#frantically trying to remember words of lullabies and poems and things that would not be deemed important enough to be in a survival guide

[jellolegos]

Doodle Kara w some kryptonian tattoos

[beyondspaceandstars]

Hi!

I've been reading some of your posts and I am a big fan🥰

I was wondering if its okay, maybe you could do a Loki x reader where they were best friends and denied each others feelings all the time and when Loki was brought to the TVA, he found reader there and lots of angst and fluff🥰💞😁

Have a great day😁😁💞💞🥰🥰

Nothing Gold

Relationship: Loki x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: thank you so much for enjoying me work I am so glad that makes me so happy! thank you so much for the request. I really liked this idea and I think it came out okay - sorry the ending it a bit abrupt! thank you again :)

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Loki had to do a full-on, dramatic as hell, double-take while walking through the TVA library. He had come down to look for a variant file but had apparently ended up finding something else. More specifically — someone else.

You. You. You.

You, his best friend. You, the sweet girl he had a never-ending crush on. You, the one who had just gone missing one day.

Loki could never forget. It was like something wouldn’t let him.

He had invited you around the palace for breakfast before you left his chambers for the night. You two had been up late reading together. You frequently popped over, usually claiming to stay for a few hours, just enough for Loki to read to you some verses of a poetry book, but those hours got longer and longer each time.

Next thing you two knew, it was nearly morning and you needed at least a few hours of sleep in your own bed. He had walked you out, asking you to come back for breakfast in a few hours. You happily agreed, giving him a quick hug before parting. Loki didn’t want to let go. He remembered that detail very well. He wanted to pull you back in his chambers, just hold you for hours. Days. Months. Forever. But he didn’t. He let you go, watching as you made your way back to your modest home. He never realized that would be the last time he saw you.

Well, actually, it technically wasn’t. Because he was staring at you right now. You were at a table near the back of the library, head buried in some files but he could still recognize you. Could always point out that lovely, long hair and those soft, gentle hands. You were always a stark contrast against him.

Loki just watched you for a few moments, completely and utterly confused by the situation. The shock was wearing off and now question after question filled his brain. How did you end up here? What had you done? Were you okay? A million thoughts came over him but his legs had their own agenda. The next thing he knew, he was approaching your table. He almost didn’t know how he got there.

He stood opposite of your sitting form. You weren’t noticing him, apparently very invested in the file you were studying. Loki had to admit, that was quite like you. You were always one to get lost in the words, way deeper than he did.

Eventually, Loki cleared his throat, hoping that’d do something. Slowly, you lifted your head, brows furrowed in confusion as you looked at him from head to toe. You didn’t recognize him, Loki could see it in your eyes. He was just a variant turned agent to you. Something in him felt like it was stabbing his heart over and over again.

"Can I help you with something?" You hesitantly asked but your voice was still so sweet and kind, just as Loki remembered. You were far more patient and soft-spoken than he was.

He said your name like it was the greatest plead but you didn’t react. Loki didn’t know what to do then, realizing you were you but you also…weren’t. His face fell.

You were getting uncomfortable. "I-I’m sorry, I’m not sure I know who that is—,"

"You don’t?" Loki couldn’t help the hurtful gasp he let out.

"Sir, I’m sorry…" Your eyes began searching around frantically. Something was going on. You were getting scared, way past uncomfortable. You wouldn’t look at him anymore.

Loki said your name again, much forceful than the last. You jumped. You weren’t directly responding but Loki could see something in your eyes. He said your name again. Then again. Like it was the only thing he knew. Your eyes met one another intensely, hypnotically.

After maybe the sixth time, you snapped. You jumped out of your seat, breathing heavily, scared, surprised. It had all happened too fast Loki was also taken back. You two were more than just staring at each other. Your wide eyes were taking him in.

"Loki?"

He felt so relieved to hear his name just float off your lips. It was as sweet as he remembered. Like a little lullaby. The stabbing in him stopped.

Loki nodded. "It’s me."

"What…" You looked around as if you had no idea where you were. And maybe you didn’t but Loki hadn’t expected your name to just snap you out of it. This opened a lot of questions for him but he didn’t have time. He raised his hand, cutting off your words.

Loki nodded towards one of the bookshelf aisles further away from everyone. You nodded in understanding, following him down the rows.

Once you were a safe distance away, Loki wasted no time collecting you in his arms, his head buried in your shoulder. You were surprised for a moment at the gesture but then you fell into it naturally, like you had just hugged him yesterday. And really that was how it had felt. But Loki knew better. You had been gone for so long…

"Loki," you mumbled his name, your head pressed into his chest. "What is going on?"

Loki stilled. "Why don’t you tell me what you know."

You scoffed, breaking off the hug. You were a sweet one but Loki was no stranger to your tiny temper. You put distance between you two and Loki allowed it despite how much it hurt.

"What I know?" You repeated, folding your arms. "What I know is that I’m standing in a library with you." You looked around at the space, noting an actual lack of real books. "What kind of library is this anyway? How did I—,"

"Do you remember anything before you got here?"

Your gaze dropped as you studied your shoes. They were some nice black flats but Loki knew that wasn’t your style. You were not the business causal type, usually pleased with the feeling of Asgardian silk gowns.

Something was coming to you as you let out a soft gasp. "I was walking home. We-We had just finished a poem written by that Midgardian… Gosh, what was his name? Winter or something—,"

"Frost," Loki mumbled. "His last name was Frost and you enjoyed his poem about how nothing gold can stay. You found it relatable. I’ll admit, you may have been onto something."

A light had gone on within you. "You thought it was pretentious." Your gaze met Loki’s once more. "I called you a fool and laughed. Then we saw daylight breaking and… and I had to go home. I missed my bed. You wanted breakfast in a few hours. I agreed to come back."

Loki nodded, encouragingly, but your words had fallen off. "What happened next?"

You shook your head, that blank expression washed over you again. "I don’t know."

Loki let out a sigh and leaned back on the shelf. "Do you remember anything after that?"

You looked back down at your outfit. At least the pencil skirt was nice. "Yes," you admitted. "I was hired here. I report on variants to protect the sacred timeline." It sounded to Loki like you were reading a script. What the hell was going on here?

"But you don’t know how you got from Asgard to…here?"

You sighed, a bit annoyed. "How did you get here?"

The snippy temper was back. You were still you. Loki could’ve kissed you, a feeling that had come over him before but was suddenly more intense than ever. He would, he promised himself. He couldn’t leave you again without doing so.

"I had a bit of an…incident."

"Really? You? I never would’ve guessed," you said, the sarcasm on your words dripped heavily. Loki gave quite the dramatic eye roll. You let out a little giggle.

"Yes, well, never mind what got me here, I am here," he said, motioning towards nothing. "And I am assisting with the hunt of a variant."

"You’re helping them?"

Loki scoffed. "Don’t act so surprised." A beat. "I didn’t have much of a choice."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile but failed miserably. Loki had missed this. If he focused really hard, it almost felt like you two were back in Asgard, lounging around, talking about nothing. Teasing one another. His heart was aching.

"What do you know about the variant?" You eventually asked.

Loki glanced away. "It’s me."

"You?"

He shrugged. "Well, a version of me. Another variant."

You slowly crossed the aisle, coming to stand right next to Loki, your shoulders pressed against one another. Loki’s breath hitched just a bit. He would never get used to this.

You asked, "Well, what have ‘you’ done?"

Loki resorted back to his witty humor. "Nothing good as you could assume."

"This mischief of two Lokis is unthinkable."

Loki let out a laugh which you followed suit with. You two were laughing over nothing in this random library in wherever this place was. He could barely understand it and you were absolutely clueless. But the moment of laughter was good, was familiar. Too bad it couldn’t last.

"I’ve missed you," Loki admitted after the laughter had faded out unceremoniously. You looked a bit surprised at the confession.

"Truly?"

He nodded.

You blushed and looked down. "I’d say I missed you too but I don’t feel like we’ve been apart. How long has it been?"

When Loki wasn’t giving an answer, you forced yourself to turn back to him. He was staring at you quite intensely. You shivered under the gaze. It was an expression you hadn’t seen before, he hadn’t allowed you to see. It was one full of love and interest and adornment.

"Too long," was all he said before his lips were on yours. Loki finally took what he had been craving and it was happening in the TVA library. The fucking TVA. Loki’s head was still spinning with worries about this whole thing but, slowly, he got lost in you. In your lips and softness. Your hands grasped his shirt as you deepened the kiss — you. You wanted more from him. And he was happy to give.

His hands caressed your sides lovingly, feeling and holding you in the way he had always dreamed. It was better than anything he could’ve conjured. It felt right and real. Good and… Too good. Too powerful.

An alarm was going off somewhere now. You hadn’t seemed to notice it, still captivated in the kiss, but Loki was aware. He forced you two apart, reluctantly. You looked at him, ready to protest, but before you could ask anything, Loki was placing a hand over your mouth.

Footsteps were approaching. They were coming towards your aisle. Whatever had happened here wasn’t good, something had gone haywire. Had he broken the timeline? Was that even possible here? Loki didn’t know but what he did know was there was an army on the hunt for them. Without thinking twice, he grabbed your hand, looking for an escape route.

"Loki," you finally were able to speak, keeping your voice hushed as you two maneuvered the maze of shelves, "what did we do?"

"We love each other."

"Love?"

Loki stopped despite there being no time to stop. "Am I wrong?"

You didn’t answer. That was all he needed. Now to only get the hell out of here. Loki couldn’t tell if his encounter with the TVA had been a blessing or a cure as he held you close to him, refusing to lose you again to whatever trap this place planned to lay.

[comingoutofthecauldron]

Chaorian: Dreams

“Are you afraid of dreaming?” Dorian whispered into the night.

“Dreaming? No,” Chaol replied, his voice low and contemplative.

“Well then, what do you dream?” Dorian asked curiously.

He lay in Chaol’s arms, head resting on his chest, the steady pulse of his heart perfectly in harmony with Dorian’s own. 

Chaol laughed quietly, and the sound made Dorian’s heart flutter. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” said the captain, “My dreams are made up of my heart’s deepest desires, and to tell you would simply burden you, knowing that you can’t fulfil them.”

Dorian’s head snapped up, and their eyes met through the silken ebony between them. “Who’s to say I can’t fulfil them? I am to be the King of Adarlan, Chaol. That comes with a great deal of power.”

It was hard to tell, but through the darkness, Dorian saw could’ve sworn he saw Chaol’s eyes soften, could hear the sadness that shaped his words even though he whispered. “Exactly.”

“Chaol. Tell me what it is. Please,” he added his plea desperately, reached for Chaol’s hands through the soft bedsheets, “We promised we’d tell each other everything.”

Dorian could hear the smile in his voice, could picture that rueful little smirk that adorned Chaol’s face as he said, “We did, didn't we?”

He had memorised the lines of Chaol’s face in the way that one may memorise a much-loved poem, or the words to a melody. Chaol was an art form, his voice like a lullaby to Dorian’s ears, his smile like a ray of sunshine. He was comfort, safety, and yet he was a thrill. He made Dorian’s pulse race and breath quicken simply by standing near. He was the cliff Dorian felt so close to falling from, despite his feet being so firmly planted on the ground. 

Dorian could remember the day they’d begun seeing each other as though it were yesterday. Staring into Chaol’s eyes, so open and vulnerable, like windows to his mind, he knew the other boy was recalling that day too. 

They’d been walking through the gardens, and Dorian had been staring at Chaol as he spoke about Ress and Brullo and the useless new guards he’d been stuck with, simply admiring the sheer rugged beauty of the boy before him. And then Chaol had caught him staring. He’d frantically starting patting his hair, wiping hands across his face, searching for some sort of imperfection, as if there was one. Dorian had laughed, and Chaol had blushed furiously before saying, “What? What is it? Do I have something on my face?”

“Oh no, not at all, I was simply enjoying the view,” Dorian grinned as he said it, wondering if Chaol would take the bait. The truth was, he’d been in love with Chaol for months, and though it seemed he would never reciprocate his feelings, he still kept some shred of hope in his weary heart.

“The flowers?” Chaol asked confusedly.

Dorian laughed, a bright, rich laugh. “Unless you’ve started calling yourself “Flowers”, no.”

Chaol had stared, dumbfounded, then looked at his feet, then back up at Dorian, then his feet, then Dorian once again with a frown. “You—you mean...I’m the view?” he stuttered, shocked. 

“Of course you are,” Dorian said smugly, hoping his tone hid his racing heart.

Chaol was silent for a long moment, then he said, “Do you...Are you, um, interested? In me? Romantically?”

Dorian hesitated. He could destroy everything, their lifelong friendship, the love that was already between them, binding them to each other. But it was Chaol. And he couldn’t lie to Chaol. 

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Dorian said dryly, trying to cover his pain. “Are you disappointed?”

“No, I’m just sad I didn’t do this sooner.”

“Do what—“ Dorian was cut off as Chaol pressed his lips to his, closing the distance between them. 

After the initial shock, Dorian felt his muscles loosen uncontrollably, as Chaol undid him, undid the barriers he’d put around himself. The sensation of Chaol’s mouth on his, the feeling of undiluted ecstasy, it was euphoric. He was dizzy when Chaol finally pulled away, gasping for breath. “That was a long time coming,” he breathed, forehead resting against Dorian’s. “Let’s just promise not to keep things from each other from now on, yeah? Tell each other everything?”

Dorian smiled, his heart warming as he saw Chaol’s face light up with joy. “Of course, Flowers,” he’d said with a laugh.

Now, as he stared at Chaol’s troubled face, Dorian remembered that happiness, the smile that lifted Chaol’s whole face and changed it completely.

“I dream of one day calling you my husband,” Chaol said quietly.

Dorian froze in shock. Chaol...wanted to marry him? Wanted to be with him...forever? 

They were silent. Then—

“Oh really?” Dorian said, trying to lighten the mood. “What kind of wedding cake would we have?”

“Dorian, that’s not—“

“Would you wear a dress? I think it’d be fun, the both of us wearing dresses. My father would have a heart attack.”

“No, I—“ 

“And what about the guest list? Would you invite the relatives my father hates the most, or make your job easier and invite the dull ones?”

“Go to sleep, Dorian,” Chaol grumbled moodily.

“And would it be themed? Would we have a winter wedding, and pretend the glass walls are made of ice?”

Chaol mumbled a profanity Dorian chose not to hear and turned his head into his pillow, away from Dorian.

A few minutes passed in silence, Dorian staring down at Chaol with an emotion he had refused to identify until now. 

“Chaol?”

“What?”

“Will you marry me?”

[freckled-lili]

So some of you may be trying not to remember that I did a silly, cingey playthrough that I called Sou Doki Doki!, where I was playing Doki Doki Literature Club and named the MC after Sou Hiyori, then for the rest of the VN acted out as Sou. It wasn’t very good.

But anyway.

During Act 2 of the VN I had also wrote a poem and uploaded it into three parts (mostly because the poem ended up being a lot longer than I had originally intended). But I had also encrypted the poems in different codes (Base64, Binary ... I think the last was UCode or something?), because that was gimmick DDLC also did with some of their easter eggs - hide extra poems or additional content through encryption.

After some thought, I’ve finally decided to upload all three parts in normal text for anyone who was curious about what was going on with those poems. I will admit it’s not that great, but I worked really hard on the poem so I’m satisfied with how it came out.

*skateboards out*

The Man with the Glass Smile

 Part 1

Today I was invited to a game

When I arrived, there were only

Two holes

They fit perfectly for my eyes

They must have been made

For me

They said

“Look inside me”

So I peered inside

Not all things can be ignored

Inside were rivers

All rushing and struggling

To move forward

To steer their own course

Fleeing nonsensically,

A world full of tangled possibilities

But all rivers lead to

The bottomless ocean

You can’t change nature

You can’t change the threads of fate

I stumbled back

The two holes said,

“I’m sorry

Did you think that all life

Was equal in this game?

You are all nothing but

Numbers on a page

And you and I

Are the most insignificant

Of them all”

I fell to my knees

tried to scream

But

I was choking

A million beats

threatening to erupt from

my throat

Tiny frogs

trying to swim up

a waterfall

Something was dribbling

from my lips

I covered my mouth

But soon it was lea

king

from the cracks of my pale fingers

Excreting from my body

was ink and glass

It splattered over

the floor below me

A black, cracked pond that reflected

Nothing

Least of all myself

The pond grew tall

Morphed and twitched into

A figure

He had a smile made of glass

He was someone I should know

A memory shoved in the back

Or a piece of my soul I barely knew

The man with the glass smile said

“I’m sorry

You should never have been sent

To the front lines

I am not your savior

I will be the one

To walk out of this game

For you

All you have to do

Is stay inside”

I wish I could I say

I refused countless times

It’s hard to remain crystal clear

When the mind is

crac k ing

I rested my head down on his shoulders

Held him like a tired child

He carried me in his arms

Ink stained my skin

Shards pricked my flesh

There is no flawless future

So I buried myself

In the ink and shards

We held each other close

We conducted our discordant lullaby

“We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together”

I close my eyes

I will sleep

Until the poem is finished…

Part 2

…but I couldn’t sleep

There were voices

From outside

It was so cramped here

It was made for me after all

Is survival supposed to feel so

Lonely?

I saw two holes along the walls

They fit perfectly for my eyes

My isolation enticed me to peek

Not all things will be ignored

Outside there were eyes

They were upset about something

Seething, glaring, squinting

Their pupils dilating with hunger

For demise

My demise

They drew in close

They said,

“Soon

Soon

Soon it will be

Your turn to die

Soon”

Distressed, I looked down at

Myself

But I was no longer mine

I belonged to the man with the glass smile

That was the deal

With my mouth

We bared cracked grins

With my voice,

We crafted lies to conceal me

With my hands

We passed the skull to another

With their lives,

We moved forward

With his way,

My hands are crimson

It hurts

Is this really survival?

I pleaded

“It wasn’t me!

I’m sorry, it wasn’t me!”

But my mouth

Wasn’t mine anymore

The man with the glass smile

Stroked my cheek with jagged hands

Wet with inky tears

He said,

“I’m sorry

Did you think this was going to be easy?

We’re only doing this

Because you can’t

They’re only numbers on a page

All frantically adding and subtracting each other

Are you really weeping for numbers?

Don’t forget

Yours the most insignificant

Of them all”

He drew me away from the holes

We whispered out lullaby

“We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together

We/I can(‘t) keep the pieces together”

Inside I tried to sleep

The poem will be over soon.

But I couldn’t think about verses

Only numbers

They’re just supposed to be numbers

Why does it hurt

When one is taken out of the equation?

It doesn’t matter

How many times it gets better

1000 x 0 = 0

All rivers lead to the bottomless ocean

The voices our louder

Swarming, twisting, writhing,

I can’t breath

Has anyone drowned in sound before?

This can’t be survival

I need to get out

So I start scratching

Fingernails rakING violently around me

A revolting

cac

O

PHO

ny

Of voices and s////cr\\\\a////tche\\\\s

Soon my nails are stuffed with pulp

Like a FATTENED cherry pie

I keep s////cr\\\\atchi////ng\\\\

I//// ke\\\\ep sc////rat\\\\ching

S ////c r A \\\\ t C H I n //// g gggggggggggg \\\\

The man with the glass smile

Peels me away from the walls

Shards pierce my skull

Ink stinging my cuts

He said

“I’m sorry

But you knew

You could never survive this game

That’s why I’m at the front lines

There are no saviors

There are no heroes

There is only surviving

You can’t really die on the inside”

We struggled

We scrEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEamed

at each other

“We/I CAN(‘t) keep the pieces together!

We/I can(‘T) keep the pieces together!

We/I CAN(‘t) keep the pieces together!

We/I can(‘T) KEEP THE PIECES TOGETHER!”

He went back outside

I kept sc////rat\\\\c////hin\\\\g inside

This is not survival

I want this poem to end

I hate how it’s coming out

I keep scr////at\\\\c////hi\\\\ng …

Part 3

…but it was all meaningless

I always knew

If there really was no chance

Then I wish I was taken out of the equation

Before I put together a glass smile

There were two holes

They fit perfectly for my eyes

I crawled towards them

And took another peek

There are some things you won’t ignore

Outside there were eyes

They were upset about something

Seething, glaring, squinting

All hungry for demise

My demise

I’m sorry

In the distance

There was a silhouette

Faint as a ghost

They fluttered towards me

Softly

A cherry blossom in the wind

Their little hands poked through the holes

I held them by their fingertips

Tried not to stain them with ink

(Or was it blood?

I can’t tell anymore

It all looks the same now)

They didn’t seem to mind

I forgot what gentleness felt like

Behind me

A cacophony of voices and scratches

In front of me

The hushing breath

Of a meadow’s breeze

They swept away

The madness of sound

I forgot what tenderness sounded like

Did you ever think

That a ghost would bring life?

I forgot what that was

I wasn’t living

I was simply not dying

I always had my head down

Trying to keep the pieces together

I was always struggling

To remain afloat in the rushing river

With one faint touch

I looked up and remembered

To bathed in the sunbeams

With one faint touch

I felt a little more grounded

And finally touched the sky

The air felt so clean and clear

I breathed again.

They asked me

“Have you ever met someone

Who became a ghost before they died?

I am a ghost for someone I lost

Just like you

Who you lost, I don’t know

You and I are simply flickering in life

Maybe I can save you

What little light I have left

I want you to have

So you may be your own light again

If I have to fade

I’m ready for that”

They let go

They fluttered away

But not to join the wind

A cherry blossom adrift

On the ocean’s surface

Ready to sink

Did you keep my head up

So I could watch you go

And never come back?

The man with the glass smile asked,

“Are you really weeping for numbers?

It’s just another subtraction

That’s how the game goes

Remember

You’re the most insignificant

Of them all

Subtracting you won’t save anyone”

Enough

My fingers flew up

Smashed the glass smile

From my face

I reached out

I already lost myself

Please!

Don’t let me lose them too!

Please!

But the two holes were too small

So I start scratching again

Dug my nails along the edges of the holes

Spread them open

I leap out

All rivers lead to the bottomless ocean

I reach out

With the last of my strength

I held up the flickering ghost

With my last breath

I blew them back into the wind

And they fluttered away once more

There are saviors here

But that savior wasn’t me

Under the surface of the ocean

I gazed up towards the reflection

Of the man who once had a glass smile

I said,

“I’m not sorry

I can’t live being made of glass

You and I

Could never keep the pieces together

Instead you just picked off

the shards from my broken body

Laid them down

For someone to bleed on

How can I walk out of this game

If you keep taking me apart

And leave me behind?

The person I lost was me

You were never really surviving

Just writing a long-winded poem

Hoping you would never have to

Finish it”

The final word

Was mine

I’m reaching the end of this poem

I never felt so happy

I sunk into the cradle of the ocean

Silence never sounded so beautiful

I smile

I sink

I live

0.0%

[no6secretsanta]

Erlkönig

To: @happykawaiicinnamonroll From: @hi-im-secretly-satan

You asked for an angst fic, suggested getting sick and dying, so I delivered on both accounts! ;) It’s based on the German poem Erlkönig by Goethe, translated by Christopher Middelton. It was also turned into a Lied by Schubert. I highly recommend listening to it before reading this fic. I hope you enjoy and happy holidays! <3

Warnings: Major character death

—

“Shion, what’s that on your hands?”

Nezumi frantically ran through the chain of events that had resulted in him and Rikiga trying to wrestle a delirious Shion into the car, Inukashi anxiously tapping their foot behind them. When had things gone so wrong? He had only just saved Shion from being carried off to the Correctional Facility, a certain death sentence. Deeming themselves safe, they had freshened themselves up after the harrowing ordeal of escaping and Shion had been going on and on about his mother and strange deaths. At the time Nezumi had no clue what Shion was talking about, but now he berated himself for dismissing his words, for just as soon as he had waved him off, Shion became a victim himself. Shion had barely managed to escape from the terror that was No.6, only for another disaster to strike.

The parasite wasp.

In the moment Nezumi had briefly been grateful he had taken (stolen?) the first aid kit when he had quietly fled Shion’s house in the Cronos district, all those years ago. Now he cursed himself for not having made sure the equipment was sterile.

“How is he?”

Nezumi glanced up, catching Rikiga’s worried eyes in the rearview mirror before turning his attention back to Shion, lying curled up in the backseat with him, head resting in his lap. Shion’s breathing came erratically, fingers weakly clutching the torn and dirty fabric of Nezumi’s trousers, face screwed up in a pained grimace. Nezumi’s eyes fell from Shion’s pale face to the bandages wrapped around Shion’s neck, stained green and yellow with oozing pus, filling the car with a wretched smell. Merely a few short weeks ago he had yelled at Shion, a scalpel in his hand, demanding he live. But instead, Nezumi had unknowingly become the cause of his potential death. If the situation weren’t so dire, he’d laugh. Instead, he met Rikiga’s eyes again, and shook his head quickly, jaw clenched tight. Shion was dying, and it was his fault.

But he would not give up yet. They were going to smuggle Shion into No.6 and find a hospital to treat him. Shion had told them where to find one, directions wheezed through waves of pain. No matter the odds, they would succeed in this ridiculous, desperate plan. Shion would live, he would make sure of that. He refused to think of Shion dying, or how to go on living without him. He wasn’t sure he could.

“Nezumi…?”

Nezumi snapped to attention at the sound of Shion’s broken voice, barely audible over the loud car engine. “I’m here, Shion.” He brushed a few strands of tangled hair out of Shion’s face. His beautiful, white, almost translucent hair. Shion shivered but Nezumi doubted it was because of his touch.

“It hurts,” Shion moaned. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he hissed when a bump in the road jostled him and aggravated his already dreadful wound. “I don’t want to die. I… Nezumi, I want to live…” He weakly raised his hand and Nezumi immediately took it into his own.

“You’re gonna live,” Nezumi pressed, eyes locked determinedly with Shion’s. “You’ve survived this long, telling me how to take care of your wound for weeks. In No.6 they’ll be able to help you. You’re gonna make it.” He squeezed Shion’s hand reassuringly.

Shion shut his eyes and shook his head. “Sepsis and severe sepsis can last weeks but-”, a shudder ran through him and cut him off, “…but septic shock is quick and has- has a high mortality rate-”

“Shion.”

At his tone, Shion opened his eyes again and slightly turned his head to look hazily up at Nezumi.

Nezumi waited until he had Shion’s full attention. “You’re gonna live, you hear me? You can’t give up now. You still have so much to live for. I told you before, you still don’t know anything about sex, or books, or fighting. Do you really want to throw in the towel now?” Without realising, his voice had risen and he was nearly shouting. The mice which had been nestled silently in his scarf squeaked softly.

Shion stared up at him for a moment, before breaking out into a faint smile, eyes wet. “Yeah… Yeah, you’re right. I’m gonna make it.” A tear rolled down his cheek. Nezumi reached out to wipe it away. “Thank you, Nezumi.”

“Don’t thank me yet, just stay alive.”

Shion nodded and relaxed back into Nezumi’s lap, the corners of his lips still lifted in a soft smile. Unfortunately that smile warped into a grimace much too quickly. Shion moaned and curled up a little more, pulling his knees as far into his chest as the backseat would allow. Desperation seized Nezumi’s heart. Shion had saved him four years ago, he still hadn’t repaid that debt. He couldn’t let him die. He wracked his mind, trying to think of something, anything he could do to help, to ease Shion’s suffering.

There was one thing that came to mind, but Nezumi hesitated. It was a last resort, meant to ensure a peaceful, quiet death, but maybe, just maybe he could soothe Shion’s pain just long enough until they arrived at the hospital. Shion moaned again, fragile and broken, and the sound cut deep into his heart.

So Nezumi took a deep breath and sang.

It was soft, hardly louder than a whisper, but it seemed to resonate through the car. Inukashi, who had been barking orders at Rikiga from the passenger’s seat, fell quiet and turned to stare, dark eyes wide and knowing. Nezumi ignored them and kept all of his attention on the boy in his lap who had frozen and was now staring up at him with big eyes. For once Nezumi was glad that Shion knew nothing of literature, culture, or foreign languages, for if he’d understood the lyrics, he was sure he would never be forgiven.

“Who rides by the night in the wind so wild? It is the father, with his child. The boy is safe in his father’s arm. He holds him tight, he keeps him warm.”

Shion closed his eyes and a bit of the tension seemed to flow out of his body. Nezumi inwardly sighed in relief, too preoccupied to remember how Granny would berate him for doing so. He glanced out of the window and saw the gate fast approaching, so he tugged on the scarf around his neck and pulled it up to hide his face. The mice chittered and ran down his arms to hide in his pockets instead. The car came to a halt and Rikiga leaned out of the window towards the guard, murmuring quietly and urgently before handing over a thick wad of cash- a bribe both to let them in, and to forget they’d been there. Nezumi listened closely and mentally thanked whoever was out there when the car rolled forward again, passing unhindered through the gate and quickly picking up speed, desperate to reach the hospital as soon as possible.

“My son, what is it, why cover your face? Father, you see him, there in that place, The elfin king with his cloak and crown? It is only the mist rising up, my son.”

Unwinding his scarf from around his head, Nezumi gently covered Shion’s shivering body with the special fibre cloth. He remembered seeing this song performed in the dingy theater once, before he had joined the cast. A traveling singer and pianist duo had attempted to visit No.6 but were mercilessly cast out, so they had turned to wandering the West Block, trying to make some money at the rundown theater before moving on again. He hadn’t understood the meaning or language of the song then, only remembered the shivers that inexplicably had run down his spine and the strange, curling tension in the darkened corners of the room, until one day he stumbled across the poem in one of the books in the vault and finally understood.

In Nezumi’s lap, Shion stirred and burrowed under the blanket, grateful for the warmth despite his body heating up steadily.

““Dear little child, will you come with me? Beautiful games I’ll play with thee; Bright are the flowers we’ll find on the shore, My mother has golden robes fullscore.””

“Mum…” Shion murmured, weakly pushing away from Nezumi and raising his head, glazed eyes darting around, searching. “Where are you, mum…?” Nezumi swallowed, pausing his singing to wipe fresh tears from Shion’s face. “You’ll see her soon,” he promised quietly. He wasn’t sure if he could follow through on it. He had to believe.

“Father, O father, and did you not hear What the elfin king breathed into my ear?”

Shion shook his head insistently, gasping as the movement pulled at the weeping wound in his neck and sent pain shooting through his spine, setting his entire body aflame. “No, no, I want my mum,” he babbled. He tried to push himself up, trembling and weak, into a sitting position- but his arms lacked the strength to hold his own weight and he collapsed back into Nezumi’s lap, sobbing softly.

“Lie quiet, my child, now never you mind: Dry leaves it was that click in the wind.”

“Hush now,” Nezumi murmured in the most soothing voice he could muster, softly running a shaking hand through Shion’s hair. His vision became foggy and he blinked away the tears. “Be a good boy now and you’ll see her soon.” In the front seat Rikiga and Inukashi shared an anxious look.

““Come along now, you’re a fine little lad, My daughters will serve you, see you are glad; My daughters dance all night in a ring, They’ll cradle and dance you and lullaby sing, They’ll cradle and dance you and lullaby sing.””

Shion nodded quietly and obediently settled down, face still wet with tears but no longer weeping. He seemed to be at peace for a few moments, but then his eyes widened again and his breathing quickened. “Nezumi…”

Nezumi’s heart lurched at the sudden lucidity and he held his breath. “I’m here, Shion.”

Shion shook his head and shrunk away from him. “No… No, you’re not Nezumi… I-I need to see him…”

“Shion-”

“I need to know he’s safe…” Shion’s eyes darted around frantically. “He left so suddenly, I must see him again-”

Realisation dawned on Nezumi and when it sank in, it knocked all the wind from his lungs. Of course Shion wouldn’t recognise him; he was four years older now. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a shuddering breath, trying to stop the tears from spilling. There was nothing he could say to reassure Shion anymore. He was too far gone. Even if they reached the hospital, they probably couldn’t help him anymore. So he gathered all his courage, every ounce buried in his soul, and pushed it into the song, hoping it could help carry off Shion’s soul in peace, like it had done for countless others before him.

“Father, now look, in the gloom, do you see The elfin daughters beckon to me?”

Shion paused his desperate searching and looked at Nezumi like he saw him for the first time, watching him with childlike wonder. “You have a beautiful voice,” he murmured. He studied Nezumi’s face and smiled. “And your eyes… they’re just as grey…”

“My son, my son, I see it and say: Those old willows, they look so grey.”

Nezumi returned his smile in a way he hoped was reassuring and combed his fingers through Shion’s damp hair. Shion’s eyes fell shut and he sighed, a wisp of a sound.

““I love you, beguiled by your beauty I am, If you are unwilling I’ll force you to come!””

“Sir…” Shion said quietly and Nezumi’s heart fell into pieces. “If you ever find Nezumi, could you please tell him “thank you”? And that I miss him very much?”

“Father, his fingers grip me, O The elfin king has hurt me so!”

“And my mum, too. Promise me.”

Nezumi swallowed painfully and nodded, not daring to stop singing out of fear it would shatter the tentative calm that had washed over Shion.

Outside the car, the scenery rushed by, lush forests and bustling wildlife, carefully maintained by the City Hall, blurred by the speed of the car as Rikiga pressed harder down on the gas.

“Now struck with horror the father rides fast,”

“There’s the tree Shion mentioned!” Inukashi yelled, pointing ahead of them at a gnarled old oak tree. “Floor it, old man!!”

“If I go any faster we’ll all die before we can even get there!” Rikiga snapped in return.

“His gasping child in his arm to the last,”

“Please, sir, promise me…!” Shion begged, hazy eyes fixed unerringly on Nezumi’s own.

“Home through the thick and thin he sped:”

The trees parted to reveal the tiny hospital, a white and pure beacon of hope in the dark. Nezumi’s heart skipped a beat at the sight, but any and all hope that still lingered was crushed immediately after; wrapped in his arms, Shion took a ragged breath, spasmed once, twice, then fell limp, his blank eyes still staring up at Nezumi. Gravel sprayed under the wheels as the car swerved erratically into the parking lot and jerked into an abrupt halt. Seconds later the doors were yanked open and Nezumi heard someone yell something, but it didn’t register. He couldn’t move, frozen and staring unseeing at the boy in his arms, unable, unwilling to believe what his eyes and ears were telling him. A tear dripped down his cheek, followed by another, and another, falling like rain against Shion’s lifeless form. Nezumi’s mouth moved silently, voice trapped behind the gasping sobs threatening to choke him, leaving the last line to hang unsung, oppressive in the heavy air:  

(Locked in his arms, the child was dead.) 

[deathbyvalentine]

Prompt Fills

Vampire Trash

Othello sat on the wall, swinging his legs so they clicked against the rock. Every now and again, he glanced down at the knight standing beside him, his helm reaching Othello’s knee. “You’re really dull when you’re in a mood.” “I’m not in a mood.” “Then why aren’t you talking?” “You’re not that interesting.” That made him laugh, loud, revealing a flash of purest white fangs. In one fluid motion, he dismounted from the wall and stood dead in front of him, close enough to feel his breath, that is if either of them breathed. The knight didn’t flinch. Othello couldn’t quite see his eyes, but he looked into the slit anyway, smiling. After a few moments he laughed again, shrugging it off, taking a step back and sitting cross-legged on the floor. With quick fingers, he started searching through the grass. 

The knight shifted slightly. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Other than sit here and annoy me?” “So, you’re admitting I’m getting to you.” “Didn’t say you were succeeding.”

Othello stretched back like a particularly smug cat, tilting his head up towards the moonlight. “We have eternity. I can always make time for you sweetheart.” The knight made a noise that could have been a scoff. “Ah, I see. Your playmates are busy.”

A flash of anger dashed across Othello’s face, there and gone as quickly as a summer storm before he had it under control. Then his face was pleasant, amused again, apart from the hardness in his eyes that never shifted. He looked at the stones in the palm of his hand, rolling them around like marbles. He then chose one and picked it up, holding it up. Before taking expert aim and tossing it towards the slit in the knight’s visor. It pinged off the metal, making him wince. The knight remained unflinching.

“Busy murdering your friends, probably.” “You and I both know that is much easier said than done.” “Ditto.”

They fell into silence. Not quite companionable, but far from awkward. It was an understanding one. One that spoke of centuries.

They Know the Art of Dying

Nobody noticed at first. How could they? They died in all the dark unseen places they had once lived. Opium dens, revolutionary coffee shops, shipyards and book shops. Their bodies would be found by sex workers, waitresses and cleaners, and swept into the graves they so loved to write about.

But then it spread. It wasn’t just the poor and petty scribblers, those who scrounged up a few poems for pamphlets and university newspapers. It wasn’t just those who wrote about the destitution that surrounded them.

To be fair, it was the ones that could be seen as sinful to begin with. The noble lords who wrote sonnets to their servant boys, the wicked women writing behind their husbands back. Even the ones who hid behind pseudonyms and aliases. 

A few weeks later, it was the nuns illuminating their hymns to their god. It was the poets paid by the crown. It was the nobles writing about their families, their lands, their countries. They too turned pale, their lips purple as though stained with belladonna, and went into sleeps they never awoke from. 

The thing they all had in common, other than poetry, was how beautiful they all looked. Their skin cleared, giving it a brightness many did not have in death. Peace was painted across their features. Their eyes were always closed, but when opened were unclouded and untroubled. And they didn’t decay.

People started leaving them where they were found, coming from miles around to see them, like one would see a statue. They were roped off, people behind velvet partitions and whispering, observing. They had created beauty in life and now they created it in death.

The Cost of Battle

It hurt it hurt it hurt. The feeling of two souls being ripped from the nation. Like two sudden wounds. Invisible blood pouring from unseen wounds. Grief and pain like a tidal wave, overwhelming and all consuming. Only some of it personal, the love that Mattias bore for the two hakima. A lot of it was national. The egregore spirit informing him repeatedly they were dead they were dead they were dead.

The only person he had ever known to die previously was dear Safiye. Who he had held and cradled as the life went out of her. He had assumed it was the proximity. He was only partly right, as it turned out.

How was he supposed to do this every battle? Feel bits of himself whittled away until only the barest core remained. What if he lost a territory? What if he lost an army? How much exactly could one lose before you were not yourself? Before you were something different?

He knelt by the bodies. Later, he would celebrate. He would sing their names and their deeds, and laugh at them, and tell tales of how he loved them. They would sit around the fire, him and the Golden Harpies (who he had started to think of as theirs) and trade memories both few and numerous. They would be remembered more than fondly. And any hakima that came after seeking a contract with the Harpies would have large boots to fill. 

 But now was the time for grief, for feeling what he needed to feel until it was excised. And so he wept.

One Step Behind/ Knotty Problems

Robert balanced on the forest wall, one foot in the nook between two uneven stones. He wobbled a little, then righted himself, taking another step forward. He didn’t once fall, despite the moss and damp. It was this type of thing that made his aunt laugh and tell him he surely belonged to the fair folk. He was unnaturally canny and agile, climbing like a squirrel and falling like a cat. 

He had ten minutes before he should start the walk home. Even someone who knew the forest as well as him didn’t like to linger once it got dark. Right now, the sky was a deep purple tinged with pink, but wouldn’t be for much longer. It was a shame - this was his favourite time of day. When the birdsong was beginning to wind down into lullaby, and a hush descended like mist. 

Which is why he started so heavily, tumbling from the wall when a twig snapped behind him, making a noise like a firecracker. He landed with a thump, but was otherwise unharmed. He sat up, groaning, expecting to see an other enthusiastic squirrel or territorial fox. He did not expect to see a shape, like him, the same height and width, made entirely out of sticks.

It tilted it’s head, mirroring him. Green leaves shot out at odd angles, at knees, hands and elbows. making a soft noise when it moved. It’s clothes were formed from dead leaves, crunching when it bent to take a better look at him. It wasn’t merely a humanoid tree - it looked like him. It’s mannerisms were the same. 

He had never seen the fair folk before, but he knew it when he saw it. It couldn’t be anything else. It was not of this world - it was something else. It was frightening in it’s foreignness, but more than that, it was frightening in it’s mimicking of the known. It was something wearing a human mask, and wearing it badly. 

His breath caught in his throat, and they continued gazing at each other. Suddenly, with a hop and a jump, it sprung onto the wall, balancing as he had a moment ago. It made a cracking sound and fell to the ground, looking over to see if it had fallen just as he had. Another noise that could have been a laugh. The laugh faded as it peered at Robert, noticing the red grazes on his palms. It looked at it’s own, and saw nothing of the sort. 

The sky was still darkening and stars were starting to appear.

How Mathias found out about Calpurnia’s “death”

He threw himself onto the chaise lounge, holding the letter and tilting his face up towards the fierce Kahraman sun. Around him, his brothers worked to put up the wind breakers, trying to save him from the dust blowing determinedly in his direction. They would have asked him to help, but one glance at his face like thunder informed them this would be a poor decision. 

“It’s been three months.” He announced, to nobody in particular. 

Emilio looked at Servea with a raised eyebrow, and shook his head. Servea bit his lip, wavering. Emilio shook his head even more frantically, but to no avail. Servea broke and asked - 

“What has?” “Since I got my last letter.” “Letter from my wife, you unvirtuous dolt. Do you not listen to a single word I say?” Servea, wisely, decided not to answer that question.  “It says, quite clearly, that we’re to send at least three letters a season. I’ve sent her six. I get that the Urizeni don’t give a toss about contracts, but I thought she might at least give a toss about me.” “Maybe she’s been busy?”  “What’s more important than me?” Emilio opened his mouth, then thought better of it and closed it again. “I’m getting worried.” A small shred of doubt crept into his voice for the first time, and he peered at the letter again doubtfully, as if looking for some clue of what may have happened.

With a sigh, Emilio abandoned the wind breaker and sat, running a hand over one of his cambion horns. “Look. I hate to say it but... Maybe she just wanted to end it and couldn’t afford the break clause. It���s the risk you take when marrying other nations. They don’t have to listen to the contract.” It was like Mattias wilted. All the energy went out of him, and he reread the letter in his hand once more before shoving it in a pouch, and turning his face into one of the pillows beneath his head.

the storm that was his eyes

“Let me tell you a secret.” He leaned close, his mouth unsmiling but his eyes sparkling. I always loved his eyes. They were deep blue and reflective, in looking into them you got a better look at yourself. If I was a more sentimental man, I might compare them to the sky. But honestly, I preferred looking at him than any other celestial body. 

“What?” I leaned closer too, unable to not look at his lips, the freckles that painted his nose, the strong curve of his jaw. I know all lovers think their love is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen, but I was not the only one who thought so of him. He turned heads in the street, women and men and those who did not fit those words alike all gazing after him. And he was mine. Only mine. Luck didn’t cover it. Fate would have to instead.

“I know where we come from.” “Oh?” “Years and years ago - “ He began, and I sat up straighter. I loved his stories, that were never true and were always brilliant. “There was only the sky and the sea. Both were wine dark. Both were tempestuous and frightening. Nobody ever asked why they were so embittered though.And so they raged. Until a third came along. This one was less substantial, just an idea, a ghost. It was the howling wind and it saw what nobody else could. The sea and sky raged, just trying to touch each other. They loved fiercely and were forever parted. And the wind’s heart broke for them, and so she whipped them up more and more, until a great storm began, the currents and waves boiling over. Then rain began falling, and a typhoon rose from the sea, and finally, finally, they combined into one.” His eyes glittered in the dark, and now he was smiling. “We are the sky and the sea.” “And who is the wind?” I reached out and took his calloused hand, bringing it up to press a kiss to his palm.  “Destiny, I suppose. We were always going to meet.”

[im-reddie]

“Their Final Goodbye...”

Deep in the meadow

When you get to the lyrics please listen to this song, if you can’t listen while reading then please listen to the full song and then come back and read over the lyrics.

Eddie was fading, his friends’ voices were muffled by their weak sobs or hands covering their mouths, his head resting on Richie’s lap.

He looks around him and sees the group of people he hasn’t seen since he was a kid.

“I forgot you” he thought. “…how could I forget?”

the others put a hand on Eddie's body in an attempt to reassure him. Beverly threw her head down on Eddie’s leg and sobbed, he really was dying. The realization hitting each one of them just as hard, they all felt a sense of longing, pain, and anger.

He looked at Ben. The poet with tears in his eyes, crying because he never really appreciated Eddie as much as he should have, and he was sorry.  “Ben…sweet, sweet Ben.” Eddie thought. The poems he read were sweeter than honey and the boy had a heart of gold he didn’t ever think he’d forget, Ben made him want love so bad it hurt. When he portrayed Beverly in the secret poems he kept hidden, he made love seem not like an emotion but a basic human right. And Eddie couldn’t get enough of it, he got high on the thought of what someone loving him looked like.

“I should have been there for him more...” Ben thought. “I should have been the friend he needed.” He loved this boy with all his heart, Eddie was always the compassionate, sweet friend that everybody wanted and needed. And he felt he had taken that for granted.

Eddie looked at the only girl in the group crouched next to him with her hand on his leg. Eddie reminisced about his fondest memories of her. He remembered that she was the first person he told about his sexuality, about how he was confused and scared. She loved him with all her heart, his laugh, his smile, his willingness to do anything for his friends, his…his love. With Eddie you were loved deeply, so deeply you drowned in his warm, beautiful affection. But whenever you drowned in Eddie’s love, you never wanted to come up for air.

“I’ll never love anyone the way I loved him...” He made Beverly feel truly loved. More loved than any other one night stand could or any man who acted like a father figure towards her. Eddie saw all of Beverly and thought she was beautiful because of her flaws. 

Standing above her was Bill.” …Big Bill” the childhood nickname being the first thing that came to his mind. His protector, his leader, his companion. The boy he would follow to the ends of the earth. The memory that stood out the most when thinking of their childhood was his crush on Bill. It seemed silly because Bill was nothing and would be nothing but a childhood friend, but the way Bill looked at him, treated him, and talked to him when they were alone sometimes..Eddie never felt like a loser when he was with Bill, not when Bill treated him with such care, made him feel like anything was possible, when you ran with Bill you never ran out of breath. And never running out of breath was great, so fucking great Eddie would tell the world.

“he didn’t do anything wrong.” Bill thought. “he never did, he didn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve such cruel punishment...not Eddie.” 

“Richie.” he thought with a smile. When he finally spoke it was an attempt at trying to sound happy.

 “I did it for you…” he turned his gaze to Richie before giving a sad smile. “All of you.” A tear rolled down Richie’s eye, the moment being so real it brought out the emotions he never showed anyone. 

“I loved him...now he’s gone.” he thought. “you’ll never get to tell him how he made you feel.” He remembers trying multiple times, each time he thought “beep beep” before shutting his mouth or changing the subject.

Richie shook his head violently, trying to scramble the thoughts that flood his mind away. “No, c’mon Ed’s you’re gonna be fine…” he brought Eddie closer to him in an attempt to rid the space between the two. “you can’t leave me,” his voice sounding hurt, broken almost. “not now…” Eddie gave a sad smile to the man before him finally showing the care he wanted all those years ago.

“It’s ok Rich…” he assured. “I’ll wait for you...I’ll always be waiting for you.” Richie’s eyes downcast to Eddie’s wound, blood seeping.  The boy he once knew began to shiver while his eyes gave a hopeful beam towards Richie. 

“Promise?” he asked with a sad playful tone in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Eddie nods his head, “Promise.” 

Even facing death itself, Eddie refused to be anything but optimistic. Richie thought that was another reason he often looked up to Eddie when he was younger, even when nothing around them was okay Eddie managed to see the positivity in almost any situation.

 “God I love him...” Richie thought, Eddie had always held a certain affection towards Richie and the same with Richie towards Eddie

 “I-I’m cold...Richie...” the echo of vulnerability and the longing to be cared for in Eddie’s words practically crushed Richie’s heart into a fine powder. Eddie’s shaky breaths broke him down. Richie wanted nothing more than to ease Eddie’s pain somehow, to make him happy just like he made Richie happy all those years ago. He held him in his arms and they looked into each other's eyes, Richie knew then just how much Eddie meant to him. All the forgotten years of stealing secret glances from one another, feelings going unsaid out of fear, the smiles, and thoughts not given to each other when needed. 

“I’m here Ed’s don’t worry...” Richie reassured, stroking Eddie's cheek with his thumb while the boy looked up at him. Eddie gave a broken smile, the pain, and regret showing through each crack. “I’m here...” he whispered.

Eddie started looking around and moving his head frantically, he squirmed in Richie’s hold and managed to feel the reassuring squeeze on his face and chest. 

“I-I can’t s-see! Richie where are you! Where are you guys!” he cried. Eddie’s loss of blood caused him to lose eyesight. Eddie was afraid, he thought his friends had left him alone again after all these years. He saw practically nothing but blurs before the only thing that his brain could process was black with tiny white specs. he felt his friends grip tight, each thought that went through their head being apologetic.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make you feel the way you made me feel.”

and then, what would have been Eddie’s favorite.

“I’m sorry I was so ashamed to love you.”

Tears drained from his eyes, staining his rosy cheeks. he reached his hand up and Richie hurried to guide his dying friend's hand to his cheek. Eddie calmed and looked above him with no specific fixation. his face was dull, the life draining from his body by the second. 

“Right here, I’m right here, we all are.” Eddie gave a shaky nod while letting the corner of his mouth gently raise. 

“Richie...will you sing to me. Please.” Eddie asked. He knew he never had to ask Richie for anything because he would do anything and everything for this boy if it meant keeping him happy.

Richie nodded yes, forgetting that Eddie couldn’t see him. After not seeing a reaction from Eddie he leaned his head down close to Eddies and gave a small and gentle kiss on his forehead. 

“You still give me butterflies...” he thought unable to make an expression.

Richie knew just the song to sing for the person he held closest to his heart. A long time ago when they were just entering high school, Eddie wrote a “Lullaby” and it was the sweetest, most innocent thing that Eddie has ever done in his eyes. It resembled his soul and that’s why Richie liked it so much. Eddie never told anyone but Richie about that song, Richie never sung it to anyone but Eddie.

Richie gently stroked Eddie's hair while staring into his absent eyes, singing a broken tune that would always be the sad song that he sang to Eddie. This would be the last time he heard his voice.

 “the song I sang to Eddie as he was dying in my arms.” Richie said. Eddie lost his vision but Richie’s voice helped guide Eddie’s eyes towards him,  he managed to gain enough strength to raise the corners of his lips.

it was their love song, their “Fuck You!” to the world. 

Their last goodbye...

Deep in the meadow

You don’t deserve this.

Under the willow

you’re too kind to die like this.

A bed of grass

you deserved a happy full life with kids and a...husband.

A soft green pillow

I wanted to be your husband...

Lay down your head

We would have had the time of our lives Ed’s

And close your eyes

I want a better life for you, Eddie.

And when they open

A life where you could be yourself and people gave you all the love you deserved.

The sun will rise

You deserve the world

Here it’s safe

I wanted to be the one to give it to you.

Here it’s warm

I wanted to keep you safe,

Here the daisies guard

I wanted to be able to show you that you were worthy enough to be loved.

You from every harm

You don’t deserve pain...

Here your dreams are sweet

You were too good for this world...

And tomorrow brings them true

too good for me

Here is the place

I hope wherever you go, we find each other

Where

maybe then I won't be such a coward to tell you all this

“I love you.” Richie blurted in a non-melodic tone, being sure to state his seriousness.

Eddie was close to slipping away

“You know...I-...” he said softly, fading out of consciousness. his arm went limp but Richie held the boys cooling hand on his face, longing for more time, for more words to say, for more love to be shared between the two.

the life drained from his starry eyes and his cheeks were flushed. Richie pulled him into his chest and held him closer, sobs starting to flood out of his body, tears raining down on Eddie’s cheeks, cries escaping violently from his throat with venom embedded in every syllable, directed towards the thing that did this. 

“HE DIDN’T DESERVE THIS!” he pushed the sentence out with a strong passion but the hurt in his heart filtered the plea as a broken sob.

He buried his head into Eddie’s shoulder. “You didn’t deserve this!” he cried. 

Beverly stood up, a hand covering her mouth before turning to be who embraced her for a hug. Both of them crying with each other, while Bill was left to cry by himself. Rage filled his body, this thing that had been terrorizing him and his friends their whole life had just killed the only angel bill knew existed. 

After the final battle with IT, the four left, carrying Eddie's body out of the sewer.

“He can’t be left dirty and surrounded by filth...” Richie told the group. “He wouldn’t want that. He needs to be buried, he needs to have a proper funeral and we...all...need to be there.” He stated. If nobody was gonna help him, he was going to carry Eddie out himself. The others agreed and thought of a cover-up story. 

“We found him in the forest...” Ben said. “He had just been attacked by a bear.”

Beverly grimaced at the thought. She felt bad, only they would know the truth about what really happened.

Richie let a tear fall at the thought of seeing Eddie at his funeral. 

“I can’t even cry for him...” he said, “I loved him and I can’t even cry for him!” Nobody knew how much they loved and cared for each other, he would have to cry as Eddie’s friend and not as the man he was in love with.

The others all embraced Richie, they didn’t know about their secret love until Eddie’s death. Beverly had known about Eddie’s preference in partners but she never knew about Richie.

“You can Rich.” Bill assured, “We’ll know...your tears will have a different meaning to us, don’t worry.” Bill’s voice calmed Richie. He knew how he felt, he knew how hard it was dealing with the loss of a secret love.

 Bill was empathetic, he longed for another conversation with him, another kiss, another “I love you” even if it was a lie. 

                                  Eddie’s funeral fell on a Thursday, “Eddie’s favorite day of the week.” Richie thought.

He remembered back in high school, Eddie had told Richie that his favorite day wasn’t Friday, Saturday or Sunday. It was Thursday.

“it’s not close to the beginning of the week and it’s close enough to the weekend to give you that excited feeling of ‘I can’t wait!’” Richie smiled in his seat. He sat alone, an empty chair next to him, hopefully, occupied by his angel. 

He wasn’t listening to any other eulogies except Bill’s, he was the only friend chosen to go up and speak.

“As you know, Eddie was...too kind.” He stated blatantly.

“He always made sure everyone around him was happy even if he wasn’t, he loved...not only widely but deeply as well. Making sure each and every one of us had our fair share of attention.” He said with a smile and a reminiscent undertone.

“I only wish we could have done the same for him. I know most of us...didn’t get a proper goodbye, maybe even didn’t say the right last words to him. But, he loved you.” Bill eyed Richie, being sure to single him out before continuing.

“All of you. He was one of the best friends I could have asked for. He was pure of heart, pure of mind, and pure of soul.” he paused looking down with a pain filled expression. “He deserved better,” he singled out Richie again, using his words to make sure he knew that this speech wasn’t for anyone else but him. Nobody knew Eddie like Richie did.

“Eddie liked to live by quotes, most quotes being from very depressing movies that he loved” Getting a small laugh from the crowd, Bill continued.

 “Eddie didn’t want a million admirers, he just wanted one. I know you try to will yourself to think of a world without him...” he blinked at Richie while tearing up. “And what a worthless world that would be.” Richie smiled at the thought, knowing just how true it was...is.

“You don’t get to choose if you get hurt in this world...but you do get to choose who hurts you.” He looked at his friends and then Eddie’s family, letting a tear fall on his paper before looking back at Richie with a sad smile.

“I think he was pretty happy with his choices, don’t you?” sobs were escaping through his closed lips and Richie leaned his elbows on his knees and his face into his hands. He couldn’t take knowing that Eddie was gone before him. He couldn’t take that he was most likely somewhere alone, and scared. He couldn’t take that Richie couldn’t love Eddie like he wanted to like he needed to.

After the funeral mike greeted him with a hug.

“I know how much he meant to you, Richie...” Mike said into his shoulder. Richie didn’t say a word to his friends the rest of the afternoon.

It wasn’t until everyone had left that he visited the hazel casket one last time. He put a hand on the glazed wood and his lip began to quiver.

“I don’t wanna live in a world without you Ed’s.”

Richie stayed with Mike for another month, visiting Eddie’s grave every day with a pretty little flower he found that reminded him of Eddie, along with a sheet of paper that read “My letter to heaven”. He was in no rush to leave back to California, nothing but an empty, hallow house was waiting for him there.

When he finally did get back, he was greeted with an inbox full of voicemails on his home phone, most of them from his boss, agent, and certain relatives calling to check up on him. He wanted to delete them all as soon as he listened to the 5th one, but something told him he should listen.

when the voice said, “Last new message” he was relieved. 

“Hey, Richie...It’s Eddie.” Richie's eyes widened, he ran to the machine as fast as possible wanting to pick up the phone to hear Eddie’s voice and have one last conversation with him. But it was only a voicemail, one more painful goodbye.

“So I don’t know if you got a call from Mike already, about...IT. But I’m assuming since you didn’t answer, you left already. I just wanted to call because...well I had this dream last night and woke up with this gut feeling that something bad was gonna happen. I’ve been wanting to say it for a while but just in case something happens and I don’t say it there, I love you, Richie.” Richie’s eyes welled up with tears of loss and joy.

“I’ve loved you since 7th. You’ve meant the world to me since and still do. I still remembered that song I wrote for when I get nervous...but I never remembered why it had a loving feeling to it until Mike called me. I hope you’re doing well, I just...had this feeling that I should tell you as soon as possible. You know I'm kind of glad you didn’t pick up, I probably wouldn’t have told you if you did. Anyways, I hope you have a safe flight, I’ll see you when you get there.”

Richie listened to his voice absolutely mesmerized. having not hearing Eddie’s voice in a month, he wanted to keep his voice tattooed on his mind. He grabbed a tape recorder and played the message over and over again, as many times as it would let him before the tape was full of Eddie saying “I love you, Richie”.

What a funny thought. “I’m freaking out over my little Eddie Spaghetti.” He thought. 

After rewinding the tape for the last time, he listened to how genuine and kind Eddie's voice sounded. The tone he held that always made Richie melt.

“I love you, Richie.” *click, rewind, click* “I love you, Richie.” *click, rewind, click* “I love you, Richie.” *click*

Richie paused and bathed in the sweet bliss that Eddie’s voice brought him.

*Rewind, click* “I love you, Richie.” *click*

“I love you too, Ed’s,”

This one-shot is dedicated to my new best friend and favorite author, the person that inspires me the most. @elesbianna @sten-bros

I really hope I made you proud. 

there is a little reference to @sten-bros Another story to tell fic and it’s only small because I didn’t want to act like I wrote the story so I knew what bill was going through other than the obvious but it really is an amazing story that needs to be read over and over by everyone who loves stenbrough fanfiction because oof this one will get ya.

Another story to tell by @sten-bros

Taglist: @edgyeddiespaghetti @stenbroughbros @renyanoel @istanstantheman @musicalfangirla113 @richiesrocket @1justnikkine1 @pennyfuckerr @reddietoroll

[le-sejour]

Say No to This

Written for this prompt on Hamilton Prompts

Word Count: 3,170+

Pairing: Jamilton

Warning: Swearing? Mentions of sex ,and a slightly heated scene c:

A/N: Please forgive me (and tell me c: ) of any errors or inconsistencies in this. It’s been a real hot minute since I’ve written anything for leisure, especially anything historical, and I’m still trying to rediscover my footing. But! I decided to give this a shot bc it seemed like fun c: This was meant to be silly, given the prompt, but I dunno aaaaaa ; A ;

I hope you guys like it! C: (also ha ha cheap jokes and references bc why not)

It’s been a week since his beautiful Eliza and Philip traveled uptown with Angelica for the summer, and Alexander was still wide awake. Stacks of parchment sat on his desk, waiting for his quill. But the words all seemed to blur together and nothing seemed to make any sense. So there he sat, staring at the wall adjacent to him as he sometimes did when he was alone in his study.

Knock knock

He was snapped out of his stupor by the sudden sound. Was that the front door? He glanced out the window and saw the sky changing to twilight. It was getting late. Who could it be?

His eyes lit up. Could it be his wife and son? Have they decided to come stay with him after all? His heartbeat quickened at the thought, he had missed them so much. The house was too quiet without them. His gait gained a slight bounce as he neared the door, the prospect of seeing his wife and son energizing him despite himself.

But as he opened the door, confusion settled on his visage as he stared at someone who was most definitely not his wife or son.

“I know you are a man of honor,” The stranger started, her face held a tinge of red, her eyes puffy. “And I’m so sorry to bother you at home.. But I don’t know where to go, and I came here all alone…”

He felt his conscience stall.

“My husband’s been doing me wrong; beating me, cheating me, mistreating me…” The words seemed to flow together like a song, her voice melodious like a lullaby. He felt his eyes burn and grow heavier with each word.

“Now suddenly he’s up and gone.”

He struggled to keep his eyes opened as his vision of the voluptuous woman and the world swam before him.

“And I don’t have the means to go on.”

Thud.

The following morning, Alexander found himself in his bed. His mind trying to wrap around the situation, struggling to remember when he fell asleep.

Then it clicked.

Frantically, he looked to the side, expecting to see the woman from last night. He was relieved, (yet also a tiny bit disappointed?) to see Eliza’s side undisturbed. Had it been a dream?

His eyebrows furrowed, if it had been a dream, he would have fallen asleep at his desk. He shot up, was the woman a thief?! He ran as fast as he could, after disentangling himself from the mess of sheets and the floor, to the sitting room. Eliza would be fuming if he was careless enough to invite a lady-thief into their home.

But, looking around, nothing seems to be out of the ordinary; all their books, trinkets, and furniture were still in the right place. And after searching through the other rooms, nothing seemed to have been stolen.

“Huh.” He mumbled out loud, his gaze sweeping his sitting room once again. Maybe he had dragged himself to bed after all? Of course, he was skeptical as he was always quite self-aware of himself. However, after realizing the time, he decided to ponder on the situation at a later time.

George Washington was not paid enough for this shit.

Of course, serving the young nation and its liberated people was an honor that no amount of money could ever hold a candle to.

But this?

It had been an innocent enough morning. He woke up, kissed his wife good morning, bathed (a luxury he thoroughly enjoyed after mucking around in blood and shit for the majority of the ‘80s), ate breakfast, kissed his wife good bye, and took a carriage to work.

His morning was the most domestic thing you could ever come across, so why was the man losing his haven’t been invented til 1846 marbles, you ask?

Thomas Jefferson and Alexander Hamilton.

Now, most of his constituents would say “Oh, but Mr. President, we all know they’re always at each other’s throats whenever they’re in the same room together.”

Don’t.

Because they are.

They’re at each other’s throats.

Or, more specifically, their tongues are down each other’s throats.

“Jefferson, take a walk.” The president pinched the bridge of his nose. He could handle their normal behaviors; Alexander with his barely filtered mouth and stubbornness, and Thomas the French weeaboo with his arrogance and holier than thou attitude.

“You too, Hamilton!”

But this was an entirely different field. He didn’t even know either of them played for that field!

“A walk?” The Treasury secretary murmured against his lover’s lips. “That’s it! Great idea, sir! Come with me, Thomas. Let’s take a beautiful moonlit stroll together.”

“But it’s morning…?” Someone called out in the background.

“Ah, but what’s in a name?” He sighed, stroking the older man’s cheek with his thumb lovingly. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Without waiting for another quip, the proud Virginian tugged the lovestruck Alexander (who was now trying to sniff his luscious, curly hair) out the door with him.

“Wait, that’s not what I-“ And they were gone. “Never mind.”

He sighed, rubbing his silky smooth scalp in exasperation. He could already feel a headache coming on. “Meeting adjourned. Someone, write to his wife. I’m going home.”

“I came as soon as I heard!” Eliza burst into the Washington Estate, her bags, Philip, and Angelica still with her.

“Mrs. Hamilton, Mrs. Church, Philip” George acknowledged, motioning to the couch. “Take a seat, please. This might take a while.”

The Schuyler sisters listened intently, confusion painted across their faces. Philip had already made his way over to Martha, more interested in what she was cooking than the ‘adult’ conversation happening in the sitting room.

“I-I don’t understand.” The younger murmured to her sister as their host left to answer the door, her eyebrows knitted as she tried to make sense of it. “Aren’t they… rivals?”

Angelica nodded, looking perturbed. “Before I left London, Alexander had sent me a letter about how he and Jefferson were at a deadlock. Surely this isn’t the compromise they reached?”

“We are just as bewildered at this display, Madams.” The president stated, setting a package in front of them. Angelica peeked at the contents nonchalantly. It was stacks of legal documents that were vandalized by crudely drawn images of Thomas and Alexander with their names and hearts written all over. Now it looks like The Bill of Rights was made by children. “This is clearly not their ordinary behavior.”

“Is that-”

“Unfortunately. Mr. James Madison is not going to be too pleased at the vandalism of his work.”

“Could they perhaps be playing a trick on us?” Eliza wondered nervously after a pregnant pause, playing with a lock of her hair. “They couldn’t possibly… I mean, Alex would never… Would he?”

“I’m afraid I cannot answer that either, Mrs. Hamilton.” Martha and Philip then walked in with a tray of tea and snacks “However, while waiting for your arrival, we have had Alexander confined to your house. You will find him with a guard stationed by the door to prevent Jefferson from entering, of course.”

After tea and biscuits, the Schuyler sisters and Philip gathered their things and thanked the couple for their time.

“We’re terribly sorry for the fuss my husband created. I’ll be sure to straighten things out at home, Mr. President.”

Two weeks later, and things were just about as straight as the unlikely coupling of Thomas and Alexander.

It was chaotic.

During the first week, they tried to keep the two apart, scheduling two sets of cabinet meetings while they sorted things out. James Madison was tasked to keep an eye on Thomas, but the man was as slippery as a snake and would often sneak out to visit his rival turned lover.

He had tried asking Thomas what all this was about, but all he got in return was a poem he wrote about Alexander’s… quill.

Next, Angelica and Eliza tried asking the other half of the two, and all they got was a 30 paged essay on why Thomas was the love of his life before he tried jumping out the window to try and find his courter.

Eliza, at first, was worried she was going to lose her husband to the curly haired Francophile. But the more it wore on, the more she realized although Alexander would make every suggestive and romantic gesture possible, (they tried to sneak into the house and have sex, once, fully scarring Philip for life before Angelica scared Thomas away) he still came home to her without fail.

Perhaps, she mused, this wasn’t really her Alexander. Maybe he was bewitched by old magicks and this would all blow over soon. She had read before, as a little girl, that sometimes unseen forces (like fairies) liked to cause a little mischief.

But what are the odds of that?

She chuckled. She knew she should be worried about her husband, but she honestly found all this to be hilarious. These two men had been sworn enemies since they laid their eyes on each other, and now they suddenly act like they’re a pair of lovestruck courters?

Hey, Alexander already goes on hour long tirades about the Secretary of State. The only difference now is Eliza doesn’t have to worry about permanently damaging her ears.

Heck, the fact that those two even began writing each other pages upon pages of love letters was oddly endearing to her.

Angelica insisted on keeping them, of course. If this situation was temporary, then these letters could be held above their heads. Though she knew her sister meant it was for when the young Schuyler wanted to get her husband to take a break, she couldn’t help but wonder how else she could use the bundles of love.

“One mile to every inch of,

Your skin like porcelain”

Eliza opened an eye to see her husband’s side of the bed empty. Ah, it must be that time again. They had eventually stopped trying to prevent the two from seeing each other, they were mostly harmless anyway. But they still tried to keep them at least a few meters away at all times to prevent scarring any more children.

“One pair of candy lips and,

Your bubblegum tongue”

She sat up in bed to watch Alexander by the window, sitting and looking comically in love. The voice that woke her up continued, singing a hilariously offkey rendition of some serenade he’s probably made up.

“Alexander.”

Said man turned to face her, his face going from joy to guilt. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Tell Thomas to go home, Alexander. You need to get some sleep.” She murmured gently, beckoning for him to come back to bed.

“Mon loupe, your voice brings me eternal joy whenever you are around. ‘When love speaks, the voice of all the gods makes heaven drowsy with harmony.’ However, as much as it pains me, I must take my leave, my love. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Of course, darling.” Thomas blew a kiss to his Juliet, before standing up. “Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

Though Eliza’s heart would ache whenever her husband’s attention was turned towards Jefferson, she knew in her heart of hearts that the way Alexander’s eyes gazed at her during the tenderest of moments was reserved only for her.

He kissed her forehead before going back to sleep, a gesture he hasn’t done in so long. Eliza stared at her husband in surprise, before settling in herself. A smile gracing her lips.

“Une orange sur la table,” Thomas murmured against Alexander’s neck, sucking on the junction where his neck met his shoulder. The Virginian’s fingers working to unbutton the immigrant’s green vest as he reveled in his pleasured moans. “Ta robe sur le tapis,”

Alexander’s vest and robe had both fluttered to the floor, Thomas leaning in to capture his little love’s lips in a searing kiss. “Et toi dans mon lit.”

“-mas, where are you? Thomas, we’re meeting with Washingto-oly Mother of God!”

James’ scream caused a couple more footsteps to round the corner. George Washington rushed in, thinking the worst as James was mostly a soft spoken man. His eyes landed on the couple on the table and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m terribly sorry, Senator Burr, I have to deal with this for a moment. If you’d like, James can escort you to another room for now.”

The man in question walked out the room with his eyes wide and his face redder than it normally is. He didn’t even stop to look at the newest addition to the team, he just walked off, murmuring to himself in disbelief.

“I wanna be in the room where it happens…” Aaron whispered, the pull of curiosity winning him over. Finally, he was able to know what happens in The Room.

Slowly, he opened the door ever so slightly, his gaze roaming around before his eyes landed on three figures.

George trying to pry a half naked Jefferson off of an almost naked Hamilton, and is that–?!

“Sweet Jesus.” Slowly closing the door back to its previous position, Aaron walked off, his eyes wide and trained on the floor. What the hell did he sign up for? Because it certainly wasn’t this.

“Actually…I don’t want to be in the room where it happened.”

“So as I was saying-“

“I’m sorry, Mr. Burr, sir, I’ll let you finish, but I just want to say that Thomas had a better declaration. A real nice declaration, in fact.” Hamilton was allowed back into a meeting with Jefferson, everyone agreeing that two cabinet meetings was far too taxing to sit through.

However, now, they’re seriously reconsidering just keeping two meetings a day. Nobody tried to stop the couple from their public fits of passion, no one even gave them so much as a glance.

At this point, everyone just chose to go on with their lives instead of understand whatever it is that happened with the Jamilton duo. But this was getting ridiculous

“Thank you, doll~”

Smooching sounds.

James stared at the ground, still trying to get the image of his friend and his enemy getting it on a week ago.

“I love you, darling.”

“I love you too, mon loupe.”

Then suddenly, as if a veil had been lifted, a disgruntled Alexander pushed an equally disgruntled Thomas from him.

“wHAT THE FuCK ArE YOU DoiING YOU SICK fRENCh FreAK!!!”

The screeching threw them all off guard, everyone’s heads snapped to the couple, seeing Alex about to punch the man who he’d been cavorting with for almost a month now.

“Alexander!” George’s voice rang above their cacophony; strong, clear, and commanding. “Opposite sides, the both of you. Now.”

Begrudgingly, they both stalked off to opposite sides, glaring so fiercely at one another, Burr was surprised smoke wasn’t emitting from thin air.

“Meeting adjourned. Everyone please leave.” Thomas and Alex tried to subtly escape. “Except for you two.”

They moved back into the meeting room, Alexander looking a little green, Thomas looking thoroughly disturbed.

“Mind explaining to me what was going on?” George asked, his tone tired and defeated. What the hell was happening with these two boys?

“All I know is Jefferson started it! He kissed me, sir!”

“I kissed you?! You’re the one who threw yourself on me! Have you no brain nor any modicum of decency?!”

“Alright, enough!” For the nth time, the exasperated leader of the great America pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two have gone and done just about every damn thing under the sun in front of myself and the cabinet, even in front of your wife and son, Alexander.”

At this, the younger man shirked in embarrassment, the memories flooding back to him. He felt his ears burn as the skin under his face lit up with the flames of humiliation. Both parties sneered at the other, suddenly filled with seething hate and shame.

“But Jeff-”

“So help me God, if I have to pry you two away from each other whether in passion or rage, I will be the one to show both of you where my shoe fits. Do I make myself clear?”

“But Mr. Preside-”

“I swear to God Jefferson, that swivel chair of yours will find a new home up your ass if either of you defy me. Do I make myself clear?!”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

A pair of gleeful eyes watched as the two ex-lovers walked out of the establishment, Alexander’s eyes glued to his shoes as he paled with mortification. He got into a flustered argument with a group who must have mention his previous romps with a certain Virginian.

The eyes then turned to the other man who, although held his head up high, lacked the air of confidence and cockiness usually associated with him. He tried to get his partner in crime to talk to him, but it seemed Madison still couldn’t scrub his mind free from what he saw.

A cat-like smirk accompanied the pair of eyes. It looks like she ruffled his feathers, that’s for sure.

Thomas looked around cautiously, as if something was out to get him. She saw his hand shakily grip his cane tighter, causing a chuckle to escape her red-painted lips.

Stepping out of the shadows, the young, voluptuous woman let the sun bathe her already sun-kissed skin and beautiful chocolate curls.

Alexander had already hurried home after Fighting™ some loose lipped groupies, hoping to make things right with his wife. Thomas was now walking away with a very tired looking James as he tried to comprehend what his friend was confiding in him.

“When I ask you to stay, you stay, Thomas.” She murmured, smoothing her red dress before blending into the crowd.

“How dare you say no to this?”

BONUS!

“Eliza, please!” The immigrant begged, his eyes welling with tears. How could he let this happen?

“I’m sorry Alexander.” She stared down at his slumped form with pity before bubbling up again with laughter. “I just.. I don’t think that for one second you were ever the dominant one in that relationship.”

“That’s not true, Eliza!” He whined, pouting dejectedly. “You don’t think that, do you, Angelica?”

“Sorry, Alex, your love letters say otherwise,” The older Schuyler showed him one such letter. “You sounded whipped. He even called you his Juliet. Doesn’t sound like the dominant one to me.”

“I’LL KICK THAT FRENCH FRY LOVING BASTARD TO NEXT WEEK”

“Alexander, he was the one on his knees, serenading you in the yard. I highly doubt resulting to physical violence changes anything. Besides, everyone in this room, even your son, Alexander, knows he was the one trying to slip your pants off.”

Philip paled and ran out of the room, chanting “Hear no evil, see no evil” over and over to himself.

“ELIZAAAA”

(and Peggy)

FIN

(PS The thing TJeffs is saying as he’s thoroughly ravishing Alex is from a poem by Jacques Prevert titled “Alicante”. )