#jokes on you EVERY couple can be sun/moon coded

[cellgatinbo]

augh

[icaruskey]

Hey @pillowspace I've been promising some whump and this is going to be the start of it.

I don't know how many parts it'll be, but I suspect I'll be able to post one snippet every day or two and finish it out by the end of the week.

I hope I do it justice. I've been hyping it up in my head a whole lot, especially since I'm writing more comfort for the clone au than here.

This is loop five. You're pretty sure of that. Sun is a little suspicious of you, the distance between you and the attendant growing ever wider as you prove to be more capable with the kids than him or Moon. It's not his fault, you want to explain, but you know that will only make things worse.

So you try to ignore instinct, let the children fall and need Sun, but he's the face of the daycare and he's needed all the time, so it becomes pain for pain's sake, and that of a child too! You can't stand it, and you know if he were in your shoes, if either of them were, they'd understand.

You still don't like the day they bring the generators in --- other humans with help from some of the animatronics, Freddy and Bonnie always eager to give their coworkers a helping hand. You don't like it because it means Moon won't be out anymore.

"Can we put some tape down? I'm worried the kids will trip over the cables." You stand at Sun's side, both of you watching the generators get placed. You with a furrowed brow, Sun with his rays retracted nearly entirely into his faceplate.

"That might be for the best." The strain in his voice is upsetting, and you reach to touch his arm in sympathy. It surprises him, and he slowly places a hand over yours. "Thank you for helping with the children. It's been... Difficult lately."

I know, you don't say. There's no movement from him, no wit or joke in his voice. Even his touch is limp.

"We're all set!" Freddy's voice is as full of life as Sun's is void of it. He walks over, the ground trembling ever so slightly with every step. "Everything going all right Sunny?"

Sun's grip on you tightens, painfully so with flesh trapped between metal. "Of course! Moon is just having some malfunctioning code, so we are putting him on pause until he gets better." The strain is audible, but Freddy is far too polite to bring it up.

"It's a shame," he says instead, clapping a paw on Sun's shoulder. "He's always good for a tune and a prank. Let us know if you need anything Sunny."

"Of course," Sun replies, but he's drowned out by Bonnie hop-jogging over to grab Freddy's arm.

"C'mon man. We got a set to practice with the girls. Chica's gonna murder us if we aren't on time."

"Ah right. See you Sun, Superstar." Freddy waves his goodbye, but you avoid looking at him. In a couple weeks, Freddy won't be the same. You wish you could warn them, but.

But instead, you watch as the two glamrocks leave, useless in comforting Sun, in saving Bonnie. Maybe if it wasn't for the fire... But you have to keep to your personal priorities right now, and you'd failed too many times already.

Sun signs, releasing you. "Let's get the daycare ready before the kids start showing up. Thank you for coming in early Starlight."

"It's not a problem Sun." You push as much love into your voice as possible. "If you get the art supplies and breakfast snacks ready, I can secure the electric cords."

"Oh of course. That's very smart." His rays remain retracted as he walks to the locked cabinets to prepare. You bum a roll of duct tape off a coworker and climb into the jungle gym, carefully taping the cables out of the way of little feet.

At least Sun brightened when the children started pouring in. You take over explaining the new naptime rules to the parents so he can fawn over the little ones, and the day passes quickly under the unforgiving glare of the lights.

You stay late to help clean, staking chairs out of the way to vacuum. Sun is humming as he pins the new drawings up, taking a few of the oldest ones down and stacking them neatly to the side.

"Will Moon get to come out after hours?" You ask, and Sun stops, arms full with little trays of crayons and markers. You notice there's a couple red hearts drawn on his cheek. Does he know about them?

"Oh, no. We aren't allowed to leave the daycare unless it's for maintenance, so he won't be coming out." Sun hands you the trays. "I'm going to take the old drawings up to our room. Can you finish things up down here?"

"Oh, yeah, of course." Even five loops in you're sticking your foot in your mouth. "Have a good night Sun."

"Thank you Starlight." He gathers the drawings, reaching up for the cord that he and Moon use to travel through the air. It descends and clips in place, and... He's gone.

It hurts to see him in pain like this. But, you will fix things this time. And Sun, very unintentionally, gave you the chance to do some after hours exploring.

✴️✴️✴️

Even better, it turns out the daycare's vacuum cleaner is broken, the always frayed cord finally snapped. Weird that you hadn't noticed this before, but then again, you have been busy every loop. You drag the vacuum out the side door to the manager 's office so it could be thrown out by someone with actual authority. It's quiet, the music playing to softly to muffle your footsteps or rattly old contraption dragging behind you. It shouldn't be easy to sneak up on you, and yet

"Who are you?" A woman's voice cuts through your thoughts, and you jump, giving an inarticulate yell and promptly tripping over yourself as you turn.

She's a security guard you realize, spotting the badge and pseudo-cop attire even as you're blinded by her flashlight. You squint and shield your eyes, clumsily getting back to your feet.

"I'm the daycare assistant." You fumble for your badge, clipped on the inside of your sweater to show. "I'm still cleaning up. Sun's having a bit of a stressful day and it's a lot slower without his help." You're over explaining but, ah well. You're still startled.

"You're not supposed to stay after hours." She checks her watch, and you can finally make out her face. She's pretty, young. Not exactly what you'd think of when you think overnight security guard. "It's late."

"I know." There's an edge of irritation slipping in, even as you gather the broken vacuum again. "I need to finish cleaning."

The guard watches you, and you're uncomfortably aware of her apparent lack of blinking, fiddling with the busted cord instead. "And the daycare attendant is refusing to help?"

"He's had a bad day," you say, openly defensive. "He deserves a break, so I'm taking care of things. It's fine. You can even watch if you want to make sure I'm not stealing anything."

She's still frowning at you, shaking her head. She holsters the flashlight, taking the vacuum from you. "You go on home. I'll make sure the daycare gets cleaned."

"But---" You grimace as her already disgruntled expression turns hostile. "Okay, all right. Can I at least get my stuff?"

She sighs but nods, dropping the vacuum. "Come on then. I need to escort you. Someone's been sneaking around in here after hours already."

Oh? "They have?" Could they have messed with Moon? "Why hasn't the day shift been informed?"

"Everyone important has."

You give up trying to talk, frustrated with her stoney silence. The daycare is lit like a beacon in the pizzeria, and when you enter you cut off to the side, digging your bag out of your cubby. You start to call up to Sun, but the guard is at your shoulder, still watching you in her unnerving way. You swallow instead, gesturing vaguely. "Well, that's it."

"Good. Let's go then." And she takes the lead, leaving you scrambling to catch up. There's no lingering or trying to take the long way around. She leads you directly to the atrium and even watches as you clock out.

"Well, thank you," you say, attempting one more smile. She's unmoved. "Um, have a good night?"

"In the future, if you can't get everything done by the end of your shift, telephone it into the security office," she says, escorting you to the nearest door.

"I will." And you're leaving, confused and frustrated. You turn around when the door locks behind you. The guard is already leaving, her ponytail bouncing with her long steps. Just in case, you try the door, but nope. It's locked.

"Fine then. I'll try again tomorrow," you tell the door, drawing a hand down your face. Hopefully she didn't bully Sun for trying to take a break. You've already decided you do not like her. But how have you missed her the past few loops? You're the only one who knows what's happening, so you should've run into her before. What's changed?

[noivoom]

AAAAA couldn’t stop thinking about yesterday’s episode. There was a lot to unpack and others went over the Big Main Things better than I can so I just wanted to share some of my thoughts on a couple of other things

incoherent ramble time

First of all, I think we all noticed the Computer’s sudden change of attitude. What it said to Sun at the end about the Old Moon being gone and needing to accept that was SO INTERESTING. Just… the WAY it spoke, slowly and almost hesitantly, as if it was just coming to those realisations itself. It’s constantly been comparing Moon to his old self, behaving like they’re still the same, treating him with more and more snark as if actively trying to get him to act “correctly”. Forcing him to work under pressure, treating taking Sun off the “subject list” like a joke, ramping up its attitude... surely it’ll work eventually, right? He’ll start acting like his old self in no time, they just have to keep pushing. It almost seemed frustrated that Moon constantly refused to. Because Moon isn’t the same person anymore. He hasn’t been the same person since the day he woke up.

All of the Old Moon’s actions, his anger and distance and defensiveness, it all stemmed from the fear and trauma of spending most of his life trapped in someone else’s body while also dealing with the kill code (has anyone else ever thought about how terrifying the first moments of his existence would’ve been?? Stuck helplessly in the head of someone who doesn’t even know he’s there, he doesn’t know why and all he can do is lash out in anger because it’s not fair and I have A LOT of feelings about this but that’s for a different post entirely).

New Moon didn’t have that. Sure things were far from perfect with Eclipse and everything, but he had a family. Sun was there to tell him what’s going on, and Earth to teach him good habits. Sure, he has a similar personality, same sense of humour, similar reactions when mad (meeting Banban in VRchat and that one Roblox maze, anyone?), but his base personality only goes so far. He hasn’t learned the same behaviours. He’s a different person now.

(… where was I going with this? RIGHT THE COMPUTER.)

I always thought that maybe the Computer was suddenly being an ass because it didn’t know how to deal with Moon’s reset. It wasn’t really created with that kind of emotional range in mind, and it’s never had to deal with something like this before. This whole time the Computer’s been clinging to the Old Moon, whether in some kind of grief or denial it’s been refusing to process. But I think what Moon said to Sun, “you refuse to think I can be different,” made it FINALLY realise that Old Moon and New Moon aren’t the same, and only when talking to Sun did it start to actually accept the fact. Again, the way it spoke then... it really felt like just as significant a moment character-wise for the Computer as it was for Moon.

Maybe it’s going to be more empathetic from now on. OR I’m completely wrong about all this and it goes back to it’s regularly scheduled dickishness in a few episodes, that’s possible too lol—

I can’t help but wonder how long Moon’s been sitting on this, though? He cares about Sun so much, he’s been trying so hard to help and prove he’s different, but it must still hurt that he’s receiving the fallout of actions he doesn’t even remember. He only knows what happened second-hand through what little Sun tells him and a freaking youtube channel of all things; he doesn’t understand why the Old Moon did the things he did. They’re quite literally different people at this point. And he knows Sun’s struggling, knows Sun has every right to feel this way, but he can’t help if Sun doesn’t let him. He’s been trying so hard to prove that he won’t treat Sun like the Old Moon did, he doesn’t WANT to hurt him like that, ever, but after finding out Sun lied to him, it must feel like he’s been making no progress at all. How long has this been festering in his mind? An outburst like that doesn’t just happen. It wouldn’t help that Earth is the only one who never knew the Old Moon, and thus doesn’t have any expectations of how he should act outside of how he is now. Not to mention the Star still affecting the rest of the Pizzaplex. How long has he felt trapped by the shadow of his predecessor?

Another thing I’ve noticed is the whole… “giving more attention to Moon’s problems” thing. For most of the show, Sun’s issues have been largely ignored, brushed off, or relegated to a “one-time issue that’s been resolved”. Because this is Sun, he’s the happy one, he always bounces back, he’s always fine in the end! Right? I’m so glad he’s been having the spotlight recently, he absolutely deserves it and needs to have his issues addressed. But something that occurred to me after this episode is that that same issue has been threatening to repeat itself, just in the opposite direction. Because Moon’s fine now, he doesn’t remember any of his trauma, he’s all relaxed and goofy so there’s no need to worry! Something that’s been rather prevalent in this show is cycles. Moon hurting Sun and apologising, only to slowly start falling back into the same behaviours that caused the issue in the first place. Sun screws up, Moon fixes it, Sun wants to be useful and does something else that results in more problems. One brother starts spiralling, the other spirals because of it. THE TRUCK LOAD OF MISCOMMUNICATION. Sun’s mental issues certainly are more immediately concerning (for obvious reasons), but the last thing we need is yet another cycle of one brother’s issues overshadowing the others. If anything, this is actually the perfect opportunity for them to break out of this particular cycle before it can even get started, as well as the communication issues everyone’s been talking about. They both have their own issues, and sometimes they clash in the worst ways (as we saw frequently in the past), but neither of them should invalidate the other. This is their chance for both of them to start putting things right.

[luminouspoes]

let my heart be your shelter

summary: poe seeks out the reader’s comfort during a thunderstorm

warnings: angst (with a happy ending), poe has a guilt complex the size of several parsecs, some self loathing (poe’s pov). no pronouns are used for the reader.

read on ao3

It’s too much.

Poe wakes up and his bedroom is entirely too small and too dark, and he can hear the echoes of bombers and X-Wings and transport ships turning to dust in between the cracks of lightning that slice through the Ajan Kloss’ night sky.

He’s barely aware of his own movements, his mind racing and churning as a sense of overwhelming emotion and a dash of panic clutches tightly in his chest, eyes burning as one thought runs over his head over and over again: my fault, all my fault.

Poe stumbles out of bed, almost tripping on the thin blanket. His bare feet shuffle across the cold floor, out of his quarters and into the hallway, the fear still suffocating him.

The Resistance was decimated because of him, there was more blood on his hands than he ever wanted, and he’d let down the one person who mattered the most to him, who guided him out of some of the darkest parts of his life, gave him the purpose he’d been seeking his whole life.

Leia forgave him, told him as many times as he needed to hear it. The Resistance backed him on Ryloth’s moon. But Poe can’t forgive himself, can’t stop hearing those screams, can’t stop -

He’s just a soldier, just a pilot, he’s nothing. He’s made so many mistakes and he doesn’t deserve the faith Leia has in him, doesn’t deserve the praise and kindness from everyone else, can’t they see?

He’s fading away; there’s no excitement in flight anymore. He’s shorter now, he knows, more easily frustrated. Terrified out of his mind that this is all for nothing, that they’re one bad day - one mistake, one more failure - away from being snuffed out for good.

Poe Dameron can barely recognize himself anymore. He wonders where the Resistance’s best pilot went, the one who could take everything in stride with a charming smile and a quick joke. Everything’s easy for Poe Dameron, right?

He can’t even pretend anymore. He’s so damn exhausted. 

His feet stop moving and he realizes he’s gone to your quarters automatically. There’s a hint of light piercing out from underneath, so before he can think better of it, Poe knocks on the door. He knows the code to your room - has it memorized better than his own - but he doesn’t just want to spring in on you unannounced.

The door slides open a second later, you on the other side. You’re in your night clothes, your holopad clutched under your arm and he figures he interrupted your nightly habit of reading before bed. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, he flinches when another roll of thunder cracks across the sky - another X-Wing down, another death on my hands - and you immediately reach for him, concern knitting your brow together.

He wants to tell you it’s alright, but he can’t find the words. You gently guide him inside the room, closing the door behind him and toss aside the holopad before you return to him. You hesitate, unsure if he’s okay with being touched right now. Poe manages a quick nod and you place your hand on his biceps.

“What is it tonight?” You ask quietly, eyes filled with so much gentleness that it nearly shatters him because he doesn’t deserve this kindness, don’t you understand that?

“Everything.” Poe wants to close his eyes because he’s so damn tired, but he’s afraid if he does he’ll just see more fire and more death. He’s not sure he can handle another memory.

“What can I do?” Your grip on him tightens, grows more firm as a rush of protectiveness surges through you, recognizing the look written on his face: the guilt, the regret. The way it’s been eating away at him, til the point that he’s barely the same man you met when you first joined the Resistance.

It kills you, seeing how this war has taken so much from him. Your chest aches at the thought of it, your eyes burning with unshed tears, and if you could you would tear down the First Order with your own two hands for taking this man who was once a brilliant, blazing sun and draining his light and fire.

But what was worse was having the knowledge that the haunted look in his eyes was from his own guilt, how he blamed himself for where the Resistance was now, no matter how many times everyone tried to assuage that guilt. The fear of letting Leia down again was a constant weight on his shoulders, and it was agonizing to know there was nothing you could do to prove to him that he was more than what he feared.

“I -” his voice cracks and you don’t even wait now, you pull him to you and he melts instantly, shoulders shaking as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You feel the shoulder of your shirt grow wet as you rub soothing circles against his back, your own tears spilling down your cheeks because you hate this, because you can have his back when he’s out in the field but how can you save someone from inner turmoil and self-hatred?

How can you make someone realize they’re so loved when they don’t think they deserve it?

After a few beats, Poe’s shoulders still and you pull back slowly - so he knows you’re not going far and that if he needs to, he can stop you - to get a glimpse at him. His eyes red-rimmed, eyes dark without so much as a shine to them. You miss how easily he used to smile, how happy he used to be.

Maker, you’d do anything to see him that way again. You’d cross the whole galaxy, turn back time, fistfight Kylo Ren himself if needed, just to bring that smile back.

Poe breathes out your name, bringing you out of your reverie. He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone, swiping away your tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispers and something inside you snaps.

You wrap your fingers around his wrist, drawing it away from your face so that you can press a kiss to the center of his palm, “No.”

You close his fist, bring it up to your lips and press more kisses to his knuckles and say it again, more firmly: “No.”

When you finally meet his gaze again, his eyebrows are drawn up together, his lips parted somewhat. You step forward, cupping his face with your hands, and you press a kiss to his right cheek, then his left, and then it’s all bubbling up over the surface and you can’t stop raining kisses along every part of him you can reach: his brow, his eyelids, the corner of his mouth -

“You have nothing to apologize for,” you enunciate each word with another peppered kiss, drawing back when the only place left for you to kiss is his lips. “You are so good.” Your hands are trembling now, to the point that Poe reaches up with his own to take your wrists to steady them.

His mouth twitches as he inhales sharply, trying to gather the words. “I’m not, though. Everyone keeps saying that I am, but - we’re in this mess because of -”

“We’re in this mess because of the First Order,” your voice is sharper than you intend for it, but Poe barely reacts to it. “Not because of you. You made a mistake, you failed a couple of times, sure. But don’t you ever fucking lose sight of who put us here. You didn’t destroy our fleet, you didn’t destroy the Hosnian System, those -” your vision blurs, your voice cracks and there’s so much emotion roaring through your chest you’re surprised there’s even room for breath - “those beasts are to blame for all this, not you. Never you.”

Silence falls between you as your chest heaves. Thunder rumbles distantly, but it’s muffled in comparison to the way your heart drums out a tattoo against your ribcage as you realize neither of you have let go of the other yet.

“Why do you believe in me so much?” Poe asks.

“Because you’ve never given me a reason not to.”

Something shifts in his expression now and he takes a quiet step forward, closing the rest of the gap between you. “I can think of plenty of reasons you could hold against me.”

You shake your head just slightly, a quick dismissal. “You’re more than what you believe you are, Poe Dameron.”

His dark eyes search your face for a second and just as you start to question whether or not there’s a spark building in them again, he presses his lips to yours, one hand moving up to cup your cheek, his calloused fingertips feather-light against your skin.

You freeze against his touch and before you can properly register what’s happening, he’s pulled away with a panicked expression. He opens his mouth, presumably to give another apology, but you cut him off by grabbing him by the shirt and dragging him down to capture his lips with your own for a second time.

He wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you close to his chest, as you memorize the feel of his mouth against yours, his stubble brushing against your skin, and then as you slide your hands up into his hair, what it’s like to card your fingers in his curls.

You’re determined to show him what he can’t believe, so when you pull away for breath, you immediately press quick kisses to the corner of his mouth, his jawline, his neck, then back up to press another kiss to his lips, gentler this time.

You take a step forward and guide him backwards to the mattress, not breaking the kiss until he almost trips on a blanket and you snatch your hands out to steady him before he can fall on his ass. “You okay?” You ask and you can’t quite recognize your own voice.

His cheeks are darker than usual when he replies, “Yeah. No. I don’t know -” he shakes his head, sits down on the mattress. You hang where you’re at for a second, standing over him a couple inches away, rocking back and forth on your heels.

The kiss wasn’t too much of a surprise — there was always something undefinable between the two of you, there was no right term for the bond you shared, just...that it was a bond, constantly shifting, full of devotion and loyalty and fierce protectiveness for the other — but you can’t help but feel self-conscious about what just transpired, even though rationally, you know that’s not as important as the reason he came here in the first place.

Poe looks up at you and, as if he read your mind, whispers, “Not about that. That was…” his lips quirk upward slightly, not quite a full smile — not that broad grin you fell in love with — but it’s more than you’ve seen from him in such a long time that you feel like you just watched a sunrise for the first time in months. “That was great.”

You smile and cross the room to him, sinking down next to him. “So what is it?”

Poe closes his eyes and exhales slowly, when he opens them, you can see the fear in them. “Do you really believe I’m a good man?”

You open your mouth to reply of course, but you hesitate. It’s not that you don’t believe he’s a good man, you know that in your bones, but the trouble is that he doesn’t. You can tell him as many times as you want that you believe he’s a good man, you can kiss him until the sun comes up to show him how much he’s loved, but -

But he’s drowning in the fear that he isn’t, and sometimes when you’re that far beneath the surface, it takes more than just someone telling you they believe in you to make a difference, as horrible and terrifying as that is.

So, instead, you reach forward and push back a strand of curls from his forehead, linger slightly where you remember finding a bruise blooming after he returned from being held aboard the Finalizer. You meet his eyes, see the trepidation in them, and you make sure your voice is firm and certain but gentle when you answer him, “I think that you try to be, and I think that’s probably the point. Everything you’ve done, you’ve done because you thought it was the right, just thing, because you thought it could save people.”

“I got people hurt because of that.” Poe whispers. “I got people killed because I had to play hero.”

“Yes you did.” If he won’t mince his words, neither will you. “You were a stubborn ass who refused to listen to orders and your luck ran out. But how many people have you saved, Poe? What about on the Raddus? Who was giving us hope when we had none? That was you.” 

“My plan failed and I almost got Finn and Rose killed for it. The First Order found out because of our transport ships because I sent them into the heart of the beast -” you cut him off by pressing your palm to his lips. He raises one eyebrow in surprise.

“Our luck ran out. People got killed, yeah. Nothing’s going to change that, we can’t take it back, but you weren’t the one who shot them out of the sky, were you?” You hang your head, hand dropping from his mouth, heart seizing - wondering if he’d ever believe you.

To your surprise, Poe whispers, “I guess not.”

You snap your head back up. He doesn’t look entirely convinced by your argument, but he seems to be considering it. He looks up at you, another smile tugging on his lips. This one’s even weaker than before, but it’s a start.

The thunder has died away completely, leaving only the soft patter of the rain.

Feeling embolden, you twist and curve into him, pressing your foreheads together. He shifts to meet you, wrapping one arm around you, his hand splaying across the small of your back as you crash your lips to his again. He gently falls backwards, using his elbow to cushion the fall so it’s not terribly awkward, and your legs twist together.

You stay that way for minutes or maybe hours, parting now and then for air and a shared chuckle before melting against each other again. Eventually, you slip off of him and into the space beside him, his arm underneath you as he rolls with you to capture your lips again, this time in a quick peck. 

He looks more content now anyway, eyebrows soft as he lays on your pillow beside you. You turned off the lamp a few minutes ago after you caught him yawning for a second time, and now you were both lying underneath the same blanket, still holding onto each other - but it’s different from when you’d fallen backwards onto the mattress, then you’d clutched at each other like lifelines, now it was just adjusting to this new familiarity.

You’re curled up against his side with one hand over his heart, fingers lightly twisting around the fabric of his nightshirt as he leans down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. “Thank you,” he whispers against your hair.

“For what?”

He hesitates, like he’s not sure how to phrase what he’s thinking. Finally he lands on, “For not giving up on me, for trusting me - even when I don’t think I deserve it. Especially when I think I don’t deserve it.”

“Always, flyboy.” The nickname falls from your lips with as much affection as it did the first time you used it on him, but Poe doesn’t respond. You huff out a laugh, realizing he’s fallen asleep. You shake your head and snuggle up closer to him. Just before you close your eyes, you whisper the truth you know he doesn’t believe, “You’re the hero.”

Because heroes aren’t just daring and reckless with no sense of self-preservation: they inspire people to be heroes in their name. They find hope in the impossible and offer it to the people who’ve had everything taken away. They listen to the people most would be eager to dismiss, they’re encouraging to those around them. They fight against injustice, stand up for their beliefs, even at great personal cost.

These are all traits Poe Dameron has in spades.

So yes, you muse to yourself just before sleep claims you, he is a good man.

He always was one and he always would be one. You just hope that one day soon, he’ll come to believe it himself.

[earliebirb]

From the prompt list: 5) “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” For stevetony w/jealous steve, please, if you feel up for it? ☺️

Hi there, thank you for the prompt and sorry for the long wait!

This is 2k of no powers/bodyguard au that can be read as a standalone fic or a prequel to this fic of mine, as the two fics are set in the same universe. I feel obligated to warn you that although this one is fluffy, the linked fic contains angst with an unhappy ending (which I may or may not end up fixing with a happy ending eventually). I didn’t even plan to add another fic in the same universe, and yet here we are. I just love the concept of young heir!tony and bodyguard!steve too much, I guess. 

Enjoy! :)

TL;DR: click here for part 2 of this no powers/bodyguard au (warning: linked fic contains unhappy ending.)

a fool for you

steve/tony, fluff, au: no powers, bodyguard!steve, young!tony, 2204 words

(5 from this list)

“It’s so hot out here,” Tony groans, using the collar of his shirt to fan himself.

“Well, would you rather be in there with them?” Pepper nods at the general direction of the mansion, where he knows his and Pepper’s parents are still sitting together in the dining room. 

Tony makes a face. “No.”

He wants to be as far away from them as possible. 

The two of them escaped to the garden just before dessert. This has become a routine of some sort, something they always do during the monthly lunches their parents insist on having ever since they arranged their marriage contract. Tony knows the only reason they are allowed to get away with it is because their parents think that it’s good for Tony and Pepper to spend some time alone, to get to know each other before their marriage. 

An arranged marriage. Seriously, Tony’s life is one huge cosmic joke.  

Don’t get him wrong; Tony adores Pepper. She is one of his best friends and they have practically known each other since they were in diapers, but they definitely don’t see each other that way. Pepper has little to no interest in dating, and Tony is—

Well, Tony’s heart has been very much occupied by someone else for quite some time now.

“Anyway, back to the matter at hand. I’m telling you, Pep, it’s so hard to figure him out. I just never know what he’s thinking.” Tony leans back in his seat with a sigh, the rigid wood of the bench digging into his spine. 

“He is so gone on you, it’s ridiculous.” Pepper fans herself with a folding fan. As usual, Pepper looks well put together despite the weather, dressed in a white eyelet dress that looks lovely on her and her hair up in a neat ponytail. 

“But how can you tell?”

“I just can. Trust me. Have I ever let you down?”

“Well, no, but…” Tony trails off, looking into the distance. His eyes land on Steve, who is stationed far away from the bench Tony and Pepper are sitting on, with rows and rows of the red and yellow tulips of the Potts family estate’s garden separating the distance between them.

His blond hair gleams golden under the scorching heat of the sun. The man is standing straight, hands clasped in front of him. Tony wonders if Steve has always had perfect posture or if it is something he cultivated in his training as a bodyguard. Steve must also be suffering under the heat, dressed in the mandatory dress code for bodyguards of the Stark family—a black and white suit that fits him like a dream. Tony is sitting on a bench under the shade of an umbrella, and even his shirt is already sticking unpleasantly to the skin of his back, damp with sweat. 

“Just look at him. He’s always so proper and polite,” Tony grumbles.

“Well, can you blame him? It is his job.” 

Tony pouts at that, even as he knows that Pepper is right, like she always is. It’s just that he knows how improper and impolite Steve can be. Steve is hilarious when he wants to be; he has demonstrated his dry humor multiple times in front of Tony. Granted, it is usually only on display when he is in the company of Tony and the other guys in the security detail with no one else around or when he and Tony are alone. The thought of those moments brings a smile to Tony’s lips. Those secret moments are when Steve allows himself to relax, his real personality bleeding into his job persona. 

He turns to watch Steve again. Steve is looking down at the ground, a hand pressed to the earpiece Tony knows he wears in his left ear. Tony watches as Steve nods almost imperceptibly before raising his wrist to his lips, speaking to the microphone resting inside his sleeve. When he finishes, he lowers his wrist back to his side. He looks up and meets Tony’s eyes by accident. 

Tony stills and stops breathing.

Steve holds his gaze for a few moments before looking away almost immediately, reverting back to his previous posture.

Tony slumps in his seat, dejected. Pepper slaps his back with her folded fan and Tony yelps, straightening his back immediately. 

“Don’t slouch. What time is the party again?”

“Seven, but you know me. I like to be fashionably late. Besides, no one can say anything about me being late tonight because I am the birthday boy. The party only starts when I arrive. Then again, that is also true for any other party.” Tony winks. “What did you get me?”

Pepper shrugs, not giving him an answer.

Tony narrows his eyes before gasping dramatically, a hand on his chest. “Pepper Pot, did you even get me anything?” 

Pepper rolls her eyes.

“Why?” Pepper deadpans. “Is it your birthday?”

***

“I’ve called Happy. Car will be here in fifteen,” Bucky says as he arrives at Steve’s side. Steve nods. 

Anthony Stark and Virginia Potts are casually chatting on a bench in the distance, looking like two completely normal 24-year-olds instead of the heirs to two of the most powerful companies in the world, Stark Industries and Potts Enterprises. With the way Stark behaves sometimes, Bucky tends to forget that the man has a net worth of a couple billion dollars. 

Catching sight of the man behind them, Bucky snickers. Sam looks calm and collected as he stands behind the bench to hold an umbrella over Stark and Potts’ heads, but Bucky knows that he is going to complain about his sore arm to Bucky later. 

“Look at Wilson. Poor bastard. He hates umbrella duty.” Bucky’s smirk widens an inch when he catches Sam’s gaze, the latter widening his eyes dramatically. “Also, what’s with the sudden switch? I know it’s your turn for umbrella duty today and you never give up umbrella duty ‘cause it gives you a chance to ogle at Stark’s ass.”

Bucky turns to face Steve when his friend and commander-in-chief says nothing in reply. Steve always reprimands him whenever Bucky teases him about his gigantic crush on Tony Stark, something about “protocol” and Bucky being “inappropriate”. 

Steve is staring at Stark and Potts with unbridled focus. To the untrained eye, it may look like Steve is just doing his job of guarding his client but Steve’s eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is doing The Clench and—

“Wait a minute, are you jealous?” Bucky gasps, part scandalized, part incredulous. “Is that why you asked Wilson to switch with you?”

Steve’s head snaps upright and he turns to Bucky with wide eyes.

“No,” he says, sounding equally as scandalized, but the way his eyes slide away as soon as they meet Bucky’s is telling. Ever since he was little, Steve has always been a terrible liar.

“Stevie.” Bucky gawks at him, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’ve never seen you moon over someone like this before. You weren’t even this bad with Peggy Carter back in high school.”

“I’m not mooning over anyone,” Steve says through gritted teeth. “Fix your posture.” 

Bucky snorts, but clasps his hands in front of him obediently. 

“I keep telling you, you should tell him how you feel.”

“Stop talking nonsense. It’s against protocol,” Steve says, eyes once again staring longingly at Stark, who is listening attentively to whatever Potts is saying.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “As if Stark ever cared about that.”

Just when Bucky thinks that the conversation is dead, just like the million other times Steve has shut Bucky down whenever he attempts to talk some sense into his best friend, Steve says in a quiet voice:

“Besides… they’re engaged.”

Bucky sighs in exasperation, refusing the increasingly strong urge to bash his own head against the nearest tree. They have gone over this exact problem countless of times. 

He loves Steve like a brother, but never let it be said that the man is not stubborn. 

Bucky opens his mouth to protest some more, but then Happy announces that he is entering the estate’s premises and Steve begins barking orders into his microphone to prepare the team for mobilization. 

***

Tony loosens the tie around his neck as he steps into his bedroom, sighing in relief. If it were up to him he would have left the party hours ago, but alas, being the birthday boy comes with its own responsibilities. The older he gets, the more his birthday feels less like a day to celebrate his birth and more like a day to mingle with his father’s business associates. The fact that his glad-handing skills have practically been hardwired into him by now is his only saving grace. Well, that and…

Turning around, he finds Steve standing at the doorway of his bedroom. Tony waits for the obligatory ‘Would that be all, Mr. Stark?’ and is surprised when it doesn’t come immediately. Having Steve by his side throughout the entire night was Tony’s favorite part about his birthday bash. Tony absolutely lives for the minute twitches of Steve’s lips whenever Tony whispers witty quips and insults about various high-profile people mingling around him at every public event, and tonight was no exception. 

As much as Tony enjoys Steve’s company, however, he is also well aware that Steve must be exhausted. After all, as tiring as the event was for Tony, it was still his birthday party. Steve, on the other hand, was dutifully doing his job of shadowing Tony and looking out for potential threats.

Tony is about to dismiss him for the night when he is suddenly struck with the realization that Steve is... hovering. 

“Steve?”

“Sir,” Steve says in reply, back straightening immediately. His eyes are wide and he opens his mouth once before closing it again without saying a word. He looks like he has something to say and is struggling to work out a way to say it.

“Tony,” Tony corrects automatically as there is no one else in the room but them, but otherwise he says nothing, waiting patiently for Steve to gather his thoughts. 

“Tony, I…” Steve trails off. Tony watches in amazement as Steve’s fists clench and unclench at his side, a rare sight for a person who is usually so graceful and poised. He lurches forward, walking towards Tony before stopping in front of him. 

With his eyes trained on the floor, Steve fishes out a slim black box from his breast pocket and holds it out to Tony.

Tony’s breath catches in his throat. “Is this…?”

Steve looks up and finally meets his eyes, jaw clenched in determination. 

“Happy birthday, Tony.”

Tony reaches out to take the box, his fingers brushing Steve’s.

“Can I open it?” 

Steve nods with a swallow. Gazing down at the box, Tony opens it carefully and takes a deep breath the second he sees what is lying inside—a beautiful red tie, made of some soft fabric that seems to gleam under the moonlight streaming in through the windows of Tony’s bedroom. He unfolds it to admire the tie in its entirety. 

Something flutters in his stomach when he sees the gold monogram sewn into the tip of the necktie. Tony traces the initials ‘A. E. S.’ reverently with his index finger. 

“Steve.”

“Do you… like it?” Steve asks, watching Tony with trepidation. 

Tony beams at him. “I love it. Thank you.”

A reluctant smile appears on Steve’s face, even as the man scratches the back of his neck with an air of bashfulness. 

“I know it’s not much and I know you’ve already received lots of gifts. Better and more expensive ones. It certainly is no golden cufflinks, but I—”

That gets Tony’s attention.

“Golden cufflinks?”

“Uh, I mean— I might have seen, um, the golden cufflinks Ms. Potts got you, and I know—”

Tony barks out a surprised laugh, realization dawning.

Confusion takes over Steve’s face, his eyebrows furrowing adorably.

“Why are you laughing?”

Tony takes a step closer to Steve, grabbing the knot of Steve’s tie and pulling Steve down to his height. 

Steve’s blue eyes are staring back at him, pupils blown wide with shock. Tony gazes at him intently, lips tugged upwards in a helpless smile as his heart swells with affection.

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous, you know that?” Tony says, standing on tiptoe to plant a soft kiss on Steve’s forehead. He releases Steve afterwards, stepping backwards. 

Steve proceeds to stare at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, mouth ajar and breath coming out in ragged pants. A delightful blush blooms on his cheeks. 

Tony bites his lower lip to stop himself from laughing. Then he raises his eyebrows, saying:

“Well, you’re dismissed. Thank you for the birthday gift.”

Tony watches in amusement as Steve flounders to regain his composure. Eventually, he gives Tony a curt nod before leaving without a word, blush still high on his cheeks. 

The moment the door closes behind Steve, Tony throws himself onto his bed and lets out a stupidly hysterical giggle into his pillow, feeling giddy with joy. 

He makes a mental note to send Pepper some flowers in the morning. 

[vampiresuns]

Anatole’s Family Tree

this is Anatole’s family tree down to it’s basics, and you can have some info about everyone under the cut. I apologise for the intersecting lines, but family colours will help distinguish Florentino and Matilda from the Radošević they married.

hexagon is for he/him, circle for she/her, rounded edges for they/them

Vitale Cassano

Aquarius sun, Scorpio moon, Capricorn rising, Leo Mercury, Scorpio Mars, do NOT fuck with this man.

Former Consul of Vesuvia, responsible for the biggest (to date) expansions in the Vesuvian public space, the reason why Vesuvia was an attractive, rich location with solid public funding which ended up going to hell with Lucio’s administration, but that’s another story.

If he knew that his hard work would go to hell like it did, he would’ve made a coup to change the course of history.

Fuck around and find out in human form. His entire energy is condensed in this post. 

Had the art of delivering insults diplomatically down to an art, however. “You’re tacky and I hate you” would destroy a diplomatic relation; “I believe a less heterodox decision which might hold the weight of this agreement with less attached risk” doesn’t.

Friends with Dragoslav Radošević parents, as in those friends you call uncle when they’re not really related to you, but kind of are by default of closeness anyway. Befriended him because he was the most eccentric person in the room and he was bored.

Amparo Mediavilla

Is that even her actual family name? Who the hell are the Mediavilla? Where does her money come from? She says she’s from Karnassos but literally no one knows (she does, she just won’t tell). Has a brother named Seraphim Mediavilla, and that’s all you need to know.

Vitale was well aware she was probably a smuggler, but he likes her surprisingly present honour code anyway. Plus, she was fun, she was different, she was efficient. We stan.

She’s half the reason why the Cassano’s library in the Vesuvian Palazzo they inhabit in the Heart District is basically an open research centre for all of those travellers who seek knowledge. The Cassano have almost always have an open doors policy — the Consul acts in behalf of the people, and the people are allowed to go to the Consul. Amparo expanded and bettered that system, to the point it acted as Vesuvia’s public library and the biggest reason why the Palace didn’t quite have one — it was an understanding that it wasn’t needed. The only time the Consul’s Palazzo has been closed to the people of Vesuvia is during the plague. 

Longest lashes ever seen in a person.

Somehow already knew the Radošević, they liked her honest opinions and her distaste for explaining herself.

Luciano “Lucenzo” Cassano

Vitale’s baby brother, they had a significant age difference.

Known later as ‘Great Uncle Lucenzo’, literally no one called him Luciano but Vitale when he wanted him to stop doing something stupid. Not that Lucenzo thought his ideas were stupid, after all, this man was an architect and patron of the arts, and Goldgrave’s favourite loose canon ball.

He was not allowed to set a foot in Firent. When you asked him why, he kept changing the story.

Met his wife at an orgy. Yes, you read that right.

Octavia Cassano

Sweet lady, do no harm, take no shit, appreciates a good laugh in life.

Met Lucenzo at an orgy. She made a joke, and the person she was focusing on didn’t find it funny, but Lucenzo did.

Came from another prominent Vesuvian family. Worked with her BIL, Vitale, in developing social policy plans and judicial reforms in Veusuvia. Which also went to hell. If she was alive today, Portia would be her favourite and would literally fight to have her work with her.

Greenest eyes this side of the straight of seals.

Agrippina & Iovanus Cassano

Amparo’s and Vitale’s children, Agrippina is two years older than Iovanus.

Agrippina stepped down from becoming the Consul out of personal preference. They were a scholar and proficient historian, very talented in the art of mixing a good drink as well. Closest to the Prakran intellectual circles and is one of the notable alumni of the Prakran University. One of her later acquaintances, Rosario Aster, would eventually become Anatole’s tutor in History and Politics before he went to university himself.

Agrippina partly worked as a diplomat attaché, wasn’t a full on freedom fighter simply because there wasn’t an uprising to be one in. If Vitale is the MO of the Cassano, Lucenzo their spark, and Amparo their zest, Agrippina is, surprisingly, their political compass. Agrippina and Lucio weren’t on the best terms, they were in awful terms actually. The Cassano and him are simply like oil and water, it just doesn’t mix.

Iovanus took after Vitale and became the Consul. He was less of a surprise stew than the father, though, and inevitably, his best focus became damage control.

His entire vibe is moomin going on a murderous rage and then holding back. He’s folding the knife. For now. Iovanus was a pain in the ass to have as a predecessor in the position of Consul because this man constantly had his patience tested and his city funds used in things he didn’t want to do. Responsible, along with Agrippina, with the current functioning of the Council of Vesuvia and it’s final opening before Anatole’s times. What that composition and functioning is, is something I might, one day, decide to write down, but not today for the sake of staying on topic.

They’re the closest thing to the “spirit” of a tribune of the plebs I can think of, without like, either of them ending up dead like the Gracci brothers.

Cassandra Cassano

Finally some fucking scientist/mathematician. Mathematician wife of Agrippina. Did some political economy, but that hadn’t been invented yet, mostly liked numbers for the sake of numbers and finding out what she could do with them.

Having in mind that when I say ‘Vesuvian’ I mean solely location and original seat, not ethnicity, comes from a Vesuvian Family which settled in Venterre. Studied in Zadith and Prakra, but met Agrippina during some diplomatic function.

She was someone else’s date, and Agrippina was working with Iovanus is some diplomatic relations, and Agrippina literally said they were happy and willing to stay to seal the negotiations if Cassandra would go out with them. Cassandra was bored off her skin, and said yes.

They married by the end of the year.

Valerian Cassano

Iovanus’ husband. Renaissance man in the humanities department, very savant, a virtuoso, but his true passion was the performing arts. Darling of Vesuvian opera and theatre.

Met Iovanus through Lucenzo (patron of the arts, remember?). Iovanus went to every single of his plays for a year, made some very light advances as a “fan”, until Valerian asked him what his deal was. Iovanus was disarmed by gorgeous light amber eyes and witty snark, having no option but to admit his feelings.

Cemented the Cassano-Radošević relationship with Goldgrave. Most of the family thought it healthy for a dose of ‘get of your high-horse’ check.

Hated the Colosseum with a black tar vitriol.

He was Elysian Radošević’s (Anatole’s great grandmother on the Radošević side) best friend.

Matilda Cassano & Krešmir Radošević

Here’s where the story gets a bit sad. Inherited all of the snark of Valerian, but wanted nothing to do with her family’s ventures.

They just didn’t click. She always thought her fathers were very dedicated men, but needed to let loose a little. She was here for a fun time, not a long time. Which was sadly, literal.

For the longest time, it was an understanding that her cousin Cassiopeia would inherit the consulship from Iovanus, which Matilda didn’t love. She didn’t want the Consulship, but thought she was entitled to it. She could be the Consul and Cassiopeia do the job.

Cassiopeia did not like the idea, specially because within the Cassano it’s an open rule that the title falls on whomever willingly wants to take the mantel, number one. Number two, it came with an awareness of your social position and what good you could do with it, having in mind you weren’t really necessary for society. Someone else could be the Consul, the people, if given a chance, would govern themselves. It’s part of the Cassano mythos that surrounds them that they’re a protective line between misused political power and the people of Vesuvia. So, no, Matilda shouldn’t be the Consul.

Honestly, did Iovanus and Valerian spoil her too much? They have no clue. They just think she might be wired that way, because she always disliked it.

She married the fourth of the equivalent generation of the Radošević siblings, Krešmir Radošević.

Krešmir was a bit of a loose shot, doing “useful” things because he had to, not because he wanted to, so they took to each other like fish to water. They both wanted to have fun, the problem was they wanted to have fun with no respect of the world around them. Krešmir had middle child syndrome, which became worse after his youngest sibling, Ilnya, died at 27.

They had two children: Vladislav Radošević and Valeriy “Valerius” Radoševic.

Sadly, they passed away when Vlad was 14 and Val 4. They went on a holiday, leaving the kids with Mircea Radošević (Krešmir older brother) and Florentino Cassano (Matilda’s cousin and Mircea’s husband), as Iovanus and Valerian were in no place (out of grief) to take care of the children, and Mircea and Florentino were their de facto care takers already.

Now, onto the Radošević, so mind you, we’re going back a couple of generations.

Dragoslav Radošević

PRIME recipient of the Radošević tradition of breeding polymaths/”renaissance people”. This man spoke 6 languages, knew astronomy, economy, mathematics, accountancy, a bit of law and a whole lot of history. Excellent chess player.

No one’s exactly sure what the hell he did, he did too many things. Some sort of diplomacy was clearly his most usual job. Big friends with Agrippina, Cassandra and Iovanus. Everyone thought he’d marry Agrippina but both of them dry heaved at the possibility.

He was a bit of a character though. Very conspicuous man with particular rituals. Taciturn man, too, but overall amicable.

Had a very long, stable marriage with Elysian, his wife. Survived the death of two of their children. The death of Ilnya hit Dragoslav more than anyone would expect, but he had a very “let me grief in private” stance. The key to understand a Radošević is that their mentality is “whatever happens to you, whatever life throws at you, you find a way to survive it.”

His is a family of eccentrics, inventors, patron of the arts, humanists and scientists; when he says his family, he means the Cassano too.

No rumour ever mattered to any of them, and Dragoslav & Elysian were a prime example of it. Theirs is a family of academics full of anxieties about the world surrounding them, whose sorrows were scars they rarely showed. Private yet with an extensive, and international, circle of acquaintances who deemed them all charmingly strange on their best days; prideful, analytic, often with a drink in hand. 

Had a sister who had three partners, all of them women, too.

Elysian Radošević, nee Juriša

Wallachian by birth, first person in her family (aside from one aunt the Juriša did NOT speak about) to marry someone who wasn’t a Wallachian in a couple of generations. Not that she minded, everything I said about Drago, applies to Elysian.

She was a child of high society, bonded with Valerian, her best friend, out of their love for Operettas, though while Valerian went pro, she was an amateur — still, very good at it.

Excellent piano player, loved a well crafted, ingenious garden.

Beacon of the Radošević righteous rage. The Radošević are meant to be from a place called Balkovia, which is modelled after Yugoslavia, with many of the “bumps” in actual history colliding (A/N: Anatole is a latine-slav like me, for a reason). Elysian was the friend of artists and partisans, and had absolutely zero respect for certain kinds of leeches in political power. Zero national pride in this one, but at least, she came from a place were partisans stood (or used to) stand up to injustice.

In her dignified clothes with her amiable smile, she will bite ankles. Try her, you just try Elysian Radošević and she’ll remind you of all those people who ever said: They shall not pass.

Ambrozije Radošević

Diplomat, politician, eldest of Dragos and Ely’s children.

Inherited his father’s temperance but also had Elysian’s "Excuse Me, What The Fuck Is This Shit” attitude. Still, many times when he talked about his job, he had to stop his mother to go out and bite ankles.

Was the Radošević rage an answer against the grief of living and growing, against the cycle of dying and rebirth, and a cry of this is not enough, what I get is not enough? Maybe. Ambrozije liked to theorise about it.

Married Eloise Isaković and had two children: Kuzma and Lucija.

Best fencer of his generation.

Eloise Isaković

Didn’t take the Radošević surname solely to spite her family. She was disinherited for wanting to marry a Radošević. Her father said “if you want to marry then be a housewife for those freaks and I’ll take you out of University.”

The Radošević were like not in my fucking watch.

You bet Elysian and Dragoslav had words about that.

Percy Shelley, if Percy had been a woman, and also an anthropologist.

Will make femur jokes.

Kuzma & Lucija Radošević

Less in the centre of things than the rest of the family, out of virtue of “dear God, I get they’re my family but these people are fucking weird.”

The Addams energy was too much for them.

Kuzma is an alchemist and an inventor, moved to Zadith to study, never came back. He has two daughters and a wife, though.

Lucija became a diplomat for Balkovia, has a seat beyond the straight of seals. More traditional for diplomacy than Ambrozije by all means.

Very Dad please not now, but she does love the old man.

Married, never had children.

Neuma Radošević

Painter, a gay who can do maths, so that’ll have you knowing she’s stronger than you already. Perspective does not scare her.

Little does.

(Moths do, for some reason).

Claimed to have zero magical ability, but it was heavily disputed because how the hell did she paint like that.

Travelled a lot with her bohemian artist found family.

Never married.

Anatole loved watching her paint as a kid, she taught Valeriy to paint and about art as well. Big difference was Valeriy had a better hand for it than Anatole did, who literally can’t draw to save his skin.

Mircea’s favourite.

Mircea Radošević

Distinguished man, owns my heart.

“That was nOT POLITE”

Pretty level headed, has a big heart and a lot of will to help people. Just don’t be impolite, or he won’t like you.

Yes, he’s a libra.

An Architect, got to meet the other Architect in the family Lucenzo Cassano. That’s, in fact, how he met Florentino. Of course Lucenzo had an apprenticeship for Dragoslav son, but of course. The rest is history. Longest lasting marriage in both the Cassano and the Radošević tree by virtue of them gaving gotten together fairly young, and in the furture dying of a very, very old age.

He enjoyed travelling and the finer, beautiful things in life. If you want to equate his views to anyone in the real world, think about William Morris saying “I do not want art for a few; any more than education for a few; or freedom for a few.”

Aristically, somewhere between Gaudi and Morris.

Worked in several restoration projects both in Balkovia and Vesuvia.

Lived in Vesuvia on and off with Florentino and the children, which meant Vlad and Val were raised right between the vortex of everything that is the Cassano and the Radošević.

As polite and diplomatic that he is, he isn’t really a doormat, and if there’s anyone he would throw hands for it’s for his children (yes, he sees them as his children), and Anatole. Disrispect tha boy in front of him and he will throtle you and say you did it to yourself.

Florentino Cassano

Nicknamed Floren, Florence, Florens, Flolo, Tino, Tinino, Antonino.

Very responsible, big sense of family. Closest in personality to Vitale Cassano, his grandather.

Son of Agrippina and Cassandra, took after Cassandra’s love for numbers, but mixed it with Agrippina’s eye for politics and his Aunt Octavia’s knack for political economy (even if it had’t been invented yet).

 Financier and investor worked in the public sector, ran the coffer of the Council of Vesuvia for a while, but quitted out of management differences with certain people in Court and up. Still very willing to help people of all backgrounds manage their assets though.

A bit of a hardass, when Matilda and Krešmir died he said of course they would, as it was very in the likes of them to get so lost in the moment and their ideal world where they had no earhtly responsibilities to forget they had two young sons.

Still, when Vlad and Val first called him “Dad” or “Father”, respectively, he kinda cried big tears. Freaked Vlad out because he thought he had done something wrong. Florentino was quick to tell him he hadn’t.

Ilnya Radošević & Blasio Abadzić

Ilnya was another one of those Radošević that you weren’t exactly sure what the hell was it that they did, because they seemed to have a lot of eggs in different baskets. Was an astronomer, though.

Strongest intuition/six senth in the Radošević. Another of those cases where it was definitely magic (Ilnya was clairvoyant) but they all passed it off as having another explanation.

Was the most joyful, had the most contagious laughter and the quickest, most wicked sense of humour.

I’m not entire sure how Blasio and them met, they haven’t told me yet, but it was one of those meetings which changes your life forever.

Blasio is equally irreverent, if not more. This one post of a man playing the guitar and an old man dancing to it is the exact vibe Blasio had (he’s the old man dancing, the man playing the guitar would be his grandson Milenko — who’s Anatole’s cousin however many times removed).

They lived in Vesuvia. Ilnya was a court scientist. The Cassano library has a try globe map that was their work with a court cartographer. It has a map of the region, of the world, and of the stars for navigation purposes.

Ilnya died of sepsis at the age of 27, going on 28. To this day, no one knows exactly what took them out.

After Ilnya died, the Cassano offered to take Blasio and their twins Atanasie (pronounced Ah-ta-na-SY) and Violeta in with them to ease of the expences of raising two kids as a single father. He accepted.

Blasio was a composer and dramaturg. He took it as a personal goal not to let the joy escape from his life after becoming a widower. Said carrying on with joy and irreverence was his job, as if to preserve his spouse’s legacy.

Vladislav Radošević

Whatever name theme you sense with him and his wife, don’t @ me about it!!! I remade this entire family on a whim, I will take my headcanons about other things and build from them.

Eldest of the V² brothers, if people had soulmate marks, his soulmate would be his brother. Vlad has always felt responsible for him and, unlike him, remembers much of how they parents actually were or how carelessly negligent they could be. His defence against grief was becoming taciturn and “distancing” himself from things. It didn’t always really work for him, but he sure did try.

Grew up with the mistaken feeling that the rest of their families were taking care of him and his brother as a favour. He eventually wrapped his head around the idea that it wasn’t a favour.

Called Mircea and Florentino “Father”/”Dad” for the first time when he was 16, never went back. It wasn’t like he didn’t spent a lot of time being brought up by them due to his own parents absences.

Taciturn, remarkably inventive and intelligent, has a bit of trouble coming out of his shell. Prefers to observe, then pounce. Other than this, his main personality trait is “I love my wife, I love my son.”

An alchemist, works in what would be closest to biochemical engineering.

Mircea and Florens discovered he would be very suited for that field because when he was a kid he kept designing buildings to show Mircea. They clearly showed he had not a predisposition to become an architect, but whatever weird, inexplicable mazes he created always came with solutions attached and clever mechanisms.

He’s a problem solver, he’s just shaking years of bad mental health habits of his shoulders.

A scorpio and a cat person. Has two cats with Louisa, Kiki and Keke (their actual names are Cyrila and Cecilia).

Yes, his brother is also a scorpio, yes his son is also a scorpio. They get along, however.

Met Louisa in some sort of medical-alchemy conference/symposium (whatever that would be aplicable to the time, what matters to me is that you get the idea). Louisa didn’t like his attitude, called him out, and Vlad simply blinked, apologised, and did better.

A second apology and further conversations ended up with them falling in love.

If Vlad knows what allowing himself to love and live feels like, it is because of Louisa and Anatole.

He gets pegged.

Speaks five languages and won a regional fencing championship when he was in his early 20s. Still thinks his brother is better at fencing than he is.

Louisa De Silva

Latin American, eldest of three sisters (Paris and Alma being the other two De Silva sisters). She emmigrated from her native country to a. study medicine b. because there was a Dictatorship at the time, and her parents suspected Louisa would not keep quiet enough to guarantee her safety.

She personally swore never to go back until there were no active traces of said dictatorship left in her country. Nothing, not even the war that eventually rose up in Balkovia has made her change her mind, and probably nothing will. Once she is set on what is right, she is set.

Met Vlad as mentioned above. She didn’t appreciate his initial “careful” cynicism, but also didn’t believe he was as insufferable as most people thought he was. Someone with attention to detail, determination and who prefers to stand back from social situations, who hasn’t actually done anything nefarious, offensive or in bad taste isn’t a bad person.

Once she paid him a visit and he opened the door shirtless because he thought it was his brother, and Louisa almost wheezed in front of him.

“I’m going to sleep with Radošević” “But you don’t have to?” “No, no, I’m gonna.”

Speaks five languages.

Speaking of the war I mentioned: there was a war in Balkovia which began little before Anatole was born, and therefore around 29 years before the events of the game. At the time, Vlad and Louisa were already together, and planning to move to Vesuvia. However, the war began, Vlad felt torn about leaving and not helping, not that he wanted to admit it, and Louisa said “well, I did not leave a country ridden with injustice to passively see war crimes being committed.” As soon as she could after Anatole was born she volunteered as a field doctor.

And she is good. “Louisa De Silva” would absolutely resonate in Nazali’s or Julian’s fellow doctor knowledge level of notoriously good.

Aquarius sun, Saggitarius moon, she’s active, independent, unconventional, friendly, very understanding and highly humanitarian. Louisa loves people and cannot stand injustice. Loves and craves learning and is very sincere. She can be a bit impulsive, but she’s good at coming back from it.

Much of Anatole’s sense of social duty and sometimes even social fight is due to Louisa.

Vlad and Val call her Lulu. Anatole always calls her Mamá. Always. It doesn’t matter what language he’s speaking, she is his Mamá.

Louisa De Silva, santa patrona del pueblo que lucha.

Often dragged Vlad and Val into some of her schemes. Val loves to complain about it, but he actually adores his SIL.

Valeriy “Valerius” Radošević of the Cassano of Vesuvia, former Consul of Vesuvia and Court Advisor.

Here is where I would like to clarify and remind the (very patient) reader that this is my own interpretation of Canon, and I’ve triedto build with it from what little we were told of this specific character, Vesuvian lore, and the story I wanted to tell. I tried to do my best with the interpretation of the character, but know you’re in no obligation to adhere to my ideas.

Some people can call him Val, namely, his parents, his nephew, his SIL and his brother. Literally anyone else he will bite your head.

Inherited his mother’s and his namesakes witty snark, even if it’s not always witty.

I have the personal hc that Lucio cannot, for the life of him, pronounce slavic names, so Valeriy became Valerius, though his family already called him Valerius because it was the one nickname he accepted.

However, for the most part, his family calls him Valeriy, in contrast to Vesuvian citizens, who call him Valerius.

Doesn’t remeber his parents, and doesn’t like to think about them. It is very tragic that they died, but they left him, and he has no time for people like that. His brother, however, had always been there. So have been Mircea and Florentino.

I’ve always hc he had one big love in his youth, but couldn’t actually stand the idea of an empty marriage based on status and decided to never marry.

Wasn’t always this high and mighty. He has always been a complicated man, with complicated tastes and even a snob, but he was raised in two multicultural families, based in two multicultural cities. What I personally hc happening here is that he truly hates his job. He does like the sense of status and the power that comes with it, but the responsibility? The state of things when he took over from Iovanus? The paperwork? The staleness of it all? And to do it for a city that ate itself up?

He would’ve given his cousin Cassiopeia his left arm to take the position for him, but in the end, he was subject of what he thought everyone expectations were. He feared more not being enough in the eyes of his grandfather, who did not want to repeat the same mistakes he did with Matilda, than saying “Nono Iovanus I actually hate this job with all my soul.”

But then again, the power attached to it.

I fully believe that if you had given Valerius a position that was, say, a cultural authority of sorts? Where he could focus on the arts, theatre, food and those sort of things? He would’ve thrived. The city would’ve been leagues away from where it was if he would’ve been allowed to solely focus on art.

Instead, he has to fix people’s problems, and he doesn’t want to. It isn’t that he doesn’t care in the slightest — he does, in the distant sense of people should not be dying left and right, and cities should be ran by competent Statespeople. Of course he believes that! He’s a Radošević and a Cassano of Vesuvia, who do you take him for. It was his family that 500 years ago stepped up into the position due to their sheer excellence, of course he believes that.

Just for the love of everything you deem holy, do not fucking leave that fixing to him. He’s begging you, and he doesn’t actually beg

(At least that’s what he says in public)

 While he doesn’t quite like magic, or rather, doesn’t quite understand it and takes a lot of self proclaimed magicians as frauds (and an insult to good peope’s intelligence), he’s never had a judgamanetal attitude towards Anatole’s magical sensitivies. Most of what he sees about it is his inordinate aptitude for languages. He tends to take it as his nephew being simply Better, because if this man is something, that thing is proud.

He eases off after the events of the game where he can simply be a court advisor and give himself a chance. Not that it excuses or ammends any mistake that he committed, but it’s a place to start. He can do that, he thinks.

His was the decision to close during the Plague, and for the first time, the Palazzo the Cassano inhabit in the Heart District to the City.

His grandafther Valerian was (is) still alive while he’s the Consul, and tried to reach out to help him when he began to do deals with the Devil many times, but Valerius sucks at letting people help him. Officially worse than his brother at it.

He is, however, the best fencer in the family, and he is one of the best singers, he just doesn’t do any of both much in front of people. What he does when he’s at home is none of your business.

While I could feel pages of headcanons about this man, but I will try to stay on topic, and mostly address my previous post about the subject of Valerius’ and Anatole’s relationship, which, now that I’ve reworked the families into a story I do feel excited to tell most of it no longer applies.

The timeline is p much the same, both with Valerius, and with Anatole travelling with tutors to study and visiting whenever he could.

His feelings when Anatole dies stay the same. The difference is Anatole's family does know he dies when he stands as the Apprentice (normally, he doesn’t, he just stands as an Arcana OC). During the time of the plague, Vlad and Louisa travelled to Vesuvia to help, so they do know their son died.

What ends up breaking Val is not only losing his nephew (and again for what) but also seeing his brother and his SIL completely break. It was his job to protect him, and he didn't do it. He wasn’t enough.

I headcanon that when Anatole doesn’t die, one of his deals with the Devil is that no harm comes (from the Court) to Anatole. I also hc that for someone who has such pride in his intellect (which is there, he is pretty smart) he did rather unsuitable dealings with the Devil, by which I mean he dealt in really awful terms that he, himself, would’ve berated anyone else to have done out of their sheer idiocy of not fully using their leverage.

The main difference with the post is that Anatole and Valerius do not suffer their family anymore. The Radošević and the Cassano are opinionated and very "If something happens to one of us, it happens to all of us" but they're good, eccentric, people-leaning people, albeit wealthy. Hence, why I personally hc that what happens here is that he hates the job but loves the status, but the status carries the responsibility of people asking him for things, and he doesn’t want to be asked for things. He will be in his room if you need him, and please do not need him.

(In Anatole’s case, it's finding his place in the world. It’s a journey of diaspora and of becoming. To win, you must first know yourself)

Vlad and Louisa adore him to bits still, complicated as he is.

Anatole and Valerius do fight in some of the LI routes and during those three years before the game begins.

Everything else stands.

Atanasie and Violeta Radošević, and Aurora Radošević

Thank you with bearing with me so far, I love you.

Atanasie and Violeta are twins, cousins of Vlad and Valeriy, children of Ilnya and Blasio, the happy eccentric duo.

Grew up right amid the Radošević and the Cassano, and it really goddamn shows. They’re en aunt and uncle/counsins saying criptic things with a drink in hand, and you’re not entirely sure if they’re portetns of doom or not, but good for them!

Best violinists in the family though. Play the most instruments as well, as Blasio was a composer and multi-instrumentalist. Neither of them are professional musicians though.

Atanasie is a traveller and explorer, think of the eccentric explorer archetype without the Colonialism nor the grave robbing. Would, objectively, get along the best with Julian. He’s another of those people who knows a lot of things about different topics, but now like cursed/forbidden/borderline illegal things.

If Amparo Mediavilla had been alive to know him, she would’ve been really proud.

Violeta is a botanist and garden designer. The palace did ask her to work with them, but she went No ❤️. She, however, is responsible for the current design of the Palazzo’s winter garden, which in her biased yet correct opinion is the best room in it.

High femme eccentric queen, married Aurora who used to travel around with Atanasie. She’s an archeologist.

They have one son, Milenko, who is... an entire party.

Aelius Anatole Radoševic De Silva, of the Cassano of Vesuvia, former secretary of the Council of Vesuvia, and Consul of Vesuvia

Good ol’ Nana

Technically, that would be his entire ass title (which he correctly insists it’s a public office, not a nobiliary title, because a Consul is a public servant, and people just got mad with power for to long)

He hates it.

Please just call him Anatole, or Aelius if you’re not that daring.

I’m going to use this to talk a bit about Consul Anatole: along with Nadia, he introduced a series of social reforms, solidified them, and changed a lot of aspects of the way in which the City was run, in order to make corruption harder (Nana’s pride and joy are his Anti-Corruption directives) and to protect the reform on themsleves.

Adamantly against having a statue of him. Which was respected while he was alive, but a couple of generations down, they eventually built one, near the main square.

It points east, which is where the sun rises. It’s a metaphor for hope, and for Vesuvia to have the resilence to await for the dawn.

Milenko Radošević

His vibe is this picture of Javier Botet, meeting this meme, and the video of the old man and the younger man playing guitar, where he would be playing guitar. Oh, also, this picture of a guy floating in the Zadar floods of 2017, from this post. If this was a modern AU rest assured that WOULD be Milenko, and he doesn’t even live in Zadar.

When you see internet memes about how Slavs/people from the Adriatic are kind of weird, I want you to think of Milenko.

So yes, you would see him on a floatie down the canals of Vesuvia.

He’s a journalist and a writer, which has nothing to do with him being a character.

Tried to summon the Devil to show the Devil isn’t real. After the events of the game, if Anatole is involved in defeating the devil, he’s always offended he didn’t bring him along, he had points to prove.

Plays the guitar and the double bass.

Looks like an 80s goth, and we will not question how that’s mildly anachronistic. His favourite band would be The Cure. Also would have a soft spot for The Cranberries which he definitely took from Anatole.

When Belle and Sebastian wrote “colour my life with the chaos of trouble” in the Boy With The Arab Strap they were talking specifically about Milenko.

Chugs respect women juice harder than most people. If he chokes on it, then that’s how he dies.

Not allowed in several bars, has at least one sworn enemy in the Vesuvian nobility.

Him, Amparo Cassano (she’s down below) and Anatole are all in the same age range, and they’re a force to be reckon with.

Thank you for staying with me up to this point! We’re about to make another jump back. We’re following Lucenzo Cassano’s line now.

Atilia Cassano & Anzano Ventura

Atilia is the child of Lucenzo and Octavia. Closest thing to a community organiser. Need someone to organise a party? Atilia. A meeting? Atilia. To allocate human resources to enact some policy? Atilia.

Anzano is the son of two High Priests in Vesuvia from one of the temples in the Temple District, which is how they met Atilia.

Anzano doesn’t have a fixed profession, and takes things up according to their interests. Which are varied.

Cares more about their cat than they do about some people, both of them. Neither of them are the kind to wish ill on other people, but if ill falls on you as consequences of your actions, then that’s on you buddy.

Some of the things Anzano Ventura has said, without context: “My heart is green with hope.”

“Figure out what fortune has to hand you and spit twice in the face of the Gods.” It’s a saying from where they’re originally from. They’ve never properly explained what it means.

“These are not gentle waters we are sailing.” There is context for this one. They said this when the Plague began to surface in Vesuvia.

Atilia died a couple years before Anzano, who died of Plague.

This is how Anzano would’ve looked like in his early twenties.

Cassiopeia Cassano & Iris Ravella

If Valerius had not become the Consul, it would’ve fell on Cassiopeia. She was a Vesuvian diplomat and politician, member of the Council. Would’ve become the Consul anyway, but, respecting Iovanus’ wishes and trusting (correctly or not, it’s up to you) Valeriy’s potential, stepped aside.

Truly did not resent Matilda for harbouring peculiar feelings against her because Iovanus didn’t want to let her have the Consulship. Nor she did on Valeriy for his mistakes.

Iris comes from another prominent Vesuvian family. Theirs is a family of merchants, based in Centre City, who weren’t particularly thrilled about Iris marrying a Cassano.

Iris cared very little. They did it anyway.

Amparo Cassano

Last but not ever least.

Ballet dancer, fencer, deeply invested in politics. Amparo takes after the OG Amparo, her great aunt Amparo Mediavilla, in her daring, often without explanation ways, as she does in her honour code.

Sarcastic wit, a little bit petty. Would be one of those people who go “I licked it, so it’s mine.”

Takes up an interest in languages, as well as runes and tarot, though she’s not as good with languages as Anatole is. She says life gave him a magical advantage or otherwise she would’ve bested him. Anatole doesn’t doubt it.

Would climb to your window to impress you, with a sword to her hip. She’s that kind of bi.

Would definitely dance to Caramelldansen, and so would Milenko. Anatole would Not, but would look at Amparo dead in the eye and dance it when they’re alone, because he knows no one will believe her.

She calls him a ‘motherfucker’, to which he replies: “Do I LOOK like Oedipus to you.”

Loud mouthed, but with a good heart.

While her an Milenko are, technically, not actually related, they act like they are. They don’t care that’s not how it works.

Comrade Cassano? Comrade Cassano.

The world is her oyster and she’s about to slurp it.

Thank you so much for sticking with me to the end of this list. Means the world to me, as I’m happy to share the Radošević-Cassano with anyone who is willing to listen.

[malkumtend]

I Like Your Laugh. (A CrowSquirrel AU Fanfic) - Chapter 8.

Despite all their efforts to keep a straight face, the group were quickly losing patience.

They stalked along a series of hedges interconnecting a wall of Twoleg dens, guided by the old cat who had led them along for what seemed like moons. Which wouldn’t have been a problem, if it appeared that Purdy actually knew where he was going. But as they walked along the dark space, littered with twoleg rubbish, the craning on the cat’s head from side to side made them all wonder whether or not he was making it up as he went along.

“How much longer are we going to put up with this flea-pelt?” Crowpaw hissed under his breath. He looked exhausted after doing nothing but following aimlessly under the hot sun, and his mood seemed sharp and ready to strike.

The only cats who could hear him were the ones beside him at the back of the group. “What else can we do?” Feathertail said morosely, his usually bright eyes dim with fatigue. “It’s not like we’d be much use around here without him. At least he knows the place.”

“Or so he says.” Squirrelpaw muttered, glowering in the direction of the others.

Squirrelpaw had been trying, she really wanted to keep a cool head and show respect for Purdy and the ‘help’ he was offering. But her paws were aching and the sun’s heat was swelling all around her fluffy body. She had to keep calm though, everyone around her was clearly on edge, like her, and it would do nobody any favours if she started chewing out the elder cat.

Surprisingly, Feathertail had no comment against Squirrelpaw’s jab. Another sign that the Warrior shared her thoughts. Crowpaw openly agreed though with a displeasing snarl. “His brain is mouse bile. He’s leading us like a dog chasing its tail.”

Squirrelpaw snickered, her emerald eyes falling cheekily onto the grey apprentice; she was desperate for something to distract her from the pain in her paws. “We’ll probably see the entire Twolegplace before he turns back and blames a wrong turn.”

The edges of Crowpaw’s lips turned up. “His fleas will die before we make it out, we’ll be able to count them as they fall off.”

Squirrelpaw let out a snort of laughter that made the nearest cat in front, Stormfur, look back curiously. “Everything okay?”

The ginger apprentice nodded sleepily, “Yeah, don’t worry.” She glanced over at Crowpaw, grinning when he gave her a playful wink. A happiness coursed through her, making the pain in her paws fade away for a second. Stormfur looked up at Feathertail who shrugged meekly with a loving smile. The grey Warrior shook his head and looked forward again.

Feathertail gave the two cats a light swat on their flanks with her tail. “Be careful, you two. I don’t think the others will be in the mood for jokes, especially if they’re about Purdy.” She warned.

Squirrelpaw sniffed, “I didn’t hear you arguing against them.”

Feathertail stared at her with a stare strangely mixed between hard and soft. “That’s because I’m more forgiving than the others.” She dictated, swiftly stroking Squirrelpaw’s side with her nose, tickling the smaller cat. Squirrelpaw pulled away with a delighted giggle. “I can actually tolerate you two.”

Crowpaw snorted, “Yeah, well I don’t know how much more I can tolerate of this!”

“Cheer up.” Feathertail said, her tail brushing over Crowpaw’s back. The gentle connection of her fur with his made the grin drop from Squirrelpaw’s face. That sinking, stupid feeling rose up in her gut again. “We’ll get out of here eventually.”

Squirrelpaw resisted the urge to grimace when Crowpaw smiled, soothed, at the Warrior. Feathertail always seemed to be the one who could calm him down when he got angry. Smile at me that way.

Her eyes found the sky with a quiet sigh as she cursed how she sounded. What right did she have to be sad? What was she even sad about? Crowpaw and Feathertail were good friends, they had been before she had made friends with the both of them. Of course they were closer. But now she was annoyed whenever the two shared even the smallest of smiles!

No. Not just annoyed. She felt sickly. Like a snake’s venom was flooding her organs.

Some friend I am. Squirrelpaw felt a bitter sting in her stomach. Who was she to judge Feathertail? It was as clear as a pool how the Warrior felt about Crowpaw. It had become evident when he had bravely risked his life to save her from the dog. Now, whenever the Warrior looked at Crowpaw, there was an obvious glowing fondness around her. Affection that blazed as strongly as the love Feathertail had for her brother.

The most recent example had been yesterday. They’d been inside a Twoleg garden where a small pond rested at the side, brimming with a number of fish. While the others rested for a moment, Feathertail had offered to teach Squirrelpaw and Crowpaw how to fish. It had been much harder than Squirrelpaw had thought, the fish would slip out of her paws and slap her with a drizzle of water. Though it had been funny when Crowpaw had dropped the fish that he had caught in his mouth, spitting and retching over what he had called a salty taste.

Until Feathertail had squealed in delight. Squirrelpaw had figured it out before Crowpaw did as well. He’d received his saltwater sign! It was strange how much joy had gone through Squirrelpaw at that moment. They’d all known how desperate Crowpaw was for his sign, for the instinct that Starclan was watching over him, and now he had finally been awarded it, Squirrelpaw couldn’t help but feel absurdly happy for her friend.

He deserved to be proud of himself.

But Feathertail had seemed even happier, brushing her pelt against Crowpaw’s and whispering affectionate congratulations to the starstruck apprentice. It had been previously thought that Crowpaw loathed physical contact of any kind. Crowpaw didn’t complain once. In fact, he seemed unnaturally content.

Squirrelpaw had strained to keep a smile.

Feathertail really liked Crowpaw.

Squirrelpaw had discomfort whenever she saw it.

But not for the reasons she thought.

Most cats would have been repulsed simply because of how the thought of loving a cat from another clan went against the Warrior Code. To most it created disloyalty. Feathertail knew that better than any cat on the journey. And yet…she still didn’t care.

And while Squirrelpaw thought she did originally, it wasn’t that. It wasn’t that kind of disgust. Every cat was guilty of clan disloyalty at this point; according to the code, none of them should have really been friends at all. The fact that she saw Feathertail and Crowpaw as better friends than Brambleclaw was practically a crime.

But Squirrelpaw didn’t give a foxtail! She’d tried her hardest at her clan, and they all treated her as less because she didn’t look like she was ever going to live up to their perfect image of their perfect leader, her father! It wasn’t fair! No cat had the right to judge her for becoming close friends with the cats who actually treated her with respect!

So why did she feel so sick at how closely Feathertail viewed Crowpaw?

Did…Did Crowpaw even feel the same way?

If he did, he certainly hid it well. But Crowpaw hid all of his emotions well! It was impossible to figure out if he was in a good or bad mood half the time! So it wouldn’t be too hard for him to cover his thoughts if he actually…

Squirrelpaw shuddered. It was still bewildering how much she was actually thinking about this. Feathertail was her friend, if she actually liked Crowpaw that way, she should be encouraging it. That was what being a good friend meant. Especially if it looked like Crowpaw…

Again, it struck. That panging ache. That worry.

Fox-dung! Why am I being so ridiculous? Her teeth clenched. She needed to stop this! There was nothing to get worried over! So what if Feathertail liked Crowpaw? She didn’t…care. There were more pressing matters to attend to! Like how stupidly long they had been following this kittypet to nowhere!

In a stranger turn of events, it looked like Brambleclaw actually said what Squirrelpaw wanted to hear.

“Purdy, are you sure this is the right way?” Brambleclaw asked, an obvious strain in his polite tone.

The older cat flicked his tail, “Of course I’m sure.” He meowed in vague amusement. “Don’t you youngins worry now. We’re just heading to higher ground, then we’ll get a better idea of where we’re headin’.”

Every cat’s head jerked up. “What?” Crowpaw snapped. “You said earlier you recognised the path like the back of your paw! We could have found higher ground ourselves!”

“Crowpaw.” Feathertail sighed, but she looked just as perturbed as the rest of them. Squirrelpaw was furious as well. Did Purdy even have any idea where they were? Were they actually walking in circles?

“Now now.” Purdy replied, his voice infuriatingly lacking any sense of concern. “No need to get snappy. Sure, I know this place, there’s a high wall near here that’ll give you lot a better idea, that’s all.”

Sounds like rabbit-dung to me. Squirrelpaw thought, a glare growing on her face. Crowpaw was right, if they’d wanted to find higher ground by now, they could have done it without the old tom’s help. He was wasting their time.

“So where is this wall then?” Tawnypelt growled, her patience thin.

“Just by an upwalker place. Just a couple a’ steps away.” Purdy either didn’t realise, or didn’t care, that every cat around him was clearly fed up of his false promises.

Squirrelpaw frowned. Knowing you, a step takes half the day.

“This is mouse-brained!” Crowpaw growled at the rest of the cats, “Why did we even trust you to begin with? Come on, we can find our own way!” He proclaimed.

Only Tawnypelt muttered in agreement, the other four kept silent in frustration.

“We might have been able to find higher ground earlier.” Stormfur said, giving a harsh sideways stare at Purdy. “But not now. Just look around us.”

Squirrelpaw grumbled. Stormfur was right, they were surrounded by thin walls that offered no area for climbing, and in front of them were still a series of different paths that could easily catch them off guard. They really had no choice.

“Stormfur’s right.” Brambleclaw agreed reluctantly, “We’ll get lost either way, we have to trust Purdy now.” He gave Crowpaw a warning stare, daring him to object. For a moment it looked like Crowpaw would, but the rest of the cats around him murmured in agreement and the apprentice had to fall silent, sulkily flicking his paw across the dirty floor.

Squirrelpaw frowned when she saw Brambleclaw smirk in his ‘victory’, she rubbed her pelt against Crowpaw’s encouragingly. “Don’t worry about it.” The other cats began to follow Purdy again, out of unwilling trust.

The grey apprentice frowned at her. “You know he’s as mouse-brained as he looks. Why didn’t you agree with me?”

Squirrelpaw shook her head with a tired sigh. “Come on, Crowpaw. What choice do we have? He’s the only one who might know where he’s going around here.” She tried to be gentle, she didn’t want Crowpaw to think that she didn’t trust his judgement. But, right now, they had to follow Purdy.

“And he might instead have maggots where his brain should be.” Crowpaw muttered.

“Look, I don’t like it as much as you do.” Squirrelpaw huffed. “But there’s nothing else we can do.”

“She’s right, Crowpaw.” Feathertail added in, walking by his other side. “We’ll end up lost if we leave Purdy now.” Squirrelpaw gave the Warrior a thankful look.

Crowpaw still looked bitter but he relented, seeming to see the cat’s points. “I still think we’re going to end up lost.”

Squirrelpaw batted his side with her tail, “That’s because you always assume the worst.” She chided.

“I just want to get out of this place! Kittypets must be stupid if they can call this place home!”

Squirrelpaw made a sound of acknowledgement. How any cat could prefer this filthy, stinking place over the freedom of the forest was a mystery to her.

The group took a left, walking onto a path where the hedge disappeared, replaced by a thick wall of brick, still overshadowed by Twoleg dens though. The light shone easier around here, at least, which gave every cat a small flicker of hope in the kittypet’s direction. Taking a right, they came to a small wall, clearly leading to the back of a Twoleg den. Squirrelpaw sniffed the air and sighed in relief, any scents of Twoleg, dog, or kittypet were stale by now. They weren’t in any danger around here.

Without warning, Purdy took a leap up the wall, landing clumsily on his worn paws. He glanced down at the group at cats, grinning.

“Well come on up then!” He ordered, his greying whiskers rising in amusement. “Just across this here garden.”

“Not another Twoleg garden.” Squirrelpaw heard Tawnypelt mutter.

“It’s alright, there’s none of them around here.” Squirrelpaw mewed.

Stormfur took a sniff and beamed to the apprentice. “Good nose, Squirrelpaw!” The apprentice smiled back at the praise.

“Yes, well done.” Brambleclaw added, with an audible lack of enthusiasm. Squirrelpaw rolled her eyes. Why do I even bother with him? “Okay, Purdy, we’re coming up.”

“Who made him leader?” Crowpaw whispered to Squirrelpaw.

“No one, as far as I know.”

“Oh shush.” Feathertail meowed, getting ready to pounce. “Let’s head on up.” She did just that, waiting at the top for the two.

Squirrelpaw exchanged a glance with Crowpaw. The Windclan apprentice shrugged and followed the rest, Squirrelpaw being the last to do so. On the other side of the wall was a wide garden, flat grass except for a small stone wall at the sides which encompassed a large collection of flowers. Squirrelpaw’s eyes widened, there were so many, some she recognised from the forest, but most she did not remember ever seeing before. Some buds looked as large as her own body, some were domed and slanted to an unnatural angle. It was like a forest created by the Twolegs alone, bursting with colours that gave the garden its own streaming rainbow.

“It’s beautiful.” Feathertail said, her jaw hung in surprise.

“Isn’t it just.” Purdy purred, “Say what you want about them Upwalkers but they have their uses.”

“No offence, Purdy.” Stormfur said carefully, but with an unimpressed stare. “But we didn’t come here to see a garden. Where can we find higher ground?”

Purdy shrugged and nodded over to the other side of the garden. “Over there is a wall that goes upwards, past the top of these here ‘dens’ as you call em’.” The cats looked over to where he indicated. A wall did stand there, near its back it slanted upwards towards another wall that carried into the next Twoleg garden; it was above the top of the dens height if they looked closely enough.

“If we just go on up that wall and go along it for couple a’ paces, now, we’ll end up in front of this Upwalker place with a good eye of where you kits want to go.”

“What about this den?” Tawnypelt questioned, “I’m not risking anymore Twolegs grabbing at us.”

Purdy waved his tail carelessly, “Ah, don’t you worry about them. Just a old couple of em’ live here. Older than me in fact.” He laughed at his own joke. No one else did. “They won’t be able to catch you youngins, don’t you worry.”

Tawnypelt eyes narrowed with distrust, but she drew back. There was no point in arguing anymore. But still, even Squirrelpaw had her doubts about whether Purdy’s directions would actually lead them well.

“Well lead on then, Purdy.” Brambleclaw sighed.

The old tabby nodded and jumped down into the garden. He looked up at the other cats, all looking between themselves nervously. “Don’t be shy, the flowers won’t bite you.” He snickered.

Crowpaw let out an irritable growl, “Stupid old fool.” He muttered to himself, shutting up when Stormfur gave him a harsh glare.

“Oh, shut up.” The Riverclan tom grumbled, jumping first onto the glittering grass. The others followed close behind. As soon as Squirrelpaw met the grass, she tensed for any trouble; you could never be too careful in this place. Luckily, the den remained undisturbed and no Twoleg scent came to her. She let out a sigh of relief.

“Wow.” She heard Feathertail say to herself. “This is more like it.”

All of the cats would have agreed with her. The vibrant colours of the flowers and the grass, as they twinkled burning light of the sun, was certainly a better sight than the dirty pathways and Thunderpaths that made up most of the Twoleg place. The air was full of the fresh, pungent smells of the flowers, many reminding Squirrelpaw of the wildflowers at home that Leafpaw used in her training. She felt a calming presence soar across her body, and the pain in her paws began to subside now they were against the familiar softness of grass rather than the cold Twoleg stone.

“You can say that again.” Squirrelpaw exhaled peacefully.

“Yeah, yeah, very pretty.” Brambleclaw rasped, “Can you please just get to the other side?” Squirrelpaw’s eyes burned on her clanmate. He just seemed against everything she liked.

“Of course.” Purdy stated with a toothless grin. “Jus’ this way-”

“Wait a second!” Tawnypelt demanded, making every cat freeze in place. Purdy frowned as the molly glowered at him. “How do we know this isn’t just another wrong turn?”

“Feisty, ain’t ya?” Purdy sneered, an irate rasp in his voice. “This is the way, no doubt about it! Trust me here!”

“Yeah, because trusting you has done us so much good this far?” Tawnypelt mumbled, but still clear enough for the cats to hear.

“Tawnypelt.” Stormfur interrupted, his voice almost pleading.

The molly ignored him, “Listen Purdy, we’re all exhausted, we can’t just waste more time on wrong turns!”

“And I’m telling you, there is no wrong turn here!” Purdy’s voice rose a little. Then he turned away with a bitter sniff, “If you’re all so tired, why don’t a couple of ya rest here while I take a couple to check if it’s straight?”

“Leave cats behind because you want us to trust you?” Crowpaw scoffed, “Yeah, no thanks.”

Purdy gave the apprentice a taunting smile, “Okay then, you stay here. You’re a scrappy little warrior, right?”

Crowpaw’s eyes widened in a fury and his claws looked ready for a fight. Squirrelpaw acted fast; a fight now wouldn’t do any of them any good. She stroked her tail against the apprentice’s back, curling down softly.

“Come on.” She purred, “It’s not worth it.”

Crowpaw’s back slackened again, and his eyes softened when they met the ginger molly, making her heart skip briefly, but the snarl never left his muzzle.

Brambleclaw’s frown left the grey apprentice as he thought for a few seconds, his lips tight against his fangs. “I suppose that’s reasonable.” He pondered, “No offence Purdy, we really are thankful for what you’ve done. We’re just…not used to trusting kittypets.”

Squirrelpaw held back the urge to vomit. What’s he kissing his paws for? So Brambleclaw would treat kittypets with respect but not her? Brilliant…

Purdy scoffed, “Ya don’t say?”

Brambleclaw forced an apologetic grin. “It’s not a bad idea though. How far away is the wall that you’re taking us to?”

“Just a couple ol’ steps, be as quick as a flea.”

Brambleclaw seemed to consider this, then he turned to the others. “Okay, how does that sound? A few of us will head up to check it out, the others will stay here, and if it’s right we’ll come back and get the others?”

“Sounds fine by me.” Tawnypelt meowed, before her eyes narrowed dangerously at Purdy. “I’ll go with you, because if you’re wrong again I’ll be lining the wall with your fur.”

Purdy responded to the threat with a sly, mocking smile. “Oh, I really like this one.” The tom jibed.

Before Tawnypelt could respond with another vicious growl, Brambleclaw stormed in. “Okay, that’s settled! So, me and Tawnypelt will go with Purdy, anyone else?”

Squirrelpaw rose up with a spark, “I’ll come too.”

“No.” Brambleclaw didn’t even look at her. The apprentice drew back, anger crawling across her fur. “For all we know, we could run into some more Kittypets on the wall, it’s better to keep the apprentice’s safe.” He said, exaggerating the word with a poisonous snarl.

Purdy rose a brow, “Wha? I doubt that-”

“It’s a risk!” Brambleclaw stated, the strong ferocity in his tone made the kittypet’s mouth snap shut.

Squirrelpaw was astounded. Was Brambleclaw really going to change his tune so easily just so he could have another go at her? What was wrong with him? Furthermore, she was disgusted with how much Brambleclaw talked like his word was final. What gave him the right to order her around like that?

“Excuse me, Flea-pelt?” Crowpaw started forward, his stare boiling with malice. “Just because we’re apprentices doesn’t mean you can treat us like soft elders! We don’t need to be protected, much less by you!”

Squirrelpaw almost marvelled at how unafraid Crowpaw was at speaking his mind. Brambleclaw had humiliated him when they had fought before, yet Crowpaw didn’t care at all. Everything about him just screamed that he was confident that he would tear the tall Warrior to shreds.

It might have been mouse-brained, but mostly it was brave. Squirrelpaw expected nothing less from him.

“That’s right!” Squirrelpaw stepped forward beside her friend. Her mind whirred and she smirked devilishly. “Anyway, who are you to talk about kittypets? The last time we fought with them you were hidden under a bush!”

Brambleclaw kept his temper held, but the shaking of his paws and the prickling of his tail conveyed his fury. Through grit teeth came a frustrated groan. “I’m just trying to look out for you! I don’t want to risk any cat getting hurt!” He rose on his shackles, making himself look larger than before. It was not so intimidating anymore.

“Oh, well thank you so much.” Squirrelpaw said, her voice laced with dry sarcasm, “But I can take care of myself!” She was all the more determined to go now she knew Brambleclaw didn’t want her to.

Tawnypelt took a tentative step towards the apprentice, “Of course you can, that wasn’t what he meant.” The Shadowclan cat gave her brother a deadly glance to silence him. “But, maybe you guys should stay here while we check it out.”

Squirrelpaw looked up at the molly incredulously, “What?” Tawnypelt was meant to be on her side.

“It won’t be for long. You two have arguably been the bravest out of all of us, so far.” Tawnypelt mewed, pressing her muzzle against Squirrelpaw’s pelt softly. “Let the rest of us have the action, if it happens, eh?” A prideful grin rose on Squirrelpaw’s face as the two mollies shared a small laugh, before Tawnypelt indicated Squirrelpaw to look to her side. “Besides, I think Feathertail might like to see a little more of this garden.” She whispered.

Squirrelpaw followed her gaze and stifled a laugh when she saw Feathertail absently examining a wide range of flowers that Squirrelpaw didn’t recognise. She looked like Leafpaw whenever she discovered a new herb in her training, bursting with wonder and excitement.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to stay a little longer. Squirrelpaw thought. Her paws were still aching after all, it could do her some good to relax for a little while. Besides, it would be nice to spend a little more time with her friends. As long as she thought about it as her choice, rather than Brambleclaw’s, it didn’t actually sound so bad.

Squirrelpaw let out a small whistle as she turned back to the others, puffing out her chest to look authoritative. “Alright then.” She remarked, “I’ll stay here with Feathertail.” She looked over at Crowpaw who had rose a bewildered brow.

She felt a small nervous prickle on her neck. “Do you want to stay as well?” She asked hopefully.

Crowpaw looked like he was about to interject, then he looked over at Feathertail, who was still admiring the flowers, and his expression softened. An empty discomfort came back into Squirrelpaw’s stomach.

Crowpaw sighed, giving Brambleclaw one last disrespectful scowl. “Sure.”

Tawnypelt rose up, satisfied. “Okay then, that’s settled. You three will stay here while the rest of us go with Purdy.”

“What? I don’t want to leave Feathertail behind!” Stormfur cried, glancing protectively at his sister who looked back at him with a touched expression. Squirrelpaw blinked, had the Warrior really been listening the whole time she was looking at the garden?

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Feathertail said.

“But what if kittypets come into this garden?”

Feathertail stifled a chuckle, “We’ll be fine, I’m a Warrior and we’ve already seen how brave these two are.” Squirrelpaw and Crowpaw flushed at the cats’ comment. “You go on ahead, Purdy said it isn’t far.”

Stormfur shuffled uncomfortably, but he soon nodded and retreated with the others. Him and Tawnypelt both waved the cats off with their tails, but Brambleclaw didn’t offer anything but a disdainful sniff as he led the way behind Purdy.

“Won’t be long!” Stormfur called back at them. They trailed up the slant of the wall until they disappeared behind the back of the Twoleg den.

“What is his problem?” Crowpaw grumbled, turning away to pad over to where Feathertail sat.

Squirrelpaw followed him. “Thinks he’s a leader I suppose.”

Crowpaw scoffed, “Really, well most leaders don’t think out the place where the worms gather.”

The Thunderclan apprentice burst out laughing. “Since when were you up for a joke?”

The Windclan cat craned his head, but he looked pleased that the cat liked his quip. “I am when I’m not in the company of mouse-brains.”

Squirrelpaw snorted. She hadn’t realised how much fun Crowpaw could be when he wasn’t such a grump. Did he even realise it? She hoped he did, he really could be a good time to be around, as long as he didn’t know he was doing it. She just wished that he’d shown this side before, then they wouldn’t have wasted so much time fighting.

Oh well, better to live in the present.

They found Feathertail near a patch of tall white flowers with stalks as twice as large as any Warrior. The cat was shaking her head as she looked over the long plant which was embedded with small, chalky white petals that smelt remarkably like honey.

“I wish Riverclan had these kinds of flowers! They’d be amazing in any den!” Feathertail exclaimed.

Squirrelpaw had to sit back on her tail to look up to the top. “Take it back with you.” She said, only meaning it as half-a-joke.

“I wish I could. This place almost makes up for everything else.” The Warrior said, moving along to inspect an abnormally large bunch of sunflowers. “How were Twolegs able to do this?”

Crowpaw shrugged, “Who knows? Maybe they hoard it.”

“Maybe they have their own Starclan?” Feathertail pondered. Squirrelpaw laughed at the idea.

“All I know is that this place is beautiful!” Squirrelpaw stated, before pausing to sniff at a strange smooth rock in the shape of a hairy Twoleg with a tall red thing on its head. “Except that. That’s creepy.” She shuddered. The Twolegs could keep that ugly thing.

“You said it.” Crowpaw agreed, backing away from the thing slowly. He glanced over at Feathertail, “Guess we know what you’ll enjoy telling Riverclan about the most when we get back.”

Feathertail paused, a strange, sad expression flashing on her face. “Oh… yeah. I suppose so.” Her tail went flat against the ground, the fur hanging low in the grass.

Squirrelpaw’s heart thumped with worry. “What’s the matter?”

Feathertail started up, her face returning to its usual brightness. “Nothing. Sorry about that.”

The two apprentices looked at each other then back at their friend. “Are you sure?” Crowpaw asked, her voice dropping with softness.

Feathertail faltered a little but she kept a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just…” She looked distantly at a red flower with petals closing in on the others. “Won’t you two miss this a little?”

“Huh?” Squirrelpaw craned her head, puzzled.

“I mean, this journey hasn’t been as bad as we thought.” Feathertail mused, “None of us have ended up that hurt.”

“If you don’t include fights with kittypets and being chased by a dog.” Crowpaw said bluntly, making Squirrelpaw nudge him roughly.

Feathertail chuckled humourlessly, “Yeah… But I don’t know.” She looked back at the two with a sad smile. “At least I’ve made some good friends.”

The meaning dropped over Squirrelpaw like a boulder.

Feathertail gave a small laugh. “I’ve had fun on this journey, despite everything. It’ll be strange when it’s all over.”

Squirrelpaw blinked. She’d never thought of that. The ending of their journey and what it meant. She missed home and Leafpaw with all her heart, but the journey had given her the most excitement and thrills she had ever felt in her life. Plus, she had made some amazing friends.

She stiffened. Oh, right. When the journey was over, they would all have to return to their own clans.

Probably never able to gather like this again.

Back at Thunderclan, where no cat thought of her the way her two best friends did.

The three cats seemed to share the same thought, a melancholy silence temporarily enveloping them. Then Feathertail coughed.

“Oh well, it’s not like we won’t be able to see each other at the gatherings.” She said quickly, “Besides, I bet you two are itching to get your Warrior names?”

The two apprentices visibly lightened up at that. “Oh yeah!” Squirrelpaw exclaimed, that was something that she had dremt of for moons! “Just think what’ll they’ll call us when we return.” Her nose rose proudly into the air. “Heroes of the forest!”

“How about “SquirrelPurr-at-a-Twoleg?” She could hear the grin in Crowpaw’s voice.

The ginger furred cat shrank into herself, her chest coiling with embarrassment at the memory of that morning. “I-I told you not to talk about that, CrowFood!” She stammered, trying her best to glare at the chuckling cat. It was so hard to not laugh along when he did it.

“Squirrelpaw, don’t be embarrassed! It was a great idea!” Feathertail exclaimed through her soft laughter. “You saved me, remember!”

Squirrelpaw had, but it did little to quell the heat rising in her cheeks. “Look, just don’t mention it again, please? Just forget it!”

“Aww why?” Crowpaw mocked playfully, “Don’t want Thunderclan thinking you’re a cute little Twoleg lover?”

Squirrelpaw inhaled tightly, she could feel the blood rushing to her head. “D-Don’t c-call me cute!” She demanded, feeling humiliated by the lack of anger in her voice. She was flustered beyond control. Her heart thumped so loudly that she wasn’t sure if the others couldn’t hear it.

“Your secret’s safe with us.” Feathertail mewed, she bumped Crowpaw’s shoulder with her paw. “Right, Crowpaw?”

The apprentice snickered, “Sure, sure. Maybe it’ll make for good blackmail-Ow!”

To be fair, he should have seen her paw coming.

Crowpaw glowered, rubbing his sore ear while Squirrelpaw walked ahead, her nose proudly in the air, despite the rushing blood in her cheeks. It was odd how quickly she could become ruffled these days. This was not like her at all.

Suddenly, Feathertail let out a tight gasp, her eyes locked on something in the distance. “Oh! That would be great!” She piped, bursting with energy.

“What would?” Crowpaw questioned, trying to find where Feathertail was looking. But the Warrior ran off without an answer, jumping into a bed of flowers, scrambling through them excitedly. Squirrelpaw and Crowpaw shared a clueless look.

Just a moment later, Feathertail had returned with something small and blue flashing in her mouth. Before anyone could say anything, she jumped in front of Crowpaw, extremely close to his face.

Squirrelpaw felt her breath catch as Crowpaw began to splutter, the darkenss draining from his fur a little. “F-Feathertail? W-What are you-”

“Shh!” She ordered, as she placed something over Crowpaw’s ear and began to fiddle with it using her paws. Squirrelpaw only stared on at the scene. At Crowpaw’s flustered expression. At how Crowpaw didn’t offer no resistance to Feathertail.

Her stomach sank lower.

When the Warrior finally let the apprentice go, there was a light blue flower tucked in the fur of Crowpaw’s ear. The petals came together in a delicate dome, the yellow pollen tucked away inside the sky-blue petals, the flower struck out all the more against Crowpaw’s dark fur.

In fact, Crowpaw actually stuck out more with the flower. In a good way, Squirrelpaw thought.

Crowpaw tried to hide the flower behind his paw, his face burning with embarrassment. “Get it off!”

“No!” Feathertail smacked his paw down, frowning rigidly.

Crowpaw moaned, “I look ridiculous!”

“No, you don’t!”

“It actually doesn’t look bad on you.” Squirrelpaw said, coming closer, and putting on a cheeky smile. “It’s small and delicate, just like you.”

Crowpaw glared at her, then turned so the flower wasn’t facing the mollies. “What’s it even for, anyway?”

Feathertail fumbled meekly with her paws, “I just thought it would be… nice to have something to help remember the journey.” She said, her gaze sinking to the floor. “I’ve never seen those flowers around the Clans before, so…”

Crowpaw’s glare faltered, his eyes going back up to the flower tentatively. Squirrelpaw felt a tender pang in her gut for the molly, she really just wanted to show how much she viewed the Tom as a friend. Something to remember their journey. Maybe, something to remember…her.

Squirrelpaw suddenly felt angry. She took it out on Crowpaw.

“Come on, mouse-brain!” She snapped, whipping the tom with her tail. “Don’t be so ungrateful!”

Crowpaw glowered at the ginger molly, his eyes returning to the flower again. An embarrassed panic came over him again and it looked like he was going to rip the flower off. Then his paw froze in place, his face stiff, and he sighed, his paw returning to the ground: defeated.

“It…” He sounded vulnerable. “I don’t look stupid, do I?” He asked, abashed.

“You sound stupid is what it is!” Squirrelpaw yowled, ignoring how cute he sounded when he was clearly flustered beyond belief. “It looks fine!”

Crowpaw scowled at the Thunderclan cat’s tone, but he didn’t argue. He looked to Feathertail, who was waiting with a patient, hopeful look, and his coldness crumbled with a shy beam. “Sorry, Feathertail. T-Thanks for this, I appreciate it.”

Feathertail brightened with delight, her eyes closing as she let out an ecstatic chirp. “O-Of course, not a problem!”

Squirrelpaw’s anger directed onto herself as she felt her claws tighten on the grass. “That’s better!” She meowed, batting Crowpaw on the leg again, making him look down at her angrily. “By Starclan, I don’t know why you make these things such a big deal.” She wasn’t really sure who she was directing that towards.

“Oh, so I’m overreacting, am I?” Crowpaw snarled with a twisted smile.

Squirrelpaw looked away, unimpressed and undeterred. “Obviously, yes!”

Crowpaw made a small, pondering sound which made Squirrelpaw shudder a little. “Hmm? Okay then. Don’t move.” He said, stalking away to the flowerbed on the other side.

Squirrelpaw watched him curiously as he began traversing the flowers, sniffing and clawing his way through, his face hard with thought.

Feathertail’s sweet laugh came into her ear and she turned to her. “He’s really something, isn’t he?”

Squirrelpaw felt it would be true to agree, but she was tempted away by a small nagging at the back of her mind. “Hmph, he’s something, alright?”

“Oh?” Feathertail sounded disappointed, “I thought you were getting along with him?”

Feathertail’s discouraged tone made any anger Squirrelpaw had subside. She groaned, her anger morphing into a curious guilt. “I am. He can just be a vole-brain sometimes.”

“I wouldn’t say that; I think he’s just honest.”

“Honest?”

“He doesn’t hide anything from anyone. I like cats that don’t act fake just to please others.”

Squirrelpaw’s looked at her dubiously, “So you liked it when he clearly hated us all?”

Feathertail chortled, “Hey, I didn’t say that they couldn’t change overtime.”

It felt weird talking about him with Feathertail – no, not weird. Uncomfortable. Empty. Squirrelpaw cringed, feeling the need to change the subject. “So, you’ll miss this journey, right?”

Feathertail looked down, lingering on something that she looked too shy to say. “Won’t you?”

Squirrelpaw wasn’t even sure why she even thought she’d say no.

At home, she was scoffed at, yelled at, a nuisance, a troublemaker, a disgrace.

On this journey, she’d fought kittypets, done more hunting than Dustpelt had ever let her do before, had been able to stand up to that mouse-brained clanmate of hers, and made friends with cats she’d never have considered once upon a time.

“I suppose?” Why did she make it out to sound like a question?

“I will.” Feathertail said breezily, “I miss home but, there’s just been so much to see out here. Things I will never do again in my life. It’s odd, but I kind of wish there’ll be more.”

“There will be more, we haven’t even found Midnight yet.”

Feathertail’s pelt twitched a little, her vision resting on the grass again. “I know. But it won’t be long now.”

Squirrelpaw realised that. Everything had gone by so fast around here. For a second, she felt scared to close her eyes in case she would blink and be back at Thunderclan. It would feel like that soon enough, she knew it.

But she could not change that.

“Well, at least we’ve had fun.” Squirrelpaw said, pressing her tail against the Warrior. “And it’s not like we won’t be able to say hello to each other once this is all over. You’ve still got Stormfur, after all.”

Feathertail craned her head back, making a noise of understanding. “Yeah, I do.” Her voice sounded strangely hollow, but it didn’t seem to register when she looked back down at Squirrelpaw with a simper. “You really will make a good Warrior, you know.”

Squirrelpaw wondered if she did know that, or if was just what she wanted to hear.

Probably both.

“Thanks. I had a good teacher.” She hoped Feathertail would realise she didn’t mean any Thunderclan cat.

The grass rustled again, and the quick scampering of paw’s came back to Squirrelpaw. She turned and found her nose inches from Crowpaw’s devilish smile.

“Hold still.” He’d said it before she began to blush. She could just catch a glimpse of white.

Even before she could protest, she could feel him softly messing with her fur, her nose almost buried into his chest fur as he placed something onto the ear. It was like everything around her was Crowpaw; his scent was all around her, misty and calming. The soft fur of his chest tickled her nose as he fumbled with her ear. She couldn’t even remember being this close to a cat before outside of her family.

Squirrelpaw took in deep, almost panicked breaths. Her cheeks felt like they would burn away and she worried that Crowpaw would feel how fast her heart was beating. She didn’t want him to pull away-

What was she even thinking?!

His paw brushed against the side of her head and she was surprised at how soft he was, half expecting Windclan fur to be coarse and rough. Then again, they would probably need to be sleek in the moors.

And he was sleek, no doubt about that. But toned as well despite his short structure. He was thin, but refined, the muscles bulging in his legs. That explained how he could go so fast at least.

Squirrelpaw realised all this in the five seconds that Crowpaw was near her.

“There we go!” He said, his fur brushing against Squirrelpaw as he spoke. Then he drew back, admiring whatever it was he’d put on her with smug smile. Starclan above, she hoped he couldn’t tell how much she was internally breaking right now.

“Ohhh!” Feathertail mewed, her tail curling with joy. “That’s adorable! What is it?”

“I’m not sure. I just thought it fit.”

It fit? What was that supposed to mean? What did it look like? Squirrelpaw looked up to where the flower rested and she could make out a series of large white petals, but mostly she was taken in by the intoxicatingly sweet scent it gave out.

Squirrelpaw felt the embarrassment all the way down to her paws and she instinctively pressed her face into her pelt. She couldn’t help it; something was just making her panic.

“Oh, I thought I was overreacting for being embarrassed.” Crowpaw teased, making the heat in Squirrelpaw’s cheeks burn a little more. What could she say? The apprentice was giving her a taste of her own medicine, and she was reacting worse than he did!

“Hey, hey. Don’t worry about it.” Crowpaw said. Squirrelpaw could hear the smile in his voice, but it wasn’t mocking, it was friendly. Trustfully, Squirrelpaw let her eyes meet his. The cat had his head craned to the side with a satisfied, but kind smile.

The flower over his ear appeared to make his smile gleam a little more. Maybe it was just the sun in Squirrelpaw’s eyes.

“Honestly, Squirrelpaw, you look beautiful!” Feathertail assured, walking beside the cat and giving her an affectionate lick on the cheek.

Beautiful. That was something she’d never been called before, not that she had wanted to. She’d never really cared about looking great in Thunderclan, unless it meant kicking the others flanks in training.

But, strangely, it actually felt quite nice.

She looked back at Crowpaw, not wondering why she wanted to hear the same from him. And her heart soared when he nodded along. “Hey, I wouldn’t have picked it if it didn’t suit you.”

Squirrelpaw’s heart began to beat even faster, not stopping even as Crowpaw dressed Feathertail in the flower he’d picked for her. A pale purple flower with small golden stalks in its centre. Feathertail didn’t even flinch as he did it, just gracing him with a thankful gaze. It was all the more obvious to Squirrelpaw how absolutely gorgeous Feathertail was, in every conceivable way.

She wondered how much Crowpaw noticed it?

There was a small hope in her heart.

“Thank you so much, Crowpaw!” Feathertail purred, nuzzling his side. Crowpaw flushed but said nothing. Squirrelpaw felt that green sickness inside her once more. She had to push it down, Feathertail didn’t deserve it. The Warrior looked between the two, her paw stroking the flower tenderly. “Now we all have something to remember this journey by.”

Squirrelpaw looked over to Crowpaw, he shrugged with a small smile. The ginger cat smiled back, the flower on her ear growing deeper into her fur with a greater desire.

When this was all over, it would be there to help her remember these times. Remember her friends.

Remember…whatever this was.

“Hey guys!”

The three turned and found Stormfur, he noticed what the three wore and he rose a brow. “Uh… Purdy was right about the view. W-We’ve got a great idea of where we’re going now.” He didn’t say anything else, either too weirded out or too concerned about upsetting one of the cats.

Most likely he subconsciously realised it was Feathertail’s idea and that she would claw him if he said anything negative about it.

The three looked between themselves, blushing, then deciding to laugh off the cat’s reaction.

Miraculously, and to Crowpaw’s abject horror, it turned out Purdy was right. The path along the wall was short, only needing to walk a few paces and one turn before they’d reached a high wall that reached above the height of a Twoleg den. The other three sat there, waiting for the other’s to arrive.

There it was. The forest stretched for what seemed like the length of the world not far from where they sat, if they continued for the rest of the day, they would have easily been able to rest the night in the forest. Even better, the Twolegplace only continued for a short distance from where they were.

Purdy chuckled as Crowpaw approached, “Not bad for an ol’ tabby, eh?”

The grey apprentice narrowed his eyes, his old temper returning. “Yes. You did what we should have done a day ago, thanks a lot!” He sneered. Purdy laughed him off with a shake of his tail. Crowpaw turned to Tawnypelt who looked just as sullen. “He’s not stopped bragging, has he?”

“No.” Tawnypelt fumed, her ears flat against her head.

“What… are those?” Brambleclaw sniffed.

Squirrelpaw didn’t even look at him, she could hear his desire to mock. She wasn’t going to fall into his trap. “It’s called a flower. It’s a type of plant.” She said dryly, still admiring the view of the forest.

“I gathered that.” Brambleclaw hissed, “Why’re you wearing them though? You look ridiculous.”

Squirrelpaw’s claws unsheathed, but she breathed in deeply. No matter what, he wasn’t worth it. The ending of the journey was just over the horizon, and she wasn’t going to taint the remainder of it because of a flea-pelted tom.

Besides, Crowpaw had it covered. “We wanted to match you, out of pity, of course.”

Squirrelpaw’s heart leapt up again, and this time she couldn’t stop smiling no matter how hard she tried.

Brambleclaw was too proud to lose his temper in front of Purdy. But it didn’t matter what he said as far as Squirrelpaw was concerned. All that mattered was what her friends thought. Because it was what mattered to them.

The flowers were going to be there when they went their separate ways.

But for now, they would make the most out of the time they had together.

...

[thezodiaczone]

Cancer Compatibility

CANCER + ARIES (MARCH 21 - APRIL 19) Aries is the zodiac's baby (its first sign); Cancer is its matriarch, ruling the fourth house of motherhood, home and family. Is this relationship doomed to be an Oedipal cliche? Not if you temper these traits through steady, conscious self-development. Otherwise, you easily lapse into automatic roles that polarize you into a parent-child (or master-and-servant) dynamic. Aries can be selfish—not maliciously, but in a crude, clueless style that leaves Cancer resentful and dismayed at the Ram's lack of nuance. Cancer knows how to play the nurturing giver, but this delicate sign needs room to be vulnerable, too. Aries loves to be coddled, but Cancer's maternal indulgences will create a spoiled brat or a demanding diva. Besides, while the Crab may have a tough outer shell, the true warrior is Aries, ruled by aggressive Mars. Your differences are many: Aries is a diehard independent and Cancer is a family guy; Aries needs freedom, the Crab's possessive grip clings tight. You'll need to compromise, or else the relationship can turn into a competitive, jealous hotbed. You can both brood with the best of them, and your dark days eclipse even the tiniest sliver of hope. Talk about depressing. Swear off the silent treatment and learn to communicate as two adult equals.

CANCER + TAURUS (APRIL 20 - MAY 20) ♥♥♥♥ Buy those twin rocking chairs and install them on the porch: You're an old-fashioned throwback, high school sweethearts at any age. No two signs are more traditional, sentimental or family-oriented than yours. Although the sweetness can be cloying, you're a love story for the ages. In fact, you may emulate your own parents (or compensate for their shortcomings), since you share a rather conventional moral compass. Affectionate and nurturing, you crave lifelong security and a comfortable home, and you'll squirrel away a sizeable nest egg together. Not that you don't indulge. Your signs both appreciate art, culture, decorating, music and gourmet food. As parents, you're protective but firm, Taurus doling out tough love in your children's best interest, nurturing Cancer kisses every boo-boo. Framed family pictures creep like urban sprawl through your home. At times, Taurus' booming voice and blunt remarks wound the Crab's tender feelings. Like a bull in a Bernardaud shop, Taurus doesn't realize his own size, strength and intensity. Taurus will need to dial down the volcanic energy—intuitive Cancer doesn't need every point driven home. At the same time, Cancer must overcome insecurities and toughen up, since Taurus doesn't mince words or tiptoe through the tulips for anyone. Sure, there will be tears and misunderstandings, but there's nothing that any recipe calling for heavy cream can't solve. You both love pampering and feasts, and if your waistlines expand along with your joy, c'est la vie.

CANCER + GEMINI (MAY 21 - JUNE 20) Cancer is an emotional Water sign who loves to nest and bond; Gemini is a restless Air sign who prefers intellect over sentiment. You have similar interests, different temperaments. In many cases, this works out anyway. You both adore culture, the more obscure the better. You love to discover new bands, read novels by controversial authors, gorge yourselves at the jewel of a restaurant tucked into an undiscovered neighborhood. You bond over TV shows and bargain-hunting for treasures (you both have a thrifty streak). No flea market, tag sale or eBay store is safe from your scouring, and your home can resemble a bizarre gallery of antiques and modern gadgetry. The tricky part is when you lapse into astrological auto-pilot. Cancer is the zodiac's mother, who heaps on affection, nurturing and well-intended care. To Gemini, this can feel like clinginess and smothering. Gemini is the zodiac's fickle tween, waffling between bouts of dependence and asserting autonomy. There will be moments when Gemini greedily laps up Cancer's doting, and others when mama bird is roughly pushed away with a sarcastic, heart-piercing insult. Cancer must work hard not to take these moments personally—otherwise, the Crab lashes back with a below-the-belt barb, and it turns ugly. Remember, Crabcake: it's not you that Gemini is rejecting, it's your overprotection. Get a pet to dote on instead. Gemini needs space, Cancer needs reassurance. Memorize this formula.

CANCER + CANCER (JUNE 21 - JULY 22) To respin the old joke: What do two Cancers bring on a second date? Answer: a U-Haul. Cancer is the zodiac's nester, and you'll quickly set up a home with a fully-stocked kitchen, cozy furniture, a hand-wired sound system and eclectic art. This is a Water sign match that can work out swimmingly. You're both sensitive and nurturing, and you feel safe in each other's thoughtful care. With your love of culture, you may need a separate room for your collection of books, music and film. While you'll create a trove of sentimental memories and a lovely little family, you can become too insular together. Push yourselves to leave the comfy Crabshell and take more risks. You make fine travel companions, especially on trips involving water: surfing in Maui, an Alaskan cruise or skiing in Aspen. Cancer is ruled by the changeable moon, and at times, your fluctuating moods can clash. On bad days, all that emotion under one roof means slammed doors, screamed insults and hours of sulking. Problems also start when you take everything personally, or let your insecurities paralyze you. We know of one Cancer-Cancer couple where the woman proposed to her fiancé—got down on bended knee when she had the flu!—because she got tired of waiting for him to pop the question. Turns out, he had a ring stashed in his sock drawer, but was scared she would say no. Oh brother. Crabs, grow a pair—don't let this happen to you.

CANCER + LEO (JULY 23 - AUGUST 22) Can you say drama? Between Cancer's moods and Leo's ego, you're a camera crew away from being a reality show—the kind that makes you want to change the channel, only you can't leave the crash scene. Harsh but true. Your signs are both needy and bossy, but in different ways. Cancer is insecure and possessive, and this sign's sensitive Water element can quench Fire-sign Leo's excitement. Leo rules the zodiac's fifth house of drama, and suffers from a terminal case of what relationship expert Alison Armstrong calls "center of the universe disease." Cancer is ruled by the fluctuating moon, Leo by the sun. You literally can be as different as night and day. However, your knee-jerk reactions and hair trigger tempers cause the same amount of destruction. So what works about this match? It's packed with passion and romance, something you both adore. Cancer and Leo are heart-driven signs, and emotional highs are your breath of life. For all the crashes, meltdowns and train wrecks this causes, you remain fiercely, enigmatically loyal. Self-awareness is crucial to this relationship's survival. You both need to take responsibility for the drama you're capable of stirring up. In the best cases, you'll meet after you've learned to temper your emotions, or even better, logged a few dedicated years of therapy.

CANCER + VIRGO (AUGUST 23 - SEPTEMBER 22) ♥♥♥♥ This is a couple that can outlast the ages, since you're fast friends and seamless companions. Virgo is the zodiac's helper and Cancer is its nurturer. Your emotional connection is instant, and you're thrilled to meet a kindred soul who knows how to give, not just take. It's a refreshing break from the usual energy vampires you both attract! Your relationship is sweet and storybook-innocent: lots of handholding, sentimental cards, and anniversary baubles. Yet, you're practical, too, stowing away college funds for your yet-to-be-born children, earning advanced degrees, taking out a mortgage. Security is something you both cherish. In a way, you're like parents and partners to one another: you both express love by nagging, fussing and feeding. And it works. A pair of self-professed nerds, you love to cook, decorate, read novels and learn. No matter how much money you earn, you both remain thrifty, too. (Scoring a high-end treasure at a tag sale or an eBay auction is orgasmic.) Your signs are both family oriented, and you make sweet but strict parents who live for your children. Generally, you're close to your own relatives, and you enjoy spending time at family events or hosting holiday gatherings. Keeping the sexy charge alive will take a little effort, though, since you both love to stay home rather than dress up or hit the town. Push yourselves to leave the nest, and socialize with other couples more often.

CANCER + LIBRA (SEPTEMBER 23 - OCTOBER 22) You're a sweet, romantic couple, but not always a perfect match. On the upside, Cancer is ruled by the caring Moon and Libra by romantic Venus, casting a tender glow on this love affair. With your flair for color, style and objets d'art, you could open an interior design business (your home may in fact resemble an Architectural Digest spread). Now, the challenge: Cancer is a deeply emotional Water sign whose moods fluctuate like the tides. Libra is a social Air sign who prefers to happy-dance through the daisies. Between the Crab's fatalism and Libra's denial, nobody has a strong grip on reality. Better keep a few grounded Earth sign friends on speed dial when you lose perspective. Failing that, you'll need to adapt to each other's opposing natures. Like a stone skipping across the water's surface, Libra averts the plunging depths of Cancer's inconsolable undertows and cloying neediness. Yet, avoidance is futile, since it only upsets the Crab to be ignored. Libra should learn that a hug, flowers and an apology (however undeserved) pave the quickest path to peace. Not that Libra doesn't have his own powerful undercurrent: when those scales tips out of balance, he can escalate a minor breakdown into a Code Orange catastrophe. Admit it: you're both big babies at times. For long-term success, find activities you both enjoy: travel, language classes, dancing, dinner parties. You're gracious hosts and culturally literate people with lots to talk about. Get out and savor life together.

CANCER + SCORPIO (OCTOBER 23 - NOVEMBER 21) You're an ideal match, twin Water signs with deeply complementary natures. Highly suspicious and protective of your privacy, neither of you trusts easily. As a result, you intuitively trust each other. The good news is, you've bet on a winning sea-horse. These two signs can mate for life, and the emotional facets of your relationship deepen into an intimacy few couples reach. Romantic and sentimental occasions never go uncelebrated: birthdays, Valentine's Day, the five-month anniversary of the first time you said "I love you." Sex is a sacred, erotic act that can transport you on a one-way trip to Tantra-ville. You feel safe enough together to try anything. The challenge will be breaking the ice, since you both tend to clam up in a red-faced fluster or any icy aloofness around a new love interest. It helps to talk about music, books, films—anything but your feelings. Once you get past the awkward phase, it's smooth sailing. You genuinely enjoy each other's company, and like to do almost everything together. As parents, you're incredibly nurturing and hands-on, and may struggle to cut the cord when your kids reach adolescence. In fact, control is the big challenge for your signs. Jealous and possessive, you know how to avoid your mate's hot buttons—or to push them when you're feeling spiteful. (The Crab pinches and the Scorpion stings; both can wound the relationship fatally.) At times, Cancer's sulking seems childish to Scorpio, and Scorpio's sharp edges can maim the Crab's tender feelings. Fortunately, you know how to win your way back into each other's good graces once the moody spells pass.

CANCER + SAGITTARIUS (NOVEMBER 22 - DECEMBER 21) You're cut from entirely different cloths and patterns. Sagittarius is neon polka-dot on stretch Lycra; Cancer is Burberry plaid on Swiss wool. You'll never be a match that makes sense to observers—which is why Cancer Tom Cruise and Sagittarius Katie Holmes are such a tabloid target. Is it true love, a train wreck, or a little bit of both? Let's examine. Domestic Cancer rules home, heart and family, and holds his loved ones in his vest pocket. Sagittarius is the restless world traveler who craves freedom and adventure. Sag can either feel smothered or totally nurtured by Cancer. The Crab loves to provide every security for his sweetie, and it's a relief to the Archer to come home to a hot meal, a drawn bath, an adoringly attentive partner. The trouble starts when Sagittarius stops coming home. Sagittarius needs sunlight, air and wide open spaces. Cancer keeps the shades drawn and burrows into his metaphorical Crab shell. When Sagittarius neglects Cancer's need for togetherness, starts hanging out with a rowdy crew of rebels, or traipses the globe alone, Cancer's insecurities are rankled. You have fierce tempers, and the combustion of Cancer's moodiness and Sag's anger can be downright destructive. What the Crab must realize is that a pretty bird in a cage will soon fly the coop—at least, if the bird is a Sag. He must open the windows and trust Sagittarius to come back to the nest, a real act of faith. Your strong sexual chemistry sweetens the pot, but you'll need to adapt to each other's rhythms through hard work and keen listening.

CANCER + CAPRICORN (DECEMBER 22 - JANUARY 19) ♥♥♥♥ Paging June and Ward Cleaver! Cancer is astrology's mother and Capricorn is its patriarch. You're opposite signs that might very well polarize into these retro roles. On the zodiac wheel, Cancer rules the fourth house of home, family and femininity. Capricorn governs its tenth house of fatherhood, authority, masculinity and ambition. In many ways, it's nice to have a mate who happily redresses your shortcomings. Yet, it can also be off-putting. Cancer longs for touch and affection, misty-eyed Hallmark moments and emotionally naked conversations. Stoic Capricorn can be stiff and formal, a closet neurotic who pooh-poohs Cancer's feelings as overblown melodramas. In truth, Capricorn just internalizes his feelings, then falls into depressions or flogs himself mercilessly. You must learn the other's "love language" to succeed as a couple. Cancer shows caring through sentimental gestures, food, togetherness and well-intended nagging. Capricorn's expression is through duty—bringing home a steady paycheck, showing up on time, holding it together when everyone else falls apart. Capricorn must learn to honor Cancer's feelings and intuition; the Crab must develop gratitude for Capricorn's loyalty and quiet wisdom. Parenting is where you really shine as a team. Raising children is the ultimate honor for your signs, as well as a creative challenge. You're both loyal to your families, no matter how much they drive you crazy. This is a quality you respect in each other. At the end of the day, you share enough common values to make a solid, lifelong match.

CANCER + AQUARIUS (JANUARY 20 - FEBRUARY 18) This oddball match is as fascinating and perplexing as a Proenza Schouler pump—and like the highbrow fashion house, few understand its power. Here we have Cancer, sentimental and family-oriented, possessive, anchored by deep roots and tradition. Mix in Aquarius, the sci-fi nomad, a butterfly escaping the net of convention, laughing with you and at you all at once. How on earth…? This is a coupling that doesn't happen often, and for good reason. Cool Aquarius doesn't need much affection, and Cancer withers without physical touch. The Crab clutches his loved ones in powerful pincers, and scuttles after Aquarius, practically begging for love. Naturally, free-spirited Aquarius feels smothered and trapped by these demands for intimacy, and constructs little trap doors everywhere—a basketball team, a drama class, a post on city council. Yet, when wounded Cancer withdraws into his shell, Aquarius is suddenly intrigued. Where did my lifeline go? What Aquarius takes for granted is Cancer's loyalty, which can resemble a mother's love for her troubled teen. The Crab can see the vulnerable child underneath the surly bravado. Beyond that, you owe each other a karmic debt so profound, you can't even articulate it. Explains one Aquarius, who's been with her Cancer mate for 35 years: "I've learned that sometimes you have to do what the other person likes, even if you don't like it." In other words, if you want to stay together, eat your broccoli. You'll certainly grow in spirit and character. Sometimes, your soul needs a challenge more than a smoothly-paved road.

CANCER + PISCES (FEBRUARY 19 - MARCH 20) ♥♥♥♥ You're a pair of softies underneath it all, even if the world sees a hard Crab shell or a tough, scaly Fish. Alone with each other, your compatible Water signs are as tender as can be. You're both compassionate and nurturing, soothing each other with sustenance and sensitivity. There's nothing a stick of butter, cookies made from scratch, or a nice after-dinner cordial by the fire can't solve. Romantic and sensual, you love to pipe classical music through the sound system, light the candelabras and whip up a gourmet feast side-by-side. Hours of kissing and foreplay will follow. Though your relationship is a refuge, it can also become a fishbowl that limits your growth. You absorb each other's fluctuating moods like a sponge, so get out of the aquarium-for-two. With your refined sensibilities, you're excellent patrons of the arts, so head to museums, gallery openings, concerts, and dance performances. Fling open your doors for dinner parties that toast an artistic friend, an esteemed poet, or a relative's good news. This satisfies your nurturing instincts, and invites new energy into your space. You must both learn when to let go of grudges, since you can be passive-aggressive and play the victim when your feelings are hurt. Slammed doors, sulking and brooding must stop. Don't excuse bad behavior with psychobabble, either (e.g., "When you said that, it reminded me of how my mother couldn't love"). Grow up, will you? If you've been cruel, simply say "I'm sorry" and offer a long hug. The power of touch can heal anything between you, too.

[artificialqueens]

papillionlisse 2/? [gigi x nicky / jan x jackie] - pinkgrapefruit

[ chapter two ]

Gigi wakes up from a fitful sleep (mostly caused by the cat laying across her chest) to the sight of Nicky in warrior two - her eyes blissfully closed as her taut stomach twists, muscular thighs tense as she pushes herself into downward-facing dog. She spots Gigi’s staring as she looks up and pokes her tongue out in jest - the brunette giggling slightly too loud for the early hour as Crystal throws a stuffed honey badger across the room before burying her face back into her pillow.

[harry potter hogwarts/beauxbaton au]

A/N - hey! we’re back in the easiest to write multi-chap I’ve ever done! i don’t even care if you guys like it anymore because I’m so in love with these gals. (i still need the validation that you all like it though <3) thanks to frey for being a magnificent beta and let’s get down to it!

*

They learn remarkably quickly that Nicky is unbearably peppy on a morning - the blonde girl rolling out of bed at 6 a.m. while Jan is still drooling on Jackie’s shoulder to practice some light morning yoga in only a pair of tight gym shorts and a sports bra. Her loosely curled hair is tied into a loose ponytail, and sweat forms in droplets in the dip of her spine.

Gigi wakes up from a fitful sleep (mostly caused by the cat laying across her chest) to the sight of Nicky in warrior two - her eyes blissfully closed as her taut stomach twists, muscular thighs tense as she pushes herself into downward-facing dog. She spots Gigi’s staring as she looks up and pokes her tongue out in jest - the brunette giggling slightly too loud for the early hour as Crystal throws a stuffed honey badger across the room before burying her face back into her pillow.

Nicky winks and Gigi smiles back, sitting up as she gives up on the idea of going back to sleep. She pulls Quaffle onto her lap with a sigh, pushing her fingers into his fur until he unfurls happily, stretching out between her legs.

“Morning,” she whispers, but it’s hoarse with sleep and it makes Nicky chuckle as she rolls into a handstand.

“Bonjour, mon chou,” she responds with a smile - her voice tense as she lowers back down. She stands up finally, grabbing her wand off the end of her bed to roll up the yoga mat and fire it back under the bed - her morning laxity getting the better of her as she lazily sends Gigi’s glasses onto her face with a snap of the wrist. Checking the time, Gigi realises it’s quarter to seven and motions for Nicky to flick the curtains off the thin windows that stand in between each bed.

She watches, as she does every morning, as Jan recoils from the sunlight, hiding her head in the crook of Jackie’s neck with a moaning noise causing the sleepy dorm to erupt into quiet laughter. Crystal makes a nondescript noise as she pats her hand vaguely on her bedside table, looking for her glasses, which she finally finds once she lifts her head and realises Nicky is holding them for her. She flops onto her back with a snort.

“Monday, right?” Asks Crystal, as she fumbles her way into the bathroom - coming out with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth a few seconds later. She takes one for the team and hits Jan’s foot with a cushion, forcing the girl to actually look up as Jackie busies herself with the last few pages of her book on full moon astronomy to avoid her wrath. Nicky braids a silk scarf into Gigi’s hair as the two watch Jan walk like a zombie into the bathroom, only coming out twenty minutes later having showered and put on some makeup.

“Is she always like this?” Nicky asks, gesturing very generally towards the girl who’s resumed her position tucked against the now clothed Jackie until they all decide to go to breakfast.

“In the morning? Yes.” Gigi responds bluntly. “She’s an absolute zombie before nine unless there are waffles for breakfast, but it’s not a Thursday, so, unfortunately, we’re stuck with this until Jackie can force a cup of tea down her, and then she’ll perk up.”

Crystal joins the two of them and sits on Gigi’s bed. “Almost eight,” she notes, which sparks the group into motion. Nicky watches in amusement as they come together like a well-oiled machine - all ready to go and standing by the door in seconds, each in their robes and choice of shoe - bags slung over their shoulders and wands holstered. She’s pulled out of her staring when Gigi snaps her fingers at her.

“C’mon, Nicks,” she says quickly and Nicky slips her feet into her patent black brogues - sliding the unfamiliar black robes over her white oxford shirt. The robes hold the symbol of Papillionlisse - a purple butterfly alighting a leaf - and they feel homely even though they’re brand new. She slings her powder blue Beauxbaton tote over her shoulder and runs to the door so they can all exit together, making sure to remember the code of knocking that Gigi shows her on the barrel outside the common room door.

She finds she rather likes the look of Hogwarts in the morning - the sun shining through old stained glass in a way that lights up the whole main hall with twinkling lights. The enchanted ceiling is sunny today, and even Jan smiles at the sight of it. Gigi calls her a cliché as she picks two or three flavoured croissants from the platter in front of them and she tries to defend herself with crumbs spraying out of her mouth, giving in as Crystal attempts to shoot her a disapproving look ending in them all falling into warm laughter.

She looks around, trying to spot the other Beauxbaton students, camouflaged from view in their billowy black robes. She identifies a couple by their blue bags and pristine blonde hair and finds she hasn’t really missed them yet - she wonders idly if she will, as she watches Jan enthusiastically explain something about Kneazles to Jackie who softens under her girlfriend’s eyes.

*

They’re all making their way down to the dungeons when a burly looking guy bodychecks Crystal - her shoulder jerking back in a way that forces her off kilter and she ends up on the floor. The large brunette seethes ‘Mudblood’ through his teeth and Nicky watches in horror as Crystal’s eyes well up.

“Le con,” she lets out - the words scathing as they fall from her lips. He looks at her - eyes narrowing before he leans forward. She reacts on impulse, a firm fist to the lower jaw and he staggers back in shock, barely calling her a bitch before running on up the stairs.

Crystal is back upright now - looking shocked and slightly sick, but held upright by Jackie and Gigi, who look like they’re trying to lower their own anger levels by breathing very poorly and whispering kind thoughts to Crystal.

“Damn, Nicky,” Jan exclaims with a bemused smirk.

Nicky takes a deep breath, pushing the air out through her nose as she shrugs. “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee,” she quips - “Now, Crys, how about we prove his, uh, préjudice wrong.” She links arms with the brunette, leaving the rest of them to wander behind.

“You okay?” She asks quietly, chin resting on the girls shoulder for a second.

“Dicks will be dicks,” Crystal replies, voice more solid than it had been. “I’ll be fine. They’re a rarity nowadays.”

“Good,” Nicky says forcefully. “Dicks will be dicks.”

*

It’s a few weeks later - the late spring tumbling into early summer and the sky is a glorious blue, not a cloud in sight - they spend the afternoon lounging on the grass on the edge of the Black Lake.

“I saw the Giant Squid once,” Crystal tells them all as she shields her face from the Sun by waving one hand in its vague direction.

“You did not.” Gigi scoffs from her position, laying on her front, body propped up on her elbows. Nicky giggles, in the same position as Gigi, but with her head resting on her folded arms - face illuminated by the sun that filters through the branches of the nearby elm tree.

“We only have horses that drink whisky,” she whines - making the group laugh together.

“I’ve heard of those,” Jackie pipes up from where her head is on Jan’s lap - the blonde braiding wildflowers into her hair.

“Of course you have,” Nicky jokes and the brunette holds up her middle finger much to the French girl’s amusement. “Have they always been like this?” She asks Gigi quietly, as the group goes back to their own separate conversations for a moment.

Gigi hums in contemplation, brushing a strand of hair off Nicky’s face before she answers - the blonde’s striking blue eyes catching her off guard in a way that shouldn’t shock her anymore.

“Not always this disgustingly cute, no, but they’ve been a thing since third year. We’ve shared a dorm since first year, but they sorted their shit out in the summer of third, thank god. You know what we went through?” Gigi asks sardonically, and Nicky shakes her head in a motion for the girl to continue, letting out a giggle at the matter of fact way Gigi tells this clearly nostalgic story. “God, they were painful for a while. Jackie was our go-to homework help and then she got all sad about Jan, and wouldn’t help any of us, so guess who wasn’t doing great in divination that year.”

“It’s literally making shit up,” calls Jan from where she’s sat - choosing to ignore everything else being said. “And I’m the one who likes it.” She pats her divination textbook affectionately as Gigi goes back to explaining.

“But they got together in Hogsmeade and it was all cute, and now they’re this.” Nicky coos like you would at a small dog, before returning her attention to the brunette.

“Will you take me to Hogsmeade?” She asks, eyelashes fluttering and Gigi has to stop herself from swooning.

“Of course, mon Cherie,” she responds in an awful French accent that makes Nicky laugh so hard she rolls onto her back, letting the sun hit her face in a way sure to pepper her nose with even more freckles. “You didn’t have to go all veela on me,” Gigi whispers, and Nicky just winks.

“HONEYDUKES!” Crystal butts in from where she’s studying for charms - lazily trying to perfect the wand movement for one of her nonverbal spells. A spark shoots up from the lake causing Jackie to raise an eyebrow from where she’s laying, absorbing the sun, and Crystal just cackles in response, dropping her wand in defeat.

“Yes, Crys, we can go to Honeydukes,” Gigi appeases. “Any other questions that don’t involve me being a lonely lesbian?” She asks Nicky, and the blonde blushes at the phrasing. She twirls an already perfect blonde ringlet around her finger before looking up to Jackie.

“What exactly do you want to do, Jaqueline?” She asks - the nickname a joke she’s chosen to stick with out of pure enjoyment of the look on Jackie’s face.

Jackie props herself up on her elbows - Jan pouting as a few flowers flutter out of her hair and onto the grass.

“I want to get a mastery in astronomy and arithmancy, and then probably become an arithmancer or a potions astronomer - maybe a code breaker. Something like that,” she muses as she relaxes back down onto Jan’s lap. Nicky watches on, impressed.

“Damn, that’s cool.”

“Well, I’m pureblood, so I either do something insane or I live off my family’s fortune, and the only way I can do something insane is if I work hard as hell for it.” They all hear Jan mutter something about ‘fucking aristocracy’, but they choose to leave her be as she, perhaps slightly more angrily, threads daisies together to make a crown.

“Jan?” Nicky asks, falling back so she can fully sunbathe, her hair forming a halo on the greenery.

“Oh, easy,” Jan claims with excitement - any anger at her girlfriend’s family having passed as quickly as it arrived. “Magical creature healer.” She says it brightly and with enough whimsy that it almost masks the danger they all know the job poses.

“I can imagine you doing that,” Crystal claims, airily. “You’re making my hopes of a normal healer sound boring though.”

Jan giggles. “You can heal me!” She effuses with more excitement than the topic warrants.

Nicky looks to Gigi with a question in her eyes, and Gigi flops down next to her before she answers - watching the sliver of a white cloud pass through the cerulean of the sky.

“McGonagall’s mentioned taking me on as an apprentice,” she admits quietly. “I mean I’d love to. I’d love it.”

“Gigi, that’s amazing,” Nicky says, and Gigi feels how much she means it like an aura washing over her. She feels the love as it trails through every vein in her body, and she assumes it’s a veela thing, because it feels like this unbreakable connection even if it only lasts a second.

“Thank you, Nicky.”

*

They end up in the library, late at night a few days later. It’s a Saturday, and she and Nicky are pouring over textbooks - barely talking except to pass notes full of badly drawn wand diagrams and the occasional quip.

Gigi has spent the last five minutes watching as Nicky (totally innocently) sucks on a sugar quill and she thinks she might explode, so she practices what she’s trying to write and wordlessly charms her notes page into a paper butterfly, knocking the quill out of Nicky’s mouth, so she can sit comfortably for a minute or two.

“Dieu, you’re so distracting,” Nicky moans as she looks up to Gigi’s smirking face.

“Only for you, mon Cherie,” she schmoozes, eyes half-lidded as she lets her teeth trail her bottom lip.

“Mon chѐri,” Nicky corrects, although her smile is softer, less playful now. “D’amour.” Her tongue darts out to whet her lips. She stands up from where she’s been sitting cosy in a large wooden chair and slides onto the table, so she’s sat right in front of Gigi. The brunette almost short circuits at the way Nicky towers over her like this, but she rolls her shoulders and tries to pretend to be a Veela - just for the confidence.

She pulls her onto her lap, thanking the smoothness of the table and the lack of friction posed by Nicky’s leggings as the blonde lands happily on her thighs.

“Embrasse Moi,” she asks, breathless from the suspense, eyes barely open. “S'il te plait.”

If she looked, she’d see the way Nicky’s ears turn pink when she’s flustered, her pupils the size of saucers, lips full.

“Yes.”

Gigi’s pretty sure she’d be happy to let Nicky do anything to her. Especially in a library.

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 16

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15

*adele voice* hello, it’s meeeee i was wondering if after all this time you’d like to reeeaaad. AHEM, in other words, thank you for reading, you lot mean a lot to me :’)

“I saw the cops on campus this morning.” Strands of hair escaped her haphazard ponytail, and she blew it out of her face. “You should really do this once a week so it doesn’t get so nasty,” she muttered, tone completely changing. She missed my shrug as she bent on her knees, foraging under the sink. 

 All signs of Harry had been removed since the night before, besides the faint clean scent lingering on the pillow. But even that was fading from my mom’s trigger happy Febreezing. Harry had snuck out earlier than me, just sending a text saying he had an early before-game practice.

 “Mom, you really don’t have to clean this up.” 

 She ignored me for the upteenth time, pulling out Clorox wipes and focusing all her strength on the built-up gunk on the counter. “At least take turns or something. You do one week, Renny does the other.”

 Tap Ramen must have been made by people who knew most college kids couldn’t afford more than a coffee and dehydrated noodles - on a good day. I slurped up the artificial chicken flavor and winced as the scalding water dribbled on my chin, some falling on the carpet. We cleaned whenever we could. But recently I’d been swamped and had zero motivation for any extra obligations, much less for cleaning. Renny just… didn’t. I think Renny saw a broom once, and hid it further out of reach. 

 More Clorox wipes were drawn and she moved to the sink. 

 “What were you going to say about the cops?” I asked. 

 “Oh, right.” She pushed back her hair with the back of her hand. “It was kind of weird. Do you know if anything’s happened?” 

 I offered her a bite of my ramen. She shook her head, sweat beads lining her forehead. 

 “Okay” - I tried to explain between chunks of noodle what was happening, but she made me swallow and start over. “Supposedly there’s some kind of gang that’s been tagging the walls around school. We woke up to an e-mail today and I guess they tagged the courtyard last night. There’s a game later though.”

 “That’s frightening...” 

 “I think that’s why the cops are here. Extra security to make sure everyone feels safe.” 

 “Freaky.” She waited for me to say I agreed with her, that this was random and unexpected, but I didn’t. Fear lingered in her eyes, and I knew a couple of cops didn’t make her feel any better. In a second, she pulled me into a hug, holding me tight. “I just want my angel to be safe.” 

 My eyes closed, wishing it could be as simple as it was when I was a kid. When she could hold me tight, and tell me good guys always won - and I believed her. “Thanks momma.”

 She gripped both my arms when she pulled back. “You don’t have any plans for next weekend right?”

 I knew that tone. Some mandatory event was coming up and the thought of another something to do hurt my head. Midterms were over, but with sorority meetings, soccer games, and Zayn’s art project, I still needed to get caught up grading papers for Dr. Rhinecuff and write my own. There were only so many descriptions of the Krebs cycle I could read before the red pen sounded more appealing lodged in my eye. I rubbed my temple. “Mooooom.” 

 “What?” Her hand cradled my own that gripped my head, scared something was wrong.

 How could I tell her I didn’t want to do whatever she was going to tell me? “I feel like I’m always doing something.” Another scalding bite of soup burned my mouth and I cringed. 

 “I know, but-”

 “I just haven’t been given a second to myself to breathe!” 

 She flinched, retracting her hands. “Your brother’s coming into town.” 

 I faltered as she handed me her phone, bypassing her screensaver of Harry and I at the gala to pull up the text. 

 She wasn’t joking. 

 “Did he say why…?” I managed to mumble, half-fanning my mouth, trying to salvage whatever taste buds had survived my voluntary attack. 

 “He has a conference in Irvine. But he’s also family. He doesn’t always need a reason to come and visit us.”  

 I almost snorted but covered it with a cough for her sake. “Doesn’t he though?” 

 “Y/N!” she scolded. 

 “Sorry, sorry, you’re right.” 

 A sort of sadness filled her voice. “I know we barely see him, but he’s still my son.” 

 The words hung in the air. The fact that she needed to state something like that startled me more than I thought it would. She had two children, but one of them was more a stranger. We saw him maybe once or twice a year for a conference, Christmas if we were lucky. While her son was a stranger, her daughter was turning more unrecognizable every day. I softened. It wasn’t her fault she pushed out a numbers-chasing robot of a human. 

 “So you’re coming to dinner,” she said. The slight sheen in her eyes disappeared as she bat her lashes, a determined gleam taking its place. 

 I guess sometimes you couldn’t choose your family. 

 ------

 You also couldn’t replace the comfort of mom with a chai almond milk latte, but a girl could try. 

 My phone buzzed and I tried to ignore the way I deflated when it was Renny. 

 Can you bring me a lowfat latte I’m dyyyyinnnggg 

 Somehow, using her ridiculous charms and guiles, Renny had gotten the professor to allow her to turn in her essay a week late after spewing some story about how she was so overwhelmed from the stress of school and tonsillitis. 

 My phone buzzed again and I couldn’t help but snort at the dark moon emoji Renny added. The tall basketball player in front of me turned around, and I ducked my head down, clearing my throat. Shady moon emoji = the funniest emoji EVER, as verified by Renny and yours truly. Also worked as our code for beyond the world of the living. Running off two hours of sleep? Shady moon emoji. Just ran into your ex? Shady moon emoji. Well, I didn’t have any exes. But Renny definitely got some use out of that scenario. 

 I picked up our lattes, heading out the door. Renny was probably sitting with her head on her laptop cursing the extended deadline which only meant extended procrastination. 

 “Excuse me, miss!”

 I stalled at the sound of authority. I could turn around, or keep walking. Unfortunately, I chose the former. 

 Rogue Cop from the frat house walked towards me, stalling a few feet away. “Do you have a moment.” 

 But it wasn’t a question. I nodded, and he pulled me aside to the grassy courtyard where kids rushed from one class to another. From the Starbucks patio, I felt eyes peering over laptops watching as he crossed his arms, his eyes unreadable behind black sunglasses. This was very… public. 

 “I was just on my way to your room, actually, so I’m glad I caught you. I have a few more questions.” 

 His name badge reflected in the sun, blinding me for a moment. Officer Ramirez. I’d shoved his card deep in my dresser drawer, but I hadn’t thrown it away. 

 “How do you know the Styles family?”

 I shrugged. “I have a class with Harry. We were studying for our midterm together the other day.”

 “Did you attend their family’s charity gala?” 

 Something told me he already knew the answer. I nodded. 

 “What happened that night?”

 “I don’t know the full details of it, but when everyone was inside the auction room, the- I guess… I saw their family portrait was stolen.” 

 “How did you come to see that?” 

 “Mrs. Styles screamed. Everyone saw it, I just rushed to the sound like everyone else.” 

 “Did you see the image that was on the wall.” 

 Obviously.

 “Yes?” I swallowed, hating how nerves warped it into a question as the conversation twisted.

 “Can you remember anything else about the time you saw the symbol at Kean’s? Where was it, when was it…? Anything you can remember could help us in a big way.” 

 My eyes flitted to passerbys, each one turning to look at us once. Some had their phones out, probably zooming in for Snapchat or to message concerned parents. I hid further behind Officer Ramirez’s frame. 

 “It was a tattoo. On the back of the wrist.” My voice wavered, unwanted adrenaline making my body tremble from the inside-out. “Sometime in September.” 

 “Would you be able to recognize this person if we showed you him?” 

 “No. It was dark, and they were wearing a hoodie. I couldn’t see their face.” 

 “How many were there?” 

 “Excuse me?” 

 “You said they. How many did you see with the tattoo?”

 “Only one. Outside the shop. But he was with a friend. He was shorter.” A shaky hand raised to tuck some hair behind my ear. He noticed. 

 “Did you speak to them?” 

 “They didn’t hurt me!” 

 My outburst caught him off-guard. He inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly. Even his breath was calculated. “I see.” He rubbed the stubble beneath his chin, looking at the two drinks in my hand. “If there was anything that happened, it’s okay to tell me. It would only help us.” 

 “I just saw one tattoo.” 

 But even I could tell my voice was weak. He nodded, unconvinced, but I knew that he knew he wasn’t going to be able to prove his suspicion right. 

 “Thank you for your time.” 

 I nodded, taking this as an opportunity to walk away. 

 “As you know,” he called out, waiting for me to stop before continuing. “The gang tagged the school grounds this morning. Their tags are moving towards the coast, outside of their normal range, so just be aware of your surroundings. Notice the people around you.” He spoke like a father, but beyond the sunglasses was still a cop, and I knew he was dissecting my poker face for any sign of a flinch.  

 “Always.” And even I was impressed with how confident how I sounded. 

 I turned around, closing my eyes, and pretended for a second I was sinking into the earth, the cool dirt covering my body and hiding me from the world instead of my alternative. That when I opened my eyes, the world would be too close, looking at me, gossiping about me, wondering about me. 

 The random girl who talks to Harry now turned into the random girl who talks to the cops. That had a spicy ring to it, but I wondered how much the two went hand in hand. 

 I tossed the cooled lattes in the nearest trash can, shooting Renny a text. 

  Sorry. Line was too long. 

 ------

I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. But I think I was used to that now. Later in the art studio, Zayn put down his brushes. He cleared his throat, and I stirred on the chair, ripped from my reverie.

 “Something wrong?” he asked. 

 I shook my head. 

 “It’s all over your face. So it’s all over the canvas.” 

 “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, cringing at how the words flew out of my mouth so easily. I shouldn’t apologize so much. 

 He mulled something over in his mind until the annoyingly familiar look of pity appeared. I looked away from his soft eyes, out towards the window, trying to escape the sadness he reflected back to me.

 Harry was right. 

 I didn’t like the way he saw things. 

 --------

 “Well you never, ever, EVER have to do that again.” 

 I looked to Renny, one brow arched as she shoved a fry in my mouth. “One, because it was your last session. But TWO, and most important… because I will model for Zayn next time.” She made a silly face and raised her eyebrows. From the field, the band started to play at that exact moment and she burst out laughing. I smiled, glad she was enjoying herself.

 We stood by the locker rooms, waiting for the boys to get a spare moment to give us their extra jerseys. 

 “Would you ever think that we’d both be dating guys on the soccer team?” she mused. 

 I gave her a look. 

 “Or whatever it is you and Harry are doing. It’s crazy, right?” 

 If you told me two months ago that the guy who’d walked into class with a black eye would be the guy I was waiting on now, I’d laugh. If you then proceeded to tell me this man was Harry Styles, I’d stop laughing and say you should never be a comedian because your jokes were too far from reality. 

 “Crazy,” I agreed, eyes bulging out of my head for emphasis.

 “W’as so crazy girls?” Niall strolled out, arms spread open with the jersey tossed over his shoulder. Renny jumped on him, legs wrapping around his waist as if there was some kind of magnetic pull attached to their hips. Harry wasn’t too far behind and gave me a head nod. I felt my own pull. 

 I came up to him, suddenly feeling a little dumb for having asked for this in the first place. This was normal, though, right? Totally normal? He beckoned me a little further away around the corner from Niall and Renny who were already pressed up against the wall. Neither of us wanted to see the wordless pep talk she was giving him.  

 “Right. Arms up,” he ordered.

 I scoffed at his smug smile, but didn’t argue, putting up my arms. I looked him dead in the eye as he aligned the jersey with my hands. The places his skin brushed mine made my hair stand on end, aware of each goosebump that was now so delicately close to him. 

 “Aren’t you going to ask me to take off what I’m wearing first?” I mocked.

 He paused, looking at me as he tugged the jersey down a little more aggressively than necessary. 

 With the jersey on, he watched while I fixed my hair. “M’not into public showings.” 

 “I was kidding,” I mumbled. 

 “I don’t think you were.” 

 “I was!” 

 Scrutinous eyes appraised my flustered state, and he fought a smirk. His voice was velvet, suddenly Mr. Seduction. “You don’t have to deny yourself with me.” His fingers looped through my jeans’ belt loops, tugging me closer. Our hips touched, but when I thought he was going in for a kiss, he bit the tip of my nose instead. 

 “Who are you???” I flinched, but before I could say anything more he gently pushed me back so he could get a good look at me. The whiplash from being close to him had me reeling. I hesitated before doing a spin. 

 His lips pursed before breaking into a smile. “Waited a while to see this.”

 “Worth the wait?” My confidence faltered as he scanned over my body, up the curve in my legs and the rise of my chest, until he searched my face, finding some hidden meaning in my words again. 

 “I’d bet on it.”

 I couldn’t meet the intensity of his gaze, so I looked to his own jersey. “We’re matching.”

 “I’m a little offended.” 

 “Why?” 

 “I think you wear it better than me.” 

 He winced as I hit him on the shoulder. “Who turned you so cheesy.” 

 “Oi! Offense!” 

 From around the corner, Niall peaked his head around. “We got two minutes, mate.” 

 I hid my frown from Harry as he turned to Niall, the sharp edge of his jawline made more prominent from the fluorescent lights above us. Parts of him were shadowed, and when he yelled fuck off to Niall (big smile, just banter), I noticed even his neck was attractive. 

 I laughed, absolutely ridiculous, and he turned to me. 

 “W’as so funny?” 

 I didn’t say anything as his hands snuck around my waist to pull me in again. But I don’t think I needed to say anything. Slowly, I leant up to his perfectly tousled curls instead, resting my forehead against his, hoping to keep this feeling locked in forever. The softest sigh escaped him. 

 “Did you hear about what happened last night?” he asked, softly. 

 “Yeah.” I opened my eyes, but his were still closed.

 He hummed, tugging gently on my jersey. “You don’t have to wear this if you don’t want to.”

 “Heyyy, you said you wanted to make me happy.” I nudged my nose against his, and he smiled. There it was. That’s what I wanted.

 “I want you to be safe.” His brows stitched and the smile fell again. Just like that. 

 I pulled back, but his hands stayed firm, keeping me tight against him. The gang had been on campus. Kean’s wasn’t too far away, but a marking here was a clear breach of territory. If I was worried, that was one thing. But if Harry was worried, I was terrified. 

 “Stop that.” He saw my spiralling thoughts and snapped me back to the present, gently lifting my chin. “Nothing’s going to happen.” 

 “I just don’t know what they want. You can’t promise me that it’s going to be okay.”  

 “Fair... but I’m a strong boy, Y/N.”

 “Yeah well I don’t necessarily have as many muscles as you.” 

 There were dark circles under his eyes and a sleepy smile on his lips. Somehow, he was going to be strong enough to go out on the field and give it his all. It took all the energy in the world for me to get out of bed this morning, let alone run a field fifty times over. “I’m going to make sure you don’t have to use any of them,” he promised, looking over his shoulder. He backed me up against the wall, back blocking us to any invasive eyes. 

 “How do you do it?” I asked. 

 “Do what?”

 “How can you be so confident… and just ready, all the time?” 

 The roar of the crowd picked up as the announcer spoke. He’d have to leave soon. He’d go out there with the strength and infallibility he proved each game. He’d use all of the world’s bullshit as fuel to win. 

 But right now, he was outside the public eye. 

 Right now, his stubble tickled my jaw as he ran his mouth to my ear. 

 “Cos I’m a damn good liar.” He dipped his mouth lower, placing a kiss on that sensitive spot that made my breath hitch. His lips were light, but a hard knick of his teeth tugged on the smooth skin. The softest breath escaped me, but he heard it. I knew he did. He’d started gentle, but as soon as the breath was out he pulled harder on my skin, nibbling, sucking, the stubble scratching deliciously against my neck, desperate to hear the sound again. And again. My back arched from the pressure, pressing my body closer as he turned me to a panting mess. He was enjoying this as much as I was, I could feel him grow against my thigh, and I wanted nothing more than to drag him into the locker room and see every inch of him.  

 He pulled away too soon, hair disheveled, and a satisfied smirk on his face. 

 “I thought you weren’t into public displays?” I asked, breathlessly.

 “That wasn't a display.” His fingers traced my bottom lip, mesmerizing himself with how his thumb slid down, my lip running with it until it slid back up. “That was a warning.” He smirked, turning on his cleats, looking back just as my hand covered the tingling patch on my neck. 

 “If they fuck with you, they fuck with me.” He shrugged, walking backwards, naughty schoolboy grin lasting but a moment before he disappeared around the corner. 

 I scoffed, wanting to pound my fists against the wall for having been left by him again!! Being sucked and dumped… again!!!

 At least Renny was high on cloud 10000. All she could talk about was how good Niall was at kissing, and in the sheets, and UGH she just wanted to rip off his jersey and DO HIM RIGHT NOW. She shook me vigorously to get her point across. At least that was one frustration we could agree on. 

 Once in the soccer stadium, we struggled to find a free space in the stands. The Panthers had basically secured their rankings, and now the stands were full twice a week to see how long this winning streak could go. We looked like deer in the headlights scanning the sea of faces until we saw a platinum bob bouncing up and down. “Y/N!!” Gemma shouted, but we could only read her lips.  

 We pushed our way through the crowd, almost impossible to get down the aisle as everyone stood up in a cheer. I tossed a look back - the team had rushed onto the field. Harry was in the front, repeatedly lifting up his hands to the crowd. Scream louder. And they did. 

 Renny nudged me further up the stands, and I followed her gaze to the DGS - Viv, Karli, Shelby and others faces of their clan. I couldn’t see Lynn. I squinted harder. She was probably there somewhereeeee- WELP. Viv caught me staring. I ducked lower behind the stranger I was trying to pass. She shouldn’t be able to see me, but I could still feel her eyes burning a hole in the back of my jersey with Harry’s giant #13 impossible to miss. 

 Frickity. Frickity. Frack.

 “Should we sit with them?” Renny asked, barely dodging the slosh of beer from someone raising their arm a little too vigorously. 

 “HA! I’m good. You can though.” 

 I finally smooshed my way past everyone, practically falling in Gemma’s lap with Renny not too far behind. 

 Gemma looked at the hickey briefly, but was polite enough to not mention anything. I didn’t have a mirror with me, but if how it was stinging was any judge of size, it was way bigger than a quarter. When the halftime show was on and the band was playing, Renny left for the DGs. She squeezed my hand. “I’m only going to say hi. I’ll come back.” I smiled, nodded, but I knew she wouldn’t. 

 The thing was, I didn’t mind Gemma’s company. At all actually. If we hadn’t seen her, I would’ve been forced to mingle, and I didn’t want to think about forcing conversation right now. I didn’t want to think about much of anything. Compared to Harry’s dark enigma, Gemma was a breath of cool light. A little reserved, sure, but not shy. And she wouldn’t press me into talking when I didn’t want to. 

 “Where’s Charlie?” I asked.

 “Left. He had work in England. Life across the pond,” she mused. “His was a roundtrip, mine was a one-way, but I’ll be back by Christmas hopefully.” 

 Disappointment washed over me. I hadn’t realized I’d gotten attached to the friendly man. How funny the one person who reminded me of my brother leaves the same week my ghost of a brother returns. Could I trade them?

 “He didn’t want me to come,” Gemma sighed suddenly. Her hair was drawn back in a fishtail braid, and she picked at the ends. 

 “Charlie?” 

 “No. Harry.”

 She sat straighter, tossing the braid over her shoulder. “But I think a part of him would’ve been sad if I didn’t. He does that sometimes. Says things he doesn’t mean.” Her eyes were glued to the field.

 “Why wouldn’t he want you to come?” My tone was sympathetic. At our sleepover, Harry had said they’d fought, but he hadn’t wanted to discuss it. There wasn’t any way I was going to drag the truth out of him, but maybe Gemma...

 She rolled her eyes, irritated. ““Well…” she sighed, clearly not quite sure where to start. Or if she should start at all.

 “I won’t tell Harry,” I said, “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

 “Oh, pfft.” She waved her hand, dismissing my comment. “I know it’d come out sooner or later.” 

 It wasn’t a diss towards me though. I thought of Harry’s invasive eyes and my fiery tongue… and she was right. It probably would have come out. At least the thought had been there. 

 “I’m just a little worried about him,” she confessed. “I mentioned it’d be nice to have our mother come down and stay a while. There’s plenty of room in that house of theirs, but he’s-”

 The roar of the crowd drowned out her words. Harry had scored. I clapped instantly, but it was brief, distracted by Gemma’s words. 

 “Are his parents cool with...your mom?” It was weird phrasing, and knowing absolutely zero history about their relationship didn’t exactly help. Gemma seemed forgiving, unphased at least. 

 “Lionel’s...open to it. And Mary-” Gemma looked away, not sure how to describe her. “She’s been gone recently.” She did a sweeping motion above her head. She clearly didn’t mean physical absence. “They’ve been generous to let me and Charlie stay, so I can’t imagine they’d rob Harry of that right to decide for himself.” 

 “Why doesn’t he want to see her?” I ask, avoiding the Mary topic for now. The flash in her eyes says I’ve asked a little too much. I should feel embarrassed, but she shrugs, hiding it well. 

 “He hasn’t seen her since he was a child… it’s been a long time.” I remembered Viv telling me Harry was adopted when he was seven the same time Gemma moves a strand of hair from my face like a mother would. She glanced at the exposed hickey. “How’s he been though? S’he seem fine? You probably see him more than me.”

 I wasn’t sure if it was a deflection away from revealing anything more about her brother, or blatant curiosity. Perhaps it was a bit of both. I shied away from her touch, not sure how much she knew about Harry and I. Did he tell her anything about me I wonder? Or was I still the “friend” from English class? No matter what kind of tacit understanding we’d shared ever since the cops arrived at the frat house, I didn’t know how far that understanding went in public. 

 “I see him sometimes,” I admitted. “Between school and the sorority, and Harry having soccer practice all day every day, we study sometimes… I guess-” I shrugged “-I guess I see him enough.” But it wasn’t enough. Not really. Because every minute without him, he lingered stubbornly in the recesses of my mind, and the smallest unrelated thing could remind me of him. Sometimes that reminder was enough. Other times, the giant black t-shirt-wearing sass god that he was in my mind refused to be tucked away and sat on top of everything else - which made it exceedingly hard to concentrate on homework, work, sleep, and anyone that didn’t have curly brown hair and shadowed green eyes. I was already three episodes into the Housewives, and had only seen about two short clips of him.  

 It didn’t help that I now had photographical evidence he existed.

 After seeing my mom’s lockscreen, I studied my favorited photo a little longer. We stood side by side, opulent and regal in my red-wine ball gown and Harry in his black-and-white elegance. I frowned at how I seemed to lean into him a little more than he did into me, but his hand still claimed my waist, fingers dipping lower onto my hip. Our masks hid different truths (or were some the same?). Each time I’d look at it again, I pretended not to have seen the image a dozen times before, opening and closing my eyes as though it’d help me look at it differently… each time, I thought the same. 

 We looked like we belonged together, the woman in the dress and the man in the tux. We fit.

 If you took away the costumes, would it still be true? 

 “He is a little on-edge,” I continued cautiously. Harry ran across the field, a little slower than usual, and I remembered his reddened eyes. “I think he’s having trouble sleeping.”

 She nodded as if this wasn’t a surprise to her. “He didn’t used to.” But it sounded like a question. “Sometimes I think it’d be better if I hadn’t come,” she said it under her breath, but I’d heard it just before the stands collectively groaned. The other team had stolen the ball from Harry and scored. 

 “Don’t say that, I know he’s happy you’re here.” Though I didn’t, not really. I gave her a gentle squeeze, not sure how else to comfort a friendly acquaintance. 

 She wiped her hands down her face and when they fell in her lap, she’d shaken whatever it was that was bothering her. “You’re right. Maybe.” Then, a quizzical look took over. “Has Harry told you anything?” 

 I shook my head. “He just said you got in a fight. Didn’t tell me about what though.” 

 She took out popcorn she’d hid in her purse, sly smile saying something she wouldn’t.  “He must really like you.” She still had that knowing smile when she erupted in a cheer, standing to clap with the rest of the stadium. 

 We’d won. Everyone’s phones lifted high in the air, recording the mania they’d all been expecting. Flashes, little bulbs of light, captured pictures of happy college students and their victorious team. The videos would be one of many posted to Instagram stories, along with those from the after parties.

 A crawling feeling drew up my spine. I looked around, expecting to be the subject of somebody’s photograph. Ridiculous, because I didn’t find anybody zooming into my face. No one was watching me, I reminded myself. But still, the feeling lingered.

 In the crowd, Matt stood taller than the rest. He flashed his all-American smile, jumping up and down with his other basketball friends. When he saw me staring, he waved big, but his smile faltered. He pointed to my neck before shaking his head, busting up with a laugh I realized I couldn’t hear. A laugh I didn’t know how much I’d been wanting to hear until now. Until I couldn’t. But even though I couldn’t hear him, his look said it all. His teasing voice sprang in my head - had a good night, huh? - and then my own chest bubbled with laughter. But his eyes dropped lower to my jersey and his smile fell. He looked away without meeting my gaze again, and I couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit of rejection. 

 -----------

 The dangling string lights above Karli’s bed swayed into each other until they became one blurry glow. Or maybe it was me… okay yes, it was me. I was the one swaying. From the carpet, I gripped her lavender bedspread to steady myself. 

 “I’m not surprised we won honestly,” she said, Cartier bracelets tinkering down her arm as if her cheering from the stands was the sole thing that made the Panthers win. In my impaired state, I fought a snicker. If the gang had seen her walking last night, one mugging would’ve given them all the money they needed.

 Horrible thought. 

 Awful thought. 

 Tremendously awful horrible passing thought I wouldn’t wish on anyone-

 But alas, it was still a thought. 

 “That makes two of us,” Viv chimed. 

 It was sometime past midnight, and Renny and I had already taken full advantage of the mini shots we’d packed in our purses. We broke them out as soon as the official meeting had ended.

 Tonight had been “get to know what we’re really all about night.” So we’d learned more their charity Service for Sight. Apparently, sometime quite soon we’d be paired with a vision impaired student on campus as a sort of “introduction” for the bigger service work to be done later at the Blind Children’s Center in Los Angeles. For the first time since joining, I’d felt an excited flutter in my chest. The only reason I was studying Biology was to eventually become a doctor, to contribute to the world in some positive way. And now the opportunity was falling in my lap to do something that felt...good. Maybe I did need to thank Renny and - oh, God - my mother for pushing me into this.  

 Most of the girls dispersed to post-game parties after that - including Harry’s frat’s. I tried not to think about Harry getting drunk and beautiful girls dressed in zilch getting to see his drunk flushed cheeks and taking advantage of his flirtatious nature… pressing him up against a wall, him dipping his head low to brush his lips against their ear…

 I stop my imaginative self-pity and laughed at myself. Harry? Taken advantage of by pretty girls? 

 For what it’s worth, I also tried not to think about how my phone had remained completely silent since the game. I’d sent him a “CONGRATULATIONS!! So proud. I have to go the DGS tonight but wish I could celebrate with you” just in case he’d been planning on seeing me. It was the nice thing to do after all. I was getting antsy for him to see the message and when we piled out of the stadium, I caught him just before he entered the field tunnel. 

 “Harry!!” I’d shouted. He faltered, before he matched the voice with the face. I pantomimed texting and waved my phone like a madwoman. “CHECK IT!!” 

 But Gemma was right behind me, and his face fell, turning on his heel just as he’d left me last. Except this time the bruise he’d given me wasn’t visible. And there were helluva lot less butterflies. 

 Shelby turned the first floor of the DG house to an after party of her own, but as soon as friends of friends started showing up, Karli began leading a small group of VIPS upstairs as I planned my escape. Renny hadn’t noticed, already giggling halfway up the banister with Kiki while Lynn followed, arm slung around Donna.

 My hand had just opened the front door when Viv called out to me. 

 “Stay,” she’d said, long blonde hair tossed over a delicate shoulder. It was hard to find something malicious in her tone, especially through my buzz - but I knew another intention was hiding, somewhere, even if I couldn’t see the end game. “Come onnn,” she drawled, her voice the sweet nectar of a venus fly trap. I could hear my mom’s voice now, telling me that I was being too harsh, judging too soon… 

 But even if I couldn’t prove it, energy couldn’t lie. Was I smarter than a fly? 

 I followed her anyhow.

 Sat between Donna and Renny, I was starting to think that the last Jack Daniel’s shot was a mistake when Karli slammed her hands against the carpet. It was a dull thud, but it could’ve shook the whole room the way we all went rod-still. 

 “You guys might actually turn out to be cool,” she confided. She burst up in a fit of giggles, but quieted herself, barely. “No, really, you’ve done a great job so far.”

 “Aww.” Renny placed a hand to her chest and I wanted to smack it down. I quickly glanced at Lynn, but instead of getting a can you believe this? stare, she seemed unbothered.   

 “It’s easier than how we had it,” Viv said.

 “Really?” I always thought they’d just strolled in, flashed a nice smile, bonded over how they had the same hairdresser and BAM. They were in. 

 Apparently not.   

 Viv looked past me to the door, and in the hushed way she spoke, made me think this wasn’t exactly what they wanted everyone to hear. Or anyone, besides the six of us. Karli and Viv looked at each other in sly excitement. With a swish of her autumn bob, Karli leant forward, hands splayed on the carpet. 

 “We have an assignment for each of you,” 

 “Uh, pass, I don’t need another one,” Lynn chortled. 

 Karli held out her finger, scanning us in the the most dramatic pause. “This isn’t an ordinary assignment. The first phase involves you getting a DG Pretty Please.”

 Donna tried to stifle her laugh. Renny hid a smirk, but she sat silent, completely transfixed. 

 “The DG Pretty Please is a task, anonymously assigned to you by one of our members. Think Secret Santa, but different,” she continued.

 “And some of these tasks will take longer than you think, so Kiki and I are giving you plenty of time to prepare,” Viv smiled, as though it was the most charitable thing she could have done.  

 “Is everyone getting a task like this?” Renny asked. 

 Karli scratched her eyebrow, slightly annoyed. “It doesn’t really work like that. It’s something you do if you’re asked.”

 But I heard the edge to her tone. This was something you did if you were told. With the way they’d watched the door for any unsuspecting party goer, it sunk in that this wasn’t technically official. It was the part everyone knew that came with sororities and fraternities, but the part no one put on paper. If getting a secret mission was as bad as DG hazing could get, I’d consider myself lucky.

 “Does Shelby know about this?” I asked, boldly. Renny shot me a glare, wordlessly asking if I was really that dumb to ask that question, to have just now decided to expose the unspoken agreement carried out wordlessly and infamously since the organization’s conception. 

 Karli snorted. “Shelby was the one who invented this.”

 “In December, we’ll have a final pledge meeting. Prove completion of your DG Pretty Please and if you do, then that same night your big will be revealed to you.” It was the only time Viv’s smile didn’t feel too forced. She enjoyed this madness.  

 Renny didn’t hesitate- “I’m in!” 

 “But!” Viv interjected. “If you aren’t successful, you forfeit a spot in the sorority. I know you all get super busy with clubs, and parties-”

 “And homework,” I mentioned. 

 “Oh, right. School,” Karli said, partially joking. “I know everyone likes you guys right now, but this is a serious assignment that affects your ability to be a part of this sisterhood. And you can’t tell anyone what your task is. It’s completely anonymous. If anyone else finds out, we’ll know you talked. Your challenge is void. You fail. We question your loyalty, bla, bla, bla, details. Any questions?” 

 “Can I get my money back?” I laughed, and the girls snickered - but I wasn’t really joking. 

 “Ha! No.” Viv was as much of a comic as I was. “You’ll get your tasks in a couple days.” 

 A chime went off, and we all looked at our phones. It was Lynn’s. 

 “We made the paper again!!” She did a little party dance in her lap and Donna peered at the screen. “Just got the notification,” Lynn explained. 

 The only college student left alive that got updates of the local paper, Lynn’s parents were published newspaper columnists. After graduating Yale and having a stint of employment in the Middle East, the couple traveled to New York and continued writing for the Times before they moved west coast and settled for the San Francisco Chronicle. ‘Major literary nerds’ was Donna’s affectionate term. 

 “Is it about the game? Did they include any pictures of cheer?” Viv was suddenly interested. She looked at the article, lips pinching in disappointment. There were snapshots of the different players from tonight, and I struggled to focus on the screen that was lain on the floor for all to see. But there he was, mouth open as if bellowing to his teammates, legs parted in a run. My blood ran hot. Was it stuffy in this room? Was it just this photo of Harry? Or was it just good ‘ol Jack Daniel? 

 I drew my hair up in a haphazard ponytail, smiling as Lynn scrolled to a picture of Louis scoring and pulling some ridiculous face in concentration. “There’s my boy!!” I hollered, pointing at the screen. “He’s just so dang good.” 

 Kiki’s brow rose. “Wrong jersey, love.”

 Lynn suddenly snapped, snatching her phone back to recapture our attention. “Dude, I saw Louis go in the locker room with Candice yesterday after Journalism. But I don’t think…” 

 Karli’s auburn bob swished as she shook her head. “Oh, hell no. My mom sees Candice at church every Sunday, she probably just took his dirty laundry to take home.” 

 “Doesn’t that mean he’d have to strip down first,” Lynn smiled.

 “Again, doubt it,” Kiki dismissed. 

 Viv heaved a sigh of relief. “Well thank God, I would’ve been out.” 

 “Out of what?” I asked. This time Renny didn’t stab me with her eyes for asking a question. This time, she was just as curious. 

 “You didn’t hear about the money pool?” Lynn asked. 

 “Uhhh… no.” 

 “I’m with you...” Donna said, eyes narrowing. 

 Lynn held up her hands. “What?! Babe, don’t look at me like that.”

 “It’s a game everyone in the house is in on,” Kiki said. “Whoever’s the first to fuck in the locker room wins the money. Do you want in?” 

 My body temperature rose another 500 degrees just remembering being outside the locker room, whereby I continued to be consensually ruined for any future makeout that didn’t involve Harry.

 Viv looked completely cool, composed. “Y/N must’ve missed one of those meetings.” 

 “I don’t know, I think Y/N might win if she plays. Did he give you that massive thing?” Donna’s voice was low, but not low enough. 

 Everyone’s eyes went to my neck. I swallowed, hard. Viv’s eyes glazed over and I didn’t miss the click of her jaw. 

 Can the gods come down right now and blast me away??! Why did I put my hair up!! Why!! I’d been so careful hiding it this entire night!!

 If I wasn’t drunk I’d be trembling. I didn’t trust Viv, but that didn’t mean I wanted her to hate me. Seeing her eyes glaze over I almost felt guilty. Almost. Until I remembered all the snide comments, the way she belittled me in front of Harry, the way she took pride in being one step ahead...

 Not this time. 

 I channeled my inner I don’t give a damn like the perfect mask it was, and flipped my hair over both shoulders, giving them my best ridiculous smize face that made Renny snort aloud.

 “Eh, I’ll think about it. But I’ll let you win for now.” 

 Kiki watched the scene unfold before her with a delirious smile, respect riddling her voice. “I think you’ve just given us inspiration for your challenge.” 

chappie 17

[mtchstick]

hello all, time to meet my latest nuisance, michelle ‘mitch’ novak, 34, investigative journalist, chaos magnet, megagalactic pain in the ass. full bio + hcs & wanted connections below the cut! 

“ alone in your car, the violence you imagine: it hurts so hard, a memory you can’t forget. wherever you are, why’d you ever concede it? as if, if a god would ever care, and if it did, then nothing unpure is ever complicated, and nothing undone is ever done or said by chance, and nothing unsure has ever resonated — i float through the walls. i float through the walls. ” .  

name : michela michelle maria novak. the last is a taken name: not her birth father’s (pasqualino “lee” ferrante) but the name of the man who married her mother after her divorce with lee. as much of a shithead as he was, sometimes mitch regrets the novak name (only keeps it as a token of her ties with her siblings). her pen name, however, is mitch lennox — a very male, very white name that she believed would help her articles get some credit in the world of journalism (and that helped her distance herself from her red ridge past). age : thirty-four (born october 20th, 1986). pronouns : she/her. gender : cis female. location : red ridge, nv.  occupation : investigative journalist.  sexual orientation : pansexual, demiromantic. religion : agnostic (mostly a non believer, though she tends to find comfort in the thought of a higher power in dire times, and keeps her grandmother’s crucifix in her car). affiliation : none, although she’s never shyed from asking favors to valencia or law enforcement alike (and has often owed favors to both, and more). _________

personality :perhaps in order to understand the full range of mitch’s character one would require a century, perhaps a degree in archaeology. the short version of it is, what you get is mostly an act. not a genuine character, but a persona crafted, layer by layer, for survival, for self-preservation. on the outside, mitch novak is close to a hurricane: can’t be predicted, will show up unannounced, spread havoc all around, disappear again when the sun has set. one might call her volatile, fleeting some, never sticking to a plan but shifting constantly, as if the very essence of staying still was a risk far too big for her to run. it might look like evidence of a poor character, material perhaps — it is instead the proof of her determination, which barely knows any obstacle, surely not one of a human kind. she’s resolute, far too proud of her own beliefs, pushing ever forward with barely any thought over consequences or just the general, common sense awareness of danger. reckless, one might call her, but not for lack of a will to live, rather an attitude she’s developed in being extremely resourceful, constantly finding ways to get out of the corners she’s backed in (so far: there’s no telling how long this will last). this ever changing, constantly moving nature reflects itself in her dynamics with others, too: do not count on her to stick around, whether tied to a familial, friendly or romantical relationship — it is far more likely for mitch to disappear and then return as rapidly as the moon changes. the outer side of her is a shifting tide, never too still, never calm enough for anyone to dive. beyond that layer, however, she is passionate — alive with burning ideals, nursing bravery with seldom any comparison, a protector of those who are defenseless, someone who’s devoted an entire life to the ideal of truth. and yet the choices she’s made, the paths she’s walked in order to get to where her ideals prompted her to be, they have all piled up inside of her: while she’ll appear to have little to no moral compass, little to no care as to the consequences of her own actions, deep within mitch is the harshest of her own critics. she keeps herself busy, constantly moving so that she won’t have to stop and think — reckon with her graveyards of mistakes, deal with her own, deep-seeded self loathing. she’ll much more easily crack a joke instead, defend herself with the use of irony and sarcasm, and at the same time put people to the test, give them the sharpest corners of herself so their allegiance will be proved. but all of this, all her shifting and sharpening nature, it has led to a deep, sometimes unbearable loneliness — it is ever present and still sneaks up on her sometimes, the endless void around her scorched earth, the inability to bridge that gap between her and the rest of the world. perhaps there lies her love for stories: within the distance from her and others, trying to understand them in order to shorten it. but it stays there, separating her from the world, and so self preservation must be the only principle leading her forward. at the end of the day, mitch is as unpredictable as stormy weather: even those who believe they know her, most of the time, only really know the persona she’s allowed them to meet. she can be manipulative, a skilled liar, an unparalleled improviser — perhaps one day she will finally stare in the mirror and ask herself who she really is. positive traits : headstrong, clever, resourceful, brave, protective, witty, open minded, passionate. negative traits : impulsive, proud, self-destructive, fleeting, mutable, unreliable, arrogant, reckless, annoying. ___________

BIOGRAPHY —

trigger warnings : disappearance, death, abuse, child abuse, cults, substance abuse.

red ridge, nv, 1988. pamela rizzo is done with her boyfriend’s antics: never able to hold a job for more than a couple weeks, constantly wasting his pay in booze and boobs and whatever shit he feels like shooting in his own body. her youngest, michela, is two years old; her oldest, tommy, is seven years old: old enough to understand what’s going on. for a while he becomes the man of the house, making sure his little sister is okay when mom comes late from work: for a while, this broken up family makes it work. pamela meets andy novak when mitch is four — four months later they’re married out of a casino’s chapel, and she looks at her kids, bright eyed, and said: see kids? you got a daddy again, now. everything’s gonna change for the better.

red ridge, nv, 1995. everything starts changing for the worse, but none of them can see it yet. there’s two new siblings, jericho and liv, the lovely offspring of the novaks. adjusting to this new family is hard, and mitch sticks around her older brother: he’s good, he’s protective, he watches her back. she picks up from him, her fight and her curiosity and her boyish recklessness — five years apart, yet sometimes they look like twins. she loves her younger siblings, yes, but sometimes she looks at andy’s eyes and remembers this is not my father, and this is not my family, and all i really have is tommy and by tommy i will stand. but over time he gets tired of playing babysitter, one day he simply grabs her and says c’mon mitch, get off my back. don’t you have any friends?

red ridge, nv, 1996. mitch grows restless and reckless, too many hours spent in detention and not enough befriending kids her age. she thinks something’s lacking, a specific code that will allow her to bridge the distance with the other kids: she searches for it in comic books, studying the behavior of characters wondering how a hero is made. she searches for it in other kids, and sometimes she stays out entire afternoons spying on her brother and her friends, wondering what it is that makes people friends, what it is that she’s lacking. that’s when she starts seeing them spending their afternoons in mr. carlow’s house; they say he lets them do some handiwork around the house in exchange for some money, money for tapes, money for gas. tommy comes home full of new stuff every day — one day he brings home a cassette for mitch, jagged little pill. three days later, he goes to carlow’s and never leaves.

red ridge, nv, 1998. thomas j. novak is declared missing on november 1st, 1998. search parties begin, national attention brought to the case. there are errors in the investigation, leads mistakenly pursued. mitch talks to pam, talks to andy, talks to anyone: go to mr. carlow’s, she says, i saw them there. but mr. carlow is an old wealthy man, he’s given more money to the church than the vatican itself: and he was so concerned when they asked him about tommy that he passed out. nobody listens, so tommy isn’t found. they listen to pamela, her face plastered on every news segment, begging for her boy to come home: at night mitch holds her younger siblings close, and fears something will be coming for all of them.

red ridge, nv, 1999. the body of thomas novak, 17 at the time of his disappearance, is found in a ditch three miles out of red ridge, exactly nine months after he was declared missing. the police say he must’ve been trying to leave town when he was robbed, or maybe assaulted, or maybe a coyote got him. nobody seems to have a clear answer, nobody really cares to look for one. pamela finds some comfort in speaking to the nation of her child: every night her face is on tv, until the story of the grieving mother is boring too, and pamela disappears in the background, perhaps like her child did. that’s about the time andy taps into his anger, begins lashing out with his kids, with mitch too. he’s loud, he smells, he comes home and takes it out on the three of them. mitch tries to keep her head up, keep the small ones safe. she keeps yelling, nobody listens. nobody ever fucking listens.

phoenix, az, 2004. she finds another voice. she has parts of tommy that have stayed with her. the curiosity, the bull-headed quest for knowledge. she holds them close to herself, puts them all in the art of the written word, and somehow it gives her a purpose. in her mind remains the need to find an answer, connect the dots around her brother’s disappearance, but they never match to any coherent drawing. still she keeps on, and the moment she becomes a licensed journalist she starts travelling the country chasing stories, chasing mysteries and, above all — chasing answers. 

montréal, canada, 2013. red ridge fades in the background, a dull nightmare unwilling to re-emerge to the surface. she finds new stories instead, she drowns in them. good stories, with martyrs and heroes who die for a  cause (those are the ones she stares at in admiration, wondering if a good spirit is transmittable via osmosis). she finds bad stories, the ways men will make themselves wolves and devour their young (those are the ones she gets deep in, like the bloody entrails of a carcass, turns them inside out until she can make every accurate comparison between them and herself and say it isn’t me, i have nothing to do with people like this). she builds herself a kingdom of sorts, kings and queens and pawns to turn to in her quest for truth. (she asks favors too, sometimes she finds herself under the thumb of criminals and shady characters who can help her quest along, but will ask things of her: her shining moral character begins darkening now, she begins to understand the battle between good and evil must be fought along the line in between). while investigating a dark, morbid story of murder and finance, she meets priscilla — clever, arrogant, bright. selfish enough to drag her out of her own head when mitch lets her investigations swallow her whole. the two get married in a small ceremony with mostly just colleagues from priscilla’s work at the university — for a while mitch toys with the idea of belonging to someone, of a happy life, of a family, of a home.

sam’s cedar, mo, 2017. it lasts exactly four years, though it began rotting right in the honeymoon phase. colliding characters turning to sparks, the fights far outweighing the good they’d found in each other’s company. the crippling blow comes when a story breaks out about an odd, peculiar cult spreading its venomous tendrils around the plains of missouri. an old friend, head of a mainstream newspaper, says it’s just the kind of report she’d be great at. she finds an odd fascination in the idea of entering the cult, seeing evil from the inside: priscilla, of course, thinks it’s foolish, it’s guerrilla journalism, it’s just the pop culture rendition of what a reporter’s work is supposed to look like. her protests echo in the background still, while mitch packs her car and leaves. five days later she is entering the premises of the cult’s church under the alias of rebecca jean wasserman, knowing that this will change things. never once, for her stories, has she gone this deep: there is a fear within her, as she dyes her hair blond and crafts a new identity, that there will not be a way out. 

phoenix, az, 2019. the way out is found by fighting teeth and nails. the way out is found through a dark, morbid journey that spits her out a paler self. her permanence in the cult amounts to eleven months, three weeks, four days: a long time to note down every creepy corner she steps in, every gruesome detail she collects. she sees minds reshaped, she sees crimes committed and barely keeps herself from giving in to the craze like the rest of them. being rebecca wears her out, being rebecca sometimes comes too easy: by the time she’s collected enough material that the point isn’t just an article anymore, but a criminal investigation, she feels herself slipping out of her own mind every night. her reports are so detailed they start a widespread investigation. somehow, she makes it out of the cult into one whole, rotten piece. her reportage gets mitch lennox (the pen name she’d chosen at the beginning, wanting to cut ties to whatever ties michelle novak had been living) two awards, good, it looks, has won over evil. but her mind is frayed, the shadows have come too close sometimes she wonders whether they haven’t gotten in somehow, become a part of her too. at night she lies awake and thinks of tommy: she’s found so many stories, so many villains have been given a name, but her brother’s is still just a ghost story.

red ridge, nv, 2020. sometimes she feels like a pawn on the board of a funny, twisted game. she gets a call one night, about a murder (one in a few) in the town she once badly tried to call a home. by then she’s tired, worn out, overly dependant on liquor and painkillers: but she’s lost herself so tragically she hasn’t thought to look for the pieces of herself back where everything started. she comes back to red ridge on a much too hot day of early may; she wears her identity like a costume, putting on a brave face because red ridge, she knows, has a tendency of swallowing people whole. and she’s been swallowed before, she’s been spat out too. what’s left is a half digested remain of a person. what’s left is someone who’s hungry for truth — and barely has anything to lose anymore. 

_____________________

HCS:

when not undercover for any reason, mitch drives a purplish red ‘83 alfa 6 alfa romeo. not the most inconspicuous car, but a piece of her heart nontheless (stolen from her father as a ‘payback for him being a shithead’, or so she says). she had it slightly altered to fit a music cassette player so she could keep listening to the tapes her best friend sent her.

her biological father, lee, is a rather well known drug dealer in red ridge. he’s also, coincidentally, her main drug dealer.

currently, mitch lives in a motel, refuses to go back to her mother’s house, would rather sleep in her car. 

she absolutely adores spicy food and has been known to have no chill when it comes to deadly spicy peppers, in fact she’s entered at least a couple competitions for pepper tasting and, though never winning, always managed to come up pretty high on the podium.

she’s almost constantly listening to music (mostly blues or grunge), although her heart belongs to alanis morissette, and evidence of that is her vast collection of concert t-shirts and the many cassettes in her car. 

she used to be on the school soccer team but got kicked out after an unfortunate accident with one cheryl d. (the accident being mitch purposefully kicked her in the shins after she called her a psycho bitch).

_____________________

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

below i’ve listed some connections i’d love to get for mitch — if you’re interested in picking any of these up, please don’t be afraid to message me!! 

priscilla — mitch’s ex wife was an academic she met while working on an article in montrèal in 2013. they got married a few months after they began dating each other, but it was short lived. their characters don’t match, they just fought constantly, and eventually mitch left to go undercover in a cult / pursue her career. overall their marriage lasted four years, and it’s safe to say they hate each other now, probably barely tolerate one another at best, and it’s unlikely they’ll ever be together again, but i’d love to explore their colliding, nerve-wrecking dynamic. suggested fcs: ruth negga, lupita nyong'o, leslie ann brandt.

jimmy — her best friend, the one person in red ridge who always knows when she’s coming around again. he used to be one of tommy’s closest friends, which brought him and mitch together once tommy was gone. they dated very briefly, eventually found they worked a lot better as friends. they went to college together for a bit there, he, however, eventually quit college around the time mitch graduated. he owns a record store and is the one who provides her with all the tapes she plays in her car. he’s mitch’s person and the one guy in the world she confides everything to (same goes for him, obviously). they’re kind of in a rough patch right now, considering she never told him about her undercover stint and he ended up not hearing from her for about a year. reconnecting with him is also one of the reasons she decided to come back to red ridge. suggested fcs: joshua jackson, jake johnson, john krasinski.

fwbs — clearly mitch isn’t made for stable relationships but she does have her fair share of one night stands and occasional flings. it would be great if it was something that has happened before, maybe while she was still in college and sometimes came home to red ridge.

fwbs from inside valencia — people she could sleep with that might provide information on valencia’s dealings and just generally be fruitful for her career (of course, they could ask favors of her too; it could be as casual or as tense as we want it to be).

affair (tw: cheating) — i’d love love love for her to have a painful sort of affair with someone who’s already in a relationship with someone. something sad, painful, that they both wish they could do without but can’t. gimme angst.

friends — either childhood friends from before she left red ridge or people she’s just meeting again, she needs someone she can have simple fun with, maybe even someone who can tell her to chill the fuck down sometimes.

enemies — there’s a lot of people who just can’t stand mitch at all, so gimme those. people who find her annoying, people from valencia who find her dangerous, old schoolmates who just never got her thing. give me also people who have stuff they can hold over her head, people who can threaten her and that she generally loathes. 

friends in low places — mitch makes frequent use of recreational drugs and painkillers, plus her job often needs her to find various sorts of illicit goods (be them heavier drugs, weapons, surveillance equipment, etc). she’d need someone who can provide her with these things, maybe even someone she can be friendly with or something.

[mellifluoushood]

401 - A Calum Hood Imagine

Word Count: 3,000

Trigger Warnings: none

A/N: So, I wrote this in 2015 before I deleted my original blog @fightingirwin/@punkfletch and I found it yesterday and ended up loving it so much I wanted to post it! I’m going to write a part two now because I LOVE wedding!Calum and wedding!5sos. Enjoy this teeth rotting, soul stopping, heart wrenching fluff that’ll make you all soft and gooey. - B x

P/A/N: Listen to “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Kina Grannis from the Crazy Rich Asians soundtrack if you wanna be real messed up.

She was asleep. Fast asleep with drool dripping from her lip, her hair tangled around her face, and heavy breaths. Her face was relaxed, no worry marks around her eyebrows or tight smiles that stretched her cheeks. Though her blemishes and rosy cheeks were something she despised, she wore them to sleep with pride, happy to just curl up and forget about the day that made her breakout from stress and almost yell from irritation.

All of it was her. Every little bit. His eyes followed the soft slope of her jaw, across the love marks scattered across the soft skin of her neck, her bare collarbones, to where the silky white sheets covered the rest of her body, the one she shared with only him. The one where she would unclench her thighs so Calum could see the stretch marks on her skin and the one where she would often cover with her arms because she thought she was too heavy but would uncover herself for Calum. Because she trusted him.

She trusted him with everything she had. All of her secrets, her flaws, her dreams, her fears. Everything that was her… she trusted him with. She trusted him with the late night talks and the early morning drool, she trusted him with her stretch marks and her aspirations of her career, and she trusted him with the whimpers of fear when she was unsure.

It was so mind-blowing to Calum, that something as elegant and unique and special as she was, would ever trust him. She was something the world needed to worship and praise, but yet she lived quietly with him, trusting him. It was simple, really, how much she loved him. And how much he loved her.

He trusted her with his life… his existence… his everything. She knew him up and down, in and out, side to side, hair to toes, hand to hand, and everything in between. She knew what made him tick and what made him melt. She knew what he hated and what he craved. She knew his little quirks and absent doings and she knew his colour-coded speech. She knew what to do to calm him down after a hard day in the spotlight, working behind the scenes to make sure he didn’t go insane. She knew how to love him and talk to him, cooing at him and kissing his neck when she knew he needed it.

They were well-oiled machines that were filled with love and trust. They worked together in a way that not even an old couple could. They knew where to step to avoid the other while working in the kitchen together and they knew what place to avoid because the other would need it in a moment.

The love didn’t just keep it going, it was the friendship. It was the thrown popcorn at midnight and the ridiculous hours of eating Chinese food when one couldn’t sleep. It was the countless hours fighting over the other’s safety, just to realise they fought because they wanted the best for the other person. It was taking the driving shift when one was dozing off on their infamous road trips. It was Calum killing the bugs for her. And it was her sewing up the holes in his clothes. The friendship held inside jokes and a secret handshake they made up long ago while drunk off red wine and listening to the Foo Fighters. The friendship was covering for the other when someone needed a sick day off work. The friendship was having Jimmy John’s delivered to one of their workplaces, with no note needed, and the other’s order memorised down pat. It was the little things they shared that made all the gears fit together.

The trust was so unspoken between the two that it was the energy that kept the machine going. When one was afraid, the other empowered. When one was alone, the other comforted. When one was talkative, the other listened. It was a balance, an unspoken one that kept the machine going. The energy. There was a positive and a negative. A giver and a taker.

“I can feel you staring,” she hummed, brushing a piece of hair out of her eyesight, opening a single eye to peek at the boy.

“Did it wake you?” His voice rumbled, him scooting closer and wrapping both arms around her waist. She nuzzled her face into his chest, listening to the slow breaths and matching heartbeat.

“No… just stirred me awake slightly.”

Calum cracked a smile to himself, thinking about the engagement ring he had slipped on her finger last night without her knowing.

“Now I’m awake. I felt your heartbeat speed up. What’s up? You don’t get this excited in the mornings.” It was well known that Calum was not a morning person. He didn’t like leaving the little drool stain on her pillow and the memories of being tangled in their sheets together.

When her head poked from his chest, she used both hands to steady her on his tattooed chest. And that’s when she saw it. The huge rock sitting on her left ring finger, sparkling in the early morning sunlight. Her breath caught in her throat, immediately looking up to Calum for an explanation with eyes wide.

“Last night, we were laughing. We were laughing so hard you cried and I almost threw up. I don’t even remember what it was about, but I didn’t care because I got to hear your laugh. And I knew that was one thing that will forever remind me of you. It sounds like bells to me. Whenever I hear a loud church bell, or Christmas bells, or bells welcoming me into a store. It reminds me of you because it’s so melodic and fitting for any situation. It reminds me of warmth on cold winter days and the welcoming of me somewhere.

“Everything you do is connected to some part of my world. My bass picks remind me of the time that I taught you how to play and the look on your face when you played “Wherever You Are” for me. My shirts remind me of you because you hold me close no matter the day, no matter the time, no matter the conditions. You always keep me close, always showing me you’ll protect me when the time comes. They also remind me of the times you wear them around the house and refuse to give them back until I give you a kiss. My reflection reminds me of you. I always subconsciously flicker my eyes to see if you’re there, with me in the reflection somehow, even if we’re thousands of miles away. Because you’re the better half of me, you’re the most beautiful part of what I’ve become, and I want that to be visible to everyone… not just to me.

“I think of everything and I think of you. I think of everything you do and say and act and think. You are my world. Every little piece of the world, good or bad, has you in it somehow. And I realise how boring and barren my life would be without you. Christmas bells would just be for holiday celebrations and my shirts would simply be something I wear every day. Everything would be plain. But, you make everything more.

“You make my love more, you make my trust more, and you make me more. You’re someone who’s helped me grow and prosper but find my own path. You held my hand and helped me up when it just seemed like too far of a step up, but let me fall and make my mistakes on my own.

“You are everything. You are everything to me. And I’d be stupid as hell to let that go. And I would be selfless if I let everyone else see it. I want them to know that you’re the sun, the moon, and all the stars, without seeing all the depth and stories within you. I want to be selfish and hold you close to me for the rest of eternity. I want you to be my sun, my moon, and all of my stars, even when my soul becomes a star itself. So, what do you say? Is forever okay with you?”

All 399 polaroids are strung out on laundry lines, decorated with black sharpie scribbled in dates and fairy lights twisting upon the rope. Yards of laundry lines were decorated with a Polaroid from every day of their engagement. The day of being engaged, but not quite the last day of being engaged.

He stood outside her door, listening to her giggle with her bridesmaids. He had been pestering her for just one more polaroid, to make it all complete. But, she had her firm belief in superstitions and that he was not supposed to see her before she walked down the aisle. No matter how much he tried to lure her out, she dodged his claws like a clever mouse, giggling here and there just to let him know he wasn’t succeeding. One hand shoved in his tuxedo pants pocket, placing the other on the door frame outside of her dressing room.

“Just one photo baby, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Just one?”

“Just one.” He confirms, her steps get closer to the door. They stop for a couple of moments and he hears the snap and process of the polaroid. He smiles to himself in victory, not before hearing another one snap right behind him. He twirls around to see another bridesmaid with a matching Polaroid camera. She just smiles to herself, takes her developing photo, and walks towards the reception area to hang it on an empty slot that was right in front of the long table. Another bridesmaid appears from behind the door and slips underneath Calum’s arm, carrying the developing photo of his soon to be wife.

“You’re good, you know that?”

He can hear the smile in her voice, “I do.”

“Hey! Don’t say that just yet!” A bridesmaid shouts at his bride-to-be and he hears another laugh through the white door.

“Forever is okay with you?”

“Forever is okay with me.”

His hands were sweaty and he felt like if he wiped them once more on his tuxedo pants that the sweat stains would be visible. His arms are locked in front of him, trying not to attract attention by shaking. Everyone watches as his best man, Ashton, walks down the aisle with her maid of honour, her best friend. Then comes Michael with his sister and Luke with her childhood friend. Michael and Luke give him reassuring pats before the music picks up the volume, everyone rising for the bride.

The temptation to let out a wail is so damn tempting, but he keeps his mouth shut. He removes one hand from his intense lock to bring up to his mouth, completely stunned and in tears of her beauty. Her hair is pulled back in an elegant up-do, her makeup done flawlessly, and dress fitting her body so perfectly. She’s an angel. 

Tears begin to drip down his cheeks, Calum not even bothering to wipe them away as they are accompanied by many more. His smile quivers and so do his hands as he gets wrapped up in her beauty. Their eyes don’t break from each other once, each having their own tears and own memories and own promises between the two.

And when she’s finally in front of him, he just mouths, “Wow.”

Her father smiles before kissing his daughter on the cheek, pushing back her veil, and shaking Calum’s hand.

“Take good care of her, alright?”

“You have my word, sir.” One of his hands claps down on Calum’s back, while the other guides his daughter’s to his. Calum’s hands lock with his brides, eyes meeting as well.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

Calum and his bride turn to face the man who was marrying them, the friend who introduced the two of them.

She doesn’t even listen to the introduction or what story their friend was telling about her and Calum. She’s just telling silent stories with her eyes to him, him replying in this secret language that they’ve put together over the years. By the time the vows are in order, she grabs the handkerchief that the friend holds out to her with a giggle, while Calum fumbles with his piece of notebook paper.

He clears his throat, wiping at his eyes, “I wish to repeat everything I said to you the morning I proposed to you. But I want that to be between us, something special and something filled with love to hold onto when there’s a rough day and I’m not there to comfort you. I feel like I could say a billion other things about how you’ve changed my life. But, the one that stands out to me most is how you’ve saved my life,” he begins to choke on his words, “When times were dark and I kept bumping into the sides of the tunnel with no light by my side, you appeared like this little ball of happiness, so full of love and so bright, willing to do anything to make sure that I was okay. You guided me to the end of the dark tunnel and stayed by my side as I continued to walk on my path of life. You showed me loyalty and trustworthiness, you showed me unconditional love and selflessness, and you showed me a companion and a brighter world. You not only saved my life but made it the best it can be. Now, I promise you to be a companion, a loyal partner, and an unconditional love to show you selflessness, trustworthiness, and a brighter world with you just like you did for me. I promise to love you unconditionally in the lowest parts of your life and the highest parts of your journey. I promise to treat our children with the love you’ve shown me and I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe. I love you and I will spend the rest of the time showing that to you. I belong to you, wholeheartedly, in life and in the afterlife.”

Taking a deep breath, Calum looks up at her with tear-filled eyes, noticing that she too is crying, a lot harder than he ever would have thought. She’s smile through her tears, her face painted with joy and love for the man in front of her. Calum takes one of her hands in his again while her maid of honour hands her vows. Clearing her throat and dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief that the friend gave her, she looks up at Calum before looking down at her written words.

“Calum Thomas Hood. The name has a billion different meanings behind it and a billion different stories. Stories of how the first time someone said your name that I blushed, stories of how the second time we met you shamefully told me your middle name, stories of how the third time you were over at my house and begged me to make some cookies, only to steal the batter and I had to chase after you, yelling, ‘Calum Thomas!’ to get it back. For the longest time, it was stories behind your name that made me smile and blush whenever someone talked about you, but now it’s meaning. It’s the meaning of happiness, loyalty, trust, and love. I hear your name and I think of how safe and loved you make me feel, no matter the day and no matter the distance. You have put a new meaning in your own name as well as my own life. You give my life a different meaning, one that is oh so special, and one that only you can put there. I promise to give you the same meaning in your life, that you hold dear to your heart when the miles get too high, and the day gets too hard. I promise to show you a new meaning of love and happiness and loyalty as we spend the rest of our lives together. I hope that once we part, our souls find our way back to each other, because hell, forever is okay with me.”

The tears are splashing onto her cheeks, her voice cracking and shaking as she reads aloud her vows. Calum is staring at her with awe in his eyes and a look of love on his face, his eyes burning from his unspilled tears. Calum gently wipes away her tears with his thumbs, not breaking eye contact before holding hands and looking at his friend where he continues the ceremony. When the time for the exchanging of rings is to come, the maid of honour and the best man hand both Calum and her their rings for each other.

The officiant preps and guides Calum through his words as he slides the ring on her finger, “My love, a ring is an unbroken circle, a symbol of unity and love, representative of the greater circle of life of which we all spiritually are a part of. Having neither beginning nor end, but a continuous cycle of which you are an element. For you, it begins with the gift of life, and will continue through the end of time.”

She takes Calum’s ring and slides it on his left ring finger, smiling and repeating the same thing as Calum. Taking each other’s hands, they both eagerly look at the officiant to say the magic words. He makes it short and sweet,

“By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Calum, you may kiss your bride,” everyone cheers before Calum grabs her waist, pulling her close and kissing her so passionately and softly that it feels like time itself has stopped.

[patsdrabbles]

Stellar

Title: Stellar Fandom: M*A*S*H Pairing: Charles Winchester/Donna Marie Parker Rating: Gen Word Count: 4174 Summary: The year is 2530. A hum coming from beside him on the bench startled him and made him look down. Pierce’s digipad was still unlocked. He must have checked it only seconds before the new patient had been brought in. Charles didn’t mean to look; it was something only someone way below his station would do. But he had already seen the message before the lockscreen had turned the digipad’s screen dark. Charles quickly glanced away. I need to talk to you. I think I’m falling for Chuck. Someone... was falling for him? *** Sometimes it takes a crashing ship (not theirs) for two people to admit their feelings for each other. Space AU. :D A/N: Part 21 of my Daily Fanfic Chocolates calendar :D I got the wonderful prompt "Overhearing they have feelings for you" for Donna and Charles from the wonderful @blue-ravens, who also helped tons with editing this fic - thank you so, so much, my friend, for everything <3333 Please enjoy ❤

(links to AO3 and the DFC masterpost are in the reblogs!)

It was approximately 9.45 am on the Gromea system’s moon Delta V when his latest patient was pushed out of the operating room on a hoverbed and Charles allowed himself a breather for the first time that morning. He had been up and working for six hours already and while he had been on Delta V for almost two years by now, the shorter day cycles still messed with his sleep pattern.

His gaze was drawn to the window. It wasn’t the lush blue grass outside that caught his attention mere seconds later though, but a tiny dot in the sky above them, lighting up for a single moment before fading. He quietly cursed under his breath. Unless they had seen the attack coming and had evacuated the ship in time, neither the hospital station on Delta V or any of the emergency shuttles would be able to help this ship’s crew anymore.

For a moment, Charles pondered the “what ifs”. What if there weren’t a war between two of Earth’s closest allies – friends, in fact? What if the tension between the Allea and the Onae had lasted longer than the 320 Earth years it had, but no war would ever have started? What... what if humanity was actually drawn into this messy war in the end, despite both warring parties having pledged to leave them unharmed, permitting them to help both their wounded? ...what if there were no war at all and there was no need for a doctor again?

But he knew that the 320 Earth years long tension were merely very short forty years to the Allea and the Onae and that the tension between both species had always pointed into the direction things would develop. Peace negotiations had been attempted by several allied species but to no avail. And no need for doctors? He briefly closed his eyes when he remembered.

The HealthBox disaster of 2314.

The doctor-replacing boxes, controlled by AIs, had been introduced area-wide after a very long and successful testing phase. They were used for daily check-ups, medicating and even surgeries, when there was a need for it. All that was needed was a HealthBox and its patient. Several weeks in, a network-wide system failure occurred, however, killing several thousand people who were, at that moment, inside the HealthBoxes. Charges were brought against the company that had developed the system, and while the idea of the HealthBox hadn’t been a bad one, per se, the idea was never taken up again, even as technology advanced.

Other species who used similar health systems, such as Earth’s first extraterrestrial ally, the CO2-breathing Elosians, agreed that the decision was a wise one. Humans were considered physiologically far too complex and more vulnerable to damage than other species.

Charles’s attention returned to the operating room as a new hoverbed was pushed into the room by one of the Elosians working on Delta V’s hospital alongside the human staff. The young Allea was Pierce’s next patient however, so Charles decided to check the wall terminal for news. It seemed like they were nearly done for the morning. He almost sighed when a thought occurred to him. So no one aboard the ship above Delta V had made it.

He shook his head to himself and had just returned to his part of the operating room, when the door opened and Hunnicutt walked in.

“Hawk?”

The tall doctor met the chief surgeon’s eyes and gestured toward the hallway with a movement of the head.

“Potter need any help with the young nel in the decontamination room?”

Hunnicutt nodded.

“Kid started bleeding really bad and Potter needs some swift fingers to fix ‘em.”

“Shit.”

Pierce was already running past Charles as Hunnicutt started moving in the opposite direction to fill in for his patient. Charles briefly considered pointing out that he could have taken over the patient, as well, but Pierce and Hunnicutt were PierceandHunnicutt and one better didn’t get in the way of the well-practiced team that they were. It had taken Charles not long to learn that they knew very well what they were doing, communicating without words at times, as much as he would never admit it out loud.

A hum coming from beside him on the bench startled him and made him look down. Pierce’s digipad was still unlocked. He must have checked it only seconds before the new patient had been brought in.

Charles didn’t mean to look; it was something only someone way below his station would do. But he had already seen the message before the lockscreen had turned the digipad’s screen dark. Charles quickly glanced away.

I need to talk to you. I think I’m falling for Chuck.

Now, he could be sorely mistaken. Maybe Pierce knew someone who knew a Charles they and Pierce knew. Maybe a Chuck. But Pierce had never mentioned anyone of this name besides Charles himself, and they had both been stationed on Delta V since the beginning of this war. Also, he kept insisting on calling Charles “Chuck” or “Chuckles”.

His heart... did something funny. He couldn’t put it in words, not exactly, a potentially fatal mistake for a surgeon, but he was distracted and those were in fact his emotions messing with him.

Someone... was falling for him?

But then he considered the nameless sender of the message, someone Pierce had only saved as a knife and a blood drop emoji in his contacts, and he shuddered. Did he actually want to know who that person was, should it really be him they were falling for?

He was still thinking about this while watching Hunnicutt fix up Pierce’s patient when the door to the operating room swung open and in walked Donna Marie Parker. Dubbed “helping angel” by him and many of the staff and – jokingly – “knife Donna” by Pierce, who claimed that it couldn’t be possible to legally collect as many blood donations as her team always managed to supply them with. (“Jealous?” was what she would always ask with a grin when he mentioned it, and ruffle his hair. Pierce’s disgruntled facial expression never failed to make Charles laugh quietly. Once, Donna had bowed after leaving a spluttering Pierce behind and Charles had applauded, feeling a smile spread across his face when their gazes met.)

With Donna came some of her crew, all of them carrying supplies. Her independent help organization was the one who provided them with the most supplies, which was even more impressive when one considered the size of her team. But a team’s success, especially when it came to collecting supplies and donations from others, was only as successful as its leader, and as Potter once had put it: “That woman can convince so efficiently and intuitively, she could start wars and end them. We can count ourselves lucky that she’s dead set on ending this one.”

Charles had only just stood up to offer his help when she was already speaking up, clearly scanning the room for what would have been the equivalent of, some centuries ago, their commanding officer. Thankfully, it wasn’t 1950 anymore, though with the interstellar wars still breaking out every once in a couple of centuries, it did occasionally give off the impression.

“Where is Potter? He’s going to be overjoyed, we got almost twice the donations this time than last time round.”

She was smiling, justifiably proud of her team and herself, and it was as if someone had placed the sun in the middle of the room, she was radiant.

Charles startled when he caught himself thinking about her like that. When had this started?

“He’s in the decontamination room, fixing up a young nel. I wouldn’t expect him back any time before noon.”

She nodded at Hunnicutt, who was just putting away his gloves. “We’ll just leave what we got you guys next to the shelves, along with a list.”

The surgeon nodded and gazed at the hoverbed with the patient he had just fixed up being pushed out of the room.

Charles, meanwhile, was busy looking at Donna curiously. One of the nurses helping with stashing the new supplies away apparently had made a joke that had her laughing, a deep, hearty sound – he could hear it clearly where he sat and he found that a smile was tugging on the corner of his lips.

Hunnicutt turned toward Charles, a light, tired smile on his face himself, glad about one more patient that had made it. Allea or Onae, it didn’t matter to him who was brought into the operating room. He just wished, like all of them, that it would end, and soon.

“We should use the midday calm to hit the mess in a few, don’t you think, Charles?”

Charles startled at the question directed at him. He was just about to agree when Potter’s voice sharply rang through the hospital’s speakers.

“Everyone, gather up the patients and the CO2 supply masks for the Elosians among us and leave the hospital right now. Orbit Control gave us a Code 9 warning – there is a ship coming down and it might just hit us if we don’t move quickly.”

There was some cursing coming from Pierce, who must still have been in the decontamination room with Potter, and then the message ended.

They were trained for emergency evacuation procedures. Some noise broke out as everyone on their own feet started to hurry, knowing that they had mere minutes, but some voices loudly and calmly demanded only necessary communication. It quieted down a little afterwards, but the shuffling of feet on the floor and the cries of worried patients still pulled on everyone’s nerves, the staff’s faces tense as they worked.

Charles helped Hunnicutt and the nurses, pushing patients on their hoverbeds outside, through doors and windows alike. That was the hardest but also the easiest part. The patients were restrained to the hoverbeds by their gravity control system and wouldn’t float away once outside, and the nurses could click several beds’ ends together to pull as many patients at once into safety as possible. Charles could see Donna out of the corner of his eye once. She was helping with the evacuation but also instructed her team to save a good amount of supplies. He wished he could tell her how grateful he was for her thinking this far. Should the hospital be destroyed, they’d be without supplies for at least a week.

They had just evacuated the last of the patients, Hunnicutt already heading for the door to join Pierce, Potter and their patient, whom they had hastily put into one of the bubble hoverbeds they had for contamination emergencies, when another noise became noticeable, much louder than the original jumble of noise after Potter’s announcement.

It grew louder by the second until, for a blinding moment, everything turned white and too loud to make running possible. The next seconds, debris started falling and dust started to rise. Then, the sound of a spaceship, small as it might have been compared to the fleet ships still warring up in space, falling slowly to its side, the outer hull tearing in the process, filled their ears.

Charles couldn’t see anything and there were shouts coming from all directions, several nurses clearly having hurried back to help them. He wanted to speak up so that they could find him, but there was too much dust in his throat. He stumbled forward, one step at a time, and a silent scream escaped him when a hand suddenly touched his nose and cheek.

The “Help” was so quiet he could barely hear it, but it was there. And as the dust started to finally settle a bit, he could make out where he was and that the person behind the fallen parts of wall and roof and shelves and other debris could be none other than Donna.

He hastily began shoving aside what he could move, glad to be mostly unharmed, several nasty gashes aside, and some minutes later the hand was followed by an arm and another hand and Donna began shifting what she could from where she was trapped to help him.

Finally, she was able to free herself and climb through the opening they had created. She stumbled forward toward him, feet catching on the obstacles strewn all across the floor, and he stepped forward, catching her with a hand holding each of her arms.

“Thank you, Chuck.” It was quiet, her voice clearly as affected by the dust as his, but he could hear her without effort, anyway.

Her eyes met his, and for a moment, all the noise around them seemed to have faded away.

“Of course,” he managed to croak and neither of them was looking away and–

“Charles! Donna!”

The noise came crashing back in.

“They’re here, Pierce!”

Margaret, the hospital’s head nurse, became visible and Pierce soon after, as well. Charles and Donna found themselves ushered out of the nearest door while Pierce quickly began explaining.

“We need to hurry, there are still patients aboard the ship and a mechanic among our patients gave us an estimate of–”

He automatically looked for his digipad and realized that, as it had been in the operating room at the time of impact, it was probably lost for good. Margaret checked hers as they kept moving toward the ship as fast as they could.

“We have about twenty minutes left before this ship’s core goes up. And it likely will go up, with a crash like this.”

They left the hospital and ran toward the nearest port the other staff had been able to find. The ship’s engines might have been heavily damaged, but some systems aboard were still running. The noise outside was nearly unbearable. For a moment, Charles wondered if space would also constantly be this loud, would the vacuum of space carry sound.

Hoverbed after hoverbed of Allean wounded was being pushed out of the ship. The four of them joined the already assembled staff and helped move the patients as fast and safely as possible. It was more strenuous now that they were outside, however. The Elosian staff had to constantly wear CO2-masks, and even though they all were wearing gravity controlling boots that kept them from gently floating with every step they took, moving felt slower. Margaret kept giving them updates on the time every minute and after seven minutes, at last, the last of the fifty patients had been saved. On Potter’s instructions, the staff began to hurry through the blue meadow, hoping to gain as much distance from the ship as possible. Charles and Donna found themselves in the rear of their procession, pushing the last chain of hoverbeds together with some of the nurses.

There were approximately eleven and a half minutes left, when Donna suddenly stopped walking. Charles startled and, after indicating to the nurses to keep walking, stepped closer.

“What is the matter?”

Donna looked at him earnestly and he knew that something was very wrong.

“Nobody looked for the pilots in all this mess.”

She was already running back toward the ship as fast as she could and he hurried along.

“They are most likely going to be dead, but we still need to try to save them, yes.” He held his side as they kept running, the talking and an atmospheric oxygen pressure lower than that of Earth’s making it hard for him to breathe properly.

“Don’t you understand?” Donna looked over her shoulder briefly. “If they die – or are dead already – and the ship explodes, leaving us without a clue of what exactly happened?” She halted to pick up a long piece of metal lying on the ground near the ship. “This whole incident will most likely end up being misused as war propaganda.”

Charles blanched when the realization hit him. “You’re right.”

Donna handed him another long piece of metal, likely planning for it to be used as a lever should they need it.

Then, they entered the ship.

They had left with the patients only some two minutes ago, but now there were already noticeable differences. For one, it was hotter inside than before – the core was close to overloading. They would have to get the pilots and themselves out of there, and quickly. The noise level, too, had increased over the course of the past few minutes.

“C’mon, Chuck, it’s not far to the bridge from here.” Donna’s voice was shaky, but her gaze was determined, and Charles knew that he would have followed her anywhere. He trusted Donna with his life – and if that wasn’t a realization requiring some thinking over. But he shook his head lightly and followed her deeper into the ship.

There were close to no lights on anymore the further they went, and the walls were occasionally bent from the impact, blocking parts of the hallways they wove their way through. It felt like they were taking forever when really, only two minutes had passed when Donna shouted, “There! I can see the door to the bridge at the end of the hallway!”

Charles was climbing over something that blocked the hallway to catch up, but just when he wanted to agree, a piece of ceiling paneling came loose and hit the back of his leg. Donna came running the second he yelled in pain and helped him back onto his feet. He looked up to give her a grateful smile and thank her, but the words died on his lips. Because for the first time, he saw her looking worried, scared even. And then she was turning away again already and he isn’t sure if he imagined the murmured, “Shouldn’t have let him come along.”

Charles wasn’t able to make up his mind on what to make of her utterance, so he pushed the questions aside for the moment. He evaded further dangers from here on, loose cables and other wall fragments, trying to ignore the pain in his leg as he followed Donna onto the bridge.

The pilots, much to their surprise and relief, were still alive. They were badly hurt and unconscious, trapped between their chairs and flight consoles, but once they’d have them out of there, they would be able to treat them.

The way back, once they had freed the pilots from their traps with the help of their makeshift levers, felt like it took them twice as long as the way in, but Donna had her digipad’s countdown set on speaker, informing them of the time they have left every minute. They had four minutes left by the time they made it out of the ship’s port, a pilot each slung over their backs.

And Charles felt like sobbing with relief because Pierce and Potter were there, having returned to the ship with hoverbeds and worry etched on their faces.

“One minute later and we would have left!” Pierce shakily commented as he took Charles’s charge off him and heaved her onto the hoverbed.

“Off we go, kids!” Potter commanded, taking a last look at the ship, the humming now growing louder.

And they ran.

They ran until breathing hurt and they couldn’t run anymore, but kept running anyway. Then, Pierce and Potter pulled the hoverbeds down as near to the ground as possible and they all lay down, covering the pilots and their heads as well as they could.

The next twenty seconds were some of the loudest any of them had ever experienced.

The ship exploded. They held their breath.

And then the debris started to hit the ground.

They were far enough away to be out of immediate danger, but the heavy thuds of ship parts hitting the ground made them flinch as much as the original explosion had done.

As they finally scrambled to their feet, they saw that the majority of the hospital had gone alongside the spaceship.

“Holy moly.”

They could only nod in agreement with Potter’s silent exclamation.

“Let’s hope they’ll send shuttles to fight the fire soon. For now, we need to find the rest of the gang and try to help these two, posthaste.”

Potter and Pierce took over pushing the hoverbeds again, Potter not allowing Charles to help since he had very well noticed his limp, as well as the blood staining parts of his pants leg.

That was how Charles found himself slowly trudging down the field alongside Donna. He kept trying to think of conversation starters, desperately wanting to say something, but came up with nothing every time round.

Her hand brushed against his after some minutes and he turned his head to look at her, ash in her hair and on her face, looking tired but... relieved.

She didn’t meet his gaze right away when she spoke up.

“Thank you, Chuck. For–” She looked up then, and Charles’s breath caught. “For trusting in me and coming along. I mean–”

And now that all the adrenaline was abating, she let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

“I mean – we could have died, Charles!”

And he looked at her blankly, because yes, he had come to the same conclusion much earlier already and he had followed her lead despite the impending danger.

“Chuck–” And she was looking at him with big eyes and he didn’t understand why she was looking so sorry for what had been a remarkably rational decision and – she pulled him into a hug that was so tight that it took his breath away.

“Donna,” he coughed. “Donna, dear, you’re asphyxiating me.”

And she let go as if stung by a bee, yet didn’t move away. Her breath was warm on his cheeks – alive – and below the dirt on her face she was blushing. And Charles thought that maybe, maybe he could be bold about his feelings for once, maybe say or do something silly, such as taking her hand in his, but then Potter’s voice cut through the air and interrupted the moment they were having.

As they continued walking, still a good hundred meters behind Potter and Pierce, it hit Charles. “You are the knife and blood drop emojis in Pierce’s contacts.” The words were out before he could hold it back. She turned her head towards him and gave him a funny look, surprise mixed with disbelief. Charles would have laughed if he weren’t so embarrassed to have taken so long to figure it all out.

“I am?” she asked, and he realized that she didn’t know, but he was one hundred percent sure somehow all of a sudden and he was grinning like a fool.

He stopped in his tracks and she instinctively did, as well.

“What is it, Chuck?”

He shook his head for a moment, wondering how it had taken him so long to realize that in this whole damn war, the best thing that had happened to him? Was meeting her. And he had been a fool for not letting her know how much he had grown to like her before.

There were dirt and ash and blood all over their faces and clothes and his hands were shaking as he took hers into his. But it was okay, it was okay now. They had saved everyone and likely had prevented a war turning worse than it already was in the process. They had time now.

And Charles’s thoughts were a jumbled mess as he watched her looking down at his hands holding hers gently and then back up at him. A smile blossomed on her face as their gazes met. She lightly squeezed his hands and rubbed her thumbs over them, waiting for him to form the next words.

And he wished he had more to offer than a meal at the canteen on the next moon they were going to be stationed on, but maybe, when the current situation was over and dealt with, they could both take some time off, just a few days and–

“Would you care to go out to dinner with me?”

And it was silent for a moment, as silent as it could be on Delta V with a huge fire burning nearby and the sound of shuttles approaching to put out said fire. If Charles weren’t so sure by now that she was returning his feelings, he might have excused himself and left as quickly as he could with his newly acquired limp. But she liked him. She had told Pierce that she was falling for Charles, in fact. And the looks and conversations they had exchanged over the course of the past two years... he had been so blind.

Before he could even start worrying after all, however, she took a step closer and nodded.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” Donna answered with a tremble in her voice and the beginning of a smile on her lips.

“Splendid,” Charles replied with an equally shaking voice and placed a hand on her check, brushing some of the dirt away.

“Absolutely stellar, in fact.”

[charmingturkeysandwich]

I Could Use a Love Song Ch. 3: don’t need no reason or happy hour

Chapter 3 of my Country Singer!Emma AU is here. I added a tag on AO3 for alcohol abuse, because while I don’t think we have true alcoholism here... Emma’s coping mechanisms are shit and the heavy drinking isn’t the healthiest. I wanted to make sure that I added that warning here as well. Please don’t use alcohol like Emma does here. I know from experience it’s hella bad news. Find a therapist! This is actual advice, not a joke. For reals. Emma should have just gone to a counselor instead of making appointments with Jose Cuervo and Jack Daniels. If anyone has treated you the way this iteration of Neal treated Emma, talk to someone. If you can’t afford a therapist, talk to me. Seriously, no lie, no joke, I’m only alive today because I eventually adopted a dog and sought counseling to cope with life’s many traumas.

Mmmmkkay enough babbling. 

Also on AO3

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Their next few gigs were some of the best in Emma’s (admittedly tequila-hazed) memory, and for once that glimmer of hope for that future of fame and fortune… well, it felt like a hell of a lot more than a glimmer.

The crowds had been rowdy, raucous, and ready to sing along to every song on their whole set. A few people even more some of the merch Killian had started selling at the door, nothing fancy of course, but it made her heart burst with pride nonetheless.

It had all gotten so real, so achievable, so close to everything she’s been dreaming about before she ever really knew that dreams were a thing that could come true.

So of course something was about to bring back the quasi-comfort of her life always reverting to being a waking nightmare.

That was a deeply melodramatic way of putting it – it’s not like she was being beaten or shamed or any of the daily torments her tiny town had ensured were burned into her brain. But that was the problem with the past, wasn’t it? It wasn’t over, even when it was. Those days were past but they would always somehow be present, replaying in her brain and aching in her heart no matter how far from Pennsylvania their little van puttered.

(Whoever said you can’t go home again neglected to mention how hard it was to leave it, even after you’d physically gone.)

It had been a Tuesday. In some chain grocery store outside Virginia Beach, the sun glowing through the big front windows and the icy chill of the air conditioning raising goosebumps on her bare arms. Emma had only echoes of a hangover, so Ruby’s constantly chatting wasn’t nearly as grating as it could be. They moved slowly through the aisles, tossing various food and supplies in their cart, more than fulfilling the list Graham and Mary Margaret had given them.

They were still struggling artists but some weeks the struggle was… less. This was one of them and if they decided to celebrate with Patron instead of Jose Cuervo and fresh, organic honeycrisp apples instead of Great Value brand dried apple chips, well, it’s because they damn well deserved it.

They couldn’t have been more than a few feet away from the checkout when the radio (a constant calming presence, most days, being the object of their ambition and all) caused her heart to drop to the deepest pits of her gut, twisting her insides until she was nearly dry-heaving to get the gross sensation of feelings out of her body and in the sewer system where it belonged.

They say scent is tied to memory, and it surely is, but there’s something, too, in sound. Music had a distinct way of tying itself to a moment, to a feeling. For some people that feeling was joy, was love, could be better than the best drug to intoxicate them with no risk of hangover. But for Emma, for this song in particular, it was all hangover, no high.

I’m set on cruise control

I’m slowly losing hold of everything I got

You’re looking so damn hot

The lyrics were innocuous enough. Sweet. Loving. There was certainly some couple out there – many, probably – who smiled fondly at each other when it came on. But for her, it was just a reminder of how pathetic she’d been, once upon a time, how deeply manipulated she’d been. And oh, the consequences she’d suffered for falling for a sweet voice and a pretty face and a moment that had felt like a country song.

And I don’t know what road we’re on

Or where we’ve been, from starin at you, girl

All I know is I don’t want this night to end

It had been a song she’d listened to in Neal’s truck, on a back road, the moon high and the stars bright and her heart hammering in her chest before he leaned over the center counsel parked in his daddy’s field and kissed her like she was precious, like she was, like he could love her through this life and the next.

And even today, half-hungover in a Piggly Wiggly or whatever the fuck this place was, she still felt the whisper of butterflies in her. She still remembered how much she’d believed the lies and even hoped the bad stuff wasn’t actually real, holding on to nights like that first one, her and Neal seemingly the only two people on Earth and all she’d ever need to feel whole again.

Emma Swan was a fighter, a survivor, a strong, badass woman that no man would ever hurt again.

But one Luke Bryan song on a clear Tuesday afternoon had her so torn up in shame, she almost forgot her best friend was standing beside her, her little “family” of a band and crew waiting for her back at the block of hotel rooms down the road.

She wasn’t in Pennsylvania. Neal wasn’t anywhere near her. But she could practically smell his cologne and the exhaust of his truck and the fact that there was a tiny part of her that truly still wished it had all worked out, that he’d been the happily ever after she’d wanted, and she wanted to slap herself silly for how stupid one smart girl could be.

“I think we can afford some Reese’s mix, right?” Ruby asked, already tossing two bags in the cart as they entered the self-checkout line.

“Yeah,” was all Emma could respond, her traitor brain still wavering between wishing for an alternate ending to her stupid, sad tale and coming totally clean to Ruby about what horrors she’d suffered and hitting the road with her on a revenge-fueled quest to keep that fucker from ever hurting another sweet, could-be-innocent girl ever again.

“Emma, you with me?” Ruby’s voice was hesitant, her eyes wide as she took in Emma’s likely ghost-pale complexion and battle-ready stance.

(She was always fighting those internal ghosts and damn could those things travel.)

But she didn’t want to think about Neal or the bruises long-healed or how she wishes she could time travel back and prevent the most painful part of what that monster had done to her, the part where for a pretty little minute she truly thought she’d loved him.

No. The past might be doing its damnedest to creep into today but she was not going to let it.

Fuck you, Luke Bryan, and all your pelvic sorcery.

“God, I hate this song,” Emma finally croaked out. “I think we should celebrate today.”

“Celebrate how much you hate a song that I’m fairly sure David would kill you for hating?”

“No, Rubes. Celebrate this,” Emma motioned all around them, somewhat erratically, only serving to further confuse Ruby. At least for a moment. “We’re really getting somewhere, aren’t we? I mean, three hotel rooms. That’s, like, a record. We’re getting somewhere. You and I, we came from some shit, right? And now we’re headed toward something good and I think we should celebrate.”

“And how exactly do you propose we celebrate this? Because if it’s by having a four-way with Graham and Killian I’m absolutely in, with just a couple ground rules – “

Emma cut off her teasing before her brain had enough time to make any visuals of that: “Ew. God, no. Why does your brain even go there? No. I just meant, you know, hitting some bars or the beach or something. Day drinking. It’s the ultimate in enjoyment and not giving a fuck.”

“So you’re suggesting we celebrate the good the same way we drown our sorrows in the bad?” Ruby mocked, tossing the groceries on the conveyor belt and a packet of mints at Emma’s head.

“No, you drink your sorrows in the dark. You drink your celebrations when the sun’s out,” Emma said like it was the most normal, accepted thing in the world, like she was reciting it from a code of conduct instead of having made it up on the spot to cover for the fact that she very much, one hundred percent was drowning her sorrows but just didn’t have the patience to wait for the sun to set.

“Sure, Ems. Let’s go with that.” Ruby clearly wasn’t buying her bullshit – she always did have an excellent bullshit detector – but she went along with it all the same.

Emma paid for the groceries and hefted as many bags to the car as she could possibly carry, the burn in her arms like the warmth of the sun as she flip-flopped her way to the awaiting van, a great day of drinking and forgettingahead of her.

The usual six of them turned into seven that day, Killian’s old buddy from the service having been stationed at the naval base in Norfolk and here for a visit. Will, that was his name, and he was a pain in the ass in the very best way. He had been matching her shot-for-shot in the hotel room before they hopped the Uber to The Cove, a beachside bar favored by locals and tourists alike. He would tease her and taunt her and buy her drinks, but with absolutely the energy of a brother and not a I’m looking to get into your pants kind of way.

David saw her as a sister, sure, but he tended toward the serious, the protective. He cared so much and knew too much, and it kept him from being totally lighthearted or even downright rude. And Graham, well he never paid Emma quite that much attention, always on his own quests and whatnot. She couldn’t blame the guy, and truly she didn’t usually want attention, but there was something about today, something about the casual nature of her exchanges with Will that allowed her to just be free.

Killian wasn’t quite on board, though. Ever since she and Ruby had floated the idea of some casual no-show-tonight fun, he’d been weirdly quiet. Mary Margaret and David were notably excited, seeming to view it as an opportunity for date night, even with the five other tagalongs. And Ruby was pretty much always up for a party.

But Killian seemed to be cranky at her and she couldn’t figure out why.

“Let loose, why don’t you, Jones!” Emma shouted across the bar, Killian nursing a rum and coke while Ruby, Will, and Emma had joined another group of probable-tourists in a limbo competition.

“Eh, let him sulk,” Will had suggested, stumbling a little after returning to the upright position. He was suspiciously good at the limbo. Maybe he’d been a gymnast in another life?

“I’ll get him, Em,” Ruby promised, having fallen flat on her ass after the last round (the responding ooooohhhhhhshaving more to do with her skirt riding up to her waist as she fell than it was about the fall itself).

Ruby had spent the next hour or so in the corner with Killian, both steadily drinking but never really coming to re-join the party. So Emma and Will kept socializing with strangers while Graham flirted hard with a pretty girl and Mary Margaret and David found another grossly into each other couple to apparently double date with, because of course they did.

After a few drinking games, a few messy dances, and definitely too much liquor for before 5pm, Emma finally took a break, she and Will sidling up to the bar and ordering some nachos.

“Y’know, you’re not nearly as pretty as Killian described you,” Will said after a few minutes of nacho-focused silence.

“Hey! I think you’re insulting me and I don’t appreciate it,” Emma responded, cheese dripping down the corner of her mouth.

“Way he talks, you’d think you were a bleeding fallen angel or something. I definitely didn’t expect a hot mess who talked with her mouth full.”

“Hah! You said hot. I still got it,” she joked, chomping down on another cheese and chili covered chip.

Emma had become pretty good at reading people – people tended to adapt after you suffering the consequences of falling for it – and Will definitely wasn’t flirting with her. At least not with actual intent. So why on earth had he brought up her looks?

She was happy to play along with whatever game he had going, was even feeling a little bolder and more confident than usual with his carefree attitude and his backward compliments.

But his next comment was the proverbial bucket of ice on any of those feelings.

“He’s a good man, Emma. I hope you don’t toy with him.”

“Excuse me?” What exactly was this fucker accusing her of? She hadn’t even talked to Killian since they’d been at the hotel and she certainly hadn’t been mean. No, even at her most prickly, she was never all-out mean to him. He was a good guy, the type to hold your hair when you puked and nearly the opposite of her initial assumptions about him. Of course she’d never ‘toy with him.’ The fucking nerve of this dude.

“I don’t think you know me enough to continue those thoughts, Scarlet,” she warned, shoving the nachos away and downing her fruity drink.

“Don’t get me wrong. I like you, Emma. You’d make a good mate. But I’m more like you than you realize, and I know how many people I hurt before I got myself straight. Just … keep that in mind, won’t ya?”

And then the bastard just… left.

He didn’t say goodbye to anyone – not even to Killian – and left Emma pissed as all hell and sitting alone at a tourist trap in the worst city in all of Virginia.

So much for that attempt at celebration.

But before her thoughts (and actions) could turn to the dark side, Graham and David were approaching her for a friendly tournament of darts and after a couple bulls eyes and a little light taunting, her carefree spirit had returned, just in time to kick Mary Margaret’s ass and move onto the championship game between her and Killian.

“So, that friend of yours is something,” Emma observed, tossing her first set of darts and landing them with soft thunks into the felt.

“Will? Aye. He’s… he’s been a friend for quite a long time. There for me for some pain. So I choose to keep his pain-in-the-ass existence around.” His tone was light and his words sincere, but there was a weight to his expression that Emma didn’t quite understand.

He took his turn, little glints in his eye and mini-fist pumps when he hit his intended target. It was adorable, to be honest. But there was definitely something wrong and despite Will’s seeming accusations about her and her abilities to be a good friend, she wanted nothing more than to take away whatever pain he was reliving at the moment.

So she lost – yes, intentionally – and dragged him to the bar, ordering him some straight whiskey to loosen him up and hopefully to help him forget like she already was.

“Why, Swan, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk,” he practically purred, breaking the flirty tone with a gentle boop to her nose. “Which is usually my tactic.”

“Easy, Captain,” she joked with him, fiddling with the prosthetic ‘hook’ contraption he wore when they went out (it’s a perfect beer holder, he’d said, to which she’d responded yeah, right, you just want to play pirate).

Despite the fog of the liquor, a few facts clicked into place. He’d suffered some bad shit in his past, shit Will apparently witnessed. Killian had also lost his hand, probably in the Navy. And this town, it wasn’t far from a navy base. Could that have been his navy base? Had they inadvertently brought Killian to the scene of the crime, so to speak?

The way she never wanted to go back to her ‘hometown,’ the place she’d lived the longest and suffered the most… what if that’s how he felt here? What if she’d suggested they celebrate over the grave of whatever and whoever he lost?

God, she was a hot mess and she was dangerous, the way she sank into her pain without looking into anyone else’s.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she wanted to apologize. Or something. “I’m sorry about this. Or, I guess, about whatever led to this. Or accompanied it. I’m just… I’m just sorry?”

“For the ungodly amount of liquor you’re pressuring me into drinking? Don’t worry, love, I’m a big boy.”

Ugh, the deflection. She knew that tactic well. “No, I mean this,” she said, gripping the elbow of his damaged arm. “I don’t know what happened and I’m not asking, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry. Not in the fault kind of way. Just the way where I wish it hadn’t happened and I know there’s pain and you didn’t deserve it. Or don’t. Currently. You know what I mean.”

“I think you’re drunk off your ass, darling.”

“Call me darling one more time and you’ll be the one on your ass.”

“So defensive, jeez,” he quipped, finishing another drink and slamming the glass back down on the table, his face melting into something a little more serious, if only for a moment. “Thank you, Swan,” he said finally, cupping her cheek with his right hand.

Her heart about stopped as his eyes bored into hers. It was much too much, the closeness, the feel of his hand, the heat of his body, the truth in his eyes, and all she wanted was to go back to teasing and laughing and strangers who didn’t have feelings or at least didn’t share them with her and why did she even bring it up, anyway? Just because Will had made her feel bad? Why shouldn’t they drink away their pain if it quieted the demons for one blessed day? Why should we have to suffer the same memories over and over when instead we could just fucking let go.

She should have just stuck to letting go.

But his intense sincerity washed away in a blink, his flirty near-pirate persona back with a vengeance. “Now, Swan, what game shall I best you at next?” His gentle caress on her cheek turned into a full grip, his fingers scrunching her face almost comically.

“Name it, Jones. You’re on.”

Turns out their little crew had signed them all up for a cornhole tournament out on the sand and Graham had called dibs on Emma as a partner, for which she was thankful. He was pretty boss at all bar games, and she had a competitive streak even without her BAC being higher than her high school GPA.

But get her drunk and she’d pretty much lie, cheat, and steal her way to bragging rights on whatever silly game they were playing.

So of course she and Graham had made it to the finals, their opponents two bikini-clad college girls who could trash talk like no other.

Which is why Emma was totally fine with the little plot she had brewing in her head.

“Graham, we need distractions here.”

“What do you mean, like have Mary Margaret set something on fire again?”

“Oh, come on. Pretty girls. Fun, happy, drunk, pretty girls. I saw them ogling you earlier so they’re probably straight. Take your shirt off. Now!”

“I always said I’d reject your advances when you inevitably tried to get me naked, Swan, but you drive a hard bargain.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but Graham did as instructed, stretching lazily and pantomiming sweat before pulling at the neck of his t-shirt and whisking it over his head.

The girls missed their next shots, and Graham had the chance to win it with this last toss and Emma was ready to bust out her victory dance just a tad prematurely.

Until the brunette untied her bikini top and let the fabric fall to her waist just as Graham was taking his shot.

He missed, of course.

Damn, these girls were good.

“Can I be of assistance?” a husky voice offered, his breath ticking her ear lobe.

Killian, of course.

“What exactly can you offer, Jones?” Graham swooped in to ask, clearly annoyed that his bare chest hadn’t yet won them the game.

“Well, Graham, Emma here assures me that you’re one ‘fine specimen of man’ but sadly to those girls you’re all talk and no action, across the beach from them, separated by this very game. I think they need something a little more… tactile.”

Killian was over-confident when he was drinking, but it’s not as if he were wrong. If she were one of those girls and Killian came up to her, with his sultry accent and his maddening smirk and the way he’d run his fingers through her long hair…

Yeah, it would work. Definitely. Yup.

“Go for it, Jones, but don’t come crying to us if they don’t take to your charms the way you want them to,” Emma warned, rolling her eyes and banishing all inappropriate thoughts of Killian Jones to the dark recesses of her mind with her knowledge of calculus and the memory of that time she walked in on Mary Margaret sucking David off in their shared kitchen back in Pittsburgh.

Killians voice alone proved distracting enough for the blonde girl to miss her shot and Graham, his ego now challenged, sank his with ease.

Emma cheered far too loud and leaped into Graham’s arms, her legs around his waist, Ruby rushing up to high five them and pass along a few more shots to keep the day rolling.

By the time the sun sank behind the bar, the ocean in front of them streaked with the deep blues and purples of twilight, Emma was well past drunk and definitely no longer thinking of any painful backstories or traumas or anything, really, but the cinnamon burn of the Fireball and the feel of Killian’s arm around her as they walked down a set of stairs to a fire pit so much like those that she’d built on the banks of the Allegheny and yet so different, the smell of the salt of the ocean and the leather of Killian’s jacket keeping her brain from connecting the present to the past.

“Jones, haven’t you ever heard you’re supposed to keep your hands to yourself in the presence of a lady?” she teased, wiggling her shoulders where he was grasping her.

“Aye, but I see no ladies here!” He chuckled and she elbowed him and he bowed his head to her ear as they stepped down the last stair. “Besides, love, what if you’d fallen and no one was there to save you?”

She rolled her eyes again, shrugging off his support now that there was no excuse for it, solid ground beneath their feet. “Oh, I’m a loud screamer. Someone would have come for me.”

“Oh, how I’d like to experience both of those things for myself…” Killian groaned, his mind of course solidly in the gutter.

Emma just laughed it off and stumbled toward the fire, joining Mary Margaret and David on a log clearly only meant for two.

Tomorrow was going to be hell, definitely more than just the echo of a hangover. But they had hotel rooms and each other and now and really those things alone made every minute of tomorrow’s inevitable headache more worth it than she could ever have fathomed in any stage of her life before this one.

[nowus33m3]

Smile.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Prompt: “Guess who made the evening news?”

Warnings: None

Word count: 1719

A/N: Congrat’s to  @delicatelyherdreams for reaching 1K! (plus probably now) This is for #elles1kwritingchallenge . Hope y'all enjoy!

Unbeknownst to Tony, you had managed to add a few things to the design of the Avengers compound during its construction. Going behind Tony's back and bribing the architect to add secret tunnels and rooms had proven to be quite easy. Now you were able to reap in the benefits of your fantastic plan. Your design allowed you to have spaces you could go and hide out for hours on end. Your own lab where you could hide your toys, trinkets, experiments, and a garage for your much, much larger toys where none of the other Avengers would be able to play with them. Yes, this may sound a bit childish but you enjoyed having things that were simply all just yours. Your very own bat cave at the hands of your very own billionaire. So why on this particular day was someone else in it?

Barnes.

He was new to the team, and very much still an outsider, you only really saw Barnes connecting with Steve, his childhood pal. Sometimes an occasional interaction with Sam. The three of them were pretty much the bestie trio of the compound (or the closest things to best friends that earth's mightiest heroes could get). You had read his files, you liked knowing the intricate pasts of the people you lived with. You knew that he wasn't the same person that Steve grew up with. You knew that Steve (as much as he tried to hide it) missed his best friend terribly.

Barnes who was standing in your garage lost in thought staring at your 1997 Harley.

You cough to catch his attention."How'd you get down here?"

That startled him, he shifted his gaze away from the bike towards you. You were like a ghost in the tower, people rarely saw you if not only for the weekly debriefings and missions. You kept very much to yourself, you enjoyed being by yourself. This must've been the most amount of words you had said to Barnes since he arrived.

"Is all this yours?" He ignores your initial question motioning to all the vehicles in the room.

You nod as he glides his flesh arm along your sleek black Mustang Gt. You're frozen, not sure if you should scream at him to leave or let him continue to enjoy what's yours. You fiddle with your hands unsure of what to do, anxiously spinning the ring around your index finger.

"The hatch in the laundry room was left open," He says offhandedly moving towards your weapons wall.

Cursing under your breath you follow him. How could you have been so careless? Your breath falters a bit as he picks up the 1942 revolver. You notice something changes in his eyes and he places the revolver back in its spot and grazes his hand along the newer sniper rifle. It clicks that 1942 was his past, and the gun must signify the things he must've lost. Hesitating, you walk over to the wall of bookshelves on the east side of the room. You look back at Barnes briefly before pulling out “the catcher and the rye”. The shelf unhinges slowly and smoothly opening into another hallway.

Turning your head towards Barnes, he looks at you with curiosity. Smiling, you motion for him to follow you. "Well you're here now, I might as well show you the rest of it"

He follows you down the short hallway with dimly lit clear glass floors to a larger garage that had been retrofitted with a hangar door made from galvanized steel. Centered in the garage on a turnstile glass plate was your custom matte black Audi R8. You stood just inside the hallway door, grinning at your work. Barnes looks at you briefly before circling the car. Again, gliding his flesh arm along the body. Skipping over to the adjacent wall, you punch in the code retrieving the keys from the hidden panel.

“Do you think you’d be up for a ride?” You smile at Barnes, he looks up questioningly before shrugging and nodding his head.

“Great Barnes!” You toss him the keys over the hood of the car as you confidently slip into the passenger's seat, “You’re driving.” You beam.

Barnes follows suit, pushing the keys into the ignition the vehicle comes to life. The purr of the car was enticing and the dash lit up recognizing and welcoming both, you and Barnes into the car. Pushing a button on the dash, you silenced the engine and found the other button that opened the hangar doors which lead to a tunnel that allowed you to exit the compound undetected by F.R.I.D.A.Y. Barnes puts the car into drive and followed the covert corridor outside of the compound until you were able to see the brilliant orange sky of the setting sun.

“I'm not supposed to leave the compound” You spoke unprovoked.

Answering Barnes’ question before he thought to ask. Tony said that it was for your own safety, you were to go on missions and come home. That was your life, yet you wanted more. You needed more, so you created more.

“That’s why I made those tunnels, the hangar, the garage-” You feel like you're stumbling to fill the silence.

You could just sit and enjoy the passing landscape being a passenger for once. You feel as if you have to explain why no one sees you around the compound so much. Explain why you choose not to hang out with the other Avengers in your free time.

“It's how I feel free” you whisper turning your head towards Barnes to see his reaction.

He simply nods, gripping the steering wheel a little bit tighter. You decide that he may not want to talk at all. In fact, he may be regretting following the hatch in the laundry room right this second. Minutes pass before he decides to speak.

“You know, you can call me Bucky,” he states shifting his eyes to meet yours briefly before returning to the road.

You smile, “I will try.”

You continue to drive another 15 minutes before you reach the outskirts of a populated town. The whole point of the compound was that it was in the middle of nowhere. Unlike the old Avengers tower in New York which was practically a large bullseye saying “Send Your Airstrike Here!”

“Stop at the diner there.” You motion for Bucky to pull into the diner parking lot on the right side of the street.

Leaning into the backseat, you pull out two navy baseball caps and hand one to bucky.

“These will do, they don’t pay much attention to big city events too often around here.” placing the cap on your head, you exit the car with bucky in tow.

Once you guys enter into the diner, you choose a booth in the back corner closest to the side door exit and away from the windows. A brunette waitress wearing a light pink button up with a white apron attached to her checkered skirt approaches your table.

“Can I get Y'all started with a cup of Coffee?” Both you and Bucky nod then smile at each other for the shared silence. She chuckles.

“Oh my, did someone forget to close the refrigerator? You could freeze an ice pop with this silence, first date jitters?” She smiles, “No worries, this cup of coffee will warm Y'all two right up!”

You feel your face heat up, this was definitely not a date. Especially since the total word count between you and Bucky was up to only 50.

“We’re not-” You both start, before sharing a glance and laughing.

“This is not a date,” you state reading her name tag, Martha. Such a nice simple name. Martha.

“My bad Darlings, I shouldn't have assumed. I do know it is possible for a guy and girl to be just friends nothing more nowadays.” You internally laugh at her use of ‘nowadays’ like she isn't only a couple of years older than you.

Nowadays like she has been left on this earth for centuries and has seen some things, maybe she has seen somethings. She hands both Bucky and you and menu.

“Now Y'all just flag me down when you're ready to order.” she pats the fronts of the menus and smiles.

“Thanks…. Martha.” Bucky smiles as Martha winks at him and pivots on her heels towards the counter.

“She is very relieved that I am not your girlfriend” You state peering at Bucky over the top of your menu. You gage his reaction then continue.

“You should go for it, she seems nice.” You move the menu higher to cover your face.

He chuckles, placing his menu on the table.

“Yes, because ‘Ex-Assassin dates local girl’ is definitely a headline Tony would love to read.” You snort, taken aback by his sense of humor.

Who knew Bucky could let down his serious demeanor and be funny?

“He would definitely not let you live it down. I can see him coming into one of the debriefings, placing the morning paper on the table and sarcastically saying ‘Guess who made the evening news?’”

You're both laughing now. This is nice.

He adds. ”Though Sam and Steve would be over the moon. They practically remind me every day that I should get back on the ‘so-called’ horse.”

“Of course they do. Sam’s an instigator, you know he’ll stand behind anything that offers a healthy dose of drama.”

You are both cackling in agreement, this is very nice.

Mentally you hope that you’ll get to hear Bucky’s laugh more often. Once you both had quieted down, Bucky waves at Martha.

“What can I get Y'all?” You order a breakfast plate with a chocolate milkshake and Bucky orders a burger with pop.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a strict training diet or something?” you smirk, raising your eyebrow at his decision.

“Aren’t you?” he returns.

“Touché, touché.” you nodded.

You both continue to laugh and joke, not really touching the serious stuff. Just getting to know each other better than you had before.

Closer to 8, you decide that you've been away from the compound for a good chunk of time. You leave a sizeable tip for Martha and head out of the diner.

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Thanks for reading. ♥

shout out to @totoromakeshappiness  and @rimroseeverdeen for the help!

[skruffie]

It’s not the anniversary yet, but it IS National Siblings Day and I conveniently forget that this is even a thing until I go on Facebook or Twitter or something and remember. This year is a big milestone for my family because it is the 18th anniversary, which marks a passage of time from now to forever where she has been gone longer than she was alive.

I saw this thing on Facebook about grief, and it went something like grief is this hole, and you can try to fill the hole with whatever you can, but nothing fills it. It’s bottomless. It seems like your entire life gets sucked into it, but eventually as the years go on... the hole doesn’t get smaller. Your life gets bigger, and it grows around it. The hole is always there, but there’s more expanse around it as you move through each anniversary, each holiday, each milestone. It’s similar to describing grief as “it doesn’t get easier, you just get better at coping”.

(This is going to be very long and probably very sad because I talk at great length about her life and death)

I tried to write about a little bit about Nicole on Twitter today, but my initial post mentioned the word “cancer” which caught the attention of this fucking asshole that was advertising faith healing on his timeline. That dulled my grief a bit but it sure made me mad.

Trying to remember things.

We were seven years apart so we never really had a sibling rivalry or anything. I actually looked up to her so much--she was like a teenage rock star to my child self. She loved writing and wrote lots of poetry, got published in an independent zine by age nine, and through her adolescence was a bit of a grunge punk. She played piano and bass. She wore combat boots. Occasionally she dressed up with the full make-up and everything and called them her “pretty days”. She had a lock of hair in front of her face she kept in a small braid. She did blogging before the word “blog” even existed by maintaining an email list of friends and family, and she would email her updates directly to them. She coded her own websites and experimented with graphic design. She did photography. She’s why I love nail polish and tarot cards and Doc Martens--her own boots had navy blue laces with suns and moons on them. She had a huge, huge crush on Dave Navarro. She would buy hostess cupcakes for the kids at school who didn’t have food, and she kicked her own friends out of our house when they tried to bring alcohol to her party.

Nicole grew up with the brunt of our parents’ addictions before I came along. My mom (seen with baby Nicole in one of the photos above) and dad were only 19 when they had her and got married. When she was younger, they actually split up for a while and I think my great-grandma helped take care of her. My parents both went to rehab, got back together, and then had me, so... I was the baby that grew up in a sober house for a while at least. My parents still argued and it bothered me a lot when I got a bit older, so she’d come get me and take me to her room and bring chips and bean dip, and I’d have a safe place to cry.

...That’s a thought I just had right there. After she died, I didn’t really have that same kind of shield from my parents fighting (which was a lot worse after her death--a lot of couples who lose a child end up divorcing and my parents came close), which I think is probably what made the emotional neglect worse.

I don’t remember the exact progression of her cancer, but things started getting noticeable when she started developing night-blindness. I think at the time there were some doctors that didn’t believe she could be getting cancer so getting the insurance to cover tests and treatment was a fight every single time. A tumor started growing in her left arm, and the diagnosis was finally clear: rhabdomyosarcoma. She asked the doctors after her diagnosis if it was genetic, because even after that, she thought of me. (Thankfully, it isn’t. It was just a stupid, cruel twist of the universe.)

She got chemo, started to go into remission, and eventually it came back. Nicole then got a stem cell transplant when it was getting worse--more tumors, etc etc. I had met with a grief counselor at the hospital once or twice during this time period, even before we knew for sure it was terminal, because I was 10 going on 11 and needed someone to help me process and also like... kinda pay attention to me? Admitting that feels weird, but I was just a kid.

The day that I found out that the stem cell transplant didn’t work is probably almost worse than the day she died for me. They brought in a minister and we sang “Amazing Grace” and I watched her be baptized, and while she was being anointed, I kept asking everyone “Why is she being baptized? Why??? Why?! We’re Wiccan!!” Which was true. Nicole also underwent a Wiccaning around this time. Everyone was ignoring my questions, until finally it was time. She told me the stem cell transplant had not been successful and broke down crying, and I immediately understood what that meant, and I started screaming and crying. I started screaming to see the grief counselor, and I had to leave the hospital room to go with the counselor down to my favorite spot on the hospital campus.

Fuck. I hate Easter. I fucking hate Easter. It was around Easter time and this holiday plays a role in this awful memory of mine: at the hospital, some very kind person made little easter baskets for all the kids that were on the juvenile cancer ward, and I even got to get one even though I wasn’t a patient. I was starting to open mine but Nicole just looked at it. She said “Why do I get one? Why do I get one when I’m going to--” and probably started crying. I put my basket aside because the thrill of like... easter chocolate or whatever the fuck was gone. I don’t think I’ve been able to enjoy this holiday since.

Make A Wish was involved at some point, obviously. NIcole’s original wish was to meet Tori Amos, but her management team responded with “Uhhh, Tori doesn’t really do that” which was disappointing at first. (A few years later, a couple of Nicole’s friends saw T live in concert and met her at a meet and greet. They told her Nicole’s story and I guess she had no idea actually, so I believe it was a decision firmly on the management’s side.). The next wish had to be rushed, and Nicole realized that she wanted to go to prom. The actual senior prom for her high school was going to be too far out in advance with her surviving that long, so Make A Wish threw together a special prom just for her and about 150+ attendees.

The prom was held at Newport Harbor on a yacht. Rebecca Schoenkopf of Wonkette, known in 2001 as CommieGirl for the OC Weekly, met with Nicole once prior to this and attended as a prom guest to write about it. Naturally, Nicole was crowned prom queen and when she stood up to receive the crown, it was something magical. She had spent most of the evening in and out of sleep from being so ill and from the medications she was on.

When she was dying, she wanted to be at the hospital. I stayed at my grandparent’s house... probably for a couple days, I don’t actually remember how long it was, and my parents were there for her. I believe she died in the early hours of the morning on April 30th, two days short of her 18th birthday. I had a moment that morning that I consider a small blessing, which is that I found out she was gone before anyone had actually told me, and it gave me a brief reprise to just be by myself while I gathered up my will to go downstairs and face my parents. I had been in the process of going downstairs, and I saw my mom come out of the bathroom, and that was it. That was all I needed to see.

She had them write a letter as her own personal message to me. Two days later for her 18th birthday, my cousin sent us 18 lavender balloons. I don’t think we had her memorial until the 11th of May and I know this because it was the same day Douglas Adams--one of Nicole’s favorite authors--died. We joked that she took him with her. Nicole was cremated, and I do remember there was at least one funny moment that morning as we were getting out of the car. My mom handed me the wooden box that had Nicole’s cremains in it and said “Here, hold your sister for a sec.” We got a touch of that grave humor in my family.

One of the hardest things about this... hole of grief, is aging. My parents are in their mid 50s now, and I’m going to be 30 next year. I don’t have any other siblings to help take care of my parents. My mom rather flippantly says “Oh, put us in a nursing home”, but that just feels so bleak. I don’t have my sister with me to help with my wedding, to meet Zack or any of my friends, to talk to about our past and our future. She’s not here to kick ass and build amazing apps or tear down the patriarchy or be on the ground reporting the latest news break. There’s so many milestones I’ve already crossed without her but I am always going to miss her.

Bon swayr, ma souer.