#this song and this pair summon my tears without hesitation

[fanaticforlife]

Victoria & Melbourne - I shall never forget

"No man would give you up Drina, unless he knew that it was his duty."

[tartagliaxx]

Happy Birthday and Congrats for 500+ followers!

I would like to ask for Venti + White Lily, please ^^

“ VENTI + WHITE LILY ”

━━ ☆ PAIRING: venti/reader

━━ ☆ GENRE: angst

━━ ☆ SUMMARY: white lily | purity, commitment, rebirth

━━ ☆ WARNINGS: established relationship, aged-up characters, character death

venti ran.

on any other day, he would've summoned the winds to lift him to the azure skies, gliding the rest of the distance he needed to cross but not today. today was a special occasion that had his heart pounding in what he would call a rhythmic monstrosity. senseless, directionless, and weak —  he hasn't felt like this since he was but a little sprite in the wind, trying to fight a battle much bigger than he was.

breathe. 

closing his eyes, venti breathed. he could almost taste the fresh apples in his mouth, their scent overpoweringly gentle, riding the winds to him — to calm his restless self down if only by a little. one, two, three... just as you taught him. count down the numbers and picture those that bring you comfort.

when venti opened his eyes, the world was clearer, calmer even. the throbbing in his head was slowed to an insubstantial weight while the pulse of his heart had retaken the lead in the mighty orchestra — beating and beating like percussion to the vibrations it leaves on its wake.

one, two, three steps; shoes clicking against the small pebbles that laid on top of vast blankets of lush, green grass. as he walked, no longer running, venti stared at his clammy hands with distaste, desperately wiping them off his trousers.

not good. what would you say?

the thought of you brought butterflies in his stomach and the smile that it elicited would never be avoidable. not to him, at least.

"hey there," venti beamed as he noticed the bouquet of cecilias and white lilies in your hand. the best of both worlds, indeed.

"you're running a little late, aren't you?"

he only laughed in reply, taking the spot right in front of you as he brushed a stray leaf that got caught in your white blouse. "you ready?"

"ready for what? you didn't tell me anything! all you said was to prepare a bouquet and climb up starsnatch cliff in white— wait."

"ehe," moving to enclose your hands in his, venti grinned, a perfect depiction of happiness and freedom, "i thought it would be pretty weird to vow to myself so i thought of an even greater alternative! let's cast our vows to the wind and let it carry them across the seven nations!"

"that's great and all but, venti, you didn't even ask me if i wanted to be wed!"

venti gasped, something you defined to be too dramatic to be called genuine, "i knew i was forgetting something! well, it's not like you'll say 'no,' right? right?"

"don't get too cocky, with me."

but you didn't deny it.

"shall we start?"

"am i going first?"

"but of course!"

rolling your eyes at venti's enthusiasm, you found yourself untangling a hand from his, using it to fix his hat that was slightly tipped on his head, "you act like a child sometimes but i guess i do too."

"i should probably start by saying 'i love you.' i love you because you remember to invite me during your midnight wine runs. i love you because you always remember to bring back apples to make apple pie with. i love you because you hang around the kitchen with me even though we both know you suck at baking."

"hey!" you chuckled at the faux offense that laced his face.

"as i was saying, i love you because you have a gentle soul. you're not without flaws but you trust me to see past all of that — to see you and i'm grateful every day that you do so without hesitation."

you could barely look him in the eye but you were trying and that's enough to warm him up from the inside. sniffing, venti discreetly attempted and failed to wipe the tears that slowly welled up in his eyes. why? why was he crying now of all times?

"my heart sees your eyes and i'm home. my soul touches your song and i'm in my safe space. venti, i can't promise you that i'll be a perfect partner because i wouldn't. i'll make mistakes, i'll sing off-key, i'll be blind to some of the cues you give me. heck, i might even steal your wine on nights i can't be bothered to hide my tears."

cupping his cheek, you leaned to capture his forehead in yours, courage finally found as you looked at the most beautiful shade of green— somewhere in between grasslands and endless skies. "but i can promise you that i'll try."

"i'll walk with you, hands locked together, as we navigate through the odd turns and twists of life. i'll be your biggest fan and honestly tell you that your songs are great even when i know that'll only be feeding your ego. i'll stay up with you when you feel alone at night and i promise i won't hide away when i laugh because you keep saying that you love it when i do. i'll smile every day with you and dance around our cramped little house even if we're both clumsy and just in love."

"every day," you pressed a kiss by his cheek where a clear runway of tears has made itself obvious, "i will love you until i couldn't because it's your arms that i want to find myself trapped in every morning and every night. i love you now and beyond my last breath."

a beat of silence to let the words you left sink in. dropping all pretenses, venti toppled over, head in your shoulder, as he sobbed and sobbed. he cried because you were there. he cried because he could feel you. he cried because he loved you and knew you loved him in return.

"ready when you are," you mumbled as you patted his back comfortingly.

"am i ruffling your flowers?"

laughing, you flicked him in the forehead, smiling when he pouted but looking far better than he did before. "just a little."

"it only took me a few thousand years to find you but all those days wandering around aimlessly was worth it. i sang of love as if they were my best friend but in truth, they were a stranger. a stranger i met in a tavern complaining about the hefty bill i was piling up all by myself. ever since then, i held love's hand as i traversed through flower fields, and love allowed me to dampen their happy mood with a misery song because they want to tell me that they liked it genuinely."

you huffed, unable to defend yourself from his claims because it was true. you met by pure circumstance and now, you just might do everything for him, your love, your number one fan— your guiding wind.

"we were kind of young fools in love but we were also the kind of people to bicker back and forth as if we knew each and every single one of the other's little quirks — that kind of old love. it's a love that passes without judgment, the kind that finds beauty even in the most hideous flaws. that's why i'm so determined to see the end of this journey with you."

a thrilling chase fitting for a song. even venti couldn't count the number of poems and tunes he has made in honor of your name. well, he's always been a romantic, effortlessly catching you off-guard with thought-out lines that spoke volumes of his devotion. it's almost ironic how it's your god that's completely enamored with you.

"i promise to make you laugh even if it's at me and not with me. i'll take you out on small adventures and glide with you all day if you did so much as ask. i promise to grow alongside you, but also to never grow up. your youth may fade away but your eyes would always be my windcatcher. i'll follow you wherever your feet may lead you and i'll love you and i will devote the rest of my days to returning your selfless, compassionate love."

bringing you closer, he brushed his lips against yours before you could complain about conventions. the wind would blow wherever it means to and nothing could stop that. not even him.

"i love you and as a poet, i'll say it again and again in the hundred million different ways you've never heard of before."

he expected you to return it but you didn't. someone called out to him but it wasn't you. too deep, not as bright, not you.

"venti. you have to come."

laughing humorlessly, he turned to look at aether and his many friends looking at him in sympathy. "where else should i go?"

"they're bringing the casket down. i think— we think you should see them one last time."

no. that's not true. you're right over there! but then you weren't. just a passing thought, a fleeting memory, the last attempt out of sheer desperation. one, two, three. songs, ciders, and you. he did as he was told but why wasn't it working?!

"why—" he sobbed, falling to his knees as the wind around him swirled in instability, "why are you going somewhere i can't follow?"

he cried now because you weren’t there. he cried now because he couldn’t feel you. he cried now because he loved you and now, you were gone.

an all-powerful wail tore through his fragile body as the winds he always loved gentle turned hostile and unmerciful. without much of another glance, venti ran.

he ran until the image of your cold corpse was nothing but a blur.

━━ ☆ NOTES: white lilies are mostly given out during weddings and funerals hence this entire story. anyway, thank you for requesting and i hope you liked it! the vows i used are loosely based on these irl vows. view the rest of the event shorts here! 💐

[aspenroman]

and i saw sparks (jaque x mc)

Summary: MC struggles to pick up the pieces after her catastrophic fight with Jaque.

Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2515

A/N: I caved and bought VIP and binged Ms. Match. I adored it, it was so fucking funny but I wish there was more angst. This is my continuation of Chapter 12 and 13 but with more sadness. Inspired by the song “sparks” by coldplay. bold and italicized words are lyrics from the song

did i drive you away? i know what you’ll say

MC can’t focus on anything besides the rushing of blood in her ears. Her entire nervous system is overwhelmed by everything going on, especially the betrayal by Jaque. Her dad has disappeared, run off somewhere and instead of being able to chase after him, she’s stuck here with her, in a dumb argument.

“You threw Veronica, my dad, me, and your own integrity under the bus tonight, Jaque. You can’t talk your way out of this one,” MC screams.

Jaque rolls her eyes, “You backed me into a corner! I had no choice! No good choice! Veronica likes your dad! A lot! Richard was the only one who might be able to win against that connection.”

you’ll say, “sing one we know”

“Veronica could be happy with my dad. That’s what she asked us to find her. Love. I can’t believe you forgot what this is all about.”

Jaque laughs, her annoyingly beautiful face contorting into a sneer, “No, you forgot what this is all about.”

She began to pace as she spoke, practically spinning in place as she huffs. MC watches on, her fists clenched.

“When does what I want get to matter? When do I get to live my dreams? Why do I have to fight you for the position of my dreams?” Jaque shouts, her voice cracking at the end with emotion.

i promise you this, i’ll always look out for you

Deep down, MC feels sympathy for her. But the twinge of sympathy is buried by overflowing anger and hurt. She pushes any kind feelings aside, focusing instead on her rage.

“You’re insane,” MC breathes.

i say “oh”, i say “oh”

Jaque turns on her, laughing bitterly, “Insane? I’m insane? What’s insane is that you managed to blunder your way to the finale. I spent a decade earning my position, you’re lucky I brought you to the gala. I’m the only reason you’re here.”

“Lucky? I don’t feel very lucky to have met you right now,” MC shakes her head, “I really thought you were more than...more than this. I thought you were more than the woman I met forever ago. I thought you had morals, I thought you had a heart, I thought...”

“You thought what?” Jaque’s voice lowers from a shout, but her tone is still strained with frustration.

my heart is yours, it’s you that i hold on to

“I thought you loved me, the same way I love you,” MC smiles weakly, but her eyes water.

Jaque doesn’t meet her eyes. MC takes a step forward and Jaque steps back.

“Well, you thought wrong. It was always about the competition, love was never in the equation,” Jaque says tersely, “what we had wasn’t love. It was lust.”

yeah that’s what i do

“You’re telling me you took me to meet your mom just so Richard could get those flowers? You’re telling me all those times you showed up unannounced, all those secret glances and touches were fake? All a part of some elaborate plan?” MC questions.

“Yeah,” Jaque still doesn’t meet her eyes, “and you played right into my plans. I barely had to lift a finger, you were too busy falling to realize I was never going to catch you.”

MC freezes, the words finally sinking in. She can feel the gazes of hundreds of people on her, watching her heart shatter into billions of pieces. Some sadistic part of her hopes that the fragments manage to hurt Jaque, but MC knows that’s not really how this works. She knows she gave her heart to someone who was never really hers.

It makes sense now. All the dancing around labels, all the sneaking around in favor of “not breaking the rules”. All the things Jaque spew about her family, in an effort to get MC to trust her. Jaque was right about one thing, she had more experience professionally. And in that moment, it seemed to MC that Jaque used every technique to get MC to think they were perfect matches.

i say “oh”, i cry “oh”

MC can’t get her brain to form words, all she can concentrate on is not falling completely apart. Her eyes sting, but she doesn’t look up, she can’t. Instead, she trains her gaze on the road a few feet away. She doesn’t say anything as she goes, she just starts in one direction.

Jaque yells after her, but the words don’t even phase her. In fact, MC can’t even remember what she said. She walks for miles, away from the gaudy life of the rich Upstate New Yorkers and back toward where she thinks the city is. It takes almost an hour before she spots a cab and manages to flag it down. It’s a miracle she even finds one, and she gets in and mumbles her address.

She hugs herself in the back of the cab, eyes staring unseeingly out the window. Soon enough, the bright lights of the city that never sleeps come into view. She thinks it should be a comfort, but it doesn’t help. When MC finally gets to her place, she pays the fare and stumbles up into her apartment.

As soon as the door is unlocked, she walks inside and slams it behind her. MC barely manages to lock it before her legs give out and she crumbles to the ground. Her chest heaves for breath, her throat closing up as she panics. Tears stream down her cheeks, unable to control herself anymore. Her nails dig into her palms, trying desperately to calm herself down.

yeah, i saw sparks

She’s had panic attacks before, more so in the past few months because of the matchmaking business. Although then she had Jaque to call up and now she has no one. She can’t rationalize how Jaque would be willing to call her at 2am, to hold her through breakdowns, and not care an ounce about her.

yeah, i saw sparks

MC tries to intellectualize her feelings, tries to calm herself down the way Jaque taught her to, but nothing works. Nothing works because everything reminds her of Jaque and Jaque is the one causing her this pain. Her heart aches and for a second, she thinks she might be dying as her chest tightens. A pain from behind her sternum makes it hard to breathe and she loses her breath, before it releases in a big sob. 

She’s not okay.

---

Maggie tries to come over the next day, but MC can’t face her. She ignores Maggie’s desperate knocking, pretending that she’s asleep and turns her phone off completely. The rest of the weekend passes in a daze, MC unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling and dwell in her feelings.

When Monday rolls around, MC knows it’s time to pull herself together. She doesn’t know how she will, but she has to. 

“No competition is worth this,” she murmurs to herself as she pulls on her favorite blouse and a pair of dress pants. She fixes her hair in the bathroom mirror, putting on makeup to cover the bags underneath her eyes. Her eyes are still swollen and a bit red, but she tries not to draw attention to them.

She finally turns her phone on as she enters the building, her phone vibrating with a billion messages. Most are from Maggie, while some are surprisingly from Jaque. MC doesn’t even bother reading them as she sees the text from Veronica, summoning her to her office.

and i saw sparks

MC knocks on the office door and after a second, she enters. Unsurprisingly, Jaque is already there, engaged in deep conversation with Veronica. They both turn to her as she enters.

“Where have you been?” Veronica speaks, “I’ve been trying to contact you all weekend.”

“Family stuff, won’t happen again,” MC lies, forcing on a smile.

“Good,” Veronica pinches the bridge of her nose, “onto more pressing matters, we’ve had an unexpected request from-”

Veronica keeps talking, but MC tunes her out. Instead, she keeps her eyes glued to the space behind Veronica’s head. MC can feel Jaque’s intense gaze on her, but she refuses to look at her. She doesn’t think she can bear it right now.

“Dismissed,” Veronica finishes and MC nods, swiftly leaving the room. She walks briskly down the hall and into her office. 

Sunlight streams through her windows. Without hesitation, MC slams the blinds closed, plunging the room into darkness. She closes and locks her office door before settling into her chair. The room feels colder somehow, without the presence of either Maggie or Jaque.

MC takes a shaky breath, resting her elbows on the table. She closes her eyes, putting her head between her hands. The darkness of the room brings her comfort. She doesn’t know how much time she spends like that, before she finally pulls herself together.

Turning on her computer, she searches the database for the person Veronica was talking about. MC missed most of the debriefing, but luckily the system had already assigned the client to her and Jaque. She spends some time going through the man’s profile, making notes in a separate document. 

Hours pass like that, MC hunched over her computer and trying to make sense of this “unmatchable” person and finding people who might like him. She has spreadsheet after spreadsheet, trying to do things the analytical way. Jaque’s way, her brain reminds her and it stirs up a bitter feeling.

“I can’t fucking do this,” MC mumbles, standing up from her chair. She can’t matchmake when her own love life is in shambles, when every piece of advice she used and gave to other people made her blind. How can she give advice out, when no one loves her? She has no prospects anymore, it’s pathetic. 

MC paces back and forth, trying to decide what to do. Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door and she freezes.

yeah, i saw sparks

“I know you’re in there,” Jaque’s voice rings out, “everyone else already went home. It’s almost seven.”

MC glances at her phone, to see Jaque’s words are true. She doesn’t even feel hungry, even though she hasn’t eaten today. She just feels empty. Without saying anything, MC sits down in front of the door, resting her back against it.

“Can you unlock the door? Can we talk, please?” Jaque pleads.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” MC says plainly, her voice hoarse still from their screaming match.

“I get it,” Jaque’s voice is softer and MC can hear her sit down on the other side of the door, “just give me five minutes, that’s all I ask.”

“Okay,” MC concedes, closing her eyes.

“I lied on Friday, okay? I was angry and I took it out on you. Veronica’s been like...like family to me. I thought that maybe if her and Richard could get back together, it would be like fixing my parents’ divorce. And I... I was jealous. You’re a really good matchmaker, like really good. And, it’s scary,” Jaque tells her.

“This competition isn’t worth it,” MC ignores most of her statement, “you can have the CEO spot. I’m quitting anyways.”

“What?” Jaque says.

“If I can’t even keep my personal life from falling apart, I shouldn’t be a matchmaker,” MC’s voice cracks, “everything I’ve told my clients, I followed and it didn’t work out. I shouldn’t be here.”

“You should be here, you deserve to be here, are you...are you crying?” Jaque’s voice is surprisingly gentle.

“No,” MC sniffles, tears running down her cheeks.

“Please, just open the door MC, let me explain,” Jaque murmurs, “please baby.”

MC rubs at her eyes, taking in a shaky breath as she stands up and reluctantly unlocks the door. She takes a step back. The door gently swings open, light from the hall flooding into the room.

Jaque is silhouetted by the light, and MC hates how effortlessly put together she seems. Still, when Jaque takes a step forward, MC sees the tears in her eyes.

sing it out

Jaque takes one look at her and then breaks out into sobs. Alarmed, MC’s eyes widen as Jaque’s shoulders shake. She takes a hesitant step forward before wrapping her arms around her. Jaque leans into the embrace.

“I lied, okay? I lied,” Jaque says through sobs, “I love you, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life and I thought that if I just pushed you away I could win. But I can’t, I can’t deny what you make me feel. This competition isn’t worth losing you, nothing is worth losing you. You’re...you’re my match, MC. As soon as you left on Friday, I ran after you. I got into the first cab and made my way to your apartment. But I couldn’t even take a step inside, I’m a coward, okay? I...I thought pushing you away would solve my problems. But that’s not how this work, love isn’t something you can hide. Fuck the competition, fuck the CEO role, fuck everything. None of that means anything to me, if I can’t have you.”

Jaque clings to her, her fingertips digging into MC’s shoulder blades. MC is content with letting Jaque hurt her, if only to feel her in her arms one last time. 

“You really hurt me, Jaque, one apology won’t fix that,” MC says.

“I know, but would it help if we have makeup sex?” Jaque jokes before sniffling.

“You’re on thin ice,” MC rolls her eyes.

“...That wasn’t a no,” Jaque tells her.

MC pulls back, hitting her on the arm. Jaque yelps before a soft smile breaks out on her face.

“Just please stay here, even if you don’t want to take me back, that’s okay. Just please stay with the company, with Veronica, with-, with me,” Jaque says to her, eyes sparkling.

MC mulls it over before she nods, “Okay.”

“Can I kiss you, please?” Jaque says desperately.

MC rolls her eyes again before grabbing onto Jaque’s collar and pulling her close. Their lips meet, the taste of mint toothpaste mixing with the salt from their tears. It’s a slow, gentle kiss and MC is the first one to break it.

“Did you just brush your teeth?” MC murmurs.

Jaque grins, “Maybe.”

MC lets out a quiet laugh, “You’re a dork.”

“But I’m your dork,” Jaque says.

“You act like I forgive you already, one kiss won’t change that,” MC tells her honestly.

“I know, but it doesn’t hurt,” Jaque smiles before kissing her again.

When they finally pull away to breathe, Jaque grins at her. MC smiles up at her, a half-smile but it’s the most she can muster. The hurt from Jaque’s words won’t fade overnight and they’re far from being official, but MC feels a little less shaky about where they’re at. Maybe it would be good to take things slow, try and approach things like a normal couple would-

“Is it time for makeup sex?” Jaque whispers.

Or not.

[kaitycole]

Black Dahila

Summary: Liam and Drake finally learn what happened when Constantine confronted Eleanor and Jackson about their affair.

Word Count: 3328

Pairings: Constantine x Eleanor, Jackson x Eleanor, Jackson x Bianca

Warnings: Mentions of adultery, murder, illegitimate children

Song Choice: n/a

Part 19 of WP. To catch up, read here.

It’s not until he goes to sit down and catches a glare from Bastien that it finally hits Jackson why his former mentee is here and he makes sure to grab Luke’s arm when he goes to sit down.

Liam sits down in the arm chair that is close to the sliding glass doors he assumes leads to the backyard. He scrunches up his brows when notices Jackson’s hesitant to sit down. It has been three years since he took the throne and the weight of his title still hasn’t fully clicked with him.

“Oh no, please sit. I’m not here as King, this is your home after all.”

Jackson nods, slightly embarrassed before he lets go of Luke who sits on the left end of the couch closest to Liam and Jackson sits in his usual chair, one that is across from Liam.

“It seems a lot has changed in Cordonia.” He lets out a nervous chuckle, the atmosphere starts to feel heavy, like all the weight was resting on his shoulders.

“Leo abdicated for love, truly pulling an Edward VIII. Olivia had a lot to say about that.”

“How is Olivia?”

“She told me not to even bother to come here.” “Sounds like her. And Lythikos?” “She rules with a silver dagger, the people love it, the suitors not so much.” Jackson lets out a laugh and Liam feels himself untense for the first time since they pulled back in front of the ranch. It startles him at first, the fact that he could feel almost comfortable with the one person he wanted to set on fire. But it is truly rare that he gets a moment to just chat with someone.

“The Beaumont brothers, how are they? Bertrand married to some insufferable noble woman yet?”

Liam and Bastien share a brief exchange before the corners of Liam’s lips threatens to twitch into a smirk. “You’d honestly be surprised at who he married. He even has a son.”

“Poor woman.” Jackson jokes which gets Bastien to crack a smile.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Liam stands up, holding up his ringing phone before walking out the glass doors behind him.

“I don’t suppose we could share a drink and talk about the old days, could we?”

“I am on the clock.” Bastien continues to look straight ahead, trying to simply just avoid his old mentor. His first concern is Liam, next would Drake, then maybe once they were back in Cordonia could he worry about his own feelings on the matter.

To say Bastien is hurt would be a gross understatement, he is angry, pissed the fuck off and devasted that the man who taught him what he knew didn’t feel the need to clue him in on what happened. The fact that he had spent most of his life raising Drake and Savannah like his own because of how much he owned Jackson all while pushing down the grief and guilt he felt over their alleged deaths.

“How is that if Liam isn’t here on King’s business?”

He finally lets his eyes flick over to the man he used to look up to, keeping his face emotionless. “My job is to protect the King regardless of the business matter. You should know that or have you forgotten the duties you had sworn to uphold?”

“That was Drake, he’s almost here.” Liam walks back into the house, unintentionally interrupting their conversations. Bastien just nods, his glance refocusing on the wall in front of him, eyes scanning across the family photos lined up on the mantle.

There was no doubt in his mind that it was Eleanor’s idea to have so many photographs taken, she was like that when she married Constantine. Even before Liam was born, she had pictures taken of them with Leo, of Leo through the years and once Liam was born, even more were taken. She made sure Olivia was included in the family pictures they took, even if the official royal family photo didn’t have her in it, she still kept the ones with her in her personal photo albums. Bastien makes a mental note to have the servants look for them when he returns so that Liam will have them if he wants to see them.

*                      * “Luke, why don’t you go bring the cattle back in?”

Drake arrived just moments ago, taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch to Luke, meaning he’s closest to Jackson. Liam asked to hear Jackson’s version of Eleanor’s pregnancy which prompted Jackson to basically ask Luke to leave.

“This involves me too. I’m staying.”

“We can talk about this later, Luke.”

The young man simply crosses his arms, shaking his head. He wasn’t going anywhere, after everything he’s learned over such a short amount of time, he honestly didn’t trust his dad to tell him the same details he gave his older brothers.

“I’m old enough to know. You will literally be talking about me, I’m staying.”

“I really don’t see any problem with Luke being present. He must have questions just like the rest of us.” Liam’s regal tone comes out, while Drake is used to it, the other Walkers look at him amazed. A small smile curls the left side of Jackson’s lips, he could see so much of Eleanor in him.

*                      * With shaking hands, she pulls the tests out of her pocket and hands them to him; she had taken four of them. He looks at them, unsure of how to act and he feels himself unable to breathe. The unsureness of what this meant left him with a mixture of fear and unease.

“Please say something.” She pleas, tears swelling in her eyes.

“Congratulations.”

She reaches out for his arm, the plastic tests clattering against the floor as she drops them, throwing herself into his chest, “it’s yours.”

Jackson stumbles backwards, the reality crashes into him like a strong wave, leaving him breathless and fearful for another. The question on his tongue leaves a bitter taste, knowing that the words will hurt her, wondering if she’ll react the same way Bianca did when he asked her a very similar question.

“Are you sure?”

The Queen pulls away, her expression resembling a wounded puppy whose owner just pushed it away. She sucks in her bottom lip, eyes filling with even bigger tears as she bites down on her quivering lip. She lets out a shaky breath, nodding repeatedly before she turns and walks away, leaving him and the pregnancy tests behind her.

Liam stands up, anger radiating off of him which Drake quickly picks up on, standing up as well. “I’m sorry, did you really question my mother?”

“Liam…” Drake steps forwards, hands reaching out, trying to calm his best friend.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you act as though she was just some common mistress.”

Drake’s hands are on Liam’s shoulders, pushing him backwards even though he knows Liam can easily push him out of the way. He quickly looks towards Bastien who is watching, but not moving, honestly, he’d be completely fine if Liam beat Jackson to a pulp. He was completely surprised at Drake’s behavior, growing up he would throw a right hook without hesitation and for a lot less than everything Jackson’s done over the years.

“I know what it seems, but you have to…”

“I don’t have to do shit.” Liam pushes Drake off of him, sitting back down in his chair. “She risked her life, her family, everything for you and you dared to treat her that way.”

The room quiets, no one saying anything or even moving, the tension can easily be felt. Liam feels torn, torn between saying fuck it and leaving, returning to Cordonia as if none of this ever happened, but also wanting to know more about the events that led to his mother’s behavior. Drake is torn between his dad and his best friend and Jackson is torn between doing the right thing and telling the events for what they are or saving face with at least Luke.

“Would you like to call it a day, Sir?” Bastien takes a step closer to Liam.

“No,” he shakes his head, “I can’t continue to drag this or the trip out.”

*                      * Eleanor’s stomach drops, it isn’t uncommon for Constantine to have a guardsman summon her to his office, but something feels off. The last time she had even spoken to her husband was roughly two weeks ago, the day that he picked up on her sour candy craving. She has managed to stay holed up in her suite which wasn’t too bad seeing how her morning sickness was horrific this time around.

Jackson’s nerves twist even tighter when he sees Eleanor walking towards him, seemingly going in the same direction. He had been at home when Novak came to get him, telling him the King needed to see him immediately. For the last several days he’s tried to see the Queen, to apologize, but based off the maid gossip she had locked herself in the Queen’s suite, not even letting Liam in to see her. He tries to make eye contact with her, wants to try to give her a soft, comforting smile, but her eyes stay locked on the tips of her shoes.

Novak is standing outside the King’s office, opening the door when they both get close enough, a small bow for Eleanor and Jackson suddenly understands why he’s been called when Novak’s gaze avoids his.

The scene in the office isn’t reassuring for either Eleanor or Jackson, Constantine is standing with his back to the door and Timothy is standing to the right side of the King’s desk. Jackson can see something on the desk but he can’t make out what it is. 

He turns around, sitting slightly on the edge of his desk, looking at both of them, a stone-cold expression in his eyes. Constantine stares at his wife, trying to or more like hoping that she will give him some reason to forgive her. He wants to be wrong, he wants things to go the way that they should. He wants to be told that he’s just been overthinking and connecting invisible dots, but when all signs point one way, it’s hard to go towards the other.

“How long have you been two sneaking around?” “Constantine, I…”

“I think it’s important to remind you that I already know the answers to the questions I plan on asking, there’s really no reason to lie at this point.” His words are often chilling, but the coldness of his words sinks deep into their bones, a shiver creeps down their spines.

“Over a year.” Eleanor wraps her arms around herself, trying to calm down her racing heart that’s lodging its way in her throat.

“And this?” He holds up the pregnancy tests, tossing them to the ground between them. The thin white plastic tests clatter against the floor, bouncing a bit on impact. It had been reported to him that a maid found a few tests in the guardsman suite not to mention there were some found in the Queen’s bathroom.

“Three or so months.”

Constantine’s stomach drops, but he doesn’t weaver from his stoic nature. He couldn’t exactly calculate when she could’ve gotten pregnant, but he could be for sure that she was in no way carrying an heir. But even with this reveal, he had already known that, just not really wanting to accept it. Accept the fact that he’ll most likely go down in history as the king that lost two wives.

“But there’s a chan—”

The King starts laughing, amazed at just how far his wife is willing to go to try to save her lover. She has to know that he wouldn’t have called them both there if he didn’t have all the evidence that he needed.

“These prove that to be a lie.” He grabs the thick envelope off the desk, walking closer to Eleanor, who tightens her grip around herself. “Or do you need a reminder?”

She lets out a gasp at the explicit nature of the photographs of her and Jackson, face turning red from embarrassment that her husband had seen them. It’s the first time since the pair had returned from Valtoria that she felt shameful of her actions, curious as to how he actually felt at her betrayal but scared of what his plan was.

“What’s going to happen?”

Constantine walks to his desk, sitting in the thick leather chair before swirling it around to face them, a sinister look on his face. He wants to laugh, the fact his wife cheated on him with a man that hasn’t even tried to take some of the blame baffled him. Even when Liana had left, when he knew he had nothing to do with her choice, he still carried the burden of blame because to him, a real man wouldn’t be able to tolerate the woman he loves name being tarnish in any way.

“Despite the obviousness of the paternity, I had an appointment made for you under Ellie Rhys, your two highest maids will help you disguise yourself.”

Eleanor just nods, what more can she do, she’s already done enough. Jackson still hasn’t said anything, if he was honest, he hasn’t thought much of the fact Eleanor had told him she was pregnant. He doesn’t want to think that it could be his because it means that everything will come to the surface and he isn’t ready for that. He’s not ready to own up to what he’s done, for all the damage that will be the result of his selfish actions.

** The week’s wait is dreadful for Eleanor, especially on top of her hellish morning sickness and practically nonexistent energy level. Towards the end of the week she’s surprised to see Constantine slip into her room, asking how she’s feeling. But when she tries to reach out, to get him to really look at her, he excuses himself, his only warmth being given to the unborn child.

She’s summoned to his office just a couple days later, this time without Jackson which has her completely worried, but he assures her that he just wanted to speak with her privately first. He has Timothy hand her the sealed envelope from the doctor’s office, telling her it was addressed to her not him so he didn’t open it.

He doesn’t have to ask for her the results, he can read it on her face and while he had a strong feeling it wasn’t his, a teeny piece of him had thought it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. She looks up at him, tears in her eyes, but receives no sympathy from him, his expression as icy as ever. He waves Timothy who goes to the door and lets Jackson into the office.

“You two are to leave the country, actually this side of the Atlantic. What’s that things Americans wanted?” Constantine snaps his fingers as if that gesture would trigger his memory, “ah yes, a white picket fence. Surely you two could have that ideal now.”

She sniffs, wiping a few tears from her cheeks. “What am I going to tell Liam?” “Nothing, he’ll think you died, a pretty standard death of a noble when there’s a coup.”

“A coup?” Jackson finally speaks up, much to the royal couple’s surprise.

“Ah, yes.” Constantine taps his chin before looking at Timothy, “care to explain.” “Yes, Sir.” Timothy nods before turning back to Eleanor and Jackson, proceeding to go into detail about how things will happen. That they’ve been investigating a radical group called ‘la Force de Pert’ and staging a coup, under their name, could help them take action against them.

He tells them that an announcement will be made that says the Queen was taken hostage by the group and Jackson made the heroic decision to go rescue her without backup. That night after the media left, the two of them would be escorted to a private airport where they’d be taken somewhere in America, free to live their lives however they please.

Timothy makes sure to emphasis what the King has just said, that they are never to return back to Cordonia or anywhere in Europe for that matter. That the fifty states that America has to offer should be big enough for them, even the US territories were up for grabs, but once they landed, they weren’t to cross any ocean for any reason. They weren’t to talk about their prior stations, anything related to Cordonia, the two of them were to simply fall off the face of the earth.

“You expect me to just leave Liam? Leave him here with you?” Her voice breaks, she tries to understand what is being said but the only thing she can think of is her son. “I won’t, I’m taking him with me.”

Constantine chuckles, pushing himself out of the chair, slowly striding towards Eleanor, his hand cupping her chin, forcing her to look at him. “It’s almost cute how someone in your position thinks you can tell me how things are going to happen.”

“Please, Constantine.” Her lip starts to quiver, but he tightens his grip on her face.

“You have no room to make demands.” He drops her face, turning to go back to his desk.

“I’ll just come back and take him! You will NOT keep him from me!”

“If you step foot on this side of the Atlantic,” he stops, turning around on his heel, “I will have him killed.”

There’s a heavy silence that drops over the room, it’s almost smothering as Eleanor tries to catch her breath. Tears cover her cheeks, shaking her head, trying to understand his callousness, how he could threaten his own flesh and blood.

“You wouldn’t! He’s a prince of this country!”

“He is the SPARE!” His voice booms throughout the room, causing her to flinch, his ice-cold tone ripping through her.

“Constan—” Jackson stops when he sees the bewildered expression on the King’s face.

“You may be on personal terms with the Queen, but I assure you that we are not.” He sits back down behind his desk, “I should hope you also know the same sentiment goes for your children, if you try to return.”

Jackson just nods and Eleanor looks at him horrified, confused as to how he could willingly agree to this, agree to give up his children so easily.

“Don’t look so down Ellie, it’s honorable for a guardsman to die a hero, isn’t that right, Jackson?”

“I can’t just leave my son, Constantine. You can’t ask me to do that!” Eleanor cries out, unable to stop herself from falling to her knees.

“You’re right, I’m not asking, I’m telling.” He leans back in his chair, “but are you even thinking about Liam when you shout things like that?”

She looks up at him, tears still blurring her vision, a broken expression on her face, “of course I am.”

“Tsk.” Constantine shakes his head, “think about it. If you came back for him, you’d basically be telling him that your bastard baby is more important than him. If Liam really mattered to you, you wouldn’t have put yourself in this situation to begin with, you didn’t think that I’d find out and just let it continue in the palace, did you?”

“What about Drake and Savannah?” Jackson quickly asks.

“Ah, yes. Bianca will receive a sizable compensation for her loss so they will be taken care of. They will be more than welcomed to stay at the cabin, as long as they don’t threaten Liam’s reputation.”

“Excuse me?”

“Although he is the spare, Liam has an important role to fulfill as prince. It doesn’t look good for people of his station to be involved with those with yours. Just look at the predicament at hand.”

[vangoghmusings]

𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖍 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

masterlist

pairing: vampire!hawks x gn!reader

genre: angst w/ nsfw themes 

word count: 2.8k 

warnings: swearing, mentions of dead animals, mentions of nudity, main character death 

a/n: so~ im back from my break! i decided i’d only come back once i had content to post :) this one shot was originally going to be smut but angst fit better with the plotline so heres some sad shit for y’all :’) the song for this fic is ‘samson’ by regina spectre, linked here <3 i hope y’all like this cause angst isnt really my thing asfjkhld 

✁  𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖑𝖎𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖗  ✃

“We all have wings, but they have not been of any avail to us and if we could tear them off, we would do so.”  Franz Kafka

It was a quote you knew by heart. After all, it was sitting neatly framed on your desk. It was a graduation gift, but you don’t remember from who. Years of schooling behind you, you were finally an expert in your field. Animal locomotion, volant insects- it was all the same to you. Creatures with wings were your life and passion. As you looked at the mounted glass boxes that held a variety of pinned butterflies that lined the walls of your office, you were brought out of your daze by a familiar ringing.  

You sighed, picking up the telephone, wrapping the old cord around your finger as you awaited the greeting at the other end.  

“Hello, is this Dr. L/N?”  

“Midoriya?”  

The familiar voice brought a smile to your face. Izuku Midoriya was you best friend, the both of you working towards doctorate in animal studies. You specialized in wings, he specialized in secrets. More specifically, mythical creatures, a secret that zoologists and the government held from the public as to keep chaos from ensuing.  

“Ah Y/N! Yes, it's me! How are you?”  

“Good, how-”  

“I’m fine, thank you, I just- I need your help.”  

“Oh? Is there a situation?”  

“Well, yes and no... we’ve been told there’s been a spike in livestock and animals going missing, along with carcasses being found at an alarming rate. So, we’ve been conducting research and taking in recent sightings into consideration. We think there's a vampire in the Aokigahara forest.”  

“A vampire? Midoriya you know that’s your expertise not mine. I know nothing about vampires, isn't there anyone else that can help you? I wouldn’t be of any use-”  

“No no Y/N, you don’t understand. This vampire, it-it has wings.”  

The line went silent, the ringing of the tone slowly becoming too much to bare.  

“Are you sure-”

“We have photos, they're not great, but we’re certain its him.”  

“Him?”  

“It's a guess, but yes, a him.”  

Another deafening pause.  

“Do you have a plan?”  

“Yes actually!”

The sudden confidence transmitted from Midoriya’s end of the phone made you chuckle.  

“We’d like you to camp out in the woods, film what you can for us as well as observe anything you find or witness.”  

“Midoriya, that sounds really dangerous, this is a vampire, right? I’m not baiting myself for science-”  

“I promise it's not like that! You’d always have a walkie talkie running the entire time and have contact with me and the team. Nothing will happen to you, I promise.”  

“Promise?”  

“Promise. And besides, you’d get to keep his wings.”  

That caught your attention. Like a puppy, your ears perked up at the magic w-word.  

“Really?”  

“Once we complete the research, we’d have to put him in captivity, and we’re not taking any chances on letting him escape, so we’ll extract them and give them to you.”  

You bit your lip, imagining whatever possible large pair of wings could adorn your walls next.  

“I’m in.”  

“YOU’RE THE BEST!”  

You laughed as Midoriya cheered on the other line. Research and new discoveries always made him bounce with glee, and despite not being able to physically see him, you knew he was bouncing around his office like a baby bunny learning to leap.  

“When do we start?”  

“Huh? Oh, do you think you could come to the northwest research building tomorrow? I’ll pay for your bus ticket and everything.”  

“No no, it’s fine, I can make it over by noon.”  

“Perfect! I’ll see you then!”  

Before you could say goodbye, Midoriya hung up the phone, probably dashing around his office to prepare as much as he could for the upcoming events.  

You chuckled and sighed, putting the phone down. You were going to be in the woods for God knows how long studying a vampire that could potentially kill you and suck you dry- all for a pair of wings.  

You later received a text from Midoriya instructing you to pack a bag with at least a months' worth of clothing and your own personal items. He said that his team would bring all the other needs- food, water purifier, stationary and a walkie talkie. You would be set for the entire month to study the elusive winged vampire. All that was left now was go to Aokigahara. But nothing could have prepared you for what was to come in the next month.  

As you trekked the hills of the Aokigahara forest that faithful day, all you could think of was the words Midoriya had said to you that morning.  

“Our hope is that you actually meet him?”  

“Meet him? The vampire? Midoriya you are trying to get me killed, aren’t you!”  

“But the best research is done when you’re close to the primary source!”  

You heaved a sigh and wiped the beads of sweat falling down your forehead with the back of your palm. You were entering the forest with the faux appearance an overwhelmed camper, seeking solace in the forest through self-reflection and meditation. Thus, everything had to look realistic, as to not make the vampire subject suspicious. The immense weight of the hiking backpack resting on your shoulders was unbearable, but you knew you still had to go further into the forest. You had to find the perfect spot. And finally, after several more exhausting hours, there it was.  

The lake.  

You beamed at the crystal-like water, ripping softly from the wind. Without hesitation, you dropped your backpack and began to set up camp. You had a fairly large tent, a cot and sleeping bag, and all your items, plus the ones promised by Midoriya’s team. Once you were happy with the setup of your tent, you deemed it was time to bathe. You were drenched in sweat and your muscles ached and you wanted nothing more than to engulf yourself in the lake’s cool waters.  

Once you rid yourself of your sticky clothes, you stepped into the water, sighing happily. You soon submerged your whole body in the water, humming as you scrubbed the grime off your skin. The sky above was shifting from pink to orange, the sun quickly beginning to set. You could see the outline of the moon too.  

“Pretty isn’t it?”  

You jumped at the unexpected voice, quickly covering what you could of your naked body. You looked around anxiously, fearful of who or what had been watching you. You narrowed your eyes at a tree looming over the water, a figure seated on one of its branches. You clung to your chest tightly as the branch shook, the figure hopping off with ease.  

Infront of you stood a blonde-haired man, incredibly fit, which was easy to see since he was shirtless. It seemed his only clothes appeared to be a pair of dirtied linen pants and a pair of poots. But that’s not what caught your attention- no, it was the enormous pair of bright crimson wings that stemmed from his back. They were breathtaking.  

He chuckled lowly at your frozen stance.  

“I meant the moon.”  

You nodded slowly.  

“O-oh,” was all you managed to say as it occurred to you that that man, creature, vampire, would be your subject of research for the next month.  

His brows furrowed as he looked down at your toiletry bag that sat on the shore.  

“Shit, is that soap?”  

“Uh, yeah?”  

What was happening? He was so normal? So calm? Were you not in his territory, invading his space? Or was he being kind, as to not scare off his next meal?  

“I haven’t been able to use soap in a while. My parents visit me sometimes and bring me soap and shit, but they haven't in a while...can I use yours?”  

Parents. He had a family. Did they have wings too? No, he was exiled, his wings made him an outlier. He was alone.  

“Uh, yeah...” you mumbled, shyly gesturing to the toiletry bag with your chin. The man beamed and dug through your bag.  

“Holy shit, you have hair soap too? Fancy,” he purred. Hair soap- did he mean shampoo?  

You watched curiously as he tossed out item from your bag and set them on the shore. You found your cheeks burning with heat as you looked away while he undressed. You looked down at the water, ripples appearing as he stepped into the lake. You gulped and peered over your shoulder.  

“What's your name?” You asked shyly.  

“Keigo, you?”  

You blinked at his unexpected friendliness.  

“Y/N.”  

He gave you a nodded before picking up one of the bottles he placed in the water that began to float away.  

“So, which hair soap do I use first?”  

“Uh, the one that says shampoo.”  

Keigo looked down at the floating bottles before him.  

“I can’t read,” He mumbled.  

You gaped, he must’ve been exiled at a young age, with neither of his parents willing to take the time to educate him.  

You stepped towards him carefully, we’ll aware of the danger he could pose. You picked up the shampoo bottle and handed it to him.  

“Here, use this one first.”  

He grinned, two large fangs appearing. It was obvious they caught you off guard, since he began to laugh.  

“Scared of my fangs but not my wings? Interesting.”  

You scoffed as he poured the shampoo in his palm.  

“I’m not scared.”  

“Right,” He chuckled, before putting the shampoo in his hair. Which he did a terrible job at, since it all began to drip down his face and into his eyes. “Ah fuck- this shit stings! Are you trying to poison me?”  

You laughed and covered your mouth. 

This was the dangerous vampire Midoriya had summoned you to research? He seemed helpless, and frankly a bit pathetic.  

“Well it’s just for your hair, not your eyes.”  

Keigo growled and plunged his face in the water, washing the shampoo out of his eyes. He flung his head back up and shook the water off, similarly to a dog. You winced at the water droplets that hit you.  

“Do you- do you want help?”  

Keigo raised a brow and crossed his arms over his chest.  

“Why are you here?”  

You froze, not expecting the question.  

“Uh well, I needed a break from work. Just time to be alone and meditate, you know?”  

“No, I wouldn’t know,” He frowned. You bit your lip and looked down.  

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you-”  

You were caught off by his laugh once more.  

“You’re fine Y/N, it’ll take more than that to offend me. Besides,” He said, a sharp taloned hand wrapping around your neck and pulling you close, “I could kill you if you ever did.”  

He smirked, feeling you gulp in fear against his palm. You stood still in his grasp as leaned close into your ear.  

“So, you’ll help me with the hair soap?”  

✁✁✁

In the following weeks, you developed an unexpected closeness to Keigo. He hung around your tent day and night, occasionally leaving when he got hungry. In those moments alone, you updated Midoriya and wrote in your journal. By the end of the second week, you found yourself realizing how close you had truly gotten to the vampire when he finally let you shave off his rugged beard.  

“Look at you!” You beamed, holding his face in your hand. He rolled his eyes and swiftly scooped you up, walking you both out of the water.  

He set you down gently and handed you your towel. He on the other hand, used his wings and flapped himself dry, fluffy feathers flying everywhere. You wrapped the towel around your body and smiled up at him, trying to cover up the sinking feeling in your chest. You were beginning to see Keigo as a person rather than a specimen. And when the month ended, he’d be transported to a facility and have his wings clipped and handed to you on a silver platter for decoration. You shook the thoughts away and flashed Keigo another smile.  

“Its getting late.”  

He nodded and slipped on his pants, which he now also allowed you to wash. You bit your lip.  

“Where do you sleep Keigo?”  

He adjusted his waistband and looked to you.  

“A treehouse.”  

Your eyes widened.  

“Really? Why haven’t you told me?”  

He chuckled and ruffled your hair with taloned hand.  

“Didn’t think it mattered. Wanna check it out?”  

You nodded eagerly and scrambled to put your clothes on.  

Keigo rolled his eyes and extended his hand out to you, which you took once you were dressed. He picked you up and cradled you in his harms before taking to the skies, protecting you from the branches above with his wings. This moment was your paradise, seeing his wings in action. You looked at the trees below you, looking miniature as you glided through the air. The air was thin yet crisp, you couldn’t help but give Keigo a grin.  

He soon swooped down and gently landed on the ground, helping you to your feet.  

“Keigo that was so cool!” You beamed up at him, jumping up and giving him a thankful hug. He blushed and hugged back, not expecting the affectionate contact. You looked up at the large well-built tree house that sat in the tree. With ease, Keigo helped you climb up the tree and inside his home.  

Your eyes widened at the sight. The home was scattered with crimson feathers, blankets, pillows, and old blood stains on the wood.  

“So uh, this is where I sleep,” He said gesturing to the nest-like pile of plush. You nodded and looked up at him.  

“This is really cool Keigo, thanks for showing me!”  

He grinned proudly at his home, despite its emptiness, you understood the sense of coziness it held.  

He looked down at you and seemed to contemplate his next words.  

“Would you, uh, like to stay here with me tonight?”  

You looked up at him curiously.  

“Promise not to kill me?”  

He chuckled and nodded.  

“Yes, I promise.”  

“Then yes.”  

It was already nighttime and you and Keigo had already eaten. All that was left was to rest. Keigo turned on the lamp and stepped into his “nest”, you follow his lead. You step into the softness of his fluffy nest and sink into it. As if by instinct, Keigo wraps you in his arms and pulls you to his chest, your breath hitching when you feel the warmth emitting from it. His wings wrapped around the both of you tightly in a secure fashion. You looked up at the silent blonde.  

“Keigo?”  

He hummed in response.  

“Why haven’t you killed me?”  

Keigo scrunched up his face at the question.  

“I’m not a killer Y/N, I don’t kill humans.”  

“Oh, I’m sorry, I just- you’re a- and you know,” you trailed off.  

Keigo stayed silent, his large hands pressed against your back as he helped you. After what seemed like eternity he spoke.  

“Y/N?”  

“Hm?”  

“What does love feel like?”  

You smiled softly and looked up at him, his eyes peering down at you under his long eyelashes.  

“Well, love is when you really care about someone, and would do anything for them and you always want to be around them and-”  

“Then I love you.”  

Your mouth gaped at the confession.  

“Keigo-”  

“Everything you said, I feel it for you.”  

You gave him a weak smile and ran your fingers through his hair. A familiar story came to mind: Samson and Delilah. Samon loved Delilah so intensely he let her shave his head and take away his strength, leaving him weak. You found yourself in the same position, using Keigo’s love to let you clip his wings to give to the Philistines, well, in this case Midoriya.  

“I love you too Keigo.”  

His face broke out in a wide smile, but he had no clue what to do next. He had never been in this position before.  

You chuckled softly and gently stroked his cheek, “Do you want to kiss me?”  

He nodded, a shy blush creeping onto his cheeks. You giggled lightly before snuggling closer to him and pressing a soft kiss against his lips, feeling him melt at the touch.  

You really did love him.  

And you remembered it every day.  

You remembered him every day.  

You remembered the angry cusses he spewed at you when you watch him get captured by Midoriya’s team.  

You remembered his screams of agony as you watched him wake up from his surgery, only to realize his wings were gone.  

You remembered his sulking, deteriorating body when you visited him, only to learn he hadn’t eaten in days.  

And you remembered your heart breaking when you woke up at 2am to a phone call from Midoriya to learn that Keigo had died.  

As you stared at the crimson wings propped up on your office wall, you couldn’t help but curse yourself. Were a pair of wings worth learning that a vampire with wings had the capacity to love?  

taglist: @oikawaplssteponme @kac-chowsballs @mixfi @melaninmedia @strawberry-ice  @therainroguefanfiction  @johariameil  @katsushimaa @xizimagines @lunabby010 @ecao @bnhainthewoo @v-vpluto @iiminibattlehero  @cellotonin @mythiccheroacademia (dm to be added or removed <3) 

[mirdaniaa]

Would you write ATLA fic? If so- 67, you pick the pairing :)

The banquet Zuko holds for his friends is nothing less than they expected; elegant, extravagant, and entirely too straitlaced. Not that Katara minds, it’s just that after spending the last few years sleeping on the ground and wearing the same clothes day in and day out, being surrounded by the richly dressed members of the Fire Nation comes as something of a jolt to her. She has to remind herself to sit up straight, use the correct dinner forks, and push her spoon away from her when eating soup. 

Toph’s manners come as second nature to her in a setting like this, but Aang and Sokka are, predictably, having more trouble with the finer points of table etiquette. Zuko, thankfully, doesn’t seem to mind; he’s just happy to have them back in the palace after so many months apart. They’ve all been working to undo the wrongs of the last century, but while they’ve been traveling the world to right the wrongs, Zuko has been doing it from the Fire Nation. 

“It hasn’t been easy,” Zuko is saying now. “Sozin’s corruption spread beyond the walls of the palace and infected nearly everything. So much of our culture relied on our being conquerors. It’s taken a lot of work to make us a nation of people who prize peace over victory again.”

“You’ve done so well,” Katara assures him. “The Fire Nation was always so...militant. It doesn’t feel that way anymore.”

He smiles, filling her with warmth. “I’m glad to hear that, from you, especially.”

For some reason, Katara blushes.

“There’s just one thing you’re missing,” Aang says impishly. “Dancing!”

Zuko looks uncertain. “I doubt anyone here knows how to dance. Only the most skilled benders learned the dancing forms.”

“If I could teach a class of kids I’d only known for a couple days how to dance, I can teach the fire court,” Aang dismisses. “Katara?”

She smiles and takes his hand, following him out to the center of the floor. Zuko orders the tables and benches pushed back to make room, and the guests watch as Aang and Katara lead the dance. Their movements are based more on bending than anything else, but gradually, others drift out to join them; Toph hopping on her feet, Sokka jerking his hips and shoulders in what he thinks is an impressive manner to the ladies. 

A tap on the shoulder makes Katara turn; she sees Zuko standing behind her, a hand outstretched. “May I have this dance?”

She glances at Aang, who just smiles and nods; she turns back to Zuko, taking his hand.

Dancing with Aang always felt like bending together, their bodies following the same fluid movements as they moved without summoning the elements. With Zuko, it’s different. She doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s like they share an energy, like they are bending, but not with water or fire or earth or air. It’s the same energy she felt when she touched his face in the cave, when he’d gone to help her find her mother’s murderer, when he’d thrown himself in front of Azula’s lightning to save her. It feels clearer, suddenly, than it ever has before. 

So entranced is she in their dance that she doesn’t realize until the music fades out that everyone has stopped to watch. Zuko bows, and she follows his lead, and the onlookers burst into applause before the musicians move to a new song, and everyone turns back to their partners. 

Yet Katara cannot take her eyes off Zuko, even after he’s given her a rueful sort of smile, turned, and left. 

“Ooohhhhhh,” says a voice beside her, and startled, she turns to look at Aang, a surprised grin on his face. “You’re in love with him!”

“What!” she shouts, leaping back from him as if scalded. “I am not!”

“You totally are,” Aang says, hands on his hips. “Toph said you’ve been acting funny ever since we got here, and I didn’t know what she meant until now.”

Katara shakes her head, a furious blush rising to her cheeks. “No, I...Zuko’s my friend!”

“You were my friend,” Aang reminds her. “And you still are. We worked better as friends, didn’t we?”

She bites her lip. “Well...”

“It’s okay. I know. I had a really big crush on you for a long time,” he admits. “And I think you knew that. So when you found out Zuko was still with Mai, you felt like maybe we were supposed to be together.”

She flushes, too embarrassed to refute anything. 

Aang comes forward, taking her hands in his. “It’s okay. Really. I know you don’t love me the way I love you, and you never will. And I know that you do love Zuko, and he loves you, and you’re both my friends and I just want you to be happy. I think you will be with Zuko.”

She could cry. “I didn’t think I would still love him.”

“It’s okay,” he insists. “Just do me a favor and go out there and tell him how you feel.”

She blinks back tears. “You’re a really good person, Aang.” She kisses his cheek, and with his blessing, follows Zuko’s trail out to the garden.

He’s sitting by a fountain, watching the light sparkle off of the water’s surface. Unable to help herself, she makes the water swirl, distorting the light’s reflection.

He looks up at her, smiling when he sees her. “I thought that was you.”

She sits beside him, taking a deep breath. “I have to talk to you.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Is it about the dance?”

“Well, yes, but it’s more than just that. It’s...” She bites her lip. “Aang...says you’re in love with me.”

Zuko stiffens. 

“Is it true?” She doesn’t give him time to answer, already blurting out, “Because I love you.”

Even in the semi-darkness, she can see his pale cheeks darken with color. “You do?”

She nods helplessly. “I have for a while. Pretty much since the cave.”

His voice tightens. “The cave?”

“That’s why I was so angry with you when you joined up with us,” she admits. “It broke my heart to see you take the path you did. I was hurt. It wasn’t until you nearly died defending me that I realized I had to tell you. And I was going to, after you recovered, but the next time I saw you, you were kissing Mai, and I knew you didn’t feel the same way.”

His voice is still tight when he says, “Katara...I did feel the same way. I liked Mai. A lot. But I never...loved her. I loved you. And I never thought you’d feel the same way. Mai was there when I woke up, and I thought...well, I liked her, and you’d never look at me that way, so...why not stay with Mai?”

Katara feels so, so stupid. All this time, they could have been together. “Are you...still...with her?”

“No.” He lets out a small laugh. “She actually realized she...doesn’t like men. She’s with Ty Lee now.”

Katara bites her lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. We were both using each other as a placeholder for the people we really loved.” Slowly, hesitantly, he sets his hand on the stone beside her. “You’re still with Aang, aren’t you?”

Katara hesitates, too. “No. Not as of...five minutes ago, when he told me it was obvious we were in love with each other and he wanted us to be happy together.” She pauses. “Is that...something you want?”

“Is it something you want?”

“I asked you first!”

He smiles sheepishly. “Well...yes. It’s something I very much want. But only if it’s something you want--” He doesn’t get to finish, because Katara wraps her arms around his neck, kissing him. 

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

nineteen - fanning the flames

masterlist

But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last.

Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction.

They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

ANTHOUSA GLANCES AROUND the Spring of Peirene with a caution. It is not only the Monger’s spies she must watch for, but prying eyes belonging to Kosmos as well. Korinth is a gold mine of information from across Hellas and among the prime brokers are the city’s famed hetaerae. Anthousa has seen too many of her girls fall, though, and stopping the Monger was only the one part of ridding Korinthia of corruption. 

Lesya knows what must be done, even if Kassandra is hesitant about becoming too involved with Korinthian affairs when the Cult still hunts her mother. “We have to put out their eyes!” she hisses and Anthousa nods her agreement. Cutting off the supply line of information would leave the Cult blind and vulnerable. It would take years for them to reestablish the same scale of network for trading secrets. 

The Eagle Bearer will hear no more from the hetaera, instead, she turns from the spring and to the city —intent on finding a weakness in the defenses around the Monger’s warehouse. “Two of my girls are missing,” Anthousa says quietly, already fearing the worst. “We’ve heard rumors of where they are in the city, though.” The rumors speak of a vile and sadistic place, one where few leave with their lives. Lesya looks over her shoulder —Kassandra is already gone. 

“Tell me,” she starts, knowing she will enjoy thwarting the Monger’s plans. “I’ll see them to safety.” Finding the Abron House north of the Temple of Apollo is easy enough. Deciding whether to use stealth to her advantage or create a bloodbath is less so. The home is heavily guarded —too many to take at once when she can hear strangled cries coming from within the villa. 

Dropping down between a line of flowering hedges, Lesya prowls along in the shadows. Ahead is a guard, his armored shadow visible over the hedge-line. Pausing behind the armed guard, she springs to her feet —covering his mouth and thrusting one of her blades into his neck before dragging the corpse back into the thick foliage. 

Another shout leads her deeper into the compound, sliding along walls and shadows —quickly dispatching those standing in her path. By the time she reaches the source of the muffled shouts and screams, a trail of blood and bodies lie in her wake. They never saw her coming. Never stood a chance. 

The man looming over the two hetaerae brandishes a small whip with a dozen leather tails. Their faces are bloody, arms covered with purple welts. He does not notice the approaching shadow until it is too late. One of the girls screams when she sees the blood-slicked blade emerge from their tormentor’s chest. He drops the whip, sliding to his knees —gasping for air and struggling to stem the blood sluicing down his front. Pitiful wheezing turns silent when Lesya sheathes the bloody blade, gripping both sides of his head and twisting until there is a crack and pop. The Monger’s puppet falls forward, dead. 

Kneeling between the young girls, Lesya slices the ropes on their wrists and ankles. “Can you both stand?” Both girls nod. “Walk?” Another nod. If it meant freedom, they would run. They both stand, steadying each other. “Here–” Lesya presses two short knives into their trembling hands —taken from the torturer’s corpse. There are still guards patrolling the property and only one exit from the Abron House. “You both need to run, but just in case, stick them in the soft bits,” she tells the girls while reaching behind her to draw the second blade on her back. 

She leads the way, past the destruction and devastation, but gathered in the courtyard are several of the guards —standing over a corpse of their brethren. Lesya lurches into battle without hesitation, carving a narrow path to freedom, but the girls do not take the opportunity. Growling, she grips onto the spear lance of one brute and thrusts it forward into the neck of another. With a tight spin and she takes another’s head. 

Lesya leaps over to cut the flank of one guard who is locked in combat with the nearest girl, then spins to chop clean through the shin of another. “Go,” she shouts at the girls, stabbing a finger toward the Temple of Aphrodite. “Get back to Anthousa.” The girls blink through tears, nodding and scrambling away, mouthing words of gratitude. She throws one of her blades into the back of the brute attempting to pursue them. 

The distraction and opening earn her a bloody lip and nose. Spitting, she picks up both her blades and glances around at the six thugs encircling her, laughing. I’ve missed this she thinks before charging toward one of the brutes with a feral cry —dodging his blow and slicing a deep line up his back. Finally, a challenge. 

KASSANDRA IGNORES THE wail of pain when Lesya bashes the last of the Monger’s men’s head in against the corner of a wooden crate —a splatter of blood and brain erupting. Her attention remains on Brasidas, a Spartan General who had met them in the blazing warehouse, though he is taken by the display of brutality and how familiar it feels. Shaking his head, Brasidas returns his focus to the Eagle Bearer and the discussion of how the Monger should be dealt with. “Do this discretely,” the Spartan beseeches. 

The clatter of iron on stone draws both their attention back to the crackling embers and billowing smoke. Lesya cracks her knuckles, appearing next to the pair of Spartans. Her face is contorted with ire —the Monger does not deserve a quick death. “The Monger should be strung up for all Korinth to see,” she grits out, “he deserves to suffer for all the pain he’s caused.” If she had her way, Lesya would flay him alive —the same torture he used on hetaera who would not speak against Anthousa. 

“Lesya,” Kassandra warns, her voice low —dangerous even. When her gaze returns to Brasidas, she is surprised to see a pallor has washed over his face and now there is deep-seated hatred in his dark eyes. “I know you,” he starts, fingers flexing at the thought of brandishing his spear. “You’re one of the ghosts my men speak of.” He has witnessed firsthand the carnage left behind when Dread and Destruction strike. “You’ve killed dozens of Spartans!” The general spits, venomous. 

Her laugh is derisive. “Have I?” Lesya mocks. “I thought it was hundreds by now.”

Brasidas comes to close to losing his composure —the pallor on his cheeks is gone, replaced by Spartan red. Kassandra’s head snaps in Lesya’s direction, her face pinched with anger. “Leave,” the Eagle Bearer hisses from behind clenched teeth. 

Seething, Lesya walks away from the pair and is stopped by a ragged-looking boy —skinny and pale. “He says,” the boy starts, voice trembling, “come meet him in the Sacred Cave under the temple to end it.”

THE DENIZENS OF Korinthia wake to a dark pall of smoke. They emerge from their homes, nervous and shy, then confused when they hear the spreading rumors: the dockside warehouse had burned to the ground in the night. More, all have been summoned to the theater that day —which had been closed ever since the Monger took the reins of the city. Slowly, they began trusting the heralds who repeat the summons. By noon, the theater is filled, with more on the nearby rooftops and higher streets, peering at the stage.

The Spartan General left soon after the warehouse was set alight —returning to Sparta to carry the news to the two kings. When you do this, Kassandra he had said, throw the Monger’s bones into the water and let that be the end. But Lesya would not let it end like that. She tied a rope around the brute’s ankles, parading his corpse through the streets to the theater. 

An orator strolls across the stage, telling all the city is once again free. Voices rise in confusion and disbelief, many looking around to be sure that this is not a ruse by the brute to weed out dissenters. Kassandra watches from the stage as Lesya appears at the top of the steps splitting the theater in two, beginning a slow descent for the people to see. 

A collective and horrified intake of thousands of breaths brought silence as she strode forward, pulling a mangled corpse —both covered in blood. Behind her, Anthousa follows with her head high despite her pleas for a public execution. Lesya drags the Monger onto the stage and throws the rope over the lintel above her. With a great heave, she hoists the corpse up and secures the rope around one of the timber frames. The brute sways for a time, then slows, hanging at a standstill —drops of blackened blood still dripping from his mouth and wounds. 

Masses surge into wails of joy as Anthousa takes the stage, repeating what the orator had already proclaimed, but coming from her honeyed voice somehow feels different. Kassandra glances at Lesya —shocked to find a cruel, maniacal smile twisting her lips, but the hetaera moves to her side, leaning in. “Your mother sailed from here on the Siren Song,” said Anthousa over the crowd, “she traveled to the Cyclades.” 

STORM CLOUDS GATHER over the city, turning the seas inhospitable. Ikaros had only just returned before the downpour began, bearing news from Barnabas. Even with the rough storm, the Adrestia is still set to arrive before the day’s end. Though now the Eagle Bearer and Lesya sit atop Anthousa’s home. All Korinthia is indebted to them, it was the least the hetaera could offer —shelter, a warm meal, and a bath. Kassandra still wears her worn leathers, but Lesya’s blood-soaked chiton had been taken to wash and is replaced by a thin lilac peplos. The misthios cannot help but notice it is a good color for Lesya’s laurel eyes and copper hair. 

Events from the night and morning replay in Kassandra’s head —reminding her of Enyo and the destruction and death she wrought upon the Monger and his men. But now, sitting across from a low brazier, she believes Lesya looks tired and broken. Killing Chrysis and desecrating the Monger’s corpse had brought peace for only a few moments until it faded back to hatred and longing. “What did they do to you?” She dares ask. The scars upon her flesh speak of the horrors even if they do not tell the complete story. 

Lesya laughs, a low, dark rumbling from deep in her throat as she recalls every horrid thing the Cult had ever done. “What didn’t they do?” She counters. A moment passes, the bitterness and anger consuming her turn to pain. She wants to cry and scream, but Enyo will not let her. “Have you ever dreamt of a simple life, Kassandra?” The Eagle Bearer hesitates but gives a slow nod —she has thought of one many times and how different things may have been if not for that night on Taygetos. 

“A small home in the countryside or by the sea.” Lesya muses, sadness in her voice and a distant look in her eyes. “Children laughing. Teaching them how to hunt and fish.” Kassandra nods again. “It was my dream too. Ever since I was a little girl.” Kalanthe always said she would make a good mother one day, but that had been before the Cult sunk their talons into her, twisting and molding —creating a weapon. 

“Even after my father gave me to the Cult, I held onto a shred of hope that one day I could have a simple life.” The closest she’s come to the dream again had been that night with Deimos on the beach. She squeezes her laurel eyes shut. We should have stayed on that beach she tells herself over and over, a single tear running down her cheek. “They took that dream from me,” Lesya grits out, nails digging into her palms. And now I will take life from them.

Kassandra’s dark eyes widen upon the realization of what had been done. The Eagle Bearer glances at her own hands, feeling a wave of sympathy for the disgraced champion. She knew the Cult was cruel, but that, she could not begin to imagine the pain. Lesya watches Kass’ expression shift, her frown turns to rage in a heartbeat. “I don’t want your pity, misthios,” she spits. 

Lightning flashes across the dark sky. Kassandra rises, moving toward the staircase leading back down to the night’s festivities. She looks over her shoulder before descending. “We sail at dawn,” she announces. Kassandra cannot be sure if she will see Lesya aboard the Adrestia come the morn. 

@jaegers-and-kaijus @wallsarecrumbling @novastale

[iprincezzinuyoukai]

Before anyone says it, yes, I know it sounds like the title of a GRRM book, but I actually thought about it when I was listening to HTTYD’s OST. So you’ll know what this is all about then.

I swear that I read several articles and even saw several videos so that I could decide what kind of ritual I wanted, but considering that originally Rodan was going to have the characteristics of an eagle and I’ve seen one or another cartwheel, those are magnificent to see in person, by the way, so that’s how this came to be. By the way people doing these drawings and fanfictions are doing God’s

I’m not sure if I did a good job with how I put it, it was one of my best attempts as a writer, if I’d been an animator or an artist maybe things would be different, so I hope you like it... And yes, there will be a next part soon.

Again Tumblr didn't leave me put a read more! Once again this goes to my AO3 (same username, don’t blame I was very lazy to think of different usernames)

Dance of Titans

Isla De Mara soon got used to the presence of its Titan. It wasn’t as if they’d any other choice, the world was slowly beginning to accept the idea of living with the Titans, after being assured by Monarch that Godzilla, their new King, kept them all at bay from harming humans or interfering.

And it’s not like Rodan was a bad choice, at least the fire demon was already flying in the opposite direction to the town, thus preventing his strong winds from destroying the remodeling of the town and everyone getting shot in the air. It seemed that over time the Titan learned more and more about how to interact with the citizens of Isla De Mara.

Maybe Rodan being with them wasn’t so bad, the Titan seemed to care little about human affairs and Monarch expeditions near his volcano, as long as he could fly and come back whenever he pleased without having missiles exploding near his body or some curious bug near his nest.

And while fishing had been terrible in the last few months since the Titans revived and the U.S. military dropped the Oxygen Destroyer, excavations at the foot of the volcano had made them discover a new kind of valuable minerals that helped the island’s economy and tourism. Economy for the mineral, tourism for the Titan, as it seems that people found it interesting to tour any city that has been visited by a Titan.

Rodan was somehow paying for what he’d damaged.

They hoped to say the same about the other Titan, well, if they could actually be considered theirs, or Mara theirs.

The three-headed dragon, King Ghidorah, as they were recognized worldwide, had begun to follow the lava bird everywhere, an action that didn’t go unnoticed either for Monarch or for the islanders, never approaching the island, but always flying around, summoning lightning and storms, but only rain hitting Isla de Mara, as if they had no intention of destroying it as they did a year ago...

But it was fine, the citizens told the tourists. If their ancestors could survive next to a magma bird made of volcanic rocks, then so could they, and with two Titans.

◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆

Instincts awoke in him when he saw that golden material on the trains leading to the human nest. It was shiny, just like his partner’s skin. Rodan screeched, flying over the sky, screaming in the air before landing near the train.

Humans stopped their metal worm when the Titan approached, usually Rodan stayed in his nest when they were near, always looking at them with curiosity, but eventually turning his back, analyzing them or rather the wagon that contained those gold pieces.

His beak opened, taking the wagon before the bewildered and confused eyes of the humans, who quickly got off the train and away from the tracks, only to watch Rodan spread his wings and take flight to return to his nest in the volcano.

The golden stones were soon covered by the magma of their volcano, into which Rodan immersed himself, taking the larger ones and starting to cover the edge of the volcano with the golden material, reinforcing them.

The next day was the same, as the first train of gold material appeared on the tracks, Rodan landed nearby and just as the day before, he took the wagon and resumed his flight to begin what was soon routine.

So it was that for four nights and four days Rodan kept stealing from the islanders the precious golden they extracted from his volcano, until the edge was completely molten with lava and gold.

The villagers on Isla de Mara had no choice, but to wait for Monarch to do what they needed to do. As soon as Rodan stopped adorning his volcano, in the distance they could see a colony of huge clouds with yellow lightings, a sign of a huge storm, and Rodan’s song seemed to be drawing it towards him.

Inside the rising storm Rodan heard his partner’s call, singing back, the fire demon spread his wings, flapping them while volcanic rocks fell over the molten mineral and in contact with the golden material these caused bright, colorful flames.

King Ghidorah sang once more inside the storm, and with a simple movement of theirs yellow lightning formed around them, showing their powerful form.

Rodan screeched once more before leaving his volcano completely and taking flight, heading into the storm, and the rain that fell on the island.

◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆

“Rick, the storm’s already here.” Dr. Chen was watching from the monitor the tropical storm King Ghidorah brought.

The doors opened to let in Dr. Stanton, who was holding a flask in his hands and taking a seat next to Dr. Chen.

“Our favorite bird adorned his nest to attract his mate.” Rick left his flask on his desk and took control of the drones. “Everyone owns me twenty dollars.”

The doors opened again this time by letting Dr. Coleman in, who was completely wet and out of breath, Chen handed him a towel with which he could dry.

“It’s done.” That's what the redhead said before he took a seat behind Chen and Stanton.

“Thanks, Sam.” Chen thanked while she had her notebook ready and her computer beside her, while Coleman opened the sound frequency detection program.

“Are you sure these drones will be strong enough in the storm?” Stanton was asking as he started the drone program and the drones were rising in the sky, following Rodan. “Let’s hope they’re fast enough for our romantic flight, too.”

“I’m more worried about this, should we? I mean, we know it’s for science and all, but this is intimate.” Coleman said, he was worried, mostly in case King Ghidorah noticed them. He watched Chen, after all, this would be the fourth ritual she analyzed and looked so serene, he hoped one day to have her confidentiality.

“I can tell you weren’t a boy scout.” Rick said, teasing, “You saw them the first time, of course that was more of a cartwheel than a proper courtship dance. An aggressive cartwheel... Considering Rodan is almost an eagle it makes sense to do that.”

“Gentlemen,” Chen caught their eye, “We have a behavior to study.”

“Why don’t we call Mark? He’s an expert on behaviors in nature.” Coleman asked, the program finally started, now it was only a matter of seconds before the drones would start sending the sounds and records.

“Maddie starts her 8th grade early. Mark wants her to have at least one year of normal education before he brings her to Monarch.” Chen responded, waiting for the drones to finally enter the eye of the storm.

“Besides, do you think we’re gonna ask him to come help us figure out how one of the Titans, who killed his wife, mates?”

Coleman nodded, focusing at the monitor instead.

Rodan’s singing was what was heard both on the frequency wave and near the outpost.

“It seems that it has already begun.” Chen said, tapping with her index finger the screen, the drone had finally entered the eye of the storm and found Rodan, who appeared to be flying confused inside.

“Do you think we should play mood music?” Rick chuckled, “I got Careless Whispers. Although Elton John is always a good option if you’re trying to romance someone.”

Chen looked menacingly at Stanton.

“Aren’t we not supposed to interfere?” Coleman asked awkwardly.

◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆

The storm around him didn’t bother him, the rain on the other hand did. But as soon as he reached the center of the storm, the rain disappeared leaving only the dark clouds around him and the sound of lightning and thunder tearing the sky apart. Any minute, his partner would show up. He was sure of it, something inside him assured him.

An object flew by very close to him, and even though Rodan was the fastest flying Titan, he couldn’t see it any better. He felt the same presence behind him again, but he still couldn’t see it. Even though he was the King of the Skies, his partner was cunning at giving surprise attacks.

It was then that lightning struck the clouds, revealing a huge golden figure with a pair of gigantic wings and three roaring heads, electric rays came out of their snouts and a pair of tails with spikes vibrated vigorously.

The song of the three-headed hydra caused Rodan to approach his partner, and just as Ghidorah demonstrated their speed seconds ago, the fire demon did the same by flying around Ghidorah. Once the King of the Skies had the attention he needed from the Golden Demise, he didn’t hesitate to fly up, moving his wings and his body in a roll while his wings dropping sparks that fell upon his partner.

Three pairs of golden eyes watched from their place between their throne of clouds and lightning, watching the movements the fire demon made in the air, demonstrating speed, strength, perseverance... Everything that proved how valuable it was to keep him by their side.

Roaring once again the three-headed hydra flew to Rodan’s side, flying in circles around him, as if he was their prey.

However, Rodan took advantage of an opening between the golden wings and escaped the alien dragon. He’d King Ghidorah as his alpha and soon-to-be mate, yet he was sure his instincts told him he couldn’t just leave it easy to them. The first time it was an accident, this time it would be on my own.

Ghidorah watched Rodan fly and hide among their clouds, listening to their partner’s call to follow him. The three heads looked at each other and roared, showing more lightning around them and flapping their wings more fiercely, hoping that their lightning would light up those clouds to let them find their partner.

Both Titans’ songs resonated with lightning and thunders, a strange, unusual melody, but that somehow seemed to be in tune, in perfect synchronization.

If someone had been brave enough to stand outside their homes in the storm, perhaps they could see, when the strong lightning struck and lit up the sky, two magnificent and elegant figures, one gold and one red, flying around each other. No, dancing. Making it official that this ritual was on the right track.

Rodan soon lowered his flight speed, allowing himself to be curled up slowly between King Ghidorah’s tails.

Once the golden dragon felt their mate finally between their grasp, they squeezed a little, trying not to hurt him, intertwining their heads. Ichi roared a little, nuzzling his snout against Rodan’s horns, San did the same, but with part of the beak, while Ni nuzzled against his neck.

Rodan had little mobility, but his body was in charge of producing the heat, which when felt by his body the three heads seemed to purr with pleasure. The fire demon was pleased with himself, looking for Ghidorah’s talons he locked them to his own.

All that was left was to do one simple thing and this would have ended successfully to make way for the next step.

Rodan squealed a little, drawing the attention of the three heads, which the middle one seemed to nod and close their wings.

And then, they fell.

During their fall, Rodan had never felt more confident and secure before. It was clear that King Ghidorah was the perfect mate for him. Maybe the first time things came out too different from a simple dominance fight, but the fire demon couldn’t say he was sorry, no matter how much trouble that got him into with Godzilla and Mothra, Rodan wasn’t going to give up this compatibility.

The three-headed golden dragon was satisfied with themselves, there was something about this mating, about all this that made them feel something completely new — A feeling that had been born since the first time they were here, since the first time they heard Rodan’s calls, was absolutely new, and they had all the time in the world for their mate to explain it to them.

They were already near the end of the storm, clearly they could see the ocean beneath them.

In perfect synchrony, King Ghidorah and Rodan spread their wings and separated their talons to begin to fly up, returning to the inside of the storm, without stopping. And in a quick movement they were over the clouds, over the storm, over everyone else.

Both Titans were flying around each other, exchanging songs that only the moon and stars could witness and listen to.

Rodan joined his beak with King Ghidorah’s middle head, soon being nuzzled against Ni’s and San’s heads.

Ichi watched his brothers and mate continue to share songs — It was then that he noticed a tiny glow behind the fire demon.

Flying away from his mate, King Ghidorah opened their mouths to throw lightning in the direction of that intruder.

◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆◇◇◇◆◆◆

LOST CONNECTION.

“And we’re out of the game.” Stanton sighed, turning around in his spinning chair. “I guess we collected enough data, Chen?”

The short-haired doctor nodded thoughtful, moving her head, her fingers moving her pencil rhythmically, “At least enough to confirm that the mating ritual was a success. Comparing them to other rituals, Rodan and King Ghidorah are the closest thing to birds. Specifically eagles...”

“So they’re mates for life...” Stanton concluded, tappin the tip of his pen against his chin. “Congratulations, the bride’s family pays for the wedding.”

“Do you think anything will come of this?” Coleman said from his seat, saving the audio files, Chen would probably look at them later, “I mean, the biology of both are male, is conception possible? We haven’t had much reproductive material since the Mutos.”

“I don’t think the Titans understand our concept of gender.” Stanton said, “Rodan’s biology and Ghidorah’s alien one could be studied a little better now that we have records. Maybe conception it’s possible, maybe not, the point is at the end of the day, mating was because they needed genetic compatibility.”

“Even if there never was — ” Chen interrupted without raising her eyes from her computer, “Their relationship could be completely symbiotic. We’ve seen that they work well together.”

“You mean like Godzilla and Mothra.” Coleman compared.

Since the battle in Boston, with a dying Mothra appearing in Godzilla’s thermal radiation, the study of relations between Titans was one of the priorities in Monarch, especially considering the ancient murals and civilizations. King Ghidorah versus Godzilla had been the first of many, but apparently each Titan also had its opposite. Rodan appeared to be in conflict with a snake-like Titan, Mothra seemed to be facing a species similar to hers, and there was even Behemoth versus Leviathan, but without a doubt the most striking one to date had been Kong versus Godzilla, as if it’d been foretold. It wasn’t just a battle between Alphas.

The world was more complicated than it seemed.

“Barnes never forgave you for not taking him to Infant Island.” Stanton laughed when he remembered the chief.

“You know very well that neither Mothra nor Godzilla would allow me or my sister to bring strangers.” Chen explained.

“Yeah, Shobijin stuff.” Stanton murmured, opening his flask. “Still, I do think something’s gonna come out of all this.”

Coleman nodded with him, looking at the image of Rodan and King Ghidorah flying together over the storm, one of the last images the drone managed to capture before being charred. For some strange reason, both Titans seemed to be made for each other, perhaps it was genetic compatibility as Stanton remarked, or something more mystical and deep.

“Whatever it is, we have to keep a close eye on both of them.” Chen joined his two friends, contemplating the image, “We don’t know what Godzilla could do now that his rival finally had a successful mating ritual. Worst, if they get hatchlings.”

The other two males nodded.

Only time will tell what will come of all this.

[stephanweaverofworlds]

A Smile Like the Sun

A throned Maxie is bored with the anticipated results of a pawns broken goggles, but his unintentional mercy brooks unexpected results with the one known only as, “the Dandelion Boy”...

---------

The kid still hadn’t moved.

Maxwell peered through the viewing portal, growing somewhat bored with the whole spectacle. 

The kid had been sitting huddled under a tree since before noon, face hidden in his knees, arms further shielding his face. The crying had eased off hours before, though the source of the distress was still lying at the kids feet. A pair of aviator goggles, the lenses tinted unusually dark, shattered to pieces around the rocks the kid had been gathering. Even with the lengthening shadows of the evening, and the threat of nightfall, the kid still didn’t move.

Maxwell knew exactly what would happen next. The exact same thing had happened half a dozen times already. Night would fall, the kid would scramble to get a fire going, and immediately return to sulking without his precious precious goggles. The sun would rise, and the kid wouldn’t hardly move. Once or twice, if he had a pack, he’d rifle through without looking, and eat whatever food he had stored away inside, but that was it. He would simply sit there, starving, until his fire ran out by night, or some other threat came in the day to kill him.

Maxwell decided to see what the devil was the matter with this kid, tired of the same old song and dance, and projected himself nearby. Summoning a cigar, easy as anything, he approached the kid, “Say Pal, what’s the matter?” 

The kid jolted, shifting as though to uncurl, but he’d barely raised his head an inch before he’d lowered it again. A soft mutter of pain, then a louder noise, clearly a friendly greeting.

“Well that’s hardly polite, pal. Show some respect and look me in the eye, kid.” Maxwell stated, tone sharp. 

The kid hesitated a long moment, before slowly uncurling, rising to his feet. The boy had his eyes shut tight, hands tightening spasmodically into fists at his side as he blinked them open, before they winced shut. The kid whined again, lowering his head and covering his eyes with one hand, before managing “S-sorry…”

Maxwell frowned, “The hell is wrong with ya, kid?” He moved closer, barely any space between himself and the kid as he loomed threateningly. 

The kid tilted his head slightly, mumbling softly. With his hand still covering his eyes, he craned his head up, as thought to look at Maxwell. He abruptly crouched, free hand ghosting over the ground, until he landed upon his broken goggles. Shards of glass spilled out from his open palm as he rose to his feet, holding the damaged eyewear out, as though in offering. “Broken.” 

“I can see that.” Maxwell drawls, taking the broken thing from the kids hand. 

The kid yelped and blindly reached, whining. “No!” he cried, frantic, holding out his hand and making a “give me” motion. “Pl-please! G-g-give it b-b-ba-ack!”

Maxwell looked over the kid again, the wobbling lip and drawn in brows, left nearly to tears without the damn goggles. “Why? They’re completely useless, kid.”

The kid whined, hiccuping softly. “N-n-n-need muh, mm, mh-my,” he dissolved into unhappy mumbling and sharp trills, struggling to speak and stuttering severely over himself.

Maxwell looked at the goggles, lightly thumbing over what little glass still clung to the frames. Needed them, huh? Was the light, even the barely-there light of sundown, really too much for this kid? It was an unusual and exploitable weakness… and completely boring. The kid did nothing but sit around until something came along and killed him whenever his goggles broke… why not mix it up a little?

Maxwell crouched, pushing the kid back a little in order to scrape up as many shards of dark glass as he could, until he had a handful of shards and leather goggle frames. With just a touch of shadow magic, the goggles were completely repaired, with not even a scratch. The King of Shadows then took the bewildered kids’ hand, and pressed the newly repaired goggles into them.

Maxwell stood back, taking a long drag of his cigar as the kid felt over the item in his hand, made a noise of shock and relief, and hurriedly pulled the goggles back on. The kid lowered his hands, tension bleeding from his shoulders, before a big, bright smile took up the kids whole face. And before he could react, Maxwell found a small, warm body pressed up against his, two small arms wrapped around his waist. 

“Th-th-thank you! Th-thanks!” the boy was still smiling so brightly, extremely thankful that Maxwell had fixed his goggles, and showing his thankfulness by hugging the King of Shadows… not an ounce of fear in the kid.

It was as baffling as the first time Maxwell had spoken with the kid, offering the Dandelion Boy a deal… the pure gratefulness at being allowed out of the dark, grimy basement was like a sunbeam in a thunderstorm. 

It was… such an odd feeling, to not be feared, to actually have prompted happiness or at least relief in another… it was a very odd feeling, but… not entirely unwelcome. 

He had to leave. Now.

Maxwell grimaced, all sharp teeth, and shoved the boy off -with far more gentleness than he intended- and stepped back. “It’s getting dark, pal. Might want to light a fire.” he suggests, taking another step back, about to vanish again.

The kid glanced around, realizing the coming dark, but turned back and smiled again at Max, nodding. “Th-thank you.” 

Maxwell didn’t answer, simply left, recalling his projection. Still bound to the throne, he felt nothing particularly different; he still felt rather empty and lacking of hope, numb to the cold and his surroundings… yet, and yet… 

The King opened a simple portal, peering at the kid as he scrambled about, setting up a small fire and huddled near it. The boy was still smiling, lightly touching his goggles as though to ensure they were still there.

...he hadn’t intended to show such kindness... he hadn’t expected to feel anything as a result of it, let alone a sense of... of... warmth.

Maxwell wouldn’t make the same mistake again. They would make sure of it...

[ruinedthatfriendship]

All Fall Down

A/N: This is the last Dimon fic I ever wrote, according to the save date on the original file. Fittingly, it’s also the last fic I have to post out of my old drafts. 

In which Demi handles the aftermath of That Episode from the UK X Factor, everyone cries, and Simon gets the hugs he deserves.

After a while, lies become truth. If you absorb a lie long enough, live it long enough, put effort into convincing everyone it is real, eventually you convince yourself. Eventually you forget the naked truth, replace all of the raw reality with a shiny film of fantasy, and it becomes real.

It becomes real, but lies are always only ever made out of the thinnest glass. And sometimes all it takes is one shot to bring everything down around you.

For Simon, that one shot was a well-meaning singer from Billingham, the setting was a televised audition, and the broken fantasy suddenly raining down around his ears was comprised of just two little words: I’m fine.

He was the furthest from fine he’d ever been in his life, and his only goal in the world at the moment was keeping himself from falling apart entirely at the judges’ desk. But every word of that damned song was a perfectly aimed knife to the heart, cutting him into ribbons over again.

Because Lauren was gone. And Demi was long gone. And his mum--his mum, the sweetest woman he’d known--was gone.

He’d been numb since he got the news just days ago that she’d passed. He’d gone on to do the show anyways and waved off any concern because he was fine, he didn’t feel anything, and maybe that just made him as much of a heartless bastard as Demi had screamed in their last fight. What kind of man couldn’t mourn his mother?

No, he wasn’t heartless. He had one, and his grief had only been dormant, and this bloody song was a sucker punch.

His mind flitted suddenly to Demi’s old lyrics as he discreetly swiped a finger beneath his eye, almost bursting out into paradoxical laughter. I just ran out of band aids, I don’t even know where to start...you never really can fix a heart.

And she was gone too, making a life for herself without him, happy without him, better than ever. Thriving and singing and sober and, last he’d been able to bring himself to check, very much in love with a man who was not him. I’m jealous of the way you’re happy without me.

And Lauren was so far gone now. She’d left when Eric was barely six months old, with a shrug and a sad little smile and a promise to stay in her son’s life. She really hadn’t, and the whole of raising an entirely unplanned child had fallen to Simon. Who was, perhaps, the most well-meaning and least-prepared combination possible for a father.

And it had been his mother that he’d called when Demi left, tears in her eyes but yelling in anger, slamming the door on her way out. “Mum”,  he’d announced unceremoniously on the phone, swallowing hard and trying for unaffected. He failed miserably. “I’ve cocked everything up.”

And it had been his mother that he’d called when Lauren left him, dryly asking for parenting advice and completely beating around the bush that time until she’d wrestled out of him that he’d failed, again, that he’d chased off a second good-hearted woman and was doomed to a miserable existence of living with himself.

And now she was gone too. His fists were clenched in his lap, he was trying so damn hard to keep it together, and he had some horrible Frankenstein mash-up of the Labyrinth lyrics and Demi’s running around in his brain, threatening to choke him. He was jealous of her death, and that didn’t make any sense; he didn’t want to die, there was Eric to think about after all. He was jealous of her somewhere he couldn’t get to, she was beyond his reach. Forever.

“Take it to a vote,” he murmured to Cheryl, and briefly congratulated himself for keeping a steady voice long enough to confirm the third yes for the young singer.

And then he stood, his body warring from second to second between utter numbness and heart-shattering grief, and made his way off of the set as calmly as he could, the other judges following at a hesitant distance.

He could hear Cheryl, speaking louder than she thought she was. “I don’t know what to do, do I go...should I let him go?”

And again, he wanted to give into bitter laughter. There’s nothing you can do. But Simon knew that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn’t be able to stuff back inside the hysterical sobs currently stuck in his chest, and he was Simon Cowell and he wasn’t going to cry. Certainly not where anyone could see him.

So he wordlessly waved off his staff and tossed his microphone at one of them, and got onto the back of a golf cart in wretched silence, staring down at his hands in his lap and his wrists, unmarked.

Demi had always had a sixth sense for when he was upset, even if he tried not to tell her. And without fail, she’d take his hands and reflexively trace her Stay Strong script on his wrists, a source of comfort to herself she was passing on to him.

God, he missed her. And it was his own fault she was gone, he had no one to blame but himself for any of it.

***

In the airport in London, beneath the hoodie of an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of dark glasses, just in case, Demi was biting the inside of her lip absently, waiting for her bag on the carousel.

She’d come with just the one, a little overnight bag with next to nothing in it, took a commercial flight and sat in economy, and done it all without thinking. And now here she was, alone, because she’d stupidly decided to ditch her bodyguards and fly out without warning, with no idea what the hell she was doing.

She’d come for Simon, but that was about as far as that plan went. Simon, who had a girlfriend and a son and plenty of work, who wasn’t expecting her. Simon, who she’d screamed at and slammed a door on, and spent the next months of her tour sobbing her eyes out in bathrooms.

What was she even going to say when she saw him? How was she supposed to explain that Marissa had taken one look at her devastated expression when someone accidentally mentioned him, rolled her eyes, pointed at the door, and said exasperatedly, “Oh, just go get him!”

How was she supposed to explain that she’d almost turned around in LAX, but two women were gossiping next to her and that was how she’d heard about his mum and it had only solidified her spontaneous decision?

She knew she wasn’t exactly welcome at the best of times. And better yet, how was she even going to find him? Knocking on the front door wasn’t exactly an option.

Spying her plain black bag, she yanked it off of the belt with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, making a noise of frustration and walking out to the street, waving down a cab awkwardly.

On the scale of every bad decision she’d ever made, this one was pretty close to the top. Demetria, what are you doing?

Without thinking, she gave the driver Simon’s London address, only panicking after he’d turned the second corner. This wasn’t going to work. This was a terrible idea. She was going to kill Marissa. It wasn’t even Marissa’s fault for finally intervening in two years of Quietly Sad Demi. Jesus Christ.

Demi’s stomach was all anxious, terrified butterflies by the time she paid the cab driver and got out onto the curb, letting her bag drop to the ground next to her feet.

It occurred to her then that she had nowhere better to go, and no idea what the code to his gate was anymore, and this was quite possibly the stupidest situation she’d ever gotten herself into.

She dragged her bag the few meters over to lean up against the gate around his property, bracing one foot up behind her and jamming her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. She’d chosen this outfit on purpose, to avoid standing out and catching any attention, but Demi was well aware that she probably also looked like a random vagrant lurking outside Simon Cowell’s house.

She contemplated ringing the bell, but odds were against him being home anyway. That, and doing so would actually summon him if he was. For all her ridiculously hasty arrival, she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready to see him again, and get punched in the chest with all of those emotions all over again.

She wasn’t ready to rip open old wounds, wasn’t ready to play visitor to his happy little family. But she wasn’t strong enough to turn away, couldn’t stop herself. After all this time, she still needed him, and she thought that just maybe, if there was ever a time for him to need her again, this was it.

Demi wasn’t sure how long she’d been there, scrolling through her phone and sending a few panicked texts to Marissa--as of yet, unanswered--when his car pulled up. She looked up, startled, already trying to retreat further into the depths of her hoodie, but Demi squared her jaw instead. It was only Simon. And she was Demi freaking Lovato, and she wasn’t going to be afraid of this.

She pushed herself slowly off of the gate, tucking her phone into the back pocket of her skinny jeans, tilting her head slightly as she tried to peer inside of the car he hadn’t even bothered to park properly. Between the tint of his windows and her sunglasses, she couldn’t really see much, just enough to make out the silhouette of his head, slumped forward on his arms against the steering wheel. Oh, Simon.

Her reaction was just instinctive. Demi didn’t think twice about pushing that hood back and stripping off her sunglasses, shaking her dark hair out and walking toward him.

He opened the door before she got close, wearily unfolding long legs and slamming the door shut for all he was worth, not sparing a glance for the small woman coming up the sidewalk. His white shirt looked wrinkled and his eyes were red, lips pressed together tightly, and Demi’s heart clenched, a lump already forming in her throat.

She opened her mouth to call to him just as he finally glanced her way, and their eyes locked. Simon froze completely, and Demi started running.

He didn’t catch her, didn’t speak, didn’t do anything but stand there while she crashed into his chest and hung on, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing.

“What in the bloody hell,” he finally said hoarsely, and she wondered how much he’d been crying.

She tilted her head up, propping her chin on his chest, and smiled gently. “Hi, Simon.” It may have been a stupid greeting, but there would be time to kick herself later. For now, there was enough on her plate. Simon blinked at her rapidly for a long moment, long enough for Demi to worry if she’d really shocked his poor old man heart too much, and she watched his eyes well up again. “Baby,” she whispered almost involuntarily. It wasn’t pity, it wasn’t reflexive sympathy, it was just love. Love that she’d never stopped feeling, not when it came to him.

And that was enough. Simon lurched forward against her, his arms coming up around her ribs tight enough to ache, and he buried his head in her shoulder with a heartbreaking sound tearing from his throat that she’d never heard before.

Demi just let him hang on for a long moment, breathing evenly against his vice grip, one of her hands running soothingly over his back. “I don’t know how to get inside,” she finally murmured calmly. “Come on, I’ve been out here for like an hour.”

Simon didn’t appear to have heard her. “I’m sorry,” he choked out against her skin, shaking against her.

Demi felt her own eyes stinging, and bit the edge of her tongue stubbornly. Now was not the time to fall apart. “Shh, come on, Si, let’s go inside.”

She took a step backwards, pulling him with her, and carefully pried herself out of his grip, keeping one of his hands in hers to tug him along.

He keyed in something and let her walk up to the house with him in tow, his free hand over his face. He wasn’t sure she was real yet, had no idea what to make of her sudden presence here. And she was simultaneously a relief and making everything worse, and she was only going to break him further when she left, but all he could do was hold onto her, feeling like a lost little boy.

They made it as far as the staircase. Demi wasn’t really sure what had just happened, but she was suddenly sitting down halfway up the stairs with Simon beside her, turning into her body and giving into heart wrenching sobs once more.

Demi’s lip quivered, and she hugged him tighter. “Baby,” she whispered thickly. One of her hands found his, and she rubbed her thumb across the inside of his wrist absently, her other arm hugging him tightly against her. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

For some reason, that little gesture only broke him further. He was mumbling something into the grey material on her shoulder, words that broke her heart when she finally understood them. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Simon, shh,”

“It’s not okay,” he returned heavily, and Demi winced. She’d assumed that his apology was unconnected to losing his mom--what could he have to apologize for there? But it was still a thoughtless reply, given the circumstances.

“No, not really,” she whispered, rubbing soothing patterns across his back. “It’s not okay, and it sucks, but you’re going to get through it. I promise.”

Simon just sniffed, hugging her tighter. “She’s gone, Demi.”

Demi’s voice broke too as she replied, squeezing his hand as a comfort to both of them. “I know, Si, I know. I’m so sorry. And I wish I could have met her, but I know how wonderful she was. And she loved you so much.”

His mum’s love wasn’t really something he tended to question, but in a moment of weakness, he still found himself returning softly, “How would you know?”

Demi sniffed, and let out a little laugh, shaking her shoulder enough to dislodge him and force him to meet her brown eyes. “Because I love you. And if she could see half of what I see, she’d love you just as much. And she was your mum,” she emphasized the British variant with a smile, “which means she definitely knew you way better than I do.”

“Demi…” Simon mumbled, the only thing he knew how to say anymore. Just her name, just her touch, just her.

She seemed to realize the implications of what she’d said, and drew back a little. “Is...is Lauren home, Simon?”

Simon’s face clouded, and he glanced away from her. “No,” he said simply. “She’s not.”

Demi swallowed, biting her lip hesitantly. There was more to that story, she could tell, but now wasn’t the time. “These stairs are not comfortable, Simon,” she said instead, trying for a little of her teasing brattiness.

It worked, and she saw the darkness recede from his eyes somewhat. He stood slowly, holding both hands out to her, and pulled her to her feet, leading her the rest of the way upstairs.

He went to his bedroom, Demi following on his heels, and ended up standing in the middle of the room, looking lost.

Demi sighed, and perched on the edge of his bed. “Do you want to take a shower?” she finally suggested, when he didn’t seem to gain any more direction.

His eyes flicked to hers. “What about you?”

“I’ll be right here,” Demi nodded firmly, gesturing to the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Simon seemed to doubt that very much, but the slump in his shoulders and curl of his spine spoke of defeated acceptance, like he knew she’d leave and had given up on doing anything about it.

“I’ll be right here,” Demi whispered again, and waited for the door to the ensuite to close completely behind him before she launched herself at one of his pillows and screamed briefly into the white fluff.

There was so much pain contained in that man, more than she could attribute to just his mom, and she wasn’t even sure that she wasn’t making it worse. Demi would have given just about anything to strip it away from him, bring back the Simon she remembered from so long ago, laughing behind his hand at some contestant on the stage, holding her hand beneath the table.

She just had to have faith that they could get there again. Together. And it started here, with her promise to stay, which she had no intention at all of going back on.

Demi pulled her hoodie off over her head, leaving her in just a dark green tank top, and let herself lie back on the bed she’d stayed in once before, smiling in spite of herself at the familiar, quintessentially Simon scent surrounding her.

She’d just taken a nearly twelve hour flight, crossed multiple time zones and then emotionally exhausted herself with Simon. Demi didn’t think twice about slipping between his sheets and hugging the pillow, closing her eyes and breathing in the familiar smell of cologne and mints and cigarettes and the shampoo he always used, thinking that maybe, in spite of everything, she was almost coming home.

And that was how Simon found her nearly an hour later, when he finally dragged himself out of the bathroom, fully expecting to be greeted by an empty house. She had to be too good to be true, didn’t she?

Instead, his brat was curled up asleep, holding onto his pillow and looking surprisingly peaceful, all things considered. Relief flooded him, and he bit the end of his tongue as he moved to his closet, refusing to cry again. Now that he’d opened the dam of emotions, stopping it was harder than he’d thought.

But a sleeping Demi wasn’t a reason for tears. It was a reason to just climb in with her.

She woke to Simon slipping his arm around her waist from behind, a soft smile spreading over her lips as she turned over her shoulder to see him. “Hi,” she murmured, still sleepy.

“Hey, brat,” his voice was still a wreck from crying, but steady, the familiar nickname making her relax. If he could joke, they’d be okay.

Simon pressed a soft kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder, tucking her body against his. “Thank you,”

Demi just shrugged, smiling up into his face. “Where else would I be?”

His eyes clouded slightly, and he looked away from her gaze. “I am sorry, Demi. For everything.”

“I don’t really care about that anymore,” Demi said softly, biting her lip. And maybe she was supposed to, and of course they’d have things to figure out, but if his mom’s death had taught her anything, it was that she didn’t want to waste any time being angry about the past.

Still, as much as she wanted to just melt into his arms and fall all the way back into him, in every sense of the word, there was something she needed to know. “Simon,” she sighed, wondering if the answer was going to damn them completely. “I need to know, babe. Where’s Lauren?”

He exhaled, his breath tickling the hair at the base of her neck. It took him a while to reply, and when he finally did, it was simple. “She’s gone, Dem. She left...I haven’t seen her in a year. Eric’s with a sitter while I’m at work.”

Her immediate relief that she wasn’t in their bed right now was tempered by a rush of fury, that Lauren could leave, that she could abandon her son and walk away from the best man she was ever going to find.

“I’m sorry,” Demi said finally, slowly, lacing her fingers with his over her ribs. “For her, really… She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Simon just held her tighter and pressed his lips to hers, moving on top of her with a familiar weight as she deepened the kiss. And Demi knew without a doubt that whatever else happened, in that moment, she’d made it home.

[tinyliltina]

Prompt 11:  Heartbeat

I finally did something that isn’t ask related s o b s 

Wrote a story with my Chris and @oliverthesaltyedgelord‘s Kelly in our summoner!verse and had way too much fun doing this worldbuilding-

I promise I’m going to get to asks asap but for right now enjoy my attempt to write something that wasn’t for class oml 

Feedback is??  Super appreciated, likes are great but please remember I can’t get better without input :0

Move, move, just move!  Chris sprinted forwards, her feet slapping against the muddied ground of the riverbank.  She heard a snarl behind her, and convinced herself not to look back.  It wasn’t worth it.  Running was what mattered now, not what she was running from.  Such was the life living in a world where dragons and trolls from other realms frequenced for an easy snack…  All Chris needed to know was there had been teeth and claws, and that justified running.  

Hairs she’d never felt stood on the back of her neck, maybe in their own attempt to flee the monster at her back.  Chris lept over another log, skimming the treeline for a hiding spot.  If she could get get a place to set up a circle-

A roar tore through the sky, ripping at Chris’ eardrums.  Whatever was behind her was close.  Chris’ heart slammed against her chest, reminding her she could only run so fast.  Hiding was the best option.  There!  A tree, just off to her left-it looked big enough to crouch behind.  Chris changed direction, her ankles protesting with the effort as she flew through the undergrowth.  Once she was close enough, Chris dove behind the bark.  Her hands scraped against the earth, but she didn’t care.  

The spell spilled from her lips before Chris could process all the words.  Heat built in her chest, manifesting through her blood, and traveling down her veins.  She felt a pulse against the ground as crimson vines appeared on the ground.  They grew and swiveled around her crouched form, doubling in size as the foreign tongue tumbled from the human.  Trembling, both with the ground and effort of focus, Chris tied up the last of the mantra, spitting out the final line.  

 For a moment, the world stopped.  Chris could feel her heart pulsing beneath her skin, and in the ground, and in the air.  It was loud, and panicked, but it was there.  Alive, steady, hers.  Power cracked beneath her fingers, and the ground shook anew.  Her hair stood on end, brown locks stretching out to the heavens.  

Th-thmp th-thmp th-thmp

The ground began to shake.  Not with the footsteps of her pursuer.

Th-thmp thmp thmp thmp

Earth split beneath the circle, tearing apart as the magic activated.

Thmpthmpthmpthmpthmp

Chris’ circle dissolved, manifesting into a physical form.  It stretched and hissed in the air, shifting into a humanoid shape that dwarfed the tallest trees.  Electricity danced in the air, and the circle singed the ground.  There was a sickening silence, then a loud bang.  Chris’ eyes shot up as the red faded, revealing the form of her guardian.  She had to crane her neck to meet his gaze, and resisted the urge to cower from it.  

Despite the fact her familiar was several yards away from her, he still towered over where she crouched.  Chris sat back, and glanced behind her.  The creature that had been chasing her, a young troll by its expression, was shrinking back.  She couldn’t blame the poor thing when it ran.  Truthfully, she wanted to run too.

“What’d ya call me here for?” Chris’ stomach dropped.  Slowly, she turned towards the hulking man before her.  Kellian looked much more intimidating with his face cast in a shadow.  His eyes gleamed a cornflower blue, and sent cold chills down Chris’ back.  Swallowing, Chris gestured to the direction the troll fled.  

“Ah-I mean, I wanted-...it was a troll, and I couldn’t run, so, um-” she cleared her throat, still struggling to breathe from the run.  “I...called you.”

Kellian was quiet a moment, then grunted.

“Mh.  Well I’m here now, so ya gonna ask me t’do something else fer ye?”

Chris shrugged.  

“Um-...I don’t, I mean other than that-...”  she shifted.  “Could you..stay here a second?  Just, I mean...just so it doesn’t come back?”

He blinked.  For a moment, Chris thought he would say no.  Instead, the giant sighed.  

“Sure.  Kinda have’ta, seein’ yer m’summoner.”  

Guilt welled in Chris’ chest.  As a summoner, she had the ability to force Kellian to do what she wanted.  There were restrictions, of course, but Chris hated the thought of treating any creature like a slave.  

“Would it be okay-I mean,” she rubbed her arm, flustered.  “Could you...hold me a second?  You, I mean, you don’t have to, but-”

Before she could finish her request, Chris felt something warm grasp her waist.  She squeaked, glancing down just as Kellian’s hands gathered her up.  With an unnerving ease, Kellian settled his hands against his chest.  Chris stiffened at the closeness.  He was much warmer than she’d thought, though it was almost relaxing.  Hesitating, then relenting to her craving for closeness, Chris slid closer to Kellian.  Her head settled against his chest.  

Th-thmp.  Th-thmp.  Th-thmp.  

Kellian’s heart rung loud and strong.  Chris closed her eyes, willing her own to mirror his.  For several moments, Chris was silent.  She took in the sounds of him beside her.  His deep, relaxed breaths, the thunder of his heart, all mixing into a relaxing song.  Against her better judgment, Chris leaned further into her familiar.  He was surprisingly soft, despite his hardened personality…  The fact he was being so gentle was enough to set Chris at ease.  

“Kellian?”

“Mh?”  his voice rumbled behind her.  

“Do you...well, do you want to leave?”

He was quiet a moment.  His chest shifted.  “A little, aye...can’t ‘til you say so, s’guess I’m stuck.”  

Chris cringed, ashamed of her own selfishness.  

“I’ll...you can leave in a little bit, I promise-I just…”  She didn’t have an excuse.  That thought made her stomach twist.  There was no reason for her to keep him so close, save her own wants.  Chris curled into herself a tad.  

“Why d’ye keep callin’ me out here?”  Kellian’s voice spoke against her thoughts.  Chris blinked, glancing up.  She peered at the underside of his chin, the only part of his face she could see at her angle.  

“I…”  She cleared her throat.  Was she obligated to tell him the truth?  Lying didn’t seem like much of a choice, especially with such a specific question.  “I guess…”  No, telling the truth was always the better option.  Even if he didn’t like her answer, at least Kellian wouldn’t think her dishonest.  “I don’t really know.  I feel...safer when you’re around.”  Her gaze moved to her hands.  “You’re such a well-known fighter in the monster realm, and, you’re the first monster I summoned...so that means something, I think…”

He scoffed.  “Ye summonin’ me was just bad luck.”  

Chris winced again, glancing at her hands.  He was right, she guessed.  It was bad luck, at least for him…  He was a high tier fighting monster, one of the most requested monster types available.  Neither one of them knew how he’d been summoned to Chris’ circle when she’d been looking for a companion.  

“Why?”  Kellian asked.

“Why....why what?

“Why d’ye keep summonin’ me back?  ‘S clear I’m na’ tha monster ye wanted...s’why keep callin’ me back?”

He wasn’t wrong, Chris supposed.  Really, she wasn’t sure why she summoned him back.  While he was civil enough, Kellian wasn’t open, friendly, or kind.  He was no companion.  Yet, if Chris had to choose between him and another monster, she’d go for Kellian.  

“I dunno.  I guess, really, you’re so big and strong…  I feel safer.”  

“Safer, eh?”

Chris nodded.  Kellian sounded surprised, and Chris couldn’t blame him.  Up front, he was a terrifying looking beast.  Glowering eyes beneath a dark head of hair, and skin lined with battle scars. Chris was the polar opposite.  A skinny, tiny brunette without a single scratch on her.  He was abrasive, she was gentle.  

“Safer...yeah,”  Chris shrugged.  She settled against Kellian once again, and stared at his fingers.  “You’re...I dunno.  You’re tough, but you aren’t mean. Even if you’re a little...snappy, I mean, you’ve always been gentle with me.”

“Kinda have t’be gentle with ye, considerin’ our contract…”  he muttered.  “But...I dunno.  M’assistant says I can’t fight forever, n’I guess he’s right.”  

“I think your assistant is a wise person,” she agreed.  “And maybe...who knows?  One day, hopefully, you’ll like hanging out...I mean, maybe you’ll…”  She looked down.  “Well, forget it.  As long as you don’t mind coming back, I mean…  Maybe this isn’t so bad?”

“Maybe,” he mused.  

Sighing, Chris leaned against Kellian’s chest.  His heartbeat resumed its powerful rhythm, a reminder of his presence.  In it, Chris found a strange sense of comfort.  She didn’t feel so lonely, even while knowing they weren’t close.  Before she knew it, the exhaustion of the day consumed her.  Her head nodded once, twice, then went slack.  

---

Chris had been quiet for a while now.  Unusual.  Normally the runt was chatty, to the point it was almost annoying.  Kellian frowned, sparing a glance to the human in his hand.  Ah, she was asleep.  That made sense.  Waking her up was an option, but it didn’t feel fair.  Kellian knew if she attempted doing such a thing he would lash out.  For now, he guessed, he’d let her sleep.  

He couldn’t deny his surprise at how quickly the lass had grown to trust him.  They came from two different worlds, yes, and Kellian had been raised differently.  But falling asleep on someone, especially a giant, wasn’t smart.  It was more surprising considering he’d never shown much interest in the young mage.  Still, there she was.  Fast asleep, sitting straight up, as if his hand were a couch.  

Kellian’s lip twitched.  A ghost of a smirk took over his features.  Fighting monster paired with a lonely mage.  The idea sounded so ridiculous, he couldn’t help but chuckle.  Kellian had the blood of dozens, if not hundreds, on his hands.  This tiny human, who could use him to fight like the others, saw that as comforting.  Him as comforting.  Or, maybe she tried not to see it.  With Chris, he could never be sure.

His eyes trailed the skyline.  It was still plenty bright out, and his next fight wasn’t scheduled for a few days.  For now, holding Chris wasn’t so bad.  Hell, maybe he was coming to enjoy her company.  Though he hated to, he was starting to like not seeing fear in her eyes when he came around.  The expression of relief on her face when she saw him appear…  Kellian chuckled.  Hell, he was going soft.  

[shewas-agaystripper]

The Clinic: Chapter 18/Epilogue

The Clinic: Part Eighteen/Epilogue

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Alleluia guys, this is it - the epilogue of The Clinic, and with that, the end of this story! I want to thank you all so much for sticking with me through the year (yes, it's really been about a year!) that it's taken me to write this story, and I'm so grateful for all your comments, kudos, efforts, encouragements, your honesty, love, and enthusiasm during this process. I appreciate you all so much and I could not have done this without your support. I started writing this to come to terms with my own diagnosis of depression and BPD and to hope to understand myself and people around me better, and it's been such a tumultuous road, but it's been worth it. I think this is a story I've written that will stay with me for a long time, as will all the kindness you as readers have shown to me as both a writer and a person.

Enough of that now - I hope you will enjoy the last chapter/epilogue/whatever you want to call this final chapter, and I'm hoping to see you all back at my new projects - which, in time, will include a sort of spin-off of The Clinic Universe!

Just one more thing - I was listening to some devotional music the other day (I don't do this too much usually, but I've got a soft spot for the music of the Taizé Youth Monastery music, the place I've visited twice now and hope to visit many times again) when one particular song stood out to me in relation to The Clinic, and Brian's and John's relationship in specific - with how they love each other for what they are and how they strengthen each other. I just wanted to share these particular lines from the song Take Me As I Am with you:

Take, oh take me as I am Summon out what I shall be Set your peace upon my heart and live in me

Thanks for everything guys, I love you all!

xxx Silke Maria

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

‘You’ve got your guitar, Deaky?’

‘I put it in the back of the car,’ John answered the man who appeared in the door opening, demonstrating this fact by tapping the trunk of the green-bluish Fiat 124 he was leaning against. John had been out in the November morning for a bit now to put his bass and his coat in the car and wait on Brian, who had mainly been engaged with comforting his mother that they’d drive safely and that they would not forget to bring a bottle of water and matters similar to these. Having a doting mother hovering over you was not something John was used to for most of his life, but he had gotten used to it as a fact of life - one he did not mind at all, really - as soon as he’d moved in with Brian’s family after leaving Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution.

Brian stepped out of the doorway and walked towards him. ‘Great. I’ll put the lady in there also.’

John fished the keys out of the pocket of his trousers and opened the trunk of the car for his partner. ‘Still can’t believe you’re actually calling her that.’

‘And that’s you talking! You just referred to Red Special as a ‘her’ yourself!’ Brian reminded him while gently laying down his most prized possession. Or alternatively, as he once said in a half-giggly, half-sappy mood, his most prized possession directly after John - which had earned him a snort and a peck on the cheek.

‘That’s just you rubbing off on me,’ John defended himself.

Brian reached out both arms to close the trunk again, but even before it came down with an audible slam!, John could already see the grin tugging at his lips. Turning towards John again with wiggling eyebrows, he said: ‘Me rubbing off on you, huh?’

‘Please.’ John rolled his eyes, and then hit Brian with the most powerful threat he had come to learn while living with him and his family. ‘I’m telling your mum.’

Brian grimaced - even though he knew John was just joking, the mere idea of his boyfriend letting his parents in on their dirty talk, be it serious or completely ridiculous, was not a pretty prospect in his mind. ‘Sure. I love having mum wash my mouth out with soap like she did when I was ten.’

Being particularly in the mood for good-natured teasing that morning, John answered: ‘I mean, given that that’s the only dental hygiene you get these days-’

‘Deaky!’ Brian interrupted him indignantly, but John could see the smile shining through. ‘That was once, and only because I didn’t feel like getting out of bed.’

‘I know, love,’ John soothed, and, after having had a quick look around the otherwise empty street, he leant in to give Brian a kiss on the lips, both as to prove that he trusted Brian to have brushed his teeth that morning, and to test if he actually had. ‘Fresh like peppermint. Just as I like it.’

‘Hm-hm,’ Brian hummed in confirmation. ‘I didn’t feel like brushing my teeth, so like ate a roll of mints.’

‘You’re the worst,’ John told him.

‘Why? Because I didn’t leave any mints for you?’

John snorted. ‘Just get in the car.’

‘Fair,’ Brian laughed. He took the keys that John reached out to him and walked to the right side of the car. John walked the other way, but just as the soft click of the doors opening prompted them both to get inside, they were distracted by a woman’s voice calling to them.

‘Boys! Boys, you didn’t take your lunch out of the fridge!’ Brian turned around to see his mother, dressed in her ankle-length morning gown and with her perm rollers still in her hair, marching through the door and making her way towards the car. Her cheeks were flushed with hurry, and to make matters worse, as she paddled closer to them, he noticed a pair of pink bunny slippers on her feet, and he could hardly oppress a groan of embarrassment. He had finally gotten over the initial embarrassment of having John see his mum in her morning attire during these past months, but that did not mean he was ready for the Wilson family from down the street to see his mother in this state of undress.

‘Mum, you’re out here in your morning gown!’ Brian loudly stated the obvious. ‘And what lunch do you mean?’

‘The lunch I packed for you both!’ his mother said, half out of breath by the time she stood in front of her son, and reached two tinfoil wrapped packages towards him. Brian smiled, but did not take the little bundles from her.

‘Thanks, mum, but we won’t be needing lunch. We’ll only be gone for an hour.’

‘Nonsense,’ his mother countered. ‘Visiting hour is an hour on its own, but it’s a forty-five-minute drive, both to and back. And then the searching! I remember having to wait for almost half an hour to be searched because there was only one guard available for the work. And when they got to me, they nearly stripped me to my bra and panties!’

The mental image this description left behind in Brian’s brain was even worse than the current sight of his mother in her dressing gown, perm rollers, and bunny slippers, and he found himself sighing. ‘Thanks mum, now I won’t be needing lunch anymore for sure.’ He heard John emit a strangely adorable giggle, but his mum was not so impressed with his comment.

‘Darling, don’t be stubborn… You’ll regret not having anything to eat if you get hungry on the way back,’ she told him. Then, when Brian remained unmoving both mentally and physically while she stretched the packages towards him, she decided she might have better luck with her son-in-law.

‘John, you take it with you, dear,’ she ordered as she made her way around the car to the place where John had been waiting to get into the passenger seat. ‘Better safe than sorry.’

‘Of course,’ John agreed, finally relieving Ruth of the bundles of food she had prepared for them. ‘Thanks, Mum,’ he said with a smile that earned him an approving pat on the shoulder.

‘You’ve got everything, then? Some water? Your driver’s license and your ID cards? They ask for those upon entering Queen Mary’s.’

‘Yes, we have those,’ Brian answered.

‘And your coats? It can be cold in there!’

‘They’re in the trunk,’ John answered Ruth when he could tell by the slightly annoyed look on Brian’s face that he was not in the mood to be cross-examined about his preparations for their tour by his mother.

‘Great. All ready to go then,’ Ruth gave her blessing and took a step back, which was the unspoken signal for John and Brian to get into the car. Especially Brian wasted no time in doing so, tearing open the door, stepping in somewhat clumsily due to the modestly sized car not being an entirely perfect match for his height, and closing it behind him as soon as possible. He had been the one to say all morning that he did not want to be late under any circumstances, and this uncalculated meddling of his mother right before they were going to leave did not entirely fit into his planning.

John, on the other hand, remained unstressed despite it all. He knew they had plenty of time left - it was hardly half-past nine, and with the journey only taking an estimated forty-five minutes, there was no way they would be late just because Ruth asked them a handful of questions. He therefore opened the door, seated himself on the passenger seat, and secured his belt without any traces of hurry, and when Ruth gestured to him to scroll down the window, he did not hesitate to do so and listen to what more she had to say.

‘Well, you boys have fun. What time are you going to be back?’

‘We’re not sure,’ Brian answered, pressing the car key into the lock. ‘Visiting hour is from eleven to twelve this week, but we might go to the flat afterwards to get some work done. See if we can install those curtain rods.’

‘So you might not be home this afternoon?’ his mum asked.

‘Possibly not.’

Ruth thought for a second, and then said in full determination: ‘You’ll need more food, then.’

John huffed out a laugh at this typically maternal instinct of his mother-in-law, but Brian could not see any humour in it.

‘Mum…’ he groaned, but his mother was not taking no for an answer.

‘Yes, you do. You can’t survive on a few sandwiches all day.’

‘Mum, don’t- we’re going to be late!’ he shouted when she resolutely turned around and half-walked, half-ran towards the front door again. He heard the door being slammed shut behind her, as a wordless confirmation that she was not listening to his complaints, and he covered his face with his hands. ‘Unbelievable.’

‘She means well,’ John smiled.

‘I know. I know she does, but- I just want to go,’ Brian admitted. ‘I can’t wait to go and finally see Freddie and Roger again.’

‘I know. But we’re early anyway. And they won’t let the patients into the visiting room before it’s eleven o’clock anyway,’ John reminded him. Brian nodded slowly in agreement, or at least in understanding of what John told him.

‘It feels weird to know that they’re still patients at that place,’ Brian said.

‘Sometimes it feels unreal to even think that we were there with them for half a year. It already seems to far away,’ John said.

‘I know. But that’s a good sign. It means we’re moving on.’

John turned to look at Brian, whose face was finally graced by a smile by now. John wasn’t sure if Brian was leaning forwards to him or if that was just wishful thinking, but when he brought in his face he was given a kiss on the lips all the same.

With their hands resting on top of each other next to the gear shift, they waited for Ruth to come out again. It took a few minutes, and John could tell Brian was not happy about it, but he did not say anything about it - not even when his mum returned with two Tupperware boxes full of extra sandwiches, leftovers from the cake she’d made the day prior, and handfuls of red grapes. John opened the door to take it all in, as it was a bit awkward receiving the whole load through the car window - and when he had picked up the boxes and safely put them on the back seat behind him, a dark grey coat was stuffed into his hands.

‘This belongs to someone who assured me he’d taken his coat with him, but one glance at the coat rack told me otherwise,’ Ruth said with a stern glance aimed at her son.

‘I did take my coat! The blue one,’ Brian defended himself.

‘That’s a summer coat!’ Ruth brought in. ‘It’s November!’

‘It’s not cold yet! And if I wear a winter coat already, I’ll be cold by the time January rolls around,’ Brian argued. Unfortunately, this did not succeed in getting his mother off his back.

‘That means you don’t have a proper winter coat, then. We’ll buy you a new one next weekend.’ Then, while Brian sighed in the driver’s seat and turned the key to start the car, she turned to John. ‘What about you, dear? Do you have a proper winter coat or is it the same story as Brian’s?’

‘Er, I’m sure mine’s fine, mum. But I’ll try it out one of these days,’ John promised.

‘Very good. Well, have fun you two!’ said Ruth, who seemed to understand that Brian was going to drive the car out of the driveway regardless of whether or not she was still talking to him or his partner. She took a step back, which allowed John to close the door of the car, be it with a bit more force behind it than he had intended to do.

‘Careful, love. Don’t want to lose a door before we even hit the road,’ Brian commented lightly as he looked left, right, and then entered into the street. Despite his previous irritation, he could bring himself to wave at his mother good-naturedly, an example followed by John.

‘Sshh! Don’t talk about her like that,’ John tutted, rubbing his hand comfortingly over the dashboard of the Fiat. Ever since they had picked up the car from a local dealer who’d wanted to get rid of the 1961 occasion that he said only took up space in his yard, its wonkiness and creakiness had been a running joke between the couple, who simultaneously told each other to be kind to their purchase which was clearly ‘trying its best’ while also making fun of every little sound it made and deficiency it sported. The truth of the matter was that it was not a bad car for a couple of broke adolescents like themselves, but it certainly had its lacks and its things left to be desired.

‘Oh, so the car is a she, but when I call the Red Special a she it’s wrong?’ Brian asked his partner critically.

‘What can I say?’ John shrugged, not at all dodged by the question. ‘I don’t make the rules.’

‘You literally just did,’ Brian reminded him.

‘You don’t complain when I made the rules last night, you know,’ John said with ease, and Brian snorted. He could definitely appreciate John’s new-found sharkiness. Or perhaps it wasn’t new-found - it was just that now he used it for light-hearted comments that were guaranteed to make the people around him snicker, while previously at Queen Mary’s he had used it against people, such as Freddie in his overenthusiasm, or Roger after he’d tipped another pill or taken a shot of whatever was available to him at that point in time. Brian remembered how hesitant he had been of John during the first few weeks because of uneasiness about the guy’s use of his wits, how he’d been on his tiptoes to avoid John saying something questionable to him, even though this had never happened. John had never used his sharkiness against him, and nowadays no one had to fear for it anymore. Being in a much better place than he had been half a year ago, John never seemed to feel the need to use his wits against anyone anymore - only to make people laugh, which continued to make Brian feel warm and soft inside, even if his jokes teased him.

‘I wonder what their families think about us now that we’ve taken their spots during all the last visiting hours,’ Brian asked as he slowed down for a red light.

‘Freddie just wrote about that in his last letter,’ John answered. ‘Said that his parents aren’t too happy they don’t get to see him anymore, but that they’re taking it as a good sign that Freddie has us come and visit him instead of just his parents all the time.’

‘Which letter was that?’ Brian asked, stepping on the gas when the light turned green. ‘Don’t think I read it.’

‘Oh, then he probably mentioned it in one of Freddie’s and my daily ongoing Kama Sutra centred correspondence,’ John grinned.

Bian kept his eyes on the road, but that didn’t stop him from giving John a partly-punishing, partly-playful pat on the upper leg. ‘That would explain why you’re so keen on making all of these explicit comments all the time lately.’

‘Someone has to do the work now that Freddie isn’t here with us,’ John argued.

‘Yeah, well. Something’s telling me you’re not going to stop this new hobby of yours, not even when Freddie will come and join us.’

‘Probably not, no. We’ll probably just egg each other on,’ John grinned. Brian voiced his disagreement with this future prospect, before they moved on to discuss what it really would be like to have Freddie and Roger move in with them into the new apartment - or just to live on their own in general. Neither Brian nor John had ever done so before; Brian had lived close enough to university to continue living in his parents’ house, and John had barely been eighteen and only just done with high school when he was sent to Queen Mary’s. Roger and Freddie, on the other hand, did have experience living on their own - but the plenty of stories they’d told about their own moments of shame in the kitchen and the bathroom and general housekeeping did not exactly give Brian and John much hope.

As they hit the highway, they recalled Roger telling them how he’d once tried to get a clot of hair out of the shower drain using knife and form, and Freddie calling his sister in the middle of the night to ask her what the difference was between an oven and a microwave. The best - or worse, for that matter - out of all the things they’d heard overtime they unanimously decided was Freddie messing up his roommate’s kettle because he’d opened up and tried to boil an egg in the hot water; which on its own was bad enough, but him not having gotten the memo that an egg was liquid before boiling and thus unexpectedly cracking the egg into the kettle was worse for sure. To make the chaos complete, he’d then panicked and tries to fish out little pieces of half-boiled egg yolk with a pair of tweezers, and had burned his hand in the process of this. However, knowing that Roger once fell violently ill because he used to cook his chicken medium rare, the couple decided that it was probably best not to have neither Freddie nor Roger near the kitchen anywhere soon, and that they’d be the best candidates to cook the meals until they would manage to teach the others some basic culinary skills and food knowledge that apparently was not as common as they had thought.

Most of the remaining way to Queen Mary’s was then spent discussing which dishes the pair of them could cook and what to do in case they had an off-day on which they did not feel like touching the oven or stove in any sort of way. Brian drove comfortably despite having yet to get used to the car and not knowing the route by heart; he had, after all, driven them to Queen Mary’s twice before, and even if he took a wrong turn, there’d be plenty of time left as they’d made their departure unnecessarily early, as even he dared to admit by now.

There was, in the end, no reason at all to have to be stressed. They reached their destination at twenty past ten; early enough to park in the best available spots, and so early that the gates had not even opened yet.

‘Huh. Funny to be locked up from the other side for a change,’ John commented, which made Brian snort.

They looked on as Ian, one of the guards they came across often when he had back door duty, sauntered out of the building with a coworker they did not recognise - a new hire, they assumed. Brian was the one to first open the door, circle the car, and take out their instruments. He handed the bass over to John with a smile, and they moved on to the gates on which Ian was just laying the last hand to open it.

‘Morning, guys,’ Ian nodded at them, drawing the gate open with the help of his coworker. ‘You’re early today.’

‘Don’t want to miss a second of a chance to spend time at Queen Mary’s, of course,’ Brian smiled, and he took the hand Ian reached towards him for a handshake. John did the same afterwards.

‘I’d say so,’ Ian grinned. ‘You’re here to see Bulsara and that blond guy with him, right?’

‘Roger Taylor, yeah,’ John confirmed. ‘We have to arrange some last things before they leave and come to live with us.’

‘They’re leaving as well! You’re leaving me all alone here,’ Ian sighed exorbitantly loudly.

‘Of course not!’ Brian protested. ‘I see you’ve got a new coworker!’ He gave a nod towards the quiet but severe-looking middle-aged man standing to Ian’s right side.

‘Oh, I do. This is Frank,’ Ian introduced his coworker, who stepped forward to shake hands with the couple as well.

‘Is he a replacement or has Queen Mary’s finally decided to take on more security?’ John asked.

‘Believe it or not, but we’re finally getting more security,’ Ian said. When John lifted an eyebrow in surprise, he added: ‘I mean- there are two new guards as of now, but they’re looking for a few more. Problem is that not everyone is suitable to work in this environment. Finding guards that are both strict enough to keep order but gentle enough to work with the patients is a task on its own.’

Brian nodded in understanding - he was actually surprised by this information Ian shared with them. It might have seemed trivial and self-explanatory to someone else to hear that management was running tests to find the right guards for the demographics, Brian had seen enough /bullshit and acts of pure carelessness or even negligence at Queen Mary’s to know that it was not that self-evident to have the right people in the right positions. He was glad to hear that they were finally stepping up their game, though.

The next visitors arrived behind them, so John and Brian said their goodbyes to Ian and his new coworker, and walked towards the side entrance of the building, which they had learned was the visitor’s entrance of Queen Mary’s. It continued to feel weird to Brian to enter the visiting room from this side instead of through the patients’ entrance, but, knowing that John had only seen that side once and that having been with the half-disastrous, half-salvaging meeting with his parents, he decided not to bring that up. He did not want to bring up any bad memories, after all - today was supposed to be fun and good news only.

Having listed their names at the register and woven the safety pin with the ‘VISITOR’ button attached to it through the fabric of their shirts, the couple sat down on an uncomfortable wooden bench to await being searched. No one showed up, though, apart from more visitors; but just as Brian was about to make a comment about Queen Mary’s probably having shifted their funding away from visiting hour staff to be able to pay for new security, the figure of a man loomed up before them.

‘You should know by now that those instruments simply won’t do at Queen Mary’s,’ a voice said, before both the man and the couple he was facing smiled at each other.

‘Nolan!’ Brian beamed, nearly losing grip of his guitar as he jumped up from the bench to fling his arms around his former mentor. Upon first leaving Queen Mary’s he had never thought he’d grow to miss anyone apart from his friends, but only a few weeks at home had proven him utterly wrong. He missed Nolan’s cheerfulness and vigour, Sarah’s trust and her patience with him, and even Jasper’s eternal attempt at engaging everybody in group discussions. Still, the role Nolan had played in his survival at Queen Mary’s, and in his healing process as far as Queen Mary’s had been responsible for that, was one that Brian was not going to forget anywhere soon. Nolan had been the one to walk him through his first weeks at Queen Mary’s, the one he had always been able to reach out to during his time, and the one who had helped him get out when he had needed to. No one had ever cared so deeply as Nolan had, and Brian would always be thankful to him for the effort he’d put into every single day he had been out and about at the institution, because it really had made a change for the better.

‘Hi buddy! I’ve missed you!’ Nolan said, again with such sincerity that only Nolan could add to his words. ‘How are things going? Did you get the apartment?’

‘Not the one we originally were hoping for, but two weeks ago we got another offer. Even better, perhaps,’ Brian detached himself from Nolan so that John could share a hug with his mentor also. Perhaps Nolan had not played as large a role in his life at Queen Mary’s as he had for Brian, but John had also grown to miss the stability that Nolan had provided - a rock for all who needed him, whenever and wherever.

‘Really?’ Nolan asked, his voice muffled as his face was half-buried in John’s shoulder.

‘Really. Three bedroom apartment with central heating and a recently updated kitchen in Kensington.’

‘Three-bedroom apartment! In Kensington, out of all places! Count yourself lucky!’ Nolan beamed. He let go of John at last, and looked them both in the eyes as he said: ‘You deserve it, guys. If anyone I’ve ever met in here deserves such an opportunity, it’s you.’ Brian smiled and John just blushed, but they both knew Nolan meant it, and it felt good, really good to have someone wish them well with all of his heart.

Just as Brian was thinking of saying something to wish Nolan well, such as telling him he hoped he’d been a little less busy than he’d been in their days or that he’d been given a few kind and unproblematic pupils in their place, a nasal voice asking loudly if anyone was going to check them or if they could just move on through to the visiting area straight away made them turn around. Nolan shot them an apologetic glance - one they still remembered from the many times when he’d been called away by various duties when they still lived at Queen Mary’s. They took their leave of Nolan, but were reunited with them again as they passed him and Derek, who had come to help him out, to search all visitors. They exchanged a few more words as they were patted down, but, upon finding nothing in their pockets and probably trusting them to still abide by the rules as they (largely) did while living at the place, they were given permission to enter the visiting room.

With one hand on John’s back and the other around the neck of his beloved guitar, Brian guided the pair of them to a table in the front left corner of the room. From this spot, Freddie and Roger would be able to spot them, but they would not be in the way of too many people during their time together. That’s what they hoped, at any rate, but Brian knew that no one among the four of them particularly cared about their noise levels when they got to see each other once per month, and especially not now that they had such good news to celebrate.

Visitors spilled into the room, security made their rounds, and cups of coffee and tea were distributed at random among the occupied tables by two lunch ladies with no regard for anyone’s preferences for which beverage they wished or how they wished to take it. Knowing that John didn’t like his coffee without sugar - his sweet spot, as Brian liked to call it when they were just among themselves - he offered to take the bitter drink, and let John have the cup of tea. They took small sips of the hot liquids and made some comments on the room, the visitors, and Queen Mary’s in general while eagerly waiting for Freddie and Roger to join them.

Their patience was eventually rewarded - just as Brian downed the last of what John had dubbed Queen Mary’s bitter bean juice, the heavy iron door swung open, and the patients were released into the room. Half of them anxious and half of them apathetic, it didn’t take long for Brian to spot the excited expression and manner of their friends, who had stumbled through the door together and anxiously searched for them.

‘Freddie, Roger! Here!’ Brian found himself standing up from the table and wave a hand above his head to lead his friends in the right direction. John stood up and even gave a whistle to a confused looking Freddie - something Brian never could have imagined him doing half a year ago, but which he now did with a smile on his face. Even calling their names out loud was something he himself would not have dared to do upon first arriving in Queen Mary’s, afraid of other people’s reactions. Now he couldn't care less about the glances and the stares; not when Roger spotted them and excitedly pulled Freddie with him towards the table.

Brian felt his smile growing wider as the couple approached their table in a half-walking, half-running manner. They looked stronger, better, happier every time they visited Queen Mary’s to see them, and today was no exception. Roger’s face had a healthy glow to it, which was a huge difference to the pale greyish tint of his skin he had sported while on and off his heroin addiction. His eyes were less sunken and his cheeks had a certain rosy softness to them that made him look sweet and even more boyish than he had done before.

The changes in Freddie were even more visible. His skin had also recovered from its snow-white phase, and the beginnings of a bronze tone were showing, which showed the Parsi background that Brian knew Freddie had but which had never been too visible. Brian could also tell, as he stepped closer, that he had again managed to gain some weight over the past month. It might have been minimal, not more than a few pounds, but for someone of his frame and statue this made a real difference. His clothes no longer swung around his body the way they used to, and his cheekbones, although still sharp, did not stick out the way they used to, which made his face look more elegant and proportioned. His walk had become more steadfast, and even his hair looked shinier than it used to - something he knew Freddie would say was the result of some new hair product, but which Brian could tell had more to do with him finally starting to eat things besides slices of tomato and shim yoghurt than with any sort of hair conditioner.

‘Darliiiiiings!’ Freddie cooed with the second vowel drawn-out dramatically as he let Brian envelop his torso with his long arms, laughing loudly and most of all genuinely when Brian clutched him tightly against his chest and pressed kisses against his hair. It had always been Freddie who had initiated hugs and kisses of any sort, but he sure seemed delighted to have his friend take the lead this time around.

‘I’m so glad you’re here!’ said Roger, who next to Freddie had been subdued to the same treatment by John, be it with a hand grating through his long blond locks instead of having a pair of lips pressed against it. ‘You must be here with the new car! You need to tell me all about it!’

‘Well, eh, what do you want to know?’ John asked.

‘Everything!’ Roger beamed, dislodging himself from John’s chest. ‘What’s the manufacturer, and the building year, and how many HP? What’s the engine capacity? And the torque!’

‘Well, it’s a Fiat 124 from France, built in December 1961. It has 61 HP,  which is decent, but the torque isn’t spectacular,’ John admitted. Brian felt Freddie take a step back from him but they held each other at an arm’s length anyway, not ready to let this instant conversation break them up yet. ‘I mean, the number they gave us was high, but that’s the maximum torque of the IC engine.’

‘I know,’ Roger nodded. ‘They try to impose you with a torque of 200 when RPM is what’s really important when looking at acceleration speed. Or plainly the zero-to-sixty-span, although that’s dependable on the circumstances of the environment of the car…’

‘Let’s leave all of that to the nerds, shall we?’ Freddie suggested halfway through the sentence when he noticed that neither Brian nor he either understood or cared about the discussion of their latest vehicular purchase. ‘God, what do I care about cars when you’re here to see us!’ he said when Brian nodded to his proposal, and he threw himself back against Brian’s chest. Brian just smiled and hooked an arm around Freddie’s side so he could pat his back. For the first time probably since he had met Freddie, he was finally comfortable hugging him without fearing he would break his roommate in two - something Brian definitely found worthy of praise and celebration.

‘It’s so good to have you here and literally see that you’re making progress,’ Brian smiled into the shoulder of Freddie, who unfortunately did not think of this as a good sign at all. He unwrapped his arms from Brian’s back and stepped away from him with a look of serious uneasiness and shock on his face.

‘Oh fuck, no, does it really show? Can you tell that I- gained weight?’ The last words came out in a squeak that betrayed just how painful the idea of putting weight back on still was for Freddie, who looked as if he was going to cry if he was not going to receive comfort in the form of assurance that he hadn’t gained a gramme and that he looked emaciated as always. The problem was that Brian could not do it, refused to do it - now that Freddie was finally on the road towards recovery, he was not going to praise anything weight loss-related.

Choosing his words carefully, Brian said: ‘It just shows a little in your face, and I can feel it in your ribs when I hold you. It’s a very positive change, Freddie, believe me.’

Freddie, however, looked at Brian as if he had just grabbed him by the throat and left him breathless. ‘That’s not positive, that’s- that’s disgusting,’ he whimpered.

‘It’s not disgusting,’ Brian protested. ‘It’s good and it’s healthy and it’s exactly what should happen. It’s exactly why you look better and feel so much better lately - it’s why you’ll be allowed to leave soon. Don’t you want that?’ Brian asked. ‘You don’t want to stay at Queen Mary’s or similar places forever and fight with food your whole life, right?’

Freddie blinked at him, once, twice, a third time, then looked down. ‘I don’t want that,’ he muttered. ‘But I don’t want to look like… like this either.’ Despite Freddie still protesting his progress, Brian noticed that he recognised he did have an unhealthy relationship with food, which a few months ago he would have refused to do. Things were going in the right direction at last.

‘Like what?’ Brian asked. ‘Strong and healthy and beautiful? With some colour on your face and shiny hair and a perfect body to carry around a perfect person?’

Freddie huffed. ‘The hair’s just my new after shower hair mask.’

‘I literally predicted you would say that,’ Brian rolled his eyes, but then sternly added: ‘Don’t undermine your own progress, Freddie.’

Freddie opened his mouth as if he had something grand to say to defend himself, but nothing came out apart from a choked ‘I’m not’, which Brian could see right through. He knew Freddie did not at all see his recent progress as such, and knew his friend needed support and consolation.

‘Believe me, Freddie. You might not see it now, but in a few years you’ll look back at yourself and be proud,’ Brian promised him with a voice firm enough to make him look away at first, then shyly face him.

‘Do you really think so?’ Freddie asked. Brian smiled, again seeing this (be it unsure sounding) question as a win, for Freddie did not actively oppose to what he claimed.

‘I’m sure of it,’ Brian said just as firmly. Then, deciding to try his luck, he asked Freddie openly for the first time ever: ‘How far are you now?’

Freddie, knowing exactly what he meant, faced him with a look of mild panic and hesitation. ‘I… I’m too embarrassed to tell you,’ he said at first, but after a handful of seconds, he beckoned Brian closer, and stood on his tiptoes to whisper to him: ‘I’m at 98 now.’

‘Really?’ Brian said in an upbeat tone, ignoring the fact that this still was a ridiculously low number and instead focussing on it being at least more than ten pounds than he had weighed during much of his own stay at Queen Mary’s. You have no idea how much progress that is. When I got here you were what, 86 pounds?’

‘And a half, yes,’ Freddie said, then sighed. ‘I can’t help wanting to go back there somewhere deep inside. I know I shouldn’t want that, and Roger tells me I’m crazy, but...’

‘It’ll take a while to get rid of those thoughts,’ Brian finished his sentence when Freddie ran out of words. ‘You’ve been used to thinking like that for so long. But it’s good that Roger’s your voice of reason in those moments,’ Brian said, which was a sentence he had not expected to ever leave his mouth. It had always been Freddie who had tried to talk sense back into Roger whenever he had graved his beloved heroin or its substitutes, so it had been unexpected to learn that it was now Roger who told Freddie right instead. Brian was glad to hear that he did, though - but he would be even happier when the couple would move in with John and him so they could keep an eye on Freddie and his eating habits between the three of them. Together they would pull Freddie through.

‘Yes, Roger as my voice of reason,’ Freddie laughed with a sideward glance at his boyfriend, who was luckily still engaged in talk of carburettors and gear shifts with John. ‘No, but he’s really sweet and helpful. He’ll go with me to my dietary sessions whenever he doesn’t have to attend sessions on his own. He’ll hold me when I cry whenever I have to step on a scale and everyone’s celebrating me having put on weight. He’s really pulling me through this, you know.’

It melted Brian’s heart to hear that the couple was able to support each other so well. ‘That’s very good to hear. Roger will be so relieved when you’ll finally hit the 100 pounds mark.’

‘I know,’ Freddie sighed. ‘I suppose I do want to get there, even if it’s mainly for him. And well, you know- he did promise a reward if I did.’

‘A reward?’ Brian lifted an eyebrow. ‘And what would that be?’

Freddie cast his eyes up dramatically, and twirled a strand of hair around a bony finger. ‘Oh, I could hardly repeat that to you. It would not be good for your sensitive ears.’ Brian refrained from giving Freddie a teasing push out of fear that his friend might topple over, and instead just stuck out his tongue at him.

‘Who’s got sensitive ears?’ sounded the voice of Roger, who joined into the conversation at the exact right moment for Freddie and Brian to not have to repeat the latter part of their discussion.

‘Brian and I, which is why we couldn’t listen to you going on about cabaret and such.’

‘I’ve told you a thousand times before it’s a carburettor.’

‘Oh, my ears! My sensitive ears!’ Freddie said, covering the sides of his face with his hands like a Victorian housewife who had suddenly be seized by a fit of dizziness.’

‘Okay, we get it,’ John snorted. ‘Sit your majestic behind down, Queen Victoria.’

Freddie did as he was told, but, unlike the rest of them, he was incapable of sitting down without another clever comment in his newly assumed role of British royalty. ‘The nerve of some men to address their Queen in such a manner.’

‘It’s one Queen against another Queen, mind you,’ John said with an air of sassiness he had grown to assume when Freddie and he were sharing a moment like this one. ‘We’re all Queens. Why else did we name our band that?’

‘To honour this glorified poorhouse, of course,’ Roger answered the question on Freddie’s behalf. ‘I can’t wait to get out of here,’ he sighed.

‘Are things still going downhill here?’ Brian asked, finding a window of opportunity to turn the conversation into a relevant direction before Queen Anne, Queen Elizabeth, Queen Mary, and whoever more may have been a female ruler of the Kingdom would be evoked.

Roger and Freddie shared a look as if to gauge each other’s stance on the matter, before Roger turned back to Brian and shook his head. ‘Not even. I think I’ve actually seen some improvements around the place. There’s more security guards, for instance.’

‘We know. We met a new coworker of Ian outside at the gate,’ John told them. ‘It’s good that they’re finally hiring more people.’

‘Yes, it’s just a shame that they’re doing it now that the worst of threats have passed,’ Roger said. ‘I mean- that was a bit of an unfortunate way of wording it, but- well, Drew did pass indeed, and Clyde’s left just two weeks ago.’

Brian, although he felt a tinge of unease when he heard the death of their once-enemy turned last-minute well-wisher being mentioned, decided to skip that debate and asked after the departure of the other gang leader instead: ‘Clyde’s left?’

‘Oh yes! That was a funny story,’ Roger said, and Brian could see Freddie grin in agreement from the side of his eye. ‘Turned out there was a warrant against Clyde for suspected involvement in drug dealing, whitewashing, extortion, and similar businesses. Clyde’s lawyer apparently made an arrangement with his psychiatrist to have him shipped off to an institution to avoid being prosecuted.’

‘The GA was not amused when he found out, mind you,’ Freddie took over the role of narrating the story that had Brian and John grinning with a sense of victory over the evil fellow patient already. ‘He was escorted out of the building by the police and taken for interrogation, and admitted to his crimes. It’s said that he’ll be kept on bail until the day of the court so he won’t go anywhere again.’

‘Well, that should serve him right,’ Brian said. ‘And things have been quieter since?’

‘I’d say so, yes. Their gangs are still sort of active, but without a real leader they don’t do much. Maybe push each other in the hallway or so, or throw food around in the canteen. But it’s not as bad as it used to be.’

‘They also restructured time in the public rooms,’ Roger said. ‘You have to sign up beforehand now, and security will check if there’s no people who they know to cause trouble when they get to see each other. So basically everyone just has access, apart from the people they know will cause problems, who’ll just not be let in. And with more security around, they can actually implement this rule.’

‘That sounds good-’ Brian agreed, but before he could properly finish his sentence, Freddie interrupted him as he suddenly thought of something he’d obviously meaning to tell him.

‘Oh! And Ariel is back, by the way!’

Brian looked at Freddie for a second, before half-asking, half-exclaiming: ‘Really?’

‘Really. Now that the largest fools are gone and more security is around, she told management she’d have another try. She still only works half of the hours she used to, but things seem to be going well. Or, you know- as well as things can go with the depression talk group patients,’ he said somewhat awkwardly. Brian didn’t mind at all - he was positively overwhelmed with this news. It had been so long since he’d last heard anyone even mention the name of one of their therapy leaders who had left under a cloak of mysterious unmentionable reasons expected to be sexual violence she had experienced at the clinic, that he had not even considered the option of her coming back again. To hear that she had overcome her fears and had made an attempt at returning to the place where Brian knew her heart lay, made him beam with hope. Queen Mary’s was not as much as a lost cause as it once had seemed to him.

‘That’s really good news. Seriously, I’m very glad to hear that,’ Brian said.

‘Seems like things are finally falling into their right places after all,’ John smiled. ‘Just a bit of a shame that it’s happening now that we’ll all soon be gone.’

‘Which we really have to discuss, by the way,’ Roger said excitedly - he seemed so much more lively and upbeat now that he’d been clean for almost three months straight. ‘You need to tell us about the apartment!’

‘Oh, yes, the apartment. Well, as I wrote to you the other day, it’s going to be the one in Kensington, not in Shepherd’s Bush. It has three bedrooms instead of two, and central heating throughout the house,’ John informed Roger, whose short, high-blown whistle seemed to indicate that he was excited.

‘What floor is it on?’ Freddie asked.

‘Second floor, so it’s four flights of stairs. Don’t you dare make a comment about how that’ll be good for your workout,’ John warned Freddie, who innocently held up his hands.

‘I wouldn’t dare to, dear,’ Freddie said. ‘But tell us more! What’s it look like? You’ve been there, right?’

‘Twice,’ Brian confirmed. ‘It has one large living room, dining area, and kitchen, which was recently renewed. And there’s double glass everywhere, also recently done.’

‘Do you have any pictures?’

‘I only have the advertisement page from the real estate agent, but it has a few pictures.’ Brian dug into the chest pocket of his shirt, and fished out a black and white housing advertisement on newspaper quality material, all folded up and crinkled after having looked at it with John a million times before while they imagined what would be in so near a future. Their soon-to-be-roommates-again did not seem to mind, though; the piece was all but ripped out of his hands and unfolded by the eager fingers of Freddie, who spread out the paper and laid it out on the tabletop before him.

‘Look at that! Such a fancy frontage, my dears! And those large windows!’ Freddie said loudly enough to make people around them look up. Brian shortly considered telling Freddie to keep his voice down, but upon seeing the joy on his friend’s face as Roger and he pointed fingers at the images and the accompanying descriptions, he decided to let them be.

‘Seventy-five square metres!’ Roger pointed out equally enthusiastically. ‘The master bedroom has its own washstand and running water…’

‘Mind you, that’s the one Brian and I already claimed,’ John informed them.

‘Doesn’t matter. I’ll just claim the spare bedroom for my drums.’

‘What about my extended wardrobe closet, then?’ Freddie asked. ‘Where do I put all my clothes? And where does Brian put his dildo collection?’ Brian snorted, obviously not having expected the conversation to head into this direction, let alone to be dragged into it as it did.

‘I have a suggestion as to where he leaves them,’ Roger said with wiggling eyebrows, and Brian rolled his eyes.

‘In the room you wanted to put your drums. And in your bed, if you don’t hold your tongue.’

‘Oh! Brian bites back,’ Freddie grinned, crooking his fingers to give the impression of a pair of claws. ‘No, we’ll see what we’ll do with the spare room when we get to it. As for now I’m just so excited to have a house and to live with you again, god!’

Brian smiled, glad they moved on to a more acceptable topic. ‘It’s going to be great. It’s so nice to know we’ve got a decent place from which we can build up our lives again.’

‘But we’ve really got it, then? It’s been signed for and all?’ Roger asked. Brian nodded.

‘We went to sign the contracts yesterday. Or well, my dad signed - he’s the one who actually has the credit it takes to be eligible for renting. You know, given that none of us has like… worked in the past year at least, and none of us has a degree or is currently working on getting a degree…’ he laughed a bit awkwardly. ‘Anyway, with our student loans, or maybe a weekend job on top of that, it shouldn’t be a problem to pay the rent back to my dad.’

Roger nodded. ‘We’ll manage. Freddie and I have actually talked for a bit these last few days, and we’ve decided we’ll take up a job first. I mean, the school year’s just started, so we can either hurry to recover a month of uni without any preparation, or do some work first.’

‘Sounds good,’ Brian said. ‘We’ll live in the inner city - I’m sure there’ll be many places around who hire.’

‘Oh no, we don’t want to work for an employer,’ Freddie brushed off the idea with a literal wave of the hand. ‘We want to be our own bosses.’ Brian shared a look with John, but neither of them could either say or ask something before Freddie had already told them of their plans. ‘We want to start a vintage clothing stall!’

‘A vintage… clothing stall?’ John repeated.

‘Yes!’ Freddie confirmed with pride, either not seeing or ignoring his friend’s reservation. ‘We can buy clothes cheaply from people who want to get rid of them and get some cash for it without doing too much work, and then sell it in our own store, or market stall, or whatever place we can get. We can work with fashion, with is something we both enjoy, and give people advice, and get all dressed up ourselves - we’ll have to know the clothes we sell, after all!’

Brian blinked a few times, and then, when John did not seem to have a reply to this, he offered: ‘‘That sounds great!’

‘I know!’ Freddie beamed. ‘It’ll be so much fun to find those real gems between clothes people dispose of, and see what we can still do with it.’

Roger nodded in agreement with what his partner said. ‘And clothes that are not good enough for selling anymore, we can always take together and use the fabric for new pieces.’

‘You can sow fabulous things out of old scraps of fabric, you know!’ Freddie said.

‘A good idea,’ Brian agreed wholeheartedly. ‘But do either of you have, eh... any tailoring skills?’ Brian asked, trying his hardest not to sound sceptic. It was not that he had no faith at all in this plan of his friends, and it was frankly beautiful to see how excited the idea of working together and in a field they were both interested in excited them. Selling clothes sure could be done. How plausible it was, however, that they’d make great tailors if they had no prior knowledge of the trade, and whether they’d be able to support themselves from the selling of second-hand clothes, was something he was not too certain of.

‘My last name isn’t Taylor for no reason,’ Roger winked with a smile at his friends sitting across the table, leaving them unsure of the actual answer to Brian’s question. Then again, Brian decided for himself that this was not too important at the time being; what really mattered was that Freddie and Roger, who had gone through some serious issues, both mentally, emotionally, and physically, were now in good enough of a state to make exciting plans for the future, which they strove to carry out once they’d left Queen Mary’s. And maybe those plans did not cover all of their bills, but who worried about that at this point?

‘Oh, Roger!’ Freddie suddenly exclaimed as he all but gripped his partner by the upper arm, as if Roger was possibly going anywhere if he did not hold on to him physically. ‘Something that suddenly dawns on me. Isn’t there some place called Kensington Market or so, right in the middle of Kensington, where you can hire indoor stalls?’

‘Oh shit, I know that place!’ Roger answered. ‘I’ve been there once with Clare to have a look. We should check if they have anything available, because that would be exactly the right crowd for our store!’

‘And it’d be so close to our house, we can literally just walk there! What was the address again?’ Freddie said, and the pair turned to the paper in front of them. Brian and John shared a look of mutual appreciation for Freddie and Roger’s plans to keep themselves occupied and keep their spirits up once they’d be released from Queen Mary’s, even if it might be a bit too ambitious and enthusiastic. Fingertips pointed out places on the small location map provided on the advertisement page, street names Brian had never heard of were flung around with enthusiasm, only to be silenced when a new voice joined the discussion of their store’s possible location.

‘Working out some escape plan, huh?’ A large hand was placed on a shoulder of either man, who turned around to see the same staff member Brian and John had earlier welcomed with happiness and gratitude.

‘Nolan!’ Freddie exclaimed. ‘Come here, darling, you need to see our new house! We’re gonna move to a great place in Kensington!’

‘I’ve been told so by your friends!’ Nolan said, giving a nod towards Brian and John. ‘Show me the evidence.’

Roger didn’t have to be told twice, picked up the paper and quite literally shoved it in Nolan’s face, while Freddie read out loud various of the descriptions Brian could tell from the concentrated look on his ex-mentor’s face Nolan was trying to read for himself simultaneously, as Freddie’s report was messy and random at best. Nevertheless, Nolan patiently listened to Freddie’s excited chatter and happily looked at the random images Roger pointed out, and afterwards gave them the same blessing he had given to Brian and John beforehand. They then chatted for a little longer between the five of them, until, just as Nolan made an attempt to say his goodbyes - he had to keep an eye on everyone in the room, after all - Freddie tugged at the mentor’s sleeve and flash him his dearest puppy eyes, before asking him for a favour Brian had not yet considered a possibility.

‘Ahw Nole, can we go outside?’

‘Outside?’ Nolan repeated, obviously no having seen this request coming. ‘You mean now?’

‘Yes! Surely you remember the four of us used to go outside to talk and play music all the time when we all lived at Queen Mary’s?’ Freddie said in an attempt to refresh Nolan’s mind.

It seemed to work. ‘I do remember, yes. Staff used to be glad when you did, so we would not have your noise sounding through the paper walls of this place,’ Nolan laughed.

‘Our noise?’ Freddie repeatedly indignantly, but Roger saw his window of opportunity to convince Nolan to let them go out in these words.

‘Exactly! If you let us go out, you won’t have us play in the middle of your visiting room. If you don’t, you’ll force us to practice right here and interrupt everyone’s conversations,’ Roger argued - or threatened, more like.

‘Practice right here in the middle of the visiting room?’ Nolan repeated with a grin. He could obviously see the humour in the men’s creativity to convince him to let them go out - which was a relief to Brian, who had feared that Freddie would have been told off for asking for something so bold and so plainly against the rules. Then again, Nolan had never been one to follow the rulebook all too literally - something that now seemed to catch up with him.

‘You allowed us to come in with our guitars, now you’ll have to live with the consequences.’ The threat now came from John, which was an unexpected corner to be attacked from; in any case, unexpected for a staff member like Nolan, who was not familiar with John’s quiet but sly antics.

‘John! I don’t remember you to be this bold,’ Nolan reproached him. John just smiled and shrugged.

‘That’s because you’re staff,’ Freddie said. ‘If you were with us, you would have seen him break through security and sneak into the kitchen to get himself food if he didn’t feel like having breakfast among us peasants.’

Nolan shook his head in quasi-disapproval. ‘Breaking through security, raiding the kitchen, threatening to stir up visiting hour… I don’t believe I can safely deny you guys anything anymore at this point.’

‘So you’ll let us go out?’ asked Freddie, already half lifting himself out of his chair.

Nolan looked around the relatively peaceful room, checked to see if no one was paying specific attention to them, and eventually said: ‘Get up calmly and follow me.’ This permission was received with enthusiasm by the four men sitting around the table, who - despite trying their best not to attract too much attention - made a lot more noise than they intended to do. Chairs were shoved back, the advertisement crinkled up and shoved into a pocket, John and Brian picked up their guitars and swung the strap around their chests, which required them to raise an arm and duck their heads in the process. If all of this was not enough to draw the attention, then it was Roger, who, in his hurry to follow Nolan, bumped a bony knee into the leg of the table, and uttered a necessary curse with it.

‘Get up calmly, I said!’ Nolan repeated his earlier words when the four men followed in his footsteps. He showed off his staff card and exchanged a few words with the warden on duty, who then opened the heavy iron door leading into the building.

‘If you wanted to teach us manners you should have done so earlier than three weeks before we’re leaving, Nole,’ Roger grinned. Nolan jokes about treating new patients like army recruits following his experience with the inhabitants of room 41B, but Brian did not quite catch all of that. He was more absorbed by getting to catch another glimpse of the inside of Queen Mary’s, which, at half-past eleven, was alive and tumultuous as he remembered it to be. People walked through the hallway, emerged from sideways and doors, and freely walked in and out of the canteen. Brian dimly remembered Roger writing him about the ban on using the canteen between mealtimes having been lifted now that the biggest problems with patient behaviour had passed, but seeing it himself made it a little more real. To actually see people sitting in the canteen, talking and laughing and playing undoubtedly incomplete card games, reminded him of his own stay here - the good times and the bad times, the ups and downs, the highs and lows. There had been plenty of either of those.

‘Feels weird to walk through this hallway now,’ John remarked beside him, and Brian, caught up in the experience of it all, simply nodded in response.  

They trod through a few hallways, and eventually arrived at the hallway leading to the back entrance of the building. It was a hallway with a lot of memories attached to it, at least to Brian - it gave access to the bathroom where Jimmy had been found hanging from the ceiling, the one in which John had locked himself upon being told he had to leave Queen Mary’s. Turning the other way, Brian saw the staff rooms he had frantically searched in his quest for Nolan the evening he’d realised he needed a reassessment, and the room where mister Fisher had extensively examined him and his ability to return to society for weeks straight upon applying for said reassessment. Luckily, there one door that did have good memories attached to it for Brian, and that was the door that led outside, to the only place they had guaranteed peace and quiet and happiness while residing at the clinic. The place where John and he had shared and received, given and taken, spoken and listened, cried and laughed, lived and survived. Brian’s hand touched John’s, and John, understanding the gesture, gave his hand a comforting squeeze as they passed the threshold that led to the warden’s post at the end of the hallway, and, behind that, to freedom.

A single man was leaning against the wall, and looked up at the sight of the party of five that entered the space. Nolan showed off his card again, pointed to Brian’s and John’s visitor badges, and explained the whole matter. Freddie’s and Roger’s names were noted down in the log, and the door was unlocked and opened for them.

‘Well, go have fun, but don’t make me regret allowing you outside,’ Nolan said as words of wisdom and temporary goodbye.

‘We’ll play so loud that the London police will come and inspect the noise pollution,’ Roger promised. Freddie and he were the first to try and walk through the door, but they were halted by Nolan before they did so.

‘Wait! Where’s your coats, guys?’ Nolan asked, pointing to the long row of black jackets worn by people who chose to go outside, but which had remained untouched by the four.

‘We don’t need coats, it’s not that cold,’ Roger said.

‘It’s November,’ Nolan countered. ‘And neither of you weigh more than eight stone. Take a coat,’ he said, handing one to a begrudging Freddie and Roger, while John and Brian also took one in an attempt to lead by example. ‘Promise me to keep an eye on these two when I’m not around, will you?’ Nolan asked them, seemingly not noting that neither John nor Brian had reached out to pick up a coat before his interference.

In what seemed like an attempt to make this clear to Nolan, and with this give a hint that they could not be trusted to look after Freddie and Roger either, John disclosed: ‘Just this morning Brian’s mother handed me his coat because he wouldn’t take it himself.’

Nolan looked at him as to make out if he was pulling a joke on him, but when Brian somewhat shamefully admitted John spoke the truth, the mentor pulled open the door and pointed at the newly created exit. ‘Go now, before I change my mind and lock you all up in your room again to keep you safe.’

Freddie and Roger did not need to be told twice and dashed outside; John smiled apologetically at Nolan, and Brian gave his ex-mentor a comforting pat on the shoulder, before they too traded Queen Mary’s building for its gardens.

 # # #

 ‘It’s not even that cold outside,’ Freddie remarked as they sauntered into the garden. As soon as Nolan had left the scene, he had made a point out of taking off his coat and tying it around his waist in the least fashionable sense possible. Brian could not blame him, though; the coats were made of thick, wintery material, while the outside temperature of this particular November morning easily reached fifteen degrees. Apart from him, everyone had taken off their coach - including John, who seemed to have forgotten the idea of leading by example, and who carried his coat over his shoulder while they made their way over to the swing set they had spent so much time on while residing at Queen Mary’s.

‘That’s because you’ve finally got some meat on your bones, mate,’ Roger told Freddie - a comment delivered in good nature, and - much to Brian’s surprise - Freddie did not take it too badly at all.

‘Lay off, dear.’ Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘You gained what, fifteen pounds or so since you quit heroin?.’

‘Mind you, that’s a sign of recovery,’ Roger corrected him. ‘It’s one of the reasons they’re finally letting me go. And besides, you didn’t particularly seem to mind in bed these last few weeks,’ he grinned.

‘Of course not,’ Freddie readily admitted. ‘It looks good on you.’

‘It would look just as good on you,’ Roger said.

‘Yeah, well,’ Freddie said after a few seconds of silence. Planting himself down on the swing, he added: ‘The opinions about that differ.’

‘It’s literally you against the rest of the world, Fred,’ Roger reminded him.

Freddie gave a toothy smile. ‘It’s always been me against the world. I fail to see the problem with that.’

Roger, who by now had also taken a seat on the only other vacant swing, after having established with some hand gestures that neither Brian nor John insisted on sitting down, rolled his eyes and moved to a different topic. ‘It’s only three weeks left until they’ll let us leave. I can’t believe we’ll be free so soon.’

‘It’s been long enough, though,’ John said, crouching down on the moist sand beneath, and Brian followed his example - be it after having taken off his coat and using it as a protective layer against the ground. ‘How long have you been here for?’

‘Since August last year, so that would be… a year and three months,’ Roger calculated. ‘Freddie’s been here one month longer,’ he said, pointing at his partner.

‘That’s a long time,’ Brian said.

‘Especially when it’s been no use,’ Roger muttered.

‘That’s not true,’ John corrected him. ‘You came in as a serious heroin addict and now you’ve been clean for almost three months.’

‘Yeah, but that’s more to do with you than with Queen Mary’s,’ Roger said. ‘I only really saw the need to get clean when John was going to be released and when you went for a reassessment. When I saw that you were trying to get back your lives again, I wanted that, too. And especially when we started talking about renting a house together and seeing if we can get somewhere with our music as a band, I really started laying off drugs.’

‘Same here, I guess,’ Freddie added. ‘Well, not drugs - but I’ve been wanting to, eh… you know, get better from this… fear of eating and being fat and such since I’ve seen you move on and do so well. I want  to have that sort of life, too.’ He paused for a second, then said: ‘I mean, I’m not doing as good as people would like for me to do, but at least I’ve acknowledged that I do have a problem with eating, and I… do want to get over that.’

Brian nodded at his friend, who shyly glanced at him as to find approval for his words and way of thinking. ‘I’m really very happy you, and also you, Roger, are seeing that there’s life outside this place, and that you want to work on yourself to get there again.’

‘I think perspective is one of the problems with Queen Mary’s,’ John said. ‘While in here there’s no clear view of life outside, or what you’re doing it for. There’s no future or even a reward you’re working forwards, so why fight for it? I mean, God knows I didn’t do that until I was told to leave and Brian showed me all that could be if we put in effort.’

‘And when we saw you were doing well, Rog and I wanted to work on ourselves and be dismissed also,’ Freddie added.

‘Something good came out of you being sent away after all, Deaky,’ Brian said. ‘I see it as the turning point for all of us.’

John smiled. ‘It was a good thing to send me away, looking back at it. I just didn’t see any chances of having a life after Queen Mary’s. But looking back, I didn’t have too much of a life inside Queen Mary’s either, so what did I have to lose? Especially with Brian with me. I wish I would not have been so afraid at the time, because I worried about nothing.’

‘But you didn’t know that then,’ Brian reminded him. ‘Even I didn’t know we’d get to find a place of our own and a plan of going back to school in the second semester and working on ourselves in the meantime so soon. But I know it would be alright because I had you.’ John blushed slightly, but took Brian’s hand as a sign of appreciation.

‘I’m really glad actually to know that the pair of you are already out there, with an apartment and a plan of what to do and just some settlement. It really makes things easier to know that we’ll have a place to go to when they kick us out here, because the ‘‘guidance’’ they give us now can hardly be qualified as such’ Freddie said.

‘They’ve started to give you guidance, then?’ Brian asked.

‘Sort of. It’s called ‘‘preparation for resocialisation’’, and it’s nothing more than a meeting once a week starting four weeks before you’ll leave where they tell us some generic stuff about where to find support and how to apply for a follow-up therapist or psychiatrist or whatever you need. And they have some addresses for social housing if you have no place to turn to.’

Brian felt himself turn a little queasy at the idea of the last-mentioned - the government housing buildings for troublesome young adults that often suffered from addiction or showed violent behaviour. People who had been victims of abuse or sex trafficking, and who would be lost to the streets if it had not been for these communal buildings. It had been the place John would have been carded off to if it had not been for Brian’s family taking him in. While Brian was grateful there were places to help young homeless people, he knew that those at the same time would equal the destruction of someone vulnerable like Freddie or prone to falling back into bad habits like Roger, so he was infinitely grateful they were able to take in their friends after their journey at Queen Mary’s was to end.

The four of them talked for a bit about the less than ideal guidance Queen Mary’s offered to those about to be set free again, and about the general working and vibe of the place as of late. Group therapy sessions were still messy as usual, and some private therapy sessions had been replaced by mentor sessions due to a new influx of patients without a new influx of therapists. Roger was still not happy with his drugs counsellor who told him to ‘pray the drug cravings away’, but the guy seemed pleased enough with him, seeing as he had been clean for over ten weeks now. Freddie was finally cooperating with his dietician, and was allowed to sit with the eating disorder support group during mealtimes - which he had politely refused after figuring that he did better with just the support of Roger at his side, instead of ten other people struggling to eat a slice of tomato just now that he was getting over his fear. Security around the place had been reformed and tightened, which meant that the overall vibe of Queen Mary’s was both more friendly yet more rigid, with frequent drug- and weapon searches. Even though neither Freddie nor Roger had anything to fear from these routines, they admitted frequently having taken shelter in John’s little hiding place between the walls of a series of sheds used to store God knew what my management.

‘We figured you wouldn’t mind if we used it, Deaky,’ Roger said. ‘It’s saved us so much time from those useless drug tests and fire escape training sessions.’

John smiled. ‘I’m glad to hear my cave has been of use to you. I’d almost forgotten about its existence already.’

‘Deacon! How could you forget that place!’ Freddie rebuked him. ‘The place where Brian and you first fucked!’

‘Kissed!’ Brian corrected him indignantly. ‘We merely kissed there!’ Freddie pulled a smug expression of doubt that told Brian he was wordlessly inviting him to discuss the matter, but before he could answer, John - who was still holding his hand - stood up and tugged him along in the process.

‘I want to have a look at the cave,’ he said. ‘It is a disgrace that I forgot it already. Brian and I have had some… moments there.’

Freddie nodded, and - seeming to understand that this was a more serious matter between Brian and John, Roger and he refrained from getting up from their places. Instead, they encouraged their friends to have a look and take their time, and so Brian found himself walking off towards the sheds built against the outer wall of Queen Mary’s, hand in hand with his partner. They did not speak to each other on their way to their destination; in fact, they did not say anything even when John had felt for the opening of the wall, had ushered the pair of them through, and closed the fake brick door behind them. Light descended upon them from the open roof, but still there was a dark atmosphere in the narrow hallway in which their eyes now travelled up and down the walls and the ground on which they had found themselves sitting a manyfold of times.

‘It’s weird how I already forgot about this place,’ John said, being the first to break the silence. ‘It’s served me well so many times. Served us even better,’ he smiled, obviously referring to the time after he’d introduced Brian to his secret shelter.

‘I remember the first time you took me here,’ Brian said. ‘We were on the swings and an alarm was sounding for a drug test that you didn’t feel like going for, so you dragged me through a fake brick wall into this place. I thought I was losing my mind.’

‘Yeah, well, you really would have lost your mind if you would have been exposed to that dumb drug search they tried to carry out. I’m glad I was able to save you from it. Well, on that day, at any rate,’ John added, very much aware of not having managed to escape drug tests and fire escape assignments every time. That might have caused suspicion - but whenever they could help it, they had hidden in the cave to elope them.

Unwanted drug and weapon searches had hardly been the only time they’d ended up in the cave. They had done so also to ensure a sense of privacy, or when they simply did not feel like dealing with any of the people around them. Something neither of them had alluded to, Brian realised, was the kissing scene Freddie had referred to. Not that this surprised him all too much; being caught by Freddie and Roger while in the midst of their first kiss had been embarrassing, but it had hardly been the worst aspect of the situation. It had been after making the mistake of gifting john the bass guitar in broad daylight and thus giving away his secret hobby to their friends that John had run off to the comfort of the cave’s solitude, and Brian had gathered all his strength and had followed behind to apologise.

What then followed had been an emotional rollercoaster in which John had admitted to having read Brian’s diary, just like Roger and Freddie, and thus knowing about his crush on him. Brian had been in tears, afraid that John would not want to have anything to do with him anymore - only to have John express his feelings for him then and there, and pouring all their feelings of relief and guilt and happiness into a kiss that had then been broken up by the arrival of Freddie and Roger. It had been an eventful day, both emotionally and physically, and not one of their proudest days - even though it had been the one that had brought them together. That, in the end, seemed to win John over in his consideration of whether or not to bring it up.

‘Remember our first kiss was in here?’ he asked casually, but the small, tensed smile on his lips told Brian he was a little nervous about bringing it up.

‘Of course,’ Brian assured him. ‘I’ll remember that until the day I die. Together with all the hecticality around it,’ he grinned.

‘God, we were stupid,’ John groaned leaning back against one of the brick walls. ‘Me running out of the room and going here, as if this would not be the most obvious place for anyone of you to come find me.’

‘And me, following you with a guitar in either hand. Running right past the wardens like a madman,’ Brian recalled.

‘I did the same,’ John admitted with a chuckle. ‘Wonder what they must have thought. Two losers following each other outside and disappearing behind the sheds. Well, they probably drew their conclusion based on that,’ he laughed.

Brian smiled, too. ‘If only they would have known we were just in here, both half in tears, trying to get the other to forgive them for having been stupid. I honestly thought you’d hate me forever.’

‘Me, hating you? For doing nothing more than giving me a great present in a bad setting? Never,’ John discarded the idea. ‘I was convinced you’d hate me for having read your diary.’

‘Well, if that would have been a factor, I would have had to hate all three of you after that day,’ Brian sighed. ‘I just feared you’d find it too awkward to ever face me again now that you knew I was in love with you.’

‘As if I hadn’t hoped for that all along,’ John grinned. ‘God, we were idiots. It’s a good thing that at least we kissed that day, so that at least something good came of all of that chaos.’

Brian smiled to himself, agreeing that the kiss had been the good thing that had come from all of the chaos. Or well, not solely the kiss; making up for having presented the gift at the wrong time from his side, and having reacted unreasonably from John’s, admitting the crushed they had both walked around with for too long, and the beginning of their relationship, had all taken place as a result of the more or less ridiculous events of that day. That was worth celebrating now that all had been said and done, Brian decided.

‘Now that we’re here, and now that we’re talking about it… Want a repeat performance?’ he offered to his partner, who looked him in the eyes - but unfortunately not for the reason Brian had been hoping for.

‘You want me to reread your diary and storm out of the room as you’re giving me a bass guitar?’ John asked incredulously.  

‘No, silly. The kiss. Without interference, this time,’ Brian clarified.

John stepped closer towards him, and halted right in front of him. ‘Even if it would include the interference I’d still want it,’ he said, and brought his lips closer to Brian’s face to accept the proposal he’d been offered.

Unlike their first time, Brian now knew exactly what he was doing. He had shared a hundred kisses and more with his partner since this moment, and was a lot more confident in his skills. What remained the exact same as it had been the first time, and what would not change by the time they’d share a thousand kisses, was that he still felt that same tinge of excitement, that same rush of butterflies darting through his stomach, that same hint of nerves that made his knees grow weak as his lips were pressed against John’s. Sure, he was less jittery than he had been during their first kiss, and he certainly did not feel any of the performance stress he had done back then - yet that same magical flutter of excitement and swell of love was still there as their lips moved against each other, their hands found their ways to each other’s shoulders, and when eventually the corners of their mouths twitched up towards the end of the kiss. By the time they realised the significance of the moment they were recreating - the moment that had broken all boundaries between them that had existed until that point. That kiss had been the beginning of their relationship, the development of their love and trust, which had eventually led their recovery - all of which brought them to this moment right there, right then.

They parted in the end, after probably a longer time than Brian would have estimated from the top of his head, but their hands remained on each other’s shoulders from another moment as they simply drank in the sight of their partner, who stood before them with a look of loving gratitude.

Brian was the first to speak, after a moment where all they uttered was silent breaths. ‘We should get back there. Before Freddie and Roger decide to come running in on us again.’

‘No repeat performance of that, then?’ John asked, and Brian laughed.

‘Not if I can help it. I’m sure that’s going to happen plenty of times when we live together,’ he reminded John, and lowered his hands from John’s shoulders so he could grab his hand instead. They moved out of the narrow space where in many ways their romance had started, closed the door off to the outside world again, and made their ways back to the swings in peaceful silence.

The remainder of the time together - which was not more than a handful of minutes outside, before one of the guards ushered them in again in line with Nolan’s instructions - was spent discussing practical matters, such as when Brian and John should come over to pick up their friends on the day they were to be released, and which preparations they should take before the great day. They discussed the furniture; not so much in terms of which patterns and colours they liked, but in terms of what they could bring from their parents’ houses and what they would need to buy still. Freddie had a double bed to his disposal, and Roger could move the couch from his bedroom at his mum’s place to their apartment. None of them had a kitchen table, although they were positive they could all fetch a chair somewhere. Cutlery and towels and similar small necessities they also decided they could come by from parents and other relatives - a coffee table, carpet, curtains, bookcase, and other furniture they’d shop around for later, once they would all be out of Queen Mary’s, and could all have a say in the choices and the expenditure.

They arrived back in a hallway were most people had gotten up from their chairs to either hug, kiss, or shake hands with the ones they would soon have to leave behind - and, understanding that there were only a few minutes left before Brian and John would likewise be asked to take their leave, the four of them said their goodbyes.

‘It was great to see you today, guys,’ Brian said. ‘And to see you’re both doing so well.’

‘We’re trying our best,’ Roger smiled. ‘Thanks for dropping by. We’re gonna miss you.’

‘Us too,’ Brian said, with the usual tinge of sadness he always felt when leaving their friends behind. John and he had come to see Freddie and Roger at every visiting opportunity since they had left Queen Mary’s themselves, but it never seemed to get easier to leave them behind, not even now that he knew they’d be back in a few weeks to take them with them and leave the institution behind for what he hoped would be forever.

‘We’ll send letters as usual, right?’ Freddie informed.

‘Of course,’ John said. ‘We’ll keep you up to date. Send you the details of the cleaning schedule by mail and such.’

Freddie pulled a face. ‘Don’t put me on bath or shower cleaning duty. If I have to clear the hairs of four long-haired guys out of the drain I will vomit.’

‘Brave of you to assume anyone apart from you showers regularly,’ John teased, which made Freddie gag so realistically that it left Brian wondering whether it had been staged or a real reflex of his.

‘You will shower, whether you like it or not,’ Freddie established. ‘I’ll send you the shower schedule by mail one of these days.’

They shared a laugh about this, but as Brian noticed the first people left the room, he leant in towards Roger and gave him the last hug for now. His body felt warm and less bony to the touch, and he clung to Brian for a solid ten seconds before letting go and allowing his friend to put his hands on his shoulders and share some words of comfort and confidence.

‘Keep up the good work, Roger,’ Brian encouraged him. ‘You’ve been clean for so long now, and we know you can keep this up.’

‘I know. I can do this,’ Roger said, and Brian pulled him closer for a pat on his back one more time before moving on to Freddie. His body was colder, but decidedly less feeble than it had once been; still, Brian hugged him carefully and for a shorter time, but it was just as loving and intimate.  The fact that the guards were starting to round up people also might have taken time away from their embrace, though.

‘Freddie, keep strong,’ Brian said, looking deeply into a pair of part-confident, part-scared brown eyes. ‘I know it’s hard, but please keep to your diet plan, and reach out for help when you need it.’

‘I will,’ Freddie promised. Then, clearing his throat, he said: ‘I’m gonna make you proud.’

‘We’re proud of you no matter what,’ Brian assured him. ‘Make yourself proud.’

Freddie looked at him with a hint of scepticism, but he kept his chin up, and he nodded. Brian could tell Freddie wasn’t just trying to comfort him, or to please him, by agreeing with him - he meant it.

Brian looked on as John similarly shared hugs and words of encouragement, after which they had one more clumsy group hug in the presence of Ian, and then they parted for real.

‘We’ll see you!’ Brian said, turning his head and waving over his shoulders. ‘Just a few more weeks!’ he added, and, hearing Roger answer him in a similar fashion, and seeing Freddie blowing them a kissy hand, they were out of the visiting area and back to the waiting room. They quietly handed in their visitor badges and, after having shared a few last words with Nolan to assure that they’d be back in a few weeks to pick up their friends, they walked out of the building in peaceful silence. This always seemed to be the state of things as they departed from the visiting hour; the people who had just gotten to realise they’d be away from their friends and family at Queen Mary’s for another month quietly retreated from the place. They might whisper, they might shed a few quiet tears - but overall they walked through the barren gardens and out of the gate in relative peacefulness. Briand and Roger largely followed the same procedure, apart from the fact that Brian spoke just before they reached the gate.

‘I’m always glad to see them,’ Brian commented. ‘Writing letters is really not the same than actually getting to sit with them and talk.’

‘I know,’ John agreed. ‘Especially now that they’re about to leave. It’s so much easier to discuss important things when you’re sitting face to face.’

‘Not that we discussed too many important things until the last minute today,’ Brian smiled.

‘But we discussed how they’re doing and how they feel. That’s just as important,’ John said, to which Brian had to agree. They had indeed held important discussions today, shared important information on their progress, and ideas for what they wanted to do once they would be released from Queen Mary’s. Most notable was the idea to begin their own second-hand slash tailor-made clothing stall in upscale Kensington Market - but if that was what they wanted, then Brian was ready to support them.

They sauntered out of the gates, and Brian looked up at the billboard proudly boasting Queen Mary’s name and function. The sigh had served as the inspiration for the name of their group - the group they had decided during their previous meeting that they wanted to carry on with regardless of whether they would go back to school, find a job, or do anything in between of that. Music was the thing that had connected them as friends rather than plainly roommates in the first place, and Brian had a feeling that it would connect them for a long time to come. It was something he would continue to be thankful for towards Queen Mary’s, even if the place itself had been nothing but a glorified inn into which the mentally troubled came and went out of again, travellers on the road their disorders lead them to, who found recovery in the journey rather than at the accommodations the road offered.

‘I remember the day when my parents dropped me off,’ Brian said, halting in his step and ignoring the people behind him who scoffed him for pausing at the side of the path. Glancing upon the billboard still, he recalled: ‘They told me I would once be grateful to them for dumping me here.’

John stopped and stood by him. ‘Were they right?’

‘Yes. But not for the reasons they expected,’ Brian smiled, knowing he did not have to elaborate on that point as John knew exactly what he meant. ‘But you know, maybe it was good for me after all. It sure was better than leaving me to sort things out with doctor Sumner alone.’

‘But it also pulled you through more trauma,’ John remarked. ‘I wish things like the death of Jimmy and Drew, and all of Freddie’s trying moments and Roger’s fallbacks and the violence and the drama and the overall chaos of this place would have been spared from you.’

‘I mean… I won’t say I’m happy about all I saw here, but I think it sort of led me to where I am today,’ Brian said. ‘You know, the thing is that you never know what would have happened things would have happened differently. Perhaps I would have recovered faster without having a knife put to my eye, or without seeing my roommates on the brink of death once a week. But I like to think that this place did lead me to where I am today. And even if it didn’t, then it still did lead me to you.’

John looked at him, but seemed to have trouble reciprocating the warm smile Brian gave him. ‘You need to stop saying meaningful things like that, Bri,’ John said, turning away from him a bit shamefully. ‘I’m not good with words. I can never reciprocate them.’

‘Doesn’t matter. I know that you care even if you can’t say it,’ Brian assured him.

As a sign of this, John interlaced his fingers with Brian’s, and together they walked off to the car, feeling a surprisingly bright autumn sun beaming down on his face. It was a fine day, especially for mid-November; and as it was only just noon, they had the whole day ahead of them to do exactly as they wished.

Upon approaching the car, Brian peeled the small bundle of keys out of his pocket, and opened up the door with a swift movement of the wrist. He did not sit down right away, though; in fact, he kept the door shut, and just stared at the large brick building in front of him. It did not occur to him that John had been doing the exact same until, about twenty seconds in, the voice of his partner at the other side of the car drew Brian’s attention.

‘Queen Mary’s. We’ll see you one more time before we’ll say our real goodbyes.’ John’s voice was melancholy, but when he turned to look at him, Brian found that his face was peaceful, serene, if a tad vacant perhaps.

‘Are you talking to a building?’ Brian asked - but although the question on its own would be funny, he kept a straight face as he saw John swallow somewhat painfully.

‘Not so much to the building. Just all the memories that lie there.’ John said, and although Brian could tell he tried, he could not oppress his voice from sounding a bit choked up. ‘It’s hard, you know. Even though it was… less than ideal most of the time, Queen Mary’s been my home for so long.’

Brian looked at his partner, and he genuinely felt for him. Queen Mary’s not having been ideal was just about the understatement of the century, but despite all of its faults, it had been their home; especially for John, who, prior to a few months ago, literally had no other place to call his apart from the institution. Moving away from the place that had safeguarded him from the abuse of his mother and the negligence of his aunt and uncle had proved not to be easy on John, who held a special connection to Queen Mary’s more than any one of them did. It was going to take some time to get over the loss of the place, but Brian was positive that with just that - time, and love, and patience - John would grow over his idealisation of the clinic, and turn to grow fond of the place they’d build up for themselves starting just a few weeks from then.

‘I know, honey,’ Brian said, ‘I know. But we’re going to build up our own home. Our own palace, with our own Queens.’

John was silent a first upon hearing this, and he continued to stare at the building before them. Brian didn’t mind; he knew he himself would also need a second to come up with a reply to a statement like this. What he did not expect, however, was that when John had thought of something to say, it was to tell him: ‘It’s not nice to call Freddie and Roger that behind their backs.’

Brian looked over to see John oppress a smile from the corners of his lips, and he knew it was alright to laugh about it, too. ‘You are the worst, Deaky,’ he grinned.

‘You said it,’ John reminded him, looking at Brian for the first time to flash him a smile that had Brian melt despite the situation. John opened the door of the car and leant in to get to his seat; Brian followed his example.

‘You interpreted it,’ he told John, before closing the door behind him once he had settled into the driver’s seat.

‘Touché,’ John allowed, and then sighed contentedly. ‘But you’re right. We will build up our own home, and it’s going to be so much better than Queen Mary’s. We’ll have our own space, and set it up as we like, and spend time the way we like. We can cook whatever we like, go to sleep and get up whenever we like…’ John said a tad dreamily.

‘We’ll play music whenever we want, until the neighbours come knocking on the walls,’ Brian said, before he suddenly remembered something - a long lost conversation on moving in together they had had while filling in forms for his reassessment, which had turned into a contest of coming up with the most specific niche household items and homey feelings for their future flat. ‘We’ll adopt some scrawny cats to hang in the curtains and buy ugly second-hand floral furniture to make the place cosy.’

Brian could tell by the bright smile on John’s face that he knew exactly what he was referring to. ‘And have an old TV that buzzes regardless of how you tune it or change the antenna. And what was it again? An ugly hand-me-down kettle from our mums?’

Brian thought for a second. ‘I think it was originally ugly knitted pillowcases and crocheted tablecloths, but knowing my mum, she’ll give us all of those.’

‘Fair. But only cookie tins with real cookies in it,’ John said, pulling the seat belt over his shoulder.

‘No spare light bulbs or sewing material,’ Brian filled him in. ‘You also said something about weird the flavours that you would try out and then dump in a potted plant if it didn’t taste good, if I remember correctly?’

‘To make the spider plants stop growing!’ John said, seeming excited that Brian would remember this silly part of their discussion - and Brian was likewise excited that John remembered what he was talking about. ‘They’ll go all over the place if you don’t keep an eye on them, I’m telling you. And you have to agree that you can’t die before at least having tried cotton candy flavoured tea.’ The spark of liveliness in John’s voice made Brian feel warm inside and eager to try one last thing.

‘Alright, we’ll kill spider plants with cotton candy flavoured tea, and decorate the living room with album sleeves. And we’ll be happy.’

This was the largest ordeal of them all, but Brian felt stupid about ever having doubted John’s memory in the first place when his lover replied in a heartbeat.

‘And we’ll be happy.’

Brian, feeling the irrepressible urge to hold John close and never let go of him again, leant in to kiss his partner on the lips, chastely but devotedly; and when he moved away when he started to feel overwhelmed with happiness and gratitude, gratitude to whatever power in the universe had allowed him to cross ways with John, he saw John’s radiant smile before he moved up and kissed his forehead.

They were the last to leave the parking lot. They saw a car driving off in the distance, and Ian’s new co-worker walking back to the building after having closed off the gates, only to be reopened when they would come to pick up Freddie and Roger next time. With the November sun setting in the sky behind them, they drove away Queen Mary’s for the forelast time; John’s hand resting on top of Brian’s on the gearshift, both knowing that they would be happy.

[lovelyfictional-imagines]

Don’t Be Long (Twelfth Doctor x Reader)

Happy September!

So this is my first post in a while. I actually finished some requests I’d gotten and lost them in the process of posting them, and of course I didn’t save them prior to attempting.

Can you tell I love Keaton Henson? I’ve had this idea and I was either going to make it super sad with Polyhymnia (probably still will) or somewhat cozy with Don’t Be Long. Cozy won.

As always, I hope you enjoy! Feel free to send feedback or just asks/messages in general, and I’m working on the requests again while I have time off for Labor Day.

Also! Tried to keep the other person gender neutral, so it could suit whoever you wanted.

Until next fic,

- Ashley

Song: Don’t Be Long - Keaton Henson

Word Count: 1957

Oh please don't let me sleep

I'll only dream with you at my feet

You at my feet

And come here, I'll let you in

We can pretend that I'm just like him

I'm just like him

And come now, please lead me on

I just need something to keep me from

Giving up the gun

 Every time she walks out the door, calling some temporary form of goodbye as she treads into the dusk with someone else, he wants to scream don’t go.

But until he is brave enough, he only says don’t be long.

Don’t be long.

How does one go about telling someone they’re in love with them? The Doctor knew he loved her before, when he had a younger face, lanky body, floppy hair. He knew she loved him too then, memories of her bright eyes flashing a kaleidoscope of feeling at him in a simple glance then, as they do now. He loved her now, even with his sometimes-distant personality and cold demeanor, and she loved him still. It whispered to him, in the way she carried herself, walking near enough to him for their shoulders and fingertips to brush but giving him the space this body desperately craved.

Feeling particularly somber this evening, the Doctor laid back against the plush cushion of her couch. The bedroom door opened, and the scent of honey and clean linens poured out, floating with gentle music into the flat. An incredibly comfortable looking cream-colored turtleneck hung around her shoulders loosely, paired with tight black jeans and smart brown dress shoes. Beneath her glasses she wore makeup, albeit minimal. Tendrils of her hair were curled, the rest swept back from her round face.

She looked absolutely stunning, as always.

Now he tried not to stare but found himself almost unable to do so. The effort she put into this, so much she didn’t need to do, to look the way she felt she had to for this person. This temporary person who would never—never love her the way he could. The way he did.

“How do I look?”

Broken from his reverie, he cleared his throat and finally managed to tear his gaze from her earnest face. (E/C) eyes were large with hope, shining behind round glasses. With those rosy cheeks and pink lips, she was an angel. Something an old man like him didn’t deserve.

“I wouldn’t pair those shoes with those pants, but it’s your evening.”

A scoff and an eyeroll were sent his way, he felt it as he dropped his gaze to the bowl of peanuts on her table. The Doctor took it in hand before laying it on his chest, taking a handful out and shoveling them into his mouth. Already she was off to the kitchen, searching for something else he wished she wouldn’t. Why couldn’t she stay in? With him?

 And this distance won't comfort me for long

Don't be strong, give in

Come be more than a song

Don't be long, don't be long

Don't be long

 “I’ll be back. Don’t wait up, eh? Or is that even possible for you?”

The Doctor chuckled along with her.

“Don’t be long.” he called back, hurt well-hidden from his voice.

A gentle gasp rung out from afar, and the hum of soft footsteps grew louder as she returned. Suddenly soft lips were pressed to his forehead and gone as soon as they appeared. Now she was off, finally leaving for the evening.

Hopefully she wouldn’t bring them home. If he couldn’t stand the idea of her being with someone else, could he even survive the sight?

 Now home seems like a trap

I'm not coming back without your love

Without your love

And you'll be a seat belt for me

And I'll be an airbag, darling

Just wait and see, just wait and see

 The front door opened and slammed loudly not even an hour later. Jumping from his half-asleep position, peanuts scattered about the floor, bowl ringing out as it cluttered to the floor. The Doctor sprung to his feet, searching for the danger.

And the danger was a hurricane of emotion on a set path to her room. Fat tears were streaming down her red face, and she stormed right by him and into the doorway, slamming the door behind her. He felt unsure of what to do, trying to summon his previous incarnations to try and deal with the situation. Where did all his sensitivities go? All his charm, his way of dealing with people that seemed to work before?

Running his wrinkled hands through his gray curls, he sighed. The Doctor brushed his black coat off, kneeling and reaching to gather the nuts in his hand. Once he’d cleaned them up and placed them into the bowl, he felt a bit more put together to handle this.

Never had he thought a mere door would be so intimidating. Throughout all of his misadventures, the fear felt then was minuscule compared to his apprehension now. He allowed his fingers to glide over the doorknob before drawing his hand back to his face, biting his fist. Finally, he moved it up, knocking as softly as he could.

“(Y/N)?”

Silence.

The Doctor waited.

The door emitted a loud creak as it opened slightly, and he felt his hearts ache harder than they ever had. Looking down his long nose, he watched the smallest, saddest human in London peek through the crack. Glasses had been discarded, her eyes were puffy and pink, trails of ruined mascara smudged across her blotchy cheeks. (H/C) was damp and ruffled, as were her clothes.

“I waited up.”

(Y/N) was quiet, save for a few sniffles.

“Want to talk about it?”

They regarded each other for a long moment, and then she nodded her head, motioning for him to follow.

Watching the small human amble on to her bed and flop down onto it, he followed. Gingerly he moved a stray pillow to the side, taking its place on the bed next to her. She shifted her position slowly, sitting up and tucking another pillow beneath her chin. The Doctor felt the hint of a smile begin to tug at his mouth at the simple action but forced it down.

Now he moved his leg onto the bed, turning to face her fully.

“Come on, (Y/N). Even you, as stubborn as you are, can’t remain silent and pensive forever.”

Now her (E/C) gaze was subdued, dim.

“They didn’t show up. To start with, anyway. Then they messaged me to tell me plans had changed, but also that we shouldn’t see each other anymore. I asked them why, just an explanation, and they informed me of how I wasn’t their type, blah blah blah. That I was too much for them. Excuses. This always happens.”

Now he understood completely. Sympathy and anger surged through his veins, feeling for his companion and wanting to tear this person apart simultaneously. This... this monster took his companion, his friend, took her heart and threw it away. All he’d ever wanted to do is to take her into his arms and let her know the one for her was right in front of her eyes.

Shoving his own selfish thoughts aside was difficult. Almost impossible, when she was sitting before him, aching for love, to give and be received. (Y/N) was vulnerable, hurt, and nowhere near the right state of mind for him to attempt a confession. It wouldn’t have been right, nor would it have been what she deserved. This silent conflict brought him to a conclusion he felt they both needed. A hushed sigh fell from his mouth, and he spread his arms gradually. He must’ve looked painfully uncomfortable, but earnest enough, because after a hesitant stare she slid into his embrace.

It suddenly felt easy, easy to hold her and even easier to breathe in her scent, bury his nose into her neck as she climbed onto his lap. Touch so kind, tender as her (B/T) arms moved around his torso, and he draped her in his. (S/C) skin that was like silk beneath his face as he pressed it into her jaw. Relaxing against him too, in almost no time, as her head rested against his. Any initial discomfort was sapped, only leaving the warm satisfaction he didn’t know his body craved.

“They do not deserve you. Anyone who believes you are too much doesn’t deserve a fraction of what you are, what you can do, or what you can give. You are a kind, adventurous, wonderful, witty, even if annoyingly so at times, girl. Your ‘too much’ will be enough for whoever you belong with.”

Cautiously she pulled back, moving to look him in the eye.

“Is my ‘too much’ too much for you? Honestly?”

His throat ran dry. To tell the truth or not, that was the question. Testing his self-control seemed to be one of her many talents

“(Y/N) (L/N), you insane, difficult girl, your ‘too much’ is the perfect amount for me. If I could have even more of you, I would. I’m called a madman, but whoever thinks that you are ‘too much’ is truly crazy. This, I promise you.”

Sincere words poured from him, pushing the limit and trying to convey to her how he felt at once without spelling it out. Again water welled up in her eyes, but (Y/N) smiled this time. She pulled him against her tightly, pushing her own face into his hair. Light laughter pushed its way through her thick congestion, and her fingers raked through his silver locks as she pressed her mouth to his temple.

“Ah, Doctor! ‘Not one for comfort’, my ass! You always know what to say. Even when you don’t.”

She released him, flopping back onto her pile of pillows. A goofy grin spread across her face now, and the Doctor’s hearts sped as her hands motioned for him to come near. Crawling up to her, she turned on her side and smiled at him, affection pouring from her, all for him. Just what he wanted.

So instead of fighting, for once, he allowed himself this. The Doctor allowed himself to settle in next to her on the pillows, permitted her to lace her fingers with his and lay her head on his chest. He could feel guilty tomorrow, but for now he chose to take this opportunity for pleasure, to be near the one he cherished.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Doctor. Object of my heart, my best friend. My love.”

The last word was a whisper, barely the ghost of her voice before. Naturally he’d heard it. But they’d address it tomorrow, when her heart was on the mend, she was in a fresh jumper, and had a significant amount of caffeine in her system. It would feel too much like he was exploiting her heartbreak, manipulating her into feeling more for him than she actually did.

“Anything for you. Anything.”

He spoke lowly, almost afraid of her hearing how compliant he was when it came to her. They both knew it, somehow. Just as they both knew they were in love. But that is tucked away for another day, taking their moments when they could get them. So the Doctor wrapped his arm around her, fingers curled around her shoulder and squeezing hers tightly with his other hand.

Tears dried. Hearts began to fall back into place. They slept.

 And believe, woman

Come back, you've got blood on your skin

Don't leave, woman

Come here, give me time to let you in

Believe, woman

Come here, you've got blood on your skin

Don't leave, woman

Come here, give me time to let you in, in

[myaekingheart]

19. The White Fang

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3

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Late Poem to My Father - Sharon Olds

Suddenly I thought of you as a child in that house, the unlit rooms and the hot fireplace with the man in front of it, silent. You moved through the heavy air in your physical beauty, a boy of seven, helpless, smart, there were things the man did near you, and he was your father, the mold by which you were made. Down in the cellar, the barrels of sweet apples, picked at their peak from the tree, rotted and rotted, and past the cellar door the creek ran and ran, and something was not given to you, or something was taken from you that you were born with, so that even at 30 and 40 you set the oily medicine to your lips every night, the poison to help you drop down unconscious. I always thought the point was what you did to us as a grown man, but then I remembered that child being formed in front of the fire, the tiny bones inside his soul twisted in greenstick fractures, the small tendons that hold the heart in place snapped. And what they did to you you did not do to me. When I love you now, I like to think I am giving my love Directly to that boy in the fiery room,

As if it could reach him in time.

               There was an ominous charge in the air. Rei could feel it even before she knew what was happening. Everyone was angry about something she didn’t quite understand. They were making faces and comments, there were sneers and insults from the shinobi community. The only thing Rei comprehended about any of it was that they were saying things about Kakashi’s dad.

               She stared in curiosity as she watched one man argue with him from outside the dango shop, cursing and saying terrible things. You’re a disgrace of a shinobi. You have no respect for the rules. You should’ve let them die rather than fail the mission that was assigned to you. Shinobi are expected to die anyway. I can’t believe we ever looked up to you.

               Rei couldn’t understand it. What was it that made Mr. Hatake suddenly so hated? Before he left, he was popular and celebrated and now everyone had something nasty to say. Before she could hear anymore, Yuruganai tugged her hand hard and insisted they were leaving. His face was stony and cruel. He scared her and she didn’t dare defy him.

               That evening, there was a knock at the door during dinner. Hana rose slowly and answered to find Sakumo standing before them. She invited him inside, offered him some food or a cup of tea, but he politely refused. “I wanted to ask a favor of you, if that’s alright.” Yuruganai, seeing it as his duty, rose from his seat and ushered Sakumo into the living area. Rei never did know what was said that night, but she knew it was must have been insanely important. When Yurganai returned, his face had turned stony and sour once again.

               “What’s wrong, Daddy?” Rei asked quietly. She didn’t want to test his temper, but her curiosity was eating her alive. He replied with a blunt nothing.

               Rei would never forget his face in those last halcyon days. She could tell Sakumo looked tired, his skin was paler than usual and there were dark circles under his eyes. Every time she heard someone say something mean about him, she wanted to kick them in the shins and scream at them but Hana always dragged her away and scolded her for being so loud and trying to cause a scene. It was as if nobody understood, even though she herself didn’t even really understand. All she knew was that Mr. Hatake didn’t deserve to be treated so cruelly. He didn’t deserve to be bullied like he was. Why was that so hard for everyone else to understand?

               Kakashi seemed dazed and distacted staring up at the clouds as he lay beside her in the grass. They hadn’t spoken for a full ten minutes. She hesitantly scooted her hand closer to his and then interlocked her fingers, a sheepish smile touching her lips. He looked over to her, blinking a few times as if waking from a dream. “You okay, ‘Kashi?” she asked.

               “Yeah, I’m fine” he lied after a beat of silence. Rei scrunched up her nose, unconvinced. She was almost angry with him. She cherished this time she spent with him every afternoon, and here he was wasting it by being silent. Especially now of all times, with two days left before she was to begin the academy.

               A bird chirped overhead. The front door to Kakashi’s home slid open and Sakumo shuffled out with a watering can. Rei watched him kneel down slowly, like a senile man, and tend to the herbs in the front yard before shuffling back inside. He barely gave so much as a smile to the pair. Whatever the people in town were saying must have left him feeling pretty down.

               “I wonder what’s going on with your dad” Rei then blurted, without even thinking. “He seems so sad. I hear everyone talk about him all the time. They say the meanest things. I wonder why? I thought everyone loved him.”

               “Rei, don’t” Kakashi interrupted, but the redhead hardly heard him.

               “I bet we could do something to cheer him up. Something to show him that we care! I bet he’d like that. The only question is what. Maybe bake him a cake? I don’t know what kind he likes, though. I bet my dad does! I should ask him! If he’s not too busy. My mom can help us, and then we can surprise him, and make him a big card with a huge heart on it, and sing him happy songs, and then he’ll smile and—”

               “Rei, shut up!” Kakashi then snapped, jolting upright. He locked eyes with her and for a moment, Rei didn’t even recognize him as her friend. Instead, he was someone else entirely and that terrified her to her very core.

               “K-Kakashi…” she murmured, trying to fight back tears. He sighed before lifting himself up off the lawn and brushing the grass off of his clothes. He walked toward her front gate, never looking back. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She shouted his name and there was no answer. She leapt to her feet and ran after him, wrapping her tiny arms around his waist but he just peeled her off. “K-Kakashi, please! What’s the matter?”

               “I’m fine” Kakashi replied, staring off across the street. “I just want to go home. I’m tired.” He then unlatched the gate and walked away. As he disappeared inside of his own house, she fell to her knees in the grass and wept pathetically.

               That night at dinner, Kakashi and his father sat in silence. The young ninja could barely eat, there were so many thoughts flurrying through his mind. He hated the way everyone spoke about his father. He hated how clearly their words affected him by the look on his face, so devoid of life and happiness. So angry at the way things were, at the way he had fucked up. Deep down, Kakashi was beginning to question his idol. For so long, everything his father did was perfect. He wanted to be exactly like him when he was older, a gifted and respectable shinobi. But perhaps that was all a lie. Perhaps Sakumo Hatake was not nearly as gifted and respectable as Kakashi had always believed. He abandoned a mission to save a comrade, he broke the rules, and now he was facing the consequences. What did that say about the kind of person he was? These thoughts made Kakashi uncomfortable, and he desperately tried to shove them out of his head but to no avail. The more he resisted, the harder they pushed. He rose from the table, announcing he was no longer hungry, and disappeared to his room.

               He grabbed a kunai from his desk, slit his thumb, and summoned his ninja hounds. Still puppies, he knew they could scarcely help him but just their presence had grown into a comfort for Kakashi. Especially when it came to Pakkun. The sweet little pug seemed to have taken a great liking to Kakashi, always sleeping on the pillow beside him at night and nuzzling his hand. They piled on top of him in bed, snorting and sniffing, and there Kakashi laid for hours on end staring at the ceiling and rubbing behind their ears in hopes of finding some way to organize all the wild thoughts clouding his mind.

               Kakashi awoke to a persistent pounding in his head and a musty flavor in his mouth. The ninken had shifted in the middle of the night so that now they were piled on top of him and he was unable to move. He didn’t particularly want to kick them off but he could hardly swallow and he needed water and there was a strange light filtering through the room which made him fear that he had slept until the late afternoon. With a sigh, he wiggled out from under the dogs and rushed to the bathroom, ripping his mask down and guzzling as much water as he could handle. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when he was done and then looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, white hair sticking up in all directions and eyes drowsy and bloodshot. He looked far older than he really was. Weary and beaten down. Broken.

               Tiptoeing toward the living area, he looked around the property to find everything eerily still. A clap of thunder shook the sky. The door was creaked ajar. Kakashi’s heart pounded. Peering inside, all was dark until a flash of lightning illuminated a dark figure piled on the floor. Kakashi swallowed hard, fearing the worst. “Father…?” he asked slowly, voice low and hesitant. There was no answer. His heart began pounding in his chest, his palms growing sweaty. He jumped at another clap of thunder. Biting his lip, he slowly stepped forward, hoping that perhaps this was all just a dream. Or maybe he had misinterpreted things. Maybe somehow someone had just left a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, and at any moment his father would walk up behind him and ask him what he was doing. Or maybe Bull had lumbered out of Kakashi’s room in the middle of the night and passed out on the tatami instead.

               Kakashi knew damn well that he was impeccable at laundry and that Bull was on his bed when he woke up.

               He crept ever closer, standing over the figure now, and for a moment he was positive he was going to be sick. Another flash of lightning struck the sky and then it was undeniable. Laying before him, crumpled up on the floor, was his father. The White Fang of the Leaf. Sakumo Hatake. His tanto was on the floor, mere inches away from his fingers, coated in blood. Kakashi swallowed back the bile rising in his throat, clenching his fists at his side. How could you do this?

               Rei remembered that afternoon vividly. It haunted her for years afterward. She remembered sitting on the floor surrounded by stuffed animals and books, trying to get her mind off the thunder roaring overhead. She remembered the knock at the door, the lightning strike as Hana answered to find Kakashi on the other side, face distant and bleak. His ninken crowded behind him. He didn’t even need to say anything. Hana knew something was wrong immediately. She shuffled him inside, eyeing his dogs suspiciously but welcoming them just the same. Sit down a moment, I’ll be right back she said frantically, rushing off to get her husband. Rei could feel his eyes burning through her back. She wanted to say something but was still upset from the other day. She felt as if it was not her place. Kakashi drew his knees to his chest and focused his attention on the ninken surrounding. Voices swelled from the other room. Knowing Kakashi wouldn’t care, Rei rose to press her ear against the wall in hopes of figuring out what was going on. She could scarcely make out the conversation, but what she could make out terrified her. What the hell was going on?

               Before she could glean anything more, a wrinkled hand pressed itself to her shoulder and she turned to find Grandma Teiko staring down at her, shaking her head as if to silently tell her to step away. Rei knew not to protest, even if she wanted the truth. “It’s best not to eavesdrop, no matter how badly you want intel” Grandma Teiko whispered, sending her back to her toys. She glanced to Kakashi from the corner of her eye and her heart ached.

               The police crowded outside, asking Hana and Yuruganai a thousand different questions. Kakashi watched from the porch as they shuffled in and out of his house, and then carted Sakumo away in a body bag. Rei saw the dark mass and immediately felt as if she was going to throw up. Her hands began to shake at her sides and her face grew hot and sticky. “’Kashi…what’s going on?” she asked quietly, voice wavering. Kakashi didn’t look at her. He didn’t even want to speak with her, but he knew she deserved an answer.

               “My father. He’s dead” was all he said. Another vein of lightning pierced the sky, and then there was nothing but silence and the dark.

               The funeral was held on a Sunday. They all dressed in black, Hana and Yuruganai squeezing Rei’s hands. It’s like someone spilled a pot of ink, she thought as she looked out upon the mourners. There was such a somber tone in the air, challenged by the obnoxious sunlight over head. It was inappropriate weather for a funeral. Kakashi stood squarely before his father’s grave, the photo of Sakumo staring back at him. Smiling. Happy. There were murmurs in the back few rows, hostile whispers in disrespect for the dead. Rei glared back at them and tugged her wrists from her parents’ grip, fully ready to fight, but was ultimately restrained and scolded. On the way home, Grandma Teiko stopped to discipline them in an act of bravery that no one else could manage. Kakashi disappeared.

               In the following weeks, Sakumo’s name was all that was on anyone’s lips. More often than not, it was enveloped in nasty phrases of he deserved it. Kakashi kept his distance, barely saying a word to his best friend. Rei zoned out often in class just thinking about him, knowing that it was not long ago that he sat in this same exact room. All the other children were older than her and looked at her as if she was some alien from another planet. They wanted nothing to do with her and quite frankly, she wanted nothing to do with them. All she wanted was Kakashi, and to know that he was okay.

               “You seem down” a voice called to her one afternoon. Rei turned from her homework to find Grandma Teiko standing before her, leaning on her cane with a smile on her face.

               “Homework sucks” Rei pouted.

               “Well something tells me it’s not the homework that’s getting to you” Teiko replied. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to steal away just a few minutes of your time.” Rei shut her book and turned to face the old woman with a sigh of relief. “I want to talk with you about what happened a few weeks ago. The incident next door.”

               “Oh…” Rei replied, her face falling. She didn’t want to think about it. She hadn’t been sleeping lately. Images of that black body bag haunted her every time she closed her eyes, Sakumo’s lifeless eyes burning through the fabric.

               “Now, I know death can be a very traumatizing experience” Grandma Teiko began, “Especially when witnessed by someone so young as yourself. Unfortunately, it is but a natural part of life that we all must face eventually. Sooner or later, we will all die, too.”

               “Grandma Teiko, is this supposed to make me feel better?” Rei interrupted. “Because I don’t think it’s working.”

               “Hush, girl, and let your grandmother finish. I haven’t made my point yet” she disciplined. “Just because death is a natural part of life, that doesn’t mean it’s easy to handle. Now, I want you to answer me honestly: have you been handling this alright?”

               Rei paused a moment before slowly shaking her head. “Not really…”

               “Tell me what you’ve been feeling” Teiko asked.

               “I don’t know…” Rei replied. “I guess…scared. I think about it a lot. And when I do, I feel…icky.”

               “Icky?”

               “Yeah…icky…like…like when I bite into a soft tomato and feel like I’m going to throw up and my body gets shaky and my stomach does somersaults. Kind of like that.”

               “I see” Teiko nodded. “Over time, the grief we feel for the death of a loved one will fade and we won’t feel so sad and ‘icky’ anymore. It’s the process of getting there that can be tough sometimes.”

               Rei nodded slowly, before then asking “Grandma?” Teiko nodded once. “There’s something else that’s bugging me, too. It’s Kakashi.”

               “I had a feeling you’d say that” Teiko replied. “I want you to think of the way you feel whenever you think of what happened to Mr. Hatake, and then imagine if that was your own father. How would you feel then?”

               “Pretty sad” Rei replied. “I know Daddy and I don’t really get along, and he really hates that I want to be a ninja just like Kakashi, but if he died I don’t know what I would do.”

               “Kakashi is struggling right now” Teiko replied. “He is facing something no child should ever have to face. This is very difficult on him, not only because his father is gone now but because of why his father is gone and how he died. Do you understand?”

               “Not really” Rei said.

               “Sakumo Hatake died because people stopped believing in him” Teiko explained. “He chose to save the lives of his friends over completing a mission, and many people were angry about that. Many people thought he should have let his friends die instead. They said that a good shinobi always follows the rules and that in choosing his friends over his assignment, he broke those rules and was a bad shinobi because of it” Teiko continued. Rei listened intently, folding her hands tight in her lap. “I’m sure you’ve heard some very mean things said about Sakumo throughout the village, haven’t you?” Here, Rei nodded. “How did that make you feel?”

               “Angry” Rei said. “Mr. Hatake was a good man! I don’t think everyone should be so mean to him. Especially now.”

               “I agree” Teiko explained. “Do you know the expression ‘sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me’?” Rei nodded again. “Well, sometimes names do hurt. Sometimes words are even more powerful than physical blows. Words have the power to change the way we feel about ourselves and the way we think about things. That’s what happened with Mr. Hatake. All of those mean things that people said about him piled up on top of each other and hurt him so much that he couldn’t take it anymore. Unfortunately, because of that, he decided to take his own life. Do you understand?”

               “He…he killed himself?” Rei asked. Her eyes had grown wide and her hands were beginning to shake. “But…but why? Why would he do that? Doesn’t he know that what everyone says is stupid and that they were wrong?”

               Teiko placed a gentle hand on Rei’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her. “It’s all said and done now, there’s no use getting angry about it” she said softly. “But yes, I’m sure he did know this. However, sometimes that is not enough. Sometimes that doesn’t matter, especially when people refuse to believe anything else.”

               “But what about Kakashi? He doesn’t have a father now! His father left and he’s never coming back!” Rei shouted. She couldn’t contain herself. This was too much. Her hands were shaking faster and faster and her face was growing red hot.

               “I know, Rei. I know it’s hard to accept” Teiko said. “Kakashi is hurting, too, more than any of us can really imagine. As much as I wish there was something we could do, all that we can really manage is to just be there for him and let him deal with this in his own way.”

               “I feel so hopeless” Rei murmured after a few moments. “I just want everything to be back to the way it used to be. I want us all to be happy again. I want Mr. Hatake to be happy. I want Mr. Hatake to be alive so Kakashi won’t be alone, and so he can be happy again, too.”

               “I know” Teiko said, now stroking Rei’s red hair. “Death is a tricky situation to deal with, but I want you to promise me something, alright?” Rei looked up at her. “I want you to promise me that no matter what happens, and no matter what anyone may say to you, I don’t want you to ever, ever do to yourself what Mr. Hatake did. Do you understand? No matter how beaten down and broken you feel, no matter how much you feel like nobody believes in you, I don’t want you to ever think that killing yourself is the answer. There is always another way out. There is always a light at the end of the tunnel. And there is always someone you can come to for help. Like me.”

               Rei rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and nodded. “I don’t think I’d ever do anything like that to myself. I don’t believe in it. If I ever have a problem, I’ll come to you for sure. You’ll always be there for me, Grandma Teiko. You’re the only one who really understands me anyway!” A soft smile touched Teiko’s aged, wrinkled lips as she pressed a small kiss upon her granddaughter’s head.

               “Good. I’m glad. Don’t ever break that promise, okay?”

               “Okay, I promise! I promise!”

               Rei dug her grubby little fingers into the dirt and dug out a hole big enough for her fist. The flowers her mother had brought home were beautiful, but she said they would thrive better in the yard than in a vase. The dirt gives them more room to grow, she said. Rei wondered if that was true of people, too. She looked to the dirt caked under her fingernails and imagined herself as a dainty little flower growing big and strong someplace where she could feel free. Someplace where she could embrace what she was rather than live confined someplace just to look pretty.

               “Hey! Hey, you!” a voice then called over the fence, snapping her from her thoughts. Rei squinted up to find a young boy with goggles standing in the street staring at her. “Do you know a kid named Kakashi?” he asked. A girl with brown hair and purple warpaint on her cheeks stood behind him.

               “Who wants to know?” Rei called back, standing up and wiping the dirt on her shorts. She wondered if that made her look rebellious and tough. These kids were clearly older than her, like the ones in the academy who didn’t like her much. She remembered seeing them around, actually, in a higher class than herself.

               ��I’m Obito Uchiha!” the kid with the goggles announced confidently. Rei rolled her eyes. So he was one of those kids. Great. She knew exactly the kind of person he was, then, and she most certainly would not get along well with him.

               “And I’m Rin Nohara” the girl replied sweetly. “We were just wondering if Kakashi lived around here! We wanted to say hi. He seemed upset at school today.”

               So they had no idea. Rei really didn’t want to go through the whole process of telling them, nor did she think it was her responsibility to inform them of what was going on in someone else’s life. Besides, she didn’t really want them to know, anyway. She didn’t trust them. Who said it was their job to check on him, anyway? Rei cared about him more than anyone and if Kakashi didn’t want to speak with her, he sure as hell wasn’t going to want to speak to them.

               “You’re out of luck” Rei replied, brushing her hair back and scraping dirt through her bangs. “Kakashi doesn’t want to talk to anyone.”

               “Maybe he’ll make an exception then” Obito said.

               “Just give it up” Rei replied. “It’s not happening. I already told you he doesn’t want to see anyone.”

               It was then that Rin, the brunette, blinked a few times and stepped closer. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?” she cocked her head to the side. Rei eyed her suspiciously. “Yeah! You go to the academy, don’t you?” she asked. “You’re pretty young for an academy student. You must be really talented!” Rei rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, not saying a word. She didn’t need compliments from someone who was very likely to otherwise say mean things about her behind her back. That was the way it always went. This girl had no reason to be any different. After a few moments of silence, Rin turned and tugged Obito’s wrist. “Well, let’s go back home, Obito.”

               “Wait, but we didn’t even--!” Obito started but Rin shook her head.

               “It’s getting late, and dinner is soon. We can try again tomorrow!” she announced, and then they both ran back down the street, waving at Rei as they departed. She didn’t wave back but rather glared at them until they disappeared out of sight.

               They had no idea and therefore had no right. Even if Kakashi didn’t want to speak to her right now, that didn’t matter for what Rei felt she needed to do. She was going to protect Kakashi for as long as he needed her to. Not that he really needed her to, or at least she was sure he would protest if he ever found out, but she would do him a silent solid. She would guard him from whatever else the world had to offer so that perhaps he could be happy again. At the end of the day, that was really all she ever wanted: for him to be happy. And if he could be happy because of something she had done? Well, then that was even better.

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 20

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 19 - Chapter 21 

Chapter 20- Rosemary

“We found him,” Mycroft explained a week later at the Diogenes Club.

“He turned himself in,” Sherlock translated briskly, crossing his arms.

“Regardless, he’s under lock and key,” his brother looked to Amelia. “Her Majesty’s Government intends to move quickly toward Magistrate’s Court and we will require your statement.”

“You have my statement,” Amelia replied, arching a brow.

“In person,” he clarified.

“Absolutely not,” Sherlock interjected. “It’s hardly been any time since Moriarty-”

“All the more reason to move forward with haste,” Mycroft countered sharply. “While the evidence is still fresh.” His eyes drifted toward the healing wounds on Amelia’s wrist.

“We have no idea the extent of the abuse,” Sherlock shook his head. “There isn’t enough evidence to move forward yet. Not while we’re still working through everything. We can’t risk him being let off.”

“Between Chemco, my uncle, and the kidnapping alone, that should be enough, right?” Amelia asked the elder brother, who nodded slowly. “That’s what the case is all about at this point.”

“If we’re so fortunate to have additional evidence by the time of the proceeding, we will adjust our case a necessary,” Mycroft closed a file on his desk and looked to Sherlock firmly. “Do not let your emotions cloud your judgment, brother mine. It’s unbecoming.”

He confirmed the details with Amelia, assuring her that Anthea would be in touch later that week.

Sherlock all but stormed out of the club, throwing up a hand to summon a taxi. Amelia hurried over, pulling his hand down and squeezing it between hers.

“Why don’t we walk a bit?” she suggested, pulling him along without too much of a struggle.

Sherlock knew he wasn’t mad at Mycroft or Amelia for that matter- he was mad at Moriarty. Everything was ticking along, Sherlock was certain, to the madman’s plans.

He had hoped that Amelia would have had more time to adjust to things again. Heal. But of course, things were never easy for Sherlock. Moriarty was pushing along the court date for a reason. An attack? A grand reveal? Of what?

“There’s steam coming out of your ears,” Amelia commented, a smile tugging at her mouth.

“I don’t like this,” he grumbled, looking over at her.

“I don’t either,” she replied, giving his hand a nervous squeeze. “But it was bound to happen sooner or later.”

“I’d have hoped to help you parse through- things,” he sighed, gesturing in her direction. “If something were to happen and I couldn’t help you-”

“You sound like my mother,” she scoffed, laughing at his offended expression. “Sherlock, we can figure it out. The Magistrate won’t have him or anyone else, aside from people we trust.”

“Until he pays off a guard to stab you in the loo,” he huffed under his breath.

“My, what a dark place your Mind Palace must be,” she tutted. “Surely you have brighter rooms to enjoy? A greenhouse?”

He did, but he would never tell her that it contained every small intricacy he’d picked up on her. Her favorite foods and colours. Favorite songs and movies. Even minute details like what shampoo she preferred.

“I need to stay ahead of him,” he stopped at the side of the walkway, hands on her shoulders. “If anything more were to happen to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Avenge me, I hope?” she teased.

“You have no idea,” he mumbled. He’d tear across the world for this woman and those that hurt her? 

He had a special room in the Mind Palace for recalling those types of things.

Amelia looked at him thoughtfully, reaching up and cupping the side of his face gently.

Her hands were warmer than his.

“We’re a reasonably intelligent bunch,” she assured him with that damned smile. “It’ll be okay, Sherlock. Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.”

“If you die?” he asked, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm.

“I suppose I’ll have to help you from the great beyond,” she laughed. “Though that might prove difficult given your disbelief in ghosts.”

“I’ll hold a seance then,” he offered. “Only once. Just to be sure.”

They continued walking, hand in hand, Sherlock beginning to feel a little lighter as they joked and chatted.

“If I die?” he asked and she paused in thought.

“Don’t even joke, I don’t know what anyone would do without the great Sherlock Holmes,” Amelia answered with a frown. “Think of all the opportunistic criminals! And all the unsolved crimes, you know the Yard is basically useless.”

He knew she was being sarcastic and trying to inflate his ego at the same time, but it didn’t do much to distract him from the problem at hand.

All this joy and peace was at risk. This woman who’d stumbled quite literally into his life and brought with her the the light of the sun itself. She was too good for this nightmare he’d inadvertently brought her into, and he would spend the rest of his life ensuring she never feared another day again.

“Ruthie owns it now,” Amelia broke his train of thought, her hand leaving his to look at the building next to her. They’d made it as far as the old flower shop a few blocks away from Baker Street.

It was now boarded off, the caution tape replaced with plywood and keep out signs. The brick had been cleaned of soot, but largely the place remained unchanged from the day he’d found the Monkshood.

“Have you considered reopening?” he asked, her fingers reaching to touch where the front door used to be.

“Ruthie asked but-,” she gave a low sigh. “I guess I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop with whatever is hiding in my head.”

It was a rare sight to see Amelia deflated. The dynamics of their relationship usually rested upon Sherlock being on the receiving end of a hopeful statement or reassuring comment.

He hesitated, watching her look up forlornly at the upper levels of the shop.

Assurance. Comfort.

He knew what emotions he needed to convey, but had no idea how to begin-

Trust your instincts, you bloody idiot, John’s voice scolded from the back of his mind.

Sherlock wrapped his arms over her shoulders from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head and following her gaze up.

“You obviously couldn’t move back in,” he said.

“And why not?”

“You’d freeze at night,” he smirked to himself.

“Not ready to retire and become a flower man? Shame,” she turned around in his arms and tapped the tip of his nose affectionately. “Could still have the same amount of blood and guts. Roses and the like love all that, remember?”

“Maybe Mrs. Hudson will let us turn the basement into a greenhouse,” he offered, following behind in a few steps when she started back down the road.

“And why not your room?” she challenged. “There’s better sunlight after all.”

“I like my room,” he protested.

“And I like my little apartment,” she countered. “Though I suppose John will have to move out eventually... I hope he finds someone soon. He’d make such a great husband and father.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes while he snorted.

“If you’re so confident, marry him yourself,” he replied.

“Maybe I will,” she laughed, speeding up when she saw 221B ahead.

Before he could catch up, she sprinted inside and raced to the sound of John’s voice greeting them from upstairs.

“John Watson, will you marry me?” she asked, trying to catch her breath while Sherlock strolled past her with brows raised.

“Excuse me?” the doctor lowered his newspaper in surprise. “I thought we’d decided on the table settings for the two of you?”

“Amelia believes you’d be a good husband and father, so I encouraged her to take advantage of the opportunity before it became too late,” Sherlock explained, dropping into his chair and watching the exchange in amusement.

“All right then,” John set the paper aside and stood up. “Let’s do it.”

Wait. Sherlock’s head snapped in Amelia’s direction.

“How many kids do you think? Two?”

“Two dozen, more like it,” John took her hand and examined it. “Your hands are tiny. I’ll have to get my mother’s ring refit.”

“You two aren’t serious?” Sherlock stammered out, but the pair ignored him in lieu of their supposed engaged bliss.

“We could always buy a matching set,” Amelia suggested, holding both his hands in hers excitedly.

No, no, that’s where Sherlock’s hands went-

“I think that’s quite enough,” the detective cleared his throat and the pair finally glanced over.

“Oh no, I think this is a spectacular idea,” Amelia grabbed John’s hand and placed it around her waist, leaning into him with a grin. “We’re already best friends, and I’m told that’s the secret to a healthy marriage.”

“Decent age difference, well educated in the sciences,” John added. “And we both have a good appreciation for the arts.”

“Nope,” Sherlock stood up and pulled them apart. “How about not? You two wouldn’t even be able to have sex, it’d be too weird.”

“For you maybe,” John shot back with a smirk.

“Oh dear,” Amelia’s hand found John’s again. “I do believe Mr. Holmes is jealous.”

“Why wouldn’t he be? Our stationary would say; Dr. and Dr. Watson.”

“I do like the sound of that,” she grinned.

“And we are done,” Sherlock pulled Amelia away and sat her down on the sofa with a huff. “I’m not jealous.”

“Someone’s grumpy,” Amelia teased, standing up and giving Sherlock’s hair a ruffle. “I’ve got to call my mom. I promised I'd tell her about the meeting. Let me know when you guys are ready for dinner.”

She proceeded down the stairs with a final chuckle, the door to her basement flat closing.

Sherlock immediately turned to John with a single quirked brow.

“Don’t do that again,” he stated firmly.

“Put my hand on her waist? You know, she put it there,” John answered, coolly moving toward his chair and ignoring his friend’s glare.

“I know what you’re doing and it isn’t going to work,” Sherlock shot back tersely. He returned to his chair and grabbed a book off the table. Flipping through it, he peered back over at John again. “I mean, Dr. and Dr. Watson? Ridiculous.”

“I also like children,” the doctor hummed, returning to his paper.

“She kissed me the other night,” Sherlock blurted out. “So, just saying.”

John rolled his eyes, flattening the paper to look up.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sherlock stuffed his face in his book, pretending to read until he felt John’s lingering gaze on him. “How am I an idiot?”

“You two-,” John shook his head with a low shucker. “I’ve never seen such infatuated but clueless people in my life. You care for her, don’t you? That’s the whole point of this nonsense with Moriarty.”

He did.

“And?” Sherlock pried, hoping that maybe his friend could provide more insight into these unusual feelings he’d been working through.

“She clearly cares for you in a similar manner,” John continued slowly.

“She was ready to marry you just moments ago,” Sherlock furrowed his brows.

“You’re really thick at this, aren’t you?” John pinched the bridge of his nose. “We were teasing you. I have no desire to marry Amelia, she’s like my sister. I have about as much desire to marry her as I would marry you.”

“That...” he groaned and threw his head back on the chair. “Why is this so complex?”

“You could just tell her you love her,” John suggested with a shrug.

He- what- the- no- not- he- didn’t- but-

“Ugh,” Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms stubbornly. “These attachments are making me weak.”

“Oh boohoo,” John scoffed. “You found someone compatible and willing to deal with your temper tantrums. How awful.”

“I’m serious, John,” Sherlock leaned forward, his expression falling earnest. “I don’t know what to do about Moriarty.”

John sensed the shift in emotion and studied his friend over briefly. Sherlock had found that John Watson was the type of person he could read in an instant- the doctor always wearing some kind of expression on his face that revealed his true thoughts.

Did he pity him? That’s what it looked like. John felt sorry for him. Pathetic. He thought Sherlock was a pathetic failure.

But- John wasn’t the type, he reminded himself at the doctor's expression.

This involved him too. Amelia was as much his friend as she was... whatever she was... to Sherlock.

“He turned himself in,” John recited. “And Mycroft wants him to be prosecuted.”

“That’s right,” Sherlock nodded.

“He’s going to do something,” John voiced, agreeing with Sherlock’s thoughts out loud. “Trigger the memories? Torment us a little longer? We have to remember that his target is ultimately you. What would hurt you the most? Losing the case? Losing Mia?”

All of it, a quiet voice whispered.

“And that’s what concerns me,” Sherlock confessed. “He’s playing too many variables this time. First, he tried to make me fail at solving cases by distracting me through Amelia’s disappearance. Then she returns, no recollection of events, and a week later he turns himself in.”

“What’s his end goal?” John considered quietly. “Why is he so fixated on you?”

“I’m not mad like him,” Sherlock realized, straightening up.

That was it. That was the difference between him and Moriarty. Sherlock had people who cared for him and he cared for in return. He had John and Amelia, Mrs. Hudson and Molly and Lestrade.

“He wants you to feel weak because you... care?” John asked, trying to follow along as Sherlock explained.

“He thinks I’m sentimental, and in his mind, that’s a detriment,” he replied, pacing the room. “That’s why he picked the clues he picked- Persephone? Ophelia? The War of the Roses? He’s well aware that in my sentiment, I would know these things and relate them back to Amelia.”

“And that, he hoped, would have distracted you and proven his point,” John nodded. “But it didn’t work.”

“No, so he knew he needed to dig deeper,” Sherlock pointed to John. “I don’t think he intended to do anything to Amelia initially. He wanted to prove a point. Scare her a little, and show me that these relationships hurt my abilities.”

“So what does that mean now?” John asked, now at the literal edge of his seat, watching Sherlock walk back and forth.

“It means that he’s going to continue playing on that sentiment,” Sherlock deduced confidently. “Another poem or a flower? He wants to get into my head and is doing so through hers.”

“That’s reassuring,” Amelia commented, falling backward onto the sofa. “At least he’ll leave my head soon. It’s really strange not recalling nearly a month in time. Did I menstruate? Who dealt with that? Where did I shower? What if I’m missing a kidney or something?”

“You have both kidneys,” John assured her quickly. “But that is a good point to consider- what do we do when he pulls the curtain on her memories, so to speak?”

“I’m preparing for the worst and hoping for the best,” Amelia supplied, staring up at the ceiling. “At least, that’s why my therapist is telling me to do.”

“We won’t know until it happens,” Sherlock agreed tersely. He hated the unknown, the unsolvable. He especially hated that James Moriarty knew something he didn’t.

“Then we watch out for signs and go from there?” John looked between the pair. “Proceed with caution?”

“For now,” Sherlock replied. “For now.”

~~~

The morning of the Magistrate hearing, Sherlock hovered over her. He hovered while she ate breakfast, hovered while she got dressed (though he did turn around after she threw a shoe toward his general direction), and hovered on their way to the taxi outside.

“Sherlock, you’ll be the first to know if something weird happens,” she promised him, patting his hand in reassurance. “I really don’t think anyone would be so bold as to do something right on the courthouse steps.”

“Just keep staying alert,” he mumbled, eyes scanning the roads, the front of the taxi, the driver.

The ride to the courthouse was blessedly short, Amelia growing tired of Sherlock’s overzealous actions. He held a hand up and made sure no one outside the courthouse was too close. Amelia snorted and pulled out her wallet.

Once Sherlock was out of the taxi, Amelia paid the driver. He paused, counting the bills before reaching into his sun visor. Pulling an envelope free, he passed it to Amelia.

Before she could ask questions, Mycroft approached and reminded the pair that they were needed inside. Amelia tucked the envelope away into her jacket, sliding out of the cab and following behind the Holmes brothers with more questions than answers at this point.

They moved through security, and before stepping into the chambers, Amelia excused herself to go to the restroom, with Mycroft calling after her to hurry.

Slipping into one of the stalls, Amelia took the moment of privacy to take a breath and pull the envelope free.

Hopefully, it wasn’t anthrax, she thought dryly, feeling the paper from the outside.

There was something inside, a piece of a fern or pine. Ripping the top, she emptied its contents on her lap, lifting the small sprig up to better examine it.

Rosemary, she recognized immediately, fingers running over the delicate periwinkle blooms.

It had to be a little gift from Moriarty. It was too bizarre to treat as some random act.

Why this though?

She checked the inside of the envelope for anything else, and finding nothing, she tucked it back into the paper and folded it into her coat. Weird.

Sherlock was outside the bathrooms, waiting with his eyes mid-roll while Mycroft lectured in the background.

“Thank goodness,” he grumbled when Amelia returned. “I couldn’t take another second with him.”

She fell in step with him, thinking to herself how to address the bizarre interaction. Pulling the envelope free, she held it up to him.

“The taxi driver gave this to me when I paid,” she explained when they stopped in front of the courtroom, Mycroft stepping inside with instructions to wait until they were summoned.

Sherlock plucked the rosemary free, brows furrowed while he studied it.

“Rosemary,” she supplied with a small shrug of her shoulders. “Nothing else though. No note.”

“Rosemary,” he repeated to himself. “And the taxi driver gave it to you?”

He looked at her reaction and she nodded slowly.

They were both thinking the same thing.

“Yeah,” she made a face. “Generally means love, lust, and mourning… though it’s been a minute since I last worked with it. I’m not sure what it would… why he would send it, you know?”

Sherlock hummed in agreement, pulling out his phone and sending John a picture with a request to double-check any other meaning behind the plant.

Amelia sighed.

There was something irritatingly familiar about the plant that made her run through every bit of flowers knowledge she possessed. It grew in coastal climates. Used in cooking, has a salty texture…

“Amelia, the Magistrate will be hearing from you now,” Mycroft peeked his head into the hall, guiding Amelia into the chambers to give her statement.

Once the doors closed, Sherlock’s phone buzzed with a new message from John.

He didn’t even have to look, the flower staring up at him from his palm. He knew exactly what this meant and exactly why the taxi driver gave it to her.

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance; pray, love, remember.

Oh no, no, no… Stuffing his phone into his pocket, Sherlock slipped into the courtroom, earning a pointed glare from his brother when he sat down next to him. Amelia was settling into the witness’ chair, nervously toying with the edge of her shirt sleeves.

“We have a problem,” Sherlock murmured to his older brother passing him the sprig of rosemary. “Amelia received this in the taxi.”

Mycroft’s face went ghost white.

“We can’t interrupt,” Mycroft grunted in frustration, watching Amelia intensely.

“Dr. Brenner, do you recognize this man?” the representative of the court asked her, holding up a photograph of Jim Moriarty.

“I do,” Amelia answered confidently, blinking a few times and frowning to herself when the representative turned to grab another piece of evidence.

“Can you please tell us how you are familiar with him?”

“I…” Amelia’s voice caught. “I’m sorry, can you repeat the question?”

“How are you familiar with this man?”

“Who are we talking about?” came Amelia’s blank-faced reply, confusion evident on her face.

Oh nononono. Sherlock could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Months of work. Months of effort were about to go down the drain.

“If I may?” Mycroft stepped toward the representative, murmuring something into his ear. The panel of judges looked absolutely scandalized at the interruption.

“Excuse me,” the female barrister approached the bench, speaking in a low voice to the trio.

“We will grant this request,” the center judge, a man, replied firmly. “Return in one hour.”

Mycroft practically dragged Amelia out of the room, much to Sherlock’s chagrin. Once they were in the hall, the barrister looked to Mycroft furiously.

“Mind explaining what the hell just happened in there?” she barked.

“Just, bear with me,” Mycroft released Amelia’s arm after Sherlock smacked his hand.

Cautiously, Sherlock touched her shoulder.

“Amelia?” he asked, and her head snapped toward him. Her face was sheet white, pupils dilated, breathing rapidly.

“Sherlock,” she breathed. “Oh my god.”

Sherlock saw that Mycroft was busy trying to calm the barrister and took it upon himself to guide Amelia to a more secluded area. He sat her on a bench, taking one of her hands protectively.

“What happened?” he pressed, keeping his voice low, controlled. He didn’t want to frighten her more than she obviously was.

“I remember everything,” she whispered, tears threatening to fall over her bottom lashes. “Oh my god, Sherlock… it’s…”

She pulled her hand out of his and buried her face into her palms, hunching forward.

“I can’t do this,” she choked out, green eyes looking at him wildly.

“You have to,” he insisted. “Whatever it is, we will work through it, but you can’t let him walk away.”

“You don’t understand,” she swallowed, her whole body shaking. “I can’t. I… it’s… just…”

“You’re the key to this whole case, Amelia,” he reminded her tersely. “I’m seldom one to beg, but you have to push through. It’s for one day.”

“And if it goes to trial?” she snapped sharply, her voice rising. “And the press? And his little goons waiting in the shadows to strike? Sherlock, no. I’m not…”

She stood up on wobbly legs, backing away from him.

“I’m going home,” she choked out.

“Amelia,” he called after her retreating figure, cursing under his breath as he passed Mycroft.

“What is going on?” Mycroft demanded. “We need to be back in an hour!”

“I’m working on it,” Sherlock huffed, sprinting after the terrified woman. He found her on the court steps, legs tucked to her chest, muttering to herself under her breath. “Mia.”

The nickname pulled her back and she stilled, silencing with a shake of her head.

“I’m not doing it,” she repeated fiercely. “Call anyone else. My mother. My cousin. I don’t care. I’m not doing it.”

“Don’t think about that right now,” Sherlock sat down next to her. “You need to talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

She kept her eyes glued to the steps in front of her.

Sherlock took the opportunity to hammer out a text to John. Whatever was happening, they needed to get out of the public eye for a moment, the court be damned.

“Sherlock,” she turned to him, eyes swollen, her whole being trembling. “It was… there aren’t words.”

He’d kill him. Sherlock decided. He’d rip his spine free from his body. Throw him off the courthouse roof. Spend the rest of his life ensuring no one ever touched a single hair on her again.

She pulled up her shirt sleeves, holding up the pair of healing scars toward him.

“20 days,” she stated bitterly. “If it were possible, I would have ripped my own hands off to escape. I can’t, Sherlock. Please. I just… I don’t even know what… Christ, he’s a monster.”

“We need to get ready,” Mycroft was jogging down the steps toward them. “The court wants to start up early.”

“It’s not happening,” Sherlock shot back. “She’s in no condition for this.”

“She just needs to recite her statement,” Mycroft pressed. “Once we get the approval to move forward-”

“Mycroft, no,” Sherlock stood up, face to face with his brother.

“We might not be able to bring this forward again,” Mycroft warned sharply. “If Dr. Brenner is so frightened, you both might do well to remember that without a pending trial, James Moriarty is to be released to the public.”

Amelia’s breath hitched at the thought. Looking at Sherlock in a panic, he took a breath.

“Just…” he considered their options, none of which were pleasant. “Get a postponement. New evidence came up and the government needs to verify its authenticity.”

Mycroft stared at him a moment, considering the suggestion.

Both men knew it was a weak excuse, but they didn’t have a lot of options at this point. If they threw the case out completely, Moriarty would be free to roam and terrorize again.

“Fine,” he seethed with a low sigh. “I will contact you with the details moving forward. Get this figured out.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock mumbled to the smug satisfaction of his brother.

“Just- get out of here before the barrister sees you,” he added, a little gentler.

Sherlock plucked Amelia up and hurried toward a line of waiting taxis.

John was going to meet them at the flat, preferably with a tranquilizer on standby.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia managed once they were a few blocks away from the court. She looked a little calmer, though it wasn’t much of a difference appearance wise. She just didn’t seem like she was about to pass out from sheer horror.

Sherlock didn’t register the small apology, his mind a million miles away, running through everything that had happened.

Moriarty had planned for this to happen. To shame her. Make her give up one of the potentially largest fraud cases in decades out of fear.

Sherlock’s hand found hers. She gave it a tight squeeze. At the very least she was here and not buried in a trench somewhere. The only benefit to this was that Moriarty was keen on giving him preferential treatment.

~~~

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Amelia mumbled, wrapped in Sherlock’s robe, a cup of chamomile in her hands. She was sitting in the chair. She’d never sat in the chair, even her first night at Baker Street after her shop burnt down.

But this was another monster. This was bigger than Chemco and shady family relations; this was James Moriarty. And everything she could try and recall could be essential in figuring out what his play was. Or so Sherlock had assured her.

“The beginning?” Sherlock suggested dryly, earning a smack in the arm from John. He rubbed the spot, glaring at him pointedly. “It’s the best way to parse everything out."

John just wanted to make sure she made it through all of this in one piece. With Moriarty on the mind, Sherlock tended to become hyper-focused, ignoring the comforts and general well-being of those around him.

It was all for a good cause, of course, but given the vulnerable state Amelia was already in- having been exploited by Moriarty that very day- he wanted to keep her safe.

“Are you okay if I record this?” John asked, holding up a small recording device. Amelia nodded and took a sip of the calming tea. “Just take your time.”

“A lot of it just phases together after a bit,” she explained after a pause of consideration, a chill going up to her spine at an unspoken memory.

John wasn’t sure if he was ready to stomach what she had to say. She looked so rattled, so scared. This woman who stared down the barrel of a gun and demanded that her uncle not be a coward and shoot her- looked absolutely terrorized.

What possible demons lurked in her mind?

She took a deep breath and looked up between the men. It was her show. She was in the chair and they were ready to take on Amelia Brenner’s second case.

Chapter 21 

[fortheloveofbangtan]

Heat

A/N: Hello everyone! This is a ‘lil scenario I made for my wonderful friend and co-admin Emp  for their (extremely late) birthday! I really hope you enjoy! (This is also posted on my private blog so there’s no stealing :D )

Genre: Angst/fluff

Word Count: 3,549

Leaning back in the squeaky dining room chair, your glance shifted from the empty glass in your hand to the unopened bottle of wine on the table. You absentmindedly looked at your phone to check the time again, even though you knew it was way too late to expect anything. The snaps that the guys sent you even proved it; Yoongi wasn’t there and too busy working on the studio. That always seemed to be the excuse with him. You were always understanding of this, knowing music and rap were his passions. However, a part of you hoped that he could make the exception to be with you for your birthday. The last thing you heard from him was a text saying he couldn’t wait to see you when he came home. That was two nights ago. There was no mention of your birthday nor when he would actually come home. You knew that Yoongi wasn’t the best at articulating himself, especially through text, and your overanalyzing of it was petty, but you couldn’t ignore the heavy weight on your heart.

The sound of blasting music next door shook you from your thoughts. That was the third time in the past hour that they turned it up only to be brought back down before you could type out a text asking them to stop. You turned your focus to the wine, reached for it without hesitation and used your popper to screw out the cork. You closed your eyes for a moment as sweet aroma of red wine eased your mind. Smiling to yourself, you watched your glass fill up with the poison meant to distract you from your feelings. You slowly brought the glass up to your lips and took a generous sip. The burn in your throat was minimal, but you were itching for more.

“Don’t worry, Yoongi! I got this bottle to keep me company tonight,” you announced to your empty apartment, holding up the glass and bottle.

Soon enough one glass became five and you found yourself on the couch, stripped of your cocktail dress and heels into one of Yoongi’s shirts and a pair of sweatpants. Despite not looking in the mirror, you knew you were a mess with your makeup smudged and hair frizzy and out of place. Sighing deeply, you watched one of the trashy Lifetime movies that were playing on your TV until you fell asleep.

You were woken by, yet again, the sounds of your neighbors having a far better night (more precisely, early morning) than you. All of your sadness and anger at Yoongi came flooding back and soon enough, your slippers were on and you were out the door. The wine that once dulled your emotions was out of your system by then, and you were ready to take it all out on your neighbors.

Your apartment was at the far end of the hallway so you felt bad for the tenants living closer that probably didn’t get any sleep at all. You slammed your door shut and once you began shuffling angrily down the hallway, you notice the music get louder. You felt your head begin to spin, looking left and right at each door, focused on keeping an ear out for the source of the music. Reaching the end of the hallway, you realized that the music became even louder towards the stairs. So that cleared anyone on your floor of blame. You hung your head, feeling too tired to climb the stairs, but you summoned the strength to do so.

It felt as if each step up the creaky stairs was another notch turned up on the volume of whatever speaker was playing that incessant music. There were five floors to your apartment building and you lived on the second, but you hadn’t even noticed you climbed so much until you reached the door to the roof. You were too busy being distracted by the music that had started to become clearer to you. Being able to pick out some lyrics and melodies, the current song that played was the one you and Hoseok drunkenly danced to at Seokjin’s Christmas party last year. You remember being sober the next day and begging Yoongi to delete the video he took of the whole shitshow, but you believe he still saved it to his computer somewhere. The corners of your mouth perked up at the memory, but were forced back down when you remembered why you were here in the first place.

You were angry. Without Yoongi. Alone. On your birthday.

Not giving yourself time to question why someone would be blasting music out on your small apartment roof at 3am, you turn the small door handle and try to push open the ancient door. With a little extra effort, you were able to shove it far enough to squeeze yourself through. You expected to be enveloped in a crowd of sweaty drunk people with the scents of multiple alcohols filling your senses, but it was quite the opposite. Instead, you focus on a small patio table with the dreaded speaker set on it, along with various snacks, beer and wine scattered about. The convenience store bags they came in lay below them on the ground. The rest of the roof was empty except for two lawn chairs spread out, one of which being occupied. Before you could speak, that person on the lawn chair sat up and stretched their arms. You clenched your fists in annoyance at their lethargy. They slowly stood and walked over to the table and turned down the music to a more pleasant, tolerable in your opinion, volume. Even though the cheap roof bulbs casted some light, the person had their hood up so you couldn’t see what they looked like.

That is, until they turned around and your mouth dropped.

”Took you long enough,” cheekiness showed through as he chuckled to himself. Though it being a trait you shared with him, right now it just fueled your anger even more 

You found yourself walking towards him, preparing the angry and hurt rant you’ve been fueling since the start of the day. Most likely recognizing that look™, he knew he had to start explaining before things got worse.

“Okay, you have the right to be angry at me, but here me out,” he put his hands up in front of him, so you paused just a few feet away.

You had no idea why you were allowing him this chance since he really didn’t deserve it for playing this game with you the whole night, but you still waited for him to continue.

“I had this whole plan to deck out the whole roof in lights and balloons with your favorite takeout and drinks. I had called the caterers and decorators, but because of the storm that was said to start tonight, they all cancelled on me so I panicked,” he started to pace as he gave his explanation, his frustration clear by this and his tense expression. Normally Yoongi was able to keep his composure under pressure, but something was different this time.

“So while I ran out to make some up some excuse of a party, I left the damn speaker on. The thing is already broken with its volume always going up and down depending on the bass of the song. I went to so many fucking stores and you have no idea how many of them are too pussy to stay open during a fucking storm, which actually didn’t even end up happening! Now all I have is this cheap shit and some old fold out chairs from Namjoon’s place.” The anger that had been weighing down your heart was completely replaced by something just as warm, but much kinder. You cut him off by closing the gap between you in a tight hug.

Your embrace was heated, both of you radiating off so much emotion, but the two of you still held each other close. Not normally the crying type, you felt tears prick at your eyes. You let them soak onto Yoongi’s jacket as one of his hands ran his fingers through your hair. You began to mumble out words of understandings, but Yoongi abruptly pulled away from you.

“No, I know I just asked for it, but don’t make excuses for me. I even fucking fell asleep from stress on this lawn chair rather than going to find you. I couldn’t stand to face you! I should’ve done all of this earlier, and not last minute like I do everything else that’s not about my damn career,” his downward glance shifted up to lock eyes with you. You saw something you had never seen in Yoongi in all the years you’ve known him.

Shame.

As if on schedule, you feel light drops of rain descend from the sky, but you were far too engrossed in what he was saying to really care.

“I need to change something. Even though you deny it, I know you always feel that you come in second to my music. I fucking hate it because I make it fucking true! Hell, Jungkook even told me you stopped crying for me when I wouldn’t come home when I said I would. Not that I want you to cry, but still he said that you expected it by now! I couldn’t put up with that if I were you,” he takes a shaky breath before continuing, “I’m terrible at change, and I know you know that, but I want to show you that I’m willing to actually work for it.”

He stopped his ramblings and stuck one hand in his pocket. Your breath hitched in your throat and you felt your heart rate pick up more if that were possible. Everything was moving so quickly, you just couldn’t keep up.

“I wasn’t planning on asking you today, but thankfully I was smart enough to plan at least one thing ahead of time,” Yoongi chuckled lowly while kneeling and pulling out a small black box with contents you already knew were inside. 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself so you just pulled your hands to your chest as you waited for him to ask the age old question.

“I promise you everything, even the things both of us know I probably can’t deliver, but that I will try my damnedest to be the best person I can be for you. You have always made me believe in myself and I want to start being the same for you. Y/n, will you marry me?” This was all too much. By then, the rain had become heavier to where Yoongi had to hold a hand over the opened box and was struggling to look at you through his wet bangs covering his eyes. You knew he was petrified, his heart literally in the box he held out to you. Yoongi wasn’t the type to let himself become vulnerable, especially with his emotions. All that you were feeling seemed suffocating, but in the best way possible. This is the man who can piss you off more than anyone else, but also the man you love far more than that. He is the one who can ease you of any frustration or sadness by just laying down and holding you. Yoongi is your soulmate, that’s just the way it is, but even though there will be issues, you wouldn’t want to face them with anyone else. These sensations were so unusual. The rain was cold, but your skin was steaming. The beating of your heart outmatched the sound of the rain hitting the roof. Your tears blended with the rain and you definitely looked worse than how you did when you woke up, but Yoongi was too busy looking at you like his future. You couldn’t stand to let him wait like that any longer. You could barely scrape out a yes, but Yoongi heard it. He slammed the box shut, jumped up and pulled you in for a passionate kiss. It was messy and forceful, but all the feelings that had been accumulating the past day, and from your whole relationship, were being released which made it all worth it. You were the one to pull away for a breath of air, lips almost aching.

“Aren’t you gonna,” you paused for being so out of breath, “actually put the ring on me, dummy?”

Yoongi laughed and put a hand to his forehead in embarrassment while pulling the box out again.

“Oh my gosh, not here!” You rolled your eyes while grabbing his arm to pull him under the overhang by the doorway. You were trying to bring the emotions back down to a manageable level. Everything was just a little too overwhelming and you were still trying to ease your racing heart rate. Once you both escaped the rain, you took a deep mutual sigh which led to a small laugh from the two of you. It was hard to describe what you felt while watching him place that ring on your finger. You were surprised to find that the diamonds weren’t giant, as you know Yoongi likes flashy things. Meanwhile you were more on the minimalistic side of things. The band was diamond encrusted, with three slightly larger diamonds that cut into each other in a particular pattern.

“Do you like it? Not to be sentimental, but I made the diamond design like that on purpose. This large one at the bottom, it’s like our foundation, all the shit we’ve been through before today,” he moves from pointing at the bottom diamond to the smaller middle one.

“This one is much smaller because it represents just this day. Today isn’t just special because I proposed to you, it’s because it’s integral to,” he lastly pointed to the largest diamond at the top, “our future.”

Yoongi was waiting for a response, but you were speechless. You opened your mouth to speak, but when you looked up at him, you knew you couldn’t just say that it was beautiful. Like he said, today was integral to your future. You both were going to remember this day during the hard and happy times. So were you going to waste your important moment with just a dumb cliché? You had to speak from the heart, which was just as hard for you to do as it was for Yoongi.

“It’s perfect, Yoongi. Not just because it’s beautiful, but because you put so much thought into it. Wherever we are years from now, no matter how far apart, I’ll be able to look at this ring and remember today. I’ll be able to remember how you could make me go from angry to loving in just one hug. I can look at the diamond arrangement and remember how you feel about me when I know neither of us are good at expressing ourselves. This ring is a symbol of a fresh start for us,” your eyes began to water again as you link arms with him and look out at the rain, “as spouses. And whether you like it or not, you’re my soulmate so no matter what life throws us, I’m not giving up.”

The two of you stood in silence, taking in all that had happened in the last fifteen minutes. You went from having heartache caused by the very same man that you just become engaged to. It’s funny how life works sometimes. You both looked at the patio table, which contents had become completely soaked as the rain picked up even more.

“Looks like I’m going to have to get a new speaker,” Yoongi had to basically yell so you could hear through the downfall.

“Our gourmet dinner seems to be in the same situation,” You nudged his side and threw it right back to him. This was the marriage you were signing up for, one full of sarcasm and banter, but you couldn’t be anymore excited. 

The door was still open so you slipped back inside the building first, Yoongi right behind you. Once both inside, he closed the door and the two of you began your descent down the stairs.

“You know, I still haven’t properly wished you a happy birthday.” “I know, what a terrible boyfriend you are.” “I think you mean fiancé.” If there was a contest for sarcasm, there’s no telling who would win between you and Yoongi.

“Ugh, it’s gonna be so hard to get used to that,” you whined just to annoy him.

Your back and forth banter continued until you made it back to your floor and your stomach let you know how long it’s been since you last ate something. You spun around and started walking backwards so you could look at him.

“You know, a girl doesn’t get this dolled up to not go out to eat.” You ran a hand dramatically from your sweatpants up to your hair to show off your glamorous appearance. Yoongi chuckled before unexpectedly grabbing that arm and pulling you close. He snaked both arms around you and down your waist as he leaned by your ear.

“It is your birthday after all, so there’s still one thing we could eat.” He jumped away before you could have the chance to react. He laughed at your reddened face and took this as a victory.

“Hey, I just meant we could have some of the leftover lasagna since I know you love Italian food. Gosh Y/n, get your head out of the gutter,” Yoongi said while laughing.

You weren’t going to go down that easy. Instead of swatting his arm or something, you stayed quiet and started walking back towards your apartment. Yoongi was surprised and paused for a moment before following you. As soon as you were a few feet away from your door, you began to complain,

”I hate how high they keep the thermostat here,” you said while reaching down to pull off your shirt. You had remembered that when you changed into his shirt and sweats, you didn’t take off the lingerie you had worn underneath

“Don’t you think, Yoongi?” You turned back to show him, making the man freeze in place like a little boy. As he became much more distracted by your diversion, you went in for the kill.

“It’s just too bad you lost your keys at the airport,” you said quickly before rushing into your apartment and slamming the door behind you. Clicking the lock, you happily sighed in your victory by leaving Yoongi and his developing problem in the hallway.

“Y/n, I swear to God, you better open this door or-”

“Sorry babe, I can’t hear your threats over the sound of the shower running,” you yelled back as you skipped towards the bathroom. You were planning on turning on the water for only a few seconds to make him think you were actually going to leave him out there while you showered. Flicking on the lights to the bathroom, you looked in the mirror for the first time that night to realize just how messy you looked. Perhaps Yoongi could wait a little bit longer so you could wash your face. After rinsing with a little soap, you felt and looked much better. You had to finish your plan, so you walked over to the shower to pull the curtain open and reach for the handle. A small cough from the doorway startled you. “Little do you know, one of the managers ended up finding my keychain in their suitcase. Taehyung picked it up for me yesterday.” Yoongi said lowly, trying to make eye contact with you to which you avoided. Shifting your attention to the running water, you were about to turn it off before Yoongi stood before you.

“You said you needed a shower, so get in.” Oh shit. So this is where things were going to go. 

The two of you would be up until the sun rose which you both watched while in bed. He had his arms wrapped around you, blankets scattered about, but you still felt just as warm.

”So, when are we telling everyone?” You asked, your voice soft and tired.

“That we had sex?”

”Goddammit, Yoongi”

“Whenever we want.”

“I bet the guys will be shocked.”

“What do you mean?”

”I mean, none of the other guys are married and Jimin’s been together with Minsun longer than us.” You weren’t really that doubtful, it was really just some of your sleepy ramblings, but Yoongi still responded normally.

“Who cares though? They know that I love you and that should be enough.”

A smile spread across your face as you tried to scooch closer to him and pull his arm tighter over you.

”Hey, I don’t really have the energy for round two.”

”Lies.“

“Okay, fair enough.”

A comfortable silence resumed as the sunrise became even clearer. The shining rays of red, orange and yellow that radiated through your windows made you feel completely at peace. This was the best start to your new life that you could’ve asked for. Things were inviting, bright and you had Yoongi right by your side. Nothing could be more perfect.

~Bunny 🐰