#sorry to mary and joseph... but that man did not look young! this movie a convention of 40yos & my grandpa asks me this.

[princessnijireiki]

god... that movie "ten years" is on... and my grandpa was like, what is it about, and I say, well, the CHARACTERS are having a messy 10yr high school reunion, but the ACTORS are all trying very hard pretending to be 28. because literally all of them look too old for this... like AT LEAST 35.

and then my grandpa says, "hmm. ...genevieve, how old are you again?"

and I know, cognitively, that it was to gauge my youthful face against all of theirs, bc he is almost 80 & sometimes you need a reminder of What People In Their 20s vs 30s+ Look Like. but MY GOD MY GOD lmaooo SUCH a fucking burn if he had been trying to be shady, I was like "OUCH??? 😭" literally channing tatum is in this... WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO ME GRANDFATHER...

[grownups-are-the-real-monsters]

Here Today

Summary: Beaver spotted the man first as he & Jonesy strolled towards Derry’s kissing bridge, hand-in-hand. He was hunched over himself in a way that had to be might uncomfortable. Beaver stopped his loud laughter when Jonesy let go of his hand. For safety. 

They’d just bow their heads, walk past and maybe come back later to attend to their business if they saw fit. At least, that could have been the plan had Beaver not recognized the stranger. 

Fandoms: IT & Dreamcatcher 

Ships: Reddie, Jonesy/Beaver 

Word Count: 3,708

There was a man with bad posture sitting on the kissing bridge. 

A couple of things were wrong with him. Some were simply symptoms of a common cold (the cough, the stuffiness & the sneeze). But what was left (the breakdowns, the depression & sudden fondness for his hell-hole hometown) were signs of a problem much larger than that of a ‘sick-bug’.

The man with awful posture was re-entering a period of mourning. Like the time of the werewolf; the moon snuck up on Richie Tozier two nights ago and reduced him to a sad, hairy man. Slobbery too. But slobbery with tears.  

Each of his loser’s club pals had reached out to him that morning. Their texts were loving & perfect but awkward (through no fault of their own). Who knew what to say to their best friend who’d never officially come out of the closet on the anniversary of the man he never got to confess his full-love to’s death? Hallmark didn’t have the best cards for that. Some. But not a lot. 

Mike Hanlon had encouraged his Idea to come on down to Derry over the phone when he’d hesitantly pitched it. Once Richie told him about the carving, Mike told him to go on & head-out. Pay a sentimental visit instead of succumbing to his usual coping mechanism of crying & watching movies for straight men. ‘She’s Out of My League’ had been his original plan for the afternoon.

But sweet Mike was right, as he often was. So Richie negotiated a week off with his agent before the ‘real work’ in his schedule started. He came home...to the place where he’d grown-up...the place which housed some of his fondest and some of his most horrifying memories. It was that strange sort of balance that kept any feeling but numb at bay. 

{R + E}

It had still been there, of course. He hadn’t expected any Derry hooligans' to scratch it off or some shit. But it was still sort of surreal to be back again. He traced his fingers along the thick, cut-open lines just as he’d done down the tender ripped skin of Eddie’s wound two years ago. He shouldn’t have been as squeamish this time, considering it was only carved wood not the yanked-open & festering skewer hole of his loved one (Ha! He laughed like a disturbed & deeply depressed Fozzy Bear at that one!)

That had been a little over twenty minutes ago but Richie still hadn’t left. He sat now at the edge with his legs hung over the side. Not completely ready to go back to his lonely motel room. He thought about the Losers having to pull him off Eddie’s body down in the sewers which eerily lead him to his Halloween costume six or so years ago...Tom Petty’s get-up in the ‘Mary Janes Last Dance’ Video. 

He felt a sudden urge to vomit and cry at the same time. Because there was truly no way to avoid the pain. It would just have to hammer in his chest until it either passed or killed him. He couldn’t run from himself or his memories for very long. He felt a sick sensation of missing the time he’d first left Derry & was forced to forget everything and everyone. At least then...

No. He hated that he could even think about wanting that. He would just have to keep learning how to live without Eddie Kaspbrak. Shouldn’t be too damn difficult, huh?

: : : : : :

Beaver spotted the man first as he & Jonesy strolled towards Derry’s kissing bridge, hand-in-hand. He was hunched over himself in a way that had to be might uncomfortable. Beaver stopped his loud laughter when Jonesy let go of his hand. For safety. Derry was nowhere near as bad as it’d once been but you couldn’t be too careful when it came to displaying your sexuality in front of strangers, sadly. 

Though still, the boys held love for their home-town. After all, it was the setting of their found family and nothing was more important than the good ol’ SSDD gang. 

They’d just bow their heads, walk past and maybe come back later to attend to their business if they saw fit. 

At least, that could have been the plan had Beaver not recognized the stranger. “Jesus Christ-Bananas!” he yippee’d in that voice Jonesy usually adored but was slightly annoyed by in the moment. “That’s Richie fucking Tozier!”

“A very distressed looking Richie Tozier.” Jonesy corrected, hoping they were giving the man enough space & privacy that he couldn’t notice them yet. He nver understood his boyfriend’s obsession with the guy. To Jonesy, Richie Tozier seemed like any other straight white comedian. “We should probably leave him alone, Beav.” 

Beaver’s beautiful joy snapped into an accepted disappointment as he observed the man in front of them. Jonesy could see the ache to rush over was hard for him to hold back. It pained him just to see his boyfriend so deflated. Teased by such a great possible experience-

“I’ll be leaving soon, if that’s what you’re worried about!”

Came a sudden friendly & very Richie Tozier like voice. Beaver just about shouted as they jumped their eyes over to meet the stranger’s. He was tall and a little gangly with Buddy Holly glasses sliding down his nose. 

“Actually we were just trying to decide which one of us was going to rob you...” Beaver chuckled awkwardly & so unlike him. “We were gonna do a coin toss for it.” He added before slamming his hand against his forehead (quite forcefully too). “That was a joke, sorry...a dumb joke...” He mumbled. Jonesy couldn’t hold back his amused grin but resisted his urge to pull Beav closer. Instead, he walked forward to their conversation ahead, an eager yet embarrassed boyfriend following him. 

“You’re Richie Tozier!” Beaver repeated. 

“Beaver’s a bit starstruck.” Jonesy smirked. “He gets this same way whenever he sees a famous comedian just chilling in our hometown.” He chuckled and pretended not to notice Mr. Tozier’s red eyes. He got the feeling---actually it was more than that, he could very well tell the man was caught between a rock & a hard place with the little...trick he & the gang each possessed. 

“Hey, that’s ok with me.” He laughed & pushed his glasses up his nose. “Don’t see any paper...want me to sign a body part or something?” He joked and Jonesy knew exactly how Beaver would try and continue the joke so...

The taller friend slapped his palm over ‘Beavers’ mouth which made that squeaky old man laugh escape Richie. 

“Gary Jones. You cane call me Jonesy.” The young man held out his free hand to shake in a charming gesture which said ‘We do this bit all the time’. It hit Richie right in the grief bone again. 

“Joe Clarendon. But my friends call me Beaver.” And just like that, Beav’s confidence was back. 

Richie noticed the way Jonesy practically glowed when his friend spoke. “Richie Tozier.” He felt the need to introduce himself, like an idiot, even though they obviously knew his name. “But you can just call me ‘your hero’, I guess.” He laughed at his own lame joke which seemed to make the Beaver-guy light up again. 

He looked them up and down. They looked about twenty or twenty-one to Richie. Beaver was a short but made up for it in hair, which was long & hippie-like. He respected that. Most of his body up top was covered by a large Fonzie-Jacket & the bottom was all about the Doc Martens. Richie felt like he was looking at a bit of a modernized version of his younger self. 

Jonesy was going for a much calmer look of a light-blue flannel and sneakers. They looked like quite the pair. 

“What’s a guy like you doing in a town like this?” Beaver grinned, charm oozing so easily off him. One of the reasons Jonesy fell in love with him so quickly. 

Richie chuckled, swiping his thumb under his nose. “Thought I’d visit my old stomping grounds.” He shrugged. 

Jonesy shared a quick look with Beav as a feeling shot up his body. He got the idea through their...special talent that there was more to that story. And by the look of it, so did Beav. 

“There’s no way you grew up here. I would’ve known that!” Beaver smacked a hand to his chest. “Jesus-Christ-Bananas!” 

Richie quirked his brow at the Beav-ism & Jonesy briefly thought he might ignore it or roll his eyes like most strangers but instead...“Mary, Joseph & the whole fruit basket!” He shook his head. Beav looked like he might burst with respect and adoration. It was just about the cutest thing Jonesy had ever seen. “I can’t believe it myself sometimes.” 

The Beav takes a toothpick from his new wooden container (a gift from Mrs. Cavell) and pops it between his teeth. He thought-no-he knew that Rich Tozier was doin’ a voice. Not an outrageous one like he sometimes did on stage but one that said ‘I’m alright. Doing just fine. Nothing to see here’ and all at once Beav felt a little bad for bothering him again. 

“I ran around with a little gang of dorks.” He laughed, 100% sure he was about to dumb a lot of his tory onto these poor boys. Not all but some. “Lost one of them two years ago today...” He frowned and looked conflicted before adding “In the flood.” 

The boys started to nod but where Jonesy felt a pinch of something wrong in his mind, Beaver started having a full-on attack about it. Like in the old days. Days of Grenadeau and Josie. Jonesy felt his boyfriend shaking and looked to see him trying to repress it to the best of his ability before lurching forward with a grunt that sounded painful.

Richie ducked down like he might try to catch him if he fainted but Beaver popped back up with sweat running down his temple. 

‘What happened?’ Jonesy sent a message through his mind almost completely accidentally. 

Beaver looked up, looking deeply deeply disturbed and scared. He’d seen images he could not for the life of himself comprehend. ‘Dark places. Large sharpened legs stabbing through somebody's body? Something like that. Screaming and...?’ He looked at Richie. “New shit today, Jonesy.” He felt vomit whirl up his throat but he swallowed quickly. “I saw a clown?” 

Richie widened his eyes before vomiting over the edge of the bridge.

“Major gross-out!” Beaver whistled as he heard the plops of chunky puke hit the water. Jonesy looked a little green himself after Rich came up, wiping his mouth with general looking shock. 

Beaver was about to make another kind of joke when he noticed the guttural growl the comedic-stranger made as his body lurched forward. He hoped the guy could catch his breath before he choked on any more reverse meals. 

He stepped forward to offer him the bandana he kept in the jacket pocket but when they briefly touched hands, another sight hit him that was just as shockingly awful as the last-----

‘Beads of blood dotted the corners of Richie’s torn lips. Hands incapable of remaining clutched with the slickness of the sweat pooling in his palms. He had Eddie kneeling between his skinny legs who was trying to communicate something to him but the most Richie could think to do in those fatal seconds was to hope for a few things. 

The kind of hopes that were important to someone at the delicate age of forty. 

A large thump above his head made him flinch, Eddie’s fist briefly slamming hard under his chin. He fought back his pain filled yelp by clasping his palm over his wet mouth. His eyes darted wildly back and forth behind the minimal cracks on his glasses. 

The second hand dirt that he’d gathered on his piss colored shirt was now having a wipe down of maroon. 

Only the dye-job didn’t come from him. Rather, Eddie Kaspbrak who was now wailing above him as Pennywise waved him around like a magic wand. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood. He popped his hand off the tight grip he’d had on his chin. The satisfying pop sound came with a small following gurgle. Gasps of choked breaths rushed out from his clotting throat. 

But none of that mattered because the love of his life was being murdered right in front of him.

He screamed.’ 

Beaver screamed too. Not as loud but just as horribly pained. 

                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So let me get this straight...” Richie paced back-and-forth on the bridge while Beaver & Jonesy tried to follow him, amusingly. They’d each given each other new and semi-honest backgrounds now. Richie’s was hard to understand without all the pieces but beyond crazy still. “You’re in a group of friends, from Derry-” He laughed like a crazy person. Beaver loved it. And oddly, so did Jonesy. “And you all have these...powers?”

Jonesy nodded, now walking in-pace with the older man. “You got it.” He chuckled. 

“There’s five of us. How many do you have?” Beaver added, standing on his tip-toes. 

Richie stopped moving. “There’s seven-” He paused. Thinking of the cruel way Stanley & Eddie had been taken away from them. “Five left though.” He looked like he wanted a cigarette so Beaver instinctively held out a tooth-pick. 

When the comedian actually took it, Jonesy saw Beaver smile so wide it looked like it might break his gorgeous little face. For a moment the pair so alike just stared at each other. It was something of a little stand-off that Jonesy was about to question when a different thought popped into his brain. “Whoever died this day-?”

Richie slid down against the wood and sat. “Eddie.” His eyes glazed over for a moment before falling on tiny Beaver’s huge Doc Martens. 

Jonesy swallowed, hoping yet knowing he wasn’t wrong. “Was he your...?” He licked his lips in thought. But Richie cut him off by looking back up with freshly-red eyes. 

“Almost. Maybe.” He shrugged, rolling his toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “Slipped through my f-f-fingers-fuck. Starting to sound like stuttering Bill.” He laughed but the boys weren’t sure who that was. 

The three of them were now sitting on the bridge together. 

“He didn’t know. We left him down there and he didn’t even fucking know I was in love with him.” He sighed, not wanting to think about how weird the day was starting to become. “He was afraid of the dark.” He shrugged, holding the tooth-pick between his fingers, rolling it back-and-forth.

“Taste good like a cigarette should, huh?” Beaver mumbled after a few minutes and again Jonesy was sure that Richie wouldn’t appreciate that reaction but the man surprised him with a hearty laugh. 

“It’s like the song says; I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. Seen sunny days that I thought would never end. Seen lonely times when I could not find a friend. But I always thought that I’d see you again...” Beaver raised his tooth-pick, Richie followed without question & Jonesy raised his pinky finger. 

“How’d you get to be such a funny kid, huh?” Richie quirked his brow. 

Jonesy smiled. “Born that way.” He slapped Beav’s knee gently. 

“Overactive imagination and anger issues.” Beaver pushed Jonesy back by the face and giggled when Jonesy just let him do it. 

Richie watched the short little spitfire slap-fight his pal and felt sick to his stomach by how much the young man reminded him of himself...and of Eddie only with a tooth-pick holder clutched in his hands instead of the inhaler.

Jonesy felt a short breeze pass over them. “Beav brought me here to show me some carving he did when we were little.” He glanced at his boyfriend with extreme affection. Both knew Richie was safe now. 

“Our initials in a heart!” Beaver whistled. “Because little Beav didn’t know how to express his feelings.” He mocked a sweet voice. 

Richie laughed, chin to the sky. “You gotta be shitting me.” He leapt to his feet and gestured for them to follow him. Which they did without hesitation. “I came here for a reason today too.” He pointed towards his old carving with an unbelievable amount of pride and utter amazement. Another coincidence. 

{R + E}

The younger men each stared at the carving with wonder and appreciation. Beaver kneeled down and traced it with his fingers just as Richie had done just a half-hour ago. Jonesy simply looked off with vague amusement as he threaded his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair, Richie supposed he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. 

“My friend, Mike...Mike Hanlon. He thought it’d be good for me to come up here today just to...” He faded off to wave his hands about, not knowing how to finish. The boys looked up with happy looking grins. 

“Mike Hanlon?” Jonesy shook his head with joy. “He was our childhood librarian.” His tongue ran across his lips & he was most surely seeing flashes of his childhood. And maybe feeling a bit like time was passing by too quickly. 

‘Damn kid was barely twenty-one though’. Richie thought bitterly & fondly. 

Beaver nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. Nice guy. He helped me check out my Playboy’s that one time.” He stuck a thumb into Jonesy’s shoulder which was slapped away with amusement. His smile faded to an exaggerated grimace. “It was always weird to go there after that.” 

Richie couldn’t help but laugh again with the jovial young men. It lasted about twenty seconds before it turned into hoarse sobs. He turned away from them, chest hurting. “Fuck, man! This is embarrassing as shit.” He managed a small chuckle through it. 

Jonesy looked at him sympathetically, hearing all of Beaver’s thoughts of ‘I wish Henry were here’.

“SSDD, huh?” Jonesy did the best he could and took pride in himself when the man turned. “Same shit, different day.” He added. 

Richie chuckled again, a beautiful one. “Yeah--yeah, I’ve heard it before.” He shook his head and leaned onto the railing. He genuinely looked cheered up by that simple phrase, sharing a private & entertained look with Beaver, who Jonesy would later call his soul-son. 

“We should give you our other friend’s number, he’s studying to be a psychologist--”

“Psychiatrist, Beav.” Jonesy corrected.

Beaver shrugged, waving his hand. “Psychiatrist, whatever. He may be able to help your fragile mental state.” 

Jonesy accepted just then that his boyfriend could never push too far when it came to Richie because the Tozier man recognized the Beav for what he was. And that would be someone very similar to himself. 

It was strangely beautiful. 

“What I saw was...” Beav faded off, eyes twitching. It was hard for him to put to words just how gut-wrenching the scene was. “Awful. I can’t imagine what you must have gone through or are going through.” He shook his head. 

Jonesy nodded, rubbing a comforting hand down his boyfriend’s arm. “I only just felt it & I wanted to die.” He wondered if that was extremely rude to say. 

Richie squinted. He was reminded of a younger Stanley Uris & his ability to see...to understand things past the other loser’s comprehension. He felt a strong urge to insist his losers come back down to Derry just to meet these home-visitors too. Maybe it was meant to be. 

“It’ll be hard to get over the fact that my vision of Eddie & I getting together in my head....” He bit into his cheek “Well, it’s going to have to stay there forever.” He looked up at the happy former Derry citizens couple as they instinctively held each-other’s hands tighter. He nearly choked with jealousy. “I loved him for a few years, forgot him for a good twenty-seven more and now...” He waved his hand in-front of him in a tight spiral. 

“You’re lonesome all the time since leaving your baby behind on Blue Bayou, huh?” Beaver flicked his tooth-pick. The sky grew a little bit cloudy over their heads and Richie Tozier burst into a fit of giggles. 

“You could say that, kiddo.” He crossed his arms, looking ready to drop the subject all together now. “And I’m not gonna say anything more about that fucking clown before you ask.” Rich smiled, pointing a finger at Jonesy who truly was about to ask more about that creature the comedian briefly mentioned only enough to explain Beaver’s vision. 

“I’ve made your nice little trip about me, sorry.” He added. “See, making people miserable is a talent of mine. I’m a great comedian in that way.” He rolled his eyes, standing up straight. 

“You’d be better if you wrote your own material. I’d like to hear some jokes about that horrible trauma you talked about.” Beaver giggled as he bit hard into his toothpick. Richie burst into another fit of genuine laughter. “My trauma is the center of my comedy-” He smirked. 

Jonesy frowned, thinking of the past and of men like Richie Grenadeau who they had once dreamed dead. He softly pinched the back of his boyfriends palm. If Tozier could keep some cards close to his chest, so could they. At least for now. 

“Ow! Bitch-in-a-Buzzsaw!” Beaver whipped his hand back and sucked on his skin like a child. Jonesy tried not to giggle as Richie looked on with confusion. 

He shrugged in response. “I just-”

“Nah, I got it.” He waved a hand from his temple to the vague direction of Jonesy’s. “We don’t have to tell each other everything. Hell, we’re still strangers.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked off in the direction of his carving. 

“But soon to be best friends.” Beaver added, breaking his lips free from the moist spot on his hand. Richie and Jonesy had a nice shared laugh at the charming boy. 

They walked a ways up the bridge to see Richie Tozier off, in some silent agreement. Jonesy felt a rush of disappointment pass through him but it was quickly squashed by the eagerness he had for his date with Beaver. 

As the group walked him over the bridge, Jonesy caught sight of little Beaver’s old carving...in the shape of a heart...

{B + J} 

[harryandhishook]

Thanksgiving Secrets

Fandom: Dream Daddy

Pairing: Background Hugo x Damien

Setting: Maple Bay

Warning: Erm … Coming out? Swearing? I have no idea

Summary: After going to College, Lucien is invited for Thanksgiving with his Dad, Hugo and Ernest, however, Ernest hasn’t been his normal self and some secrets are revealed 

Words: 4059

Requested: Nope, I wrote this last November in a book on a coach coming back from Walk Disney World Florida

Side note: Before I give my apologies, I AM A TRANS MAN, if anything in here sounds off or doesn’t sound like how you expect a coming out story is, just remember, everyone’s coming out story is different and I tried to do this the best I can.

Also I am so so sorry, I know I haven’t uploaded in ages and I know there is no excuse but University is a bitch, my mental health is not good and my Grandmother (Who raised me) is pushing me to my limit and I’m so close to cutting contact with her. Sorry to unload all that to you but I’m trying my hardest to keep myself together and not just quit everything.

Here, have a cute Gif of Damien stroking a cat :) And sorry for any errors in the writing, it’s long and I still don’t have anyone to read my stuff over for me :(

Growing up wasn’t as bad as people thought it was, it just … sucked. When people aged, they found their soulmates, got jobs, leave to see the world, people grow up in body and mind.

It was around the time that Lucien was in his final year of Highschool when his Dad and Hugo finally confessed their feelings to each other and became a thing, Ernest was still young and very much acting out.

Lucien was the quickest to accept it, he was a little hesitant at first seeing as it was just him and Damien through his entire life and his Dad wasn’t exactly a stereotypical person, he may not act like it but when it comes to his Father, he is crazy protective over him and well, he didn’t want to let him get hurt, however, over time, he realised just how much the two Cul-De-Sac Fathers loved each other.

Ernest on the other hand, he couldn’t bring himself to accept the fact that his Father was dating, he couldn’t accept that he could one day have a Stepbrother, he just couldn’t accept any of it. The boy did everything to try and stop it, he acted out even more than usual, tried to split them up, he did whatever he could think of but no matter what, Damien would always treat him like he was his own son.

Now, a few years down the line, Lucien decided to prove every one of his disapproving teachers wrong and leave for College, all the while Ernest was stuck in his final year of Highschool, now, the pyromaniac delinquent was still one of his biggest features, something he was still well known as but the young Vega boy was actually a lot calmer than before and actually tried his hardest to settle down.

Damien and Hugo knew that Ernest never really had much of a problem with telling someone, even if it was through anger, how he felt and both Fathers had come to think that maybe the boy had completely reformed himself, figuring himself out, growing up from the mischievous boy they had watch destroy himself with hate and they both hoped that the boy would stay that way.

This year, the family decided to host Thanksgiving together, Lucien agreeing to travel down and stay for two weeks with them all while Damien tried to get as much time as he could from work for his Son. Luckily for Hugo and Ernest, the school boiler had decided to explode quite abruptly, leaving almost the entirety of the upper school, Hugo and Ernest area, flooded, giving them both the opportunity to stay at home for longer.

The day Lucien arrived home, he two Dad decided to meet him at the bus station, they had asked Ernest who had politely refused which was not much of a surprise to them, he barely left his room recently, he didn’t say why but they expected it may have possibly been school work.

When they had arrived at the station and greeted Lucien very happily, they had both shrugged off his question of, ‘where’s the brat?’, stating that he was busy and found it difficult to put his stuff down, not wanting him to worry too much when he had only just got there.

When Lucien got to the house, he was more than happy to wave at all his old neighbours with a wide smile on his face, anyone from a mile away could tell he had missed Maple Bay. It took almost an hour before the emo was able to walk through the door, not only did he need help with bags, his neighbours that he had waved to, mainly Mary, Joseph and Brian, had taken it upon themselves to bombard him with questions … okay, mainly Joseph and Brian, Mary was just happy to see the little monster again.

Finally, Lucien was in the clear, bags in the hall, coat and shoes off, placed neatly in their respective places while Damien rushed off to make them all something special to eat that night. The bo-young adult moved through his old home without so much as looking where he was going, all perfectly memorised until he reached the room that he never really needed to go into, the room that was never used into recently, Ernest’s room.

With a soft knock, Lucien waited, he knew that even with Ernest being older and probably not bothered by the emos presence, he still needed privacy,

“Who is it?” came a quiet and tired sounding voice, to anyone outside of the family, they would have thought someone else had spoken but Lucien could recognise the little shits voice better than anyone,

“Oi, dickhead, you gonna open up for your favourite brother or not?” Lucien playfully replied, hoping his usual attitude and joking ways could coax Ernest out of his little hiding mood. It took a few moments but soon enough, the door creaked open, revealing a tired looking and very messy looking Ernest, his hair was a mess, his clothes looked like they hadn’t seen a washing machine in years from how crumpled and wrinkly they were and finally, even if the boy thought no one could see, Lucien wasn’t so easily fooled as to not see the dried tears staining his cheeks,

“Ernest, man, what happened?” the emo asked, pushing them both into the room so he could block out everyone else once the door was shut, “You look like shit, when was the last time you had a shower? What the hell happened to you dude?” he asked, well, more demanded to know as he continued to push the younger boy into the room, sitting him on the bed before shuffling around the piles of clothes and trash, picking up the laundry to move out into the hamper before picking up every single piece of rubbish and crap left on the floor,

“Nothings wrong, Luce, I’m fine, I’ve just been busy, you know how it is, final year of school and all that” Ernest protested, trying his hardest to sound normal but failing miserably to convince his best friend and brother,

“Yeah, bullshit, if you’re so busy with work then I’m the straightest man alive, you’re lies ain’t gonna work on me so either you tell me what’s going on or have a shower, you smell like death so pick one or the other” Lucien demanded sternly, giving him a pretty simple choice, now to see if Ernest would actually pick one.

Luck would have it, Ernest grumpily rolled himself from the bed and made his way begrudgingly to the bathroom that was opposite the boys room, causing the emo to smile in relief.

As the sound f the shower filled the hall and the grumbles of annoyance hit the older siblings ears, Lucien made his way downstairs, large bag of trash in one hand and the hamper in the other. The little chore was meant to go smoothly … if his dads weren’t being stupidly lovey dovey in he kitchen, at least he got to see both adults become exceedingly embarrassed at being caught, however, that changed to shock when they spotted that the rebellious emo they had grown to love was cleaning in the first few minutes of staying in the house,

“It’s not what it looks like, Ernests room was a mess so I cleaned his room while he’s taking a well needed shower” Lucien explained as he put the bag of trash by the back door, “O know there is something wrong with him and I’m going to try get it out of him … whether he likes it or not” the boy stated as he moved into the adjacent room to start the new load of laundry, he was so busy he hadn’t even noticed his parents enter the room after him,

“My darling, we didn’t want you to worry, Ernest has been acting quite peculiar as of late, normally we can easily piece together his dilemma but … as you saw, he hasn’t left his room in quite some time” Damien explained as they stood in the doorway, watching the emo boy start the washer before turning to look at the two men, he was about to speak when Hugo interrupted him,

“I don’t want to lose Ernest, not when I’ve just managed to get him to call me dad again” the eldest Vega whispered, sighing as the Victorian beside him gently laced their fingers together, “Lucien please try and get him to open up to us” years ago, Lucien would tell his parents to do it themselves but from the looks on his dads faces, it was out of their hands and unsurprisingly up to him,

“Fine but only because I love you both” the emo chuckled, walking in between them to escape the little room, “Anyway, who can resist my puppy dog eyes” Lucien smirked before pointing at Damien, “and one of Dads famous movie pamper nights” he finished as he vanished back upstairs,

“Damien, what is he talking about?” the teacher asked, absolutely confused but also very intrigued. Hugo turned his gaze to the side only to come face to face with a very ecstatic man next to him,

“It’s been so long, I will need many supplies, first, I’ll need to find a good movie, maybe comedy, oh how this brings back so many memories” the Victorian man rambled as he scurried about the rooms, writing a very long list, “this will surely help Ernest, why did I not think of this” he muttered before handing the list to the other man in the room, “I will need you to run to Walmart for all these things, also get some of those pizza rolls that Ernest loves so much, thank you” he instructed before also disappearing off upstairs, leaving a baffled Hugo still stood in the laundry room now holding a long list of junk food … way too much junk food.

Nightfall came, the living room had been transformed into what looked like a teenage girls slumber party; junk food, movies, nail kits, make up, face masks, everything a slumber party needed.

Hugo had been told he could enter if and only if he let someone do one little bit of pampering on him, to which the teacher quickly excused himself with the explanation of ‘papers to complete’, leaving Damien to sit in his very baggy and very comfortable … okay, maybe not his clothes but the wrestling shirts he ‘borrowed’ from Hugo looked so cute on him. Lucien sat beside him in some of his least emo pyjamas anyone had ever seen on the boy since they were covered in Mickey Mouse heads but who’s judging.

Soon, once the room was competed, Lucien hurried upstairs, knocking gently on the large door of Ernest's room to get his attention,

“Bitch, I need you to do two things, one, find some comfy clothes and two, come downstairs” the emo shouted through the door before waiting for a response which amazingly didn’t take as long as the door opened to reveal a grouchy looking mess,

“What are you trying to do, Goth?” Ernest mumbled, obviously trying to joke around even thought Lucien could tell he felt like absolute shit,

“It’s emo and I’m not trying to do anything, all I want to do is to try and help you feel better” Lucien explained before realising he was just going to have to reveal what was downstairs, “Me and Dad were talking and I found out that you like to sit and talk to him so, me, you and my Dad are going to sit downstairs, eat junk food and watch movies … sound good?” he asked, hoping it was going to work.

Lucien realised it definitely did when Ernest held up a single finger, closing the door in the emos face before appearing once again moments later in very baggy yet comfortable clothing,

“Well then, come on, I don’t have all day” Ernest grumbled, a small smile gracing his exhausted face as he obviously tried to crack another joke with his stepbrother. Slowly, he made his way down the grand staircase to the living room where Damien was waiting happily,

“Ernest, my dead, come sit” he said giddily, patting the stack of pillows and duvets beside him, allowing Ernest enough space to sit comfortably as he pressed play on the movie, one of Ernest's and Damien's guilty pleasures, Descendants,

“Descendants, junk food and being lazy … you trying to butter me up, pops?” Ernest chuckled weakly as he sat down, getting himself comfortable between his family, he knew exactly what they were doing for him but maybe a little treat wouldn’t be too bad to indulge in.

A few hours, three descendants films and a lot of pampering later, the three of them were laid back, heads rested against the sofa as they spoke, Lucien's nails were drying, Damien had a face mask on and Ernest was staring, his ears were almost deaf to the world around him as the other two people in the room chatted away but he couldn’t bring himself to look away and join in, his gaze couldn’t move from the one thing in the room that haven’t been touched, the make-up. The young boy was silent, burning holes into the bag of brushes and surprises, until,

“Pops…” A meek whisper but was caught by the man it was directed to, causing the two to stop talking and sit up, removing the cucumbers from over his eyes,

“Yes my dear?” Damien asked as he watched the young boy slowly turn his gaze over to his,

“I’ve heard that … well, some girls at my school have said that …” the boy stuttered, trying to think of the best way to describe his strange request but he couldn’t, making the boy sigh and ask, “Can it feel good to put on make-up?” he finally asked, trying not to make eye contact.

Damien's eyes widened a little, out of everything he had prepared himself to answer, that wasn’t one of them,

“Well, it can, especially the brushes, the make-up itself can feel strange though” Damien answered before reaching over to the table the bag was laid, bring it over to them.

Ernest sat silently, watching him reach inside and pull out a large fluffy brush, leaning over and carefully sliding it across the boys cheek, earning a soft sigh of joy,

“Would you like me to put some on you?” the Victorian man asked as he rummaged through the seemingly bigger on the inside bag, revealing a few different contraptions and what looked like small torture devices. With a small, timid nod, the young Vega answered,

“Y-Yes please … if it’s not too weird” Ernest whispered, shuffling closer to Damien, all the while, Lucien watched with a happy smile, he knew this is exactly what his brother needed, maybe not just to relax but it was a relief to watch Ernest finally calm,

“Let’s get started then and don’t worry dear, I have the perfect colours for you … I may have possibly convinced your Father to do this once too” Damien chuckled softly, reminiscing as he grabbed the correct pieces he needed. Ernest closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he felt a cool liquid and soft brush move over his skin.

A while later and make-up flung everywhere, Damien sat back to admire his work as Ernest scrunched his face a little to get used to this new and very strange feeling of stuff covering his face,

“You look absolutely darling, it suits you” the Victorian said as he started to tidy the make-up away just as the grandfather clock behind then chimed midnight, “Oh dear, it is quite late and I need to start preparing food tomorrow, well, I guess I best wash this stuff off of my face and retire to bed, you boys can stay up a little longer if you wish, as long as you don’t make too much noise” Damien said as he slowly stood, stretching himself out before kissing both boys on the top of their heads, bidding them a good night.

Lucien continued to watch his Father head upstairs to his room before turning back to Ernest once he was no longer in sight but stopped at the scene before him,

“Ernest? What wrong?” he asked concerned, in front of him was Ernest, a boy well known for setting fire to the bushes outside his Fathers home, holding a mirror and sobbing into his hand, “Ernest, it’s okay, you can talk to me, what happening to you?”

As Ernest turned his head to look at the boy beside him, Lucien noticed the slight little wrinkles on the edge of his eyes, the same wrinkles his own Father got, which was all he needed to know exactly what was going through his brothers head and no matter what, he was going to show him just how much he still loved him through it all.

A few days went by, Lucien and Ernest had barely been in the house which, even if they wouldn’t admit it out loud, made both parents happy but also quite concerned for their sons whenever Lucien shrugged them off with quick reassurance of, ‘They’ll tell you on Thanksgiving, don’t worry dads’, before quickly running which wasn’t what the two men were hoping to hear but it seemed to ease both their minds for a while, at least until Hugo restarted his usual pacing around the kitchen as Damien cooked.

The night came quickly, Thanksgiving, the food was almost complete, the house smelt of perfectly roasted vegetables and mouth-watering deserts, the table decorated to Damien's specifications while Hugo was banished to sit and wait at the table, only problem was, two people were still missing, however, not too far away as just upstairs behind a single locked door were their pair of siblings, whispering cautiously,

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea” the young Vega questioned, obviously having a few seconds thought as they allowed Lucien to work his magic,

“It is a good idea … look, Dad and Pops aren’t going to hate you, they never could, they love you too much and anyway, I think your forgetting one vital thing and probably one of the biggest elephants in this house” Lucius argued, brushing through his siblings now unknotted hair, trying and praying to whatever deity out there to get it to style as the other sat quietly,

“And what’s that exactly?” they asked, watching in the mirror cautiously as Lucien spoke up with a soft chuckle,

“Damien” he placed the brush down as he expertly braided the surprisingly long hair in front of him and for the first time in months, the youngest Vega laughed,

Not too long later, Dinner was called, Hugo and Damien waited patiently in their respective seats just as footsteps descended the stairs but only a single pair of footsteps approaching the dining room. Both men turned curiously to see Lucien standing in the doorway but no one else,

“Lucien, where’s Ernest?” Hugo asked, seemingly becoming annoyed as well as worried over the whereabouts of his son,

“About that…” Lucien started, turning his gaze into the hall for a moment before quickly moving back to the stares of his parents, “Ernest won’t be joining us tonight … or ever again …” the young emo explained, quickly realising a long pause wouldn’t be the best option as he quickly stopped either one of his Fathers could protest, stepping further into the room, “Because someone new will be taking Ernest's place” just as he finished speaking, a tall figure walked into the room beside him, a long, tight fitting, pale orange cocktail dress swept the floor behind the person as their long braided hair lay over a single exposed shoulder.

The light of the room hit the persons face, capturing the perfectly applied make-up that sculpted their features beautifully and it was then they realised,

“Ernest?” they both asked, quite bewildered, watching the young Vega nervousness build up which did not go unnoticed by Lucien,

“Actually, may I introduce our newest addition to the Vega-Bloodmarch Family, Emily, Emily Dickinson Vega, my sister” he announced, wrapping a supportive arm around his sibling to give them some encouragement, “If it’s okay with her Fathers, she would very much like to join us for dinner?” Lucien asked softly, smile on his face as he waited for their parent’s reactions.

Unsurprising to Lucien, Damien was the first to move, wasting no time in in pushing his chair out from under himself to embrace his daughter,

“Oh, my dear, of course you can join us for dinner and for any other meals you want to” he whispered through tears he didn’t even know were running down his face, “now I understand the make-up, I’m sorry I didn’t see the signs sooner, I never wanted you to feel scared to be who you are” he whispered, the scene in the Bloodmarch home was one to remember when Emily wrapped her arms around his step-father, holding onto him as if their lives depended on it, however, there was still only one other person they needed to complete this little family moment, Hugo.

Everyone slowly turned their heads to see the larger man carefully rising from his seat, moving around the ornate furniture to move closer to where his child stood, arms back by her side as she stood tall and strong,

“Dad, I know this is sudden but I’ve been hiding for so long, I didn’t know who I was but I saw Damien doing so many things that made me think, he showed me how happy he was, I saw the life of someone who was truly happy, all this” she gestured to herself as she continued, “made me realize who I really am and I’m sorry for not being able to tell you sooner … I know I ruined your life for years with all the stupid shit I did but all the stupid thoughts in my head, I was scared, alone, I-“ her rambling was cut short when a pair of quite muscular arms pulled her forward and into a tight but comforting embrace,

“You are my child, my flesh and blood, you are everything to me and I love you, never forget that, no matter who you are, you are a Vega” he reassured, whispering just loud enough for Damien and Lucien to hear the loving exchange of words as they both smiled proudly.

Soon enough, two smaller arms snaked their way around Hugo as a small sob echoed in the large room causing any existing space in the embrace to disappear as it tightened,

“I was so scared you would hate me, I was meant to be your son, the man of the hous-“ her hurtful words were stopped as she was carefully pushed backwards, a hand laid gently on her cheek, forcing her to blurrily look up at a smiling Hugo,

“You have always been my daughter, even if we didn’t know that until now, you were and always will be my baby girl” he explained, his voice soothing any doubt the young Vega had before the wrestling nerd added just one more sentence, “And I think being married to Damien is an automatic law that I accept whatever part of the LGBT you realise you’re apart of … I think I’d be a bit hypocritical if I didn’t accept you as my daughter” the taller man finished and after a few moments of silence, the room filled with giggles from the man in question,

“Your Fathers right” Damien managed to say through soft giggles, “Excuse my French but … I’d kick his ass if he didn’t” he smirked before quickly pushing the three of them towards the table, “Now, if you children, yes, I’m also talking about you too Hugo, don’t get to the table to eat, the food will go cold and I’ll lock the refrigerator as punishment” the Victorian man threatened as the Family rolled their eyes but obediently followed his orders, spending the rest of the night laughing, talking and finally, for the first time in a while, being a family.

[thylalock]

Title: Celestial By: thylalock Characters: William Schofield, Tom Blake, Joseph Blake Pairing: William Schofield/Tom Blake Summary: Celestial beings don’t die, not truly. Before they completed their tasks, their souls will always reincarnate on Earth. On April 5th, 1896, Elizabeth Schofield had her first son—William Schofield. His task was quite simple: reunite Tom and Joseph Blake. Tags: fantasy AU, angel AU, reincarnation AU, modern AU, truly just an excuse for me to write Sco as an angel that he really is, will he and Blake meet again in the later incarnations? A/N: evidently I’m a weakling for AUs Chapter 1 (of 5): Operation Alberich Full text below the tag or here!

Fore A/N: wow I'm still emotional about this movie after watching it twice in the cinema and reading the script that I needed to get this out of my chest.

—

1896

It was a chilly dawn in April 5th, 1896, but none of it registered to Henry Schofield, who was pacing up and down the hallway just outside the closed door, or to Elizabeth Schofield, who was squeezing the bedpost and crying on top of her lungs as she pushed for the baby for safe delivery.

It might have sprinkled a bit in the morning, when the sun was barely peeking from the far end of the horizon, but none of it mattered. Because none of it could eclipse the bright smile etched on William Schofield’s face as he stared into his mother’s eyes, his cheeks rosy and his smile toothless.

Of course, it would be very natural for the young couple to be blinded by the simple smile of the little one—Henry and Elizabeth Schofield, very much in love, was barely of age themselves when they married, eyes glistening as they stared into each other on the aisle, vowing to be one—but the midwife noticed it.

The other girls from the village who had been helping her delivering the baby had gone downstairs to fetch some water and clean clothes to clean the mess, but for a second, the old woman could’ve sworn she saw the boy's eyes flashed. It wasn’t a blinding flash, although the parents would beg to differ, but under the shadow of April shower that morning, there was no mistaking that there was a glow emanating from the baby's eyes.

When she blinked, however, it was gone, so the midwife paid no mind to it.

—

1906

William—or Will, as how he usually went with these times—grew into a very sweet boy of ten years old.

He was quiet and a bit reserved, always steered clear from conflicts, and was gentle and caring and awfully protective of her two younger sisters, Mary and Elsie. He worked hard for school and during the weekends he could always find the time to help Elizabeth in the bakery even though the young woman always ushered him to go outside and play with his friends. He was relatively clear of any history of troubles, compared to the other boys in his school, except of a handful of times when he punched some boys for trying to kiss Mary as a part of a dare. He was an honest boy and he had relatively no trouble admitting to his mother that he hated being a thin and gangly boy who was too tall for his age the first time he went home with a bruise on his cheek.

But Elizabeth just wished she could get to know her first and only son better.

Of course she knew him, Will was never the kind of child who would hide things from her—she knew he was aware of the fact that she would always love him, all of her three children, whatever happened—but there were times when Will seemed troubled, Elizabeth wished he could only tell what was wrong when she asked him instead of flashing her one of his beautiful smiles, dodging the question away.

It didn’t help that he stopped lying to her, telling her that he was fine, the following months after they discovered that Henry Schofield wasn’t going to be home from the Second Boer War. Forever.

So she would usually just gather him into a hug and kissed the top of his head until he wriggled out, groaning playfully as he insisted that he was alright.

Because unbeknownst to the young mother, the boy himself couldn’t describe it.

—

1910

Will couldn’t place a finger on when he really started hearing those voices.

It was some time ago that he finally accepted the fact that he probably had started hearing the voices in his dreams from a very young age, forgetting them as soon as he woke up, before it finally permeated into his waking moments. He never really knew who it was, but it wasn't until he was fourteen that he realized what the voice had been saying.

He needs water!

Will blinked, the sight of his friend pushing back into focus as he snapped out of his reverie. “Will! He needs water! Get me your bottle!”

Will complied, although he retrieved his bottle from his school backpack a little too slowly, his mind trying not to short-circuit at the revelation. The boy in front of him, Matthew, was helping another boy, Richard, who had a cut on his chin from where he landed on the pavement, flesh raking into the ground and collecting dirt. He was on his way back home from school with his friends and there had been a fight about some nonsense about a girl that Will didn’t really understand, but the quick instinct that jumped into action as he pulled Richard away from the fight quickly dulled as he heard the words.

He needs water!

Matthew barked something at him, probably because he was moving too slowly, before snatching the bottle himself, pouring the contents on Richard’s chin. “For god’s sake, stay still Richard, you can’t have mud on a cut as big as that!”

Every was dull and silent and roaring and loud at the same time in Will’s head. He didn’t register his surroundings until he closed the door to his room, his back sliding against the cool wood and his mother’s questions from the kitchen went unheard.

—

1914

Will stood in front of a simple desk, a group of boys and young men bustling behind him.

He hated doing this. Not a lot of his friends had a family member swallowed by the horrors of war, as how it was evident from the way the lot of them was too eager to sign up to fight for the King and country even though they were barely sixteen years old, but Will knew. More than that, he understood—the impact that it would do to his mother and his two younger sisters. But to say he could easily dodge the pressure from his friends and neighbors, and the tiny voice pushing him to do his part to defend the country, with his views would be lying.

So here he was, standing in the queue, finally his turn to face the officer on the desk. The older man asked how old he was, and he lied through his teeth.

“Nineteen, sir.”

The man looked up, and Will widened his eyes in pure shock as he saw the man’s eyes flashed golden for less than a second, his breath knocked out from his lungs as he staggered backward.

“Oi, you alright mate?” a young man, who was next in the queue and was standing quite close behind him, asked, holding him steady. Will looked at him and was scared to see that the man didn’t even seem to register the unnatural event that he just witnessed. He slowly regained his composure as scanned the crowd around him, each man looking absorbed in their own business—how could nobody see that?

“You’re eighteen, boy, it’s not your time yet. Next!”

Will walked out of the building, feeling a wave of relief that was too confusing. As he stood there for a moment, calming his beating heart, he noticed a few more boys walking out of the building, looking pissed that they didn’t get the chance to fight.

The officer knew he wasn’t nineteen yet, even though the physical difference wouldn’t be recognizable for a gap as small as one year, and he knew all those boys were too young too. His words rang in his ears. It’s not your time yet.

—

1915

It was the same officer that accepted him the following year.

Will hadn’t been sure about it, a lot of his friends and neighbors were now dead and his family had insisted on him not to sign up, but as his eyes connected with the officer’s, a silent understanding passed between them. When the man’s eyes flashed golden once again, he found himself not feeling scared, but certain.

He received the message. This was what he was meant to do.

—

1917

It was the only feeling that he kept close to his heart.

Through the shells, through the deafening bombs, through the piss-soaked handkerchief he clamped tightly against his nose as the trench was flooded by chlorine gas, through the artillery attack and the shrapnel pieces raining down on him, through rain-soaked earth, through blood, through bullets that narrowly missed his helmet from snipers from the other side of no man’s land. But also through hunger, through bites of lice and invasion of rats, through the rain that froze him to near death and infection when the trenches were drained, through the boredom of waiting on the backline with no mail and nothing to eat, through the latrines and the sound of dying soldiers that he helped carry on the stretchers, begging him not to let them die.

To say that war was a cesspool of insanity, a whirlwind of unending terror and boredom and the guilt for alternating between both, was truly an understatement.

A little under two years since he signed up, Will was really ready to give up, until he heard it.

“Sho—Schofield? Did I get it right? Lance Corporal Schofield?”

Will looked up not so much at the mention of his name as much at the voice that wormed itself into his head. That voice—

The soldier before him suddenly turned back, looking at the sky behind him as though he expected to see a German aircraft in the sky rain bullets on them, legs already adopting the pose to enable him to jump. Will rose to his feet just as quickly, his hand already on his rifle and his feet ready to jump for the nearest cover.

“What is it, what is it?” Will asked, his voice rasping from dry throat. There were only the two of them in this corner of the line, and Will was ready to sprint to tell his commander of the threat.

But then the soldier before him them relaxed before turning back to him. “God, sorry, I thought there was something in the sky. Must be the trick of the light, though, saw something flashed in your eyes.”

This was the first time his brain nearly short-circuited since the day Richard Kent cut his chin on the pavement.

Everything about the soldier standing before him screamed new recruit —his build, his rosy cheeks, his demeanor and the fact he couldn’t stop talking, his youthfulness, the uniform on his person that Will would bet hadn’t seen the horrors that he’d seen, the lack of callous on his hands, the fact that he didn’t look like the war had cut some ten years from his lifespan, the generally clean and prim state of his person and belongings—and yet there was something about his voice Will couldn’t put a finger on. Something familiar about his voice—

“They told me you’d be here, so there you go. Got yourself a mail.”

There was something about his voice—

But that couldn’t be. There was nothing about this boy that didn’t betray the fact that he was a nineteen years old, if not younger, new recruit. There was no doubt he hadn’t met this chap before—so how could any of it be familiar?

“Blake, the name’s Blake.”

—

Blake turned out to be a very nice company.

True, sometimes he talked too much and was a bit insensitive, asking about the Somme and Ypres when all the men in the regiment would rather erase the words from their heads, and sometimes they could all do with a bit of silence to rest during the afternoons, but he was funny, never short of hilarious stories to tell, and quite frankly, he was the epitome of what it meant to be human. A reminder for him to stay sane in the middle of the war.

One couldn’t really choose one’s companies in wars—everyone was each other’s brother—but there was something comforting in working with Blake. Carrying the rations with him, helping the wounded with him, digging the bloody earth with him, even though the task used to bore and tire him to death.

One day, as they sat on the slightly damp earth in the backline, playing chess with rocks as makeshift chess pieces to kill time, he correctly deduced that Blake had an older brother.

“How did you know?” the young man asked in the middle of a chess game, astonished. Will only looked up and offered a small smile before he moved his rook, cornering Blake’s knight.

—

And so Will found himself leaning against a tree and drifted off to sleep in one of the rare afternoons where Blake was too tired to tell him the stories about how Evans woke half the trench up upon finding a rat in his pants or how Davies broke the latrine pole and sent his five of his comrades into the muck.

But then he heard Sanders woke Blake up, telling him to take a man and follow him.

It felt almost natural that Blake would offer his hand to him, would choose him to go with the young man, but then something happened as their palms touched.

A weak current seemed to flow from Will’s fingertips, tingling the base of his arms, but he ignored it. He’d been having some of these inexplicable and strange occurrences around Blake for a while now that he was able to brush it off as nothing in the face of the real absurdity of the Great War.

They walked down the trench to follow the Sergeant, Blake getting chatty as usual at the news of Myrtle having puppies, and Will wisely refusing to participate in a bet with him with enough healthy common sense, being the more sensible of the two.

—

The first time he realized it, he put his hand on Blake’s arm immediately, almost instinctively. Something just dawned on him—a feeling he couldn’t quite describe, something foreign and familiar at the same time, a tingling sensation in his bones that told him it was his job to look out for the younger man beside him, more than any other times. Something akin to the understanding—or dare he say it, the accepting of fate—that he felt as he finally signed up to do his part in the Great War, bravely leveling his gaze on the recruiting officer in front of him. Blake stopped climbing the ladder, retrieving his arm from where he was about to grab hold of the parapet to heave himself upwards.

This was it, this was what he was meant to do.

“Age before beauty,” Will said in a low voice, before climbing up the parapet himself.

—

“No, NO!”

And then a deafening explosion.

It happened in less than a fraction of a second that Will was not able to register anything.

But there was something. Someone. A voice, a familiar voice, a voice he had been hearing ever since he was a child. A tug. A faint feeling of his own body being pulled upwards, dull enough that he thought he was dreaming, that he was not inside his own person. A voice, a shout, a tug on his soul—

“WAKE UP! UP!”

His lungs convulsed and he retched, coughing out an awful amount of dust. He was alive.

—

The fact was Will could listen to Blake talk for eternity.

He might have never admitted it—and he really would never admit it, come to think of it, for the sake of other men who really needed the rest, Blake really didn’t need the encouragement—and he often dodged the prospect by saying he was not in the mood to listen, but the fact held true. He might have dozed off a few times during Blake’s endless stock of recounts, too tired to keep listening, but he loved listening to his voice. It was sweet, melodious, full of excitement and rich in hope, shining like a beacon with lights bright enough to pierce through the clouds in Will’s war-addled mind, reminding him of what was pure and what was human.

Gently caressing his soul like a lullaby, because, now he realized, he had been listening to it since he was a child .

And so Will found himself relaxing to Blake’s recount of how Wilko had lost his ear to a rat, of all things.

He had refused to listen to it at first, insisting that they kept their eyes fixed on the ridges for the oncoming Germans and kept their guards, but of course, Blake wouldn’t listen. And Will finally accepted it. They had set one bloody explosive just then, barely escaping the collapsing dugout in the process and nearly getting buried alive themselves, and had stood on open space for a long time. The fact that they hadn’t been shot then could only account for the fact that there was no one to shoot them—that was, if the Germans didn’t have more tricks up their sleeves.

And Will knew Blake was trying to make up for when they had a bit of an argument back then, so he let him.

And he laughed. First reluctantly, then appreciatively, and then genuinely.

The two aircraft they had seen earlier returned from the enemy lines, silencing them both.

—

There was a dull throb in his bones as soon as he set foot on the little house. He didn’t like the place.

He couldn’t decide what inflicted the particular thought—among the dead cows he spotted lying on the far end of the horizon, the cherry trees chopped down to rot, the dead dog he saw lying on the other side of the farmhouse, or the fact that the Germans just gave them miles and miles of land that Will couldn’t quite grasp his mind around—but there was something about it that didn’t feel right. As though there was some evil written on the walls.

“Anything?” Blake called out from the backyard.

Will concluded there was nothing in the area, and said as much to Blake, but he didn’t know if it was true.

—

He knew he was wrong when he heard it. He didn’t know what it meant, but he knew something big was about to unfold.

This was the only time he hated hearing Blake’s voice, even though his voice and these particular words were something he had been listening to since he was a child.

“No, get him some water, he needs water! ”

Will couldn’t take his eyes off Blake, his breathing stopping and his heartbeat stuttering. There was something, something—

He didn’t want to look away from him, he didn’t want to let him out of his sight— how could he had heard this since he was a child —the gravity of the situation was pulling him into the earth, swallowing him whole, snatching his consciousness years into the past before throwing him back into the present in less than a second—something was wrong and he didn’t know what and he didn’t want to lose sight of Blake—

But he complied, and never had tearing his eyes from Blake felt so painful.

Because that was what he embodied. That was what Blake was the epitome of in the midst of this war—humanity. In the most important moment and revelation of his life, Will would not betray what Blake represented in his life.

Blake, Blake, Blake—

Before he regretted it.

“Stop, STOP!”

Will’s neck snapped to Blake so quickly it was a miracle he didn’t sprain it. Before he knew it, he sent two bullets down the German’s body, killing him outright.

Both of them stood looking at each other, Blake’s hands working around the buttons of his uniform, and Will standing there stupefied, both knowing what just happened.

Blake fell on his knees first, looking more like it was at the sight of the blood and the realization of the wound more than the actual pain itself, and Will followed suit, kneeling beside him. His voice shook. God, god—he pressed the dressing onto Blake’s wound, hoping to stop the bleeding although the latter writhed in pain and threw him curses. He couldn’t lose him now, he was supposed to look out for him—he couldn’t lose him, he couldn’t lose him, he couldn’t lose him.

Blake was losing blood impossibly fast, the color draining from his person too quickly. Will was desperate—he’d do anything, anything , he’d lift him, he’d pull him up for as often as he needed to, he’d even carry his whole body himself in his own arms if he needed to, he just couldn’t lose Blake—

“Your brother! We have to find your brother!” Will cried, pleaded, begged . Warm blood was flowing out of the spaces between his fingers in a sickly rhythm with Blake’s beating heart that was slowly losing strength, and Will hated it—he hated it .

He couldn’t lose him, not now, not ever, not—

“You’ll recognize him,” Blake breathed, sending Will’s heart to the bottom of his abdomen.

Will shut his eyes, not trusting his voice to even debate it—no.

“He looks like me,” Blake said, panting, “and, he’s a bit older.”

And then his head lolled to his side, resting against Will’s chest. His breathing slowed, he stopped panting, finally giving in to the death sentence, and Will hated himself for not knowing how to instill the fight back into Blake’s heart. He was still frantically looking around for help—Aid Posts, nearest cover, anything—he couldn’t lose him, he couldn’t lose him for god’s sake—

The roof of the fallen barn behind them collapsed, eaten by the fire roaring from the burning aircraft, sending embers into the air. He noticed how Blake was eyeing them curiously. Will knew what it was—blood was no longer feeding his brain and he slowly forgot what just happened.

“Are we being shelled?”

Will looked at him. He’d seen countless of other soldiers dying, he knew what it meant. “They’re embers, the barn is on fire.”

It was painful to watch as Blake’s eyes travel to the wound on his abdomen, realizing that the pool of blood seeping through to his pants was his own, but it was yet more painful when he put his cold palm on Will’s own. So gentle and weak and childlike and pale and feeble.

When Blake asked if he was dying, it was as painful and agonizing for Will to admit that he was, indeed, dying.

Tears pooled on Blake’s eyes. He was crying.

So there was nothing else he could do except to offer him promises—a letter to Blake’s mother, the safe delivery of the message, finding his brother.

—

“Come with me, Corporal. That’s an order.”

Will had seen countless other men dying, a lot of them cradled in his arms, a lot of them clutching onto his person, a lot of them too young, a lot of them losing the heat of their body on his lap, and a lot of them holding his hand, but Blake’s death felt like something was robbed from his soul.

—

It was the only thing that filled his mind and burned through his being as he left the abandoned barn, on the truck to Ecoust, on the mud that trapped the wheels.

“We all need to push! COME ON!”

It burned. It scorched his being, it burned in his eyes that were threatening to spill angry tears, it torched his throat as he roared in his attempt to move the truck, and it glowed bright—

When they finally got the wheel out of the mud, half of the men filed back into the back of the truck immediately, looking quite pleased that they could continue their journey, while the other half looked slightly annoyed that the driver had opted to veer out of the road and got them trapped in the first place. No one paid any attention to him except one Sikh soldier who offered him a hand to help him stand.

“Back in. Get back in. Go.”

There was nothing he wanted more in the world than to just continue his journey, reaching Ecoust as fast as he could. He knew his emotions were probably written all over his face, but he couldn’t care less.

But unbeknownst to Will, it was not what caught the Sikh’s attention.

It was the literal flash in Will’s eyes, there for a second and gone the next.

—

When he hit the back of his head on the staircase landing, his last thought was his promise to Blake.

—

And it was the first thought that passed through his mind upon waking up.

And so he pushed his way through the city, with only flares to see and ruined walls for cover and luck to pray to.

He pushed his way through the city, through the painful throb on the back on his head, through the aching hole bleeding open on his chest because the lost baby girl in Ecoust reminded him of his little sisters and the young maiden reminded him of his own mother, through the weight of his webbing pulling him under the water as he vaulted down into the river, through the white freezing water roiling all around him and choking his lungs, through the fatigue that was slowly claiming his person as he sat listening to the eerily lonesome ballad—

Blake. Blake. Sixteen hundred men. Joe Blake, Colonel Mackenzie.

Letter.

Devons.

Blake. Blake...

“We’re the Devons.”

There was a dull ebbing in the liquid of his brain. He had trouble understanding it, accepting it. He was there .

The fire had burned too long. His flesh were singed and his sinews exhausted, but the revelation splashed fuel onto his being and cleared his mind. Will rose to his feet.

—

For a moment there was nothing but the sound of his heart beating as he made the decision.

Something dawned on him. There would be no time. These men had prepared to attack in a moment’s notice with lieutenants counting down the seconds to the attack and Mackenzie was still nowhere to be seen, the next man he asked always telling him he was further and further up the line. He had no choice, no time to deal with the bustling soldiers lining up the front line and knocking over him as he tried to push his way through, no time—

And so he climbed up the sloping ground that was the only protection for the front line.

He’d walk through the line of fire for these sixteen hundred men. For Blake.

—

Something tugged on his soul. He heard something behind him.

He realized it now. All the gentle tugging on his soul and all the strange occurrences he’d had throughout his life, all the voices and all the glows, all the gentle tingling in his bones and the inexplicable instinct in his gut. It took his stupid self so long, so bloody long, but he realized it now.

It all pointed to Blake.

But this, this was a different tug. Something similar but not quite the same—

Will knew what it was before he finished his train of thought. He knew who he would see as he turned around.

Lieutenant Joseph Blake.

—

1918

Funny how he went back to the insane and deranged cycle of alternating between terror and boredom as he went to his next battles without Blake on his side.

Will heard the deafening sound of the explosion for a split second, and then all was black.

And then—and then all was white.

—

1919

On the other side of England, a nurse gasped.

The head nurse barked an order to her, telling her to clean the baby and to immediately fetch her more clean clothes for the young mother. She complied, but she could’ve sworn she saw the baby’s eyes flashed for a second.

—

NOTES: the minimum age to sign up in World War I was nineteen, but a lot of boys from age 15 to 18 managed to lie their way in. Before the respirators were introduced, many soldiers had to literally piss on clothes to filter the chlorine gas, utilizing the ammonia in the urine to neutralize the chlorine. This was before the discovery that chlorine and ammonia can, in fact, interact to produce other toxic byproducts, but, you know, it worked at the moment. Nevertheless, the urine-soaked clothes functioned like a normal water-soaked cloth, so it worked quite well. The title of the chapter, Operation Alberich, is the name of German's strategic withdrawal to the shorter Hindenburg Line in the movie. It's a strategy to distribute the men into fewer divisions, therefor strengthening their position. (Correct me if I'm wrong, though, this is the best I could do to make it as real as possible but constructive criticism is always welcomed!)

End A/N: PHEW AHAHAHAHAH finally got it out of my chest! This is the first chapter of the five chapters that I planned, what do you guys think?

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Hell to the No-- Ben Hardy x Reader (ft. Joe Mazzello.. like, a lot)

Prompt; none this time!

Warnings; slight language, specified fem! reader

Word Count; 2k

Notes; I wrote this instead of writing the essays that are due tomorrow, so I hope y’all enjoy lol ALSO IF YA WANNA BE ON THE TAG LIST FOR FICS LEMME KNOW!! 

Growing up with Joe Mazzello was... interesting, to say the least. He was the typical older brother. The two of you would constantly bicker over the simplest things, and then you two would be up to mischief together before the day was over. There was incessant teasing between the two of you. Joe was the constant ball of energy around your home, and you always struggled to keep up with him. And yes, he was constantly screaming.

When you were young, you thought he was the coolest person-- albeit you would never admit that. He achieved the childhood dream of being famous. You were always his biggest fan. If he needed help preparing for an audition, you’d give him your full attention. You always had his back, and you knew that he always had yours. 

In a way, you made your own name for yourself. You were a photographer, a quite good one at that. You were hired by many companies for high-end photo shoots. As you started to rise through the rankings, Joe helped you out a little. He would try to convince the management to hire you for whatever film or show he was working on’s promotional photographs. Sometimes it would work, and you were always grateful for his support. 

“Joey, please, you don’t have to keep doing this.” He had somehow managed to get you hired on the set of The Pacific. Joe just scoffed at your remark, looping an arm around your shoulders. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

After that, it became pretty common for you two to work together. If you hired one Mazzello, then you might as well hire the other because you’d never hear the end of it if you didn’t. Luckily for you, the same applied to Bohemian Rhapsody. You were beyond ecstatic when you got the news. The first thing you did was call Joe, practically screaming in his ear.

You were on set, discussing some photo arrangements when you heard a familiar voice call out, “Aw, there’s my little mozzarella stick!” 

“Shut it, Francis,” you quipped before apologizing to the person you were originally talking to. You spun on your heel and immediately burst out laughing. It wasn’t the first time you had seen Joe’s curly wig, but it seemed to get bigger every time you caught a glimpse of him. He was walking with three other men. You had already met Rami, as he had been friends with Joe for quite some time. The other two were unknown to you. Sure, you could remember their names, but you had yet to formally introduce yourself to them.

“Francis?” The Brian May clone looked at you curiously. Your grin widened.

“Joey’s middle name. Isn’t it adorable?” you cooed.

“Oh, mate, that’s fantastic.” The blonde clapped Joe’s shoulder before sticking out his hand in your direction. “I’m Ben.” 

“Nice to meet you, Ben. I’m (Y/N).” Realization flooded his features. He flashed you a bright smile.

“It’s about bloody time we’ve met. Joe’s talked about you nonstop!” You raised a brow at Joe, playfully jabbing his side.

“Has he? All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Joe scoffed.

“Perfect, now I can tell you all his embarrassing secrets” Joe gave a dramatic gasp before moving to stand toe to toe with you. You narrowed your eyes at him, and he returned the gesture. 

“You make me vomit,” he growled.

“And you’re the scum between my toes,” you said between gritted teeth. The Little Rascals was a movie that the two of you shared a love for. You were constantly quoting it. 

After a few more moments of an intense staring contest, Rami finally stepped in between the two of you, knowing full well that the two of you would’ve gone on for forever. “They said something about doing a quick photo shoot?” Your attention snapped Rami.

“Oh, yeah! Ready to get your model on, Ahkmenrah?”

“Of course, darling! I was born ready.” You laughed at his Freddie impression before rounding the boys up, giving them directions on where to stand.

You were sitting off to the side, watching them film, when you felt someone tap your shoulder. You glanced up to see Ben. “Mind if I join you?” You shook your head, scooting over so he would have plenty of room on the small bench. The two of you watched one of the directors animatedly talk to Rami. “Hey, could I take a look at some of the pictures you took?” 

“Yeah, sure!” You picked up your work bag, which held so much stuff that it would put Mary Poppins to shame. You shuffled through your belongings before finally pulling out your laptop. You had already transferred over some of the pictures, and they just needed to be edited before they would be released. “They’re not quite done yet. I’ve still got to do some touch-ups on a couple of them.” You handed the laptop to Ben and watched his expressions as he scrolled through the pictures. 

“Holy shit. You’re really good, you know that?” You snorted, rubbing your face in an attempt to hide the blush you were sure was already spreading.

“Thanks, it took a lot of practice.” Ben handed back your laptop when someone called his name, motioning him over. A small grin graced your lips when you realized there was something new on your screen. When you looked away, Ben had opened up a blank document and typed down his number. Chewing on your lip, you made a mental note to shoot him a text some time. 

It took you a little while to finally build up the confidence to text Ben. The two of you continued to talk even after your work with Bohemian Rhapsody finished. You knew that you were rapidly developing a crush on him. Not only was he good looking and an amazing actor, but he was also the sweetest person. Ben made you smile every time the two of you talked. And, God, that accent just made your knees go weak. 

You groaned when your phone started ringing. It was just barely after seven in the morning, on a Saturday no less. You reached across the nightstand to pull your phone from the charger. You sat up and narrowed your eyes at the blinding screen. Ben was calling. “Hello?” Your voice sounded more groggy than you would’ve liked.

“Sorry, love, did I wake you?” He gave a nervous laugh. “Sometimes I forget about the time differences.” You smiled, peeling yourself away from the bed.

“No, no, it’s fine. I probably needed to get up soon anyway,” you hummed. You were about to fix yourself a cup of coffee when you heard Ben mumble something then clear his throat. “You okay?”

“I’m fine!” he assured. “I was just wondering... the Oscars are coming up, and I thought I’d ask if you wanted to be my plus one?” You froze before slowly setting down your mug. 

“Like, as a date or...” you trailed off, chewing your lip nervously.

“That’s what I had in mind, yeah.” A wide smile spread across your face. 

“I’d love to.” You felt like a lovesick yearling. You practically screeched with excitement when you ended the phone call. 

A couple of days had passed when Joe called-- in the middle of the night. You weren’t too surprised to see his name displayed across your phone. He was always calling at odd hours. “Joseph Francis Mazzello the third, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” 

“I’ve got an offer you simply cannot refuse! You. Me. The Oscars. Boom! You’re my plus one.” You laughed.

“Sorry, Joey. I’ve got prior commitments.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’ll be working! It’ll be way more fun hanging out with me than taking candids of countless celebrities.”

“No, I’m not working. I’ve actually got a date.”

“What’s his name, address, and social security number?”

“Joe. You know better than this. I’m not giving you any information because you’ll just scare him away. Remember Andi Gilmore, who you scared so bad that his parents started homeschooling him?”

“Hey! That wasn’t my fault,” Joe grumbled.

“Whatever you say, bro, but if memory serves correctly, you went all Pat Murray on him.”

“Your memory clearly does not serve correctly.”

You spent the next couple of weeks in a mad dash, trying to find the perfect dress to wear. It needed to be something good because there would be no shortage of pictures and videos by the end of the night. Thankfully, you were able to find one that was just right for the occasion.

Ben stood on your doorstep, nervously shifting his weight. He had been smitten since he first introduced himself to you. He hadn’t been able to get you out of his mind since you left the Bohemian Rhapsody set. Sure, the two of you talked nearly every day, but it wasn’t the same as having you beside him. When you opened the door, it felt like all the air had been pulled from his lungs. A loving smile spread across his face. “Wow. You’re beautiful.” Your cheeks pinkened.

“Thanks, you don’t look too bad yourself.” He took your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. Your face turned to a darker shade of red.

“Must be the luckiest man in the world if I got you to agree to go on a date with me. Shall we?” He motioned towards the car that was parked on the curb. 

Joe kept his eyes peeled for his friends. He had found Gwilym already, but he had yet to find Ben. He was watching every car to see if the blond beauty would step out. Joe’s brows furrowed when he saw you getting out of a car. He could’ve sworn you told him you were going on a date, and he was even more confused when Ben got out of the same car. Realization hit him like a pile of bricks when Joe saw Ben put an arm around your waist. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me! Him? Seriously? I thought you had higher standards, (Y/N),” Joe shouted. You rolled your eyes at him.

“Calm down, Francis. We’re going on a date, not to a drive-thru wedding in Vegas.”

You were finally able to cross ‘attending The Oscars’ off your bucket list. It was an amazing experience, and you were so proud of everyone who worked on Bohemian Rhapsody. The movie racked up the most awards of the night, a grand total of four Oscars. You couldn’t tell who cheered louder for Rami-- you, Joe, or Lucy. When all the festivities ended and everyone started to leave, you turned to Joe and Ben. “You know what I really want right now? A jumbo-sized slushie from 7/11.” Joe’s eyes widened as he loudly exclaimed his agreement. 

The three of you went to the closest 7/11. Joe wandered around the small store while you and Ben went straight to the slushie machine. You danced in place, pouring as much of the different colored liquids you could into the large cup. “How do you think that’s going to taste once they all mix together?” Ben questioned with a raised eyebrow. You shrugged, and he stuck a finger in your cup. He scooped up a glob and ate it, humming. “Not too bad.”

“Rude!” you gasped. “Shouldn’t you know better than to stick your fingers in other people’s food? I thought you were supposed to be a British Gentleman.” You wagged a finger at him, walking towards the check out counter. You felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist.

“I’m not always a perfect gentleman,” Ben flirted. You opened your mouth to reply but was interrupted by Joe’s fake, exaggerated gagging.

“Oh, hell no. You two are so disgusting. I’ve been third-wheeling all night.” You cast him a glance, only to see that he was recording a video. 

“Aw, don’t worry, Joey! You’ve still got Cardy B!” you cooed, a smirk crossing your lips. Ben snorted, and Joe replied with a smartass comment, but that got cropped out of the video.

Tag list;

@mothermercuryy

[joylessholland]

Princess In Me (Part One)

TOMHOLLANDXREADER (ROYAL)

(1,362 words)

Warnings: I don’t think there are any

A/N: Yes this is basically the movie Princess Diaries but with Tom, we all know we want this so just read it. No, in all seriousness I LOVE the movies to death and I decided to make a little royal romance story like them. We all know the queen is Julie Andrews and we all know the country is Genovia. I even bolded movie quotes!

Masterlist  Request  Christmas Prompts (i haven't gotten any asks for this so I might not do it lol)  BIG thanks to moodboard queen @kingquackdaddy !

Swirling your tea in the mugs you stare out the window of the loft. The day was damp and dreary as rain pattered against the roof. Breathing on the glass it fogs, drawing a smile on the glass you here the front door slam closed “Pizza” your mother yells from downstairs. Jumping from the window sill you land with a boom, peeling on a pair of paint-splattered overalls you skip downstairs.

In the kitchen soaking wet was your mother holding a large box in her hands “Hungry” she asked flipping her wet hair. “Starved” you huff opening the box, sausage and pineapple your favorite, kissing your cheek she places two plates down in front of you “How was your day dear,” she asks biting the tip of her first slice “Test in English, aced it. My gym teacher won’t get off my ass though” you snicker plopping down on the couch “How about you?” you ask running your hand through the couch cushions looking for the remote, when you find it you raise it to the TV your mother snatches it from your grasp “I have something to tell you, so just hear me out” sitting up your eyes go wide “Did you crash my… the car?” she smiles “No the car is fine, you’re still getting it when you turn eighteen and you can buy it.” She emphasized the last part “One more week and three hundred more bucks. Baby” you smile. Shaking her head, she pats your leg “Ok serious faces.” Dropping your smile, you make a very serious face “I got a call today and…your cousin was in an accident.” She smiles sadly

 “Kenny? Mary? Blake?” saying no to each she puts her finger to your lips “Other side of the family.” She smiles “I don’t…Greyson?” you scrunch your face as she nods slowly “He passed last night” sighing you shake your head “So what do we have to fly to London for the funeral?” you ask biting your pizza “Your cousin Greyson was the only child of your father’s sister. The last heir to the throne [N/O/C].” swallowing your half-chewed pizza you hang your mouth open “This…I. We don’t. What does this mean?” you ask after a long silence “If he was the heir that means…” She starts “I’m really the last heir” your breath quickens and your heart races. Running your hands through your hair you hyperventilate. “I can’t be a princess, you know I, like most kids wanted a car for my birthday, not a COUNTRY” you shout storming to your room.

Could you really be a princess? No, don’t be silly. You could barely keep a job at Walmart, you could never run a whole country. If they thought that you would participate in this little, act. They were crazy. A faint knock on your door ripped you from your thoughts, “What” you murmur from your spot perched on a high window sill. “Someone wants to talk to you,” your mother said holding up her tablet.

“Charlette how do I? oh there you are. Hello [Y/N] darling.” A cheery female voice chimes as your grandmother’s face flashes on screen “Grandma, I suppose you’re going to try to talk me into becoming a princess?” you mumble “Look [Y/N] I know you didn’t want this life, trust me your parents and I never wanted this for you. But with your father and your cousin now going. If you don’t do this [N/O/C] may cease to exist as we know it” “Look” you jump down into a crouched position before standing earning a sigh from you’re the Queen “I’m late for my beauty sleep.” You stare at the screen “I’m late for a meeting with Spain and Portugal” she scoffs “Well, let’s say this [Y/N] and I will fly out to [N/O/C] in two days and we will talk in person, we best not keep Spain and Portugal waiting. Does that work for you all” you mother chimes in. Giving a shrug, you nod slowly, over the screen Queen Clarisse agrees before saying goodbye.” Kissing your cheek your mother leaves the room, flopping onto the bed you groan into the pillow.

As the plane touched down it all felt so real for the first time, what would happen in the next few hours would change your entire life! It was your first time on a private jet and you were fascinated by all the little buttons and knobs. The bodyguard you were assigned hated you by the end of the six-hour flight, it gave you a small once of joy knowing that he was miserable because so were you. A black stretch limo was parked right on the runway, stepping from the plane you are greeted by a man in a black suit “My name is Joseph, I’ll be taking you to the palace.” He says opening the door for you he nods “Princess” as you step in. As the long car barrels down the highway, the partition opens “Her Majesty has requested you wear that to your meeting.” Groaning your mother looks at you from the front seat “Honey please, joe is just trying to do his job” sighing you close the partition and unzip the dress bag.

Grabbing Joe’s gloved hand, you step from the car, your freshly brushed curls blow in the wind, sweeping it out of your face you look down at yourself. The blue dress was beautiful and fit you like a glove, the heels were way too much but made you feel pretty, you weren’t the girl to wear stuff like this but when it came to it you could. The dress, the heels, the limo, and jet were clearly your grandmother trying to impress you. You hated yourself for it but it was kind of working. Stepping through the front doors of the palace made your heart soar, you’d been there once before when you were very young but the memories were just as strong. You remembered running through the gardens with your mother and father, you remembered trying on your grandmother’s clothes in her master closet, you thought back to the time you played hide and seek with the maids in the kitchen. Light graceful heel clicks pull you from your bliss as you meet the kind eyes of your grandmother, “[Y/N] you look, stunning” she says hugging you. “Thanks, grandma” turning to your mother she grabs her hand hugging her tight. “Tea is served” a woman in a purple skirt suit chimed.

“You don’t have to push anymore, I’ve made my decision.” Placing her tea back on the sauces Queens Clarisse grins brightly. The doors swinging open interrupts your reply “I am so sorry, your majesty” a male voice sings from the doorway “Oh, Tom please come here” she says waving the man over, “I want you to meet my granddaughter, [Y/N]” looking up from your tea you lock eyes with a gorgeous young man wearing black trousers and a light blue shirt, fumbling with his words he finally sticks out his hand. “I’m Thomas, prince… of somewhere” he laughs getting lost in your eyes. Standing you carefully grab his hand “[Y/N] princess of [N/O/C]” you coo staring at his sharp jaw, deep chocolate eyes, and thin pink lips. “Does that mean I have an answer” Queen Clarisse chimes pressing her hands together snapping you out of your trance “Yes, I accept your offer” Tom watches as you talk smiling at your words.

As Tom leaves the room you steal one last glance at the same time he looks back at you. Blushing you pick up your tea not noticing the look Your mother and grandma exchange at your actions. “I have one condition.” You say your voice strong “Yes, we can bring the car” you mother laughs making you squeal in joy “Ok so where do we start” “Two days, at a very important dinner party, I’m very glad I can introduce you as the next princess of [N/O/C]” she smiles. Thinking f Tom your heart soars, most girls dreamed of meeting a prince just a minute ago you were face to face with one.

Here are some beautiful KITTENS: @midtownvaledictorian@letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked@tiemeupspidey @captain-katie-xx@panicatttckiss@champagneholland@seilamigliorcosacheabbiamaivisto@mendes-holland @maggie-starz @natalie-kn@vaeyron@wonderyoung @ging3r-fall@louisnholland@little-weirdo-13@calumminter@sunshiineandmoonliight@tomhstories@rosieeemma @societalreject @bibs-fortuna@antisocialoutcast12@jadabelle @las-civus@oceantostars@tiemeupspidey @dr-tardis-who@hazelgracewatersaugustus@jessica-moon9@sophietanda @yasstoeverygirloutthere@beccaaahh5711@emptyy-skyy@parkeretmj@clairesrainbow@fangirltopic@marveltomjunkie  @kingquackdaddy

[goswagcollectorfire]

CARL’S BLOG: MAMIE, AN OZARK MOUNTAIN GIRL OF COURAGE

10-5-20, Carl’s Daydreaming and Fantasizing

Carl was asked on several occasions how he could pick so many strawberries.  Although he answered in a kidding way, his answer sounded conceited.  Carl said, “I daydream and fantasize as I pick strawberries.   I put myself in a make-believe world. I spend most of my time fantasizing about becoming the greatest actor who ever lived or being the best basketball coach who ever coached.  As an actor, I have played opposite several leading ladies, such as my all-time favorite actress, Elizabeth Taylor.  I remember starring with her in a movie entitled, Young Man, Bad Woman.  I can’t tell you what took place in that movie,” Carl said. “I’ve won more Oscars than my all-time favorite actor, Spencer Tracy.  He won three Oscars and I have won five.  I’ve made millions as an actor and live in a mansion in the Ozark Mountains of Arkansas,” he said as he laughed.  Those who had gotten to know Carl knew he fantasized a lot and that his favorite actress was Elizabeth Taylor.  They knew he was always dreaming of becoming an actor.  After hearing Carl tell his story, a migrant worker from Alabama said, “Your story reminds me of Joseph’s dream in the Bible.” Carl was unfamiliar with Joseph’s dream.   He asked Mamie if she knew about Joseph’s dream.  She said, “Yes, but I think you would get more from it if you read it for yourself. ”Do you have your Bible with you?” he asked Mamie. “Yes, I do. When we get back to the house, I’ll get it for you.” After reading the story of Joseph’s dream it appeared that Joseph was bragging on himself.  Carl wondered if the story he told could be construed as boasting.   He decided then not to reveal his fantasies to anyone else. Mamie knew her son was a dreamer and fantasized too much.  He did this in school as well.  His daydreaming in class was his biggest weakness.  He sometimes missed the teacher’s instructions and homework assignments. His grades suffered because of this problem.  Although Mamie knew he was a daydreamer, she felt confident that someday he would make something of himself.  The Piggott family became like kinfolks to the Barger’s.  Bud Piggott continued to use Mamie in the packing shed.  He wanted to take care of her.  He had grown to respect and admire her for her family leadership and work ethics.  Mr. Pickett said, “I know where her children get their work ethics.” In June 1960, Mamie got a letter from Willie and Norma.  The letter announced the death of their first son, Rodney Wayne Barger. Rodney was born on June 26, 1960 with a hole in his heart. He lived only a few hours.  This was the first grandchild that Edward and Mamie had lost.  Having lost a baby herself, Mamie could sympathize with Willie and Norma in their loss. Mamie sat down and wrote them a letter.

Dear Willie and Norma:

I was so sorry to hear about your baby’s death.  I know this is hard on both of you.  Willie can remember what I went through when I lost Marie Ann. Let me encourage you to go forward.  You both are young, and God will bless you with another child.  I am sure of that.  We are all doing well here in Benton Harbor.  We work every day except for Saturday and Sunday.  If Mr. Piggott gets in a tight, we work on Saturday. Your brothers and sisters are hard workers.  We are making good money.  If things go well, we will get the Ford pickup paid off this year.  I am hoping we can get the latest mortgage paid off too. I look forward to someday staying home, year-round.  Mr. Piggott is good to us, but I would rather be home.  I got a letter from your father.  He is doing okay at the store.  We miss him and look forward to returning home in August.  Please know that both of you are in my prayers.

I love you,

Mamie Ann Barger

[melanie-writes-supernatural]

The Stand-In Part 5

A/N: Sorry it’s been a few days! I had a Bio Lab final Monday and an OChem test tomorrow so I’ve been a little busy but here is the next part. I’ll get more into their relationship eventually, I swear!

Word count: 2284

Pairing: Firefighter!DeanXReader

Warnings: I don’t think there are any for this except language, as per the usual.

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

~

“So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing now?” she asks impatiently, shooting him a glare as she climbed into his car.

Of course, like a gentleman, he had opened the door for her and shut it after she was settled.

But that didn’t make up for the fact that he had withheld their date plans for hours and wouldn’t even give her a hint.

“We’re about to go for a drive,” he winks at her as he slips into the driver’s seat of his car.

“No, I thought we’d go horseback riding,” she rolls her eyes.

She vehemently hated being kept in the dark about situations that involved her. That was the whole reason she became a scientist, so that she could learn about things and how they pertained to her own life.

So that she could see how one life affected another, even in the tiniest of ways.

“You’re pretty sassy when you don’t get what you want,” he states with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s not…” she sighs and makes a face. “I just don’t like not knowing things. I like to know what’s going on. I like to have a plan.”

“Trust me, Sweetheart,” he says, resting his hand on her knee gently. “It’s not something you’ve done before.”

“And not super cheesy?” she checks, raising an eyebrow at him as he drove.

“Not super cheesy,” he agrees with a nod. “Like nothing you’ve done before.”

“I swear if you take me to something I have done I’m gonna scream,” she tells him, and he gives a small laugh.

“Well, I don’t think it’s something you’ve done before. Unless you’re weird,” he shoots her a wink as he squeezes her knee and then moves his hand back to the steering wheel.

“Well, if you tell me what it is we’re doing, I’ll let you know,” she offers, and he shakes his head with a coy smile.

“Just calm down, we’re already here,” he says, putting the car into park before looking to her.

“This is a park,” she states, looking to him confusedly. “I thought you said this wasn’t cheesy?”

“It’s not,” he defends.

“And you’re not going to pull a picnic basket out of your trunk, huh?” she asks with a grin on her lips.

“Oh ye of so little faith,” he opens his door and makes his way around to hers. She climbs out after he opens the door, watching him curiously.

“People watching,” he finally admits, and she cocks her head to the side. “It’s not cheesy and it’s something different. It’s the best I could think of.”

“Like sit on a bench and watch people,” she checks, slightly grinning as he seemed to grow slightly nervous.

“And judge them. Give them backstories and kick ass lives,” he states, smiling as she reached out for his hand.

“I love silently judging people,” she winks as he leads her down the trail through the park to a little bench under a tree.

She has the perfect view of the little duck pond a few hundred feet away, and the small hill with mothers chatting it up while their children play with an inflated ball. There are several people walking all breeds of dogs, and one with a bunny on a leash.

She has to stifle a giggle at the young woman, who has a snobbish air about her as though she looked down on other for having such a domestic animal as a dog.

“That one,” she points to the woman with the bunny. “Her name is probably Barbara. She’s a rich widow with no time or patience for children, so she has pet rabbits that she walks in the park. She looks down on commoners with no money.”

“They never could prove that her husband’s death was a murder,” Dean winks at her, and she feels her cheeks warm as he played along. “How about her?”

He points to a young mom who is chasing around her child.

“Looks like a Janet to me,” she states, giving the blonde haired woman a once over.

“Janet probably married young in life,” Dean states, leaning closer to her. “And then she sacrificed her husband to the Dark Lord and her kid doesn’t know any better. Janet looks innocent, but she probably drinks kitten blood for fun.”

She cracks up at his assessment, elbowing him in the ribs.

He rubs where she hit him, shooting her a pout. She makes a face at him and starts to look for her next target.

“That guy? His name is something like Joseph van Winkle the Third,” she points to a scrawny looking teenager sitting against a tree while scowling at everyone who passed him. “He can read minds, and that’s why he looks so mad. Everyone has terrible ideas for life and he can hear them all. Poor guy.”

“Joseph van Winkle?” Dean asks with a snort.

“The Third,” she finishes for him with a nod. “He probably gets offended if you leave off the Third part.”

“Seems like it,” Dean nods. “See? Isn’t this nice?”

“It is pretty fun,” she admits, laying her head on his shoulder. “And sort of sweet, but not in the cheesy way.”

“I never knew cheese could be sweet anyways,” he says, giving her a coy grin when she looked up to him.

“I meant sweet like you’re sitting here judging people with me,” she mutters, shaking her head. “How about him?”

She points to a very large man walking a small poodle.

“Looks like a Dwayne to me,” Dean murmurs, slipping his hand around her waist subtly. “He works out six days a week so he can make those weird videos jumping over stuff.”

“Parkour?” she checks, laughing.

“Yeah, that thing,” he nods.

“Really? He looks like he does ballet in his free time and by the looks of those calf muscles, he’s amazing at it,” she states. “That or he’s a stunt double for some Hollywood movies. Hard to tell.”

“I could see that,” he grins.

“Wait did you name him Dwayne because he looks like The Rock?” she asks suddenly, shooting him a knowing expression. He rolls his eyes and she shoots up. “You did!”

“He’s a big guy, The Rock is a big guy,” he explains defensively.

“Dude, I had the biggest crush on The Rock when I was a teenager,” she admits to Dean with a dreamy sigh. “I’d call him Daddy if he told me to.”

“That is disgusting,” Dean shudders.

“Awe, no Daddy kink for you?” she laughs as he shudders again.

“No, I had a really bad experience once with some guy named Chief. He thought I was gay,” Dean explains, closing his eyes as a chill ran up his spine.

“Are you gay?” she asks, looking up to him.

“You be the judge of that, Sweetheart,” he states with a raised eyebrow.

“Hm… Am I a beard, Mr. Winchester?” she asks, sitting up quickly. “Do you have a scandalous man on the side?”

“God, you’re weird,” he shakes his head. “No, I’m not gay. Do I look gay?”

“I mean, gay people look just like straight people,” she shrugs, her eyes watching him mischievously. “But I don’t think you are.”

“Good assessment,” he says, quirking a half smile. “How about her?”

He points to a woman that really stands out with bright blue hair and a polka dotted dress. She’s feeding the birds in the pond with some bread, cooing to them quietly.

“Hm, she’s kinda hard to place,” she murmurs quietly. “She looks like what I imagine a Mary to be.”

She feels Dean stiffen beside her, and she looks over quickly.

“Did I say something?” she asks, watching the hardened expression in his eyes.

“No, ah,” Dean clears his throat and looks away. “My mother’s name was Mary.”

“Oh my God,” she gasps, covering her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No, it’s okay,” he mutters, and she tilts her head slightly around to look at him.

“I’m really sorry, Dean,” she repeats, taking his hand into hers.

“It’s okay, really,” he looks up to her eyes, holding them. The underlying sadness in his gaze makes her frown. “She died when I was little.”

“How?” she returns, sliding her thumb over his knuckles carefully as she angled her body toward his.

“There was a fire in our house,” he answers softly, and she reaches up to cup his cheek with her free hand. “My dad, brother, and I got out. My mom didn’t.”

“That’s why you’re a firefighter,” she says, and he nods slowly. “Oh, Dean.”

She curls her arms around his neck and hugs him tightly, not caring that they were on a public park bench where several people could see them.

His arms slide around her waist, his face nosing into her neck until he was tucked into the space between her jaw and shoulder.

She reaches up and slides a hand through his hair, scratching lightly as she placed herself on his lap.

It’s a bit awkward, the way she’s sitting on his lap with both legs thrown over one side of his. But she doesn’t mind, not when she can hold him like this.

“I can go months without missing her if I just don’t think about her. But then someone will say something and it all just comes rushing in,” he explains as he lifts his head slowly.

“That’s not good, Dean,” she murmurs. “That’s not healthy. You should be able to mourn and then move on.”

“You expect me to move on after my mother died?” he snaps, shooting her a glare.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says softly.

“It’s what you said,” he retorts, slipping his arms away from her waist. Taking the memo, she rights herself back on the bench. “You think I should just forget about her.”

“I meant that you should move on with your life, not forget about her completely,” she returns in a calm voice. “Yes, you can miss her, and yes it will hurt sometimes, but you shouldn’t lock up when you hear her name, especially if she died when you were a child.”

“You’ve never lost someone you loved, have you?” his voice is hard, and she bites her bottom lip as she looks away. “I thought so. You don’t just let someone go. Especially not your mother.”

“I know that,” she tries to explain. “You don’t let them go, but you have to stop mourning at some point, Dean. You have to keep going with your life.”

“I am,” he says quietly. “I do my job, I go out to bars. Hell, I even go on a date every once in a while.”

“I just…” she sighs heavily. “I feel like maybe you haven’t fully moved on. And I’m not going to push it anymore because this is really dampening the first date mood, but…”

She reaches up to his chin and tilts his face to hers.

“…Dean, if you ever want to talk, I’m here,” she says, and his eyes soften slightly. “I don’t know a lot about you, but I know that I feel a lot for you, more than I’ve felt in a long time. So if you ever need anything, I’m here for you, okay?”

“Okay,” he nods, and she offers him a small smile that he barely returns.

“So anyways,” she changes her tone and perks up immediately, trying to cheer him up some from the gloomy talk they just had. “How about that little girl? What’s her story?”

He looks to the small black haired girl for a moment.

“She’s actually an alien from outer space, and she’s trying to learn our ways so that she can go back to the mothership and teach them how to hide among us,” he finally says.

The little girl looks up, her soft brown eyes catching Dean’s from across the park.

“Shit, she heard me,” Dean mutters, and she laughs as the little girl cocks her head to the side for a moment, staring him down.

“She’s gonna come after you first,” she murmurs, nudging Dean’s side.

“She’s still staring,” Dean mutters, looking away from the little girl. “It’s getting creepy.”

“You’re the one that wanted to come people watch,” she shrugs. “If she scares you so much, we could go get some food.”

“I’m not scared,” he scoffs. “Just a little weirded out. Little girl looks like she wants to gank me.”

“Gank?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, she wants to…” he trails off and makes a motion like his neck is slit, “…gank me.”

“You’re so weird,” she shakes her head. “But seriously, I’m kinda hungry. Can we get some food?”

“Sure, do you have anywhere you want to go?” he asks.

“How about burgers? I want a juicy grease trap that will clog my arteries,” she states, looking at him with a grin.

“Marry me,” he says suddenly, his eyes wide.

“Maybe one day, Winchester. But first I want a burger,” she retorts, and he stands up quickly, a pep in his step as he extends his hand to her.

“Of course, Mrs. Winchester,” he winks as she takes his hand. Her cheeks flush pink.

“So this has been… Different,” she admits, looking up to him. “Not a first date I’ll forget any time soon.”

“If you wanted to, we could go do something else?” he offers, and she looks up to him with a grin as they make it to his car.

“I’ll take you up on that. How about a bar?” she asks, cocking her head to the side.

“Are you sure you won’t marry me right now?”

~

Tell me what you thought!

~

@purely-myself-03 @morganpierce @perpetualabsurdity @stormblastfanfiction @vampire7595 @ronnie248-blog @superisatomboyuniverse

[markzschiegnerii]

Dream Daddy/Mystic Messenger crossover ending

Here is something I am making. A Dream Daddy ending with Mystic Messenger to it. You can only access this ending with to dating each Dad two times getting an A or an S for each date with each dad

You are kidnapped by Unknown/Saeran and Rika and are about to be inducted into Mint Eye. They noticed that you flirted with Every single Dad in Maple Bay. They thought you were lost and would be a perfect inductee for Mint Eye.

You don’t even know what is going on but you are scared. You ask wear Amanda is. Saeran said she was gone to her graduation ceremony before he got to your house. She looked upset about bad friends. Rika have a fake look of concern and said she would be a perfect addition as well. Saeran says he knows where the school is and they could go there and get Amanda and also (The kid of the last Dad you dated,for example if you dated Hugo last, they would kidnap Ernest. Damien would get Lucien in danger and so on)

They leave and Saeran would jokingly ask what they should wear for Amanda’s graduation? Then he would laugh and say they would pick something. Then he would shout BAM and laugh maniacally with Rika as they leave.

Your Dadsona is getting worried. He tries to look for a way out and he fears for Amanda’s life. Then you hear a familiar voice. It is Robert and he has with him. V and 707. They tell you what is going on and How they managed to track Rika down. V tells you about how Rika lost her mind and how Saeran fell for her trap of friendship. 707 cringed and felt guilty and sad for Saeran. Robert tells him that they won’t be able to stop Rika and Saeran just crying and feeling sorry for themselves. They leave and bolt to Amanda’s Graduation ceremony

At the Ceremony which was getting ready to go on. Amanda avoids her former friends and stays by the exit. When she heard Rikas voice saying that she doesn’t have to feel alone anymore if she would come with her. Amanda knew better than to go with strangers. She tried to end the conversation there by saying she had to get ready.

Thrhn she heard Saeran shout as (For the sake of it I will say I got an S ranking on Hugo’s second date) Ernest ran to Amanda’s side.

Ernest:That guy tried to drag me to that black van.

Rika:SAERAN YOU IDIOT. YOU WERENT SUPPOSED TO TAKE HIM UNTIL AMANDA CAME ALONG WITH US

Amanda:WHAT, ARE YOU CRAZY?

Rika:Oh dear, well I guess the cats out of the bag now.

Meanwhile Dadsona and the others are racing to Amanda’s high school and trying to reach Hugo.

V let’s you in more about Rika, how he tried to help her through her problems. In the end though he was unable to get her to continue receiving therapy and treatment. He also laments the fact that he let 707s brother fall under her demented thrall.

707 shook his head and said he was partially responsible for Saeran falling for Rikas trap. Then 707 tells his backstory to Dadsona.

Robert then tells both of them that they can’t change what happened in the past. But they can change the future and help Saeran and Save Amanda as well. All the whole texting someone on the phone.

Back at the ceremony. Rika tries to persuade Amanda and Ernest to come with her.

Rika:This ceremony, getting a worthless piece of paper and what not. I assure you what I am offering is much better.

Amanda was not interested and after they tried to kidnap Ernest she was definitely not interested.

Rika:That was the wrong approach I admit to that. But never fear. Mommas here

Amanda:YOURE NOT MY MOM!!!

Rika:That’s hurtful Amanda, I can be your mother if you would let me be.

Rika said that with a demented smile on her face

Just then Hugo came up and saw what was happening. He then saw Amanda and Ernest terrified by the two people that cornered them and immediately deduced what was going on, accosted Saeran and pinned him to the wall.

Hugo:UP AGAINST THE WALL DIRTBAG!!

Rika seeing her plan was falling apart decided to grab Amanda’s arm.

Rika:Come Amanda we don’t need Saeran. Grab little Ernest as well we need to leave. Now!

Amanda:Let go of me!!!

Ernest:Hey, back off my friend you skank!!!

Hugo:Ernest, Language young man.

Rika glared at him. Getting desperate she took one hand and pulled out a huge vial

Rika:I would have preferred to initiate you and Ernest back at Paradise but this will do for now. I wish you would have been more cooperative but this will ensure your acquiescence.

Amanda saw Rika trying to tip the Vial onto her face. Fearing it might be acid Amanda screamed and Struggled.

Amanda:NO!!!NO!!! Let me go!!!

Rika:Hold still Amanda it will all be over in a moment.

Amanda screamed.

Just then A gunshot rang out. Rika has blood coming out of her chest. Then several more gunshots rang out and Rika collapsed dead on the floor.

Amanda saw Robert holding a smoking gun and panting.

Then Dadsona comes up.

Dadsona:AMANDA!!!

Amanda:DAD!!!

Amanda sobs into your chest.

Saeran:NO!!!!

He slashes Hugo’s cheek and then dashes to Dadsona his knife raised.

But then He was grabbed by Mary and Joseph

Mary:Hold it Sailor!!!

Joseph:I told you we would get here in time if we took the shortcut Mary

Mary:More like I had my GPS handy on my phone. Thanks for telling us about this Robert

Then the game continues as normal. Except at the end party. V and 707 bring Yoosung to the party. Yoosung wants to apologize for Rikas actions. He apologizes to Dadsona, Amanda and Ernest, who thanks you for saving him and Amanda. But Amanda says that Yoosung wasn’t responsible for what Rika did. Rika was. No matter what.

Also 707 moves in with Robert finding Robert and Mary fun to be around.

Then the end scene continues as normal except Amanda does not leave with the Emma’s but goes off with Lucien Ernest and Yoosung for Pizza and a movie. Lucien also decides to give Yoosung a Stick and Poke tattoo, much to Yoosungs horror.

The end scene then finishes with the tree scene whether you got the good ending or not.

The credits instead of the black background and white text shows the text with Pictures of Lucien giving Yoosung a Stick and Poke Tattoo and Yoosung cringing, 707 drinking with Robert and Mary, V and Zen enjoying a Wrestling match with Craig, Mat, and Hugo, And Jumin and Jaehee, much to her Chagrin helping Damien in the Animal shelter.

What do you guys think. I know it’s rushed but it was in my head a lot

[addictivedame]

#Devotion @SoulfulPatriot||

You can’t be with a man like my Aedan and not expect there to be blood on his clothes once in awhile. That just goes with the territory. All I could do was pray that it would be someone else’s and not his own.

Me and Aedan, seems like we’ve always been together. I remember him asking me to be his girl when we were too young to really understand what it meant. The nuns caught us kissing behind the playground steps and didn’t they tan us both. I can still feel the slap of the wooden ruler on my knuckles. Now, of course, I’d hit back, but then I was too scared of what my ma would say. Aedan had kissed them later on our way home from school and promised me he’d make them pay for what they’d done. It was sweet, really, though I hadn’t believed he would be so brave. Not until later that week when Sister Nancy opened her desk drawer and started caterwauling like the end of the world had come. He’d put rat traps under her pens, and when she went reaching for one….SNAP. I swear, I did my best not to laugh out loud at her pain. That day, I swore to myself I’d marry that boy when I was older, and my opinion on the subject never wavered.

That is loyalty. Aedan always knew what the word meant, and he showed it to me every day. That’s why no matter what trouble he gets himself into, I’m going to be there with him, helping him, giving that loyalty right back. Devil take anyone who tries to stand in our way.

He asked me once if I wanted to stay here, and honestly, I laughed out loud, right in his face at the very idea. “You remember when they sent the nuns and priests to come talk to us about our callings, and they said how God had callings for all of us? Some to serve God in a bloody convent, or some rubbish like that. And they showed us that movie about the missionaries going out to convert the heathen in some godforsaken place or other. After, they asked us all to write down what we felt our calling was. You know what I wrote? I said ‘I believe the Lord can call me to a better place.’ And that’s still how I feel. Staying here means eventually we’ll just rot or die young, same as everybody else. I don’t mean to die here in Belfast, darlin’. There’s a better place out there for us. And we’re gonna find it, you and me.”

I trusted him to get us there. I’d put all my hope in him. Aedan was going to get us both away from this hellhole or die trying. Of course it wouldn’t be easy. I’d have to be daft to think otherwise. But I’d wash blood out of his clothes as often as he needed so long as he was still breathing.

Did I like him being in danger? Hell no. And I wouldn’t mince words about it either. But if it meant we were on our way to someplace better, you bet your ass I’d do whatever it took to help him succeed.

When that bastard Torrian brought him in through the door, my strong man hanging limp and tracking blood onto the carpet, though, I left my cigarette to burn out in the ashtray, leaping up from my seat and giving Torrian an earful about the shape he was in as he half dragged, half carried him to the bedroom.

My voice was harsh, but it had to be. If I let myself be soft, even for a moment, I couldn’t do what I needed to.  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, what the fuck happened? No, don’t tell me. You tell that asshole MacCartan he can find someone else to be a bloody martyr for the cause, why don’t you? Jesus. Look at this mess.”

My hands were shaking, but I wasn’t going to be some little princess about it. I knew there was no going to hospital. That would mean questions that would be bad for everyone. Questions that would send Aedan away. Whatever he’d done, whatever the consequences, I was going to have to fix it as well as I could and hope for the best.

As Torrian laid him down on the bed, I took stock of what I saw. Holy Mary, mother of God, he looked like hell. He was pale, like I’d never seen him, the color of newsprint paper. “Jesus Christ,” I whispered. “I swear to God Almighty, Aedan, if the man who done this to you is still out there walking, so help me, I’m going to cut off his balls and cook them up for Sunday dinner.”

Blood was seeping through his fingers, the hand clutching his gut. Nor was that the only place where he was bleeding. His knee looked like it had been through a meat grinder. This was beyond a simple stitching up.

I brushed a hand along his forehead, my voice turning soft and tender. “Oh Aedan, what did they do to you, my darlin’?”

Torrian tried to give me some reassurance. The man responsible was dealt with. I rounded on him, my eyes like a storm. “You make it right. You hear me? I don’t care what you have to do, you get him a doctor and you make this right. You get someone here, and you do it now, or I swear to Christ, I’ll call for an ambulance myself. You get on that bloody phone and you call whoever you have to.”

He cursed me, but he did it. Something in my face must have convinced him he had better do as he was told, because I heard him talking to someone from the other room, his voice low but urgent.

All the while, I had turned to Aedan again. He looked like someone who expected to die, and it shook me to the core. “Don’t you leave me, Aedan. Don’t you dare. I’ll follow you down to hell and drag your sorry ass back here if I have to, but you’re not leaving me.”

His breath was so shallow, it terrified me, and he didn’t speak, but he looked at me and in spite of his pain, he smiled and squeezed my hand, nodding his understanding.

Five minutes later, as I was tying a towel around Aedan’s knee, a woman was rushed into the room with Torrian behind her. My fingers were covered in blood, and there wasn’t time to be polite. “Save him,” I said simply, pushing back my hair from my forehead with the back of my hand. “I don’t care how you do it. Just do it.”

With a brusque manner, she got to work, ordering Torrian and me around for more light, hot water, having us hold him still while she cut his clothes so she could see the extent of his injuries. She didn’t ask about the circumstances of how this had happened. She only asked for the facts. How many bullets? What had caused the cut his his belly? How long had he been bleeding like this? Questions that helped her assess the damage, but skirted around the incriminating details that didn’t change anything or help her fix him.

She gave him a shot of something. I didn’t ask what it was, but his expression relaxed and he mumbled something as his eyes closed, and in moments he was unconscious. It was too close to death for my comfort, though I didn’t like seeing him in pain either.

Next thing I knew, she was doing surgery on him, right there in our bedroom. As though she did this sort of thing every day. She acted almost mechanically, detached and serious, barking orders. I watched on, incredulous, as she assessed the damage to his belly – “Just missed his intestines. He’s a lucky man. If it had cut a few centimeters over, you’d have a priest here instead of me.” – and sewed him up. Then she set to work on his knee. The bullet had gone straight through, she said, though the bone was fractured into several pieces.

“I’ll do my best,” she said. “Can’t guarantee he won’t always have a limp, though.”

It felt like hours we stood there watching her work. I couldn’t look at the wounds. I kept my gaze focused on her hands instead, watching them clean and dress the injuries, sewing together damaged flesh as best she could. He was going to have nasty scars, no doubt about it, but that was a small price to pay if he would only live.

She set the bones and wrapped his leg in plaster, and she set up an IV for fluids while she worked, making Torrian hold the bag up until it had dripped through completely.

At last it was done, and she stepped back, disconnecting the IV, then peeling gloves from her hands and tossing them into the trash. She handed me a bottle of pain pills and another with antibiotics, giving me instructions for his care. I nodded, and only as she was packing up her things did I look down to read the labels on the bottles.

“Veterinarian?” My mouth dropped open, and I laughed in spite of all that had happened. “You’re a veterinarian?”

“You wanted someone who wouldn’t ask questions. You got me. You got a problem with that, take it up with your boyfriend’s boss.” She snapped together the bag she had carried in with her, turning matter of factly to leave.

I hurried over to catch her arm, turning her to face me, my expression full of worry. “Wait. What’s your name? What do I do if he doesn’t...you know...if he gets worse?”

“Call a priest. I’ve done the best I can here. I won’t lie to you. It’s serious. But he’s strong. You do like I told you, he ought to pull through. As for my name, you don’t get it. I don’t want to know yours or his either. Forget you saw me. This was a one time deal. I won’t be doing it again. Good luck.”

With that, she looked at Torrian and scowled. “Don’t call me again. This is the last time. I’m done.”

He followed her to the door and locked it behind her, then came back, standing uselessly in the doorway as I got into the other side of the bed and took Aedan’s hand.

“What can I do?” he asked. “Can I bring you anything?”

“Get out,” I said coolly. “And don’t come back unless I call you. I don’t want to see your fucking face.”

I didn’t turn to see him go. I was watching over my man, kissing his fingers as he slept. I stayed there – whispering to him, telling him I loved him, my lips brushing his forehead, my fingers caressing his hair – until I fell asleep at last by his side.