#fic: the picture of monochrome

[jaysficarchive]

The Picture of Monochrome

Chapter 1: No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Description: Mona Lisa Beauvais's path was once filled with color and stardom, but after the death of her husband, it's left in only black and white. But from the depths of despair, a villain is born: Monochrome.

Rating: M+

Warning(s): Swearing, death, murder, violence

Taglist: @floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @jasontoddssuper @honeysgalaxy @elflynns-horde-of-stuff

The room was immersed in laughter and chatter while servants went around serving guests complimentary food and sparkling drinks. Jazz and classical musicians and entertainers wowed the audience gathered around them with dancers winking and blowing kisses at some of the well dressed men in suits.

It was a golden celebration for a massive legal victory of one Francis Beauvais, planned by his beloved wife Mona Lisa. Anybody who was someone was invited to the event--all except Francis's own family, of course.

Though she doubted they'd come even if she invited them. The Beauvais family made their hatred of her very clear from the moment they saw them together.

Don't think about them, Mona, she reminded herself. She looked out at those in attendance from the foyer. Some were her friends from college, others were those she made in Hollywood. There were also friends and fraternity brothers of attorney Beauvais. All were honored and welcomed, of course. Mona had the honor of calling them friends of hers as well.

She immediately recognized her old classmate Professor Bahira Haziz and her husband Jamil. But they didn't look happy to be around or even with one another, just as they'd been years ago. Taking it as a sign of their impending divorce, she said a silent prayer that their children would be okay.

When a pair of familiar golden brown hands went on her waist, Mona didn't flinch or falter. Instead, she embraced the warmth of the man they belonged to: Francis.

His beard was trimmed down just enough to not create stubble and his mustache was as thick and full as ever. His dark brown eyes gleamed with love and excitement.

"Congratulations, mon amour!" Mona beamed. Her hands were intertwined with his. "This was your biggest case yet and you won!"

Francis charmed her with his own smile. "This is a party that'd make my mom jealous. You've truly outdone yourself, Mo."

"Now, Francis," Mona bashfully flustered as she looked away. Hearing her husband's chuckle made her heart soar. "You know this party is for you, mon amour. It's time for you to celebrate the labors of your hard work."

Taking her hand, Francis led Mona to the dancefloor and took her in his arms. With a gentle but firm hand on her waist, they swayed to the music. Seeing Mona's beautiful smile and grayish green eyes illuminate lit up his world.

"Thank you for this gift, Mona Lisa Beauvais." Francis kissed her lips with a tender passion. Mona happily returned and accepted the favor--setting fireworks off between them. "I promise to repay you in full."

"You don't have to, mon amour."

"But I must. It wouldn't be fair to you or me."

She was then dipped down, allowing her to see the approving, though upside-down, faces of her friends--including Bahira. When she came back up, she sighed in defeat.

"Oke, ou genyen." Mona said in her Creole accent.

Hearing her speak the tongue brought a victorious smile to Francis's face. He, much like Mona herself, was Haitian. His several great-grandparents came from the island to Gotham in search of a better life. Mona's mother came for the same. Their shared heritage made their love stronger.

"Mèsi, cheri."

Hours after the party, Mona sighed in content as she relaxed in a warm bath together. Rose petals rested on top of soapy bubbles and beeswax candles surrounded the tub. Tonight felt like she died and gone to heaven.

"Mother, you know why you weren't invited to the party," Francis said from their bedroom.

Mona reared her head around the corner to see him holding the phone to his ear. Apparently, Helene Beauvais, Francis's mother, had some feelings about not being invited to the celebration. Not that Mona cared. She'd invite the Devil before she ever invited Helene.

"If you and Father had been invited, you two would've berated Mona all night. I'm not standing for that," Francis paced around the room. "And I don't care about running for District Attorney! You know this!"

Poor Francis, she thought as she laid back in the tub. Ever since Francis became a lawyer, his family had been pushing him to run for District Attorney, especially when Harvey Dent was campaigning. But that wasn't what he wanted.

Francis became a lawyer to make a difference and help those in need. He wasn't a glory hunter like his father Felix, another person Mona had the pleasure of not inviting.

After the bath, Mona joined her husband. She gave him a hug to help him relieve his frustrations. At times, she really wanted to let Helene and Felix have it for how they treated them.

"Why do they have to be so frustrating?" Francis asked. "It's like nothing I do or say will satisfy them."

"Sometimes you can't reason with people like them, amour," Mona mused. "But you don't need them. You just do you."

Francis nodded. He felt comfort in her words. "Thanks, Mona. Let's just focus on us and these plans for the future. I think we're at a comfortable point to start a family."

Discussions of children happened long before they got married. Both Francis and Mona agreed to wait until they were at a good point in their lives to have children, especially with how often Mona would travel for concerts and performances.

The time was now.

"Oui. I'd love to be able to paint pictures of us as a family."

Francis rubbed her stomach. He always wanted to be a father, and felt no shame in becoming a parent in his thirties. His grandparents did the same thing. "What do you think our child's name would be?"

With a coy smile on her face, Mona answered, "Mabelle Josephine Beauvais."

In seconds, Francis riddled her face with kisses, making Mona laugh. "Mona Lisa Beauvais, you are truly my soulmate!"

Mabelle was the name of Francis's grandmother and Felix's mother while Josephine was the name of his great-grandmother. Them and their husbands were the only Beauvais who were nice to Mona.

Josephine was a lover of art, and was elated when she learned Mona was an artist. She gave her hope in a city where others in her fields weren't the key players. When Mona got her first art exhibit, Josephine was there front and center.

Though it's been years since she passed, Mona could feel Josephine's presence in the beautiful art sets she bought her.

As for Mabelle, she was another ally in her corner. Similar to herself, Mabelle came from a normal family (or a lowborn as Helene would call both of them) and made her fortune as a costume designer. Josephine welcomed Mabelle with open arms and Mabelle did the same with Mona.

How she mothered someone like Felix was a mystery.

"What if our child were a boy?" Mona looked up at Francis for his answer. "What would his name be?"

"Rohan Chirstophe Beauvais." Francis answered. He chuckled loudly as Mona showered him in her own kisses. Rohan from her late father Rohan Upton and Christophe from his grandfather.

Wrapping their arms around each other, Mona and Francis kissed again--only with more passion. His lips traveled from hers to her neck and collarbone, making Mona heat up with lust. It didn't take long for their relaxing night to turn into a passion filled afterparty.

A Week Later...

"Francis, I'm going to run some errands!"

Mona stood at the door to Beavauis and Associates, her husband's law firm. After receiving a reply from Francis, she left the building and got in the awaiting car.

A happy smile was on her face as today was a special day. Even though it was still early in the morning and people were about to make their way to work, she found joy in today.

"Where to, madame?" The driver asked.

"Home. I have to pick up something." Mona sat back and looked out the window at the city. Gotham wasn't as glamorous as other cities she'd been to, but it was her home and where she had some of the best times of her life.

She was thankful for the 30 minute commute from the firm to their house. It was in a nicer part of the city where a lot of the wealthy Black residents lived. Her house sat atop a small hill, but that didn't bother her. If anything, it gave her an amazing view of their neighborhood and allowed her to watch the sunrise.

Once at home, she walked inside and called for her maid.

"Salome! Salome!"

Then, a young woman came rushing out from the living room. Her hair was pressed into finger waves and her skin was a copper brown.

"Yes, Mrs. Beauvais?"

"Can you go get it for me, please?" No matter who she was talking to, Mona always used her manners. Her generosity towards the servants made the haughty side eye her.

Knowing what she meant, Salome wordlessly nodded and rushed down the hall to Mona's studio. Within minutes, she returned with a wrapped portrait.

"Thank you, Salome."

Francis hummed to himself as he wiped down his desk. Even accomplished lawyers like himself had to keep their office clean. Unbeknownst to him, he had an unexpected visitor on their way to his office.

Holding up the picture of him and Mona on their wedding day, a smile came to his face as he wiped it with the towel in his hand. Knowing the paperwork would be heavy, he placed the photo on the shelf behind his desk.

His visitor drew a gun from his coat and pointed it at the distracted Beauvais.

Mona's heart pounded with delight, anticipation, and anxiety on the way back to the law firm. She'd been waiting since yesterday to deliver the news to Francis and now she was finally going to do it.

Her joy turned to concern when she saw red and blue police lights around the area where the firm was. What kind of activity was going on this early in the morning, especially in a city like Gotham.

Did something happen?

Mona's answer came in the form of police cars and ambulances in front of Beauvais and Associates. Fearing the worse, Mona jumped out the car, not hearing her driver yelling her name.

"Francis! Francis!"

A GPD grabbed her, stopping her from going inside. "You can't go in there, ma'am."

"Let me go! My husband's in there! Francis!" Mona managed to wrestle free from the officer's grasp and run into the building. She made a beeline for her husband's office. "Francis!"

When she got there, her heart sank. Officers were taking pictures or examining the crime scene. Blood stained the walls and shelves, followed by bullet holes. But that wasn't what Mona was focused on.

Francis--her prince, her champion, her soulmate-- laid on the ground in a pool of his own blood. His suit filled with the remains of bullets and stained with his blood. What...what happened? He'd been fine when Mona left... Surely this was a nightmare and when she woke up, Francis would be by her side to comfort her.

"Are you Mrs. Beauvais?"

Mona said nothing. She walked over to her husband's corpse, hand outreached. She wanted to touch him, to let him know this wasn't funny and that her feelings were hurt.

But she never got that. Instead, two paramedics placed Francis in a blue bodybag then put him on a stretcher. No! Give him back! Mona screamed in her head. Out her mouth, nothing.

"Ma'am, are you Mrs. Beauvais?" The voice asked again. It belonged to Commissioner Gordon.

"Yes..." She didn't even realize tears came down her face until she felt one fall on her sleeve. "Yes, I am."

"You dropped this."

It was the surprise. The surprise meant for Francis.

Reality crashed down on Mona and let out a horrified scream that this wasn't a bad dream or a nightmare. Mona couldn't feel her knees hit the ground or see the vomit she'd let out, only the despair of living death hanging over her.

Francis Beauvais was dead.

The bells of the church rang as floods of people in black stood outside its doors. Inside, friends and family shed tears and mourned over the loss.

Mona had gone numb from days and nights of crying. Face swollen and eyes red, she walked up to the casket. Inside laid her beloved dressed in her personal favorite suit of his. There was no joy to be found in this, only sorrow. She placed her hand over his and gripped it softly.

"Orevwa, mon amour," she whispered. Through tears, she planted a soft kiss on Francis's cold lips. "Nou pral rankontre ankò yon jou."

Mona walked towards the warm embraces of Mabelle and Christophe, who were in the same condition as her. When news of their grandsons death reached them, their world shattered.

"It's a tragedy, cheri. Why must this city take all the good men who want to make change?" Christophe lamented. "I fear Gotham has become a lawless city."

Mabelle held Mona close. It brought the widow some comfort to have someone to salve her hurt. "If you need anything, Mona Lisa, please let me or Christophe know."

Mona nodded and followed the funeral procession towards the church doors. Several of the fraternity brothers carried Francis's corpse with the distraught Helene and Felix as their leaders.

Ushered forward by one of the hands, she joined them at the front. She didn't even care for the covertly nasty looks they gave her for daring to stand by them. All she thought about was Francis.

According to the police, the crime scene was likely a mob hit, symbolized by the dollar bill left on his desk. But that didn't feel right with her. Francis was never involved with the mob, and this she knew to be true. His anti organized crime efforts hadn't gone unnoticed by the press.

In her heart, it was an assassination. And someone was at the center of it.

At home, Mona laid in bed. Not even sleeping or simply relaxing felt the same without her husband by her side. She dreamt of nothing, her mind an endless void of black.

"Madame," Salome opened the door. "Your lawyer wishes to see you."

Forcing herself to get up, Mona followed Salome downstairs and to the late Francis's office. Since his death, she'd been spending her days in rooms within the house he frequented.

"Mrs. Beauvais!" Her lawyer rushed to her. "It's gone! The money is gone!"

Mona's eyes widened. In the event of his death, Francis left her three hundred million dollars. It would be enough to support her for years since celebrities and artists like herself weren't the upper echelon in Gotham like they were in Hollywood. So it being gone dealt another blow to her.

"How?! Who took it?!"

"We did."

Both Mona and her lawyer turned to see Helene and Felix--both still dressed in black--walk in with their lawyer. Hearing the slight smugness in Felix's voice made Mona's blood boil. How dare he be so haughty when he just buried his son?

"Why?! That money doesn't belong to you!"

"It does now. As your husband's parents, we have a right to his money and all affairs when he dies," Felix sneered.

"Besides, who would trust a lowborn like you with that amount of money?" Helene added, shooting Mona with an evil look.

Mona's body trembled with anger. Had they no shame for this? Or did shame not exist in the world of Felix and Helene Beauvais? She was a grieving widow yet they thought they had the authority to waltz into her house and confess to stealing her money.

"And you might want to get ready to move out, too."

"WHAT?!"

Mona swore she saw a smirk form on Felix's face. "What do you mean?! Francis left our home to me as well!"

"You don't understand, do you, girl? We're taking over all of Francis's affairs, including ones that concern you. You will have nothing of our son's, even if you are, or were, his wife."

Mona lunged for Felix only to be stopped by her lawyer. "How dare you?! You can't do this to me! Do you not have sympathy for your son's own widow?!"

Helene side eyed Mona as she held Felix's hand. "Let's go. The lowborn will need time to pack her things."

"Right. You have ten days or we'll kick you out ourselves."

Mona gasped. Ten days?! With how much stuff she had? How much more cruel could they be? "But-"

"And if even so much as a plate gone, we'll leave you as the peniless lowborn you are. Your time by our son's side is over, Mona Lisa." Those were Helene's final words before leaving.

Mona died from death by a thousand cuts. When had God decided to be so cruel to her? What wrong had she done to deserve such continously harsh punishments? Was her only crime loving a man who had everything when she had nothing?

Having no other options, Mona quickly dialed Mabelle's number. Through tears, she retold what happened.

"Don't cry, Mona Lisa. My husband and I gave you our word when we said we'd help you," Mabelle reassured her.

"Thank you..." Mona choked on her sobs. At least she didn't feel entirely alone. Once Mabelle hung up, she dropped down to her knees and sobbed uncontrollably. When had everything gone wrong? Who decided that the joy was over?

A dark feeling emerged when she remembered Helene's words.

"And if so much as a plate is gone, we'll leave you as the peniless lowborn you are."

It was Mona's paintings that hung from the walls, vases she crafted with her own hands, doilies sewn by her own hands. The fact that Helene and Felix were going to own her art incited a visceral reaction inside her.

No, she refused to let them hold any more power over her.

"Salome." She turned to her maid. "Tell the servants to get as many paintings, vases, sculptures. Anything I made by my own hands."

"But Madame, Helene said-"

"I know what she said, but she will not own my craft. Get my art and bring it all to my studio." A dark look was in Mona's eyes as she said that.

Gulping down a newfound fear, Salome nodded and ordered the other staff to gather as many art pieces as possible.

Donning her working clothes and tied back hair, Mona studied every piece that adorned their house, memorizing what it looked like and how she made it. This feat was going to be impossible, but something dark was driving her to do this.

You're bigger than those bloodclaats, a voice inside her said. They don't own you. They never will.

For four days, Mona Lisa Beauvais copied every inch of her work down to the flaws--only they weren't the real things. But she'd tell no one that. The times she came out were only for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as well as the occasional snack.

In addition to forging her art, she added two new things to her collection: a monocrhome mask that covered her entire face and a matching outfit. She didn't know why, but it just felt right to make those.

"Monochrome..." she repeated out loud.

The word had been in her head for the past days since her forging project began. Such a simple art term, but it held such significance to her for some reason. It was how people described her hair, which was mostly black except for tufts of white at the front.

Monochrome...

By the ninth day, Mona had moved all her stuff into the townhouse Mabelle bought for her. Just when Helene and her nefarious husband may have thought she'd be in tears, she was instead grinning with malice. Those vain fools. Too busy trying to show off to their neighbors to realize her game.

"Please let us know if you need anything, cheri." Christophe said. "It's not fair what my son and his wife have done to you."

"I understand. Mèsi for your support." Mona watched as the couple got into their car before driving off.

Now alone, she opened up a box. The gift she meant to give Francis was inside. Still delicately wrapped in white paper, just as it had been on that dreaded day. Mona took it out the box before walking upstairs to her room.

Carefully, she unwrapped the item and placed adhesives on the back. She then stuck it on a nice spot on the wall--next to a picture of Francis.

The gift was a painting of a Black mother holding an infant. Mona Lisa was pregnant with her and Francis's child. And no matter what, she'd love her baby for eternity.

"Look, mon amour. We did it."

[insomniac-jay]

The Picture of Monochrome: The Series

I might make this a series where I imagine my DC OC stories as animated series.

Three seasons long

Opening is I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free by Nina Simone

Certain sequences and scenes are animated in black and white. This includes most of the first episode up until Francis's funeral and towards the end of the last episode

The soundtrack is jazz, R&B, and a bit of dance hall because Mona is Carribean

References to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde during the scene where Mona struggles to keep herself from descending into villainy

Okay but I NEED Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve to play in the background as Mona and Ed ride off into the sunset together with Query, Echo, and Mona's sidekicks following behind them

@floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @jasontoddssuper @honeysgalaxy @elflynns-horde-of-stuff

[ps-cactus]

[ overwhelmed ]

[aviiarie]

♡ — GENSHIN GIRLS AS CHAPPELL ROAN SONGS !

cws & notes. no warnings. various genshin girls x fem!reader. 750+ words. they're all sapphic in my heart. if you like this you might enjoy my good luck babe! inspired furina fic :D

— FURINA · good luck babe!

she can't call it love. the word is on the edge of her lips, lingering on her tongue, but she never speaks it out loud. she just wants to keep things the way they are, keep you close to her without that word hanging over her head. it's nothing serious, so why bother to call it anything at all? she'll ignore the way her heart flutters and her head spins as long as it takes to keep you by her side.

but it isn't enough, is it? because you leave anyway, and she is left with the shadow of your figure chasing the corners of her memory for the rest of her life. in the years to come, she will forget your favourite colour and the way your lips tasted, but she'll always be haunted by the echo of your voice sounding in her head: 'i told you so.'

— CHIORI · red wine supernova

falling in love with you is like falling into a supernova. she was never too interested in pursuing love on her own, but with you, she just seemed to fall into it so easily. it was like you were a star, burning brighter and hotter than the sun, filling her days and nights with light. when she kisses you, she can almost feel fire spark against her lips, like your touch is enough to ignite. it's almost overwhelming, the amount of emotions that brew so quickly, but that doesn't chase away the thrill.

there's something that's so bright about you it's almost blinding. your smile sends her heart beating a mile a minute, your words make her brain fry. no one else has ever made her feel so much that it almost scares her. but if this was love then she would gladly let herself fall for you.

— NAVIA · casual

hearing you call it 'casual' kills her. she smiles and laughs it off, like it's all light-hearted, pretending you're just teasing. it's easy to pretend, to close her eyes and picture the two of you moving into the same apartment, dancing in the kitchen like a couple in a cheesy romcom. it hurts, every time you remind her not to get attached. can't you see she already has, already is? can't you see the adoration in her eyes? can't you see how much she is in love with you? nothing about you is casual, but she bit her tongue until it bled and held back her tears.

she's sick of it. after all the nights of tears she shed, after everything you've been through together, if you won't call it what it was, then she would. she doesn't care what your friends say, anything is better than calling it casual. she's done with letting herself be stifled, letting her love be wasted. she's sick of hating herself. call it casual all you want, she knows the truth and she'll make sure everyone else does too.

— YELAN · super graphic ultra modern girl

she can't deal with another cheap date with a man who doesn't care about her. what she needs someone refreshing, someone fun. she needs a girl who is as dazzling and exciting as she is, someone who can keep her on her feet and send her heart racing. no more wasting perfectly good friday nights on guys who didn't have a single interesting bone in their body, she's after something new.

and that's you. you, who arrived in her life like a firework and continued to crackle and spark ever since. she's transfixed by you, the way you move, the way you speak, the way you laugh. every part of you is mesmerizing, and she can't seem to tear her eyes away.

— KOKOMI · kaleidoscope

it's impossible to describe what you meant to her. there weren't enough words in the dictionary to explain how she felt, not enough colours in the rainbow to paint every shade of love that filtered through her vision when she looked at you. and yet now she was left with a painful monochrome, missing the one person she loved more than anything else in the world.

she's not going to make you stay. she cares about you too much for that. and she'll never fault you is you end up falling in love with someone who isn't her, but part of her does break every time she thinks of it. she doesn't know how love works, it's a mystery to the both of you. but she knows she loves you, and that has to count for something.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai

[dnpbeats]

do you read phanfic? any recs, especially for long ones?

i used to be an avid phanfic reader when i was like 13/14 lol, since coming back to the phandom i havent read as much but i have read some!! one fic i just reread is i don't blame you much (for wanting to be free) by @leblonde which is just as good as i remembered it to be 😭 honestly anything by them i rly recommend i've also talked about when you gonna realise on my blog at one point ugh just so good 🥺🥺 a few other longer fics i've read recently:

In Any World by @jestbee

to let the light in by @cityofphanchester this one ;-; soooo good and i especially love d&p's dynamic it's spot on 💞 i really don't know how to express it but like the vibe of this fic is just immaculate

Monochrome by @intoapuddle (first phanfic i read after i came back!)

I try to picture me without you but I can't by solarpower21

Just the Beat of My Own Heart by howellhaze (you've got mail au!)

missing the obvious by fictropes (reverse you've got mail au!!)

okay lastly, this was my favorite fic from my first time in the phandom!! FULL DISCLOSURE i havent read it since i was like 15 so if it sucks im sorry, but at the time i loved it lol. i think ive probably read it about 5 times 😭 Pretty Odd (Things Have Changed For Me and That's Okay)

some shorter fics:

all that you are by @possumdnp is SO FREAKING CUTE

constant future memories by kishere

so I will share this room with you by @jonsaremembers so sad but in a good way 😭

the hoodie bow incident and oh, baby, seasons change by @antiadvil 🥺

that's what i can think of off the top of my head but i'll reblog with more if i think of anything else i read recently :)

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ WHY IS THE HALLOWEEN CHAPTER PUBLISHED ON DECEMBER IDK IM SLOW, also politics yay ig— MENTIONS OF MY COUNTRY! 🇵🇭💥🇵🇭💥💪💪 Also uh VERY long chapter

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @adorefavv @l0starl @depresssedcowboy

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟎: 𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐭

Summary ೃ⁀➷ You and Montrell seem to share a few qualities. In the midst of talks of politics with Miles, you find yourself parted from the reality you were raised in, instead finding a new world in Spirit Halloween.

This chapter is not sponsored.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

".. You should've definitely worn a coat over that."

You fiddled with your sleeve, staring comfortably past the window and out into the shining streets of Brooklyn. The comment was unnecessary , but it didn't entirely fly past your ears— in fact you swallowed it like a bad egg, making your stomach churn. As you turned your head away from the window, you're brought back to acknowledge your brother, Montrell, sitting beside you with his hand over the wheel.

"I like it as it is." You answered. "It's soft, fluffy, and big. Fragrant too." Because it belongs to Miles.

"It's the first time I've seen you wear something so.." His words trace away, but even without finishing the sentence, you knew what he meant. Unsophisticated— a little too boyish in comparison to your usual, refined clothes. The classic sort of unrefined your dearest mother taught you not to embody.

"What? It's comfortable." Was your attempt of a justification. Montrell shrugs, and you catch a twitch in his eye.

Your family had similar, refined tastes. Montrell, like you, was taught to imbue stylishness in every aspect of his life. He was often Armani-clad. Brunello Cucinelli, Hermes— and every other European household name you could recall. But in special events, he usually sported suits specially tailored to his tastes. His palette was consistently ashen, monochrome, with hints of cherry red. Like his car, which had been only recently cleaned after the staff was updated with his upcoming arrival, a slick, grey Aston Martin. It was likely the peak symbolism of his tastes.

You were never really fond of vehicles, particularly their strong, Italian leather scents (Or stench, as you called it). It was because of your sensitive nose that you often requested the seats to be replaced with anything but leather. Scentless polyester was your more preferred option. Leather alone was enough to urge your stomach to clear out your last meal, by ascending to your esophagus.

"I'm not insulting your tastes. I'm glad you're exploring new aesthetics." He manages to lure out his teeth, a compliment— a not-so-good one at that. "What is this?.. Like, street style? Grunge?.. What's that other one— e-girl, I believe? Or was it Emo?"

"You sound not twenty-five years old."

"Don't be mean. The idea of it is new to me, okay?" He clears. "I haven't seen you in three years. The last time I saw you, mom was the one in charge of your wardrobe. I only ever saw your pictures and you seemed more high-end. Saint Laurent, Dior, Dolce Gabbana."

"Those are my brands, I'm just taking a break. I'm not a walking advertisement. I don't want to get robbed in the middle of Brooklyn either."

With a three-second pause, Montrell looks at you and queried.

"Does that jacket belong to a boy?"

You sit right up, ready to defend yourself when Antonne adds. "You would have to introduce him to me immediately— I won't stand aside while some boy prances around your presence. You're sixteen, and that's a prey-able age for stupid and good-for-nothing men… Unless,” He pauses. “You’re gay.”

"What— What are you talking about!?” You feigned ignorance. “I'm not g— this is— it doesn't belong to a.. Well, it does belong to a boy, but it's my friend's jacket okay?"

Oh, the way Miles would glare at you had he been there.

"Don't try to outsmart me." He shot back. "You’ve got little to no friends.”

You parted your lips. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m only stating the truth.” He sighs. “You’re too condescending, and you hate people.”

“And your sources are what? A small interaction I had when I was twelve?”

Montrell grows uneasy a bit, tapping his nails over the thinly veiled compartment. ".. So who is he?" He starts. "From which family? Who are his parents? And how did the both of you meet?"

"That's none of your business, Mon." You sighed, running a hand across your face. "I'm not seeing him, I'm simply hanging out with another friend. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Well, it surely wouldn't hurt for me to meet this friend of yours, then? If he's not a boyfriend."

Your mouth hung open, a steady sigh escaping your lips while you sink a little deeper into your seat. As a hand runs across your cheek, you looked at Montrell as he eases the car down to a red light.

"He doesn't know that I'm a Chávez."

ＢＥＥＰ

Suddenly, you're jolted to a sudden halt— nearly flying out of your seat upon Montrell's way of hitting the brakes. You grabbed onto the board before you with widened eyes and a curse in your mouth.

He remains calm, but slightly irked.

At that moment, he pulls a finger to his lips as if to hush you. He signals with another finger as it leads up to boost the music from the radio. The song blasts, and swiftly, he takes his jug hidden by the side of his seat, unscrewing the top before pouring some of the water onto his palm, flicking at the air conditioner.

Oh, he was checking if the car was bugged.

You hold out your hand, gesturing him to give you some of the water. Together, the both of you took care of the recording devices, from the front of the wheel to the back of the car. Upon gathering all of them, you stuffed it all inside the water bottle, permanently eradicating its usage.

Finally, Montrell places his hands on the wheel and speaks.

“I want you to be honest with me, [Y/n], and cut out any of the bullshittery.”

You feared that at that moment, you and Montrell weren’t brother and sister, but rivals in a battle for power.

ＳＨＯＵＬＤ ＷＥ ＥＡＴ ＹＯＵＲ ＢＲＯＴＨＥＲ？

Your finger twitches.

Wait.

“Does he make you happy?”

The question comes off a little too similar to tasteless poison. It’s a gamble in itself— and it leaves you sitting upright and crossing your legs.

“He makes me feel alive,” Was your starter. “That’s a power no other boy could do, and it’s a rarity, since I’ve always lived for other people, but he makes me feel like I’m living for myself.”

A short hum exits his lips. “And your happiness? Does he make you happy?”

You harshly swallowed. “What difference would it make if I tell you that he does make me happy?”

Montrell’s gaze narrows a bit, the heel of his boots pressing against the gas as the green light shone. “… I ought to applaud you for your sneakiness if by now, dad still doesn’t know anything about his existence.. Unless,” Gulp. “He ordered you to spy on him.”

“And for what reason?”

“It could be anything,” His grip on the wheel tightens like the coil of a noose. “Hostage, information, any of the latter. I’m not sure why father would send you off to spy on a fifteen-year-old boy, but I’m sure the truth’s far deeper than petty business rival bullshit.”

Your mind blanks.

“It’s nothing like that. I just.. Like him, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why would I lie to you about how much he means to me?”

“Because we’re not just siblings, [Y/n],” He whispered. “If anything, we’re not a normal family, but, I’m here for you because I think you’re a good kid, even if everyone else says you’re not.”

“Cease the speech, Mon. I’m not a good person. Stop romanticizing me.”

“But why?” He adds. “Is it because you managed the media and the hotel?”

And hearing those words, you come to face the fact that there was a reason Montrell was your father’s favorite. The effortless way he’s able to read every situation, the effortless way he managed to read through your emotions. It was a talent you could only wish for.

“It was so obvious, you know.” He chuckled. “I knew— I already knew before I came home.”

“Why?”

“Because Antonne handles things messily. He makes decisions without thinking about the consequences, and he despises planning things on the long run. Dad wouldn’t trust anyone outside the family after what happened with Mom, nor would he allow just anyone to handle such shaky affairs. It’s not like it’s beyond father’s morality to hire his own children and calling it practice.”

“What evidence do you have?”

Montrell took one look at you. “The Warehouse. It’s said that it was recently burnt, and that Antonne had to fight the Prowler, but Antonne wouldn’t have had the time to take care of all that because he was investigating you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You spat.

“Also, no one but family takes care of the Warehouses.”

“No— I know that, fuck that. You were going to find out one way or another, but what the fuck was Antonne investigating me for?”

Your brother simply shrugs, his shoulders dropping comically.

“It was about that boy.”

“What!?” Your voice breaks a little. “Jesus fuck, what is wrong with him!?”

“Evidently, he’s worried about you.”

You snorted. “Worried!? Worried my ass!” The vulgar way you spoke caught Montrell so off-guard that he had to look at you twice to check if you were still the same person. “I’d rather believe the world’s ending. Antonne and I stopped being siblings the moment he dropped responsibility for all those who were killed, forcing me to step up and do damage control because Dad stopped trusting everyone else.”

“Well, that’s understandable.”

“Plus, there’s nothing to be worried about. The boy I’m meeting he’s.. He’s just.. I like him. That’s it. I know it’s hard to believe since most of the time I’m a conniving bitch, but I genuinely, wholeheartedly like him. Like how a normal teenage girl ought to like a boy.”

Montrell hums. “… Alright, I’ll believe you. It’s not too far off from unusual, when I’m also facing a similar issue.”

You blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“… You see, [Y/n], I’ve got also got a girl for myself.” He announced so suddenly. “Met her at Oxford. Like your boy, she bore no idea of who I was.. Who I am, and understandably, and I know you know about this too— but it’s a refreshing feeling to not be recognized as the potential inheritor of a business empire.”

You part your lips, processing the information with confusion all over your expression. “But— there were no reports of you being in a relationship.”

“Of course there weren’t,” He laughs. “I had her carefully hidden from everyone’s sights.”

And that could mean two things. You didn’t want to think of the latter.

“Maybe it’s genetic,” Montrell added, turning the wheel. “Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance. It’s frightening to think how Malachi’s going to inherit our tendencies.”

“I’m not,” Your heart raged within the cage of your ribs. “I’m not like that to him. I can never allow myself to trap him.”

“You can either be one of them.” Montrell sighed. “Mom or dad, I mean.”

The good ol’ bird or the cage.

“But I won’t be able to stand by and watch when that does happen,” He straightens his lips. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

You can hear the voice whisper back in your mind.

“Which is why I’ve got to meet.. [Y/n]?”

Your hands slithered up against your ears in an attempt to block out the voice.

“[Y/n], are you okay?”

You gasped for air, a familiar voice taunting you like the one from your dreams. Except, this one didn’t speak like the voice of the symbiote, rather, it endowed this sweet allure as though it could sing you a lullaby to sleep.

Before the symbiote, there was someone else who plagued your thoughts and mind and actions.

Before the symbiote, there was your mother.

“Stop the car.” You croaked, palms still over your ears. Montrell speaks, but his words were blurred out into the void of nothingness. The more he speaks, the more your mind shreds itself into pieces. After a long second of thinking, Montrell finally pulls up by the sidewalk, taking his hands off the wheel and pulling one in front of you. He waves it hesitantly, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Breathe, [Y/n], breathe.”

“I-I,” You lengthily stammered. “Mon, I’m sorry, but can I go?” As he’s about to answer, you add. “I’ll introduce you another day, I promise, I just, I need to be alone right now.”

“But isn’t it unsafe? We’re in the slums, you’ll never know how—“

“Mon, I can fight.” You ended the conversation with that alone. Hesitantly, he nods and unlocks the door. You reach for the handle, moving along with the click as you turned to leave.

“Can you at least message me when I can pick you up?”

You looked over to Montrell.

“… Okay.”

ＳＬＡＭ.

“Miles!”

And he could already hear you from a block away, jogging with steady and loud steps.

Without even looking up from his phone, he unconsciously opened his arms to welcome you with an embrace— closing in immediately upon your arrival. You felt like you were going to stain his jacket with your glossed lips, but you barely managed to care anymore at this point, as this hug was beyond a need. You clung onto his neck, burying your aching head into the nape of his collar, taking in this familiar scent of spice and wood. A subtle homage, or a reminder of your older brother, Montrell.

What was it about men and their perfume?

It felt like you hadn’t seen Miles in such a long, long time. It was like you were a child who’d parted from their favorite blanket for a little too long that it made you uneasy. You liked the world and space you had between his arms— it was your warmth, your only true home, and it was yours.

All yours.

“What’s wrong?” He cooed, simpering around with you in his arms.

“I just want to stay like this for a moment.” You whispered. “I need to steal the warmth off of you.”

“Well, nena, why are you only wearing my hoodie? It’s so cold out.”

“It’s not that.”

Miles’ ears metaphorically perked up upon hearing you sniffle.

“Who the fuck hurt you? I’ll kill ‘em.”

Your lips curved into a smile.

Oh, Miles, you can’t possibly kill off a multi-million dollar industry.

“Can you kill a car, then? My brother drove me here and his car’s smell made me age twenty years,” You grumbled. “I’m boutta die at thirty-seven, I swear.”

“Your brother?” He lightly jolts away, eyes journeying from road to road in search of him. “God, where is he? Is he here?”

And at that moment, Miles subsequently fixes his posture, his words suddenly endowing some strange sort of politeness. You nudge at his shoulder, “I told him to drop me off somewhere else. I didn’t want him to meet you yet.”

“Awe,” He pouted. “Well, that’s aight. I’m gonna dress up real nice when I meet your family.”

“Uhuh,” You laughed. “And what are you going to be wearing?”

“I’m gonna borrow my unc’s suit, and I’ll talk business with yo father.”

“Only business you’ll be discussing with my father is your damn funeral, Miles. My papa don’t want me out here dating, that’s why he put me in private school.”

“With a face like yours?” He smugly grinned. “Your daddy’s kinda underestimating the power of your pretty face.”

“Oh, so you like me ‘cause I’m pretty?”

“Pretty fucking unbearable, that’s what you is.” The boy joked. “M’just kidding. I like you because you’re pretty much everything to me.”

Despite the fluttering of your stomach, you persevered with your little game. “Doesn’t answer anything— what do you like about me? Did you like my face or my personality?”

“I liked you ‘cause of your pretty face, and stayed for your amazing personality.” He answered as though he’d been preparing for the question his whole life.

“Amazing personality?”

“Extravaganza bonanza personality.”

“I’m not a banana split sundae, Miles.”

“Might as well should be with yo damn split personality.”

Your hands dangle away, Miles unconsciously attempts to reach for it but instead accepts defeat when you held his hand. “So where are we going for halloween spirit, exactly?”

“Halloween spirit?” He queried.

“Yeah, didn’t ya mention something about being in halloween spirit?”

Miles paused, holding back a loud laugh in the middle of the street. “My girl, I said I was in Spirit Halloween.”

“What the fuck is a Spirit Halloween?”

“Holy shit,” He verbalized. “You’re in for a scare, nena.”

And he meant those words a little too literally.

Growing up, it wasn’t within your household to make halloween one of your yearly traditions. Your father deemed it unnecessary, while your mother was anything but fun (Same difference, really). Your brothers have celebrated halloween, one way or another, but since you were the child closest to your mother, you were anything but free of her beliefs.

So being greeted with a large, bloodied skeleton first-thing upon entering the building was a first for you.

“WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN THAT!?”

Miles simply explodes into laughter, holding his phone up just to record your reaction. You fall right back, hand still holding onto his. “Come on, nena, you can do it, let’s get past the entrance.”

“Miles, what in THE FUCK is that!?”

“Don’t be mean to your brother, ma.” He attempts to drag you inside as you sat down by the floor with petrification scribbled all over your face. “[Y/n], come on, introduce me to the rest of your family.”

“FUCK YOU!” You whisper-yelled.

“It’s not even moving yet, come on, [Y/n].”

“THAT’S SUPPOSED TO MOVE!?”

After managing to drag you past the animatronics (Which Miles described was a work out in itself), the both of you marveled at the isle where all the costumes were, skimming through the racks and looking at each and every picture. “Oh, Miles— look at this,” You pluck one out, the hanger dangling from your fingers. “It’s Emily from the corpse bride! Shit, I haven’t seen the movie since I was eight.”

“Look at this one, Ma, this shit’s so you.”

He pulls out an Elsa costume.

“Even got the white ass wig and everythin’.” He giggles as you playfully smacked his arm. “Let it go. Let it go.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t hold this shit anymore!~”

“MILES.”

“LET IT GO!”

You tried to hush out his horrible singing, but the way he giggled was so infectious that you couldn’t help but giggle yourself. When bystanders started walking past the both of you with weird ogles in their gazes, you couldn’t help but put your hand over your mouth to muffle your laughing.

“Puñeta,” Miles added, pulling out a fucking teenage mutant ninja turtles costume. “You’ve got to fucking try this, ma.”

“Miles—“ You couldn’t even continue a sentence without wheezing.

You did eventually find a costume— unlike the original plan, the both of you couldn’t find a medieval patient dying of the bubonic plague, but Miles did manage to find a dark priestess costume along with a plague doctor costume.

“We’re like business partners. The patients go to me, and when they die, you send them off.” Was what he said.

“Wouldn’t that make you a really horrible doctor?”

“Doctor’s still a doctor, ma. I mean, it’s the police’s job to protect all of us but if that’s really the case, they’re doing a pretty fucking horrible job at it, but hey, we still call them the police.”

You looked at the mirror, watching the confusion materialize over your face as you heard Miles’ rant behind the curtain. As you clumsily tried on your costume inside the changing room, you couldn’t help but ask. “What makes you say that? That they’re doing a horrible job at protecting y’all?”

As you zipped up the bolero, you hear Miles’ curtain open.

“Well, Ma, brutality’s been upper than hell compared to the last few decades, so’s poverty. For the last four years, the economy’s been going downhill, which made us have a recession. ‘Cause of that, a lot of the cops had to kiss up some of the wealthy folks’ asses to keep their jobs.”

“So that makes them corrupt?”

“That makes them desperate,” He alluded. “No one wants to die of starvation, and they all have families to feed. It’s divide and conquer, really.”

“Divide and conquer?— oops,” You pick up the fallen headdress from the floor. “Expand on that.”

Miles hums a bit. “Imagine the crab mentality. I’ve read about it before for a philosophy research, and it’s a term used in the Philippines. Put a fuck ton of crabs in a bucket. You’re gonna see the crabs drag each other down in order to pull themselves up, but in the end, none of them ain’t gonna reach the top.

Because the true problem was never the crabs, it was the person who put those crabs inside the bucket in the first place. Same goes for us, the poor. We all have to fend for ourselves so we put others down— because if we’re too busy surviving, we don’t have to pay no attention to the rich who put us all inside the damn bucket in the first place.”

The way he described it was so familiar.

It was like he was describing you with your siblings.

ＨＥ’Ｓ ＳＭＡＲＴ. Ｉ ＬＩＫＥ ＨＩＭ.

Hearing the symbiote’s approval echo in your mind, you couldn’t help but smirk.

He’s not just smart. He’s a genius.

���ＯＮ’Ｔ　ＯＶＥＲＰＲＡＩＳＥ　 ＨＩＭ,

ＳＷＥＥＴＨＥＡＲＴ

Don’t call me that, ever.

His experiences and your experiences were similar despite being so contradictory, and it didn’t make sense. You were rich, so extraordinarily wealthy that the recession was never a part of your problem, hell, the decline of the economy was never your problem— and Miles was struggling along with his family to keep themselves afloat.

And you could never put yourself in his shoes, as you knew nothing of the loss he felt.

But the both of you were kids in line to shape the future, and if the generational trauma ever continued, you’d only end up the oppressor, but you knew, Miles was going to tear himself apart from the title of ‘victim’, and he was going to stand up against you— maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow,

But soon, as villain versus hero.

You pushed the curtain away, unveiling the costume to Miles.

But rather than seeing him, he was nowhere to be found.

You lifted the veil, stepping out of the dressing room to take a peek at him, but you couldn’t find any trace of his broad-shouldered figure anywhere. You softly called out for his name, head spinning from constantly turning. Your feet took you forward. You try ignore the giggly and bloodily-clad animatronics whose haunting stares scared you far worse than any unwanted confrontation with any of your family members.

And there he was, talking to a girl.

That sort of closeness— the way they spoke. Laughing, catching up, or something like that. Acquaintances? Friends, maybe?

Something ugly pricked at your skin from within.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

Montrell’s words began to spiral inside your mind. ‘Father, mother, me, Antonne, you. Making stupid decisions for stupid ideals— rather, stupid romance.’

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

The feeling seared your veins, making you dig your nails into the bed of your palm. Your knuckles quivered from the intensity, like a sort of anger you felt when you saw any of your elder brothers being praised for the bare minimum, except.. This one felt different.

ＨＵＮＧＲＹ.

You watched the way her braids fell, wondering if you could pull it off with such grace. High society’s always been too picky, which forced you to drown out most of your interests, but now you couldn’t help but feel a little envious. You wanted to wear the clothes you wanted to wear, try out the makeup you wanted to try.

It felt like your mother’s shadow was being cast on you, making you embody the very phase you feared, your mother’s daughter—

and like your mother, you were quick to get jealous.

And it devoured you, whole.

You faltered, taking a step back before fully pivoting your heel and running off back to the dressing room. You shut the curtain behind you, only now finding the symbiote staring right at you through the mirror— its grotesque body mirroring your move.

“For a girl who knows how to handle most of her emotions, you can’t seem to handle jealousy well.”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just tired.”

“And I’m Sofia Vergara.“

“How the fuck do you know who Sofia Vergara is?”

“Memories, my dear.”

You felt a surge of panic take course of you.

“This is unhealthy. I can’t be like this, I don’t even know who she is.” You exasperatedly murmured. “I need to calm down— Miles and I aren’t even official yet.”

“Exactly, so be the lady that you are and introduce yourself, damn it. You have no friends.”

“I have friends.” You seethed. “I’m popular as hell in Acadia.”

“If I had a dollar for every friend you have, I’d be the one giving you a poverty rant.”

“[Y/n]?” Miles pulled you out of your thoughts yet again.

“Y-Yeah?” You called out, whipping your head back. “You done?” He asks, shuffling a bit. You hesitantly open the curtain to reveal yourself, your sights eventually welcoming the image of Miles dressed in all black— with a long, beak-like mask over his head. As you were too busy trying to find his little acquaintance, Miles gawks at you from behind his heavy façade.

The faux black silk draped over your curves seamlessly, the crimson of the bolero gleaming beneath the light as it contrasted against the dress. You lifted the veil past the dark crown like a bride, lashes fanning up to meet him by his gaze.

“Oh, wow.” He sighed. “Wow, you— the woman that you are.”

There was something about the way he looked at you.

It was like you were all that consumed his mind and being. Nonetheless, it was the truth.

But even now, as Miles held out his hand for you to hold, you couldn’t help but wonder how many times he’ll look at you like this until it manifests from love into something else.

“It’s a halloween costume, Miles, not a wedding dress. I can’t possibly be lookin’ all that great.” You took his hand, drawing closer to the mask. “God, you look like a big bird.”

Lost in the way you looked, Miles’ hands unconsciously trailed around your waist, looking down on you with a dumb stare that you couldn’t fathom. Suddenly, the both of you were disrupted by an abrupt cough. You both turn your heads, finding the same girl you’d seen him talking to just a few minutes ago.

“Hey,” She beamed, waving her hand at you. “Hope I ain’t disturbing anything?”

“You definitely were.” Miles’ gaze narrowed. The girl laughed, her white grin wide like a crescent moon. You couldn’t help but think, she’s got such a pretty smile.

“Mind introducing me, Miles?”

With a hand still on your waist, Miles gestures towards you. “This is my lady,”

“[Y/n],” You held out your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Both Miles and the girl stared at your open palm.

“Wow, ain’t she prim and proper? Like a princess.” She teased, accepting your hand. “I’m Amadi, nice to meet you too.”

Her palm was warm and smooth, decorated by the lacey sleeve of her periwinkle sweater. She stood in heeled boots, a couple inches taller than you— an inch or two off of Miles’ height. As she shook your hand, the girl couldn’t help but helplessly marvel at you as though you were a statue carved from marble.

“God, how in the hell did you land on Miles? You’re just,” Amadi’s hands airily traced your figure. “You’re just wow. I-Is Miles keeping you hostage or sum? You don’t look nuthin like human. You look outta this world.”

“Thank,” You stifled a laugh. “Thank you?”

“I can hear you, Madi.” Miles churned.

“M’just stating truths ‘cause—“ She clicks her long, acrylic nails. “Why she be lookin’ outta this world while you’s lookin like you snuck onto earth?”

You placed a hand over your mouth, trying your hardest, you very hardest, not to laugh. Miles pulled you back away from her with a disintegrating glare.

“Tu puta madre,” He spat. “.. Go back to Monique.”

“Monique?”

“Mi novia— love of my life, we’re off halloween shopping too. Gotta big date tomorrow, we gon be watching horror movies n shi.” Amadi added, decisively looking around. “Speaking of which, Ionno where she went.”

“She might be with Voshon.” Miles piqued.

“Voshon?” Your head started to spin with the amount of new names you were processing. “That’s a.. Interesting name.”

“Mama was gonna name him Joshua, but my dad wanted to combine or grandparents’ names together, so— Vaughn and Shontelle.. Voila, Voshon.”

“Oh, he’s your brother?” You queried. Amadi hums. “Unfortunately. I mean, I’d always preferred being an only child but we all don’t get what we want most of the time.“

“Oh, I definitely get that.”

“No way, you got brothers too?”

“Yeah, I’m the only girl.”

“Can’t imagine the mess in your house, damn.. Hey!”

Amadi soon joins a pair, one with a much brighter and pinker style and the other satisfied with a mere hoodie for marking a fashion statement. You fiddled with the skirt of your dress, evidently nervous as a million thoughts flooded your mind. You weren’t the friendliest person out there, nor were you the most likable out of all your siblings.

It was never easy for you to make friends. Too many found you overbearing, the rest condescending. Your position was overwhelming enough for any other person your age, and those who knew about you were ambitious to make connections and forge deals.

What if they won’t like me?

What if I mess up?

What if I come off as too condescending?

But Miles took your hand, grabbing your attention from the spur of your overthinking. He took off his mask, easing you with the familiarity. One look at him and home found its way back to you.

“You wanna meet ‘em, ma?” He asks.

With an anxious smile, you nodded.

“Of course.”

And like a whirlwind into the night, you were off.

For the first time, you part yourself entirely from the world you knew and entered Miles’ world.

“Oh, hello!” Bubbly and sweet, Monique greeted you with such warmth that it melted away all your previous worries. “Oh my god— don’t tell me,” She glances over to Amadi for confirmation. “Are you the [Y/n] Miles always talks about!?“

“Nica— please—“

“You ARE!”

She spoke of you as though you’d been a legend told to the latter, like a tooth fairy. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! We’ve been dying to meet you and– wow, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” Your cheeks were bound to be flushed. “I think you’re very pretty too. I-I really like your hair and your makeup, it’s super well done.”

“Awe, thank you so much!” She placed a hand over your heart, wholeheartedly touched by your compliment. Monique looks at Miles with a pout.

“… Miles, can you fight?”

“Fuck you mean ‘Can you fight?’, I will square you the fuck up r’now.”

His friends were sweet— welcoming without the need of a surname. Monique, with her free and silk-like curls, was a firecracker who liked glitter on her lids and her nails and her clothes. Amadi was ever-so loving of her, despite preferring black and chains for her aesthetic. The two girls were a stark contrast of one another— and unsurprisingly, Monique already had her mermaid costume prepared and was just helping out Amadi pick her Dracula ensemble.

Voshon, although quieter, was one you recognized as similarly withdrawn and reserved like Miles when the both of you first met. Amadi described him to be a total nerd, and quirky— later proven when he and Miles chased each other with fake swords, running across the aisles while exchanging hits.

When Voshon tosses over the sword to you, however, chaos truly ensued.

“GO GET HIM!” The girls cheered as you and Miles managed to create a questionable chase scene of a Priestess holding a Minecraft sword chasing after a Plague Doctor with a scythe. Onlookers couldn’t help but watch on as the both of you squabbled.

Like a livid cat and its cheesy mouse.

“Esto en un mamey. You too fuckin’ slow!” He teased in between a heave. “Can’t catch me for shit!”

Shit went down as you bent over to take off your boots.

“That ain’t changing, nun— aye puta.” Miles narrowly avoids one of the shoes that came flying at his direction. He looks over like a child in awe, head following the direction of wherever it went.

“I never knew you were Latina, mam– MIERDA LOCO, CEBOLLA COÑO!” And a couple other curses exit his tongue as you tackled him to the ground with a loud crash.

You let a hearty, chesty giggle escape your lips. The adrenaline got you cackling like a comical villain, that even Miles couldn’t help but laugh helplessly along with you. Seeing you like that, with your hair all wild and your smile at its wildest, it softened his whole being.

“… You’re so pretty, mami.” He airily sighed with a cough to the side.

“.. Sure.” Was all you could answer.

And of course, after getting an earful from the staff, you and Miles finally ended your tiny sword-fighting sequence. After changing out of the costumes, all five of you prompted to test out the animatronics.

It was about taking turns.

“AYE, MAMAHUEVO.”

And it was also when you realized, Amadi was Dominican.

You learned a lot of Spanish that day, especially from one step of a button to activate an animatronic.

Everyone’s mouths were.. Extraordinarily filthy.

But you liked it— from watching bursting and spinning animatronics screaming bloody murder at you, to going around talking about all kinds of things with his friends.

“God, I’ve always wanted one of those.” Amadi points at the lace parasol one of the mannequins were holding. “It’s so Morticia Addams.”

“Well, maybe you should get it.” You suggest. “It’d look great with your vampire costume.”

Amadi sighed. “I only got money for the costume, can’t buy sum like that. Maybe I’ll just DIY it with my nana’s old umbrella.”

You squinted a tiny bit, eyeing the sign that announced in bold lettering: $16.99.

And for privileged little you, the sixteen was just change for a hundred dollar bill, which made you inadvertently blurt out. “I can pay.”

“Nah, girlie, it’s gon’ take me whole two to three months ‘fore I can afford to pay you back.”

“I mean, it’s fine—“ You realized just how spoiled you were sounding. “I recently got my paycheck so I guess I can buy you something.”

“Where do you work, though?” Monique added, clinging onto your other hand as the left one was occupied by Miles. “Like do you work at a café or a restaurant?”

“Family business,” You vaguely replied. “Boring stuff. But my dad pays me well enough, so I guess I can live with it— so maybe I can pay for that.”

“No, no, no.” Amadi answered, accent thick. “Really, we can pay for it ourselves.”

But you couldn’t ignore it. Not when you could see Miles openly contemplating on buying the costume or not— as he’s been fiddling with the price tag the whole time you two were walking. And you’ve seen the way Voshon’s been eyeing the diamond sword for a while now.

So you made up your mind.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom for a moment— can you hold this for me, Miles?” You gently nudged your costume towards him before walking away without another word. As you did so, the group gawked in confusion.

“… Where’s she going? The bathroom’s that way.”

Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello, this is Mr. Chávez’s office, how may I help you?”

A simple, roundabout greeting, said over and over for the last few years. Usually followed by a “No, he’s not available at the moment” or a “I’ll take word”, but for the first time, the secretary stammers in embarrassment with her nails clutching onto the phone for dear life. The old man behind the wide, glass doors took note of his poor assistant’s sudden faltering, yet he maintains naturally unfazed.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll put him on the phone with you right this instant.”

Stumbling in her high heels, the secretary staggers inside the man’s office with the whole telephone in her hand.

“Sir, you’ve got an important call.”

“I’m busy, Nicole.”

“It’s your daughter— Miss [Y/n]?” She uttered your name as though you’d materialize out of thin air after chanting it three times. She was horrified of you.

With a click of his tongue, your father picks up the phone.

“What do you want?” He instantly asks of you.

“Dad, remember how you’ve always claimed that the celebration of halloween is unnecessary?”

Without even uttering an answer, you decisively went on.

“Well, in November, there is a tremendously large spike of sales when it comes to anything horror-related. It’s always been capitalist to clad November as a scary month in order to convince people to buy into scary things—“ He hears something tumble in the background. “— and since late October to early November is usually one of the hotel’s lowest months, I figured my proposal would be a perfect proxy for my apology for the way I acted during dinner.”

You didn’t even know what you were talking about at this point, but you were willing to try.

“.. What are you talking about?” He snaps.

“Well, I—“ You hesitated a bit. “I researched a bit, and I’ve come with an unsure solution.”

“What is it?”

“… Can we buy Spirit Halloween?”

[keystonepublishing]

O'Death by InsomniWillow

Fun fact: I started this ficbind about a month ago with some preliminary art layout and typesetting tests. But then I wanted to prioritize binding Jonathan Edelstein's short stories and left this aside.

Well, it's back!

So yeah, another Philza/Missa ficbind! This time, it's a short story about Missa being arrange-married and having a lot of feelings over it. But unlike most other Phissa fics, this one has a background (Emperor) Technoblade too, and do you know how rare it is to find Techno in a Philza/Missa fic?! There should be more fics where he's involved in the pairing!

The main body text is in Alegreya font, with the drop cap in Castellar. The skull is shared from the Renegade Publishing Discord while the flowers and pictures are all sourced online.

And since we're here, can I just say how goddamn difficult it is to find good pics of hot men in dark wedding veils!? I had to turn to artistic models in monochrome, and even then the pickings are slim and paltry. Thankfully, I found an image that can convey the imagery of Missa wearing a dark wedding veil. But I wish there are more options.

While this bind has a comments section, I decided to archive only two comments, as they seem to hit right at the themes of this fic and why it was a captivating read. Besides that, I decided to experiment with placing a giant honking QR code to an archived version of the fic in case I want to read it online.

Oh, and I decided to use the ending pages of the booklet into showcase the quote found in the fic notes. All in all, this was a nice change of pace from the last two short stories.

Thanks to @insomniwillow for writing this fic!

[qe-podfic]

Want To Voice Act In A Massive Multivoice Podfic?

Characters That Still Need To Be Voiced:

AZIRAPHALE

CROWLEY

ANATHEMA

NEWTON

BEELZEBUB

GABRIEL

MURIEL

SANDALPHON

WARLOCK

Quantum Entangled

Fic Summary:

They fit together like the answer to a question they didn’t know they were asking. Two jigsaw puzzles made by the same cosmic company. Each, a distinct picture on its own, but cut from the same lithographic template so that the pieces could be intermingled into amalgam artworks. Monochrome individually, but a beautifully stark contrast together. Contradictive in their antithetical sameness. Crowley was fucked. Oh, he was so utterly fucked. --- AKA the inherent homoeroticism of co-authoring a paper.

Rating: Mature

Words: 51,266

Relationships:

Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Crowley & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens)

Characters:

Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer, Beelzebub (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), Muriel (Good Omens), Shax (Good Omens), Sandalphon (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling

Additional Tags:

Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Human, Pining, Mutual Pining, academic!au, sloooooooow buuuuurn, the inherent homoeroticism of co-authoring a paper, Schrodinger - Freeform, Quantum Mechanics, Matchmaking, matchmaking the matchmakers, most of the characters are from GO, but there is one friendly Ukrainian grandma OC, Fluff, Miscommunication, Light Angst, Banter, Humor, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is somehow Worse at Feelings (Good Omens), Requited Unrequited Love, they're so stupid, They're literally scientists but they're so STUPID, The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), There Was Only One Bed

Language: English

[siffrin-enthusiast]

// intro post

[Image ID: A monochrome GIF of the main characters from the video game In Stars and Time, created by insertdisc5. End ID.]

hello and welcome to my little corner of the internet!!

more information (including about the music) is below the cut but. the tldr is that i'm a happily taken bodily white 19 year old, auDHD disabled transmasc traumagenic DID system currently fixated on in stars and time, ultrakill, and nbc’s hannibal. word salad i know /silly. i go by kuiper and he/they pronouns :)

my asks & dms are always open! feel free to draw me an anon picture (currently unavailable..rip computer) or check out the submissions thread!

while you're here, consider donating to palestine to request a commission from a lovely talented in stars and time artist!! check it out at @isatforpalestine!

can't choose a campaign to donate to? gazafunds.com can choose a vetted campaign for you!!

if you're trying to get the playlist to work, you need to go to your site settings, allow audio, refresh the page, and then play it. It will update itself as you navigate through the entire blog so there aren't any pauses/cutoffs! the good news is once you figure out how to do it, it'll work until you clear all of your site cookies!

interests

there's..a lot!! i'm currently VERY fixated on nbc's hannibal, but there's also in stars and time, web design, room of swords, coding, rain world, deltarune, slay the princess, pokemon, just roll with it, hollow knight, psychology (my college major!), fnaf, inscryption, generation loss, hades, celeste, ultrakill, warrior cats, oneshot, hunger games, moon knight (show + comics), night in the woods, john constantine and a good thirty more that i'm forgetting.

if you want to talk about any of these please feel free to send an ask/dm!!

tagging system

i do my best to keep it simple because i'm too lazy to do a cool one for convenience! interests are tagged with the name of said interest (#in stars and time), and if they're somewhat newly-out, they get a "spoilers" thrown on the end of it (#in stars and time spoilers). if there's something i post about that you don't want to see, i highly encourage you to block its tag! i won't know or be offended! :)

i’ll tag anything that i think is a common thing to be tagged like death/blood, and i do it in the format of #tw death. if this isn’t the right format or anyone wants me to tag other things that i didn’t think of, just let me know! i do NOT post or reblog 18+ content at all (personal reasons).

there's also a few special tags of my own! asks are tagged with #kuiper important posts for the important stuff (like this intro post), #kuiper favorite posts for my favorites/things i return to frequently, #kuiper asks, posts where i ramble about whatever is #kuiper rambling, posts about my dissociation/system are tagged #kuiper system posting though i don’t post about it much, things about my disabilities are occasionally tagged with #kuiper disability moment! i also write fic and while i tag them with #kuiper fics, i post most of them over at my fic sideblog! (..well i DID before i burnt out.)

if there's ever anything that you need tagged, please let me know!!

requests

i'm getting pretty into making stuff so..if anyone ever wants me to try my hand at something, please feel free to ask! this is pretty informal until i set more things up! edits, pfps, icons, stimboards, userboxes, ask games, fic/drabbles, coding, i'm willing to give it an honest shot!! feel free to ask!

any and all requests will be tagged with #kuiper requests!

contact

the best way to contact me here is my dms/asks because my notifications are a. little overrun!!

don't like tumblr? don't worry! i have too many other sites! ranked from most to least used:

neocities

cohost

spacehey

dni

i use the block button liberally, as should you! it's freeing!

basic DNI criteria. you know the drill. bigots will just be blocked

people who don't believe in freeing palestine/zionists

entirely nsfw or untagged nsfw accounts.

entirely ed/sh or untagged ed/sh accounts. i understand if you're struggling with it, but if it is your entire blog, no.

syscourse. post whatever you want on your blog, just don't bring it to mine (asking my opinion, tagging me in things).

blank blogs. i will think you're a bot.

people who are still giving j.k. rowling money. shoo!!!

radfems, terfs, radqueers, transableds, proshippers, stuff like that.

anyone not on that list is more than welcome here!!

credits

theme and the lil cat popup by glenthemes

music player, playlist

the lovely dividers

in stars and time & gif by insertdisc5

siffrin looping gif

[presleyheart]

Hi again!! I just had a brain wave while I was scrolling through pictures of Elvis. Could you write a fic of reader meeting Elvis(any era) at a masquerade ball?? I just think he'd be such a gentleman, as if he wasn't already🤧

Picture for inspiration!

GOD I HARDLY KNOW MUCH ABOUT MASQUERADE BALLS BUT HERE WE GO!

based off of phantom of the opera it explains the ending lol "Killing Me Softly With His Song"

Pairing: 60s!Elvis Presley x fem!reader SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- NOVEMBER 28, 1966.

Many gathered around at the Black and White ball. Many people were invited, from authors to musicians. You were a lucky poet whom had also been invited for your great works. You were in a form fitting white dress, silky as it rode down your body. You had matching heels and pearl earrings. You had a black corsage as well. The mask that decorated your face was half black, half white, with miniature pearls on the outside. ----- --- -----

The grand ballroom was a swirl of monochrome elegance, each guest a moving masterpiece in shades of black and white. The air was filled with the soft hum of conversation, punctuated by the clinking of champagne glasses and the gentle strains of a live orchestra playing timeless classics.

You made your way through the crowd, exchanging polite nods and smiles with other guests. You spotted a few familiar faces—an acclaimed novelist engrossed in conversation with a renowned jazz musician, a playwright animatedly discussing his latest work with a famous actress. It was a night where creativity and artistry mingled freely, and you felt a sense of belonging among these luminaries.

As you approached the center of the room, you noticed a figure standing alone by the grand piano. He was tall and striking, dressed in a tailored black suit with a white mask that contrasted sharply with his dark hair. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers gently tapping the piano keys as if composing a silent melody. ----- --- -----

Intrigued, you made your way over to him. "Hello," you greeted, your voice soft but confident. "Beautiful music tonight, isn’t it?"

He turned to you, his blue eyes were piercing through the mask. His aura was radiant. "I guess," he replied, his voice deep and resonant. "But I believe the most beautiful melodies are yet to be played."

You smiled, feeling a spark of connection. "Are you a musician?" you asked, curious. His voice sounded awfully familiar but you just couldn't put your finger on it.

He nodded. "And many other things. But tonight, I am simply a guest, enjoying the company of other artists." His drawl was heavy, almost addictive.

"What is your name, Mr. Tall, Dark, and-" He shoots you a glance. You immediately pull away from the bubbly introduction. To which he responds to with a crooked smile, then a light chuckle.

"Surprised you ain't guessed yet, doll." He said, looking down at you. He gently takes your hand, it was only then you would have noticed that there was music playing. You were too busy becoming entwined with your fascination for this utter stranger.

"May I have this dance?" His larger hand engulfs yours, all you could do was breathlessly nod.

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

He had then led you to the dance floor. You two were almost in sync, predicting each move. As you moved together in perfect harmony, it felt as though the entire room had faded away, leaving just the two of you, lost in the music and the moment.

His hands slowly trickled down to your hips as you two had a gentle sway going. It was almost like being inside of the music. It was killing you softly.

He had began humming, you rested your head against his chest.

"Your whole aura, it's just-" He cuts you off.

"Shh. Enjoy the peace. Don't get caught up in conversation baby doll."

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

When the two of you finished, there was a moment of silence, followed by an almost silent tension. "Thank you for being my muse tonight." He muttered, he rubbed your cheek with the back of his fingers. Admiring you.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks. "It was my pleasure," you replied.

Right before you two departed from eachother, he stopped you.

"By the way," "Hm?" "The name's Elvis, Elvis Presley."

You were awe-stricken. How could you have not noticed sooner. But, by the time you were to turn around and face him. He was gone. Gone into the crowd of many.

All you were left with was the memory of your sweetly shared dance of genuine interest, and the thought of if you will see him again. FIN.

[jaysficarchive]

The Picture of Monochrome

Chapter 3: Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

Description: Monochrome continues her crime spree with a new target. Meanwhile, Mona attends Calhoun's party and gets her first taste of what her life as a thief brings.

Taglist: @floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @mayameanderings

A lot was on the agenda today: rehersals, picking up dresses and shoes, getting hair and makeup done for tonight. Those could all wait until Monochrome was finished paying a visit to another friend of Helene and Felix's, one Mr. Roald van der Woodsen. Mona likened him to Dorian Grey; handsome on the outside, but horrifically ugly on the inside.

Law may have been his profession, but making passes at Mona and just about any other attractive younger woman was his passion. Too many sex scandals, all ending in hush money payments, under his belt to make any woman trust him with just about...anything.

Roald's wandering eye found itself on Mona too many times for her liking. She avoided being alone with him, forbid him from ever touching her, and made sure to always keep her drinks away from him. The man was old enough to be her father.

Stealing from him was payback for everytime he made her a target of his perversion. Roald had plenty of magnificent paintings that'd look better in the homes of others or herself.

And this time, she had help.

Pushing open the doors to his sitting room, Monochrome snapped her fingers as two henchmen called Tint and Shade appeared at her side. The pair released the robots to carefully take the original artworks out the frame and replaced them with black and white replicas.

"Get these outside to Neutral. Don't let van der Woodsen see you," Monochrome ordered.

"What about you?" Shade asked.

Monochrome wickedly grinned under her mask. She had something special for him.

"I'm going to pay him a personal visit."

Creeping her way through the manor, she found her way to his bedroom. She had no need to worry about her footsteps being heard; he'd think it was one of the maids anyway. Her steps slowed the closer she got to his room. Monochrome had to be careful not to make any other noises.

Light poured out the crack gave way for Monochrome look inside. Sure enough there was van der Woodsen and a young woman in his bed. Have mercy on that poor lady. Before she could strike, she heard him say something.

"I tried to hire some of his men, but he just laughed at me!"

Monochrome froze. Who was he talking to? She narrowed her eyes as she listened in.

"For a city with so much crime, hiring people can be so difficult. I offered them anything and everything!"

Pressing a button on her mask, the conversation was recorded. Could this have to do with Francis's death?

"There's nothing to worry about, Helene. Everything's said and done now. Sad to see the boy go. Business is business though."

Helene! Of course she'd be involved with this.

Mona's suspicions about her in-laws being involved in the death of her late husband, their own son, never went away. Everything surrounding it seemed too convenient. She could just sense it. For whatever reason they took him from her, both Helene and Felix would be dealt with accordingly.

Sudden sadness about Francis filled her heart. Life wasn't the same without him. She didn't show it but the grief continued to eat away at her. Staff members pointed out her increasingly nonsensical behavior of things Francis used to do.

Balling her fist, Monochrome made her escape out a nearby window. Revenge would have to wait.

Don't get comfortable, van der Woodsen. Next time, I'll get answers out of you!

Mona--dressed in an elegant white gown--looked at herself in the mirror. This would be her first public appearance since her husband's death. Despite being unsure if this was the way to go about it, she needed the money. Moreso now that a baby was coming.

"You look beautiful, madame." Salome stared in awe.

"Thank you, Salome." Mona pulled a stack of cash out her purse. Shen then placed it in Salome's hand. "You can take the next month off. I know you've been wanting to visit your family again."

Salome's eyes widened. "Madame, I-"

"You've been at my service since you were 19. Relax and go back to your family." Mona placed her hands on Salome's shoulders. She saw her younger self in the maid--a promising young woman trying to get by in the world.

Tears welled in Salome's eyes as she nodded. She walked to the door, stopping to face Mona one last time. "Thank you, mistress. Good luck."

Mr. Calhoun's estate was nothing short of amazing with how packed, lively the place was. Guests greeted her with bright smiles, handshakes, and even some kisses. A few asked to take pictures with her or for autographs. Mona felt like she was in Hollywood all over again.

Halle and Mamie soaked up every bit of attention they got, flirting with the sons of a few guests. Mona let them. They were young and having fun.

She searched around for Calhoun.

I hope he remembered.

She certainly didn't forget. It wouldn't be her first time selling art; but to do so with stolen pieces was entirely different.

Selling stolen works worked just like traditional art. Unlike money or jewelry, art had fluctuating value. If the artist died or was popular, values shot up. Getting buyers was the hardest part. Some were particular about if a product was stolen or not. It was a lesson she learned the hard way during her first year as an artist.

Hopefully selling them to Calhoun and his associates would bring in a profit, or at least a bit of money.

"Thirsty, Mrs. Beauvais?"

Mona mindlessly took the drink from the offering hand, thinking it was a server. "Mèsi."

"You, uh, told me you got some things you wanted to show me."

Mona's eyes widened, realizing that Calhoun gave her the drink. Curse her for being so unaware! That was no way to treat host nor potential client. "My apologies! I was looking for you everywhere!"

"No hard feelings. Where's your stuff?"

Mona led him out a back door to where her car--which contained the stolen art--was. Calhoun called a few of his men to come and take the goods inside so he could look at them. He then handed her a large stack of money.

"What's this for?" Confused, but not complaining.

"You kept your word. I respect that." Putting an arm around her, he walked her back inside. The pair walked into the room where his associates waited. Mona did her best to feign nervousness. For some reason she couldn't. Being around these men wasn't natural yet she felt comfortable. Finely dressed they were, these weren't record executives or museum curators.

These were the people her husband fought against in court. Who she watched being taken to prison. Some probably still held grudges against him. A bitter taste entered her mouth. Still she continued to let Francis down with her newfound criminal ways. It brought her back to the day of the funeral.

How could she betray him like this? She swore in her vows to be faithful and true.

"Gentlemen, this is Mona Lisa Beauvais. You might know 'er. Got some stuff she wants to sell ya. Can't hold her for too long, though, she's here to perform for my wife."

With the snap of his fingers, his men brought in the stuff. The bosses looked over each artpiece with keen detail. Some scratched their chins estimating the values in their head.

Mona, silent and emotionless, stared off. Grief was a whirlwind of emotions. Was this how her mother felt when her father died? Constant emptiness and walking dead among the living? But maybe there was a bright side to it. She could say her criminal acts were all because of grief. But what if her new lifestyle caught up with her? What if someone from inside her circle sold her out? Where would she even go? Who could she run to?

By the time the deal was done, she made well over a hundred thousand dollars. Just in time since her performance was about to begin.

"Nervous, Mrs. Beauvais?" Halle asked, adjusting her costume. "You shouldn't be. That Woodsen guy isn't here either so that's good for us."

Mona said nothing. Her mind was an empty void, consumed with emotions she wouldn't be able to put into words if she had a dictionary.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to the one, the only: Mona Lisa Beauvais!"

Thunderous applause followed with cheers filled the room as Mona walked onto the stage. She shone like an angel thanks to her white dress. Nothing about her was angelic, at least not anymore. With a deep breath, she took the microphone in one hand. The band played, letting the smooth jazz flow through the room.

"In the glow of a twilight sky where the gentle breezes sigh, two souls on an island, lost in time, with the ocean's whispers and love's sweet rhyme."

[insomniac-jay]

Guess what's coming yall

The room was immersed in laughter and chatter while servants went around serving guests complimentary food and sparkling drinks. Jazz and classical musicians and entertainers wowed the audience gathered around them with dancers winking and blowing kisses at some of the well dressed men in suits.

It was a golden celebration for a massive legal victory of one Francis Beauvais, planned by his beloved wife Mona Lisa. Anybody who was someone was invited to the event--all except Francis's own family, of course.

Though she doubted they'd come even if she invited them. The Beauvais family made their hatred of her very clear from the moment they saw them together.

Don't think about them, Mona, she reminded herself. She looked out at those in attendance from the foyer. Some were her friends from college, others were those she made in Hollywood. There were also friends and fraternity brothers of attorney Beauvais. All were honored and welcomed, of course. Mona had the pleasure of calling them friends of hers as well.

She immediately recognized her old classmate Professor Bahira Haziz and her husband Jamil. But they didn't look happy to be around or even with one another, just as they'd been years ago. Mona took it as a sign of their impending divorce and said a silent prayer that their children would be okay.

When a pair of familiar golden brown hands went on her waist, Mona didn't flinch or falter. Instead, she embraced the warmth of Francis.

He trimmed his beard down just enough to not create stubble and his mustache was as thick and full as ever. His dark brown eyes gleamed with love and excitement.

"Congratulations, mon amour!" Mona smiled. Her hands were intertwined with his. "This was your biggest case yet and you won!"

Francis charmed her with his own smile. "This is a party that'd make my mother jealous. You've truly outdone yourself, Mo."

"Now, Francis," Mona bashfully flustered as she looked away. Hearing her husband's chuckle made her heart soar. "You know this party is for you, mon amour. It's time for you to celebrate the labors of your hard work."

Taking her hand, Francis led Mona to the dancefloor and took her in his arms. With a gentle but firm hand on her waist, they swayed to the music. Seeing Mona's beautiful smile and grayish green eyes illuminate lit up his world.

"Thank you for this gift, Mona Lisa Beauvais." Francis kissed her lips with a tender passion. Mona happily returned and accepted the favor--setting fireworks off between them. "I promise to repay you in full."

"You don't have to, mon amour."

"But I must. It wouldn't be fair to you or me."

She was then dipped down, allowing her to see the approving, though upside-down, faces of her friends--including Bahira. When she came back up, she sighed in defeat.

"Oke, ou genyen." Mona said in her Creole accent.

Hearing her speak the tongue brought a victorious smile to Francis's face. He, much like Mona herself, was Haitian. His several great-grandparents came from the island to Gotham in search of a better life. Mona's mother had came for the same. Their shared heritage made their love stronger.

"Mèsi, cheri."

Hours after the party, Mona sighed in content as she relaxed in a warm bath together. Rose petals rested on top of soapy bubbles and beeswax candles surrounded the tub.

"Mother, you know why you weren't invited to the party," Francis said from their bedroom.

Mona reared her head around the corner to see him holding the phone to his ear. Apparently, Helene Beauvais, Francis's mother, had some feelings about not being invited to the celebration. Not that Mona cared. She'd invite the Devil before she ever invited Helene.

"If you and Father had been invited, you two would've berated Mona all night. I'm not standing for that," Francis paced around the room. "I don't care about running for District Attorney! You know this!"

Poor Francis, she thought as she laid back in the tub. Ever since Francis became a lawyer, his family had been pushing him to run for District Attorney, especially when Harvey Dent was running for it. But that wasn't what he wanted.

Francis became a lawyer to make a difference and help those in need. He wasn't a glory hunter like his father Felix.

After the bath, Mona joined her husband. She gave him a hug to help him relieve his frustrations. At times, she really wanted to let Helene and Felix have it for how they treated them.

"Why do they have to be so frustrating?" Francis asked. "It's like nothing I do or say will satisfy them."

"Sometimes you can't reason with people like them, amour," Mona mused. "But you don't need them. You just do you."

Francis nodded. He felt comfort in her words. "Thanks, Mona. Let's just focus on us and these plans for the future. I think we're at a comfortable point to start a family."

Discussions of children happened long before they got married. Both Francis and Mona agreed to wait until they were at a comfortable point in their lives to have children. The time was now.

"Oui. I'd love to be able to paint pictures of us as a family."

Francis rubbed her stomach. He always wanted to be a father, and felt no shame in becoming a parent in his thirties. His grandparents did the same thing. "What do you think our child's name would be?"

With a coy smile on her face, Mona answered, "Mabelle Josephine Beauvais."

In seconds, Francis riddled her face with kisses, making Mona laugh. "Mona Lisa Beauvais, you are truly my soulmate!"

Mabelle was the name of Francis's grandmother and Felix's mother while Josephine was the name of his great-grandmother. Them and their husbands were the only Beauvais who were nice to Mona.

Josephine was a lover of art, and was elated when she learned Mona was an artist. She gave her hope in a city where artists and celebrities weren't key players. When Mona got her first art exhibit, Josephine was there front and center.

Though it's been years since she passed, Mona could feel Josephine's presence in the beautiful art sets she bought her.

As for Mabelle, she was another ally in her corner. Similar to herself, Mabelle came from a normal family (or a lowborn as Helene would call both of them) and made her fortune as a costume designer. Josephine welcomed Mabelle with open arms and Mabelle did the same with Mona.

How she mothered someone like Felix was a mystery.

"What if our child were a boy?" Mona looked up at Francis for his answer. "What would his name be?"

"Rohan Chirstophe Beauvais." Francis answered. He chuckled loudly as Mona showered him in her own kisses. Rohan from her late father Rohan Upton and Christophe from his grandfather.

@floof-ghostie @calciumcryptid @jasontoddssuper @honeysgalaxy @elflynns-horde-of-stuff

[50shadesofoctarine]

Quantum Entangled - Chapter 8

Fic Summary:

They fit together like the answer to a question they didn’t know they were asking. Two jigsaw puzzles made by the same cosmic company. Each, a distinct picture on its own, but cut from the same lithographic template so that the pieces could be intermingled into amalgam artworks. Monochrome individually, but a beautifully stark contrast together. Contradictive in their antithetical sameness. Crowley was fucked. Oh, he was so utterly fucked. --- AKA the inherent homoeroticism of co-authoring a paper.

Rating: Mature

Words: 62,152

Relationships:

Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Anathema Device, Crowley & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Gabriel (Good Omens)

Characters:

Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley (Good Omens), Anathema Device, Newton Pulsifer, Beelzebub (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), Muriel (Good Omens), Shax (Good Omens), Sandalphon (Good Omens), Warlock Dowling

Additional Tags:

Slow Burn, Alternate Universe - Human, Pining, Mutual Pining, academic!au, sloooooooow buuuuurn, the inherent homoeroticism of co-authoring a paper, Schrodinger - Freeform, Quantum Mechanics, Matchmaking, matchmaking the matchmakers, most of the characters are from GO, but there is one friendly Ukrainian grandma OC, Fluff, Miscommunication, Light Angst, Banter, Humor, Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Aziraphale is somehow Worse at Feelings (Good Omens), Requited Unrequited Love, they're so stupid, They're literally scientists but they're so STUPID, The Bentley Ships It (Good Omens), Fake/Pretend Relationship, Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), There Was Only One Bed

Language: English

[madameaug]

Promise Me || Bucky x Black Reader

Synopsis: This occurs maybe about a year after the events of Captain America: Civil War. The reader is a black woman and should be imagined as such :) Bucky is 37, and the reader is ideally 32/33.

Very angsty (reader and bucky are getting a divorce). Not edited at the moment. First non-BTS imagine/fic so I'm super nervous. I love Marvel too <3

I didn't think forever for us would end so soon. Four years seemingly going down the drain. Two years of dating, eight months of engagement, and barely a year of marriage. I felt like I was giving up. Quitting. Like I wasn't honoring my vows.

Til death do us part.

But when I took those vows I believed I was giving them to James Buchanan Barnes. Who I lovingly refer to as Bucky. A man a slightly older than me, but didn't look a day over thirty. He was the man that I envisioned as a little girl marrying.

A man who was tall, easy on the eyes, with a look of danger, but a heart of gold. Bucky had the perfect mix of both. A veteran turned firefighter. He risked his life daily, saving those in a life-or-death situation. He was second chances, personified for these people. He was a light of hope in the darkness of succumbing to a burning fate. He was a hero.

A hero.

A hero more in the literal sense than what I could have possibly imagined.

Bucky Barnes wasn't a thirty-seven-year-old man who was technologically challenged. Not a man who liked listening to music artist from the 1930s. He was sophisticated and romantic.

Doll was his favorite name to call me. Initially, I thought he was just trying to hard not to use generic pet names like 'baby' or 'bae'. Or that maybe his fascination with the olden days carried into his pet names for his girlfriends. But now I wish the truth was that easy and simple to understand. It didn't involve decades of high-profile assassinations and the bringing down of governments.

One man could bring down an entire government regime.

And that man, is my husband?

My James?

My Bucky?

The man sitting across from me in this stuffy monochrome conference room. Well the conference room was quite large. It's just the tension was sucking out any air circulation.

When I took my vows to James Barnes, I hadn't realized I said them to this 'Winter Soldier' to. A man wanted by hundreds of countries for international crimes that date back to the Kennedy administration. A man hunted down by the Black Panther for killing the king of the most powerful nation.

No, surely there was a mistake.

But I would be foolish to argue with evidence. Pictures of his stalky figure I curled up to several times at night. Blue eyes were the portals to his true thoughts. Shoulder-length hair I raked my fingers through mindlessly when listening to him recount his twelve-hour shift at the station. His wardrobe wasn't anything special, which explains why he could slip under the radar for so long.

That was him. He was responsible but not at the same time. Fourteen hours after being interrogated by Maria Hill, I better understood the double life Bucky The Winter Soldier had been living. Believed to be dead by the Allies, he was held hostage by Karpov, who brainwashed him and tortured him until he became the Winter Soldier. Breaking his mind, and piecing him back together to become he perfect killing machine in human form.

Helmut Zemo managed to get his hands on the book containing the words that activate the Winter Solider. He awakened the monster and manipulated him into the bombings that killed King T'Chaka. He used the Winter Solider to effectively divide and dissolve the Avengers. Zemo was responsible for taking away the Bucky that I knew. The hero.

"I'm glad you and your client could be civil and agree to our demands." Your lawyer, Jennifer Walters, spoke. You and Bucky's lawyer had been talking for twenty minutes, but you couldn't focus on their legal jargon. You were tuned out, tracing your steps on how you and Bucky were sitting in this office. On the opposite end of the table, staring at each other as if we'd become opponents. No longer players on the same team.

Bucky's eyes dragged across to scan Jennifer's face. In his heart he held no misplaced hatred for the woman. She was a professional doing her job, representing the interest of her client. He didn't spend long reading the lists of things that you wanted from the marriage.

The house was yours, he wouldn't dare try to live in that house if you weren't there. It wasn't good for him to stay in open spaces, for too long it freaked him out.

Most of your demands were reasonable and he put up no fight. He didn't want to fight with you. When he finally got his head on straight, he wanted to explain his disappearance. He wanted to be the first person to tell you about the Soviets and the Winter Soldier Program. He wanted to tell you about the bad things that he's done, but his memory was a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. He wasn't sure if you would believe him, until he had all the pieces. When he did come across a piece, he was scared that it would show more harm than he did.

Confirming his belifs that he wasn't worthy of a second chance. That he could find happiness living a solo mundane life. Even with his slow aging, he could blend in his environment and live a good life. He would keep intact what little of his humanity he had left. But after Zemo got his hands on him again that little sliver of his humanity was gone. He was a tool designed for slaughter and destruction. Becoming a firefighter saving people wouldn't undo all the lives he took. Marrying you, the love of his life, wouldn't give him the normalcy he sought. He was reminded of that every time he looked down and saw the metal arm. The brute strength granted him the ability to kill with ease. The same metal arm that would now be a reminder of everything he was getting ready to lose with his wife.

The lawyers summarized the documents, and everything signed up to this point. The deed to the house, papers to change your last name, insurance paperwork, everything was discussed. Bucky even took it upon himself to hand you his 401k from firefighting.

Never had the lawyers seen a divorce proceeding go so smoothly. Usually, they have to clear out the rest of their calendars for divorce calendars. Would today be the day that they get out before the late lunch rush? Oh, let it be true.

Jennifer was smart in her word choice. Avoiding the emotional minefields that the couple has. The room was somber, as you shared your emotional hardships. Dealing with the sudden disappearance of your husband. Preparing for a funeral without a body, dreading adopting the label as a widower. Becoming behind on the mortgage and personal family issues flaring up.

Even though it was emotionally heavy, it was easy to formulate the words. You thought long and hard about what you wanted to say. However, you didn't truly have the words for the physical hardship, which was much more challenging to hide. Your right wrist in a sling. A fracture of the ulna and three smaller bones. The one place Bucky has been fighting with himself not to look.

From an instance of right place, wrong time. It would be your first time revealing the details of your broken wrist out loud. Even when Jennifer asked, you were short with your explanation. But looking at Bucky for probably the last time, you were moved by emotion. Emotions of hurt, frustration, and sorrow.

"I see that you haven't signed the restraining order." You gathered your tone to sound as unemotional and far removed as possible.

"Why?"

"I'm not signing it."

The tension in the room deepens as this is the first time you have directly spoken to Bucky. Your lawyers were doing a lot of the communicating for you.

He didn't want to word vomit his emotions and potentially mispeak. Widening the divide between the two. So he opted to sit in silence, letting his heartbreak in silence. Divorce from the only woman he ever loved was going to take a lifetime to heal. On top of that, a restraining order would send him to an early grave.

"What? I thought you agreed to all of our terms."

"That's why I wanted to talk in person. I cant get myself to agree to this. I can't."

Bucky sat across from you with a plea in his eyes. He didn't want to let go of the connection he spent four years building with you. His heart and mind fought each other for days when he got the divorce paperwork. His heart wanted to fight for the marriage. Fight for the sacred union yall made in front of your friends and family. Fight for the love he knew deep down that you still had for him. But his mind hit him with the harsh truth. You weren't safe around him. Having all these enhanced abilities, having this metal arm could protect you. That it wasn't a curse, but a blessing in disguise.

But that wasn't true. And his brain reminded him of that fact with a mental image of your arm in the sling.

It was before Steve managed to track down Bucky's coordinates to that apartment building. When he was still hiding in plain sight. You just happened to be there. Browsing different vendors, as it was the city was hosting a market.

Bucky was right beside you, you knew his scent from anywhere. And the fact that his head slightly turned in your direction, upon calling him confirmed it.

"Buck is that you?"

You raised a hand to touch his face. "It's me. Remember?" His metal hand gripped yours tightly. His hand clapped down on your wrist, leaving you at the mercy of his strength.

You attempted to snatch your hand back. Eyes swelled with tears, as the pain was escalating. Buck remained silent, as he twisted your wrist, to an almost 180 point.

"STOP IT! JAMES STOP!" Your shriek brought unnecessary attention to him. In a frustrated grunt, he huffed before completing the snap. He walked off into the crowd without looking back at you. Those eyes that were the portals to reading his mind was closed. There was nothing behind those eyes. Even in the presence of his wife, his eyes didn't change. I was a stranger. A stranger that he could very easily hurt with little provocation.

Holding onto your broken wrist you were soon comforted by a stand manager. He got you up on your feet and walked you in the direction of the nearest medical aid.

"Please, Bucky. Let this be a clean break. It's for the best."

"The best for who?" His voice a mixture of frustration and vulnerability. "I've been through a lot. We've been through a lot. I want to fight for us. This restraining order snuffs out any chance of us rekindling this."

"We've changed Bucky. The world has changed. I need a fresh start, and I think you need one too."

"You are my fresh start. Don't you see!?" Bucky couldn't go into much detail. His lawyer was unaware of his assassin's past. He was more skeptical than ever about what details he shared about his personal life. Lawyer, doctor, psychiatrist or not. There could be more Zemo's looking to play puppet master with his mind.

"Think about your safety."

The lawyers attempt to mediate. They could sense that something was being left out of the conversation. Something that was connected to your arm in the sling. You were standing firm in your position to sever any ties to Bucky. This was the best decision for the both of you.

Bucky didn't have to worry about his superhero work trickling into his personal life. Not having to worry if some vengeful villain would come searching for you, and harm you to even out the score with Bucky. It was just another concern that didn't have to cloud his mind.

While you wouldn't have to worry about Bucky not coming back home. Getting the news from SHIELD agents that Bucky had died protecting the world from some global threat. The heartache would be too much.

"This is getting us nowhere. Did you and your client really come here to waste our time?"

"Mr. Barnes is just as entitled to getting all of his demands met.

The lawyers started bickering. The couple with actual grounds of argue sitting in silence. You spoke up first, your raised voice silencing the room.

"I'm not asking you to change who you are. I know you've been through a lot. And it is a lot." You reached your hand out to grasp his. You wanted to convey that your heart was full of love for Bucky. You could see a broken and scared man in front of you. A man with more skeletons in his closet than you would like to imagine. But you loved him. And with that love, you had to make the tough choices for both of you.

"You need space and time to collect yourself. Fight those battles in your mind. Get better and heal."

A singular tear runs down your cheek and hits the wooden table as you continue spilling your heart out.

"I love you. I love all of you, and I forgive you. You were unwell and need true help. As much as I want to remove that pain from you, I know that I can't. My love isn't enough. Sometimes love requires letting go. Let me go. Please."

"Even when I was sick, I still had dreams of you. I couldn't make out your face, but I found myself reliving our dates. The time I took you to the drive-thru movies. You said I made you feel like you were in high school again. Or the time I accidentally used all your leave in conditioner on wash day.

Then I started dreaming of a family with you. Raising mini versions of ourselves away from the chaos my life brought. The woods were our backyard, and we were happy. With you I was happy. I still want to make that dream a reality. I'm willing to give up anything to ensure our future."

You listened to his plea. You could tell he was genuine. He would if he could give up his enhanced abilities to be with you. No doubt about it. However, you knew that Bucky was meant for something greater. When he was a soldier who fought the good fight. He was destined to be a hero. A would-be alongside Captain America, fighting threats the world doesn't know about. Ensuring that we live in a world, where us regular people wouldn't have to.

"I can't be the reason you give that up, Buck." You said gently. "It's a part of who you are. Even when you've made mistakes, I've seen you try to right your wrongs. That's the Bucky I know, the hero."

The room was silent again filled with emotion. Bucky had to come to terms that yall were on different paths. Two paths diverged into a left and right. That even under the premise of love, you were right. Bucky was too vulnerable. It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. The Winter Soldier was an ugly part of him that he had to live with. He has to make room for that identity instead of pretending it never existed.

He would be working with Steve and Sam Wilson on hunting down any of the remaining Winter Soldiers. He was thrusting himself into danger. Danger that he didn't want you to be apart of, danger that he felt responsible to end.

You leaned over to whisper in Jennifer's ears. Maybe the restraining order was too much. You were making a rash decision that you may come to regret in the future. Jennifer following the request of her client, placed the restraining order papers in the shredder.

"My client had a change of mind." She stood up packing up all the signed papers in her briefcase.

"Well all the paperwork is signed, our work is done here."

The divorce meeting came to a close and both parties went their separate ways. There you stood discussing the next steps with Jennifer. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky alone. He waited at the bottom of the stairs.

Jennifer took her cue to dismiss herself. With your eyes low, you carefully walked down the courthouse steps to stand before Bucky.

"Promise me we will find a way back to each other."

"I can't promise that Bucky. And you shouldn't make promises you can't keep."

"I would keep that promise. I would stake my life on it." He brought your left hand to his chest. Your wedding ring still on your finger. You hadn't thought about when you would take it off.

"Promise me." His lips were a few inches away from yours. Your eyes were conversing in another language of their own. Saying their goodbyes, and final 'I love yous.'

You brought Bucky into your arms. Arms wrapping around his shoulder as you cried silently to yourself. Bucky tightened his arms around you, his warms rubbing circles in your back. A hypnotizing pattern that would put you to sleep. It was settling over the both of you that this could be the last time that you held one another like this.

You let go of the hug first. Your hand on his chiseled face again. This time not worried that he would harm you again.

"I love you." You laid a tender kiss on his lips. Capturing your affection and goodbyes.

"Promise me." Bucky spoke during the kiss. "Promise me Doll."

You placed your thumb over his lip. You looked deep into his eyes. He was hanging onto every word that you said. Bucky's phone rings, breaking the staring contest you had. To no ones surprise, Steve was on the other end. A bitter reminder of the double life that Bucky was apart of.

"I need to hear you say it."

"I promise."

Bucky leaves a passing kiss on your lips before walking away from the courthouse. He picked up the phone, walking with haste. In a few short seconds, a red-headed woman joined him on his side.

My hero.

My Bucky.

[7clubs]

[ ID: In monochrome reds, a furious Franziska glares and grits her teeth at Sebastian, whose eyes are unseen. ]

Teach Me Imperfection — Chapter 4

A Franziska-centric Gen fic, 7yg.

Franziska dreams of departure gates, and follows Sebastian to the courthouse hoping to get answers—or to make them see her way.

Rating: T

Length: 3.6k (Ch. 4)

The fic overall focuses on Franziska's many relationships, in particular a growing friendship with Sebastian. But before anything else—she has to reckon with what her family saddled her with.

[ Link to Fic ] + full art below...

[ ID: Uncropped version of the first picture. Sebastian looks down at Franziska, wary. ]

[willshipanything-blog]

Rules of the Game- Epilogue

Here it is. The final FINAL chapter. And I mean it this time! 😅

Thanks to everyone who's shown this fic some love, it's been so so appreciated! ♥

Short and Sweet epilogue, but tags still apply to the whole fic- detailed tags on AO3.

Full Chapter Index here

Read on AO3 here

Chapter 26- A Sense of Direction

The basement room had long since been abandoned. You imagined it decaying from disuse; mildew seeping in from the cracks in the walls, damp forcing its way through the cold stone via the thin glass plating of the small, grimy window. The old fashioned black rotary phone affixed to the wall concealed by layers of dust, obscuring the numbered dial. Mold speckling the damp mattress, housing only mites and fleas now. And in a dim corner, the knife lying untouched since being flung away in disgust, oxidizing in the damp air, rusted and forgotten. But these things were not seen; Al had sealed shut the metal door to that awful place, closing it one last time with a final thud and click. You could only imagine that room below you, though most days it was not a place that occupied your mind. 

Up the narrow staircase, the kitchen still hosted Naughty Girl on certain nights, when you gave the signal you were eager to play. You would commit a purposeful transgression, and would be duly punished. Normally, Al would take position in his chair and you retrieved the frowning mask, affixing it for him before giving yourself over to his sinful, wicked, gratifying whims. Submitting to his punishments and receiving pleasures alongside them. But currently, it was just the kitchen, dinner finished and dishes cleaned and drying out on the rack. A grocery list, in your handwriting, stuck to the refrigerator for Al; ingredients you’d need to cook tomorrow night’s dinner. 

Through to the lounge, where so little seemed to have changed since your arrival, but on closer inspection, almost everything had. No bicycle lock latched the door closed; it was redundant now, and only likely to cause suspicion for anyone who might knock. Plus, Max had mentioned he might be swinging by at some point, excited to hear about Al's new squeeze (Max's words, not his, according to Al). Books were littered across the room: a few on the sideboard next to the phone, a couple stuffed in the magazine rack, a small, ever-growing pile stashed under the coffee table. You’d seen to it that Al’s record collection had an update too, more vinyls from this decade sporadically placed between his 50s and 60s albums. And of course, the side table, which was more densely populated in recent weeks, a cluster of photographs instead of one lonely frame. The monochrome picture of Al and Max still stood there, but joined by two others now. An even older, sepia-toned photo of a young woman holding a young child- Al and his mother. You’d encouraged him to remember the good parts of his past. And, in a small square frame- just the right size to fit a polaroid print taken at home- a saturated picture of you and Al together. You wore a wide grin on your face, rivaling that of Max’s elated, buck toothed smile in the adjacent photo. Behind you, holding you from behind and pressing his face into your hair, obviously camera-shy, was Al. It was an odd angle (you hadn’t quite got the hang of holding the camera and taking a photo at the same time), but it was the best one you took after using the whole sleeve of instant films.

Down the hallway, at the end of the corridor, lay Al’s bedroom, your bedroom too, now. Your shared domain. It had become your favorite place to spend most evenings recently; the window to the back of the house was west-facing, you discovered, affording a perfect view of the distant Rockies just before dusk. Spring was gradually seeping into summer, and the view behind the mountains was getting more beautiful each evening. Heavy, rolling clouds gave way to the developing colors of sunset; lavender to lilac to mauve, before the sun gradually receded behind the Rocky Mountains. Although, by the time twilight arrived and the sky was painted an inky blue, you and Al had long since closed the curtains and found other things to focus your attentions on, better things to admire.

————————

You were reading by the late afternoon glow of another Denver sunset. It was Jane Eyre (the beautifully bound copy Al had gifted you for your birthday), and you were trying to finish your chapter before the last of the sun’s rays meandered away. Al was with you, of course; you were nestled snugly against him on the silky sheets of your shared bed. You had the book propped on your knees and were wrapped cozily in his blue cardigan that still smelled of cologne and smoke. The comforting smell hadn’t dissipated since he’d given you the jacket; you had a sneaking suspicion that he sprayed it every now and then, so you’d always have his scent near to you, even when he was away at work during most weekdays. 

Al stayed quiet so you could read in peace. You knew he enjoyed these tranquil moments just as you did; casually brushing his fingers through your hair, squeezing you gently (perhaps to check this was actually real, that you were really there with him). Enjoying the quiet, shared serenity of the late afternoon. The only sounds to be heard were rustling paper as you leafed through the pages of your book and low, intermittent hums that Al exhaled as he held you close to him.

You wondered if Al wasn't half snoozing, his breaths slow and deep. One hand entwined loosely in a lock of your hair; the other had found its way to your waist, where it rubbed rhythmic circles in your skin. 

“Something funny, dove?”

“Hmm?” you asked, having been lost in the words on the page. You closed the book and tilted your head to half-face him, a little tricky when you were leaning on his chest. Al placed a soft kiss on your temple as you turned before speaking again.

“I thought you laughed at something.”

“Oh. Um-” you stumbled a little “No- I wasn’t laughing. Just one of my favorite parts of the book.” You hadn’t realized, but you must have let out a soft exhale at the section you had just read. You thumbed back through the book to find where you were, blushing slightly before reading it aloud at Al’s suggestion.

“I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.”

You sat for a moment in the stillness of the room, doused now in the last few minutes of sunlight. The book sat in your limp hands, those words seeming to burn a hole in the paper. Al was quiet too, as if both of you were sadly contemplating the quote. It seemed a stark contrast to your own story, diverging down a different road completely. You weren’t some brave heroine who always did the right thing, the conscionable thing. 

Unlike Jane, you were a bird, you were Al’s little dove. All his. And you had been ensnared in his net. By force at first, but now through your own choices, your own independent will. You were unsure how to feel about the passage. It was one of those unfortunate triggers, like when you’d read Griffin’s name on that card, or had seen that flash of rage in Al’s eyes, that reminded you of all the reasons you shouldn’t have stayed. But it was getting easier to forget the past, when the present (and the thought of the future) seemed so perfect. Each sunset marked the close of another day with Al, a beautiful marker that signified another day of being his. Of him being yours. Each other’s entirety. 

As if sensing your disquiet, Al grabbed you from behind, pulling you in closer to the heat of his body. His arms felt protective and you closed your eyes, sinking into the embrace. A comfort for the both of you; him, savoring you in his arms, his little bird. And you- safe and happy in the cage you had chosen to stay in. 

“Did she leave him? In the book?” Al questioned, whispering in your ear. He already knew the answer, but you obliged.

“No. She left for a while, but she knew she’d made a mistake. She knew she loved him. She went back.”

“A happy ending, then.” Al said. 

“Yes, a happy ending.” 

You thought a little more, still held tightly in his grip, and you smiled to yourself in the dimming light of the room. You had made a choice, had been given the opportunity to leave everything behind. To leave him. And you had chosen to stay. It wasn’t an easy choice, but you didn’t regret the decision you made all those weeks ago. It felt like the right choice after all. That burden, the guilt of the choices you’d made, you knew you’d carry with you forever. An inevitable consequence to your actions. But you hoped it was worth the cost. You had to believe it. 

Al rose from his position, and you shuffled to allow him to get up. He switched on the bedroom lamp before moving to draw the curtains. Dusk had come, ending another day together. But the night was only just beginning. Those heavy thoughts, those guilty feelings and questions you asked yourself- they were lost in the darkness. As if the setting sun, the closed curtains, kept them at bay, at least for a little while. 

“Did he punish her for leaving?” Al asked, his rumbling voice laced with an impish tone. He’d chosen his words carefully, and stalked back to the bed with a beautifully dangerous glint in his eyes. Just as the day had given way to night, his eyes too had darkened to that glistening onyx color. 

“No, he didn’t.” you said knowingly, placing the book on the nightstand beside the bed.

“Well, that doesn’t sound like much fun now, does it, dove?”

A playful titter escaped your lips. He climbed back onto the bed as you began to undress- his scent would be on you again soon enough. The game was resuming, and you both knew the rules by now. 

“My good girl. My precious dove. You’re not leaving, hm?”

“I’m right here, Al. I’m yours.”