#but always letting her go and sort of relishing in her freedom. wondering what fun��I mean SINFUL stuff she was getting up to

[cha1cedony]

Thinking about Darryl and Casey. again

[vs-redemption]

Crime is Common. Logic is Rare. (Ch.24)

Chapter Twenty-Four: Fun Evening Out (HawksxGN!Reader)

From Cindy: This chapter is another long one! And, as promised, there’s plenty of Hawks ♥ Enjoy!

Plot summary: You thought your hands were full as a regular quirk geneticist, but then you meet Hawks and things get even more exciting!

Warnings:  

⚠️This story contains spoilers from the manga.

⚠️Some events and plot points have been altered from the original manga

Tag List: @gayforkeigo @marshmallow-witch @redflannel @toyo-shiro @elsasshole @astronomyturtle @iambashfulperson @omiwashere

Next Chapter : Chapter Guide

Seeing the familiar scenery of your homework appear outside the window of the bullet train as it raced along the tracks felt like slowly waking up from a nightmare. Even though you knew that Dr. Garaki, his secret nomu lab, and the slumbering Shigaraki would still be waiting for you when you got back to Tokyo, there was still a sense of relief to put it all behind you for a little while. There was the possibility that receiving permission from the doctor to return home for a weekend was some sort of test, but you couldn’t bring yourself to worry too much about that as you exited the train station and took a deep calming breath to inhale the wonderful scent that was unique to your city. After checking into the hotel you’d be staying in for the night, your first priority was heading to the small, research facility that you’d been missing so terribly since moving away.

“Look who’s back!” your feisty middle aged boss hops out of her chair and comes out from behind her desk to engulf you in a hug. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about us completely.”

“Never!” You promise while awkwardly returning the woman’s embrace. “Anyway, I know we haven’t seen each other in a while, but it’d be hard to forget you when we’ve been emailing back and forth every few days.”

“It’s not the same as seeing you in person though,” your boss claims. After finally releasing you from her grasp, she backs away and looks around expectantly. “Where’s your bird?” You can’t help but let out a dry laugh and shake your head at her.

“I’m starting to think you like him more than me,” you raise an eyebrow at her and she simply shrugs with a playful look in her eyes. “And the truth comes out,” you sigh before finally answering her question. “Hawks will be here around closing time. He had some work stuff he had to take care of, plus he prefers flying over cramming those massive wings onto public transportation.”

“Makes sense to me,” your boss nods and then finally turns the subject to business. “Simon isn’t scheduled to come in today, but I’m sure he’ll pop by after his classes are over since he knows you’re in town. He’s getting much better at managing things on his own now that you’re not here to guide him, but he’ll probably bombard you with a million questions when he sees you anyway.”

“That’s fine,” you nod in understanding. “I feel bad that I haven’t been there for him as much as I should.”

“We all understand you’ve been busy,” your boss assures you. “I’m just proud to know your efforts have paid off and that you’re now working for such a renowned scientist. I can only imagine what kind of things you’re working on and the impact it’ll have on the world!”

“Yeah,” you have to force a smile on your face. You wished her fantasies were the truth, but the reality was that you were helping a psychopath create a super villain that would probably be capable of levels of unprecedented destruction. “Well, I’d better get to work trying to catch up on everything I’ve been neglecting back here.”

Your boss nods her head and you head into one of the labs to throw yourself into your old routine, relishing in the fact that you wouldn’t have to worry about putting on a show for the mad doctor or Shigaraki. Even in his unconscious state, the leader of the villains was a pain in the neck. It had taken about two weeks of around-the-clock care before Shigaraki finally stopped having the violent convulsion episodes caused by his body rejecting the assimilation of All For One’s DNA into its own. He seemed stable now, which is why the doctor had allowed you a little time away from the lab, but you knew things were going to get just as intense once you were back.

After reviewing the results of Shigaraki’s procedure so far, Garaki had decided that the villain would need several rounds of treatment with the special serum before All For One’s quirk would be completely transferred. There was no way to know what damage had already been done to Shigarak’s body after the violent reaction he’d had to the first dose of the serum, so the thought of putting him through the process repeatedly was greatly disturbing to you. When you’d agreed to work with Dr. Garaki in the beginning, you couldn’t have predicted you’d end up participating in this sort of human experimentation.

You look up from the manuscript you’d been reading when you hear the sound of your name being called from the doorway. Of course, it was Simon, the undergrad research assistant you’d been helping before all the madness in your life had stolen your focus. “Your writing has improved,” You hold up the stack of papers before standing up to greet him properly.

“Thanks!” He says appreciatively, “It’s so good to see you again. We’ve missed you.” Before you could respond to the sweet words, he adds on another question. “Where’s Hawks?” You click your tongue, pretending to be annoyed.

“Is that all you guys care about?” You tease the kid while nudging his shoulder and glancing up at the clock to check the time. Simon looks embarrassed and apologizes sheepishly. “Don’t worry,” You wave off his concern while leading him back out into the lobby. “He should be here soon. I’ll introduce you to him.”

“He’s already here!” your boss’ voice comes out a little more high pitched than normal, apparently already flustered by the presence of your handsome boyfriend. Seeing him standing at the front desk with her brought back memories of when you’d first met him, and you could vividly recall being taken aback by his charming smile, bright red wings, and playful golden eyes as well. The moments you’d spent with him recently though were always short and stressful, so it was nice to have the freedom now to take a step back and really appreciate him again.

“Oh my god!” Simon whispers with his eyes wide in awe and you can’t help but laugh.

“I never took you for such a hero fanboy,” you tell him seriously.

“I’m not!” He replies while pointing both hands out at your boyfriend, “But it’s HAWKS!”

“Yes, it is,” you agree with amusement evident in your voice before looking to the winged man in question. “Hey bird-kun! How was the flight?”

“Not bad!” He smiles and pulls you over for a side hug, “But I missed you!” The comment earns a lighthearted laugh from you and you look up into his face to see a brightness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a while. You realize that being here, away from both his hero and villain duties, was just as liberating for him as it was for you. Even though his wings were still bugged and people were still monitoring his every action, there was a sense of calm knowing you weren’t being rushed to exchange any secret messages or worry about either of you being called back to work suddenly.

“You saw me this morning,” you reach up and pat his cheek with a smile before turning your focus back to the others standing around you. “This is Simon, by the way. He missed you the few times you were here before, and he’s been dying to meet you.”

“Hey Simon!” Hawks puts on his award winning grin before offering a gloved hand to the young man who had a weird look on his face as he glanced between you and the hero in front of him.

“Did you just call him… bird-kun?” The disturbed look on his face over hearing you address someone he looked up to in such a way makes you feel a little embarrassed which just encourages your boss to start on her antics.

“Well, they are dating,” she reminds the boy. “It’s not unusual that they would use cute nicknames for each other. I’m already excited for the day I get the wedding invitation in the mail.” Both you and Hawks were already used to her weird fascination with your relationship, so the inappropriate commentary didn’t really effect either of you at this point.

“Uh, right.” Simon puts an end to the weirdness by taking Hawks’ hand and shaking it once. “Thanks for being cool and protecting people and stuff.” Hawks thanks him for his support and Simon looks thrilled just to have the hero speaking to him at all. Technically, Hawks should’ve probably taken the chance to talk about the ideals of ‘quirk liberation’ that he was supposed to be spreading for the villains, but you were glad that he was holding back and giving you both the chance to live life normally for a change.

“Hey! Nobody has to go to work or school tomorrow right?” Hawks suddenly asks with an excited look on his face. “How about a fun evening out together on me?” You could tell by the looks on both your boss and Simon’s faces that they were already sold.

“What kind of fun evening?” You ask.

“Hmm,” Hawks puts a hand to his chin in thought. “How about dinner at that curry shop you took me to before, and then karaoke?”

“Okay!” Your boss agrees instantly and hops off to start closing up the facility for the day.

“You can sing?” You question him, feeling almost nervous to let loose too much after all the pressure you’d been under to stay in control of your words and actions for so long.

“Obviously! He’s a bird,” Simon was grinning excitedly now too.

“Exactly!” Hawks nods his head before sending you a wink, “I’m a bird.” Even though the action made you a little flustered, it felt nice to see this carefree side of Hawks again. You still worried that there was some ulterior motive behind the both of you having a weekend to yourselves, but you didn’t want to waste this chance to relax.

It turned out a ‘fun evening out’ was just what you’d needed. The owner of the curry shop had been just as pleased to see you again as your boss and Simon, and the familiar taste of the food reminded you that you were safe at home and it put you at ease. You could almost pretend the whole ordeal with the doctor and the villains was a long forgotten memory as you and Simon cried with laughter over seeing your boss teach Hawks the choreography to some weird J-pop song during karaoke. And at the end of the night, as you headed back to the hotel with Hawks’ arm around your shoulders, you couldn’t help but wish things could stay this simple.

“Thanks for suggesting such a great idea bird-kun,” You nuzzle into his side to stifle a yawn and avoid the chill of the winter air as you walk. “I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.”

“You work too hard,” he pulls you closer while curving his wings forward to block some of the wind. “It was nice to see you so relaxed and happy tonight. I know your boss and Simon are the people you work with, but I can tell that they’re also your trusted friends.”

“Yeah,” you nod your head in agreement. “I didn’t realize how much I missed seeing them every day.”

“They’re important people in your life,” Hawks says thoughtfully. “I really appreciate having the chance to spend time with them because learning more about the people close to you helps me get to know you a bit better as well.” The tone of his voice makes you wonder what point he was trying to get at.

“You’re an important part of my life too,” you say it just in case he needs that reassurance. “You know that, right?” The smile he sends you looks a bit forced. “Hawks?” It almost seemed like he’d flinched at the sound of his name and suddenly he stops walking and turns to give you his full attention.

“I think I just wish there were close friends and family in my life I could introduce you to,” he shrugs before pulling your face into his hands. “Then you could feel like you’re getting to know me a bit better too.”

You search his eyes for the hidden message you felt he was trying to send you. You didn’t think he was pretending to warn you that he was working for the villains because the look on his face was a bit too genuine for that, plus he would’ve given you a heads up if that was something he’d been planning. The only conclusion you could come to was that there were other things about him that you’d yet to learn. Things he wanted you to know, but was unable to share. It didn’t surprise you since you’d suspected that he was more complicated than he let on from the very first day you’d met him.

A tiny part of you felt hurt that he was still keeping secrets even after everything you’d been through, but the more rational part of your brain told you that you couldn’t hold it against him. Although you had been dating Hawks for a while now and had earned his trust enough to be involved with his undercover mission, that still didn’t change the fact that you hadn’t had many truly private conversations with him. Most of the time you’d spent together in the beginning had been in public settings for work, and you knew his wings had been bugged since before you’d even started working for the doctor. In addition to that, there’d hardly been any time recently for you both to sit down and have a serious talk about your relationship even if either of you had wanted to.

“I love you,” you tell him. It was simple and to the point, so hopefully he’d know not to worry too much about whatever he was concerned about you not knowing. The information he’d given you about his past had always sat a bit strangely with you, but for now you could live with his acknowledgement that there were things you still needed to know. He’d told you before in no uncertain terms that he’d always try to do the right thing, and had even backed up his words by coming to you for help when faced with the task of killing Best Jeanist. Whatever it was he was hiding, it didn’t change the good person you knew he was fundamentally.

“I love you too,” he responds even though there were still traces of uncertainty left in his eyes.

“Then smile!” You reach up and poke his cheek playfully. “Today was a good day!”

“It really was,” he chuckles softly before leaning in to kiss you softly. “Let’s have another one tomorrow.”

“You can bet on it,” you assure him as you continue your walk to the hotel. Hawks seemed to cheer up again after that, and you both were able to spend the rest of the night feeling thankful for what felt like a brief calm before a storm.

[scullydubois]

Only the Light (ch. 3)

Description: Missy moves in with Scully post-One Breath/Scully’s abduction. In this chapter, Scully goes through her morning routine and gets a surprise...

part 1 here. part 2 here. tagging @today-in-fic​.

“Only the Light” won the poll, so it’s now the official title! Yay! Thank you for voting and thanks for all the feedback--I love your comments. This part is the longest yet (and the best imo)--enjoy!! 

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

She floats outstretched through the sky as if it were the community pool she and Missy used to frequent as children. She tilts her face toward the sun, feels the warmth of it washing over her. Her eyes reflect the brilliant blue sky, mini-oceans in themselves. Her back is to the city, and she’s so high up she can’t hear one bit of the noise on the ground. She hopes this is what heaven is like. If this is heaven, she has nothing to fear. 

And then she’s falling, a casualty of gravity. Hell has found her. It always does. This is an unfortunate truth she must live with. The sky races past her and there’s a pit in her stomach so deep she thinks she must be breaking the laws of physics, her body stretching like a rubber band about to snap. Surely she is not a human being anymore. Surely she won’t be by the end of this.

The ground hurdles toward her. She can’t see it, but she knows. She wonders what shape they will find her in, or if she will even be found. She hopes for her family’s sake that she’s in so many pieces they can’t put her back together. It’s easier, she thinks, when the body doesn’t look human. Burying a radiant-looking thirty year old is sad. Burying a mangled mess of a corpse is a relief. 

As if on cue, her alarm chirps. She awakes in one piece and punches the alarm, reality whisking away the horror of her dreams. Sweat saturates her silk pajamas, leaving a morning dew of sorts on her sheets. The blankets were thrown off at some point during the night. She does not remember doing this, so she can only assume it was the work of the demonic force in her brain.

Waking up in a puddle of her own sweat has become commonplace since she was returned. The first time the heat was so stifling she thought she must have had a fever that broke, but the mercury thermometer in her bathroom said otherwise. Her body seems to have a mind of itself these days. 

For the time being, her mind is still functioning, so she pulls herself out of bed to get ready for work. This routine part of her day is a privilege she relishes. Very rarely does she get to function on autopilot.

It goes like this: first, she slips off her pajamas and changes her underwear. It is at this point without fail that she realizes she hasn’t bought a new pantyset in years, and wouldn’t it be nice if she did? This mental note slips away by the time she buttons her suit jacket and tucks her undershirt into her slacks.

Next, she switches on the bathroom light and performs the typical tasks of self-care--brushing her teeth, washing her face, and whatnot-- that some might find tedious or annoying. For Scully, they are soothing. She spends too much time thinking about aliens and not enough thinking about herself. She’s not sure she believes in either, but god, it would be nice to try. 

Veering close to the latest possible time at which she could still expect to beat DC traffic to the office, she brushes her hair (no time for a hundred strokes), dabs some concealer under her eyes, and swipes on her favorite lipstick. No need to go all out; she knows where she stands.

Finally, she opens her closet and stares at the rack of heels. They’re uncomfortable and damn inconvenient for an FBI agent, but Mulder’s tall and she is not. She had a fraction of her current pairs before she met Mulder. No coincidence. 

She chooses the tallest pair she owns because she needs the confidence boost. They’re headed to a nursing home in Massachusetts today, so hopefully there will be no running in the woods involved. 

She click-click-clicks down the hallway. The scent of strong coffee permeates the air. She turns the corner, and there’s her sister with a pot of coffee and two plates of scrambled eggs. It is seven o’clock in the morning, and they were up at 3am last night. The last thing Scully expects is for her sister to be cognizant, let alone to have cooked. 

“Good morning sunshine.” Missy slides a plate over to Scully’s usual spot at the table and pours the piping hot coffee into a ‘Kiss Me, I’m A Doctor’ mug. 

Scully pinches herself. No, she’s not dreaming. This is too happy to be one of her dreams anyways.

“This is a surprise,” she says as she takes a seat at the table.

“Well, I fell asleep on the couch and woke up at 5:30. I figured it’s been awhile since someone’s cooked you breakfast.”

Scully takes a sip of the coffee. 

“I don’t even cook myself breakfast.”

“Exactly.”

Melissa tops off Scully’s mug. 

“Is it strong enough? I couldn’t drink mine without adding about a half a cup of milk, so I figured I must be doing something right.”

Scully is so grateful to be waited on that it could be a milkshake and she wouldn’t complain. It is strong enough though, stronger than the milk and sugar mixture someone calls coffee at the FBI. 

“It’s perfect,” she says, meaning it.

“Good. I saw the end of that movie, by the way. You were right, it’s a real snoozefest.”

Scully laughs. “I actually like that movie. That’s why it helps me fall asleep.”

Missy scoffs. “They spend the entire movie pining over each other just for one chaste kiss at the end! Where’s the fun in that?”

“Probably shortly after that chaste kiss.”

Missy smirks, pleased that she’s gotten her sister to make a sex joke at seven o’clock in the morning. She softens her voice-- 

“I did want to talk to you, though.”

Scully finishes chewing the forkful of scrambled eggs in her mouth. 

“I have to leave soon or I’ll be late.”

“Late for what? One of Mulder’s slideshows?”

Scully sits back. Maybe Missy has a point.

“I’m sure you’re tired of my questioning,” Missy says, “so I won’t ask you another thing. Say what you need to say.”

Say what you need to say. So simple, yet so powerful. It occurs to Scully that no one ever gives her this type of shameless permission. They shouldn’t have to, but she’s never been one to talk out of turn. What a relief to have the freedom to speak plainly. 

She exhales. She has spent the past weeks playing back the few memories she has of her disappearance--she won’t call it the other word--and trying to decipher what happened to her. She is no closer to figuring it out than she was when Mulder gave her necklace back, but it might help to share what she does remember.

She launches into it, her memories flowing out in one long stream.

“You know, when I was in the hospital, I kept having this vision that I was in a lifeboat. There was a rope tying it to the dock and on the dock were all the people I loved, the people that were around me. You and mom and Mulder and the nurses.”

Melissa listens sympathetically, shocked and relieved that her sister is opening up.

“But I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do anything but sit there in that boat and hope that somehow, the tether wouldn’t snap.”

This is the most vulnerable Missy can remember seeing her sister since the passing of their father. There are a respected few who have witnessed Dana Scully reveal the inner workings of her mind. It’s a rare honor to witness Dana Scully reveal the inner workings of her heart. 

Scully continues.

“And then it did snap, and I had...I can only describe it as a near-death experience. Dad was there...He was in his uniform with all his medals and he told me that he loved me and—that we would be together again, but not yet.”

Missy nods along.

“So I guess...that kept me from going. That’s how I knew I had to stay.”

“Wow,” Missy breathes.

“From then on, I could hear everything you guys were saying. I heard you and mom telling me that I was below the criteria of my living will and I was trying to give you a sign…”

Her voice breaks. 

“I was so scared you would pull the plug on me.”

“Oh my god, Dana.” Missy engulfs her in a hug. “I am so sorry.”

Scully breathes into her sister’s neck. Her hair smells like the strawberry shampoo they used when they were children. She wonders if Missy still uses it, decides that now is not the time to bring that up. Instead, she lets go of the hug first.

“I started thinking, if I am below the criteria of my living will, maybe that’s the right thing to do. Maybe if I ever truly wake up, I’ll be so damaged I won’t be able to work for the FBI or have anything resembling a happy life.”

She sighs. “And you and mom said your goodbyes, and I was thankful, actually, that I got to hear them because so many people don’t and you just...never know with my profession.”

She bites her lip to keep from crying.

“And then sometime later I heard Mulder come in, and his wasn’t a goodbye. He touched my hand—I could feel it but I couldn’t respond—and he told me he was there. And I could feel his sadness, but I could also feel his hope. And that was all I needed, was hope.”

“He gave you the strength to wake up,” Missy says, partly as a question. 

“Or the courage to.”

Melissa considers this. She remembers how solemn she felt going to Fox’s apartment that night, delivering the news that her sister was weakening. This must be how nurses feel when they tell loved ones to say their goodbyes, she thought at the time. When he said he wasn’t able to go see Dana in the hospital, she was furious. How can you be so naive? she thought. Are you so afraid of pain you refuse to feel your own feelings? She realizes now this sounds like something she might say to her sister. 

Melissa decides not to mention her involvement in any of this. After all, she hadn’t succeeded in convincing Fox to go to the hospital. That was his own choice. Instead, she says--

“He was really looking out for you, you know. He was a soldier for your cause.”

The edges of Scully’s lips turn up the slightest bit.

“I don’t doubt it. Mulder is nothing if not a good soldier.”

Melissa thinks back on meeting Fox. She said that Dana had talked to her, that her soul was there. He didn’t believe her.

“Fox was exactly what you said he would be,” she tells her sister, “and somehow I was still surprised by the sheer force of his determination.”

Scully chuckles. 

“Well, I don’t exaggerate these things. If anything, I downplay them.”

“No kidding.”

Melissa wets her lips, letting silence rest comfortably at the table with them.

“You’re really lucky you know, to have him as a partner.”

Scully nods. 

“I know.”

And she does.

[antecedentlypod]

EPISODE 5 TRANSCRIPT

[OPENING MUSIC]

[FISH LAUGHS EXCITEDLY]

FISH

I think that today, I will cause problems on purpose! 

Ummmm… Okay. [unintelligible muttering] Uh—here we go. [she clears her throat] I don’t… remember how he does his intro.

[Clearly and with intent] Siren’s Song.

FISH (STORY)

Your name is Harmony. A bit on the nose, maybe, you like it just fine. After all, you picked it out yourself, didn’t you? Yes, because before it had been Piper, and Jane before that, and Cicily before it was anything else at all. And now, you’re Harmony, and the lights are bright downtown and you are so very far from home. Do you miss the sea? Do you miss the biting air and the feel of the salt embedding itself beneath your skin until you can’t tell the difference between it and your veins? Of course, you do. But most of all, you miss a good and proper meal.

Your name is Harmony, and you are dancing until your feet ache. You can’t remember the name of the club, just that the music is loud and you know the girls on stage. They smile back at you and for a moment, under the strobe light that matches the pounding in your head, you can nearly see the gills or the flash of a feather. And faintly, beneath the base and the shouting, you can hear them sing along.

Their name is Adah. They’re dancing alongside you, against you, everywhere. They grin and ask something you can’t quite hear over the music but you nod anyway. You can tell they’re the sort of folk that’s there most nights and they’ve coated their face in wonderful, pink glitter. They’re swaying and jumping along to the music perfectly in sync with the way it’s entranced them. It’s then that you know exactly what they’d asked for when you reach into your back pocket and slip out a little tab. It’s got something or another printed on it you don’t remember. It’s whatever they want it to be. They laugh and stick out their tongue when they see it and you shake your head, and you lead them to the bathroom. They skip behind you and keep a hand on your waist the whole way down. They don’t seem to notice how boney it’s become. 

You come out of the bathroom Adah-less and pleased. Your hunger is quenched for the time being, although you do feel awfully sorry for whoever wanders in there next. You let the tab sit on your own tongue, and then you’re off again, waiting for someone to get just this side of too close. You rather like it at the clubs and cabarets—easy pray and all, but it isn’t long before the inky black floods the streets and you decide that that’s much more their playground than yours.

And so, his name is Markus. He plays the guitar, albeit rather poorly, and he sings with confidence rather than skill. You found a flyer for his show on a telephone pole in the city, and you talked to him at the small merch stand afterward. Markus… Markus wants to be a star.

So, your name is Harmony and suddenly, you’re an agent.

He shakes your hand with a broad grin and babbles about how excited he is to be working with you. You invite him over to talk business and he agrees to Wednesday afternoon after his shift at a nearby sandwich shop. He doesn’t notice when you lick your lips in excitement. Days come and go, but nothing really matters but the approaching promise of company. Wednesday comes slowly like a watched pot, but still; there’s a knock at your door. He stands beaming and clutching a tattered guitar case, shifting feet before the porch while he goes on and on about his day and such. You aren’t really listening, 

“Enough chit-chat,” you tell him, “let’s get to it then.” So you clear your throat, and then you’re singing the sweetest song he’s ever heard. “All you have to do is sign right here and I can make all your dreams come true, Mr. Cunningham. I can put a good word in with the right people, I can get your name out there. Really, it won’t be long before everyone knows your name. And that’s what you want, isn’t it? 

“Aw, poor Markus, no one’s ever known your name, have they? Even your father called you champ when he forgot. Last picked in gym, always having to partner up with the teacher, or making a group of three with best friends that glare at you what you do a bulk of the project. Not anymore. They’ll be in the front row at your concert. Screaming your name. I can make you a God.”

That’s more than enough to get him inside, that lovely glazed look in his eye all the way up the steps. You’re on him before the door is even fully shut. Teeth meet flesh and tear like scissors through wrapping paper, the hope in his blood making it taste that much sweeter. Your wings unfold and lift you high enough to descend upon his face, gnawing it down to bone and relishing the way his tongue slides whole down your throat. After some short time, The bones of Markus Cunningham lay licked clean and dry on the floor of this months’ home. 

You really ought to stop making such a mess.

Your name is Harmony and this month, you’re a defense attorney. You’ve never been very good at arguing, but persuasion happens to be your specialty. Lace that sweet sing-song into your words and any jury will fall at your feet. And you’re paid quite well too. You like to pick up the tough cases, the real irredeemable scumbags. “I’ll get you off scott-free,” you tell them, “You know how many cases I’ve lost? None. Lower than anything, yeah? I do my job right well sir, you trust that.”

So this month’s name is Blake McFarlin, she held a family at gunpoint for some debt the father owed, money they didn’t have, and she shot the little one dead. All evidence points to her, she cleans up about as well as you do. The best part is, she doesn’t seem to think she did anything wrong. And, in no time, you’ve got the jury convinced of the very same. The judge lets her go with a couple years parole and she’s clinging to your arm, crying, thanking you. You smile at her, and you say “Of course, doll. Now say I buy you a drink, huh? To celebrate?” She nods into your sleeve and you take separate cars to a bar a few blocks over. You’ve got the photos of that poor little kid in the testimonies of her weeping parents in your head the whole way over. You’ve only just barely dragged her into the back alley before you’re ripping her apart. It feels… right. It feels just to get her that close to freedom and take it all away.  You hope that little girl knows this monster got what was coming to her. Her vocal cords are stuck between your teeth like floss before she can scream for help, her arms and mangled hands are waving frantically around for purchase, finding nothing but your bared, sharp shoulders and kicking at your legs long off the ground. You lick your lips clean and let her fall to the ground almost lifeless. You snap her legs, toothpicks between your taloned feet, and you leave her there to bleed the rest of the way out. She doesn’t deserve to go out clean and quick. 

Your name is Harmony. You sit in your office chair throne at the tippy-top of a many-leveled building that towers over the people that walk beneath it. Beneath you. It’s been an endless food chain of prophet and the profited, and you fancy yourself the apex predator. There’s not a thing in this world your money can’t buy. And yet, it’s never quite enough. Tear down these apartments, pave this forest, drain them all dry of pennies and dimes, and the blood on their bones. Sing them sweet on fortune and fame and toss them when you’re done gorging yourself on all they have to offer. It’s not quite the sea but, times change. And sometimes, for the better.

You aren’t sure of the last time you met hunger, but satisfaction begins to bore you. And you find that you so desperately crave the hunt. And so you tear that castle of exploit and exploited down to rubble from top to bottom and you set off to the next city, the next country, the next chorus, the next meal. 

Your name is Harmony, but it isn’t is it? No, your name is something pitchy that leaves a burn on the tongue of those unfortunate enough to speak it. But don’t let that stop you, you’re getting awful… hungry.

The end.

[FISH BREATHES HEAVILY IN HORROR, A DOOR OPENS]

LORRIE

Hey, uhhh, whatcha doin’ there Fishy?

FISH

[obviously horrified] Um… I, I, uh, I was just… Y'know, um, fucking around? [nervous laugh] I was just um, I dunno poking a little fun at you? Y’know, like a little sibling does, but, um, what the fuck is up with this story? I-is this a joke? I mean, it was marked in your book. I wanted to see what it was all about so I just kin—I just kinda read it? This is the shit you’ve been reading? The one I sat in for was, like, totally fine! But this? 

LORRIE

[guiltily] Uh, yeah. Yep, I—I know. Some of them are… really off-putting— 

FISH

[duh, but make it scared] Yeah.

LORRIE

That’s… That’s one of the reasons I, uh, I kicked you out the other day. I read all the stories before I record them just to like, get them in my head and get ready for them, and I knew that second one was weird? I didn’t want… you to have to listen to me read it. I kinda go into a, uh, like a uh, uh, a trance? Sort of? When I read.

[FISH SCOFFS QUIETLY]

FISH

[appalled] You… you don’t think it’s a little weird? That your children's audiobook company or whatever is sending you shit like this? What—what do you even know about them beyond the name on your paycheck? This is—this is fucked up!

LORRIE

[dismissive] Mhh, I-I mean they’re weird but that’s what they sent me! They just send me the story numbers for this month, y’know, and then I record them, send them off, and I get paid. I don’t particularly care what happens after that.

FISH

[angrily] Yeah. You get paid. Lorrie? Bubba? This story is basically some twisted, gory version of the truth of late-stage capitalism? The world? I dunno—this isn’t a fucking kids story is what it is. 

LORRIE

None of them really are! What else did you expect? Like, hell, The Devil’s Sooty Brother, does that sound like a kid’s story to you?

FISH

I-I dunno! It’s not this! I-I just, I thought you were reading, fuckin, Goldilocks, or something! Not, like… gore...dielocks? I just—Listen, I—this is giving me really bad vibes, like intensely bad. Like, horrible, money-grubbing, child-traumatizing vibes. There’s gotta be other jobs out there.

LORRIE

[a bit fed up] There are other jobs out there! I like this one! I don’t have to leave the house, or like, talk with anyone, and I get to hang out with our dog all day. The story contents don’t exactly bother me much.

Why do they bother you so much?

FISH

I… I dunno. I don’t usually get scared easily it’s just—it’s not right, bubs. It’s not fucking right. Something weird is going on here and you’re just ignoring it! What if you’re getting tangled up with something… I dunno something really, really bad? I don’t know what I would do if you… [Lorrie sighs]. You really don’t see anything wrong with this?

LORRIE

[struggling] I mean—I, I guess I do? I don’t fucking know! [frustrated noise] I need to record, Fish. I need some fucking peace and quiet. 

[FISH SCOFFS]

FISH

[angry disbelief] Yeah, fine. Whatever.

[FISH LEAVES THE ROOM, THERE IS A LONG TENSE SILENCE. LORRIE SIGHS]

LORRIE

[in denial] It’s fine. It’s fine! This—this isn’t that big of a deal. I’ll—[sigh] I’ll talk it out with her later, it’s fine. We always work out our little fights, I guess. Siblings fight all the time! It’s normal. Even if… you’re not related by blood.  [deep, steadying breath]

Take one of Rapunzel. [muttering] I need to find the page. [Another sigh, pages turning as Lorrie looks through the book]. Take one of Rapunzel. Read by Lorrie Ada--

[SCENE CUT]

LORRIE (CONT)

Take three—

[SCENE CUT]

LORRIE (CONT)

Take seven of Rapunzel. Read by Lorrie Adams.

LORRIE (STORY)

Once upon a time, there was a husband and wife who, for some time, had been wishing in vain for a child. Finally, the dear Lord gave them a sign of hope that their wish would be fulfilled. Now, in the back of their house, the couple had a small window that overlooked a splendid garden filled with the most beautiful flowers and herbs. The garden, however, was surrounded by a high wall and nobody dared enter it because it belonged to a sorceress who was very powerful, and feared by all. One day when the wife was standing at the window and looking down into the garden, she noticed a bed of the finest Rapunzel lettuce; the lettuce looked so fresh and green that her mouth watered and she had a great craving to eat some. Day by day this crazing increased and since she knew she could not get any, she began to waste away and look pale and miserable. Her husband became alarmed and asked, “What’s wrong with you dear wife?”

“Ah,” she responded, “I shall certainly die if I don’t get any of that Rapunzel from that garden behind our house.” Her husband, who loved her, thought ‘before I let my wife die I’ll do anything I must to make sure she gets some Rapunzel.’

That day at dusk, he climbed over the wall and into the garden of the sorceress, hastily grabbed a handful of Rapunzel, and brought them to his wife. Immediately, she made them into a salad with great zest, but the Rapunzel tasted so good to her, so very good, that her desire for them was three times greater the next day. If she were to have any peace, her husband knew he had to climb into the garden once more. So at dusk, he scaled the wall again, and just as he landed on the other side he was given a tremendous scare, for he stood face to face with the sorceress.

“How dare you climb into my garden and steal my Rapunzel like a thief!” She said with an angry look. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Oh,” he cried, “Please let mercy prevail over justice. I did this only because I was in a predicament, my wife noticed your Rapunzel from our window and she developed such a great craving for it that she would have died if I hadn’t brought her some to eat.”  Upon hearing that, the anger of the sorceress subsided, and she said to him; “If it is truly as you say, I shall permit you to take as many Rapunzel as you’d like, but only under one condition. When your wife gives birth I must have the child. You needn’t fear about the child’s wellbeing, for I will take care of it like a mother.” In his fear, the man agreed to everything, and when his wife had the baby his sorceress appeared at once. She gave the child the name Rapunzel and took her away.

Rapunzel grew to be the most beautiful child under the sun, but when she was twelve years old the sorceress locked her in a tower in a forest. It had neither door nor stairs, only a little window high above. Whenever the sorceress wanted to get in, she would stand below and call out, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair for me.” Rapunzel’s hair was long and radiant, as fine as spun gold. Every time she heard the voice of the sorceress, she unpinned her braids and wound them around a hook on the window. Then she let her hair drop twenty yards and the sorceress would climb up on it.  A few years later, a king’s son happened to be riding through the forest and passed by the tower. Suddenly, he heard a song so lovely that he stopped to listen. It was Rapunzel, who passed the time in her solitude by letting her sweet voice resound in the forest. The prince wanted to climb up to her, and he looked for a door but could not find one. So he rode home. However, the song had touched his heart so deeply that he rode out into the forest every day and listened. One time as he was standing behind a tree, he saw the sorceress approach and heard her call out;

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” Then Rapunzel let down her braids and the sorceress climbed up to her.

“If that is the ladder that one needs to get up there, then I am also going to try my luck,” the prince declared. The next day as it began to get dark, he went to the tower and called out “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” All at once, the hair dropped down and the prince climbed up. When he entered the tower, Rapunzel was at first terribly afraid for she had never laid eyes on a man before. However, the prince began to talk to her in a friendly way and told her that her song had touched his heart so deeply, that he had not been able to rest until he had seen her. Rapunzel then lost her fear and when he asked her whether she’d have him for her husband, she saw that he was young and handsome. She thought, ‘he’ll certainly love me better than old Mother Gothel’. So she said yes and placed her hand in his. 

“I want to go down with you very much,” she said, “but I don’t know how I can get down. Every time you come you must bring a skein of silk with you and I’ll weave it into a ladder. When it’s finished, then I’ll climb down and you can take me away on your horse.” They agreed that until then, he would come to her every evening, for the old woman came during the day. Meanwhile, the sorceress did not notice anything until one day, Rapunzel blurted out; “Mother Gothel, how is it that you’re much heavier than the prince? When I pull him up, he’s here in a second.”

“Ah, you godless child,” exclaimed the sorceress, “What’s this I hear? I thought I had made sure that you had no contact with the outside world, but you’ve deceived me.” In her fury, she seized Rapunzel’s beautiful hair and wrapped it around her left-hand several times, grabbed a pair of scissors with her right hand, and snip! Snap! The hair was cut off and the beautiful braids lay on the ground. Then, the cruel sorceress took Rapunzel to a desolate land where she had to live in the great misery and grief. On the same day she banished Rapunzel, the sorceress fastened the braids that she had cut off to the hook in the window, and that evening when the prince came and called out “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” she let the hair down. The prince climbed up, but instead of finding his dearest Rapunzel on top, he found the sorceress who gave him vicious and angry looks.

“Aha!” She exclaimed with contempt, “You want to fetch your darling wife, but the beautiful bird is no longer sitting in the nest and she won’t be singing anymore. The cat has got her, and it will also scratch out your eyes. Rapunzel is lost to you and you will never see her again!” The prince was beside himself with grief and in his despair, he jumped off the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns he fell into pierced his eyes and so he became blind. Now he strayed about in the forest, ate nothing but roots and berries, and did nothing but mourn and weep about the loss of his dearest wife. Thus he wandered for many years in misery, eventually, he made his way to the desolate land where Rapunzel was leading a wretched existence with the twins, a boy and a girl to whom she had given birth. And when he heard a voice that he thought sounded familiar, he went straight towards it and when he reached her, Rapunzel recognized him. She embraced him and wept, and as two of her tears dropped onto his eyes, they became clear and he could see again. Then, he escorted her back to his kingdom, where he was received with joy and they lived happily and contentedly for a long time thereafter.

LORRIE

This one… wasn’t so bad. I mean, like, it’s still got gory bits, unfortunately, but it’s not nearly as bad as the last one. The one that Fish read, I mean.

[slowly spiraling] I don’t like fighting with her. It makes both of us feel bad and then, then, th-then shit is weird between us for like, days and it sucks feeling like I can’t talk to her. Because she’s the most important person in my life. Thank god we don’t fight that often. [sigh] But this fight seemed… different. I don’t know what she’s thinking is so wrong with the stories! They’re just, they’re jus—They’re just stories! There’s not really any issues, right? I—It’s just a book! Doesn’t matter that it was on the other side of the office this morning when I came in to set up. Fish probably came in and like, browsed through it last night. Probably just wanted some light reading material.

[Sadly] I really should go talk to her. I’m gonna go talk to her.

End recording.

[CLOSING MUSIC]

[yandere-society]

hm, how about y/n growing just as obsessed with her yandere as he is with her, and witnesses him talking to a female coworker and gets the wrong idea? i think any member would work so whoever you think would be best 👀

here I am, delivering trash with a bad title. Enjoy~

Bad boy & his bad toy

admin / author: @an-ambivalent​ ♥

Warning: As this  contains yandere themes, the characters display behaviors that can be triggering or uncomfortable to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fiction. I do not believe any of the mentioned members would display any sort of this behaviour irl, nor do I condone this sort of behaviour.

Ambient darkness of the night embodied the room, and the colourful lights from the led lighting rotating lamp buzzed around in the different parts of the room. Unlike the heavenly scenes  described of mellifluous music played on the angel’s harp, the music of the current premises was loud, distorting, and you felt the vibration of its beats travel through your body; it was an absolute hideous mess, and the loudness of it, in addition with the buzzing lights, was giving you an headache. Stress, jealousy, and evident dislike for everything around you was visible on your face. It was one shot chugged down your dry throat after another – the strong levels of alcohol burnt. It did not help that you had been drinking on an empty stomach. So, the alcohol kicked in faster, and the nauseous levels built up quicker too.

From the spot you sat on, to in the distance where your lover was, the sight of it caused a sickening and revolting churning in your stomach. You watched him like a hawk, a predator attentively observing their prey. You watched how the corners of his eyes squinted, his nose scrunched, and his lips widened, revealing his teeth when he laughed with someone else – someone that was not you, someone who was prettier, seemingly funnier, smarter, and everything else better than you.

It made you ponder: why was he laughing like that with someone else and not you? Why was he out there, distanced from you, with someone else, and not you? Why had he even come here and even allowed you outside? It did not make sense – none of this made sense.

Disgust pooled in your gut and you could not pinpoint the reason for it; was it disgust at yourself and what you had become? Disgust at the way he was looking at her even though he had promised that his eyes were only for you, was that it? Or perhaps, it was a side effect of the excessively consumed alcohol.  

It was almost comical really, because when Jungkook had first kidnapped you for the sake of his obsession love, you never did a single thing he demanded of you. You had loathed him with your whole existence for taking you away from your loved ones, your life, stripping you off your freedom, and isolating you to live in the fantasy he claimed to have been dreaming about you two for an eternity. His vows of endless love, promises to always be there for you – had it been all lies? Just knowing that you were even making an effort to wonder about that, made you finally understand that you did not even realize when you had stopped loathing him with your entire existence, because he had become your existence.

Now, everything that you did, everything that you were, revolved around what Jungkook wanted you to do, and wanted you to be. By now, for the sake of his happiness, you were more than happy to do anything that he wanted, and love him with every fibre of your being as long as he loved you with every fibre of his being too. And he did – Jungkook’s love for you was deeper than what normal humans were capable of. After all, you learned what true love meant from him.

Everything had become perfect, finally, until it was not anymore.

See, recently, Jungkook had been rather distant for some unknown reason. He did not reciprocate your touch with the same intensity, and did not kiss with the same ferocious passion he had taught you to kiss him with. Nothing was the same as it was meant to be, and it made you wonder… Were you becoming too boring for Jungkook? Was the new submissiveness, and giving into his demands too easily made him less attractive to you? Did he like the old you? The old you who would always rebel against him and the one he would always have an excuse to punish?

Come to think of it, you did recall when Jungkook once told you that he relished in your pain, and your face etched with tears was his favourite expression. Did he miss that? Punishing and hurting you – was he playing with you like this so you would revert back to your old ways, and he would have a reason to hurt you again?

The possibility of this being the truth was making your gut twist in knots.

From the distance, in his spot, you were unaware of the fact that Jungkook had been watching you back the whole time. The other girl beside him was simply part of the hazy insignificant background for him. He had been chatting with her because he had to, rather than wanting to. However, admittedly, he did end up staying next to her side longer than he needed to, simply because he was enjoying watching you have a breakdown over how he was ignoring you.

He did not mean to ignore you, really he didn’t. But, it was so much fun to do so because it made you so fidgety, and even more desperate for him. It was so adorable how conscious you had become of what he thought of you – all of his hard work, of him wanting your entire being to revolve around him, and wanting you to fulfill whatever he wanted from you, was coming true.

However, with each injected dose of addiction to him that he put in you, it also fueled the fire to your new found obsession; and that was really adorable – honestly, nothing had excited Jungkook as much as this moment did.

It was so foolishly innocent of you to think that just because he was manipulating you to be as passionately in love with him as he was with you, he would let you dominate him. Frankly speaking, it was quite difficult for him to hold back his laughter when you two had returned home that night, and you had dare to try and ‘punish’ him for talking to someone else other than you.

Of course, Jungkook was a lot more stronger than you. So, he had no problem getting rid off the knife you had threatened him with, and hold it against you instead.

He had you pinned against the bedroom’s wall, and your face tilted upwards, with the tip of the knife poking the skin underneath your chin gently.

He grinned widely, and in his grin that should have been soft, reassuring, and full of love if you were in a healthy relationship, it was the opposite: dangerous, devious, and etched with promises of hurt.

“It’s really cute that you think I would ever let you overpower me. I love how you’ve become so thoughtful and dedicated towards me,” A pause, and Jungkook leaned closer towards your ear. His following words caused your legs to quiver in fear.

“But if you ever dare to doubt my love for you again, I’m going to rip your entire skin apart, and carve my name everywhere on your body so you’ll always remember how much I love you.”

[project-ohagi]

Keiji Akaashi x Reader {Haikyuu!!}

The grace with which he had been blessed was astounding, even to his upperclassmen. You always searched for him in the onslaught during break and lunch, hoping against hope that he would gaze your way. His politeness and the blunt way he voiced his opinions were surely going to be your downfall; every time he opened his mouth, your heart began pounding in your chest, and all the blood in your system would surge to your ears and cheeks. The sound of blood swirling around your head almost drowned out your love's magnificent voice. Almost. Once, he caught you zoned-out, on cloud nine, and questioned the intensity of your blush. The handsome setter thought that perhaps you were ill and seeking medical attention. Afterwards, he seemed to make a routine of greeting you every morning, and on the off-chance you happened to meet in the hallways.

Although he never appeared too interested in physical contact, his friend was incredibly touchy-feely. It humoured you for a while, but gradually, the amusement was replaced with fury - that was your man, your gorgeous specimen, and no matter how close those two were, Bokuto was not getting Keiji. You dedicated an entire journal to learning and recording his habits, mannerisms, likes and dislikes, as well as any other helpful bits of information. You wanted to know everything.

Sitting behind him in class had its advantages, because he couldn't tell that you were writing about him, and from your angle, you could garner his mood from the movement of his upper body alone. You didn't need to be an expert at deciphering facial expressions. You were quickly becoming a master on the topic of Keiji Akaashi. Following him also worked in your favour - the way he stood (hands interlocked behind his back) was utterly adorable, so you started copying it. You would try out the things you knew he liked, and also considered joining the girls' volleyball team. However, that way there would be less chance of you seeing his matches up close.

You examined his character in more depth, exploring how he talked to, and acted around, his classmates and team mates. His closest confidante was indeed Bokuto, but you feared that striking up a conversation would lead to some weird places. He was such a loud, rambunctious individual, and you couldn't risk the exposure. Not when you were so near to completing your most daring, yet most exciting plan. It needed perfecting and executing, but that was now only a matter of days. Keiji was quiet, but certainly not shy. Heck, you weren't exactly sure he was capable of reading the mood, but all his little quirks combined to make him so incredibly endearing.

Your Romeo was far more special and charming than anyone else in your life, and you were prepared to go to some insane lengths to keep him caged. Ten foot tall iron bars, and an ivory roof would surely sedate him. He would look so handsome, so perfectly submissive, splayed out amongst your sheets. His hands would turn a hot white as he gripped them, trying to chain himself to reality. The poor thing wouldn't know what to do, lying and trembling beneath you. Nothing would be veiling his perfection from your eyes, so they could feast on what they saw, and it would satisfy them for life.

A sticky white liquid would dribble down his stomach, having been shot out a short while earlier, when your lips closed around his throbbing member, and sultry moans filled the room. Keiji's soft, haggard sounds would be music to your ears - a choir of angels, and your legs would further entrap him. Lining his member up with your aching hole, you would sheathe him inside, relishing in the sudden, pleasure-induced moan that escaped his lips. It would be throaty, in his lustful haze. Leaning forwards, you would forcefully press your lips together, coaxing his tongue out to play. At some point, he might gain control, turning the tide of dominance. Pinning you to the bed, perhaps he would will you to beg, to plead for his glorious sex. He might release you, or he could make you suffer. Maybe he would pull out, so that only the tip remained, or perhaps he would even deny your orgasm, as punishment for screwing with him. Would he do that?

Licking your lips, you imagined all the possibilities, ranging from soft sex to rough sex, to no sex at all. It was entirely plausible that, once he gained the upper hand, he would tie you against the bed, stranding you until morning, or whenever someone decided to walk in and found your naked, or semi-naked body, shaking from the cold, desiring nothing but Keiji Akaashi.

Then again, Fukurōdani would provide the best environment. Plus, it would be much easier to find and lure your prey in a place that he felt comfortable. You might be able to find a jump rope to tie his hands, and maybe the gymnasium's storeroom would be a good spot to launch an attack. However, first came the annoying part: removing Keiji's larger-than-life friend from the picture. You didn't really have to go to the extreme of killing him, but that was always a viable option. No, you could just get someone to help you take his attention off Keiji, and go home by himself. He was constantly hoarding your beloved, never letting you get too close. You could have even sworn he glared at you once, for attempting to limit the space between yourself and the setter. Regardless, he had to go, if only for a few hours.

You crossed your legs, well aware that you were growing too aroused, from your fantasies alone. The object of your (obsessive) affections tilted his head in concentration. You loved this, because it meant that he was working really hard. He was incredibly smart, but never boasted about his grades. You adored his humility. The temperature had risen significantly in the past few minutes, but you hadn't noticed, since you spaced out. However, the heat seemed to affect Keiji, as his blazer was draped gracefully over the back of his chair, and you could see the sweat rolling down his neck. In that moment, all remaining reason flooded out, and you had to stab your hand with a sharpened pencil, just to stop yourself from leaning in and lapping up the substance. Glancing at the clock, you realised that there were less than ten minutes left. You sighed in relief. Keiji's dark eyes flicked to the side, catching a glimpse of your flustered state. He would attest to being concerned. You were a classmate, after all.

He looked back towards the teacher, listening with one ear. The notes in his book were becoming more and more confusing - his focus was wavering, as he tried to disperse it between you and the lesson. He always appeared so cool, so collected, able to dish out the most brutally honest comments without batting an eye, but, a slight panic was building in his stomach. It twisted unnaturally, bringing him to the brink of nausea. Although, no-one would be able to tell, not even if they invaded his personal space, like Bokuto. The extraordinarily beautiful setter often noticed you staring, out of the corner of his eye, but he never said anything. You seemed quite timid, since you scarcely talked to anyone, so he didn't necessarily want to make you uncomfortable. However, while he thought that you kept your head down and got work done, you actually had a very different, very special reason for scribbling in your book, only sparing two or three glances towards the teacher.

Earlier, you had been in the process of writing out, and testing, various methods of torture/execution. You see, Keiji had a bad habit of being friendly around the girls at school. Well, he was an incredibly amiable person anyway, but, much like Aobajōsai's setter, he had a fanclub. They were absolutely obsessed with him.

Although, they could never love Keiji like you did.

Their president was a small-ish, brown-haired female, who compensated for her height by donning these ridiculous, strictly prohibited heels, which gave her a few more inches. She had a horrible, toxic sort of personality, and a smile that could wipe out an entire species. For her, you implemented a very special, very inhumane plan. One day, during lunch, you asked her (privately) about joining the Keiji Akaashi Fanclub. She was thrilled to have yet another member, and she entrusted you with all sorts of written documents, ready and waiting for your signature. The two of you had a clandestine meeting, because you wanted to 'show' her something. You shrugged off all her guesses. There was a spring in your step, and a happy giggle bubbling in your throat. In your bag, an iron contraption sat amongst your school supplies. After placing it (with much force) on her head, and twisting it violently, almost breaking the poor girl's jaw before the fun really started, you hauled her into the furnace.

She had been your first victim.

Proceeding her, were five more members of that detestable, and frankly annoying, club. When they were dealt with, you transitioned into Phase 2, which primarily involved the possible abduction, and definite enchantment, of your love: Keiji Akaashi. So now, you were in class, gazing dreamily at him, and wondering about your plan. It needed a touch more...flavour, so it would, unfortunately, have to wait. At least until tomorrow.

The bell rang, and freedom had never tasted so sweet. Thankfully, your chosen methods of extermination required minimal bloodshed, so nothing was visible on your clothes. Just as you packed away your items, and got out of your chair, a mildly concerned-looking Keiji blocked your view of the door. You recognised a slight imbalance in his stance, indicating that something was troubling him.

"(L/n)-san." He addressed, nonchalantly.

Your response was almost too quick. "Yes, Kei-Akaashi-kun?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Did you need me for something? You're always staring. It can be confusing."

"Ah..." You guessed he stopped himself from saying 'annoying'. "I can tell you tomorrow, maybe?" You muttered, attempting to stall for time.

Shaking his head, he spoke, "Please tell me now."

This was happening far too suddenly, yet you weren't about to let this opportunity slide. "Um...well, I could tell you on the way back? We go the same way, if I remember correctly."

"Yes, we do. Let's go then." His fingers brushed past yours, causing your skin to prickle.

Right, cool. Just keep this momentum, and everything will go smoothly.

While walking, you spotted him fumbling with his fingers - something he did quite frequently. It wasn't really a sign of anxiety, but you found it adorable. His gunmetal blue eyes were fixated on the road ahead, and his lips had long since been sealed. You desperately needed to take action, otherwise, if your actual strategy did not work, you would completely fail. You couldn't let him go home, but it would seem really strange if you asked him to join you for a cup of tea, or something to that effect. Whilst you were pondering this dilemma, droplets of water dripped down on to your hair and clothes, thoroughly wetting both of you. Since your house was close, and you lived alone, this was the perfect opportunity to invite him inside. Silently, you thanked whatever god was out there, listening to your prayers.

The two of you hurried inside, grabbing some towels and shaking yourselves off. Your (e/c) eyes glimpsed his shirt, now transparent due to exposure to the rain. Gulping, you averted your gaze, attempting not to grow too aroused. Keiji looked around, seeing nothing he didn't expect. Your hallway was pretty barren, to be honest, because everything of personal value was compiled in your room. That is to say, you had lots of...helpful tools.

"Thank you. I figured it might rain, so I gave my umbrella to Bokuto-san." He nodded politely.

Sighing, you stated, "You do so much for him."

"He's our captain. If he loses his cheerful nature, he won't be as good in practise." He clarified, not seeming to understand why you suddenly sounded quite out-of-sorts.

I need some love too, y'know?

You smiled. "I get that. Sorry, I wasn't trying to offend you."

He followed your lead, walking slowly behind you. "It's alright. I should have brought another umbrella, so you didn't get wet."

"It was inevitable."

I'm always wet when you're around, Keiji.

"I apologise anyway." He bowed, halting his movements.

You stopped outside your bedroom door. "Then, how about you make it up to me?"

[trash-the-tozier]

One Week Away (1/2)

Title: One Week Away

Length: ~13.7k words (7.7k for this part)

Summary: School is out for spring break, and the Losers are taking a week long trip to visit Beverly in Portland. Could there have been a worse time for Richie to realize that he was in love with his best friend?

Warnings: None? This fic is mostly just bill and richie being rowdy boys (explicit language, perverted insinuations, and general dumbassery), a bit of underage drinking

Pairings: Richie/Bill, established Mike/Stan, hints at Ben/Beverly

A/N: After I read the IT book, bichie shot way up my fave ships list. The fact that it took me 8 months to actually write a fic for the two of them is neither here nor there, but this fic was just a fluffy mess that was super fun to write! the next part should be up within a couple of days. Enjoy!! also posted to ao3 here

“Freedom!” Richie shouted, flinging his arms wide. “Spring break is upon us and we are ready to party, aren’t we boys?”

“In moderation.” Stan said, Richie whirling on him incredulously as the group laughed.

“Moderation?” He asked back, sounding the word out slowly. “Stanley Mudstick Uris, why do you hate fun?”

“I’m not a stick in the mud.” Stan insisted. He glanced up at Mike’s face, bumping his boyfriend with his shoulder to get his attention. “I love fun. Tell Richie I love fun.”

“Stan loves fun.” Mike said obediently, grinning when Stan winked at him.

“Gross!” Richie pulled an exaggerated face. “Leave me out of your bawdy personal lives.”

“Stan’s right.” Eddie chimed in, from where he was walking next to Bill. “The only reason we can afford this trip is because Beverly’s uncle is letting us stay at his place for free. We can’t like… Get drunk and destroy his house.”

Eddie was right, but Richie didn’t want to admit that so he simply crossed his arms and fell into step next to Ben. Usually, the Losers had to wait until summer rolled around to get together, Beverly’s uncle always arranging the trip, buying the bus ticket and giving Beverly some spending money before sending her down to Derry. She stayed at Bill’s house, the Denbroughs grudgingly having to extend their hospitality to a majority of the Loser’s Club as well, because having Beverly in town was so rare and so wonderful that they all wanted to spend as much time with her as they could.

Richie had always assumed that the adults were all on the same page about the vacation arrangements, but they weren’t; when Beverly’s aunt found out that she was spending nights at a boy’s house, she’d very nearly blown a gasket. She was angry about it for a while, mostly at Beverly’s uncle for allowing it--though Beverly took some of the heat by pointing out that she’d been friends with them for years and “hadn’t gotten pregnant yet”— and the annual trip was cancelled. But the Club collectively decided that if Beverly couldn’t come to Derry to see them, they would just have to drive up to Portland to see her instead.

“Is everyone packed?” Ben asked. He’d had his suitcase ready for at least a week, Richie knew.

“Nope.” Richie answered, grinning in the face of Ben, Stan, and Eddie’s collective disbelief. “Come on, guys! Everyone knows that all the best packing is done at the last minute. All of the things you forget to bring makes the trip unforgettable and exciting.”

“Like the time you went camping with my family and forgot all of your underwear?” Bill asked. His voice had the cadence of a joke, but was lacking the liveliness to pull it off. Richie decided to ignore that, beaming at Bill instead and looping an arm around his shoulders.

“Exactly like that!” He said happily, Bill barely cracking a smile back. They were on Bill’s street now, still walking in a pack. Everyone seemed to have made the silent decision to ignore the turning roads to their own houses and keep Bill company for at least a while longer.

Bill was down in the dumps. His girlfriend of nine months had broken up with him just the day before, and from what Richie heard, it hadn’t been pretty; Mike was the only one around at the time to actually witness it. Secretly, Richie was glad for it, not that he would tell anyone so. The ex-girlfriend, Erika, had never liked him, seemingly more so than all of the rest of them. As a result, Richie had always found her to be a bit of a bitch. He didn’t want Bill to be with someone like her. Outwardly, Richie made sure he was compassionate and sympathetic.

Sort of. He was just overall happy, and hoped his positive energy would help put a smile on Bill’s face too. The jury was still out on whether or not it was actually working.

They reached Bill’s house, Bill taking his backpack off at the door and flopping onto the couch with a decided lack of enthusiasm. Richie didn’t really understand why he was so torn up about the breakup, but Richie himself had never really been in a long-term relationship before, so maybe something about that made it different. Not that nine months was super long-term. Or maybe it was; nine months was how long it took to grow another human person, after all. It might be three years in “adult relationship time”, or something.

“This time tomorrow, I’ll be putting my arms around Bev and giving her a huge smooch.” He declared, dropping himself down on the couch next to Bill. He knew Ben was giving him a look but ignored it, elbowing Bill’s side instead. “You gonna give her a smooch too?”

“Sure.” Bill muttered, noticeably distracted.

“You seem like you need a smooch. Want one from me, Big Bill?”

“What?” Bill finally seemed to tune in to the question, his face a sudden, firetruck red as he lurched away from Richie on the couch. Richie heard Mike and Stan both laughing.

“Don’t be gross.” Eddie reprimanded, but phrases like that were said to Richie so often that they all but bounced off him.

“But I think he needs a smooch, Eds! Pucker up.” He told Bill, leaning in. Bill made a disgruntled sort of noise as he was all but pounced on, catching Richie’s forearms with his hands and holding him at arm’s reach.

“Don’t deny our love, Billiam!” Richie exclaimed, leaning all of his weight into his attack, and Bill toppled over backwards, Richie landing on him. Bill still had him by the arms, but that defense had backfired; now Bill’s hands were trapped under Richie’s stomach, and their faces were close. Bill choked out a laugh, the sound breathlessly needy for oxygen due to Richie’s weight upon his chest, but it was a laugh all the same, lighting up his eyes a little. They stared at each other for a moment, at a bit of a stand still, Richie relishing in the grin he’d managed to put on Bill’s face. He considered completely following through with his threat--Bill’s lips were mere inches away--but didn’t, pressing a kiss to the tip of Bill’s nose instead.

Bill’s face lit up pink, and he closed his eyes, turning his head slightly as he laughed again.

“Fuck off, Rich.” He said, his smile growing the slightest bit more as he said the nickname, glancing up at Richie, and Richie’s breath all but stopped in his chest.

Bill was pink from embarrassment, pink from Richie kissing him, but there was a light in his eyes and a smile on his lips, and god, Richie’s brain had gone completely blank, aside from a golden sort of happy feeling and a rush of exceptionally smitten-toned expletives. Bill was gorgeous.

Bill’s body was firm and slightly arched, still pressed against Richie’s own and Richie scrambled backwards, suddenly terrified that Bill could feel how hard his heart was pounding. His hands now free, Bill stayed laying on his back, crossing his arms over his face, completely covering his eyes, and Richie just looked at him for a moment.

“Well, he’s smiling.” Mike pointed out. “Maybe he did need that kiss.”

“Doctor Richie always knows what’s best.” Richie said, the words coming out more as a reflex than anything, and sounding a bit too preoccupied. Eddie made a face.

“Don’t call yourself that.”

“But I’m Doctor Richie!” Responding to Eddie was easier than sitting here in his own blushy embarrassment, and Richie jumped at the chance to tease him, puckering his lips so that the words were slightly muffled. “Do you need your meds too, Spaghetti?”

“You kissing me would actually send me to the hospital.” Eddie answered flatly, Richie jumping up from the couch and grabbing Eddie in a headlock.

“I’ve got to go home, and I’m taking Eddie with me.” He announced to the group, resting his chin on the top of Eddie’s head. “Anyone else want to help me pack?”

“I can’t go into your room.” Eddie protested, but he didn't try to struggle away. “I’m not getting my tetanus booster shot until October.”

Richie ignored the jibe, and after Stan offering to come along, they set off. Richie was surprised by Stan’s company, but once they got to Richie’s room and Stan the Man simply fixed him with a look, Richie knew that he wasn’t actually going to get any help with packing at all.

“What the hell was that?” Stan asked, sitting on Richie’s desk.

“What the hell was what?” Richie asked back, feigning innocence. Stan raised his eyebrows.

“I think he’s talking about you mauling Bill, Richie.” Eddie supplied, not entirely unhelpfully, and Richie let out a long groan, falling face first onto his bed.

“Shut… Shut up.”

Stan let out a sigh, and Richie could only imagine the expression on his face.

“So you admit it. You do like him.”

“No!” Richie scrambled up into a sitting position. A better stance to defend himself in, he figured. “It’s Bill. It’s just Bill; he’s my friend. So of course I like him, like, friend-wise. I’m a touchy guy. Kissing him on the nose isn’t a big deal. That’s all. No big deal.”

He desperately wanted this to be no big deal. That the elation he’d felt when he heard that Erika and Bill had broken up was just good riddance to an evil witch, and not the alleviation of jealousy. The lurch in his chest at the proximity of Bill’s face, at the touch of Bill’s body. It was all no big deal.  

Stan rolled his eyes, fixing Richie with a bemused expression.

“What?” Richie finally asked him.

“You’re rambling like an idiot, so I’m just waiting for your pants to catch on fire, liar.”

“Fuck off.” Richie said, while Eddie laughed. “He smiled at me, alright? I…”

“He smiled at you?” Stan gaped. “That’s your big defense?”

“I don’t like Bill, okay?!” Richie took a pillow from his bed and threw it at Stan, who just caught it from the air and threw it back. It knocked Richie’s glasses askew, only furthering Richie in his realization that he had no control of this situation; of this hole of realization he was digging himself in. “Just because… Just because I--”

“Because you can’t stop staring at him?” Eddie supplied. “Because you just, I don’t know, tackled him on the couch and kissed him on the nose?”

“I watched you look way too long at his ass yesterday.” Stan deadpanned. Richie threw another pillow at him, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

“You guys are delusional.” He insisted. “It’s nothing, I’m telling you. He’s smiled at me a hundred times. Maybe a thousand times! I don’t--”

Richie cut himself off, the realization that he's possibly been on the receiving end of a thousand Bill Denbrough smiles making his insides fill with a combination of affectionate mush and nervous butterflies. He covered his face with his hands.

“You’re pathetic.” Eddie informed him.

“He's cute.” Richie mumbled through his fingers. “I think he's cute, okay? But that's it! I think Eddie is fucking adorable, and that's harmless enough, isn't it?”

“Sure, that's fine, but you don't want to suck Eddie's dick.” Stan said flatly.

“Stan!” Richie yelped, falling off his bed. He hit the floor with his hip and his elbow and winced. “I wasn't fucking thinking about Bill's dick.”

“And now you are. You're welcome.”

“You're a goddamn menace.” Richie said through gritted teeth, and Stan just grinned, because yes, Richie was thinking about it now. He was thinking about Bill, his eyes closed and his face flushed, his skin pink all the way down his chest, his hands in Richie’s hair.

“Hey.” Eddie snapped his fingers in front of Richie’s face, the sound loud and close. “Don’t fucking have any fantasies while we’re here.”

“It’s Stan’s fault.” Richie mumbled defensively, and went back to lying face down, but on the floor this time. “He’s Bill. He’s one of my best friends! How am I supposed to be his friend if I can’t stop thinking about his ass?”

“I did it.” Eddie said with a shrug. “It wasn’t too hard. I mean, he had his thing with Beverly going on at the time, so I never said anything, but--”

“Never said anything! No kidding Eds, really? You liked Bill?” Richie looked at Eddie first, then to Stan, who seemed thoroughly unsurprised by the news. So unconcerned, in fact, that Richie realized that this wasn’t news at all. “When?”

“Since I met him, maybe, until a couple years ago.” Eddie answered with a shrug. “He kinda made me realize I didn’t like girls.”

“Oh, shit. Why didn’t you ever tell me that Bill was your sexual awakening?”

“Because you would have made fun of me.”

“Me? Why would I tease you about wanting Big Bill’s big--”

The rest of Richie’s sentence was muffled as Eddie stepped on his face. After the sixth joke at the expense of Eddie’s old crush Eddie and Stan declared themselves to be leaving, the both of them reminding him to pack a suitcase as they stepped out the door. But Richie just returned to his bedroom floor, watching his fan make slow circles on the ceiling and letting his mind wander. His thoughts never strayed far from Bill Denbrough.

It was late in the evening when his house phone rang. Richie sprang to answer it.

“Pip pip and tally-ho! Richie Tozier speaking.”

“Oh my god.” Came a voice, though there was an amused tone to it. “I miss your stupid ass.”

“Beverly!” Richie beamed. “Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, girl!”

“Right back atcha.” Beverly sighed. “I talked to Bill earlier, finalizing stuff, and he mentioned that you hadn’t packed yet. So I wanted to check in. Got that stuff in a suitcase yet?”

“Not… Exactly.” Richie was so far behind on the packing process that he didn’t even know where in his house his suitcase was. In the garage somewhere, maybe. Or in his closet. “But I don’t really need to bring anything, you know? I’ve worn your clothes before. I could do it again.”

Beverly laughed. “That might be a bit too fashion forward. I don’t think the city of Portland is ready for Richie Tozier in a sundress that definitely does not fit him.”

“Most cities aren’t.” Richie admitted. Beverly laughed again, a lull falling in conversation. Richie was about to open his mouth, figuring he’d realize where the sentence was going after he’d started it, when Beverly spoke up instead.

“So, about Bill.”

“Wha-what about him?” After thinking about Bill for the past couple of hours, it was weird to hear someone else mention his name out loud.

“Didn't his heart get completely curb-stomped the other day?” Beverly asked. Richie let out a breath.

“Oh, right.” The breakup.

“I asked him if he was alright, and of course he said that he was fine, but I'm not going to believe him. What do you think?”

“He's kinda sad, but he'll be okay.”

“Yeah.” Beverly sighed. “A girl like that isn't worth being upset over.”

Richie raised his eyebrows, though he knew Beverly couldn't see it.

“Yeah?” He asked hesitantly.

“Come on Richie. We all know you hated her.”

“She hated me first!”

“Everyone kind of hates you at first.” Beverly said, but there was an amusement in her voice that kept the blow from stinging. “But from what I've heard, she was a bit of a bitch.”

Richie let himself fall into one of the chairs in the living room, the phone cord barely long enough to let him sit down.

“I am so glad you said that.” He murmured, and Beverly burst out laughing.

“So you do hate her!” She exclaimed.

“She's a bitch!” Richie exclaimed back, Beverly falling into giggles across the line.

“I mean, I've never met her, but the way she always disregarded Bill's sexuality, but then always accused him of cheating whenever you guys hung out together, it's--”

“Wait, what?” Richie interrupted, positive he'd misheard her. There was a frown in Beverly's voice as she answered.

“How she told Bill he was just confused when he told her he wasn't only attracted to girls? They fought about it a lot, I heard.”

“Bill… Bill likes guys?” Richie asked slowly. He felt as though he'd been hit over the head with a steel beam. “He's only dated girls. He's not just into girls?”

“He…” Now Beverly was talking slowly, sounding concerned. “He never told you?”

“No.”

The silence was deafening. Richie was biting so hard on the side of his tongue that there was an ache in his jaw when Beverly spoke again.

“I just--I just thought--and all the other Losers know, I swear we've talked about--I would never out him on purpose, I just figured--”

“Beverly.” Richie said quickly, able to hear his friend spiraling.

“You two are so close, I just figured he would have told you.”

“I… Yeah.” Richie didn't know what to think. He and Bill had been friends for years, been close for years; he didn't blame Beverly for thinking that he would know something that Bill had apparently told everybody else. Something he had told all of the Losers but him. “No, he's never told me. Or like… Insinuated anything, even. We all make jokes to each other and stuff--hell, I kissed him on the nose today--but…”

Richie trailed off, his mind full of racing thoughts that overlapped and crashed into each other, conglomerating together into a huge mass of holy shit and and an overload of question marks.

“...you okay?” Beverly asked after a moment. The question drew Richie from his thoughts, and he gave his head a little shake.

“Yeah, yeah. But I've gotta pack, alright? I'll see you soon.”

Beverly was quiet for a long moment, as though she was considering Richie's attempt to escape the conversation and wondering whether or not to let him go.

“Alright.” She allotted, and Richie gave an internal sigh of relief. “See you tomorrow, Richie.”

The line went dead, but Richie stayed sitting in the chair, feeling slightly shell-shocked. Bill likes guys. Bill likes guys.

It took a long, long time for the knowledge to sink in, to feel like a reality, simply repeating the phrase over and over in his mind, going over what Beverly had said, wanting to make sure he wasn't misinterpreting the words. Then, after that, he knew he needed to let Bill know. Bill deserved to be aware of who knew and who didn't, trying to concoct a joke that wasn't too insensitive. Distraction came fast and frequent as he paced around his house, half lumping together some of the essentials he would need for the trip, half thinking about the fact that fuck, Bill likes guys. He didn't start genuinely searching for his suitcase until well past midnight.

“Rise and shine, fucker!”

The rude greeting cut through Richie's subconscious, and even in his barely-awake state, he recognized the voice as Eddie's. It was followed seconds later by violent hushing, and Ben's voice, considerably quieter.

“His parents are awake.”

“Oh shit, that's right.” Eddie muttered back.

“How fucking early is it?” Richie grumbled at the two of them, still unwilling to open his eyes.

“It's already after eight, you lazy asshole.” That was Bill's voice, and in spite of himself Richie felt a smile tug at his lips, opening his eyes a crack. The three of them were standing next to his bed, Eddie by his head and Ben by his feet, Bill in the middle. “We came to get you last. Mike already put your suitcase in the car.”

“How thoughtful. You guys doing all the work for me.” Richie extended his arms dramatically towards his friends. “I think you all should carry me to the car, too.”

Eddie slapped his hands down, telling him to shut up, while Bill laughed.

“Come on, get out of bed Richie.”

Richie stuck his tongue out. “No.”

“Bite me, Tozier.”

“Where, Denbrough?”

“Oh, fuck you.” Bill met his eyes, and Richie was delighted to see a bit of a blush on his cheeks. “Get up.”

“Make me.”

Barely a second passed, as though Bill was considering his options, and then Bill jumped on him.

Bill's landing hurt, bony limbs hitting bony limbs, Bill's elbow digging into his stomach. Richie let out a yelp, struggling under him, able to hear Bill's quiet laughter close to his ear. Then Bill's fingers found his sides under the mess of blankets, one hand traveling up his shirt, and Richie yelled out a curse.

He slid from the bed and onto the floor, where Ben grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Not fair!” Richie exclaimed. Bill sat up in his bed, a triumphant grin on his face, his hair wonderfully disheveled.

“Not my fault you're the most ticklish motherfucker in existence.” Bill said, and with Eddie leading the way, they marched him out of his room. He yelled a goodbye to his parents, and while he knew they would be upset with him for not stopping into their room to say a more proper farewell, now that he was upright, he was excited and ready to go. They were going to go visit Beverly.

Mike and Stan were kissing up against the hood of the car when they got there. Richie wolf-whistled as they walked up, but Stan simply took one of his arms from around Mike's neck and flipped him off. They all piled into the car, Mike driving and Stan in the passenger seat, Eddie clambering into the back row with all of the suitcases, leaving Bill, Richie, and Ben to squeeze across the middle row together. Richie found himself between the two of them, and while the drive was only going to take two hours, he began to worry about bothering them with his restlessness.

As it turned out, Ben was the more restless one, too eager to arrive and see Beverly again. Bill was an exact opposite, his head drooping, and after a mere fifteen minutes, he was asleep.

For a couple of moments his head simply lolled before Mike took a turn and he leaned, falling against Richie's chest. Unwilling to let Bill fall forwards, Richie reached an arm around Bill's shoulders, pulling him close. Bill let out a breath that sounded like a sigh, resting against him more comfortably, and Richie's heart leapt in his chest, realizing something that should have occurred to him last night, but had been largely overshadowed by the other news.

Bill liked guys… And Richie was a guy.

A wild, giddy excitement coursed through him for a couple of moments, looking down at Bill's sleeping face. He looked so pretty, his expression peaceful, his eyelashes resting against the soft skin of his cheeks. Richie's eyes caught on his lips, and he wanted to kiss Bill so much that it hurt.

A cough from the front of the car interrupted this wishful thinking, Richie looking up to see an expression on Stan's face that told him he wasn't exactly being subtle. Richie was equal parts annoyed and grateful by Stan's attempt to help him keep himself in check, sighing and directing his attention out the window instead. His mind wandered to his conversation with Beverly for the umpteenth time, remembering her surprise at his ignorance.

"You two are so close, I just figured he would have told you.”

Now that the shock of the information was wearing off, this bit was nagging at him. The completely unexpected secrecy. It was a selfish thought, the idea that Richie was entitled to Bill's life, to the privacy of Bill's thoughts, but he couldn't help but feel upset. Because this wasn't a secret that Bill was holding from everyone. Beverly had known, and from the way she had talked about it, so had everybody else. Bill had even told that she-devil of a now-ex-girlfriend. Bill had told everyone but him.

Which meant one thing: he didn't want Richie to know. The question was why.

Because he doesn't like you. His mind supplied, helpful as always. He didn't want you to think you had a chance. Because you don't.

That may be true, but that didn't mean Richie wanted to hear it. Richie knew that whatever the reason, he shouldn't even be troubling himself with this; he should feel bad for Bill, for just being broken up with. He should worry about his friend being sad. That should be his most pressing concern. Rationally, Richie knew he had no reason to feel so upset, and he recognized that.

He was upset anyway.

The ride was a short one, and before any of them knew it, they had arrived. It was easy to find Beverly’s uncle’s house because Beverly was standing in front of it, and began jumping up and waving as soon as they started up the street. Stan rolled down his window.

“Beverly!” He exclaimed at her, and she beamed, running up to the car as soon as they were in front of the house. The shout startled Bill awake, jolting up off him, looking out the window instead of looking Richie in the eye.

Beverly hugged them all and kissed their cheeks in the order that they left the car, and as a result Richie was third person to greet her, wrapping her tight in his arms and pressing a kiss to the side of her head.

“I missed you so much.”

“I know.” She answered with a little laugh. She pulled back, looking him over, her expression a little more serious. “About Bill--”

“I haven't told him yet.” Richie said quickly. “I didn't really know how, but I--”

“Let me do it then. It's my fault anyway.” She said quickly, giving him a quick pat on the cheek before stepping past him to get to Bill, who had just gotten from the car. Richie watched them for a moment, Beverly hugging him before stepping back, pushing his bangs from his forehead, holding his hands, all while talking quietly. Bill's eyes widened, flicking to Richie for a moment, and a rush of fear went through Richie's chest, averting his eyes, jerking away to help Ben with the suitcases.

Mike was the last one from the car, lifting Beverly up in his arms to carry her inside. They crossed the threshold bridal style, Richie cheering and clapping for them, making both of them laugh. He was still trying not to look at Bill, because he could still feel Bill's eyes on him.

“Hey, boys.” Beverly's uncle was in the kitchen, catching their attention with the greeting. He was a short man, balding around the top, his hair light and thin. He had a nice, good natured smile though, and Richie smiled back at him.

“Thank you so much for letting us stay, sir.” Mike said, ever the gentleman, putting Beverly back down on her own feet. Everyone followed his lead, thanking him as well, but he waved them all off.

“Of course. I know how much Beverly cares about all of you. It just wouldn't be fair, otherwise. I'm going to duck out, and let you all hang out for the night, and I just have a couple or rules.”

They nodded in unison, and he laughed at them a little before continuing.

“Clean up after yourselves. No drugs, no sex, and if you're going to drink, do it in the house. But if you do, you'll have to pay me back for whatever liquor is gone, and don't any of you throw up on my favorite chair.”

He pointed, all of them following to see a well worn leather recliner in the living room behind Eddie. Eddie sprung away from it, and Beverly's uncle laughed again. That was the end of his list, greeting them all individually to get their names--or, to put faces to the names he'd heard from Beverly, to put real people to all the pictures he'd seen--on his way out. At the door, he paused.

“Check in with me before you go out anywhere.” He said, but this was directed at his niece only, Beverly nodding back. “And if you do get up to any shenanigans… Don't tell your aunt about them.”

The last sentence got a laugh from Beverly, and after that he was gone.

“He's staying the night at a hotel.” Beverly explained. “He said he didn't want to bother us.”

“He seems cool.” Stan said, and Beverly nodded.

“He is. My aunt is great too, but she's more protective, I guess. It makes sense that she would be, being my mom's sister. I'm just glad that he stuck around, even after they got divorced. I was a little nervous about him at first, but he's everything that my dad, you know… Wasn't. He makes my aunt's overbearing personality a little more manageable.”

They began moving their suitcases from the living room, trying to figure out where to stash their stuff. The house had two bedrooms, Stan and Mike instantly branching off into one of them. Richie ran into the second one, flopping onto the bed.

“If Richie's sleeping in here, I'm taking the couch.” Eddie declared.

“Eds! I thought you loved me!” Richie wailed, just for the drama of it, and Eddie let out a snort.

“I do, dickwad, but I can't share a living space with you. Your messiness makes my eye twitch.”

“Mind if we share the couch?” Beverly asked Eddie. “For tonight, at least. I brought a bunch of blankets over.”

“I'll stay in there too.” Ben said quickly, Richie's stomach sinking as he realized what that meant. There was only one other option.

“I guess we're roommates.” Bill said, throwing his hoodie at Richie's head. It landed there, covering Richie's face, and for that Richie was grateful. He still hadn't really looked at Bill yet.

There were sounds of the others leaving, and Richie was alone, he figured, letting out a long sigh. Then a weight settled on the mattress, heavy, near Richie's legs.

“So, uh…”

Fuck. It was Bill, goddamnit, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Yeah?” Richie supplied, horrifyingly unhelpful.

“Beverly t-told you.” Bill said quietly, both matter-of-factly and questioningly at once, as though he wanted to know Richie's thoughts, but wouldn't change, regardless of what those thoughts were.

“I… Yeah.” Richie said again. It was achingly quiet for a second, and then Richie realized how shitty of a response that was, sitting up fast. The hoodie somehow stayed on his head, the strings hanging down in front of his face. “But like, it's fine. Of course it's fine. I'd be a gross goddamn hypocrite otherwise, and anyway, Beverly didn't mean anything bad by it, it was an honest mistake, she just thought…”

She just thought I already knew. The words got stuck in Richie's throat halfway through, because they led to a plethora of difficult questions, the front-runner being why didn't you tell me?

Then Bill met his eyes, looking fully at him for a moment before his face folded into laughter, the happy sound leaving him as he leaned slightly closer, his eyes falling closed.

“What?” Richie asked, unable to help feeling amused himself.

“You look hilarious.” Bill told him, reaching up to bat at one of the hoodie strings. It swayed in front of Richie's face, and instantly the tense and anxious mood was broken, Richie laughing too.

The seven of them spent the evening in the living room together. Beverly ordered pizzas and they piled onto the blankets she brought, talking, filling each other in on what they'd missed while they'd been apart. Beverly was in the middle about some story about her two young nephews--one eight, the other ten--when Stan stopped her.

“Hold on. If you couldn't keep coming to Derry because you were being left alone with us, then how come you're allowed to sleep over here?”

“Well, my aunt thinks my uncle is here too.” Beverly began, then adopted a slightly awkward expression, her eyes shifting to the side, with a bit of a grin. “And… She also kinda thinks I'm a lesbian now.”

“Are you?” Eddie asked, and she shook her head.

“What Bill and I had was very real.” She declared dramatically, draping an arm around Bill's shoulders. Bill laughed, resting against the embrace for a moment before she continued. “But I mean… I did kinda have a girlfriend for a few weeks, a couple months ago.”

Richie felt his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. Beverly hadn't told him that--what was with people leaving him out about this stuff?--but he noted, with a slight feeling of relief, that it didn't look like she'd told anyone else, either.

“Yeah?” Mike asked, his eyebrows raised. The mood in the room was slightly tense; Richie could feel Beverly’s discomfort as she waited for them to respond to her confession, as well as the awkwardness from the rest of his friends as they tried for both supporting and nonchalant at the same time. Well, except for Ben, who was going for the complex mixture of supportive and brokenhearted.

“Yeah.” Beverly answered. “She was really cool, but we didn’t really click.”

“What’s kissing a girl like?” Eddie asked, a grin on his face. “Will I like it as much as my mom keeps insisting I will?”

There was a chorus of laughs, and just like that, the tension broke. Beverly reached over, ruffling his hair.

“I thought it was pretty damn great, but doesn’t seem like your thing.” She told him, winking, and Eddie grinned back.

Conversation shifted all over again, the seven of them wandering around different topics for hours while they slowly melted into the pillows and blankets around them. Richie was squished between Eddie and Mike, and was getting increasingly more comfortable the longer the night wore on, happy to be with all his friends. There was an indescribable, unbeatable feeling that came when all of them were together; a feeling of completeness, and Richie nestled himself in it, allowing it to glow within him, and when the early hours came, he felt himself drifting off.

When Richie woke up the room was dark, and all of them had been completely swamped in the mess of bedding and couch cushions that had gotten more haphazard as they'd all moved in sleep. Eddie’s head had shifted onto his stomach at some point in the night and was compressing his ribs and other organs in a rather uncomfortable way, Richie guessing that sensation was what had woken him up. He shifted towards the center of the group, pushing himself away from the couch with his legs and ramming his head into something hard.

Wincing and hissing out a curse, Richie found that the hard thing had been Bill’s knee. Bill was resting on his side, but at the collision he murmured in his sleep and rolled, laying now on his chest. And Richie was now faced with the realization that Bill’s butt was there, just there, right next to him. So he lifted his head up, and after a moment, plopped his head down onto it.

Bill shifted again.

“I, fuckin--” His voice was rough in the best way, sleepy and slightly confused. He lifted his head up just a bit, just enough to turn and see what was happening. When he did, he let out a sigh.

“I hate you, Richie.” He mumbled, but made no move to force Richie off him, and Richie just grinned.

“Love you too, Big Bill.”

“Yeah.” Bill’s voice was nothing more than a murmur; he must have been going back to sleep. “I know.”

Richie let his own eyes fall closed.

When he woke up again, it was late in the day. His head was on a pillow now, and Stan was staring down at him.

“Howdy, Stanley.” Richie said, putting a southern twang in the words. Stan nudged Richie's side lightly with his foot.

“Get up. Mike made food.”

It wasn't until Stan mentioned it that Richie noticed the air, smelling of warm waffles and bacon. He let out a groan, stretching and sitting up.

“I'm gonna marry your boyfriend.” He told Stan, who raised his eyebrows, a grin on his face.

“I'd like to see you try.”

Breakfast was amazing, and while they ate they tried to think of what to do with the day. All attempts at brainstorming got quickly derailed by other conversation, and it soon became too late in the day to put any grand plans into motion, settling on going to a thrift store with Beverly.

It was a fifteen minute walk, Stan and Mike entwining hands as soon as they all stepped outside. There was a chorus of faux hurling sounds from all of the rest of them, Mike kissing Stan’s cheek in retaliation to their teasing while Stan lifted the middle finger on his free hand and waved it around. Beverly stepped to the head of the pack to lead the way and fell into a conversation with Ben and Eddie, and Richie ended up behind them next to Mike. It was fine for a little while, listening to their talk and interjecting with something witty where he could, but he soon got tired of watching Ben and Beverly’s hands touch lightly before jumping away again, heaving a sigh and looking for something to do.

His eyes landed on Bill, who was on Stan’s other side and laughing about something. As nimbly as he could, Richie snuck behind him, reached around, and poked Bill’s cheek.

Bill blinked in surprise for a moment, as though he had to take a second to process what had just happened. Then his face broke out into a smile, a smile that was completely paralyzing, and he jabbed Richie in the neck in retaliation. Richie squawked in shock, jumping away, Bill’s loud laugh following him. They poked at each other all the way to the store, Richie ignoring the pointed looks he was getting from both Eddie and Stan.

As they entered the store, Richie more or less followed his friends as they wandered around. He was rather bad at buying himself clothes, having too much fun holding up odd clothing he found to show the others. Most were t-shirts in awful colors or with funny things on them, and ended up purchasing one: a bright orange shirt with badly drawn q-tips scattered in a pile, the words ‘JUST THE TIP’ curved over them in bold blue lettering. Richie said that it was hilarious. Stan said that as soon as they got back to Derry, he was going to burn it.

“Aw, you just wanna get me outta my clothes!” Richie said, putting on the southern bell voice he’d used towards Stanley earlier, batting his eyelashes exaggeratedly and swiping a hand at him, showing off his horribly paint-chipped fingernails.

They left the store two hours later, none of them with many purchases, but the trip was still a fun adventure. Beverly suggested going to an ice cream parlor around the block. She had ended up with the most stuff, somehow able to sort through all the clothes to find cute, vintage things in her size. Richie suspected she had some kind of fashion-sonar ability.

Once they all had their ice cream in hand, they took a quick walk to the nearest park, squeezing together around a small picnic table to eat. Spring break in Portland wasn’t exactly warm per se, but ice cream was a year-round snack no matter what.

Richie only stayed seated for as long as it took to chomp down on the ice cream and demolish the cone--getting called a monster by Stan, Eddie, and Beverly for being able to use his teeth on something that cold--before hopping up again. Then he went back to bothering Bill like it was his job.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Richie knew he might be acting annoying, or too obvious, or something otherwise related, but he couldn’t help it. He just--he couldn’t stop touching Bill, couldn’t stop wanting his attention, and didn’t have the self control needed to reign himself in. But even so, he supposed it was harmless, right? Hell, he was even making Bill laugh. That had to be a good thing.

The poking continued, quickly escalating to tag now that they had an entire park to run through, and while Richie’s legs were longer, Bill had better stamina. Bill’s hand connected with Richie’s back, interrupting his attempt to lurch away, causing him to trip on a little bit of grass and a whole lot of nothing and tumble to the ground.

Bill stopped next to him, bent forwards slightly and letting out a breathless laugh.

“Alright, Rich?” He asked, meeting Richie’s eyes. The fall hadn’t really hurt, but Richie stayed on his back, unable not to watch Bill’s parted lips as he breathed, the small line of sweat running down his cheek from his temple. Despite not getting an answer Bill didn’t ask again, reaching a hand down to help Richie up. Richie grabbed it, but tightened his grip and used it instead to pull Bill down.

That did hurt a little, the bony frames of two teenage boys colliding with each other. Bill tried not to fall on Richie, but Richie refused to move out of the way, and as a result one of Bill’s knees planted into Richie’s stomach. The other knee landed clear of him, on one side of his waist, Bill’s free hand hitting the ground hard next to Richie’s head.

“Jesus, Richie--” Bill started, but before Richie could get too caught up in having Bill hovering over him, he let Bill’s hand go and dug all ten of his fingers into Bill’s sides. The sound Bill made was a wonderful mix of a curse, a laugh, and a shout of his name as he tried to roll away from the tickling and grab at Richie’s hands at the same time. It was fun, Bill was laughing, skin touching skin as they wrestled in the grass. Richie got breathless fast, Bill pinning him to the ground and grabbing his wrists with a victorious sort of laugh.

“Do I win?” Bill asked, as Richie’s--admittedly, half-hearted--attempt to squirm away proved fruitless. Being in this position didn’t feel like a loss in the slightest, but Richie had a facade to keep.

“Bite me, Denbrough.”

“Where, Tozier?”

And that--that was too much, especially in the way Bill had said it, with the conquering grin on his lips. And maybe Bill could feel it, with the way his grip on Richie’s wrists slackened, the way his cheeks and neck began to flush.

Before Richie could react however, there was a wolf-whistle from the table where the rest of their friends were sitting, and the reality of the situation fully sank in. Bill shot up off him like a bottle rocket.

“This is the public indecency police!” Eddie called out. Richie didn’t have the energy to get up, laying flat on his back in the grass. He lifted up his arms to flip them all off for interrupting whatever the hell had just happened, and stared up at the cloud-scattered sky.

Dinner was mostly Mike trying to teach Bill and Ben how to do various things in the kitchen. Stan was watching, a little too enamored by Mike’s kind display of patience, and Eddie was flitting around in an anxious attempt to keep any cutting board cross contamination from occurring. Richie was just sitting on the kitchen table, watching Bill’s concentrated expression as he attempted to dice a clove of garlic, his staring interrupted as Beverly grabbed his arm and yanked him none too gently into the living room and out of earshot.

“You like Bill!” She accused. Before Richie could attempt any denials, excuses, or explanations, she continued in the same breath “--and you didn’t tell me!”

“I haven’t told anyone!” Richie protested. Then he realized he’d admitted it--though he wasn’t sure why denying it had even been a part of his plan--pushing his free hand through the mess of curls on his head. “Is it that obvious?”

“So obvious. Like… Kind-of-gross level of obvious.”

Richie bit down on his bottom lip, unsure of what he should or could say.

“This, uh… It’s new.”

Beverly’s face told Richie she didn’t believe him. Richie didn’t blame her. It wasn’t new, not really, just new to him in a realization kind of way.

“I’m serious!” He insisted. “I didn’t like, admit it to myself or whatever until the day before yesterday. I don’t… I don’t know. I already had a minimal freak out about it. We’ve always been close and stuff, but now it’s like I can’t leave him alone.”

Her expression turned to something more sympathetic. “Who else knows?” She asked.

“Well, Stan had to tell me, so him. And Eddie. And since Stan knows, I guess Mike does to. So, the only people that don’t know might just be Ben.” A brick fell into Richie’s stomach. “D’you think--you said obvious, do you think Bill--”

“Probably not.” Beverly said, placing a reassuring hand on Richie’s shoulder. “Probably not. Though, if you don’t stop pawing at him, he’s bound to figure it out.”

“I don’t think I want to stop pawing at him.” Richie admitted, and Beverly let out a little bit of a laugh.

“Of course you don’t. You don’t have a single bit of patience in you.”

“I can be patient!”

“I once saw you eat a marshmallow that was still on fire.”

“Why do I need to be patient?”

“Because he just got out of a nine month relationship.” Beverly had a frown on her face. “You said that he was kinda broken up about it. You don’t want to be a rebound, do you?”

Richie fell silent for a moment. He couldn’t help but feel that maybe, that might be worth it.

“No.” He finally admitted. “No, I don’t.”

[thefandomlesbian]

Cordelia/Misty prompt (if you’re still taking them, of course!): Cordelia’s plants suffer when she’s blinded the first time and one of the ways Misty and Cordelia bond is when misty “shows” Cordelia how she’s brought all her plants in the greeenhouse back to full health.

Read on AO3 for the best experience! 

"I’m old, not broken

leaning heavy on hope and I’m hoping

I can always close my eyes to see.” -Down Like Silver, “Any Day”

…

Heavy brown leaves draped from the many plants in the greenhouse. The building had the scent of rot attached to it. Misty strode through it with her tongue pinched between her teeth as she considered it, hands on her hips, drinking in the sight of the dead and the dying. Plants didn’t have souls. They couldn’t cry out to her. But it still hurt. She frowned and slid a tape into the player. Stevie sang to her, and she felt a little bit warmer.

This place wasn’t her home. But she could make it better while she was here.

“Misty?” Zoe pushed through the door of the greenhouse, a pursed frown on her lips. “Hey. I thought I saw you head this way.” Misty swung back to face her with a smile. “Nobody uses this place, you know. Cordelia was the only one, and now… well, obviously.” Obviously? Misty wanted to ask, but she held her tongue. It wasn’t any of her business what had happened to Cordelia, or when it had happened.

“Will anybody care if I fix it up?”

Zoe’s eyebrows quirked together. “You just came out of the jungle. Don’t you want to spend some time in civilization? We have, like, a whole TV here.”

“Nah, I never cared for TV. My mama always called it the stupid box.”

An awkward laugh coughed out of Zoe’s lungs. “Well… I mean, I guess nobody will care if you want to hang out here. Maybe ask Cordelia first, though, before you get rid of anything. She really liked it out here, until--until everything.”

She had mentioned it twice. Misty had to ask. “What happened to her?”

To her surprise, Zoe shrugged, like the whole thing was nonchalant. “Somebody threw acid in her face.” Misty ogled at her, half-expecting her to deliver some punchline on the very sick joke, but Zoe didn’t redact her statement, and instead, she pressed, “They said Myrtle did it--that was why they killed her--but Cordelia doesn’t believe it was her.” Myrtle? Misty had never considered that Myrtle had the potential to be danger. She isn’t. Cordelia knows best.

“What do you think?”

Zoe’s vacant expression made Misty wonder if she cared. “I think Fiona killed Madison, and she’s done worse than frame an innocent person for a crime.”

“Do you think Fiona did it?”

“I don’t know. Ask Cordelia.”

Yeah, I’m definitely not going to ask Cordelia if her mama was the one who threw acid in her face. Misty knew she didn’t always know the boundaries of propriety, but she knew that would cross a big line. “Right,” she hedged. Cordelia hadn’t asked her any invasive questions, and she planned to respond in kind.

“Are you coming in for dinner? We just finished cooking. You don’t have to hang out here by yourself.”

“Nah. I’m good. I’ll warm up some leftovers later.”

“Alright.” Zoe left the greenhouse, abandoning Misty in her solitude--just the way she preferred it.

…

Several days passed. Misty took the liberty of reviving the plants she recognized and bringing back their colors. She thumbed through the botany books Cordelia kept on a dusty shelf in the greenhouse and sorted the poisonous ones from the safe ones. She had no intention of messing with anything that could kill her--nothing sounded quite as embarrassing as accidentally killing herself through herbal poison.

She approached Cordelia one afternoon in the living room where Cordelia rested on the sofa with a book in her lap. Maybe I shouldn’t. She’s reading. Cordelia worshiped the pages of the book with her fingertips, smelling it, the paper and the ink scent rising up from it. But it was just that--ink. She’s not reading. She can’t see. Misty cleared her throat. “Miss Cordelia?”

The house was quiet. Everyone had left about their business, Fiona to chemotherapy, Myrtle finding the council, all of the other girls enjoying themselves. It was just them. Cordelia lifted her head. “Misty? I thought you went with Zoe.”

“Er--nah. Not my type of thing.” Misty didn’t know where Zoe had gone, but she didn’t think an afternoon of listening to Madison and Zoe and Nan all badger each other sounded much fun. Cordelia patted the cushion of the couch beside her, and Misty hesitantly took the invitation, sinking down beside her. Cordelia started to open her hand for Misty’s, but her forehead wrinkled as she reconsidered. Misty’s eyes widened, and she took Cordelia’s hand. She didn’t have anything to hide from Cordelia’s Sight. “Are you okay?”

She blurted the question. It wasn’t what she had come to talk about, but Cordelia seemed lonely. Even her touch pressed melancholy into Misty’s skin. She squeezed Misty’s hand just a little too tight, like too long had passed since someone touched her. “Yes--of course. I’m fine.” Cordelia swallowed hard. “Are you? Zoe tells me you’ve been missing meals.”

“Zoe tells me you’ve been missing meals.”

Cordelia stifled a chuckle, but her lips curled upward at the corners, and Misty celebrated the small success. “Dinner goes more smoothly if everyone doesn’t witness me stabbing myself with a fork.” The light passed over her sunglasses in a reflection, so Misty gazed back at herself. She wondered what emotion she would have seen on Cordelia’s face if she could have. Her words were wry and rueful. “What’s your excuse?”

Misty traced her thumb over the smooth back of Cordelia’s hand, feeling the way the bones and veins shifted under her skin. “I don’t like being around so many people,” she confessed. The crowd of the coven tended to drive her back out to the privacy of the greenhouse where she didn’t need to worry about anyone seeing her or mocking her. “I eat after everybody goes to bed. I ain’t starving.” She smiled as Cordelia’s hand moved against hers. The unique sensation of skin on her skin warmed her soul.

The space between their palms grew warm. Misty didn’t want to let go. “Do you like it here?”

Misty sucked her lower lip. She couldn’t lie to Cordelia, but she didn’t know the truth. “It’s better than being butchered, I figure.” It seemed a lot better, sitting here next to Cordelia, than it did when she tried to sleep in the same room with Nan. “It’s not bad. Just not what I’m used to. You know, a bunch of catty girls. I’ve seen less drama in families of squirrels.” Cordelia laughed, and this one didn’t have any dark ties to it. It was genuine. “It’s true!”

“I believe it.” Cordelia’s brow quirked in the middle of her forehead. Misty admired the wrinkle forming there. “Thank you for taking care of my plants.”

The morose tone to her words brought down Misty’s high. “I like them a lot. It’s peaceful.” Cordelia’s hand wrapped around Misty’s, giving a squeeze of appreciation. “I just--the poisonous ones, can you show me how to fix them? I want to help, but I don’t want to accidentally make myself sick.”

Inclining her eyebrows, Cordelia slid her hand away from Misty’s and closed the book in her lap, putting it off to the side. Her other hand was wrapped around the handle of her cane. “I--I’m not sure I can help you. I think it might be too much for me.”

“There’s nobody here but me,” Misty enticed. “I promise I won’t tell anyone.” Who did she have to tell? Except Zoe, hardly anyone talked to her.

Cordelia considered it before she nodded. “Alright.” Misty grinned, and she popped up from the couch. Cordelia was a little slower to stand. She fumbled to take Misty’s arm for guidance. She gave it a little squeeze. Misty led the way from the house, careful to take things slowly; she realized Cordelia had hardly left the house since her accident. She took the steps one at a time. The cracked sidewalk caught her cane on every bump, but Misty didn’t rush her. She had nothing but time.

The floral scents of the greenhouse washed over them. Cordelia took a long, audible breath through her nose, drinking in the essence of the room. Her silence lingered. She spoke when she was ready. “You’ll need gloves.” She unwrapped her hand from around Misty’s arm. Misty fetched the gloves and garden shears like she was instructed. “Which one are you using now?”

“I was starting with the belladonna.”

Misty loomed over the pretty plant, resisting the urge to bend over and breathe in the scent of the pretty bluish flowers. “You can smell it. The spores won’t hurt you.” She settled her hand on Misty’s elbow, like she feared letting her stray too far. “All of the plant is toxic, though. Always make sure you wash up after you handle it.” Her aura at Misty’s side was warm and welcoming. Misty liked having her there. “And try not to touch it with your bare skin.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. Once I got poison ivy in places you do not want poison ivy, and that really makes a person rethink botany as a practice.” She had made the horrible mistake of peeing in an unfamiliar bush far downstream from her shack, and she had had the rash for days all over her ass and more intimate parts. Cordelia snorted, trying to restrain her laugh, but she failed at it. “Oh, you laugh now. Wait til you’re scratching your ass from here to Timbuktu ‘cause you forgot how many leaves a poison ivy plant has. And things that aren’t your ass!”

Cordelia put up a valiant battle to maintain her composure, but Misty was trying to make her laugh, and she knew it. Her face flushed bright red as she giggled, stifling it behind her hand, but she couldn’t bottle it up. Things kept escaping through her pinched lips. Misty’s own laugh burbled in her chest as she joined Cordelia in joy. She relished in the sound of Cordelia’s freedom. She had never heard Cordelia express herself so freely before, so joyously, and she celebrated it.

It took Cordelia a moment to collect herself. “How many leaves are on poison ivy?”

“I dunno, three or five.”

She laughed again in a short burst, placing her hand on the small of Misty’s back. Oh, boy, I like that a lot. “It’s three.”

“There you go, it’s three. I don’t need to know anything as long as I’ve got you around, right?” Misty asked cheekily. Cordelia chuckled. “Where do I start with this thing?” she asked about the belladonna.

Cordelia cleared her throat. “Just trim off all of the parts that are unkempt and do what you did with the others. Don’t leave the trimmings out where any animals can get to them.”

“Gotcha.”

Cordelia’s instructions were easy to follow, and she did exactly as she was directed until the pretty blue flowers perked up again and the brown leaves greened to their former hue. “Wow. It turned all pretty again.”

The other woman smiled back at her. “This one is my favorite.” Her expression had a certain sadness to it.

“Wanna see?”

“What?”

“The flowers. Do you wanna see ‘em? I’ll look at ‘em for you.”

It struck her, the absolutely oddness of the conversation--how absolutely crazy her words would have sounded to anyone who didn’t understand them. But Misty stripped off the gardening gloves and touched the inside of Cordelia’s wrist in offering. Cordelia put her cane aside, took her hands, and folded their fingers together like pieces of paper forming origami configurations. Misty grounded herself in the moment. Then she focused on the task before her, starting with the bright asters and traveling around the greenhouse with her eyes.

The hues were like all the seasons at once. Orange and red bled into green and yellow, and blue and violet flashed with the bluebells and cornflowers. And when she finished, her eyes landed back on Cordelia’s face, admiring the blush to her cheeks and the awestruck smile upon her lips.

The silence stretched before them, a canvas untouched by brush. Cordelia said, “Now you’re just looking at me.”

“You are the prettiest flower in here.” Cordelia ducked her head in embarrassment. Misty reached across the table beside her and picked an innocent violet off of its stem, and she tucked it under the earpiece on Cordelia’s sunglasses. “There. Represent.”

Her face flamed. “You’re silly.” Cordelia tiptoed closer to her, and she pulled Misty into a hesitant hug. “Thank you, Misty.”

The petals of the violet brushed Misty’s cheek. “Thank you.” She rested her chin on Cordelia’s shoulder. I’d really like to kiss her right now. Shame rose to her own cheeks, and she struggled to ignore it.

However, Cordelia did not ignore it. “Then do it,” she whispered right to Misty’s ear.

Misty withdrew for second, fearing she had misheard, and she found equal apprehension on Cordelia’s face, fearing she had spoken out of hand. She cupped Cordelia’s cheek in one hand and kissed her once on the mouth, a timid peck. “Like that?”

There was no darkness to Cordelia’s final smile. “Just like that.”

[everybodyelseisrobots]

2014

There's this recurring dream where I am flying.  Delta.  A foreign airport and there is not much time. The air port is thick with people moving purposefully in crisp blue suits.  My suitcase is limping behind me, gravel stuck in the wheels.  I realize that I am not going to make it, then I awake and the indian boy is standing on my chest.

"Do you mind?" Apparently he does not.  To my knowledge, he speaks no English.  I rap him on the ankle and he steps down onto the sheets so I can head for the shower. Down in the kitchen, Jack (my girl) is sitting at the bar, ruminating her toast.  Her brother has taken the first shower.  Direct from bed, she is still dream sopped and miserable, staring down into the milk of her cereal bowl as if checking her miserable reflection in it.  I pinch her playfully in passing but she gives no reaction.  Instead, she slumps further into her chair, resting her face into the cereal bowl and milk and raisin bran pour out onto the counter.  She is taking liberties now.  I am on the verge of saying something but then the phone rings.  It is my mistress. "I told you never to call me again." "I know," she says in her uppercrust New York accent, "But we haven't spoken in weeks," "That," I say, "is the basic aim of a breakup." "Perhaps, but I've been so lonely." "Well I'm very sorry to hear that." "Are you really or are you just saying that?" she asks. I am unsure.  I take a moment about to think about it. She is a lovely girl.  Warm.  She has large dark eyes and curls that heap up on the pillow to frame her face in bed.  I decide that I am sorry. "I am sorry.  Truly." The idian boy has come down from my room and is staring quietly from the corner.  He is skinny, in a worn red t-shirt and blue jeans belted awkward high above the waist.  I ignore him though. "Then what if we saw each other next time you were in New York -- just as friends?" My answer is no but I am squeamish with other people's hearts.  I tell her we will discuss the possibilty but that I must go, Laura is coming down the stairs. "That's all I ask," brightening at the mention of my wife.  She has always relished the role of mistress.  Of being my dirty little secret.  Byyyyeee," she says in a high sing-songy note.   Casually, I cast a glance over at Jack to see if she has taken in any of this conversation but she is still drowning in her cereal bowl and it is too early for fights so I decide I will let her wallow. The footsteps descend the stairs.  Not my wife though, it is Kelly, my boy.  He bounces down the stairs and he is fresh from the shower with water dripping off his over length hair.  "Bout time to get some of that cut off, don't you think?"  His head is stuck in the refrigarator and his back is covered with water.  He is in the advanced classes at the elementary school but the finer points of toweling off still evade him.  "Hair's getting pretty-..." "Is it true we are going to have to sell the house," he cuts me off without withdrawing his head from the fridge. I mumble... Struck. "The vents in this place, dad.  Eavesdropper's dream.  I wasn't even trying to listen but it's like you can't get away from it here." I fumble again.  He closes the fridge wielding a gallon of orange juice and advances on the dishwasher. "I mean I'm not freaked out by it.  I'd just like to know what we're planning to do." My mind is stalled.  It is true that the house is in jeopardy but this is not my immediate concern.  His comment about the vents has rattled me.  His mother and I have sex.  I wonder if the children overhear us. "We are not going to lose the house," I say with finality.  "Your mother and I were simply speaking in theoreticals." He looks at me skeptically as he takes a seat at the bar next to his sister.  He gives her an exasperated glance and then turns back to me.  I have taken up a defensive position behind my coffee cup. "Theoreticals?" he says, rolling his eyes. "It sounded to me like you guys had already gone looking for a lawyer and I even heard the words chapter 7 bankruptcy.  Why would you even consider chapter seven when with your income-..." "Kelly that is enough," I say.  His assment is quite accurate, but I will not be lectured to on fiscal policy by my son.  Not at breakfast  It is unbecoming.  "How is school?"   He shrugs.  "Fine." "And the soccer team?  You have a game today, don't you?"   "Yes," he says, feet kicking absently off the bar stool.  He elbows his sister playfully.  She grunts in her cereal and more milk spills off the bowl. Kelly is a pivot player.  I care little for the coach, him and his shaved legs, but he at least notices Kelly's talent.  In the early game, Kelly to the front where he can do the most damage around the enemy goal. Later, he moves him back to keeper position where he is the best on the team at preserving a lead.  He is really quite expert at either. "What time do I need to drive you to the field?" I ask. "You don't have to," he says.  "Mom says she will do it."   I ask him why the change.   He says he doesn't know, she just said she would. I am suspiscious.  My wife has shown an increased willingness to take Kelly to soccer practice since the new coach arrived and the man has, on multiple occasions, texted her phone on days when games were rained out or cancelled, as opposed to mine, which would seem more proper.  I pry gently. "Ok," I say, sipping casually from my coffee, "Do mom and the coach talk much?" "They're not fucking if that's what you're asking." I spill my coffee down my suit.  He doesn't seem to notice.  "Is your sister ok?" I ask. He rolls his eyes at her.  "Yeah, she just does it for attention." Perhaps, but her commitment is vexxing.  "Well lift her out please." "I'm not touching her," he responds nervously. "Kelly,  please lift your sister out of her cereal bowl."  For all the spite in the world, a child still requires breath sometime. "Sorry dad.  She'll freak on me if I do." I consider making an issue of this but decide that reviving the sister is more important.  It would reflect badly on any parent to have a child drown in her own cereal bowl just to make a point.  Exasperated I round the table and take her by the shoulders, leaning her back gently.  Her face has scarcely emerged from the milk when she erupts.  Her arms explode upwards, the cereal bowl is airborn, the barstool is backed over my foot.  She is on her feet and headed for the stairs -- a tazmanian devil of indignation.  There is no peace in this house.  No privacy.  Nazis.  No freedom of expression.  She cannot wait until she is older and can move away. I look to Kelly for explanation. He is smothering a grin at my bemusement.  I will need to change my suit.  The indian boy turns and follows me up the stairs.  He speaks no English. At the office, Gloucestor (GHLAO-ster? -- GLAO-sit-er? I am always afraid of saying it wrong) is leaned on the front desk, talking to the secretary.  is waiting for me leaning against the front desk.  Gloucestor always makes me uneasy.  There is a subtle hint of glare in his blue suit -- the sort that makes him looks snappy but would look clownish on me.  As I come through the door, he is leaning over the front desk, speaking to my secretary and she is touching her hair and laughing.  I feel immedaitely as if I am walking in on a joke.  As the door opens, Glocestor scoots off the desk and turns to face me.  There is an almost predatory extrobersion about him. "Bolingbroke," he says, sliding off the desk and approaching me with a hand stuck out.  "only two minutes behind the fun as always."  He delivers the line with a friendly wink but then holds eye contact for an uncomfortably long time afterwards.  Gloucestor is of the sort who will take a friendly jab in the morning that you will still be examining for vicious intent in the afternoon.  Truth be told, I worry sometimes that I am too sensitive. "As always," I say. "Listen," he says, encircling me with an arm as in aside. "I was wondering if you couldn't do me a favor." I am skeptical but receptive. "I know you're a busy man, but my ass is totally in the fire. Brown [our boss] needs me in the city tonght but I forgot it's me and my wife's anniversary. Aniversary and I could really use someone to pull my ass out of the fryer here.  If you could take my trip this week, I'd cover yours next week. Not to put you in a bind but I could really use someone to pull my ass out of the fryer here."  He ends this little pitch by chewing his lip in hopeful hesitation.   I do not particularly care to take Glocestor's sales trip, but there is a certain rare allure in the idea of having LGlocestor in my debt. "Let me check my schedule," I pronounce magnanimously. "Thanks Bolingbroke," he says, patting me once on the shoulder and releasing me from our aside.  "I could just really use some help here.  Ass," he says, "totally in the fire."  I nod and promise to do what I can. Back in my own office, I shut the door and head for my email.  The indian boy is sitting in my office chair and I shoo him away so that I can check my schedule.  I do not have to check to know that I am free, but I did not wish to be too hasty.  I mistrust Gloucestor inately. It is no secret that our division is being restructured in the coming months [our company sells things and provides services, we have a number of major accounts in New York City] and either I or Glocestor may be let go in the future.  I am suspicious his favor may be nothing more than a veiled attempt at an account swap --perhaps trying to trade a bum account for one of my mainstay clients.  I will keep this under advisory. With the indian boy removed from my chair, I set to my emails.  Many, but none from places that I hoped for.  I have a number of job applications out.  Truth be told, I worry that I will be let go.  I do not think that Gloucestor is any better at his job than I am, but he is more personable.  His oily confidence buys him favor and I worry that when the time comes, the boss may choose him over me.  I am taking steps to ensure I will not be left out if this were to come to pass. It is at this point that the Indian boy steps into my office and takes a seat in the corner.  He stares at me blankly. It is not that I think that Gloucester is any better at his job.  Quite the opposite, I think we border upon interchangeable, but all things being even, I think his oily charm might win him favor at the chopping block if I can find no way to distinguish myself. Eureka! I jump from my desk and lunge for the door.  Gloucestor is standing down the hall. I beckon him into the office and point him into the seat where the Indian boy was recently sitting.  [He comes and goes as he pleases]  "Gloucester," I pronounce magnanimously. "I will take your sales trip this week."   He nods in hesitant understanding.  My peculiaraly good mood has him back on his heels. "I will also take mine next week."  The confusion in his face is priceless.  It is all I can do not tto laugh.   There is a brief echange where he says that it isn't necessary, but I assure him that it is no trouble at all.  Gracious but baffled, he stands to leave and I nearly jig him out into the hall way.  I have beaten him at his own game.  I ride the wave all the way back to my desk but the pendulum swings back and I am suddenly very nervous.  I Will have to explain this to Laura and it always hard explaining these things to Laura in modern day.  Regardless, I will have to leave soon.  I swep my things baack into my briefcase and the indian boy is waiting for me in the hall. Laura, I will be in the city for the next two nights. Laura, I'm pulling a double in the city as a favor to Gloucestor. Laura, there has been a change and I will not be home for two nights now instead of the usual one. I am trying to find the best way to approach the subject on the drive home but then my phone rings.  Special ringer.  Alternating vibrations of long and short.  It is my other mistress. "I am out of money."   Her tones are sharp and falling.  She wears dark hair that tapers along the jawline.  She is not as sweet as I originally thought when we'd begun our affair. How can you be out of money? "I spent it." I understand that much, but I paid the rent.  I thought you were working now. "I was, but I quit. The people there were wretched." Surely you can't expect me to pay for everything. "It doesn't matter if it is over.  This affair cost me a very expensive divorce, and until the point you are prepared to tell your wife about it, I think, quite truthfully, that I can." She has me here.   Being about escape, affairs naturally promulgate affairs.  Visit your vacation home too often and it becomes, simply, your home.  Confronted by Laura, I'd confessed my infidelity but thought it might be less damning to lump two women into one.  Tidier.  The issue being that the unnamed mistress turned out to be the more vengeful and financially needy of the two, and I don't think our marriage would stand an encore confession, but I digress. "I will find you some money.  Just stay away from my family, please.  I am trying to make things better."

At home, I find Laura by the sink. She is wearing a sun dress.  She is the sort of woman who belongs in a sun dress. We were lovers once, and young too. But truth be told, I have my insecurities.  She can be very independent, and I have a feverish craving to be needed. I tell her that something has come up. I will be handling business this week in the city as well. It echoes of the same material I once used to cover up my affairs and I'm sure we can both hear it. She puts down her dishcloth and I stand in judgement. Sometimes at night I wish desperately to apologize again.  We lay unspeaking in bed and I am sick with the desire to apologize, but I bottle it and hold it inside.  It is not my place to make her relive it every time I feel bad.  When she wants to speak on it, she will... I hope. "Ok," she says.  She kisses me on the cheek and goes back to her dishes. I take the short flight to the city.  When I fly, I fly with ear phones in.  I enjoy my privacy and take all pains to discourage small talk.  I am wearing my suit.  In the city, the car pick me up from the airport and drops me off at the apartment the company maintains on the east side.  It is neither spartan nor lavish.  Three rooms, tastefully decorated in purples and yellow.  The tv in the mainroom is old and bolderous. Safely arrived, I call Laura and let her know.  "I made it," I say. "Good to hear," she replies warmly. There is an awkward pause.  I wish to communicate that the place is empty except for me and will remain that way, but do not know how.  I will instead call her between sales meetings, as proof I am readily available. I make sales calls.  It is essential that I prove myself capable of handling both my own sales clients and Gloucesters.  If I prove I can already handle both mine and Gloucester's clients, I will be the obvious choice when the time comes. "This is Bolingbroke with Fabian Products and...-" "What the hell happened to Gloucerster?" "Gloucester is on leave but...-" "Is he coming back?" "Gloucester will be back in two weeks time but...-" "Well have him call me then." It is a poor start.  I eat breakfast and make calls to organize sales meetings. After lunch my phone rings, high and birdlike.  My ringer for the bank. "Mr. Bolingbroke, the name is Abernathy, I'm the bank agent attached to your case.  It seems that you've found yourself in a spot of trouble. Looking to remortgage your home to avoid bankruptcy is that correct?" I say that it is. "Well I was reviewing your records and it seems I've got some good news for you." I am being allowed to refinance? "Hard to say," he says ponderously. "Still some time before I can give you a decision but I like to get to know my clients on a personal basis.  Saw your horoscope.  "Says now is a time to recement old bonds, secure what it is dear to you, and remember old dreams." I am unsure of how to take this.  I express myself saying so. "I just thought you might appreciate the notice," he sounds hurt.  "I've gone through tough times myself in recent years and always appreciated a friendly face." Guilt I have been ingracious.  I thank him quite sincerely. "No problem at all, he says, suddenly quite pert.  "I'll speak with you again soon Mr Bolingbroke." I hang up and go back to my sales calls.  The day does not go so well.  Brown [my boss] calls later and I am forced to admit that I've managed to re-sign only five of the eight clients Gloucester would've been sent to nail down.  Two reject me outright and one [Westwood Corp] failed to ever call me back.  In my mind, Gloucestor and I are on a giant teeter totter behind Brown's eys and the scales are not tipping in my favor.  I tell Brown that the rest of the trip will be better and he gruffs before hanging up. A red sun is falling out of the sky and the apartment feels suddenly very empty.  There is the indian boy, but our inability to communicate expounds rather than relieves the sense of loneliness. I call Laura but she does not answer. I forgot.Kelly's soccer game.  I wonder if he is on offense or defense right now.  Either way, I imagine he is doing quite well.  From the sidelines, there is the glow of the coach's glistening calves.  He is a show off.  It annoys me.  To myself, I wonder how much time Laura spends admiring those calves from the bleachers and the question lodges in my brain. I wait until the game would normally be over and call again.  No answer.  I do not deal well with loneliness.  I have a powerful imagination.  I pace the three rooms of the apartment like a caged tiger.  I imagine my wife's knees sunk into a carpet between the glistening hams of the soccer coach's calves.  It would make sense.  I would not be undeserved.  The image festers in my brain.  I do not deal well with this.  I type out a message: Just tell me if you're cheating on me.  I'm not mad.  I know I deserve it.  I would just like to fucking know please. I hesitate before sending.  Sounds neurotic.  I will not send it.  My mistress's phone number [the curly haired one] is my recent calls from the morning.  I will call her back instead.  I can deal with Laura cheating as long as I am not left to picture it alone while she does so, but then a message comes in. Sorry I missed your call.  Emergency room. Jack snake bitten and broken leg at soccer game.  Not to worry.  Is under control.  Will call you soon.  --Laura I am flooded with relief and regret at the same time.  I am needed. I must get home.  At the airport, I move from baggage check to security to boarding gate as if being led on a string.  Midflight, I am anxious.  Laura does not deal well with stress.  I struggle to stay in my seat. I feel guilt at having consider calling my mistress. I squish the desire to ask the flight attendant if the plane can go faster.  At the hospital, I am adressing the front desk before the automatic doors are even fully open.  I am wearing a suit.  "Jack Bolingbroke," I say, "What room?  I'm the father."  Foom 431 is not in pandemonium though. Jack is in the bed, broke and snake bitten, but Jack.  Not more or less sullen than usual.  Kelly is staying with friends. Laura is in the chair, calming fingering through old magazines.  Hello dear, she says.  She pats the seat beside her before going back to the page.

That night I dream of airports.  There are two terminals and a shuttle bus that runs between them.  It is crowded with people in suits, people taller than me.  I am lost but then a voice from the crowd calls "Does anyone here speak English?."  I turn to look but then I wake up and the indian boy is standing on my chest.  I ask him quite calmy to step down.  He understands no English but he gets my tone and obliges.  In the shower, I write a script for confessing everything to Laura:  my worries, my infidelities, and the nature of our financial instability. It will not be easy, but it must be done.  I wrap myself in calm and walk downstairs. In the kitchen, Jack is scowling over her cereal bowl.  At the soccer game, she'd been wandering in a nearby creek when it had happened.  She'd been bitten by the snake and broke her leg running back... Or broken her leg in the creek and been bitten while hobbling back.  She hasn't remembered, she was concussed in the fall.   Laura is not in the kitchen when my phone rings. "Bolingbroke where the hell are you?"  Gloucestor.  "I've got clients calling me from all over New York saying I'm missing appointments.  What are you doing man?" I tell himvery calmly that I will reschedule.  Jack's accident.  My sudden departure. "I get it man, but my ass is toally in the fire right now.  Brown's practically beating down my door and I can't cover for you here." I tell him that I accept all responsibility.  He thanks me wearily and hangs up.  While I wait for Laura, I turn on a pot of coffee.  The phone rings.  It is not my mistress. "Bolingbroke this is Abernathy.  Great news," he says.  "I finished working over your file last night and it seems you're good to go.  All I need is verification of employment and a couple of signatures and we can get the ball rolling on remortgatging.  This is great news."  He nearly shimmers as he says it. I agree that this IS great news and tell him I will call him shortly. The coffee is ready and I take a long bracing sip.  I am prepared when the phone rings a third time.  It IS my mistress. "Bolingbroke, I am STILL out of money." "I would suggest that you behave like an adult and go find a job then."  I say the words and a choir of angels breaks into chorus. She replies in a deathly whisper. "If you don't want your wife...-" "You may consider our agreement terminated.  My wife will know everything within the hour.  If you have nothing further to say, we may consider this goodbye."  I do not wait for a reply.  I hang up and am still smiling when I turn around to find Laura standing on the stairs. "Your wife will know what within the hour?" Face to face with her, I realize I am less pepared than I thought. "It's just that-... You see-...  I wanted to talk about something that-..."   Laura is staring at me quizzically, and when my phone rings again, I seize it as a diversion. "Bolingbroke you're making life real easy for me right now," it is Brown [My boss].  I sense he is being less than sincere.  I am right.  "I hope you've got a nice little nest egg tucked away because you've blown three accounts for me this morning alone.  We're down sizing and this little shenanigan just made a hard choice real easy for me..." He is not finished but I get the jist of the call.  I hang up the phone and find the indian boy tugging at my pants leg. My wife is still standing in the doorway. "Laura," I search for courage but struggle.  I have heard that confession is good for the soul.  That the scariest part is just before you begin.  That the lies we hang onto are like splinters that fester in the soul.  But that once you begin, for better or worse, at least it is no longer inside.  I prepare to come clean, but stumble.  "Laura, I have to go to Shanghai," I blurt out. There is a silence. "I don't udnerstand. "I left him there," I explain. "Left who there?" "The indian boy." She doesn't understand. "The indian boy," I repeat.  I left him there when I was nineteen and I need to make sure he's alright." "You're not making sense." "You're not listening.  The indian boy.  In Shanghai. "If he is Indian, what he is doing in Shanghai?" "How the hell should I know?!"  I scream and throw my coffee cup against the wall. There is a baffled silence.  I am pleased to find she is still speechless when the front door slams behind me.  

My seatmate on the flight has no apparent fear of headphones.  It takes sixteen hours to fly to China and he is the sort to make a social hostage situation of a trip.  He is of about my age and stature, just more boisterous and poorly dressed.  He entered the cabin with all the grace of a kettledrum being rolled onto the flight.  I knew inately that he would be sitting next to me, just by the strength that I wished that he wouldn't. "What is my name?" "Bolingbroke." "Where am I from originally?" "Wisconsin." "Have I ever been to China?" "I passed, more like ran through when I was nineteen.  I'd be sent to Japan for study abroad and I'd changed flight in Shanghai." Rather than discouraging him, he seems to draw strength from the distance I will go to avoid making conversation.  If ever too long a pause, he will turn and focus his gaze onto me until he squeezes a dry question from me that will provoke anothe rburst of conversation. "What do you do?" I ask at length. Imports and exports he says.   "Like what?" I prod. "Viagra, for instance.   Don't other people already do that, I ask.   They do, he says, but I do it differently.   What's the difference, I ask.   Nobody knows, he tells me with infinite seriousness, and that's how he makes so much money. China, Cambodia, Laos, Vietnam -- spending one week a month in each and somehow money is made at every transition.  It is a terrific racket.  His brother got him started in the business. He is thirty-seven. He leans over the arm rest and pours out a decade's worth of Asian secrets. Cheap whores in Cambodia. Clean Whores in Laos.   Hippie communes in Thailand.   Five star hotel stays for ten dollars a night. Youth hostel stays for ten dollars a week. You can rent a motorcycle in Vietnam for pennies on the day and ride it out into the country.  You can't do that in China. GOvernment doesn't like it. He hasn't found it but there are rumors of a place in Cambodia where you can shoot a soviet rocket launcher at a  cow... He goes on, and I am asleep... Dreams. Airport.  Chrome and Sepia toned. I am nineteen.  I am late. "Does anyone here speak English?"   A voice above the airport crowd.  So many people. I turn.... an indian boy spit from the bus to the sidewalk in front of me.   "Help him!"  An Indian man --his father?-- is standing framed in the door way.  "Help him," he repeats, gesturing hopefully to the child in front of me.  The boy is maybe twelve. I open my mouth to object but too late.   "Thank you!" the man says and the shuttle closes and carries the man away. I am left gaping. The boy stands looking up at me.  Like a baby duck, I have horrible fear he is imprinting on me.   He is skinny (maybe twelve) with a shock of indian curls and blue jeans belted awkward high on the waist.  There is a ratty duffle bag in one hand. "Where are you going?"  I struggle not to scream it into his young face.  It is late. Too late to have this problem thrown at me from a passing bus.  "Where are you going?" He cocks his head like a dog. No English.  A roll of papers in his fist and I snatch them from his hand. Gate  11 In my dream, the airport is like a colony of ants in crisp blue suits. Men.  Women.  People who know where they are going and how to get there.  They are experts.  They are adults. They do not miss flights.  No trash gets caught in the wheels of their luggage. I seize the boy as if I alone can drag him out of hell and we cover ground.  The counter at gate eleven is empty though and I double check his papers.  The time and the gate are both correct, then why no one here? ...The tickets are old. I stand dumb founded and horrified.  I flip pages and there is no punch line on pages 2,3,4, or 5.  I look up from the paper and eye the boy like a leper.   "Do... you... un der stand... English?" The boy leans forward as if translation might be printed on my lips. This is obscenity.  He is twelve years old and awash.  He is going no where and we I lack the time or language skills to even express to him that he is fucked.  I hate the boy.  I hate him for making me feelso useless.  I hate him for having lived long enough to stumble across my path at such an inopportune moment.  I fold. "Here," I say.  I stick the useless papers back in his hand and point to the numbers.  Gate 11.  3:45.  I point to the gate numbers and the clock on the wall.  "Here," I repeat.   He senses something is awry.  "O-kei?" he says in a peculiar accent." "Ok," I lie.  There is nothing else to be communicated.  I give him a long look full of worthless sentiment. I am sorry. You were lied to. I can do nothing to help you. I think all of these things, and then I turn my back on him and walk away.  SHangahi airport is sepia and chrome. The last I see of him, he is still standing alone under the silver marker of the 11 counter.

When I wake up, my companion is gone.  The airplane is nearly empty and the last of the passengers are filing off.  A flight attendant with a paste on smile is standing bored at the front.  She waves me off the flight without speaking. Shanghai airport is as I remember it.  The building enormous, the feel of an open air court yard.  The ceilings are high and rounded,  a sepia circus tent arrested in midflap.   There is a long escalator ride up, up from the tarmac to the check in counters and my phone comes alive with deferred messages. My job is gone. Laura has tken the kids.  Abernathy is still looking for verification of the employment I no longer have.  I switch the phone off and drop it back into my pocket. At the top of the escalator, the entire floor rises into view.  People coming, going.  A fluid stream of humans all looking to stay out of one another's way and hoping in turn, other people will stay out of theirs. There are the check in counters, stainless steel bulwarks in tidy lines, though the numbers have changed.  Number one is on the right now when it was on the left twenty year ago.  I turn and walk towards the distant left of the floor.  As I walk, the stream of people begins to meld and clot, no longer individuals but a coordinated stream and I am like moses on the dry path, a human ocean no either side.  The effect, first local, is stretching into the distance, and in a moment, I can see the Indian boy, still waiting in the distance.  He looks hopeful, like he's been waiting for someone all this time. The human circles closes behind me and I am left alone with him at the number 11 gate.  The boy still has his tattered duffle bag in hand.  I snatch him into a hug and fall on my knees in front of him until we are both the same height.  Apologies and explanations are pouring out of me.  I didn't know. I couldn't help.  I was sorry.   We cling to each other like mutual life rafts, and then the anger comes again.  I felt so stupid.  Why had he been here and what was he still doing here after all this time?  Why didn't he tell anyone? There is a change in the air.  A shift.  Like a window being opened or old air being let out of a balloon.  I begin to understand. "You grew up," I demand of him. "I grew up," he says, his voice deep and sonorous. "You are not still here," I accuse. "I am not still here," he says.  I feel stupid.  Ashamed.  My nose is leaking and I am crying tears into the fabric of his crisp blue suit.  He is patting me awkwardly on the back.  I do not wish to sully his clothing, but I hold on for fear of him pulling away and my crying face being exposed to the public.  I hold on until he reaches around and unbuckles my hands from around him. He crouches in front of me down to my height. "I must go now," he says, "but you'll be okay." I mean to object but my tongue lies flaccid in my mouth. "Take this," he says, and presses a roll of papers into my hand.  Unrolled, there is nothing but nonsense scrolled across the inside.  I look up to demand explanation but his back is turned, walking away and he fits into a rare break in the human stream and is gone. The airport is in perfect choreography.  People pass in an unbroken stream.  The sky is filled with jets leaving and arriving.  Somewhere deep in the capillary system below the floors, I can feel the flow of baggage moving. The tattered duffle bag is left on the floor beside me and I reach down and take the cotton strap in my hand. I wish to look ready when someone comes along who can help me.

[light-knight]

Rain Rain Go Away

Drabble requested by @the-economics-of-death​. It got a bit long, but I had fun writing it!

As the rain started to pitter patter against my head, I held out my hand palm-up to feel the drops hit my skin, smiling as chills ran down my spine. I never was one of those kids who ran away when it rained. I enjoyed it. I played in it and ran in the mud; I looked up at the sky and sang:

Rain rain rain fall. Though you are so small. Happiness you give the crops. And you sprinkle down in sparkling drops!

Rain rain rain pour. Rain I always do adore. For even though you block the sun. Everything just seems more fun!

Dreary dreary. My life is weary. But rain makes everything alright. It makes my day turn really bright!

I chuckled as I thought about those lyrics again. A stupid song I made up as a kid, but those lyrics still stuck with me to today. I sing it to myself whenever it rains, and I found myself humming the tune to it as the rain began to pour down harder.

People were covering up their heads as the clouds grew darker above, turning the afternoon into night and inducing the streetlamps to flicker on. I didn’t recall there being a forecast for this bad of a storm, but I was still on patrol, and the Demacian Army didn’t let up, even in the mightiest of storms. I marched on, hoping that it wasn’t going to rain too hard and hoping my childhood song would remind me later not to get too mad at the storm for getting me tired and soaking wet.

The rain felt good at first, letting my muscles relax from a full day of patrolling around the city; people don’t really know how big Demacia is until they lap around every corner and alleyway with a full set of armor on, and I was only patrolling one section of the entire city. My legs were exhausted, I had the unbearable urge to sit down, and as the rain began to kick up, I thought about how desperately I wanted to take off all of this armor and just jump into a puddle in the most childish way possible. A smile crept over my face as I imagined what would happen if I really did it. Chief Magnus would probably yell at me for being unprofessional, and then Marcus would probably jump into a puddle too while Chief’s back was turned. But of course, in full-view of me. Just to rub it in that he can do it without getting caught.

It’s what friends do when the other gets in trouble. Brag that they can do it without Chief noticing while you get caught every time. But, of course, I get away with a lot of things that Marcus doesn’t get away with. Like, for example, I usually am able to pass a fitness exam a lot easier than he can, considering he’s the star athlete while I’m this scrawny kid that always finishes last in a foot-race. So they go easy on me. While he has to and is expected to run five minute miles, I run seven minute miles. Who’s the real winner here?

In reality, it’s him because.. Well, he can run a five minute mile while I can barely run a seven, but that’s not the point of this thought that I’m having right now while rain is literally pelting me in the face.

Stuck on my thoughts, I didn’t realize how many drops were pouring down, and I began to wonder why we weren’t given some sort of helmet to go with our armor. A tiny feeling inside of me wanted to run off and play like I did back then, but I had the more predominant feeling of absolute dread that soldiers of Demacia shouldn’t act that way. I sighed and tilted my chin up to seem more put together, thinking about what the third person would see. I longed for the days when I felt real freedom, when I could run along the grassy fields of my parents’ farm, but here I am now, two years into military training, not even realizing what I had given up.

I mean, this was my dream. I’ve discovered more about myself now than I would’ve if I stayed back home, but a gnawing feeling in my chest made me think about how it would’ve been like back home. Would I have discovered my powers in a more private setting, maybe on my own during night while I gazed up at the stars. I could see myself being surprised and having the freedom to play with my magic how I pleased. It would be completely different from what I’m doing right now. Concealing, deceiving, and camouflaging myself to fit into Demacian society. Hiding my powers for fear of being discovered and wondering what would happen if I was discovered.

They’d lock me up and interrogate me. Demand to know if I was a spy sent from some magical guild from Noxus and framed as an evil creature that found his way into the shining ranks of the Demacian military. They wouldn’t see the confused boy who just wants to know how to feel. They wouldn’t stop with me though. Everyone around me would be in danger of questioning and exile. My parents, Marcus, and maybe even Chief. They’d all be considered traitors to the state: my parents for giving birth to me, Marcus for aiding in my concealment, and Chief for lacking the attention to notice a mage among his ranks.

I let these thoughts run through my head as sheets of rain slammed onto the ground. Both the thoughts and the ensuing wetness of my entire body made me feel like my armor was much heavier than before.

I see from the corner of my eye a group of shelterless refugees who helplessly tried to grab onto their belongings; the unrelenting wind scattering them across the area. A man, while walking by, kicked the hand of a refugee lady reaching for a rolling apple and then proceeded to picking up the apple and throwing it in the opposite direction. He laughed as he saw the lady hold onto her hand, wincing with pain from the blow. As he went for another kick, I let my voice stop him. “Halt!” I commanded as he turned to look at me. Disgust hit the back of my throat as he sneered and walked away, as if he wasn’t doing anything more than littering. Demacia wasn’t all justice and forgiveness.

I sighed and walked towards her, crouching down to help her pick up her belongings: food, clothing, and what looked to be artifacts. It was silent work, as she was still recovering from the assault, and I was unsure what to say. We let the rain do its job of making our lives a bit more miserable as it destroyed her fabrics and much of her stock of bread. We finally made eye-contact, and I could see the distress in her eyes, an entire life story could pass from person to person with just a blink. I felt like I had just seen a glimpse into her existence. I blinked and gave an awkward smile to signal my sympathy, and she blinked back a thanks for chasing away the man who kicked her.

Just as we exchanged this silent conversation, however, the streetlamps that once illuminated the streets flickered and failed. They turned off, casting a pitch-dark shadow across the entire neighborhood. You could hear the collective gasp of citizens as they realized they had lost electricity, and then you could see the subsequent candles that lit up each window as people tried to light their homes. All the while, you could also hear the desperate pitter patter of steps coupled with rain as the refugees attempted to once more reclaim their scattered belongings, but this time without any vision. They scattered just as their belongings did, and we were unable to see.

By the small light of a nearby candle in a window, I could see the lady hunkering herself over her possessions in a frantic attempt to keep them all in one place as the another blast of wind threatened to scatter them away. She had food, yes, but what she hid away under her stomach, the safest and most secure spot, was a wooden container etched with golden designs on the side. I watch for a second, astounded by the chaos unfolding before me. People were everywhere, and they didn’t care about each other’s well-being. They walked over each other and fought each other for what food they had left. Lightning struck in the background to reveal arguments and fists being thrown at one another.

I sprung into action, tearing men apart from one another and attempting to help pick up the lost items along the way. I was overloaded with things to do, and the fact that I was unable to see in the darkness didn’t help. In the midst of being tugged on both sides by men trying to fight and women asking for help, I once more saw the image of the lady in my mind, hunkering over her belongings, holding onto that wooden container for her life. I knew what I was supposed to do.

I held up a hand and let magic release from my fingertips, relishing in the tingling feeling that it left behind. “fiat lux!”

Light left my hand and found its way towards the bulbs of the once darkened streetlamps, rekindling and illuminating the scene of refugees, who froze in place at the sight of magic. They stared with piercing eyes towards me, knowing where the light had come from, knowing that if they all advanced towards me at once, they would be able to overpower me. There was a split-second of judgement as a collective decision was made. “Pick up your stuff and leave, get out of here before the guards come.” They all thought as they proceeded to picking up their belongings in silence.

I knew I didn’t have a lot of time. I knew that any moment now someone would come to wonder why, in the middle of a dark city, all the streetlamps of a single alley were lit. If I didn’t leave soon, I was going to get caught.

I didn’t notice myself sweating from how wet I was already from the rain, but I could feel myself heaving in exhaustion. I didn’t realize how strong of a spell I had cast; my intention was just to light a single lamp, maybe a few, not all of them. Any moment now I’ll collapse from overexertion, and that’ll only make my capture easier. As I saw the other refugees clear out, I let go of the unneeded streetlamps, allowing darkness to fill the area once more. Eventually, only one was left on.

My attention and gaze finally shifted to the lady from before, the only one left, and I held out a shaky hand towards her to help her up from the ground. She was still holding onto her wooden container, with all of her other belongings either trampled by the stampede of refugees or soiled by the water. The lady looked up at me and in our silent conversation, she accepted my hand, coming back up onto her feet. With both arms, she held onto her possession.

“It is the last thing I have left from my mother.”

“I see.”

“Who are you?”

“Just a foot soldier that was passing by. I wanted to help.”

“I see.” As her spirit began to relax, her eyes began to look weary but had a glint of relief and a deep aura of wisdom. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

She nodded and signaled that she was leaving. “What you have is a gift.” She said as she began to walk off with her back turned toward me. “Use it well.”

“I will.. Thank you.” I replied, watching her shuffle away as the rain continued to pour down on us.

And then I extinguished the light.

It was time to make my grand escape. I ran away from the scene, running fast because I knew that if I was caught, I would be sent to exile. I was stupid to let my powers fly like that, but I knew that I had to do it. I knew that if I hadn’t done something, she would still be there, hunched over and protecting her heirloom. I ran, but I knew that if I’d already been caught, then they’d be waiting for me back home.

All the while her words still echoed through my mind. “Use it well. Use it well. Use it well.”

Rain rain rain fall. Give me the strength to get through it all. Things come at me nonstop. But I know that I won’t drop.

Rain rain rain pour. My legs are so damn sore. I can’t tell anyone. But I know that I’m someone.

Dreary dreary. My life is weary. My fate may seem as dark as night. But I know that there is a light.

[mythicamagic]

Diabolik Lovers + Inside Out AU

So I thought of this super silly but fun AU crossover thing, and have mini head-canons and scenarios about it already, but for now I just thought I’d share my thoughts about it. (I can just imagine them fighting over the control panel) 

Btw this goes into more personality traits as well as emotional, and having the boys be sentient and having their own goals and such despite being Yui’s emotions.

The Sakamaki and Mukami brothers as emotions and traits of Yui (mostly her game and manga counterpart):

Shuu: Laziness, indulgence, apathy.

Able to: Let Yui wind down and relax. Needed after a long day and is responsible for her wonderful sleep cycles (so long as she makes sure to set an alarm) when combined with Laito, it will usually lead to her curling up with a book and fantasizing. Totally to blame for that irritating song stuck in her head. If used too much he can make Yui indifferent to the feelings of others, so a healthy dose of Kanato’s worry or Azusa’s empathy is needed. Used most: After a long day, during bubble baths, sleep or during study time (or lack of thereof) Bad Combo - Shuu + Reiji (if used right, then Reiji can motivate Yui to study or work, but if not then he will make Yui stress over her procastination so much that she does nothing about it.)

Reiji: Logic, organization skills, duty. 

Able to - Give Yui day to day tasks, remember important events and a sense of duty. He reinforces the importance of thinking about her future, but if used too much he can give Kanato too much power (stress). Emotions like Shuu are needed to regulate his control. Used most: During studying, working and planning. Bad Combo - Reiji + Kanato (double stress)

Ayato: Energy, competitiveness, joy, chaos.

Able to: Keep Yui from being too stagnant. He gives her drive to succeed and a sense of joy from accomplishments and fun. Relishes her freedom, and is secretly saddened that he was used more when she was a child. He is therefore very possessive of his time with her when he’s used. If used too much however, he burns out her energy and can make her single minded and selfish. Emotions like Ruki are needed in order to keep him from exhausting Yui. Used most: During sports, fun activities, and high energy moments. Bad Combo - Ayato + Kou (leads to impulsiveness. If used right they can make her fearless, but it might land her in hot water.)

Kanato: Fear, aesthetic appreciation (sense of cuteness and charm) stress.

Able to: Alert Yui to worrying things she may not have previously noticed. When combined with Kou they give her a sense of taste for her type of clothes, belongings and pretty things. When not regulated he will send Yui into emotional outrage = crying. Azusa is needed if this happens, as he can make Yui reflect on the actions afterwords and sort out her feelings on the situation. Ruki is needed to calm her down. Used most: During times of change, unfamilliar enviroments or unexpected situations. Bad Combo - Kanato + Azusa (if used too much, Azusa will make Yui sad, and combining this with worry will lead to depression.)

Laito: Lust, pleasure, romance, intuition.

Able to: Give Yui a sense of interest and curiosity, not just in sexuality. Gains more strength the older Yui gets and delights in flustering her around boys. Is the reason why she reads trashy romance novels in secret, as it’s about as ‘risque’ as she gets. Enriches Yui’s senses. He also becomes her sense of intuition around the opposite sex. If used too much he can make Yui careless and needy, but this almost never happens as he is under strict regulation. Ruki and Subaru are needed in order to keep Laito in check. Used most: Alone or around crushes. Bad Combo - Laito + Ayato, Laito + Azusa

Subaru: Anger, morality, justice, grumpiness.

Able to: Show what Yui will and won’t stand for, in order for her not to be a doormat. He makes her seek justice for slights against others, and becomes frustrated with her when she doesn’t seek it for herself. If given too much power Yui will either be emotionally volatile or go into bouts of moodiness. Reiji is needed when this happens, as his logic eventually brings Yui out of the slump and into doing tasks, improving her mood. Used most: When Yui or someone else is insulted or something unfair happens to her. Bad Combo - Subaru + Ayato (the sudden burst of energy will only irritate Yui further)

Ruki: Self control, filter.

Able to - Calm Yui and keep her emotionally balanced. One of her main emotional traits because of her upbringing, so he is almost always in the control room. If given too much power however, he becomes a dominating force, keeping Yui from feeling anything. He believes this to be acceptable, as if she’s not feeling anything, then she’s not stressed or hurting. Emotions like Ayato are needed to break this behavior. Ruki will occasionally let her filter slip so that she says a swear word out loud, as he finds it amusing to see her break her composure. Used most: While out in public Bad Combo: Reiji + Ruki (if left in charge, they make her an emotionally numb robot. Nethier really want this result despite how efficient they think it would make her.)

Kou: Social Skills, disgust, self destructive tendencies.

Able to: Give Yui a network of friends and social cues. She is therefore very comfortable in social situations and can adapt easily to changes in topics. However, if left unmonitored, Kou randomly switches gears, and can make Yui burst into a sense of self destruction, in order to feel the high of danger. (Such as running a red light) Used most: Social situations and when picking her outfit for the day. Bad Combo - Kou + Azusa (very dangerous if left unattended), Kou + Laito + Ayato (leads to Yui being her most careless of danger and reckless. Will either make her the life of the party or commit an embarrassing, dangerous act that will haunt her.)

Yuma: Strength, team work skills, survival instinct. 

Able to: Give Yui both her strength of character and psychical strength. Also gives her very good team work skills when combined with Azusa’s empathy. He also enriches Yui’s enjoyment of work. Very useful in dangerous situations. If used too much, Yui can become overbearing. Kou is needed to temper this and not commit social suicide. Used most: When working alone, with others, or in high energy and dangerous/new environments. Bad Combo - Yuma + Kanato (if used correctly they can alert Yui to danger, if used in social situations it will only make her frustrated with others.)

Azusa: Sadness, loneliness, self worth, empathy.

Able to: Give Yui reflection and an ability to relate and care for others, to feel a sense of connection. He is one of her main emotional traits. If this connection is abused and Yui is mistreated however, Azusa will send her into bouts of sadness and she will question her self worth. Subaru, Ayato and Yuma are needed in order to combat this, with their moral justice, high energy and stability. Used most: When Yui is hurt/betrayed, isolated for too long, or after watching a sad movie. Bad Combo - Azusa + Shuu (leads to loss of motivation.)

Feel free to add anything in a comment or share your thoughts xx

[tinuviel-undomiel]

The Sacrifice

This is my May Day Menagerie fic for @handwithquill. She wanted a water creature and chose a siren. I hope you like this, Quill, I sure enjoyed writing it. Sorry if it’s a little angsty.

Market day was always a cheerful occasion, at least for Bae. Rumplestiltskin enjoyed the atmosphere, but hated the people. He was the best spinner for miles, but few actually purchased his thread with much enthusiasm. Some even went to the second rate spinner rather than give their coin to the village coward. Still, it was the best time to actually turn a profit in his trade, and to let Bae have some fun.

           Bae loved the market. Despite his father, no one begrudged the boy anything. He would toddle around the booths and smile, often getting a sweet or two from the baker’s wife. There was often a mummer’s play in the square that Bae enjoyed immensely. However, the boy’s favorite thing to do was sit beside his father and watch everyone go by, wondering where they came from, and talking aloud stories of their grand adventures.

           Rumple had sold a spool of thread to the magister’s wife, when Bae leapt off his stool. “Belle!” his son cried in delight. Rumple looked past the frowning customer to see his son run past the tanner’s booth to wrap his arms around the legs of the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

           Belle was a recent addition to the market. She and her father had moved to the village only last year. She came to market every month, often looking at each booth, and always with a book in her hands. She was the first new face in months, another displacement from the Ogres War, but not one of the usual refugees. Her skin was pale and smooth and her hands were softer than cashmere. She could also read, a rarity even among the men of his village. She had come from a town called Avonlea where her father had been a prosperous merchant. Now war had turned them into peasants just like them. However, she lacked the grand airs he had expected from one who had grown up with feather beds and silk clothes.

           She lifted his six-year-old boy and kissed his cheek. “Hello, Bae,” she said, “How are you today?”

           “Good,” Bae said.

           “I have a present for you, can you get to my apron pocket?” Bae slipped one little hand into the pocket of her white apron and pulled two toys. One was a wooden knight, painted with grey armor and wielding a sword. The other was a green dragon with scales that shimmered slightly in the sun.

           “Papa, look!” Bae shouted. He slipped out of Belle’s arms and ran back to the booth to show his father his toys.

           “Those are beautiful,” he said. They were lovely things, but far to extravagant a gift. He looked up at Belle but she shook her head at him.

           “They were mine when I was younger,” she said, “Please, they are of no use to me now.”

           They looked too new for that to be true, but he couldn’t deny his boy this little piece of happiness. “Thank you, Belle,” he said.

           “How have your sales been?”

           “Good,” he said, like he did every time even if he hadn’t sold a thing. This time it was actually true, so there was no ache in his chest when she beamed at him. “How is your father?”

           “Well enough,” Belle said, but her smile faltered a little, “He just need to get used to our life now.”

           It had been nearly a year since they had come here, yet she still said that. He’d never heard her complain about any of her own personal hardships, but surely she had some. Instead, she always smiled and used any spare coin she had to give Bae a little present.

           “I need some blue thread,” Belle said to Rumplestiltskin, “Do you have any?”

           He nodded and pulled out two spools of thread. One was a very rich dark blue, the other was lighter, a bright sky blue that had reminded him of something. Now that she was there, he realized it was the exact color of her eyes.

           “Oh this is amazing!” Belle gasped at the color, “It’s just what I wanted, thank you. How much?”

           “Four coppers,” he said.

           “Are you sure? I thought it would cost more.”

           “No, just four coppers.” If she would have accepted it as a gift, he’d have let her take it, but he knew she would never allow that. Four coppers was enough.

           Belle counted out the money and slid it across the counter to him, except it was six coppers, not four. “Use the other two to buy Bae a treat,” she insisted.

           Rumplestiltskin swallowed the lump in his throat as she winked at him. “Thank you, Belle.”

           “No, thank you, Rumple. Now I can finish the dress I’ve been working on.” Belle reached over to ruffle Bae’s hair. “Bye, Bae, I’ll see you both next market day.”

           Rumplestiltskin watched her walk away, a happy little soul in this provincial village. He couldn’t wait to see her the next market day.

           Little did he know, it would be years before he would see Belle again.

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

           The soul of a siren. It was one of the hardest pieces of magic one could obtain. A siren has an external soul, one she guards zealously; something Rumplestiltskin understood all too well. If a siren’s soul was taken, she could be controlled. He could empathize in that respect, but that didn’t change the fact that now he needed a soul. It would give him a link into the other realm, a way to find his boy.

           He’d heard there was siren at Lake Charite, close to his old village. Rumplestiltskin had no intention of returning to his old home, so he bypassed the old memories and magicked himself there. It was a charming little lake, with clear blue waters and willow trees lining all around it’s edge. There were no settlements around the lake, proof that there was a siren that guarded it.

           He picked up a stick and stirred it through the waters, watching as the ripples spread across the surface. He knew the motion would call to the siren, coax her out of her hiding place so she could steal another hapless soul. He smiled as he saw the bubbles forming in the center of the lake. He relished the coming fight. The Dark One yearned for another life to claim, another meal for the curse to savor.

           The creature that rose from the water was dressed all in white with a crystals headpiece in her rich, brown hair. She was a pretty thing. She floated on the surface towards him, each movement full of seductive grace. Every part of her was a trap, a way to lure a man into her cold embrace before she plunged him into the waters and pulled his soul free to enjoy for her own delights. Well she was in for a disappointment. The Dark One could not be fooled.

           “That’s close enough for now, dearie,” he told her once she was a few feet away. Surprisingly, she stopped, tilting her head slightly at him.

           “Do you wish for something?” she asked. Her voice tickled his mind, a beautiful accent that seemed to hang on the air. He had the mad notion of asking her to sing, but that would surely invite trouble. But there was something else. Her voice almost seemed familiar, whispering of a ghost of a memory, but he couldn’t quite place it.

           “Oh, I certainly do,” he said, “though I’m not sure you’d want to give it me.”

           “Don’t be so certain. I can give you many things. I can be anyone you want me to be.” She started towards him again. He could see her skin was pale and shining in the moonlight.

           “Oh, dearie,” he said with a giggle, “I’m not here for that. I don’t think you’d want to tangle with the Dark One either.”

           She stopped. “The Dark One? Truly?”

           “In the flesh.” He gave her a mock bow.

           “Are you truly as powerful as they say?”

           “Oh much more, dearie.”

           The siren swallowed, her feet gliding across the surface again. “I hear you take deals. Will you take one of mine?”

           Oh how delicious. This was going to be all too easy now. “I might,” he said, careful not to sound too eager. “What do you want?”

           “I want you to kill me.”

           He couldn’t hide his surprise even if he’d tried. It was the first time someone had actually asked for death from him. He couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Well, what a coincidence, I’m in need of your soul. Just hand it over and then you’ll be able to die, dearie.”

           The siren shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t have it.”

           He frowned at her and stepped into the waters. The lake was cold, stinging at his skin, but he ignored it. “Where is it?”

           “She has it,” the siren whispered.

           “Who?”

           “The witch.”

           “You’ll have to narrow that down, dearie, I know many witches.”

           “She calls herself Shauna,” the siren said, “That is all I know.”

           Damn. He’d heard of this witch, but had never crossed paths with her yet. Other Dark Ones before him had. She was not one easily controlled. She’d even possessed the dagger for a period of time, before it had been stolen back by the Dark One call Karuf. Karuf even tried to kill her, but somehow he had failed.

           “I know her,” he said.

           “Then please, take my soul from her,” the siren begged, “Let this end. I can’t bear this any longer.”

           Rumplestiltskin looked her over, searching her face. What sort of siren was this? “Is this some sort of trick?” he asked, “Because I’m warning you, dearie, you’ll waste your time trying to trap my soul. I’m the Dark One. You cannot take me.”

           “I don’t want to,” she said, holding out her hands in surrender. “Please, when I heard who you are, I was relieved. I don’t want to kill anyone else. Please, take my soul and let me die.”

           He looked for any sign of a lie on her face, but her only saw eyes that beseeched him for freedom. It was those eyes that captured him. They were a brilliant blue, as clear and bright as the morning sky. He had once made thread that matched those eyes, sold it for a third of what it was worth just to see those eyes light up with joy.

           “What is your name?” he asked her. It couldn’t be her. It was impossible.

           “Belle,” she said quietly, “My name is Belle,”

           Rumplestiltskin snarled, reached out with his clawed hand and wrapping it around her slip throat. “Are you lying to me?” he hissed, “Don’t try to think you can fool me. She died many years ago.”

           “You—know—me?” she choked out.

           “No.” He shoved her away. The siren fell to her knees in the water. “Did you see her face in my mind? Is that what this is? You think you could trap me? I told you, dearie, my soul can’t be held, it’s already bound. It cannot belong to you.”

           “Who are you?” she asked now, “Please, I don’t want your soul, but if I knew you before, then you must help me. I didn’t want to become this. She made me like this.”

           “What?” he asked.

           Belle nodded her head. “The witch, she did this to me. I was once a mortal girl, but she tricked me.”

           “How?” The memory of Belle came to his mind, the last time he’d seen her at the market. He’d never know where she’d gone, but he’d pushed her from his thoughts after that. He had been so used to disappointment then that it had been easy to do, save for the occasional dream that plagued him.

           “My father was miserable. He hated losing everything when the ogres came. I wanted to help him. I feared he would lose himself completely,” she said, tears rolling down her pale cheeks, “The witch promised to help him. She went to him and promised to give him everything he wanted: money, a son to be his heir, everything. She said he would lack for nothing, but only if I served her forever. I thought I was to be her maid, but she had something far more cruel in mind.”

           “She made this?” he gestured to her.

           Belle nodded. “She makes me lure people her and then I steal their souls. She takes the ones she wants. They keep her young and beautiful. It’s how she’s lived for so long.”

           It was an ancient power, one he’d thought forgotten. Shauna must have discovered this dark magic long ago. The Dark One did not care about the trials of this poor siren; it only saw the way to finally get her soul. But Rumplestiltskin…he remembered the way Belle had smiled at him so long ago.

           “I’ll get your soul,” Rumplestiltskin said, “I’ll give you peace.”  He wouldn’t let Belle live like this anymore, not that sweet maiden he’d dreamed of during the worse times.

           “Thank you,” she said, climbing back to her feet. She took one of his clawed hands into both of hers. Her fingers were wet and cold, but the set tingles through his arm. The Dark One didn’t like the sensation, warring at it in his mind. He quickly plucked his hand free.

           “I’m just fulfilling a deal, dearie,” he said, “You can go back to your pond now.”

           He turned away, ready to return to his castle to find out where this witch was. “Wait!” he heard Belle call out.

           He turned to look at her. “You know who I am,” she said, “You knew me before, didn’t you?”

           “I did,” he admitted.

           “Who are you? Were we friends?”

           “Yes, we were friends. That is all you need to know.” With that said, he forced himself away with his magic. He didn’t want her to know what her old spinner friend had become. Better for her to think Rumplestiltskin died a long time ago. She wouldn’t want to know just what that poor lame man became.

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

           Rumplestiltskin remembered when Belle had disappeared. Bae had been eager to show her the cloth he had woven for her, with his father’s help. However, they had waited all day and she’d never come.

           “Maybe she was sick,” he’d told his son. So they both had waited until the next market day. Once again, she never came. This time, Rumplestiltskin had left his booth for a time to seek her and her father out, but they were nowhere to be found. Be had asked where she was, and he’d had to say he didn’t know.

           “Did she die like mama?” Bae had asked, tears filling his big brown eyes.

           “No,” he’d said, but he wasn’t certain if that was true, “Perhaps she married a fine lord and is happy in a castle somewhere.”

           It was a pretty story that had made his son smile, but Bae never looked forward to market day the same way again. Truth be told, Rumplestiltskin always scanned the crowds seeking those brilliant blue eyes every time, but to now avail. Eventually, he just gave up and accepted that another person had fled from his life.

           Now he finally had an answer. Belle had been transformed into a siren, imprisoned under the whim of a cruel witch. The Dark One told him to forget about the past. He needed the soul and nothing more. But every time he closed his eyes, he remembered the way she’s taken his hands in hers the first time they’d met.

            She’d stared at the grooves and ridges in his worn, rough hands. Belle had traced the calluses on his fingers with her fingertips. “You have such strong hands,” she said, “You are so skilled, Rumplestiltskin. You work harder than anyone I’ve ever known.”

           He thought about his boy and how much he’d cared for Belle, sweet Belle who’d bought him candies and toys. He had to help her, even if freeing her meant killing her.

           Rumplestiltskin searched for this Shauna. He used every magic he could find, every favor he could pay, but could turn up no trace of the witch. She had lived nearly as long as the Dark One. Her magic would be considerably great and far more difficult to trace. He knew he had to find out more about this elusive witch, and there was only one source he could think of.

           Belle came out of her lake, still beautiful and pale, but a ghost of a smile crossed her face when she saw him. “Have you come to kill me?” she asked.

           “Not just yet,” he said, “I haven’t found the witch.”

           “She said she has ancient magic,” Belle told him.

           “So do I, but mine is stronger.”

           “I hope so.”

           “When does she come?” Rumplestiltskin ask her, “She must come for the souls you take for her.”

           Belle nodded, but the corners of her mouth drooped. “She comes every three months. If I don’t have any souls for her…” Her blue eyes turned wide and she swallowed thickly. “She has a lash. It’s made of gold, but it burns like fire. I cannot heal from the wounds until she returns, and only if I give her what she demands.”

           Something twisted inside of him at her words. Not his Belle. She couldn’t have endured something so cruel. Rumplestiltskin gritted his teeth. “When does she return?”

           “In another month,” Belle said. She reached for his hand and squeezed it in her cold, wet fingers. “Please, I don’t want to kill anyone else. I’m so tired of death.”

           “I’ll kill her when she returns,” he promised, “You won’t have to kill anyone else.”

           He didn’t know what possessed him, but he conjured up a book for her with his magic. Belle had never been without a book before. She’d even offered to teach Bae how to read. Now Belle looked at his gift with eyes full of wonder.

           “For you,” he said, holding out the book.

           Belle reached for the book like it would turn into dust at her touch. She gingerly opened it, thumbing through the pages with eagerness. “Oh thank you!” she cried, tears brimming her eyes.

           He had no warning of her intentions. Suddenly she threw her arms around him, pulling him into her embrace. Her skin was cold and wet, but he could feel the rhythm of her heart pounding against his chest.

           Something peculiar pooled in his belly, an odd fluttering feeling. He had never experienced a magic like this before. It must have come from Belle, another way for a siren to seduce her victim. Yes, that had to be it.

           Rumplestiltskin pulled himself out of her embrace, carefully taking a step back. “Yes, well, I thought…just enjoy it.”

           Belle traced the cover of the book with her finger. “You remembered that I love books,” she marveled. She looked up at him with a smile. “I wish you would tell me who you are.”

           His name was on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the word back down. “I doubt you would remember me,” he said with a sniff, “I was no one before.”

           He turned to leave, ready to disappear into a puff of smoke, but then he felt her cool touch on his arm. “Please,” Belle asked, “Will you come back? It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend.”

           A friend? The Dark One didn’t have friends. Oh he had congenial enemies, but never a friend. It was on the tip of his tongue to deliver some nasty retort, a reminder to her just who she was dealing with. But…this was Belle. Every time he looked at her, he was reminded of his son and how much Bae had adored her.

           “Yes,” he said before he could talk himself out of it, “I’ll be back.”

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

           He tried to stay away, or at least not return to her so soon, but he could only manage a week before the memories of those brighter days before beckoned for him to return. He brought back another book for Belle, one he was certain she would enjoy. When he arrived at the lake, he saw he was not alone.

           Some foolish young man had wandered in, likely a shepherd. He must have prodded the waters either for a drink, or just to really see if there was a siren there. Belle had been lured to the surface and already had her arms wound around the man’s neck, ready to drag him down.

           “Oh dear,” Rumplestiltskin said, “Oh dearie, dear, dear, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

           The young man snapped out of the siren spell. He stared at him, taking in the scaly skin and the monstrous red eyes. “You-you’re the Dark One.”

           “Indeed,” he replied, “Would you like to be turned into a pig or a rat?”

           The boy slipped in the mud in his quest to escape, covering his whole front in muck. Still he recovered quickly and soon had disappeared into the forest. Rumplestiltskin giggled at the sport. His laughter died when he felt two arms wrap around him from behind.

           “Thank you,” Belle said, “I didn’t want to kill him, but I had no choice.”

           Rumplestiltskin wondered over that for a moment. He remembered the early days of his curse, how his emotions ruled his magic so well to the point where he killed over minor things. Now, he had more control and preferred curses to death unless the person was particularly vile or irksome. However, he never felt like he was without a choice. He enjoyed the power he had in the beginning when it came to deciding life or death. Yet he had no master other than the chain that bound him to the dagger. Belle was without choice.

           The Dark Ones before him who had been controlled by masters whispered about those terrible times where they were slaves. Zoso had tricked him into killing him in order to escape his enslavement. He may not have endured it himself, but he knew the pain Belle lived with.

           “Yes, well,” he said unsure of what to say, “I doubt he would have been a palatable soul anyways.”

           Belle wrinkled her nose at him. “I don’t consume the souls. I save them for Shauna.”

           “Of course, I just…” he let out a sigh, amazed that despite living for three hundred years, he still couldn’t grasp how to talk to a woman, “Never mind, dearie. I brought you another book.”

           Her blue eyes lit up like torches at twilight. She eagerly held out her hands so he could produce the promised book. “Oh this is one of my favorites!” she cried out in delight.

           “I can find you another you haven’t read.”

           “No!” Belle cried out, clutching the book her chest, “Please, I want to read it again. It’s been so long.”

           “Then enjoy it,” he said, giving her a smile that for once held no mischief to it.

           “I will,” she promised, but made no move to open the book or retreat back to her home. Instead, she sat down on a boulder on the edge of her lake. She continued to smile at him, her eyes brighter than they were the day he found her here. In that moment, he could glimpse the Belle he had once known.

           “I’ll leave you to your reading,” he said simply because he didn’t know what else to say.

           “Wait,” she called out, “Do you have to leave?”

           “I…well…no.”

           “Oh good, please stay. I rarely get to talk to anyone. I would enjoy some company.”

           His company? No one had ever sought him out before or wanted him to stay and chat, not even when he was an ordinary man. No…that wasn’t true. Belle had.

           “Alright,” he said, twisting his hands together.

           “Can I ask your name?”

           “No,” he said.

           Belle blinked at him. “Why not? You know mine.”

           “Names have power, dearie,” he said, “I never give out my name freely.”

           “Very well, though I wish I could know who you are,” she said mournfully, “If not your name, may I ask what you like to do?”

           “What?” he questioned.

           “Do you have hobbies? You know I love reading. I’ve been wondering what you like to do.”

           “Putting curses on fools,” he said with grin.

           Belle glared at him and shook her head, but a smile curved her lips. “You’re teasing me.”

           “Just a little.”

           She swatted at him with her hand. “Seriously, what do you like to do?”

           Rumplestiltskin thought about it, though he knew the answer immediately. Should he tell her? What harm would it be? Surely she wouldn’t remember him, not after so much time.

           “I like to spin,” he said.

           “Spin? With a spinning wheel?”

           He nodded. “I spin straw into gold.”

           Belle lifted her brows. “Now that is something I would like to see.”

           “I’ll have to take you to my castle and show you.”

           Belle’s blue eyes flickered down and her smile faded away. “I can’t. I’m bound to this lake.”

           Damn, how could he have forgotten that? Unless her soul was returned to her, Belle would be bound to the body of water the witch cursed her to. He thought about sending his wheel here, but something told him that the moment was lost to them now. It would only serve to remind Belle of her imprisonment.

           “Perhaps I can give you another gift,” he said. He picked some of the long strands of grass growing on the edge of her lake. He braided them together like he had in his youth. He closed the braided grass into his fist. When he opened his palm there was now braided rope of pure gold in it’s place.

           Belle let out a gasp. “That’s amazing!”

           He smiled and held out the rope for her. She accepted the sparkling treasure, admiring how it glinted in the sunlight for only a moment. Then she grabbed his hand, turning it over so its palm was facing up.

           “What are you doing?” he asked curiously.

           “Your hands,” Belle said, tracing the lines in his hands and rubbing over the calluses with her fingertips, “They…they feel familiar. They’re so strong…I know these hands.”

           She lifted her head up with eyes full of tears. She couldn’t know; it was impossible. “Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered.

           He ripped his hands out of hers and took two big steps backward. Belle reached out and took his arm before he could vanish. “It is you,” she said, “How? I thought…I can’t believe you’re here.”

           Wait, was she…excited? There was a spark in her eyes now, her lips curling into a smile of joy she’d only ever given to the books he brought her. How did she even remember him? He had been a lowly spinner of no importance at all. After so long, he should have been forgotten.

           He didn’t even have time to respond before she had wrapped her arms around him again. “I’ve missed you,” Belle whispered into his shirt. She lifted her head to meet his eyes now, blinking at him with those bottomless blue depths. “Why didn’t you tell me who you were before?”

           “I…I…didn’t think you’d remember,” he said.

           “Of course I do,” Belle said with a slight, wistful look in her eyes, “You were my friend. You and Bae.”

           Her blue eyes widened now. “Bae!” she half shouted, stepping out from his embrace, “What happened to Bae? Is he alright?”

           Rumplestiltskin wasn’t sure what to say to her. It was his greatest shame and yet…did he lie and say his boy was dead? Could he do that to her? The word ‘no’ screamed in his mind. His precious Belle had been through far too much as it was.

           “It’s a long story,” he said instead.

           “I’m a siren and you’re the Dark One,” Belle said, “We have plenty of time for stories.”

           So he told her everything, how the ogres came and Bae was to be enlisted when he turned fourteen, how he stole the dagger and was tricked into killing the Dark One. He told her how he ended the Ogres War, how Bae wanted to save him and the Blue Fairy’s gift to him. His voice broke when he confessed how he let go of his son when he the chasm to the Land Without Magic threatened to take them both.

           He found himself telling her even more. His quest to find a way to his son that led to a bean in the possession of pesky rodent of a man called Smee. How he found out his wife was still alive and living with pirates. How his fury at her in abandoning his son and her confession to having never loved him enraged him to the point of crushing her heart in his fist. He told her of all the lived he took, all in his need to find a way to get his boy back.

           He told her how there was an ancient magic, one that required the soul of a siren to enter another world, which led him to her lonely lake and finding her now.

           Tears fell from Belle’s eyes at the end of his tale. “Oh Rumple,” she said quietly. He thought she would turn away from him in disgust, but she took his hand and squeezed it. “I hate how you’ve suffered, and Bae, you have to find him.”

           “I will,” he promised her.

           Belle nodded. “Yes you will,” she said, “Because in three days Shauna will come. Take my soul from her, Rumple, and then use it to find Bae.”

           Rumplestiltskin tensed at her words. “If I use your soul, Belle, you’ll die,” he reminded her.

           “Yes,” she said calmly, “But you’ll have your son back. That’s what truly matters.”

           She was right. He had vowed he would do anything to find his son, no matter the cost. She’d already agreed to die before in order to be set free from the burden of the deaths she’d already caused. Wouldn’t this be a kindness to her? Somehow, that thought did little to comfort him.

           “Three days?” he asked her, “You’re certain?”

           Belle nodded. “I received a message from her yesterday.”

           Three days. He only had three days left with Belle before he killed her. Once again, he was left realizing just how cruel like could be.

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

           Rumplestiltskin tried not to think about what was coming. The voices in his head were not helping him on that score. One previous Dark One had never settled a score with a siren so he was eager for the three days to end so he could watch Belle die. The others just welcomed the idea of taking another life. Normally Rumple wouldn’t be so bothered by this, but…it was Belle.

           Nimoe reminded him, “She wants to die. She wants you to end her suffering and find your son.”

           He knew all of that, but that part of him that was still the spinner with the hopeless infatuation for the beautiful maiden with impossibly blue eyes continued to remind him of those better days.

           He did his best to shove it all out of his mind. Instead, he spun, and spun, and spun. He filled up three rooms with gold and forgot to eat his meals. It was easier to forget whenever he watched the wheel and the way the straw turned into a rope of pure gold. Unfortunately, he was reminded of how Belle wanted to see this little trick of his, and that soured the whole thing.

           There was little he could go that wouldn’t remind him of his appointed task. He saw the staff he’d used back in the old days and remembered a time when Hordor had tripped him, taking away the staff. Belle had wrenched it from the cruel man’s grasp and handed it back to him, brave, wonderful Belle.

           He went to the library and marveled over how much she would love to read these books. There were books he was certain she had never read before that he knew she would adore. Books that he wanted to tell her about, toe share with her all of their secrets.

           He walked the gardens and thoughts about how she used to love flowers. Bae once grabbed a handful of weeds and wildflowers to give her, and Belle had acted like they were the most beautiful things in the world. She had even promised to bring them home to show her father.

           Everything in his castle reminded him of Belle. He hadn’t thought of her in years, had tried to shove all of those days out of his mind, but now he saw her everywhere. He thought about going to see her again, but he knew that would only make things worse. What more could he say to her, Thank you for being willing to be martyred for the sake of my son? He could bring her another book, but the thought of bringing one that she would never finish somehow pained his heart more than anything else.

           So he did the only thing he could do: he waited until the sun rose on the third day. He cursed each passing hour, but they continued to creepy by. Then the sun peeked out over the horizon. The time had come.

           He blinked into the new day, took in a deep breath, and then willed himself to Belle’s lake. There was no sign of the witch, but Rumplestiltskin could feel Belle waiting beneath the waters. The air was thick with her fear. When he put his hand into the water, he could feel the pulse of her heart beating rapidly deep beneath the surface. He sent a slight charm into the water, something to soothe her rattled nerves and let her know he was there.  

           There was a rustle in the leaves, but Rumplestiltskin could feel no wind. He waited, tapping his foot for the show of it when the witch manifested out of the leaves. The brown and green foliage became her clothes. Her skin was a dusky brown, like black tea doused in milk, and her hair was a lustrous black with odd green streaks instead of the typical grey. Her eyes were a dark brown, but the only sign of age Rumplestiltskin could see were the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

           It was the vain ones that he hated the most. He had many ask for lust potions or wealth, but by far it was the ones seeking eternal youth or beauty that called his name the most. Looks had never been his strong suit, and once he became the Dark One, mattered even less. There were far more important things in the world. Beauty was so shallow, so fleeting. He could never understand its importance to people.

           Shauna squinted at him like he was still the peasant he used to be, a look that set his teeth on edge. “The Dark One?” she questioned in a way that sounded amused, “What are you doing here?”

           “I’m here for your siren,” he said calmly.

           Now her dark eyes narrowed with pure venom. “She called you? That little worm!”

           Shauna clutched at diamond that was set on her neck. Only then did Rumplestiltskin see that it didn’t shine in the sun, but glowed from within. Belle’s soul.

           The waters in the lake bubbled. Belle lifted out of the froth looking even paler than he’d seen her before. Her blue eyes were wide and she chewed her lip as she dutifully made her way towards her mistress. “You called upon the Dark One to set you free, didn’t you?” Shauna spat at her, “Well it won’t do you any good. You are mine. You swore to serve me forever and so you shall!”

           She gripped the trapped soul so hard her knuckles turned white. Belle let out a cry and fell to her knees in the water. It took everything Rumplestiltskin had to not throttle the witch with every ounce of magic he possessed.

           “Please, dearie,” he said in as even a voice as possible, “As impressive your wrath is, your little siren didn’t call for me. I came on my own.”

           Shauna peered at him, letting her fingers relax slightly on Belle’s soul. “What do you want?”

           “I want your siren’s soul.”

           The look of surprise on the witch’s face likely added a few more wrinkles. “What do you need her soul for?”

           “That’s my business,” he said casually, “Now be a good witch and hand it over.”

           Shauna laughed at him. “Oh I don’t think so. She’s been in my possession for over a century. Go find another siren.”

           “Now why would I do that when there is one here?” Rumplestiltskin shook his head at her, “You don’t want to tangle with me, dearie.”

           “No, it’s you who doesn’t want to tangle with me,” she spat out. She placed her hand on the ground, cracks spread through the earth from her fingers. There was a rumbling sound before the ground opened up and swallowed him down like he was soup.

           “Rumple!” Belle screamed, but it was too late. Shauna smiled and let the ground seal him up. There was no more effective coffin than that.

           Belle fell to her knees again, this time of her own accord. Tears ran down her face and sank into the lake. She would turn it into an ocean with her tears if she could. He was her friend, her last one in this world. And Bae, that poor boy. Now they would never find one another.

           “Stop your weeping, little fool,” Shauna hissed at her. “Do you have any souls for me?”

           Tears still wet her cheeks, but Belle didn’t care. She wrenched herself back to her feet. “No!” she cried, “I don’t have a soul for you and I’ll never take another for you ever again! You can kill me now for all I care! I won’t be your slave anymore!”

           “Oh we’ll see about that,” Shauna declared. A whip appeared into her hand, it’s lash made of pure fire. Belle knew this tool very well, but she didn’t care if she had more scars. None of it mattered anymore.

           Shauna raised the whip high, but Belle just stared at it blankly, ready for it to come. Suddenly, the witch let out a gasp. The whip fell from her hands and vanished when it hit the ground. Shauna turned around and only then did Belle gasp at what she saw.

           Rumplestiltskin stood behind her clutching a beating heart, twisted and black. “Rumple!” Belle cried out, tears falling again but for a different reason.

           “You forget, dearie,” he hissed at her, “I am the Dark One. I can only be killed by one way, and your little parlor tricks won’t work.”

           “I can give you a soul,” Shauna pleaded, “There is another siren. I can help you get her soul.”

           Rumplestiltskin sneered at her. “Really, dearie, you have nothing to negotiate with now.”

           Belle watched as he squeezed her heart into it fist. Shauna let out bloodcurdling scream, clutching at her breast and sinking to the ground. She began to age before their eyes, transforming into a shriveled old woman. He kept squeezing onto the organ until it was nothing more than a handful of dust. Shauna withered away into the ground, her flesh and bones turning into the very dirt she lay on before the wind took her away forever.

           Rumplestiltskin dropped the remains of the damned witch’s heart, dusting off his palms to be rid of her forever. A splash came from the lake, but before he could look to check on Belle, he found himself wrapped up in her arms again.

           Belle squeezed him tight, pressing her face into his chest. “I thought you were dead,” she sobbed again, “I thought she killed you.”

           Rumplestiltskin swallowed back the lump in his throat. The Dark One didn’t hug, but the Spinner couldn’t help but gently rub at her back, trying to soothe her. “It’s alright,” he said, “I can’t be killed so easily.”

           He wasn’t used to having someone worry over him or he would have told her of his intentions. Now there was something else he wasn’t used to: guilt. He hadn’t meant to frighten Belle. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have told you.”

           Belle pulled away from him, swiping at her cheeks with her hand. “It’s okay. I should have realized…” She stopped suddenly, looking down at the dirt where her captor had died.

           There, winking in the sun was the diamond, the cage for Belle’s pure soul.

           Rumplestiltskin picked it up from the dirt, brushing it off so it shined with it’s perfect light. Of course her soul was so bright, so vibrantly good. Belle was the kindest, gentlest person he’d ever known. No wonder Shauna had wanted to possess it so badly. She would be irresistible to any fool who wandered by, not because of her siren powers bestowed by her curse, but because she was Belle.

           “You have it now,” Belle said quietly, “Will it work?”

           Yes, it would work beautifully. It was so strong, so vibrant. It could easily open a door to any realm because of how magnificently pure it was. He couldn’t find the words to say all of that to her. Instead, he nodded briefly, but that was enough.

           “Good,” she said, “Use it now.”

           “What?” he gasped.

           “Take it and use it to finish your spell and bring Bae home,” Belle said, “Just…promise me that you’ll never tell him what happened to me.”

           Rumplestiltskin frowned at her. “Why would you want that?”

           “I don’t want him to know about what I’ve done. I don’t want him to know that I killed people. I would rather him…and you, to remember me how I was,” she said. A single tear fell, gleaming in the sunlight.

           Belle hastily wiped it away and shut her eyes. “I’m ready. Do it, Rumplestiltskin.”

           Dozens of voices in his heads said the same words. Do it. Do it. Do it. Kill her. Do it. Save your son. Do it. Do it.

           DO IT!

           It would be so easy to take her soul and bind it to the spell, the key to open the door. This was the perfect soul. Even if he found another siren, he was certain their soul would be to rotten and black to be of any use. If he was to do it, he had to use this one.

           But as he held that soul in his hand, his little’s son voice echoed in his mind. “Where did Belle go, Papa? What happened to her?”

            What would he say to his boy if he asked him that? Could he lie again, now knowing the truth like he did? Could he ever look at his son again knowing that he had killed their beloved friend in order to bring him back?

           It was more than that. Could he live with himself if he took her life?

           Rumplestiltskin closed the diamond into his fist. There was a brief burst of magic that warmed his palm. When he opened his hand, the diamond was gone. “Belle,” he said her name gently.

           She opened her eyes, blinking at him in confusion. Then her fingers reached up to her throat. Around her neck was a gold chain. The diamond that held her soul was ensnared there, set against her breast. She fingered it gently, feeling the warmth of his magic there. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

           “Your soul is yours,” he said, “You’re free, Belle. You can go where you like, do what you like.”

           “But I’m still…I’m still a siren.”

           He nodded. “The curse is in your soul. The only way to free you would be to kill you.”

           “Then why don’t you do it? I want you to.”

           “I can’t,” he said quietly, “I can’t do it.”

           “But…I don’t want to be a killer anymore,” she begged of him.

           “Oh, Belle,” he said and gently took her hand, “You never were. Your soul is too pure, so perfect, it would only be like that if you were innocent. Shauna may have turned you into her weapon, but you were never a murderer.”

           Belle touched the pure white jewel, shaking her head. “I don’t…I’m not…”

           “Belle, I can’t kill you,” he said again, “You were my friend. You even remembered me after all of these years. I may be as dark as they come, but I couldn’t destroy the one ray of light left for me in the world.”

           He lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to it. “Go and live a wonderful life,” he said.

           He turned to leave again, prepared to whisk himself back to his castle. “Wait!” Belle cried out. He turned to look back at her again. “What about Bae?”

           Rumplestiltskin shut his eyes at his son’s name. “I’ll find another way,” he said, “There is always another way.”

           Belle crept towards him slowly and then took his hand again. “If you won’t use my soul…can I at least help you find this other way?”

           He gaped at her, feeling his black heart hammering against his ribs. “You—you want to—come with me?”

           She smiled a little. “I don’t know anyone else in this world. I’d rather explore it with a friend now that I’m free.”

           A friend. Those were words he’d never thought would be associated with him. He shouldn’t let her come with him. She was a distraction, a bit of nostalgia from his past. More than that, every time she smiled at him he felt fire racing through his blood.

           But he still saw the pain in her eyes, the fear and heartbreak that the years of enslavement had brought her. He could send her away, but what would happen to her? Would she ever understand that nothing she’d endured had been her fault?

           Besides, there were no rules that said the Dark One couldn’t have friends.

           Rumplestiltskin smiled back and gently squeezed her hand. “I do have a rather large castle. It might be nice to have someone to talk to. I also have a library that could use some dusting.”

           The way her eyes sparkled at his words made him laugh. He snapped his fingers and they disappeared from her former prison in a cloud of purple smoke.

[shareeanne-deactivated]

How to Enjoy Your Days More: 4 Ways to Live Life to the Fullest

“It wasn’t until I slowed the car and rolled down the windows that I realized I spend most of my days driving ‘through’ life without driving ‘in’ life. So, I’ve decided to walk because the pace is slower and the windows are always down.” ~Craig D. Lounsbrough

Voices—they’re everywhere. As soon as I wake up, I can feel the stress of keeping up with their demands. As soon as I look at my smartphone, I am overwhelmed with all the notifications “needing” attention. They seem to pull me in every direction and keep me dodging here and there, attempting to keep up with all the differing opinions, unnecessary tasks, and media.

The sound of the voices seems to echo throughout every part of our lives. Calling to us from our Snapchat notifications, our workplace newsletters, and our family reunions. Wherever we go, distractions and other people’s opinions shout for our attention.

We desperately try to keep up with the influx of media, news, responsibilities, and social events, but we often find ourselves too worn out to really enjoy any of the aspects of our lives. Everything seems bland and dull, like an endless mill of things to do and ponder that we aimlessly run to keep up with, much like a hamster on a wheel.

So how can we truly relish the fullness of life?

1. Say “no” to unnecessary activities and business.

It’s hard for us to really experience and enjoy life when we are so busy running from place to place taking care of extra work or someone else’s duties. We hardly even have time to realize what we are doing much less to fully live in each moment.

Instead, we brush the surface of precious moments that we pass through instead of diving in and immersing ourselves in the embrace of a partner, the warmth of the sunshine, and the taste of home-baked cookies. We simply don’t have time to experience the essence of what makes life good when we say “yes” to unnecessary responsibilities.

Part of the problem is that we simply have far too much to do. We need to learn to say “no” sometimes to the extra burdens our work, friends, or even family members beg us to take care of.

Don’t say “yes” to an added responsibility when you already feel too busy. Sure, your friend might be disappointed, but if she is really your friend, she will eventually understand that her problems aren’t yours to solve. Learn to politely but firmly decline from taking on too many tasks.

As a recovering perfectionist, I have a hard time saying “no” to tasks I know I could do well. This past year I’ve had to learn that I can’t do everything.

I’m getting married in the winter and beginning graduate school, so I have a lot on my plate. But, when people ask me if I could play my violin for their wedding or church service, I have had to weigh which events are priority and which ones I simply don’t have time for. For instance, saying “yes” to helping with a close friend’s surprise wedding this summer versus getting paid to play my violin at a stranger’s wedding.

I’ve even had to decide which social events I really have the time, energy, and desire to go to versus the ones that sound too stressful or that simply don’t fit into my schedule. In short, I have had to learn to say “no” to unnecessary activities, even if my decision might disappoint someone. Only by avoiding extra busyness have I begun to truly experience and live in each moment.

2. Minimize your exposure to media.

Media is everywhere around us in today’s society. From television to smartphones to iPads, we are constantly flooded with media. In fact, we often get so distracted by media that we feel like we have to check Instagram every five minutes and we have to watch the news every morning and we have post one more tweet on Twitter.

The media saturation can cause us to be distracted from our work, family, and hobbies. Just recently, I noticed that even though I see my fiancé only on weekends I was scrolling through Instagram more than I actually conversed with him. I was too busy taking creative pictures and reviewing the likes and comments on my posts.

Every time I had a free moment, I would feel the urge to check my phone. In fact, I would sometimes find myself sitting next to my fiancé on the couch, blankly scrolling through Instagram instead of engaging in real, deep conversations. As a result, I uninstalled Instagram.

Almost instantly, I noticed a change. I didn’t feel like I had to check my phone all the time. I felt more attached to my partner and looked forward to spending time talking with him. I was less superficial and less worried about how I looked.

Furthermore, I became interested in my old hobbies like writing poetry and reading, now that I was less distracted with social media. I miraculously looked forward to work and what I could accomplish each day. Clearly, we need to avoid becoming distracted by media, so we can more fully experience life.

3. Take time to do the things you love.

Many times, we think that as adults, we should outgrow hobbies and live in the routine of work and household responsibilities. While adult life does include many more necessary duties, we should not let our daily tasks keep us from occasionally taking time out to do the things we love.

Remember what you used to do in your free time? Take a minute to read a chapter of your favorite book, to go birding at your local park, or ride your bicycle downtown. Sure, you might not be able to do it very often, but don’t let the business of life keep you from doing the things that bring that extra sparkle of life to your eyes. Just because you’re a busy adult doesn’t mean you should never have a little fun or relish doing something just for the enjoyment of it.

For me, that meant sitting down to write this article. Or, going to the library and finding a couple of good books to read. Or, writing a few quirky poems to add to my poetry collection. Without realizing it, I had allowed myself to be so busy that I had stopped doing the things that I loved, and I just kept chasing after the things I had to do without ever coming to the end of them.

There will always be more necessary activities to do in life. But, your hobbies are part of what make you uniquely “you.” Learn to take time to cherish those activities and to experience the joy they give you. The constant grind of work and home duties can grind a person’s spirit into the dust. But, pausing to do something you love can help bring vibrancy and vitality back int your life.

4. Be authentic to your beliefs and values, even if it goes against popular beliefs or the opinions of those close to you.

Letting other people’s opinions control our lives can squelch our creativity and joy in life. Constantly worrying about what other people think is draining and keeps us from truly experiencing life genuinely. We are always uneasy when we are pretending to be what we are not, and we are always dissatisfied when we are living in a way we would not live unless society told us we should live that way.

I was lucky to grow up in a wonderful, loving home that nurtured and grew me. However, when I started college, I realized that I had absorbed so much of what my family, community, and society believed that I needed to figure out what I really felt and thought to see if it was the same.

I had to sort through what I did because I’d always done it that way and what I did because I believed it should be done that way. I had to discover what I felt about social issues because I’d absorbed what society taught me and what I felt about injustices because that’s what I’d discovered to be true.

I had to decide whether it was more authentic for me to continue my career as a musician because I’d played violin since I was a toddler, or if my talents and life experience led me to explore a different field of study like writing and library science.

The people around me didn’t all support my career change. Some even challenged me because they thought it was a waste of talent and that I was “too smart” to be a librarian. At times like this, I’ve had to consider my choices and decide to stand up for myself, even if others didn’t agree with me.

Other times, I’ve had to reconsider my choices and beliefs again and have discovered new, even more fulfilling truths. In either case, I’m learning to be genuine and make decisions that I believe support my convictions and who I am, instead of living to please other people.

Living life genuinely gives us the freedom to be authentic. We can make decisions logically and emotionally from the values that we hold to be true, and thus we can be fully content with our decisions.

We do not need to pretend in order to make more friends or please our family. If our friends truly love who we really are, they will accept us and all our idiosyncrasies without us having to put on a façade.

In the same way, we need to put up boundaries with our families and disconnect ourselves a healthy distance from family dictums, so that we can discover for ourselves what we really believe, how we really want to live, and what we really want to accomplish in life.

We need to learn to make decisions because we think they are right, not because that’s how everyone else does it, because that is what is acceptable to society, or because that is how our families did things. Only when we can stay authentic to our own values and beliefs can we truly feel satisfied and live life to the fullest.

With so many distractions and opinions surrounding us every day, it can be difficult to be fully present and truly experience each moment of our lives. But, if we say “no” to extra duties, if we reduce our time distracted by media, if we take time to do the things we love, and if we stay true to our own values and beliefs, we will find ourselves enjoying more of our days.

About

Web | More Posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

The post How to Enjoy Your Days More: 4 Ways to Live Life to the Fullest appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

[sarahburness]

How to Enjoy Your Days More: 4 Ways to Live Life to the Fullest

“It wasn’t until I slowed the car and rolled down the windows that I realized I spend most of my days driving ‘through’ life without driving ‘in’ life. So, I’ve decided to walk because the pace is slower and the windows are always down.” ~Craig D. Lounsbrough

Voices—they’re everywhere. As soon as I wake up, I can feel the stress of keeping up with their demands. As soon as I look at my smartphone, I am overwhelmed with all the notifications “needing” attention. They seem to pull me in every direction and keep me dodging here and there, attempting to keep up with all the differing opinions, unnecessary tasks, and media.

The sound of the voices seems to echo throughout every part of our lives. Calling to us from our Snapchat notifications, our workplace newsletters, and our family reunions. Wherever we go, distractions and other people’s opinions shout for our attention.

We desperately try to keep up with the influx of media, news, responsibilities, and social events, but we often find ourselves too worn out to really enjoy any of the aspects of our lives. Everything seems bland and dull, like an endless mill of things to do and ponder that we aimlessly run to keep up with, much like a hamster on a wheel.

So how can we truly relish the fullness of life?

1. Say “no” to unnecessary activities and business.

It’s hard for us to really experience and enjoy life when we are so busy running from place to place taking care of extra work or someone else’s duties. We hardly even have time to realize what we are doing much less to fully live in each moment.

Instead, we brush the surface of precious moments that we pass through instead of diving in and immersing ourselves in the embrace of a partner, the warmth of the sunshine, and the taste of home-baked cookies. We simply don’t have time to experience the essence of what makes life good when we say “yes” to unnecessary responsibilities.

Part of the problem is that we simply have far too much to do. We need to learn to say “no” sometimes to the extra burdens our work, friends, or even family members beg us to take care of.

Don’t say “yes” to an added responsibility when you already feel too busy. Sure, your friend might be disappointed, but if she is really your friend, she will eventually understand that her problems aren’t yours to solve. Learn to politely but firmly decline from taking on too many tasks.

As a recovering perfectionist, I have a hard time saying “no” to tasks I know I could do well. This past year I’ve had to learn that I can’t do everything.

I’m getting married in the winter and beginning graduate school, so I have a lot on my plate. But, when people ask me if I could play my violin for their wedding or church service, I have had to weigh which events are priority and which ones I simply don’t have time for. For instance, saying “yes” to helping with a close friend’s surprise wedding this summer versus getting paid to play my violin at a stranger’s wedding.

I’ve even had to decide which social events I really have the time, energy, and desire to go to versus the ones that sound too stressful or that simply don’t fit into my schedule. In short, I have had to learn to say “no” to unnecessary activities, even if my decision might disappoint someone. Only by avoiding extra busyness have I begun to truly experience and live in each moment.

2. Minimize your exposure to media.

Media is everywhere around us in today’s society. From television to smartphones to iPads, we are constantly flooded with media. In fact, we often get so distracted by media that we feel like we have to check Instagram every five minutes and we have to watch the news every morning and we have post one more tweet on Twitter.

The media saturation can cause us to be distracted from our work, family, and hobbies. Just recently, I noticed that even though I see my fiancé only on weekends I was scrolling through Instagram more than I actually conversed with him. I was too busy taking creative pictures and reviewing the likes and comments on my posts.

Every time I had a free moment, I would feel the urge to check my phone. In fact, I would sometimes find myself sitting next to my fiancé on the couch, blankly scrolling through Instagram instead of engaging in real, deep conversations. As a result, I uninstalled Instagram.

Almost instantly, I noticed a change. I didn’t feel like I had to check my phone all the time. I felt more attached to my partner and looked forward to spending time talking with him. I was less superficial and less worried about how I looked.

Furthermore, I became interested in my old hobbies like writing poetry and reading, now that I was less distracted with social media. I miraculously looked forward to work and what I could accomplish each day. Clearly, we need to avoid becoming distracted by media, so we can more fully experience life.

3. Take time to do the things you love.

Many times, we think that as adults, we should outgrow hobbies and live in the routine of work and household responsibilities. While adult life does include many more necessary duties, we should not let our daily tasks keep us from occasionally taking time out to do the things we love.

Remember what you used to do in your free time? Take a minute to read a chapter of your favorite book, to go birding at your local park, or ride your bicycle downtown. Sure, you might not be able to do it very often, but don’t let the business of life keep you from doing the things that bring that extra sparkle of life to your eyes. Just because you’re a busy adult doesn’t mean you should never have a little fun or relish doing something just for the enjoyment of it.

For me, that meant sitting down to write this article. Or, going to the library and finding a couple of good books to read. Or, writing a few quirky poems to add to my poetry collection. Without realizing it, I had allowed myself to be so busy that I had stopped doing the things that I loved, and I just kept chasing after the things I had to do without ever coming to the end of them.

There will always be more necessary activities to do in life. But, your hobbies are part of what make you uniquely “you.” Learn to take time to cherish those activities and to experience the joy they give you. The constant grind of work and home duties can grind a person’s spirit into the dust. But, pausing to do something you love can help bring vibrancy and vitality back int your life.

4. Be authentic to your beliefs and values, even if it goes against popular beliefs or the opinions of those close to you.

Letting other people’s opinions control our lives can squelch our creativity and joy in life. Constantly worrying about what other people think is draining and keeps us from truly experiencing life genuinely. We are always uneasy when we are pretending to be what we are not, and we are always dissatisfied when we are living in a way we would not live unless society told us we should live that way.

I was lucky to grow up in a wonderful, loving home that nurtured and grew me. However, when I started college, I realized that I had absorbed so much of what my family, community, and society believed that I needed to figure out what I really felt and thought to see if it was the same.

I had to sort through what I did because I’d always done it that way and what I did because I believed it should be done that way. I had to discover what I felt about social issues because I’d absorbed what society taught me and what I felt about injustices because that’s what I’d discovered to be true.

I had to decide whether it was more authentic for me to continue my career as a musician because I’d played violin since I was a toddler, or if my talents and life experience led me to explore a different field of study like writing and library science.

The people around me didn’t all support my career change. Some even challenged me because they thought it was a waste of talent and that I was “too smart” to be a librarian. At times like this, I’ve had to consider my choices and decide to stand up for myself, even if others didn’t agree with me.

Other times, I’ve had to reconsider my choices and beliefs again and have discovered new, even more fulfilling truths. In either case, I’m learning to be genuine and make decisions that I believe support my convictions and who I am, instead of living to please other people.

Living life genuinely gives us the freedom to be authentic. We can make decisions logically and emotionally from the values that we hold to be true, and thus we can be fully content with our decisions.

We do not need to pretend in order to make more friends or please our family. If our friends truly love who we really are, they will accept us and all our idiosyncrasies without us having to put on a façade.

In the same way, we need to put up boundaries with our families and disconnect ourselves a healthy distance from family dictums, so that we can discover for ourselves what we really believe, how we really want to live, and what we really want to accomplish in life.

We need to learn to make decisions because we think they are right, not because that’s how everyone else does it, because that is what is acceptable to society, or because that is how our families did things. Only when we can stay authentic to our own values and beliefs can we truly feel satisfied and live life to the fullest.

With so many distractions and opinions surrounding us every day, it can be difficult to be fully present and truly experience each moment of our lives. But, if we say “no” to extra duties, if we reduce our time distracted by media, if we take time to do the things we love, and if we stay true to our own values and beliefs, we will find ourselves enjoying more of our days.

About

Web | More Posts

Get in the conversation! Click here to leave a comment on the site.

The post How to Enjoy Your Days More: 4 Ways to Live Life to the Fullest appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/how-to-enjoy-your-days-more-4-ways-to-live-life-to-the-fullest/