#the night rains hot tar

[novlr]

What are some ways to describe summer ?

Summer is not just a season; it’s a vibrant setting that can add life and color to your writing. Whether you’re crafting a sun-soaked romance or a beach thriller, the way you describe summer can immerse readers in your story. Let’s dive into how you can capture the essence of summer, focusing on the various senses and elements that make this season unique.

Sights

Sunsets that paint the sky in hues of orange, pink, and purple.

Children chasing ice cream trucks down suburban lanes.

Sunbathers dotting the coastline.

Sprinklers casting rainbows across freshly mowed lawns.

Flower gardens in full bloom, a riot of colours.

Sunglasses showing reflections of the bright world.

Sun hats and flip-flops scattered around pool decks.

Fireflies illuminating the night.

Street markets bustling with locals buying fresh produce.

Hikers on forest trails.

Sounds

The cacophony of cicadas in the late afternoon.

Waves crashing against the shore in a constant rhythm.

The sizzle and pop of barbecues in backyards.

Children’s laughter as they play outside.

Ice clinking in glasses of lemonade or cocktails.

The distant whirr of lawn mowers.

Splashes and shouts from swimming pools.

Chirping songbirds greeting the morning.

The crackle of bonfires during cool summer nights.

The melodic chimes of ice cream trucks roaming the streets.

Smells

The salty tang of sea air at the beach.

The overpowering scent of chlorinated pools.

Freshly cut grass after morning lawn care.

The scent of sunscreen and tanning oils on warm skin.

The smoky aroma of grills at a neighborhood cookout or family barbeque.

Fragrant blossoms like jasmine and roses in full bloom.

The earthy smell of rain on hot pavement.

The mix of fruits, vegetables, fried food, and flowers at an open-air market.

Melting tar with an accompanying heat shimmer on hot roads.

Campfire smoke clinging to clothes and hair during outdoor adventures.

Activities

Beach volleyball games, sand flying as players dive for the ball.

Leisurely picnics in the shade of ancient trees.

Hiking trips taking advantage of the long daylight hours.

Sailing and boating, the wind filling sails on sunlit waters.

Outdoor concerts, where music floats on the warm night air.

Road trips with car windows down, hair whipping in the wind.

Fruit picking in orchards and berry farms.

Camping under the stars, a tent and a sleeping bag for a home.

Water fights with hoses, water guns, and balloons.

Attending summer festivals full of food, music, and dance.

Character body language

Wiping sweat from the brow or fanning themselves to cool down.

Squinting against the harsh sunlight or seeking out spots of shade.

Sipping cold drinks, or gulping down water.

Lounging lazily, limbs relaxed and sprawled out.

Applying sunscreen meticulously.

Adjusting sunglasses or hats for better protection.

Dipping toes tentatively into the sea or a pool.

Tugging at clothes sticking to sweat-dampened skin.

Laughing with carefree abandon, a reflection of summer’s ease.

Turning pages of a paperback with fingers damp from pool water.

Positive descriptions

The liberating feeling of diving into cool water on a scorching day.

The tranquil peace of a sunrise beach yoga session.

The simple pleasure of ice cream melting on the tongue.

The bliss of a hammock nap swayed by a gentle breeze.

The joy of endless blue skies promising adventure.

The warmth of sun-kissed skin after a day outdoors.

The satisfaction of a well-tended garden coming to life.

The contentment of sharing a sunset with loved ones.

The thrill of catching the perfect wave while surfing.

The comfort of balmy evenings spent on porch swings.

Negative descriptions

The oppressive heat making the air feel thick and suffocating.

The relentless buzzing of mosquitoes on a muggy night.

The sting of sunburn after a day of neglecting sunscreen.

The frustration of packed tourist spots and overcrowded beaches.

The exhaustion induced by long days and sweltering heat.

The discomfort of air thick with humidity.

The annoyance of sand finding its way into every nook and cranny.

The disappointment of a rained-out picnic or canceled event.

The lethargy of a heatwave, energy sapped by the relentless sun.

The discomfort of trying to sleep in an overheated, uncooled room.

Helpful Adjectives

Scorching

Balmy

Sultry

Languid

Radiant

Dazzling

Parched

Breezy

Rippling

Sweltering

Sunny

Lush

Blistering

Tropical

Vibrant

Humid

Verdant

Golden

Glowing

Fragrant

Torrid

Tranquil

Crisp

Sizzling

Flaming

Steamy

Refreshing

Shimmering

Lazy

Stifling

Invigorating

Sparkling

Zesty

Fervent

Stuffy

Arid

Saturated

Juicy

Sunbaked

Fetid

[splendsay]

COD FF // Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 40: Together

THIS ONE IS CUTE I hope u like it

..................................................................

Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 40: Together

Rating: 18+ !!MDNI!! Chapters: 40/? WC: 105,511 Pairing(s): TF141 x F!Reader (You) Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mild sexual content Chapter Excerpt (🚨spoilers!!🚨):

When you wake, the walls of your room are painted in a hazy, rose golden glow. Birds chirp softly outside your window. Your vision is a little bleary, your eyes crusted halfway closed. Your heartbeat drums lightly between your ears as you unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. 

You are exceptionally warm, despite the palpable chill in the air. There's a solid presence at your back -- Simon. Another at your front, and somewhat beneath you -- Soap, you realize, looking up at him. His mouth is open slightly, a small snore emanating from him every time he breathes in. His lashes are dark against his skin. Your cheek is pressed into the crook of his shoulder, while his hand rests between your thighs. 

Simon's arm is draped over your waist. His gentle, warm breaths on your neck float evenly in and out. In and out. 

It's decidedly intimate, on both ends, and it takes you a second to register it as a thing that's actually happening. It feels like a dream. You think, for a moment, it might be. This lovely little cocoon. 

You dip your chin to peer downward, trying to ground the mix of sights and sounds and sensations, and blink in surprise -- at Simon's hand on Soap's stomach. You watch as it moves up and down, over and over, and smile to yourself. 

No, even your best dreams don't quite feel like this. Realization dawns, as reliably as the sun. Clarity seeps through you, like rain in the earth. 

You'd slept through the night. Together. With the two of them. They slept together. On either side of you. And they...they're still sleeping. 

You listen to their chorus of slow, steady inhales and exhales.

You're very aware of your heart. It feels tight. Too big for the space. Not so much like a tar-filled rock masquerading as a gemstone at the moment. More like -- a hot air balloon. Light and colorful and full of potential. Somehow simple and complex all at once. More capacity than feels possible. 

You want, more than anything, to protect that feeling. Preserve it. You're just not really sure how. 

You certainly don't dare move. You don't want to disturb them. Or this...weightlessness...you stumbled into. 

But Soap moves suddenly, rolling to face you. You sink onto the pillow as he pulls himself closer -- sandwiching you more firmly between either man's chest. They both have arms across your body now, side-by-side atop your midsection. Simon reacts to the shift by curling you both in toward his body, like a cat might cover their face with their paws, and both men sigh, rustling your hair. 

You giggle a little incredulously -- just a whisper -- and breathe in that smell of a snow-dusted forest. A Christmas wreath bedecked with those cinnamon pinecones you used to be able to buy at the grocery store. 

It's funny how they're such perfect compliments to one another. How, together, they form a sensory backdrop to all your sweetest memories. Your favorite dreams. 

A question and an answer. 

You...you really love them. More than anything. You love them both. You're not quite sure how you got here. Well, maybe you are. The horrible and never-ending cascade of worse and worse experiences probably has something to do with it. 

But, maybe that doesn't really matter. Maybe it was worth it. 

Maybe all that matters is the here and now. Maybe all that matters is the simplicity of the moment you currently occupy. The intersection of space and time that allows you to lay between the bodies of two people that have proven over and over and over again they'd do anything for you. Would protect you from the gravest of harms. 

How many people can say they're so lucky?

And maybe you're a terrible person for loving it. You certainly still don't feel like you deserve it. But maybe you don't need to deserve it to enjoy it. To appreciate it. 

And you do. You do appreciate it. And in return...

You'd move literal mountains for them. Pick the mountains up, rock by fucking rock, and carry them across the world. You'd crawl to hell and back a thousand times. Would rip yourself apart, limb by limb, piece by piece. Destroy everyone else around you. Set fire to the world, if it meant their safety. Their happiness.

The mere thought of something happening to either of them makes you feel wild. Feral. Daring. 

A sharp inhale just above your head draws your attention away from the nonexistent threat in your mind -- to Soap, whose eyes are now open. He doesn't make to move away, he just -- blinks. As though he's trying to get Simon's face to come into focus. 

You wiggle the fingers of the hand resting against his chest, drawing those impossibly blue orbs down to you. He doesn't otherwise move -- rigid as a board. You smile softly. Placatingly. 

"Hi," you breathe. 

..................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[ponderingmoonlight]

I told you to stay

This is my first fic ever, I'm genuinely so exited! Please let me know what you think :) Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader Word Count: 1,7k

Synopsis: When finding out your boyfriend of a year, Toji, secretly has a whole family behind your back, you decide to leave him. Of course, he won't allow that so easily. Warnings: use of gun, swearing, violence, mentions of assault, death

„Where the hell are you, brat?“

„None of your business, asshole.”

“You know what happens if I need to get up to find you myself, (y/n).”

“I don’t want to be found by you. How many times do I have to tell you that it’s over?”

“As long as you can’t say that to my face, I don’t give a fuck about your words.”                                         

“You have a whole fucking family and didn’t bother to tell me about it, I owe you nothing Toji! From now on we go our separate ways, I don’t want to hear from you ever again!”

“(y/n)-“

Enough. You hang up on him without waiting for his response. Your hands tremble uncontrollably as you smash your phone to the ground in rage. That motherfucker has some nerves. How could he not tell you that he has a kid and a wife? A whole fucking family with you as his side chick. You can’t believe you were dumb enough to fall for him. A man whose reputation precedes him by miles. Everyone has told you that he won’t do you any good, that it is dangerous to get involved with someone like Toji. After all, you are nothing more than a simple stripper that caught his attention in the club. Admittedly it wasn’t difficult to get tangled with Toji, he knows exactly how to wrap a needy woman around his finger. But not anymore. You adjust the cut-outs of your skin-tight dress and reach for your handbag. It’s now or never. You probably won’t have more than 5 minutes to get out of your apartment before he gets here. Just the thought of seeing him almost makes you throw up what’s left from your dinner.

You sprint down the stairs in your high heels, face still hot from rage. Where should you go? Work is absolutely no option, as well as friends. You need to get away as far as possible with as little evidence as possible. Toji is too fucking good at his job, using your credit card alone would make it an easy task to find you within 2 minutes.

The cold air of the night hits you like a wall. Good, maybe fresh air is exactly what you need at the moment. Without slowing down you dash away, into the dimly lit streets, as far away from your apartment and his betrayal as possible.

Fuck, you should have known better. Toji was only toying with you, all the sweet words he whispered into your ear late at night were nothing but thin air. Ultimately, the only thing he fell in love with was your flawless body.

Scorching tears start to burn up in your eyes and make your vision go foggy. It was more for you, though. Despite the horrible things he does, you loved him unconditionally for more than a year. Just the thought of him having a family with a stranger is like having your heart forcefully ripped out of your chest. If only he had told you, if only he had been honest.

Angrily you wipe away the tears from your cheeks. He hasn’t. And that’s the only thing that matters. Even if you don’t have any assets and don’t exactly have the best reputation in society as a stripper, you would rather die than depend on Toji’s false favor. You certainly don’t need his dirty money.

Your feet rush through the cold streets without an aim, heels clicking against the tar being the only sound this late at night. To make matters worse, it also starts to rain in rivers. You sign. Maybe the rain can drive away memories of his hoarse morning voice or the way he held you tight in his arms as soon as he got home. You were his little secret, which he always kept well so you wouldn’t get hurt. Or so you don’t know his very own dirty secret.

“Hey doll, come over here! I have something very special for you!”

No, you don’t have time or the nerves for a stupid jerk right now. Although you are approached on the street almost every day, this is not the right time nor the wording you are able to endure right now.

“Fuck off, asshole”, you bark back, not even giving him a single look.

“Do you really think a bitch like you should put up against me like that? Be glad I asked and not just knocked you unconscious”, he hisses through gritted teeth.

“It surely would have been funny to see you try. I’m not in the mood for this shit right now, fuck off.”

Your scalp starts to tingle as you hear his footsteps continuing to hunt you. He won’t leave you alone, violence is inevitable. You ball your hands into fists. Fine, if that’s what he wants.

“I said back off!”, you yell furiously.

Your purse falls to the wet floor with a clatter as you turn around in one quick movement and kick his ugly face so hard that he falls to the ground in an instant.

“You little whore”, he cries out in pain.

A smug smile creeps onto your face. You may not be an experienced fighter, but your skills are enough to knock down a stupid man. After all, your work forces you to always be prepared for such situations.

“Should have listened to me, ass-“

It’s happening faster than you can react. With a surprisingly quick movement he is back on his feet, running towards you with a gun in his right hand.

A gun. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Your mind goes blank as he points the barrel at you and puts his finger on the trigger. Will you die like this, abandoned on a rainy night on the streets of Tokyo? Heartbroken over a man that lied to you for over a year? Your body refuses to fight back, to even try to knock the gun out of his hand. You’re not really a fighter, but your self-defense skills would allow you to bang your leg against his forearm, force him to let go of the gun and then turn it on himself. But instead, your glossy eyes just stare blankly into the barrel of his weapon, waiting for the inevitable bullet that will hit you with full force.

Does he even care? Will he even bother to look for you? You always thought you were a strong and independent woman. Then why are you standing here waiting for death? What has become to your dignity, your self-confidence? Your limbs are trembling, eyes wide in shock. It’s too late to react, one small movement of his finger and it’s over. One small movement and you will never see Toji again…

“You know you could easily kill him, right? But of course I’d be happy to do that for you, princess.”

The sound of his familiar voice alone drives up your heartbeat so much that you fear to collapse any given minute. You blink.

One. Two.

Three times.

The lifeless body of the man who threatened you with death seconds before falls to the ground right in front of you.

Your breathing is fast and erratic, his blood mixes with rain and soon turns everything around you crimson.  Toji’s massive stature builds up in front of you and blocks away the dim moonlight. It feels like you’re going to throw up at any moment, your heart is beating from your chest, whole body shaking with fear and tension. That man tried to kill you. Toji killed him. Toji is here, after he lied to you for the entire relationship.

“You’ve got some nerves running away from me. I told you to stay home, (y/n).”

His hoarse voice almost makes you pass out. You cannot take your eyes off the corpse of the man at your feet. If it wasn’t for Toji, you would be lying there bleeding slowly to death in the bleakness of the night. Should you be…thankful? You wouldn’t have stormed out of your apartment in the first place if he hadn’t cheated on you.

“And you should have been honest”, you breathe out.

“You know, you could be a little more grateful-“

“You cheated on me, Toji! Our whole life was a lie!”, you scream on top of your lungs, eyes darting towards his figure.

There he sands, casually sloughing around, as if he didn’t just kill a man and his relationship is at stake. Seeing him this unbothered makes your heart go numb for a moment, filling your body with nothing but pure rage.

“How can you just stand there and act like you don’t care!?”, you shout at him.

“Because I don’t”, he simply replies while shrugging his shoulders.

You see nothing but red. Before you can teach yourself better you storm towards him, ready to punch him in his stupid beautiful face.

“C’mon, you should know better than that sweetheart”, he purrs, simply catching your hand midair and pulling your arm towards him.

You stumble forward against his broad chest, his tight grip keeps you at place.

“Let me go”, you hiss in a desperate attempt to free yourself from him.

“I didn’t cheat on you, (y/n). I have nothing to do with this woman and that child, you hear? Now stop throwing a tantrum and come home”, he simply replies, not the slightest bit interested in your show.

“I’m not coming back to you!”

“Oh, you will. You have no other choice because I won’t let you go.”

A stupid smirk is plastered on his face before he pulls your body firmly against his, your face resting against his chest. Once again your body betrays you as soon as he wraps his arm around your waist. You can’t help but close your eyes and let yourself fall into his touch for a little moment. After all, you loved him with all your heart.

But you cannot forget what he did to you. What about his family, the child? Does he really have no contact with them? Your head spins in confusion as your heart and mind fight in a desperate war against each other. As much as you love him and this relationship, you cannot simply forget about the events of that night.

“I won’t forgive you just like that. This topic isn’t over yet, fucker.”

“We’ll see, brat”, he whispers into your ear before disappearing with you into the concealment of the night.

[hottpinkpenguin]

Joel Miller X Fem!Reader - Last of Us

A/N: i watched the first episode of Last of Us yesterday and suffice it to say that Joel Miller officially has a chokehold on me and i ain't complaining.

Warnings: dark themes; post-apocalyptic dystopia; death of reader's minor child; probably a lot of non-canon details since I've never played the game; not proofread; spoilers if you haven't seen the show/played the game Word Count: 2402 Abbreviations: QZ = quarantine zone; FDRA "Fedra" = Federal Disaster Response Agency

---

Dying was a way of life in the QZ. Seemed like everyone was dying lately. Fireflies, FDRA, and most of all the people in between. The lost and lonely. 

You met Joel shortly after you died. Your spirit died with your twelve year old son, Gabriel. The docs had told you it was most likely cancer. The fucking irony of that burned you from the inside out until you felt completely hollow. Just a shell of a person, really. Your emotions felt anesthetized, your brain in a perpetual fog. You went about your day from routine and muscle memory. You might as well have been infected. At least then you’d have some sort of purpose. Without Gabriel, you felt utterly useless. He’d brought you a sense of optimism, a reason to at least try and believe in the future. When you’d lost Gabriel’s father Eddie, you’d at least had your son. But without him. Well, without him, there wasn’t any you. You didn’t have a role anymore, didn’t add anything to anyone’s life. You couldn’t think of anything more death-like than waking up day after day to the realization that you didn’t matter to anyone. The night Joel met you, in fact, you had vague plans to drink yourself into oblivion and hopefully not wake up.

But, something changed when Joel ran into you. And he did literally run into you. 

You were walking back from the bus stop after a shift cleaning the killing floor of the poultry planet. A cold, drizzling rain soaked the streets in a fine layer of mist. You crossed your arms over your chest, tucking your head underneath the threadbare hood of Eddie’s old hunting jacket. For a few weeks after Eddie had died in a firefight between the Fireflies and FDRA, the jacket had smelled like him, and you’d taken up wearing it. Damn thing wasn’t too warm, but at least it was decently waterproof. That had been years ago. It was useless now, neither warm nor waterproof, but it was all you had. Everything else you’d sold. 

You were going through the usual calculations in your head, trying to figure out how you were going to scrounge together enough cards to get some hot food in your belly, when something - someone, you realized after he’d hit you - came tearing around the corner of an alley. You weren’t braced for it, and even your reflexes didn’t seem to care enough to break your fall. You hit the damp, cobbled pavement hard on your left shoulder, your head bouncing off the tar and sending stars across your vision. You heard a man’s voice swear as you blacked out…

*****

When you came to, you weren’t in the rain anymore. Your head throbbed and you didn’t dare move in case you vomited. You were resting on something soft, albeit a little lumpy, and there was a blanket wrapped around you. Your head was propped up on a musty smelling pillow and there was a fire crackling nearby. Your shoulder was screaming in pain, and against your better judgment you twisted as gently as you could manage to try and relieve the pressure on your joint. Your gut turned, and you leaned over to wretch as far from yourself as you could. With the first sound of gagging, you felt cold, rough hands grab the hair around your face and pull it away from your mouth as a bucket was shoved in front of your face. 

��Good, you’re awake.” A man’s voice.

You peaked towards the voice through slitted eyelids. The faint, hazy light through a dingy window felt like someone was driving a drill bit into your temple. 

“That’s a shame,” you rasped out, earning a dark chuckle from the man sitting across from you. The laugh didn’t reach his eyes. He had the same thousand-mile stare that most people in the QZ had. You couldn’t guess his age - that was another thing survivors had in common. Nothing ages you like the Apocalypse, Eddie used to say. 

“Pretty sure you’re concussed.” 

You nodded, trying to swallow down the acidic taste of bile-vomit. 

“Pretty sure you concussed me,” you shot back. Another chuckle, this one a bit fuller. 

“Yeah, that’d be me. Sorry about that. I had FDRA on my heels.” You shrugged, trying to push yourself up on the couch. Another wave of nausea tore through your head, but there wasn’t anything to vomit up except saliva. You managed to swallow it down, closing your eyes again to stop the spinning sensation. 

“I’ve got some broth cooking,” the man went on. “I think you should eat a bit. Settle your stomach. You’ve been out for almost 24 hours.” 

You did an idle calculation in your head, automatically tallying up the date. November 29. Not that it mattered, but it was a habit you hadn’t been able to shake ever since the outbreak. 

“Not hungry,” you replied, biting down on your tongue against another spasm in your gut.

“Yeah, but you need to eat. Looks like you don’t do that too often.” You shot the man the darkest look you could muster. You’d learned long ago not to trust men who commented on your appearance. 

“You look sick is all I mean,” your companion added apologetically. He thrust you a bowl with a watery-thin, yellow liquid in it, a curled tongue of steam rising from its surface and an old dented spoon sticking out of the broth. 

“Just try it,” he encouraged you as you eyed him suspiciously. He was big, you realized, tall and strong. One of those QZ guys who lived hard and had the muscles to speak for it. It wasn’t the same kind of physique that people had before the outbreak: lean, toned, all for show. Fitness wasn’t a luxury anymore. It was a necessity for most people in the QZ. Some lines of work required it more than others. And judging by the strong forearm that handed you the bowl, whatever this guy did, it was serious business. 

You accepted the bowl, relishing the warmth of the ceramic between your hands. Your stomach growled as the smell of chicken broth tickled your nostrils. You took a tentative sip, burning your tongue. Your movements were slow and deliberate. 

“Joel.” 

“Huh?” You raised an inquisitive eyebrow at your companion.

“Joel. My name’s Joel,” he clarified. 

You nodded, taking another sip of the broth. Even though moving made you sick to your stomach, your body was reacting hungrily to the taste. 

“Y/N,” you replied after a few moments of silence. Normally, you’d give a fake name. But, what was the point? Even with your real name, Joel didn’t have anything of yours to use against you. There wasn’t anything left to hurt you by. 

“You were Gabriel’s mother, weren’t you?” 

You froze, the spoon halfway to your lips. The sound of Gabriel’s name tore through you like lightning. The heart you’d forgotten you had twisted painfully in your chest.

“What the fuck did you say?” Anger came to the surface first. Your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Gabriel. Sweet kid. Saw him hanging around the gate a couple times.” If Joel noticed your reaction, he didn’t let on. He was idly poking a burning log in an old, dirty fireplace. 

You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t make yourself speak. Even if you had, you didn’t trust yourself not to dissolve. Joel hadn’t met you before, yet somehow he’d managed to grab onto the only thread of humanity you still had. One tug on that thread and you were unraveling. 

“I’m sorry about what happened to him. Awful shit, cancer. My sister had it, back before… before shit went sideways.” Joel wasn’t looking at you, didn’t even seem to be talking to you. You couldn’t breathe. Gabriel’s name still echoed inside your ears.

“I lost my little girl, too. Sarah. When the outbreak happened. In Texas.”

Joel finally turned to face you. His eyes were empty, and you recognized that emptiness. It mirrored your own. 

“You’ll never get over it, if you’re wondering. Not that you are. Because you already know. I can see it.” Tears dripped off your chin onto the blanket in your lap. You didn’t know how long you’d been crying. 

“I’m sorry,” you sputtered out after a few silent, empty moments. 

Across the room from you, Joel nodded.

“Yeah. Me too.” 

You finished the rest of your broth in silence. It was the longest conversation you’d had with anyone in weeks, and somehow you’d never felt more alone.

*****

You spent the next couple of days in a liminal space between healing and falling apart. Joel’s acknowledgment of Gabriel had broken something loose inside you, and as your head began to clear, you felt the grief all the more. It felt different than before, even right after you lost him. Gabriel’s death had cored the soul out of your body. Now, whatever was happening was infinitely more painful. You hated it, but you also hadn’t realized how much you’d missed feeling things. Even though what you felt was agonizing, it was affirming in a fucked up way to know you weren’t incapable of emotion.

Joel maintained his silence on the subject. In fact, he was generally silent. You exchanged a handful of words here and there, usually in response to him asking about your health. 

How’s the head?

Fine.

Good.

After about a week, the questions took a different quality.

When do you think you’ll be ready to go?

Go where?

Anywhere you need to.

I don’t have anywhere I need to go.

OK. 

You didn’t take offense to his questions, and he didn’t take offense to your responses. There was a companionable bluntness to your interactions. He asked after the basics - did you have what you needed, were you sick, hungry, cold - and you answered simply and honestly. No follow ups, no games, no need to converse on anything. In fact, after the first conversation you’d had about Gabriel and Sarah, you and Joel didn’t talk about anything at all. 

It was the eighth day when you finally felt well enough to stand up and cook. Joel was out - where, you didn’t know - but you thought you’d heat something up for him. An hour before curfew, you moved into the kitchen and started looking through the cabinets. He’d been good about sharing his food with you, and you knew enough of QZ life to know that sparing food wasn’t something everyone would do. And he hadn’t broached the subject of repayment. You doubted he ever would; despite his gruffness, Joel had a core of generosity. You didn’t know anyone anymore who would let a complete stranger spend a week on their couch, no matter how sick they were. 

You found a can of split pea soup in the back of the pantry and an opened package half-full of saltines. You picked out the crackers that didn’t have mold on them while the soup heated over the single gas burner Joel used for cooking. The light was fading outside; curfew was a few minutes away. Right on time, you heard Joel’s key in the lock on the apartment door. A few seconds later, Joel walked into the kitchen.

“What’s this?”

“Dinner,” you replied, gesturing to the two barstools he had tucked up the kitchen counter. He sat, letting out a bone-weary sigh as he threw off his boots, chucking them towards the hall where the door was. 

“Long day?” you asked idly. For some reason, you felt an urge to make conversation that you hadn’t noticed before around him. Maybe it was vestiges of your old life. Memories of entertaining Eddie while you made dinner flicked in your mind. Or maybe it was because something felt different about Joel today.

“Sure,” he replied flatly. You heard the sound of his flask opening, followed by a thick gulp. He drank a lot. You’d noticed that quickly. It didn’t bother you, and he was as generous with the whiskey as he was with his food.

“When are you leaving?” His question was angry. You turned to look at him, not exactly insulted but faintly stung. 

“I told you, I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“That’s not what you said. You said there’s nowhere you need to go, not that there’s nowhere you can go.” You nodded once. Joel was right. The distinction felt accusatory, and you once again had the impression that he was about to speak to a part of you that you didn’t want said out loud. Just like he’d done that first night when he’d talked about Gabriel.

You sucked in a breath before turning to face him, sliding a plate of the edible saltines across the counter. 

“I can leave anytime you need me to,” you said, your voice soft and quiet. “I’m feeling good enough to travel.” 

Joel looked into you for a breath. His eyes looked the same, but you had the distinct impression that they weren’t as empty as the first time you’d seen him. Whatever it was you saw in his gaze, it made you feel ashamed, and you broke eye contact. 

He shifted on the barstool before taking another generous swig from his flask. 

“Good. Tonight.”

You raised your eyebrows at him.

“It’s almost curfew,” you pointed out, nodding in the direction of the window to the street below.

“Fine. Tomorrow then.” His voice was hard as stone.

You nodded, stirring the soup and turning away from him. You didn’t want him to see the rejection in your eyes. You couldn’t say what you’d wanted, but all you knew was this wasn’t it. 

“Tomorrow,” you agreed quietly. 

Joel sat for another instant. You sensed that he was waiting for something: you couldn’t tell if he was waiting for you or waiting for something in himself. Whatever it was he was waiting on, the moment passed. He sighed, frustrated, before he scooted away from the counter and went to the couch. He didn’t say anything when you brought him the soup, and he didn’t say anything when he went into his bedroom, closing the door behind him to drink himself to sleep. You were awake and gone before he came out the next morning, although somehow you knew that he was wide awake, listening to the sound of your departure through the door.

**part 2 here!! Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters

[the-s1lly-corner]

Shut In (Eyeless Jack x reader oneshot!)

Basic plot: its really cold outside, and you urge Jack to stay in your home with you... he decides to stay despite knowing full well that he will be fine out in the freezing temperatures. You both decide to do things to pass the time and stay warm! Turns out Jack can make a mean cup of hot coco, too

Extra notes: I dont usually write fanfics, and the last one I've written was a personal one from late August... so to say I'm rusty and underexperienced is an understatement! I feel this one ended up a little.. weirdly paced imo but I think I'm still happy with the end result! Dialogue I feel I could have done better on but I'm going to be nice to myself since I mostly write hc posts so this is way out of my comfort zone.. Drafted on Tumblr then sent through google docs to pick up on some mistakes I missed, briefly reread no proper proof reading imo... lets hope this isnt a train wreck + it copied back to tumblr okay!! LMAO

Brief joke about pregnancy/making a pregnancy but its like one small snippet but I know that can make people uncomfortable + implies at least one of the characters is AFAB

Word Count: 2915

Extra Admin's note: I want to say again that I am so so happy about this blog hitting 1k followers, when I first started this blog I was originally going to use it to burn time and have something to do on the side, as well as having a place to put out my cringe ideas and hcs. I never thought this many people would be interested in my dumb thoughts, but here we are! I intend to keep writing this year, and perhaps even make more non-celebratory one shots this year? Maybe? I don't know I guess we'll see the reception on this fic!

It was the middle of the night, around the middle of January. Your boyfriend and you were holed up inside your apartment, you having locked the man up with you after seeing that it was below freezing out, as well as raining. You had to practically beg your boyfriend to stay with you for the night.

Your boyfriend, who also just so happened to be a man eating demon with tar dripping out of his hollowed out eye sockets. Your boyfriend, who was currently sitting still and staring forward, the only sound in the apartment coming from the dripping of your faucet. You had asked him to come visit you, it'd been a while... and he would never ever let you go to his cabin when it's this cold out. So here you both were now.

You pat the palms of your hands on your knees, sucking in one of your cheeks and working the flesh through your jaws for a moment. You were both technically stuck in the apartment now; you didn't want Jack to go out and risk getting sick, and Jack more than likely wouldn't want you to step out for the same reasons. So, you were both confined to what you already had within the space. You were about to open your mouth to speak but Jack broke the silence first. "You're shivering, do you want me to get some blankets?", blunt and almost robotic. He was never that expressive. "Or would you like to go to your room?" He added after a brief pause, his fangs poking just over his lip before he readjusted his mouth. You were both in the living room, sitting together on the couch; the front door to your left and a view of the kitchen to the right. You thought for a minute as your eyes lingered on the kitchen for a moment. You'd already eaten, before your partner arrived... but..

"That's fine, I'm probably going to make some hot coco," You pulled yourself up, stretching up. "Powdered stuff ooor..?" Jack mimicked you. You only shook your head, earning a disapproving look from him. "What?" You questioned, but he only dismissed you. "Why don't you get some blankets, I'll handle it," and he turned on his heel to make his way to the kitchen. "Maybe put on a movie, too, your choice." He added as his voice carried off. "Are you saying I can't cook?" You called back, following after him. No answer as he tugged out a pot. "I'll have you know-" you started once more

"Do you have half and half?" He was already opening your pantry to grab things.

"No, I don't,"

"Heavy cream? Whipping cream? Whatever it's called..." He mumbled as he placed various ingredients on the counter. Cocoa powder, vanilla, salt and sugar. You only nodded, and as he was about to begin working he paused. "Do you want anything else in it? Cinnamon? Nutmeg?" He paused and through gritted teeth, "Coffee?"

It was almost midnight, of course he would be opposed to you having caffeine so late.

"Cinnamon is fine," You watched him get to work. He measured everything out; even mixing the heavy cream with some milk to make a substitute for half and half.... was that really all it was? You weren't sure what you expected it to be, if it weren't..

He pulled his head up and stared at you. It was then that you noticed he had actually taken his mask off and set it at the end of the counter and out of the way. The black ooze dripping from his eyes was slow and posed little threat to dripping into your drink. He had a fistful of napkins on standby to dap his face dry should the flow quicken. "Aren't you going to get the blankets?"

You pat your hands on your thighs, pausing... watching him. His body had a warm glow on him from the old light bulb in the ceiling; it flickered every now and then. Under the yellowed light he almost looked healthy and alive, though there was no glint where his eyes should have been. His sharp nail tapping on the counter brought you back to the moment, blinking a few times. "Yeah.." you mumbled, defeated at the chance of making a drink for yourself stolen from you. But was that so bad?

You backed out of the kitchen, dragging your feet across the floor. Your apartment was.. a little on the smaller side so within a few steps you were in front of your bedroom door. You didn't really pay much attention to your surroundings as you shuffled through the blankets on the bed.. eventually you settled on just grabbing an arm full and waddling back to the living room, dumping everything you had grabbed onto the couch.

The house smelled of cinnamon and chocolate.. with a hint of vanilla.

Turning your gaze to the tv, your eyes scanned across the DVDs you had stacked messily. Nothing sounded good. "Is there anything you want specifically?" You called out as you settled yourself down criss cross in front of the tv and pulling all the cases onto the floor next to you. "Movie wise," You added as you pulled the first case into your hands. The DVD collection for Child's Play.. you had gotten it a few weeks ago, finding it on sale at your local store. You still hadn't popped it in to watch..

"I have.. Chucky, uhm..." You shuffled for the next case. "All the movies by the way.. I have that and.. most of the Friday the 13th movies," You called out. No answer, the only sound coming from the kitchen was the noise of a whisk gently being stirred. "I don't have Jason goes to hell... But!" You pulled out a third case with the Nightmare on Elm Street DVDs. "I DO have Freddy vs Jason," You mumbled and spread the three disks on the floor in front of you. Most of the disks you had, you noticed, were mostly older slasher movies. Still, Jack hadn't answered you. You pull yourself to your feet and trudge back into the kitchen. His back was to you, too preoccupied with the stove... He hadn't noticed you, not yet. An idea blossomed in your head, a smirk pulling itself across your lips. You steeled yourself, trying to force yourself to stop shivering.. Jack was always paying attention to his surroundings, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

You take a step forward and he still doesn't notice your approach.

Another step.

And another.

Jack wasn't the tallest, in fact if you wanted to you could rest your chin on his shoulder... and that's what you ended up doing, while wrapping your arms around his thick waist. You could feel his body seize up just a little bit against you, before relaxing. "You didn't answer, what sounds good?" You pulled your eyes down to look at the pot. Your drink was nearly finished. You view rocked as your boyfriend shrugged, still silent but the twitching of his pointed ears let you know he was listening.

"Anything's fine," Another shrug as he cuts the heat. "You're the one cooking for me, you get to pick the movie," You insisted. He paused mid-whisk, letting out a soft huff. Suddenly he spun around, his face just a few inches from yours. In the dimmed light his eye sockets seemed deeper, it's black ooze lazily dripping down his cheeks. You noticed the smudges on his face, from wiping the streaks. You briefly wondered what it was like to sleep with them, but your thoughts were cut short as he pulled a blackened and clawed hand to your hair; tucking a lock behind your ear. "How does...." He paused, sucking in his teeth. He looked almost embarrassed. "Bride of Chucky sound?"

"What? Want to study the characters again so we can dress up again this year for Halloween?" You tease. You had convinced him a few months ago to dress up with you. With him as Chucky, and you as Tiffany... It had taken some begging and convincing but you ultimately got him to agree. Although you didn't go out to get candy, you were both fine with staying inside watching movies together in costume. It was also that night you got him to watch the movies..

His ears darkened, before he scoffed. "No... actually this year I was thinking of..." He took a long pause, visibly scraping his brain for names of characters, before seemingly giving up. "Look I don't watch many movies I don't know any.. characters.." He grimaced, before gently pushing you off of him so he could turn his attention back to the hot cocoa. "We've still got nine months, more than enough time to come up with something..." You shrugged, then smirked. "Not enough time to make a Glen... or Glenda," You teased before turning on your heel. You held back a snicker as you heard Jack splutter, finally processing what you had just said to him.

"W-"

"I'm gonna go ahead and put in the disc, I'll leave it paused for you," You cut him off, still grinning to yourself as you kneeled down to do as you had said.

Soon enough Jack walked into the room with a mug, as well as a platter of cookies. "You didn't have to," You mumbled as you eyed the treats, but he only waved you off as he placed the plate and mug onto the coffee table. "You don't have to eat them, but I figured you might want a snack while watching the movie," He mumbled. You took the mug, and swirled the drink inside of it. "I hope I didn't put in too much cinnamon," Jack added as he watched you. He leaned over and started the movie.

You took a sip, smiling a little as the warmness crept in. "You did good, probably the best hot cocoa I've ever had." You offered a grin to him. "That has got to be the fakest compliment I've ever heard," Jack shot back, though you could see the corners of his mouth turning up just slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry! I believe this is the most decadent and satisfying beverage I've had ever been graced with in my life, and-" You began, only for Jack to hush you. "I'd rather you throw it on me, don't... say words like that again," He grumbled as readjusted himself into the couch. You took a sip and shrugged, "It's just absolutely immaculate," and he lightly smacked you on the arm. "I'm never making anything for you again," He snorted, before turning his attention to the movie.

You weren't going to lie, you felt a little bad treating yourself to the cookies, knowing Jack was unable to eat them without upsetting his stomach. Being a man-eating monster must really be hard. You purse your lips, and shoot a look at him from the corner of your eye. He must have been doing the same, because he turned his head to look at you. "Do you want to do something else?" He asked lightly, his grin from a few minutes ago already faded. "Do you ever miss eating.. food?" You asked before you could stop yourself. He didn't bother pausing the movie, instead he just fell silent and stared down, into the space between the two of you on the couch.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up, I know it's a touchy subject for you," You mumbled and put the mug on the table. You sucked in the air between your teeth, flicking your eyes up to the movie, before bringing them back down to your lap. It stayed like that for a minute before Jack broke the silence. "I mean... yeah, I do. But at least I don't have to eat every day like you do, means I can have more time to do what I want," He said. Clearly, he was still bothered, tip-toeing around the big.. thing about him. The air was still tense and thick, all of the previous joking gone now. It was nearly unbearable. Nearly.

"You know," Jack began after a few more seconds of silence when you didn't reply. "I've never tried cinnamon in hot cocoa, I didn't know that was a thing people did," He was changing the subject. "You haven't?" You asked, raising a brow. He eyed your mug, but you both knew there was no way he was going to take a sip.

"It's really good," You mumbled, and took the drink, "The combo, I mean," You added. He hummed, patting his knees lightly. You swirled the drink again, watching the... what was it called? Those lighter swirls in the drink.. Did that have a name?

"You've had hot cocoa before, right?" You asked. He hummed again, nodding his head. "Well.. the cinnamon makes it warm. Taste wise.. It makes it.." You took a sip and thought for a minute. "Richer, I guess? It's hard to explain," You muttered, then looked back at him. You tore your eyes back down when you saw he was looking right at you, totally hooked onto your words. "I hear nutmeg goes good in it, too.. but I've only tried nutmeg and chocolate together in baked goods," You shrugged. "You did really good with this, you know... not too much cinnamon.. not spicy, at least." You smiled. He nodded, before turning back to the movie.

"Woody, I hear people describe cinnamon like that," He leaned back into the couch, a dull pop came from his back.

"Woody," You repeated, then took a large sip of the hot cocoa. You put the mug down onto the table, and leaned into your boyfriend as the warmth crept and settled into your bones. You weren't even paying attention to the movie, your mind was now occupied with how tired you were. Your eyes slipped up to the clock on the wall, It was nearly one in the morning. Had it only been an hour since Jack walked himself into the kitchen?

You lean deeper into Jack, not caring about his body's natural chill. His clothing still smelled a little like the cocoa from earlier.. "Gotta invest in some cologne, you smell nice like this," You mumbled into his arm. "The cinnamon?" He asked, not looking down at you. "No.. the cocoa, I mean cinnamon would be a nice touch... but you don't seem like a sweet smelling guy, do you?" You muttered. "Are you already getting tired?" Jack asked, and he leaned over you to grab the remote, pausing the movie. You muttered, the heat of the hot cocoa doing way more than you expected on the tiredness you didn't notice you had. "A little," You shrugged, "But we can still try to finish the movie," You offered, but he shook his head. Of course he would, as much of a hard ass or party pooper he came off as, he was going to make sure you were going to get your rest.

You put your hand in his, the one that had the remote.. you unpaused the movie. He paused it, and you unpaused it again. It kind of kept up like this before Jack conceited and kept it playing, although he did lower the volume.. The subtitles were already on, though. "I win," You smirked up at him, before crawling into his lap. You placed your head on his chest, pausing when you felt him stiffen before relaxing against you. His heart beat for a moment before settling to its barely there rhythm. For a minute you thought about asking about his heart, as far as you knew he explained himself like he was becoming a walking corpse... how does that work?

You decided against it, you already asked about him earlier.. and besides, your mind was already beginning to blank as Jack reached to the side of the couch, and turned the lamp off.. It was dark now. It was still raining, you could more clearly hear the drops outside now that the movie was turned down. Plus, Jack was running his fingers through your hair, lightly massaging your scalp. It wouldn't be long until you finally gave in and fell asleep.

"Are you going to still be here in the morning?" You asked, melting into his chest as he hummed in response. "Plan on it, I still need to clean up the kitchen," He added as he curled your hair around his hand. "It'll still be cold in the morning," He added, "I need to make sure you bundle up before you go out for work," He added. "I'm not that dumb," You muttered and lightly slapped his arm. You swear, if he still had his eyes he would have rolled them.

"How do you see? I know you're not.. a normal person, but," You blurted out, lifting your head. He pushed your face back down, shushing you. "Sleep," He ordered, before loosening his hold on you a bit so you could get comfortable. It wasn't an order but it may as well have been with how your body started to loosen into him within the next few minutes, quickly snuffling out your curiosity and questions.

He'd still be here in the morning, you could pester him then. After all, it's what he signed up for when the two of you started to date one another..

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

Restless

Imogen can't concentrate.

(standard procedure for up to a couple weeks ago, now it wears a different guise.)

She fidgets, sits with her legs crossed on her bedroll, backpack in her lap, removes, itemises, arranges its contents, huffs stray hairs out of her face, hands still twitchy, mind still scrambled, organises it all again. Repeats. 

It's early, the fact given away by the low-lying sun and crisp smell on the air that has not yet been burned away by its sustained and blistering presence. 

The blisters on her ankles, the friction of leather that is still not fully broken in. Imogen delays in pulling on and lacing up her boots, calves restless but exhausted, thrumming if they remain still too long (too long being only a moment).

She falls back heavily onto the bedroll. 

Overhead, in the weave of vines and branches, birds sing. They're mocking her, surely, the awkward and bound to the ground sack of flesh and fat and bones that she is, hair frizzed and sticky from the humidity, her inner thigh chaffed and perspiring where the contact of her dagger's harness coils around it like a constricting snake.

She loosens it a few notches

The pathetic and inconsistent touch of it frustrates her more, so she buckles it tight like a tourniquet. 

She exhales, deflates, heavy as she is, runs the back of her forearm over her brow, spreading the salt and sweat, breathes in, feels the connective tissue holding together all of her joints, exhales, arm to ground, along with every other limb, the back of her knees, her spine, her shoulders (there's a rock digging into one through the mat, did she sleep on that last night?), her neck, her ass, wishes they were all gelatin, that she could become one with the floor and not collide with every edge and corner and texture of it, stop being so reactive. 

She inhales, skin pulling away, wishing it would continue, peel, lift, blanket, canopy (closer than the trees), shade, but it would drip with blood, hot and sizzling as it rained back onto her exposed bones. 

Shadow, the dark tatters, the veil. Molasses of ichor. Dull, hazy, sharp, thorns. Don't touch, don't approach. Space. Wail, scream, chorus, silence. That would chase the birds away, feathers dislodged from sudden movement re-lodged into black tar, carried off, away, down sluggish stream, no contact. Barbed like a briar.

The thread of the bed roll is itchy, the weave of it too thick and open, rough spun from fibrous burlap, it splinters bare skin where it makes contact, nape of her neck, backs of her forearms, thighs, knees, and calves. 

Delicate, cool, billowing lace that accommodated to the pads of Imogen's fingers, to her palm, fractured by magic, calloused and freshly wounded, it dulled even the rows of needle teeth beneath. Imogen imagines it her bedsheets, the ground would not matter - could be rivers of lava jutted by shattered glass, it would not matter, sure, cool billowing lace, Imogen would sleep well. 

Easier to tell now, how restless her hands are. They pluck at the gauzy linen that makes her dress, the more rigid weave of her waistcoat, following stitching as if it were pathways, movement, roads to get her somewhere, them, skin to skin contact barriered like the rock digging into her shoulder. Her touch meanders to her chest, unintentional, she swears, in promise and obscenity, a winding path with sides towered by hedges and trees that block the horizon, a shock carried from the point of touch to manifest as an ache between her legs and a weightless haze in her head, body rolling, shoulders leaving the mat, leaving the rock that digs, a breath to a sigh to a gravelly moan, sends a bird or two scattering away, a leaf or two falling behind them. 

Fuckin' birds. Relax. More touch. Touch is good? Barbed. Thorns. Restraint. Maybe she should grow her nails, maybe then the touch won't feel her own. Laudna - fuck, the name gets a reaction from her again, the jolt in her core as she feels the heat pool at the surface of her face, her neck, her chest, crimson damming, damning, acid rising to her throat carried by the guilt of it. 

She kicks and squirms, side of a fist like hammer to nail on the bedroll beside her, other covering her face from the shame of it, it being the burn, the rolling simmer, the violent boil of want and guilt and acid and sting and she is so restless, boiling over, she can't concentrate, the contact of the ground and the fabrics and the atmosphere all feels wrong, scalding, now she knows what to compare it to, how it could feel, what she could be touching. 

Could be death calling, alluring, maybe, how long she flirted with it. Cold with head empty, sounded nice, still does, though the delivery and means maybe different now. A face to an end, ends her, finishes, acid in her throat again, hand bunching the rough fabric under her hips. 

It moves of its own accord to her thigh, takes a fistful of cuff and flesh and she sobs, eyes scrunching shut so tightly that she starts to see colours in the dark, blotches of crimson in a grey dream, her body in the butcher's cart. 

Dreamlike, hazy, drunk (this must be how it feels), she moves without thought, groping herself through the crotch of her shorts, writhing, the floor is too hot against her back, sweat gathering at her hairline and salt beading down into her eyes, again, breath short, short, when did it get so shallow, dizzy. How long could she hold it (hold herself), heat, radiating into the cup of her hand, squirming, a worm under boot, squashed before it gets to dine on the corpse. She pushes firmer against herself, shudders, the feel of the floor leaving, rolls her hips onto the press of her fingers, barriered, dulled, not enough, as they fumble, clutch at the shorts and wrangle the inseam of them in frantic pulls against uncomfortably undulating heat, heat, damp forced through from the close contact onto the pads of her fingers and Gods she's gonna have to prestidigitate that, what the hells is she doing, Laudna could return from her morning forage or whatever it is any moment and

fuck the thought doesn't quell the need at all, her hips spasming and knees shaking as she holds them suspended and trembling, working herself up, frantic, frantic and desperate. How did she get here? she followed the woman at the market, the woman followed the yellow bird, the birdsong silenced for pathetic needy moans, her hips raised so high her shoulders are pushed further into the cut of the offensive rock, princesses and mattresses and beans or whatever that fairytale was Laudna had mentioned about ladies and their proper behaviour. 

Proper, right, she should stop, get it over with, fumbles with the fastening of her shorts, hand making its way beneath fabric before it's fully undone, now registering coarse curls, then slicked, heat, heat, heat, hot, wet, eager, soaked, soft, the glide of her intensity, betrayal, soaking. fuck. Touch is not enough, hers, fuck. Not right, the feel of callouses and scars and heat and a barely registrable thrum shit what happens if she gets away from herself, gets too excited. magic fried uncontrollable she is out of control fuck the heat of the bedroll on her back and the push of the rock imbedding imbedded scars wrapping tangled suffocating sinew silvered skin nightmares burden and guilt guilt guilt storming-

Imogen rolls over onto her front, the rock through the bedroll pushing into her chest, against her sternum, aiding to evacuate the bile that has been suspended in her oesophagus but the guilt won't leave her thighs slicked and hot and tacky and uncomfortable and the chaffe of the itchy fabric of the mat burning them, restless, as she removes her fingers from between her legs, wipes the evidence of a pathetic and failed and just and just wrong attempt onto her shorts, prestidigitates it all clean as if she can wash herself of her impurities and intentions, dares to think of the occasions the purple glow has evaporated the rain from Laudna's clothes and skin, now a selfish act, was then too, maybe, always selfish. 

[foreveralwaysanauthor]

Camp Wanamaker (Ch. 9/10)

September 21, 2023

Notes - This didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would, but it still feels like it took me ages to finish, if that makes any sense haha. This was a lot of fun to put together and I hope you like it as much as I did writing it!

Chapter 9: Merely Players

Heavy thumps echoed throughout the grounds of Camp Wanamaker as hail poured from the clouds above. It had rained since the night before, but had turned to hail overnight. Thankfully, all those who had gone to the carnival on Saturday had gotten home before the hail had begun, but it wasn’t long after dinner that everyone began running for cover. It had started off simple - tiny chunks of hail coming in mixture with the rain. However, as the night progressed, the size of the hail grew to more than the size of a dime and inched closer to that of a quarter. 

The cracked remnants of pavement in the parking lot took a battering as hail bounced off of the fifty-year-old tar and, as hail bounced off of the roof of the main office, a sigh drew from the lips of a particular brunette. Dark gray clouds overhead loomed with the threat of violence and, as green eyes scanned the parking lot, she wondered how well the cars would hold out from the beating. The poor Tesla sitting just outside of the border of an old maple tree would be lucky if it still had its windshield intact by the end of the storm while she was sure the trucks and old jalopies would make it out just fine regardless of where they sat in the lot. Maybe she would be able to get some dents out with hot water and a plunger if need be - she never got the chance to test it before. 

Standing from her seat on the wrap-around porch, Hayley stood and made her way inside to grab another bottle of water from the cooler behind the desk. So long as none of the hail bounced its way through the screen door, she was fine to come and go from the building as she pleased. Holding the door open for her loyal companion, Hayley watched as Ding trotted his way into the office, a slobbered trail of drool marking his pathway as he spotted the glass jar of treats on the desk.

With a fond shake of her head, Hayley dropped into the swivel chair behind the desk as she inched the cooler out from its hiding spot. Tugging a bottle of Poland Spring from its spot nestled between chunks of ice and cans of slightly-above-room-temperature Baja Blasts, Hayley pushed the lid of the cooler shut and shuffled it closer before resting her feet on it for good measure. Reaching for the jar on the desk as she placed her dripping bottle on a folded napkin, she sent Ding a look and waited for him to sit before tossing him a taco-flavored treat.

As the slobbering dog inhaled the treat, Hayley chuckled and shook her head. For a Sunday morning, the camp was quiet. Normally, the local members of staff would make their way back to the grounds for work after spending the weekend home with family and would be running around the campus with their friends and the long-distance campers they had bonded with over the summer. That day, however, things seemed far quieter than normal. With the final day of the local carnival being the day before, she wouldn’t have been totally surprised to see carpooling parents dragging their hungover children to the grounds, but a majority of those that had left on Friday night had returned on their own volition. Sure, some wore sunglasses and clutched bottles of either water or aspirin, but most seemed chipper and eager to work through the final week of camp. There were some who hadn’t yet appeared that Hayley hoped were simply stuck in traffic or stumbling their way to the front door with the stereotypical grumblings of lights and sounds being far too much for them to handle, but if they weren’t there by lunch, she would call. 

Twisting the cap of her bottle open, Hayley nudged the clipboard of campers and their emergency contacts closer. Some had called to opt out of the final week with claims of sickness - a common occurrence so close to the back-to-school season - while most called to confirm a bunk was still available. Setting her bottle aside and running an absentminded hand through Ding’s fur, Hayley reached for the paper Charlie had left on the counter and checked through it to make sure none of the call-outs were on the list of actors her wife had provided. The list had been thorough - not unusual for Charlie in the slightest - and had gone so far as to list the ensemble characters that didn’t even have names. What was odd, however, was that Charlie hadn’t listed any names for the understudies.

Hayley shrugged, maybe Charlie had simply forgotten to list them. Her wife often got so absorbed in her current project that she couldn’t think of much else unless it was placed in front of her on a silver platter. Taking another sip of her drink as she slid the paper and clipboard to their original places, Hayley gave Ding a good scratch behind his pointed ears and wiggled the computer mouse to wake it from its slumber. She had to update the camp’s website and send out a notification to all parents that the camp’s final hurrah for the summer would be that weekend. With the campfire awards on Friday night and the big show on Saturday, most of the nearby hotels would find themselves relatively full of eager families hoping to get a good spot at every available event.

Hayley snorted as the computer pinged with email notifications - she didn’t envy any of those parents in the slightest. A familiar tune filled the air and Hayley glanced away from the screen long enough to spot her sister’s name at the top of her phone screen. Picking up her device and accepting the call, she put it on speaker before saying, “Hey, Chels.”

“Hayley, have you seen Vivien today?” her twin asked. “I tried asking her about the show on Saturday and she hasn’t gotten back to me.”

“They’re doing Hairspray,” Hayley commented as she began typing out the email that would be sent to every parent and guardian on the roster for the summer.

“I know that,” Chelsea sighed and Hayley could imagine her rolling her eyes. “She was supposed to tell me when we should get to the camp for it.”

Hayley paused in her typing, glancing at her phone with a disapproving frown. Her sister and brother-in-law came to camp for the performances every year, regardless of whether or not one of their kids was in the show - how did they not know when to show up? It was the same every year. “Let me check real quick,” Hayley said, forcing herself to bite her tongue as she hastily typed something into the email and pretended to click around a few times. “It starts at six, so I would get here for four if you plan on having dinner here.”

“We won’t be,” Chelsea replied. “Damien and I are having dinner with the kids at that new Korean place in Laconia before we go.”

“Ah,” Hayley breathed, nodding to herself as she sent out the email. It wasn’t odd for her sister or her husband to pick the kids up for dinner on the last day at camp and Vivien had brought up wanting to try the new restaurant’s hot pot more than once. It would be fun for all of them. “Do you think Viv will be back in time for the show?”

Hayley heard a pause on the other end before her sister admitted, “We weren’t planning on taking her this time, what with her working and all. Figured she would be too busy to get time away.”

If the glare Hayley sent her phone would have shot through the screen and hit her sister, she would have been an only child. Taking in a slow breath to steady herself, Hayley said, “I thought Vivien wanted to try that place.”

“I didn’t know,” Chelsea said, to which her sister mouthed “Bullshit.” There was no way her sister hadn’t heard her own daughter’s excited ramblings in the car or the lengthy phone calls to her friends talking about how exciting it would be to try. To anyone else, it could have been just a simple show of ignorance, but to Hayley, it meant more than that, and her sister’s next statement only cemented that. “Abby and Oliver found some pictures and a few TikToks, so we decided we would try it. She can go with us next time.”

As much as Hayley wanted nothing more than to tell her sister off for disregarding the child she had literally begged for nearly seventeen years prior, Hayley resigned to a simple hum. She would be sure to tell their parents about the turn of events - their mom would handle her with a level of graceful rage that Hayley had never quite possessed. The verbal lashing would be worth her silence in the meantime. “In that case, maybe show up at five-thirty so you can get good seats.”

Chelsea hummed and Hayley overhead a faint scratch of pen on paper before her sister said, “Okay, see you then.”

“See you,” Hayley replied, but the call had ended before he had finished her sentence. Staring at her phone, she muttered, “Bitch.”

“Nice to see you too,” a voice chuckled, forcing Hayley’s gaze to fall upon her beloved niece. With a smile, Hayley relaxed in her seat as Vivien asked, “So, who pissed in your Cheerios this morning?”

With a roll of her emerald eyes, Hayley met her niece’s gaze and huffed, “Your mother.”

“Enough said,” Vivien snorted.

“Did you know she’s a raging cunt?”

“I live with her, so yeah.”

“More power to ya, baby girl.”

“So,” Vivien drawled as she leaned against the desk, “would you care to tell me why she’s being a bitch today?”

“Vivien,” Hayley attempted to correct, “please don’t call your mother a bitch.”

“Why not?” Vivien asked. “We both know she is and you’re the one who just called her a-”

“I know what I said,” Hayley quickly interrupted, “but if your Nonna comes in while you’re calling your mother a bitch, I’ll have to answer for it.”

With a snicker, Vivien pushed away the mischievous glimmer in her eyes and resigned, “Fine, but will you at least tell me what she did?”

Despite feeling more than tempted to do just that, Hayley shook her head, “Just know that you’ll be getting a front-row seat to a verbal lashing on Saturday.”

Intrigue flooded Vivien at once as she asked, “Nonna?”

“Nonna,” Hayley agreed with a nod. “Now, what are you doing here? I thought you, your boy toy, and my painting buddy were all spending the day cuddled up in bed, surrounded by books.”

“My boy toy’s brother is currently snuggling with the toilet,” Vivien sighed. “Royce thinks it was the lobster mac-and-cheese, but I thought it was the turducken.”

“Turducken?” Hayley echoed with a raised eyebrow. “Is that a-”

“Turkey stuffed with a duck, stuffed with a chicken,” Vivien nodded. “We all had at least a bite of Miles’ lobster mac, but Ben was the only one to try one of the samples of turducken. He said it was good, but he didn’t look so hot last night.”

Hayley nodded as she soaked in the information, “With any luck, he’ll get it out of him quick and be back to normal.”

“That’s why I was hoping to find Nonna and her magical bag of pills,” Vivien commented. “She always has something in there to make people feel better quicker.”

“That she does,” Hayley mused. Pulling one of the desk drawers open, she peered into the disaster area her father had created over the last few weeks and pulled out a box of tiny green pills before holding it out to Vivien. “I’m no Nonna, but here. Make sure to have Miles read the instructions before he gives Bentley any, but that should get his stomach settled. Have him drink some ginger ale while you’re at it - it helps all the same. If worst comes to worst, we’ll take a trip to the pharmacy for something stronger.”

“And you’re sure this’ll work?” Vivien asked.

“Like I said,” Hayley began, “I’m no Nonna; I don’t have a magic bag of pills. I do, however, know all too well how well those work. If he can keep it down, great. If not, don’t push it and stick to fluids. Gatorade and ginger ale are best for a sick stomach.”

Rounding the desk, Vivien brought her arms around Hayley’s neck, allowing the woman to reciprocate the hug before muttering over her shoulder, “Thanks, Auntie.”

“Anytime, munchkin,” Hayley breathed. Patting her niece’s back, she waited for Vivien to pull back before taking her hand and squeezing it. “Now, go get that to your friend, and let me know how it goes.”

Vivien nodded dutifully, giving her aunt a mock salute and thanking her once more before giving Ding a quick pat and making her way back outside. Hayley watched as Vivien ran under the cover of the large trees that lined the camp. She hoped the girl’s trip to the office would be effective in helping Bentley. As she watched her niece depart, Hayley sighed. She was sure she would hear all about it sooner or later. Turning her chair around once Vivien disappeared from her line of sight, Hayley looked at the lazy dog who had chosen to curl up on the wooden floorboards. All he had to do was eat treats and fall asleep in a drooling puddle. He didn’t have to answer emails or phone calls or worry about sick children all day. Lucky mutt.

As though someone was listening to her thoughts, the landline phone on the desk began to ring. Taking in a deep breath, Hayley righted her posture and picked up the phone, hoping her customer service voice had taken effect as she answered, “Camp Wanamaker front desk, this is Hayley. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Hayley, my name is Justin Collins,” the person on the other end of the line said. “I’m calling in regards to my niece Victoria.”

Picking up the clipboard from the desk and flipping a few pages in, Hayley nodded despite knowing the man on the other side of the call couldn’t see her, “I see her in our records.”

“Well, she just told me that she’s supposed to be in this year’s play,” he continued.

Leaning to the side enough to glance at the list of actors Charlie had supplied her with, Hayley hummed, “She is, yeah. Miss Tracy Turnblad herself. You must be proud.”

“Well, I hate to say this, but we won’t be able to make it to the show,” Justin said.

“Ah, well, we do record the show and send a copy to all parents once the audio has been edited,” Hayley said. “I can make a note to give her extra flowers during the final bows if you’d like.”

“Well, you see, I’m afraid she won’t be able to be in the show at all,” Justin said. “We got a call this morning that her grandfather fell down the front steps of his house and broke his leg. We’re heading down to Maryland in about an hour to stay with him and help him recover.”

Glancing wide-eyed at the paper Charlie had left for her, Hayley swallowed thickly and said, “I’m so sorry.”

“We are too,” Justin said. A voice in the background of the call said something Hayley couldn’t quite make out and Justin relayed, “Victoria wanted to apologize in person, but we can’t make it out before we leave.”

Despite her inner panic settling in, Hayley kept her voice even and calm as she said, “We totally understand. We’ll have Victoria’s understudy take over the show. Just tell her to help take good care of her grandpa and we’ll make sure to save her a spot in the next play we put on if she decides she wants to try out next year.”

“I don’t doubt she will,” Justin chuckled. “Thank you for understanding; especially on such short notice. We’ll see you guys for the arctic blast if you decide to host this year.”

“I think the camp in Northfield is putting it on this year, but yes, we will see you there,” Hayley said, offering some final pleasantries before setting the phone back on the hook. Tugging a pen from a cup on the corner of the desk, Hayley scribbled a quick note next to Victoria’s name on the clipboard before reaching for the note Charlie left her. Knowing Charlie wouldn’t have gone through with the performance without a lengthy list of potential understudies, Hayley scratched a single line through Victoria’s name and set the pen on the table as the phone began to ring once more.

Answering as she had earlier, Hayley smiled as a familiar voice came over the line, “Hey, Hails, it’s Annie.”

Annie Foster had been Hayley’s roommate in college and the pair had gotten immensely close during their time living together. More often than not, the pair had spent almost every evening on the couch, shoving ice cream or microwave noodles in their faces as they watched movies they borrowed from the next dorm over. After finding out her friend was back in the area for the summer, Hayley managed to convince Annie to let her kids attend her family’s camp to give Annie and her husband some time off before the next school year. “Annie, hey! How are you?”

“Could be better,” Annie sighed. “Rowan, his cousin, and some of their idiot friends got into an accident last night after they left the carnival. We’ve been at the hospital all night.”

“Oh no, is he okay?”

“Broken femur, but he’s fine otherwise.”

Hayley chuckled, “I’m surprised you sound so calm.”

“Yeah, well, I had the last ten or so hours to tear into him, so most of the initial rage is long gone,” Annie laughed. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that the hospital is putting him on bed rest for a while, so he won’t be able to go to camp this week.”

Flipping a few pages down on the list of campers, Hayley found Rowan’s name and clicked her pen before scribbling a note beside his information. “That’s alright, Ann; I get it. We’ll mark it down.”

“Thank you so much, Hails,” Annie breathed. “I’m so sorry about this. I hope you guys can find a replacement for him in the show.”

“The show?”

“Yeah, he said something about being in a musical this year,” Annie said. “I guess some girl he liked was trying out for the lead so he tried out and ended up in the show. We were supposed to see it, but with him laid up like this, I’m afraid he won’t be able to make it.”

Glancing at the paper Charlie gave her that morning, Hayley took in a breath and asked, “Was the girl’s name Victoria, by any chance?”

“That sounds familiar,” Annie offered. “It could be.”

“Well, tell him that, if it is her, she’s been called out as well,” Hayley stated, bringing Charlie’s list of actors over so she could take Rowan’s name off the list. “They had a family emergency in another state.”

“Wow,” Annie breathed. “Well, I’ll let him know. Thanks again for being so understanding. I’ll try to make it to drop-off for Micah, but if I’m not there today…”

“You can always bring her tomorrow if that makes it easier,” Hayley suggested. “A lot of the out-of-state people with too much money on their hands do.”

Annie graciously accepted the offer and gave a few brief words before ending the call, allowing Hayley to place the phone down before running her hands into her hair with a groan of frustration. With their production of Hairspray now up to the understudies, Hayley hoped Charlie had something good cooking in that brain of hers. With any luck, she picked someone who could handle the spotlight with grace and ease; someone who was up to the task of holding the whole show on their shoulders for the night.

“What do you mean you don’t have any understudies?” Hayley wondered with wide eyes as she watched her wife pace in front of their bed. Returning to their little treehouse apartment after dinner, the first thing she chose to tell her wife was that they would need to gather the understudies for Link Larkin and Tracy Turnblad. What she hadn’t expected in the slightest was for Charlie to start panicking, pacing the floor of their room and rattling off a bunch of nonsensical sentences before hesitantly admitting there were no understudies on the roster.

“I didn’t think I would need any!” Charlie exclaimed in astonishment. “They all said they would be here for the week and that they could handle it. I wasn’t accounting for any of this!”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen, Char.”

“What are we going to do?”

Hayley shrugged, “I don’t know if I’m the person you should be asking. I wasn’t with you at the auditions.”

Charlie was quick to shake her head as she said, “Most of the others who auditioned said they weren’t sure they would be able to make it. I might have to pull people from the staff to fix this.”

Hayley thought for a moment. It would be hard to find people on such short notice. Most of the actors had a month or so of rehearsals and prep; it would take a lot of hard work and dedication for someone to jump right in during the last week of practice. Off the top of her head, she could think of only a handful of young staff members who would be willing and able to make it through the week. “What about Carrie? She could fill in as Tracy.”

“She’s my assistant this week,” Charlie said with a shake of her head. “Riven’s working as stage manager and she’s helping me with everything. I can’t go through this week without her to balance things.”

“Okay, what about Vivien and Noah?” Hayley offered. “They’re both capable.”

“Noah sings like a wounded cat and we both know how Vivien likes the stage,” Charlie huffed.

Hayley shook her head. There had to be another way to get Vivien on stage. As a self-proclaimed theatre nerd, Vivien loved musicals and all sorts of plays, but couldn’t bear being on center stage herself. If only there was a way to convince her to get up there. “What if we bribe her?”

“Bribe her?” Charlie echoed. “Bribe her how?”

Hayley smirked, “I can think of a few ways.”

“Do you think they’ll work?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Hell no!” Vivien shot down as she stood from her seat next to Charlie on the edge of the pier. 

It hadn’t taken Charlie long to concoct a plan to get Vivien on board for the show, however, she hadn’t accounted for so much pushback from the girl. After talking it through with her wife a few times that morning, she made her way down to the Lakeside Lodge to talk with her niece one-on-one. As they walked to the pier, Charlie explained the situation before asking the girl to join the cast in the lead role. Her response, however, was not what Charlie had expected. 

“Why not?” she asked as she pushed herself to her feet.

“I could think of a whole list of reasons,” Vivien began, “starting with the fact that there are enough to constitute a list.”

“But you would be incredible up there!” Charlie tried. Bringing an arm around Vviien’s shoulders, Charlie began gesturing with her hands as she said, “I mean, just imagine it; you standing on center stage with a big bouquet of flowers as the crowd applauds you on the best performance of your life.”

Copying Charlie’s motions, Vivien said in a similar tone, “The first few rows covered in my vomit during the first song as obnoxiously loud sixties music pumps through the playhouse.” Charlie grimaced and Vivien chuckled, “Exactly. Look, I love musicals - Hairspray is actually one of my favorites - but I’m not made to be on stage. I’m meant to sit in the audience and try not to sing along.”

“That’s exactly why I want you up there,” Charlie said, stepping away from Vivien and taking the teen by the hands. “I’ve heard you sing and I’ve seen you dance with Hayley when we’re watching the movie. You practically know the whole show by heart and you’d be perfect up there.”

“I just don’t see it,” Vivien said with an apologetic smile and a shrug. “I’m sorry, Char.”

As Vivien turned to walk back to the lodge, Charlie tried to think of a way to reel her in before blurting, “What if I can get Royce on board?”

Vivien stalled mid-step, slowly turning back toward her aunt with a raised brow. “What?”

“What if I can get Royce to play Link?” Charlie restated. “I mean, think about it. You two would be working together on everything and you’d have someone up there to keep you relatively calm.”

“I don’t think Royce would do it,” Vivien said with a shake of her head. “He doesn’t like being on stage either.”

Charlie paused before asking, “What if I told him about the kiss at the end of the show? Do you think that would change his mind?”

“I doubt it,” Vivien shrugged. “We’ve never kissed and I doubt he’d want to do it in front of everyone like that.”

“It would give you both the chance to practice on your own,” Charlie said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. “Besides, I’m sure I can come up with something that would get him on board.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Charlie was quick to brush her off with a wave of her hand, “That doesn’t matter. All I need to ask is that, if I can manage to rope him in, would you be willing to play Tracy for me?”

Vivien thought for a while; what did she have to lose? Royce would never agree to be in a show like that. He told her himself that he doesn’t even like being on stage back at Big Momma’s; why on earth would he be willing to play the lead role in a musical where he would have to be in front of a couple hundred people? Inwardly smirking, Vivien nodded, “Alright. If you can manage to convince him to play Link, I’ll have no problem helping out as Tracy.”

“Do you mean that?” Charlie asked, a glimmer of hope shining in her rich chocolate eyes.

Vivien hated knowing she was getting Charlie’s hopes up for nothing, but as she offered her aunt a smile, she hoped the woman wouldn’t be too upset with her. “Yeah, of course.” Vivien tried to hide her surprise as Charlie let out a squeal of excitement and brought her into a tight hug, thanking her repeatedly as she bounced them around the end of the pier. Chuckling over her aunt’s shoulder, Vivien hoped Royce would find it in him to let the woman down easy.

After spending the majority of his free time over the last week bingeing both available seasons of a show Vivien recommended to him, Royce had spent his time in the library pulling books about ghosts from the shelves to try to figure out if there was any truth to the CBS show. Ghosts had been a great show and, while he hoped it would be renewed for a third season, he just couldn’t understand how easily the main character adjusted to seeing dead people walking around her house. If that had happened to him, he probably would have admitted himself to the nearest mental institution and declared he had actually gone insane. 

For the most part, it appeared as though everyone’s opinion on ghosts differed. Some found it spooky while others found it endearing, some found it dangerous while others reveled in haunted locations around the world. Fleetingly, Royce wondered if ghosts wandered the land the camp had been built on. In the show, a Native American ghost named Sasappis and a Viking named Thorfinn roamed the property long before the house had been built. It wouldn’t have been totally outlandish if old spirits still lingered.

Royce paused in his reading. Maybe that would explain why he always smelled sawdust and fish in the mornings. With a shrug, he returned to his borrowed book. Maybe sooner or later he would see if Vivien felt up to ghost hunting with him. They could set up camp in one of her favorite abandoned buildings and try some methods from one of the books. The spooky season would soon be upon them, after all, and according to a majority of the books he had read, something called a veil would be thinning as they got closer to Halloween, making it easier for ghosts to communicate.

As Royce turned to a page about the differences between types of hauntings, the door in front of his desk swung open, banging against the wall as a brightly-colored figure entered. Looking up from his book with wide eyes, Royce relaxed as he took in the image of his girlfriend’s aunt. “Sorry about that, Royce,” Charlie said, pushing the door closed behind her as she entered the relatively quiet library. “The wind snatched the door from me, I guess.”

Tucking a bookmark between pages, Royce smiled, “That’s alright. Vivien’s not here, though.”

Charlie shrugged, “Thanks, but I wasn’t looking for her.”

“You weren’t?” 

Charlie shook her head, “Nope. I was looking for you.”

“Me?” This time, Charlie nodded. Royce glanced toward the window that gave him a clear view of the playhouse and sighed, “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but whatever it is, Carrie started it.”

Charlie paused as she pulled a chair over to Royce’s desk, looking over at the boy with a smile as she asked, “Was that a Hamilton reference?”

Letting out a nervous chuckle, Royce shrugged, “Maybe.”

With a snicker, Charlie sat down, “I take it you like musicals, then?”

“A few,” Royce agreed. “Viv’s made me sit through so many bootlegs that I’ve lost track of how many.”

“You know,” she began, “that’s actually something she and I bonded over way back when.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” Charlie hummed. “I majored in musical theatre, so when I found out that Vivien had a literal wall of Playbills from over the years that she kept at Hayley’s old apartment, I went a bit overboard and started trying to bond over that more than anything else.”

Royce chuckled, “Did it work?”

“Not at first,” Charlie admitted, “but it was progress all the same. Nowadays, she’s just as crazy as I am about musicals and everything theatre.”

“So I see.”

Giving the boy before her a smile, Charlie said, “Actually, that’s sort of what I came to talk with you about.”

“You and Vivien’s shared love of Broadway?”

“In a roundabout way, yes.” Chuckling, Charlie shook her head and said, “You know how Carrie and I are in charge of the big performance this year, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, our leading actors just left us hanging,” Charlie stated with a sigh. “I am currently scrambling to find actors to fill the role, but with such short notice, I’m running out of options.”

Without much hesitation, Royce suggested, “Vivien would be a good fit. She’s told me before that she’s practifcally memorized Hairspray.”

“She would be great as Tracy, but she doesn’t want to.”

“What? Why?”

“Stage fright, mostly. I mean, I can’t blame her. I was terrified my first time on a stage. It’s just-” Charli cut herself off with a sigh as she rested her elbow on the desk and leaned her chin on her palm, “I know this role would be easy for her.”

“I’ve heard her sing ‘Good Morning Baltimore’,” Royce admitted. “She would be great as Tracy.”

“She would,” Charlie nodded, “but she doesn’t want to do it alone.”

Royce sighed, “I wish I could help you convince her, but since I’m in the same boat, I doubt she’d let me push her much.”

Lighting up as though Royce had come up with the most incredible plan known to mankind, Charlie leaned forward, grabbing Royce’s hands with a squeal, “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“You could play Link!” Charlie exclaimed.

“Huh?”

Ignoring Royce’s confusion, the woman with the pepto-bismol-colored braids continued, “If you join the cast as Link, that would help convince Vivien to be our Tracy. That way, you both have someone to help you on stage and, at the end of the day, you get to share one of the most memorable kisses in theatre history!”

While her statement might have been a bit of a stretch, the speed at which it stopped any further arguments from tumbling out of Royce’s mouth made Charlie’s smile spread only further. It took the boy a while to process the information, his mind stumbling to catch up with the words Charlie had verbally tossed his way. Eventually, he met her eyes and softly asked, “We would kiss?”

Charlie nodded, “Toward the end of the final song ‘You Can’t Stop the Beat’, there’s a kiss between Tracy and Link. Of course, it could always be just a stage kiss, but if we wanted realism…”

“She would have to kiss whoever is playing Link,” Royce finished.

Charlie hummed in agreement, watching the wheels in Royce’s head slowly turn as he took in this new information. For a while, Royce appeared to go back and forth, weighing the pros and cons of being in the camp’s production. Then, just as he seemed ready to regretfully shoot her down, Charlie squeezed his hands with hopeful eyes and a beaming smile, hoping it would break his already fragile resolve as she asked, “So, what do you say?” 

“Well…”

“And you said yes?” Vivien asked in bewilderment as she followed Royce to the array of cooked eggs and pancakes.

“You didn’t see the look she gave me,” Royce tried, deliberately keeping his gaze on the spoonful of scrambled eggs he had just added to his plate. “She looked like one of those sad puppies in those charity commercials. I couldn’t say no to that.”

Shooting her boyfriend a blank stare, Vivien huffed, “Two letters; you couldn’t manage two letters, Royce?”

“It’s not my proudest moment, okay?” Royce sighed. “I just thought that it would be nice.”

“You hate being on stage.”

“Yeah, but when you and I were forced into karaoke back at Big Momma’s, it wasn’t so bad,” Royce offered. “I figured this couldn’t be too different.”

Mentally beating the butterflies in her stomach with a baseball bat, Vivien took in a breath and said, “As endearing as that is, I was hoping you’d tell her anything but yes.”

“I know I have no say in this,” Bentley began as he reached between the pair for a pancake, “but I think you both will be amazing in the show.”

“Thanks,” Royce said.

“Thank you, Beemer,” Vivien sighed. “I just wish it could have been a smaller crowd.”

Bentley glanced Vivien’s way as he backed up a step and swiveled around his brother, “Says the one who literally performs for arenas full of people almost every weekend in the winter.”

“That’s different,” Vivien claimed as she stepped around Bentley to grab some sausage patties. “On the ice, I can hardly see anything other than colorful blobs flying by. On a stage, I have no choice but to stare into the soul of some rando while acting as though I can’t see them.” She groaned, “Just thinking about it is making me feel sick.”

Royce placed a gentle hand on Vivien’s back as he walked behind her, offering her an apologetic smile as he said, “We can always say that we need to back out.”

“And leave them scrambling to find two other victims?” Vivien asked rhetorically. “It just wouldn’t feel right.”

Royce opened his mouth to agree, but was cut off as Bentley passed behind them and muttered, “Incoming.”

Before either Vivien or Royce could ask what was going on, a pair of arms landed on their shoulders, dragging them closer to the head of curly blonde hair that had settled between them. Carrie’s signature, mega-watt smile turned toward both of them as she cheerfully said, “Well, if it isn’t Miss Tracy Turnblad and Mister Link Larkin.”

“Hi, Carrie,” Vivien breathed, a ghost of a smile appearing as the blonde released her and her boyfriend. “I take it Charlie told you already.”

“She did and you have no idea how excited I am to work with you both,” the blonde practically squealed. “Not like you’ll need a lot of help. You both have incredible chemistry already; we’ll just have to move it into the limelight.”

As his girlfriend attempted to cover a grimace with a nervous grin, Royce said, “We were actually just talking about that.”

“Oh, good!” Carrie said with a cheery smile. “Rehearsal starts around ten and goes to eleven-fifty, but because you’re both joining late, Charlie said we might also be doing an afternoon session with some special emphasis on the two of you so you can get used to everything.”

Before Royce could argue that they were thinking of leaving the production, Vivien took his hand and sent him a subtle grin before saying, “That would be great. We’d hate to drag all of the other actors down because we missed so much.”

Carrie hummed approvingly before saying, “In that case, I’ll let you get back to making breakfast and we can talk more on the walk to the playhouse.”

As Carrie sauntered her way back to the table, Bentley snorted, “So much for dropping out.”

Royce elbowed his brother as Vivien reached for a cup to fill with juice and remarked, “It’s only one night.”

“Yeah,” Royce agreed. “It’s not like we’re signing our lives away.”

“Tell that to Carrie,” Bentley chuckled as he moved around Vivien to make himself a drink.

“We’re on stage for maybe a total of two-and-a-half hours and then we’re done,” Vivien sighed, more to herself than anything. Glancing between the brothers on either side of her, she offered them a grin as she said, “I mean, come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Vivien used a huff of air to blow her bangs from her eyes as Charlie helped her zip up the dress she had taken off the rack. It seemed as though the universe had taken her simple, rhetorical question as a challenge - something that had definitely not been her intention. While she knew that costumes played a big part in any musical, she had somehow forgotten that signing up to play one of the leading characters meant you were stuck trying on every single costume possible for your character and the era they lived in.

This dress, however, felt nothing like the soft fabrics she knew were popular in the early sixties. Though she couldn’t tell her aunt this, she had actually been to the sixties and knew for a fact that not everything was made of itchy, rough fabric that felt as though it would leave little red bumps everywhere if you let it brush your skin. Mick, Carrie, and some of their friends made sure Vivien felt comfortable in every outfit she bought in the first week of her stay with them. The dress Charlie was having her try on was nothing like the flowy, gentle fabrics she knew and loved from the long-gone era.

Staring at herself in the mirror, Vivien wondered if she could convince Charlie to change the costume to one of the ones she kept tucked away in her closet since her stay in the other world. Glancing at her aunt’s reflection, Vivien took in a breath and said, “It’s itchy.”

Charlie looked up and met the eyes of Vivien’s reflection before smiling, “I know, but this is just a mock-up. We’ll be going to a vintage store in a few days to find something that works.”

Deciding to bite the bullet, Vivien offered, “You know, I actually have a few legit vintage dresses at my house. Can we just use those?”

“We might be able to,” Charlie said as she nudged Vivien to turn toward her. “Do you have any pictures?”

Vivien nodded and stepped down from the platform, making her way to where she had left her belongings and grabbing her phone. It didn’t take long for her to find the folder dedicated to all the photos she had taken in her favorite sixties clothes. Tapping on the first image, she held the phone out to her aunt and said, “Just scroll through and you’ll see them all.”

Charlie hummed as she scrolled through the pictures on her niece’s phone, “We could definitely use some of these.” Vivien smiled, hopeful that she would be dressed in something far more comfortable than the dress she was in. As Charlie reached the end of the folder, her eyebrows raised and she chuckled, “Where did you take this?”

Glancing over her aunt’s shoulder, Vivien chuckled nervously as she took in the image of herself and the Murphy brothers brandishing water guns on the beach. Gingerly taking the phone from her aunt, Vivien said, “Remember when I went to California for February vacation?” At her aunt’s nod, Vivien continued, “Well, Miles and the boys surprised me with a water gun fight while Mick and Butchy were having a date night.”

“Ah, well, it looks like you had fun.”

“We did until Bentley filled his with salt water and nailed Miles in the face.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah.”

“Anyway,” Charlie began, “those outfits could work. If you want, we can go pick them up after rehearsal this afternoon.”

Vivien nodded as she looked through her phone, “I think my dad’s going to be the only one there. Abby said she was going to the mall with Courtney and Becca later, and I think Mom said she was taking Olly to physical therapy and then school shopping.”

“We should be able to get in and out pretty quickly then,” Charlie mused. After a moment, she shrugged and made a gesture with her hand before sighing, “We can talk about it later. For now, let’s go see how Royce and Carrie are getting along.”

Following her aunt toward the stage, Vivien took in a deep breath and sighed, grateful to at least have been able to keep her sneakers on. Her lack of coordination in anything with a heel would have resulted in yet another actress leaving the production. Closing the door to the backstage area, Vivien winced as she heard Carrie let out a noise of frustration. Charlie stilled, glancing over her shoulder at her niece who merely shrugged as though the woman should have anticipated things going as well as they were. The closer they got to the stage, the more they could hear Carrie and Royce arguing, and with every step, Vivien watched the hope in Charlie’s eyes die just a little more.

Yeah, they were in for a fun week.

“I just don’t know what to do!” Carrie complained as she paced the playhouse’s front porch. 

After lunch, the entirety of the cast had assembled in the playhouse, hoping to give the show the only fighting chance it had left. Their morning practice hadn’t gone so well as they watched Royce and Carrie argue about, well, anything they could think of while everyone else tried to keep at least some semblance of hope alive. Now that they had reconvened in the playhouse, Vivien and Royce were backstage with a majority of the cast, getting ready for their first full rehearsal with everyone, giving Charlie, Carrie, and Riven the chance to talk about how to handle everything being thrown at them.

Crossing one of her legs over the other, Charlie sighed from her seat on a tree stump, “It’s certainly going to be difficult with Royce at your throat the entire time.”

“I thought having Vivien around would calm him down, but no,” Carrie paused to place her hands on her hips. “It seems as though he just hates working with me no matter what.”

“It doesn’t help that Vivien is too focused on her fear to tell him to stop,” Riven mused, the old railing of the porch tilting to the side as he leaned against it. “Normally, she’s pretty quick with it, but today she’s so out of it that she never even tried.”

“I hate to say this,” Charlie began, taking in a deep breath as she glanced from Riven to Carrie, “but between your fights with Royce and Vivien nearly fainting under the lights alone, we just might have to call the show off entirely.”

Carrie’s frustration began to ebb as she met Charlie’s eyes and asked, “But what about ‘the show must go on’?”

Charlie shook her head, glancing at the leaves on the ground as she sighed, “If we don’t figure something out before the end of the day, there might not be a show at all.”

Riven glanced over his shoulder as voices carried from the inside of the playhouse. Turning back toward the women, he said, “I’ll try to talk with them. Vivien’s good about taking advice and minor criticism, so I doubt it’ll take much for her to want to work harder. Royce, on the other hand… I’m not really sure what to do there.”

The fire in Carrie’s eyes appeared to reignite as she rolled her eyes, but Charlie was quick to cut the blonde off as she spoke up, “Carrie and I will figure something out. We’ll give you some time to talk with them, and we’ll be inside in a few.”

Glancing between Carrie and Charlie, Riven nodded wordlessly and shifted away from the railing. Carrie watched as he made his way back inside the building and, once he was gone, she turned her attention back to Charlie as she moved to sit on the front steps. “So, do you have any advice for me here? Any words of wisdom from someone who has been there and done that?”

“Not really,” Charlie said with a chuckle as she moved to sit beside the blonde. “Vivien was nine and was sort of like an angry Chihuahua - all bark and hardly any bite. If I truly wanted to - and, believe me, there were many times when I did - I could have easily dropkicked her and called it a day.”

A snort left Carrie before she could stop it and the pair shared a smile as Carrie said, “But you didn’t.”

“There were days when it was very tempting, but no, I didn’t.” Taking in a deep breath, Charlie said, “With Royce, you’re dealing with an entirely different can of worms. He’s more like a wounded Rottweiler - ready to snap back if you approach him the wrong way.”

“And I don’t get why,” Carrie sighed.

“If you had asked me before, I would have said it was a power struggle. He didn’t want you to have a say in anything he did, and you both are very strong-willed; it only made sense at the time. Now, on the other hand…” Charlie allowed her comments to drift off as she thought for a moment. “Now, if I had to guess, I would say most of it is due to him wanting to protect himself and those he loves.”

Carrie took in the older woman’s words before sighing, “But I’m not a danger to any of them.”

Charlie shook her head, laying her hand over Carrie’s before speaking, “Listen, Vivien told me that you and the boys didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, and it isn’t hard to see that most of it stems from your relationship with Miles. Royce loves Miles with everything he has, and while a part of him knows that you make Miles happy, he doesn’t want to see him get hurt if the relationship goes down in flames. He pushes you to see how far you’re willing to go to keep your relationship with Miles.”

“That sounds about right,” Carrie mused, “but what do I do to keep him from trying to pick a fight in there?”

Allowing herself to come up with a few options for the evening, Charlie said, “We can work on it together for now and hopefully get him to focus on the big picture. With any luck, he’ll focus more on Vivien and keeping her at ease than he will on verbally tearing you limb from limb.”

“Using his love for her as a distraction,” Carrie spoke thoughtfully. “It could work.”

“Let’s hope,” Charlie agreed. “Then, in the morning, we’ll switch.”

“Switch?”

Charlie’s hair bobbed as she nodded, “I’ll work with Royce on his stage presence and maybe enlist Miles’ help getting him to sing without his voice shaking. In the meantime, you’ll work with Vivien to hopefully make her more comfortable on the stage and get her to really showcase her talents.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Carrie asked.

“One can only hope.”

The next morning, Vivien found her usual morning with Royce and Bentley interrupted as Carrie asked her to help her set up some things in the playhouse. Though both Royce and Bentley offered to help, Vivien had told them to just relax and that she would see them in the mess hall before allowing Carrie to walk her to the playhouse. As they propped the doors open to allow some fresh air to circulate through the log building, she got a good look at the stage and attempted to keep the intimidation coursing through her veins to a minimum. 

Sure, growing up, she had been in many little plays on that very stage, but she was never the main focus; that was something reserved for the older kids. Now that the time had come for her to be one of those “older kids,” Vivien didn’t know what to do. Though the stage had seemed huge as a kid, it felt no less intimidating, and standing center stage was no easy feat. The idea of a few hundred pairs of eyes staring up at her, watching her every move and every mistake in real time was daunting. This wasn’t like some video online that she could clip together in order to make herself look like a good actress - this was a legit performance in front of all of the friends she had made over the summer as well as their extended groups of friends and family.

As she begrudgingly followed Carrie into the building, Vivien tried not to shudder as panic swelled in her stomach. She would be lucky if she made it through another rehearsal without becoming a human pancake on the floor. Taking a deep breath as she followed Carrie onto the stage, Vivien shook her head and said, “I don’t know how you’re so comfortable performing in front of people.”

Carrie laughed, “Well, I've always wanted to be a star, so I guess it just always felt natural to me.”

Vivien made a noise of understanding as looked out at the rows of chairs they had set up the night before, but quickly turned her gaze back toward Carrie as she asked, “So, what did you need my help with?”

“Your confidence.”

The sixteen-year-old’s confusion was obvious as her eyebrow lifted past the edge of her bangs and her head tipped to the side. “I’m sorry; what?”

“I brought you here so that we can spend some time working on getting you more confident on stage,” Carrie explained. “Your Aunt Charlie and I both think that all you need is a bit of confidence to get you to show off your full potential.”

Vivien huffed, “You do realize that I never even wanted to be in this show in the first place, right? Like, the only reason I even said I would was because I thought she would never be able to convince Royce to join the cast.”

“I sort of figured,” Carrie shrugged. Smirking at the girl, she said, “You don’t seem like the type to want to be in front of thousands of people.”

“I’m not.”

“Says the competitive figure skater.”

“Well,” Vivien began, picking at her cuticles as she tried to avoid meeting the blonde’s gaze, “it’s not the same as competitions. On the ice, I hardly notice anyone and I don’t have to worry about the audience knowing me.”

“And you do here?” Carrie wondered. Before Vivien could answer, the blonde continued, “Most of the people that will be here are only here for their kids and won’t be bothered much by the performances.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Maybe Riven was wrong about you,” Carrie interrupted, hoping the advice the aforementioned male had given her would work as well as he claimed it would. Vivien tentatively looked up and Carrie continued, “He talks about you being this tough, take-no-shit, little badass, but I think she went into hiding because I haven’t seen her in days.”

“I’m just nervous,” Vivien muttered.

“And I totally get that, but,” Carrie sighed, a tone of disappointment obvious in her voice, “I was really hoping to see this firecracker lighting up the stage as the iconic Tracy Turnblad. Your aunts say that you’ve memorized the show since you were little.”

“I did, but that’s different,” Vivien claimed. “I wasn’t performing for anyone other than my family back then. Here, I’m in front of people I don’t even know.” 

“And since when have other people’s opinions ever bothered you?”

“Since it would mean embarrassing myself in front of everyone I love,” Vivien admitted. “Here, it’s not just random people or just my family. I also have to worry about making a complete fool of myself in front of Royce and his brothers, Mick and Butchy, you, my parents, my siblings, my aunts, Riven and the girls, and practically everyone I grew up with here that’s now on the staff. It’s just,” Vivien paused to take in a deep breath, “the idea of letting them all down is making me physically ill.”

“If they truly care about you, they’ll love your performance regardless of how it turns out,” Carrie spoke softly. “Besides, you’re insanely talented. I’ve heard you sing in the car and at karaoke night; you dance freely to music even if you’re the only one who hears it; and you captivated everyone when the power went out and you and your friends were acting out scenes from that video game. I hadn’t even heard of it before and I loved it!”

Vivien slowly looked up as she muttered, “I don’t see how.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Carrie said, taking Vivien’s shoulders and encouraging the girl to meet her gaze. “What I’m trying to say is that, whether you see it or not, you belong up here.” 

“You really think I do?”

“Yeah,” Carrie nodded, “and I totally get being too worried about screwing up - we’ve all been there before at some point - but just know that, even if you decide to quit, I would have loved to see you setting the stage on fire Saturday night.”

Vivien drank in Carrie’s smile before the hands on her shoulders disappeared and Carrie moved around her, heading for the stairs. The tapping of the blonde’s shoes on the wood was the only sound in the building, but Vivien could hear the gears spinning on overdrive in her brain as she turned against her better judgment and asked, “What number do you want to work on first?”

Stalling halfway down the center aisle, Carrie slowly turned, fighting to keep her smile hidden as she asked, “What?”

“What number do you want to see?” Vivien restated. “I know all of them.”

“You know all the songs?”

Vivien nodded, “And almost all of the dances, if we’re going by the movie’s choreography.”

“We can work with that.”

“Right here, right now?” Vivien asked.

Carrie nodded, “All you have to do is make me believe that you belong on that stage.”

“But you said-“

“And I meant it,” Carrie claimed as she began walking back toward the stage, “but you have to be able to make everyone else believe it too. Make everyone see that you own that stage and that nobody can take it from you.”

Vivien allowed the older girl’s words to sink in as the blonde approached the edge of the stage. Then, despite everything in her screaming to make her way off the stage and out of the building, she said “Pick a song. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

After looking Vivien over for a moment, Carrie smiled and called out, “You heard her, Riven. Give me ‘You Can’t Stop The Beat’ on Tracy’s rehearsal disc.”

Wide green eyes flickered toward the far side of the stage where the sound equipment was kept, yet found it nearly impossible as the lights above the stage came to life. Squinting at the sudden brightness invading her eyes, Vivien turned her shocked gaze toward Carrie who simply gestured for her to continue as she sat in one of the available chairs. Taking in a sharp breath, Vivien tried not to let her panic get the better of her as the music started and forced herself to sing.

“You need to project your voice, Royce,” Charlie reprimanded. “We’ve been over this.”

Royce sighed, placing the songbook back on the stand before him as he looked over at the woman, “Don’t you guys have microphones or something?”

“We’re building sets out of plywood and cardboard, the lights were a donation from the high school when they got an upgrade in the nineties, and the sound system is hanging on by a thread,” Charlie commented as she paused the CD player and flipped back to the beginning of Royce’s solo song. “What on earth gave you the idea that we have microphones for everyone?”

Visibly deflating, Royce muttered, “I just can’t find it in me to be that loud.”

Miles snorted from his seat, looking up at his younger brother with a smirk, “From what I’ve heard, you were plenty loud enough yesterday when you and Carrie were getting into it.”

Rolling his eyes, Royce scoffed, “That’s different.”

“How?” Charlie pressed. “Yesterday, you were fighting to be louder than her any time she spoke. Now, you have to fight to be louder than the music. There’s not much of a difference if you ask me.”

“Now, come on,” Miles said, gesturing to Royce with a hand. “Really push your voice.”

“I don’t want to yell.”

“You won’t be,” Charlie reassured. When Royce still appeared to be unconvinced, she moved the music stand away from him and took its place with a smile, “Try this; I want you to close your eyes.”

Royce looked between the woman and his brother, who merely shrugged, before closing his eyes, “Alright.”

“Visualize yourself in a room full of people,” Charlie began, “lots of silverware clanking, people dropping stuff, talking loud, and being generally obnoxious.”

Royce chuckled, “Like dinners in the mess hall?”

As Miles laughed around a sip of water, Charlie nodded, smiling as she said, “Exactly. Now, your voice has to be able to carry over the din. You have to get up over all of that to be heard in the back of the room where I’m sitting, listening, straining to hear you.”

With a small smile, Royce opened his eyes and breathed, “Okay.”

“Okay?” Charlie restated. As Royce nodded, she said, “Good. Keep all of that in your mind when we do this.”

“I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask, sweetheart,” Charlie replied with a smile. Turning toward Miles, she said, “First note again, please. This time, Royce, just try to copy the note and hold it for as long as you can.”

Nodding, Royce listened to the note Miles pressed on the piano and attempted to replicate it. Shaking his head, he tried again, and as soon as he found the right note, he held it, watching to see whether Miles or Charlie would stop him. Then, as he tried to push his voice just a fraction louder, Charlie reached forward and pressed into his stomach, the action forcing his voice louder than he had ever heard it without a microphone. With wide eyes, he held the note until a laugh of disbelief passed his lips instead.

“What was that?!” he asked as he looked between Miles and Charlie as the latter took a step back.

“Your diaphragm,” Charlie said simply. “Normally, you’d only recognize it as the muscle that causes hiccups, but singers use it to make their voices stronger.”

Royce chuckled breathlessly, “How does that even work?”

“I don’t know all of the science-y details,” Charlie said with a wave of her hand, “but it strengthens your breathing and makes your singing voice that much better.”

Still reeling from the sound of his own voice, Royce looked to Miles and asked, “What do you think?”

“You sounded great, RJ,” Miles commended, a proud smile present as he stood from the piano seat. “Think you can do it again?”

“I can try.”

“You’ll be great,” Miles said as he dragged a folding chair closer to his brother and sat. “Just imagine how shocked Vivien will be when she hears you.”

Royce looked away, a timid smile and a dusting of red flooding his features at the thought. Before he could get too wrapped up in the ideas flowing through his brain, however, Charlie tapped him on the arm and asked, “You ready to try the song again?”

For the first time in their session, Royce didn’t feel as though he was lying as he nodded and said, “Yeah.”

Carrie kept her eyes on the ground as she followed Charlie to the main office. She hadn’t been there often since the summer started, but after Vivien’s grandparents pulled them aside after lunch to see how the play was going and asked them to attend a meeting that afternoon, she had no choice but to follow the older woman to the old log building. Carrie wasn’t necessarily worried about the meeting as the old couple had been nothing but nice to her since her first visit to the camp, but there was something in their tones - a sense of urgency, maybe - that gave her pause.

“So,” she began as she stepped over a partially exposed tree root, “what do you think this is about?”

Charlie shrugged, glancing back at the blonde, “They do this every year just to see how things are going and to see if we need anything. Normally, it would be done within fifteen minutes or so, but they like to talk with the new staff, so be prepared to be there for at least an hour.”

Carrie let out a breathy laugh, “Are you speaking from experience?”

“Oh yeah,” Charlie chuckled. “You should have seen how they were when Riven decided to help last year; I think that meeting lasted maybe two and a half hours.”

“I guess we’re in for it, then,” Carrie sighed as Charlie led her to the front steps of the main office.

“You could say that, yeah,” Charlie nodded, pulling the screen door open and stepping inside. Once Carrie was inside, Charlie led the way through the building to a room where George and Dawn were sitting on one side of a table, talking. “Mom, Dad,” she began, grabbing the couple’s attention, “Carrie and I are here for the meeting.”

“Good timing,” George said with a smile as he glanced between the two in the doorway.

Gesturing towards the chairs on the opposite side of the table, Dawn said, “Take a seat, girls.”

Taking a seat across from Dawn, Carrie smiled at the older pair and watched as Dawn nudged her husband, encouraging him to speak. George glanced at his wife before turning his gaze to Carrie and asking, “Did Charlie tell you what this is for?”

Nodding, Carrie said, “She did.”

“Good,” George began with a nod, “so I guess that means that, unlike the meeting I had when Riven joined the crew, I don’t have to tell you that you’re not in trouble for anything.”

“Not unless you want me to get in trouble,” Carrie offered.

“Not particularly,” Dawn chuckled. “We just want to see how things are going with the show. We heard you lost your leads at the beginning of the week.”

“We did,” Charlie confirmed, “but we got Vivien and Royce to cover.”

Dawn turned to her husband with a curious look before turning back to the pair before her as she asked, “And how is that going?”

“Fairly well,” Carrie said. “Vivien’s coming out of her shell a little more with each practice.”

“That’s impressive,” George mused. “She’s usually a shy little thing on that stage.”

“We noticed,” Charlie snickered.

Dawn smiled, “What about Royce? How is he holding up?”

“He’s getting better,” Carrie claimed with a shrug. “He’s never been a big fan of the spotlight.”

“But after some work on projecting his voice and a few basic dance lessons with Vivien and the rest of the cast, he’s improved a lot up there,” Charlie tacked on.

George’s eyebrow lifted as his curious eyes found Charlie’s, “How did you get him to agree to be up there if he doesn’t like the stage?”

“I told him that Vivien would join if he did, which was true,” Charlie stated. “She said that, if I managed to get Royce to play Link, she would join as Tracy.”

“So you tricked them?” Dawn said slowly, her tone a gentle reprimand as she stared down her daughter-in-law.

“I’m not exactly proud of it,” Charlie admitted with a nod, “but they’re doing amazingly together and I think that, for only having a few days of practice, they’re going to be wonderful Saturday night.”

With an amused shake of his head, George said, “Well, as long as they’re alright with it, I suppose it’s alright.”

Dawn nodded, glancing down at the paper before her as she asked, “Alright, well, next on my little list here - do you girls need anything before the closing night? Costumes, makeup, hairspray - anything like that?”

“We have plenty of makeup,” Carrie spoke up, “and we got a crate of hairspray from that dance supply company down in Manchester.”

“And most of the costumes are taken care of,” Charlie stated, “but most of the clothes for Vivien and Royce were ones we had gotten in Victoria and Rowan’s sizes, so I might need to sneak up to your house and grab some extra things from the attic.”

Glancing across the table at the older couple who nodded in understanding, Carrie asked, “You keep costumes in your attic?”

With a nod, Dawn explained, “It’s mostly just some of our old clothes from the sixties and seventies that I couldn’t be bothered to part with, but there are some more vintage items up there that I either made or collected from over the years.”

“You make your own clothes?” Carrie asked, a sparkle in her eyes as she met Dawn’s eyes.

“I used to do it all the time, but not so much anymore,” the woman shrugged. “Feel free to look around and try things on. Hell, bring the kids with you and let them see what they feel looks best for their characters.”

“Are you sure?” Charlie asked.

“She wouldn’t have offered if she felt otherwise,” George chuckled. 

Dawn hummed her agreement before saying, “How about you go over in the morning and start searching through everything early so that you can get a final run-through in the afternoon?”

After glancing at Carrie who nodded, Charlie smiled and said, “That could work.”

“Good,” George stated with a grin. “We’ll make sure someone can cover for all of you while you’re gone.”

“Now,” Dawn began, folding her hands and resting them on the table with a beaming smile, “enough with all of this work business. Tell me, Carrie, how has this summer been treating you?”

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Royce asked as Vivien tugged him toward the bubblegum pink Volkswagen Beetle her aunts had left in the shade of an oak tree. “I mean, we’re practically breaking into your grandparents’ house.”

“Relax, would you,” Vivien scoffed. “We’re not breaking in.”

“It sort of feels like we are.”

“It’s not breaking and entering if we have a key,” Vivien offered, tugging a set of keys from her pocket and holding them for Royce to see. “And, for your information, they told Aunt Charlie and Carrie to take us. Therefore, we can’t get into any trouble.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Charlie chuckled as she watched her car’s roof lower into the trunk. “With you around, there is always room for trouble.”

Pressing her hand to her heart with a fond smile, Vivien nodded, “I wouldn’t be myself if I didn’t cause at least a little mayhem from time to time.”

“Let’s try to keep the mayhem to a minimum this time,” Carrie said as she lowered an oversized pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of her nose and opened the car door for the kids to climb in.

“I make no promises,” Vivien offered with a shrug as she jumped inside the car.

Offering Carrie a somewhat apologetic grin as he settled into the seat behind the blonde, Royce said, “I’ll try to contain her.”

Despite her confusion at Royce’s almost friendly demeanor, Carrie offered the young couple a smile and slid into her seat as Charlie started the car. During the last week, she had noticed Royce acting far nicer toward her than he ever had before. There had been moments where they had been civil for the sake of those around them - Miles and Vivien particularly - but since they had begun working on the musical, Carrie had noticed a shift in Royce’s behavior. On Tuesday, working with him was like pulling teeth, but just a few days later, he was being exceedingly nice. At first, she had worried about him potentially pulling a prank on her, but after much reassurance from Miles, Bentley, and Vivien, she chose to accept it for what it was. She was still curious, of course. Something significant must have happened in order to make such a big change in Royce’s personality. It could have been his confidence or the surreal feeling of being one of the main focal points on stage, but whatever it was, she had no intention of pushing him to tell her what had changed. So long as he was being somewhat cordial with her, Carrie wasn’t going to question it.

Before long, Carrie found herself watching as Charlie flicked on her indicator and turned into the driveway of a house with large, white pillars in front. Glancing in her rear-view mirror, Carrie watched Royce’s eyes widen as he drank in the view of his girlfriend’s family home on the hill. The mansion stood in all of its glory, the morning sun illuminating the grassy hill just beyond the pristinely shaped bushes on the edge of the building. To someone that had never been there before, but knew the family, Carrie could imagine the old mansion would be a surprise. It had been to her. She could only imagine the thoughts racing through Royce’s head as he slowly turned toward his girlfriend with a smile and began talking in a hushed voice. Though she couldn’t hear much over the wind and the sound of gravel crunching under the car’s tires, Carrie knew he had to have said something funny as Vivien let out a bark of laughter. 

The car rolled to a stop by the front steps and Charlie pulled her keys out of the ignition with a smile. “Home sweet home,” she declared as she stepped out of the car.

Carrie smirked, getting out of the car and pushing the seat forward to allow Royce and Vivien out. As he slipped out from the backseat, Royce found Carrie’s eyes and said, “You don’t seem surprised by this.”

Sensing his silent question, Carrie explained, “When Viv and I had our girl’s day, she took me here.”

“I did,” Vivien agreed with a grin. Looping her arm around Royce’s, she said, “Just wait until you see the inside.”

Royce chuckled, allowing Vivien to tug him toward the house as Carrie trailed behind. Pushing her sunglasses on top of her head, Carrie followed the others inside and closed the door behind her. With a smirk, she watched Royce’s wide, tawny eyes scan the expansive entryway, the shock obvious in his eyes as he examined the robin’s egg paint on the walls, the warm glow of sunlight passing through vaulted windows, and the ornate details of the chandelier that hung above the doorway. Though she hadn’t taken much of a look around in her previous visit, Carrie found it endearing how lived-in the otherwise extravagant house felt. Shoes discarded in and around a rack by the door, unopened letters scattered across the top of an antique cabinet, a fishing hat perched haphazardly on the knobbed end of the stair railing, and a wicker basket full of dog toys that all showed they had been loved by Dopey Ding at some point in the dog’s life.

Charlie glanced over her shoulder at the others as she made her way to the stairs, “We can give Royce the full tour later, but for now, we need to get into the attic and find some of Nonna’s crates of clothes.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Vivien said with a mock salute, taking Royce by the hand and ducking around Charlie as she ascended the stairs.

Following close behind Charlie, Carrie lowered her voice and asked, “How long do you think this will take?”

“Vivien’s not the pickiest kid, so not long once we find where everything is hidden,” Charlie claimed. “I think trying things on will take the most time.”

“What happens if we can’t find everything we need?”

Charlie took in a slow breath as they reached the landing, turning to Carrie with a small grin, “We raid the nearest Goodwills and maybe the Salvation Army.”

As Carrie let out a breath of a laugh, Charlie brought her arm around the blonde and guided her down the hallway toward where Royce was standing, watching his girlfriend twist an old, metal door knob. “I hate this fucking door,” Vivien grumbled, giving the bottom of the door a soft kick.

“I think the feeling is mutual,” Charlie chuckled, stepping up to the door and nudging her niece aside. Pushing the knob inward and giving it a twist, Charlie pushed her shoulder into the heat-swollen door, shoving it open to reveal a steep staircase riddled with traces of cobwebs.

Glancing up at the ominously dark attic, Royce muttered, “Is it just me, or does this feel like one of those horror movies where there’s demons in the basement or something and the first one up the stairs ends up dead by the end?”

“It’s just an old house,” Carrie claimed, stepping around Royce and flipping on the light switch just inside the doorway before beginning to climb the steep steps.

Royce turned to Vivien with a grin, “Can I say it?”

Charlie’s eyebrow lifted curiously as Vivien chuckled and shook her head, “Nope, you promised.”

“But she makes it so easy,” Royce sighed with a roll of his eyes, only mildly upset at his missed opportunity.

Glancing between the pair, Charlie asked, “Am I missing something here?”

Vivien smirked, “I bet Royce that he couldn’t be nice to Carrie for the rest of our time at camp.”

“Really?” Charlie wondered.

Royce nodded, “So far it’s not as hard as I thought it would be.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re not seeing her as the enemy for once,” Vivien suggested.

“Doubtful,” Royce said before making his way up the stairs.

Turning to her aunt, Vivien said, “We started a couple of days ago when I realized how awful he was being to her. Yesterday, he was fine, but he’s actually making an effort to be nice to her today and I think she’s catching on.”

“Even if she does,” Charlie began, “I doubt she’ll have an issue with it. After all, I remember a certain someone doing something similar a few years ago.”

Vivien grinned, her cheeks warming as she began making her way to the attic in order to ignore her aunt’s fond smile, “Where do you think I got the idea?”

With a shake of her head, Charlie asked, “Is that what happened back then - Hayley bribed you into being nice?”

With a nod and a chuckle, Vivien confirmed, “Yeah, but I think the terms back then were a bit more lax.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhm,” Vivien hummed. “Back then, I would have lost my Gameboy and movie choice privileges if I acted out, but Royce is putting our alone time on the line.”

“That’s it?”

“Alone time for us includes reading together, cuddling, car rides, and just spending time together,” Vivien explained. “He’s putting all of that on the line until they head back home.”

“Ooh,” Charlie winced, “that’s a lot for you two. Are you sure that you could handle that if he loses?”

Vivien chuckled, “I deal with that every time he leaves; I can handle it.”

Glancing around the cluttered attic, Charlie’s gaze landed on the curly-haired boy before she turned back to her niece and shook her head, “Well, I wish you the best of luck, sweetheart.”

“Thanks,” Vivien said with a smile, “but I think Royce will need it more than me once the show is over and everyone else leaves.”

“Probably,” Charlie agreed.

As the pair split off to look around, Charlie joined Carrie near the back wall, opening old trunks full of men’s clothing and scanning through hanging bags of dresses. As Carrie began searching through clothing racks full of dresses, she smiled. Some reminded her of costumes she had worn in shows over time while others could have been pulled out of her closet and she wouldn’t have known the difference. Her mind raced with ideas of how to pull the outfits together with things she owned and loved - the checkerboard mini dress would go great with her knee-high boots and a pair of sparkly sunglasses she remembered leaving on her vanity back home while the pleated, floral-patterned Staccato dress would have been a perfect date-night dress and the pale blue sundress would have fallen perfectly into her rotation of clothes.

“Looks like someone’s in heaven,” Charlie teased as she set aside a stack of men’s clothing and joined Carrie at the clothing racks.

Glancing at the dark-haired woman, Carrie smiled, “It’s like stepping back in time.”

Charlie beamed, “I know, right! Back when Hayley and I were just good friends, she brought me here for the summer break and we raided everything. We spent a few days up here, going through endless clothes and shoes, trying things on, and only leaving the attic for food.”

“That sounds like fun,” Carrie mused.

“It was.” Charlie pushed another dress further down the rack before sighing thoughtfully, “I think that was when I realized what a real family was like.”

“What do you mean?” Carrie asked as she met Charlie in the middle of the double-sided rack.

“George and Dawn never pushed me to be anything other than myself while I was here,” Charlie explained. “They treated me like just another daughter and I quickly realized I never wanted to leave.”

Carrie’s head tilted as she asked, “What about your family?”

Charlie shrugged, “I don’t talk to them much anymore. They moved to the Bahamas, living in some gated community I’ve never even seen. After spending so much time here and seeing what I had been missing, I asked Dawn and George if I could stick around and, as I’m sure you can tell, I never left.”

Carrie didn’t bother fighting the smile that tugged at her lips, “Was that before or after you and Hayley got together?”

“Way before,” Charlie chuckled. “I met her at Harvard - I was studying to be a lawyer and she was studying engineering. We were roommates in Straus Hall in our freshman year, but moved into an apartment somewhere in the middle so that we had equal distance between our buildings.”

“That’s sweet.”

Charlie nodded, “Looking back on it now, I can see that Hayley was interested in me long before I thought of her in that way. Back then, I had only gone out with men. Then, after years of inadvertently dodging the idea, watching her go through the ups and downs of pregnancy, and being there for her and Vivien through everything, I realized there was something there that I couldn’t ignore.”

“Love?” Carrie wondered.

Charlie hummed as she nodded thoughtfully, “It hit me like a bolt of lightning and I went through all of the doubt and confusion in private before finally going up to her and telling her all that was going on in my head. We started dating, but kept it from Vivien for about four years before telling her, and the rest is history.”

Carrie stared thoughtfully at the woman opposite her before slowly admitting, “Vivien told me that you guys had only just started dating before she was told.” 

Charlie shook her head, “That’s what Hayley told her, but no. She wanted to make sure things between us were going to be serious and that Vivien would be old enough to understand everything before I met her as anything more than her mom’s school friend.”

“So you two kept it a secret for four years?” Carrie asked, bewildered by the very concept of keeping something like that a secret for so long. She couldn’t imagine having kept things between herself and Miles a secret from everyone for so long.

“Not from everyone,” Charlie claimed. “Our parents knew - hers supportive and mine not so much - and our friends knew, but Vivien was the only one we wanted to wait for. She was only five when we started dating and I wanted her to know from the get-go, but I understood and respected Hayley’s wishes. After everything we went through with Viv, even she said it might have been easier to just jump right in, but we made mistakes and learned from them.”

Carrie let out a breath and shook her head, “That couldn’t have been easy.”

“Far from it,” Charlie chuckled, “but everyone involved has since moved on for the better and I don’t regret a thing.”

Carrie allowed herself to smile once again as Charlie began flipping dresses to the side once more. While she was glad things had worked out for Charlie and her relationships with everyone she loved, she wondered if things would have been different for herself if she and Miles had chosen to do something similar. Glancing over at Royce and Vivien who were busy laughing at an old tux from the eighties that Royce had found, she asked Charlie, “Do you think things with Royce and Bentley would have been better if Miles and I did the same thing you and Hayley did?”

Taking a look at the blonde and sparing a quick glance at the teenagers on the other side of the attic, Charlie shook her head, “Everything happens for a reason, Carrie. Your relationship with the boys may be strained now, but who knows? Maybe in a few months, this will all be behind you and you can grow closer.”

“I can’t imagine that happening,” Carrie said with a breath of a laugh. “Bentley may have moved on a bit, but Royce still can’t stand me, no matter what I do.”

“They won’t have it out for you forever, believe me,” Charlie said, reaching under the clothes rack to place her hand on Carrie’s. “As someone who has been there and done that, let me tell you that this rebellious, hate-your-guts phase will make way for a closer relationship than you’ll ever think was possible.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Charlie smiled, giving Carrie’s hand a pat before moving away. “And, trust me, when it happens, you won’t know what to do at first. You’ll still be walking on eggshells for a while before things feel more normal. Then, you’ll be one big, happy family.”

“I can’t even imagine that being a possibility,” Carrie laughed.

Charlie smiled as she pushed another dress down the rack, “Just wait; your time will come.”

Before Carrie could say anything, a voice called her name from the other side of the attic. Vivien waved her over from her side of the attic as Royce looked over a crate of vintage men’s clothing on the opposite side. Making her way to the opposite side of the attic, she asked, “What’s up?”

“I need help trying this dress on,” Vivien said, holding up a black bag that looked ready to burst at the seams. Lowering her voice as Carrie neared her, she added, “I think it would be perfect during ‘I Can Hear The Bells’ and I don’t want Royce and Aunt Charlie to know about it until I know I can fit in it.”

Sending the brunette her signature, beaming smile, Carrie nodded and gestured to a room divider that someone had left leaning against the wall, “Let’s set that up and see if we can get it on you.”

Once they were sure the divider was steady enough on the uneven floorboards, Carrie stood guard as Vivien stepped behind the old screen and opened the dress bag. The blonde watched to make sure Royce stayed on his half of the attic and that Charlie was distracted enough with the clothing on the far side of the room while Vivien got into the dress. Before long, Vivien reached around the divider and tugged on Carrie’s sleeve to get her attention. Stepping behind the screen, Carrie’s eyes widened and she brought her hands to her mouth as she took in the sight before her.

She had seen Vivien in dresses before - a rare occasion in itself - but this was different. A tea-length, ivory gown graced the girl’s tan skin, the bateau neckline showcasing a layer of lace that capped her sleeves and ended with a silk bow under her bust. After some gentle ruching around her waist, the rest of the dress flowed in gentle pleats to her mid-calf - the fabric elegant and poufy with the help of a crinoline petticoat that was, no doubt, sewn into the dress. Atop Vivien’s head was a clipped-in veil that ended at her elbows, and a pair of lace gloves had been tugged onto the girl’s hands - something Carrie knew she must have been itching to pry away from her skin. The only semblance of Vivien’s typically casual attire was the pair of white Converse the girl hardly ever took off, but for some reason, it didn’t stand out as much as Carrie thought it would.

“Vivien,” Carrie breathed, hoping she would be able to stall the welling tears that burned her eyes as she smiled at the girl before her. “You would be such a beautiful bride.”

Despite her rosy cheeks and embarrassed smile, Vivien shook her head, “Thank you, but let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves, Carrie. Royce and I haven’t even kissed; I think that means a ring is still far in the future.”

“It better be,” Carrie said, her smile still present as she stepped closer to the brunette and took the girl’s hands in her own. “You two are still just kids - leave the weddings and proposals to the adults.”

“Tell that to Bella from Twilight,” Vivien scoffed, recalling the film series they had watched over the last few nights.

“Bella was a teenage girl who was obsessed with a boy in all the wrong ways and actively put herself in danger to get his attention and affection,” Carrie said, squeezing the girl’s hands before releasing them and encouraging her to turn so that Carrie could zip her in. “I doubt any of us have to worry about that when it comes to you and Royce.”

“She still got married just after high school,” Vivien mused.

“And I hope you at least wait long enough to find yourself before a ring comes into the picture,” Carrie said, adjusting the back of the dress a little before allowing Vivien to turn back toward her. “Regardless of that, I’m sure that, when the time comes, you will look absolutely stunning.”

“Thank you, Carrie,” Vivien said, wiping imaginary sweat from her lace-gloved hands onto the skirt of the dress. A hint of nervousness seeped into the girl’s voice as she asked, “D’You think they’ll like it?”

“They’ll love it,” Carrie reassured with a nod and a smile. “Do you want to show them?”

Although Vivien nodded, her apprehension was palpable. After a moment, she asked, “Can you go first and bring them over? Maybe tell them that I found a dress for the show?”

Nodding so quickly she worried her hair tie would burst under the strain of her bouncing curls, Carrie spoke, “You got it.”

Vivien listened from behind the screen as Carrie called the others over and explained that Vivien had found the perfect dress for the show, her thoughts racing as she wondered what they would think. Charlie had fought for years to get Vivien to let her use her as a makeshift mannequin, to no avail, so she could only imagine that Charlie would be excited before going into a rant about how she wished Vivien would let her pick out some clothes at the mall for her. Royce’s reaction, on the other hand, she couldn’t quite figure out. If life was a game of Uno, Royce would be the one hoarding all of the wild cards; there was no way she could gauge his stack of cards or guess how he would play things. This was no different.

A golden halo of stray curls poked around the edge of the screen and Vivien found it hard to fight Carrie’s infectious smile as the blonde held a hand out to her and wiggled her fingers invitingly. Hesitantly reaching out, Vivien placed her hand in Carrie’s and sucked in a breath as the blonde pulled her from the safety of the old room divider and into the dully-lit, dust-speckled attic space. Despite meeting Royce’s gaze first, Vivien found her aunt’s widened, sparkling eyes and asked, “What do you think?”

Looking a moment away from turning into a puddle of joyful tears, Charlie softly spoke, “Oh, Vivien, sweetheart, you look amazing.”

“You think?” Vivien asked, a hint of a grin tugging at her lips as she swayed from one side to the other. “I thought it would be perfect during ‘I Can Hear The Bells’ when Tracy starts going over the wedding toward the end of the song. Maybe when the girls walk in front of Tracy, they can cover long enough for me to pull away the skirt over it and we can have this under it.”

As Charlie approached her niece and began fawning over her, Carrie’s azure eyes flitted over to Royce, finding the boy in a state of shock as he stared at his girlfriend. Crossing over to where Royce stood with his jaw practically on the floor and his eyes about the same size as dinner plates, Carrie placed a hand on his shoulder and asked, “She looks lovely, doesn’t she?”

Taking in a slow, almost shuddered breath and swallowing thickly, Royce nodded and meekly agreed, “Yeah.”

“You should tell her,” Carrie said, giving the boy a slight nudge. “She was nervous to show you two.”

“But she looks-” Royce cut himself off as he looked at Carrie, almost as though he had only just realized who he was talking to. Resigning to his fate, Royce looked back over at Vivien and finished his train of thought, “She looks incredible.”

“Makes you want to walk her down the aisle right here and now, doesn’t it?” Carrie asked, only a smidge of a teasing tone evident in her voice.

Wide caramel eyes looked at Carrie as Royce adamantly shook his head, “No. I mean, one day, sure, but not now. We’re far too young for that.”

“Good,” Carrie smiled and, for a split second, Royce saw her take on the image of a proud older sister. Then, she continued, “It’s good to know you both are on the same page.”

“We are?” Royce asked, more to himself than anything.

“You are,” Carrie confirmed. “Now, go compliment your girlfriend before Charlie makes her take off the gown to play dress-up.”

Although he nodded, Royce didn’t move until Carrie gave him a gentle push, urging him to take the first step toward Vivien. Blinking himself out of his stupor, Royce glanced back at Carrie with an almost accusatory glimmer in his eyes before shaking his head as Vivien’s laughter reached his ears. Drinking in the sight of his girlfriend twirling with her hand latched onto Charlie’s, Royce smiled and imagined himself dancing with her for a fleeting moment. Feeling drawn toward his girlfriend’s contagious laughter like a magnet, Royce took a few steps away from Carrie before slowly turning back to the blonde, meeting her eyes, and giving her a small, grateful nod. Whether she knew it or not, Carrie had been nothing but kind and encouraging since his bet with Vivien began and, regardless of how he felt about the blonde, he was grateful all the same. It was the least he could do to show his appreciation.

Clack. Click-clack. Clack. A slow, shaky breath sucked in through panicked lungs and let out in a huff. Click-clack. Clack. Shaky hands with neatly manicured nails run over hair that had already been sprayed rigid. Clack. Clack. Click-clack. Another minute of this torture and she would be found with her head in the nearest garbage bin, expelling all of the food she’d nervously eaten her way through at both breakfast and lunch. She always had been a nervous eater. Clack. Click-clack. Clack. Eyelashes too long and too sticky to be comfortable flutter as a voice that sounds as though it’s a mile away calls out, “Places in ten!” Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack. Breath stalls in her chest and she swallows thickly to keep herself from gagging as her hands clench into fists. This must be what it felt like for Anne Boleyn or Katherine Howard as they prepared to walk to their untimely demise. If it’s not, it must be something close. 

“If you keep pacing like that, you’ll wear out your shoes before you even get on stage,” an amused voice claims, startling Vivien from her thoughts at how close they sound. Whirling around, she finds Riven leaning against the doorway of the dressing room with a lopsided smirk on his face and his hands tucked into his pockets. If he was there to offer comfort, it wasn’t working. “Little nervous there, are we, Pipsqueak?”

“I think I’m dying,” she mutters before continuing her pacing between mirrored vanities. “I can’t breathe, I can’t think, I don’t know why the hell I agreed to this.”

“To help Charlie,” Riven claimed, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps closer to the girl before him.

“Some help I’ll be,” Vivien scoffed. “If I choke and die on my own vomit, I’ll be of no use to her.”

“You won’t choke and die,” Riven tried to argue.

“I will,” Vivien breathed. “Asphyxiation due to anxiety-induced vomit - that’s what my death certificate will say. Might wanna take your phone out and write down my final words, Riv.”

With a roll of his eyes, Riven stepped into Vivien’s path and caught her by the shoulders, stopping her in her tracks. “You do this everytime you have to be the center of attention,” he stated. “Solo skates, concerts, birthday parties.”

“And I don’t like any of them,” Vivien sighed.

“But you always come out on top,” Riven said confidently. “The more nervous you are before a solo, the better you place. The more scared you get before a concert, the better you perform. You just need to realize that, once you’re done that first song and get everyone in the crowd to love you, you’ll do amazing for the rest of the night.”

Finding nothing but sincerity in Riven’s hazel eyes, Vivien softly asked, “How do you know?”

“Because you’re you,” Riven said, tugging Vivien into a hug. “Once the first song is done, you’ll be fine. Besides, you’ll have Royce up there with you, and Carrie and I will be off to the side with Charlie. If you need us, we’ll be there.”

Hoping the makeup Carrie had helped her put on wasn’t smeared against Riven’s shirt, Vivien allowed herself to take in a deep breath and relax against her longest friend before pulling away and looking up at him. “Do you really think this will end well?”

“I do,” Riven nodded, “and I’m not the only one who does, but there’s someone else who might be able to convince you better than I would.”

Vivien’s raised eyebrow was met with Riven’s gaze flicking over her shoulder and, as she turned, she found Royce’s apprehensive smile encouraging her to give him one in return. Riven smiled and patted Vivien on the back before maneuvering around her and making his way to the door, determined to give the couple some time together before the show began. 

Stepping up to his girlfriend, Royce reached up with a breath of a laugh and poked at Vivien’s beehive of hair, “Any higher and you’d put CheeChee to shame.”

Letting out a laugh, Vivien shook her head and asked, “How on earth are you so calm about all of this?”

“I have no idea,” Royce chuckled, “but your grandfather gave me a brownie earlier and I almost want to say it was one of his ‘special brownies’.”

With wide eyes, Vivien grabbed Royce’s arms and pressed, “Grandpa gave you weed?! Are you okay?”

Royce quickly shook his head with a laugh, “He didn’t, I promise. He and your Nonna brought me to the office after lunch and we talked. They helped me sort through things and realize that this is just for one night.”

“What do you mean?”

“After this is over, we’ll have an ice cream party in the mess hall and start cleaning everything up tomorrow like nothing happened,” Royce said. “After the show is over, we can relax and go back to normal. We don’t have to put on multiple shows like at school or on Broadway; it’s just a one-and-done thing.”

“I guess you’re right,” Vivien said, taking a moment to suck in a breath. “I’ve just been so worked up about it and I-”

“Don’t need to be,” Royce cut in. “You were amazing in the run-through yesterday and you’ll be incredible out there today.”

“We will,” Vivien corrected. “We’re in this shit show together.”

Before Royce could affectionately argue that the show wouldn’t be a shit show as long as they did their best, a voice called out, “Places in five!”

“That’s our cue to get on stage soon, right?” Royce asked. When Vivien nodded, he let out a chuckle, “Good to know.”

Vivien swallowed, offering another nod as she breathed, “Yeah.”

Taking Vivien’s hands in his, Royce rubbed circles into her skin as he said, “Relax, we’ve got this.”

“I know, it’s just…” she sighed, “I’m getting more nervous each time they say how close we are to showtime.”

“Just breathe,” Royce ordered gently. “It’ll all work out.”

Without giving Vivien the time to say anything, a voice from the doorway said, “Listen to him, Vivi. He knows what he’s talking about.”

The couple turned toward the doorway, finding Carrie smiling at them as she poked her head into the entryway. Offering the blonde a nervous smile, Vivien said, “I know he does; it’s just my nerves.”

“Well, what are you nervous about?” Carrie asked, shifting further into the doorway.

Vivien shrugged, “Everything, really. The singing, the dancing, the crowds, having to have my first kiss in front of a bunch of people I don’t even know...”

“You’re worried about that too?” Royce wondered.

As Vivien turned to Royce with a tentative nod, she said, “It’s not like I don’t want to kiss you - I do. It’s just… I want it to be something special.”

“Not something we have to share with a few hundred people watching us?” Royce finished.

“Exactly.”

Placing a hand on her hip, Carrie asked, “Why didn’t you guys say something? We could have fixed that for you ages ago.”

“Really?” Vivien asked.

“Yeah, absolutely!” Carrie said, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “You could have told us and we would have fixed it.”

Glancing between Vivien and Carrie, Royce asked hopefully, “So we don’t have to kiss on stage?”

“Of course not,” Carrie said with a determined shake of her head. “You could do a kiss on the cheek or a hug or something. I mean, hell, you could just hold hands and stand awkwardly to the side and it would still be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Vivien asked.

Carrie rolled her eyes, but smiled all the same as she said, “I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise. But, before you two start worryting about what you want to do, you need to get out there before the show starts.”

“What do we do about the kiss?” Royce questioned as Vivien tugged him toward the door.

“Let whatever happens, happen,” Carrie said with a shrug as she followed the kids to the stage. “As long as you two do what you feel is right, the audience will appreciate it.”

Giving her boyfriend a final hug before the show, Vivien smiled in Royce’s direction before allowing Carrie to bring her to the center of the stage where she would open the show with “Good Morning Baltimore” and get the ball rolling. Carrie gave the younger girl a quick, sympathetic hug before making her way off of the stage to where Charlie and Riven were waiting in the wings. Meeting the blonde’s gaze, Riven asked, “So, how are they doing?”

“Nervous, but I think they’ll do fine,” Carrie said with a smile.

“They will,” Charlie said with a grin. “Once they get into it and forget everyone in the audience is watching them, they’ll have too much fun to be worried.”

“Just watch,” Riven began, “they’ll be so into the show that they won’t realize it’s over until curtain call.”

The trio laughed, but quickly stopped as the clock on the wall rang to alert them that it was time for the show to start. Riven quickly got into position and started the music, nodding to one of his friends to turn on the stage lights as the music began playing throughout the playhouse. Charlie took Carrie by the hand and tugged her to the edge of the stage to get a better view of the show as a pair of teenage staff members prepared to reel the curtains back. Vivien spared one last glance off stage, smiling as Carrie and Charlie sent her matching thumbs-up and encouraging smiles. Taking in a slow breath, Vivien readied herself as she watched Charlie nod to the workers to draw the curtains away from her spot on center stage. As the music for the opening number began, Charlie turned to Carrie with a hopeful smile and sucked in a deep breath, hopeful that they both would be able to make it through the musical without turning into teary puddles in the wings. 

[pinkatron]

Hello all I am back on my buklshit again coming to you with a steaming hot and fresh new Witcher story which takes place in the continent's future!

Fic preview:

The city was alive. Really, that’s all one could say about it and one could barely say that on the best of days. Fall rains which had been blanketing the coast of Bremervoord for nearly two weeks, had finally begun to let up. But once it had let up, fog and smog filled the already tar dyed cobblestones which lined the main road leading into the city center. Every house was burning coal and the result was a toxic miasma, which was being held close to the ground.

People rushed to-and-fro, even during this late hour. Houses would open, laughter and music would pierce the veil of fog and bright light would flood the streets for a moment as a couple quickly left, scurrying into one of the waiting carriage taxis like rats. The taxis, often with lame horses foaming at the mouth, would rush into the fog, taking their occupants to parts unknown without a care for who or what may be in their way. Several times, the sounds of the city were broken by the shrill screaming of humans and horses, followed by the sound of gunshots. The smell of horse blood was thick in the air too as carts hauled by mules would pick up the unfortunate beasts and cart them to less than savory places to be pieced out and sold or utilized to make glue and ink.

Electric lights lined the main road, their warm buzzing bulbs providing another sound which made the city seem even more unbearable to those who would avoid it if they could. They stood proudly beside the oil lanterns and the listless men who lit the lamps looked to them in fear of the jobs they would soon lose.

The world was changing. It always was.

The sound of steel horseshoes on cobblestone was not unusual in the city at night, but a singular rider, draped in a thick oiled wool cloak quieted the noise. Men and women looked on to the rider, who looked as a specter of death, riding silently as carriages rushed around him with shouted words.

He truly was a specter of death, for who could imagine one such as he could still be alive, still be riding even though he was born nearly three hundred and fifty years ago? His eyes, glowing golden, were hidden behind dark spectacles. They stared forwards, as ladies clung to their friends and pointed, before coughing and hurrying to find themselves back through their windows and into their houses.

It used to be, in times past, he would enter a city and he would run the risk of either being stoned or challenged. But these days, people didn’t know of his kind like they used to. These days works of historical fact were looked upon  as fiction and the idea that something like him could have ever existed was told to young boys and girls with an air of glory. He was a hero in the stories, always. He died a hero in those stories too.

But Geralt of Rivia had not died. He had lived and so too had the rest of his caste.

[myriadxofxmuses]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 — BOLD / ITALICIZE what applies

Johanna Mason

𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂.

tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries.

𝚅𝙸𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻𝚂.

filled notebooks / dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.

burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandlewood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint.

tagged by: @conscriptur (tysm)

tagging: @lostxones (Molly), @lunarruled, @waveofstars (Chey), @scinglives (Sarah), @fangsandmagic, @uncxntrxllable (Bailey, Lakota, or Charlie), @summerxmelodies, @heartxshaped-bruises (Zelda & Rachel), @huntrcssqueen (Theo), @blindspct (Miley)

[frederickchill]

CHARACTER AESTHETIC — Frederick Chilton.

BOLD / ITALICIZE what applies.

SOUNDS

tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries.

VISUALS

filled notebooks / dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

SCENTS

burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandlewood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint.

tagged by : @joshosis ♥

tagging : @will-iam-graham @holymollygraham @omniishambles @n1atruc @hvbris @kurjaks @musesofhororr

[65ths]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 — BOLD / ITALICIZE what applies

𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂. tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries.

𝚅𝙸𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻𝚂. filled notebooks/ dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂. burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandalwood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint.

tagged by @mcmorare (ty love!) tagging: @sangbleue @70th @gamehaunt @mehrcedita

[joshosis]

CHARACTER AESTHETIC — Josh Washington. BOLD / ITALICIZE what applies.

SOUNDS

tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries.

VISUALS

filled notebooks / dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

SCENTS

burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandlewood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint.

tagged by : @proofwhisky ♥

tagging : @frvckles @mieleimpuro @frederickchill @vulpineobedience @mctives @lcvnderhazed @manufactoredxbyxdesign @gcverncr @heircurse

[oakthcrn]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 — Lark Oakthorn. BOLD / ITALICIZE what applies

𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂.

tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries.

𝚅𝙸𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻𝚂.

filled notebooks / dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.

burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandlewood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint.

tagged by: @leighiche & @proofwhisky tagging: @nightmdic @conscriptur ( nikolai ) @luminescenc1e ( aleksander ) @aercnaut @wcrriorhearts ( violet ) @soulwaned (inej) @forgedinfernal @penddraig @luposcainus

[proofwhisky]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 — 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝙼𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙱𝚈. BOLD / ITALICIZE what applies.

𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂.

tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries.

𝚅𝙸𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻𝚂.

filled notebooks / dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.

burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandlewood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint.

tagged by : @playedbetter ( ty.. ily... <3 ) tagging : @fuckingbiblical @timerevolt @leighiche @cartelheir @joshosis @depictedmorada @felinoir @am4zon @medicbled @oakthcrn @clochanam

[quillheel]

CHARACTER AESTHETIC — BOLD /ITALICS WHAT APPLIES & REPOST

tagged by: @rebellionhearted , thank you sm!!!!!! <3 <3

tagging: @tenebriism / @tendercoded / @leuvspell / @gloryseized / @finalfronticr / @dreamjumps / @abyssembraced / @somnium-led / @stellaxincubo / @cicxdas / @adventuroushero / @playedbetter and anyone wearing glasses or a hair accessory today! multi's, do as thy wilt! do w/e muses u want!

SOUNDS.

tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries

VISUALS.

filled notebooks / dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

SCENTS.

burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandlewood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint handcream

SOUNDS.

tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries

VISUALS.

filled notebooks / dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

SCENTS.

burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandlewood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint handcream

[cartelheir]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂 — BOLD / ITALICIZE what applies.

𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂.

tinkling of piano keys / the click of a lock / an engine starting, stalling / sinful whispers / stifled sobbing / the rattle of death / alarm blaring / a siren call / spanish guitar strumming / loud laughter at midnight / banshee screeching / drunk hiccuping / the giggle of a child / rolling thunder / disdainful chuckling / bones creaking / carefree whistling / singing off key / flesh hitting concrete / white noise / a mirror cracking / laboured breathing / a groan of pain / waves lapping at the shore / the roar of a lion / pages turning / swords clashing / deep humming / birds chirping / dial tone / tongue popping / fingers tapping a surface / crystals breaking / music turned up to the limit / raindrops on a roof / angry yelling / yawning at noon / horns going off / ravens talking / bubblegum bursting / splashing water / teakettle squeal / militia drums / wolves howling / slow, sarcastic clapping / soprano notes / whispering pleas / gregorian chants / mournful cries.

𝚅𝙸𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻𝚂.

filled notebooks / dogeared books / clean shaves / empty stares / sleeping at a desk / the witching hour / driving all night / restless tides / broken windows / coffee any time / freshly baked goods / bonfires / lounging felines / circles under your eyes / bedhead / tangling in the sheets / leather jackets / paint stains / music sheets / too many tabs to find the music / weary brows / card games / messy ponytails / strained smiles / unsent texts / heart on your sleeve / slow dancing in the rain / star gazing / torn jeans / piles of clothes / filled bookshelves / hurricanes / chapped lips / cliff diving / the lights in venice / stolen kisses / poet shirts / half melted candles / empty coffee mugs / hot tea / unlaced boots / shameless flirting / too young to be so old / laced fingers / eyes in the trees / bloody knuckles / french letters / neon lights / ivy covered balconies

𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.

burnt leaves / turkish coffee / spiced rum / moss / vanilla beans / freshly cut grass / decay / sea salt / strawberries and cream / cinnamon / honey / copper / pineapple / wet dog / pine needles / wood shavings / rainsoaked bark / something sharp, indefinable / Russian tea / dandelions / squeezed limes / Italian wine / freshly laundered clothes / coming rain / hardtack and gruel / roasting flesh / something cloying in the chest / ichor / lillies in spring / pollen / damp clothes / meatpies / greasy coins / curdled milk / leather / bone marrow / wet cement / ricecakes / open paint cans / cocoa leaves / tar / apples / sandlewood cologne / orchids / molded onions / cheap perfume / mistletoe / rubber on fire / grave dirt / old books / new books / melting plastic / roses / poison oak / seacucumbers / peppermint.

tagged by : @proofwhisky thank u ❤️ tagging : @newyorksrose / @flmed / @lcvnderhazed / @parieur / @wellfell / @doomedfist / @clownfile / @thieved / just go ahead and steal this if i forgot to tag you!!