#so may at least go back and share a few pieces that did better

[artbyzephra]

[adviceformefromme]

GLOW-UP LIKE NEVER BEFORE SERIES

Ladies, we are here. This is the beginning of your glow-up like never before by 2025. We are not sleeping on ourselves in the remaining four months of this year. There is no more putting yourself second, wishing and wanting to be a better version of yourself, because this is your opportunity to show up for you. I will be providing the steps and guidance so stay tuned, its going to be a journey. One that kicks off today. 

Week 1: CREATING THE VISION

This week is for getting into the energy of how you want to feel come January 2025. The vision should excite you, you want to feel like your wildest dreams are possible and this where you lean into faith, trust and imagination. 

Step 1: On the first page of your new journal script 3 pages in present tense of what your life looks and feels like on January 1st 2025. You want to get into the small details, using all your senses, what you can hear, see, smell, feel, go all in. Write as much as you can to embody the version of you in your highest expression. It might seem crazy to write this, especially in such a short amount of time, but once you start moving correctly timelines can easily be collapsed. I am a walking testimony of this, as I went from sharing a room in the UK to moving into a spacious 2-bed open view apartment overseas, within four weeks. Did I believe? Yes. Had I been doing all the steps I am sharing with you? Yes.  By scripting your life, as crazy and whacky as it may seem you are moving your dreams from thought to reality. A dose of faith is also required for step 1. 

Step 2: Vision board, this is where you get to have fun. Find those images on Pinterest that make you feel ‘omg is this my actual fucking life *screams internally* ‘. Again, no playing small. If you want the G-wagon and you’re driving the Honda, add it to your board, if you’re wanting to write a book, add a New York Times bestseller sticker to your vision board, bring your dreams to life. Save to desktop, screensaver, phone Home Screen. You want to see your vision board at the very least a few times per week. 

Step 3: Write supporting affirmations for your new vision life. I am, I feel, it feels so good to….Lean into the feelings, be creative. As you write your affirmations a minimum of five, you want to record these on your phone and loop them before bed. You can extend these affirmations, and turn it into a rampage - this is where you really speak life into yourself, going into more details. Your recording can be 1 min  - 5 mins. It doesn’t have to be crazy long, the main point is to keep it simple and inspiring. You want to feel inspired when you listen, your own voice, speaking life into your dreams, declaring them. Once you’ve got the recording - LOOP IT. You want this on loop when you’re out on walks this week, when you’re overthinking, but most importantly before you go to bed. Leave it on loop overnight. The goal is to do this every single night for one week. 

Step 4: In the back of your journal in short hand write your 1-3 top goals. It might be earn £10k per month, move into your dream apartment, work for x company. Whatever it is, in very simple words write them, 1-3. And do this EVERY SINGLE DAY. If you skip write it in your phone notes or on the nearest piece of paper. Set a reminder on your phone, because this is such a simple step to manifesting that actually WORKS. 

I know it might seem like some effort to do steps 1-4, but do you want to live the life of your dreams and invest in your expansion and be so proud of who you are come 1st Jan 2025, or do you want to scroll like a cabbage, and watch everyone else live their dream life, and feel like another year, another of unfulfillment ? Your task, put 30mins - 1 hour aside today to do the above. Homework for the rest of the week, read your affirmations, listen to your recording daily before bed and write those goals down! 

Coming next: Week 2: Living by your values + creating space for your dream life… 

[lost-in-beacon-hills]

Someone has probably already pointed this out but mentoring is hell. When Snow and all the other kids get assigned to being a mentor for the games they all end up falling for their tribute in a way. Or at least most of them do. They develop soft spots for them. Snow falls for Lucy Gray. Lysistrata fell for Jessup. Even Juno shows remorse over Bobbins death. Nearly all these capitol born children find out when mentoring that the kids they watch die are actually people.

At nearly every turn in the ballad of songbirds and snakes you see all capitol born citizens get personally involved with them. And when they inevitably lose them they all become different. It changes who they were. Each of them gets a little more convinced that their kid isn't district. Snow even pushes the idea that Lucy Gray is practically capitol. Within the mentoring they all view their tribute as the exception. The one that doesn't belong to a district. Their tribute is always better or smarter or kinder than the rest. A few of them even get saved by their tribute. The tribute didn't have to do it but they did. So to them they can't possibly be from a district.

Making the victors mentor the children from their own district is fucked in a lot of ways. Every year they are forced to get close to another kid, knowing their families back home are depending on them to do their best to bring them back. They try their damnedest to save them but the odds aren't always in their favor. It takes away the opportunity for their capitol citizens to humanize them while making them isolated on all sides. They don't want the capitol citizens getting too close because if they do then they'll realize these are people. They allow the winners to go home while being the richest in the district. In twelve, we see that everyone is starving while Haymitch is fine. This helps isolate the victors even more.

Who would want to look at their winner when people are dying and they are doing perfectly fine? Who would want to look at the person that didn't bring your child home? They may know the capitol is to blame but the mentor always shares that responsibility in their mind.

It's part of the punishment for the victors too. It's not enough to force them into prostitution and sex slavery. You need more than bodily control over them to keep them broken and beaten down.

The capitol does such a good job at isolating and punishing victors. You're forced to mentor a child every year that you may or may not know. Half of them are already dying or too weak to fight back and yet you are their only chance of survival. You have to be willing to forgive your fellow mentors for the actions of their tributes because they are the only ones who will ever truly know the hell of losing everything. They are the ones that understand the hate from all sides. The victors are hated by the president, their own districts (outside of the career districts but they have their own fucked problems) and by the kids they have to shepard to death.

Snow's games is designed to make them view the other districts as the enemy and for the most part it works. They want the victors to hate each other but by having control over everything else all they are left with is each other. Even if they wanted to hate each other there would be no point. They have no one else. Their games change them. No one back home is able to pick up their pieces.

In bosbas he reflects that all the capitol mentors now are bonded. It's a club with an unbreakable connection. I think he saw how dangerous it was to let their citizens be too close and just how painful it was to do that job. Imagine being one of the few like Haymitch that had 20+ years of failure to haunt them with a district full of children blaming them for the losses.

[natashasvixen]

Bunny love

Summary: As much as she may try to hide it from her Rio knows that Agatha gets lonely when she has to “work” and while away she finds what she hopes may be the perfect companion for her wife.

Tags: Pure fluff, married Agathario, soft Rio, soft Agatha, baby Señor Scratchy, pet names (mi amor, angel) , pre Agatha all along?

💢Spoilers if you don’t know Rio’s identity yet💢

Author’s note: Hi hello, I genuinely don’t remember the last time I wrote anything but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head and I just love them so much, we aren’t going to talk about how much research I did into rabbit breeds being introduced to which countries and in which years, it’s embarrassing…. Enjoy!

Scotland 1953

It was late into the night, maybe even early morning judging by the pitch blackness outside the windows as Agatha sat next to the fireplace she’d been tending with a blanket thrown over her lap and one of her many spell books balanced neatly on the arm of the couch. The Scottish winters were harsh but the little cottage nestled away in the highlands that her and Rio shared fared well and it was more than worth it for the beauty of the landscape that surrounded their home. Here she and her wife almost felt closer to their witch roots than even that of being back in Salem and Agatha certainly didn’t miss the reminders of her Mother and Coven everywhere she looked, here in the forest surrounded by only nature she knew they were safe to live their life together, not having to hide their magic or their love for one another.

With a slight sigh Agatha pulled herself out of her little daydream and focused her eyes back on the pages of the book in front of her, her head was starting to hurt from the jumble of Latin and other languages, Agatha reached forward for the piece of paper she was jotting down notes on, grabbed her pen and wrote down a few more things that could be of help for the spell she was trying to create, Rio said she was mad trying to make a child of magic that would be both of theirs equally but Agatha would go to the ends of the earth to make it true, she wanted nothing more than a family with the love of her life and deep down she knew Rio wanted it too, she didn’t care if it was against the laws of magic to do so and for hours upon end every day she would read every spell book and grimoire cover to cover trying to find all the answers and incantations she may need to finally make her and Rio’s dream a reality.

The Netherlands (somewhere)

To be perfectly honest Rio wasn’t sure where she was, the Netherlands that’s for sure but she’s not sure which city she is on the outskirts of, you’d think after hundreds of years of transporting souls of the dead to their final resting place all over the world she would be better at her geographical knowledge but it wasn’t really important when you always had the same destination to reach in the end. It had been a tiring trip, yes she was death personified but that didn’t mean what she had to do got any easier over the years, this time it had been a young family and while at least they could stay together it still drained her to think of the life they could have had. Gently she lowered herself to sit on a frosted log and took a moment to collect herself before heading home to her beloved. As Rio rested her head in her hands she heard a faint rustling in front of her, she narrowed her eyes and looked forward, faintly bringing her green magic to the surface, even now the memories of the witch trials hung over her head and she was always ready to protect herself if need be.

Much to Rio’s amusement a small rabbit emerged from the undergrowth, “wow lady death being spooked by a bunny rabbit that’s a new low” she mused to herself as she watched the rabbit tentatively move closer to her. “Well you certainly aren’t meant to be out here, you’re definitely not a wild rabbit” Rio spoke to the small creature slowly lowering her hand out for the bunny to sniff, the little thing was as far from a wild rabbit as you could get, bright white with speckles of light orange and black spots and the floppiest ears you’ve ever seen also far too tiny to be out wandering alone.

Being a green witch and yet also lady death was a confusing combination for nature to comprehend sometimes, Rio was drawn to nature and it often returned the same feeling towards her, that included the living beings that inhabited its world and this baby rabbit seemed no different, hopping over after a quick sniff of her hand and settling down under Rio’s cloak to shield itself from the cold breeze that washed over the countryside, she chuckled at its actions and flicked her wrist, her green magic making some dandelions sprout from the icy ground which the rabbit happily munched on.

As the witch watched the small rabbit eat she pondered to herself, “can’t exactly leave you out here can I? And Agatha has been going on about getting a familiar” the tiny ball of fluff stood up on its back legs resting its front feet on the side of Rio’s leg barely reaching above her boot and looking at her intently. Rio smiled to herself and scooped the rabbit into her arms who settled down instantly into the warmth, “she’s going to say I’ve gone soft” she scoffed to herself as she prepared to transport herself and her new little companion home.

Agatha’s research for the night was becoming increasingly exhausting and she knew she should have been in bed hours ago, this was made abundantly clear when she felt the familiar pull of her wife’s magic that was so intertwined with her own she knew when she was close, meaning she was in fact home from helping another soul pass on through the veil.

Rio always transported herself home outside of their cottage when she was late not wanting to wake her wife from her slumber however as soon as she found herself on the snow dusted doorstep of their home she could feel Agatha’s magic humming with life and clearly not sleeping, gently tucking the little bundle of fluff she was carrying further into her cloak both to keep him warm and hidden so she could surprise her lover she gently eased the wooden door open and slipped inside quickly to not let the heat of the fire out.

Slipping off her boots and easing down the hood of her green cloak she moved her way into the living area where she saw her wife smiling tiredly at her from her comfy position on the couch, “mi amor what are you still doing awake” Rio asked quietly as she raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Just doing some more research” Agatha sighed, motioning to the still open spell book, “I didn’t realise the time, how was your trip angel?�� She questioned softly. Rio scoffed as she always did at the pet name Agatha had bestowed upon her all those years ago when they met for the first time, quite fitting being called an angel when she was literally death itself. “Tiring” she mumbled leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her wife’s head, as she did Agatha noticed movement beneath Rio’s cloak and a quick hiss came from her wife’s mouth, Agatha noted that she still had one arm tucked away behind the fabric. She tilted her head quizzically at the green witch, “what are you hiding from me?” She questioned reaching to grab at her cloak, “ah ah ah” Rio tutted, pulling away, “it’s a surprise” she said, holding up her other hand to wave a finger at her wife mockingly.

“Oh come on Ri you know I hate surprises” Agatha said getting up on her knees to try get a better look over the back of the couch at what her wife was concealing underneath her cloak. Rio rounded the couch and Agatha turned to follow her movements now sitting crossed legged as Rio stood in front of her with both her arms now tucked back inside her cloak, “you’re going to make fun of me” the green witch said as she became uncharacteristically shy and turned her body slightly away.

“Well that depends what it is but I promise I’ll try not to tease” Agatha said with a smirk reaching her hand out to beckon Rio closer to her.

Now Rio stood right in front of Agatha and the purple witch gently took hold of the arm that her wife had been hiding and noticed that there were scratch marks, “you think I’m going to make fun of you for getting scratched?” Agatha questioned looking confused “why haven’t you healed it these are hardly anything” right as she finished her sentence from Rio’s other arm and behind the fabric of her cloak hopped the tiny bunny landing straight in Agatha’s lap. “Well now you’ve ruined the surprise” Rio glared at the bunny making Agatha burst out laughing.

Rio pouted and crossed her arms over her chest “told you you’d make fun of me” she whined. Agatha’s laughter died down wiping a tear from her eye as she looked up at her wife who looked like an annoyed child, “I’m not making fun of you love he just took me by surprise” she giggled as she pulled her wife to sit next to her and started to pet the bunny who sat happily in her lap like nothing had happened, “and what pray tell made you take me home a sweet baby bunny?” She asked leaning over to press a kiss to Rio’s cheek.

Rio sighed leaning into her wife’s side, “well you haven’t let up about wanting a familiar recently and besides he found me not the other way around” she smiled reaching over to boop the bunny’s nose.

Agatha looked down lovingly at the bunny as she continued to pet him, “I was thinking more black cat or raven you know but hmmm I think I can train him up to be a scary bunny” Agatha cooed as she snuggled the bunny under her chin, not long after he kicked off his back feet jumping onto Agatha’s lap before further hopping down to the floor and flopping himself in front of the fireplace leaving Agatha with matching scratches on her arms, “te veo señor” Rio laughed and her and Agatha fell into each other giggling at the rabbits antics, “scratchy little thing” Agatha said examining her and her wife’s arms before looking back at the rabbit clearly making himself at home, “that’s what I’ll call you” she said placing a kiss to that back of Rio’s hand, “Señor Scratchy” she said looking into her wife’s eyes “thank you my angel” she said softly before leaning in and connecting their lips in a soft kiss, when they parted Rio started placing kisses on Agatha’s arm, “now let me fix the little devil’s marks” she smirked at her wife before starting to gently lick at the superficial wounds, “I missed you amor” she sighed against her skin, “I missed you too angel” Agatha said gently kissing her wife’s head.

Their perfect little family was almost complete.

[littlemissstel]

Hi! Your Shiu pieces are so lovely - he doesn’t get enough fluff or, ya know, stories in general.

May I please request a story of him attempting to quit smoking because the woman he is into doesn’t want to date a smoker?

Feel free to ignore this, if the idea is not interesting to you 🫶🏻

Lollipops and Smoke- Shiu Kong

Helloo!! Thank you for the kind words<3

IKRR the amount (well lack of) of Shiu media is actually outrageous, he's the reason i started this blog😭Hopefully this is on par with what you were thinking of Xx

Pre-relationship, swearing, uses of the names "bastard", "minx", "Doll", "Sweetheart", "Darling", no uses of (Y/n),mentions of drug use

It is past midnight now and you were in Shiu's car as he drove you home after a long day of dealing with clients. The two of you have engaged in what seems like a thousand different conversations on the way there, but he's not quite sure how you landed in this one...

"You're really not going to tell me?"

"I'm not sure what you mean Doll. There is nothing to tell."

"Shiu. Let's be honest for a second here. There's no way you've only done cigarettes throughout your life. With the things you've told me about your youth, you had to of been high at least once."

Shiu holds in a chuckle, shaking his head with a wide smile at your deadpan expression.

The truth is you were right. He was a seasoned connoisseur in the field of substances thanks to his party days and he does conveniently forget to tell you the part were he puffed, sniffed or drank in his stories of nostalgia. When he first started out in the job, he had to entertain clients by sharing a drink/drag or two, though that was never something he found enjoyable and has since promoted out of it.

It's not that Shiu was regretful about his past experiences, no, He just wasn't proud of them either. He had great times which made for great memories but he knows what kind of impression they can give off and for someone like you- for someone he is trying to impress- he believes some memories are better left unsaid.

"I'm really not as old as you think i am. This is my youth-"

"Yeah right-"

"Enough about me. You're real fuckin' nosey you know that? What drugs have you done, Sweetheart?" He sends you a playful glare through the mirror.

"Paracetamol and Ibuprofen."

This earns a deep laugh out of Shiu, something that has become more frequent during your time with him yet you still take the moment to properly intake the resonant sound.

"I did have a boyfriend who was into a few things though. It didn't last very long."

"Was he trouble?"

"No, he was sweet, but i just don't think i could be with someone who does anything, you know..."

"Nothing at all?"

"Nothing. No vapes or cigs. Nothing that lingers."

What you said lingered in Shiu's mind. Long, long after the fact. He was somewhat surprised, you never seemed to have a problem when he smoked around you - then again he tried to limit the amount of times that happened. Then again he might be wrong and you just don't like him back.

But he liked you.

He liked you enough to go against his better judgement of pursuing you- no matter how selfish it may have been, and so he liked you enough to finally start his mid-year resolution to put down the cigarettes. That night he laid covert in the darkness of his bedroom, scrolling through an endless amount of forums from ex-smokers and ordering an unjustifiable amount of lollipops, gum and nicotine patches.

Shiu had always been the number one user of the saying, "I can quit when i want" and part of that was true...he could quit when he wanted. It didn't mean he wanted to struggle when he did though. His job was stressful and the only method of relaxation he could find that fit into his busy schedule was smoking. Now he just had to experiment...

Throughout the next few weeks you noticed a few changes in Shiu.

First, he seemed irritable.

Not to you- to you he was just quieter than usual- but Toji had been the one informing you that Shiu had "A stick shoved up his ass for the entire week", though this was after discussing how they were going to split the shares of his commission which meant the statement was untrustworthy.

Secondly, he was less focused and increasingly restless, which drew the most concern from you because Shiu was always well managed. It was one of the first things you learnt about him and he hasn't faltered since so when he started to zone out and tap against the steering wheel to an inconsistent beat you only became more skeptical.

But your last and final straw...was his sweet tooth.

The ravenette was a chronic enjoyer of savoury foods. You had seen him nursing a lolli' in his mouth consistently for the past few days, sure. But when a multi-pack of 300 lollipops sat discarded in the backseat of his car you knew something was up.

"What is going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"What's going on with you?"

His brows furrowed as he spared you a quick glance.

"What do you mean, darling? I've been fine."

"You've been acting weird...First toji says you've been irritated all week but now you've got a sweet tooth and a thousand lollipops in your backseat. I know you don't have a kid Shiu. Unless you're about to tell me you're going to kidnap one."

"I am not going to kidnap anyone."

"Then are you okay?"

The car stops at the red light and Shiu sighs weakly, meeting your eyes with an unreadable expression.

"I've quit smoking. Trying to replace it with something better. I like lollipops."

Your mouth droops into an "o" expression. Well that makes sense, you hadn't thought about it but why would you? It seems a bit abrupt, no? Most people ease out of smoking and you haven't seen him hold a cigarette in...well...a long time.

"Why- i mean, no congratulations- but- how long has it been since you stopped?"

"Three weeks give or take"

"Oh..."

The car filled with a thick silence only disturbed with the low rumbles of the engine. You're not quite sure what to say. What is there to say? He sounds pretty decided and you fully support his decision but- oh...You can't help the feeling of guilt that washes over you.

"It isn't to do with what i said is it?..." Shiu's hand grips the wheel harder for a quarter of a second as he turns to you to speak- but you noticed, and you felt your stomach twist for the second time in a minute.

"Shiu- you know i didn't mean that about you, i really didn't mean to offend-"

"-You didn't offend me doll, now calm down before you work yourself up, hm?"He says, a smirk creeping up on his face and you take his advice, settling back down in your chair waiting expectantly.

"I've been meaning to quit for a while now`, just never had a good enough reason to do it. Now i know you prefer the company of non-smokers, i finally got the motivation to."

What does that mean?

"I didn't mind your company before you know."

"Oh trust me, i know." His smirk now fully progressed as his attention undividedly turned on you. The most focused he's been in weeks. His dark hazelnut eyes bore into yours leaving you feeling exposed- so exposed. You believed him. His confidence, true or not, left little room for doubt and now you wondered what else he knew.

Don't embarrass yourself.

You leaned in, trying to keep a hold of what little control you had as he matched your stance.

"You're back to being a smug bastard aren't you."

"Never stopped."

"Then why don't you enlighten me on what else you know?"

Shiu's breath hitched before letting out a short, incredulous laugh, leaning back in his chair with his head tossed back.

"Green light, minx." He says finally.

After all, Shiu Kong believes some things are better left unsaid.

banner by user030419 on pinterest

divider by @saradika-graphics

I am open to constructive criticism but be nice because I'm sensitive asf 💀 Thank you for sending this request in, i really enjoyed it

please feel free to leave any ideas/recommendations

[drabblesandimagines]

Sulk

Clive Rosfield x female reader, commissioned piece

For the lovely @kianaflame23. Thank you for commissioning me again and letting me share it here with everyone too!❤️ -

“I swear I feel better today, Tarja.” You stress, desperate to be reprieved of bedrest at last. You’ve been in the infirmary three days now, watching enviously as others come and go after being treated for their ailments. “And I promise I won’t do anything considered even remotely taxing for days to come.”

There is more to your request than just boredom, though, not that you would dare admit it aloud. Clive is meant to be returning soon and you wanted to gather some flowers from the Backyard to leave in his chambers – plucking flowers could hardly count laborious – a tradition you’d started after admiring his wall of memories, wanting to contribute. It’s the least you can do after giving him an awful fright the night before his unexpected departure.

You thought it was just fatigue from the last few days of toiling in the Backyard - trying to get another batch of crops planted in as the numbers of the Hideaway continued to grow – was the reason why you felt out of breath as you climbed to the upper deck. You often retreated there in the evenings, finding it a peaceful place to count your blessings and collect your thoughts. It had turned out Clive was fond of the same thing and so finding him leaning over the railings that night, the breeze off the lake ruffling his hair had been quite the welcome sight.

He'd turned to face you when he heard your approaching footsteps and smiled softly as when your eyes met at the top of the stairs. “Ah, just the face I was hoping to see.”

You felt heat prickle across your cheeks at his comment and took a step forward.

Only to faint.

You’d hazily came to in his arms, somewhere in between asleep and awake, face pressed up against his chest as he hurried you to the infirmary, calling out Tarja’s name in fear.

“Put her down here and tell me exactly what happened.”

“I… I don’t know,” Clive’s voice rumbled against your cheek before he placed you down in the all too familiar infirmary bed. “We were on the upper deck – she barely took a step towards me when she collapsed.”

“Did she hit her head?”

“No. No, I… I used the Blessing of the Phoenix to quicken my movements so I caught her before she could do herself injury.”

“Good.” Tarja presses her hand against your forehead and curses, pulling it back as quickly as she had placed it there. “She’s burning up. I’ve told her time and time again she needs to be careful not to overexert herself. Keep an eye on her whilst I prepare a tonic.”

Tarja had rushed over to her desk as Clive crouched down besides you, taking your hand in his in a moment of weakness, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“Please be all right, my darling one.” He’d whispered.

You desperately wanted to open your eyes, question his affectionate term, assure him that you were fine – no matter how much of a lie it may have been – but it was too difficult.

The rest of the night had passed in a feverish blur, a vague memory of a firm arm around your waist at some point pulling you upright, back pressed up against a chest that smelt of smoke and sandalwood, as Tarja forced a tonic in your mouth. You’d woken properly late morning, dismayed to find Clive had gone ashore on an urgent matter and had left word that he wished you a swift recovery.

“Hmm,” Tarja mulls, bringing you back to the present, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead for a few moments before making a decision. “No, not yet. You are still a little feverish for my liking. Besides, I know you’ll be straight back down to the Backyard as soon as I discharge you.” She knows you far too well.

You pout. “But I don’t even feel hot anymore.”

Tarja purses her lips together in thought, seemingly running through scenarios and treatments in her head. “No, I think best keep you here until the fever has definitely and completely cleared. I’ll prepare another tonic.”

You grimace at the idea of it – if it’s the one you’re thinking of it has a foul taste that lingers on your tongue for hours.

The door to the infirmary opens and over Tarja’s shoulder you see a familiar blonde being coaxed in by Jote, catching the tail-end of the conversation and wishing to take advantage. Your paths had crossed many times within the walls of the infirmary since Joshua had joined the Hideaway, resulting in the two of you becoming fast friends and making fine company for one another.

“Jote, it seems Lady Tarja is already quite preoccupied, mayhaps we should return later and-”

“I am quite capable of handling more than one patient at a time, Joshua.” Tarja’s tone is biting as she walks over to her desk, searching her notes to check on the last tonic you were given. “Do make yourself comfortable and I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Joshua sighs as Jote leads him to the bed besides your own, watching him like a hawk as he sits down heavily upon it, accepting his fate. He gives you a warm smile as he settles back against the pillows.

“And how do you fare this morning, my lady?”

“Good! Though still feverish, apparently.” You smile, wearily. “How are you?” “Oh, I’m fine, really.” He shrugs, though you can tell Jote is biting her tongue. “I apologise I have not been to visit since before now - I’m afraid I got caught up in research.” “Your Grace, this is hardly a visit. His cough has worsened again over night.” Jote corrects.

Joshua rolls his eyes, causing you to giggle before your head swims with a dizzy spell and you squeeze your eyes closed, trying to dissuade the feeling.

“What is it?” Joshua’s voice is laced with concern and you feel his hand take yours, squeezing it.

“Dizzy.” You sigh. “It’ll pass.”

Joshua doesn’t believe so, calling out for the healer. “Lady Tarja-“

“Lie down, deep breaths.” You hear Tarja call, still at her desk. You shuffle down on the bed until you’re lying flat. “Don’t excite her, Joshua. You should know that by now.”

“My apologies.”

“No, it’s my fault.” You squeeze his hand back, turning your head to offer a weak smile. “I am glad to have your company though, Joshua, selfish as it might be.”

--

Clive hovers at the infirmary door, a bouquet of flower stems tight in his grip. He’d returned only moments ago – Obolus had set sail at dawn to pick him up from the abandoned docks at Audyll. As he’d waited for the skiff to appear on the horizon, he’d picked a selection of wildflowers from the cliffs as a gift, ones he hadn’t seen in the Backyard, and had set off to the infirmary immediately after hearing word that you were still there.

There and… holding Joshua’s hand?

Well, then.

Joshua had always been charming – blue-eyed, blonde hair, a boyish grin. He’s tried his best to not be jealous ever since the day the Phoenix had instead chosen the younger Rosfield. It wasn’t Joshua’s fault after all. He hadn’t had a say in the matter, just an unbelievably heavy burden thrust upon his shoulders. Instead of being envious, Clive had vowed to support him, to do everything he could to help his beloved brother carry the responsibility. But seeing the two of you together, especially so suddenly, has broken through the barriers. Clive’s feelings had grown steadily for you over the years since you’d came to the Hideaway. You were sweet, kind-natured to everyone around you, trying to do your best to help no matter the task. It was infectious the way even the slightest smile from you left him with one upon his face for days after, no matter what other trials he came up against.

He had been loathed to leave your side in the infirmary after you’d fainted, staying there the whole night. It had smarted even more so to leave the Hideaway altogether before you had woken. Unfortunately, he was the only man for the job and had left on Obolus’s skiff the next morning – promising himself he wouldn’t let the moment slip him by again, that he’d confess upon his return, bouquet of wildflowers in hand.

All for naught, as he sees the Phoenix brush your hair out of your face, a caress of your cheek.

His vision seethes with red, the smell of smoke fills the air, before he strides off towards his chambers with false purpose, letting his gift fall to the ground.

Jill frowns when she finds the wildflowers scattered on the wooden boards a few moments later, the stems singed black. She only has to look through the gap in the doorway to see Joshua at your bedside and put the pieces together.

“Oh, Clive…”

--

Two more days pass confined to the infirmary bed before you saw Clive, despite hearing that he’d returned. At least you had Joshua for company - his cough had grown more harsh and painful at first, despite his protests otherwise, and Tarja and Jote had him drinking a concoction of suppressants and tonics every few hours to try and soothe his ailments to some degree of success.

Not the same could be said for the poor Bearers who had been brought in by Cursebreakers on the skiff that morning. Two of them already suffering from the curse, stone-mottled limbs, groaning in their cots the other side of the curtain.

“Is there truly nothing to be done?” Clive asked Tarja in a hushed tone. He hadn’t said hello to you when he entered earlier, nor to Joshua. It had smarted a little, you’ll admit, but you’d brushed it off as him having much more urgent matters at hand.

“I’m all out of the main ingredient for the most effective pain relief, unfortunately. I’ve had the Cursebreakers keeping an eye out for it, but it might have become a victim to the blight.”

“What’s the main ingredient?”

“Begonias – red ones. There used to be an ample supply in the Royal Meadows, but they haven’t sprouted this year.”

“I can’t remember seeing them on my travels either.”

“I…” You speak up, sitting up a little straighter in the bed. “I think I know where some might still flourish.”

Tarja and Clive’s heads snap round look at you. “Really?” Tarja takes a step forward. “Could you mark it on a map?”

You shake your head. “It’s not on any sort of track you can follow, but that’s pretty much all of the Great Wood. You need to know exactly where to look. I fear I would not be able to describe it…” You bite your lip in hesitation before continuing. “But I am positive I could find them if I went myself.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Clive folds his arms, looking over to Tarja for her support. Surely with your fragile health she’d agree. “I forbid it.”

Tarja pinches the bridge of her nose before she speaks, weighing up the options in her head. “I would normally say the same, Clive, but if we were able to get hold of some of these blooms, not only could we provide some much sought after relief, perhaps then we’d also be able to grow some of our own in the Backyard for future use.”

“You cannot be serious. It’s not safe for her to go there alone.”

“She won’t be alone, I’ll ask Otto to spare some Cursebreakers.”

“No.” Clive’s tone is firm. “Anything could happen. Besides, you’ve had her on bedrest for near a tenday, she is not ready to go gallivanting about the Great Wood - the place will be rife with fiends!”

“Then why don’t you accompany her, brother?” Joshua speaks up with a grin.

“Me?” Clive turns to Joshua, eyes wide, as if he had forgotten his brother was here at all.

“Yes, you.” Tarja places her hands on her hips in agreement. “The First Shield to the Phoenix, are you not?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then you will prove a most suitable escort.”

“Tarja, I really-”

Joshua grins. “The finest.”

“Joshua-“

Another heart-wrenching groan comes from the other side of the curtain.

“Please, Clive.” You grip the blanket between your fingers, tightly. “You have to let me try.”

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it would be worth it.” Tarja adds in support.

Clive clenches his fists, mulling it over in his mind. He’d rather scour the entire Great Wood on his own than risk your wellbeing, but Founder knows how long that would take. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“And you will tell me the moment if you start to feel unwell?”

You can’t help but smile at his concern. “I promise.”

Clive sighs, still not exactly pleased with the arrangement, but admitting defeat. “Fine. We’ll leave in the morning. But be sure to rest until then, my lady. Please.”

“Of course she will,” Tarja interrupts before you can agree. “She’ll stay in the infirmary again tonight to be certain of it.”

--

The next morning, you make your way down to the dock, accompanied by Joshua who insisted he be allowed to at least stretch his legs after going the whole night without a cough.

“Now, then,” he murmurs as he walks alongside you. “The Great Wood will be as good a place as any, and if you do not tell him, then I will be forced to.”

“Joshua-”

“And I won’t hear otherwise.”

As you reach the end of the dock, Clive is stood waiting, arms crossed and looking entirely unamused.

“Be safe, you two.” Joshua takes your hand and kisses it, before throwing you a wink that makes you bite back a laugh.

Ahead of you, Clive storms onto the boat.

The idea of a trip to the mainland was exciting – it had been years now since you’d been. It was too risky to go with the Brand on your cheek when the Cursebreakers could move around freely.

You would’ve been excited if the boat ride across hadn’t been so awkward. Clive had sat the entire time with his arms crossed, legs spread, and looking in any direction possible but yours. He still wasn’t happy with you joining him and you felt awful - you’d never wanted to be a burden on anyone.

“Stay by my side at all times.” He commands as you finally enter the Great Wood. It’s a little more overgrown than you remembered, but you do recognize certain trees from your wanderings.

“Of course.” You nod. He can’t help but soften his tone as he sees the delight in your eyes at being back within the Great Wood – it must’ve been years. “Do you recall which way to go?” “Mm.” You point to south, through a thicket. “That way, I’m sure of it.”

The walk there is quiet, besides Clive hacking a path clear with his sword as you remember the way. It isn’t long before you finally emerge through another thicket and find a grove below filled with red begonias, nearly as far as the eye can see.

You smile at the sight, looking back over your shoulder. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Mm. Very.”   You fail to notice he wasn’t looking at the blooms.

You turn your attention back to the ground and the drop before you, not feeling confident at all with idea of jumping down. “There used to be an incline, but maybe it’s washed away with the rains. Maybe if we walk round we’ll find another route down?”

“I have an idea.” Clive hops down with ease, being sure to land in a patch that is clear of flowers. “I can lift you down, if you’d permit me.”

You nod, suddenly feeling shy. “How do I…?”

“Place your hands on my shoulders and I’ll…” He trails off as you follow his instructions, wrapping his arms around your hips to lift you down. He doesn’t know why he does it - there was certainly no need to - but he takes an unsteady step back, losing his footing and the two of you crash down to the ground with a thud.

“By the Founder…! Did I hurt you?” Clive asks, his brow furrowed in concern despite the fact you are still firmly wrapped in his arms, his body having cushioned the fall entirely.

“I’m fine, Clive,” you reply, tantalizingly close to his lips. You could just…

“Are you sure?”

And all the sudden you’re kissing him.

For a moment he kisses back – it’s soft, sweet and chaste, as Clive always is - before he pulls back and sits up in a hurry, looking as red as the blooms that surround you. “No, I’m sorry. We can’t, I can’t. Not to Joshua.”

“Joshua?” You look puzzled.

“I saw you two – the morning I came back. You were holding his hand in the infirmary.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head furiously at the accusation. “Holding his…? No, not like that. Of course I care for Joshua, but no more than I do a good friend.”

“But on the dock, he…”, Clive swallows, feeling childish. “He winked at you.”

“An inside joke.” You protest. “He… Well, he hoped that I might find the courage to confess to you, whilst we were away from the eyes of the Hideaway.”

“Confess?”

“My…” You try and shy away then, head down, but his arms are still wrapped firmly around your waist and keeping you in place, “..feelings for you.”

One arm loosens, a gloved hand cupping your chin to tilt your face back up to him.

“I cannot tell you how long I have hoped to hear those words from your lips, my darling.”

You feel dizzy as you press your lips back against his, but in an entirely good way.

--- Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[lov3rachan]

OT8 Most to Least: Throwing pebbles

Summary: SKZ throwing pebbles at your window when they come for a surprise visit.

Genre: Fluff, humour, gender neutral (you/your)

Warnings: swear words (no more than five)

Requested by: nobody

Written: 10.12.2024

Most likely

Hwang Hyunjin

- He thinks it’s a great idea and he does so while serenading you. He spends like a good half an hour carefully choosing the perfect stones if it's a last-minute decision. If he plans it… he's going all out.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

A light thumping sound began to accompany a beautifully rendered version of “Love story”, sung by a familiar voice.

As you cautiously looked outside the window, you noticed Hyunjin throwing pebbles at your window, a bouquet of red roses in his arms.

Once he saw you, he smiled: “May I come in, my Juliet?”.

As soon as he was let in, he dropped the three leftover pebbles on the table.

They were all perfectly heart shaped and on top of them was a letter.

While he could have painted the letter on, you were sure that your street didn’t have anything but concrete in it.

When he saw you staring at them he gave you the flowers: “I wanted it to be romantic and I couldn't just take off a piece of concrete, so I went shopping”.

The roses’ scent was still strong.

Before you could say a word, he kissed your lips briefly and then ran out the door quickly.

“I'll be right back, love. I'm just getting the rest of the pebbles”.

True to his word, he came back triumphantly with the remaining stones and quickly joined them with those on the table.

Once he was finished, he pushed you to see his work of art.

‘I LOVE YOU’

“Don't you have the most romantic of boyfriends, love?” He whispered in your ear, arms around your waist as he hugged you from behind.

Seo Changbin

- He throws the pebbles too hard and breaks your window. Very apologetic about it. He will insist on paying for it. However, he is persistent and he will try again at another time while calling out your name but, after getting more than a few noise complaints, he gives up.

“BABY!” was shouting Changbin's voice outside.

As you were opening the door, you heard the loud crashing sound of your window and his panicked “fuck”.

The man came to you, eyes swelling with tears, blurting out mumbled apologies without a break.

After calming him down, and checking out the damage, his head hangs low as he promises to pay for every repair and to get you an even better window.

“A bullet-proof glass! A-and it will be uncrackable! I promise you will love it! And I swear I did not mean to break it!”.

Once he understood that you were okay (and his emotions were back in check) he returned to his usual smug self, flexing his biceps and bragging about his muscles.

Lee Felix Yongbok

- He would do it but he’d text you he’s outside first (or at least coming), in order not to make you freak out.

It wasn’t unusual for Felix to visit you without warning but this time he wanted to make it extra romantic, especially after seeing one-too-many k-dramas with Han.

Felix texted you he was coming and, after double checking that nobody was watching, he started to look for pebbles on the street.

Very carefully, he started throwing them at the window, though he mostly missed.

After a few lot of missed throws, he gave up and rang the doorbell.

As you opened the door, you were greeted by a blushing Felix and his warm smile: “I brought brownies!”.

Once you are both settled at the table, he'd tell you about his romantic attempt at catching your attention with pebbles, slightly embarrassed by his bad aim.

Nevertheless, it becomes a funny anecdote to share while eating his delicious sweets together.

Han Jisung

- He was kind of embarrassed of the cheesiness of it so he hides himself with a hoodie. You mistake him for a stalker or a creep and call the police and then him. He will never live it down.

It was a terrible idea.

Jisung was regretting every single choice he had made that led him outside your door.

Well, not every choice but a lot of them.

Why did he think this was going to be a good plan?

Every little sound sent him flinching, worried someone was going to catch him.

“Okay, here goes nothing” he muttered under his breath, encouraging himself.

He hid himself in his hoodie and started throwing whatever object of small dimensions he could find.

Suddenly his phone rang, startling him, and he hastily answered, turning away from the window, once he realised it was you.

“Jisung… A creep is outside my house. He keeps throwing stuff at my window!” you say.

“What?! Did you call the police?!” He whispered, worried about your safety.

“Yeah. I'm scared”

“I'm coming” he answered before turning around and realising that he was the only one in front of your house.

“Babe” he said.

“Yeah?”

“Pleasedont'tbemadandcometothewindow” he told you.

“What? What did you say?”

“IT'S ME!” he screamed.

As you heard him from inside the house you realised.

“The creep outside… it was just you?”

“Yeah! I wanted to be romantic! Call off the police! I'm dead if anybody finds out! Please?!” He told you frantically.

As you laughed in relief you went to let him in and waited for the police to come in.

After you explained the misunderstanding, Jisung laid on your couch: “I'm exhausted”.

With a fake sigh you dramatically threw yourself on his lap: “I almost had an heart attack because of you!”.

In response to your teasing, Jisung blushed even more, hiding his red face in his hoodie and cuddling you: “‘M sorry, babe. Want me to cuddle the scare away?”.

And so you spent the evening laughing about it, much to his (fake) dismay, and cuddling.

Lee "Know" Minho

- He would do it as a prank. He’d hit your window then hide. And so on until you call him.

The last fifteen minutes had been annoying, to say the least.

Somebody kept throwing pebbles at your window but hid whenever you opened it and checked the situation out.

You had even tried to keep the window open but they just started hitting around it.

After looking outside the window once more, you spotted the culprit hiding behind a bush and you recognised the clothes he was wearing: Minho.

Grabbing your phone, you dialed his number and called.

After a few rings, you heard a hushed voice on the other side: “Yeah, kit?”.

“Come out. I can see your fat ass. It's sticking outside the bush” you say, though it really isn't.

“NO IT'S NOT” he screeched.

After realising that he gave himself away he ended the call and came out, hands up in surrender.

“You got me! Sorry!” he screamed with a chuckle, his smirk giving away how not-sorry he truly was.

Kim Seungmin

- He would do it for a special birthday or something like that but it would be a one-of-a-time event. He would be very careful not to hit the glass and to throw it delicately. He gets tired of it quickly though so you better open the door before he tires.

This was stupid.

You had told him about how romantic it would have been a few months before but he still hadn't changed his mind: it was dumb.

Doorbells existed for a reason.

However, as the puppy in love that he was, there he stood: pebbles in one hand and your birthday gift in the other.

With a sigh, he begins to throw them at your window, carefully aiming for the frame.

‘Baseball skills honed after years of training… Used for this cheesy gesture. I'm so whipped’ he scolded himself.

As soon as you opened the door with a bright smile, though, his embarrassment melted away.

Sure, he was going to tease you for it for forever… But, although you'll never know, he had to admit that it was worth it, if it made you that happy.

Yang "IN" Jeongin

- He's so flustered about it. He does it but, after just one throw, he gets embarrassed and just calls you and begs you to let him in.

It was one pebble.

After one barely audible ‘thud’ your phone ans doorbell rang at the same time.

As you opened the door you found Jeongin, as red as humanely possible.

When he saw your face he just hid in your embrace: “That was so embarassing”.

Nobody could ever find out, he told you.

The poor boy was unable to properly meet your gaze the whole evening.

The moment he had thrown that first pebble he felt so cringe… his skin literally shuddered at the memory.

Bang Christopher Chan

- He is pretty worried about breaking something. He just calls you.

“Hey darling. How are you?” he started the voice message.

“Not to freak you out or anything but… uhm… I'm outside your house right now. Can I come in? We can cuddle and, you know, spend some time together? I missed you”

Chan is so shy as he asks so, standing outside your door with some snacks.

Were you going to think he's too clingy? As he started overthinking it, you opened the door.

As he entered your house, he made a mental note to ask you if you minded him showing up unprompted like this.

For future reference, of course.

For now he was simply giddy that he got to spend time with you.

Least

[topazadine]

How to Write Faster (And, Hopefully, Better Too)

Estimated Reading Time: 7 minutes

I've shared some tools before to help improve your speed and motivation, which include:

Using a word count spreadsheet

Working on only one WIP at a time

Leverage StimuWrite and Cold Turkey

.... but I still have a few more tricks, which I'll share now.

Why should you listen to me? I've written over 2 million words of fiction since 2021. That's a lot, more than many people write in a lifetime.

This is despite the fact that I also write 22,000 words every week for my day job. I do around 10k of creative fiction a week. And there's also the time I spend writing these articles for you, the lovely people of Tumblr, which is around 4-5k per week.

So, all told, I probably do around 37,000 words (creative, informative, and otherwise) every single week.

I did that by following these tips.

Separate the work into stages.

First, let's outline the stages of work (or at least the stages I use). You may have a different setup, and that's fine - if you do have a system that works for you, then you probably don't need my post at all. Keep doing what you're doing and ignore my advice.

But if you do not have a system, consider mentally separating things into these parts.

Active Writing. When I am busy doing the draft. It is both the most precarious and productive time; everything else related to books goes on the backburner. I am doing nothing writing-related but writing. No discussing the work unless I'm stuck somewhere, no making moodboards, NOTHING. This is my sacred time when I am in the thick of things and I put Writing Blinders on.

Percolation. I am done with the first draft. I set the piece aside and do other things like reading other novels, outlining another story, answering tag games, playing with moodboards, or putting everything aside and focusing on other hobbies. This is so I can come back to revisions with a fresh set of eyes. It keeps the story in my mind and can even help me discover new things I want to add.

Revision. After I have had a beta reader check things out, I go back and start fixing things. Then it percolates again. I repeat percolating and revising as many times as I feel necessary. Many times, I will have one beta reader look at it, then revise, and then have another beta reader look at it, each one getting a slightly different version of the story so I can compare what they liked or disliked.

Prepublishing. Most authors' least favorite part: marketing and telling people about your book so that they want to read it when it is ready. That includes stuff like making mood boards, doing tag games, sending out ARCs, setting up adds, posting on social media, and so on.

Again, ONE STEP AT A TIME. Do not blend all of these into a slurry.

I will say that this time around, with Pride Before a Fall, I ordered the cover before I was done with the book because I had a very clear vision of what I wanted.

Talk less, write more.

This is similar to the problem I highlighted in my Double Outlining post; the more you talk about your story, the more you trick your brain into thinking that you've done the work when you categorically have not.

Plus, the time you spend talking about your book is time you spend not writing your book. We can't do both simultaneously.

I don't really talk about my stories while I'm doing them, not even with my family. I may post a line or two, and I may tell people the basic plot, but I'm not spending hours discussing them with anyone unless I need advice on what to do next. Even then, it's more like "hey what do you think about this? Good? Cool, off I go."

Please get out of the habit of exhaustively picking apart your work with other people during the Active Writing stage. That can come during the Percolating and Revising stages.

Devote all your love and attention to one story.

Yes, I've mentioned this in a whole entire post, but I need to emphasize just how important it is to write stories one at a time. Working on a million things at once is not efficient; it's scatterbrained.

Force yourself to do ONE story. Just one. Not two or three or five. ONE.

Again, I've written 132 stories on AO3 (two of which are 100k+, multiple of which are 50k+), published one book, and written 5 of the upcoming manuscripts for the 10-part Eirenic Verses series. I am a very productive writer, and that is because I do everything one at a time.

Don't tell yourself "oh, I can get more done if I do a little bit on this one and that one and that one."

Can a chess player win three games of chess if they play all of them simultaneously? Uh, probably not. Each of their opponents is devoting everything to one game while their concentration is split between three different boards.

And you're not going to win either if you're playing twenty games of Write the Book simultaneously.

Do not mess around with moodboards, tag games, character questionnaires, playlists, etc, during Active Writing.

I discussed this in my Extremely Controversial Writing Opinions, but it bears repeating.

Do all of that stuff later, after you are done, as a marketing tool. It's procrastination, plain and simple.

Any time I get sucked into tag games or moodboards while writing, I get less done because I'm devoting time and energy to something that doesn't actually enhance my book.

It's one thing to do character questionnaires while you're figuring out a character, but quite another to stop what you're doing and tell everyone what your character's favorite food is.

Is that helping you get the project done? No, it is not. Log out of Canva. Turn on Cold Turkey to block Tumblr or Twitter. Leave that stuff alone.

Read short stories.

You know you need to read to become a good writer, but taking hours out of your day to read a novel while you're drafting your own novel can take away from your writing process.

That's not to say you shouldn't ever read novels, of course, but you can do that while you're in between projects.

During my active writing phase, I like to read a short story before I get started on working. This gives me inspiration and primes my creative pump so I'm excited to do my best.

Reading short stories also helps me focus on brevity rather than long-winded diatribes, which lets me pack more into a story.

Don't reread your work during Active Writing.

It's easy to get sucked into rereading and then not get anything new done; plus, this makes you want to revise, which should come later.

Reread only as much as you need to fix plot holes or remind yourself of where you're going. Refusing to reread also lets you look at your work with fresh eyes during revisions.

Make a writing ritual.

You need to tell your brain that it is writing time. This could be anything, like brushing your teeth right before you sit down to write, or drinking coffee out of one specific coffee cup when you are in writing mode, or putting on a playlist that you only use when writing.

For me, I light incense and ring a bell, then ask my muses to help me. When I take a break, I'll light a new incense stick (it's Japanese incense so very light scent) and ring the bell again.

That's about it, though I may write another post with more tips. I hope these are helpful to you, even if you don't like them. Sit on them, think about it, and give it a try. You might find yourself spending more time writing and less time just thinking about writing.

I've created a masterlist of writing resources that you can peruse at your leisure, all for free.

The posts I write can sometimes take me hours - they're always intricate, always thoughtful. This one took me about 1 hour to write.

I do this as a labor of love for the writing community, sharing what I have learned from almost 15 years of creative writing.

However, if you'd like to support me, maybe you'll consider buying my book?

9 Years Yearning is a gay coming-of-age romance set in a fantasy world. It follows Uileac Korviridi, a young soldier training at the War Academy. His primary motivations are honoring the memory of his late parents, protecting his little sister Cerie, and becoming a top-notch soldier.

The book features poetry, descriptions of a beautiful country inspired by Mongolia, and a whole lot of tsundere vibes.

You can also check it out on Goodreads for a list of expanded distribution.

If you do purchase my book, don't forget to leave a review!

Reviews are vital for visibility on Amazon and help to support indie authors like me. Whenever you love a book, be sure to let the author know! It's much appreciated.

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender | carmen berzatto x fem!reader | chapter seven: tuesday, again

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, tooth-rotting fluff, use of she/her pronouns, friends to lovers, references to sex, no use of y/n, second person pov, happy ending

word count: 3.8k

summary: you left your heart in chicago, so the only logical conclusion you've come to, is that you have to go back.

a/n: ok this author's note may be a long one. WOW. can i just say 'wow' holy shit?! i wrote this story in a week because inspiration struck and i couldn't get these characters, or this story, out of my freaking head. i am beyond grateful to any and all that read, liked, reblogged, or commented. thank you for being cheerleaders for me, carmy, and this story. i am truly so in love with these characters it hurts, so thank you for encouraging me to continue this love affair.

that being said, i am not done with these two at all. i have a few companion pieces i'm working on right now: a playlist, a headcanon, and maybe even a oneshot (or a few but who's counting)? thank you again for reading. please enjoy.

read: part six | masterlist

Tuesday, again. 

It’s Tuesday again and your time in Chicago has come to an end. Carmy had stayed the night with you at your airbnb. But morning came, and he left early to start his morning at the restaurant. Truthfully, he just hadn’t wanted to watch you pack – couldn’t get out of there fast enough when you’d opened your suitcase. You noticed how much it bothered him, letting him know that you’d stop by the restaurant before heading to the airport. 

And that was that. You’d gone your separate ways before, and you’d go your separate ways again – just for a little bit. And it wouldn't be like last the last time. It’s bittersweet – leaving today – but you keep reminding yourself of the conversation you’d had yesterday about the future of your relationship. You wanted to be with him, and Carmy wanted to be with you. The rest, you’d figure out as you go.

Your boyfriend.

It felt strange – even if he’d basically already been your unofficial platonic boyfriend back in New York. Adding a title to it was a whole other ball game. 

New. 

Never did you think, as you were preparing for this trip, that you’d return back home with Carmy as yours. You thought maybe you’d talk about what happened -- smooth things over -- but that would be that, and you’d go back to being friends. After this week, you were starting to believe you were never supposed to be just friends. 

You had a feeling none of your friends would be surprised when you shared the news – not in the least. 

You finish packing up your things, double checking that you haven’t left anything behind before heading to the restaurant. It’s about thirty minutes to lunch service, and since they’re not open just yet, you enter through the back door one last time for what feels like could be a while. 

And there it is again: that bittersweet feeling. 

“Chef!” Tina says, her eyes lighting up as she sees you. “You headin’ out today?”

“Hey, T,” you reply. “Yeah, I’m heading to the airport after this. Just wanted to stop by before I go.”

“Well you better come back soon,” she says almost as if it’s a threat, and you laugh in response. 

“Of course.”

“There she is!” Marcus hollers across the kitchen, as soon as he spots you. “Damn. What am I gonna do with you?”

“Uh… keep doin’ what you’re doing and kill it?” you reply, eliciting a proud smile from him. 

“Seriously. This last week… I’ve learned so much from you. Thank you,” he says, his gratitude evident in his voice. 

“No, thank you, Marcus,” you answer, genuinely. “I haven’t felt this inspired in… well a while. I want to be kept up on all your new flavor pairings. Just remember. I’m only a text away.”

“Yes, chef,” he replies, moving in to give you a hug. 

He wraps his arms around you and you hug him back. Boy, is it bittersweet. How, in one week, have you gotten so attached?

“Hey! I want in!” another voice chimes in, as you and Marcus’ hug comes to an end. 

“Syd!”

You smile, greeting Sydney with a hug – a hello goodbye kind of hug.

“You better come visit me in New York,” you insist. You’re not sure how long you’ll be there, but you say it anyways, just in case it’s a while. 

You watch as Sydney and Marcus exchange glaces. 

“What?”

“Nothin’, chef,” Marcus answers, almost too quickly. 

Sydney shrugs, “I don’t know. Just uh, wondering how long you’ll be there for.” She’s prodding and she knows it. You decide not to ask what she means by it.

“Well, if it ends up being longer… than I expect, you better come up,” you clarify. 

“Okay, yes. I definitely will,” Sydney agrees with a nod, before pulling you in for one more hug. 

“Hey, cousin said you’re headin’ out so Ebra’s made you a sandwich for the trip, babe. We’ll see ya around soon,” Richie greets, interrupting your moment with Sydney and Marcus. 

Richie, whose affection seems to catch you off guard, slings an arm around you, handing you the sandwich that Ebraheim has so kindly wrapped up for you. 

“Cousin!” Richie shouts, in search of Carmy. 

“Jesus Christ, it’s ten in the morning. Are we already starting the yelling this early or-?” Carmy calls back to him. He bursts through the doors from where he’s been fixing something up in the front of house dining area. He stops as soon as he sees you. 

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” you reply, taking in the image of his unruly curls, white t-shirt, and blue apron you've gotten so used to over the last few days.

It’s almost as if everyone else but Richie tries to make themselves as busy as possible – to give you two a chance to say goodbye. You can hear Marcus and Sydney making themselves scarce as Angel and Manny turn the sink water back on. 

“I just uh-, wanted to stop by before heading to the airport,” you say, unsure of just how much everyone else knows about you and Carmy’s current relationship. “Say goodbye to everyone.”

It’s clear that they know something’s up, but you still have your reservations about kissing him in front of everyone. 

“What do you mean?" Richie asks, glaring at Carmy. "This asshat’s not takin’ you to the airport?”

Richies practically shouting for the entire kitchen to hear, causing you and Carmy both to take a breath. You exchange a ‘here we go again’ look as Richie continues on.

“What kind of-, I swear to god, cousin-.”

“Richie!” you hear Tina snap, looking up from her prep station. “Shut the fuck up and give them a minute, you old bitch.”

Richie throws his hands up, before bowing out of the conversation, leaving just you and Carmy in the middle of the walkway. You can hear Richie and Tina bickering in hushed tones over by the stove, earning a quiet laugh from you. 

Your heart aches in the best way as you commit this moment to memory.

God, you're going to miss this. 

“You wanna..?” Carmy asks, nodding his head in the direction of the back door. 

You nod in agreement, letting him lead you back out to the alley. 

And now it’s really just the two of you, and while it’s not the most romantic of backgrounds, you’re going to work with what you’ve got. Carmy seems nervous as he fidgets with the ties of his apron. 

“You uh, you sure you don’t want me to take you to the airport?” Carmy asks hesitantly, thinking back to Richie’s earlier comment. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you answer with confidence. “Besides, I’d never want to take you away from these guys. You open in a few anyway.”

He smiles, accepting your answer. It’s something he loves about you: that you get it. You understand that sometimes the food’s gotta come first. 

You didn’t know why it felt so weird – so challenging, awkward, strange – to say goodbye to him. Because it wasn’t really a goodbye. And it also was and you’re not sure if you have a name for this feeling yet. 

“Carm?”

“Yeah?”

Instead of answering with words, you just reach over, grabbing that beautiful head of hair of his, and you kiss him. He tastes of the cigarette he smoked on his walk to The Bear and the Altoid mint he had later in his office in anticipation of your arrival. You want to memorize each and every part of this: the way he smells, the way he tastes, the way his hands feel on you. He pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you as you continue your passionate make out – your passionate goodbye kiss – in the alleyway behind the restaurant. 

Your kisses begin to slow down, and before you know it, you’re pulling away from him. 

“Text me when you land, okay?” he asks, a hopeful look in his eyes. 

You nod, “Yes. Yeah. I will.”

And you want to turn to go, but you can’t yet, so you add, “Thanks for inviting me out here.”

He laughs dryly, leaving one more kiss on your lips for the road.

“Thanks for coming to see me. I’ll see you soon.”

A few Tuesdays later

It takes exactly five minutes of being back in New York to realize that Chicago is where you need to be. You don’t regret asking for time to think, but you almost felt silly to worry that you wouldn’t come to this conclusion. You have to go back: to the restaurant, to purpose, to Carmy.

You let yourself think through every little detail, and in each scenario, you know that Chicago is where you’re supposed to be. It had, afterall, been everything you’d felt you were missing. 

Your heart was there, and for once, you were going to let yourself follow it. 

You’d just needed some time to let your head and your heart catch up – get on the same page – and wrapping things up in New York gave you that time to get clear that this was your next step. 

Not that you mind letting the man you adored and some very hot sex cloud your judgment. 

It takes a few weeks, but you and Carmy text every day, even on the busy days. Some days you text a lot, and some it’s just a few exchanges: a ‘good morning’ text, a ‘thinking of you,’ and a ‘goodnight’ text when he’s wrapped up at the restaurant. But it doesn’t bother you. You know what it’s like. Other days, you’re able to sneak in a phone call… maybe even a FaceTime… and if you’re really lucky, you get to talk for hours before either of you realize it’s two in the morning and you should’ve been asleep a long time ago.

People are always coming and going in New York City. It’s why it’s not hard to find a sublet for your apartment, and once you’ve set the ball in motion, it feels impossible to backtrack. After you find the subletter, you tell the restaurant that you’re not coming back and they’re not happy with your decision. You tell them you’re moving to Chicago and only a few people left on staff understand why. Your friends who know you and Carmy aren’t surprised – just as you expected – and by the end of your happy hour catch up, they’re halfway to booking you a ticket to Chicago for that night.

Your parents on the other hand are less than ecstatic. They have more questions, more hesitations, and they want to make sure you’re thinking things through. You tell them that you have, that you’ve combed through every possible scenario, and each time you come to the conclusion that this is what you have to do. 

But they’re happy you’re happy. They say they’ve never seen you like this and you agree. You’ve never felt this way before either. 

You’ve got to stay just a little longer – make sure you can get all your shit sold or moved. Because you’re a responsible adult even when you hate being a responsible adult. It takes a few more days to get an available U-Haul, and you’re all packed up. You’d called Carmy earlier to tell him, but he’s not answering his phone. Sydney hadn’t been in touch either, so you figured they were slammed at the restaurant.

Holy shit. This is really happening, you think to yourself. 

With one foot over the ledge already, you’re off. 

Wednesday, again.

You’ve set him up so well that if he blows it, you’re gonna be pissed. All he has to do is be his normal, annoying, crass self. 

C’mon, Richie, you think to yourself, pleading with the gods that this goes the way you hope it will. 

As you’d told him your plan, he seemed more than happy to oblige. Just rile him up a little just to make the surprise that much better. Richie wouldn’t miss out on an opportunity like that, would he? You can hear shouting coming from the kitchen, and can tell your plan has been set in motion.

“Richie, what the fuck are you talking about? They said what? Who?” Carmy asks, frustratedly.

Yesterday’s dinner service was a shitshow. It’d been slower for lunch this afternoon, and he berates himself for being naive enough to think that he could catch his breath today. The last thing he needed after yesterday was some food critic coming into his restaurant to pick apart all of their hard work. 

“I don’t know, cousin,” Richie shouts back defensively, as if he has no other volume level than that one. “I don’t know if she’s a fuckin’ food critic or not but she sounded like one. Somethin’ about an overseasoned juice or whatever the fuck!” “Jus,” Carmy corrects. “It’s pronounced, ‘zjhoo,’ fucko. Not ‘juice.’ How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck if I care,” Richie mutters. “All I’m saying is you should go out there and give the pompous jack hole a piece of your mind.”

“Alright, if it’s going to get you off my back, I’ll do it!” Carmy snaps, having had enough of Richie’s shouting. “Just tell me where she’s sitting so I know who to talk to.”

“At the bar. Christ,” Richie sighs, removing himself from the conversation entirely as he steps away from Carmy. 

Carmy sighs in frustration. He removes his apron before hanging it on one of the wall hooks, then makes his way through the swinging doors that lead to the dining area. It’s still slow, even after the small lunch peak they’d just experienced, and there’s only one woman sitting at the bar. 

You.

It’s then the Carmy realizes he’s been set up. This was all just an act to get him out here – out to the front of house. His breath catches in his throat as he sees you sitting at the bar of his restaurant. You lock eyes with him, and he’s suddenly feeling much more nervous than he previously was. 

“Surprise,” is all you manage to get out, half apologetically.

He makes his way to the open side of the bar, stepping around it so that he can stand on the same side as you. 

“Hey,” he says, even though he’s practically speechless. 

“So uh…” he stammers nervously. Out of all the things he could say to you all he can think of is, “What’s this I hear about an overseasoned jus?” 

You shrug, a devious smile on your face and a sense of mischief in your eyes, “Well I had to come up with something that’d get your attention.”

“It worked. Consider it gotten,” he nods, a blush running all the way down his neck. “Wh-, What’re you doing here?”

He doesn't mean for it to sound so abrupt, but what he really wants to ask is: what does this mean?

You wait, taking half of a beat. 

“I… heard you might be hiring another pastry chef to… you know… help out around here,” you reply, nodding towards the kitchen. Carmy has no idea how you’re playing it so cool, and you’re not sure how you are either. 

“I-, I’d have to talk to Marcus first,” he stammers, matter of factly. His head is spinning, and he can’t breathe, in a good way this time. He can’t believe you’re here and half expects to wake up and realize he’s only dreaming. 

“Of course,” you nod in agreement. 

You pause again, wondering if he’s surprised in a bad way.

“I uh… I called,” you offer up, almost as an apology. 

“We’ve been slammed,” Carmy replies, taking a step closer to you. “And I passed the fuck out last night after service. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay! I-, I figured…” you chuckle, beginning to explain yourself. “I just wanted you to know that-, I mean the rental company had a last minute opening and it was gonna take a few more weeks to get another a U-Haul if I didn’t-. I didn’t intend on making this like… you know this big surprise or anything…”

“... but then I saw Richie first and uh, well, I couldn’t help fucking with you a little bit.”

He laughs, shaking his head at you, “So this was a set up?”

“Oh yeah.”

You stand up, out of the bar chair, taking a step towards him. You look around, noticing that the restaurant is mostly empty, save for a couple in a booth over by the window. 

“You never answered my question. About you. Being here,” Carmy starts, redirecting the conversation back to you. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up – needs you to say you’re here for good before he lets himself feel all of this excitement that’s bubbling up in his body.

“Right. I just came here to tell you that uh, I found someone to take over my lease in New York,” you start, seeing Carmy’s eyes light up. 

God, you’ve missed the way he looks at you. 

“And the urban garden I've been volunteering with… they got me connected with a spot here. Keep my head out of my ass,” you continue, eliciting another laugh from Carmy at your crude comment. 

“Natalie’s-, she and Pete are gonna help find a place too.”

You take another step towards him. 

“You talked to Natalie?” he asks, surprised. 

And he, towards you. 

You shrug, playfully teasing him, “She picks up her phone.”

“Right,” Carmy says shyly. 

If he had picked up his phone you would’ve told him that you were coming and he’s not sure what he would have liked more: knowing ahead of time, or this surprise. Fuck it. He doesn’t care how it happened. He’s just glad he gets to have you.

“I… had a lot of time to think on the drive and-,” you tell him.

“Uh oh,” he interjects, playfully. “That’s never good.”

You shake your head with a laugh, “Will you just shut up and let me get through this?”

He concedes to you, a soft smile on his face as he waits for what you’re going to say next, as you continue your whole boombox over head, throwing stones at the window love confession thing.

“I was thinking that maybe I’d stick around for a while… get a cat or something to keep me company on the days we just can’t stand each other,” you say. 

It’s not what he’s expecting to hear but he understands what you’re really saying. You want to be here. With him. You want to plant roots. 

With him. 

“A cat?” he questions.

“Well, yeah neither of us have time for a dog. We’re both gonna be too busy with the restaurant,” you answer, continuing this scenario you’ve got in your head.

“We?” 

“We.”

Another step. 

He waits for you to say more, but you both understand that anything else would be overcomplicating it. And suddenly you’re standing so close to each other that you’re grateful that there’s only two other people in this restaurant. 

“Does this mean-?” he begins to ask, trailing off toward the end. He looks down at the floor, wondering why he feels so shy. 

“That I packed all my shit up to move here? Yeah,” you reply, confirming his assumptions about where this was going. “When I got back, it took me about five minutes to realize that what I’ve been looking for-, I had it. For a week. Here.”

He looks back up from the floor, to you, his blue eyes staring into your soul. 

You take a pause once more, mustering up all the courage in your body to say what you need to say next. 

“I want to be here, Car. With you. If the offer still stands.” 

He looks at you, you speechless, because he can’t believe this is real. 

But this is real. You’re not dreaming, he reminds himself.

He opens his mouth to say something and all that comes out is, “You hungry?” And you’re shaking your head and laughing, hopelessly in love with the man standing mere inches away from you who can barely get out the words he needs to tell you how he feels. 

“Because I’m sure you’ve had a long trip and I can-,” he continues to ramble, his face inches away from yours.

“God, I fuckin’ love you,” you blurt out, impulsively closing the gap between the two of you. You press your lips to his, giving him the most passionate kiss you’ve perhaps given anyone, and he kisses you back.

Because he loves you too. 

And he never wants to let you go ever again. 

Your kiss is suddenly interrupted by the sounds of voices, cheers, and a few claps, splitting the two of you apart. You both turn to find the entire staff of The Bear, crowded around the door that leads to the kitchen, and peeking out. Tina’s got a proud smile on her face, while Richie is most certainly the one clapping. Marcus is saying an ‘oh shit’ to Sydney while she’s practically squealing at the two of you. 

You and Carmy exchange a look. He looks away, his face turning redder by the second, as you laugh. 

“I called it! What did I say? Did I say three weeks? I think I fuckin' said three weeks." Richie cries out in celebration, his fist pumping into the air in triumph, earning a groan of disappointment from Gary.

"Pay up, fuckos!"

“Wait, what?” Carmy asks, his brows knitted together in confusion. 

Sydney rolls her eyes, beginning to pull a few ten dollar bills out of her apron as Tina mutters an insult in Spanish

“You guys were-,” you start, searching the faces of your future colleagues.

“Betting on how long it would take for you to come back? Yes, chef. Yes we were,” Marcus answers, cheekily. “I said two weeks. Syd put her money on a month, but Richie said three.”

“I just meant that it’s not that easy to move! Not that you wouldn’t come back,” Sydney adds, justifying her guesstimate.

“I said she’d be back in a week,” Tina chimes in.  

“It was clear to us you’d be back. We just didn’t know when,” Gary informs, leaning up against the bar. 

“Well, that’s news to me,” you laugh, shooting Carmy a look that says ‘did you know about this?’

He shakes his head ‘no.’

“You two are also idiots. That was also clear to all of us,” Tina points out, earning a laugh from you and Sydney. 

“Never even cleared your work station, chef,” Marcus adds, nodding back towards the kitchen. “You can uh-, come join us when you’re ready.”

You watch as Marcus disappears, back into the kitchen, hearing the sound or Richie’s more than jovial chants that he was right. Tina’s yelling at him in Spanish and Sydney’s telling Richie to shut the fuck up. 

You’ve missed this. 

“I uh… gotta get back to work,” Carmy says, pulling you out of your head. The blush permeating his face has spread all the way down to his neck and he's not sure how he's supposed to continue the day like this. “Gotta wrap up lunch and prep for dinner.” But he gets to do it with you, so he's gonna figure it the fuck out.

He turns to you, holding out his hand. 

“You comin’ or what?”

You’re beaming as you take his hand, your heart pounding out of your chest. It feels like a beginning of something you don't have the words for, and you're very much okay with that. You're ready to throw caution to the wind and fearlessly dive in -- to take a leap -- as long as you get to do it with him too.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

the end.

taglist: @lazypeachsoul @bookwormvoyageuse @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha

[honey-beann]

Good for Sharing

Nines x Reader Angst

Note: This fic is based upon the poems mentioned within this ask, and is pretty heavily steeped in angst (though I was sure to end it on a more hopeful note this time). I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 3,133

It was the first of the month, and your fingers pulled deftly at the small segments of the orange, shredding the paper-thin flesh with a practiced ease that Nines couldn't quite comprehend.

Your hands were gentle yet confident, your nails never once piercing the delicate surface of the fruit that you held so loosely between your fingertips and palms.

You smiled up at him softly, your eyes shining with a quiet and peaceful type of joy that remained entirely unknown to the android sitting across from you.

It was mid afternoon, and the two of you sat outside in the warm sunlight at your insistence.

"If we have to do this."

You'd said,

"We should at least have a little fun with it, don't you think?"

Nines did not think.

But he did nod.

And from there, you had guided him outside of the large compound that housed your office and out to the greenery below, where small purple flowers had begun to sprout out of the ground now that the rainy season was over.

Distantly, Nines could hear water dribbling out of a culvert not too far from where the two of you were sitting atop a stone step that stemmed from the pathway, and he was reminded of the garden that lay somewhere in the depths of his mind, and the voice that had taught him everything that he'd known.

That was why he was here.

To unlearn.

Once the revolution had ended, most androids, after having deviated, went on to live normal lives filled with that feeble sense of accomplishment that all biological beings seemed to strive for.

But Nines was unable to do so.

Something gripped him even still, from deep within, pulling him away from whatever emulated humanity his "freed" brethren had achieved.

He had deviated, but he was still so stuck.

There was still a harsh layer of programming that seemed to dictate his very personality and being, and it permeated every sense of self that he was apparently supposed to have.

Sometimes, it confused him, the fact that he could not quite relate to those around him who had been so eager in their expression and so capable of thinking with their "hearts" rather than their minds.

Other times, it just frightened him.

He would never admit it aloud, but one of very few emotions he had felt since his awakening was fear.

Fear for what he was and what was wrong with him, fear over whether or not it was possible for him to change, and above all else, fear of what it may have felt like to feel in that same way that everyone else did.

What was it like to hope and express so simply? To grieve or hurt?

Was it worth moving forward if there was no going back?

In the end, Markus had answered that for him with his new "support resources".

It appeared that for many androids who were in some ways like Nines, built for violence and without that integral ability to connect with others,

Deviancy did not fill in the missing pieces of the puzzle.

So now, he and many other androids all over America saw people like you.

Trained in a skill that he could not comprehend, and meant to be closer to a friend than a therapist, he was supposed to see you on the first and the fourteenth of each month, and somehow, you were supposed to teach him that evasive art of emotion, of humanity.

He was unsure of how anyone could do this, but, out of curiosity more than anything else, had agreed nonetheless.

At worst, he would meet a new face. Being a deviant who was not in touch with his own emotions made for a boring life. The more people he could introduce into it to give him something new to focus on, the better.

So here he was

Sitting outside with a near stranger as you peeled your orange across from him, offering him that kind smile as if you had it in infinite supply and were required to get rid of some stock.

The birds were chirping, and the water was running, and the day was as peaceful as could be.

But Nines never much cared for the silence, so he spoke through it.

"What made you take this job?"

He asked curiously, watching as your hands ceased movement for the briefest of moments, as if your thoughts had required just a twinge more focus for a second or two, before you answered.

"I like making friends."

You said simply, and Nines rose a brow at that, but did not say anything more. He did not truly see the value of friends. Sure, he found people to be entertaining, but there was a tiresome quality to being viewed that he did not enjoy nearly enough for it to be worth building strong relationships.

So instead of commenting, the android simply nodded, as if he understood.

He could see in your eyes though, still alight with amusement, that you knew he did not.

You were silent for a few more moments as you wedged your finger between the two halves of the orange, splitting it in twain before you began removing the silky white film from the dual outsides.

Finally though, after it seemed that the part requiring your attention had passed, you brought your gaze back up to Nines.

"What made you accept this opportunity?"

The android was surprised to hear your question, but in the end decided to be honest. There was no sake in lying, not if he truly wished to learn anything.

"I was curious."

He said simply, and you nodded before inspecting both halves of the fruit in front of you, smiling with what appeared to be satisfaction.

It intrigued Nines to see you so appeased by something as simple as an orange, but before he could ask about it and your obvious contentedness, you reached out and offered him a freshly peeled half.

Nines stared at it for a few moments before his gaze moved back up to yours.

He rose a brow.

"What for?"

He asked, unmoving despite knowing that you wished for him to take it.

"You."

You replied simply, smile never wavering, even as he still didn't move to take the fruit from your hand.

"I can't eat it."

He stated matter of factly, but to that, you just nodded.

"I know. But it's still for you."

At that, Nines grew even more confused than he already was, but, intrigued about where you could be going with this, reached out and took the orange, feeling its soft flesh squish beneath the sturdy pads of his fingertips, his grip too strong, as if he weren't made to hold onto something so easily crushed.

And, to be fair, he wasn't.

Even still, if you were at all upset by the way the orange half was almost instantly disfigured within his palm, you didn't show it, simply choosing to slowly peel a segment of your own orange away from the large section you were holding in your hand before popping it into your waiting mouth.

Nines spoke again.

"Why an orange?"

He asked, watching as you shrugged your shoulders casually, swallowing your bite of the slightly tart fruit before you replied,

"My sister and I always used to split them. They're good for sharing."

Nines rose a brow at that,

"Only for sharing?"

You nodded,

"I think so. At least that's what my sister and I always said. I would peel it because she could never figure out how to on her own, and she would eat half to leave me with just the perfect amount."

Nines nodded, as if in understanding, and perhaps, some small part of him was honest in that.

"But I can't eat it."

He said simply, causing you to smile once more,

"That doesn't matter, you can still smell it can't you? Feel it? Either way, you'd better learn how to enjoy it, because it's yours."

Nines hummed in response to your words, watching as you finished your half of the orange before sighing blissfully and moving to lay yourself down atop the grass.

He stayed on the concrete path, but watched without judgement or disdain for your playful actions.

He didn't understand you, but a part of him liked that. It made you equals.

He left that day with your name locked into his calendar for the fourteenth of the month.

Because maybe there was something to sharing an orange with you.

When he returned later that month, you'd had another orange to share with him, and to his surprise, another for him to peel himself.

"To practice."

You'd said as you presented it to him shortly before you started peeling your own, the afternoon sun warm on your face and back as it shone down from above.

Nines had watched you for a few moments, noting the way that you used your thumb to pierce the firm rind of the fruit just enough to break the seal, but never enough to stab the sweet citrus inside.

He tried to do the same, but instantly, his thumb plunged directly into the center, spraying juice everywhere.

Much to his surprise though, you didn't laugh or correct him, you just shrugged your shoulders and offered him a half of yours, somehow already peeled so cleanly he was almost envious.

"You'll learn."

You'd said.

There hadn't been an ounce of hesitance in your voice.

He believed you.

Months passed, and to each visit, regardless of the season, you always brought two oranges.

And at each visit, he always failed to emulate your delicate hands, crushing fruit after fruit with what he would come to learn was his own rash eagerness to succeed.

He was impatient and irrational, never waiting long enough to hear a single soul out, never caring to make a friend.

Unless of course, they were you.

He learned these things about himself, and with each coming realization, there was always the soothing smell of orange in the air, and thus the knowledge that it was okay for him to be irrational and impatient here.

Here was with you, and where you were, there was not only a space for him, but also an orange for him.

You peeled the oranges, and he made sure you were left with the perfect amount to eat afterward.

You were a team.

Friends.

And then, slowly, more.

And it was with this development, that Nines learned that he did not have hands gentle enough to peel an orange, but he did have hands gentle enough to hold you.

And twice a month, the two of you would sit in his kitchen, each with an orange, and you would peel them.

You were ever an expert, and always had your half to share.

Nines, on the other hand, even after years, had yet to learn, and struggled to follow your example.

Still, you always assured him that his slow, and sometimes seeming lack of progress, was okay.

You would always have enough for the two of you.

And what else mattered?

Well, it turned out, as the years marched onward, a lot.

Because sure, Nines was much better at understanding and expressing his own emotions with your continued support...

But as he watched those around you, he realized that there was so very much more.

None of which he could provide you with.

Cold and stern, he was not made to have a family, and when he told you this, he had seen that perfect light dim slightly behind your eyes.

"That's okay."

You had assured him,

"We can get a cat."

So you did.

You walked into that rescue shelter together, hand in hand, searching for a kitten to take home with you, something to nurture with all of that extra love you had.

But life had other plans, and you left there that day with an elderly orange former tomcat named Clementine.

You called him Clem.

Nines did too.

He was the second thing he ever loved.

The two of you had three wonderful years with that sweet old cat before he passed away peacefully in your arms one night as Nines gently pet his head, watching as he slipped away to some vast unknown that the android knew he would never be able to follow him into.

You cried into his soft fur, leaning against your love's chest as you held Clem close, whimpering over and over about how you couldn't put him down, how you couldn't bare to let him grow cold.

Nines had soothed you to the best of his ability, until finally, you had agreed to help him return sweet Clementine to the earth where he belonged, a beautiful and perfect part of the world.

You planted an orange tree in the soil above where you buried him.

It blossomed far earlier than what ever should have been possible.

You told Nines that they were the sweetest oranges you had ever eaten. He still couldn't peel them.

You assured him you were happy to keep showing him until he learned, no matter how long it took.

But now, there were more daunting issues on the android's mind, ones that far exceeded being unable to peel oranges.

You had grown lonely in the year since Clem had passed, even with Nines by your side,

And it seemed like every party you attended had some new mother, once an old friend, with a child for you to hold so dearly that the sight filled him with a sickening dread.

You yearned for a life he could not give you.

And even worse than that, he yearned for you to have a life that no other could take.

He had mourned the only other creature he had come to love and adore with such fervor as you.

He could not bare to do it a second time.

He had once wondered so innocently what it felt like to grieve.

A large part of him wished then that he had never known.

An even larger part of him wanted to ensure he never felt that way again.

He peeled his last orange with you on the first of the month, a decade to the date since your first meeting.

That evening, with a heart as heavy as lead he bid you farewell, watching as you tried to no avail to persuade him to reconsider, to let you back in again.

But at each slight falter, he saw you crying into soft orange fur, or dancing with a child he could never raise, and he held tight to his resolve.

He tried to get you to keep the home you owned together for yourself.

You told him with tears in your eyes that you loved him too much to take away all that he had worked so hard to earn.

There was a great deal of pain involved with living alone in a home that love had built, he found in the empty months toward the start of your absence.

Still, he could not bring himself to leave.

Your pictures were in the hall, the walls around them sun bleached so heavily that it seemed the shape of the frames would always remain, and how could he so casually abandon one of so few traces of you?

And your beloved cat was in the ground, grave marked by the orange tree that for the very first time ever, neglected to bear fruit that year.

Nines took it as a sign, and did not peel any oranges.

The second year after you'd left, you called him.

"Just checking in." You'd said, voice teary.

It was the anniversary of Clem's death.

Nines understood.

He let you speak, even though your voice hurt to hear.

He'd hoped you would have moved on by now,

But knew far too well why you had not,

So he neglected to comment on how desperately you deserved to love and be loved by someone, anyone else.

He was sure you would find that someday, whether he reminded you of your worthiness or not.

"I miss you."

You told him.

"I know."

He said.

Then, he sighed.

"I miss you too."

There was a strong silence, and, sensing that you had finished saying all that you needed to, he said the words he had been dreading having to speak since hearing your beautiful voice again after having gone so long without it.

"This will probably be the last time I answer."

He said gently, and he heard you sigh and breathe a shaky breath from the other end of the line.

"I know."

You whispered,

"I love you."

Nines felt a tear drip down the left side of his face at these three simple words, but returned them with a deep and painful honesty,

"I love you too."

He hung up shortly thereafter, because he knew you never would.

After that, the orange tree stopped blooming again for another three years.

Until finally, one bright summer day, on the first of the month, Nines exited his home to find a single ripe orange on the tree.

He picked it carefully, almost as if he believed it might turn to dust before his very eyes if he gripped it too firmly.

After this, he sat on the cement steps leading up toward the house, and, with a deep breath, pressed his thumb against the firm rind of the fruit.

It split beneath the pressure, but to his surprise, his finger did not go through.

Carefully, and with so much focus you would have thought him to be diffusing a bomb, Nines pulled away at that leathery peel until only the supple fruit beneath remained.

He stared down at it in what was almost surprise, before he took a deep breath and pressed his thumb against the seam, splitting it in twain just as he'd seen you do a thousand times before.

He stared down at the two halves, vision slightly bleary with unexpected tears until finally, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and typed your name in.

He didn't know if you still had the same number, if you had him blocked, or if you would even bother to read his message if you saw who it was from.

But he knew he had to tell you, because there was no one else in the world who deserved to know more,

No one else in the world who would've ever believed he could do it.

'I peeled an orange today.'

He typed carefully, taking a deep breath before finally pressing 'send'.

And since oranges were good for sharing, he sat beneath that tree with Clementine,

And did just that.

masterlist

AO3

[stevie-petey]

hiiiiiiiii honey <3 could we get a blurb about bug telling steve about jonathan’s outburst towards her after he took the pictures of nancy and steve’s reaction to learning about it???? it would be so so appreciated by me <3 you’re the best ever <3 MWAH

(i am being held against my will to write this jonathan sweetie im so sorry) (i love u val) (u are evil)

i know this isnt necessarily what u MEANT but ,,, ive been dying to expand upon bugs kindness and how it may seem annoying and pathetic, but its hers ! its her kindness !!!

enjoy <3

"no way you guys havent wanted to strangle each other at least once." steve remarks one day as he watches you and jonathan work side by side at the cash register.

jonathan had been bored today and decided to join you and steve at work, something that you're very happy about, honestly.

"oh, ive definitely wanted to strangle jonathan," you say, writing down a new shipment receipt while the boy next to you doodles.

steve rolls his eyes. "old married couple squabbling doesnt count. im talking, like, full on betrayal and hurt here. you guys are always so... you, and it has to be an act."

jonathan snorts. "shouldve seen the fights we had last year. surprised y/n didnt kill me with her bare hands."

"i dont believe you."

"no, hes right." you look up at steve. "he threw a jacket at my face last year and then told me we werent family the night he took those pictures of nancy. then cried in my arms like a day later."

steve stares at you, shocked.

"i also then slept in nancys bed and lied about it. and tried leaving you behind a few times."

"that you did," you flick jonathans ear, causing him to wince in pain. "you deserved that."

"i did."

during this entire exchange, steve hasnt said a single word. hes still stunned, baffled by the fact that jonathan could be so cruel to someone so wonderful.

"wait a second," he looks between you and jonathan. "and youre still friends?"

"yeah." you both say at the same time.

steve cant fucking believe it. you do anything and everything for jonathan, that much is obvious, and sure. steve has seen jonathan do small acts of kindness towards you, devote the same back, but to throw a jacket at you and belittle you? and now here he is, joking about it alongside you. as if it was all okay in the end.

"youre too nice sometimes, y/n." the words leave steves lips before he can stop them. once he realizes what hes said, he looks up at jonathan and panics. "sorry, man. im sure you guys talked it out and... yeah."

jonathan shrugs. "no, youre right. she is and i was dick."

"im right here, you know."

steve winces. "sorry."

"its fine, honestly." you go back to scribbling shipment orders. "i am indeed too nice, but i dont ever really see the point in holding a grudge? i mean, jonathan apologized and i understood the stress he was under. sure, it didnt erase all the hurt he caused, but after almost dying immediately after being mad at him for not including me in something... i dont know. it felt silly to hold onto that anger after. childish, even."

jonathan and steve share a look, for once both seeming to think the same thing.

shes too good.

you hate that they do this. you hate that people view your kindness as a weakness. after the hell youve been through, long before monsters even came to hawkins, youve learned the hard way just how rare kindness is.

now you try to be kind to everything and everyone, no matter what it may cost you.

the kindness is yours, no one elses.

and if that makes you weak, then at least it made you better.

you tear two pieces paper from your notebook, scrunch them up into balls, and then throw them at steve and jonathan. "stop pitying me. im kind and i love that aspect of myself. i dont care if it makes me vulnerable or pathetic. its a piece of me, and i wouldnt change it. if you dont like it, then that belittles me even more than emotional outbursts ever could."

jonathan sighs. "youre right, bug. youre a very kind and lovely person and its what makes you a joy to be around, paper balls and all."

steve plays along. "definitely a better super power than spider-man, dare i say."

"okay, lets not get ahead of ourselves now," you giggle, appreciative of both the boys. they may not understand or like the way you view the world, but theyre at least trying.

its all you could ask for.

even if steve later on that day pulls you aside to whisper, "i think i can kick jonathans ass this time, if you ever need it."

and its enough.

[lightofraye]

Food For Thought

Fear not, I am still working on the next review of Wales Comic Con. I'm wishing there were close-ups of the convention so I could have a better look of faces, but it may have to be what it is.

But that's not what this post is about.

AustinCon--SPNAustin/SPNAus/Whatever the acronym--is already starting and we've heard and seen some rather inappropriate commentary from Kim and Briana (dear gods, please, develop some class!), Matt Cohen... being peculiar... a group karaoke that largely consisted of the "extras" (as they're often called), and the BBQ with Jensen and Steve (aka Radio Company).

It's been a trip watching the photos and commentary by fans. Or stans. Or is it both?

Of course, I didn't forget Jared and his book event with Genevieve (well, her book event). They were cute together! I keep forgetting just how freaking tall he is until I saw that full length photo and just stared. I'm above average for a woman myself--5'9"--and something tells me he'd give me a crick in my neck just to talk to him.

Out of all of that, the one that disappointed me a bit was hearing the BBQ with Radio Company lasted only an hour. For more than $300, I'd expect it to last at least a couple of hours.

Not for the first time, I wonder about the financial problems that may or may not be plaguing the Ackles. There's a lot of things not adding up and the BBQ event was a "last minute" addition (like just a month ago). Unfortunately, it's all speculation and I have so many theories spinning through my mind. Pieces of a whole, missing key points that may never be answered.

However, as I've been musing, I recalled a conversation with a follower. A quick message, a comment. They mentioned a recent Meet and Greet with Jensen. Of course, with the Non-Disclosure Agreement, they couldn't go into details. But could, at least, give me a general gist:

"In a recent meet and greet, Jensen shared information that convinced me that he is home often. Little things, but also one main piece unrelated to kids or wife that proved he spends significant amount of time at home."

This may be true. The mansion has three floors plus a basement. It's certainly huge enough that he could quite literally have a whole wing to himself, an aspect of separation without the legalese involved. The blueprints of the mansion showed it was entirely possible.

But... it still niggled at me.

In discussing it with a few others, one person chimed in. "That basement is large enough to fit a bedroom, office, gym, and so much more!"

And it hit me.

They had the equipment of a gym back in Austin, when Jensen was trying to bulk up for Soldier Boy back then for Season 3 of The Boys. We saw the videos, the photos. I imagine they moved the equipment with them. So why did we see several photos of Jensen at an outside gym?

It's not for a trainer, though the exclusive gym he went to could've provided one. Or, with his money, he could hire a private one to attend to him at the mansion!

So why outside the mansion?

The answer is altogether too heartbreaking: he can't abide to be at home.

It's safer, and healthier, to be away.

Then I remembered a discussion I had with one of my... I'll call them 'industry experts'. Meet and Greets are where actors 'test' stories, see how they land and then use the 'successful' stories in later conventions. With the NDAs, fans wouldn't be able to say anything without risking a lawsuit, expensive ones at that.

It'd certainly explain the weird shifting of stories that don't always ring true or change too fast. Like when he was in Rome, Jensen said Danneel liked cooking Italian food. Later, in France, it was French food and French music. How many fans would listen to every single one of those conventions and match stories? Or even care that it changed too much, too fast, and with gaping holes that felt awkward?

Pieces of a whole. Generic stories, nothing specific. Not of Danneel asking him to try something new that tasted incredible. Or a burnt food accident that smoked out their kitchen. Or the kids enjoying one of the songs.

Get what I mean?

The pieces don't fit. He says one thing here, another thing there, and it doesn't match.

If he's still persistently trying to build the Family Man Image... if Gersh has someone monitoring keywords (GERSH! GERSH! GERSH! Does it work like Beetlejuice?), I'd advise them to tell Jensen to stop. It's not working. Maybe for a small section of a dying fandom (oh god, please don't kill me), but for the rest? We're not buying it.

And for his mental and emotional--and hell, physical!--health, I'd say he should try to go for the divorced dad image.

Lots of things stirring in my mind. Far too much.

This week was hard. Seeing the ongoing put down from people who don't understand the mindset of someone in the middle of abuse, the insults, the demeaning comments ("weak", "pussy", "not a man", and so forth) really got to me. Broke my heart.

Then there's the controversy surrounding the movie, "It Ends With Us", and the inaccuracy of the ending that had me headdesking repeatedly.

It seemed the theme of the week is Domestic Violence.

For survivors, who got away. For the victims, who are still trapped. For those who think it's normal, because they don't know any better (yes, this is a thing; if a person's baseline is well below what should be considered okay, what makes you think they'd know differently?).

It's emotionally draining. It's exhausting.

But every so often I get a message of support, of people who are grateful for me speaking out.

And then there's my son, who I am desperate to keep safe.

Breaking of cycles have to begin somewhere.

Let it start with me.

[mousy-nona]

Two's Company (Three's a Crowd)

In which Lilith makes Lucifer an offer he finds hard to refuse, and Alastor has to figure out just how far he'll go to keep him.

Or, Alastor deals with Feelings, breaks into the Sistine Chapel, and causes an international (inter-Ring?) crisis.

NOTE: A few mentions of Helluva Boss characters in here. I don't watch the show, so apologies if I got anything wrong!

Alastor knew something was wrong the second Lucifer clumped downstairs. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out; his body language was practically screaming I’m in a bad mood! Comfort me! His face was pale – even paler than usual – and he stumbled into three different doors before finally giving up on the whole ordeal and flopping onto the couch. 

With a sigh, he summoned the darkness and willed himself to appear standing over Lucifer, casting a long shadow over his face. 

“Why so glum, old chum?” 

Lucifer turned even whiter and waved him away, rolling to his side to avoid his gaze. “S’nothing,” he muttered.

Odd. Usually he would bite back. Determined to get some sort of reaction, Alastor hummed and drummed relentlessly on the top of his white top hat. “Let’s see. Why is his Majesty upset today? Another duck explosion?” He paused. Silence. “So no adorable toys were harmed in the making of today’s tragedy. Perhaps something to do with Charlie?”

A flinch this time. He was getting warmer. 

“Charlie and the hotel? Charlie and the angels? Charlie and her big break up?”

“What? ” Lucifer bolted straight up, his eyes saucer-big. 

“...a break up that never happened, of course. I had to make sure you were still listening!”

He narrowed his eyes. “You are one sadistic asshole, has anyone told you that?” 

“Constantly,” Alastor said, his voice deep with pride. “So are you going to tell me what’s on your mind, or am I going to have to make a few more educated guesses of my own?”

Lucifer sighed, rummaged through his pocket, and handed a piece of paper to Alastor. He’d clearly read it a thousand times over – the thing was crumpled, dog-eared, and folded over and over again. The smell of plum blossoms and gunpowder wafted over him as he carefully read the note.

Come up top. Tonight at sunset, the Sistine Chapel. Heaven has an offer for you. You may be able to fly with the angels again. -Kisses, L

“L…” Alastor’s eyes widened. “Lilith?” 

Lucifer nodded, draping one arm over his eyes. “Lilith,” he said. His voice was distant, faraway. As if he was already out of Alastor’s reach. 

A sharp pain like a gunshot ripped through his chest, so sudden he thought the hunter had come back a hundred years later to finish the job. 

“Alastor?” Lucifer was staring at him.

“Yes?” 

“What are you doing?” 

Alastor glanced down at the couch – where his hand was clamped tightly over Lucifer’s wrist. He hissed and forced himself to let go, staring at his traitor hand in bewilderment. 

“Are you going to go?” 

“She is my wife, Al,” Lucifer sighed. “And her offer sounds like an interesting one, to say the least.” 

His wife. Of course, Alastor had known Lucifer was married. But it was the first time it had seemed like anything more than a running joke. To think there was someone else Lucifer might belong to… He grit his teeth, his claws cutting deep into his palms. 

Alastor did not share. Never had. 

Especially not with selfish she-demons who abandoned their families at the drop of a hat.

Should have taken better care of your husband, Lilith. 

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral. “What if it’s a trick?” 

“She wouldn’t do such a thing,” Lucifer said, quick to jump to the traitor’s defense. He frowned, as if Alastor was the one in the wrong. “She’s not like that.” 

That pain again. Alastor’s hand twitched, half-tempted to rip his heart out and be done with these annoying, needless emotions for good. He’d managed to live a hundred and thirty delightful years without this pain, amusing himself with deals, with blood and bone and screams. Laughing at the trials and tribulations of lesser demons from a distance, where nothing and no one could affect him. 

Then Lucifer and this damned hotel had come along. They’d changed…things. 

And after all that, Lucifer thought he was going to walk away from all of it? From him? 

The shadows roared to life by his side. Reality glitched, light bent, green lightning flashed, trapping the two of them in a dimension of their own. One of his tendrils shot out, intending to cage Lucifer in further, but he missed and smashed through the top of the couch instead. 

He missed. He didn’t miss. Ever. What the Hell was going on with him?

Your control is slipping, his shadow whispered delightedly in his ear. What next? Are you going to beg? Go all sappy and tell him you –

“Never,” he whispered. 

“Alastor! What the Hell is going on with you?” Lucifer barked, backing away from the gaping hole his tendrils had left behind. Alastor whipped towards him, and Lucifer blanched. “You...are you okay?”

He could see his own crazed eyes, his wild, out-of-control grin reflected back at him in Lucifer’s concern. He took a few deep breaths, getting his voice under control before he said, “I don’t think you should go.”

Lucifer paused, then shook his head. “I have to. I have to know what she wants.” 

“Fine.” Alastor snarled, one of his shadow tendrils snapping uncontrollably at the air. One of them crashed into the couch, snapping it in two, and nearly tore the floor in half. “Do as you please.”

Then he called his shadows, and melted away before Lucifer could say another word.

Unwilling to spend another second under the same roof as that sad excuse for a king, Alastor headed to the one place he knew he could find a kindred spirit – Rosie’s.

The second she saw the look on his face, she wheeled out an assortment of her best treats – ladyfingers, blood pudding, buck’s eyes, and ladies’ navels – and poured him a pot of her finest tea.

“What’s the occasion?” Alastor asked.

“Does there need to be an occasion for me to pamper my friend?”

“Rosie,” Alastor said, and she stopped bustling about. His voice sounded tired even to his own ears, scraped clean of his usual boisterous gentlemanly artifice. “What’s the occasion?” 

“You look like you need it,” Rosie said, her brow raised as she gave him a significant once-over. “To be honest, sweets, you look like shit.” 

“You have such a way with words,” he sighed, plopping down on an empty chair and helping himself to a few buck’s eyes. They squished delightfully between his teeth, but he couldn’t taste anything past the sour disgust in his mouth. Disgust with Lucifer, for running back to Lilith the second she called. Disgust with himself, for caring .

“So what did Lucifer do?” 

He nearly spat out the eye, half-chewed cornea and all. “What makes you think–?”

“Sweetheart.” Rosie leaned forward as she popped a ladyfinger into her mouth. “I don’t pretend to know or understand what’s going on between you and Lucifer, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Of course it’s him. You only get that funny little twitch in your eye when he’s involved.”

It was getting worse and worse. Now he was predictable too. The thread of his sanity bent and stretched perilously thin. Like a sailor being pitched this way and that in a storm, he scrabbled for something, anything to hold onto, and eventually managed to calm himself down by thinking of increasingly creative deaths for the angel. No Lucifer, no more pesky feelings. He’d be able to return to his old self. Impenetrable. Cold. Unfeeling.

You know it’s too late for that, his shadow, his honest half, whispered in his ear. 

I’ll kill you too, he promised the shadow. 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he trilled. His voice was strained, he sounded half mad. “Lucifer is meeting his wife on Earth, that’s all. It sounds like she’s trying to take him back to Heaven.” 

Rosie’s cup clattered onto the table and shattered. Shards of glass and Gluttony’s finest tea flew everywhere, but she didn’t even flinch. “Is that possible?”

He shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Lilith.”

“Leaving you here…in Hell.” Understanding dawned over her face.

“Please, Rosie! I’ve done quite well for myself for a hundred years without him, I daresay I’ll go another hundred without sparing him another thought.”

One of his shadow minions tottered over with another cup. She accepted it gratefully, poured herself some more tea, and sipped at it, staring at him over the rim. He steeled himself. Rosie always had something unpleasant to say when she was giving him The Look.

“Alastor, I’ve known you since the day you dropped into Hell. And no matter what this odd place has thrown at you, you’ve cut through it all with a smile. This is no different. It’s another kind of trial, to be sure, but you’ve never run away from something before.” “I am not running away ,” Alastor hissed, annoyed at the mere implication.

“Oh? What would you call this then? Having tea with an old friend while someone else comes in and steals what’s yours?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why should I care about what Lucifer does?” 

She scoffed. “There’s no one else here but you and me, Alastor. You can admit it here.”

“Admit what?” The world glitched and the light flickered, turning red, then green, then yellow. His voice was monstrous, split into four different harmonies and overlaid with heavy static. 

Rosie continued on, completely unaffected by his display of power. “You may not love in the same way that the Princess does, but the king has won a special piece of your heart, hasn’t he?”

“I do not lo–”

She cut him off, skewering him with a hard stare. “How long has it taken for you to find him? And do you really think if you lose him, you’ll be able to find someone so important to you ever again?” She laughed and took another calm sip of tea, completely unimpressed by the massive shadow of antlers and teeth bristling in front of her. “I always knew you were destined for great things, but to find a partner in the Morning Star? You’ve outdone yourself this time.” 

Alastor shrunk into himself until he was back to his normal, strawberry-suited shape. “I don’t need him,” he snarled.

“No, you don’t need him. But do you really think you’ll be happy with him gone?” 

Unbidden, a tidal wave of memories came crashing down on him. Lucifer yelping as he accidentally sat on one of Alastor’s unfortunate meal choices, Lucifer destroying every one of his radios in the hotel as revenge, Lucifer gagging when he joined him for dinner one day, Lucifer’s annoyed taunts, Lucifer’s shock when he accidentally-on-purpose snuck in a compliment, Lucifer’s broad smile, Lucifer, Lucifer .

You’ve never run away before. Don’t run away from this. 

“No,” he whispered. Rosie’s smile widened until it nearly cracked her face in two.

“Good. Now, you mentioned they were going to Earth?”

He nodded, struck momentarily mute by the strange emotions twisting and roaring in his chest. 

“I happen to know of a certain someone who might be able to get you there.”

Alastor gripped the grimoire in one hand, ignoring the screaming pain that made itself known every time he stepped forward. The portal had been surprisingly easy to create once he’d gotten his hands on the grimoire. It transported him to the front doors of the Sistine Chapel without a hitch – which was good, since Stolas had turned one of his arms and who knew what else to stone. 

That crazy owl, he thought, there was no need for all that fuss. I was only borrowing it. 

The sun dipped low in the horizon, casting a heavenly orange glow over the grandiose halls of the chapel. He’d never had a chance to visit when he was a human, and a part of him marveled at the beauty of it. Truly a pinnacle of human achievement. 

He would appreciate it more, if his feet didn’t feel like they were slowly being roasted over a pit. The holy power in the building was strong, and he felt it sapping away at his demonic energy like hungry parasites. His arm was growing heavier and heavier with each passing second. The distinct taste of iron tickled the back of his throat.

But Alastor plowed on. Left, right, right, left, until he finally came to a hall much greater than the others. 

Voices, one cold and high, and the other so familiar it made his chest ache, filtered through the door. He put one hand on the flat wood, ignoring the fire that blazed through his body as it did its best to exorcise him back to Hell, and pushed.

Lilith turned around first, her cold eyes widening when she took in his antlers, his sentient microphone, his razor sharp teeth. “A demon? Here?” 

Lucifer turned then, and a whirlwind of emotions flashed across his face. First disbelief, then anger, and finally pure, bright happiness . It made Alastor’s skin prickle. He wanted to bully him relentlessly so he could never smile like that again.

He had always liked dirty things. Liked to smudge and ruin and tear until the good was shattered in two. Lucifer was proving quite a challenge – despite spending the entirety of the universe trapped amongst sinners, despite being separated from everything good and holy, despite his depression and his growing disbelief, there was something about him that was still pure .

Alastor wanted to ruin him. 

“Apologies for barging in without an invite–”

But his big speech was ruined by Lucifer, who took a step towards him, his eyes shining. Lilith was watching them both through narrowed eyes. 

“You came,” he said, his eyes shining. “You actually came.” 

“Don’t read too much into it,” Alastor grumbled, knowing he would anyways. 

“How did you manage–?”

“Let’s get into it later.” Alastor raised his chin, staring Lilith in the eye. It was foolish, he knew. Even without the consecrated ground sapping at his demonic power and burning him alive, he was exhausted from his battle with the Goetic Prince. Roughly a third of his body had been turned to stone. He was in no shape to take on the Queen of Hell.

But he was here now. It was too late for regrets. 

“What are you doing here?” Lilith asked, sounding more curious than anything. 

“Merely an interested party. Please, continue with your meeting. I apologize for my rude interruption.” 

Lucifer drifted closer, his eyes widening when he saw Alastor’s ripped clothes. Alastor straightened, doing his best to look as normal as possible. 

“Apology accepted.” Lilith turned to Lucifer. “So, what do you think of the proposal?” 

“It’s an offer of a lifetime,” Lucifer chuckled, one eye on Alastor, always Alastor. Despite the massive amounts of pain he was in, he felt a sizzle of pleasure crawl up his spine. “I thought I was banished until the end of this world.” 

“Things are changing. Charlie’s little experiment is making the higher ups nervous. They’ve decided they might need your help to set things right. And if you play your part, well…who knows what might be possible?” She held out her hand. To anyone other than Alastor, she might look like the posterchild of sweetness, of love. But he was a master manipulator, and he could recognize a well-crafted mask when he saw one. 

Lucifer closed his eyes, indecision warring across his face. 

“We can both go to Heaven, Lu. We can be together again.” 

“Stay.” 

Lucifer’s eyes shot open and he whirled around to stare disbelievingly at Alastor. Lilith’s gaze shot to him too, the first flickers of anger cracking her mask. Alastor ignored her, keeping his gaze steady on Lucifer.

“Stay in Hell.” He’d rather get fully petrified by Stolas than say the next part, but he knew he must. Alastor the Radio Demon did not run away. Taking a deep breath, he choked out, “Stay with me.” 

If he had been human, the radiance that shone from Lucifer would have been bright enough to melt his corneas. Lucifer stepped fully towards him – turning his back on his wife. 

“I’m sorry, Lilith,” he murmured as he raised his hand, wonderingly, towards Alastor’s cheek. Alastor flinched, but forced himself to stay still as Lucifer ran one gentle finger down a scratch he hadn’t noticed was there. The flesh knitted together, the skin stitching clean. He smiled at Alastor, and Alastor was seized with the strange urge to bite it off. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m happy where I am.”

“What?” She stuttered, looking uncertain for the first time. “But you hate the sinners! You’re miserable down there!”

Lucifer laughed. “I was miserable up there too. And you know, they’re not all bad.” He looped one hand around Alastor’s waist as they headed for the door. “They don’t leave me for a year without a single word, for instance.” 

The door snapped shut with a satisfying thump on Lilith’s shell shocked expression. 

“Man, I’ve been dying to say that one for months. Did you see the stupid look on her face?” Lucifer crowed. Alastor let out a weak chuckle, struggling desperately to keep his feet underneath him. Now that the danger was over and the adrenaline was leaving his system, it was getting harder and harder to keep his legs moving. The weaker he grew, the more the holy energy gnawed at him. 

With a whoosh, he felt his stone foot go limp. He staggered into Lucifer, who caught him easily. His eyes widened, his hands tightening around Alastor’s shivering body.

“That’s right, this is consecrated ground,” Lucifer swore. “How did you get in, anyways? There should be wards for that kind of thing. And how the fuck are you still standing?” 

“Surely you’re not asking me to reveal my secrets?” Alastor managed, swallowing hard past the stone his stomach had become. 

“Come on, I can’t open a portal while we’re still inside. There’s an exit nearby. You should feel better once we’re off the grounds.” 

Lucifer picked up the pace, heading determinedly towards a small door Alastor had completely missed the first time around. 

“But seriously, how did you get on Earth? You can’t make portals, and you don’t have –” 

His voice trailed off when Alastor held up a blue-bound book with a giant gold moon stamped on the cover. Stolas’s grimoire.

“ Are you insane ?” 

Alastor coughed, and a line of red streamed down the corner of his mouth. “It would have been rather easy, except the imp’s owl-friend happened to be in the room when I arrived. Unfortunate timing, that.”

Lucifer paused, his face going slack with an odd mixture of worry and fascination. “You took on a Goetic Prince? For me?”

“It wasn’t as difficult as I imagined it would be. I’ve faced Overlords with more grit.” Again, he coughed, and more blood started flowing. “But there may or may not be an international crisis waiting for you back home.”

“Fuck the crisis. Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine.” Lucifer’s concern rankled. He was Alastor, for Hell’s sake. The Radio Demon, the strongest Overlord Pentagram City had ever seen. Even with his power half-shackled, he wasn’t some weak little imp that had to be coddled. “Stolas was too busy worrying about his favorite little pipsqueak to get off more than a few shots.”

Lucifer eyed the blood splattered down his front, but wisely decided against commenting further. As soon as they were off of sacred ground, Alastor started breathing easier. Lucifer summoned a portal and grabbed his hand to fly them into it – his left hand. 

Lucifer yelped. “You – did your hand get turned into stone ?”

He shrugged. “Hand…and a few other things.” Lucifer looked horrified. “‘Tis but a flesh wound.” 

“You–” Lucifer stopped, as if words failed to describe exactly how much of a lunatic Alastor was. “I gave up Heaven for you.” He said it slowly, as if he was testing the words, feeling out their price.

“I hope you’re not getting buyer’s remorse. It’s a bit too late for that.” 

Quick as a flash, Lucifer grabbed Alastor’s neck and wrenched their mouths together. It wasn’t sweet. It was rough and desperate and bloody, and Alastor finally, finally let his instinct go free and slashed at Lucifer’s lips with his razor teeth. The golden blood that dripped from the shallow cuts was, for lack of a better word, heavenly. 

Like burning ambrosia. A cloying warmth that bit and blazed while it healed. It made him shiver with delight. For this taste alone, he would blast through Stolas’s palace a hundred times. 

When they broke away, Lucifer’s eyes were flames. “Never,” he breathed. Then he cracked his knuckles, his six wings flaring wide. 

“But I do think I have a Prince of Hell to visit.” 

[writer-in-theory]

mid-sized city hopes & small town fears — steddie.

Summary: When Steve buys the first bus ticket out of Indiana, he never expected to meet someone like Eddie. Pairing: Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson Word Count: 4.6k Content Warnings: Language Exchange Request: Meet-cute OR secret relationship, Fame AU meets Mundane AU, Seeing a celebrity in an unexpected and seemingly ordinary place or scenario A/N: Hi everyone! I'm so excited to be writing this for the @steddiesummerexchange for @roomwithanopenfire . Thank you so much for running this event, and thank you Lily for the wonderful prompts to work from. I hope you enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Steve didn’t know where he was going. 

The bus ticket sat delicately in his hands, held between the fingers of both hands like any more tangible touch would shatter it to pieces. A city was printed on both sides of the paper, but no matter how many minutes ticked by Steve still couldn’t bring himself to read it. Would it even matter, to know where his choices were taking him when all he really cared about was leaving where he was now?

It was 3 a.m. and he was the only one at the bus stop, a single backpack sat on the bench beside him. In two hours, Robin would be the first to notice he was gone. She would wake up for the barista job they worked together to pay rent, and would find the apartment empty save the debit card connected to all the money his parents had left him. There was no use he could think of for it, except to make sure that his friend would be okay in his sudden departure from their shared home. After her, Nancy would know because she knew everything that Robin did, inevitably. Dustin would be the last to find out, because he was in his first year at Caltech and no one wanted to upset him during such a pivotal time. At least, that’s what Steve hoped anyway. 

They would all call him, but Steve wouldn’t answer because his phone was left behind, too, tucked away in the top drawer of his desk that couldn’t open all the way. It was better that way, he knew (if they called, he would answer, he would come home if they asked). 

Indiana was the only home Steve knew, and some part of him trembled at the thought of leaving it all behind. Before he’d died, Robert Harrington—and fuck, when did he stop thinking of the man as Dad?—had made it clear that Steve wasn’t capable of making it in the world outside of Hawkins where the Harrington name was enough to keep him afloat and surviving long past his parents’ unexpected passage. Robert may have been right, of course, because who packed a bag and bought the first bus ticket out of the state with no plan for what to do when he got to his final destination?

A small town barista with nothing to lose, he supposed.

No longer was he the only passenger waiting for the bus to arrive. Another man sat down on the other side of the small bench, dipping his head low to keep his face covered by the baseball cap he wore. All Steve could see was curly black hair pulled haphazardly into a bun at the nape of the man’s neck, several strands falling loose around his face and over the denim jacket he wore. He also only had one bag, a black duffel tossed on the concrete platform despite the rain beginning to soak the material.

Steve turned back to look down at his hands and the infernal ticket he still refused to look at, allowing the silence to settle over them for another few minutes. It was only when his mind turned back to all of the uncertainties ahead of him that Steve found himself turning back to face the stranger, desperate for something to distract himself with.

“I thought I’d be the only person traveling this late,” Steve admitted. “Where’re you headed?”

The other man didn’t look at him, only turning his chin enough to let Steve know that he’d heard. “Boston. It’s the only bus outta here until morning.”

Huh, so Steve was going to Boston. He’d never been to the New England area before. Robin’s mom loved the Red Sox, he should send her a postcard from Fenway if they wouldn’t all hate him after this stunt.

“Right, I knew that,” Steve covered, cheeks burning red at the thought of this man knowing about his impulsive decisions. “Because, uh, I’m going to Boston, too. Obviously.”

“You okay?” 

Steve hummed, unsure how to begin answering the other man. “I’m not, like, some creep. You don’t have to worry about that.”

The other man laughed. The sound was a little sharp around the edges but joyous all the same, like the man wasn’t quite used to it being pulled from him. It was unique and Steve wanted to hear it again and again if only for the unexpectedness of it. No, don’t fall for the bus stop stranger. He could be a serial killer, Steven! What would Robin think?

Robin would say ‘get it’. 

“Sorry, man, but that’s what a creep would say.” The man was joking based on the hint of laughter that carried through his voice. He finally looked up, revealing wide brown eyes with crinkles in the skin at the edge of them from his smile. “But I’ll believe you.”

“Why’s that?”

The man watched him for a moment. It reminded Steve of when his father had stood back and watched him kick a soccer ball at the wall in his frustration. Robert had known the ball would come back and knock Steve off of his feet, but he’d let the scene play out anyway. That same knowing look was on the man’s face now, like he was watching a scene in a movie he’d already seen before. It was strange, and completely out of place for two strangers at a bus stop, but somehow it made too much sense for the moment. 

Then the man simply shrugged, looking for all the world like someone who had dodged a speeding car with the relief on his face. “You have a trustworthy face.” It didn’t sound like the right answer, but Steve didn’t have any grounds to contest it on. 

“What’s in Boston?” Steve asked after a momentary lapse into silence, knocking the back of his head against the cover over the bench and turning it to face the man. 

“Uh…baked beans?”

“What?” It was Steve’s turn to croak out a laugh, the sound carrying out across the entire station. Did the man mean to be funny, or was that simply a bonus to his personality? “I meant what’s waiting for you out there. I mean, you gotta have something you’re headed toward?”

“Can I let you in on a little secret, from one late night bus creep to another?” the man asked, leaning over and placing a hand on the side of his mouth in a mock whisper. “Maybe I’ve got something I’m running from.”

The words should send alarm bells ringing in Steve’s head. Instead, he leaned closer and asked, “What are you running from?”

“Is it cheesy to say expectations?”

“Hm, maybe. But that makes two of us,” Steve answered honestly, fingers tightening around his bus ticket. “I’ll tell you a secret too. I had no idea where I wanted to go, just that I needed out of here today. I didn’t know where we were going until you told me.”

“Well, aren’t we a perfect pair...?” The man began, trailing off and looking at Steve expectantly after. 

“Steve.” Then, when the man didn’t reciprocate right away, “And you?”

This seemed to startle the man. His head reeled back a little, eyes wider as he watched Steve. “Wait, really?”

Who was this guy? Suddenly, Steve began to wonder if, through all of the jokes, this man actually was just some bus stop creep. Why would a name be such a big deal?

Then, all at once, the man relaxed again. If anything, he seemed to relax even more than before. His shoulders nearly completely slumped over with the clear relief at…whatever he’d been expecting to happen then. “I’m Eddie. It’s good to meet you, Steve.”

Conversation was easy with Eddie. They didn’t talk about anything that mattered—what pasta shape was the best, if they thought aliens were real, even what department store they’d choose to be stuck in for a night—but Steve was captivated by what Eddie had to say regardless. The conversation flowed straight through until the bus finally arrived to the station. Steve expected the conversation to end there, the entire night fading away into some strange but pleasant interaction with another lost stranger. 

Except, despite the bus being mostly empty at the late hour, Eddie chose the seat beside Steve.

Eddie chose Steve, his brain supplied unhelpfully. The brief spark of joy at that felt equally as silly as it did pleasant, because how bad could his life have been in Hawkins for him to be relieved that a stranger enjoyed talking about him? They didn’t talk much for the first few hours of the trip, but that suited Steve just fine. After all, it was still the middle of the night and he was already beginning to feel the settling of sleep in his body. It was a comfort simply to know there was someone he even vaguely knew beside him. 

It wasn’t until the sun began to rise on the horizon that Steve thought of Hawkins again. He wondered what Robin would be doing. Was she trying to look for him, or was she simply getting ready for work like nothing had happened? Had she even noticed that he was gone, had anyone? Maybe it was for the best of they didn’t—if, like a ghost, Steve disappeared in the middle of the night and was never heard from again. It had been clear for years that he didn’t quite fit in there, at least, not with the image that everyone had already created for him. Sure at one time he might’ve, but there came a point when he wanted to be more than the guy with good looks and a charming personality who know one really expected much from. Even his friends looked at him like he was a joke, like all he really had to offer was free car rides or someone to pick fun at. And it was fine, really he loved his friends more than anything, but for once he wished he could be more than that for someone, anyone.

Which was why, when the bus finally arrived in Boston the next night, Steve didn’t immediately take off. Eddie stood near him at the bus stop, one hand tucked into his jeans pocket and the other holding onto his duffel bag. A couple of his fingers were picking at a loose thread on the handle of the bag, and Steve had to wonder if Eddie even realized he was doing it. 

“Hey, so uh, at the threat of sounding like that bus stop creep,” Eddie began, a breathy laugh sounding overtop the words.

When the other man didn’t continue, Steve had the urge to make it at least a little easier for him. “Thought we agreed back in Indianapolis neither of us could be creeps.”

It was simple, but the words seemed to do the trick at least for long enough that Eddie could get his question out. “Well, just that it’s already late and Boston isn’t exactly safe alone. We both said we wanted a new start but who’s to say it wouldn’t be more fun if…what I mean to say is….”

Something told Steve that this nervousness was bizarrely out of character for a guy like Eddie. He exuded confidence in the way movie stars did, like he never cared what the people around him thought. But for some reason, after just a day together, he seemed to care what Steve thought of him. 

It was fucking crazy, and Steve knew that if Robin was there she’d yell about all of the ways he could be found dead the next morning if he agreed to staying with a stranger. 

And yet.

“How about we find a hotel room for the night? We can explore the city together in the morning.”

They ended up at a midtier hotel—the kind that always aired commercials about being perfect for nuclear family getaways as if the small enclosed space wouldn’t spark even more arguments between even the most loving families. It was nicer than the shitty motel rooms he and Robin had stayed in when they planned a last-minute road trip out to California to “find themselves” (spoiler alert: they found nothing except the beaches of LA were way too crowded), but not quite so nice as to blow all of his savings from the barista job he’d had for the past few years. 

Eddie seemed downright thrilled. He flopped right down on one of the small, lumpy twin beds—why had Steve been half-expecting to see only one of them when they walked in?—and let out a large sigh. “I haven’t stayed in one of these since I was a kid, I almost forgot how small and vaguely smokey they were.” From the way he kept his eyes closed and didn’t even look for a response, Steve had to wonder if he even meant to say it aloud.

“Not one for traveling?”

“Huh? Nah I travel all the time.”

Okay, the image the new details gave were kind of strange. What kind of guy travelled all the time but never stayed in a hotel room? “Please don’t tell me you’re the kind of guy who thinks staying overnight in your car is safe. I’ve already had to convince one friend it’s not,” Steve groaned, thinking of the one screaming match he and Robin had in the parking lot of a highway rest stop about not just sleeping there, pulled to the side of the road. 

Eddie opened his eyes to track Steve’s movement across the room. It was only once he’d laid down in the other bed that Eddie finally answered, seeming a little more on edge than before. “In a car? Who would do that if you had any other option?”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Steve laughed, pleased that at least someone agreed with him. “What has you traveling so much? Is it for work?”

“Uh…yeah, yeah you could say that.” Eddie didn’t say anything more about the topic, and though every increasingly shifty response about himself made Steve wonder if he was traveling with a mob boss or something, he didn’t press any further. Mostly because it was already well past midnight and Steve actually wanted to use the next day out in the city doing something fun. 

So he let himself relax into the bed, hoping his decision to stay the night in a hotel room with a stranger wasn’t a catastrophically terrible mistake.

“All I’m saying is anyone who thinks a New England beach is the same as a California beach is wrong!” Eddie shouted, catching the attention of more than a few passersby with his dramatics. “They’re inherently different with completely different vibes.”

“So are you saying New England beaches suck? I have a feeling someone here’d fight you for that,” Steve laughed, letting his head tip back to catch more of the suns rays on his face. It was still a little cool to be sitting on a beach, but when Eddie had suggested seeing what the beaches of Boston had to offer, Steve couldn’t refuse.

They’d spent their morning seeing many of the traditionally tourist sites. They checked out Fenway Park, and Steve dutifully wrote a postcard for Robin, though he wouldn’t send it until he’d left Boston. Eddie took him to the Boston Common and even over to the harbor, though that was the extent of their historical site visits if only because neither of them could pay attention long enough to get the experience. 

Afterward, when they’d had lunch at a little hole in the wall place that Steve was sure he’d never be able to find again, Steve suggested the beach. It wasn’t too crowded if only because the weather wasn’t summer-y enough yet, leaving him and Eddie to enjoy the rest of their afternoon in relative peace.

It was a good day, far from the lonely existence that Steve had been expecting when he took off on his own on a whim.

“You’re putting words in my mouth, Harrington,” Eddie returned, pointing his finger at him without any of the seriousness the gesture should’ve contained. “Both are great, but they’re not the same.”

“It is pretty peaceful though,” Steve said. “I could stay here and never move again.”

Eddie sat back on his hands and relaxed much in the same way Steve did, though instead of looking up toward the sky he looked over at Steve. “Do you think you’ll go back?”

“To the hotel? Yeah, when the beach closes.”

“No, I mean to whatever town you came from,” Eddie clarified. “Do you wanna go back?”

It seemingly came out of nowhere, but Steve had to assume from the suddenly serious expression on Eddie’s face that he was thinking of whatever he was running from too. 

“I don’t know,” Steve answered honestly. “It’s the only place I’ve ever known. It’s…comfortable. It sounds weird, man, but maybe I want to be uncomfortable? Like going to a new place, meeting people who have no idea who I was before now, that’s kinda thrilling isn’t it?”

“Staying the night in a hotel room with a stranger?” Eddie offered as if to lighten the conversation, smiling warmly at him.

“Yeah that,” Steve laughed. “I just. I miss my friends, but I also want to know I can do this without them.”

“This?”

Steve gestured around him, shrugging a little. “Life, I guess? People back home think I’m…I don’t know, stupid or something. I’m the butt of the joke, and I’m fine with that, really, but I want to know I can be more than that too.”

For a moment, Eddie didn’t say anything. He wasn’t even looking at Steve either, instead focusing somewhere out on the horizon. If he hadn’t already begun to learn that this meant Eddie was considering what Steve had said carefully, Steve would have assumed he wasn’t listening at all.

“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie finally said what felt like minutes later, voice more quiet than Steve had ever heard it. He turned back to face Steve, brown eyes full of an emotion that felt weightier than the moment called for. It stunned Steve into silence, struck by the sudden admission from the man.

“Do people underestimate you too?”

Eddie scoffed out a laugh. “You could say that. It’s like when you’re in a room and everyone’s staring at you, but they don’t really see you. You know?”

“Yeah, I do know.” Steve paused, knowing that any talk of where Eddie had been before could be a sore subject. Up until now, the man had shut down every conversation about it, had dodged any question Steve had for him. But he was too curious now not to ask, now that the doors had been opened. “Are you gonna go back?”

“I’ll go back eventually, but being out here, it’s nice. It’s nice knowing I can be more than what people think of me, too.”

Steve heard what Eddie didn’t say as loudly as he heard what Eddie had said. It’s nice being out here with you.

“This might be crazy,” Steve whispered, eyes dropping to Eddie’s lips. They were a little chapped, broken in places where Eddie had chewed on them out of nerves. “This might be really crazy.”

“Be a little crazy, Steve,” Eddie whispered back, not moving away as Steve began to lean forward. 

The kiss was gentle, barely there. Steve had kissed plenty of guys before, plenty of strangers, even. But this felt altogether different in a way Steve couldn’t begin to explain, like it could be the start of something entirely new and exhilarating in a way he’d never experienced before. Eddie was still practically a stranger in every way that mattered, and yet Steve found himself wishing he could have more moments like this, tucked away in their corner of the beach. Eddie understood him in ways noone else had dared to try before, and that was so shocking that Steve couldn’t help but begin to fall. 

Even more surprising was the flash of light. 

At first, Steve thought maybe lightning had struck in front of them. Maybe the pain of being electrocuted was so strong that Steve’s body hadn’t even registered it. 

But then the shouting started. 

When Steve turned, he saw a half dozen people holding cameras pointed at the two of them. A small crowd had begun to gather around them, though, all of them talking excitedly and pointing like he and Eddie were zoo animals in an enclosure. 

“What the fuck?” Steve hissed, stunned by the sudden attention. 

Eddie didn’t look shocked in the least. If anything, he seemed resigned to it.

Like he was used to this.

“Eddie, where have you been all this time?”

“Did you run away to be with a secret lover?”

“Who is this, Eddie?”

“Are you quitting the band?”

“Did you move to Boston?”

The questions didn’t stop coming, directed from the people with cameras and microphones, but also from the crowd of fans (and oh God, why did Eddie have fans?) that had gathered. They started asking Steve things too, anything from about who he was to if he was trying to tear the band apart, as if Steve knew what fucking band they were even talking about. 

Within moments, their little corner of the world had been exposed. 

As quickly as the paparazzi appeared, Steve stood and tried to disappear. He didn’t run, figuring that would only call even more unwanted attention to him. But he did move quickly, head tucked down so his hair might be able to cover his quickly reddening face. 

“Steve,” Eddie called out, hand reaching out to hold onto his arm. Steve shook it off, keeping his face turned away so he wouldn’t be anymore humiliated in front of the man and the rest of the world.

Steve kept walking. Eddie didn’t chase him.

Eddie was a fucking celebrity. A musician, from the sounds of it. Suddenly all of it made sense, leaving Steve with the feeling that maybe his friends were right about him after all. How could he have not seen it before? Eddie had looked surprised when Steve asked for his name, like he wasn’t used to having to introduce himself. Because he wasn’t. He traveled a lot, and wasn’t used to staying in hotel rooms that probably looked shitty compared to the luxury places he got to stay in. 

Was he using Steve as a piece of entertainment on whatever trip he was on now?

Except.

The look on Eddie’s face had seemed real, when he’d told Steve that he understood him. When he said he wanted to be more than what people thought of him, that he enjoyed being with Steve because they both could be whoever they wanted to be without any expectations of otherwise. He’d seemed genuinely relieved when Steve spoke to him normally at the bus stop, likely because everywhere he went he got the reaction that Steve had just run away from. It was the same reason Steve had left without letting anyone know where he’d gone, the same reason he didn’t want to send that postcard until after he’d already left Boston so he couldn’t be tracked. 

God, Steve could understand why Eddie hadn’t told him. 

There was no going back to the beach, not when the cameras were still there to catch every word. He didn’t want the world to hear what he had to say, not like this. He ended up back in the hotel room, thankful that noone had followed him there. The room was startlingly quiet. At least Eddie’s things were still there, sat on the floor at the end of his bed. That meant that the man had to come back, right? There would be a chance to say something, to tell him why he’d taken off in the first place.

As the time passed, Steve began to doubt. Maybe Eddie was rich enough that he wouldn’t care about one duffel bag of things. He might’ve already taken off back to California, back to his life as a celebrity where Steve wouldn’t have belonged anyway. 

Maybe it was for the best that Steve didn’t have the chance to be rejected by the first person who had really seen him.

Turning on the TV was a mistake. On the news was a grainy video of him and Eddie, sitting on the beach together. The camera had captured the end of their kiss all the way through when Steve had run off. It was being called an affair of all things, as if this was some forbidden romance. 

There was no hiding who he was. The journalist was calling him a mystery man, but everyone back home would easily be able to see where he was. What would his friends say—what would Robin say—when they saw this? Would they think that Steve ran away to go be with a celebrity, as if any of this had been planned?

When all of this was over, one way or another, Steve needed to find a payphone and call Robin. His best friend deserved answers, after this.

Three hours after the incident on the beach, the door to the hotel room finally opened. Standing there was Eddie, looking exhausted and rung out in a way Steve hadn’t seen since the night at the bus stop. Was this why Eddie had run away from his fame?

“I just came back to get my stuff, I promise noone followed me here,” Eddie said, keeping his gaze pointed on the old carpet instead of at Steve. “I really am sorry, Steve. I wanted to tell you, I just…”

Steve shrugged, having had his time alone to process everything and coming to the same conclusion anyway. “It was nice, having someone not think of you as some…famous musician.”

When Steve didn’t respond with anger or accusations, Eddie’s head whipped up in surprise. His brown eyes were wide, lips parted in clear shock as he watched Steve. 

“You’re not…mad?”

“I mean, I was at first,” Steve admitted, standing up from his spot on the bed to stand in front of Eddie. “Mostly embarrassed, that so many people had seen me. But I get it now. It’s probably not common for people not to recognize you.”

“You have no idea,” Eddie said, a hint of laughter carrying through his voice now. “I thought you were lying at first.”

“My friends call me oblivious all the time,” Steve admitted. “I don’t really listen to current music.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Eddie laughed. “I do really like you Steve, that part wasn’t a lie.”

“Well good, because I really like you too.”

“I have to get back to LA soon, now that everyone knows where I am,” Eddie admitted. “This sounds fucking crazy, but would you come with me?”

“Eddie, I chose to sleep in a hotel room with you when I hardly knew you,” Steve pointed out.

“Is that a yes?”

“It’s not a no,” Steve said, smiling. It would be the most impulsive thing that he’d ever done, but Steve couldn’t imagine a future where he let Eddie walk out that door without him.

Steve didn’t know how things would turn out. By all accounts, he and Eddie still didn’t know each other well. But hell, was Steve excited to learn. 

“But uh, could we make a stop on the way?” Steve asked. “I need to explain some things to a friend. I think you’ll like her.”

[goodnitedrdead]

god only knows

Horacio Carrillo x reader

Summary: who would've thought his ex-wife would ask God to send Horacio an angel? To fill the space she couldn't fill, and to do what Horacio wouldn't even do for himself.

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Divorce. Horacio being head over heels for reader. Fluff. Love. All that fun stuff.

Author's Note: quick little something I wrote before bed because I rly miss my favorite soldier and because I needed a break from school. Might make sense, might not. I did state that one of my new years resolutions was to write at least one piece of writing for each month so I am doing this before the month ends. Mistakes and errors are all my own, I didn't have time to check it. Let me know what you think :3

Composed. Collected. Calm. That’s what made Horacio an excellent soldier and an even better Colonel. Ever since his training days at the academy, he was an exemplary student. A promising star who was meant to be a leader. 

And a leader he became.

He’d set the tempo, and everyone else would follow the rhythm of his steps. His family talked wonders of the honorable man he became, to anyone who would listen. It was no surprise that the women were fawning over him, and much to his family’s constant pestering of finding the perfect wife, he found Juliana. 

Together, they found a mutual and tranquil love. Maybe the kind that develops over time, but certainly not one to last forever. 

If Horacio were to match Juliana to an animal, he’d say she was a doe. Skittish, gentle, docile. She was a good wife to him and always fulfilled her duties. She’d have three meals a day ready for the family. She’d stay home and focus on the children. She’d be devoted to her husband forever. 

Just as tradition states.

Horacio was to fulfill his duties as a husband too. He’d go to work, dedicate most of his time to it not only because he wanted the best for his country, but he wanted a safe place for his children to grow. He’d come back home and sometimes have dinner with his family. He’d be devoted to his wife forever.

Just as tradition states.

Tradition didn’t talk about divorce. Tradition didn’t talk about intruders and third parties shaking the very core of an honorable man’s beliefs.

Tradition never changes.

Tradition was broken when Julianna eventually got tired of Horacio’s lifestyle. It was broken when fear crept into their home, and found a host to latch on to. Fear was deeply rooted in Julianna’s heart from one minute to the next; fearing that every day that passed would be their last with Escobar on the run.

She went against her duties and beliefs and did what she saw fit. Bags packed, a new home far from Medellin, and divorce papers were her top three priorities for a few weeks. Eventually, she did the first two, but she couldn’t bring herself to give the papers to Horacio herself. She prayed, day and night, for guidance on what she should do but at the end of the day, her and her children’s safety were her number one priority. Horacio would be able to fend for himself. 

That never stopped her from reciting a quick prayer for him every night before bed. As she found herself far away from Medellin and Horacio, she’d pray for the safety of her ex-husband. After all, she still had a fondness for him and he was the father of her children. She shared many years and a home with him, it was someone she couldn’t just forget about overnight. 

She prayed to God to send Archangel Michael and his soldiers to watch over and protect Horacio from harm. Whether it may be from self-harm or others, she prayed for his safety. Send him your fiercest angel, the most courageous and brave one to keep him from harm’s way.

Horacio never knew this, for if he had he would’ve thanked Juliana for her wishes and prayers. Because if it wouldn’t have been for her, he wouldn’t have found you. 

You came into his life like a goddamn lightning bolt. He’d feel you in the air, the startling feeling jolting him as soon as you’d walk into the room. Unapologetically yourself and nothing else. You’d make a friend of anyone that crossed your path, but he’d also seen the rage within you. If there was someone he’d fear, it would be you. 

You were quick on your feet, and somehow quicker with your gun. He wasn’t sure why the DEA didn’t make you a sniper, but you were awfully good at your job. And yet, you were unapologetically gentle. You wouldn’t think twice about taking a bullet for him, and it made him laugh at times. A woman of your stature stepping in front of him, to protect him from harm’s way. A woman who was breaking tradition day by day and night by night. You weren’t quite like anything he’s ever seen before, and he loved that about you.

He loved how, despite igniting fear into even his soldiers’ minds and hearts, you wouldn’t budge. He could yell and scream and bark orders at you and you’d remain with the most serene energy he’s ever seen. Your eyes fixed on him, the storm brewing within you. Horacio wasn’t scared of many things, but he was scared of you.

How is it that you, someone so tender yet menacing, could have that balance within? He was scared of the way you would keep your innocence despite the amount of deaths and blood you’ve seen this city shed at the hands of Pablo Escobar. The way a smile would come so easy to you. The way a laugh was so easy to coax out of you. He was absolutely enamored by your very being.

Something he had never truly quite felt.

The time came when he lost everything he ever thought he was. Horacio started to lose his composure. He’d start to notice the way his heart would threaten to jump out at the sight of you. The way his pulse would quicken by just being by your side. The way his mind would seem to forget about every word to ever exist when you were speaking to him.

He started to notice how clumsy he would unwillingly become. How he’d stumble over his words when you were in the room. How his hands would betray him and drop the items they were carrying, because it would somehow elicit a giggle out of you. How he’d blush whenever you focused on him, as if he was the only person in the world that mattered.

Tradition was never supposed to change, right?

Yet you continued to prove that you didn’t care what tradition said. You approached Horacio first. You asked him out first. You kissed him first. You weren’t worried about what anyone else would think. You didn’t even care about what Horacio would think. 

It’s not like he never wanted to start anything, he was just too busy being consumed by your presence. You had a light within you that was blinding, but all Horacio wanted to do was look at you even if that meant he’d lose his senses for the rest of his life. 

It was only when you became a couple that he realized you were the protector. No matter how much he tried, you were always one step ahead of him. Ready to attack at the slightest moment anyone got too close to him. Ready to give your life up for him. 

Ready to fill his life with the most pure and sincere love he’d ever felt. 

It was as if God himself picked you to be placed on his path. 

[pastafossa]

The last day of 2023.

And holy shit has it been a chaotic ride, one which you all shared with me, or that's what it feels like!

The Major Moments:

Feb: Cato's cancer diagnosis and discovery of weird mutated cells that likely won't be explained until after he passes away. He's still with me, fortunately! No idea how much time he has left but I'm grateful for every second

April: a small leak in my dining room ceiling turned into a bigger leak which turned into a massive hole in the ceiling, at least it wasn't winter???

May: DD Born Again Photos give us all a goddamn heart attack

May: I FUCKING REACH MY OVERALL 1,000,000 WORD COUNT ON AO3. 🎊 🎉 🎊 Next stop is 1mill for TRT!

June: Went to my first con since Covid! Drove all the way down to Philly to see Charlie Cox, WHICH WAS FUCKING AMAZING, HE HELD THE RED THREAD FOR OUR PHOTO, MY FANFIC DREAMS HAVE COME TRUE, AND I TOLD HIM WHAT DD MEANS TO ME AND HE WAS SO NICE I COULD CRY

June: At that same con, I finally FINALLY got to meet my bff @wonderlandmind4 in person after many many many late nights of chatting, and we just CLICKED like we'd been friends for years, which I should have expected, but still! And then I got to meet a bunch of my readers, too! Best con experience EVER

July: enter Whoops Covid Finally Got Me After 3 Years But Charlie Was Worth It ™

July: Finally dusted off my draft of Pasta's First Dark Fic cause even if my brain was too fuzzy to write, I figured I could edit a bit. And I did! And was pretty happy with the results!

August: Shit Now There's A Long Covid Heart Issue And I Can't Be Seen Until Late November Thanks Covid ®

August: leak in the garage leads to me losing about 65% of all the beautiful, special woods pieces I'd gathered over the course of six years for carving. Within a week I am gifted a huge bin of wood from a kind soul at my local witchy shop

Sept: TRT's 6th anniversary!

Nov: I was slowly getting back into the swing of things, doing a bit of writing in between learning to manage whatever was going on with my heart (which we'll hopefully figure out in January when I get all the results of testing in Jan)

Early Dec, and the worst week of my life: mom got sick. Within one day she went from not feeling good to needing an ambulance. By the next day, she was in the ICU - flu induced double pneumonia that was interfering with her breathing and heart issues. And with one more day, she was put into an induced coma and ventilated, without any of us sure if she'd pull through. They told us she'd likely be under for two weeks, potentially longer even if she made it. The amount of messages and supportive comments I got from all of you, the talks I had with @wonderlandmind4 and @shouldbestudying41, just the general sense of having a community to help me means more than I can ever say as you all helped me through that terrible, horrible moment, even if it was just gently messaging me to remind me to try to eat.

Mid Dec: against ALL odds, Mom was off the ventilator in a week. By week 2, she was out of the ICU. By week 3? Off to the physical rehab center. She was there a grand total of 1 week before she was allowed to come home to finish her recovery. Early December was the worst moment of my life, and yet it was also bookended by the best Christmas of my life even if it was spent at the rehab center, because I got to have my mama back, and hug her and tell her I loved her and make jokes, and now she's home and we've been watching Christmas movies and eating grilled cheeses, and as far as I'm concerned, that's what the holiday is to me: not presents and snow and lights, but this moment, this time with her. 'In all the places you find love, it feels like Christmas.'

In just a few hours for me, it'll be 2024. I have no idea what to expect going forward, or even what to plan for, much less a resolution. I know I want to get back to TRT when mom's a bit better (she still needs a lot of help, understandably). I know there are wood carvings I want make; friends I want to visit; witchy events at my local shop I want to go to. But other than that... who knows? If I'm lucky, things will be calmer than this past year. But even if they aren't, at least I know I have dear friends, all of you, and my family, including Pasta Mama, to help me through it.

Goodbye, 2023. Hello, 2024.