#ive missed them so much and it's always such a precious delight to watch them talk about this movie and just having a great time together

[incidentale]

Alessandro Borghi & Luca Marinelli in conversation after the showing of 'Le Otto Montagne' @ Il Cinema in Piazza, July 4th, 2024

[deliciously-yeeted]

I was in desperate need of some beel fluff, so i wrote some. As one does. Uh, ive never done this,(posting fanfic, i normally jus write small things for myself tbh😅) before so please have mercy lol

I hope ya like it though, it put a smile on my face so im hoping it does the same for you♡

____________________________

You started filling the hem of your shirt with snacks, as many as you could fit in the scrunched up fabric that is, a tired but playful grin on your lips, as you thought over what you planned to do, mentally prepping yourself.

Normally, you're not so bold about seeking out comfort and such, feeling shy about showing vulnerability...but today, ugh, today had you particularly worn down. You needed something, affection preferably. You'd settle for a warm bath and some melatonin if you had to. Though, you really didnt want too.

You were tired of self soothing all the time. And Asmos care packages could only help so much. But you knew how to make it all magically better. There was only one option in times like these .

You worked quickly, excitement bouncing around in your gut, making your hands a little shaky.

Having grabbed all you could you carry, you practically dashed from the kitchen. Your mind set on finding a certain big demon. Last you heard, he was headed to his room for a bit. You hoped he was still there.

When you finally reached his bedroom door, you found yourself in a tad bit of a pickle. Your eyebrows furrowed, the realization that you wouldn't be able to open the door making you frown at the closed door briefly. You cursed yourself slightly, for not thinking that far ahead. You forgot in all your excitement.

Briefly you considered trying to use you feet before dropping the idea. Guess you've got no choice.

Dang it! You felt kinda bummed that you'd be losing the element of surprise, but the grin soon returned, thinking about seeing Beel always you happy, regardless of the circumstances.

"Beeeeellllllllllll!" You called out, letting a bit of a whine into your voice, hey, who knows? Maybe it'd get him in front of you faster?? He tended to be on the slower side of answering his door, sometimes he simply didnt hear it. Especially if he was working out or watching tv.

Apparently, whining his name did not speed him up:(

You were about to call out again, worried he hadn't heard you, when the door clicked open. The mere sound making you feel slightly giddy. Your eyes snapping up to meet his briefly. You soaked in as many details of him as you could, without just straight ogling him, before flicking your eyes back up to meet his.

"Y/n?" He seemed pleasantly surprised, dressed in a black tank top and grey sweats (you were happy to see him wearing them, because while he looked like a whole ass meal in them, it also meant he had no plans of leaving the house tonight).

His eyes were quick to find the odd lumps wrapped up in your shirt, as well as the bit of tummy peaking out. The position you held your shirt in had caused the bottom of your stomach to show, something you had worried about on the way here, anxious about a different brother catching a glimpse of you. You could feel his stare burn against your skin, he was about to say something, but then his nose twitched, and his eyes fixed on your bundle of snacks instead.

-

Not that you minded his staring your stomach, not with Beel.

The others...maybe.

Your tummy was one of his favorite parts about you, he's hands finding their way under your shirt to touch and squeeze the soft flesh more often than not. Always gentle and non intrusive. I think he'd full on cry if he accidentally upset you somehow tbh.

Boy had absolutely no shame about it, once he learned you didnt mind much.

Especially when you seemed to be a bit shy about showing your stomach, with the others, or just in general. He made sure to let you know how much he loved your squish. Be it at RAD or just casually in the house.

The only person who ever raised a fuss over it was Mammon, although, he tended to fuss over everything you did anyways;; His protests did absolutely nothing to deter you or Beel, much to his dismay.

Sometimes, if Beel was hungry and needed a distraction or a quick 'pick me up', he'd scoop you up and just shove his face into your tummy. (Much like what I do with my cat when I'm bored and/or sad) Then he'd just hold you there until he absolutely had to let you down.

Relishing in the feel of your softness and you heart racing under your skin, fluttering so delicately under his lips, pressing his face against you was an instant mood lifter for him.

You loved it, a surprised but delighted laugh always ripping from your chest, almost subconsciously. You couldn't hide your happiness in his affections, not that you would want to (thats a lie, you cant help but be embarrassed at the end of the day by the intensive joy you felt whenever you looked at him). Which only seemed to motivate him even more, and soon each time he scooped you up, he'd kiss all over your tummy, making you giggle because it tickled, before hugging you close with a small sigh.

-

"I brought snacks, and some cuddles. So uhm, can I nap on you for a bit? 'M tired. Unless your busy or something..." you beam up at him, starting to hesitate toward the end, suddenly a little unsure.

"Pretty please?? I wont bug ya, I promise." You plead, pulling your best puppy dog eyes, shifting from one foot to the other nervously. His eyes widened as his brain processed what you said, and the cute sight in front of him. If he was being honest, it made his brain stop for a split second.

He chuckled at you and lifted you up by the back of your knees, holding you carefully to his chest, mindful of your full shirt. A small startled squeak coming from you as he did so, a sound he never got tired of hearing.

You glanced in the room as he closed to door, he had papers sprawled over the small coffee table in the middle of the room, and a few (you spotted more in the trash bin in the corner) empty food wrappers around his work space. He plopped down in front of the table again, taking only a few steps to reach it. You were kind of jealous, your short legs never being a fair match against his. Luckily he enjoyed carrying you, which solved that issue right quick.

"You can keep me company while I finish my homework." He says, shifting you into his lap and keeping a loose hold on your lower stomach, fingers splaying out to get a small feel of your exposed skin. Glancing around, you dont see belphies mop of hair in his bed, he was probably sleeping in the attic or the observatory, you quietly hum to yourself, abit happy to have Beel all to yourself for the moment. Shifting forward, Beels hands refusing to let you go and setting on your waist, you hold your shirt above the edge of the table, and let the snacks spill from your shirt before smoothing the garment back down, missing Beels frown as he looses sight of your tummy. Quickly moving to organize the snacks a bit, so that they were within reach and not scattered all over his papers and in the way.

"Thank you, your the bestest!!" You say, the dull ache in your arms more than worth the effort in your opinion.

You tilted your head back so you can look up at him. Making eye contact with him made your brain kinda just...mush. Your hands slowly squeezing his on your waist, lifting them so you move a bit.

You tore you gaze from his, before turning around and wrapping your arms around his nack and your legs around his torso,(like a koala in his opinion).

Scooting as close as you could get away with, (your not as stealthy as you give yourself credit for, he knows, he just too nice to tease you for it, and he doesn't want you to stop), so you could snuggle up to him and be comfy at the same time. Which wasn't all that hard to do with him, being the teddy bear he is.

Your eyes glazed over slightly, and you were distracted as you mind pulled your attention away.

Ah, you were in pure bliss, you could die happy like this~

You had grabbed plenty of snacks, being sure to vary in your choices, knowing Beel would like to have options, and hoping to be able to buy some extra time with him and a cute Beel smile as a reward for your effort. Tho, youd do it anyways.

Not that you'd ever admit to that. Nuh uh, no way. Unless he asked nicely, you'd give in embarrassingly fast if he ever did, the realization making your face heat up.

But...

Embarrassment be damned, youd never tell Beel 'No'.

He looks down at you, face going all blushy and soft at your slightly dazed and flushed expression. Your thoughts getting the best of you for a moment. Shaking your head slightly and letting out a resigned sigh.

"Of course you can," you snap out of it when he speaks up, looking up at him, quick to give him your full attention. "I love when you cuddle up with me, it helps me focus a bit. You didn't have to bribe me, though, as long as its you, my cuddles come free-" wrapping his arms around your shoulders, giving you a snug hug, he moves to continue. "Not that I'm complaining-" you cut him off, feeling slightly guilty about it. You were already flustered, and his sweet words weren't helping your predicament one bit. That was until your eyes actually focus on his face, oh sweet hell, hes so precious!!! Your heart thumps nearly painfully for a moment, nerves biting into your thoughts.

Your face was definitely beat red now, you could feel it at the tips of your ears even. Yet you refused to move, your eyes locked on his. A rare occurrence, one you could tell he was basking in, his eyes were glued to your face, studying it. His flush deepening slightly.

Squishing his cheeks and "shushing" him gently. Your basically cooing at him, to tired suddenly to care much about how your words or actions came off. The nervousness slipping away from your voice and movements. "Its not a bribe hun, I just felt like seeing you smile before I fell asleep on you. Heh, your smile is my goodluck charm for good dreams, ya know?" You tiredly rub his cheek with your thumb, eyes lit up happily and content. Giving him a small breathless laugh at the end.

He really did calm you down, your mind slowing down as the excitement started to fade, a fact you became overly aware of quite suddenly, your eyes feeling quite heavy now that you felt safe.

You yawned, your weariness catching up to you.

Beels quick to notice, taking note of the bags under your eyes. Dont worry, he'll make sure you get some good sleep, no bad dreams were gonna plague you on his watch. He glances over at the snacks you brought, unbelievably happy. Seeing you so cutely curled up to him, the fact that you brought him as much food as you could carry(a sight he nearly died from when he saw it) and your sweet sweet words, it definitely warmed his heart to say in the least.

He loved that you actually came to find him, just so you could cuddle. His adoration for you is bottomless, just like his hunger.

So, Beel wraps you inna big bear hug, pulling you closer and peppering the top of your head and face with kisses. He gives you a big grin, his eyes sparkling happily. "Nap, I'll wake you up when I'm done and we can hangout till dinner."

You tiredly nod, relaxing against him.

Grabbing a baggy of chips, he smooches your forehead, before tucking your face under his chin so he could munch, and see his work(not like that was much of an issue, beels a big boy after all👀), without completely covering the top of your head in crumbs (you'd told him you didn't mind, especially since he always ruffled your hair to get then out, and you loved that...but he still feels bad about it and tries to avoid it to some extent) and being able to rest his chin on top your head was just the cherry on top for him.

💗Happy beel mode activated💗

Sighing happily, you close your eyes. Beels cuddles making all your stress melt away, just like they always did. Slowly, you start to drift off, listening to the soft scratch of his pen as he starts to work and his deep breathing, letting it lull you into sleep.

I dont know why my brain wanted me to got all out on this. I literally jus couldn't stop tweaking with it. Imma post if before i decide to change it. Imma just conveniently forget i wrote this now, maybe ill like it more after a week or two... :/ also if theres any spelling or grammar issues plz tell me, its like 2am rn so im sure i missed something

[amusedyan]

A Bird in The Hand

A Prequel to Lark in A Cage

I.

You meet Lady Phantomhive at a party.

She’s beautiful, elegant, and so at ease with the crowd of people that flock around her, you can’t help but stare as you and your partner dance past.

She smiles at you, and later she approaches to introduce herself.

“Call me Rachel,” she urges, clasping your hand with a smile, “it wouldn’t do to call a friend by their title.

Your mother is thrilled.

“She might have a relation you can marry- the Dalles’ aren’t as well off as the Phantomhive’s, of course, but it’s still a step up!” She grins and you feel nauseous as you stare down at your lap, “well done, my darling.”

An invitation to tea arrives within three days, for you, and your mother delightfully plans your outfit and sends you off into the mouth of the beast.

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

One thing that always blows you away upon reflection is the knowledge that, above all, the Phantomhive house is a happy one.

You never would have believed it.

Having grown up in a house fraught with tension and stress, you’d imagined that it would be the same here. Frosty dinners and competition with neighbors and peers, the scent of unfamiliar perfume and hushed words behind closed doors, and above all, you, left alone and scrabbling for better.

But better is relative.

Before, because that is how you think of things now-Before the Phantomhives and After, better was social status, money, a good marriage, good friends.

After...after is kindness, and a family that wants you for you.

Remarkably, the Phantomhives fit both categories.

You know what they say about you.

About Rachel’s cousin.

You’re not, but they needed a reason for propriety’s sake to allow you to move in.

ii.

Your family isn’t like the Phantomhive’s, or the Dalle’s. 

You have no title, and your money is nothing to sneeze at, but it’s ‘new’. There’s no blue blood in your line, and that galls your parents. 

(You have hazy memories of a small, shabby apartment, and makeshift toys, and a dirty city, but you remember being happy, a distant feeling now)

They dress you up and tot you about, trying to net a man with a title or a fortune or both, because enough is never enough.

You’ve always been running and rushing- from lesson to party, to event to person.

Rachel is a breath of fresh air.

You sit with her in the garden and hang off her every word and eat delightful little sandwiches and treats. Her sons, twins, play together and with the large black dog, and it isn’t long before you love them as much as you do their mother.

She’s such a good friend, she brings you to parties as her guest while her husband is away on business. You find yourself gravitating to the twins instead of your usual wild compatriots, and you feel content.

Happiness isn’t a distant memory anymore, not with her.

Rachel gently guides your tastes and gives you advice- she doesn’t need to follow fashion, not like you, but she gets you into the higher end boutiques and salons, not just the ones your mother favors, the ones that prey on the desperate, the hungry, these have real taste.

She refines your palate, teaches you.

You consider her a sister.

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

You still love the twins more than anything.

They’re precious and innocent, and you dote on them.

It’s probably not good for them, but you can’t help it, not when they love you as unconditionally as their parents, but certainly with better intentions.

iii.

You meet Vincent by accident.

He arrives home to surprise his family and you’re there, keeping them company.

Rachel and the boys are delighted at the sight of him and the presents he’s returned with, but you feel awkward as they embrace and kiss and greet one another.

Then he smiles at you- it’s smaller than Rachel’s, but the warmth in his eyes is the same.

“Rachel’s told me all about you.” He admits, and presents his own gift for you.

Your know that your face is shamefully red, but you can’t help it.

“I wanted to thank you,” he hoists Ciel, giggling, onto his hip, “for keeping my family company.”

“Thank you,” you finally manage, and unwrap the gift. It’s a shawl, from Paris. It’s too much, to personal, but they all look so pleased at how happy it’s made you, you can’t protest.

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

For propriety’s sake, you have your own room.

It’s beautiful, filled with books and soft fabrics and cushions. Anything that you could want.

But you don’t sleep there.

You spend your nights between Vincent and Rachel, whether it’s in the throes of passion or just...sleeping.

iv.

The first night they coax you into bed, you’re drunk.

More often than not, you’re spending your days at the Phantomhive estate. Your parents love that you’re rubbing elbows with their kind of people. 

It’s raining that night, and they put the twins to bed and you drink.

The wine is sweet and you love it.

You feel fuzzy and happy, and you laugh with them.

Before long, Rachel’s kisses are as sweet as the wine, and Vincent’s are as heady.

They pull you apart and explore your body and you cry out for them and they claim you. 

The next morning your mother arrives to retrieve you and sees some of the marks.

There’s a confrontation and she drags you from the estate.

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

You still wonder what your mother was thinking when she tried to go toe to toe with the Phantomhives.

Then your father tried to demand reimbursement for your stolen virtue.

v.

Less than a fortnight later, your parents are dead.

A mugging, on some side alley that you know they’d never go down- foolish your parents were, yes, but never fools.

Rachel and Vincent stay with you to watch the coffins lower into the ground.

Your head is spinning.

You parents are dead, your father’s business is slipping through your fingers as attorneys pour through his finances and find nothing substantial. It was all smoke in the wind, a front.

No wonder they were so desperate.

You’ve got nothing now.

“Poor dear,” Rachel comforts, taking your hand. “You must come with us.”

“I couldn’t impose,” you apologize. You can’t go with them, you can’t fall apart.

“It’s not imposing.” Vincent promises. “You’re a friend, we want to help you.”

“Let us take care of you.” Rachel begs.

“The twins miss you.” 

You go with them.

[vanchlo]

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty One, “Timing”

Find all chapters to this story here! 

Check out the character survey from Becky’s POV I did recently! :-)

Warnings: Very brief mention of IVs (needles)

Song Inspo: My My Love by Joshua Radin (Click to listen)

                                    Sneaky Peeeeeeeeeky!

“A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape.

“I-It’s not a scar,” I say quickly, but at the same time, at a loss for words. He’s so close his breath smelling of chamomile tea passes by me within a second. And God, those pouty strawberry lips are so decadent, and tempting. “It’s a birthmark. I usually cover it up with makeup, that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.” Finished, I turn my head back to the telly, his finger dropping from the barely one inch mark.

“Wha’? Why d’ya do that? ‘s lovely.” As much as I try to drown my thoughts in the scene unraveling before my eyes, I can’t. Because his words, and the tingling under my eye consume my thoughts. The devil and angel inside my head bounce up and down in their seats.”

“No. W-what are you doing here?” I stutter, unable to control my words. Or my thoughts. Or my emotions.

At the drop of my words, Harry’s face falls. His eyebrows. The budding smile on his lips. And the brightness in his eyes. But he masks it quickly. And it escapes my mind when he crosses the distance between us. His black slacks, teal geometric-patterned button down, and curls are a blur in the seconds that follow. Suddenly, his arms are around me and pulling me into him. With sleep still clinging to my mind, and unsure of what to do, I freeze. 

“Please don’t tell me you left work to drive 3 hours to come to Madley,” I confess quietly into the damp shoulder of his black peacoat. Shivering, his fingers run trails up and down my back. 

“Shuddup, I ‘ave a case t’morrow nearby in Wolverhampton . . . Jus’ lemme do sumthin’ nice fer ya,” he says, his soft words drifting over the top of my head. 

“I-I’m sorry. I just woke up and you caught me off guard,” I apologize meekly, feeling myself relax. My arms wind around his waist and lace themselves together over his coat. 

“‘s okay,” he hums. His hands pause and I feel them brush my hair away. “I know ya hadda rough night- well couple o’ days,” Harry murmurs, his lips brushing against my hair. My lungs still and I wait, wondering if he’ll kiss my head. But it doesn’t come, and I try to will away the disappointment beginning inside of me. I’ve become so accustomed to it that it doesn’t want to leave this time. Then it’s joined by the happy disbelief appearing wet in my eyes. 

“Couldn’ stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, an’ figured I had t’ come up ‘ere t’morow mornin’ anyways. Wha’s an extra night hurt?” The first few words do it for me, and there I am spewing tears all over his shoulder. They’re not a waterfall, but the emotions growing inside of me feel that way. And they’re here, because he is. 

He holds me tighter against him, and I feel his cheek rest on my head. Holding on tight to his coat, I let myself and everything I’m feeling melt against him. “You don’t know what it means to me that you’re here,” I confess in a trembling voice interrupted by sniffling. 

“I think I do do, ‘coz you were there fer me tha day o’ tha funeral when I needed a friend. An’ at tha hospital. Ya showed up fer me, Becks, an’ I wanted t’ do tha same fer ya,” Harry reveals softly from above me. My lips bend into a happy smile amongst the tears that come harder at his words. “I brought dinna, ‘cuz I knew ya prolly hadn’t eaten. ‘s luck that I found ya atta vendin’ machine.”

His precious laugh greets my ears as his fingers tickle up my back. The bunches of fabric leave my hands, and I step away to search for those green eyes. After a few seconds, I find them staring down at me. They’re blurry behind the tears, but soon his smiling face sharpens. 

“No mo’ tears, ‘kay? Le’s go eat some dinna an’ find  sumthin’ good on tha telly,” Harry whispers, running the pad of his thumb along my cheeks. Nodding, his hand envelopes mine and we go to find a sitting area.

The halls are deserted besides a few nurses checking in on patients. Familiar medical-sounding beeps sound throughout the hallway. After guiding the way for Harry as I wipe my cheeks, we soon find our dining table. Or rather a sofa with a little table. 

“I hope fish an’ chips ‘s alright,” he says, doubt filling his words. 

“Of course they are. Did you get them from Maggie’s over on Fifth?”

“Yeah, I think so. Li’l shop with photos coverin’ tha walls?” he questions as he unpacks the brown paper bag. 

“Yep, that’s the one. They make the best fish and chips I’ve had. And I would know, because I grew up eating these ones my entire life.”

“Well I guess ya would know then,” Harry relents, shrugging his shoulders with a toothy smile. 

Whispered ‘thank yous’ float between us as we pass each other food and napkins. With two cups of water from the cooler a few steps away, we dig in. 

“No kiddin’, these are good. ‘s always tha family owned shops that make tha best ones, innit?” Harry mumbles with a mouth full of food. I reply with an ‘mmmhmm’, trying not to laugh at the crumbs speckling his chin. 

The crispy, buttery cod melts on my tongue. With my free hand, I grab hold of the gray remote sitting on the table beside me. 

“Hey, ‘s my turn t’ pick what we watch,” Harry whines, stealing the remote from me. 

“Rude!” I retort, but any words I had left to say collapse into laughter. Licking his thumb, he peeks over at me. A sly grin stuck to his lips. 

Shaking my head, I look away and pick up a chip from the paper tray in my hand. When my eyes return to him, a ketchup-covered chip sits in his hand. Meanwhile, his face is screwed up in concentration at the telly. I smile, and then notice his reflection in the dark window on the other side of him. Kicking his foot with my right, he turns to the left to look at me in confusion. 

“Just pick something!” I tell him, my palm turning up to help me talk. His dark curls dance atop his head as it goes from side to side. 

“Oh hush, you. Cantcha letta man think?” he quips before feeding the chip past his cherry lips. 

“No, not when it takes you an hour to pick what to watch,” I reply, yanking it from his hands. 

“Heeeey! I was jus’ gonna pick that episode o’ Friends!” 

“Wait, you like Friends?!” I nearly yell, my head snapping to look at him. 

“O’course! Who doesn’t? I grew up watchin’ that show with me mum an’ sista,” he answers. With those words, my heart does a somersault in my chest. Oh my fuck, I’m falling again. “Wha’? Do ya not like it?”

“No, I-I love it. I grew up watching it, too. It’s like my comfort show - I watch it when I’m happy, sad, mad, excited- you name it,” I reply slowly, engrossed in gathering ketchup onto my chip. When I hear his murmured ‘me too’ from a mouth full of food, the devil and angel inside of me go crazy. For once, they seem to root for the same team. 

“Favourite characta?” his words greet the air effortlessly. He licks the salt and grease from his thumb, and I suddenly regret looking up. The things you do to me, Styles. 

“On the count of 3?” I ask, and his chestnut ringlets bounce with a nod. 

“1 . . . 2 . . . 3.”

“Phoebe!” we both say in unison, sending us into fits of giggles. 

“There’s nuthin’ betta than her on dat show. She’s hilarious, plays guitar, ‘s a surrogate fer her bloody brotha, an’ ‘s gorgeous,” Harry explains, and I’m following with every word. And with each one, I feel the butterflies in my tummy flutter again. For possibly the tenth time already tonight. 

“All of the great jokes and catchphrases from the show are from her: Regina Phalange, Smelly Cat, Princess Consuela Banana Hammock, ‘I don’t even have a pla’, Gladys the framed doll, and that stupid taxi. She’s blunt and so funny, but she’s so sweet and would do anything for her friends,” I continue, watching him nod emphatically as he picks up another chip. 

“Couldn’ ‘ave said it betta meself. Oh I love dis episode where they’re stuck at tha beach house. Poor Phoebs findin’ out tha truth ‘bout her mum dat way, tho’,” Harry comments, his mouth falling into a delighted and then sad O. My eyes follow his to the screen of the telly where our attention is held for the next twenty minutes. 

My shoes only stop squeaking when I stop in front of the garbage bin. After tossing the greasy paper bag, I rub a pump of hand sanitizer into my hands. I wince at the awful sounds my shoes make as I try to walk quietly down the tiled hallway. The snoring greets my ears before I see him, but when I do, I smile. With careful steps, I pluck my backpack from the couch before leaving the room. 

“He still sleepin’?” Harry asks, looking up from the Friends marathon from the telly. We scored! 

“Yep,” I answer, plopping down onto the sofa beside him. 

“Good,” he answers, slumping down further into the gray cushions. My backpack drops with a thud to the floor after I got what I needed. “What’re ya doin’? ‘s eleven-thirty, love. Tha’s no time t’ be doin’ homework.”

“I know, but I need to submit an assignment before I forget. It’s due at midnight,” I answer, seeing his nod out of the corner of my eye. 

My laptop wakes with its usual jingle, and I watch my browser load. The audience laughter fills my ears at a humorous line from Chandler. Surprise, surprise. The maroon and navy blue colors of my uni’s website appear in front of me. Within a few moments, I’m on the web page for my course. 

“Wha’s tha assignment?” Harry inquires, his eyes never leaving the telly. A laugh creases his cheeks, making me smile. But I’m not very sad I missed what’s so funny, because he makes up for it. 

“Um, it’s an essay about Thomas Cromwell and his theories and stuff,” I reply, opening the page for assignments. 

“Ah, I see they ‘aven’t changed coursework much from my day. Cromwell ‘s bloody obvious when ya start talkin’ ‘bout British law.”

“I know, it’s like the professor didn’t even try when drafting this assignment,” I comment with a small titter. Relief washes over me when I get a message saying my submission was successful. And something else too from being able to talk to him about law so easily. Something akin to how a hot chocolate makes you feel on a winter’s day.

I glance up and find Harry losing it with laughter. There’s a fleeting temptation to ask him to clue me in. But a laugh tingles on my lips when I find what he’s laughing at. Monica’s crying as she holds onto Chandler’s arm, an ocean scene in the background. 

“Can’ believe Joey actually peed on Monica.” The words leave Harry’s mouth in between chuckles rather sloppily. 

“He was just trying to help!” I comment, unable to stop laughing either. 

“But it doesn’t even help! They say it makes it worse even,” he laughs, rubbing his forehead.  

Shaking my head, my eyes fall to my laptop screen. After a few clicks, lines of text cloud my eyes. My eyes roll into the back of my head at their appearance. I find it nearly impossible to hold back a groan. 

“What’re you gripin’ ‘bout ova here?” Harry questions with teasing in his tone.

���I have to read the entire case of Haughton v. Smith for a test, and it’s so confusing. I mean, working with you brushed me up on a lot of legal mumbo jumbo. But still, a lot of it doesn’t make sense to me,” I huff, my chin falling into the palm of my hand.  

“Alright, lemme see what part yer at,” he says in a quiet voice. I try to ignore the regret budding inside of me at what I said about working at his firm. And how it makes me feel, and probably him, too. I don’t know why I ever bring it up, because sometimes it feels like when somebody else brings up the ex-boyfriend, or something. The sofa cushion dips as he closes the space between us. The angel and demon inside of me erupt into synonymous cheers when his arm goes around me. 

“God, did you forget your glasses or something, Grandpa?” my question sputters from my lips in a cackle, watching him squint at the screen.

“Oh shuddup, an’ I mean it,” Harry quips, looking away for a moment. When I see the reason why, instead of a laugh consuming my thoughts, something else does. For some fucking reason, my heart warms at the sight of him unfolding a pair of mottled brown Pantos glasses. He tucks the brown case into the inside of his blazer, his peacoat on a chair. “Ya ya, laugh all ya want at me an’ me readin’ glasses.” 

But when he looks down at me with them settled on his nose, I don’t laugh. “Why aren’t ya laughin’ anymo’, hmm?” he questions. 

“I think they look really nice on you. They make you look handsome and sophisticated,” I tell him slowly, and it’s undeniable the pink that pinches his cheeks. 

“Well ‘s ‘bout time fer dat t’ happen, only took me twenty-nine years,” he jokes, bringing a smile to my lips. My head goes from side to side as I close my eyes, my cheeks bunching from happiness painting my lips. Yeah, it’s about time for a lot of things right about now. “Alrigh’, lemme look what part yer at fer real now.”

I nod, trying to get comfortable on the sofa. Pitching my head back, I feel it bump into his arm. Nevermind my fucked neck, I return my eyes to the screen to try and forget that his arm is around me. But they immediately refuse and slowly trail to Harry, his face mere inches away from mine. 

Okay, no, stop thinking about his lips and what they could do, I tell the demon inside of my head. 

Becky, you could. You so know you could do it. 

Shut up! He’s just helping me with my homework, that’s all this is. 

Oh yeah? And when are you going to let yourself think about the real reason he’s here, huh?

I can’t do that right now. 

Yes, you can! Maybe if you think about it, you’ll realize how good of an idea it would be to let yourself kiss him. I’m sure he’s thinking about it too.

Just stop!

His thumb and forefinger knead his bottom lip. It bunches together in little waves as his eyes flit across the screen. Whiskers the shade of his curls are scattered across his face. They’re dense atop his upper lip and around his chin. And God, I can’t stop thinking about them. Wanting to touch them. Feel them on my face- okay stop it, Becky. 

“Well yer mostly at tha end, so wha’ doesn’t make sense t’ ya?” Harry finally says, turning his head ever so slightly to look at me. 

“I know, but I feel like I don’t know what I just read. And the verdict is contradicting to me,” I answer with a shrug of my shoulders. 

“Well maybe it’d make more sense t’ ya if ya weren’t lookin’ at it at almos’ midnigh’, love.”

“Yeah, well it’s kind of the only time I have lately with everything. I’m afraid to email my prof again saying I need an extension when it’s due tomorrow. I’ve needed a lot of them lately. I just wanna get it done,” I respond quietly, looking to the telly awkwardly. It’s always hard when the truth comes out, and the emotions that hang on to it. 

A spark ignites on my cheek, almost like a tickle. And when I look over, his eyes are glued to me. The tip of his calloused finger brushes a ghost of a touch under my left eye. “I neva knew ya hadda scar there,” he murmurs, running the tip of his finger over the oblong light brown shape. 

“I-It’s not a scar,” I say quickly, but at the same time, at a loss for words. He’s so close his breath smelling of chamomile tea passes by me within a second. And God, those pouty strawberry lips are so decadent, and tempting. “It’s a birthmark. I usually cover it up with makeup, that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.” Finished, I turn my head back to the telly, his finger dropping from the barely one-inch mark. 

“Wha’? Why d’ya do that? ‘s lovely.” As much as I try to drown my thoughts in the scene unraveling before my eyes, I can’t. Because his words, and the tingling under my eye consume my thoughts. The devil and angel inside my head bounce up and down in their seats. 

“Kids used to make fun of it when I was little. They’d call it a worm under my eye, because of its shape. It used to be more pronounced and bigger when I was little, but it’s still pretty noticeable,” I answer, adding in an eye roll that he laughs at. 

“Aww, poor Becks. But if it counts, I don’ think it looks like a worm. ‘s cute on you,” he adds seriously, pinching my cheek. That makes me look over at him, and I already know that I’m blushing. 

A small ‘thanks’ leaves my lips before my eyes dip to my laptop. Close to a minute of silence grows between us before he breaks it. “‘Kay, so Haughton vs. Smith found that ya can’t commit tha crime o’ handlin’ stolen goods, if tha goods they’re talkin’ ‘bout weren’t actually stolen. ‘s an important case t’ know, cuz it was ‘ventually ovaturned by tha Criminal Attempts Act o’ ‘81. Ya’ll neva be able t’ forget tha connection between tha two, issa given. Ya don’ need t’ worry ‘bout that law now tho’, they basically mean tha same thing.” 

“Thanks for explaining it, I hope it’s enough to help me pass the test on it,” I reply, crossing my arms over my chest stubbornly. 

“Open tha test, an’ ‘ll help ya with it.”

The second my eyes land on Joey’s body covered in sand on the telly, they whip back to Harry. “Really, you’d help me?”

“‘Course I would. Tha’s what ‘m here fer. An’ it wouldn’t hurt t’ see if I still got it.”

“You’ve been a lawyer for years, and this is pre-law, so of course you do. And not to mention, ranked as one of the best in London,” I reply smiling, clicking open a new tab. I suspect how my words will make him feel, because they fill me with the same emotions. Pride. Happiness. Astonishment. And more pride. 

“Well, I do me best,” Harry titters proudly. A cocky hum leaves his lips as he brushes off his chest. A laugh sputters from my lips that I can’t contain. “Heeeey, don’ be laughin’ at me.”

“Sorry, I just can’t control myself when you start dropping dad jokes,” I respond nonchalantly, clicking on the tab labeled ‘Assessments.’

“Just pull tha bloody test up an’ le’s get it ova with,” he huffs, amusement still lacing through his words. 

“Awww, is it past your bedtime already?” I pout, turning my eyes to him. His lips smush together and I hear the smallest of squeaks get past them. “You know you like my grandpa jokes, don’t lie.”

“Shuddup, li’l one, an’ open tha goddamn test already,” he huffs. If anybody else heard him, they’d think he was mad at me. But even as my eyes cast over the column of tests from this course, I know different. I can hear it in his voice - the joking, the molasses, the affectionate teasing, and the friendship. 

Wow, nice choice of words there, Ms. Denial. 

Shut up, devil. 

“I am not little!” I retort in a high voice, making my two tabs appear as two windows on my screen. Side by side. Cheating time!

“Becks, yer like 5’5, if that.”

“No, I’m not! I’m 5’6, you liar!”

“Ya, cuz that one lousy inch really does a whole lot, doesn’t it?” Harry counters, his voice melting into a goofy one. I respond to it with a hearty laugh that is soon accompanied by his. “Yer still a li’l one t’ me, love.” 

“Fine, Grandpa Harry.”

+

The annoying sound of a laugh track pricks at my ears. Blinking hard, the room around me is blurry. But after a groggy minute of blinking, it begins to sharpen. I don’t remember the lights getting turned off, but the telly screen burns my eyes. Rubbing them, I moan from tiredness. Dropping my arm, I feel it hit something. Looking down, I’m confused. When I lift my head from whatever it was resting on, I find what I was laying on. And well, what was also laying on me. Still is. Her face scrunches adorably before relaxing, nuzzling her head against my shoulder once more. 

Becks. 

After combing my hair off of my forehead, the lock screen of my phone wakes me up a little more. Especially when I see that it reads 1:18 am. Fuck, I need to get to my hotel and go to bed. I have my case tomorrow. But when I hear a noise and find the culprit, all of those thoughts wash away. An incoherent sound runs off of her lips, ones that are so close to me. Fuck, again. But when my eyes scan the rest of my body, I realize that she’s all over me. Well, almost. Her right hand rests on my chest as she leans against the back of the sofa. But her pretty little head of dark hair is laying on my shoulder. My arm is around her, holding her close to me. I can feel her other arm tickling my side. 

Memories float to the surface, and suddenly I’m back at the hospital in London. In December. A phone call woke me from my slumber beside her on the sofa. The both of us curled up on opposite sides. Sleep clinging to my eyes and begging to me to return to it. Her shoulders rising with every soft snore, but it was the most daintiest one I’d ever heard. It felt like my heart was being squeezed tighter with every move I made to leave her. When I draped the second blanket over her. And how much it hurt to move the hair off of her face. To press a kiss to her unknowing head. But nothing compared to the anguish I felt grow with every step I put between us. 

Blinking hard, the dark room materializes around me again. Her precious snores welcome my return to the moment. A smile brings my lips upwards as I watch a crease grow between her eyebrows. She’s too goddamn adorable. And that’s why I came, isn’t it? Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t resist her. I can’t say no to Becky. When she called me crying and a mess worrying about her dad, I didn’t know what I was doing until I was putting the town of Madley into my GPS. I guess The Beatles were right with that one song, and plenty of others. She’s really got a hold on me. And before I could begin to stop myself, her skin is like velvet under my thumb. I rub the crease away with the pad of it, and suddenly my head dips. My lips barely brush her hair when she groans below me. 

“Harry?” she murmurs, lifting her head from my shoulder. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.”

She yawns, moving away to look around sleepily. But soon she returns back to my arms, cozying up to me once more. And I couldn’t be more thankful, or conflicted. The latter word drills into my mind as I rub a hand down her back, sleep trying to coax me back in, too. 

“We fell asleep,” she mumbles, her honey voice coated in that very word. Fuck, does it make me feel things. Things that I’d much rather not. 

“Yeah, ‘s one in tha mornin’.”

“Shitttt,” she sighs, sitting up fast. Her growing locks pour over her shoulders covered by a crewneck jumper. Faded pictures of balls from different sports are scattered across the heather gray fabric. Like something my dad wore when I was a tot. “You have your case tomorrow.”

“‘m fine, I already dropped me stuff off at tha hotel an’ got me key,” I tell her, missing the warmth of her against me. And I miss the fact in those words alone of what I’m missing. Her in my arms. “But ya should prolly get sum sleep, too. Seems like ya’ve been missin’ it lately.”

“I’m okay, just lots of homework,” Becky says, running her long fingers through her wavy hair. 

“‘d offa me hotel room, but ‘s half an hour ‘way in Wolverhampton. An’ there’s only tha one bed,” I tell her, unsure of why. I blame it on the sleepy brain. 

“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’ll just sleep on the couch in his room. It’s not too bad once you get used to it,” she assures me. Her arms crack as she stretches them toward the ceiling. I can’t help myself when the baggy jumper rides up, exposing the slightest of her milky white tummy. Fuck. But just like that, it’s gone in a flash. If only my feelings worked that way. 

It’s like she has some sixth sense that I’m thinking about her, because her eyes cast over to me. It’s hard to make out their ocean blue in this dark, but I know they’re there. I can picture them if I need to, because I do it all the time - trying to make myself remember what they look like. The exact shade. The speckles of darker blue amongst the color. 

“Yer welcome,” I return. The tired smile I get in return melts my insides like butter. But that’s how I feel when I’m around her, and that’s how much of a hold she’s got on me. 

Shocks of electricity dance across the back of my hand. I don’t need to look down to know her hand is on top of mine. And how it’s making me go crazy. She’s only a few inches away. I could do it. Before I stop myself, I begin to lean in, and she watches me do it. But with only a few seconds left, we jump apart at the sound of a ringtone. 

Embarrassment covers me like a dark cloud, among other nasty emotions. My head falls, hiding the heat rising to my cheeks. Pulling out my phone to distract myself, it doesn’t do that great of a job as I hear her talk to somebody on the phone. Dammit, I was so close. With a hand in my hair, I scroll through emails. Deleting some and saving others. 

“Sorry, that was Robbie. Just checking in, since I forgot to update him, I guess,” Becky tells me, lifting my head with her voice. 

My head only goes up and down, avoiding eye contact. Because I can’t muster it after what just happened, or what didn’t. 

“‘s late, ya should get sum rest,” I announce, getting to my feet. Picking up my coat, I slip it on before I dare to look at her.

She smiles shyly at me, sleep hanging around her eyes. Even rubbing her nose with the sleeve of her jumper is precious. And her legs jittering in her faded blue jeans. Vans the shade of her favorite color donning her feet. 

“Yeah, you too,” is all she has to say.

Suddenly, I don’t know what to do. For a mere second, I entertain the thought of trying again. But fuck it, she’s so far away right now, figuratively and literally. I can catch a hint of her scent sticking to me, and it makes me sad to realize. 

“Go get sum sleep, ‘kay?” Are the only words I can think of as I walk up to her and pat her arm. 

“Yeah, you too, Harry. Careful driving.”

“Thanks, Becks, I will. Sweet dreams, love,” I mutter, looking at her over my shoulder. 

And I keep walking, and leave her behind. Regrets coursing through my ears, and emotions tugging at my seams. The tiredness coating my every thought and action, only make it all the worse. I’m not sure if I want to wake up more for the car drive to the hotel, because then it will all feel even more real. And discouraging. 

“Harry?” stopping in my tracks, I hear her call my name. Spinning around, I feel her before I see her. Her arms surround around my waist and her head comes to lay against my chest. All within seconds. “Thank you . . . for coming.”

A pain sounds in my chest when I hear the emotion in her voice. And it takes all of me to not echo it, because I know I could. And that I would. Instead I say, “Yer welcome, Becks,” and I do at least one thing I wanted to do tonight. Dipping my head, I smooth down her hair and press my lips to her hair for more than a few seconds. 

The sweet smell of orange blossom greets me, and my smile is havoced by pain. Her warm breaths tickle the skin at my neck as my hands lace together at the small of her back. Her arms squeeze me around the middle before releasing, and she lets go of me. I think about trying again, but the thought is fleeting when she begins to walk away from me. 

And I let her do it. Once again. 

+

The burbling of the running water fills my ears. Well, besides the sound of the football match. Surprise, surprise. And the next sound. His cheering. It makes me smile as I wipe my hands with a paper towel. 

“What’s the score now?” I ask, walking back into the room. His eyes don’t go to me at the question, instead they remain on the screen. 

“Six-two. It doesn’t look too good for ‘em,” my dad replies snarkily, a devilish glint in his eyes. But it’s there, and that’s all that matters. It’s what makes the smile stick to my face. 

“Don’t let your food get cold,” I say, bending over to dig into my backpack. 

“I’m done eating. You can have the rest, Ree,” he replies just as I feel the smooth handle I’m searching for.

“I’m okay, thanks. I was probably going to check out the special in the cafe.”

“Oh so only I have to eat the hospital food?” my dad whines, pouting at me when I look at him. 

With a laugh, I remark, “I’m eating their food in the cafe too, you dork.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry, chemo brain,” he replies, tapping a finger against his head. A striped green hat keeping it warm. His arm returns to the white blanket pulled up to his waist. Light shines in his eyes and his arms lift into the air when they make yet another goal. 

Whoops and hollers leave his chapped lips. But this morning, they’re pinker. And so is his skin. If only in the slightest, I notice them. Running the brush through my knotted hair, I yawn as I watch him. A patterned hospital gown covers his upper half, with the sleeves just coming to above the IVs in his left arm. Fluids and meds. The antibiotics. Yippee. 

But the thoughts are mulled over when I look to his plate sitting on the moveable tray beside him. It was scrambled eggs, toast, applesauce, and milk this morning. And he ate nearly half of it, even if it took about half an hour. But I want to blame part of that on the football match his eyes are stuck to. 

“I’m going to see if I can find your doctor. I had a question,” I tell him, dropping my hairbrush back into my backpack. 

“Ree, don’t worry about it. He’ll come by later,” my dad insists, but I stand from my chair regardless of his answer. 

“It’s fine. I need to stretch my legs anyways.” 

He hums a reply I can’t decode, but I hear his teasing about blocking the telly when I walk by. Over my shoulder, he flashes me a small smile before returning to yelling lazily at the referees. Nurses and doctors pass me, going to and from rooms to the nearby nurse’s station. Tucking a strand of wet hair behind my ear, I search for the shock of white hair of my dad’s doctor. 

But no such luck. 

As I approach the nurse’s station, sounds of beeping, call lights, and murmuring voices fill the air. But another sound stands out from the rest. And I hear my name, or well my last name. It takes me a second to locate where it’s coming from, but when I do there’s a flutter in my chest. And I know I’m in trouble, or maybe that I’m just realizing it now after all of this time. 

But I don’t save him right away, and instead I observe. Confusion sews his eyebrows together over those misty green eyes. One lone curl tickles his forehead, breaking free from his damp hair. His black peacoat is draped over his arm clad in a warm violet blazer. A dusty rose button down peeks out from its collar, and I smile. I don’t even know why. But as the seconds tick by watching him talk to the nurse, I think I know why. 

“Looking for me, Styles?” I pipe up, stepping forward with my hands hidden away in my hoodie.

Harry’s eyes fall from the nurse and pan over to me. A lazy smile works its way onto his face quickly, only interrupted to thank the nurse. 

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, turning to walk towards me. 

“What are you doing here? You have your case today, you said,” I respond, playing with the sleeve of my black hoodie. The cracked decal of Robbie’s old band covers the front. 

“Came t’ bring ya out t’ brekky. Me case doesn’t start ‘til tha aftanoon, bug,” he responds with half of a smile, pinching my arm affectionately. And there’s that nickname, again, I think as my insides turn to mush. “Well jus’ down t’ tha cafe if tha’s alright. I saw sumthin’ ‘bout biscuits ‘n gravy, an’ sumthin’ smelled mighty delicious when I came in.”

“That sounds great,” I say, a smile inching its way up my lips. The wet ends of my hair knock against each other, and my chin. “I’ll just let my dad know,” I tell him, turning around to walk away. 

But after only a few steps, a sudden thought brings me to halt. It wills my feet to turn around and look at Harry. “Would you like to meet him?” I ask tentatively in a meek voice. “He’s doing a little better this morning, but I think that’s thanks to the Arsenal match on the telly.”

With what appears to be a shaky smile, he replies, “‘d love t’. Hope ‘s not me Manchester United boys playin’ ‘gainst ‘em.”

Waving a hand towards me, he closes the distance between us. His leather boots squeak from the last bits of melting April snow. It’s only a few moments before I peek my head into his room, and low and behold, he’s still transfixed by the match. 

Rapping my knuckle against the door, I get his attention before saying, “Hey, can I steal you away from your precious game for a few? There’s a friend of mine I’d like you to meet.”

“Yeah, sure,” he responds, adjusting his blankets before the telly’s volume falls. Over my shoulder, I shoot Harry an encouraging smile. He returns it, but I can see the nerves showing through. 

Pushing open the door fully, I walk in and he follows from behind. 

“Dad, this is Harry Styles. My uh, former boss I’ve told you about,” I fumble for words, giving a magician-like wave to him. Well, the right words. “He stopped by last night and brought me dinner. He has a case today in Wolverhampton, and we’re going to get breakfast downstairs before.”

A weary smile curls at the corners of my dad’s lips. Nodding, his dusty pink lips part, “Ah, so this is the fella you were with until all hours last night,” he jests, pulling nervous laughter into the air. “Yes, it’s about time we met. I’ve heard a lot about you, son. Thanks for everything you’ve done for Becky, and for your well wishes. It’s meant a whole damn lot to me, and I know for her too.” 

Okay, dad, let’s not board the emotional bus yet. Or maybe, ever.  

Happy laughs float around the room as Harry steps forward, rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands. “‘s a pleasure t’ meet ya as well, sir,” he rasps, reaching out to shake my dad’s hand firmly. 

“Call me Chuck, Harry. I’m not that old yet, although sometimes it feels that way,” my dad jokes, widening the smiles on all of our faces.

“Yes, ‘course, Chuck. I’ve also heard loads ‘bout ya, all good things, so no worries. Ya’ve been in me prayers an’ thoughts ova tha last 7 months. Sure raised a great daughter, ya should know.” 

A permanent smile warms my cheeks as I shyly look over to Harry. He meets my eyes and smiles back at me. Winking, he shove his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Thank you, son. That’s mighty good to hear, although I’m not too sure about that son of mine sometimes,” he laughs, soon getting a scoff from me. 

“Oh I mean Robbie, too. I’ve only met tha bloke once or twice, but I was impressed. Certainly since I was surprised t’ find out Becky hadda twin,” Harry comments, his eyes burning a hole into my cheek. 

“Yes, I think I’ve heard that story. Their mother and I were pretty surprised to find there was two, also,” he chuckles. “But Ree likes to do that sometimes.”

Shaking my head, I look away and to the Spring sunshine. It seeps in through the cracks in between the window shades. Their soft laughs fill my ears before Harry’s voice does again. 

“Yeah she’s a spitfire, alright,” he comments, and finally I meet his smirking eyes before they return to my dad. “But ‘m glad t’ hear yer doin’ a bit betta. Hopefully they can get a good handle on dis soon, an’ you lot can go home.”

“Thank you. We hope so too,” my dad nods, running his thumb along the buttons of the tv remote. “I truly appreciate you taking the time to be here with Becky . . I know it means more than words to her.” 

Looking away to the floor, his words find the chink in my armor. I feel the lump rise in my throat along with memories of last night. Luckily, the tears stay away and I get away with it. 

“‘Course, ‘m glad I was able t’ come an’ be with her. Dunno if she told ya, but she was there fer me when my grandad was in tha hospital befo’ he passed. An’ well, I know how much it means t’ ‘ave sumbody there,” Harry murmurs, almost giving a reason for the tears to make an appearance. But they don’t, and I’m repeating ‘thank yous’ inside of my head. 

“I’m pretty proud of my little Rebecca Ann, and it only grows more every day,” my dad comments, flitting his eyes over to me. His words make my cheeks tingle with a new blush and because I know another pair are on me, too. 

“Yeah, she makes it ratha easy,” Harry agrees softly, pulling my attention to him. The gentlest smile sits atop his lips, and a sad sweetness twinkles in his eyes. 

“Well, we’ll let you get back to your match. We’re going to grab breakfast before everybody else gets the same idea,” I pipe in, unsure of when and how to sever the moment. But the look in Harry’s eyes does something to me, and I don’t know what to do with it. 

We exchange short goodbyes before I’m following Harry out of the room. The rising volume of the football announcers voices send us on our way. 

“Rebecca Ann, huh?” Harry smiles beside me, the nurse’s station in our rearview mirrors. 

“Go ahead and make jokes about it. It doesn’t even sound like my name, I don’t know. I’ve only ever went by that for forms, when I got in trouble, or like on the first day of school and graduation. And the Ann is just my middle name, I don’t have a two parter,” I explain hurriedly, surprising myself when I don’t hear one of his delightful giggles. Tearing my eyes away from the poster at the end of the hallway, I look to him. And he isn’t laughing, which confuses me. 

“There’s no jokes t’ be had. I think ‘s pretty, yer name. Figured ya were a Rebecca, but wasn’t sure. Nor did I know yer middle was Ann. Tha’s my mum’s name, ‘ve always loved it,” he tells me, coming to a stop in front of the gunmetal colored doors of the lift. The sickeningly sweet look on his face sends the butterflies in my tummy to flight. Again.

“Oh thanks,” I almost blurt, pressing the button to go down. But then as we step into the welcoming lift, more come to me. “It was my grandmother’s name. It always made me feel closer to her, like I always had a piece of her with me.”

“Tha’s nice. ‘ve always liked it when parents carry on family names like dat. It makes me think ‘d like t’ do tha same with me own kids one day,” Harry continues as I watch the doors shut, cutting us off from the rest of the world. If only for a few minutes. But still. 

“Me too.”

“So nobody ever calls ya Becca?” Harry inquires, catching my attention. 

“Eh, not really. Maybe Skye sometimes, and my grandma Ann did, but not much anymore.”

“Hmm maybe ‘ll hafta use it then,” he quips, but then he wears a confused smile he pulled out of thin air. “Eh I dunno, actually. Ya’ll always be me Becks,” he finishes, making my heart do a dance. And fueling the angel and demon having a party inside of my head. 

“Yeah, I agree. Anything else would sound weird.”

“Ya look like ‘im, ya know. Tha eyes, tha hair, and tha shape o’ yer face - bloody spitting image ya are. ‘Specially Robbie,” Harry acknowledges.

“We get that a lot, but thanks, I like to hear it. Sometimes I can’t see it, though,” I recall. “Which parent do you look like?”

“Um, dunno. I get comments ‘bout lookin’ like both o’ me parents. I guess I mostly ‘ave people say I look like me dad with sum o’ my mum’s features. Which sounds wild.”

“Yeah, I can relate with people saying I look like my dad. It’s like, oh thanks for saying I look like a boy,” I laugh. Turning to look at him on my left, a small one sputters from his smiling cherry lips. 

“I know, ‘s weird.”

“I can see it, though. How people think you look like him,” I tell him. When I watch his lips settle into a silent, straight line, I feel instant regret. “I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“No, ‘s okay. Jus’ hard hearin’ people say ya look like sumbody ya don’ like.”

A small ‘oh’ passes over my lips before I can stop it. My eyes leave him and go to the changing red number above my head. Words bubble up inside of me, and I tell them to stop. But then I can’t. 

“I think I know how you feel,” I murmur, daring to look over at him, her face flashing in my mind. His far away eyes lift from the floor and pan over to me. 

I try not to lose myself in their infinity of green, but it’s worthless. And soon I am, and thoughts of last night leak from my memories. 

I know it’s at the back of his mind too. That almost kiss. The one he tried to initiate, and the one I want so bad. Five months ago, I don’t know if I would’ve. But now in this moment and in this elevator, all alone with him, I couldn’t want something more. 

Or somebody. 

[darkredehmption]

Rough And Tumble

#SL #RoughAndTumble

Written by @DamagedBrother and @OfFeatherNFang

***

Malachi:

I wanted to groan at the feeling. As the final rays of sunlight caressed me, the shards peaking over the horizon, I filled my lungs and sighed. After days of trying to sneak past the diligent staff, the Brothers and the Chosen, I’d finally taken a moment to flip my switch, go invisible, and creep out to catch the last of a sunset. Even these precious few minutes fuelled me like no food, no blood, could alone. 

The relief was acute and sweet. I smiled as the last of the light glittered and twinkled, before turning into a twilight glow. It wouldn’t be long before the shutters of the building slid upward, before the household was wide awake and active, and my stream of visitors began. 

Not for much longer, though. As it was, I’d ditched the IVs, the oxygen, and just about anything else that could hobble me to the suite. Free of those, it had been that much easier to ghost my way up to daylight. After all, can you imagine an IV walking itself toward the exit? Yeah. No thanks.

Another plus were the doggen. Once they’d gotten the gist of me, and somehow taken my measurements while I friggin slept, I’d woken to fresh clothes, new boots. My old clothes had been pressed and neatly folded into my pack, which sat on a table in the PT suite, waiting for me. After checking in with my mahmen and reassuring her that I was fine and had, somehow, become a temporary resident of the Brotherhood, she’d said she would think about a return. Phury was tickled pink.

But I digress.

With my healing all but complete - and a little boost from that five minute tan doing wonders - it wouldn’t be long before I was, more than likely, politely asked to vacate the premises. Which was fair. I didn’t live here. I didn’t belong here. I was a hunter, and I needed to get back to the hunt. 

Even if some part of me ached and cringed at the prospect. 

Hitting the tunnel, I mulled over the ache, tried to feel out the cause of it as my brand new and astonishingly comfortable shitkickers hit the floor. It wasn’t like I didn’t have my own band of brothers out there; we were tight knit and if one called? The others answered. I was grateful that the messages on my phone hadn’t been bad news, or a desperate call for aid that I couldn’t provide. For the most part, everyone had been checking in. I’d relayed my status, and the state I was in, and if anything came up nearby, I’d be tapped.

So why did these Brothers, this band of warriors, give me the twisty gut feeling when I thought about leaving? And one specifically…

I stopped dead as I felt eyes on me, and belatedly realized I had not, in fact, gone ghost to return to the PT suite. Hiding a wince, I looked up from my musing into golden eyes. They narrowed ever so slightly, and I could see the question there: what was I doing out here?

“Hey. I was uh… gonna check out that gym you apparently live in,” I managed, my smile lopsided as I lifted a hand to ruffle my hair. “I mean, I’m feeling pretty good now so I figure I’ll be outta here soon. Gotta get that rematch in at some point before I go, right?”

Zsadist:

[I couldn’t help but think about the male in the PT suite. Our last conversation was cut off short and I had made an escape before it continued on. Though suddenly now I wanted to see him. Wanted to ask him more questions. There was something about him. He also didn’t seem to judge me like most do when they meet me. His eyes didn’t stare at the imperfections of my face constantly. He listened when I spoke and even spoke up about himself. Though I definitely felt like there was something big he was hiding. Which seemed to puzzle me. Hell as long as he wasn’t secretly working with the Omega we would be good. Which I find that hard to believe after he just risked his life to help save the Chosens. So what then? My thoughts drift to the shifter. What if...Malys was hunting them? Maybe that was the big secret. I paused when I heard footsteps, lifting my head to see said male walking down the tunnels. The fuck was he doing out of bed?! My gaze locks on his own when he catches me staring.] 

You should be resting. [I mutter as my eyes roam over him. He did look...better. Which causes suspicion to form. This male has been healing for days and now all of a sudden he’s looking better then ever. I raised a brow and tilts my head to the side as my eyes met his again.] You are keeping something from me. From my brothers. I don’t like it. [My distorted lip twitches as I incline my head towards the gym.] But anyway...by all means let’s check it out. [I eyed him up one more time before I turned to enter the gym with Malys close behind. Once inside I start to give a tour of the facility. It’s almost like he was a trainee.] 

So right when you come in there is this door to take you to the locker room. Inside is lockers, benches, a place to shower, and a steam room. The doggens always have fresh towels stocked as well as water bottles. [Points to the refrigerator. Then blinks. Why was I acting like he was staying? Maybe because I wanted him to, but why? What was this…thing causing me to act this way? Shaking the thoughts from my head as I start to move again.] 

We have treadmills…[Blinking I see a broken one that looked like someone ran it into the ground.] Rhage…[I mutter under my breath then snorts as I show you all the weights and different machines.] Just your normal gym. [My shoulders lift in a shrug as my eyes land on the mats. Beside them was a few punching bags.] I stay in this area a lot. I like to do a lot of boxing and what not. [Lifting my gaze to the male, slowly my eyes lowered.] Rematch huh? Not really fair with you being still hurt yeah? Or did you heal miraculously today? [I take a few steps forward, my eyes never leaving his.] Care to explain? 

Malys:

The male was looking at me with every lick of suspicion he possessed, and I honestly didn’t blame him. Earlier in the day I may not have been attached to every machine in the PT Suite that beeped, but I still looked pale and tired and like a good breeze might blow me down. Now? I looked like I’d just missed a good night’s rest. 

His declaration, that I was keeping something from him and the Brothers, punched through the attempted bravado I was conjuring, and for a moment I felt the weight of my confession on the tip of my tongue. Then he was pushing through the door, leaving me with the weight and beginning what sounded like a tour. I followed, my eyes tracking what he indicated, amused when I saw the destroyed treadmill. No surprises there. The males were massive and ran at life head first. Treadmills stood no chance. 

As we got to the boxing bags and equipment, I paused when he turned to me. All questions. All enquiry. I didn’t flinch, but I felt the desire to tell him. I wanted him to know. Even as every instinct continued to shout I had to protect my secret. 

“I think m’ doing a lot better,” I say calmly, glancing down at myself. “Maybe it was psychological? Maybe the Chosen blood finally kicked in?” I shrugged. “But I do feel better. No miracles required.

Stepping closer, I looked from the punching bag to the male and arched a brow. “If I’m not at full strength what would you like to do? Maybe you could show me a few things,” I suggest. “I’m pretty decent at disarming moves. Hand to hand.”

Looking across the room, I took in the mats that they had to be using for close quarters, hand to hand training. I took a step toward it, then another, a small smile of delight on my face. It’d been years since I’d done any training like this. It brought back my younger years, the times spent wrestling with human hunters and all of us drinking as we watched the stars after.

Turning my gaze back to Zsadist, I smiled, the words leaving my mouth before I could think about it. 

“I’m not at full strength, no, but if you’re in the mood I’m keen to stretch a little?” 

Zsadist:

[Snorts at the male. Was he serious? Did he think I was that stupid to believe that bullshit he just spewed. Something was not right here, but I ignored it. For now. Shaking my head as I eyed him up.] Slow your roll. We should start slow. I may be fucked up at times, but I’m not about to put you back into the hospital bed. Besides...I think my twin wants you to introduce your Mahmen to him. 

[Nodding as I move towards the punching bag. I give it a few good punches before I pull back and takes in a deep breath.] I mean…I know you probably have a life to get back to. The hunters...and what not. But...if your Mahmen moves in with the other Chosens. [Tilts my head towards the male.] Then what? [Slamming my fist into the bag, watching as it swings back and forth.] Those hunters...do they really need you? I mean…[Gritting my teeth as I curse under my breath. Why was I being so fucking stupid in front of him? 

I started to hit the bag a few more times, turning to face him. My hand grabbing at the hem of my shirt, tugging it up to wipe a bit of sweat off of my forehead.] What I’m trying to say is that you should join the trainee program. Fight with us. You clearly hate lessers just as much as we do. [My lip twitches, hand moving over my skull trim as I circle him slowly. From hitting the bag around I had an adrenaline rush going. Maybe a little bit of wrestling wouldn’t be so bad. He looked pretty healed to me. Stopping behind him, my eyes roam his body slowly]

Though you do seem to be pretty knowledgeable on taking down lessers. Let me ask you...what kind of weapons do you use when you hunt? [Slowly I take a step forward, calculating each move I make in my head beforehand. Fuck. Why was I so drawn to him? Why did I care if he stayed or not? Pushing the thoughts out of my head as I crouch slightly. Keeping my eyes trained on the back of his head.] 

Mal:

I fought the initial lick of tension; the idea of my mahmen returning to live in another man’s household irking me. But my mahmen hadn’t become the strong woman she was by retreating to another’s household. She’d built her home, her hunters lodge, and she ran it. Hunters respected her. Protected her. In turn, she cared for them. Patched them up and fed them. She would never walk away from that… right?

Watching the male lay into the bag, my eyes rake over him to take in his form, his skill, the force of his punch. I remembered it well enough - my face remembered it acutely. Listening to him, I bit back on my initial snarling reaction. Of course the hunters needed me. We were a family. A team, even when we operated alone. Yet I could see the male struggling with every word. 

“My mahmen created a life for herself away from here. She may visit,” I conceded softly, “but I doubt she will return. As for the hunters…” I took a breath, holding it and then letting it out slowly. “Even when we hunt alone we are a team. If I called, they’d come.”

It might not be the Brotherhood’s version of fighters, but we dealt with the monsters in the dark no one wanted to face and we did a damn decent job of it. Could I leave that, to stay here? The Brothers’ suggestion that I join the trainee program provokes so many reactions in me I struggle to grab onto just one. Then the male decided to flash his abs at me and my thoughts threatened to derail all over again. As the male paced around me, my senses seemed to heighten, my awareness of him acute. I didn’t bother turning to follow him, instead bracing myself, ready for whatever he threw at me. 

“Not to sound rude… but I’m not a ‘trainee’. I don’t need a babysitter,” I murmur, fighting the need to look over my shoulder, to track him with my eyes. “I’ve been hunting worse things than lessers for most of my life… and I hunt them with whatever works against them. Silver blades. Silver bullets. Rock salt shells in a shotgun. Whatever it takes,” I manage, the tension around us building. I wanted him to reach out, to try something. I wanted to show him I was no trainee. 

Zsadist:

[When his head turns I catch his gaze. Locking our eyes with a wide smirk, flashing my fangs. I dematerialize only to take form in front of him.] I know you aren’t...like the trainees we’ve had in the past. You are…[My eyes move over him.] Well past your transition. But sometimes it’s not always so easy with lessers. It’s not more so you learning to fight. It’s you learning how to fight with us. My Brothers and I are a well oiled machine and we face lessers like the other night constantly. Some nights are worse than others. [With that said I disappear again. Only to appear behind him now. 

Quickly I move forward. Lunging at the male to take him down. But it wasn’t as easy as I thought. He was quick. Faster than a lesser that was for sure. When he moved, I did. When I threw a punch he blocked and vice versa until I land a blow at his side. Though he was right there to hit me back with one. My eyes flashed an ever deeper golden hue. 

This was completely different then sparing with my Brothers. Sure, they didn’t hold back. But it wasn’t this intense, and not just in a fighting sense. There was this weird thing that seemed to linger around us and I didn’t understand it at all. None of this made sense but didn’t want it to end. I wanted more. So much more. For the first time in a long time I felt alive. 

When I feel a punch to my face I couldn’t help but let out a powerful growl. My fangs were fully elongated and out on display for him to see. His scent was all around me. Sounds of us panting fill the air mixed with the thumps of his heart. I lick my fangs before I land another blow to his side, one hand gripping at his arm. Holding him in place as I repeat the hit. My head snaps up to lock our eyes. He was looking at me with the same intensity that I was. Who were you Malys? Fuck. Why was this happening to me? To us? Nothing made sense right now but I knew one thing was for sure. I didn’t want him to leave.]

Mal:

Something about having the male’s golden gaze rake over me makes my skin hot, everything tingling in anticipation, though of what I still didn’t know. As he demats back and forth, I can’t help but feel a pang of envy. It’s the one vampiric trick I wish I possessed, but no matter how much my mahmen coached me as a child, I’d never succeeded. 

“Sure, but your trainees here aren’t just learning how to work with you, are they? They’d be learning how to hold a gun and fire it. I don’t need any of that. I don’t need a rehash of my life.”

Since the race had only ever relied on the Brothers for protection, unless self taught, almost every trainee that applied would be learning everything from scratch. Hand to hand combat, knife combat, firearms - all of it. Meanwhile, I had all that, and I wasn’t about to sit in a classroom or stand around a boxing ring relearning shit I knew. 

I felt his presence at my back as he moved again. It was like energy, charged and electric with its intensity. As Zsadist moved, I moved, and the last few days of lying in a hospital bed were forgotten as I made my body react to every hit he delivered. Fighting with the male was different than fighting with anyone else - my heart pounded, my body moved like it never had before, and I was grinning again. Grinning at taking hits, grinning at the feel of his body moving in sync with mine. We’d gone from the prospect of mild disarming to no holds bar.

His hits struck home, the breath almost knocked out of me, and then his eyes were meeting mine. As lightning leapt down my spine, I moved. I seized the wrist of the hand that’d been laying into my ribs and twisted, drawing the male in a swing over my shoulder that took him to the floor. I followed, locking the wrist, my body weight on his as I grinned down at him.

The spark leapt between us again. My heart skipped. For a moment we lay there, panting, the warmth of him searing up into me as every part of me wanted more. I felt relaxed and supercharged all at the same time. His golden eyes were hypnotic as I stared into them. 

My back muscles spasmed. I jerked away from the male, releasing him from the wristlock as alarm replaced the grinning joy of the moment. I fought the surge of my wings from coming into existence. Looking away from Zsadist, from the brilliance of that gilded gaze, I felt my own eyes flickering, the divine threatening to emerge at being so relaxed. What was this Brother doing to me? I’d never struggled with the control of my divine nature. Yet it wanted to emerge now? Fuck!

“Sorry,” I managed, taking a deep breath and pushing it back, pushing everything down. “Something’s aching. You got a few good shots in there. Nicely done…”

This male… what the hell was he doing to me?

Zsadist:

[When I got taken down by the male my eyes went wide. Fuck. Gasping for a breath as I stare up into his intense eyes. What was going on here? And then I felt it. That spark that I had felt before with him. It was a weird feeling. A tingling all over my body before a warmth spreads through me. Everything was on fire and I somehow wanted more. But just as I was about to lean in he pulled away and brought me back to reality. 

I watched as he gave an alarmed look. Like he didn’t want what just happened to happen. And of course why would he? I was disgusting remember? My demons laughed at me. Surrounding me in a circle as they all just pointed and laughed like I was only a few inches tall. Shaking the thoughts from my head, lifting my gaze to the male for a brief second.] 

It’s fine. [I manage to get out. Avoiding his gaze now as I look around the gym. Lifting my shirt once again to wipe the sweat that had taken resident on my forehead. I needed to get out of here and fast. But I couldn’t just ditch the male. Not yet at least. Not after that. It would be awkward as hell.]

Weapons. [I blurt out. Keeping my gaze away from him as I move us out of the gym and over to the room across the hallway. Once inside I take in all the guns wishing I could just take one to my head right now and end all this. Ha. Yeah I was fucked. Scrubbing a hand over my scarred face.] 

Here is where we keep everything. Um...there is a shooting range too if you wanted to try anything out. Guns are handy but I enjoy using my daggers the most. [I was rambling. Scribe make it stop. Pinching the brim of my nose as I let out a breath. I wished another Brother would come in. Please. Hell I’d take Rhage right now over this. Making my way over to the wall of weapons. I opened a few drawers to show him the countless bullets we had on stock.]

There is also throwing stars and some knives. Though the ones that the Brothers and I wear on our chests are different. Vishous hand makes all of them. He is...very talented when it comes to that shit. Getting a weapon made by him is an honor. [Nodding as I lift a hand to rub at my own chest. It was hard to focus on anything right now. Fuck I hope he would take one of these weapons out for practice and I could just leave. Not deal with him ever again. Just completely avoid him until he left the property.]

Mal:

Fuck me. Can we say awkward? I could feel my skin tingling, the muscles twitching in anticipation of flight, as I fought back the urge to fly and followed on two feet. Giving the weapons room the cursory once over, I resisted the urge to pick up a gun, a clip, and vent some of my current frustration right into a target. 

Side eyeing the male as he led me around, I felt a flash of guilt at having turned the tables on him so abruptly. By the set of his shoulders, the way he avoided meeting my gaze, he was probably rightly ticked off with me. I wanted to curse anew as I struggled to find that easy camaraderie we’d had minutes before. But really, what was I going to say? How were our lives even remotely similar to find a common ground conversation?

This compound with its huge facilities and endless supplies was nothing I’d ever experienced. Sure, I could pick up these weapons and shoot them with deadly accuracy, but no gun I’d ever had had been shiny and new, gleaming chrome and black with an endless supply of bullets. My daggers had never been black, or made by a centuries old vampire with a knack for weapons crafting. Hand-me-downs, and pawn shops and sharpening the oldest blades until they could cut like a katana instead of a chainsaw… that was the life I knew. Not this… mansion of expensive tech.

“So crystal eyes makes things that are sharp and pointy,” I said instead, my voice miraculously even. “Seems fitting to his personality type. Do you all have something like that that you do? Some kind of talent?” I wonder, looking around and pulling at my shirt, running a hand over the nearest weapon, before stuffing the wandering digits back into my pants pockets. 

“Did I smell chlorine as well? I mean, not that I should be surprised. If it turned out you guys had your own space station I wouldn’t really be shocked,” I muttered, shaking my head and lifting a hand to rake through my hair, looking down. “You guys are… a far better equipped operation than anything I’ve ever been a part of. I’m pretty sure these clothes the doggen got me are the first time I’ve ever worn something that wasn’t a hand me down or from an op shop.”

Forcing a laugh, I shrugged and turned toward the door. “Oh well. The cards we’re dealt right? Maybe I should go take a swim…”

And hope to fuck it was cold water. Maybe that’d clear my head, help me cool off. Because being around Zsadist wasn’t making things clearer; if anything, I was more confused than ever about who I was and where I was supposed to be. 

Zsadist:

[When he mentions a pool, I raise a brow.] Yeah there is a nice pool. An indoor one and one in the backyard. But it’s closed right now for fall. Though I do believe the ah...hot tub is still running. Yeah. [Scribe, I was so awkward around him. What the fuck just happened in the Gym just now. Why did I have to scare everyone away from me? Scrubbing a hand back and forth across my scarred face before I clear my throat.] 

I think it would be best if you got some rest. Probably should head back to the PT suite. You don’t want to overdo it. True? [I let my eyes meet his one time. One last time. Cause after this I knew that it wouldn’t be smart to continue to see him. He probably was going to leave soon and that would be the last of this male. He had a family and a job to do elsewhere. Holding his gaze for a heartbeat before I peel my eyes away. I let out a soft breath before I turn and practically ran out of the room. 

I head down the tunnels quickly. Hoping that he didn’t pop his head out to say something or try to call me back. It was done with...whatever it was and I needed to focus back onto the Brotherhood and not some random male. Once I make it into the supply closet I pause. There was an ache in my chest. I didn’t understand what was doing with me. What...was this? Lifting a hand to rub my palm over my chest. Leaning against the wall my eyes crack open wide as I hear a door open. Shit no. My eyes rest on bright teal ones. Rhage. He looked at me with a frown. “Z…? You okay?” I quickly nod my head.]

Yeah. I’m good. Um. I think I worked out a little too hard. Speaking of...did you break a treadmill? [I needed something to get the conversation off of me and on to him. Rhage’s cheeks turn slightly red then he grins. “Guilty. But in my defense Mary followed me to the Gym and was looking sexy as hell as she entered the room.” Of course. His mate. Most of the Brothers had mates to come home too. Not me. Nope. And I was completely okay with that. It wasn’t in my cards. Wasn’t meant for me. Even though Phury still tried to push for it every chance he got. Nodding my head at the Brother as I push my thoughts away.] 

That’s fine. Just don’t break anymore, yeah? [He blinks then smiles slowly. “Okay Z. Don’t work yourself too hard.” His large hand landed on my shoulder and I didn’t expect it. I wasn’t prepared for it. My whole body stiffens and I felt the darkness started to consume me. He blinks then quickly removes his hand. “Z...I…” Slowly he frowns and before I can speak. Before I can tell him that it’s not his fault. That I’m the one who is fucked up. I run. Moving quickly out of the room, disappearing to my bedroom where I would spend the rest of the evening.]

Mal:

Zsadist met my eyes again. I felt my heart skip a much needed beat. Then he was turning away and leaving, his feet pounding the pavement to carry him out of the weapons room and back into the tunnel. In seconds, I knew he was gone. 

I didn’t doubt it was thanks to me. My weirdness had definitely rubbed the male the wrong way, and I couldn’t blame him for wanting to get as far from me as he could. The one person in this manse I actually liked to see, and I’d made sure the guy wouldn’t want anything else to do with me. 

Well fucking done Malachi. God damn divinity. 

Shaking my head, I forced myself to walk out into the hall. A stir of the air had me glancing sideways to see Rhage coming toward me. The male was huge and beautifully so; almost unfairly attractive with all the hair and blue eyes and white teeth. Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I inclined my head on the male’s approach. Rather than say anything, he fell into step beside me as I made my way back to the PT suite.

“Taking the tour?” he ask as we reached the door.

I gave an absent nod, still thinking of the last look in those golden eyes.

“Zsadist was showing me the firing range. And the gym. I told him I wanted a rematch,” I managed a rueful smile, one hand on the door as the other went to my ribs. Thankfully the stitches and everything else had come out, only a faint pink line remaining. Z’s hits had left an ache though. One that seemed to stretch up to my chest as well. “The male certainly packs a punch…”

Those teal eyes looked at me, and it was a different kind of look than the one Z had given me. Something considering and curious as a stunning smile curved his lips. Then he was clapping me on the shoulder. 

“Yep. That’s Z. Glad he was showin’ you the place. Glad you’re back up on your feet too. You’ll be just about ready to head out soon, yeah?”

I paused for a moment, then gave a short nod. 

“Most likely, yeah.”

Rhage tilted his head, blonde falling before the blue of his gaze. “You don’t sound keen.”

“No, it’s not that~”

“Maybe,” he interrupted, smiling as he half turned to head back to the gym, “you should talk to Wrath. I mean, incase you want to stay in touch. Help out. Consider the program?”

He gave me a look, and I suspected it was the kind of look that made lesser creatures swoon. And hey, don’t get me wrong, if golden eyes weren’t still taking up ninety percent of my brain space right now, I’d have been more into it. But right now, it just made me pause… and actually think about what he said.

“...yeah,” I said finally, nodding slowly. “Maybe I will.”

[xxsanshinexx]

Forget-Me-Not Pt IV

Characters: Junhui X Female Reader (featuring Seventeen)

Genre/Warnings: Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Fluff, Angst?

Words: 2,895

Summary: After the events of the previous day, you didn’t know what to think. All you knew was that you had to go to the flower shop. Junhui wouldn’t like it but against your best conscience you go, not expecting what was to come. 

Previous II Next II Beginning

Soft sunlight flooded into your third story apartment. You couldn’t believe it was already morning, it seemed like you had just fallen asleep. Without even opening your eyes, you frowned and snuggled closer into what you thought was a pillow. A pillow would have gave way as you slammed your head down but instead a slight scoff was heard. Your eyes shot open and you were met with a black cotton shirt. A slight panic set in you and your eyes trailed upwards to see the owner of the shirt. You forgot Junhui was with you and had made his way onto your bed last night.

“Do you often headbutt your pillows?” He mumbled into you hair.

“I forgot you were here,” You said and closed your eyes trying to protect yourself from the harsh sunlight sweeping into the room.

He chuckled and your head bounced slightly from the vibrations, “How could you forget I was here?”

“I live alone dumbass,” You mumbled into his shirt, “You wouldn’t remember someone was with you if you just woke up either.”

“I’d always remember someone like you,” He smiled against the top of your head and you couldn’t fight the blush that spread across your cheeks.

You yawned and tilted your head up so you could look at him. That was probably a bad decision on your part. His hair was tangled and his eyes were dazed from sleep. He looked so content laying there that it sent your heart into a frenzy, and it only got worse once he sent you a lazy smile.

“I think I could get use to waking up like this,” He said.

You rolled your eyes and busied yourself by playing with the hem of his shirt, “Don’t get so used to it.”

He chuckled and took one of his hands off your waist. He laced it with the hand playing with his shirt giving you a teasing smile, “And why shouldn’t I?”

“Because,” You sighed and squeezed his hand, “We’re both in a shit spot right now.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t do this,” He frowned.

You let out another sigh and dropped your hands, “Please tell me you’re just saying that to give yourself hope. I don’t think this is going to be possible…. At least not for a while.”

“I’m saying it,” He paused and brought his forehead down to press against yours, “because I believe it.”

“Junhui, you’ve only really known me for maybe a day?’ You said with a small frown, “How are you saying all this so confidently?”

“Because I am confident, in everything.” He said with a cocky grin.

You rolled your eyes, “You’re an idiot.”

“I prefer the term hopeless romantic.” His reply made you giggle and shake your head. He smiled at your response and wrapped his arms back around you. You had to admit it was something out of a story. His stare and the loving embrace. It made you sad to an extent.

“We’re both idiots,” You mumbled and he gave you a soft smile.

“Ah… well,” He said with shrug, “At least it’s both of us.”

“You’d rather it be both of us or neither?”

“Yes, that’d always be my answer,” He smiled and leaned down to place a quick kiss on the tip of your nose.

You couldn’t help yourself as you let out a little giggle, “You really just want to kiss me, huh?”

“It would be one of my greatest delights.”

You rolled your eyes at the overly sweet answer, “You need to try a little harder if you want me to swoon.”

“What more could I say?” He asked with a genuinely curious glint in his eyes. It wasn’t a question you knew the answer to either. The only response you could give him was a sly smile before you pushed yourself out of his arms. His groan could be heard throughout your entire apartment as you walked towards the bathroom.

“Y/N,” He pouted and you looked over to see him pressed up against your pillows. “You never give me a straight answer.”

You just gave him another smile before walking into your bathroom. It was hurting your brain as you tried to figure out what you were going to do. Was this whole Mafia ordeal really worth it? You knew how you felt about Junhui, that was the only thing that was clear. It was just the matter of if you were brave or careless enough to put yourself at risk over him. Were you really willing to die over this bright eyed boy?

After you had put yourself together for the day, you exited the bathroom. Junhui had yet to roll himself out of bed and was snoring soundly. You shook your head and began to fix yourself some breakfast. He was really like a child. You frowned though as you ate your bowl of cereal. If he was awake and alert he would’ve known what you were going to go do. He would’ve barricaded the door and threw a fit. You knew that you had to go down to the flower shop this morning. If you didn’t show up those guys that were after him would get suspicious that you weren’t there. It would get worse no matter how Junhui thought it would play out. You had that much common sense in you to know there was no better option, even if all you knew about the Mafia was from movies.

A sad smile made its way on your lips as you cleaned up your breakfast. Junhui was going to flip his shit when he found you gone. Crossing the room to be back besides the bed, you stared down at the sleeping boy. You wished you hadn’t fallen so fast for his charms. It would have made your life easier. With a gentle hand, you brushed back his hair from his forehead. A small smile made its way onto his lips and your frown deepened. Slowly, you brushed a kiss to his temple before you rose back up. The grin on his face just grew wider. You shook your head and made your way to the front door, looking back at him one more time. His eyes were slightly open but they were dazed as they stared at you. He could only watch as you slipped out  the door with intentions to make things easier for the two of you.

The shop front made you want to break down sobbing. The glass wall that showcased all the seasons flowers was shattered beyond repair. Flowers that had been housed in the shop fronts display case now littered the floor, petals and stems smashed to no end. Even the counter tops were damaged in one way or another. Your family’s lives were lived throughout this shop and now it was smashed to ruin. It made the sadness in you vanish and a newfound anger bubble inside your veins.

You wanted nothing more than whoever had done this to your precious shop dealt with. Now you had wished you brought Junhui along, because he would surely be able to figure out how to find them. He’d probably know how to deal with them too. The thought left a bitter taste in your mouth as you stepped over a pile of glass. Junhui was a bright eyed, childish young man who had probably killed someone. You never thought of the possibility of your youthful love being a murder, but he was apart of a business notorious for it. There was some luck though he was just a mere spy.

“Um, excuse me, miss?” A voice piped up from behind you and you spun around to be greeted by two men. They both were of the same stature: tall, lean and from the way they held themselves you knew it could only mean trouble. One was very pale with beady black eyes and brown hair. The other had charming eyes, tanned skin and black hair cut in a rather sad fashion. You only knew they were who was after you because of the police uniforms they wore. If you had not known any better you would have thought they were real cops.

“Oh, hello,” You said willing yourself to be sad and pitiful rather than letting loose the intense anger that was boiling underneath your skin.

“I’m glad you could make it in time, Miss Y/N,” The charming eyed one smiled in a tempting way but his effects just passed right over you.

You made sure to put on a good show though, “I’m glad I could too,” You said with a small, shy smile.

“We have some questions regarding what could have happened here last night.” The beady eyed one got to straight to point and you had to admire his no shit attitude.

You frowned and looked around the shop, the sadness not faked one bit, “Ok…. I don’t know how much i’ll be able to answer though.”

“It’s perfectly fine,” the charming one smiled again, “Just do your best to answer truthfully.”

The beady eyed one started off the series of questions first, “What time did you lock up the shop last night?”

“Um around 6 p.m. I believe.”

“Was there anything suspicious happening during that day at the shop?” He asked and you shook your head.

“No, nothing that was out of the ordinary.”

“How about people? Was there anyone new in here yesterday?” He continued and you barely managed to contain your annoyance. You knew they were fake cops and you should treat them as such if you didn’t want to be found out.

“A few, but there wasn’t anyone who gave me chills or anything,” You answered and the two men frowned. They probably were going to get at questions regarding Junhui eventually. You would have to be surprised once they did. The charming one reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a rather bad photograph of Junhui. You knew they were going to get to this point and tilted your head in a rather convincing fake confusion.

“Do you know this man?” They asked together and you took a second to take in the picture before shaking your head. Of course you knew every slope and line of Junhui’s face but you couldn’t give that away to them.

“No I don’t,” You answered and frowned, “He may have came into the shop a while ago if anything... But I don’t remember him.”

“That’s alright ma’am,” He said and pocketed the photo again.

Your frown stayed on your face as you looked back up to the two men, “Who is he?”

“His name is Chin-mae,” The false name almost shattered your composure but you managed to keep it together, “We think he might be connected with all of this.”

“Oh I see,” You frowned and gave a little nod, “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help finding him.”

The beady eyed man had a horribly disguised snarl on his face, “It’s alright ma’am. We will be back later with paperwork and more questions.”

You were surprised at their unprofessional-ism. These two really didn’t know how to make convincing policemen. “Oh, alright. Um… if I have any questions or remember something who should I call?”

The two gave each other a silent look that you could only assume meant something bad, “Ask for Sungho and Jaeyoung at the police station. That should get you connected with the two of us.”

“For now,” The beady eyed one spoke and if you hadn't been so alert, you wouldn’t have noticed the edge of slyness in his tone, “Stay here. See if you can find anything that we missed so that when we can tie up as many loose ends as possible.”

They were up to something, you knew that as you nodded your head in agreement. “Ok, what time do you think you’ll be able to come back?”

“In the next couple hours,” The charming one smiled and the pair turned around to walk out the door without another word. Something bad was about to happen. You knew that for a fact as you watched the two men walk out the store front and around the corner. A rush of adrenaline pounded through your veins as you tried to walk as normally as possible to the back room. That’s where the backdoor was and hopefully nothing would be blocking your way of getting out. You casted a glance over your shoulder towards the front door and there you could see a man across the street. He was dressed in all black and was incredibly tall. Just from looking at him you felt a sense of dread. That's when you knew something bad was about to grab onto you.

Without a second thought, you quickened your pace towards the back door. As soon as you were about to lay a hand on the knob, the door burst open. You thought you were about to be killed or kidnapped but instead of someone like the man across the street, it was just Junhui. He looked crazed, with wild hair sticking up in all different directions and a panicked look in his eyes. No doubt you had scared the shit out of him this morning.

“Y/N!” He cried out in a whisper and snatched your hand in his, “You’re fucking crazy!”

“I know that already, jackass. We need to move,” You snarled to get the point across and took off out the backdoor. You dragged Junhui behind you as you ran along the back alley of the shop like you had done the day before.

“What the fuck were you thinking!” He huffed and came to run beside you, checking the area for anyone and anything.

“How to not get caught, Mr. I’m A Spy,” You growled and the two of you took a sharp turn that lead away from the flower shop.

“Don’t do shit like that without me!” He cried and pulled you to an abrupt stop, “You could have got yourself ki-”

He didn’t get to finish as a loud boom sounded. The two of you were thrown off your feet from the force of whatever had just happened. Junhui cradled you as you both were violently pushed to the ground. A horrible ringing sounded in your ears and your head lulled to the side. Faintly you could see flames in the distance with an enormous amount of smoke rising in the air. Sadness and anger hit you in violent waves and if it wasn’t for Junhui holding you, you would’ve ran back to the flower shop to kill them yourself.

“Y/N!” Junhui cried but it sounded like a faint whisper in your ear. You turned your head to look at him and he was scrambling to get the both of you off the ground.

“We need to go!” He yelled but again you could only faintly understand what he was saying. His tight grip on your wrist brought you back to reality and once again you both were running for your lives. The frantic look in Junhui’s eyes made you run faster, for you had never seen someone look that fearful in your life. When the two of you got to the unusually quiet street, a car you had never seen before skirted up to the sidewalk. It’s windows were all tinted and you couldn’t see who was behind the steering wheel.

“Get in Y/N,” Junhui ushered, throwing open the door and watching the street for any sign of life. Through your haze, you threw yourself into the backseat of the vehicle and Junhui jumped in right besides you. In the front seat were two men. The one had the wheel had a jet black mullet and eyes hidden behind red glasses. He oozed charisma and power but there was something about him that was off. The male besides him was quiet and you could see the faint reflection of metal in his hands. He made you feel more fear than the previous male. His styled black hair and dark blue suit was the epitome of regal but his face was so hard set it look like he was about to shoot everyone that got in his way.

“Step on it Minghao!” Junhui yelled as he slammed the door shut behind him.

“Don’t need to tell me twice, jackass!” The driver, Minghao, grumbled and the car sped off down the empty street. You couldn’t wrap your head around what was occurring and the massive headache that was forming wasn’t helping.

“Nothing is staying safe now Junhui,” The male in the passenger seat remarked as he looked out the rear view mirror.

“I know Wonwoo, I know,” Junhui sighed and reached across so he could hold you ever so gently. You didn’t mind and the men in the front seat didn’t seem to care enough to comment on it. Your life had gone from having a minor crack in it to becoming completely shattered.

Junhui’s soft voice mumbled ever so slightly in your ear, “It’ll be alright Y/N. We’ll figure something out.”

Because if Junhui was speaking the truth, he was terrified. They had found the one thing precious to him and he didn’t know how to hide you.

[lumiereswig]

Forgotten

What if the Enchantress came one day late? What if the staff weren’t nearby when the curse was cast? What if Adam found himself alone when turned into a Beast?  “The prince [was] forgotten by the world, for the enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved….” Inspired by this savagely sad post of @batbobsession‘s. (Repost, and slightly rewritten from last time.)

Part I: Not A Care in the World

The ball was flawless. In the garden, the roses continued to reach to the sky, and the storm brushed away; the lights shut off in the palace, one by one, and the music faded to silence. The prince went to bed with one or two or three pretty women he wouldn’t care for by the next day. Up in his room, Lumiere popped open a bottle of champagne.

Plumette, lighting the candles by the bed, grinned at him over the flames. He laughed and raised his glass.

“Another sublime night, ça va, mon amour?” The door creaks and in come Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, Chapeau, the visiting musicians. The word has quickly spread that Lumiere and Plumette are serving leftover croquembouche in their room; the staff find places to sit, glasses to drink from, hands to join and caress. Mrs. Potts, in a rocking chair, smiles and holds a sleeping Chip.

“How many parties has it been now?”

Cogsworth is counting on his fingers. “Thirty years’ worth at least…..no, forty. Lord, I can’t keep track of the time.”

“He’s turning just like his father—the prince’s father was like this, too,” Mrs. Potts explains to the musicians, who know nothing about the palace or its politics. They nod and move closer to each other on the bed. “We don’t know what he’d do without us. He’ll be fine, though; we try not to intervene. D’you only have wine up here, Lumiere? I could use a cup of tea.”

“If you cannot take a little sparkling wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” laughs Lumiere, and she swipes at his arms and makes him laugh. He eases into a seat between Cogsworth and Plumette and throws his arms around them.

“Think how long it has been!” he says. “Forty years for you, Cogsworth, but most of my life for mine. Why, I came here as a teenager—imagine me, only a little older than Chip! Fresh out of Paris and still reeking of the apothecary shop.” He grimaces, thinking of his father’s dusty store in a side-street of the city. He had fled, then, looking for the glamor his missed; in his room in Paris he had practiced dance steps, reveled in fashion, adopted the graceful movements of the court as rebellion against the bourgeois facts of an ordinary existence. He had come to this palace, and he had lit into life; dancing and feasting and glowing like gold made Lumiere’s heart sing.

“We met in this palace, do you remember, mon trésor?” Plumette is close in his arms; her scent—fresh and light, like candy and macarons—right beside him. “I was only fourteen, and I loved you right away.”

“I loved you before I met you,” murmurs Lumiere. “I could never forget.”

“Well, that’s quite enough of that,” says Cogsworth, perhaps a bit too loudly. The two lovers had forgotten how close he was to their embrace. “To bed, to bed! Tomorrow we have another morning—and so many mornings after that, to care for the prince and these grounds. We can save affection for another day.”

Lumiere sighs loudly, but the staff agree to part for the night. They hug and kiss and wave goodnight—Cogsworth studiously looking the other way as Plumette makes no indication of moving back to her own room—and the lights go out. The humans of the castle sleep.

Part II: Selfish and Unkind

The next day is their day off. It is their one day off in the year. Adam would frequently wish to deny them of it; it is too much for him to imagine coping alone for one day, though he never puts it in such vulnerable terms. Instead, he just has a foul temper about it.

“And you’ll be back tonight, seven sharp.”

“Oui, maître.”

“And the kitchens have been stocked? Or have you forgotten that, too, in your delight to run away?”

“Non, maître.”

“You know, this is an incredible liberty. Most princes wouldn’t let their staff go prancing off to—I don’t know, what do you do in the village, drink beer and talk about swine? Pfft. I would just stay, if I were you.”

“….non, maître.”

“Fine. Get out.”

They are gone all too quickly. Adam stands in the lonely, empty halls. If he stands in the tower, he can see them weaving their way through the forest and down to the village, to spend their day in the company of each other, in Lumiere and Plumette’s case, or with loved ones, in the case of Mrs. Potts. No matter what, all the servants have each other. And Adam has nobody.

He adjusts his wig, tosses a curl. He doesn’t care. They’re all uncaring fools. He debates his options for the day: spending it in the library sounds the best, but  he could also search around the palace, try to find some mistake in its keeping to yell at them about when they got back….after all, at least when he yelled they looked at him.

Searching for the mistake it was, then. Adam trotted off, his heels slick against the polished floors, the sun shining bright.

Part III: All Those Precious Days

In the village, Lumiere kisses Plumette, his lips as warm on hers as the sun is right behind their heads. She is feather-light beside him; watching her dance to a tune of her own making, Lumiere is hot with twenty years of memories. Remember her smile when he set the table for the first time, and made the knives and forks flip like acrobats? Remember when he helped her with her hair, after it rained, and she was his best friend and so fair beside him, while he untied the knots and tried to coax out a curl? His life is beautiful with Plumette—and Plumette, smiling back at him, is more beautiful than his life.

Chip runs ahead of Mrs. Potts, calling for his papa. Jean Potts, emerging from his home, waves joyously at the staff now flooding the village. Really, Villeneuve is not big enough to support so huge a gathering—but it is only one day, after all, as the staff step out of the palace and spend a day in the sun. They stretch their limbs and visit the shops, and sit on the stoops and talk. Lumiere is dazzling in his yellow palace coat against the dingy brown of the steps. Plumette is the loveliest girl in the village. Cogsworth checks the clocktower’s time against his own. And at 6:45, by his watch, they prepare to go back to the palace.

In Adam’s tower, he hears the knock. Angry at having been left alone—angry at being abandoned—angry at everything, Adam slams open the door and sees an old crone.

6:55. Lumiere is running late, as usual. He was regaling Tom and Dick with a lavish description of the ball he is planning. Cogsworth groans at the delay.

The crone offers a rose. Payment for a night’s rest; there is an oncoming storm. Rain coming in.

“Fireworks! And flowers on every table! And dancers from Vienna—the glories of a courtly life, gentlemen, you must come join us—”

“Lumiere! The night grows old.”

The crone grows young.

6:59. “We were meant to be there minutes ago! The Prince is all alone in the palace, now, and it’s our fault. We must get back, or there will be hell to pay—”

The Enchantress sets her curse. The piper must be paid. There must be punishment—

7:00. The curse strikes; a fleeting darkness on the village, a lasting one on the palace. The palace, the palace…the palace…..

………..the palace?

What palace? The villagers do not remember. And the staff, caught among them, do not either. There is silence, and darkness, and sleep.

Part IV: Little Town

Belle wakes up to a jolt in the road, and the rough wool blanket on her face, and the smell of cheese and paint and horse and wind clinging to her skin. She rubs her eyes and tries to wipe away the sleep. They’re in the wagon, again, and Maurice is hunched up in the bench, encouraging Philippe to trot faster. The contents of Belle’s entire life are jammed in around her, a moving nest of drawings and gear-boxes and packets of cabbage-seed.

“That town didn’t work out, either?”

“Plague,” says Maurice, and his eyes shadow, and he watches the road more closely. Of course. How many times has Belle woken up this way, the town she thought they’d live in forever far behind, her father just in front, the wagon rattling beneath her as Maurice fled the city sickness from one town to another. Lilles, Reims, Amiens: each one tainted by plague, each one not safe enough for Maurice and his daughter. No home lasted long enough.

“And where does this road go?” Belle’s eyes adjust to the dawn—they are passing a forest, and coming through a field, now, and fields lead to country villages, and villages mean homes, at least for a while. Perhaps this one would be small enough and safe enough to hide them for a while.

“Villeneuve,” says Maurice. “I chose it by chance. I hope they have room for an inventor.”

“Two inventors,” says Belle, and Maurice smiles.

“Yes, two, always two.”

They get to the town just after market-time, and Maurice busies himself finding the local priest to inquire after empty houses. Belle, tucked in the wagon, looks out on a quiet village going through the endless routine of a Saturday market: the milliner batting a sheet out the window, the potter’s wife brushing off her stoop, the sound of an untuned violin drifting from the open tavern doors. People haggle and argue and, somewhere, something breaks.

And Belle’s eyes flicker through the crowd, a puzzle cutting across her heart.

“Why are there so many people?” Belle asks, when Maurice comes back with happy news of an empty house, recently abandoned, just at the edge of the village.

“Mm?”

“People. Why are there so many of them? I know it was just market-time, but there are enough people in these streets to account for a city—let alone this little town!”

“I expect the city is just off on winter holiday,” says Maurice, absent-mindedly, trying to work out the details of keys and locks. “So they’re all just living in this one for now. Come give me a hand with these boxes—thank you.”

Belle’s heart won’t stop wondering, even as she unpacks music-boxes and arranges her father’s paints by the window. She saw all the people in that market. And she sees them now—watching her and her father, peeking on the edges of the streets and peeping through windows. But no one comes to help. With the market done, the town is quiet, and a little gloomy in the afternoon light.

By mid day, Belle and her father are halfway done unpacking. Maurice sits on a box and wipes his forehead.

“Do you know what I forgot to pack?” he says. “Beef. And bread. And….well, anything edible, really. You wouldn’t have remembered, would you?”

“Papa, I was asleep. I couldn’t remember anything.”

“True, true.” Her father’s hands brush in front of his sad, blue eyes. “Might you go out and find some, Belle? There must be someone selling bread. And butter. And possibly jam?”

Belle is already at the door with her basket. “You rest your eyes, papa. I���ll be right back.”

Part V: Every Day Like the One Before

Now that she is out, Belle takes the chance to look around. She takes her time going through the streets. On her left, the clock tower chimes. On her right, houses line the streets like soldiers. A cluster of girls giggle across the market square. Somewhere, a tea kettle screams. Belle stops to form her opinion of her new hometown.

Villeneuve is ordinary, in the extreme. Dusty to a fault. Dull, and cross, and tired—and absolutely not the start of any great adventure, like she’s always wished for. Just an overcrowded little place stuck in some meadow-grass that everyone has forgotten about.

Nothing of note will ever happen in Villeneuve. As far as anyone can remember, nothing ever has.

And as she thinks that, a puff of smoke blows into her face and sends her thoughts flying.

“Pardon my intrusion, mademoiselle,” says a voice to her right. Belle looks, and sees nothing, and then looks down and sees a peasant sitting on the stoop of the potter’s house. He is smoking a pipe, and puffing the smoke, and his eyes are closed, and his limbs lie around him as if lifeless.

“You are Parisian,” she says. She caught it in his voice.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” he says. A tiny, delicate gesture from his long fingers; it is a surprisingly sophisticated movement for a man in a yellow peasant’s vest, with candle wax creased in the dirt between his fingernails. “Or at least, once I was. Now I live in Villeneuve.”

It is an oddly empty statement, thinks Belle, and his colorless tone doesn’t help. She can’t see his face, here in the shadows, and can’t tell quite if he’s joking.

“I was an apothecary’s son,” adds the man.

“And are you still an apothecary?”

“I am nothing now,” says the man, in a flash of vehemence so sharp it is like seeing a flame in the middle of the forest. He looks up to her—his face broad, and white; and it is an empty face, and beyond the fire in his words there is nothing there at all. It is as if someone washed out all his color, and left him only with his yellow vest. 

“I am Lumiere,” he says, and sadness rests inside his eyes.

Part VI: Full of Little People

He welcomes her to the stoop with the flick of a wrist and a tiny nod with the pipe, though he doesn’t seem to really care if she stays or goes. He is still curling smoke, and for one quick moment Belle wonders if it might be foolish to share a stoop with the village’s homeless philosopher. And yet…there’s a kind of warmth, there, buried beneath the village dirt and the lifeless limbs.

She sits. He offers her the pipe. She refuses. He smokes in silence.

They are silent for a long, long time.

“So what brings you to Villeneuve?” the man asks, at last, as he refills his pipe.

“My father,” she says. “We were fleeing plague. And I need to buy some bread, and maybe a little venison—we only had time to pack our books, so we don’t have anything to eat, yet.”

Beside her, Lumiere laughs. It sounds as if he hasn’t laughed for quite some time.

“I knew someone once who treasured books that way as well,” he says, and a smile drifts across his face, homeless. Something in him is sparking up at the story: dim, and faint, but laughing. “He once made me read the whole Odyssey—”

“You’ve read the Odyssey?!” Belle has never gotten the chance. It hasn’t been translated out of the Greek.

“Non, non, mademoiselle, it was read to me. Sorceresses turning people to pigs, and the lily-eaters forgetting their homes, and Penelope undoing the days until her husband returns—such nonsense.” The spark goes out abruptly, and he returns to his smoke and shadow. “I do not remember the rest of the story.”

How on earth did he get someone to read him the Odyssey, translating it fresh out of the Greek as he goes? In no apothecary’s street has Belle ever seen a sight such as that. The book is too rare to have come to Villeneuve. And yet….

“How did you come to Villeneuve?” she asks.

“I suppose I thought I’d find employment,” he says, and suddenly Belle is frightened.

Deeply, deeply frightened. Not of the man on the stoop—she has never seen anyone more harmless, to be quite honest; he is such an empty man, with such silent, lifeless limbs—but of the thing inside his eyes when he speaks of his past. It is Other—a thing not rooted in a Parisian background, or the empty face, or the subdued soul. It is a large streak of gray inside the man’s blue eyes, a gray empty and unnatural and as hollow as cold ice. Staring at his eyes, Belle finds herself clutching her arms with fear.

“Ah! Mon ami!” yells Lumiere, waving into the village, and the feeling passes. Yet his eyes remain so empty, even as he smiles at the man in the brown coat who just came out of the clock tower.

“Shh, shh, she doesn’t know I’m out,” says the man, and he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bottle of dandelion wine, already uncorked. He passes it to Lumiere in a swift gesture. It is obvious to Belle that this is a practiced ritual, the sharing of the secret wine. She makes room for the clocktower-keeper, and he sits on her other side.

“Mademoiselle, my venerable friend, Monsieur Cogsworth. You will find him delightful company, as well as an excellent source for half-bad wine.”

“Better than a source of all-bad whining, like some of us,” grumps the man. His nose is red, and his coat is plain and unadorned besides his golden pocketwatch. “You must pardon Lumiere, Miss—”

“Belle! I am Belle. You are English?”

“Mm, yes—suppose you still hear it—never gotten the grasp of the damned accent.”

“Oh là là, he acts as if the French accent is difficult,” says Lumiere, puffing smoke, and Belle laughs between the two of them. She is happy that at least there are two friendly souls in this village—grumpy ones, yes, ones with little to recommend them; a drunkard and a smoker, crouched on a village stoop—but friendly ones, at least, with something kind between them.

“And you keep the clocktower?”

“Tic toc,” says Cogsworth. He drinks the wine a bit too fast. “Used to have a career as a diplomat, don’t you know—but I suppose that...that I wanted to settle down, or some such thing.” He looks at Belle, vaguely, and a chill snakes down her spine. His eyes are gray-streaked too.

“Cogsworth,” screams someone, across the square, and he is up and moving faster than Belle would have believed. He mutters one word—“Clothilde,” as if that is explanation enough—and disappears back to his clocks.

Lumiere holds the wine bottle he left behind, weighing it carelessly with one hand, his movements listless. He has not taken one more sip before the shutters over the stoop bang open.

“Lumiere! What are you doing there?” calls a woman from the window. Beside Belle, Lumiere rolls his eyes and looks, shamefaced, up to the sound.

“Get off my stoop!” yells the woman. “D’you have wine down there, Lumiere?“

“If you cannot take a little cheap wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” calls Lumiere.

“Off with you, now—not on my stoop—begging your pardon, miss—town drunkards, the both of them. Welcome to Villeneueve,” and the woman slams the window.

“Who was that?” The woman’s face was sharp as a shard.

“Mrs. Potts, the crockery-man’s wife,” says Lumiere, and takes a large gulp of the wine. “I barely know her. Thank God.”

Part VII: In The Midst of All This Sorrow

While Lumiere drinks and smokes, Belle watches him and watches this village. There is something very strange, here—gaps in memory, gaps in the storyteller’s story. Lumiere spoke brilliantly, eloquently, about a Greek translation he could not remember—and yet his own life is unknown, an impossible one of an apothecary’s son, with no knowledge of the apothecary himself, coming to a distant village and then doing nothing for twenty years. And Cogsworth, too, a diplomat—

“Surely you do something here?” It’s rude, but she can’t help it.

“What could I do, mademoiselle? I have no skills for Villeneuve. I cannot herd sheep. I cannot shoot cows. I am useless.” His beautiful hands gesture again, pointlessly, to the swine and chickens and village dust surrounding them.

“You must have something that Villeneuve needs. Why, my father is an artist! And an inventor! If this village can have that, it can have…whatever you do.”

“I do nothing, mademoiselle,” he says, again, and his foot traces a dance step against the dirt, and then is quiet again. “Nothing on nothing, everyday, mademoiselle. Forevermore.”

“Then why do you stay here?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are following nothing across the square.

“Why do you stay, Lumiere?”

His hand on her arm is sudden and swift and shocks her. If she thought she saw a flicker before, it is nothing to the blaze that has shot up in his eyes now—almost dimming the gray, almost catching it out in a sudden sparkle.

“She is why, mademoiselle.”

He was not looking at nothing before. Turning, Belle sees what he was following: the entrance of a flock of ladies into the square, a giggling squadron of petticoats and primped hair. Three of the girls are dressed almost identically in pink, and they are pretty enough—but the fourth one, dressed all in white, covered in stray feathers from the gaggle of geese she tends, is beautiful. Even plucking feathers from her hair, and leaning against her goose-girl’s staff, she is the most beautiful woman Belle has ever seen.

“I have never dared to speak to her,” whispers Lumiere, and she is drawn back to his face. It was so empty, before, but now it is flickering fast—with hope, and love, and despair. “She would never love a hopeless idiot. But Plumette makes me so weak, I could never be strong….”

“You’ve never spoken?”

“Non! How could I dare? She is flawless.”

“Twenty years you’ve lived here, and you’ve never even spoken?!”

“C’est la vie,” says Lumiere, and the light goes out as he stares hopelessly after her. “She would never look at me. She probably loves the same one as the rest of them…”

There is a sound of hoof-beats approaching the square. “What one as the rest of them?”

Lumiere cannot sink into the steps any further. “If you want venison, mademoiselle, that is who to get it from.”

It feels like an explosion into the square. The minute the man in red rides in, there is a crow of praise from every window— “he returns!” “Ey, ey! Gaston! Bonjour!”—a sweep of giggling from the girls across the square. The iron-shod hooves slam against the cobblestones, and the quiet of Villeneuve falls apart. The conquering hero comes.

“Make a lane! Make a lane!” Somebody rides beside Gaston. There is no need to make a lane—there is nobody in the square—yet the fanfare goes on. The man in red throws a fresh-dead deer onto the cobblestones; the town applauds.

“He’s just a man. I don’t see what they’re on about,” says Belle.

Lumiere puffs his pipe. “Don’t tell the other girls you said that,” he says. “As a matter of fact, don’t tell me either. I don’t need his attention today—”

“Ah, the village idiot!” Gaston is already on them. His lackey is right behind him. “Drunk, again, old friend?”

“You are not my friend,” says Lumiere, but low. His eyes don’t meet Gaston’s. He has drawn further into the shadow.

“Oh, I am not your ‘mohnaaahmii’?” Gaston is mocking Lumiere’s Parisian accent; the whole square laughs beside him.

“It’s two words, not one,” Lumiere says, lower still. “If you cannot charm with rapier wit, do not hit me with your dull bullets.”

The blow is swift and immediate, and Belle draws back as Lumiere’s jaw hits against the wall. His hand is slow in reaching up to the wound. Even in pain, his eyes don’t quite focus. Like the wine, it is evident this is a practiced ritual.

“He was right about ‘mon ami,’” says the lackey, faintly. “We’ll work on the  grammar.”

“Who needs it?! It certainly hasn’t gotten this prancing fool anywhere,” says Gaston. “Dancing and manners! In Villeneuve! Coward. Storyteller. Lily liver.”

“Leave him alone,” says Belle. Storyteller. Lily liver. Like the lily-eaters in the Odyssey. Lumiere knows the Odyssey, Lumiere welcomed her to the stoop; Lumiere is the village idiot, and an empty soul, and a useless one, and still: “Even if he is nothing—and he isn’t—he’s my friend. Leave him alone. Whoever you are, he’s better than you!”

The square is instantly silent. Beside her, Lumiere murmurs “foolish, foolish” into his hands.

“You’re…new,” says Gaston.

“Leave him alone.” Belle is fearless.

“Of course, mademoiselle,” and Gaston is so instantly full of smiles it is like a coin flipped. “I look forward to seeing more of you.”

Belle just looks at him. He is the first man in Villeneuve without a streak of gray inside his eyes.

“Mark my words, though—this man has no one in this town.” Lumiere, dark in the shadows, cringes beside her as Gaston speaks. “Only a lonely dreamer. Nothing more than a village punching-bag, is he, LeFou? He only lives to serve!” He is mocking the accent again.

“He doesn’t serve you,” says Belle. “And he’s not alone.”

No one in the village backs her up. Across the square, the girls in pink frown. The one in white has let her eyes drop: in shyness, or shame, or second-hand embarrassment, Belle can’t tell.

Gaston rides off, the village cheering. (though a little less proudly than before.) Lumiere’s jaw is fine—a black bruise against the cleft chin, one of many she did not see before—and he waves her away.

“Please tell me he does not do that every day,” she says.

“I don’t remember,” says Lumiere, “but if he did it every day, I think I might be dead. It has only been a decade or two, eh? Go home, mademoiselle. Don’t come back for dreamers.”

The Other thing inside his eyes has deepened. There is almost no blue at all. The apothecary’s son, with nothing in his days besides shame and smoke, leans back up on his stoop. A cold wind blows through the square, black and blue, and Belle’s hands clench from the cold.

There is something wrong in Villeneuve. And how she longs to find it out.

Part VIII: Not Whole Without A Soul

It’s a week later, and Belle is off to see Lumiere again. He does, in fact, live somewhere besides other people’s stoops—a rundown shed, apparently, tucked behind the meadow, though she’s not gotten to visit it. He says, with a small, quiet joke, that it’s not fit for company until he can hang a chandelier.

She’s almost reached his usual stoop when the rain hits. She puts her apron over her head, but it’s no good; there are sheets of tattered rain across the village, and her hair is soaked in moments.

“Come in, girl, come in! Out of the cold, and the wet—oh, aren’t you a vision—of damp—”

Outlined by the light of an open door, she sees the potter’s wife. Mrs. Potts’ rough hands take Belle and pull her into the kitchen before she can think.

“Th-thank you. That was kind of you.” She is dripping all over the floor. Mrs. Potts sees her and slides a tea-tray beneath her feet, to catch the wet.

“Come on, dear, let’s sit you by the fire—we’ll get you a cup of tea—there, dear. By the chair.”

Belle curls gratefully onto the bench by the fire, and Mrs. Potts turns to her table to prepare the drinks. And something moves in the soot of the dark fire place, almost like it’s alive—

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have moved…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“There, now, Chip, move on,” says Mrs. Potts, and the soot-covered thing turns into a little boy, cheeky and smiling. He waves at Belle before running away. His clothes smell of tea: chamomile, lavender, earl gray.

“My boy,” the woman explains, and hands Belle a cup. “His father’s out, now, but he’ll be back soon. We’ve lived here together in this house for twenty years.” She laughs at some joke that isn’t there. “He made these cups, and he sells the porcelain—you’ve seen him in the market?”

Belle nods. She likes Jean Potts well enough. He does not belittle the village’s drunks and nobodies, though he does seem frightened of them. He has never mocked her for visiting Lumiere and Cogsworth on their stoop in the sun.

“I don’t know why you choose to speak with those tramps,” says Mrs. Potts, as if she reads her thoughts as easy as tea-leaves. “You seem a nice enough young lady to be with the other girls, not with those two…..though Mr. Cogsworth is fine, in his way—but I’d stay away from that one, young lady.”

“Why?” Belle watches her as she prepares the tea. Mrs. Potts keeps bumping into the table; for all her twenty years inside this kitchen, she has to think twice before she moves. Her hands flick between jars of raisins and flour, and she sidesteps around nothing. It as if she expects a different kitchen, thinks Belle, a kitchen quite different from this small country stove—but twenty years sit there, solid as truth, on the table that has never moved.

“What’s he been telling you out there?” Crunch: Mrs. Potts reached for almonds, not sugar. She puts the tin back hurriedly, cringing, and grabs for the other jar. Her eyes watch her hands, as if checking her own habit.s

“That he came to Villeneuve many years ago, and hasn’t worked much since,” says Belle. “Small jobs, the occasional village fete—but he doesn’t know how to do anything too useful to the village. So he sits in the sun.” She doesn’t mention the beautiful goose-girl he waits for. She doesn’t mention that she can’t find out what he waits for, nor Cogsworth either, in this lonely village beside the empty woods.

Mrs. Potts nods, judgement for Lumiere clear on her face. Belle finds the blood rushing to her face.

“But he’s so much more than just—just a stoop-dweller! He comes from Paris. He tells stories! He is warm,” says Belle, and she stares defiantly into Mrs. Potts’ eyes.

Gasps, and draws back. Mrs. Potts’ eyes are two different shades of gray.

Mrs. Potts blinks, and the gray ripples, and the older woman sighs and smooths Belle’s hands.

“I know, dear. I am sure he might be. I’ve never spoken to him much, myself. But you have to understand—he doesn’t belong in this village. He doesn’t belong.”

She moves around to sit by Belle, but she runs into the table first.

“There are stories about him—stories he doesn’t like to tell. Oh, I know, I seem like an outsider here too, with my English accent and—” She laughs and waves hands around her frazzled hair, and loses the path of the sentence. “But young one, you’ve got to look out—we don’t know who his father is, we don’t know—”

“How long have you lived here?” Belle tries not to phrase it as a challenge. Mrs. Potts means well—she lets soaked artists’ daughters out of the rain, after all—but the sharp shards in her voice have no place with her soft hands, and her boy, and the tea now boiling over on a stove she’s forgotten the place of.

“Twenty years, dear, just here in this house.” Mrs. Potts sits back and smiles at her. “Do you know, I used to look kindly on those Parisian types myself, before I came to Villeneuve; I’d never met one, but I thought I might work for—there, now, you don’t care about that. I’m not a working woman, ear. I’m all cooped up,” and she laughs, again, in a faded voice, like there’s a joke she’s just forgotten.

The swirl of gray steeps in the woman’s eyes.

Part IX: Here’s a Thought, Perhaps

“I don’t understand.” Belle slams her books down on the kitchen table. Maurice looks up from a new trinket—a music box molded off the design of a ballroom; it sounds charming, though he hasn’t put in any dancers yet—and catches how tan she’s gotten from sitting on sunny stoops. They’ve lived here in Villeneuve for several weeks, now; he’s happy she’s settling in.

“More books from Pere Robert, I see,” he says mildly. Belle fidgets with Sleeping Beauty like its pages are a problem to be solved, opening and closing the story of the sleeping palace that stood for a hundred years.

“Yes, they’re lovely, but....Papa, this town makes no sense.”

“Very few things do.” He smiles and puts aside his music box. “What’s enchanting you now, my darling?”

“Papa, this is a little village, isn’t it?”

“That’s why I chose it. Does that trouble you, my dear?”

“No. I like the people, I’m making friends with some of them, I never thought I would....” She trails off. Most people in most towns think she’s odd; that’s why she turned to books, because they had people in them that didn’t laugh at her—well, that and the books had worlds she was longing to explore, far out of the realm of her little towns and cities and gossiping market squares. But here in Villeneuve, in this town just like any other, she’d somehow managed to find a few souls who didn’t mind her oddness—who loved her for it, in fact; who seemed to find in her something they found familiar, something that reminded them of someone they had all loved once. Why, just today, Cogsworth had been talking of this young man he knew, whose golden hair always got loose from his ribbon and fell all over his shoulder, just like hers did....but then he’d forgotten about it, and when she asked him about where she could find him in the village, he’d blinked and asked her if she meant Gaston.

Of course she didn’t mean Gaston. She meant Cogsworth’s young man with the golden hair, and Lumiere’s old friend who quoted Shakespeare in the bath, and the boy Mrs. Potts had watched before she had Chip, the boy who had wanted to wear blue every day for a year. Everyone had a story that came and went and that they never told again: even the silent milliner’s son, playing his violin in the tavern for a few coins, would play a tune about someone no one could name. But Belle could never find all these missing people, no matter where she looked.

“For a little village, there are spots missing,” she says. “And I’ve been talking to people left and right, and there are some things that just seem so odd. Did you know that Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza came here, a few years ago? World-famous musicians! What were they doing here? They said they got lost on the way to Edinburgh, but they were coming from London. How could they get so lost?”

“That is strange.”

“They played a concert for the villagers, apparently, but no one really remembers it, or they won’t talk about it. It’s as if they’re all hiding something, or realy afraid of something.”

“They might be afraid of that big red galoot, whatever his name is,” suggests Maurice. “You know the one, stepped on our cabbages the other day.”

“Ugh.” Belle hisses out a breath. “He treats them so badly—though they treat each other badly, too. Mrs. Potts doesn’t trust Lumiere, but will never tell me why. They could be friends, if they tried to know each other.”

“You think so well of the world,” says Maurice, softening as he looks at his daughter. “You would believe a rose could lose its thorns if you tried hard enough.”

“It’s not that I believe in change. I believe in...in whatever this is.” Belle throws her hands in the air. “Helping people, fixing what’s broken. There’s something broken here, papa.”

“Mm.” Maurice looks back to his trinket—its melody tinkering out, slow and charming, across his wooden desk. “Do you know, dear, I find the gears of this little castle don’t work right when you have them all apart.”

Belle raises an eyebrow. “Papa?”

“This bit here, it will just sit useless unless I fasten it to another—and I need wire, here, and you know how I’m always losing my screws. Now, if I just rest all the pieces here on the table, like so many soundless, useless objects, we’d never hear that music-box chime, would we?”

“Is this...is this a lesson?” A smile cracks over Belle’s face, slow and steady. “You haven’t instructed me on making music boxes in years, papa.”

“Well, no, not since you got the hang of it...but it still makes me happy to see those gears turn in your head, my girl.”

She’s out the door before he’s finished speaking, eyes alight with a new idea, and she lets it slam behind her, a cold wind blowing through the house as she goes. Maurice’s sketches and drawings and parts tumble over the tabletop, and he turns back to his music-box, paintbrush in hand, ready to work.

Now, if he can just think what sorts of people belong in a ballroom.

Part X: And Almost Kind

“Lumiere! Lumiere.” Belle scatters to a stop, her hair already all undone from its braid. Her friend is leaning up against the clocktower, half in its shadow, his brown and yellow peasants’ garb too big for his lanky frame. He barely looks up to see her; his eyes are caught in the white feathers drifting across the square, and the girl trying to pull them from her curly hair.

“Lumiere, please focus. Look, I have an idea.”

“Mm?” One hand is trailing out a dance melody across the clocktower’s stone. Only the sound of the hunting horn—far away, now, but promising a violent return in short order from the local hero—rallies him out of his trance. “Mademoiselle. You were saying?”

“Can I come visit your shed?”

“Pardonez-moi?” Alarm knocks out the last vestiges of dreaming in his blue eyes. The grey streaks pulse to a rhythm of their own, frightened and jumpy in contrast to the waltz his fingers still trace. “Mademoiselle! You—you cannot, it is no home for....”

“I’ll bring food. And we’ll sing, all right? We’ll have a party. A dinner party!”

“A...dinner party?” He’s still hesitant, but Belle catches that spark of excitement before he can snuff it out.

“What is dinner without a little music?” She grins at him. “Come on, Lumiere, you must have thrown a party at least once in your life.”

“I.........” He’s somehow gone even whiter from the premise.

“And I know just who to invite. Hop along, tout-de-suite—” she slaughters the accent, but it gets him smiling, a little, under those sad blue eyes. “We’re going to be needing extra chairs.”

He bows to her, his yellow vest flapping around him, and just for a second Belle imagines that auburn hair and those elegant white hands somewhere far, far away from Villeneuve. And then he’s up, and off, and before he trips over a sheep he looks almost debonair.

“Right.” Belle straightens her apron, touches the copy of The Knights of The Round Table she’s slipped into her pocket for luck. She has quite a few people to talk to before sundown, and she wants to be brave.

Part XI: Prepare and Serve With Flair

“Is this it?” The shed in front of them is tiny, and mouldering, and right on the edge of the meadow. The only signs it’s lived in are the cracks of candelight seeping out the boarded-up windows and the rusty door.

“It’s shabby enough.” Cogsworth hoists the picnic basket higher. “I still say this is a bad idea.”

“Twenty years you’ve lived here, and you’ve never had dinner with your best friend?”

“And rightly, too,” says Mrs. Potts. “Belle, if I stay here an hour we’ll all be shocked. I don’t like the man, I’ve told you so.”

“Just try it, please? I spent all day cooking this. Or trying to, anyway,” Belle adds, staring down at the burnt contents of her basket with a grimace. Before the others can say anything else, she runs up to the door and knocks.

It falls over, rust winning over old metal.

“Mr. Chapeau, come along, this is dreadful,” says Mrs. Potts, nearly turning back to the village.

“No, no, wait! Lumiere? Lumiere, we’re here.” Belle steps through. Cautiously, the others follow.

Every surface of the tiny shed glows with candelight. In his eagerness to pull off an effect, Lumiere has decked every corner with wax and wicks and glowing golden light; candles drip down chair backs, off iron sconces, across the bare wood of the little table he’s laid. It’s ghastly, but warm, and Belle notices that every table setting—chipped and mismatched though the cups and plates are—is laid out exactly as a courtly table, multiple forks and all.

“We’ve brought food! If it’s edible, which is as yet in doubt. And you know Cogsworth, of course, and Mrs. Potts.”

“Welcome,” says Lumiere flatly. Mrs. Potts rolls her eyes and conspicuously wipes the spots off the silverware with her skirt.

“And this is Chapeau.” Belle shows in the silent violin player. “He’s friends with Pere Robert. Oh, and—”

Lumiere almost drops the wine Cogsworth brought. He’s staring just past Belle, where the dark, starry sky outlines the girl still standing in his doorway.

Lumiere chokes out a string of wordless syllables. His hands don’t quite know what to do. Plumette, for her part, looks like shyness brought to life. She tries a clumsy curtsy and nearly falls; Lumiere catches her, just in time, and they stare for far too long at their own hands on each other’s shoulders.

Belle pretends not to notice them as she lays out all she’s brought: a simple barley soup, a badly sunken cheese souffle, a cream tart that now just looks like gray stuff. Chapeau helps her serve, holding the plates like he’s done this a thousand times before—though he assures her he hasn’t; that his whole life is Villeneuve and his mother’s loud and lonely hatshop. 

Slowly, everyone sips their drinks (poor Lumiere—he’d set out two glasses for each place, as if they had white wine as well as red—poor village idiot, out of place as ever); slowly, they start to talk, breaking bread and sharing plates of butter. Their host is useless for most of the meal, staring blankly at Plumette as she stares back at him; they sit uncomfortably close, for strangers, and Belle sees how jumpy all the hands and feet at this table are: all longing to get out, to twitch away from this strange warmth and company. Lumiere’s hands are shaking near Plumete’s.

But food and wine and after-hours chatting has its charms, and slowly people unfurl like flowers after winter: Mrs. Potts going rosy-cheeked as she tells of Chip’s latest antics, Chapeau miming the schoolmaster’s upturned snout for a delighted Cogsworth, Belle sharing her latest book and finding people somehow interested. Conversation flows out, golden in the waning night, and midnight passes with no notice.

“What of you, Plumette? Where do you come from?” Belle leans over Cogsworth, and tries to act as though she doesn’t see Lumiere’s hands shaking as he timidly puts a roll on the goosegirl’s plate.

“Paris,” says Plumette, and Lumiere’s hands waver like a flame in a storm, “I traveled here, mademoiselle, when I was very young—years and years ago. And I stayed here, oh, I can’t imagine why....”

There’s a stroke of gray in the big brown eyes. Belle tries to hide her fear.

“And this is all I’m good at,” and Plumette sighs, and brushes another feather from her hair. “I once dreamed of great romance, of fairytales—but how could it be otherwise? I am a goosegirl in a village. No great love will ever come to me.” And she stares bitterly downward, not seeing the place setting arranged with so much love.

But then Cogsworth drops his watch in the wine, and Mrs. Potts is laughing so hard she almost cries, and Chapeau fiddles and Lumiere and Plumette clap along (although they refuse to dance).

They part cheerfully, just as the first rays of the sun start stepping gently over the valley. Lumiere, white as a sheet, plucks up his guttering courage and kisses Plumette’s hand; she blushes as vivid as a robin’s chest, and runs so fast back to her cottage she practically flies. (Lumiere, blushing too, nearly sets himself on fire as he reels into his bed.) Cogsworth stretches and yawns, remarking  on the time; Mrs. Potts helps to pack the baskets, and follows Belle out the door.

“You see?” says Belle, leading the way back to the sleeping village. “That wasn’t so bad, Mrs. Potts.”

“No, well....” Her face, so softened and happy just a moment ago, seizes up into harsh lines as if she’s been caught doing wrong. “And I wouldn’t turn down the sight of doing it again, and perhaps bringing Chip along too. You have a good heart, poppet.”

“But...?” They still stand in darkness, here where their paths part. Belle holds her basket close, her books still resting on top.

“We’ve been set in our ways for twenty years, luv. It would take a miracle, or twenty years back that we will never have, to make us into what you dream of. I’ll try for your sake, dear, really I will, but I would never hold that lot of them dear to my heart.”

She trudges back to the village, and Belle watches her go. She hugs her books and basket to her chest, planning and puzzling away at the village with no hope.

“Keep putting the pieces together,” she whispers to herself. “Keep putting the pieces together.”

[chimcharstar]

I ASK EVERYTHING FROM ANGEL TO WOBBLY

COMING RIGHT UP

♡ cute asks ♡

angel; do you have a nickname?

G!

awe; how old are you?

21

baby; favorite color?

purple

bloop; spirit animal?

i know what youre trying to do bug

blossom; favorite book/movie/song?

my favourite movie today is always be my maybe. do yourself a favor and watch keanu reeves act his heart out

blush; what was your stuffed animal as a child?

lucky, a little white tiger. i still have her.

breeze; most precious childhood memory?

maybe my mom making me tea or something. ow ow nostalgia

bright; mermaids or fairies?

fairies

bubbles; do you have a best friend?

YEAH

buttercup; showers or baths?

showers

butterfly; dream destination?

maybe ... the countryside, but one i havent been to before?

buttons; are you religious or spiritual?

yes, very. while feeling at war with it all the time cause of the gay angst. but lbr. i prayed for some coffee and i got some. i also pray when some real shit is happening. its just my nature. i have a very strong intuition when im not panicking. TOO BAD MY PARENTS DISHED OUT TONS OF SPIRITUAL ABUSE I CANT REALLY HEAL FROM

calm; favorite scent?

this candle that has vanilla in it. i like the smell of vanilla because it smells sweet and im like. !!!! kindness!!!

candlelight; what did you dream about last night?

i dreamed my siblings were all bickering and blaming each other endlessly and saying cruel things, and i was trying to tell them to stop but my voice was hoarse and no one could hear me. the voice part makes more sense when you consider i lost my voice talking lots at the Job and ive been Way too worried about it and its also a Passing thing

charming; have you ever been in love?

yes... overrated

cozy; eye/hair color?

red hair green eyes

cuddly; what’s your favorite time period?

the afternoon when i can take a walk with some coffee and music or, faceplant on my bed and fall asleep on the spot and then wake up feeling very well napped

cupcake; favorite flower/plant?

i really like bonsais. or ... whatever type of bonsai i keep buying. they grow fast so you can notice their progress, they can survive bad mental health weeks, and you can shape them, they kind of grow with you

cute; what did you get on your last birthday?

i .... forget a lot. i forget these kinds of things. i hope it doesnt mean it didnt matter to me. i remember being really lonely on my last birthday and pretending not to be and then crying to my diary that no one is allowed to read

cutie pie; most precious item you own?

any bonsai, any jacket, thats my soul. or my phone lol

cutsie; what makes you happy?

people saying small nice things

daisies; describe a moment when you felt free.

just the other day when i was starting to play stardew valley again and i had some tea i think... 

daydream; how do you want to be remembered?

i want to have been Known as more than just shy and polite

daylight; favorite album of all time?

idk of all time, but say you will by fleetwood mac FUCKS, i will destroy my ears on public transit with that

dear; zodiac sign?

sagittarius

delightful; concerts or museums?

?????? N/A unfortunately

dimples; have you ever written a letter?

yes, i have written all sorts of letters, not snail mail but yknow... that is my jam. i have used it for good and evil

dobby; dream job?

writer of , books or screenplays or something

doll; how do you like to dress?

behold my array of gay jackets. hoods... gay layers... with some flowers. i have some shit with flowers on it. an old man complimented me on a train once. because im amazing

dovey; any paranormal/magical experiences?

my roommates say theres a ghost dude downstairs but ive never seen him. not really actually.

dreams; do you want or have any tattoos?

no, and ive thought about a tattoo but im like... i cant imagine picking a decoration and then being satisfied with it for the rest of my life, and being so... open like that, i change my mind and worry too much...

drizzle; do you believe in aliens?

yes bitch. theres water on mars im sitting here patiently

euphoric; talk about someone you love.

the demigirl reading this

fairy; do you have a pet?

no :(

fluffy; ocean or mountain?

mountain... no ocean.. im feeling ocean

forever; where do you feel time stop?

i havent felt like that in a looong time. maybe this one place with streams, when its raining really heavily and everythings Gushing

froglet; are you a good plant owner?

i have kept... 5 bonsais alive for a while.

garden; how many languages do you know?

one. with some rocky french that makes me ACTUALLY want to learn french, and then frustratingly be on the brink of speaking french

gem; who are your favorite tumblrs?

i cant find the name right now but they make this pixel art and put sentences that are kinda so gentle and pining... i love it

giggles; what is your aesthetic of choice?

homemade coffee in a messy kitchen with some sun coming in, youre kind of sleepy

glittery; do you like anons? why/why not?

yes!!! i wanna talk!!!!!

glow; list the top 5 things you like about yourself

ok... i know how to be Respectful, im a strong person, im good with self-expression, i like my voice... AND IM CUTE

heart; silk or lace?

silk

honey; coffee or tea? how do you take it?

coffee, so much sugar and a bit of scream.

hugsy; do you enjoy people watching or bird watching more? why?

BIRD WATCHING. because watching people can get awkward real fast, and birds dont give a fuck. birds are fat little boys jumpin around. they dont worry about their jobs. i respect that. 

hunnybunch; what sounds help you sleep?

Harmonious People Noises. i dont actually listen to sounds going to sleep when maybe i should. because of how i grew up im fine listening to music or people playing instruments falling asleep, even with the light on

jewel; what’s your favorite kind of weather?

that part of autumn where its colourful and not too cold not too hot, and sun everywhere

jiggly; what do you usually like to do on weekends?

i do stuff like take walks and do a few errands and water plants... and just chill and enjoy not having pressing stuff to do. 

joy; do you laugh loudly or giggle more?

i am a serious giggler but i recently got a booming laugh, or it sounds like that to me

kinky; do you blush easily?

no. apparently not. but sometimes i feel my face heat up and then im really, really counting on it that that doesnt mean im blushing because its at the worst possible times to blush

kisses; what romantic cliché do you wish for most?

SOULMATE... SOMEONE I DONT HAVE TO SAY GOODBYE TO...

kitty; what’s your favorite time of the day?

i feel like i already answered this but ill pick a different time. evening is nice because im a night owl and i focus better and i can relax and do whatever

ladybug; what’s your favorite artist to listen to when you’re sad?

fleetwood mac and bLAST it on public transit

love; what is your favorite season and why?

autumn, because pretty, haloween

lovey; what is your favorite flavor of macaron and ice cream?

i dont know about macaron but that cookie dough ice cream is some good

magic; what are five flaws you have?

overthinking, clinging to comfort zone, procrastinating, isolating, either i dont stand up for myself or i do it too harshly

moonlight; do you prefer soft pastels, warm neutrals, or cool darks?

they all sound so lovely im feeling warm neutrals rn

munchkin; what do you look for in your significant other?

emotional labour, similar energy level

paddywack; how would you describe a perfect date?

I JUST WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH SOMEONE and there has to be food

pebbles; how do you spend free time by yourself?

doing THIS... all my free time... is basically by myself

precious; what is something valuable that you learned in your life?

you dont have to be useful to be valuable. you deserve love just because you exist, and even if you feel strongly that everything sucks, that could be your comfort zone talking. im having a mental health week

pretty; do you like to cook or bake more?

cook. id bake but then i eat stuff that doesnt make my stomach as happy

prince; how would you describe your handwriting?

oh its GORGEOUS. i have been practising my handwriting in my Diary for Months.

princess; do you play any instruments? if not, are there any you wish you could play?

yes, piano mostly... ive been feeling Urges to play guitar lately that have surprised me

prinky; how do you relieve stress?

doing something restful/mentally restoring like taking a break or talking calming things to myself

pumpkin; what is your favourite kind of fruit/vegetable?

LOVE THAT ZUCCHINI...F RY THAT BITCH WITH GARLIC AND ONION...

rainbow; what was the last line of the last book you read?

i have not read a book

roses; what is the most significant event in your life so far?

realizing im trans

smile; what is one thing that has greatly affected you?

ill think of a nice one, moving away from my parents, theres been so much healing

shine; art or music?

MUSIC

shimmer; do animals tend to like you?

yes

smitten; do you collect anything?

bonsais?? 

smoochies; how many pillows do you sleep with?

one

snuggle; what is your favourite candy?

chocolate, any,

snuggly; do you have a camera? if so, what kind?

phone camera, ithas all these cool filters and things it can do, it says my plants are food

sparkle; do you wear jewelry?

occasionally. its mostly the black tourmaline bracelet

spooky; sunrise or sunset?

sunset, that is the beautifulest

sprinkles; do you like to listen to music with headphones or no headphones?

with headphones. i just ... maybe this is a growing up thing but i cant imagine Taking Up Space playing my music out loud... then other people can judge my music choice... theyd Know things about me... 

starlight; what was your favourite show as a child?

save ums. i have this answer ready to go. that is because after five i stopped having a tv

soft; describe your favourite spot in your house.

my rooooooommmmmmmmmm my BED

soothe; digital or vinyl?

digital? what is this about?

squeezed; who do you miss right now?

my sister. she always says i never hang out but ... she doesnt seem interested in things i actually like... she tries and she cares but...

sugary; what traits do you value most in friends?

loyal, honest

sunshine; do you prefer for things to be practical or aesthetically pleasing?

practical, i just cant focus on aesthetic because then i get way too picky with eeeverything

sweet; do you find it easy to open up?

NO, unless i am on tumblr where there are no Laws. or it depends on how easy the person is to talk to.

sweetie; do you like kids? if so, do you ever want to have any?

yes, yes but NOT RIGHT NOW, i think kids are really Good, theyre simple and honest

thimble; is there somebody you look up to? who are they?

i look up to the Bosses at my work, i mean they seem like they try really hard and do a good job and they have to lead everyone else too i respect that

toot; what is something you find unique about yourself?

the emotional intelligence dial. it is maybe too far. but im realizing that isnt so common.

tootsie; what kind of friend are you?

i hope, at least the kind i would want. probably very energetic, with negative or positive stuff

treasure; what was something that made you smile today?

another person at work called me by my last name. i find this funny because 1) it sounds funny to just shout 2) why are they all so fascinated with it .... yknow its because they wanted it to see if it was ramsay. did they seriously think. bunch of cooking nerds. is this their new power move.

velvet; are you an early bird or a night owl?

niGHT OWL

whiffle; if you could have a magical power, what would it be?

shapeshifting

whimsical; do you prefer doing stuff at home or going out?

home, but i would enjoy going out with the right people i think. which has never happened.

whiskers; do you usually wear makeup?

no

wiggly; are you a messy or tidy person?

tidy

wispy; do you like the place where you grew up? do you think you will live there when you get older?

yes, and no. my heart is set on being Out in the Nature though. i dont know if i can really really go back to where i grew up. theres so many complicated and painful feelings around it, and im not really welcome. 3

wobbly; have you ever wished upon a star?

yes, i wish on all kinds of stuff all the time

[shikai-the-storyteller]

It’s like half a year late but I just realized I saved this post as a draft and never actually posted it sO 

LOST LIGHT 25 READ

*Breaks down sobbing* L-LOST LIGHT 25 READ….THE LAST LIGHT…. 

My hands are shaking as I open up the file. How am I supposed to say goodbye and mean it. This comic’s changed my life, who am I going to be without it

I could spend the rest of my life looking at that cover :’) Rewind and Chromedome…Tailgate and CycLONUS….WITH WINGMAN WHIRL….SWERVE HOLDING RUNG’S GLASSES…DRIFT AND RATCHET (and ratchet holding the sparkflowers which represent everyone who died on the mission #called it), ANODE AND LUG….BRAINSTORM AND NAUTICA (probably watching some goofy video on Brainstorm’s cellphone??), MINIMUS AND RODIMUS…..SOBS….I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH…..

“The story so far: You’re joking, right?” LMAO

I saw the one page preview earlier this week and for the life of me I expected it to be Megatron. I expected them to be planning a fake funeral for Megatron buT THEN PROWL WAS THERE AND THAT THREW ME OFF.

I know Rewind doesn’t have to be glued to Chromedome’s side at all times but THE FACT THAT THEY”RE AT A FUNERAL AND HE”S NOT NEXT TO CHROMEDOME IS DRIVING MY ANXIETY UP THE WALL

WAIT WHAT

WHAT

WHAT!!!!!!!!!!!!

RATCHET!??!?!? NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

CONJUX ENDURA???? JRO HOW DARE YOU GIVE ME THIS BLESSING THEN IMMEDIATELY GO “lol Ratchet’s dead” WTF MAN

IS THIS THE FUTURE???

JRO GIVETH AND JRO TAKETH AWAY

wait REWIND IS OLDER THAN RATCHET WHAT DOES THAT MEAN

JAMES ROBERTS IF YOU KILL REWIND (again) I MIGHT LITERALLY ACTUALLY DIE ON THE SPOT *PLEASE* DON”T DO THAT

A bunch of supersparks because of Rung’s message :’(((

OH MAN, THAT IS OUR PROWL, NOT SOME FUNCTIONALIST PROWL????

Prowl pls, I understand your point of view completely but…THE SPARKS…be cool dude

MEGATRON…OH BOY OF COURSE PROWL’S THERE FOR HIM

BUT HOW LONG IN THE FUTURE *ARE* WE?? WHY DIDNT PROWL COME SOONER?

I guess this is post-all the Unicron business??? Where’s Optimus, why isn’t he at his best friend’s funeral. (Though, even as I say that I am Very Much Aware that he probably died in the other comics, true to his style)

Prowl puts his finger on Rodimus’ mouth to shush him and I have mixed feelings about that because A) rude but B) it indicates a level of familiarity I’m surprised Prowl would do, even if it is just for the sake of shushing Rodimus

“No to everything you’ve said and everything you will say. And while I’m at it, no to anything you’ve said or will ever say ever” “Rodimus”

Awh Rodimus puts himself betwEEN MEGATRON AND PROWL….WHEEZES

Prowl’s got his hands on his hips and his door wing things hiked up oh my goshhh I HATE THAT I THOUGHT “You are Precious” THIS IS HOW FAR IVE FALLEN HUH

GuhhhhhhhhHHHH the sad look Megatron and Rodimus give each other…. :’((( There’s no way this trial will end with them letting him off, the fans would riot.

AW THE LOST LIGHT OR THE SPARKS HECKKKKK I KNEW THEYD HAVE TO GIVE UP THE SHIP

GOSH….RODIMUS…IM SO SAD TOO BUDDY

CRUSADERCONS SOBS!!!!!!

“It’s a joke” “I suppose you had to be there" SOBS EVEN HARDER

MEGATRON PLEASE, I JUST SNORTED SO FRICKIN HARD AT THAT I LOVE YOU SO MUCH MEGATRON YOU BIG DORK

"Do you trust me, Prowl?” Aw oh Roddy…WHAT DO YOU MEAN LAP OF HONOR are you going to race Prowl, Rodimus buddy pls

WHIRL *IS* IN HANDCUFFS WHAT’S UP WITH THAT DID HE TURN HIMSELF IN FOR SOMETHING??? Is he in jail because of the scraplets???

“I’m conscious we haven’t seen each other in years” AW MAN SO THEY REALLY DID ALL SPLIT UP :’(((( I mean I guess that’s expected but hrGHH….HECK THAT MEANS RATCHET PROBABLY REALLY IS GONE OH NO…SALING IM SO SORRY

SWERVE HAD 113 BARS JRO PLEASE “I guess I’m not ready to be reminded of the good times” SWERVE I WILL CRY RIGHT NOW

Dratchet confirmed but AT WHAT COST

And it sounds like Nautica (maybe none of them) revealed that Rung was Primus???? Oh man

Also I’m 99% sure Optimus must be dead because there’s no reason why he wouldn’t be at his best friend’s funeral (unless he pops up later on in this comic)

I took all these notes earlier when looking at the preview and now that I’m here, with the full comic, about to read it, I can’t even get past the cover. I’m looking at all their smiling faces and I’m just realizing how much I’m going to miss them

NO

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!! NO NO NO!

NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NO DANGIT JRO

THIS IS LITERALLY ALL I ASKED OF YOU, HOW COULD YOU DO THAT AFTER ALL HE SUFFERED? AFTER ALL THEY SUFFERED???

I just pounded my fist on my desk so hard and shouted “NO” over and over again.

So he’s not dead? But is he suffering? Is he ok???

“He just asks Chromedome about something called Rung” WHAT

Is Brainstorm’s case a teleportation device now???

I’m so confused and sad and angry but I’m going to hold off judgement til I get to the end

I took a break to go give my Tio and Tia’s giant German Sheppard a rubdown but MAN I still feel horrible…I really hope there’s going to be more of a happy ending for Rewind and Chromedome than that, that feels so horrible…and they forgot Rung??

WAIT WHAT RATCHET’S BACK??? WHAT”S GOING ON

“There’ll always be an ending– and if you’re lucky, you get to see it coming.” :(

REWIND??? IS REWIND OK??? HE”S HERE??? IS HE SAFE???

I SWEAR TO EVERY DEITY JRO, PLEASE DON”T HURT HIM MY HEART CAN”T TAKE THIS KIND OF BACK AND FORTH THING

OH NO, DID THEY FORGET RUNG???

WHIRL’S WEARING AN “ASK ME ABOUT MY FEMINIST AGENDA” SHIRT

REWIND AND RATCHET ARE STILL HERE AND OK BUT THEY”VE FORGOTTEN RUNG??? WHAT”S GOING ON

Aw Cyclonus is singing for Tailgate and they have all of Ten’s toys next to the Lost Light toy replica….

I CAN”T REALLY GET INTO THIS IM TOO AFRAID OF REWIND NOT ACTUALLY BEING OK AND RUNG BEING FORGOTTEN

“And this is my wife, Anode” MY HEART JUST GREW THREE SIZES

FRICKIN, THEY"RE GONNA RAISE SOME KIDS, THE LESBIAN AGENDA!!!! I LOVE IT

IS ROLLER FLIRTING WITH NICKLE OH MY GOSH

“I forgot I tried to kill you” “Sorry I tried to kill you” Ah, good ‘ol post-war Cybertronians

“Making me look good. Highest calling” RODIMUS PLEASE

“I was wondering if I was remembering things before they happened” OH NO

Ok but WHY is Whirl in his holoform

AW THE SWEET TENDER MOMENT BETWEEN DRIFT AND RATCHET…KILL ME.

“Treat him well, doc. He’s a keeper” awh….what a good bro

The tender Ratchet expressions are so sweet but AT THE SAME TIME IM LIKE….IS RATCHET DEAD OR IS HE OK, AND MORE IMPORTANTLY: IS REWIND OK??????????

WHY CAN”T ANYONE REMEMBER RUNG, THIS IS REALLY REALLY SAD

LMAO Are these all scenarios that JRO wanted to write???? I can’t believe the Lost Light got impounded

“We should measure our lives in moments and the rush of joy, of grace, that exists within them. You flare, you flicker, you fade. And in the end, all your tomorrows become yesterdays. Afterlight.” This entire exchange has me on the floor weeping. Of COURSE Magnus has his poetry memorized

OH SHOOT MAGNUS DIDN”T KNOW

NOOO THE DOUBLE SAD MAGNUS AND MEGATRON FACE, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO RECOVER FROM THAT

"I never thought I’d say this, but…it’s been fun” *STARTLED EXAGGERATED GASP*

Magnus thinks that wanting some professional relationships makes him sound like a hopeless romantic, oh my GOSH (same tho Magnus)

ME TOO SWERVE

WTF

I THOUGHT THEY WERE IN SPACE WHAT’S HAPPENING

Oh my gosh, the Deceptidorks run off in their own little cruiser with Grimlock, that’s so them

OH NO SWERVE DIDN”T GET MISFIRE’S NUMBER

OH MY–

WELL

I DIDN”T EXPECT THAT AT ALL

CYCLONUS OH MY GOSH, THAT MADE ME PUT A HAND OVER MY MOUTH AND TURN AWAY, HECK

THAT"S SO SWEET….coming from Cyclonus that’s such a huge thing, he’s so grateful that Rodimus gave him the chance, gave him the opportunity to go on this mission :’)

Of course Rodimus looks a little shocked when Cyclonus grabbed his face like that I"D BE A LITTLE BIT LIKE “UHHH” TOO

GOSH that’s so cute I can’t get over that

WAAAAAIT A MINUTE. WAIT I JUST REALIZED THIS IS ALL IN THE PAST. SO REWIND AND RATCHET REALLY ARE…

WELL. THERE”S STILL A FEW MORE PAGES FOR JRO TO NOT BREAK MY HEART AND RESOLVE THAT….I STILL HAVE A BIT OF FAITH….

AW Cyclonus picks up Tailgate and flies off with him THAT"S SO CUTE

Oh my gosh, that graffiti in the background that says “Megatron will save us” :“’(

NO….RODIMUS IS ALL ALONE OH NO……..THIS IS THE NIGHTMARE SCENARIO NO!!!!!!!

"But sometimes you hardly know they’re here” OH MAN DID THEY TAKE AFTER RUNG

OH MY GOSH

IS THAT???? IS THAT!!!! IS DRIFT GIVING WHIRL RATCHET’S HANDS!??????

“RATTY”

BRAINSTORM’S REALLY GOT ANOTHER FRICKIN SPARK IN HIS BRIEFCASE IM LOSING MY MIND. Ohhhh Whirl helped make that for him! SO WAIT BRAINSTORM IS TECHNICALLY ALMOST DEAD TOO, JRO WTF COME ON

“Hearing that Megatron was able to open it when you couldn’t” WAIT WHAT, THAT”S NOT HOW ANY OF THAT WENT, WHAT UNIVERSE EXISTS WHERE RODDY COULDN”T OPEN IT!! THAT”S SO WRONG

THIS REALLY IS THE NIGHTMARE UNIVERSE, EVERYTHING BAD IS HAPPENING WHAT THE HELL

(Post-reading, I discussed with Saling and YEAH RODIMUS PROBABLY LIED TO HELP MEGATRON’S CASE)

WAILS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AFTER ALL THIS TIME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RODIMUS LOOKS SO SURPRISED AND DELIGHTED…….

“Rodimus. Whatever happens next, whatever my fate, I deserve worse.” :(((((((

HECK THAT MAGNUS / MEGATRON INTERACTION…..MAGNUS LOOKS LIKE A KICKED PUPPY THIS IS MAKING ME SO SAD

What’s wrong with Rodimus’ aura????

WOULD SOMEONE PLEASE EXPLAIN WHAT”S GOING ON

IM TOO FREAKED OUT ABOUT REWIND TO PROPERLY THINK / PREDICT LIKE I ALWAYS DO

AWH!!!!!!!!! IM GONNA FRICKIN CRY!!!!!!!!! THAT HUG!!! FINALLY A SWEET CYCLONUS AND WHIRL HUG WHERE CYCLONUS ISN"T THREATENING TO KILL HIM

EXCELLENT FRICKIN BROTP CONTENT RIGHT THERE

IM STILL WORRIED ABOUT REWIND AND RUNG (AND RATCHET) THOUGH, JIMMOTHY ROBERTS DONT YOU DARE END THIS WITHOUT RESOLVING THAT

LIKE SERIOUSLY THOUGH!!! I LOVE YOU JRO BUT THAT”D BE SUCH A HORRIBLE WAY TO END REWIND’S LIFE (even if he’s not technically dead)

What did Rodimus promise Ratchet he’d look after, I wonder….

RUNG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I KNEW IT!!!! I KNEW SOME VERSION OF HIM WOULD COME BACK!!!!

I KNEW IT!!!!!!!!

“Give that back to Drift and say Thank you. Say it’s a lovely gesture, but I’m not broken, and I don’t need fixing” :’)

I love Whirl so much

DON"T KNOW IF WHAT WORKED

Did they…did they force themselves to forget about Rung??? About the fact that he was Primus???

ALL THE LUNARIANS LOOK LIKE RUNG, SOBS!!!!!!!!!!

Rodimus looks so much older, this is making me so sad THIS WASN”T SUPPOSED TO BE A DEPRESSING ENDING

WHAT CAPTAIN THUNDERCLASH

OH MY GOSH RODIMUS

“Without Love There Is No Meaning” aaHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

THE RODIMUS STAR…THAT WAS MEGATRON’S RODIMUS STAR….DID THEY FORCE THEMSELVES TO FORGET ABOUT MEGATRON??? WHAT HAPPENED

WOW THEY REALLY MADE ANOTHER QUANTUM DUPLICATE HUH

But that means they doom at least one version of themselves to a sad ending…

SIMPATICO

PERCY YOU FRICKIN GEEK you and Brainstorm deserve each other

I’M…..SO TORN…….

THEY REALLY DID GET AN ENDING WHERE THEY’RE HAPPY AND CONTINUE ON FOREVER, BUT ON THE OTHER HAND THEY GOT THE WORST UNIVERSE

I DON”T KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS ENDING………

Oh my gosh WAIT….the bad timeline doesn’t know anything about Rung because Rung is with the good Lost Light…which means that the “canon” timeline IS the good Lost Light….WELL….I GUESS THAT MAKES THINGS A LITTLE BETTER (MAYBE??? IN RETROSPECT I ACTUALLY THINK BOTH VERSIONS FORGOT RUNG...HECK...)

I guess even in the “bad” ending we got some good stuff (like the Whirl & Tailgate / Cyclonus thing) but oof….Rewind’s the only one who remembers Rung…that really hurts…I am glad he and Chromedome are both somewhat ok though :(

“Over To You”

The comic ending with a preview of the first MTMTE issue feels so poetic

I FEEL LIKE. I”M STILL PROCESSING EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED. This comic’s been such a huge part of my life, I don’t know how to properly react

I guess the biggest thing I can say is “I can’t believe it’s over”

Post reading note: I had mixed feelings about the ending, but JRO shared this article “How To Say Goodbye and Mean It: The Last Message of IDW's Lost Light” by Cenate Pruitt and it helped settle some stuff for me. I think it’s definitely worth a read once you’re done with LL25. 

[xxsammysaurousxx]

04/01/2019

I could make a blog post with a kawaii anime picture and such like I usually do but I have a lot I want to write about so I ended up using my boyfriend’s computer.

I honestly haven’t been doing a lot lately since I’ve been back but spending time with the family and playing phone games. I have so many new and enlightening books I need to read, art that is yet to be made, and things that have yet to be written - like me writing in my actual physical diary which is so rare these days but of which I used to do every single day - but I lack motivation. I could blame it on my disorder. Or I could blame it on being a protagonist. But either way I need to own up to the fact that this is something I am struggling with as my own flaw and I need to put forth the steps to fix this problem because I don’t always want to be this way. Especially since I am an influence to my children. Really I know deep down this lack of motivation stems from my disorder and me not using my strength and assets adequately. I really need to get some professional help but it’s hard to find a health clinic like they had in the country out here in the city. You’d think they’d be easier to find... Maybe I’m just not looking hard enough.

Anyways aside from that things have been going really really really well on the whole relationship and family front. 

Sometimes I’ll still get paranoia and random intrusive and irrational thoughts but for the most part I just try to put them aside and focus on all the good I have in my life because it truly is boundless and limitless. Sometimes it gets so bad though. Like I will actually play out negative scenarios in my head. Kind of like I’m daydreaming but instead of fantasizing about delightful things happening to me I imagine the worst possible things that could happen to me, emotionally. Maybe that is an offset of my PTSD. Maybe the paranoia and delusional visions is my subconscious trying to tell me that I still hold onto fear of being pained again. This is even evident in my day to day life because sometimes I will become suspicious and weary of my partner cheating on me when really I do have so much faith in him and believe that he would never do that to me. But when I get these paranoid thoughts and delusions it’s a different me. Not the real me. And I have to remind this me that it’s all in my head and to have more faith that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me because he truly does love me with all of his heart. Him and I have been through hell and back together and we are still together. We have both changed for the better for each other and through loving each other. 

Ugh there’s so much I want to document here. I am truly loving every single second of this life I am living with Bryan and our little family.

04/03/19

See this is exactly what I mean when I say it takes me forever to sit down and write a blog post. But I just found out I can write in cursive on here so that's pretty cool. I think the size of the font is kinda extra but I'm still going to use it cause I wanna. Anyways. I wish I could document all the moments happening in my life right now. There's so much beauty all around me and in my life every single day. It amazes me sometimes how blessed I am. And then of course Depression/irrational thoughts try to rear their ugly heads. But I have to remember the power and strength I have within myself and my God. There is nothing in this life I can not do. Anything is truly possible with this divine life path I have taken. I just must embrace the divinity of it.

As for my paranoia about my lover... It stems from my own insecurities as well as not being able to let go of the past. If I'm ever going to be truly happy with my man and in this relationship then I need to learn how to just let go of everything I've experienced in the past and just live in the present moment. Be here. Now. Because there is so much beauty in the present and I'm going to miss this one day.

I am going to miss this moment I am living in so much that I will look back on this blog and reminisce. Of when my son was so young - only 3 and a half months - and small and fragile...

How he plays with my hair and fusses when I set him down for too long and just wants to be held. How he holds onto my finger with his tiny hands and his adorable expressions and baby babble.

The other day B and I were taking Jedi somewhere and before leaving we looked into the car seat because the baby was giggling. He stopped when we both looked at him, looked up at us with his beautiful blue eyes, and laughed with us. It made B and I both so joyous. And this morning we were laying in bed with him as we do early in the mornings when he refuses to go back to sleep and he said "dada" and "yeah" & he also said "hi" this morning <3

And of course I'll miss how the first word he ever said was "mama" when he cries for me. This precious child of mine moves my heart to depths I never knew before.

And then my relationship woth B... It's truly the best it's ever been. I've never been so happy nor felt so secure in my whole life. I undwrstand him better especially about the whole not having sex thing because I can now harness my own spiritual energy when we are sexually stagnant. The love we share goes way beyond that of the physical and the relationship we share is truer than any other one ive ever been in. Sometimes I get crazy but I just need to learn to either be mindful of all the blessings and joy I have in my life or don't think at all.

Anyways we have shared a lot of beautiful moments these past two weeks we have been back together. I started playing Pokemon Go with him and we've caught a lot of beautiful sunrises together. The other morning I was looking at the game and B said excitedely "look babe!" & I dumbfoundedly looked up at the most gorgeous bright pink sunrise. It was definitely a good omen.

& This picture definitely does no justice but it will suffice~^0^

We also watched a movie I've been wanting to see on Netflix called The Dirt. You know, the one about Mötley Crüe. Legendary. Anywho I'm really glad we actually got to sit down and watch a movie together. We hardly ever get to do that because B doesn't really have the attention spam for movies, or so he says. He's just not a movie guy but he knows how badly I've been wanting to watch it with him and he canceled his plans woth his friend just to watch it with me. He's the best. He really is. And he deserves all of my love and faith. Unconditionally, just as my God loves me. <3 <3 <3

Oh yes, I'll miss this. The cuddles and warmth in the middle of the night. Being able to hold his hand whenever I need. Being able to talk to him about anything and everything. Going places and making love with him. But hopefully it never ends.

I believe in us. And our beautiful family.

~Xx Sammy Saurous RexX~

[pinksweatergettingbetter]

what the... fuck?

yet again we start off with a cutscene that looks like its from a completely different game... or low quality anime

-

...why are we starting off in court

-

“who brings a defendant to his own trial late”

why... is this sentence not processing 

for the life of me i have no idea what that means;

-

simon: you can just SCARE the judge into not giving a fuck about shit like being late, or threatening people under the guise of clever psychological manipulation!

also hi again simon

are you ready to be fun and likeable and not awful ?? I'm excited!

-

“i wish he'd stop treating me like a child all the time”

hey, old habits die hard.

-

simons already doing well by being an overprotective dork... so far so good. dont disappoint me, samurai.

-

our defendant is drunk

we’re off to an excellent start!

-

what... accent is this...

oh its drunkinese ok 

-

“three sheets to the wind”

ive never heard that one

maybe they can get away with having a drunk guy but they cant actually say drunk?

-

somebody get this guy some raw eggs and hotsauce??

wow hes drunk enough to be close to vomiting? he’s not acting hungover so I'm assuming that he’s been drinking up till now. and simon was last with him, so...

yeah I'm blaming simon for this

-

“ive known athena longer than ive known bucky”

“ive frequented his soba restaurant”

contradiction! simon was in jail up until very recently, and knew Athena for a very short period of time during her childhood. unless he met Bucky right after taking care of athena, it’s not possible that he’s known her longer. that or i guess he could just walk right out of jail to get noodles.

-

“meat slapped between slabs of bread...”

oh no ya dont, translation team. you made your burger bed, now you have to lie in it. no mocking the joke now.

-

quit being so tsundere simon. and yes I'm giving you the luxury of being tsundere and not just an asshole who’d prefer the company of men he once tried to cut to ribbons just because Athena’s a girl. because I'm in a good mood today!

-

a) scariest ringtone to date

b) he runs that place alone?? sucks to be buck

-

please stop doing the vomit animation its making me uncomfortable 

-

“this is no time for idle chatter”

oh simon, you obviously dont know what a chekov’s... um, conversation is.

-

wow so not only are we starting in the court room, but Sadmad said his prayers already. This is shaping up to be a rushed case.

...because obviously this is just filler before we get back to the Oh-So Delightful Adventures in Lawyer Land

-

edgeworth called him back for this case?? ...why???

-

Sadmad: I could be less horrible now that I owe the WAA a favourOR I could threaten to send a young lady to hell for just doing her job!!!! GO SADMAD, GO SADMAD

-

...dont call her a spring chick.

-

wait wait MAY 12TH?!

They just finished Maya’s trial and Edgeworth hauls Sadmad back to America over night?? How the fuck does Sadmad think he’s more prepared than us?? He had about the same amount of time to prepare!

-

I’ve got a good feeling about this case

-

Sadmad just let that poor butterfly rest jfc the aesthetic isn't that important 

-

“this guy stole the deed to this other guys shop, so other guy KILLED HIM to get it back”

yes, brilliant deduction, not an overreaction at all

-

Sadmad, you literally got back here at like 1 am last night. Go fuck yourself and leave Athena alone.

-

So Apollo’s a  red pepper, Athena’s an egg yolk... But there aren’t any blue foods, so Phoenix is just stuck being called ‘putrid’ in general.

Anyway cut Athena some slack. She’s already progressed far beyond having a breakdown in court because someone talked over her. 

-

SEXY PAN UP SHOT FOR SIMON BLACKQUILL,

-

“Simon!! You didnt tell me you were taking the stand!!!”

“There wasn’t time...”

no time at all during that 5 minutes you spent in the lobby. But I'm laughin’ so I’m not judging. Also I missed that theme...

-

AW  YIS

THROW DOWN SIMON

he’s the lesser of two evils this time; I'm ready to back him up! Simon in the blue corner, ding ding!!!!

-

half-awake sadmad looks up “rakugo” on wikipedia at 3 am

“yeah that should do it”

...and memorizes the whole article apparently

(coughmartystucough)

-

Sadmad: No wasting time!! This soul must get to the afterlife post-haste! You’re all putrid lumps of fecal matter for putting off the last ri–– wait, an opportunity to gloat?! Hold onto your hats, baby! The next twenty minutes are mine!!!

-

(weeps) thank you Athena

-

simon will remember this (you blackguard)

-

sexy pan up shot for–– oh, it really is a “sexy” pan up shot this time

except for those... soulless eyes...

-

aw nuts she has that drone-y X people theme. 

-

OH GOD 

OH GOD YOUR BOOBS

THAT WOULD HURT SO FUCKING MUCH

IM CLUTCHING MY CHEST JUST THINKING ABOUT IT

but I'm also chortling at the booby jokes teehee

-

“Never show sadness! Smile, smile, smile! With a twisty-twist-twist!”

Hey, it’s the new motto of ace attorney! Your self worth is based solely on how well you can cover up your less palatable feelings! Yaaaay!!

...also I’m calling it now, she did it.

-

i think her balloons are pretty impressive, athena

-

420 WE GOT ONE FOLKS

-

“Sad Monk Sadmahdi”

simon, youre gaining brownie points fast

-

Lang Zi says... Oh, uh I mean, the Kooraheenist Bible says......

-

“I’m checking in with the big tough old man prosecutor because i underestimate this small, young, female defence attorney”

I'm getting flashbacks to Turnabout Beginnings. and not good ones. 

You kick it, girl. tell them off.

-

nice! the judge is on our side!

-

why did she mention the dog barking a lot if it was only because he was hungry?

-

that is one hongry dog

something about the dog just burying the rest of the food is making me laugh

-

oh so that was important eh

hmm

-

has athena always done this double-slam thing, or is this new?

-

Athena: Witness, I think you might’ve been lying a little bit 

Sadmad: Vile hitler-satan, I cast you down to hell for your debauchery, how dare you insinuate that this case has more to it than what is readily viewable on the surface? Tsk tsk, so inexperienced, so putrid, 

-

“What? The gallery doesn’t get a say in this!”

They’re not a jury, you know!!!

-

“Why is the whole gallery siding with prosecutor sadmadhi?”

it’s because he’s hot, athena. thats the only reason anybody likes him.

-

tbh I'm actually pretty proud of Athena

same time last year Sadmad would have put her in a panic-stupor. but not today. Kudos on working that out, kiddo. You’re moving up!

-

...wait a minute

“with a little push, you could succumb to despair”

>despair

does Sadmad know? Does he know about her PTSD? If so... He’s deliberately TRYING TO TRIGGER HER SO THAT HE CAN WIN THE CASE?!

WHAT THE FUCK

-

oh boy!! OH BOY!! a dying message!!! THOSE ARE FOOL PROOF, AS PROVED BY EVERY SINGLE CASE IN THIS SERIES TO CONTAIN ONE!!

-

“That makes perfect sense, doesn't it!”

Yes... the man who suffocated to death somehow had time to leave a clue to his killer...

...you do realize that to be suffocated, the killer has to be there the whole time, right? if there’s nothing in his lungs and no trace of poison in his stomach, then it has to have been manual suffocation, either by strangulation (though we have yet to hear about any marks on his neck) or by covering his mouth and nose. 

so youre implying that rather than fighting back, the old coot rearranged a bunch of playing cards... in plain view of his aggressor

yet again, Sadmad makes a brilliant fool proof deduction.

-

ohhh my god he’s still trying to do it. HE’S STILL TRYING TO TRIGGER HER. I SWEAR TO FUCK, he’s been tolerable–– very thinly tolerable up until now. But this is just disgusting. This is brazen, malicious cheating. I don’t care if he turns out to be jesus himself when the inevitable “urhurhur he was good all along!!” twist shows up; I’m not forgetting this.

-

Damnit , Athena, don’t fucking listen to him. Don’t listen to a word he fuckin says.

Man I’ve never been so happy to see Simon. Little bit of the pot-calling-the-kettle-black here since Simon’s MO is to threaten and manipulate–– err, ah, use psychology!! to influence people, but I hate Sadmad so much that I don’t care.

-

“To think, you were so easily manipulated by his parlour tricks...”

Watch it, Simon. You’re the lesser of two evils this time, but that doesn’t exempt you from criticism. As a psychologist, you should know WHY it worked so well on Athena and you should be SENSITIVE about it. 

You’re cleared of all charges, remember?? You don’t have to pretend to be a douchebag to keep up your ill-thought-out plan anymore.

-

“I’m not girding up anything in this skirt!”

well i just don't know what to say to that

-

Oh boy here comes Uendo.

Everyone seems to love him so I’m hoping he’ll be a reprieve from Sadmad’s......... everything 

-

Sexy pan up shot of... a guy on a bunch of flower bags. With his own theme song!

-

so far I'm loving his animations and I'm always a slut for shitty puns!!

let’s see... blush stickers for the goofy one, hair forwards and eyeshadow for the lady. Clever little things that make each one of his characters different. He's definitely a fun character so far!

-

ah I'm really enjoying his dialogue 

ill bet the translators had a ball with this

-

won't you PLEASE laugh at my PUN!!!

its ok uendy, i thought it was good.

-

“Silence is more precious than diamonds”, eh?

I can definitely see which Sadmad values more...

-

ooh a spit take! not since godot have we been blessed... also i notice they've dialled up the rock guitar in Athena’s theme. Personally don’t see it as an improvement but eh

-

“yes, making it look like the man drowned was obviously because the culprit hated him and wanted to desecrate his corpse instead of getting the fuck out of there quicker like any killer would”

not to make it look like 

he’d drowned in the bowl

to throw off the police.

of course not; that’d be too obvious.

another win for the great Sadlock Madholmes.

-

wait did Sadmad just say Objection?? I thought he didnt do that

also; duel of the growly voices

-

prosecutor sad monk. simon’s still a dick but at least his dickishness spreads to  people i dont like :3

-

ooh i love it when i can rearrange physical pictures

-

“you can put the cards back in their right place but if you cant explain them then youre fucked”

ever thought that maybe theyre irrelevant to the case and theyre just... cards?? sadmad??

i mean i know theyre not but they could easily have just been on the table when the murder happened. they could stand for absolutely nothing.

-

ahh... the sweet refreshing scent of common sense. you redeem yourself step by step, simon. i mean, when youre not being a dick about it.

-

“don’t testify.”

franziska tried this once. it was for an evil scheme. i dont want to have to threaten another witness with revealing a dark secret; that was depressing.

but at least we know meanwhile that Sadmad isn’t above dirty shit like shutting up a witness. .......not that we didnt know that before.......

-

“Are you trying to taunt him into talking? Such a petty trick will never work”

POT.

CALLING.

THE KETTLE.

JET BLACK, SADFUCK.

-

simon’s lucky he’s surrounded by idiots and people with poor impulse control, otherwise his “mind tricks” wouldn’t do shit

“to be turned by such an obvious ploy... what a man of weak spirit.”

for once, Sadmad, I gotta agree.

-

its time for 

Artistic!

License!

Psychologyyyyyyyyy!!!!

-

sadmad doesn't get his way: my god will smite you later :(((((

-

now that we’ve worn this non-joke out...

-

“seeing my master asleep just made me so fuckin sad...”

-

i love that anger has such a distinctive ping sound

-

please do not call your toe that

-

“You gotta fuss over every tiny detail like this?” yes, Uendo. That’s why I’m writing these !!

-

that box of buns keeps drawing my attention. i love buns

-

Simon, you could try using some positive reinforcement. Mia wasn’t soft on Phoenix, but she encouraged him to think and puzzle things out for himself; she didn’t just call him an idiot. All the time.

-

“as sharp as a trout”

what the fuck

-

“so thats how it works ! fascinating!”

its not like i spent a lot of time working under the woman who invented said matrix!

-

its kinda sad that Athena’s never seen multiple emotions in high dudgeon 

she must hang out with a lot of mild mannered people 

-

athena: ive just proved these words mean something detrimental to the witness

sadmad: erm but they mean nothing to me therefor they warrant no further investigation.

???

i stg most of Nahyuta’s “”��”counter argumnets”””” are legitimately just him trying to disparage the obvious contradiction away.

-

again athena seems unable to believe that people can only feel one intense emotion at a time

should i be worried

-

silly AA, that’s not how DID works!

oh well, at least Uendo is the fun kind of DID, unlike other... side-splittingly shameful characters I could mention...

-

Pohlfuckya indeed sadmad

-

ROLE CALL

-

“You seem proud of yourself, but all youve done is infringe on the privacy of the witness”

(sweats) i hate it when Sadmad makes good points

-

its not really dissociative if you dont... um... dissociate.

-

Sadmad: let it go and––

Athena: Shut up!!

Sadmad: Let it g––

Athena: Sssh!!!

Sadmad: le––

Athena: SJSJSJSJ

-

“if words will not sway you, perhaps pain will”

eject

him

-

i dont... like that... the beads are around her torso.......

-

YOOOOOOOOOOOOOO HE FUCKIN CUT THEM IN MID AIR

that deserves a fucking cutscene all on its own. its like the time Lang caught Franziska’s whip only cool and not bulshitty

...also you coulda maybe done that a lil earlier simon lol

-

“I dont give two flips”

all his flips have flown the coop

-

“but if Cykes dono were to submit to you here...”

DO NOT 

USE THE WORD SUBMIT

WHEN PRAYER BEAD BONDAGE IS INVOLVED

-

fuck you sadmad, not everyone has magic gary-stu powers that let them memorize everything about a single subject in one night.

-

once again sadmad wastes precious time and diamonds showing off

-

after this lengthy, lengthy, leeeeeengthy detour............ wouldyouliketoaddthisstatementtothetestimony?

-

“you look like a hen with a dozen eggs to say”

you can just say “constipated” and it'll be less creepy, simon

-

how could they... not tell... oh who cares

-

“we’ve got you by the stones now, Uendo!”

DAMN the TESTICLE references in this game!!!

-

“heres a big plot twist that i just convenientlyforgottomention urhurhurhr..”

spoken like a true prosecutor 

-

there was such a long pause there i thought he was building up to a pun

but of course he wasnt. sadmad isn't cool at all

-

heheh i just noticed that Bucky has hair noodles, just like Mr. Eldoon (tho Bucky’s dont appear to be a wig)

also its... very distressing to have a drunk client.

-

y’know i just realized

Sadmad is always talking about sending souls to the twilight realm in the proper way. but he's an international prosecutor. he’s probably prosecuted victims of all religious alignments.

isn't it kind of disrespectful to perform your religion’s funeral rites on someone who doesn’t practice it???

-

again, BK is only successful because Uendo is a moron

to be fair though, that was one of his better ones.

-

“You were leading the witness!”

I...

Just, fuckin’. Please stop making good points, sadmad. I don’t want to be enraged with you, I want to be enraged AT You!!

...well i mean I don’t want to but i hate it when you bring up excellent points.

-

anyway why doesn't sadmad want them to find Owen anyway. if it comes to nothing, who cares? can you just not stand having people who aren’t you waste time??

-

again... DID doesn’t work like that........

-

macbeth, starring athena cykes and simon blackquill

-

hey i jusT REALIZED WHERE’S TAKA

-

thats,,, reallllllyy not how DID works,,,,,,,,,,,,,

-

highfalutin’

-

“if you see one, there are likely thirty in your home’

thirty what

WTHIRTY WHAT

-

look if you knew how DID is supposed to work you'd probably have a good hypothesis by now. not an... ethical one to implement, but a working one.

-

i guess Uendo just never sleeps then, because apparently falling unconscious calls out another personality.

...brilliant.

-

Simon: STOP BEING SO NERVOUS. IS MY NAGGING AND DISAPPOINTMENT SOOTHING YOU???? IS IT?????!!!!

-

the time honoured tradition of turning a slip of paper over... truly, this is an Ace Attorney game 

-

dude.... if you conk out from the trace amounts of alcohol in a bun, you should maybe visit a doctor possibly 

-

“hmm, yes, i will allow you to render this man unconscious from alcohol.”

classic judge!!

-

au where blackqyil is a very angsty delivery boy

-

BABY

THERE HE IS

MY PRECIOUS BIRD

I WAS SO SCARED SOEMTHING HAD HAPPENED TO YOU

-

...that bird is going to fly into a shop, terrorize the workers, steal bean buns and (hopefully) drop a twenty on the counter as he flies the coop

awesome 

-

phew that was a long court... but wait if this is a half-episode (which it probably is) and it started on a court day...

no investigation?! RIP OFF

-

gonna cut this one off here. till next time...

[lizbethart-blog]

       Maybe, quite possibly I was just hoping Mary Poppins would save me too…

The Pentangle Arts (https://pentanglearts.org) presentation of Mary Poppins Returnshas been playing at the Woodstock Town Hall Theatre. I really wanted to see this movie. Yet, I am not easily convinced to leave my cozy warm little house on the hill to venture out into the cold dark evening especially on a Monday, but my husband convinced me to do so. I suspect he knew and remembered that the original Mary Poppins was one of my very favorite movies.  Quite possibly my absolute favorite as it was the first move, I saw in a movie theater as a young girl.  The magic of Disney immediately made an impression, but the true magic was sharing this experience with my mother. While Mary Poppins was  “practically perfect in every way” so was the woman seated right beside me. I truly thought and had imagined that years ago I had compartmentalized those warm and wide-eyed emotions and kept them in my childhood treasured memory box, but I was wrong.

Comfortably sitting in the Woodstock theater, the audience was mostly comprised of contemporaries as it was a school night. I wondered how many of us in the audience saw the original Mary Poppins in the theater as a first movie? I did love that we did not feel the need bring a young child to justify our attendance but instead were looking to revisit the child within. The movie starts such as a Disney movie does extraordinary with color, a beautiful setting and music. The story begins with the viewer meeting a grown-up Jane and Michael Banks learning that Michael has very sadly lost his wife just a year ago and is raising their young three children on his own. Sister, Jane Banks is very much involved in their lives but was unaware that Michael was financially struggling, had secured a loan against the family home and has not met his financial payments leading to a bank seizure of their beloved home. Enter Mary Poppins. Actress Emily Blunt, in similar fashion to the fabulous Julie Andrews, mystically appears from above floating through the mist and clouds in shades of gray as she makes her way to the Banks home once again. Quite unexpectedly and I suspect from a place deep in my heart as I watched Mary Poppin’s descend to the earth my eyes filled up and tears rolled down cheeks. Was I mentally returning to that tiny theater years ago with velvet seats sitting next to my mother? I clearly understand the loss of a beloved mother so was that enough for the tears to fall? Was I relieved Mary Poppins was on her way to help the young Banks children or was I personally hoping Mary would save me too?

Packing up our family home, a few years back was many things but mostly it was a tremendous tug on my heartstrings. Saying goodbye to a house and more importantly a home loved by both our immediate and extended family was extremely difficult.  Our home hosted many children, teenagers, family, running club friends, Kenyan runners, and most importantly the site where our daughter married the love of her life on a gorgeous September day on our ten-acre spread. Best friends across the street…perfect! Selling the house after our children had grown, I found myself deeply mourning the life we had on Adams Street. It is never really about the physical structure but the people that pass through the front door and our lives. The house for many years was filled with the sounds of joy, laughter and on occasion even sadness as every house does. The energy and level of activity that children provide in a home is intoxicating.  However, when it gets quiet and it does get quiet as the nest empties and bedrooms become museums it is time to seek a new adventure. The physical process of moving is daunting and not for the faint of heart. While going through boxes in our basement with our adult daughter and son we reminisced, laughed, teased and my husband and I listened with delight to the playful banter between a brother and sister. Even though we were under the pressure of time we often stopped to admire a school paper, a much-loved stuffed animal and the endless NSync posters. How does one sum up a lifetime?

I came across just a few boxes I had moved from my parent’s home years before that I had quite honestly forgotten about or more accurately, I had blocked from my memory.  Now was the moment I had to open the boxes and address the contents. How is it material things can affect us so immediately and profoundly? Cherished and known items prompt us to return to a time gone by in a New York minute. Familiar handwriting, trinkets of great importance to my parents and apparently to me as I dutifully brought them all with me. Another time and down the road when the possessions become the property of another generation those very same precious items will be viewed in a very different light as their meaning and history fades with each generation. I thought I had already sorted through the contents of these precious boxes long ago. In fact, they are the last physical reminders of my parent’s personal affects including handwritten notes, policies etc.…I thought for sure I had already touched each item, every piece of paper before packing them and relocating to our home but I was wrong…I must have blocked it yet again. In our effort to minimize what we store in our now small home my husband brought to me a cardboard moving box from our basement to sort through. With each move space and time seem to become more and more precious. I opened the tidy box and thought I knew its contents because it was packed within the past two and a half years, but I didn’t actually really know but now I would learn its contents.

“AFTER ALL, YOU CAN’T LOSE WHAT YOU NEVER LOST.” – MARY POPPINS

I came across a thin royal blue folder and its content immediately struck me. Instantly I recognized my mother’s impeccable longhand as it jumped off the pages of simple white notebook paper. The paper and the writing were as crisp and white as if she had written the words that very day. My mother had the most exceptional penmanship as does my sister…I did not inherit this skill and I am quite grateful for keyboards. My mother was so many wonderful things which is commonly how most of us feel about our mothers. She was creative, an excellent writer and artistic as well but unfortunately lacked time and opportunity to fully realize her many talents. She was an incredible caregiver for so many people and I always admired her way of mothering me and my siblings because her mother died in childbirth and she was an only child….so how did she learn?

The initial piece of notebook paper talked about her lifetime role as a caregiver and that empty feeling when one’s role changes due to the natural process of children growing and their independence being realized. She loved who we were becoming but missed being an integral part of our daily lives and those immediate shared confidences. What resonated to me as I read her words was, I completely understood her thoughts and feelings.  I was reading her words at nearly the same age she wrote them.  Understanding that I am now in the same cycle of life that she was as she penned the words. Maybe it was by design that I found the papers when I did so as to understand her a little more and understand myself a bit more currently.

The next piece of paper was a story about a beloved friend and neighbor of my mother’s. Flo was her name and she had lived a very challenging family life. My mom had many dear friends so her focus on Flo was curious to me. I think the first sentence of the narrative really told the story as to why my mother’s chose Flo to write about “my dear friend with the smiling face – dear Flo” My mom understood the life and pain behind Flo’s smile and I suspect she admired her strength. Maybe on some days she identified with that survival skill as well.

The final few papers were small in number, but their impact was poignant and profound. These pages were different from the others, my mother’s beautiful handwriting was now shaky and indicative of her weakened state. My mother made the decision to document her thoughts and feelings after being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. If ever a person had a desire to live and had more living to do it was, she. Somehow, she knew when unrelenting back pain would not resolve, and she was not getting definitive answers until she did…she said to me “this better not be my dam pancreas!” She was smart and intuitive always, but I so wished she was wrong this time and just this time. Standing by her in her hospital bed, in the emergency room as she was receiving an IV for dehydration, the news of her CT scan was delivered. Shock, great sadness and horror permeated our thoughts in the small curtained room as my mother’s mortality became a devastating reality. Transferred to Boston Medical for futile treatments she employed her quiet moments without us surrounding her bedside and began to write about her feelings from diagnosis on.  She even sketched a city view from her hospital bed perspective. As an artist this visual hit me hard.  The words she wrote were so real and haunting as she spoke of her loneliness and not wanting to put her family through the upcoming and unrecoverable brief period of time. The loneliness she spoke of was reflecting on the common human experience we all share. Each ending is ours alone to face even though we are surrounded by those that love us the journey is singular. Her final sentence was “I prayed to go”.

Thank you, Mary Poppins, for reminding me that:

“NOTHING IS GONE FOREVER, ONLY OUT OF PLACE.” – MARY POPPINS

[lumiereswig]

Forgotten

What if the Enchantress came one day late? What if the ball went as planned, and the Prince went to bed that night human and cruel, and the next day was alone when she arrived? What if the staff weren’t nearby when the curse was cast? What then, what then?

“The prince [was] forgotten by the world, for the enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved….” Dark!Fic. Inspired by this savagely sad post of @batbobsession‘s.

Part I: Not A Care in the World

The ball was flawless. In the garden, the roses continued to reach to the sky, and the storm brushed away; the lights shut off in the palace, one by one, and the music faded to silence. The prince went to bed with one or two or three pretty women he wouldn’t care for by the next day. Up in his room, Lumiere popped open a bottle of champagne.

Plumette, lighting the candles by the bed, grinned at him over the flames. He laughed and raised his glass.

“Another sublime night, ça va, mon amour?” The door creaks and in come Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, Chapeau, the visiting musicians. The word has quickly spread that Lumiere and Plumette are serving leftover croquembouche in their room; the staff find places to sit, glasses to drink from, hands to join and caress. Mrs. Potts, in a rocking chair, smiles and holds a sleeping Chip.

“How many parties has it been now?”

Cogsworth is counting on his fingers. “Thirty years’ worth at least.....no, forty. Lord, I can’t keep track of the time.”

“He’s turning just like his father—the prince’s father was like this, too,” Mrs. Potts explains to the musicians, who know nothing about the palace or its politics. They nod and move closer to each other on the bed. “We don’t know what he’d do without us. He’ll be fine, though; we try not to intervene. D’you only have wine up here, Lumiere? I could use a cup of tea.”

“If you cannot take a little sparkling wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” laughs Lumiere, and she swipes at his arms and makes him laugh. He eases into a seat between Cogsworth and Plumette and throws his arms around them.

“Think how long it has been!” he says. “Forty years for you, Cogsworth, but most of my life for mine. Why, I came here as a teenager—imagine me, only a little older than Chip! Fresh out of Paris and still reeking of the apothecary shop.” He grimaces, thinking of his father’s dusty store in a side-street of the city. He had fled, then, looking for the glamor his missed; in his room in Paris he had practiced dance steps, reveled in fashion, adopted the graceful movements of the court as rebellion against the bourgeois facts of an ordinary existence. He had come to this palace, and he had lit into life; dancing and feasting and glowing like gold made Lumiere’s heart sing.

“We met in this palace, do you remember, mon trésor?” Plumette is close in his arms; her scent—fresh and light, like candy and macarons—right beside him. “I was only fourteen, and I loved you right away.”

“I loved you before I met you,” murmurs Lumiere. “I could never forget.”

“Well, that’s quite enough of that,” says Cogsworth, perhaps a bit too loudly. The two lovers had forgotten how close he was to their embrace. “To bed, to bed! Tomorrow we have another morning—and so many mornings after that, to care for the prince and these grounds. We can save affection for another day.”

Lumiere sighs loudly, but the staff agree to part for the night. They hug and kiss and wave goodnight—Cogsworth studiously looking the other way as Plumette makes no indication of moving back to her own room—and the lights go out. The humans of the castle sleep.

Part II: Selfish and Unkind

The next day is their day off. It is their one day off in the year. Adam would frequently wish to deny them of it; it is too much for him to imagine coping alone for one day, though he never puts it in such vulnerable terms. Instead, he just has a foul temper about it.

“And you’ll be back tonight, 7 sharp.”

“Oui, maître.”

“And the kitchens have been stocked? Or have you forgotten that in your delight to run away?”

“Non, maître.”

“You know, this is an incredible liberty. Most princes wouldn’t let their staff go prancing off to—I don’t know, what do you do in the village, drink beer and talk about pigs? Pfft. I would just stay, if I were you.”

“....non, maître.”

“Fine. Get out.”

They are gone all too quickly. Adam stands in the lonely, empty halls. If he stands by the open door, he can see them weaving their way through the forest and down to the village, to spend their day in the company of each other, in Lumiere and Plumette’s case, or with loved ones, in the case of Mrs. Potts. No matter what, all the servants have each other. And Adam has nobody.

He adjusts his wig, tosses a curl. He doesn’t care. They’re all uncaring fools. He debates his options for the day: spending it in the library sounds the best. On the other hand, he could also search around the palace, try to find some mistake in its keeping to yell at them about when they got back....after all, at least when he yelled they looked at him.

Searching for the mistake it was, then. Adam trotted off, his heels slick against the polished floors, the sun shining bright.

Part III: All Those Precious Days

In the village, Lumiere kisses Plumette, his lips as warm on hers as the sun is right behind their heads. She is feather-light beside him; watching her dance to a tune of her own making, Lumiere is hot with twenty years of memories. Remember her smile when he set the table for the first time, and made the knives and forks flip like acrobats? Remember when he helped her with her hair, after it rained, and she was his best friend and so fair beside him, while he untied the knots and tried to coax out a curl? His life is beautiful with Plumette—and Plumette, smiling back at him, is more beautiful than his life.

Chip runs ahead of Mrs. Potts, calling for his papa. Jean Potts, emerging from his home, waves joyously at the staff now flooding the village. Really, Villeneuve is not big enough to support so huge a gathering—but it is only one day, after all, as the staff step out of the palace and spend a day in the sun. They stretch their limbs and visit the shops, and sit on the stoops and talk. Lumiere is dazzling in his yellow palace coat against the dingy brown of the steps. Plumette is the loveliest girl in the village. Cogsworth checks the clocktower’s time against his own. And at 6:45, by his watch, they prepare to go back to the palace.

In Adam’s tower, he hears the knock. Angry at having been left alone—angry at being abandoned—angry at everything, Adam slams open the door and sees an old crone.

6:55. Lumiere is running late, as usual. He was regaling Tom and Dick with a lavish description of the ball he is planning. Cogsworth groans at the delay.

The crone offers a rose. Payment for a night’s rest; there is an oncoming storm. Rain coming in.

“Fireworks! And flowers on every table! And dancers from Vienna—the glories of a courtly life, gentlemen, you must come join us—”

“Lumiere! The night grows old.”

The crone grows young.

6:59. “We were meant to be there minutes ago! The Prince is all alone in the palace, now, and it’s our fault. We must get back, or there will be hell to pay—”

The Enchantress sets her curse. The piper must be paid. There must be punishment—

7:00. The curse strikes; a fleeting darkness on the village, a lasting one on the palace. The palace, the palace....the palace.....

...........the palace?

What palace? The villagers do not remember. And the staff, caught among them, do not either. There is silence, and darkness, and sleep.

Part IV: Little Town

Belle wakes up to a jolt in the road, and the rough wool blanket on her face, and the smell of cheese and paint and horse and wind clinging to her skin. She rubs her eyes and tries to wipe away the sleep. They’re in the wagon, again, and Maurice is hunched up in the bench, encouraging Philippe to trot faster. The contents of Belle’s entire life are jammed in around her, a moving nest of drawings and gear-boxes and packets of cabbage-seed.

“That town didn’t work out, either?”

“Plague,” says Maurice, and his eyes shadow, and he watches the road more closely. Of course. How many times has Belle woken up this way, the town she thought they’d live in forever far behind, her father just in front, the wagon rattling beneath her as Maurice fled the city sickness from one town to another. Lilles, Reims, Amiens: each one tainted by plague, each one not safe enough for Maurice and his daughter. No home lasted long enough.

“And where does this road go?” Belle’s eyes adjust to the dawn—they are passing a forest, and coming through a field, now, and fields lead to country villages, and villages mean homes, at least fora while. Perhaps this one would be small enough and safe enough to hide them for a while.

“Villeneuve,” says Maurice. “I chose it by chance. I hope they have room for an inventor.”

“Two inventors,” says Belle, and Maurice smiles.

“Yes, two, always two.”

They get to the town just after market-time, and Maurice busies himself finding the local priest to inquire after empty houses. Belle, tucked in the wagon, forms her opinion: Villeneuve is small, and cramped, and ordinary.

And full of far, far too many people.

“Why are there so many people?” Belle asks, when Maurice comes back with happy news of an empty house, recently abandoned, just at the edge of the village.

“Mm?”

“People. There are too many of them! Where are they all supposed to live? I know it was just market-time, but there are enough people in these streets to account for two villages.”

“I expect the other village just doesn’t exist yet,” says Maurice, absent-mindedly, trying to work out the details of keys and locks. “So they’re all just living in this one for now. Come give me a hand with these boxes—thank you.”

Belle’s mind doesn’t stop turning it over, even as she unpacks music-boxes and arranges her father’s paints by the window. She saw all the people in that market. And she sees them now—watching her and her father, peeking on the edges of the streets and peeping through windows. But no one comes to help. The town is quiet, and a little gloomy in the afternoon light.

By mid day, Belle and her father are halfway done. Maurice sits on a box and wipes his forehead.

“Do you know what I forgot to pack?” he says. “Beef. And bread. And....well, anything edible, really. You wouldn’t have remembered, would you?”

“Papa, I was asleep. I couldn’t remember anything.”

“True, true.” Her father’s hands brush in front of his sad, blue eyes. “Might you go out and find some, Belle? There must be someone selling bread. And butter. And possibly jam?”

Belle is already at the door with her basket. “You rest your eyes, papa. I’ll be right back.”

Part V: Every Day Like the One Before

Now that she is out, Belle takes the chance to look around. She takes her time going through the streets. On her left, the clock tower chimes. On the right, a man in a yellow peasant’s vest leans onto a stoop. A cluster of girls giggle across the market square. Somewhere, a tea kettle screams. Belle stops to make her choice.

Is Villeneuve ordinary? Yes. Dull? Absolutely. Cross, and overflowing, and wary of strangers? All correct. Nothing of note will ever happen in Villeneuve. As far as anyone can remember, nothing ever has.

A puff of smoke blows into her face.

“Pardonez-moi, mademoiselle,” says the voice to her right. Belle looks, and sees nothing, but then looks down and sees the man on the stoop. He is smoking a pipe, and puffing the smoke, and his eyes are closed and his limbs lie around him as if lifeless.

“You are Parisian,” she says. She caught it in his voice.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” he says. A tiny, delicate gesture from his fingers; it is a surprsingly sophisticated movement for a peasant. “Or at least, once I was. Now I live in Villeneuve.”

It is an oddly empty statement: I live where I am right now, miles from anywhere else, as if I were to ever live anywhere besides. Belle notes it down and hides it away for later.

“I was an apothecary’s son,” adds the man.

“And are you still an apothecary?”

“I am nothing now,” says the man, in a flash of vehemence, and Belle finally sees his face. It is empty, and quiet, and beyond the fire in his words there is nothing there to look at. It is as if someone washed out all his color, and left him only with his yellow vest. He is sad, and silent, and barely moves.

“I am Lumiere,” he says, and sadness rests inside his eyes.

[the fic continues here. friendly reminder that reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated]