#excuse her messy hair shes a decade old and well loved

[chillfaerie]

Since this has been getting some attention, here's a fun fact: the background of the drawing is a (filtered) photo of my physical copy of the Storybook of Legends! Here it is along with my live model who I consulted whenever screenshots weren't enough <3

I read the first Ever After High novel and I really love how much emphasis they put on music, especially Raven's love for it 💜 If they ever do a reboot, I think it should be a musical 🎶

[jaskierswolf]

😏 Hey, it's me, back again. On my knees, begging for more filth. I want some post mountain grovelling. I want Geralt on his knees. One of Jaskier's hands in his hair, holding his head still. The fingers of Jaskier's other hand in Geralt's mouth. <insert Gopher gif here>

Forgiveness

Not exactly filth? There is smut... but it caught plot. For those wondering... Jaskier's hair and beard looks something like this.

Rated: E

Length: 2.5k

CW: dom/sub vibes, subspace, oral sex

______________

Fear was not something that Geralt was accustomed to feeling. The trials had made sure of that, but the trials were created with monsters in mind, not bards. There had been a time when being afeared of Jaskier would have seemed preposterous. The worst thing that could have happened was the bard getting too close to a fight and getting hurt because of Geralt, but even then, Geralt had never been scared of Jaskier, more scared for him. Losing Jaskier to the witcher’s way of life would have been unforgivable, so Geralt made sure it didn’t happen.

Jaskier was gone.

And yet he still wasn’t safe. Geralt had torn his own heart into pieces to keep Jaskier safe, and now fucking Nilfgaard was destroying everything. Rumour had it that the army were looking for Jaskier, looking for a way to Geralt and to Ciri. So it was time for Geralt to swallow his pride and make amends. He’d travelled to Oxenfurt with his young ward in tow to search for his dearest friend, the man he’d broken. Ciri had been a surprising blessing in his life. Just like Jaskier, she had brought light to his life when there had been none, and he was beginning to realise that isolating himself did not make him stronger. His friends, brothers, lovers were more deadly than any sword or sign. Alone he was just one man, motivated by survival and a sense of duty.

For Ciri he would tear down the Continent.

For Yennefer he would climb the highest mountain.

For Jaskier…

He sighed. For Jaskier he would break his own heart, and for Jaskier he would try to make it right again.

It was more terrifying than any manticore or griffin.

A knock on the door, that’s all it would take. Instead he was just lurking outside the office, an elaborate “Professor Pankratz” painted in fine golden calligraphy on the panelling. Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, every instinct he had was telling him to run, take Ciri back to Kaer Morhen for the winter and leave Jaskier. Surely no harm would come to him at the academy.

“Are you going to stare at my door all day, Geralt, or shall we go inside?”

Geralt’s eyes widened as he spun around to face his friend. He hadn’t heard Jaskier’s voice in years but there was no mistaking the lilting accent and the playful way that he spoke. No one else spoke quite like Jaskier. The bard’s voice may not have changed but Geralt was taken aback by Jaskier’s appearance. His hair, which had always been short and scruffy in the decades that Geralt had known him, was now long, the ends ticking just below his chin. The long locks were tucked behind one ear, and his fringe had grown out. But it was the beard that really drew Geralt’s attention. He’d never realised that Jaskier could grow a beard, he’d never even seen the bard with stubble before, and yet here was Jaskier sporting a thick beard that was as rich in colour as his hair, no sign of any grey despite his age.

He looked beautiful.

Piercing icy blue eyes burned with cool fire, and Geralt was reminded why this trip had worried him. Jaskier had been his most loyal friend, and despite his profession, the bard was dangerous. His tongue was sharp and his temper was short, for Lillit’s sake, he’d even tried to condemn a man to death with the blasted Djinn.

“Well? Come on, witcher, get inside or get out,” Jaskier said with the cool authority of the professor he had become. Gone was the eighteen year old fool that Geralt had met in Posada.

“Right, yes,” Geralt grumbled and stepped aside so that Jaskier could open the door. He trailed in after the bard, feeling very much like a dog with his tail between his legs.

“I never expected to see you at my door, Geralt,” Jaskier muttered as he busied himself around the room, sorting out his books and scrolls from his satchel, carefully placing his ink bottles on the messy desk, and shrugging out of his teaching robes.

Underneath the dark robes, he was wearing an elegant dark green doublet with matching breeches, gold thread stitching at the seams. To Geralt’s surprise, the bard's doublet was fully buttoned, hiding both the chemise and the mass of chest hair that Geralt knew was underneath the emerald fabric.

“I never expected to come,” Geralt admitted.

“Excellent, now you can leave again, it was good to see you old friend. Close the door on your way out.”

Jaskier’s words stung, a dagger between his ribs, poison running through his veins, but Geralt couldn’t give up, not without a proper fight. “I came to apologise.”

“Oh, ho, ho, that’s rich, witcher. What’s next? You’ll go and fetch your Child Surprise?”

“Ciri,” Geralt mumbled.

That seemed to have an effect, Jaskier froze, his back to Geralt. The bard slowly spun round and peered at Geralt. “So you finally found her?”

“I did.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jaskier sighed, pushing his hair from his face and scratching idly at his beard. “Did she mention me?”

“She did.”

“So, tell me Geralt, are you here because you want to apologise, or because the princess demanded it?” Jaskier’s tone was sharper than any witcher sword, this was the man who had destroyed a knight’s honour with a few well-placed rhymes and catchy songs just because he had insulted Geralt, and Geralt wasn’t used to being on the receiving end.

“Nilfgaard are coming, Jaskier. I couldn’t leave you in danger. They are looking for you, because of me.”

Jaskier scoffed, throwing his arms up, almost knocking an ink bottle flying. “Nilfgaard, wow. Yup, yes, should have expected that.”

“I’m here to protect you,” Geralt growled, “and- and because I miss you.”

“Miss me?” Jaskier hissed, stepping forward so that there was barely any space between them, his sweet chamomile scent now flooding Geralt’s senses. “You should have led with that, witcher.”

“I-”

“Fine, you want to apologise. On your knees, grovel. I won’t follow you blindly again, Geralt. I need to know you won’t hurt me. You want to protect me?”

“Yes,” Geralt answered without hesitation.

“Then know that no one on this Continent has ever hurt me like you did on that fucking mountain. Forgiveness will take time,” Jaskier said haughtily, and Geralt dropped to his knees. He finally saw Jaskier’s rage for what it was; a shield. Jaskier was trying to protect himself… from Geralt.

“I am sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice shaking but sincere. “I only ever meant to protect you. I lashed out. I was hurting after Yennefer. I shouldn’t have said those things to you, but-”

“Hollow excuses.”

“But I was scared,” Geralt finally glanced up, and oh what a sight. Jaskier was looming above him, his hair almost coppery in the candle light. He looked like a messenger from the gods. “My life is a dangerous one. I fucked up Yennefer’s life with one breath, how could I possibly risk doing the same for you?”

“You already did.”

“But you’re alive,” Geralt whispered quietly.

“I would have rather died, Geralt,” Jaskier hissed.

“Don’t be so dramatic, bard.”

“If it meant giving up my life with you. Life with you was the greatest adventure, there was never a dull moment. I got to live every single day. Now look at me, I’m trapped in a cage without the best friend I’ve ever had,” Jaskier spat. “So you’ll have to do better than that.”

Geralt lowered his gaze once more. He was running out of options, but there was one more card that he held close to his heart, rarely even admitting it to himself. They say that love can conquer anything. It hadn’t been true for him and Yen, but perhaps the sorceress had been right and their love was just an illusion created by his wish and the spell she’d cast on him.

“I love you,” he whispered, loud enough for human ears to hear but still a quiet admission, one he’d never said out loud before.

Jaskier didn’t say anything. Instead, there was a gentle tug at Geralt’s hair as Jaskier pulled the tie from its place. Geralt stayed still, letting his words hang in the air. The bard’s fingers began to gently run through Geralt’s hair, each touch sending warm tingles down his spine, and he felt his breathing relax almost into a meditative state. Jaskier had done this before when they were on the path, braiding Geralt’s hair whilst he meditated, but this felt different, there had never been this spark burning between them before.

There had never been those words lying heavy on Geralt’s tongue before. “I love you, Jask,” he repeated, his voice more slurred this time and he felt almost as if he had been drugged, his head feeling foggy. The haze got thicker with every stroke of Jaskier’s hand through his hair.

“Oh, dear heart,” Jaskier cooed, his voice sounding almost like a dream. “You have no idea how long I’ve yearned to hear those words.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt mumbled. “Forgive me, Julek.”

“In time, my darling, in time,” Jaskier breathed, his scent sweeter now, something akin to arousal. It was hard to tell through the fuzziness in Geralt’s head.

There was a low whine, that Geralt vaguely registered as coming from him. Heat was beginning to thrum through his body, and he slowly realised that at some point he’d shut his eyes, completely submitting to his bard in his attempts to earn Jaskier’s forgiveness. He felt Jaskier’s fingers cupping his cheek, hooking under his chin. Geralt whimpered as he struggled to open his eyes.

“There you are, Geralt,” Jaskier whispered, “apology accepted, dear heart.”

“Jask…”

“I know, I know, I’m here,” the words washed over Geralt like a warm breeze.

“I- I- want…” Geralt didn’t know what he was asking for or what he wanted, but his head was spinning and suddenly the hand in his hair wasn’t enough. He’d gone so long without seeing Jaskier, and now that they weren’t together, it was like a dam had broken. All the things he’d been denying himself for years…

“Shh, Geralt, I’ve got you,” Jaskier hummed, and before Geralt could protest, he felt the press of Jaskier’s fingers at his lips. Eagerly, Geralt opened his lips, taking the digits into his mouth and sucking gently. He gazed up at his bard, drunk on the feeling of his own arousal.

Geralt had never seen Jaskier in his element at Oxenfurt before but the calm way in which Jaskier commanded the room was enticing. This was Jaskier’s office, his space. Geralt was the guest here, not the other way round. Usually Jaskier had to fit into Geralt’s life, but now it was Geralt’s turn, kneeling at the professor’s feet, a willing student, begging for another chance.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, cocking his head so that his long hair fell in front of his eyes. “Do- do you want this?”

Geralt hummed around Jaskier’s fingers, nodding his head. It felt like a stupid question. How could he not want this? It was everything he’d never let himself dream of. He tried to say yes, but the word was muffled by Jaskier’s fingers.

“Gods, darling, you look so beautiful like this,” Jaskier cooed, and there was a sharp tug in Geralt’s head. He moaned around Jaskier’s fingers, vaguely aware that his cock was now painfully hard in his trousers. “That’s it, my love, sing for me.”

Geralt moaned again, sucking at the fingers in his mouth, enjoying the weight on his tongue. He’d never done anything like this before, but with Jaskier it just felt right. When he’d come to Oxenfurt he hadn’t expected anything like this to happen. He’d been praying to whatever gods were listening that Jaskier would forgive him, anything more than that had been an impossible dream. Geralt’s eyes fluttered shut and he hummed happily, shifting his weight until he was in a more comfortable position, the one he used for meditating. Like this, he could sit at Jaskier’s feet for hours should the bard wish.

But instead, Jaskier pulled his fingers from Geralt’s mouth. The emptiness left an ache deep inside Geralt that he hadn’t expected, but Jaskier’s other hand cupped his cheek, tilting his head so he was forced to look up at the bard. There was an undeniable fondness in Jaskier’s eyes, and between the beard and the extra weight he’d put on now that he was settled at Oxenfurt, he looked so warm… cuddly.

And Geralt wanted him.

“Can I- do you want my cock?” Jaskier stumbled over the words, a break in his previously mask of calmness. “We don’t- it’s just a suggestion…”

“Yes,” Geralt breathed, gazing up at the man he loved. In fact, he could think of nothing he wanted more in that moment. He swallowed, his mouth dry as he shuffled forward to nuzzle against the bulge in Jaskier’s trousers. Jaskier groaned as Geralt mouthed at his erection through the fabric. “Please, Jaskier.”

“Go on then, witcher, please me.”

Geralt’s fingers shook as he untied the lacing at the front of Jaskier’s trousers, and they moaned in unison as he finally took the tip of Jaskier’s cock into his mouth, the taste of precum bitter on his tongue.

“Gods, Geralt, I never thought I’d see the day…”

Geralt just hummed, licking at Jaskier’s slit before bobbing his head, slowly taking more into his mouth. There was another tug at his hair and he hummed, relaxing into his movements as Jaskier slowly began to rock his hips, gently thrusting into Geralt’s mouth. All the while, a steady stream of soft praises fell from the bard’s lips. Geralt had never felt particularly aroused from sucking cock before, but at Jaskier’s feet, the gentle words lingering in the air and the rhythmic touch of fingers caressing through his hair, he was closer to cumming than he thought possible.

He gasped as he pulled back, biting back a moan as he rested his head on Jaskier’s thigh. “I- Jask, fuck…”

“Shall I take you to bed, darling?” Jaskier cooed, gently pulling Geralt to his feet.

His legs were shaking and he fell into his bard's waiting arms, burying his nose in the crook of Jaskier’s neck. Geralt hummed as he kissed Jaskier’s neck, the soft bristles of the bard’s beard warm against his skin. “Your beard is soft,” he murmured, running his lips along the edge of the beard until they were ghosting over Jaskier’s lips, a tease of a kiss yet to come.

Jaskier laughed, pressing their foreheads together. “The luxuries of Oxenfurt, my dear witcher.”

“Smells good too,” Geralt hummed, finally capturing Jaskier’s lips in a chaste kiss. The bard moaned quietly and his fingers dug into Geralt’s side, pulling him closer. “Smells like home.”

After a few moments of being lost in each other, Jaskier finally took Geralt’s hand, lacing their fingers together and leading him through the office to the bedroom that lay beyond. They had a long way to go before Geralt was truly forgiven but this was a start.

This was their start, their new beginning, a new chapter in their adventure.

[mino-diabolik]

✉ 🌀 ✔️ 💋  👏 for Ari (si quieres en un AU donde no está con Kino jajajaja)

RELATIONSHIP BUILDING

@ariadnasdiary

Send ✉ for a written letter from my muse.

Lovely Cempasúchil,

It’s been quite a few decades since I last had to write a letter, so excuse any over-the-top vocabulary. Old habits die hard, as you know.

My mother thought it would be nice to have you over for dinner next weekend if that would be fine with you. There’s no need for you to respond via letter as well, but it would be nice if you could call soon before the date in order to be prepared whether we will or not be expecting you.

Hopefully my Familiar showing up at your window won’t startle you much.

— Mystic★

Send 🌀 for my muse’s reaction to getting stuck in a storm with yours.

“Well, fuck,” Mystic sighed, propping his hands on his hips. He stared out at the pouring sky, seeming rather unimpressed by the ferociousness of the lightening and thunder. It was as though the very clouds were mocking them for getting stuck in the middle of the torrent.

Shortly after, he turned to face Ariadna and shook his head. “Nothing I can do about this. Running out into the rain’s just gonna get us both a cold and that won’t be pretty.” He shuffled closer to her side, shaking the messy mane on his head, sending a few droplets flying off everywhere—perhaps even a few right into Ariadna’s face. Mystic acted as though he hadn’t seen anything and cleared his throat to keep himself from laughing.

“The universe divined this, my lovely Cempasúchil,” the Founder chuckled quietly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and tugging her closer. “Lucky for you, we got stuck right outside this conveniently placed hotel. What d’ you think about getting… comfortable? Fufufu.”

Send ✔️ for a daydream my muse has had about/involving yours.

As Ariadna ran through the alleys and hangers of clothing, picking out a few and studying them, before putting a couple back and running back to check others, Mystic sat back on one of the benches in front of the fitting room. He was holding the rest of the bags they had gathered throughout their trip through the mall. He’d told her she could pick out anything she wanted and he’d pay for everything as an exchange for her helping him out last time he got in a mess. Now, though, he was regretting his choices.

As Ariadna zoomed past to view another blouse and the set it was matched with, a peculiar garment caught Mystic’s attention. It was a black leather skirt. It would fit short, no matter what size one picked, and it’d stick right against the wearer’s thighs. Certainly something Ariadna would never wear under normal circumstances.

Mystic casted a glance at the girl, trying to fit her into the garment in his mind. It looked really well. In his imagination, at least. Just imagining her meek expression, being able to part her legs and lift it with his own hands—

“Oh, fuck!” Mystic shook his head, unaware he’d actually gasped out loud.

Ariadna turned around and gave a puzzled look, to which he could only turn much redder. “What the matter?”

“We’re heading home immediately after you finish here.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

Mystic massaged the bridge of his nose. “You need to take responsibility.”

Ariadna was even more confused. “Eh?”

Send 💋 for how my muse would seduce/flirt with yours.

Mystic would most definitely try to pamper her and give her things she likes. Maybe even buy that thing she looked at with longing eyes for a bit too long. He’s always had a feeling that Ariadna was the kind of girl that liked getting flowers, so gifting her one or a few every once in a while would be an effective method. He really likes playing with her hair—as in, twisting a finger around that loose strand handing on her face right in the middle of a conversation—all while making heavy eye contact and smiling teasingly.

Send  👏 and what your muse will do to fluster mine.

Mystic would try to steal kisses from her. Just as she turns around to face him, he’ll lean in and peck her nose, cheek, and even her lips.

Running his hands on the curve of her waist or lower back is another thing he likes doing to see her jump and squeak in surprise. It always gets a good laugh out of him, while Ariadna is huffing and puffing with embarrassment.

Mystic, being the person that he is, would whisper the lewdest of things into her ear at any point or time of day. He has come to really like that bright red face of hers.

[jaskiers-sweetkiss]

Ghosts Still Have Souls

Pairings: Luke x Reader, mentions of Willex

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none? 

Summary: For his whole life Luke Patterson had anxiously awaited the day he’d meet his soulmate, and then he died. 25 years later he and his bandmates are mysteriously resurrected and Luke’s hopes return. Could he find his soulmate in death? After all, Willie says ghosts still have souls. 

A/N: it took me all day but here is my submission for Day 2 - AU for @jatp-week JATP appreciation celebration. I’m such a sucker for soulmate aus and I haven’t written any in the JATP universe yet so this was the perfect opportunity! Send me an ask if you’d like to be tagged in any future works and as always, let me know what you think!

Masterlist

___

Luke Patterson had always loved the idea of soulmates. When he was a little boy his parents would regale him with the story of how they met. They ran into each other on the quad at their university, his mom knocked to the ground and his dad dropping his books. In her flustered state Emily had combined “Hey, watch where you’re going!” with “Are you okay?” and ended up crying out “Hey, watch where you’re okay!” while his dad had cursed “Shitfuck, are you okay?” When Mitch offered his hand to help her up they noticed each others’ tattoos and the rest was history.

It was Luke’s favorite story in the whole world and he grew up daydreaming about the day he’d meet his soulmate. He couldn’t wait to see what words would appear on his skin when he or she said their first words to him. He wondered if he’d feel the tingle that some reported feeling when the mark formed on their skin, or what the handwriting of his soulmate would look like permanently inked onto this skin. No matter what he knew he’d cherish the mark, it would be from his soulmate, after all, his other half, the person he was destined to spend the rest of his life with.

Dying before he could hear the words that would change his life forever kinda threw a wrench in his plans.

The thought of his soulmate out there, having grown up without him, never to meet each other because of his untimely death had plagued him for days after Julie “resurrected” them. Then Alex had met Willie. The skater ghost had died more nearly a decade before they had and yet he and Alex were soulmates, “You dinged my board.” proudly displayed on the blond’s wrist.  

The knowledge that soulmates existed even in death had brought hope back into his life and he started spending his free time daydreaming about them again.

He’d been channeling his daydreams into songwriting one afternoon when Julie had walked into the garage with Flynn and another friend. He assumed you hadn’t been informed about the ghosts as neither Flynn nor Julie made any remarks towards the guitarist despite typically doing so. He wished that wasn’t the case as you were quite cute. You were absolutely the type of girl Luke would’ve crushed on hard back when he was alive, soulmates or not.  

“Oh, and who is this?” Luke asked, employing his teasing tone as he spoke to the newcomer as you set down your backpack though he knew only Julie could hear him.

He had expected a quiet laugh or at the very least a dramatic eye roll from the girl but when he turned to look at her she was staring at her friend’s wrist. Luke turned to look as well and his stomach immediately sank.

There inked on your wrist in his chicken-scratch handwriting were the words he had just spoken to you.

“Oh my gosh,” Julie gasped aloud, drawing everyone’s attention as she opened her mouth to announce what she had just observed.

Before he even had time to think about it, he was stopping her. “No! Julie don’t!”

She stared at him puzzled for a moment but closed her mouth anyway.

“What?” Her friend asked, looking at her perplexed.

“I just… forgot to tell my dad you guys were coming over,” Julie saved. “I’ll just text him real quick.”

You and Flynn nodded, unfazed by the excuse, and plopped down onto the available seating. Luke sighed, pulling his eyes away from you and poofing out of the garage.

He reappeared at his parent’s house. He had hoped to vent to his mom but she wasn’t home so he plopped down on his old bed. His parents hadn’t done much to the room since his death and as he laid there in silence it almost felt like it was still ’95. That pit that had started to form in his stomach continued to grow as he laid there, his thoughts swirling as his hopes thrashed around him once more.

He’d finally found his soulmate but she was- what had Alex called them?- a lifer. She couldn’t even see him. How were they supposed to meet and fall in love and build a life together when she couldn’t even see him and he couldn’t even touch her? How were they supposed to pass their story on to their future kids when she hadn’t even been able to hear the words that were now permanently etched into her skin? As he thought more about it he realized that he hadn’t received a mark of his own. His heart sank as he ran his thumb over the bare skin of his wrist. He’d stopped Julie before she could tell her he was even there so she’d never had a chance to say her first words to him.

It was worth it, he decided after a while. It was worth never hearing the words, never having the tattoo and knowing for certain that his perfect match was out there. It was worth it if he could spare you from the pain of knowing that your soulmate was there but he was dead and invisible.

___

Luke was almost grateful for the distraction of the Hollywood Ghost Club. The last few weeks had been torture, him constantly trying to avoid being in the same room with you and Julie. She had told you about them being ghosts not long after the appearance of your soulmark and had even invited you to meet the band which you had readily accepted. Luke, however, had run away before you could come that day. It killed him that you had met Alex and Reggie and not him, but he figured it would kill him more to have your first words to him appear on his wrist.

They talked about you sometimes, about how funny and adorable you were. It made his blood boil but he had to restrain himself, what right did he have to be jealous when he refused to even meet you.

Still, the rush to book the Orpheum was a welcome distraction from his internal turmoil. It was even enough to distract him from the fact that no matter what happened at the end of the night, he’d never see you again.

He’d miss you. That much was obvious. He’d miss hiding in the loft when you came over to work on homework with Julie, just out of sight so Julie wouldn’t see him but he could still watch you. He’d learned a lot about you that way, how your smile could light up a room, how gorgeous your laugh was but he could tell you hated it by the way you covered your mouth when you did it, how you fidgeted with the hair ties on your wrist whenever you were thinking (he noticed you always had at least two), and that you were almost always cold. He wished he could give you his flannels, you’d look so cute wrapped up in them and they’d certainly keep you warm.

He was thinking of you as he and the guys gathered around the piano in the studio. Julie had just left to head to the Orpheum with her dad and the mood in the garage had immediately grown somber. Their heads filled with worries of what would come next, what was on the other side? Luke’s only comfort was the thought that maybe if he crossed over you’d get a second chance at a soulmate, one who was alive. You’d never even spoken to him and yet he’d do anything for you.

It was that dedication to you that had pulled him out of the Hollywood Ghost Club and onto the Orpheum stage.

It was that dedication that kept him from running straight to Caleb to save his soul when they didn’t cross over. He’d let his soul be destroyed if it meant your happiness.

He never could’ve anticipated what had happened that night nor the repercussions.

He’d spent the next day journaling, writing down all his thoughts- and there were a lot seeing as he had expected to die yesterday, again. He was alone in the studio, Alex out celebrating with Willie and Reggie was who knows where (probably showing Ray like usual), then you walked in.

He sighed, getting ready to poof up to his hiding spot in the loft before Julie showed up when he was stopped.

“Am I dead?” You asked, staring at him in alarm.

“What do you mean?” Luke asked warily, not understanding the premise of your question.

“Well, you’re dead, and with the exception of Julie, you’re only visible to other dead people and I can see you,” you explained carefully, eyes wide.

Luke nodded at your train of thought before it hit him.

“Wait, you can see me?” He gasped, and you nodded. “You can see me! You talked to me!”

His head snapped down to stare at his wrist, sure enough, “Am I Dead?” was scrawled across his skin in the most beautiful handwriting he’d ever seen. Sure, some might say it was a little messy but to him it was perfect.

Before he could even think about his actions, he was rushing towards you and pulling you into his chest. You stiffened, shocked by the sudden action.

“What’re you-“ started to ask but you were cut off by him violently throwing himself away from you.

“I just touched you,” he gasped, once again stating the obvious. “Why can I touch you? Are you dead?”

“No! At least… I didn’t think I was but now I’m really not sure.” You shook your hands anxiously before reaching for one of your hair ties as you started pacing.

“Sorry for taking so long Y/N, I got caught up with Reggie in the house- what on earth is going on in here?” Julie paused in the doorway as she observed your pacing and Luke’s panicked look.

“Oh thank god, you can see me,” You breathe out before turning to Luke, “Julie can see me, so I must not be dead.”

“What?”

“Y/N and I thought maybe she was dead since she can see me and I could touch her,” Luke explained and you nodded.

“What?!” Julie repeated, more shocked than the last time. “You can see him? And you, you can touch her?”

“Yeah, look!” Luke exclaimed, reaching his arm out to tap your arm but it just went right through you. “Huh, why…?”

“Maybe the first time was a fluke?” You supplied before something caught your eye.

You reached out to grab his arm as it fell back to his side. This time it worked, and you pulled his limb closer to you, turning it over to examine what you had seen.

“Woah, see?” Luke said pointedly to Julie, though you weren’t listening.

“That’s- how? You’re-“ you sputtered as you stared at the mark on his wrist. “Soulmates.” You whispered finally.

“Um, I’m gonna give you guys some time,” Julie said, eyes wide as she walked backward out of the garage.

You didn’t let go of his wrist, your eyes flitting between your words and his eyes.

“That’s why I didn’t hear them,” you muttered, bringing your own wrist next to his.

It had been puzzling you for weeks, how you couldn’t remember hearing the words the day they had appeared on your wrist. It made sense now, you couldn’t hear them because Luke had said them.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, dropping his wrist from your grasp. “I thought maybe if you didn’t know you could find happiness somewhere else. With someone who wasn’t invisible and intangible.”

Your gaze softened as you looked up at him, his face was tilted down, unable to look you in the eye. You sighed, taking a deep breath before reaching your hand up to cup the side of his face. It took a couple of tries but you were finally able to place your hand on his cheek, tilting his face to look up at you.

“Luke,” you said softly, “How could I want anyone else?”

He shook his head at your words, though his hand came up to rest over your own. “How could you know that? This is the first time we’ve ever spoken.”

“Because the universe put us together,” you answered surely, bringing your wrists together again in the space between you. “I have no idea how this is going to work but I know it’ll be worth it because these mean we’re meant for each other.”

“You are better than I could ever imagine,” Luke confessed softly, and you smiled shyly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Well you’re stuck with me now,” you joked lightly, before pulling him to the couch. “Now c’mon soulmate, we’ve got some catching up to do.”

[buckysgoldenheart]

Watching You

Walter Marshall x Reader

Summary: Walter did not like to waste time on stupid things, and being asked by some young troublemaker to start following an ex-girlfriend around fell under that category. At least, it did, until he found out just who the ex-girlfriend was.

Words:  2334

Warnings: Cursing. Slight smut. Not Edited or anything of the sort, so expect little!

Note: This is just something I had saved that I thought I’d post while I finish up the Vampire Henry Series (Unexpectedly Bitten). I plan to post the rest of that fic all at once, most likely this weekend. As always, comments are appreciated :)

What a no-good loser. That’s what Walter thought the second Jimmy Masters walked through the front door of his office on a Saturday evening. He was a good six inches shorter than Walter, much scrawnier, ten years younger at least, and in desperate need of a haircut. He was the kind of kid Walter hated, the kind of kid that had probably seen the inside of a jailcell for a night or two for some stupid, petty crime, yet refused to learn his lesson.

Walter’s eyebrow arched in disinterest and he sat back in his chair, arms crossed as a coworker led the kid inside.

“We think this falls in your area, Marshall.”

Walter had only nodded and told the boy to sit to explain his reason for interrupting the first moment of peace in the day.

“I got a friend who says detectives know how to follow people real well,” Jimmy said, his voice an aggravating tone that Walter already couldn’t stand.

Walter cleared his throat. “Your friend is rather astute.”

“What?”

The detective blew out a breath, exhausted after speaking with the kid for less than a minute. “Just tell me what you want.” And when Jimmy was done with his pitch, Walter said with a sigh, “You want me to follow a girl that clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you?”

“No, man. She loves me. She does. She’s just confused right now, and I gotta make sure there’s no other guy, ya know? I don’t want her messing around. It’s disrespectful.”

Walter heaved out another long sigh, rubbing at his temples. “But she’s your ex-girlfriend.”

Jimmy shook his head, his shaggy, dusty-blond hair swaying vigorously with the motion. “That’s temporary.”

Snorting, Walter sat up in his chair. “Sure it is. Look, you think maybe she just isn’t interested anymore?”

“Hey, I’m not here for additional commentary. Can you help me or not?”

“From what you’ve said, she’s not breaking any laws, she’s not a danger to herself or others, so I have no reason to—”

“Please, man. Please,” Jimmy said, putting his palms together in lame prayer. Walter was sure this boy hadn’t prayed to anything in his entire life. “I’ll never step foot in here again if you help me out just this once.”

Walter eyed the kid, trying to weight the pros and cons of wasting his time on something so inane, but if it got the little, blond twit to go away, then he figured there were worse things. It had been a slow week as it was. He groaned and grabbed a pen and a piece of paper. “Fine. What’s her name?”

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

“Walter,” You said, trying to hold back any emotion in your voice as you moved aside to let him pass the threshold into your small apartment. As habit had it, you were much happier to see him than you wished. Walter always had a way of lighting your every nerve on fire from just your bodies being in the same room. You couldn’t help wanting him, missing him, but you hid it well.

As he walked in, his body trailed the outside chill behind, sending a shiver down your spine. Then he pulled the beanie you’d bought him off his head and turned to face you. Though the irritated look on his face was not an uncommon one, you didn’t appreciate it directed at you.

You crossed your arms. “Well?” Walter hung around quite often until you had asked him to quit it, and though he didn’t usually listen to you--putting his own concerns above your wishes--you knew he held a respect for you that made him at least try to keep his distance. If he was stopping by now…well, it could only bring you trouble, but not seeing his face in so long had you more lenient.

“Why is some punk walking into my precinct and asking me to follow you?”

Your eyebrows rose. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. How many punks could you possibly have hanging around?”

Being a decade older, Walter often made you laugh at his distaste for younger adults. You were the one exception, he’d always said, but all others were ‘punks.’ He feared the day Faye had to deal with boys your age, if she were ever so unlucky. “You met Jimmy?”

His fists kept clenching and unclenching, his shoulders somehow broadened, and the frown on his face made his eyebrows pinch and dip deep. “This idiot is really attached to you, Y/N.”

The more he spoke, the more you realized that ‘irritated’ may have been too sweet a word for what Walter really was. “He just doesn’t like his ego being bruised.”

Walter shrugged off his winter coat and tossed it on the couch as if it was still normal for him to do so, then ran a hand through the dark, messy curls you always loved. “Why the hell are you messing around with a--?”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not messing around with him anymore.”

“Well, he seems to think it’s temporary.”

“It’s not.”

Crossing his arms, Walter shook his head like a disappointed parent would at their bratty, misbehaving child; the way you’d seen him look at Faye every time he found out she was spending too much time on social media. “Stay away from this guy, alright?”

“You would tell me to stay away from any guy,” You mumbled to yourself with a snort.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.”

“Do not give me attitude,” He snapped back. “You’re not being safe! If you were, maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation!"

Instantly, your shoulders stooped and the same old headache began to form. “Not this again, Walt. According to you I’m never safe unless I’m in your line of sight.”

“Yes!” He yelled, stomping your way, stopping just short of ramming his body through yours. “Now if only you could stay in it!”

“You can’t have eyes on me all day every day.”

“The hell I can’t!”

“You promised, Walter.” You let out a small whine. “I told you it was too hard for me to keep seeing you around wherever I went, and you promised you would stop watching me.” You wished it didn’t have to be that way. You wished seeing his face didn’t bring on such a potent punch of pain, but it did. Every single day when you left your apartment, you saw him standing by his car, a coffee cup in hand, unashamedly watching you like some creep. Eventually, you stopped looking in the direction you knew he would be, hoping you may forget he was there at all, but you always felt his eyes on you; such a strong stare, he might as well have been touching you. But you couldn’t take it. Months of your every move being tracked by the man you loved but couldn’t have was taking its toll, and so you begged him to leave you alone, to give you some relief.

“I did stop, and what happened? Barely a month after I made that stupid promise, some dumb, obsessed kid comes asking me to stalk you.”

You leaned back against the wall, growing more exhausted by the minute. “Well, with all the past practice you’ve had watching my every move, I’d say he was rather smart to pick you of all people. Shitty coincidence that he would though, since now I’m getting lectured.”

“I am not lecturing you.”

“Fine, but whatever this is you’re doing here, you’re out of line. My business is not your business anymore. It hasn’t been your business for the last five months.”

“Your little boyfriend came to me,” He said, pointing a finger at his chest, “so yes, it is my bus--”

“It is not!” You bit back. “You could’ve turned him away. You could’ve told him not to follow me around unless he was itching to get a restraining order, but you didn’t, did you? You took this opportunity to check up on me. Again!”

He stepped back, looking as if you had slapped him. His aggressive, guarded barrier of emotions cracked, and you could see the vulnerability he hadn’t shown since your relationship ended.

“Walter” You sighed, “You’re the one who stepped back. You’re the one who said it would be best if we weren’t in a relationship. You said I was a distraction and—”

“I said you’d be at risk, not that you’re a distraction.”

“It doesn’t make a difference.”

“Damn it, Y/N, it does! I only did it because I love you!” He said without hesitation, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You know that!”

You blinked. “No, I did not know that! You seriously broke up with me because you love me? That’s ridiculous.”

“I broke up with you to keep you safe, but I clearly suffered for nothing seeing as you put yourself in unsafe situations even without my association.”

You wanted to believe him, so bad, but people don’t leave behind the ones they love. After all, you loved him and the thought of leaving him made you nauseous, even now. When you were together, he may have appeared in love, but after a year he still hadn’t told you and you knew you’d let yourself get a little too hopeful. If you were honest with yourself, him breaking up with you was not as much of a shock as it should’ve been. But as you looked at him now, you could see that he truly believed you already knew.

“It doesn’t make sense that you would do that,” You said. “People don’t just break up with someone they love.”

“Fuck, Y/N, did I ever seem unhappy with you? Did I ever come across like I didn’t want you every second of every day? My every other thought was of you,” He said loudly, like a rant, and you were having a hard time figuring out who he was mad at. “So don’t try to tell me how I felt, and feel now. I still love you and that’s not going to change, but I can’t have criminals, murderers even, coming after you because they are pissed at me for hunting them down or having a case against them. It would take nothing for the average officer or detective to figure out that you and I were together even if we were hiding it. How hard do you think it would be for some psychopath?”

You hadn’t realized a tear slipped down your cheek until you tasted it at the corner of your lips. It was salty but somehow bitter and left a thick burning path along your skin. You quickly wiped it away. “Why didn’t you tell me this months ago?”

“Because, stubborn as you are, you wouldn’t have listened. You would have told me it didn’t matter.” He fell backwards onto the couch, closing his eyes and letting out a groan. “I try to do the right thing. I try to protect you, thinking everything will be fine as long as no one can link you to me, but I can’t…stay away.” His eyes met yours. “And then you beg me to, and it’s excruciating to obey. When I was able to watch over you, it reminded me that I did the right thing. You were safe and I could constantly be reassured of that.”

You walked over to him, your heart thumping with every step, then sat on your knees in front of him, placing your hand atop his own resting on his thigh. His other hand reached for your face and his fingers softly grazed your cheek before they tucked some hair behind your ear. “Walt—”

“That kid…Jimmy,” Walter interrupted as he began tracing the back of your hand with his thumb. “He thinks you’re in love with him.”

“I’m not.”

“You swear?”

“Of course, Walt. I told you--”

“I know,” He said with a single nod of his head. “I know. Maybe I’ll actually get some sleep now.”

You rested your cheek on the inner side of his knee and said, “You could sleep here.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“Why not?” You bit your lip nervously. You couldn’t even dare to count how many times you’d had sex during the course of your relationship, but now, asking him not to leave made your pulse thrum in your ears.

He leaned forward and looked down at you. “Because I don’t think I can say no to you.”

“Then why would you bother trying,” You whispered without a second thought and slowly inched up on your knees so you could connect your lips with his.

It lasted only a second or two before he broke the kiss, grabbed you by the arm, and yanked you onto his lap. His grip at the back of your neck pulled your mouth to his as your hand slipped between your bodies and quickly started to undo his belt buckle.

“God, baby,” Walter groaned against your lips when you wrapped your fingers around his thick cock and released it from his jeans. He pulled the ratty, old t-shirt of his over your shoulders and softly settled his hands on your hips. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…missed these,” He said, placing a kiss on one bare breast, then the other. “I missed you, so much.” He placed his lips to the curve of your neck, then met your eyes. “I miss you every fucking day.”

You kissed his forehead, and his arms tightened around you as you lifted your hips and sank down onto him. “I missed you too, Walter,” You said, but the words melted somewhere within the mix of your moans and his groans.

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

Tags: @agniavateira​ @forthebrokenheartedthings​ @summersong69​ @starlite13​ @mstgsmy​ @purplelove75​ @defffcc​ @the-soot-sprite​ @kissthatlifeaway​ @atomicpaperhairdouniversity​ @aquariuslavenderhoney​ @harrysthiccthighss​ @the-problem-of-leisure​ @meganwinchester1999​

[herstarburststories]

illicit love

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x reader

Summary: Jensen loves you, but sometimes love isn’t the right thing.

A/N: Hey, guys! All we needed was a newish fic to say that I was really back, here it is! This one goes for @negans-lucille-tblr 6k challenge. So glad you got to another millestone, honey. It's like I was posting my part for your 5k celebration just yesterday! xD Prompt in bold.

Warnings: age gap, cheating

Jensen Ackles kept squinting through the bricks of his memory in an attempt to recall where it all began. Maybe it was when he drove off the road he had known for years with the dumbfounded desire to take the trails yet traveled, threading his fingers through your hair on the night of September 7th. He could’ve chosen the easy out and say it all started to crumble with the first kiss, but no. The actor, father, and now horrible husband highly doubted that. No, as he unwound the convoluted wires in his mind, it wasn’t the first clandestine meeting that he saw as the beginning, not the first kiss or the primal stolen glances. It wasn’t even the lies or the way he pushed his body against yours in an act of illicit faith.

Like any grand mistake, it was way before that. Just like how the church not-so-gently advised, it all starts with craving something you never thought you would want.

It happened when he landed the job in a new series after leaving a fifteen-year-long rollercoaster, pushing away any real witness to the fact the old show that swallowed part of his soul was over. There was a certain shock of excitement misplaced by the fact he was going to be working with Eric again, and that the show was an abrupt change considering what he had been doing previously. Now, he believed it was his body’s particular way of telling him that — as the savage animals can sense rain or a calamity — this, baby, this is gonna change your life.

JENSEN ACKLES CAST AS SOLDIER BOY!

‘’Since when have you read comics?’’ Jensen arched his messy eyebrows at Dee’s curiosity about the Homelander and Soldier Boy panel making it to the screen. Shaking the comic book in his right hand slightly, he continued: ‘’Especially that kind.’’

‘’Never,’’ Danneel stated plainly, “but I have Google. It was pretty much the first thing that appeared.’’

‘’Well, Eric said that scene won't be on the screen. Besides, the portrayal won't be that Soldier Boy, but the original one who died in the war. ‘Course, he wouldn’t have died there in our show, but it ain’t the panel one.’’ He shrugged, bringing her closer to his side as she snuggled against him. ‘’There’ll be a bunch of Herogasm, which is basically drugs and sex. Just not with Homelander.’’

Danneel nodded at his explanation, humor clinging to her words as she added: ‘’Guess the only man I have to share you with is still Jared.’’

‘’Hey, you knew what you were getting yourself into.’’ Jensen scoffed playfully before kissing her cheek. ‘’Can't wait to start the show.’’

Jensen leaned forward to rest the comic that he had been religiously studying to form a psychological character profile on the dashboard of the Impala. The actor was spending plenty of hours inside his most palpable Supernatural souvenir -- Baby. His safe place. He sure as hell needed one of those, as molding a whole character that has a bunch of source material wasn’t as easy as he pictured. With Dean, he was putting himself and the script in one until it made his imaginary best friend. It was love at the first sight. Soldier Boy, however, was a long story short. Jensen figured he should do both, honor the character created and add his own special ingredients to it. It was a brand new kind of passion that he hadn’t done for a series in the longest time. Still, his glance trailed back to the woman by his side in the backseat.

‘’Let's hope it won't last another decade,” she mocked.

Jensen shook his head with a chuckle, relaxing against the leather seat. Even the mere smell of the Impala was enough to settle his nerves. ‘’Eric has plans for five seasons.’’

Danneel’s features contorted as if having war flashbacks. Sort of. She never imagined Supernatural would make it that far, and now with three kids, signing on for another excessively time-consuming idea for a new show didn’t seem too appealing either. Yet, she would support Jensen in any decision he’d take regarding his job. “Remind me the last time I heard that line before?” 

‘’Come on.’’ He let out a wry huff, poking her side in a playful manner. She couldn't help but laugh, returning the gesture with tickles to start a very light-hearted battle. He seemed happy with the new job, something Danneel truly thought he would have more difficulty with. She’d pushed her weathered worries away with his easy-going laughter for now.

SOLDIER BOY’S LOVE INTEREST?

Eric Kripke threw the gossip magazine on the table, his eyes not straying from his long-time friend’s. He could’ve simply added the digital article to an irate email and be done with it, but he was a simple man with extravagant taste. That had been usual through his whole career, especially regarding the Supernatural aesthetic. Yet, in those mundane situations, Jensen almost found it too much. That wasn’t the case, though. If anything, the plain, yet still overpowering words that his green eyes scanned made his body sweat. He could even hear his organs working from the absolute silence of the blame that covered the room. Kripke’s room had never seemed more like an interrogation chamber than now.

The magazine in question held Jensen and your picture on the cover, his arms wrapped around your torso as he pulled you close. The most sequin smile hung from your lips like happiness was something that could be touched on that sunny day in the private park near the studio. Giant and garish letters made the headline along with the subline: Jensen Ackles wearing his Soldier Boy costume caught sharing a passionate kiss with the new arrival of The Boy’s Team: Y/N Y/L/N, also known on-screen as Cangaceira!

His voice came out as an accusation: ‘’What’s this, Jensen?’’

‘’We were…’’ The director just waved his hand to interrupt.

‘’Don’t try saying you were practicing a scene because I wrote the Soldier Boy and Cangaceira kiss, and it wasn’t here.’’ Acid tainted his words with no space for fake niceties on his set. Jensen remained in the chair, not even daring to make the most subtle move. Eric knew where he was hitting, and Ackles deserved a punch in the jaw. “The sex scene wasn’t here either, but you two added a lot of erotic subtext. Trust me, I know.’’

His shoulders fell in exhaustion. ‘’Eric…’’

‘’You’re lucky we were going to make those two a couple anyway. I can just put the kiss here and save your ass. What if that wasn’t the case, huh?’’ the director continued, more interested in spilling out his anger than listening to dumb excuses. ‘’What about Danneel, Jensen? You have a wife and kids, for God’s sake!’’

The breaking point. Jensen rose to his feet with sudden frustration, a growl leaving his lips as he pushed the chair to the side with uncharacteristic brutality. How could Eric bring up his family like this? And how could Jensen’s heart not bring them up when he kissed you before?  It was all a fucking mess, and he had no choice but to choke down whatever came out of it, even if it was poison and spite.

‘’Fuck, Eric! Do you think I don’t know that? Do you think it doesn’t pull me apart every time I go home and know I’m lying to the people who love me?’’ The vein on his neck popped as he spoke, emotion gushing thicker through his arteries than blood. Woe remerged under his skin as he swallowed dryly, resting his hands on the table and looking down. That wasn’t him. He had done a lot of things that weren't him lately. ‘’I have enough guilt here, pal.’’

Eric just glared down at the man’s outburst, furrowing before asking, ‘’What’s going on, Jay? You don’t just get up and cheat on your wife. That ain’t you.’’

He shook his head. ‘’I don’t know. Y/N’s just…’’

‘’At least 20 years younger than you,” he stated. ‘’Just starting her career and might be getting the homewrecker title if someone finds out.’’

‘’I won’t let that happen.’’

‘’How? You are gonna be more careful or will you cut it out and go back to your wife and three kids?’’ When Ackles didn’t respond, Eric sighed. ‘’Just stop this, Jensen. Let her go.’’

Jensen scoffed humorlessly. ‘’I can’t.’’

Kripke felt like talking to a teenager. He shook his head as he got up. ‘’Do you have any idea what you’re doing here? This could destroy your family, destroy Y/N’s chance to make a name when you already have your own. That’s selfish in all proportions, Jensen!’’

‘’I know, I know.’’

‘’She deserves more than this and —’’

‘’I know.’’

‘’You are gonna mess up everyone’s lives —’’

‘’I know!’’ He slammed the table and winced, turning around with his hands on his head. If only he could stop his thoughts for a second and reorganize his feelings. ‘’Do you think it doesn’t rip my heart out that I can’t love her?’’

‘’Who?’’ The burning question was ready to set everything ablaze. ‘’You can’t love Y/N, or you can’t love your wife anymore, Jensen?’’

He couldn’t love you in public. He couldn’t love Danneel anywhere. Love just escaped through his reaches when you spoke his name like a prayer, and it was time to accept that.

‘’Both.’’

NO CHICK FLICK MOMENTS: SOLDIER BOY AND CANGACEIRA TALK ABOUT WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THEIR RELATIONSHIP

‘’It's amazing to portray with Jensen. I’ve watched Supernatural since I was like twelve, which probably isn't advisable.’’ You chortled, answering the reporter’s question. Your body could barely contain your excitement under your skin, although, why would you want that? You did it. You got the job you had dreamed and worked hard for. To a bonus, you were working with Jensen Ackles! If there was someone that had earned the right to scream to the sky until your face was the color of the red carpet your heels currently stood on, it was you. ‘‘I was even a Samgirl!’’

Jensen faked a gasp next to you, a light spectrum surrounding the interview. ‘’Really? Me too!’’

You pushed his shoulder playfully while he chuckled. ‘’Anyway, I'm very excited to be here and portray a strong latina superhero. The representation’s very important, and to be able not only to cherish it, but to be a part of it doing what I love and inspiring people like me is… mythical.’’

‘’Wow, woman!’’ Ackles pursed his lips, clapping a little before shifting his gaze from you to the reporter. ‘’She likes the big words. I swear, dude. She’ll just come and in like, a casual conversation, say something like gelid or whilst, and then she's gonna say dumbass. Both sound smart as heck.’’

You winked. ''It's the accent. Makes everything sound nice.”’

Jensen nodded but was quick to sprinkle in an incendiary remark to his compliments. ‘’Yeah, I have never seen someone confuse coach and couch before. Go sit on the coach got a lot of wrong ideas.’’

‘’Hey, you sat on the coach!’’

‘’Because I’m a good boy.’’

You rolled your eyes despite the grin on your lips. ‘’Sure, mister hours-to-get-ready.’’

‘’Hey, plenty of face masks are needed to keep this — ’’ He pointed at his face. ‘’at fourteen.’’

‘’All I hear is that you’re old.’’ Your eyebrows knitted together. Jensen licked his lips at the sight. On any other day, he’d pick you up, say I’m gonna show you who’s old, and enjoy where your teasing had gotten you two, but he couldn’t do it now. You’d get what was coming to you after the event, perhaps even under the table if your dress allowed it, or in the bathroom, if you kept going.

The mischievous smirk on your cherry-stained lips proved that you knew what was going through his mind. God, you were his sweet death. Nonetheless, Jensen sighed dramatically and looked at the camera. ‘’This is what I have to deal with every day.’’

The reporter went on, happily surprised about how comfortable you and Jensen seemed together. Usually, new coworkers were timider around each other during interviews, especially when they were a romantic pair. The journalist decided to try getting a little sneak peek of the couple aspects of Soldier Boy and Cangaceira.

‘’It's definitely interesting.’’

‘’But not in the best way.’’ The only thing more messed up than Jensen’s relationship with you was the correlation between your characters. At least you and he had the purity of love, even if it was twisted enough to turn heads and churn stomachs

‘’Certainly not in the best way.’’ You agreed, bringing him back into reality as always. ‘’It's really nice to explore a couple that doesn't consist of two white people getting to it like most main characters of the shows in our current climate. It’s not the kind of relationship you should be rooting for — not because it's interracial or anything, that's pretty much the biggest, if not only, positive aspect about those two — but because they aren’t healthy at all, just as all main relationships in our show. It's not a romance series, and we certainly don't treat our couples like it.’’

‘’Told you she is the beauty and the brains.’’ His cheeks dimpled with joy and pride as he looked at you. Jensen knew how excitedly nervous you were about that interview. He couldn’t wait to tell you how great you were like you were born to sell dreams and magazines. ‘’But yeah, it’s a messed up relationship like any other in The Boys. After all, it's not a respectful, wholesome show. It's about gritty superheroes that ain’t got heroism. Soldier Boy isn't a good guy, and it translates in his relationship too.’’

You nodded in agreement, brushing his arm to keep you sane. ‘’It’ll be an interesting dynamic to see on-screen to our show standards, but it's not an actual picture of how a relationship should be.’’

THE BOYS 100TH EPISODE PARTY!

The glimmer of his green comet eyes caught your undivided attention in the throngs of people. The crowd had gathered for his family, his arm around his wife's waist as you both shared a tender, stolen look. You savored her wine and yearned for the man in her arms.

It was just a small celebration due to COVID’s lasting effects on public events. People from the set and their significants together were in the Ackles house for a couple of drinks, small talk, and a cake with The Boy’s comics printed on it.

‘’Aunt Y/N!’’ JJ tugged your dress, her mix of Danneel and Jensen’s features almost haunting your soul. Almost. You would never despise a kid for that — you didn’t even have the right to. If anything, JJ was the one that would graduate to hating you someday. You didn't have enough youthful stupidity not to know the risks of being in love with a married man. ‘’Auntie!’’

You leaned in the most that you could with the red skirt, glancing at the child. ‘’Yes, honey?’’

‘’That’s my new Barbie! I bought a beach one! She looks like you!’’ the blonde kid said with a childish joy that ached in your heart. You could end up destroying her family’s stability if Jensen went any further, yet there she was; buying dolls that looked like you and so happily babbling about it.

You were a monster. Love opened you up and planted greedy seeds, and now you were a monster growing like a beautiful tree that could never be strong enough to hold a kid as they climbed up. The fact that you could sense Jensen’s eyes on your ass didn’t help one bit.

‘’She does! That’s so cute, JJ.’’

‘’You can be her. I have one who looks like mommy, I’ll be her, ‘kay?’’

Your nausea was replaced by a pageant smile and a nod, and so you spent the night sharing longing stares with the dad and playing dolls with the daughter. It was a role that was never yours.

ILLICIT AFFAIR? JENSEN ACKLES SEEN ON THE BEACH WITH Y/N Y/L/N

‘’I can’t believe you did this to me, to our family,‘’ Danneel screamed exasperatedly as she threw her clothes in a bag and heart on the wall. Jensen just stood there, accepting the deserved fury. ‘’Ten years of my life, Jensen, and you just threw it away for a mistress! I gave up on my job to be a stay at home mom because you didn’t want a babysitter. I supported you in every moment. I loved you!’’

‘’I’m sorry…’’

‘’You don’t get to be sorry,” she howled, glaring at him with the hatred of an overthrown nation. She felt like he got to the podium and forgot to say her name. ‘’You let that woman get in my house, drink my wine, talk to my children…’’

Reflexively, he said, ‘’Our.’’

‘’Shut the fuck up! There’s no ours anymore, no us!’’ Her words had garnered a learned violence, much louder than the sound of the zipper closing her duffel bag. She threw the CC exclusive on the floor, holding onto the handle for dear life. He didn’t deserve to see her breaking, only her anger. ‘’You destroyed our family, you destroyed me!’’

He pleaded, unable to discern if it was for her or the guilt: ‘’Dee.’’

‘’I hope you’re happy. I hope you go to her, get her to sleep on our bed, and be happy for a month.’’ She gulped, pursing her lips. Her glossy eyes coupled with the pink hue of her lipstick brought back a treacherous memory of their wedding day. ‘’And then, I hope she cheats, like you did to me.’’

The next headline didn’t call it love.

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[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH61

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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-----

Chapter 61: Purgatory Reunion (XIII)

It was dawn.

There was no sun in the Underground Ant City, but Qi Leren still knew by intuition that it was dawn.

Looking at the time again, it was 7:20 in the morning. If he was training with Chen Baiqi, it would be too late. If he left for her place at this time, he would definitely receive the "loving care" of the three-headed hellhound. But for a person who was on a rare vacation, this hour was still too early.

Actually, he could sleep for a while, but... Qi Leren sat up from the bed. Now that he was awake, it was better to make some breakfast for Ning Zhou. The living room here was connected to the kitchen.

Thinking this, Qi Leren jumped out of bed, put on clothes in a hurry, and came to the bedroom door. After a pause, he rubbed his hands and gently turned the door handle, ready to tiptoe out.

As soon as the door opened, the smell of fried eggs filled Qi Leren's nose. He paused and looked straight into the kitchen.

Freshly brewed hot coffee sat on the table, as well as hot sausages and slices of bread. When Ning Zhou heard the sound of the door opening from where he was frying eggs, he looked back at him, smiled, and said, "Good morning."

"Morning." Qi Leren felt that he was still dreaming.

Dreaming... Speaking of which, he seemed to have had a dream last night, but when he thought about it now, he can't remember anything, except that it was a beautiful dream.

Ning Zhou skillfully put the fried eggs on the plate with a spatula, and Qi Leren quickly walked past and picked up the plate to give him a hand.

It wasn’t the first time that Qi Leren saw Ning Zhou cooking. Before the end of the undercover mission with the Slaughter Secret Society and the start of the Holy Nun’s task, he and Ning Zhou had briefly lived together for a while, as it was for the convenience of Ning Zhou training him. At that time, the two people who had had a crush on each other but sought only to endure it tacitly avoided many topics, and even deliberately avoided each other in many cases. The scene of eating together in silence at dusk was still filled with a different kind of warmth.

Restraint ran through this relationship. Even if they had confessed their feelings, they were still restrained.

When you like someone, you can be presumptuous, because the impulse comes so warmly that people get carried away and act rashly. You may even forget to think, and let your instincts dominate you to express your feelings freely, but you don't think whether it will hurt the person you like. Because at that time, you just want it.

However, when you fall in love with someone and want to spend your whole life with him, you lose your courage, become timid, and be swayed by considerations of gain and loss. You start to restrain yourself, learn to pull out the spikes one by one, express your love gently, and don't use the excuse of "love" to hurt your loved one. Because at this time, you want forever.

"I'll brush my teeth first!" Qi Leren put the plate on the table and rushed into the bathroom. He spent one third of the usual time brushing his teeth and didn't wash his face, because he didn't want Ning Zhou to wait too long, but he carefully observed himself in the mirror and combed his messy hair with a wet comb.

After several tens of seconds, Qi Leren sat upright at the dining table with a knife and a fork in hand, and ate breakfast happily.

Qi Leren was not used to this kind of western breakfast. When he was young, his mother often went out to film, and his father threw him a few dollars irresponsibly to buy breakfast for himself. He usually bought youtiao when he was sent away. When his mother was at home, his father would use 18 kinds of cooking skills, from Cantonese-style refreshments to northern noodles, never making the same thing in the same month. The only thing he never made was Western-style breakfast. Qi Leren, who depend on their mother to eat and drink, had no opinion on breakfast at all, and had been used to this for more than 20 years.

The western-style breakfast was a bit too greasy for him, which made his stomach accustomed to youtiao uncomfortable. However, this was made by Ning Zhou, and Qi Leren not only ate it all, but also praised it with a smile. Because of his outstanding acting skills, Ning Zhou didn't see that he was reluctant.

Looking at Ning Zhou's happy appearance, Qi Leren felt willing to act all his life.

After breakfast, they went to the Trial’s Ant City headquarters, which was disguised as a small auction house, where people were busy and didn’t pay much attention to others. Celia, the contact person in charge of the whole branch’s affairs, had stayed up all night. The smell of black coffee was all over the office. She added sugar to it and smiled bitterly: "I sent someone to interrogate Kathleen overnight. I dug up a lot of news."

"What news?" Qi Leren’s spirits rose as soon as he heard it, and he took Ning Zhou and sat down.

"After Kathleen escaped from the Village of Dusk, considering her demon identity, she chose the Underground Ant City where humans and demons live together as her foothold. As luck would have it, an old lover from her early years happened to run an industry for Witches of Greed in the Underground Ant City, so she settled down there. After the Illusionist disappeared, we investigated his whereabouts. He had been to this casino before going to the Dragon Ant Queen’s royal palace. A gambler saw him and was very impressed with him. Later, our informant reported this matter and went to the gambler to verify it, and then disappeared in the underground casino. Kathleen admitted that the informant was in her hands. After torturing the informant who was looking for the Illusionist, she put the underground casino on watch, and then met you while you were investigating while in disguise."

"So, there’s still no news on the Illusionist?" Qi Leren frowned.

"Yes, we still don't know why he went to that underground casino." Celia was also very troubled. "But it’s certain that he eventually disappeared in the Queen Dragon Ant’s palace."

"Last time, you said that entering the palace required the Prophet's decree?" Qi Leren asked.

Celia nodded. "I also wrote about you in the second request, and I will have an answer next week. Until then... I don't have the power to make such a big decision."

Although Celia was in charge of all the Village of Dusk’s affairs in the Underground Ant City, after all, she only acted on the orders of the Prophet. When it came to the Dragon Ant Queen, who was also a field-level master, she had no right to make decisions.

Qi Leren didn't know about the delicate relationship between field-level masters. He didn't even know how many field-level masters there were in the whole Nightmare World—he vaguely remembered that had Su He mentioned it in those days, but now he wouldn't even believe even Su He’s punctuation marks.

"The Dragon Ant Queen, what news is there?" Ning Zhou suddenly asked.

Celia hesitated and shook her head gently. "There is no news... I'm afraid this is the best news. She’s now in the stage of rebirth, and after this... "

It meant that the queen who had dominated the Underground Ant City for more than 20 years would die and give her authority to the new queen.

What kind of attitude would the new queen hold towards humans and demons? Was it closer to the side of humans or demons? Would she expand the Underground Ant City’s sphere of influence, or would she pay more attention to stability and peace in her own field? Which Devil King would she follow? All these were related to the existence of the Underground Ant City in the next ten or twenty years, and people living here were greatly concerned about this problem.

Among the successive Dragon Ant Queens, a few were friendly to human beings. During those times, human beings gained a high status, but most of the time, the Dragon Ant Queens were not friendly to human beings—she would tolerate human beings living in her sphere of influence, but that's all.

"What method is the Dragon Ant Queen’s field passed down through? Is there any idea?" Qi Leren asked curiously. He had learned some things from the intelligence materials, but the method of inheritance was a complete secret.

Celia shook her head. "Most fields decline with the death of their owners, and they will die out in a few decades. There’s a special inheritance method in the Holy See, where the Pope’s field has been perfectly passed down through the ages."

Was the Pope's field Neverland? Qi Leren secretly took a look at Ning Zhou and was caught red-handed.

"The method of condensation is different," Ning Zhou said.

Qi Leren seemed to understand. He knew that Ning Zhou once condensed more than a half-field with the Holy See’s method, but the half-field had been very fragile, and it was broken before it condensed into a field. But now...

He should have condensed the field again, as evidenced by what had happened in the underground casino yesterday.

He would look for an opportunity to talk about this problem in depth with Ning Zhou. He really cared too much about his own force. This evil force brewing destruction meant endless pain for him.

"Oh, as well, I’ve investigated the things that you asked me to, but there are some questions..." Celia took a sip of coffee and explained the matter.

Ashley, Mrs Kathleen's subordinate, had been missing for a month. She could still feel that her subordinate existed, but she couldn't feel where he was. A surprisingly evil force cut off her connection to him.

"She also said that she had once met someone who looked like Ashley. At that time, he was fighting fiercely with a man wielding a tangdao, but she couldn't see clearly because they were too far away. After they left, she took a look at the scene, and there were broken walls. Therefore, Kathleen thinks that she must have seen wrong. Although her subordinate is clever and considerate, his strength is average and it would be impossible for him to fight with such a powerful master," Celia said.

Qi Leren didn't quite agree: "Didn't she say that her subordinate was controlled by an evil force? Maybe it's something like a seed of slaughter?"

"This is also possible, but according to Kathleen's tone, the level of those two people was more than that of someone who’s been parasitized. Moreover, so many days have passed, and there probably aren’t many valuable clues left there, " said Celia.

"Is there anything we can do for you now?" Qi Leren asked.

"With the matters of the Illusionist, we can only wait for the Court’s reply. Other affairs are handled by special personnel. If you have time, you may wish to help us go to the place where Mrs. Kathleen mentioned that she thought she saw Ashley." Celia smiled and looked at them expectantly.

Qi Leren and Ning Zhou exchanged a look, silently reaching an agreement.

-----

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[geordiewrites]

Hey i just read exile inspired fic and it is soo good. I think you should write one based on the song tolerate it by ts? With harry plz. The drama, fight, tears.. I think you will reflect the emotion so well omg.

Tolerate It | Harry Potter

A/N: Hi lovely! First off, I adored this request so much and I really hope I’ve done it justice. Tolerate It is such a beautiful song and defo one of my favourites off of Evermore to cry to, there’s just so much detail hidden within the lyrics and I adore that. Harry too!! There’s not enough stuff for Harry, so I hope I’ve done well for you! ( Also this is super short, but I’ve been swamped with coursework xox )

Summary: Y/N is in love with The Boy Who Lived, and due to marry him in the Spring with a beautiful April wedding. Friends to lovers to that engaged couple who are just too in love to function, they share the most perfect story. But when Y/N begins to see their relationship for what it is, her entire world is thrown off key...

Warnings: angst and lots of it, loneliness, sadness, swearing.

~

“You’re coming home tonight, right?” Y/N asks, excitement and anticipation heavy in her tone, cherry red nails clicking against the cold metal of the answerphone.

“Of course, I’ll be back soon, love.” Harry Potter, her beloved fiancé, answered back on the other side from his workplace all the way in central London. His office is almost empty, devoid of any homely photos or colleagues: they had all gone home to their families long ago, and yet he stayed behind. He had no work to finish, no cases glaring to be solved. There was nothing to do but leave, but Harry didn’t.

“You’ve said that before.” Y/N pointed out blandly, her forced smile fading slightly. Many times had Harry said he was on his way home, only to send a letter the next morning apologising for suddenly getting swamped with unavoidable paperwork. “Please come home Harry, I’ve even made your favourite for dinner.”

“That sounds good, I promise I’ll be there soon. I’m just leaving the Ministry now.” Harry replied monotonously, not sounding nearly as happy as Y/N wished he would. Perhaps he had just had a bad day at the office, he must have done. But he had just one too many bad days now, and the reality that he might not want to see her was beginning to sink in.

Shaking off that horrible thought, Y/N inhaled a sharp breath and chewed the edge of her top lip. “Alright, if you say so. I’ll see you then.”

“Bye.” Harry said shortly before putting the phone down and staring at his office, desperately trying to find a reason to stay at work. He did love Y/N, he did. Heck, he had even asked her to marry him and kissed the edge of her lips as they set the date. And then postponed it. And then postponed it another year after that, all because of some urgent work that Harry had suddenly come across. He was just so young, forced to grow up so quickly he didn’t even have time for a scrap of a childhood. Maybe that was why he didn’t want to see Y/N, why going home to their apartment often felt like a chore.

Back at their cosy flat in the nicer part of Greenwich, Y/N put the phone down after hearing an abrupt beep on the other end that let her know he had hung up. She sighed before walking over to a tall cabinet that stood to the side of their kitchen, taking out a set of nice china plates her Grandmother had left her and crystal wine glasses. It was the lovely cutlery only used for things like Christmas and obligatory dinner parties her family forced her to hold.

After setting it out on the table, Y/N checked the time and supposed that if Harry really had left as he said, he would be back in just a minute through the wonders of apparation. Carefully so she wouldn’t somehow spill the food in her clumsiness, a quality Harry once said he loved about her, Y/N moved the food from the oven, to plates and then through to their front room where the fancy cutlery was set up. A smile made its way onto her face, a beaming, gorgeous smile of confidence that her and Harry would finally have the night she deserved. One where work or his reluctance to put effort into their relationship, even if she did pretend she knew nothing about this, didn’t get in the way.

Alas however, minutes passed and there was no sign of Harry anywhere. The food grew colder and that wonderful, rare smile of hers faded into an all too comfortable frown, the crease between her eyebrows deepening with not only disappointment, but anger. A growing resentment for Harry’s lack of care or even acknowledgement of their engagement. He didn’t seem to give two hoots that she had made a lovely meal; after all, he had only called it ‘good’. Not fabulous or decadent or even something praiseful. Just good.

They hadn’t said ‘I love you’ before they hung up the phones. Harry had only said one word. Y/N’s mind began to spiral, her breathing growing quicker and sharper as the thought that it might be time to confront Harry about the buildup of letdowns over the course of the last few months. A year even, since he had properly spent time at home. At their home, the one in which he had knelt down on one knee and told her he wanted to grow old with her by his side, failing at muggle card games on the front porch as they watched their grandchildren play.

Not knowing exactly what to do, Y/N retreated to grasping at the doorframe to keep her body from tumbling to the ground. Her mind whirred with the usual possibilities to try and chase away his lateness. Got caught at work, perhaps Ron called. But none of it compared to the looming threat that Harry was scraping any old excuse together in order to stay away. That he was lying, something she never thought she would have to think about him doing. Harry had always been such an honest person, even as a child.

Y/N remembered how nervous he was when he first asked her out during their fifth year at Hogwarts. He had been on this disastrous date with some Ravenclaw she couldn’t quite remember the name of, and come back utterly defeated. Feeling sorry for a friend she had always harboured a crush on, Y/N had stayed up all night convincing him something better was around the corner. It occurred to Harry quite quickly after that that Y/N was that somebody. She liked him, and at the time that was enough to make him think he was in love. To some degree he was, but not nearly as much as Y/N had fallen for him.

It was almost midnight when the front door to their apartment clicked with the turn of a key, and Y/N, still standing in the same sad place by the door to their living room, finally saw Harry step into their home. It had been hours since they were supposed to eat the food that Y/N had worked to hard to create. There it still sat however, with the plates and crystal glasses and unopened bottle of wine in the same place, completely untouched.

Y/N had a thousand things to say to him. Usually it would begin with her asking him where he had been galavanting off to, but not tonight. Tonight was the final tear in her elastic heart, just enough to finally make it tear into two broken, hollowed out pieces. She stood, silent and just watched as he took off his shoes and put his coat back in it’s place without saying anything. Harry wasn’t even trying anymore, and that hurt more than him being late to begin with.

“Sorry for the delay, something came up.” Harry said, standing a few metres away from her. There was no affectionate kiss to the forehead like when they were fresh out of Hogwarts with teenage dreams and ambitions. No arm comfortably slung around her waist in a protective manner. Y/N missed that especially out of all the things that had faded away. That simple gesture that showed he wanted to hold her above all else, above everyone else who had ever wanted to touch the Chosen One like she did.

“Something.” Y/N repeated, no emotion in her voice. It sounded almost like a recording being played back to him, just with any tone sucked away. “It’s always something, isn’t it?” She continued, not finding quite the right words to encompass the flummox of emotions seeping into her veins. “Work. Ron called. Hermione called. Work. Work again.”

“There really was something.” Harry pathetically added. It was a lie of course, he had spent the hours at his desk alone and staring aimlessly at a fountain pen as it leaked ink onto the black carpet of his office.

“Do you really think I don’t know you at all? Stop lying to me, Harry, just stop it. I’m done with being lied to.” Y/N says, her voice remaining as monotonous as ever as if she’s already grieving something. “I want to know what was so important that you’ve missed the dinner I made. The last thirty dinners, in fact.”

Harry just runs a hand through his messy hair as he tries desperately to think of something to say. But he can’t. There’s nothing to say that would make him any less guilty.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” He manages to whisper.

“You’ve said that already.” Y/N points out without missing a single beat. She’s exhausted of pretending that she doesn’t know what Harry’s been doing, drained of all energy to put in effort anymore.

“Just tell me what the problem is and we can fix it.” He begs, but his voice is shaky and the words sound as though he’s reading them from a script.

“Fine. When did you stop being in love with me?” Y/N asks, sadness seeping into her voice. Tears began to form in her eyes but were quickly blinked away; the last thing she wanted was for Harry to see her as weak. She might be pathetic, pitiful, stupid for not realising earlier... but Y/N was not going to be weak. Not now, not ever.

“Why would you think that? Y/N, I could never stop loving you.” Harry said, trying to wrap her into a hug only for Y/N to quickly wriggle out of his cold grasp. His fingers left icy burns where they had briefly touched her arm, and Harry’s face dropped as he realised she didn’t want him anywhere near her.

“But you have, Harry. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming home at ridiculous times, or avoiding even looking at me like you are now. You don’t love me, you tolerate me because you don’t want to be alone. I feel like I’m begging to be in the footnotes in the story of your life, not a main character anymore.” Y/N explained quietly, neither expecting her to be so frank but once the blunt words were spilling from her lips, not even she could stop them. She watched as Harry’s face crumpled, sadness twisting her gut as she fervently tried not to cry herself.

“Y/N... I don’t know what to say.” Harry trailed off. Y/N used to be so infatuated with him, so desperately in love that she was blind to his flaws, much like his ridiculous fan base. But she had grown up from the teenager with a crush to a young woman with heart and with ambitions, and Harry was no longer apart of what she wanted out of life. She had stopped being a part of his long ago, she just hadn’t realised it then.

“Is this in my head? Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow, Harry. Because please believe me, I could do it. I could leave.”

“I can’t.” Harry finally said. “I did love you once, Y/N. I’m not even sure what happened to us if I’m being completely honest.”

“That’s the problem: you don’t really even want me to stay. But that’s the thing... you built an entire new wizarding world after you defeated You-Know-Who, and where was I? I’m sorry for being dramatic and shit but I’m taking this dagger out and finally going where I need to be.” Y/N continued, not pausing as not to give him any time to ask her to stay, not that he would. Her mind was made up, and even Harry could see that.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Harry whispered, his voice trailing off as Y/N went to get her coat from a peg just beside their front door.

“It’s alright, really. I know you don’t hate me, but both of us know this isn’t working anymore. I deserve someone who celebrates me and my love, and that isn’t you. I’m not really sure that it ever was.” Y/N said, a sad smile gracing her delicate features. She looked almost relieved. Utterly broken-hearted, but relieved all the same. “I’ll come back for my stuff tomorrow.”

“You’re leaving me?” Harry said. Even though she had told him why, it still came as a shock. Y/N nodded. “I’m so sorry I didn’t treat you how you deserve.”

“I’m sorry about that too.” Y/N replied, both warmly and coldly at the same time. “Goodbye, Harry Potter. All the best.”

“Goodbye.” It was all Harry could fathom to say as she pressed her engagement ring back into his hand, the final recognition of their relationship officially being over. It was a beautiful piece of jewellery, one she at one point she thought she would never take off her finger. There were no more words exchanged about the gesture for none were needed, all had been said already.

One simple word that locked the door on their relationship, the one that Y/N had finally gained the courage to close in the first place. It had taken her so long, so pathetically long, to realise that something wasn’t right. That Harry was meant to love her, that love shouldn’t and can’t survive while being one sided. It shouldn’t have to be tolerated, and Y/N had finally learned that through all those lonely nights of wondering where Harry was, what he was getting up to at work, if he even was there.

But as Y/N’s grandma used to tell her every Christmas, as one door closes, another always opens.

-

A/N: hoped you liked it anon!!!

Nancy xx

[novelconcepts]

fic: the thing about gravity

The thing about gravity is...

Well, the thing about gravity is, it’s inescapable, isn’t it? By definition. Gravity: noun. The force that attracts a body toward the center of the earth, or toward any other physical body having mass. You don’t fight gravity. You plan for it, or plan around it; you don’t fight.

The thing about gravity is, it doesn’t let go just because its convenient. It doesn’t let go because time marches onward, because the seasons change, even in the event a person wants it to. 

The thing about gravity, Jamie sometimes thinks--more and more, if she’s honest with herself, as the years roll by and the memories grow thinner--is in its inevitability.

Maybe this wasn’t what Dani would have wanted. Maybe not. But there’s something about it Jamie hasn’t been able to let go of. Not the year Dani left her. Not the year after that. Not sitting at Flora’s wedding, regaling a room of mostly-strangers with the tale of their life together. 

Not now. 

There’s a lot in life a person chooses, thinks Jamie, watching herself move around the bathroom in a mirror scrubbed clean as ever. Her hands are precise, her motions certain; if they tremble upon the toothbrush, the lipstick, the washcloth, it’s nothing of alarm. Nothing of note. Just part and parcel of moving forward through the years. 

Moving forward, as it were, alone. 

She hates that word, Jamie does. Alone. Didn’t use to. Used to be, alone suited her just fine. Maybe better than anything else. Alone left no room for other people’s manipulations, for sharp words or hot water spilled on soft skin. Alone could allow for accidents, but not embarrassments. Not shame. Just the art of learning the next path forward on your own time. 

And then came blue eyes, thumbs tucked into fists, a brandished fire poker. An adoration Jamie had never before thought she needed. A kiss in a greenhouse, watched by ghosts. 

She wouldn’t trade any of it, even now. Not an inch of what she was able to buy, borrow, and steal with Dani. It was theirs--the messy nights, the languid mornings, the hot tears, the tight embraces. It was theirs, every fern and ficus, every flower, every burned stew and perfect, beautiful laugh. She didn’t get enough time with Dani--Christ, could anything ever be enough, with Dani?--but she knows it was more than they were promised. More than anyone’s promised. She’s grateful, as the lines spring up around her eyes, drawing webs of exhaustion into her skin. She’s grateful, as the strength seeps out of her knees and her hands begin to ache in the cold. She’s so goddamn grateful. 

And still. Still, that pull. Because gravity doesn’t fade with time. Gravity doesn’t release simply because other people say it should. 

In a way, Jamie finds this reassuring. This one thing, this one immutable fact of reality. Even as Miles raises sons of his own, as Flora develops a line of children’s dolls far more advanced than anything she grafted as child, as Owen begins preparing to pass his restaurant down to those younger and more spry. Henry’s gone now, long gone, and Jamie sometimes wonders if he felt it, near the end. If the pull tugged at his trouser leg in those last moments like an errant child. 

Probably not. Henry had his own kind of gravity, didn’t he, made up of those kids and their parents and their bundled-up tragedy. Wasn’t like this. Wasn’t like this at all. She hopes he was happy when he went in his sleep, buoyed on soft dreams of a lost lover’s caress. Hopes he left those kids knowing they’d made it through all the shadows and into the sunlight on the other side.

Owen laughs a lot, when they see each other, about who’s likely to go next. He thinks it’ll be him. She asks him once what he believes he’ll see on the other side, and he’s silent for a long stretch. Long enough for her to know his kind of gravity hasn’t let go, either. 

“She’d want to be,” he says quietly, gesturing toward the ceiling of his flat. “You know. Up there.”

“If anyone could get in,” Jamie mutters, and they’re both grinning. He’s regrown his mustache, a fit of youthful pique that makes her feel like they’re both thirty again. She reaches up, almost expecting to find soil caked into her hair. 

“I’ve never known what to believe,” he says. “Not the way she did, not with any kind of...faith. But I like to think we get back what we put in. That if she believed she’d go to heaven, to her Heaven, then that’s what she got.”

Jamie waits. She knows him too well, knows he’s getting around to it. And, after another thoughtful sip of wine, he does.

“I don’t know what to believe,” he repeats, and there's the faintest tremor in his voice. “But I know what I would love. I hope...I hope she’s left a place for me. In whatever way you can.”

Jamie reaches over, squeezes his hand. He presses the other to his eyes, inhales deeply. 

“Well,” she says at last, “you’ll have to ring me when you find out. I plan to beat you there.”

And they laugh, laugh like old times, like bulky jackets in the rain and spitting bonfires and cake that maybe needs strawberry, maybe needs lemon. They laugh, him believing she’s joking, her knowing she isn’t.

Fact is, with some kinds of gravity, you can feel it. Tugging at your clothes. Whispering around your hair with the breeze. Guiding you forward like a soft hand at the small of your back. Maybe not everyone is granted this kind of luxury, but Jamie thinks Dani was. Thinks it explains everything, really. 

And hasn’t she been smelling Dani more and more, after all these years? Not just when she stumbles upon an old package in the back of the closet, a shirt she somehow missed after all this time, but just...sitting. Just sitting with a book, or waking in the night with the sensation of an arm around her waist. It’ll come without warning, a hint of Dani, and then gone. 

And hasn’t she been hearing Dani, in the strangest of ways? A snatch of song hummed from a lifetime away. A single peal of that deliriously-breathless laughter. A sigh, the way she only sighed when Jamie kissed her collarbone. Never for any reason she can clarify, never from something so lucky as a tape or a video, just...a signal. Brief. Echoing. 

It’s madness, she thinks at first, and then, slowly...no. Not madness. Memory. Memory returning, a little stronger, a little clearer, every year. As if some great cosmic force is actually funneling Dani back to her, instead of clearing out the last of the cobwebs. 

A gift. The greatest gift. She can’t say whether she’s earned it, and she certainly isn’t going to try explaining it to anyone else, but...

She wakes one morning, and thinks, is this how she felt? Is this how she knew? There was a note when Dani went, a single page dictated in her slightly-slanted script. Not an explanation or an excuse; simply I love you, and I loved you, and I will love you. There will be other nights, Jamie. Live. 

And Jamie did, she thinks with a stab of impatience even now. Jamie did live. For years, for decades, she’s gone on without that smile. Without having Dani there on the other end of the phone, without Dani’s hands on her hips when they danced, without Dani’s ring clinking lightly against her own as they bumped hands across a dinner table. Without Dani, she crawled out of bed each morning and walked through another day. And another. And another. She attended weddings and funerals without Dani; held Miles’ son without Dani; hugged Flora tight as she wept over some accident or other without Dani. She walked the world and she hurt and she cried and she lived without Dani. 

And now...

Now, that old gravity. Coming to call. 

It isn’t a bad thing, Jamie thinks all the way over on the plane. She’s a picture of parallel storytelling, dressed in her oldest brown flannel shirt, a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, a pair of Converse high-tops that never quite fit right again after a trip into a lake. Her back is bowed, and her hip clicks when she walks from the taxi up the winding drive. It’s not the same, exactly, as last time. 

In a way, that’s the greatest mercy. She never could have done this, if she’d thought she’d walk that same path as the same woman who did it so many years ago. The path is the same, perhaps, but the woman is changed. The woman has learned so much about what it is to live in a world that doesn’t have Dani Clayton in it. 

She doesn't go to the lake. She goes instead to the house, to whose front door Miles has so kindly granted her a key. He thinks she’s after pure nostalgia, searching for monsters or memories he doesn’t even know he’s missing. Just an old woman, trying to tie her life together with an attractive bow. 

Bless him. He doesn’t need to understand this. If any of them ever do put it together, it will be Owen, and Owen alone. She thinks he might be a little upset with her, but not unforgiving. She thinks, if it had been Hannah, he’d do the same thing. 

Bly yawns open to her, a great good place brimming over with great complicated history. She walks its rooms slowly, hands brushing over tables and wallpaper and the spot where she always leaned her hip and tossed chopped vegetables into Flora’s hair. She remembers: fixing this lamp, retiling this bathroom, sweeping this front hall. This was hers, before she ever thought to have anything else. A great good place to keep safe and sane. 

The kitchen is hard. Upstairs is harder. Her knees creak, and she has to pause for breath before laying her hand on that doorknob. She tells herself it’s old lungs, too many cigarettes, too little clean country air. She tells herself it’s anything except the truth. 

For moment, she’s granted one of those gifts. A windfall of blonde hair on the pillowcase, a bare shoulder, a single freckle she’d gone nearly wild upon finding on otherwise clear skin. She closes her eyes, breathes in the stale air of a room gone unused for decades, and thinks it might be the moment right here and now. That fist of gravity, tightening like a reflex around her heart. 

But, no. Not yet. There’s one place, one more sight to see. 

The sun is nearly set by the time she reaches the greenhouse. She leans her weight against the doorframe, peering inside. It hurts her a little, to see the chaos that has unfurled in her absence. Miles is a good man, but he’s never been much for plants, for quiet cultivation, for long stretches of silence alone in a humid space. Without Jamie’s tending, the life in this room has sprung up in all the wrong places, gone absolutely bananas in all the wrong ways. It isn’t pretty, it isn’t neat, and she almost hates it. 

Organic, she thinks wryly, tapping a fist once, twice, against the doorframe. It’s all just bloody organic, and who am I to try to prune any of it now? 

She walks the room like she walked the house, slow, methodical. Tipped-over planters, she sets to rights. Weeds gone feral, she brushes her fingertips across. It’s not pretty in here, but it is most certainly alive. More alive than it ever was in her care, maybe. There’s something to that. 

A blanket is still spread across the little sofa she used to nap on when the days got especially hot and lazy. She settles herself in, drapes the musty plaid over her lap, leans back against the arm. If she squints, she can almost see another frame wedged in beside her, stiff and trying not to take up too much space. 

Oy. Dead boyfriend. It’s over. 

It’s a laugh that tastes more like a sob--just one of those dumb little things, one of many that still can set her off at a moment’s notice, and is it still called a haunting if you wouldn’t give it up for the world?--and she bites into her knuckles to muffle the sound. The sky outside has gone a rolling purple, nearly at day’s end. It was a nice sunset, she thinks. A good send-off. 

When they find her--when Miles finds her, to be most specific--they’ll think this is how the story ends. An old woman in a greenhouse, asleep. An old woman in a greenhouse, enveloped in endless dream. Miles will cry. He will hoist her into his arms, stand with her the way she once could stand with him on a long night spent dozing by the fireplace, and he will carry her with all the tenderness a ten-year-old boy can never manage. 

It will be a fitting end, for the gardener. 

It will not be the last of Jamie Clayton. 

When she wakes next, the arthritis in her hands has gone. Her knees bend--a bit of resistance, perhaps, but nothing insurmountable. Her eyes peer through the shadows with a keen awareness she’s almost forgotten. 

The ring on her finger gleams--not the tarnished luster of decades’ wear, but like the first time Dani slid it over the knuckle, brought it to her lips, baptized it with a nervous breath. She touches it lightly. Glances back over her shoulder at the old woman beneath her thin blanket. Takes a good, long look to cement gravity’s hold. 

Live, she thinks, god, yes, Dani. I lived. And when all was said and done, wasn’t I always going to choose you? Wasn’t I always going to come home? 

And here, the part of the story she’s been afraid to flip to all these years. The part she can’t plan for. Can’t spin into something fairy-tale or ghostly. It simply is, simply will be, and whatever happens now, Jamie’s stuck into it. Jamie is in the grip of gravity, as she’d always sort of thought she might be. 

A soft rap, knuckles--or a mug--against the greenhouse door. Jamie closes her eyes. Can’t quite bring herself to turn, not yet. 

Even if, she tells herself. Even if it isn’t right. Even if those eyes aren’t hers. Even if those eyes aren’t there at all. 

“Seems an awful long way,” a voice says, mildly amused, “to not even say hello.”

The strength goes out of her all at once, even as she’s spinning, even as her hands are reaching, and Owen was right. Owen was righter than he’ll ever know. It’s what you believe, it’s what you need, it’s what you hope in every stupid aching molecule because sometimes, sometimes the world is not so random and cruel.

Dani could have stepped out of that night, her sweater tucked down past her wrists, her hair pulled back out of her face, and her face. As bright and shining with possibility as ever Jamie remembers. Her eyes, blue as the summer sky. Her lips, finding Jamie’s like there wasn’t so much as a day gone without. 

“Didn’t know,” Jamie realizes she’s gasping. “Didn’t know if it would--if you would--”

Dani presses into her forehead, nose nuzzling gently, lips stealing her breath. A ghost story in the flesh--and yet, somehow, a fairy-tale, too. A woman, and a memory, and a heartbeat made of something so precious, Jamie’s sure she isn't worthy. 

“You cheated,” Dani says, laughing into the side of her face, kissing everywhere she can reach. “You weren’t meant to follow me.”

She doesn’t sound angry. She sounds as in love as she was the night she tried to coax Jamie into just one more kiss in that hallway. 

“You asked me to come back,” Jamie reminds her, hands anchored around Dani’s back, feeling young and strong and better than the last few decades could dream. “You asked me to stay.”

Gravity’s like that. Gravity’s bigger than one person’s selfless heart, bigger than one person’s desperation. Gravity pulls, and maybe it takes time--maybe all things have their time, their place, their two months of blossom for every plant--but, eventually, gravity always wins out. And Jamie could ask questions: how it all works, why Dani’s still Dani, how much of it they’ll remember as the time slips away into nothing. She could make a story out of it. 

Instead, she pulls Dani close, winds the fingers of her left hand with the fingers of Dani’s right, and thinks every ghost story needs an ending like this. An ending steeped in love, in mystery, in shadow, in forever.  

The thing about gravity is, no matter how long it takes, it always pulls you toward home. 

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 137

Trying to figure out Author’s notes is hard.... Sometimes I just don’t have anything pithy to say, or have too much to say and don’t know where to put it all.

Obviously I am an overthinker.

So, for the sake of everyone reading: Let’s cut to the Shoutouts!

The obvious first: @baelpenrose, @the-raven-fae, @anotherusrname, and @charlylimph-blog! I love all of you, you are the best.

Special mentions to: @zommbiebro bc I miss you and hope you’re okay. @nekohuntslight for being the OG person to message me about liking the story (yes, Bael, this is the dirty secret behind why I thought you lived in Australia when we first started talking.... shhhhhh). And alllllll the binge readers who blow up my inbox every day, Iloveyousomuchyoudon’tunderstand. Very much adore all of you, you have no idea how serious I am being right now. I need to go through and make one post just screaming all your names to the universe.

Tyche brought drinks and snacks from my kitchen before flopping on the couch in my quarters. The guys were at work, along with Antoine, but my office was closed down for the day. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?” she asked.

“Vati and Hannah have everything planned to the smallest detail,” I shrugged. “They’ve already coordinated with Xio and Evan for all the crowd control and monitoring shifts, and the murals are going up today.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m well aware of the logistics stuff. I literally handle all the staffing for the humans on the Ark, and Antoine was also part of the crowd control conversations.”

“Then why did you ask?” I laughed, grabbing a cracker and carefully stacking cheese and other toppings on it. 

Before I could get it to my mouth, she snatched it and held it out of my reach. “Because I’m asking how you feel. You’re only attending as… well, an attendee. No monitoring, no calling the shots, no working from the floor.”

She surrendered my cracker, but I found myself setting it down, appetite gone. “I’m okay - “

“Lie.” There was suddenly a finger levelled between my eyes like a gun. Just as quickly, it was lowered, and my sister was tilting her head at me. “Come on. You know you can’t lie to me - I’ve known you longer than literally anyone on this ship except yourself.”

“Fine! It’s weird!” I admitted in frustration, standing to pace and shoving my hands through my hair. “My skin is crawling with anxiety, my hands are twitching to snatch up the files and nitpick everything to the smallest detail….”

“Except they locked you out.”

“Except they locked me out, yeah. But I’m pretty sure I could get Derek to let me in, which is why I’ve made a point to tell him not to, no matter how much I ask.” Dropping my hands, I sighed. “But if I ever want to leave this position, I have to let them do this.”

She shrugged and stole my cracker, this time chewing and swallowing before she responded. “You could have kept some involvement in it, you know.”

“Pfft, yeah right. I would have taken it over, and you know that.”

“Yep.”

“Then why even ask.” I dropped back down on the couch.

“‘Cause you needed to hear yourself say it,” she explained, nonchalant as ever, snagging an olive and watching me calmly.

I sat in silence, processing it.  I hated when she outsmarted me like that, especially when she was right. “Can I at least eat first?”

She laughed and let it go, telling me how well the murals for the Festival were coming.  I hadn’t even gotten to - allowed myself - to see the designs, and the more Tyche talked about them, the more I wanted to see them.  By the time I finished my share of our snack, I decided to check out the progress.

We finally made our way to the decks where the Festival would take place, and I thought Tyche was going to die laughing at the way I gaped. The alcoves where the vendors would stage looked the same on first glance, but a closer look revealed very subtle shapes added that would give them a more savage, wild look in the right lighting. Metal sconces had been added to hold what looked like torches, but with special light emitters to simulate open flame. As we walked further, swirls of color revealed themselves slowly, first in light, curling tendrils, but slowly sharpening and taking on a more angular shape, twisting together into phantasmal images that vanished as soon as you tried to focus on them.

“It’s like walking through a garden, or a rainforest, but when I turn my head, I’m in a city.”

“Right?” she laughed as we came around the final corner. 

At this point, we were surrounded by this mural.  Just up ahead, there was a messy head of black hair tied back with a green piece of cloth. Bare feet and arms show smears of paint, and overalls covered a tank top - that, or the cloth for the hair had formerly been sleeves, I couldn’t tell.  One hand propped up on hips while the other hung down, holding a very familiar paint pen.

“Christ on a triscuit, Vati, this is incredible,”  I gasped softly.

She turned and smirked at me over her shoulder. “Not yet, but it will be when I finish.”

“I mean, all of it. The sconces…”

“Those were Hannah and Ivan.” Parvati walked over and touched one with her finger tip, stroking it gently.

Tyche made an impressed noise. “I’m only a little shocked that he had enough time.”

“The materials are on loan from the engineering departments, and we wanted them to be rather rough in the finishing. It helped. Sophia, no matter how curious you are, please do not lick the walls.”

A giggle bubbled up through my chest. “The thought never crossed my mind. I was trying to put together all the flavor profiles here. It’s… a lot.”

“Forgive me if I focused more on color than how the walls would taste. I don’t generally cook, remember.”

I stared down a swirl of pomegranate, popcorn, and gochujang. The colors - blue, pink, and yellow, respectively - worked well together, but the thought of the flavors made my stomach churn. “I solemnly swear not to lick the walls,” I promised. “How much of this are you expecting to still be up by the third night?”

“We have a team that will specifically come touch up the mural in specific places the morning before the second day.”

Tyche turned toward me and away from her study of the art. “Also, you would be surprised how much paint is on the walls. It will take a lot for Else to eat it all, once they are allowed in the area.”

“Before you ask,” Parvati cut me off. “We just asked them nicely. Well, Sam and Derek did.  They’ve become quite the ersatz diplomats to Else.” 

“Anything left?”

“Hannah is putting the final touches on the curtains for the alcoves and the seating areas. She’ll have a team installing them tonight once I finish.”

It was clever, and explained why she was only touching up part of the mural halfway between now and the closing of the event. “You two have really put your stamp on it.”

“Feel better?” She held one hand up gesturing at the entire entire project, eyebrow arched  to show me that she hadn’t been fooled for a moment.

I rubbed my neck, and glanced at her from underneath my eyelashes. “Busted, I guess.”

“That would imply that anyone had believed your charade,” she smirked.

Taking a deep breath, I looked around us again. “I honestly do. I could never have done all this. Holding on would have…”

“Kept you in a position you frankly hate,” Parvati interrupted gracefully. “It’s the same reason Sebastian went back to the Undine. He’s passionate about it, and it shows in the quality of his work.” When I gaped in insult, she held up a hand. “Not everyone can succeed through fear of failing and a determination that things be done right if they must be done at all.”

“Everyone talking about me needing to retire, like I’m old or something,” I joked, throwing my hands into the air.  “Physically, I’m only thirty-five.”

Tyche nodded to concede my point. “What about the food? I haven’t seen a menu come out yet.”

The change in topic made Parvati’s face collapse. “What? It should have gone out yesterday…” She flicked open her datapad, which flickered from the overspray that covered it. Frantically scrolling, she groaned. “This was scheduled, why didn’t it send?”

“Did you check the date?” I asked calmly. “Specifically the year.”

“Three times, it’s scheduled for tomorrow,” she insisted. “Right here: May seventeenth, twenty-forty aw fuck….”

“At least you got the decade right,” I pointed out. “You wouldn’t believe how many scheduled emails I’ve tried to automatically send out for ten or fifteen years ago.”

She nodded and seemed to get her bearings back. “So, protocol for this is… just send it right now and apologize for the late notification, don’t try to make excuses or explain?”

“Exactly. They won’t care why, they’ll just be excited the list is out.”

With a couple quick gestures, she sent the email and dismissed her datapad. “Okay, that was the last thing, then.” Turning back toward the wall she was working on before, she waved to us over her shoulder. “I’m not trying to be rude, but I really do need to finish this up. Thank you for coming to see everything… it was oddly reassuring to have both of you give us your stamp of approval before the Festival instead of making us wait until after.”

“For the record, you two have always had my stamp of approval, or I wouldn’t have tried so hard to keep my nose out of it.” I knew she couldn’t see me, but I still smiled. “We’ll catch up with you after the Food Festival.  Remember: both of you need to plan on taking the day off afterwards. I’m serious.  Have your unofficial advisors drop in and chat about everything, that’s fine. But no actual work, and I won’t let either of you see the survey results until the second day after. So rest.”

“Got it, boss lady. Have a good night!”

Tyche and I turned and headed back to my quarters. We remained silent as we took in all the preparations that had been done, waving to the handful of vendors who were bringing their supplies in already. Once we were back in normal corridors, the silence broke almost immediately.

“I think they’ve got this,” Tyche suggested nonchalantly.

“Oh, I know they do.”

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[dasphinxone]

Book of Nile: Cabin Fever WIP

Like, I need to SIT DOWN AND WRITE THIS OUT INSTEAD OF DOING SNIPPETS THO. I’m sorry y’all, I swear I’m writing a full fic of this. Please don’t kill me.

Booker wanders over and starts organizing the ingredients by type on the dark, marble top counter of the kitchen island. Spices are put together, other dry ingredients lined up. He takes out the carton of eggs from the fridge.

“How many eggs do you need?” he looks to Nile next to him.

“Just one,” comes her muffled voice from where she’s leaning over to take full stock of the lower shelves of the pantry.

He diverts his eyes from the sight of her lean legs and her behind clad in short sleeping shorts. Her braids are piled into a cute, messy bun on top of her head. She already has on one of the aprons she found hanging on a hook in the broom closet. How one of his heavily knit, grey cardigans hangs billowy off of her frame over her shorts and tank top sends his heart beating faster.

She’s always borrowing his clothes. Usually it’s his array of denim shirts or old t-shirts that she cuts down at the bottom to fit her. Yet something about seeing her using his sweater as a robe while baking for him? It screams domesticity.

Booker startles at the feel of Nile’s touch to his arm. “I’m thinking a gingerbread cake? Or cupcakes, if we have a muffin tin,” she frowns in contemplation. “Christmas is just around the corner and gingerbread cookies are so blasé, you know?”

His face lights up. “I think I can legitimately say that I have never had gingerbread in cake form.”

“You are definitely in for a treat!” she playfully taps him on the shoulder with a spatula she’s dug up. “It’ll go faster since Copley hooked this place up with the KitchenMade stand mixer to boot. Though you’re going to have to make a hard decision for me, Book.”

He can’t ever seem to say no to her. Not especially with that beautiful smile lighting up her face. For fuck’s sake, she’s wearing his sweater like she owns it.

He rapidly blinks away any fantasies of how incredible she would look wearing just the sweater by itself. The way it would cling to her curve. Teasing him with barely contained views of her beautifully dark, warm skin. Skin that would glisten with sweat after he’s fucked her up against the wall next to the fridge. Her legs wrapped around his waist and heels digging into his ass while she mercilessly tugs at his hair and calls out his real name. All after he’s balanced her on his shoulders while he’s on his knees, devouring her pussy like he’s on a mission to make her scream and forget anyone else who’s come before him…

Stop it, you fucking pervert! he scolds himself in his native language.

He rapidly drags a bar stool from the  counter to the kitchen island and settles in. Mostly so that she can’t see that he’s already half hard. His black sweatpants don’t hide much.

“What would you have of me, mademoiselle?” he bows his head with a flourish of his hand. When he looks back up, she’s beaming even more.

“Soooo, do you mind having your bagels dry or just with butter in the morning versus with cream cheese?” she holds up two packets of it.

Booker purposely curls his mouth in contemplation. “What do I have to gain from the absence of it on said bagel?”

“Cream cheese frosting for the cupcakes?” she pulls a muffin tin from the cabinet of the island and waves it at him.

Booker arches a brow and leans an elbow on the counter to rest his head in his hand. “Well,” he drawls out, “If you insist on spoiling me with cupcakes ma cher,” he sighs with supposed annoyance, “I guess I shall have to acquiesce.  You may proceed,” he waves in dismissal.

Of course, Nile sees how he’s barely holding in a laugh. “Frosting it is!” she declares. Leaning over the island, she brushes her lips to his stubbled cheek while patting his other one with her free hand. “I knew there was a reason why I love you.”

Booker freezes at her declaration as Nile spins back around to the opposite counter to start. She’s greasing the muffin tin, putting the paper cups into them, spraying those with cooking spray and beginning to hum to herself as she usually does when doing this sort of thing. She appears thoroughly unaffected by what she’s just said. Shimmying her shoulders, she asks if he can fire up one of her playlists from the cloud on his laptop. He’s always had access to her music account, so the request isn’t out of the ordinary.

He's glad he has the excuse to exit the area and go grab his laptop from the den. He’s in need of doing a few deep breathing exercises his various therapists over the years have taught him to do whenever he gets overwhelmed. Except it’s always for the bad sort of overwhelmed. Not a  “Oh my fucking God, this woman has just declared she loves me…except I don’t think she meant it in that sort of context? MERDE, I DON’T FUCKING KNOW.” 

Either way, Booker all but flees the kitchen.

Nile is glad of it. Because FUCK, she just said she loves him. And yeah, she meant it in a “After all of these decades of having your fine ass so devoted to me and watching my six at all times and sharing beds with you since we're the spares and you willingly helping me do my braids and twists installations for hours on end without being all white boy weird about it? I think I could love you for the near eternity we have together. Plus, I think you’re pretty damn capable of fucking ruining me in bed with your, uh, fucking.”

Nile plants her hands on the countertop and drops her head between her shoulders. Her heart is beating fast in her ears and her skin’s tingling. It’s not fear adrenaline coursing through her. Yet it’s also not quite the effervescent sort of high either. It’s all topsy-turvy, confusing feelings that she doesn’t like. Not because she’s afraid of emotions. More that she can’t sort them out at the damn moment. Combined with the fact that it’s just the two of them in this dream of a cabin? For these next few days to up to weeks, depending on the blizzard? That will be…interesting?

Or a fucking disaster where we end up hating each other but are stuck in the same rooms with no escape, she muses to herself.

She’s frozen to death a handful of times. It’s not a bad way to go; after the numbness sets in and you can’t feel your limbs, you just sort of drift off only to wake from death. However, literally catching one’s death of cold in the middle of a snowy storm in the forest would suck due to the lack of relief from dying over and over again. Sure, she could technically leave if things went horribly between them. Yet that would be a stupid as shit decision.

“Are you alright?”

Nile spins around to find Booker once again sitting on one of the barstools up against the opposite counter. Only now does she notice the music playing over the Bluetooth speakers of the small holo-TV mounted on a wall of the kitchen. It’s her favorite playlist, R&B from the 2010s when she grew up. No matter that the music is nearly 200 years old now, it wraps her in a warm aural blanket of comfort. Meanwhile, Booker looks non-plussed and focused on the screen of his laptop before he looks up  at her. His azure eyes full of concern, he scans around the kitchen.

“You sound like you’re having trouble with something.”

She swiftly plasters a wide smile on her face and stabs a finger down at the screen of her holotablet. “There’s a lot of steps of this recipe-”

“I’ll help,” he cuts her off while scrambling up from his chair, “Anything you need, you want, I can, I mean I will do it.”

I’d like for you to eat me out on your knees and fuck me up against one of these counters.

Nile swallows, trying to rid herself of the filthy thought. The thing is, he’s wearing this light blue Henley that’s so tight across his chest that it doesn’t look like he could close up the buttons of it even if he wanted to. There’s a teasing peek of dark blonde chest hair at the low V of the shirt’s neckline she’s struggling to not stare at. On top of that, he’s had the nerve to shove up the sleeves to reveal his forearms.

Instead, Nile closes her eyes and takes a few deep breathes. She hopes it comes off as annoyed with the recipe versus reigning in her self-control to not just jump him and climb him like a tree. 

“The recipe calls for making gingerbread men to use to decorate the cupcakes with, though it’s not necessary,” she breathes out. “Did you want to go the hard or easy route for this recipe?”

Booker grins, eyes meeting hers. “À la dure,” he drawls.

“The hard way?” Nile translates, hoping her breath doesn’t hitch. Is he doing some sort of double-entendre thing just to fuck with her?

He shrugs. “It’s not as though we don’t have the time.” Moving around the counter to saunter up to her side, he looks down at her holotablet. “You far outdo me when it comes to baking, but I think I can manage cookies.” He opens a new tab and searches for a gingerbread cookie recipe. Finding one, he quickly reads over it. “So long as you can ice them?” he holds up the tablet for her to take in the cute picture.

Nile slightly steps away from him. Mostly on account that he smells so good (fresh soap…is that a hint of his usual spicy, citrusy cologne?) and feels so warm with one of his arms flush to hers. “We don’t have cookie cutters here, but you can bake them round and we can ice faces or ornaments on them.”

“It’s a deal,” he holds out a hand to shake hers.

Looks like their project for this afternoon is set.

[starrybethany]

Maybe Someday - Matthew Tkachuk Imagine Part 2

Part 1

Word count: 3.4K

She steps up to the plate, nervously brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. She’s never nervous- she’s the most confident little girl I’ve ever met. The only time I’ve ever seen her anxious is on the field.

The pitcher throws the ball. It lands in the box on the side of the plate, Naomi standing still like she’s been taught when the throw is a ball. The tiny boy beside me grips my hand tighter and I squeeze it in response, not moving my eyes from my daughter.

The pitcher throws the ball again. I watch as Naomi swings the bat with sturdiness, hitting the ball and knocking it into left field.

“Run, Naomi,” Wyatt cheers like I’ve taught him to do. Her small legs carry her to first base, and she pants when she stops at the base. Her eyes slide over to meet mine and I shoot her a thumbs up.

She smiles. The game continues and soon enough she makes it back to home base, giving her team another point.

“You did so good, honey,” I pull her into a tight hug when the game is over. “I’m proud of you.”

“You tell me that all of the time, mommy.” I already know she’s blushing, so I pull out of the embrace, not wanting to embarrass her in front of all of her friends.

“Good job Mimi,” Wyatt pulls his sister into a hug and I fight back the squeal that wants to escape at their sibling love. She reluctantly hugs him back. I know that she just wants to appear cool in front of her friends, but I can also tell she wants to give all of the love in the world to her little brother at the same time.

“Why don’t you go talk to your friends, Naomi? I just need to talk to your coach about next week’s game and then we can go grab ice cream,” I request, picking up a tired Wyatt and pulling him into my arms. She nods, running off towards her friends as I walk over to her coach.

~

“So as you all know we’ve recently been hired to renovate Scotiabank Saddledome and we wanted to let everyone know that we decided to let Y/N take the lead on this project,” my boss, Andy, informs the office.

Everyone claps and I smile shyly at the response, my heart practically beating out of my chest. I’m not just worried because of all of this attention on me, but also because of what comes along with this project.

Along with making everything perfect for the owners, fans, players, employees, and sponsors that work at the arena, both by making the place look nice and pleasing to the eye and sure that the workers and plans are moving along smoothly, I need to worry about Matthew.

I haven’t talked to Matthew in eight years. The last time that I saw him was the time I left him at the café, whispers the only parting remarks to each other.

Throughout my six-year long relationship with Curtis, I didn’t think about Matt much. I thought about him in the beginning. I checked his game calendar a lot and snuck into the bathroom on date nights to watch games, but that slowly faded as I got more and more immersed by Curtis.

Then Naomi came and I gave her all of my love and attention. Wyatt followed a couple of years after that and along with the bliss of a new child, I suffered heartbreak as Curtis and I ended our relationship.

On my first night alone in several years all I could think about was Matthew. Curly hair, hazel eyes, crooked grin and all.

I follow the Flames on Instagram now and I always make sure to watch the clips of his goals.

But I’ve made sure to stay away from contacting him or getting involved in his private life. For all I know, he could have a wife and a kid by now.

Now I have to think about what will happen the first time I see him again in almost a decade. Will he have missed me, or will he be just as disgusted as he was the day that he left? Matthew was such a spontaneous person- except for when it came to watching TV shows, it was always The Office- so I’m unsure of what it will be. I need to hope for the best but prepare for the worst.

I zone back into the meeting, trying my best to focus as my boss shares some more information about this project and some other projects. Work comes second in my life, close behind my children, so I need to worry more about this project than I am about my old lover.

~

I drop Wyatt off at daycare, gripping the steering wheel of my car tighter than I usually do as I drive over to Scotiabank Saddledome. Today is my first day working on this project to renovate the arena so I should just be working with the owners and staff members, but I assume that I might run into some players seeing as it’s March and I saw on the schedule that they have a home game tonight.

I walk into the building, immediately noticing the woman who looks to be a little bit older than me standing in the lobby on her phone.

“Y/N?” She inquires when she sees me. I nod and she smiles, stretching out her hand. “I’m Kelsea Rochester, the owner of the Saddledome. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, thank you for the opportunity to renovate this amazing building,” I tell her, making sure to smile. Ever since I went on a big self-improvement kick after Matthew and I broke up, I’ve been careful to make sure I have good first impressions.

She explains what she wants done as we walk throughout the building and I write it down on my notebook, asking questions about what she would like or prefer more once in a while. We head down to the locker room area and my heart beats faster as I see a player in a Flames jersey.

“I’m sorry, practice just ended so we’ll be running into a bunch of sweaty hockey players,” she jokes.

I laugh at that but nervously look towards the locker room doors, unsure of who will walk out and recognize me. I know a few of the players Matt and I used to spend time with were traded, but some are still around and might recognize me. I don’t expect them to- it’s been a long time, but I kind of expect Matt to considering we used to spend practically every day together.

She details her plans to me more and I forget about my anxiety, visualizing her vision myself and suggesting what I think would look nice or work better for the arena. I love my job; interior design is something that I’ve always loved to do but not something I really considered doing until I was in school and setting up Naomi’s nursery.

“If you excuse me, I just have to run to the ladies’ room,” she informs me. I nod and she walks off, leaving me to look over my notes.

There’s a commotion by the locker room doors so I look up. All of the blood rushes through my veins and I stay frozen in place as I immediately recognize the figure making the ruckus. As usual, it’s Matt. He always had to be in the middle of something.

Like he could feel my eyes on him, he looks over in my direction. It brings me back to all of the times we would go to the bar or to a club together with a few of his teammates and their partners. He would stay at the bar top or table and talk and I would go onto the dance floor or play pool with the girls. Throughout the night we would make eye contact with each other, just to check in with one another. It was a little way to let the other know that we loved them.

He still hasn’t changed a bit. Curly, dirty blonde locks that I would attempt to brush, a toothy smile that lights up my world, and a laugh that would instantly be followed by my giggles.

He stops pushing one of the rookies, an expression of disbelief on his face as we maintain eye contact.

“Y/N,” he murmurs. The rookie stops pushing him back, and I can feel his eyes on me as well but all I can focus on is Matt. I don’t want to move my eyes from him. I don’t want to lose him again.

I smile shyly, still unconfident in his response to seeing me. “Hi, Matt.”

He takes a step closer to me, hesitantly, like he’s afraid of getting too close. I don’t know if it’s because of what I did to him years ago or if it’s because he’s feeling like I am, like he’s afraid this isn’t real and he’ll lose me again.

“What are you doing here?” He questions softly.

“I’m working as an interior designer now. I’m here to renovate this place,” I explain, motioning around us. He doesn’t move his eyes to take in what I’m explaining, instead keeping them on me.

“Your hair is short now,” he notes gently.

“Yeah, it’s, um, easier to manage.”

“It looks nice.”

I smile softly at him and he smiles back. Some wrinkles have formed around his eyes with age, and he looks bulkier and broader in person than he does in the photos on social media, but it’s just like the Matt that used to take me on dinner dates to Panera.

Kelsea appears by my side again. “I see you met our Flames captain, Matthew Tkachuk. Matt, this is Y/N, the interior designer. She’ll be around for probably the next year until the renovation is expected to end.”

“The next year,” he echoes.

“Yep, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me,” I state, gauging his reaction.

The wide grin that forms on his face gives me his answer that he’s more than okay with that.

~

“Mommy?” Her tiny voice pierces the silence of the dark room. I stop myself from closing the door, surprised that she’s still awake. I thought she fell asleep twenty minutes ago, that’s why I came in to tuck her in and turn off her sound machine.

“Yes, honey?” I inquire quietly.

“Did you know that the last time the Cubs won the World Series was in 2016?”

I chuckle at that. “I didn’t know that, thank you for letting me know.”

“That was like ten billion years ago!” She exclaims.

Well, it wasn’t that long ago. 2016 was also the year that Matthew was drafted. He would tell me stories about draft day, from what his dad said to him to looking at the responses on social media.

“It’s time to get to bed, Naomi.” I slip back into her room, turning the sound machine back on and soothing down my daughter’s messy hair. Her blue eyes blink up at me as she watches me. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, mama. I love you.”

My heart swells at her words and I lean down to kiss her forehead. “I love you too, munchkin.”

I head into Wyatt’s room next, hoping that he’s already asleep. Just my luck, he’s sitting up in bed, stuffed bunny in his hands as he tugs at the ears. When he notices me in the doorway he lays down and closes his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

I roll my eyes but can’t fight the smile growing on my face, stepping closer to his bed. “I know you’re awake, Wyatt.”

He opens his eyes and pouts up at me. “I can’t sleep here, mommy. I want to sleep with you in your bed.”

He reaches out, grasping my arm and holding on tightly. “Can you please try to sleep in your bed?”

“No,” he whines loudly. I shush him, afraid that if he whines too loud, he’ll prevent Naomi from sleeping in the next room over.

“Why don’t I lay with you for a bit,” I suggest.

“No, I wanna sleep in your bed,” he repeats, big tears starting to roll down his cheeks.

“Just for tonight, okay?” I say like I’ve been doing for the past two nights. I know he’s at the age where it’s vital for him to be in his own bed to help with his growth and separation anxiety, but I can’t help but to take him to my room sometimes.

It’s nice to have someone to cuddle with, and it’s my baby. Someday he won’t want to cuddle or spend time with me so I have to cherish the time I have with him now.

He nods and I carry him into my room, laying down on my bed and pulling him into an embrace. Naomi wasn’t big on snuggling when she was little and she still isn’t, so I take advantage of my one child who wants me to hold on tight to him as hard as I can.

And I’m going to do it, too. It definitely beats being alone.

~

Another weekend alone. Pretty soon into my relationship with Curtis and my journey to self-improvement my friends began to encourage me to cheat on Curtis as well. Something about how he was trying to change me, he didn’t really like me for me- I don’t know, I honestly don’t really care.

I cut them off after that. I haven’t really made a lot of friends since then. In college I was pregnant, and then taking care of my daughter, so I wasn’t really interested in spending time making friends. Now that I have a full-time job, if I’m not working I’m bonding with my children.

But then three years ago Curtis and I ended our relationship and now, every other weekend I’m alone, waiting for Sunday night to come so I can focus on my children again.

“Mommy!” The front door opens, and a tiny blonde comes storming into the house, barreling into my open arms.

“Hi honey, how was your weekend with daddy?” I inquire, kneeling down to her level to pull her into my hold better.

“It was fun, we went to the park and daddy pushed me and Wyatt on the swing set,” she gushes. “Then he took us out for ice cream!”

I can’t help but feel my heart tighten at her words. I love that the kids are getting to spend time with their father, but I miss them when they’re with their dad. I also can’t help but to think of the moments we would have as a family if Curtis and I hadn’t ended things.

I’m about to respond when Wyatt comes running through the door, joining our hug.

“Mom, dad told me that I can start taking hockey lessons,” he informs me excitedly.

I snap my head up to stare at a sheepish Curtis standing in the doorway, Wyatt’s backpack in one hand and Naomi’s backpack in the other.

“Did he now?” I ask. Wyatt nods enthusiastically, reaching over to leave a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “Why don’t you two go put your backpacks in your room.”

They nod and I watch as they grab their stuff from their father, rushing up the stairs towards their rooms.

“You told him that he could take hockey lessons? Without consulting me?” I question, taking a step closer to him and lowering my voice. I don’t want the kids to hear me yell, but I am furious on the inside.

“Come on, Y/N, he asked. What was I supposed to do, say no?” He responds.

I’m about to respond when he cuts me off. He always used to do that when we were dating, and it still angers me just as much as it does now. “Besides, Naomi plays baseball so it’s only fair for Wyatt to play hockey.”

“I agree that Wyatt should have an activity to do,” I start slowly, “But we agreed that things like this would be split 50/50 and I cannot afford to buy a bunch of expensive hockey equipment and spend money on lessons right now.”

He raises his eyebrows at me. “Really? With all of the money I give you in child support you can’t afford this?”

I narrow my eyes at him and open my mouth to rip him a new one when Wyatt comes running down the stairs, yelling about a new dinosaur toy that grandma got him. This conversation will have to wait for now.

~

“Thank you, Christopher, I’ll be over in about an hour with Kelsea to look over some options,” I inform the manufacturer, hanging up the phone and exiting the secluded corner that I found.

I head back over to the offices near the locker room where the construction will start. A few of the workers are already tearing up the old tile and dirty trim but I keep my eyes peeled for one worker in particular.

“Jeremy,” I call out when I see him.

The older man rises from the floor, brushing his hands off on his pants and giving me a wrinkly smile. “Hey, Y/N.”

“I need your advice,” I confess. When I first started working for this company Naomi was only a year old. I was a stressed-out mom who was fresh out of college and was unsure of how to balance mom life and work.

Jeremy took me under his wing, having a daughter himself who’s just a few years older than Naomi. Now I always go to him whenever I’m not sure I’m doing something right as a parent.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

I explain the situation of Wyatt refusing to sleep in his own bed to Jeremy shyly. I know he’s not judgmental, since he’s helped me through plenty of parenting situations, but it still makes me feel insecure that I can’t handle these things on my own.

“You just need to start telling him no,” Jeremy replies, like it’s that simple.

“But what if he yells? He might wake Naomi up,” I argue.

He shrugs. “Close both of their doors, turn up their sound machines, and let it be. He needs to start sleeping in his own bed now before he’s fifteen and still sleeping with you.”

I sigh, knowing he’s right. It wouldn’t be good for either of us to continue this arrangement. “Thanks for the advice, Jeremy.”

“No problem, Y/N. Hey, how did Naomi’s baseball game go last week?”

“Her team won! She got all the way to third base on one hit, I’m so proud of her.”

“That’s amazing! You’re a great mom.”

I smile at the compliment, watching him return to his work before I turn around, stopping dead in my spot as I see who’s behind me. Matthew is frozen, his face blank as he stares at me, his mouth agape slightly.

It’s clear he just heard what Jeremy said to me.

“You’re a mom?” He breathes out.

“Yes.”

“Naomi and Wyatt?” He inquires, repeating the names he overheard. I nod silently. “How old are they?”

“Naomi is six and Wyatt is three,” I answer.

“Six and three,” he repeats. I watch his eyes flicker to the wall in thought, clearly processing something in his brain. His eyes snap back to mine and he clears his throat. When he speaks again, it’s louder this time, more confident. “Naomi likes baseball?”

“Yeah. Her favorite team is the Chicago Cubs, actually,” I grin at that, letting out a little giggle as Matt wrinkles his nose at the sound of his favorite baseball team’s rival.

“And Wyatt, does he like baseball too?”

“Wyatt likes hockey,” I confess, watching as the hockey player’s face lights up in interest. “He wants to play, but since it’s so late in the season and everything he’ll just have to wait until next season to join a team and learn how to skate.”

“Well, I can teach him,” he offers.

“You would do that?” I ask quietly, sensing that this is much more than him wanting to teach a three-year-old how to skate.

“Of course I would,” he accepts, maintaining eye contact as he says the words.

I let out a small smile, watching as the corners of his lips peak up as well.

“Okay.”

[evansfm]

𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣  𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧  &  𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧   :  𝗲𝘃𝗮𝗻  &  𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗶𝘀𝗲  .

eloise  connely  was  kind  above  all  else  .  nurturing  .  she’d  always  wanted  to  be  a  mom  ,  even  when  she  was  little  .  a  mother  first  ,  then  maybe  a  veterinarian  on  the  side  .  she  liked  looking  after  people  ,  and  she  was  GOOD  at  it  .  so  when  the  universe  gave  young  eloise  twins  ,  she  could’ve  sworn  the  heavens  opened  up  .  when  she  lost  one  of  them  eighteen  years  later  ,  she  thought  the  world  might  end  .  

but  there  was  still  evan  .  with  her  father’s  eyes  and  her  mother’s  curls  .  a  smile  that  could  light  up  the  room  and  dimples  passed  down  from  the  macalpine  side  .  rambunctious  and  reckless  evan  ,  with  a  heart  too  big  for  her  chest  .  one  of  the  things  eloise  admired  most  about  her  daughter  was  the  beautiful  way  she  moved  through  life  ,  stopping  to  feel  every  emotion  along  the  way  .  it  made  her  vibrant  and  empathetic  and  bold  .  .  .  but  it  also  meant  lows  felt  like  nosedives  .  and  this  was  the  kind  of  low  eloise  hadn’t  seen  in  YEARS  .  .  .  maybe  even  at  all  .  she  hadn’t  gone  numb  like  she  had  when  they  lost  beck  ,  and  she  wasn’t  quite  angry  like  she’d  gotten  with  her  father  .  this  was  a  kind  of  sadness  that  rivaled  london’s  storm  clouds  ;  it  was  a  kind  of  sadness  that  had  blue  eyes  void  of  the  wonder  she’d  clung  to  for  twenty  -  two  years  .  she  was  miserable  ;  anyone  who’d  known  her  for  so  much  as  a  day  before  all  of  this  began  would’ve  been  able  to  tell  the  difference  .  sometimes  it  felt  like  even  eloise  was  walking  on  eggshells  .  

“  ev  ,  come  ‘ere  a  minute  ,  ”  she  sighed  ,  inviting  her  to  sit  with  her  on  the  couch  . 

“  well  ,  t’at’s  a  tone  i  don’t  love  ,  ”  evan  sighed  ,  speaking  of  the  wariness  in  her  mother’s  voice  .  she  emerged  from  her  kitchen  with  a  warm  mug  between  her  palms  and  the  pitter  patter  of  a  dutiful  watchdog  trailing  after  her  .  dark  circles  formed  under  her  eyes  ;  curls  swept  into  a  braid  too  loose  to  contain  strands  around  her  face  .  at  least  she  wasn’t  puffy  from  crying  ,  “  can’t  imagine  t’is  is  going  to  be  good  .  ”

“  do  you  remember  much  about  your  father  leaving  ?  ”  a  thoughtful  crease  formed  between  eloise’s  brow  as  she  stared  at  her  now  -  closed  novel  resting  in  her  lap  . 

“  not  really  ,  no  .  there  one  day  ,  gone  t’e  next  ,  ”  evan  stiffened  ,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  couch  next  to  her  mother  .  with  everything  happening  ,  tristan  connely  was  the  LAST  thing  she  wanted  to  talk  about  .

“  mhm  ,  ”  a  distant  hum  before  she  was  moving  to  abandon  her  book  on  the  table  ,  “  i  always  t’ought  i  was  doing  the  BEST  t’ing  by  moving  us  to  lorcain  and  starting  over  wit’  a  clean  slate  .  t’ought  i  was  doing  the  BEST  t’ing  by  never  talking  about  your  da  .  .  .  ”  hazel  eyes  shifted  to  her  daughter  ,  worry  clear  in  the  way  they  flittered  over  her  ,  “  ever  since  you  were  tiny  ,  you’ve  always  taken  on  ot’er  people’s  feelings  .  you  can’t  really  help  it  .  .  .  and  it  certainly  isn’t  a  BAD  t’ing  ,  but  it  was  hard  enough  on’ye  .  i  see  now  maybe  it  prevented  us  from  ever  TRULY  moving  forward  .  ” 

“  mam  ––  .  .  .  ”  evan  interjected  ;  she’d  never  blamed  her  mother  for  any  of  it  .

“  no  ,  just  .  .  .  hear  me  out  ,  ”  she  sighed  ,  rubbing  her  palm  over  her  forehead  ;  even  after  more  than  a  decade  she  could  feel  the  nakedness  of  her  ring  finger  .  she’d  never  remarried  .  .  .  never  changed  her  last  name  .  she  was  a  hopeless  romantic  after  all  ,  believing  everyone  got  one  GREAT  love  .  for  a  while  ,  she  thought  tristan  was  hers  .  then  she  had  the  twins  ,  and  she  knew  she  could  love  nothing  more  ,  “  i  was  young  when  i  had  you  ‘nd  your  brother  ,  and  being  a  mother  was  .  .  .  everyt’ing  to  me  .  still  is  .  i  love  not’ing  else  like  i  love  being  your  mam  .  but  i  was  SO  in  love  wit’  being  a  mother  ,  i  hardly  had  any  time  to  notice  my  marriage  was  miserable  .  we  were  bot’  miserable  .  what  we  had  was  gone  LONG  before  your  da’  left  .  and  t’at  isn’t  any  excuse  for  him  leaving  YOU  ––  i’ll  never  forgive  ‘im  for  t’at  ,  but  ––  he  ‘ad  his  reasons  for  leaving  ME  .  i  wasn’t  loving  ‘im  the  best  i  could  ,  and  he  wasn’t  loving  me  the  best  he  could  .  it  was  a  long  time  coming  ,  but  for  YOU  .  .  .  he  was  there  one  day  ,  gone  the  next  .  one  day  he  just  .  .  .  found  someone  better  .  you  trusted  the  two  of  us  more  t’an  ANYONE  ,  and  when  we  split  ,  ‘nd  he  went  ‘nd  got  remarried  ,  t’at  trust  was  BROKEN  .  .  .  ”

evan  kept  her  eyes  trained  on  her  mother  .  specs  of  silver  were  beginning  to  appear  in  her  long  ,  dark  hair  .  .  .  but  time  was  kind  to  eloise  connely  .  her  eyes  were  as  kind  and  welcoming  as  ever  ,  and  her  voice  did  wonders  to  soothe  anyone  .  .  .  no  matter  the  topic  .  still  ,  evan’s  voice  was  a  ghost  of  a  whisper  ,  “  why  are  we  talkin’  about  t’is  .  .  .  ”

“  because  right  now  ,  whether  it’s  true  or  not  ,  THAT  is  what  you’re  feeling  wit’  kieran  .  you  trust  him  more  t’an  anyone  ,  ‘nd  now  ,  ”  she  reached  forward  ,  tucking  a  rogue  curl  behind  evan’s  ear  ,  “  my  sweet  evan  .  .  .  now  you  aren’t  eating  .  you’ve  hardly  slept  .  and  whether  you  want  to  admit  it  or  not  .  .  .  he’s  all  you’re  t’inking  about  .  all  those  old  wounds  got  torn  open  and  filled  wit’  salt  .  and  t’at’s  okay  ,  but  .  .  .  ”

“  are  you  seriously  about  to  take  kieran’s  side  on  t’ings  ?  ”  evan  bristled  ,  immediately  turning  defensive  .  mikey  ,  ruairi  ,  conan  ,  adam  .  .  .  he  had  all  of  them  ;  he  didn’t  need  her  own  MOTHER  as  well  . 

“  no  .  absolutely  not  ,  ”  she  studied  her  daughter  for  a  moment  ,  then  exhaled  ,  “  but  he  did  call  last  night  .  ” 

“  ma  –  ”

“  and  i  answered  .  ”

“  MOTHER  ,  ”  evan  shoved  off  of  the  couch  ,  eyes  wide  in  panic  ,  “  i  told  you  ––  BEGGED  you  ––  not  to  meddle  .  ”

she  moved  away  from  the  couch  ,  both  eloise  and  ziggy  watching  her  with  careful  eyes  as  she  began  to  pace  back  and  forth  ,  back  and  forth  .  her  she  wrung  her  hands  ,  fingers  falling  over  each  other  in  nervous  fidgeting  .  a  habit  when  she  was  stressed  ,  when  her  thoughts  came  too  quickly  to  sift  through  .  kieran  was  always  so  good  at  calming  her  down  when  she  got  like  this  ,  gentle  hands  covering  hers  .  he’d  intertwine  their  fingers  or  kiss  the  inside  of  her  wrist  ,  tethering  her  to  himself  and  keeping  her  from  floating  away  .  .  .  or  drowning  .  she’d  forgotten  how  to  deal  with  it  on  her  own  ,  and  above  all  else  ,  it  made  her  miss  him  even  MORE  .  she  hated  that  she  was  missing  him  .  blue  eyes  darted  back  to  her  mother  ,  and  she  stopped  in  her  tracks  ,  wrists  flicking  to  shake  out  her  hands  as  though  she  was  getting  rid  of  excess  water  after  scrubbing  them  clean  .  i  shouldn’t  ask  ,  she  thought  ,  i  don’t  want  to  know  .  i  don’t  want  to  know  .  i  shouldn’t  ask  .

“  what  did  you  say  ?  ” 

eloise  shifted  ,  treading  carefully  ,  “  somet’ing  similar  to  what  i’ve  told  you  .  and  t’at  giving  you  SPACE  was  a  good  thing  .  ”

she  shouldn’t  ask  .  she  didn’t  want  to  know  .

 “  what  did  HE  say  ?  ”

she  hadn’t  spoken  to  him  since  the  night  he  called  ,  the  night  she’d  felt  her  heart  tear  entirely  in  half  as  his  voice  cracked  on  the  other  end  of  the  line  .  though  it  was  less  of  an  actual  conversation  and  more  of  three  days  of  emotion  blowing  up  in  both  of  their  faces  ,  evan  coming  down  on  kieran  HARD  .  the  pictures  were  fresh  in  her  mind  then  ,  and  the  thought  of  him  finding  someone  better  ,  falling  in  love  with  someone  better  ,  was  so  terrifying  ,  she  hadn’t  even  let  him  get  a  word  in  .  emotions  were  jumbled  up  in  her  head  and  searing  in  her  chest  .  she  was  ANGRY  with  him  for  not  listening  to  her  ,  for  brushing  things  off  like  she  was  just  a  silly  ,  paranoid  girl  .  she  was  angrier  with  bex  ;  rumor  or  fact  ,  the  girl  had  never  paid  any  mind  to  boundaries  .  .  .  or  to  evan  .  because  evan  was  NOTHING  to  her  ,  and  she’d  done  well  to  make  her  feel  exactly  that  .  she  was  terribly  SAD  ,  too  ,  as  she  felt  like  the  one  person  she’d  truly  loved  had  been  ripped  away  from  her  .  the  one  person  who  she  never  thought  would  hurt  her  ,  had  .  on  top  of  it  all  was  a  winding  confusion  ;  why  had  she  been  so  ready  to  believe  the  rumors  ?  why  would  kieran  swear  to  marry  her  one  moment  then  leave  her  the  next  ?  why  was  she  so  set  on  refusing  to  listen  to  him  ?  what  was  so  special  about  bex  .  .  .  that  made  him  want  to  throw  away  TWELVE  years  ?  where  had  she  gone  wrong  ?  why  wasn’t  she  good  enough  ?  

you’re  MORE  t’an  just  fucking  enough  for  me  ,  evan  .

she  could  still  hear  the  desperation  in  his  voice  ;  it  made  her  hate  herself  .  

“  what  did  he  say  ?  ”  she  asked  again  ,  barely  a  whisper  this  time  .

“  he  rambled  for  some  time  .  i  LET  him  ramble  for  some  time  ,  ”  eloise’s  fingers  lifted  to  the  birthstone  pendant  around  her  neck  ,  opal  for  october  .  when  she  spoke  again  ,  her  tone  was  even  more  careful  than  before  ,  “  sounded  like  he’d  been  drinking  .  ”

evan  straightened  ,  seemingly  snapping  out  of  her  own  wallowing  .  she  could  picture  a  happier  version  of  kieran  ,  drunk  in  a  pub  full  of  people  celebrating  the  beginning  of  the  found’s  very  first  headlining  tour  .  flushed  cheeks  ,  messy  hair  ,  crooked  smile  .  she  could’ve  kissed  him  that  night  .  in  retrospect  ,  as  she’d  tucked  herself  into  his  jacket  with  arms  wrapped  around  his  waist  ,  and  he  brushed  away  curls  with  light  fingertips  that  ultimately  tucked  away  behind  her  neck  .  .  .  maybe  she  should  have  .  then  again  ,  the  later  years  of  their  friendship  was  full  of  moments  like  that  .  and  the  flush  of  whiskey  on  his  cheeks  was  something  she  loved  paired  with  a  smile  .  to  celebrate  .  not  to  COPE  .  he  knew  better  than  to  step  even  an  inch  in  that  destructive  direction  .  she  could  only  hope  that  conan  was  looking  after  him  .  .  .

“  he  wanted  me  to  pass  somet’ing  along  ,  to  tell  you  somet’ing  ,  but  i  won’t  if  you  don’t  want  to  hear  it  .  ”   

evan’s  arms  folded  over  her  chest  ,  and  she  thought  about  it  for  a  drawn  out  moment  ,  “  go  on  .  ”

“  he  wanted  me  t’  tell  you  to  remember  what  he  said  to  you  the  night  before  he  left  .  that  he  meant  every  word  of  it  then  and  still  means  every  word  of  it  now  .  ”

she  clenched  her  eyes  shut  ,  arms  unfurling  to  press  the  heels  of  her  palms  into  her  eyes  .  of  course  he  did  .  .  .  OF  COURSE  he  did  .  because  amidst  the  photographs  and  the  rumors  and  the  distance  ,  evan  had  lost  sight  of  the  words  that  truly  mattered  .  you  ,  evan  ––  my  love  ––  are  t’e  love  of  my  life  and  you  will  be  even  after  i  take  my  final  breath  .  t’ere’s  no  one  else  .  t’ere  never  was  anyone  else  .  you’ve  seen  me  ,  and  i  know  you  .  i’m  not  going  anywhere  .  .  .  her  breath  hitched  ;  the  tears  crept  up  on  her  faster  than  before  .  THERE’S  NO  ONE  ELSE  .  it  was  just  as  true  for  him  as  it  had  been  for  her  ,  and  for  the  first  time  since  those  damned  photographs  came  out  ,  something  finally  felt  stronger  than  the  anger  and  the  sadness  and  the  confusion  .  

the  love  she  had  for  kieran  walsh  came  without  conditions  ,  and  somewhere  along  the  way  ,  he’d  learned  to  love  her  back  just  the  same  .  

unconditionally  .

the  only  thing  she  felt  absolutely  certain  of  was  that  no  matter  what  lay  behind  the  photos  and  the  rumors  ,  no  matter  if  he  hadn’t  listened  to  her  and  she  hadn’t  listened  to  h​​im  ,  no  matter  how  angry  or  sad  or  confused  she  was  :  she  LOVED  him  .  more  than  anything  .  more  than  anyone  .  she  had  for  years  ,  and  she’d  continue  to  do  so  for  always  .  

unconditionally  .  flaws  and  all  .  

“  fuck  ,  ”  she  swore  ,  hands  pushing  back  loose  strands  of  hair  as  teary  eyes  made  the  room  blurry  ,  “  i’ve  really  gone  and  made  t’is  worse  .  ” 

because  the  night  before  he’d  left  ,  he  told  her  flat  out  that  there  wasn’t  ANYONE  else  .  he’d  told  her  that  he  wouldn’t  LEAVE  her  .  .  .  that  she’d  have  to  break  up  with  him  herself  to  get  rid  of  him  .  he’d  traced  the  edges  of  her  features  and  whispered  that  he  didn’t  WANT  to  leave  her  .  he’d  held  her  face  and  told  her  that  he  belonged  to  HER  .  he’d  kissed  her  and  swore  that  she  made  him  happy  ,  that  he  only  ever  needed  her  .  

that  couldn’t  be  UNDONE  by  a  set  of  photos  .  it  couldn’t  be  undone  by  a  girl  with  ill  -  intentions  .

it  could  only  be  undone  if  the  SPACE  evan  asked  for  became  wider  and  more  permanent  ,  and  she  couldn’t  imagine  the  misery  .  she  couldn’t  imagine  a  future  without  him  .  no  matter  what  the  truth  was  .  

because  she  loved  him  ,  unconditionally  and  relentlessly  .  

“  i  t’ink  ––  .  .  .  ”  she  blinked  away  a  few  tears  ,  feeling  them  damp  on  her  cheeks  as  her  mother  came  into  focus  ,  “  i  have  to  go  see  him  .  ”

her  flight  to  new  york  was  booked  within  the  hour  .

[javier-djarin]

Feels Like Yesterday: Chapter 1

Ship: Frankie Morales x Elena Bohannon (OC)

Rating: M

Word Count:  5,035 Words

Warnings: Language

Masterlist

Summary: It’s been 10 years since Frankie and Elena have seen each other. But everyone is coming into town for Elena’s brother’s wedding, and Santiago has a few plans up his sleeve.

A/N: The moon and sun story that I used can be found here. I’ve really enjoyed writing this fic so far, so I hope you like this part! As always, translations for any Spanish phrases will be at the bottom. Please let me know what you think and if you want to be in my tag list!!

“There once was a moon, as beautiful as can be, only the stars could fathom, but the sun could not see.”

10 years later

The sun shone through the curtains in her apartment, beams dancing across her face and kissing her awake. She could almost feel the warmth of the early August morning. Her eyes fluttered open and she rolled over to look away from the sun as she stretched across her bed. It was empty. Lazily, she reached out farther across her expensive Egyptian Cotton sheets looking for him, but he'd obviously left. Elena sat up and stretched, running her hand through her messy locks and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She grabbed her glasses off the nightstand before slipping out of bed. Her master bedroom was a disaster from the night before. Clothes thrown everywhere, blankets on the floor. She smiled at the memory; no wonder she was still so tired.

Wrapped in her robe, she walked on to her balcony that was littered with box gardens and plant pots, the flowery aroma overpowering the smell of the city below. After years of hard work, she finally was able to afford the apartment that overlooked Central Park. Well, it also helped that her boyfriend had such a stable and high paying job as an executive for HarperCollins. But she was able to afford this apartment before they moved in together. She did it all on her own. “You’d be proud of me, Papa,” she said looking up at the sky, pretending he was looking down at her, smiling. 

She felt a pair of muscular arms wrap around her, pulling her close against his body as he peppered her with kisses on the back of her neck. “I love waking up to this,” he said.

Elena turned around in his arms, wrapping her own around his neck. His dark hair was still unruly from the night before. She looked into his green eyes and kissed him lightly. “Good morning to you too,” she said, “I thought you already left for work to finish some expense reports.”

He shook his head. “I decided not to go in today. I can work from here. But,” he smiled, “I did make us breakfast.”

She groaned. “How did I get so lucky?”

He kissed her. “I think I should be asking that.” He kissed her again, burying his face into her neck. “Breakfast is ready, but I think I would much rather try that thing we did last night again.”

Elena chuckled. “Can I get some food in my system first, before we satisfy your appetite, Liam?”

He growled. “As always, you win.” He led her back into the apartment to the small breakfast he’d made. He handed her a plate. “Your mother called this morning. She wanted to know what time our flight landed tomorrow.”

Elena sighed. “I sent her our inventory.”

Liam laughed. “I think she just misses us and was looking for an excuse to call. Now that your brother is getting married, I think she’s getting empty nest syndrome.”

She agreed. After her father died, her mother devoted her entire time to her kids. It wasn’t until after she graduated college did her mother finally remarry, Mr. Garcia at that. At the wedding, she and Santi joked about how they always felt like siblings anyway, so why not make it official. There was one person she’d hoped to see there, but he never showed. Apparently, he was off on assignment, whatever that meant. Since then, she, Santiago, and her two siblings, David and María, had moved on with their lives. Her childhood house was completely empty except for her mother and stepfather.

Elena took a bite. “I’ll call her when I get home tonight,” she said. Liam looked at her confused. “It is Sunday, dear,” she added, “Cal and I go shopping and get lunch every Sunday.”

He nodded. “I completely forgot.”

There was a knock at the door. “That’ll be him,” she said. She took another bite before getting up. She opened the door. “You’re early,” she said, hugging him.

“No, you slept in.” He looked at her and then to Liam with a raised eyebrow. “Late night?”

She slapped his shoulder. “I’ll go get ready. Can you two behave while I’m gone?”

Liam turned in his chair to watch her run down the hallway. “Only if he plays nice.”

She scoffed and ran off to get dressed.

***

Santiago drove to the airport, waiting for his brothers to get off the plane. He could hear them before he could see them. “Oh, fuck you, Benny,” he heard Ironhead say. Benny ran ahead of them away from his brother laughing. Redfly was right behind them shaking his head. Santiago was looking past them for Cat, but he was clearly taking his time. He hadn’t been back to San Antonio for close to a decade, and he knew Frankie was feeling every emotion he left behind all at once. 

“Pope!” Benny exclaimed as he ran to him. “We didn’t think you’d make it. Figured you were still down in South America hooking up with hot ‘informants’.”

He laughed. “Fuck you, Benny.” 

Benny held his hands up in surrender. “Man, what have I done to get such love from my brothers.” 

They each took their turns giving Santi a brotherly hug before heading to baggage claim. He grabbed Will by the arm to stop him. “Where is he?”

Will looked back the direction they came. “He’s in the bathroom. He has been a wreck the entire trip home.”

“I expected half as much,” Santi added.

“What happened here?”

He sighed and saw Frankie coming, still wearing that baseball cap she gave him years ago. “He fucked everything up, and he’s about to face it all this week.”

“He was talking in his sleep on the plane,” Will said, “he kept talking to someone named Luna.”

Santiago let out a soft laugh. “Those fuckin’ nicknames.” He looked up at Ironhead, who was confused. “Don’t tell him he did that.”

“You got it, man.” He slapped him on the shoulder and walked off.

Frankie slowly walked over to Santi and gave him a long brotherly hug. “It’s about time I get you back here,” he laughed. 

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said, “and I sure as hell shouldn’t be going to David’s wedding.” He looked like he was about to lose his lunch.

Santiago sighed. “She’s moved on,” he said, “I told you that. She’s happy in Manhattan with her boyfriend. Honestly, they’re probably going to get married before too long. She’s done hating you...probably.” He knew deep down that she was going to be pissed off that Frankie was back, but he was tired of seeing both of them hurting. Every time she came home, she’d walk around her mother’s house and turn down photos of her and Frankie. She hardly ever addressed him by name. Even after all these years, no matter how much she would deny it, Santiago knew she was still in love with Frankie, as he was with her.

Frankie nodded, wanting to believe him. But he knew better. The minute they would see each other, she would come over to him and give him a piece of her mind. “Even if you told me in a letter, I would be pissed, but at least I knew. Besides, I’d see you again, because you’re not just going to abandon me.” That’s what she had said, not knowing the truth. And he did exactly that. He left and once he heard she was dating some guy from her college, and it had gotten pretty serious, he never came back. He couldn’t handle the thought of losing her. Now, he was going to have to face it, because the whole gang was back together and going to her brother’s wedding. “When was the last time you saw her?” He asked, his voice cracking.

“I came home for Dad’s 60th last fall, and she was down here for the whole week.”

“How - how was she?”

Santi looked at him, and slung his arm around his shoulder. “She’s good. Really good. And she’s happier than I’d seen her in years. For a while, I thought you’d broken her for good. But…” he caught himself, not wanting to bring up Liam just yet. “You’ll see on Saturday.”

Frankie shook his head. “I don’t know if I’m going to go. I don’t think seeing her for the first time in a decade at her brother’s wedding is a good idea.”

“Then, I’ll set up something at the house. A bonfire or something, like old times.”

He shook his head again. Frankie looked over to Benny, Will, and Tom. “Maybe just sticking with them for the week will help.”

Santiago shook his head. “You can’t avoid her forever.”

“No, but I can try.”

***

Elena was sitting with Cal at a little cafe, looking through her bags. “Thanks for helping me find a dress for the rehearsal dinner,” she said, “I was about to just show up in my slip.”

He smiled at her and laughed. “Oh, of course. So, now that David is getting married, I guess that leaves you,” he smiled.

She blushed. “You would think, but he hasn’t even acted like he has plans.”

He sipped on his glass of Merlot. “Girl, if the two of you have known each other for as long as you say, I’m sure he’s just trying to find the right moment to propose. Maybe he will take you to an old childhood spot when you’re home and pop the question.” 

Cal was suddenly lost in his fantasy, planning out her life, when her phone rang. They both looked at the caller ID photo and saw Santiago’s face. Cal swooned. He’d had the biggest crush on him when he went home with her as her date to her mother’s wedding. The same weekend Elena and Liam reconnected. “Please answer so I can hear his voice.”

She laughed and answered the phone. “Hey, Santi, ¿qué pasa?”

“Hola, ‘lena. Mama says you’re coming in tomorrow?”

“Sí. Liam and I are taking a morning flight.” She could hear his breathing start to pick up. “Santi, ¿qué pasa con usted?”

“I think it’s better if you hear from me.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I don’t have much time, because they’ll start to wonder where I am.”

“Hey, Pope! Hurry up. Cat is taking us fishing and we are waiting on you,” She heard a family voice of one of his army buddies exclaim in the background. Cat-Catfish. Frankie was home.

Elena froze and looked through Cal with tears in her eyes. She could see Frankie sitting across from her in that diner telling her how he felt without ever actually saying anything, and then suddenly her heart broke again. She gasped. “Santi…”

“It’s my fault,” he said, “I told him to come. It’ll be good for both of you.”

“You know I never want to see him again, and so you told him to come to David’s wedding?”

Santiago sighed. “That’s why I called. To warn you. Look, he’s just as terrified as you are.”

“I’m not terrified. I’m pissed. What kind of nerve does he have thinking he could come to my brother’s wedding?”

“Elena, I love you. You’re my sister in every sense of the word. This was bound to happen eventually. Besides, David invited him.”

She refused to respond to him.

“Look, my old Squad is here. David invited them all too, since he got to know them over the years. They’ll help me keep Frankie preoccupied, if you really don’t want to see him.”

She could feel herself about to lose control. All she could muster was, “I’ll see you at the rehearsal, Santi. Love you.”

Elena slammed the phone down and buried her face in her hands. Cal sat in silence, waiting for her to say something. Instead, she grabbed her phone and dialed Rae. “Hello!” Her voice sang over the phone.

“Did you know?” She asked dryly.

“Well, hello to you too, Sunshine.”

“Rae. Did you know Santi told Frankie to come to David’s wedding?”

She gasped and didn’t speak for a minute. “He did what? I swear I didn’t know, and we had lunch the other day! Why the fuck would he do that?”

Elena let out a few tears. “Why the fuck is he home? Ten years. I have gone ten fucking years without having to deal with him, and so he chooses now to come back?”

Rae waited for her to calm down. “Does he know about you and Liam?”

She let out an exasperated sigh. He was the last person she wanted to see. “We land tomorrow afternoon. As soon as we drop our stuff off, meet me at the usual.”

“Do you want me to kick Santiago’s ass for being a moron?”

Elena stifled a laugh. “No,” she said, “I want that privilege.”

***

Rae looked at her phone, contemplating on calling Santiago and bitching him out. But she knew he was smart. He did this for a reason. She opened her contacts and clicked on his icon. It rang several times before going to voicemail. “Santi, fucking answer your phone. You’ll never guess who just called me,” she said.

He felt the phone vibrate in his pocket as he looked over to Frankie and Benny in the boat. Will and Tom were sitting up front cracking open beers while the other two prepared the bait. With Santi at the helm, and everyone distracted, he could easily answer the phone. He slid it out of his pocket and saw five missed calls from Rae. “Shit,” he whispered. He looked back at the guys again to make sure they were all preoccupied as he called her back. 

“It’s about fucking time you call me,” she said.

He instantly hit the volume on his phone to turn down the sound. “Not so loud,” he whispered.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, Santi? This week?”

“Rae, I need to call you back. How about I stop by tonight and explain everything?” he quickly whispered over her yelling.

“Who are you whispering to over there, Pope?” Benny yelled, drawing attention to him.

“Rae, I gotta go.”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me, Garcia!”

He ended the call and turned to Benny and grinned. “That piece of Colombian tail I was chasing before I came home.”

Benny whooped and high fived Santi before sitting back down next to Frankie. “I knew it.”

Pope smiled and turned his attention back to his phone. He quickly sent Rae a text: 

I promise we will talk when I get back. The guys wanted to go fishing. I can’t talk with them right next to me.

She instantly replied: 

You better have a good reason why you brought him here.

***

Cal looked at Elena as she tried to catch her breath. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. He reached across the table and grabbed her hands. “Do you want to tell me what all that was about?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Not really. It’s something from my past I wish would stay buried.”

Cal inhaled and leaned back in his chair. “Obviously it’s not. Whoever this Frankie guy is…” he paused and watched her demeanor instantly change at the mention of his name. “He has you in all sorts of knots.”

A few tears slid down her cheek before she looked up at Cal. “I want to stay mad at him,” she said, “but I know the moment I see him, everything will be forgiven.” She cried into her hands. “I was finally able to move on. I am finally happy with my life. Why does he have to come home and fuck everything up?”

“Who is he?” He motioned for the waitress to bring another bottle.

“Fransisco Morales.” She breathed his name. It had been years since she talked about him to anyone, and saying his name like that made her heart skip several beats. “He was my best friend. He, Liam, and I all grew up together. We were thick as thieves; practically lived with us through middle and high school. We went everywhere and did everything together. Honestly, there was...no is no one that knows me better than Frankie.”

“Not even Liam?” He asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow at her.

She let several more tears slide down her cheek as she drank from her wine glass. “It’s complicated.”

“No, it’s really not.”

Elena took in several deep breaths. “I love Liam. I have my whole life. He’s a good man that I know will never do anything to hurt me. He’s been there for me when others abandoned me.”

“Others meaning this Frankie guy.” Cal crossed his arms and looked at her.

“Frankie,” she took in another deep breath, trying to calm herself, “he hurt me. Bad. Like, cut me deep to the bone, and it took me forever to heal from it.” She grabbed her wallet out of her purse and pulled out a wrinkled, aged envelope that had been folded in half and shoved into the cash section. “The last night I saw him, we had this serious talk about long distance relationships. The entire time, I thought he was talking about someone else, but when I got this in the mail the following week, I realized how dumb I really was.”

Elena handed Cal the letter to read. “And you carry it with you?”

“It’s stupid, I know,” she said, wiping her eyes with her napkin, “but Frankie was the most important person in my life for thirteen years. When my dad died, he was the only one who could keep me together; keep me going. This letter told me everything I ever wanted to know, and it destroyed me. So I carry it around as a reminder of my lowest point. A reminder to never let myself be this weak again.”

Cal read through the letter and gazed back up at her. “Oh, sweetie,” he said, gently folding it back into the envelope. “Do Liam know any of this?”

She shook her head. “He knows that Frankie hurt me, but that’s it. He has no idea about the letter, his feelings for me, or anything.”

He sighed. “Elena,” he began, “you clearly have some unresolved feelings for him as well.”

She vehemently shook her head. “If anything, it’s the hurt and anger I harbored over the better part of a decade.”

“Are you going to tell Liam?” he asked.

“He’s going to see him anyway,” she said, sipping her wine, “but the last time we talked about Frankie…” she trailed off and tried to forget the biggest fight she and Liam ever had. She was sure they would have ended right then and there if it hadn’t been for Rae calling in the middle of it. After that, they never finished that discussion. Never revisited that topic. Frankie was a forbidden name in their house. “Well, we don’t talk about Frankie.”

“I thought the three of you grew up ‘thick as thieves’,” Cal added.

Elena nodded. “That was until about high school. Then everything became a competition. They would only hang out together in our group. Never just the three of us or just the two of them. I knew what was happening, but I never knew how to put a stop to it. I couldn’t choose sides, because they both meant so much to me. That was, until one day when Liam and I had plans. Frankie’s truck stalled in the middle of an intersection, and he was rushed to the hospital after a car struck him. He called me and told me he was fine. Just a broken arm, but I left Liam without a second thought. I burned him, bad. Ever since then, whenever we bring up Frankie, it turns into a huge fight.”

Cal sighed. “Look, if you and Liam really love each other, Frankie won’t come between you at all.”

She started to space out, dissociating from the conversation. She knew what Cal didn’t. Liam was jealous of Frankie. He always was, and he knew that Elena and Frankie had a deep, unspoken bond that couldn’t simply be swept under the rug after ten years.

***

The sun was starting to set, creating beautiful purple and orange clouds across the sky. She stood just outside her apartment complex and looked up with a large smile on her face. “Have you heard the story about the moon and the sun?” she asked Cal, who was starting to wave for a cab.

“What?”

“The sun loved the moon so much that he died every night to let her breathe,” she recited. 

Cal looked at her look at the sky while she continued her story: 

“During the time when Earth was simple, the Sun shone brighter than anything in the sky. He brought everything joy and warmth, but he was lonely in the sky. Then there was the Moon. When the sun would grow tired, she would rise into the sky with her beautiful stars, but her beauty went unnoticed by everything on the earth. As she only shined while they slept. The Stars hoped that one day they could get closer to her so she wouldn’t feel so empty, but they could not. She was untouchable, surrounding herself with a blanket of darkness through the cold nights. One day, the Sun was sliding out of the heavens, and he caught a glimpse of her. She was peeking up, a rare side of her being exposed to the light. So, just as the Stars were wandering into the night, the Sun fell in love like a snowball hurtling down a mountain. How he wished to see her more than the fleeting moments he shared with her at both dawn and dusk. ‘Go,’ she whispered to him one of these nights, her voice as sweet and sorrowful as the last light of morning, ‘Go and let me breathe, for you and I have decided fates. You illuminate the day, and I cast a glow on the night. We will never be. Our connection would go against what all people believe, all they know.’ During the summer he would stay a little longer, just in case she would change her mind. But she would say ‘Don’t you dare abandon your blessing of light for my darkness.’ Those were the last words the Moon was strong enough to speak to the Sun.”

They both stood in silence while she smiled up at the sky, seeing the Moon making her appearance early, and the sun staying just a little longer so he could see her one last time before he disappeared. Cal broke the silence by clearing his throat. “Is that you and Frankie?” he asked.

She blinked her eyes and glanced over to him. “It was our favorite myth my mother used to tell us when we were kids. We joked that he was the Sun and I was the Moon, because he would do everything to make sure I wasn’t alone in my darkness, and I would always try to lift him up so the world never missed out on all the light he could give.”

Cal placed his hand over his heart. “You’re killing me with this,” he said, “be careful this week at home. Call me if you need anything.”

She hugged him. “I will. Love you, dear.”

“Love you, kid.”

She made her way back up to her apartment, where she found Liam sitting in the office working on his expense reports. Elena leaned against the doorframe watching him. She smiled at the sight. His left eye would squint a little every time he’d get frustrated with his work, and she thought it was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen. Her heart soared as she looked at him. Elena wasn’t lying to Cal when she told him how happy Liam made her. After all, they’d been friends their entire lives, and he had been there for her when she needed him most. But, then her mind drifted to Frankie. She’d been in love with Frankie for as long as she could remember. He was her Sol. But the Sun and Moon are not destined to be together. I have to let him go, for good. She thought to herself. 

Cal looked over and saw her standing there. “You’re back early,” he smiled, reaching for her to join him.

She dropped the bags by the door and slid onto his lap, kissing him passionately. He smiled against her lips and returned the favor. “Miss me that much?” he said.

Elena pulled away and looked down at him, with sadness in her eyes. “We need to talk about this week.”

He tensed up. “What’s wrong?”

She took a deep breath. “Santiago called me today,” she began, “and he wanted to warn me that Frankie was going to be there.”

She felt Liam go rigid. He sat there for several seconds, looking past her, with anger in his eyes. When she’d picked Frankie over Liam that fateful day, he’d never forgiven Frankie. Their friendship had ended right then and there. Ever since then, his hatred for Frankie grew, especially when he crushed Elena the way he did. “How do you feel?”

Elena ran her hands down Liam’s chest. “Hurt. Angry. The same emotions I’ve had for the last ten years.”

“I thought you’d moved past this,” Liam said.

“I have, Liam,” she retorted, standing up, “but I never got closure. I deserve that. I have questions that deserve to be answered.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose before answering. “Why does that matter if you’ve moved on?”

She felt her hands start to shake. “Because, he was such an important part of my life for so long, and losing him the way I did hurt. I want to know why, and if we can still be friends after all this time.”

Liam shook his head and laughed. “It’s never been about ‘being friends,’ Elena. Look, I don’t know what happened between the two of you before he left for bootcamp, because for some reason you won’t tell me, and I have respected that. But we both know that Frankie has been in love with you since the first day you met, and sometimes I think that you loved him too.”

“Liam, whether or not I had feelings for him back then doesn’t matter. Why? Because I love you. I am here now, telling you that he’s back home. I could have hid this from you, but instead I decided to tell you so we could talk about him like reasonable adults.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I know that you hate Frankie, for reasons I can’t understand. But, please, for me just set that aside. I’m not going anywhere. Put faith in me. Just because Frankie is home doesn’t mean anything.”

He reached out for her hands and held them. He rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles and sighed. “I have faith in you, always,” he said, “but not when Frankie is involved. It’s like you forget everything that doesn’t concern him. He has some sort of hold over you, and you’ll drop everything for him the minute he needs you.”

She didn’t try to argue that, because she knew that Liam was right. It pained her to see Liam suffering the way he was. He was actually afraid that this week, he would lose her. He loved her more than anything, and he knew that with Frankie back in their lives, he would lose the one person he held dear.

***

Rae rolled over and looked at the clock on her night stand. 1:00 AM. The doorbell was constantly being rung at random intervals, and it was driving her nuts. She grabbed an old army hoodie that Santiago let her have when he returned from bootcamp and marched down the stairs. Yanking open the door, she saw Santi standing there with a grin on his face. “You look good in that hoodie,” he chided.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” she asked, obviously annoyed. He let himself into her house and made his way to the kitchen. “Please, come in. Have a drink.”

Santi laughed and made himself a quick drink. “First off, I’m sorry I hung up like I did,” he said, “but Benny was getting suspicious.”

She leaned against the door jam and rolled her eyes. “Why the fuck is Frankie here?”

He took a sip of his whisky and sighed. “You know why,” he added, “Liam isn’t going to make her happy. Frankie is a miserable fuck. They belong together.”

Rae grabbed his drink and took a sip. “She won’t ever trust him again,” she said.

He wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her closer and set the glass on the counter. “You and I both know she will hate herself if she stays with Liam. He’s a good man, but she’s not in love with him.”

“You seriously invited Frankie home to break up Elena and Liam?” Rae laughed and wrapped her arms around Santi’s neck. 

He shrugged and smiled at her. “We both wanted to see this for years. Why are you fighting it now?”

“Because,” she said, “Elena is my best friend, and if she says he’s happy, then I refuse to ruin that.”

Santi kissed her deeply. “What can I do to convince you otherwise?” He grinned and kissed her jaw. “Because she’ll be happier in the long run.”

Rae stopped him, forcing him to look at her. “You’ve done enough,” she said, “we just need to let them settle this on their own, mi amor.”

He laughed at her. “Fine. Whatever you say.” 

She shook her head and turned to walk away, but he stopped her. “¿Puedo pasar la noche?” He asked.

“Si esto termina bien, puedes quedarte a pasar la noche. Hasta entonces, buenas noches, Santiago,” she smiled at him as she left him in the kitchen. “Lock the door on your way out.”

Translations

¿Qué pasa (con usted)? - What’s up (with you)?

¿Puedo pasar la noche? - Can I stay the night?

Si esto termina bien, puedes quedarte a pasar la noche. Hasta entonces, buenas noches, Santiago. - If this ends well, you can stay the night. Until then, good night, Santiago.

Tag List

@magneticbucky @wickedfrsgrl @wander-lustbabe @pedropascalownsmyheart @frietiemeloen @larakasser

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, koryandr!

For @koryandr​. Thank you for your great prompts, I did my best to intertwine as many as I could. This is the first chapter of what will be a (hopefully) not-too-long multichapter. I hope I've come up with something that you'll like!

Read On AO3

*****

“We met by chance, one split decision to turn right instead of left, made no sense at the time, but it felt right and then there was you.”

― Nikki Rowe

Alec Lightwood doesn’t believe in hidden meanings and greater plans.

He’s never been the sort of person to cradle the thought that there’s something, out there, that has set up everything, even if he can’t see the bigger picture yet.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that he’s not religious in the slightest, and that he definitely isn’t a man of God. There’s no divinity, no greater good, or fate whatsoever, nothing and no-one that makes things happen and that moves people as though they are puppets to cruelly play with. It’s simply not possible.

It might even be a bit cynical on his part, but – is there really someone out there who naively believes that everything has a hidden meaning?

Sometimes, things just happen (or they don’t). Simple as that.

And Alec Lightwood happens to be one of those people who’s never fallen in love before.

At the ripe old age of twenty-something, Alec’s never felt this overwhelming, fuzzy, messy tightness in his chest, like his ribcage is on the verge of bursting and let all those things called feelings pour out, finally free to swirl up to the sky or who-knows-where.

He always tells himself that he’s not had the time for this thing called love. He’s always so busy he doesn’t have the time to devote himself to love. He has more important things to do.

Sometimes, he tells himself he does have more important things to do, but maybe he hasn’t met The One yet. He hasn’t met someone worth blowing his own routine off – and Alec flourishes in routines; someone who makes him feel like burning the world up in flames for the ardour of his love, just to make it rise from its ashes again, phoenixilly, more prosperous and beautiful than ever before. He’s just not had the chance yet to –.

No. No, no, chance has nothing to do with this. He doesn’t believe in things like chance. It hasn’t happened, simple as that.

Alec tells himself lots of things. Lots of very articulate excuses, as Isabelle points out so accurately, to hide the intrinsic and visceral fear he feels gripped by. Fear of letting go. Fear of putting the deepest, most intimate part of himself in someone else’s hands – gentle hands that know how to handle gentle, fragile, delicate feelings.

“Isn’t everybody scared of that, Alec?” Isabelle is so keen to remind him.

It isn’t just fear, though. It would be easier, if it was. But it isn’t.

Izzy’s right. Partially. He does make up excuses. They allow him to wrench himself away from the most brutal truth he could ever come to: he’s not made for love.

He can tell himself what he wants: about his hectic, fast-paced, busy life; about his not having met someone-worth-it yet; about being scared. But he’s not made for love. He’s never been.

He hadn’t been until he turned eighteen, when he couldn’t hide himself any longer and he came out to his family. How was he supposed to love, how could he love, back then, when he didn’t even have the courage to be his true self? When he wasn’t being honest, neither with the people he cared about, nor with himself, to begin with?

And he hasn’t been after he came out, when his parents – his father, specifically – made it very clear that the life choice he was making wouldn’t only condemn him to a wretched, miserable life in which nobody would ever love him. That life choice, it would also bring disgrace and shame upon the whole family. That was the reason why it would be better if he kept this whole situation for himself, behind closed doors – even better, inside a fucking closet –, if that was truly the path he was deciding to follow. Or else, he shall show Alec the door (which he did).

And he isn’t made for love even now, almost a decade later, even though he is not hiding anymore. Why should he be hiding in the dark, why should he be wearing a damn mask and lie to everybody? He wasn’t making a goddamn choice, for Heaven’s sake. He would never change that part of himself, because there was nothing to change whatsoever. That’s who he is. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

He had spent so many years to hate himself for it, to hate every single atom of his body for that part of himself that he couldn’t ever change and that wrenched the love of his parents away from him, that simply getting to accept himself for who he is has been an interminable, painful, pulling-apart-and-becoming-whole-again kind of process.

It felt like his skin was being scratched raw. That’s how he’d describe it. Like a roaring fire scorched him and left him raw, his nerves exposed to the air, sensitive to the barest of stimuli. And how could he ever love someone else if he didn’t learn to love himself first?

And yet, there he is. Almost ten years later, with a job he liked, an apartment of his own, both his siblings and a circle of friends around him. Maybe he wasn’t made for love, but he could undeniably call that a progress, after all.

Surely enough, the biggest and unexpected progress was that his mother, after all those years spent without talking to him and pretending that he didn’t exist, was trying to reconnect with him. After divorcing Robert, Maryse had changed a whole lot. She was more compliant, more amenable, sweeter, if a woman like her could ever be defined that way.

But he couldn’t find any other reason to explain the way she tried and reconnect with Alec, her son. The way she had phoned him; the way she had apologised for what she’d told him in the past; the way she had promised him to listen to him and really try to understand him in the attempt to neutralise the huge stigma that had obstructed her relationship with her son for so long.

She was in detox. Her own words.

Alec had appreciated her effort. He truly had.

He grew up carrying the burden of being the eldest brother, the perfect son, the positive role model to follow: he never allowed himself a single slip-up, it was always him who had to do his best and even more, when his best wasn’t good enough. It was always him who had to try and knock some sense into his siblings when they stuck their necks out. It was always him who had to make an effort and accommodate others’ stands.

For once, it feels nice that someone else – a someone he never meant to let down – is trying to reach out and make an effort to accommodate him.

Nonetheless, the fear of disappointing his mother is still hanging like a sword of Damocles over his head. Maybe that’s why – when she phones him as he walks in long strides down the street to grab a drink with his sister at The Hunter’s Moon – those words escape his lips before he has the time to grasp them, to seal his mouth and prevent the catastrophic consequences of his blurting out.  

Yes, I’m coming over for Christmas dinner.

Yes, I’m bringing a guest.

Yes, he’s my boyfriend.

The thing is: it’s a lie – well, somewhat.

He is coming over for Christmas dinner – they’re trying to reconnect, aren’t they?

But, the whole boyfriend thing… that’s a whole ‘nother beast.

There’s no boyfriend in sight.

Alec is irremediably fucked.

_________________

Alec is fucked. He truly is.

That’s what he thinks as he steps into The Hunter’s Moon, out of breath, with scattered shards of sleet beading his dark hair. He hastily runs a gloved hand through his hair, but he doesn’t think it does much to make him look any better. Not that he actually cares about how he looks, let’s make it pretty clear.

But maybe…

Maybe, if he’s lucky enough, he’ll…

Yet again, no. There’s no such thing as luck.

He huffs out a tired breath, tugging at his gloves to take them off. With a shiver scampering down his spine, he accommodates to the familiar tingling in his frozen, heat-thirsty hands, which bask in the warmth of the pub.

Alec searches the room for Izzy’s dark hair. He spots her easily enough. She’s sitting at a table tucked across the room, and he stalks towards her.

As he walks, he nods a hello at Maia, who’s standing behind the counter. She rises the corner of her lips in that usual crooked smirk of hers.

Alec weaves his way through the room, heading towards his sister.

“Hey,” he says as he pulls out the chair opposite to Izzy and slumps in it.

“Hey, big bro,” she smiles, looking away from her phone, her dark, brilliant eyes meeting Alec’s.

Her face sobers quickly when she sees him, her eyes narrowing as she searches Alec’s face, looking for any clue of what might have happened.

She’s always been so good at reading people. And Alec makes no exception to that. In fact, he might even be the easiest book to read, for her. Always has been. Always will be.

“What?” Alec shrugs, reaching for the bar menu, a crinkled sheet of paper inside a plastic coat standing in the middle of their table.

He doesn’t really need to read the menu, he already knows what he’s going to drink. He only needs something to do with his hands and somewhere to focus his gaze on, to avoid Iz’s scrutiny. He already feels that strange heat trailing up the back of his neck, that uncomfortable feeling he always feels whenever Izzy’s unwavering stare sets upon him.

Izzy’s faster than he is, and she pulls the menu away from him, swatting his fingers when he tries to grab it back. She stares at him, an unimpressed look on her face.

“What?” Alec asks again, finally gazing up at her. “Come on, Iz, what are we, twelve –”

“I’m not giving it back to you unless you tell me what happened,” she tells him, defiantly crossing her arms over her chest. “As if you don't know what you’re going to drink, by the way,” she adds then.

Alec rolls his eyes fondly at that remark. She knows him so well.

“What if I told you I wanna try something new,” he dares her.

She puts on a surprised face, just to make him laugh.

“Do you mean something or someone,” she then suggests allusively, her eyes moving sideways towards someone behind Alec’s back and a smile blooming on her red lips.

Alec swallows thickly. He already knows whom he’s going to see when he’ll twist on his chair to look.

Magnus Bane.

He slightly turns his head, a bare movement that allows him to glance at Magnus from the corner of his eye. He already feels his stomach churn. He wets his lips nervously.

Magnus is as beautiful as usual. Today he’s wearing a magnificent charcoal-grey three-piece suit and a burgundy tie that stands out impressively against the pure white of his shirt. He gracefully slips out of his long, black trench coat as he steps into the room, and he bends it over his arm as he smiles gleefully at Maia.

Alec feels a strange, humid heat pooling on his palms, so he clamps them together and places them in his lap, under the table. He turns his attention back to Iz, who’s staring at him with a knowing look on her face.

“What,” he deadpans, for what feels the umpteenth time tonight.

“Nothing,” she retorts, but the tone of her voice makes what she’s thinking about very clear. “So,” she adds then, “Are you gonna tell me what happened or are you leaving me guessing?”

“Mom called,” Alec tells her, but when he notices the way Izzy’s brows alarmingly shoot up to her hairline and her eyes widen in surprise, he rushes to give her some context. “Well, you know we’ve been trying to… y’know… reconnect.”

“And?”

“Aaand,” he says, trying to gain time before he tells her the mess he’s made. He wets his lower lip, his mouth abruptly dry with shame.

There’s no point in delaying this, he thinks. Iz’s gonna pull the truth out of his mouth anyway.

“I told her that I’m bringing someone home for Christmas” he blurts out. “My boyfriend,” he clarifies, when Iz says nothing.

“Okay.” She sucks in a breath, her nostrils flaring a little. “Okay,” she repeats, placing her palms flat on the table. Her long, red-painted nails stand out against the dark wood. “What do you think you want to do about that?”

Sharply, Alec looks up to her, not expecting his sister to shrug this off and act like he hasn’t fucked up.

“I don’t know!” he exclaims, “That’s why I’m asking you! I don’t even know why I told her so.”

“You’re allowed to mess up and do stupid things, you know that, right?”

Alec looks down to his hands, still clamped in his lap.

“Alec.”

“Mh?” he mumbles under his breath.

“Alec, hey.” Iz reaches out, and Alec feels her fingers gently brushing his hair. “Hey,” she says softly, “Can I speak with my brother or am I meant to talk to his hair?”

A little snort escapes him, and finally he hesitantly gazes up at her. He finds her looking at him, a kind look in her stare, her lips slightly parted, a hint of a reassuring smile.

Izzy always knows how to make him feel better. She listens to him, she really does, and she does not judge him, whatever he might do. She’s always there for him, every step of the way. Always has been and always will be.

Alec slightly rises the corner of his lip.

“You wanna know what I think?”

“Yes,” he says, like a plead. Yes, please. Show me the way out of this.

“Well,” she hums, wetting her lower lip and tucking her hair behind her ear. “You can tell her the truth.” A pause.  “Or you can pretend that you and your mysterious boyfriend no-one knows about have broken up just before Christmas,” she suggests ironically.

“God, no,” he replies in horror, “I don’t think I could handle the pity looks.”

“There’s one more path you can take, then.”

“Is there?”

“You can actually find a special someone to bring home for Christmas.”

Alec looks at her, his eyes widening and his body tensing, completely still. He must look like a deer, caught in the middle of an empty street in the dead of night by the abrupt, violent headlights of a solitary car.

“Think about it!” Izzy exclaims. “It would definitely be a win-win for everyone: you find a boyfriend; you get to spend Christmas holidays with your family and your special someone; we would all be happy!” she enumerates, proudly counting the advantages of her suggestion on her fingers.

“You do know that real life is not one of those cheesy romcoms you secretly adore and that you can’t really ask people to fake-date you or something, right?” he deadpans.

Izzy rolls her eyes, a grin blooming on her lips.

“Besides, I’ve been on my own for my entire life, what makes you think that I’m going to find a boyfriend in – what – twenty days or something.”

“You know what they say, will is power.”

Alec glares at her, his eyes narrowing in that peculiar look of reproach of his.

“I’m just kidding!” Izzy exclaims, holding her hands up in surrender. “Relax, Alec, it was just a joke, Dios mío. But really, I’m serious about the fact of bringing someone home for Christmas. You should really consider that.”

Alec opens his mouth to protest, but Izzy precedes him. She already knows what he’s going to say.

“Don’t,” she warns him, threateningly pointing a finger at him. “Don’t you dare say it. We both know whom you should ask to.”

Alec swallows thickly, that uncomfortable heat rising again on the back of his neck. He finally unclamps his hands and he nervously scratches his nape.

“I don’t think he’d accept,” he mumbles under his breath, gazing down at the plastic-coated menu in the middle of the table.

“You see? You don’t even deny it!”

“Deny what?”

“That you like him, you ass!” Izzy throws her hands up in despair.

“I don’t – it’s not – I mean –”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“I’m serious, Iz,” he says, and he slightly turns his head to glance briefly at Magnus, who’s sitting on one of the high stools near the countertop and is lively chatting with Maia. Alec glances away, and his eyes go back to his sister. “I don’t even know him.”

“That’s what dates are for,” she says, imploringly, “If you never ask him out, you’ll never get to know him for real. Promise me you’ll think about it.”

“Iz –”

“Promise me, Alec.”

Alec pulls a face and huffs out a breath, defeatedly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” she retorts, “And now, if you don’t mind, I’d want my Pinot Noir.”          

_________________

Alec fumbles with his keys outside the front door of his apartment, muttering a curse under his breath. He eventually decides to fish his phone out of his pocket and use its torch to scatter some light and finally manage to jam the right key into the lock.

He opens the door, his hand feeling around the wall for the light-switch. He finds it and switches it on, the warm, yellow light flickering to life over his head. He stumbles into his apartment, kicking the door closed behind his back. He lets out a tired huff of breath and he kicks his work shoes off without untying the laces.

The shoes have left dirty footprints, wet with slush, where he has walked. He’ll clean tomorrow, he thinks with a shrug.

Alec takes his coat off and hangs it to the coat hanger, along with his bag, glad to get it off from where its strap was sinking into his shoulder.

He traipses to his bedroom, where he gracelessly takes his clothes off and carelessly slips into his bed. He scrubs his hand down his face as he sinks among the pillows, his skin unpleasantly goose-bumping for the cold of the sheets.

Rolling over on his side, Alec looks outside the windows. He forgot to shut the blinds. New York spreads out before his eyes, melancholic in the dead of night under the swirling snow, the white and light blue lights of the city dance before his eyes, liquid and impalpable.  

His hand moves cautiously on the bed, reaching out, as though he was searching for the company of a sleepy lover. But there’s no one there. Alec is alone. He longs for the human warmth of another body next to him, and he wonders what it’d feel like to let himself be so vulnerable to sleep next to somebody else.

Promise me you’ll think about it, Alec.

His thoughts cannot help but wander to Iz.

Well, not to Izzy specifically. They wander to Magnus Bane.

You don’t even deny that you like him.

Izzy is right – shocker.

Alec does like Magnus.

Actually, Alec doesn’t think there might be someone who doesn’t like Magnus. He’s sharp, and smart, and brilliant and charming. He is undeniably handsome, and Alec always struggles to keep his eyes off of him whenever he enters the room. It’s like there’s something magnetic about him, and Alec is just drawn to it.

Maybe it’s not a magical magnetism, though. It’s something gravitational. It’s something solar.

Yes, solar might be the right word. Magnus is like the sun. His golden light can’t be avoided, he is meant to shine, and people can only stop and stare at him in awe, like a devotee falling to their knees in witnessing a miracle of God.

If anyone asked him, Alec wouldn’t be able to say exactly what it is that he likes about Magnus so much. Alec can’t even claim to know him well. In fact, they met just some weeks ago and he could probably count on one hand the times they talked.

A snort escapes him, remembering the unfortunate event that brought them to talk to each other for the first time. Right away he wanted the Earth to open up and swallow him whole. However, with the benefit of hindsight, maybe it wasn’t all too bad that Simon tripped over his own feet and bumped against Alec, who took a step back to brace himself and his back collided with a too-close Magnus. It was so sudden and unexpected for both of them that Magnus ended up spilling his glass of whiskey over his own shirt.

“Oh, shit! I’m so sorry, I –”

“Never fear.” A pause. A beam. “I’m Magnus. I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

“Alec.”

“ Short for Alexander, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“Then, Alexander, I think you owe me a whiskey.”

Alec hasn’t had the opportunity to get a drink with Magnus yet.

They have seen each other after that very first, disastrous meeting – they’re both regulars at The Hunter’s Moon, after all – but they haven’t really had a date. Alec doesn’t feel brave enough to ask Magnus out, even though everybody keeps telling him that he should, and that if Magnus isn’t flirting with him every single time they see each other, then they don’t know what that is.

But Alec knows that Magnus flirts. He flirts, he laughs, he uses his magic, his solar attraction. His sparkle.

Alec doesn’t mind being on the receiving-end of Magnus’ attention, but he just doesn’t believe that this makes him special. Magnus is the type of person who makes everybody laugh without them even realising. He is the type of person who makes people feel flattered by the simple pleasure of talking to him. And Alec is just like anybody else. He is not special. He doesn’t think so.

The thing is, however, that Magnus does make him feel special. And Alec treasures that. He doesn’t think he’s made for love, but maybe he can just have that: a platonic what if? to cradle and hold onto, the possibility of a what-could-be to dream about and hold dearly to his chest, like it’s the most pure and treasured secret to ever preserve.

If that’s how he makes you feel, why don’t  you give it a chance? You’re self-sabotaging, a voice inside his head points out. It annoyingly sounds like his sister.

If I don’t act on it, then I won’t be disappointed if things don’t sort out the way I want them to and I won’t be confirmed that I’m not made for love, Alec would tell her petulantly.

If you don’t try, you’ll never know, she’d retort matter-of-factly.

(Promise me, Alec.)

He promised her he’d think about it. Not that he’d act on it.

I can feel you clutching at straws from here, Alec, Isabelle’s voice inside his head reproaches him.

Alec frowns, a wrinkle forming between his brows. He purses his lips like a scolded child.

Do what’s in your heart. Make your what if come true, write your own narrative. Go for it.

(Promise me, Alec.)

And if it doesn’t turn out the way you expect it to, then you’ll know that at least you’ve tried. You have nothing to lose.

(Promise me, Alec.)

He pinches his eyes shut and sucks in a deep breath, in the attempt to shut out the voice of his sister. It’s difficult to do something exclusively for yourself, he wants to argue, when you’ve been trying to live up to people’s expectations for your whole life to avoid feeling like a walking failure. It makes him feel selfish, when all he’s ever been is selfless. How do you write your own self in your own narrative when you’ve always tried to write it out and make room for someone else’s wishes and wants?

It’s not a switch Alec can just turn off, even though Izzy claims he has a switch that is always on when it comes to being selfless. She might not be wrong, but it’s not that simple.

He rolls over on his other side, turning his back to the window and the city lights beyond it. Maybe he only needs to sleep this whole thing off. He can’t sleep though. He tosses and turns for great part of the night, his mind still running a mile a minute. He clenches his fists, incapable of decompressing.

His thoughts are very loud. They go adrift, they swirl, they spiral and entangle and he eventually realises that maybe he should just follow his little sister’s advice, just for once, and see what happens. Maybe it will turn out to be a huge disappointment. Or maybe something great will come of it.

When his alarm goes off and he gets up in the morning, he steps out of his bed like a man with purpose. After a night spent in the opaque labyrinth of his mind, he’s reached a decision. Maybe the bravest decision of his life, after his coming out.

He approaches the window and lightly rests a hand against the cold glass, which mists up around the pads of his fingers. He looks outside and he quirks up his lips at the corners: a pale sun is shyly lighting up the horizon, welcoming the break of a new dawn, a flimsy glow on the plate-glass of Manhattan skyscrapers.

Alec Lightwood doesn’t believe in hidden meanings and greater plans. He doesn’t believe in signs. And yet, he cannot help but admit to himself that the sun shining on the very same day he’s going to ask Magnus Bane out is the loveliest coincidence of his entire life.

TBC on AO3!

[buns-with-a-book]

Reflections and Illusions

For Day Six of DMCWeek2020, the prompts chosen this week were Family and Belonging! They’re subjects quite close to our leading lady Cassandra. Cordelia and Anastasia (and the idea for this fic) are all from @furyeclipse

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: OC, Dante, Vergil, Nero (minor role), Kyrie (minor role), Credo (cameo) Tags: @nimnox​  @astral-space-dragon​ @harlot-of-oblivion​ @queenmuzz​ @i-write-fanfics-to-procrastinate

Summary: While on a mission, Cassandra hears her name and goes into a strange portal. What she finds is a world she dearly wants but cannot have.

“Jeez, all I wanted was a nice birthday-” Cassandra swiftly dodged out of the way of the demon’s attack. “And you come along to ruin it!” The demon, taking the form of a large black dog, snarled at her. “Come on, you terrible little doggie!” The demon dog let out a ferocious roar, leaping forward. She twirled out of the way, Failnaught impaling itself into the demon’s flank and ripping open a large wound. The demon hit the ground hard, turning into dust. Cassandra spun the sword-cane in her hand, sighing.

“Not how you wanted to spend your birthday?” Dante asked with a cocky grin.

“What gave you that impression?” She huffed. “This stuffy old mansion...jeez, it’s a terrible place for a birthday. Come on, let’s find Nero and Vergil and go get our pay. Maybe that local pizza place is still open at this hour-”

Cassandra…

A voice, strangely siren-like, called for her. She paused and looked around, visibly confused. She looked to Dante, who looked just as confused as she was.

“What’s the matter?”

“I...I just thought I heard someone calling for me.”

Cassandra...

Cassandra closed her eyes, shaking her head. “Maybe I should go take a look around. Just in case there’s something...you know, suspicious. You go find Vergil and Nero.” Dante nodded, silver eyes glancing around. Cassandra nodded at him before dashing off. The sound of the voice calling her was northward, she could feel it. As she dashed through the halls of the abandoned mansion, the call of her name seemed to become louder, a ringing in her head she couldn’t ignore.

Cassandra...

She dashed out the back door, looking around. The grounds were visibly overgrown from decades of neglect. Her eyes fell upon the greenhouse, windows broken and frosted from disuse. She walked over to the greenhouse, carefully opening the glass door. Planters had been thrown out, leaving nothing but a dirt floor. At the other end of the greenhouse, however, was what looked to be a mirror of some kind. It’s stone frame was covered with plants, both in motifs and actual plants. It’s reflective surface shone brilliantly, as if it was untouched by time. Cassandra slowly stepped forward, boots crushing glass and dirt underneath her. As her reflection appeared in the mirror, it seemed to...wobble? Her hand carefully rested on the glass…

And went right through it.

She yelped in surprise, pulling back her hand. She looked at her hand, noticing nothing wrong with it.

Cassandra…!

The voice was more insistent now, overwhelming her senses. Following the call, an intense ringing drowned out everything. She held her head, Failnaught clattering to the ground. The agony pounded at her skull, like a terrible awful migraine she only heard tales of from old women. She stumbled, her foot caught something, before her body fell onto the mirror’s reflective surface.

CASSANDRA!

She half-expected her body to hit the glass, piercing her skin and leaving a nasty cut. To her surprise, her body hit warm grass. She slowly opened her eyes, finding what had once been a gloomy overcast dusk was now a bright sunny day. She let out a pained groan, her head still throbbing.

“My little star!” A voice, a painfully familiar voice, made her eyes snap open. She looked up, seeing someone that should be dead staring back at her: her own mother, Stella Sagefire.

“Mother…?” She whimpered as she felt oddly cool hands help her on her feet. She looked past her, seeing Dante happily grilling like a dad (well he was an uncle, that was close enough). Nero and Kyrie were sitting at a table, happily chatting about something. Next to Nero was Cordelia, beaming at Nero like he was an older brother. Vergil was sitting next to Cordelia, but his eyes were firmly focused on Cassandra. Next to Kyrie was a man she only saw in pictures, her older brother Credo, relaxed and at ease. Her gaze returned to her mother, her hair tied up in a messy bun, strands of golden blond framing her face and clear blue eyes. It looked as if she had never been so deathly sick at all.

“Cassandra!” A second voice, another familiar voice that only made her heart ache as a more youthful woman that was near the same age as her mom stepped forward: Anastasia Faye. Her bright seafoam green eyes stared at Cassandra in worry. Her dark brown black hair went down to her mid-back. A lavender colored ribbon was tied in her hair, similar to how Cordelia put bows in her hair, but her bow was on the left side of her head compared to Cordelia keeping it centered on her head. She wore a rose gold trimmed strapless black dress that went down to her knees and brown boots to match. A necklace around her neck like V's old choker but, instead of a tooth, it was a small charm from outside the walls. She never did find out where she got it from.

“It’s your birthday, Cassandra.” Stella gently explained. “Do you not want to attend your own birthday party?”

“I...I mean...I…” Cassandra lowered her head. Something was wrong, she could feel it in her core.

"Cass sweetie, you getting overwhelmed again? You tripped over your own two feet again." Anastasia chuckled softly as she ruffled her hair. "Hmm no bumps, you're fine."

“I don’t feel fine.” She muttered. What was it that was so wrong about it? She missed her mothers so dearly, she had loved them so, but they were dead. They couldn’t be here, not in this mirror world.

You could just stay here with your mothers, in this perfect world.

That nagging feeling prodded at her, almost tugged on her insistently in her mind. She could stay, with ghosts and echoes all around her.

"You alright there, Sleeping Beauty?" Anastasia asked. She could hear the concern in her voice.

“No, this is all wrong.” She pulled away. Already, the world was starting to fade around them, mixing together like a bad watercolor painting. Despite that, Stella and Anastasia remained clear and pristine in her vision. “You’re dead. You two, you died, you can’t be here!” She didn’t stop the tears from falling down her face, she couldn’t.

Anastasia sighed softly and put a firm hand on her shoulder. "Cassandra, look up at me please." Cassandra let out a soft heaving noise, slowly looking up at Anastasia.

"I made Anastasia bend the rules a bit, again.” Stella admitted sheepishly. “I know that I promised last time I wouldn't but this time, I needed to do it for an important reason: so that your mother and I can see you free and happy, far from Eternis Brillia, happy with the azure Son of Sparda and free from that sorry excuse of a boy Draco. I'm also guessing you found Cordelia as well."  

"I'm happy that my Magpie found her way home to you." Anastasia added. “And you’ve found your self confidence again. Make sure that the azure boy knows how much you love him and how happy you are being at his side.”

"I got to finally see you again Cassandra. I'm proud that you've grown up into a confident lady."

Anastasia pulled Stella and Cassandra into a tight warm hug, kissing her head softly. “Happy Birthday Cassandra, please ever don't forget how much we love you. Before I forget, please tell my little magpie, you got her gift.”

“Her gift?” Cassandra asked tearfully. The world around them was nothing but darkness, with only her two mothers still clearly before her. Anastasia kissed the top of her head and smiled softly. Cassandra swore she felt something at her neck, arms hugging her close. “Mom...Mother...tell me, what do you mean?”

“A happy family. People who love her dearly, no matter what.” Anastasia murmured. “And it was something we wanted for you as well.”

“Cassandra, my little star, you cannot stay here.” Stella said, her voice grim. “You have to return back to the azure son, to your family, to our little magpie.” Her and Anastasia’s hand rubbed away the tears that streaked down her face. “Because we weren't strong enough to live, but you are.”

“Mom, Mother, don’t go-” Cassandra suddenly heard the sound of glass shatter before she fell backward, away from the rapidly disappearing images of her mothers. Faintly, she saw her tears fly into the dark abyss...or were they hers?

We will always love you.

She expected to hit the floor, for her arms to be cut by shattered shards of mirrors, but strong arms, Vergil’s arms, caught her and held her up. She blinked, watching as Nero and Dante stared at the remains of the mirror, weapons aloft. The mirror was now just stone and glass on the floor. Nero rushed to her side.

“Mom, are you ok?” Nero asked worriedly. Cassandra nodded, letting Vergil help her onto her feet. “What was that?”

“...a trap. It’s an illusion mirror, from Eternis Brillia. I suppose the last owner was an adherent of the Earthfaith.” Cassandra breathlessly explained. “It was still effective...I…”

“You what?”

“...I saw my mothers.” She said, trying not to cry. She had enough of that for a while, at least. Her gaze rested on the broken mirror. “It wasn’t real. They’re dead. They died years ago.” She took a deep breath, feeling Dante rub his hand against her shoulder. “That’s what the mirror does: it lures you in with what you want the most and traps you in it’s illusions.” A quiet fell between them, all eyes on the broken trap at their feet.

“Hey…” Dante broke the quiet, trying to sound easy-going, as if nothing had happened short of a job well done. “How about we get a pizza?”

“A pizza, Dante!?” Vergil growled. “That’s the last-”

“No no no, I...I’d like something stupidly greasy right now to take my mind off things.” Cassandra looked up to the trio. Dante beamed at the sound of Cassandra taking his side of things. Vergil scowled at the decision before seeming to relent. Cassandra took one last glance to the broken mirror, the damp air silent. It couldn’t be real...right?

And yet, as her hand reached up to realize that a new Rhodonite necklace now hung around her neck, she suddenly wasn’t sure if everything in the broken mirror was illusionary.