#the only one i finished was encore!

[astralisstar]

i remember when time travel fix-it fics were really popular in the fnaf fnaf fandom. most of them were of mike. there was one where both henry and mike time-traveled. there were also some where william time-traveled. maybe there was other characters but i don't really remember this was last year

[nero-neptune]

the sort of view you get when you go to a random warehouse punk show with a friend. and you’re 5′1.

[ridleymocki]

(seeing so many bad faith interpretations of the argument, y'all are really going to make me do this, okay HERE WE GO)

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

What Ed says: "I think last night was a mistake. I'm not ready for... Whatever this is."

What Ed means: "I didn't want last night to happen so soon or under those circumstances. Things are changing rapidly, which makes me feel out of control and scared."

What Stede hears: "I regret sleeping with you. I don't want the sort of relationship that you're after."

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

What Stede says: "It was a fine fish. It was... whatever. I was just trying to make you feel good!"

What Stede means: "I only cared about the fish because you cared about it, and I care about you. I liked the fish because it made you happy. Ordinarily, I'm ambivalent about fish."

What Ed hears: "I lied to you. I didn't care about your achievement I was just placating you to get what I wanted."

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

What Ed says: "Here's the news: I'm leaving. I got a job on a little fishing boat and I'm leaving. I'm a fisherman now."

What Ed means: "I think I need to be away from you to figure out who I am, because I haven't been able to do that while we're together, and your lifestyle now is the life I'm trying to leave behind."

What Stede hears: "I've made a decision to leave you and have a life without you. I don't value what we have enough to work with you to find a solution, I'd prefer to end it."

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

What Stede says: "Oh, Ed. Seriously? You're not a fisherman."

What Stede means: "I think you're using this plan to escape and avoid your problems. It sounds like you're pretending to be someone else. It seems to me like an impulsive decision and I am concerned."

What Ed hears: "I don't support this ambition. I think you're incapable. I don't think you can be different from what you have always been."

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

This is the kind of analysis done in therapeutic environments. When I put what they mean, it's not just a rephrasing but a boiling down to the core issue. I could go on to the rest of the dialogue but do you see the continuing ship-in-the-night miscommunication?? It's tripartite:

failing to express one's current emotional reality with the most accurate and clear language, often because that reality is not fully understood to oneself,

misinterpreting the other's language, due to preexisting sensitivities and defensiveness about one's own understanding of the situation,

increasing frustration and sense of personal attack that results from those misinterpretations, which perpetuates and worsens the poor communication.

Importantly, this kind of pattern means you miss the best and most important kernels of communication in an exchange because you're reacting to the more inflammatory parts.

Stede: "This can be whatever we want it to be." (I am willing to make changes to our arrangement so that you're happy). Ed: "I don't even know who I am! Alright? I know I don't want to be a pirate. And you, you're blowing up, you're the toast of the town." (I think we want different things. You're just starting a journey that I've already finished).

With those two bits alone they could've sorted this out. The first is the answer to the second. But they didn't -- couldn't -- latch onto it because all their other baggage was getting in the way.

And I'm being proven correct that this is what is happening, because I have seen next to nothing on here about the above two lines, only reactionary takes of fans also focusing on the inflammatory parts because of their predispositions. You're doing an encore performance of what they're doing.

Point being, there are no bad guys in this scene, just repeated system failure!

[namgis-baby]

Only Yours

Hongjoong x f! Reader • drabble, 729 wc • 18+ MDNI!!! 

Summary: Your boyfriend doesn’t appreciate you taking videos of San’s insane body during Django. Completely inspired by this video. 

Tags: dom!hongjoong, possessive!hongjoong, choking, hair pulling, jealousy 

AN: trying to write more, even if its small and quick things :')

You didn’t even notice the disappointment in his eyes as you waved back to your boyfriend when he stared you down at the end of “Django.” You sent a quick wave over before you looked back down to your phone, rewatching the amazing fancam of Sannie that you just took. The way his tanned and oiled up arms glistened under the stage lights and the way he was able to control his body while also dancing so aggressively had you completely mesmerized. Even though he was one of your boyfriend’s best friends, you couldn’t help but be blown away. 

One of the managers tapped on your shoulder halfway through the encore, “Miss, it’s time to head back now that the concert’s almost over.” 

You nodded and grabbed your bag and lightstick, following him behind the stage and into the fluorescent lit hallway. You were about to turn and make your way to their green room, when he stopped you. “Hongjoong-ssi asked me to have you wait in the stylist’s room.” 

You gave him a quizzical look but nodded and made your way there anyway. Since it was the end of the night, the stylists had packed up all their items into suitcases and made their way back to the hotel. The room was reverted back to a normal green room, with a couch in the corner and various tables pushed against the wall. You weren’t too sure why your boyfriend wanted to meet you here instead of in the green room, but sometimes he just wanted some time to decompress after the show away from the boys. You sighed and pulled out your phone, knowing you had some time to kill before they finished the concert and said goodbye to the crowd. 

After scrolling through twitter and responding to some DM’s on Instagram, you sighed as you had really nothing else you could think of doing while waiting for your boyfriend. Scrolling through your phone, trying to find something to do, you stop when you open your Photos app and come across that fancam of San again. You truly had outdone your self - he looked so great. You couldn’t help but zoom in so you could admire those oiled up arms closer. So engrossed in memorizing every aspect of those arms that you didn’t notice you boyfriend walk in the room and shut the door. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” You jumped and threw your phone to the side as you heard him curse, “Not bad enough that you took the video - now you’re rewatching it in detail?” 

“You were so great toda-” you jumped up to squeal and hug him but was quickly stopped as his hand enveloped your throat. He stared you down and pushed you back towards the couch, pushing you to sit while he was towering over you. 

He cocked his head and looked at you with a dead serious look on his face, “I was great? Me? Did you even look at me once today?” 

“Joongie I-” You tried to speak, to make a case for yourself, but quickly shut up when his grip on your throat tightened. You knew better than to edge him on when he was in one of his moods. 

“Dumb little slut. Do we need to go over this again?” He smirked at you condescendingly, “Who is your boyfriend?”

He loosened his grip on your throat slightly, as if to signal to you that it was time to speak, “You, Joongie.” 

“Not Joongie,” his grip tightened again, “Who is your bias?” 

You gulped and squeaked out, “You, sir.” 

He nodded and smirked, bringing his other hand to run gently through your hair, a sharp contrast to his tight grip on your throat. “And who do you belong to?” 

“I belong to you, sir. I’m yours, sir.” You squealed out. 

Happy with your response, he let go of your throat and gave you a light slap on your face, “That’s right, and you better not forget it.” 

You nodded and looked up at him, feeling yourself start to absolutely gush at the way he was treating you. A moan left your lips as he grabbed your hair tightly and pushed you forward so that you were now kneeling in front the couch, face pressed against his crotch. “TIme to prove to me that you belong to me, slut.” 

[dontyoufeelitangel]

Hello Ghesties, Ghouls & Ghoulettes! Welcome to Angels run-down show-down, where I (Angel) do a run down of the Ghovie for all you lovely folk!!

Didn’t get the chance to see the Ghovie aka Rite Here Rite Now? Fear not for I am here! This post will contain a run-down of what happened during the Ghovie.

So this is your warning:

‼️SPOILERS AHEAD ‼️

I will be breaking this down into separate parts:

Lore: contains all lore that was mentioned

Songs: songs that were played

And Theatrics: stage play and other attributes that happened.

Another fair warning: there is a possibility that not everything that happened in the movie is noted here, I may have forgotten some things!! But I will do my best to include everything🤍

Additional notes: many fans including me were worried that this project would be incredibly low quality due to the fact it’s a movie operated by a band. More so worried that the movie would be the same quality as the YouTube episodes. I can confirm that the camera quality for this movie is amazing. You can compare the filmography to Taylor swifts era tour movie. Each shot for rite here rite now is shot with a high-to-low speed motion camera. The audio quality is above and beyond, even nihils ghost is very detailed and realistic. Every film shot is synchronized with the songs and instruments (example: camera changes for each beat/camera focuses on certain ghouls for their assigned solo)

Lore:

Story: the plot of the ghovie is a showcase of their Kia forum concert mixed with short lore scenes. Between every 2-3 songs there would be a scene of Copia running behind stage and talking with imperator and nihil OR getting dressed and ready for his next performance.

When he talked with imperator and nihil, he mostly talked to them about what would happen after the concert. Nihil and imperator told him numerous times that he was “focusing to much on the past and future instead of living in the moment, living right here, right now.”

Copia realizes this before he does his encore, so he goes out and does a great encore assuming he’ll soon die. After the encore and when the concert is finished, unfortunately imperator dies and gives a note to Copia.

The note states that he will not die, but rather be gifted a new higher status in the clergy. In which he’ll further be known as Frater (Latin for brother, which makes sense if we think about the title for sister imperator). And because there is no head for the ghost project they will bring in a new front man. The movie ends before the front man is revealed and we are left on a cliffhanger.

The lore for the ghovie is very similar and the same to what we already know! Not to much was revealed but here were the key points of what was mentioned:

⭐️the other brothers were not directly mentioned or shown on camera. The only references to the other emeritus brothers was the backdrop for the stage (stained glass windows portraying the previous brothers & nihil)

⭐️it was confirmed that Nihil was copias father and that during the kiss the go-goat music video sister imperator was pregnant with Copia.

⭐️Copia even acknowledges nihil as his dad, in one scene where he says “thanks dad”

⭐️sister imperator ends up passing at the end of the movie but becomes a spirit and is seen with the rest of the spirits (nihil and the twins, yes, the twins seem in the YouTube episodes apparently have died)

⭐️the ghouls were not to involved with the lore except for the fact they all surrounded imperators dead body when she passed. (Idk if this counts as lore but) the ghouls also talked in the movie, only for a small scene though. Bass ghoul (Rain) is the ghoul that talked.

⭐️nihil says that he produced three songs. The third song is the one we see during the credits. Song is : the future is a foreign land, as shown here:

SONGS:

The songs that played were the ones that were played at the Kia forum shows. Songs that where played included:

⚡️imperium (pre - opener)

⚡️Kaisarion (opener/curtain pull) (also if I remember correctly there was a short clip of a harp but I’m not sure if it was being played or not during that song.)

⚡️rats

⚡️faith

⚡️spillways

⚡️Cirice (he ciriced the camera making it look like he Ciriced us)

⚡️Absolution

⚡️ritual

⚡️call me little sunshine

⚡️con clavi con dio

⚡️ watcher in the sky

⚡️ if you have ghosts (acoustic version with two cellos, violin & harp ghoulettes. As well as a background vocalist ghoulette who did absolutely amazing! Also papa gives a speech about how “everyone is important and that their presence at that concert was inspiring”)

⚡️dominion

⚡️ Twenties (body painted skeleton dancers came out and performed on stage, they did cartwheels, threw eachother around and even picked up cardi)

⚡️year zero

⚡️spoksonat

⚡️he is (I cried)

⚡️miasma (nihil told Copia that he didn’t want to die, but even when he did he was still happy because he got to perform and bring joy to people temporarily when they revived him. Nihil also told Copia to focus on the good in life)

⚡️Mary on a cross (animated in a scooby-doo style, where nihil chases around imperator as she fights him and runs away)

⚡️ mummy dust

⚡️respite on the spitalfields (each ghoul/ghoulette got a solo)

⚡️ kiss the go-goat

⚡️dance macabre (skeleton dancers come out for a second time with silk fans)

⚡️square hammer

THEATRICS:

Some silly theatrics that happened include:

💙Copia huffing the gas from a whip-cream can before performing.

💙jumped in a storage transfer crate and had a whole convo with nihil.

💙has a the tour manager (Ashley) come out on stage and change his shoes for him.

💙only Copia can see the spirits of his family, so when he would talk to nihil or imperator, spectators around him would think he’s crazy and talking to himself.

💙many of the behind the scenes crew of the band were included in the movie such as : Ashley(tour manager), and many of the security guards & jesus( you know who lol)

💙remember when everyone was freaking out about the fact there’d be a blowjob reference? Yeah well there was no actual blow job scene, the warning for the blow job was for when Kyle aka Jesus came out and blew away the confetti.

💙there is also a scene at the end in which Copia is flying away from the concert (I guess that’s his preferred way of transportation lol??) he is flying in the hot air balloon we see in the cover for rite here rite now. He flies into space before falling, ouch!

💙during his flight there’s a montage of sister imperator being pregnant with him, during this montage we see twins. Twin babies, twin children. We are unsure if this is a reference to Tobias’s twins or if Copia has a twin.

.

If I forgot to add anything or got info wrong please feel free to leave a comment and I will correct myself as fast as possible!!

Don’t you feel it Angel? I do⚡️

[golden-cherry]

the way you like it - c. leclerc

pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

summary: winning twice does something to Charles - in a good way

warnings: basically porn without plot, smut, fingering, overstimulation, slight choking, mentions of creampie and somnophilia, unprotected sex, poorly translated french

word count: 550

a/n: hello friends. I haven't written in a long time and this just happened and I couldn't keep it to myself. enjoy!

"Si bon pour moi, mon amour", Charles groans into your ear, his hand on your stomach sliding down to your thighs and feeling how sticky they are, stained with both of your cum. "Regarde combine tu es venu pour moi." so good for me, my love. look at how much you came for me.

"Charles, please." Your voice is barely more than a whisper. With your eyes closed, you blindly try to reach for his hand, his skilled fingers slowly circling your swollen clit. "It's too much. I can't-"

Charles carefully pushes your hand away and you're too exhausted to do anything about it. "You can and you will." You feel his sweaty skin against your back as he drapes your leg over his hip, his front pressing against your back. "Je Saison sue tu en as encore un pour moi." I know you've got one more for me.

You couldn't have known that his second Grand Prix win in a row would not only increase his self-confidence, but his stamina by one hundred percent as well. Right after his victory celebration and all the formalities, Charles had dragged you into his hotel room and you hadn't left the bed since. That was several hours and several orgasms ago.

Your pussy is sore, your thighs ache and the thin skin on your neck is visibly red from his beard scratching over it. But Charles doesn't care. As his fingers gently circle your most sensitive spot, his other arm wraps around you and his hand gropes your tit. As he rolls your nipple between two fingers, you lean your head back against his shoulder, moaning.

"Charles, I-"

"What do you want, ma belle? Huh? Do you want my fingers?" The fingers that were just circling your clit glide lower and he gently slides two inside you. "Tu sens comme tu es mouillée?" do you feel how wet you are for me? He curls his fingers, touching that sweet spot inside you that makes you squirm and see stars. "Ou est-ce moi qui fuis de toi?" or is it me that's leaking out of you?

You can't talk, can't even think as he spreads soft kisses on your neck and slowly fucks his come back into you, his fingers bringing you once again to your climax. Completely overstimulated and close to the pain threshold, you grab his wrist to push him away, almost whining, and indeed he lets you.

Only to then press you even closer to his muscular body and slide his cock home for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Your eyes roll back, your breathing is ragged. "Dètends-toi, ma belle." just relax, pretty one. Charles' hand, which was on your tit a moment ago, gently rests against your throat. As you moan, he can feel the vibration and his cock twitches noticeably.

"I know you're fucked out and tired, but I'm not finished with you yet." He places his thumb on your jaw and tilts your head so he can take a look at your face. Your brows are furrowed, your lips swollen and you're so exhausted that you can only breathe him in. He loves what he does to you.

"And I know that you don't mind me fucking you when you're asleep." His thrusts are slow, but hard. You feel him everywhere. "Go to sleep, mon amour. I'm right here." Charles presses a kiss to your forehead, before nuzzling his face back into your neck, his hips slowly rocking you to sleep. "And when you wake up, I'll still be inside you. Just comme tu lahmes." just the way you like it.

[lunarzstarz]

Jealous

Pairing: Rockstar!EddieMunson x Rockstar!Fem!Reader

Content Warning: NSFW 18+ minors dni, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 you tap it guys!) slight degradation, spanking, edging/denial, slight humiliation?? slightly proofread

Summary: Eddie finally figures out why you've been acting like such a bitch towards him and won't stop until you finally admit it to him (or Eddie fucking you till you admit you're jealous of him getting with other girls (I'm so shit at summaries bye)

A/N: based off of this ask, been meaning to write some rockstar!eddie for a while so I just had to write this, not sure how I feel about it yet, but hope you guys like it!

Also for those asking about the link to the audio mentioned in the original ask here you go: https://soundgasm.net/u/misterblissful/M4F-Its-Not-About-The-Party

(btw I'm making an Eddie Munson taglist so if you're interested just lmk AND TYSM FOR 1K+ FOLLOWERS WHAT?!)

As always, likes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

Word Count: 2.7k

You had just finished your third encore, the crowd chanting and cheering as you made your way off stage, the rest of the band following, all of you high off that post show buzz. The boys are still shouting and laughing behind you as you head backstage, exhausted after putting on one of your best performances yet. 

Opening the door that had a “Corroded Coffin” sign stuck to it, you’re met with a room filled with a handful of girls, all clad in leather and red lipstick, girls that you noticed the boys had been eyeing up all night, especially Eddie. It was routine for him to pick his favourites and invite them backstage after the show, new girls every night so he could let out some of that adrenaline. 

The girls stare as the rest of the band follow you inside, each of you taking a seat on the beaten up leather couches that were scattered around the room. Eddie sits facing you, already pulling one of the girls into his lap as she congratulates him on such a good show, practically shoving her tits in his face. You fight not to roll your eyes as he thanks her, he really couldn’t care less about what she had to say, cutting off her rambling by shoving his tongue down her throat, she wasn’t gonna protest. 

“Definitely one of our best, the crowd was insane!” Gareth says, lighting up a post show joint, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, one of the girls making their way over to him. 

You think about biting your tongue, but when the girl practically started moaning as Eddie groped her, you couldn’t help yourself. “Hmm I don’t know…” you sigh, chipping away at your nail polish. 

Eddie pulls away from the girl, snapping his head in your direction “Here she goes, what now?” 

You hear Gareth and Jeff groan, they knew what was about to happen, it always did after a show. “I don’t know, just think you sounded a bit…pitchy is all” you lie. Eddie played and sang perfectly tonight, you all did, but you knew that commenting on his performance would get under his skin, it always did, maybe even bruise his ego a little. 

He laughs, no humour behind it “pitchy?” 

“Yeah, pitchy” you glare at him “Sounded like you were dying on the fifth song, just saying…” 

“Yeah? Well you were out of tune the whole night, don’t see me commenting on that or the fact you weren’t in time with the band for half the songs” he snaps.

“Me? Your the one who fucked up your solo and-” 

“Right, guys can we not do this tonight? Heads fucking killing me” Gareth groans, sinking further into is seat. 

“No, no, if she has something to say she can say it!” Eddie says, pushing the girl off his lap, she huffs, sulking in her seat, shooting daggers at you for interfering with her fun. 

“Well all I’m saying is it can’t be that hard to sing a few songs” you roll your eyes at him and he scoffs.

“And all I’m saying is, is it that fucking hard to not be a bitch after every show!” He starts raising his voice.

“I’m a bitch? Well you’re a shit singer and a dick, I was only giving you constructive criticism” you shout right back, getting up to leave.

“I’ll give you constructive criticism-” he stands with you and Jeff grabs him.

“Sit down! The both of you need to chill out” he said, sounding exasperated. You and Eddie stare at each other, blood boiling, looking ready to tear one another apart any second now. 

“What is your fucking deal?” Eddie spat, getting in your face this time.

“My deal? My deal is you don’t care about this band or putting on a good show, all you care about getting your dick wet and fucking whores after shows!” You spat right back at him, you weren’t afraid to fight.

Eddie said nothing, but it was like a lightbulb went off in his mind as he stared down at you, his gaze darkening. Jeff urged you back into your seats, Eddie still watching you intently. “Now can I trust you not to rip each other’s throats out while I go call Steph?” Jeff asks, standing between the two, scolding you like children.

The silence was a good enough answer as he disappeared out back to call his girlfriend. You sat back in your seat, lighting up a cigarette, puffing on it angrily, the only thing filling the quiet was the music playing over the staticy speakers and the sound of Eddie’s lips smacking against the girl's neck. 

You couldn’t help but spare a glance at them. She was straddling his lap at this point, his hands gripping at her waist as he attacked her neck. He makes eye contact with you as he slides his hand up her skirt. You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away, if you didn’t leave now he’d probably fuck her in front of you too. 

“I’m going to the bathroom” you announce bluntly, not caring if anyone acknowledged as you stubbed out your cigarette and left. You couldn’t stand to sit there and watch Eddie be with that girl, it was the same every night, girls, girls, girls. He clearly couldn’t get enough of them and most of the time you had no other choice to watch. 

You walk down the corridor, earning a few compliments on your performance from the stage crew on your way. You head into the small bathroom and lock the door. The fluorescent lights flickered above you as you took in your reflection. Hair a bit dishevelled and eyeliner smudged after hours of performing, you sigh, doing your best to fix it.

Checking the time, it was still quite early considering it was a show night, but maybe you should just head back to the hotel? There wasn’t much to do here, you could maybe head out to the bar for a few hours, find yourself someone for the night, but you didn’t feel like it.

You were raking your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it in some way when there was banging on the door “Occupied!” you called, hoping whoever it was would leave. They banged again, harder this time “Hey I said-” 

“It’s me” Eddie’s voice came from the other side. 

“So? I’m busy, go away” you ignore him, going back to fixing your lipstick. 

“Just open the fucking door” he snaps, jiggling he handle. 

You sigh, turning the lock and swinging the door open “What?” He doesn’t give you a second to move before he’s pushing his way inside, almost knocking you over. “Jesus- let me out first!” You shove him, but he locks the door behind himself and blocks you from leaving.

“Let me out you creep!” You push him again but he wouldn’t budge.

“No.” He says, crossing his arms.

“No?” You scoff at him “Eddie get the fuck out of my way.”

“No, not until you admit you’re jealous.”

You look at him, confused “jealous?”

“That’s right” he stands up straighter. 

“Why would I be jealous?” You mirror his stance, keeping up your act.

“I don’t know” he takes a step towards you “I think you’re jealous of me fucking other girls, think you want me all to yourself.”

You step back, though there wasn’t much more you could move, your back hitting the sink “Please..” you sneer, diverting your eyes to the tiled floor.

“No need to beg for it sweetheart” he takes another step closer, placing his arms on either side of the sink, caging you in as he towered over you.

You could feel his smokey breath on your neck as he leaned down “Just admit it and I’ll let you go.”

You took a deep breath, bringing yourself to look up at him, the way he was looking at you, it took everything not to give up your act. “I’m. Not. Jealous.”

He laughs “fine, don’t want to admit it?” he grabs your waist and forces you to turn around.

“Eddie what the-“ he gripped your chin, making you meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Sooner you admit it, sooner you can go” he says, moving your hair out of the way, watching your reflection as he lowers his mouth to your neck. Before you can object, even if you didn’t want to, you feel his teeth grazing over your sensitive skin, tugging it between his lips and soothing his tongue over each bite. 

You hold back from letting any sounds escape, you weren’t giving into him that easily, even if it did feel great. You watch as his hand loosens its grip on your chin, sliding over the expanse of your throat, down to your chest, cupping at your tits through the thin fabric of your tight dress. 

A small sound bubbles in your throat as he pinches your nipples and sucks on that sweet spot behind your ear, you feel him smirk against your skin. “What was that?” he mutters, breath tickling your neck. 

He lets his free hand wander down over your chest and stomach, to the hem of your dress, lifting it up round your waist. You feel his fingers press on the damp fabric of your underwear, dragging them up over your clit.

You bite back a moan, eyes fluttering shut. He pulls away, landing a hard smack to your ass causing you to hiss and buckle forward. You glare at his reflection.

“Want you to watch yourself while I fuck you” he says, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and dragging them down your legs till they fall around your ankles. 

He stared down at your bare cunt, knocking your legs wider so he could spread you open. He makes eye contact with you as he glides his fingers through your slick “this for me?”

“A-as if” you say, a little breathless, he smiles.

He starts to undo his belt and jeans, you listen to the clinking as he pulls them down his thighs, taking out his cock and stroking himself “See what you do to me? I can admit I want to fuck you, it’s not hard.”

“I don’t want to fuck you” you say through gritted teeth, feeling his hand run through your folds. 

“No? Then why aren’t you stopping me?” He pushes you forward, forcing you to lean on your elbows as he positions himself behind you. “I think this is what you wanted all along, isn't it. Want me to fuck the truth out of you?”

Your silence is all the answer he needs. He grabs your hips, letting a glob of his spit drop onto your folds, grabbing himself by the base to slide his head through it.

You whine, grip tightening on the porcelain, his smug smile only grows as he pushes the tip of his cock into you. You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped you as you felt him stretching you out, your eyes screwing shut.

He stops, landing another smack to your ass “hey, told you I wanted to you watch” his voice stern.

You force yourself to look at him again as he pushes the rest of his length into you, making you feel impossibly full. “Now I’ll give you one more chance to confess.” 

You stare at his reflection, you hated that he was right, but you weren’t letting him win this time. Admitting to Eddie that the reason you’d been a bitch to him was just because you wanted to fuck him, he’d never let you live it down. “I’m not jealous.” 

“Fine” he sighs, pulling all the way before slamming right back into you. You practically squeal, rushing to cover your mouth with the palm of your hand. Eddie tsks, grabbing both of your wrists and holding your arms behind your back with one hand. 

“Want you to hear how pathetic you sound when I’m fucking you on my cock” he grunts, starting his fast pace, using his grip on your wrists as leverage. You could do nothing but fall into submission, the feeling of him so deep inside, dragging over all those perfect spots, it made you a mess in seconds. 

You watch the two of you in the mirror, Eddie has his lip tucked between his teeth, watching himself fuck into, while you unravel beneath him. “Poor things pulling me in, been neglected for so long hasn’t she” he face pouts at your reflection, you can do nothing but whimper in response, the room filling with the wet sounds of your slick.  

Your whole body was on fire, your arms beginning to ache as he pinned them back. “Fuck- you feel fucking amazing, better than all my whores huh?” he taunts, watching you try so hard to keep your eyes on him. “Bet you knew you were better, bet that's why you were jealous, jealous that they had all my attention and not you?” 

You weren’t giving in. He let go of your wrists, bringing up one of your knees to rest against the sink, hitting you at a new angle that drove you crazy. Pleasure shot through your core, building fast, you collapsed onto the counter, forehead resting against the cool porcelain. Another hard slap to your ass had you rocking back into him. 

“Thought I told you to watch? Pick your head up” he orders, but you can’t, you were so close already, you’d felt like you lost control over your body. 

“I- I can’t” you pant, huffing in defeat, gripping onto the sink so hard your knuckles turned white.

He laced his fingers through your hair, tugging on it harshly, the burn making you moan “Got to do everything for you huh? You that fucking dumb?” you shake your head in response. 

“P-please Eddie- I’m-” you couldn’t finish a sentence, your head was spinning, the knot in your stomach tightening. 

“Please what? You gonna cum?” he asks, reaching around you to rub your clit. 

“Fuck! Please Eddie, please” you beg, feeling yourself approaching the edge of your release. 

“No, not until you admit you wanted this, that you’re oh fuck- not until you admit you’re jealous” he brings you right to the edge, losing it when he feels your walls tightening around him “Don’t you fucking dare cum.” 

Hot tears were streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of it all “P-please I need to-” 

“All you gotta do is admit it, better hurry, so fuckin’ close I’ll cum in you and leave you here to help yourself out” he hisses, he’d been holding off long enough. 

You couldn’t hold on any longer, the ache between your legs growing, you needed your release. Swallowing your pride you make eye contact with him “I-’m sorry for being such a- oh shit-” 

“Come on you can do it, I’m so close baby come on” Eddie was also losing it, watching you fall apart. 

“For being s-such a bitch, I was- I was jealous” you whine, no longer able to keep yourself up. 

“Apology accepted” Eddie grips your hips, pounding into you at a brutal pace “You can cum.” 

You finally let go of all that tension, crying a mantra of his name as you cum, listening to Eddie curse behind you as he empties his load inside of you. “Jesus- fucking- christ-” He pumps into you a few more times, making sure you took every last drop. 

You lay resting against the sink, breathing uneven and legs weak. You feel Eddie pull out, fixing your underwear in place to keep his release inside of you, pulling your dress back down. “Got anything to say about that performance?” he teases, soothing a hand over your back, you groan in response, he laughs. 

“Maybe next time you can be a big girl and come tell me what you want from me instead of being such a brat about it.”

taglist: @reidsaurora-replies @hornyhornyhimbos @niyahwhoreworld @hargrovesswifee @iunaelumen777

[darksigns-exe]

dors encore jusqu'au jour où tout ira bien* - noah sebastian x f!reader

*sleep on until the day when all is well

warnings: Swearing, discussions of mental health, depression, burnout and relationship issues

word count: 5.9k

note: This is a hefty one. It gets very angsty in certain parts, but if you know me, you know that I cannot bring myself to write a bad ending. Regardless of that, please think of yourself first and feel free to sit out on this one if you’re not in the headspace to dip into almost 6k of angst. Thank you to @deathblacksmoke and @circle-with-me for your feedback <3

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You’re not sure when it happened. 

It feels like one day everything was fine and the next he’s pushing his dinner across the plate as if it’s the most revolting thing he’s ever seen. 

You’ve never seen Noah like this. 

Sure, he gets quite sometimes. He has days when he locks himself behind the door of the studio and only emerges to eat and to take a bathroom break. 

This is different, though. 

When you think about it, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him smile or heard him laugh. You’re sure that it can’t have been long, surely you haven’t missed him tumbling into his hole. 

You don’t realise how bad it actually is until he starts to miss appointments, until you have to convince him to get out of bed just to have breakfast with you. He retreats back into the safety of your bedroom as soon as he’s finished with what you know to be too little food. You know that he’s only coming downstairs for your sake. And somehow that makes it worse. 

You sit in silence for a long while on that morning. You’ve watched him wither for too long already. And maybe that’s why you call Nick that morning, hoping that he can give you some kind of insight. Nick has all the answers, he always knows. 

He doesn’t this time. 

All he can offer is what you already know. 

Knowing Noah, he’ll be resistant to help until it's almost too late. Still, you make your way up the stairs towards your shared bedroom. They feel impossibly long today. It’s not like you’re going to break horrible news to him, but you know your boyfriend well enough to know that he’ll deny that anything is wrong. He’ll insist that everything is just fine, even when you both know that the exact opposite is the truth. 

The worst thing, you think, is that you don’t know why he feels like this. You’ve tried to ask him if he’s looking forward to the shows, to playing the new songs, but all you ever got in response was a half-hearted shrug. Watching him lose all passion for the thing he loved had broken a little piece inside of you.

You knock on the door before you crack it open just a little bit. 

“Noah?” you ask softly, not sure if he’s still awake or if sleep had already taken him over again.  

No reply. 

You force yourself through the crack in the door and close it as quietly as you can. He’s curled up on his side, turned away from the door. The sight breaks your heart even more. His body moves with slow breaths, and you’re still not sure if he’s awake or not. 

You sit on the edge of the bed behind him. You place your hand on his back, and he jumps at the touch, shrinking further away from you. 

“You don’t have to say anything. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, love, but I’m here.” you can’t stop the tears from falling as you speak, “I don’t know how to help you, but we need to do something. I’m worried about you.”

He stays silent, but you can feel him draw in a deep breath under your palm. 

“Nick thinks that you should think about cancelling the shows.” 

You regret it as soon as you’ve said it. 

The look on his face when he finally turns to look at you hurts more than anything else. The anger that suddenly radiates from him makes scoot back from him instantly.

“And why the fuck would I do that? This is none of your business. I don’t go around telling you how to do your job, do I?” he seethes, “You have nothing to be worried about.”

“You’re obviously not well. I’m just trying to help.” you reply, feeling awfully helpless. 

Noah sits up, his back still turned to you. 

“If you think you know me so well, you should know that I’m fine. And I don’t need your help, either. Maybe you should find someone else to pity.” 

He’s out of the room before you can say another word. Deep down, you know that the anger isn’t real. You don’t know what has its claws in him, but you know that it’s bad. 

You don’t know where he disappears to after that. 

The studio is empty, and his keys have disappeared from the little chest of drawers by the door. A part of you wants to abandon him then and there. If he wants to soak in his misery, let him. But at the same time, you know that he needs you more than ever now, even if he isn’t ready to see that yet. 

You get a text from Jolly not long after that, letting you know that Noah showed up at his door looking all kinds of messed up. He lets you know that he’s out cold on the sofa for the time being, but that there needs to be a conversation before long. 

Jolly drops of a clearly miserable Noah the following morning. 

“You should shower before they get here.” Jolly says curtly as Noah disappears up the stairs once again. 

You both watch in silence as he disappears into the bathroom, and you let out a sigh when you hear the shower turn on. Without asking, you’re wrapped into a tight hug and finally the tears you’ve been holding back all day break free from you. 

“I talked to him.” he says, still holding you close, “I think he understood. The Nicks will be here in a bit, and we’ll talk about cancelling the shows.”

“Thank you.” you mumble into the fabric of his shirt. 

He gives you another squeeze before releasing you from the hug, “How are you doing? I know this has to be hard on you too.” 

You do feel a little bit bad for pouring your heart out to him like this, but it feels good to finally talk to someone besides yourself about any of this. 

Before long, your conversation is interrupted by the bathroom door opening again. You think Noah resembles a wet puppy more than he does a man, and it makes you feel impossibly bad for him. He stands at the top of the stairs, wrapped into one of the hoodies you know he likes, watching you intently. His hands wring together nervously, brow furrowed so deeply that you’re sure that it aches a little. You excuse yourself and swiftly come up to meet Noah. 

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly, barely managing to meet your eyes, “I want to apologise.”

You follow him into your bedroom.

Noah sits down at the foot of your bed. You sit next to him, a hands' width away from. 

“What I said — that was not okay. I shouldn’t have said that.” he remains focused on his still fidgeting hands, “I’m really sorry.”

The way he’d looked at you a day earlier still lingered in your mind, and even though you know that he didn’t actually mean what he said, you can’t help but feel hurt. 

“I know you are. I know you didn’t mean what you said. It still hurt.” you reach for his hands, interlacing yours with one of his, “But we’ll be okay. I just need you to talk to me. I don’t know what to do if you don’t talk to me.” 

Noah squeezes your hand just a little bit, “I’m sorry that I let it get this bad.”

You pull him into your arms and Noah folds almost instantly. His head drops to your shoulder. The fabric of your shirt grows a little damp, and the silent sob that shakes through his body makes your chest ache. 

The other two arrive within the next thirty minutes, with Folio running a little late because he once again misjudged the time it would take him to get to your place. You stay in the living room while they talk in the kitchen, despite Noah’s protest. As much as you want to sit with him and hold his hand, you know that he has to do this on his own. In the end, the conclusion is that the shows need to be cancelled so that Noah will have some kind of chance to recuperate. You overhear his quiet admission that maybe he has piled a little bit too much onto his plate, that he’s tried to do too much in too little time. You know that all he’s ever wanted was to see this band do well, and when they finally got that, he’d done everything he needed to make sure that they’d stay up there. And now, in retrospect, you know that you should have tried to do something earlier. 

Hindsight is evil like that. 

The three of them don’t stay for dinner. Nick stays for a while longer, but you can tell that Noah longs for the house to be quiet again. And he practically falls into your lap as soon as you’ve sat down next to him again. Your fingers card through his hair, just how he likes it, while you sit in silence. He falls asleep a little while later. His brow remains furrowed, and you can easily tell that he’s clenching his jaw. You let Noah rest like this for a while, before you carefully slip out from under him. He stirs a little, blinking up at you with drowsy eyes. You kneel down next to him, placing your hand against his cheek. 

“I’m gonna order us something for dinner. How do you feel about Korean?” 

His expression only changes minimally. 

“We can get whatever you want.” Your thumb drifts across his cheek, “But you need to eat something, darling.”

You end up heating up a portion of frozen tomato soup for each of you. You’re sure that you see a faint trace of a smile on his face when you place the grilled cheese in front of him. 

For the first time in weeks, you think that things are looking up. 

Despite your best efforts, you watch him sink deeper and deeper into this hole. He’s distant, drifting along as days pass and turn into weeks, and you feel as if there’s nothing that you can do to make it better. You’ve managed to convince him to see Ash at least once a week, but even that had felt like an uphill battle. You feel awful for making him leave the house when he so evidently doesn’t want to do that. At the same time, it feels like the only thing you can do besides holding him close when it gets so bad that he wakes in the middle of the night, body shaking with bitter sobs that sear right through you. 

You know that you can’t force Noah to talk. But at the same time you wish that he’d at least divulge a little bit of what is going on in his head, maybe that way you could do more. 

You think that he’s coming up on the other side when you find him in his studio one afternoon. It isn’t until you actually step inside the room that you notice his face buried in his hands. In a split second, you find yourself kneeling at his side. At first, he doesn’t move, remains stuck as he is. 

“Talk to me, Noah. Please.” You plead, placing your hand on him as best as you can with this weird angle, “I want to help, but I don’t know what you need if you don’t talk to me.”

Reluctantly, he swivels the chair towards you, allowing him to somewhat drape himself over you. The silent tears break your heart even further. You’ve seen him cry before, more in recent weeks than ever before, but this feels different. He sinks down in front of you, utterly broken down. And all you can do is hold him close, whispering soothing things to him. You don’t know if your words even reach his conscious mind, but maybe they sink into him somewhere, maybe deep down they find a home in him. 

“It doesn’t work. I can’t do it any more.” He whispers after some time. 

Your fingers card through his hair, trying to get him to look at you, but Noah resists, keeping his face pressed against your shoulder. 

“What doesn’t work?” You ask softly. 

Instead of giving you an answer, he throws a hesitant look towards the still opened editing software on his monitor. 

“Oh darling.” You sigh, wrapping him even tighter into your embrace.

“This is all I have.” He says feebly, “This is who I am.”

“Noah.”

He pulls away just a little bit. The only way you can describe the look on his face is panicked. 

“What am I going to do if I can’t do the one thing I’m good at any more? I — I don’t know what I’m going to do.” He hiccups in between words, and it’s evident that he’s barrelling towards a panic attack, “I can’t lose this.”

He descends into rambling, chest heaving frantically, and for a second you feel so very helpless. It doesn’t matter what you say, your words won’t reach him, no amount of it’ll be okay can fix this, and it hurts so terribly. 

You place your hands on the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you as a last ditch effort. 

“Look at me, Noah.” You’re not sure where you find the energy to be this firm with him, “I need you to listen to me now, okay? I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what happens. The guys aren’t going anywhere. The band isn’t going anywhere. Whatever happens, we’re all here. Your friends are here, and we love you so much. It doesn’t matter how much time you need. We’ll all be here when you’re ready. And even if that’s in a month or a year. And if it gets worse, and you never get there again, we’ll still be here. No one is going to leave. I won’t leave.” 

He’s quieted down to sniffles by then. His cheeks are so awfully red and splotchy, and you don’t think that you’ve ever seen him look more exhausted before. 

“I know this is scary. And I know that we can make it through this, but I need you to talk to me. Watching you suffer through this in silence hurts a lot. I feel so helpless watching you fall apart like this.”

“I’m just so scared of losing all of this.” The admission comes so quietly, “What if we can’t keep up with the demand? What if we can’t —“

“What happened to doing whatever you want regardless of how it’ll sell?” You reach for his hand instead, “I know this sudden rise felt good, but this is not sustainable. You can’t spend months on the road, barely sleeping, just so you can keep up with all of this. This — the band, the fans, the music wouldn’t be here without you. All of you.”

You squeeze his hand tightly. 

“We’ll figure this out, Noah.” You press a kiss to the back of his still trembling hand, “I promise.”

He lets out a heavy breath, folding in on himself just a little bit. 

“I’m sorry that you have to deal with this.” He sighs. 

“I would do it over and over again. As often as I have to. And I know that you’d do the same for me.” 

Noah’s the one who brings up the idea of a vacation. He doesn’t make a direct suggestion, but you find a print out of an Airbnb in Oregon on the kitchen table one morning, and that’s good enough for you. You’re glad for any kind of active participation he’s willing to give. It’s been a difficult few weeks, but you think that he’s starting to feel a little better. On some days, you think that he’s almost back on top. He’s all smiles and sweet words, just to fall back down the next day. It’s a slow climb, but you’re moving forwards. 

Oregon will be nice. 

The drive is nice, albeit awfully long. Noah had admitted that he didn’t feel good enough to drive, and you’re glad that he’s able to see what he is and isn’t ready for. He seems to be quite comfortable navigating and selecting music, though. You don’t say anything when you hear him humming along to one of the songs, afraid that it’ll make him shrink back into his shell. Hearing his dumb little laugh at a street sign reading Weed gives you a little bit of hope. 

In the months since Noah had been at home, the intimate side of your relationship had been practically non-existent. For a while you’d felt as if you were living with a friend rather than your boyfriend of three years. Noah had never one to shy away from intimacy, your relationship had always been interlaced with soft touches and kisses. To watch him recoil at your touch had been incredibly hurtful, even when you knew - or rather hoped - that it was only a momentary thing. 

By the time your first week in Oregon is almost over, you dare to let your hands wander across his chest once again. It’s strangely foreign. You’d been so used to touching him like this, and now it almost feels as if you have relearn everything again. 

You’ve laid awake for the past hour. He looks much more relaxed now compared to some weeks earlier. The persistent furrow in his brow is slowly easing, and his sleep seems to be a little more restful. 

You do feel a little bad for disturbing his much-needed rest, but you can’t help yourself. He looks so beautiful in the warm morning light falling through the open sliver in the curtains. 

Your fingers trail across the streak of light that runs across his tummy and chest. The muscles twitch beneath your touch, but he doesn’t quite stir yet. You try to keep your touch as gentle as you can. Noah only wakes when your fingers brush against his hip. He stretches, letting you a soft noise as he does. There’s no protest when you trace up the length of his side. He’s still so sleepy, eyes all soft and warm, and you absolutely have to kiss him. 

He leans into your hand when you place it against his cheek. You draw him in for a kiss for what feels like the first time in months. It’s so gentle and chaste, barely there, but it seems to ignite something in Noah. A second later you find yourself on your back, with him hovering above you. One of your hands drifts along his back, before it settles at his waist, guiding him towards you. 

It’s over as quickly as it has started. 

“I can’t.” He says quietly, forehead once again dropped against your shoulder. 

“It’s okay, honey. We don’t have to.” You soothe, carefully threading your fingers into his hair, “We can just have a little cuddle instead.”

“I can’t.” He looks absolutely miserable when he detaches himself from you, “It doesn’t work. This is so fucking embarrassing.”

You realise then when he means. The agony and embarrassment on his face make you wish that you could just magic it all away. 

You want him back, not just for yourself but because you can see that this is torture for him too. 

“I’m sorry.” Noah adds quietly, “I’m — I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

You don’t let go of him though and his efforts to leave are quickly squashed when he flops back down next to you. 

“Can you look at me for a moment, Noah?” He meets your eyes so hesitantly. 

He almost looks as if he’s just waiting to be told what a disappointment he is and somehow that hurts even more. 

“It’s okay. I’m not upset, and I don’t think less of you because of it. It’ll come back.” You say earnestly, hoping that he’ll take at least some of it to heart, “You’re still my boyfriend and I love you so much regardless of what you can or can’t do at the moment. I know you love me, you don’t have to sleep with me to show that.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, eyes flitting across your face nervously, before he settles into the slightest hint of a content smile. 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

“You do. You deserve to be treated with love and respect, especially when you need it most.” 

“I just wish that I could give some of it back.”

“You have. And in time you will again. But right now, it’s my turn to make sure that you know that you’re safe and loved.” 

His expression changes into something you can’t quite place yet. Maybe it’s realisation, maybe it’s relief, or a mixture of both. 

Noah shifts a little closer to you, taking your hands into his, “Thank you. You’ve been so patient with me.”

“Of course. It’ll always be you and me, okay? We’ve gotten through so much, we’ll get through this, too. You’ve already come so far, and I’m so proud of you.”

At the end of your second week, you’d called the owners to extend your stay for another week. Being away from home like this was good for him and if he needed a little more time here then so be it. You could thankfully afford that luxury. 

You find him furiously scribbling in a notebook when you come back from the store one afternoon. You couldn’t remember if he’d brought one of his or if he’d borrowed yours, but whatever had sprung into his mind was important enough for him to need to get it onto paper immediately. You watch him from the doorway for a moment, not wanting to disturb him just yet. Instead, you bring the rest of your shopping into the house as quietly as you can. Noah comes to meet you at the door just as you bring in the last bag.

“You’re back quick.” he states somewhat blankly. 

“Didn’t want you to be alone for too long.” you reply, tossing the pack of toilet roll towards him, “Can you get one of the bags?” 

His face turns down into a frown, before he reaches for one of the bags and marches off into the depths of the house. 

As much as his overall mood has improved, it’s still so changeable. The smallest thing tips him off and you either end up at each other's throats or with you cradling him in your arms while he tries to quiet down his tears. You’re so tired of the fighting, though. You don’t mind doing this for him, in fact you do it gladly, but sometimes it exhausts you. The boys had been your greatest crutch, checking in with you once in a while to make sure you were also taking care of yourself, and you are more than grateful for it. All three of them had been so incredibly supportive in their own ways. As soon as you’d mentioned that you were heading up to Oregon for a bit, Folio had sent you link after link with recommendations of things to do and look at. You hadn’t had the heart to tell him that you were glad if you’d get Noah to sit outside with you in the evenings. You had eventually managed to convince Noah to go on little walks with you, just to get him out of the house and moving a little bit. In the end, he had been the one who had dragged you out of the door in the morning so that you could get to that one nice spot before the tourists got there. 

Noah is nowhere to be seen when you enter the kitchen. The bags are haphazardly placed in front of the counter, with no sight of him anywhere. 

Your call of his name remains unanswered. 

When you don’t see him on the bench out on the back porch, you make your way through the house, checking various rooms until you find him once again sequestered away in the bedroom. 

“Baby?” you ask softly, “Everything okay?” 

Noah makes a somewhat indignant sound then, and you swear that you see him rolling his eyes. 

“Noah.” 

“You can stop babying me. I’m not incapable of living without you.” he shoots back, “You don’t need to hound me all day. I’ll be fine.” 

“I just want to –” 

He scoffs, “I know you just want to help. And why do you think I need your help? I’m not – I don’t need you to pity me.” 

The first tears fall before your jaw has the chance to tremble. 

You try not to listen to the bitter words he hurls at you. They slowly chip away at your confidence. 

“I’m not some lost puppy you need to take care of.” 

Somehow, that’s your last straw. 

“You know what, Noah. I’m sorry for putting my life on the back burner for you. I’m sorry that I tried to help the man I love.” you turn on your heels, leaving the room before he can throw more vitriol your way. 

Your feet carry outside and down the pathway towards the river. Your chest feels so awfully tight. There’s only so much you can take, and hearing him discredit everything you’ve done for him feels as if he’s struck a sword straight through your chest. You collapse on the low bench in front of the firepit you haven’t had the chance to use yet. As much as you try to convince yourself that he doesn’t actually mean what he said, you can’t quite bring yourself to do so. The anger on his face seemed so real. Maybe you had gone a little overboard with your care. All you had wanted was for him to feel better, you had never meant to overstep. 

It feels so heartbreaking. 

Out of all the fights you’ve had recently, this one feels the most devastating. Although, you’re not even sure if you can call this a fight. 

You don’t know if you can come back from this. 

The longer you sit in silence, the worse the feeling gets. Somehow, you had hoped that he’d come out and find you, that he’d try to fix it. Instead, you’re out here on your own, shivering as the air gets colder and colder. You’re not sure how long you’re out here, but no matter how much you try, you can’t will yourself to head back inside. 

The call of your name barely reaches you, not even the orb of the torch you’d brought two days into your stay makes you look up. It’s only when his figure crouches in front of you, hands desperately smoothing along your shoulders and face. 

“You’re freezing.” his voice trembles when he speaks, “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” 

His sweater is draped across your shoulders, his warmth sinks into you almost immediately. 

Noah’s hands curl around yours, holding them just a little bit too tightly. He’s shaking like a leaf. It’s too dark to make out the intricacies of his face, but the fear is obvious. 

“I– I couldn’t find you inside. I didn’t know where you’d gone.” the words rush from his mouth so quickly that he stumbles across a few of them, “I’m so sorry. Let’s get you inside. Please, my love.” 

When you don’t immediately move, his forehead drops to your knees, hands tucked under him so that he can press his lips to your palms. 

“I wish I could take it all back. I’m such an ass. Fuck, you do so much for me and I can’t even say thank you for it.” another kiss to your palms, “Please come inside with me. I don’t want you to get ill because of me.” 

Noah rises to his feet, slowly pulling you with him. 

His hand remains wrapped around yours, as if he’s scared that you’ll vanish again. Through the open sliding door, you can already smell what you think is a pasta bake. Nothing fancy, but he always manages to whip up something good and warming for you. 

He ushers you towards the table, making you sit down on one of the chairs. Within a moment, he places a somewhat cooled cup of tea in your hands. 

“I thought that you’d gone to the other bedroom and I – I feel so bad that I never checked. I just wanted to give you space after all of that and – and now this.” he sits on the chair next to you, hands writhing in his lap, “I don’t know how I can fix this. What I said – I keep fucking up. You’ve given up so much for me, and this is what I do in return. I can’t take it back. I said all of that, and I know that it was incredibly hurtful. But if there’s some way that you’ll forgive me – it doesn’t matter what you need from me – I’ll do it. But if you need me to –” he swallows back tears and maybe that’s when you realise how serious is about this, “If you need me to leave I will. I can be gone by tomorrow if you want that.” 

“Don’t leave.” your voice feels so rough, so shaky, “Please.” 

The tears that roll down his cheek feel so loud when then drop onto the hardwood below your feet. 

“I won’t.” his hands find yours once more, “We can fix this. I don’t want to feel like this any more, but – I need you. I don’t know if I can do it on my own.”

You look at your joined hands. You’ve always thought that they fit together so perfectly, two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle made exactly for each other. There’s no one else who fits you like he does. Sure, you could try and jam two pieces together, but it’ll never be right like this. 

“I told you that I’ll always be here, didn’t I?” you say, still looking at where his hands flex around yours, “I meant that. I don’t know if I could love anyone else.” 

His lips press together so tightly that the colour flees from them. 

“We’ve come too far to give up on this now, Noah. We’ll figure this out, but we need to be better – both of us.”

“I know.” he casts his eyes low, “When we’re back home I’m gonna get myself back into therapy. I promise you that I’ll get myself back on my feet.” 

You free one of your hands from his grasp, so that you can bring it up to his cheek, “We can make it through this. We’ll be alright.” 

Noah eyes you for a moment before he finally speaks up, “Can – can I kiss you?” 

Even if you wanted to, you can’t stop the smile from breaking onto your face, “Please.” 

He surges forward then, pressing his lips to yours so sweetly. He cradles your face in his hands, keeping you close to him until you’re both breathless. 

“I love you, but I think your pasta is about to burn.” you whisper after a few more blissful moments. 

Noah jumps up with a swear, and for the first time in months you can see his previous self break through this shell. 

There’s a tentative plan for the band to return to the stage in late January, giving you another two – almost three months – of this quiet life. Sometimes you think that Noah feels quite comfortable being just a boyfriend and not a trillion other things on top of it. Every day he rises a little easier, seems a little more secure in himself again. Slowly but surely the music returns into his life, and before long he’s pushing his notebook into your field of vision again. 

“Can you have a look at this? I don’t know how I feel about it.” he asks, slumping down next to you. 

You put down your phone and pick the book from his hands. You’ve always loved his boyish handwriting. Something tells you that this isn’t meant for Bad Omens or anyone else's eyes. It’s surprisingly confessional, a somewhat fictionalised account of the last few months that all in all wraps around a single steady thread – you. It’s not a hymn to your efforts, but rather an acknowledgement of everything you had given him and sacrificed because of him. 

Noah's hand wraps around yours. The crowd a few meters away from you roars as the screen changes once again. 

“You’ll be fine, honey.” you soothe, squeezing his hand tightly. 

“Feels like I’m doing this for the first time.” 

It’s been almost a year, of course he’d be a little nervous. But you know that he’ll do his best, and that’s all everyone could ever ask for. 

“I know. I can’t be with you up there, but I’m right here. If you need me, I’ll be right here.”

He nods, more to reassure himself than to acknowledge what you said. 

“You’re almost up.” someone says from behind you.

Noah shakes himself out of his stasis. 

“Alright.” he says to himself, “Wish me luck?” 

“You don’t need luck.” you pull him in for a kiss, “I love you. Go do your thing.” 

“I love you.” 

He steals another kiss, before he pulls that damned ski mask over his head. Just a moment later he’s up the stairs and as soon as you hear their screams you know that the little bit of fear that still sat on his shoulder has melted away.

From your position you can watch the show quite comfortably. It takes Noah a moment to get back into the stage persona, but once they’re through the first song, it feels as if he had never stopped doing it. Seeing him back on his feet like this fills you with absolute joy. 

They’re nearing the end of the set when Noah actually addresses their somewhat forced break. 

“We’ve been away for a little bit. I’m sorry if that messed with your plans, but it was a long time coming. We’re all incredibly thankful for what you’ve made possible for us, and we’ve always tried to give all of that back. Maybe we – I’ve tried a little too hard. What I’m trying to say is that it’s thanks to all of your support that I could take this step back, and I’ll never forget that. But I also have to thank someone else.” he turns towards you, giving you that smile of his that makes you feel as if you’ve just fallen in love with him, “Thank you for everything. I couldn’t have done this without you.” 

Whatever he says after that is drowned out by the cheering of the crowd. Noah leads them into the last song of the set so effortlessly. 

The past months still linger with you, and they will for a while longer. In the end, it was worth every single tear. You’d fought tooth and nail for this – both of you had. And you’re so glad that you did it. 

As soon as the set is over, Noah comes barrelling down the stairs towards you. You’re wrapped into his arms. You return the embrace immediately, holding him to you as tightly as you can. For a long moment, both of you remain silent, content to just hold each other close. 

“Thank you, my love.” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “For everything.”

taglist: @deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

@malice-ov-mercy @chels3a-smile @ferduttini @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

@shilohrosechicken @poisongirl616 @mysticdoodlez @agravemisstake

[lizardkingeliot]

Congrats on your freedom from the mess!

I'm having a craving to read a scene where Louis is defending Lestat to someone. I'm not particular about the context but I hope that we'll get some "that's my husband and only I can talk shit about him" energy from Louis in the show too. But I'd settle for a few hundred words from you! ❤️

Okay. So. When I started writing this I challenged myself to keep it under 500 words and... lmao. Well. It ended up being almost 1500. Because of course. But ANYWAY I hope you're here for some Rockstar Lestat and Photographer Louis because that's what this ended up being. The urge to turn this into a longer fic is STRONG but I'm resisting for now. After I finish my current wip I might come back to it and fill it out and pop it up on AO3. IDK... we'll see lol.

Anyway I'm sticking most of this under a cut. Thank you for this lovely prompt and I hope you enjoy it!

—

Louis emerged from the dressing room first. Leaned against the wall outside the door and started fiddling with his camera. Checking over the pictures he’d taken just moments ago. Lestat—a ring of vanity lights like a halo around the mirror behind him. Lestat—purple leather pants, lime green crop top, the word Slut scrawled in sparkly cursive on the chest. Lestat—golden hair gleaming in the artificial light. Eyes on the camera, on Louis where he stood a safe distance away beyond the lens. Pink mouth slightly parted just so, just so…

Lestat walked out not a minute after Louis and was instantly surrounded by a horde of people. His tour manager, his agent, Daniel Molloy, a handful of nondescript faces attached to bodies Louis didn’t know. Lestat scowled and waved them all away from him at once, muttering his annoyance under his breath in French.

Lestat’s whole body swayed as he walked. Pants sitting low on his hips. Hips like weapons, swell of his ass like a homing beacon. And Louis almost forced himself to look away when Lestat stopped, and turned back. And met Louis’ gaze across the distance. His eyes lined in smudgy black lighting up in exactly the way they’d been when Louis viewed him through the lens of his camera moments ago. Mouth quirking up in a secret smile meant for Louis and Louis alone.

Louis smiled back, couldn’t help it. Stomach doing some truly impressive acrobatics when Lestat turned away and disappeared in the direction of the stage. He was grateful for the wall for reminding his body to stay upright. He forced a breath, was just about to turn his eyes back to his camera when the muffled conversation two roadies were having over by the loading bay invaded his senses.

“Did you see what he’s wearing now?” Roadie Number One asked with a self-satisfied little laugh. The sound of it was instantly grating. It was such a pompously human sound. “For fuck’s sake, man.”

“Like I said before,” Roadie Number Two offered in a casual, gravelly tone. One hand on a flight case, the other fiddling with the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear. “The whole fruit basket, that one. Talk about shoving it in your face.”

Louis tipped his head to one side. Watched them both with big unblinking eyes as they started moving down the hall in the direction of the stage. His pulse beating slow and steady inside him. Moving the blood through his veins at a calculating, almost predatory pace.

—

After the show, backstage was the usual chaos. A sea of people and their sounds. Lestat’s team, his band, his groupies. Equipment being rushed back out the way it had come in. And though Louis had been standing just off stage and watched with his own two eyes as Lestat made his exit following his second encore. Had snapped one final picture in the split second before Lestat passed by and their hands—very intentionally, on Lestat’s part at least—brushed together. Suddenly, Lestat was nowhere to be found.

Louis screwed the lens from his camera, tucked everything away in his case and slung the strap over his shoulder. The moment he lifted his head, he saw them. Roadie One and Roadie Two. And hunger grumbled deep inside him. And it dawned on Louis all at once that he’d been so busy tonight he hadn’t actually fed.

He could have just let it go. He should have. Human beings—what did they matter? But Lestat wasn’t around and the thought that he was off with some groupie getting his dick wet pissed him off just enough for the hunger to spur him forward. He moved without even thinking to, and in a blink he was standing in front of Roadie Number Two. Crowding him against the flight case he’d been hauling. So close their noses nearly touched.

“Hello,” Louis said. Roadie Two’s eyes went wide as two big moons. “I have a question for you—”

“Hey, man, what the f—”

Louis choked off the man’s voice with a thought at once. Vampiric power working like a hand around his throat.

“Don’t be rude when your elders are speaking.” Louis took a single calculated step back. Roadie Two was trembling in his black jeans. Louis didn’t even have to hold him in place. Frozen with terror, the man couldn’t move. And Louis grinned. “Now—my question. And I do think you of all people can help me with this one.”

Louis listened to the tangle of thoughts in his head. A litany of curses. An endless slew of fear and dark and what the fuck what the fuck. People were rushing all around them. Louis thought, distantly—maybe—that Daniel was saying his name.

“Do you happen to know where I might find a fruit basket in this city?”

Louis laughed, a dark and wobbling sound. The hunger had him by the belly. He had to fight against his fangs to keep them from popping out.

There were tears in Roadie Two’s wide moon eyes that didn’t blink. He found the strength to reach up with one hand and paw uselessly at his own throat. Thick rasping sounds falling out of it as he fought against the Dark Gift’s suppression of his breath.

Louis laughed again.

“Yeah,” Louis said, and tipped his head to one side. And watched the artery throb with blood on the side of the roadie’s thick neck. “That’s what I thought. Not so easy to get those smartass words of yours out now, is it? You know, next time maybe you should try sayin’ that shit to—”

“Louis.”

Lestat. Behind him. Heartbeat like a siren. Warm, gushing sound of life like a song inside his veins. Louis’ mind stumbled over itself for a fraction of a second and he lost his hold on Roadie Two’s throat. And the man crumbled down to his knees in a coughing fit in an instant.

“Louis,” Lestat said again. And Louis spun around. And—

Smudged eyeliner. Pink mouth. Golden hair skimming bare shoulders. At some point between the stage and right then, Lestat had lost his shirt.

“Lestat.” Louis straightened his neck, gripped the strap of his camera case just to have something to hold onto. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and he knew Lestat could hear it. “Hey, uh, so—”

“Cheri, I know you’re hungry, but I believe it would be ill-advised to eat the roadies.”

Louis drew a breath, huffed it out, distantly aware that Roadie Two was half-crawling, half-running away behind him. “Wasn’t gonna eat him. Just—” He huffed another breath. “And please don’t call me—”

“You were sticking up for me.”

Smudged eyeliner. Blue eyes shining in those messy rings of black. Louis’ heartbeat was a kick pedal drum inside his chest.

“Just didn’t care for his tone, is all.” Louis tried for casual, but the words came out all wrong. Like suddenly he was the one being choked. “He said—”

“I know what he said, cheri.” One corner of Lestat’s mouth twitched, amused and annoyed all at once. “Excusez-moi—Louis.” Head tipped to one side. Eyes sweeping appraisingly over Louis’ face, down to his chest. Blue eyes limned in so much black. “They always say these things. The two of them. Like school boys. They cannot help that they are wildly attracted to me.”

At that—Louis instantly started to laugh. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Smudged eyeliner. Leaning close. Lestat put his hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Well, yes,” he said very quietly. Voice a husky rumble pouring from his throat. “That is what they tell me.”

Warm breath on Louis’ neck. Lestat pulled back, and all the people rushing around them suddenly melted away. And it was just the two of them. And there was a glint in Lestat’s eyes like he’d just won a game neither of them had even realized they were playing. Or that they’d both been playing with their whole chests, and now their chests were caving in. And the game was over.

And Lestat was clutching the prize with both hands.

And Louis was going to let him have it.

“Yeah, so—anyway.” Louis took a slow, deep breath. Slowly, slowly let it come rushing back out. He begged his heart to stop selling him out and to settle. “I’m starving. You wanna hunt?”

Smudged eyeliner. Pink mouth falling open with just the tiniest hint of his fangs poking out. “I would love to hunt with you, cheri,” Lestat said.

[the-kr8tor]

I'm doing it! I'm writing a request! :D

(Ik you're suuuuppperrr busy I'm so sorry you can take as long as you want I'm in no rush you're so sweeet and literally a lifesaver cause every time I read your posts, I get infused with the energy of 2 million Suns)

So I was thinking about a oneshot where r is waiting for Hobie to come backstage after one of his performances and this know it all groupie type guy is like, really giving her a hard time and he won't listen to anything she says he just sucks or wtv. Then Hobie comes out like, total golden retriever all giddy and happy to see r and the other guy is just baffled. Dunno it's kinda silly and based off of a post I saw a while back presenting the idea of it.

Thank you for requesting! Sorry for the wait, I hope you still like it ❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mentions, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

As the band closes their last song, the crowd cheers and hollers at them. Hobie, all pumped up and sweaty, bows to the audience. The colourful stage light illuminates his features well, lighting up all of his perfection; from how sweat clings to his cheeks, sliding down to his chiseled clavicle. His piercings shine brightly under the warm light, the cherry red guitar in his ringed hand acts as a beacon to the rowdy crowd. Yuri goads them on, arms riling up the crowd for an encore. Turning the clapping and screaming to thunderous applause and screeches.

You're situated along the side of the stage, and on the other side of the bannister where the crowd is currently starting the largest mosh pit you've ever seen. You crane your neck up to the stage, unintentionally meeting with Hobie's hazel eyes that were already turned towards you.

He confidently winks in your direction, a few people behind you screeches like a wild banshee. They don't know the wink was for you and for you only. You wink back, more bashful than the one he threw at you. It's your little signal, a signal that you and Hobie made when he's about to finish his set so you could wait for him backstage where he always runs towards you with his arms wide, grinning triumphantly and embracing you until you're breathless. You're familiar with his affectionate winks, but that doesn't mean you're used to them. He always catches you off guard with them, loving the way your eyes widen with your hand flying to your chest as if he just jumpscared you. Truthfully, you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Fine,” Hobie reluctantly cuts off your little staring contest with the silent promise of being by your side the moment the band finishes this one song. His lips press on the mic, eyes roaming around the packed stadium. “you lot better be fuckin' ready.” An immediate wave of whistles and yells echo around.

With his guitar riff starting back again, lights turning red and acting as the band's spotlight, you walk towards the event bouncers. Once they see your v.i.p ID they let you through the doors and into backstage.

Passing by the snack table placed by the event organizers, you stumble back to it. You then take an armful of water bottles for the entire band, and then you take a single black and white cookie just for Yuri and her sweet tooth.

Arms full, you wait by the side with the perfect view of the band playing with their whole heart. Hobie jumps on an amplifier and backflips off it. Your heart almost fell into your stomach when you thought he couldn't land on his feet. But of course he did, Hobie practically backflips off the bed every morning (not really he’s a grumpy riser) so it's only natural that he lands on his feet like an experienced gymnast.

Yuri and the others jam together in harmony, Ned belts out while James looks like he wants to crowd surf from the look in his eye. You hope he doesn't, not after what happened last time.

“Cool t-shirt.” A voice suddenly says next to you.

“Thanks.” You glance at the tall stranger while you adjust your hold on the water bottles and cookie.

“It's vintage isn't it? I know from the crude design.” You furrow your brows at the comment, especially that you and the entire band stayed up late to finish an entire sack full of the handmade shirts. “It's from their first album, right?” The man raises a brow, like he's questioning your knowledge.

You flick your eyes down to his own shirt, it's a recent one, definitely better than what you have on but it doesn't share the same amount of sentimentality. “Yeah, I know, I was there.”

“Right.” He scoffs, you take a step away from him, turning your attention back to Hobie, who's still not done with the last song. “Of course you were there.” Your jaw tightens, annoyed at best but you're not willing to leave backstage just because of him. “If you were there, you'd know that the shirt was technically designed for their second album. Not the first.”

You turn your head sharply, “you're right, it was.” Smiling, your eyes tell otherwise. “But it was made for the first album because the band couldn't be arsed to make another design for the second one so the second release of the shirts were in a bigger quantity. Hence the misunderstanding that it was for the second album instead.” You finish off your sentence with a smirk.

“Yeah, sure, lady.” He scoffs, unconvinced. “You probably can't name a single song from that album.” He makes another annoying entitled scoff “As if you were actually there—”

“There's our girl!” Yuri appears behind you while you basically throw daggers at the man with your stare. She clasps your shoulder, nudging you happily. “Ooh, cookie! Thanks, babe!” Yanking the snack from your hand, pecking your cheek, she spares the fan a glance then quickly makes her way to the green room to rest before the meet and greet.

“Where's our cookie?” James pouts, feigning a frown.

“I've got some water for you, Jamesy.” You almost forget about the fan gawking and aweing next to you.

“It's not the same though!” And yet, James still takes the bottle from your hand, patting your shoulder as thanks.

Ned clicks his tongue and shakes his head, following James, he takes his share, walking backwards and still teasing you with a disapproving face. “The sheer favoritism!” To add to his so-called discontent, he slams the doors of the greenroom. You're sure that you even heard a muffled, “give me that fucking cookie!” from him.

Before you come looking for your favourite guitarist, Hobie appears from behind you, arms snaking along your middle to wrap you in his anticipated hug. “How's our number one fan?” You lean back, smiling up at him, not minding how his sweat now sticks to your back. You meet with his eyes as he pecks your temple with a resounding smack of his lips. You can see the adrenaline waning off him in waves as he carefully puts more of his weight on you without making you fall from the increased weight. You find yourself giggling more and more, already forgetting about the intrusion.

“I'm good. Hi.” He expects that reply from you, not from the man across from you. “I'm your biggest fan, Hobie!” Holding up a trembling hand to shake Hobie's hand, you seethe in place.

“Thanks, mate.” Hobie, being polite, shakes his hand. “But if you were the biggest fan, you'd know that this shirt…” he pats your stomach, hand lingering there. “was lovingly made by my girl for the first album.”

He's had his fair share of people like him, he takes their words in stride, but the moment someone does it to you, he'll be sure to fight back. He's convinced that if you weren't interrupted you'd be wiping the floor with the rude fan’s face by proving him wrong. Or literally wiping his face down on the ground if need be.

You grin wider as you see colour drain from the fan's face. “I ordered shawarma for everyone.” You provide the biggest slap to the rude fan by ignoring him. “I hid the biggest portion for you.”

Hobie chuckles into your shoulder before taking your hand and leading you away without another word to the strange fan. “And everyone says Yuri's your favourite.”

[simplydozing]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐥

Cardinal Copia x pregnant!reader You and Copia have overcome some of the hardships thrown at you by the Clergy, mainly the tour schedule keeping you both apart. Regardless, you manage to plan a visit, and you organize a little surprise that you know for sure will be the revelation of a lifetime. However, that's not the only thing that will leave him astonished. It just might astonish you, too. Part 2 Word Count: 2202 || Ao3

ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴꜱ Mia Amata = My love Mia Stellina = My Little Star Sono Sempre Con Te = I Am Always With You/I'm With You Always (Poorly translated/partial google translate)

Here you are, standing on the balcony watching down at your husband. A hand softly caresses your growing bump.

Copia was so over the moon the day you found out you were pregnant.

 You had your doubts, but it made your heart swell when he made sure you knew he saw this as more than just an heir to the Emeritus line.

 He tried to be as supportive as he could throughout your pregnancy, but the events with the Clergy made it to where he couldn’t spend these first few moments with you.

 Ironically enough, they’ve given him hell about pushing another tour.

 He fought, fought hard with no holds barred. He explained multiple times that if they could hold and wait until the child arrived, that he’d be able to perform better.

 They saw otherwise, however.

 And he was beyond furious when he found out they scheduled him behind his back.

 All that fighting he did ended up for waste beneath their feet. He let Sister Imperator have it, cursing the situation he was thrown into. But she couldn’t do anything about it. It was “out of her hands.”

 And that blinding rage converted to fear and guilt when he had to tell you the plans that were bestowed to him.

He came to you in tears, spewing apologies about the whole ordeal. His anxieties came crashing through in waves. There was one problem on top of another, on top of another.

 You understood, however. You knew how uptight the church is and how strict their rules were. More importantly, you knew that if it were up to him, he’d step down and retire the title of “Papa” altogether if it meant being with you and his little one. But you also knew the consequences if he were to quit. You both did. And that was something he absolutely could not do.

 This was his ultimatum.

 You were officially five weeks in when it was time for him to depart. And by the gracious power of Lucifer, this tour would last for the span of a few months.

 He was still very reluctant about leaving, but you kept reassuring him that you were just in the early stages and that you could handle yourself.

 He kept in touch with you, asking how everything is and how you're doing. You would give him updates and send pictures each week.

But he was left with nothing these past couple of weeks. He's asked multiple times if you were okay and if something was wrong. You felt bad, knowing he was worried sick about you and the baby, but you knew it would be worth it in the end.

Looking back on it now makes you think this was the right move, though. How else were you to surprise him?

You are currently twenty weeks along, and you learned about the gender last week.

Your plan had officially gone into effect when the next show was closer to home. Hopefully Copia wouldn’t be too upset since he advised you against visiting him at any point. 

You pulled some strings and you asked around. You had the special effects technicians slide a little something in. Everyone worked together. They were more than happy to help, which you couldn't be more thankful for. It was their idea to have you stay on the balcony instead of backstage, that way you could see his reaction to it all.

 You'll have to do something special for them soon.

Excitement bubbled in you once the concert was coming to a close.

He was finishing up his encore, ending it with the one song people all over the world came to love, Mary On A Cross .

This song felt special to you, despite being aware of the origins of it. Part of you believes he sings it for you.

 The song ends with him giving a final pose. The crowd erupts with cheers and shrieking exhilaration.

A couple of smoke canons explode, and then it happens.

You lean over the railing to get a better view of his actions.

The confetti drops.

Pieces of pink and silver scatter the stage. Copia is visibly confused, looking around and asking his ghouls what this was. They play along, some tilting their heads while the others shrug. You could hear sparse laughter from the audience when he picks some up to toss it back in the air and stomp around in frustration.

 You couldn’t help but let out a chuckle of your own.

“Alrighty, Lil’ C. Ready to go?”

 You look to see a stage guard, his heavy accent startling you a bit.

You take one more shot at the stage. Seeing him give the final bow is your cue to go.

You nod. He offers his arm for you to take and helps escort you to where Copia would be.

 It’s a lengthy walk, but it’s nothing you can’t bear. You secretly appreciate the man’s assistance. He unlinks from you when you come across a door and motions for you to stand behind him.  

“Ey, bigshot! We got a visitor!” Your heart pounds as heavy as this guy’s knocking.

The weighted door is thrown open with such a force that it made it seem it wasn’t made of metal.

“What?! Who is it? Tell them I’m not doing ‘meet and greets!’ I’m in the middle of something here!”

He spits daggers, and the guard rolls his eyes.

Gosh, how you missed hearing his voice up close like this.

“Look, it’s someone who really wants to meet you,” he steps to the side, allowing you to reveal yourself. “A big fan of yours, I’d imagine.”

You take a step forward, further exposing yourself. It’s quite humorous how quick Copia changes his demeanor upon seeing you.

“Mia amata!”

He rushes into your arms and holds you tightly, savoring you.

His lips mash against the top of your head while taking in your scent. He can’t believe you’re here, right here. Right now.

The rhythm of his heartbeat syncs with yours, coming together in a yearning symphony. You both stay embraced like this before he remembers the condition you're in, and he disentangles from you.

“I thought I told you not to strain yourself coming to see me,” you give a brief sigh of amusement at his fretting. He grimaced at this, visibly restricting himself to press you further.

“Well, we couldn't wait to see you,” your hand skims along the curve which proudly shows how far you’ve progressed. His gaze softens when he looks down at your figure.

 He observes the way you light up when you feel yourself. Something in the back of his mind wants to chastise you for not telling him what was going on these past few weeks, but it all washes away when you’re glowing right in front of him.

Lucifer, what did he do to deserve you?

“Oh! And er…” You turn to the guard that was accompanying you. You extended your hand with a sheepish grin, forgetting that he was still in this spot with you both.

“Micah, it's Micah,” he takes it and gives a small peck to the back of it.

“Thank you, Micah, for all that you do,” your eyes shone with utmost gratitude.

“Anytime, Lil’ C.” He makes his way out of the scene.

Copia waits until he knows for certain he’s gone before muttering a dense threat. “He’s getting fired before the night ends.”

“Jealous, are we?” You snickered. “No, no! Just, cautious–”

He guides you by the arm inside the backstage area. “Cee, darling, you don’t have to worry. They respect you too much to try anything,” you give his arm a light-hearted pat.

“.....I hope so,” he isn’t too convinced, but he’ll get over it eventually.

 He sets you down on this beautifully crafted chaise lounge and takes his spot next to you. It’s decked out with red padded velvet and gold incisions. It looks to be hand-carved and varnished. It’s weirdly comfortable. Or maybe it’s your body thanking you for a break from being on your feet for so long.

You exhale in relief, the ache dulling in your legs.

  “A-Are you alright? Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Water?” You smile and shake your head. 

“No thank you, love.” You place a hand on his thigh.

“How long have you been up? You’re not hurt are you? When I get back to the church I’m going to-” “Copia! I’m fine, the baby’s fine, everything is okay ,” you take his hands in yours, trying to calm his nerves. Your thumbs trail over his knuckles.

“We missed you terribly is all.” You bring them up to kiss them, and then wrap his arm around your shoulders and lean into him. He says nothing, giving in to your touch he so craved. You’re cuddled into a side hug, his other arm lacing around your middle. “I saw what happened with the confetti. Quite a way to end things, hm?” You hope you were vague and convincing enough for him not to piece everything together straight off the bat.

“Well…it was all pink! I thought it was supposed to be gold, it’s always gold! I was just figuring out who the hell was behind all this but then-”

“Wait, Cee, say that again,” you interrupted his rambling.

“Someone replaced the confetti with the wrong color,” he summarized.

“No, love, not that,” you laugh out. “What color was it?” “It was pink,” he tilts his head and looks at you dumbfounded. “The confetti was pink ,” you press his hand against the swell of your bump. “The confetti was…” he repeated the words silently and stared at your hand resting on his.

You can see the cogs start to shift behind his squinted eyes.

But he bolts off the lounge when he finally connects the dots.

“Y-You mean-!”

You nodded, eyes glossing over with overwhelming joy.

“We’re having a girl. It’s a girl!”

He breathlessly exclaims, then kisses you deeply, passionately. He couldn’t thank the stars more than he could now. First, you came into his life as nothing but a humble servant. He saw so much more in you than what the Clergy painted you out to be. He pursued his interest in you and fell in love with you the more you interacted with him. Your voice, your laugh, your stare. How logical you were, how you were cunning and witty. He couldn’t get enough. He had to have you.

 And now, you’re here, with his child under your heart.

He breaks away and drops to his knees, pulls you closer, and rests the side of his head on your stomach. You lean back to give him more access.

“Hi, hello, mia stellina,” he began. A smile spreads wide across your face at the little nickname he’s already given her. “You don’t know how happy you make me,” your other hand moves to lovingly stroke his hair, pushing away any stray strands that fell in his face. “But your papa can’t wait to meet you. I’m sorry I haven’t spent time with you yet, I’ve been…restricted.” Your heart weighed down with remorse. The Clergy was overbearing and ruthless. You and your husband should be enjoying this, not relishing it in between tour dates.

“You don’t need to know the details yet, that’s a story for when you get here. I don’t want you coming out angry,” he titters.

 And yet, he tried to make light of the circumstances. At least he would have this second, this minute, this hour. He would have this one instant where he could be as vulnerable as he wanted. With you. And with his baby girl.  

“But I promise I will make up for it as soon as I’m done touring and travelling and singing to random people. One day, I’ll get the chance to sing to you.”

 You sniffle. Tears fall freely. There’s a lump in your throat you can’t swallow. “Just know that I love you so much more than you know.” He presses his lips against your belly, hoping that his little girl can sense his adoration for her.

….Which is solidified when you both felt a very faint flick. It was soft, but it was there.

His eyes snap up to lock with yours.

“Did you…?”

“Y-Yeah! I felt it too,” the words almost failed to come out.

“ Stellina, baby,” you rub small circles on the curve of your stomach. “ One more time.”

It was like she could already understand. She responded by giving a swifter, more solid kick.

 You looked at Copia with a watery smile. “That’s our girl.”

A mix of emotions hung in the air, smothering you both. You both were ecstatic. Copia thought he’d never have anything like this. He felt like he was on top of the world.

 He let a few tears of his own fall when he felt yet another swipe.

“Mia stellina, one more thing now that you can hear me,” his forehead touches your stomach.“No matter where I’m at, or where you’ll be,” he lowers his voice.

“Sono sempre con te,” and plants another kiss.

“I’m with you always.”

[see-arcane]

Before the journal opened

Before it saved his life

Before Hell staked a claim

Before he swung his knife

A storm rolled in with the spring

And hope paved his long way

Through monsters and their red wants

He takes step one today.

WARNING: Contains some grisly imagery towards the end.

All free preview chapters are available on my Substack.

Harker

C.R. Kane

March to April

Spring rolled in more grey than green that week. It dribbled rain through morning and noon, pondering to itself whether it would save an encore for evening in the way of a proper storm. The songbirds and the street noise went on as best they could between showers. They made up the only true din in Jonathan Harker’s corner, not counting the hammering of the typewriter or an occasional rustle of sheets. The usual low cacophony of the firm had been whittled down immensely due to the cough that had been shared at the start of the week and sent the greater part of Peter Hawkins’ small legion home to hack and sniffle in private.

This left Jonathan somewhat abandoned, not counting Hawkins’ presence behind the office door. It was just as well. He’d been splitting his attention between the eternal tower of logistical and legal chores that ruled his desk and the shorthand notes made in preparation for his exam. Such had been his constant state for the past two months. There had been ribbing from all directions, some bemoaning the imminent loss of a load-bearing clerk, others saying now they could draw lots and boot someone else out the door, and still more wheedling about whether or not they could still drag him in place as a shield when clientele of a certain incendiary temperament came around. Please?

Jonathan had remained ominously mum. Groans and lamentations ensued.

This was a joke, of course. Young Mr. Harker was nothing if not dedicated to the task of transmuting Hawkins’ charity to a whipcord child fifteen years prior into a proper investment. Case in point, using a lull in his own workload to get things in order for those bedridden solicitors who had the nearest deadlines pending. Bentley idled through with his tea as he did and shook his head.

“Don’t know what it is that comes with your kind, Harker, but it’s a busier thing that any of us idle English have. We’re down two thirds of the building and here you are doing three-quarters of the work. Get the examination out of the way and you may as well tell the old man to retire.” A thoughtful sip came from behind the porcelain. “Must be something they teach you Gurkha sorts, eh? Some kind of discipline our doughy little English schoolboys never get knocked in their heads.”

Jonathan weighed the decision of whether or not to give Arnold Bentley his bimonthly reminder that he was, in fact, English by birth. His parents as well. But the reminder would likely fall into the same pit between the man’s ears where all the others had gone. Worse, it might risk a tally mark against him in whatever invisible score was kept by peers. The one that determined whether the combination of Jonathan’s physiognomy and disposition really were enough to pardon his status or not. He finished this measuring of scales in less than a blink. A smile was summoned.

“Not at all. Just helping where things can be helped.” He straightened a sheaf of forms back in order. “That, and I cannot go a day without productivity, or else I shall have to go home and carve my hand with the kukri knife in penance.”

Bentley paused halfway through his laugh when Jonathan held his gaze. He gawped over his cup.

“God. Really?”

“No, not really. My penmanship would suffer terribly.”

This spurred a louder guffaw from the man, likewise a rattling clap of his open palm to Jonathan’s shoulder. Then he was out like a breeze to carry on with whatever it was he had drifted from in his own territory of the building. Jonathan resumed his interrupted rhythm. Read. Check. Write. Type. Read. Check. Write. Type. So he went for another hour before his watch told him it was time to check the post.

He stepped out during a lull of rain. The thunder talked with itself in the slate-dark clouds, debating whether or not to turn the spigot on the moment the wad of envelopes was out in the open. Jonathan applauded himself on dodging the first drops of the deluge by seconds. Peeking through the window, he saw there were even a few fitful winks of lightning hopping through the sky. What few pedestrians were left went running for shops they had no interest in, restaurants they had no appetites for, and cabs that turned frustratingly scarce within the minute. Jonathan grimaced in premonition of the dash he and Mina would have to make under the umbrella once she was free of her students.

But that was for later. For now, he flipped through the day’s heap and dealt them out to the waiting desks, occupied or not. The last in the stack was a familiar packet and one of extraordinary make. It was patterned with the stamps of myriad countries with ornate flourishes in the writing. A thick crimson seal sporting a rearing dragon marked it as the second delivery from the same foreign estate that had written to Hawkins in February. A castle set in the backdrop of the Carpathians.

Jonathan had felt his heart twist the first time he’d handled a parcel from the address and it twisted doubly hard now. There had been time in the interim to start combing through Exeter’s libraries for any beginning details to have ready should Hawkins want some background to aid one of the solicitors, especially in the case of a potential trip. If the latter came to pass, it would mean a visit to London and a perusal of denser material. A fine enough excuse to wander the superior bookcases and the British Museum on its own. But the luster of the errand was already gone in his mind. The first glimpse of the prospective client’s territory in the first book he’d cracked open, wrought in illustrations and sparse photographs as it was, sent a spear of longing through Jonathan’s chest that still hadn’t left.

Why would anyone living there want to trade such a place for England?

Jonathan was not oblivious to the advantages of the country. He understood his good fortune in access to modern works, from amenities to entertainments; at least in theory. With cautious budgeting. But all his life had been spent in cramped rooms or congested streets. The presence of a park, a farmer’s field, a distant beach, or a picturesque cemetery were the nearest he would ever come to the broad and chainless beauty of places not yet stomped flat with bricks and smoke.

Imagine! Meadows and hills, valleys and forests, all topped with the great serrated crown of the mountains. Cities and villages worn smooth with generations going back through centuries.

Imagine being there with her. Seeing sunrise flood over the peaks, walking old roads and footpaths, tasting and seeing and playing and breathing in a place without its laces drawn like a noose around throat and purse. The trains alone would be enough for her, true, but we would find somewhere to stop. Somewhere in every swatch of the countryside. At some point, as she became lost in a view, in a meal, in a walk, she would see me on my knee and what I held in my hand, and the wedding could happen right there in an ancient chapel, and then…

But the fantasy turned to dust before it could finish.

The required funds were cudgel enough to smash the whole daydream to atoms. At most they might manage a trip someplace other than their usual heights of hedonism. That was, a brief trip to Piccadilly and back. Maybe a bit of theatre. Possibly a picnic. Perhaps even some further place in the Isles. Somewhere rich with quiet and history of its own, but likely not across the Channel. Never a locale so far and mythic as the place Hawkins’ new client seemed interested in abandoning. Jonathan pictured Hawkins writing back to the noble on his behalf, wailing at the stranger not to forsake his fairy tale castle for the doldrums of a Londoner’s garish crate of a manse, no matter how crusted in filigree.

Save yourself! Do not trade your mountains for an English molehill!  Turn back, turn back!

But that would be a poor way to run the firm, wouldn’t it? Resigned, he brought the packet to Hawkins’ office and knocked at the door.

“It’s open, Jonathan.”

Jonathan ducked in with his smile already nailed in place. It was an expression he now had to work at as recent months plodded on and Peter Hawkins’ complexion failed to improve. The man behind the broad desk was only half as rubicund as he’d been the year before. He had insisted to everyone who dared ask that he was merely suffering from a particularly ugly attack of gout and that he would be fine in a week or so. As it stood, Hawkins could still sit up straight and bellow thanks when Jonathan came by with his delivery. He even turned a shade ruddier upon seeing the dragon’s seal.

“Well now,” he said through a grin. He turned the packet over and pointed it at Jonathan. “Have you taken lunch?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“Go on and fill up quick. If this is what I believe it is, I expect I’ll need your ear within the hour.”

So saying, Hawkins slit the packet open and began to read. Jonathan dismissed himself with his fingers crossed in his pocket. Perhaps the British Museum wasn’t too far off after all. That and the London libraries. It would be too brief a visit for anything more extravagant than what Lucy referred to as his and Mina’s ‘academic holidays,’ but it would make an interesting exercise just the same. Plotting the trip was a pleasant enough distraction to eat to.

He finished just as he heard the tell-tale grunt and shuffle that meant Hawkins was hefting himself up to trudge around his desk. Jonathan flew to the door first, only just recalling to swat his knuckles against the wood before opening it. Hawkins looked up with a shock before gratefully flopping himself back into his chair.

“You have a dog’s hearing and cat’s feet. Ought to have a bell on you to give an old man some warning.”

“Apologies.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Saved me dragging myself around unduly.” Hawkins thumped a hand on the desk as if patting a horse. “I suppose I need to throw this out and trade desks with you. I can make it past that little square of yours in no time.” He thought further on it. “Less than a minute, anyhow.” He made a face that couldn’t decide itself between a smile or a grimace. “My doctor, who only seems to tell me what I already know, declares that I am not fit for any arduous travel. In his terms, that includes going further than the street corner on foot. Even a train ride is apparently a gamble, being that I should be in bed resting and rotting like a good patient rather than hobbling my way to and from the cab to work. Already I press his orders and my luck. Which means this,” he held up an envelope, “is out of the question for me.”

Jonathan recognized the torn envelope and scarlet seal. What held him up was the recognition that it was the first of the two packets. The February delivery.

“That’s unfortunate. Who was the client?”

Hawkins grinned in earnest now, purposefully turning the envelope so that the address was hidden.

“You tell me.”

Jonathan offered half a smile back. It was an old game that had begun years ago when he was still just a bookish boy underfoot, helping around the office for whatever could be spared for a child’s wage. Even then his eyes had been hungry things.

“Count Dracula, from the castle of the same name, of Transylvania. The address is from a Bistritz postal service situated in the Carpathians.”

“True and true.” Hawkins set the envelope on the desk and tapped it with a thick finger. “Curious taste in property, this one. Likely has the cravings of a renovator. No trouble on our side but for the hunting. But the esteemed gentleman is so damnably far into the Continent that I couldn’t rightly offer myself up in the way he’s asking. I ought to say, the way he insists upon buying. The way our Count puts it, he would rather pay every fee of travel for his English solicitor to and from his keep in the mountains, and play host on top, rather than, he says, ‘Suffer bartering land through stationery.’ In short, he’s willing to ship a solicitor to his door rather than play at this back-and-forth for all his questions, all out of his own pocket. He wants someone who’s not just going to find and sell the manner of place he’s after, but someone who can play encyclopedia if he’s unsure of something.” 

“Hence him being prepared to rent out the owner of the firm for an in-person visit,” Jonathan finished. Hawkins gave a nod.

“And the owner might have been up for it a decade or so ago. But time marches and gout outweighs gold. So I fear that leaves me out of the picture.” Jonathan watched Hawkins fold his hands with a calculated laxness on the desk. “Your examination is coming up.”

Lightning flickered outside. More danced across Jonathan’s brain.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

“You have been my clerk since you were old enough to rent a flat,” Hawkins went on. “My apprentice and professional living plaster to this place well before that.”

“Yes,” Jonathan breathed more than spoke. He feared his vocabulary was leaking out both ears while his heart tried to climb his throat.

“And,” Hawkins half-leaned over the desk, “you have been holding onto her ring since last year. Haven’t you?”

Heat rushed up to Jonathan’s face as he got out, “…Yes. I have. Sir, are you—,”

Hawkins brandished the packet Jonathan brought through the door an hour ago. This he laid beside the February envelope so that the pair of them seemed like strange square eyes staring up at him.

“I need you to understand: This is not an offer as much as a prayer. If there’s no chance with you, that means Bentley is the next choice. He’s my longest running man here and is liable to set up his own firm before the decade’s out. But for all that, and for all that he is a trustworthy one to patter with most Englishmen, I would sooner trust a cat with a lame canary than Bentley to not choke on his own tongue with a foreigner. Clients of noble lineage included. The man can barely toe his way around an Irishman let alone anyone from across the Channel. And, since the door is shut and no one is around to cry nepotism, I can speak the unvarnished truth.

“You could do with one week what anyone else here could manage inside a month and have it done better. That is not me being rosy about the past or present, that is me having eyes that work and a basis of comparison between how things ran before you began working here and after. The after is smooth as silk compared to the pre-Harker gravel. Stable gravel, I allow, but not nearly as easy a burden as things became once you were attacking the paperwork. And the footwork.” Hawkins raised a caterpillar brow at him. “Any good finds in the local bookshelves?”

“Not as many as I hoped,” Jonathan thought he heard himself say. It was hard to tell as he seemed to have relocated to some remote island in his skull and could only register what was happening as if from across an ocean. “I wanted to stop by the options in London if I had the chance. Just to gather some background on the client’s location if it was needed.”

“I’d say it is,” Hawkins hummed. “Supposing you can tell me you have your schedule open for some traveling come May.”

Jonathan told him it was. Hawkins told him to go to the corner cabinet and move the bust of Alexander off the high shelf. Then to bring down the bottle and two tumblers. There were toasts and there was talk and there was a laughing chide from the older man as he shooed Jonathan’s pocket notebook back from whence it came. No notes today, young man. At least not right now. Actually, perhaps one for later. Did he have time open to visit a tailor? There was a travel budget that was about to go unused if the Count was to have his way. It may as well go toward a good cause. Hawkins could hardly send his best solicitor to a noble’s door without looking his best, and it was for the firm’s image, really, so it could hardly be helped, and the doctor couldn’t grudge him such paltry exercise as going to harangue a suit seller…

Jonathan’s eyes burned and his face ached with smiling. He was mortified to find himself close to a sob before turning the sound into a coughing laugh. Hawkins told him to drink, not inhale. That turned the next sound into a true chuckle. He couldn’t tell whether it was an effect of the liquor or his own imagination that made it seem as if the thunder was laughing too.

“Transylvania,” Mina said for the dozenth time.

“Transylvania,” Jonathan echoed. He turned to face her rather than cling to the charade that either of them were focused enough to continue their mutual study. His pile included the texts that had come to haunt his subconscious with its rules and rites of property law, now with the hypnotic temptation of the library books waiting just an arm’s length away. Mina, who Jonathan knew was as much or more a pillar of solid focus than himself, had not a mote of attention to spare for the papers taken from the realm of educational etiquette or her personal project of mirroring and translating his shorthand. The latter made a certain gleeful anticipation turn over in his stomach. It left him floundering between elation and anxiety with equal force until he thought he might lose his last meal on the floorboards.

Which would be a shame, as he and Mina had combined their efforts into a delightful result in Jonathan’s narrow kitchen. Jonathan had only half-jokingly implied that they were making a child’s ideal feast because he was, in fact, giddy as a boy who’d just shaken hands with Father Christmas. Mina had declared this was nonsense.

“A supper made of breakfast is an entirely sound culinary decision.”

“Yes, Miss Murray,” in his best schoolboy tone. “Did you want crêpes or toast?”

“Crêpes. Extra cream.”

They had giggled like children over their respective plates. Just as they did over the rapidly ignored chores they had planned for themselves after. It was the frightful intoxication of feeling the future unrolling into a new smiling mystery before them. One that whispered, yes, yes, this is real, this is coming true. A future that might include…

Jonathan gulped down a heavy lump of air as his gaze flicked again to the sheet of shorthand messages he had scribbled out for her to translate. She had stopped halfway through. Close, close, close. But he didn’t let his stare linger. Instead he found her face again, still glowing. Jonathan was forever surprised that he had not dreamt her up as a boy and continued dreaming her until now. It surprised him more that he had managed to earn her love and dumbfounded him entirely to think that she regarded herself in the same terms. More, that she insisted she was the luckier half of their equation. He did not follow her meaning then, nor did he think he ever would.

“Mina, anyone with a sliver of sense in their head would feel the same for you,” he had insisted more than once. Each time she had smiled and shaken her head. Her eyes forever bright with a sweet-somber knowledge he couldn’t decipher.

“There is plenty of sense to spare. Loving hearts as well. But there is a different lens that women see the world through and it shows things men shall never have to see. It shows so much to watch for. To be wary of, or to hope for, or to know not to expect because life has made it clear that so much of what’s dreamt of only exists for a few, while the rest make do with storybooks and stage plays.” Her hand had held tight in his. “You were not meant to exist outside the borders of a fairy tale, Jonathan Harker. That you cannot see as much for yourself makes me wonder if someone really did peel you off a page and if you will vanish back to a fair princess somewhere when I wake up.”

“That implies I am either a prince or some clever farmhand. I’m cut out for neither. I am a squire at best. Though I would not settle for a mere princess either way, however fair.” He had dared a grin at her. “Or have you already forgotten Mrs. Westenra’s unique stance on the matter?”

Memory had nettled Mina out of her glumness with a sputter that tried and failed not to turn into shamefaced laughter. She had improved somewhat in the years since the incident itself, back when the whole ring of persons involved had flamed with embarrassment over the misunderstanding of Jonathan’s presence when spotted with Miss Lucille Westenra and her companion Miss Mina Murray now that all of them had stretched out of childhood and into the far end of adolescence. Followed by the ensuing inquiry as to why Mr. Harker had been baffled at the very concept of seeking to gain Miss Westenra’s affection as anything more than a friend.

Jonathan remembered sitting in one of the gilded rooms of the Westenra estate, sat across from Lucy’s increasingly rose-faced mother as she came to the belated realization that Mina Murray’s young man was not trying to court anyone other than Mina Murray. Worse, it had been left on his shoulders to steer the conversation out of potential wreckage by thanking his hostess for clearly being concerned on Mina’s own behalf, as there were too many people in the world who took the notion of seeking out a secret paramour behind another’s back as a matter of course. He was heartened to know that Mrs. Westenra cared enough to be mindful should an actual cad come into the orbit of her daughter or her friends.

Still flushed, Mrs. Westenra had chased agreement in this, poured on apologies for the mistake and had thankfully never brushed the topic since. Though Lucy had words enough to spare on the matter for months afterward. She had languished at them in the garden about it, the image of woe in peach blossom tailoring.

“Jonathan, I fear we must become enemies,” she’d intoned gravely. “You must walk with a cane in hand and I must brandish my parasol so that we keep our distance and never risk breathing the same air. We cannot even deafen poor Mina’s ears with the Bard or eavesdroppers will take us knowing the lines of Hamlet and Ophelia as proof of a tryst. Perhaps we should go around with our hats pulled down over our eyes, lest we give into temptation and acknowledge each other’s existence while being the opposite sex. It is our only chance of salvation.”

“Miss Lindon again?” from Mina, her smile placid. Jonathan knew she wore the same callused shell he did when it came to the patter that trickled down from higher tiers than theirs. Those tiers were many and their squabbles almost alien in what they deemed worth sniping about behind their fans and cigars. The infamous Miss Lindon was apparently a thorn too serrated even for Lucy’s compassion to withstand.

“Very much Miss Lindon again. ‘He would just do for you, Lucy.’ As though she thought I would be doing a charity by going behind my friend’s back and she were doing a charity by her sneering compliment. At least nature was kind enough to spare me having to think of a similarly charitable rebuttal, as a beetle helpfully flew into her hair a moment later and she went running. One must take silver linings when they come. Unrelatedly, Jonathan, when you do become a solicitor in full, should Miss Lindon and her future beau ever approach you for a house..?”

“I shall do what I can to find them a lovely estate,” Jonathan assured. “In Northumberland.”

“Next door to an entomologist?” Mina asked over her cup.

“Of course.”

Jonathan blinked the recollection away, wondering whether it was the dizziness of the day or the ticking of the clock between Mina and the final line of shorthand that was making his mind slosh. Perhaps it was simply the subconscious’ effort to dodge the weight of the evening and what it might promise. His thoughts were fleeing to hide from hope and worry. But Mina knew him too well. She caught him with her eyes before pulling him back into the headiness of the present.

“You will do fantastically, Jonathan. Tell me you know it as well as I do.”

“I will not say I know it. Too much confidence risks laziness. I will only say that I shall give all of myself to the task. It must be done so it will be done. If I think any further than that simple fact, my head will burst.”

“If you do, I promise to sweep you up and put your pieces back in order.” Her smile softened an increment as her hand settled in his. “I mean it.” She squeezed. He squeezed back.

“The same goes for you. We are neither of us allowed to hold ourselves together with string and brittle smiles once the door is between us and,” Jonathan flapped his free hand at the rain-streaked window, “all of that. No acting when it’s us alone.” He flashed her a decidedly less-than-brittle smile. “I promise not to tattle to your girls.”

“You were bad enough today, Mr. Harker. Half the classes were watching.” Her voice tutted, but the grin showed in her eyes. Jonathan had arrived at the school with the umbrella in one hand and a bouquet in the other. A bundle of her beloved lilies that he’d used as a screen behind which to steal a kiss and drop the announcement of Hawkins’ assignment in her ear. Forgetting her audience, Mina had kissed him back, forgetting to mask herself behind the petals. They had absconded to the cab to the sound of a dozen girls cooing their farewells, Miss Murray, see you tomorrow, Miss Murray, has he got a brother, Miss Murray?

“Hardly a terrible thing. If you are one of their examples, mustn’t they have something to look forward to at the end of all their practice?” He assumed a pose of scheming innocence, lashes batting. “I could be especially nefarious come Valentine’s Day. Take a holiday from Hawkins and show up toting chocolates and train tickets and a florist’s worth of flowers.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“I can hire an orchestra to follow us around. Have them play waltzes the whole day.”

“Jonathan.”

“No, of course, an orchestra would be too cumbersome. A singer and a violin, perhaps. I can hire a paperboy to throw rose petals after us. Or else I could send them up to the classroom to follow you in procession out of the building…”

The typewriter hammered back to life. Its keys were struck with more force than they needed.

“Sorry,” Mina sang above the din, “no hearing you over this. You will have to be a foul minion of Eros a little louder.” Jonathan bit his tongue against a reply. Yes, she was typing again. Yes, she was reading the last of the shorthand. Tap-tap-tap, clack-clack-clack. So far it was all the lines of a love note—a common enough surprise, if one that fished more than the usual dimpled grin out of her tonight—and she had not caught on yet to the conclusion. “How long will the client need you over there?”

“Between the travel to the estate, the stay, and the return trip, the whole thing should be over within early May. I shall have time to hoard you a while before you and Lucy have your summer escape to the coast. Was it Whitby?”

“Yes, quite near the landmark Abbey. I mean to harass the townspeople with demands for any ghost stories they might spare about the place. Perhaps Marmion is but a single drop in a sea of waiting legends.”

Tap-tap-tap.

“Then I shall try to collect what I can abroad in turn,” Jonathan said from behind a fan of notes. He kept only the corner of his eye pinned on the swimming lines. “There should be spirits in abundance along the route.” 

Clack-clack-clack.

“I would think so. But don’t settle for ghosts alone! I shall happily adopt any devils or revenants or folkloric fiends the locals can share—,”

Her voice died mid-key.

Jonathan looked over the top of his pages. Mina sat frozen as a sculpture. Her hands still hovered at the typewriter, lax and immobile. But her eyes were in motion. Flicking back, forward, and back again between Jonathan’s shorthand and the five words they had translated to in plain ink.

Will you marry me, Wilhelmina?

By the time she finally turned her head back to face him, he was already on the floor, swift and silent at her hip. The box sat open in his hand. Set inside was a petite gold band whose stone gleamed like a fleck of starlight.

Mina looked from the ring to its holder with eyes that were already spilling.

“Yes,” Jonathan heard a dozen, a hundred times in the ensuing night. Yes, yes, yes, a thousand, a million times, yes. Between kisses, between tastes, between touches and takings that skirted the furthest edge of propriety between unmarried bodies. Yes.

“We are engaged. We must prepare for the wedding night as one must study ahead of an examination. Isn’t that right, Miss Murray?”

“It is, Mr. Harker.” Then, furtive despite her position over him, she grew a smile both shy and sly. A lure surrounded by the hanging curtain of her hair, “…Can you say it? For practice’s sake.” He did not have to ask her meaning.

“Mina Harker.”

Her teeth bared in a white moon.

“I didn’t quite hear you. Say again?” As she asked, her hand moved. He gasped in the trap of it.

“My pronunciation must be off. How is this?” His own hand moved. Her eyes went wide and dark. “Mina Harker. Mina Harker. Mina Harker.”

More practice unspooled. Harker, husband, wife, I do, I will. Around and around again until their tongues ran dry and they were left folded into the tangle of each other, their last fig leaf still reserved for the nuptial night itself. As midnight rolled past, the storm slipped off with it and left the moon to throw its rays through the edges of the curtains. Mina’s ring trapped its glow on her knuckle. He almost wept to look at it.

Real. This is real. I am awake and this is real. God, God. Thank you.

“Thank you,” he murmured into the top of her head. Her hair massed into a perfect curling cloud under his chin. The cloud tickled there as she lifted her gaze to him.

“For what?”

“You know.”

“If I must say, ‘You’re welcome,’ so must you.” Jonathan held his tongue. “Exactly.” Her hand cupped his cheek as she went on, “I feel much the same. Like a lottery was won and the prize is an unfair gift by dint of how precious it is compared to the recipient. By how that prize refuses to acknowledge their own value. But there is time yet to filter that all down into something better. We will have our vows to smother each other with and neither of us will be able to shush and insist, no, no, I am the luckier one. All while the pews roll their eyes. For tonight I ask that we have a truce. No deprecation, no hoisting onto pedestals. Just for now, we will pretend we each feel equal to the blessing of the other. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Good.” Mina lifted herself high enough to find his lips with hers. “I love you, Jonathan.”

“I love you, Mina.” He mouthed the words to himself long after she had fallen asleep atop his heart. I love you, Mina. I love you, Mina Murray. I love you, Mina Harker. I love you. Thank you.

Jonathan faced the covered window and the sliver of pane visible at the cloth’s edge. He spotted the moon hovering in a split among the breaking rainclouds. As sleep finally found him, he could not shake an unpleasant certainty that he was looking at a great glowing eye. And that it was staring back. 

Jonathan discovered Carfax Abbey on a clear blue day. His immediate impressions of the place ran in quick succession. First, that the location was so precise in its accommodation of Count Dracula’s specifications that it might have been commissioned. Second, that it looked like a place meant only to exist after dark on a sinister moor. This remained true despite the brilliance of spring stubbornly budding along the edge of its high stone fence.

He sent back a late thanks to himself as he’d been that morning, when he had tossed a coin on whether or not to bring the Kodak with him for the day’s hunt. Though the cab would be trusted to take him to the general area, it would be down to more literal footwork to inspect the properties he hoped to survey as far as he could without increasing the fare. Which would not bother him too much if he were going light. He did have a fondness for a run when it could be gotten away with sans pedestrians. But there would be no jogging with the camera to mind. Only a steady trudge.

Yet even that predicted march was trimmed down to a mere amble by dint of the cabman’s suggestion. He had heard out Jonathan’s description of his ideal quarry and first assumed him to be a tourist who’d gotten lost in a search for haunted houses.

“The area hasn’t much in that way, lad. Only place that comes close is old Carfax. Used to be an abbey, but looks more like a hideaway for the Dark Ages’ ghouls.”

“Do you know if it’s for sale?” This had earned him an odd look before the cabman admitted he had seen a sign staked out front that might have claimed the place was available. Supposing one cleared away the accumulated grime.

“I have to wonder if your buyer will bother with such a place. Ghosts can be dealt with, but it has more unsavory living neighbors to deal with.”

“Who are they?”

“Can’t say I know them personally, thank God, but I know for certain they’re perfectly mad.”

“Really?”

“Well, they’d not be in a private madhouse otherwise.”

The cab passed said lunatic asylum en route to the site. Jonathan was happy to note that it was at least a stately building, clearly a former domestic estate that had been expanded into suitable proportions for the inmates and staff. Better still, it was so far from Carfax as to be invisible through the facility’s wall of tended trees even when standing outside the latter’s stonework border.

Seeing the composition of said fence’s rough stones had plucked at Jonathan’s boyhood itch for play. If it were not for the cabman as a witness, he might have clambered his way up and walked along the edge as he’d done around his aunt’s home before he was declared too old for such nonsense. Still musing, Jonathan thanked the man again for the find and paid for the ride, promising another fare if he would return in an hour’s time. The cabman hesitated even after he had taken the first half of the pay.

“You’re certain you’d rather not go up the whole road first? There aren’t many houses, but they’re each of them empty and all far less a stain on the eye than that evil heap of rocks.”

“Do any of the rest have a chapel attached?”

“Don’t believe so. But if your buyer’s so keen on his prayers he ought to make do with a trip to church like the rest of us.”

“I imagine he means to refurbish it for that very purpose.” Jonathan offered a smile. “I’m certain whatever spirits might be lurking will have to clear out once he’s put the place in order.”

“Or torn the bloody thing down,” the cabman muttered not quite under his breath. He huffed and checked his watch. “An hour, you said? Just to wander around the place?”

“To wander here and across the neighboring grounds. I need to take note of the full landscape as well as the estate.” The cabman snorted at this in time with his horse.

“I hope your buyer is paying what you’re worth, lad. Any more on his list and he’d have you mapping out all of Purfleet to be sure it suits his fancy.” When the cab pulled away Jonathan began the photography. As much as he could manage from outside the fence. But then, because there were no witnesses, and because there was no way of opening the gate without ruining the rusted lock, and because it really wouldn’t be a thorough survey of the property without a glimpse of things on the inside of the towering stone walls, Jonathan shouldered his bag and scaled the rock as blithely as a spider.

He landed in the shade under one of the sundry trees that crowded the interior grounds. Jonathan marveled at how the trees’ shadows and that of the hulking abbey combined to hold a permanent dusk in place. So much so that it was a challenge to find any well-lit spots in which to take pictures without losing details. Up close the chapel was no less imposing than the abbey. It stood apart in its overgrown gothic solitude while the abbey puffed itself out with late additions to the structure. Jonathan made a note to reserve some pictures for Mina once he’d set aside an album for the Count. Sadly there was no letting himself indoors without becoming a full intruder, and so he satisfied himself with touring the rest of the land. A tour he was happy to make at a run.

The camera and his bag were set carefully aside with the chapel to manage this—for he must manage it, seeing as the grounds seemed to cover no less than twenty acres—and sent another belated thanks to his morning self for donning more active shoes than his workplace pair. While the place was no forest, it was an easy enough copse to imagine as such. A private patch of woodlands in which he had no one to be mindful of on a trail or blush over as they gawked at him, wondering what his hurry was. Here the exercise even bore fruit in the form of revealing a pond set at the estate’s southern end. A pool clear with spring water and trickling a faint stream through a grate into denser growth beyond the rear gates. Another run and a returning walk ensured this too got its photograph.

It was as he took these pictures that he saw the place even had some refreshment in the way of brambleberries snarling their way along the masonry. They were still some months away from being in season, but the desire to steal a piece of their thorny nest to plant his own shrub gnawed. At least until he reminded himself it would be hopeless with his current lodging. A mint tin of a flat slotted wall-to-wall with the rest of the street. Mina’s was worse still, he knew. When they married, they would pool their funds to find somewhere with a little girdle of a garden around it. Or else they would have window-boxes to grow things for the kitchen. Or both. Just a wedge of greenery to tame and taste for themselves.

��For now, he satisfied himself with adding it to the marital itinerary and took out his notebook to jot the impressions of Carfax Abbey as he had for half a dozen other estates, all of them falling short on one preference or another. Too new, too near to the hub of a city, too compact, too bright, and, most damning, not a single chapel to spare among them. At least, none that were not in use by the general public. He would likely run around for another couple weeks to check on other prospective options, but he held little hope for a finer match than Carfax.

Carfax, Carfax. I wonder…

The notebook was tucked away in exchange first for his watch, which showed he’d somehow burned only twenty minutes, and then a compass. A minor note from the Count had mentioned a desire to have, ‘an open sky with which to see all the night and day, the dusks and dawns, without men’s brick and smoke in their way.’ Jonathan could not fault such a wish and so had brought the compass to see if he might happen upon a house with the view clear for the east’s sunrise and the west’s sunset. The compass revealed he had done even better with the abbey.

‘Carfax.’ Quatre Face. A four-sided house with its walls facing the four cardinal directions. All clear of any rooftops and their belching chimneys. I’m sure it will please you, Count.

The thought sank his joy like a stone. Jonathan looked again at the abbey. Haunted and a relic of dead centuries, true, but a place of dignity and grand dimensions all the same. A voice rose up in him with smiling malice as he stared at it.

You will never have such space. You will never have a home so broad that Mina can have rooms all for herself and more for the daydream of children. You will live close to all the fruits of a metropolis, as near as the gutters themselves, and only ever know what it is to skim them, to borrow them, to daydream without laying your lesser hands on them except to use them for another. You will have neither the sprawling beauty of nature or the boons of modernity. Not for your entire life, Jonathan Harker.

And, because he could not stop the flow once it was running:

She should have found someone better. Someone with more than your scraps to offer.

He ground the heel of his palm against each eye until they dried.

“What would she say?”

Something kind you do not deserve.

Jonathan shook his head and marveled at the paradox that still found its way to nettle him even with the ring on her finger. Perhaps because of it. It was the miserable uncertainty of the hours preceding his examination turned up a hundredfold. Time, experience and evidence all stood in favor of him passing his tests on the professional and romantic fronts, yes, yes, he knew it…

…But what if he didn’t? What if he had somehow fooled himself and Mina and Hawkins and peers and the world itself into thinking he was more than what he was? What if?

What if you stop wallowing and get out before the cab returns?

Jonathan stopped long enough to skip a stone across the pond before following his route back to where he’d clambered over the wall. With half an hour to spare, he began walking at a healthy gait across the spread of land between the abbey and the asylum. If only to say he knew how many paces it was between the properties. One, two, three, four, five…

The pacing turned irregular once he had to cross through the border of trees that stood for a property line between Carfax and its company. Jonathan was stunned to discover there was no proper fence hidden behind the picturesque rows. Only a walled and gated section at the rear of the asylum that suggested an area for outdoor excursion or perhaps a private kitchen garden. He hoped it was the former. Even the insane needed leave to stretch their legs beyond the borders of a cell. As he mulled this, he heard a shout. It sounded like it held the weight of every expletive known to the English tongue and several more beyond it.

Following this was the same livid voice grating seemingly out of thin air, “Idiot! Fool! One damned page and you do this?” Jonathan heard a clatter of hollow things against a wall. “Imbecile!” He stepped fully beyond the wall of trees and saw the voice’s owner pacing back and forth inside a barred window set at the foot of the asylum’s wall.

“Sir? Are you alright?” Jonathan was almost as surprised as the man in the window to realize he had not only spoken, but come closer. There was an instant in which the man tensed. The picture of one who’s realized someone of influence has caught them in a bad moment. Yet upon actually seeing Jonathan and recognizing his lack of import, he relaxed enough to smile. Albeit sourly.

“Apart from this most inconvenient stint of homemaking, courtesy of concerned friend and kin, I am quite fine, young man. Ebullient, ecstatic, elated.” The polite rictus hardened. Jonathan thought queasily of wild dogs. “Apart from the fact that I have lost the last of my stationery to an overfilled glass. My cup runneth over. My cup ruins days of work and turns the remaining space to so much waste. Just look!”

The man thrust something up to the gaps in the bars, stopping just short of throwing the spoiled pinch of paper out onto the grass. For it was spoiled. Jonathan saw the stationery was really little more than a large cut of butcher paper folded and refolded until it made a sort of accordion-book. The whole thing was so waterlogged that Jonathan could barely tell tally marks from letters as the crayon bled together and the pages sagged.

“Ruined,” the man punctuated with what was either a sneer or a sulk. “At best I can try to mash and dry the thing out as a new sheet. But the stuff was already muddy enough to write on and I shall have to reduce myself to the penmanship of an infant with the bluntest marks just to make anything legible. And I had just started to make progress.” He cocked his gaze more fully at Jonathan. His look was one accustomed to giving brisk appraisal. “If you are a journalist, you are quite tardy with your pen. You’ve not even set up your camera’s tripod to record the travesty.”

“I am no journalist, unfortunately,” Jonathan admitted as he unearthed his notebook. “But at least that leaves some of this to work with, if you’re amenable.” Covering the shorthand of the last full page, he showed the man in the window the remaining blank sheets. Not a great many pages left, and certainly not of impressive size considering it was a pocketbook, but it would be a fair amount of writing space for a careful script. The man’s expression did not change, but his eyes brightened.

“I may be. Supposing I know the price at the other end of such a trade.”

“No price, sir. You would do me a kindness in taking it as I shall have to start a fresh one for another project soon. The predecessor would be left unfinished and forgotten in the meantime.”

“Ah, a worse fate than a journalist. An author. How many poor diaries have you left abandoned in their pretty bindings for the sake of a new volume?” The man clicked his tongue through a grin. “I jest, of course. You do not seem the sort to waste what he has.” The grin, still genuine, flattened an increment. Bloodshot eyes gleamed. “I fear I wasted a great deal of what I once thought mine on the other side of these delightful accommodations. Never make such a mistake as mine, young man. Do not doubt for an instant that what you trust today cannot turn on you tomorrow.”

“I won’t, sir.” Jonathan thought of adding that he had lived under that knowledge since the day he attended the funerals which ended his childhood. He swallowed it back. “May I..?” He held the notebook up, his shorthand sheets pinched between thumb and forefinger.

“I would be most grateful.”

Jonathan tore his filled pages neatly out. The remaining clean pages were barely thicker than a pamphlet, but clung sturdily to the little spine. Jonathan knelt low enough to lay it within reach on the grass. He noticed a small dusting of white powder at the window’s edge. A crowd of ants whittled away at the mound.

“Ants,” the man scoffed as he followed Jonathan’s line of sight. “Pitiful company. I had hoped the thaw would bring in something heartier. Flies, ladybugs, perhaps some early butterflies. But the real trouble is keeping them around. Ah, apologies, might you bring it a little closer?” The man raised his forearms into view. “I haven’t the best angle from where I stand.” Jonathan scooped up the notebook and brought it an inch nearer.

The man’s hands were abruptly out through the bars and clapped around Jonathan’s. Tight. Short of hurting, short of breaking, but locked as firmly as a vise. Jonathan tensed without pulling back. Again he thought of wild dogs. Of things that only seemed to be dogs until they closed in. Creatures that chased once they saw something run.

Jonathan was still. The man was still. Grasping Jonathan’s hand and the notebook in a pantomime prayer.

It’s my left hand. Smart enough for that, at least. I can still do my paperwork with the right intact and the other broken. Will the fingers heal in time for Mina to slip the band on? How mortifying to have to explain it all to her. I wonder if the asylum would make up a cast without charging for it…

“There is no need to shake upon it, sir,” Jonathan heard himself say. “The book is yours.” The man regarded him with less of a smile now. His lip still curled, but it seemed only to hold on by sheer will. It dropped entirely with the gust of a sigh.

“The book and a lack of tact, I fear. Even if I were not mad, I would still be a churl.” The hands relaxed and a set of fingers drummed once on the back of Jonathan’s wrist. “Though I suspect you are a soul used to them. I would tell you to be more wary on your way, but it is only a simpleton of a preacher who would bother teaching his flock wariness in a world where they must interact each day with wolves. Though I will advise that it is rather foolish to go around making conversation with confirmed lunatics up close. I am confirmed, you know. The facts are printed and signed all over by professionals. I saw the document myself.” The man’s look floated away from Jonathan and into a distance he couldn’t guess at. “Printed on far finer paper than what we settle for.”

One of the gripping hands came away, leaving only the one folded over the notebook and Jonathan’s palm. They shook. The notebook was collected in the same gesture.

“My thanks,” from the window.

“Quite welcome,” as Jonathan righted himself. He surprised himself with his own steadiness. The rote pitch of the office and a life’s worth of reflex steered his tongue while mind, heart, and stomach rattled where they hid. Because he had to do something with his freed hand rather than clasp it in its brother, he fished out his watch. Only now did a ripple of worry manage to rise to his face.

“Some trouble?”

“I fear I may have lost my ride.”

“You came from the by-road, yes? It hardly sees traffic. If your driver’s gone on without you, go around the front here and see if you cannot bribe our beloved head doctor into lending out the wagon. Just say you have managed to wring a whole quarter of an hour’s worth of nattering from his friend R.M.”

“R.M.?”

“Short for Mr. Rig R. Mortis.” The man chuckled at Jonathan’s look. “Pseudonym, young man. Can hardly have the family being shamed under my real title. He will know who you mean. Though I do hope you manage your ride instead.” With that, the man ducked back from the window and was gone. Jonathan had made it three strides away when the voice called behind him, “Here!” Something small struck the back of Jonathan’s heel. He turned and saw gold winking up at him. A sovereign. “It is not payment. You are merely ensuring the attendant who lost it when I had my last room search never gets it back.”

“Sir—,”

But the window was already abandoned. Jonathan picked the coin up. It was partially obliterated on one end, erasing part of Victoria’s face and the rider on the reverse. This was because the edge had been ground to a sharp edge that nicked his thumb open as he turned it over. Blood smeared Saint George, his steed, and the dragon hissing up at the sword and hooves.

Cold fingers seemed to walk up his spine as he examined it. Shaking the chill away, he tucked the coin in his pocket alongside the notebook’s harvested pages and dashed back the way he’d come. He made it to the waiting cab just as it was pulling up to the gate.

“Well, lad? Is it what your buyer’s after?”

“I believe so.” Jonathan smiled as he said it and held the expression admirably until the cabman turned his gaze back to the road. He gloved his hands despite the balmy weather, sheathing his thumb as it traced the thin impression of the cargo sitting against his breast.

“If you keep up with that you shall tear the whole cheek off,” she said at his shoulder. “You are awake, I promise.”

Jonathan stopped pinching at himself and split his attention between Mina’s face and the clock’s. The magic circle of Roman numbers seemed to shake a phantom head. No, it said, not yet. But soon.

“This is happening, then?” he asked as he turned fully to Mina. Mina, here at the last moment together until mid-May. Mina, wearing the ring he had saved a year for on her finger. Mina, who had clasped and kissed and kept him from collapsing outright in stupefied relief upon the announcement that he had passed his examination, her fiancé now a solicitor. Mina, who held his hand and kept him from floating off through the ceiling and into the sky. “This is really happening? Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” Jonathan’s eye traveled to her neck and the glimpse of a cord peeking from her shirt collar. She caught him and spared her free hand to tuck it out of sight. “Just as I am sure you will not fly off with my treasure, you magpie.”

The treasure being Jonathan’s own plain gold band now worn as a necklace. He had been the one to slip it over her head the night before, mesmerized by the soft shine as it landed over her heart. It was done by mostly mutual agreement. Mina wished to hold a scrap of tradition close and leave his hand bare until they reached the chapel. And, though Jonathan suspected this was mere theatre, she said she wished to hold onto it as proof to herself that she was awake and that the engagement was a reality. Besides, it was practical! If he were wearing the cord on his trip, what if he should lose it in any number of countries as he traveled? It was one thing to risk forgetting it at the office or leaving it at home. Quite another to imagine losing it in a hotel in another nation. Even with all this logic at her disposal, Jonathan donned his best moue. Mina covered it with her hand.

“That is unfair.”

“I am not above unscrupulous tactics, Mrs. Harker.”

“Like trying to break me by calling me Mrs. Harker?”

“Possibly.”

“Well, you are foiled. My will is too great.” She brought her hand away to brush a strand of hair from his brow. “There is no need to scheme anyway. You shall have the thing back soon enough.”

Jonathan pretended not to hear the slight tremor at the word ‘soon.’ Yes, it was only a few weeks’ separation. A month at most if there were delays in train or coach. But even in this zenith of excitement, knowing unequivocally that this was where their future began—a future where they were taking their first steps up rather that walking the same flat circle in the dust—it felt strangely like waiting to leap into a chasm. A gorge that required endless paperwork to keep track of, plus what was required for the travel itself. Documentation, letter of credit, passport, polyglot dictionary, and, carefully packed, the first new suit he’d had in three years.

Mina had insisted on his modeling it before packing it away. After, she declared she must send a letter of gratitude to not only Mr. Hawkins, but to the tailor. They would have to see him again about the suit for the wedding. Lucy had already written back in response to Mina’s last letter with the announcement, erupting with insistence that, while she was not the sort of girl to live and die by fashion plates, she wanted to know the very instant she began hunting for a dress.

In the present, however, the only new attire was the coat Jonathan wore. A companion piece Hawkins had insisted join the suit before Jonathan could escape the tape measure. Jonathan’s hand drifted up to one of its pockets now and found it unexpectedly light. Worry spiked for a moment before his mind caught up to what it was he’d been feeling for. He almost laughed. Mina canted her head at him, searching. She never missed even the most minute shift behind his eyes.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Only I’ve realized I was so adamant about packing everything for the needs of the trip and the client that I forgot the one item I meant to bring solely for me.”

“Your books?”

“No, the law texts are there. A bit of Dumas as well. But I have forgotten my book.” He offered a bashful smile. “Ours, I mean. For your assignment.”

Her brow furrowed a moment before she recalled, “The journal?”

“Yes. I meant to grab one of the spare pocketbooks from my desk, but it’s not in its place. Maybe I bundled it in the case without thinking.” If not, he could shave out a little of his emergency budget for something en route to the castle. But Mina was beaming at him.

“An ordinary pocketbook might suffice for a clerk, but not a solicitor. Especially not when I’ve held onto this since you turned your back to peruse the dictionaries two months back.” She brought out her reticule as she spoke. From the reticule came a slim leatherbound volume with supple pages made to resist the traitorous smudges and tears of its precursor’s flimsy leaves. The whole thing was tied with a white ribbon that pinned a matching pen to its cover. “All shorthand. Promise?”

“Promise,” Jonathan nodded as he took the book gingerly from her hand. It fit so perfectly in the coat that it failed to even dent cloth. “Though I don’t believe the same applies to the recipes. Which I shall collect in abundance and inflict upon us both once I return. Is there anything specific you want me to bring back?”

“You know my tastes already.”

“Other than the cuisine, I mean.”

“Nothing comes immediately to mind. A good story or two would be nice, but,” again her hand found his face, cupped against the angle of his cheek, “as long as you come back, I will be satisfied.”

“I suppose that can be managed.”

The clock tolled and the call went out to the station. All aboard, come along. Mina’s eyes flicked with brief wonder to the train itself. Locomotives and their railways had been one of her chief interests for as long as Jonathan had known her. She regarded her copy of Bradshaw’s Guide with the same reverence as some did their Bible, to say nothing of the clipped articles she had collected concerning new routes and models being laid out within various countries. In sum, Mina loved the practicality and potential of trains. To her they were proof that their world was not limited by whether or not they could hail a hansom or how far it was willing to take them. But now her smile dimmed.

“It had better bring you back on time,” she said as they walked arm and arm up to his car. “I shall be standing in this very spot with my watch out.”

“I’ll warn the conductor.” Because they were among strangers, she had allowed him to hold her arm rather than the reverse. He gave a gentle squeeze first to her arm, then her hand. The lump of the stone stood out under her glove. “If it runs late, I will simply run ahead.” Her laugh did little to hide the dew in her eyes. It matched the mist in his. Their hands held tight.

In that moment, an absurd impulse leapt up in him. An animal-twitch of fear that went deeper than mere anxiety, deeper than love, deeper than concern of career or separation or wandering in unknown lands. It was the needling of a sense he had no name for. A thing that smelled or heard or tasted some imperceptible sign that bodily and mental awareness refused to acknowledge. It whispered:

Do not go. Do not do this. Go home. Go now. Before it’s too late.

The whisper froze him. Mina appeared to freeze with him. Her eyes reflected a feverish glimmer of his own disquiet. They stood locked in that second like a hart and doe with their ears pricked toward a huntsman’s tread in the wood.

But then they blinked. Mina’s gaze lightened and the uncanny sensation left Jonathan as quickly as it came. Only a shudder of nerves disguised as a portent. Really, he could hardly bow to it even if it had meant anything beyond a hiccough of his own fretting. Fact outweighed fear and the fact was he had a job to do. A job that began here, now, with the release of Mina’s hand so he might grab his other bag from her.

Thus unburdened, Mina abruptly trapped his face between her palms. Jonathan bent down until his mouth met hers. Here was the plush press of her lips on his, feeling so much like a reverie he thought once again that he must be asleep. He would wake any moment and the fantasy would fall away into foam. Now. Now.

“Now, I don’t mean to intrude, but there is a train waiting. I’m afraid you must save the rest of the young man for his return trip.” They both snapped up at once to see the uniformed man at Jonathan’s back. He was eyeing them with a look that spoke of a career forever encumbered with similar scenes. The man peered at Jonathan over his spectacles. “You are boarding?”

“Yes, sir. Apologies.” But an apology not even fractionally meant. He turned back to Mina who now steamed from the neck up as she avoided the gawking of an older couple taking in the show. The wife gestured at the sight of them, muttering something in a tone of mingled mirth and query in her husband’s ear, to which the husband rolled his eyes. Jonathan spared them only a mote of attention. “Mina.” She looked to him. “I love you. I’ll be back soon.”

“I love you, Jonathan. I’ll be right here.”

He found his seat at the window and did not turn his head away from the glass. Not while the train idled. Not while it pulled away in its hiss and puff of turning wheels. Not while Mina stood there waving after him, her feet tugging her forward a few unconscious steps so that she might see his window longer while he craned his head to keep her in view. Only when the station itself was a speck in the distance did he turn back around. Off to the future to lay an invisible track for them both. To collect countries as keepsakes and bring them home on paper like pressed flowers.

Jonathan tried to imagine what he might cross on his travel to and from the castle that would be a worthwhile souvenir. Images of books and baubles were conjured as he traced the edges of his journal. So he went on musing until excitement burned out to exhaustion and the first doze of his trip dragged him down into sleep.

A dream came and went.

He was still on the train, still at his window, but the seat facing his was no longer empty. A face he knew was there. One harvested from the far end of his school days and the nascent career as a clerk. So he believed.

It was a familiar countenance in the way that the sight of a stranger always seen in the same place amounted to vague acquaintance. Known enough to nod at in passing. Jonathan had nodded at this one and been given a nod back in student years. He’d thought of introducing himself once or twice, only for the young man to flush and hurry off like a frightened stray. Jonathan had never quite understood it.

Now here was his anonymous acquaintance again, finally sedate in his seat and hidden in his newspaper. While he was not Jonathan’s senior by more than a year, he looked to be in a more professional state of dress. Pressed and tailored and relaxed in that way men can be when they know they have a wardrobe full of similarly fine ensembles waiting at home. But it was his choice of accessory that gave him away as being on a similar pilgrimage to Jonathan’s. The unoccupied portion of his seat was taken up by the paperwork of a sale, carefully weighted by a discarded hat. His companion spared it no attention, having his gaze pinned on the newspaper open in his hands. It blocked the view of him from the whiskers down. Jonathan was still wondering whether to announce himself when a voice came from behind the newsprint:

“My way goes through Munich. Yours as well?”

“Yes,” Jonathan said. “Though I fear there will be no real stop there. At least, the Count did not pencil a hotel stay in the route.”

“Hm,” his companion nodded. “I suppose he would not gamble it twice. Even if he did set it right the first go around.” The newspaper rustled and the young man’s eyes finally lifted above the print to find Jonathan’s. They were bottle glass-bright. “What all have you packed?”

“Necessities, mainly. Everything for the sale, some changes for the overnight stays and—,”

“And what haven’t you packed?”

“I…” His hand traveled again to his chest. “Mina saved me at the station. I forgot a notebook, but she had one ready. I should be fine.”

“No. You are still missing something. Rather, I expect you will be missing it quite soon.” There was a sigh behind the paper. “All that practice and you go and leave the damned thing under your bed.”

Jonathan straightened in his seat. His right hand clamped reflexively, as if palm and fingers were dreaming of a hardwood handle. 

“I’m not going to the jungle.”

“There are worse things than animals to worry about. If you cannot cut them down, what will be left to you?” Another page turned. The bottle glass eyes slid to look out the window. Jonathan followed his gaze and saw that the world had gone black and white under a skull-faced moon. “But then, you might make do without the steel. You handled the worst of our schoolmates well enough back then without even raising your voice. Whatever you may lack as a full-blooded Englishman you make up for in softer stuff. Enough that one or two of the lads confessed over drinks that they wished you were a girl. I was not one of them. You gave me trouble enough as a boy. 

“All that said, you have skills that will help. Appealing attributes. Ones I could have used myself.” The unblinking eyes slid back to Jonathan. It was a greyer stare now. Almost filmy. “I had nothing to sell. Neither in English property or my personal wares, so to speak. I could not even muster charm enough to be worth an extra hour’s chat.” Jonathan watched his companion’s hands crumple the paper in two fists. He saw for the first time that those hands were red. They left dry maroon stains across the gazette. “Who is waiting for you, Jonathan Harker? Who at home? Your Mina, old Hawkins, and who else? Any names come to mind?

“Of those friends, are there any who will know to worry when it goes wrong? Anyone to ask questions? To watch the calendar and the post and wonder how you are? Because I thought I did. I even knew the difference between friends and amiable acquaintances, unlike you. Fellows in and out of my firm. Even a girl who understood my needs and was willing to play her part. They all said they expected letters from me. Said they’d be on watch if I was not back within half a month. That was a year ago. And still they do not know where I am. Nor have they cared enough to look.

“But you would have, I think. If I had ever gotten over my cowardice. If I hadn’t wasted boyhood cringing, so afraid I would give myself away. If I had not made a ghost of myself rather than a friend. I was so proud of myself for not daring at the time—I fear I would have made a wretched scene when I first realized you and the pretty schoolmistress were serious. Instead I took my wine and my pain in silence. Told myself how wise I had been not to try. Ha.” Jonathan watched pallid lips peel open on a smile glazed pink with bleeding. Red rivulets trailed out between the young man’s teeth and into the trimmed beard. “Not that it would have mattered in the end. If we had been friends, if we had been more, if we had been anything at all, there wouldn’t have been much for you to find.”

Jonathan leaned forward. It took an effort. A growing stench was starting to waft from the opposite seat. The stink of copper and rot.

“Please, just tell me what this is. Tell me how to help. What’s happened?”

His companion’s grisly smile wilted. The bottle glass eyes ran like his mouth.

“What’s happened is you have climbed onto the same train I took. You will ride on plenty more. The same coaches too. Perhaps that will help. They never caught on to the truth of things when it was me. After all, he does have work to do, being what he is. People must have made it to and from that place before in official capacity. They must have thought it would be the same for imported goods. Hopefully they will know better now. But then, so will he. Soon all you will have to rely on is yourself. Use what you have. All that you have. Play the game as best you can. As long as you can.” Red tears and dribble flowed in a thickening cascade. “I could not last a week and so lost everything. Or nearly so. I am restless, true, but it could have been worse. Much worse.”

“I don’t understand,” Jonathan almost rasped. Fear choked him like a noose.

“I know. And I am very, very sorry to say that you will.” His companion sighed, releasing a crimson haze of spittle into the air. “Well. This is all I can manage as I am. I suppose I shall not need this anymore. Here.” The newspaper was shut and held out for Jonathan to take. “Somewhat out of date, but well worth the read.”

 Jonathan spared barely a mote of attention for it. There was no headline or story that he could make out. Only a flash of what looked like the stanzas of a poem, though he couldn’t say for certain. He was too gripped by the sight of the young man below the neck. Seeing the fullness of it hooked something in Jonathan’s stomach and drew it up to the very edge of his teeth. He wasn’t sure if it was his breakfast or a scream.

That was when the hand fell on his shoulder.

Cold. Just as cold as the lips now pressed at the side of his neck.

Whatever sound he might have made was cut off as something sharp drove into his throat and the train went as dark as the world beyond it.

“Sir?” Jonathan fell against his seat as if thrown. The uniformed man started back himself, taking his hand away from Jonathan’s shoulder as he did. “We’re coming to the station soon. Can’t have you sleeping through your stop.”

“No. No, of course. Thank you. Sorry.” The man glanced at Jonathan’s lap with a look possessed by every father who has ever known better than his progeny.

“You could pick lighter reading to nod off on. You’re only setting yourself up for sour dreaming if that’s what you skim beforehand.” He didn’t loiter long enough to explain what he meant. Jonathan looked down.

He had picked a gazette to stuff into his things before he and Mina reached the platform. He’d had an idea that he was reserving his books for the far end of his travel and so would make do with some final updates from his native soil. At some point he had turned all the way to the obituaries. His hand rested on one describing the tragic loss of a young man at sea. A sailor fallen overboard in a storm, presumed dead.

They could be wrong, Jonathan thought with sudden desperation. Perhaps he lived. He made it safely to an island or some distant beach. They could find him alive and well. Couldn’t they?

The newspaper was shut, folded over twice, and tucked back in his luggage. Jonathan did not touch it again until he left the final station that spat him out by the shore, feeding it to the first wastebin he saw. He almost laughed to himself when it came time to board the ship. It would be May by the time he cracked open the journal and wrote anything of interest.

“I shall do better on the return trip,” he promised the naked pages. “I’ll record a view of the sunrise on the water, I swear.” And he meant it. But for this first voyage across the water, Jonathan stayed shut in his room. If he dreamt of a black tide coming up to swallow him, he was happy to wake without recalling it. 

[newkatzkafe2023]

Hi there and I have a question, so how can the monkey kings react when the reader who is a lovely thick kitsune who wore a kda popstar uniform and offer if she wanted to perform a lovely private concert and wanted to offer a lovely date as well?? :3

(Lmk Wukong) His Eyes were sparkling in amazement at everything. Mk and Mei invited him to a concert since Mk was tried of him being coped up in Flower fruit mountain. He only agreed so you would stop asking but he was so glad he agreed because who knew the singer was so cute😍. Wukong was usually hates crowds but he was to busy focusing on you as you danced and sing on stage while blowing kisses at him making Wukong blush. At the end of the show you gave him your autograph along with your phone number, in case he wants a private show just the two of you and he wasted know time calling🤤🤤🤤

(NR Wukong) This dude was drooling over you at one of your concerts and he was going crazy. You were on stage bouncing and dancing around as you sang your song, and he was floored and obsessed. You saw his fuzzy self in the crowd I mean it's not that hard, but he was very handsome and you especially made sure he got a good look at you. Later you gave him your autograph and your number and promised him lots of private shows he wants, And of course Wukong purred at the idea🤤🤤🤤🤤

(MKR Wukong) He hated everything about this event, he hated the crowd, the noise, the fog and lights EVERYTHING. What he didn't hate was the chubby fox Singer who stood on stage. Wukong followed monk to go preach to these festival people who clearly could care less about what's he's talking about, but it was how he saw you on stage preforming to a large crowd. You spotted him in the crowd and found his grumpy face adorable and after the show you approached him purring and flirting with him, while offering a private show❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 and when they settled down Wukong came back for you to cash in that offer🥵🥵🥵❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

(HIB Wukong) this is not his scene at all, God Why did he listen to pigsy and go to this loud obnoxious festival. Pigsy felt he was working to hard on taking care of Silly girl and Luier which is why he made Wukong have the night off, while he babysat them. which was annoying but What Wukong was expecting was a cute fox Singer 👩‍🎤 🎤 to preform which was you and you seem to give him extra attention during your show which made Wukong blush and chirp a bit. Later after the show Wukong was in a daze and you offered him a private show and Encore, Wukong soon found himself following you home😉🥵😳.

(Netflix Wukong) He was actually enjoying the show, the music was amazing and love the party vibes the festival had. He and Lin got some tickets to go to your concert and they were both excited to see you sing. When It was time for you to go on, Wukong's jaw dropped because he wasn't expecting the performer to be a adorable fox demon. Wukong blushed a bit at you, but tried to keep his cool and not embarrass himself until you went over and danced around and infront of him. Wukong was dazed and blushing but tried to keep his cool and keep up with you, you giggled and soon finish your song with a round of applause. At the end you found Wukong trying to escape you and offer him a private show and dance party with a hot pouty face, Wukong was breaking down so hard Lin had to say yes for him🤭

(BMW Wukong) He had his eyes on you for a long time, like he was looking so intently you had a light blush on your face. You just focus on your performance as you dance and sang on stage and Wukong was low-key purring during the show, but he wished it was just the two of you so he can get a look at what was under those colorful but ever so tight and tiny clothes. At the end of the show you both meet up and were soon flirting and purring together, you offered Wukong a private show for his eyes only it was like you heard his wish and wanted to grant it, and he agreed as long as you were nude💙💙

(Destined One) Well, he's not sure how he got himself in this strange situation. One moment he went out to this music festival the village he was visiting was having, the next moment he was watching this hot vixen dance and sing provocatively infront of him all while being on stage. The Destined one felt like such a huge pervert with his red hot face and trying desperately not to accidentally make eye contact, and because of that, you quickly found how easy and fun it is to tease him. You even offered him a private show to show him that you were just as interested in him as he was of you, and the next thing you knew, the poor silent monkey passed out🤭🤭😮😮

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🎤

[cieloclercs]

what would you say (if i told you i love you)? — charles leclerc

PART: 2/? (read part 1 here)

summary. in which childhood best friends blur the lines between what they’ve always known, and something more

warnings. swearing, reader and charles cuteness but also obliviousness again, mentions of f*rerrai, arthur and joris being sarcastic bc they’re also sick of charles and y/n being oblivious

pairings. charles leclerc x artsy!reader

face claim. tara michelle

author’s note. took a few creative liberties with this one in terms of the auction (especially the price, i have no idea what modern art sells for) but we’re going to overlook that ☺️

charles_leclerc

replies:

pierregasly 😉 joris_trouche simp behaviour ↳ charles_leclerc tais toi / shut up arthur_leclerc so that’s where you were this morning! 😃 yourusername thank you for taking me 😊 c’était parfait / it was perfect ↳ charles_leclerc any time :)

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y/nsart study: reflection & refraction. inspired by a morning swim on monaco beach (which charles woke me up at 4am for 🙄)

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charles_leclerc you loved it really 😉

y/nsart 🙃

charles_leclerc your talent never ceases to amaze me, chérie

y/nsart thank you char 🥰

leclerc_pascale Vraiment magnifique! / truly magnificent

y/nsart ❤️

username i’m speechless. imagine being this talented

username telling my kids this is da vinci

arthur_leclerc i swear you only went last week?? how long did it take you to paint these?

y/nsart they’re only small so not that long!

charles_leclerc she’s barely left her apartment all week because she’s been painting 😑

y/nsart don’t expose me 😔

charles_leclerc now that you’ve finally finished… movie night? 🙂

y/nsart omw

username have you ever thought about selling some of your paintings? because i’d pay definitely pay for these 😍

y/nsart i’ve never really considered it, but maybe in the future!

username UHM HELLO?! WHY IS NO ONE TALKING ABOUT THE SECOND SLIDE???

username HJSHJS THEY’RE SO CUTE

arthur_leclerc

replies:

joris_trouche looks very friendly 😁👍 ↳ arthur_leclerc 😂😂 charles_leclerc arthur… delete this 🙄 yourusername neither are you mate x ↳ arthur_leclerc it’s disney of course i’m not ↳ yourusername not the disney slander 🥲 leclerc_pascale Très mignon! / very cute ↳ arthur_leclerc n’est-ce pas ☺️ / aren’t they just

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y/nsart i’m so excited to announce that four of my paintings from the ‘flow’ exhibition will be going on sale at monaco fine art auction next week! thank you so much to everyone who’s supported me and my art in the past few months. it means the world to me 🩵

if you’re interested in bidding for any of these paintings, don’t hesitate to stop by monte carlo sales hall between 12 and 2:30pm! hopefully i’ll see you guys there 🌊

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username i wish i had the money to buy these 🥲 but i’m broke lols x

username the one on the third slide looks so real omg

charles_leclerc i’ll be there 🫡

y/nsart you say that like you have a choice 😭 i need you there for moral support

charles_leclerc whatever you want, chérie x

username charles stop simping on main challenge

leclerc_pascale Je suis si fière de toi, ma fille ❤️ / so proud of you, my girl

y/nsart je n'ai encore rien vendu, ne parlez pas trop vite 😭 / i haven’t sold anything yet, don’t speak too soon

leclerc_pascale Vous le ferez 😊 / you will

username so excited!!

username oh my god these are beautiful 😍

username you’re so talented 💗 did you study art at university?

y/nsart yes! i studied at the sorbonne in paris :)

username your art style is incredible! i’ve been painting for 3 years but i still can’t quite capture this kind of realism like you 🥲

y/nsart oh trust me it’s taken a long time to perfect 😅 keep going and discovering your own unique art style! i promise it will all come together sooner than you think 💕

username oh my gosh thank you so much 🥹

username i bet charles is sobbing rn because he knows he can never bag a talented queen like y/n 🙄

username so true bestie

username he’s just a simp for her like the rest of us 😔

username the way she’s drop dead gorgeous, an artistic genius, and like the nicest person in the entire world 🤩🤩 bitches wish they were y/n

username ‘bitches’ aka me

arthur_leclerc alright maybe you’re not so bad at this painting stuff 🙄

y/nsart THANK YOU arthur

username is he only just realising this now? 😭

y/nsart he’s still convinced he’s better than me (the only thing he can draw is a 2 dimensional car)

arthur_leclerc did you really have to expose me like that 😃

username PLEASE 😭

username i remember when charles first got into f1 and people used to say y/n only got so much attention for her art because she was friends with him. this is the biggest fuck you to those so called ‘fans’ who hated on her and i am LIVING FOR IT

*charles_leclerc and y/nsart liked this comment

➜ part 3

[finelinevogue]

just an idea, but what about the fact that harry has fine line on the setlist… 👀

just remember it’s all your decision and what your up for writing

Xx

fine line kisses

you made me cry writing this cause i had fine line playing in the background too🥹

word count: +1.5k

pairing: boyfriend!harry x reader

You were stood to the side of the stage when it happened.

Harry was on stage and about to finish his last song before the encore and you were ready to greet him with a loving kiss for all his hard work so far.

Just as you watched him finish up Watermelon Sugar, he walks to the side of the stage opposite to you and you wonder whether he's forgotten which side of the stage to come off from. However when you see him pick up his galaxy and cat painted guitar you begin to wonder what he is up to.

Harry walks over to the microphone as the crowd softens their deafening cheers to see what he has to say next.

"How are we doing Denmark?" He asks again, always checking in on his fans to make sure they're all still alright.

The crowd screams and settles down as Harry strums one random chord on his guitar, probably to check that it is working.

"This next song wasn't planned until about an hour ago. It's one that means a lot to me and I am aware it means a lot to all of you too." He pauses to let the screams deafen the stadium, as people begin to guess what song is going to be played next. "Tonight, though, I am playing this song for my girlfriend. This is Fine Line."

The familiar strum of chords sounds through the stadium and you have to keep yourself from letting your legs collapse beneath you.

Your eyes water at the mere first few strums of the guitar and your gaze doesn't falter from your boyfriend on stage.

This was not real.

It was hard to comprehend that he was finally playing Fine Line at a show that you were in attendance of. You always go on about it being his best song and how it means so much to you, but you never thought he would so openly declare that.

The fans would thank you later.

Throughout the whole song you sway your body gently and cup your hands together over your mouth. The tears don't stop falling as you quietly sing along with him. In a stadium full of thousands it just feels like you and him in this moment.

The crowd looks beautiful with their flashlights on and the lights in the stadium are dimmed to pink. The ambience is unforgettable.

Harry's vocals are something magical to behold too. He has never pushed himself to sing notes he finds difficult, just in case his voice breaks or gets hurts, but tonight he pushes all those boundaries. He sings in a higher key for the second verse and the crowd cheer because of it. You nod your head silently as you watch him present the best performance of his career.

With the horns too, the music is something else.

By the end of the song where it is just the instrumental you are fully crying and your body is shaking as you sob. The makeup that you had put on is no, no doubt, smudged all over your face.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Harry repeats as he holds his hand of his heart and air-kisses all of his fans.

And before you know it, he is running off backstage to the wing that you're stood in.

You walk backwards as he runs towards you and the rest of his team. They all clap and cheer for him, just as the audience is. He only had three minutes before he has to go back onstage for the encore.

When he catches sight of you he can't help but frown. He walks over to you with his arms open wide. You, however, walk back away from him.

"No. Don't even..." You shake your head, still crying.

If he touches you now, you may never stop crying because of how much love you have for him. It'll all come to fruition with one hug.

"Baby, don't be silly. You need a hug." He chuckles as you still won't let him near you.

"No. You have ruined me. Look at me!" Your tone of voice shows Harry that you are only joking, but he still wants to be near you just in case a small part of you is genuinely sad.

"You look beautiful."

"I am a mess, no thanks to you." You let out a strained groan as you try to compose yourself.

"Was my performance that bad?" He teases, standing in front of you but no longer trying to touch you. He didn't want to overwhelm you.

"Fuck off." You give him a sarcastic glare. "You know it was good. Better than good, actually. And I'm... fuck... I'm really p-proud of you a-and I love you." You begin to cry again.

"Y/N, baby..." He says quietly.

"Ugh you're so annoying. Why am I crying?" You laugh in joke.

Harry laughs too, dimples out from smiling so hard. He never thought that his music could impact someone this much, but it makes him feel alive to see someone react so emotionally to his music.

"You're allowed to cry, babe, it's fine. You're alright."

"Don't even go saying things like that right now. It's too soon." You point a glare at him as you breathe to cool down.

"Okay, take some deep breathes with me. In, one, two, three and out, one, two three.." Harry repeats with you, stepping a little closer to you each time.

By the seventh count he has managed to wrap his arms around you, one around your waist to pull you infinitely close, and the other to cup around your head protectively as you rest it on his chest. You've stopped crying and he can tell your sadness is dissipating with every second he holds you.

"I love you so much." He says against your head, kissing the crown of your head a couple of times. He feels your arms squeeze around his waist in response.

"I love you too." Your response is muffled, since you're buried so deep into the softness of his chest.

"Sorry I made you cry." He laughs and you feel his chest moving from his laughter.

“Sorry I’m a blubbering mess.”

"It's okay. You can cry as much as you want, because I'll always be here to give you a hug."

"You'll set me off again if you're not careful." You warn him, before he says anything more smushy.

He laughs a giggle that makes you happy to hear, "Sorry."

"H! Thirty seconds!" Someone shouts to him.

You pull away from him. Harry reaches up to your eyes to wipe underneath any mascara debris. He smiles as he does so, making you smile in return.

"Beautiful." He reminds you.

"I love you." You remind him.

"I love you too." He smiles, "And stay right here, okay? I want to run straight off this stage, after, and proper kiss you. Don't leave me."

"You'll get your post-concert kiss, H." You nod knowingly, because he never misses it.

"It's all I'll be thinking about."

You blow him an air kiss in anticipation of the real one, which he catches and pretends to pocket until he can really get to kiss you.

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 20

Damn guys, wow! Twenty chapters in. Shit. Wow. We've only got five chapters to go.

Hey, remember that breakdown that Steve feared was coming? Yeah it's in this chapter. Just not the person anyone thought it would be. Also Steve learns to lean on the people who love him.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19

~

Steve was nervous. He was rarely nervous on stage, but this was special. Eddie had written a duet version of one Corroded Coffin’s songs and Abbadon was going to feature. So when The Fallen left and Corroded Coffin came on, the first song would be the new duet.

Apparently Gareth had been badgering Eddie to include it in the set list since before the whole rehab stint. But that was around the time Steve and he got together and felt it was too close to the mark to sing it on stage like that.

But somehow the three other members had convinced him and Eddie in turn had managed to convince The Fallen, both bands managers, and their tech guys to let them do it in Denver.

The Fallen finished their encore and they huddled together as Corroded Coffin’s equipment was set up.

Then it was time, with all the lights off Abbadon went to stand in the middle of the stage, directly in front Gareth’s stage where his kit was. The spotlights came on, first highlighting Gareth, then Brian, Jeff, and then Eddie.

Abbadon stood in the darkness, microphone in hand, head hung between his shoulders.

This was the moment. The moment Steve had spent his whole adult life dreaming about. On stage with Corroded Coffin to sing with Eddie. His only regret that it was as Abbadon and not himself. But damn, he’d be fool to turn down the opportunity and he knew it.

Eddie started in on guitar; the sweet, slow build up of one of their greatest hits. “Run, Lover Boy, Run.”

But when the first verse started it wasn’t the gravelly growl of Eddie Munson, but the haunting tenor of Abbadon.

“When I see you there,

Standing with your friends,

I have to stop and stare,

Because, baby I know how this ends...”

Finally Abbadon was lit by a pale blue light, making the white of his costume seem ghost like and eerie. He raised his head and the lace mask made him even more beautiful. He walked toward the front of the stage slowly as he joined Eddie front and center.

To say the crowd went wild would have been an understatement. The Fallen fans were freaking out and screaming and crying. The Corroded Coffin fans roared their approval as Abbadon’s voice lent the song a melancholy vibe.

Eddie sang the second verse and then they joined in together for the chorus. Abbadon leaned in close, their spotlights blending together.

“Run, Lover Boy, Run,

Don’t you know,

You were only a little bit of fun

Run, Lover Boy, Run

You were looking for love,

Can’t you see we’re done?”

Abbadon knew he should have moved back for the next verse, but somehow he found himself draped over Eddie. Even though the song was about being used by a guy he thought he could trust but was only looking for a hookup and not something more serious. He just couldn't move away.

Eddie had a white knuckle grip on his guitar, playing his hardest and singing about heartbreak. Abbadon’s microphone was at his side as he shared Eddie’s. He had even turned it off to avoid feedback.

They were so close that any closer they would have been making out over the microphone. But the thing that really tipped things over the edge was when the final verse came, Abbadon sunk to his knees and belted it out. So from a certain perspective it looked as though he was grinding against Eddie leg.

The crowd went absolutely feral. There was screaming, crying, and apparently in two extreme cases, fainting.

He wasn’t.

Steve wanted to make that clear. He wasn’t grinding against Eddie’s leg. To both their management and the media. Because, yeah he saw the video the fans uploaded and it was very suspect, but his other fans had his back. They posted the view from the other side of the stadium where he was just a few feet away from the lead singer, on his knees, his free hand clenched in a fist.

But oh boy did fuel rumors about Abbadon and Eddie in ways that made Steve’s skin crawl. It was a good thing they had two days before they got to Vegas for Steve to hide in their trailer.

“Steve!” Robin as Robin called out, banging on the door. “Come on, Steve, you can’t hide in there forever!”

Eddie had tried. Chrissy had tried. Hell, even Vickie gave it a go. But Steve refused to budge. Shane let out a sigh after Simon and Spence were both sent away as well.

“Let me try,” he said softly.

They all cleared out to let Shane have a go. He sat down on the steps to the trailer and leaned his head against the door.

“Hey, Steve,” he muttered. “You don’t have to come out, but I’m gonna start talking and maybe you’ll decide to do that on your own.”

He was met with silence. Which was already a step up from the shouts to go away. So he started talking.

“I worry about us as friends, all of us,” he said, strained. “Simon keeps turning down women who are generally into him because he thinks they’re only into him because of what we do. But there have been some real good ones. One that wanted to get to know him, but he just shuts them down. I worry about his attachment to you. I know he’s straight. I’ve hit on him before... before you I guess. Back when we were just some idiots in a cafe who didn’t know what life was.”

He let out a watery chuckle. “But I’ve also seen girls flirt with him as a roadie and he still thinks it’s because of what he does rather than wanting him for he who is. He’s a good guy. He’s one of the best. But he doesn’t seem to want to be better.”

Shane looked up at the clear blue sky and let out a shuddering breath. He hung his head.

“Spence doesn’t want to go out anymore,” he continued, his voice quaking with the feeling of loss. “All he wants to do is spend all his time talking to Nadia. The only time he goes out is as someone else and that can’t be healthy either.”

He ran his fingers through his tight red curls, gripping them at the base and pulling. His hands shook with the effort and the emotions.

“I just came out as gay and I’m frightened by it all,” Shane said. “My parents are supportive. Because of course they are. But I can tell the difference in people from the way they used to look at me and how they look at me now. I was going to teach middle school, Steve. I was going to teach world history to teenagers. But this changed everything.”

There was a soft thud behind him and he figured it was Steve sitting on the floor in front of the door.

“But of all us,” he whispered through his tears, “I worry about you the most. You think you have to be strong for everyone else. You came out with me and I’m getting more support than you are. Yeah, you have a good support system. I wouldn’t have allowed you to come out otherwise, twin. But this moment that blew up in your face, shouldn’t have.”

He lifted his head up and let the tears continue to stream down his face. “It should have been a moment of pure joy and it turned into an embarrassment. You’ll forever look back at the first time you sang with shame. And you shouldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong. You were incandescent. You lit up that stage and it was beautiful.”

The door to the trailer opened a crack and instantly Shane was on his feet. He opened the door all the way and slipped inside, closing it tightly behind him. Sitting in the dark on the floor not far from the door was a very disheveled Steve. It looked like he hadn’t slept in awhile. They all traveled together, but Steve had taken to locking people out until it was time to get on the road again.

“Hey, twin,” Shane muttered as he moved to sit next to him on the floor.

Steve snorted. They looked nothing alike but by some twist of fate they had been born on the same day, year and all. Steve was older by like seven hours. So Shane had taken to calling him twin when no one else was around.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I hate making people worry about me.”

Shane bumped their shoulders together. “Well that’s too damn bad, Steve. Because you don’t get to make that choice for other people.”

Steve out a shuddering breath. “It’s not even the fallout of people thinking I was grinding against him that bothers me the most.”

“Yeah?” Shane asked with a huff. “What is?”

“That I wanted to.” Steve buried his head in his hands. “I wanted to touch him, kiss him, hell even fuck him on that stage. But I knew that if I wavered for even a fucking second the backlash would be, oh so much worse.”

Shane looked at him for a moment. “No it wouldn’t.” Steve’s head whipped around to face him. “Steve...you hang off me and Simon all the time. You flirt with the audience. All the photo shoots of you are in sexy poses. Shit, man. You wouldn’t be doing anything different than a half a dozen heterosexual bands have done on stage.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. And Shane was right. A famous rockstar humped a massive blown up dick on stage and no one thought twice about that. At least none that weren’t going to be pearl clutching about it in the first place.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Fuck.”

“I think you should play up into more if I’m honest,” Shane huffed. “You’re out as bisexual. Play into the stereotype of being a slut. The people who know you, know you’re with Eddie and monogamous, but those people,” he pointed out of the trailer, “the ones that don’t matter? Soak up all that attention and feed on it.”

Steve’s eyes lit up and a slow smile spread out over his face. Pictures started forming in his head. He thought about how his persona was already the opposite of him in real life. He thought about the thrill he got when he saw the photos of him online from the angle that made it look risque. He thought about how he wanted to play up into flirting with Eddie on stage.

“Can you get the rest of the band in here with Robin and Eddie and Vickie if you can get her too?”

Shane’s answering grin was all he needed to know. Shane got to his feet and within minutes everyone was huddled together in the trailer and Steve explained his idea.

Vickie smiled wickedly. “I think it’s a brilliant idea and if Eddie’s on board with it I’d be happy to lean into that.”

Eddie sat back and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I think what might make it easier so people don’t focus on me is if I get the rest of the Corroded Coffin boys in on it too. That way if Steve as Abbadon is seen flirting with the whole band it’ll come off as being a flirt and not that there’s something specific between Abbadon and I.”

“I like that,” Simon agreed. “Abbadon is already all over Astraeus and Asmodeus so flirting with Jeff and Brian as well as Eddie that would play up into the slut allegations.”

Steve laughed and then shared a knowing smile with Robin. Yep. Simon might be shy about most things but when it came to Steve... that was a whole other kettle of fish.

“We’ll do another duet tonight,” Eddie said, nodding. “Have Abbadon start Gareth’s lap or something.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” Spence said, “but don’t lock us out next time. You’re there for us. It’s time you let us be there for you. Okay?”

Steve let out a low shuddering breath. “Yeah, okay.”

They all came up and gave Steve huge hugs before they piled out of the trailer again, leaving behind Shane and Eddie.

“Thanks for getting him to come out of his shell,” Eddie said to Shane. “I didn’t know what to say because it’s always been apart of my contract that I was out and loud.” He stood up and gave Steve a sweet kiss on the mouth before he, too, went back outside.

“You going to be okay, Steve?” Shane asked, moving to sit next to him on the sofa. Well futon technically, but semantics.

Steve looked up at his friend. “I worry about you, too.” Shane let out a an aborted laugh. “I know you’re frightened of being out, but I know you’ve been coming back from partying all hours of the night and sometimes day. Spence and Simon sleep like fucking logs and snore just like sawing them. But I hear you.”

Shane buried his head in his hands for a moment before running his fingers down his face. “I’ll tell you what, twin. I’ll cut back on the partying, if accept our help. And not just some of the time. Come to us for help and I’ll keep the partying to a minimum.”

Steve barked out a laugh. “Just take Spence out with you and we’ll call it a deal.”

He reached out his hand and shook it. “Deal.”

~

Tag List: CLOSED

Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25

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