#rare non-smiling ferris

[fenori]

✂️

[tmwcs]

hi hi! i hope ur doing well, i dropped by here to ask if you can write a drabble where like a rare event happened and heelel went to the mortal world to like idk have fun go to theme parks and sum and then he spots like a woman who looks like realena but not entirely. He sees her from like her behind or her back and comes up 2 her and flirts w/ her but her bf is like there like 🤨 and thats all my brain let me produce, i would LOVE for u to write abt this, ily stay safe and keep healthy eat ur meals! ♡♡♡♡♡♡

”Like a Sore Thumb.”

This one has two versions of y/n. One on earth that resembles the y/n that Devil!HS is in love with. This is not canon.

Warnings: shameless flirting, deceiving, mentions of non-con acts, yandere theme, mentions/implications of non-con acts used as a form of punishment and or to express love, mentions of forced breeding, creampie (implied), human rights violation, reader is kept against her will, imprisonment. MDNI 18+.

What an exciting day it was for you and your boyfriend! The new theme park had just opened, and the day couldn’t be any more lovely for the occasion, which is why you adorned his favorite sun dress, paired with tastefully subtle heeled shoes. You bloomed like the flowers of spring.

“We should go check out the Ferris wheel after we get a cotton candy ball.”

You were eager to taste the massive fluff of cotton candy, as evident by your prolonged stare at the food vendor that served it. “Let’s go stand in line then.” Your boyfriend mentions, jovially taking you by the hand in seeing your smile. You both wait in line, it was so long, but you knew it would be worth the wait. The temperature grew hotter, and you both started to feel thirsty. “Do you mind standing in line while I get us some waters?” He mentions, and you shook your head as you pull him in to kiss his cheek. “Not at all. I’ll be here.”

He delicately shakes your hand before heading off, and as you promised, you wait in line. It felt as if the line was barely moving, what with the vendor taking time to create each cotton candy stick, you knew that it would be a while before you’d get to the front. But no matter. This was part of the experience, so you continued to wait, picking your nails as you stood motionless.

…………………

“What a pretty flower.”

you heard a deep voice emerge from behind, and furrowed your brows together in confusion. Did someone just call you a flower? for a split second, you thought it was your boyfriend being sneaky, yet the very moment you turned halfway, you come face to face with a dashing figure. The man was tall, had dark hair, and was dressed all in black. It was strange, he looked so poised and clean, as if the heat was not affecting him, despite wearing trousers, a button up with a black trench coat. His hair was somewhat smoothed over to the side, partially revealing his forehead; and his face…it was devilishly handsome. Too handsome in fact.

he just stood there, smirking at you. You felt the blood rush through to your cheeks as the heat of blush takes over. God, you hope he didn’t notice.

“I-I’m sorry? Were you speaking to me?” You soundlessly spoke, almost too scared to say anything really, the man’s looks was more than just attractive, it was intimidating.

“oh yeah.”

his response was simple and yet, it caused your heartbeat to rise. “Oh yeah”?? What sort of answer is that? You couldn’t help but become more curious about the man who continued to stare down at you.

“I’m sorry…do I know you?” You were confused by his behavior, despite him being the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on, you had a feeling in your gut that proposed a level of uneasiness as the man continued to scan your face with his eyes, looking as if he had seen you before.

“no.”

You internally huffed at his naught response. Clearly he didn’t care to elaborate, which sent signals that the man may have been a creep. Nonetheless, you did your best to be polite and to shoo him away. God only knows you didn’t want to make him mad, because even though he was handsome, there was a glint of subtleness in the form of chaos and malice in his eye.

“oh I’m sorry. I have to meet with my boyfriend, please excuse me.”

“Try harder.”

“excuse me?”

He chuckles aloud, revealing a toothy grin. You had to admit, it only made him more attractive to see a dashing smile to go with his aura. He speaks lowly, in a very deep tone, one that nearly made you collapse.

“I said try harder.” He takes a pause to bite down on his lip, furthering that uneasy ball that was forming inside. “That lie about meeting with your boyfriend, it ain’t it. If you really wanna lie to get your way out of things, you need to…” leaning in, he raises a hand and gently pinches your strands in between his fingers. Rubbing them softly together, he takes in the softness before looking back into your eyes, deeply…closely…and intimately. Whispering, he finishes his remark, his breath grazing your skin. “Try harder.”

you couldn’t think, breathe, or speak. You stood there nearly zoned out in his gaze. He spoke out once more, snapping you out of it. “Go ahead, try. I’m giving you a second chance….pretty.”

you gulped as you took him up on his offer. “I’m not interested…sorry.”

smirking once more, he narrows his eyes and whispers “good girl.” His hand drifts over, his finger traces your jawline until it levels at the center of your chin. From there, you felt the cold tip of his index drag downward, along the center of your throat, in between your collar bones, and right down at the center of the faint cleavage exposed from the scoop neck of your dress. It was enough to make your heart stop beating.

“y/n?”

you blink and widen your eyes as you hear your boyfriend from behind the unknown man. You slightly tilt your head to the side and watch as your boyfriend witnesses the man taking in the feel of your skin.

“oh…um..” you stutter, yet was cut off when the man injects his smooth tone, as he turns his face to reveal his side profile. “The boyfriend.”

you watched as your boyfriend stood, rather frozen. It was apparent that he too sensed the intimidating flow of the man’s aura. Not to mention that a faint switch in his gaze caused his rather handsome face to look more frightening than anything. The man turns back to you, and cups your cheek as he bids you farewell, all the while his thumb strokes in side motions, just above your cheekbone.

“Didn’t mean to disturb your date, you just look like someone I know….someone very dear to me. It’s a shame she can’t be here to show you the resemblance….” He sucks the air through his teeth and formulates a “tsk” sound as he finishes his statement…a statement that sent shivers down to your spine. “But she was a bad girl, so I had to lock her up for a while. That’s okay though…you’ll eventually know how to use that face.”

“U-use…my face?”

“mmhmm.” His thumb continues to stroke your cheek, your boyfriend stood uncomfortably and irritated, yet he was uncomfortable to say anything after receiving what looked to be a death glare from the man in black.

“I…I um…I don’t understand.” Confused, you took in his gaze as you broke the awkward silence.

“well…I can show you.” He leans his face closer…too close. You winced your eyes shut before feeling his breath coat your lips as he spoke. “Tell me….what you want, preeeeeeetty…”

you flutter your lids as you re-open your eyes. “Umm….I don’t know…”

“yeeeees you do….tell me what you want.”

“Um…well…” You peer your gaze off to the side at the cotton candy truck. His chuckle instantly caused you to look back at him, when out of nowhere he raises his other hand. In between his cold fingers, was a long stick with a giant ball of cotton candy, in the flavor you wanted to order.

“h-how—“

“Learn how to use your face.” He smiles as he presents the cotton candy to you. As soon as you took it out of his hand, he peers off to your side, taking a grab on your upper arm and squeezes as he passes through. The very second he was no longer in your sight, you turned to reach out, yet….

“where did he go?….he…he was just here….”

your boyfriend was also flabbergasted as the man disappeared in a blink of an eye. He walks over to you and hands you a bottle of water.

“um…y/n?”

“oh…I’m sorry babe….I…I don’t know who that was but….”

“never mind. Since….I mean now that you have this giant ball of cotton candy….I guess we don’t have to stand in line. Let’s go to the Ferris wheel.”

“okay.”

you both walked off and enjoyed the rest of the day. Throughout your entire visit at the theme park, the man’s words replayed in your head. “Learn to use your face.”

………………………….

The chiming sound of the chains cling together as you remain immobile on the grand bedding. Under the watchful eyes of dual dragons, you lay resting, knowing that you the possibility of you staying locked and chained would be likely. Guess you messed up big time, angering him, all by going against his wishes and continuously begging to go back to the life you once had. For days and days, you tested and pushed his patience out the window as you snapped and yelled, demanding to either be killed or to be released. He stood, not saying anything. Instead, he glared heavily and performed physical acts that left you sore in between your thighs. Who would have thought that out of all the scum you knew on Earth…the Senator, and his shallow followers, it would be the Devil, your own husband, to sexually assault you…all in the name of his insatiable “love” for you. Was it really love? Or was it madness? Or maybe…both.

the way he plunged deep inside, pinning your wrists down on the silk threaded sheets, thrusting, pulling, burying and seeping his essence inside of you as he whispered how much you hurt him with your careless words. He locked, bit, and sucked on every part of you. The marks are still there, they’re everywhere…you looked as if you were recovering from some sort of disease as the coloring scheme of purple, red, and pink adorns your nude body. And his words….the words that replay in your head over and over again….they won’t leave you alone. You could still feel the warm breath of his whispers penetrating your ears….

“don’t ever talk like that….you stay…you will stay…and be here with me….forever. My wife….my queen….I need my queen…I need you so much.”

……..

you shutter as you recall his sickening words were followed by his grunt as he released deep inside your crevice….forever reminding you of the fear you could not escape from…the fear of being forced to carry and birth the offspring of this monster…this demon…the devil.

you begin to sob quietly when you hear the calm footsteps of pure leather shoes meeting the marbled flooring.

“crying?” His voice was calm and smooth. Too smooth. Your body shivers as you hear him approach closer. Why can’t he just let you leave? It had been weeks since he brought you to Hell, and already you were going out of your mind with being stuck, forever under his gaze and nude. He wouldn’t even let you wear anything, always claiming that he wanted to take in everything about you before he drapes fine silk and chiffon on your body.

Your mind snaps back to the reality of the situation as you feel him take a seat by your side on the bed. The dip of the weight causes you to look his way and watch him sit while being finely dressed in black. His trench coat was light, and draped over the side of the bed as he crosses his legs and arms. His back leaned against the golden headboard while his eyes fixate on you.

“please….what am I supposed to do? I…I can’t live like this…..I just want to go..to go home.” You tearfully jut out as you cross your arms to cover your breasts. He tilts his head and peers a narrowed gaze your way with an expectant look.

“didn’t we learn anything the last two days? I guess you need more time to think about your wrongs.”

just as he was about to stand and leave you alone, you reach for him. It didn’t make sense to you, but somehow, even though you despised being here and was upset with his selfishness in keeping you, somehow….you found yourself not wanting to be alone. Perhaps it was from all the numerous punishments; being restrained and kept from contacting anyone for a long period of time really messed with your brain. Somehow, you became dependent on him, yearning for comfort and social interaction as the thought of your stay being prolonged in this glorified prison was too much to bare.

“please! Please! I promise I’ll be good. I don’t want to be alone anymore….please just…anywhere but here….I don’t want this….anything but this…..”

delighted that you had a change of heart and that you were begging for him to stay, the Devil’s heart softens. The one thing that makes him happy, was your love for him….your dependence on him….you yearning to be with him just as much as he wants to be with you. Slowly, you weee getting there.

“did you learn your lesson?”

“yes! Yes!”

“Good girl.” Snapping his fingers, the chains disintegrate and you gain mobility. You look up at him with pleads of mercy in your eyes, and he returns a look of reassurance and satisfaction.

“y-you’re not mad anymore?” You quietly stutter, desperately trying to confirm that he had forgiven you.

Shaking his head, he cradles your waistline and pulls you in. Reaching up, he taps the tip of your nose as he smirks. “Of course not. If you say you’ll be good, I’m going to trust you.”

He eyes you up and down as he takes your hand and forces you to run your fingers through his hair.

“don’t I always tell you? I’ll do anything for you…for that face. All you gotta do is use it.”

[i-myeoni-blogs]

The Creepy Book Girl ~2

Pairing - Non- Idol Yeosang x Reader

Word Count - 6077

Warning - Nothing that we can't handle, all cries and depression, mention of therapy, mention of hallucination.

Summary - She wanted him to stay but he was slipping off her mind. When you had your world properly constructed, it came crashing down with twice the pain and hurt. But what if he's not actually gone?

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"She saw Matz?" The boy, resembling a fluffy bear, exclaimed before Yeosang swiftly silenced him.

"Lower your voice, Jongho," Yeosang whispered through clenched teeth, earning an apologetic glance from the boy. Yeosang turned his attention back to the couch, where Y/N lay peacefully, exhausted from her constant shifts at the library. Yeosang had volunteered to share her workload, a week passing since she first mentioned seeing someone who resembled Matz. However, she never brought it up again in Yeosang's presence.

Y/N carried on as if nothing had occurred, but Yeosang's concern deepened. "After I brought her out of that place, she seemed alienated for a moment, but then quickly returned to normal, as if nothing happened."

Jongho, speaking in a hushed tone, questioned, "So, where's the problem? It's a good thing she's not chasing after this Matz guy."

Yeosang just shrugged; dissatisfaction etched on his face. "No, it's strange. Matz was a significant part of her life for over a decade, and the fact that she saw someone identical to him..." Yeosang sighed deeply. "It doesn't sit right."

"Well, what's your plan now?" Jongho inquired.

"I don't know. I'll keep an eye on her for now." Yeosang looked at Y/N's face, so pretty, just like the first time he saw her.

Yeosang traveled a lot; he wasn't the type to stay in one place for long. On another trip, he simply wanted a calm spot, somewhere to write his new masterpiece peacefully. Meghalaya came to mind, and without second thoughts, he went on his journey. He found a good place to rent, not sure how long he'd stay, so he picked a cheap but well-kept flat near the hills. The view wasn't dull at all; trees and clouds touching the mountains added to his adventure. Now, with a place to sleep, he sought an even quieter spot for inspiration.

One afternoon, Yeosang walked on the street, trying different street food and accessories, finding comfort in simple pleasures. Meeting new people and learning about different cultures were things he loved.

"Hey there, what can I get you?" The friendly café worker flashed a warm smile at Yeosang, ready to jot down his order. Yeosang returned the smile and opted for a cool lemonade; the heat and his adventurous wanderings had left him weary. "Sure thing, sir. Anything else?"

"No, just the lemonade, thanks." Yeosang glanced around, humming a tune while he settled the bill for his refreshing drink. "By the way, any libraries or quiet spots around where I can do some work?" he inquired politely.

"Oh, there are a bunch of libraries you can check out. But for real peace and quiet, there's this big one up in the Garo hills, and hardly anyone goes there," the barista replied as she handed over the lemonade. "But, you know, the owner's a bit eccentric. I'd think twice."

"Eccentric?" Yeosang raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, she lives alone, rarely steps out, and doesn't talk to anyone. Just stays holed up in her library."

Taking in this information, Yeosang simply nodded, sipping his lemonade and relishing its refreshing tang. That was all he needed for a pick-me-up. With a polite farewell, he strolled off to continue his aimless exploration. The Garo hills loomed in the distance, and he recalled the barista's words. It wasn't too late, he mused; he could explore the largest library before nightfall. With that thought in mind, he headed towards the hills.

The rough path guided him to the library the barista had mentioned; it was truly huge and exceptionally beautiful. He expressed gratitude to the ferry that brought him here and settled the fare. The sun hadn't completely set, casting an orange glow that adorned the hills in a splendid display. Despite its beauty, the 'CornerPage' library was eerily empty, as the barista had foretold. A tranquil atmosphere enveloped the space, with scarcely anyone venturing into its quiet confines.

"Hello, is anyone around?" Yeosang clutched his camera tightly and cautiously peered into the library. The tables and chairs were spotless, as if someone diligently cared for the place, even though it seemed rarely frequented. Summoning courage, he stepped into the library, moving uncertainly like a lost child. "Seems like nobody's here," he muttered, retracing his steps. However, his retreat halted at the sudden thump, a noise echoing through the silence. Intrigued, he advanced towards the source of the sound.

If life had a theme, he figured his would revolve around love at first sight. One day, he spotted her— a girl on the small stairs, neatly organizing books. Lost in her task, she didn't hear him approaching. Soft sunlight painted her face with a gentle glow, like the warmest honey. The way she handled the books seemed like she was keeping her whole life in order.

As Yeosang noticed them trembling slightly. Unable to stay silent, he whispered, "Be careful." It might not have been the smartest move, but the view that unfolded was breathtaking.

Startled by the sudden sound, the girl turned her head. Yeosang stood frozen, captivated by the beauty standing before him.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely, stepping off the stairs to face Yeosang, who remained motionless for what felt like an eternity. As confusion crossed her face, Yeosang finally snapped out of his daze and stuttered.

"I... I was looking for a quiet spot to work. A barista in town suggested this place," he confessed sincerely. The girl made an understanding sound and smiled, adjusting her glasses.

"You can sit anywhere here, except for that spot. Mr. Robinson claims it for himself," she pointed to the nearest table, chuckling. Yeosang floated in the melody of her voice, as soft as a lullaby. His emotions raced ahead of him, leaving him spellbound.

"Yeosang!" Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he closed his laptop, turning to see Y/N stirring awake. Rubbing her eyes, she questioned, "Did I sleep too long?" Yeosang approached her, captivated by memories of the day they first met. Crouching down, he gently took her hands.

"It's alright, love. You've been working hard. I'll handle the library; you can go upstairs," he reassured her. Y/N nodded, rose, and headed towards their shared room. The space held a flood of memories, past and present intertwined. As she gazed at the cabinet, confusion enveloped her, reality and imagination blurring together. Her mind raced, and memories flooded back: a pointed nose, a tidy suit, and a silver ring that brought comfort. It was Matz, she recalled, and a wave of sadness engulfed her.

"Hey princess." A pair of arms enveloped her as she arranged her belongings in the cabinet. It was Matz, and his touch lingered in her memory like an indelible mark.

"You're back finally, Matzy," Y/N remarked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Matz gently turned her to face him, wearing an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry, princess, but you know how work gets sometimes," he said, burying his face in the curve of her neck, eliciting a giggle from her. Y/N cherished the contrast between the powerful exterior he presented to the world and the vulnerable, whiny side he revealed to her. His duality fascinated her.

But then, the memories resurfaced—memories she believed she had buried. His face, which she thought was forgotten, flashed before her eyes after a year and a half. The wounds she thought had healed were suddenly raw again, and her heart ached at the mere thought of him. Tears welled up in her eyes as she recalled his face. Why now? She questioned herself. Why, when she was supposed to be happily living with Yeosang, did his image haunt her once more? The pain of a forgotten past clawed its way back into her present.

She hurried downstairs, her heart racing, but she hesitated. She couldn't let Yeosang see her like this. What would he think if she confessed that her past memories were resurfacing, haunted by Matz? She couldn't burden him with this pain. Wiping away her tears with a swift motion, Y/N straightened her jeans, took a deep breath, and composed herself before returning to the library.

"Love, what's the matter?" Yeosang inquired, concern etched on his face as he observed Y/N standing there, lost in thought.

"I... I couldn't sleep," she stammered, searching for an excuse. "I'll just sit here for a while." Grabbing a newspaper, she settled back on the couch. The library was not crowded, offering her solace in its quietude.

As Yeosang resumed his work, typing away on his laptop, Y/N stole glances at him. She focused intently, as if trying to engrave his features in her mind, wanting only to see Yeosang and no one else. Despite knowing every detail by heart, she scrutinized him, attempting to create a mental snapshot of his presence. The weight of her unspoken sadness lingered in the silent library.

She longed to share everything with Yeosang, but she couldn't burden him with her emotional struggles. So, she kept the pain hidden, deciding not to bring it up until she felt more stable. She believed she could convincingly act like everything was fine, or at least that's what she hoped.

"Y/N, I'm stepping out to meet a friend. Will you be okay alone, my love?" Yeosang inquired, and Y/N nodded in response. Days passed, and Y/N played the role of a content partner, concealing the inner turmoil she felt. Despite the return of her unsettling hallucinations, she couldn't bear to let Yeosang discover her suffering. With a forced smile, she bid him farewell, wishing for his safety.

After seeing Yeosang off, she hesitantly walked to her room, her steps filled with uncertainty as she struggled to turn the doorknob. Fearful of encountering that familiar face, the one she desperately wanted to keep at bay, she mustered all her courage. Turning the knob, she entered her room, sprinting towards the dresser with a heavy heart.

"Princess," she heard a voice—Matz's voice. However, she chose not to turn around and, instead, opened a drawer, rummaging through its contents in search of something. "Princess, it's me," the voice persisted, echoing in her ears. Yet, she realized it was a deception, her own imagination playing tricks on her. The voices continued to intensify, and she tightly squeezed her free hand, trying to resist the temptation to give in.

After a while, she finally discovered what she was seeking—a glossy black card labeled 'RealTalk' in silver letters. Those therapy sessions she never thought she'd require had become an essential part of her life. She knew she had to contact her doctor, and she promised herself to make that call today.

"Y/N," she heard, and quickly slid the card up her sleeve. It was Yeosang. Confused, she got up and walked toward him. He had said he was leaving, she remembered. He looked into her eyes, sensing she was keeping something from him. Despite knowing, he chose not to confront her at that moment and just smiled.

"What’s wrong? I came back to get my phone; I left it on the bed," he explained, moving towards the bed. However, he glanced at the drawer from the corner of his eye, wondering, 'What might she be hiding?' Retrieving his phone, he walked away, giving Y/N a side hug and a kiss on her temple before leaving once more.

Y/N let out a long sigh, a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, and closed her eyes for a brief moment after Yeosang departed.

"Who was he, princess?" The voice brought her back, and her eyes snapped open. Turning her head, she felt her lower lip quiver. There he stood, arms crossed – a vivid memory from the days when she and Yeosang had become friends through regular encounters at the library.

"He's Yeosang, a writer who came here to find a quiet spot to start his work." Y/N's gaze shifted to her own reflection, as if her memories were playing out on a big screen. She saw herself getting ready for bed. Matz, however, was not pleased; he felt threatened, insecure about Yeosang encroaching on his territory. Since Yeosang's arrival at the library, Y/N had become more engrossed in their shared passion for stories. Matz rolled his eyes and moved closer, enveloping Y/N in a back hug.

"Tell me you're mine," Matz pleaded, his voice carrying a hint of sadness. Y/N attempted to turn and face him, but Matz held her tightly, preventing her from meeting his gaze directly. "Please, tell me I'm yours."

"Matzy, are you feeling insecure?"

"Maybe a bit, but that's not the main issue." Matz eased his hold, allowing Y/N to turn. She gently rested her hands on his chest, a delicate thread encircling her ring finger. "I just don't want to lose you, because if that happens, I'll be lost forever," Matz spoke with a trembling voice, pain evident in his eyes. Y/N didn't grasp the gravity of the situation; she thought Matz's jealousy was just like any other boyfriend's.

"Hey, Matzy, I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. I'm yours, okay?" She spoke gently, enveloping Matz in a tight hug. Her embrace exuded love and tenderness. "Just relax, alright?" Y/N ran her fingers through his hair soothingly.

"And I won't let you forget me ever," Matz said, breaking the hug but keeping Y/N in his arms, looking into her eyes.

"Never."

"Never," Matz echoed, hugging her again, desperately clinging to the moment.

Y/N felt overwhelmed as memories from the past flooded her thoughts, causing her to lose her balance and collapse onto her knees. The echoes of Matz's voice and her own intertwined, playing like a haunting melody in her mind. Desperate to escape, she covered her ears with her hands and shut her eyes tightly, repeatedly mumbling, "Go away."

Despite her efforts to drown out the painful echoes, the voices persisted, growing louder and more relentless. Overwhelmed, Y/N couldn't contain her emotions any longer. She screamed, releasing the pent-up anguish that had been building inside her. Alone in the closed library on a quiet Sunday, she cried uncontrollably, curling into a fetal position as if seeking solace within herself. In that moment, she was grateful for the solitude, realizing that if the library had been open, her cries would have echoed for everyone to hear, exposing the deep wounds within her soul. Maybe if she closed her eyes and ears, these voices would go away and so she closed her eyes until she was taken into dreamland.

"Yeosang, you here? Is Y/N not with you?" The woman greeted Yeosang at the door, but his face darkened upon hearing Y/N's name. His forced smile hinted at an underlying sadness that the woman immediately sensed. "Come in," she offered, allowing Yeosang to enter.

"Julie, could you make us some tea?" The woman instructed her house help while gesturing for Yeosang to take a seat on the sofa. Positioning herself across from him, she asked, "What's troubling you?" Yeosang sat with his elbows on his knees, looking worn out.

"It's Y/N... she saw Matz."

The woman, without changing her expression, briefly closed her eyes. "The treatments were ineffective," she confessed, a mix of hurt and disappointment evident in her words.

"No, Mom, not in her imagination. She saw him in reality, right here a week ago." Yeosang leaned forward, perched on the edge of the sofa. The woman's surprise was evident, her incredulous expression silently conveying disbelief.

Yeosang shared the whole tale of his encounter with Y/N and a mysterious person they bumped into on the street, someone Y/N claimed was Matz. He described how Y/N, usually calm beyond belief, seemed oddly composed in a way that didn't quite fit. He feared she might be concealing her true emotions or, worse yet, slipping into a state of unresponsiveness.

He handed over a leaflet given to him by the stranger on the street, a flyer detailing an event that had already taken place over the weekend. On the front were images of two men who appeared to be street performers, adorned with tattoos and dressed in funky outfits that might catch the attention of college girls. The woman studied the pamphlet closely, her eyes catching the bold letters spelling out 'MATZ.'

"What I need to know is whether she ever attended their concert or had any encounters with them before her delusions began," Yeosang inquired, his voice carrying a weight of sadness.

Y/N's mom let out a soft, sorrowful laugh as she placed the pamphlet on the table. The teas, brought in by the house help a few minutes ago, grew colder with each passing moment. "I wish I could tell you more, Yeosang, but she was closer to her father," she said, meeting his gaze, pain evident in her eyes.

Y/N had lost her father during her college days, and no one recalled her ever mentioning him. Not a single tear had fallen from her eyes at his funeral. Y/N remained silent, immersed in her father's library, now hers.

"He adored Y/N, she was his little girl, sharing the same love for books and stories as her father did," her mother continued, taking a deep breath. "He always took her to book events, sometimes at the expense of her school attendance. For him, it was 'passion and skills matter most, chanting knowledge.' Those were his words, and Y/N held onto them, keeping them close to her heart."

It was one of those times when they'd travel for days, exploring every place. Sadly, she never spared a moment for me, and regrettably, I find myself a stranger to my own daughter. They always formed a close bond, getting lost in the world of books at the library, sharing thoughts on their beloved collection. Frustration reached its peak, pushing me to leave that home and find comfort at my mom's place. Yet, my absence went unnoticed, like a ghost fading into the shadows.

Her father resembled a bird I longed to keep for myself, but alas, he slipped through my fingers, and Y/N mirrors him in every way. So, it's a choice between flying alongside her in the sky she's crafted or letting her fly away. A tear slipped from her cheek, swiftly wiped away before it could fully reveal the pain etched on her face. "She stopped talking to me after they returned from Goa, and soon after, her father passed away."

Yeosang's curiosity piqued, he inquired, "Goa, their final journey together, right?" The woman nodded, a heavy confirmation hanging in the air. "Could you share what happened there? Any details could be invaluable." Yeosang pleaded, but Y/N's mom shook her head, indicating her lack of knowledge about the events that unfolded in Goa.

"This is all I could give you, Yeosang," he said with a heavy heart. Yeosang silently acknowledged the words. There had to be some incident in Goa that led to Y/N cutting off ties with her mother. It's been a decade since then, and the fact that Y/N mentioned knowing Matz for 10 years hints at a connection to Goa. Perhaps she met Matz there. To confirm this possibility, Yeosang had to meet Matz. Clutching the pamphlet tightly, he was resolute in embarking on a journey to uncover the truth of what transpired in Goa, his eyes reflecting a determination mixed with sadness.

He had to go back home first; he couldn't leave Y/N alone for too long, especially since her condition was worse than just being confused. The sun was setting as he hurried his way home, but to his surprise, there was no sign of Y/N when he arrived. The newly hired person taking care of the library mentioned that she left in the afternoon, claiming she needed groceries and hadn't returned.

This puzzled Yeosang. Y/N didn't have any friends because she had been living inside the library for a decade, cut off from normal human interactions with past friends and family. "Could she have gone to..." Yeosang shook his head, struggling with the thought. He didn't want to believe that Y/N might have gone to meet that street performer, but his mind betrayed him. "No... this can't be," he mumbled.

"What can't be?" Yeosang swiftly turned around to see Y/N standing in front of him, holding two bags filled with what seemed like groceries.

"Where were..." Yeosang couldn't finish his sentence as Y/N raised her hands to show the plastic bags. "No, I mean..." He started again.

"I went to the bridge. The sun looked beautiful today," Y/N said, gazing at the orange hues of sunlight emitted through the bright evening sky. Yeosang's eyes were fixed on Y/N; she was becoming unresponsive, and it frightened him. He knew he had to meet this Matz guy quickly; he made a mental note to see him tomorrow.

Y/N disliked keeping secrets from Yeosang, even for a short time, but she didn't want to bother him. This idea troubled her deeply. Restlessly tapping her feet while waiting, she was anxious about the situation. She had an appointment with Dr. Pal, the person who helped her navigate through her confusing thoughts. It was clear that she needed the doctor's support, especially as she felt herself slipping back into a world of illusions.

Yeosang had left earlier that morning, providing the perfect opportunity for her to slip away unnoticed. Although she managed to cover up her absence the day before, she couldn't keep making excuses. Y/N felt a sense of relief that she could leave without Yeosang knowing, and Dr. Pal assured her that the information would remain confidential.

Y/N shared the whole story with Dr. Pal, beginning with the moment she met someone who looked like Matz but was actually quite different. The fake Matz wore different clothes and talked in a way that was not at all like her kind and gentle Matz. Despite the imposter's stern attitude, the Matz she loved was always caring and gentle, especially with her. As she spoke, a heaviness settled in her heart, recalling the stark contrast between the real Matz and the deceptive imitation.

"Y/N," she heard her name being called as she compared her memories of Matz with the person she met a week ago. Stepping into the cabin, she instantly felt a calming sensation, as if all her frayed nerves were finally finding solace. Seated before Dr. Pal, she was greeted with a reassuring smile.

"Are we ready?" the doctor inquired, picking up from their conversation the day before. Y/N had opened up about the profound loneliness she'd felt since her father passed away 12 years ago. Despite her mother's unwavering support, Y/N found herself unable to confide in her. Her father's sudden stroke, his collapse in the library—those haunting moments clung to her like a shadow. The sense of helplessness and distress overwhelmed her, as if she had lost her only confidant, her father and friend.

In the aftermath, Y/N built walls around herself, convinced that no one could truly understand the depths of her emotions. She withdrew from everyone, creating a shield to keep her pain hidden. The memory of her last trip to Lucient's College of Management in Goa lingered in her mind, casting a gloom over her soul. It was during an event where people showcased their new works of fiction and non-fiction.

"So, this fake Matz, did you see him in Goa?" The doctor asked again.

"Yeah," Y/N softly replied, recalling the time she spotted him in Goa.

It was December, but the sun in Goa beamed as if it were July in Meghalaya. If she were back home, she'd be bundled up, shielding herself from the cold. Yet, in Goa, the weather wrapped her in warmth and the brilliance of the sun. The event at Lucient’s College of Management was alive with enthusiasm, and Y/N couldn't help but admire the talents of the students. Her gaze drifted to her father, engaged in conversation with a man who claimed to be the people’s chosen author of the year.

Seeking a moment of respite, Y/N excused herself and strolled freely around the campus.

"Who's up for some spirited music?" A voice echoed from a distant speaker, prompting cheers and hoots. Y/N glanced at her father, still engrossed in conversation. Curiosity tugged at her, leading her toward the lively crowd. A robust melody filled the air, and despite her preference for softer tunes, she found herself swaying to the rhythm.

Y/N gazed at the stage, where two young men, possibly around her age, stood. They were students from Lucient's college of management, with faces so sharp they could pierce a girl's heart, evident from the cheers of the college girls. Despite their beauty and youthfulness, what captivated Y/N and held her in place was the voice of the shorter male. When he sang, his lyrics were powerful, carrying an underlying pain. Y/N found herself lost in the beauty of his voice, as if he was singing just for her. It was like her surroundings blurred, and she imagined a scenario, much like those her father used to narrate from books during her childhood.

Unconsciously, she moved forward through the crowd, making her way to the front. Her eyes sparkled, fixated on the singer, feeling as if her whole world was right in front of her.

Y/N stood there, absorbing their music until the first song ended, and the crowd erupted in cheers. "Mad Brothers..." the singer shouted, turning the microphone toward the crowd, who responded with a loud 'Matz.' Y/N whispered the word 'Matz' as if trying to etch it into her memory. Matz interacted with the crowd, and Y/N was convinced that his smile was the most genuine thing she had ever seen.

As the singer extended his hand to the crowd, Y/N joined in, raising her hand with a beautiful smile, her eyes fixed on him. He politely shook her hand, and luck seemed to be on her side when a bohemian-style hanging accessory from his guitar fell into her hand like a precious gift.

"Did you see him again?" the doctor asked, and Y/N shook her head. "He was just a small part of my journey, but the impact was lasting," she said. "No love at first sight or clichés, just a moment when our connection felt right. His words kept me there longer than I expected."

"After my father passed away, the only genuine thing left, besides his memories, was that guy's smile. It marked the beginning of my illusions," Y/N admitted, no longer avoiding her emotions. "He became a memory that supported and shielded me in the past, but maybe I let him linger in my thoughts for too long."

Taking a deep breath, tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "I sought comfort in my books and imagined his face. The man in the street became Matz, but he's not the Matz I once knew or created."

She wandered down memory lane, recalling an incident from 12 years ago after returning from her trip to Goa. It was a time when her father fell ill due to diabetes mismanagement. Unaware of the severity, he continued his regular travels, neglecting his health. Caught up in the routine, both he and Y/N overlooked the seriousness of his condition.

One day, while reading a story about a businessman who always wore suits, her father suddenly groaned in pain, clutching his head. Frantically, Y/N called for an ambulance, but before it could arrive, he passed away. His life, which began in his beloved library, concluded within its walls. Y/N was in shock, gripping the last book he had shared with her.

When her mother arrived to oversee the funeral arrangements, she attempted to console Y/N. However, Y/N remained silent, fixated on the sight of her father being laid to rest in the six feet of earth. This event marked a turning point in Y/N's life. She withdrew from social interactions, spoke to no one, and ventured out only when necessary. Most of her time was spent at the library, where she sought solace in the books. Despite her mother's attempts to help, Y/N adamantly rejected any assistance.

It was one of those nights when Y/N found herself immersed in her favorite book yet again. The quiet of the evening was interrupted by a knock on the door, jolting her from the story. "Is anyone here? Princess, are you home?" a voice called out, catching Y/N off guard. Wondering who could be visiting at this late hour and why they were referring to her as a princess, she approached the door cautiously.

The darkness outside was only partially illuminated by the porch light, revealing a figure with their back turned. The person ran their fingers through their hair, a silver ring catching the light. Dressed in a suit and tie, the mysterious visitor seemed out of place. Y/N couldn't help but stare as he turned around, revealing a charming smile with eyes that formed crescent moons. Without fully understanding why, Y/N decided to open the door.

"Who are you?" she asked in a hushed tone.

"You called for me. I'm your Matz," he replied with a warm smile.

“Promises whispered in the soft moonlight,

Faded away, like stars in the endless night.

Hollow echoes of laughter, now silent and cold,

A love story written…”

“But the ending untold.” Y/N finished the line of the song alongside Matz.

"But the guy I saw last week was different from the one who protected me. Maybe it was his music that made me picture his face in my mind. But now I realize he's not the one I'm thinking about; Matz was just an illusion to guard my heart." Y/N spoke with another charm in her voice.

"Well, I guess our talk is done for good," said the doctor, a small smile appearing as he closed the folder containing Y/N's name and medical story. The chapter was finished; she had faced her emotions and never felt lighter.

"Yeah, I suppose." Maybe all she needed was a closure to distinguish between reality and illusion. Yet, everything unfolds for a purpose, and she was thankful for it all, as it led her to Yeosang. The kind of love she'd always yearned for – tender and caring. Now, she could finally put a face to that feeling, and it was Yeosang. All she wanted was to get home soon and share everything.

Y/N arrived home early, her heart brimming with joy and relief as she finally bid farewell to the heavy burdens that had occupied her mind for far too long. Yeosang, however, was nowhere to be found as she stepped into their home. Undeterred, she decided to focus on her chores, tending to the shelves with diligence.

The echoes of Matz's memories and words no longer haunted her thoughts. Y/N had forged ahead, determined to embrace the reality of a genuine relationship with Yeosang. The promise of a new chapter in her life seemed within reach.

"Love, I'm home," Yeosang's voice rang out, interrupting her tasks. Excitement surged through Y/N, and she rushed towards the door, eager to share her newfound happiness with him. However, as she reached the entrance, confusion etched across her face. Yeosang was indeed there, but he was not alone; Matz stood by his side.

When Yeosang stepped out this morning, bringing Matz home was the last thing Y/N expected. “Y/N, meet Hongjoong. He sings with his friend Seonghwa, and they go by the name Matz,” Yeosang said, reaching out to Y/N and taking her hand.

Yeosang felt uncertain about what to do. He needed to find out what happened in Goa, and only two people held the answers – either Y/N or this Matz guy. So, he came up with an excuse, telling Y/N that he was going out with Jongho. It wasn't entirely false, as Jongho had discovered that Matz, the singing duo, were staying in a hotel in the main town. Right now, Yeosang and Jongho were outside the hotel, summoning the courage to discuss Yeosang's fiancée with a stranger, perhaps a completely unknown man.

Yeosang and Jongho found themselves seated in front of the duo Matz. One of them, the taller guy with a tattoo on his neck, shot a suspicious glance at both Yeosang and Jongho. A brief silence hung in the air. Yeosang's head drooped in embarrassment, regretting the stunt he had pulled to meet the duo. He had never acted like an overenthusiastic fan before, but for Y/N, he was willing to endure some embarrassment.

The taller member of the duo turned his attention to Yeosang. "Aren’t you the one who was with the creepy girl that day?" he asked, eyeing Yeosang. Confused for a moment, Yeosang realized they were referring to Y/N, who stared back at the man. He nodded in acknowledgment. The duo introduced themselves as Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Seonghwa, the one with the tattoo, was the face of Y/N’s Matz.

"I need to talk to you," Yeosang said to Hongjoong. The shorter man looked surprised, almost yelling ‘me?’ Yeosang nodded and asked them to listen to the whole story, warning it might creep them. Yeosang narrated each event one by one, starting from meeting Y/N to her confessing her imaginary marriage to Matz. The duo's expressions changed with each revelation, and they seemed dumbfounded, processing a lot of information in a short time. When Yeosang finished, the duo exchanged glances, seemingly troubled, and let out a collective exhale.

"So, I need to know if you ever met her in Goa?" Yeosang asked.

Hongjoong shrugged. "Listen, man, many people come to watch our street show. And asking about 12 years ago? How am I supposed to remember? I was in college."

"Unbelievable," Seonghwa chuckled. "You've got a girl swooning over you," he teased Hongjoong. "Girls usually go crazy for me; I'm much prettier and taller."

"Okay, guys, save the banter for another day. I need your help," Yeosang interjected. "I need to save my fiancé."

"You mean the creepy book girl," Seonghwa exclaimed, earning a glare from all three of them.

"I know it sounds weird, but please, I need your help," Yeosang pleaded, his eyes filled with determination and a desire to save his fiancé from further emotional turmoil. Hongjoong couldn't say no after seeing the fire in Yeosang's eyes.

Y/N gazed at Matz, studying his features, searching for any lingering emotions from their past. To her relief, there was nothing. Gratitude washed over her as she turned her attention to Yeosang, whose eyes betrayed a sense of pain. She understood his concerns – perhaps he feared she still held a place for Matz in her heart.

In a swift motion, Y/N turned and fled upstairs, leaving Yeosang and Matz perplexed in the doorway. Matz, despite Yeosang's attempts to explain the situation, stood there with uncertainty, unsure of how to proceed. The awkwardness hung in the air as he nervously rubbed his palms together, waiting for Y/N's return.

Y/N moved slowly towards Matz, who stared at her with wide eyes. He feared she might unleash a slap for some mysterious reason, but it never materialized. Instead, a gentle smile graced Y/N's face as she extended her clenched fist toward him, gesturing for him to open his palm. Uncertain, Matz glanced at Yeosang for approval, receiving a nod. With hesitation, Matz reached out, and Y/N placed a bohemian hanging accessory in his hand. It was a token she had safeguarded, and now the time had come to return it to its rightful owner.

"Where did you find it?" Matz inquired. "I had lost it..."

"12 years ago," Y/N finished his sentence. "And I held onto it until now."

Matz attempted to return the item to her. "It's okay; you should keep it. You've kept it for so long."

Shaking her head, Y/N declined. "No, it's time for me to let it go, I had kept it for longer." She briefly glanced at Yeosang before returning her gaze to Matz. "After all, it was never mine."

Y/N had moved forward, emerging from a profound slumber filled with dreams from the books she'd read, escaping the grasp of reality. But that was in the past now; she was awake and prepared to embark on her actual life, cherishing only the face she wished to hold in her memory. No solace was found in silent things; instead, her sanctuary was in Yeosang, and she was eager to embrace reality alongside him.

[stigmvtas]

PHILOMENA BRONTE CARMICHAEL — ABRIDGED.

welcome to marina, PHILOMENA BRONTE CARMICHAEL ( nonbinary, they/them ) ! they are a TWENTY FOUR year old who has lived over on EVERYWHERE for TWO WEEKS and works as a FREELANCER. everyone says they look a lot like NATALIA DYER. what do you think? — JAMES, 24, THEY/THEM, EST.

MENTIONS OF CANCER, TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION, DEREALIZATION, AND DEATH.

profile.

full name: philomena brontë carmichael.

birthday: april 20th, 1999..

astrology: taurus sun, scorpio moon, aries ascending.

sexuality: demisexual.

currently listening to: bells ring by mazzy star.

last known location: [[[cannot be found]]]

PINTEREST.

brief history.

born to two eccentric university professors: christopher, teaching 1800s british literature, and imogen, teaching classics. the fourth born out of six - lysander, elektra, juno, and the twins orion and valora.

cancer; as a child philly was diagnosed with ependymoma, a brain tumor; got lucky, and after months to a year of treatment they were in remission, and it never came back.

kind of a haunting, victorian-esque child; very quiet, and rarely spoke. spent most of their time outside, staring at leaves or the sky. her family loved them all the same.

philly idolized their older sister, elektra, especially - always thought she was the coolest person to exist, ever.

idolized her to the point where when elektra, aged 21, wanted to travel to the states in her shitty volkswagon van - philly, aged 15, stowed away in the very back and wasn't found until they were a ferry's ride and several states away from marina.

their parents were reasonably upset but not wanting to stifle their children, wound up accepting the ordeal as long as philly continued school online.

philly and elektra have been traveling together ever since. they rarely return home to marina - and elektra keeps more in touch than philly does; they're just not fussed, knows they'll always be a close family.

they take up odd jobs wherever they go, whether it's selling their handmade wares or faking welding certifications or losing children on a babysitting job or nearly setting fire to a diner's kitchen. they make money to get by - with the help of a five finger discount and the classic dine n dash.

after being wanted criminals in both texas and florida - a long story - philly and elektra brought their good ol van, florence, on the ferry back to marina. florence lasted a good two days before breaking down completely, leaving the two stranded on the island.

facts & temperaments.

has a very quiet, gravelly voice that seems to travel with ease, like a warning from the woods. this is because philly is a chronic smoker.

often underestimated because they look like a lost victorian child with a frail frame and wide, unblinking eyes. never blinks. like ever.

despite often looking expressionless, philly is known to smile on occasion. but they've never laughed or cried in their life.

talks to the trees and the grass and every fungi and bug they come across like they can understand them. talks about a lot of different things, often the mystical. believes in every superstition, and every folklore, and just about any non-harmful conspiracy. the moon IS made of cheese, your honor.

takes luck very seriously and has a few treasured good luck items; the primary one being a pale, yellow ribbon that is usually tied to either them or an article of their clothing.

trauma / depersonalization / derealization / death; experienced an extremely traumatic event with their sister, juno, when they were kids. long story short - they went off a hiking trail, and found a body. this caused philly to develop a combination of depersonalization and derealization disorder, which often mess with their perceivement of reality. everything feels dreamlike, and philly often feels outside of themself.

but anyways! is very deadpan, monotone. talks about the positives the same as the negatives, and usually has a reason behind their every action even if the reason is unknown / unfathomable to others.

they wound up dropping out of high school when they were 17 but they did get a GED. they're smart just so uninterested in school as a concept. thinks it's restrictive and hates feeling trapped or caged in.

apathetic towards most situations and people, but it's not a pessimistic apathetic. philly is just a very detached person, for the most part. there are the occasional exceptions. also loves a good knock-knock joke, or pun, but will still never laugh. just finds them really enjoyable.

keeps a shoebox of memories that are just sentimental bits and bots and other good luck charms.

owns a motorola razr covered in puffy sticker. TEXTS IN ALL CAPS ONLY. emoticons all the way.

always covered in scratches or bruises from their adventures. insomniac usually found walking the night.

style depends on what they've thrifted, patched up, re-donated, etc. always changing, never stagnant. usually wearing loose clothing. usually barefoot (yuck!). makes their own jewelry and other hand-crafts.

mostly just steals from store n dines n dashes but is trying to not get arrested they do not have the bail money rn while florence is getting fixed.

couch-surfing or motel living right now bc they don't want to return to their hillside manor. can usually find their way into a stranger's home for the night, though nothing occurs. sometimes they don't even know they're there!

usually has 3 different wild animals with them at all times. big fan of rats and raccoons. they train them to do fun little tricks and is trying to start a cruelty-free animal circus.

[bionic-egypt]

The Rival

Whumptober Day 2: Amusement Park, Role Reversal

Summary: Trapped within the borders of the 'Fun Park' amusement park and desperate to find an escape, Mitchie had begun hearing whispers of a potential new threat named The Rival. What is his role among the brainwashed workers, and what did he do to earn the title King of the Park?

She bit her tongue to stop herself from groaning in frustration. Twenty minutes she had been standing there, crossing and uncrossing her arms, tapping her steel-toed boot against the cobbled path, and yet, nothing. The child in front of her did not react. She doubted he even knew she was there. His eyes were practically glued to to the game in front of him, darting this way and that to keep track of the little ghost cut outs he had to shoot to prevent from flying into a plywood box painted to look like the haunted house ride. He had restarted the game six times. Just give up already.

Shooting games weren't exactly her favorite, she preferred sliders or crane games, but she didn't exactly have a choice here.

When she had first arrived at the (seemingly) aptly named Fun Park, had first walked through those gilded gates, she had been taken in by the bright colors and enticing games. The workers were all dressed in cartoonishly absurd costumes that made a certain mouse overlord's cast members look plain. Each area of the park was themed, and boy did they commit. Oceans and ferrys in the pirate section, green and blue aliens poking out of the ground in the space section, a full fog-entrenched graveyard in the spooky section. Actors lurked in every corner, giving each area its own story, if one only took the time to listen.

It was a dream come true for her. She had always loved amusement parks. Some of her best and earliest memories were of family trips to any and every park her parents could find. So when she hearrd of Fun Park, she knew it would be a perfect last hurrah before her senior year started in a few weeks. Her parents, swamped with work, had given it some thought and decided they trusted her enough to go on her own.

Well, admittedly, they did think she was going with some friends from school, and she had asked said friends, but not a single one was free. They had all made their own plans with their families before school started. She hadn't minded too much. They rarely hung out together outside of school anyway.

Her first few hours in the park were amazing. She had played so many games and won so many prizes that she had had to buy a backpack from one of the shops to carry them all. Usually she was lucky to bring home just one cheaply-made plush. Now she had at least a dozen!

But despite the amazment being thrown at her from every angle, it wasn't enough to keep her from noticing how... off things were, like she had scratched away the shiny veneer only to reveal the rot beneath. It started when she noticed that every single other visitor was almost unnaturally happy. Their eyes were just a bit too bright. Their smiles were just a bit too wide, showing just a few too many teeth. Every one of them she spoke to wasted no time in lavishing her with their delight at the park, pointing out their favorite game or ride or character actor or prize. Even when she didn't ask.

Surely at least one of the thousands of visitors would be having a bad time. She may love theme parks, but even she had had bad visits. A least one roudy toddler should be sobbing and screaming because of the heat, or because the lines were too slow, or because they didn't want to leave. And yet, there was not a single frown on any person in the park. Maybe she was just lucky and had managed to avoid all of the tantrum-throwing children. Maybe, but it was enough to make her start looking closer.

Piercing gazes looked back at her from the faces of the non-character workers, the ones in identical uniforms who managed things away from the attention grabbing displays. Sharp eyes set in blank faces, like masks of who they used to be before they put on those garish uniforms. Those eyes practically burned into her when she dared step off the well-worn paths. Understandable, they obviously wouldn't want visitors to wander into employee only areas, but it wasn't warning in their eyes that made her skin crawl. No, they didn't look chastising. They looked hungry.

Surely the strangeness was just a bit, right? Something to spook any unsuspecting visitors who didn't realize that the family-friendly horror area wasn't the only place to find scares? She must have just been overthinking things because this was her first time along in such a busy and unfamiliar place.

But that was when she realized something. Something awful, something that should have been the first thing she noticed when things started feeling off.

There was not a single parent in the park.

Every single adult she had seen was under the employ of the park. She was probably the oldest non-worker in the entire place. Children as young as five were just wandering around unaccompanied. When she tried asking one of the smaller ones where their parents were, she was brushed off in favor of skeeball. Asking one of the adult workers just resulted in a ream of ticket being pressed into her hands and being told to go have fun, wasn't that why she was here?

And yet, it wasn't even the complete lack of adults or the blank faced workers of the mindless joy that was the worst of it. Oh no. She would have been glad if it had just been those things. No, the worst realization came when she tried to leave. Things had gotten too strange for her to want to stay a moment longer. But when she made her way back to the front gate, she was greeted by a smooth wall where the exit should have been. She was trapped, like a bird in a fancy cage.

This led her down a dangerous and strange path that revealed other kids who had realized the same horrible truth and were twisted into caricature-style actors, actual ghosts wandering around the truly haunted maze, and an entire other section of the park that had once existed before being shut down and all the employees trapped inside. The once-owner of the park, now trapped with his old workers, explained that he would be able to let everyone escape the park as a whole and break whatever curse was soaked into the grounds once he was put back in charge of the entire park. To do that, though, the closed section needed to be reopened. And to reopen it, the rides and games had to be repaired.

So now here she was, being forced to wait in line for a spooky shooter. One of the broken games was an old popgun arcade where the player had to gun down moving aluminum cut outs of little woodland creatures. The only thing still missing from the game was the actual popguns. It should have been an easy fix, especially when one of the trapped workers was the one to take and hide the guns. Unfortunately, he didn't trust anyone with popguns, acting as if they were real firearms, and wouldn't tell her what he had done with them until she had played every shooter in the park to prove she could be responsible. It was stupid and a waste of her time. It was also the only way she was going to get those guns.

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Wouldn't this kid just give up already? She had places to be, people to help, trapped souls to save. That was so much more important than this kid's failed run at one of the worst games in the entire park.

She was this close to just snapping and demanding the kid to hurry up and lost already when another kid in line behind her cheered loudly right in her ear.

"Hey!" she barked, whipping around to glare him down.

The little brat didn't even have the capacity to show shame, his face still pulled into the too-bright smile every other child had as he said "Sorry!"

Don't yell at the brainwashed twelve year old. It wasn't his fault. Whatever was controlling the park was the problem, not the kids. She was just frustrated, that was all. Her parents had always been on her case over her temper. She hated to admit they may have been onto something.

She took a second, then asked "What were you shouting about anyway?" It could be important. An offhanded comment from other kids had been what initially tipped her off that things were weird. The kid might have something.

The kid's plastic grin pulled just that much tighter. "The Rival just set a new record in Skull Sliders! Isn't he just the coolest?"

"The Rival?" she echoed. The name was unfamiliar to her. Who was he rivalling? The park owner? The other brainwashed kids?

"You haven't heard of the Rival?" he asked with a dramatic gasp. "He's only the King of the whole park! He has the high score in every game everywhere!"

Not every game, she thought sourly, recalling how just before coming here she had signed her name onto the leaderboard for the shoot-all-the-aliens game in the space area. If this Rival had been on the board, she hadn't noticed. King of the park, indeed.

Actually, why was this Rival guy a king? He had better not be some sort of final boss of this stupid park. If she had to fight a hidden puppetmaster above even the owner, she was going to lose her shit.

Before she could start grilling him for any more information on this so-called Rival, the game blared out with the ghostly wailing of a game over. Finally.

She practically shoved the kid out of the way as soon as he collected his half-dozen-ticket prize. Four coins dropped into the slot later, she was firing at little plywood ghosts to protect the painted house.

If she made sure to keep her ghost-killing streak going until she beat the previous high score, well, that was her business.

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

Nine games played and nine new records set (so maybe she went back and played some of them again to get the high score, and maybe she kept playing the rest until she beat the previous record holders, not that it mattered), she had proof that she had played all of the shooting games and finally got the location of those stupid popguns. By the time she dragged the toy weapons back to the game, she was tired dirty, and utterly done with everything to do with reparing the park. She just wanted a break, damn it. But no, she wasn't allowed to take a break. She had more games to fix to reopen the old park.

She had half a mind to take the popguns back and see if they really did act like actual firearms. Maybe the way out was through shooting the owner. She didn't though, obviously, but she really, really wanted to. Who knew, maybe this whole thing would end with the owner dead, ensnared by whatever horrible magic kept this place locked tight. It was something to look forward to as she kept working.

After fixing up the popgun game, she was sent off to work on another. Oh joy. More sneaking past the hungry-eyed workers, more running seemingly meaningless errands, more games and prizes and rage-fueled records. It was a whirling blur of danger and boredom and spite, made worse by the unchanging skies above, because of course why would the cursed amusement park be beholden to the earthly day-night cycle? Don't be silly.

At some point in her quest, she found herself playing a shark fishing game in the pirate area. No reason for it. No one was demanding a stuffed shark or novelty eye patch or anything, no one wanted her to set a new record, no one was even asking her to prove she had played the game. She had just been walking past, heard the jaunty music, and somehow found herself standing with a fishing pole in her hands. The sun's non-movement really did a number on her perception of time, didn't it? Well, she may as well finish what she had started. Surely someone would demand something from this game from her eventually.

Just before she could catch the final shark swimming around in the shallow pond, her cellphone rang from her pocket. She jumped, and the shark managed to evade the hook. A curse slipped between her teeth. Stupid ringer ruined her perfect run.

The timer buzzed to end the game as she reached for her phone. The only numbers that worked within the park were others who were trapped inside. There were a few people who had her number, only a handful of other teens she had managed to free from the owner's grasp but who maintained their cover as mindless actors in order to spy for her.

She glanced at the name on the screen. It was Henry. He had been under the owner's command as the one who greeted new guests to the park before she had managed to shake him from the control. He was the first one she had freed, and the one who risked the most if he was caught. If he was calling, something must have gone horribly wrong.

"Mitchie! Where are you? Are you okay?" Henry's voice was frantic.

She frowned. "Yeah? I'm fine. I just finished a round of shark fishing. Are you okay? What happened?"

"You were supposed to meet up with Debbie over an hour ago, that's what happened! She's been crazy with worry!"

Oh. She pulled back and looked at the time. Yikes, more time had passed than she thought. It hadn't felt like it. She could have sworn she had only just started playing.

"Sorry," she said. "I lost track of time."

Henry let out a deep sigh. "It's fine. Just don't do it again, you hear? We thought the park helpers got you for sure!"

A shudder ran down her spine at the mention of the hungry-eyed workers. Henry had told her horror stories of others he had seen in her place, others who had realized something was wrong with the park and had tried to do something about it. They had been forcibly taken and twisted into the owner's 'helpers,' guard dogs that hunted down anyone who dared try and stop him. If they knew what she was up to, if they caught her sneaking into places she didn't belong, there was every chance she would be forced into their ranks.

"No, I'm still me," she assured him. "I'll head over now."

Henry's voice took on a tinny sort of worry. "Just don't drop off again without warning, okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, dad. I'll make sure to keep an eye on the time from now on."

"You better. I gotta go; Helper Helen's coming over."

"Be safe."

"You too."

She ended the call and slid her phone back into her pocket. She still couldn't believe how much time she had lost. A whole hour, gone. It made her think back over her entire time in the park. She couldn't say if she had lost any more time than that. She wouldn't even have known this time if she hadn't worried Debbie.

Another ticket found its way into her grasp and she was halfway to sliding it into the machine before she caught herself. What was she doing? She had to leave, not play again! And yet, there was something in her that yearned to play, to get a perfect run.

She shook it off. She didn't have time for this. Time to see what Debbie had for her.

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

Thankfully, no one called her out on her half run, half jog through the throngs of smiling children as she hurried to meet with her friend. Debbie was fully understanding, though made sure to wring a promise to keep a better eye on the clock out of her.

Unfortunately, Debbie didn't have much more to offer her than understanding. She tried not to blame her. There wasn't much to learn in this area anyway. Most of the owner's henchmen worked in the center of the park, not on the outskirts where Debbie was stuck. This meetup had really just been to make sure the both of them were still alright.

And yet, there was still that little itch in the back of her mind that demanded she just leave if Debbie wasn't going to be helpful. She forced herself to ignore it. Debbie was only thirteen; she shouldn't have to worry about how to free hundreds of other kids. Just being okay was enough.

At least meeting with Debbie got her closer to the secret entrance to the old park. With a tight hug and another promise to do better in the future, she slipped through the borders between sections and back to helping earn their freedom.

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

She tipped her head back and groaned, not even bothering to hide it. It would be bad to shove the slow-as-all-get-out kid away from the game so she could play. It would draw unnecessary attention if she assaulted a park visitor. But if they would just hurry up! Come on, slider games weren't even timed! They could be done in two minutes, max. But no, they had to take their sweet itme and angle things just so and still only end up with a hundred points even though she regularly got near two thousand and-

"Hey, did you hear about the Rival?" a voice said from behind her. She looked back and stared down a kid wearing a novelty fish hat. He was pretty far from the pirate area; normally visitors who had area-specific apparel didn't travel far from where they won it. He must've gotten here just before that particular bit of programming set in.

"What about him?" She kept her body mostly turned toward the game. Just throw the damn slider already! "Did he do something? Is he here? You gotta give me some specifics."

He started bouncing so fast he was practically preparing for lift off. "I heard some other kids say he has every high score on all the games in the park! Can you believe it? That must be why he's called the King!"

"Seriously?" she said incredulously. "That's it? And it's not even true. I have the high score on at least a dozen games."

"Nuh uh! The Rival has all the high scores! He's the King of the Park!"

She rolled her eyes so hard she nearly made herself dizzy. Were all preteens so annoying? She didn't remember being such a contrary brat at ten.

Thankfully for him, the child in front of her finally finished their game with a whopping three hundred points, barely enough to earn a bottom tier prize. The instant they stepped to the side, she was already slotting in her tickets.

One play through for the stuffed bear someone wanted in exchange for a repair piece, and another to firmly cement her place as the record holder. The game spat out the top tier prize, but instead of hiding it away in her bag, she shoved it at the kid in line behind her.

"There's you damn high score."

She left before he could whine about the stupid Rival again.

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

Rounding the corner, she grinned as she saw the ballon dart game was free from any lines. Someone wanted a prize again in exchange for their help, or some part she needed, or some other pointless reason. Probably. Surely. She wouldn't be here if they didn't. She had too much to do to waste time and tickets on darts of all things.

Just as she was about to load her tickets into the machine, a hand reached out and covered the slot. Her head snapped around, a snarl twisting her face. How dare-

Henry?

No, she realized as she took a second look at her saboteur. They had the same round face, same build - just a scant few inches on her, the jerks - and even the same silly pompadour hairstyle, but that was where the similarities ended. Whereas Henry had jet black hair, this kid's was light, almost auburn. While Henry stood at attention with a cheerful greeting to everyone who passed by, this kid jutted his chin up in arrogance and stood almost to invite a challenge. Where Henry had been forced into a saturated violet suit, this kid wore a slouchy tshirt and jeans with a blue winner's roset pinned to his chest.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded. Henry lookalike or not, he didn't get to interrupt her.

A smarmy grin spread across his face. "The name's Rudy, though you've probably heard me called the Rival."

"You? You're the Rival?" This doppelganger was the so-called King? Seriously? He didn't look like much, though maybe that was just because he was a lazy reflection of her friend. She was used to the cartoonish doorman look the park had stuffed Henry into. This kid was a funhouse mirror, not a threat.

"In the flesh. I've heard rumors of someone trying to take my crown, so I figured I'd greet the new challenger before I beat them into the ground."

She arched a brow. "Well, you certainly think highly of yourself."

"I am King of the Park," he said, spreading his arms wide. He looked her up and down, snorting softly to himself before continuing "but if you think you're better, prove it. Beat my score."

Her eyes flicked back to the game they stood in front of. She was pretty good at darts and she had to play the game anyway. Might as well put this arrogant little sucker in his place. A feral sort of grin twisted her lips.

"Alright. Bet."

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

So. Turned out he wasn't challenging her to darts. Instead, he wanted her to beat his score in basketball toss. One hundred and fifty points to win, and each sucessful basket could only earn her three points max. If it wouldn't have drawn too much unwanted attention, she would have slapped his arrogant smirk right off his face. Too bad she had to settle for just showing him up instead.

Somehow, through some miraculous stroke of luck and skill and a heaping helping of spite, she managed to beat his score by twenty whole points. Her arms burned and she was this close to leaving her backpack on the ground afterward instead of having to lift it up again, but she did it. She saunted back to where Rudy had said he would wait, most likely compelled by the park like all the other kids, and gleefully showed him proof of her sucess.

Instead of just accepting his defeat like a normal person, he met her with another challenge. Fifteen hundred points in one of the games in the space area. No problem, as long as it wasn't another physically challenging game like the last. She might actually hit him if it was another ball toss.

Each challenge he posed, she beat, never taking more than two attempts to utterly trounce his record. The more times she returned brandishing her victory, the angrier he became, to the point he was practically shaking with rage. She just laughed as he scrambled for another, harder challenge to throw at her. This was the Rival? The King? Please. She was so much better than him, and it showed.

On her way to her next challenge, two thousand points on a pirate shooter, her phone started buzzing in her pocket. She didn't even bother checking the id before turning it off. She didn't have time for that. She had a game to win and a score to shove in Rudy's stupid face. She couldn't wait to see how angry he got this time.

As she stalked through the crowds, she heard excited little voices taling about Rudy again. 'Oh, haven't you heard of the Rival?' 'Yeah, she's got the high scores in every game!' Ugh. Was that all the mindless hoards could talk about? The park needed fresh material.

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

"Mitchie? Mitchie!"

A hand wrapped around her arm and yanked her back. She spun around, coming face to face with - Rudy? Wait, no, the hair was wrong, darker than Rudy's. His bright eyes were filled with worry, not contempt. Why was he calling her that? Why was he bothering her?

"Mitchie!" the boy said again, hand still firmly closed around her arm. "We've been worried sick about you! You haven't been picking up any of our calls, you've missed every single meeting we've tried to schedule. What's going on?"

She shook her head. Right, that was her. But who was this jerk? Didn't he see she was busy? She didn't have time for whatever this was.

She grabbed his wrist and shoved him back, making him stumble. A brief look of hurt flashed across his face as he righted himself. She turned on her heel and started walking away, off to her next challenge. This kid's hurt feelings weren't her problem.

"Hey, where are you going?" he demanded. "We're supposed to be working together to reopen the old park, remember? Come back! You know I can't leave here! You're the only one who can do this! Mitchie!"

She just kept walking. She had a game to win.

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

Every challenge. Every game. Shooters and sliders and claw machines and darts and ball toss and fishing and skeeball and every sort of game an amusement park could possibly have. She won everything. Her name was emblazoned atop every single scoreboard in the park twice over. She did it, she put that smug little jerk in his place.

She dropped a stuffed prize in Rudy's hands as she came up to him for the final time, lips pulled into a broad, self-satisfied smile. His own face was a hard grimace. The poor plush was strangled in his fist.

"You did it." His voice was hollow. "You actually did it. You beat me."

"I beat you," she agreed.

He stared at her, long and hard, before breathing a deep sigh. the prize she forced on him was dropped to the ground and he removed the winner's ribbon from his shirt. With a heavy air, he reached forward and pinned it to her shoulder.

"Congradulations, Rachel. Looks like there's a new Rival."

Huh? Her name wasn't Rachel. Her name was... was... Something slotted into place deep in the back of her mind. Maybe it was Rachel. Yeah, of course. How silly of her to forget her own name. Rival Rachel. Now didn't that have a nice ring to it?

She didn't pay any mind as Rudy slunk away in silence. Her attention was already grabbed by the fishing game just a few  steps away. Her last score should be fairly easy to beat. A ream of tickets found their way into her hand and she stepped right up to the game.

Behind her, she heard some kids talking to each other, bright excitement in their voices as they crowed:

"Have you heard of the Rival? She's the Queen of the Park!"

[allwaswell16]

A fic rec of my favorite One Direction book/movie adaptations fics as requested in this ask. You can find my other fic recs here. If you enjoy the fics, please leave kudos and comments for the writers! (Thank you to my rare pair chat for helping me with thinking of the rare pairs! )

-Larry-

💖 Take My Breath Away by @realitybetterthanfiction

(E, 153k, Top Gun au, pilot Harry, instructor Louis, RIO Niall, Scottish Highlands, aviators, character injury, hurt/comfort, ptsd, angst with a happy ending, smut)

There is a prestigious school in the British Royal Navy classified as Premier Delta - or as it is known by its flyers, 1D.

💖 This Multiplicity of Powers by @helloamhere

(E, 149k, X-Men au, superheroes, mutants, found family, teacher Louis, hurt/comfort, slow burn, injury recovery, pining, friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending)

Maybe there’s a universe where he doesn’t have to keep all his secrets on the inside. But this isn’t that universe. //an X-Men AU.

💖 Who Painted the Moon Black by throughthedark

(E, 95k, Hunger Games au, angst, violence, friendship, romance, mental health issues, happy ending)

Hunger Games AU where Louis Tomlinson is district six's victor from the 69th Hunger Games and Harry Styles is district seven's victor from the 72nd Hunger Games.

💖 Just Say You Love Me, Just For Today by NiamJenn1994

(M, 87k, Parent Trap au, angst and fluff, mpreg Louis, smut)

A Larry Stylinson Parent Trap Au

💖 Let Our Hearts Collide by @crinkle-eyed-boo

(M, 76k, While You Were Sleeping au, mistaken identity, coma, amnesia, pining, 1990s, grief, Christmas, no smut)

When Harry, a lonely transit worker, saves the life of the handsome commuter he's been secretly pining for, an innocent mistake results in Liam Payne's family believing that Harry is engaged to their son.

💖 From What I've Tasted of Desire by 4ureyesonly28 / @evilovesyou

(T, 71k, Twilight au, Louis as Bella, Harry as Edward, vampires, werewolves, Scotland, football, high school, college)

Louis unexpectedly finds himself in the eye of a storm of secrecy, age-old myths, friendship and romance.

💖Paint The Sky With Stars by @icanhazzalou / kiwikero

(M, 62k, Titanic au, historical, Edwardian period, sexuality, religion, shipwreck, strangers to lovers, friendship, happy ending)

the historically accurate Titanic AU with a happy ending.

💖 That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(T, 50k, Ferris Bueller's Day Off au, girl direction, strangers to friends to lovers, coming out, Chicago, high school, college, angst, fluff)

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

💖 It Had To Be You by @kingsofeverything

(M, 45k, When Harry Met Sally au, friends to lovers, light angst, road trip, hate to love, fluff, non explicit smut)

Ten years after their post-college road trip, Louis and Harry meet once again, but this time they become friends. Eventually, things get complicated.

💖 a promise lives within you now by sarcasticfluentry

(E, 45k, Lord of the Rings au, elven Louis, human Harry, fantasy, friends to lovers, soulmates,

Louis is an Elven prince, next in line to become King of Mirkwood, and Harry is the orphaned Human boy who grows up alongside him.

💖 Just Hear This and Then I'll Go by @allwaswell16

(E, 44k, enemies to lovers au, based on Pride and Prejudice, modern day, famous/famous, musicians, record company, side Ziam, angst, pining, angry sex, smut)

a modern day Pride and Prejudice--Louis is Elizabeth, Harry is Mr. Darcy, Zayn is Jane, and Liam is Mr. Bingley. Oh, and Niall is Mrs. Bennett. Obviously.

💖 Something in the way by momentofclarity / @gaycousinlarry

(E, 40k, Hope Floats au, starting over, childhood friends, heartbreak, past infidelity and divorce not with Larry, kid fic, angst with a happy ending, smut)

Hope Floats 90’s AU. When Louis Tomlinson finds out his wife is cheating on him with his best friend, he packs up his life and takes his daughter back to his childhood hometown to start anew.

💖 the new romantics by @butyouneverdo / wildestdreams

(E, 36k, John Tucker Must Die au, friends to lovers, revenge, fluff, light angst, smut)

John Tucker Must Die AU featuring drunk dance sessions, bad disguises, and a seduction plan gone wrong.

💖 Our Sweetest Memorial by @softfonds

(E, 35k, Persuasion au, historical, Regency era, flashbacks, mpreg Harry, dramatic Harry, exes to lovers, getting back together)

Ever since Harry was forced to break off an engagement five years ago, he resolved to never marry for the remainder of his life.

💖 Falling in the Wrong Direction by @fallinglikethis

(E, 25k, Catch and Release au, enemies to friends to lovers, grief/mourning, off screen minor character death, emotional hurt/comfort, secrets, flashbacks, angst, family drama, happy ending)

Harry never quite got along with Louis, but maybe he’s the one person who can help Harry bridge the gap between the life he thought he would have and the one he is now living.

💖 (Something's Been) Hiding In My Heart by @lululawrence

(NR, 25k, Sweet Home Alabama au, exes to lovers, emotional hurt/comfort, implied mpreg, secrets, angst with a happy ending)

a Sweet Home Alabama AU where Louis comes home to finally get his divorce from Harry finalized so he can move on with his life.

💖 And I’d Marry You Harry (Because You Forced Me) by @2tiedships2

(NR, 24k, The Proposal au, boss/employee relationship, marriage proposal, bed sharing, pining, awkwardness, NYC, Alaska, blackmail, humor, happy ending)

The Proposal AU featuring Harry as Sandra Bullock, Louis as Ryan Reynolds, and all the fun a fake relationship and forced engagement can bring.

💖 Gentle Rogue by @juliusschmidt

(E, 15k, pirates, captivity, wagers, based on a romance novel, kink, bondage, hammocks, smut)

Harry bets Nick a hundred pounds he can get Louis to sleep with him.

💖 I Will Love You For a Thousand Years by @stylesforstiles

(NR, 12k, The Notebook adaptation, romance, fluff, memory loss, angst)

Harry had only ever loved one person with all his heart and soul. And that has always been enough for him.

-Rare Pairs-

💖 This Swirling Storm Inside by orphan_account

(M, 46k, Zayn/Liam, Frozen au, royalty, trans character, pining, angst, gender dysphoria, childhood friends, coming out)

A Frozen AU in which Zayn is the heir to the kingdom of Arendelle. He's also trans, and his lifelong dysphoria is finally reaching a breaking point.

💖 Need The Sun To Break by @daisyharry / purpledaisy

(E, 38k, Zayn/Harry, You've Got Mail au, bookstores, enemies to lovers, email, letters, smut)

A "You've Got Mail" AU

💖 For Evermore by @laynefaire

(T, 17k, Zayn/Liam, Beauty and the Beast au, fairy tale, enemies to friends, pining, magic, castle)

A Beauty and the Beast AU in which Liam is the Beast, trapped in a world suspended in time, and Zayn is the only one willing to look past the facade of enchantment to find the humanity of the man hidden within.

💖 Two Roads Diverged by @fallinglikethis

(E, 16k, Harry/Nick, Zayn/Nick, Sliding Doors au, cheating, humor, fluff, bad jokes, angst, hurt/comfort)

A Sliding Doors Au that shows both possible paths.

💖 hey moon (please forget to fall down) by leighbot

(T, 7k, Zayn/Harry, 50 First Dates au, memory loss, fluff, angst)

Zayn, watch me is written on a sticky note and Zayn smiles, confused, as he scoots closer to the edge.

[ddarker-dreams]

Deal With The Devil. Yan Hades Giorno x Reader

Warnings: Isolation, implied kidnapping, forced marriage, brief non explicit sexual themes, and mentions of death.  Word count: 3.2k.

Time alone is better than time spent in the company of someone you despise. 

Skillful fingers run over the wilted stems of your carnations, a frown on your face at the current lifeless appearance. Dull shades of grey slowly turn to a vivacious green where your fingers pass over. Next are the petals, which are all but gone, a far cry from the flora’s typical beauty. At your delicate touch, it’s as if the hands of time are set in reverse. Soft fibers tickle your bare your skin, petals flourishing anew, now with a rosy glow. Standing from your bed, you return the revitalized carnations to their previous position on the windowsill. 

The bright, pastel colors are in stark contrast to the obsidian colored walls that trap you. Darkness, like an everlasting night, cannot be cast aside by your pretty decorations. No matter how hard you try to do just that. The lone sources of illumination in the underworld, torches or lanterns, have also earned your scorn. How you had taken the sun for granted, the natural warmth it provided ethereal in comparison to this manufactured light. Sighing, you push the negative thoughts away, aware they do nothing for you. Wallowing in your grief harms the precious flowers you create.

The onyx marble flooring beneath your bare feet is cold and unnatural. Closing your eyes for but a moment, you remember how blades of grass used to feel in the summer and spring. Those blissful days traversing fields without a care in the world feel like centuries ago. You’ve tried to recreate grass as it is on the surface, but with mixed results, and now stick with forming flowers instead. 

You take a mental inventory of the surrounding flora to check for problems. These creations of yours are a reliable pastime and bittersweet memory. No matter the life you instill into the delicate blooms, in the underworld, they wither away at an accelerated pace. Your days are spent reviving them or creating new bouquets to decorate this dreadful bedchamber. What else is there to do? 

Nothing, you answer the question yourself, scowling. As if on cue, your poppies wilt at the sharp turn in mood, petals falling onto the ground and crumbling to dust. So the cycle continues. Understanding the passage of time when there is no sun is difficult, but if you were to guess, those poppies were just a few hours old. While you consider what to replace them with, a pair of eyes watch from nearby.

“In my brief time down here, this would be my first time seeing such beautiful flowers.” A feminine voice praises. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to find the source of the words. In front of your canopy bed stands a wispy figure. It takes the faint form of a human being, though lacking color and partially transparent. 

It takes a second of tentative thought for you to realize what this apparition is. A soul. Not just any soul, a soul of a mortal, you presume. You haven’t spoken to a mortal in some time now. How did a soul manage to find its way to you, hidden away in the depths of the underworld’s palace? As if sensing your bewilderment, the soul speaks up.

“Is it true that I am speaking to the daughter of Demeter?” The soul questions. You nod, pushing down the agony of hearing your dearest mother’s name. “Then it seems I have hope after all.” 

Silence settles in after the soul’s relieved statement. You take the time to contemplate the possible meaning of this soul’s words, reaching no conclusions. “How is it that you’re here?” 

“... You will not call on his guards?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you swallow down the bile that threatens to rise in your throat at the passing mention of him. “I will do no such thing.” 

“Then lend me your ear for but a moment,” the soul’s voice is tinged with melancholy. “I am dead now, yes, but I was once alive. At that time I was Sotiria. I mothered three children, each splendid in their way, the lights of my life... I do not say this for complaining’s sake but to offer perspective. I never was given a decent lot in life, the child of a sickly widow whose face I can no longer remember. 

Poverty was all I knew until I drew my final breath. I took work equally as it came, whether it was working the fields or being a companion to men at night. Anything for the sake of feeding three hungry mouths. But it was never enough. My youngest, Cyril, fell ill. To keep him alive I had to be by side at all hours. And so it goes… at my wit’s end from starvation, I had no choice, you must understand.” 

Sortiria’s voice grows weaker, barely reaching your ears as she finishes her sentence. “I coveted, and I stole. Nothing more than I would need to keep my children alive for another day. When they caught me, well,” she motions to her phantom-like form with a pained smile. “I was killed.” 

Your heart aches at her plight. “How terrible...” 

“Yes, I’d agree so,” she doesn’t linger on the topic, eager to move to her final point. “But it need not end this way.” 

“There is a reason I stand in your presence now. I heard rumors, waiting among the listless souls for Charon to ferry us to judgment. Rumors that gave me hope where I had none. That the god of the underworld had taken a wife, a wife who boasts a compassionate heart. You, [First].” 

The pieces she’s presented you with fall into place. Your lips part, the world around you spinning, as Sotiria presents a final plea. “Please, go to him and ask that I may return to my body. That I may return to my children. Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door. I implore you, hear my prayer now.” 

“I will not speak to him, no, I refuse to speak to him. Even if I did as you asked, who is to say he will listen to me? My cries for freedom have been denied, how would this be any different? I hear your prayers but have no power to answer them. My matrimony did not make me the goddess of the dead.” 

Neither of you dares to mention Giorno by name, remaining cautious of what could happen, as he’s made aware every time his name is spoken. Even the mortals fear him, you think. And for good reason. You wonder if that’s how this was presented to the humans. A requited romance between the daughter of Demeter and Giorno, a union that gives hope to those dying. None of them know the truth, that you’re forced to remain here, tucked away from the wistful life you once had. That his self proclaimed adoration is nothing but suffocating and self-serving. 

“You and you alone are the apple of his eye,” Sotiria insists with utmost urgency. “He will heed your words more than anyone else’s.” 

“He has refused me everything of value that I have begged for.” The words are spat out with venom. You fail to notice that with your growing temper, the flowers you tended to prior shrivel up at unprecedented speed, a reflection of your distraught emotional state. Your chest heaves with each strained breath, fists clenching by your side until your nails pierce your skin. Does Sotiria not understand? How could anyone empathize with how the sorrow you feel? You stand in this saturnine chamber that remains your prison, Giorno the steadfast ward. 

“I can not speak on what I don’t know,” she lowers her head. “But I do know this. You have his favor. You are his wife -- whether it was by your design or not -- and he holds affection for you in his heart. Go, speak to him, I beg of you. If not for my sake, then for my children.” 

“But--” 

“I can’t spend any more time here,” Sortiria looks around, her already faint form disappearing. “Please.” 

Then she is gone. 

You stare, eyes wide as a doe, at the spot Sortiria once occupied in your dim room. Nothing of her remains but the convicting call for action. Her words ring like funeral tolls in your mind, unrelenting, and weighing down on you. There’s no denying the effect her request has on you. Sortiria’s dedication to her children reminds you of your mother, who has tried everything to get you back. An ache in your chest pushes you forward, your legs moving subconsciously to the door. 

She risked eternal damnation to speak with you. Leaving your room that never remains locked, you’re met with a similar color palette of midnight black and crimson red bricks. Hell flame is blinding at first, but when your eyes adjust, you catch the demonic guards stationed at your door looking in surprise. Giorno has granted you the freedom to traverse his palace as you please, but you rarely take him up on the offer, preferring to spite him by remaining in your room. When he searches for your company he knows where to find you. Loneliness haunts Giorno Giovanna like a plague, never warded off successfully until he acquired you. 

No one dares question your intentions, averting their gaze to avoid eye contact as you travel down twisting halls. Your heart pounds against your ribcage through the journey, not knowing how Giorno will react to your uninvited appearance. This would be the first time you’ve sought him out of your violation. While wandering his palace, you can’t help but notice the difference in decorum compared to your room. He had tried to make adjustments to your personal space so that it would reflect a different aesthetic than the underground, fully aware of your displeasure with the gloomy architecture. 

Not that it matters, you think. Nothing could make up for what Giorno’s taken from you aside from permanently returning to the surface. Rounding a sharp turn, you hold your breath at the sight. Cerberus towers in this grand hall and immediately picks up on your presence. The daunting creature lowers itself to the ground, three pairs of eyes piercing through you. A tense moment later, it seems content to let you pass, recognizing your position as Giorno’s beloved. 

Behind Cerebrus is where your true challenge lies. Two monumentally sized doors that lead to Giorno’s throne room stand in your way. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, Sortiria’s words reverberating in your mind. Perhaps you are soft on the mortals, as your mother once warned you, but she was guilty of the same. Should you be successful, and Sortiria lives to tell the tale, you wonder if your mother will visit her and ask after you. 

The doors open when you take a step forward. This palace is an extension of Giorno, you’ve come to realize, bending to your whims to please you. While lacking the necessary preparation to make a sound argument, you have an idea of what may convince Giorno to do as you bid. Any confidence you may have had from knowing you have his favor melts like ice in the spring when his eyes land on you. These eyes, that belong to one of the universe’s most powerful gods, feel heavy and cumbersome. Giorno nods his head in acknowledgment, a good sign. You wish you could hear his thoughts. His sculpted face is impossible to read as ever, in comparison, you feel like an open book. 

You manage to force out a cordial greeting despite your petrified state. “I was hoping to have an audience if you’re not otherwise occupied.” 

Giorno sits on his sizeable throne, presence imposing yet regal. In contrast to his spun gold hair, the throne is dark as twilight, embedded with rubies and numerous precious gems. He isn’t just the god of the dead, you remind yourself, but also the god of wealth. That’s all Giorno has ever felt like to you, some distant figure. Nothing more, not now or ever. His attempts to kindle an intimate relationship with you have been discarded like weeds. Now in his physical presence, reverence takes place of the disgust you normally feel towards him. 

“If it pleases you.” Giorno’s voice is undeniably soothing, every syllable ringing clear as a bell. At his confirmation, you tread forward, over an expansive vermillion carpet. The walk feels like an eternal punishment. He takes the time to scrutinize your body language. You didn’t expect anything different, fully aware that he’d be taken aback by this bold arrival. Doubts in your head cry louder as you lessen the distance. That after all this time, he might see fit to punish you for this final act of entering his throne room without an invitation. Interfering with Giorno’s work might be the final insult he tolerates. You are his wife, but what respite has that granted you before? 

You bow your head down as a show of respect. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.” 

“Your presence is a welcome one,” Giorno seamlessly dismisses your concern. “Though, I might add, unexpected.” 

Despite your best efforts, your posture goes rigid, likely playing into what Giorno designed. Your husband is as pleasant as he is efficient in his conversations, you’ve learned. It’d be a fool’s wish to think otherwise. Sortiria’s words, though you wish they didn’t, held truth. All have come to know Giorno’s affection for you through his special treatment. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I would’ve come sooner, but I feared you were busy.” 

Giorno gazes up at your through golden eyelashes, voice lowering as he speaks from the heart. “I will always make time for you.” 

Is it wise to start with your true request? The clock’s ticking and you need to decide without further delay. Anxiety and regret battle for dominance in your mind, but you keep it at bay, recalling the true priority. A mother’s tender love for her offspring. There’s nothing more important to you than doing right by this tormented soul. Sortiria’s words resurface, “Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door”, she had told you. You were but a minor goddess until this point, and content as you were with that, there was nothing of astonishing value for you to offer the world. Creating and maintaining gardens was all you could do. Now, you have a real chance to do good, to reunite a family. The prayers offered up to you until give strength.

“Would you please stand?” You ask with a sheepish smile. It’s a simple request to test the waters and also a way to feel less intimidated. Giorno blinks but voices no complaints. From his throne, he stands, still towering over you but feeling less intimidating. You step forward, raising your hand and placing it to his cheek. His skin is cold and smooth to the touch. It reminds you of the flower petals you adore so much. There’s no denying Giorno’s beauty, you must confess, it’s almost like his face is perfectly sculpted art. You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Truth be told, there’s something that troubles me deeply,” you confess, to which he frowns. “That’s what I wanted to speak about.” 

Giorno prompts you to continue. “And that is?” 

The worst he can do to me is say no, you tell yourself. He’s had no difficulty doing that in the past when you’ve begged for freedom. No harm would come to you -- any spite Giorno might feel would be directed elsewhere -- but that doesn’t bring comfort. Sortiria would be punished if Giorno believed she was taking advantage of you. Sentenced to eternity in Tartarus. 

“A single request. I wish to reunite a soul with her body, so that she may continue her life that was cut short,” you rub your thumb over his cheek. “Please do me this one good.” 

“Sortiria, was it?” Giorno takes your stunned silence as confirmation, not that he needed any. The two of you were careful not to mention him by name. So he knew all along? It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but you still feel disheartened, blood draining from your face. 

“It’s a rare occurrence that I permit a soul to leave the underworld,” he explains what you already know in a calm tone. “[First], you know I hate to deny you anything, but--” 

“I wasn’t done.” You interrupt without thinking, overwhelmed by enough emotion to drown out logic. Giorno’s mannerisms and subtleties can be picked up on after all this time you’ve spent with him, and you know he was going to politely reject your request. Neither of you utters a word. It’s a split-second decision, but you set your qualms aside, considering the greater implications. 

“Giorno,” you call him by his name for the first time, his eyes widening at the slight nuance. “If… if you do this for me, I… I will allow you to finally consummate our marriage.” 

Your face feels like it’s on fire from the lascivious suggestion. There’s nothing else you can offer Giorno that’s valuable enough to convince him. Nothing other than yourself that is -- which you’ve vehemently refused him up until now -- swearing you’d sooner cast yourself into Phlegethon than let him lay with you. You hear your heart pounding in your ears as you await his final response. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, eyebrows scrunching together. 

“This means that much to you?” He asks, not entirely convinced himself. This fiery passion you’re portraying is new. Days of passively tending to your flowers gave him a different impression of you. Now, faced with a cause you truly believe in, you’re willing to do anything. 

“It does,” you confirm without further hesitation. “Please give me this single happiness.” 

You don’t dare breathe until Giorno speaks again. He reopens his eyes and appears deep in thought. Dread clouds your mind, dominating any thoughts that might bring you comfort. You’ve done the best you could. 

“Very well.” Giorno bends to your whims after a long moment’s deliberation. Joy blossoms in your chest, a genuine smile gracing your features. He places his hand over yours, shivers running down your spine from the cool sensation. The negotiations are far from over, as Giorno returns his attention to your prior claim. He wants to test your conviction and see if you’ll give him a piece of what he’s ached for.

He squeezes your hand gently, voice so quiet that only you could hear it. “Is what you said true?”

It’s the only viable option, is how you reaffirm yourself. A degrading option, you recognize, but no one aside from the two of you would ever know. It’s been a long and good fight that you’ve put up. Denying a god his desires is not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Goosebumps dot your skin, reality feeling so far away, as you seal your fate. 

“You have my word.”

Giorno smiles -- in a way you’ve never seen before -- an unidentifiable gleam in his omnipotent eyes.

“Then I will see it done.” 

[flying-nightwing]

Fluff Alphabet - Jason Todd

Hello guys! This is my first alphabet because I saw everyone do it and i wanted in. I took this alphabet. I had a lot of fun to indulge in Jason, because well. Do I need to explain? 

Anyhow, enjoy this little thing inspired by my feelings for Jason Todd!

Disclaimer: This is my vision of the character and in no way an universal truth

Check out my masterlist in bio // pinned!

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Your eyes. Jason could get lost in them by a simple glance. They say eyes are the windows to the soul, and he found it to be very true the second he met you. He will sometimes doubt he’s worth your love, but your gaze is enough to reassure him at every turn. He also can’t get enough of that spark that lights up when he makes you laugh, it draws him in. Your eyes are so kind and loving, the rest doesn’t really matter to him.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

Let’s be truthful here, Jason is terrified of having kids. Everytime the discussion gets even close to the topic of family, he gets vivid images of his own father with him and it fills him with dread that he'll end up just like him. Then, he thinks about his lifestyle and how just being the Red Hood (or having been, as a matter of fact) could endanger his family. But I think deep down he craves having a family, having kids (whether they’re biologically his or adopted), because he’s just that natural caring person.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Continuing on that natural caring person wave, Jason will usually cuddle as the big spoon. His large frame makes it ridiculously easy for himself to wrap around you completely, and he loves to see you curled up around him, safe and comfortable in his arms. He likes to know he’s shielding you from any potential danger, it just eases his conscience. But sometimes he’ll have a bad day, or a rough patrol, and he’ll wordlessly slip in your hold in bed. It surprises you every time how small he can make himself, with his head on your chest above your heart and latched around your waist holding for dear life. Then, he’ll rely on you to make him feel safe, and he’ll fall asleep like that (he also likes when you play with his hair when he gets like that).

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Jason is insanely romantic, nobody can prove me otherwise. With the amount of novels and books he read, it would be hard not to know how to be an exemplary lover. However, doing grand gestures in public and/or expensive shits is not his style. So it isn’t rare to come back home from your job after a tough week, to see Jason lighting up candles on a rose petals covered table, smiling at you and telling you to get changed in your pajamas and relax a bit before he finishes cooking (probably one of you favourite meals, or something new he knows you’ll like to surprise you). Dancing on your building’s rooftop or driving outside the city to take a walk under the stars are also his ideas of dates. It’s always something private and meaningful and a proof Jason is a hopeless romantic.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

“You are my reason to keep going on.” I believe at some point after he came back from the dead, Jason had a really hard time finding a reason to keep living (finding out he was replaced as Robin, that Batman didn’t kill the joker, etc…). He was in a really dark place and numb to everything. But then, he met you and suddenly life wasn’t so terrible. After a while, he even finds himself excited to get up in the morning (or early afternoon if he’s been on a long patrol) and smiling at random times. He wants to make an effort for you, because you deserve his best self and the least he can do is try (you still love him at his worst though, and he still can’t wrap his head around it but he’s insanely grateful for it).

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

One night, Jason woke up in sweats and screaming his lungs out. He had a nightmare where you were kidnapped and tortured by the joker the way he was; it was the first time you were the victim in his nightmares (usually it was faceless people or himself, and even sometimes his brothers. But never you). He found himself wanting to have you in his arms, needing to have you in his arms, and that’s how he knew it wasn’t just a crush anymore, that he was in deep with you.

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

People have this misconception that Jason is rough, judging by the everything about him. But you would have never foreseen him to be so delicate and gentle with you. He is very strong and can be rash sometimes, but with his lover, he is always careful. He has enough pain and hurt in his life there is now way he’d put the most important person in his life through that. You have to almost beg him to be rough with you, and he’ll only let go if he’s 100% sure you’re okay with it.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

Absolutely. He’s not big on PDA but he always wants to hold your hand, especially in public. He can get uncomfortable if there are too many people around, and the little subconscious squeezes of your hand never fails to bring him back to reality and help him focus on you instead of feeling trapped. Also he’s afraid of losing you in a crowd, even if he’s tall and could spot you easily. So yeah, his hand in yours is a constant.

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

Depends on how you met really. It’s hard to say really, he might have seen you as an angel, or as a simple acquaintance until he discovered your character and you grew on him. He’s a versatile boy in the people he falls for.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

Not jealous per say, but insecure. Everytime he sees you talking with someone who seems to be (subconsciously or not) flirting with you, he gets this feeling you’ll suddenly realize you could do much better than him and leave him for someone less broken, less messed up than him. It creeps in his chest and hurts like a heart attack, and it only dies down when you inevitably come back in his arms and look at him like he’s your world. Then, the storm dies and he knows he at least got one more day with you. And as much as the idea of Jealous Jason showing you who you belong to (wink wink) is appealing, I don’t think it would happen unless it has been established both of you were into that kind of foreplay and he knows for sure you’re in for the long haul with him. Then it becomes a game rather than an actual insecurity thing.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Jason’s kisses are soft and wholesome. You can feel every ounce of love and admiration he has for you, and even if they do get emotional or even dominant at some points, it’s never forecefull. Who initiated the first kiss is nebulous, I think it was more of a mutual thing than an unilateral decision. I like to think it happened in a magnet effect, where both parties met halfway because Jason is a very respectful person in general (except if you piss him off for real) and he wouldn’t make you uncomfortable by kissing you without your consent.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

It’s gotta be you. Jason, who’s afraid of saying it and getting rejected/mocked would definitely not want to get his feet wet first (what if you laugh? What if you leave?). He will show it in his way, but he’d wait for you to say the words first. But once it’s out there? Hooty hoot. He’ll say it like a mantra. He’ll never ever stop saying it at every occasion he gets. 

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

At the fair in your city. Spending the afternoon going from attraction to attraction, having fun in the small roller coaster you were pretty sure was one heavy loaded train away from toppling down. After sun down, you went from game booth to game booth, collecting small and colorful stuffed animals and eating everything sugary and fat you could get your hands onto. You were convinced you could beat the rigged shoot the duck game, and when you couldn’t, Jason stepped in and absolutely made the smug smirk drop from the guy’s face. You walked away with a giant Panda, sleepy as hell after you sugar rush, and Jason had to carry you out of the car bridal style. That picture you took on top of the ferris wheel is on his nightstand and is his favourite possession of his. 

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

No, he’s not that kind of guy. I think he’s much more into meaningful acts and gestures than buying your love. He would sometimes spoil you if the occasion came to it, but I don’t think he’d be the type to open up his wallet as a demonstration of love.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Aqua blue. No other reason than the fact it’s probably the color the most opposite to red. While he absolutely loves to see you wear red things (it drives him crazy in the sweetest way), he doesn’t want to associate you with the darkest part of him. You’re the beautiful blue to his glaring red, because you’re the best thing in his life and he wants to outline and highlight you out as much as possible.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

I don’t think he has a signature pet name, he probably uses one that fits with the object of his affections and the history he has with them. He’d also be mindful of what you like and don’t like, and adjust them accordingly. 

Q = Quaint (What is their favourite non-modern thing?)

Libraries. The old ones that smell of paper and leather. The ones with the shelves that climb up to the wall and the old worn seats that are just perfect to sit into and read for hours. Jason loves a calm environment and a quiet victorian library does the trick just well.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

Read, cuddles, adult cuddles... ;) I think Jason likes rainy days because it gives him an excuse to spend time with you at home. He’d probably bake something in the afternoon and you might or might not turn it into a flour war, make a mess in the kitchen but make a bonding activity of cleaning it up after (he and you know when to be kids and when to be mature and you both respect the line, and that’s why it’s so fun). Rainy days are domestic days and nothing is more pure or adorable than domestic Jason. It’s a hill I’ll die on. 

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

That’s a tricky one, because when Jason spirals down he has trouble getting out by himself. But when you are down, Jason will go to hell and back to make sure you feel better. He’ll cook you your favourite thing, skip patrol to stay by your side, do a dumb tik tok dance to put a smile on your face or hear you laugh. He’d be attentive to your needs and do everything in his power to help you.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

Everything. Jason is a smart boy, he’d enjoy either talking about art, or about larger questions in the universe, or maybe about the birds that made a nest outside. Jason is incredibly easy to talk to when he’s receptive to the person talking to him, and that surprises anyone who knows him on the surface or less. 

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Massages, but only by you. He trusts you, he is as comfortable as he can get with you seeing him shirtless with his scars (no professional masseur/se will ever get up close to him), and with you touching him in perhaps more sensitive or vulnerable places. He’d close his eyes and let involuntary moans when you’d unknot the tension in his muscles (and you’d secretly enjoy having such a force of nature all putty and soft under your hands). Then it’d be cuddle time and he would be relaxed as he’s ever been.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

That’s simple: you. You’re his beautiful partner, the only one he has eyes for, so the world should see how great you are. He’d find a way to place you in every conversation, whether it would be to point out that hey, you can do that too, or because he just can’t shut up about you. That earns him infinite teasing from his family on how soft he is for you, but he can’t bring himself to care because he loves you so much. 

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

Jason wanted to marry you, and you had talked about it enough as a couple that he knew you wanted it too. But he wanted to wait for the right moment and he couldn’t plan that. The proposal probably happened at an unexpected moment, like when you tried to make him soup when he got injured and ended up messing it up bad. You came back to the couch and apologized to him profusely, and with stars in his eyes he asked you to marry him. Or when one of his enemies tried to take you while taking out the trash, but you chucked the garbage bag AND the metal lid to them, and Jason got down on one knee the second you finished recounting the story, out of breath from running back inside. The wedding was a private affair (Roy was his best man) somewhere quiet and meaningful, without too many artifices or big set up. It was perfect for you two.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

This is a hard one. I feel like Jason would be into soul/jazz, in the style of Marvin Gaye, Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra. To some extent he is a very old school person, and I believe music is one of the topics that falls into that old school side of him. It’s just a feeling, it’s how I imagine Jason. Unforgettable by Nat King Cole would be his to-go song when it comes to you. 

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Oh yea. Jaybird’s got the ring in mind as soon as he knew you were the one. See Wedding above.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

I don’t think he’d want a pet, because he can be absent often, or he wouldn’t have enough time. But if he’d have to, he’d get a cat, I think. Walking a dog morning and night would get a little bit much, especially since sometimes he might have trouble getting out of bed after patrol. But a cat, a rescue stubborn older cat who has seen others, that would be a match. The cat would be distant at first, but one morning he’d wake up with his grump of a feline curled beside his pillow and purring, or after a rough day the cat would bring him its toy and Jason would just. Cry. Because this little creature became his friend. And it’s so pure. (Also Jason building cat trees and climbing installations for the cat? Satisfying image).

[therenlover]

Red Nights In Jupiter (A Jimmy Darling/Reader Oneshot)

Synopsis: At the end of another long day, you fall into bed with Jimmy Darling. The men you served throughout the day don’t matter then, nor do the coins in the mason jar by the door, or the women scheduled to attend Jimmy’s next Tupperware party. No, in that quiet darkness it’s just you and the man you love, bone-tired and happy to be home. Who could ask for more?

Tags: Cuddling, Prostitution, Wound Care, Hurt/Comfort, Referenced Past Non-Con (it’s not Jimmy, don’t worry), Implied Sexual Content/Innuendo

Rating: 16+

Warnings*: Mentioned Police Officer Abusing Their Power, Referenced Non-Con, Jimmy Drinks A Beer, Non-Graphic Wound Care 

Word Count: 3000~

* - This fic includes a reader who is a prostitute and has recently been taken advantage of by a police officer in exchange for not going to jail. There are no graphic scenes and it's mentioned only a couple of times in passing, but the ending portion of the fic is Jimmy helping the reader recover from wounds (just bruises/scratches) they got during the incident. If this is potentially triggering, please steer clear!

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

--------

“How did the show go tonight?” You mumbled, mouth full of toothpaste.

“It wasn’t anything special,” Jimmy responded as you spit, “some dumb kids snuck in a couple of rotten tomatoes but their aim was shit. Nobody got hit, so I’ll consider it a success,”

The two of you stood shoulder to shoulder over the tiny kitchen sink in his trailer, clumsily going through the motions to wind down from an exhausting day. Outside the sky was a deep red. The last of the sun’s dying light shimmered over the ferris wheel as it made its last run, cutting through the muggy Jupiter air. In the last weeks of July, everything was sweltering. Even the walls of the little trailer were hot enough to leave a burn in the full heat of the noontime sun. Thankfully for you, as the sun receded so did the worst of the scalding heat, leaving behind a hot, wet, and thick fog over the nighttime landscape.

Jimmy finished washing his face while you rinsed your toothbrush. “Elsa and I were thinking that maybe, in the next couple ‘a years, we should invest in another ride. Not a ‘coaster, nothing huge, just something other than the ferris wheel that would keep the kids busy while their parents watch the show,” As he spoke, he wet a washcloth under the tap before wringing it out and tossing it over his shoulders. “What do you think, doll?”

“I think-” you held your tongue, your biting reply dissolving into bitter acid in your mouth, “I think that if that’s what’s best for the show, we should start investing sooner rather than later. It’s always best to be prepared so we can figure it into the budget ASAP,” With a practiced hand you bundled up your toiletries and tucked them away in the drawer. The shake in your tired digits was barely perceptible in the dimly lit room. What was best for the troupe was what was best for you. Still, you couldn’t help but sneak a gaze at the half-full mason jar sitting on the counter by the door.

“You sure?” Jimmy asked. He was down in the mini-fridge now, pulling out a can of some cheap beer. You closed your eyes and offered a curt nod. There was no need to argue over an impossible dream. If Elsa wanted a new ride, she would get a new ride.

“I’m sure, Jimmy. I’m just tired,”

Thankfully, he accepted your excuse with a shrug, settling in at the pull-down table. “Whatever you say, sweet thing,” he cooed, “now get over here. I missed you today,”

You gave in to his request easily. After everything you’d been through over the last 12 hours, you weren’t about to turn down a little affection and attention from the man you loved. Your sunburnt shoulders stung as you clambered into Jimmy’s arms and allowed your face to settle into his sweet, sweaty embrace. His heart thudded under your ear, a steady quarter-note rhythm guiding your own soaring staccato down to normalcy.

Somewhere out in the field, probably in one of the other rusted-out trailers where your friends were settling down in their own nighttime routines, a radio buzzed to life. The sweet sounds of Paul Anka crooning his newest hit loosened your nerves. Over your shoulder, Jimmy took a long swig from his can.

“How was work?” you whispered. Jimmy set down his drink with a little more force than usual. One of his fused hands found its way into his hair. You both knew you weren’t asking about the show.

“I didn’t make much today, but I’m almost fully booked for Thursday. That’s the last party until next week unless the ladies want to throw something after church on Sunday. Wednesday we don’t have a show, so I’m all yours,”

His voice was tired, a departure from his usual confidence. This wasn’t Jimmy Darling the leader and performer, it was your Jimmy boy, the man who held your broken heart together with his unusual hands. You relished in the vulnerability, letting yourself nuzzle closer to his skin. He smelled like sweat and grease and cheap cologne but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It was him. That’s what mattered.

“I could take Wednesday off, Wednesday is never that busy,” you mused.

“Then we’ll go out on Wednesday,” Jimmy was jovial but not loud, dropping his hand down from his hair to rub abstract patterns into your back above the starchy cotton of your day dress, “I’ll take us down to the beach on my bike and we can have a picnic lunch by the ocean. I know a spot off the road that nobody would ever think to go to, it’s like a private beach we’ll have all to ourselves, and the guy at the deli owes me a favor so I can pick up sandwich stuff for cheap when I run in tomorrow. Maybe I’ll even spend a little extra a grab a bottle of that white wine you like. How does that sound, doll face?”

You hummed out an affirmative, far too deep into your newfound relaxation to form words. Your boneless, half-lucid state made Jimmy laugh. His smile only fell when he found a fresh bruise on your back, making you wince.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asked, pulling his hand away. You whined at the loss of contact. It was rare for you to have the time to wind down together these days, every second of attention was something to cherish.

“It’s just a bad bruise,”

In an instant, Jimmy had you straddling his lap to face him with your face in his large hands. “Did somebody hurt you?” he asked, running a thumb over your cheek to check for concealer or any small cuts and bruises he might have missed, “‘cause if somebody hit my girl I’m gonna have to show them what’s what. I don’t care if they paid, they don’t get to do that shit to you,”

You couldn’t help but avert your eyes, letting your gaze linger on the veins bulging in Jimmy’s neck instead of his face. It would be too difficult to risk seeing the disappointment in his eyes. “It was a cop, Jimmy. I got busted,”

He groaned. “Those bastards…”

“Thankfully this time he just took what he wanted and let me off with a warning. He’ll be back, though, they always are. I’m sorry, Jimmy, I’m just so tired,” A shudder wracked your shoulders, a silent sob you couldn’t quite choke down. You had to take a minute to remind yourself that you were safe. Jimmy had you. You were tucked away from the world in his arms, and he’d kill someone before he let them do anything to hurt you. Nothing and no one could touch you as long as he was there. When he wasn’t, though…

You gripped his thin, white undershirt a little tighter.

Jimmy was with you, not some stranger who had picked you up off the streets for a little fun. You were at home in your caravan with Jimmy and he was holding you and nothing else mattered. There was no reason to be afraid.

He gritted his teeth. Obviously, your distress wasn’t as invisible as you wished it was. “Don't be sorry, doll, this isn't your fault. You know what? You don’t have to go back out there. There are plenty of other ways we can make the money, sweetheart, just say the word and I’ll make it happen. You never have to deal with them again,”

“But the new ride-”

“To hell with the new ride!” Jimmy was shouting in earnest now, but you weren’t afraid, pushing yourself further into his touch. Part of you liked watching him come to your defense. It was something he would only do for someone he loved, someone who was a part of his family, not just any horny housewife that used him to chase their own desires. “Your safety is so much more important than a new ride a couple years down the line! I’ll go tell Elsa to scrap the idea right now if that means you feel better. You’re the most important thing to me, Y/N. You say jump and I say how high. I’m not gonna force you to do anything, if you choose to keep working I have no right to stand up all high and mighty and tell you not to, but if you do wanna stop… I guess what I’m sayin’ is that I want you to be happy, and if I have to pick up the slack for you to do that then so be it,”

You were cradled against his chest again by the end of his schpiel. Your anxiety wasn’t quite as bad as it had been before, and the newly fallen darkness added a sort of buffer to your feelings. Everything was fuzzier in the dark. In that place past dusk where the problems of the word lost their sharp edges you let yourself abandon everything that scared you during the day. Children were afraid of the things they couldn’t see by moonlight but you relished in the anonymity of the night. Life was much scarier by the light of the sun.

“Thank you, Jimmy, I mean it,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his palm before pulling away from his touch, “but we both know I can’t quit,”

“But doll, I-”

“No buts. I bring in more in a week than the troupe makes in a month, not to mention that I get half the essentials for the mess tent at a discount from customers who are sweet on me. Someday, and that day can’t come soon enough, we’ll have enough saved up to get out of here, but until then we both just have to do whatever we can to make that future a reality,”

Jimmy nodded, draining the last warm dregs from his beer and tossing the empty can into the trash. “I just hate thinkin’ about you standing out there alone while those assholes look at you like a piece of meat,”

“I get by well enough,”

“I know you do, but you can’t blame me for worrying,” In a moment of drowsy bliss, you let a soft yawn escape your lips. Jimmy grinned. “Are you fallin’ asleep on me?”

You offered him a loose, gummy smile. “Maybe a little,”

He was quick to sweep a well-muscled arm up under your knees, lifting you up bridal style. You let out a small shriek of surprise. Jimmy didn’t let that distract him, though, as he carried your wriggling form over to your shared bed before setting you down with a low chuckle. “Now dollface,” he said, pulling off his sweat-damp undershirt and the washcloth that had been resting on his shoulders, “you up for a little bit of the Jimmy Darlin’ magic tonight, or would you rather just cuddle?”

“Can we just cuddle tonight? I’m still sore as hell. That asshole cop had me up against a brick wall and didn’t exactly take the time to lighten up his grip when I started to bruise,”

Jimmy nodded. “I tell you what,” he said, running a fused digit over the top button of your dress, “first let’s get that dress off you, then I can rub on some of that arnica gel we got as a gift from the new girl last month, alright? She said it helps with bruises. Once you’re all taken care of, then we can cuddle,”

“That sounds heavenly,” You smiled up at Jimmy as you unbuttoned the front of your dress, easily sliding out and discarding it as he changed out of his work jeans and into some thin cotton pajama pants. Your bra came off last, and much to your surprise your beau didn’t spend much time ogling you, instead turning quickly to go recover the ointment from the shelf in the bathroom.

From your viewpoint on the bed, Jimmy looked like Adonis. He was always handsome, sure, but you loved how the moonlight hit his bare back, revealing each plane of thick, workers muscle as it caressed his skin. As your eyes fluttered closed, you could almost feel the ghost of his body above yours. The radio across the field was still droning on outside the window. In your bed, watching Jimmy putter around the trailer and listening to the fuzzy music that drifted in from the outside, you felt complete for the first time in a long time. There was only one thing left to do that could make you feel better.

“Jimmy,” you asked, “tell me about the future?”

He turned to you with a sigh, the glass jar of arnica gel in hand, “Doll, I’m no Dr. Seuss...”

“Pleeeease, Jimmy,” you whined, “for me?”

It didn’t take anything more for Jimmy to give in. “How could I ever say no when you ask so nicely,” He sat down at your side on the bed, nudging you to roll onto your stomach and give him access to your bruised and scraped back. As he began his gentle probing of your wounds, he started to talk.

“Once we save up enough money,” he whispered, scooping up some gel from the jar before rubbing it into a particularly tender purple spot, “we’re gonna get out of here. You and Ma and me will find a nice little house somewhere with some land, and we’ll be happy there. When we get there, I’ll find a job somewhere where people won’t gawk at me. I can work construction or grow produce in the yard, and you… you, doll, will finally get to rest. You can stay home with Ma, cook, sew, read; you’ll never have to sell yourself on the streets again,”

You squirmed under his touch. “Now tell me about the kids,”

Jimmy groaned. “Really?”

“They’re the best part!”

“Alright, alright, because you won’t stop buggin’ me I’ll talk about the kids, but next time I’m down and out after a fight you’d better return the favor. I expect you to talk my ear off about all the sinful things I wanna hear while you’re busy holding a steak to my eye,”

You grinned. “Since when have I ever let you down, Mr. Darling?”

“Not once, sweet thing,” he pressed a soft kiss to the back of your head before going back to focusing on your flesh, now doing more of a massage on the less marred areas than anything else. “Now where were we?”

“The kids, Jimmy,”

“Oh right, the kids!” You let your eyes drift closed as he spoke, relishing in the feeling of his hands against your skin. Every moment in his arms was heaven. It was a real shame the rest of society didn’t see him the way you did, but it kept any potential competition away, and for that you were grateful. Life without Jimmy would be like baking with no sugar; just plain wrong. “Once we have our own place and the money is coming in, I won’t have to waste my pocket change on rubbers anymore. I’ll get you nice and pregnant and then, after nine months of getting looked after by yours truly, you’ll finally have your own little Darling, yours an’ mine. Won’t that be a sight? A little Jimmy Jr. runnin’ around in the yard, absolutely spoiled rotten by his grandma. I dunno much about bein’ a good dad, but I sure as hell know what not to do. No matter what the child ends up looking like, I’ll be there every step of the way. Who knows, if you and I get real busy we may have a whole brood of Darling children before long,”

You wanted to offer up some sort of placation, a witty reply, but you found that your tongue was too heavy and your eyes were drooping lower by the second. It was cooler now that the moon had started her ascent into the night sky, cool enough to stay comfortable with the little air conditioning unit in the window running full blast. Suddenly, the bed shifted next to you as Jimmy screwed the top back onto the jar and got up to return it to its shelf.

“Hey, Jimmy?” you called, voice thick with exhaustion. He was quick to respond, slotting the jar into its place and stepping out of the dimly lit bathroom to check on you.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” you said, rolling onto your back and getting comfortable on top of the sheets, “I just wanted to say I love you, so much,”

Jimmy was back at your side in an instant. “I love you too, doll. I dunno what I ever did to deserve you-”

“Oh stop!” your words were slurred now, dripping from your lips as you watched Jimmy climb into bed. You found your place at his side quickly. It was muscle memory to link your leg with his and set your head on his chest no matter how tired you were. "You're the most handsome, wonderful, perfect man I could have ever asked for Jimmy Darling, and don't you forget it!"

“It’s time for sleep now, doll,” he whispered, burying his face in your hair and wrapping his arms around you, “There’s plenty of time to talk about how wonderful you think I am in the morning,” The smile on his face was clear from the tone of his voice, but you heeded his words, quickly falling into a dreamless sleep while he protected you from the rest of the world.

Things weren’t perfect. You would still wake up the next day and watch the man you loved leave as both of you sold your very bodies in search of an impossible dream for the future, but that was okay. As long as Jimmy was by your side, everything would be.

--------

a/n: I hope you enjoyed this fic! I intended for it to be a short drabble where I could practice writing for jimmy, but in the end I’m really happy with how it turned out. This is, genuinely, something I’m really proud of, so please let me know if you liked it. Thank you so much for supporting me!!!

[undercaffinatednightmare]

"Henry!  Where have you been?  I was scared to death."  Myfanwy ran up and hugged the boy.  Her bright green hair blowing in front of her face.

"Who are you?"  The blonde woman in the red leather jacket asked.

Slightly alarmed, she looked up and saw... her.  Myfanwy heard all her life about a twin sister, but seeing the same face on a stranger was still a shock.  Emma looked just as taken aback. "Myfanwy Rogers.  Henry comes by the cafe for help with his homework everyday.  He didn't come two days in a row and I got scared."

“Right.” The hazel eyes narrowed.  "How did you say your name?"  She gave a belated apologetic smile.

She rolled her own eyes - one blue and one green with bits of gold around her pupil.  "Myfanwy. Mi-van-wee. Mivvy for short.  Not sure my parents liked me.  You are?"

"Emma Swan."  She looked confused.  "Sorry.  This town is weird."  Warily, she looked around before shaking her head.

"You just got here.  You haven't even scratched the surface.  Come by The Hideout sometime when you want the really weird stories."  She offered.  "Live in a place like Storybrooke, you can't exactly name it something normal."

"Alright.  Thanks."  Emma said and Myfanwy heard the hesitation in her answer.

The two started to walk away.  "I mean it, Emma.  Sometimes you need a good hideout."  More truth than you know, sister.  She thought and turned back to her car.

One of the great parts of being in a cursed town was no one did anything normal with their keys.  Mivvy was a ghost, a glitch in the matrix of the curse.  So she liked to randomly swap cars or take them for a ride to see how long it took the curse to adjust to the new information.  The clock tower chimed for the first time in years and she sighed.  She would be stuck with the black truck for awhile.  

Her house was a decommissioned lighthouse on an island that faced the harbor where she and Dennis built large hothouses in the back.  Larger than most people would need, but she had an orchard and plants to keep safe from the winter.  The other half of the property was where Dennis kept his beehives.

Blackberry bushes bordered her land and acted as a barrier, but her pride and joy were the new vanilla beans.  Her new apple trees were flourishing too.  She also had a variety of spice plants, but the delicate ones were the non-native trees - pears, peaches, and oranges.  Yeah okay, it was a weird hobby for Maine.  Dennis kept bees and she kept an assortment of plants that shouldn't thrive in northern Maine.

She also had flowers.  Mostly rare ones.  With several colors of anemones, purple, burgundy and white.  It made her happy in a town that was often difficult to navigate.  It was also an excuse.  She needed an outlet for her magic.  Growing plants no one else should have?  She had a hothouse.

Her oldest friend was the habor master and he ferried her to and from her home.  She could get to her cafe easily on the southeast side of town.  It was safer after she weakened the curse there.  Anywhere she had to cross the mayor or the pawnshop owner wasn't a place she needed to stay.  She also avoided the nuns at the convent.  Mother Superior was a bit too shady for her liking. 

Maybe her sister's arrival would herald a new era.  One not so damn boring.

[medicifm]

*  not  me  actually  writing  an  intro  the  night  before  like  i  always  mean  to  😳  hennyway  hey  biddies  ,  i'm  chloe  ,  im  in  the  snowy  part  of  pst  ,  &  i  use  she / her  pns  .  i’ve  been  . . . . . . .  scouring  the  tags  for  an  rp  like  this  so  im  so  excited  to  bring  this  newish  muse  of  mine  here  !   im  here to  do  the  honours  of  introducing  my  himbo - on - the outside , manipulative - shit - on - the - inside  . . .  oscar  🤡

(  twenty  three , cis  man , he / him  ) ✉ ― hey  babes , have  you  met  OSCAR  MEDICI ?  they’re  working  here  as  THE  HEAD  CHEF  AT  LORENZO’S ,  a  few  villas  down  from  where  you’re  staying  .  you  might  hear  them  singing  ALRIGHTY  APHRODITE  BY  PEACH  PIT  playing  from  their  villa  ,  it’s  their  favourite  song  .  yes  ,  they  hear  that  they  look  like  JACK  GILINSKY  a  lot  ,  actually  -  it’s  really  uncanny  .  their  friends  back  home  in  SYDNEY , AUSTRALIA  say  that  if  they  were  on  a  tv  show  ,  their  trope  would  be  THE  WOLF  IN  SHEEP’S  CLOTHING  ,  how  funny  is  that  ? ✎ chloe , 22 , she/her , pst

𝐢  .

pinterest  |  wanted  plots  |  

𝐢𝐢  .

name  :  oscar  gabriel  medici

age  :  twenty  three

dob  /  sign  :  december  4th  ,  1997  /  sagittarius  sun  ,  leo  moon  ,  libra  rising 

pob  :  sydney , australia

gender / pronouns  :  cis  man  &  he / him / his

career :  head  chef  at  lorenzo’s  ,  full - time  heathen  ,  professional  disappointment  for  mothers  everywhere  .

drinking / drugs / smoking :  yes / more  often  than  he’d  admit / never .  

religion  :  jewish  background  ,  currently  non - practicing .

physical  :  jack  gilinsky  fc ,  dark  brown / black  longish  curls  (  reference  )  ,  dark  brown  eyes  ,  canon  jack  g’s  tattoos  ,  no  piercings  ,  6′2″  ,  175  lbs  ,  lean  but  strong  .  tattoos  a  la  canon!jack  ,  pearly  white  smile  that  he  may  . . .  or  may  not  . . .   use  crest  3D  white  strips  weekly  to  maintain  .  lots  of  burns  &  scars  from  kitchen  mishaps  on  his ��hands  &  arms  .

traits  :  hard - working  ,  flighty  ,  intelligent  ,  hedonistic  ,  charismatic  ,  intense  ,  volatile  ,  

other  :  speaks  weird  french  (  aussie  accent  tings  )  ,  tans  easily  but  wears  sunscreen  nonetheless  ,  works  hard  parties  harder  ,  can’t  read  a  lick  of  french  but  spends  a  lot  of  his  free  time  with  a  coffee  &  a  new  paperback  ,  has  a  bit  of  an  internal  vendetta  against  rich  people  (  for  no  real  reason  ,  he  just  doesn’t  like  most  of  them  )  ,  has  ins  with  a  bunch  the  local  farmers  &  visits  them  weekly  ,  pretends  he  isn’t  lowkey  addicted  to  nicotine  administered  via  a  puff  bar  ,  liquor  of  preference  is  tequila  or  red  wine  ,  drives  a  lil  vespa  around  town  for  the  gag  of  it  (  loves  seeing  it  haphazardly  parked  amongst  a  bunch  of  luxury  cars  )  ,  

character  inspo  :  jess  mariano  (  gilmore  girls  )  , gordon  ramsey  🤡 ,  patrick verona ( 10 things i hate about you ) , ferris bueller ( ferris bueller’s day off ) , han solo ( star wars ) .

𝐢𝐢𝐢  .

oscar’s  arrival  was  as  unwanted  to  his  parents  as  could  be  :  a  father  whose  tendencies  leaned  towards  alcoholism  &  abusing  whoever  was  in  arms  reach  ,  a  mother  whose  life  was  more  or  less  spent  at  the  nursing  home  she  worked  as  a  nurse  at  ,  evading  home  .  he  became  a  self - inflicted  loner  ,  preferring  to  do  literally  the  exact  opposite  of  what  was  expected  or  wanted  from  him  .  he  had  a  few  friends  he  ran  with  ,  but  watching  them  all  go  off  &  study  or  prepare  for  university  solidified  in  oscar’s  mind  that  the  non - traditional  route  was  for  him  .  growing  up  by  the  water  ,  oscar  always  felt  more  drawn  to  skip  school  &  head  to  the  beach  than  he  did  obeying  his  parents  wishes  .   

one  of  his  solaces  was  his  grandfather  ,  gabriel  ,  who  owned  an  italian  restaurant  in  a  beach  town  north  of  sydney  .  whenever  the  weather  was bad  &  oscar  felt  like  ditching  class  ,  he’d  head  over  to  his  nono’s  restaurant  where  his  ass  would  be  put  to  work  as  soon  as  he  set  eyes  on  the  restaurant  .  it  was  tough  work  ,  but  challenging  in  a  way  that  fanned  the  flames  in  oscar’s  heart  ,  rather  than  dimming  them  .  by  the  time  he was  a  teenager  he  was  working  in  the  restaurant  everyday  after  school  , an  agreement  between  him  &  his  grandfather  framed  on  the  back  wall  that  stated  that  as  long  as  oscar  kept  from  flunking  out  ,  he  was  allowed  to  spend  as  little  or  as  much  time  in  the  kitchen  as  he  pleased .  

his  absolute  defiance  of  anything  traditional  &  following  the  rules  made  him  unpopular  with  adults  ,  but  lowkey  cool  with  the  girls  .  by  the  time  he  was  sixteen  ,  he  was  losing  his  focus  on  the  restaurant  &  his  grades  &  spending  more  &  more  time  chasing  after  girls  .  his  nono  tried  to  get oscar  to  come  back  &  focus  ,  but  as  always  ,  anything  he’s  asked  to  do  quickly  becomes  the  thing  he’s  running  from  the  most  .

tw  :  death  ,  cancer  .  around  his  eighteenth  birthday  ,  his  grandfather  suddenly  fell  ill  with  a  rare  form  of  cancer  that  took  his  life  six  weeks  after  diagnosis  ,  which  rocked  oscar’s  world  .  he  felt  overwhelming  guilt  that  he  hadn’t  spent  more  time  with  his  grandfather  ,  which  manifested  itself  as  oscar  dropping  out  of  school  a  year  shy  of  graduation  to  commit  himself  fully  to  perfecting  his  grandfather’s  techniques  ,  learning  all  of  his  recipes  (  read  :  pouring  over  dozens  of  handwritten  cookbooks )  in  some  failed  attempt  to  get  back  some  time  with  him  .  oscar  hadn’t  been  close  with  his  parents  in  years  ,  more  or  less  seeing  them  as  wardens  of  a  prison  he  wanted  nothing  to  do  with  .  his  grandfather’s  will  left  him  the  deed  to  the  restaurant  ,  with  an  ask  that  oscar  would  promise  to  act  on  whatever  he  felt  called  towards  ,  rather  than  doing  what  others  expected  of  him  .  to  be  candid  ,  this  whole  situation  crushed  him  .

eventually  ,  he  decided  he’d  had  enough  of  the  stifling  community  he’d  grown  up  in  .  he  sold  the  restaurant  to  one  of  the  regulars  ,  a  wealthy  man  who  he’d  come  to  acknowledge  as  somewhat  of  an  uncle  ;  a  safe  pair  of  hands  who  would  treat  his grandfather’s  legacy  with  as  much  passion  &  respect  as  oscar  himself  would  .  so  he  packed  a  bag  ,  texted  his  mom  that  he  was  going  traveling  ,  &  got  on  a  flight  that  evening  .  he  traveled  all  around  -  first  through  central  america  ,  then  through  europe  ,  throughout  asia  &  africa  ,  &  spent  a  few  months  driving  a  van  across  the  continental  united  states  &  canada  for  fun  . 

eventually  ,  he  started  getting  low - ish  on  money  ,  &  decided  to  settle  in  one  of  his  favourite  places  he’d  visited  :  southern  france  .  he  arrived  in  early  2018  ,  taking  on  whatever  menial  tasks  he  could  while  learning  french  until  he  got  a  position  as  a  line  cook  in  an  italian  restaurant  .  a  few  years  later  ,  he’s  made  his  way  up  to  filling  the  head  chef  position  ,  an  honour  he  takes  with  pride  .  he’s  implemented  many  of  his  own  recipes  while  using  flavours  he’s  learned  from  his  travels  ,  with  ingredients  straight  from  local  farmers  .  he’s  earned  the  restaurant  a  two michelin  star  rating  ,  &  is  constantly  striving  for  more  to  get  that  last  star  (  both  for  his  own  ego  as  well  as  a  secret  debt  to  his  grandfather  )  .

𝐢𝐯  .

ok  but  that  vid  where  gordon  puts  two  pieces  of  bread  on  someone’s  head  &  calls  them  an  idiot  sandwich  ?  that’s  oscar  .  intense  as  fuck  in  the  kitchen  ,  &  best  nobody  catch  an  attitude  about  it  bc  he  will  not  hesitate  to  hand  them  their  ass  on  a  silver  platter  .

another  gordon  reference  :  you  know  how  he’s  the  spawn  of  satan with  adults  ,  but  the  sweetest  ,  most  helpul  guy  with  children  ?  that’s  oscar  with  his  staff  vs  people  he  wants  something  from  .  whether  its  to  sleep  with  them  (  usually  his  first  instinct  to  be  fair  )  ,  their  money  or  clout  ,  or  to  get  into  some  wild  adventure  some  random  resort  staff  wouldn’t  dream  of  getting  into  ,  he  can  turn  on  the  charm  whenever  needed  .

can  go  from  absolutely  demoralizing  someone  in  the  kitchen  to  stepping  out  into  the  lounge  to  schmooze  with  his  friends  or  cougars  who  leave  phat  tips  in  0.2  seconds  .  the  speed  at  which  his  mood  can  completely  180  is  one  of  the  seven  world  wonders  (  last  i  checked  )  .

his  love  language  is  absolutely  acts  of  service  .  catch  him  actually  falling  in  love  once  in  a  blue  moon  &  making  it  his  mission  to  cook  her  extravagant  meals  everyday  .  

the  wolf  in  sheep’s  clothing  label  epitomizes  his  nice  ,  helpful  ,  charismatic  exterior  ,  while  ulterior  motives  &  disdain  for  those  who  grew  up  with  more  money  than  he  did  lurk  beneath  the  surface  . 

he  can  be  MEAN  when  someone  fucks  him  over  or  pushes  him  farther  than  he  wants  -  isn’t  afraid  to  go  for  the  low  blows  or  send  someone  home  with  an  identity  crisis  if  it  protects  himself  .

lowkey  alcoholic  but  he’s  not  ready  for  that  conversation  yet  .  he  sees  it  more  as  perks  of  the  location  &  atmosphere  he’s  found  himself  in  .

also  lowkey  falls  in  love  HARD  ,  like  this  man  is  a  closeted  romantic  but  self - sabotages  all  potential  relationships  before  they  can  get  to  that  point  out  of  fear  he’ll  be  unable  to  live  life  of  his  own  volition  (  takes  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  to  know  a  flaky  philophobic  sagittarius  🤡  )  .  has  probably  only  had  a  few  real  relationships  besides  flings  bc  he’s  afraid  .

𝐯  .

check  out  my  wanted  plots  tag  listed  here  ,  as  well  as  my  pinterest  wanted  plots  board  here  .  here   are  some  other  suggestions  hehe  :

best  friend  /  ride  or  die  :  someone  who  knows  about  his  past  ,  keeps  him  grounded  when  he’s  lk  spiraling  &  wants  to  drop  everything  &  flee  to  some  far  flung  corner  of  the  earth  .

actual  relationship  :  it  was  fast - burn  with  deep  feelings  (  not  them  thinking  they’re  soulmates  after  dating  for  a  month  . . .  pete  &  ariana  type  beat  )  but  completely  unrealistic  .  they  have  their  own  life  ,  he’s  pretty  much  tied  to  the  restaurant  ,  not  to  mention  his  lack  of  sharing  anything  about  his  childhood / life  back  home  .  they  loved  &  cared  for  each  other  ,  but  crashed  &  burned  fairly  quickly  because  of  how  idealistic  it  was  .  they  can  either  be  on  bad  or  good  terms  now  .

hateship  with  sexual  tension  😈

summer  flings  !!

fake  boyfriend  :  he  shows  up  on  her  arm  to  her  family’s  events  where  she’s  expected  to  have  a  partner  .  it’s  not  a  real  relationship  ,  but  her  parents  don’t  need  to  know  that  .  he  plays  the  part  &  satisfies  her  parents  beyond  the  bare  minimum  ,  &  in  return  she  invites  him  to  parties  ,  takes  him  out  on  her  family’s  yacht  ,  etc  etc  .  we  luv  some  symbiosis  

i  can  always  use  more  fwbs  hehehe

squad  :  a  group  of  people  who  do  everything  together  ,  have  a  chaotic  group  chat  ,  have  nicknames  for  one  another  ,  are  utd  on  each  other’s  sex  lives  ,  party  all  night  then  show  up  to  brunch  hungover  together  .  

cat  &  mouse  :  someone  he’s  pursuing  who  isn’t  quite  giving  in  ,  &  vice  versa  .  maybe  it’s  been  going  on  a  few  years  ,  everytime  they’re  in  st  tropez  they  have  this  weird  lil  flirtationship  thing  goin  on  until  she  leaves  ,  they  forget  about  one  another  ,  then  pick  it  right  back  up  when  she  returns  .

confidant  :  preferably  someone  from  a  working  class  background  who  understands  his  plight  of  being  a  worker  amongst  people  who  expect  to  be  waited  on  .

enemies  :  they  don’t  like  his  attitude  ,  &  he  doesn’t  like  them  in  return  .  lots  of  eye  rolls  ,  shit  talking  ,  &  tension  between  their  mutual  friends  .

we’re  sleeping  together  but  we  shouldn’t  be  but  that’s  half  the  fun :  for  whatever  reason  they  became  friends  ,  starting  hooking  up  despite  it  not  being  a  good  idea  (  read  :  he’s  exes  with  one  of  her  friends  ,  her  parents  want  her  focused  on  career  ,  they’re  part  of  the  same  friend  group  ,  etc )  . . . but  now  they  can’t  stop  .  lots  of  stolen  glances  across  rooms  ,  squeezing  past  one  another  in  a  crowded  club  just  close  enough  for  a  quick  touch  to  the  back  ,  quietly  leaving  one  another’s  places  the  morning  after  &  playing  dumb  to  anyone  who  asks  . 

[thehopeofitalll]

2. enchanted.

THEY MEET! THEY MEET! anyways...just a suggestion, but you should probably listen to taylor swift's "enchanted" because, well it's an amazing song, what more can i say?

read it on ao3.

~

“Look who’s here!” Thalia said, grinning. “My…” She drummed her fingers against the table, making up for an imaginary drum roll, as a figure walked towards Annabeth, Jason and Thalia.

“...girlfriend!” Thalia finished, a rare smile on her face that she always showed to her aforementioned girlfriend.

“Reyna!” Annabeth exclaimed, smiling as she stood up to hug her friend. “You’re back? I thought you said it’d take you a few more months!”

“As you know,” Reyna began in a horrible imitation of a British accent, struggling to hold back her grin. “I am very well versed in the art of lying.”

“One of the truest things you’ve said in, like, your entire life I think,” Thalia added, getting a playful punch from her girlfriend.

“Still know how to be a badass, Chase?” Reyna asked, raising an eyebrow.

Annabeth smirked. “You should have figured that being a badass has been in my blood since I was born,” She replied.

“Maybe I could race you,” pondered Reyna. “It’d be fun to see you lose.”

“Hey! That’s not fair,” Annabeth muttered, folding her arms. “You’ve literally got a sports scholarship based on your running, and I bet you’ve practiced a lot all the way back in Berkeley.”

Reyna shrugged. “Yeah, you'd lose either way. So, it’s been a few years since we’ve seen each other and things have certainly changed. Someone’s got a little famous.”

“All because of her wonderful manager,” Thalia said, proudly.

“Oh shush,” Annabeth said, folding her arms. “Also, Thalia, about the whole getting-away-from-the-world-for-a-few-hours thing, I’m planning on sneaking away to Coney Island.”

“Coney Island?”

“Hey, I’ve wanted to go see it for a long time now, and this might be the perfect opportunity,” Annabeth reasoned.

“But so many people there could see you!” Thalia argued. “Like, thousands! It isn’t exactly the most secluded place for someone who wants to be anonymous and all that shit.”

“Relax, you know how good I am at disguising myself. I promise not to let the paparazzi get a hold of me. Okay?” Annabeth asked.

Thalia hesitated, then sighed. “Well…” she began. “Okay, fine. But you better be careful, young lady.”

“Yes, mom,” Annabeth said, rolling her eyes in Classic Annabeth Style, her voice dry with irony.

Usually it was Annabeth who was called “The Mom Friend” of the group (though she preferred to be the one who always advises her friends to not do the dumb shit they eventually end up doing. It wasn’t her fault she was the only one who had common sense).

“So?” Annabeth asked. “What’s the schedule for today?”

“Well, I’ve managed to give you around roughly two to three hours of free time, but besides that we’ve got the usual shooting. Thankfully, I think you have only a few scenes today, and I’m guessing the other stars are shooting most of their scenes today,” Thalia said, whipping out her clipboard.

“Fun.”

—🎡—

“Late to work again, Perry Johansson?” Mr. D exclaimed, with a groan.

“Sorry, Mr. D!” Percy said, sheepishly. He’d thought it was a Sunday morning, pressed the snooze button on his alarm five times and was late to the cafe for work. “Won’t happen again!”

“That’s what you told a week back!”

“Rough morning, huh?” Percy’s best friend, Piper McLean, asked, her eyes surveying his more-dishevelled-than-usual hair.

“That would be an understatement,” Percy replied, groaning.

“Nightmares?” Piper asked.

He nodded, as she gave him a sympathetic look.

It was common knowledge to all of his friends that he had nightmares, caused by his abusive past. Sometimes he woke up, sweating, his throat sore after yelling in his sleep. When he stayed with his mom, and his stepdad, she would usually rush into the room as soon as the screaming began. But once he moved out, he learnt to calm himself down. It didn’t help though, he found himself having panic attacks while thrashing around in his bed.

“And, hm, let me guess,” Piper began, feigning to be in deep thought. “You stayed up all night painting?”

He rolled his eyes, confirming that she was correct. “The nightmares were getting too much for me,” he mumbled.

Piper nodded, staying silent. She, and all of his friends, knew about his past. It wasn’t exactly easy to hide the long scar that ran down your back, when you were the captain of your swim team back at school.

“Well,” he said, drawing out the l. “How are things with Jason? Didn’t you tell me that you started dating?”

“Yeah…” Piper smiled. “He’s amazing, Percy. He cares a lot about me. I think he’s...perfect.”

He grinned. “Well, years of screaming at both of you to date each other finally paid off,” he said.

“Yes, Jackson, I truly appreciate it,” Piper said sarcastically. She turned around to greet the customer who had just come in, with a perfect smile on her face. “Hello and welcome to Olympus!”

Percy pulled out his phone, scrolling through his nearly non-existent proof of his social life, not really paying attention. He eyed a few messages from his cousin, Thalia Grace, planning to reply to it later, when a single word caught his eyes:

Annabeth.

Wait, what about Annabeth? he typed back hurriedly, fixing the typos that came along the way.

She replied almost immediately.

Knew that would catch your eyes, Kelp Head. - Pinecone Face

He let out a soft huff, but grinning affectionately nevertheless. He could literally hear the smirk in her message.

We’ve talked about this, Thalia. But what did she say?

Don’t worry, she didn’t say anything. I just mentioned her while reminding you about how dad wants you to come to dinner. And I know you well enough to figure out that you’d never check a message the first time you see it, unless it mentioned someone like, you know, Annabeth. - Pinecone Face.

You’re an asshole, Thals.

I know right! It’s one of the many things I’m good at, thinking of adding it to my resume~ - Pinecone Face.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His eyes were trained on his phone as Thalia continued to be typing something more.

Don’t forget about the dinner! Dad specifically requested that you and Nico must be there, or something. - Pinecone Face.

He was going to type back a quick yeah, okay and head back to the front, where Piper was greeting customers, when another message from Thalia popped up.

Hey, if you’re lucky, we might even run into Annabeth ;) - Pinecone Face

Not the winky face, he replied, unable to stop the grin from coming on his face.

—🎡—

There I was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles Same old tired, lonely place Walls of insincerity Shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when I saw your face All I can say is it was enchanting to meet you. —🎡—

Percy yelled, “I’m leaving as soon as I finish three more orders, you hear me?”

“I hear you, alright!” Piper yelled back, as she picked up her phone and walked towards him.

“I honestly wonder why I’m such a good friend,” Percy said, leaning against the counter. “Why am I always the one who covers the last 15 minutes of his friend’s shift?”

“Because you love me, and think I’m the most amazing person to ever walk on earth,” Piper replied, grinning proudly, as she flicked her dark brown hair over her shoulder.

“Of course I do,” Percy said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now, go meet Mr. Loverboy.”

“And you?” Piper asked. “What are you gonna be doing this evening?”

“Visiting the Ferris wheel in Coney Island,” Percy replied.

“Again?” Piper asked. “You were there, like, three weeks back. You need to get a social life, Perce.”

“Mm, I was just planning on spending my life with blue cookies,” he said. “And, it isn’t a waste of time. I learn more about landscapes and silhouettes, you know.”

“Ah yes, painting stuff,” Piper summed up. “Honestly, I don’t understand you at times, and we’ve been friends for so long.”

“I’m an artiste, Pipes,” Percy replied, grinning, with a terrible French accent on the artiste.

“Mhm, sure,” Piper mumbled. “Okay, don’t mess up the rest of the orders. I’ll see you soon.”

As Piper made her way out of the shop, Percy sighed. While he lazily waited for someone new to come in, he found himself bored, again.

He could blame his restlessness on his ADHD but in reality he never wanted to work here, he just needed some money while he struggled with becoming a popular artist, and he had to work here until the aquarium nearby finally accepted his resume. Then he’d be out of here.

He was tired. Tired of faking smiles, tired of seeing people bustling around in here, tired of vacant spaces. He couldn’t wait to leave this place behind him.

While he ruminated about this, another customer walked in, wearing a dark blue hoodie, with the hood pulled all the way down to their nose.

Percy stifled a groan and took his place at the counter. “Hey, welcome to Olympus Cafe. What would you like today?”

“One Chocolate Creme Frappuccino, please,” came the woman’s voice. He nodded, slightly pleased that he wasn’t the only one in the world who liked that drink off their menu.

He went inside to prepare her drink. When he came back, she was resting her head on her palm. “Name?” he asked.

“Oh? Uh, Annabe-Annabel,” she replied, stuttering a little bit.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question her. Writing Annabel on the cup, he pushed a straw in her drink. “That’ll be $4.95,” he said.

She nodded, reaching to her pocket. Percy always hated this part of delivering an order: that awkward silence while the customer got out their money.

He looked at the woman before him, as she fumbled around while bringing out her wallet. He could barely see her, but she had tan skin and maybe he caught a few wisps of golden hair. A five dollar bill fell out of her wallet, floating towards the ground.

“Shit,” she muttered.

Percy tried to hide a smile at that. He didn’t know why a random woman before him mumbling profanities was amusing to him. She bent down to pick up the dollar, and when she stood up her hood had fallen. Percy looked at her, then suddenly stopped fidgeting around.

Was it…? It was.

He knew how she looked from their time in high school. Stormy grey eyes. Honey blonde hair. He definitely knew her, knew her all too well.

She quickly pushed the bill towards him, and pulled her hood back up. A faint flicker of recognition passed through those intimidating eyes, as he took the dollar.

He picked up the cup, and handed it to her. She reached out for the cup, her fingers slightly brushing against his. A little spark seemed to drive up his arm, and despite himself, he grinned goofily.

“It was enchanting to meet you,” He said, then winked at her.

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, a faint blush of red coating her cheeks nevertheless. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard,” she said, her voice low.

He continued to grin as she looked up, sea green eyes meeting grey, then turned around to leave the shop. There was no mistake about it. It was her. Annabeth.

Annabeth Chase.

[buckleyirondad]

xvill. muffled scream

Peter thought it would be an easy night in, after he let Tony, Pepper, May and Happy go out for the evening, on a double date, while he entertained Morgan at his and May’s apartment. Granted, he wasn’t sure if he totally understood May and Happy’s budding romance, but they were happy, which was genuinely nice to see. Although, Tony didn’t stop teasing, or joking about it at every given chance.  It was meant to be easy night in, right? In Peter’s life, nothing was ever easy. About an hour in, the hairs on the back of his arms stood on end, and dread settled in his stomach. Morgan tugged his jacket sleeve, “What’s wrong?”  There were voices by the front door, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone picking the lock. Peter leapt into action, he looped his hands under Morgan’s arms and hoisted her up into his, he beelined for the cleaning cupboard and pulled it open. “Petey?” Morgan squeaked, her voice shaken. Luckily, the cupboard was essentially empty as the vacuum was in Peter’s bedroom, yearning to be used. Peter placed Morgan down in the far corner, and knelt, placing a hand to her cheek. “I’m sorry, Munchkin.” He apologized softly, the front door rattled, as someone kicked it; Morgan flinched, “I need you to stay here, okay?”

She hiccuped as she clung to his wrist, “Are they the bad guys?” “Yeah, I think so.” Peter told her, “You have to be super quiet.” He tucked her hair behind her ear, “I’ll be right back.” Tears glazed over her eyes as she reluctantly let go of his arm, “Okay.”  Peter pressed a kiss against her forehead before stepping out. He closed the cupboard door and tip-toed across the living room. He quietly switched the lamp off and grabbed his web-shooters from the coffee table. The nanotech weaved around his wrist, and he concealed them with the cuffs of his jacket. He tapped his watch and clicked the panic button. Tony would come running, until then, he had to keep whoever it was, away from Morgan. He leant up against the cupboard, knowing there was no time to grab his suit from his bedroom floor. Damn his secret identity, he had a sister to protect.   The door crashed open. Two sets of heavy footsteps entered.  “This place is a shithole.” One commented upon entry. He sounded young, a few years older than Peter, maybe. He was inexperienced, sounded like he’d never done anything like this before. That worked in Peter’s favour. “This is the address we were given, Mark.” The other said sharply. His voice was low, ragged, sounded like he’d smoked most of his life. He was older and definitely experienced. That didn’t work in Peter’s favour.

Peter knew he could take them out easily, but he wasn’t in his suit and he couldn’t put Morgan in any more danger than she already was. “Why would Gargan send us here?”  Peter knew that name, it was one of the criminals who’d been on the Ferry. Last he had heard, he got a life sentence. There were five years left unaccounted, Peter hadn’t taken the time to revise his knowledge on the whereabouts of past felons he’d faced. “Guess we’ll find out.” “The guy doesn’t have to be so cryptic.”  “He pays our bills.” Not-Mark (Peter had to call him something) snapped, “So, shut your mouth, and look around.” Peter knew they were closest to his room, and like an idiot, he’d left the suit on his floor in plain view. In his defence, it was rare that someone entered the apartment that didn’t know his secret. “Hey!” Mark screamed; Peter’s stomach dropped, “Look what I found!” “Bingo.” Peter’s leg involuntarily jerked back, kicking the wall, “Shit.”  The bandits charged around, guns raised, they skidded to a halt. Not-Mark smirked as he jerked his gun towards Peter,  “Hey there.”  “Sorry…” Peter took a step forward, “I think you’ve got the wrong apartment.” Not-Mark raised an eyebrow, and sneered, “I don’t think we do.”  Mark tossed Peter his suit, he caught it in a single swoop, that seemed like a dumb move, “And what does this prove?”  “Pretty quick reflexes you’ve got there, kid.” Not-Mark complimented, “What are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?” “Seventeen.” “Still a kid.” He pointed out, “Can’t imagine you’ve been through shit like this before.” Peter shrugged, half-heartedly, “Rough neighbourhood.” “You don’t seem scared.” Peter let out a long breath, “Of you?” Not-Mark turned his head to the side to conceal his smile, “Give up the act, Spider-Man. We know it’s you.” Peter laughed humorlessly, “You think I’m Spider-Man?” He squeezed the suit in his hand, “This is a cosplay.”  “Pretty accurate cosplay.” Mark praised. “Thank you.” Peter quipped, “I’m committed.” “Gargan didn’t send us here for a costume.”   “Doesn’t sound like he sent you with intelligible instructions,” Peter muttered under his breath but he could tell by the anger in their eyes, that they heard him. A quiet whimper echoed from the cupboard, and Peter couldn’t help himself, his head snapped to look. Worry for his sister pushing against his chest, making it hard to breathe. For a split second, Peter’s sixth sense was off-kilter So, he didn’t notice Mark’s finger pull back on the trigger.  He didn’t realise until the bullet hit his shoulder and his senses were forced to catch up. Morgan screamed. It was muted, behind the door, but loud enough for everyone to hear. “Fuck.” Peter cursed as the floor beneath him soften and he collapsed to his knees. “Petey!” Morgan bellowed as she slapped the palm of her hand against the door. Non-Mark advanced towards the cupboard, “We’ve got company.” “You touch her and I’ll kill you.” Peter’s threat was laced with venom. He was surprised. No, he was terrified that he meant it. Spider-Man didn’t kill, but Peter Parker might if someone dared lay a finger on Morgan Stark. He pressed down on his web-shooter, catching Non-Mark’s wrist, and trapping him against the wall. He did the same with Mark, securing him against the opposite wall.  Non-Mark, even in defeat, grinned, “Gotcha, Spidey.” Peter weakly got up onto his legs as he ignored the pain in his shoulder, “No, you don’t.” He rushed to the cupboard, he pulled it open and hurried inside, slamming it shut behind. He knew they wouldn’t be able to escape the webbing but he wasn’t letting Morgan bear them. His vision blurred and he collapsed in a heap next to his sister,  “Petey…” Morgan bounced up. At first, he thought she was going for a hug, but instead, she pressed her hand against the wound. He was impressed, but also disheartened, that she’d seen him injured so many times, that she’d grown accustomed.  “Hey…” Peter mumbled, "Thank you, Morgs.” He winced, he bit his lip to distract himself.  Morgan choked out a sob, “I’m sorry.” “No, it’s not your fault.” Her shoulders trembled as she cried, “I don’t wanna hurt you.” “You’re not hurting me.” He reassured her, “You’re helping.”  “Yeah?” “Yeah.” He brushed a hand through her hair, “I’m proud of you.”  The familiar sound of the thrusters echoed outside the cupboard, followed by three all-too-familiar voices; Tony, Pepper and Rhodey.  Peter reclined his head back as he sighed in relief, “Finally.” He waited until the noise died down before calling out, “Hey, we’re in here!”  The door was yanked open, at considerable force, it was a shock the hinges didn’t break. Tony fell to his knees in front of them, no longer in his suit, “Hey….” Peter glared at him, jokingly, “What time do you call this?” Tony rolled his eyes as he placed a hand on Morgan’s back, “Traffic was a nightmare.” He leaned over to look at Peter’s injury, “Let’s take a look, hey?” Morgan shook her head and shuffled away. Peter nudged her chin, “Hey.” He cooed, she looked at him, “It’s okay, Munchkin.” Morgan released his arm, and Tony moved close to investigate. Pepper rushed into view, panic etched across her face, “Morgan!” “Mummy!” Morgan jumped to her legs and crashed into Pepper’s open arms. Pepper picked her up, she let out a startled yelp, “Honey, are you bleeding? Are you hurt?” “It’s just mine.” Peter called up, “No biggy.” Pepper looked at him, with wide-eyes, she shook her head at his self-deprecation.  “No biggy, my arse.” Tony scoffed, “But it’s a clean shot.” He pushed curls out of Peter’s eyes, “You’ll live.” “Oh, no.” Peter mocked; Tony narrowed his eyes in disappointment, “So, did you get them?” “We got them.” Tony looked to the broken window, “Well, Rhodey’s taken them in.”  Peter swallowed the dread in his throat, “They know who I am.” “I know.” Tony gently tapped Peter’s cheek in a repetitive motion, “Trust me, they’re not gonna talk.” He jumped to his feet,  “Come on then, let’s get to the medbay, Spider-Man.” Peter flopped against the wall and shot Tony a mischievous smile, “Carry me.” Tony let out a heavy sigh as he bent down, scooping Peter up into his arms, “You’re lucky I love you.” 

[cowbelle8]

Hunter in a Temporary Mundane Life

Hunter in a Temporary Mundane Life

by cowbelle8

Summary: Between hunts the hunters take a little R and R. 

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader,  Sam Winchester

Word Count: 981

Warnings: I haven’t posted or written in a long time. Beware of grammatical errors. This is just my attempt at some fluff and flexing my underused writing muscles. 

*Not my image*

Happy hunting and God bless! Constructive criticism appreciated. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

(Reader)

There were times when hunts would be sporadic at best. At times you would go non stop, barely able to function due to exhaustion. Then, there were times when you may not find anything for weeks. So, sometimes you would indulge in a little bit of a mundane life, go back to the way things were before hunting. Go back to before anything terrible happened in your life. Sometimes you just needed to recharge yourself. Let what little innocence that was left in you surface to your exterior. This wasn’t often, but today was one of those rare, delectable days. 

You also had to laugh at yourself for it. After all you’ve seen in your life as a hunter, not much should scare you. Werewolves, vampires, and ferries, oh my! No those movies didn’t do it for you anymore. But, aliens, that was still a mystery. The unknown of life out there, beyond the sky. The possibilities were endless. Those were the only movies that did it for you anymore, that let you just be a girl for awhile. 

You put in your old time favorite, Signs. You lost count how many times you had seen it, and even though you knew when the scary parts were coming up they caught you off guard every time. As the movie started playing, you throw the covers over your head where only a peep hole was available for your view of the TV screen. You were enthralled in the movie 10 minutes in. The only distraction being the crunching of your kettle corn that you had stowed in your lap under the covers.

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

(Dean)

Naps are a delicacy around here. So you bet your bottom dollar I took advantage of that when things were running slow around here at the bunker. I had drifted back awake not really willing to move. The couch was just so damn comfy. I checked the time on my phone, apparently, it had been a long nap, and it was getting later in the day. Sitting up and stretching I got to looking around. No one seemed to be around. That wasn’t completely odd. You all had kind of done your one thing the past few days. Each of you taking some me time. But, I was ready for that to be some us time. 

I headed towards my room to put some clothes on other than sweat pants and a T-shirt, not paying much attention because all the bedroom lights were off. I strode past Y/N’s room without a thought. Stopping on a dime, I scrunched my face up in confusion and had to take a few steps back. 

There was a form on Y/N’s bed. A bit of a ghost blanket if you will. Then a squeal and a jump came from the ghost blanket. I couldn’t help but chuckle, causing the ghost blanket to look directly at me.

“What’cha doing sweetheart?

A head appeared through the top of the blanket, “Oh, dean?” you blushed. 

I walked into the room and saw the part of Signs where the alien walks buy like big foot and they rewind it and show it again. Which caused Y/N to sequel again. 

This caused me to chuckle again, “Any room under that blanket?”

She dropped the blanket around her exposing a spaghetti strap tank top and messy hair. Walking over I bent down to kiss her on the cheek and pulled some pop corn out of her hair, causing her to now blush with embarrassment. 

“No need to be embarrassed sweetheart,” I said with a smile and moved the bowl out of her lap. With another kiss to her nose, I picked her up and curled up on her bed with her now in my lap. Then, I covered us both with her comforter. It over my head and under her chin. She settled back against me, causing my heart to swell. 

I loved this girl. There were so many sides to her. She was one of the most bad ass hunters I knew, but there was also a tender side to her. A little bit of innocence left in her. That side of her made me feel like I have a normal life from time to time. 

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

(Sam)

Coming back from town, I decided it was good day for a cheat day, so I decided to bring back a pizza for me and the others. Everyone else was indulging with their time off, why not me too? Once back at the bunker, me and the pizza made our way into the kitchen, but there was no site of anyone and it was particularly quite. 

“I wonder where they could be.”

I took a look in the living area but no one was there either. I figured they were hold up in Dean’s room like they usually where and made my way towards our rooms. I was about to pass Y/N’s room when I had to stop short and take a closer look. There was a large blobbed blanket creature glowing in a TV light. 

“Hey guys you want some piz.....”

Y/N and Dean jumping out from under the blanket throwing a bowl of popcorn all over the place, “Aaaaahhhhh!” they hollered in unison. 

I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself, I loved how Y/N brought the kid out of the both of us. I left temporarily and returned with a blanket and the pizza. I opened up the box next to them and covered myself with my own blanket with a peep hole and watched the rest of the movie with them. 

The three of us were huddled up under blankets only to expose an arm for a slice a pizza. Days like this were my favorite. Things were never the same when Y/N came into our lives, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

[bigfan-fanfic]

The Bat-dads 5 (Batdad!Reader x Batfamily

Requested by @yesthetrashbin

Thank you so much for the first ask on this blog! Hope you like!

So, while in public you and Bruce are very refined and cool.

Think galas, red carpets, matching suits

Think Bruce “getting drunk” and getting handsy with people of both genders before you swoop in as the long-suffering spouse and take your playboy husband home

But reality is very different.

You wanted to make Wayne Manor a safe environment, even more so when the kids came into your lives. It should be a place where the harsh judgment of the press is gone and the nightly strife of vigilante work is absent

So there is a dress code at Wayne Manor: whatever the heck is comfortable.

Alfred is the only one aloud to wear formal clothes inside when there isn’t a party.

Dick and Jason tend to wear exercise gear. Tim wears whatever he’s been wearing for the last few days because he forgets to change. Damian has taken to wearing his Hogwarts robes everywhere.

Bruce generally wears his old Gotham University hoodie and pants, but sometimes he’ll wear just a bathrobe (and I’ll leave it to you what’s going on under there...)

Bruce is very affectionate. He’s lost a lot of people in his time, so he wants to show you how much he loves you every time he sees you

Long lingering kisses before patrol every night.

Dick thinks its adorable. “D’awwww...”

Jason pretends to stick his finger down his throat, and later covers Damian’s eyes and yells “there are CHILDREN present!” 

The first time you do it front of Tim he tilts his head as if critiquing your form

It makes you a bit uncomfortable

But much later, he’ll come ask you for kissin’ tips

Damian is angry the first time (’cause he still wants Bruce and Talia back together), but he gets better, though it gives him the oogies to see his parents macking out

“TT, Father, yours and Papa’s sickening display is entirely unnecessary. Don’t you see him every day?”

Bruce grins. “Just showing your Papa I love him, Damian.”

Damian thinks for a moment, then moves forward and gives you an awkward Voldemort hug. Then he punches Tim.

“OW! What was that for?”

“I am showing how I feel, like Father. Grayson, you are my favorite. Todd, I tolerate you.”

You may have to have a talk with him...

Bruce is a lot less so in public, because there are haters everywhere, although Gotham is surprisingly progressive

You and Bruce do a lot together.

Mainly parties and galas, because there are so many of them.

But also charities

Wayne Enterprises executive meetings

Press junkets

Lots of other stuff.

When you two were younger, when Bruce was just starting out as Batman, the Honeymoon Phase was 24/7.

The press ate it up.

Ferris wheel dates where Bruce paid the operator to make the ride “stick” with you two at the top.

Trips to movie premiers where there would be very little movie watching

Private candlelit dinners in the gardens of Wayne Manor with food Bruce made himself

It’s terrible. And Bruce knows it. And he knows you know it. But he loves you for muddling through it. And he loves you more when he offers to have Alfred whip something up and you say you’d rather not give him any more trouble.

With all the demands on your time, you rarely get enough time anymore beyond sleeping together

Bruce is surprisingly not so into taking charge in the bedroom

Probably because he always has to be on all the time as Bruce Wayne, and then he has to be constantly alert as Batman

So he likes it when you take control of the situation - it shows how much he trusts you that he’s willing to let go.

You guys might get a date night once every two months. In the spring-summer months. The holiday season is non-stop parties and villains trying to cancel all gift-giving holidays or something. 

Your least favorite villain is Calendar Man because he always seems to find some obscure holiday to attack on that coincides with date night.

Even holidays that aren’t REALLY holidays, like National Think About Cats Day or whatever.

When Calendar Man broke out of Arkham to throw cats at people on the day you and Bruce went to the swankiest place in Gotham, the kind even the Wayne name can’t get much preferential treatment at.

Not his worst crime, but good luck getting another reservation!

Bruce’s favorite thing about you is how positive you are.

Relatively.

Because please, anybody is a ray of sunshine next to “I am the night” Batman over there.

One wonderful moment was when you insulted Ra’s al-Ghul to his face.

He had come to the manor to recruit Bruce again, and you were there.

“You know, I’ve never actually heard your name said by anyone other than Bruce. How do you say it? Is it RAYSH, like racial? Or RAHSH, like Rosh Hashanah? Or is it RAZ, like razzamatazz?”

Ra’s (however you say it) is stunned.

Bruce has never seen the assassin lost for words. Talia is there, fuming and angry, but also impressed at the lack of fear you are showing

Because to say something like that takes either great stupidity or some real big...personality traits.

Who knows? Maybe it’s both.

And sure, maybe Ra’s tried to kill you then, but afterwards? He includes your continued survival in all his offers to Bruce. Maybe even as a cultural advisor/PR Liason to the League.

You two are couples goals for Gotham.

But you couldn’t care less about anyone else. ‘Cause you two have eyes for each other only.

When Selina or Talia shows up, you don’t take the high road.

Especially not with Selina. Although sometimes you are friends.

and especially especially not with Talia, because she’s hurt your son Damian as well as the love of your life, Bruce. And that does not fly with you.

Talia *shows up at the Batcave*: [to Bruce] Hello, Beloved.

Bruce (uncomfortably): Talia.

Talia *looks down her nose at you*: Hello, Fool.

You *smiling coldly*: Hello, Worst Mother Ever. Oh, wait, no. Hello, Rapist.

Talia: *snarls*

Anyway, you love each other through thick and thin.

And that’s all that matters.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Nothin’ Big

A/N: The 12 Days of Christmas start on Christmas Day and go into the new year. But the 12 Days of Christmas Fics starts RIGHT NOW. Starting the countdown with the sweetest Mafioso that ever lived. This is MM Nick. There’s a “chapter 3″ floating around unfinished, and this little interlude to the main story comes chronologically after it, but luckily non-linear storytelling is a game i like to play, so out of order it is! 

Word Count: 4,097 

Prompt from: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire​

“Just open it.”

“It’s not weird, it’s tradition.”

“I didn’t know what to get you. You’re not exactly easy to shop for.”

It was warmer in your drafty home than it had been since the weather turned. The heat still wasn’t working right, but for once you had all four burners on the stove going, and the tiny oven had been set to 375 all morning. The sweet smell of sugary confections filled the air as you pulled a batch of cookies from the center rack, setting the tray on top of the waiting trivets on the counter. Red, green and blue sprinkles covered the crisp, golden forms of trees, mittens and snowflakes, and you smiled as you slipped the quilted pot holders from your hands and stuck them into the pocket of your apron. Just need to finish the chocolate chip, then I can get dinner in and start cleaning up. You turned and grabbed the second tray, already loaded up with rounded dollops of dough, and placed it in the oven. The timer beeped as you set it for twelve minutes, the microwave chiming in to let you know that your coffee was once again an acceptable temperature. You grabbed your mug, a chipped ceramic snowman that was nearly as old as you were, noting the time as you took a sip of the warm nutty beverage. I’ve got three hours. Perfect.

Setting your coffee down, you started sliding the sugar cookies onto a sheet of tin foil so that they could cool. You’d admittedly gone overboard- one batch of cookies would have been more than enough, but you’d let yourself get carried away by the nostalgia of the beat up old recipe book, the stained apron and festive pot holders, ending up with two dozen each of the sugar cookies, chocolate chip, and oatmeal raisin that you’d made the night before. Gonna be eating cookies for breakfast lunch and dinner. You made a mental note to find the green tins in the closet upstairs so that you could fill them up and bring the leftover sweets in to work with you on Thursday. For tonight though, you’d pulled out the long glass tray etched with little reindeer that had once belonged to your grandmother. You ran your fingers over the design before arranging the cooled cookies, letting your mind wander back to Thanksgiving, and the start of this entire holiday hullabaloo.

..  .. ..  .. .. ..  ..

The wind lashed at the screens, causing them to buckle and knock against the glass panes, the windows shaking in their frames. You nestled deeper into the pile of blankets that you’d disappeared beneath, eyes shut tight as you sighed contentedly, pressing your cheek into the soft green pillowcase. Rain pattered against the roof, adding to the stormy symphony, the clouds contributing to the colorless sky. You loved sleeping through storms, especially on rare days off from work when you didn’t have to pull yourself from your cocoon before you were willing to do so. Normally your alarm would be blaring by 7am, alerting you that it was time to start your day, but turning your face to the clock on your side table, you pried one eye open just enough to see the bright red numbers reading 10:57. A sleepy smile pulled your lips upwards. Still so much time to sleep. You flipped your pillow, relishing the cool side as another strong gust rattled the glass and screens above your head. 

But just as you felt yourself giving in to the waves of slumber that would take you back into dreams, your phone rang. It buzzed and vibrated against the wooden surface of your bedside table, causing you to jolt, nearly falling out of bed in a tangle of sheets and covers. What the- you groaned, slowly realizing that you’d forgotten to turn your phone on silent. You never got calls on your days off, so you didn’t bother to switch the setting before crawling into bed. Glancing at the phone clutched in your hand, you read the caller ID, blinking questioningly at it. Huh? What’s he calling me for? Sudden panic mixed with your sleepy confusion as you swiped your screen to answer.

“Hello?” Your heart pounded three times in the half beat it took him to respond.

He spoke your name in a sigh of relief. “Where are you? Ya good? Ya okay?” His questions tumbled out one after the next, accent thicker than you’d heard it in person.

“Nick? Yeah, of course I’m fine, what are you…what do you mean? What’s going on?” You raised yourself up on your knees and turned to peer through the curtains, nothing to see but a gray sky and a few seagulls swooping through it. “Why are you callin’ me?”

“You’re okay? You’re not…” he let out a heavy breath. “You’re not hurt or…or anythin’?”

His tone was only making you more nervous and unsure. Hurt? Why would he think that? “Nick, calm down. I’m fine. Where are you, what’s going on?” You sat back against your pillows, pulling your knees to your chest.

“I’m…at work. I’m outside, it’s,” you heard the rattle of the door handle as he tried to yank it open. “It’s locked and the lights are out. There’s no cars here. No one’s here and you usually are so…” The door rattled once more as he let it go. “So I wanted to make sure nothin’ happened.”

He was worried about me? You couldn’t really blame him, considering how things had gone only a few weeks before when you’d gone from cashbox girl to getaway driver to…whatever new label your latest antics had earned you. “Nothin’ happened, Nick, everything’s okay.”

He sighed again and you heard a soft thud, imagining him collapsing back against the locked door, that one section of hair falling in his face as he tucked his chin to his chest. “Okay. Okay, good, I… Okay…so where is everyone? No Steve? No Ralph?”

Pfft. I wish no Ralph, ever, that’s the dream. “No, Nick. No Steve, no Ralph, no me. Dockside’s closed today, it’s-“ The adrenaline had cleared the drowsiness from your brain, and it socked you in the gut that he had absolutely no idea why things weren’t operating like business as usual today. “Nick, it’s Thanksgiving. Even we close on Thanksgiving.”

He was silent for a few seconds, just the sound of the waves crashing against the vacant boat slips echoing in the background. The smaller sailboats and scuppers had all been plucked from the water to dry dock inland for the winter the week before, and soon enough the remaining ferries and large fishing boats would don festive lights and evergreen roping to usher in the Christmas season. “Shit,” he finally whispered. “Shit, I forgot about Thanksgivin’…” There was sadness in the silence as his sentence tapered off, and it sent a chill through your chest as the screen banged against the glass above your head. “I’m sorry, I- you probably have holiday plans and…and family an all that an-“

“I don’t.” You cut him off, biting your lip. “I uh…well, my plan was to sleep ‘til noon but some jerk had to call me and wake me up, so,” You gave a nervous laugh, hoping to erase whatever tension or uneasiness he was still feeling. “So I’m up now. Nothing planned but football and beer today if you wanna… I mean if you got nothin’ to do, you could come watch the games with me.” You said you’d be careful with this one. What are you doing inviting him here? You told yourself to shut up while you waited for his response.

He sniffed. “Yeah? You…you sure you don’t mind me crashin’ your party?”

Again that chill swam through your chest. He was trying to joke, but there was something there, something that sounded like loneliness and regret, and it was something you understood. Oh, Nick, of course I’m sure. If you were being completely honest with yourself, you were feeling just as lonely as he sounded, despite telling yourself over and over that you enjoyed the way that you spent your holidays, and company might just be the cure for that misery. “Yeah, I mean, don’t go expecting a turkey and stuffing and all that jazz or anything. I’m pulling out exactly zero stops here,” you paused and the sound of his chuckle chased some of that chill away. “But yeah, you’re welcome to join me. If you want.” You held your phone tightly to your ear, the backs of your earrings digging into the skin behind the lobes as you tried not to get your hopes up too much that he’d say yes.

“Alright,” he said a few hour long seconds later. “Alright, yeah, that’s…”

“Alright? That a yes, Nick?” You flung the sheets from the bed and stood, your free hand combing through your hair as you headed for a shower you wouldn’t have taken if it was just going to be you.

“Yeah,” he said, and you couldn’t help but grin at your reflection as you passed the long mirror hanging on your closet door. “Yeah, it’s a yes. Text me your address…I’ll see you for the games.” You were about to wrap up the conversation  before hurrying to make yourself and your place presentable when he spoke your name, solidly, like it mattered. “Thank you. For doin’ this.”  

..  .. ..  .. .. ..   .. .. 

By the time you’d finished in the kitchen, plating everything on the festive dishware that hadn’t gotten any use in over a decade and cleaning up the inevitable mess that your cooking space became every time you made a foray into the culinary arts, it was nearly 3pm. You hung the apron you’d been wearing all morning and afternoon on the hook next to the fridge, and ran upstairs to change and freshen up, the steps creaking beneath your socked feet as you took them two at a time, the framed photos that lined the staircase blurring by the corners of your eyes.

You exchanged your oversized tee shirt and dark green flannel pajama pants for a bright red cable knit sweater that fell off your right shoulder and a pair of black jeans that clung to your hips and thighs. Smoothing your hands down over the material of your top and picking off a few stray pieces of lint, you looked yourself over in the mirror. Your hair had been pulled up and clipped in place, soft tendrils falling around your face, and you’d dug your green and silver droplet earrings out from the bottom of your jewelry box. They sparkled, light bouncing off of the emerald facets, but you opted not to do your makeup. This is still just… we’re just friends. This is just two people spending a holiday together, so they don’t have to do it alone. No need to… I don’t need lipstick for that.

The fact was that it had been becoming increasingly difficult to see Nick as just a friend, and impossible to see him as simply a co-worker. Whatever had changed that night when you’d helped him pull off his inaugural job for Steve had deepened at Thanksgiving, when he’d shown up at your door with two turkey subs and a side of mashed potatoes from Wawa. He’s such a good guy. How’d he ever get caught up in all’a this? You’d laughed as he brandished the bag and a grin, opening the door for him and wondering if he questioned the same about you.

..  .. ..  .. .. ..

You were on your third beer and Nick his fourth, empty, crumpled wrappers and a few shreds of lettuce all that remained of your holiday meal, when the second game of the day cut away to the halftime show. Both of you had gotten comfortable on your well-worn couches, you curled up in the corner where the two sides formed an L shaped angle, and Nick sprawled out on the reclining portion, shoeless feet propped up on the extended foot rest. “S’a nice place,” he said, looking around the room while the game was on hold.

You laughed, a warm fuzzy tickle in your brain from the beer, and it yanked the corners of his mouth up into a smile that wrinkled the skin on the bridge of his nose. “No it’s not. It’s drafty and old and creaky. The pipes freeze, the heat’s toast, and –“

“Yeah,” he said, draping one arm over the back of the couch. “Maybe all that’s true. But it’s yours. And it’s,” he looked around at the few decorations and knick-knacks that defined the space, some old, some new, all of them having some kind of meaning. “It’s cozy. I dunno, feels,” he shrugged. “Feels homey.”

“That’s because it’s the only home I ever had,” you explained plainly, blinking at the eyelet lace that lined the curtains. You sighed, facing him with a small smile. “This is where I grew up. Pretty much everything you see has been here longer than…well longer than I have, actually.” The tickle in your brain faded and you felt a tug behind your ribs, reminding you of memories made and teasing you about the ones that would never come to fruition. Time for another round. You stood then, grabbing the deli wrappers and the empty potato container. 

“Lemme help ya” he stood, swinging his legs over the side of the recliner and leaving it extended. In just half a step he was right next to you, so close that you could smell his cologne mixing with the beer on his breath. You could feel the warmth coming off his body, his socked feet only a few centimeters from your own, the heavily worn orange carpet tufting up in the space between. He bent down to reach for the wrappers, knuckles nearly brushing yours.

You turned, the paper and container in one hand and four empty bottles between the fingers of the other, to face him. “Nah, sit, I got this.” You looked up into his dark brown eyes, wondering if the chocolate in them was bittersweet. He tried to protest, swiping his hand over his hair as he opened his mouth, but you cut him off. “I said sit, Nick, guests don’t help.” And I need to pull myself together, here. “I’ll grab you a beer, ‘kay?” 

He nodded, a sideways smile lifting one rounded cheek into his eye, lips twitching beneath the scruffy stubble. “‘Kay,” he did as he was told and sank back into his seat while you ducked into the kitchen. “Hey what’s this shelf up here for?” He called as you stuffed the trash into the can under the sink. “S’empty.” 

You sucked in a breath as you reached for two more brown bottles in the fridge and thought about how to answer. The shelf in question ran the length of the wall above the couch from corner to corner, held up by carved maple brackets stained a rich amber color. “Uh, yeah.” You let the refrigerator door swing closed with a soft smack, and returned to the living room. Handing him his drink, you followed his eyes up to the one item on the shelf- a small snow globe depicting the lighthouses of the Outer Banks, the base sculpted to look like the crashing waves of the Atlantic. 

Using the neck of your bottle, you pointed up to the lone trinket. “Used to be more of those…” you took a sip, the hoppy IPA doing nothing to dislodge the knot that unexpectedly formed at the memory of that shelf when it was full. “A lot more.” You finished, punctuating your thought with another swig. 

You hadn’t turned around, but you could feel his intense eyes on you. “What happened to ‘em?” 

Short answer? “They broke.” You blinked twice and gave a minute shake of your head to clear the images of shattered glass, your father’s desperate, tear stained face, the heartbreak in the vibrations of his vocal chords as he threw each one to the ground. 

“All these goddamn perfect moments!” He grabbed two more pieces of your mother’s collection and hurled them downward, glittery liquid splashing over the floorboards. “All these perfect fuckin moments of hers and what good are they now?!”

You’d gotten him to stop in time to save the last one, a memento from a family vacation from a decade past- from before she’d gotten sick and lived vicariously through the memories trapped inside the crystal globes. It was all you had left that meant anything to you. You turned back to face Nick, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand before you did. “But what can you do, right? Things break.” 

His forehead wrinkled as his brows gathered together. “Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Things break.” 

.. .. .. .. .. .. .. 

At 3pm on the dot you heard his knuckles rap against the borders of your screen door. He’s here. Setting the last bowl on the table, you tugged at the sleeves of your sweater and headed for the door. He was standing on your front step, vapor puffing from his mouth as he let out a breath in the frosty winter air. As usual, he was dressed all in black, a stark contrast to the white sky, frozen blanket of crusty snow and unlit decorations all around him. He turned as he heard you opening the door, a smile on his face. “Merry Christmas Eve, Nick,” you greeted him, welcoming him in from the cold. 

“Merry Christmas Eve to you too,” he responded, scraping his boots against the doorframe before entering your home. You let the screen swing closed and bolted the front door against the chill. When you turned back, he was looking at you with a shine in his dark eyes. “You look…” he gestured up and down your height. “You look nice. Real festive.” 

You felt your cheeks flush and rolled your eyes inwardly at yourself. “Oh, thanks,” you mumbled through a smirk. 

Nick looked around your living room, taking in the tree, lights, and other decorations before landing on the table in the dining room, laden with trays, dishes and serving bowls. “And all this is... “ He grinned with a small shake of his head. 

“Go big or go home.” You shrugged and winked, reaching for the coat he’d just removed. The top lines of the ink on his neck peeked over the collar of his shirt, and you swallowed the flush before it made it to your cheeks this time. Stop it, will you? You can’t...he can’t… It was only after you’d hung his coat and you were about to offer him a glass of eggnog or a hot cider when you realized he was holding a small gift bag. “Nick,” you tilted your head as he extended his arm out to hand it to you. “What did you...you didn’t have to-” 

He stepped closer and you curled your fingers around the gold ribbon handles, the contents of the bag shifting and feeling heavier than you assumed as he let go. “Just open it.” He cocked his head over towards the couch before taking a seat himself. You followed, sitting down beside him, leaving enough space between your thigh and his. “It’s nothin’ big or anythin’, just…” 

You reached in, digging through the crumpled tissue paper. When your fingertips found a smooth, round surface, your heart skipped off rhythm. Is that..? Closing your grip around the round object, you pulled it from the gift bag. Oh, Nick. You turned the object over in your hands, the white glitter floating magically through the clear liquid and falling down around a bright green Christmas tree topped with a shiny gold star and surrounded by colorful gifts. “Nick…” you whispered his name, staring at the globe in your hands before lifting your eyes to his. “Nick, it’s…” He smiled and you couldn’t keep one from your own face, from your own heart. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” 

He shrugged. “Ah, your welcome, like I said, it’s nothin’ big, just...ya know,” he pointed to the shelf above where you sat. “Figured you’d wanna fill that back up.” 

It’s huge, Nick. You don’t know how big that is to me. You stood on the couch cushion and placed his gift next to the lighthouse globe, catching a flush leaving his cheeks as you came back down. “Well, Tortano, you figured right.” You fixed the pillows, smacking a holiday throw as you stood back up. “And I actually…” you toyed with your earring before your hand fell behind your neck. “I did something for you, too.” 

“What? C’mon you didn’t have ta get me nothin’, it’s nice enough you invited me over and-“ 

“Relax,” you laughed and held up your hands, palms facing him. “It’s not… it’s not a gift really. Not that you can open anyway. I still don’t know you that well, so I didn’t know what to get you. You’re not exactly easy to shop for.”

It was true, and it was by design. You and Nick shared very few personal details with one another. He knew you were estranged from your father but didn’t know why. You knew he had a brother but didn’t know where. Mostly, you kept things light, which was what both of you needed. But with each week that passed you felt things take on more and more weight. Like when he’d told you how much he’d miss spending Christmas Eve with his family this year; how he’d miss his cousins and brother, his aunts and his Nonna, all the food and the laughter. It would be the first one that he’d missed, and though he tried to shrug it off you could tell that it hurt him more than he was letting on. 

.. .. .. .. .. .. 

“Does your family do the six fishes thing?” You’d asked, trying to learn what you could about the man you’d just spent Thanksgiving with. “I always thought that was weird, but hey who’m I to judge?” 

He’d been turning a bottle cap over in his long fingers, and he tossed it at you breaking into a grin. “It’s not weird, it’s tradition,” he protested. You laughed, swatting the small metal projectile away from your face. “And it’s seven, not six.” 

.. .. .. .. .. .. 

“So, yeah,” you gestured toward the dining room table and the array of seafood that sat atop the holly patterned tablecloth. Nick gripped the back of one of the chairs, staring at the spread. “It’s not much, but,” You’d stopped at the Fishery in Keyport and picked up two or three each of shrimp, crab legs, scallops, and mussels, as well as a filet of flounder and one of salmon. “I know it’s not like your family’s cooking but… traditions are important.” 

He turned to you, mouth open and eyes wide. “You…” you watched him swallow the words that he couldn’t get out, then shake his head before dragging one hand down over his mouth, letting out a stunned burst of air. “This is amazing,” He finally said, not taking his eyes off of yours. A spark ignited in them as a slow, mischievous grin spread up his face. Here it comes. You’d been waiting for this moment, knowing it would make him laugh. “But I’m only countin’ six here.” 

“Count again, Tortano,” you smirked, watching him scan the table, and knowing exactly when he’d found the seventh “fish” by the twitch of his lip and the crinkle near his eye. Between a pot of penne and a dish of green beans sat a small snack bowl full of goldfish crackers. You grabbed a small handful, tossing one at his chest and popping the rest in your mouth. “Seven fishes.” 

In a moment that happened too quickly for either of you to stop it, he wrapped his arms around you, one behind your waist and the other draped over your shoulder. He pulled you tight against himself, so close that you had no choice but to lean your cheek against his chest. You found it easy to slip your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace. Too easy. “Merry Christmas”, you felt more than heard him say the words, and before you could respond he released you, his watch sliding back down his arm as it fell to his side. 

Way too easy. “Merry Christmas, Nick.”

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