#cherry died a few years back but she was my first cat and i felt like she should be here

[stonefly-with-a-pen]

some experimental cats

[libraford]

I owe you all a story about kittens. But its about... a little more than kittens. It's a long one.

I want to tell you all about the kittens, which took place in 2019. But in order to do so, I have to take you back even further, to March of 2018, and concludes in 2021. Because it's about kittens, but it's also about business and all the things that can go wrong.

In March 2018, tragedy struck. The owner of the flower shop died unexpectedly, leaving the business to four capable managers. One of those managers was the man that had hired me, leaving a power vacuum at our location. Grandpa was not the first choice to take the lead, but she stepped up and she became manager. In my opinion, there was no better person for the role: she had only ever worked in the flower industry (assuming we're not counting the one week in 1976 when she worked at a pizza parlor,) and as such she knew the business inside and out.

Prior to this, she had taught all of the designers and practically ran the place when the boss was out, so it was the next logical step. And it was good.

Of course, we had our ups and downs. What I did not realize when I joined the flower shop is that the flower industry is volatile- there are so many variables that went into the creation of floral pieces and if there is one misstep you can be set back anywhere from a day to several thousand dollars. There are late deliveries, there are frightening brides, there are missing piñatas… van fires, flower snobs, color corrections, failed psychics, friends, enemies…

You can set the bar so very low and yet…

The rise and fall of drama at this particular flower shop could be dictated into hours and minutes because sometimes you need to hire people just to fill that space. Grandpa was on record by saying 'if they can walk, talk, and spell their name, hire them.' Even so, we were critically understaffed most of the time because if you hire anyone you're going to get a lot of quitters.

It's a tough cycle to break, and our power was limited.

And we had bigger fish to fry: we had an average of thirty funerals, two weddings, and well over six hundred deliveries per week. Business was booming and we just had to keep up- if you make it one week after the next it doesn't feel so bad.

By March of the following year, the four owners had whittled down to two: my former boss and the former webmaster. We had a district manager now, some kind of accounts position… things like that. It was kind of astonishing that before this, all the work had been done by a single man. But the secrets to his success had died with him.

Things were looking good, actually: the flower business was full of life! We were doing all kinds of special events, starting contracts with businesses and getting our name out there. Drama still plagued us, but as far as I'm aware, that's par for the course for flower shops.

Then, in May 2019, tragedy struck. A tornado ripped straight down the street of our headquarters, demolishing the greenhouse and the historical building that it all started in. No one was injured, but the damages were devastating. Despite all this, we kept working.

We worked hard. And hard. And hard.

And though the new warehouse wasn't slated to be finished until 2021, we reached an equilibrium where things were okay.

But before I get to that, I made a promise to you.

It was a hot day in August and I was walking into my closing shift at 10am. After two years of working with roughly the same people, you got to learning how to tell when something was happening. I walked in to everyone staring at me and acting 'natural.' It never looks natural.

In the back of the store, there was a box that Cherry was standing very purposely in front of.

"What's in the-"

"Sh!" Grandpa spied through the window in the cooler door as someone swung out with a purchase. "Did you find something you like," she asked the customer, trotting over to help him at the register.

"What's happening," I asked Blue.

"Nothings happening, it just kind of… happened."

"Blue… what does that MEAN?"

"There's a customer here, I can't talk about it."

I am bursting at the seams to know what's going on.

Grandpa fared the customer well and went back to her station behind the computer. "Open the box," she said.

Ominous, but okay. I go over to the box and Cherry steps aside. There's something moving inside the box and I wonder if Pam's daughter had folded herself into a box to ride out a panic attack again. I carefully opened the flaps of the box and accidentally disturbed the sleep of-

Four.

Tiny.

KITTENS!

Oh my god, it was the most adorable thing in the world and the poor things were screaming because they had only known the world for a few weeks and everything was strange and blurry and all they knew to do was cuddle for warmth and scream. The box consisted of two black kittens, one tuxedo kitten, and a white seal-point with terminal eye goop.

They immediately started climbing up my arm.

"Not that I'm not thrilled, but… why?"

"Stray cat left her babies out by my pond and wasn't just gonna leave the little fuckers," Grandpa said. The seal-point made it all the way up my shoulder to scream in my ear and stare at me with one clear blue eye. "That one's name is Pop-eye. He's my favorite."

"Jake doesn't get along with them," I surmised. Jake was Grandpa's Australian Shepherd. He was old, blind, deaf, and losing his sense of smell. And he was ornery.

"First thing he did was sit on Pop-eye. So they're gonna be at the shop during the day until we can get them all homed. Know anyone that needs a kitten?"

So, for awhile, we had shop cats. One of the all black twins had been claimed the very next day, but the rest of them were with us for some time. We got very good at feeding them all every hour on the hour and eventually they settled into accepting that 'mom' was seven different people.

In the meantime, we had to hide the three of them from visiting management.

This was not my first round with cat-related crimes.

The district manager, Puppet, was due to come for a visit any time that week. He was supposed to come once a month for a routine check in, and there were only ten days left in August. Likewise, we had to hide the kittens from the customers on the off chance that one of them was a secret shopper.

Backtracking once more to explain: the company had shelled out money to pay a third party to send secret shoppers to grade us on a rubric and also whatever they thought was appropriate. The grades were cleanliness, customer service, how knowledgeable we were of products, things like that. If we got above 90%, there would be a bonus in our next paycheck.

Sounds great, right?

The spies could decide that anything wasn't up to their standard. One woman went on and on about our 'black wall,' which was the outside of our cooler and I'm sorry but… that's not changing. There was a complaint that the table at the front used to showcase our bridal seemed out of place and odd. There dirt in the flower pots… where dirt goes. Corporate reads those comments.

So keeping the children out of sight of the customers and any visiting management became our priority.

'So just keep them in the break room,' I hear you, the reader, suggest.

If you've never owned cats, it is imperative for you to know that they are mostly comprised of spine, and only the smallest of openings will deter them from squeezing into parts unknown. Cats are semi-solids. Kittens are semi-solids with a sense of adventure and little tiny needles for fingernails.

And you can't just tape the box shut.

So… they got out. Well, two of them got out. The tuxedo awoke to find that her brothers had gone exploring without her and did the sensible thing, which was cry about it.

Mood.

I have named this cat Brood X Cicada. The black one can be named Abyss. I'm great at naming cats.

Lucky for us, they're only a few weeks old and walk kind of like little tin soldiers. It took all of five minutes to pry Pop-eye from a piece of Styrofoam and locate Abyss exploring an old toolbox. However, by the time I'm done cat collecting, Brood X Cicada had toddled off in search of her brothers and I'm out of hands to hold kittens in. I stuffed Abyss into my apron pocket and tried to save X from eating plastic.

It is at this moment that Cherry came in to tell me that Puppet the District Manager was on his way, and saw that I was helplessly juggling kittens. Abyss was climbing out of my pocket, eager to join his siblings in the high and exalted position that was my hands.

"We need these kittens out of here," I said. "Who hasn't been on lunch yet?"

Cherry dodged her head back into the workshop. "Hey Key, you been on lunch?" Pause. "You wanna go now?"

Key came into the back room and I handed her the box of kittens. "Take these, in your car. Go to burger King or something, I don't care. Puppet cannot see these. If anyone asks, you're on a route."

Key held the box and took a moment to appreciate the series of events that lead to her being handed a box of kittens in a 'Take this, don't ask questions' kind of matter.

Puppet was in the front door as Key was out the back and we successfully avoided a serious mistake. His visit was only an hour and she walked back in without anyone the wiser.

We made it through the big challenge, now to continue looking for homes for them. Ms. Crow found a friend of a friend of a friend that was excited to take Abyss from us. After some interrogating my friends, I found someone who knew someone who could take Pop-eye and Brood X Cicada. (They were renamed Hocus and Pocus.)

Grandpa cried for every single one of them that had to go. And I remembered my very first day of working there when she introduced herself as 'The Tinman.' What a liar, the softy.

Our days went on kitten-free, the management none the wiser.

It was December when I got the feeling that I should be taking photos of my work to build a portfolio. Something wasn't right, I felt. I couldn't say what it was that put me on edge, but I could only say that all was not well. I took photos of everything that I was proud of, and I was proud of a lot of things. By February, I had over fifty items that I could show off to a potential studio. And I thought- in March, I should start looking to see if other shops are hiring.

And in March 2020, tragedy struck. Our state went into lockdown on March 13, dictating that all non-essential businesses close and non-essential staff be laid off. There were two days where none of us knew what was happening, if we had jobs or if that job was safe.

They laid off all but three designers and Grandpa but kept most the drivers, changed our hours to 8-5, closed Sundays. Canceled weddings. No walk-ins. The three designers were Blue, Red, and me.

Blue was worried about her children. She resigned.

Red's wife was worried about him and harassed him into quitting.

And then there was one.

There's a series of poems I wrote in my journal about being an essential worker during lockdown. There's adorable little doodles of skeletons around the margins, festooned with flowers. They all go something like this:

We are the Skeleton Crew.

We once were seven but now are two

We don't know what to do

So we just work, work, work.

Many may wonder how a flower shop would be considered an essential business. The answer is funerals. We were allowed to remain open because of our relationship with the funeral industry. And sad to say: the industry was booming.

And I did all of it. I made every spray, every 'get well soon' vase, every 'happy quarantine' bouquet. I called angry brides to see if they could postpone, I dealt with everyone's grief and uncertainty.

All the flowers that arrived at US Customs through Italy were destroyed because we didn't know whether coronavirus was transmitted through physical contact and there's no way to sanitize flowers. Not without killing them.

It was me and Grandpa. That was it. Ten funerals a day, and everything else. Flowers were more important than ever: you couldn't be there, so you sent flowers. And flowers and flowers and flowers…

I couldn't leave now. I was important, I was needed.

The work became overwhelming for both of us and we began hiring back some of our staff. Some came back right away, bored out of their skulls having to spend time at home. Can't relate. Key never responded, Cherry was pregnant and shouldn't be out of the house.

Dandy came back, Kali came back, Astra came back. Eventually, Blue. After a month of just me and Grandpa, there was almost a full crew and it was enough for us to get through an average week. It took us a month on our bare knuckles but we finally weren't shouldering the responsibility of seven people.

But we still didn't know jack shit about the future there.

In May, the 'economy opened up,' which is a strategic way of saying that people got tired of never leaving the house and stores were pressured to open back up again before a vaccine was released under threat of… you know what? This isn't a story about how America responded to the coronavirus poorly and you can probably find a better thinkpiece about it written by someone with facts and feelings if you want to squeeze yourself behind a pay wall.

This is about workers rights and kittens, two things that are far more important than the economy.

We got 'Hero Pay,' which was two dollars extra per hour and damn did I grasp onto that with the tendons in my wrists. I had never been paid $12 an hour for anything in my life. They started talking about permanent raises, and benefits, 401K, pregnancy leave… and I started thinking… maybe I could stay. Maybe I can stay here for awhile and it won't be so bad now that I'm getting paid actual human wages. Maybe it will be okay.

Life returned to an uneasy normal while we navigated mask laws, sanitation regulations, safety screens, and daily temperature checks. There are stories to tell about some less than great customers we'd had as people realized that they weren't coping with the pandemic as well as they thought, but they deserve their own entries.

We had a revolving door of open positions. If it wasn't a designer it was a driver or both. People weren't ready to come back to work yet but we still had a business to run. People asked if they could perform this job remotely. I'm not sure how one does flowers from home.

It was August when we started feeling the roots of our problems seep into the foundation.

Grandpa's pride and joy was her funerals. She had spent thirteen years building a relationship with the funeral homes in the area to make sure they trust us and our work. If anything was wrong, even a hair out of place, they knew they could call us and have it fixed before the visitation.

"We want unity across the board on our products," Puppet said. "If you're doing the sprays one way and others don't look the same, it doesn't look very good for Oldman Funeral Home, which has locations in all our cities, does it?" He swept his bangs out of his eyes, which was strange tell but we weren't sure for what.

"Okay," Grandpa said. "Schedule a time for me to go down and I'll teach them the way we do them."

"Okay, then."

She went down, prepared to show the crew in the warehouse what 40 years in the business was capable of, only to be met with a strange kind of resistance.

Their head designer greeted her and immediately started instructing her on how he makes sprays. Grandpa, confused, blinked at him with no words. When he was finished, she picked up her clippers and began making her own.

"That's not how we do it," he said. She was met with criticism after criticism. "That's not enough flowers, you're putting them in wrong, you're still making it one-sided. Why did you put the bow there, this looks nothing like our products."

She stood back after his barrage of blows to the ego. "I guess I'm a little confused."

"I'll say."

"Am I teaching you or are you teaching me?"

"I'm teaching you," he said. "Since they're going to all be made here from now on, they want me to show you how we make them in case of emergency."

She let that simmer. "That's not what I was told."

"You didn't think you were supposed to show me how you do it, did you? That doesn't make any sense. Why would we want to look like yours?"

"Oh, I dunno… maybe because we've kept up 30 accounts for 13 years and your location just lost your very last one because you can't make their delivery times and they're across the damn street."

This was how we learned that corporate was planning on taking our funerals from us.

Funerals were something I was immensely proud of. My ability to turn out a thousand dollar funeral order with limited stock was a subject of envy. I could take a phone order, make the flowers, and the deliver it all by myself within an hour. I was good. We were all good. And we trained anyone that stayed longer than two months how to do this because we wanted every person to be able to fix any problem.

And they wanted to take that away from us.

And they did. Because who was going to stop them?

'But what does that matter to you,' I hear you, the reader, ask. 'Surely this meant less work for you!'

Ah, but for the sprays to get to us, they had to come on a truck. Making them in-house meant that we knew we had them. We had to put our trust in corporate to deliver the goods to us by 7 am or we would have to make them day of.

There were days when the truck didn't come, or where only half the pieces were delivered, or a spray got left in the workshop an hour away. At least once a week, often more.

But you know… we adapted. You just schedule more openers to make sure no one is doing it alone and hope to God that you have all the flowers you need to make it. Which you could never anticipate how many flowers you would actually need because them taking our funerals was supposed to reduce the amount of stock flowers we got as well.

Mornings were nightmares, but we adapted.

Another visit, Puppet told Grandpa that she should get all weekends off. All the other managers do. He suggested that I learn to run routes so she can have weekends, and I said okay. I'll learn it.

I got real acquainted with the map of Ohio, and I hated it. I was a weekend manager with no real managerial power. If someone needed a refund, I had to write a note for Grandpa to email the accounts manager because she wouldn't take requests from anyone that wasn't a manager. Everything just waited until Monday. What was the point of me? I couldn't design while managing and I couldn't fix what was broken, so why even have a weekend manager? Let the animals loose in the zoo and it probably would have been a better fit.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Throughout all this, spreadsheets. Spreadsheets, spreadsheets, spreadsheets. Completely pointless spreadsheets that we were bound to fill out all day every day. They had simple purposes: inventory. You filled one out to take count of the specials so you knew how many there were. Then you had to count again to put them in the system so that they knew how much we had. Then you had to go back and count them again and put that number in the computer so they knew how much to make and send tomorrow.

I spent an hour each day counting and recounting the flowers in the far-off and futile hope that the counts would remain accurate to the end of the day (which they did not because the call center consistently used the wrong codes) and that the stock would be replenished properly in the morning (it was not.)

An hour was lost each day to this and it accomplished nothing, yet they always yelled at Grandpa if the counts were off or it was late. Why stress a system that does jack shit?

And every time there was a new feature or there was a new… thing, oh look! Another goddamned redundant spreadsheet that served no purpose.

But we adapted. We created a rhythm.

Show up early at 6:30 to make sure everything got in, make everything that didn't, get the drivers routed, pull routes for the third party deliveries, process same-day orders, data entry for the funeral consolidated. Then at 7, when the phones start ringing…

Okay, so before I forget:

Instead of installing a new phone line and hiring a few more call center people like a normal company would, our headquarters decided it would save us money if call overflow rerouted to the next available phone line, regardless of which location the phone was at. So we would get calls for the Kentucky store asking questions about what that store has and for the sake of preserving confidence in our brand we were supposed to pretend that we were the Kentucky store. We're just supposed to know or assume to know what each store had in stock because there's no way that could ever backfire.

It was… another thing to yell at us for. And boy did they, because they were listening in on our calls. Not to like… coach us on how to do better, but to tell us we were wrong. Sometimes they would call one of us on the other line to tell someone currently on the main one that they said something wrong. They also would straight up lie and scold us for calls we didn't take. The phones system, was simply a mess.

...so when the phones started up at 7am, and one person is designing, one person is taking unending phone orders, Grandpa is doing damage control. By 8, we have most of last nights orders figured out and it's time to start on same day orders and tomorrow's orders. It's too early to do inventory now because they'll yell at us for doing it too early.

By 9 we have our second wave of same day orders and next day orders, the rest of the world realizes we're open and starts walking in. That requires the attention of an entire person. We're at this point also taking out trash, breaking down boxes, disinfecting, sweeping the cooler.

Typically, there were only two openers on any given day, which meant most of this was all being handled by Blue or me.

By 10 we've caught up, we can do the inventory now without getting yelled at by the four heads at corporate. We're on route #3 by now and someone probably had to go to the same place twice because the orders came in late.

At 11, a crisis has probably happened. Something dropped, something wilted, something wasn't what they imagined. Someone has to go fix it, and that someone was usually me because I knew my way around town better than the other transplants.

This typically returned me to the shop around 1pm, which meant it was time for lunch, bringing me to 2. 3 o'clock was the cutoff for any next day orders to be sent to corporate, which meant that if there were any funeral orders taken for the morning, they would have to be made in-house. This included sprays, which takes half an hour to an hour depending on how complicated it was and if we had the materials and how much else we needed to make for the next day. Or how busy we were.

There was always something called in at the last minute, taking us to 4 and then 5 o'clock, when the openers went home and the same-day orders were cut off.

But see, that was when we stopped taking orders, not when we stopped processing orders. So if an order was placed for the same day at 4:59, it may not go through until 5:30. And by 5:30, chances are you've sent your drivers home for the day. Which means calling the customer to apologize and explain why something can't be sent out today, and no one wants to hear that they fucked up by sending it out late.

So, on more than one occasion, I had to personally deliver flowers on my way home from work in my personal car, thirty minutes out of my way because if we miss a delivery by God will we hear about it. And it was always some damn $25 arrangement with 'God Loves You' written on the tag, hardly worth the gas to Johnstown.

The irony of it being delivered by the witch was lost on no one.

If that didn't happen and the screen was clear, the night was easy and all we had to do was clean up and watch the door.

Unless a last minute order for the next day came in, which was about half the time. All of this for $11 an hour. (Once they got rid of the Hero Pay, it went back down to $11.)

That was an average, unexciting day for us. You got used to those kinds of stresses, but every day I came home and I was so tired and sore that I couldn't move. I started walking with a cane, had a low-grade fever most days, and my hands looked like I'd taken to them with a cheese grater.

But I powered through. I adapted.

Then it was December. The owners had always been generous with Christmas bonuses, handing everyone an envelope of cash. Mine was $500. This was the largest amount of cash that anyone had ever handed me (feel bad for me later.)

And then it was Grandpa's turn, but there were no envelopes left. It had to be a mistake, she thought. She didn't get paid very much for all the work she put into the shop, so she was counting on that bonus to buy presents for her grandchildren. It… it… had to be a mistake, right?

"I didn't get a bonus," she said. "I thought the accountability didn't take effect until January," she said to Puppet.

Before he opens his mouth again, I have to explain yet another thing.

In September, there was a meeting. Now that we were working on benefits and bonus programs and other things to make sure the staff stays, they needed to put in accountability measures for the managers. Effective January 1, managers are reflected by the income of their store, the number of returns, accidents in company vehicles, and high turnover rates.

Pick one of those attributes and decide its bullshit to begin with, and I'm about to show you the entire steer.

"We had to make an example of someone," he said. "So that the other managers know we're serious."

She was being personally punished for a car wreck that happened in 2019 even though she fired the guy that was in it. We had too many returns, he said, but most of them were sent to us from corporate. She was personally held responsible for the high turnover rate during an economic crisis AND a goddamned pandemic… because they needed to make an example out of someone.

And her grandkids didn't get presents this year because of it.

She cried. The last time I saw her cry was when we were saying goodbye to the kittens. It's not the same.

But she got up every day and listened to them scream at her while we counted and counted and recounted the fucking Christmas specials because the numbers weren't right and we couldn't make them right because someone in the call center couldn't figure out the codes and in their eyes it was our fault, too- we had to be stealing the flowers or something.

"It sucks and then its over," she said. It was how she dealt with holidays: "It sucks and then its over."

We were all angry for her. I got asked to go to the headquarters and help them mass produce more fucking specials and I offered the beat them up for her and she told me not to get involved. Head down, do the work, get it done.

One of the call center girls died of a heart attack a few days before I was due to help them mass. We were supposed to go to her funeral, but we all missed it because there was so much work to do.

Wait, let me back up… again. The company gave us all life insurance. The number we were quoted on our life insurance policy was $10,000, which seems like a lot but in the funeral business it's not. Your average funeral will eat up most of that, if not all. It's very expensive to die right now.

At least… we all thought it was $10k. I was certainly told $10k.

Turns out it was $1k, which isn't enough to buy you a box for your remains. The call center crew ended up crowdsourcing the rest- she didn't have much family.

And none of us could go to the funeral because we were working.

I worked two twelve hour shifts in that warehouse making the same goddamn centerpiece over and over again while a Frenchman in a scarf told me I was doing it wrong, while everyone was grieving on a time crunch.

I really should have beaten them up.

But we got through Christmas, for what it was worth. We found Grandpa some sales that she could get gifts from and we all worked together to make sure we were okay through it. I mean, we weren't- it was blind leading the blind. But we tried.

And then it ended. "It sucks and then its over," she'd always say.

And into January we go and we're back into the stupidity of trying to fight with hq about funerals. I'm constantly told that if we needed certain things we should have ordered them.

I… did. I did. I ordered everything we needed every damn day and it still never came because the left hand and the right hand can't even coordinate enough to pull off a high-five. But it can't be their fault. It has to be Grandpa's somehow.

Now during the week of Christmas, Grandpa had to take an extra day off because she got sick. It wasn't Covid, thank goodness. I can imagine it was a stress-related issue, but it's not my business. Due to the holiday, this put her at under 40 hours for the week.

So they paid her hourly.

...which is extremely illegal to do to a salaried employee, especially one that works way more than 40 hours a week with no overtime.

And then they told her that she'd already lost her quarterly bonus because of a fender-bender that happened on my watch, and because she lost 39 employees last quarter.

I write everything down. I keep a journal. I cannot find 39 employees, even going back the entire year… during a pandemic. They have to be making this up. They have to be because there is no way they can hold the dude that was fired for literally sleeping in the men's room against her.

And I was close to just telling them all that… when my grandma died.

I'm not getting into it, really. Because you know… she was 96 years old and… it happens. It's sad, but it happens. But the relevant point to make is that I was given an… inheritance. It wasn't a lot. Grandma wasn't loaded. But it would be enough for me to keep afloat for awhile if I ever needed to.

When I told my girlfriend, she said: 'you could quit your job.'

And I didn't want to think about that because the flower shop needed me. I was important there. I was special. And Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

But I was thinking about it. I thought about it every day.

A week before Valentines Day, Grandpa was inconsolable. She had to leave work because her dog, Jake, wouldn't stop bleeding. She needed to get him to the vet.

Two hours pass and Blue gets a message asking her to come help her move the dog. Grandpa lives alone and she's not very strong.

Blue doesn't like dogs. She was bitten by one the first time she ever made a delivery.

And I am known for exceptional physical strength. So I went.

When I arrived, Grandpa was a mess. I had never seen her cry so much, and it wouldn't stop. And I was trying to be strong, but it's hard. Jake was still alive, but bleeding. He was confused and upset, and blind and deaf. He barked, he growled, and he lunged… but always pulled back when his legs buckled from the pain.

I had her grab a blanket and we rolled him onto it, using that to lift him. He thrashed and growled and snapped at me while we walked him towards the door, but he wasn't getting out of the wrap we had him in.

As we're out the door, I noticed a man at the neighboring house. He raised his hand in greeting, but lowered it in confusion.

"Grandpa, is it alright if I get him to come help while you bring the car around?"

The best she could do was nod.

"Yeah, sorry, to bug you but can I ask for a little help here?" He looks at what we're doing and drops his trash can lid to come help. "Yeah, just take that end there and we're gonna ease him into the car when she comes around."

He nodded, took the ends, and we tucked a very confused Jake into the back seat. I thanked the neighbor, Grandpa sped off, and I went back to work feeling extremely odd about it.

That was the first time that I'd ever met the dog: on his way to be put down.

I know it seems weird to tell that story, but there's a reason. Part of it is symbolic. Part of it has to do with kittens. But we're not there just yet.

So now it's February and it is crunch time for Valentine’s Day. We have no earthly idea what this holiday is going to look like because past experiences have us anticipating a large number of walk ins, but state regulations have put a limit of six customers inside the store at any one time. We were never given any… instructions on how to enforce that rule, so we just kind of vaguely set out roles for who has to be the bouncer at the flower shop.

But before all of that, we had to make 275 two-dozen red rose arrangements in bowls. Based on our sales last year and general growth, we were expecting something close to five hundred deliveries on our busiest day. If I wasn't making them, I was counting them. And I was counting, and I was counting, and I was counting… every hour, just like it was at Christmas. We used up every single red rose in the place and came up short.

To which we were scolded: we must have used the roses they sent us for other orders because there was no way the error could have been on their end! Their inventory was impervious to mistakes. Somewhere between the warehouse and our store, twenty-five packs of roses went missing! And why is it only our store that has these problems? Clearly it must be our fault- a store full of thieves and liars and delinquents.

They ended up sending more just because… you know… they care. I guess.

And every hour, they needed a number of something and I counted, and counted and counted…

I think it was February 8 that I started crying every day. When I slept I was stiff as a board because I made so many mistakes throughout the day that the idea of coming to work the next day just to make more mistakes made me lock up entirely. There was no way to relax. There was no winding down from a hard day of work because my body could not move anymore.

I felt like I was made of splintering wood.

I had a dream around this time that I quit my job. I was so happy. I thought about it almost every hour.

So I stayed out of the way at work, picking up cleaning projects because at least there I could be useful and it was dark enough in the cooler that if I started crying no one had to see it.

That cooler was so clean. I wouldn't recommend eating off of it because I used an entire bottle of bleach to clean the floor.

If we're not counting the constant barrage of demands from corporate to count, count, count; Valentine’s Day was worryingly uneventful. Previous holidays were chaotic: filling the requests of the most desperate and clueless men with deep pockets and expensive tastes. Corralling the temporary drivers and make sure no one gets into any crashes or… uh...tries to sell unregulated merchandise from their trunks. Trying to decide what "Malibu Barbie Pink" meant for that one customer who comes in every six months and orders it but has rejected every color pink on the spectrum that our store has ever offered.

On this one… nothing important happened.

We were… slow.

Grandpa started sending people home early because there weren't many orders. We ran out of projects to do.

Sounds great, right?

...heh…

Corporate would like to know why our store is under projected sales by over 200, as if we have any say in how many people buy from us. Like we personally called all our typical customer base and told them not to come to this store. "Yes, hello Mrs. Penderghast? I'm sorry we can't fill your Valentine's Day order this year because we suck balls and don't want your business. Have a nice weekend. Say hi to the grandkids for me."

I don't… fucking KNOW! I don't work in PR! I'd ask the people in that department if they know what happened but… that's the owners. So who really is the fuckup here? Not me, that's for fucking certain! I cleaned the cooler. That's all I did all weekend was clean the Gods damned cooler because there wasn't enough work to go around so I made work for myself.

And then: "Why are the counts off," asked Mt. Rushmore. See, we called them that because between the owners, Puppet, and the head designer we had four white men looking down at us while we did all the work and built their success on the backs of their forefathers. Well… to me it was anyway. To everyone else it was four dudes that looked down on you.

"Why are the counts off?"

Oh, the COUNTS are off? Well, let me just drop everything I'm doing right now and count them for the third time in the past hour because that takes fucking priority.

"There's 95 specials missing from your inventory. Where are they?"

...okay, 95 is a lot. But it was also kind of hard to know how they were 'missing' when we'd sold all of the 275 that we made. How can they be missing if we sold them.

"We need to know where they are."

We don't know where they are. Because we sold all of them. The math didn't add up.

But they hounded us about it like we'd stolen them and resold them on the street corner. Which, to their defense, had happened once (but Sugar stopped doing that when her corner was taken over by the woman who accused Jay of being a demon.) But 95 is a huge number, and these arrangements were a foot wide and two feet tall. Someone would have noticed if a 100x200 foot square opened up in the cooler.

We literally could not know what the fuck they were talking about.

And the truth was extremely stupid: those 95 pieces were redeliveries. When someone has an issue with their order, like it didn't come or it was left out in the snow and got damaged or… someone put the name of their ex on the card instead of their wife… we send a replacement. But depending on who took the phone call, a person might use the wrong code and put it in for 'redeliver' instead- which counts it as another order.

We weren't missing 95 arrangements. We had 95 redeliveries. They hounded us about inventory for two days over a clerical error.

I decided I'd had it. We were going on a full week of crying every time I had a moment alone. They had made us feel like everything that went wrong was our fault: from low turnout to high turnover, missed deliveries and trashed sprays, lost accounts and new grievances…

But did they ever say a Gods damned thing about how hard we worked? How good we were? About how great a team we were under pressure? We once pulled together an entire wedding in fifteen minutes. My ass carried this store through the pandemic. I have done… so much.

So fucking much.

And yet it's our fault.

I had been reasoning with myself that I would stick around for the aftermath when Grandpa was eventually fired: we'd all felt it was coming. But I got that little bit of cash and all my joints were screaming and every time we got negative feedback a part of me died.

The following Tuesday had seen a massive snowstorm. Things that weren't already closed due to the pandemic were closed due to weather.

But we still had to be there. Because someone had to be there to make all the funeral pieces.

Because there wouldn't be a truck the next day, which meant that all of the funeral pieces that we'd sent to the headquarters needed to be made in-house. Which, once again, could have been avoided if we had kept the funeral orders in-house to begin with.

I waited until everyone had cleared out before I said it.

"Grandpa, I have to quit."

I don't think anyone ever looked so disappointed in me in my life.

"Why?"

"The way they treat people here is terrible and I can't see myself doing another Mother's Day for this company. They're so… mean! And for no damn reason! I have cried every day for the past week because I see the way they treat you and I'm… I'm tired."

I thought she was going to cry, but she nodded. "I can't stop you," she said. "I shouldn't stop you. If it's affecting your mental health like this, I'll miss you but its for the best. You know they'll want a written notice."

"And you know I'll tell them the truth," I said.

"...it's not me, is it?"

"If I worked for just you and those fuckers were out of the picture, I would stay. And you can count on me to tell them that."

"Any flower shop you apply to would be lucky to have you."

So I drafted up a resignation letter telling them exactly how I feel: that the way they run this company was asinine and they treated their employees like garbage. They received it on Thursday. Everyone at the shop knew by then. They were upset…

...but they understood.

Puppet did not understand. He emailed Grandpa asking her what she's doing that her people keep leaving.

He didn't see it. He didn't see that he was part of the problem. It always had to be someone else's fault. I explicitly said in my letter whose fault it was and he still didn't take any responsibility.

But suddenly I'm one of their best designers, and he begged me to reconsider, take some time off to think about it. They desperately wanted me to stay and they were willing to bargain, I just needed demands.

No one's ever… begged me before. I don't know if I like that.

This is when it dawned on me that I was next in line. It all made sense now: training me to route, making me do all the extra work, and now they want me to stay?

They were planning on getting rid of Grandpa and promoting me to manager. In a perfect world where Grandpa resigns willingly and I’m promoted on my merits as a designer and the company wasn’t very quickly circling the drain, I would be excited. But I wasn’t. I was frightened. I watched them take a confident, extremely talented woman and turn her into the whipping boy of the flower shop. And if I were in her position, I would have quit. But I don’t have the strength to stand up to the people that are signing my paycheck.

Why… am I at a place where the idea of moving upward makes me more scared than excited?

Flattering, but no. I've seen how you treat your people. My demands are to treat them better.

It was the longest week for me: making lists of pros and cons. I had made a lot of friends there and there's stuff that I will never forget. But the fact that the only people who didn't understand why I was leaving were the people who had the most to lose really hit me in the knees. I could tell them every day for the rest of their lives why they suck and it wouldn't matter because nothing was ever their fault.

And at 7:00 on Friday, I turned in my key.

I didn't have a plan, I didn't have anything lined up. This was one of the hardest decisions I ever had to make and I was just kind of… throwing myself at it.

I don't do that. I always have a plan. I look into every possible scenario and I try to make the smart choice. And this time…

I didn't.

It was probably stupid.

But I slept for 12 hours the next night and I could feel my bones settling into their rightful places. I didn't realize how many health problems were caused by standing for 9 hours a day, 11 days a week until I was home all the time to notice them changing. I will always have a limp from trying to pretend I don't have a limp. I'm pretty sure that ulcer is chronic. But my back isn't seizing up and I don't cry every day anymore.

That's something, I think.

About a week after my departure, I got a text from Grandpa that said:

"Hey guess what."

"What," I replied.

The next text was a picture of a week's old seal-point kitten with terminal eye-goo, wrapped in a towel.

"Pop-eye!?"

"I'm keeping this one," she said. The strays had dropped a litter of identical baby kittens by her pond. Two years later, with Jake put down, she could finally have Pop-eye, even if it was version 2.0.

The next text was a few days later. "Puppet fired me."

"What!? Why?"

"Too many accidents, too high turnaround. The new people suck, he says no one wants to work with me."

"Are you okay? How are you doing?"

"I'm okay." She paused and the loading screen did its little dot dance. "I'm playing with my kitten."

[ressyfaerie]

Last suggestion! (I've only saw the dub & not read the manga so pls forgive if I'm wrong with this and they all know) Random headcanon that somehow Kai is the last to know about Tyson's mom passing. Idk but I feel like Kai makes a tasteless comment and the team are like dude we know this? And he's just generally ??? what? He misunderstands and thinks it's recent and speaks to Tyson but he tells him it's been years and years and he's at peace with it. Bonus if awkward hug/attempt at one from Kai 😂 (I also headcanon he's never had a hug so has no idea how to)

AWWW this sounds so cute im doin it. Oh alcohol mentions! It wrote itself but its v cute im proud of this one for sure!!!

Just teenagers being teenagers.

A night in the dojo without adult supervision and nothing to do meant stealing alcohol from the liquor cabinet and singing karaoke.

Ray and Max’s harmonies shattered eardrums.

Tyson laughed, “how can they be high and low pitched at the same time?”

Acting silly and opening up was what tonight was all about.

Even Kai got talkative after a few drinks, you could even say he was acting—

“Irresponsible! Kai get down from there!” Tyson held his sides laughing so hard he thought his lungs would collapse.

Kai hung off the edge of the couch, lounging like a rich prince.

Max hopped up beside him, “what are you doing buddy?”

“I’m a cat.”

The room fell into an uproar of laughs and giggles. Kai fell to the cushions laughing as well.

Tyson took every opportunity to jab questions into Kai.

“Favourite animal?”

“Cats.”

“Favourite food?”

“That ramen you made for us that one time.”

“Favourite dance?”

“Never done it, but I’m a fan of swing.”

“Favourite childhood toy?”

Now he got hung up on that one.

They both laid on the floor, everyone slowly joined. Music from karaoke turned on low escaped the TV surrounding the room in a comforting atmosphere.

“I never really had one.”

“Everyone had one!”

“My parents gave me a stuffed tiger.” Ray grinned while holding a pillow close to his chest, “I lost it though. Man, I loved that thing.”

Max started to talk, then stopped giggling, “I had a piece of silk.”

They laughed, Tyson was the first to respond, “a piece of silk?”

“I called it silky. I was from one of my mom’s old skirts. I would sleep with it every night when she was gone.” He chuckled, “I actually still have it.”

“Where is it?” Ray asked.

“At my dads. I keep it on my nightstand.”

Hilary was sleeping on the couch with her head on Kenny’s lap, Kenny joined the conversation with a hushed voice. “Was it hard? Having a mom that was only half there all the time?”

“Yeah. I always told myself… At least I have a mom. There’s lots of people who aren’t as lucky as me.”

“Yeah…” Kenny trailed off, knowing he had two parents that loved him, and he probably wasn’t welcome in the conversation about to ensue.

“Your Dad’s nice though.” Ray pointed out.

“I love my Dad. My Mom can be a handful…”

“Other way around for me.” Tyson had his arms folded behind his head, “at least you don’t have any crazy siblings.”

“Dude, fuck Hiro.” Kai hiccuped.

“Guess we learned Kai has a low alcohol tolerance.” Max threw a pillow at Kai to catch him off guard.

He caught it in midair.

“Ooohhhh!!” Tyson cooed in awe.

Kai grumbled,” I’m fine. I just hate that guy.”

“Well I never knew my parents thanks for asking.” Ray changed the subject delicately, Kai had a habit of getting aggressive when he talked about Hiro, he didn’t want the conversation to turn sour.

“Why not?” Tyson asked with a drunken lack of compassion.

Ray shrugged, “ it takes a village to raise a child, I guess that’s what happened.”

“Makes sense.” Tyson sat up lazily, “wanna know what my favourite toy was?”

“Hell yeah!” Max somehow had another pillow and was throwing it in the air and catching it over and over again.

“Other than Dragoon, it was this old kendo sword my mom gave me. It was an heirloom. I still have it, but I played with it so much I wore it out, I’m afraid to use it again.”

Surprisingly, it was Kai who responded.

“Wow, your Mom must have put a lot of trust in her kid to give them something like that. She must have loved you a lot.”

The room grew quiet and cold.

Kai turned to look at Tyson, who was just staring back with a blank expression.

“I’m going to go get some water.” Tyson sat up making his way to the kitchen.

As soon as they heard the door slide shut, Max shoved a fist into Kai’s chest.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?!”

“Idiot! Tyson’s Mom died when he was just born! He never even met her! He never talks about it because it's a bit of a touchy subject!”

Max frowned and glared at Kai.

“Sorry.” Kai started, “I never really clued in. I thought she died when he was older.”

Ray slapped a hand to his forehead, “dude, we know this.”

Kai sighed, “I’ll go apologize.”

“Yeah you better!” Max threw the pillow at him, this time Kai let it hit him, accepting his punishment weakly.

“Tyson?”

The kitchen was dimly lit, Tyson was making something at the counter.

“You want some tea Kai?”

“What kind?”

“Just green tea. Nothing special.”

Kai watched him pour the water, unsure how to start, he could still feel the effects of alcohol bouncing around his brain. He waited a moment, hoping to articulate his thoughts appropriately.

“I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay, Kai. It’s been a long time, almost two decades, I mean—you’d think I’d be over it?”

Kai saw his eyes, slightly damp with tears.

“This is a tough subject for you. I’m sorry.”

Tyson rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, letting out a sniffle.

“I’ve always been okay with it. I guess… I’ve never known anything different. I do wish my father and brother were more present though.”

Tyson stared out the window into the darkness of night. He couldn’t see anything, but he still looked, for a long while.

Kai licked his lips before continuing, “I never knew my parents well either. They abandoned me, I have some memories of them, but not much.”

Tyson gave him his attention, and tried to change the subject, “so you would have had a favourite toy then?”

Kai suppressed a laugh, knowing what he was trying to do,” like I said, my memories of that time are fuzzy. I actually remember more of the abbey—surprisingly enough.”

“Oh.” Now Tyson was worried he had overstepped.

“Do you remember what your Mom looked like?” Kai wasn’t sure why he was pressing the subject, he normally wouldn’t.

Tyson blinked a few times, surprised by Kai’s sudden curiosity. “Um, apparently I have her hair, and her eyes. Her face was soft too, so I guess I got all my Mom’s features.”

Tyson rubbed the back of his head grinning.

Kai agreed, “thank god.”

Tyson let out a fast laugh, “ha! Did you just call my Dad ugly?”

Kai squinted his eyes, “I guess I did?”

They fell into probably the hundredth laugh attack of that night, Tyson placed his hand on Kai’s shoulder stabilizing himself.

Their laughs drifted away, Kai glanced at Tyson’s hand, then at his best friend.

“I’m sorry you never knew your mother.”

Tyson was caught off guard at Kai’s soft voice.

“I’m sorry you never really knew yours…” Tyson returned the sympathy.

Kai grinned, and bit his lip, “I’m sorry your Dad’s so ugly.”

“Ha!”

The uncontrollable giggles had Tyson holding his side, and Kai hunched over. They were so close to each other now. Tyson’s hand had drifted to Kai’s neck, he could feel his warm skin and heartbeat. Kai had gone completely against his character, and was holding Tyson’s stomach trying to prevent him from keeling over.

Then Tyson fell forward, letting his chin prop on Kai’s shoulder.

Kai was halfway to hugging him.

When he realized this, he stopped giggling, and Tyson’s irregular breathing was the only remnant of laughter left in the room.

Kai’s voice barely reached Tyson’s ear, “I’ve never hugged anyone before.”

“First.” Tyson wrapped his arms around Kai’s shoulders.

Kai held his arms out loosely, “what are you, a youtube comment?”

Short laughs, Kai felt Tyson’s chest rumble with each chuckle, he let his hands fall into Tyson’s body.

He had his arms wrapped around Tyson’ abdomen, then curled them along his back, completely unsure if what he was doing was right.

Tyson’s voice reverberated through Kai’s ears, “I can hear your heartbeat.”

“What does it sound like?”

“Fast.”

They didn’t say anything.

Kai felt Tyson’s long hair against his cheek, he had never felt such soft hair, let alone so close… He breathed in.

“You smell like cedarwood and cherry blossom.”

“It’s my shampoo.”

Neither one of them had the confidence to break apart, or maybe... they didn’t want to.

Kai found his hand gliding up Tyson's spine, he felt Tyson shiver slightly at the touch. He gently played with the ends of Tyson’s blue hair, feeling it twirl through his fingers like silk.

“Are you… are you playing with my hair?” Tyson’s voice rang in disbelief.

Kai’s eyes grew wide when he noticed what he was doing. He pushed himself away, keeping one hand on Tyson’s side, he didn’t want to let go completely, out of fear he could never go back.

Tyson was in a mirror position with one hand on his shoulder.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Tyson smirked.

“You better not.”

“You can play with my hair whenever you want.”

“Can I!?” Kai took a step back after he realized how excited his voice was.

“Learn how to tie a braid and then we can talk.” Tyson pushed the envelope with his teasing.

“I’ll google it right now.”

[hansoulo]

your heart wears night armor

part 9 of ain’t it a gentle sound (the rolling in the graves)

pairing: Horacio Carrillo/f!Reader

word count: 3.7k

warnings: cursing, discussions canon-typical violence and blood, descriptions of religion, catholic imagery, and praying (it’s 2 paragraphs before the first break and you can just scroll past if you’re uncomfortable/don’t care to read it) uhh…, i think that’s it?? light angst but we kinda been knew at this point

gif credit: my soulmate @pascalplease​

A/N:  @1zashreena1 i owe u and that first day of school ask my life god bless 🙏🙏 set in like 1991 idk time isn’t real

masterlist carrd

Domesticity during war is a curious thing. You’d left your old apartment years ago and a man had moved in beside you, in your new, promoted house, with his young wife and her stomach swollen by pregnancy. You’d smiled and been neighborly. Teased about play-dates and dinner parties and tight-lipped husbands, the way you used to. Had actually gone to a dinner party and admired their blue-edged china, pouring out the woman’s sparkling water as Isabella grabbed at your wrists.

She’d moved out, alone save for her child and one gifted medal. He was very brave, apparently.

You weren’t surprised when a new couple came by a few months later.

So you lived your life, a good life, a happy one, shielded by shoulders and smiles and rough-hewn hands clasped in prayer. Receiving the good favor of a virgin mother, wearing a painted clay veil and balming men’s conscience. Good Catholic boys, who died in the name of a “something” and looked Saint Peter in the eyes when they met him again. Your good, Catholic man. Rosaries and holy water. Unholy blood. Stained cherry glass and crimson hands. Prayers and prayers and prayers, made by mothers and fathers and wives.

You had prayed, once. Had knelt at an altar and let the wood dig into your knees like a penance for a sin you didn’t remember committing but felt guilty for enjoying anyhow. You pleaded for one promise to keep him safe and thanked a nameless saint for your fortune, sated when you heard the slap of your sandals on marble and the echo of all your thoughts in the high, vaulted ceilings.

Guilt is strange. “Healing” in quotation marks is strange. You always hated the way people phrased it, as if one day you’d arrive someplace and get a lacquered button pinned to your shirt pocket reading a congratulations. Dr. Reyes hated it, too, and you’d smiled when she made some long-winded metaphor about journeys and life and cat posters. For now you were content with walking, one hand held and one hand holding, with white-knuckled palm promises and the warm, curled grasp of a child.

⫸ ——— ⫷

You gripped the car keys, feeling them dig into your palm as you tried to brush off the hand on the doorknob. “Horacio,” you let out, frazzled with all the rush of a January morning, anxious and tired from the previous day’s shift. You didn’t need to work today though, thank god . “I can take my own damn daughter to her first day of school.”

His hand left the door, only to snake loosely around your waist. When you only sighed, not pulling away, a rough thumb came to rub at the curve of your jaw and bid your gaze to meet his. She has your eyes, you’d once said. Dark and sloping, edged by black lashes. Bright. Gentle.

“No,” he said, apologetic but resolute.  “You can’t.”

“I can,” you repeated weakly to yourself, your own hand starting to loosen its hold around the cold rings of metal. “Horacio,” you whispered, shaking your head as his arms wrapped a bit tighter. “The guards, the- the guns. They scare her.”

His brows knitted together while you spoke, quiet as to not alarm Isabella - now a few months shy of six - sitting by the kitchen counter in a blue school skirt. She didn’t look up from her the contents of her backpack, so you continued. “I’m just- I’m tired, I guess,” you admitted with a small hitch in your voice, examining the angry red indents left in your palms. You let him shift you until you faced away from the door, tucked closer into his chest, and reached to fiddle with the silver buttons of his uniform while you spoke.“It’s bad enough that they’re always outside.”

You looked up to see Isabella clambering off of her chair with a scrape of its legs against your kitchen tiles. It’s first grade, she’d reminded you the night before in hurried Spanish while you brushed her hair, chiding her to sit still. She’d set out her uniform carefully, insisting on brightly colored hair clips and two tight braids. We can’t be late.

Your now-husband squeezed your shoulders and his lips were pursed - not in annoyance, but in concern. “Mi amor,” Horacio began, cupping the base of your neck and squeezing softly. Mi amor, he called you. A love. His love. Saccharine, maybe, to foreign ears but to him, to him it was doctrine.  You let out a shallow breath. “It’s too dangerous without them,” Horacio reminded you, the rough pad of his thumb tracing over your lips. “You know that.”

You closed your eyes, nodding into the lingering kiss left on your forehead. “Yeah, I know.” Smoothing away the pretend lint on his collar, you pressed your nose to his jaw before moving to step away, inhaling the soft scent of laundry and sandalwood soap. The arms around you loosened to let you go. “Doesn’t mean I like it though,” you mumbled, attempting petulance but failing when another kiss was placed on your cheek.

“We’ll be with her,” Horacio reminded you, his voice placating in your ear. “And it’s just Trujillo,” he assured. You perked up at the name and laughed when Isabella did likewise, her steps towards the both of you quick and echoing her new school shoes.

“Is he coming?” she asked, repeating the question in English and then Spanish again when neither of you answered quickly enough for her liking. Bouncing on the balls of her heels, Isabella tugged on the fabric of your pants with an urgency that seemed unfit for the slightness of her body. “Is he here? Is he going to drive us?”

You reached to smooth down the loose curls escaping from her braids and looked back behind you for confirmation, pleased to report in the affirmative when Horacio nodded.

She didn’t wait much longer for you to open the door, bounding down your front steps to meet the man now standing by a shelled vehicle, a tanned hand resting on the holster at his hip.

“The Jeep?” you asked, incredulous.

Horacio shrugged. “It’s bulletproof.”

“Right,” you answered slowly, watching Trujillo bend down to give the girl a hug. “And they couldn’t bulletproof, say, a minivan?” Horacio only chuckled, walking you down to the car, and you grew more serious.  “Thank you, though. For bringing him, and not the… cavalry, I guess.”

In sunlight, Horacio's eyes were lighter - edged by shadowed rings but pooling in deep, fractured amber. Apologetic. “It’s the least I could do,” he said.

Isabella glanced back towards the both of you and you caught the flash of a cellophane candy wrapper, accompanied by a no le digas a tu mamá when Trujillo slipped it in her pocket. Waving at you with an impish smile, the officer slid into the passenger seat.

“I heard that,” you called out. He raised his eyebrows, declaring his innocence, and said nothing more.

The weather was slow with its languid breezes, blanketing everything in the soft smell of baked clay and clear mountain air. In the distance, the first swells of morning traffic began their course.

Isabella climbed into the car (or tank, depending on who you asked) and helped you buckle her seatbelt. When you turned to meet the back of the man behind you,  you heard the girl plead, “Don’t kiss.”

When you asked why, she wrinkled her nose. “It’s gross.”

“You see us kiss all the time,” you replied, handing her her backpack. Horacio’s hand came to pass gently along your waist, a quiet reminder of the openness of the road you now stood on.

Isabella shook her head, the dark braids tumbling beside her rounded cheeks. “It’s still gross.”

“How ‘bout you close your eyes,” you offered, leaning out of the car and hearing your husband’s quiet laugh. Catching Trujillo’s face in the reflection of the side mirrors, you grinned. “I can count down if you want.”

“Promise?” Isabella asked, raising her hands to cover her face.

“Promise,” you answered. “Are they closed? Good, okay on three. Ready? One… two… thr-” but your count was muffled, turning into a soft mmph by a pressing mouth. Horacio’s hands curling around the Jeep doors as you reached to steady yourself on his shoulders. The kiss was chaste, quick and barely a peck, but you still smiled when he pulled away.

Running your tongue along your front teeth, you could taste the slow dilution of orange juice.  “You can open them now,” you assured Isabella. The girl peeked out between her fingers and sighed in dramatic relief, letting her arms fall to her sides. “You too,” you said to the officer in the passenger seat. Trujillo only rolled his eyes in mild amusement, his gaze fixed firmly on a point far, far off in the distance.

Horacio pressed his lips against your temple once more before you moved to sit down, waiting until you’d done your own seatbelt to close the car door behind you. His boots scuffed heavy against the stoned street and you spoke to Isabella as he walked to the driver’s side. “One day, y’know, you might actually like kissing.”

She shook her head emphatically, her expression one of exaggerated disgust. “Never. Never ever.”

“Suit yourself,” you responded, moving to face the front windows to see your husband now at the steering wheel, his expression fighting to keep itself stern. “Y’know,” you added in a stage whisper, “your dad’s a very good kisser.”

“Gross!”

⫸ ——— ⫷

“I didn’t cry,” you said, shaking your head as Horacio opened the car door for you a few minutes after the first school bell rang. When he only hummed and Trujillo (now on the driver’s side) let out a barking laugh, you protested. “I didn’t!”

Horacio hid his unconvinced sincerity with a slow nod. You leant against the edge of the door when it shut, its hollow metal hot from the sun underneath your temples. Orange starbursts swam across your vision when you swiped quickly at your face with your knuckles. “I didn’t cry,” you maintained, feeling the rising stuffiness of your throat. “It’s allergies. I’m very- I’m very... pollen-sensitive.”

That was technically true - he'd bought you enough pink antihistamine tablets and tissues enough times to prove it - but you knew it wasn’t the cause of anything now. The reason for your swollen eyes was sitting in a real, grownup chair after two years of preschool and one year of kindergarten, a pencil case filled to the brim with bright, sparkly markers. At school.  

The car floor shifted under your feet when your husband turned back towards you, offering the polaroids he’d taken just moments earlier. “Do you want-”

“-yesthankyou-” you exhaled, grabbing the stack of photos from his hands. Spreading them out across your lap, you tried to swallow the lump in your throat. There was one of her getting out of the car… then her walking up to the front entrance... then another of her backpack, then of her shoes and Jesus, how many were there?

You flipped through the rest, scatterbrained and trying to commit every single picture to memory until something prompted your pausing. It was a picture of you.

He must’ve taken it while you weren’t paying attention, oblivious to the camera and turned away, but you were smiling. A bright, blinding smile that seemed to seep pure sunlight through the waxy white paper, up through your fingertips and back towards the swelling of your quickening heartbeat.

“That one,” Horacio said, taking the photograph from you and tucking it into the front pocket of his uniform. “Is for me.”

⫸ ——— ⫷

The engine rolled as the men parked. “Are you sure he’s here?” Javier asked, taking off his aviators to examine the row of terracotta houses, with their red-tile roofs and stucco walls. It was quiet in the mid-morning, temperate and warm. Medellín, the city of eternal spring,  was living up to its name.

Steve stuffed his government I.D (the only way they’d gotten through the gate) back into his pocket and adjusted the belt on his hips. “S’worth a shot. Wasn’t at the office, was he?”

“No,” Javier hummed, scanning the street with his arms crossed, his fingers curling into the fabric of his shirtsleeves. “No, he wasn’t.”

Neither of the men seemed to notice the officer parked beside the street, waiting for his colonel to retrieve some forgotten files before returning to the embassy.

They walked closer towards the house, stepping over a small tricycle that lay forgotten on the front lawn. Steve lowered his sunglasses. “You think it’s his?”

A low laugh escaped Javier’s chest and he shook his head, his steps meeting the front door. “Nah, he has a little girl. From his first wife.”

Somewhere in the house footsteps echoed with a soft voice, too muffled to make out anything beyond the fact that it was a woman. Steve looked back towards his partner, perplexed.

“Second wife,” Javier explained before ringing the doorbell. “Never met her, though.”

The steps grew louder until a pause, with the small peephole of the door waxing their reflections. Steve held up his badge again and stepped back when various locks unlatched until the door was opened, creaking quietly on its joints.  The first thing they saw was your arms, balancing a precarious stack of plastic toys while you nudged the door farther open with a struggling foot. Steve rushed forward to take some from your hands and you smiled back at him, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Sorry about that,” you breathed, setting the brightly colored books and toys on the floor beside you. “Caught me in the middle of cleaning up.” The men shared a quick look at each other, schooling their expressions from the slight shock created at your appearance. You were pretty and barefoot, sporting marker-stained jeans and a loose t-shirt. If they were expecting anyone, this definitely wasn’t it. “You’re DEA, right?”

Javier cleared his throat, elbowing the man beside him. Steve spoke up after a moment. “Yes ma’am. My name’s Agent Murphy, this man right here is Agent-”

“Oh!” you interrupted with a soft slap of your palm against your forehead, chiding yourself and opening the door farther. “Murphy? And Peña, right?”

They both nodded, albeit slowly, but you seemed impervious to their surprise, asking them if they wanted to come inside. The men declined and remained on the stoop, Steve realizing he still held a small rubber ball in his hands while Javier tried to keep his eyes above the scooped neck of your top.

“Was there something you needed?” you continued, bending down to kick out a rise in your runner carpet. “Horacio’s talked about you sometimes, y’know. It’s nice to actually put a face to the name.”

“Horacio?” Steve mumbled to Javier, his lips curling back in an amused, Southern cadence. A man - Colonel to them, or maybe just Carrillo, but Horacio to you - loomed near the edges of the hallway and turned closer when you spoke, his face and his voice familiar as it called out your name. “Speak of the devil,” the blonde agent whispered.

When you leant back into the man’s chest, both men quickly cleared their throats. Javier’s hands rested at his hips in a cocked stance, watching curiously as the colonel turned to whisper in your ear. The words were too quiet for anyone else to hear but you cast your eyes down, smiling to yourself before he pulled away.

You looked back up, the open brightness of your face only magnified when it was placed beside your husband’s stern posture. “I think they need you,” you reminded him. Javier confirmed this with some big lead about a “La Quica” and you bit back a snort at the nickname, pressing your lips together to hide your laugh. It must’ve been kismet, Javier thought, that brought someone like you to someone like him. Someone, he suddenly remembered, who worked in a hospital, witness and mender to the very things Carrillo caused. The man’s eyes were marginally softer here, though, and his hand lingered light on your waist. So maybe it worked.

“You’ll call later?” you asked, catching a soft grip on the colonel’s wrist when he moved to cross through the door. Steve glanced upwards when lips pressed quickly against your forehead, a quiet “of course” spoken into your hair before he walked away down the front steps.

“Surprised someone like that puts up with you,” Javier ribbed, bemused when Carrillo rolled his eyes.

Steve chuckled as they walked in steady tandem towards the parked cars. “Jealous?”

Javier hummed a casual maybe, catching the faint edge of a smile on your husband’s face when you looked out the front window, your silhouette a shadow through gauzy yellow curtains.

⫸ ——— ⫷

You leaned down to whisper in Isabella’s ear, encouraging her to take the few steps forward through the threshold of the office as she held a tall, disposable coffee cup. The rest that you’d brought were quickly put down before being taken by grateful men, their thanks muffled by the sound of lips on crinkling styrofoam. A man, the man you’d come to see, looked up to see you standing beside his desk, your frame edged by the evening light fracturing through the windows.

“You didn’t walk here, did you?” Horacio asked, his voice and his brow drawn over with concern. You lay a hand on his arm, a quiet placation as you rested your hip on a rounded wooden edge.

“I didn’t,” you glanced at the cluster of men on the other side of the room. You heard Isabella laugh, her small legs swinging back and forth as she was placed in a newly-emptied seat. “Hugo drove me.”

Horacio’s thumb traced over the slope of your wrist. “Hugo?”

“Pimienta,” you finished with another look towards the mass of dark green shoulders. “The new recruit.” Horacio nodded with a quiet I see and you give another smile, too observed to do much more. “He’s very sweet,” you assured your husband, offering a small wave when the man (or boy, more like) looked back towards the both of you. Hugo’s returning  grin was awkward, endearingly so, and you bit back a laugh when you caught the embarrassed ducking of his head, his dark skin hiding any rising blush.

He was young, barely out of training and still learning to hide his fear. They all were. Stoic, maybe, when they opened your doors and carried your groceries, but young. So, so young.

You picked up a stray pen, twirling it in your hands as you surveyed his desk. It was annoying neat, and you huffed as you tried to find something more interesting than typed field reports and stacks of manila folders. “No pictures?” you teased. He only pointed to the top corner and your eyes followed, falling on a small frame holding a color photograph. It was mostly of you, but you could see Isabella’s face peeking out of its bottom edge, intruding on the shot with a goofy smile. Her hair was short, curling in dark loops around her ears, so it must’ve been from a few years ago. ‘89, maybe. Yeah, ‘89, when he took that week off in Panama City and spent the whole time trying to teach Isabella how to swim. “That one?” you asked, curious. “I thought you’d want something more… I don’t know… official? Looking?”

He raised an eyebrow, adjusting the frame to its proper place. “Would you like to pose for another one?”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth, remembering the day you had to pin what seemed like fifty military badges to his uniform. “No,” you said, examining the photo and shaking your head. “No, that one’s good.”

Horacio pulled you into the slight alcove of the office, the one filled with high-backed chairs and radio equipment that lay partially hidden from view. “They’re looking,” you mumbled, suddenly more conscious of the officers standing a few feet away. “They think we’re up to something.”

 “Are we?” he asked, smiling. A laugh bubbled up in your throat and you shook your head.

“I...” you began, your voice trailing off. He looked tired, and you were reminded of before, when infants used to cry in hallways and walls were thin. “I probably shouldn’t have come but you said you wouldn’t be home and I just- I just wanted…”

He slid his hands up your arms until they rested at your shoulders, hushing you quietly before speaking. The soft skin of your lips fell from between your teeth and you swallowed, the words resting unfinished beneath your sternum.

I just wanted to see you.

While I knew you were here.

While I knew I still could.

 His fingers rested heavy on the juncture of your neck, their tapering familiarity smoothing back the ache of knotting muscle. His watch was heavy, a tactical thing with a million little numbers, and its ribbed black straps dragged against the necklace holding your wedding ring.  You heard Horacio’s men making conversation - questions in Spanish about Isabella’s school and her favorite colors, compliments on how nice her new shoes looked and that tu madre fue muy dulce al traernos este café - but they floated out of your head, momentary and paling in importance to the way his hands seemed to smooth out every wrinkle of your thoughts, until they lay flat and rubbed back softer with sandpaper fingerprints.

“You never told me why you needed to stay late,” you whispered. He frowned slightly when you noticed the copper blooms dotting the edges of his sleeves, rolled up to rest at his elbows. “Did something happen?”

Horacio’s expression turned softer. Maybe to tamp down your worry. Maybe to try and make you forget it completely. He was like that with you. More gentle. Earnest. One hand raised to cup your jaw. “Nothing bad,” he said, shaking his head at your widened eyes, their color glassy from the fluorescence of office lamps.

“Promise?” you asked, wavering an echo of a morning’s conversation.

He straightened out, an oak to wrapping, shaded ivy. “Promise.”

[buckysgoldenheart]

Partners: August Walker x Reader

Summary: You are partners in the CIA and an injury forces feelings to be revealed.

Words: 2200

Warnings: Gore, i guess. Smut, but not so bad you have to dunk yourself in holy water afterwords, as much fun as that is. Cursing, maybe? I don’t really remember. 

I hope you like it :)

You hated hospitals, you always had. People died in them and who enjoyed death? Only the fuckers you assassinated or put behind bars. Plus, hospitals always reeked of cleanliness. It was nauseating. But you supposed eventually everyone makes it in one, whether it be a pit-stop or your last drop before being buried in dirt forever.

 ---------------

“There is no way that happened!” August laughed, louder than you had ever heard before, and you smiled bright. You loved that sound, and the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the way his teeth were laid out behind his lips. All of it was perfect. You made that happen, you realized. The look he had on his face now, the pure elation, completely raw unlike usual, was because of you and the stupid story you told him about your aunt and her cat.

And now you couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. You certainly hadn’t expected tonight to remind you what extreme joy felt like; not on a typical night with your partner, tracking a man’s location for a couple hours until he finally went home. But tonight didn’t end up typical, not to you. It was the first night August let his guard down around you, really let his guard down. He let you see him and watch as he removed that rough exterior brick by brick.

“It did, I swear! That cat is wicked smart!” You could barely contain your laughter, and the chances of your smile leaving your face was far out of the question. When you looked over at August as you walked side by side down the alley, he was already watching you like he could see every single thing you felt for him. You hoped by the way his eyes seemed to shine that maybe he was thinking of you together, as more than partners in the CIA.

You walked with your bodies close to each other. Even through layers of clothing to stave off the late autumn chill, you could feel the heat radiating from him. It was enough to keep you warm for an entire night. For a minute, you thought maybe you might be able to get to that point. The job was done and you were walking back to the hotel anyway. He could easily move one room over and stay with you.

But then you were reminded why you didn’t get to have things as amazing as a night with August Walker, no matter how much you wanted it. People like you and him, you didn’t get to have each other, and even when you thought it might happen, something always fucked it up.

When you started down that alley, the two of you were alone, laughing and happy. The mission was over for now and somehow, the fact that you were both trained CIA agents was put on the back-burner. So much so that neither of you heard the initial scuff of a heavy boot on the pavement a good twenty feet in front of you. It was the second that had August shooting his head up in the right direction, just in time to catch the thrown knife before it lodged in his chest.

He practically growled at the smaller hooded figure before you and spent no time flipping the knife in his hand and whipping it expertly back at the attacker. The shiny, silver blade landed right between a pair of dark, emotionless eyes and the body fell to the ground, splashing in a couple puddles from the earlier rain.

August said your name before looking at you, but you barely heard it. Your ears rang as you stared down at the hilt of a knife, its thick blade buried deep in your abdomen. When did he throw a second? Or did he throw mine first?

It didn’t feel like much, having a knife stuck in you. You’d been injured on missions, but nothing like this. They were flesh wounds before, in and out, easily fixable. Not this. This was bad, you knew, and it surprised you how little it hurt. Despite your body going into shock, you thought it would at least sting. The bullet wounds had.

Your hand reached for the handle. You knew not to pull it out, that it would have you bleeding out faster, but you now understood the temptation. August stopped your hand before your fingers could wrap around it. He called your name louder as he put his large hands on your cheeks and tried to force you to look at him. He looked hazy, and you were surprised how fast you were losing control of your own body. Then your eyes fell closed despite your attempts to keep them on his face.

 ——————————————————————

Oh right, one other thing you hated about hospitals: that constant, excruciating beeping sound next to every patients’ bed so nurses and doctors could tell if they were still alive or not. It was definitely high on your list of the worst things ever, and right now you couldn’t seem to escape it. It was muddled with a voice in the background, but still rang clear enough to piss you off, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Yes, thank you,” That voice said. You knew that voice. It was not one you would choose to hear if you had the option, but if you were hearing voices at all it meant someone was in the room with you or you were going crazy. In either case it meant you had to be alive, so you guessed that was good. You eased your eyelids open.

“Well, well, she’s awake.” Sloane. You shifted your body and groaned as your boss walked to your side. “You’re quite the sleeper,” She said. “The typical recovery time for this kind of thing is about three days, but congratulations, you made it a whole week.” She sat on your bed in her nice suit. “If you were tired, you could’ve just asked for a day off.”

You did your best to scoff at the lie and Sloane let out a reserved laugh. “We are all glad you are ok.”

We, you thought. August. “When can I get the fuck out of here?”

“As soon as you want. The last few days you’ve just been sleeping off the leftover anesthesia and pain killers.”

“Thank God.”

A few beats passed in silence, then Sloane said, “That guy was hired to take out anyone who spied on the target…He saw you.”

You nodded. It made sense. Your attention was focused on someone else, but if Sloane knew that bit, she would throttle you. Though, the fuck up of being seen would still warrant at least a bit of punishment, which you were sure she would lay out for you soon.

“One thing before you leave here,” She said, and you didn’t like the tone in her voice one bit. “I need you to sign some paperwork.”

Your eyebrows scrunched together. “What for?” She pulled out a packet of papers held together by a large clip and set it down on top of your legs for you to shuffle through. “Just tell me. But skip all the mission details.”

“Walker is requesting a new partner and team. His reasons are spelled out in the forms and I have no reason not to grant his request. There are a couple pages where you have to sign and date.”

 ——————————————————————-

You had asked Sloane when August would be in his office next. She answered the question with a lot of unnecessary information that you paid absolutely no attention to after she said, ‘six p.m., tomorrow.’

You had no reason to rush; this was not going to be some sort conversation, so you waited until six-thirty. He would definitely be in his office by then, and as you stopped in front of the door you saw his form sitting in the desk chair through the fogged glass.

You took a deep breath, calming yourself, then slipped through the door. Before August had a chance to register your presence in his office, you slammed the packet of paperwork on his desk and crossed your arms.

His eyes widened and he quickly looked up at you. “Y/N.”

“You filed for a new partner? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He closed his eyes for a moment then rose from the chair, his hands planted firmly on the cherry wood. “Y/N—”

“We have been partners for two years,” You nearly yelled, holding up your index and middle finger, “And now you decide to just drop me like yesterday’s trash?”

August ran a hand through his dark brown curls. “That is not—”

“You’re an asshole!”

“Just listen to me!” You recoiled at his tone. He had never yelled at you before, not like that. He inhaled slowly then exhaled. “I got distracted,” He said and met your cold stare. “We both know that that is unacceptable.”

“And that all of a sudden makes you not want to work with me anymore? That’s insane, August.”

He shook his head slightly. “It is not insane. Not when what I got distracted by was you.”

You huffed with an aggravated smile. “Are you actually blaming me for this right now? August, we work best together. We have since the beginning.”

He crossed his ridiculously strong arms and you didn’t like it. He was getting mad, yes, but he was guarded now, closing himself off to you. “It doesn’t matter. You almost died.”

“That was an accident!” You groaned and rubbed your palms over your eyes. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was!” He slammed his fist hard against the desk before stepping around it and practically stomping to you. “I would’ve sensed that guy the other night if for one stupid second I focused my thoughts on anything but you! But I didn’t and it almost cost me everything, so yes, it was my fault!”

Everything?

His chest rose and fell as rapidly as yours and he searched your eyes for something. When you figured he found what he was looking for, he closed the two steps between you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and slammed his lips to yours.

You gasped into his kiss but devoured everything he was giving you: the feel of his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt, the way his lips felt, the way his tongue tasted…it was intoxicating, and you soaked up every ounce. When he gripped your sides and lifted you before setting you on the desk, you let out an unexpected squeak. His lips smiled against yours.

You reached for the belt of his black slacks, undid it, unzipped, and slipped your hand behind the layer of his underwear. He bucked against your hand and groaned loud, the vibration on your lips sending heat straight to your core. Fuck, you wanted him.

He pulled away for a second to smile at you, and as you smiled back, he reached for the hem of your top and slipped it over your head. His eyes went wide at the sight of you and you hoped the blush forming on your cheeks was not making its way down your neck to your chest. August leaned down to kiss the top of your breasts peeking out above your bra, then trailed kisses all the way up your neck, to your jaw, under your ear, and as he kissed your lips again, his fingers slowly unclasped the garment.

Straps slid down your shoulders as you kissed. You chucked it to the side before placing your hands back on him and pulling his cock free from his pants. When you stopped him to get a good look at just how big he was and licked your lips, August tilted your chin back up to him and shook his head.

“Not now,” He said, somehow reading your mind. “Later.” He pecked your lips and pushed your skirt up high to your hips. “Now, I just want you.”

You nodded and stroked him a few times, trying to keep yourself from falling apart at the feeling of his fingers rubbing at your clit. “Lean back,” He said, and you did until your spine hit the wood. August yanked your hips forward until you were fully against him, then pulled your panties to the side with a finger. He met your eyes for a moment and you nodded.

As he eased himself inside you, your eyes slammed shut and your brain fuzzed. Every inch was more beautifully agonizing than the last as he stretched you. “Look at me,” He whispered. There was more than lust swirling within the blue and you knew you would be more than happy to see him look at you that way for a long, long time.

August pulled you up until your chest was against his as he fully settled himself inside you. With his hands on your cheeks, his thumbs stroked back and forth. He hummed contentedly and touched his forehead to yours.

“Come home with me,” He said.

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He thrust into you once, twice, then kissed you sweetly.

@agniavateira​

[artificialqueens]

Chase the Shadows Away (Taywhora) - Juno

Summary: It’s April 2020, the UK is in lockdown, and Tayce gets a hand-delivered letter from her neighbour Aurora which may change her life.

A/N: So this is set during lockdown and does mention covid, so please bear this in mind when reading if this will be a worry, but otherwise I hope you enjoy. CWs in place for alcohol, mental health mentions, and non-adherence to lockdown rules at one point. 

Otherwise it’s quite fluffy with some h/c. I hope you enjoy.

The first letter Tayce got was in early April.

She hadn’t had much post since the whole country had been locked down, no one allowed to move outside their front doors for more than once a day for threat of fines and penalties and even getting sick. Most of the letters she was getting this week had been birthday cards for her absent housemate. She’d put the various brightly-coloured cards and Amazon boxes in a pile outside Viv’s bedroom door, and gave the pile the middle finger every time she walked past it.

But today there was a plain, white envelope, with “Hi” written on it in glittery red pen, and when Tayce opened it, she found a piece of notebook paper that had been folded at least four times, and Tayce nearly threw it across the room with the effort it was taking to open.

This had better be worth it.

When she got it unfolded, she read the three lines in the same glitter pen, then again, and once more just in case.

‘Hi, I’m Aurora. I’m on my own in my flat 7D because my housemate moved home because of lockdown, and you seem to be alone too. Want to write to each other? X’

And Tayce couldn’t hold back the rush of emotion, as much as she tried - but she was alone, and she took comfort knowing only these four walls would see tears stream down her face.

——

Tayce was on her own in the flat.

In the day time she opened her work laptop, thanking god she was allowed to work from home; throwing a hoodie over her pyjama top just in time for the 9am meeting where her boss grinned at everyone and told them all to keep swimming and chin up and whatever other self-indulgent bullshit she had read in her How To Motivate Your Teammanual in the chapter about Managing Pandemics. 

Tayce was still surprised at how much bullshit her workmates seemed to swallow; all of them with the same broad smiles and straightened hair and shaved chins and eyeliner, for fuck’s sake - but Tayce copied them, knowing that not painting her own smile and her own eyebrows on was damning herself for the inevitable call and the simpering It’s Good To Talk conversation, followed by u k hun xx to be flashing repeatedly in the work WhatsApp group from all the team.

In the evenings, the only noise was the clink of the glass bottle against the wine glass. One glass was enough to make her a little sleepy, two was enough to make her dance, and three was enough to make her post something cryptic on her insta story and see if anyone DMed her. 

Sometimes they did. 

Joe liked to crack a few morbid jokes about how it was the apocalypse and we were all going to be dead by 2021, which didn’t help Tayce in the slightest. Ginny would message “You alright, bab?” at three in the morning, but never reply to any other message. Tia would send Tayce a picture of the banana bread she’d baked as if that would cheer Tayce up.

And Cherry sent her a message one time, telling her to look after her mental health, and then Tayce felt bad because Cherry worked for the NHS and only seemed to work and sleep right now, her insta photos showing her looking more and more gaunt, with #ClapForHeroes and #ProtectTheNHS appearing at the bottom of all her posts.

Nothing curbed the gaping black hole in Tayce’s chest, sucking everything that was good from her body and leaving her a shell.

Until the letter arrived.

——

Two days after she’d posted her own letter back to 7D, another letter arrived, in the same glittery red pen, this time addressed to her, with Tayce written on the front of the envelope this time.

‘Hi Tayce (sp?) nice to meet you, don’t worry I don’t know what to say either! Where in Wales are you from? I’m from Nottingham but I came to London for uni and didn’t leave! Are you still working rn? I got furloughed which is a bit shit. And my housemate is staying with her boyfriend so she can’t move back. Have you been clapping for the NHS? Someone on my floor was banging a pan or something!! Hope your ok? WB Aurora xx’

“I’m making a new friend,” Tayce had said to her mum on the phone later that night.

“In lockdown?”

“She’s delivering me letters.”

“How?”

“By hand, mum.” Tayce forced a laugh. “You know. Through the letterbox like a normal letter.”

“I hope you’re washing your hands before and after you open them, are you?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tayce grimaced as she said it.

“Good. Stay safe. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

One of these days, Tayce thought as she disconnected the call, she might be able to say it without her voice breaking.

——

By mid-April, a full month since lockdown had started and two weeks after the first letters between them, Aurora had given Tayce her instagram handle, and Tayce had given hers in return. Tayce found herself spending all of her Good Friday skimming down the page on moreauroramore, looking through all of her new pen pal’s photos and trying desperately not to look like an idiot by accidentally double-tapping any that were obviously over a year old.

Tayce had pictured Aurora in her mind as being over-excitable, short, with dark hair and lots of dusty pinks and baby blues and other pastel colours as her aesthetic, maybe with pot plants and cat pictures and cutesy little slogans surrounded by hearts. Instead she’d found a smolderingly attractive woman with a ridiculously versatile and sophisticated sense of fashion; one photo in a rococo-inspired summer dress, and the next in a cerulean blazer, matching trousers, and stilettos. Her hair was platinum-blonde, but it was hard to tell her eye colour as she seemed to own a never-ending plethora of colour contacts; and the eyebrow ring in the early pictures was replaced by a silver septum ring in later ones. 

Her own insta looked quite plain in comparison, Tayce thought to herself. The landscapes she liked to post were interesting to her but probably not to the magnificent person on Aurora’s insta. The last picture Tayce had taken was of herself with her brother and niece in red rugby shirts just before the Six Nations was on; the last selfie before the last time she’d gone home which was … only February, she realised. 

February felt like years ago.

When Tayce had awoken the next morning, she was greeted by the doorbell, and an Amazon driver sprinting away the moment she opened the door. A letter was on the doormat, in the familiar red glittery pen, and a single chocolate Easter egg. 

‘Happy Easter Tayce. Don’t know if you celebrate but lol thought you would like some chocolate anyway! Don’t eat it all at once. Aurora xx’

It made Tayce’s gut wrench with guilt that she hadn’t thought to get Aurora one.

But it made Tayce even more pained, once she had clicked onto her instagram, to see that moreauroramore had liked all thirteen of the pictures she’d posted this year.

——

The zoom call at the end of April with the others from her uni group, saw not just Cherry missing, but also Ellie and Veronica.

“Ellie’s moving this week,” Lawrence nodded at the screen, “but that was all she’d tell me. She didn’t say where. Or if she’s staying in Dundee or anything. I just know she’s still trying to get her internet set up and I think she’s a bit stuck.”

“What about Vee?” Ginny asked in a low voice.

They all recognised the somber tone. They’d all taken it up. A change in their voices that all of them recognised in a kind of collective telepathic awareness. A hush in the calls, as if someone were dying, or had just died. Whenever anyone was missing, it was always the same worry circling all of their minds: what if it’s covid what if it’s covid what if it’s -

Tia was shaking her head. “It’s not covid,” she said, reading the minds of everyone through the internet, but her voice was still solemn as she continued. “I spoke to her mum. She’s -“

“Say depressed, Tia, it’s fine.” Bimini spoke gently, but not all of them were as open as Bimini was. Especially when it came to Veronica, who was a brick wall when it came to showing what she was feeling.

“She’s - not in a good place.”

“Say mental health,” Bimini said, shaking their head. “It’s okay to not be okay.”

“I don’t think that’s gonna make her feel any better, Bim.” Tia rolled her eyes. 

“We’re all feeling this,” Pip nodded. “We all need to talk to each other.”

“Veronica won’t. Not yet. We just need to be there for her when she does. Anyway, who’s done anything interesting? Anyone else been trying banana bread? Everyone managed to find bogroll from somewhere now? No one is having the same problem that Joe had when she -“

“I don’t think we need to go any further with that one, love,” Joe muttered.

“I’ve made a pen friend.”

Everyone sat in stunned silence at Tayce’s sentence, mouths open like fish at feeding time.

“A pen friend? What is this, 1986?”

“Shut up, Ginny. I think that’s kind of cute, actually,” Tia mused, tilting her head to one side. 

Tayce nodded. “Something a bit different. She lives in my block of flats. Two floors up from me. Been nice, to talk to someone, ever since Viv buggered off to her boyfriend’s house. Seriously, as soon as Boris announced lockdown she was jumping in her car and off to Liverpool.”

“You said she was a bit flaky,” Tia said sympathetically. “What’s your new pen pal’s name?”

“Aurora.”

“A-what?” Ginny raised their eyebrows. “Can we just call her Rory?”

“No.”

“We should get her on a call with us when Veronica’s back. Ronni and Rory, sounds like Ant and Dec will have some stiff competition when they get wind of that.”

“Ginny -“ Tia began, but Tayce was trying to hold back a chuckle. 

——

‘Someone is talking about a street party on the 8th of May. Are you gonna go? I was gonna stay indoors but if you’re gonna go outside i will too xx’

Tayce knew she shouldn’t be thinking of meeting strangers outside her flat while the pandemic was ongoing, but she hadn’t seen a familiar human since March other than on a zoom call screen. 

‘Hi Aurora, yeah i will go outside for a little bit. Look forward to meeting you properly instead of over letters! Tayce’

And Tayce finally stopped hesitating, adding two kisses on the end for the first time.

The weather was meant to be lush for a May bank holiday, as Tayce knew because her colleagues wouldn’t shut up about it. Almost eight weeks of lockdown were beginning to show the cracks in all their faces - no more eyeliner, and even Linda in Accounts had stopped posting boomerang videos of her kids doing Joe Wicks workouts while she waved her arms behind them. 

So Tayce was over the moon when Friday rolled around and she could slam the Dismiss button on her phone alarm, turn over and sleep in until noon. Once she woke up though, she sat up with a jolt in her bed and realised she’d have to get ready; somehow it was important that she looked right today. 

It was a power play, she knew it. An armour. But there was just something about clothes that made her mood turn in an instant. Her favourite leather jacket was probably a bit too heavy for the warm sunshine - warm sunshine? In May? - so she opted for the black denim instead and a skirt that hugged her slender figure, leaving her hair loose and wishing she’d gone for a trim before the lockdown. Maybe she should take her scissors to it? 

She held the only scissors she had to hand - a pair of craft scissors - and wondered what her hairdresser mum would say if she knew that her daughter had taken non-styling scissors to the 30-inches of hair that she had. 

No - better not. Her mum could give her a go over once the lockdown period had ended.

Someone was playing tunes on a speaker already when Tayce came down the stairs, dragging the garden chair Viv had left behind and brushing the digestive crumbs off it. One of the neighbours she recognised from her floor handed her an ice-cold can of Fosters which she sipped, not really enjoying the taste but relishing the freedom of it all. She knew to keep two metres from everyone, and she knew Cherry would absolutely murder her if she disobeyed that rule.

As soon as Aurora came into view from the block of flats, Tayce knew that keeping to the two metre rule would prove a little harder than she had first thought.

Aurora’s insta pictures showed a fashion model trapped in a little box on a screen, striving to get out - but in the flesh, she looked as if she had just rolled out of the living room after a Tiger King marathon. The grey jogging bottoms paired with the crop top and zip-up hoodie were probably too warm for today - 23 degrees, the radio kept repeating - but she made them look so effortless and stylish that Tayce suddenly wanted to buy some. Her platinum hair was piled in a messy bun, dark brown roots showing but the lackadaisical nature made it seem like Aurora meant it that way.

On her insta page, Aurora was way out of Tayce’s league; but here in life, she seemed a lot more accessible, a lot calmer, a lot more real. 

Maybe it’s armour for her too. All this perfection in the photos. God. Why did I wear this?

She dropped her own deck chair down a reasonable distance from Tayce, taking another can of Fosters from the same neighbour and cracking it open. She took a swig, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, and waved.

“Hi, Tayce. Here we are, then!”

“Yeah,” was the only thing Tayce could think of in response. Really cool. Very clever.

But Aurora was talking animatedly about how much she’d missed the sun, as she pulled a pair of sunglasses from her pocket and leaned back against the deck chair, claiming “Tesco are having them on sale - two for £12, so I got two - what else am I gonna do on furlough other than sunbathe!”

And the more the Fosters flowed - their neighbour’s 24-pack almost completely gone before 5pm, he seemingly wanting to give a can to the whole block - the more Aurora opened up her life history to Tayce. 

How much she wished she was still in Worksop and could go on the long walks into the forest. How she’d give anything to hug her mum, a care-worker, and how she FaceTimed her shielding grandad every Sunday at 6.30 just after he finished his tea. 

But most of all, how lonely it was every single night being alone in a flat in a huge city. Aurora dabbed her watery eyes with her thumbs as she described how much she loved everything that London had to offer when it was full of people, not dead to the world like it was now - and in this hollow place that lockdown was, she’d discovered that a city - any city, however exciting - was just a built-up area if you had no one to share it with. 

Tayce hadn’t expected to cry. She’d cried maybe once or twice this whole time in lockdown, still too numb to have taken everything in that was happening. But the moment she’d opened her mouth, suddenly the Fosters had started talking for her too, and she was spilling out her worries onto the pavement below them as Aurora rubbed her back. 

How her mum was furloughed from the hairdresser and her dad was always out in the lorry up and down the country. Her brother and sister-in-law, and her niece, were all still fine in Newport, but Tayce had missed her niece’s birthday, having to settle for blowing her a kiss down FaceTime and promising her through gritted teeth and cold fear that she’d give her the biggest cwtch ever as soon as this was over.

But now Tayce was in tears again, this time on Aurora’s shoulder, releasing her sorrows onto this woman who she had only exchanged written words with; now seeing her true soul laid bare in emotions that just refused to stop once she started. Aurora’s gentle hands ghosted through her hair, but then gripped Tayce tightly to her chest, planting a long, tender kiss on her hairline. 

How had this happened? How had social distancing become this? Two people, thinking they were islands, clinging to one another for dear life?

Tayce held her for too long.

Aurora’s hands froze as she realised what she had done at the same moment Tayce had.

Cherry is gonna kill me.

Aurora walked with Tayce back to her flat as the sun was setting. It was nine in the evening, the heat finally starting to break, and both of them were aching and tired, spent from their tears. Aurora gave Tayce’s hand a gentle squeeze but said nothing else, her eyes red underneath her sunglasses, and Tayce had felt herself harden once again, turning the key in the door and closing the outside world back to where it should be.

——

After two weeks had passed, both of them not developing any symptoms after their contact, Tayce had an idea. 

She put the letter through the letterbox in 7D at midday when she broke for lunch, and had a reply by half past one, a new record for Aurora.

‘Tayce, I’d love to form a support bubble with you. I thought you would have one already thats why i didn’t ask! Want to put on a film tonight and just chill? Bubble bud? Aurora xx’

So Tayce saw inside Aurora’s flat for the first time that same evening. After work, she practically sprinted up the stairs, thankful to get away from more of u k hun xx and her still-simpering colleagues.

It was very clean, as if it had only just been cleaned that day - freshly-washed surfaces, hoovered carpets, a sparkling bathroom - and Tayce marvelled at how tidy and orderly things were, a stark contrast from her own living space which had evolved into a nest of mess by now. Aurora’s living room and kitchen space were one area, with a mismatched sofa and chair facing the tv screen, hooking up a PS4 - Tayce hadn’t counted Aurora as a Dishonoured player either. The wall opposite the window was filled with small pictures of past fashion models - Kate Moss, Agyness Deyn, Cara Delevigne - all with matte black frames which had obviously been painted in lockdown, as one was on the coffee table drying over a copy of Hello magazine.

“My housemate’s not coming back, I can see it happening now,” Aurora shrugged, “so why not make the house the way I like it while I look for someone else to live with?”

Aurora poured Tayce a huge glass of wine, and that was followed by another; while she topped up her own glass liberally and kept shifting on the sofa as if trying to get comfortable. Tayce, for her part, took the chair instead, while Aurora tapped on the PlayStation controller to try to get Netflix up. The more she drank, the more cumbersome the controller seemed to become in her hands, until Tayce leaned over and took it away from her, Aurora’s fingers lingering a little too long on it before relinquishing.

When Aurora got up, meaning to pour them both a fourth glass of wine, she slipped on something and tumbled into Tayce’s lap in the chair, tittering something that sounded like “god I’m clumsy” through the giggles that came from her, unable to stop. Tayce slapped her on the back as she started coughing, but as that died down, Aurora straightened up, picking up Tayce’s hand in hers and drawing her up and away to join her on the sofa.

Lockdown had been so fucking lonely.

Aurora’s hand in hers was all Tayce needed to dissolve every wall she was still rebuilding from May Bank Holiday.

Aurora’s eyes were on her, she knew; through her peripheral vision as she tried desperately to cling to her focus on whatever episode of Tiger King this was.

When Tayce finally met her gaze, she averted it, turning her face to the window opposite them. Almost … playfully.

So Tayce looked back at the TV screen, but Aurora’s hand squeezed at hers, thumb in her palm pressing right in the centre, the pressure somehow travelling all the way to her gut. Tayce turned back to her, and this time Aurora did not look away.

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Aurora looked at her through her eyelashes, lips parted in a smirk, curiously searching Tayce with her gaze as if wondering what her next move would be.

Tayce blinked incredulously. “Me? Like this? What do you mean, I’m gorgeous? Have you seen yourself?”

“And that accent, oh my days -“

“Go to Newport, we all sound like this.”

But the wine was hitting hard now and oh god lockdown is so fucking lonely and Tayce’s feet on the floor suddenly felt unsteady and Aurora was so fucking close to her on the sofa -

——

Once the hangover was gone, the memory of rest of the night felt like a dream, or maybe a nightmare. Tayce wasn’t entirely sure when she’d gone back to her flat, but she had, long before night had fully fallen and long after she was sure the burgeoning friendship she was finally making with someone lay in tatters two floors up from her.

The wine had washed away the strength she’d had, leaving her raw and vulnerable, and all the affection that had been growing since Aurora had first held her bubbled and burst into life. And Aurora must have felt the same magnetic pull, drawing them together across the sofa, nail marks still present in Tayce’s back that she could see in the mirror, a bruise forming on Tayce’s collarbone as Aurora had dipped a little lower. 

It had been Tayce who had halted it - not because she hadn’t wanted to, but because she couldn’t decipher how much of this was affection and how much of this was just two lonely people, starved of company, starved of normality, seeking and clinging to it in any form.

And now it was the following day, and Tayce still didn’t know.

The group call at the end of the day was interesting. She stretched over the back of the sofa in her living room to grab her water, and that must have been enough to flash a sliver of skin. 

“What’s that?” Lawrence asked loudly, prompting everyone else to go quiet. “Tayce? What’s that on your chest, hmm?”

“I didn’t see anything.”

“You’re not wearing your glasses, Ginny, you can’t see shit. What’s that on your chest? Why d’you have a bruise there?”

“Hi!” Ellie’s voice as she joined the call unexpectedly saved Tayce any further embarrassment; everyone shrieked when she came on, having missed the last two zoom calls following her move. “Thank God my internet is working now, I’ve missed all your faces!”

Tayce silently thanked Ellie’s timing and contentedly listened to the rest of them as they chatted about everything and nothing that they’d all missed. All of them were there; even Cherry showed up about twenty minutes in to wave at them and blow them kisses, her face even more pallid than before; before ducking back out to go to bed. 

Only Veronica was still missing.

“She’s been messaging me,” Tia explained, “and she said she’s feeling a bit better, but since she got furloughed, she’s feeling like there’s no point getting out of bed or getting ready because there’s nowhere to go.”

“Send her some love,” Tayce said, but Tia snorted.

“You send her it! She’s gonna feel better if she knows we all miss her.”

It was true though, Tayce realised after they all disconnected. They all seemed to be drifting apart, no more energy to continue with these online gatherings, even though there were so many virtual meetup groups and apps that there almost seemed to be no excuse now.

She looked back through her phone messages. She hadn’t messaged Veronica since early April, taking her silence as a sign that she wanted to be left alone; but what if it wasn’t? Veronica was a closed fist, everyone knew that. And Tayce’s brother? Again, early April, and a quick call the week after for her niece’s birthday. 

Lockdown, and self-isolation, seemed to be one and the same. 

So Tayce spent the rest of the afternoon sending messages to everyone she had neglected since then. Maybe they would reply, and maybe they wouldn’t - but there was no harm in reaching out, no negative consequences. 

By the end of the day, she was fielding messages back and forth from everyone she thought she’d lost through lockdown, the grey cloud over her head starting to lift, the fuzzy feeling disappearing and clarity settling in. She felt light, lighter than she had in weeks; and warm as the summery days they were getting in this late-May spring.

Towards the end of the day, she got a message back from Veronica at last.

Veronica: I’m doing ok. I got up and went for a walk today just to the park and back. It’s really nice although my hay fever sucks. Thanks for checking in on me i appreciate it x  Veronica: Oh also Tia said you had a hickey on the group call haha tell me what her name is x

Tayce was surprised to realise she was grinning at the phone as she read Veronica’s message, her fingers stroking the mark on her collarbone as if to savour the vivid image that it sparked in her head.

——

It was three days after their drunken kiss on the sofa that Tayce had another letter through the door. The same red glittery pen, the same scrawl, but the writing a little smaller as if Aurora wanted to diminish herself.

‘Hi Tayce. I’m really sorry if i came on too strong this week. Can we go back to friends? Want to hang out tonight, bubble bud? Aurora xx’

Tayce swallowed down the part of her that immediately rose up and cried that she … didn’t want to just be friends. 

Then it hit her.

God. I only met this girl properly this month. What’s wrong with me?

But she replied and immediately started clearing the house. 

She put the pile of Viv’s birthday cards and presents from the hallway floor into a cupboard under the sink, giving it the middle finger again; put the six-weeks worth of laundry on to wash; cleaned all the dishes; and dragged the hoover out of the tiny airing cupboard and got to work on the carpets. The hard floors she swept, and carried the bin bags out to the communal bins, all before midday.

“Who needs Joe Wicks workouts?” She muttered to herself, panting, as she tugged some marigolds over her hands to sort out the rest of the kitchen. 

By the time it was six, and time for Aurora to arrive, Tayce thought the house looked much better, and honestly, she felt much better too. The little spring clean she’d given the place had cleared a little clutter from her head as well. 

It’s nothing to worry about. She’d just coming over for food and -

Tayce grimaced as she realised she hadn’t thought of what to do for food. She thought back to the beans on toast she’d had at four and kicked herself for not thinking of that. Dominos was still delivering, so she brought up the app and busied herself looking through the list of pizzas.

Aurora hadn’t arrived by ten past six, and Tayce started to worry.

Maybe she’s changed her mind.

But Tayce refused to let that thought take any root. She looked at the clock, which of course seemed to slow down from having eyes on it, and firmly told herself that she would message Aurora at quarter past if she wasn’t here before.

With a minute to spare, Aurora turned up, grinning merrily and waving the bottle of rose in Tayce’s face.

“Hey bubble bud! Sorry I’m late, well I’m always late, sorry in advance if you expect me on time for anything!” Aurora took a step inside and her jaw dropped. “Wow, your place is well nice!”

“Thanks,” Tayce grinned, although she wasn’t sure what Aurora was looking at. Tayce wasn’t allowed anything on the walls from what her landlord said, but Aurora wouldn’t stay still - checking out the titles of the handful of CDs Tayce had brought down to London with her; scanning a nail along the books on the shelf above the TV.

“It’s nice to hold a book sometimes,” Tayce shrugged, “rather than just read it on the kindle app.”

When Aurora got to the kitchen, Tayce cringed. She’d have to confess.

“I haven’t got in anything to eat. Only - only some bread.”

“And pot noodles,” Aurora added, opening a cupboard and helping herself to the contents as if she’d lived here her whole life.

“And pot - oh, are you thinking, maybe …”

“No way!” Aurora slammed the cupboard door and grabbed her keys again. “Be right back!”

Ten minutes later and Tayce was at the hob over the oven with Aurora, dicing onions while she cut up a red pepper, mince that Aurora had grabbed from her own fridge was out and ready to go in too.

“I needed to use that up anyway,” she shrugged. “Please tell me you don’t just eat bread and pot noodles, Tayce, please. I need to give you a cooking crash course if you do! Didn’t you learn to cook at uni? Or didn’t you do much cooking before you went? Oh my days - no fry the onion off first, with the garlic - I’ll chop the mushrooms, Jesus Christ pot noodles …”

“I know how to cook, give me some credit!” Tayce murmured, but she couldn’t stop smiling. “I just haven’t been to the shop yet, it’s been a long week.”

Aurora closed her eyes and hummed in appreciation. “Just keep talking to me, please.”

“What about?”

“Anything! Your life, your family - I don’t know, house prices, I don’t care - but that accent, ugh -“ Aurora shivered.

“Yours is cute, too,” Tayce smirked.

Aurora looked at her reproachfully. “You’re lying.”

“Yeah, I am.”

It was no use. The air was full of electricity, static around them, and before Tayce knew what was happening, suddenly they were kissing again, this time stone-cold sober, while the onions burned shadows into the bottom of the pan.

——

Viv gave her notice on the flat at the start of June. 

“I just can’t afford to live here anymore,” she explained, sighing, when she got back and started to pack up everything in her room. “I’m gonna see if I can get some work back home.”

Tayce was numb, although she knew Viv didn’t mean it personally. It wasn’t her fault that she’d been made redundant straight after the lockdown ended, and it made sense that she wanted to be near her family. It was now four months since Tayce had seen hers, and she missed them every day, although she had been sticking religiously to her new routine of calling her parents every Saturday night and her brother’s family every Sunday afternoon. 

“I’m sorry that’s putting you in a tight spot, Tayce,” Viv muttered, hugging her, and Tayce hugged her back.

“Can’t be helped,” Tayce replied, which was all she could think to respond with that wasn’t an inarticulate growl in frustration.

Viv was adamant she would pay her final month’s rent, and pay her half the utilities even though she wasn’t there. But she had to go home.

“How was your move?” Tayce asked Ellie on the next group call on zoom.

“Shite,” Ellie replied, “but partly because we struggled finding someone to move us. There’s plenty of places around, plenty of places to rent and stuff, because everyone’s moved back to where they came from.”

“You’ll find somewhere else to live, bab,” Ginny murmured in a soothing voice to Tayce, stroking the side of the laptop screen as she liked to do to show affection now that she couldn’t hug anyone. 

“I know,” Tayce sighed. “It’s just a pain in the arse.”

She wasted no time. One of the spare room websites was always open in the background, and she was refreshing, looking maybe a little further out from central London to see if anywhere was cheaper, but nowhere was.

Then she spotted the dot in her own block of flats, and clicked the advert.

That’s - that’s Aurora’s flat.

Now she remembered. Aurora had mentioned something about her housemate moving out! It must now be official. 

She read through the advert - how was it £50 cheaper than what she was already paying? - and looked at the contact name for the housemate, and there it was in black and white pixels: Aurora Martin, use form below.

Grabbing a piece of notebook paper - one of the last bits left, she’d been ripping them all out to write to Aurora - she penned a letter, one of what might well be the last ones, and jogged upstairs to post it through her letterbox.

The response came back to her in less than an hour, a new record for Aurora.

‘Tayce! I’d love it if you wanted to move in here! OMG. My landlord will want references from yours, but if you can get them quick then he can approve you really fast, he’s working from home. OMG you made my day. Come up at 7pm xx’

“Work contacted me today too,” Aurora beamed as she settled with Tayce on the sofa. “They want me to start back next week! Can’t wait. Need to get that coin again now! I mean, I’m dead grateful, you know, that I still have my job and I was on furlough so the government paid most of my wages, but it will be nice to have the full package again!”

“What is it you do again?” Tayce asked.

“Oh - I work as a fashion buyer. But because fashion’s kind of stopped right now, most of the designers are shut. Reopening now, especially the ones in mainland Europe! Can’t wait to be on the phone to them all again.”

“Wait. You speak to designers in other countries?”

Aurora nodded. “I speak French and Spanish.”

“You -“ Tayce was dazed. “I didn’t know that!”

“Well why would you? I mean you’ve only known me a couple of months!” Aurora laughed, and leaned back closer to Tayce, her perfume overwhelmingly sweet in the air. “You’re not gonna know everything about me yet, bubble bud.”

“No,” Tayce purred, “but I can’t wait to find out.”

——

By the Monday after the move, early July, Tayce was all set up to go. She’d moved the bed into the corner as she liked it, arranged her books into a rainbow as she liked them, and unfurled the posters she’d been unable to hang in her last flat, mostly punk bands that she liked, Bimini’s band’s poster, and the noticeboard with all the tickets tacked to it of all the gigs she’d been to. The vanity with the mirror that she’d brought from home fitted perfectly next to the window so she could do her makeup with natural light; and it was large enough for her work setup, which was where she was now.

The flat layout was almost identical to the one she’d just left, and the room was the same one - Aurora having the slightly bigger room - but it felt a lot more comforting, knowing she wasn’t alone here any more, knowing she had a little more freedom in decorations, and knowing that the hollow feeling in her chest was starting to slow down for good.

She turned off her work laptop at five as normal, which was when Aurora came in. Tayce pulled her in, giving her a peck on the lips. 

“They’re gonna love you, I promise.”

Aurora just made a moan in the back of her throat and put her face in her hands, shrinking away from the vanity.

Tayce turned on her personal laptop, logging into zoom and connecting to the group chat. Her monthly uni call was set to half four today for some reason, and everyone else was already all there.

“Tayce! We wondered where you’d got to!”

It was Veronica’s voice, and Veronica’s face was in the top left. She still looked a little tired, and the shirt she was wearing looked suspiciously like a pyjama top, but she was here with them all, and this was a big step for her.

Tayce beamed at her. “So good to see you!”

“The move went alright then, bab?” Ginny asked.

Tayce nodded. “And there’s someone you should meet.” She pulled Aurora into frame, who still looked uncharacteristically shy for a moment before waving at the people on the screen. “This is Aurora.”

“Aurora!” Tia squeaked. “Like the princess!”

Aurora rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“So we’ve got Rory and Ronni here together at last!” Lawrence exclaimed, while Veronica gave the camera two fingers.

But Tayce just grinned at her friends on the screen, far apart but together in this strange way. Aurora’s nails dug into her shoulder, still a little nervous, but even that was fading as she got more comfortable. 

Aurora had been right - the city was just a lot of bricks in intricate patterns without someone in it that made it a home. 

And this just might be becoming one.

[bluejayblueskies]

ludus

n. playful or uncommitted love; love that is focused on flirtation, infatuation, and laughter 

Words: 2.0k

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Relationships: Jonathan Sims & Gerry Keay, Jonathan Sims & Martin Blackwood & Sasha James & Tim Stoker

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Gerry Keay, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James

Additional Tags: AU - University, AU - Everyone Lives/No One Dies, Fluff and Humor, Drinking, Alcohol, Queerplatonic Partnership, Aromantic Character, Asexual Character

Summary:

Gerry generally doesn’t frequent pubs like this one, where the wooden table in front of him is sticky enough that his glass pulls slightly against his grip as he lifts it before it unsticks with a wet ripping noise. The pub is a small, dirty thing, aptly named The Rusty Bucket, and apparently, it’s the venue for trivia night every Thursday, of which Jon and his friends are regulars.

Gerry’s never met Jon’s friends. But he supposes there’s a first time for everything.

Read on Ao3

Or, read below (more content warnings below the cut):

cw: - implied drug use - teasing - assumption that an aro character is allo (corrected and apologized for)

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Gerry’s never really been one for drinking. For one, he thinks beer is gross (and that a much better use for wheat and yeast is bread, which he very much enjoys and happens to be quite skilled at making), and for two, he’s never quite been able to shake that ingrained notion that drinking is always a precursor to something else.

 Sometimes, that something else is simply being drunk. Sometimes, it’s to loosen up, to make time with friends that much lighter and freer. But sometimes it’s not. Sometimes, it’s buying a stranger a drink and punching your number into their phone with fingers made unsteady by liquor. Sometimes, it’s wine on a date, with lips stained a deep red and cheeks flushed only in part due to the alcohol.

 Sometimes, it’s more. And Gerry doesn’t like taking risks that he doesn’t have to. So he generally doesn’t frequent pubs like this one, where the wooden table in front of him is sticky enough that his glass pulls slightly against his grip as he lifts it before it unsticks with a wet ripping noise.

 Gross.

 “You don’t have to come,” Jon had said for what had to have been the fifteenth time, even as they’d caught sight of the pub that sat just a few blocks from campus. It was a small, dirty thing, aptly named The Rusty Bucket, and apparently, it was the venue for trivia night every Thursday, of which Jon and his friends were regulars.

 Right. Jon’s friends. It wasn’t necessarily anyone’s fault that Gerry had yet to meet everyone else who’d left a mark on Jon’s life (though if asked, Gerry would insist that it was his, probably; he wasn’t known for being overly social). It was just different walks of life, different cobblestone paths that happened to intersect in a five-foot-four skinny Pakistani man with wire-rimmed glasses and a perpetual line between his eyes that fell just as easily into a smile as it did a scowl. But now that he had the chance, he found that he wanted to meet them. Maybe it was because Jon had seemed so excited, in his own way, to introduce them to Gerry. Or maybe it was just because Gerry wanted to get to know every part of Jon, to peel back every layer of the man who had wriggled underneath his skin and refused to budge no matter how hard Gerry tried.

 Jon’s friends were one such layer, painted in lovely sunset hues that cast fondness and exasperation across Jon’s face in equal measure whenever he spoke of them. So Gerry wanted to meet them.

 Hell, maybe he’d like them. Jon liked them. And that was one hell of a stamp of approval.

 “I know,” Gerry said. “But I’m here, aren’t I?”

 And the look Jon gave him at that—something profoundly grateful and even more profoundly enamored—shot through Gerry like liquid cocaine. Though if Gertrude ever asks, Gerry certainly has no such metric to know what that would feel like.

 Jon’s presence next to him in the booth is a grounding one, even as Gerry feels himself getting lost in the conversation ebbing and swelling around him like white-crested waves on a sandy shore, like he’s a seashell that’s only kept from washing away by a deft hand that snatches it from the sand and holds it close. Most of the ebb and swell seems to be coming from Tim and Sasha, who bicker like they’ve been married for years but who, according to Jon, have already passed through their will-they-won’t-they stage and have settled quite firmly on won’t-they.

 “Sasha’s aro too,” Jon had said, almost too-casually, as he put away a plate he’d been drying. “And Tim’s ace. A- a bit different than me, though, with regards to…”

 Jon made a vague motion with his hand that Gerry recognized as his sex hand wave, and the giggle that slipped from him unbidden earned him a sharp glare.

 “Sorry, sorry,” Gerry said, his eyes still twinkling with mirth. Then, because he couldn’t quite help himself: “Are you just- just collecting aspec friends? Or is it some sort of magnetic pull? Because I’d like to know if I’m a trophy friend or a hapless victim of your non-sexual magnetism.”

 The wet sponge Jon threw at him was certainly warranted. It did nothing to wipe the smile from Gerry’s face.

 So there’s Tim and Sasha, carrying ninety-five percent of the conversational weight. Martin sits tucked away in a corner, his hands closed around a glass of cola and his mouth curled into a small smile as he watches Tim and Sasha bicker.

 (“I don’t drink,” Martin had explained quickly when Gerry’s eyes had found his glass the first time, throwing the words between them like some sort of barricade. Like it was any of Gerry’s business what Martin did or didn’t drink.

 It certainly made Gerry’s virgin piña colada a lot less humiliating, though it did nothing to diminish the curling embarrassment he’d felt upon ordering it. So Gerry tipped his head toward his own drink and said, “Me either. Virgin in more ways than one.”

 Which was probably not the right thing to say. Oh well.

 Martin’s face had gone cherry red, and the laugh that escaped his lips seemed to take him entirely by surprise. “Oh,” he said, sounding slightly strangled. “I- congratulations?”

 It certainly wasn’t the most awkward exchange Gerry had ever had. But it was up there.

 Gerry took a small sip of his drink and decided that he quite liked Martin Blackwood.)

 Gerry sets his drink back down with a grimace and says, quiet enough that only Jon will hear him, “When is the trivia bit meant to start? I’m dying to put my near-encyclopedic knowledge of 20th-century prose to use.”

 “Need I remind you,” Jon says without taking his eyes away from Tim and Sasha, “that we are both English majors?”

 Gerry knocks his knee against Jon’s under the table. “Guess we’ll just have to see who remembers Dr. Nimeiri’s class better then.”

 Jon groans. “I thought we agreed to never speak about that again.”

 Gerry gives Jon his best shit-eating grin. “And forget the place where we met and our lives were forever changed? Oh, I would never.”

 “One,” Jon says, holding up a finger and finally turning to face Gerry. “One B, Gerry. And it was that fucking class.”

 “Jon, nobody got an A in that class. Nobody. I barely passed.”

 “Yes, well—”

 Gerry raises an eyebrow. Jon’s mouth snaps shut and dips into what Gerry could only describe as a pout. After a moment, where Jon clearly recalls every other version of this conversation they’ve had and the myriad of insensitive things that Jon has said in quick succession, Jon finally sighs and says, “Fine. Trivia’s in thirty minutes, I believe.”

 “Thank you.”

 “Oh, there’s no need to look so smug.”

 It’s about halfway between then and trivia when the conversation finally, inevitably, and quite unfortunately lands squarely on Gerry’s leather-clad shoulders.  

 “So,” Tim says, leaning his elbows on the liquor-sticky table and flashing Gerry a conspiratorial grin. “I think it’s high past time we hear all the sordid details of how Jon managed to convince you to give him the time of day.”

 “Hey,” Jon snaps, giving Tim an impressive glare that bounces harmlessly off Tim’s million-dollar smile.

 “Not much to tell,” Gerry says with a shrug. “Switched majors, took a shitty class, and got a very critical peer review on my first draft paper. Had quite an illuminating conversation with said peer reviewer after class that day, actually. Can’t imagine how that evolved into getting coffee.”

 “You asked me,” Jon says in a sullen voice, looking very much like he’d like to melt into the woodgrains of the seatback behind him.

 “That I did,” Gerry concedes. “What can I say, I’ve got a thing for angry red pen and put-upon posh accents.”

 “For the last time, it is not put upon!”

 Tim’s laughter makes Jon’s lips fold into a pout, and Gerry presses his knee firmly against Jon’s underneath the table. He feels Jon melt against him, just a bit, like a bristling cat brought back to itself by a gentle hand between its ears.

 “So, then,” Sasha asks, pushing into Tim’s space as she leans closer to them with an inquisitive glint to her eyes. “Are you two dating?”

 “Sasha!” Martin squeaks, his eyes wide as saucers as he looks at her like she’d just suggested they all strip down to their socks or something. If Gerry weren’t so used to the question—albeit not directed at him and Jon before—he might have had a similar expression on his face.

 “What?” Sasha says defensively, leaning back slightly and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s just a question! And a perfectly innocent one at that!”

 “Nothing with you is ever perfectly innocent,” Tim mutters under his breath, which earns him an elbow in the ribs.

 Gerry sighs in something close to resignation. He’d been expecting the question, really; Gerry hated the idea of his identity being spread behind his back like some sort of rumor, so he’d asked Jon to keep it private until he got the chance to disclose it himself. It had gotten a bit more complicated when they’d become queerplatonic partners but only because apparently Jon had a chronic inability to do anything halfway, and that included his relationships. Needless to say, Jon had admitted several hours before they’d arrived at the pub that his friends were all convinced that they were dating and that Jon couldn’t figure out how to correct them without explaining their situation in full.

 So, then. Gerry’s never been the biggest fan of speaking openly about his romantic preferences—or lack thereof, he supposes—but then Jon’s hand is brushing against his arm, the touch feather-light yet grounding all the same, and Gerry finds that the weight on his chest is all but gone.

 “No,” Gerry says. The word doesn’t burn on the way out like he feared it would. “Er. Not romantically, at least.”

 It’s less awkward than he thought it might be—putting the threads that run from Jon’s hands to his into words, skirting around textbook definitions for a bit before finally just biting the bullet and rattling them off rapid-fire, even though he hates how impersonal it all sounds and would much rather focus on how he feels when he sees Jon across the quad or how Jon’s fingers feel against his scalp when he brushes his hair or how Jon snores ever so slightly when he sleeps.

 In the end, Tim just makes some joke about friendship premium subscription, Sasha sheepishly apologizes for having made assumptions, and the conversation is blissfully cut short by the announcement that trivia will be starting in two minutes.

 Gerry’s hand finds Jon’s under the table and squeezes it tightly, just once. A silent thank you. The best I love you that Gerry can think to give right now. Jon’s shoulder knocks against Gerry’s in response, and Gerry thinks, just for a moment, about how fucking lucky he is.

 They end up losing trivia night—1967 is the correct date, Jon kept insisting, even when Tim finally pulled the book up on his phone and informed Jon that he was, in fact, off by a year and was therefore wrong—to Jon’s utter dismay and distress. But the sentiment still stands.

 And when Tim grins at Gerry and says, See you soon!, and Sasha follows up with, Next Thursday for trivia?, and Martin pitches in with a quiet, It was very nice to meet you, Gerry, Gerry doesn’t hate the warm, fuzzy feeling that spreads through him at the knowledge that Jon’s friends like him.

 Two cobblestone paths merge into one, the rocks threading together as easily as Jon’s fingers with Gerry’s, and the road ahead looks like nothing but wide-open sky and glittering stars.

[shigarakis-fifth-hand]

MHA Tamaki x Reader Imagine

Tamaki with a s/o with abandonment issues

Tamaki sat on the barstool, watching you twist and twirl in the music in the kitchen. He was in the first year dormitory, sitting there to watch you. Mirio and Nejire had been there, but had left to go “help Present Mic with papers” when really Tamaki wanted you two alone. Watching you cook for him felt more intimate.

After being with you seriously for two months, your body was still just mesmerizing to him. “I’m going to go to the store. Do you need anything?” Tamaki asked as you looked at him, turning down the stove down and walking over to him. “What time do you think you’ll be be back?”

He turned to you, smiling with a blush at your beautiful face. “I’m just going to the store down the street. It won’t late longer t-than 15 minutes tops.” You nodded, kissing his cheek as his face turned into a cherry. After so long of dating, a kiss on the cheek was the biggest deal in the world to him.

“O-okay. Call me if anything happens okay?” You explained, walking with him to the door and smiling sadly. Tamaki looked at you confusingly. You were loud, outgoing, and expressive with you emotions. But now, you were acting so strange. What was going on?

“Sounds good. See ya Y/n.” He waved like a child, still blushing as he walked out. You slowly wandered back to the kitchen and kept cooking, laying your phone next to you just in case as you made you and your boyfriend food.

You tried to distract yourself by turning on the tv, talking to Denki and Todoroki who passed by, and listening to music, but nothing seemed to work. Every single minute your eyes watched the clock, and then the door. And then back to the clock, and then to the door.

You found yourself getting frightened by a bird from the outside, and even hearing Tamaki’s voice from behind you when it wasn’t really there. But how could you blame yourself when you had gone through so much to bring you such terrible abandonment issues?

You remembered how you had been sitting on the couch, playing with your cat like you usually did. Then you heard your parents fighting again, and like usual you watched your mother run out, threaten to never come back, slam the door, and then drive away. You rolled your eyes and kept playing with your cat, knowing that she did this at least once a week.

Except, two days passed when she didn’t come back. She usually came back within hours, and this caused you to worry. You sat near the phone all day, and even called her a few times. She had blocked her own daughter’s number. You never saw your mother again, until a week passed when she was involved in a villain incident that had caused a building to collapse on innocent bystanders.

She was one of the victims, and you could never bring yourself to appear at the funeral. She had left you, and then she had died.

What if Tamaki was the same?! He was a hero, so he would run into danger if he saw it. What if something happened to him... Minutes passed, and before you knew it, fifteen minutes had passed. You finished the chili you had made him, and poured it into a bowl for him. You sat on the barstool, staring at the door, and then back at the phone again.

You began texting him, trying to stay calm as he didn’t respond. You couldn’t help but feel like history was repeating itself. Then five more minutes passed, meaning that he was five minutes late. You began to breathe heavily, pacing back and fourth near the door, trying not to cry.

Even though you had very good friends, Tamaki was the love of your life. If something happened to him, you would never recover even the slightest. You called him multiple times, but he didn’t pick up. Surely he would have texted or called back if he was just going to be late, so where was he. 

You began to hyperventilate, sitting on the couch and staring at the door. Horrible images of Tamaki being hurt flooded your mind, and you began to cry. Slowly, fifteen more minutes passed, and it became dark outside. Wiping the tears off of your face, you threw the apron off of your body and ran outside in the rain, running on the sidewalk.

“Tamaki?! Tamaki!” You screamed as loud as you could, finding yourself unable to breathe as you closed your eyes, trying so hard to focus. But your mind was torturing you, and you couldn’t stop it. Where the hell was he?

Just as you opened your eyes, you saw Tamaki walking towards you, holding a bag of groceries. “Y/n?” He asked, confused to see you all wet before you ran into his arms, giving him a crushing hug. “Tamaki! Where were you?! I thought you were dead! I thought something happened to you!” You screamed into his ear, trying not to cry as he put the bag down and hugged you back.

“What? No, I left my phone at the dorms. Why are you crying?” He asked, nervous as you looked at him, your eyes red and puffy. “Because I thought something happened to you, god dammit Tamaki!” Before Tamaki could respond, you kissed his lips passionately, sending a straight blush to his face.

He didn’t pull away though, and left you two kissing in the rain. It was quite romantic to be honest, as you two separated. “I love you Tamaki... I love you so much I’d die without you.” You confessed as he couldn’t help but smiling, his face now a tomato. “I feel the same way about you Y/n.” 

You two smiled, kissing again before he picked up the bag, grabbed your hand, and walked back to the dorm. “I got you cupcakes.” He whispered as you couldn’t help but smiling, squeezing his hand even tighter.

[always-and-forever-a-killjoy]

Hey y'all! So I wrote a relatively long oneshot (for me) in 24 hours or so (breaking my record for most words written in one day in the process), and I decided to dump it all on you. This is minimally edited and was posted with a cat on my lap, so if you spot any errors, please let me know. 

Also, while it's not technically necessary to read all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me and all the things that you never ever told me, which are the fics which this is an alternate ending for, it will be really really helpful to understanding this. (All the smiles is here and all the things is here.) Do be careful of the warnings for those two, as they're quite dark fics. But then again, so is this, so...y'know.

Oh and please don’t question why the Cherri POV is present tense and the Newsie POV is past tense, idk either it just felt right.

Title: if i died we’d be together

Wordcount: 5316

Summary: Cherri Cola dies. NewsAGoGo refuses to accept this.

The Phoenix Witch is unhelpful (and an asshole, if you ask Newsie.)

Warnings: major character death, implied/referenced suicide, implied self harm, minor violence, an extraordinary amount of swearing.

Taglist: @wishiwasthemoon-tonight @sleevesareforlosers @stressed-depressed-emo-mess @tasteofamnesia @dagger-queen (message me, send an ask, or reblog/reply to one of my posts if you want to be added or removed)

AO3 Link

(Actual fic under the cut)

In this universe, the Phoenix Witch doesn’t come for Cherri Cola. He lies in the sand, alone and in pain, unable to move himself a single step further. He would get up if he could, he would go home, but he’s helpless. Alone and afraid, truly afraid for the first time in years. He doesn’t want to die alone. He doesn’t want to die knowing the people in his life will never know what happened to him. D, Pony, Newsie…

Cherri doesn’t want to die. Not like this. He was supposed to die helping his friends, not because he decided that life wasn’t worth living and let himself fade away into the heat of the desert. He doesn’t want to leave his friends, he doesn’t want to leave his family. Did they even know he counted them as a family? Does Newsie know he loves them like a sibling?

Cherri Cola dies alone, and the last words on his lips are “I’m sorry, Newsie.”

-

Cherri didn’t come back. Not after the mask discussion, not after Newsie’s talk with the Phoenix Witch, and certainly not any earlier than that. It was another week of silent dinners and endless, hopeless searching before Pony put eir foot down. 

“Cola is dead.”

That was what ey said, breaking the silence of that morning’s breakfast. 

Newsie couldn’t even manage the energy to snap at em. “No.”

“Cola’s gone, Newsie. You know it, just like me.”

“He can’t be fucking dead. I won’t- I won’t let it happen.” She hated that her voice shook. 

“He is, though. Nothing we can do about it.” Pony’s usually cheerful voice was quiet, beaten-down. 

“No!”

“Yes! We gotta accept it!”

“No, we don’t!”

“Maybe-“ eir voice broke on the word. “Maybe it was his time. Or fate or something.”

“Well fuck fate then! Fuck the Phoenix Witch and fuck her ‘plans’! It can’t just be right to fucking take him away, he’s got a fucking family!”

“Well- well- maybe you’re right, but what are we going to do about it?” Pony’s voice had gone quiet again, and ey was staring at the table like it might have the answers somehow.

“We’re going to find the Phoenix Witch and tell her to go fuck herself,” Newsie declared. 

D sighed. “I don’t think that’s possible, Newsie.”

“Why not? Cherri’s met the Phoenix Witch, it can’t be that hard.” She got up from her seat, tossing the empty power pup can into the sink.

“I mean…they’ve got a point,” Pony said as D sighed again. 

“See? Pone knows I’m right.” She made those words as firm as she could, filling them with all the confidence that she didn’t have but wished she did. “I’m going to go find the Phoenix Witch, flip her off, and get Cherri back.”

“Newsie-“

They ignored D’s worried voice as they went tromping into the back of the radio station, back to the room that used to be theirs and Cherri’s- and still would be, Newsie vowed. She packed up a messenger bag with a few supplies and located Cherri’s mask and ray gun, picking up the ray gun first. It was pink like hers, but a heavier weight in her hands. If she had been poetic like her brother, she would have said it was the weight of the task she was about to take on.

But they were no Cherri Cola, and they knew the real reason was that Cherri’s ray gun was a nicer one than theirs, taken from an exterminator he had fought back in the Analog Wars. It certainly wasn’t the newest model anymore, but it remained a high-quality weapon. Not that he ever used it anymore. Still, even however long after he had last held it, she thought she could feel the ghost of his hands on it, warm and rough as they guided her hands into place the first time she had ever fired a ray gun.

Newsie slid the ray gun into her spare holster and picked up Cherri’s mask. They debated putting it away into their bag, but that felt too much like they were bringing it to the mailbox for a final goodbye. Instead, they put it around their neck, where it bounced against their collarbone as they donned their own mask. 

“Alright, Cherri. Let’s go bring you back from the dead.”

Show Pony and Dr. Death Defying didn’t try to stop her when she walked back through the main living space. D reached out as if to grab her wrist, but stopped himself in midair. “Newsie.”

“Don’t try to stop me.”

“I won’t, but I want you to take this.” He held out a crow feather, shining a gorgeous glossy black in the sunlight that streamed in from the window. “I met the Witch, once. During the Analog Wars. And she gave me this.”

“So you think it will help?”

D’s smile was dreadfully sad. “Worth a shot.”

Newsie hesitated a moment and took the feather. It was smooth under her fingers as she tucked it into her bag. “Thanks, D.”

“Of course.” He didn’t tell her to come back safe, and Newsie didn’t promise she would.

Pony skated up before she could walk out the door, handing her a packet of what looked vaguely like glitter. “I don’t have a fancy Witch feather like D, but take some glitter for the road. Because sparkles…”

“Make everything better.” Newsie’s throat burned. “Thanks, Pone.”

“Of course, GoGo.” Ey shot her a grin. “Bring back our Cola. Oh, and give him some shit for dying, would ya?”

“Don’t worry, I will,” Newsie muttered. They paused in the doorway, looking back at the other two. “Thanks, Pone. Thanks, D. Love you.”

“We love you too.” D’s face was sad as he watched them go.

Newsie hopped onto their motorcycle, grinning a bit to themself at the familiar noise of the engine. “Come on, baby, we’ve got an idiot brother to retrieve.”

What had once been called Death Valley was silent as Newsie hopped back off the bike, only a few caws of crows to welcome her. It was said that here, the lines between reality and wherever the Phoenix Witch was were even thinner than they were for the rest of the Zones, practically non-existent. No one could quite agree if it was because the Phoenix Witch lived here, or if the Phoenix Witch lived here because the lines were so blurred, but either way, she was said to dwell here in this aptly named valley. It wasn’t a place many people went by choice, not unless they wanted to risk the wrath of the Witch.

Newsie figured the Witch, her wrath, and all the superstition could all go fuck themselves. She was uneasy, yes, but the valley held no great fear for her. Only great fucking heat, given that the sun was blazing down and the air was almost unnaturally still. Couldn’t the Phoenix Witch have picked a nicer home? This was the closest thing you could get to hell on earth, with the exception of possibly whatever was beyond the Zones entirely. Not that Newsie particularly believed in hell, but she imagined it would be something like this. Blazing sun, still air, the faint haze of radiation, and the omnipresent sting of grief.

“Hey, Phoenix Witch lady! Asshole! Where are you?” The words didn’t even echo, absorbed into the stifling heat, and Newsie took another couple of steps. “I know this is your home- and you picked a pretty hellish one, if you ask me- so come on out and fight me!”

There was no reply, and Newsie dug through their bag to see if they had anything useful. Their hands brushed against a smooth…something, and they pulled out the feather D had given them. “Hey! Asshole! This is your feather, so come and get it!”

Once again, there was no reply, but the feather strained against Newsie’s grip, despite there being no wind. She reluctantly let it go, and it hovered above her hand, turning to point further into the valley. 

“Holy shit. I guess I’m supposed to go this way?” She took a few cautious steps, and the feather almost seemed to bob in approval. “Okay, let’s go then.”

They zipped their bag closed again and started walking, following the lead of the feather. It was a longer trek than they really appreciated, across shifting sand through the hazy day. Every so often, the feather changed directions, and Newsie had to turn to follow it. Despite the fact that she guessed she must be out in Zone Seven by now, or possibly even further, the landscape never seemed to change. Rocks and sand and endless, burning heat, matching the burning of her eyes as the sand stung them. She would have been lost in a second if she didn’t have the feather, wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t lost anyways. They certainly didn’t know their way back. 

Newsie shoved that concern to the back of their mind. Right now, all they needed to focus on was finding Cherri. The rest could come later. Still, there was no sign of Cherri- or anyone else for that matter- as they made their way further into the dusty valley. It should have been lonely, but the faint hovering presence of someone or something next to her kept away that particular anguish. She really should have been more alarmed by whatever was in the corner of her eye, vanishing when she looked right at it, but the presence felt safe. Almost familiar. So Newsie kept walking. 

They walked, and walked, and walked and walked and walked until the steps all blurred together under the infinite sun. It seemed like it should be nearly nightfall by now, but the sun didn’t seem to move, no matter how many steps she took. The landscape didn’t seem like it was moving much either, even though they must have walked miles and miles by now. Every step was harder than the last, sand stinging her eyes and nose and throat as her feet ached.

Still, Newsie was too damn stubborn to give up now. She followed the feather until the landscape did start to shift, the feather pointing towards…a tree? On a hill? It wasn’t like the tiny, scraggly trees that clung to existence in the wettest parts of the desert. No, this was what Newsie vaguely thought might have been called an oak, once upon a time, branches stretching towards the sky as the tree stood proud. The leaves were dark green, striking a sharp contrast to the faded blue of the desert sky and the endless beige sand, and the branches were thick and steady, growing in a pattern Newsie hadn’t seen before. It definitely wasn’t a tree that was meant to be in the desert, but...shade was shade. 

She staggered over and flopped down underneath it, every muscle in her body screaming at her. “Hey, Witch, asshole, why do I have to walk so fucking far?”

The only reply she got was the rustling of leaves above her. They didn’t think the Witch was actually watching, but they flipped off the tree anyways, just in case. 

She could have sworn she heard faint laughter at that, but it was probably her mind playing tricks on her. Water, she could really use some fucking water. Thank the Witch, or maybe just Pony’s quick thinking, they found a bottle of water when they reached into their bag. It was warmed by the sun and tasted vaguely of rust, but then again, most water in the desert did. Newsie was used to it.

She only got a few minutes to rest before the silence was shattered by a cry. “Help! Help!” It was a young-sounding voice, and Newsie groaned as they climbed to their feet. Having a moral compass was a real pain in the ass sometimes; they couldn’t just ignore a kid in need.

The presence by their shoulder seemed to have grown stronger as Newsie came around the tree and saw a few dracs holding a struggling killjoy who looked to be maybe thirteen or fourteen. She would have to be very careful in order not to hurt the ‘joy, given their close proximity to the dracs. Their hands shook as they pulled out their ray gun, reconsidered, and took out Cherri’s instead. They were pretty sure it had that gyroscope stabilizer (or whatever it was called) that some of the nicer ones were built with, and she would need every advantage she could get. This time, she was almost certain there were ghostly hands over hers as she took careful aim.

“Steady. Breathe,” a voice murmured in Newsie’s ear as they tilted the ray gun carefully. It would be only seconds before the young killjoy was dragged off, so she had to act now. 

Newsie took a deep breath, releasing it fully before she pulled the trigger and took out one of the dracs holding the ‘joy, who was able to break free from the other one’s grasp as Newsie took that one down too. She might not have been Cherri Cola, but she was by no means a bad shot, and she grinned a bit to herself. Drac down, drac down, and that was the last of them!

“Fuck yeah, NewsAGoGo, you kick ass.” They figured they might as well encourage themself, since there was no one else around to do it.

That was met by what she could have sworn was another faint chuckle, but there wasn’t anyone else around to be laughing. Well, except the younger killjoy, but they were way too far away to have heard her. 

Newsie shrugged and accepted that weird shit was going to happen on a quest in Death Valley. They had to keep moving, they decided, but first they should check on that ‘joy they’d saved. 

“Hey, kid! You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Thanks to you, I think.” Their voice was hoarse, and Newsie sighed as she handed them her water bottle. Cherri was getting his ass kicked for this, she decided. It wasn’t technically his fault that she was thirsty, but if he hadn’t up and died, she wouldn’t have had to quest after him and then she wouldn’t have ended up giving her water to some random ‘joy.

“Thanks,” the teen said, handing them back the water bottle.

She shrugged. “No problem. You going somewhere?”

“Yes, but not the same way as you.” Their head was tilted curiously. “You’ll have to go that way. Until you see the building.”

Newsie debated for a second if this kid was trustworthy, but ultimately decided it was no worse than following a fucking feather. “Thanks, kid. Good luck, keep running.”

“Keep running!” They flashed a smile and wandered away.

Newsie sighed and started walking again, this time in the direction the kid had pointed. Again, Cherri was so getting an ass-kicking for this. Their feet hurt. 

Thank the Phoenix Witch- no, thank Destroya, she wasn’t thanking the Phoenix Witch for fucking anything right now- she wasn’t back on her feet for long. Compared to her earlier trek, it was quite a short distance, maybe a mile or so, to what must have been the building that kid was talking about. It was a small shack which looked vaguely familiar, even from a distance, and Newsie sped up a little as they headed towards it. Shade! Maybe even a place to sit that wasn’t sand! Of course, knowing her luck, the Phoenix Witch would show up and demand she go run some errand or walk another hundred fucking miles or something. 

The presence that had been following her this whole time seemed stronger and easier to catch a glimpse of, now, but the was the least of their worries as Newsie approached the building and found it familiar. They could peer in through the window and find D and Pony sitting there in the living room, talking about music (she assumed, given that the only time D gestured so broadly was when he was giving opinions about music).

“D! Pone!”

They didn’t seem to hear her, and Newsie felt her eyes stinging from both sand and grief as she knocked on the door. There was still no reply, no Pony at the door or even sound from inside. But the two carried on their conversation, gesturing and laughing away.

"D, Pony…” If they were back here, that meant they had failed. They hadn’t gotten to the Witch after all. 

Newsie gave up her knocking and turned her back to the door, sliding down to sit on the hard ground. Their feet hurt from standing and their legs hurt from walking and their hands hurt from clutching Cherri’s ray gun so tightly. The sun was still blazing, and their throat was dry and sore. Her collarbones were banged up where Cherri’s mask had been bouncing against them, and her hip was bruised from the bag bouncing against it, and everything fucking hurt. They had promised themself they weren’t going to cry, but now they were breaking that promise because their goddamn brother was dead and they couldn’t fucking do anything about it. 

“I’m sorry, Cherri,” they choked.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” The words were only a whisper, but the voice was familiar. 

Newsie’s heart skipped a beat. “Cherri?”

“I’m here,” the air next to her whispered, right where that presence had been hovering. “Not exactly, but close enough.” If they squinted, they could make out an outline of a familiar killjoy, smiling a soft, sad smile as he pushed his hair out of his face.

“Fucking bastard! Fuck! Fucking hell! You just fucking died on me and do you know how far I fucking walked?”

“Technically, you didn’t walk at all.” That was a different voice, belonging to the cloaked figured who was suddenly in front of Newsie. They could have sworn the person hadn’t been there just a second ago, which was damn inconvenient. Right as she was trying to catch up with her fucking brother? Really?

“Who the fuck are you?” They demanded.

“The deity you came to find, NewsAGoGo.”

Newsie hopped to her feet so she could stand on level with the bird creature, ignoring the ache in every part of their body. “Fuck you! Fuck you, Witch lady! Fuck you and your fate and your cryptic ways! What the fuck do you mean I didn’t walk?”

The Witch seemed faintly amused by her swearing. “I mean that in real-world distance, you went nowhere. You’re on the border, the boundary between this world and the next. Which is how your lovely brother is here, by the way. He belongs to the spirit world, and you belong to the ordinary one, but on this border and this border only, you can see and hear each other.”

“Great, now I’m taking him back to the real world.”

The Phoenix Witch tsked disapprovingly. “I’m afraid you can’t do that, NewsAGoGo. You see, Cherri Cola is dead. He belongs to my domain now.”

“Well fuck that! I’m not letting him go.” Newsie hadn’t walked however many fucking miles to give up now.

“Fine, fine, you can have him.” Newsie’s heart soared. “For a price,” The Witch added. 

“And what’s the price?”

“The price is the people in that house behind you.”

“What?”

“Well, technically they aren’t there, per se. That’s not Dr. Death Defying and Show Pony, although it seems that way to you.” The Witch’s voice was annoyingly calm. “But my point being, if you can give up one of them, you can have your Cherri back.”

“Newsie, no,” Cherri whispered from beside her.

“Can you do it?” The Witch was still smiling. “Can you sacrifice one friend to save another? Could you live with yourself if you killed your friend to save your brother? And could you live with yourself if you left him here to save the others?”

“No, I can’t do it.” They knew their voice must sound very small and very tired as they leaned a little against the radio shack that wasn’t the radio shack. “I can’t choose the life of one of my friends over another. I won’t make that choice. I refuse.”

“So do you choose to leave him here? I’ll take good care of him, you know.”

“No. I choose to not choose. I refuse to choose.” She had no idea what she was doing, only that she wasn’t leaving without the lives of all of her family. “I won’t put Cherri’s life over D’s, or Pony’s. I won’t put D or Pony’s life over Cherri’s. They all deserve to live.”

“Oh, hon, it doesn’t work that way.”

“Well I’ll make it work that way!” A thought niggled Newsie’s brain. “What if…What if I gave you something else?”

“Like what?”

“Like my life.”

“No!” That was Cherri again, his spirit form flickering fiercely. “No! Newsie, just leave without me. Please.”

The Phoenix Witch was smirking, but she shook her head. “Sorry, NewsAGoGo. I can’t accept that offer, selfless as it might be. You’ve got things ahead of you, I can’t just mess up my plans like that.”

“Fine, then something else.” Newsie rooted around in her bag, desperately trying to find something to trade with the Witch. Empty water bottle, no. Can of power pup that she never touched, no. Their hand collided with a small, slightly squished packet of something, which they pulled out triumphantly. “Glitter. I’ll give you glitter for my brother’s life.” Newsie knew she sounded ridiculous, but it really was all she had to offer.

The Phoenix Witch threw her head back and cackled; it was almost more of a caw than a laugh but clearly a sound of amusement nonetheless. “Glitter! Glitter! I haven’t laughed so hard in years.”

Their hand was shaking. “Pony gave it to me. Because sparkles- because sparkles-“ Their voice wobbled and they couldn’t finish that sentence.

“Sparkles make everything better,” Cherri whispered softly from next to her. Newsie nodded, trying not to cry.

The mirth on the Witch’s face was gone, replaced by true, genuine pity. “You care so much.”

“Yeah, of course I fucking do. He’s my brother, asshole.”

Cherri’s form was flickering again, and Newsie wished she knew what that meant as the Witch smiled softly. It was a bit of a sad, pitying smile, which they really didn’t appreciate, but they guessed they did make for a pitiful sight. Sandy and dusty, tear tracks on their face as they leaned against a wall and offered a pitiful little pack of glitter in exchange for the person they loved most in the world. 

“So…are you going to take the glitter?” Maybe it was dumb, maybe she should know the Witch would never accept glitter, but she had to try. 

“Yes.” 

Newsie gaped at her. 

“Yes, I’ll take the glitter. Not as a reward, but as a symbol. You, NewsAGoGo, traveled uncountable miles of unreality, fought a squad of dracs, and dared defy me, a literal deity, for your brother. I am not a cruel goddess, I do not need to be. The world is cruel enough for me. And your Cherri did not deserve to die. Oh, he was asking for it, he was taunting me into swooping down to take that bracelet you gave him off his wrist and taking his soul on with me just the same, but he still didn’t deserve to die.”  

The Witch flicked Cherri on the nose, or where Newsie thought his nose ought to be. “We’ve had some conversations about it, haven’t we? Because you didn’t want to die, Cherri Cola. You wanted to not be in pain. Something everyone wants. And your sister cares so much, so I’ll give you one more chance. This is your last one, lovely.”

“I understand.”

“Of course you do, hon.” The Witch turned back to Newsie. “Keep an eye on this one. He’s a bit prone to wandering off, but he’s yours again. He belongs to the land of the living. I’ll be keeping this, though.” She tapped the bracelet on her wrist, which Newsie recognized as the one they had given Cherri. “And the glitter, just for the hell of it. Tell your friend Pony they have good taste in décor, will you?”

And just like that, she was gone. Newsie was standing alone at the entrance to Death Valley, her faithful motorcycle next to her. At first, she thought the Witch had lied, since she did seem to be utterly alone, but before long, footsteps sounded from within the valley. 

Newsie turned as a figure approached, her breath catching at the familiar face. Cherri Cola was exactly how he had been the day Newsie had left him at the radio station, not knowing she would come back to find him gone. His battered green jacket was just as ripped and dusty as ever, and there was a small scar across his right cheek, as always. The only immediately visible difference between Cherri of a few weeks ago and this Cherri was the pure white streak in his hair, white like bones and death and the salt crusted on some parts of the desert. Yet when she looked closer, she could also see a tiny spark of determination in his eyes that had been missing for a very long time.

Cherri came to a stop in front of her, smiling cautiously. “Hey.” 

Newsie didn’t know if they should cry, yell at him, or hug him. They settled for a mixture of all three, sprinting over to hug him tightly as they unleashed all the bottled swear words and tears of the past few weeks. “Fuck you, Cherri! Dipshit! Bitch boy! Fucking rat bastard, you left me! You left me alone and I- and I was scared.” Their voice dropped on the last few words.

“I know, I’m sorry.” Cherri’s voice was very soft. “I should never have left.”

A bit of her fierceness came back at that, with another couple of swear words to unleash. “No, you fucking shouldn’t have! Asshole. Little shit! You died, you fucker! You died and I had to walk so fucking far to get you back, fuckface!”

“I’m sorry, Newsie. I’m so sorry.” 

She sniffled, unable to stay mad for long. “Just never do that again. Ever. I’m not fighting a squad of dracs to save some child so I can get directions to a fucking fake radio shack and talk to a cryptic deity next time.”

“There won’t be a next time,” Cherri said softly. “I promise.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

He crossed his heart, giving her a very serious look. “I swear on my best poetry and Show Pony’s glitter stash.”

They let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “Now you can never break it, Pone would never forgive you if something happened to their glitter stash.”

“Exactly.” His eyes were glimmering with tears as well, but he was smiling as Newsie led him back to her motorcycle with a “Hop on, fuckface.”

It felt safe to have Cherri’s arms wrapped around her again, his head leaning on her shoulder as she revved the engine. He was a warm, safe presence, just as he had been in the unreality-reality place, but this time he was a solid one. A real one.

They might have been tired as all fuck, but that didn’t stop them from grinning as Cherri muttered something about it probably not being safe for her to drive while this tired. “Hang on, fucker. We’re going home.” 

Home was, as it had been for quite a while now, a (mostly) structurally sound radio station in the middle of the desert. It was almost nightfall by the time they pulled up in front of the radio shack, and Newsie was yawning as she climbed off the bike with another huge yawn. Cherri practically had to carry her to the door, but in her defense, he wasn’t the one who had walked however many miles, got in a firefight, and argued with a deity today. So they felt no guilt in leaning against him as he paused on the porch, using his free hand to knock gently on the door.

They were met by an exhausted-looking Show Pony, eyes red-rimmed and blood-shot as ey opened the door. “I’m sorry, no visitors today- Newsie?! Cherri?!?”

Cherri waved with his free hand. “Hey.”

“Am I just seeing things?” Pony’s voice was as shocked as eir face, which was very.

“Not seeing things, bastard,” Newsie yawned. “I said I was getting Cherri, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but you’ve been missing a month, Gogo! D and I thought you were ghosted like your bro!”

It probably was not an appropriate reaction, but the first thing out of her mouth was “No wonder I’m so thirsty.”

Cherri started laughing at that, and after a second so did Pony, half-hysterically. “Well, we’ve got water, that’s for sure. D’ll give you plenty, he’ll be so glad you’re alive!” Ey led them inside, still laughing in a somewhat hysterical way. “D, we’ve got some rat bastards alive and back on our hands!”

“Fuck you, Pone.” 

“She’s kidding, we love you,” Cherri yawned.

“And I love you too, but you can’t just- just up and disappear! The lot of you, honestly.” 

D’s face was only slightly less shocked than Pony’s when he rolled into the living room, and Newsie had a feeling that was only because he was even more exhausted than em. 

“Hey,” Cherri said again. 

“Cherri- Newsie- Witch, you both, we thought you were dead!”

“Well we’re not, deal with it.” She was too tired for this shit. Shouldn’t arguing with a deity give you a pass? “Also, sorry, Pone, I traded your glitter away to the Witch.”

Ey only looked shocked for a second before eir usual grin returned. “Well, it was meant to be used somehow! Plus, sparkles…”

“Make everything better!” Newsie, Pony, and Cherri all chorused. 

D sighed. “Welcome home, you two. Never scare us like that again, alright, Newsie?”

“I wasn’t the one who wandered off and died!”

“To be fair, you kinda threatened to fight the Phoenix Witch and then vanished, sugar,” Pony put in.

Newsie flipped em off, flopping down on the sofa. “My point was, give Cherri shit instead. I’m too tired for this.”

“Oh, I plan on it.” D’s voice was vaguely threatening, but his face cracked into a smile as he turned to Cherri. “You scared the hell out of all of us.”

Cherri stared at the ground. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“And we love you so much,” D added.

Newsie grinned at her brother’s shocked face. “Uh-huh, fuckface. We love you, even if you’re a rat bastard. Now I’m going to sleep for a week, see you all later.”

“Goodnight, Newsie,” Cherri said with a smile. If anyone else said anything after that, Newsie didn’t hear it. They were out like a light within seconds.

-

In this universe, the radio station is peaceful that evening, the family reunited at long last. Cherri Cola smiles to himself as he lifts Newsie off the sofa, giving D and Pony a thumbs up as he wanders into the back of the radio station. Their room is quiet, and Newsie barely shifts when he sets her down gently on the mattress.  They do move, however, when Cherri tries to pull away, reaching out to snatch his wrist. Trapped, he has no choice but to lay down next to Newsie, earning a sleepy noise that sounds vaguely happy.

Cherri grins softly, even if she can’t see it, running his hand along the new set of scars on his arm. There will be time to think about those later, time for the conversations that have to come with that, but for now all they are is a reminder. A reminder that he’s a survivor, a reminder of what matters. 

Cherri Cola falls asleep with Newsie by his side, and the last words on his lips that night are “I love you, Newsie.”

[seasonofthegeek]

Forgetfully Yours

Here comes another drabble from the fanfic trope mash-up requests, featuring Ladybug and Chat Noir. The prompts are “forgotten first meeting” and “character in peril”. Thanks so much to @27percentonrottentomatoes for the ko-fi donation! 

___

He would forget her again.

It was probably a selfish thought to have as Ladybug watched Chat Noir’s body disperse into a cloud of sparkling glitter, but she couldn’t help it. She’d seen him die so many times now, seen him sacrifice himself so many times, and it only made her tired. She knew she could bring him back, but the cost was becoming too high. His memories reset with every Cure that gave him life again. It hadn’t been quite as bad when they were still young and new and his memories reset often, but now they were getting older and she’d fallen in love with a man who forgot who she was in this form every few months.

The akuma’s cackle broke off into a surprised gasp as her necklace rotted away, thanks to Chat Noir’s last act of Cataclysm before his glittery demise.  Ladybug went through the motions of catching the dark butterfly as it pulled away from the destroyed necklace and she released it with a sigh when the cleansing was complete. 

They’d made it so far this time. They had inside jokes and favorite places to meet and he knew what she liked on her pizza and they’d almost kissed...

She trudged back to her discarded Lucky Charm, ignoring the distraught victim for the time being, and threw the spotted towel up into the air with a mutter. Magical ladybugs raced around the city and the akuma’s victims popped back into existence, including Chat Noir.  

Ladybug took a moment to help the confused woman to her feet and explain that she’d been akumatized. After another citizen came to her side, Ladybug excused herself to go to her partner. He gave her the same confused look she’d seen on his handsome face too many times, but she offered her hand. 

“Thanks for your help. You must be Chat Noir.” She watched his brow furrow beneath his mask and then he glanced down his body as he always did, eyes widening slightly before he looked at her again. An easy grin fell into place and it made her heart ache.

“At your service, my Ladybug.” He took her hand and dipped low like he’d done dozens of times during their first meetings. His gaze was playful as his eyes met hers and even though she was exhausted and heartsick, she did her best to smile back at him because despite it all, it felt good to have him by her side.

___

“So I forget every time?”

Sometimes Ladybug explained what happened to Chat Noir; sometimes she didn’t. And then there were times like this one where she didn’t have a choice. Stumbling across old footage of your younger self as a superhero with no memory of it would be confusing for anyone.

She nodded and offered Chat Noir the bag of macarons she’d picked up at her parents’ bakery on the way to meet him. “We’ve met...” She trailed off and mentally added the most recent death to her tally. “Hmm, I believe this last time made number forty-two.”

He choked on the bite he’d just taken and crumbs sprayed out to fall to his lap. “I’ve died forty-two times?!”

Ladybug winced. “At least you have more than the usual nine lives for a cat.”

“I can’t decide if I want to laugh or cry.”

“You can do both, if you want.” She reached over and placed her hand on his. His hand stiffened and she missed the instant reciprocation they’d gotten to before, but it didn’t take long for him to turn his wrist so their fingers could slide together.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “How long have we been doing this? We looked young in that video.”

Ladybug felt the years sink in. They’d had this conversation more than a few times. “We started when we were fourteen.”

“I’ve been forgetting you since I was fourteen.” His eyes tightened. “I don’t understand...how is this possible? I can remember everything else about my life.”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. “For some reason, your death and the Cure bringing you back only affects your memory as far as being Chat Noir is concerned.”

“That sucks.”

“Yeah.”

He worried his bottom lip. “Do you know who I am when I’m not Chat Noir?”

“I do.”

“Ah.”

“You know who I am sometimes too.”

“But not right now.” His claws dug into the top of his thighs. “You don’t ever forget?”

“No.” She knew her answer was too quick, too flat, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to be past this. She wanted to be back to laughing and cuddling and being best friends. These awkward new beginnings always twisted her stomach into knots. She knew she had to ask him what she asked him every time, and she already knew what his answer would be.

“I can take the ring,” she offered. “You can just be Adrien and then there isn’t anything to forget.”

His black ears dipped low and then he shook his head; he always did.

“No. I’ll just be more careful this time around. I can do this. I want to.”

___

Chat Noir jumped in front of an energy blast meant for her, and Ladybug was shaking as she finished off the akuma on her own. 

Thirteen months. 

They’d made it thirteen months without him dying. Thirteen months without him forgetting. Thirteen months of him falling just as much in love with her as she was with him. 

She couldn’t lose it. She wouldn’t survive this time; she could feel it in her bones.

Ladybug was ruthless as she beat down the akumatized man. She shattered the glass orb of his cane with such force that the shards flew up to shred across the skin of her cheek. She slammed her yoyo into the dark butterfly as it tried to escape and felt anger building up as she released it to the heavens. She was about to begin the Cure when a cough followed by a groan caught her attention.

Chat Noir rolled onto his back and coughed again. “I’m here,” he whispered weakly, his eyes finding hers. “Bugaboo, I’m alive.”

She fell to her knees beside him, tears streaming down her face. She had to release the Cure--and she would-- but she needed this moment. She needed to feel his chest rise under her hand and see the strained smile he gave her. 

He was okay. 

They were okay.

___

“I think you should marry me.” Chat Noir grinned widely at the surprised expression on his girlfriend’s face.

“Excuse me?”

“Marry me,” he corrected. “Don’t you wanna?”

“You can’t seriously be proposing to me while we’re sitting here stuffing our faces after a patrol,” she replied, dropping what was left of her pretzel back into its paper bag.

“Why not? I’m madly in love with you, my Mariboo.” He wiggled his brow. “And I know you’re madly in love with me.”

She hummed noncommittally but knew she was grinning like an idiot.

“Come on, say you’ll marry me. We’ll go pick out the biggest ring in the city right now.”

“You’re a nutcase, kitty.”

“Marry me, my Lady. Make me the happiest cat in all of Paris.”

The lightness she’d been feeling dropped like a lead balloon. “I can’t.”

His beaming smile wilted. “Why?”

“Because it could happen again.” She hugged herself and felt the soft pretzel she’d just eaten churn in her gut. “I can’t...I don’t know what I would do if I lost this now, and I just think marriage would...” She swallowed against the lump in her throat and shook her head. “I can’t.”

“It’s been two years.”

“I don’t think there’s a time limit.”

He took her hand in his. “We’d still be married as Marinette and Adrien. I wouldn’t forget that. Wouldn’t that be enough?”

She took in a shaking breath and half-turned so she could cup his cheek. “You’ll always be enough for me, but if you forgot as Chat, I’d lose half my life with you. I don’t know how I would cope with that.”

“Please say yes,” he pleaded, eyes glassy and voice soft.

“No,” she replied, voice even softer.

____

The first time Queen Bee appeared during an akuma attack, Ladybug mistook her for one of the bad guys.

“I’m on your team, dummy,” she spat, dodging Ladybug’s yoyo. “Chat Noir sent me.”

And thus began the parade of heroes that showed up to fight by Ladybug’s side. Sometimes she recognized the people behind the masks and sometimes she didn’t, but they’d always been sent by Chat Noir and they always fought as hard as they could. She wanted to object to Master Fu allowing it, but she couldn’t find it in her to actually do. 

And after every battle, Chat Noir would be waiting for Ladybug, a diamond ring in his hand.

And she kept saying no. 

Until one night, Ladybug went to the spot he was always waiting for her and found Adrien down on one knee with a black ring in his hand. “If this is the one that will get you to say yes, you can have it,” he said. “I think I understand now.”

Her chest tightened with the next breath. “You do?”

He looked past her at the skyline of the city thoughtfully. “I’ve been watching you risk your life over and over again and forced myself to stay out of it because I trusted the help I’d sent you. I guess after a while, I realized this must be how you feel.” He curled his free hand into a fist over his chest. “It’s terrifying watching the person you love get hurt and feel helpless. I can’t imagine what it’s been like to watch me die and come back with no memory, to have to relive that over and over.” He dropped his head. “I’m sorry, Marinette.”

She went down to her knees in front of him and lowered the hand with the ring but kept it held between hers. “Maybe it’s time for a new chapter for both of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“You also proved to me that we aren’t the only ones willing to help. Maybe we can let someone else take the lead for a while.” She smiled sadly. “We deserve a chance at life, don’t we?”

“No more Chat Noir and Ladybug. I’m not sure how to feel.”

“Me neither honestly, but I think I want to give it a shot. Would that be okay?”

“Is it going to be forever?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “but we can be.”

Adrien’s face brightened with a beautiful smile. “Then that’s enough for me.”

Buy me a cherry coke?

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #322

“you will hear it when your god cries  /  you will see it when the sun dies  /  upon the altars of change”

What is your favorite nickname that you’ve had? "Bee," from my old best friend. I don't want others calling me it, though. Where did you go on the best date you’ve been on? A big arcade. It was a super fun double-date. Have you ever gotten a professional massage? No, and I don't want one. It'd be so awkward. What’s your favorite milkshake flavor? Chocolate. What act would you be most likely to perform in a talent show? I got nothin'. If you had braces, do you wear your retainers still? I don't. If you had braces, have your teeth moved since you got them off? Yep, because of the whole "not wearing my retainer" thing. Whose was the first baby shower you remember attending, and for what baby? I'm unsure. Possibly my sister's for her first daughter. Do you know anyone personally who’s lost a child? Many people. When was the last time you did something that felt like rebellion? So every now and again, I get a massive craving for soda at night, so I grab one from the kitchen and can hear my sleeping mother rightfully nagging me about it, haha... What is one present you got for your last birthday? Ashley got me this really cool skull bank that says "tattoo fund" on it, aha. I love it. What is one thing that you took to show and tell as a kid? I have a clear memory of bringing a Snorlax plushie one day. Do you remember losing your first tooth? Not my first, no. Are you afraid to pop a balloon? Not really, but it's kinda easy to make me jump just a lil bit when one is popped. When was the last time you laughed when you shouldn’t have? I don't know. Which was better: the first The Lion King or the second? That is fucking HARD. I adore both, but I think the original is slightly better. Do any of your grandparents have a tattoo? I'm pretty sure none of them did. Do you believe that your pets feel love towards you? My cat, definitely. As for my snake, I'm aware that snakes' brains simply aren't developed enough for love, but she clearly trusts me. Are you proud of your body? Fuck no. I'm humiliated by it every waking moment. Watermelon or cherries? I don't like either, but if I had to pick, watermelon. Favourite brand of cookies? I don't really have a favorite brand. Have you ever stuck gum under a desk/chair? No, that shit grosses me out. When shopping at a grocery store, do you return your cart or just leave it? Return your goddamn cart. What is one thing you’d never want your parents to find out? Uhhhh. I guess places I've "done it." When you were little, did you like Dr. Suess books? I did. Do you like eating out at restaurants? Yeah; at least, before Covid. What was your least favorite year of your life so far? Fuck 2016 into the next millenium. Do you like fried bologna? I haven't had it in so long that I don't really remember the taste. I think I would. Have you spent money on a game online? Yeah, very briefly with WoW. Mom was nice enough to refresh my subscription after the breakup (Jason paid for it prior), but from then on, I was rich enough in-game to use monthly game tokens to "pay." Do you put a line through your "7"s? Yes. What about your "Z"s? Also yes. Do you like cold pizza? Yeah, yummy. Do you like broccoli and cheese? Yessss. Toaster or toaster oven? We've always used a toaster oven. What are you most known for? Being artsy, I guess. Do you have any reputations? What are they? *shrug* What was the last thing to leave you speechless? No clue. What is the curviest part of your body? Well, I'm overweight, so it's difficult to tell where I'm naturally curvy... but I guess my hips. Even when I was at a perfectly healthy weight though, I don't think I was exceptionally curvy anywhere. What is your opinion on sex change? You are entirely deserving to feel comfortable in your own body. If you’re still a virgin, how important is your virginity to you? I'm not, though I thought I was when we were together, when we were really just using a loophole. It was a denial thing BECAUSE my virginity was so important to me. If you have lost it already, do you regret it? No. Would you take a break after graduating from high school (like, postpone going to college for a year or so)? I didn't. What regret keeps coming back to haunt you daily? Things I said to Jason. If you could cure yourself of one allergy, what would it be? Pollen. Would you ever post a picture of yourself crying on social media? No. Have you ever held a newborn baby? Yeah, my most recent niece I actually held. I don't THINK I held Aubree or Ryder as newborns because I was so afraid of not doing it right and hurting them. Do you know anyone who has twins? Yeah. Are you following in the career path of any family members? No. What is your favorite country in Europe? Germany. How many times have your comments been top comments on YouTube? A few times. I rarely ever comment, but if I do, it's because I feel like I really have something worth saying. Would you ever wear a wig? I'm not opposed to it. Do you like the moon or sun more? The moon. Do you like turkey or ham more? Ham. Have you ever slapped someone’s butt? Yes. Do you think dimples are ugly? I think they're cute, actually. Have you ever deleted Facebook friends for a significant other? No. Have you ever spent the night in jail? No. Do you consider yourself a good kisser? I assume I am from experiences. Do you watch Pewdiepie? Not anymore, no. His current content doesn't interest me. The most recent thing I watched was his playthrough of The Last of Us 2, because I adore the first game and definitely wanted to see him play the sequel. I think he's pretty funny and have no personal issues against him, though then again I am so uninvolved in the fandom that I have no idea if he's done something stupid again. Do you like "Despacito?" Haha, my mind went to The Dark Den's bearded dragon before the song... I'm not a fan of it, no. Did you ever color your hair pink? No, but I absolutely want to dye it pastel pink one day. :( I even edited a picture of me "testing" different hair colors out, and pastel pink looked suuuuper pretty. Do you drink energy drinks? No, they're too strong for my taste. Do you have any subscribers on YouTube? I don't now how many I have, but I know it's below 100. Do you have a Steam account? Yeah. Have you ever played Five Nights at Freddy’s? No, but I enjoy the franchise. I'm not totally clear on all the lore, though. Do you like religion? Quite honestly, no. Do you swear in front of children? No. What is the next craft you are going to make? There's no telling. I don't really do crafts. What was your favorite Backstreet Boys song? Maybe "The Call." Favorite *N Sync song? I don't remember enough of them, at least not right now. Which of those two bands did you like best? The BSB, baby. Do you learn choreography easily? When I danced, I'd say I learned at a fairly average pace. What’s your favorite candy to receive on Halloween? Reeseeeeeee's. <3 Do you have a bobblehead? No. Have you ever had a lead role in a play? No. Have you ever been insulted or called names by a significant other? No. I wouldn't tolerate that shit. What’s your favorite movie battle scene? Oh man, idk. Maybe something from Troy, though I honestly barely even remember the movie by now, haha. Have you ever been to a same-sex wedding? No, actually. Who takes care of your pet(s) when you’re out of town? Hypothetically, one of my sisters would come to feed and water Roman and clean his box. I'm certain I couldn't talk either into spraying Venus' cage, though... What was the last thing you wrote down on paper? Some group work during therapy. Did you have a Walkman when you were a kid? No. What’s your favorite recipe you’ve come up with? Oh dear, I don't make those. Do you like celery? Yuck, no. By what age could you swallow pills? I dunno. A normal age. Do you like to drink alot of water? I need to drink more. :/ I've gotten better, though. For years, I literally never drank water. How I even survived, idk. How many times have you gone fishing? Countless times. Ever been to a roller-skating rink? Yeah. I loved having bday parties there as a lil'un. What do you refer to your mother as? (Mom, momma, mommy) Mom, Ma, and Mama. Have you ever swam in the ocean? Yeah, multiple times. What is the last movie that made you cry? I think the remake of The Lion King. What would you like to swim in other than water? Nothing? If you could uninvent one thing what would you chose? Damn, just one? Maybe cigarettes? Have you ever read someone's diary? Absolutely not. I respect people's privacy. Have you ever played in a waterfall? No, but that'd be dope. Who has inspired you the most in your life? Probably Mark. Is there a place where everyone who lives near you tends to hang out? Idk. Teens sure do love to hang out at Sonic, though, reving their stupid fucking trucks. Does your alarm clock wake you with music, or with an annoying buzz sound? Music. Did you make it all the way through the Oregon Trail game? Yes; I was obsessed with those as a kid. Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! Which one are you more scared of? I feel like being alone with a tiger would scare me most. Though let's be real, I'd probably try to pet it. Have you ever changed your favorite color? From what to what? It was originally red, but then became pink when I actually understood it was its own color. Then it was maroon forever, and now it's back to pink. On a scale of 1-10, how competitive are you? Eh, 4-6? It depends on the situation, I guess. At what age did your have your most memorable birthday? My 21st, because I was in the psych hospital for it. Yes or no: Guys in skinny jeans? Yeah, man. Yes or no: Girls with dreads? Some people can pull it off. Have you ever attended a themed b-day party? What was the theme? Oh yeah, plenty. Do you have any Eminem on your iPod/MP3 player? I do. Has anybody ever given you a promise ring? No. What do you think about putting ‘spinners’ on cars? So long as they're not too distracting, I don't care. Do what you want with your car - again, so long as it is not disruptive. What celebrity do you wish would have a big comeback? I wish poor Britney Spears could catch a goddamn break and be happy again. She's a legend that doesn't deserve to feel like a puppet. Were you outdoors or indoors more as a kid? I'd say there was a pretty even split. Do you or have you ever owned a horse? No, but I LOVE horses. Have you ever had a relationship that began via text? (weird, I know, but it happens…) Most of my relationships started through a text message. Did you believe in unicorns as a small child? I don’t think so. Would you ever date a guy with longer hair than yourself? Yeah; I have short hair anyway, and I also like long hair on guys. Do you watch the show Wizards of Waverly Place? I used to love that show. Have you ever been to the rainforest? No; humidity aside though, that would be so amazing. Bats are not spooky or are they? I think they're precious. Do you like the song "Womanizer?" I sure do, actually. Do you like ice cream cake? Not really, but I'll eat it. Do you know how to change a tire? Nope. What kind of headphones do you have? Just cheap earplugs. Do you experiment a lot with new looks on yourself? No. What were some fun experiments you did in science class as a kid? Dissecting a frog was my favorite, and doing the same with an owl pellet was also very cool. What was the last strong emotion you felt? Guilt. I lied to get out of group therapy early because I was just NOT feeling it whatsoever that day, and I hate lying. Do you use dry shampoo between washes? No. Have you ever lived with someone you didn’t get along with? No. What types of animals have you had as pets? Jeez, what haven't we had... We've had cats, dogs, snakes, rats, gerbils, a rabbit, hamsters, lizards, fish, guinea pigs... Hell, I'm probably forgetting one or two. Can you name three good things about your most recent ex? She's so creative, a real advocate for proper reptile education and appreciation, and very kind. Name three bands/artists that you hate. Uhhh The Talking Heads, Bob Dylan, and The Police. What’s the best memory you have of your father? Playing softball with him in the front yard, and when he taught me to ride a bike. Should tattoos be meaningful? You get a tattoo for whatever reason you damn well want. I don't plan on all of mine to be meaningful. Some stuff I just want because I think it's cool. Are you afraid of the dark? No. Have you ever been through a trap door? No. What's the most recent good news you’ve heard? Hm. Who was the last person in your family to have a baby? My older sister. When’s the last time you used the microwave? Last night. What’s the worst thing in your life right now? Financial struggles. Have you ever owned a tire swing? No. Does anyone you know own a bird that can talk? No. Have you ever been someplace tropical? Yeah, Florida. Have Jehovah'ss witnessess ever called to your door? Yep. when was the last time you went to mass/church? I have no idea. It's been many years. Have you ever experienced sleep paralysis? Thank heavens no.

[definitelynottony]

Grease is the Word [Ch.1 Summer Lovin’]

[Ao3] [part 2] [Song recommendations: Grease OST, 50′s era songs] [Also definitely recommend looking up a 50′s slang dictionary!]

It started out with just a visit, a holiday to see his family over in the states. Spend his summer break hangin’ out with his aunt,uncle and cousin; he only gets to see them every couple of years. The last time he saw them was for his mother’s funeral. They’re good people though, he should see them more often. Get a break away from his screwed up life back in Australia, with his sorry excuse of a father. He missed the golden coast but it was a change of pace, two months living in Hawkins Indiana would do Billy Hargrove some real good. 

And it did. It was such a simple life. Not havin’ to make sure his deadbeat dad was in bed every night; cause the only thing he was good for after his mom died was drinkin’ and givin’ Billy a real good shiner. Not havin’ to go to school and work every day just to buy his own cigs. Havin’ people that actually cared if you came home at night was pretty good too, not that the greaser would admit it. But yeah, he’s probably been smiling since he walked into the Mayfield house. 

Aunt Susan was just like havin’ his mom back, they even have the same hair color. And Max, she got even bigger since the last time Billy saw her. She was still a little shitbird though. His step uncle wasn’t too bad of a guy either, let him drive his blue ‘58 Bel Air ‘round. Was definitely a helluva a lot better than his old man, that’s fer damn sure. And yeah, Billy’s summer went by in a blink. He followed Max and some of her friends around, learnin’ where all the good spots where. It was a small town, not too hard; the diner, arcade, drive ins, and Hawkins’ Lovers Lake. 

On one hot, real hot Indiana summer day, Billy decided to take the Bel Air for a spin; he ended up at the lake. That’s when he saw him; like a fuckin’ angel. 

He had soft brown hair all shaped perfectly into a quiff. Unlike Billy’s blonde curls, if he could get his hair into a pomp it was a good day, most the time it was somewhere between the flop and a loose teddy boy. Not that it really mattered, everyone knew what he was as soon as they saw him with his leather on, a smoke in his mouth. Poor by birth, Greaser by choice. 

But this cat, this pretty boy with the brown hair, well he looked like he belonged on the telly. Billy didn’t even notice the other’s with him. Some girl, plain jane prep, definitely no Monroe; she wasn’t even in a bathing suit, wet blanket. Some hipster slick was with her reading a book, but Billy’s eyes stayed with the brunette with an angel face and Babmi eyes. The two were sittin’ over on the dock, that angel face was putterin’ in the water. Billy knew they could see him pullin’ up. Sauntering down to the lake edge. Good, Billy loved a dramatic entrance. 

As he showed up, splashin’ around in the shallows of the shoreline, he got that pretty boy’s attention. Well, couldn’t blame him; not many could pull off red trunks as short as Billy’s were. God bless the 50’s. If the brunette didn’t close his mouth pretty soon Billy was sure he’d have to save his life ‘cause he’s gonna drown like that. 

“Steve, do you know him?” the girl hushed down to the brunette--- 

“No, I don’t think so. He kinda chills ‘ya though doesn't he?”

“Not me Stevie, he’s just staring at us. Go say something!” 

“Like what?” 

“Tell’um to take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

“Not helpful Jonathan, come on Nance why don’t you go talk ta him?” 

“Cause he looks like a bird dog.” 

“Looks like a dreamboat to me.”

“STEVE!” The girl squealed. “Go!”

“Shh! Nance, okay-oaky.”

The greaser watched with anticipation as that earth angel adorably, clumsily strolled up to him, green high ride swims on, he was a prep; Billy could deal with that---

“Hey there daddy-o what’s shakin’?”

God, even his voice was angelic. 

“You know baby, just rockin’ an rollin’.”

“Heh, you ain’t from around here huh? Names Steve.”

“Accent give it’ away?” 

“Yeah. I like it though, it’s bitchin’.” 

“Names Billy” 

“Billy? Hey, you’re Max’s cousin right?” 

“Yeah, you know the ankle biter?”

“She runs with some kids I know.”

“Small world” the blonde charmed.

“Small town” Steve laughed, and it was everything; that laugh “so you wanna come hang?”

“Thought you’d never ask cherry.”

“That mouth you got sure is drippin’ apple butter.”

“Just fer cherry’s like you doll face.”

Steve gave this smirk before turning back to his friends; a smirk that really made Billy wish the cat would drown just so he could give him mouth to mouth. He’d know what to do', Billy was a lifeguard back in 'Straya. 

“Guys, this is Billy. He’s Maxie’s cousin. Billy, this is Nancy and that’s Jonathan.” Steve introduced, Billy just nodded with a smirk. He really wasn’t that interested in a couple drips.

“It’s a pleasure, Billy, are you from around here? Just visiting? Staying long?” Nancy had that look in her eyes Steve knew all too well, and normally he hated when she did this but he wanted to know too.

“You writin’ a book sweetheart?”

“Maybe. Just curious what side of the track you’re from.”

Billy rolled his eyes “I see someone’s got her glasses on, I'm from Australia, just visiting. Leavin’ in the fall.” Yeah, she was definitely a drag, bringing the whole mood down. 

“I knew you were from Australia, that’s choice! What’s it like there?”

“Tell ‘ya all about it over a malt pretty boy.”

“...Guess he’s not a bird dog.” 

Jonathan piped up from his book. Nancy nudged his shoulder holding back a laugh or a sequel, who knows. Billy and Steve sure didn’t cause Steve was too busy dodging Billy’s splashes. They went on for a few hours like that, enjoying the summer heat, the cool water. Some point Steve got Nancy and Jonathan to play chicken with them. Billy dropped Steve on purpose, the brunette was pretty sure he tried to drown him. 

And it was weeks of days like that. Bowlin’ in the arcade, drinkin lemonade, spent hours makin’ out under the dock at lover’s lake. Stayin’ out past 10, nights at the drivin’s. Billy had a car after all and Stevie was real inta back seat bingo. And they held hands when they were alone, and their first time was cause Steve got real friendly down in the sand. God he was good, if you know what I mean. And yeah, Billy felt like it was love at first sight, but he knew it was just a summer fling, didn’t mean a thing. At least it wasn’t supposed to. 

“Goddamn pretty boy, You’re bonafide. I’m so sweet fer ya.”

“Billy, I never met someone like you before.This feels like the real deal.”

“That’s cause it is baby. It is.”

And long fingers tangled in golden curls. Sun kissed flesh wrapped around soft freckled porcelain. Lips to skin, ocean blues drowning in honey browns, teeth biting down like they’re making home there. It was the closest thing to heaven on earth. The closest the greaser was going to get, with this angel looking up at him panting his name. With his fingers wrapped up in his hair and his momma’s necklace. Rolling into him like the Pacific ocean, kissing away tears from that pretty freckled face. Stevie’s legs holding tight around him, his way of sayin’ more, harder, because that cherry mouth of his is just too good ta say it out loud. Like Billy would ever say no, Stevie didn’t know it but Billy’s been wrapped ‘round his gentle finger since he saw that smirk of his two months ago.

“Never gonna forget this Stevie, yur the best fuckin’ thing these hands have ever held.” 

It was summer lovin’ at it’s finest, and they were havin’ a blast. Until they weren’t, until there were tears, tears of pain and not the sweet tears Billy was kissing away last night on cool sand made hot from their bodies. And there were fists, but they weren't the calloused ones made gentle that caressed tony hair. Cause now they were holding porcelain ones aimed to make Billy hurt as much as they did. As much as Steve did. And Billy let him, let him pound those fist into his chest as he held the brunette close. Let him cry and curse him for ever coming to Hawkins, for ever meeting him. Only calming when Billy finally spoke---

“You, Steve Harrington, have made my life worth livin’.”

And those big doe eyes filled with diamonds were going to be permanently branded into the blonde's mind forever.

“I’ve just had the best summer of my life, and now I have ta leave, and it isn’t fuckin’ fair-”

“Billy”

“-It’s not fair.” The greaser pressed in close, so close, to memorize how it felt; how it felt to hold an angel in his hell bound arms. 

“Billy, is this the end? The end of us?”

“No, no ‘course not” Billy fainted a smile “it’s only the beginning Stevie.”

[wormmomma]

tyler, the creator: the very queer discography review!!!

Im bored of writing overly long threads on twitter so i wrote a look at tyler the creators discography and why hes gay and im gay and deserved to have his dick immortalized in gold when he dies. So tyler gregory okanma is a black man born in ladera heights california. He’s also my third favorite rapper and since he discovered my favorite rapper earl sweatshirt I guess he deserves goat status for that shit too. Tyler started his career around 17 years old as the ace the creator. He did features at the time with casey veggies and the inspirations in his flow to mf doom where already apparent even back then. From ace the creator mixtape you can already hear the very digital and jazz inspired pharrell production. Funny story if you look up any of his ace stuff now you'll mostly find some really old production that in the age of tyler the creator type beats doesn't really hold u all that great. From there Tyler went on to create odd futures and his first album bastard. He quite quickly followed up bastard with godlin. Goblin, bastard, and the OF tape vol.1 all feel pretty interconnected so im gonna speed round from worst to best. So odd future tape volume one is fun and punk and really crass, it's also completely eclipsed by odd futures other releases. I love odd future and the collective's ability too be both edgy teen skate rap garbage, and a risky artistic rap collective all at the same time. In odd future's first tape it seems pretty clear that tylers description of the groups early work as a bunch of niggas joking around in a studio is very apparent for better or worse. If you wanna get high with some friends can listen to some funny edgy and downright grimey tracks over left brains booking production skip this and listen to odd future's next mixtape but come back here to listen to some funny skits and a few proto mellowhype track with domo genesis. Goblin is Tyler's attempt to do a bigger darker more sprawling version of bastard but misses the mark. I like the album and I love singles on the album. Goblin the opening track is amazing and is a great look at tylers mental state attempting to live up to his newfound fame and anxiety about his infamy. I love yonkers and tron cat. Tyler says alot at this time that he doesn't make horrorcore and he's correct but the lack of emotional honesty and his immature deflections is really going off on all cylinders. If you dont wanna hear skits like “my bitch suck dick” and lines like “im not homophobic faggot” i would probably call it his worst album. Before i talk about bastard id like to go over his use of slurs and rape in his work. Tylers consistent lyrics about violence towards women and use of the lgbtq community really don't insult me. I feel like his lyrical content is filled with a clear look of how angry and insecure tyler was about not having a father or any way of processing his angst. Did he have to sound like a incel threatening to stalk and murder women who refuse to love him for over 3 albums? No, but i really enjoy looking at his early music. He doesn't shy away from how angry, sad and desperate he was at the time. That synthesis of need for fatherly love, anger from a lack of it and deteriorating mental state honestly makes the content more palatable. Also as a black trans women id rather hear tranny an faggot bars from a male rapper making intreeating music. Tyler at the time was being honest, angry and vulnerable not like eminem and action bronson who spit these bars with all the same rap bravado and violent anger toward women with zero pathos. Bastard is amazing, it's an intimate dark album. At the time it felt like it was tapping right into where I was at the time. The amount of mental anguish on bastards opening track really hit me. I was an angry kid with a lot of angst and bipolar disease so hearing a rapper yell about that same dysfunction really meant alot to me. The flows are amazing and it was a really good look at tylers ability to build a narrative. Wolf was tyler's next album. For a while wolf was my favorite album by tyler. His look at relationships and breakups on bimmer and ifhy are amazing and are expanded on his future releases. Find your wings and treehome are also a good look at his more melodic influence. It was such a good album I actually bought the mrech for and went to see Tyler at afropunk. Also hearing an entire song about the death of his grandma really hit me, my grandfather died around the same time. Cherry bomb was bad, now moving one. Ok im  joking i've listened to it two or three times but its really not worth going back to even though tyler put his all into it. The soul features and amazing production is worth listening to but even Tyler admits he rushed the album a little and that he needed to blow people away next time. Flower boy, is one of the most important albums in hip hop. That's it. Bar none. It was my favorite release of 2018. Flower boy is about tylers newfound isolation with his fame, and how he drives cars by himself in beautiful la vistas. Its also about how he’s gay (or bisexual). There are ALOT of stupid takes on this album. There is a contingency of tyler stans that think tyler has been “playing a character” since bastard. Now I'll admit that wolf haley and dr.teecee are clearly characters; they are also artists' representations of tyler's mental state. If wolf haley has adhd and no father that means tyler also has those issues. So whether or not Tyler is playing a character he has in fact “been kissing white boys since 2004”. I also have seen an insipid article that asks if “tyler the creator should be accepted into the lgbtq community” due to his homophobia? Much more controversial and actually homophobic and transphobic people are in this community hes tyler the creator, not milo yinnaoplous. I also dont think that it occurs to the reviewer that alot of gay men are very hmophobic before they come out and that self hate is very common. Lyrics like “im not gay i just wanna dance to some marvin” also has a much deeper context now. Listening to older releases you can see how in your face tyler was about his queerness. He even said he filmed himself kissing his friend Lucas to prove he wasn't a homophobe. I'm happy Tyler grew enough to make an album not only about being attracted to men but how lonely he felt in and out of the closet. As someone who came out as bisexual at the time it came at a perfect time. Being  gay is isolating and confusing and when you do you lose alot of friends and family. Garden shed, who dat boy, and 911 are real standouts. His collaboration with kali uchis was also so fucking smooth and she a born r&b star. Tyler gained a grammy nomination off the album and said he loved the feeling of finally making popular catchy music people wanna sing the lyrics too, so he followed it with igor. Igor opens with this addendum on the back of the physical album: 

This might be fiction, this might be about igor but it is fully about tyler okanga. The album is very hard to parse and barely has any rapping. It's more of a pop experimental album with a lot of lofi synth production. Tylers production chops are full force here. Igor is melodic, sad and full of the same anger and obsession from his previous albums. Its just more mature and really gay, and i fucking love it. Tyler was dealing with a tumultuous relationship with a guy and his refusal to be with tyler exclusively. Its about a breakup. A love tragedy that only becomes more depressing after the argument on a boy is a gun, the breakup in my love is gone, and the sad slump back into needing closure in can we be friends. The album is fun to sing to, and fucking devestating. I've dealt with a lot of similar issues with love and obsession so to hear it so clearly illustrated on igor really hit me. I think the album becomes even more depressing with the unreleased track best interest, about tyler being a side nigga. This is the kind of music that's sometimes made in r&b and pop but never in rap. There was an interview where Tyler says he hated his voice which is why he edits it so evident on igor. Tyler also said he wanted to send these songs to rihanna and Justin Beiber but they didn't want them, as cool as it sounds. I'm happy tyler was able to tell his own story. I would also recommend magic wand since it's my favorite track on the album and kicks you in the face with how angry and heartbroken Tyler was at the time. 

Tyler is an artist that talks and speaks about how he feels all the time, he's also a person who feels enigmatic and mysterious somehow. I think it has to do with how constantly he's put to the side of his other hip hop contemporaries. He always seems to be making music Tom weird, controversial and experimental to be treated like asap rocky, vince staples, or the late mac miller. A fact that feels ironic since he worked with all of those artists, lil wayne, and even kanye west. I'm as big a stan for tyler as he is for Pharrell, if it wherent forever I'd never take rap seriously and would never have chosen to make my own music. As a black trans woman I find a lot of tylers work really relatable. I've been in alot of the angry hopeless situations Tyler talks about in his music. I think he's the artist who hits me the most on a personal level and yeah when i was depressed i sat in my bedroom and listened to bastard in my low moments. I like riding in the car and listening to all of flowerboy. Igor is amazing as well for almost half a decade it's been amazing growing up and hitting the same emotional beats Tyler went through5 in his work. Hearing about him coming out as gay ajd dealing with very similar backlash mad me feel less alone if im being honest. Tyler has said he wants to take a more production heavy role in the industry moving forward but he says that a lot, i think as long as he has a story to tell he's always going to make music. His music feels like a diary and I'm happy to read it and sonnet to it in all its beauty and ugliness. 

Hi my name is lua o'reilly i make music on soundcloud.com/wormmother

If you liked this review let me know and I'll do a look into earl sweatshirt.

[cloudshapedpatch]

Misguided Royalty

Chapter Two: Birds Can’t Keep Secrets

An Ancient China AU created by @mikoriin

First / Next

💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚 💚

Many days had passed since the dark assassin had shown himself on the palace balcony. Despite her eminent fear that she would be killed any moment, the princess kept the endeavor to herself. There was no need to go about explaining it if she hadn't decided how she felt about it herself.

Deep down, Marinette's feelings were all mixed up like a bowl of rice and lentils. On one hand, she was infuriated that the people wanted her so badly to be killed. She hadn't even done anything!

But on the other hand, she was very intrigued as to why the most fearsome bounty hunter in the country had decided to spare her life. She certainly had never met him before, and as far as she was aware, her family was not in debt to him (Yu-Huang help them if this was true).

Although she decided to keep it to herself, she was absolutely itching to tell someone. The problem was finding out who could keep such a secret. Her mother and the Emperor were out of the question. They would try and have Chat Noir killed, and the young princess had not decided if this was what she wanted.

She could tell her maids or the guards, but if anyone asked them about it, they would have to confess.

She could tell Alya, but she already had a hard enough time controlling her tongue.

It seemed as though her only companion would be her trusted messenger bird, Tikki. If asked, Tikki would fly across the known world to deliver a message, though most of the time the only traveling she did was down to the village for Alya.

Tikki resided in the garden, in her own cage among the cherry trees. Though Marinette knew she should not be outside, she was quite fond of her companion and missed her terribly.

So late that night, she threw on her shawl and stepped out into the warm May night to find her beloved hummingbird. Tikki chirped happily when she recognized the princess. Marinette spoke soothingly as she scooped up the bird, which stood happily on her hands.

"Hello, old friend." The princess whispered, to which the small bird replied with a tweet. "It's been a while. If only I could keep you in my room with me. Perhaps we'd be less lonely."

Tikki only cocked her head to the side.

"Ah, yes. Hold on." Marinette placed Tikki on her shoulder to grab some pieces of bread she had snuck from the table that night. The bird ate it happily, for even though she was tended to every day by maids, nothing could beat fresh bread from her best friend.

"Now," the princess started, "I have some news. I'd tell the bees, but quite frankly, I'm afraid of them."

The bird said nothing. I'm starting to wonder for the princess' sanity.

"I don't know if you're aware of the cloaked man that has been handling bounties. Chat Noir, his name. Three nights ago, after Alya had left, he was on my balcony. Imagine! I almost died."

A slow, nearly melancholy tune emerged from her shoulder. Tikki was rewarded with another piece of bread.

"I was certain he was there to kill me." The terror of that night came back to her again. Through much subdued now, she started to stroll around the garden as she spoke. "I thought I was never going to be empress. I thought I'd somehow let the kingdom down before I'd even have a chance to fix it."

Tikki flew off her shoulder, making circles around the princess' head. The small blur of red flitted about happily. She started walking faster.

"But he didn't. I don't know why he changed his mind, but I am glad he did not go through with his initial intention. But now I want to know why I have a bounty over my head! I knew the citizens weren't fond of me, but I'd never known they hated me so much.

"Perhaps that is why I am not allowed to leave the palace grounds. If only I could explore just a little! Like you. Tell me, Tikki, what's the village yonder like?"

Finally Tikki settled on a grape vine. Marinette hadn't realized that she had started to run alongside her trusted bird until she was doubled over and out of breath. After a few moments, Marinette chided herself for slouching and held out her hands for her small hummingbird to land on.

Much to her surprise, a single green grape was in her beak, and then was dropped onto her hand.

"I'll never know how you find ripe fruit so early in the season, Tikki." She laughed a little and bit off half of the small grape, giving the rest back to her bird. Tikki happily sucked at the bittersweet juice while Marinette walked (leisurely this time) to put Tikki back in her cage.

"If only I was strong enough to bring your cage upstairs. Not that I don't trust you not to fly away, but you'd need a place to sleep. But you would miss the cherry trees, wouldn't you?"

Tikki perched on a small step made of a twig in her cage, chirping sadly as Marinette closed the cage door.

"Thank you, Tikki. Goodnight."

The bird flitted about her cage as Marinette made her way back into the castle quietly, and back to her quiet room.

* * * *

She awoke early the next morning to chirping from her balcony. She groaned and tried to go back to sleep.

Typical. You would think the successor of China would be a morning person.

The chirping resumed, and then a small song started. Marinette recognized it immediately as Tikki's melody. She only sang that song when she had a message.

Marinette scrambled up out of bed. She hadn't been expecting a letter. She wondered who it could be from. In her haste to pull on her stockings, she fell fell flat on her face.

Wouldn't be the first time. What a sweet, clumsy summer child.

But when she opened the door to her balcony, she froze. In the corner of her stone balcony laid the large bird's cage. A young, potted cherry tree with a few blossoms stood beside it. And in the small pouch in Tikki's black harness was a note.

I think I was more surprised than Marinette.

With shaking hands, she reached in to grab the note. Tikki stood still and proud and stopped tweeting. In messy handwriting, the note looked as if it had been written in a haste.

'birds can't keep secrets' was all it said. The events of last night came back to her. She had spoken aloud and wished that Tikki could be with her. Had someone been watching her? Listening to her every word? Her heart melted a little at the tree. They had even brought a cherry tree because Tikki loved them.

But who would have done such a thing? They must have been strong. For how else would they have gotten the cage all the way up to her third story room.

Wait. How would they get it up? She had been in her room all night, and she was a fairly light sleeper. Marinette would have heard them. The only way they would have gotten it there without going through her room would be if they brought it directly from the garden. But there was no way. The outer wall was flat and smooth. There were no stairs, and certainly no way to climb it, especially with a large cage and tree.

The only person she's ever seen who was able to get there was—

No. He couldn't have, right? Why would he?

Marinette looked at the note again. The paper was plain and the messy scrawls were scattered with small bubbles where the ink failed to adhere to the paper. It was cheap, she concluded. There was no such ink anywhere in the palace; it couldn't have been a guard or anyone else within the palace gates.

She ran to the edge of the low stone wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of him— or whoever did it— but to no avail. They had come in the dead of night.

Marinette had her suspicions. All signs so far were pointing to the black cat of the night. The only question was: why?

At this point, Marinette was convinced she had to tell someone. And apparently the garden was no longer a safe haven. She would tell Alya. Yes.

A piece of royal paper sat on her desk among her lipsticks, so she quickly scribbled 'Ignorant Nobles Create Wild Predicaments' before placing it on Tikki with a kiss and a goodbye.

The princess dressed for the day and wandered around the halls, looking for distractions (and unfortunately, finding none).

* * * *

The room was damp and dark. It looked like it hadn't been properly lived in for years. A pungent smell of rotting meat came from the shadows.

By the light of the sun peeking through a hole in the roof, a masked man came into view.

Chat Noir, the infamous bounty hunter, emerged from a back hall and into the main room. He was clothed in his cat ensemble, and appeared to be waiting for someone.

He stood around the room and waited for quite a while. He occasionally murmured to himself, only to grunt in annoyance a few moments later.

Finally, a graying man appeared from the same hall Chat had come from. He was tall, lean, and ghastly.

"Is it done?" Said the strange man, wearing an absurd amount of purple. Didn't he know only the royalty wore such expensive colors?

"Not quite," Chat Noir replied, "I have gathered some information, but she still breathes."

An icy stare penetrated through Chat's guard as he unsuccessfully tried to hide a shudder.

"I gave you a task. Shall I find someone new to collect the bounty? Or can you handle the job?"

Chat Noir had done quite a lot of thinking, truth be told. He knew exactly what he had to do, and how to fix his mistake.

"I can handle it. Consider it done. But I need a bit more time. I need to know how best to execute the plan... and her."

"Very well. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, Papillon. You won't be disappointed."

* * * *

Meanwhile, at the castle, Alya had settled down with Marinette with a bowl of dragon's beard candy in between them. The former was currently stuffing the sweet treat into her mouth at alarming rates, while the latter was working up the courage to speak.

"So you know how the people hate me?" The princess started.

Alya looked up from the bowl, cheeks puffed out. "Yep, but what about it?"

"Well, I sort of... possibly... almost... got assassinated?"

At this, the human messenger stopped chewing for a moment before being forced to continue before the large wad of chewy mess made her gag.

"What do you mean, almost got assassinated? Did you fall down the stairs again?"

"No! I mean yes, but! After you left the last time you were here..." The princess stopped, unsure if she wanted to continue. Alya's imploring gaze forced the words from her mouth before she could second-guess herself any longer. "Chat Noir was on my balcony. He had been watching me and planned to kill me for a bounty but he changed his mind."

The astonishment was clear on Alya's features. "Huh?"

"I don't know why, but he was holding his dagger and I fell and he helped me to my feet and then put away his dagger and said that he wasn't going to kill me anymore and then I went inside and he just left except I was thinking he—"

"Woah, take a breath. Easy!" Alya said, then took a deep breath. "This is grounds for an emergency message, not an 'Important News, Come When Possible' message."

"I didn't want to worry you!"

"I was here five days ago, Marinette. You should have send word as soon as it happened!"

"I'm sorry, dearest friend! Please forgive me!" Marinette half-jokingly sobbed into her friend's shoulder.

"Of course, Your Highness. I mean, as long as he doesn't come back."

"Well..."

"What do you mean, 'well'? Did he return?"

"I'm not sure, but two evenings ago I went to have a chat with Tikki in the garden. I had said aloud that I wished she could stay in my room so we'd both have company, and I added that I wouldn't because she loves the cherry blossoms too much. I awoke the next morning and her cage and a young cherry tree were on my balcony."

"And you think Chat Noir did it?"

"I'm not sure, but how else did it get up here? The only person who I've ever seen able to get up there was him. I still don't know how, but it must have been him."

"I see. Have you told the Emperor yet?"

"Goodness no, Alya. You'd think I'd have a little more self respect."

"You were almost killed! If you'd have died, all of China would be at the hands of barbarians! This is serious stuff."

"I still refuse to include him. I don't like him."

"Neither do I, but do I still pay my taxes and do my duty as a messenger?"

"I guess you do..."

"See? You should at least think about it."

"But perhaps I don't want Chat Noir dead!" The princess wailed, jumping off the large bed.

"Why not? Do you know how many crimes he has committed? How many people he has murdered? He's probably biding his time to come back and finish the job!" Alya walked over to her friend, giving her a hug from behind. "I think you should stay true to your heritage and to China's. I say we get a guillotine and behead him."

The princess could only sigh. "I... I don't know. I just feel like I shouldn't. And that's why my mother can never find out, and certainly never the Emperor."

"Why don't you refer to him by name? I mean, you can. He is your father." Alya chuckled, wishing to change the subject. If anyone heard the princess wish to spare Chat Noir's life, then she certainly would be assassinated.

Marinette glared at her. "Step-father. And I refuse to say his name. If the people call him Emperor, then it works for me too."

Alya could only laugh at her stubbornness. "Hey, are you really going to let me eat all this by myself? I'll put on weight!"

"As if the princess could gain weight either!"

"You're a twig! That is it, Your Highness, open your mouth."

Marinette ran away laughing as Alya chased after her with a handful of dragon's beard candy. They ran and ate and laughed for a long while more until Alya crashed hard on the princess's bed.

She could only look fondly on her best friend's face, brushing away some of her fiery red hair. The cool night breeze called to her, so she grabbed her shawl (which was resting on a chair by the door) and stepped out onto her balcony.

"Hello, Tikki." Marinette smiled warmly at the red hummingbird. Said bird chirped happily. "It's a lovely night. Do you like your new home?"

Tikki was silent.

"I wish I did."

"What's not to love, princess?"

Marinette spun on her heel and to her horror, there was Chat Noir. Again.

I hate him.

"You! You're back!" She sputtered.

"Why yes, I came to collect my thanks for my good deed."

"Your good deed?"

"Yes. How else do you think your bird's cage got up here?"

She was silent for a moment, studying him. He sat relaxed, reclining lazily on the low stone wall. His dagger was not in it's holster, and he wore the stupidest grin Marinette had ever seen.

"I had my suspicions. Have you been spying on me?"

"Perhaps, Your Highness. Is there a problem with that?"

"Yes, in case you didn't know, there is." Marinette huffed with her arms crossed, but the gesture only seemed to amuse him.

"What kind of problem? Do you not enjoy my company? I thought you wanted to spare me."

A small flame of anger rose in her eyes, heating them with the threat of tears. "You should leave. I don't know why you decided against killing me, or why you felt the need to bring my bird up here—"

"And a tree." He jumped down from the wall and sauntered over to her, stopping just a few steps away.

Warily, she continued, "...and a tree. But you should not be here. If anyone were to find you, they'd kill you on the spot."

"And you just couldn't bear the thought of losing me, princess."

"You know what?" Determination bubbled in her chest. "I'll just go tell my mother and she'll tell the Emperor."

Her hand had just closed around the door handle when his hand grabbed hers. "No! Please don't do that!"

A jolt of electricity shot through her, starting at her hand and spreading the warmth all over. Their eyes locked dangerously, and though the princess knew she should pull away, she could not bring herself to. The pure fear in his eyes stopped the blush that threatened her cheeks, and a stark realization hit her: he was just a boy, not much older than her.

The words caught in her throat, her tongue felt too weak to form words. After a few moments of agonizing silence, she nodded lamely.

As if he too had gotten shocked, his hand flew away from hers.

"I'll go. Sorry to have bothered you."

Pity swelled in her heart despite her best efforts to feel proud.

"Um, Chat Noir?"

He was perched on the wall, ready to leap away. He stopped and turned to face her.

"Thank you. For the bird cage and tree."

A curt nod and a two finger salute later, he had disappeared into the night.

And oddly enough, she felt a little less alone.

[sad-af1121]

It’s You: Part 2

Summary: In which your date doesn’t go well and you meet a stranger who makes you forget all about it with his witty charm. But no numbers or names are exchanged between you two, leaving you both hopeless yet love crazed, never to find one another. Or so you think.  | Modern AU | Requested by Anon | Pairings: Bucky Barnes x CurlyHaired! Reader Word Count: 2.7k Warnings: Full-on fluff & comedyyyy, bickering between sam and bucky, language 

A/N:  I’m trying to get this story done before August ends and I’m just so happy I’m not experiencing writers' block *crosses fingers* And thank you so much for the incredible feedback from the first part you guys, it’s truly amazing! | Thanking @isaxhorror for giving this a look through!  Feedback is welcomed 💜 

PART 1

Focused on work, Bucky gnawed the end of his pen, trying to see where he may have messed up his calculations for a new design of technology that Stark Industries hired him to work on. Being an engineer wasn’t Bucky’s golden choice when it came to a career but he was pretty damn good at it. However, as much as he was a hard, talented worker, he always got too buried in once he devoted all his attention to it. 

“Buck, it’s almost 5. You can’t wear your work clothes to that date,” Steve breathed, sitting on his desk as the brunette continued to look down at his paper. 

“'N why not? I always look good when I come to work,” he stated, leaning back in his chair and twiddling the pen between his fingers now. 

Deeply sighing with annoyance, Steve crossed his arms over his chest, giving Bucky a stern look, “For the love of God, please go home and change into something decent. You’ve got grape jelly stains on your shirt. AND you smell of coffee and sweat.”

Bucky pursed his lips and shook his head. Steve did have a point but Bucky couldn’t care less. He opened his drawer and pulled out a Tide pen and Axe spray, two solutions to two problems Steve brought forth. After being stood up, Bucky didn’t want to continue the dating scene until after he felt the need to. As of right now, he wants to get his design done and manufactured before the year ended and having fewer distractions seemed necessary. 

“You’re fucking kiddin’ me right?” Steve gritted through his teeth, rolling his head back, “So what you got stood up! Big. Fucking. Whoop. Stop acting like a child. Clint told me his roommate is a really nice girl and with a great personality! Just give it a chance, please? Put yourself in her shoes; would you want a half-ass date?” 

The more Bucky thought about it, the more he realized Steve was right. It wasn’t fair and there was no way in hell he was going to ditch the date because being on the receiving end wasn’t fun. If Bucky was being honest, his retaliation and cold demeanor were all because he couldn’t get you out of his mind since last night. To think about someone else when you’re in the presence of another seemed cruel and it toyed with Bucky to the point that he just wished you’d get out from his thoughts. It pained him for wishing that but in a world this big, how was he going to find you; a needle in a haystack. 

Looking up at his friend, Bucky slowly sat up, clearing his throat, “Fine, I’ll be the best version of myself I can be.” 

A victory smile graced Steve’s face as he placed his hand in front of Bucky, the two high-fiving each other, “Atta boy! And before I forget, her name is Y/N.” 

Bucky nodded in acknowledgment. 

“What I miss?” Sam walked into Bucky's cubicle with a smile, chewing on his food that he held in a Tupperware.

“Is that my fucking food, Wilson?” Bucky growled, clenching his left fist that sat perfectly on his desk, his brows deepened with anger as he saw the ‘Property of Barnes’ written in Sharpie.

“Mhmm, sure is. I figured since you’re going out for dinner, you wouldn’t mind.” He smiled smugly, taking another bite of the chicken linguine pasta with alfredo sauce; one of Bucky’s favorite meals. 

The pen in Bucky's hand snapped in two as his anger progressed. “I hope you choke on it.”

***

The soft panic that resided deep inside your chest kept coming and going, like a wave crashing on the shore. It wasn’t unusual, you were used to having this feeling whenever you were embarking on something new, something that you’ve never come across before. Online dating apps made things easier because you had a face to put with their descriptions and it allowed you to talk to them before setting anything up. But one thing you were good at was keeping your cool when things didn’t seem as bad as your mind had pictured it. 

Adjusting the sleeves to your off the shoulder striped blouse, you admired the way your outfit sculpted your body as you gazed into the full-length mirror. You wore black mid-rise jeans with your blouse tucked inside, extenuating your figure a bit more. Loose curls that you were accustomed to wearing down were now stuffed tightly into a bun that rested on the crown of your head, a few loose strands shaping your face. You kept your make-up light and soft which balanced off nicely with a bold berry pink lip and highlight. 

While you were lost in thought, Nat entered your room, softly knocking on the door frame in hopes to pull you out from wherever it was you seemed to go when you zoned out. “Damn, you look good.” 

Your eyes shifted from your reflection in the mirror to Natasha’s, a smile blossoming upon your lips. “Thanks, I know I do,” you playfully stated, flipping your imaginative hair then turned to face her. 

“Is Clint here yet?” She asked. 

“He said he'd be here in 5 minutes but that was 10 minutes ago.” You breathed out with a smirk, walking to your closet. “I’ve got an hour before I have to meet up with the guy anyway. I hope he isn’t shitty like the one I had last night.”

“Hmm, that’s right,” she paused with a lop-sided grin. “You’d prefer that so your ‘knight and shining armor’ can save you like he did last night, huh?” 

You dropped your shoulders and glared at Natasha, frustration creeping up your throat. “It’s like you want me to kick your ass.” 

Natasha snorted with a laugh, “I’d like to see you try.” Her amusement didn’t deflate after you gave her a scowled look, only prompting her to laugh some more. 

“Fine, fine! Suppose you’re not interested in the date, do you want me to call and pretend our apartment is flooding or something?” 

Thinking, you bit your lip, trying to decipher if that was necessary or not. Then again, you didn’t want your time wasted if you really weren’t all that interested and didn’t see the date progressing to another. “That doesn’t sound like a bad plan. Kinda like an SOS?”

“Exactly!” The red-head beamed, shifting on your bed. “Just shoot me a text and I’ll call. But if you can’t pick up after my second call, I’m coming down there then. Deal?” 

“Deal!” You laughed, excited that you had a backup plan just in case. You weren’t sure if you were looking more forward to Nat’s mission to save you or the date in itself, hoping you weren’t being overdramatic.

As your waves of laughter died down, the notification to your phone goes off with Clint’s text appearing across your screen. “I think Clint’s outside,” you wiggled your phone in the air and grabbed your bag before blowing Natasha a kiss goodbye. “See you soon!” 

***

A whistle withdrew from Bucky's mouth as he observed the restaurant before him. It was a two-story turn-of-the-century townhouse with a lavish old-wealth charm. The night sky was vacant of any clouds, painting the perfect atmosphere for the event. He was glad Steve sent him home to change out from his basic work clothes to something more compatible with where he’d meet his date. 

His hair was brushed back into a neat bun that sat at the base of his neck. The brown blazer he wore fit nicely upon his broad shoulders, the contrast between the warm brown and black t-shirt he wore underneath was a nice combination. His black pants were pressed and sharp without a wrinkle in sight and his black shoes were shined to perfection, enough for him to see his own reflection. The musky scent of his cologne followed as Bucky walked into the establishment, smiling at the man by the front desk who then guided him through the wave of diners. 

Seated by the long bay windows, Bucky looked around the room, gazing at the pendant lights that were scattered across. He basked in the architectural beauty, the white walls and furniture creating an illusion of a space so large, that you could fit more than a crowd. The view of the city streets through the windows was the cherry on top. It brought a sort of relaxation to Bucky that he couldn’t quite explain but could get lost in the sea of life.  

Sighing with anxiety in his seat, Bucky peered at his watch, reading 5:35 p.m. on the dot. Just another 25 minutes before his date would show up and god knows what was going to happen. He could hope for the best and pray this date doesn’t stand him up or else Bucky was making a date with the bar and its' drinks. 

Bzzzt Bzzzt! Bzzzt Bzzzt!

Bucky reacted quickly to the sound of his phone going off in his pocket before grabbing the device out and accepting the call, groaning in silence. “What do you want, Wilson?”

“Did you make it to your destination?” 

“Yes! Now leave me alone. She could be here any minute now and I don’t want to be on the phone with you when she does. It doesn’t look good.” Bucky whispered harshly, scanning the room to see if anyone was making their way to the table. 

Sam furrowed his brows, “Boy, shut up. I just called to check up on you. Had to make sure you weren’t fucking things up. Now, remember to be nice and smile, okay? She doesn’t wanna see a grumpy cat.” He teased, practically hearing the anger on Bucky’s face. 

“At least I can smile without having my teeth look like a picket fence,” Bucky snickered, covering his mouth with his hand from releasing a heartfelt chuckle as Sam let out a chain of curses. Looking around the room once again, Bucky locked eyes with a woman whose face was painted with an expression of disgust and concern. But Bucky doesn’t let that get to him, flashing the couple a sweet smile before looking away. 

“Alright alright, I’ve gotta go. Bye.” 

A few more minutes passed by and Bucky glanced at his wristwatch again, absentmindedly bouncing his leg with anticipation. As the minutes click away, Bucky's chest weighed heavy, making it harder to breathe properly. He was so nervous that he had to pee really bad but didn’t want to get up from the table. There was a chance you could be coming at any second and he refused to miss that. 

But when the waiter comes by to refill his glass of water, the pressure in his abdomen worsened and Bucky had enough. Rising from his seat, he decided to make his way to the gentlemen’s room, knowing he had a few minutes to spare. He didn’t want to stay in discomfort the entirety of the date nor pee himself, the pain a constant reminder of how awkward it was. But before he went, Bucky stopped by the host at the front desk. 

“Hey, so I’m stepping into the restroom and if my date arrives, could you possibly notify her and seat her too? I won’t be too long.” He swallowed, earning a nod of approval then rushing towards the men's room. 

~ 5 minutes later ~

With a smile painted across your features, you stepped through the doors of the restaurant, looking around the place to capture the sense of atmosphere and energy. You were glad to spot the bar, your tongue craving for something bitter yet sweet to relax your muscles and nerves. Just a little bit of alcohol in your system brought you down from anxiety and it would help in a situation like this. You were jittery and anxious, to say the least, a million thoughts running across your mind. All of what and how the date would turn out; for the best or possibly the worst. 

As you’re about to be helped by the host, Bucky treads out from the restroom, peeking over towards his table to see if his date had arrived or not and she hadn’t. Something inside him was relieved but also sad because he wanted to get this night over and done with. 

Unable to break his gaze from his table, Bucky hadn’t noticed you were walking in the same direction as he was. Without breaking his stride, he ran into your chest, causing both of you to lose your balance. However, if it wasn’t for Bucky’s swift like movements, he wouldn’t have saved you from falling onto your ass as he firmly gripped your arms and helped you ground your feet onto the surface. 

People watched and did nothing, going about their business. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” Bucky spluttered, helping you stand up properly as a wave of utter embarrassment and mortification washed over him.   

“No no, I'm sorry. I should've paid close attention,” you said, letting go of Bucky and adjusting the strap of your purse over your shoulder. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“No, I’m fine. What ab-” Bucky paused, his eyes studying your face once he saw who he had collided into. They widened in shock. A happy shock. His stomach felt heavy with familiarity, lips twitching into a cheeky grin. Words didn’t fall out from his mouth, he just stood there like a love-struck puppy, drenched in bewilderment. 

When you don’t hear the man finish his sentence, your brows knit together in confusion, prompting you to look up and see his reasoning. And as you do, you stiffen momentarily before your mind registers what was going on. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed with a smile slowly building across your face, heart fluttering with every beat. 

It was your knight and shining armor. 

“It’s you!” you both marveled in unison, laughing that you said the same thing. It was unbelievable, the realization hitting both of you hard and fast.  

“What are you doing here? I mean,” you chuckled breathlessly, scrunching your face at your question, “How is it possible to see you here? It’s not like the city is that small.” 

“Trust me, I’m as surprised as you are,” Bucky grinned, his jaw dropping with amusement, but it immediately faints away, remembering his reason for being here tonight. 

“I, uh, have a date,” he half-heartedly smiled and ducked his head, shoving his hands in his pockets, the twinkle in his blue orbs losing its shine. 

“Oh,” you pouted but forced a smile to hide the disappointment, “Me too. I’m supposed to meet him now but… ,” you chuckled, trailing your words as your gaze traveled across various tables. 

Bucky remained quiet, scanning the room himself because the tension between you two increased. Becoming awkward and frustrating. 

“I got worried for a sec.” He admitted, breaking the silence. 

You turned your attention back on him, eyes raking over his facial features. “And why is that?” 

He cocked his head, “I thought it was the same guy from last night.” Bucky smirked, recalling the incident. 

“Oh god no! Why would I after his behavior,” you laughed, placing your hands on your chest. Lips urged to smile hard but you bit it from doing so, feeling your cheeks warm up in the presence of Bucky. You both stared at each other with soft eyes, silence casting its blanket over you two again but a good kind. 

The host cleared his throat, pursing his lips with a grin as his eyes darted between you and Bucky. Realizing what time it was, you snapped back to the depressing depths of reality. “Well, I don’t want to keep your date waiting.”

“Neither do I,” Bucky swallowed, turning his attention to the host.

“Please, would you both come with me and I’ll escort you to your table,” he informed, earning confused looks from you and Bucky. 

Assuming the host would guide both of you to your appropriate tables, you quietly follow the gentleman before sensing something was way off. Hesitantly, you peered over at Bucky who had the same look as you did, a mixture of fear and uncertainty. 

As the distance to the table grew closer and closer, it clicked in your brains. 

“James?”

“Y/N?”

PART 3

___________

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[shadowthrone-ammanas]

Music

“I think you should learn to play the piano.”

Lukas turned his head to see that Vanessa had walked into the music room. “Why?” he asked, lowering his bow and violin.

“Because I can play the piano and I want you to play with me. Plus, piano music goes better with my singing voice. So, I want you to learn to play the piano instead of that.” She pointed to his violin as if it had offended her somehow.

Lukas frowned down at it himself. His playing didn’t sound that bad, did it? He’d only been practicing for a few weeks now but is instructor said he was doing well. And he’d known how to play cello for years now so he didn’t have to go through the hurdle of learning the basics of playing a stringed instrument. So his playing, though definitely not the best was nowhere near being as offensively awful as Vanessa’s tone suggested it was.

He didn’t want to learn to play the piano. Not that he had anything against pianos or the way they sounded but… he preferred string instruments played with a bow. He liked the way they looked and sounded and he felt fancy when he played them. And piano was the most commonly played instrument in this part of the world, he liked playing something different. Besides…

“You already know how to play the piano,” he said, looking back up at Vanessa. “So why do I need to learn it?”

“Because I want you to. We can sit next to each other and play together. We’ll be super cute and everyone will be jealous. So put that silly thing away or heck go ahead and get rid of it. I’ll teach you how to play piano instead, okay?”

Lukas looked back down at his violin. He didn’t want to get rid of it, he wanted to keep at it until he was good at it. He didn’t have any dreams or really the talent or dedication to become a professional musician but it was a nice way to relax sometimes. Vanessa wanted him to play the piano though so… piano it was. Perhaps learning to play an instrument that was so different from the instrument he’d already mastered would be good for him. He could pick up the violin again later.

[Many, many years later]

Snatcher frowned down at the violin in his hand, stolen from an unfortunate contractor who’d thought taking a shortcut through Subcon Forest was a good idea. Or maybe it was a viola or a fiddle. It had been a long time since Snatcher had held one and his large size made it seem rather small no matter what.

He never had gotten back to learning the violin. Vanessa hadn’t let him. In fact, she hadn’t even let him play his cello anymore once she’d finally gotten him on the piano. She’d complained anytime he’d tried to play it until eventually he’d given up and only played the piano with her just like she’d wanted him to. … He hated the piano now.

He was free of her now though and anything she didn’t want him to do he had to do just to spite her. So he teleported to his giant reading hollow and shrunk down to be closer to the size of a normal person. But… he didn’t have a chin anymore so how was he supposed to hold it? And would his less than normal arms make a difference in how he held it too? What about fingers? … Ah, whatever, he’d figure it out eventually by just messing around with it.

[Less than an hour later]

“That sounds like a dying cat.”

Snatcher almost flinched as he looked up to see Hat Kid in his hollow. He frowned at her, annoyed that he’d been too focused to see or even notice her approach. “What do you want kid?” he said, lowering the violin.

“I want to ask why you’re playing the guitar so bad.”

“It’s not a guitar, it’s a violin. What kind of idiot doesn’t know the difference?”

Hat Kid frowned and shrugged. “Mu has a stringed instrument that she calls a guitar, specifically an electric guitar implying there might be non-electric guitars somewhere. I thought that that might be one. I’ve never seen one before though or one of those so how was I supposed to know what it was? I’m an alien, remember? We don’t have those things where I’m from.”

Well, that did make sense. “What kind of instruments do your people play?”

“I don’t know. I’ve spent my whole life learning how to fly and repair a spaceship. I barely had time to listen to music on the radio, let alone anything else. But anyway, is the violin supposed to sound like that or are you just bad?”

Snatcher scowled. “It’s been a long time since I last played, okay? Like since before I died. I just need a bit of time to get a feel for it again. Also, I would like to add that it’s a right-handed violin, I like to play with my left hand.” He was ambidextrous these days but back then he’d been a lefty, meaning he was inclined to hold it wrong on top of the already awkward position not having a chin forced him to hold it in. “And how about you try playing a stringed instrument when your hands don’t like to form proper fingers and see how well you do.” Making round fingers was much harder when his hands wanted to make claws which would’ve probably cut the strings so he had to fight against that. “And to top it all off I’m pretty sure it’s out of tune.” And he didn’t remember how exactly each string was supposed to sound while in tune so he’d just been fiddling with the knobs every now and then, hoping the information would come back to him eventually and/or he’d somehow get it right on accident. “So, shut up.”

Hat Kid smiled up at him. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. I didn’t know you played instruments though. But I guess that explains that giant violin that’s frozen or whatever in the ruins part of the forest.”

“That’s not a violin, it’s a cello.” And Snatcher should probably get back into playing that too. It’d probably be easier because of how long he’d played the cello before Vanessa had taken it away from him.

“But… it looks a lot like the violin just bigger. Why not just call it a big violin?”

“Because it’s a cello. It’s an entirely different instrument kid, it sounds different and you hold it differently, meaning you play it differently too.” Though as large as Snatcher could make himself, he could possibly get away with playing a cello like a violin. … He’d have to try it one day for sure because it sounded like fun.

“Hmmm… fine I guess, whatever. But are those the only two instruments you can play?”

“No, I can play the piano too. And since I can sort of sometimes play the violin, I should be able to play the viola too because they’re very similar. I also played the trumpet as a kid but that was a very long time ago so I doubt I still can.”

“You’re like a musical genius.”

Snatcher opened his mouth to contradict her because he wasn’t anywhere even close to being a musical genius but stopped himself. “Yep, I sure am kiddo,” he said instead because admitting to his flaws wasn’t his thing.

Hat Kid thought for a few moments before her expression brightened as if she’d just thought of something which he probably wasn’t going to like. “Oh, I know. Let’s start a band.”

Yep, Snatcher didn’t like it. “Why?”

“Because you can play a bunch of instruments, Mu can play the guitar and Bow is learning how to play what’s called a keyboard from one of the moon penguins, I think she’s pretty good. And I recently also learned that the Conductor can play drums and of course DJ Grooves has a nice singing voice. That’s enough for a band. Though we could maybe use one or two more people, we’ll have to ask around.”

“Uh… what will you do?”

“I’ll be the person who leads with the wand thingy. I did it with the marching band in one of Grooves’ movies, he showed me how. It was a lot of fun. So how ‘bout it? Want to do it?”

Snatcher had much better things to do than start a band. Especially one led by Hat Kid of all people. She didn’t even know the names of most instruments or what a music conductor and baton were. But…

“Pretty please with lots of cherries on top,” she said, her expression far too cute for its own good. “It’ll be fun. And since you’ll be the first official member, you’ll get to help me make decisions and stuff. And with Grooves’ and the Conductor’s help we can get on the big screen and then we’ll be famous. And I can tell you from experience that being famous is pretty fun. And it’ll be…

“Fine,” Snatcher cut in. “I’ll join your stupid band mostly just to get you to shut up about it.”

“Yes!” She literally jumped for joy. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Snatcher would let her have her happiness for now because there was no way it could last. The others she’s mentioned probably wouldn’t want to join, except for Bow and maybe Mu. So really, he wasn’t agreeing to anything too bad which was why it was okay for him to do so. When her dumb bad idea inevitably failed, he’d have a good laugh at her. If it succeeded then he might be stuck. It wouldn’t succeed though… probably.