#but one of the men is my neighbour who looks at me through his window

[grossillygirl]

ive told like 5 men that i love alone BECAUSE I DONT THINK THINGS THROUGH IN MY HEAD AND NOW IM PARANOID IM GOING TO LIKE DIE

[gingersnaptaff]

Y Mab Darogan 1

(Stained glass window depicting Cadwaladr and his flag in Llandaff Cathedral, Charles Powell, 1919)

(King Arthur (top left), St Tewdrig, and St Cadwaladr, stained glass window in Llandaff Cathedral. Situated in the North Aisle, Charles Powell, 1919)

'The awen predicts they will make haste;

We shall have treasures, possessions, and peace

And broader leadership and lively leaders;

And after war, dwellings in every area;

Men fierce in fight-clamour, furious warriors,

Swift in attack, slow to leave defence-

Fighters that scatter foreigners as far as Caer Wair'

- the opening first lines of Armes Prydain

Something a bit different today but I thought I'd yell about ‘Y Mab Darogan’ or The Prophesied Son, who was seen as a messianic figure in Welsh literature and was appellated to four* (!) different lads (including King Arthur). This will be a long one so please have a snack and a drink at hand. You're gonna need ‘em.

Now, Y Mab Darogan as a concept first crops up in the 10th Century poem ‘Armes Prydain’ (The Prophecy of Britain) from the Book of Taliesin. Andrew Breeze postulated that the poem was written in about ‘940 AD.’ Taliesin’s status as ‘a seer’ write Gwyneth Lewis and Rowan Williams in their introduction to The Book of Taliesin: Poems of Warfare and Praise in an Enchanted Britain means that ‘it is not at all surprising’ to find a collection of Prophetic poems alongside the others within Llyfr Taliesin. ‘Its themes,’ Lewis and Williams further write, ‘are recycled in several later poems looking forward to a reunification of the British - usually Under the leadership of Gwynedd - and the advent of a heroic deliverer.’

It's a call for all Celtic nations (Welsh, Scots, Irish, Cornish, Britons, Manx) to come to arms against the Anglo-Saxon invaders - as can be seen in the lines 'long-haired champions, masters of war/ Will come from Ireland to drive out the Saxons.', 'Both loyal men will come from Alt Clud, / A resplendent army to drive them from Britain' 'A powerful host will come from Llydaw (Brittany),' 'Let the Cymry rise up, a war-like company' and 'On all sides shame will be the Saxons destiny' and, although it doesn't feature King Arthur proper it's writing kinda alludes to his death.

To zoom through some background, Hywel Dda (yes, he of Law fame) was seen as very much toeing the line to the Angles - who y'know were (and kinda still are) Wales’ traditional enemies. Now, for ol’ Hywel, this had meant that when Edward the Elder ruled over Wessex had had to cleave to him to ensure that Wales didn't get battered within an inch of its life as had all other Celtic nations in Britain (so the Gaels, the Picts, etc, etc). However, once he was out of the picture and his son, Athelstan, had taken over, an alliance of the kingdoms of the Strathclyde*, Dublin, and Scotland had all risen against him. In a break from tradition - y'know, the whole Men of the North business where it was acknowledged and expected that the Welsh would aid their compatriots - Hywel vehemently denied the three kingdoms’ aid leading to their defeat at the Battle of Brunanburh in 937.

Obviously, this pissed A LOT of Welsh lads off.

I mean, yeah, it'd piss me off too. if I expected a battle only to find out we weren't getting one cuz some lawmaker lad had to keep his neighbours happy I'd be LIVID. So this poem was written! No word if Hywel read it, but I imagine his Goodreads review would've been a firm one star.

In it, it refers to ‘Thus they'll avenge Garmon's* friends with force/ Four hundred and forty years on' and, according to the Annales Cambriae (my absolute beloved) in 537AD there was: ‘The Strife of Camlann, in which Arthur and Medraut perished; and there was plague in Britain and Ireland.’ which means ‘404 years’ after that is 941. Therefore, the poem is very much looking forward to the annihilation of the Saxons in 941 which kinda happened because Edmund had to accept a humiliating treaty at Leicester in 941, giving the north-east of England to the Viking leader Olaf Guthfrithson.

Also, the poem invokes two famous leaders - Conan of Brittany, and Cadwaladr ap Cadwallon of Gwynedd - in the line: 'Cynan and Cadwaladr, warlords in the armies' Cadwaladr is seen as hot shit - basically on par with Arthur as a ‘Great Deliver’ figure for the Welsh - and, somehow, the Welsh Dragon has become known as Cadwaladr's flag. Cadwaladr is also important because Henry VII (yeah, HIM) claimed descent from him. The hoped-for leader is seen as returning from exile - just as Cadwaladr is said to have done and Henry VII would later do once he'd hot-footed it to France to get aid - or arriving from over the sea - as Owain Lawgoch would later unsuccessfully attempt to do in the 1300’s - and ‘on their return they … overthrow corrupt or alien rulers within Wales, and rally other Welsh kingdoms to resistance and ultimate victory over the English.’

Now, as I previously alluded to, King Arthur is pretty much absent from the early corpus which makes up the ‘Mab Darogan’ legend. The ‘fierce resentment’ of the Armes Prydain makes no mention of him, and, therefore, we must look elsewhere.

We find it in the Gwyddelian composed Historia Brittonum. He's specifically indicated as fighting the Saxons (ons of the main tenets of the job, I think we'll all agree) and doing… okay. T. Charles Edwards states, ‘The victories of a Gwrthefyr, or an Arthur, might be glorious but they had no future,’ and, I think, it is this utter glory and utter ineffectualness that highlights the two main tenets of what makes you mab darogan, well, y mab darogan.

Arthur ‘echoes the achievements of Gwrthefyr’ in his chapter and so brings with it another key building block of y mab darogan. He is an echo of what has coms before and what will - hopefully, futilely - come again. A warrior will rise and lead through Britons - the Welsh, the natives of the land - to a brief taste of freedom before slipping away in a haze.

Furthermore, T. Charles Edwards states, ‘Perhaps the main concern of the author of Historia Brittonum is to encourage the Britons to come to terms with defeat of loss and territory.’ Arthur, like Macsen Wledig before him, is a rallying point for the Welsh. A flashpoint. Arthur is the ‘British Dux’ or warlord, the rebellious leader at will bring the Saxons to heel.

The legend of him being Y Mab Darogan amongst the Welsh is thought to have taken widespread hold after this. He's seen as a rallying cry for various rebellions and poets made use of his stature to advance various other disaffected Welshmen's causes. The Anglo-Norman text ‘The Description of England’ states that ‘openly they [the Welsh] go about saying,... / that in the end, they will have it all; / by means of Arthur, they will have it back... / They will call it Britain again’ So this would firmly put him in the bracket of The Welsh Lord and Saviour, kiss fuckin kiss. Furthermore, Daniel Helbert in his essay, ‘The Prophetic Hope in Twelfth Century Britain,’ states ‘at the close of the twelfth-century, the idea that King Arthur would return from the grave and lead his people to victory was not a new one,’ for the power and popularity of this legend both within Britain and on the continent as a whole (i.e. in Brittany where Arthur - and, later, Owain Lawgoch - is also seen as a somewhat Messianic figure in his own right) had an ‘allure’ to it. This suggests that, to me, the ‘Breton/Briton Hope’ was always a powerful sticking point in people's heads. Arthur had already left an indelible mark on culture, be it Welsh, Anglo-Norman, or otherwise, and people would use it in whatever ways suited them.

But I also must caution against believing this outright. *sigh* Arthur is Welsh*, yes. The building blocks of his myth are Welsh. I do not dispute that. However, O.J. Padel says that no contemporary Welsh source of a prophecy concerning Arthur's return to Britain has been found, and Charles T. Edwards further states: ‘Although the use of a Welsh battle-poem has been suspected, perhaps rightly no such source is likely … And if there was such a poem celebrating Arthur's battles, its date remains entirely uncertain.’ While there exists plenty of poetry on Arthur's ‘descendants’ as it were, Owain Lawgoch and Owain Glyndŵr, there is nothing particularly concrete for Artie and, furthermore, we must both rely on non-Welsh texts AND Henry VII's propaganda during the Wars of the Roses when he was challenging the Plantagenets for the English throne.

(Personally, Arthur just likes to be a tricksy bastard and I wish he'd CEASE AND DESIST. Bro, I went to ur fuckin Grotto in Corwen* when I was a kid. You OWE me.)

Conversely, Arthur has been used to legitimise the English’s rule over the native Britons. Edward I, after his conquest of Wales, used ‘Round Tables’ to celebrate and justify his conquest of Wales - one of many Big Kicks in the Teeth for us, ngl, other than letting the Prince of Wales be a baby because he only babbled*, and having the true last Princess of Wales, Gwenllian, be shut up in a monastery when she was a baby - and the consequent ‘reunification’ of Arthurian Britain. The Galfridian texts also were even used to justify Edward's claim over the Scottish throne - after the House of Dunkeld came to an untimely end with Margaret, the Maid of Norway's, death at sea when she was only 7 - as Arthur conquered Scotland. Geoffrey of Monmouth, I'm hitting your ghost over the head with a boot. One with iron toe caps. And smeared in dung. Arthur's use as a colonial tool by both the Normans’ and the Plantagenet dynasty cannot be overstated. To do so is a great disservice that doesn't do anybody - least of all the Celtic countries who had their great mythological king beaten into this oppressive tool to try and bring them to heel - any favours.

Aled Llion Jones writes in Darogan: Prophecy, Lament, and Absent Heroes in Medieval Literature that the imagined victory of y mab darogan represents a ‘return to a united, unified legendary state of organicism’ which was once conjured in a long-lost son called ‘Unbennaeth Prydain or ‘The Sovereignty of Britain. Furthermore, Brud and Brut (that's Prophecy and History for all you non-Welsh speakers out there) were near-homonyms in medieval Welsh and the Brut y Brenhinedd - ‘Chronicles of the King's,’ which are an adaptation of Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia Regum Britanniae - was framed as being the story of how British lordship over Ynys Prydain had been gained, flourished, and lost to the Saxons. Prophecy, therefore, provided how it would ultimately be won back by those who would come after Arthur.

But, I mean, Wales would have to wait to find out who their next Mab Darogan would be. Next week: Owain Lawgoch's Hot Shit Tour of France: How he Became Y Mab Darogan, Fucked About in Guernsey and Got Assassinated When He Was Cutting His Hair.

Some notes!

*Garmon is St. Garmon the Gaulish Bishop who visited Britain in the first half of the fifth century

*You could make the case that Owain Gwynedd could be seen as Y Mab Darogan considering his various run-ins with the Normans. However, you could say that about The Lord Rhys also and, if we’re getting into the meat of it, neither of those two lads are even seen as having faulty alarm clocks. Or chillaxing beneath a mountain.

*Strathclyde wasn't incorporated into Scotland until the 11th Century when it was annexed into the Kingdom of Alba. It would still be known as Ystrad Clud at this time.) 

*Technically, Brythonic which is the forerunner to the Britons but, like, the language of the texts he is primarily featured in is Old Welsh. I know he's seen as an English figure but that's wrapped up on years and years of colonialism.

*That baby was later known as King Edward II whose reign was less than impressive, but extremely gay. Nice to see him committing to the Remarkable cosplay ngl. (Idk if he ever did that. I just think it's fun to imagine he did. Bet he was Lance.) 

*The Grotto was so fuckin fun. If I can dredge up a photo of the Red and White Dragon fighting then I'll fuckin slap it up because ooooh, baby, it was SO COOL. Also, they had an animatronic Arthur asleep under a mountain. ANYWAY.

*Myrddin/Merlin was also associated with prophecy in the early Welsh texts particularly those about the mab darogan.

Background Reading and Sources:

Land of My Father's by Gwynfor Evans

The History of Wales by J. Graham Jones

Wales: England's Colony? by Martin Johnes (A Banger.)

The Book of Taliesin by Gwyneth Lewis and Rowan Williams

The Arthur of the Welsh by Rachel Bromwich (T. Charles Edwards is included in it. Strongly recommend it.)

The Earliest Welsh Poems by Joseph Clancy

Arthur in Medieval Welsh Literature by O. J Padel

The Welsh Triads by Rachel Bromwich

Lastly a quick aside: this is my theory but it is entirely possible that Arthur disinterring Bendigeidfran's head in Branch 2 of the Mabinogi could be seen as him taking up the 'heroic deliverer' role from an earlier Celtic hero. Certainly, while his head remained buried at Gwynfryn (White Hill, speculated to be Tower Hill in London) 'no oppression would ever come from across the sea to this island while that head was in its hiding place.' Bendigeidfran, like Arthur, was seen as the High King of Britain, and there is certainly an echo of Arthur about him. Arthur, in a fit of hubris, disclosed the head of Bendigeidfran from its resting place because 'it did not seem right to him that this Island should be defended by the strength of anyone, but his own.' And this 'was known as one of the Three Unfortunate disclosures,' so the Mabinogion says.

I'm not an academic but it is perhaps something to think about.

[kisses4reid]

warnings: mentions of blood, dead bodies, guns, being kidnapped, murder, injuries

you had your back turned to the gory scene, chest pressed against a family photo of people you didn’t know.

there were no thoughts, no movements, no sounds, no breeze through an open window. your eyes were squeezed shut and you convinced yourself to breath through your nose, hold it until you couldn’t anymore, and release a shuttering breath through your mouth.

your folded legs had cramped, your head was pounding against the wall. the metallic smell of blood was all you could focus on, as fat tears travelled down your red cheeks and sobs croaked from your sore throat.

squelches of air pockets hidden in organs had subsided after who knows how long, and replacing it was the sound of tires skidding to a halt and sirens approaching. only then do you crack your eyes open, sore and swollen from punches and cries.

all your met with in a wall with a family photo, faces unrecognisable under the running blood, so close the blood could touch your nose - not that it would look out of place, and two red hand prints, that drag down to the base of the wall. you had been so delirious after killing those men, you though a family photo was a door.

unable to move, you sat expectantly. for a blow? for a punch? for a kick? for something you had become so familiar with, a sting that felt like a kiss?

spencer lowered his gun as soon as he saw the suspects dead on the carpet. there set of hand prints opposite him that splattered and dragged slowly, as if someone tried to hold themselves up but ultimately failed. he followed the trail with his eyes, and found you.

spencer had noticed your quivering body first of course, looking so small and frail, he doubted you had eaten in days, had a sip of water, a second of sunlight.

in your trance, you were greeted with a door being kicked down, shouts of unheard commands, and a pair of hands on your shoulders.

you screamed and pushed the hands off of you, kicking out beneath you with your eyes clenched in fear. you had killed them, why weren’t they gone? it scared spencer, you yell was hearty and wet, your eyes bruised as well as most of your observable skin, you almost looked like a different girl.

“y/n? hey, hey, y/n. can you hear me?” he held his hands up, eyes wide, gulping in disbelief - though he should’ve expected it.

you opened one eye, rapid heart faulting at the voice.

“y/n, hey.” the wrinkles between spencer’s eyebrows paused when he let a smile slip, an exhale moving from him to you.

and you wished you could hug him, to embrace him, to feel someone that wasn’t trying to hurt you, someone who was warm. but all you could see was the dull faces and blood pooling beneath locks of hair, limp limbs and holes where your brain should be.

“oh my god…” you whispered coarsely, holding a quivering hand over your busted lips, your eyes darting between the bodies and spencer’s brown eyes.

he leaned forward slowly, reaching out his hands to try for your shoulders again, wanting badly to take you away from the awful scene and gross smell, from the place you had been captive in for the past four days. his own tears trapped themselves in his lashes, yours free to huddle on your jawline and chin.

you screamed a sob into spencer’s chest, throwing your hands on your face and burrowing your head into his FBI vest. your chest heaved, your shoulders being lifted to stand on wobbly knees.

you weren’t sure when you had left the innocent appearing family home - how neighbours hadn’t heard your crying nobody knew - or when you had been put into an ambulance, but you knew spencer was the one to drag you through the disaster.

there was a slight ringing in your ears, it had been present your second night in that house, you had a broken rib and fractured wrists, torn muscles and sore lungs, all things the paramedics told spencer as he sat beside you. they had told him they were surprised you were awake, alive.

their words were a blur to you though, as well as anything further than spencer’s face. he looked 10 years older, his hair messier, his face greyer. you wanted to ask him what was wrong, but no air in your lungs could push out any words. your fingers twitched, reaching for something.

spencer looked down for a split second after the nurse had finished talking to him, tears finally dropping onto his cheeks. he carefully took your hands and bit his bottom lip. he whispered, “you’ll be okay, we’ll be okay”.

and for a second you believed him.

taglist (open): @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[ellabsweet]

[*ੈ✩] 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐆𝐎 • 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐁𝐒

synopsis: you believe your girlfriend ellie has cheated on you and return home only to fall into tears when suddenly your dad’s best friend decides to cheer you up

pairing: dbf!abby anderson x reader x ellie williams

warning: problematic age gap (reader is 20 abby is in her mid 30s), mentions of cheating and the act thereof, sex so minors and men do not interact, somewhat angsty and perhaps a multiple part series if you guys want it!

Tears welled up in your eyes as you attempted to hold back sobs, hands gripping the steering wheel with all of its strength as though the mere thought of letting go would’ve made you shatter onto the ground, collapse. You bit down hard on your lips, a failed attempt to silence yourself and your phone still occasionally lit up with notifications from Ellie you’ve stopped yourself from reading a while ago.

Els <3: Babe please talk to me. You know there is nothing going on, please. Let me explain it, you’re the only one. You’re my girl.

Once the missed calls and texts died down in defeat you could finally gather your thoughts in a sigh, hands rubbing your eyes with an agression unneeded to dry tears, and it suddenly dawned on you the feeling of a stare piercing through your side that your brain has been ignoring the past couple minutes, a curse escaping your lips as you saw the flipped light of your neighbour who calmly approached the car with a concerned expression.

Overprotection was a word so familiar to you it must’ve attached itself to your family tree, and Abby Anderson was its version personified, you had moved out and even then the furthest you could’ve gotten from your parents was straight next door to your dad’s best friend. She would be sure to tell them about this and your fate would remain to be scolded and ostracised for not being able to care of yourself, alone at night crying in a driveway like the foolish child they had always claimed you to be, over a girl nevertheless. You wanted to disappear, melt into the leather seats and escape her gaze, though it was far too late, the blonde was fast knocking on your window.

“Hey petal, you okay?” She asked as you rolled down the glass, hiding a sniff on your sweater’s sleeve, swallowing tears.

“Hi Ms.Anderson”

“It’s just Abby, sweetheart” She corrects you nonchalantly before slowly opening the car door and slipping into the seat next to you “It’s almost two in the morning, why are you out here crying? Do you need me to call your dad-“

“No! God, no! Please it’s just, just stupid. I saw my girlfriend kissing someone else. Didn’t want to go into the house and see pictures of her spread around my room yet”

“That’s not stupid. Heartbreak is always awful, especially when you’re young, I’m so sorry” She says, and with the kindness you dissolve into your crying once again, a mess of sobs. It takes Abby a moment, but it still happens far too quick, her arms suddenly wrapped around your shaking body drawing circles over your back as to calm you down, she’s hushing you and placing your hair behind your ears and you are deeply embarrassed but so far gone to stop “Shhh, petal, look at me”

“I’m so sorry. You deserve so much more than that” Her voice is low, steady, there is something in it that tastes like yearning at the tip of your tongue and all your attempts to brush it off as incoherent dissipated under her intense gaze, staring at you quizzically in a silence so pure it left only heavy breathing to echo and you were scared at your close faces she’d be able to hear your heartbeat, understand what you yourself were struggling to in that moment when her eyes dropped from yours onto your lips.

“Ms.Anderson…” You breathed out hesitantly

“It’s Abby” She corrects you once again until her thumb finds its way to your cheek, gripping your face in her palm as though debating something internally while you melt into her strong touch, finding a stability within her hold that you had been craving for a long while now, too flustered in your thoughts to fully consider what it means when she took that same finger and brushed it against your lips toying with its plump softness into opening lightly for her, finger coming into your mouth to be wet by your tongue flipping around it in a suction movement. The blue in Abby’s eyes darken.

She leans forward once your eyes trace up doe looking at her, she removes her finger with a pop to press your lips together and there is an unexpected softness within the hunger, she takes her time exploring the insides of your mouth gripping your chin to steady in place. There is still time to stop, she thinks to herself, but then her grip lowers to your throat in a light chokehold and the moans you kept release inside your kiss and its muffled sound is enough to drive her past sensibility and even insanity.

“Let me show you how a real woman takes care of you, please” She’s begging and you’re blushing and nodding furiously, a whimper stuck to your throat which is not enough for her “Use your words, petal”

“Y-yes, please” You stutter out not missing the smirk growing on her face, Abby is quick to trail kisses down your neck so wet it distracts you from her hands by the clasp of your bra letting it fall onto the car’s floor, she lifts your shirt up in one swift movement and suddenly her mouth is by your breasts, hovering over your nipples until her warm breath sent them into goosebumps. You whimper impatient and she chuckles taking one into her hand and the other into her mouth, tracing circles over your sensitive area until you’re panting, knees pressing together in anticipation for her tongue elsewhere.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful” Abby whispers into your skin before moving onto the neglected breast for its own sucking “I bet your little girlfriend didn’t even know what to do with you”

Your eyes flash sadness amongst the arousal and Abby takes none of it, hands quickly unbuttoning the pants you wore and forcing them down your thighs before pressing a slap against them that shakes your body and clears your mind “Gonna make you feel good, yeah? Forget all about her”

She has her fingers down your underwear in a second, muttering curses under her breath at the wetness that completely enveloped her hand, she watches you squirm under her from the lightest of pressure and proceeds to push one finger inside, circling motions hitting your clit continuously, you are a mess of moans when her free hand grabs at your waist and straightens you forwards into riding her hand, second finger added.

“Such a good girl fucking herself on my fingers, such a fucking good girl” She mutters watching you pick up your pace, she’s kissing on your exposed skin and digging her nails across your back, uses her strenght to carry you onto her lap which only digs her fingers deeper inside you, a scream lodged in your throat from the overstimulation “Does she get you all worked up and wet like this, does she even know how to treat this pretty little pussy?” She slaps it with the question and your answer gets lost midway out.

“Abby, I’m gonna-“

“No you’re not, gotta taste you first, pretty girl” Just like that she flips you over, head where you once sat on the driver’s seat and legs up in the air, her mouth quickly latches onto your dripping cunt and it practically slurps on it.

Cat: She didn’t kiss me back. Didn’t want to need to text you this shit but Ellie’s crying and I didn’t want this to happen, I just thought she liked me. Guess she’s too into you. I don’t get it either.

Els<3: I’m kcmhng ovrr to ur hojse so we can talkkd okay pls wait fofr me i loeve you sos much baby

[goatcheesecak3]

HIII HI HI HI I LOVE YOUR WORKS AND I WANTED TI REQUEST SOMETHING WITH RODRICK?? okay so my idea is that rodrick and the reader are neighbors, aaand so one of them sneaks out to go to the others house (doesnt matter who tbh!) and they js cuddle fir a bit HLEP IDK IM BAD AT THIS anyways thats alll!!! sorry for the long ass thing 💔💔

Hello! I firstly, thank you so much for saying you enjoy my other stuff! And thank you for the suggestion :^) I'll admit, I've tweaked the idea ever so slightly, but it's still very much a cuddly Rodrick as your neighbour story, so I'm sure you'll enjoy :^)

Happy reading!

It was a cold autumn evening, you had the house to yourself and the heating on full blast. Despite the bitter chill outside, the radiator in your room was enough to render heavy pjs useless, so instead you wore shorts and a tank top. The air was still and the house was quiet, it was the perfect opportunity to get some reading done. You reclined in your bed, far away in your own world - until the peace was disturbed. You became aware of a furious banging coming from outside, and upon looking out the window toward your neighbours house, it was revealed that the source of this disturbance was your neighbour, Rodrick. He was rapping on the door with a sense of urgency, occasionally blurting out "I'll remember my keys next time I swear".

You watched inquisitively, wondering where this would go, until a second noise caught your attention, that of an upstairs window flinging open. A man's head poked out, you recognised this man as Frank Heffley, the father of Rodrick. Frank began to shout down to him,

"I've told you a million times, bring your keys or you'll be locked out"

Then you heard Rodrick's protest

"I know, but you can't seriously expect me to stay outside all night, it's FREEZING"

"sleep in your van then"

And with that the window slammed shut.

You watched as Rodrick kicked the gravel in the driveway, as he made his way back to his van, head hung in a defeated sulk. You knew Rodrick quite well, he was pretty much the posterchild for the phrase "Never attribute to malice that which is adequately explained by stupidity" - he was a couple sandwiches short of a picnic but he wasn't a bad guy. He got himself in trouble a lot, but it never really seemed to be intentional. You found yourself taking pity on him and before you knew what was happening you were opening your window and leaning out.

"Psssst! Rodrick, up here"

He turned on his feet, glancing around him with a bewildered expression until his eyes landed on you.

"What is it?" He asked

"Go to the door, I'll let you in"

He nodded.

You hesitantly opened the front door, in your thin pjs you felt the cold air smite you.

"Come in, quick, it's freezing"

Rodrick obliged.

"I saw what went down out there. Pretty rough"

"Yeah, " he grumbled, "sleep in your van" he mimicked his father, "can you believe that?"

All too suddenly you felt a nurturing instinct that you didn't know you had, and reached out to take Rodrick's frosty hands inbetween your own.

"Oh sweetpea, you're freezing! You can stay here tonight, come on let's get you warmed up."

Rodrick smiled as if to say thank you, and let himself be lead upstairs to your room. He watched curiously as you rummaged through a drawer, before emerging holding a pair of red checkered men's pyjamas bottoms.

"Lucky for you, I've always got some men's pjs knocking about somewhere, they're so much cheaper than women's" you chuckled, handing them to him

"Aw man, thank god for that. I really didn't feel like sleeping in skinny jeans, " he joked back.

You left the room to give him some privacy while he changed, and returned once he'd let you know he was decent.

Rodrick looked more than adorable in pyjamas, with his tatty little Avenged Sevenfold shirt and his sleepy eyes, hugging himself to try and warm up.

"Still cold?" You asked gently

Rodrick nodded shyly, "I was out there for about a good hour before I stopped calling and just started banging on the door."

"An hour?! Oh honey you must have caught a chill" you cooed, walking over until you were stood right in front of him. Staring affectionately into Rodrick's big brown eyes, which had seemed to triple in size as a result of your sympathy, you placed a warm hand on his cold red cheek.

Rodrick winced slightly, the warmth stinging his face

"Let's get you under a blanket okay sweetheart?"

"Yes please" he nodded with a sheepish smile.

You lifted up the duvet and patted the bed, inviting him to make himself at home.

He accepted the offer without hesitation, wrapping the duvet around himself and curling into a ball. You smiled at him, he looked so sweet all scrunched up with his messy hair. You gave his hair a gentle ruffle, and were about to leave him be and go sleep on the sofa, when you felt a hand grab your arm.

"Where are you goinggggg" whined Rodrick sleepily.

"You want me to stay?"

"Mhm" he mumbled, nodding his head without opening his eyes.

"Alright honey, I'll stay," you smiled, climbing into the bed with him.

Rodrick immediately shuffled over to you, nuzzling his face into your chest and making happy grumbling noises.

You draped an arm over him, tenderly rubbing his back just to generate a little bit of heat.

"Can you do that thing with my hair again please?" He murmured

"Of course baby" you replied, hearing the smile in your own voice.

As you lay there, softly stroking his unruly hair, Rodrick's sleepy hums gradually became quiet snores.

"Night, big guy" you whispered, even though you knew he wouldn't hear you.

And with that, you turned out your lamp and let the rhythm of Rodrick's breathing lull you to sleep.

A/n this is the first fic I've written in YEARS, so sorry if I'm a little rusty lol. Hope u enjoyed regardless :^)

[chaptersleftunwritten]

(6. New Years Eve and 11. New Apartment) For my ficlet event with Steve Harrington with hints of Eddie Munson! And yes… I did request this one myself , also! Feel free to send any prompts in with your desired character! Xoxo

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, smoking, drugs… let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Apartment block 2, House No. 11

Your new home across the landing from a handsome stranger whose name you hadn’t acquired yet. He was sweet enough to help the moving men you had hired up the multi-storey stair case with your sofa and furniture— unfortunately you weren’t there to witness it. But you had been told.

You would always glimpse parts of his life as you walked by his front door. There would be laughter and noise coming from inside, groans of agitation when the sports games were on and live electric guitar being played throughout the supposing quiet hours of the day. Sometimes you could have sworn that you could smell hints of marijuana seeping in through your open window from the fire escape.

He didn’t seem like a smoker— but who were you to label him? You didn’t know him. Not yet.

It was New Year’s Eve and you watched from the comfort of your sofa as the night fallen city roared to life. People in glittering dresses and party hats. Empty beverage bottles and metal cans littered the streets and you watched drunken revellers sway and sing as they dragged themselves along the concrete below your window. The clock had barely just struck 8 p.m. and you would be lying if you said you weren’t shocked to see people celebrating this early.

However, maybe you were just feeling a little sour because you had nowhere to go. No party to attend. No friends to catch up with.

The joys of starting a new life in a new city.

You feed yourself the last bite of ice cream and as you set the empty ceramic bowl and spoon into the sink with a clank and bang that’s when you first hear the speakers playing through the wall. A thumping bass that seems to rattle every bone in your body.

In the stairwell you can hear people spilling into the apartment next door, not caring to keep their voices down as they pile inside. The masses grow and by 8:30 p.m. the place is packed full of sweaty, drunken fools bringing in the close to the year.

Dread settles within you and you find momentary solace on the fire escape, breathing in the fresh cool air— until someone else seems to feel the need to join you there.

“You must be the new neighbour! Welcome to the jungle.” His cigarette cherry illuminates his face and casts complimentary shadows across his chiselled bone structure. You try to pinpoint if you have seen him before, but your mind comes up blank. You don’t recognise his long, unruly dark hair and the black tattoos inked across his pale skin.

He seemed friendly enough, trying to spark a mediocre conversation with you. But you weren’t in a very talkative mood. You just wanted some peace and quiet. You wanted to be able to hear yourself think.

“Aren’t you gonna come and join the party? It’s New Year’s!” He exclaims as he flicks his cigarette bud across the railing and your eyes watch it as it plummets to the ground below. Still lit at the end.

Horror startles you into a frenzy as the man starts to climb over toward your perched body and you splay your hands out flat in front of you, “No, no! Don’t come over here— you might fall!” To your dismay and bewilderment, he makes it across to you safely and only now are you able to truly look at him in all of his Metal glory.

“M’ Eddie, by the way. Harrington’s friend.” His thumb shoots back to where he had clambered over from and at the confusion that crosses your face he laughs before crossing his arms over his chest and tucking his ringed fingers beneath his armpits, “Steve. Steve Harrington. Your neighbour?”

A newfound sense of clarity washes over you and you nod meekly, slightly embarrassed, “We haven’t been introduced yet, I suppose. It’s nice to put a name to a face.” You shrug your shoulders and Eddie leans lesuirely against the rusted railing behind him.

“Why don’t you come over then? Be all neighbourly and crash his party. I’m sure he would love to see you there.” Alongside the lilt in Eddie’s voice and the wide grin on his face it hinted to you that he knew something that you didn’t and it made you nervous but all the more curious to know what he meant.

You found yourself wondering what Steve’s apartment looked like. How it was decorated; what colours did he like? What colours did he hate? Did he live alone or was he in a relationship? Any pets? What did he do for work?

You were intrigued. So intrigued that you allowed this stranger to convince you to attend the party next door.

And when you walked in side by side with Eddie, you felt as though you had this gravitational pull that forced eyes to wander to you. They would settle on you for a second or two before they would drift back to whatever they were focused on before your arrival. It gave you a brief power trip. You felt desired. Welcomed.

“Hey, Harrington!!” Eddie used his fingers to whistle over the deafening music and the sight of Steve turning his heated gaze to settle on you made you want to melt into a puddle. His eyes were so warm and glossy— like honey. If you weren’t careful, you could get lost in them, “I set up this official meet, thank me later,” with a dramatic cough of his throat Eddie continues, “Steve this is neighbour, Neighbour this is Steve. Enjoy.” With a not so subtle wink Eddie disperses to somewhere located within the premises and you are left standing with Steve. Finding yourself rather jealous of the volume in his hair.

“It’s nice to meet you— finally.” He smiles down at you and you fight back a blush. You were meeting him under totally normal circumstances however you were still quite flustered by the fact that you hadn’t introduced yourself before now. It had been a few weeks and you hadn’t spoken to one another; not even once. You felt you could’ve insulted him— you thought of yourself as rude.

However, with Steve’s soft demeanour, you were led to believe otherwise. Maybe he was just as embarrassed as you.

“It’s nice to meet you too! It’s strange how formal Eddie made it but I’m glad he invited me nonetheless.”

“I was going to invite you,” a sheet of panic washes over Steve, “I just wasn’t sure if you were the type to enjoy parties…”

Excuses, excuses.

The actual reason he hadn’t invited you was because he thought you were cute— gorgeous, even, and he was a bit too bashful to just come straight out and talk to you. He knew that a party invitation could have been a good ice breaker, but he was also aware that it could have made him out to be a total jackass. And that was the last thing he wanted.

“I get it, don’t worry! I’m here now.” You’re smiling up at him, much more relaxed than you were before, and Steve settles into your presence like a you were a friend he had known for years. He liked you. You were polite and respectful.

“So, any New Year’s resolutions? Mines is that I should definitely stop drinking so much beer.” It made you giggle as you watched him finish off his can of Bud and you tap your index finger against your lips, lost in a beat of thought.

“Mines would be that I should talk to my neighbours more often— I met one of them recently and they seem to be really nice. Hopefully he stays that way.” You were proud of how your confidence had sky rocketed within the last 10 minutes and Steve wiggles his eyebrows at you knowingly.

“I’m sure he’ll remain that way. Especially since his neighbour is a total heartthrob and a sweetheart.” He blamed the alcohol for his flirtatious forwardness but he couldn’t help it. Not with you looking up at him like that.

You shake your head as you laugh, scanning around his living room for any signs of an untouched drink, “If he play his cards right he might end up with a New Year’s kiss at the end of the night— but first, I need a drink. Have you got any?”

He nods a little too eagerly and your heart swells and swoons in your chest. You were kicking yourself at the fact you had left this interaction untouched for so long. What were you so afraid of? Steve was like a puppy dog.

“Wait here, I’ll go and grab you one from the fridge.” You watch as he swivels and swerves through the sea of dancing bodies and you keep your feet planted exactly where they were on the hardwood floor. Excited for Steve’s return.

Beer pong, shots and drunken charades had all been filtered in throughout the night. 12 a.m. was fast approaching and the adrenaline flooding your veins at the thought of stealing a kiss from Steve left you buzzing with happiness and nerves.

You eyed him from across the room, admiring his black suit jacket and his perfectly styled hair. You watched as he interacted with his friends and party guests— so kind and nurturing. It only cemented your agenda.

As soon as that countdown began, you were running to him. And luckily for you— you didn’t have long to wait.

“1 minute everybody!!” Someone screams from your side, their voice bellowing in your ear and grabbing your attention. Your heart flutters in your chest and as you look back over at Steve you are pleasantly surprised to see that he is also looking at you. You chew on your bottom lip in anticipation, all girlish and excited for what the near future holds.

“10…” You freeze as the chant begins.

“9…” You prepare yourself, setting your cup down on a random flat surface.

“8…” You feel like your heart is beating outside of your chest.

“7…” Steve’s hands twitch with longing and you watch his face contour with nerves.

“6…” You are making your way over to him, your feet are quick against the hard and slightly sticky floor.

“5…” It’s a fight against bodies and time, and Steve is quick to try and meet you through the crowd.

“4…”You begin to fret that you won’t make it to him in time, sandwiched between a couple who are already making out.

“3…” Steve rounds the couple and takes your wrists into his smooth but massive hands.

“2…” It’s all eye contact now. Unwritten permission being asked.

“1…” You nod feverishly. And in a blink of an eye Steve’s lips are on yours as chaos ignites around your stilled bodies. His fingertips trace and tangle through your hair as he cups your face closer to his. Your shaky hands steady themselves on his broad and plump chest and you struggle to breathe as you devour one another.

“Happy New Year!!” The crowd scream but you and Steve remain unmoved and entangled in one another.

It really was a Happy start to the New Year indeed.

[lofitojii]

To Be Loved: Part 1

Summary: Your heart never knew it was capable of intense feelings for someone else. You thought that maybe life would've been easier if you never met him that night, if you had just ignored him in that alley. That thought crossed your mind constantly, consuming every good thing that had happened up to this point. This was never meant to be easy, and deep within, you knew involving yourself in his life was going to be complicated.

word count: 4.1k

WARNING: THIS SERIES INCLUDES 18+ CONTENT!

𓆩♡𓆪•.¸♡ ♡¸.••.¸♡ ♡¸.••.¸♡ ♡¸.••.¸♡ ♡¸.••.¸♡ ♡¸.••.¸♡ ♡¸.••.¸♡ ♡¸.•𓆩♡𓆪

When I was younger, I had the constant reminder that love was hard to find with those who were in and out of it around me. Love was harsh, unforgiving, mentally exhausting to endure. I remember seeing my poor mother sobbing on the back porch, deep inhales from her Newport cigarette being heard through the cracked windows of our kitchen, the smell lightly seeping through the screen. I didn’t hate that smell.

She never really talked about who broke her heart but more ask “Why me?” or “What did I do now?” I remember some nights she would come home late, sending home the sweet teenage neighbour or on some nights, our aunt who I remember was a very strong figure in my childhood. The deep sigh Auntie would make when she would embrace my mother in her arms, small hushes trying to mask the sound of the silent sobs. “You can’t let these men keep treating you like this.” Those words lingered heavily throughout those nights. 

Looking back on these specific moments, my heart aches for the single mother, sitting outside alone in the dark. She preferred it that way though, and I don’t really blame her. But one thing about my mother was that she never gave up on what she thought love meant to her. The next morning, Stevie Nicks would be blasting in the kitchen, doors wide open as she smoked inside our house, waving it around as if the smoke were to cleanse the unwanted thoughts we knew she had about what happened. It was just me and my older brother through most of our childhood. Mom never really committed after our father left, not until we were both teenagers, old enough to finally grasp onto something of what she was going through. 

His name was Aiko, tall, handsome, and an artist in our community. She met him one night at the bar she used to work at on weekends when she was trying to save up for my brother to get into college. I remember him being kind, soft spoken. He treated my mother to many things, including fine dining, extravagant adventures around Asia, lavish hotels and exhibits. He was good to my mother and we also loved him, so dearly. They were perfect right up until the very end when he shielded both us and our mother from that night. If only the events had turned out differently. If only she had survived, if only they both had been able to survive.

“Stay here and do not leave by any means. Do you promise me Y/N?” His eyes filled with tears, sweat mixing with crimson liquid as he wiped it away with the back of his hand. His palm caressed my cheek, so gently, so lovingly. “I will help you but you have to promise me you’ll stay here until I do. Please…” He pleaded, his voice heavily concerned. I nodded, tears flowing, blurring my vision. He pushed me further into the dark crevice of the basement, whispering ‘I love you’ as he closed off my vision with one of his paintings. 

The night dragged on, loud bangs and thuds coming from right above me. I knew what was happening but I didn’t want to believe it. I sat and prayed to the God I had never spoken to before in hopes he would hear my calling for him in this desperate time of need. Eventually, it fell silent. I could hear the rain tapping gently against the roof, my mind wavering between sitting here and waiting or seeking help myself. 

But I promised. I told him I wouldn’t move. So I didn’t. 

That was 10 years ago, I’m 25 now, living on my own, a couple blocks away from my older brother. He visits me often, brings me dinner, studies in my kitchen until early hours of the morning, sometimes being found on my living room couch. I don’t mind, I find comfort in having my brother around. But for us to have our own independence after relying so much on each other for so many years, we had agreed to keep it this way. 

“Y/N?” a small knock came from the other side, his gentle voice seeping through the crack in my bedroom door. I closed my journal, placing it down on my side table. “Are you hungry? I was hungry and made and omlette and also kinda sorta made you one too.” I smiled as he walked in, placing the plate down in front of me before hopping into the empty spot next to my side. 

“Even if I wasn’t hungry you wouldn’t care.” He just smiled and laid his head down on the pillow behind him. 

“Do you work tonight?” I nodded, taking a bite of the food in front of me. My brother really was an incredible cook, something he picked up from our mother. “Then tomorrow, do you want to go to that new bar with me? Couple of friends are meeting up, I think it would be good to get out.”

“From one bar to another?” I joked. He rolled his eyes, his gaze pressuring me for an answer. “I’ll go, but I’m only staying for an hour or two. I won't be home until 4 AM tomorrow and I don’t know how much bar environment I can handle.” 

“Why a bar?” 

“Choso,” I sighed, finishing the last bite of the breakfast he had made me. “I make really good money, meet lots of people, have the ins and outs of the night life in this city. It’s a good job for me and I really enjoy it.” The look on his face was something I was all too familiar with. “Choso.” 

“What!” He huffed, throwing his head face down into the pillow. Shaking my head I reached for my own pillow, throwing it over his head receiving a small grunt being muffled through the fabric. He finally sat up, bringing the pillows back to their proper places. “I just think you have other options you should consider for a better future.” 

“What, like the art school?” 

“Y/N they sought YOU out! That doesn’t just happen to anyone! Not to mention it’s the same place-” I lifted my finger over my lips, halting him from finishing his sentence. “I’m just saying.” 

“And I’m just saying I’m 25 and have time to figure out what I want to do. As for right now though, Maki is waiting for me to come join her for half price shots. Not to mention the big fight happened tonight so the bar is probably packed, I should leave within the hour.” Choso gave me an all too familiar look, brows furrowed, pouty lips. I know he means well with what he says to me but, to be honest, it’s something I’m not ready to address yet. “You’re more than welcome to come help out tonight. I know Nanami wouldn’t mind the extra hands.” 

“What and get worked to the bone again just to be paid with under the table tips?” I took the pillow in my hands once more, this time hurling it right in his face. 

“Out.” I motioned towards the door. “Are you coming or not?” 

“I’ll go.” 

The bar I worked at was an underground dive bar located in downtown Shibuya. It was a quick 5 minute walk down the street from my place, right next to the local fighting event center. That was the big thing here in the city, the fights weren’t regulated, completely free style fighting. It was the place to make a name for yourself in this city when it came to fighting, big names started off as small street fighters here. Being that we were the closest bar to the center, made us a very hot spot for the fighters, girlfriends, groupies, stage crew, and college students all alike. 

“What’s it looking like tonight?” I yelled over the loud music blaring in the background of the empty bar. Stamping my card, Choso shimmied his way behind me, locking hands with one of our servers. From behind them, I could see Maki making her way towards me, annoyance written across her face. 

“Big fight happened tonight so Nanami is calling all hands on deck.” She took a smoke out of the pack she kept in her back pocket, offering me one. Placing the stick between my lips, she leaned hers against mine, igniting the borrowed cigarette. The harsh vapor hit the back of my throat, burning ever so slightly. 

“Who won?” I asked, stacking cups behind the bar as Maki stocked popular liquor choices. I could feel a lump in my throat as she placed Bacardi in its preferred spot. 

“Who do you think?” She smirked, putting her smoke out in the drain in front of us. “Alright boys!” She climbed up on the counter, gathering the attention of all the employees in the bar. “There are gonna be a lot of fighters here tonight along with a lot of cops patrolling the area. This is not our first rodeo and I expect tonight to go like any other! You know the rules, you know what to do if a bitch gets out of line so I plan on everyone doing their part tonight.” Maki was the unofficial manager of this place. Nanami doesn’t believe in giving titles out because we’re all here to help each other, the family method. But she’s the only one he trusts enough to leave alone in the bar without him. She was good at it, I admired her a lot for how she can step up to authority so effortlessly.  

10 PM hit and the place was crowded, music blasting from every corner. They weren’t kidding when they said tonight was a sold out show. As the night went on, drinks came and went from my station. The laughs got louder, the drinks got sloppier. 

“What can I get you?” I asked, staring at the couple in front of me. The woman had on a cherry red lip, matching what I would assume was a wig. Her eye makeup shimmering under the strobe lights of the bar. Her partner had a single white stripe, swooping in front of eyes. He had a singular tooth gem on one of his canines, which he didn’t mind showing off. 

“Two stouts and a shot for the winner over there,” he said pointing at the man in the corner who had drinks thrown his way all night. Dark features, broad shoulders. I couldn’t get a good look at his face but I knew exactly who he was. 

“Mai! Another shot for the big one in the corner,” I yelled, sliding the small glass in her direction. “Hey Maki, I’m going out for a smoke.” She nodded, taking the two customers from in front of me. 

Tonight was overwhelming to say the least. Fight nights were always busy but tonight felt a little different. I knew the Fushiguro guy was the talk of the town but I didn’t think he would conjure up this big of a crowd. I slid my phone out of my pocket, planning on doing a quick google search of tonight's fight. “Toji Fushiguro,” I whispered under my breath the exhale of the cigarette smoke. Black hair, scar on his lip, fantastic figure. He looked the part of street fighter, little to no history on his backstory either. “Small town outside Tokyo, has a son huh.” Suddenly, the light that illuminated over me became dark, the heat from someone’s body could be felt very close, almost as if they had pressed themselves up against my back. “Hey man.” 

“Sorry,” he muttered, stepping to the side. “Do you have a smoke?” I turned around coming face to face with his broad chest. My eyes traced up his shirt, the smell of sweat with the masking of burnt sandalwood burning my nostrils. 

“Oh uh yeah sorry.” I opened my half empty box of camel crushes. He smirked, letting out a little huff. 

“Candy cigarettes,” he joked, taking the lighter from my hands. The wic flickered, but nothing lit. Over and over his thumb ran across the spike wheel, but nothing was happening. His eyes darted from the lighter to the cigarette lit in my hand. I placed it between my lips, inhaling as he leaned in to light his own, mimicking the actions of what I did with Maki earlier. Not once did his gaze leave mine as the smoke began to kindle. I could feel my heartbeat surge through my entire body, sensitive to the bitter night breeze trapped in the small alley. He leaned back, his smile barely visible through his pursed lips. He could tell what he was doing. 

“They’re the only ones that don’t taste like ass after having several throughout the day.” I quickly turned my head away from his, trying not to let his aura have such an effect on me, but I was completely in a daze ‘cause of him. 

“Guess I can’t argue with that.” He finally leaned back fully, letting the spotlight illuminate his face instead of hiding it. His skin glistened, the smell of liquor lingering with smoke he had placed between his lips. He was… gorgeous? “What?” He smirked again, looking down at my dumbfounded face. I could feel my cheeks get hot, flushing from his intense gaze that would fluster anyone he looked at. “Let me guess,” he slurred, placing his arm above my head. “Nervous?” 

“No,” I huffed back, avoiding eye contact with the beautiful man in front of me. “Just thinking about how all these strong smells don't mask your cheap bath and body works cologne.” He let out a low chuckle, reaching down and smelling his own shirt. His eyes shifted, lit by the lowlights of the outside smoking area. His consuming gaze felt like he was putting pressure on my whole body. 

“The girl at the mall said it was charming.” He lifted the smoke up to his lips, taking a deep inhale. “What’s your name?” Why was I hesitating so much to speak to him? Was it his aura? Was it because of his cheap cologne? Was it because he was almost double my size and leaning over me a considerable amount? “I’m Toji.” He took one last deep inhale of the smoke he had snagged from me, crushing the bud under his foot. “I’ll see you around, Y/N.” He pointed to my name tag that was half hidden by the jacket I had on. I quickly pulled it closed, turning around to avoid any more conversation with the intimidating man in front of me. 

“Maybe with that big paycheck you got from tonight's fight, you could invest in something that doesn’t stain the nose so badly.” I could feel him let out a deep chuckle behind me before hearing the door slam shut. Letting out the biggest sigh of relief, I finally relaxed my shoulders from the oh so stiff posture I had been holding. I didn’t realize how nervous I actually was until I was left with the heavy atmosphere he had left behind.

“Y/N? Are you okay? You look a little pale.” I looked up meeting the familiar face of my older brother, his expression written with concern. I nodded, tossing the bud of my own smoke into the garbage. I followed Choso back into the bar, immediately losing him in the crowd of people as I struggled to get back to my post. Maki met me with a grasp on the shoulder, switching spots so she could go take a break herself.

As the night went on, we cut people off signaling we closed within the hour which caused small groups to leave in rotations. “Thank god,” Maki sighed, leaning her back against the counter. “Nights like these go back so fast but not fast enough.” 

“Maki, Y/N,” Nanami called over in our direction. “Are you guys staying tonight for drinks?” We both nodded, looking forward to our tradition of staff hang out after a big night. During this time we usually have a round of beers, the regular Nanami speech about how he appreciates our hard work, followed by loud chatting amongst the crew, ending with a singular shot before we start to part ways. 

As I was cleaning the bar in front of me, gathering glasses and loose bills lying around left by friendly drunk customers, Maki tapped my shoulder, gesturing her head to the man standing in front of me. Meeting his dark eyes once more, I could feel the lump in my throat form. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to harass you.” He took a napkin from the pile I had just stacked, placing his hand out in front of me, eyeing the pen in my apron pocket. My hands moved on their own, gently placing the pen in his hand, feeling his rough skin against mine. He quickly scribbled something across it, sliding the napkin in my direction. 

‘Can I have your number?’ I looked up, confused.

“I would give you mine but then there’s the chance you won’t actually text me.” I could feel the curiosity mixed with excitement of multiple coworkers behind me, feeling extremely heavy under the pressure of answering. To avoid this situation anymore, I instinctively wrote down my number, handing it over without making eye contact. And with that, Toji threw a wink in my direction, leaving with a small group out the front door of the bar. I let out a deep sigh, slowly turning around to meet the intense gaze of my coworkers. 

“Girl,” Maki smiled. “We all saw that, right? That just happened?” I felt my face get hot, really hot. What just happened? Why did I give him my actual number and not some random one? He’s right too, if he would’ve given me his number, I wouldn’t know what to do with it? But most of all, WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?

I could feel myself getting dizzy with the thoughts running through my head at what felt like a million miles an hour. Everything happened so fast, I felt like I didn’t have enough time to react. He was so beautiful, and truly I wish I had more words to describe what he was like in my eyes. The way his messy hair fell so easily in front of his eclipse eyes. The scar located on the corner of his rough lips. His smile, that stupid cheesy grin, even made the hairs on the back of my neck wane at the thought of it. Why, of all the beautiful people who attended the bar tonight, why did I stand out?  

“Alright alright,” Nanami gestured at the roaring crowd of tired yet sleepless employees. “One again we had another successful fight night. Only one punch thrown and it wasn’t from one of our staff.” 

“Hey, Y/N.” Maki was smiling ear to ear, breath lingering with the scent of Blue Moon. “So Toji huh? After we heard about the interaction in the alley, man wouldn’t take his eyes off of you.” 

“Shut up Maki!” I lightly brushed her away. “There were a ton of girls sitting at the bar, it could've been anyone.” She rolled her eyes all the way into the back of her head, brows furrowed with a face that read ‘Be fucking for real’. 

“Lucky girl you.” I was desperately trying to grasp on to anything other than the idea he was interested in me. Not that I wasn’t attracted to him but because I was attracted to him. Men like that are elusive, not interested in the quiet life. And that’s all I’ve wanted, ever since I was very small. 

“See you Sunday Y/N. And good work Choso. Threw in a bit extra for you tonight for the last minute help.” Nanami waved us off before locking the doors behind him, walking in the opposite direction with Maki.  

“Y/N?” Choso whispered under his breath, walking slowly behind me on our way home.  The air between us was tense. I knew that if others had seen it, Choso had heard about what had happened. “What happened when you went outside?” 

“Um,” I hesitated, running my fingers through my hair. “I met Toji.” 

“What happened though?” He sounded nervous, voice shaking. 

“Nothing, he just made small talk.” 

“That’s it? Then why did you give him your number?” 

“Choso-” 

“No Y/N.” He stopped in his tracks, causing my own body to freeze. “He may be the top fighter right now but he’s bad news. That man hasn’t committed to anything in his life. All I’ve ever heard about him is bad things, and you want to get involved in that?” 

“Stop!” I turned around, looking at my older brother standing tall in front of me. I know he means well, and I can’t bring myself to be mad at him. But the constant hovering, there’s a certain line that can cause it to feel suffocating.  “Yes I gave him my number, yes I talked to him but why are we just assuming things when nothing has even happened? I get that you’re worried about me and I know you made a promise to look after me but I’m not a little girl anymore. You don’t have a say in who I talk to, let alone who I date. And that thought didn’t even cross my mind with Togi! I exchanged a few words with him about cheap cologne and he asked for my number. Tons of guys have done that working at this damn bar! So please, Choso. Please loosen your grip just a little and trust me for once!” 

I was out of breath, the cold autumn night biting at my bare legs as I painfully waited for Choso to respond. But nothing came. Instead he turned around, and walked the other way. Was I too harsh? Did I hurt his feelings just by trying to stand up for myself? Whatever. I let out a deep sigh and continued to head towards my apartment. Things will blow over eventually with Choso like they always do. I get that he is just being overprotective but this is the main reason why I haven’t gone out of my way to date anyone seriously. I’ve had a few flings here and there, but Choso has always been lingering in the background. Ever since the accident with our mother, Choso hasn’t really left my side. I don’t blame him, I’ve kept my grasp just as tight on him in return. We’ve been inseparable for a long time. But as we grow older, I want him to have a family of his own. I want him to follow his own dreams, be his own person. Not just my protector. 

“Yuna,” I called out as I slipped my shoes off at the foot of the front door. “How was it tonight? Quiet?” 

“Mow,” she called out, letting out a relaxed stretch before prancing over to greet me. I picked her up in one quick swoop, holding her close to my chest. 

“What a night Yuna. Pretty sure Choso won’t be around for a couple of days so try not to be too sad about it.” Her loud purs could be heard echoing throughout the silent apartment. She curled up in a small ball in my lap, bringing me what comfort she could without knowing the distress I was feeling. I let out what felt like the 60th deep sigh of my evening, crashing my back into the base of my bed. 

4:15 AM. Will Choso still want me to show up tonight? I should just shoot him a text apologizing for my outburst. As I reached for my phone, it lit up with an unknown number. Why is my heart racing?

“Hope you’re safe. -Toji.” 

I could feel my face flush to what I could assume was that of deep crimson. The heat  was radiating, cheeks warm to the touch. I sat there with my screen illuminating my face in the darkness of the early morning. 

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping? It’s pretty late.” 

“Did you just get home?” 

“About 20 minutes ago.” -Read 4:30 AM. It had been about 10 minutes since he opened that last text message. With that, I put my phone face down, attaching it to my charger. 

Tonight has been so overwhelming, my head felt like it was spinning as I closed my eyes. To be honest I didn’t want to think about it anymore, I knew I wouldn’t sleep if I fixed on any topic that had happened. Just as I could feel the sleep about to take over, I could feel the vibration of my phone go off. 

“I hope I see you around.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Master List

A/N: Helloooo!!! I hope you enjoyed part 1 of this series. I've been in heavy thought of what it means to be in love, indulging in various romance shows, books, movies, music. I know this isn't going to be about the Toji we know but the Toji we wish we could know. Let me know what you think 𓆩♡𓆪

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Can you do I request for a young Finn where there father comes back and tell Finn to “ give daddy a hug” and he goes running to Tommy who hugs him back but everyone try’s to tell Finn that Tommy isn’t his dad and he starts to cry and Tommy get all protective .

Hope that makes sense xx

(It’s okay if u don’t :) )

Hey Love,

Thank you for such a great request. I am so so so sorry this took so long. I hope you enjoy it <3

Warnings: Shit dads on the loose.

Tommy had woken up from his precious few hours of sleep with a stone in his stomach. He could sense that something was wrong, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. The moment his feet touched the ground he felt something swing into motion. Coming downstairs for breakfast Polly was awake which was unusual for this hour. He was normally the first person up. Their eyes locked and he could tell she knew something was off. 

As if it didn't want to keep them waiting too long, bad luck turned up before lunch. His father walked through the front door as if it was still his own house. He smiled at Tommy and right away he knew why his father was back. The only reason his father would show his teeth like that was if there was a chunk of money to bite off. 

“Here from America?” John asked with a slight tone of bitterness in his voice. They all knew the anger that comes from having a life full of mistakes knowing they could have been avoided with some guidance. It ate at all of them in the night. 

“Yes! Here to stay! Johnny Boy!” He moved towards John and he watched as John received the hug awkwardly.  His father knew better than to try and touch him. He nodded at Thomas. His father moved into the kitchen and looked at the family. He avoided Polly’s sharp eyes and moved in on an easier target. 

“Finn! Come give your dad a hug.” He boomed opening his arms. Finn took a look at the man with narrow eyes and a creased brow, he then moved to Tommy his small arms wrapping around his legs. 

“Finn, not Tommy your Da!” Arthur said and he felt Finn flinch. Tommy couldn't stomach the thought of his father touching the small boy. He picked Finn up, even though he was much too big for that sort of thing, and held the boy close to his chest. His eyes presented Arthur with a challenge and his brother quickly abandoned trying to push the boy any farther. 

He was as good as Finn’s dad. No one was walking into his house and telling his little brother what to do. 

“Hand him here, Thomas.” His father had more guts than he thought addressing him directly with outstretched arms. 

“I don’t think Finn knows you well enough for a hug,” Thomas said in a cold tone. “He knows better than to let strange men hold him.” 

His father’s face fell but that look of deranged anger didn't frighten him anymore. He was a man now, and he had faced things far more evil than his father. 

“That’s hardly the case here! Give me my son.” There was an edge to his voice but Tommy was already moving towards the stairs down to the front door. He’d sent Finn to the neighbours then come back for the fight. 

“Not going to happen,” John shouted and Arthur started trying to reason things out. Tommy was surprised when it was Polly who stood up, he turned around and moved to the edge of the doorway. 

“Get out of my house.” Polly stood up from the table and the window blew open filling the room with an icy breeze. He knew she didn't possess real magical capabilities. But in moments like this, he felt that boyish wonder come back.  

His father could see this wasn't going to be the welcome he wanted and backtracked. 

“Look, now,” The man put his hands up, he had always been afraid of Polly. When Tommy’s mother walked into the cut Charlie and Polly had said something to him. It was powerful enough that this was the first time his father had returned. “I want to do some business, that’s all. Help out and pull my weight.” He took a deep breath and his face fell into a fake mask of despair. “It’s lonely out there, with my casino businesses in America I think we can work together to make something really special, Eh? Just hear me out.” 

“No.” Was all Polly had to say, her face and the way her fingers silently drummed across the table were enough to send him out the door. Arthur chased after him and Tommy didn't hold it against him. Whatever father Arthur had remembered from his childhood was not the father Tommy and John had experienced. It was natural for him to think he could still save that man he once knew. 

Tommy didn't waste time running around trying to save people from themselves. He knew life was meant for bigger things. 

He ran a hand along Finn’s back. 

“I don’t want to know him. It’s easier for me if he died like Mum.” Finn whispered. Tommy kept stroking his back. 

“Me too.” He whispered back.

[guilty-pleasures21]

Chapter 2 - the city

Part A

Part B

Warnings: none.

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

     Anjali glanced out the window of their carriage, taking in the sights of the city around them. 

     “Ahh! I love the city!” she declared. “If only we could stay here all year round!” She gave a wistful sigh and X frowned, displeased with the thought.

     “I think half the year is just enough for me,” she argued. “There wouldn’t be enough space for Asha.” She slumped back in her seat, exhausted by the pong journey they'd taken to get there - and also by the prospect of having to deal with all the gossip that came with London high society. 

     “Oh, you and your horses!” Anjali chastised her, waving her sister's complaints away. “It is rather unbecoming of a lady to enjoy riding as much as you do, Penji.”

     X bit her tongue, swallowing down the first response that came to mind: what did it matter how ‘unbecoming’ she appeared to society when she’d already been promised a suitor for the Season? But she couldn’t reveal to her sister and mother the deal she’d made with their neighbour the day before. Her stomach twisted at the thought of all the engagements they’d have to attend together, all the intimate moments they’d need to fake in order to convince everyone else that they truly were in love with one another. And oh, Gabriel: what would he think of her through it all? The carriage slowed to a stop and their footman quickly appeared to help the three ladies down from their carriage.

     “Gwen!” Anjali squealed, delighted to see her friend waiting for them by the door. She rushed forward to give her a hug and Gwen returned with the same uncontainable enthusiasm. 

     “Ahh! It is so good to see you, Anjali! And you, X!” She moved to give the older girl a hug, then curtsied before their mother in greeting. “I cannot believe that six months have gone by since we last saw one another!” Gwen’s father was the Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis and as a result, her family had always stayed in the city all year round. Her mother had passed from illness when she’d been quite young, however, so she always got a little lonely whenever her friends retired to the country seats for the winter months.

     “Nor I, my friend,” X agreed, making her way over to their house. “How have you been? How is your father?”

     “Oh, we have been quite all right. Just …” Gwen stopped suddenly and gestured for the two sisters to lean in a little closer to her, a conspiratorial look on her face as she studied their surroundings for any eavesdroppers. “Apparently, there is a group of radicals who have been expressing their discontent with the current system of rule. They call themselves the ‘chartists’ and have been campaigning for the reformation of the voting system!”

     The girls gasped and Anjali grabbed Gwen's forearm, horrified. “My goodness! Whatever do they hope to achieve?!”

     Gwen pursed her lips in thoughts, starting to get a little unsure of herself. “I am not entirely certain. My father refused to share any further details with me, so I am afraid that that is all I know of it.”

     X placed a hand on Gwen’s other arm and gave her an approving nod. “Good. It wouldn’t do to get yourself mixed up with such … such fanatics!”

     “Mmm. Yes, well, enough of me! How was your trip?!” She turned to face X, clasping her hands and beaming from ear to ear. “Are you excited for your first Season, X?!”

     X's smile slipped slightly at the reminder of the charade she would have to put on for the next six months. For Gabe, she reminded herself, so Miguel could get the money to pay off his father’s debts, allowing them to live happily ever after. She took a deep breath and forced her lips to stretch a little wider. “Oh, definitely! I am .. ecstatic! Just imagine all the dancing and the dresses and the festivities …”

     “And the men,” Anjali added, nudging her arm playfully.”

     “Anjali!” X gasped, her shocked expression causing her sister and their friend to burst into laughter.

     “Sorry, Penji, but I just had to tease you,” Anjali apologised. “That is what your Season is for, is it not? To meet your perfect Prince Charming and have him sweep you off your feet for your happily ever after?”

     “Right,” X agreed, forcing another awkward smile onto her face. “Happily ever after.” But her happily ever after would just have to wait until next Season. 

     Gabe sucked in a breath when he stepped out of the carriage, grinning excitedly at his surroundings.

     “Oh how I do love the city!” he declared to the world around him. He turned around and rushed back to the carriage to help his mother down from it. “Careful, mama!”

     “Thank you, Gabriel,” his mother said, taking his hand and lowering herself gracefully. “I shall go check on our house. Perhaps the two of you can take a tour about the area? See the sights, get to know any new neighbours.” She shot a pointed look at Miguel and he shifted uncomfortably in position, understanding exactly what she was trying to say.

     “Already?!” Gabe lamented, oblivious to the silent conversation taking place before him. “But we just got here, mama! Surely that can wait until tomorrow?”

     Miguel held his mother’s gaze, silently beseeching the same - it had been a long journey and surely anyone arriving that day would have been as exhausted as they were. His mother stood her ground, unrelenting in her decision, but then Gabe perked up, waving delightedly at someone across the street. Miguel looked up and relaxed slightly when he saw their neighbour standing there in her dark blue dress, grinning brightly at his brother. Her gaze turned to him and his lips instinctively curled into that teasing smirk he only ever reserved for her. She frowned, her rosy mouth twisting into a pout as she gave him a curt nod, and Miguel found his smile stretching even wider at the sight of her irritation. He turned around when he heard his mother let out a huff and wasn’t surprised to find her disappearing into their house. She’d always do her best to not let it show in public, but Miguel knew that his mother cared not for their immigrant neighbours. Aside from fearing that their association might remind society of her own foreign background that she’d passed onto both of her sons, she knew how well-informed X was of all the goings-on that occurred in her household - there was no love lost between the two of them. Miguel sighed and followed his mother indoors, his lips twitching at the thought of the fit she’d have when she found out who he intended to pursue that Season. 

Continue

[wren-beowulf]

Dottie went to the apartment, checked for any street cameras or security footage that looked into or around the apartment. Asked the neighbours if anyone had seen anything on the day in question…

As you look around for cameras, you find that there was a conveniently placed security camera from a shop across the street pointed by Wren's window.

Watching the footage from the day before, you see a black car drive by multiple times before stopping. There's movement from Wren's window, it's Wren himself working to fix said window, which is seemingly very broken from something happening earlier.

You watch as someone in a green hoodie steps out of the passenger side of the car with something in his hand, and climbs up the fire escape to enter through said window, which had since been fixed.

Lights flicker, there's a commotion inside that the camera is unable to see. Just over 10 minutes later the green hoodie man comes back down the fire escape with an unconscious Wren. They both look bloody and beaten, clearly they had a vicious fight.

The one in the driver's side flicks something out the cracked window as Wren is loaded into the trunk. The car speeds off with both men and Wren.

However, entering the apartment itself, you see that Wren had his own personal security cameras set up, clearly of a much higher quality than anything you could buy on the market. They show you the footage of that nights events.

You knock on the neighbors door, and an older woman comes out, around her mid 50s and walking with a cane. She introduces herself as Sheila.

"Oh its just so terrible what happened to that poor boy. He always fixed my air conditioner every single summer when the landlord wouldn't cover it." She seems very upset over his vanishing. "Oh that big commotion woke me right up. It sounded so violent, I was so terrified I locked myself in the bathroom just in case. I didn't go outside at all. I have no idea who would want to do this to the boy, he was always so helpful, our friendly neighborhood mechanic."

[heyangel28]

𝐁𝐮𝐭, 𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐈 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐢𝐦!

Prince!Harry x Princess!OC

Warnings: None x

Based on the song ‘But Daddy I Love Him’ by Taylor Swift

A/N: This is probably my favourite trope/genre so why not bring a kind of cocky Harry and Emily into it as well. This has not been proof read and so please mind any spelling or grammar mistakes. I apologise. Anyways enjoyyyy xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐄𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐚 𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫; 𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐧 𝐎𝐚𝐤𝐰𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝟐𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓𝟏𝟔.

(Somewhere in the neighbouring kingdom: 1536)

I wander through the village, my cloak concealing my delicate dress as I blend in with the crowd as best as possible. A princess of all people being spotted outside her palace would cause alarm and in no time would I be whisked back away to my castle. I hated it there, locked away in the stone walls only dreaming of exploring the far away places I saw outside my bedroom window, so here I was at daybreak wandering alone through the village in disguise.

I take my time to peer at some intricate pieces of jewellery in awe, shining splashes of silvers and golds with dainty gems and diamonds of all sorts. I turn and head to walk back up the path and immediately I’m met with a hard surface of a white horse, making me fall backwards against the stones as I let out a small yelp.

The horse snorts in surprise at the sudden, and not so soft, impact and jerks his head back in alarm.

“Woah, woah! Easy there!” I hear the sound of reigns being pulled and a pair of brown, leathered boots hitting the pebbled ground.

“Are you alright?” A hand comes in front of my face and I look up into a pair of bright green eyes.

I pull myself up on my own, ignoring the hand.

“I’m fine.” I mutter as I brush myself off and pull my hood back over my head as I turn to look at the man who seemingly knocked me over with his horse. He was tall, with brown curls protruding in all directions and ending just below his ears, his eyes sparkled green in the sunlight with a charming smile. Immediately I could tell he was royalty. He lowers his hand at my reaction and after a moment of silence he speaks.

“That’s good to hear. I apologize for Caesar. He doesn’t like surprises,” He looks over to the horse who was still slightly shaken by the collision. Once he’s calm, he turns his gaze back towards me.

“I can tell.” I say bluntly as I stand up straight.

He stares me once over and for a moment I could feel my heart beat a little faster but I brush it off.

“Is there a name that goes with that tongue of yours?” I can tell his curiosity is peaked, I assume it’s not always he’s had someone be so blunt with him.

“Not one that concerns you.”

“Well no name and no manners, I feel honoured to have met such a charming young woman.” He gives a mocking bow.

I ignore him and continue on my way around the stalls, lifting everything up and turning it over, a clear indication of my ignorance.

“I noticed the way you were admiring the trinkets in those stalls a moment ago, do you like jewelry?” He asks, suddenly keeping up with my stride as he walks beside me.

“Might I teach you that if a woman walks away it does not mean keep talking.” I say over my shoulder as I continue to walk along.

“Are you always this rude?” He quips in response.

“Only to men who knock me over with their horses.”

“Ahh I see, I apologise once again.” He exclaims, now standing right in front of me as we reach the outer wall of the village. An iron gate stood between us and the outside world. “What more can I do for you?”

“How about you move out of my way so I can go home?” I smile sarcastically and gesture towards the gate behind him.

“Oh.” He steps aside to let me past and I slip past him and through the gate, heading up the path.

“Wait, when can I see you again?” He calls after me.

I turn to face him as I walk backwards up the path, for the first time in our conversation I smile a genuine smile.

“Hopefully never.” I call back with a laugh and turn my heel, running up the hill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I sit perched on my windowsill with a small breeze blowing through my hair and night dress as I stare out at the estate. The sun just starting to set and it looked like a storm was rolling in.

“Emily, we need to talk.” My mothers voice sounds through my room and I snap myself out of my trance and turn to face her as she stands in my doorway.

“Mother?”

She takes a deep breath and strides over to me. Her hair tied up in its usual pattern but her face seemed paler than always. She takes a seat on the bed and pats it, gesturing for me to join her. I do so.

She takes my hands in hers and looks at me.

“My darling, I’m sure you’ve noticed in the past weeks we’ve received quite a few letters from…different kingdoms.” She says slowly, as if choosing her words carefully.

“Now, you aren’t going to be surprised when I say we’ve received an offer for you to marry.” She says. I had a feeling this was coming. I jump up from the bed.

“What?!” I exclaimed.

My mother gets up as well, crossing her arms and looking at me with her usual stern look. “Emily. You knew this was coming.”

She says, “Your father and I are old, and we would like to pass the thrown down to our heirs…and to do that you need to get married.” She says, taking a step closer to me.

“No, I can’t-I won’t!”

“Emily!” My mother snaps, causing me to flinch. In a softer tone she steps closer, taking one of my hands in hers.

“Darling, I know you have your own life and desires, but don’t forget your duties as our daughter and future queen. You’re not a little girl anymore, you’re a woman,”

I open my mouth to speak but she silences me with a squeeze of my hand. “A beautiful, smart, wonderful woman. Your future partner will be a fortunate man.”

“But I don’t want to get married! I know this is what you want for me, for our kingdom but I just can’t do it,” I begin.

“I don’t want to live in a world of royalty, I want to be free! I don’t want to carry on the legacy of every generation of woman before me. That might’ve been what you wanted mother but I…just…can’t.”

A mix of surprise and disappointment flashes in her eyes. “Are you...refusing to accept a proposal from any of the kingdoms? You refuse to do your duty?” She says, raising her voice.

“I want to be free!” I snap. “Is that so much to ask?”

My mother’s expression hardens. This was the sternest I’d ever seen her, angrier than ever before. “Yes,” she says firmly.

“This is not a request or an option. You will accept a proposal from a worthy man. It is time you stopped being a selfish child who refuses to grow up and accept her responsibilities.” And with that the door slams shut as she storms out my room.

I collapsed onto my bed in tears. This isn’t the life I want. I bury my face into a pillow to muffle my sobs. Of course she was right, I was a spoiled, selfish princess. But deep down, there was a part of me that knew I wasn’t happy being held to these expectations. I wanted to be free. My heart ached at the thought of being married away and forced to be someone’s wife.

Just at that moment, it started to rain heavily outside and thunder rumbled in the distance.

I gather my things and without even grabbing a jacket I exit the castle, running through the grounds and out towards the forest on the other side of town, tears still streaming down my face although you wouldn’t be able to tell with the rain soaking my skin.

I slow down to a fast paced walk once I get to the woods and I suddenly realise the mistake I had made, the woods at this time of night were dangerous, who knew the kind of creatures that were pacing the floors and skies in this storm. The cold and wet was getting to me now as I wrap my arms around myself to keep me warm. It didn’t help that I had come straight into contact with a horse again, but this time I fall back into the mud.

“That’s the second time today!” I mutter angrily before looking up and realising who I was staring at. No, it can’t be.

“You seem to make it a habit of falling over in front of me it seems.” He yells over the rain with that cocky smirk of his. His dark curls falling down in front of his face from the wet but his green eyes still as bright as ever.

“And you seem to make it a habit to make my life more miserable wherever I go.” I yell up at him in return, not even bothering to get up out the mud.

“Now that’s just hurtful. And here I thought we were friends.” He says with a playful pout, dismounting from his horse to help me up. I take his hand and pull myself up from the mud.

“Who said we were friends?”

“I don’t know, I was just being optimistic.” He shrugs. “So, want to explain what you’re doing out here in the rain? Besides being reckless, that is?”

“It’s none of your business.” I stand myself up straight and wrap my arms around me in the cold.

His eyes scan over my form, seeing that I was shivering. My soaked dress stuck to my body from the rain.

“You’re shivering. You must be freezing.” He comments, starting to take his own jacket off, his white undershirt dipping slightly to show off his collarbones. I watch him for a moment, confused by his actions.

He drapes his jacket over my shoulders, the size of it practically swallowing me up whole.

“There. That should help,”

“If you must know, I was running away.” I say quietly after a moment as I pull the jacket further over me.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Running away from something or to something?” He asks, keeping a casual tone. He starts guiding me towards his horse, putting a gentle hand on the small of my back.

“To anything.”

I lean my hands on the horses side just gently stroking his warm coat while he gets back on the saddle. He reaches out a hand towards me.

“Get on, I’ll take you somewhere warm.”

“I’ve never…”

“Never what?” He interrupts. “Ridden a horse before?”

I just stare up at him. He hums to himself, considering this information. “Well, don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you, alright?” He says with a smirk, grabbing me by the waist and hoisting me up on the horse in front of him. My breath hitches as I feel his arms around my waist when he grabbed the reigns. He gives a quick pull at them and the horse goes running off into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After some time we end up at a small cottage on the edge of the forest, lights visible from within. I jump down from Caesar, with the help of a hand.

“Come on, let’s get you out of the rain and into some dry.”

I look around at the tiny cottage, smoke already billowing from the brick chimney.

“Do you live here?” I ask as I hop down off the horse. He chuckles and shakes his head.

“This is my hunting cabin.” He replies leading me towards the cottage. “There should be some dry clothes inside.”

I go to open the front door for her, revealing a modest-yet-cosy space within. I lead her over to a small bed, where a pile of clothes had recently been placed seemingly before I arrived. Was he expecting someone else other than me.

“There’s a towel in the bathroom if you want to dry up.” I gesture to an opened door next to the bed with a bathroom inside as he begins to light a fire in the huge fireplace in the centre of the room.

“Thank you…” I trail off, looking for a name or at least something to call him and his generosity.

“It’s Harry.” He laughs lightly.

“Well thank you Harry, for…saving me from the rain.”

“Anytime. Now go get changed, I’ll give you some privacy.” He says as he stokes the fire he had started.

~~~~~~~~~~

A couple minutes later I walk back out, a large undershirt covering my body with my wet hair tied back and out of my face. He stares at me his mouth open agape.

“The trousers you gave me didn’t fit. I hope you don’t mind.”

He shakes his head as if shaking off a thought or feeling.

“You looks good, why would I mind?”

“Good.” I smile and make my way over to the fireplace, taking a seat in front of it and almost immediately warning up.

He follows suit and sits next to me on the floor, our shoulders practically touching. I let my eyes wander over the dancing, orange flames.

“You know, I don’t ever remember getting your name,” He mutters, bumping his shoulder against mine.

“That’s because I didn’t give you it.” I say bluntly.

He huffs out a small laugh.

“I’ve told you mine, I think it’s time you return the courtesy.” He says with a smirk.

I scoff and for a moment I think it over.

“Emily.” I say after a beat and turn to look at him.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to officially meet you, Emily” He says with another smirk, clearly enjoying the way my name sounded leaving his lips.

“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl,” He comments, his eyes raking over me again.

I roll my eyes and turn back to the fire.

“Are you always this…arrogant?”

“What can I say?” He shrugs. “It’s just me, I can’t help it.” He chuckles, a cocky look in his eyes.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman like you before. You don’t swoon or coo over me, or get all nervous or flustered like most girls do. You’re different from the rest of them.”

“I take pride in the fact that you see me that way.”

“You’re bold, fiery, stubborn…” He begins.

“Most guys are intimated by a girl like that, but I respect it. I like a woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to express it.”

I look down at the fire, staring into the flames with a hint of sadness in my eyes.

“I’m to be married.” I admit suddenly.

“You know? Wedded off to a man to create offspring suitable for the throne.”

“I see.” He hums. “Have they picked him out for you yet?” He asks curiously.

“I’m not sure, throughout my entire life I’ve been met with courtier after courtier. I’ve turned down every single one.” I answer.

He lets out a huff of amusement.

“Let me guess. You don’t want to be someone’s wife?”

“I don’t want to be someone’s legacy.”

“So what do you want?” He clears his throat.

I sigh.

“I want to be free to make my own choices, in who I love, who I marry. I want to explore the world first, see all the sights I’ve only ever dreamed of outside my window. I don’t want to carry on the pattern of my mother and every other woman in my family before her.”

He stares at me for a moment as I gather up my words to say.

“Run away.”

“What?”

“Run away with me.”

“What?!”

“Run away with me, leave everything behind and explore the world with me. You’ll have your freedom to make your own choices, to go where you want.” He begins.

“Just say the word and I’ll take you anywhere. Paris, Rome, Venice, everywhere. Name it and I’ll take you there.”

“I only just met you!” The shock is evident on my face as if the idea was preposterous to me.

“So?” He exclaims in response, not ready to give up.

“We’ll learn about each other as we travel. We’ll fall in love, I know it. Don’t you want the freedom you’ve just talked about?”

I think everything over for a moment, the words ‘love’ and ‘travel’ ringing in my head. I knew what I wanted and this was my chance.

“Okay.” I look back over at him. “I’ll do it.” I stupidly agree.

Without hesitation, he reaches over and takes my hand in his, bringing it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles.

“You won’t regret this, I promise. I’ll give you the world.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning the storm had passed, I had woken up early and decided to take a stroll through the woods nearby, collecting food and a couple flowers. Once I made it back I sat down beside the tree in which Caesar was tied too and began to read a book I had found. Caesar neighing happily at my attention as I fed him an apple.

Suddenly I feel a pair of hands over my eyes and a voice whisper lowly in my ear, immediately I knew who it was.

“Morning.”

I let a laugh and pull his hands away from my eyes.

“Do you have a habit of sneaking up on people?”

Harry smirks and sits down beside me under the tree.

“Only cute ones,” He chuckles, leaning against the bark. “What are you reading?” He asks, leaning in a little closer.

I turn the book over in my hands, peering at the front cover. “Arthur and the round table.”

“Ah, of course. King Arthur,” He says with a smirk, watching me turn the cover over in my hands. “I always liked that story. The noble knight, out to save the damsel in distress,” He nudges his shoulder slightly with mine.

“It’s a good story.” I tease, closing the book over and placing it on the grass next to the flowers and the berries which seem to catch his eye as he decides to reach down and pick one up.

“You know, I once heard that berries taste sweeter when they’re fed to you from somebody else.” He murmurs casually, bringing the berry up to his lips as his eyes lock onto mine, waiting for a reaction.

“Really? And who told you that?”

He slowly pops the berry into his mouth, no doubt making a show of it.

“Some old legend,” He shrugs nonchalantly, before leaning in a little closer and grabbing another berry. “They say that when a guy feeds a girl a berry, it’s supposed to mean something,” He brings the berry up to my lips, holding it just in front of my mouth. “Try it.”

I roll my eyes and lean forward taking a bite from the end of the berry. He smirks.

“How is it? Sweeter right?”

“A little.” I answer, still chewing.

“Just a little?”

“It’s sweeter but with a more…fresh kind of flavour.” I explain.

“Fresh? What’s it remind you of?”

“Like the air after a storm, or the sound of birds chirping in the early morning.” I explain.

He watches me with a smile and I notice his gaze drift down to my lips. Now suddenly very aware of myself I stop talking.

“This is wrong.” I admit, shaking my head.

“Why is it wrong?” He mutters, his eyes still trailing over my face. “Because you’re a princess? Because you’re engaged? Why is it wrong?” He repeats.

“Because we only just met. I barely know anything about you and you barely know anything about me.”

“We’ll learn about each other,” He whispers, his breath tickling my face.

I don’t know why I feel so nervous around him, I’ve never experienced this before. Let alone with a man I just met. It takes every inch of my being to not get closer.

“So why won’t you tell me?” I murmur.

“You’re relentless, aren’t you,” He chuckles.

“Fine.” He sighs, not taking a single hair of distance between us. “Ask me something.”

“Favourite colour?” I blurt out suddenly.

“Blue, what’s yours?”

“White.” I answer.

“Why’s that?”

“It reminds me of innocence, the snow and last nights dress.”

“I like that.” He smiles. “Ask me another.”

“Favourite food?” I ask.

He thinks for a moment before replying.

“Steak. With a side salad.” He steals another glance at my lips. “Boring I know.”

I laugh.

“Not boring. Sophisticated.”

“God save.” He teases with a smile.

I think for a moment, thinking over my next question as he urges closer.

“Have you ever been in love before?” I ask quietly.

In asking this, he pauses for a second and I can see his eyes drop down to the ground. Maybe that was too far?

“Once.” He admits hesitantly. “I was in love once.”

“Tell me about her.” I urge.

He hesitates for a second longer.

“Her name was Danielle,” He admits quietly. “She was beautiful…the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. She was so smart and so kind…”

He trails off for a second before continuing. “She was everything I’ve ever wanted in a girl. But….we were different. We didn’t make the right people. She couldn’t love me the way I loved her.”

I feel my heart drop for a moment as if hurting for him.

“I’m so sorry…” I whisper.

He shakes his head slightly, not daring to look away from me.

“Don’t be,” He smiles, my heart clenching again when I see the sadness in his face. “It wasn’t her fault. We….we loved each other….but we weren’t right for each other. We made each other worse. We brought out the worst in each other.”

His eyes flutter shut for a second as if recalling the memories. I lean over to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“She didn’t deserve you.” I say quietly.

He sighs.

“What about you? Have you ever been in love?” He asks suddenly.

“No, never.” I admit.

His face seems shocked, as if I’ve never been held or touched or kissed.

“Not even a first love?”

“Not even a first love,” I confirm. “My parents believe that you have to be pure before you can marry. I’ve never experienced romance, none of it.” I explain.

“I guess I just…am so terrified of what love entails. I’ve heard so many stories of people who’s hearts have been broken and I just never wanted to risk it.”

He stares at me deep in thought and I knew he felt sorry for me and I hated it.

“Maybe it’s worth the risk.” He whispers quietly after a moment. “Maybe the pain you’ll feel is worth the love too?”

“I really hope it is.”

“I’ll show you, I’ll show you what it really feels like to be in love. If only you’ll let me.” He reaches out and places his hand on my cheek, pulling me even closer to the point where my breath halters and my words go numb in my mouth. He knows what he’s doing, he knows he’s tempting me, tempting me to go against my parents wishes. To fall in love with a man I shouldn’t.

“Do it.” I urge and before I can even catch my breath and gain any self control he pulls me by the back of my neck and out lips meet and it was as if fireworks sparked in my mind. So this is what love feels like?

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐱𝐱

[the-fiction-witch]

Home

Media - My Left Hand Man / Phantom Halo / Sleep No More Character - Samuel Emmerson Couple - Samuel X Reader Reader - Y/n (Neighbour) Rating - Sweet af Word Count - 1422

Samuel sat down on the staircase of his little house, everything felt as if the world was falling for him, Samuel had never had an easy life. Born to a mother with serious mental health problems, and a father who drinks, smokes and gambles himself beyond excess. But he had felt some peace of late, and it had all come crumping down. His mother had run off, his father had gotten them so far into debt the family had not a single dime to their names, men were coming around threatening and asking for their father, because his father had taken what little they had pawned off and ran off to the casino, and it was unlikely he was going to come back, his brother becket had gone out three days ago and had not yet come back without a word to samuel where he was going, and now Samuel had come home after a day of reciting Shakespeare on street corners with a whole five bucks to get himself through to find the landlord had bolted the house and left everything his father hadn’t already taken left in a backpack on the front step for samuel to take with him. He didn’t cry, he just sat on the step with the bag and his five bucks in hand trying to think what he was to do.

"Hey, Sam!" A voice catches his attention, he looks up and sees Y/n the girl who lived in the house next door,

Y/n heads down the street, In a pair of combat boots, some high-waisted black jeans, a sheer net t-shirt with a small red vest over it, a Moto jacket hung over her satchel bag, her hair pulled into two braids that fall down her shoulders,

“Oh, hey Y/n,” He tried to smile at her, “How was… wherever you’ve been?” he tried to strike up a conversation almost as a way to distract himself from everything,

“Fine, same as always.” she shrugged as she came over, “You okay?”

“Uhhhh yeah, I uhh…” He sniffled,

“The place locked up again?” she asked noticing the bolt on the front door,

“Yeah,” He nodded,

“Where’s your dad?”

He shrugged,

"I know, it's hard. I'm sure you'd dad will show up he always does" she says as she sits down beside him on the step,

“He pawned everything we had,” he told her, “He’s gone to the casino, if they don’t shoot him on sight for his debts he’ll get drunk and gamble it all away anyway and then they’ll shoot him. That or he’s gonna get picked up and taken out by one of the many other people he owes.” He explained, “No… he ain’t coming back Y/n,”

“Your mom?”

“My mom ain't be back for five years… if she wanted to be back she would have come home by now.” He said tears starting to fall,

"come here I'll be your mom, I'll take care of you Sammy" she smiled pulling him so he could rest his head on her shoulder, “I mean not literally more like an older sister but you know what I mean,”

Samuel laughed and smiled and buried his face on her shoulder, “Thank you so much, Y/n, I really wish I had an older sister like you…” he muttered tearfully,

"well you have Becket doesn't your big brother take care of you?"

“Not really, he always just steals whatever money he can and runs off till he runs out of money, he just doens’t want to be here,” Samuel explains,

"oh you poor thing," she cooed hugging him tighter,

“Now I don’t know where anyone is, I don’t know if anyone is coming back, the house is bolted and I don’t have any idea what to do…”

“How long have you been sat out here?”

“Four hours…”

"ohh Sammy, you poor thing. It's okay. Come on come with me,"

“What?” he asked in shock,

“Come on,” she just got up holding his hand, and his bag, she leads him next door to her own house, everything inside was much nicer than this, this house actually had doors, the windows weren't broken, and it felt warm. She quickly makes some hot chocolate in the kitchen and hands it to him letting him sit on the sofa with a blanket "Drink up as much as you want, I'll go run you a nice hot bath once you’re done and we'll get in a pizza," she smiled kissing his forehead,

“Wait… Y/n…” he stopped her and as he held her arm Sam's tears flowed down, “You really don’t mind?”

“Course not,”

“I can stay tonight?”

“You can stay as long as you need to,”

“But I don’t have any money-”

“Did I ask if you did?”

“No, but I…” He stuttered “Y… you're so nice to me, but … what would your dad say, if you take in a thief?

"I don't know never met the guy," she shrugged,

“So is it alright if I… stay?”

"you can stay as long as you like, I promise" she reassured, "and even once you go you are welcome to come back any time you like for as long as you like. Eat my food, drink my drinks, use my shower, use the bed, any painkillers or medication you need just tell me. I'll take care of you I promise"

Samuel couldn't contain his feelings and just broke into tears thinking about how much care he needed in his life, and all of that just because you offered him a shelter and a place he could call home. He hugged her tightly and buried his face in her shoulder, then he spoke again while sobbing “Thank you… thank you very much, I can't believe how kind you are…”

"awww that's okay Sammy, no need to worry,” she smiled hugging him too she kissed his head and let him hug as long as he needed,

Samuel just stayed there hugging her, feeling so safe and protected in her arms. Every now and then he would say some words but would just end up sobbing into her shoulder. He was shaking from the amount of adrenaline and emotions he felt as he hugged her, his lips were trembling with sadness as he held Y/n close,

“What about your mom? Won't she get mad at you because you took me in?”

"I highly doubt it, she doesn't live here"

Samuel's eyes widen as he hears this, “Wait, she doesn't?! You.. you live here on your own?” He is surprised of course as he assumed Y/n wasn’t that much older than him if not the same age, it did make life easier as they could just care for one another,

"no, I left when I was fourteenth. She was… Not a nice drunk, and she was always drunk. So I left and bounced around the system till I got a solid job and here we are. Trust me you could cost me a hundred bucks a week it's not gonna be a problem,"

“But, what if someone finds out you took me in? They can report us, we can get into trouble…”

"why? Why is it anyone's business?"

“Well, because you know I am a thief, if they find out you are basically sheltering me, they would come for us, I could maybe even be arrested for being in your house and you could be in trouble for that.”

"Sammy you're a pickpocket. You pinch phones and wallets out of strangers' back pockets half the time people don't even know they've been robbed just assume they lost it. Trust me no one is coming after you and even if for some reason they did, I am not going to let them take you just for being in my house. This is my house and I allow whoever I want in it"

“Well, you're right I guess, but still… I don’t want to cause you any trouble”

"I promise you are welcome to stay as long as you like we can get you cleaned up and maybe look into getting you a little job? Or you can just be my little maid"

“Wait, really?” he smiled “You promise I can actually stay with you and help you with house chores” Samuel's eyes sparkled at the thought of being able to have a safe place to stay

"of course, you’re welcome to stay and if you want any help you have only to ask, now… How about I go run you a nice hot bath with some bubbles?"

“Really?!” Sam asks happy and excited, “I would really like it if you did that for me actually…”

“Okay give me a second, you enjoy your hot chocolate,” she smiled as she headed to the bathroom,

[luvrodite]

Ro beloved, I completely blame you for making me thirsty for some delicious military men that could easily break my spine without much effort 🫵😠

Anyways, I don't know if you were asked already but how did you and 🧼 met?

AND could you share some of the aesthetics of the Jay-Ro wedding? I'm absolutely loving the posts 🩷🌸💐🌹🪻🌻🌷🏵️

babydoll i need you to know this made me laugh a little i’m so sorry for sharing the brainrot but so happy we’re in this together <333 may we get laid that well and soon amen

i’ve actually only recently considered how me and mr mactavish meet in our selfship! i think it’s a neighbours to lovers thing where, because he’s gone for such long periods of time and as a result isn’t home a lot, when i move in i don’t realise that the house next door is actually occupied. but what about when he does come home ro? you might ask and to this i put forth that we don’t actually meet until a while into my tenancy.

maybe i’ll be away on a trip during the first time he comes home and by the time i return, he’s cleared out again. (i imagine the sas keep themselves particularly busy with the affairs of other countries 💀) anyway. we don’t meet for a while and when we do i think it’s a quite silly scenario where, because i’ve gotten so used to the house next door being vacant, i like leaving my windows and blinds open because the only direct view into my house is through his (and the other neighbour’s, but i keep those blinds closed when i have to. decency is a thing after all)

and i think soap comes home particularly late one night and wakes well into the morning to the shock (and delight) of his life when he looks over to find his new neighbour prancing around in a state of undress that is very surely only meant for the eyes of oneself and one’s lovers. (i’m imagining slinky pyjamas that under no circumstances should a STRANGE MAN ever see unless i want him to.)

anyway i think he takes the open window as a sign that i’m coming on to him (idk where tf he gets this idea) and whistles and gives ME the shock of MY life when he leans out to say something crass. i hate him.

i was talking to raen about this (miss raen i’m so sorry you have to deal with my brainrot) but anyway i think it immediately starts us off on the wrong foot because not only (haircut aside. but also. it’s kind of growing on me) is this man unfortunately attractive but he’s not given me the decency of allowing me to be quietly embarrassed!!! plus now i have to close my blinds!!! how rude of him!!!

anyway i think he’s the flirty neighbour who i refuse to entertain but it’s kind of hard to avoid him when he’s leaning over the fence to make conversation in the morning and ringing the bell to ask for a figurative cup of sugar cos he’s gone half the year and how’s a man supposed to keep a pantry stocked when it’ll go bad anyway! he’ll go shopping soon but surely his pretty little neighbour will help him in a pinch? (i was raised with decorum and i think despite living half the world away my parents would be furious if i refused. but he stays at the door while i go get whatever he needs)

ANYWAY. soap aside. thinking about the jay ro wedding last night (i saw your ask right before i went to bed) made me so wistful and lovesick thank you for giving me a chance to do that <333 here are some photos i reckon give me jay ro wedding vibes

:(( i love him and i love YOU i hope you’re doing well dear friend <33

[klarriel]

Nimrod

Summary:

Dean Winchester grapples with a relentless double life, working two jobs to make ends meet. In the small town of Smith Center, he keeps to himself, his father's words in his head a never-ending reminder of the past he'd rather forget.

When the mysterious musician Castiel Novak becomes his next-door neighbour, both men are sent on a journey to realise who they could truly be.

In 1979, at the cusp of a new decade, Dean will discover that some people will only stay if you dare to ask it of them.

Tags: Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Happy Ending, 1970s Musician Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Store Clerk Dean Winchester, Small Towns, Alternate Universe, Friends to Lovers, Character Death, not dean or cas but oh my god im so sorry don't hate me please, Repression, Childhood Trauma, Flashbacks of trauma, Homophobia, Religious Guilt, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Past Torture, Sad with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester Needs Therapy, So do I, But writing this is cheaper

WIP

Read Chapters 1-5/? now

Excerpt under the cut

As the door to Apartment 7 creaks open, he glances around. He’s never been inside another apartment in his building before - it’s kind of disturbing to see one near-exact to his that isn’t his. The identical shelves of the kitchen alcove on the left are packed with plates and boxes not yet stored away. A ratty maroon sofa bed sits to the left of the main room. A rolled-up rug leans against the far wall, between the two windows looking out onto the street below. The golden glow of the evening sun streams in, basking the floor in warmth. 

“You can just put them down wherever” Anna smiles, placing a box of records on the kitchen shelf, before calling out, “Cee! Our neighbours here!” 

Dean decides that, in the interests of not disturbing whatever decorating plans they’ve got going on, the spot next to the front door is probably the best bet for him to set down the items he’s carrying. He places them down carefully,  leaning them against the wall. Hearing a noise, he glances behind him towards the source of the rustling coming from the room to the right of the apartment - judging from the layout of Dean’s own apartment, the bedroom. The door is closed just enough that he can’t see who’s in there, but almost as soon as he looks, a figure steps out. 

The golden light filtering in through the bedroom window illuminates the figure from behind, casting a shadow over them so Dean can’t see their face. Golden tendrils dance around them, and if Dean didn’t know better, he’d say they were glowing. 

‘Oh, hello…? ” A gruff voice tinged with surprise.

“Dean!” Anna interjects, walking over to join the figure, “Dean, this is my brother Castiel.”

Castiel walks over, and Dean can make out his deep blue eyes, and the hints of stubble covering his jaw. His buttoned blue shirt pressed mauve trousers are a match in tone to his sister’s outfit - clean, presentable. He seems still in every way, apart from his mess of brown hair that is tousled wildly, and Dean wonders if it’s so messy because of the stress of moving, or if it always just sits like that. He holds Dean’s gaze, his expression not quite readable. Together, Castiel and Anna make their way over to him, Dean to nervous to invade anyone’s space to move. 

“Hello, Dean” Castiel says, smiling slightly before his eyes drop down to linger on the items on the floor next to Dean.

“Anna!” he scolds, turning to his sister, “Please tell me you have not shirked your responsibilities onto someone you’ve just met ?” 

“A stranger is just a friend you haven’t met yet?” She offers, but at Castiel’s lack of reaction she wordlessly drops her gaze to the floor, guiltily scuffing her shoe on the wooden floorboards.

Dean could get mad, especially considering the guitar-to-head incident, but at this point he just doesn’t have the energy. Plus, the kid looks like she could use a break.

“It’s fine really, I was just walking in and she looked like she could use a hand,” Dean says, turning to meet Anna’s gaze, “No biggie.”

Castiel huffs out an annoyed breath, running his hand through his hair and furrowing his brow, but he smiles anyway.

“Well… thank you, very much.” he says, before rushing to pick up the items, “We really won’t keep you any longer.” 

Something niggles at the back of Dean’s head. He can’t define it, but it wasn’t there when he left work. Maybe the guitar induced more brain damage than he thought. 

He takes the opportunity and leaves with a wave, hearing a shouted “Thanks, Dean!” from Anna as he walks downstairs.

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

The Trial by Franz Kafka

Chapter One (part 1/2)

Arrest—Conversation with Mrs. Grubach—Then Miss Bürstner

Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K., he knew he had done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested. Every day at eight in the morning he was brought his breakfast by Mrs. Grubach's cook—Mrs. Grubach was his landlady—but today she didn't come. That had never happened before. K. waited a little while, looked from his pillow at the old woman who lived opposite and who was watching him with an inquisitiveness quite unusual for her, and finally, both hungry and disconcerted, rang the bell. There was immediately a knock at the door and a man entered. He had never seen the man in this house before. He was slim but firmly built, his clothes were black and close-fitting, with many folds and pockets, buckles and buttons and a belt, all of which gave the impression of being very practical but without making it very clear what they were actually for. "Who are you?" asked K., sitting half upright in his bed. The man, however, ignored the question as if his arrival simply had to be accepted, and merely replied, "You rang?" "Anna should have brought me my breakfast," said K. He tried to work out who the man actually was, first in silence, just through observation and by thinking about it, but the man didn't stay still to be looked at for very long. Instead he went over to the door, opened it slightly, and said to someone who was clearly standing immediately behind it, "He wants Anna to bring him his breakfast." There was a little laughter in the neighbouring room, it was not clear from the sound of it whether there were several people laughing. The strange man could not have learned anything from it that he hadn't known already, but now he said to K., as if making his report "It is not possible."

"It would be the first time that's happened," said K., as he jumped out of bed and quickly pulled on his trousers. "I want to see who that is in the next room, and why it is that Mrs. Grubach has let me be disturbed in this way." It immediately occurred to him that he needn't have said this out loud, and that he must to some extent have acknowledged their authority by doing so, but that didn't seem important to him at the time. That, at least, is how the stranger took it, as he said, "Don't you think you'd better stay where you are?" "I want neither to stay here nor to be spoken to by you until you've introduced yourself." "I meant it for your own good," said the stranger and opened the door, this time without being asked. The next room, which K. entered more slowly than he had intended, looked at first glance exactly the same as it had the previous evening. It was Mrs. Grubach's living room, over-filled with furniture, tablecloths, porcelain and photographs. Perhaps there was a little more space in there than usual today, but if so it was not immediately obvious, especially as the main difference was the presence of a man sitting by the open window with a book from which he now looked up. "You should have stayed in your room! Didn't Franz tell you?" "And what is it you want, then?" said K., looking back and forth between this new acquaintance and the one named Franz, who had remained in the doorway. Through the open window he noticed the old woman again, who had come close to the window opposite so that she could continue to see everything. She was showing an inquisitiveness that really made it seem like she was going senile. "I want to see Mrs. Grubach ...," said K., making a movement as if tearing himself away from the two men—even though they were standing well away from him—and wanted to go. "No," said the man at the window, who threw his book down on a coffee table and stood up. "You can't go away when you're under arrest." "That's how it seems," said K. "And why am I under arrest?" he then asked. "That's something we're not allowed to tell you. Go into your room and wait there. Proceedings are underway and you'll learn about everything all in good time. It's not really part of my job to be friendly towards you like this, but I hope no-one, apart from Franz, will hear about it, and he's been more friendly towards you than he should have been, under the rules, himself. If you carry on having as much good luck as you have been with your arresting officers then you can reckon on things going well with you.”

K. wanted to sit down, but then he saw that, apart from the chair by the window, there was nowhere anywhere in the room where he could sit. "You'll get the chance to see for yourself how true all this is," said Franz and both men then walked up to K. They were significantly bigger than him, especially the second man, who frequently slapped him on the shoulder. The two of them felt K.'s nightshirt, and said he would now have to wear one that was of much lower quality, but that they would keep the nightshirt along with his other underclothes and return them to him if his case turned out well. "It's better for you if you give us the things than if you leave them in the storeroom," they said. "Things have a tendency to go missing in the storeroom, and after a certain amount of time they sell things off, whether the case involved has come to an end or not. And cases like this can last a long time, especially the ones that have been coming up lately. They'd give you the money they got for them, but it wouldn't be very much as it's not what they're offered for them when they sell them that counts, it's how much they get slipped on the side, and things like that lose their value anyway when they get passed on from hand to hand, year after year." K. paid hardly any attention to what they were saying, he did not place much value on what he may have still possessed or on who decided what happened to them. It was much more important to him to get a clear understanding of his position, but he could not think clearly while these people were here, the second policeman's belly—and they could only be policemen—looked friendly enough, sticking out towards him, but when K. looked up and saw his dry, bony face it did not seem to fit with the body. His strong nose twisted to one side as if ignoring K. and sharing an understanding with the other policeman.

What sort of people were these? What were they talking about? What office did they belong to? K. was living in a free country, after all, everywhere was at peace, all laws were decent and were upheld, who was it who dared accost him in his own home. He was always inclined to take life as lightly as he could, to cross bridges when he came to them, pay no heed for the future, even when everything seemed under threat. But here that did not seem the right thing to do. He could have taken it all as a joke, a big joke set up by his colleagues at the bank for some unknown reason, or also perhaps because today was his thirtieth birthday, it was all possible of course, maybe all he had to do was laugh in the policemen's face in some way and they would laugh with him, maybe they were tradesmen from the corner of the street, they looked like they might be—but he was nonetheless determined, ever since he first caught sight of the one called Franz, not to lose any slight advantage he might have had over these people. There was a very slight risk that people would later say he couldn't understand a joke, but—although he wasn't normally in the habit of learning from experience—he might also have had a few unimportant occasions in mind when, unlike his more cautious friends, he had acted with no thought at all for what might follow and had been made to suffer for it. He didn't want that to happen again, not this time at least; if they were play-acting he would act along with them.

He still had time. "Allow me," he said, and hurried between the two policemen through into his room. "He seems sensible enough," he heard them say behind him. Once in his room, he quickly pulled open the drawer of his writing desk, everything in it was very tidy but in his agitation he was unable to find the identification documents he was looking for straight away. He finally found his bicycle permit and was about to go back to the policemen with it when it seemed to him too petty, so he carried on searching until he found his birth certificate. Just as he got back in the adjoining room the door on the other side opened and Mrs. Grubach was about to enter. He only saw her for an instant, for as soon as she recognised K. she was clearly embarrassed, asked for forgiveness and disappeared, closing the door behind her very carefully. "Do come in," K. could have said just then. But now he stood in the middle of the room with his papers in his hand and still looking at the door which did not open again. He stayed like that until he was startled out of it by the shout of the policeman who sat at the little table at the open window and, as K. now saw, was eating his breakfast. "Why didn't she come in?" he asked. "She's not allowed to," said the big policeman. "You're under arrest, aren't you?" "But how can I be under arrest? And how come it's like this?" "Now you're starting again," said the policeman, dipping a piece of buttered bread in the honeypot. "We don't answer questions like that." "You will have to answer them," said K. "Here are my identification papers, now show me yours and I certainly want to see the arrest warrant." "Oh, my God!" said the policeman. "In a position like yours, and you think you can start giving orders, do you. It won't do you any good to get us on the wrong side, even if you think it will—we're probably more on your side that anyone else you know!" "That's true, you know, you'd better believe it," said Franz, holding a cup of coffee in his hand which he did not lift to his mouth but looked at K. in a way that was probably meant to be full of meaning but could not actually be understood.

K. found himself, without intending it, in a mute dialogue with Franz, but then slapped his hand down on his papers and said, "Here are my identity documents." "And what do you want us to do about it?" replied the big policeman, loudly. "The way you're carrying on, it's worse than a child. What is it you want? Do you want to get this great, bloody trial of yours over with quickly by talking about ID and arrest warrants with us? We're just coppers, that's all we are. Junior officers like us hardly know one end of an ID card from another, all we've got to do with you is keep an eye on you for ten hours a day and get paid for it. That's all we are. Mind you, what we can do is make sure that the high officials we work for find out just what sort of person it is they're going to arrest, and why he should be arrested, before they issue the warrant. There's no mistake there. Our authorities as far as I know, and I only know the lowest grades, don't go out looking for guilt among the public; it's the guilt that draws them out, like it says in the law, and they have to send us police officers out. That's the law. Where d'you think there'd be any mistake there?" "I don't know this law," said K. "So much the worse for you, then," said the policeman. "It's probably exists only in your heads," said K., he wanted, in some way, to insinuate his way into the thoughts of the policemen, to re-shape those thoughts to his benefit or to make himself at home there. But the policeman just said dismissively, "You'll find out when it affects you." Franz joined in, and said, "Look at this, Willem, he admits he doesn't know the law and at the same time insists he's innocent."

"You're quite right, but we can't get him to understand a thing," said the other. K. stopped talking with them; do I, he thought to himself, do I really have to carry on getting tangled up with the chattering of base functionaries like this?—and they admit themselves that they are of the lowest position. They're talking about things of which they don't have the slightest understanding, anyway. It's only because of their stupidity that they're able to be so sure of themselves. I just need few words with someone of the same social standing as myself and everything will be incomparably clearer, much clearer than a long conversation with these two can make it. He walked up and down the free space in the room a couple of times, across the street he could see the old woman who, now, had pulled an old man, much older than herself, up to the window and had her arms around him. K. had to put an end to this display, "Take me to your superior," he said. "As soon as he wants to see you. Not before," said the policeman, the one called Willem. "And now my advice to you," he added, "is to go into your room, stay calm, and wait and see what's to be done with you. If you take our advice, you won't tire yourself out thinking about things to no purpose, you need to pull yourself together as there's a lot that's going to required of you. You've not behaved towards us the way we deserve after being so good to you, you forget that we, whatever we are, we're still free men and you're not, and that's quite an advantage. But in spite of all that we're still willing, if you've got the money, to go and get you some breakfast from the café over the road."

Without giving any answer to this offer, K. stood still for some time. Perhaps, if he opened the door of the next room or even the front door, the two of them would not dare to stand in his way, perhaps that would be the simplest way to settle the whole thing, by bringing it to a head. But maybe they would grab him, and if he were thrown down on the ground he would lose all the advantage he, in a certain respect, had over them. So he decided on the more certain solution, the way things would go in the natural course of events, and went back in his room without another word either from him or from the policemen.

He threw himself down on his bed, and from the dressing table he took the nice apple that he had put there the previous evening for his breakfast. Now it was all the breakfast he had and anyway, as he confirmed as soon as he took his first, big bite of it, it was far better than a breakfast he could have had through the good will of the policemen from the dirty café. He felt well and confident, he had failed to go into work at the bank this morning but that could easily be excused because of the relatively high position he held there. Should he really send in his explanation? He wondered about it. If nobody believed him, and in this case that would be understandable, he could bring Mrs. Grubach in as a witness, or even the old pair from across the street, who probably even now were on their way over to the window opposite. It puzzled K., at least it puzzled him looking at it from the policemen's point of view, that they had made him go into the room and left him alone there, where he had ten different ways of killing himself. At the same time, though, he asked himself, this time looking at it from his own point of view, what reason he could have to do so. Because those two were sitting there in the next room and had taken his breakfast, perhaps. It would have been so pointless to kill himself that, even if he had wanted to, the pointlessness would have made him unable. Maybe, if the policemen had not been so obviously limited in their mental abilities, it could have been supposed that they had come to the same conclusion and saw no danger in leaving him alone because of it. They could watch now, if they wanted, and see how he went over to the cupboard in the wall where he kept a bottle of good schnapps, how he first emptied a glass of it in place of his breakfast and how he then took a second glassful in order to give himself courage, the last one just as a precaution for the unlikely chance it would be needed.

Then he was so startled by a shout to him from the other room that he struck his teeth against the glass. "The supervisor wants to see you!" a voice said. It was only the shout that startled him, this curt, abrupt, military shout, that he would not have expected from the policeman called Franz. In itself, he found the order very welcome. "At last!" he called back, locked the cupboard and, without delay, hurried into the next room. The two policemen were standing there and chased him back into his bedroom as if that were a matter of course. "What d'you think you're doing?" they cried. "Think you're going to see the supervisor dressed in just your shirt, do you? He'd see to it you got a right thumping, and us and all!" "Let go of me for God's sake!" called K., who had already been pushed back as far as his wardrobe, "if you accost me when I'm still in bed you can't expect to find me in my evening dress." "That won't help you," said the policemen, who always became very quiet, almost sad, when K. began to shout, and in that way confused him or, to some extent, brought him to his senses. "Ridiculous formalities!" he grumbled, as he lifted his coat from the chair and kept it in both his hands for a little while, as if holding it out for the policemen's inspection. They shook their heads. "It's got to be a black coat," they said. At that, K. threw the coat to the floor and said—without knowing even himself what he meant by it—"Well it's not going to be the main trial, after all." The policemen laughed, but continued to insist, "It's got to be a black coat." "Well that's alright by me if it makes things go any faster," said K. He opened the wardrobe himself, spent a long time searching through all the clothes, and chose his best black suit which had a short jacket that had greatly surprised those who knew him, then he also pulled out a fresh shirt and began, carefully, to get dressed. He secretly told himself that he had succeeded in speeding things up by letting the policemen forget to make him have a bath. He watched them to see if they might remember after all, but of course it never occurred to them, although Willem did not forget to send Franz up to the supervisor with the message saying that K. was getting dressed.

Once he was properly dressed, K. had to pass by Willem as he went through the next room into the one beyond, the door of which was already wide open. K. knew very well that this room had recently been let to a typist called 'Miss Bürstner'. She was in the habit of going out to work very early and coming back home very late, and K. had never exchanged more than a few words of greeting with her. Now, her bedside table had been pulled into the middle of the room to be used as a desk for these proceedings, and the supervisor sat behind it. He had his legs crossed, and had thrown one arm over the backrest of the chair.

In one corner of the room there were three young people looking at the photographs belonging to Miss Bürstner that had been put into a piece of fabric on the wall. Hung up on the handle of the open window was a white blouse. At the window across the street, there was the old pair again, although now their number had increased, as behind them, and far taller than they were, stood a man with an open shirt that showed his chest and a reddish goatee beard which he squeezed and twisted with his fingers. "Josef K.?" asked the supervisor, perhaps merely to attract K.'s attention as he looked round the room. K. nodded. "I daresay you were quite surprised by all that's been taking place this morning," said the supervisor as, with both hands, he pushed away the few items on the bedside table—the candle and box of matches, a book and a pin cushion which lay there as if they were things he would need for his own business. "Certainly," said K., and he began to feel relaxed now that, at last, he stood in front of someone with some sense, someone with whom he would be able to talk about his situation. "Certainly I'm surprised, but I'm not in any way very surprised." "You're not very surprised?" asked the supervisor, as he positioned the candle in the middle of the table and the other things in a group around it. "Perhaps you don't quite understand me," K. hurriedly pointed out. "What I mean is ..." here K. broke off what he was saying and looked round for somewhere to sit. "I may sit down, mayn't I?" he asked. "That's not usual," the supervisor answered. "What I mean is ...," said K. without delaying a second time, "that, yes, I am very surprised but when you've been in the world for thirty years already and had to make your own way through everything yourself, which has been my lot, then you become hardened to surprises and don't take them too hard. Especially not what's happened today." "Why especially not what's happened today?" "I wouldn't want to say that I see all of this as a joke, you seem to have gone to too much trouble making all these arrangements for that. Everyone in the house must be taking part in it as well as all of you, that would be going beyond what could be a joke. So I don't want to say that this is a joke." "Quite right," said the supervisor, looking to see how many matches were left in the box.

"But on the other hand," K. went on, looking round at everyone there and even wishing he could get the attention of the three who were looking at the photographs, "on the other hand this really can't be all that important. That follows from the fact that I've been indicted, but can't think of the slightest offence for which I could be indicted. But even that is all beside the point, the main question is: Who is issuing the indictment? What office is conducting this affair? Are you officials? None of you is wearing a uniform, unless what you are wearing"—here he turned towards Franz—"is meant to be a uniform, it's actually more of a travelling suit. I require a clear answer to all these questions, and I'm quite sure that once things have been made clear we can take our leave of each other on the best of terms." The supervisor slammed the box of matches down on the table. "You're making a big mistake," he said. "These gentlemen and I have got nothing to do with your business, in fact we know almost nothing about you. We could be wearing uniforms as proper and exact as you like and your situation wouldn't be any the worse for it. As to whether you're on a charge, I can't give you any sort of clear answer to that, I don't even know whether you are or not. You're under arrest, you're quite right about that, but I don't know any more than that. Maybe these officers have been chit-chatting with you, well if they have that's all it is, chit-chat. I can't give you an answer to your questions, but I can give you a bit of advice: You'd better think less about us and what's going to happen to you, and think a bit more about yourself. And stop making all this fuss about your sense of innocence; you don't make such a bad impression, but with all this fuss you're damaging it. And you ought to do a bit less talking, too. Almost everything you've said so far has been things we could have taken from your behaviour, even if you'd said no more than a few words. And what you have said has not exactly been in your favour."

K. stared at the supervisor. Was this man, probably younger than he was, lecturing him like a schoolmaster. Was he being punished for his honesty with a telling off. And was he to learn nothing about the reasons for his arrest or those who were arresting him. He became somewhat cross and began to walk up and down. No-one stopped him doing this and he pushed his sleeves back, felt his chest, straightened his hair, went over to the three men, said, "It makes no sense," at which these three turned round to face him and came towards him with serious expressions. He finally came again to a halt in front of the supervisor's desk. "State Attorney Hasterer is a good friend of mine," he said, "can I telephone him?" "Certainly," said the supervisor, "but I don't know what the point of that will be, I suppose you must have some private matter you want to discuss with him." "What the point is?" shouted K., more disconcerted that cross. "Who do you think you are? You want to see some point in it while you're carrying out something as pointless as it could be. It's enough to make you cry! These gentlemen first accost me, and now they sit or stand about in here and let me be hauled up in front of you. What point there would be, in telephoning a state attorney when I'm ostensibly under arrest? Very well, I won't make the telephone call." "You can call him if you want to," said the supervisor, stretching his hand out towards the outer room where the telephone was, "please, go on, do make your phone call." "No, I don't want to any more," said K., and went over to the window. Across the street, the people were still there at the window, and it was only now that K. had gone up to his window that they seemed to become uneasy about quietly watching what was going on. The old couple wanted to get up but the man behind them calmed them down. "We've got some kind of audience over there," called K. to the supervisor, quite loudly, as he pointed out with his forefinger. "Go away," he then called across to them. And the three of them did immediately retreat a few steps, the old pair even found themselves behind the man who then concealed them with the breadth of his body and seemed, going by the movements of his mouth, to be saying something incomprehensible into the distance. They did not disappear entirely, though, but seemed to be waiting for the moment when they could come back to the window without being noticed.

"Intrusive, thoughtless people!" said K. as he turned back into the room. The supervisor may have agreed with him, at least K. thought that was what he saw from the corner of his eye. But it was just as possible that he had not even been listening as he had his hand pressed firmly down on the table and seemed to be comparing the length of his fingers. The two policemen were sitting on a chest covered with a coloured blanket, rubbing their knees. The three young people had put their hands on their hips and were looking round aimlessly. Everything was still, like in some office that has been forgotten about. "Now, gentlemen," called out K., and for a moment it seemed as if he was carrying all of them on his shoulders, "it looks like your business with me is over with. In my opinion, it's best now to stop wondering about whether you're proceeding correctly or incorrectly, and to bring the matter to a peaceful close with a mutual handshake. If you are of the same opinion, then please...." and he walked up to the supervisor's desk and held out his hand to him. The supervisor raised his eyes, bit his lip and looked at K.'s outstretched hand; K. still believed the supervisor would do as he suggested. But instead, he stood up, picked up a hard round hat that was laying on Miss Bürstner's bed and put it carefully onto his head, using both hands as if trying on a new hat. "Everything seems so simple to you, doesn't it," he said to K. as he did so, "so you think we should bring the matter to a peaceful close, do you? No, no, that won't do. Mind you, on the other hand I certainly wouldn't want you to think there's no hope for you. No, why should you think that? You're simply under arrest, nothing more than that. That's what I had to tell you, that's what I've done and now I've seen how you've taken it. That's enough for one day and we can take our leave of each other, for the time being at least. I expect you'll want to go in to the bank now, won't you?" "In to the bank?" asked K., "I thought I was under arrest." K. said this with a certain amount of defiance as, although his handshake had not been accepted, he was feeling more independent of all these people, especially since the supervisor had stood up. He was playing with them.

If they left, he had decided he would run after them and offer to let them arrest him. That's why he even repeated, "How can I go in to the bank when I'm under arrest?" "I see you've misunderstood me," said the supervisor who was already at the door. "It's true that you're under arrest, but that shouldn't stop you from carrying out your job. And there shouldn't be anything to stop you carrying on with your usual life." "In that case it's not too bad, being under arrest," said K., and went up close to the supervisor. "I never meant it should be anything else," he replied. "It hardly seems to have been necessary to notify me of the arrest in that case," said K., and went even closer. The others had also come closer. All of them had gathered together into a narrow space by the door. "That was my duty," said the supervisor. "A silly duty," said K., unyielding. "Maybe so," replied the supervisor, "only don't let's waste our time talking on like this. I had assumed you'd be wanting to go to the bank. As you're paying close attention to every word I'll add this: I'm not forcing you to go to the bank, I'd just assumed you wanted to. And to make things easier for you, and to let you get to the bank with as little fuss as possible I've put these three gentlemen, colleagues of yours, at your disposal." "What's that?" exclaimed K., and looked at the three in astonishment. He could only remember seeing them in their group by the photographs, but these characterless, anaemic young people were indeed officials from his bank, not colleagues of his, that was putting it too high and it showed a gap in the omniscience of the supervisor, but they were nonetheless junior members of staff at the bank. How could K. have failed to see that? How occupied he must have been with the supervisor and the policemen not to have recognised these three! Rabensteiner, with his stiff demeanour and swinging hands, Kullich, with his blonde hair and deep-set eyes, and Kaminer, with his involuntary grin caused by chronic muscle spasms. "Good morning," said K. after a while, extending his hand to the gentlemen as they bowed correctly to him. "I didn't recognise you at all. So, we'll go into work now, shall we?" The gentlemen laughed and nodded enthusiastically, as if that was what they had been waiting for all the time, except that K. had left his hat in his room so they all dashed, one after another, into the room to fetch it, which caused a certain amount of embarrassment.

K. stood where he was and watched them through the open double doorway, the last to go, of course, was the apathetic Rabensteiner who had broken into no more than an elegant trot. Kaminer got to the hat and K., as he often had to do at the bank, forcibly reminded himself that the grin was not deliberate, that he in fact wasn't able to grin deliberately. At that moment Mrs. Grubach opened the door from the hallway into the living room where all the people were. She did not seem to feel guilty about anything at all, and K., as often before, looked down at the belt of her apron which, for no reason, cut so deeply into her hefty body. Once downstairs, K., with his watch in his hand, decided to take a taxi—he had already been delayed by half an hour and there was no need to make the delay any longer. Kaminer ran to the corner to summon it, and the two others were making obvious efforts to keep K. diverted when Kullich pointed to the doorway of the house on the other side of the street where the large man with the blonde goatee beard appeared and, a little embarrassed at first at letting himself be seen in his full height, stepped back to the wall and leant against it. The old couple were probably still on the stairs. K. was cross with Kullich for pointing out this man whom he had already seen himself, in fact whom he had been expecting. "Don't look at him!" he snapped, without noticing how odd it was to speak to free men in this way. But there was no explanation needed anyway as just then the taxi arrived, they sat inside and set off. Inside the taxi, K. remembered that he had not noticed the supervisor and the policemen leaving—the supervisor had stopped him noticing the three bank staff and now the three bank staff had stopped him noticing the supervisor. This showed that K. was not very attentive, and he resolved to watch himself more carefully in this respect. Nonetheless, he gave it no thought as he twisted himself round and leant over onto the rear shelf of the car to catch sight of the supervisor and the policemen if he could. But he turned back round straight away and leant comfortably into the corner of the taxi without even having made the effort to see anyone. Although it did not seem like it, now was just the time when he needed some encouragement, but the gentlemen seemed tired just then, Rabensteiner looked out of the car to the right, Kullich to the left and only Kaminer was there with his grin at K.'s service. It would have been inhumane to make fun of that.

[artsharish]

Our Old house

I have been emotional, and it happens when you know that you are going out of the country, away from your family, friends. And most importantly I happen to remember our old house or the first own house of my father. All this culminated from a dream I had of visiting it. It has been almost 33 years since we left it and moved to a smaller house, an apartment precisely.

So just like that, I took some time off and went to the place. My dad inquired about where am I going but, I kept it personal and I am pretty sure that like me, he would have gone there many times just to see it, how looks like now.

A blast of memories struck me as soon I entered the locality. I remember searching its roof whenever I passed by the road just behind it so that I can get glimpses of it. Nostalgia was all over, the moment I entered the ‘not so wide lanes and abbeys’ it reminded me of our days in this house, the locality like a projection of a film. The abbey where I played while still as a small kid of 3 years. The first friend I made everything was going in frames in front of me.

Slowly and step by step I moved towards our old home, line by line, house by house, house of our neighbours where we played hide and seek appeared first. In my mind I see them, their small rooms and rickety old furniture. I remember their faces, young at those times, their relatives, and their long and odd names.

I looked up, the gali has changed, the old buildings have vanished and taken over by tall new buildings of aesthetics and colours. The simplicity is gone and paved way for commercialization.

The charpoys where our neighbours used to sit and talk have vanished. The bonhomie and chats have now gone. They say people don’t mingle like earlier days; the tall buildings have made difficult for their hearts to get connected. It is harsh I know, how simple people become sophisticated with money and power.

And finally, I saw it. Standing as we left it, in a dilapidated state, but it looks all the same. The home we used to see in old photos, our first home was in front of me like a living legend. The grey coloured grained-gravel walls ‘so that we don’t have to waste money in repainting’, seems to have stood the test of time. It was like traversing through a time machine in the era of black and white. There were colours at that time too but not that prominent, may be the population at that time was not much aligned to the aesthetics but to the humane values. Nowadays the homes have colours but not values.

The rectangular window overseeing the gali was still visible but blocked with bricks.The entrance to Staircase and the channel guarding the staircase was still in place. I remember how the mesh of the channel amused me and it might have been the very first shape which caught my attention. I never till now knew why I had a liking to shapes and building but who knows the channel might have the starting point. I saw a lemon and chilli hung on its head, like sermonising that the place still have its current resident living in it.

I remained seized; a glimpse of the door made me emotional. The door looked the same, the colour is same pitch blue. The years of paint might have made several coats on it but I know inside it, is a barren iron door. Soft it would have been on inside, like how we all pretend to be the strongest of men but, we are all weak from are inside. We all try to look strong, but we know that somewhere within us is that soft part which weeps when we go away from our parents, our brothers, and sisters. We all go away, leave our houses and parents, friends.

My dad left his village to earn here in Delhi. He came with just the clothes he was wearing and one sheet to cover himself in night. He left his parents in village where they waited for him to come, day and night. Likewise, I am too travelling to Paris this time on official posting. I can’t imagine how my parents would have been feeling and I guess it might be the same how parents of my father might have felt. No matter how happy we look when we talk on video calls, I know they pretend to be strong but, on the inside, they just want me to be with them.

The door has been the witness over the years, the day my father bought this home after almost years of savings and loans. I can’t imagine how light he might have felt after getting it. He was newly married and getting own roof over the head might have been his utmost priority.

The door saw my father working day and night to make ends meet. And the Door saw the day I was born in this home early morning of 24th July 1987, took my first step on the earth and spoke my first word. It would have witnessed the joy and happiness of being the first born of the family. The door was privy to the festivals and tragedies of our family. It saw my mother making bindies and kids clothes to support her husband. It kept the memories of semblance of our friends and relatives, and it also saw breaking up of our joint family into smaller factions. And finally, it saw us leaving it behind, in search of a better house and a better future.

The house is privy to what I see the phenomenon of social change in India when the joint families broke up into smaller nuclear families. Why we went out is surely a story for another time but leaving the house that time did anger me as a small kid, and I used to think it was a Himalayan blunder committed by my father. But as I grew up, I understood his side of the story, why he took up to stay away from his brothers and parents.

It also reminded me of our companions, friends which we leave behind and the ones who left us behind too, in search of better life, the ones which were once important to us in the bygone eras but have limited value now.

All this while I kept thinking that Is it the fact of life that when we rise up we lose friends and family? The same was the condition of door.

I somehow felt like the Door is speaking to me and complaining.

“Finally! You have come to meet me after 33 year, I have been waiting for you to come back since you left”.

I looked at it and stumbly replied to in my head as a teardrop pickled out of my eyes and I humbly wiped it of before anyone else could see it. I said to it and in my heart.

“I am thankful to you, Oh door, for being the keeper of our memories and the part of my life”

I promised to it that the life lesson which it gave me today will be dear to my heart, wherever I go. I will not leave my friends and family. I will be in touch and I will keep coming back to see you, oh door!