#not pictured: the big tear + all the paint stains in that jacket

[mimiteyy]

Do I look like an elementary school art teacher?

[instantinternetcrush]

a year ago i was a fragile broken bird of a person. i’d cry and cry but the tears wouldn’t come so id just stare numbly at this corner of the room where the walls were painted like teeth, or a circus tent. i spent the last of the money buying you christmas presents that you didn’t appreciate. you still wear the shirt.

i weighed 98 and my hair was not blue anymore. i dyed it shortly after that party where you kept kissing my face and telling me i was the prettiest there. you made me leave early because i was fucking up your game. i fell asleep in my fishnets. when you came home you were drunk and it was my problem. it was always my problem. you told me you loved me a few weeks from today. i laughed and said, “you too, buddy.”

you didn’t know i hated you then. but you gave me the silent treatment for a week anyway. when you gave up on your vow of silence you smashed your forehead into a light switch while i begged you to stop. the blood was thick and it almost tasted like raspberry jam. i poured peroxide all over the floor where it spilled and left the bath mat stained with those almost bleached spots.

she tells me i was slowly withering away. i look at the pictures and i see it so clearly. my skin pulls tight over a forced smile and too many bones.

a few months after the fact i’m still shaking off the dirt and calling you a bad dream. you say that you kept me in some type of cage. that i had been caged because i had the audacity to care. i don’t know how to tell you i didn’t do i fake my tears with eye drops and a sweater sleeve. you make me the villain anyway.

i say it’s fine, because truth be told i have 6 more months of this before im living somewhere too expensive and too nice for the likes of you to step foot in. you’re better suited to vegas lights and impulsivity. maybe i am the alligator.

you’d get that joke if you listened to my stories, but i understand why you didn’t. i tell you im good at playing the villain. its the role in your story i was always suited best for. i can play cartoonishly evil pretty well.

no big plans for world domination, i’d be fine with ruining your day. i walk through the halls like a ghost and get scared when i come across a mirror.

is that really me? i say every time, so incredulous like id just received the gift of sight. babe, you say, it’s always been you.

but i got to keep all the good things. you stole my bedsheets, and my posters, but i got to keep everything else and i can say that im happy with that. i had to wash the blood stains off in the same bathtub that’s been haunted since april, but i can say im happy about that too. never mind every time im in this room i feel like im being screamed at by a hundred ghosts.

we’re almost friends again. you all but beg me to keep playing the villain a little longer, and i can’t explain why i do it. boredom? money? either way it’s something to do.

my mother tells me the cynicism is no longer charming. i laugh and she says, “there’s my baby.” i cut my hair and she says, “there you are again,” while i wash it down the drain like an unfinished bottle of champagne flows through the cracks in the floorboards. i don’t know how to tell her i’m taking the cats, too.

maybe this next big adventure will not bring me happiness. maybe you’re right and we’re two of many chronically unhappy creatures in this big big world. i seek it anyway.

this green and yellow finch hops around outside my door and i tell it it’s luckier than i am. it flies away and i say, “damn straight.” the clear liquid poison goes down easier when im drowning something instead of drowning myself in it. perhaps the story is not so black and white.

i tell myself i’m worthless, and you tell me i’m not. i give you all my money like my personal wealth manager anyway. you say i make bad choices and i tell you you look better in green than i ever could. you say the jacket matches my eyes and i laugh.

[emmyhem]

always (l.r.h) part two

a/n: hi everybody! here is always part two, this is actually one of my favorite writings and one that I was looking forward to writing and posting a lot. it’s another angsty piece but with a sappy happy ending :) also it’s unedited but what else is new. i’ll probably post again tomorrow either a bestfriend!calum piece or a roomate!luke piece that are titled in my masterlist. i hope everyone enjoys and is having a wonderful day. i definitely am after that livestream today. (i would say that i didn’t cry because of how good and happy they all looked but that would be a lie) anyway i hope you enjoy and as always my messages are always open to chat or whatever and feedback and comments are always appreciated. thank you - emmy <33

pairing: luke hemmings x fem!reader 

summary: it’s time for you decide whether or not luke’s mistake is worth losing the love of your life. 

warning(s): mentions of alcohol, cursing, angst (but with a happy ending), self doubt, insecurity, mention of throwing up 

word count: 2.9k

pt. 1

The longer you watched the window the more you were convinced mother nature was taunting you. The rain droplets that cascaded down the glass mirroring the tears that hadn’t stopped falling since you left Luke speechless in the driveway. It had to be for your benefit, I mean it was Los Angeles. California was in a drought for god’s sake. 

Despite the fact that nature was mocking you, you couldn’t dare pull your eyes away. The alternative was to face the endless voicemails waiting for you on your phone that glowed dimly beside you. You knew you would have to hear them eventually but right now you knew that even a breath, let alone full sentences from Luke would break you in every sense of the word. You feared the sound almost as much as the content behind it.

 You weren’t ready to be okay, you needed to wallow in your pain for a bit longer. As bad as that sounds you knew it was the only way you could convince yourself to let him back in, to forgive him. It was also the only way you could forgive yourself. Your body needed to feel how tortured you were without him, how much you needed his affection, his love, and him. Not his money. 

Part of you knew deep down that Luke didn’t mean what he said, the part that awakened the butterflies that had taken permanent residence in your stomach since he had entered your life. The part that caused all your senses to align when Luke kissed you the night you finally understood what it meant to love someone with everything you have. The same part that was clawing at your heart right now as your mind replayed the look of pure devastation that was painted on Luke’s pretty features as you drove away from him. That part was itching for you to run to him, to cuddle into his embrace and say “I forgive you. I’ll never leave you again. Love me?” 

But, it was the other part of you that was causing the problems right now, the part that snuck up on you each time you felt secure in yourself and tore it all down in seconds. The part that told you there was no way you were good enough for your boyfriend when you stared at your reflection in the mirror for even a second too long. The part that Luke was typically the one to silence when it overwhelmed you in a crowded room, with just a tender kiss to the forehead, or squeeze of your hand. The same part that constantly craved for Luke to be proud of you the way you were of him in anything he decided to pursue. That part was completely shattered last week when, whether intentionally or not he showed you that not only was he not proud, but also felt burdened by your lack of brilliance. 

“Y/n,” your friend called, breaking you from your self-loathing thoughts as she approached your brittle body, enveloped in every single fuzzy blanket you could get your hands on. 

“Hi.” you croaked, pulling your stinging eyes from where they had settled on a particularly large rain droplet that had stolen your interest as you wondered how much more water it could withstand before it burst from its flawless embodiment and shattered to the sill below. You wondered the same about Luke, how much more of your insecurity and emotional baggage would it take for him to burst. How much more of your mediocrity could he compensate for before you began to strip him of his excellence? 

“Have you talked to him yet?” she inquired, eyes going soft as she looked at you with sympathy. 

“No.” you groaned, pulling yourself up. “Do I have to?” 

She shook her head, dismissing you. “You know that you’re welcome here as long as you want, but anyone could tell that you’re completely miserable without him, even if he is being an epic prick.” 

You sniffled and wrapped your arms around your best friend.

“Am I an idiot for wanting to forgive him?” you spoke into her hair. 

She returned the embrace and settled next to you in the bed, “I think if he really is sorry then you’re incredibly strong for it. And you’re never an idiot, that would be your blonde haired beau.” 

You laughed softly at her innocent dig, the giggle catching slightly in your throat as it had only been releasing pathetic pleas, and broken sobs for the past few days. 

Y/f/n handed you your phone, the photo of Luke and Petunia sitting by the pool being almost completely covered by all the missed call notifications that had taken over your lock screen. 

“I think you should at least hear what he has to say babe, for your sake if not for his.” 

You let out a heavy sigh and accepted the phone, wrapping your favorite blanket around your shoulders and dragging your feet to the bathroom for some privacy. 

You took a seat in the empty bathtub throwing the blanket across your body. You reasoned it was the perfect place to listen to the messages because as soon as Luke’s voice flooded the room you would be completely submerged in him and you didn’t trust your legs to hold you up. 

You clicked the most recent voicemail, time stamped from 1:28 am last night. As you selected the speaker option you allowed your eyes to fall closed and without noticing or trying you held your breath. 

“Y/n,” 

Only one word in you could immediately tell two things without a trace of doubt. One, he’d been crying, and two he was drunk. If you had to guess you would say tequila, it had always been his favorite and he had a bad habit of nursing his wounds in the liquor cabinet. It shattered your heart to think of him broken, and vulnerable and as he continued to speak you found yourself wrapping your arms around your body for comfort. 

“I miss you and I’m sorry. I-” his voice cut off as a sob played through your phone. You released a matching one while squeezing  your eyes tighter, a shaky hand bringing your phone closer as if it would bring him as well. 

As he continued, your mind began to paint a vivid picture. You saw him sitting on the kitchen floor, an old ratty sweatshirt struggling to keep him warm, damp tear stains spoiling the sleeves. There was a half empty bottle to his side and the tip of his nose was red as it peeked out from the hood. You shook your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the image that felt like your personal nightmare.

“I-I can’t live without you, really I don’t think I can. I need you and I love you. I love you so much. Just please come home to me, please baby.” he spoke through gasps of breath that caused worry to spread across your body.

You paused the message as a dull ache creeped up from the bottom of your stomach and to your throat which was tightening by the second. You tossed your phone onto the blanket which you had kicked off as your body heated up, and sprung out of the tub landing firmly in front of the toilet. Gathering your hair into a makeshift ponytail in your hand you hunched over and retched into the bowl. Y/f/n burst through the door as you gagged and coughed repeatedly, she took your hair from you and rubbed soothing circles on your back as you tried to focus your breathing through your nose. This wasn’t the first time you had cried yourself into throwing up during your stay so she knew what to do to calm you down and settle your stomach. 

As you finished the glass of water she had poured from the sink while you brushed your teeth she held your car keys out to you. 

“Please go see him. I can’t see you like this anymore.” 

You nodded accepting the keys reluctantly and made your way to your car.

 Once outside you noted that the rain had started coming down harder, it seemed fitting as your situation reached its climax. By the time you got into the car your hair was wet and stringy, dripping onto Luke’s shirt that you had been wearing since the night you left. You quickly tied it back and drove away, hoping the sound of the rain could calm your nerves before you got back to your house. 

When you got there the sun was setting and the rain was still falling steadily, you grabbed a jacket from the back seat and held it over your head as you ran to the house. The jacket didn’t give you much protection from the water and you were soaked by the time you reached the door. Taking one big breath, in through your nose, and out from your mouth as you had been repeating the whole ride there, you raised your quivering hand and knocked three times. 

Expecting it to take a few minutes for him to reach the door you were shocked when it swung open in just a few seconds. Your heart sunk as you took in Luke’s appearance, although you were sure you looked just as bad if not worse. Deep dark circles sat beneath his bloodshot eyes, his stubble had grown in a bit longer than he typically liked it and his lips were chapped and bitten down. Guilt panged in your chest, how awful of a girlfriend were you to let it get to this point? The thought made you question if he would even want you here. 

Apparently the time apart had completely fucked with your ability to read Luke’s face because even frozen in shock, his eyes began to fade into that special soft color of blue they only got to around you. He felt as if a giant weight had been lifted from his chest and just as it had been since the moment you left the only word running through his head was “y/n.” 

He didn’t see your messy, wet hair or the ratty tshirt that swallowed your figure. He didn’t see your eyes puffy from crying or your bitten down nails that you were bringing back up to your mouth in that moment as your nerves got the best of you. All he saw was y/n. His y/n. You came home to him and as far as he was concerned you looked like an angel. Warm, sweet, and perfect. So fucking perfect. 

Your eyes ran over his face anxiously, waiting for him to say something, or invite you in, or even slam the door in your face. Anything. After a minute of silence you gathered up the courage to speak first. 

“Sorry I never called you bac-'' your words were knocked from your mouth when Luke took a step forward and wrapped you up into the tightest hug you’d ever experienced. Your limbs fit together perfectly, and the second your bodies met you felt recharged, as if everything was in place once again. And Luke felt like for the first time in a week he could breathe. 

“I don’t deserve you.” he sighed as you pressed your nose into his chest deeply breathing in the smell you could only describe as home. “Thank you for coming back to me, I don’t work without you.” 

From your position in his arms you could see the mess splayed on the floor behind him. It was just as you had pictured it earlier, a thin blanket and scratchy throw pillow were scattered on the floor in front of the sink, a bottle lying on it’s side just next to them. Guilt inched up your spine when your eyes made contact with a framed picture of the two of you on top of the blanket. 

“I’m sorry.” you sobbed into his chest, your hands clawing at the material of his sweatshirt. 

He pulled back quickly, keeping his hands on either sides of your waist, “No baby, why’re you sorry. This is all my fault, I was awful. You...you’re perfect.” he pressed as you shook your head in distress, unable to stop your tears. 

“N-no I stayed away for so long, even when I knew I wa-wanted to forgive you. I was embarrassed and...and selfish.” you struggled to speak over your tears while Luke looked down at you sad and confused. 

“What’re you talking about, love?” 

You sniffed and dropped your hands from Luke’s chest, “I j-just wanted you to be proud of me.” the end of your sentence was nearly lost in your sobs but Luke understood. And in that moment he regretted going into music instead of engineering, or science, or whatever would’ve helped him to invent  a time machine so he could go back and beat the shit out of whoever or whatever had possessed him last week. 

His hands moved to cup your cheeks, his thumb tracing lightly over your bottom lip. 

“I am proud of you baby.” 

He leaned in slowly, and hesitantly, almost as if he was testing the waters, like this was new. As if he hadn’t kissed you thousands of times before. You looked up at him through your lashes littered with unshed tears and nodded your head slowly. He still had so much left to say, you still had so much left to say but you both had been needing this for as long as you’d lost it. He pressed his lips to yours gently, afraid that even one wrong move and you would decide that you had made the wrong choice in coming back. He wouldn’t survive that, he couldn’t lose you twice. 

As he went to pull away you snaked a hand around the back of his neck pulling him back towards you. This time when your lips collided his body sagged into it, both arms wrapping around your back and lifting you up to the tips of your toes. Your eyes drifted shut and you reveled in the feeling of him pressed up against you like this. When the kiss broke you kept your faces close enough that your noses were touching, and opened your eyes to see Luke’s still closed, his eyebrows furrowed as he pressed his forehead to you. 

“You’re what I’m most proud of.” he exhaled, his eyelids still shut lightly. “My greatest achievement is getting you to love me and I can’t believe I almost blew it.” 

You brought a hand to his face and stroked his cheek lightly, the feeling of his overgrown stubble foreign to your fingers. 

“It would take a lot more to get rid of me.” you assured. “I think m’too in love with you.” 

He opened his eyes, locking them with your own, and spoke firmly but with a softness that was and would always be reserved for only you. 

“I want to make it clear that you do not in any way leech.” he dragged the last word out, laced in disgust as if it were hard for him to say. “I lucked out. I actually just seem to keep lucking out, my job, my life, and you.” He placed a hand across your jaw and tilted your chin up before continuing. “I completely lucked out with you. I have lots of money, more than I need actually and it makes me feel fucking incredible that I can take care of you. That’s all I wanna do for the rest of my life.” 

Your mouth broke into a smile hearing him verbally commit to a lifetime with you. 

“But, with that being said I know you don’t need me-” 

“I do need you.” you interrupted. 

Luke threw his head back at your words, a toothy grin overtaking his face before he pressed a chaste peck to your forehead. 

“Y’know what? You’re too fucking cute. I meant financially baby, m’trying to apologize here.” 

You nodded for him to continue, struggling to contain your own beaming smile. 

“Anything you decide to do occupationally or otherwise could never, ever let me down. You’re physically incapable of it. I’d be a lucky guy if you let me stick around for it all and I promise to never forget that again. I’m sorry I did in the first place.” he took a deep breath before finishing his rant. “M’only able to give you the world if you let me. Let me?” 

You answered his question by attaching your lips once again, desire and need radiating off of the place where your lips met. As your taste buds reacquainted themselves with Luke’s mouth you wondered how you had gone even a day without him. 

Luke felt like he was flying and he couldn’t wrap his head around how anyone in the world could live without, seeing you, knowing you, and kissing you. He also knew that he would do anything to ensure that he never had to go a day without you for the rest of his life. 

“How long does it take to get an engagement ring sized?” he wondered to himself. 

If he could’ve read your mind he would’ve seen white gowns, tiered cakes, and little blue eyed, curly haired monsters running amuck. 

“I want everything with you, the whole world.” you affirmed when you pulled apart for air. 

“Yea?” he responded. 

You hummed against his lips, “Always.” 

[charlies-gillespie]

you didn’t have to || luke patterson

paring: fem!reader x alive!luke patterson

summary: luke surprises reader with a gift that she’s always wanted

length: short

rating: PG

warnings: none

!! NOT MY GIF !!

MASTERLIST

You stood in the front row as your boyfriend and his band played at the Orpheum. This had been their dream for so long and they finally get to live it out.

Keep dreaming like we'll live forever,

But live it like it's now or never.

You screamed the lyrics to ‘Now or Never’ as the boys sang. Luke notices you singing to the lyrics and he sends you a wink. You smile and join in with the claps.

No matter how many times you’ve seen Luke perform, you will never get over how good he looks on that stage. He looks confident and happy. Not to mention that he wears cutoff tank tops practically every time he plays.

The boys finish up their set with ‘Now or Never’. Reggie speaks into the microphone when he says, “We’re Sunset Curve. Tell your friends.” Every girl, including you, screams as Luke plays some chords on his guitar as the four of them leave the stage.

Then the lights come on and you decide to head to the back to congratulate your best friends and boyfriend on an amazing show. You show the guard your backstage pass and he points you toward the dressing room where Sunset Curve is.

When you approach the door, you hear hooting and hollering. You knock loud enough for the boys to hear. The door opens and you’re face-to-face with Luke.

Luke wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you up, spinning you as he hugs you. You squeal in surprise and say, “Luke!”

“I’m sorry,” he says, putting you down. “I couldn’t help myself. I’ve been waiting to hug you since we got done our set. I was about to go find you before you knocked.”

You laugh and rest your hands on Luke’s cheeks. You say, “As soon as you left the stage, I came back here. I wanted to say congratulations to all four of you for a fantastic show. I had so much fun and I’m sure everyone else did too. The crowd was electric.”

Reggie says, “Like Luke’s guitar.”

Alex playfully hits Reggie’s shoulder and says, “Dude.”

Luke’s arm has snaked around your shoulders and he holds you close to him.

“Can I have a second alone with Y/N?” he asks his bandmates. “We can go celebrate in a few minutes.”

All three of his bandmates leave the dressing room. You look up at Luke and ask, “What’s going on?”

He smiles and says, “I have something for you. I think you’ll like it.” Luke presses a kiss to your cheek before he walks over to a closet, pulling out a wrapped box. It’s a big box so you question what’s in it.

You stare at the box and say, “There better not be a human in there.”

“I promise there isn’t a human in here,” Luke says, grunting as he puts the box down. “Open it.” He plops down on the couch.

With a smile, you begin to unwrap the box. There’s a picture of a piano on the side of the now unwrapped box. You gasp and look at Luke. He has the biggest smile on his face as he watches you unwrap your gift.

“Luke,” you say, on the verge of tears. “You didn’t have to.”

Your boyfriend gets off the couch and says, “I wanted to. You’ve been telling me how much you’ve been wanting a piano so I bought the one I saw you checking out at that music store we went to a few weeks ago. Do you like it?”

The tears that appeared in your eyes spill over your lids and you say, “I love it. Oh my God. I know you didn’t spend your money buying me this.”

Luke laughs and hugs you tight. “You’ve spent the past few months supporting me and the guys,” he mumbles into your hair. “You deserve something.”

You begin to cry happy tears into Luke’s shoulder and he kisses the top of your head. “I was just doing that for free,” you say, half joking.

“You’ve spent months going to different clubs and venues across the city,” Luke says, pulling back from the hug just a little bit so he can see your face. Your cheeks are stained with tears and a smile is painted on your face.

Your eyes are on Luke’s as you say, “I do that to support you, Luke. I didn’t need you to buy me something.”

He smiles and rests his hands on your face, using his thumb to dry your cheeks. “I did need to buy you something,” Luke says quietly. “I love you and I wanted you to know that I appreciate your support.”

The smile on your face widens and you say, “I love you too, Luke. And I love the piano. Thank you.”

Luke smiles and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You step a little closer to him and tilt your head up so it’s easier for him to kiss you.

A knock on the door forces you both apart and Luke calls, “Okay! We’re coming.”

Alex calls, “Stop sucking faces and let’s go get something to eat! I’m hungry.”

Both you and Luke laugh as Luke grabs his jacket. He grabs the piano to put it in Reggie’s car. You sit in the back with Luke, playing with his callused fingers and resting your head on his shoulder.

“You two are cute,” Alex says. “But please don’t start making out in the car.”

Luke laughs and says, “We won’t. Cross my heart.”

Everyone laughs and Reggie drives off to the nearest McDonald’s.

[cactiem]

coming back to you // m.b

Pairing: Marcus Baker x OC

Requested: Nope

Summary: How does Victoria Lexington know Marcus Baker?

GIF Not Mine

Everyone knows everything about everyone in Welsbury. That’s what is part of the charm. Deep in the roots of the picture-perfect town are secrets and lies, feeding its residents. Maybe that’s what brought Georgia to this quaint town. She was intrigued by the flawless front the town presented, a place where nothing could go wrong. It did go wrong though. One fateful summer afternoon, Caroline Lexington was found dead in her home leaving a giant hole in the Lexington home and one in the town she put all her a time and effort in to.

No one had heard from Victoria Lexington after her mom’s funeral. She just disappeared off the face of the planet without telling anyone. Her classmates just thought that she moved away or something after the traumatic year she had but the stares and whispers said otherwise. Her hair was straight, and lips painted a deep red, hips swinging as she walked down the hallway with everyone’s eyes on her. Nothing had changed. It was like the whole summer didn’t exist.

“Who’s that?” Ginny asked, intrigued by the presence Victoria had.

“That is Victoria Lexington.” Abby said as if it was obvious.

Seeing Ginny’s puzzled look, Max couldn’t help but laugh a little. “You’re so cute.” Ginny just gave her a deadpanned look before she continued. “Her family like owns this town and her mom died at the start of the summer so we’re all waiting for a breakdown to happen.”

Ginny looked at the brunette taking in her appearance as the rest of MANG fell into conversation. She didn’t look like she just lost her mom. Her red lips were pursed as she rummaged through her locker, aware of all the attention that was on her and loving every bit of it. Victoria was well put together. Ginny knew everyone handled loss in their own way, but something didn’t sit well with her, she just couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

There was one thing that was getting on Victoria’s nerves as she went through her first day back at school and that was everyone asking her if she was okay. Was she okay? She didn’t know. Nothing was ever black and white. There were many levels to being okay and right now Victoria was okay enough. That didn’t stop her from plastering on a fake smile and thanking everyone for their forced condolences as if they cared. They didn’t. The only person who really cared about her was Marcus and she fucked that up. He saw at her lowest and Victoria couldn’t allow that. After all Lexington’s don’t cry in front of people.

She heard her mom’s voice clear as day, feel her claws digging into her jaw as she gripped it forcing Victoria to look up at her mom. “If you cry at any inconvenience then you’ll never stop crying. Crying is a weakness and Lexington’s aren’t weak.” Deep breath in. “You’ve gotten fat. Please don’t make me alter this dress so close to the gala.” Deep breath out. “This is all your fault. He’s dead because of you.” Deep breath in. “You stupid ungrateful bitch!” Deep breath out.

“Hey, its okay.” Victoria heard Marcus’s familiar voice and felt his hands clasp hers to stop her from hurting herself any further. She opened her eyes to a concerned brown pair looking back at her. He cupped her cheek, wiping away the tears she didn’t even know fell. Victoria quickly brushed him off, stepping away from him and wiping away her own tears.

“I’m fine.” She said, her smile forced.

“Tori, you don’t have to lie to me. I won’t judge.” Marcus slowly walked back over to her, making sure it was okay.

“I know I should feel sad today but I-I don’t. Does that make me a bad person?”

“There’s no wrong or right way on how you should be feeling.” Marcus said and Victoria such collapsed into his arms, gripping his lapels of his jacket as she cried, letting everything out.

At least when she got home, Victoria could count on some sense of normalcy. Her dad in his office doing work leaving the house to herself. That’s at least what she was hoping when she walked through the big oak front doors. Instead, a woman’s laugh could be heard from the kitchen along with her dad’s. Victoria slowly walked into the room, observing what was happening. “Hey, sweetie.” Her dad greeted, happier than he has been in a while. “This is Georgia from the mayor’s office. She’s helping with the business.”

“You must be Ginny’s mom, right?” Victoria said after a moment, looking the blonde women over.

“I am. Are you two friends?” She asked, her smile growing even bigger and her southern drawl thick.

“Great friends.” The brunette returned the smile, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the island before going upstairs, a plan hatching in her head.

Looking in the mirror, Victoria finished touching up her hair, her hand knocking over her drink all over Ginny who had just come over to wash her hands. “I am so sorry!” She gasped, feigning shock. “Here let me help you.” She quickly grabbed paper towels to try and help Ginny even though her efforts were pointless knowing the top will stain.

“Thanks.” She mumbled taking the towels to try and salvage her top.

Victoria leaned against the side, looking over Ginny with a sly grin. “If I was you I’d keep my hands to yourself.” Ginny gave the girl an incredulous look as she made her way to the door. “Same goes for your mom.”

Ginny was speechless, standing alone in the bathroom. She couldn’t believe what had happened, well she could but still. Her friends told her not to retaliate knowing that Victoria will make her life a living hell. What they didn’t know though was that Ginny also had a mean sting in her and never pulls her punches. She was a woman on a mission and made a beeline for Victoria after the final bell rang. That was why her friends followed her and Marcus hung around to see what was going to go.

“Can I help you?” She asked, already bored of the conversation that hadn’t started yet.

“You owe me a new top.” Ginny simply said, her arms crossed to help seem more intimidating.

“I told you it was an accident.” Victoria said innocently.

“Oh, please, you and I both know you did this on purpose.” She scoffed. “Why did you this?”

“Because, as classy as ever your mom has already got her claws into a new man, a recently widowed one at that.”

“You mean your dad, right?” Ginny asked before continuing not waiting for an answer because she already knew. “Because let’s not forget why he is a widow in the first place. You killed her, right? Your mom?”

“Ginny.” Victoria heard Marcus warn her, but she held her hand up.

“No, I wanna hear what she has to say.” She clenched her jaw trying to hide the tears that were threatening to fall.

“You killed your mom because you had enough of all the shit she put you through since your brother’s death which, was also your fault.” The silence that had fallen onto the group was suffocating. Everyone was waiting to see Victoria’s reaction, expecting her to breakdown or something. She didn’t though, the many years of hiding her emotions coming handy.

“You’ve what, been here five minutes and you think you know everything? Well, you don’t so how about you keep that pretty mouth of yours shut and run along unless you want me to destroy you and everything your mom built.” Victoria warned, walking away from the stunned crowd.

Her chest rose and her eyes burned from the tears she was holding back. Victoria ended up in the nearest bathroom, not caring if it was the boy’s or not. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the sink hard, trying to calm herself down. “What Ginny said isn’t true, you know that, right?” Victoria should’ve known that Marcus would have followed her. She continued to ignore him, staring down at the floor. “Hey, look at me.” He said, gently lift her chin up so she could see him.

“Why are you being nice to me? I pushed you away, remember? I treated you like shit.” Victoria said.

“Because even though you did that I still find my way back to you just like you find your way back to me.” Marcus leaned down, his lips ghosting hers. The same electric feeling coming back from their first kiss.

A/N: if you have any requests for Marcus please send them in

Tag List: @mayaslifeinabox @princess-of-the-fandoms @live--aloud @les-bio-lie @ivvitm1109 @seninjakitey @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @genius2050 @tiannawashere

[pastelwitchling]

Alex had both palms braced on the console, breathing deeply, and trying not to spiral into the hurricane of questions and horrifying scenarios his brain was making. He had to stay focused.

“What about the security cameras?” Liz said somewhere behind him.

“We checked them, there’s no hint where he could be,” Max said with a little edge. “Whoever did this knew exactly where to stand to keep hidden.”

“It was Mr. Jones,” Alex muttered, thinking. “It had to be.”

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Liz was starting, but Alex cut her off.

“Not alone, but he did do this,” he said. “This is how my dad works. He uses people, whoever he needs to. He used Michael when he’d taken me, and now he’s used Mr. Jones.”

It wasn’t right, not completely, Alex knew. Something about this whole plan to take Michael and leave Mr. Jones behind felt off, it felt sloppy. His dad was many things, but not sloppy. The finer details though didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Michael was gone, and Alex was on the verge of losing his mind. Maybe he already had. That didn’t matter either.

“I want to talk to him,” Alex demanded. “See what he knows.”

“Alex,” Max started to shake his head, “we don’t know what he’s capable of, even under the pollen, he could be too dangerous to –”

“I’ve seen things that would give you nightmares, Max Evans,” Alex hissed, and the room fell silent. “Right now, the only danger you have to worry about is me. None of you know anything about interrogation, I’m taking over.”

It was not a request, and Max and Isobel didn’t hear it that way. They took Alex back to Max’s house, through his large living room, into the guest bedroom where Mr. Jones was being kept.

Alex had expected him to look like Max’s twin, but there was something unhinged in the darkness of his eyes that Max definitely didn’t have, a twisted curl to his mouth that said he knew Max and Alex were vibrating with fear for Michael, and that it made him happy.

“Well, well,” he said slowly, his voice hoarse despite the upward quirk of his lips. “Aren’t you a pretty one? I was wondering when I’d get to see you here, Jesse Manes Jr.”

“It’s Alex, actually,” Alex said, kneeling in front of Mr. Jones and peering up at him. There were dark circles around his eyes, his cheeks were hollow, his shoulders slumped with an undeniable exhaustion. There was a single needle wound in his neck.

“You took someone that belongs to me,” Alex said quietly, and Mr. Jones tilted his head, his eyes locked on Alex’s. “And I want him back.”

Mr. Jones started to laugh. It was breathy, his voice cracked, and it faded into a fit of coughs, but he was clearly amused, nonetheless.

“That’s sweet,” he murmured. “You’re sweet. I kinda like you.”

“Enough with your stupid games,” Max warned. “Tell us where my brother is, or you’re going to wish you were never born.”

Mr. Jones gasped mockingly. “Goodness me, brother. What’re you gonna do? Lecture me to death?” His laughs grew louder, stronger. “I know you too well. You put on the villain face, but in the end, you ‘aint got the nerve.” He looked down at Alex, and sneered, like his next words were the most insulting he could think of. “You’re heroes. You see the good in everyone, even a lunatic like Jesse Manes. Now that man is dark. View’s too limited though, too narrow-minded. Can’t see the big picture.”

Alex stared. “You won’t tell us where Michael is? That’s your final answer?” Mr. Jones opened his mouth to retort, but Alex coldly cut him off. “Keep in mind that this is your last chance to talk.”

Mr. Jones’ smile widened and he tilted his head. In a singsong voice, he responded, “Michael’s gonna diiii—eeee.”

Alex’s eye twitched. “Max,” he said, his voice unfamiliar to his own ears. “Can I have a minute please?”

Max must’ve known something bad was about to happen because he quietly responded, “Sure, Alex. Just don’t kill him.”

Alex clenched his jaw, his eyes unmoving from Mr. Jones. He wouldn’t kill him. Dead men couldn’t talk.

*

Max regretted leaving the second the door closed behind him. Isobel, Liz, and Kyle looked up from where they sat on the couch, waiting for an answer.

“Did you find out where Michael is?” Isobel demanded.

Max shook his head. “He won’t talk, no matter what I say.” He punched the wall. “He’s having too much fun.”

“I don’t get it,” Kyle shook his head. “Jesse Manes left him to get caught. How could he still be defending him?”

Max didn’t say his biggest fear; Mr. Jones didn’t care if Jesse had left him so long as he was killing Michael and the rest of them were suffering for it. He would have fun watching no matter what.

Kyle was staring at the guest bedroom door from his seat on the armrest, his arms crossed. “Why’s Alex still in there? Shouldn’t you help him? You’re the one with the powers.”

“Alex wanted a minute alone with him,” Max said, avoiding their eyes.

Liz, of course, noticed right away. “Max,” she said, “what aren’t you telling us?”

Max shook his head. Alex was just worried, they were all worried. He was fine. He opened his mouth to say that when Mr. Jones suddenly screamed.

The others shot to their feet, Isobel’s hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” Liz breathed.

Oh my god was right, Max thought. That wasn’t any normal scream. It was one of pure and utter agony, like the scream of a man having his limbs slowly torn off.

Max took two long steps to the room when the screams suddenly cut off, and the door opened. Alex was wiping his bloody hand off on his jacket. Max stared. He was not the only one. That blood, they knew, was not Alex’s, but it covered his entire forearm like paint.

“Alex,” Kyle breathed, “what the hell –”

“Caulfield,” Alex said at once, already heading to the door. “He’s at Caulfield.”

It was too late to hide the look in his eyes. Max had seen something in Alex shatter, something dark, something frightening.

*

“Drive faster,” Alex said through clenched teeth.

“This is as fast as it’ll go, Alex,” Max said. Alex could feel him glancing. “If anything happened to Michael –”

“Don’t.”

“—We’d know,” he finished. “Okay? Isobel and I would’ve felt it. I would’ve felt it.”

Alex felt the smallest bit of reassurance. It was nothing compared to the overwhelming fear and discomfort at not having Michael in his arms, safe and sound. His hand, his fingers, his wrist and forearm, they were still stained with Mr. Jones’ blood. He could still feel the meat of the alien’s flesh as he dug his fingers into the needle wound at his neck, opening up the cut to fit his fingers, until Mr. Jones was screaming. His eyes wide, as though he’d never expected Alex to raise so much as a finger at him. He’d been wrong. He’d taken Michael.

He had no idea what he’d unleashed.

As if hearing his thoughts, Max quietly asked, “What’d you do to him?”

“Doesn’t matter,” was all Alex said, not wanting to linger on the familiar chill of his own voice.

When they reached Caulfield, they were careful to come in the same way they’d come when it had just been Michael, Alex, and Kyle. Alex held his gun up, as did Max. Kyle stayed on Alex’s other side, a taser in his and Liz’s hands while Isobel held her hands up in case of a sudden attack.

Getting in was difficult. It felt like every few feet, a guard came out to stop them. Alex knew these people were trying to keep Michael away from them, and wanted nothing more than to tear into them with his bare hands, but they needed to hurry. He shot each one in the shoulder or leg. There was more than one spot in the human body that rendered the rest of it paralyzed. He didn’t care if they screamed, if they bled out. As far as he was concerned, they’d signed their death warrants when they helped Jesse hide Michael from him. He was being merciful not doing worse.

They moved deeper and deeper into the facility, and by the end of it, it was him and Max with the most stains on their clothes and the more bruises. Better that way. They made it into a long, dark hallway that took them to a sealed room.

Through a small window, Alex could see Michael in a steel chair, his head dropping between his shoulders as an IV strip pumped something that looked a lot like the pollen’s serum and something else into his veins.

There was a keypad next to the door. Without missing a beat, Alex held his gun for Max to take and pulled out his phone.

“Michael!” Isobel called through the window, panicked, but it was no use. He wouldn’t be answering anybody.

“Can’t we break the door down?” Liz demanded.

“It’s reinforced steel and set up to self-destruct,” Alex muttered, typing rapidly on his phone. He knew that hacking software he’d created would come in handy sometime. “Look around you. This place is already falling apart from the last time someone tried to break in.”

“But you can get him out, right?” Max asked Alex.

“Yeah,” Kyle said without missing a beat. Alex could feel him staring. “Yeah, he can do it.”

A second. Two. Three. Four seconds of Alex hearing nothing but the blood rushing in his own ears and the held breaths of everyone around him. The keypad beeped, the steel hinges clicked, and the door swung open. Alex pushed it enough to run in and fall to his knees in front of Michael, yanking the strips out of his arm while Max and Isobel set to work on the cuffs that kept him in the chair.

“Hey,” Alex whispered, lifting his chin gently. “Hey, baby, can you hear me? Michael, look at me, can you hear me?”

Michael’s eyes were half-lidded and hazed. Michael made a soft “Hmm?,” and his gaze focused for a split second. He smiled sleepily.

“You,” he breathed, “you look . . . just like my Alex.”

A small cry escaped Isobel’s lips before she quickly stifled it. Liz put a hand on her back as Kyle undid the rope around Michael’s waist. Jesse was nowhere in sight. He must’ve run the second he heard them arrive, knowing the guards would do nothing but stall for time. None of it mattered.

Alex smiled at Michael. “I am,” he huffed a chuckle, his eyes burning. “I am your Alex. Okay, come on, give me your arm, lean on me.”

“Alex,” Kyle tried, “if your leg hurts, I can –”

Alex cut him a glare so sharp Kyle turned silent at once. He’d apologize for it later. Right now, he needed to feel Michael against him, and he trusted no one but himself to help get him out of this hellhole.

Michael was able to stand, though he leaned most of his weight on Alex, his other arm around Max. His face was in Alex’s hair and he inhaled.

He murmured, “You smell like him, too.”

“Come on, baby,” Alex encouraged, unwilling to ever let go again. “Come on, you can do it, just hold onto me.”

 Alex’s fingers and toes had turned numb from the lack of movement in the last two hours, but he didn’t dare stand and walk around. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Michael until he woke up. He’d collapsed almost the second they’d gotten him into Max’s car, but Alex had kept a tight hold on him.

Max’s healing was useless against the pollen, and technically, Michael didn’t need a hospital, but Alex wanted Kyle to have access to whatever he needed to help him.

So they were pumping acetone into his veins instead of saline, they were monitoring his heart rate, even as, by the minute, it was getting better and better. And still, Alex kept close, kept watch, made sure no one but Kyle came in, no one but Kyle changed his IV bag and cleaned his wounds.

At one point, Kyle came in and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Dude, you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when he’s awake.”

“Alex –”

“Kyle,” Alex said, his voice clipped. “I’m not leaving him.”

A moment of silence, then, “Are you okay?”

“The man I love was kidnapped by my father, what do you think?”

“Alex.”

Alex glanced at Kyle, and the lump that had been in his throat since he first discovered Michael had gone missing lodged itself firmly in place now, forbidding him to breath steadily. His eyes burned and his lower lip trembled as a horrifying realization that he’d been keeping at bay surfaced now.

He whispered, “I’m just like him.”

“No,” Kyle said immediately. His voice was calm. “You’re not.”

“What I did to Mr. Jones,” he shook his head. “I would’ve killed every single guard in that prison without batting an eye.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“Kyle –”

“You wouldn’t have.” Kyle sat down next to him. “Alex, you’re not your dad. All he ever thought about was himself. You did what you had to do to get Guerin back. Mr. Jones never would’ve told us where he was if you hadn’t – if you hadn’t done what you’d done.”

“I’d do anything for him,” Alex whispered, watching the way Michael’s chest rose and fell with his breaths. “Isn’t that a bad thing?”

“Maybe for some people,” Kyle shrugged a shoulder. “Not for you.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I’m scared of what I’d become for him.”

“Who you always are is Alex,” Kyle said, and stood, ruffling Alex’s hair. “No matter what you become, that doesn’t change.”

With that, Kyle left them to be alone, and still Alex would not look away from Michael. He sniffled and reached out, taking Michael’s hand in both of his and holding tight.

The lump, the weight on his chest, the pain in his leg, he knew, wouldn’t go away until he got to see Michael was awake and safe. With the knowledge that he would be here all night, Alex squeezed Michael’s hand, and waited.

*

Michael opened his eyes to a white ceiling, white walls, and white sheets. A steady beep beep beep went on somewhere behind him, there was a warm weight on his left hand and hip, and he realized that he was in a hospital. Before he could start to question why though, he caught the source of the weight.

Alex had his head rested against Michael’s hip, sleeping with pinched brows as his hands clung to Michael’s. Michael stared. It took him a minute to process what he was seeing.

He heard himself breathe slowly, carefully. If this was a dream, he hoped he never woke up. Alex looked so real, his dark, straight hair splayed against the white sheets, his long lashes curled against rosy cheeks, his warm breathing against Michael’s hand as his lips brushed Michael’s fingers.

Michael reached up his thumb to touch Alex’s cheek, to see if it was as soft and warm as it looked (it was), and Alex started awake. His eyes followed Michael’s thumb to his face, and he sat up, a grin splitting his lips.

“Guerin!” he breathed. He stood and cupped Michael’s face. Michael did not miss the way he winced, but his eyes were filling with tears that begged to fall and his smile was so beautiful and happy that Michael couldn’t find it in him to do anything but cling to Alex’s hands just as tightly.

“You’re okay,” he sighed with relief, his fingers gentle on Michael’s jaw. “You’re okay. I’m going to – I should go get Kyle, I –”

“No,” Michael croaked, his throat dry, as he tried to sit up. “No, stay here.”

“Be careful,” Alex said, setting up his pillows and helping him lie down against them. “There you go, careful.” He stood back, looking Michael over for any open wounds. “Do you – uh – what do you need?”

Michael watched him. His fingers were trembling, his eyes twitching, his jaw clenched so tightly Michael feared he was drawing blood. He wordlessly held his arms out, and Alex eyed him a moment before his expression revealed the grief behind it, a sob escaped his lips, and he fell into Michael’s embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, and Michael’s heart broke. His hold on Alex tightened.

“Don’t,” he growled. “That wasn’t your fault. Got it? It wasn’t your fault, Alex. You’re my hero.”

“I’m not,” Alex whimpered. “You don’t know what I did.”

“I don’t care,” Michael breathed, his hold unbearably, painfully tight now. “I don’t care. You’re always my hero, Private.”

Alex burrowed deeper into his side. He kissed Michael’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw, his cheek, and held his face as he kissed his lips. Michael didn’t care if they weren’t officially together or hadn’t really spoken about their feelings since Alex and Forrest had ended things. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Alex.

He held Alex back just as desperately, and kissed him again and again and again, until all Alex could do was laugh through his tears.

“I’m sorry,” Alex swallowed, straightening. “I should – I should be more careful. You’re still hurt. Uh –” he wiped his face roughly “—do you want me to get you some water? Juice? Anything you want.”

“You,” was all Michael said, taking hold of Alex’s hand and pulling him onto the bed.

Alex looked startled, but went where Michael guided him until they were both lying on their sides, pressed close together.

“Guerin,” Alex whispered as Michael wrapped an arm around his waist, his forehead against Alex’s. “We can’t do this now, you – you need –”

“You,” Michael whispered back. With his other hand, he traced Alex’s jaw, his lips, down his neck. He couldn’t remember anything after his bunker had been broken into, but he’d been sure of one thing; Alex would bring hell to the doorstep of anyone who dared hurt him.

“All I’ve ever wanted and needed is you,” Michael said into the small space between their lips. Alex’s eyes fluttered, his chin raising so that his lips met Michael’s, as if he couldn’t help himself. Michael was so in love, it hurt him.

Before he closed the distance between them, he whispered, “My Alex.”

[amlovelies]

Kindling

big thanks to everyone on discord for your help and feedback on this one 💜. Julia and Cyn rescue some hostages and then make out in an alley 😉

fandom: fhr pairing: Julia Ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri) rating: M, death/violence mention as well as some mild spice words: 2.9k read on ao3

               Even without your telepathy, it’s easy to know where to go. The craned necks of passersby and the distant sound of sirens all point towards Los Diablos’ latest disaster. Ortega had been frustratingly vague in her message, no information, just an address and a ‘come quick’. Not that you really need details. There’s nothing else you’d rather be doing.

               There had been a time when you had to work to slip behind the barricade unnoticed. Back when you were still an unknown vigilante, as likely to be a nuisance as an assistance. When you had to amplify your usual projections: ‘don’t notice me’ and ‘there’s nobody there.’  It’s still uncomfortable letting them drop, feeling the moment when you are seen, when you are recognized. Feeling little excited exclamations of ‘Sidestep’ and ‘hero’ in the minds around you.

               Uncomfortable, unfamiliar, but also real. You spend so much of your time hiding, just a ghost in a crowd, dancing at the edges of life, but not now. Not when the officers give a respectful nod in your direction. Not when they look at you like someone who matters, like someone who can help.

               You allow your mind to expand, to scan the city block around you as you take in the scene.  Brushing over the crowd, you sense nothing to be concerned with, just morbid curiosity and anxiety. A customer is worried about their favorite teller. Exclamations that this is a nice neighborhood, things like this aren’t supposed to happen here. Never mind that they have no idea what ‘this’ is, they’re just irritated at the disruption to their daily routines.

               You know the moment Ortega notices you by the lift at the edge of her mouth. She throws a smile in your direction that makes your stomach knot before returning her attention to the officer in front of her. You still don’t know what to do about this new thing. Fuck, you shouldn’t even call it a thing, that makes it too real. So what if you’ve been kissing, so what if you’ve let her see your face? You’re sure it’s just a passing fancy on her part, a new way to stave off boredom, and you are too stupid and selfish to stop it.

               She nods at your approach, and you take the opportunity to listen in. An established routine, it’s happened more than once that the LDPD failed to give the Rangers crucial information.  Sometimes it was simple incompetence, like an officer in over their head who was unable to recall the right details. Not always though. Not everyone has such an appreciative viewpoint of the Rangers, and some have a real problem with having to play second fiddle to a woman. Want to see her knocked down a peg or two (or in that case, nursing a couple broken ribs).

                               Even if she hadn’t asked, you would have checked. Would have let your consciousness spiral out, gentle fingers touching lightly against the minds around you, getting a fuller picture of the situation. It’s too ingrained a reflex, your primary role, reinforced in endless hours of training. Always meant to be a fly on the wall, not a part of the action, only there to report and monitor. Not anymore. You are so much more now.

               Seems like a botched robbery. The ringleader is a fire boost, Pyradical, and he has at least two modded goons with him.  That’s more firepower than the LDPD can comfortably deal with. It makes sense they called the Rangers in. You’ve heard the name before. He’s new on the scene and young. Early twenties or so, another desperate kid taking a chance with the boost drugs and looking to get rich quick. He was blamed for the robbery of La Brea Jewelers last month. Nasty. Last you heard, the security guard was still in the ICU recovering from the burns, but that had been a solo job. He’s getting more daring.

               Ortega gives you a look as the officer mentions hostages, and you switch your focus. A year ago, this would have been outside your range, but not now. A deep breath as you push your consciousness out to toward the darkened bank. Heat, intrusive and suffocating, blazes across your consciousness and your lips pull back in a snarl in response. You change direction, not trusting yourself to touch the knotted maelstrom of Pyradical’s thoughts. Even that brief connection was enough to make your muscles tense and bunch.

               The hostages are easy to pinpoint, beacons of terror and despair. The officer had said four hostages, but you only count three. Did they separate the hostages? Or is this an inside job? You need more information so you let your consciousness dip down, no longer a light brush, but letting yourself connect with one of them.  

               You rear back almost instantly as the scent of burning flesh fills your nostrils. A steadying hand on your shoulder keeps you from wobbling.

               “You okay?” Anathema asks. Her brow is furrowed until you give her a small nod. Her frown returns, however, as you relay what you had seen in the teller’s memories. The branch manager was dead, Pyradical holding a flaming hand to his face when he refused to input his half of the vault combo. You need to move quick.

               It’s a simple plan: you and Anathema will sneak around back and focus on getting the hostages out. Ortega will create a big showy diversion and keep Pyradical busy. Getting attention is what she does best after all. Power has been cut to the building, so you don’t have to worry about any alarms. Anathema rubs her hands together and you grimace as the sharp scent of acid fills the air.  You’ll never get used to the sound of metal bubbling as she presses her palm against the lock. You close your eyes and focus on the minds inside. The world narrows down. Narrows down to just this building, you feel yourself settle into your body. Awareness focused, reflexes honed, like an arrow ready to be fired, listening and waiting to react.

               The mod guarding the back door goes down easy. He had no hope of dodging your punch to his throat. Especially not when his brain is telling him you’re still a foot out of reach. He goes down and you keep moving.

               It’s stuffy inside, warm even for Los Diablos. Sobs, muffled and hopeless escape from behind the teller line, but no sounds of alarm. You step over the prone body and into the dim interior of the bank, Anathema following close behind. Any second now Ortega and her distraction should arrive.

               Glass shatters as her familiar form crashes through the front window. A roar of surprised anger erupts and chaos descends. It takes an effort to ignore the sounds of the fight, the fizzle of Ortega’s mods and flesh hitting flesh, you have to ball your fingers into a tight fist as you resist the urge to join her. Orange and white light paint the walls in bright flashes as you draw closer to the hostages.

               You catch an intention and roll to the left as a bullet narrowly misses you. Before you exit your roll, Anathema is already moving, her fist flying towards the shooter’s face.

               You trust her enough to turn your back on the fight. The hostages look dazed, eyes unfocused and tears staining their faces. The fear rolling off them hits you like a wave and you strengthen your shields. You make quick work of the zip ties binding their ankles and wrists. One of them begins to bolt, fear clouding his judgment. He’s only focused on the safety promised by the daylight shining through the shattered window, not one the flames shooting from Pyradical’s hands.

               It’s a good thing you’re quick, hands flying out to grab the back of his jacket and pull him away from the danger. Heat billows in waves from the lobby. Even through your mask, your eyes burn from the acrid smoke as cheap décor goes up in flames.

               Ortega’s voice taunts from the lobby. You can’t make out the words, but you know the tone. As long as she’s laughing things are under control.

               It’s easy enough to soothe the hostages, just a gentle brush against their minds, a promise of safety, of making it out of here alive, to trust, to be ready.  A firm command to their minds and they follow you out the door.  

               You lead the hostages to the waiting hands of the paramedics who are waiting with shock blankets and oxygen masks. Your objective completed you turn back to the building. Smoke pours out the shattered window mixing with the omnipresent Los Diablos haze. If you don’t end this fight soon the whole building is going to go up.

               You’re nearly to the building when Ortega leaps out the window.

                 “Get down!” she yells. Not that you are given a choice as she barrels into you. The wind is knocked out of your lungs as she tackles you to the ground.

               “What the fuck—” but the words are lost in the explosion that shakes the ground.

               Your ears ring. Ortega’s lips are moving, but you have no idea what she’s saying. Probably some dumb quip.

               This is not the time or the thing you should be focused on, but she’s so close. It feels different. Different now that she’s kissed you. Different now that you’ve felt her lips against yours. Fuck, you want to feel them again.

               You should focus on the fact that there was just an explosion, but instead your whole world has shrunk down to the weight of her body pressing you into the ground. The concrete is hard and painful under your body. There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

               “Was that really necessary?” Your voice has none of the steel you were hoping for. It’s a gulping flustered thing.

               “Better safe than sorry,” Ortega says with a wink. “Besides, I’m quite comfy.”

               “Really? Is that all you think about?”

               “Only around you,” she says as she presses her lips down against yours. Even with the mask in the way, you can’t help but gasp. She doesn’t need her mods, or even to touch your skin to leave you feeling electrified.

               And then she’s up, all movement and action, turning back to the burning shell of the building. Anathema emerges, one of the goons in tow, and you breathe a sigh of relief as Julia surges forward to help her. Smoke rises in thin tendrils from her suit, and there are patches where the fabric has burned away to reveal her pale freckled skin underneath. Skin that is untouched and undamaged despite being caught in the explosion.

               Pyradical is dead, going out in a blaze of glory rather than allowing the Rangers to bring him in.

               The hostages are shaken up, but physically fine. The goon you’d left unconscious by the back door is carted away in the back of an ambulance, the other in the back of a cop car. He’s lucky to be alive. Anathema shielded his body with her own during the explosion. Not that he’s feeling particularly grateful right now.

               The action is over and you let yourself slip into the background. Anathema has already left, back to HQ for a shower and change of clothes. Ortega holds court answering questions and smiling for the cameras. You should leave, head home, but you can’t bring yourself to yet. Not with the glances Ortega keeps shooting you.

               At last satiated, the press leaves, and with them the rest of the crowd. It’s oddly peaceful. The fire from the explosion has long since been put out, though smoke still hangs in the air. The surrounding area is almost empty, now that the excitement is over, people go on with their day.

               You fall into step with Ortega as she walks to where her motorcycle is parked. It’s a natural instinct to envelop her in your projection, to let her pass unnoticed as well. A young woman nearly walks into her, and Ortega shoots you a questioning glance. You shrug, she should be used to this trick of yours by now. It’s just easier to wrap you both in a bubble of anonymity. To not have to worry about sharing her with the public.

           Her smile turns wicked, and something in your stomach flutters, twists, knots. You don’t have the language to describe the things that smile does to you. You can’t read her thoughts, but you can guess her intentions. This is when you should dodge, should step to the side, distance yourself. You don’t. You let her grab your hand and pull you into the dimness between two buildings.

                Her hands are quick, nimble, as they roll up the edge of your mask with ease. As if it was a regular practiced movement, and maybe it is becoming one. How many times have you let this happen now? You’d have to stop her if she tried to remove the whole thing, but she doesn’t. Only your mouth is exposed, and only for a moment, before she captures your lips in a kiss.

               This is so much better than that ghost of a kiss during the fight, so much better when you can feel the brand of her lips on yours. A small sigh escapes you, and that’s all the invitation she needs to deepen the kiss. Her tongue darts out, teasing and quick; one hand grips the back of your head. Her nails scrape against the nanoweave of your mask as she angles you exactly how she wants you.

                Oh, this is foolish. This is playing with fire and knowing that you will get burnt, but not caring. You have so many scars already, what is one more?

               The kiss breaks and she pulls back. You chase her lips, wanting more, needing more. Another drag, another kiss, you’re used to wanting things that will end up hurting you.

               “You’re too damn tall,” you huff. You need her closer, but you don’t trust your footing balancing on your tip toes. Your arms wind around her neck as you attempt to pull her down to your height. She concedes bending down to kiss you again. She chuckles against your lips, the reverberations traveling down to your toes and sending a shiver down your spine.

               Before you can protest, her hands move to your waist, and she lifts you with an ease that draws a surprised squeak out of you, one that is cut off as she captures your lips again. Your legs wrap around her waist as if by instinct, pulling her flush against you. Nothing but your skinsuits between you. You trust yours to stop a knife, a bullet, but now it feels so insubstantial. Unable to protect you from hungry press of Ortega between your thighs as she holds you pinned against the brick wall of the alley.

               Adrenaline from the fight is still coursing through your veins. Your very blood transforms into an electrical current, dancing through your veins and grounding you on the feel of Ortega’s lips. You wonder if this is how she always feels. Your fingers knot in her hair, pulling it out of her careful braid. The small curls at the nape of her neck wrapping themselves around your fingers much like how your limbs are wrapped around her.

                You should stop this, eventually you will have to stop this, but that thought is a small voice compared to the screaming of your body. A voice drowned out by the groan Ortega makes as you nibble on her bottom lip, and her grip tightens on your thigh. For a few moments the rest of the world ceases to exist. There is nothing but this moment. You don’t think, can’t think of anything but her. Her hands and her lips and the blood pounding in your veins. You thought you felt alive during that fight? There’s no comparison.

               Eventually, the kiss breaks, and she rests her forehead against yours. You both are breathing heavy; your pulse is a wild erratic thing. A softer kiss this time, not quite a peck, still letting herself linger, but the frantic need of a few moments ago has dissipated.                

                Your legs wobble when she sets you back down on your feet. From the smug smile on her face, you know she notices. You wish you had a sharp quip at the ready, but you’re still too drunk on her.

                At least pulling your mask down means she can’t see your facial expressions.

               You walk back to the bike in silence. She’s closer than she needs to be. Her hand keeps brushing against your arm. Gentle, accidental touches which you know are no accident at all.

                “Come back to HQ with me?” she asks as she climbs onto the bike. “I’ll order pizza and you can keep me company while I do paperwork?” 

               You don’t have to read her mind to know she isn’t thinking about paperwork. Not with the way her eyes trail over your body. Letting you know she is looking, appreciating.

                “Only because I’m hungry,” you lie as you take the helmet from her outstretched hand and climb behind her.

                “Don’t worry,” say says with a wicked laugh, her hand squeezing yours where it rests on her waist. “I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.”

[strange-lace]

Misunderstandings

I HAVE FINALL MADE CONTENT FOR MY SPIDER MONKIE AU! And SURPRISE, it’s angst!

Despite his best efforts, MK knew that he was a terrifying image to humans when he dropped his glamor. He loomed over most people due to his size, lower body plated with a dark exoskeleton with long legs which were sharp enough to impale someone without much effort. MK had tried to make it look less intimidating by painting bright little doodles all over his lower body. Soft and precise strokes decorated his exoskeleton with a couple of noticeably lower quality, lines shaky and uneven as if done by a beginner. Yet they were the ones he treasured the most. Particularly the large purple and orange hourglass symbol dead center on his spider abdomen.

"Am I doing this right sweetie?" She asked, long black hair pinned back to keep it clean yet it was still stained with streaks of paint. The same can be said for her worn robe, the faded fabrics speckled with rainbow flecks of paint. Her lips were pursed in concentration as the paintbrush shook in her hands.

It was certainly an image of the feared Spider Queen that few had the luxury of seeing and living to remember it, MK being one of them.

"Yeah mom, you're doing great. Try focusing on where you want the brush to go instead, it'll help smooth out your strokes," he suggested, having to contort a slight bit to see what she was doing. She followed his advice and happily finished the symbol.

"There! Now everyone will know to fear my little spiderling the moment they lay their eyes on him," Spider Queen cooed, putting the paintbrush away to pat MK on the head, accidentally staining his dark hair with the purple and orange paint which had gotten on her hands.

MK held a brief smile at the memory before letting out a sigh. 

Unfortunately, bright colors and cutesy symbols could only do so much against the large collective fear of demons, especially big ones with fangs and multiple legs. Which he was unfortunate enough to find out when fighting a demon who's whole speciality was glamor magic and could see right through him.

"That must be uncomfortable, squeezing yourself into such a small form. How about I give you a chance to stretch your legs for a while?" The demon said mockingly and before MK knew it, he was enveloped in a cloud of shimmering dust. Suddenly, everything was a lot smaller to him and MK was left to clumsily stumble as his two legs became eight without warning. He squinted as the world was now a lot brighter through his four eyes, colors even more vivid than before to the point it nearly gave him a headache.

Yet it all only registered to MK when he heard people start screaming about a giant spider demon.

“Oh no…” He whispered to himself, wincing as his vision cleared only to see civilians running away from him. And while he understood why, it still felt like a stab to his heart to see people terrified of him. The hurt quickly became panic once he hit what felt like a blockade to his magic, preventing him from re-activating his glamor.

MK was stuck like this for the time being.

“This can’t get any worse,” he hissed, freely skittering through the now empty streets now that he wasn’t at risk of accidentally stepping on someone. He was instantly proven wrong when he heard the twin sound of motors headed right him and MK had to dodge quickly to avoid getting hit by Mei’s bike head on and from Pigsy’s truck from crashing into one of his legs.

It just got worse.

"Alright demon, might be best to give up now-!" Mei froze mid-boast, face going pale underneath her helmet. She was soon joined by Pigsy, Sandy, and Tang who looked at what had her so shaken and their own confusion quickly transformed into their own individual shows of shock. Pigsy looked genuinely sick, Tang didn’t seem to be breathing with wide eyes behind his glasses, and Sandy’s entire being seemed to bristle as if to make himself look even bigger out of self-defense.

It dawned on MK once he saw they were all staring at the staff still clenched in his clawed hand.

That he was still holding while in his true form. Which wouldn’t look out of place as part of the Spider Queen’s forces, skin now covered in purple fur and eyes a dizzying bright green. And was still wearing his easily recognizable orange and purple jacket and headband now draped around his neck from the chaos.

MK now realizes that this did not paint a good picture in his favor.

“I… can explain,” he stuttered, wincing at the sound of his own voice: hoarse and deeper to his own ears.

He had no way of explaining this.

“What did you do to my boy?” Pigsy was the first to break the silence, eerily calm yet everyone could tell that his rake was close to snapping with how tight his grip was. Following behind him, everyone else’s shock and horror morphed into rage and MK felt his stomach tighten further and further in fear. Tang’s eyes were hidden behind the glare of his glasses with a stillness to him that made you fear he would strike at any moment before you could react. Sandy’s entire demeanor had changed in a way that made MK understand Pigsy’s past descriptions as him being a feared warrior.

And Mei?

Well Mei’s entire being was wreathed in green and vibrating with barely restrained wrath.

MK stumbled back on his eight legs, feeling incredibly small in the face of his family’s anger despite towering over them.

They didn’t know it was him. As far as they knew, he was just another demon.

He didn’t know if this was better or worse for him.

“We will not repeat ourselves, demon: What did you do to our kid?” Tang demanded with a glare as sharp as knives. MK soon found himself surrounded, breath turning shorter and shorter as his family came closer and looked ready to tear him apart if it meant getting the answers they wanted. Yet he could only see the image of the calabash copies of his family and mentor pouncing at him to prevent him from escaping, countless nightmares of them successfully trapping them in his “perfect” world weighing on his spine.

So it was only natural that he panicked when they all descended upon him as he remained silent, throat closed up in sheer anxiety. It had happened so fast but before MK knew it, he had bound them all in web cocoons without even meaning to. 

Yet he took the opportunity while they were struggling to free themselves to go for the most logical course of action according to his panic-ridden brain: run away, far and fast. He didn’t even know where he was going, all MK knew was that he had to make himself scarce around the city until he could finally use his glamor again. If he wasn't sick from panic, he could almost laugh at the image of himself struggling to balance all eight of his spider legs on the staff as he pogoed through the city.

So it shouldn’t really have surprised to find himself on the beach of Flowering Fruit Mountain, the monkeys scattering away in fear at the sight of him as he created a small crater in the sand.

The following silence was deafening, allowing his thoughts to continue to run wild without anything to focus on. He only faintly realized that tears were running down his face as the mountain breeze gently blew against him, as if trying to offer its own form of comfort as he spiraled. 

MK couldn't stop seeing the faces of his loved ones, his family, as they looked at him with such hatred and rage. He tried to keep reminding himself that it was only because they didn't know it was him, as far as they knew he was a random powerful demon who managed to get their hands on the staff. But tell that to his heart, which felt like it was genuinely breaking into pieces. The pain was enough to put MK to his knees, choking on his tears and grip on the staff tight enough to make the joints of his exoskeleton-plated hands ache.

"Kid? You here kid?" MK didn't even think, he found himself scrambling towards the familiar voice of the Monkey King, desperate for comfort. Sun Wukong grunted as he found his arms now full of a panicked spider demon but was able to adjust his footing before he could lose his balance. He let out a sigh of relief, no longer struggling to hold since he had lifted far heavier people in his long life. Questions died on his tongue as the sound of muffled sobs entered his ears, his successor’s face buried in his fur as if wanting nothing more than to hide from the world.

“What happened bud? You wanna talk about it?” MK was silent for a moment before he gave a garbled response in the Monkey King’s fur. “Sorry, what was that?”

“A demon messed with my glamor, leaving me stuck like this and they saw me. They didn’t know it was me and they saw the staff and they thought… they hated me,” he rambled, a fresh round of tears leaving his four eyes. Wukong remained silent but silently walked towards his home, MK still in his arms.

“Oh kid, I’m so sorry. You know that they wouldn’t be that way if they knew that it’s you. But that definitely explains why Pigsy called me, threatening to eviscerate me the moment he saw me if anything had happened to you,” Wukong gave a smile at the wheezy chuckle MK let out at the image of his boss and father figure calling the Monkey King just to rip into him. Yeah, that sounded like Pigsy alright. “I think I can fix up whatever that demon did to your glamor. Then you can hang out here for a while, if you want, before going back home. That sound good bud?”

“Yeah… sounds great Monkey King,” MK answered before letting out a yawn, now left exhausted now that the anxiety and panic has leaked from his system with the presence of his other father figure mentor there to comfort him. Wukong gave a chuckle, gently placing MK down on his couch and putting on Monkey King: The Animated Series without a second thought. Seemingly realizing that he was no danger to them or their king, the monkeys quickly began to use MK as their personal jungle gym without any fear. That seemed to do the trick, as he was now chuckling at the sight of the little monkey’s looking at the doodles on his exoskeleton with curiosity.

Wukong watched the scene before him with a warm look in his eyes before it quickly hardened as he slipped out of his home for a moment. Pulling out his phone, he gave a deep sigh to calm himself before tapping to call a very specific number.

“Sun Wukong, to what do I owe the pleasure?” A velvety voice answered upon the third ring.

“A demon severely messed up the kid and I figured you’d like to… return the favor,” he answered, voice dead serious.

The line went silent, the echoes of enraged hissing barely audible in the background.

“What did they do to my baby?” Any hint of playfulness was gone in the voice, the Spider Queen enraged to know that someone had harmed her son in such a way to make the Monkey King willing to contact her.

“Messed with his glamor and the others saw him, nearly attacked him thinking he was a demon that had managed to get the staff. He’s fine physically but he’s an emotional mess. All the kid was able to tell me was that they specialize in glamor magic. Think you can work off that?”

“Of course I can, what do you take me for?! But… is he alright?” Wukong smiled, almost quipping about her getting soft over the years but she could very easily call him a hypocrite.

“I have him with me and have everything under control. Just do what you do best S.Q. and I’ll keep in touch, ‘kay?” Everything about him was casual yet the look in the Monkey King’s eyes was nothing but fire that promised he would have burned whoever harmed his kid without mercy, if he wasn’t “retired”.

“Of course, might as well make use of your “retirement” after all. I’ll make sure to make our… displeasure to that foolish demon evident for the both of us. Take care of my spiderling Wukong, otherwise I will figure out a way to make you mortal to end you.” Despite her tone, Spider Queen was only half serious since she knew ending the Monkey King would make MK upset with her. And the last thing she wanted to do was lose her spiderling after searching for him for so long.

“Sure you will S.Q., I totally believe that. But until later, see ya!” Wukong said before hanging up, satisfied but antsy which was typical after every occasion he spoke with the Spider Queen. Walking back inside, he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of MK now fast asleep with the monkey’s cuddled around him.

Totally worth it.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (End) - Dating Game

Woo Doggy! This has been fun to write and I mean FUN. Having no real holds barred and getting really silly was a lot easier than I expected and I had a great time with this arc. 

One of the biggest complaints in the mobile game fandom is the Main Story offers no love interest for the MC and it trails off at this part as the MC is reduced to a go-fer for every NPC’s sidequest. Well I say NO MORE, you will be quite literally the center of everyone’s attention from here on out.

Cars lined up around the entire block of the street and women were lined up along the sidewalk for their tickets. From 8 to 10 p.m., the busiest time of the night was when the stage was filled with shows by the performers, from ancient erotic dramas like Cleopatra and Marc Antony to Chu Zihang's swordplay; off stage, the guests were already drunk. The guests who came late were often groups of girlfriends who had eaten dinner elsewhere and came to join the singing and dancing party in Takamagahara, the performers had to go over and greet them, there was a shortage of manpower everywhere. Both the escorts and waiters were running to work, Whale was roaring outside the dressing room backstage, like the circus troupe master. 

The message of the Romanceable MC Contest had caught fire and boosted to epic proportions. Princess Night was in full swing and featured all the top names in Male Escort business. Even before they got out of the cars, the women were screaming and taking pictures having lined up for hours.

The  white Cadillac Escalade stretch limousine rolled like an anaconda and reflected the millions of electric lights of the Tokyo night. It took up half the block, but there was space left for cars like this, reserved for the VIPs of the Takamagahara elite. No one could park there on pain of towing and a hefty fine.

A man in a hooded cloak pulled the lollipop out of his mouth. His bright green eyes scanned the crowd waiting outside. He crossed his legs one over the other and leaned back. “What percentage of the fans out there are mine?”

“From the ticket sales it seems that you are about 30% of the crowd today, Master Inoue.” The driver, a veteran and son of drivers, had been there for him since he first made it big hosting the Bliss Hall. This driver was so skilled at avoiding paparazzi that he put him under a lifetime contract. Now he was much older, but his driving was still as sharp as ever.

The man in the back seat was barely visible, dressed in all black and keeping the lights down so that it looked just like an empty limo. He huffed with a slight smirk. He crossed his arms and looked down. “Wow. And I’m supposed to have competition?” 

“You are the top male escort in Tokyo, Master Inoue,” rumbled the driver again.

That sharp green eye flicked up to the rear view mirror. “Second… to the top. If you would, sir. But apparently Ruri Kazama isn’t competing.”

Ruri Kazama. The name was so legendary among the escorts of Japan that they scarcely dared to utter it. Although he rarely appeared outside private showings, the man reigned supreme as the king of the male escort business.

“He’s unlikely he would have been able to respond on short notice, Master Inoue…”

“No one skips the Takamagahara…” He looked back outside, pushing back the thick velvet curtain slightly.

“You’ve skipped it by 3 hours sir.”

“I”m only here to see one woman. There’s no need to see any others or stay here too long. I come here, win her little heart, and leave with my prize money.”

“You’re really not going to entertain your fans, sir?”

He grinned, his radiant and white smile shining in the dark of the limo. “There’s value in scarcity. If I popped up in full all the time, there’d be no chase. And as you know very well, my most excellent driver… It's all about the chase! If you would, please?”

The driver put the truck in park and stepped out in his sharp suit and driver’s hat. He pulled the handle on the pearly side door and opened it.

Shining black cowboy boots covered in sparkling rhinestones stepped down from the limo. He moved as smooth and graceful as a dancer in skin tight leather pants. His black leather jacket was open to reveal his bare chest and sculpted abs. His hair, bleached white streamed from a black cowboy hat decorated with shark’s teeth.

His appearance sparked immediate mayhem, screams, and mad panting. Dozens of hands reached out desperately, stretching their fingers towards him as though they were pulled by an extremely powerful magnet. They were all screaming, “Diamond!”

Master Inoue - or to his fans, Diamond - stood still as a statue, hat tipped over his eyes, listening to their desperate pleas with his eyes closed.

It seemed arrogant, but for him, it was always like this. From the time he was a child, people couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. When they caught sight of his brilliant green eyes they were drawn to him before he even knew the difference between boys and girls. Sitting in the stroller, all he had to do was smile and the women would come and coo and smile and ask, please, can I hold him. Please!

“Please! Hold me, Diamond! Never let me go!”

Diamond lifted his head toward the voice. It was a woman in her thirties, tears in her eyes, begging with the desperation of a leper before Christ. If he just wanted to, he could heal her broken heart. He walked casually towards her and saw her eyes get bigger and bigger and then he took her delicate hand in his and gently kissed it.

The woman, struck with a Pentacostal frenzy, trembled and fell to her knees sobbing in desperation, clutching her hand and rocking back and forth. She would probably never wash that hand again.

The little favor revved the up crowd even more and the bouncers hurried to line up and make a barrier. That kiss was all he would grant. He turned and walked through the velvet rope staffed with burly workers with black masks over their eyes. They opened the doors to Takamagahara and he stepped inside. Immediately, two more workers turned to lead him to the VIP area.

“So who’s the lucky lady tonight?” Deep down, he was quite excited. His clients were usually 35 and older. For thousands of dollars, he would have dinner at a fancy restaurant, followed by drinks in some VIP Lounge. Or he would be asked to clean the house naked. Or pretend to be her boyfriend for the night. There was the common misconception that his clients were old or undateable. But that wasn’t his experience at all.

People who had $5,000 to spend on a naked butler could have anyone they wanted.

And they wanted him.

This challenge was new for him. The club picked his woman and they would be paying his escort fee. 

His only task would be to ‘Love her.’ If she felt that then she would give him tickets. Whoever got the most tickets was the winner. When she picked his ‘route’.

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

It wasn’t that you got a private party, MC. This was a show.  You were on the floor with everyone else. Rather than sticking to the edge of the crowd you got your table in the shape of a figure 8 in the middle of a raised platform filled with fish swimming about and surrounded by plush red couches in the shape of women’s lips. And already, the bottles were open. 

You’re wearing another dress, not a cheongsam this time. It was a light green satin tube dress that hugged your figure and barely covered anything. Your hair was long and down your shoulders and your make up again was light. For such a simple look, you had spent hours in the spa that day while they made sure your hair was softer than it ever had been. You smelled like lilac and roses. 

A man with short blond hair cropped above his ears, blue eyes and a black shirt so tight it conformed to every muscle in his body yelled above the music. “Where are you from?”

“Uh… Russia!”

“Russia! Woooow! Are you some sort of Oil Baron?”

“Yeah!” You yell figuring nothing you said mattered. They wouldn't remember anything anyway would they?

He flicks his wrist and produces an unopened rose stem, seemingly from thin air and offers it to you. “To me you’re worth more than all the oil in the world. I hope we get to know each other well, MC.”

Below the shirt, He wore pale form fitting jeans that hugged his considerable muscle just like Caesar’s outfit did. But his shoes were casual sneakers without ornamentation.

You accept the rose he offers you, feeling a bit shy.

Another man in a golden blouse that is made of fabric so sheer you could see the belly button piercing underneath, pulls out a cigarette and lights it up. He puffs out a perfect ring of smoke between his thin lips. “That would be Oil Baroness, Calypso…” He says. “She must have more pull than just money to bring us all to the same table.” His voice was deep and carried through the noise. He pulled another drag and sipped his liquor. But he was looking at you with calculating dark eyes.

A silver coin goes spinning on the table. A man in fiery red hair tied back in a ponytail, puffy red coat and a long chain over his bare chest lifts his chin at you. His eyes are as silver as that coin. “Heads or Tails, MC?”

“What am I betting on?” You ask.

His smile spreads further. “I just said heads or tails.”

“Hey, go easy, she’s new!” The man in the skintight black shirt returns with a bottle of vodka and pours it into a glass.

The redhead slaps his hand over the coin. It’s painted with an elaborate henna tattoo, elaborate, like stained glass. “You’re not going to win by going easy…”

The smell of the vodka is the mix of rubbing alcohol and gasoline. Light a match and it might produce a plume of flame! You lean away, repulsed, but the man next to you brazenly pours himself a glass and downs it. Sighing roughly like he might breathe fire, he grins. “That’s the good stuff! But you must drink it every day right?”

“Yeah!” You take cautious sips but the burn builds and builds until it overwhelms you and forces you to stop and cough into your arm.

Caesar, Mingfei and Chu Zihang were nowhere to be found. It was clear this club was over occupancy and over staffed so there was no rescuing you. All the waiters were running around. From somewhere in the hall, glass breaks.

A finger taps your shoulder. You’re met by a bright green gaze in a pale face.

You flinch as a crown is laid on your head.

“Your Majesty…” The man bows to you.

“Your Majesty!”  They all echo with bows and kittenish smiles. For years, you’d never considered trying to date anyone. You lived like you were preparing for war. Then the war came and never let up. Now, you’re surrounded by men who could honestly be called the handsomest in Tokyo who were placing their hands on their broad chests and bowing their heads in fealty.

Off stage, the women on the floor whooped with delight.

Cowboy hat tipped over one eye, shirtless in his jacket, with a bare hairless chest, the man who gave you the jeweled tiara leaned over the couch. Every muscle stood out in carefully carved relief and your eyes followed them down to where they disappeared below his waist. The elastic band of his boxers peek up from the pants. You’d seen naked people before. But they were all familiar, people you knew and were fine with. This is the first time encountering the bare chest of a complete stranger and he’s so close you can smell his sweat. “Wow…” He says quietly, in a low purr next to your ear.

“I’m sorry?”

“You are… beautiful.” His eyes roamed about your body with a lopsided smile, his eyebrows raising. “I have to say I am caught by surprise.”

If your face gets any hotter it might catch fire.

He vaults over the couch, plops next to you and leans in, filling your vision. He gives a quick wink. “I’m yours for the night.”

“Diamond is always this forward but the truth is, he’s the most inexperienced of all of us.”

Diamond shoots the yellow shirt a glare. “I’m experienced in everything she would possibly want, Armani.”

“Yes, but we must go gently, gently…” The black shirt lightly rustles your hair. “We don't want to scare her off.”

“I’m here to do what she wants me to do…” Diamond waves the other men away before addressing you again. “Well, what’s your name?”

You tell him.

“Beautiful… let me guess? Russian?” His hand crept over to envelope yours in a steady grip. His fingers were so much larger than yours and soft like they were bathed in milk every day. There were no calluses. When Mingfei or Caesar touched you, there were roughened, thick patches of skin from hours of practice at the shooting ranges. His nails were even, shining and unbroken.

He raises your hand to his lips and gives it a small kiss. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. You can call me, Diamond.”

“Okay, Diamond.” You glance up at his eyes. He follows your gaze down when it falls again, trying to hold it as much as possible to the point where he leans over and tilts his head to do so. Every time you look up, those eyes are there, to catch that glance, like a serpent hypnotizing his prey.

He holds your drink out to you and you accept it with thanks.

“Are you cold? I noticed you’re keeping your feet tucked under.”

“Yes, it’s… a little cold.”

He shrugged off his jacket and laid it over your shoulders. It was very warm and you realized that the smell of the cologne he was wearing surrounded you like a thick heavy fog.  You could now see his body in all its glory. You belatedly realize that the observation of your being cold was just an excuse for him to remove one of the few pieces of clothing he had!

His shoulders.. The way his neck curved into them and then down to his back. You’d seen shoulders like his before but for some reason, in seeing someone new, made your eye rest on it that much longer, on the way the muscle hugged his bone . The cold in the room made his nipples stand out and...

“Anything else I can do to make you more comfortable, Your Highness?” He stayed turned to you. The way his abs wrinkled. That little valley on his side that disappeared when it met the leather pants. You were naturally observant. Everything you saw was getting laser etched into your mind. In an effort to stop it, you return to his eyes but even that wasn’t safe. He was so close, you could notice small flecks of blue and gold that enhanced the color. 

“Your eyes are really pretty.” You say this, but it doesn’t sound right even in your own ears. It wasn’t really his eyes you wanted to say something about.

He gives an easy relaxed smile, his eyebrows lift once. “Your eyes are prettier.”

“No they’re not.”

“I think I’m gonna barf. Let a pro show you how it’s done.” The redhead plants one arm between you and Diamond and ignores his furious glare.

His lips were really pink, almost cherry red, but you don’t see any sign of gaudy lipstick that Caesar wore. Everything about this man was gorgeous, even the light smatter of freckles on his nose. And everything about him was natural, save his hair color. The breath from his nose tickles your lips. He’s not backing away, he only tilts his head a bit.

You start to imagine what it might be like to kiss him. He draws a bit closer… closer. You close your eyes and wait. Wait… nothing.

“Can I?” He asks, quietly pleading.

“Uh...huh?” You press the words out from a stomach that was already squeezed tight like a fist.

“Good. I’ll keep that in mind for later.” The redhead pulls back and sashays back to this spot on the couch, giving Diamond a sharp snap of his fingers, just inches on his face. “Get on my level.”

“Alright, Alright, point taken.” Diamond pours himself some vodka.

The man in the yellow blouse, Armani, tilts his glass a bit. “Popularity is just a sign of good marketing and ubiquity. None of us can doubt your social media prowess, Diamond, but this is much higher class.”

He’s then staring at you with a half-lidded gaze. “Perhaps the baroness should accustom herself to someone who has dined with high officials. The ones with real power.”

“Okay…” You whisper, you’re completely captivated, unable to move.

“But that’s boring.” The Redhead sighs. “She needs to have more anticipation and suspense!”

“Your name is Chance because whether or not you’re any good is a complete crapshoot.” Armani sips his whiskey.

“But you could hit the jackpot.” He winks at you. “I’m one in a million.”

A loud popping sound  made you suddenly duck but he held you close. Confetti and glitter rained from the ceiling and cascaded over your skin. You look at your arm and watch the play of the disco lights on the sparkle.

“It’s time to give out Star-Heart Tickets! Who is the Ikemen who’s won this round?!” Whale is still emceeing this event and apparently was watching you. A waiter comes by with a basket full of stars with hearts in the middle.

You look at face after glorious handsome face. They were all leaning forward, smiling, waiting. Off stage people were yelling. Bets were being taken. “Diamond! Diamond!”

“PIck Armani he’s the best!”

“You’ll love Calypso!”

“Go with Chance!!”

“I don’t know…” You say, your voice weak. You look at your glass but it seems like the level has hardly moved even though you already feel dizzy.

“No one!” Whale shouts loudly. 

There must be a microphone because you’re not sure how he’s hearing what you’re saying. A gasp ripples through the crowd surrounding you and they fall to a confused silence. All the men sitting around you sit up straight, their faces each registering different levels of surprise and consternation. Save Chance, who whooped loud. “Yeah! Now this is what I’ve been waiting for! Let the games begin!” He pumped his fist.

Chance makes a mighty leap on the table and stands in front of you, all six feet of masculine bravado. “Let me give it to you straight. It’s true, I’m not always everyone’s cup of tea, I go buck wild sometimes.” He sweeps his arms across the table at the other men. “But if girls just fall into your lap at the first sight, how do you know how to compete? Ya don’t!”

Armani stares up at Chance and slowly sets his whiskey down. The others also suddenly changed their demeanor, grave determination and desire in their eyes.

[msotherworldly]

The Black Rain: Chapter One

In my previous posts, I mentioned my series in progress, The Children of Pandora, and how it was technically a multi-protagonist project. While Eradica is the main protagonist of the books, Insula and Rowan also have their own occasional books. The chapter below is the first in Rowan’s story - like The Blue Door, it’s still in need of editing. 

If this whole multi-protagonist business sounds confusing, check out my earlier posts. You’ll be introduced to the characters, their stories, and my comparison to Narnia on how this functions.

CHAPTER ONE: THE POSTCARD

The afternoons when I could be alone were the best, because they were also a relief. Outside, clambering over the rusty playground and dodging around the scattered beer cans, the children played. The place, with a few stunted shrubs for it’s fence, was filled with litter: there was a discarded tire, a few cardboard boxes, and some dirty clothes. The children used them as their toys, but I had my own toys to play with.

    From the window, I could see the mountains. They partially blocked a watery sun, which already fought a swath of cloud. I didn’t know that day would seem bright, when compared with the ones to come. I didn’t know a lot of things, such as what Dad looked like.

    I only knew his handwriting. I turned the postcard over. The writing was spidery and small, but I had looked it over at least once a day for the past three years. I flipped it over to the picture on the front: palm trees swayed in the wind, casting long blue shadows over the fancy cars and the newly paved roads. There were green hills, and a beach side resort with shirtless old men and grinning, skinny twenty year olds, most of them blonde. I had bought into a myth of my own making: if you stayed in the sun long enough, it turned blonde...but you had to live where it was hottest.

    At eight, that myth seemed flimsy. I curled a strand of brown hair around my finger, which was also brown, but sort of gold.

    The Palm Tree Place, where Dad lived, was like something from a dream. It was funny how it made me deeply happy and deeply sad at the same time.

    “What are you doing up here?” a voice hissed. Ms. Brocklehurst ambled into the room. A Seagull Anthromorph, she was a confusion of frayed feathers and pinstripe clothes. Her skirt was bunched around her knees, and her jacket was too loose on her thin frame. Glasses slid down her sharp, dirty beak.

    “I was just-”

    “If you don’t get down, I’ll switch you good.” Ms. Brocklehurst’s beady eyes narrowed. “Actually, I think I will anyways. You’ve already disobeyed me, haven’t you?”

    “Please, I was only-”

    “Bend over.” Ms. Brocklehurst took a cane down from the wall. “Now.”

    A lump formed in my throat. Hot tears spewed from my eyes. Mom always said I was a baby. What was the word she used? Ingrate? That’s what I am.

    The pain thudded over my back, and I screamed. That was bad, but I couldn’t help it: it whistled through the air. It hit harder. It bit. I screamed louder. My eyes were glued to the floor. A piece of it peeled away.

    Whoosh, whap, whoosh, whap. The sounds were so gentle, but they felt so hard. I tried not to count the hits. That always made me hope, and that made it worse somehow.

    The next hit didn’t come. I remained bent over. Snot streamed from my nose. The floor was a blurry mess, like a painting.

    I heard the cane being hung up. That was such a happy sound. I heard a stomp of taloned feet, squeezed between black shoes.

    “Down, or I’ll give you another set.”

    My back burned as I straightened myself. My whole body ached; my legs stung, and it was hard to move. I was stiff.

    I shuffled past worn beds with identical gray coverlets. The walls were gray; everything was. It matched the cobwebs that hung in the corners. It matched the rickety stairs that had been brown, but were now rotting and bleached from too many days of sun exposure.

    I stopped at the foot of the playground. I realized I was still holding the postcard. I shoved it into my pocket. I wore a pair of jeans that were always sliding down. My pink hoodie was baggier, or I was just too skinny.

    I saw Emma Ruth skipping along a hopscotch she had made from snapped twigs. I wandered over to her, smiling.

    “Hi, Emma.”

    “Hi, freak.”

    “Can I play?”

    “Sure. Just don’t touch me. I don’t want to catch your freak bug.”

    I hopped along behind her. I felt oddly cheerful. It was one day at a time, right? Also, nobody was hitting me. That was always a plus.

    “Do you ever think about your parents?”

    “Don’t talk to me.”

    “Maybe they’ll come back for you. Or maybe a rich man will come here and adopt us all. And he’ll check back in to get any new children that come in. And then Brocklehurst will sell the place to him. He’d be a billionaire, and he would make his money selling children’s clothes. But he’d buy all our clothes for free!”

    “You’re really stupid, aren’t you?” Emma hopped along behind me. We went in a circle. “That stuff only happens in storybooks.”

    “My dad wrote to me right before I came here. It was his only letter, but he told me how palm trees grew. He talked about coconut milk and-”

    Emma shoved me to the ground. My head hit the edge of the playground box, and pinpricks of light, golden and white, flashed across my eyes.

    Emma looked big, though she was only a tiny girl in a dress, red and white and checkered like a picnic blanket. She crossed her arms, her blue eyes growing small. “Just leave me alone, freak.”

    A mean picture came into my mind: Emma’s dress on fire, her face as she screamed. I brushed the picture away. How could I have a thought like that? How awful! It wasn’t Emma’s fault I was weird. What if I could give it to her? I guess I’d be afraid too. I didn’t want to hurt Emma. The meanness was gone, leaving behind cold.

    And she’s sad too. We all are. We’re in the same boat.

    A bell rang. Children rushed past me. I stood up. My butt was damp. I realized the grass was wet, glinting in the gray-gold light. It must have rained. I wiped my hands on my jeans; the palms were stained green.

    I was sure I would have hated school, even if it was a nice one. Math just didn’t make sense, though the other children seemed to get it, and science was sort of creepy. I only really liked art and language.

    Ms. Brocklehurst passed out our papers. We had been tasked with essays. As usual, mine was covered in red circles, red underlines, and red comments. These said things like, “Do you hate commas, or are you just dumb?” There was also, “My brother could write better than you, and he’s illiterate.”

    The comments might have bothered me, but Emma Ruth’s paper looked like it was dripping with blood. I know it’s mean, but it’s kind of awesome, too.

    We were asked to write short stories. This was the part I liked. I flew into another tale about a lost prince and the king who had sent him away because dragons were looking for him. He lived alone in a cottage, but he could see the castle from his window, surrounded by palm trees. The king drank coconuts for breakfast, ate pineapple for lunch, and dined on mangoes and watermelon in the evening.

    Emma snickered. “You’re writing that story again?”

    “I like it.”

    “You don’t have much of an imagination, do you?”

    I blushed. “It makes me happy. I wasn’t going to publish it or anything.”

    “I hope not. Otherwise people will be vomiting everywhere because it’s so bad.”

    “You’re just unhappy because your stories get picked on too.”

    “Excuse me? You don’t know anything, freak.”

    My face was on fire, and shame coated my stomach. “I didn’t mean...but I understand, Emma. I like your stories. I’m glad they have happy endings.”

    “You’re mocking me.”

    “No! My favourite was the one with the golden haired Elf. I’d run away with him in a heartbeat, though I probably would make us move somewhere warmer than in the story.”

    Emma stood up. Her chair scraped over the floor. She raised her fists. “Keep talking.”

    “Okay.” I didn’t understand sarcasm. “Um, I liked the one with the blue Dragon, too, and how it had green polka dots. I probably wouldn’t date him, but he was really cool.”

    Emma’s fist connected with my lip. It felt dull, the pain spreading in a blanket through my whole jaw. I fell to the floor. The chair caught my elbow, and I yelped. I could still hear the wet thud in my head; the moment replayed itself through my spinning head. I pressed my cheek to the floor. It was cold, and felt good on my hot skin.

    “What in the name of Genitrix-”

    “She made fun of me!” As I rolled onto my back, Emma pointed to me. “She made fun of my story!”

    Ms. Brocklehurst glared at me. She slapped a long ruler in her hand, before trotting forward. She stood over me. “Up! What are you, a dog?”

    I scrabbled to my feet. I sank into my chair. I wanted to cry that it wasn’t fair, but what good did that do? I pressed my lips together, keeping the tears in.

    “Put your hands out.”

    She’s just doing her job. I spread my fingers out over the desk. Below them lied my sketch of the prince. He had brownish gold skin, brown hair, and eyes that were so dark they were almost black. His lips were full, his nose wide and hooked. He looked just like me, except that his hair was cut short, almost a buzz.

    Mine hung down my back in a lank ponytail. The prince also has a shower everyday. He bathes on the beach, and waits for the king to collect him.

    The ruler came down with a slam. It was louder than the cane, but less painful. Even as I teared up, I couldn’t help thinking how funny that was. My fingers wrinkled back, bending at the knuckles. She hit me three times. That was easy to count.

    Addition is the only math I like. I felt dazed. My stomach growled. Was it the hunger or the pain? But subtraction sucks. I only like the math where numbers get bigger.

    Ms. Brocklehurst stocked to the front. I resumed my story, like nothing had happened. Because nothing did. She’s doing her job. She thought I was being mean, and that’s okay. So she was wrong. So what? If I had been mean, I would have deserved it. I glanced at Emma. She’s just scared, is all.

    A second voice, the one I thought of as The Meanie, answered me. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.

    I will. There’s no need to be gloomy all the time, or nasty. Gloom settled in the pit of my stomach. Despair clutched my heart like a hand. My chest sank on the inside. My eyes stung.

    “Not fair,” I whispered. I glanced at Emma again. “I’m sorry.”

    “Huh?”

    “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be mean.”

    Emma furrowed her brow. She returned to her writing, shaking her head. All around me, pencils scratched. I wanted to read all the stories. Weren’t they all good in their own way?

    A delightful idea came to me. I had to struggle through math first, and the equations made me weep—literally. I was dreading algebra when I got older. That was when math stopped making sense for everybody.

    When class was over, I rushed to enact my plan. It was like clockwork: the kids tossed their last stories into the recycling bin. They dumped out their books.

    I knelt by the blue plastic container as they filed out. When the last kid, a Dog with Rottweiler markings named Jimmy, trotted out, I shoved my arms, elbow deep, into the paper. I plucked tales and drawings from the mix. I ordered them carefully, clicking them against the floor to make them straight.

    When I had collected them all, I had a fat, albeit unbound, book in my arms. I scurried up the stairs, ecstatic over my treasure. I didn’t have any books to read, but now I could read everyone’s stories.

    I flipped through the papers, knees pulled to my chest. I sat on my bed. I felt like a jeweler, surrounded by gleaming rubies and emeralds.

    I found Emma’s story, and put it at the front. The heroine (who always looked like Emma, with blue eyes and blonde curls) was falling in love with a Bear this time. She took half a page to describe his bulging muscles and glossy fur.

    She’s going to be a great romance writer someday! The story made me happy and warm all over. I decided it was my new favourite.

    I put my story at the back. It wasn’t that good, and I knew how it went. When I had read through all the stories, including mine, I pulled out the postcard again. Even though I loved Emma’s tales, this would always be my favourite thing to read.

    I closed my eyes, smiling. I sank into sleep. In my dreams, I saw the palm trees, and a sign with the postcard’s address: Similo, Sapphire Crest, Calidi, Queen Street, 4321.

[supernova-variations]

10th Doctor, Brave

(not my gif!)

10th Doctor x reader

warnings: mentions of anxiety. but overall a fluffy oneshot with a slightly angsty ending?  word count: 2000! got carried away with this one but i don’t care. i had so much fun writing this! request: Ola could do a picture with Doctor ten and reader / fem with the music phil collins - you'll be in my heart

A/N: before all of you read it, i just want to remind you how brave all of you are. even if you don’t know it. you just need to be shown that you are capable of everything. i love you guys so much. thank you for the never-ending support. mary xx

“Brave”

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

And hold it tight

 The Doctor came when she needed him the most, crushed by her own expectations and broken spines of old university books. Y/N measured her worth in coffee cups and hours she spent not-sleeping. She couldn’t be the judge of her beauty, she was way past looking at herself on the mirror, striving to gain knowledge to please everyone around her. She wouldn’t allow herself to fail, even if it meant running on fumes with limbs shaking from a caffeine overdose.

Afraid of failure, that’s who she was.

But we all have our limits, don’t we? Apparently, Y/N’s limit was the Latin exam, the one that got lost in her mind, tucked between a fifteen pages long essay due Monday, and an oral presentation that was supposed to take place the next day. Even the books in the library – usually her friend – seemed to judge her incompetence. Absurd thoughts filled her mind – maybe if she hid under the table and closed her eyes people would just forget that she existed? Maybe she would forget that she existed.

“Taurus agricola fugat,” she mumbled, tightly hugging her knees, her stomach turning into a big knot of nervousness, a bitter taste in her mouth. “No! Agricolae taurum fugat. N-”

“Why are you crying in Latin?” A pair of converse-covered feet peeked under the table, soon to be followed by a head full of ruffled, chaotic hair and concerned deep-brown eyes.

“I’m trying to bring back the Roman Empire to life,” the bitter joke escaping her lips mixed with a waterfall of tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

“Come on then, it’s not a place to do that.” The man reached out his hand and she grabbed it without hesitation, holding it tight. His fingers were slim, tender and warm, bringing comfort to all the cells inside her body that shrunk with the terror of the upcoming exam. “I’m the Doctor by the way.”

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

 Y/N pounded on the chamber’s door with great force, her knuckles turning pale and bloody. She was suffocating, but not because of the lack of air. Her body decided to shut down, anxiety shaking her bones to the core.

A small window provided the girl with a view on a narrow, long corridor. She looked around to find something heavy to crush the electrical mechanism of the lock, the lasts of adrenaline kicking into her bloodstream. There was nothing around her, she knew that already, but she couldn’t give up. The Doctor would give up.

 Soon enough Y/N found herself on the floor, the walls getting closer and closer, pressing against her back and knees. She could do so much more, right? Discover the world beyond the coffee-stained pages of the university books, brush her fingers against the ancient ground – only with a snap of the Doctor’s fingers. He promised her that. He said she would be safe with him, only if she took his hand and held it tight.

The ship was about to collapse and the Doctor ran towards the vault. Y/N forced herself onto her feet, knees bending with fear. She could decipher her name from the movement from his lips. The coat floated outside of his slim figure, not being able to catch up with his fast movements. Even the time he was slowly running out of couldn’t stop him.

“Don’t you dare cry, Y/N! I will be there!” And soon she was. In his arms. With only one problem: the ship was about to collapse.

For one so small,

You seem so strong

My arms will hold you,

Keep you safe and warm

This bond between us

Can't be broken

I will be here

Don't you cry

 Y/N wasn’t afraid to cry in front of the Daleks. It was good to show them her humanity, to remind them what they weren’t capable of. “Cry baby” they used to call her, but she wasn’t embarrassed by her feelings by now. The Doctor showed her the beauty of them, the beauty hidden within.

“You don’t seem to know who he is,” Y/N laughed bitterly, angrily wiping the tears escaping her eyes. Resting her ear against both of the Doctor’s hearts, reassured by their beating, she got up slowly, limping on her left feet. The sudden explosion knocked out both of them and she was the first one to regain consciousness.

The Time Lord laid on the ground, sonic screwdriver abandoned on the ground. Without a playful smile on his lips and sparkling eyes, he seemed out of place, like an impostor, and that broke her heart. But he needed her, even if she was small and fragile. He didn’t teach her to be strong, he simply showed her how.

She faced the Dalek, resting her teared-up but furious eyes on the creature. She would take one step at the time, just like the Doctor taught her, gravel shifting under her feet.

“He is the Doctor.” The Dalek screeched. “He has been exterminated. And so will you be.”

“He is so much more than the Doctor.” She moved further, jumping on her right feet, the sprained ankle sending fireworks of pain to her synapses. “And so am I.”

'Cause you'll be in my heart

Yes, you'll be in my heart

From this day on

Now and forever more

You'll be in my heart

No matter what they say

You'll be here in my heart

Always

 “Are you sure about this?” Y/N asked him, holding onto the sleeves of the Doctor’s jacket. He wasn’t terrified, not at all. A goofy grin lit his face when the heavy wind hit their figures. How they still stood in the middle of a storm was an enigma to Y/N. Maybe the Time Lords defied the laws of gravity.

“Was I ever sure about anything?”

“Don’t be cocky!” The companion scolded him, earning another boyish laugh from the Doctor. He expected her to jump off a building. Not any building; the highest building in the world. She rested her eyes on his face, focusing on counting the freckles on his cheeks. She knew that if she even dared to trail off her gaze towards the void beneath them, she would most likely faint.

“Thought you were deadly scared of heights, and here you are, lecturing me. I adore you, Y/N Y/S.” The girl shivered at how her surname sounded in Doctor’s lips. He made her feel like she was a giant, capable of anything. No matter if it was a Latin exam, deadly Dalek, or a collapsing ship.

“Allons-y before I change my mind?” Gripping on to his arms, Y/N took the first leap. They were so close she could feel the Time Lord’s eyelashes tickling her cheek.

 Why can't they understand the way we feel

They just don't trust what they can't explain

I know we're different, but deep inside us

We're not that different at all

 Even though they were so different – hell they weren’t even the same species – they belonged to each other. When one was anxious, the other one filled them with hope. When one needed slowing down, the other one told him to take a deep breath. The Doctor and Y/N found themselves in a curve of time, imprinted as a mere fraction in the universe’s history. It wasn’t possible and yet it was.

 “What is this called again?” Y/N gasped, examining a tiny object in her hand. The surface of a shining ball seemed to shift it’s constellations and orbits every time she turned it around. The Doctor had told her that she was holding a miniature universe in her hands. “I mean, it’s not possible. In my physics classes, we’ve-,”

“Haven’t I proven to you that physics is so much more than school education? You can’t simply grasp it. It’s intangible. Well,” he stopped himself and cupped her hands with his own, “usually. Right now you are holding physics in your hands.”

“Physics, physics, physics?” Y/N reminded him, meeting his eyes and he smiled at her.

“Physics, physics, physics.”

She could hear the happiness stroking his vocal cords.

Don't listen to them

'Cause what do they know

We need each other, to have, to hold

They'll see in time, I know

 “Ah, the Doctor and one of his pets. At last.” A voice echoed throughout the empty hall of the Westminster Palace. Who would have thought that the current Prime Minister was indeed a Reptile? Well, only the people on the internet.

“Yes, nice to meet you. Or not. Funny enough, you’re the one that resembles a…pet.” Y/N cocked her head to the side and looked up at the Doctor’s expression. She carefully studied his face, how his nose curved and the subtle raise of his right eyebrow.

“Twelve million people just punched the air,” The Doctor snickered and leaned onto the wall. “Sorry, a mistake in calculations. You can add two more people to that number. You know why? Never let me near all those buttons.” The sonic screwdriver pointed at the secret panel hidden behind a painting of one of the kings of Britain. Probably a Reptilian also.

“Are we officially a number one enemy of United Kingdom?”

“Oh yes! Yes, we are!”

When destiny calls you, you must be strong

I may not be with you

But you got to hold on

They'll see in time, I know

We'll show them together

 Old Y/N would cry at this point – terrified of alien destruction, the Time Lords pulling through time itself, the unpredictability of the Master. It was time to be strong. She had to, the Doctor counted on her. The whole world did.

The Doctor didn’t need to hear the four knocks coming from the chamber, radiation levels rocketing on the panel where Y/N stood. The Time Lord already knew what had to be done, it was his time, his song was ending. He didn’t think of the things he could do if he had the opportunity, because he knew his Y/N could do so much more. Brave to stand where she stood, facing all the dangers and the end of the universe itself.

“It’s an honour, Y/N.”

“Please, don’t.”

Just look over your shoulder

Just look over your shoulder

Just look over your shoulder

I'll be there

Always

 In his last hours, he allowed himself to push the leaver inside the Tardis and see Y/N for the last time. He went way back, crippled by pain, and peaked outside the blue door, seeing his beloved one walking on the sidewalk, buried with notes, ready to study for the Latin exam she had forgotten about. In just a couple of hours, they would meet for the first time, only she didn’t know it yet. But he did – the burden of the Time Lords, wasn’t it?

“Please, look over your shoulder,” he pleaded, his voice at the point of breaking, sharp pain bending his back, deep brown eyes hidden behind tightly shut eyelids.

“Y/N, please. Please look over your shoulder.”

But she didn’t. The last thing he saw before shutting the Tardis’ door was the time machine of his past self and the Doctor’s head peaking onto the street. He envied him.

The younger Doctor looked over his shoulder, staring confusedly at a disappearing time machine. A feeling in his two hearts told him to visit the library nearby.

[passivenovember]

Cinnamon. 

Dawn's got a boyfriend. 

A stupid, dorky, lanky boyfriend who decorates his nails and pairs platform jelly crocs with unbelievably tight jeans.

Dawn paints things on the pockets. 

The ass pockets, much to Billy's sniveling, sneering disapproval. Little pictures of toaster ovens and broken light bulbs, industrial and punk and. 

Perfect.

Weird.

Just like her.

Billy doesn't understand what she see's in the guy.

His family moves in the summer before sophomore year and everything changes. Billy's got a fourth blanket in the hamper next to Dawns for movie night, all of a sudden, and he's being dragged to double dates with the kid's freaky artistic parents. Steve's inviting them to dinner because I like them, Bills.

Then the boy's sleeping over in their living room.

Every weekend. 

Probably kissing Billy's fifteen year old daughter at three in the morning and eating Billy's favorite pop tarts, just. 

All of a sudden.

Out of nowhere, like. An alien invasion gone horribly, terribly wrong. 

Billy feels like he should've seen it coming. 

--

It's Friday night. The first in years that's just them, just.

Steve and Billy and Dawn.

Cooking after a shit week. Cracking jokes and dancing around the kitchen to Joy Division. The first Friday in months without the boy and his golden-retriever ass blocking access to the record player. Doing nothing. Eating cherry tomatoes and laughing too loudly at everything Billy says.

It's just them. 

The three musketeers. 

Billy's over the moon excited to spend it with his husband. Burning their vegan lasagna and sneaking kisses on the couch while Dawn tells them to knock it off. Watching horror films, bickering over what flavor of ice cream to have delivered, and. 

Hugging Steve and Dawn to his chest when the nightmares come.

Billy knows, alright, he.

Feels it.

There aren't too many of these left.

He'll take what he can get.

--

So it's Friday night and Dawn isn't in her movie night onesie, she's.

Tromping around the house in the docs Billy got her for Christmas last year. Still wearing her knock-off Susie Sioux war paint and homemade skirt, the one that's covered in functional patches. Billy smiles, flooded with warmth, when he sees the newest addition tacked right above the tear in her knee.

A butterfly. The one they painted together.

"Nice," He says, chopping up cucumbers for the salad. "'S a little girly, though. Fuck Nazi's should come next if balance is to be restored."

"I think we should save that one. Stick it somewhere special, on something that'll last." Dawn meanders slowly around the kitchen. Running her fingertips along the cutting board, kissing Steve on the cheek and kicking Billy on the shin. Her usual form of hello.

Billy rifles through what he knows of her wardrobe. "You only have special shit. Staple pieces."

"True, but something, like." Dawn sneaks a slice of cucumber, crunching loudly next to Billy's ear. "Super special. A jacket, perhaps."

Steve coos like a bird, suddenly checked into the conversation. "A leather one?"

Dawn shakes her head. "Nah, something lighter."

Steve grins, clapping his oven mitts together. "Staples, leather, can't blame a guy for trying."

"Something more versatile." Dawn tries. "Light blue. Loved and lost by generations of Hargrove's before me."

Billy empties his cucumber slices into a bowl, not liking where this is headed.

Dawn wraps her arm around his shoulders.

"Of the denim variety?"

Billy shrugs her arm away, moving to put the casserole in the oven because. Steve does pottery for a living but he's still scared of the oven. 

Dawn follows closely behind. "Just picture it. A gorgeous, vintage denim jacket covered in studs."

Billy sighs. "Metal Heads don't need all that shit to feel cool."

But Dawn just keeps talking. "And a patch of the most excellent quality tacked right above something artistic, like. A lipstick smear--

"You're not getting my jacket." Billy concludes, doing his best to put some bass in it.

Assert some of that dominance he was known for in high school, but.

It doesn't work.

Dawn waggles her eyebrows because once you let a little girl paint your toenails she stops being afraid of you. "It could be a love letter." She says. "A little 'kiss my ass,'  to every skinhead in Hawkins."

Steve makes a noise from his place on the counter, checking in once more. "Since when are there skinheads in Hawkins?"

"Since always." Billy says to his husband. And then, to his daughter; "The jacket is written into our will."

She snorts. "Are you serious?"

Before Billy can say anything, snarky or otherwise, the doorbell rings. 

"I'll get it," Dawn says, voice going high and airy in the way it only does when--

"Does Peter like casserole?" 

Billy wishes Steve had a single rude bone in his body. 

Dawn's cheeks go bright red. "Who said Peter's here?"

And then she's gone. Opening the front door and greeting him. 

Peter.

Like he's the second coming or some shit.

"Oh, maybe because he's always here." Billy grumbles. "Eating my poptarts and forgetting to put more toilet paper in the bathroom--"

"Bills." Steve says. 

"What? Just stating facts."

"Thought you wanted her to make friends her own age?" Steve says easily, planting a delicate, sweet kiss on the curve of Billy's neck. 

Down the hall things are quiet.

Too quiet.

"Peter isn't a friend, he's a goddamn turd." Billy scrubs roughly at the counter top, trying to work out a seven year old Kool-Aid stain. "Flirty little turd trying to flirt with our kid, That's what--"

"Dawn and Peter don't flirt." 

And Billy wishes Steve had a single thought in his pretty little head.

Billy throws the towel down on the countertop, hands on hips. "Are you fuckin' serious?"

But before Steve can say anything Turd Boy is rounding the corner in a denim vest and a flowery skirt, a giggling Dawn stumbling over the floor behind him. Since Billy saw him last, Peter's nose grew a ring of metal and his hair has turned pink. 

Bright pink.

Pastel pink, clashing and melding with a shirt Billy remembers from Dawn's fifth grade yearbook. 

Kid looks cool. 

Really gnarly, like Sid Vicious and David Bowie rolled into one, and Billy instantly hates it when Dawn says that they're going to a fucking football game. 

Billy puts on his dad hat.

The responsible one that makes him feel like a dweeb, and asks all the right questions. Who will be there, when are they coming home, does she need money or a pair of brass knuckles to intimidate the skinheads--

Steve asks if he should get a head start on the pillow fort, and.

Peter laughs.

Dawn holds out her hand, like, "That might be cool."

Billy tenses when Steve's arms find his waist. "The knuckles or the fort?"

She thinks about it. Then; "Both."

So Billy digs around for his wallet. And hands over his pocket-knuckles. And tries not to vomit when Dawn makes big, disgusting goo-goo eyes at the boyfriend that could, all things considered, be a lot fucking worse. 

Steve tells them to call if they need anything and Peter promises to look have Dawn home by ten thirty. Swears to look out for her and use the knuckles if he's gotta, so.

Billy believes the kid.

Hates him because he has to, believes him because Steve does. 

And then they're gone. 

Billy stares after them long after the front door has slammed shut, trying not to feel disappointed that they'll be empty nesters until their kids stumble home from a night of normalcy.

Steve hasn't said a word.

"Guess it's just us, tonight," Billy whispers to the front door. Steve kisses the back of his neck. "I found some rolling papers in Dawn's room if you wanna--"

"Should we be letting her date?"

Which. 

"Since when have we let Dawn do anything?"

[ronoken]

Story starter - Take Your Shot

This is something original that I’ve started brewing. It’s loosely based on my fan works, but this is 100% mine. I think I know where I want to go with this, but I figured I’d post the first rough chapter here for you to enjoy.

Let me know what you think.

*** 

“Step right up! Step right up! Take a shot and win a prize! One dollar gets you ten shots!”

Gina Mosey took a bite of her ice cream cone as her eyes drifted to the shooting booth. It was a warm autumn evening and she and her friends were out enjoying themselves on a Friday night. The carnival had rolled into town just that afternoon, setting up in the abandoned General Miller’s grocery store near her home. She was out with her friends, Andre and Tulip, and after riding several terrifyingly flimsy rides, they were wandering the game booths and pigging out on sugar.

“Hey, check out that booth,” Andre said. He was munching on an oversized elephant ear and gesturing with his food towards the stand. “It’s setup like an old timey shooting gallery.”

Gina made a ‘mmm’ noise in agreement as she took another bite of her chocolate cone. She was careful not to get it on her jean jacket. It may have had a slew of frayed band patches all over it, but the ornate stitching on the back had been done by her mother. It had been a birthday gift, and even thought Gina didn’t make a big deal out of it, she absolutely adored it. So what if it did clash with her black, flower print tee shirt? So what if it didn’t exactly go with her jean shorts and black leggings? Aside from her beat-up converse, her jacket was her prized article of clothing, and she wasn’t about to get a stain on it.

Beside her, Tulip started hopping up and down excitedly. She was in a green dress that offset her dark skin nicely, and the green barrettes in her short, black hair shown yellow in the carnival lights. Her face was fixed in what Gina had long ago accepted to be a permanent smile.

“I wanna give it a try! This looks fun!” Tulip said. She broke from their small group and half-ran over to the large, dark shooting booth. Gina and Andre followed, both taking in the detail of the gallery. There were painted hills, some houses, a fence, and what looked like a barn in the corner. Moving on a rickety track were metal ducks, cows, chickens, and on a fence post in the back was a small squirrel. All of them were on what looked like small metal sticks.

“One dollar gets you ten shots,” the carny sad from beside them. Gina noted he was dressed exocentrically for a barker. He had an old, red felt tuxedo and an oversized top hat. His eyes were hidden behind a set of oversized spectacles, and he was grinning like a jack-o-lantern. He turned his head towards Gina and leaned in. “Care to give it a go?”

Tulip handed the carny a dollar and picked up a flimsy-looking BB gun. She took aim and after ten shots, managed to knock down three ducks and a cow.

“Not bad, not bad,” the carny said as he handed her an oversized green duck plushie. He looked again to Gina. “Miss? Care to try?”

“I’ll try,” Andre said. He fished a dollar out of his red flannel shirt and handed it to the carny. Gina watched as he ran his hand through his slightly unkept blond hair and took aim. He managed to hit a chicken, a cow, and four ducks.

“Why, not bad at all, sonny. Here, have a prize for your trouble.” Gina watched as the carny handed her friend a small, red and green basketball.

Andre smirked at Gina and said, “Bet’cha can’t do better.”

Gina glanced at the targets and then at the carny. She considered saying no, but it did look kind of fun, and if there was one thing she had never been able to do in the 15 years she had been alive, it was turn down a challenge from Andre. They had grown up together, and as a result, they had been through hundreds of dares, challenges, and fights.

And Gina hated losing to him. Like, seriously hated it.

Gina handed him her ice cream and fished a dollar out of her jean jacket. She handed it to the carny and reached for a BB gun, but the carny cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he said in a slightly quieter voice than before. Gina watched as he reached behind the counter and brought out a very different looking gun. It was larger, and slightly heavier. The handle looked like it cocked down and up to load, just like the other BB guns, but it was obvious that the overall quality of the gun was superior to the ones out for use. “I believe this rifle might be more to your liking, Miss.”

Gina stared at the rifle for a moment before giving a small nod and carefully taking the gun from the carny’s hands. She hefted it for a moment, allowing herself to get used to the weight before she settled against the counter and adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses. Green eyes narrowed as she followed the sight at the end of the barrel towards a flimsy tin duck.

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

Three ducks went down in a row.

Tulip let out a whistle as Andre shrugged and frowned. “So what? It’s just beginner’s luck.”

Gina frowned and glared at the chicken targets. “Hey Andre?” Gina muttered.

“Yeah?” Andre replied.

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

BAM!

“Shut up.”

Andre and Tulip stared, slack-jawed, as two chickens, two cows, a bird, and a rotating sun target over the barn all fell one after the other.

“How’d you do that?” Andre asked, dumbfounded. “Your mom doesn’t even let you play laser tag!”

Gina shrugged and took aim at a rabbit target. She pulled the trigger and watched the rabbit fall.

“Dunno,” Gina said. “I just… Did?”

“You have one more shot,” the carny said. He pointed at the squirrel target in the back. “If you can hit that squirrel, I might have a special prize for you.”

Gina bit her lip and took aim.

BAM!

The tin squirrel rocked back and disappeared.

“We have a winner!” The carny cried out. He took the gun back from Gina and rooted around behind the counter. Meanwhile, Tulip was staring at her with eyes as wide as saucers.

“You’re amazing! Do you have a shooting game at home?” Tulip stared awestruck at her friend.

Andre let out a snort. “Dr. Mosey wouldn’t spend money on a shooting game if her life depended on it,” he said. Gina nodded in agreement.

“It’s true. Mom isn’t a fan, so, yeah.” She glanced at the targets again. “I just, um, did it. That was my first time.”

“Well then,” the carny said as he popped up from behind the counter. “I’d say that deserves something special. A special prize for a special lady.”

Gina eyed the carny as he handed her what looked like a leather bracelet. She looked back at Tulip’s green stuffed chicken and cocked an eyebrow. “Um, no offense, but how is this better than a chicken?”

“That right there is a special charm bracelet,” the carny said as he handed it to Gina. “There’s not many out there of this quality, nor that can take charms quite like these. I assure you,” the carny leveled his gaze at Gina. “This is a very rare prize. In fact, I’d been waiting to see who would win it, and here you are.”

“Yeah,” Gina said as she backed away from the somewhat creepy carny. “Here I am, and here I go. Thanks, Mister.”

“Anytime,” the carny said as the trio of kids drifted away. He grinned after them as they disappeared into the crowd. “Anytime at all.”

***

By the time Gina got home, it was late. Andre and Tulip had walked her to her door, but honestly it wasn’t like it was out of their way. They all lived on the same little winding suburban street. It was one of those neighborhoods that was teetering on being either really nice or really run-down, and with the number of rentals that had popped up over the last few years, it was tilting towards the latter.

Gina kicked off her shoes and looked around the quiet, dark two-story home. Her mother was working late, as usual. Gina let out a small sigh and headed to the kitchen for some soda. It wasn’t like she blamed her mom for working; someone had to, after all. Gina just wished from time to time that they had more time for each other after…

Gina popped the top of her soda can and took a long swig as she wandered into the living room. She then glanced to the family picture hanging above the couch.

“Hey dad,” Gina said to the picture. He was in a white dress shirt with a red tie, and his arm was around her mother’s waist. She was grinning and her hair was curly and hanging in her face, and between them was Gina, just a year younger than she was now.

Gina sighed. The three of them looked blissfully happy.

“So, I had fun at the carnival. Andre won a basketball. Did you know he sucks at shooting?”

Gina smiled and took another sip of soda. “And, like, I’m apparently awesome at it? Who knew? You would have been impressed.”

Gina stood in the dimly lit room and hugged herself. “I wish you’d been there. We should have all gone together. I wish mom could have gone, but she’s done nothing but work since, well, you know.”

Gina held up her hands. “And that’s cool! I mean, I get it. She’s trying to make sure we’re taken care of, but, like…”

She looked around the empty room.

“I’m lonely, dad. I miss you. I miss telling you about my day.”

Gina wiped at the hot tears starting to slide down her cheeks. She quickly finished off the can of soda and headed upstairs to her bedroom.

“So,” she said as she closed the door to her cluttered, poster-lined room. Around her, the faces of numerous grunge bands stared back. She carefully navigated around the piles of dirty clothes and flopped down on her bed, her jean jacket jingling as she did so.

She fished into her pocket and pulled out the charm bracelet. Idly, she examined it in the yellow light that was pouring in from her window.

“Weird,” she muttered as she slipped it on. “I mean, the bullet is cool, I guess? Could I even wear this to school? Hmm.”

Gina turned her wrist slightly, letting the bullet charm catch the light from the streetlamp. Gina didn’t notice as the light shining on it went from the pale yellow to having some blue reflecting off of it.

“I guess I’m a crack shot,” she mused. “I wonder what kind of gun that was?”

“Well, it looked ta me like a really cheap Berthier rifle.”

Gina let out a surprised cry and scrambled to a sitting position against her wall at the sound of the voice. It had a thick southwest accent, and it had come from right beside her.

Horrified, Gina stared wide-eyed at what was before her.

Standing right next to her bed was a glowing, ghostly blue outline of what looked like a short woman in her 20’s. She was in what looked like a rugged dress with some ornate lace around the collar and sleeves. She had long, curly hair and a huge grin on her face. She was holding what looked like a glowing blue rifle, and she winked as she reached up to tip her Stetson hat to the terrified girl.

“Howdy, ma’am.”

Gina screamed.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n-sometimes, I look back on this series and think about how this did not go the way it was initially planned. And then I just write more angst and make it worse. Flashback in italics)

Summary Prologue  1   2   3  4  5  6 7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14  15

Warnings- Angst

Chapter 16- The Best Part of Me Was Always You.

5 Months Ago Salty tears rolled down her cheeks and they didn’t really do anything to quell the heat in her cheeks. Y/n couldn’t believe that she’d let herself fall for Keanu, even after she’d seen the red flags so, so many of them. They were there from the very start. But still, he was…...enigmatic, charming and daringly handsome. He made it easy to love him. He was making it easy to hate him too. 

Even as Y/n hustled through the lobby, intent on her room, ready to pack up and get her assistant to change her flight, she couldn’t help but let his words replay in her head. You’re not my girlfriend. It was her fault, Y/n was the one who’d built up this perfect idea of him in her head, she was the one who’d held onto the flimsy threads of hope, wishing that at some point, Keanu would come to return her feelings. But Y/n had to grow up, realize that he wasn’t the one that was going to be the one that stuck around to the end, he had the affections of a gypsy after all. 

Her head was down, and Y/n’s leather jacket was held closed by tightly balled fists and her the thin heels of her stilettos clicked on the marble floor, drowning out everything else. She was so distracted with her tumultuous thoughts, that Y/n didn’t see the person getting out of the elevator, just as she was trying to get in, consequently walking straight into his hard chest. “Oh!” He grabbed her shoulders, trying to steady her, surprised when she finally looked up at him, smeared, running make-up skewing her beauty, eyes red and lips quivering with quiet sobs, “Y/n?”

“Luke,” embarrassed, she hastily swiped at her eyes and sniffled, knowing that no amount of damage control could rectify her appearance, “Hey, I didn’t know you were staying here.”

“It’s just for tonight,” his frown was deep and his hold on her shoulders didn’t waver, “Are you okay? Why are you crying?”

Wiping her face again, Y/n tried to dismiss his concern, “I’m fine.” Desperately, she tried to slip out of his hold, growing a little annoyed when he wouldn’t relent, “It’s nothing okay? Why do you care anyway?”

Her words seemed to sting, still Luke put on a brave face, his warm, rich eyes soft, as they’d always been with her. Why couldn’t Y/n have just fallen in love with Luke? He was good and safe. He put her needs before his and put up with so much to be with her. “Because I care about you, Y/n,” he cleared his throat loudly, “Even if you’re with Keanu now.”

At the mention of his name, a choked sob  broke through her lips, and in an instant, without even knowing the reason for her break down, Luke was pulling her in, hugging her tight and shushing her in comfort. “It’s okay,” assured, kissing the top of her hair, “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Whatever it is, you’re gonna be okay.”

Now The billboards seemed to dominate Los Angeles, and the adverts were plastered everywhere too; at storefronts on the street and in the malls, in magazines and on the internet. There wasn’t a place that Keanu could go without seeing her face; Y/n, the newest face of Everwood. When he’d heard the news, after it had made its way through whispers and rumors around Hollywood, he almost couldn’t believe it. Just over five months ago, Y/n was sitting at brunch saying that she didn’t do things like that; model for popular fashion houses and parade their brands as if she were their messiah. But there she was, and Keanu could still barely wrap his head around it. 

With her induction to the fashion world, had come other rumors. People had started to speculate that she and Luke had started going around again, she was working for his mother after all. It was something he’d avoided thinking about, Keanu couldn’t stand the thought that she’d managed to move on when he felt like he’d be stuck wallowing in their break up forever. And for the most part, Keanu had closed himself off to anything involving Y/n, he dismissed the topic when people asked what it was like to work with her and actively avoided more than a glance at the pictures of her that seemed to be painted on every corner. 

At first, it was easy, L.A was huge and people weren’t often listening when you were talking anyway, always in search of the next new high. But then it happened, the day that reminded him that he couldn’t ever truly escape her came, right when he wasn’t expecting it. Los Angeles was big, but it wasn’t that big. She was wearing a sundress, a pale pink one, and at first, he thought he was hallucinating. What were the odds that on the very same day that he’d taken his mother to brunch would be the same on that Y/n would drop by at the very same restaurant, with a table on the other side of the cushy establishment, to share a meal with an older woman and Luke. 

“Who are you looking at?” Keanu’s mother interrupted his taunting thoughts, trying to match his gaze; see what he was seeing. “Oh!” Her eyes light up in recognition, “That’s Delilah Everwood! You know her,” Patrica reached over the small table to slap his arm lightly, “She’s the founder of the design house,” squinting her eyes, she continued, “That must be her son, the photographer, and isn’t that the girl you worked with a couple months ago, Y/n?”

“Uh,” thank heavens for the insane alcohol content of bloody marys, “Yup,” his stiff, wooden reply was delayed, and like a fool Keanu couldn’t tear his gaze away from the scene several feet away. Even if it hurt like a punch to the gut when she leaned into Luke’s side after planting a kiss to his jaw. She’d met his mother, they were having brunch, like a happy little family.

Keanu had never even thought of letting Y/n meet his mother.

And now? The greatest love of Keanu’s life, the best part of himself, was wrapped up in the arms of another. Like life was some kind of sick, practical joke.

“Don’t you want to go say hi Ke?” His mother, always so polite, “I’m sure she’d love to see you again.” She used to love him. “Come on,” already she was moving to stand.

“No!” Hasty and ready to put an end to the matter, startling his mother, “I mean,” he forced a strained smile, “It’s been so long since we’ve spent some time together, just the two of us. Let’s not go through all of that, okay?”

She didn’t seem to believe him eyeing Keanu suspiciously before once again resigning to her wicker chair, “Okay,” she matched his smile, hers more genuine, “Whatever you want sweetheart.” Even as she sat, Keanu could tell that his mother hadn’t completely let the issue go, and was probably going to bring up his behavior on the ride back to her place, but until then, he’d be inclined to pretend that what he’d seen wasn’t real. Because if it was real, then Y/n was never coming back to him. 

He was always hard to miss, even though Y/n knew that Keanu preferred to simply blend in, he always stood out. She'd seen him from the minute he walked in, pulling out a chair for an older woman; his mother. It was funny, the fact that they dated but the only reason Y/n knew his mother was because of the internet. For the minute, after the two had taken their patio table, Y/n held her breath for the moment where another woman would appear, her replacement. There hadn't been anything in the media that said Keanu was seeing someone else, and he'd seemingly stayed true to his word, holding onto her space in his life, but Y/n knew better than anyone that Keanu could hide a relationship if he wanted to. 

It stung, the thought of someone else laying with him at night, safe in his arms, listening to him talk about his day. For months, Y/n had longed to be that person, his one and only, his forever. But the odds weren't in their favor and though he'd apologized and though she missed him with everything in her, she'd still gotten back with Luke. Y/n hadn't meant for it to happen, but his mother's people had adamantly lobbied with her people, and by the end summer, she'd signed on as a spokesperson for his Delilah's brand. Getting back with Luke had been collateral damage after that; he'd been in charge of a few of the photo shoots and during editing, they'd gotten closer than they were before, Y/n had found herself letting him in in a way she hadn't when they were together, and it certainly helped that he was the one that had gone out of his way to help her through her break up with Keanu. Being with him after that seemed easy, like it was the right thing to do. 

At least, it did, until she saw Keanu. In an instant, the memories came flooding back. How his lips worked with hers when they kissed. His arms felt when they embraced and how his board, his chest and his beating heart felt against her back. How he smelt and tasted and simply everything about him. Keanu was a stain on her memory, embedded in her skin and sometimes, when Y/n would pick up something she’d worn in his company, she could swear that his musky aroma had still clung to the fabric. Maybe he was meant to stay with her forever, in a different kind of way. In the memories they shared. Maybe they just weren’t meant to be.

At the thought, Y/n’s shoulders fell and her gaze dimmed. For some reason, even though she’d processed their break up, she hadn’t really thought of the fact that she might go on with the rest of her life having not reconciled with the one man who she’d love above all others. “You okay?” Luke affectionately squeezed her shoulders, her spaghetti strap not a real barrier from the warmth of his palm.

Forcing a smile, which inevitably faltered, Y/n turned to Luke, trying hard to suppress thoughts of Keanu. But she couldn’t, it wasn’t as easy as she’d like it to be, and then, more than ever, she realized that she might have never felt for Luke what she felt for Keanu, even if she was too stubborn to take him back. “Yeah,” not wanting him to press the matter, she reached up, pecking the side of his jaw, paying mind to Keanu seated across the room, his dark eyes trained on her. 

For a moment more, though never directly looking in his direction, Y/n observed him; he looked a little different. His beard was bushier than she remembered and his shaggy mane a bit longer. Part of her ached to get up and go say something, but Y/n knew herself well enough that if she even got there, there was no telling what would happen. So instead, she just stayed, cuddled against Luke, trying to enjoy their habitual Sunday brunch with Delilah, occasionally stealing glances at Keanu and hoping no one would notice. 

“Well,” his mother was sitting shotgun, handbag discarded in her lap with her hands clasped over the top and dark tinted sunglasses guarding her knowing expression.

With one hand stationed on the wheel, the other balled in a loose fist on his jean clad lap, Keanu kept his eyes trained forward, navigating the busy Los Angeles street as he headed for his mother’s place, “Well what?” He knew exactly what she was asking about, but really wasn’t in the mood to talk about Y/n, especially after he’d seen her all wrapped up around Luke, the sight just another crushing reminder of every mistake he’d made over the past few months. Mistakes were costly, and boy was he learning that the hard way. So much for thinking he’d lived enough to learn enough. “What are you talking about?” There was an unnerved twinge in his tone, and nervously, he tightened his grip on the wheel.

“Well what happened between you and Y/n?” Patrica turned to him, pushing up her sunglasses so when Keanu stole a glance her way, he’d be met with her ‘I already know, so just tell me’ look, penetrating his hardened exterior. Mothers. “She’s a little young for you, don’t you think?” She continued poking when he didn’t respond the first time, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, at least you two could’ve had a baby-”

“Mom!” With a frenzied state, Keanu cut her off, almost jerking the wheel impulsively as he turned to her, only to find a mischievous smirk tickling her lips. Of course, she’d say anything to get him to talk. “There’s nothing between me and Y/n. She was…...a co star.”

“So you look at all your co stars like they just punched you in the gut?” When Keanu simply rolled his eyes, Patrica sighed heavily, “Sweetheart,” she began again, tone softer, “You’re my son, I know you. And I know when you’re lying to me; I saw the way you were looking at her,” reaching over, she squeezed his shoulder in a display of motherly comfort, or at least, as much as she could offer while he was driving. “If you feel something for her, then maybe you should tell her.”

“Its not like that,” Keanu shook his head, hoping his unwillingness to elaborate would override her built-in need to mother him and ask way to maybe questions. But alas, it didn’t, and if anything, his mother just seemed to expect more, so, with an exasperated huff, he continued, “We were…..” gesturing wildly with his free hand, “You know…..in a…”

“Relationship?” She finished with a raised, questioning brow, “You were together!” Patrica gasped, clearly offended that he’d neglected to mention such an important bit of information.

“Yes,” cringing, Keanu cringed at the word ‘relationship.’ That was what Y/n had wanted, that was what he’d offered, though only when it was too late, “But also…...no? Its complicated.”

“I’m sure its not that complicated dear. What happened? You obviously aren’t together anymore.” Obviously.

As if he hadn’t gone over it in his head enough. Cried over it, lost sleep over it, and everything in between. All while Y/n was perfectly fine and totally moved on. Shrugging as he turned into her street, it took all of Keanu’s will to not absolutely press all his weight on the gas just so they’d get to his mother’s house quicker and consequently drop the topic, “We broke up, sort of.”

Licking her lips, Patrica shifted in her seat, trying to get a good, long, accusing look at him, “What did you do? And why’s there all this...vagueness?” Furrowing her brows, she huffed, annoyed by his apparent disinterest in telling her the truth in its entirety, “Just tell me what happened.”

And so, with every ounce of reluctance in his weary bones, Keanu told her; the more pg parts of the good and a summarized version of the ugly. Even after they reached her house, his car parked at the top of her long, winding driveway. When he was finished, they sat in tense silence for a minute, and while Keanu had prepared himself for a lecture, he was certainly not prepared to be swatted on the back of his head. “Ow!”

“That’s for what you did to that poor girl,” scoffing, his mother shook her head, “I can’t believe you’d treat her like that! You need to apologize.”

“I did,” Keanu sighed heavily, both hands still on the wheel as he started down into his lap, “It clearly didn’t work. And now she’s gone.” She’s really gone, over him and everything, while he was sitting in his mother’s driveway, sulking.

“Then get her back,” grabbing his shoulder, Keanu’s mother reached over to turn her face to him, “What, you’re just going to wait around and hope she changes her mind? You need to pick yourself up and give her a reason to change it.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” It wasn’t like Keanu hadn’t given it his best, and he definitely wasn’t going to grovel any more than he had. 

“Well first,” while a light smile, she fondly dragged her nails through his beard, peppered with a bit more grey than usual, “I suggest you shave,” at that, Keanu tilted his head and rolled his eyes, quelling yet another exasperated sigh. “And after that,” she chuckled, patting the side of his face, “You have real talk with her. You’ve fought already, so now just….talk.”

Taking a deep breath, Keanu nodded, already debating whether or not he should even go for it. On one hand, they would start press junkets at the end of the month, and the last thing he wanted was three weeks worth of awkward interactions between grueling interviews, but on the other he didn’t want things to end the way they had the last time; with both of them hurt beyond comparison. There was one thing Keanu did know for sure though; and that was that he only had two weeks to figure out what he was going to do. 

*******

Tagging- @harrisongslimited​  @paanchu786​  @thesadvampire​  @fanficsrusz​  @fickensteinn​  @ladyreapermc​  @babygirltaina​  @septimaseverina​  @snatchedbylele​  @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx​  @magnificentclodpiebanana @allie1804-fan @keandrews  @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx​ @danceoftwowolves

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: G

Summary: Luka's replaced his broken guitar with a kazoo. Marinette realizes just how important that guitar was to their burgeoning relationship....Maybe she should've made sure no one was around before she ranted about that to Tikki.(Set during/after the end of Miracle Queen)

Word Count: 2569 | Chapter 1/2

Notes: No Luka bashing is intended with this fic, but it is lovesquare endgame Disclaimer: I love kazoos and if someone tried to woo me with a kazoo I would probably swoon. Rip to Marinette but I’m different Disclaimer 2: I didn't come up with the idea for kazooka, @bugaboo-n-bananoir did in this post ). sorry for all the shoutouts lately bud lol you're just an inspiration Special thanks to @botherkupo for betareading!

XXX

“Are you okay?”  Luka asked when Marinette returned from getting ice cream.

It took some effort to pry her gaze away from where Adrien and Kagami were sharing at the other end of the ledge, but she promised herself she wouldn’t be jealous.  

...Or at least, she wouldn’t show it this time.  Both of them were her friends, and they deserved to be happy with each other.  

Did that mean she was okay?  No, not really.  But she didn’t really want to get into that, especially since Luka had already seen her so vulnerable last time.

“So, uh… where’s your guitar?”  she asked instead.

“Oh.”  Luka blinked, as if surprised his instrument wasn’t there either.  “Remember the last time I saw you?  When you were… crying in the street?”

She’d really been hoping he forgot about that.  It definitely wasn’t her most awkward moment, but Adrien at least tended to ignore the worst of hers.  He hadn’t even breathed a word about the whole constipation incident.

But comparing Luka and Adrien wasn’t fair to either of them.  

She shook her head.  “Um, what about it?”

“I dropped my bike when I went to hug you.  My guitar fell out of the basket and… yeah.”  He moved his hands as if to strum a chord, only to slump when they just stroked the air.

“Oh, Luka, I’m so sorry.”  She winced.  She knew his guitar was basically an extension of himself; she hadn’t intended for him to sacrifice it for her.  Was she really that important to him?

“It’s alright.  I’ve almost saved up for a new one.”  He shrugged.

She couldn’t tell if he was actually alright or if he was just faking.  “Well, I’m still sorry.”

“It really is alright.  You’re the music that’s been playing for me since we met, anyway.”

She blushed and looked away.  Luka had always been more forward, but she really didn’t know how she felt about his love confessions, especially considering…

No, she wasn’t going to glance back towards Adrien.  (Not that she could do that subtly, with all their classmates packed between them.)

But the point was, she couldn’t return Luka’s confession while her heart still hung somewhere in the balance.  She could try to move on—she should try to move on—but no matter what Luka said, she didn’t want him to feel stuck as a second choice.

“Well, um… thanks, I guess.” 

She took a bite of her raspberry ice cream to fill the awkward silence.  Normally his guitar did that.  Ivan’s hand drum sort of helped, but it was too far away (and too sporadic) for her to pretend she was focused on his music.

“I guess you can’t play that song for me now,” she added when he didn’t speak up.  It was too bad, because she thought she might actually want to hear it, if only to give them something to connect over.

Had she really listened to his music that often?  It was painfully obvious now that his guitar was absent.

“Were you ready to hear it?”  Hhe asked.  “I still can, if you’d like.”

Her head tilted, her eyebrows scrunching together.  “But you don’t have your guitar.  Unless you’re going to borrow Ivan’s drum.”

He chuckled a little at that.  “I’ve got something else.”

His hand reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out…

“Is that a kazoo?”  

Was this a joke?  Was he playing a joke on her?  He’d never shown that much of a sense of humor before.  If Juleka hadn’t been in the middle of the group sharing ice cream with Rose, Marinette would’ve flagged her down for help.

“Yep.  Juleka got it for me as a replacement present, you know, until I can pay for my new guitar.”

“Oh.”  She forced a grin.  “That’s… sweet of her.”

So no help from Juleka then.  Maybe this wasn’t such a big deal.  Maybe Luka would be an amazing kazoo player, and sweep her off her feet with his buzzing melody and help her forget all about Adrien and— 

Yeah, even her normally-vivid daydream couldn’t paint that picture.

“It really is.  She’s the best.”  He smiled.  She hadn’t heard him talk about Juleka often, honestly.  It was a little weird to remember that he was her friend’s older brother, but Juleka hadn’t seemed to mind Luka showing an interest in her.  

Well, unless the kazoo was more of a warning than a present.  But that was branching into conspiracy theory territory.

“Are you going to play it, then?”  she asked before she could lose her nerve.  Maybe hearing the melody, even if just on the kazoo, would give her the answers her heart was looking for.

“Right.”  He nodded and raised the blue piece of plastic to his lips.

She didn’t wince at the first high-pitched buzz.  She might have just… cringed a little.  Kazoos weren’t really meant to be played at close distance—at least that’s what she assumed, because could anyone really want to unironically listen to that?

The melody was… hard to pick out with all the screeching.  She tried to smile through it—he’d written this for her, and it wasn’t really meant to be played on the kazoo—but then Marc and Nathaniel looked up in shock-slash-horror, and Mylene just about fumbled her ice cream into the river, and Juleka let out an uncharacteristically loud cackle.

Luka’s playing petered out with a sad doot doot.  He still looked up at her expectantly.

And because he was staring at her, of course the rest of their group did too.  Including Adrien, the green mint of his ice cream still staining his lower lip.

“Um… that was…” Marinette’s face burned as she sprung to her feet.  “W-well!  Look at that I have to go—buy a birthday present for my grandpa’s mouse!”  Wait, had she used that one before?  It didn’t matter, her legs were already wooshing her away, leaving only the cherry from the top of her ice cream behind.

She hurriedly shoved the rest of her ice cream into her mouth to cool her burning face.  That was… probably an overreaction.  Luka had just tried to play her a song.  It wasn’t her that everyone else was laughing at.

A horrible feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t just the odd mix of raspberry and cotton candy ice cream.  She should’ve stayed to cheer him up, right?  

“Tikki, what’s wrong with me?”  She groaned, dropping her forehead against the side of the alley.  “Why did I run away like that?  I probably made Luka hate me!”

The kwami flew out from her purse.  “I don’t think he can hate you, Marinette.  He still liked you even when he knew you were in love with Adrien.”

“For some reason.”  She sighed.

“Do you want him to like you?”  Tikki prodded gently.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”  She bonked her head against the wall again. Ow.  “He likes me, and he’s nice, and we… have absolutely nothing in common.”

There.  She admitted it.  They both liked Jagged Stone, but lots of people liked Jagged Stone.

(Adrien liked Jagged Stone.  He’d asked for her autograph, and she’d just about melted.)

What she felt with Luka was nothing like that.  It was nervous usually, until he started playing his guitar.  The chords, if simple, were still soothing.

“Did I just think he made me comfortable because he played the guitar?  Am I really that shallow?”

“Of course you aren’t.”  Tikki rubbed her cheek to hers.  “A boy liked you, and it sounds like you liked him at least a little bit.  Even if it was mostly because he played guitar.”

Marinette groaned.

“But now he plays the kazoo and I don’t want to hear his song!  And I really can’t think of anything else we have to talk about.  And I won’t go on dates with him and move on from Adrien and I’ll end up old and alone with a tarantula instead of a hamster and—”

“Marinette, you know that’s not going to happen.”  Tikki patted her face again.  “There are plenty of other boys besides Adrien and Luka.  And you don’t have to move on with a boy.  You have plenty of time to just be you.  Maybe that’s for the best, with you being the guardian now.”

“Don’t remind me.”  She squeezed her eyes shut.  She wished she had someone to rely on as the guardian.  Luka had been there that one time when she couldn’t take it anymore, but she couldn’t actually tell him anything.  If only she could talk to…

“Chat Noir,” she whispered, eyes going wide.

“What?”  

She paced back and forth across the width of the alley.  “I want to talk to Chat.  I can do that now, can’t I?  I’m the guardian.  No, but Master Fu did what he did for a reason.  I can’t go sharing important secrets.  But if Fu did tell us more maybe we could’ve protected him better.”

“Um, Marinette—” 

“Either way he’s gone and I don’t know what to do, Tikki!  He didn’t finish teaching me everything and here I am worried because of a boy playing the kazoo!”

She spun, breaths coming too quickly, hoping to hear Tikki’s words of wisdom to help her calm down.

Instead, she came face to face with Adrien.  Adrien, whose eyes were practically bugging out of his head.  A cute smear of ice cream still clung to his parted lips.  That was easier to focus on than the fact that he’d almost certainly heard every word she said to Tikki.

His mouth opened and closed again.  “Uh.”

“Oh no.”

“You’re…!”

“No, no, of course I’m not!”  She waved her arms frantically.  Tikki’d had the sense to dive back into her purse, but the damage was already done.

“You’re Ladybug,” he breathed.  “It’s you.  Of course it’s you.”

Tears pricked her eyes.  One day into being the guardian, and she’d already let someone figure out her secret identity!  And it was Adrien, and while she thought he could keep a secret, she couldn’t ignore the incident with the beret, and if he told anyone and that awful future happened— 

“Marinette, hey, hey, it’s alright.”  He stepped towards her, too close, not close enough.  “I’m not going to tell anyone.  I swear.  I—I didn’t mean to.  I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and then I heard and I can’t unhear and—please don’t be mad.”

He looked down at her with such a distraught expression, she couldn’t imagine him ever breaking that oath.

“I’m not mad at you, Adrien.”  She bit her lip and looked down, afraid she might actually start crying if she had to see his pain any longer.  Which was ridiculous, because it was her identity that was compromised.  “You were just trying to help, and—and it’s my fault for not being careful enough.”

Her voice choked.  His arm reached towards her, hesitated, fell back to his side.  Of course he wouldn’t pull her into the hug that she craved.  He was dating Kagami now; it was surprising enough that he’d left her just to come make sure she was alright.  He really was a wonderful friend.

Maybe that was all she needed right now.

“It’s not your fault, my—Marinette.”  He swallowed.  “It could’ve happened to either of us.”

“Yes, but it’s not a big deal if someone finds out you once used the snake miraculous.  Nearly all of the other heroes were compromised yesterday, anyway.”

Her fault again.  She was back to square one, just her and Chat Noir against the world… and possibly Adrien too.  He hadn’t been revealed yesterday.  Maybe it would be worth it to give him a miraculous again?

He laughed awkwardly.  “Yeah. Of course.”

“So… yeah.”  She nodded.  “I’m just going to.  Go home now.”

Where she could cry in peace and Tikki could lecture her and she could find someone else to pass off the miracle box to because clearly she wasn’t ready, only there was no one else who could possibly do it except maybe Chat Noir, and he didn’t deserve that kind of pressure either, and— 

“Marinette, wait.”  

This time Adrien did grab her hand.  She did her best to control her flush.

“I know you didn’t want me to know, but… I’m still your friend, okay?  You can tell me anything.  Especially now, if you need someone to lean on…”

She did.  Oh, she did, and any other day she would leap headfirst into that offer.

But all she could think of now was Adrien smiling softly as he wiped ice cream from Kagami’s cheek.  It wasn’t like he couldn’t still be her friend when he was dating someone else, but she wasn’t sure her heart could take trusting him with all of her secrets except the one she’d actually wanted to tell.

She loved him.  Even now, knowing he had just become a threat to her identity, she loved him.

And it was too late to say it.

“Thank you, but I’d actually rather talk to Chat Noir right now.  I hope you’ll understand.”

He blinked and opened his mouth before shaking his head.  “Right.  Of course.  I’m glad you trust him.”

“I do.”  She looked towards the sliver of sky above the alley as hope blossomed in her.  She did trust Chat.  He would be able to help her through this, just like he’d supported her during Miracle Queen’s short reign.  “I wish he’d been the first to know my identity, but if anyone else had to… I’m glad it’s you, you know.  I lo—I trust you too.”

Really?  Now she almost said it?  He didn’t seem to notice, though.  His expression softened into a smile.

“Thank you, Marinette.  That means a lot to me.”

She smiled back, palm braced against the alley wall to make up for the weakness in her knees.

“Oh, um—is Luka alright?”  She barely remembered to ask.  It was probably the least of her worries, but it was still worth checking.  “I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.  The whole kazoo thing was just—I was so embarrassed and I ran away without thinking.  He was just trying to be nice, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I didn’t like it.”

“You never seemed to have a problem telling that to Chat Noir,” he said.  Was that a hint of… jealousy she detected in his voice?  No way; she had to be imagining that.

“That’s because I know Chat Noir.  He knows I don’t return his feelings…”  she trailed off, blinking at the ground.

Chat had been the first person she wanted to talk to when she was upset.  The one who always supported her, who knew all her weaknesses and flaws and still looked at her like she’d hung the moon in the sky.  Who wouldn’t hesitate to risk everything for her, who trusted her even when she was wrong but was always, always there to make things right.  

He was the one who called her his Lady.  He was the one whose hug felt like home.  

“Marinette?”  Adrien asked.

“Oh,” she breathed.

“Oh?”

She looked up and met his eyes, and before she knew it, she was confessing to the wrong crush.

“I think I’m in love with Chat Noir.”

[weminence]

Untether

Written for @originalfictionbigbang

CWs: there's a lot of talk of death, and there's specifically vague talks of car crashes and being sick

Also, thank you to the artist who did the artwork for this piece @the-dot they did amazing beautiful work and you can check that out here

Any way, onto the story.

Imogen died last Wednesday. A small crowd of mourners gathered around her casket to say goodbye. None of them heard the shadow of a child heave great hiccupping sobs. Behind them, Rune sits away from the funeral, insight but distant. No doubt the presence of the Bryne family banshee would depress the mood further, especially since Imogen had been the last Bryne and Rune wasn’t taking it well.

Rune had had an audience to every Bryne death since their first, Éabha and they’d expected to be audience to many many more, but expectations can disappoint. The gravediggers wasted no time lowering Imogen into the ground, but Rune couldn’t make themself look, wouldn’t look. Their breath was stuck in their chest and their cheeks were stained with tears. Watching would only make it worse. Imogen’s mourners filed out, saying goodbye as steadily as they could and eventually the priest left too along with the gravediggers and Rune was alone, staring away from the last Bryne’s grave.

A week passed, and even though Rune wanted to scream and fight, their cries quieted. Imogen’s headstone came, bright and simple. Rune moved without thinking, trying not to stare. They sat curled against her headstone and slept.

Another week and there was less crying.

And another.

Rune doesn’t know what they should do next, how to move on. They thought about it, when they could muster up the energy, but there were too many paths before them and it was making Rune dizzy. Then, when Imogen would come to mind again, Rune became consumed by guilt. They slept a lot, to avoid thinking.

Another week and Rune wasn’t alone. There was a man made of fire, probably a wisp, above them and a harbinger, like Rune, behind them. The wisp shifted from foot to foot before saying, “Hello.” Rune looked up, met with flame blue eyes and a half crooked smile. He was tall with shaggy bright orange hair and he blurred around his edges like Rune did, like he wouldn’t be solid if you touched him. “I’m Finn and behind you, that’s Callum.”

Rune didn’t answer, only rolled up from their fetal position to sit. They could feel the dried tears on their cheeks and the dirt that was no doubt caked on their face, but the banshee couldn’t bring themself to care.

Finn stared at Rune, getting more confused as the silence continued. Callum walked around the headstone and took a place in front of Rune. His voice was solid but gentle when he said, “We’re from a place called Hawk House. It’s a home for fae who have lost theirs or who don’t feel like they quite fit.” Callum was taller and broader than Finn, though he still looked gaunt with deep bags under his eyes and sharp cheeks. He wore a black shirt and a leather jacket. There was a thin scar on his neck. A dullahan, then. Rune thought he was the more inviting of the two.

Rune opened their mouth, but just ended up coughing. When their throat was clear, they asked, “Fit?” The banshee’s voice was rough from the month they’d spent crying and doing nothing else.

Sitting next to Rune, Callum answered, “Some fae don’t want their abilities or their place in the grand order. Some fae lose their place.” He paused and turned to face Imogen’s headstone. “Like you.”

Rune turned to look at Imogen’s headstone for a moment before turning back to the men. There was nothing for them here. Imogen would be nothing more than a box of bones before Rune could even blink. What did they have to lose? “I’m Renan Bryne. I prefer Rune, though.” Finn smiled widely, almost blindingly. Callum smiled too but his was quieter. He offered out his hand and helped Rune stand. Rune didn’t let go as they walked to the car.

Rune slipped into the car’s backseat and promptly fell asleep which made the ride to Hawk House that much faster. They only woke up when Finn opened Rune’s car door. The wisp waited for Rune to wake fully before saying, “Welcome to Hawk House, usually described as a home for wayward children, but actually it’s a home for wayward fae.”

It wasn’t a grand building, not a castle by any means, but it was certainly big. The outside was a light teal with white trim and the door was a light cream color. Inviting, but Rune wasn’t too sure they’d want to call it home. A little gaudy honestly but Callum and Finn looked at it like Rune had looked at Éabha so long ago.

Callum came to stand beside Rune, looking out at Hawk House. “It doesn’t have to be your home if you don’t want it to be. It’s just a place to start.” The harbinger offered Rune a warm smile and held out his hand.

Rune considered it and huffed, taking his hand. They walked into the house.

The foyer was more barren than Rune expected. No gaudy paintings or useless vases, just wide windows and outside was a bright garden. The sitting area had a couch, which looked well used and worn and there were some pictures hanging on the walls. Cozy not grand.

On the couch there was a girl reading but as soon as they were all there, she was in front of them.

“Hello!” she greeted. The girl had dark brown skin and eyes the color of smoldering embers. Her face was open and she wore a bright inviting smile. Like Finn, she was made of flames but there was something different about hers; older and more volatile but also somehow suffocated. “I’m Morrigan. I’m a phoenix.”

Rune tilted their head. “A phoenix. Don’t phoenixes live in flocks?”

Morrigan’s smile faltered subtly but visibly. Rune flinched and moved behind Callum, panic settling heavily above their lungs. “Sorry, that was gauche.”

Morrigan laughed quite loudly and Rune ended up fully behind Callum. “Sorry! Sorry!” Morrigan started. “I was just taken aback, that's all.” Morrigan sobered and said, “Yes phoenixes do live in flocks but they don’t take kindly to those who can’t die and won’t age. I was cursed and my flock didn’t care that it wasn’t my choice. Finn found me a month later.” Morrigan offered out her hand and when Rune took it she pulled them close and loudly whispered, “That’s why Finn’s here, he’s always a month off.” Finn protested but Morrigan was already pulling Rune away from them. “C’mon let’s go get you cleaned up.”

~~

Morrigan brought Rune to a room and said it was theirs and then sat Rune down in the bathroom. She wet a washcloth. “So how are you feeling?” Morrigan asked, gently, but Rune still tensed at the question. Morrigan began wiping the dirt from their face.

Realistically, Rune knew they didn’t have to answer, didn’t have to put a word to the chasm that was now their chest, but the words came spilling out of Rune’s anyway. “Empty,” they answer. “Like there’s a piece missing.”

Morrigan took a moment to rinse out the wash cloth before she asked, “Is that something you’d like to change?”

Rune didn’t respond, didn’t know how. The answer should have been yes, yes, yes, but Rune didn’t feel excited to fill up the void. It felt like a betrayal.

Morrigan finished cleaning up Rune’s face without pushing for an answer. The wash cloth got rinsed a final time before Morrigan spoke again to say, “You don’t have to, we'll all be here for you if you want to.” She offered a comforting smile and added, “You’ll have clothes in that wardrobe over there if you need.” And Morrigan left Rune alone. Rune didn’t change, they just fell onto their bed and fell asleep.

~~

Days later, Rune found themself in the kitchen with Callum as the dullahan made sandwiches. He wasn’t necessarily paying any mind to Rune, who was staring out at the garden.

“Why do you make food?” The banshee asked, still looking out the window.

The dullahan didn’t answer right away, finishing up a flip as he warmed the sandwich on a skillet. “Because it’s fun and food tastes good,” he answered. Callum turned to Rune and said. “That’s really all you need.”

Rune didn’t really see the point, but it looked like the harbinger was making them a sandwich and they didn’t feel like refusing.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Rune only shrugged at first but answered, “I’m not used to talking.”

Rune waited while Callum worked at the counter. He replied, “Did you talk at all during your tenure as the Bryne’s banshee?”

“Children can sometimes see me,” Rune answered. “There were other fae, too. I wasn’t crying over deaths every hour.”

Callum was staring at Rune in surprise. “Children?”

Rune nodded. “Imogen saw me the longest.”

Callum looked at Rune for elaboration but all Rune could say was, “I don’t know why.”

“You talked to them?”

Rune nodded. “They usually talk first,” they answered. “Éabha’s grand niece was the first to see me.”

“Éabha?”

Rune smiled, and saw the way that surprise flickered across Callum’s features. They quickly schooled their features. “She was the first Bryne. The reason I’m a banshee.” Callum came around the counter to the table Rune sat at with two plates, and set one in front of each of them. He hadn’t asked, but Rune felt the words bubble up in their throat. “She was my only friend. Brash. Bold. Even then I didn’t talk much, but with Éabha I didn’t have to.”

“What happened?”

Rune’s shoulders fell, and their throat tightened. ”A plague. She died before me.”

Callum looked down and away from Rune. “I’m sorry.”

Rune didn’t know what to say. It took them a moment to relax and think before they quipped, “At least my head is not detachable.”

Callum snorted, surprised. “Eat your sandwich,” he demanded. They did. It was delicious.

~~

More days than not, Rune found themself in Hawk House’s library. It had become a safe haven of sorts. Finn and Morrigan were quite loud and sometimes it was just nice to have a place where they could sit quietly. They liked to spirit away into one of the more dimly lit corners of the library and read until eventually someone (usually Morrigan) came to them, but today Rune was mostly trying- and failing- to ignore the shadow hiding behind the stacks. It became increasingly difficult as the shadow’s anxiety grew more and more palpable, until Rune’s patience finally ran out. “You can come out and say hello.” Rune tried to keep the annoyance out of their voice but thought they’d failed when they heard the shadow drop something. He had joined Rune at their table though.

“Hello,” he said quickly, voice rough like it was almost gone. He was avoiding Rune’s gaze, though it was difficult to tell as his eyes were pure black. The shadow was pale, almost gray with deep circles under his eyes and sunken cheeks. His hair was moist and he wore mostly black. He seemed to want to fold in on himself. “I’m Aodhan. A merrow.” He didn’t speak over a whisper.

“Rune. Banshee,” they answered.

Aodhan shifted uncomfortably. “I just wanted to introduce myself. You’ve been here awhile and I haven’t been able to and I’m sorry for that. I was just nervous. I-”

“You’re fine,” Rune interrupted. “That wasn’t an introduction.” Aodhan gave them an incredulous look and Rune elaborated. “More details please.” They closed their book to put all of their attention on Aodhan.

“Um… I’m a Pisces?”

Rune snorted, surprising themself and Aodhan too by the look of his face.

“Not what I meant,” Rune responded.

Aodhan smiled and seemed to relax. “How are you enjoying Hawk House?” he asked.

Rune smiled, and answered, “It’s nice. Quieter than I expected.”

“Finn and Callum make sure not to be overbearing.”

“They’re kind.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Rune looked down at the table, trying to think of what to say, but Aodhan beat them to the punch, saying, “I heard why you’re here. I mean it’s usually that reason for banshees who end up in places like this but I just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss.”

Rune gave Aodhan a small smile of thanks, swallowing around the tightness in their throat. “Do you have a story?” They asked.

“I’m uncomfortable with large bodies of water. That’s why I’m here. I don’t dislike water but if the body of water is too big I hate it. Sometimes I swim in the lake on the property but mostly I just shower when I need to get wet. I do enjoy a good bath.”

Rune smiled at his story. And then a thought occurred to them. Before they could second guess themself Rune blurted, “Is this home, now?”

Aodhan’s face broke out in a giant grin and he answered, “Yes, there’s nowhere else I’d want to be.” Rune didn’t know how to react to that, so they just smiled again.

~~

Morrigan pulled Rune out to the garden to show them the roses. They were both sitting before the bushes, watching as a bee crawled over one rose’s petals. Rune didn’t remember the last time they’d let themself sit and admire the scenery. “Aren’t they lovely?” Morrigan asked. Rune nodded. “The garden is Keane’s pet project.”

Rune looked over at Morrigan now and asked, “The changeling?”

Morrigan turned to Rune in surprise. “You know they’re a changeling?”

Again, Rune nodded. “Is it not obvious?”

“How would it be?”

Rune considered Morrigan’s question for a moment before answering, “They’re soul. It’s fae but it’s been molded by humanity.”

Morrigan narrowed her eyes at Rune. “You could tell they were a changeling but not that I was a phoenix?” she asked.

“I’d never met a phoenix,” Rune answered, quickly but continued, “But there are other factors too. Keane isn’t fully fae. Your fire and Finn’s are different but they’re still fire. Callum is clearly a harbinger but I only knew he was a dullahan because of the scar on his throat.” Rune heaved a breath. “Also changelings haven’t been strangers to the Bryne family.”

“So you’ve known other changelings?” A voice asked behind them.

Morrigan jumped and Rune turned to face the changeling in question.

“Yes. And families aren’t often without neighbors.”

The changeling smiled. Keane was slim with open green eyes and pointed ears. They had brown skin, and freckles danced across their features, left there from hours out in the sun, no doubt. Their hair was short and brown and looked soft. Their casual clothes were more formal than not.

“Would I know any of those changelings?” they asked.

Rune shook their head. “Greater fae tend to avoid families with banshees. The Bryne family had two banshees. One technically wasn’t under my watch.”

Both Morrigan and Keane looked confused.

“He’d returned to the fairy lands before I died. There was one after that. And others around the Brynes.”

Silence followed Rune’s statement until Morrigan asked, “Why do they avoid banshees?”

Rune shrugged. "They might become part of the family, I suppose. Families aren’t determined by blood and so my bonds aren’t either. Sometimes changelings choose both families. If they can.”

Keane’s eyes widened in wonder. “They do?”

“Only if both sides can accept them.”

“Have you seen it happen?”

“I wouldn’t know it was possible otherwise.”

Keane leaned forward, curiosity making them obviously excited. “Tell me all about it.”

Morrigan elbowed the changeling, and added, “Please.”

So Rune did. They told them about the neighbors, the Aldridges, whose son was spirited away a week after he came home, how Mauve took care of him even when she doubted him and how she accepted him horns and all when the first son came home too. The changeling had gone home to his fae family and they’d welcomed him and told him to follow his heart and he’d responded that his heart was in two places and it couldn’t be any other way. He’d been a friend to Rune while they still lived close by, but the Brynes in that house died. And Rune moved on to the next. Keane stayed stuck to their story, soaking up every word that came out of Rune’s mouth. By the end the changeling was crying. Morrigan had her tiny arms wrapped around the older looking fae and Rune held their hand, though they didn’t know why or even if it was helping.

They sat like that for a while, until Callum came to call them in for dinner.

~~

Rune didn’t interact with Finn much, as the wisp was typically busy doing wisp things, but sometimes, when he was too tired, Finn would slip into the kitchen and sit at the table while Callum cooked. They didn’t speak, usually. Finn sat next to Rune and his head kept falling to the side quickly followed by the wisp jerking up his head as he tried and failed to stay awake. Rune placed a bookmark between the pages of their book and said, “Sleep.”

Finn straightened, blearily blinking at the banshee. “Hmm?”

“Lay down. Sleep,” Rune demanded. Finn pouted looking over to Callum, who was still mostly ignoring the wisp. Rune poked Finn’s shoulder, drawing his attention back to them. “Callum will still be there when you wake.”

Finn didn’t reply as he fell into Rune, who tensed at the contact. They knew from his even breaths that the wisp was already asleep but couldn’t help their surprise. Being touched was very new to Rune, even more so to be the person someone made a pillow of. Even the children who could have seen Rune couldn’t touch them. Finn’s head laid on Rune’s and they didn’t quite know how to name the warmth spreading through their chest. Rune settled and relaxed. Finn was asleep, that was the important part. Besides, it was nice. They grabbed their book from the table and opened it again.

Eventually Callum finished cooking, bringing over their meals. When he saw Finn, the dullahan grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t expect him to fall asleep on you,” he whispered.

Rune smiled and shrugged. “I don’t mind,” responding equally as quiet. They set their book aside and asked. “What are you making me today?”

“Spaghetti. Or at least the cheap version of it.” Rune nodded and began eating. They moved slowly and more carefully so as to not jostle Finn and the wisp didn’t wake, until nearly night fell. Rune had finished their book. Finn blinked his eyes open and glanced out the window, only to scramble away with the fear that he was behind. Before he left, the wisp turned back to Rune and placed a kiss on their forehead.

“Thanks, Rune,” he said. Rune smiled.

~~

Rune watched the clouds in the sky as they rolled and twisted. They could feel the electricity in the air on their skin. Aodhan and Callum were both in the foyer with them. “How do you feel about rain?” Callum asked.

Rune looked over their shoulder at the boys and pointed at themself in question. Callum nodded. “I love the rain,” they answered. “Thunder can shake you to your bones and lightning can burn, but rain tries its best to wash away and renew.” Rune remembered the small cabin that Éabha lived in with her mother and sisters. “There’s usually wildflowers after storms.”

Aodhan made a noise of disagreement from the couch and curled into Callum’s side, covering his ears. Rune felt confused so they must have looked confused, because Callum answered, “He’s afraid of thunderstorms. Too loud he says.” The dullahan rubbed Aodhan’s shoulder. Rune nodded and went to sit at Aodhan’s feet, pressing themself into the merrows' legs.

“When I was smaller, I was afraid of thunderstorms. My father was never home and I didn’t have a mother that I knew of, but Éabha was always there when I needed someone to hold me during a storm.” Rune recalled, “I only knew Éabha for about a year before we died but that was just enough time to fall in love with the rain. We’d always pick flowers the day after.”

“Maybe we could go flower picking after this is over,” Callum said. “What do you think, Aodhan?”

The merrow nodded into Callum’s chest and Rune’s lips quirked into a small smile. They began humming a song they remembered Éabha’s mother humming during storms and remained pressed against Aodhan’s legs throughout the night. Eventually the storm stopped, and Callum made them both a cheesy pasta. Apparently, Aodhan’s favorite. Still shaky, Aodhan slept in Keane’s room. Rune went out with Callum and picked flowers and set them next to Aodhan’s bed for when the merrow woke up. Callum smiled brightly at Rune, they didn’t know why it made them feel light.

~~

Later, Finn stopped into Rune’s room and asked if they’d like to join everyone for family movie night. Rune, confused, asked, “I’m not family?”

Finn visibly flinched and laughed awkwardly, “It’s only a name, Rune. We’re just watching a movie.”

Rune shrugged and followed Finn down the hall into a large living room. There was a large couch where Aodhan and Morrigan were already seated. Callum sat on the floor in front of the couch’s only empty seat while Keane took residence between the couch’s other occupant’s legs. Everyone was wearing their sleeping clothes. Finn took the seat behind Callum, somewhat awkwardly, and swung his leg over Callum’s shoulder. Rune stood in the door not knowing where to go. When Morrigan saw them, they seemed to jump up and have Keane switch places (much to Aodhan’s disappointment). Morrigan gestured for Rune to come over. “Come sit!” she called, smiling brightly.

Keane slotted into Aodhan’s side, more so than Morrigan had. The changeling appeared to have fallen asleep on impact. Rune cautiously took a place next to Morrigan.

After everyone was settled, Keane was the first to speak saying, “No horror movies, please, Callum,”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he answered. “We have a new member of the house.” Callum turned on a cartoon, one Rune had seen but couldn’t readily identify.

Morrigan reached over and took Rune’s hand in hers and everyone watched the movie begin to play. Rune spent most of the title sequence staring at the phoenix’s hand. The casual affection the other fae of Hawk House showed wasn’t opposed, even wanted by Rune, but it made their head spin. They felt the phoenix’s warmth through their fingers. “Aren’t I cold?” they asked.

Morrigan looked over at Rune and then down at their hands. She giggled. “Yeah, you are, but it’s nice. Plus, I think Callum might be colder,” she answered. Morrigan leaned into Rune’s shoulder. “Is this okay?” she asked.

Rune nodded.

Half way through, when Rune looked up, they found everyone in some state of slumber. Aodhan had fallen into Keane, resting his head on the changeling’s, and Finn had fallen across Keane’s lap while Callum had leaned into the leg still over his shoulder. Morrigan too had fallen back into Aodhan and Keane’s legs, dragging Rune with her.

Rune had slept since arriving at Hawk House, quite a bit more than they’d ever needed to when they were watching their family, but they’d never relaxed like this. Even before they died. They’d never been this relaxed around anyone. Éabha had been bright and warm. Her parents had welcomed Rune readily into their home, especially when Rune was avoiding their father, but sleep had always been a necessity to Rune, not a luxury.

Rune continued watching the movie, ignoring the tears that fell down their cheeks while they did it. They’d be dried by morning when the rest of the room woke up.

~~

Sometimes, on sunny days, Rune sat outside and read. It was quiet all over Hawk House if you knew where you were looking. They were sat upside down, their legs draped over the property line ledge, and their book held above them. Also, it was a perfect way to see people coming.

Keane made sure he stepped in Rune’s line of sight, so the banshee could close their book and join them. Rune maneuvered themself right-side up and took in the changeling in front of them.

“What do you want?” they asked.

“Sorry am I bothering you?” Keane didn’t actually seem to care about that, but Rune shook their head.

“Tired,” they answered. Keane nodded and took a place next to the banshee.

“Why don’t you head back inside and take a nap?” they asked.

Rune held up their book, "Trying to finish.”

Keane laughed. They said, “You know you could also finish after you sleep right? We won’t stop you.” Rune squinted at him and the changeling only laughed again.

“You wanted something,” the banshee repeated.

“I just wanted to talk,” Keane answered. “But now I think it’s my job to convince you to go inside.”

“Talk and then I’ll go.”

Keane gave them a skeptical look, so Rune straightened their spine and held out their pinky. The changeling smiled at the gesture and grabbed the banshee’s pinky with theirs. Then, Keane’s face lowered into a sad face.

“I just miss my families is all,” they started. “It’s my sister’s birthday and I wish I could call her, talk to her, be around her, but they don’t want me anymore.” Rune frowned. “I knew you could relate.”

“Not really,” Rune responded. Keane looked surprised but Rune continued, “The Brynes didn’t know I existed and the ones who did either forgot about me or convinced themselves I wasn’t real to begin with. The only exception there was Imogen, who knew I was real.” Rune took a breath, looking at the book in their hands. “My family didn’t know I existed. Your family just sucked. You may have been switched out but that’s not your fault. Changelings don’t choose that for themselves. And you were really all they knew. And I'm guessing your other family is similar so screw them.” Rune looked up at Keane who looked shocked even as tears slid down their face. Rune reached out and grabbed the changeling’s hand in theirs. “It’s okay, crying is good for you. I should know it was my job.”

Keane made a startled laughing sound and pulled Rune up into their arms, wrapping them in a hug. “Thank you,” they said.

Rune shrugged, but wrapped their arms back around them. “I think I won’t have a voice tomorrow. This is a lot of words.” Keane laughed again, agreeing. They pulled away from Rune, and grabbed their hand, pulling them back to the house.

“Wait!” Rune called. “You didn’t really talk,” they said. “I interrupted you.

“It’s okay, you still made me feel better. I really appreciate it, Rune. The changeling smiled and kissed Rune on their forehead. The banshee smiled and let the changeling drag them back to their room. The changeling tucked the banshee in bed and waited next to them until Keane was sure Rune was asleep. They softly kissed their forehead again and left the room.

~~

Music was playing from the living room. Rune peaked in, seeing Morrigan, Aodhan, and Keane all sat around a table, chatting. They looked like they were playing chess, which made a smile pull at Rune’s lips, reminding them of the games they’d play against Imogen.

Imogen stopped seeing Rune when she was 13. Rune had cried when they’d realized, for the first time in centuries they weren’t crying over a death. It took Imogen longer to notice and watching that had made Rune crumble. Rune didn’t know how they could make their presence known without disrupting the other members of the Bryne family, too. But one day, Imogen set out a board to play on. She’d stopped crying, but that didn’t mean she didn’t miss her banshee. She made the first move and waited. She waited a long time before saying, “Rune, it’s your turn.” The banshee started, but sat at the table. They played many games over the years. They’d even been in the middle of a game when Imogen died. Rune tried to back out of the living room, but they were obviously noticed when the phoenix looked up from the board and to the doorway. Morrigan gestured for the banshee to come in. Rune really didn’t want to intrude and their eyes prickled with tears, so they shook their head and made to leave.

Morrigan had other plans though, and called out, “Rune, come join us please!” She made her eyes go wide and pleading, as the boys looked up.

The changeling smiled, also calling Rune in. The banshee conceded, quickly wiping their eyes and taking a place beside Morrigan at the table. “Who’s who?” they asked.

“I’m white,” Aodhan answered gruffly. His eyes were narrowed at the board, frustration clearly written on his features. Rune didn’t know why.

“So the loser?” Keane responded, a smirk nearly splitting his face in half. Aodhan rolled his eyes.

Rune looked over the board again. “Aodhan could win three moves, though?” they said.

The room was overtaken by silence. Keane’s eyes widened as he studied the board and Aodhan’s widened in surprise. Morrigan sputtered out a laugh. Aodhan’s lips turned up in a smile, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“Did I say something?” Rune asked, glancing between the fae around them.

Morrigan patted their head and answered, “You just threw off the rhythm, friend.”

Automatically, Rune replied, “I’m sorry.”

Morrigan smiled, reaching out and pulling Rune closer into her side. “Don’t worry your cute little head. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Morrigan paused to smirk at the changeling as she finished, “Kean needs to be taken down a peg.”

“I don’t need to be taken down a peg!” Keane scoffed.

Aodhan scooted closer to Rune to ask, “How do I win?”

Rune balked. “I can’t tell you how to win,” they said, offended. “That’s cheating.”

Aodhan pouted. “It’s not cheating if you’re teaching me how to play. Keane’s never explained the rules.”

Rune scoffed at the changeling and Keane burst into laughter. “You’ve never made that face before!” they called.

“I’ve never been this offended. And I’ve been alive for thousands of years.”

“I’ve explained the rules,” Keane clarified. Still bright with laughter. “He just doesn’t listen when I talk.”

“You make learning boring,” Aodhan said.

Rune reached out their hands and knocked over both of their kings. A round of protests were made, but Rune just said, “No one wins in an unfair game.” They had the boys set the board back to the beginning and went through the rules. Aodhan wasn’t the best player but given knowledge he could certainly go toe to toe with Keane. The boys played their game and it was harder for Keane to keep the upper hand. By the end of their games Aodhan had won once and Keane three times, but the merrow was learning quickly.

As they all went off to bed, Morrigan pulled Rune aside and asked, “Tomorrow, do you wanna play against me?” She had a glint in her eye, one that made Rune’s face split in a grin. The banshee nodded and they both went to their separate rooms.

~~

Aodhan was in the kitchen when Rune found them, doing dishes from last night’s supper. His hair was up and he was halfway done. Rune took up drying the dishes. “You don’t have to help.”

“A house is easier to take care of together,” Rune said in way of an answer. Really they just didn’t want to be alone. They worked in silence for a while until Aodhan asked. “How’d you like the movie night?”

“The movie was good.”

“You watched the movie?” Aodhan asked, surprised.

“You usually don’t?”

Aodhan hummed, trying to come up with an explanation for his surprise. “It’s not really about the movie, more about being together. Morrigan usually stays up to watch the movies she puts on but no one typically makes it through.”

“I don’t see the point of it being a movie night, then,” Rune responded.

“Yeah, okay. That’s fair.” Silence followed, broken only by the small tinks and clinks of the dishes.

Eventually, Rune couldn’t take the silence and said, “Especially the family part. Why invite me? I’m not family.” Rune’s cheeks burned with embarrassment at their outburst.

Aodhan didn’t respond right away. He worked through the dishes and hummed while he thought. “But we want you to be,” was his answer. Rune froze in their spot. ““Family movie night'' is just a silly name. It doesn’t mean much,” he continued. He’d stopped washing seeing as Rune was stuck in place. “But you are someone we want to be here. You’re quiet, sure and you keep to yourself but that doesn’t mean you’re not full of life, Rune. You came here for a reason and I don’t believe that it was just because you had nothing better to do.”

Rune’s chest felt tighter, they were breathing a little quicker. Family. They wanted to be their family. Rune put down the plate they were drying and backed away from the counter and left the kitchen. Aodhan called for them but banshees could disappear better than any other fae. Darkness overtook them.

~~

Rune woke up on their grave. A simple headstone, just their name. Their previous family name had been scratched out of the stone, replaced by a child’s choppy handwriting. Imogen had heard their story and cried for days that they weren’t named properly in death. Rune had felt pride when she’d done it, and had felt accepted. Now it just made the empty part of their chest feel bigger. Éabha was a stone’s throw away, but Rune hadn’t felt like moving. They curled into themself and breathed. At least they tried to.

Family. They wanted them to be their family. Rune would be lying if they said they didn’t want that, too. It would be nice to have a family for once who knew they existed, who looked out for them and cared. Rune hadn’t had a real hug in centuries.

Rune often used to find themself wandering the forests near their home, it was the only place Rune had felt at home before meeting Éabha, but there was nothing and no one there to comfort the lonely child who had escaped into its open arms. One day, before Rune could make it past the outer trees, Éabha had run into them and it was the Bryne home that quickly became theirs. The forest was still their escape but the Bryne home was their base. And then they’d gotten sick, both of them consumed with pain and racked with coughs. The Bryne family had tried to take Rune back to their home with their father but both of the sick children had clung to each other and screamed. They wouldn’t let each other go even if the world would end.

Rune curled into themself, ignoring Keane who’d appeared behind them. “How?” they asked. They didn’t have the energy for much else.

“I found your grave a while ago. I thought you might have lost it,” Keane answered.

“I’ll always be tethered here.” Rune pressed their fingers into the dirt. “And to Éabha and the rest of them. This was the most distant I could be.”

“I heard what you and Aodhan talked about.” Keane moved so they were sat beside Rune instead of behind them. “He said you shut down and left. That you disappeared like a shadow.”

Rune contemplated their answer, turning their face away from Keane’s. “I… I feel guilty. For leaving them.” The wind blew through the cemetery and Rune tried to let out the breath that was caught in their chest. “Even before I’d died I would’ve done anything they asked of me, but-”

“But they’re gone,” Keane interrupted, “They’re gone and they can’t ask anymore of you. It’s not your job to take care of them anymore.”

Tears welled up in Rune’s eyes. In a shallow voice they croaked, “But I wanted to. I want to be theirs, to be needed.” Rune broke down in sobs, pulling their knees more tightly into themself and burying their face between them. Keane’s hand reached over and rubbed at Rune’s shoulders, making sure Rune knew they were there when needed. Rune sobbed and sobbed until they coughed and hacked, until there were no more tears left in them. When their cries had quietened, they felt Keane’s arms encircling them.

The changeling's voice was soft when they said, “You’re wanted at Hawk House.” Their hands rubbed circles into Rune’s small back. “Morrigan already thinks of you as her sibling. Aodhan likes the company in the library. I know Callum loves having another harbinger around, especially one who puts up with his cooking. Finn doesn’t know how to work with people but he’ll figure it out eventually. You’re wanted, Rune. You’re needed.”

Rune didn't respond, but they did wrap their arms around Keane until the sobbing stopped. Keane eventually convinced the banshee to jump on their back and they’d go home together. Rune slept on Keane’s shoulder, dreaming of goodbyes, of new beginnings. When they got home, Morrigan fretted and Aodhan apologized. Rune did, too. Callum grabbed their hand. Finn, most surprisingly, wrapped them in a tight hug. He said, “I didn’t want you to be gone. I’m glad you’re home.”

There were tears in Rune’s eyes as they responded. “I’m home. This is home.”

~~

After getting home, Rune stayed in their room. They read and slept and mostly avoided the others. Family was what Rune wanted. This family was what they wanted, but they’d never really had a chance to say goodbye.

After three days of Rune avoiding everyone it was Aodhan, followed closely by Morrigan, who burst into their room to pull them out of their room for movie night. He grabbed their wrist and pulled them up.

“You’re coming, that’s final.” Aodhan demanded.

“But- I-” Rune was pulled out of their room too quickly to protest.

Morrigan grabbed Rune’s other hand in hers. “When he’s mad he’s brazen.”

Rune let themself be pulled along but Aodhan stopped short of the living room. He huffed and asked, “Morrigan, could you give us a minute?” The phoenix looked between them and nodded.

There was silence between them. Aodhan was still gripping Rune’s wrist, tightly but not so hard it hurt. Just enough to make sure they were held. That they were there. Rune flexed their fingers.

“I want to be your family,” they said before Aodhan found his words. Surprisingly, the merrow didn’t react. “I have to say goodbye first.”

“So your solution is to ignore us?”

“Avoid,” Rune corrected.

Aodhan’s shoulders slumped and he turned now to face the banshee. Their arms were crossed between them.“That’s not any better.”

“You’re right. I don’t know how to be a participant. I never have.” Rune looked down, at their shoes, at the carpet. “I need to say goodbye first,” they repeated. They turned their wrist out of Aoddhan’s fingers but moved to take his hand in theirs, twining their fingers through his. “I’m sorry. For avoiding you. For running away.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you into running,” Aodhan answered. He smiled. “And getting angry.”

Rune nodded. They stood still in the halls until Rune stepped forward, wrapping their other arm around Aodhan’s waist, pressing their held hand between them. Aodhan blinked but returned their hug. After a moment, Rune pulled away. They switched which hand they were holding and pulled Aodhan into the living room. The couch was open, with Callum sitting on the far side. Finn was on the harbinger’s lap while Morrigan sat between both of their legs. Keane seemed to already be asleep, laid out over the floor with their head in Morrigan’s lap. Rune, careful to not kick Keane, fell beside Finn and Callum. Aodhan followed suit, though he managed to kick Keane maybe on purpose. Rune slid closer to Aodhan, still holding onto the merrow’s hand and the wouldn’t as Morrigan began playing The Princess Bride and not as Aodhan nodded off onto Rune and not even as Rune found themself nodding off into Aodhan.

~~

“We never got to play chess!” Morrigan pouted, holding a board up to wave in the banshee’s face. Rune was standing in their room’s doorway, blinking at the phoenix who’d popped up out of nowhere, waving a board in their face.

“Would you like to play now?” they asked. Morrigan nodded enthusiastically and Rune smiled. “Alright, please, lead the way.” They held out their hand to the phoenix, who’s eyes widened and watered at the gesture. Morrigan took their hand and practically skipped her way to the living room, dragging Rune behind her. Morrigan set up the board, refusing any help from Rune but talked throughout the process. “So I was in the garden with Keane when Aodhan burst out and said, “They’re gone!” and me and Keane were like “What!” but Keane seemed to know where you’d gone or had an idea.” The phoenix took a long breath and finally looked up at Rune and said. “You scared us. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” Rune replied.

“Me too,” Morrigan replied, nodding. “We tried to push the whole family thing a little too quickly. Banshees are really attached to their families and we should’ve been better about that. I’ll do better.”

“I will also do better,” Rune replied. “I told Aodhan this, but I want to be here. I’m just trying to find a way to say goodbye properly.”

“To the Brynes?”

“Yes,” Rune answered, sadly, “But also specifically to Imogen and Éabha.”

“You had favorites?” Morrigan gasped in fake offense and Rune chuckled.

“Not favorites, not really.” Rune twirled their king in their fingers, thinking. “They just left the most impact. I wouldn’t be here without them.”

“At Hawk House?”

“Yes but also here as I am.” Rune set their king back in his place and said, “People are made of impressions of others, we reflect the qualities we most admire in others and become our own person. Without them, I wouldn’t be made of the pieces I am and I wouldn’t be me.”

Morrigan was white, so she moved first. E2 to E4. “Are you saying goodbye to those parts of you?” she asked.

Rune moved E7 to E5 and answered, “No. Never.” Morrigan moved her knight from G1 to F3. “They’ll always be a part of me but I need to let them go for all of us.” Rune moved their knight: B8 to C6. “Eventually, I’ll get things from all of you, too.”

Morrigan’s other knight came out B1 to C3. “I can’t wait.”

“I can’t either,” Rune answered. Rune moved their other knight out G8 to F6.

“Hey, Rune?” Morrigan asked and moved their bishop F1 to B5. “Are you copying me?”

“No!” Rune moved a pawn: D7 to D6.

Morrigan gave them a skeptical look and took their turn and then Rune and then Morrigan castled her king. Rune moved their bishop. Morrigan moved their king’s castle. Rune took the first piece of the game, one of Morrigan’s pawns. Morrigan’s knight took the pawn. They moved over the board slowly, methodically, piece by piece dancing across the board, until eventually Morrigan manages to block Rune from moving. The phoenix launched from her chair to shout her victory. Rune laughed, and asked, “Would you like to play again.”

Morrigan settled back into her seat, serious as ever. “Absolutely!”

~~

Callum came into the library, and flopped down in the seat next to Rune. They looked up from their book at the dullahan and gave him a questioning look. The harbinger sighed and fell into Rune, practically squishing them against the couch. “We all have bad days, Rune. Today’s mine.”

“What’s up?” they asked, slightly out of breath.

Just had to harbinge. You know how it is.”

Rune pushed Callum off of them, so he ended up with his head in their lap. They began running their fingers through his hair. “I don’t know how it is for you,” they responded, putting their book to the side. Callum’s hair was soft.

“Do you know how dullahans signal death?” Callum asked.

Rune shook their head.

“When a dullahan senses death nearby, they ride until they get to the spot where the death will happen and they wait.” A clouded look washed over Callum’s face. “There was a car crash near the highway. I had to watch the whole thing.”

Rune frowned. “I’m sorry,” they said. They didn’t know what else to say.

Callum continued, “It’s always been like this and I’ve always hated it. Death isn’t pleasant, and watching brutal deaths as part of your entire existence is draining.”

“I would imagine so,” Rune responded.

Callum looked up at Rune, “Have you witnessed a lot of carnage?”

Rune thought for a moment. “I have lived for a long time watching the deaths of every member of the Bryne family. It’s impossible not to get some carnage, but I’ve stayed with a family. Their deaths won’t be one gruesome death after another. And dullahans are connected to violence are they not?”

Callum nodded. “I’ve seen a few domestic deaths, but they aren’t as powerful a pull as violent deaths. It blows.”

Rune nodded in sympathy.

“How did you feel when you saw a Bryne die?” Callum asked.

Rune hummed, thoughtfully, and answered. “Sad, I usually knew it was coming. There was a tug in the pit of my stomach. But also detached. These were people I knew almost through a screen. They were real but it didn’t feel like it or it was easier to mourn quickly because it was through that kind of wall.” Rune remembered when Alexis Bryne died in a fall, “Even sudden deaths were easier. I usually didn’t talk to them or interact with them for more than a few months. Imogen I interacted with even after she stopped seeing me. I knew her. I knew her heart. Plus, she was the last. That one is still hard.” Tears began welling in their eyes as Rune tried to blink them away. Callum lifted up so he could come and wrap his arms around the banshee. “I just miss her.” Rune hiccuped, sobs jumping out of them.

“Sorry,” Callum whispered, hugging Rune more closely. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” He seemed genuinely nervous and that shocked Rune enough to laugh.

“Thank you for the apology, Callum, but it’s not needed. Like I said, it’s my job to cry. I still haven’t cried it all out yet. I’m just now getting the chance to mourn Éabha properly. Now is better though.” Rune looked up at Callum and smiled, “Now I get hugs.” The dullahan laughed and leaned down, pressing a kiss into Rune’s hair.

They stayed like that, hugging, for a while. Until Rune looked up and said. “I’m saying goodbye tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes- I mean that’s the plan,” Rune answered. They wrapped their arms a little more tightly around Callum. “I’m going to their graves tomorrow, but that might be all I do.”

“Do you want us to come with?”

“No- I mean m- no,” Rune stuttered, burying their face into Callum’s chest. “I should do this alone.”

“But you don’t have to,” Callum said, squeezing the banshee. “We’re family, remember?”

Rune smiled into the dullahan's chest. “Right, we’re family.”

~~

Rune stood at Imogen’s grave, stiff and cold and lonely. No one had come with them. They hadn’t asked. So far all they’d done was stare at the headstone.

Imogen Bryne: February 14th, 1990 - July 7th, 2021 Loving Daughter, Doting Teacher

It was a simple headstone, which was all she would’ve wanted. Rune didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to say it. They might as well start at the beginning though. “I’ve come to say goodbye.” They grimaced at their own words. They’d never been good at conversation but this was an important one. They should be better. “You were my world, little one,” they said, because even though Imogen looked older than her, she was still younger, the youngest. “Ill never forget you but I have to let you go. It’s not good for either of us if I hold onto you so tightly.” The banshee bent down and sat. They laid out a chess board and placed two kings on the board, exactly where they’d been the night Imogen passed. They other pieces didn’t matter, only the kings. Rune sat with the board for a moment, before taking a breath and moving forward. They knocked over their king. “I concede,” their voice was thick with emotion. Tears were filling their eyes. It didn’t take much for them to start spilling over, down and down and down. Their was sadness nestled in their chest. They’d watched Imogen her entire life and their was nothing that could compare to their friendship. Rune would always, always love her. But there was relief too. To let go of the burden of the Bryne family, to put them all to rest with Imogen as the last. They were theirs, but they were gone and holding onto that tie would only hurt them in the end.

Rune stood, folded up the chess board and stuffed the black king in their pocket, but the white king they left on Imogen’s grave. With one final pat, the banshee left.

The next grave they visited was much older than Imogen’s, more worn and faded. Rune was almost afraid that if they touched it, it would crumble under their fingertips.

Éabha Bryne - Aged 13 - Little Flower Please Rest Well

Éabha had been a lot of Rune’s firsts. Their first friend, the first person to care about them. Rune had never truly mourned them, moving on to the other Brynes. Standing here, Rune felt their breath constrict in their throat. A sob burst out of their throat, dizzying, broken, lost. “I wanted so much more with you,” Rune whispered. They reached out and brushed their fingers against Éabha’s name. They had just become friends when they both died, sick and hurting, gasping for air that felt more like knives with every breath. They could’ve been sisters. They would have been friends the rest of their natural lives. Éabha would’ve brought Rune out of their shell. Rune couldn’t help the way they sobbed over their missed lives. Each breath came out a gasp or a hiccup, and the banshee couldn’t keep their eyes open. “I- would have- given- you- the world,” Rune said. “I didn’t- I didn’t get the chance.” Their sobs subsided, to trickles of tears and Rune tried to wipe their face with their sweater’s sleeves. Snot was getting everywhere, their cheeks were red and scratchy. Rune smiled, though, remembering Hawk House. Remembering the fae they would turn around and go home to. “I have a family now, though,” they said. They gasped through a sob and sniffled before saying, “You’d love them. Morrigan is even brighter than you. Finn gives the best hugs. There’s Callum, and he’s always there when I need him. Aodhan would drop everything to sit quietly in the library with me. And Keane has a garden that would rival an evil queen’s!” Rune pressed their hand into the stone. “I get to go home to them so I can’t hold on to you. Not like I have been. You’ll always be a part of my heart but I want to make room for them.” Rune paused, wiping their tears and stood. They gave Éabha a smile, straightening their shoulders. They wanted to look put together on their way out, even if that wasn’t how they felt inside, even though Éabha probably couldn’t see them. The banshee pulled out a rose, one from Keane’s garden. “Goodbye, Éabha,” they said and placed the rose on the girl’s grave. They turned to walk out of the cemetery, only to see a gaggle of fae at the edge of the yard. Morrigan was holding a box of tissues, clearly already using some for herself. Keane and Aodhan were stuck awkwardly against the car. They didn’t look like they knew what to do with themselves and the rumbling thunder made Aodhan nervous to leave the car in the first place. Finn was smiling at Rune, bright and warm and there were tears on his cheeks. Callum was watching their every move, ready and waiting. Rune burst forward, slamming themself into the other harbinger who wrapped his arms around Rune tight. Callum was warm, so warm. Then Finn moved, wrapping his arms around them both, and Morrigan, too. Finally, Aodhan and Keane added themselves to the group hug all while Rune wept into them all.

“Let’s go home,” Finn whispered into their hair. Rune nodded, but they still didn’t move, not for a long while. When they did though, Rune was sat squarely between Aodhan and Keane, both of them wrapping their arms around the banshee. Morrigan was squeezed tightly again the door of the car, just managing to fit, but she reached out to grab Rune’s hand the whole way home.

~~

Rune found Callum in the kitchen as expected. He was finishing the dishes from the day before which meant he hadn’t started cooking today’s lunch. Rune smiled.

“Hey there,” Callum greeted.

“Hello,” Rune replied, excitement pooled in their chest. “Today, can I cook?”

Callum turned to Rune. “You know how to cook?” Rune nodded. Callum shrugged and asked, “Do you have everything you need?”

Finn appeared in the kitchen’s doorway, carrying armfuls of bags. Huffing, the wisp said, “Yes. They made me go shopping!”

“I didn’t make you,” Rune corrected and turned to Callum. “It won’t be perfect. I know how but I haven’t actually cooked a meal before.”

“Can I help?” Callum asked. Rune nodded, smiling. They hadn’t smiled this much in decades. Callum returned their smile and called, “Okay Finn, Rune, wash up!”

“What? I have to cook, too?” Finn squawked. Rune’s smile split their face, their cheeks hurt. Finn stayed to hem and haw. They washed their hands and started setting everything out.

“What are we making?” the dullahan asked.

“A stew!”

“A stew for lunch?”

Finn scoffed at the dullahan and responded, “As if we eat dinner!” He began with the beef, tossing it in flour and spices. “The only reason we’ve gone through so much food is because Rune here spoils you.”

“Callum spoils me,” Rune corrected, chopping the carrots next to Callum.”His cooking is to die for.”

“Okay, but you didn’t have to tell him that.” Finn bumped his shoulder into Rune’s and everyone in the kitchen laughed. They worked on vegetables and meat until they were just waiting to add the veggies to the soup.

Eventually, Morrigan peaked into the kitchen. “You guys have been in here awhile. Whatcha cooking?”

“Stew,” Rune answered.

“For lunch?”

The three fae in the kitchen responded together, saying, “For lunch!”

Finn moved over to their veggies and scrapped them in the simmering stew. “Think we’ll have enough for everyone?” he asked the banshee.

Rune nodded enthusiastically.

“Alright then,” he said, “Morrigan it's your job to round up the others.”

Morrigan straightened her back. Standing tall, she saluted the wisp. “Will do, Captain,” and she quickly disappeared again.

Curiously, the other fae of Hawk House filed into the kitchen and sat at the table.

“It smells amazing in here!” Keane said, bumping up against Rune. Aodhan sat squarely between Morrigan and Keane. Rune hovered beside Callum waiting for the timer to go off. They shifted from foot to foot, suddenly nervous.

“You all cooked?” Morrigan asked.

Callum answered, “Finn actually did most of the work. Rune hadn’t actually held a knife before.”

“Maybe I should’ve started with learning,” Rune responded, blushing slightly.

“No, you did great!” Finn said, wrapping his arm over their shoulders. “You didn’t chop off any fingers so you’re doing great, kid.”

Rune glanced up at Finn, their eyes narrowing. “I think I’m older than you,” they said. Finn’s eyes widened in surprise but before he could respond the timer went off. Callum went over to the stove and turned it off. He took the pot off of the heat. He began dishing out stew. They quickly settled into their meal, erupting into conversation. Warmth bloomed in Rune’s chest as they ate.

~~

Keane tried to scare Rune and Morrigan again, but again only managed to scare Morrigan. The changeling leaned over the banshee and asked. “Why can’t I scare you?”

Rune looked up at them from their book and answered, “Because I know you’re coming.”

Morrigan pouted beside them. “And you don’t warn me?”

“I figured you would know by now to be on guard. Keane sneaks up on you a lot.” Rune turned back to their book.

Keane squeezed in between Morrigan and Rune on the couch, and said, “They’re right, I do sneak up on you a lot.” Morrigan glowered at Keane who only laughed.

Morrigan leaned over to see around Keane and asked, “How can you tell they’re coming?”

Rune gave up on making any progress reading and woefully set their book aside. They might have heard Keane mutter “Dramatic,” to themself but rune chose to ignore it.

“They’re soul,” Rune answered. “I can feel it. I don’t think anyone could sneak up on me.” Rune paused to consider. “Maybe other harbingers though. I believe we can all shadow walk.”

“What does my soul look like?” Keane asked.

“Green, bright bright green, with a hint of human blue woven into the green.”

“Human blue?”

“Oh- oh- Me next, me next!” Morrigan cheered.

Staring at her, Rune saw the excitement feed the fire of the phoenix’s soul. “Flames,” they answered. “Big blazing ones that flicker and shift with your emotions. Very pretty.”

“How do my flames compare to Finn’s?” she asked.

“Finn has hotter, smaller flames. There’s not a lot that can change them. He’s more controlled, focused.” Morrigan nodded, mesmerized.

“Okay but now you have to do Aodhan and Callum, to be fair.” Keane stated.

“Alright, Aodhan is blue and grey, like the ocean right before a storm. Eerily calm. Except his calm isn’t eerie, it’s welcoming. And Callum is harder to parse out. Harbingers are typically shrouded in shadow so it’s hard to parse through what’s his soul and what’s shadow, but for the most part his soul is grey, like deep dark night where you can still see the trees. He’s determined and steadfast.”

“You sure know a lot about our souls,” Morrigan said. Keane nodded their agreement.

Rune smiled. “I like to look at them. They’re my family’s.” Morrigan awed and Keane leaned into Rune. They all hugged for a moment, before Rune asked. “Can I go back to my book now? It was just getting good.” Keane burst out laughing, but nodded and Morrigan giggled in her seat.

~~

Tired as they were, Rune shuffled into the family room for movie night, a smile tugging at their lips despite not having much of a reason for there to be one. Finn and Callum were sat on one side of the couch, Finn nearly in Callum’s lap, while Keane took their place on the other side. Aodhan and Morrigan sat on the floor, dozing. “Are we sure we’re going to get through a full film?” Rune asked, taking their place between the couple and Keane.

“Finn won’t, he’s already nodding off,” Callum answered, turning and kissing Finn’s hair. Finn would have flicked him if he didn’t mind moving.

Keane said, “I think we should just play it and see where we land.”

Morrigan called, quietly, “Fantasia!” with as much excitement as she could muster.

“Fantasia it is.” Keane set everything up. Rune settled into the couch, happy to be surrounded, happy to be here, to be home. Not one of them made it to the end, but the point of movie night wasn’t really the movie. "