the room, most of the chairs were empty, the tables littered with empty glasses and bottles. In a high-energy environment such as this, there wasn't time for sitting, only dancing. Flashes of white light came from flashing strobe lights in the ceiling, which were the bulls-eyes to black light spirals surrounding the bulbs. A thin layer of smoke hung in the air at waist length, it gave the room an almost dreamy look. Though it was difficult to distinguish facial features from one another in the dim light, a sea of smiles was rising, falling, twirling, colliding. It was the ultimate party.

Greg beamed as he felt a sense of comfort, among people who took this time to forget all their troubles, to expend that last bit of energy pent up inside of them from their long workdays. Night owls, living their life to the fullest.

They made it to the bar, Nick ordered a pair of drinks, he had nearly finished his by the time he handed Greg his own. A flutter of concern floated up Greg’s chest, but was quickly dispelled as he caught up to Nick. The flutter settled down, and Nick’s teeth became the brightest thing in the room.

“Wanna dance?” Nick shouted to him as he finished a second drink--When did he even order a second drink? Greg thought to himself.

“Thought you’d never ask!”

Nick led them towards the crowd, the loud bass from the tall, large speakers aligned with Greg’s heartbeat. They settled into a small gap, Greg bopped his head up and down until he felt his body begin to sway to the beat of the music. He watched Nick similarly warm himself up, settling into a groove that was both ridiculously goofy, and ridiculously hot. He moved his body closer to Nick’s, felt something lift up in his crotch area--he noticed a bulge in Nick’s, too. They grinded their clothed bodies against each other, Greg felt his fingers grab hold of the zipper on Nick’s jacket, thrusting it down to the floor with such speed and force that Nick clenched his jaw as he grabbed the back of Greg’s head, his fingers twisting the curls of Greg’s hair.

Nick leaned his head in, Greg could feel the warmth of Nick’s breath on his neck, his nostrils tingled from the smell of Nick’s alcohol tainted breath. He felt wet lips do their own dance all over his neck, his cheeks, his ears, his nose, until they finally found Greg’s lips. Both pairs of lips merged into one, the world fell beneath them, and Greg floated in the air...before crashing back down as Nick quickly pulled away.

The music had changed, intensified, into a louder and faster song. The strobe lights became more intense. Multiple flashes, in short succession, before it froze for half of a minute. Greg saw Nick’s eyes widen as he stared up at the blinding light, his tongue licked his quivering lips before they were plunged into darkness altogether.

The darkness lingered, for at least a minute, the music stopped. The crowd screamed, playing along with the pseudo horror before the music and lights resumed.

Greg pulled Nick close, wrapping his arms around the man--he was shaking.

“Are you o--” Greg whispered into Nick’s ear, but Nick pushed himself away.

“I’m gonna go get another drink!” He shouted at Greg, before becoming part of the crowd, who were completely unaware at the minor bout of drama between the two men.

Greg’s heart sank as Nick walked away, but a stunning brunette woman walked up to him, and Greg let himself fall into a trance, as he became acquainted with this new angel.

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

The lights went off, the masks went on. Their contacts were already in, their eyes still glowed in the absence of light. Now the party could really begin.

They shook with laughter as the crowd screamed, some of the screams having started from the discovery of these masked maniacs--who, they had not realized, were there the whole time, lurking, waiting for a moment like this.

The lights came back on, and the crowd forgot its hysteria, and resumed their own laughter and cheers.

“Get a load of those fags!”

One of them gestured to two men, wrapped in an embrace. One of the men looked like he had just pissed his pants, the other was trying to console him. Were they that afraid of the dark? Of the big bad wolves, disguised as human beings? They hoped that the men were afraid, because if they weren’t, they would be--very, very soon.

“Hey...isn’t that the Sanders guy? The one that hit Demetrius?”

The group nodded to each other, snapped a picture, sent it to their leader, who was offsite at the time. They watched as the man Sanders was with broke apart from him, left him alone.

Easy prey.

Their phones buzzed, a message, from the ultimate Big Bad himself.

“Let’s fuck with him.”

[stormobsessed]

Part 2 of Kalidin Vs. The Blackthorn.

Imagine a world where Kaladin was born a little earlier, or Dalinar and Gavilar  started their uniting of Alethkar later. They’re going through the country, destroying villages to weaken resolve.

In this dangerous time, all boys old enough are taught to fight, even the son of a pacifist surgeon, in the hopes that it would add even a few seconds onto their lives.

Sadeas is promised the small farming town of Hearthstone once they capture it, which they don’t expect to be hard at all when none of the men there are anything more than simple farmers and townfolk. However, to Blackthorn’s surprise, there is a commotion on one side of the battle. He pushes through the fighting men to see a young lad, barely old enough to fight, mowing down men like a master of the spear. The young lad is dispatching dozens of his own, highly trained, men. He is standing over the corpse of an even younger boy, and tears are streaming down his face but still he fights, swift as the wind.

So, what started out as a simple plot divergence AU post transformed into an increbly long fic that has become increasingly annoying to scroll through and past, so I decided to start a separate part 2, but no fear! You can find all of part one here: Part 1 Tumblr

or read it on Ao3 here: Part 1 Ao3

So, this will be part 2 to keep the old post from getting any longer. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!! 

The Blackthorn poured himself one last heaping mug of wine before he joined his family to meet with the radiant. His fingers itched to prepare a second, but he knew that neither Gavilar nor Evi would have approved of him pre-gaming as much as he already had, and he had no desire to distract them on such an important day. He heard the familiar sound of the tent door opening and had to fight himself not to hide his drink like he was a child attempting to sneak a cremling into the house. He turned, solemnly preparing himself for a lecture, only to come face to face not with a member of his family, but with the new Wit. This was even worse.

“Wit.” He grumbled, eyeing the strange man warily. There was just something off about the new Wit, a twinkle in his eye that said that he knew much more than he let on. It unnerved the man, and yet it was compelling as well. Storms, it seemed like each day that passed, he understood himself less. The warlord grit his teeth, anger at himself flaring in his chest. “Blackthorn,” the infuriating man said with a bow. The Warlord grumbled in reply, sinking into one of the tents low seats. He topped off his mug, refilling the bit that he’d already drank, not caring about the opinion of this fool. “I thought Gavilar had ordered you away from the feast.” The Wit blinked before making a show of looking around the sparse tent, empty but for a simple table and chairs overflowing with plans and maps, and the wine casket that Blackthorn had already dipped into. “Oh my, I can see you’re right. This is obviously the very most important area of the feast. Why look at all of these strips of paper, and but of course! The clear lack of food. How could I have been so foolish to come at what is clearly the epicenter of the festivities.” “Alright, alright. You’ve made your point.” “Well I should certainly hope so. You know, when I first took this position-“ “Two days ago.” “I was absolutely shocked at the discovery that really the most important part of being a good wit, is simply pointing out the obvious.” The Kholin snorted into his cup. “I wouldn’t call you a good wit. You reused the same insults over and over.” “Of course.” The willowy man replied, sounding affronted. “I don’t know anyone here nearly well enough to insult their character. I’m sure in time I will come to hear all of the unique types of stupidity exist in the Lighteyed court, but until then I’m not going to make something up. Why, imagine if I started to use insults that weren’t true, I would lose all credibility. However, I could know right away those that were ugly, smelly and old, and so I simply stated the obvious.” A small smirk wormed it’s way across the scarred man’s face as the Wit settled in the chair across from him. The black-clothed man seemed content to end the conversation there and pulled out a small flute. He let out a few notes then smiled, seeming pleased with himself. The Blackthorn took a long pull on his drink and closed his eyes, mentally preparing for a day of pandering and diplomacy when all he wanted to do was fight. Maybe he could get in on one of the duels. No, no, Adolin was going to try for a Blade today, he didn’t want to overshadow the boy. Suddenly, Wit spoke again. “Well if my skills as Wit has not yet impressed you, maybe my talents as a storyteller will. Hmm, something short, I suppose we are on a time constraint.” Suddenly he let out a series of trills on the flute, the sounds seemed to… echo back at him, but that wasn’t right. They were in a war tent in the middle of an empty field, sounds shouldn’t echo. Yet he had no compulsion to open his eyes, instead he simply leaned back and took another sip of drink as the sounds seemed to carry him away. The Wit’s voice grew dissonant, seeming to meld with the sound of the music that still rang through the canvas. “Ages ago, when the world was different and beings of intense power still walked the earth, there lived a very large, very kindhearted family of laborers. They worked the land day in and day out just to have the food to survive, yet they were extremely kind to their neighbors. They shared as much as they were able, and oftentimes more. One day, one of the family’s children was performing his usual chore of transferring livestock from one field to another, he spotted a figure crumpled on the ground. The child ran to the figure and found an old woman, blood crusted on her temple from an unknown injury. The child acted quickly, pulling the woman onto the back of one of his creatures and using it to haul her back to the house. The boy’s mother stayed up for days bringing the woman back to health, taking precious food off of their table. Finally the woman was well enough to walk and stand. Almost immediately she made to leave, not listening to any argument the family made to give herself time to hear. However, before she left she gave, to the child who had first found her, a clear globe of glass, similar to what men use to gamble, but several times larger.

The family was perplexed by the sphere, and the child simply gave it to his infant sister to play with. However, as is often the case in a house so full and so busy, the sphere soon got accidentally kicked under a bed in a corner, and no one stopped to recover it. The sphere was soon forgotten.

Yet the next day, had anyone cared to look, they would have noticed a small speck of red in the previously clear crystal. For the woman had not been a normal human, she had been a creature of great power, and a ruby was growing from the clear glass. The next day the speck grew even larger, the next day larger, until the entire sphere transformed into a perfectly cut gem the size of a grown man’s fist.

However, the family had never given it a never thought since the day that it had rolled under the bed. So, while untold riches grew just below their noses, they continued to scrape and save and starve, never knowing that the toy they had discarded was a gift greater than they could have imagined.”

The notes flowed, and slowly began to fade.

Dalinar opened his eyes when the last of the notes had faded completely, turning to see the black-clothed lighteyed man reclining against the chair, flute tucked away. He frowned, the story tugging at his mind. “What did that mean?”

Wit arched a brow. “What do you think it means? It is not a storytellers job to tell a man how to think, rather it is our job to give them something to think on.”

“I thought it was your job to state the obvious.” Dalinar replied, and Wit grinned.

“Sometimes, the obvious is not as clear as we would like it to be.”

Dalinar frowned at the odd wording, but he was too focused on the story to give it much thought. He mulled it over, setting aside his glass, despite the fact that it was still half full. “Change.” He finally replied. “Change only affects things, if people are able to see it.”

Wit smiled enigmatically, the expression giving nothing away. “It sounds like you have a lot to think on, Highprince Dalinar. Though, that may have to wait for another day. I believe the festival is about to start. Don’t worry, I won’t mortally offend your precious Radiant. Though, I am sure that I will enjoy the show.”

Kaladin looked over the men and women of Heathstone. They were smiling, chatting amongst one another, more animated than he’d seen them in months. Since Gavilar’s invitation and Roshone’s very public acceptance, thepeople had been in a frenzy. The women had washed and mended their threadbare clothes several times over, and the men had polished their shoes and belt buckles, as well as buffing any jewelry that their wives had saved. Laurel had even passed out her jewelry to some of the women, and allowed the younger women to use some of her extra havahs. The people seemed to have been transformed, seeming to have shorn off the tragedy of just a few weeks prior.

He wished that the facade weren’t so very fragile.

He wished that there was no woman, weeping in the corner over her son who would have loved to visit the feast, that the young woman in Laurel’s dress didn’t look into the mirror with wet eyes as she pictured what her recent groom would have thought of her. He wished that the young man in the corner wasn’t staring blankly at where the sleeve of his freshly washed shirt lay limp, his arm ending in a stub at his elbow. He wished… he wished that it was easier for him to see their joy than their pain, that he could appreciate their excitement. However any joy he could have had was lost to the pain of a town nearly halved.

He’d never been especially good at smiling through the pain. Though he supposed that tonight he would have to try. Though he believed in Adolins plan, well semi-believed it, it turned his stomach to think of sitting there playing nice at the feast, no doubt being gawked at by dozens of  important lighteyes who were simply enthralled at the idea of the dark eyed radiant.

A light touch made him jump, and he whirled to see him mother smiling at him, though concern darkened her eyes. “There are storms in your eyes, the Stormfather himself would be impressed.”

“Sorry, mother, I’m just… nervous about tonight.”

Hesina cupped her son’s face in her hands. “I will not lie to you.” She said softly. “I wish that this burden was not yours. I fear it will weigh you down, make you a pack mule when you were meant to be something much greater. However, I know this without any fear or doubt, I know that you are strong enough to bear it. You have the strength of a chull but the ferocity of a whitespine. I know that this is scary, but you will succeed.”

Kaladin let out a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, growing strength from his mothers love and confidence, allowing it to pull him out of the void of darkness he sometimes allowed himself to get drawn into. It was so much harder to stay clear of the void when Tien was gone.

“Besides,” His mother said, and her voice had taken on a familiar, amused tint. “Remember, they are the ones courting you, not the other way around. Feel free to make them work for it.” She lightly kissed his forehead. “Now come, you should get changed. We will have to head out soon.”

Kaladin frowned, but obediently followed the woman. Roshone had reluctantly pulled one of his son Riller’s old suits out of his untouched room, and one of the town’s seamstresses had tailored it to fit Kaladin’s thinner, taller frame.

“Does everyone know what to do?” He asked. He already knew the answer, but he needed to hear it said one last time.

“Yes. The townspeople know better than to trust the Kholins. Everyone will be safe within the keep by the time Mishim has started to rise. Your plan with the Blackthorn’s family will not start until well after that. Everyone should be safely back here before any trouble starts.”

Kaladin nodded, relief flooded through him as he slipped into a small room to change. The majority of the town would be attending a festival with Kholin’s soldiers and army followers, while Kaladin, his family, Roshone, Laurel, Rock and Teft would go to the fancy feast Gavilar was throwing. It was hard to convince Roshone that Teft should join them, but Kaladin had managed to convince him that he was the most knowledgeable about the army and should therefore be there to consult. He’d wanted Rock there as well, but he needed someone to make sure that the rest of the town stayed safe and came back on time.

The plan was for Laurel, Teft, and Hesina to go back at the same time as the rest of the village. Roshone said he would decide later, after he’d ‘felt out the situation’, but Kaladin had no doubt that the coward would choose to go back then as well.

As Kaladin made his way back to the room Roshone had commandeered to use to discuss strategy, he consciously sucked the stormlight from any lamps down the hall. If things went poorly, he could potentially be flying 5 other people back with him. He’d been practicing that in the yard all week. A smile finally graced his lips as he remembered it, sending some of the town’s children flying, making sure to hover them a few inches off the ground, less they fall. It had taught him a great deal of control, and they had loved it. Maybe it wouldn’t go bad though, maybe they would let him just walk off with the Blackthron’s wife and kids.

Who was he kidding? This was going to be a disaster.

Gavilar listened critically as Navani read out a complete list of all of the features of the festival. It sounded marvelous, a celebration the likes of which this town certainly had never seen. It wouldn’t be enough, the Radiant was extremely stubborn, but it would be a decent first step. He would be given the chance to talk with the boy in a more one on one setting, show him what he could be missing out on. He’d had a long talk with Amaram about how much of the truth he should tell the child, but he had the feeling that now was not the time to reveal much of the truth.

Some of it, perhaps. Hint towards a greater coming danger, that would get the boy’s protective instincts flowing. That was what the Windrunners were known for, wasn’t it? Yes, he could use that.

Satisfied, both at his mental plans and the party plans that Navani read, the man looked around the room.

He frowned when his eyes lit upon his son. Elhokar was pouting again, which could only mean two things. Either he was fixating on something he could not change, or he was choosing to mope rather than fix something he could. Neither attribute was especially befitting an heir apparent.

“What is the matter son?”

“It’s not fair, everyone has something to do to help but me! Renarin and Adolin have been visiting the Radiant, you are the King, and Uncle Dalinar is your warrior. What am I supposed to do?”

The boy had a point, as poorly as he’d said it. Besides, it was partly Gavilar’s fault. The boy had been with him in the strategy tent, planning, when Dalinar’s lads had made the bravely foolish choice to approach the young darkeye. Still, Elhokar was a good son, and with some more fostering Gavilar knew he would make a fantastic king.

“I’m sorry that we haven’t spoken of this son, but you are vitally important.” Elhokar perked up, and from where she sat Navanni cast a skeptical eyebrow. “As proven by Adolin and Renarin, the Radiant has been more responsive to people his age. It is something that I should have seen earlier, but I cannot change the past. Regardless, you have the power of the throne, but will be more relatable to young Kaladin. I want you to try to befriend him as your cousins have, that will make it even easier to strategize with him when we finally win him over.”

Elhokar nodded, his face serious. Gavilar returned the nod. Well, that was one problem handled, now to find that ridiculous Wit and keep him from interfering.

That man knew far more than he should. Far more than anyone should.

Adolin rolled his shoulders and gave a few gentle squats, more getting used to the feel of the shardplate than anything else. He felt his mother’s necklace lying against his skin, and it gave him confidence somehow. He didn’t have his helm on yet, and he wouldn’t get possession of the blade he was using for the duel until a few moments before it. So now he was just waiting, along with the rest of the army and what felt like half of Kholinar, for the door of the keep to open.

There was a strange anticipation in the air, lighteyes and dark alike shifted nervously, many tired from the past few frantic days of planning two parties.

The Kholin’s stood in front of the crowd, surrounded by the royal honor guard. Weapons gleamed and Kholin blue contrasted brightly against the crem covered ground. Sadeas stood just behind them, his face violently blank and holding none of the charm that Gavilar was purposely portraying.

Dalinar frowned, seeming contemplative and a million miles away, which honestly was a relief. Honestly, their plan would work best if he was distracted.

Commotion had been steadily growing behind the doors of the keep for the past several moments, increasing the tension of the awaiting crowd. Adolin felt like the group was going to snap, and he found himself continuously running his finger along his helm, wishing he already had his blade.

Then, finally, like a bolt of lightening the Radiant appeared over the doors of the keep, hovering there and locking intense eyes with Gavilar. Adolin, who hadn’t found the man especially intimidating when they’d been face to face, felt himself shiver at the figure he made now. The man made a sharp, unique gesture, like making a salute by crossing his arms, and the doors swung open.

A lighteyed man, the towns brightlord most likely, stood at the front, beside a younger lighteyed girl, and an older darkeyed couple. Behind them stood the rest of the town, all standing tall with their heads held high.

The Lighteyed man walked straight to Gavilar, Kaladin swooping down to land beside them. Gavilar greeted the man solemnly, but pleasantly. “Brightlord Roshone, I presume.”

“That right.” The man said, sniffing as though attempted to pretend that he was superior to the king of Alethkar. Adolin matched eyes with Kaladin and, since unlike the Radiant no one was looking at him, rolled his eyes. Kaladin’s lips pressed together as though he were attempting to stave off amusement.

Gavilar nodded, managing to keep his eye on the Lighteyed man rather than the Radiant he actually respected. “We will have much to talk about, but first,” He made a sweeping gesture. “I hope you’ll enjoy the festivities, you and your people.”

That seemed to break a dam, and suddenly figures were streaming out of the thin door of the keep, their excitement almost palpable as they made their way to the festival grounds that had been set up. It  was only then that Gavilar turned to the Radiatnt. The king surprised Adolin by offering a shallow bow to the Radiant. It wasn’t a full, proper bow, but it was a very clear show of respect. Kalading gave a nod in reply, though he didn’t bow. Gavilar seemed to have expected that, and was almost immediately working to make a good impression on the lighteyes and the solemn darkeyed couple that Adolin recognized as Kaladin’s parents from the portrait he and Renarin had found.

Adolin however, made his way to the Radiant, along with Renarin. Elhokar was following closely as well, and Adolin could only hope that Kaladin was smart enough not to mention their plans with the prince hovering so close.

Kaladin eyed Adolin’s plate, bulky and gorgeous and painted a striking Kholin blue. Adolin grinned, “Its for my duel. I’m going to win a shardblade!”

Kaladin opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly his eyes shot to the side, staring at something that Adolin couldn’t see. The teen whispered something to the Spren, too low for Adolin to catch. The smile wiped off of Adolin’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

Kaladin shook his head. “Syl doesn’t like the blades.”

“Syl? What’s a Sy?” Elhokar’s voice piped up, ad immediately Kaladin’s eyes narrowed on the prince, sizing up the stranger.

“Syl is my Spren. And you are?”

“I am Elhokar Kholin, the son of Gavilar and the heir to the throne.” Elokhar said proudly, and Adolin had to hide a wince. Elhokar couldn’t know, but that was porobably one of the worst ways he could have introduced himself to the powerful darkeyes.

“Oh.” Kaladin replied, dismissive. Adolin’s cousin seemed stunned for a moment before indignation and anger flasheded across his face. He puffed himself up and began to say something, but luckily Renarin cut in before he could.

“Shall we make our way to the dueling grounds? We can watch some of the eariler bouts and explain the rules while we wait for it to be Adolin’s turn.”

Kaladin was still eyeing Elhokar uncertainly, but he nodded and all four of them turned towards towards the town.

It was hard to find room sufficient to hold a dueling ground in the nice part of town where they were holding the lighteyed feast, so they’d ended up using it as part of the divider between it and the common festival. Adolin… kind of liked it. They had gathered a crowd of darkeyes, from Hearthstone and the soldiers alike. Each bout had a soundtracks of cheers and screams that were absent in the traditional, formal, solemn bouts that Adolin was used to. He loved it, more than he would have thought.

He grinned at the crowd. In the Lighteye seating area the Kholin’s held the seats of honor. Gavilar was smiling and chatting with Roshone, but Dalinar and Evi were smiling over at him encouragingly. Adolin couldn’t keep the grin from his face. He was going to win his very own blade, and his dad was actually going to be there to see it.

Renarin followed his eyes and smiled softly. “Are you ready?”

“Yup, I even have a good luck charm, Mom gave me her necklace.”

“Did you eat Chicken for lunch?”

The grin slipped off of Adolin’s face. Did he? He’d had to eat quickly to help organize the stands for the Darkeyed festival, but he’d had… pork. His eyes widened and he whirled on Renarin. Eating chicken was the only pre-duel tradition that he held, and he wasn’t about to break it before what would probably be the most important duels of his life.

Renarin understood instantly. “I-I’ll go find something.” Kaladin startled at that, tearing his eyes from the stands where he’d been watching his visibly uncomfortable parents. Lirin, who so staunchly disapproved of violence, whas clearly not enjoying this game of brutality. However, Renarin’s sudden disappearance was enough to draw the radiant’s attention. .

“Really? Chicken?”

“Traditions are important.” Elhokar interrupted. “I myself have several that I perform before every duel.”

Kaladin eyed him. The Radiant was clearly unsure how to take the older man. Adolin could understand. He loved his cousin, but he didn’t always make a great first impression. “Like what?” The Radiant asked hesitantly, and Adolin got the impression that the teen was trying, in his own way.

Elhokar began detailing some of his usual traditions, fairly similar to Adolin’s own, then quickly changed to begin telling the man stories of the oddest traditions he’d heard of, which ranged from odd to ridiculous. By the time Renarin retured, Kaladin almost looked amused.

Panting, Renarin shoved… something wrapped in paper in Adolin’s hand. “It was all I could find nearby. Most of the stands near here are only selling snacks or sweets.”

Kaladin wrinkled his nose. “What is it?”

“It’s chicken, uh, I think they called it Chouta.” He shrugged. “That Herdazian stand was selling it, it seemed popular so it must be decent.”

Adolin looked over the way his brother had pointed, quickly locating a busy stand selling items that looked similar to what he’d handed him. The stand was stuffed with four Herdazian men working to make and hand out the Chouta, and… did one of them only have one arm?

Adolin shook himself and forced himself to take a bite before he could talk himself out of it. Immediately after taking a bite, the young man perked up.

“Hey, this is actually really good!” He took another bite and hummed appreciatively, ignoring Kaladin’s frankly disbelieving expression. Adolin shrugged, but was distracted when a ‘boo’ sounded throughout the crowd and Elhokar cried “Foul!”

“What happened?” Kaladin asked, and Elhokar grinned from cheek to cheek as he began explaining.

Adolin closed his eyes and took several long, deep breaths, centering himself. It would be his turn in three bouts, then he would be a shardbearer.