#was thinking about this messy critter today

[slimeshade]

[childrensward]

New series in my journal I'm starting called "Lil' Critic Reviews" where I review some of my favourite things! These are some of my favourite shows!

Text version under cut;

Toopy & Binoo

I know the visual style and animation really isn't that appealing, but it's a very important childhood comfort show for me. I see myself in Binoo a lot, and Toopy is the exact kind of person I'd want caregiving for me, so it's very cathartic to explore this dynamic through the show.

Thomas The Tank Engine

There's nothing I can say that would truly capture how much I adore this show (and the original Railway Series books too!) I think the model engines are the most adorable things I've ever seen and I love the set designs, and I love that, even though this is a series about talking trains, it still feels like Sodor is a real place that any kid can visit while still being whimsical. It bridges the gap between realism and one's imagination.

Gabby's Dollhouse

A newer show that I feel is highly underrated, and by the same creators of Blue's Clues! Gabby's Dollhouse feels almost like a spiritual successor, where instead of a man and his cartoon dog, it's a teenaged girl and her dollhouse of toy kitties who come to life! It's such a fun and colourful show with a lot of songs that are sure to get stuck in your head, please try it out sometime!!

Elmo's World

I'm putting this one instead of the main Sesame Street show because the networks I grew up on here in Canada didn't have Sesame Street at the time, but they sure did have Elmo's World! I love that everything in his world (except for him and Dorthey) is drawn out of crayons (and, according to Elmo, there might not be a way out of Elmo's World!) It's such a funny and cute show, I love it!

My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

This show is so nostalgic for me!!! I think Lauren Faust is an incredible artist and I adore how her style really shines through in this show with the visuals. The characters are also so memorable and have made themselves pop culture icons. I also really like the world-building in the show, even if it's sometimes very messy and contradicts itself…

Bluey

This one's a mandatory one, but Bluey really is a beautiful show. So beautiful in fact, that I can't watch it for very long, otherwise I get so emotional from how healthily the Heeler family is depicted. They're far from being perfect, but they love each other, and it makes me so happy that the kids growing up today have a show like Bluey that shows them what a supportive and healthy family looks like.

Bob The Builder

This is one I'm starting to get back into, but I really love it hehe… I think the thing I love about it the most is the fact that each of the construction vehicles look like you could pick them up and play with them, and everything in their world is built like it was crafted by a kid! I also think Pilchard and Dizzy are adorable!!!

Pikwik Pack

Another show that I feel is highly underrated is Pikwik Pack! Through land, sea, and air, this crew of critters will make sure that any package gets delivered! I adore the visuals and artwork in this show- simple, yet so memorable and inspiring. It's pretty formulaic, so if it's perfect for when I want something reliable to watch.

[luimagines]

*tumbles back here* TIS' I

the fairy kiddo anon ✨️ I'm internally zooming in joy because the kiddo brought joy— I just love them so much and like sharing about them but brain shdjdjd

a n y w a y s

kiddo's name is Xenia and that might be the only thing she actually remembers about her childhood among hylians

also thankfully she doesn't cusses too much. but still does every so often. Time makes sure that the boys, at the very least, do not teach her how to translate it from fairy-tongue to hylian

does it actually works? who knows!

I've always pictured her to be more close to Sky and Wars at first soley because they actually know how to sorta handle her. Because kid is traumatized. (Twilight tries. Doesnt goes too well but he tries). They found some rather large burn-like scars on her back like a day after meeting her. Kiddo is also terrified of the cooking pot.

They soon figure out what happened. It's fun (not really)

in a lighter note: she befriends Epona, sorta. At least Xenia thinks she does. She likes talking to her, Epona just stays because the kid gives her fruit to eat, and sometimes brushes her hair. it's uhm... messy 😂 berry-smelling hair

she is also no magic user, but having lived among fairies for long has made her sensible to it. she cAN see sorta a magic aura around people. fairies have no idea hylians normally can't see that, and the boys have no idea some hylians can see it either. so it's a very weird trip when she tells one of them "your color looks shinny today"

she's a little critter

Hyrule and Legend know exactly what she's talking about though. They makes sure that everyone plays along because while it's not normal, it's also not exactly a rare occurrence- seeing that Hyrule can do it too and Legend is just as sensitive (even if he doesn't see anything).

Also Xenia is a beautiful name. I think I knew someone with a similar one, but that's a memory that isn't quite unlocked yet. I think she liked cats.

How would she feel with seeing Wild's scars though? They might look a lot like hers if you squint.

[tasap-official]

BEFORE THE NIGHT ONCE FELL

An original poem

The warm morning lights still drop down with dew,

With my eyes to the sunlight, only to catch a few,

The green scenery that awaits me treats me to its call;

I can only wonder how great it is to know what I saw,

To know and to live life.

I must tell you, the most beautiful thing I saw

Was the truth by a path way, where the critters crawled;

Two young ones, much younger than me,

Two young girls, two beauties to see,

Chatting and playing in the green.

Their hairs flew and glittered in the air,

Their lips moved as though there was no care;

Side by side, the girls shared moments,

Laughed, joked, played in excitement,

And then it came to me ...

"Talk and talk, talk as you might, 

Let your voice sound high above the heights;

Kids are wiser than most humans know,

They know who friends are, so no grudge they hold,

True friends are friends who don't chat alone."

There was another time, during the heat of day,

When the dews had all dried, and time too small to waste,

Walking by the yellow, and staring at the blue,

I trod across the shore way, beside the ocean view,

Walking and thinking about life.

Quickly, an accident, and I was sure to fall,

Two teenage 'Messis' pushed me, dashing after a ball;

I looked around and caught my breath

And saw the boys who'd broken my rest,

Running and chasing in the sand.

Side by side, with their hands swinging through the air,

Their legs running and galloping, like the wheels of the fair;

Sweat dribbling, laughter bustling,

Arm over arm, the boys there smiling,

And then it came to me ...

"Do, do, whatever you wish

Don't give a damn or just give it quick;

Kids have companions 'cause they're the same at heart,

You cannot make friends for them, you cannot choose or chart,

For true friends are play pals and are the same."

Yet again, before the night once fell,

Whether yesterday or last year, I really can't tell;

I was strolling up the hill way, up and down the heights,

And could see the city faraway - oh what a place of sight!

An evening for all mankind.

It dawned on me too late, that under a tree

Could be the best of love, there, it looked like a dream!

Two young people sitting under the tree,

Young grown-ups, male and female, their eyes together did meet,

Looking and loving under the leaves.

These two tender birds, their hands clasped,

Side by side they were, ignoring who passed;

With eyeball to eyeball, they spoke to one another,

With compassion and truth, professed devotion to each other,

And then I knew the words to say ...

"Oh what love! How boundless it is!

How it longs for all to be under its wings!

Kids know better how to share the gift of love;

With innocence and simplicity, they'll rise higher than the sun,

For true friends are friends whose love never ends."

What have you to say to me now,

That friendship is cheap, is simple and sound?

Tell you what, sadly, you don't know

That the gift of love is eternal, or do you have to be told

Why Love has brought you into this world?

Then again, it is the truth to tell,

"True friends know that true love is never self."

So here I stand, by way of the green, shores and leaves,

And here I am, I declare my greatest defeat 

In my battle against Love, now this I say:

"Friendship, for me, is all that matters today, 

And I cannot lie but cry, that love empowers life;

So say what you want, do what you want

Yet I will never deter from what I was taught ...

"True friends are a blessing that ever to life was brought,

They are never alone, they are the same, their love never ends."

Loved this poem? Then why not share and leave a comment? That'll be really appreciated :-)

Tobi Ayeni

Photo by Jack Redgate

[saphirered]

Tempest Chapter 5: Witch (Eris x reader)

You can find the other chapters here. Let me know what you think! Happy reading. 😘

Summary: About to be burned at the stake as a witch by the village you’ve protected Eris finds you. He stands upon a knife’s edge; save you for the purpose you serve to him, or condemn you for the liability you might become should he let this infatuation go further. His father’s orders might have made that decision for him and extended your life for now.

His mind is elsewhere. The Heir of Autumn is deep in thought while he wanders. He has done everything he should, thought first to set assurances, to deal with what was placed in front of him. His father, gave him an opportunity in his eyes. In reality, Eris truly was faced with a weakness, a vulnerability and his first thought was to settle it, to get rid of that weakness before it could harm him, and punished those the cause of it. Even then in the back of his mind he found your wisdoms. Eris finds himself at the front door to that familiar cottage, at the top of the hill, on the edge of the forest overlooking the village below. He knocks. There is no response. He knocks again. He knows you rarely leave the confines of your cottage, for various reasons you have danced around the truth. He has tried to trick you into telling him as you have been getting him to spill more secrets than he would like to admit. You got far more out of him than he of you, but that has been decreasing over the days he’s spent in your company. He’s ashamed to admit he did not realise you were not merely prying or playing a game to earn favour, you were setting him up for mistakes, and taught him how to cover them better, to weave around even when the wrong thing was said, the wrong move was made. 

Eris knocks again but there is no response. Were he anyone else, he might have acted differently, but he is not and he knows you well enough, or at least better than the masses. He feels safe to say he knows more about you than anyone else in this court, and he’ll also admit he knows very little still. Your past is your own, and he cares little as long as it does not affect him, or so he’d like to think. In truth you are an enigma he’d like to unravel, know every detail, yet he can’t. It is both frustrating and a challenge he is willing to uptake. Eris remembers, those who would wish to force their way in and those with wrongful intent will not get past the threshold. Those who prove their truth may step forward. So he does. He turns the handle and the door opens. The inside of the cottage is exactly as he has seen it in the past, give or take a few things that have been moved through general use. 

A layer of dust covers the already messy interior. The fireplace is cold. Candles have not burned in a while. Provisions, especially fresh ones are beginning to grow stale and rot. You are not one to leave such things scattered. A teapot rests over what is a burned out fire, and the water within has grown cold. The usual cup you use has been set out, but was never used. You’ve been gone for a while but not expectedly. Today’s the day he was supposed to meet you. In but a few hours from this moment, after he was sure your village’s tithe would be collected, and he would be clear to sneak off without anyone important realising or questioning where he might go. You are always home when you know he’ll be coming. You’ve always been prepared for his arrival with a warm cup of tea already waiting on his side of the table and you seated on the other side. Yet you are not here and your home is empty. 

He smells it in the air. That familiar scent of burning wood. It only takes one glance out of the window to see the smoke not too far from here, likely from the fields at the bottom of the hill. Eris realises now. The forest, previously quiet, is no longer eerily quiet. Instead he hears chirping birds, scurrying critters, the sounds of wildlife. Not just the rustling of the leaves in the wind. That strange sense of a danger nearby is gone. At first he thought it might have been because he had grown accustomed to your aura, but that’s not it. He is aware that aura is gone from here, not just through ignorance or desensitisation, but through a lack of it. You’re not here and the effects you have on your environment are waning. You’ve not been here for a while. The wind rustles the leaves of the forest and while he stands at the window he still hears it, it beckons him towards the smoke. Where there is smoke, there is fire. The winds urge him to rush so he does. He feels less inclined to ignore these feelings, given the urgency they instil within him. 

Towards the smoke he rushes, folding between space, to close the distance efficiently until he finds himself among the yellowed fields. Eris might not be a farmer, but he is of the Autumn Court and theirs is the season of harvest. This is not a healthy nor prosperous harvest. This is a diseased one, that suffers the effects of nature left untreated. The soil is dry, and lacks nourishment for the crops as it will lack nourishment for the people. You’d admitted to having your ways to deal with it. You’d admitted that’s one of the ways this village remained off the map. Nothing significant. They paid their tithe on time, their harvests were modest, enough for the people, enough for the High Lord’s demands, but never enough to make them stand out. You’d said you assured the crops’ survival, and seeing this, you had not this time around. That begs the question why because he’d managed to get out of you you only did it because you benefitted from it, as much as the people did. He does not know why but that hardly matters. Why would you willingly put yourself at risk through not providing what you usually do? Because you didn’t. 

The village is gathered in the fallen field. A pyre is central, even though they remain at a safe distance. At the heart of this pyre stands a pole and to it a figure is bound, arms up, chains heavy and, by the looks of it, toes barely touching whatever is beneath the feet. The villagers shout and curse, wielding their torches, spitting at your feet, disgracing you, blaming you for their poor harvest, for cursing them, and their children, for all the things wrong in this hellhole, that you are definitely not to blame for. The people have decided their anger, wield it and turn it on you. You just stand there, your features neutral if not severely annoyed. Eris waits and watches from the distance. He waits for you to unleash that power you have once before in his presence. He waits for you to live up to the name you told him; Tempest. Summon a storm, strike down thunder and lightning. Show the power you wield at your fingertips. He assumes you are merely waiting for the right moment, that you made this sacrifice in a power play, let them think you are weak, to show what they should be terrified off, what they should worship and be grateful for. But then Eris remembers you wish to remain in the shadows. A display of power to the masses is not that. You are stuck and it dawns on him you are prisoner. You have walked the gallows and now you stand on the pyre of your execution; to be burned to death. He realises then, you are without power. You are at the mercy of the mundane. 

“Burn the witch!” 

“Yes please. If I am to die, do hurry up.” You roll your eyes but gain no response. Eris realises you have accepted whatever comes next. Torches lit, grant you your wish. One steps forward and throws it into the pyre. The first flames ignite. He notices your breathing, even though your face doesn’t show it. He sees the sharp intake of breath you take. He sees you wish not to meet your end but sees that you accept what is before you, where your life has lead you. It is the acceptance of someone who thought they’d have met their end a long time ago and see this as their actions merely catching up to them. Another torch follows, and the flames rise closer to you. 

“Our lands will be free when your ashes feed it.” A brute spits as he brings the torch to the flames closest to you. You lean into your restraints as much as they allow. 

“Your lands will be doomed.” You reply back. Then you cackle. “My ashes will curse your lands. As I take my last breath of fire and flame, yours will be torturous. Hunger and disease will take you. You will beg for mercy but will find none. You will be abandoned and forgotten, until you take that last breath and may it be one of suffering. Only then will you remember the witch you burned, and remember my face, remember my curse for I curse you! I curse you!” Your words sound powerful, and some do tremble. Some do question if this was the right path for they think you a witch. They do not understand this is simply a reality they will face, and you will relish if they curse your name once more after you are long gone. Let your memory live on in the tortured ones that tortured you. One last hurray. 

But then you see a flash of flames in the crowd, not true flames, the movement of a male you know, with hair like fire and eyes of russet. You’ve grown to recognise him for he is more vibrant than the dullness of anyone else. He stands pristine, in his fine clothes, at the back of the crowd, watching this all. You see him. You see him wait. Would he truly let you burn? You suppose if the roles were reversed you’d have at least entertained the thought. You’re a liability for what you know and how much might you have spilled? You meet his eyes and answer that question. Nothing. You said nothing. You had not even once mentioned him, and you hope through that nonverbal insinuation he sees you might still hold value to him, and he might find you worth saving. For the first time in a very long time you feel hope, even if the flames at your feet eat away at it. Those flames never reach your feet. You feel their warmth, you feel the sweat dripping down your brow but the flames never touch you, never truly burn you and then you stare into those russet eyes again, stare right through the mask of indifference, and see confidence, see mercy, see a hint of care, and willingness to do better, to be more than. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Eris demands as he steps into the crowd. The people know what’s good for them and part at his words, leading a way for him towards the centre of this gathering. Were he not of flame, the earth might have shuddered under his feet as he commands the attention of the village gathered here. Once he reaches the pyre he circles, not once does he pay attention to you. or at least not in a way they’d notice. You do but you play the same game. You know how to perform your part. You’ll play along and follow his lead. 

“Milord-“ One of them starts but the Autumn heir raises his hand in dismissal. 

“I ask not for the words of a mere bystander, peasant. Who is responsible for this?” This is the voice of the heir the people of this court are used to see. This is the mask of the perfect son. This is the face of their future High Lord and they best remember it well. The villagers look among each other and the leaders of the group that held you captive are appointed. They cannot refuse a command, and so they step forward, heads low, at his mercy. They remember their place. 

“We are, milord. This witch has cursed our lands for long enough. We seek only retaliation for those actions.” The young one speaks, stumbling over words, be that out of stress or fear what they might face. 

“And you thought it appropriate to take justice into your own hands? On the day of the High Lord’s Tithe? Disgraceful.” He turns to you, puts on his charming smile as the fires shrink under his raised hand, closing like a cage. “Is this true, witch? Did you curse these lands? Is their punishment a fair one? Come on, speak.” You tilt your head a little. 

“Why would I curse the lands I feed from? I committed no crimes, milord.” You speak eloquently. Eris shrugs and pretends to contemplate your words. 

“Well, isn’t it your lucky day, then. The High Lord commands your presence, witch. It seems you are not to burn today.” Eris notices you bite the inside of your cheek. He supposes that’s about as neutral of a reaction anyone could have to meeting with Beron. He turns back to the crowd. “Release the witch. Go back to your business. As for all of you, your tithe has been risen. See to it the appropriate amounts are gathered for the collectors by sunset.” Whispers of discontent pass through the crowd and some look about happy to throw him on the pyre with you, if they would be assured he would burn at all but they keep relatively quiet as some find their way to the pyre to release you. They look on, trying to find a way to release you without getting burned themselves, trying to get proper footholds and gather a bucket to somewhat quell the flames to get over. With some time they do reach you but not without Eris letting the flames rise and lick up their feet, enough to make them sweat and look about ready to jump from the flames, but not enough to catch aflame. 

“We would be happy to provide for our High Lord, milord but we simply cannot. Half of us will starve if we give more. You have seen our crops.” One of the villagers throws himself on his knees in front of the Autumn heir but he remains indifferent. 

“You should have thought of that before you tried to burn this witch. Feed your children. Feed anyone who is not here right now. Then afterwards you may decide which of the remaining people will starve. See it as a positive. You’ll have far less mouths to feed come next harvest.” The ruthlessness of Autumn shows once more. Protests, begs for mercy fall upon deaf ears. None dare speak loud enough against him, even if they speak among each other. He cares little, he radiates the presence that, if they dare speak ill about him, he will make that choice for them. They’ll be the ones to burn. That’s the mask he must wear. His father sent him here with a command, he is to fulfil it. If he can show his father what he would do to those who disobey or disrespect him, and therefor the orders of the High Lord, he proves himself to be exactly where he is, where he belongs. This is but a measly sacrifice he can have his peace with. 

You’re set free. Your arms are released from its binds and in that first moment of freedom you grab one of them, you recognise to have been one of your captors, by his shirt, and toss him from the pyre. The flames part for you as step down from it. This is your moment of retaliation. Retaliation is not justice, Eris is well aware but he is curious to see what you’ll do next. You too, wear a mask of your own. They want to see the evil witch they make you out to be? You’ll show them. The male scrambles backwards until he can’t no more, until he’s with his back to the flames, as you draw closer like a hunter, waiting to strike. 

“You’re the one that whipped me, aren’t you?” Eyes blown wide the male does not respond. You expected no answer. “Tell me, are you left or right handed?” You purr. No answer but his eyes dart towards his right hand before they go back to you. He begins pleading. You simply snort and cast a glance over your shoulder. You curl your fingers in a grasping motion and the flames wrap around the male’s right wrist, holding it to the dirt beneath him palm up. You walk up real close, graze your nails along his face before your rise again. You stomp your heel into his palm, shattering the bones with as much force as you can muster. A pained cry echoes throughout the fields for all to hear. Then you step back and find your way to the High Lord’s son. 

“If you are clever, you will burn your fields and hope the ashes will sustain your next harvests. That’ll be the only mercy I will offer.” You speak to them as the fire restraint lifts from the crying male who clutches his hand close to his chest. You make eye contact with the lordling; a silent thanks for playing along too. You could not wield the fire. If you could, you’d have escaped on your own with ease. He doesn’t say anything and simply offers you his hand. You place yours in his, and with that you fall through the world, through the roaring fires, and suffocating heat until you find yourself elsewhere. This must be the Forest House. This must be the lair of the viper that sits atop a throne. 

“Play your part.” Eris urges you. You remain unpredictable. He knows of your distaste for his father and you may not have much to lose, save for your life which you were perfectly content with just a few minutes ago. He would be an idiot to underestimate you and whatever remnants of recklessness linger within you now but then he sees you, he sees that mask drop for a second. 

“Is that what you ask in return for saving me?” 

“No. We’ll get to that after you make it out alive. Beron’s in a foul mood. Given that everything has felt out of place all day, I assume that is your doing? The least you can do is behave.” Eris urges. 

“Worry not. I will play the role I need to play.” You reach into your neckline, into your bodice between your breasts to retrieve a pouch. Eris is stuck between looking away and straight at you, between the manners he had been taught and the admittance that you are keen on the eyes and do not fail to keep eye contact with him, giving him a charming look. He knows you jest, if only slightly. He knows this might be a ploy to assure not just your survival but your wellbeing. Why in the world- and then you produce a decently sized red diamond at the centre of your palm. “It was supposed to be a gift for the heir, but I suppose it might serve better as the price of my survival?” 

Eris has not the mind to dissect that sentence as you begin wandering, even though you know not where you’re going. He falters, for just a second before he catches up to you and leads you to where you are set to go, leads you to see his father and all those feelings of dread he had before, the urge to spare you his father’s wrath and flames, and the potential failure to do so given who you are, what you might be, it worries him beyond compare and he realises, you’re aware of his attachment to you. That’s a most dangerous place to be. Perhaps he should have left you to burn, and be rid of you. But then the wind returns. He could not have left you. he simply could not have. The flames under his skin coil against his thoughts and so he must face his father and hope for the best, hope you are merciful and will listen to his council for once. Please behave. 

[galactic-magick]

The Pet Shop Boy: Barry Allen/The Flash x Reader

Summary: You fall for the cute boy who works in the pet store.

Words: 1000+

Warnings: none

Author’s Notes: I absolutely love DCEU Flash just as much as Arrowverse Flash, and I just had to write something for him. Hope y’all like :)

Taglist: @deniedmysign​ @candid-confetti​

-

-

-

It’s become a habit of yours to visit the pet store every Friday after your classes. After a long week, seeing all the animals seems to be the thing that always lifts your spirits no matter what.

Today’s been particularly rough, and the weather’s pretty gloomy as well. You enter the door with water slipping left and right off your coat, and you try to wipe your boots off on the doormat as best you can.

“Want me to take that for you?”

You turn to see a boy with dark hair gesturing to you with a goofy smile.

“I work here, don’t worry. I’m new, actually,” he laughs. “I’m not trying to kidnap your coat or anything, I promise. Or you can keep it, that’s fine. We just have some coat hangers in the back room for the employees, so I thought I’d ask,”

“Oh,” you smile, taking it off and handing it to him. “Well, sure. Thank you,”

He nods and runs it back, and you turn towards the puppies. Some of them bark at you, some of them are jumping and clawing the pen. There’s no new ones from last week, but a couple of them are gone. You hope they found a nice home.

“Hey,”

You jump, and he’s already back standing beside you, “That was really fast,”

“I uh…I was a sprinter in high school,”

“Ah,” you bend down, petting a few of the dogs.

“Are you looking to adopt one?” he asks.

“I wish,” you sigh. “I don’t really have the money or living space to take care of one right now, but I still like coming to see them every weekend,” you move across the room to where the cats are, grinning as they meow at you.

“That’s cool,”

You make your rounds to all the different animals, making conversation with him now and then. He tells you his name is Barry, and this is only one of many jobs he has in hopes of paying for a criminal justice degree. You can’t even imagine the kind of stress he’s under, but he certainly doesn’t act like he’s under any at all.

“I’ll see you next week then?” he says, giving you back your coat as you head out.

“Yeah,” you smile. “Nice to meet you, Barry,”

 -

 Friday afternoons were always special, but now there’s even more to look forward to. You have a friend now, one that seems to really enjoy your presence there. It’s not that the other employees don’t like you, they’ve just gotten so used to you being there that they’ve stopped going out of their way to chat with you, which honestly you don’t mind. You come there for the animals anyway, not the people.

Until now, supposedly.

You find yourself equally excited to see both Barry and all the little critters every time you go, and you get to know each other quite well.

One day, though, he’s not there.

You look around a bit, wondering if he’s just in a different corner of the store than usual.

“He’s not here,” the lady behind the counter says.

“Oh,” you look down, freezing a bit after being read so directly. “No shift today?”

“No, he does, he just hasn’t shown up yet,” she shrugs. “Actually, would you mind helping me carry in some of the dog food from the truck in the back? He’s usually the one to do that, I could use the assistance,”

You nod, and you end up doing a few random jobs for her to fill in for Barry. It’s pretty fun actually, just hanging out there with the animals and feeding them. If you weren’t already so busy with studying you might like to work here too.

You’re worried about Barry though. He doesn’t seem the type to bail on important things like this, especially without warning. You hope he’s alright, and you hope he doesn’t mind you basically took his shift.

She thanks you for your help with a gift card to the coffee shop down the street, and tells you’re welcome to interview for a job there if you ever want it.

You decide to head over to the coffee shop right after you leave, figuring why not.

You order your favorite and walk down the road some more to the park, only to find absolute chaos in your view.

Superheroes are bouncing around the square, aiming everything they have at a group of people with threatening weapons.

You back up, even though you’re already far away from the action. You remember when these same heroes went head to head with a powerful alien just a few months ago, and you know it’s probably going to get messy.

One of the heroes stops in their tracks and looks in your direction, the one surrounded by lightning and running faster than your eyes can process.

Before you can even blink, you feel yourself being lifted into the air and suddenly you’re transported far from the scene.

Why would the “fast man” go out of his way to make sure you were safe?

You’re too shocked to think about it too hard, honestly. Besides, that’s just what heroes do. You’re not special, he was just doing his job.

“Hey!”

You turn around and Barry’s standing there.

“Are you okay?”

“Uhh, yeah,” you nod. “Do you know what was happening over there?”

“Some bad guys probably. Don’t worry I- they took care of them. The superheroes, I mean,”

“I see,” you squint. “Well, I missed you at the store today,”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I had a…an emergency at my other job,”

“An emergency, huh?” you smirk. “A superhero emergency?”

“What? No no no-“

“Relax, I’m just kidding,” you laugh. “You’re too busy to be a superhero anyway,”

“Exactly,” he points at you. “Exactly,”

You giggle, “I should probably get home. Nice to see you,” you wave and pivot your feet.

“Doyouwannagoonadate?”

“What?”

“I uh, I said do you wanna go on a date. Maybe? Maybe later, or tomorrow,”

“Tomorrow’s good,” you smile, going on your way.

[rattyarts]

Now lesseee.. today I could work on comics, or maybe answer some asks... OR, how about I throw all of that in the garbage and start rambling about floaty bits!

Floaty bits are, shockingly, bits that are floaty. This is a fairly common trait in Edgeworld critters because a certain artist thinks it’s very cute and easy to draw. It’s usually seen with eyebrows, but can also happen to hair, antenna, random bits of fluff and feathers, wings... mystery ear orbs? Even limbs in some cases! (usually weird hybrids)

Despite appearances, they’re stuck on there pretty good, and trying to pull em off is just going to take the whole person along with them. You cannot steal people’s eyebrows. (Sadly.)

(It is very funny to pull on em though.)

They... CAN be removed, as any body part can, but the process is messy and complicated. Moving on.

I SAID MOVING ON

Once again, elves have to go out of their way to be special; their floaty wings are intangible!

There was absolutely no reason for me to talk about this, but now you know slightly more about floaty cartoon eyebrows. Enjoy!

[kimishima-naomi]

miçanga

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31194542 In response to Fly’s awesome fic - you don’t have to read it, but it helps with the context.

Content warning: talk of less-than-great parents, as depicted by canon. Also, mentions of trans stuff, which, if you know Fly, shouldn’t surprise you.

A headache is beating at her left temple – a soft, hot pulse compressing her skull. It's not a migraine, far from, but she still took a naproxen just in case it turns into one.

Naomi isn't sure of the time. It feels like it's past midnight, but she can't bring herself to get up from the couch and get ready for sleep. She isn't even out of her suit yet.

The living room is only lit by her laptop, an empty case file open on the screen. She avoids looking directly at it. Light feels too bright, like it always does.

It was just a meeting. A talk with a friend and a colleague. You have no reasons to be tired.

No, that's a transparent lie. Naomi prefers not to lie to herself.

You're not calling it a trigger, are you? Of course not – it's as far from a trigger as this headache is from a real migraine. Just a...

Like bumping an old scar the exact wrong way.

She grinds her teeth for a moment. Bad habit.

Shouldn't be this hard. Why...

Stiles. She wouldn't have assumed he was a surgeon if she'd met him outside of work. Anything but. Stiles was a walking disaster area, a chronically late chronically messy chronically lost... absolute prodigy with a scalpel. Naomi knew a fellow prodigy when she saw one.

Maybe even more so than you. She had to smile – Dr. Chase's stories about Derek blundering his way through exams managed to make her laugh like few things did.

Despite it all, Stiles is... level. Adjusted. Not like...

Naomi winces – not just from the headache. She has to think several times over to phrase the next statement to herself.

You can usually tell, can't you. When someone's parents are... less than stellar.

Takes one to know one, hm? Her lips move slightly, but she doesn't say the words aloud. Talking to herself has become a habit, and she wants it gone.

Or... maybe that wasn't such a surprise, after all. Hearing these stories. About what Stiles used to be like – chronically... unsure of himself, unable to believe he could get anything right.

That was telling.

Self-doubt is the mind killer for a surgeon. Hell, on some level, Naomi was surprised Derek became one, after all. The man must've truly been determined. An iron will, buried... deep inside. Quite deep.

She rolls her shoulders – straightening out mechanically, getting rid of the slouch she didn't know was there, taking a mandatory post-surgery deep breath.

...Her own family wasn't nearly that bad, of course. They just didn't care. That was fine by her – she'd seen otherwise in medical school, of course; classmates driven to near-suicide by pressure, weight of their medical clans on their shoulders-

Maybe that's why she coped differently. Grit her teeth, soldiered on, forged herself as if into a scalpel. Forged herself into somebody, seeking... not mere attention, of course; admiration, respect she knew she deserved.

You used to think it'd be better if they cared. Better to get a beating for a bad grade than know they don't care if you even attend school, right?

Naomi winces again. That, again, isn't truth. Not quite – if she ever did think that, well, that was in early childhood.

Her family didn't do anything all that bad. Except not acknowledging her existence after... that... happened.

Not like they acknowledged it before.

She chuckles softly, admitting the humor of that. No, they didn't.

She never went back to Japan.

All right, enough self-pity. This isn't about her, it's about Derek. And he got one rotten deal today.

Mother's Day, hm? Explains all the diabetes-inducing posts across her feed, despite her social networks being purely for work.

Frowning at the light, she checks her laptop. Second Sunday in May. That minutely annoys her – Thanksgiving and Easter are hard enough to remember.

Stiles... She doesn't ever guess at what Stiles was like before transitioning. Nor does she want to guess – the mere thought would feel invasive like a burrowing parasite.

But, whatever he was like in the past, he seems much better off now. Good.

She rubs her temple – it does nothing for the headache, but the bracelet catches unfamiliar on her wrist. She hasn't worn those in a long time, bracelets or rings, strictly forbidden by sterility rules.

Alyssa's gift. A handmade... misanga – she's sure that's Portuguese... friendship bracelet? It's a pretty one, shades of red and white – she knows that Alyssa knows she likes these colors.

It means the world to her. Who'd have thought.

She's still uneasy – a shard of some thought is lodged deep and painful like a splinter, something that angered her so much at the time that-

Ah.

Gently, Naomi undoes the fastener on the bracelet and rests it down on the keyboard. She's afraid she might break it – or anything that might get caught in her hands at this moment.

Tama. The cat's name is unusually certain in her memory.

Funny. She was never a cat person. She still isn't – Chloe, for all her softness, fuzziness, and... purr-iness, is a handful; from waking her up at four in the morning for an unscheduled portion of food (No.) to tripping her up in the middle of the night if she tries to walk somewhere without turning on the lights.

But that cat is precious to Alyssa. And that means it’s precious to Naomi, by some extraordinary, transitional property.

Besides, they both survived Rosalia. The critter was more resilient than she'd imagine.

An endoscopy on a cat... at the time, she justified it to herself by thinking about the valuable data they might get from a feline survivor. But, the truth is a lot more simple. 

This is a girl who just lost her family, and this is her ‘kitty’, and you'd be right scum if you simply put it down.

Naomi rolls her shoulders again. Her fingers feel cold and heavy. The headache is worsening.

She's pretty certain she's said something about wanting to die. Thought it, certainly. Anything but knowing how much of a fuсkup she-

She stands up sharply. Those kinds of thoughts are best confronted in better lighting.

The lights turning on earn a disapproving meow. She hadn't heard the cat sneak in. Figures.

Maybe it wants to spend time with you.

That's an unusually positive thought, and Naomi forces herself to welcome it.

She sits back down, picks the bracelet up again. It flows between her fingers, coils up like a small living creature. She feels the rough weave slowly before fastening it on her wrist again.

There's no point in that, not if she's planning to get some sleep anyway, and yet it's somehow very important right now as a... symbol? No. A promise to her kid.

A promise to do better.

[piningfor-pinestwins]

Natural Attraction - Snapshots (ch.4) (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

It’s sunset before you decide to leave your room again, remembering that there’s some work to be done for you to categorize the newest critter into your journals. You take the newest edition, with a clean cover and a spine that’s barely been cracked along, holding it close as you make your way down to the living room. Your camera is hanging loosely from its strap around your neck, swaying with your every step as you make your way through the uncharacteristically-quiet cabin and down to the lab. Though you’re curious as to why, you’re hopeful it’s a blessing and not a foreboding warning. Because really, you need to get some work done.

When you make it down, Ford is already sitting at his messy workspace, hair looking like his fingers have been run through it in thought. The man looks tired, and you almost move to mention it before he turns and takes notice of you, leaning back in his chair as he offers a worn smile in your direction.

“If you’re looking for the eyebat, he’s over there.” Ford points to where a cloth is laid over the mason jar from earlier, the critter having apparently calmed itself from where it was once batting its wings against the glass.

What has you all worn out? You tease lightly, moving toward where the creature is housed on Fidds’ desk and pulling up a chair as you do. “Oh, the usual. Right now, I’m handling this grant situation, and Fidds is...well, his lady troubles never seem to cease, and he tends to ramble about them.”

You chuckle lightly at that, settling into the chair at Fiddleford’s desk and removing the cloth from the eyebat’s container, watching the sleepy little thing stir at the low light. Well, that’s why I try not to date where I’m researching. Gets messy, you hum the words, picking up the jar and lifting it to get a better look at the little guy, turning the glass in hand as you start to inspect.

You’re pushing your journal open when Ford hums, a sound half in-amusement, and half questioning. “Is that so?” Without knowing why, your cheeks start to burn, a kernel of almost-dread starting to fall to the pit of your stomach.

Mmhm, you answer simply, starting to write down a few general observations of the thing ahead of you instead of engaging in whatever the hell he could be implying. Jesus Christ, no thank you.

“F came down and told me you and Stanley were becoming...friendly,” he explains, and you hope he doesn’t notice that your pen stills from where it had been writing on the page. His voice seems even more amused when he starts again, so you think he noticed anyway, “Is that the case?”

Now, Ford is a friend. Even if you had been seeking...romance, or what-have-you, with Stan, it wouldn’t be an issue. You...think. But, since they’re brothers, well…

Not in whatever sense you’re implying, Ford. Despite your words, your face continues to burn, feeling almost as though you’d been caught in a lie. Though, you haven’t been. Nope. No fraternizing here, even if you’ve thought about...well, the mind wanders, so what?

Ford seems to notice this tension, and you hear the dull rolling of an office chair toward you before six fingers land to squeeze at your shoulder, his voice fond. “I don’t mean to imply anything. I’m just...suggesting, you know, that…it’s okay. To..do. That.”

When you turn to look at him over your shoulder, putting the jar down into your lap, his brows quirk a fraction. You’re sure the heat on your cheeks is a little visible in some way or another, and his reaction seems to confirm it, though he softens into a smile before you can worry too much about what he’ll say.

B-Besides, when do I have time? We’re constantly running and going—which is very fun, mind you, and I wouldn’t want to—

“Ford! We’ve got it set up! Come on!” Fidds’ voice comes from upstairs, the creak and slam of the screen door following him as he assumedly heads back outside. “Ah!” Ford stands, a new excitement in his eye as he quickly pats his pockets, looking for something.

“The tracking device we had to finish up with today is ready--I hope. This is technically a trial run, but.” Ford points to the jar in your lap, nodding excitedly, “If you don’t mind, could you bring that up with you?” You nod, a little surprised at the sudden burst of excitement, but grateful for the attention to be shifted away from you for another blessed moment.

You hastily scribble down a few extra notes about the creature, hopeful you’ll be able to read your own writing when you get back to it later. Shifting your things in your hands, you push the journal beneath your arm, your pen behind your ear, and you securely hold the glass jar with both hands as you follow Ford up the stairs. The excitable man hurries from the door-- quick, long strides taking him out from the house and through the squeaky screen door, which you barely catch with a foot kicked out in front of you, making your own way outside with the curious bat watching up at you.

When you catch up to Ford, you see the ‘new toy’ in question. Stan is standing beside it, absently rubbing at his lower back with a mutter while Fidds is tapping at the console of the thing, watching the radar map on the screen come to life.

“Yes!” Fidds perks, turning to look at you and Ford with glee. Stan turns at that, catching your eye and straightening himself up as he meets your gaze. You offer a little smile, which he returns, moving to rub at the back of his head, and you quirk a brow in his direction, reminding him of his earlier injury. He remembers then, his smile lifting a little more as he ‘begudgingly’ drops his hand back to his side.

The eyebat flaps its wings against the jar at the realization it is outside again, seemingly confused as to why it hasn’t taken off in flight. You have to hold to the jar a little tighter, looking at Fidds and Ford in question.

“We put the trackin’ device on him when he was sleeping—Ford was scared t’death that the little guy would wake up halfway through, but it was painless. Y’can see it, right there.” Fiddleford takes a step closer, pointing to the bat through the glass. You spy the little black chip that sits on the edge of one wing, a red light blinking there that you hadn’t noticed before.

Huh...this won’t affect his flying, will it? You ask, having grown maybe a little fond of the friend in the jar (who does not feel the same about you, if the way he batters his wings against the glass is any indication). Ford shakes his head, “No, not at all. Though, the light may attract mates or...something. Species are odd about that kind of thing—but, that’s why it’s as inconspicuous as possible.” The brunet grins, reaching to take the jar from your hands, “I’m excited to see what our little friend has to offer.”

Wait! You say suddenly, remembering that you haven’t done the thing you’d meant to do in the first place. You turn, finding Stan standing next to the machine, leaning against the thing now. When he looks down at you with a raised brow, you quickly push the jar into his hands, pulling your camera from where it had been forgotten around your neck.

“Huh—Oh! Right, here…” Stan remembers what you’re needing and moves to hold the jar a little further away from himself as you fumble with your camera, fiddling with the flash and hoping the setting sun won’t mess up the picture too badly.

Fidds and Ford share a look you only catch from the corner of your eye, and you hear Stan hiss through his teeth. You glance up at the closer twin to catch Stan staring daggers at the other two, his cheeks lightly pink—or, maybe that’s just a trick of the light from the setting sun. When he notices you looking, his face softens, clearing his throat as he nods down to the camera in your hand, “Go ahead, toots. Get your picture, so we can let the little bastard go home.”

You smile gratefully at him as you nod, adjusting your camera in hand and looking through the viewfinder to square up the picture, Stan shifting himself even further out of the frame as you do. You frown, looking up at him from over your camera, You’re allowed to be in the shot, Stan.

“O-Oh, well, I...figure, you know, this isn’t my entry into your journal--it’s this guy’s! Don’t wanna steal his thunder.” He grins cheekily, and you quirk a brow at him unamusedly.

I’m worried you’ll drop the jar, Stanley.

“Well, she’s got a point.” Fiddleford muses as he’s turned back around to the console, looking over his shoulder at the two of you. Ford sighs, unamused as he stands with his arms crossed next to the machine, “At any rate, could we move it along? We’ll lose daylight soon.”

Stanley rolls his eyes at his brother, blowing upward at the hair that’s slightly overgrown to fall in his eyes, and you giggle at the motion, catching his attention. He looks at you with quirked brows, and you start to raise your camera again at the look, his demeanor shifting some. He stands up taller, holding the glass jar against his chest as he poses himself for the camera, and you look through the viewfinder again to see him quickly suck in a breath to tuck away his gut and puff out his chest, his smile broad and genuine.

His motion makes you laugh as you click the button, the flash blinding out white before it disappears. In the instant that the light fades away, there’s the sound of shattered glass.

“Shit!” Stan yells, looking down at the shattered mason jar as a black blur flies upward from it, the eyebat taking hurried flight far, far above you and the boys. Its wings beat quickly away, and Ford swears as he can do nothing but watch the creature flit away. “Well...I suppose it’s good we were planning to release it tonight, anyway. Though, it may be a lost cause to follow it tonight.”

“But look!” Fidds says excitedly, quickly patting Ford’s arm and gripping him by the long sleeve to pull him toward the console. Ford looks in surprise at Fidds before looking at the screen, watching it come to life as the little red dot blinks in the same direction as the eyebat.

“Yes!” Ford laughs, excitement bubbling up and showing in his face. He looks to you and Stan, and you nod to the excitable twin, turning your head toward the other to find him still looking up where the eyebat had disappeared to. Stanley looks down to meet your eye and smiles, then grins wider at his twin’s excitement, moving quickly closer to clap Ford and Fidds’ shoulders in triumph. “You’ve done it! Look at the li’l bastard go, Jesus he can fly…” He laughs, the three of them staring in awe at the red dot as it goes across the screen.

In all the hullabaloo, you finally recognize the feeling of the mechanisms of your camera working, and you catch your printed picture as it starts to fall from its slot, giving it a good shake as you listen to the guys chatter on excitedly about their newest device.

Fiddleford glances back at you and motions you forward to look too, and you join in next to Ford with a grin, hearing him babble on about how this new technology will affect how he’s able to research the creatures of Gravity Falls, and Fiddleford is beside you, reaching to slap Stan’s hands away from the screen because “Fingerprints, Stanley!”, and you laugh between them as you turn to look at the shaken-and-developing picture in your hand.

There’s Stan front and center, sucked-in-gut and grinning like mad with a blurry jar in his hands--the eyebat inside apparently having been startled by the flash of light as it reflects off the glass. Even as upset as you are about the ruined picture of the eyebat, you can’t stop from smiling at the goofy man in the picture, with his grin wide and dimple on display, his amber eyes looking at you through the lens of the picture.

“Aw, shit,” Fidd’’s voice comes from over your shoulder and you look back at him, feeling your face start to get warm when you realize you’ve not been paying attention, “The eyebat didn’t even get in the picture! It’s just your smilin’ mug, Lee.”

Stanley and Ford come to join over your shoulders, looking at the picture, though you only feel your face get warmer as Stan moves to take the thing from you, his fingers lingering against yours.

“Dammit! I’m sorry, hon, I didn’t mean to just...make it about me. God knows the next time we’ll find one of those things, too…” Stan groans, looking down at the still-developing picture with upset. He doesn’t seem to notice the new nickname he’s called you, though you definitely do, grateful for the setting sun adding its red tinge to everything, because it might cover up the heat you feel across your nose and cheeks.

It’s alright, really, you quickly say, reaching to take the picture back and looking at Stan with a smile, I-It’s just...a good addition to the blooper pictures I take. Remind me to show you those sometime, they’re a riot. You grin, holding the picture closer to your chest as you speak. Ford shakes his head, pointing to the dot on the device, “Well, we’ll at least be able to see the little guy again, else fails. But, for now, you...may just have to take a picture of my drawing. Or try your own hand again.” He grins, and there’s almost a bit of teasing in his voice. After all, he was your lab partner through college, he knows your skill level (or, maybe, lack thereof).

Stan doesn’t look to the screen, catching your eye again as Fidds moves to slap Ford’s hand away (“Fingerprints!!”), meeting your gaze with a smile as the two begin to bicker. You look down at the picture again, then back up to his face, huffing a little chuckle as you shrug, It captures you quite nicely.

“I s’pose it’s not the worst picture I’ve taken--pretty sure that’s in some yearbook somewhere, though.” He laughs, and you smile with him. You nibble into your bottom lip, moving to say something about the new nickname, but he stops you with a step forward, the crunch of shattered glass interrupting whatever words you could have said.

“I, uh...guess I should get somethin’. Sweep this up.” Stan murmurs, looking down at the remnants of the glass jar before glancing back up to you. You swallow as you nod, motioning your head toward the house, I-I think I should turn in. Been a long, exciting day.

“Heh, that it has, hon--Toots. Toots.” Stanley quickly corrects himself with a cough and a clear of his throat, his cheeks pink when he looks up at you to see if maybe, you’d noticed.

You had, in fact. Just like you had the first time, too. Warmth blooms in your chest, much like it had earlier, and it starts to travel up your cheeks all over again despite yourself. Illuminated by the porchlight, you see Stan’s cheeks going red, too. You figure he must have realized you noticed, and though you aren’t sure if his blush is from embarrassment or endearment (or even both), you nod, giving him the extra confirmation.

Goodnight, Stanley, you say gently, fondness leaking into your voice as you hold the picture close, moving up the porch stairs.

“G’night, hon.” He says just as gently, watching you head up the back porch and through the squeaky screen door once more, the creak of the rusted hinge only bothering you a little bit as the words linger in the air. You almost stop on the other side of the screen, though for what reason, you are unsure. The warmth in your chest blooms further and you steal a glance over your shoulder, finding the man bashfully rubbing at the back of his neck as he watches you go, and you quickly hurry on your way further into the home, down the hallway, and back up the stairs by-two.

When you shut your bedroom door behind you, you find yourself leaning back against the wood, realizing that you’re still holding the portrait to your chest. You look down at it, trying to fight the smile that bubbles forth all at once to your lips, and you snicker at the hilarity of the picture itself, and at your own ridiculousness. You’re just...getting closer as friends. He’s friendly. He’s got tender nicknames for everyone, you’re sure--you’ve just upgraded from ‘toots’ (which might be a preferable change, you think). But…

Even so, you’ve got this prime picture. Sure, it’s a little off-the-wall and goofy, but...it’s good, nonetheless. Something Stan said makes you think, and you move toward the little writing desk you’ve situated beneath the triangular-shaped window of the attic, pulling your journal toward yourself as you flip to an empty page. You figure, it couldn’t hurt to have an entry about him, could it?

No, definitely not. He counts as a ‘creature’ from Gravity Falls.

You reach for your pen, pushing down the page of the book and giving the spine another little stretch as you lean down to write, pushing the picture into its place with the little fold-ins built into your journal. Once you’re pleased, you sit back with a smile, admiring your work as you read your penmanship across the top of the page.

Stanley Pines.

[elderkale]

and i do love the drama

Written for Week 8 of @dwmasters Fiftieth Masterversary Mini Event!

Theme: a new gadget Dialogue prompt: “Ah, how time flies. It seems like just yesterday…”

AO3

Being grabbed and dragged into alleys was hardly what normal people would consider a part of daily routine, and being held at weaponpoint even less so. And even less so on G-Qix IX, a planet unknown throughout the five systems for its lack of hidden treasures and civil unrest, and abundance of snore-inducing boredom. The pies were nice, though.

The Doctor was not normal people. Quite the opposite, in fact.

What had he been talking about?

Ah, of course. Weaponpoint.

If it hadn’t been a pattern three bodies ago, it certainly was now. Normally, his captors would be so uninspired to use guns, or knives, on the odd day. Maybe even some improvisation, or even, dare he say it, originality, if the Doctor was lucky.

Today, he was lucky.

The villain of the day was not a tall man, maybe an inch or two shorter than the Doctor himself, and the grip he had on his arm was strong enough to bruise. It might have been threatening, had the Doctor not grown used to such incidents centuries ago (He did not, no matter what Peri used to say, go ‘looking for danger.’ Quite the contrary, in fact— danger seemed to be looking for him ).

He was rather fetching, the Doctor supposed, in the rogueish, slightly unhinged sort of way found in handsome clowns or well-off court jesters, dark, windswept (or perhaps it was just messy) hair brushed carelessly over his forehead. The effect was, however, slightly dampened by the thing he was pointing at his face.

“Pardon?” the Doctor asked.

The man scoffed. The Doctor focused on not staring at his lips. “I said,” the man repeated, “Doctor.”

“Ah,” said the Doctor. “Yes, that’s me.” He tried to get a good look at the thing. It was vaguely box-shaped. as if crafted by someone who had only been given the loose description of what a box was, and wrapped in more wires than any not-box needed. “Looking, were you? Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you. It’s my vacation day, you see, and, for once, I intend to keep it that way.”

The man snorted. “Please,” he said. “You’ve never wanted a real vacation in your life.”

“Really.” The Doctor crossed his arms. The man scowled and waved the thing a bit. “And just how would you know that?”

“Rassilon, you’re gullible when you’re young.”

“I beg your pardon!” the Doctor exclaimed. “I am hardly young, young man. And how do you even know of Rassilon?” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and leaned forwards until the thing the other man was holding nearly brushed his nose. “Who are you, anyway?”

The man sneered. “Take a guess.”

The Doctor squinted harder. The Valeyard? Impossible. Frobisher playing a trick, perhaps? But no, this wasn’t his style. He squinted even harder. until his eyes were nearly slits. The man rolled his eyes.

No. . . unless. . ?

The Doctor dragged in a long, hard sniff. “Oh,” he said, nose wrinkling with disdain. “It’s you.”

The Master—and it was the Master—bared his teeth in a cruel, capricious grin. “In the flesh.

“Stole another body, have you?” The Doctor looked down his nose at the checkered purple waistcoat. “Well,” he sniffed, “it’s better than being a crispy critter, I suppose.”

The Master scowled and raised the thing, pressing it to the Doctor’s forehead. “The only ‘crispy critter’ that’ll be here when I’m done is you,” he growled. “Just watch, Doctor, watch as—”

The Doctor leaned back and pulled at the point with his finger. It sprung back with a cheerful twang. “Of course,” he drawled. “What’s this, then? Revamped your shrinky dink?” He leaned back a bit more, eyes crossing as he looked down at the device. “Shame. At least the old one looked somewhat threatening.”

The Master gnashed his teeth. “TCE!”

The Doctor rolled his eyes, but made no comment about the ridiculous name. They had a script to follow, after all. “Well, go on,” he said. “Lay it on me. The threats, the hostages, the impending universal doom? Throw in a ticking clock while you’re at it, why don’t you? It’s been a slow day. And I do love the—”

The Master brandished the thing again. “Do we honestly need words, Doctor?” he asked, smiling a smile as sweet as poisoned honey and twice as sticky. “Really, I thought—”

“Let me guess,” said the Doctor. “You’ve upgraded to a gravitational compressor? It’ll turn me inside-out? You press that button and the ground beneath me crumbles and I fall screaming into the heart of a dying sun?”

“I—wha—”

“Always one for temporal engineering, weren’t you?” the Doctor continued, steamrolling over the Master’s attempts to break in. “But still, always more focused on the end result than the details. I remember those rants. Ah, how time flies.” He sighed contentedly. The Master hwrngfed. “It seems like just yesterday—”

The Master made a furious, strangled noise and pressed the spring to the Doctor’s forehead. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Well, I do believe I’ll leave that up to you to tell me,” said the Doctor. “You are ahead of me, aren’t you?” he asked, running an eye down the Master’s figure. Appreciatively, one might say. Hopefully, even.

The Master seemed to have to physically bite back a cutting insult. Or perhaps it had been a speech, long and dramatic, and equally admirable and yawn-inspiring. Who knew? The Doctor certainly didn’t. “You have no idea,” he breathed. There was something different about him, something else, something indescribably, undeniably, intangibly off about him that the Doctor had never seen in any of his other Masters. “You haven’t got a clue,” he spat. There was a light in his eyes, fervent and almost feverish, and when his lip curled, it almost looked like his face was about to peel right off. “You swan around—”

“Of course,” said the Doctor. “But, my dear fellow, don’t you think it’s possible that you might have miswired your—”

The Master snarled and pressed the button. There was a loud bang and he vanished, leaving nothing in his wake but a puff of dust and a fading scream.

The Doctor craned his neck, squinting to watch the rapidly shrinking dot in the sky. Eventually, the pinprick vanished. “Well,” sighed the Doctor, straightening his lapels. “I suppose I’ll have to save him. Again.”

He huffed, the grinned. It seems like just yesterday.

[astxlphe-fics]

Snapshot.

Atsushi likes to draw in the park. He doesn’t realize how many times he’s drawn the handsome photographer until the man comes talking to him. 

Kuniatsu / Artist Atsushi, Photographer Kunikida (also ft. bug lover kuni)

Word count : ~3K

Atsushi settles down on the grass, back against the tree, and crosses his legs. He sets his cardboard folder against his knees and opens his sketchbook.

It’s new, and empty, a gift from Kyouka for his birthday, along with the set of pencils he’s brought with him. He puts the metal box on the ground next to him, picks on and looks around.

It’s a sunny day, in April, so the weather is still somewhat cool and the park isn’t as packed as in the summer months. Atsushi takes in the tree line, in the high building behind it, the people walking, the guy sitting on a bench playing a video game, the blond man lying on his stomach, a camera in hand.

He starts to draw.  

Broad strokes shape the trees, from gross shapes first until he moves on to smaller details, leaves and patches of grass and the shape of a man with a camera.

It takes over an hour for Atsushi to get to the point of drawing him, deciding last minute to add him to the scenery, and when he looks up to check if he has moved, he finds the man in the exact same position.

Utterly still, and a look of complete concentration on his face.

Atsushi draws him, smiling to himself, taking great care in the placement of his finger on the camera button, in the way his messy ponytail falls on his back, in the angle the sunlight makes his glasses glint.

About another hour later, about ten minutes after he changes page and takes on drawing a spider that crawled up his leg, the photographer sits and stretches, setting his camera around his neck. Then he walks to the man on the bench, who puts his video games in his trench coat.

They exchange a few words, and leave.

Atsushi tries to imagine what this man could possibly have photographed.

+

Bugs.

What Kunikida absolutely wants to photograph is close-ups of bugs.

It takes longer than he expects, but waiting is something he can do. His roommate is Dazai Osamu, so his patience is forged in fire, iron and exasperation.

The last bug close-up he takes is a caterpillar crawling its way to the nearest leaf, set right in front of his camera, and he has a pretty good shot of it eating.

When he is done, he sits back and stands, joining Dazai, who puts away his video game.

“Are you finished?” he asks, and Kunikida nods.

“I’m done.”

“Show me!” Dazai leans over to see the screen of his camera, almost knocking Kunikida off balance.

“Oi, be careful!” He huffs and turns the camera back on and opens the gallery, flipping through the different pictures he took during the last few hours.

There is, besides the caterpillar, a group of ants carrying bread crumb from where a family had picnicked for lunch. He shows him the ladybug as well, particularly proud of this one, as it's a picture of it as it takes off.

Several grasshoppers, a yellow butterfly and a bee.

Dazai looks over the pictures, and his nose wrinkles as he makes a face. “That’s gross, Kunikida, you could at least try to take pictures of more glamorous subjects.” He grins. “Like me.”

“Bugs are certainly glamorous,” Kunikida shoots back. “Unlike you, they’re an essential part of the ecosystem and are underappreciated. They need to be more recognized for the role they have in preserving our environment!”

Dazai sighs over-dramatically, draping himself on his shoulder. “Am I not an essential part of your ecosystem? Kunikida, you black-hearted man.” When Kunikida rolls his eyes, Dazai pulls himself straight again. “I’m only trying to help you. If the cute boy over there knew you took pictures of bugs—”

“The what now.”

“Don’t turn around,” Dazai orders, and Kunikida almost does as a reflex. Instead, he glances back to where Dazai is looking, to a (admittedly cute) white-haired young man sitting under the tree. “He’s been staring at you for an hour.”

“He’s drawing,” Kunikida hisses, starting to walk away. “This activity usually requires a lot of staring. He just happened to look in my general direction.”

Dazai doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says. “But you’re wrong. He was looking at your butt.”

“Dazai.”

+

The park is a good source of inspiration, Atsushi decides on the third day of drawing there. He changes his spot every time, looking for new sceneries and people to draw. There are a lot of critters he ends up doodling, from birds to bugs and a few squirrels.

He brings a hot drink with him today. The temperature has dropped during the night, and it’s pretty much cold, so there is no one in the park besides Atsushi himself — and the photographer.

Today he has a tripod and facing away from him, and it’s an angle Atsushi rarely draws anyone in, so he takes the opportunity to put it down on paper.

His friend is with him today too, and Atsushi plans to draw him as well, but he quickly forgets about him. He puts special attention in the angle of the photographer’s shoulders, well defined by the blue coat he’s wearing. It stops under his knees, mid-calf, and then Atsushi makes sure to draw the folds of the pants just right.

Once, the photographer makes a movement to turn away, seemingly in Atsushi’s direction. Atsushi ducks his head, pretending not to be watching.

Then he tries something new. He looks up, trying to guess what the man is seeing, what he is taking a picture of, and sketches it as well as he can. It’s not perfect, but it’s a fun game that he finds out he likes to play, for now.

Once he is done, he catches sight of a cat playing in the grass and changes his subject.

Maybe, he thinks, he should bring Byakko to the park with him, next time?  

+

Kunikida comes back to the park often.

It’s not necessarily to take pictures of bugs, though he likes it, but he needs practice in taking pictures of larger sceneries and finding a focal point in it.

A subject, noticeable enough to draw the eye, placed in a way that makes it looks part of the larger picture rather that the focus of it.

He turns on his heels, and catches sight of the young man he has seen two days before — the one who, Dazai insisted, was looking at his butt. He’s sitting just on the line between shadows and sunlight, bent down, focused on his drawing, hair overshadowing his face.

His pen scratches at the paper, and he periodically looks up to the calico cat playing a few meters away.  

When he does, the light hits his face just right.

Kunikida twists the head of his tripod and turns the camera in his direction, making sure to include the cat. The white-haired artist isn’t paying attention to him at all so, the next time he looks up at the animal, Kunikida snaps a quick picture.

He opens the picture folder and stares at it.

It’s perfect.

+

It’s not the only picture Kunikida takes of him.

“You’re turning into a stalker~" Dazai teases, poking his side, and Kunikida flushes.

“I’m not a stalker!”

“S—ure. It’s not your fault he is so photogenic, right?”

On the latest one, he is lying on the ground, legs swinging slowly as he draws a different cat. This one is black and white, and Kunikida saw it arrive with him. It’s probably his cat.

Over the next few days, it seems like every time Kunikida tries to take a good picture, this young artist is just there, in a corner, looking a natural part of the place. He zooms in on one of them as much as he possibly can before it turns blurry.

He is smiling here, wide enough to show some of his teeth, to make his eyes crinkle and shine.

Kunikida spends several second looking at it, at every details of his face he can make out, committing them to memory. Then, he duplicates the pictures and crops it.

That’s a smile he wouldn’t mind seeing up close.

God, he’s starting to sound like Dazai.

Next to him, Dazai’s obnoxious laughter only gets louder, and Kunikida would strangle him with his bare hands if not for the attention it would draw.

“I should apologize to him,” he decides suddenly. Because taking secret pictures of a stranger isn’t simply weird, it can come off as downright creepy, and Kunikida is not a creep. Because he’s started to look for this young artist on shots he’s definitely not on, and to zoom in on his face, and this is getting out of hands.

“You can’t!” Dazai can barely contain his glee. “He’s napping!”

Indeed he is, and Kunikida gives up. He huffs and settles on the ground to take more pictures of bugs, stopping all movement to wait for one to approach him.

A few minutes later, he finds himself nose to nose with the young man’s cat, who bops its face on the camera lens.

Resigned, Kunikida adjusts the settings and presses the button. The cat’s nose looks enormous on the resulting picture, it’s curious eyes wide, its face magnified. One it's taken he sits up and shows it too the cat.

“There,” he says. "Are you happy?”

It stares at the picture of itself, rubs its head on Kunikida’s hand until he gives it a good scratch, and leaves.

+

The cold has passed now, as the end of April nears, and more and more people come to enjoy the sunshine and warmer weather. Atsushi sees families and several dog walkers.

He sets Byakko upon the grass. “Don’t go too far,” he tells the cat, who flicks her black-tipped tail at him before ignoring him.

The photographer is almost facing Atsushi today, so he has to be more discreet while drawing.

He focuses on his face, this time. On the line of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the shape of his eyes, and the way he frowns where he’s focused. He adds in as many details as he finds, and the more he draws the more his eyes are drawn to him.

By the time he is done Atsushi feels like he knows this face by heart.

The photographer’s expression changes as he takes different pictures of crowds while Atsushi records them in his sketchbook as fast as he possibly can, stomach fluttering as he discovers the range of emotions this man expresses.  

It’s wonderful practice, especially when his tall friend annoys him until he turns to him.

“Stop it, Dazai,” Atsushi hears him snap when the friend in question purposely waves in front of the camera to wave at him. He supposes the picture is ruined, because the photographer emits a loud noise of frustration. “Dammit, it’s all blurry now! Stop that, you useless waste of bandages!”

The sound attracts Byakko’s attention, and she wanders away from Atsushi. She curiously paws towards the pair until Dazai notices her and bends down to pet her.

She rubs her head against the man’s hand, before messing around, coming close to knock the tripod over. The sight it almost as Atsushi on his feet, but before he can Dazai looks up. His eyes catch Atsushi and he smiles, wide, like a Cheshire cat.

Atsushi’s face burns. He has been caught staring. To make it worse, Dazai tugs on the photographer’s arm and points to the cat, then to Atsushi. The man picks up Byakko and walks over to Atsushi with decisive steps.

He's mad at him, he thinks as he tries to read his face. He’s going to yell at him for staring or for letting his cat mess around his equipment.

The photographer stops right in front of him, and Atsushi realizes his work is in plain sight. He slams his sketchbook close, hoping he hasn’t noticed it — and the handful of drawings of his face all over the page.

“Is this your cat?”  

“I’m sorry,” Atsushi says, standing up to take her. “I’ll be more careful with her —”

“Please do,” the man answers, handing her to him. “What is she called?”

“Byakko.” He scratches at her ears and sighs. “I’m really sorry, I figured the park would be safer for her than letting her out in the streets.”

“No harm was done.” His face smooths over as he notices Atsushi’s distress, as if trying to reassure him. “She came over to me yesterday as well, and got her picture taken for her troubles.”

“Really? Thank you for not—you know—” He shrugs. “Uh, I’ve seen you around? Several times. I’m Atsushi.”

“Kunikida, it’s a pleasure.” His eyes fall on the discarded sketchbook. “I’ve seen you here as well, you seem to be a prolific artist.”

“I try!” He sends him a weak smile. “That’s how you progress, right?”

“Of course. Practice makes perfect— you must be skilled.”

“I can show you?” Atsushi offers, cheeks fading to a light pink. “If you want?”

Kunikida nods. “I can show you some of my work as well, if you’d like.” He gestures back at where his camera is still set. “I’m a photographer.”

Atsushi picks his sketchbook up again and flips it to the previous pages, trying to find one he likes enough to show off. He’s never liked showing his drawings to anyone, but Kunikida doesn’t seem the kind of man who would laugh at him, and something like excitation bubbles in Atsushi.

Until he realizes just how many times he has drawn Kunikida in the past few weeks.

“Uh—” The sketchbook snaps shut again, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “Would you look at the time! I should really head home!”  

“What—”

It’s obvious, from Kunikida’s face, that he’s seen them. He glances from the sketchbook to Atsushi, who is currently stuffing his things in his bag as fast as he can.

“I can hear my mom calling me!”

+

It’s only after he offers to show Atsushi his work that Kunikida remembers just how many pictures of him are on his camera roll.

He is almost relieved when Atsushi runs away, because it would have been a lot to explain. He would probably think Kunikida is a creep.

“Or maybe not,” Dazai tells him, thoughtful. “You say you saw that he’s been drawing you? So, I was right, he was looking at your butt.”

“Dazai, I’m sure he didn’t draw my butt.” He sets up his camera and looks around.

“Shame, it's very nice.”

After three days of going back to the usual park, Kunikida finally resigns to the fact that Atsushi isn’t showing up anymore. Since then, all his pictures have been bland — incomplete — so Dazai suggested moving location.

This new park is larger than the previous one and different enough to give him new material. The trees are denser and clear-cut paths run through it. A fountain stands in the center, the water flowing with a soothing noise.

Next to him, Dazai flops down on the grass, staring up at the sky and pulls out his earphones. Kunikida takes a picture, mentally labelling it as “Dazai being a lazy ass, as usual”.

It's only half-hearted, because Dazai doesn’t have to come with him on his photographing endeavors, and some days Kunikida wonders why he comes at all. Besides, saying he doesn’t enjoy Dazai’s company would be a blatant lie, they both know it.  

Suddenly, Dazai rolls on his side and takes one of his earbuds out. “Your favourite subject is here,” he points out. “Looks like someone had the same idea!”

Following his fingers, Kunikida finds Atsushi sitting near the fountain, scribbling in his sketchbook. He almost has his back to him, so he can’t see his face.

“You should—”

Kunikida doesn’t hear the end of Dazai’s sentence. He grabs his camera and walks towards him until Byakko, sitting by him, raises her head in his direction.

She stands and meows, attracting Atsushi’s attention, and he turns around. His eyes go wide as he sees Kunikida, and he stammers out something that sounds like “hello”.

“I would like to take a picture of you, please,” Kunikida declares, and Atsushi’s face turns into a deep, concerning red.

“Uh?”

He raises his camera. “You also don’t have to be embarrassed about drawing me. People watching — and drawing — is a strong hobby that can only lead to great progress in your art.” He pauses. “There are also several pictures of you I took without your knowledge and consent, I’m sorry. In my defence, you are often the only person who doesn’t move around.”

Atsushi looks a lot less panicked now that he knows Kunikida doesn’t hold anything against him, and laughs. “I hope you know how weird this sounds.”

“I’m aware.” His strict composure softens, and he pushes his glasses back up his nose. “So, can I take a picture?”

“Sure.” He sets his sketchbook down. “How would you like it to be?”

“Just a portrait.” He crouches to be on the same level as Atsushi, who is still sitting, and smiles as the camera is pointed to him.  

It’s the first picture he takes where Atsushi is looking right at the camera, smiling at him, and Kunikida’s heart jumps in his chest. He sits on the bench, right next to Atsushi, to show him.  

The young man leans over until their shoulders touch and stares at his own face, not unlike his cat did just a few days ago.

His cheeks are still pink when he pulls on of his uneven strand of hair behind his ear. “Could I see the other ones?” He gulps, and seems to gather the courage to add something else, twisting his hands: “I mean, I could show you mine—” his graphite stained fingers tap his sketchbook as he speaks “—and you can show me yours. Over coffee? Maybe?”

Kunikida blinks in surprise, taken off guard, but he smiles. “I would like that.”

[xhannahbananax03]

The Boyfriend Diaries- Chapter 3

Words: 1.6k

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of depression, alluding to suicide, mentions of death and homelessness 

MASTERLIST

Once Riley was in the safety of a bus barn, she pulled the wig from her head and released her hair of all the bobby-pins. Shaking her red locks free, she ran a hand through her hair as she bit down on the pencil in her mouth.

She paced while staring at the same paper that held the news of Madison's suicide. There wasn't any mention of a note or a reason why she had done it. Just a eulogy, written by her mother, and few comments from friends and family.

But one comment caught her eye in particular. It was from a friend going to her high school.

"Madison was my best friend. Sure, she struggled in school with the other kids. But I never thought she'd do this. If only I had known..."

The rest of the comment was a bit mushy. But the first part of it seemed unapologetic and uncaring. But it was really the picture that caught her eye.

It was a picture of Madison and the girl who had made the statement, Stacey. It was a seemingly perfect summer day. But Madison was dressed in all black. Black jeans, black sweatshirt, even black boots. Not to sound cliche, but it definitely looked like a classic depressed teen.

Meanwhile, Stacey was distanced from the girl, only temporarily tearing her eyes away from her phone to give the camera a snarky smile. They didn't look like friends at all.

Riley circled over the statement and photo with her pencil before shoving the paper and other things into her bag. She decided that since the bus barn was still in use, she'd stay in one of the broken down busses behind the barn.

Sneaking around back, being careful to not get spotted by anyone in the neighboring houses, she found a perfect bus. It was smaller, damaged beyond repair so that meant nobody was going to come to fix it.

Forcing open the door, she stepped inside, stomping her foot down to make any critters run off. When the bus stayed silent, besides the whining of the old metal, she walked further back into it. Dusting off a seat, she pulled her blanket out and laid it across the seat before setting up her small travel pillow. It wasn't much, but it would do.

She then opened all the windows, she'd close them before she fell asleep, but it was Louisiana and it was hot, so she should get the stuffiness out before bed.

She sat down on her seat and pulled out her journal and a small snack, she'd have to go shopping tomorrow after school.

Dear diary,     Today was short, talked to Madison's mother but she didn't have much to say. I did find a note in her room, but unfortunately I wasn't able to get a picture of it before Mrs. Sticher caught me and kicked me out. Madison did blame that kid named Andrew for her death. Apparently, listening to those teenage gossip sites can be helpful sometimes.  She wrote, referring to the gossip site she had gotten this story off of the days before she came here.

Tomorrow will be my first day at the school here, it's only a little bit scary. But if I just keep my head down and do my job, it'll go by fast. Right?

She finished before closing up her journal. She finished up her granola bar and pulled out her water bottle. It was half empty and warm, but she was thirsty. She drank to fast before seeing that there was now only a sip left inside. Rolling her eyes at herself, she stood and looked out the windows in search of a hose or pump.

She spotted one a bit back, probably in case there was a fire. She left the bus and started for the blue water pump. When she finally got there, she had several grass cuts covering her ankles. Riley pulled the handle of the pump and waited a second before cold, clear water started running out of it.

She smiled and put her water bottle under it. Once it was filled, she took a giant drink and that's when the urge to pee hit her. Looking around, she spotted a bush and decided that would be the place to take care of business. Good thing she always carried a few tissues with her.

After she was done, Riley slowly made her way back towards the bus. Enjoying the sun and cool breeze, blowing her hair over her shoulders. The smile left her face when she saw a head in the bus. She ducked down and decided she had to run. That's when she remembered she had left her journal in there and she couldn't remember if she left it unlocked or not.

Pulling her pocket knife out, she snuck up to the back of the bus and watched to see if she could tell who it was, granted, she didn't know anyone in this town. But it wouldn't hurt to size the person up.

She saw it was a boy, about her age, light brown hair,  tall but lean. Maybe she could play this off as simply being a reckless high schooler, bored of being home.

Shoving her pocket knife back into her pocket, she stood straight, but still walked quietly over to the door, once she was there, she slapped her hand against the inside of the window, effectively making the kid jump.

He turned around to face her with wide eyes, "I swear I wasn't doing anything!" He squeaked in surrender, throwing his hands up beside his head. Riley couldn't help but chuckle, this kid was obviously harmless.

"Calm down. I'm not gonna hurt you." She said cooly, walking over to her seat and quickly doing a once over, seeing everything was still intact. "What're you doing in here?" She asked, plopping down in her seat and facing him.

"I'm just here with my dad. He works on the buses so I thought I'd take a look around." He said nervously, fumbling with his fingers and not making eye contact.

She tensed at the mention of his dad. If he knew she was here, he'd probably kick her out. "Uh listen," she said quietly, sitting up and finally he looked down at her. "You can't tell anyone I'm here ok? I just, I don't want to get in trouble."

He smiled a crooked smile and nodded his head, "I promise I won't tell." He looked around before sitting on the seat across from her, "My name is (enter name), what's yours?"

"Riley." She introduced herself with a bright smile, half fake, half real. "It's nice to meet you, (enter name)." It has been awhile since she was able to talk to a boy her age without planning on murdering him later. It was nice in a strange "normal" kind of way.

He paused for a moment, staring her down but it didn't make her feel threatened or uncomfortable, if anything she felt a little flattered, "So what're you doing here anyways?" He asked leaning his side against the back of his seat and quirking a messy eyebrow at her.

She smiled beginning to feel slightly uneasy as his dark eyes stared right into her soul, "Just bored of being home ya know?" She looked down, fiddling with her nails. The black polish was chipped and faded and she made a mental note to repaint them.

"Yeah I get that feeling..." he mumbled, turning to face the back of the seat in front of him before his head tilted back and he stared at the rusted ceiling of the old bus, "You're new here right? I've never seen you around her before."

She just nodded her head and murmured out a "Uh-huh..." before her eyes moved up to study his side profile. She was cute, even she had to admit but something about him seemed off, not right. Like he was being forever tortured by something and had no one to express that pain to. She could relate to that feeling all to well.

He opened his mouth like he was gonna say something but before he could, another man shouted out after him, "(Enter name)!"

They both jumped and he stood up quickly, "Uh I need to be going now." He said before quickly making his way back to the front of the bus.

"Wait! Um, (enter name), you promise you won't tell anyone that I was here, right?" She stood and watched him intently with a silent plea in her eyes.

He just chuckled and shook his head slightly, "Yeah, I won't tell anyone about the girl living in the bus. Scouts honour." He helped up three fingers on one hand and placed his other hand over his heart.

Riley's face paled slightly and she immediately went to defend herself, "I'm not.." the words died in her throat as he just laughed and slowly moved down the stairs towards the open doors.

"I'm no idiot Riley. I know a bed setup when I see one." That made her shut her mouth and blush slightly.

How could she be so stupid as to just leave her things out and think he wouldn't notice.

"See ya, Riley." He waved slightly before the man shouted for him again and he quickly moved out of the bus, being sure to not be spotted before he waved once more and ran to the front of the barn so his dad wouldn't know where he came from.

She sighed heavily and dropped back onto her seat before slipping her shoes off and laying on her back, one arm covering her eyes while the other fell off the side of the seat and he hand slid into her bag.

Her heart dropped when she realized her diary was no longer in there.

[boneslaw]

TIMBER

We set out at 8 this morning. The call wasn't originally for us, but then again, they never were. Julia drowns out morning birds with police radio. She storyboards tragedies of the day while her French press steeps. The sheriff, Dave, has yet to find a frequency safe from her omnipresent surveillance, but neither has my personal life. By the time the case hit Adria's desk, the film crew was burning exhaust in front of the station. Today's house call required a drive. Issues outside the town's border were usually dubbed Somebody Else's Problem, but we've made ourselves out to be specialists, every Thursday, 7 PM sharp. Julia was all for the change in scenery and so was I. I haven't seen a chain brand in months. I've had to call my card's fraud prevention five times for buying generic, and I'm starting to forget what paved roads look like. Is it bad that this liminal leak between realities is diffusing to denser populated areas? Is it unthinkably tragic that it may one day breach (real) civilization? I'll go on record and say a pitchy '...Yeees?'

I was thumbing through Father Moreau's encyclopedia, passenger-side, when I decided to ask the question on everyone's mind. "You don't think it's spreading, do you?" Adria chewed her lip. I got the impression she was thinking the same thing. "Maybe? It's hard to say. This place is only an hour north of us. Not every gross thing is going to survive in Ashwater's biome." "But isn’t the corn so fun." "Sure. Next time you're enjoying it by yourself." I laughed, despite how serious she was. "No worries. I'm done with corn-diving, chief. But you’re right, nothing spooky wants to stick around while you're out there with a Ditch-Digger. So what's the lowdown with this guy?" "He's a college kid from a town called Holyoke. He says he tried to get attention from local authorities but no one wants to hear him out." "Oho. Any more horror clichés to hit?" "He knows he sounds like a nut but he thinks there's something wrong with the forest itself," She squinted at her phone. Her cracked screen was clipped into the grill of the A/C, GPS telling her to Turn Right onto a road too reedy for two lanes. Out here in the woods, it’s between you and Bigfoot to decide right of way. "He says the last person who went around asking about it went missing, on top of an already growing list of people who go missing out here." "And we aren't thinking ‘torn apart by coyotes'...why?" "First of all- no coyotes. Second, he's got firsthand experience." Her eyes flicked to the film crew behind us. The van was all-but straddling the road, wobbling like a top. I don’t know if it was supposed to be doing that. I’ll assume no. "He sounded like a normal guy until he got to the part about the 'voices.' They were telling him to do gross stuff." "Like what?" "Like chopping off his fingers and eating them, or snuggling a cheese grater. Real graphic- he sounded like he wanted to cry. He stopped hanging out after that, and he hasn’t heard the voice since." "Eeesh." I closed the book, losing the stomach to be able to look at the illustrations. "But how do you know he isn't nuts?" "I called around, and while everyone was the same level of useless, the story checked out. He wants us to do a welfare check on his friend- he hasn't seen him in person in weeks, and apparently his texts are getting weirder." "L...lovely. What are you thinking?" "Another demon, maybe? One that wants to do more than toss around Splenda." I wiggled in my seat. "Oooh, are we ghost-busting again, Deputy?" No skin off my nose. The critters we have been wrangling lately have been...messy. I've lost Armani to a scarecrow, and dry-cleaning doesn't know where to start with juggernaut roach secretions. Spectral shit cleans up after itself. Adria happened to be excited too, but for the less pragmatic, adrenaline-junkie reasons. "Why? Do you have a rite handy? No way you can re-use a script.” She grinned. “That’d be bad TV." "Unfortunately I'd have to write a new one." "Does Catholicism work like that?" "It does in post. Jesus won’t mind the adlib. Hold on- Liam's calling." My phone vibrated. I picked up, perplexed. Liam was twenty five feet back. His van slowed to a crawl, stopped, then sagged with a prominent left lean. We awkwardly watched this transpire in the rearview. Now I know it wasn’t supposed to do that. "Uh... Hey.” I said. “What's up?" "We got a flat!" His voice cracked. "Maybe two? Jesus. What’d we hit?" "Adria might have a spare but hang-up and call someone- we'll be right there." Or not. As soon as I hung up, I noticed Adria's foot did not lift off the gas. The cruiser kept cruising, even after Liam hopped out, and threw up his hands. I looked over to the deputy, who shrugged a consolatory 'sucks to suck' through the back window. It wasn't the first time she was unsympathetic to Liam's car troubles, but the poor guy was going to develop a complex. "What are you doing?" I hissed. "Pull over!" "I am not pulling over." "Why not?!" She swerved around a bend. The crew disappeared around a curtain of pines. "I'm here for my job, not yours. I'm not stalling my investigation hours waiting for Triple A. Also you can’t just throw on any spare tire." "We need the footage-" "I don't! If you want to wait with your buddies, I'll let you out." She shifted her brakes. The road crackled as the tires rolled to a stop. All four doors in the squad car clicked. They unlocked, and she twisted her whole body to look at me, to dare me to go. I glared. It was a game of chicken. One that would end with me in the sun for two hours, tick infested, and miserable. I considered it of course. For the sake of pride and film integrity- but I quickly realized I didn't care about either of those things. Massive trees on either side blotted out the road ahead and behind, and the idea of being exposed to fresh air without SPF 30 made my skin crawl. There was dirt out there. And leaves. I was forced to weigh the cons: mosquitoes versus Julia's wrath. Both were out for blood, but only one will ruin my complexion. "...She always said chemistry was more important." I pulled the tab in the door back to ‘locked.’ "Clearly she wouldn't want me doing it without you. It's basically our show at this point." "Oh yeah?" “Yeah. Definitely.” Adria's face didn't change as the car fired back up and she shifted gear. Except maybe, imperceptibly, a small smile. “I guess that’s true.” "But we're micing up. Both of us!" "Fine." - - - Where Ashwater was a Globally Positioned shrug on Waze, this place had an address. It sat at the base of the imaginatively named East Mountain. The nearest neighbors weren't around for another 7 miles in any direction, even along the Y-axis. Anything this remote and isolated had the creep bells ringing- Only, they never stopped sounding. Not since my first (qualified) exorcism in a Hicktown Starbucks. At this point my sonar for spooky was offkey tinnitus. Adria took charge up the steps. Her combat boots stomped on a charming doormat that looped 'Welcome' with a tail that curled under itself in trademark Wine Mom calligraphy. Plants in the window sill were lovingly tended to with a spray bottle labelled 'Sunshine,' and wind chimes twinkled their hospitable welcome to the porch. The deputy banged a fist against the door. I wholly expected to hear the skittering of chihuahuas next, yapping at us through the screen. I turned my nose up to the glossy rain boots, banished to the corner for a little dirt on the toe. Didn’t she say a college kid lives here? "Uh. We're not shaking down his grandma are we?" She grinned, devious "You'd like that wouldn't you." “Ha-ha.” I said. And turned into my collar to demand that be stricken from the record. Adria pounded for a second round. This time, the door opened up. “Woah,” he said. Woah indeed. Between the tats, haircut, and gratuitous body mods- Avril Lavigne's pop sensation Sk8r Boi sprang to mind. Except, maybe, the chorus she left out about the decade after Punk went on life support. It was something about his eyes. Twin dark circles underneath them dragged into his skull and pulled his otherwise youthful face closer to his 30's. We call that 'drugs’ kids, but before I could judge too harshly, recognition sparked. This automatically made him a better person. "No way! You're-" "In the flesh." I flourished. “Dude!” He shoved his hand into both of ours, leaving Adria finagling with his left. She had just as much trouble keeping him from breaking her wrist as I did. "I'm a huge fan. I watch your show every week- come in, come in! He’s not going to believe this- ohmygod-" “Happy for the support.” We followed him inside. Decor followed the theme outside. Compact, homey, and front page of Etsy. Three steps to the right and we were in a kitchen preserved by a Martha Stewart catalog, while fairy lights threaded the hallway the whole way through. "Can I say, though?” He said, walking backward, not baring to miss one second of us. “My favorite was the episode with the little salamander dude, do you remember? Ssk skk skk-" He imitated the sound of its suction-cup pitter patter and I felt it up my spine. "Oh yeah, haaha." I said. "That was..." "Gross." Said Adria. "Yeah, that's the word. Gross." He laughed it off, spinning away to pull a chair out for the cop. Habitually, I took the one across from her, realizing there were only the two when the seat was warm. Our host took no offense. Instead he swapped out the paper plate intended for himself for three glasses- noticeably finer. Anything in this cabin that wasn't rough-hewn, rustic or wooden came directly from a Pinterest mood board. Salt and pepper sat in a decorative caddy, engraved with color-washed daisies. It is the 21st century and all. I’m not judging, but something wasn’t adding up. He bumped the refrigerator door shut with his hip, pitcher of lemon-water in hand. The kind with the actual lemon slices. He poured us each a glass. "So. What brings you guys out here?" "Welfare check. Or. Was supposed to be. You're Ausland, right?" She said, accusatory. “You seem...fine." "...I'm...sorry..?" I snorted into my glass. Call me a sadist but I always enjoyed watching Adria get the first few lines out. They'd be cut from the official take anyways. "We've gotten," She kicked me under the table. "STRANGE reports someone wanted us to have a look at! Have you had any experiences out here? Anything weird? Paranormal? ShutupDemetrius." Ausland looked between the both of us. Between her History Channel-after-6PM interrogation, and me crying about my calf- he laughed. Awkward. Like her question was perfectly insane. Like he was being filmed for Punk’d and he wasn’t sure when Ashton Kutcher was going to pop out from a cabinet. I would've thought the same 6 months ago, before things like Leprechauns and anthropomorphic newt people were a legitimate weekly ordeal. Judging from his reaction, he thought our show was staged. I don't blame him. We're on HBO. "...Out here?" He warily obliged, pinching a lemon garnish onto the edge of Adria’s glass. It was too rough to preserve the beauty of the citrus. "No. People call Holyoke bear country but I haven't even seen so much as an aggressive turkey in years." "Turkeys live in the woods-?" I said. "That's not right. That can't be right." He arched a brow, indulgent, before the ping of a toaster oven turned him around. I smelled rubbery after-school pizza products on the menu. "Well, uh-" "Do you know anything about a writer that disappeared out here?" Adria said, before I derailed the investigation with farm facts. "A columnist?" "Oh? Mia?" "Mia Winthrop." "Miss Mary's Advice, treasure of the Holyoke Herald. If you're a fan, she'd love to hear about it. She hated the gig but she'd love to know she made a difference." He pulled a tray from the oven, leaning on his heel to call through the door frame. "Mia! We have company- ow." The metal clamored onto the counter. From below we heard a rhythmic thump thump thump followed by a click of a lock. Emerging from the entry hall, a blonde shuffled in. Our visit interrupted her painting. She wore an apron tied around the waist, protecting a baby-pink Cashmere sweater. Her cheek sported a streak of paint, and the acrid scent followed her in. She was cute, in a preppy, bookish way. Unlike the certified stoner across from us, I wouldn't have pegged her to be into the same hard drugs giving their scleras a light, smoky jaundice. I figured it was a Grease situation. Adria lost her voice. Baffled, she watched the secondary plot line to this interview just flounce in. "Did you burn yourself?!" Mia said, missing us completely. "Oh no-" Ausland shoved his fingers into his mouth, kissing the sting from the tips. He defensively held them high above her head. "I'm fine!" He garbled. "See? Hey, d’you kno’ where we pu’ the nice pla’es?" "Oh my gosh." She tossed her roller into the sink and clawed for his arm. She clocked in at about 5’2”, making it a struggle. "I told you to use the mitts! I bought them for you!” "It's no big deal-" "It is when you're burning yourself!" "But look who's here!" She hooked his elbow, and yanked him under the faucet. Adria and I shared an awkward glance, before she popped the bubble of their disgustingly domestic moment. In no certain tact- "Ma'am.” She said, “Are you aware you're missing?" "Oh..!" Mia turned, startled. Her eyes bounced between both of us, thick lenses distorting them slightly. "Oh hi! Wait, aren't you two from TV?" "Yeah!" Ausland beamed. I fired off a finger gun-wink combo and her face reddened. "You're not here for me, are you? Oh my god. I'm so sorry.” She said. “I didn’t want anyone to worry. It’s just, we don't have good reception out here. I try to get in touch when I can but it must’ve slipped my mind." "You're missing because of bad reception?" said Adria. That’s a new one. I snorted, already anticipating Adria’s caustic response, when she said "Oh." Just like that. I waited for a beat. I set my water down, balking, before turning to the deputy. She just accepted it. As if anyone went 'missing' for dropping below three bars. As if cell phone service was a CDC recognized vital sign- And then, "Oh yeah.” I snapped my fingers. “We did have trouble with a call." "Yeah. It's really bad in the woods. But we manage! It’s good for the soul, you know? The fresh air. Disconnecting. We go to Rise & Shine if we’re really hurting for wifi." As she played nurse, Ausland contorted around her like a human knot. He stacked bagel bites, plating them like macaroons. "I'm sure you saw,” He said. “But it's only us out here. We're not high on Sprint's priority list. I wouldn't mind reaching out to civilization every now and then, but if your visit somehow puts us on the map, I won’t complain. No pressure though. Hey, you guys like pizza?" "Your friend is worried about you.” Adria bulldozed past it, shooting me a weird stare. My face must've been judging his choice of carrier too loud. “Enough to call us." “My ‘friend’?” Both of them looked up. Their eyes averted at the same time, synchronized. Then, as if mystically finding the answer with the Froot Loops, he snapped back, revitalized with a "Oh! Micah?" "...Yeah." "Oh yeah. He's always been like that. Mad superstitious- you can ask our bud Zeke. He totally choked when we played Bloody Mary but uh, don't put that on TV." He said, sheepish. Mia was grinning too, but not quite the same way. "He's a really nice guy, but just a little...off." She packed up the first-aid, unaware of the hypocrisy. “You know what I mean?” Decidedly, no, I did not. Adria didn't perfectly stifle a repulsed 'eugh.' Mia was smiling like the hinges on her face snapped. Like a defected doll- eyes wide, too engaged, all teeth. She gave the impression that she, for whatever reason, was the one terrorizing Micah herself and was absolutely delighted we noticed. Perhaps it was an inside joke. A gaffe. 'Haha, we got him to piss his pants. Haha, he called the cops.' Regardless, Ausland just frowned, "But that can't be why you guys are here, otherwise he would've sent the local crew." "...He reported hearing voices." I said. "In the woods." "Like it's haunted?" Her eyes were back to normal, but not the rot-your-teeth, Splenda tone of her voice. "No that's crazy. I'm not sure why he'd even say that. He hasn't been here since...?" She looked to Ausland. "...Three years?" He finished the thought. She shrugged her shoulders, 'could be?' "...Kind of a long wait to wait to talk about voices." She said. "Right?" Good point. Adria sighed heavily as we arrived at the same conclusion. Attention seeking wasn't new to our show. People liked to make up a boogeymen of the week. Either that, or we stirred up paranoia that got the better of them. Neither was a problem per say but this was the first time we clocked in major mileage. If we came back empty-handed, Julia will be pissed we didn't dedicate the day on probing a water stain that reportedly looked like the late Tom Petty. (Adria didn’t know who Tom Petty was, completely torpedoing our banter.) Genuinely apologetic, Ausland's shoulders dropped. "Look.” He said. “I'm sorry you guys drove out here for nothing. If I had a ghostie to show you, I would introduce, but you're welcome to look around anyways? Enjoy the day. This place has some beautiful hiking trails. This is me geeking out but I'd personally love it if this place made it into behind the scenes." - - - "Well that was a bust." Her door slammed. Adria cranked the A/C- a blessing. Massachusetts wasn't blistering this time of year, but after a sixteen mile romp around the woods, I was ready to melt through the seats. "I'm never walking again," I moaned. "Why did we agree to that?" She watched me drag my dead thighs into the vehicle and rolled her eyes. "I wanted a look around. Micah made it sound like the land was haunted so I wanted to check out the actual property. All I saw was...trees." "Trees and dirt, that is correct." "I don't get it." She threw the cruiser in reverse. Dirt crumbled under her tires. The road existed where foliage did not. Before long, the cabin fell to the rear view mirror, masked entirely by pines. Gone. Nothing spooky on its own, but given the topic of discussion, I was reminded of the last scene of Poltergeist. Only, instead of blood spurting out of the ground, it’d be waxing poetic indie-ballads and Takis. "He sounded sincere on the phone- like, traumatized. It told him how it'd feel like when his tendons snapped. That he'd enjoy it." "Did you talk to the cops?" "About the 'missing girl'? Yeah. They said that happens around here, and that they knew Mia was asking around their office a few months back." "...And..?" "That was it." She said. "Complete waste of time." "Not like it's a big deal, right? She's fine." I twisted the radio to a more agreeable station, surprised we were getting through. "Call him back, nicely!” I stressed. “And let him know he was worried over nothing except what- meth? Is that what was going on there?" "With their eyes? I guess." She said. But it wasn't just the eyes. It was small things. Mia frequently overshot her smiles. Ausland was a space-case. Both had a thousand-yard stare in the middle of a sentence, zoned back in with a vaguely agreeable answer like 'haha, yeah.’ Don't get me wrong, the hike was neighborly. He responded to Adria's (frankly, obtrusive) questions with awkward geniality. There was no way he didn’t regret the walk halfway through but I got the impression he was really a nice guy. It didn't dispel any of the weirdness, though. Either the man was high as a kite, or...? "...Could be why Micah was hearing things too,” she said. “If these are the people he's running with. Secondhand of that stuff." "Maybe. So why do you sound like you don't believe it?" Her hand flexed on the wheel. She stewed in her thoughts for a moment, before hesitantly speaking up. "...It’s just...I can't get his voice out of my head. He’s like 24, but right then, he sounded like a child. It wasn’t a joke. He didn’t call you or Hollywood, Demetri, he called me, and he sounded scared." I squinted. God, I need a neck brace for this whiplash. I was already planning on intercepting that phone call but now it was unnecessary apparently. "Uh...nerves probably got the best of him? I don’t know." I shrugged. "But hey, if you're finding your daily quota of Being A Hero is woefully unmet, we can go rescue my camera crew. Preferably without traffic tickets." "No promises." - - - Ausland waved them off from the driveway, thrilled with his souvenirs: AU-TO-GRAPHS! Frick yeah. Two Worship with Style originals. Both were inscribed on the back of a scrap sheet of paper, riddled with unmarried couplets. Demetri's flamboyant cursive looped around the real-estate, while Adria's surname was illegible after the K. Beautiful. Ausland only wished he had something cooler for them to sign. Nevertheless, he snapped a picture for the groupchat, and ambled into his cabin, ready to throw it under a magnet. He was met with a less-than-receptive audience. Mia sat at the table, hands cupped around her tea. His chair was pulled out across from her. The room was staged for an intervention but despite the slanderous conversation occurring in their driveway, barreling toward civilization at 45 miles an hour, a blood test wouldn't find anything in their system except granite. He took one look at the pristine kitchen and frowned. "Aw. You didn't have to clean up. I would've gotten to it." "We need to talk." "Talk?" "About our guests..." He shrugged off his hoodie, sliding into his seat. "What about them?" "They were investigating, Ausland. Us." "What. No." She pushed her glasses onto her face, and reached across the table. Both hands wrapped around his, still warm from her Earl Gray. "Unfortunately...yes. No one does a welfare check while miced. Micah could've texted you." "He could've but..." 'Do you think your best friend would ask the cops about your missing girlfriend, before you?' Said Asclepius. The monolith didn't know it but when it spoke to an audience, its voice shifted between theirs like paint. Timbers of Ausland's voice mixed with country club inflections of hers. It was a small but obvious way they knew they were receiving the same message. 'He was sending you that stupid stick bug meme this morning.' "The cops gave them bad info.” He countered. “Micah was being his spaziod self- they’re all confused. They didn’t have cameras!" 'They're trying to make you the next headline.' It asserted. 'We remember how well that went the first time?’ Ausland sighed, ignoring the bait, but Mia shot a look at the basement. The rock had no way of 'seeing' the glare (its singular eye was fixed, focused on a box housing last year's lawn Santa), but it'd gotten the hang of baleful stares from a first person point of view. Under the scrutiny of Mia, it relented. It's wrists snapped with the foley work of a glowstick, raised for a placatory 'Fine! Whatever, you convince him.' "...I've talked it over with Asclepius," She continued, ire abating. "If that sound byte airs there's going to be attention we're not yet ready for. International attention." "I don’t get it. Isn't that what you guys have been talking about for ages? Isn't that...a good thing?" "Not yet." They said, in unison. Ausland found that creepy then promptly forgot he did. "They're going to be back and we're going to have to take care of it." 'We can’t let them make a spectacle out of us; we're not the bad guys.' Of course not. He knew this, but... “Ugh.” Ausland leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. The stone constructs they were pressed back, grating his palms. He replayed their visit. Going over it, he rehashed it time and time again, trying to find any alternative to what they were suggesting, but Asclepius was hurling every potential disaster scenario into his head. Relentless, it was a barrage: fingerprints, mugshots, case files, sentencing. Headlines ranged from the innocuous ‘Local Man Investigated for Paranormal Phenomena’ to ‘Holyoke Dropout Responsible For Missing Persons,’ but you can bet there was more of the latter, all percussed by the slam of jail bars, shackles, and soft sobs from Mia. Ausland looked to her for sympathy but she held her ground. It was no fair getting double-teamed. But if their accusations were true-...? Well that was shitty too. He sighed. Don't meet your heroes, he thought. You'll fuck up season 2. "...Maaaan." - - - A day later, the cast and crew were called to a meeting. And by meeting, I mean Julia corralled the two of us into the abandoned ice cream parlor she renovated as her office space. The back was composed of four white walls, metal vents, no windows, and a beady-eyed mascot that’d never make it into frame. This constituted as a hostage situation when she kicked on three separate 300 watt light bulbs, and locked the door behind us. "Sit." Said Julia. Our chairs were pushed together as three cameras focused on our faces. She arced around the table like a satellite, adjusting angles. I recognized this set-up. Behavioral conditioning said it meant one of two things: A. Julia got something juicy, or B. I was in trouble and she's crafting and curating another one of my apologies for her lair. Being the practical man I am, I prepared for either, "Audio is the best I could do.” I said. “I was kidnapped and Adria made me walk twenty miles for no reason." "Shut up. It wasn't even one." "Humidity is a multiplier." “It is not.” “Is so. I can’t exert my daily calories on-” "There are discrepancies in the audio I want to address." Julia ignored us both. “I want you both to review them.” "Discrepancies?" asked Adria. "Like bad sound, dead people speaking on the audio?" "Errors in continuity." I folded my hands behind my head, grateful I didn't have to put on the fake tears. "Is this about the turkey comment? It's the Mandela thing, I swear, but cut it- Adria educated me already." "Posture." Julia chided, then hit play. The audio began rolling. There was heavy ruffling in the quality- damning evidence that it was coming at us from Adria's perspective. Her mic brushed against her collar with every step. Dead grass crunched beneath her. We were traversing a trail paved with pine needles and flat stone. The path was flanked either side by wildflowers. He mentioned he built it for Mia. They enjoyed long walks at night, sharing a bottle of wine, their feet in the gravel. Personally, I preferred my grand gestures of affection to have air conditioning. "-My grandparents bought this in the 1970's." He said. "They were snowbirds who used the cabin as a vacation home for hunting, swimming, and all that. I got it in the tenth grade. Inherited it, actually- rest in peace, pap pap- but I wasn't able to start working on it until a few years back. You should've seen it then, man. It was like a flowerchild threw up on Bob Ross- shag carpeting, geometric wallpaper, the works." "Lava lamps?" "Haha, no. No working utilities, then." Adria looked at her. "So what? He's giving us his life story." Julia held up a finger. The audio shrieked as Ausland shoved open a fence. Overgrown weeds tangled the iron. He usually hopped it, we could tell, but he had visitors. Out here the grass was taller. The sun crested the trees and mirrored over the lake like an EKG rhythm. He found us a spot on the mud shores. We rested where the water lapped up to meet the grass and deposited driftwood and frogs. I don't know why I risked my Ferragamos to follow. I'd favored fine leather over Adria's life before. I should've stayed at the fence for posterity. Adria scorched me with a dirty look that said the same thing. Whoops. "Doesn't seem like the greatest place to settle down." She said. "Holyoke gets a lot of missing persons, doesn't it?" Ausland rooted through the muck. He brushed the underside of a few stones free of pillbugs, and offered one to each of us. I declined, because gross. “Does it? Man. Mia said the same thing awhile back.” “You didn’t know?” “I don't really watch the news, but a lot of us like to live off the grid up here. It wouldn't surprise me if a lot of it was just that." "Huh." "No offense, but your guys’ theory is weirder," He chucked a rock. It skipped for three rings then disappeared. “You really think it's supernatural?” "I guess not." said Adria. "Huge waste of time coming out here." I raised a brow at her abrupt resignation. She pitched her rock into the face of the lake. It sank, immediately. "Sorry," He apologized again, without really knowing why. "No, it's not your problem. I'm just being a paranoid freak." Adria's face dropped. Her eyes zeroed in on the tape. Julia paused for dramatic effect. We got a lot of flack on our message boards. The "haters," as T-Swift would biologically classify, condemned my overrating. Similar reproach was received about the studios elaborate set-ups and abuse of specifical effects. Criticism of that flavor, however, stopped short when it got to Adria. You didn’t need to be behind the scenes. Julia was clever with her cuts and body doubles, but no amount of contour fixed the deputy’s face if she wasn’t feeling it. Adria couldn't act. With her, what you see is what you get. She wore her emotions on her sleeve. And her face, and her mouth- everywhere she could exude a haughty attitude without a filter, and it was not for a lack of trying. By extension, this meant she had no exemplary control of her pupils either. To narrow them down to pinpricks...well. She couldn't fake that. I just didn't understand. "What the fuck." She breathed. I looked between both women, befuddled. "I don't get it. What's the problem?" "Usually," Julia said, thumb over Play. "Adria is not that stupid." "What are you going to do now?" Ausland asked. The recording rolled. This was near the end. Ausland dipped his hands in the shallows, washing them. Sediment muddied the water until it was grey. Adria was bent beside him, doing the same. "Welp. Nothing I can do,” She said. “Except go back to Ashwater and tell your buddy to stop prank-calling." Her chair shot back. It punched two notches through the drywall. "I didn't say that." Adria bowed out of the table's trackspot. Julia nudged the next nearest lens. Her reaction was captured in the bounce light. "I did not say that." "...I did think that was harsh." "I didn't SAY that!" "So what are you saying?” I turned. “That you were in some weird fugue state? During the interrogation you just blacked out but kept doing your job, albeit badly? That doesn't make sense." "Like when you ate a bagel bite then told me about your juice cleanse for the 50th time?!" "What? I am on a juice cleanse-" Julia's brow quirked. She glanced at her neurotically time-stamped sticky note, and rewound. "You a ranch guy?" Ausland asked. "Oh sure." I said. "Right on." I dry-heaved. "N….no..." "We have to go back." "Are you kidding?” I gagged. I imagined the callous on his fingers were as tough as the bagel's shell. Oh God I could taste it. I could taste it now. I was going to puke- “We’re not going back. He touched those! With his bare hands!" “I’m not talking about processed meats here, Demetri!” "And I’m not either! We were played! BUT we confirmed the guy was okay, and that no one was dead or missing! At least not that girl!" "Demetrius." Adria threatened. "There's fucked up shit going on." "Yes?!" My voice cranked an octave. "Exactly! And we're not done with Ashwater yet! What, what are we supposed to do, huh? Aren't your family and friends or whatever more important?! Wouldn’t you rather go vacuum something sticky or decapitate another dead thing!" "Earbuds." Julia advised, directly to Adria. "Between the body cams and direct audio feed. I will be in immediate contact if any action taken seems out of character. If it is, you will confirm or deny if that was your intention over the radio. If it's a negative, we intervene." "Earbuds?” I followed Adria out of the light, when it seemed being incredibly photogenic was doing nothing to get me heard. “Airpods aren't going to do shit! That thing was in our heads!" "But you remember me saying that right!" She railed. "How could I not?" "We'll be a failsafe for each other." "Or...or not!" I sputtered. "What if- what if it was something stupid like a gas leak, huh? What if it’s what you said, secondhand exposure? You're mounting an entire expedition on me having the munchies and you being rude." I turned to my manager, whose head was behind a camera focused on me. "Think about it, Julia. Is shitty short term memory really worth looking into?" Julia did think about it. And the following day supplies were overnighted. The van was packed. Wall to wall, stuffed with sound equipment, making the tech guys perch on spare tires. Two screens were affixed to the sides, with night mode up and running. One, two, three, check- we were back on the road to Holyoke. And I hated it! Okay I lied. I felt like James Bond for the first fifteen minutes- but that was it! After that, the bands of nylon around my chest dug into my skin. The weight of the camera screwed up my posture, and it was awkward to move around. Despite this being her goddamned idea in the first place (I wanted to pout about it) I rode with Adria. This wasn’t me conceding- I just didn’t want to sit beside a bag of Arby's for an hour. Julia gave us the rundown over bluetooth. "Your job is to look around until we find where the distortions start. If it can be triangulated, then it can be tracked." She said. Julia had a masterful way of speaking with such unfounded authority it made it hard to doubt her. Of course she had experience with mind-warping swathes of corrupted land, why would you ask? "Liam did not report anything amiss. We will proceed under the assumption it occurs closer to the cabin, though the feed works both ways. You will be able to call us out in turn." "Anything out of character, got it." "Exactly. There will be double and triple checks of intent. If you find yourselves unable to speak for whatever reason, signal in front of your camera. We will be watching." Their van pulled off on the side of the road. Ours rolled for a little while longer, tucking neatly into the trees just as the cabin rose into view. From our vantage, we could tell the television set in the living room was on. It flashed the far wall in blues and greens. For some reason I thought it was weird to still hear windchimes at night. I doubt this is what he meant when he said we were welcome back anytime. "Well," I huffed. "Let's go I guess." - - - Worship With Style and Co had no idea what they were dealing with. This is not to say that they were acting with ignorance. They were, in fact (apart from a couple of Doomsday preppers in a Fitchburg bunker), the most qualified people within a 100 mile radius. But to say ‘they had no idea what they were dealing with’ is meant in a much more mundane sense: Adria and Demetrius did not understand what they were walking into because they did not understand the dynamic at play. While they were expecting the unexpected, to do battle with an eldritch abomination, to consecrate unhallowed ground, or otherwise incapictate some spiritual malevolence- What they wouldn't be expecting was diplomacy. Ausland's cabin was home to a political entity of three heads. The first, the Lady of the house, had her concerns rooted firmly in the welfare of her newfound family. The second, the mascot, was a grossly overpowered entity not born of the physical realm but had the motor function of a drunk toddler, so. What could it do? And the last- the original member, the patriarch, the outnumbered, outspoken opposer of Plan A- really did not want to butcher nice people he shared a lemonade with. The way this evening would play out was based upon a verdict agreed upon by the three: If they come back, they must be dealt with. And if they don't? Ausland got to keep his trash television. The sentencing came to a head at approximately 9:02 PM. Mia was tucked in cozy for the evening, curled under his arm. The plush blanket she crocheted rolled over her lap, then his, extending to the floor. On the left, Ausland threaded frizzy yarn over his finger. On his right, his pinky was tied up, locked in loops to hold her place. A remote sat on the arm rest, ready to pause whenever she was ready to braid in a secondary color. That was, fondly, an all-hands-on-deck ordeal. Mia fussed with the web of her own making. “Blue would be cute, right?” She said. Ausland smiled, prepared to martyr more fingers to the cause. “I was thinking black.” “You always say that.” She shoved two skeins together. “ But...maybe..?” Their heads harmoniously tilted to compare as their motion detector went off. A pin-point light flashed for Camera 2. It was the one by the driveway, surveying a long, spindly backwater road that eventually fed into the mountain. This usually was the spot where the strips were laid. Such precautions were removed for the occasion (guests!), but not the alarms. They chirped. Mia neatly secured her knot, then switched screens. Ausland hunched forward, stomach sinking. Skewed in ghostly greens and whites, live feed revealed two cars passing in the night. They pulled off onto the side of the road, one after the other. Neither had their headlights on. Intentions, he would admit, were pretty clear. His head hung off his shoulders. Asclepius hummed, vindictive and itching for the action, but Mia. Mia paused, and for a moment did not say much, only looked at the dark security feed. She bit her lip. She freed his pinky, patted his hand, and offered a choice that would have the sentient rock in the basement scratching at the door. "Are you going to go?" She asked, question halving her face. Sweetness oozed off the top of the jaw like a can of condensed milk. To an everyday human with even a singular survival instinct, their brain would scream DANGER, DANGER. This was wrong. Her face was wrong. She was going to bite, and without a doubt she will go for the jugular. But when Ausland picked himself up and looked into her eyes, he saw ’Sincerity.’ She meant it. She offered the soft opportunity to cut the lights. They could pretend not to be home, they could quietly let this encounter go. Desperately, desperately he wanted to accept, but. A promise was a promise. Trust was the tried and true cornerstone that made this happy little family work. Lord knows they all lost more than enough blood trying. Ausland kissed her cheek, appreciating the gesture without noticing the muscle knotted tight with the tension of her smile. "Yeah. I'll be back, babe.” He said. “Don't wait up." - - - Little known fact: the woods suck, but they blow even more at night. Not only does night-vision wash me out, but I can't be within 4 feet of Adria if I want any sort of respectable angle. "You know what would've made this identity verification thing more fun." I fixed my hair in the wing mirror. Adria beat the end of her heavy-duty flashlight until it flickered to life. Mine was a laser pointer in comparison. "What would have made this more fun, Demetrius." "Have you ever heard of the newlywed game?" "What?" "You know, questions like 'What can't your partner live without?' or 'What's their most annoying habit'? Stuff only I would know about you, or you would know about me." "Go ahead. Ask one then." "What is my favorite coffee?" "Depends.” Oblivious to the cosmetically imposed restraining order, she stomped through the brush right past me. “Usually you get those milkshakes but if you’re in a bad mood or your botox botches, you get that icy thing." I gasped, impressed. "Wow! That vague answer says you do know me. Now you do one." She thought for a moment as she held back a branch primed to whip my face. "What sport did I play in middle school?" "Aha. Trick question.” I said. “It doesn't count as 'playing' if you camped in the penalty box." "Well, you’re not wrong." "Didn't think so- whoa." I stopped. “...What the Hell?” Her light traced along the trees. As an amalgamate of bark, it stood there hunched. Bent, blackened and maimed, individual trees couldn’t stand. They leaned into each other for support without the integrity to loan it. My arms fell slack. With just my wrist, I swept my light side to side, in awe of the formation. Beautiful but terrifying, it was like they grew like that. Knotted into one another, suicidally forming a net for the sole intent of catching an asteroid lobbed for Boston. I expected to smell cinders but didn’t. The air was fresh, crisp. Somehow we missed this in the daylight. I manhandled my bodycam to take it in. "What could've done that?" "There was something metallic. By your feet." Julia said. Adria lurched back. Between us, just barely pulled off the road, laid braided metal barbs. They wound into one another, blackened on the outer edges. Adria brushed her finger along the edge, finding it covered in soot. It blasted a shadow along a trail, soaking our light, until we found another copse of trees that suffered the same fate. Accepting death they abandoned leaves early into the Autumn season. I can see how flying around this bend too hard with no tires would launch you through the tree line. Liam was lucky he was paranoid about the speed limit around the deputy. "Follow it." Julia said, as if Adria needed the direction. We pushed through the bushes and found the culprit. The tires had the illusion of rotating when shadows played off the treading. Leaves and charred grass settled around it, several inches thick. I knelt by the capsized driver's side. The door was shut. The window was busted out, but no one was home. A lone styrofoam cup settled on the roof-now-floor, pooling ants. Adria's beam focused on the front seat. Half the seatbelt was locked in, dusted with a white film. Half hung loose, serrated by the heart. "...Rescued maybe?" She said, optimism fleeting. "Can you run the plate?" "I'd have to get back to the squad car." I shrugged, ready to head back when Dave patched over the feed. "I can run it for you.” He said. The audio muffled. Bless his heart, the old man was physically incapable of operating two pieces of technology at the same time. He shuffled things around, beeped some convincing beeps, then said "Go for it, whenever you're ready." "423-CHS,” She read. "What are you doing?" Julia asked. "Giving Dave the plate!" said Adria, abruptly paranoid. "Is that a problem?” Spinning, Adria confirmed with me. I gave two thumbs up: yes, there was a car, and yes, that was the right number, and yes I even checked upside-down. "There's no way it can fuck with what we're seeing right?" "Language." said Julia. "Take two: it is not an illusion, right? You're reading the same plate, yeah?" Julia, pouring over grainy body cam footage, agreed. “423-CHS.” Adria huffed, exasperated about getting wired over nothing. “It looks like there was a fire and it was put out.” “So...he made it out?” "Doesn’t look like it." said Dave. "Darrel Larson. Missing for 2 months. Never made it home." "...Something's going on." I picked myself up off the ground. I wanted to argue because I didn’t want to be out here anymore, because accepting otherwise meant I was standing on a tomb- but I was running out of explanations. "But why..." I said. “What’d be the point of this? Saving, then-?” "I don't like this.” Dave gruffed. “But I’ve seen enough. This is an official police investigation, too dangerous for civilians. Send Demetri back to the van. I'll join you to case the house." We looked to eachother. Her brows peaked in the middle, reluctant. As much as I hated to abandon her, I was inclined to agree. This was less spooky-ghost-fun-times and more horror of the veridical variety. The kind that won’t be stopped with a latin jig and a pinch of salt. "...Be safe," I said. Adria nodded, and pulled her clip back. She followed scorched earth back to the road. From there, to the cabin. Dave would join her at any minute. She got a headstart on the doors. Intuition told her it was unlocked (‘Why would they need to lock it out here?’), and in fact, it was. The front door cracked. Smoke hung in the air, webbed to the wicks of candles recently snuffed. Lights she remembered moments ago were out. Adria stood in the doorway where a deep dread wormed around her spinal column, perching on her bones. It was a mistake to have entered, but she was inside before she knew it. Where was Dave? "I've got the perimeter.” He said, on cue. “Check the basement," She stared at her mic. Usually you could call her naive, maybe impulsive, but no amount of spur-of-the-moment adrenaline made that plan seem okay. Or even remotely reasonable. "Why am I checking the basement?" “It’s where Julia is getting thermals on her thing.” Is she really close enough for that? She thought. The van was parked so far back…And why would she even have the technology for that? Wouldn’t the basement be underground? She had too many questions, but “...Shouldn’t I wait for back-up?” was the one she landed on. "Demetri was your back-up.” Julia cut in, irate. Furious. “Why did you split up?" "Because we did! Dave overrules you, get over it.” She flinched back. Lights. Lights under the door moved. Having never toured the house, she had no idea if this was the basement but simultaneously had no doubt it wasn’t. Aggravation in her voice soured into alarm. “Put him back on, now. I need him." "Are you insane? Dave didn't say anything.” “Were you not listening-” “Dave isn't here, Adria." She said. “Jesus Christ this is worse than we thought.” The producer peeled away from her mic to bark orders. Directionless, Adria stood in the doorway. An unnatural heaviness rolled under her ribs, nausea but not. ‘Not’ because nausea doesn’t draw all the blood down into your stomach. She pressed her earpiece into her skull. Lodged in this deep, its rubber head pulsed against her eardrum. The sheriff was still talking in her ear, uninhibited by his fictitious update. "Where's Deme?" She interrupted. “You sent him back to the van.” He said, confused. "Julia? Julia? Answer me. Where is Demetri?! Julia?!” A pause. Silence. Dave sighed. Audio clipped to something loud, and inscrutable, then cut completely. ’He’ll be safe at the van.’ She nonsensically thought next, notion detonating against  spiraling panic in her chest. Of course not! WHY would he be safe? That made zero sense- that’s where it wanted him to go! Just like it wanted her in the basement! ’There’s something down here,’ it suggested next, trying for two. Or not? God. Did it think that, or did she? She wasn’t sure- fuck. Hysteria had a foot in each door- indoors, and out, with mounting anxiety having her bobbing for both. Basement, and van. She felt like clawing out her ears. Maybe shooting back four shots of whiskey. Something, anything, to get herself out of her head if her head was the enemy- But unable to do any of the above, the last resort was to stop thinking. Just act. Nothing with the home field advantage survived before. She kneed the door, and left it open behind her. She descended. Her pistol whipped every dimension before she dropped to the next step- cautious, but not slow. Air in her parent’s basement was humid too- old house, bad insulation- but not like this. This was thick. Dense, like a packet of gelatin was emptied in a humidifier. It smelled, too- sharp and pungent, but any true comparison slipped before she grasped it. The only word that came to mind was ‘paint,’ paired with the memory of Mia. ’It smells like paint.’ Paint, paint, paint. Since when did paint smell like the dumpster outside Jo’s? Her pistol swung for the first view the handrail allotted between floors. Through the triangular space, she saw a workshop. Photobooth shots framed a workstation. Love notes written on sticky notes were tacked along the walls. Despite it’s shoddiness, it was exclusive, lived in, and cared for. She swallowed. It was the wood framing. Initials etched into the wall, their jackets hanging off a chair. Familiarity nipped, stinging with an evil a malignant telepathic monstrosity wouldn’t have the imagination to drum up- nostalgia- but she moved on before it got the better of her. The sign beside it would snap her out of it, anyways. ‘I’m not bossy, I just have better ideas’ hung off the wall, dangling by twine. Disgustingly cheesy. The Castle definitely didn’t have that. Tacky. She padded the basement floor. Pivoting for a half-turn, she wasn’t sure how she missed the biggest fixture in the room. It certainly didn’t miss her. She threw herself into a wall. The top of it reached the ceiling. From the peak, it broadened, expanding into a pyramid-esque structure that dominated the room. Rock, she thought on an grade-school level, but patched with everything not that the horror didn’t process with reality. It was tacked with flesh. Skin, only mildly discolored, stretched out over its edges. Alive, it sweated fat and fluids that smelled like- 'Paint.' Her eyes followed its contours. Skin. More skin, creases of red, crags, lumps, and then- ribs. Their movement caught her eye. Flexing, a ladder of bones moved, popping out of order like piano keys. It was breathing, exhaling in an extended, throaty hiss, but she couldn't find the spot where air was vacating. It held itself at a tilt. Caught in motion, broken hands pinched under its weight with fingers twitching black and blue like the legs of a dying beetle. Toes smashed underneath were bulbous, tips ballooned with blisters ready to rupture. One audibly popped as it leaned, freeing a silted hand in a disjointed gesture intended as a wave. Adria squirmed along the wall, ready to vomit, but tripped over a divot in the paneling. It had been carving circles into the ground from dragging itself. Meaning- it’s apparently fucking capable of movement. Property damage was ‘repaired’ with a cute throw that ended up bunched up underneath it. No matter how long she stared, she couldn’t parse it. She could gawk all day, puzzling it like a Highlights game from Tor, but her brain couldn’t compute the image. Just that it had. So many hands. It was composed of so many parts of so many people- different shades of skin, different manicures, different tattoos, different rings swollen around distended fingers- She didn't understand how it was moving. She couldn't comprehend how it was alive, or how any sick fuck could shake her hand, go downstairs, and build this- But it wasn't waiting for an introduction; she was the guest. A separate jaw near the top, lodged under the pulp of something God intended to be internal, moved. It twitched, wobbling out of sync like un-calibrated closed captioning. ’Hello Adria.’ It said. Adria knocked back her trigger and aimed. From the top of the stairs, a woman screamed. “STOP!” - - - I beat feet back to the van. The woods got so much darker in the last three minutes. I never realized how much of my confidence relied on Adria being there. Just being there. I wouldn’t be in the woods. I wouldn’t be in Massachusetts. I wouldn’t be outside of my apartment in LA. I wouldn’t be anywhere outside the range of DoorDash where I couldn’t have an emergency frappuccino delivered anytime I felt vaguely uncomfortable- I rehearsed my resignation as I came up on the road. ‘Dear Ms.Agrippina,’ I mentally scripted. Liam would put the actual pen to paper later. ‘Please accept this letter as formal notification that I am stepping down from my position as Reality Television Pastor. Excuse my abrupt, inconvenient timing during the middle of the season, but with a heavy heart, I admit this job sucks ass-’ Speak of the devil, Adria and Julia were arguing over the mic. "Why did you split up?!" Julia snarled. I imagined her tight ponytail fraying at the seams. "Because we did." Adria said, par for the course. “Dave overrules you. Get over it. Put him back on.” “Are you insane?” I was breathing too hard to hear bits in the middle, but the audio suffered severe distortion. By the time I caught my breath, hands on my knees, Adria was panicking over the line. She was asking where I was. I slowed there, suspicious. Julia didn't reply. I stared at the van but couldn’t see through. I tried anyways, to decipher movement from within, but unfortunately I didn't have a knack for night vision, nor was I Superman. I relied heavier on my ears. The line turned to static. Then, shuffling. Someone was fine. I cursed this crew's lack of communication before realizing oh yeah, I was the asshole who hadn't responded. I cupped my hand to my ear, finding my voice long after the point Adria would be on a warpath. “Julia?" I said. "...Adria? Adria, are you there?” Nothing. Just shuffling. I looked both ways down the road. Thinking better of it, I stayed in the trees. I approached from the side. When everything from the wind to the crickets startled me, I felt better in the shadows. The glass was tinted to protect the equipment or whatever. I couldn't see within so I beat on the side to announce my arrival. No response. I rounded to the passenger seat. This would have been my spot if I hadn't hitched a ride with Adria. In my stead, it was given to some tech guy. I knocked on the window twice, then pulled the handle. Whoever he was, lunged at me. I shrieked, falling flat on my back but as if only taking what space I gave, he froze in mid-air. His body suspended above me, hanging by the belt. Half of it, at least. He suffered a grievous split through his side. Wounds crosshatched his stomach. He was scored in spastic alternating angles, scissored with a dull blade that just couldn’t do the job. I didn't know his name, but he was five shades darker the last time I saw him, with his waist five sizes tighter. I scrambled back on all fours before he dripped. When no one decided to join my scream-a-along (where was everybody else?) I looked across from him. Liam hung off the steering wheel, thoughtful eyes staring. He was a dependable guy, a friend. Worked under me for years. A kindred spirit in the batshit insanity that was Ashwater. If I had run up ten minutes prior to say 'Fuck this show, we're getting out of here,' he would have hit the gas. Now, he slumped there. He could’ve been resting if I didn’t see black dripping down the side of his neck, slimming his profile. I had to be on my feet before I noticed the damage. What didn't end up sprayed across the dashboard, dribbled cherry pie onto his jeans. His neck was split, ripped open with an ovalular hole. It was on the wrong side for a hit and run. He was unbuckled. He must’ve been trying to escape when the weapon jerked his head a hard right, leaving him where he fell. Muscles there bloomed, airing out and blossoming from his throat like tulle. As if the gash was venting, I still smelled his take-out. I got two syllables before bile hit the roof of my mouth. “Liam-” I vomited. I retched all over the tires. I couldn’t smell the great outdoors anymore, only roast beef, curly fries, and puke. I spit. Hacked, then tried to puke some more but over the whirring of machines, I heard something else. A wispy breath. A tap. There was slight movement in the back. Someone’s alive? Oh god. I stumbled two steps back, not really prepared to see what there was to see, but to help anyways. “Hello-?” I wiped my lip. “Hello?” A groan. It moaned a sound that formed no intelligible word of the English language. I grabbed my phone. Without Apple accounting for severe psychological trauma, I had to swallow dread long enough for Siri to ID my face. It unlocked on the second attempt, but- ’I still have no signal!’ Fuck, that’s right! I needed Adria’s cab. I pivoted, and froze. A dark silhouette approached from the road. It was heading my way, growing larger as it closed in, but not as an enemy. I don’t know if he knew where I was but body language was off. He wasn’t out to murder- he was greeting a friend. Sauntering. About to tee off a game of golf, maybe share a beer. I killed my flashlight. I dropped to the ground and rolled under the van, heart hammering so hard I tied my arteries around my Adam's apple to calm it down. My elbows embedded in the gravel, chilled, deeper then deeper still. It was as if the further I wedged, the more uncomfortable I was, the better hidden I became. Something wet and warm tapped my forehead. I thought of Chinese Water torture, and I hoped it was oil. Ahead a pair of Vans stomped through the grass. Their spattered canvas looked like a massacred chessboard, pacing leisurely by the tire. God, I did not want to be killed by a mall goth. "Yeah that's where I'm looking, " He said, hand slapping to his side. “But he’s not here. I don't know where he went.” Careful not to grovel in my own waste, I pitched forward on one elbow. I stared through the contour of the wheel well. Ausland didn’t have a phone. Ausland was just looking around. Squinting at the rocks, and kicking up leaves dispassionately as if I’d be under them. This motherfucker was insane. "What do you mean?" He continued. "You don't have hands." I wondered if I could take him. He was a bit taller than me. His arms were more athletic, but I had the element of surprise. Or, I thought I did, until an axe fell limp from his hand, swinging by his ankles. It dug into the soil. Ausland dropped all his weight against it. Shame made his posture shrink. "You know what I mean. Like coordination and stuff. I know you're working on it- no I get it, I know-" He scrubbed a hand through his undercut. The last bones of his fingers crooked, scratching his hairline. “No, no- you’re right...Man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.” I could grab it. I could yank the axe. He’d fall over, and after that I could- I don’t know. Run? Hit him with it? Did I have the upper-body for that? "No, you're right, Ace. It was out of line...” He said. “I’m sorry.” It didn’t matter. This was life or death. There’s only so many places a 140 lb man allergic to dirt can hide, and he was bound to wisen up. I rooted my toes in the ground. I readied myself to pounce knowing neither luck nor physics would support me- But just before I sprang for a flailing leg-hug, he froze. He stilled so hard the night stopped with him. Me included. “I eh- what?" He said, shallow. His toes turned from me. With one word- one name- his horror, disbelief, and utter wrath bottled into one volatile Mosoltov. Whoever was talking to him lit a fuse, and it’s lit wick was a rope that pulled the entire planet off its axis, swinging us back from Autumn into Summer, back to where it stayed- Too hot, too humid, and too still. "...Mia...?" He said. I clapped my hands over my head. FUCK. I'd been so focused on myself, that I hadn’t heard what was going on in the background. Things were getting tense at the cabin- Adria and Mia were arguing. Did he hear? Did I kill her? In two flicks of the wrist, the grip of his axe flipped from its butt to its throat. He disappeared. He sprinted. The grass cheered its rapid ‘sh sh sh sh’ as I lost sight of him. He was heading for the cabin, and I, whatever direction was opposite. I rolled out from the otherside. Masking myself in the tree-line, I ran for the squad car. I made it ten steps before metal closed around my ankle. - - - Adria backtracked. She busted blood vessels in her calves, scraping her legs against the steps as she mounted them two at a time. It was watching her. It’s eye- why did it have an eye- balanced precariously in its outstretched fingers. It moved with her. If she looked away, she was sure the entire construct would follow. "What the fuck-" She chanted. "What the fuck, what the fuck-" She hit the top. Something prodded her back. Something sharp but too dull to break through the fabric of her uniform. "Stop!" Mia repeated, bracing a paring knife with two hands. “Don’t move!” "Drop it." Said Adria. 'Don't- ugh.' It clattered on the ground. Adria shoved the blonde back, and kicked the knife across the hall. Mia held up both hands. Staring down the barrel of a gun, she swore at herself without using a single word PBS wouldn’t air. Somewhere, twelve feet below, Ascleplius deeply regretted letting Ausland swipe right. Adria swallowed, “You’re going to tell me what’s going on. And you’re going to tell me now.” "Excuse me? This is our house! What are you doing here?!" "What is that thing? In your basement?!" Instead of answering, her eyes drifted to what the cop now ascertained was a reply. She shoved her into a wall, startling her out of it. "ANSWER ME INSTEAD, ASSHOLE! What do you know about the disappearances? The dead people? Are they part of that thing?!" Mia pursed her lips. Without forgetting her investigative background, "Do you even have a warrant?" Ooooh. This girl was testing her. Regardless if the Federal Government would concur, they were well past the need for a permit. She shoved her again for good measure, her pretty little face pressed against the wall so hard the wood striped her cheek. "I don't know what's going on. Or why you're here, but you had a career, Mia. You have people worried about you. You’re missing, you know that? People care-" "Oh god," Deme rasped directly into her head. "They're dead." The transmission followed by what sounded like vomiting. Mia’s eyes snaked around to meet Adria’s. As if she heard, she stifled a laugh. Then, she stopped trying at all. Cackling- her whole body wracked with enough force that if she hit the wall she could decapitate herself. It was an unfortunate complication of brain scrambling too much, too fast, but Adria wouldn’t understand the nuances. She raised the barrel to Mia's brow, big green eyes like a bullseye. Adria was a live-wire of jittery energy without the wherewithal for due process. She wasn’t going to fuck around with Homicidal Psychopath Barbie. "Who's dead? Demetri- who's dead? Demetri?” In the diversion, Mia sucked in her laughing fit, and dove for the knife. Adria bodychecked her before she made it to downward dog. Knee to the stomach, Mia crashed into the baseboard. Every kitchy thing they had on their walls came down with her. Her hand shot to grab a piece of glass, broken from a frame, but Adria’s foot stomped her wrist. - - - 'Mia dropped the knife.' Said the rock, recapping with a play by play. He was sportscaster to an audience of one: Ausland. The cat fight drew first blood (read: Mia hurt herself), but for all intents and purposes, Asclepius was embellishing. 'OW- that must’ve hurt. Mia’s not good at this self defense thing is she? It’s getting intense, here. Oh god, oh god-' The ceiling of the basement shook. The rock picked its nails with one hand, and licked rainbow M&M tracks off another. 'What’s going to happen…?’ It said. ’I’ve never seen her so scared. That clickity sound is bad, right? Are cops really allowed to shoot an unarmed, defenceless woman? Oh shit, oh shit. Better come quick, she’s about to be-' Right on time. Adria saw him before she heard him. She had her weight focused in the center of Mia’s back, pinning her to the ground, when the portrait of an angry Ausland fractaled across the floor. A tiny corner of her brain recognized the band on his tank from a phase in the 8th grade. It was the last thing she saw before her vision went white. His wrist knotted in her braid and yanked. Reflexively, Adria fired a shot. The door frame above exploded, an entire yard from her mark. She didn’t know where she was going, but knew she was in motion. That momentum was interrupted by a sharp punch to her side. She hissed. She sailed into something she thought was a doorframe. By the time spots in her vision cleared, they switched places. She was in the entryway, cold night to her back. He was in front of her, a cowering Mia between his legs. He had an axe she hadn't noticed before. Matted, wet hair clung to the blade. But not blonde. She threw up her arms, prepared to blunt the blow with the flesh of her forearm, but he went for a kick, square center of her chest. She hit the stairs. Spartan launched from the porch, she fell, bouncing off the steps until her elbow found a weak spot among the planks. It cracked. Her arm punched a hole of wood rot, leaving a mouth that bit whole shards through her bicep. Cutting its losses, c’est la vie, the rest of her body kept going, jerking her arm from its socket- But at least it threw her into a good vantage point. Blinking through the tears that sprang to her eyes, she raised a quivering hand and fired. Ausland knocked back, but after the bullet sprang off his shoulder and into the porch light, she wasn’t sure if the bullet did more damage or its velocity. All three were bathed in black. Mia yelped her surprise. From behind the door two dainty hands shot out, grabbed him, and slammed the door. Muted, frantic voices behind it crooned ‘Are you okay?’ ‘Yeah, you? Babe, your eye-’ Coalescing into other worried, concerned babble. Adria laid at the bottom. It was so dark. Quiet, now. Her arm was on fire. Above her, the liberated chain of a shattered bulb danced, and she was left with the icy, sinking realization that her bullets didn’t do jackshit. Over her headpiece, Demetrius sobbed. Two revelations hit her in rapid-fire succession: ‘he’s hurt,’ then ‘he’s alive.’ Her priorities shuffled. - - - Who uses a bear trap in the twenty first century. I thought about it. I pondered its existence after it threw me in the dirt. I didn't think they were real. I genuinely thought they were just in cartoons. Made-up, like 5,000 lb weights and red tubes of dynamite- But it wasn't. It closed on my leg, vibrating bone like a tuning fork. Its teeth embedded through my calf, sinking deeper and deeper where it juiced my ligaments like a lemon. I fell and it took everything within my power to not scream. Just because I didn’t want to broadcast 'Hey I'm now alone, defenseless, AND trapped!' After wailing into the dirt for a solid minute, I tried to pull it apart but my fingers slipped. Again, and again. It bit deeper. I smothered another withering scream into my shoulder, frustrated by failure but I couldn't grab it. My fingers were sticking together. Stuck to my shirt sleeve, stuck to the metal, stuck to everything that wasn't going to help me yank apart this medieval torture device. I pulled air through my teeth. One more try, one more try. My eyes squeezed shu- "Demetri?" Said Adria, in the distance. I heard her in stereo with my mic. “Deme-?” "Here." I wept. "By the van." I didn't care about verification. I didn't care about the stupid double, triple checks - they didn’t fucking work in the first place. I pounded my fist into the ground, helpless as a fourth attempt failed. The trap sunk back into its pockets. “Here, I'm here, I'm here. I'm hereI'mhere." She found me. "Deme." She crashed to her knees. She took one look at my leg, and didn't spare her reaction. It looked bad. I felt bad, I felt awful knowing she thought it looked bad, and it didn't matter that she looked like she survived a zombie apocalypse in the fifteen minutes we were apart, because she thought mine was worse. "It's okay.” She lied. “You're okay. It's okay." “It hurts-” “I know.” She bit my flashlight. The contraption was already greased up, courtesy of me. "Don't-" She ignored the teeth. Instead she worked around them. She pushed against springs on the inside, alleviating pressure instantly. Its jaws fell slack. My breath hitched as I observed, dumbfounded. Wow, I was an idiot. My perforated ankle was pain-free in the 2 seconds it took to pull it loose. Nevermind the havoc it was wreaking on her arm- "Your arm," I noticed, belatedly. Pieces of- what was that, wood?- stuck out like stalagmite. Bloated puffs of skin marshmallowed it together, swelling it all into one monstrous shoulder pad that'd inspire Lady Gaga. That side gave out first. The trap clamped shut in a way it almost took her fingers. She licked her lips. Blood diluted with sweat down her face. She’d collected glass in her eyebrow. "I need you to stay quiet. I’m going to get the car. We're going to get out of here. Is everyone in the van-?" "Dead. Or getting there. Adria, they got Liam." "You have to keep it down." "What is going on? How could-" In the distance the door creaked. She looked over her shoulder, swore, and got up. "He’s coming. Stay quiet. Stay here and hide.” - - - After the priest was secure, Adria marched to the road. There was no room or error. Ausland wasn't going to find him if she wouldn't let him, so imagine his surprise when his target courteously strolled right out of the woodwork. Flatfooted on the pavement, he paused. Ausland squinted. Cocked his head. Then shrugged, deciding he was fine with this update. "Adria," he bowed, as if expecting a curtsy in return. She shot him in his stupid face. He threw his head back but otherwise his reaction to swallowing a mouth full of gunpowder was maddeningly muted. 'Aw,' he said. Fucking 'aw.' 'God damn it.' she swung her weight to the balls of her feet. Brain damage threw her off her aim. Only one thing to do about that. She strode forward to correct this error, and he met her halfway. She blocked the first swing of the axe, and jabbed him. He absorbed it like there was no power behind it- like her arm was a noodle, like a nightmare- but raised his hands. His axe crossed his chest for a Viking funeral as he weathered the oncoming onslaught. Jab, jab, punch. Jab, jab, punch. Repeat. The last of which was the only thing that phased him, and only because he decided to fight back without regard to force pushing against him. She wasn't yielding. She scanned which direction he was coming from, and acted. Knocked off his balance, but undeterred, he made up for the shift by rocking on his heels, coming back for a hook for the jaw. She effortlessly bounced back. Miss. He wasn't exactly fast and his tells were obvious. She could read him. What move he'd go for, where he put his weight. The problem was that it didn't mean anything. Another one of her punches landed like a fist bump. Irritated with the merciless battering anyways, he took a sock in the shoulder in exchange for a pommel to her face. Her head knocked back. Veins popped under her eye, but it put her close enough to hook a foot around his ankle. Where she should’ve been able to sweep his legs from under him, she tripped forward instead, bungeeing into his chest by the pull of her own calf. He caught her. Neither party not feeling weird about it, 'You know he has a girlfriend, right?' She thought. Her voice, not her commentary. "SHUT UP." She jammed a boot into his foot. Ausland ow'd with the same passion as before. Hurt on a confused, emotional level rather than physical, he shoved her over the rumble strip. His axe transferred from a one handed grip to two. She hopped back, anticipating the strike just as it whistled over her head. She ducked, jumped forward and drove her elbow into his gut. Adrenaline gave her selective amnesia as to which elbow was the wrong one. She picked it of course, and a painful-yet-numb fire zipped down her ulnar nerve, doing more damage to herself than him. It was official. This wasn't an Adria problem, this was an Ausland one. His stomach had no give. She jabbed against concrete and shot wood chips into her bloodstream trying. He still folded. She tried to take pride in the victory but in reality, it was humiliating. Was he feeling pain, or was he humoring her? He choked out a cough, a pity cough she thought, just by her ear. This close, she noticed the skin peel off his cheekbone. Where the bullet grazed, it smeared and tore like a damp Kleenex. Whatever that was underneath had the texture of pumice, exfoliating from the inside out. A round to the face felt more like rug burn. She shook her head, voice hollow. “What the fuck are you?” Ausland flashed a kind, modest smile as he faked her out for a second time. He raised his axe, then before she could brace, he rammed her over the incline. She landed directly into a pine waiting for a trust fall. Out here the trees were so packed, so dense, the black top glowed because it was the only break in the canopy. He slid down the trench, axe winding like a slugger. Floundering in the dark, with her eyes taking too long to adjust, she was only able to keep track of the metal when it caught stray splinters of the moon. It flashed in snapshots. Stop motion. Frame by frame, where the end of this story would be her skullcap opening like a Pez, dispensing spongy grey matter instead of chalk. Finding her flipswitch faster than her hammer, she fired up her flashlight. The industrial-strength bulb flash-fried his retinas. He hissed. Blind and stupid, he took a swing for the orangey silohouette floating off his eyeball, and missed. The blade landed with a meaty ka-thunk. Her head peppered with soft wood after she had tucked her knees, landing hard on the root system serving as an punishing adjudicator to their brawl. Ausland jerked his hatchet. Anchored in the deep grain, it didn’t budge- it was confiscated, buying Adria precious time. She looked up and once her spine stopped screaming, she blinked, baffled by the clarity of her shot, and fired. This is where, had he been a normal fucking person, he should’ve dropped dead. But he reared back. Pieces of something hard hit her face. Shrapnel. It wasn't wood, nor a refund for her slug. Not caring about its composition, she rolled out from underneath and got to running. In the reprieve, Demetrius released the breath he didn't know he was holding with a hangman’s gasp. He pulled himself to his feet, sliding from one tree and stumbling to the next. His leg was just about useless but as she vaulted to the car, he bounded after her, wondering his chances of po-go at age 37. The answer was: not great! Especially not in comparison to the other guy. Neither could walk straight, but where Demetrius was sniveling over his ankle, Ausland yelped about a headshot like he stubbed his toe. His face was blasted. He saw nothing but white hot circles and meat, but the man was nothing if not determined. All three were in a race marked for the same destination. Adria made it there first. She threw open the door, and twisted the key. Pop radio blasted from the speakers- I Knew You Were Trouble- attracting the otherwise flying blind psychopath. Once he knew where he was going, that was it. He knew where the trees were rooted. Jumping out onto the main road was suicide. Demetrius' faith to beat the serial killer to the cruiser was draining. Sure, the guy had a .416 mm round rattling between the ears but the priest couldn't feel his toes. He lagged behind, then as a defeated man, collapsed into a tree. He despaired as her car turned around, thinking maybe he could covertly flag her from the road- But, as brights sliced through the night, and her engine revved, he realized high-speed hitchhiking wasn't the gameplan after-all. The wheels menacingly spun toward her aggressor. Headlights stripped all shadows from his face. Catching on exactly two seconds too late, he uttered a monosyllabic plea of “No-” before he jack-knifed into the grille. The vehicle rocked on impact. Adria vaulted her into her belt and back like the time she hit a mailbox, only now her dad would be more pissed if she stopped. Knees knocked, both feet crammed onto the tiny panel, she doubled down on the throttle until sheer acceleration slid Ausland up to her level. Face to face with this fucker, she watched the loose end of his eyebrow flap in the wind. In 3.5, his driveway turned into an airstrip. Adria built a velocity of 45 miles per hour before pumping the brakes. The fence he lovingly built folded under the wheels. - - - At this point in the evening Mia required a distraction. A misdirection. A mental block. A psychotic break. To be downright tranquilized. Maybe all of the above, but give the rock a Grammy because in one evening, he nailed it. Asclepius became the author, director, lead-role all one masterpiece constructed to convince Mia why she shouldn’t fly out the door and catch a bullet in the heart. He called it: Damage Control. If Mia knew half the pain Ausland was going through, she'd be dead. She’d fling herself down the road, directly into the cop's crosshairs, and that’d be it. Boom. Just- straight up blown to pieces. Hamburger caked across the lawn. Love, as Asclepius learned through trial and error, was a highly volatile drug that even it couldn't control. It's not as if it didn't care about Ausland and Girlfriend. It did. Truly, it did. But it was in the way you protected your assets. The way you insured your property because A. You have to, duh, and B. You wouldn't have jackshit if it lost them. After a year of growing, flexing its power, and maintaining heights it hadn’t dreamed of since the Nixon administration, the rock was in the throes of it's Renaissance. Call it selfish, but maybe, just maybe, it didn’t want to lose progress because its light-of-its-life-best-friend-VIP-superstar-investment might be put down on this fine Tuesday evening. Mia wasn't much, but she was something. The last thing it wanted to do was return to square one. Woodland creatures weren’t much for conversation, and convincing squirrels into an organized regime was a nightmare that only lasted until they split their toes on a power line. To combat this, the monolithic entity spent the night weaving an entirely alternative reality for Mia. She stared at a screen of Ausland being completely decimated without really seeing it. To her, the good parts were left in. Little blood there, boo-boo on the hand, sexy scratch across the eye. Just enough for her to fantasize about putting an ice pack on later. She loved that shit. “What should I do?” Mia’s fingers fidgeted. She picked at her polish. That was the fourth time she had that question in the last ten minutes. Asclepius’ answer hardly updated, but inspired by knowing full and well the last thing the man needed right now was to be a little more soggy, ‘I don’t know.' Said Asclepius. 'Run a bath?’ - - - Ausland hit the surface of the water on his back. He slid down the embankment. He sank five, ten, twenty feet at a time, back burning from the slap. Pressure mounted in his ears. His brain was cling-wrapped, swelling like latex, and ripe to pop. Bubbles rose past his nose then stopped there. Passengers of the Titanic, his weight dragged them down with him. Stripped of its romance, by no accounts was a midnight dive fun. Light didn't pierce these waters. There were no picturesque shafts of light, no glittering sparks to dreamily sink between- the lake was a thriving ecosystem. It was swarmed with gut-loaded algae and parasites, too fat and engorged for moonlight to filter through. It was cold and desolate, but not alone. He saw nothing, but if he had, he'd know the driftwood his leg brushed up against wasn't wood. He was crowd-surfing, inches away from victims who's bloated soggy faces didn't make the superficial cut to be slapped onto the side of the rock. These were parts of people. Bits and pieces, and scraps, all congealed to form a buoyant fleshy promenade tied down by Hefty bags and cinder block. They posed at the bottom of the reservoir, suspended like a doughy Macy's Day Parade. Of course Ausland didn't see any of this. Opening his eyes opened him up to nothing except a new strain of conjunctivitis. Swimming was equally as futile. He thrashed and thrashed, fighting the mire like defeating the law of water density just required technique, until he...couldn't. A stone body equipped with stone lungs did fuck-all with no air to put in them. Energy was draining fast, his oxygen faster. Powerlessness washed over him. While this experience would serve as a beautiful metaphor, later making it into a limerick titled Stygian Oblivion, Ausland settled at the lake's shelf blind, and despondent. Down to three minutes before the last traces of oxygen would dry up, then subsequently flood, he imagined himself here. Failed guardian. King of a dead civilization he’d built, but was never allowed to think about. (Still wasn’t.) But if he wanted to avoid that, he had to walk. He had to pick a direction and pray it was toward shore. Ausland took a hopeful, heavy step, then: 'Ooooh.' Cooed Asclepius. 'Getting warmer.' 20 feet above the surface, oblivious to the incredibly rigged game of Marco Polo, Adria careened into a rolling stop. - - - Her cruiser swung perpendicular to the tree I was propped against. I made it halfway up the road when she found me, almost back to where I started. Adria spilled out of her cab. She rushed to me, but not before paying a passing glance to the van's window. The moon was watercolor through the windshield. Liam leaned against the door, washed pink. “Don’t look.” I said. “Is anyone-?” I shook my head. Whoever was alive back there wasn't anymore. "Jesus," she said. "We'll get back-up. We'll get help. Come here." She threw my arm over her shoulder. She hauled me to a singular foot. As she hefted me to the cruiser I noticed the fold in the hood. The bend was so distinctly man-shaped that it looked faked. "How did it get this bad...?” I said. “I thought Dave was with you." "Dave's not here." "What?! Is he dea-" "He was never here. It’s all some meatrock in the basement. SWAT needs to come back with a flamethrower." "I don't understand." My vision blurred. The night smeared in motion. Bloodloss was getting to me, and she was no better. She was getting an unfocused, glassy look in her eye, too. Her lip was split down the middle, one arm jittering, the other looking blacker by the minute. A couple of fingers on her right hand were too contorted to be chiropractic-ly sound. Holding me made her body revolt- I felt her shake, her nerves telling her to throw me. "What's going on?" "I don't have time to explain. It just. Talks, inside your head. You can't trust anything you hear, do you understand? It'll use your voice." “My voice-?” “As if you’re thinking. But you’re not, It is. Listen Demetri, until we're out of here, don’t trust anything you hear unless you see it from my lips. Okay?" "Understood.” “Not even yourself.” “Right. Don't trust anything," I promised, then broke it immediately. A breath surged behind us. I was dragged with her as she jerked a 180. We’d barely been alone for five minutes before an encore. The punkass emerged from the lake. He flopped like a beached sea, both hands slapping against the shore. He coughed, gagged, and spit. His celebratory hoot had Adria go so cold, I thought her blood would flake off as ice. I'd never seen her look so pale. "For fuck's sake. He doesn't DIE." Ausland leveraged himself up one segment at a time. Forearm, to shoulder. Then the other. Finally, upright. Oxygen deprivation exhausted him. His limbs were more or less hanging off his bone, but he was gaining strength. He found his beanie along the shore. I swear I heard him say ‘neat.’ Adria unlocked the door. She shoved me passenger-side, then pushed my head down, whack-a-mole in the same thrust she used to hurl herself away. Leading him away. I took one last look at the galvanized glint in her eyes, and begged. "Adria, please. Don't. Let’s just go-" We don’t have to do this- But she was gone, bounding towards Ausland as he stepped over the fence. It seemed even he knew she wouldn’t quit. He threw his arms into the sky and spun, preaching to the open air- "That," He heaved through hair matted to his forehead, "Wasn't nice! I thought we’d play a little more fairly but, I guess that’s fine! Cool! Cool cool cool. I understand, it's your style. No holds barred!” He said. “I just wanna be real with you. No matter how tonight ends, I’ll still look up to you. Both of you.” Adria reloaded in a determined march to end this. Mid-rotation, he spotted her. His head canted, and as if obscenely misreading her seething enmity, his shoulders relaxed. He pulled his axe from the dirt where it landed and wiped the handle in a wad of his shirt. "Did you know, Adria? Asclepius thought- sorry, thinks- you both are cool. Even now, he's telling me to leave you alone." 'It's true,' it said, mentally shrugging under my scalp. ’I am.’ Adria’s shoulders shot to her neck. Her stride violently fell off-kilter, meanwhile I dug half-moons into my skin. It was a violation to hear it so plainly now, its voice tonguing my ear canal. Adria snarled. “I can not express to you how much I don’t care.”  "Well.” He said. “Maybe not. But what he said to me was very inspiring: he said (and I’m paraphrasing) ‘Ausland, what you have are two passionate people. And passion is not is not an infinite resource. You can't mine it from the ground, you can’t siphon it from a spring. It can't be trained, molded, or cooked in a lab-” He tallied on his fingers. Final count endied with his hand curled in an ‘Okay.’ “He says that vibe has to radiate within people. It's that devotion- that precious driving force that you either have or you don't.’ And I'd watched your show. You both have it." The softer expression highlighted the blood painted across his cheek. It wasn't a tear in the skin, but a crack of the socket, extending in a jagged faultline to his temple. It exposed a digon of the eye not meant to be seen, cueball in pocket. If he turned too fast, it'd pop out. "And you know what? I thought about it. I totally thought about it, like- what could be cooler?" He shimmied, axe on his shoulder.  There’s no way Vans had the lumbar support for him to walk on his heels like that. "You guys are a big deal! It's not even like you couldn't do both, you know! Take for example, me and Mia. We have our own lives. We do things. Neither one of us would ever, ever DREAM of stopping our work, much less yours. Saving the world, and whatnot. We're on the same team. We're all out here to make our impression on the world. To build our own Heaven. Our personal Cloud 9, glorious Valhalla, uh-...” He stopped. “What's the Buddha one, again?" Neither of us answered. He flapped his hand. Whatever. “You get it. We're here making the world a better place." "You staple people to a rock, asshole." He ignored that, joining her summit on the road. "Your work stands on its own. You're part of the A-team. You are courageous, you're bright, you speak your mind. You have a heart of gold, and that fearless, proactive energy that we're all about. We're not out here to make an echo chamber. We want unity but not at the expense of who we are. But..." His  thoughts curled inward. I felt the same chill as before, the planet stopping on its axis. The nonchalance of his character eclipsing into something more frigid, more sinister.  "There would always be some small part of me who can't...do it?" Abruptly cold, his advance stopped. He stared at his hands. They were washed clean of my chauffeur, but any inner turmoil he was suffering was bound to be unrelated. For some reason, Adria stopped to indulge. Humoring this ruminative pause, though I can’t imagine why. Maybe to strategize but I had little hope for that. It was clear she did internal damage. He had a hole where his canine should be. Remaining teeth were stained red and orange, tie-dye from the inside, but what did it matter if she didn't have the horsepower to do it again? I pounded the pleather, eyes stinging. It's not worth it, Adria. Get back in the car. Please. "...I just can't…?” He faltered. “And I'm sorry to you, Asclepius, and I’m sorry Mia- really I’m sorry to all of Ashwater- your family too, jeez- but whenever I think about it I feel so...sick...and I think…I think it’s because the future is sick with you in it, Adria?” He said. “That’s all there is to it, isn’t it? I mean, why would I....build a home here with termites in the walls?” He stepped closer. "Why would I plant a garden to invite snakes? Even if it was so tempting to have you here- a dream, really- at what point do I ask myself, how much do you have to love apples to swallow the cyanide in the core?” He waited. “...I’m asking myself that now, Adria.” I scrambled to the driver’s seat. I was frantic to do something, anything. Is he just riffing? For whose benefit? Adria felt a similar impulse. She knocked back the hammer, voice dangerously low. "Buddy, what the fuck are you on about?" "I...can't stand one part of you, one part of him, one part of us, one part of this...world," His throat clicked. "Willing. To hurt Mia." “You’re both monsters.” The corners of his mouth dropped. As if disappointed with her lack of understanding, that’s where the last of his congeniality died. He ran at her. She fired three separate shots. All three hit his core, three shots erupting a spigot of blood, but none of them slowing him down. She squandered her last few seconds balling a fist. She took a shot at his jaw. His head turned with the arc, but the break was distinctively hers. She bounced back, shaking out her hand. His jaw snapped back into place, but hers was fractured into a Vulcan salute. After losing use of her index, she resorted to her non-dominant hand as he came back for a swing. The crook of his weapon, where the head met the handle, caught her wrist. It knocked the trajectory from her hand. She took a step back to account for the stolen momentum, and he repeated his move, this time flinging her pistol into the cattails. "Let's take an easy with that for now." He asked. "Yeah?" She didn't have time to respond. He spun the axe, the edge toward him. She braced, but his eyebrows raised to see if she noticed the charity, like a magic trick. He caught the blunted end in his opposite hand. Toted like an oar, he rowed against her chest. She was knocked to the ground where he followed her down. Ausland weaponized the handle, squeezing it against her neck. It sharpened her larynx. Between it and his weight, her last breath was pressed out of her lungs like dough. Unable to get it back, she squirmed in the bed of pine needles. I tore apart the car. Panicked, I rummaged through the console. I wanted a truncheon, I wanted mace. No, I wanted the damn keys. I’d hit him a second time, I’d run him under the tires, back up, then do it again- Where were the keys? "I could've used your muscle.” He said, effortless.  His forearms posed as if he were only holding the axe in place, leaving him the time to stare up into the trees, daydreaming. “You would've been security, or perhaps helped me out? I don’t know. I don’t want to limit you, but you'd find your niche. We all do. And, and maybe, maybe we could've returned the favor in Ashwater. Quid pro quo, yeah.” Glazed, his eyes shined like a lunatic. “No way you would've been able to leave them for good. You care too much about family. And man, Asclepius doesn’t get that but I do. I would’ve talked to him. Do you remember that one episode, with the shtriga? That witch thing? Man, what I would’ve given to help out. I felt so bad watching your kid brother and sis go through that- they were so little. Middle school, right?" She pulled against the handle. Her breath squeaked past her tonsils as an agonized creak. I saw her desperation. Wild, frenetic fury. She wanted to stab out his eyes, she'd do it with her bare hands if she had to, pulverizing them between her fingers, but any release of counter pressure lodged it into her under her jaw in a way she wouldn’t recover. Not that she had much of a chance. The gold of her eyes rolled up. Cupping starlight, they sparkled from the car. With his knee crushing her sternum- literally crushing- breathing was a two-fold problem she couldn’t solve. As the world blotted to black, a poisonous fatigue threatened to take her before she could knock the rest of his teeth in. She sifted through her belt. Her fingers, lifeless and feeble, felt around her pocket. Ausland was mid-diatribe when she found what she was looking for. Weak, she pressed it into his gut. The metal prongs that shot out made up for the force she didn’t have. He squalled like a skipping CD. His arms seized. His muscles tightened, corded and solid under his skin. He convulsed, rolling off with the grace of a tire with corners as the taser’s prongs pierced skin. That wasn’t stone. She twisted out from under him, blue-lipped. She swallowed as much dirt as air as she breathed life back into her lungs. Never did her hand didn’t let up on the button. Fisted in her palm, she squeezed it again and again, loading volley after volley into his system until a factory-implemented failsafe would stop her. Snapped out of my horror, I grabbed her transponder. I gushed half-formed words into the radio, quickly devolving into undignified whimpering. "I need help. I need help now. It's Demetri and Adria. We're being attacked. We need back-up. Please send back-up. We need help, we need help, back-up, please-" Who knows how long that’d thing would last before it decided efficiency wasn’t worth the lawsuit? Two minutes. All too quickly it started sputtering. Sparks flew off, then it guttered out. Please get back in the car. "Christ." She rasped. She chucked the useless thing off his head. Ausland’s nose knocked into the dirt. The last pulses of live energy depleted, twitching his eyelids. His eyeball rolled back into his head from the fissure, leaving his face a blank mosaic of broken leaves and loose tissue. Adria found her pistol somewhere in the grass. She fired two more rounds intos his back. One ricocheted, erupting a mud cloud too close to her foot to consider a third. “Fuck you.” She said, forced to settle for something less climatic. I scrambled to the door. It was time to go. There was nothing left for us here. I only wish I could transmit that message the same way our heads have been fucked with all night. She couldn’t hear me but I was praying. "Adria. Please get in the car. Let's go. Let’s just go. C’mon." Voices on the other end of the receiver scratched. They were asking for location. Numbers, letters. Jargon I didn’t understand. I was capable of processing two entire things at the moment: ‘Adria,’ and ‘Get in the car,’ those two points beeping and replicating like Morse code until she was summoned. And when she was, she was ghastly. I would say a nasty bruise closed around her throat like a noose, but the comparison felt too apt. We were in the woods, not out of them. This wasn’t over, and I felt that truth in my bones. She limped my way but she wasn’t limping fast enough. Faster, faster, I begged. I swear I was more limber without a foot. Proving it, I tracked blood across both seats- fidgeting and twitching like a half-trained dog at a window, one stray impulse away from streaking across the lawn. “Hurry up. C’mon, c’mon, please-” I unlocked the door. Unlocked it again. Double checked, and propped it open, where I checked a fourth time. It’s unlocked. Click-click-click-click, get in the fucking car. In this excruciating suspense, I imagined our lives as a horror film. I was the pretty blonde. I was the dumb, useless damsel that was worthless outside its habitat. Adria was the hero. The Bruce Campbell with a sawed off shotgun. Rugged vigilante, with a mean mug that could curdle milk. But the roles and their rules were disappearing too fast. Evaporating. Maybe it was her pace, maybe it was her wounds tallying up, or maybe it was the fact something in her neck broke to give her that debilitated wheeze, but she was about to drop, and that wasn’t on the script. She was shambling towards me but it was in that less-than-valiant victory lap that she neglected to notice Ausland get to his feet. “NO-” I shrieked, going batshit on the headrest, “STOP! Stopstopstop-” She looked up, misinterpreted my command, and pivoted to make sure the threat was out of commission. It wasn’t. “NO-” The axe hurdled through the air. It sank in her rib cage. I could never forget that sickening thump. She stumbled back. One heavy boot fell in the dirt, then the other. Her eyes dropped to her chest, wide, more skeptical than horrified. Disbelieving, as if couldn’t fathom the three-foot hunk of wood sticking out of her. Under its handle, she had no room to breathe, but now, she had too much. Her lungs were disturbingly loose and her heart serrating itself. Terror made the muscle pump. Pounding like an engine it ground against the bevel. Fats, flesh, and chambers parted. Her heart split like a peach. "Hck..." She clicked, high and wet. She took one step back on her heel, the next on her knee. She dropped but before she hit the ground, Ausland half-jogged to catch up. “Whew.” He said, as he wedged the axe. He caught her back over his forearm. She draped, spine lazing there, heinously ventriloquil. I pressed both hands over my mouth. My knees violently pulled to my chest, knocking me into the seat. Teeth in my hand, I screamed. Silent. It shouldn’t end like this. I kicked at the console. Three separate knobs broke off. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. We were supposed to solve the case. We were supposed to crack it, like all the ones before it. We were supposed to do something our kids wouldn’t believe. Something insane, until we pulled out proof in the box-set. We were supposed to go through something traumatic, then get over it. Like always. And Adria would save me. Just like she saved the town, more times than we could count. She wasn’t supposed to stop. She was the hero. She was supposed to complain about wanting a shower, a nap. She was supposed to drop me off at the B&B just to pick me up tomorrow, so we could do it all over again. And I’d join her because even if what we did was gross, disgusting, scary, and insane, she’d be there. Trembling, I adjusted the mirror. In the 6x3” theater of the rear-view Adria faded. Light guttered out from her eyes. Without looking at anything at all, they rolled to everything but me. I just wanted her to look. So I could see her, so she wouldn’t be alone, so I could convey everything I never thought to say out loud, but her last stubborn gift was the chance to run. The cup of her jaw spilled over, red flossing her teeth. I strangled a sob into my hand and slid down the seat. - - - In the cabin, Mia had pulled out all the stops. We’re talking warm vanilla sugar! Candles! Ambiance! Mountain Dew, chilled in a tin of ice! Bugles! Keeping her distracted was far easier from the tub, but as one light winked out in the forest, the rock metaphorically popped a champagne bottle of his own. 'Holy shit, that took long enough.' And wow! If you didn’t think a granite-carbon composite could feel worry, you’re wrong! That was so close. That was soooo close. That kid- that dumbass of his- insisted on keeping his nervous system for ‘quality of life.’ Who knew it’d turn into an Achilles heel situation. (Rock did. But that was beside the point.) Relieved, it let up on Mia. ’...Hm?' It said, coquette. Just loud enough to pique her interest as she splashed around. She was busy making sure the bubbles were perfect- whatever that meant. ''I think he’s moving again…? Oh wow. He did it. He just needs to find the priest.’ It had the vague idea of where Demetrius was; just not the coordinates. The answer to this conundrum skidded on her socks back to the living room. “Really?!” She stopped in front of a television. With a roll of gauze banded around one arm, neosporin in the other, she watched her boyfriend drag the cop down the road. After a fond, dreamy breath of relief that he was okay (Asclepius lovingly patched the huge hole in his head from her sight), she flipped through the cameras. She was only looking for movement and she found it. She tapped the screen. "There he is! In the police car!” ’Yeah? Okay. I’ll-’ "No! Let me tell him!" Capable of transmitting the message instantly- to the minds of every body, plant, bug, and microscopic speck regardless if had yet stumbled out of the prokaryotic stage of evolution to harness the concept of language - 'Sure.' said Asclepius. Bobbing on her toes, she dialed. 500 meters away Ausland vibrated. "Oop." he said. He patted them down. Bloody hands smacked the soaked polyester of his track pants, before finding his phone. The waterlogged home button took three jabs to register, and begged for death upon answering. He ignored the destroyed audio quality as Adria slid past his belt loops, ppmf'ing into the dirt. "Babe?" He said, concerned. "Everything alright?" He’d cut a priest if he had to. But on the other end, she was safe watching live footage. Demetri's eyes reflected white in the lens. Between the desperate sobs when he had to pull air without making a sound, his body shivered against the dash. He was larger than life on television, even in person he was bombastic, but here he was so small. Curled into himself, and afraid. Confused voices over the radio stuttered from the wrong frequency, ‘Who-? Where are you? Who’s being attacked? By what?’ but his destroyed psyche could compute nothing but his own pain. "Ausland, honey?" she said. "Yeah?" "I found him!" - - - - - - Three weeks later, Demetrius Marquette’s rescue hit the news cycle with a vengeance. The population of Ashwater doubled. The small town swole with tourists, bursting at the seams with more outsiders than they had seen cumulatively in the last decade. Due to local ordinance locals were prioritized for the memorial, but ultimately flushed out, for anyone with a name-tag and a badge. Ashwater’s police department was down to one man- one grieving man- who couldn’t even enforce the fire regulation. They packed into Father Moreau’s church. Personal eulogies concluded, the broadcast went live with Demetri. It opened on a frame of him hunched over the podium. Movie magic must’ve covered the strings holding him together because he sure wasn’t capable of it on his own. He leaned against the dais, crutches by his side. Deep-set eyes said he hadn’t slept in days. Maybe longer. The only illusion that he was alert and orientated came from the derisive glances he threw over his shoulder. You’d have thought he hated her, the derision in his eyes, but it was the photograph they picked. Wreathed in a ring of wildflowers sat Adria. It was a ceremonial shot taken for her graduation from the police academy. A young deputy stared back at him, chin in the air. It must’ve taken several attempts. She couldn’t decide, at age 18, if she wanted to be stoic or smile, to be scary or personable. She stressed it so much the result muddied in the middle. Not only was it incredibly outdated, but it was the only photo in existence with her hair up like that. And what was that, make-up? Her mom probably applied her eye-liner that morning. It wasn’t Adria, not the one he knew, but he wasn’t in charge of the service. He was hardly fit for anything like that at the moment. It’d been two weeks since his story broke. It was the talk of the hour. The crew had been missing for days. Holyoke secured a chopper to scour the mountain to no avail. It wasn’t until a local found him wandering the woods, half dead on his knees, that they had a break. Local cops dropped everything to flock to the site, reporters too. He told his story in triplicate for the law, but articles for the public were always tailed with the same footer: Demetrius Marquette and Misenum Studios could not be reached for comment. And that was it. The starving public got the bare minimum. Just an unbearably succinct recap and a note clarifying his condition was stable. Considering the Dyatlov Pass-nature of the incident, this wasn’t enough for any discerning viewer- But the story went stagnant anyways. In recovery, the priest fell off the radar. Sequestered inside a hospital, infection took hold. He had a fever that wouldn’t break. His palm was wrapped like he’d high-fived a buzzsaw, and his broken ankle was caked in so much scab it was chainmail. He wanted no visitors, only Adria, until delirium broke, and reality was worse. He didn’t need morphine after that- just to be put under. It wasn’t for another week that he could be polished and put in front of a camera. For viewers at home, a tagline scrolled across the screen. 'Live Account,’ it said, crawling under his blank stare. ‘Television Pastor Demetrius Marquette Saved.’ He’d throw the offending station out of the building if he saw it. Their tripods too, pitched for their brain. This conference wasn’t about him. It was for her. “Good morning.” He said, his voice sandpaper. He’d either rehearsed too much or not enough. “I’d like to thank you all for coming. It is not easy being up here, certainly not following Dave’s speech, but it’s very important that I am. Though I was the...l-last person to be by Adria’s side,” Deep breath. “I am grateful for the... official opportunity to tell her goodbye. I wanted to bid my own farewell among family and friends in her hometown, in her community. ” Reporters crouched. Melina, her mother, squeezed her husband’s hand. Barely into their 50’s, they were burying their daughter without the actual body to put in the ground. He adjusted his mic to avoid looking at them. “Though I will spare any graphic detail, I can not sugarcoat what happened in Holyoke. What began as a simple investigation evolved  tragically into nothing short of Hell...I miss Adria. So much. She was more to me than a co-star. We were...friends." He said, voice thickening. Blue-eyes looked infected red-ringed like that. "She wouldn’t agree, certainly not until the 5th amendment is repealed, but that’s what we were.” His hands curled around the podium. He shifted on his feet. “I always teased her about this town. How podunk it was, how stuffy she was. Officer Killjoy, that- that is what I called her, though she was anything but. She was courageous, she was bright. She had a fearless,” He bit, “Fearless proactive spirit that’d stop at nothing to save...everyone. “It was obvious on camera and off we had a special chemistry. One I had never experienced with anyone else before in my near 40 years of existence, and never expected to find in a town that I was,” He laughed without mirth. “In such a hurry to get out of. She set me straight, she helped me appreciate the simpler things, like the intimacy and warmth that could be developed between people- even selfish, pompous guys like me- and I like to think….I like to think she had fun with me around, too. We spent so many mornings together at Jo’s. Even on days...even on days we weren’t filming. Maybe it was a habit, maybe she did that even before I came around, but…I don’t...I don’t-” His eyes spilled over. Before the camera caught it, his head dipped. Fingers divided his bangs. He pulled his breath in raggedly through his palm. Cue-cards were illegible, but he blinked fast, and swiped at his face, hoping to regain control. Nothing helped. Smothered under the flash of dozens of cameras, his cards slipped out of his fingers, floating to the floor like petals. Demetrius watched them. Rocking the frail podium with his weight, he was unable to choke out another word. Assistance invited herself on stage in the form of a blonde woman in kitten heels. His crutches smacked on the ground as he turned to her. In one fluid movement they embraced. His hands twisted in the fabric of her dress as she rubbed his back in soothing circles. They were too far from the mic to be heard, especially after that disruption, but her lips read, ‘I know. I know, it’s okay, you’re doing great,’ in rhythmic meditation. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay.’ Cameras rolled for several silent minutes. With him buried in her neck, the two were lit by the occasional flash. Reporters murmured among themselves, but after a few softly intoned words, he was able to compose himself He nodded and sucked in a breath. "...Which is why...I'd like to thank the Holyoke police department and local heroes for getting me out of there alive. Without them, I would not be here today to share my last thoughts with Adria. If I had died, no one would’ve been here to remem-...” He licked his lips. “We wouldn’t be here to-...Adria’s memory...she’d…” Dry-mouthed, there was no way he could finish with pageantry. His hands bunched into fists on the column. His bad hand bled through the wrap. Despite the firm hand on his shoulder, something snapped. “...Do any of you understand what you had? ...What you lost?” His lucidity spoiled. The true, physical audience fell away. If it was just him and the camera, his grief was his own. “Do you? Because I do. Her dying like that was senseless. It was so fucking senseless,” He’d taken to a high, hysterical pitch. “Like there was no point to it at all, do you guys understand? Having her ripped away like that, while I watched? I was this close-” He kicked off the ground. Hopping up, he dangled off the podium as his elbows wrenched him closer to a camera. The American public recoiled from the madman in the lens.  “This close- as close as you were to me, and you know what? She wouldn’t even look at me. I didn’t have to tell her bye, I just wanted her to look at me so she wouldn’t be so scared. But that’s who she was as a person. She’d rather die alone than see someone else hurt-” Demetrius was going to maul the room. One of her sister’s, one of the twins, plunged into her mother’s chest, sobbing. Incapable of doing it on his own, the woman at his side grabbed him to reel him back. He caught himself. At last second, before he’d make a separate headline for himself, he touched the ground. He shut his eyes tight, and his tone neutralized. If he couldn’t be angry, he decided, then he’d be dead. “...Moving forward,” He continued, numb. “I want to announce my departure from the studio. As a united front, Worship With Style will be laid to rest. It was an honor to work with the cast and crew through the years. I was lucky to experience a show that undeniably enriched my life for the better, and made me the person I am today, but it would not be the same without Adria. She’s only been with us for one season but in that time she has changed absolutely everything on a fundamental level. I would not- could not- dream of doing it without her. “Instead, I will do my best to continue her legacy of heroism and selflessness in other ways. We should all strive for her breed of courage and compassion in our everyday life. Adria was a hero and will forever be an inspiration. "Please respect the privacy of the Kyriakoulopoulos family at this time." His last 'thank you' was too far from the mic to be recorded. He bowed his head. Gently, but swiftly, Mia escorted him off the stage. The broadcast cut.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

Into the Woods || Ariana & Nicodemus

Some days, soccer practice just wasn’t enough to burn through all her pent up energy. As the pressure of her senior coming to a close started to hit Ariana, she found she needed just a little bit extra in the exercise department to truly relax. Today something about the woods called to her. Normally, she’d do a run through town with one her textbooks playing, but she was craving to be more at one with her wolf side today. Something about running freely through the trees, terrain changing beneath your feet, and nothing but the sound of breeze and the soft crunch of leaves as she ran made her feel connected with a part of herself she normally had to hide from the world. It was a sense of freedom and comfort that only being in nature could provide. 

Part of her knew Celeste would hate her going out in the woods without her, but Celeste was working, and if she left now, she’d be home and showered before Celeste got home. Ariana scrounged through her messy closet for her favorite pair of running shoes, a dark gray pair of Brooks with light blue accents that went perfectly with the dry wick shirt she had on from practice, and laced them up before flying out the door. The path to the woods wasn’t too far off from the little house they were renting. It was one of her favorite things about their new home and she intended to utilize it to her full advantage. 

This was the best time of year to be doing anything outside. It was warming up enough to not require a jacket without being overbearingly warm. She found it comfortable to keep pace in this sort of weather and the dark never really bothered her. Having enhanced ability to see in the dark was a huge perk that came with being a werewolf. She couldn’t imagine life without it. Today’s run was fairly quiet. Whenever she was running off the beaten path, she always had her eyes, ears, and nose on full alert. As she weaved in and out of trees, nothing was grabbing her attention save for a few smaller critters. 

She found herself in a repetitive motion and let her mind slip away from her a bit. The stress began to melt away and the tasks ahead of her were starting to seem more clear. Tonight she’d go over the notes one of her tutors sent her, make dinner for her and Celeste, and still get in bed by a decent hour. There was a slight rumble in her stomach as she began to think of what she wanted to make. Her mind was going through all the different dishes she could make out of what was currently in her refrigerator when she found herself colliding into a tall figure. 

“Shit, sorry,” she quickly said. Ariana couldn’t believe she had let herself zone out in the middle of the woods like this. She could practically recite a lecture from Celeste in her head in this given moment, but she quickly became aware of who exactly she had bumped into. Tall and strong, dressed in neutral tones that would camouflage him in the woods, and definitely armed. She felt her already pounding heart begin to thud even harder in her chest. This man definitely looked like a hunter and she didn’t have Celeste with her for back up. This is exactly what she had been warned about avoiding and here she was going right for a head on collision with a fucking hunter. She took a deep breath to steady herself and tried to keep her features calm. She didn’t need to give herself away here and now, not when she finally found a place to call home. She gestured to the knife in his hand and said, “Wouldn’t be my first choice of weapon to bring into the woods. I’ve found a rifle works a lot better for hunting deer.”

[green-eyeddragonfanfiction]

A Dream Is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Pairing: Princess!Reader x Cinderella!Bucky Summary: A/B/O!AU. Female!Reader is an Omega. Alphas and Omegas are rare, and Reader’s been able to avoid alphas through sheer force of will and luck in equal parts. Warnings: verbal abuse and physical abuse [of Bucky] Word Count: ~8,622 A/N:If I was pissed that By Chance was deleted, I’m just plain confused on why this was deleted. I don’t think it even has any sexual scenes.

You knew that when your father, the King, summoned you, whatever he had to say wasn’t going to be pleasant. You’d been dodging suitors and making excuses for being unable to meet eligible foreign dignitaries for years, and it was only a matter of time until your father had had enough.

“You will show up to the ball. You will choose a suitor from the bachelors invited. And you will do your duty as this country’s princess,” your father said forcefully, eyeing you angrily from his spot on the other side of his study’s extravagant desk.

You weren’t going to give into your father’s demands. There was no way you’d sell yourself to the highest bidder; you’d met enough Lords to know they were all power-hungry sharks just looking for a chance at the crown matrimonial.

You had to put up some show of resistance, or he’d suspect you were up to something.

“Father, I am not some pawn to be cast off as you see fit! I am my own woman and I can rule this country on my own!” you said defiantly. “I have been tutored on how to best lead this country from the moment I learned how to speak! I alone can-”

“That is enough!” the king roared, standing suddenly as he slammed his hands on the table, anger twisting his face until he was almost unrecognizable to the man who raised you. “I tire of your insolence, daughter! You should have been married off years ago, but it is only because of my and your mother’s love for you that you have been allowed to remain unwed this long. Our retainers- nay, our people- will not respect a queen with no king or king consort!” he said, spittle flying from his lips in his unbridled fury. “You will find a man to marry at the ball tonight, or I will choose a different successor to ensure a stable line of succession,” he said venomously.

You hung your head in mock contriteness, eyes trained on the ground. You hadn’t been expecting him to threaten your birthright, but you supposed it wasn’t that surprising. You knew that your father cared more about securing his bloodline than he did about you. “I’m sorry, father. I will… try my best to find a suitable bachelor,” you said penitently, curtsying gracefully to him.

“I expect you to make the declaration of who you will marry by the end of the ball,” he warned, making your stomach plummet to your feet. Not only did you have to marry some backstabbing Lord of the court, you had, at most, a single night to get to know him first.

“I will return to my chambers and review the portraits of my potential suitors and have Lord Barton help me review their backgrounds. By your leave, of course, your majesty,” you said placatingly, once again curtsying deeply.

You felt his gaze bore through you, looking for any signs of dissent or trickery.

He seemed to find none, though. “That is acceptable. You may leave,” he said coldly.

“Your majesty,” you said benevolently, finally rising from your curtsy to leave the room.

The second the doors to your room closed behind you, you burst into action. You knew you couldn’t leave; you wanted the crown. You wanted to do right by your people which, in your eyes, meant not marrying any of the corrupt men that wanted your hand in marriage.

You tore at the strings and lace binding your dress to you, nearly ripping the dress in your haste to tear it from your body.

You had so little time, now; So little freedom left. If you were going to be engaged tonight, you were sure as hell going to make the most of the day.

There was a quiet rap at the door, causing you to freeze halfway out of your elegant gown and look at it in horror. If your father-

“May I enter, your highness?” came a tentative voice at the door.

You sighed in relief. “Yes, Wanda. Come in,” you said quickly, ducking behind your bed in case someone happened to peek in the room when Wanda entered.

As soon as she’d shut the doors you were in front of her, gown hanging off of you, eyes wild. She nearly squeaked in fear, but you clapped a hand over her mouth. “Wanda, I need a favor,” you said hastily.

Twenty minutes later you were in the stables, dressed in castle servant’s clothes.

You glanced around and were relieved to find it empty; apparently everyone had either finished riding for the day or were out. Either way, it meant you wouldn’t be interrupted.

You walked down the line of stalls, stopping in front of the one you needed. The name “Havel” was etched into a sign on the door with painstaking detail.

“Hey boy,” you said affectionately.

The lovely dapple grey in the stall perked his head up immediately at the sound of your voice, inquisitive ears pointed directly at you.

A low nicker left his lips as he walked up to the gate of stall, obviously excited to see you.

You laughed at that and pulled out the apple you had stashed in your pocket, throwing it into his feed bucket attached to the inside wall. He immediately started munching on it while you unlocked the stall door and grabbed the saddle. A quick pet revealed he’d already been groomed and you sighed in relief; the less time you spent on the castle grounds, the more time you could spend enjoying your last day as a free woman.

“Alright, Havel. It took me a while, but I think I finally-”

You froze, eyes wide in shock, at the stable boy’s sudden intrusion.

“You can’t be in here! That’s the princess’ horse!” the stable boy, Peter, said loudly, obviously alarmed.

“Shh! Peter! It’s me,” you said, pulling your hood back a bit so he could see your face more easily in the dim light.

“Oh, my goodness! Princess! I’m so sorry!” he said, bowing frantically, bridle still clutched in his hand.

“Peter! Not so loud! Please!” you hissed, glancing worriedly around the barn.

“Sorry, sorry. Here’s his bridle. It was rubbing him a bit so I adjusted it; it should fit perfectly now!” he said, still bent over double in a bow, eyes trained on the ground as he thrust his hand forward, holding the bridle out to you.

“Thank you, Peter. I’ll be back in a while, but you didn’t see me here, understand?” you said, quickly easing the bridle onto Havel.

Peter looked up at you worriedly, but nodded. “Have a safe journey, princess,” he said, standing back so you could lead Havel out of his stall.

You smiled at him as you passed. “I will.”

You and Havel set a brisk pace and made it to the village about fifteen minutes later, hood shadowing your face so it was less likely people would recognize you. You dropped him off at the local stable for a short while, dropping the stable master a small handful of coppers for the trouble.

You set off to explore the town, simply enjoying being among your people without being recognized. It was nice to know you were loved, but you like seeing them as they were every day, and not just on festivals and special occasions.

Yes, you preferred your everyday citizens to the rich, pompous nobles at court any day. By and large they were hard-working, passionate, and kind people and every time you were among them the knowledge that you would lead them one day weighed heavily on you; you never wanted to let them down.

According to your father, though, you were doing just that by not marrying.

You shook your head, trying to clear it of all the dark thoughts about the ball and your impending marriage. When you looked up you realized you’d never been to this part of town before. Here, there was more room between houses; yards were grander and the houses more opulent. You sighed; getting lost hadn’t been part of your plan today.

You resigned yourself to wandering around until you spotted a familiar street, enjoying the scenery as you walked.

You hadn’t made it more than a few steps when a deep melody reached your ears.

“A dream is a wish your heart makes,

When you’re fast asleep…”

You followed the source of the noise, curious. Whoever was singing had a beautiful voice, but he also sounded so… sad.

“In dreams you lose your heartaches,

Whatever you wish for you keep…”

As you walked you looked into houses’ windows, craned your neck to see past hedges, and even hefted yourself on top of stone walls in search of the mystery singer.

You knew you were headed in the right direction; the singing was only growing louder and, with it, your curiosity.

“Have faith in your dreams and someday,

Your sun will come smiling through…”

It was when you peeked over the wall of the last house on the street that you finally spotted him.

Although the garden was tiny, it was well-maintained and could rival even parts of the royal gardens in its beauty. There, in the center, was your mystery singer. You glimpsed him through the trellises as he worked, shoulder-length brown hair tied back in a messy bun. Although he was wearing ratty peasant clothes, it wasn’t hard to spot the handsome man underneath the layers of dirt.

“No matter how your heart is grieving…”

You realized, then, why it was so quiet. The birds and small critters of the woods were all watching him work, charmed by his song. He trimmed trees with loving care, assessed all the plots for weeds, and placed down new fertilizer.

“If you keep on believing…”

He stood, wiping his brow, and smeared dirt all over his it. He looked around, surveying his handiwork, song falling easily from his lips.

“The dream that you wish will-”

His steel blue eyes met yours and his melody stopped abruptly, the magic his voice had been working ending abruptly. He stared at you, shocked, trowel clattering to the ground loud enough to scare the critters away.

“I’m sorry! Your singing was so beautiful! I didn’t mean to spy!” you said quickly, standing up straight now that you’d been caught.

He studied you warily, blue eyes drinking in every inch of you. He must have realized he was staring because he looked away suddenly, as though the bush next to him was the most interesting thing in the world.

“It’s alright…” he said tentatively, fingers nervously playing with the hem of his shirt. “I just thought you might be my step brother, at first,” he said nervously.

“Sorry, just me!” you said, smiling broadly. “This garden is beautiful. Do you take care of it all on your own?” you asked curiously, openly studying it with interest. He seemed to swell with a bit of pride at your compliments.

“Yes. The house, too,” he said, shyly pointing to the mansion behind him.

“Wait, you take care of this garden and that giant house? By yourself?” you asked, gaze returning to him, disbelief clear on your face.

He seemed to think he’d said too much, stumbling over his next words. “My step father is a busy man, and my step brother is learning how to run the family business under his tutelage. I… they ask me to take care of the house and garden,” he said quickly.

“My name is Ella,” you lied easily. You didn’t feel like giving him your real name in case he recognized you. “What’s yours?”

“James, my lady. Though my mother always called me Bucky.”

“How does one get ‘Bucky’ from James?” you asked, smiling curiously.

“It’s from my middle name, Buchanan,” he said sheepishly.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, James,” you said, grinning shyly. However, you still had questions. “It seems your step father is quite wealthy. Surely he could afford a couple of people to tend to the house and garden so that you could also learn how to help run your family business?” you said, crossing your arms as your mind worked. Something wasn’t quite right with his story.

“We’re not as well off as we seem, I’m afraid. At least, that’s what he tells me. I haven’t been allowed to look at my family’s books in years.”

“Wait, it’s your family’s business, not your step father’s? What about your mother? Surely she must have something to say about him cutting you out of the management of it,” you said brows furrowed in confusion.

He shifted uncomfortably. “She passed on when I was still a child. She fell ill after marrying my step father, and passed on only a year after saying ‘I do’.” he said sadly, gaze flicking away from you as he was assaulted with painful memories.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. That was terribly rude of me!” you said hurriedly, heart twisting painfully in your chest at the hurt you saw in his eyes.

He smiled, melancholy, at your apology. “It’s alright. You had no way of knowing,” he said reassuringly. He paused before he looked back up at you, a puzzled look on his face. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you all of this,” he chuckled lightly, the sound sending a thrill through you.

You couldn’t help but smile back. “People always say I look like I have a trustworthy face. Can’t get them to stop telling me their deepest, darkest secrets,” you joked, letting out a melodramatic sigh.

He laughed in earnest at that, light pink dusting his cheeks as he responded. “I would have to agree with ‘everyone,’ then,” he said shyly.

You beamed at him, placing your hands flat against the top of the stone wall as you leaned over it. “If you would indulge a bit of selfishness on my part, I would very much like a tour of your garden,” you said earnestly, eyes shimmering with hope. If you were being honest, you also wanted to get closer to him to see if he was as handsome up close as he was from far away.

He looked up and down the street nervously before he looked back at you. As he studied you closely he seemed to make up his mind. He nodded and moved towards the gate, likely intending to open it for you, but you simply vaulted over it, deftly avoiding the lovely plots of flowers on the other side.

“That works, too,” he said, smiling at you.

“Do you enjoy working in the garden, at least?” you asked, as you walked over to him, surreptitiously glancing at him as you studied the plants around you. He was, indeed, just as attractive up close.

He seemed to consider your question a moment, head tilting adorably to the side, gloved fingers absently running over the leaves of the vines next to him. “I enjoy it more than cleaning the house. At least out here I have the company of the animals,” he said quietly. You nodded, but your mind mulled his answer over.

The two of you walked the garden together for some time. He knew the name of every plant and exactly how to take care of it to make it as healthy as possible. The two of you talked about the town once you ran out of plants, but you carefully avoided talking about the royal family. Finally, you just had to ask.

“Why don’t you leave? You don’t seem to be very happy here?” you asked quietly, eyes searching his face.

He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly as he looked around, gaze lingering on the house. “This place is all I have left of my mother. I couldn’t leave it to my Step father and brother,” he said, hint of bitterness creeping into the sadness of his voice. His gaze seemed so far away.

“I suppose I can understand that,” you said, reaching out to place a hand gently onto his arm. His gaze snapped back to you, startled, and you hesitantly removed your hand, afraid you’d upset him. “Not wanting to leave something because you care so much about it, even when staying hurts, too.”

He nodded slowly, a tender smile that made your heart flutter in your chest appearing on his face. “Yes, exactly.”

The two of you stood there, frozen in the moment, before it was shattered by a loud, angry voice from the other side of the house; whoever it was seemed to be on the street, just out of sight

“Cinderbucky! Your brother and I are home! Come take our horses at once! The King has announced a ball where all eligible bachelors of the kingdom are invited and at the end of the night the princess will announce who she’s to marry! We must prepare for your brother to attend at once!” the step father yelled, just out of your line of sight.

He turned to run towards the source of the noise “I’m sorry! I must go, or-”

“James, wait!” The thought of never seeing him again bothered you greatly, but you didn’t want to look too closely at why. “Go to the ball! I work at the castle! I… I wish to see you again!” you said hopefully, lying through your teeth. You don’t know why you continued to lie about your position, other than that you were afraid he’d be blinded by your status.

He looked at you, wide grin spreading across his lips. “I will be there, then,” he promised, though he knew it was easier said than done. “You must go now, though, before they see you!” he urged, head swiveling in fear as his step father yelled angrily again. He seemed torn, but ran away, one of his shoes flying off in his haste. He didn’t even pause to go back for it.

An idea hit you then, and you took the shoe carefully from the ground. While obviously old, he seemed to take good care of it. You shoved it under your cloak before you turned and headed to the edge of the gardens.

With one last lingering look, you spun and vaulted over the stone fence. You ran a short distance before you turned around, but James was no longer in the garden. You sighed, glancing at the fading light in the sky. You’d spent more time with James than you’d thought and you needed to get back soon or risk facing the wrath of your father.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Your father sputtered.

“What I said, father. I’ll marry the man whose foot fits into this shoe,” you said dismissively, holding it up nonchalantly.

“That is a peasants shoe! You’ll do nothing but insult our guests by making them try it on!” he raged, glaring at the shoe as though it had just committed high treason.

“If they are not willing to try on a shoe for a chance at the crown, then they are fools,” you said bluntly. “And I promise that if no one fits it, I will choose a suitor anyway.” It pained you to say it, but you knew it was the only way to placate him.

He leaned back in his chair, mouth working dangerously as he bit back an onslaught of unsavory things, mustache twitching violently below his nose. “Fine! If this farce is what it takes you to willingly marry a man, then so be it!” he said, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Now, go get ready! the guests will be arriving in an hour.”

“By your leave, majesty,” you said, curtsying deeply as you made a hasty exit from his study.

You walked quickly back to your room and opened the doors, expecting to see Wanda, but it was Natasha, instead. You loved Natasha, but Wanda was your favorite lady in waiting. Even though you coached your face back into one of polite neutrality, she’d seen you look of disappointment.

“I know. I’m not Wanda. I’m sorry. She had urgent business to attend to and asked me to fill in for her in helping you get dressed tonight,” she said quietly, motioning to the elegant and intricate blue gown you hadn’t noticed a moment before.

“It’s beautiful!” you said, awestruck.

“Wanda made it for you, specially for tonight. She only finished recently. The second she heard the rumors she sprung into action. She can’t be with you right now in person, but her spirit is here with you anyway,” Natasha said, fondly.

“You’re right, Natasha,” you said, smiling at her. You were always thankful of the way she was able to see the other side of things.

“Now, let’s get you ready for your big night!”

 Bucky’s POV

“What took you so long, boy?” Pierce spat as he dismounted.

“Probably singing to all of those stupid animals again,” Brock said venomously as he hopped off his horse.

“Put the horses away and prepare our finest suits immediately. Brock is going to become a prince tonight!” Pierce said proudly, gazing down at his son.

“Yes, father,” Bucky said, quickly following his step father’s orders. The quicker he got them ready the faster they’d leave and he could get himself ready to see Ella again. He was invited to the ball, after all, as an eligible bachelor. He knew he wouldn’t catch the princess’ eye. Not in one of Brock’s older suits that didn’t fit him quite right, but he wouldn’t show up in the rags he wore while he worked. Just for a night he wanted to be a man a beautiful woman like Ella would be proud to be seen with.

As soon as he’d put the horses to pasture he ran into the house, quickly preparing Pierce and Brock’s best suits while they washed up.

Two hours later it was getting dark and the ball was looming closer by the minute. Pierce and Brock were dressed to the nines. Bucky had outdone himself tonight, eager to make them happy so that he might be able to ride with them to the ball. They were waiting downstairs for the carriage to arrive when Bucky came down, dressed as nicely as he could and, for once, mostly devoid of any dirt.

The second Pierce saw him, his face contorted with fury.

“What are you wearing, boy?” he spat. Bucky cringed and froze on the bottom step.

“I- I was hoping I could go to the ball. All the bachelors in the kingd-”

“You’re not going, you imbecile!” Pierce said as he stormed over to him. Bucky didn’t have time to brace himself before his head whipped to the side, cheek stinging from Pierce’s back-handed slap. “The princess would never look at you! You’re an embarrassment to your step-brother!” he raged. To Bucky’s horror, Pierce reached up and ripped the sleeve almost completely off of his dress coat. Pierce wasn’t done though, and Brock cheered on from his spot in the foyer.

“Aww! Little Cinderbucky wanted to go to the ball! How sweet!” he crooned, face twisted with malevolent amusement at the scene in front of him. “But clumsy him! He ripped his jacket!” Brock said, cackling.

Pierce ripped apart the white dress shirt, buttons flying in every direction.

“You’re a fool, boy! You’re lucky we’re in a hurry, or I would teach you another lesson!” he spat, tugging down the left side of the shirt and jacket to reveal the edges of the ugly scars that continued all the way down his arm to the very tips of his fingers. Bucky nearly shook at the threat, but somehow remained standing.

“This house will be spotless by the time we return! And if you ever make another mistake like this again, you’ll be wishing it was only an arm,” Pierce said dangerously, eyes glinting with malice.

“Yes, father. I understand,” he said weakly.

“The carriage is here, father,” Brock said, still staring at Bucky with condescension. “Enjoy your night, Cinderbucky,” he sneered.

As if to add insult to injury, Pierce spat on Bucky before turning to walk to the door.

The second the door was shut, Bucky sank onto the stairs, head in his hands and he tried to hold back the tears. He didn’t hear the door open and only realized there was someone else in the room when a pair of boots appeared in his line of vision.

He looked up, startled, to see a man standing there. His blond hair seemed to almost shine in the light and his eyes were even bluer than Bucky’s.

“We don’t have time for moping, friend. We need to get you all fixed up for the ball,” he said by way of greeting. Bucky looked at the man, bewildered.

“I’m sorry, but… who- who are you?” he asked, nerves frayed from the roller coaster of emotion that was today.

“Hmm… a friend?” the blond man said, smiling down at Bucky as he extended his hand. Bucky looked at it for a moment, unsure, before he took it. “A friend of mine told me about your situation and I just had to help,” he said, patting Bucky comfortingly on the shoulder. “I’m a little upset I couldn’t get to you sooner, but… we mustn’t dwell on the past! Your life is changing, starting today!” he said cheerfully. “Go check upstairs!”

When Bucky didn’t move and simply stared at him, Steve sighed, and made shooing motions. “Go! Hurry up! The ball is starting soon!” Steve said urgently.

The mention of the ball seemed to startle Bucky into action. With one last confused look at the man in front of him, he went upstairs to his tiny room, opening the door slowly in trepidation.

There, in the center of his room, was the single most stunning suit he’d ever seen. The jacket was pure white with silver embroidery. The shirt beneath it was a gorgeous baby blue with the same silver thread as the jacket. The pants were the same snowy color as the jacket with accents that matched the shirt. Shining black knee-high boots completed the outfit; they were so well polished that they shone like glass. It even came with a pair of white gloves.

“Wow…” he murmured, as he walked towards it. He reached out to it, faltering before he touched it, scared it’d disappear as soon as he touched it or that his hand would go straight through it. He didn’t have to try it on to know it would fit him perfectly.

“Yeah, she really did a great job, didn’t she?” said the man from the doorway. Bucky jumped, letting out an undignified yelp of surprise, and turned to face the man.

“This… this is for me?” he asked, pointing to it over his shoulder with his thumb.

“All yours, friend. Now, get changed. We’re short on time,” he said with a smile as he shut Bucky’s door.

Ten minutes later Bucky emerged from his room, marveling at how the suit hugged him in all the right places, accentuating his best features.

The mysterious blond man was waiting at the bottom of the stairs and beamed at Bucky when he appeared at the top of them.

“All ready to go, then?” he asked, admiring his handiwork.

“I… I think so,” Bucky said nervously as he made his way down the stairs, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair, which he’d tied into a small ponytail at the back of his neck.

“One second, you’ve got just a bit…” the mystery man muttered, bringing his thumb up to swipe a smudge of dirt off of Bucky’s cheek. “There, perfect. Now, the carriage is outside waiting!”he said, motioning grandly to the doorway.

“Carriage?” Bucky asked, glancing at the doorway.

“What, did you think we’d make you walk there, or something?” the man asked, grinning.

Bucky looked confusedly from the door to the man and back. “Who… are you?”

“Not important, Buck. Now, go get the girl!” he said, giving Bucky a gentle but firm shove towards the door.

Bucky wanted to press him for an answer, but he was right. Time was slipping away. He had to get to that ball.

What he saw when he opened the door made him stop. Not only was there a carriage, it was extravagant. Four white horses pulled the highly decorated thing and there wasn’t just a driver but also two servants on the back, and two more men were waiting just ahead of it on white horses of their own.

This was an entourage fit for a prince or a wealthy lord, not the cleaning wretch of a lesser noble.

One of the servants hopped off the back and lowered the small step built into the underside and opened the door a half second later.

“Your carriage awaits, sir,” he said gesturing grandly to it.

Bucky swallowed nervously, taking a few hesitant steps towards it, expecting any second for his step father and brother to pop out and punish him for his shameless hoping. When he stepped inside and the door shut securely behind him, he breathed out a sigh he didn’t realize he’d been holding in.

With a gentle jolt, the carriage was off towards the royal castle.

 Your POV

You sighed as yet another suitor approached your dais.

“Your highness,” the older man began, bowing deeply. “It is an honor to be in your presence. We’re so thankful for your invitation to the ball tonight. Allow me to introduce my son, Brock.”

You thought you’d recognized his voice the moment he started speaking, but the second he said his son’s name your suspicions were confirmed. You tried to fight back the grimace you felt creeping onto your face at their presence.

Brock stepped forward, the sharp lines of his face contorted into a slimy smile. “Princess. You look absolutely stunning. Truly all the stars in the heavens must be jealous of your beauty,” he said unctuously, bowing deeply as he took your hand and placed a sloppy kiss onto your rings.

“Thank you for coming. I take it you’ve heard of my new request?” you said, gently but firmly tugging your hand from his grasp to gesture to the shoe sitting on the cushion beside you. “Any who fit it have the opportunity to dance with me tonight.”

“Yes, of course, highness,” Brock said, bowing his head in acknowledgement. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the shoe.

“That is why it is there, Rick,” you said, patronizingly. Brock’s smile faltered for a moment at your tone and the fact that you got his name wrong, but to his credit he held it together, sitting down in the provided chair to try on the shoe.

And boy, did he try. He sat there for probably thirty seconds, trying to squeeze his heel into it, but to no avail.

“I do not believe it fits you, sir,” you said pointedly.

Both Brock and his father looked at you, their stubbornness plain on their faces, but one look at the guards standing beside you seemed to change their minds about arguing. Brock set the shoe back down a little harder than he had to and put his own back on. They both bowed deeply, their oily smiles not quite enough to hide the anger behind their eyes.

“Thank you for coming, gentlemen,” you said by way of dismissal, inclining your head slightly to them. They stalked off, straight for the table that held all of the food. It seems they would try to get their revenge by eating half the food in the hall.

“Have someone keep an eye on them,” you told your guard, Steven, surreptitiously, eyeing them coldly.

He nodded. “Understood, princess,” he said quietly, signaling one of your other guards, Clinton, with discreet hand motions to keep an eye on those two. You didn’t know exactly where he was, but you knew he was around somewhere. He was nicknamed Hawkeye for a reason; he worked better from a distance.

You went through countless suitors like that. Some fit the shoe and were added to the list of people you would dance with later in the night, but none of them were James. You hoped he would come. You had Natasha on the lookout for him in the servants’ areas and directed her to send him up immediately if he showed up. As time passed, though, it seemed less and less likely that he would show, and you had to bite back your disappointment.

“Princess,” Steve said softly in your ear, jerking you out of your troubled thoughts. “Look,” he said, pointing to the entrance of the castle on the opposite side of the room from you.

Everyone else in the room was looking, too. Every head was turned to see who had just entered, a wave of whispers breaking out among the crowd.

He was easily the most stunningly handsome man in the room, putting every other man in attendance to shame.

Your heart beat wildly in your chest.

James. It was James. Even from across the hall you could see his bright steel blue eyes searching for you; the servant Ella, not the princess (Y/N). His gaze slid over you as though you weren’t there and you had to fight how much that hurt. He looked divine in his white and blue suit; completely different but just as amazing as the dirty, down-to-earth man you’d met earlier.

“Make sure he comes up here,” you told Steven urgently. Steve nodded, giving your other guard, who everyone affectionately called “Rhodey,” a nod before he disappeared in the swarm of people.

 Bucky’s POV

Bucky weaved between the other guests nervously, aware of how many people were staring. He wished they wouldn’t; He was already nervous enough as it was. He was about to sneak out of the main hall when a hand on his arm stopped him.

His gaze snapped to the man attached to said hand and he nearly shouted in surprise. It was the mystery man.

“You!” he said, trying his best not to yell.

“Me!” Steve said jovially, dropping his arm. “Your girl’s not in there, lover boy. And I have to insist that you come with me. Every eligible bachelor must meet the princess today,” he said with a wink.

“But Ella-”

“Trust me, Bucky,” Steve said, earnest smile on his face.

Bucky looked between Steve and the doorway, torn. Steve hadn’t led him wrong before, but meeting the princess would take away from time he could be using to be with Ella.

But it wasn’t every day you got to meet a princess, right? Maybe he’d be able to meet two in one day; Ella was a princess in his eyes.

“Fine,” he conceded. Steve beamed and led Bucky to the far part of the room where the princess was meeting suitors. There was a long line of men waiting for a chance to talk to the princess, but Steve literally shoved Bucky to the front of the line.

Bucky protested weakly, not wanting to offend all of the powerful men in the room, but one look at the princess made the rest of his protests die in his throat.

Even though she was wearing an elegant blue dress and her hair and makeup were done to perfection, there was no mistaking the woman in front of him, even though the last time he saw her she’d been in peasant’s clothing.

“Ella,” he breathed, awestruck at the vision of beauty in front of him.  

You were beaming at him, but seemed to remember yourself, coaching your expression back into a slightly more subdued smile. His feet moved of their own accord, stepping up onto the dais upon which your throne sat.

Suddenly remembering etiquette, he stopped just out of your reach, bowing deeply, eyes on the ground. “Your highness,” he said quietly, amazed.

“And you are?” you asked politely. James looked up suddenly, hurt you didn’t recognize him, but you were smiling playfully at him, eyes shining with happiness.

Ah, you did recognize him. “James Buchanan Barnes, princess,” he said, gently taking your hand in his gloved fingers to place a tender kiss on your knuckles. The difference between his kiss and Brock’s was night and day. Your heart fluttered in your chest, and it took everything in you to keep calm.

“Have you heard about the request I’ve made of all of the suitors here tonight?” you asked as he released your hand. You immediately missed his touch.

“No, your highness,” he said, brows furrowed in confusion.

“The man I choose to marry will be able to fit into this shoe,” you said, gesturing to his shoe where it sat on the cushion just a few feet away.

He looked to where you were motioning and when he saw his own shoe sitting there on the pillow it didn’t click right away what was happening.

Then, it hit like a tone of bricks.

He turned back to you, eyes wide in shock. “You mean-”

You held up a hand, gently silencing any questions. “Please, try it on,” you said earnestly, a knowing smile on your lips.

He gulped and took a seat on the opulent chair, removing his right boot carefully.

He’d been wondering where his other shoe had gotten to. He guessed he had his answer now.

He didn’t realize how quiet the room had gotten, too engrossed in the task in front of him. But you and everyone else in the room was watching him closely.

He looked up at you as he slid his shoe on. Although a couple men before him had managed to squeeze it on or walk around without it falling off, it fit him perfectly.

The smile that graced your face was blinding and Bucky couldn’t help but smile back.

“Steven,” you said quietly without taking your eyes off of Bucky.

“Yes, princess?” the blond mystery man said, appearing at your shoulder.

“Alert the musicians. It is time for the first dance,” you said happily. “You may want to put that boot back on,” you said cheekily to Bucky.

“Yes, highness,” Bucky said quickly, smile on his face as he clumsily removed his shoe and tugged the boot back on.

He stood hastily, rushing to your side.

He held his hand out for you to take, nervousness clear on his face.

“I would be honored to have this dance with you, highness,” he said earnestly.

You smiled, taking his hand as you stood. “Please, call me (Y/N),” you said quietly enough that only he could hear. “And it would be my pleasure to dance with you, James.”

He turned a truly adorable shade of pink, nodding slightly. “You can call me Bucky, if you like,” he said as the two of you made your way towards the dance floor.

The guests parted before you, expressions ranging from surprise to anger to awe (you supposed you and Bucky did make a striking pair).

“Bucky, then,” you said fondly as you arrived at the center of the floor and turned to face him. He smiled brilliantly at the sound of his name on your lips.

The music played the prelude and you bowed to each other. You were about to begin dancing when an angry voice rang out in the hall, causing the music to screech to a halt and make everyone’s heads turn towards the source, including yours and Bucky’s.

“You get away from the princess!” Franklin Pierce yelled, storming towards the two of you. Brock trailed after him, face murderous. Bucky placed himself protectively between you and the angry men, but he paled considerably. “I don’t know how on earth you got that outfit, but you won’t defile the princess, swine!” Pierce spat, stomping towards Bucky.

Steve appeared in front of him before he made it within ten steps of you and Bucky, sword drawn and pointed directly at Pierce’s throat. “No closer, sir,” Steve ordered, saying the last word sarcastically.

Pierce looked like he was going to try and deck Steve, but looked past him to level a glare at Bucky.

“You broken piece of garbage. I should have left you to starve after your mother died!”

Buck turned in on himself, shoulder’s and head slumping, and it almost seemed as though he was getting smaller at Pierce’s words. You placed a hand gently on his shoulder, glaring at Pierce.

“Does her highness even know about your disfigurement, you monster?” Pierce asked, malevolent smile on his face.

“Yes, I bet you didn’t show her that, did you, Cinderbucky?” Brock said venomously, sneering down his nose at Bucky.

Bucky glanced behind himself at you, eyes filled with fear and hurt at their words.

“Go on, then. Show her. Show her what you look like under that pretty white jacket!” Brock jeered.

Bucky turned his back on them to face you, eyes dull.

“You don’t have to-”

“Yes, I do,” he said quietly, slowly removing the glove from his left hand. It was better he lose you now than later, he thought.

It was lined with scars from burns and cuts, some looking nearly as old as he was. He rolled his sleeve up as far as it would go, revealing even more angry marks.

“They go up to my shoulder,” he said, tone flat. He was sure you would never look at him again, and he wouldn’t blame you. A beautiful princess like you deserved someone who was as whole and wonderful as you, not some broken, disfigured shell of a man.

He was so engrossed in his thoughts of self hatred that he didn’t realize you were reaching out to touch his arm until your fingers ghosted over the angry, scarred skin. He flinched at the touch, nearly pulling his arm away from you.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked first. Does it hurt?” you asked quietly, eyes swimming with tears. Who would do this to such a kind, gentle man?

He looked at you in confusion. Surely you were crying because of how ugly he was, but your words… your words were kind. Slowly, he shook his head. “Not anymore, highness,” he whispered.

“May I?” you asked, nodding your head towards his arm, fingertips close enough to feel the heat of his skin.

He nodded warily, hope creeping back into his mind unbidden.

Your fingers ghosted over his innumerable scars, a single tear escaping and making a track through your makeup as you contemplated the horrors he likely had to go through to get all of them. He closed his eyes at your gentle touch, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“Did they do this to you?” you asked suddenly. Bucky opened his eyes, meeting your steely gaze.

He swallowed thickly, adam’s apple bobbing nervously. After a moment he nodded, eyes flicking away from you.

Rage ignited inside of you, white hot and all-consuming.

“Steven. Take those ‘guests’ and throw them in the dungeon. I will deal with them later,” you said loudly enough for Steve to hear, gaze never leaving Bucky’s. Bucky looked up at you then, confusion clear on his face.

“Princess-”

“(Y/N),” you corrected him.

He looked at you guiltily. “(Y/N). I… my step father is right. I am a monster. I don’t even deserve to be in your-”

“He is the monster, Bucky,” you said firmly, placing a hand on his left arm gently. The other hand went up to cup his face and he couldn’t help but lean into your touch. “I do not care about the scars you bear. To me, you could not be any more handsome. It is your heart of gold that has swayed me,” you said earnestly, running a thumb over his cheek tenderly.

“Truly?” he asked, barely daring to hope. “You do not mind… this?” he asked, gesturing to his left arm.

You brought his left hand to your lips and placed a gentle kiss to his knuckles, mirroring his actions just a few minutes ago.

“Truly,” you assured him. The smile that graced his face was blinding, making you smile just as widely in return. You vaguely heard Pierce and Brock yelling while they were dragged away by Steve and a couple of other guards, but all of your focus was on the man in front of you. He stared down at you and it was likely only the room full of people (some of whom had pointy metal people-killing sticks) that kept him from embracing you then and there.

The music picked up again, just slightly before it left off, snapping you and Bucky out of that moment.

However, what followed was even better.

He lowered his sleeve but left his glove off and took a half step back, bowing deeply to you, and you curtsied, smile on your lips.

Then, he stepped forward, placing one hand gently on your hip, the other lacing together with your hand. You placed your hand on his shoulder and, just like that, the most magical dance in your entire life started.

The world fell away until it was just him and you on the ballroom floor. Your dress flowed gracefully whenever you spun, mesmerizing every person watching as Bucky expertly guided you around the room. The music swelled and you let out a delighted giggle as he placed both hands around your waist and lifted you in a graceful arc in front of him, earning excited applause from the audience (though you and Bucky didn’t even hear it). As the dance progressed, the space between you lessened until the last few chords of the song rang out and you found yourself pulled to his chest just before he dipped you gracefully backwards, arms holding you securely aloft.

All at once the hall erupted in applause and cheers. Bucky lifted you back upright gently, awestruck smile on his face, as though he couldn’t believe what was happening (he couldn’t). His gaze was momentarily pulled from you by Steve, who was jumping and waving his arms to get Bucky’s attention, just beside you in Bucky’s range of vision.

Once he realized Bucky was looking, he patted his chest frantically in one spot. Bucky raised an eyebrow confused. Steve sighed, slumping over for a half second in annoyance before he straightened again. He pointed to Bucky, then to the same spot on his chest again (this time even more forcefully and… pantomimed pulling something off his chest? Then pointed to Bucky again, eyes wide and frantic. He seemed to be pointing to a specific spot on Bucky’s chest… the same one he’d pointed to on himself.

Bucky looked down. Sure enough, there was a breast pocket on the jacket. With one last confused look to Steve he reached into it, freezing when his hand touched metal.

He looked back at Steve, eyes wide with fear and anxiety. Steve was smiling broadly, giving him an encouraging nod. He could see him mouth the words “do it.”

Bucky looked back at you. The exchange with Steve had lasted a few seconds at most, but for Bucky it felt like it had been minutes. You were still smiling up at him as though he was the moon and stars themselves.

“(Y/N),” he said slowly, causing one of your brows to quirk in question.

“Yes, Bucky?” you asked cautiously, confused by his sudden change in tone.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” he asked, all caution thrown to the wind. He wore his heart on his sleeve and trusted you not to break it.

You beamed at him, nodding vigorously. “Yes, I do.”

His heart thudded in his chest and he severely hoped he could make you say that word again. Slowly, he sunk to one knee, holding your two hands in one of his large ones. Without taking his eyes off of you, he pulled the ring out of his pocket, inwardly balking at the giant rock set into the center.

“Princess (Y/N), you would make me the luckiest and happiest man alive if you would do me the honor of being my wife,” he said earnestly, eyes alight with hope and adoration.

To his surprise you sunk down in front of him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“Yes! Yes, I will! I will gladly be your wife!” you said, pulling back enough so you could smile at him, happy tears making tracks down your face.

Bucky laughed along with you, happy smile lighting up every inch of the room as he slid the ring onto your finger (it fit perfectly, of course). You smiled at it, then at him, cheeks heating with all of the excitement.

Around you, your people cheered. Their princess was finally getting married.

Then Bucky did the one thing he’d wanted to do since the moment he met you. He pulled you in for a gentle but passionate kiss. It was everything you wanted it to be; your lips melded together perfectly as his arms wound around your waist. Your arms found their way around his shoulders and you lost yourself in his kiss and the feeling of him against you.

“Ahem,” came a stern voice from next to you.

You broke apart, startled, and looked at the newcomer.

“Your majesty!” Bucky said, abruptly standing to bow to your father. His gaze turned back to you, harried, and he quickly helped you to your feet.

“Father!” you said warily. You placed a hand on Bucky’s arm and he slowly straightened up, eyes darting from you to him nervously.

The king studied Bucky critically, eyes narrowed as he took in every detail.

“This is the man you wish to marry?” he asked, voice carefully neutral.

“Yes, father,” you said quickly, reaching down to lace your fingers with Bucky’s. You gave him a reassuring squeeze.

“Your majesty, I wish to marry your daughter. Please-”

The king held up a hand and Bucky’s words quickly died in his throat. He studied the both of you, gaze lingering on your interwoven fingers.

“What is your name?” the king asked coldly.

“James Buchanan Barnes, your majesty,” he said quickly. To his credit, he didn’t quail under the king’s gaze. He stood tall and proud next to you.

The king stared at him for a few moments longer, gaze unreadable. Then, all at once, he let out a great sigh and turned his back on the two of you.

You were about to reach out and stop him, protests on the tip of your tongue, when he spoke again. “Let it be known across the kingdom. In one week’s time, my daughter Princess (Y/full/N) and James Buchanan Barnes shall be wed in holy matrimony!” he proclaimed to the assembled guests.

Immediately, the hall erupted in cheers. It took you and Bucky the same amount of time to process his words, gazes snapping from the king to each other in unison, matching smiles of surprised happiness on your face.

You jumped into his arms and he caught you, spinning you around as you both laughed happily. You kissed him again, knowing now that you would be happy for the rest of your days with him by your side.

   Have faith in your dreams and someday  

   Your sun will come shining through  

   No matter how your heart is grieving

   If you keep on believing

   The dream that you wish will come true 

          and they lived happily ever after

[love-can-be-as-cold-as-grave]

Chapter 33: You’re All I Ever Wanted

[December 31, 2020]

Liv looked over her shoulder, mischievously grinning at the sleeping lump hidden beneath the black covers, an intricately tattooed hand sticking out from one corner. She turned back to peek through the glowing slit in the ebony curtains. I’ll never get sick of this view, she thought, watching the light snow falling in delicate flurries upon the already blanketed backyard. Pressed in to the sweeping blanched yard were the small imprints of birds and critters. Tucked to the side were their bicycles, hidden beneath a tarp, awaiting the spring.

Grabbing the corner of the curtains Liv pulled them back, basking the dark room in the alabaster glow of a snowy morning. “Up! Nouse ylös! (Get up!)” Smiling to herself she crossed the room to rummage through their ornate ebony dresser, wondering exactly how cold it was outside. Even after two odd years living in Finland, figuring out the right attire was still a mystery to Liv after LA’s eternal heat. It’s freezing right? Long sleeves right?

Annoyed grumbling came from the bed lump as it shifted positions, turning away from the light to face the opposite end of the room.

Liv slipped off her red checkered pajama pants, pulling out a pair distressed black boyfriend jeans. “Don’t make me go in there and get you!” She laughed, setting the jeans to the side and sifting through shirts. Yup, long sleeve is probably best. A sweater too?

The grumbling grew playfully louder, and with that Liv forgot changing altogether and crept towards the edge of the bed, grabbing the end of the blanket, lifting it up and squirmed her way under. The light shining in from the window illuminated the curled up figure beneath, peeking out from beneath his arm, smile twitching on his lips as she crawled her way up the length of his body, throwing a knee over him and straddling his chest, hands resting on the bed on either side of his face, caging him in.

Ville peaked out again from beneath his forearm, green eyes alive with amusement as he finally pulled his arm away, bringing both his hands to Liv’s forearms and running his fingers up and down them innocently. He stared up at Liv, fighting back a smile, admiring the sparkle in her rested eyes, the sensation of her long black hair brushing his bare skin, the small goosebumps of pleasure appearing on her forearms “Oh you’re up? I’ve been waiting ages darling. Did you forget that we were joining Jesse for breakfast before my meeting?” He grabbed her wrists, tugging them out from under her so that she fell onto his chest and rolled, changing their positions and pinning her down to the bed. “How could you Kultaseni?”

Liv laughed, stretching out her neck to give him a longing and loving kiss on the lips, smirking with amusement as she pulled away to see a hungry smirk on his pale face, setting off the slight wrinkles around his eyes, curly hair in messy tousles. “Oh no sir, no can do. We’ll be late.”

Ville rolled his eyes before lowering his head, running his nose along her jawline then slowly down her neck, “He’s my brother, he’ll understand.”

***

Ville watched with amusement as Jesse inhaled his enormous breakfast, raising a questioning brow as he took a sip of his coffee. They sat in a small cafe and bookshop in the heart of Helsinki. The cafe was filled with the inviting aroma of books and coffee and the low hum of sleepy new years eve patrons. Outside the snow continued to fall it’s familiar dance. The three of them sat in the corner, Liv and Ville next to each other, and Jesse across from them. After making it out of bed Ville had thrown on a white T-shirt, plain black hoodie, black jeans, and black coat, leaving his curls down in a mess.

"Mitä?(What?),” Jesse asked, catching Ville’s stare, “I'm bulking." Jesse mumbled, a forkful of eggs stuffed into his mouth. He had on a light gray sweater, dark blonde hair cropped short.

Liv let her hand rest on Ville's lap, fork half heartedly moving the fruit salad around on her plate. "When is your next match?" Her long black hair was down in its natural waves, falling past her shoulders, reaching down to her waist, the longest it had been for a while. She had on a tight fitting horizontally striped turtleneck tucked in to her black boyfriend jeans, black belt completing the look. Something seemed off with her that morning after they finally managed to leave the bed. Something was troubling her.

Ville took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze before interlacing his ringed fingers with hers, playing with the small shiny engagement ring. He knew exactly what it was. It was the same thing that had been troubling her for a while now. Moments of hopefulness, and then disappointment.

"Next week." Jesse smiled happily, oblivious to the concerned looks Ville was giving Liv from the corner of his eye. He washed down his mouthful with some milk. “I have to make sure I take it easy tonight. Two beers, tops. Okay maybe three, but that’s it or else my coach will kill me.” He took a bite of toast before gesturing with it towards Ville and Liv, “What do you two have planned tonight?”

Liv tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, placing her utensils on her plate having given up on the meal, and leaned back in her chair, taking her cup of tea in to her free hand. “Well this vampire hermit,” she nudge Ville gently with her elbow, “wanted to stay in and watch Night of the Living Dead,” she flashed him a smirk, “but I’ve convinced him to come out to a party at Jussi’s Helsinki apartment.” The smirk didn’t touch her eyes. She’s putting on a niceties for Jesse but her mind is elsewhere.

“Tyypilliesti! (Typical!)” Jesse laughed, just as the familiar sound of Livs ringtone began to hum.

Liv pulled it out, giving it a glance before stuffing it back in her pocket. He knew that expression, it was a business call but she didn't want to be rude by answering. Jesse wouldn't mind, he loved Liv like his own sister; she could do no wrong. "Just answer it sweetheart." He smiled. Two workaholics sit down in a cafe… Ville mused as Liv said her apologies to Jesse, grabbing her long black coat and stepping outside to answer it.

"So," Jesse snuck a look outside at Liv as she paced, talking with animation to, whome Ville could only assume was Siri, given the familiar expression of happy annoyance on her face as she spoke, "Aiotteko te tehdä teistä minusta setän, milloin tahansa? (Are you two going to make me an uncle anytime soon?)" 

Ville took a deep breath, running his hands over his face, a little unsurprised with the inquiry. That was the million dollar question everyone seemed to be asking them since they had gotten married. He was thankful that Jesse at least had some tact and asked when Liv had stepped out. "There's been, um…" he interlaced his fingers beneath his chin, watching as the flurries began to cover Liv's hair with snow, her cheeks turning red from the cold, "There are some complications from the, the crash. We saw a physician in June and were advised to keep trying despite the chances being quite low.” A part of him had begun to feel the weight of guilt. They'd been trying since May, and despite having a doctor confirm Liv's fears they'd of course kept up their efforts, but that hopeful excitement had faded from Ville, leaving him jaded but supportive. He couldn't let himself get his hopes up any longer with each passing month, and he felt guilty for it. He simply did not understand how Liv could continue going through the same vicious cycle, the same eager anticipation and then crushing disappointment. It hurt him to realize that they may no longer be on the same page. Before leaving for breakfast, he had taken note of the extent of Liv’s investment, their washroom counter full of vitamins, a calender tracking her cycle, a small stack of books on conception. Maybe I am quick to lose hope, maybe I am being pessimistic, but I’m hurting twice as much as the time keeps passing, my own pain yes, but hers too. Perhaps we should take a step back, a break from the fixation of it so that we may begin to prepare ourselves for the realization that this may not happen for us...again.

Jesse wiped his mouth with a napkin, looking at his brother with seriousness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. You could always adopt? Try some of that fertility stuff?”

Ville shrugged, looking away from Jesse and back towards Liv. She caught his eye with a glance and mouthed, ‘I’m sorry’ before turning back around. Ville looked back to Jesse, running a hand through his hair, “She doesn’t want to think about fertility treatments and the like, let alone try them. I’m trying my best to be supportive, and at this point I’m not sure I care as much about conceiving as I did, I’m more worried about her more than anything else.”

Suddenly the soft tinkling of the cafe doorbell rang as Liv hurriedly rushed back to her seat next to Ville, the snow already melting in her hair. “I’m sorry, there was a scheduling mishap and my shoot today got moved up.” She shrugged off her coat, the blush reddening further on her cheeks. “But they can wait cause I want to hear all about this match.”

***

Liv let her fingertips trace the designs on the graffitied wall. I don’t need to check. I don’t need to check.

“I forgot to ask! How was your christmas? Did your dad and grandfather enjoy Helsinki? What presents did you and Ville exchange?” Siri grinned as she zipped up the last of the carrying cases for their camera equipment, picking it up and adding it to a pile with the rest. She’d dyed her pixie hair a bright red and had on the oddest set of oversized striped overalls atop a green turtleneck.

Liv took a seat on the worn cushioned bench, crossing her legs at the ankles. They’d had a brief promotional shoot at Tavastia for an upcoming show. The entire place was a wealth of memories. She could almost imagine the guys, grinning and snarling back at her as she shot photographs for them there and the very same room.

How was my Christmas?, “It was really nice.” She smiled softly to herself as she remembered the satanic ornaments Ville had gotten for their tree. Her favorite has been the one he’d made himself though. He’d painted a white door on a clear ornament. On the door was a little 666 in red script, marking it as the lair of the beast. He’d filled the ornament with little squares of paper with scribbled lines, representing the pages and pages of lyrics she had, and still takes up in his notebooks. “Ville was a really good sport with everything, and everyone, even though this isn't his favorite time of year. Dad and gramps hated the cold, but I figured as much. They did love Ville’s moms cooking, but gramps liked the liquor cabinet more. My dad didn’t touch a single drop though. Joan has him on a health kick getting ready for his wedding. Gifts? I bought Ville a really beautiful guitar I found at auction that was once owned by Elvis. He was head over heels. I’m surprised it didn’t take my place in our bed. And Ville is going to take me to Budapest to visit the other half of my family in February, just before he’s back on tour with The Agents. Overall, good family time, good food, and fantastic husband who kept me from getting too stressed out hosting everyone.” Complete understatement, Liv thought. Ville had been some sort of super human, running around getting groceries, keeping her family entertained, helping her clean, calming her down, and most importantly, fronting the inevitable question. The question…

She got up, grabbing the equipment carriers and tossing a few straps over her shoulders, Siri following her lead. Overloaded with equipment they wound around the back corridors of the venue until they came to the back door that led out to the parking lot. Turning the handle with her elbows Liv held the door for Siri, the light flurries unrelenting on the cold December day.

Siri ducked past Liv as she held the door “Sounds about the same as mine, except no out of town relatives and a wonderful fiance, almost husband.” Trying not to tip over with the equipment under one arm she unlocked the trunk of her new pink Smart Car and began loading the gear into the trunk.

“How is Kosmo?” Liv smiled, remembering the frantic call she’d gotten from Kosmo a few months prior, asking for help choosing the right ring.

Siri laughed, grabbing the camera straps hanging off of Liv’s arms and tucking the cameras neatly in the trunk before shutting it and leaning back against the car. “He’s great. Keeps going on about wedding plans. I wouldn't mind an elopement! Oh and kids, he’s talking about kids! That man…” She chuckled as she shook her head.

Liv’s chest tightened at the word, teeth biting down on her lower lip. Kids… Even the mention of them was enough to set her off. The feeling of not being able to conceive was indescribable. It felt like a weight, crushing down upon her, this total feeling of being a failure, and having it tied so closely to the traumas of her past only resulted in her having to face them all over again. She’d been trying to cope as best she could, but each passing month brought its heartbreak. Throughout the ordeal so far she had learned the never ending nature of Ville’s supportive devotion to her. He came to every doctor's appointment, held her hand through it all, read books, bought vitamins and foods, he did it all, but she knew. She knew it was for her and her alone. 

I don’t need to check.

There is a pharmacy just around the corner, I could just quickly stop in and buy a test. I have felt different lately. And my period is late. But then again, it was late the past four negatives too. No I won’t get a test. I shouldn't.

“Ville!” Siri grinned with her child-like smile as she spotted Ville walking across the parking lot in their direction, bundled up in his coat, a scarf, beanie, and backpack thrown over one shoulder. He gave her a wave of greeting.

Liv turned, watching with curiosity as he approached, her lips freed from her teeth as she smiled, “Well this is a nice surprise.”

He shrugged, wrapping one arm around the small of her back and giving her a kiss on the cheek, “I thought I could come escort you home since I finished my meeting early.”

Siri pulled open the driver side door, rolling her eyes with a smirk, “You two are disgustingly cute.” Siri laughed, hoping in to the car, “I’ll see you next week Liv, have a happy new year!”

They watched Siri carefully maneuver through the snowy lot and on to the road. The skies above a light grey, with nights blanket of ebony slowly arrive.

“So,” Liv said, turning to Ville, fingers playing with the strings on his hoodie, “What really brings you by?” He was easy to read when he had ulterior motives, his smile was always a little crooked when he was up to something, she’d spotted it immediately.

“Such a sleuth,” he joked, unzipping his backpack and pulled out a new pair of beautiful black gloves trimmed in faux leather. Liv took them, gingerly pulling them on with a brilliant grin. She’d been needing a new pair of gloves, and they fit perfectly. “I thought my dear,” he took her hand, wrapping it around his arm and guided her out of the parking lot, “that we could walk home along the pier.”

Both of their black docs shuffling in the piling snow they began to walk arm in arm. “Thank you, truly. These gloves are beautiful. But you do know it’s like an hour long walk right? But if you need that much time to spill the beans then sure darling, I don’t mind.” The streets around them were surprisingly busy. The snow was not one to slow a Fin, and with it being New Years eve, last minute preparations were being made by everyone as they rushed to and fro.

“Spill the beans, funny turn of phrase, I wonder where it…” Liv gave him a mock look of exasperation as they crossed the street and on to the pier, their breaths blowing out in pearlescent puffs. Ships tarped and bunkered down for the winter bobbed gently as the ocean gave it's push and wall against the port. “Alright I shall get to the point.” He stopped walking. “You seemed troubled this morning, and I suspect why. I know it’s been difficult for you, and I’m trying my absolute best to be the doting and supportive husband but I’m afraid I can’t do what you do. I can’t keep getting my hopes up every time. I am becoming worn out, and I don’t want that. I don’t want that at all. I want to be happy and eager, but seeing you crushed every month is taking its toll on me because I,” his eyes glistened with tears, “I can’t give you the one thing you want.” He took her hands in his, the sea breeze tugging at the loose strands of his curls sticking out from under the beanie. "Darling I think, and please listen to me, I think we should take a break from trying.”

She’d been staring at him with shock, trying to digest his words as he spoke with his heart, but that final sentence had broken hers. Her gloved hands slipped from his, and before she could censor herself, she spoke harshly, “You don’t want a child?

He shook his head, trying to take her hand again but she pulled back, "No that's not what I'm saying at all, and you know that. I'm both worried about you, about the stress, and honestly, I’m worried about myself too. You are paramount in my concerns, but I also am trying not to end up in such a place where I think of our efforts as a burden. Please, just think about what I’m saying and consider it will you?"

Liv looked away from his face, out at the cloud covered sea. She hadn’t realized the extent of is own pain in all this, nor the ramifications it could have. Am I selfish? Have I only been thinking about myself? I want us to be on the same page, I don’t want this whole thing to be like it’s become, clouded by what we learned at the doctor, what I feared. We should be, and stay happy and hopeful. It hasn’t even been a full year of trying, how have I let myself get to this, this point? He’s right isn’t he. Maybe we do need to take a breather from this. She took his hand in hers and nodded lightly.

***

He wasn’t sure exactly what reaction he’d get from her, but he hadn’t imagined the quiet, digestive, withdrawal. He took a sip of beer, smiling down at the christmas card they had received from Marcus. It was a sweet family photograph with Hanna and his two daughters, the whole family adorned in heartagram T-shirts and wild hair in a parody of terrible 80’s-style family portraits. He set the card back down on the mantelpiece and looked longingly at the stairs. After returning home she’d hurried off to their bedroom to get ready for the party, or at least that had been her excuse. He’d learned long ago to let her have her space, that she would talk to him when she was ready, something she’d been working really hard to do after their love story had picked back up again. 

Unsure what to do with himself while he waited for her to finish getting ready he meandered over to the small studio and took a seat at their piano, setting his drink done on the floor. The sky had darkened quite quickly after they’d returned, and the temperature dropped further, the snow still falling in gentle whisps. He played a note, and then another absentmindedly, enjoying the sensation of the smooth ivory as he gazed upon the collection of posters, prints, and photographs around the room. 

Situated lovingly across from the piano was a large print of one of their wedding photographs. It was his favorite one. Their wedding had been held in the fall in Oulun Hautausmaa, one of Finland's oldest cemeteries. It had been a bright sunny day, the trees casting shadows, the small group of twenty odd guests braving the cool breeze. Siri, who had passionately offered her services to take photographs during the day had captured the moment Ville had lifted up and pulled back the vintage lace veil Liv had worn. She was laughing with loving amusement, black hair in beautiful curls trailing down the bare back of her lace, sleeved, mermaid style dress, a small bouquet of wildflowers clutched in one hand. In front of her Ville held his mouth, overcome with emotion at the sight of Liv, his other hand clutching his chest. Seeing her coming down the aisle like some ethereal ghost had stunned him speechless, he’d never felt so incredibly overwhelmed before, and then to pull back the veil and see her blushing face, staring back at him with pure happy joy.

“You know, you still look at me like that.” Liv stepped in to the doorway, her mood lightened. She had changed into a simple, long sleeved, mid-thigh, fitted maroon dress, black hair styled in waves, and her lips rouged a dark red.

Ville grinned, unable to help himself as he scooted over on the stool, inviting her to join him. "And I always will. Come, play with me, we've got," he took a quick glance at his wristwatch, "fifteen minutes before our cab arrives."

A soft smile spread across her red lips as she crossed the room, sliding in to the space to the left of him, resting her head on his shoulder, fingers hovering over the keys.

He wished he had the ability to make her feel better, to do more than he could, but couldn't. Tragedy clings to you like a parasite doesn't it traagisesti kaunis rakkauteni. He waited for her to pick a song as he peppered the top of her head with kisses until suddenly she sat up and brought her fingers down on the keys.

[ https://youtu.be/ppWz9O78DgI ]

The note was deep and sombre. Ville stared, confused, unsure which song it was as she played the same keys in fast succession, before reaching her right hand across him, fingers sliding over the ivory. He recognized the notes instantly, smirking at her as she waited for him to identify the song. He took over from her hand, and together with firm hands they dug in to the keys, playing Liv’s favorite song. The sounds were harsh, and pounding with rough passion on Liv’s end as she put the weight of her body in to every note with closed eyes. Soon the song began to slow, and Ville took control of the melody, bringing in gentler, softer notes.They played together, riffing with each other, each knowing the notes by heart, souls pouring in to the piece. 

This song would always have a special place in his heart, not only because he knew it was Liv’s favorite but because that night, the night Liv had let her heart lead, and not run from it, was the night he’d understood, truly, what love was. To love and be loved was not simply burning passions, nor heart wrenching adoration and infatuation, love is compromise, love is wanting to be the best version of yourself for that person, love is give and take, love is learning, learning together, and growing together. Now, he got to wake up every morning next to her, next to pure euphoric happiness, next to the person who challenged him, inspired him, made him feel humble yet invincible, the person who picked him up, who understood him like no one had before or ever would. And to think, they’d both almost lost each other. 

Maybe I was wrong, he thought, the notes bleeding in to him, maybe we need to keep trying, do whatever it takes, persevere.

***

He handed the acoustic guitar back to Jussi, "How do you always rope me into playing when I come over?" 

Mige rolled his eyes, "Oh please, you adore the attention." He swung back the rest of his beer before roughly placing the bottle down on the counter and scratched his beard.

"Maybe," Ville winked, wiping the sweat off of his brow with his forearm, the sleeves of his dress short rolled up, the top buttons undone.

"Hey where did zombie fucker go?" Mige asked, slumping down on a loveseat, grabbing a shinny 2021 hat and plopping it on his head.

Ville looked around quickly, unable to spot her in the room, "I'm not sure. And stop calling her that! She only accepts zombie lover, or Liv Valo." He gave Mige a playful punch on the thigh before leaving it side.

The party had been well under way when they'd arrived. The two story apartment was crammed with people, many of the guests were Finnish artists and other people in the music industry. After a winter of reclusive rehearsals and time off basking in the warmth of home, it had been a bit jarring for Ville to be thrown into the viper pit of socializing, but finding Mige there had been a welcome surprise. Liv had stayed by his side mostly, reminiscing with Mige, sharing gig horror stories with Jannah, a photography friend of hers, jumping on the piano at some point to play some Mozart, comparing tattoos with Jyrkie, but Ville couldn't help but notice that she seemed a bit off. Her energy had been less than half what it would normally be in these situations. Typically the social butterfly, she still was, but more mellow, not really present. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but she still had that look of sad contemplation in her eyes, despite the smiles on her lips. He wondered if she was still upset with him. Something was the matter. 

She'd disappeared somewhere between Living on a Prayer, and Jailhouse Rock which were four or so songs ago, and so turning down another beer from Mige, Ville went looking for Liv. He pushed his way through the crowds of intoxicated and cheerful people, moving from the dining room to the kitchen, checking even the patio despite knowing Liv had quit smoking earlier in the year. He sighed, going back in to do another scan before noticing a line of women waiting outside of the hallway washroom. Giving them a shy smile he knocked on the door, “Liv? Are you in there?”

Amidst the blaring rock music coming from one of the rooms he could hear the door unlock, and, giving the women an apologetic look, he stepped in to the washroom, closing the door behind him. Liv sat on the edge of the small tub, elbows resting on her knees, her face clammy and pale. She gave him a weak smile.

“Darling is something the matter?” He crouched down to her eye level, brushing a loose strand of her hair out of her eyes. “Are you still upset?” She's either sick, or she’s been crying in here, he thought, unsure which it was, but wanting to make sure she was alright either way.

She shook her head, “No no, I just, I’m not feeling well. Ville this is different.” She took his hand in hers, casting her eyes down at the large silver rings on his fingers as she fiddled with them, words on the tip of her tongue ready to come out. “I was sick when we got back home. And I got sick again. I’ve uh, I’ve been throwing up…” She looked back up at him, trying to gage his reaction.

Throwing up? Throwing up. “Oh.” He managed to say. Could she? Without another thought he stood, extending his hand out towards her, “Let’s go and get a test right this minute.” Despite his sentiments earlier in the day he wanted to know. He needed to know. Being rational couldn't just erase the natural reaction to what Liv was telling him. He knew the possibility of disappointment was there, as it had been in the past, but he knew Liv, he knew if said this felt different, then it was.

Liv chuckled, a little taken aback by his reaction. "But today, you said…" She took his hand and carefully got to her feet, “And we’d miss the countdown.” 

Ville unlocked the door, keeping her hand in his and leading her through the crowds gently, “Bullocks with the count down.”

***

Ville tapped his foot anxiously, heart feeling as if it would pound right out of his chest as he waited outside of the gas station washroom attached to the outside of the building. His stomach was doing somersaults. Alright, if it is a negative than perhaps we should see the doctor again, inquire regarding other options. I should take Liv home, maybe draw her a bath. Would her favorite bakery be open? No of course not… But what if it isn’t a negative? What if this is it? Really it.

Around him the flurries had finally stopped, street lights twinkling on the soft powdery snow.

The door slowly creaked open and Liv stepped out, her face blank, body bundled in a thick crimson coat, barrette atop her head, and worn doc martens. His poker face suddenly faltered to reveal a dazzlingly bright smile.

“Rambo!” Ville blurted out with a raspy laughed, grabbing Liv around the waist and spinning her as around them the sounds of the new year echoed in a chorus along the street with cheers and clankings pots and pans. Midnight had chimed.

“I’m sorry what?” Liv giggled, putting the capped test in her pocket and lacing her fingers in to Ville’s hair as he continued to hold her up in his arms, twirling her around the snow packed lot of the station.

“No, Hoff! No no, Ozzy!” Ville beamed as the two lovers basked in the glow of the stations outside lights, breaths billowing with white in the air, their happy giggles rising up in the raucous night.

Liv wrapped her arms around his neck, her happiness overwhelming, she knew, she knew it had felt different. “What on earth are you talking about?” She couldn’t stop chuckling as they spun and spun. She felt absolutely euphoric. A baby, she squealed internally, we’re going to have a baby! After everything. After that night of tears and pain, after heartbreak, after distance and passionate rekindling, after happy contentment, a child.

Ville felt lightheaded as he finally set her down, holding her chilled cheeks in between his hands, “Baby names my dear.” He was freezing. His boots were getting wet. But it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered anymore but her and the marvel of a little bean growing inside of her. He brought his lips to hers, eyes glistening with happy tears as he wrapped her in his warm embrace.

Liv kissed him back passionately, tears of happiness also streaming down her face, before catching her breath and resting her cheek on his chest. “Poe?” She asked, peeking up at him with a grin.

“Poe huh? Yeah, I like that.” Ville smirked, kissing the top of her head and hailing a cab that he spotted passing by. He tossed his arm around her shoulder lovingly, looking into her beautiful hazel eyes as they trudged through the soft snow, another wonderful year behind them, an even better one ahead. “Darling?” He asked, barely able to contain his chuckles.

Liv looked up at him with utter contentment as they just about reached the cab, the wind picking up and stirring her hair, “Hmm?”

“I suppose,” he winked down at her as he nudged her jokingly, “we’ll never enjoy the silence now.”