#tragically i think these might be too worn out to wear in a few months

[rollypoliesonarock]

Relaced my shoes. Got these last January and before getting my boots 2 weeks ago, have been my only pair of shoes I've worn around.

And here's the specific pattern I use to lace all my shoes because I think it looks neat

[missmaywemeetagain]

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

A/N: Ohhh, so y'all forced this out of me, what with all the talk about the "Blue Scarf" and expanding the "Scarf Universe" thrown at me this week! 😂 (I hear you, I hear you!) Be careful what you wish for, lil' darlin's!! Honestly, though, I've known since I ended Pink Scarf that this was something that was going to happen in this particular way to our dear Reader and E, I just never knew if it was going to see the light of day. And with this week's prompt, all the inspiration and stars seemed to align at once on Sunday, so this came out rather quick and may be rough, and it's possible I might go back and tweak it later, but I'm happy with it for now. I hope this satiates you for the moment. I hope it gives you all the feels. And, yes, perhaps I may expand this little Blue Scarf into a series and include a spicy story or two later, if you all are good lil' babies for me. 😏 💙🧣💙 Let me know in the comments and reblogs...😉

Thanks always to my sister wives @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally and @vintageshanny for allowing me to skirt by late with this week's prompt. 😇

Prompt: “How are we going to solve this problem?”

Rating: PG (ish?) || Word Count: 2.7k

TW: Fluff, angst (always), infidelity (sort of??), no smut (so sorry loves)

Something Blue, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

August 1971

It’s fitting, you think, that today of all days, you’re wearing his blue silk scarf in your hair. Elvis hasn’t worn it much since that fateful summer a couple of years ago—and only for a few more shows and a couple nights out—so you had absconded with it and made it your own, as you’d managed to do with many of his things. You loved how it smelled of him, the silk doused in his musk and cologne, and how it reminded you of the not-wearing-a-shirt-under-a-jacket/jumpsuit phase he gone through that summer and fall of ‘69. Lord, you’d loved that phase. It had been so easy to lay him bare before you.

Heat floods your cheeks at the thought of what this particular scarf has seen between the two of you, and then at the fact that this might be the worst possible time for a thought like that to pop into your head. You know it’s the shock of the bomb that just dropped on your lives that has your brain short circuiting a little. Because neither of you ever expected this.

You nervously twist the platinum and diamonds on your ring finger, the ones which pledged his love for you in front of your family, friends, and the world. Thoughts fill your mind of your lovely, small wedding, how this scarf had been there for that important moment, too, tied around your waist, cinching your white dress—being both your “something borrowed” and your “something blue.” Elvis loved that you’d included it, this piece of him, as part of your gown.

He also loved untying it at the end of the night and letting it flutter to your feet with the rest of your dress.

It’s counterpart, the pink scarf, had been tucked into the pocket of his suit jacket, a little secret for you both. You’d enjoyed it, as well, later that night.

“Y/n, did y-you hear me? I-I-I-It’s me,” Elvis says, snapping you out of your memories, his hand lingering on the phone he’d just placed back on its cradle. “How are w-w-we going to solve this problem?”

The wavering fear in his voice is palpable and in any other circumstance it might scare you, but a strange sense of calm falls over you. Somehow the domino effect of both of your actions two years ago have led you to this very moment. Tragic as it is, it seems meant to be.

Just like you and Elvis.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you breathe deeply. Yes, there is a part of you that is still jealous and angry about what brought you here. But you knew, even back then, that it was possible he’d been with others in your month-long absence, that his fear of losing you plus old habits could have driven him into the arms of another. It wasn’t a new revelation, just one neither of you had wanted to talk about after all was said and done. And it hadn’t been an issue since, so you figured bringing it up would be more trouble than it was worth.

Pushing that hurt aside, a much bigger feeling swells within you—one you’ve been hesitant to name for fear that it would not come to fruition. But now everything has changed.

“It’s not a problem,” you state, your voice surprisingly steady.

“W-w-what?” Elvis questions, those oceanic eyes of his widening in disbelief.

“It’s a gift, Elvis. From the most unlikely and sad circumstances, yes, but a gift all the same. Isn’t it?” You’re not quite sure if you are trying to convince him or if you are just stating the obvious, but those feelings continue to rise in you and have for days. And they overshadow the fading fissure of anger and the burgeoning fear that you refuse to let consume you.

Hope. Joy.

“A gift?” he repeats, letting the words roll on his tongue, letting them sink in. He blinks slowly, gaze shifting off into the distance for a moment. Then, he looks down at the paperwork on the table. At the picture. “Oh. Oh.”

A shuddering breath shakes his shoulders, his ring clad fingers clawing at his knees. It’s when the tears pool in his eyes, finally betraying his sensitive vulnerability after so many days of keeping it in, that you slide out of your chair and rush to his side.

He immediately buries his head into your belly, his arms circling around your waist, clinging to you. A sob wrenches out of him, one so deep that it brings tears to your eyes.

“I-I-I’m so s-sorry. I-I didn’t think...I-I-I din’t know,” he hiccups. You’re not sure if he’s apologizing to you or her or him. Maybe his apology is for all of you.

“Shhh, hush, it’s okay,” you coo, tears trickling absently down your cheeks. You run your fingers through his soft hair before pulling back, cupping his cheeks so he is forced to look at you.

He is so wide-eyed and young-looking staring up at you, his eyes now matching the scarf in your hair with their electric blue, a dramatic contrast against the redness caused by his tears.

“It’s not a problem, honey, it’s a gift. He is a gift,” you say, wiping the tears that linger on his prominent cheekbones. “We can do this. I want to do this. If you do.”

Elvis blinks up at you, surprised. “Really?”

“Yes. If he’s a part of you, he’s a part of me, too. And—and,” you choke up, swallowing your past sorrows, “you know it’s something I’ve always wanted. Something I never thought we could have. This is…a chance to make something wonderful out of something tragic.”

You’re aware the reality is likely going to be much more complicated than either of you can fathom in this moment. There is a part of you that is utterly terrified it won’t live up to the miracle you want it to be and that you won’t be worthy of the task. But that is not what Elvis needs to hear, not right now. Your insecurities can wait.

Elvis looks down at the picture resting on the table of the young woman and her baby. Your gaze follows. The first time you saw it, you knew, based solely on the fact that the woman looked so much like a younger version of you, that something had happened between them in those weeks you’d escaped from Vegas to California, when you left him, trying to figure out if you could forgive him. When you were trying to recover from your life turning upside down.

Her likeness plus the look of horrified guilt on his face upon seeing the picture told you all you needed to know about that. His begging and pleading for forgiveness at your feet solidified it.

But it had been the way Vernon had blanched white as a sheet when seeing the baby that you understood the true consequence of Elvis’ dalliance.

It was a punch in the gut, at first. Of course, it was. But logically you knew that he’d been hurting in those weeks without you, unsure if you’d ever come back to him. It wasn’t altogether surprising that he’d sought out comfort from a girl who looked so much like you.

You wanted to be furious at the fact she had gotten pregnant by him so easily, but you knew that was a futile road to go down, especially after what happened to her.

According to the letter she’d given to her lawyer, who had sent it on to Elvis, the cancer within her spread like wildfire. It was too late to save her by the time her pain had sent her to the doctor. She—Theresa—had never planned to ask Elvis for a thing, she reiterated. Theresa had been content to raise her son by herself. But she had no family to take him in when she was gone, and she could not bear to think of her son alone and unloved.

“You don’t have to take him, Elvis, truly. But I beg you, please, please make sure he is placed with a nice family, that he is loved and taken care of. I cannot leave him all alone.”

His lawyers weren’t convinced, however, and didn’t want him to even entertain the thought. It could open you up for all sorts of future problems, Elvis.

But that didn’t stop him from finding out for himself because, as all of them knew, nobody tells Elvis Presley what he can and can’t do. He tracked her down, in Denver of all places, and took you and Vernon with him to the hospital to see Theresa. You didn’t know how you would feel seeing this girl Elvis had been with in a moment of weakness. Would you want to slap her face? Would you want to cry and scream? Would you want to tear her apart?

Instead, it had shocked you into silence, seeing someone that resembled you so closely withering away from disease, as if it were some sort of eerie harbinger. It made your skin prickle. But then compassion filled you, more so than you ever expected. The poor woman was on death’s door, but you’ll never forget the relief in her eyes when you all walked through the door. That look was something that couldn’t be faked. Nor was the toddler playing with the nurse in the corner, the little boy who Vernon looked at like he’d seen a ghost.

The boy was the spitting image of his father.

But that didn’t stop Theresa from encouraging a paternity test. She was well aware of what a mess this could be for Elvis, and she didn’t want there to be a shadow of a doubt for anyone involved. She wanted him to be sure.

“I don’t want to ruin your life,” she’d croaked, her emaciated frame limp and barely able to produce the tears she was trying to hold back. “I never want him to be a burden.”

The tiny blonde child chose that pivotal moment to break away from the nurse, waddling over and grabbing Elvis’ flared pant leg with chubby little fists, commanding Elvis’ attention downward. His chin tucked, gaze following the movement at his feet, and you watched him wrestle with what to do, what the protocol in this sort of situation was. It was intense, this first moment between them, and the boy’s all-too-familiar crooked smile and slow blinking blue eyes made your heart clench.

You watched Elvis come to an unspoken decision, and he lifted the boy easily and almost too naturally tucked the boy into his hip. The room collectively held its breath, watching the scene unfold. You’d never seen a child snuggle up to an unfamiliar person like that before, the way he buried his head into Elvis’ shoulder as if drawn in, inexplicably trusting. Granted, Elvis had that preternatural way about him, his essence bringing people to him constantly. But this was different.

Heart fluttering into a gallop, you watched Elvis take this moment in before nodding solemnly, sucking in his lip. With the child tucked into his side, it was obvious to you that he was holding back his pressing emotions to stay in control. Nevertheless, he was unwavering when he told Theresa, “Even if he’s not mine, I’ll make sure he finds a good home. I promise you that.”

She’d closed her eyes then, and when they opened, you saw a gratefulness and relief so strong it nearly bowed you over.

Elvis had done the blood test right then at the hospital. Everyone was quiet on the plane ride home. Elvis, pensive and withdrawn, clutched at your hand so tightly it tingled from the loss of circulation. And when the call came the next day that Theresa was gone, your heart broke for her. Sheer willpower had kept her alive long enough to make sure her son would be safe. A mother’s love.

You’d wept for her. You’d wept for you and for Elvis. You’d wept for that little boy.

Nicholas. Nicholas Aaron.

You didn’t tell Elvis that the moment you saw the 16-month-old toddle towards you that you knew. That you loved him instantly, like something magical locked into place. It was too early, too soon. But you knew.

Elvis hadn’t wanted to talk about it much as you all waited for the results. He was antsy and on edge, everyone giving him a wide berth. His guilt was trying its best to distance him from you, that deep seeded, insecure vulnerability in him trying to simultaneously push you away while needing you close. It was evident in the way he clung to you in his sleep. But you did everything in your power to let him know you didn’t hate him for the indiscretion, that you still loved him unconditionally, no matter the paternity outcome.

Of course, your mind whirled in overdrive, circling the drain around your surprising emotions about Nicholas. You found yourself worrying your nails down to the quick about whether he was safe and who was caring for him since his mother died. Your heart felt like it was tearing in two whenever you thought about it. You knew you shouldn’t get too attached, but you couldn’t help it. It was primal and biological, this response.

So when the phone rang this morning and Jerry had so seriously handed it to Elvis, you knew what it was, your breath catching in your throat. This was the moment that would change everything. And you hoped it was for the better as you sat across from him, wringing your hands in your lap. Silence filled the room as Elvis listened to the voice on the other end, his face going Hollywood blank, giving you nothing to hold on to. Your heart threatened to explode right out of your chest and onto the table.

He thanked the voice on the other end and hung up the phone.

“E, what did they—” you started.

“I’m his father,” Elvis finally whispered in shock.

And now you are here, holding him to you, being his rock while in your own state of disbelief and wonder. A thousand emotions roll through you all at once: Hope. Joy. Sorrow for Theresa. Guilt for being happy in the face of Nicholas’ tragedy.

“Do you want this, to take him in, Elvis?” you ask, prompting him to look up at you once more. You pray you know the answer.

“Of course, I do. I’m his father. He’s my son,” he says, as if the unfamiliar words have finally landed and he believes them. Then his signature 1,000-megawatt crooked smile spreads across his face. “I have a son! We have a son!” he adds, proudly.  

Elvis jumps up, grabbing you by the waist, spinning you around until the room tilts on its axis. You laugh breathlessly, arms locked around his neck, wondering how in the world you’ve managed to get here after all this time, in the most unlikely of ways.

A son.

When he sets you down, he looks at you, grinning from ear to ear with an unbridled passion like you’ve never seen from him before. It’s not sexual, and it’s different from the passion he has for his music. It’s the love of a new father, you realize, something you never thought you’d get to see. It makes your heart swell uncontrollably.

“Are you absolutely positive this is what you want, lil’ mama?” His questioning eyes search yours as he cups your face, his fingers catching in the blue scarf in your hair. The pet name suddenly takes on a whole new meaning, releasing butterflies in your stomach.

Excitement has your heart racing and your breath short, but you beam, winking, “Oh, I’m one thousand percent positive, Daddy.”

Elvis kisses you deeply, as though he’s merging with you, engulfing you. It takes your breath away completely.

“We have a son,” he whispers, smiling against your mouth. “Let’s go get our son.” There’s something in the way he includes you in this, a pointed clarity that you are not an outsider because you aren’t Nicholas’ biological mother. No, he’s telling you in no uncertain terms—this is your boy as much as he is mine.

And after so many years thinking it could never be, it finally, truly hits you, without a doubt:

I’m going to be a mother.

*

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[creativeashproductions]

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

THIS IS FROM MY SECONDARY BLOG! REPOST!!

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

 “I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

 “Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

 “Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

 “I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

Part Two

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[agentsofsupernaturalmarvel]

Lost Time // Luke Patterson

Summary: Things changed since Sunset Curve fell apart literally as three out of four members died before a gig. Leaving a sad girl behind Luke by chance runs into the reader with someone else. Death tore the couple apart, and time can’t fix this.

Warning: Talk of death, depression, angst and fluff

Words: 2.2k

Might as well join the Julie and the Phantoms fan club!

*For the sake of the story the time frame has been altered, it takes place in the mid-2000s. Also! I tried to make the reader as generalized as I could to make sure that everyone can relate. The reader is Alex’s sister, for inclusion that can be biological, adopted, half or stepsiblings. I want to make sure all people can be the reader.

Masterlist

The 1990s was definitely some of the best years of your life watching your brother grow more comfortable in his identity. Alex had kept his sexuality secret, taking the frustration of the secret by learning how to play the drums. You would often be found curled on the chair listening to his growing talent; Alex was a great brother.

Alex found friends in three local boys Reggie, Bobby and Luke, even a little more than friends with Luke briefly. By 1991 the boys had formed a band Sunset Curve with each other and a loyal fan in you. By mid-1994 the band had a fanbase and some gigs, but playing The Orpheum was the goal.

Luke had admitted to Alex, he had feelings for you, and with a lot of encouragement from Alex, he approached you. Luke had been focused on music since his parents gave him his first guitar, so relationships weren’t even on the backburner.

“Hey.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to your cheek backstage, “Missed you.”

His hair tickled your skin, bringing a bright smile from the teenage boy and a deep blush from you, private time wasn’t as often as it once had been. After Luke’s fallout with his parents a few months back, he had couch surfed between Reggie and Alex’s rooms; he wasn’t allowed in yours.

“You saw me last night.”

“A monumental time.” Luke bent his bend to place a lingering kiss on your bare shoulder, his jacket having fallen down, “Three years together and a bright future ahead.”

Last night had been the third anniversary of your relationship and hopefully the previous night worrying on parents walking in, cheap dates Luke often felt guilty about. Luke knew in his bones playing The Orpheum tonight would open the door to a legendary future. A future where money wasn’t tight and he could you on dates he deemed acceptable for the love of his life.

Bobby voiced brought Sunset Curve’s lead singer back to that moment, you dropped from the stage to settle in the empty audience to watch the soundcheck. With a wink from Alex, he started making the beat to Now or Never, you beamed as they poured their souls into the song. The four were talented and made to be in a band together even if you didn’t really like Bobby.

Cringing at the awkward wink Bobby sent you turned on your converse to head to the bar for a glass of water. Thanking the bartender, you tuned out the conversation with the waitress and the band only jumping when arms wrapped around your waist.

“We’re getting street dogs.” Luke spoke, bringing your body to rest on his chest, “Do you want one?”

The thought of those street dogs honestly horrifying given they were cooked in some random guys car. The one time you tried, it had permanently tattooed the taste in your memories forever, and just remembering was vomit-inducing.

 “I’ll pass.” You wrinkled your nose, turning to wrap your arms around his neck, “I don’t know how you guys like those.”

“Tradition.” Luke shrugged caressing your cheekbone with the pad of this thumb. Gazing at features he wanted to wake up to for the rest of his life, “Still down with the plan?”

“The minute I’m eighteen, we go to the nearest chapel.” You grinned playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, “I’ll be waiting Rockstar.”

Luke pressed a long passionate kiss on your lips, pulling away to jog over to Alex and Reggie waiting at the door. Bobby having declined the street dog invitation to flirt with the waitress Rose. Alex waved before the door closed. Little did you know that would be the last time you saw them alive.

1995 was the worst year of your life. 1996 was the hardest, especially with the forever reminder of your love. You wouldn’t trade 1996 for the world however, only wishing for one change.

Los Angeles, 2004

Alex, Reggie and Luke had learnt a mere few days away from that life had drastically changed forever. Firstly, the three boys had died from eating the street dogs mere hours before performing on the stage of The Orpheum. Secondly, it was no longer 1995 but instead nearly ten years had past bringing the three ghosts into 2004.

The most jarring wasn’t being able to be heard playing music with a random girl named Julie but that the most constant part of the band no longer was there. You hadn’t died that night, and Alex was pretty sure you were still alive. Luke felt lost waking up without you beside him and the deep regret of not reconciling with his parents.

It would be a week before Luke would swallow his pride enough to orb himself into his unchanged childhood home. Emily, Luke’s mom, was in the well-worn chair knitting a scarf Luke recognized as his favourite colours. Mitch was in the kitchen, putting the groceries away. It was heartbreaking being invisible to his aged parents.

“Hey, Mom.” Luke sniffled sitting on the couch nearby staring at his silent mother, “Sorry for not visiting sooner.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes feeling hopeless, not being able to ease his parents’ pain, the regret and guilt bubbling to the surface.

“How is Y/N? I bet she’s living in New York of London now. We promised to travel the world together. Part of me is guilty of wishing she had eaten a street dog that night so we could be together.” Luke sobbed, wrapping his arms around his midsection reminiscing on the beautiful girl he had unwillingly left.

“Hey.” Mitch spoke, kissing his wife’s forehead. Her eyes closing in contentment.

“I wonder if you know where Reg and Alex’s parents are. Reggie’s neighbourhood was torn down who knows when. It makes me scared to see if Alex and Y/N’s parents still have their place. I don’t think so. They lost their son.”

“Hey Luke.”

Luke glanced over his shoulder to see Alex at the door, reluctant to impose of Luke’s privacy.

“Yeah.”

“We’re rehearsing.” Alex spoke, smiling as the other teenager took one more wistful look at his parents before orbing out of his house to the Molina family’s garage. Minutes later, the front door opening and feet thudding brought the noise to the Patterson home.

“Grandma!”

A four-foot blue of green and black blur covered the room in seconds nearly sprawling Mitch to the floor. Why was that 1996 year difficult? Well, ’95 was when Sunset Curve tragically died, and a stick changed your life. ’96 was spent going through the last five months of pregnancy without Luke.

October 1995

You kept your lips pressed tightly together, unable to look at the smooth, shiny mahogany rectangle surrounded by flowers. Looking up meant the reality kicking in. Funerals sucked. Especially the third funeral in the last handful of days. It was surreal thinking that one week ago you had kissed your boyfriend and hugged your brother and now they were dead. Gone. Not even a goodbye.

“Are you okay?” The broke voice asked, gaining your attention. Swollen red eyes matching yours held unimaginable pain. While the last few months had been icy with your parents, it didn’t mean losing one of their kids didn’t sting.

“I will be.” You whispered clasping your hands over the scratchy black velvet dress, one you had worn three times too many.

The sobs broke out seeing the best picture Alex had taken in his life, it encapsulated his best features; his beaming smile and kind, caring eyes. Alex was gone. Your brother was gone because he ate a bad hot dog with his friends. You would never see your boys again. Never feel Luke’s skin or share a laugh with Alex or complain about things with Reggie. You wouldn’t get to meet in the chapel with Luke wearing second hand ‘fancy’ clothing. In one night, your life changed.

It changed further seeing the two lines on the test later that night. The heartache growing. The baby you carried would never meet his uncles and his Dad. Would never hear them play or learn to play. ’95 and ’96 sucked ass.

You sighed, closing the door to follow the rambunctious ball of energy into the living room where he entertained Mitch and Emily. Some days it was difficult to stare into the green eyes he inherited from his father.

“Benjamin Lucas.” You spoke crossing your arms, meeting the gaze of the eight-year-old boy, “What did I say?”

“To not runoff.” Ben quietly replied, playing with his hands. His messy brown hair, in need of a trim, falling into his eyes, “Sorry Mom.”

“Please don’t do it again.” You gently told the little boy elated as he quickly found the toy box in the corner of the room.

Ben was loved deeply by Mitch and Emily, who had stepped up when your parents made the decision to sell your childhood home. Wanting Ben to know his paternal grandparents, you had struggled to find an apartment and job to say in the neighbourhood. Since the baby was the last part of their son, the Patterson parents’ had welcomed you into the home where you stayed until Ben was two.

“Do you want us to come around for Luke’s birthday?” You questioned sitting on the love seat, the same love seat you had made out on with Luke many times during movies.

The room turned sad at the question and reminded that for the ninth year, you would celebrate Luke’s birthday without him. A day where Ben wouldn’t fully understand. Emily simply nodded her head.

 “Have you met anyone?” Mitch asked, leaning over to clasp his hands together. For the last few years, they had been pushing you to date. They wanted your happiness and for Ben to have a father even if Luke couldn’t be it.

“Mama can we stay here tonight?” Ben’s innocent voice cut the tension, saving you from answering the question again. Mitch and Emily each nodded their heads at the question, unable to tell the young boy no.

“Have you ate?” Emily asked, turning to look at you in concern. The chuckle left your mouth at the question she frequently requested, she missed cooking for more than two.

“We had pasta before we came.” You replied, turning to gaze out the window to the dark sky, “I should put Ben to bed.”

The soft whine from your son and denial was a nightly routine and very much a mirror image to Luke’s character as well. With a smile, Emily held out her hand to her grandchild, she was notoriously the only one able to get Ben to sleep fast.

 “Come on Bug.”

It seemed the universe was keeping Luke from seeing you and discovering Ben, but when that night came, he was shocked. Emily was curled up on the patio couch, watching Ben in the newly bought sandbox. The patio doors opened. Inside, Mitch had invited a stranger who knew his son into the house.

 “I think I heard the doorbell. I’ll be right back.” Emily called out to you. You had found shade under the tree reading a new book.

The soft cry had you up and running to Ben before you even realized, on his knee was a bleeding wound. You had already scooped the boy into your arms to quickly get into the kitchen. The moment your foot stepped into the home, the sound of a familiar voice and song filled the house.

Gently placing Ben on his feet, you followed the sound to the living room. Across the room behind a young girl stood a boy.

“Luke.” You breathed floored at the sight of the teenager who looked exactly like he did back in ’95. The ghost singing widened his eyes at yours, taking in the mature features and change of fashion.

He continued to sing the song Unsaid Emily he had written as an apology to his mom following the last big fight. The song he never got to show her. His voice faded as the ending of the song came around.

“Mama!” Your attention broke from Luke’s when a tiny hand reached for yours. The pain in his voice bringing you back to the most important part of your life, “It hurts Mama.”

Despite being sad, Mitch was the one to cross the room to lift the little boy into his arms. Placing the little boy on the counter, the man gently wet a paper towel to wash the area.

“I think he needs stitches.” Mitch sighed, furrowing his brows.

“Who is that?” Luke asked the Molina girl. The girl shrugged taking in the features she could recognize. Julie asked Emily.

“That’s Ben.” Emily beamed, looking over her shoulder at the little boy that filled the void of Luke’s death. It didn’t fix the wound or erase the pain, but Ben’s existence helped with the loss as he was a precious gift, “When Luke passed away his girlfriend Y/N found out she was pregnant with Luke’s baby.”

The choked sob fell from Luke’s mouth echoed by the thud of his knees, hitting the floor in the pure shock. The heartbreak painted so clear Julie was sure she could feel Luke’s agony.

God, why did Luke have to eat that fucking street dog. Fuck his band dreams. Nothing hurt as bad as finding out about Ben and Y/N having to be a single parent.

“I have a son?” Luke cried, orbing himself as far as he could from the Patterson home and his most tremendous loss.

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[kindness-ricochets]

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Republican National Convention

Corporalki: @monomads @sixofass @nightofviolet

Materialki: @ravenclawsandbeak [x] @incredible-disasters [x] @lystandthefandoms [x]  @plasticbattleaxe [x] 

Summary: Jesper and Wylan meet at a farmers’ convention and, long story short, they might have to overthrow the government.

Jesper was supposed to spend spring break at Nina’s—then a joint turned up in his backpack and his da decided he was coming to the convention instead. He’s miserable and bored until a chance encounter with a shy artist. He never expected to meet someone sweet, gorgeous, and interested in him in the middle of Iowa.

There’s just one tiny problem: Wylan’s father is nationally prominent and openly homophobic.

Ao3 Link 

JESPER

It all started with a joint—a single joint that wasn't even his, that he was only holding for a friend and seeing as he wasn't even friends with that guy anymore, Jesper Fahey was of the opinion that any consequences at all constituted an overreaction. He hadn't said that. He had said it wasn't his, but his da wasn't hearing a word of it. Didn't give Jesper a chance to explain himself, to point out his six months of sobriety and that he was different since leaving rehab. One joint that wasn't even his and Jesper lost any trust he had earned over the past six months. One joint that wasn't even his and instead of spending spring break with his friends, he was spending it at a farming convention. Even though it wasn't Jesper's. Even though he voluntarily took an over-the-counter drug test and proved he was sober. And, sure, he had also got himself a little over-involved in a couple of friendly card games back in December. He wasn't perfect by a far cry, but he wasn't using again. Part of him knew the smart thing to do was behave. Make a point of behaving. But he was bored and felt overwhelmingly stalled as he lay in the dark hotel room, listening to his da snore and staring at the steady light on the smoke detector until he just couldn't . He pushed back the covers and slipped from the room.

Padding down the hallway, Jesper reflected that he probably should have worn his shoes. Or at least his socks. But going back for them risked waking Colm. Jesper had left a note, but he was fairly certain going down to the hotel lobby wasn’t allowed. Doing anything besides sitting in the room watching TV wasn’t allowed. He wasn’t even allowed to eat the stupid M&M’s in the mini-bar! He wished he could have texted Nina about the injustice, her response might have cheered him up, but he couldn't. His phone had been taken away.

Anyway, he didn’t want to worry Colm, who was clearly just as nervous as Jesper was frustrated.    

The elevator doors slid open with a ding and a near-blinding light. Jesper blinked and squinted as he stepped inside—cold, cold elevator floor! Cold!—and jabbed the button for the lobby. When they first arrived, he had been surprised by how non-partisan the lobby was; it seemed like every storefront back home had a poster in it reminding everyone that the election was just a few short months away. Maybe neutrality was a better business practice in Polk County, which tended to go blue by a narrow margin.

Just off the lobby was a cocktail lounge currently in the throes of a swanky, mildly raging party. There were an awful lot of suits in there, gingerly holding glasses of liquid fun. Maybe he could have snuck in, were he not wearing his track pants and a t-shirt sporting his school mascot (“Cornhuskers - Shuck ‘em!”).  

With a sigh, he resigned himself to Starbucks. Would they even serve him in this outfit? The two other patrons looked considerably more respectable. A big, suit-clad lump of blond muscle sat at one table. At another table sat—

Well, hello .

Did this convention just get a little less farmer and a lot more interesting? A dreamy-eyed boy about Jesper’s age sat there, face propped up on his fist with red-gold curls falling over his eyes. One look at those pale, barely-parted lips and Jesper knew he wanted to kiss them. But first thing’s first: he put a little swagger into his step. As he passed the pretty boy’s table, Jesper looked him in the eye, startling him, and winked. The boy turned a very promising shade of pink.

Jesper helped himself to a seat a few moments later.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, sitting there.

“Um… I… I…” the boy stammered, before turning his attention to the muscled lump at the next table. Lump looked about ready to punch one of them. “No—it’s fine. It’s fine. You can sit with me.”

Jesper raised his eyebrows. “How generous."

“I didn’t mean it that way." He was even prettier up close. There was something familiar about him, though Jesper couldn’t quite name what. He had a sketchbook in front of him and a tin of drawing pencils. Now that his fist wasn't propping up his face, he took one of the pencils, though he didn't draw anything, just passed it between his fingers. A red mark lingered on his cheek.

Jesper sipped his coffee. He wondered if Starbucks would be rolling out those "unity cups" again this year, the ones that everyone hated during the last election. It was only March now, so they were the regular cups… and his name had been misspelled.

Jasper .

Freaking Twilight punk behind the counter…

“I’m sure you didn’t…” Jesper dropped his gaze to the pretty boy's cup, looking for his name. Waylon? Really? Jesper sincerely hoped the Twilight punk had miswritten that, no one their age was called Waylon . “…Mister Smithers.”

Pretty Boy was visibly confused, lips slightly parted and brow furrowed like this was life or death as he asked, “What?”

“Didn’t you look at your cup?” Jesper asked, like he hadn’t just only now noticed his own. Unless… “Your name’s not really Waylon, is it?”

Or had he never seen The Simpsons ? That was the only incidence Jesper knew of where someone was actually named Waylon—Waylon Smithers, the assistant character in an increasingly transparent closet.

Pretty Boy burst out laughing. He was unfairly cute laughing. The worry smoothed out of his forehead and his eyes sparkled. A human being shouldn’t have eyes so blue! When he laughed hard enough to start snorting, Pretty Boy blushed and covered his mouth adorably. His eyes were so self-consciously wide, Jesper imagined he didn't even know he had dimples.

“S’okay, anyway. Mine says ‘Jasper’. Nice to meet you, Mister Smithers.” Jesper offered a hand.

Mister Smithers accepted the handshake, looked Jesper dead in the eye and said, “You too, Mister Hale.”

Jesper laughed. “I try being nice to someone and that’s what I get!” he cried. “That’s the last time I’m nice!”

“Bet it’s not,” Mister Smithers said.

Jesper couldn’t stop the way his eyebrow quirked in interest— you bet? How much? But he stamped down the inclination. The poker incident was months behind him and he did not fancy a repeat.

Instead, he gave a determinedly confident scoff.

At home, a challenge like that would have been met, and he missed his friends all over again. Nina would have tried to make him be nicer—maybe by taking his cookies hostage at lunch. Or just making him laugh. Kaz would have rolled his eyes, sighed, or found another way to indicate he thought Jesper’s humor was stupid, but they both knew he could talk Jesper into any crazy thing. Kaz could be a pain in the ass sometimes.

Mister Smithers was not Nina or Kaz, and looked momentarily unsure how to respond to Jesper. Jesper had hoped he might go for some aggressive flirting, but given how frequently he blushed, flirting might be more Jesper’s line of work here. That was okay. He just needed to find out if his attention was welcome. It wasn’t easy to resist Jesper Fahey, with his handsome face and sparkling personality—he would be the first to tell you—but some guys are just straight. Which would be tragic, because he felt like there was already a spark between them.

He could have asked. Instead, Jesper sipped his coffee. The whipped cream was starting to melt into it. While he drank, he kept his attention on Smithers. He looked less than at ease, his gaze mostly fixed on the pencil he was fidgeting between his fingers, glancing now and again to Jesper, then back to the pencil.  

Smithers cleared his throat. “So, uh, a-are you here for the convention?” he asked. Between that and the creamy linen of the button-down shirt tucked into his khakis, Jesper guessed this wasn't another farmer's son. A not insignificant portion of the convention was about trying to sell; Smithers didn't dress like someone who got his hands dirty. "I'm here with my da," Jesper said, "he mostly grows field corn. The past couple years he's been growing corn to be used as fuel." He slipped the heat sleeve off his cup and began picking it into little pieces. "Really?" Of course it was biofuel that got Smithers to set down his pencil and focus on Jesper. Hands folded on his sketchbook, fingers still from his knuckles to his bitten nails. "I didn't think biofuels were profitable." "They're not," Jesper admitted, "yet. There's a satellite campus of the university near where I live, Da works with them. He's only able to grow anything as biofuel because of their money." Was he really talking about biofuels right now, literally the least flirty thing on the planet? But Smithers was sitting up straight like an eager student, drinking in every word, so Jesper tried to remember more of what he'd heard. The trouble was that it kept coming back to money. He kept having to explain, and maybe it would have helped if the boy sitting across from him could stop with those bobble-head nods that made his curls flop over his eyes and the occasional slip of teeth over his lower lip as he really focused. Colm couldn't afford to just grow an experimental fuel, though. That was very, very real for them. "Their legal department is like one guy," Jesper said, finding some, any excuse to veer away from finances. "He's brilliant, though. He once—I swear this is true, he went into a meeting with… the governor's office, I think, to negotiate down a fine and talked them in circles so much they ended up paying him ." Smithers' eyebrows rose. No… not Smithers. Jesper didn't like that nickname for him anymore and bought time sipping his coffee. He liked his face. It was so expressive, the way his thin lips parted in shock, or his brow furrowed in confusion like everything Jesper said was important to understand, or that one time Jesper said Steve King's name and his nose scrunched so delicately. "Is that what you want to do? Be a lawyer?" Maybe it was because Jesper was distracted that he slipped up and said, "I don't have the grades, but sometimes it's nice to think about a job other than farming." Not that he wanted to go into law, either, he just wanted options . He wanted… he wanted things he had thrown away himself, but that didn't make their absence easier. Jesper cleared his throat and went quiet for a moment. He didn't notice the other boy reaching for him until cool fingers alit gently on his hand. He didn't hold his hand or squeeze, just gave a gentle touch.

Then, suddenly, Smithers took his hand away and lowered his eyes, and that sense of familiarity was back. There was something in his veiled look and carefully neutral expression that Jesper recognized, enough to distract him from how long his eyelashes were. Definitely back to being Pretty Boy.

No… Cutie. He was more a Cutie than a Pretty Boy.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I didn’t mean to—“

“Hey,” Jesper interrupted, "it's okay."

"You looked tragically alone," he said, but it didn't sound judgmental or sarcastic. He seemed to genuinely mean that.  

Jesper had to smile. “You’re something, Cutie." The other boy looked away with a shake of his head, and Jesper took the opportunity to consider this new perspective. There was something fragile in him, like the pieces that made him up were independently ready to run away, like his faint freckles and turned-away gaze. The traits that weren't halfawy gone only made him prettier, like the long eyelashes. Jesper wasn't objecting, simply seeing the questioning in him. He perched in his seat like he might float away, the tips of his long fingers pressed against his sketchbook like an anchor. That was enough talk about the realities of biofuel farming. "So, what do you draw?”

“Oh, just—I’m not really good.”

“I bet you are.”

“Might as well just give me your money.”

“Hey, I’ll take a forfeit. Do I get a peek in that sketchbook along with it?”

"No way!"

"Don't be shy. C'mon, you're probably like Vermeer."

"I'm really not—"

"More of a Monet?"

He blushed. Making him blush was so much fun, especially since now he looked at Jesper with surprising determination. "Not him either."

"Manet?"

"You have eclectic taste."

"Got 'em from Ocean's Eleven," Jesper admitted.

"Well, they're all painters."

"And you are...?"

"I like to draw. With pencils."

"So you're like a comic book artist?"

"No!" Ooh, he'd hit a nerve. "I want to be a real artist, like… like Cath Riley. She works with graphite and she's a realist, she draws things that look like photographs. What she can do with just pencils… it's amazing. Some of my favorites are pictures she's drawn of two hands, one hovering over the other, they're not touching but they're so close to touching, there's electricity between them. The detail in her work? She draws every wrinkle, flexing tendon, the hairs on a knuckle. She must—she must just see everything, take in everything around her, and she recreates in this way that… it's real, but somehow has a quality of, of a dream at the same time, and she rarely does any backgrounds so instead of being the focus, her subjects are starkly isolated."

Jesper only vaguely understood most of that. Sure, the words made sense, but he didn't understand why it was special that someone drew wrinkled hands. He wasn't trying to understand, either. He was too busy watching Cutie. Suddenly he was just… lit up. His eyes sparkled. He was flushed an entirely different sort of pink and his chapped lips moved around the words like they wanted to hold onto them. He was so animated that his curls bounced when he talked. Making him blush was fun, but making him light up? Jesper had a warm, melting feeling just watching him, and he realized distantly what a goofy smile he was wearing and he didn't even care.

"...if, if that made any sense." His excited pink was already fading to an embarrassed one.

"Absolutely!" Jesper said. "Totally made sense. What else?" "What?" "Come on. Cath Riley. Tell me more about her." Before Cutie had a chance to respond, a voice from behind him said, “Time to go, Jes.” Jesper froze, then slumped his shoulders. He had almost forgotten how entirely grounded he was, having a nice time talking to a cute boy, but his da’s voice sounded utterly unamused. This wasn’t the time to try to wheedle extra minutes. He realized he had shredded the coffee's heat sleeve to a pile of depressing confetti and scooped it into one hand to throw out. Jesper slid out of his seat and grabbed his coffee. "Room number?" "Fifte—" The muscled lump cleared his throat. Cutie closed his mouth. If his da hadn't been there, Jesper might have needed to get in his face. “It was nice meeting you," Jesper said. “Likewise. Maybe I’ll see you around.” Jesper tossed one final wink and Cutie’s resulting smile almost made up for what came next. Almost.

---------------- Colm Fahey was more than capable of shouting. He didn't do it often, but he was capable—Jesper knew from multiple incidents throughout his childhood. Jesper didn't like being shouted at, but he would take it over the quietness he faced these days. When Colm was quietly angry, Jesper felt so much more alone. He felt keenly that he had disappointed his father. That he had hurt him. "Da?" Jesper ventured after too many moments of sitting quietly at the end of his bed. He hadn't tried to explain wandering off in the middle of the night. That was Jesper's contribution, his own broken quiet. The knowing that he had disappointed his father too many times and sometimes he should just shut his mouth and not make it worse. Colm had been pacing the small room. Now he stopped and turned to Jesper. Jesper couldn't help noticing the tiredness in his face. "Were you anywhere else?" "No. I just went for a coffee." "And that boy, was he… were you…" "No! I saw a cute guy, that's all!" Colm nodded. "Okay," he said. "All right, Jes." Jesper had wandered down to the lobby Starbucks in his pajamas. Colm showed up in jeans and a sweater at midnight, and Jesper knew it wasn't his concern for appearances. It was because he thought he might need to go looking for his son beyond the hotel lobby. "I woke up and you weren't here. What was I supposed to think?" It wasn't that Jesper hadn't noticed, just like he hadn't noticed the gray in his father's hair or the tiredness in his face. It wasn't that he hadn't tried . It was just… His mouth acted without his brain's consent and said, "You could have texted me if you hadn't confiscated my phone." Jesper winced at himself. He was trying. He was trying not to make it worse. But… —did his da need his phone? Did he think a guy could google where to score coke and it was that simple? "I couldn't sleep. What did you want me to do? Lie there and listen to you snoring for another six hours? You want the lamp off to sleep, you don't want me to have a phone…" Colm sighed. He sat heavily on the second bed and said, "I know it's not easy." It wasn't. Sometimes Jesper wished his da were more like the parents on TV or in books, someone to shout because I said so or just do what I tell you . Even when Da shouted, it was more about how Jesper could have gotten himself hurt. Now he just sounded worn down. Jesper dropped his head. "I'm sorry." "I know." "Not just about tonight." Colm was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I know that, too. You can keep the lamp on." "I'm… I'm tired now."

(End of Chapter One)

(The character's views on comic book artists do not reflect the author's. The character's views on Cath Riley, however, are spot on.)

[amphtaminedreams]

S/S 2020 Fashion Month: A Basic, Uneducated Fashion Heaux’s A-Z of Everything Noteworthy (Part 2/3)

Hi to anyone reading,

Back at it again with the giving my unsolicited opinion on 2020′s spring/summer offering, I’m gonna hop straight into part 2 of my fashion month review!

Sorry to start with an underwhelming few but my compulsive tendencies are making it really hard to break out of this alphabetical structure (cry laughs whilst thinking about how long it took me to face up at my retail job last night because it would give me vaguely homicidal urges and make my fingers tingle every time a customer moved something slightly out of line), so I’m gonna whizz through a handful of collections. First up, Halpern:

Not much to say but I’m envious of the heavy liner (my hooded eyes could never) and I like the colour scheme. As for the 80s style metallic pink dress?

Helmut Lang:

And Hermes:

Of these 3 collections, Hermes is definitely the most interesting. I like the colour scheme and the utilitarian shapes and the tan coloured jackets are an absolute shoot. This is how you make safari look fresh, D&G take note.

Isabel Marant was okay. It’s cute, sure, reminds me of something Mary-Kate and Ashley would’ve come out with/worn in the 2000s, and there’s definitely some things I would wear, but I wouldn’t say it looks all that luxury. Pricey, sure, but like, Free People pricey, not designer pricey. As a collection, it’s not all that conceptual, unless the concept is L.A girl does a Starbucks run after her bikram yoga class. What I will say though is that some of the S/S 2020 commercial trends are becoming clear: white cheesecloth pieces, peasant blouses, cowboy boots, scrappy sandals, neutral tones, and bandana print. 

Now onto the darling of high fashion Twitter: Jacquemus.

As far as presentation goes, this has to be one of my favourite set-ups of the season; a hot pink runway running through a lavender meadow is as canny and serene as those who sing the praises of Simon Porte Jacquemus would have you expect, and the clothes were easy, breezy and beautiful, even if there is an element of getting dressed in the dark going on with the styling which put me off including a few otherwise gorgeous pieces. It might not be 100% my style but you can tell this is a brand of the future which is only going to go from strength to strength.

And everything was beautifully and purposefully crafted on the runway with J.W Anderson this year. The pieces are graceful and timeless whilst still easy to envision as something a modern woman would throw on to (very fashionably) run some errands in the city. This was also one of the handful of shows (IIRC! This might be a case of extreme deja-vu!) where we saw the sandal straps tied over the trousers, I’m guessing to accentuate the ankles, and...I’m surprisingly here for it? Though in a sense it kinda resembles when I accidentally get my work trousers tucked into my slipper socks, it’s an interesting touch and adds a bit of a shape to otherwise billowing bottom halves.

Following Jacquemus’ lead (or vice versa, I’m way too deep into this fashion month haze to work out who went first at this point), Lacoste also put on a co-ed show. Otherwise crisp and preppy as per, the neckerchiefs (even if seeing them all next to one another does give off a bit of a Disneyland Main Street barbershop quartet vibe) and vinyl/wet-look/PVC/I’m still not sure what differentiates the 3 coats were an out of the box touch for them and I really liked it. It’s athleisure, but more like something Hayley Bieber would’ve worn as part of her Princess Diana inspired shoot than anything I’d wear to the gym.

LMAO, as if I go the gym. But you get my point. Next, Loewe:

Delicate, feminine and all around delightful, the S/S 2020 Loewe collection is up there with Chloe and Brock when it comes to most spring appropriate. More chiffon, lace and doily-like detailing, please, the old woman in me lives for this kinda thing made fashionable. Like with J.W Anderson, you can tell the design team wanted to do something different without just throwing shit onto their pieces for the sake of being wacky, and so we end up with these dramatic, slightly geometric waistlines and almost angelic Victorian nightgown inspired dresses that kinda make me wished that 1). ghosts existed and that 2). I lived back in that era so I could die some tragic death wearing any one of the dresses on the left in the top 3 rows and then haunt the shit out of everyone. That would really be an iconic fashion moment. Also wonderful, imo, was Louis Vuitton:

The mix between 60s and Edwardian I never knew I needed, as opposed to Gucci’s forward thinking take on the former decade, Louis Vuitton takes it back even further and throws in late 19th/early 20th century structures and references. I adore the what seems to be a mix between brocade and paisley print and the exaggerated collars are a very cute touch. The jacket on the top left is a highlight, a more neutral version of the similar catsuit seen at the Longchamp show (I couldn’t personally pick enough highlights from that to include it), and I now more than ever really want to try and pull off a sweater vest. The shoes might not be the most exciting thing ever but they’re also a personal favourite, from the knee high boots to the loafers with the LV moniker.

Maison Margiela was very cool and again, I’m in love with the shoes and just the accessories in general, ESPECIALLY those hats. I don’t know if I’m way off base here but this show is almost a modernised, fashionable version of a 1940s period drama about WW2 pilots and evacuees. Yes, maybe I am just getting that solely from the trench coats and the naval influences and the exaggerated collars but I think with that list I made quite a case for that perspective, right? Right.

And completing this holy trinity (appropriating the term I usually reserve for Emma Watson, Emma Stone and Emma Roberts is not without careful consideration) is Marc Jacobs. One of my ultimate favourites of this season, this collection is absolutely EVERYTHING: kitschy, dream-like, whimsical, over-the-top, and totally appropriate for your slightly eccentric aunt who always drinks too much wine and talks a lot of shit every time she comes over for dinner. I really feel like I walked into wonderland looking at this collection, and in the best way possible, it gives me a female Russell Brand in the 2000s’ wardrobe on crack. On the one hand we have these insanely beautiful and ethereal chiffon floral dresses but then we also have fricken top hats. Basically, it’s everything I love about fashion and I don’t know if anything can top it. Periodt (and I type that with a totally straight face). 

Next, onto another personal fave, Marchesa:

Which is as always, beautiful. I was going to write that if Disney princesses came to life and lived in the modern world (so, in other words, Elle Fanning), they would be wearing Marchesa and then I remembered that the film Enchanted exists and had a lightbulb moment and thought OH MY GOD IF THEY REMADE THAT IN 2019, THE DRESS ON THE RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE ROW WOULD BE A PERFECT LEVELLING UP OF THE CURTAIN DRESS.

Anyways, favourites of the favourites are the bottom row; I would die for that feather trim. 

BUT where Marchesa is everything opulent, overly ornate and err-ing on “fussy”, Margaret Howell’s S/S 2020 collection is completely stripped back and just as effective, if not as to my taste. Very cool, very current, and altogether effortless (in a good way!), with this show Margaret Howell made mid-20th century utilitarianism relevant. I never thought I’d be praising the combination of bermuda shorts, crew socks and a beanie and yet here I am. Character development.

Next is Marine Serre:

Which I really like! The bottom row isn’t really to my personal taste but I can acknowledge that if I saw somebody wearing any one of those outfits I’d think they looked sick, and as for the first two rows, those mesh tops and the slightly chintzy florals are right up my alley.

Marques Almeida put out a really strong collection, imo. The blending of luxurious silhouettes and fabrics with street wear inspired prints and styling is a really interesting and unique contrast and if Billie Eilish ever decided to stop wearing those tweenie clothes and wanted to actually seduce somebody’s dad (I LOVE BILLIE EILISH AND I KNOW WHY SHE DRESSES THE WAY SHE DOES, IT’S A JOKE, PLS DON’T HATE ME), I’d love to see her wearing something like this. It’s a blend of punk, urban, and 2019 e-girl and has the kind of edge that Topshop has lost over the past couple of years that used to make it so aspirational to my 13 year old self. Of all the shows, it also probably has the most personally wearable accessories, and a shit tonne of cool make up looks I’d love to try if it weren’t for my lack of visible eyelid, lol.

Make up looks were a highlight of the Max Mara show too, for me anyway.

I otherwise wasn’t hugely keen on the collection, it being a little too matronly/Miss.Trunchbull-esque for my liking (wild card fashion inspiration of 2019, apparently?). The light paisley print dresses are very dreamy, though, and I can never resist a good suit. 

As for Michael Kors, dare I say it, but the basic bitch in me loved it. I know as a designer he’s not held in very high regard by the fashion community and I'm not saying it’s at all original but it did what it set out to do well; I mean, it’s quite fitting that he cameo-d in an episode of Gossip Girl because every outfit would be perfect for the Constance attending incarnation of Blair Waldorf, which is probably why I like the collection. Like yeah, it’s a bit of a Polo Ralph Lauren/Lacoste rip off but it’s daintier and more feminine and so I’m not gonna lie, I’m on board with it. 

Next, Miu Miu.

One of the collections I was most excited for, I was a little disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, I really like the collection, but I have never once disliked anything Miu Miu and I usually love it. There are things I love about this line too: the cream, floral lace-up boots, the off-the-shoulder cardigans, the houndstooth oversized coats and of course the fur-lined gilets. My mum used to buy me similar ones when I was a little girl and so they give me childhood nostalgia in the best way possible. I mean, the collection is as girly and eccentric as ever. I think it’s just a little too on the primary school librarian side for me, this time round. Sorry Miu Miu xoxo

Now I’m just gonna speed through a couple, starting with MM6 Maison Margiela, the younger sister to the more expensive regular Maison Margiela line:

And Monique Lhuillier:

So that I can get to one of my other ultimate favourite collections for S/S 2020: Moschino.

Oh my god, where to even start. Firstly, I might be reaching, but if this show is even remotely to thank for art nouveau mesh tops showing up in the Urban Outfitters new in section, then a very sarcastic thank you to Jeremy Scott. You just made ethical shopping a lot harder. HOW am I supposed to not buy an Alphonse Mucha top? HOW!? I mean, I’m sure I’ll manage (I’m on month 3 without a shopping spree I can’t actually afford now and yes, I am very much patting myself on the back), but HOW!?

But on a serious level, if renaissance was the print of 2019, which I’m still very much into BTW, bring on modern art as its 2020 replacement. The Pablo Picasso inspired show not only livened up a generally pretty predictable fashion month but it’s also got me searching up other times art has met fashion on the runway and thrown me down a particularly aesthetically pleasing wormhole I’m not sure I ever want to escape from (https://frontrowmagazine.ca/art-inspired-looks-were-all-over-the-runways-of-fashion-week-a74e8bc7ff0d and https://www.vogue.com/article/spring-2017-ready-to-wear-fine-arts-trends are good starting points!).

Mugler was also up there with the best of them, imo:

See, if the Moschino collection was all about dabbling in art class, Mugler’s S/S 2020 collection is its more mathematically inclined sister, all about sharp lines and deconstructed silhouettes and symmetry all whilst looking hot as fuck. So very Mugler, basically. 

Now, this reference might be slightly off because I haven’t actually SEEN Ex-Machina yet but I imagine if Kim Kardashian were to channel that movie for a costume party she’d end up wearing something from this collection. That sounds like a roast because Kim has worn some questionable outfits but I blame Kanye for most of that and I’m referring to her on a good fashion day, alright!?

As for Off-White, it’s obviously a lot more commercial than most of the lines I’ve reviewed so far. Like, I can see a lot of these outfits on a mannequin in Urban Outfitters (no, I am not being paid to namedrop them, about 3 people in total read this Tumblr so any kind of sponsorship money would be severely wasted on me). That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and I love all of these looks; it just seems unfair to compare them to the the Mugler or Moschino collections, for example. 

The stand outs for me are all on the bottom row: I would buy the utility vest, leather blazer and the all mesh turtleneck under washed-out tie-dye on the spot if I saw them in a high street store. Unfortunately, I feel like that’s kinda where they belong. You just expect collections to be a bit more conceptual, and this one is a little watered down, as much as it’s my style.

Oscar de la Renta was beautiful, of course. Not like I’m shook by how beautiful it is but kinda just what you’d expect from a brand with a name as poetic and fun to say as Oscar de la Renta. The silhouettes are dreamy and the details are as fit for a fairy princess (lmao) as ever. Plus can I just say how happy I am to see butterflies on dresses for adult women again!? And dresses worn by Blanca Padilla nonetheless!? Very here for it.

Next up is another on one of my fashion month highlights: Paco Rabanne.

LOOK AT THIS SHIT!

I mean, don’t get me wrong, something about this collection (I’m pretty sure it’s the knee high coloured socks) is giving me primary school teacher vibes, but I'm not mad about it. It’d be the kind of teacher who’s actually really good at their job and has loads of cool hobbies and a really hot boyfriend or girlfriend or wife or husband who you secretly want to be then you grow up/and or have a huge crush on. 

Like with Marc Jacobs, there’s obvious flower child elements here, and whilst on the whole the former took my breath away slightly more, this is a lot more wearable. My favourites are the paisley print dress and cape on the left in the very bottom row and all the chainmail pieces (which remind me of the dress Naomi Smalls wore in that whole club ninety-sixxxxx skit on drag race), plus that floral cut out dress with the trailing flute sleeves, which is absolute PERFECTION. 

The 70s influence was clear in Peter Pilotto’s S/S 2020 collection too from the abundance of tie-dye to the knit v-neck dress, zany colour and print being the very on-brand focus. That being said, this is definitely more of a street-style inspired collection than usual and whilst the floral suits and dresses on the 3rd row down are very typical Peter Pilotto, the tie-dye corset and combat trousers on the far right, second row from the bottom, are very Jaded London. As for the reoccurrence of the bucket hat, I’ve remained steadfastly against them for several years now (even when our Lord and Saviour Miss Robyn Rihanna Fenty started wearing them) but the way they’re done in this collection even I could definitely get behind; all in all, the show surpassed my expectations.

The same goes for Ports 1961, which was a lot more eccentric than I gathered is the norm from a few google searches. Honestly, I hadn’t really heard of the brand which, upon reading up on it, I feel very dumb for considering it has been around since (in the shock twist of the century) 1961.

Yes, I know how that sounds! But forgive me, I’m still learning:)

Anyway, the fishnet detailing alone pretty much sold the looks I picked out. Seriously, I got a pair of those bloody tights, like, 2 years ago when they became a thing again and now any outfit where I have my legs out feels incomplete without them. 

Next is Prabal Gurung, which, as far as presentation goes, was fucking STUNNING:

I mean, you could say that I’m easily impressed and that the presence of the bouquets won me over (and you’d definitely have a point there), but it’s also this year’s Givenchy haute couture-esque feathers, the trailing pearl necklaces, the exaggerated shoulders, the dreamy colouring, the everything looking like it could’ve grown off a very fashionably-inclined tree. Like, there’s a lot to love here, from the naturalistic elements, to the context behind the show, an ode to American fashion history and those cast out of it (and the notion of “being American” in general) for so long. 

Going from a high to a (personal) low, however, next we have Prada:

I don’t know, I get that it’s supposed to be simple and stripped back and dignified and whatever and I like the looks I picked but it’s just a bit blah for me. The bonnets that kept cropping up just didn’t do it for me and almost ruined what is an otherwise nice skirt suit (top right). Nonetheless, I like the silhouette of the sheer black dress and the the brocade print suit is really luxurious looking, even if the pattern is a *little* Wetherspoons carpet. 

Anyways, here’s a quick overview of Rag and Bone:

So that I can stop moaning and get onto a collection I REALLY liked: 

I am of course talking about Ralph and Russo. See, this is kinda what I expected from, like, Chanel and yet it’s Ralph and Russo that delivered. Also, it gives me Alessandra Rich vibes which is very much a compliment considering how much I love her designs. I mean, if Valley of the Dolls were to get another film remake in 2019, this is exactly what I’d like to see the female leads wearing, from the pastel suits to the satin kaftan style dresses. The yellow feather trimmed dress is practically a copy of something Marchesa has already done but it’s cute all the same. In my top 10 collections of the season, for sure.

Rick Owens was another strong collection; it goes without saying that it’s not the most wearable but that’s not really what Rick Owens is known for, so I wouldn’t expect anything else. If you want fashion on an alien planet, or something Lady Gaga would’ve worn in 2010, he's your man.

Next, Rodarte:

Obviously the dresses are beautiful and the set is magnificent, BUT...I’m really not a fan of the whole celebrities filling in for high fashion models thing. I like Lili Reinhart and I adore Kirsten Dunst, she’s been in a load of my favourite films, but in a similar vein to Dolce and Gabbana’s influencer show, it’s just distracting from the actual garments, if even worse because I don’t WANT to be distracted here (the same can’t be said for the D&G show, lol).  If anybody has read this far, let me know your thoughts! 

Roland Mouret was nice, and I always like a coed show, especially when a designer isn’t afraid to blur the lines of masculine and feminine. It’s fresh, lightweight and luxurious looking, Cannes film festival street style eat your heart out, and I love the colour palette.

Similarly, colour was my favourite thing about Sally LaPointe’s S/S 2020 collection. 

I would never think that teal and burnt orange would work together, let alone in some kind of faux leather, and yet here we are. Orange is in itself always an interesting colour choice, perfect for the summer with a tan, and I really love monochrome outfits, even though they’re something that ends up being quite pricey to put together; slight differences in tone are okay but if you just randomly throw together a few things and they’re too off, it really doesn’t work and you’d have been better off wearing contrasting colours. For that reason, I’m just gonna admire that all-pink outfit from a distance. 

As for Schiaparelli, it’s one I always look forwards to for the sheer weirdness. RTW isn’t quite as kooky as haute couture but still, the interesting choices are still there; what at first glance appears to be flame print is actually coils of hair, and paired with a water print suit is a sequinned jacket emblazoned with a paradisiacal mirage. Ornament-like facial decorations as seen in the over-exaggerated glasses worn with the pony hair suit are also one of my favourite new things to happen in the high fashion scene in the past couple of months and I can’t wait to see how they get watered down to become more approachable for us...regular, non-structurally blessed folks who can’t pull off anything and everything.

Simone Rocha was STUNNING. Romantic and ethereal, it’s druid goddess crossed with upper class Victorian woman of leisure, equal parts delicate and grungy, like a modern, fashion version of Lady Gaga’s Scathach in the Roanoke season of American Horror Story. You know, in the flashbacks, not in present day when she was all gross and like...scalping people and shit. Each dress is so ornate and has such an interesting structure, and the fabric choices give off an organic kinda vibe that create a handmade feel; the collection is, imo, really worthy of being shown under a haute couture heading. When it comes to my favourite element of the show, I’m torn between the petticoats and the hair accessories. I’m just gonna give a cop-out answer and say both. 

Stella McCartney on the other hand, is very much a clear ready-to-wear collection. 

It’s pretty, for sure. The pastel blazers paired with delicate white mesh tops underneath are a gorgeous combination for spring and I like the reoccurrence of the chain glasses (Gucci, right?). But I mean, when you go from Simone Rocha to this, it’s a bit anticlimactic. Plus, if I’m honest, kaftans are always going to remind me of Honey Mahogany from season 5 of Drag Race. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she’s a lovely person but her runway looks aren’t really ones I look back fondly on, and you’re lying if you say you enjoyed them for anything other than meme purposes.

Temperley is equally meh, though the return of the Erdem-style boating hats is getting me excited that high street retailers might actually pick up on the trend and bring out some cheap ones for me to embarrass myself by wearing. 

I also love a good 70s suit, the neckerchiefs are cute and there are some really delightful prints here that are a more unique approach to florals for spring.

Coming towards the end now, next is Thom Browne:

I LOVE this. Like, don’t get me wrong Rick Owens was cool but I adore how on the nose the concept is here; time to bring back all the Marie Antoinette puns I didn’t get to use in my Versailles Instagram post. I don’t know if it’s the history buff in me or the Sofia Coppola Stan but I will always be willing to sign any kind of treaty for anything related to the excesses of the 18th century French monarchy, and this is that turned up to 1000 infused with a dash of the Teletubbies, which sounds like a nightmarish concept, I know, but as high fashion it WORKS.

Tory Burch was very commercial, seemingly half inspired by Monterey yoga moms and the other half by Hamptons socialites. 

And then there was Valentino, which was fucking exquisite, imo. LIKE, CALLING DOCLE & GABBANA: THIS IS HOW YOU MAKE TROPICAL PRINT INTERESTING. YOU MAKE THE VELVET MONKEY’S ARM THE FRICKEN WAISTBAND. 

Seriously, though, I am enamoured with this colour palette; all the whites and golds are angelic and fr, I didn’t know until now that you could make neons this elegant. I’m also getting an almost clerical feel from a lot of these looks, with the plaited waistband on the black dress that’s 7th row down in the middle, the stunning red cape and the multitude of exaggerated neck ruffs. I think I’ve mentioned before but I always love religious references in clothing-I don’t think I’ll ever get over the 2018 Met Gala-and so whether I’m reading too much into it or not, this collection really did it for me.

Whilst it’s probably as far removed a collection from Valentino’s S/S 2020 contribution you can get, I also loved Vera Wang this season. It might purely (I PROMISE THIS IS MY LAST GOSSIP GIRL REFERENCE) be because it gives me Jenny Humphrey vibes and *controversial* she did have my favourite style of any of the main characters, but sue me, this is just the right amount of late 90s/early 2000s grunge. Deconstructed trashy goth it girl is an interesting concept to see on the runway and I completely support it. 

Versace on the other hand was very hit or miss. The looks I picked out I really loved but ultimately, for one of the household name brands, a lot of the actual garments were a bit pedestrian. I will say though that for me, it’s a case of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. The slicked back mermaid hair and the pops of colour in the makeup and the interesting necklines meant that when it was good, it was GOOD. However, overall, still a bit too 80s Miami businesswoman, and please GOD, can we leave that hideous J-Lo dress in the past, it should really not be the climax of the show in 20-fucking-19!

As for Victoria Beckham, I liked it, but it’s a bit of a Gucci copy, no? And no way near as interesting?

And on that note, I’m gonna have to cut this off. Super annoying but with only 5 collections left that I want to talk about, Tumblr is being a little bitch and will not let me add anything more to this post. So, see you in 5 for the final post!

Lauren x

[helvelloides-archive]

Merry Christmas // Happy Holidays to everyone!!~

A few days ago I reached 100 followers, and had been trying to think of something to do to celebrate that, as I don’t actually have all that much to offer xD. So, to line it up with the holidays, I’ve decided I’m going to share probably the longest piece of my writing that I’ve ever shared on here.

The piece I’m sharing is what I wrote during NaNo as the epilogue of my wip ‘To Girls and Beginnings’, but is going to actually end up being the beginning of the second book in the series. This, of course, is both first draft work and NaNo work, so it’s not the height of all writing, but it’s something I’m really proud of, and I felt like it would be a great way to not only celebrate, but to show you guys a bit of what I’ll be working on more in the new decade.

Hope you guys enjoy!~

- Writing and taglist under the cut-

The city was so different from anything Juniper could’ve expected. It was all bright lights and busy streets and a never ending energy. She laughed as she thought this, bobbing and weaving through the crowd. Her hair was a bright shade of blue again, her sweater old and worn as hitched her bag bag up her shoulder, narrowly dodging someone on her right. It wasn’t bad though, the busy-ness. If anything, it actually made Juniper feel more alive.

Eventually, she made a turn off of the busier streets, slowing her pace as she walked down a much quieter sidewalk, her eyes trained on the signs above her head. There it was. The old, worn sign that pictured a stack of books swung peacefully above picturesque glass windows and a charming scarlet red door. 

Stepping up to the door, Juniper swung it open, taking in a deep breath as she stepped inside. It was a quaint little place, the bookstore was. Filled to the brim with dust and nostalgia,as the owner would always tell her.

“Hey! So you finally decided to show up, huh?” Her boss said as he stepped out from a door at the back of the store. He was a stout little old man, with a perpetually grumpy face and an even grumpier personality.  

“I’m three minutes late.” Juniper snarked. At the continued glare of her boss, though, she simply laughed, ducking her head. “Apologies, boss. There was a lot of traffic out there today!”

“Yeah, yeah. Excuses,” He grumbled, shaking his head. Regardless, he waved his hand at her as he stepped out from behind the counter. “Get to work. I’ll be back later.”

“You got it, boss!” Juniper chirped, brushing past him and heading behind the cash register as she heard the telltale jingle of the door bells. She carefully set her bag down, before sitting down herself at the stool by the register.

It was quiet most days, and she could sit there for hours before anyone else ever entered the store sometimes. Juniper didn’t mind it, though. What she had once despised with a better part of her being, she had now come to love. It didn’t hurt like it used to. The loneliness or the thinking. It still hurt, most definitely. Just not as much, nor in the same terrible way that it used to.

It was kind of funny actually, Juniper thought. How much had changed in her life in the few months since she left her home of White Bleak Point. It had only been eight months since Charity’s incredibly tragic death, but each passing day felt more like a lifetime now. She still missed Charity, of course. Enough so that sometimes she would lay in bed at night, wide awake, thinking about her. Missing her. Still, she realized that it got easier, the more time that went by.

She wondered sometimes, how the Roche Labs buildings had been since she left. How that man had been. If he was still there. If she’d ever fully understand what AJ had meant. That was hard too, she supposed. Leaving with so many questions and so few answers. She tried not to let that bother her too much. She figured that it, like many things, was better off left alone.

Juniper continued like that, lost in her thoughts as the hours passed her by. It wasn’t bad, though. It was actually rather nice, being able to get lost in her thoughts like this. In a place that felt more like a home than any actual home had ever felt to her. For the first time in almost a year - and she realized then that maybe it had been longer than she had thought - she felt like she could breathe.

It was then, of course, that she was startled out of thoughts by the jingling of the bell above the door. At first, she had thought that it was just her boss, returning from wherever he headed off to today. When she looked up, though, Juniper was surprised to find herself face to face with a young woman that she had never seen before. She looked to be around Juniper’s own age, maybe a bit older, with startling blue eyes that took Juniper’s breath away for all the wrong reasons.

She was also holding a book. Clutching it even. That was odd, as people didn’t usually come to return books, especially not people who Juniper was growing increasingly more convinced had never been here before. Now that she looked at the woman closer, Juniper began to realize that she actually looked rather panicked, constantly looking back over her shoulder towards the door. Before Juniper could say anything to her, though, the woman looked her in the eyes and placed the book down onto the counter, pushing it towards her. 

It was only then that the woman smiled, something small and surprisingly unsettling. “I’ll see you soon, Brandt.”

Before Juniper could even begin to process what had just happened, the woman gracefully vaulted over the counter and slipped through the door to the backroom, leaving Juniper alone once more. How did this woman know who she was? Why did she care? Should Juniper be going after her?

Looking down at the book sitting on the counter in front of her, Juniper huffed. What kind of bullshit game was this? The book, it’s cover terribly worn down, nearly unreadable at this point, clearly wasn’t one of the store’s. Lifting the cover, careful to not destroy the book that seemed a mere breath away from falling apart, Juniper considered that might just be some stupid prank or dare. It wouldn’t be the first time that she had seen college kids acting stupid in her time working here. She should really just get up and throw the book away before her boss-

‘RUN’

It was impossible not to see the words written in bright red marker across the first page of the book. And despite her mind desperately trying to remind her that this was probably all just a sick joke. That it didn’t mean anything. Juniper found that she couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in her gut as she stared down at the word.

Taking a deep breath, she looked up towards the front door. Only to gasp as she made direct eye contact with a man wearing all black. Fuck. Alright, so maybe her life wasn’t quite as good as she thought. 

Taglist (Ask to be added or removed): @panic-at-my-sexuality​ @queen-of-ice101​ @beanenigma​ @carnationwrites​ @ofbrokenwords​ 

[texanredrose]

Communication is Key

A commission for @psychicrebelartisan! Based on a joke.

Ruby narrowed her eyes, flipping her pencil around to erase the last line she’d written. Blake laid on her best, entirely engrossed in her latest book while Yang did push-ups between their expertly crafted- if she did say so herself- bunk beds. A nice, calm weekend filled with some quality downtime that each of them spent in their own way.

Well, honestly, she’d rather not be spending her morning studying for their upcoming test in Grimm Studies, but her partner had them on a bit of a schedule. Seeing as Weiss had gone off to the combat rooms two hours ago, Ruby either had to study now or get an earful and then study, which always kinda put a damper on the whole thing.

“Did you know that Creepers can congregate into colonies of more than two hundred?”

“I thought it was one-fifty?” Yang paused, pushing out a breath. “Or was that how many push-ups I was on? Crap.”

“You were on one hundred and fifteen; you’ve been counting under your breath the whole time.” Blake flicked one of her feline ears, the ribbon she used for her bow set aside for the moment. “And they just recently discovered the colony size; one-fifty was the old estimate.”

“Oh, cool.”

Ruby chuckled. “Sorry, Sis, didn’t mean to throw you off.”

“Hey, you probably helped me ace the test!”

“Yes, because missing that perfect score would be oh so tragic.”

“Ah, c’mon, Blakey, don’t be a-”

“Finish that sentence and I’m throwing my book at you.”

Ruby smiled, trying hard not to laugh out loud. No doubt Yang was about to make a very specific pun, one she’d made countless times before but got shot down before it could even come out this time. A quick glance over proved that Blake wasn’t actually mad about it and probably wouldn’t throw her book- she usually at least grabbed her bookmark if it was going to leave her hands- but her sister relented anyway with a chuckle before returning to her exercise.

Then, the door opened and Weiss drug herself inside, obviously worn out from her practicing. “The next time Pyrrha suggests we spar together, someone please remind me of this moment.”

Ruby winced, collecting up her papers and setting them in her book- as close to a bookmark as she ever came- and turning around in her chair. “Oh, she didn’t go easy on ya, did she?”

“Unfortunately, I’m quite certain she did.” The heiress groused, her combat outfit showing worse for wear and Myrtenaster still in hand. Which, odd- usually, Weiss secured her weapon in the assigned locker near the combat practice arenas; she only brought it back to the room for maintenance. “Apparently, my skills are still in need of some refinement.”

“What happened to Myrtenaster?”

“Hm?” She raised a brow at Blake before looking down, the pinch to her brows indicating annoyance. “Dust damnit.”

“You didn’t even realize you’d carried it all the way up here, did ya?” Yang chuckled, pausing in her exercise to sit back on her heels with a grin. “Yeah, sparring against Pyrrha kinda wipes your mind blank. She’s really good.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” She turned around. “I’ll be back-”

“Hey, wait.” Although she couldn’t really tell at that distance, she thought the dust rapier sported a few new knicks along the guard. “I have to go down to check on Crescent Rose anyway. I’ll take it back for you.”

Briefly, a war raged, between a chiding remark on weapons not needing daily maintenance and her exhaustion from the spar. Ultimately, the latter won out. “Fine. I’m in dire need of a shower and a fresh change of clothes anyway.” She walked over, handing off Myrtenaster before heading to collect up her small armada of hair care products- put to shame only by Yang’s- and other essential shower supplies before heading out the door. “If I’m not back in two hours, assume I’ve expired and let me rest in peace.”

Once the door closed, Yang clicked her tongue. “She’s always so hard on herself. Girl’s gotta lighten up.”

“Good luck with that,” Blake said, almost returning to her book but catching something out of the corner of her eye. “Ruby? Are you okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” She held up Myrtenaster, which she’d been inspecting thoroughly for the past few minutes. “Weiss was so tired, she didn’t notice the damage, and I’m not sure if I can fix it.”

“Whoa, back up, damage?” Yang got to her feet and came over, whistling low.

As far as weapons went, Myrtenaster had a fairly straight forward design. The chambers that housed the dust were probably the most complicated part; as luck would have it, the plating that covered them was the part that was damaged, bent at such an angle that it probably wouldn’t cause any functional issues but it definitely looked like changing out the dust would be a bit more difficult than it should be. Add to that a few scratches in the otherwise durable metal and Ruby had to sigh, shaking her head.

“These plates need to be replaced and I don’t have the spare materials to do it.” She winced. “At least, not in white. I have an extra casing for Crescent Rose’s headpiece but-”

“Well, hold on; there’s machines down in the shop garage that could easily cut a new plate. We just need to pick up some Hunter grade metal.” Yang went over to where her scroll sat on the dresser, smiling as she tapped on an icon. “Yeah, I should have enough to grade some raw metal. How much would we need?”

Without hesitation, she pulled a fresh piece of paper out and started scribbling away, rounding up to make sure they’d have enough; she could eyeball it pretty well but definitely wanted to err on the safe side. While she was at it, she did a rough blueprint so she could visualize how they’d need to machine it in order to make a seamless replacement.

After a few more calculations, she circled the ending number with a smile. “There.”

“Sweet, I can afford that.” Then, Yang winced. “Not sure how we’re going to get the detailing down, though.”

“I can do that part.” Blake offered, setting her bookmark between the pages and getting off the bed, amber eyes tracing along the undamaged plate before she nodded. “It’s not too different from calligraphy.”

“You know calligraphy?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“Great!” Ruby quickly wrote down the weight and specifications of the metal they’d need on a separate paper, handing it off to her sister. “While you’re grabbing the materials, I’ll get to work on a better schematic.”

“We can hide Myrtenaster under my bed until it’s done.” At the curious looks she received, Blake merely shrugged. “It’s not like we can put it under your beds.”

“Point.” Yang snatched up the paper. “Back in an hour!”

“I’ll meet you down in the garage!” She called out as her sister threw on her jacket, shaking her head. “Not sure what to tell Weiss about where Yang and I went, though.”

“Leave that part to me and send me a text when it’s my turn.” Blake patted her shoulder. “Trust me, I know how to keep a secret.”

Ruby laughed, bending over the desk to start working in earnest on the dimensions.

Later that night, they’d managed to successfully keep their teammate in the dark about the location of her weapon, Ruby somehow managing to convince her that she’d put it in Weiss’ locker, just as she said she would. While Blake slipped off to put the finishing touches on the new plates that Yang had machined out, her sister used jokes to thoroughly distract Weiss from all thoughts regarding Myrtenaster, eventually leading to a pun war that had almost made Ruby bang her head against her desk.

One would think she’d be used to it by now but one would be wrong, in fact.

“Ya know what, I gotta be honest, you’re starting to get pretty good at this!” Yang laughed, lounging on her bunk while watching Weiss, glaring up at the blonde from hers. “A few more years and they might even be funny.”

“Forgive me if I’ve only had the past few months to indulge in bad habits,” Weiss replied, though she couldn’t hide the way she preened at that bit of praise. Ruby didn’t exactly get it but somehow the heiress responded better to teasing compliments that flat out ones and Yang had picked up on it first. “Now, where is Blake? We should be heading to dinner sometime soon.”

“Oh, uh, I’m sure she’ll be right here!” She’d pulled the ‘team leader’ card earlier to keep her partner from sending a text earlier but now found herself running out of excuses. “She said she was on her way!”

“That was thirty minutes ago.”

“C’mon, Princess.” Yang hopped down from her bunk. “Let’s go down and grab ourselves a table. You know how Blakey is; I’m sure she just got lost in another book. Ruby can wait for her to get back.”

A huff. “Fine.” Getting to her feet, the two started for the door. “And you’d better come down soon, Ruby Rose! You’re not having another dinner that’s only comprised of dessert because the main line’s closed!”

“Okay, okay! We’ll be down as soon as Blake gets here!” She ducked her head, letting out a sigh of relief the moment the door closed. Now, she could retrieve her scroll, hoping she wouldn’t disturb the Faunus. She’d actually never sent the message earlier, for exactly that reason.

A moment later, the door opened and Blake stepped through, letting out her own sigh of relief and leaning back against the door, holding Myrtenaster in her off hand. “That was close.”

“But she didn’t see you, right?”

“No.” A small smile. “I thought you two would’ve gotten her to go down for dinner already. Thankfully, Yang’s loud.”

“No kidding.” Bounding to her feet, she quickly closed the distance. “Can I see?”

Wordlessly, Blake handed over the weapon, and she hadn’t been kidding about her skills with the engraving. Ruby wouldn’t have noticed the swap between the busted plate and the new one, were it not for one slight addition.

Property of Weiss Schnee A Great Friend and Teammate

“I… couldn’t help but make the addition.” Blake shrugged. “It’s like Yang said. She needs to lighten up.”

“Oh, man, she’s going to love this!” Ruby couldn’t help but giggle, though she immediately jumped and hid Myrtenaster behind her back- a bad plan, in hindsight- as the door opened and Yang slipped in with a grin.

“Ah, good, that was you in the hall.” She made a motion with her hand. “Well, c’mon, don’t keep me in the dark! Let’s see it!”

She showed Yang Blake’s handiwork, all three of them beaming that they’d pulled it off- until they heard a certain someone stomping up the hall.

“Quick!” Amber eyes flicked. “My bed!”

In a flurry of rose petals, Ruby stashed Myrtenaster away, knowing better than to try presenting the repaired weapon now. A few things one did not keep from Weiss Schnee: her beauty rest, her favorite chocolate, or her dinner.

“WOULD YOU-” The door burst open, blue eyes scanning the interior of the room before she continued. “THREE HURRY UP?”

“Yep!”

“Right.”

“Coming Weiss!” Ruby hurried to the door, smiling wide.

Yeah, she could be a little demanding from time to time, but Weiss was a great friend! She really couldn’t wait to see her expression!

Although she tried to play it off as best she could, Ruby could hardly sit still. Last night hadn’t provided a good opportunity to present Myrtenaster- Weiss went straight to bed after dinner and, again, one did not mess with her beauty sleep- so she sat on her bed, pretending to be engrossed in playing a game on her scroll against Yang, across the room on her own bunk. Blake had dived straight back into her book while Weiss did some studying of her own, though she abruptly stood up after about an hour.

“I’m going for a walk.” She grimaced, putting a hand to her lower back. “I’m afraid I’m still sore after yesterday’s spar.”

“Don’t let Pyrrha catch you limping; she’ll offer to carry you back to the room.” Yang warned with a chuckle. “She takes that stuff hard.”

“Duly noted.” She scanned around the room. “You three could do with some exercise as well.”

The blonde shrugged. “I went for a run this morning.”

“I did pull ups!”

“Pulling yourself out of bed doesn’t count.”

“I will do pull ups!” She amended. Really, Ruby didn’t mind a little exercise- it took a fair bit of muscle to swing Crescent Rose around- but she didn’t keep as strict a regime for a number of reasons. The first being: she liked to enjoy her time off.

Blake merely looked up from her book, ears canting back briefly.

“Right, well, then, I’m off.”

Weiss left the room, allowing her teammates to spring together, all wearing smiles.

“Oh, man, this is going to be great!”

“Yeah, I can’t wait for her to open her locker.” Yang laughed. “She’s going to be so floored!”

“I do hope we’ll be around when she sees it.” Blake tilted her head slightly. “You know we’re not going to hear the end of it for a while.”

“It’s not like she’s going to be mad.” Ruby reasoned, though she didn’t doubt the veracity of the Faunus’ claims. “She’s just going to try to one up us or something.”

“Oh, I can hear it already.” Her sister adjusted her posture and raised her voice. “How dare you three keep a secret like this from me, really, are we not teammates, we’re not supposed to keep secrets!”

The three of them laughed.

This was going to be good.

The weekend came to an end and they returned to classes with anticipation. However, after a few days, Weiss didn’t seem to act like anything had happened. Which, okay, they had some tests and bookwork on Monday and Tuesday, but surely she checked her weapon locker at some point, right? Ruby couldn’t help it; she’d started to get discouraged.

Did Weiss not like the new plate? Did she even notice?

A hand smacked her shoulder, startling her away from staring blankly at her textbook while supposedly studying. “Hey!”

“Ruby.” Weiss crossed her arms over her chest, starting down at her with just a hint of fury. “What did you do with it?”

She frowned. “With what?”

“With Myrtenaster!” Throwing her hands into the air, the heiress immediately launched into a rant. “When I noticed it wasn’t in my locker on Monday, I didn’t mention it, because maybe you’d put it in yours for some reason, but it’s Wednesday and we have a combat exam in two days! I need to practice!”

“Wait- Yang!” Leaning around her partner, she looked over at her sister. “Did you not put Weiss’ weapon in her locker?”

“What?” The blonde blinked. “I didn’t- you were supposed to put Myrtenaster back!”

“Hold on.” Blake sat up in her bed. “Neither of you put it back?” Then she leaned over, reaching under her bed and pulling the rapier in question out. “Are you two serious?”

“Hey, it was under your bed!” Yang snapped her fingers. “And you were the last one to work on it!”

“I brought it up here so you two could see it! Ruby should’ve put it back!”

“Yang said she was excited about Weiss’ reaction and she’d already gone out on a run!” She defended herself. “I thought she put it back!”

“What are you absolute dolts screaming about?” With a huff, the heiress marched over, finally retrieving her weapon.

“WE DID SOMETHING NICE BUT SHE FORGOT TO GIVE IT TO YOU!” All three of them spoke in tandem and-

Okay. Granted, they probably should’ve talked about who put Myrtenaster where. It wasn’t any one, single person’s fault.

But also, Ruby thought, it wasn’t hers.

She couldn’t really see Weiss’ face but she could see the slight shake in her shoulders as she stared down at Myrtenaster’s guard.

“How dare you,” she said, and for a moment the three exchanged worried glances because they could hear the warble in her voice, but then she snapped her head up to look at them, and they could very clearly see the tears she just barely held back. “How dare you three do something nice for me with absolutely no warning!”

“Wait, Weiss, don’t cry!” Ruby rushed over, throwing her arms around her teammate.

She wasn’t the only one, quickly joined by Blake and Yang as they surrounding the heiress while she clutched her weapon to her chest. “Yeah, c’mon, no tears!”

“We thought you would like it?” Blake offered, ears twitching.

“Of course I like it!” Despite a tear or two slipping out, she cleared her throat and tried glaring at them, though it… wasn’t very effective. “But here you three are, engraving my rapier, and I have no idea how to repay you! I don’t know enough about engraving-”

“Actually.” Yang smiled, reaching up to run a hand through her hair. “Ruby noticed one of the guard plates was damaged, so we wanted to replace it for you. The engraving was all Blake.”

“It was Ruby’s idea.” The Faunus shrugged slightly. “I just… added a few touches.”

“Yang machined the parts though and bought the materials!” She smiled, catching her partner’s expression as she obviously fought back even more tears. “You deserve it, Weiss!”

“Not yet,” she replied, before carefully tossing Myrtenaster on her bed and doing her absolutely best to return their hugs. “But I’m going to.”

Ruby smiled, happy that it all turned out for the best and enjoying the group hug with her team.

She just hoped Weiss didn’t go overboard with her ‘payback’; there were a terrifying number of things the heiress to the SDC could buy and they only had a dorm room.

[lovemesomesurveys]

S/O to @iaintgotcontrol for finding a new survey! lol.

Looks and Personality

What do you look like? I have a face with freckles, brown eyes, a nose, and a mouth. I wear black rimmed glasses. I have long hair that goes past my butt. I naturally have dark brown hair, but I dye it red. I’m thin. Gangly.  How often do you bathe? I don’t take baths, but I shower every 1-2 days. How do you wear your hair? In a pony tail.

What colours do you tend to wear? I have a lot of black and gray with pops of other colors. Do you have any tattoos? What, where and why? No.

What kind of clothes do you wear? Comfy, casual clothes. I’m always in leggings and a comfy shirt. I own a LOT of leggings and graphic T’s.  What kind of jewellery do you wear? I haven’t worn any in years. I used to wear these 3 rings I have 24/7 until one day I took them off for some reason and just never put them back on since. That was probably like 5 years ago. I went through a phase where I was all about accessorizing and wore a ton of bracelets. I wore necklaces and earrings, too. Is there anything else you often wear? I’m always wearing socks. Would you say you had a “look”? I’ve gone through different phases like the preppy/girly and emo phase, but now I’m just very casual and comfy. When going out, do you dress up or down? My going out consists of going to the doctor, the movies, or Walmart. I don’t dress up for any of those things.  What do you wear to bed at home? Those comfy, causal clothes I’ve been talking about. What do you wear to bed when your somewhere else? Same thing. Is there a place you keep any prized/secret things whilst you’re away? No.  What’s your favourite food? Chicken tenders, boneless chicken wings (garlic parm), burritos, potatoes in various forms, eggs, spaghetti, meatballs, and pesto pasta. What’s your favourite drink? Coffee. What’s your favourite desert? Donuts, cupcakes, muffins. What’s your favourite type of food (e.g Mexican)? American, Italian, and Mexican. Do you have any mental problems? Yes. Do you have any phobias? What? Why do you think you have this/them? Yes. Why might somebody dislike you? Because I keep to myself these days and have been very distant and withdrawn from everyone outside of my immediate family. I’m very moody. I don’t put any effort into maintaining friendships anymore. Or any effort into much of anything. I haven’t been a good friend at all to the friends I used to have.  What skill do you possess that you are most proud of? I don’t feel like I have any.  What is your greatest strength (e.g. honest, loyal, brave)? I... don’t know. What’s your greatest shortcoming or flaw (e.g. cowardly, alcoholic)? I have a lot of those. Who do you most admire? My mom and younger brother. Who do you most love? My family. What three things do you look for most in a partner? Good sense of humor, understanding, patient.  Do you like crowds? Nooo. I don’t well with crowds. What are your hobbies? Tumblr/surveys, watching YouTube, coloring, reading, watching TV. If you can’t get to sleep in the middle of the night, what do you do? So every night? At night I do my Bible study, watch YouTube, watch TV, and read. What is your favourite animal? Dogs and giraffes. What is your favourite colour? Pastels. If you could ask God (to athiests - IF there was one) one question, what? I mean, there’s a lot I’d like to know but some things we aren’t meant to know or are beyond our comprehension. Things will be revealed when they’re meant to, if they’re meant to be. Rate yourself on these traits from 0 to 10. 0 - do not possess this trait. 10 - you have great amounts of this trait. Calm temper Charm Cheerfulness Confidence Courtesy Curiousity Forgiveness Generosity Greed Helpfulness Honesty Loyalty Optimism Patience Self-sacrafice Wit Background Where were you born and raised? California. Briefly describe your family. Loving, supportive, encouraging, funny.  You must choose one - your childhood was calm/peaceful or tragic/turbulent? Calm and peaceful out of these choices. I had obstacles and struggles with health related things, but honestly those aren’t what stick out the most to me. I was a very resilient, strong kid. I’m a very weak, scared adult.  Did you have any rolemodels? My mom and grandma. What is the worst thing that has ever happened to you? I’d say the incident that made me a paraplegic at 7 months old takes home the trophy for that category.  How did it affect you? In every single way from that day forward. Have you ever had any recurring nightmares or themes in nightmares? Yes. As a kid I remember one of the reoccurring nightmares I had was Ghostface chasing me with a knife. I was so scared of Scream for the longest, but I love the movies now. ha. What were they? Death and being chased. Do you currently have a boyfriend/girlfriend? No. Do you have any close friends? I have my family. Briefly describe your best friend: My mom is so strong-willed and hardworking. Very giving. Very outgoing and social. She’s also very funny and sarcastic. She loves her some ID (Investigative Discovery) and Game of Thrones. Any enemies? No. Who? What are they like? Would you risk your life for your best friend?(not lover or family member!) My best friend is a family member, though. And yes. With who was your most important romantic relationship? I haven’t had a serious relationship. Of what are you most proud? :/ Of what are you most ashamed? The person I’ve become over the last 4 years. I really hate this person I’ve become.  Alignment, Ethics and Religion What is your religion? Christian. Where do you stand on abortion? Where do you stand on the death penalty? I’m on the fence. Where do you stand on wearing fur? I don’t wear fur or use real leather. Do you have a moral code that you follow? What? I mean, yes? Could you kill somebody? I can’t ever imagine myself being able to do that, but it’s something you don’t really know unless you find yourself in a situation that could lead to that. For what reason would you kill somebody? The only reason I could think of is self-defense, but even then I still can’t imagine killing someone.  Would you SERIOUSLY CONSIDER killing anybody right now? No, sheesh. Do you trust easily, or not? Trust isn’t a big issue with me, I just have a hard time opening up and expressing myself to people and sharing my feelings. What are your political beliefs (anarchy, communism, democracy etc.)? What, if anything, WOULD you sacrifice your life for? If it meant saving a loved one. Would you ever, for any reason, abandon your friends in an hour of need? That’s what I’ve done over these last few years. :( Motivation

What are your dreams/ambitions/goals? That’s the problem... I don’t have any. How do you plan to reach them? How would your ideal partner look? Not say looks don’t matter at all, but I’m more concerned with personality.

Do you ever want to have a family someday? With children? I can’t see that happening. Who would you want to start this family with, or do you not yet know? What would stop you from reaching your goals (e.g. death, retirement fund)? My health. What do you see yourself doing next year? I have to take it day by day, hour by hour, man. What do you see yourself doing in twenty years? Yikes. Would you ever have an affair? No, I truly don’t think so. Would you ever have a one night stand? No. What are your greatest fears? Losing my loved ones. More information If you had a month of nothing (no work, no obligations) what would you do? That’s been my life for the past few years and it hasn’t been a good thing. It dug me in a deep hole for depression. How do you relax? Listen to ASMR. What one thing would you change in this world (free Tibet, abolish Sweden)? No more violence.  Would you ever choose a career or job where your life was at risk? No. Why? How would you like to be remembered after your death? “When my time comes, forget the wrong that I’ve done, help me leave behind some reasons to be missed.” Random questions Where you present at any major historical events (e.g. 9/11)? No. How did they affect you? Do you have any famous relatives? No. Do you have to try and live up to your family’s expectations? My family doesn’t put any ridiculous or impossible expectations on me. All they want is for me to be healthy and happy, but for some reason I can’t seem to get my shit together and take care of myself like I should. Are you a loyal member of any organizations? No. General Information Name: Stephanie. Age: 29. Date Of Birth: July 28th. Race: Caucasian, Mexican, and some Filipino that I know of. I really want to do one of those DNA tests to see exactly what I am. Height: I’d be about 5′4. Weight: Mid 70s (lbs). Are you happy with this? No. I need to put on some weight. Desired weight: I used to be mid 80s-low 90s. Sexual orientation: Straight. First language: English. Second/Third/Fourth etc. languages (if any): I’m only fluent in English. Why did you take this survey? I hadn’t taken it before and I wanted to do a survey.

[thatboomerkid]

Wishing Day

Wishing Day

Pathfinder Fiction by Clinton J. Boomer

Brought to you absolutely free to enjoy, to test & to share – as always – by the fine folks of my Patreon.

Old Wishtwister Shadibriri was having himself a truly lovely day.

The barren sky hung still, sullen and gray like a pool of seething lead, low and dark upon the horizon without a ghost of sunlight behind it. Stinging snow, much of it now clumped into hard, cruel shards of ice, sifted and spattered through the black and leafless trees, filling the forest path with a drifting, bony whiteness, which crunched delightfully underfoot.

A cry of killing wind cut, crackling, through the ice-coated branches, and a smile crept unto the lips of the Wishtwister.

Such good sport, he thought with a quiet laugh. And what a day!

It was a day that promised to be delightful, and productive, and most of all simply a well-fulfilling damned enterprise. After all, he thought: it’s Wishing Day!

Thirty miles south by south-east of Gralton, soiled jewel of the River Kingdoms, the whistling Wishtwister cut through the nameless woods to his destination: a blackened little circle of seven stumps ringing ’round a jut of bloodstained and rune-carved rock dating back to the time of the old Sarkoris Binding-Witches. The creeping grin which began, split the Wishgiver’s face at the thought of those old hags and what had become of them was colder than even the ice-choked wind.

His smile brightened, and his pace quickened. He was, of course, wearing a potent glamour, painted pleasant, bright and ruddy-cheeked as he always did when amongst humans, but the spring in his step was all real. It had simply been too long, by his delighted accounting, since Wishing Day had last come to Gralton.

Has it really been only a year?

Gralton had been a lucky find, all things considered during that winter of 4668 – the year all the wishing started. Once the old aristocracy of Galt had fled from the Red Revolution and settled into their rotting river estates just long enough to hate themselves for cowardice, it had been all too easy to put the right words in the right ears; on the 11th of Kuthona, when all the faithful of Cayden Cailean were gathered by a roaring hearth, spinning tall-tales and raising a tongue-tied toast to their hero’s bold ascension, the bitter and the vengeance-minded were to be found upon a very cold and lonely holiday indeed.

A dozen souls attended that first, inaugural Wishing Day.

This year, for his 42nd anniversary, Shadibriri expected a crowd of near fifty.

In truth, it should be said, there were more profitable opportunities than Gralton scattered around the great, wide world with all its mysteries: the early weeks of Gozran were always exciting, coming as they did in the very shadow of Taxfest. And the endless, aching middle of Calistril invariably saw the burning agony of some youth’s heart in the desperate need of an immediate fulfillment. Strangest of all, perhaps, the last gasps of Lamashan always seemed to writhe around an artist who had lost his muse or a soldier staggering home, sick to their stomach of war. Yes, all twelve months had very special and wonderful reasons to be in the right place at the right time, with sharp ears tuned to the right desires. And when there were no temptations to sow or bargains to make, no words to massage or dull-tongued desires to bring forth into hideous life, there was always killing to be done.

Yes, always killing, and blood and fear and the bursting of hot flesh in one’s sharp, slick hands. And the cries of accusations and sorcerer-burning. And the souls caught up in the shuffle, of course, and carried out into the Abyss. Delightful, all.

But for old Wishtwister Shadibriri, nothing was quite as sweet as today, perhaps because it was his – and his alone. No one else yet had a Wishing Day: ripe with those looks of pure, panicked, docile, tragic, terrified, wasted hope wreathed in angry, spiteful, blood-thrumming need. A crowd, squirming, willing to wrestle and claw and kill for the right to sell their soul short.

No wonder he loved Wishing Day.

A wandering, tuneless hum began to bounce right along with Shadibriri’s mirth, and the old demon turned his thoughts, quite idly, to how he might go about conducting this day’s most unique symphony of wants and promises and weeping betrayals. Would he make his supplicants fight for his favor? Fornicate, perhaps, in ugly couplings? Strip naked and race through the cold woods on frozen feet? Perhaps a wine-drinking competition, full to bursting and puking, or a teeth-pulling challenge, yanking gaping gums bare and bloody, or some other contest of trembling self-mutilation.

Each of those had always been joyous in the past.

And then the wish, of course, was the best part of all.

The old Wishtwister had never been one for plans. Ever the artist, never the engineer. An improviser: for him, a single second’s spark of spontaneity was worth well more than a dull decade’s dusty design; a moment of madness would always out-pace a century of contemplation.

But he did like to wonder.

And then, with a twinkle in his eye and a slick, savage parting of the strings of conjuration which bind the Astral spaces, the Wishtwister arrived at his destination.

There were four dozen there, all told, huddled against the cloying chill that strikes the River Kingdoms with a vengeful howl each winter and refuses to let go. Ice in their beards, hands fisted into numbs clumps at their sides, wet, crimson misery in their eyes; these abandoned and shifting souls were wrapped in finery and peasant’s rags alike. Some had surely rode six days out of Daggermark for this occasion, in sumptuous carriages crafted of darkwood and cold iron; others had no doubt begun the bleak march out of South Gralton’s gray farmland at nightfall wrapped in all they owned. And all were here, balancing dread against obsession.

With a ringing laugh, the Wishtwister leapt up upon the tallest stump of the clearing, and his warm voice carried against the wind: “Welcome, welcome, welcome all! And let our Wishing Day … commence!”

His sparkling smile washed over the crowd, and his gaze picked at their worried faces shining with unknown needs. He made a thousand, thousand guesses, and discarded all of them just as quickly.

Who, today, would leave with their heart’s desire?

He did not know, and the joy was in the learning of it. There was, for a moment, a heat within him so fierce that it was almost overwhelming; a wild mania, a rage to pick each and every one of the gathered throng apart with his bare hands and drink their piping blood down in gasping gulps.

“Hello, hello and hello! I am the old Shadibriri, friends, who hearkens close to those in greatest need, and by the ancient pacts of these old woods I come in this hour to hear your wants and whispers. I am no god, and I seek no prayers; I am no man, and I seek no gold; I am only a spirit of hoping and of wishing and of having, and I come expecting … gifts! Who, then, has brought me a treat, a taste, a tickle or a tithe?”

One woman, all-too-young, barefooted, dressed in rag and pushing forward through the crowd: “I … I bring you fresh milk.”

A grin: “Oh, and indeed I do treasure a drink of sweet milk! Is it warm, may I inquire?”

A look of terrified uncertainty: “I’m afraid … well, the … the cold … ”

“Huh. You did not think to clutch it next to your body, and to keep it warm?”

“I … I tucked it close as I could, against the wind, but … ”

“Oh, no. Then, perhaps next year you will remember to hide it beneath your cloak, against your bare and secret skin.”

The woman blushed, and stammered.

“… I …”

“No matter, young lady! ‘Tis but a bit of teasing from an old man, is all. You are bold, to speak first, and I do admire boldness. You may stay, for your milk is a fine gift. Pour it, now, on the ground, and abide awhile. If I may ask, then, little one, what will you wish for if the wishing be made yours this day?”

A soft gasp against the wind: “The … love of … ”

“Eh? What’s that, my little lamb, my little lark?”

“The love of a certain … certain person.”

“Hm. Oh, but I am afraid that I cannot give you the love of another.”

Red eyes startled, staring, disappointed.

A grin, as the ruined and muddy milk began to freeze upon the ground: “But I can give you this person, rest you assured. This person, their life, their body, their mind, their very heart, still hot, if you wish. All the things which make them, which is better than love. To thee, young lady, I wish the best of luck!”

Her eyes turned downward, humiliated and on the verge of tears.

“Now, who is next with gifts?”

A man stepped forward: “I bring you, master, a brick of solid silver.”

“Hm. And what need has a spirit for silver, lad?”

“… taken from my grandfather’s store without his knowledge.”

“Ah! Then you guess at my nature, boy!”

“I remember you of years past, my master.”

“Quite well, son! Well indeed, and I see your gift and am pleased, and beg of you to stay. If I may ask, my shivering and cunning friend, what shall you wish for today if the wish is made yours?”

“Revenge.”

“Oh, delightful! Come close, and drop your gift at my feet! Now, of these gathered lords and ladies, who else has a thing to offer me?”

A black-cloaked figure pushed forward: “I offer you only death, monster.”

The crowd drew back in time with the unsheathing of a blade.

A delighted gasp: “You offer me … death? So few have ever done so, and in truth I have never had it. And, then, what would your wish be, friend?”

With a scarred and battle-worn voice: “That you face me.”

“Indeed!”

Screams roiled through the crowd, as some few saw, for the briefest moment, the Old Wishtwister for what he truly was. A great and gnarled limb, like the claw of some misshapen crab vomited out of the Lake of Mists and Veils, snapped forward and severed the swordsman in twain. With a gush of steaming blood, his corpse twitched upon the scarlet snows and then lay still.

“There. A wish is granted.”

A mummer of panic roiled through the audience.

“Oh, fear not, friends! His request was a trifling thing, no great difficulty in granting. In truth, he deserved much more than that for which he asked; I could have given him strength beyond the mortal, or a blade more swift than blackness itself, or the insight to know his enemy’s heart and the vision to see foes all around him. A pity, then, that he chose so foolishly. Now, then … who else has brought me a gift?”

And there, as the supplication went on, and trophies piled before him, and the crowd began to turn spiteful and desperate, the Old Wishtwister decided upon the final task which would decide the victor of Wishing Day: the supplicant willing to devour, in gasps, the greatest portion of the fallen swordsman would be granted their dearest wish.

Oh yes, that would be fun. And then, and then, and THEN the very wish itself, and the new horrors dawned from it.

Ah, the joys of Wishing Day!

—

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[ohmytheon]

heroes of the dark (1)

title: heroes of the dark

pairing: Uraraka/Midoriya, Uraraka/Bakugou, but mostly friendships and focused on OchaDeku

summary: Uraraka has spent almost a year grieving the tragic loss of Deku, the hero who was supposed to save the world and the boy she loved with everything in her, but she is slowly moving on, acting as the hero that Deku would want her be. She's got her job, her friends, and her life. She's even managed a strange friendship with Bakugou, who bore the weight of Deku's death almost as hard as her. Things are once again looking hopeful. This is, until, Deku comes back into her life and shatters everything she's rebuilt. Except he's not what he seems. Something is wrong with him - with his mind - and Uraraka will be damned if she lets the darkness take him again. If only he agreed with her. If only he wasn't so determined to take her with him.

– Chap 1: Uraraka and Bakugou do their own version of mourning Deku on a day like any other.

notes:  When I first saw Villain!Deku stuff, I thought, no way, not my precious boy. Because he is a hero through and through! But damn if the fanart didn't suck me in. However, when I went scrambling for fanfiction, as one does, I found that nearly every single one lacked something: my girl Ochako Uraraka. I desperately wanted a villain!Deku fanfic that had Uraraka as a main character/protagonist, but found maybe one or two tops. Sometimes, in order to read exactly what you want, and so I did despite having that insane BNHA/FMA fanfic already underway. Deku will always be a hero in my heart and I think the heart of this story - however the hell it ends up - will be about bringing him back to where he belongs. I made myself upset writing this.

Love is willing to become to villain so that the one who you love can stay a hero. ― Josephine Angelini, Firewalker

Uraraka woke up falling.

Or at least it was the sensation of falling.

She jerked awake in her large bed, her legs and arms flailing as she was snatched out of the nightmare. For a brief moment, she was tangled in a sea of blankets and sheets and felt as if she’d actually fallen into the choppy water, but then a cool breeze and the sounds of the city blew in from her open window and she went still. She took a moment to stare at the ceiling before she slid her hands over her face and took a deep breath. By the time she pulled her hands away and opened her eyes, her heart had stopped pounding in her chest.

It had been almost a month since she’d last had the dream. Why had it come back out of the blue? She had thought that it might finally leave her alone, but no, it had come back to her last night in an unforgiving way. Even now, it clung to her desperately, hanging in the corner of her mind, as if afraid that she might forget it completely.

She had to get up. She had to get out of bed. She had to get on with her day.

Like she did every morning that she had off, Uraraka took a long, hot shower first. She took her time with her hair and with washing herself, like she could scrub away anything with a loofah. After that, she made herself breakfast in her small but cozy kitchen while the radio played in the background. She walked around her apartment aimlessly in a pink bathrobe and worn through slippers drinking a cup of coffee. It was only when she caught sight of her calendar that she came to a halt.

Oh. It was his birthday today.

As if on cue, the phone rang, forcing Uraraka to look away. She knew that she should answer it, but she also knew what it would be about, even if she didn’t know who exactly was on the other end. She waited until the answering machine picked it up, her single voice telling the caller to leave a message, and then listened as Tsu’s voice left a voicemail.

“Hey, Ochako, I was calling to see if you wanted to have lunch,” her best friend said on the other end. “No sense in lying. You shouldn’t have to be alone today. Call me back, please, or I’ll try again later.”

That was Tsu for you -- straight and to the point. She always said what was on her mind, even if it made other people uncomfortable. Uraraka didn’t mind. She knew that Tsu wouldn’t be the only one calling today, but she would be one of the very few who would be open about why. There was no sense in lying. It didn’t matter what any of her friends said; she’d know what they were up to. It was sweet of them, truly, but she couldn’t let herself get wrapped up in this today.

More than anything, she was desperate for it to be normal. Deep down she knew that her attempts to make it so during the day would only make it worse for her come tonight and she’d probably be calling Tsu babbling through tears, but Uraraka wanted to at least pretend like she was strong enough to handle this on her own. Even if she also knew that she didn’t have to.

Besides, weren’t they suffering too? Weren’t they sad as well? She should tend to their grief. She was being selfish.

Later, she’d call back Tsu later, but for now, Uraraka went about the rest of her morning routine. She took a walk around the quiet neighborhood she’d moved to two years ago. It wasn’t much, but it was very nice in her opinion and it was low in crime, almost as if any villains actively stayed out of the area. She ran errands, going to the bank and the farmer’s market and the like, smiling at neighbors and making friendly smalltalk with the vendors. The sun was out and everyone seemed so happy.

However, when she came home to a silent and empty apartment, no amount of natural light could lift the dark cloud that had been brewing in her mind. She dropped the bags and sunk down into a crouch with her back to her front door and covered her face once more as if to shield herself.

The phone rang again -- had probably been ringing while she was out since her cell was turned off -- and Uraraka once again waited for the voice of one of her close friends. Maybe it would be Iida this time or Momo. Maybe it would be Hatsumi or even Todoroki.

It was none of them. Instead, of all people, it was Bakugou.

“Hey, Round Face, you better be decent because I’m gonna be over there in like three minutes,” Bakugou’s voice said with all the delicacy of a wrecking ball. “We’re going day drinking.”

There was no preamble. No “are you doing okay” or “do you need some company” or “it’ll be alright”. It was just plain old Bakugou blowing his way in. He’d never changed in that respect. When it came to any defensive walls that she might have put up around everyone else, he just blew them up and stepped right over them, like they weren’t even there for a reason, like they didn’t matter to him.

Uraraka could be mad -- probably should be mad -- but it felt nice to not be treated like glass.

A few minutes later, just as he had said, the doorknob rattled and swung open. Having cleaned herself up, Uraraka was busy putting the items from her errand away in the pantry, but that still didn’t stop her from gawking in confusion as Bakugou stepped inside her place and kicked the door shut behind him.

“Excuse me,” she greeted, “but I don’t remember giving you a key.”

“You didn’t,” Bakugou simply told her, like that was all she needed to know. Uh, definitely not. Him having a key to her place was a new development as far as she was concerned. He rolled his eyes. “I made a second copy of it like ten months ago.” Ah, during the dark days when everyone had acted as if they couldn’t leave her alone for more than a day. None of the others had stolen her keys to make a copy. “Never used it before though. Stupid thing acted like it didn’t want to work at first.”

A part of her wanted to hold out her hand and tell him to hand it over. Another part of her realized that it would be futile and she wasn’t sure if he didn’t have a backup just in case she did demand it. Not that it mattered in the end. He could do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t like he came over all the time or something.

“That what you’re wearing?” Bakugou asked as he sat down on one of the stools that were placed behind the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. She had thought it cute when first looking for apartments. It was where someone could sit down and still chat and see whoever was in the kitchen.

Uraraka looked down at her outfit, black leggings with a baggy, faded red sweatshirt/dress that hung over her shoulders, and a black sports bra showing. It was a lazy outfit to match her slow-going day. She gave Bakugou a shrewd look. “Yes, what’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing,” Bakugou replied with a grunt, but he was still eyeing her strangely.

“Do you want me to change?”

Bakugou waved a dismissive hand. “No, I don’t give a shit what you wear.” Then why the hell had he commented on it? Sometimes, he had a way of drawing attention to the smallest details, somehow making her feel insecure even when he genuinely didn’t seem to mean to. She liked this outfit and she was going to wear it. After all, they were just going to do some day drinking, not some fancy restaurant. “You done?”

“Yeah.” Uraraka turned around to face him. “So where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Uraraka huffed. “So the same place as usual. Got it.”

The fact that she hadn’t fought this at all was either a testament to how tired she was or proof that she didn’t really want to be alone. It wasn’t the first time she and Bakugou had done something like this, but it wasn’t like it was a regular thing. He was off doing his own hero thing and she was doing hers. They had different lives and even lived in different cities, although he wasn’t that far away.

It occurred to her to realize that they never crossed each other’s paths accidentally anymore -- that every interaction between them was intentional and mostly on his behalf -- but he was still a normal part of her life. They didn’t call each other daily and sometimes she didn’t hear from him for a week, but then he’d shoot her a text or she’d email him an article or they just found themselves at lunch and that was that. It wasn’t an easy friendship -- it never was with Bakugou -- but it was...something consistent.

The fact that Bakugou never truly changed made her feel good, even if he was different than he had been at school. She wouldn’t quite say that he was soft, but he wasn’t as sharp around the edges anymore. He could definitely still be cutting when he wanted to be and she didn’t doubt his temper for a second, but he’d learned how not to blow up at the drop of a hat.

They walked a mile down the street to a bar that was reasonably nice. It had a good outdoor sitting area and a surprisingly nice selection of craft beers and variety of whiskeys. They even had better than average food. She had found the place shortly after moving here when exploring the area. According to Bakugou, it was the only good place around her neighborhood. If they had lunch or dinner, it was either by his place or further into the city.

It was a nice day, so they got an outdoor table and Bakugou immediately ordered for them, “We need two orders of gyozo and your most expensive bottle of sake. Scratch that. Make it two as well.”

“Bakugou!” Uraraka gasped.

“What?” Bakugou scoffed at her as the server scurried away. “I’m not drinking shit sake.”

Uraraka’s cheeks turned a little pinker. “But...it’s…”

“It’s what? I make a boat load of money. This is nothing.” Bakugou was, as usual, not modest, but he wasn’t outright bragging either. It was what it was. As one of the top pro heroes, he did make great money. She admittedly made good money as well, enough to support herself happily and give her parents a comfortable life, but old habits would always die hard.

It didn’t escape her that his words implied that he was paying for all this. He wasn’t going to say that outright either, but if she so much as moved to pull out her wallet, he’d snap at her. This was him being...nice. Helpful. A friend. She took it, knowing that, even though he wouldn’t admit it, today was almost as big of a deal for him as it was for her. Maybe just as big. He wouldn’t tell her the exact truth and she wouldn’t force it out of him.

When their alcohol arrived, along with two waters, Bakugou shoved one sake bottle over to her side of the table and then opened his to pour himself a cup. His courtesy extended as far as paying and nothing more, but it only made her smile. “What are you even doing here, Bakugou?” she asked, the smile still on her face.

“I’m drinking,” Bakugou replied almost childishly. When Uraraka set the bottle down and gave him a look, he huffed out a sigh. “You know why.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know that,” Bakugou huffed again. He pointed a finger at her. “But here’s what’s gonna happen anyway: we’re gonna avoid talking about him; we’re gonna get drunk and then we’re gonna talk about him; you’re gonna cry yourself out; I’m gonna make you laugh, carry your drunk ass home, and put you to bed; and then you’re gonna thank me and go the fuck to sleep.”

It wasn’t funny in the slightest. This was a serious matter that was going to end with her in tears. She didn't like admitting that though and hearing it said to her out loud made her hackles raise. “Do you think I'm that weak that I'll just cry all over you?”

“I'm not underestimating your strength, Uraraka,” Bakugou told her bluntly, his use of her name telling her how serious he was. She didn't think he would ever use her first name. She'd probably have a heart attack if he did. “You're basically the strongest person I know. Anyone else would've fallen apart and crashed, but not you.” The appetizers arrived and Bakugou picked up his chopsticks, pointing them at her accusingly. “Now you better eat because I'm ordering a stupid amount of food.”

Just like that, they switched gears. It was easy to do with Bakugou, who could drive a conversation like he would a sports car, completely in control and at a breakneck speed. He delved easily into his most recent hero activity, going from a huge villain takedown that she had seen in the news but just had to hear straight from the source to his most recent complaint about one of the sidekicks he seemed to loathe but kept around just so he could complain about the guy.

Bakugou was the kind of guy that could talk about himself a lot -- and you were somehow happy for it, because it was entertaining and you didn’t want to talk about yourself. And right now, Uraraka didn’t want to talk. She wanted the blissful ignorance that came with just listening to someone who could make the world spin around them. She liked his stories, always peppered with colorful language and vivid imagery. It immersed her in his world and swept her away from everything else.

They were each on their second bottle of sake and had ordered some more appetizers and Uraraka hadn’t even blinked. She’d sat there raptured, laughing at inappropriate moments that had him griping at her and throwing in teasing comments that made him smirk. It was an easy flow. She always forgot that until they were right here in these moments. That it could be easy. That she could breathe. Even with him.

“I saw on the news what you did last week,” Bakugou told her abruptly. His cheeks were pinker than he would ever admit, the sake finally taking its toll on him. She knew that she was worse. It was getting closer to the evening now. They’d been here for so long that the sun was starting its slow descent behind the city skyline. The orange haze made Bakugou glow like fire, his sandy hair and red eyes sticking out even more than usual.

Uraraka smiled shyly into her glass of water. “It wasn’t much.”

“It was fucking cool is what it was,” Bakugou corrected. “You saved ten people from a burning building and then helped catch the bastard that started it? Fucking cool.”

Deep down, Uraraka knew that she had done a good job and after consuming a terrible amount of alcohol, even over the span of quite a few hours, she could admit that she was proud of herself. But it was hard to do that when the one person that mattered the most -- the one save that she needed to do -- had slipped right from her fingertips. Not literally, of course. She hadn’t been able to touch him at all, missing him by mere inches. She could still feel the swish of empty air when she’d desperately reached out for him.

She had to save those people. She had to save everyone. She had to make up for who she hadn’t. And she hadn’t. She hadn’t saved him. She’d missed him and she’d fallen out of the sky to catch him and she’d still-- she’d still--

Oh, it was happening. Just as Bakugou had told her it would.

Despite being knee deep in drinking, Bakugou spotted it as well, the sudden shift in her demeanor that told him it was finally time. Her eyes dropped to her hands in her lap and he set his cup back on the table and leaned back in his seat. She suddenly wished that she hadn’t drank so much. She didn’t want to talk about it like this -- she knew that she wouldn’t be able to control herself -- and yet she also knew that she wouldn’t have talked about it at all if she hadn’t been in this state.

Uraraka could go weeks without talking to anyone about it until some reporter asked her how Uravity was faring after her devastating loss of Deku.

“I know it’s been almost a year,” Uraraka finally said, her voice so damn small, “but I still miss him.” Bakugou didn’t say anything for once. This was her time to talk. This whole thing was her time to talk, but he’d filled up the space until she was ready. “I still… It doesn’t happen nearly as often anymore, but I still sometimes forget that he’s gone. I’ll come home, expecting to smell take out and a hint of smoke from where he attempted to cook a fancy meal and failed, or I’ll roll over, half awake, and reach out for him -- and there’s just nothing. He’s not there. It’s like he was never there to begin with.”

Any of her other friends would’ve reached out to hold her hand, switch to the seat next to her, get up and wrap their arms around her shoulders. Bakugou didn’t do any of those things. He just stayed in his seat, watching her, and stayed silent, listening. His face was remarkably passive considering who he was, his eyes unreadable. Most of their friends didn’t think Bakugou was capable of patient listening, but she knew better. She knew that there was a quiet before the worst of storms and this one was hers.

“He was this...huge part of my life and not just because we were…” Uraraka rubbed her eyes. “And when he was gone, he was just gone. I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye. He didn’t let me.”

After almost eleven months, she didn’t know whether to be angry or upset anymore it. He’d done what he did because he was a hero. It was who he was. He’d saved her life because she couldn’t save his and in his eyes, if his fate was sealed in order to save hers, then that was that. There was no other option. He had been ready to die to save someone else.

But it wasn’t fair because he was so more important than her. His place in the world was more than hers could ever be. The ten people she’d saved from an arsonist was nothing compared to the hundred he’d saved during an earthquake. She would never be the hero he could be and yet he’d still sacrificed himself to ensure she would live.

“And I’m just expected to move on with my life,” Uraraka said, tears slipping down her face. Just as Bakugou had said, she was going to cry in public. How humiliating. “Did you see that article online the other day?”

“Oh, the one about whether or not you were dating that pro hero… Kamui Wood?” Bakugou wrinkled his nose in distaste. “A bit old for you, isn’t he?” It was a brief attempt to lighten the mood and Uraraka made to laugh but then she started to cry instead, so all in all, a bit of a fail. She appreciated it though. “Fuck what they have to say. No one expects you to do anything except live. Take all the time you need. Never date again. Who gives a fuck?”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Uraraka mumbled. “You apparently have a new lay every week.”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “That’s fucking stupid.” He smirked at her. “It’s every other week.”

That half laugh/half cry slipped out of her again. She couldn't react any other way. Bakugou didn't snap at her for it, but he didn't pity her either. There was no “poor little Uraraka lost her boyfriend” coming from him. It was understanding that there were some chasms that couldn't be filled; sometimes they had to be climbed.

“He was supposed to be the greatest hero there ever was,” Uraraka whispered. It was a testament to how much he had grown that Bakugou didn’t respond to that statement at all. “And I couldn’t save him. I couldn’t do anything.”

“Bullshit,” Bakugou snapped, not meanly. “You nearly died trying to save him. You literally plummeted in a free fall in an attempt to reach him again. The only reason you didn’t kill yourself trying to save him was because he had the foresight to see how blind you were to yourself.” They’d gone over this before, but they needed to again, one more time. She knew he was right. She knew she was being irrational. But she needed to hear it said once more. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine for not aiming right. I couldn’t get you to where you needed to be to reach him in time.”

A spike of panic flashed through Uraraka, a painful tug on her heart. He had never said anything like that before, only that it wasn’t her fault. “Bakugou, you did your very best. You did everything you could.”

Bakugou tipped his head back and closed his eyes. “Did I though? I keep asking myself if I could’ve done more. Maybe if I’d gone out there with you, maybe if I’d been able more damage to that damn villain so that Deku wouldn’t have had to use everything he had against him mid-air over a fucking ocean.” He sighed and leaned forward, looking terribly uncomfortable at having opened up. “All I could do in the end was make sure that you didn’t go under too. That’s what he wanted. I knew it the second he used the last bit of his strength to push you away from the water right before he hit it.”

That was the nightmare though, wasn't it? That they had done everything they possibly could've done to save him and they had still failed. What kind of heroes did that make them?

The moment Deku had leapt from the cliff, the blast off so strong that it had knocked them all back, Uraraka had known that nothing was going to be the same. It was either stop the villain now or let the city explode. They'd watched from their pathetic spots on the ground, covered in blood, sweat, and mud, as Deku collided fist first like a rocket into the villain and exploded with a power that none of them would ever be able to grasp. There had only been a moment of cheer and relief before they had realized that Deku was falling towards the ocean and falling fast.

He was always falling in her dreams and, just as she hadn't that night, she could never reach him then.

“I keep thinking that one day I'll wake up and it'll just be normal that I'm by myself.” Uraraka bit her lip. “One day I'll be able to put on my suit and not question myself about whether I'm worthy enough.”

Bakugou bolted forward in his seat so fast that he bumped into the table, the empty sake bottles and their glasses clinking as they trembled in the wake of his anger. “Don't you ever fucking question yourself like that, okay? You're an incredible hero. Deku knew that. You could tell that by the way he looked at you like you were the fucking moon and stars.” When she didn't look totally convinced, he clenched his hands into fists on top of the table. “You had your whole world turned upside down and most people would have shattered. Two weeks after, you went back to work, back to saving lives, back to kicking ass. I'm still pissed at you for that. You needed way more time.”

“I couldn't sit around and do nothing!” Uraraka told him hotly, tears flooding her eyes again. “I couldn't just stand there and act like the world had stopped turning, even if it felt like it had for me. That's not the kind of hero Deku was and I wasn't going to let it be me. There were still people that needed to be saved, needed to be helped, and I promised myself that I would do that for him. That I'd do it for me -- to prove that I was worth it.”

There was a shadow over Bakugou's face, one that she couldn't quite place, as he said in an uncharastically quiet voice, “You've always been worth it. He knew that right from the start.” The words were spoken with no less aggression than usual despite how quiet he was.

But they were just the right things to say. Uraraka could feel the walls bursting inside of her, punctured by such a simple statement. She curled her legs up in the chair so she could wrap her arms around them and press her face into her knees. Tears spilled out of her eyes and he let her cry. She didn’t care if there were people around them. She didn’t care if anyone she knew saw her. She didn’t care if the paparazzi showed up and snapped pictures of her weeping and made some ridiculous tabloid (although she was certain Bakugou would blow a gasket and physically haul them away). She just let the tears come until they stopped.

Eventually they did. As all things did, her tears came to an end. When it happened, she took a deep breath and lifted her face, the cool breeze of the evening chilling the tears on her face.

Bakugou took one look at her and screwed up his face. “You look like your face is melting.”

“It’s my makeup, you idiot,” Uraraka told him.

“Next time be prepared for emotional shit and wear waterproof makeup.”

Despite everything -- the pain, the absence, and the longing for something far gone -- Uraraka felt a little lighter. She also felt the beginnings of a headache, but that was usually what happened after drinking and a heavy cry spell. Bakugou pushed a water towards her and she accepted it gratefully. “You’re shit at comforting, you know.”

“Good thing I’m just here to drink,” Bakugou responded. “Now go clean your face before people start to think that I broke up with you or something.”

Uraraka thought to comment on him not caring about what people thought, but agreed that she did probably look like shit. Besides, a splash of water against her face would help her feel fresher. She hurried to the bathroom so she could fix herself up, fishing out her phone in the process. The amount of missed calls and unanswered text messages made her cringe, but truth be told, she’d forgotten all about it while they’d been talking. The first and only person she responded to was Tsu, who she knew would spread the word for her.

Ochako Sorry I haven’t answered any of your calls. I’m fine.

Tsu Are you sure? You haven’t answered anyone. We’ve been worried.

Ochako Again sorry. I’ve been busy. Had my phone turned off.

Tsu Busy?

Ochako Been with Bakugou for most of the day.

Tsu Explains why he didn’t answer our texts. We thought he was just being an ass.

That made Uraraka giggle a little, though it brought a few tears to her eyes as well. Everyone was handling this their own way. She should’ve talked to everyone earlier, but it had just felt so daunting. The idea of telling all her friends that she was fine, it was hard but she would make it, no she didn’t need them to come over -- it had been overwhelming. And then Bakugou had blown in and just swept her away from all of it like it was nothing and he didn’t care what everyone else thought they should do for her.

Still, she felt guilty for ignoring them. Her friends were hurting too. Deku’s...death hadn’t affected only her. It would be a day late, but she would talk to them tomorrow. Maybe it was the alcohol flooding her veins, giving her a false sense of confidence, but she felt like tomorrow was going to be a new day. Like she was going to wake up and know in her heart that, no, things would never be the same again and she would always miss Deku and love him too, but she would be the hero he knew she was and she would smile for real when she thought back to him.

When Uraraka returned to the table, Bakugou was pouring the last bit of their sake into her cup. “Oh, no, no, I can’t.” He raised an eyebrow and pushed the glass towards her. “I can’t!” She laughed a little. “Did you see how I was walking over here?”

“Yeah, not wobbly enough,” Bakugou countered, putting all the pressure on her. She concentrated on the cup, picked it up, and then drank it. Granted, it wasn’t much, but it was enough to make her feel woozy. He grinned at her, all teeth and vicious, and then stretched back in his seat like a cat, his t-shirt raising up to expose skin. “That’s much better.”

Uraraka eyed him and put her hands on her hips, which might have been a little intimidating if she wasn’t swaying a little on the spot. “Trying to get me drunk to take advantage of me?”

Bakugou stood up slowly, as if he had nowhere else he’d rather be than right in her space, and said, “Who says I need to get you drunk first?” in such an outrageously suggestive low tone that Uraraka burst out laughing.

The alcohol made it so much worse. She felt like she was shooting from one emotion to the other, but this one she embraced. It felt good to laugh. It had felt good to cry in all honesty. She’d been hiding from it all day, but now that she’d done it and it was out in the open, she felt relieved. She barely caught sight of the checkbook on the table, already taken care of, before Bakugou all but pushed her out of the bar so she wouldn’t try to sneak a peek at the damage. He knew her too well.

Unfortunately, he had also known that that last bit of sake would do her in. The walk home would’ve been painful if not for the cool breeze that brushed against her. They did it in silence, him with his hands in his pockets and her with her hands clutching the strap of her purse. More than likely it was because both of them needed to focus on walking without looking like a couple of drunk idiots, which they probably did anyways. Bakugou was doing a pretty good imitation at not being drunk, but his steps were sluggish and his eyes kept sweeping over to her like he was making sure she was still standing.

By the time they reached the steps of her apartment, Uraraka found herself groaning and slumping against him. Her eyelids were so heavy and she was so tired. Her mind screamed at her to just drift off where she stood. She didn’t want to walk up the stairs. She was only on the second floor, but it seemed so far away. Maybe she could get away with sleeping in her car. That seemed like a reasonable idea right now.

“I knew this would happen,” Bakugou sighed, even though it was his fault for getting her this drunk in the first place. She turned to tell him that when he bent down and slid his arms underneath her, picking her up like she was nothing and holding her bridal style in his arms. Uraraka let out a tiny squeak. “I told you that I was gonna have to carry your drunk ass home.”

The first two steps he took were far too wobbly and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face into his shoulder, almost certain that they were going to fall, but then he tightened his grip on her, tensed up his body, and made quick work of the rest, powering through it by sheer will. At her door, he once again used his copy of her key to let them in and kicked the door shut.

Once inside, she thought he’d let her down, which seemed like a terrible idea since her legs were jello and she felt out of it from hanging in the air, but he didn’t. He gripped her just a little tighter as if to let her know that he wasn’t done and, just a tad bit drunk, she didn’t fight it. Instead, he slowly made his way through her dark apartment until he reached her bedroom and carefully laid her down on her bed. It was far too gentle for someone as chaotic as him, but maybe it was the alcohol, dulling his emotions for once.

As Bakugou grumbled about her always leaving her damn window open for any old villain to crawl through and closed it for her, Uraraka opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling, suddenly remembering how she had done the same thing this morning after waking up from the nightmare about Deku’s fall and her twice failure to touch him in time. “I had the dream again last night.”

A breath of air escaped from Bakugou as he returned to her bedside. “Do you want me to call Tsuyu or…?”

She shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine, just…”

“I’ll stay,” Bakugou said in a decisive tone. “On the couch, I mean. Can’t really drive right now anyways.”

They looked at each other for a beat too long. Uraraka knew it was too long and Bakugou surely didn’t look at anyone that long, but alcohol had a funny way of making barriers seem nonexistent. The urge to reach out and squeeze his hand hanging at his side was so sudden that she didn’t even think about not doing it. She felt him tense up at first when she did so, but then he loosened up and squeezed back before she pulled her hand away.

Uraraka raised an eyebrow at him and he gave her a questioning look. “Are you just going to stand there? I’m not sleeping in this.” Bakugou narrowed his eyes at her for a second, a sharp quip on his tongue, before he decided against it and walked towards the door. “Hey, Bakugou.” He stopped to glance back at her and she gave him a tired smile, the moonlight from her window casting a faint glow on her. “Thank you.”

“Whatever, Angel face,” Bakugou dismissed, though she saw the pleased look on his face. She didn’t bother telling him where the blankets and pillows were for him to use. He knew where they were. Having done this a few times before, usually when Bakugou was in a foul mood and needed someone to vent to that wasn’t Kirishima, he was at least a little familiar with her couch.

She took a deep breath as she sat up in bed. Round Face. Angel Face. Bakugou was always full of nicknames for everyone that he came in contact with. Back at U.A., it had been because he’d never bothered learning names and then it just stuck for him, if not anyone else. He called (most of) their former classmates by their names now, but still fell back on his tried and true nicknames for them.

A deep wave of sadness swept over her again for a brief moment. It had been almost a year since he’d been called Kacchan. She wondered if he missed it, but knew better than to ask. As far as he was concerned probably, the name had died along with Deku.

After changing into shorts and a t-shirt, Uraraka fell back in bed and crashed quickly, as if she’d lost all strength to fight the battle against the alcohol. Hopefully the amount of food and water she’d consumed would prevent any sort of hangover, but only the morning would tell. Luckily, the alcohol had the effect of dampening any dreams she might’ve had, so that by the time she woke up, there was nothing to remember except Bakugou’s words and that last look she’d seen on his face. She considered it a blessing that there was only a faint thumping in her head that would go away in an hour or so.

Uraraka took her time getting up. She stretched in bed and yawned before snuggling up with her covers a little more and simply listening to the birds chirping and the morning traffic spilling in from her open window. When she finally got out of bed, she noticed just how quiet her apartment was. The last time Bakugou had crashed on her couch, she’d thought his snores were going to wake the dead, not that he’d ever cop to snoring.

Peeking outside of her bedroom, Uraraka found it empty, though he’d charmingly left the pillows and blankets bunched up on her couch. Such a gentleman. She shook her head and went to the bathroom to start her morning routine. She really needed to go to the gym today. Then she’d start her round of apologies for going off the grid yesterday and ignoring everyone else’s pain.

For just a little bit longer, she wanted to stand in this strange morning bliss. It was like a small weight was off her shoulders. Not all of it, but just enough where she could stand up straight again.

After finishing in the bathroom, Uraraka padded into the kitchen to make breakfast, only to find a bowl already made next to a note in Bakugou’s writing that said, Eat this!!! So he could cook breakfast but not fold up blankets? That man was full of surprises. He probably got up at the crack of dawn regardless of how much he drank or fought the night before. No rest for the wicked or those wanting to be at the top.

Smiling to herself, she took the food and went back into her bedroom to pack all her stuff for the gym. She hummed under her breath as she did so, feeling better with every bite and passing second. It was going to be a good day. She was going to do some wonderful things. She was going to live her life. That was what Deku would have wanted. Not just to push herself as a hero, but also as a person. He had been so thoughtful.

Uraraka was still humming pleasantly when she walked back into the kitchen to clean out her dish when a voice abruptly shattered everything.

“Good morning, Ochako.”

Instead of falling to the ground, the bowl floated up to the ceiling the second Uraraka let go of it to form fists and spun around. Her heart had leapt into her throat because for a half a second she’d opened her mouth to say a name that she’d spent months unable to speak, but no it couldn’t be. This was just a setback, like when she woke up sometimes and forgot he wasn’t in bed next to her or how she’d leave the shop down the street and think she saw a flash of his green hair moving around the corner.

But then she turned around completely and her hands flew to her mouth and her heart dropped into her stomach. Uraraka barely managed to whimper, but the name tumbled out of her mouth. “Deku?”

There he was, Deku, her Deku, like he’d never been gone. Sitting in the chair that they’d bought at a flea market and he’d refurbished for her just because he thought it would make her smile. It was undeniably him, alive and well and in her living room. His unmanageable green hair. His vibrant green eyes. The freckles that never left his face even as his body grew taller and stronger. Out of all things, he was wearing a black suit and matching vest and his tie -- her lips trembled at the sight -- his tie was still done far too short. She would’ve burst into tears had she not been so stunned.

However, when Deku smiled at her, a cold chill ran down her spine and the thought run away came to her mind when she had only ever run to him before. And she knew. She knew there was something wrong with that smile, something not quite right, but then none of this was right. “I missed you.”

[patricia-von-arundel]

The Boarding House AU: Elsa & Christmas

Rating: T

Summary: Shardsverse AU. After escaping a death sentence, and forced to come to terms with the idea that she can never return to Arendelle nor see Anna again, Elsa finds herself in the unexpected position of sharing a room with a poverty-stricken young scholar of magic…

Part I: Elsa & Alarik

…And according to tradition, the one who finds the almond will be the next to marry. 

Alarik was quite sure he’d made the biggest mistake of his life. And he’d made some very big mistakes. Elsa - just Elsa now, something she would probably have to adjust to just as he would - was tiny and wide-eyed and clearly terrified. What he had to try very hard to hide was that he, too, was on the verge of panic.    He waited until she was sure she was asleep. Then he put down his pen, closed his books, and gave over to hyperventilation. When that proved insufficient, he turned instead to pacing, carefully avoiding the squeakier floorboards. The room was frigid, the coals down to embers, but he didn’t want to add more in case the light - or heat - disturbed her. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Finally, exhausted by fear and shivering and the stresses of the day, he gathered up the spare blankets - kept for the dangerous cold of January and February - and managed a restless, dozing sleep until dawn. When the weak light woke him, he went immediately into what might, with luck, become a new routine, before the fear could grip him once more: he straightened and tucked his shirt in, ran a hand through his hair - for all the good that would do - and tore a strip from a discarded sheet of paper to write a quick note, in case Elsa woke before he returned. He went out into the cold morning, shivering despite scarf and gloves and coat, in search of breakfast. He usually just ate whatever was leftover from dinner the evening before, or nothing at all perhaps more often, but they had finished the bread and cheese and milk, and it seemed cruel to not have something for Elsa. He returned home half an hour later with a quarter pound of salted bacon, several half-price rolls from yesterday’s baking, and two small twists of brown paper: one of butter, the other of tea leaves. The butter was an indulgence, but he would water his ink for a few days to make up for it. Elsa was still asleep when he returned, and he wondered how long it had been since she’d had a full night’s rest. She looked very small and very peaceful, curled up on her side with her hands folded against her chest, blankets kicked off and her hair a pale, heavy fan around her. Despite the fear of the entire situation, he found himself feeling strangely, strongly protective of her - and of the trust her sister had placed in him. He was poor and weak and terrified, but he would do everything he could for her, until a better, safer - cleaner - place could be found for her to go. He used scrap wood and paper, now, for the fire, because it needed only to last through breakfast. He rarely allowed himself fires during the day. If it was too cold to go without, he went to the university, where reading room hearths blazed, or, on holidays, to church. He was not a believer, but he always wondered how many others found faith in the warmth of packed bodies and spent breath. While the fire built up, he took the bucket down to get clean water from the pump, for tea and for washing. When he got back, Elsa was sitting up, knuckling one eye like a sleepy child. When she saw him, she bit her lower lip. He stopped in the doorway, uncertainty holding him firmly as nails through his shoes. “Oh. Uh… Good morning.” “Good morning.” Her voice was thick and raspy with sleep. “Would you like some breakfast?” She blinked once, and again, before nodding. So he came in, set the bucket down, got to work. Bacon over the fire in one pot, water for tea in the other. Single plate and cup set out for her - with the butter; he could do without - and the milk bottle of the night before and the smoothed wax paper from the bacon for his own setting. He gave them each two rolls, leaving four more for lunch or dinner. Elsa, he noticed from the corner of his eye, had crawled to the end of the bed and perched there cross-legged, watching him work. But she said nothing, and so neither did he. He used his spoon to flip the bacon - he’d gotten lucky, for the price he was able to pay; it was a good cut, and was cooking very nicely - then took the pot of boiling water off the fire and sprinkled the tea in it to steep. “Almost ready,” he said. She was still watching, elbows on her knees and chin on her hands, but she didn’t reply. She didn’t seem to say much at all, but he didn’t know if that was a result of the fear and stress of the last few months, or just a natural reticence. All he knew of her, really, came from letters written several years before, the last arriving when he was just about to reach his twenty-first birthday - and some few days after newspaper headlines had reported the tragic loss of King Agdar and Queen Idunn of Arendelle. The king had never described his elder daughter’s appearance, or much of the personality now so masked by fear and self-doubt. Instead, he had written of her intelligence, her keen mind for mathematics, her quick wit. The letters had spoken of her consuming fears - but in all, his love for her had shone through. And now here was word made flesh, watching him cook her meager breakfast. Had Agdar known the real Elsa? Had anyone? Would Alarik? “Breakfast is served,” he said, putting plate and cup on the table. Elsa got down from the bed, walked the few steps across the room, picked up plate and cup, and sat across from him on the floor. Her raised eyebrow invited him to try arguing. He didn’t. Nor did he object when she took half the butter - cutting neatly through the middle - and placed the rest, still in its unwrapped twist, at the edge of his waxed-paper plate. She was a queen, and his training on aristocratic etiquette went deep. But more than that, he didn’t want to object. There was something to this silent exchange that sent warmth through him, as fleeting, perhaps, as a full belly, but nonetheless, he would take it. It was nice - he had shared no more than a rare meal offered to university staff in a very, very long time. Elsa was quiet, but it was already obvious she saw everything, actually listened to words spoken. It was likely learned of necessity, but regardless, he liked it. He liked her. “How did you learn to cook?” she asked as they ate - and there was genuine curiosity in her voice, beyond mere polite query. “I had to,” he said. The butter was good on rolls - he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had butter. “It was that, or starve.” He felt himself grinning, but could do nothing to prevent it. Elsa nodded, eyes focused on the food before her. “That makes sense. I should have known without asking.” Her hair was still loose, her feet bare despite the bone-deep chill. She looked painfully vulnerable. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly. “It was ridiculous, really. I was 16 when I left home, and the first thing I tried was spitting meat on sticks, which I’d probably read about in a ‘true story of most miraculous survival’ in one of the ladies’ journals my mother occasionally bought. It didn’t go as well as I probably hoped.” She was still looking down, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “It took me longer than I like to admit to think back to what I’d seen in the kitchens at home. I still had some money then, so I - Is something wrong?” She was squinting at her cup of tea. But her eyes rose to briefly meet his, and she shook her head. “No - I’m sorry. Go on.” “I should have saved some milk. Or sugar - I don’t know if you take sugar.” Another quirk at her lips. “Not half as much as my sister does.” But then it was gone, like shutters closed over her face. “It’s not that. I’ve just… never had it with the leaves still in it.” “Oh. Yes. You get used to drinking around them, I’ve found.” He added “strainer” to the mental list of things to save for. Maybe he would just start watering his ink as general practice. She took a tentative sip of tea. “It’s good. What kind is it?” “It’s rare. It’s called ‘whatever was left over at the tea shop when the new stock came in, sold as a mixed jumble to Mrs. Herrdrehl for her dry goods stall’. You’ll never taste exactly the same again.” She actually laughed at that, and he felt absurdly proud of himself. Breakfast finished and dishes washed- and wax paper crumpled and shoved in his pocket to be tossed in the first midden heap he passed - he said, “So, um… clothes.” She reddened slightly. “I’m fine in this. Really. I don’t feel cold much.” He resisted the urge to ask more about that - she wasn’t here as a research subject. And maybe he would have a chance to ask later. She was wearing a dark blue dress over a brown shirt and brown stockings - not as fine as what she probably wore at home, but still unlikely to last for a long time if worn repeatedly, a lesson he had learned quickly while wearing his own “practical” clothes from back in Geatland. They might not be silk and satin, but they were still designed with the mindset that accessible repair or replacement would be available. Clothes bought here were thicker cloth, rougher weave less inclined to unravel or tear when caught. He had never bought women’s clothing, of course, but assumed it was likely similar. And she would need some - living here, unfortunately, she would need some. But he didn’t know how to tell her that. It ashamed him, suddenly - all of it. This part of the city, the boarding house, his room - the squalor and clutter, the constant smell of smoke and old cooking and damp wood and mildewed bedding. She still had no real understanding of the world in which she had landed - the world in which he had invited her to land. But the realization would come for her, as it had for him. He would never forget the helpless tears that had come when he realized he would have to sell several cherished books, some of the few he had carried through many years of wandering, in order to pay his rent. In living this far down, there was no grace period, nor were there sympathetic landlords. He had sold his books, paid his due, and returned to that summer’s meager quarters to cry again. Yes, Elsa would realize - but if he could prevent it, it would never be so harsh as that. Even if he had to sell more books to make sure, he had been here long enough to not feel the loss quite as deeply. He would do what was necessary. “Why don’t we just go have a look?” he asked. “I mean, if you don’t mind, it’s up to you, but… there’s a pretty nice market square, not far from the docks, so there’s usually… a lot to look at.” He knew nothing about women’s clothing, much less what might appeal to her. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay locked up in here all the time.” He saw her shoulders hunch, just perceptibly, and realized what he’d said. But before he could apologize, her eyes - clear and blue and firm - met his. “Yes,” she said. “That would be fine - going out to look.” Resolve in her eyes - but there was a tremble in her voice. Once more, she bit her lip. She wore the cloak and gloves in which she had arrived - and even without her earlier admission, he might have suspected that wasn’t due to the December chill. Still, most of the skittishness of the day before was gone; in place was a mask: serene face, straight back, gloved hands folded before her. Among women hard-bitten early by poverty and desperation, clutching threadbare shawls with chilblained hands and usually surrounded by hordes of red-faced children, Elsa was going to stand out no matter what she did, pale and unblemished and imperious as she was. If it helped her to walk like a queen, he didn’t see that it was likely to make the situation any worse. The marketplace was packed, far more so than was usual mid-morning, and it was only when he saw the butcher’s sign, advertising holiday specials, that he realized Elsa had arrived only a few days before Christmas. She seemed as oblivious as he had been, but judging from the way her brows drew down, she was deliberately taking in as little as possible, in order to maintain control. King Agdar had written that even as a child, crowds had been difficult, and she had fled more than one social event as temperatures dropped and frost trickled out beneath her feet. “We don’t have to stay long,” Alarik said, leaning close to make himself heard over the chatter of shoppers and sellers alike, but careful not to touch. Elsa just nodded. She stayed close by his side as they ventured deeper. He went first to a stall where books were sold - and bought. He wandered for a bit, pretending to browse, hoping something would catch Elsa’s attention long enough for him to do what was necessary. She stopped by a shelf of gothic novels, looking around to make sure it was all right to do so before sliding one out to glance through the pages. When he was fairly certain she was absorbed - she was hardly blinking, her lips parted - he went to conduct his own business. He glanced back more than once; she was reading each time. But when he rejoined her, she said, “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to do that.” She was still looking down at the open book. “It’s all right,” he said. “It’s… necessary more often than you might think. And they’re usually still here when I have a little extra again.” “I can’t imagine why.” He burst out laughing, loudly enough to draw disapproving looks from several others. Well, let them - laughter caused no harm, and Elsa looked pleased with herself. Se glanced a last time at the page before her, then closed the book and returned it carefully to its place on the shelf. Alarik looked back at the bookseller, who nodded. They spent the new few hours trying to figure out buying her new clothes - Alarik had never bought clothes for anyone but himself, and Elsa had never bought clothes at all. He finally convinced her he didn’t mind paying for two new dresses - a lighter blue, a bit more expensive, but it was obvious she liked it, and a deep green - and a new bodice very similar to the old. “I’ll pay for them,” Elsa said repeatedly, something close to panic in her voice; she was clenching her gloved hands together at her chest. “Or… or Anna will. I’ll write to her, in your name.” “I don’t mind, it’s fine,” he said, but she was clearly not going to drop it, so he finally added, “You should write to Anna anyway - as you said, in my name.” But Elsa bit her lip and fell silent, and there were some walls she had built that he knew he could never, at least for the moment, get around. She was quiet and withdrawn on the walk back to his - their - little room, but once there, she untied the twine holding together her bundle of clothes, folded each item tight and neat, and placed them on the trunk at the end of the bed. She looked, he thought, very pleased. He was glad. 

The next few days were peaceful, if often more than a little bit awkward. He rarely did much besides work - he had no money for anything else - but it seemed uncouth to bury himself in books and notes when Elsa was there, quiet and uncertain and so very, very alone. But it was hard to tell how much engagement she wanted. Occasionally, she would participate in something almost like normal conversation, but those moments were rare - usually, she answered questions politely but succinctly, and was all but silent otherwise. After the single trip to the market, she also showed no inclination to go out again, though her usual place in the room became sitting on the edge of the bed, where she had a view out the little window to the street below. It took her little time to adjust to the schedules of the neighborhood, so that she saw the departures of the dock and factory workers at dawn, the return of some for lunch, and the appearance of street vendors with questionable meal-stuffs for all the workers trudging home in the frigid dusk. He watched her sometimes, then - he just couldn’t help it. Her eyes grew bright and her cheeks flushed, like a delighted child. For those few minutes, he caught a glimpse of an Elsa happy, carefree, part of a wider world. But he seemed incapable of finding a way to draw it out otherwise. He wasn’t sure how to phrase even his own activities - wanting her to know she was welcome to come out with him, but not wanting her to feel forced, he settled for just stating his intentions, though “I’m, uh… going to get lunch now” was still far from optimal. She usually just nodded. Then, one morning, she ventured a question from her usual perch by the window: “Where is everyone today?” He glanced out at the empty street, then realized: “Oh - it’s Christmas Eve. The factories are closed today and tomorrow.” “Christmas Eve?” She was still looking out the window, down at the cold, silent street. “I missed my birthday…” “When was your birthday?” “Last week.” And she lapsed once more into silence. He went out in the evening to buy dinner as well as things for the next day, when even the street vendors would be scarce. Money was running low - he’d need to take on tutoring again, come spring - but he bought what he needed, regardless. There were always more books to sell. Christmas morning came with bells and shouting in the streets, and Elsa almost smiling as she watched the neighborhood children - usually as dour and rough as their parents - laugh and toss balls of wrinkled paper and run deftly along the slick cobblestones. They ate well - sausages and lutefisk and cabbage, and he’d bought rice pudding for dessert. Elsa was quiet, but seemed happy enough, even laughing when she found the almond and he pulled from his pocket the tiny marzipan pig.    “Anna always won,” she said. “Even though she didn’t like marzipan.” “Do you?” “Yes.” But she broke the pig in half, so that he got some, too. He almost lost his nerve on the last thing, putting it off, wondering if it wouldn’t make sense just to sell it back, and hope to get even half of what he’d paid. The sky was growing dark when he finally said, “I, uh… I got you something. Just something small.” She took the paper-wrapped parcel in both hands, a strange, almost pensive expression in her eyes. “Thank you. I… I appreciate it very much.” She pulled the paper away with slow, careful hands, then was still for quite some time, staring down at the book’s cover. Then, to his surprise, she started to laugh - true, deep laughter that made her eyes water and her cheeks brighten and one hand rise quickly to cover her open mouth. He grinned - he couldn’t help it. Maybe she hated it, but regardless, she was laughing. She was happy. “I’m sorry,” she finally said, wiping her eyes with the back of one gloved hand. “It was very thoughtful. I just didn’t know you were paying that much attention when…” “When you were doing the same thing to me?” She nodded. She was still smiling. She put the book on the trunk, next to her spare clothes - all that she owned in the world, now. She looked at those things frequently, as if reassuring herself they were still there.

[dailyhealthynews]

23st woman too heavy for GP’s scales loses almost 150lbs on diet

A former 23rd party girl who “used to laugh at people who worked out” shared how her discovery of running dropped her to 10.5, which means friends with their ripped bodies on the street no longer recognize.

Sarah Day, 45, an IT service desk manager from Basingstoke, rose to 23+ stones after the loss of her beloved mother and ex-husband in 2014 left her in despair.

But when her doctor’s medical scale wasn’t high enough to record her weight in 2019, Sarah was embarrassed and referred to a local slimming club – and was soon bitten by the weight loss and exercise virus.

Sarah Day after losing weight. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

She previously wore a height of 26 at 5 “by 8” and had a BMI, or body mass index, used to measure a healthy weight of 49.1 compared to the healthy range of 18.5 to 24.9, which made them obese.

But now 12st 8lbs Sarah, who is single and has lived with her father David Day, 72, a retired engineer, since she split from her late ex-husband in 2012, describes her weight loss which has dropped to a height of 10-12 Dress size and a BMI of 26.6 as “life changing”.

She said, “I recently bought a size 10 dress, it was just the most incredible feeling.”

Sarah’s diet before:

Breakfast – nothing

Lunch – cheese rolls from the work canteen, chips packets and chocolate bars

Dinner – pizza with extra cheese, snacks like Deliveroo, Burger King or McDonald’s

Drink (on weekends) – six pints of Stella or white wine and shots

Exercise – none

She added, “Friends and family are blown away and people don’t recognize me on the street.

“I used to laugh at people who exercised and thought they were stupid – now I run four times a week and exercise almost every day. I’ll never be the way I was before. “

Tall and lean during most of her teenage years, Sarah started gaining weight as a young woman when she started eating and drinking anything she liked.

Sarah’s wake up call came in 2019 when she was too heavy for her GP’s scales. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

“I was always thin when I was younger, so I never thought I would gain weight,” she explained.

“I’ve always been tall – taller and taller – since I started gaining weight when I was 18.

“Before, I was really thin. Nothing made me gain weight. “

Sarah (center) with her friend, also called Sarah (in blue), with her friend’s sister Sarah Zoey (left) and her friend’s daughters Sarah, Abbie (right) and Georgia (second from left). PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

Sarah was a sociable drinker and was also starting to party more with her friends around this time.

She said, “I went out a lot over the weekend and drank. I was a social drinker, but I drank a lot – wine, beer and shots. “

But the change in her figure did not bother the self-confident and popular Sarah.

Sarah after her transformation. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

“I didn’t mind being a big girl and I was pretty happy to be ‘Big Sarah’,” she said.

In 2000, at the age of 24, Sarah married her now deceased ex-husband, whom she would rather not name.

“I was size 16 when I got married,” she says. “I just gradually gained weight by eating what I liked and what I drank.”

Sarah after her weight loss. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

She added, “I ate the wrong things. I ate pizza the whole time – I just ate what I wanted. “

But the relationship didn’t last when the two split in 2012.

Tragically, Sarah’s mother, Nina Day, a catering business owner, died of ovarian cancer in May 2014 at the age of 68 – followed shortly afterwards by Sarah’s ex-husband in November of that year.

Sarah after losing weight. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

She said, “I’ve had a terrible couple of years losing my mother and ex-husband. We were apart, but it was just a really shitty time.

“He was a very big part of my life and it was a shock to go through it all in the same year.”

As she turned to eating to cope with her grief, Sarah admitted, “Since 2014 I’ve gained a lot. I didn’t care what I eat. “

Sarah before her weight loss. COLLECT PA REAL LIFE

She added, “I would eat a lot of cheese. I ate huge portions of whatever I wanted and I still drank a lot on weekends and evenings. “

Stacking brick on brick, Sarah’s wake-up call finally came in June 2019 when she was feeling down and in pain and booked an appointment with her family doctor.

“I’ve been to the doctors a few times,” Sarah said. “I just thought it was a little slip up.”

Sarah put on whatever she wanted to eat and drink. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

She added, “But I was on the scales and she couldn’t work out my weight. They were old-fashioned sheds that cut off – and I was too heavy. “

Given her size, Sarah knew she had to act.

She said, “I just came out and cried. I knew that if I didn’t do it for myself, nobody would help me. “

Sarah’s diet now:

Breakfast – a banana or two

Lunch – Ham and Low Fat Philadelphia Sandwich Dilution, a bag of low WW point crisps

Dinner – smaller portions of healthier meals like chicken fajitas, spaghetti bolognese, salads, or scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on low-fat bread

Drink (on weekends) – gin and tonic, in moderation or the occasional beer or glass of wine

Exercise – morning run of 5-6 km and midday hike of 4 km

For WW, formerly known as Weight Watchers, she was offered a free 12 week membership through the NHS.

She vowed not to put it off any longer, called that afternoon and went with him the next week.

She said, “There were like-minded people at different stages and I just thought I can do it.”

Sarah is now thrilled to have a dress size 10-12. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

When she started the diet where slimmer people track their food intake with WW points, Sarah’s original goal was to be 16 and wear a size 18.

“I would have liked to have worn a size 12 – but at that point it still seemed so far away,” she explained.

After months of monitoring her diet, Sarah gradually lost 4th place – although she initially refused to exercise and continued to enjoy some dinners and evenings with friends to save up her points for the weekends.

Sarah nearly lost 11th PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

She said, “I haven’t told my friends and family anything other than a few close friends and my boss at work who was really brilliant.

“Before the lockdown. I didn’t want to train – I just wasn’t. “

But when others noticed changes, friends warned her not to tighten or risk sagging skin folds.

Sarah loves to exercise now. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

So, in February 2020, she bit the bullet and entered a gym – and discovered, to her shock, that she loved it.

She said, “It was across from my job and I thought it was a sign. Then, within weeks, they shut them all down because of Covid. It took me 45 years to go to a gym and within a month they were closed.

“I didn’t feel out of place and really was there – so I was gutted.”

Sarah on a hiking vacation with friends in the Lake District. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

When the pandemic lockdown the country, Sarah began exercising on an exercise bike and taking long walks in her father’s living room.

When the restrictions began to lift, friends joined her on 10 to 15 km hikes.

She said, “It was the only way I could see her, so everyone took turns walking with me.”

Sarah says her weight loss changed her life. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

Not drinking alcohol during the lockdown, as her father is not a drinker, also helped.

“I was a bit of a party animal before the lockdown, but it’s a little strange,” Sarah confessed.

“I made the decision to stop drinking in order to lose a little more weight, but I wouldn’t have wanted to drink alone during the pandemic.”

Sarah is walking with friends during the lockdown. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

When they returned to work after the first lockdown in September 2020, their colleagues were “amazed” at their transformation.

“I was in 16th place, but I wasn’t happy. I wanted more, ”she said. “I made the mistake about training.”

That summer, Sarah enjoyed personal workouts and returned to the gym – reaching a major milestone after losing 8th place.

Sarah was size 16 when she got married at 24. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

“The compliments kept coming back,” she laughed.

Sarah started running in the fall, when restrictions resumed.

Sarah’s doctor was astonished when she returned for an appointment in January 2021, soon to be regularly jogging five or six kilometers, four times a week and a total of six or seven times a week.

Sarah weighed 23 before her weight loss. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

She said, “I lost just under the 11th. The sister couldn’t believe it.

“I’m now a size 12 and WW says I’ve lost 10.5 pounds. I have reached my target weight and I feel amazing. “

Enthusiastic about her new, torn figure, Sarah no longer sees her eating habits as diet.

Sarah went for a walk with friends in Covid every day. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

“It’s a lifestyle choice – I have my goodies,” she said.

“WW changed my life. It’s something I’ll live with forever and I’ll never go back. “

She added, “I was just on a hiking vacation with friends in the Lake District, something I would never have done before.”

Sarah with an award from WW. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

But her newfound love for running has benefited her mental and physical health.

She said, “I love clearing my mind. It’s a breath of fresh air and my own thoughts. “

Now she’s so much happier, friends are pushing Sarah to get back on the dating scene.

Sarah with the daughters of her best friend Abbie (right) aged 17 and Georgia (left) aged 20. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

“Apparently I can go out now and find the man of my dreams!” She joked.

And Sarah might even show up on TV one day.

She laughed, “My friends always wanted me to apply to First Dates, and I’ve never felt so confident. Maybe I’ll think about it now in the future – who knows. “

Sarah is now excited to join the dating scene. PA REAL LIFE / COLLECT

But the biggest change of all lies in their happiness in themselves.

Sarah said, “I smile when I look at myself brushing my teeth now. I feel a great sense of achievement and it makes me so happy. “

Continue reading

On the subject of matching items

Continue reading

On the subject of matching items

source https://dailyhealthynews.ca/23st-woman-too-heavy-for-gps-scales-loses-almost-150lbs-on-diet/

[stillnotoverstillstarcrossed]

Wherever You’re Going, I’m Going that Way

(Also on AO3). 

Benvolio was hopeless. His fingers tapped incessantly on his phone screen, doing the same thing he’d done for the last 20 minutes. Turning it on. Off. On. Off. The glowing white numbers that read the time seemed to be taunting him.

It was already 11 o’clock and she still hadn’t called.

And here he was, pathetically lying upside down on the gross couch Mercutio mooched off some garage sale in South Central. Benvolio had turned down Merc and Romeo’s offer to get a few drinks, and the open slot for teaching a class at the art studio. He even took an earlier afternoon shift at the bar. All so he would be right there when she called.

At first, Benvolio felt rather proud of himself for taking care of business so quickly. Clearing his whole schedule the day before seemed like a very grown-up thing to do. But now he just felt foolish.

Perhaps she meant “I’ll call you” in passing. Maybe he’d over-anticipated the meaning of the call altogether. For one thing, Rosaline didn’t even owe him a call at all. Because they weren’t exclusive. Because he wasn’t her boyfriend. He knew that.

Rosaline had made that very clear after that first night all those weeks ago. The night Rosaline had let him in for some coffee and conversation. At some point their conversation turned dangerously intimate. But Benvolio figured being as worn out as they were, a venting session was bound to happen. She had spoken softer than he’d ever heard her speak. Her skin had glowed in the moonlight that fell through the paned windows. One thing led to another and he woke up wrapped around her, her warm skin heating him to his core.

But before he could even flash her a smile or press a kiss into her shoulder, she told him she didn’t need anything serious. That this wasn’t going anywhere. Just some fun.

Benvolio nodded as casually as he could and agreed. And at the time, he probably thought he wanted that too. But Benvolio knew himself well enough to know that he fell hard and fast. Much too hard and fast to be trusted with this situation. He should’ve stopped this the moment Rosaline warned him.

But he stayed. That was in January, a cold and lonely month. Maybe that’s why this whole thing between them was ever allowed to happen. Convenience. He lived across the hall. He just happened to be nearby when Rosaline needed someone.

He didn’t particularly mind being needed by Rosaline. He didn’t mind at all. There was just a part of him that wished she needed him, Benvolio, not just a warm body.

Benvolio's phone was now laid face down on his chest. Still as bare and as dry as it was 20 minutes ago. Benvolio sighed and lifted himself off the grimy couch. Why waste time waiting up for a girl a whole country away who probably forgot about you when you could get a few hours of desperately needed sleep? he reasoned. That’s not a sad use of my time at all.

Benvolio stretched his arms out, loosening his stiff muscles from his awkward position. He made his way to the bathroom to prepare for bed. After a quick and rather melancholy brushing of his teeth, he tread to his room.

He tossed off his shirt and jeans and threw himself on the bed, hastily getting under the covers. He tried his best to ignore the thoughts of Rosaline, who's figure had laid here just a few days ago before she had left for New York.

“Don’t think that once I leave, you and Mercutio can just watch Scandal without me. I swear our friendship will be over,” she had said, with a scrutinizing look on her face. Benvolio’s white sheets wrapped around her chest and her curls splayed wildly over her face.

“Capulet, I wouldn’t dare. Besides, Olivia Pope is no fun unless your constant criticisms about her wine addiction and so-called ‘white-man problem’ accompany her.”

Rosaline threw her head back and laughed. She shoved Benvolio playfully at his cheeky use of her own term.

“You’re not allowed to say white-man problem, Benvolio, because you, yourself, are a white-man problem.”

“Your words, not mine.” He shrugged before he wrapped his arms back around her. She closed her eyes and muttered something about white boys again under her breath.

Try as he might, the memory still twisted Benvolio’s insides.

Benvolio tried to close his eyes again and push all Rosaline thoughts from his mind. As soon as he found himself finally drifting off, his phone rang.

Benvolio jumped up fast, glad no one was there to see his embarrassingly quick reaction time. He scrambled for his phone, almost knocking over everything else on the nightstand in the process.

The screen’s bright light made him squint, unable to make out the words for a few seconds. Once his eyes focused, he didn’t hesitate to hit the answer button. It was Rosaline.

“Hello?” Benvolio answered breathily.

“Benvolio? Were you sleeping? Why is it so dark?”

Benvolio stuttered out an apology and reached to turn on a bedside lamp.

“Better?” he asked, hoping he sounded more put together now that he'd caught his breath.

“Better.” Rosaline said with a soft smile. Benvolio took in her appearance through the small screen. Her hair was wrapped up in a bun and she was wearing an old t-shirt Benvolio had seen a few times on his bedroom floor. She seemed to be outside somewhere, most likely extremely high up, as there were city lights lined up at her shoulder. She looked wide awake, despite the time there being ahead of L.A.

“Sorry I called so late, we got caught up.”

Benvolio’s cheeks heated up slightly. Her apology only reminded him of his recent dramatic episode on the couch. That was a short but depressing time of his life that he really would like to forget.

“Where are you?” he asked, trying to move the topic along.

“You’ll never guess.” Benvolio nodded nonchalantly. “Yeah, I probably won’t.”

Rosaline rolled her eyes.

“You’re no fun.”

Benvolio shrugged. A fond smile reached his face at the sight of her frowning lips.

“Maybe. But tell me.”

“Well, the hotel we were originally booked at had a little mouse problem. Guess who got transferred to the 4 Season’s Hotel as an apology for the inconvenience? We did!”

In the background, Benvolio heard a “Hell yeah we did!” which could only be Juliet. Another voice could be heard saying “Hi, Benny boy!”. It was followed by a glimpse of Livia’s face popping up behind Rosaline’s shoulder. Isabella also joined in, wiggling her eyebrows and putting up a peace sign when she entered the frame. Benvolio simply smiled and waved back.

Rosaline shooed them away and looked back at him, waiting for his response.

“Congratulations, Capulet, you’re rubbing elbows with the elite now. Better be careful before a rich boy comes and tries to sweep you up.”

“I already have a rich boy, Montague. Don’t act like you’re so far removed from the life of glamor when you literally owned a Mercedes Benz in high school.”

Rosaline beamed challengingly at Benvolio. He inhaled at the mention of being “hers” but quickly recovered.

“I left the life of luxury behind a long time ago. No more Mercedes Benz for me. I’ve been enlightened. I’ll stick to renting the tourist bikes.”

Rosaline scoffed. “Whatever you say, Ben.” The familiar nickname never ceased to make Benvolio’s chest squeeze.

“Now tell me, Rosaline. How’s the trip going?”

Rosaline told him the events of their first 2 days in the city with a bright grin and wide eyes. He knew that Livia, Juliet, and Isabella had taken great pains to convince Rosaline to actually take her head out of her books for spring break. Rosaline needed it. Benvolio was happy to see her so excited for once and not anxious over the next paper or the coming exam.

“But enough about me. Montague, how have you been? Is Mercutio still alive?  Did Romeo cry every 5 minutes over Juliet’s tragic absence?”

“I’m good. I’m assuming Merc is still breathing, but I haven’t seen him or Romeo. They headed out to some club.”

“Aw, did poor Benvolio get left out of the fun?” she teased in an unexpected baby voice. “Now you know what it's like to be the one who stays home while everyone else goes out. How’s it feel?”

Benvolio took in Rosaline’s amused face. Her soft lips were lifted in a smile. Her dark eyes seemed to be beckoning him to a city miles and miles away. He felt a surge of bravery run through his spine.

“Actually, Capulet I turned them down. I wanted to be here when you called.”

Rosaline was visibly taken off guard, as her mouth slightly dropped open and she didn’t respond immediately with some light joke. Benvolio swallowed and anxiously tapped his fingers against his side.

“Well, I’m really glad you picked up, Ben.” Rosaline answered back, her initial shock replaced with an inquiring, but kind, gaze. Benvolio could only stare back, lost in her eyes that even over the grainy connection seemed to shine clear as day. His fingers itched for a pencil and his sketchbook.

“Rosaline, come on, the pool closes in an hour!” screamed Juliet from a distance.

Their moment was promptly ended, and Rosaline sighed.

“I’ve been summoned,” she said in a grave voice as Isabella and Livia’s giggles sounded in the background.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow at a much earlier time. I swear.”

“I’ll be waiting,” Benvolio answered quietly, half-hoping Rosaline hadn’t heard, half-hoping she had.

She apparently had, as she responded, “I sure hope so.”

Rosaline’s eyes met his one last time. “Goodnight, Ben.”

The phone buzzed, ending the call. With a resounding thud, Benvolio dropped his phone onto his chest. His lips slowly lifted in an easy grin. Maybe he wasn’t so hopeless after all.

[breeeliss]

Chlonette and mermaids

this isn’t really very plotty but idk modern mermaid au i guess :P

words: 1961

Marinette looked into her old jewelry box and realized she was quickly running out of stock. 

About the only things left inside that she was willing to part with were a stack of silver rings (fake silver probably, but that was Marinette’s secret) and a strange bronze bee broach that her aunt had gotten her for her birthday three years ago that Marinette never bothered to wear. She dug around her closet for her old hand mirror with the cracked handle and decided that all this was enough. It was probably time to start scouring thrift stores and street fairs, but she’d worry about that later. 

She stuffed everything into her bag, grabbed a croissant from the kitchen counter, and started to make her way towards the pier. 

It was early enough in the morning that not many people were by the beach with the exception of the occasional fisherman heading to the southern part of the pier with fishing rods and baskets full of bait. Marinette headed in the opposite direction until she came upon a part of the rickety, wooden banister that was damaged, leaving a hole just large enough for Marinette to slip past. She looked around her to make sure no one was watching before she squeezed through the gap and carefully started to shimmy down one of the posts until she was dropping down onto a small bank of rocks underneath the walkway. 

Marinette squinted against the sunrise coming just over the horizon as she whistled a quick tune with four long notes and waited. 

It only took a few seconds for a glimmering golden fin to breach the surface of the water just a few meters away. Marinette watched the ripples in the water begin to get closer to her until they finally started to swirl around her feet. A blonde head of hair carefully poked up from underneath the water. “Is the coast clear?”

“No one’s around, don’t worry,” Marinette assured. “You can come up.”

“Oh, wonderful.” 

Chloe leaned her hands against the bank of rocks and carefully lifted herself up to sit right next to Marinette, stretching her long golden tail out in front of her so that her scales could dry in the sun. She collected all of her hair in her hands and wrung out all the water, being careful not to disturb the chains of pearls she had braided throughout her hair. “You don’t usually come on Tuesdays. Don’t you open up the bakery in the mornings?” 

“It’s a holiday today, so school’s out and the bakery is closed,” Marinette explained. “Thought I’d come visit.” 

“You’re lucky,” Chloe smirked. “I was just out this morning looking for jellyfish.”

Marinette dug through her bag. “Jellyfish?”

“Of course, darling. Do you think my tail stays this smooth and shiny through will power? Proper tail maintenance is important. It’s downright tragic how other mermaids tend to neglect that.” 

“Don’t jellyfish sting?”

“Oh, they do! But the tingle it leaves afterwards is worth it. That means it’s working.” 

Marinette chuckled and made sure to file away that little mermaid factoid away for later. She pulled out the stack of silver rings, held it up to the light, and handed it to Chloe. “It’s been a while since I brought you things to add to your collection so I’d thought I’d bring some things by.”

Chloe gasped and snatched it out of Marinette’s hands, rolling it around in her palms and marveling at the way the metal shone in the light. “Oh, they’re so bright!!!”

“Yeah, I thought you might like them. I’ve only worn them once and they’re too big for me so I don’t use them very often.”

Chloe slipped the rings on all of her fingers and found that they were also too big to fit snugly. “That’s okay. I can probably figure out a way to turn it into a hair clip or something. It’s really hard to swim sometimes with your hair getting in your face.”

“I know it’s not diamonds or rubies or anything like that, but you’re good at finding good uses for random things.” 

“Ah, finding beauty in even the most lowly of places,” Chloe sighed, fluttering her lashes with a smile. “It’s the saint in me.” 

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Alright. Your turn.” 

Chloe tapped her finger against her lips before searching the dozens of baubles and doodads she had hooked onto the gold chains hanging around her hips like a belt. It took her a couple of minutes to find what she was looking for, but eventually she cheered and handed Marinette a compass that was caked in dried sand and looked to be a couple hundred years old. 

Marinette opened it and found that the needle was stuck and wouldn’t move no matter how much she turned her body. “Huh. Is it broken?”

“Oh I have absolutely no idea what it is,” Chloe said distractedly as she tried to pry apart the rings and twist them into a different shape. “I’ve had it for ages, but it doesn’t do anything and it’s rather big and ugly.”

Marinette scowled. “So you gave it to me because it’s ugly? Thanks a lot, you brat.”

“What? You’re a human. That nonsense was invented by humans. It’s perfect for you. Anyway, what’s it supposed to do?”

“It tells you which direction you’re traveling in. The needle in the middle is supposed to always point north but I think the mechanism is off. Probably belonged to a sailor or something.” 

“That’s a stupid old thing to have. Why not just look up at the stars?”

Marinette shrugged. “I’m not much of a sailor so I don’t know whether people still look at the stars. I think compasses are just easier.”

“So how do you get around?”

“GPS mostly. A lot of cellphones have them.”

“What’s a GPS?”

“Oh, it’s uh….it’s like a thing that tells you where you are at all times. You just check your cellphone and it’ll tell you exactly where you are. Cellphones are like little boxes we can use to call people and find out information and all sorts of cool things.”

Chloe rolled her eyes and started to twirl the ends of her hair between her fingers. “Sounds boring.” 

Marinette smiled. “Boring, huh? Well, then I guess if it’s so boring I’ll just take the rest of this stuff home with me. You probably won’t be very interested in it anyway – ”

“Hold on a second!! Let me see what you have, don’t just go!”

Marinette always thought that thing in The Little Mermaid about mermaids collecting human things was just something that people made up for the sake of storybooks. But it turns out that it was founded on a lot more truth than Marinette realized. Chloe didn’t really care much for the functionality of the things that interested her. Her favorite things were trinkets that were broken or useless but looked extremely pretty. All things shiny, precious, and golden immediately enchanted her, and she always found a way to turn it into a charm for her belts, a new ring, a new bracelet, a new hair accessory, and countless other strange purposes that Marinette was sure only ever made sense to a mermaid. Marinette learned not to question it. Besides, she as able to convince Chloe into making this like a gift exchange once a week so that Marinette could get something interesting from the ocean as well. Besides, it wasn’t often that people could say they were friends with a mermaid. 

She managed to exchange her hand mirror for a vial of crushed sea urchins that doubled as nail polish and exchange her bee broach for a pair of earrings that were actually just broken shell pieces attached to what looked like an old, thin fishhook. Strange gifts, but Marinette didn’t want to be rude by refusing them. Besides, she was more interested in the stories that went along with Chloe’s gifts rather than the gifts themselves. Chloe’s picky, snooty, and sarcastic behavior became tolerable whenever she told one of her tall tales. It wasn’t everyday that you got to listen to adventures about swimming to the United States, diving down into the ocean until it was too dark to see, dodging storms, and scouring ship wrecks. Marinette was tempted to take the time to find Chloe a really amazing and expensive gift only so that she’ll get some fantastical story in return. 

“Oh!” Chloe exclaimed after she put away her presents, her tail splashing around the surface and soaking Marinette’s pants with seawater. “I totally forgot to tell you! I found the most amazing thing the other day and I think you’d love it!”

“What?”

“I found this old rowboat near my home that must have sunk a few years ago,” Chloe started explaining. “But there was a trunk in the back that had a bunch of clothes in them. Sort of like what you’re wearing, but there were so many more things. Like those strange things you put on your feet to walk around. These wire-things that have two circles of glass on them that I think you may need to look through. And head things! Stuff that go on your head. Hats? Yeah, I think they’re called hats.” 

Marinette giggled. “Did you take anything?”

“No, I have to go back,” Chloe said. “But I figured I’d come and ask you if you wanted some of it first. You said you sew clothing and things right? I mean the clothes are a little dirty but they should still be okay with a few washes. Remind me. I’ll bring the trunk over next time.” 

“Oh perfect! I won’t have to buy fabric later.” 

“You….buy fabric?”

“Don’t start.”

Chloe lifted her hands. “Okay, okay, fine. Humans are confusing and ridiculous. Get used to it. I’ve got it.” 

“I was saying,” Marinette continued. “That if you managed to bring those old clothes back I can bring you some bakery sweets.” 

Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Sweets?”

“Mmhm. With sugar and honey and milk and all sorts of things you don’t have in the ocean. Trust me, I have a couple more things you might like.” 

“Ohhhh, is it going to make me fat?” Chloe asked, pressing her hands to her stomach. “I promised myself I would go on a bit of a diet this month.” 

“A small amount won’t do anything, so I’ll only bring a couple,” Marinette promised. “Besides, you have a pretty bad sweet tooth ever since I brought you those cookies the first time and I feel like I just have to keep enabling you since it’s too far gone to stop.”

Chloe smirked. “Revisiting an old shipwreck and plundering for treasure in exchange for sweets is almost universally worth it.”

Marinette laughed. “Nice to know we’re on the same page. I’m off again tomorrow, so maybe I’ll bring them then.” 

“You better,” Chloe warned. “I’m going to break a couple of nails getting this trunk for you, so the least you can do is pay in human food.” 

“Your sacrifices will be most appreciated.”

“Was that sarcasm?”

“in front of you? I’m offended you would think so.” 

“I’ll have you know it’s a lot of work to make my nails this strong.”

“What, is there special mermaid nail maintenance that I should know about?”

“You know? It’s funny you should say that – “

“Oh no no no, stop, I was kidding, I don’t want to hear it!”

“ – because as a matter of fact there is! Oh, it’s good you don’t have any plans today because this might take a while. You see, there’s this special kind of moss you have to get, right….” 

[misssophiachase]

Happy Halloween lovelies! So this is my day one drabble for @klaroweenweekend, hope I’m not too late and you enjoy it. Given it was adversaries  I hope this spin works too. Pic not mine obviously. 

Beauty and the Geek

30 October

“Ouch!”

“Well, if you didn’t fidget so much, Forbes,” Katherine argued, attempting to fasten a pin near the sensitive bare skin of her torso. “I might be able to alter your costume, princess.”

“Seems fitting,” Bonnie agreed.  They were finalising their outfits for the high school halloween dance and given Katherine’s design skills she was the one yielding the painful sewing accessories. 

“Hey!” She growled, looking at her best friends and knowing that if they didn’t hold that particular status in her life she’d be way more confrontational.  

“Oh come on,” Kat scoffed. “Your costume is a princess and you’re acting like one. I mean this couldn’t be more perfect, Care.”

“Is it too late to change my mind?” She squeaked, suddenly feeling self conscious about her rash decision a month earlier and just how brief her costume actually was now she was looking at it in the mirror. “I don’t want to dress like this.”

“Sure you don’t, Care.” Bonnie teased. “I saw the way your eyes lit up when you saw this in the costume place.”

“I was stunned.”

“No, you got all kinds of excited given the Star Wars connection and...”

“Then you thought it was the best way to make a certain popular jock see you in a different light.” Caroline faltered, as much as she wanted to disagree it was slightly true. “And given the whole Sandy and Danny Grease dynamic I don’t blame you.”  

She’d been tutoring the extremely attractive and annoyingly arrogant Klaus Mikaelson for six months and had struggled to move past those crimson lips and deep set dimples. Sure he’d started out as the egotistical ass she’d expected but for some reason had grown on her over time.

“I am so not Sandy and to be honest that comparison really annoys me,” Caroline scowled.

“What because she’s blonde, annoyingly naive and whiny?” Bonnie asked.

“I have to admit that girl can wear tight fitting spandex though,” Katherine added. “I mean it’s a crime to look that good in such an unflattering fabric.”

“This isn’t about him,” she murmured, choosing to ignore her friends throwaway comments even if she didn’t really believe herself. He'd been messing with her emotions for moths now. 

One month earlier...

“It doesn’t make sense,” he complained, tapping his pencil on the book in frustration. “Numbers I get but...”

“Algebra is difficult,” she offered. Even though he was the most talented soccer player and popular guy in school she kind of felt sorry for him.  

“It should be thrown out with all that hypothesis nonsense.”

“And here I thought you were beginning to bond with trigonometry, Mikaelson?”

“If I ever start to bond with anything mathematical call the bloody doctor,” he drawled. She couldn’t miss just how cute he looked with that crooked smile and flashing her a stray dimple.

“You could do worse.”

“Oh really?”

“I’ve heard the Halloween chaos is pretty full on,” she shared. “Word is that if you choose the wrong costume then the consequences are extremely harsh.”

“Don’t I know it?” He joked, his blue eyes gazing into hers intently. “I went as a ghost in junior high at my old school in England and never heard the end of it.”

“A ghost?”

“Apparently it was extremely predictable,” he offered. “I didn’t have the guts to admit that it was the cheapest option my family could afford.”

“But yet still the most popular costume to date,” Caroline conceded. She’d often wondered about his family life but besides a few rants about his annoying siblings she didn’t ask. “I think it’s just because you were a trend setter and they couldn’t deal with it.’

“If you say so,” he chuckled. “So what are you dressing up as for Halloween? I hope it’s not a ghost and I’ve offended you.”

“I’d love to say it was and you’ve offended me deeply,” she teased. “But I am a little more creative than that.”

“If I’m not mistaken you kind of offended me with that whole creative comment,” he laughed. 

“I couldn’t help myself.”

“I guess I didn’t expect any less, love.”

“So, what are you wearing for Halloween?” Caroline asked curiously, her mind conjuring up images of a fireman costume that did nothing to disguise his toned body. “Last year I seem to recall it was...”

“Cliched,” he winced. Caroline had a feeling he wasn’t the one to pick it. “I was actually considering not making the effort.”

“Pretty sure that’s not an option when you’re going to be the Prom King next year, your majesty, so you should get some training in the meantime.” Prom King with Hayley on his arm as his queen, she had to admit that particular image made her queasy. 

Although they were no longer a couple, Caroline always figured they’d get back together given Hayley’s tragic attempts to lure him into her pathetic web. Klaus so far had resisted. Either he was too smart or someone else had caught his eye.  

“And what would you know about that?” He bit back gruffly. Caroline immediately felt like their easy banter had turned into a depiction of their real life roles. The geek and the god. 

“I suppose I wouldn’t,” she muttered, collecting her books from the table and standing up quickly.  “Forget I even suggested it.”

She could hear his objections as she walked away but had no intention of responding. They were from two different worlds after all. 

It had been the anger and frustration that had led her to make that crazy decision and choose that particular costume with her friends the following day. She’d show Klaus Mikaelson she was more than just a high school nerd. 

October 31

“What the hell is that?” Kol baulked, looking at his brother’s ensemble as they approached the school gym. 

“It’s called a costume, in fact this place is going to be littered with them, little brother,” he drawled sarcastically. 

If he was being honest, Klaus would never have picked this costume, hence his brother’s surprise, but to him it was perfect. It was something Caroline had mentioned and Klaus couldn’t get out of his head.

2 months earlier...

“I don’t get it?”

“The problem?” She asked, spinning his math text book around to scrutinise it. Klaus couldn’t miss just how cute she looked with her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose and her forehead scrunched in concentration. “What’s the problem?”

“I was actually talking about Star Wars,” he admitted, watching as her golden waves fell effortlessly over her shoulders. 

“You were thinking about Star Wars?”

“Well, I couldn’t stop thinking about it after our last session, so I may of watched a couple of movies.”

“You actually watched Star Wars? You?” 

“Why do you say that so surprisingly?” He snapped. If there was anything Klaus hated it was people judging him. 

“I just didn’t think it was your choice of genre I suppose.”

“Maybe not, until you told me about light sabres and a certain, feisty Princess,” he shared. “Then I couldn’t resist but this Chewbacca guy..”

“Chewbacca is a Wookiee,” she interrupted. Klaus had to admit she looked pretty cute defending her characters. “And how exactly has he offended your majesty?” She had taken to calling him that because she knew he hated it. Unlike every other girl in school, Caroline was the only one who challenged him and that’s why he liked her so much.

It had begun slowly, Klaus had been more annoyed than anything because he’d been forced into tutoring so as not to harm his scholarship chances. Maybe he’d been a little sullen according to Caroline at the outset but she’d soon knocked that out of him. She didn’t care about who he was and for some reason that only intrigued him more. 

“I have no idea what the hell he’s saying,” he admitted. “I mean if I was Han Solo and he was my co-pilot on the Millennium Falcon I’d be worried, you know just saying.” 

“You’ve thought about this?”

“Oh come on! Tell me you’re not worried about possible aviation incidents?” 

“How much have you seen exactly?”

“This is a library,” their feared librarian hissed as she passed their table. “Not a rock concert.”

They both stifled a laugh before she turned the book around and tapped at the math problem in question. 

October 31

The gym was packed but Klaus couldn’t see much given the ample amounts of dry ice they’d administered to fit in with the scary cemetery theme. He made his way towards the refreshments table, secretly hoping they’d spiked the punch so he could get through this night. 

Ever since he and Caroline had fought a month earlier, Klaus had been in a funk. When he asked about her knowing the whole Prom King situation he hadn’t meant for it to come out so harsh. To be honest that had been festering for so long and all he wanted was to be free of the typecast and able to move on. Move on with Caroline if she’d have him. 

It was something that tortured him on a daily basis, mainly because Klaus figured he wasn’t good enough for her. Not only was she the most brilliant person he knew but she was also extremely beautiful, inside and out. 

Unfortunately she didn’t seem to be there and Klaus felt his chest constrict. He’d worn this costume for her after all. 

“Couldn’t resist a light sabre huh?” A voice enquired from behind. Klaus would know that melodic voice anywhere. 

“Well, given I don’t speak Wookiee, I figured this was the best choice,” Klaus hadn’t turned around yet, almost too afraid his burgeoning feelings would be betrayed. 

“And you also have a thing for mind tricks, right?” Klaus had to admit she knew him all too well. 

He turned around slowly a smile etched on his face at seeing her again but not expecting the outstanding view. Suddenly his smile turned into a worried frown. A brief gold bikini and maroon skirt he wasn’t expecting, even if she did look stunning with her gold locks plaited. Without thinking he pulled her aside and into a dark corner of the gym. 

“Caroline,” he hissed, trying to ignore just how aroused he felt. Given he pretty much loved her before this ensemble wasn’t helping matters. “You can't wear things like that in public, what if...”

“People saw me,” she huffed, pushing him away. “I don’t need any chauvinistic behaviour tonight, Mikaelson.”

“But this outfit, I mean it’s just not you, love.”

“What? The shy, demure girl you know?” She growled. “Maybe I’m not who you  think I am?” 

“I know you’re beautiful, intelligent and stubbornly argumentative,” he began, running his thumb across her cheek intimately. “And I know that you’ve stolen my heart.”

“Well, maybe after this display of macho...”

“I will earn your trust, Caroline,” he promised. “If that’s what it takes, I’m willing to do that.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you and even if you think me the biggest caveman in the world, I’m going to try and put my Luke Skywalker Jedi robe over that outfit because I can’t handle anyone else looking at you the way I do.”

“Besides the obvious and annoying chauvinism in that statement, how many Star Wars films have you watched exactly?”

“Five,” he admitted. “Empire Strikes Back has to be my personal favourite.”

“So, you didn’t get to Return of the Jedi then I assume?”  Klaus suddenly felt like he was missing something big given her judgmental tone. 

“This is what Leia wears in the next movie,” she began, pulling him towards the gym doors. “And just so you know, our costume pairing you imagined isn’t exactly what it’s cracked up to be.” 

“No spoilers, Forbes,” he warned. 

“The only thing I’m going to say is that Ewoks are cute. How about we take this back to my place? And when I say that I mean to enlighten you on what you’ve missed in the Star Wars universe.” That, Klaus couldn’t argue with if he tried. Not only because he wanted to know the ending but he couldn’t think of a better person to have by his side when he did.   

When she asked for a Star Wars themed wedding seven years later he was quick to decline but promised he’d wear his best Han Solo ensemble to bed that night, as long as she reprised that gold bikini from the high school Halloween dance all those years ago.